True L̶o̶v̶e̶ Story (11 page)

“Are you still up for going out with me tonight?”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”

He stops and puts his hand on my arm. “You’re right. You didn’t.” There isn’t any teasing in his voice now. He’s completely serious. “Tonight.”

“Well, my parents were hoping we’d join them tonight. I think they’re wanting to do an early birthday surprise for Jeff while everyone’s together.”

“Oh, Laila did mention something about that. I didn’t realize it was tonight. All right. Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night is the Pictionary competition at Wendy’s!”

“Well, we certainly can’t miss that!” he says, matching my tone. “That leaves our last night. Do you think you can carve time out of your busy schedule to go out with me Friday?”

“I guess I can squeeze you in.”

He looks me up and down and I don’t even want to know what his dirty little mind is cooking up. I’m too afraid to know.

Jeff’s party is in the swankier restaurant of the Lodge. The fun seems to be in full swing when my parents and I get there. I immediately find Ian. He’s surrounded by beautiful women and seems completely at ease. I’m not sure how he can see past the blond in front of him, she leads with her breasts, but somehow he manages to spot me immediately. I watch as he excuses himself and hightails it my way.

He’s eying me like I’m a dessert he wants to inhale. It seems my red cocktail dress was the right choice, after all.

“Damn, Sparrow. Fu—” he clears his throat and gives his hair a tug. I love it when he does that. It makes his already messy hair look even more disheveled. It levels me. Like a bulldozer that completely flattens the ground and doesn’t leave a single grain of dirt in the wrong place. I don’t even want to think straight when he looks this good.

“Ian.”

“You…” He’s quiet for what feels like minutes, but probably isn’t.

“Yes?”

He does the hair thing again and I try to hold my ground without a) going down, or b) blushing. So far, I’m still standing. Pretty sure my neck and face are the shade of my dress.

“You look nice tonight,” I tell him.

“You…” he shakes his head. “God, girl, you’ve rendered me speechless.”

“Well, that’s a first.” I smile.

“Come sit with me?”

He takes my arm and puts it through his, laying my hand on his arm and holding it there. We sit at a smaller table next to the large birthday table and I realize that Ian still sort of got his way—it feels like we’re on a mini date here in front of everyone.

After we order, Laila makes her way over to our table and comments on how pretty I look tonight. She’s standing over Ian with her hands on his shoulders as she says it. I compliment her too—she really is so pretty. Ian doesn’t say much, he just watches me. The whole night, he watches me. He’s quieter than usual, but the restaurant is so loud that we both give up trying to have much of a conversation.

It’s the same the next night; there isn’t much chance to have a conversation. I’m happy for the time on the ski lifts during the day where we can learn all about each other.

“So what do you enjoy besides books?” he asks. “You can’t have your nose in a book all the time … can you? I mean, you know I’m all about your sexy librarian vibe, but…”

I roll my eyes at him and say, “Well, every now and then I do something else just as nerdy.”

“No, you have a way of making everything look enticing. You’re like this … Renaissance woman … an odd, but lovely rarity.”

“Do these lines just pour out of you or do you have a running repertoire that you recycle? You’re far too quick for them to be—”

He puts his fingers on my lips and holds them there as his forehead touches mine. “You pull the truth out of me, Sparrow.”

I don’t know what to say to that, especially while his finger is tracing my upper lip that way.

“Tell me something, anything, about you,” he says, moving his finger along the middle of my bottom lip.

“Uh … flute.” Shoot. Why did I let that out?

He leans back, surprised. “Flute? You play the flute? What else do you play?” His eyes narrow as a big grin takes over his face.

“Piano.” I sigh.

“Oh, this is too good. Little Bird is musical. Oh, we’re going to have fun with this,” he vows.

I groan. “No. I’m not playing for you. Ever.”

He gives me a playful hurt look and gets back in my face. “Oh, you will. And I can’t wait…”

I’m still inwardly groaning about that when we go to Wendy’s condo. The thought that I would ever play for Ian Sterling is ridiculous.

Ian and I are on a team together for Pictionary. Jade has gradually gotten the point that Ian isn’t going to be interested in her this trip. She scowls at us as we win. I’m not an artist, but he is, so we are racking up the points. Each time we score, Ian squeezes my hand and looks like he wants to come in for a kiss. He doesn’t. But I wish he would.

Our last day of skiing is bittersweet. I never dreamed I’d come on this trip and actually love it. I’m disappointed at the thought of not being able to ski again for a while. If I’m honest with myself, I’m also slightly heartsick that I will be saying goodbye to Ian tomorrow and I have no idea when or if I’ll see him again. That hasn’t come up in any conversations—the When Will I See You Again? topic. And I’m not going to be the one to broach it.

We run into Lars on our way back to the Lodge. We’ve seen him a few times throughout the week, and it’s been congenial every time. He even skied with all of us one afternoon. He is genuinely a nice guy.

“Sparrow!” he calls. “You headin’ out tomorrow?”

“Yes, I am,” I yell back. “Thanks for showing me how it’s done!” I grin at him.

“Gladly.” He walks closer and does a fist bump with Ian. “Take it easy, man. Hope to see you both out here again.”

I give him a big hug and we go on our way. I’m glad he doesn’t hold any hard feelings. That would have been more awkward than it already was.

The long awaited “date night” arrives. I’ve been fairly relaxed around Ian all week, but being alone with him is a different story. I know how the air is charged enough when we’re around a group of people. He has this way of looking at my mouth that leaves me unhinged. I’ve had the protection of Wendy and even Jade, to keep anything from happening, but land sakes, the way he looks at me … I’m not sure I’ll maintain my virtue.

And the fact is … I’m completely ready to be defiled.

Of course, I dress to kill. My outfits have floored my mom. She just
thought
she was shocked back home when I finally wore something fitted. Each time she sees me in something else, I think she might have a conniption, but she’s managed to keep her barbs to a minimum—a huge feat on her part. I’m relieved. At least everything I’ve worn is tasteful … but they’re also extremely flattering and ahem, alluring.

I will never wear gunnysacks another day in my life. Never. Ever.

I was right—it does feel different. The air around us is positively popping. From the minute Ian takes a look at me, I know I’m in for something. I’m not quite sure what yet, but something…

As soon as we shut the door, he holds out his hand and laces his fingers through mine. We haven’t done that yet, so I have a little giddy moment inside my chest. We end up at the gondola lift. I’ve been wanting to ride one since we got here, but haven’t had the chance. We climb in and Ian sits on the same side as me. His arm goes around me and I think my heart is going to pound out of my chest. The lights are beautiful, shining down on the snow. The Victorian town of Breckenridge is so quaint and beautiful.

We’re both unusually quiet. All week, we’ve been gabbing each other’s ears off at every opportunity.

“You okay?” I ask.

He raises his hand to my face and cups my jaw. “Look at this face,” he looks like he’s memorizing every feature.

He stares at me and I stare back, until the gondola makes a slight lurch. Our noses bump—why won’t he just kiss me? I can almost feel it, we’re that close.

He looks away and says, “Oh, look, time to get off.” I hear a little bit of relief in his voice and it makes my stomach hurt. Maybe he’s just all talk and isn’t quite feeling what I am for him.

Our lift goes about ten feet further and then stops. We climb out and Ian doesn’t let go of my hand.

Not many hands fit my hands. My fingers are long and slender. Guys with fat hands and short fingers just don’t work with mine. I file this away in my little Perfect Guy for Me Notebook.

Before I know it, we’re going inside a fancy steakhouse. “I hope this is okay. I’ve heard good things about it,” Ian says.

“It sure is pretty.”

“YOU sure are pretty,” he speaks up. “
More
than pretty…”

He seems nervous again. He pulls out words like ‘sweet’ and ‘pretty’ when he’s nervous. I’m ready to get to the bottom of it.

We’re barely seated and before I can stop the words, I say, “What do you like about me besides my looks?”

“The fact that you would ask me something like that is a clear indication of the kind of person you are, Sparrow Fisher. You have this grounding quality about you. I don’t know a better way to put it. It levels me. I’ve never been at home anywhere, but I am with you.”

I look at him and know exactly what he means. All my life I’ve said what everyone wanted me to say, worn what everyone wanted me to wear, acted just so—never realizing until this very moment that I’ve been waiting for someone to look past it all and actually see
me
.

“You make me feel like I can completely be myself, Ian. That’s a rare thing for me.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be anyone but yourself,” Ian says with a smile. “Sparrow?” He clears his throat. “I need to ask you something. Or … tell you something…”

Our waitress walks up and I can tell Ian is flustered and wishing she would go away. We hurry and order our drinks.

I wish he’d hold my hand again because he’s making
me
nervous.

“I’ve been wondering … do you know how old I am?”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

“Well, I guess I assumed you were 22, maybe 23.” I look at his boyish face. I’d actually think he was younger if I didn’t know he’d established quite a music career by now. His face is flawless, no lines whatsoever. If I were to guess without knowing a thing about him, I’d say more like 19 or 20.

He pulls a face and takes his hand away from mine to do that hair tug thing he does. He’s starting to really make me anxious.

“Why? How old
are
you?” I ask.

“Well, I thought
you
were around 22 or 23 when we went out that day in San Francisco.” He puts his head in his hand and peers up at me slowly. “You’re tall, I think that makes you look so much older. I had
no idea
you were 18…” He gulps.

“I
have
had a birthday since then…” I smile.

“Oh thank God,” he says. He looks a little green. He still hasn’t taken my hand. “Sparrow, I’m going to be 29 this year … well, next year.”

“Nooooooo.” I can’t help it. I am shocked.

He sighs. “Yes. Not for another 9 months or so, but still.” He looks down and I study the way his eyelashes curve up at the ends. Way better than any eyelash curler could ever do.

“So you’re 28.” I state the obvious.

He nods.

“And I’m 19.”

He nods again.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Well…” I start tugging
my
hair now. “Wow.” I guess you could say I’m struck speechless. “Well, okay,” I finally say.

“Is it weird for you?” he asks.

“Um, yeah, a little bit. And I already know it weirds you out. But … you really don’t act like you’re 28! And you certainly don’t look it.”

He grins. “Thanks?” He clears his throat. “I just had to get it out … Laila brought it to my attention in San Francisco and made me feel like a creeper. I’m old. And I would normally never in a million years go out with anyone who wasn’t at least in their mid-twenties. I just haven’t done very well at staying away from you. I’ve tried. I really have tried.”

I laugh at his earnest expression. “Well, it’s not like you’re ancient or anything. Although, you’re getting there.” I give him a sly grin. “But, it doesn’t have to matter. I would have never known your age and you would have never known mine if it hadn’t been for someone else. The way we are around each other—it doesn’t seem like we struggle with relating to one another.”

“No…”

Surprisingly, this revelation doesn’t keep us from moving on and chatting about a million other things throughout the night. I barely even think about the age thing once we’ve changed the subject. When we’re done eating, we go to the piano bar across the street. It’s so dark in there, I wonder what they would do if they knew Ian Sterling was in the place.

All too soon, it’s late and we’re back on the gondola, riding back to the Lodge. Ian has one arm around me and the other is playing with my hand, touching each finger and giving me chills with each stroke. I shiver and he holds me tighter.

“Cold?” he asks.

“A little bit,” I whisper.

He wraps me up in his coat and lifts my chin up with one hand. “You have the best lips, I can’t keep my eyes off them,” he whispers. His finger traces my mouth again and this time, I know he’s going to kiss me. My eyelids feel heavy. So soft that I almost think I’m imagining it, his lips are on mine. Then, there is no doubt. He kisses me, sweetly at first, and then when our tongues touch, greedily, like he can’t stand another moment until he has thoroughly laid claim on every part of my mouth. His hands are on my face and mine are finally tugging his hair, exactly where my hands have wanted to be since the day I first saw him. I pull him in deeper and deeper; I can’t get enough.

All kisses before this have been mere child’s play. I drink him in and know my fate is sealed: I am his.

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