Blurred Lines (7 page)

RILEY

My life was a book. The chapters had been my experiences, and although I couldn’t alter the portion that had been written, I was prepared to change the tone of the book from the dramatic mess it had been to a love story with a happy ending.

“So what did you think? You enjoy riding?” he asked as he pulled the motorcycle into to the driveway.

“I loved it,” I responded. “It was much more fun than I expected.”

He flipped a switch beside his right hand and stopped the engine. Feeling a slight bit awkward sitting on the back of the motorcycle and gripping his waist in my hands with the engine off and the motorcycle stationary in the driveway, I released my grip and stared down at my empty hands. I leaned forward until my chin touched the back of his shoulder.

“You want to come in?” I asked.

“I should probably get home. Busy day tomorrow,” he responded as he leaned over the left side of the motorcycle.

After he lowered the kickstand, I got off the motorcycle and turned to face him. He relaxed into the seat and rubbed his hands together as frantically as he had in the tattoo shop. As he shifted his eyes from the porch to me and around the yard, his hands never stopped moving. I decided as I watched him that it was a nervous habit, and something about being around me and not having an agenda made him nervous.

“Well…” he began as he turned his head to face me.

“Just for a little bit?” I asked.

His hands stopped moving and he clenched his right hand into a fist. As he raised his hand to his mouth, he exhaled and glanced toward the porch.

While he gazed blankly at the porch, I realized Blake was truthfully only the second man I had spent time with in my adult life; or at least time alone with. Although I had spent my entire life in the presence of a man, that man had been Stephen, and I had no experience beyond him. Being with Blake and doing nothing to speak of was more enjoyable than being with Stephen and doing anything. With Blake, for whatever reason, I felt I was able to relax. Maybe it was that he didn’t question me, make demands of me, or require an explanation of my whereabouts while he was at work.

In the time we had spent at the coffee shop I realized I had no idea who I really was or what I enjoyed doing with a man. If someone were to ask me the question, I couldn’t accurately respond. Being in Blake’s presence was simple and required very little on my part. He seemed satisfied with me, my actions, and my responses to his simple questions. Even though I understood any man who was attentive to my needs would probably be perceived as being worthy of reciprocation on my part, Blake was different.

Or at least I told myself so.

He seemed mysterious to me. In hindsight, it was quite possible anyone would have seemed to be a mystery; but at the time, I was convinced Blake was someone I needed to figure out, and doing so appeared to consume me. The mysterious element combined with his expressed interest in me and his handsome looks were all I needed to convince myself prying further into his life was what I needed to do with all of my available time. And, as I was living off of Stephen’s money and didn’t have a job, time was something I had plenty of.

“Maybe like ten minutes,” he responded as he lowered his hand.

For me to hide my excitement was impossible.

“Ten minutes is great,” I said excitedly.

Without warning or excuse, I began walking toward the porch. After stepping onto the first step, I paused and turned toward the driveway. Blake was still sitting on his motorcycle. Once again rubbing his hands together, but much less aggressively this time, he gazed in my direction.

He seemed confused.

Based on what I was able to see, and only on what I was able to see, I would have expected Blake to be an aggressive man who possessed a take-charge attitude. He sat nervously on his motorcycle as proof that judging someone based on their looks alone wasn’t an intelligent decision. His appearance made him attractive to me, but his many nervous actions and uncertainty of how to proceed made him even more so.

“Come on, the clock’s ticking away,” I said playfully.

He stepped off of the bike and glanced around the yard.

“Nice place,” he said as he slowly walked up the drive.

“Thanks, I’m just leasing it,” I responded.

“Still pretty nice,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said as I stood on the bottom step and waited for him.

As I reached into my pocket and fished for my keys, he stood on the back side of the porch, as far away from me as he was physically able. After opening the door and stepping inside, I waited as he glanced around at his surroundings and proceeded to slowly walk into the house. After raking his fingers through his hair, he peered into the living room and seemed to survey the furniture.

“Where do you want me to sit?” he asked.

I waved my hand toward the living room. “Wherever, it doesn’t matter.”

His eyes shifted nervously around the room. “Are we going to sit together?”

“If you want,” I said.

“I wasn’t sure,” he shrugged.

“I mean, if you want to, I’d like to,” I said.

“You want something to drink?” I asked.

“I’m good,” he responded as he stepped in front of the couch.

I walked past him, sat on the far side of the couch, and patted the cushion beside me. “Sit down, I promise, I won’t bite.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said as he sat down a few feet from me.

“I was just joking. So, what are your policies about your clients? You know, like hanging out with your clients?” I asked.

As soon as I spoke, I felt like maybe I should have waited to ask the question. As I sat feeling somewhat foolish for blurting it out without much thought, he responded.

He shook his head. “No policies about that.”

“So, we’re good?” I asked.

He nodded his head as he crossed his legs. “Yeah, we’re good.”

I twisted to the side and turned to face him. “You remember I told you’d I’d only been with one guy in my life?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he responded as he uncrossed his legs and pressed the palms of his hands onto his thighs.

“Well, just so you know, I’m nervous,” I said, even though for some reason I wasn’t.

He turned to face me, crossed his legs again, and folded his arms in front of his chest. I glanced at his tattooed knuckles, held my gaze for a moment, and shifted my eyes upward slightly, trying not to focus directly on his face, but well beyond him.

I felt a need to make Blake comfortable, as he was obviously uncomfortable, and was expressing it outwardly. I was sure he was no newcomer to being in the presence of women, and I wondered if my lack of experience with men was exactly what might have been making him uncomfortable, or if it was my age. Although I felt immature at times with Stephen, I felt in the short time I had been away from him I had matured considerably, and was now equal to or beyond other women my age in regard to my level of maturity.

After an extended period of silence, the majority of which I spent gazing at my faux fern and a book case full of books I hadn’t read, I shifted my eyes to Blake and decided my repeated explanations of only being with one man were more than likely the driving force of his nervous behavior.

In short, I suspected he didn’t know how to proceed with me for fear of causing
me
to feel uncomfortable.

“It shows,” he responded.

I leaned into the arm of the couch and widened my eyes slightly.

“Does it?” I asked.

He nodded his head. “Your body language.”

Although I took exception to his statement, I said nothing. After a short pause, I opted to change the subject slightly.

“You know, I like being around you. Even though I may act nervous, you make me feel comfortable. It’s nice being around someone who doesn’t demand things of me or push me around. I just might get used to this if you’re not careful,” I said.

He uncrossed his legs and turned to face me. “Oh really? Get used to it, huh?”

I nodded my head and grinned. He glanced down at the cushion between us.

He intertwined his fingers and cracked his knuckles. After inhaling a slow breath through his nose, he exhaled and glanced upward.

“Wait. Push you around, what do you mean?” he asked. 

“My ex, he used to get kind of rough with me sometimes,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, he was just a mean person.”

“Well, what do you mean? Define rough,” he said.

I shrugged again and considered what to tell him. After a short moment, I decided there was no harm in telling him the truth.

“Well, I already told you we got together when I was young,” I paused, exhaled, and adjusted my position on the couch.

“He uhhm. After a year or so, he’d get mad at me and shove me or slap me, and he…”

He uncrossed his arms and his eyes went wide.

“He’d slap you?” he asked.

I nodded my head.

He stood from his seat and faced the far wall. After a moment, he turned around and glared down at me.

“Seriously?” he asked.

I thought I had already shared my stories of Stephen’s violent behavior with Blake when I was at the tattoo parlor. Based on his reaction, it was apparent I had not. I fixed my eyes on his, pursed my lips, and nodded my head.

“I don’t like that. Not at all,” he said.

“I didn’t like it either. That’s why I left,” I responded.

He lowered himself onto the couch, this time right beside me with his leg almost touching mine. I glanced at his leg, making note of his close proximity, and he immediately began to reposition himself. I placed my hand on his thigh, leaned to the side, and as awkward as it seemed doing so, kissed him lightly on the lips. Although it was apparent by his expression the kiss caught him off guard, I continued. I kissed him again, this time fully on the lips and with a little more aggression.

He kissed me in return, and after a few seconds, the awkwardness of it all diminished. Almost immediately, we were making out on the couch like a couple of prepubescent unknowing teens. The excitement of it all was beyond what I would have imagined, and far more than I expected kissing anyone would ever be. Be it the fact I initiated it, or because it was with someone I really enjoyed spending time with, I didn’t know nor did I care. At that moment, kissing Blake was more satisfying than anything I could ever remember experiencing. As we continued, his hands eventually found their resting place, one on my waist, and one on my right bicep.

When I was young, I was an avid movie watcher, and always chose a romance over any other movie.
Love Actually, The Notebook, The Proposal, When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, Dear John
, and
Say Anything
were among my favorites. After countless movies and much anticipation, I expected my first kiss to resemble what the movies depicted. I was surprised to find that, at least for me, kissing wasn’t as enjoyable in person as it was expressed in the movies.

Until now.

Kissing Blake was something completely different. With my head spinning and my mind grasping at the new sensation and attempting to identify it, I continued to kiss him, not wanting the newfound pleasure to stop. As my stomach began to swirl in circles from the escalating sexual tension, I reluctantly paused for a much needed breath.

As out lips parted, I glanced down and into his lap. His excitement was apparent, as his cock had his jeans stretched to a point of ripping through the denim if we continued. It was pretty obvious he was well-endowed, and after my having caught a glimpse of his level of arousal, I decided to let him know my thoughts.

I was so far beyond being sexually aroused that I really would have had a difficult time explaining to anyone other than myself how I felt. Sometimes, I decided, actions are better than the spoken word. I leaned forward, pressed my lips to his, and reached for the denim tent he was pitching. As soon as my hand encompassed his swollen rod, I squeezed lightly, and he instantly jumped from the couch.

“I really need to get,” he said as he jumped up.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

. “No, I need to go check the shop. You know, lock the door,” he said as he pressed the heel of his palm against his crotch.

I gazed down at his feet. “I’m sorry if I…”

“No,” he said as he shook his head from side-to-side. “I just need to get.”

“Okay,” I said as I stood from the couch.

Regardless of his reason, I felt like an idiot.

“Are you sure…”

He raised his hand in the air and shook his head.

“I enjoyed it,” he said.

He leaned forward, kissed me lightly, and turned toward the door.