Sunday, August 2, 2009

Breathe Chapter 4

Chapter 4 ~ Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I'll Love You Tomorrow...

“More flowers?” Miki raises her eyebrow at me from where she’s leaning in the doorway as I sign for yet another huge, beautiful, tasteful but obviously expensive bouquet. “And you say this guy hasn’t even experienced your…mmmm how did you put it? Olympic medal worthy womanly desires?”

“I like that he wants to take it slow,” I reply quietly, refusing now to meet the delivery boy’s gaze as I feel my cheeks turn a bright red. “He’s a real old fashioned gentleman.”

“I thought you said none of those existed?” Miki chuckles as she slips into my office and bends over the newest bouquet, pink roses this time, and smiles. “No note?”

“He texts me,” I reply, wondering why even this feels embarrassing. I like Marc, I really like him, but all this…chivalry is new and kind of weird when you’re not used to it.

“And emails, yes, you said. What’s it been now? A week that he’s been away this time, and he’s sent you flowers every day? Tip, I swear if you don’t marry this guy, I’m going to have to have you committed,” she warns as she runs her fingertips over the bouquet of red roses, white roses, the yellow ones, and then the rare lavender ones. I think I like those the best.

“Call me crazy Mik, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop you know? Otherwise he’s perfect and…I don’t think I’m ready for perfect, you know what I mean?” I tap my fingernails against the pile of paperwork I have yet to do, the brief I have to have prepared before end of day tomorrow, knowing that I’ll probably stay well into the night tonight to do it so that I will be available when Marc comes home from his team’s road trip tomorrow.

“And you still won’t let me look this guy up? Cuz you know I’m dying to Google him,” she adds, with a pointed look towards me as she heads back towards the door. I know she’s probably got a huge stack on her desk as well but I also know that she doesn’t have anyone to make herself available for. That’s something I should ask Marc about….
“No. No looking him up. All in good time, I told you. I like finding things out about him as we go along. I don’t need to know everything at once,” I add, feeling a personal amount of satisfaction in my own will power where this is concerned. I mean, c’mon. I’m a good Canadian kid. I like hockey. I should know all about him already but I haven’t paid that much attention to the Eastern teams and let’s face it, in Vancouver we see the New York teams once every three years thanks to Bettman and his stupid schedule.

“I suppose there is a cute factor in that,” Miki sighs, and turns to go, still shaking her head at me as she saunters down the corridor. I watch her go until she turns the corner into the coffee room and then I turn back to the latest email I haven’t told her about. One of his brothers is going to be in town when he gets back and he’s made plans for us all to go out for lunch.

He wants me to meet his brother and we haven’t even done the horizontal mambo yet. Either this guy is Mr. Perfect or he’s some kind of Mormon and I’m going to end up living in some compound with six other woman with those long calico dresses that come up to your chin and go down to your ankles and twelve screaming kids.

No…no, I can’t think like that, even if he’s…well pretty much a square, a kind of a goody-goody. He may not have any of that edginess to him that I usually go for, but I keep telling myself that’s a good thing. It certainly makes a refreshing change from all those bad boys that come and go so quickly.

Besides, when he kisses me good night, especially the last couple of times, I’m sure I can see that little spark, that little something pass behind his sky blue coloured eyes that makes me squirm and leaves me wondering just how much he’s keeping himself under control. That is what keeps me up at nights; wishing he would just let loose on me, march me through the door and lock it behind us and show me exactly what he’s keeping locked up so tight behind that suit and tie Clark Kent exterior.

And I have a very vivid imagination.

Still, I have to admit, looking around at all the bouquets, I just don’t see him as the up against the wall kind of guy. He’s just too polite and too sweet and too ‘after you honey’ to be that guy. He opens doors and carries parcels and says please and thank you…no, I have to admit to myself that he probably isn’t going to be that guy.

Which is really too bad considering he is big enough to be that guy for me. He’s got a good four or five inches on me, all those long arms and long legs and he’s definitely strong enough, that’s for sure. The couple of times he’s talked me into going for a morning run in Central Park I’ve caught him doing one armed push ups while he’s waiting for me and damn if I didn’t want to just crawl under him and let him do push ups all over me all day long.

Still…I like him. I really do like him, even if he isn’t a bad boy and after the last couple of losers that have toyed with me, didn’t I actually swear off men altogether? So maybe he won’t be the up against the wall, swinging from the chandelier kind of guy. Maybe a little straight up vanilla missionary position sex might be fun. The least I can do is give it, and him, a try.

Of course I could be wrong.


“I hope it’s not too late,” he whispers, casting a wary eye down the corridor to the other closed and I’m sure padlocked, latched and buttressed doors of my neighbors, no doubt noting the eerie silence the midnight hour has brought to the building; the city that never sleeps my ass. Glancing down at my skimpy, red satin robe I bite down on my bottom lip and shrug. Well, I guess we’ll see just how much self control the boy really has.

“Come in,” I whisper as I stand aside, mostly behind the door as he slips into my apartment. Well mine and Miki’s I remember, listening for the soft rattling down the hallway that tells me she’s deep into dream land, visions of the cute young lawyer on the third floor dancing in her head.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I…,” his voice trails away as I close the door behind me, throwing the dead bolt home and scratching the chain across its’ metal home. My knee length robe might be tied securely but I’m sure it leaves him with no doubt as to the fact that there is nothing beneath it. It might be a week before Halloween but I’m not ready for my flannel pj’s just yet. “Shit, you look like a Christmas present.”

It’s cute the way he looks away right away and starts to fidget with his tie, like it’s too tight, like it’s hot in the hall, which it isn’t. My headlights can attest to that and I suppose that isn’t making his temperature spike just a little. Part of me wants to torture him, wants to sashay right on by him and make him look at me, but part of me doesn’t want to be that mean to him.

“I’ll go put something else on,” I offer, turning to head down the hallway, only to feel his hand close in a vice like grip on my wrist, pulling me back towards him, pulling me up against the hard steel of his body. I find myself looking up into those blue eyes to see confusion warring with desire and I so want the desire to win out that I push it over the edge, just a bit, pressing my chest against his and going up on tip toe to nip at his bottom lip.

It’s the only invitation he needs before he lets go of my wrist and instead holds my head in his two big hands and kisses me like he needs my lips to breathe. It’s a kiss that curls my toes and makes me whimper into his mouth as his head tilts to gain a better angle and his tongue sweeps over mine. I don’t even mind when it feels like his arms are pressing my ribs right into my lungs, crushing me against the width of his chest. Truth be told, I like it.

Damn, shit, fuck and hell.

For just a single moment I think of Miki, woken up by my screams of pleasure and think just how would I feel in her shoes, or under her pillow as it might be and I press my palms flat against his chest and push him back. Breathless, we sort of grin at one another and then his fingertips gently trace the line of my jaw before he kisses me again. This time a kiss I’m more what I’m used to from him, slow and tender, soft and sugary, less like a molten lava cake and more like a Pavlova.
“You were saying how you couldn’t stop thinking of me?” I tease, taking his hand and leading him to our second hand sofa, pressing him down into the throw pillows before cuddling up beside him, finding a comfortable spot in the circle of his arms, my head pressed to his shoulder.

“I guess I missed you,” he whispers somewhat breathlessly before turning my lips up to his again for another long, soft kiss that leaves me feeling pleasantly light headed.

“You guess?” I grin up at him, seeing the fire still in his eyes and, having had a taste of my fiery red-head, it makes me want to forget about Miki. I can always apologize in the morning. I mean, she is my best friend. She knows what I’ve been going through.

“No, I did miss you I just didn’t realize I would miss you this much,” he replies softly, brushing my hair off of my cheek while his blue eyes search mine. It’s the sweetest thing I think any guy has ever said to me, period, and any doubt I have about my ginger boy goes right out the door with it.

“Awww, Marc,” I whisper, my lips almost brushing his, “you could be missing me a lot more next time you go.” With our faces nearly touching it’s almost comical how wide his eyes get when I put all of my meaning into my gaze as my fingers run down his chest, loosening his tie, unbuttoning a button or two.

I hear him gulp, again an a comically audible sound as his fingers close around my wrists, making them seem tiny in his hands as he stops me before I get to another button. I look up at him, my eyelashes fluttering in my ‘who me?’ look to find him looking back at me, a little boy confused and scared.

Oh god, please don’t tell me he’s a virgin.

“Not that I don’t want…cuz I do,” he begins, swallowing loudly again while beads of perspiration break out along the bridge of his sharp Greek nose, “but uh…you have a roommate and uh…I have to get up early for practice and um,” I watch him take a quick glance down at my cleavage, and as my eyes follow his I see how my robe has slipped to the side, baring nearly everything. “Shit, it’s not like I’m a fag or anything,” he adds quickly, pushing himself up off of the sofa as he straightens his tie. No doubt that last comment is based on some good natured ribbing from his teammates or his brothers but there’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever as to his sexuality as I glance at his package, now pointing painfully in my direction.
Closing my eyes, I chase all the carnal thoughts filling my imagination to the back of my mind and get up to face him with what I hope is nothing more than a smile on my lips.

“Maybe we can have lunch, after practice? I can meet you somewhere?” I offer, reaching my hand out towards him, offering nothing more than a companion in his walk to my door. He nods, a little more quickly than necessary, and accepts my hand. His is clammy, sweaty, as his fingers lace with mine and I can’t help but think ‘how sweet’ and yet also ‘how high-school is this?’ He doesn’t utter a single word until my free hand is on the door and then he only turns to me, those big blue eyes of his full of pain, anger or is regret? It’s hard to say, but standing on tip toe, I kiss him, pressing my lips up against his hoping it will be something like a band aid, or maybe a bookmark, holding our place like a promise for next time.

This seems to ease something in him as I feel the fingers of his free hand brush my cheek so tenderly, and this time when my eyes flutter open to meet his, I’m sure all I see there is regret, and that, I tell myself, I can easily erase later.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I reiterate, squeezing his hand before opening the door and watching him slink away into the night.

So it’s another cold shower for me and I’m sure for him, I sigh as I lock the door again, my shoulders slumping in defeat. There is always tomorrow, as Annie would say, and tomorrow’s just a day away.

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