Connected (22 page)

He says the last part with disgust in his voice and I start to feel a little queasy. Never did I think my two worlds would collide like this. With my most apologetic tone and my eyes pleading forgiveness for my omission I say, “River, that wasn’t just some guy that was my boyfriend and I was afraid of what might happen between you and me, that’s why I left when I did.”

“
That’s fucking fantastic news to hear now. That wasn’t something you thought you should share then?”

My eyes start tearing up as I say, “It’s not like that, you don’t understand.”

He curls his lips into a sneer as the cab starts inching its way to nowhere. While gritting his teeth and looking at the floor he says, “Really, because I think I understand pretty well. You were out for fun and looking to have a good time.”

Raising his gaze to meet mine he continues with, “Do you have a boyfriend now?”

I flush, swallowing back my tears. I’m a little pissed myself now at his bitter reaction, so in a slightly clipped tone I answer, “No, Ben was my boyfriend but he died almost two years ago, and actually he was my fiancé.”

His eyes flash to mine and I see compassion and maybe a little bit of pain in them. He studies my face like he’s trying to bring back the last five years but doesn’t know how. “Is he the same guy? The boyfriend from the party and your fiancé?”

Trying to wash away my somber mood, I say, “Yes, Ben was my boyfriend since we were like five. Well not really but it seemed like it. We actually knew each other since we were five.”

“
Hmmm . . .” is all River says at first. Then after a few beats he looks at me. His eyes are a little softer, and he seems more understanding. And just like that, the charming man that seems to captivate me is back. “That explains a lot. Why . . .?” He doesn’t get to finish his question as the cab driver announces our arrival at the restaurant.

I put my hand on his knee. I’m a little shaken by our exchange but for some reason drawn even closer to him. I don’t know if we can recover from this and honestly I’m afraid to go too much further in case we can’t. “River, let’s just end this here.”

Taking my hand from his knee he lifts it to his mouth and lightly kisses it in the same way he has done before. My goosebumps return and I have to swallow a few times to get the huge lump out of my throat. Still holding onto my fingers, our hands now resting on his leg, he lifts my chin with his other hand and rubs his thumb over my lips. “Dahlia, stay and have dinner with me? You owe me that much for standing me up that night. Then let’s see what happens.” He says this very softly, almost like a whisper as he continues to run his thumb back and forth over my bottom lip. The cab driver gets out of the cab and opens my door. It’s a gesture I’m sure to move us along.

As resolutely as I can, I say, “Okay fine, dinner and then the interview.” But I know that’s not all I meant. It’s time to remove our masks to see if there is really something more between us, but in order to do this I have to get my emotions under control. This is easier said than done around River Wilde, especially because, as I get out of the cab, I can still feel the searing left behind on my lips from his touch.

HOLD MY HEART

How long until I see what you see

Until I see through your facade

Stop bringing me to my knees

And tell me you’re everything you say you are

And how long until I let you hold my heart.

There are some things I expected when I landed in Las Vegas this morning: casinos, alcohol, video gaming, slot machines, crap tables, neon lights, and even River Wilde. What I didn’t expect was the bitter exchange that just took place in the cab.

Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the elevator inside the large glass building. As we stand in silence, I take the opportunity to collect my thoughts as we rise the forty floors to the restaurant. First, he remembers me. Second, he is, was, I’m not sure, upset with me for leaving that night. Finally, he went to the Kappa Sigma party to look for his sister after leaving the USC Campus Bar and saw me with Ben.

The facts are easier to sort than the underlying feelings accompanying them. It’s my feelings I can’t seem to get a handle on. They are growing, almost intensifying with every word he says to me. And although I don’t really know him, this doesn’t dampen the unspoken truth that I feel more connected to him right now than any other living man.

These are the feelings driving me to stay here, to not walk away. But the biggest reason keeping me here is I actually get him. He’s mad right now, but what I see are his struggles between his emotions and his charm. I can see through his anger to his wounded pride at being jilted. I can also see a little hurt there too. The fact that I get him intrigues me, it captivates me, and makes me want him more.

Facts and unanswered questions are swirling in my head as I exit the elevator into the restaurant. We are hand in hand and I’m wondering how this can be real. Doubts start to cloud my reason. Is he on the up and up or is he trying to get me back for leaving that night? Is this all a game? If it’s not, can we put the past behind us? Can I tell him about Ben? What is his motivation in asking me to stay, while pushing me away at the same time? My doubts mix with my certainties, but what I’m most concerned about is why do I feel every time he looks at me he can see through to my soul?

I’m desperately trying to shut thoughts of Ben out of my mind, but for some reason the conversation keeps leading back to him. Not literally in terms of using his name, but figuratively in that all outcomes of this conversation lead to Ben.

As the hostess leads us to a secluded U-shaped booth, I notice the beautiful view of Las Vegas. Our booth faces the interior of the restaurant, and a wall of glass is to our right. Sliding into the booth, I turn to look out at the view and long for the tranquility it offers.

I stay very close to the edge of the booth, not allowing River access from my end. He smirks at me when I don’t move in but doesn’t say anything. He just nods as he gets in from the other end and sits down.

The restaurant is dimly lit, but there is an ominous glow coming from the candle in the center of the table and I swear from River too. As we sit in silence, I know he’s staring at me. I can feel it, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I shift my eyes down to study my menu.

When the waiter approaches, he asks what I would like to drink, and I order my trademark cocktail. “A filthy Grey Goose martini with extra olives, please.”

River orders a bottle of beer and starts chuckling.

Looking at him for the first time since we sat down, I ask, “What’s so funny?”

He’s staring at me, and my gaze shifts to meet his eyes as he says, “Filthy. That sounds really dirty and really hot.”

I smile coyly at him, but I don’t break our eye contact. I actually allow his stare; almost welcome it. I decide to join in the banter and ignore the sexual undertone of his statement. “I only drink three types of drinks.” Then holding one finger up in the air, I say, “Beer with ice.” Holding a second finger up in the air, I say, “Martinis.” And finally, holding a third finger up, I finish with, “And champagne, but only with a strawberry.”

Then smirking, I decide to go for it and throw a detail from our first meeting at him. Without any perk or animation I say, “And oh yeah, an occasional shot, but then you already knew that.”

Running his hands through his hair, he raises an eyebrow. “Yes I do. I remember that very well actually.”

And there it is again. A ménage of shuffled signals where words and body language aren’t always in sync, but emotions and body language seem to be oddly connected. With my mind and body having had enough of the chaos, I let it out. I just say it.

“
River, what kind of game are you playing? Is this your way of luring me in, because if it is, I’m not interested? I’m not a groupie!” I finally manage to say what’s been on my mind, and I feel relieved.

He moves toward the center of the booth. He’s inching his way closer to me, but he’s still a good distance away. Putting his fingers on the table, he starts tapping it. He looks at me intently and says, “Dahlia, I’m not playing any game. I’m just interested in you, and I know you’re not a groupie.”

His fingers stop tapping the table, and he reaches over to where my hand is clutching the hem of my skirt. He takes it and rests both of our hands on my leg, his over mine. I notice he hasn’t laced our fingers together though. He clears his throat before saying, “I’m just trying to figure that night out. Believe me, the facts are pretty clear, but it’s the whys I’m struggling with.”

River looks at me for a beat, dragging his tongue over his lower lip before continuing. “This is how I remember it. I was singing a gig at the USC Campus Bar. During a break I went to grab a beer. I met the most incredible girl whom I don’t think even knew that I sang in the band, but loved music. We seemed to hit it off. We did a couple of shots, drank a few drinks, and talked without any pretense. I asked her to wait for me after the show. She didn’t say anything about having a boyfriend or not sticking around and then when I finished she was gone.” With his eyes still piercing through me, he pauses as if waiting for a response even though he hasn’t asked a question.

The restaurant seems very quiet as I return his gaze and just nod my head in agreement. All the while knowing what he said is the truth and knowing what he hasn’t asked for is the answer.

Before River can continue, the waiter returns with our drinks and asks us if we’re ready to order. River asks him to give us a few minutes. Once the waiter leaves he raises his glass and out of politeness I do the same. “To beautiful days,” he says and clinks his glass to mine. I can’t help but smile that he remembers my concert t-shirt that I wore that night and the toast he made then, but this also infuriates me.

“
That’s what I mean!”

“
What?” he says, actually looking confused.