It's Got A Ring To It (12 page)

Yet, it wasn’t a date. It was
me
,
desperately deluding myself into thinking it was something more. But what if it
could
be much more than I
allowed it to become? Was I standing in my own way? Just the thought gave me
uninhibited courage. Without detaching our lips, I whisked him away to the side
of the house where I could continue ravishing him.

Just as quickly, he took control and expertly twirled me against the
house. My body melted under the heat of his lips as they found their way to the
nape of my neck. The same place that made him jolt earlier sent fire blazing to
every inch of my skin. Moans seeped out into the open air. Telling sounds.
Whimpers of need and desire.
Calls of our bodies’ untamed,
unrelenting cravings.

“
Laila
,” he whispered into my décolletage,
now openly displayed for his feasting eyes and mouth.

It all sounded like gibberish. I only understood body language at
that point. My mind idled, incapacitated, along with the feeling in my knees.
Glancing down toward them, I realized that they’d weakened. Myles was
supporting my wilted body. “Myles,” I moaned as he lifted me up, tilting my
hips toward him. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I could feel his rigid hard
length pushing through, so I squeezed a little tighter.

Temptation had gotten the best of me. Rhythmically, my body simulated
what I wanted to do. Needed. In the shadows between the house of my childhood
home and Mrs.
Parsons’
s
house
, the cat-hoarder, I was practically
begging a stranger to fuck me on faux grass
—
thank
G
od they never went for the desert landscape.

At some point in my haze, I remembered throwing my cute pale blue
V-neck
to the ground because
Myles’ voracious mouth was the only thing covering my shirtless body. Horny,
couldn’t quite sum up the mind-blowing sensation coursing through my veins.
“Lay me down,” I mouthed into his ear. Obediently, he obliged as he squared me
to the ground. It had nothing to do with embarrassment, as much as need to end
my longstanding drought. In fact, my regret was wearing skinny jeans to cover
up my unshaven legs.

In record time, I’d unbuttoned my jeans and unfastened his, rushing
for his zipper before I exploded from want. My searching hands found him,
sending a sensation through his body. Myles’ eyes closed and a moan of
satisfaction rumbled over me. The desire was mutual. It was too late for tact,
so
I
didn’t
hesitate to release him from his pants and angle him toward my accepting body.

“
Laila
, are you sure you want to do this? I
really like you and I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

My
core
and
my heart screamed a resounding Yes I want to do this, but my brain sided with
Myles. No matter how good it would feel
—
and I knew it would
—
after
,
I’d beat myself up
for not waiting. Then, the expectations would absolutely follow.

“I do…but
…
”
B
ut I didn’t know what
the
but
was. All I did know was that there
should have been
a but
, given that we’d only just met.

“That’s all you have to say
.
”
H
e began to
stand,
as I pulled him back down to me and
kissed him deeply.

“Myles, I want you.”

“And you can have me whenever you want me. It doesn’t have to be
right now.”
He l
ook
ed
me straight in the eyes
to ensure he had my undivided
attention,
it was
torturing him, too. “
Laila
, when we do share each
other’s bodies, and we will as long as you want me, I want you to have no
questions, regrets, or doubts about it. I want you to
know
that it’s right and feel like it was passionate lovemaking,
instead of a lust-filled mistake.”

Defeated with my throbbing body still craving his, there was nothing
more to say.

Silently, we fastened our pants and he straightened his blazer. On my
own two feet again, I worked to put my
T
-shirt back on.

“Just a second.” He took me in his arms once more to kiss me,
then
took my bosom into his mouth for one last quench of his
hunger. Holding one finger up, he looked at me appreciatively. With both hands
,
he caressed me downward
upon my curves from my torso to my waist to my hips, slowly in the motion of an
hourglass
. Feeling
modest again, I winced away to put my shirt on.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you’re so beautiful. Do you have you any clue
just how gorgeous you are
?
H
ow perfect you are?”

When I said nothing, he centered me with his eyes to make me aware.

“
Laila
, I don’t know how I got so lucky to
be here with you tonight. Not, as lucky as I would’ve liked to
.
”
H
e laughed at the magnitude of willpower he’d
displayed
.
“
B
ut, I really do feel like I
must have done something right with God, to be here with you tonight.”

Brushing my lips softly against his was the only thing I could think
to show my appreciation. With his words, he’d lifted my spirit
,
heart
,
and slightly
reinflated
my ego from the years of self-doubt.

Fully dressed, I checked and rechecked my clothes to make sure I
wasn’t completely disheveled. “How do I look?”

“Like you almost had sex with your sister’s wedding photographer,” he
joked.

“Be serious.”

“You look fine. Listen
,
Laila
, before we
go in, I wanted to ask you what you
think
about maybe having coffee with me
sometime.”

“Well, you’ve already seen me half-naked, so…”
I
smil
ed deviously
,
as I enjoyed
giving him a hard time. “In all
seriousness, Myles, you don’t owe me anything. Please don’t feel obligated to
try to turn this into something. I’m not naïve to think that you’re not seeing
other women. I don’t expect that you’ll stop seeing them on account that we had
one exhilarating night together in the shadows.”
You do have a concert with some eagerly anticipating woman tomorrow
night
.

“Uh, I was thinking we could talk about the photos for Lena’s
wedding, but we both know how you like to make assumptions,” he said sounding
like he was kidding, with a little too much truth behind it.

Embarrassed and
feeling
guilty again, I nodded in agreement. “Oh. Ok
ay
that sounds fine.” With my head a little
lower
, I said,
“Coffee
it is.”

“Just pulling your leg, don’t give me that sad face.”
     
With a peck on
the cheek, we headed back into Mom’s, who was expertly perched upon her
favorite chair, heavily involved with a book, that from upside down, I could
read was John Grisham’s,
The Innocent
Man.
Ironically, I knew she was neither a man, nor innocent. By her
flustered intensity and agitated breathing, she had definitely been up to no
good. Darting my eyes toward the window in the formal dining room, I noticed
that the never out of place curtains were as tousled as her hair.

Red with mortification, I thought about the window that faces Mr
s
.
Parsons’
s
house.
I glanced
back at Mom as her
eyes followed my line of vision. I prayed she had the decency not to watch
everything
.

Planted in my thoughts, I nearly jumped at her words when she
addressed Myles. “Given your smiles, I trust you were able to help my stubborn
daughter come to a meeting of the minds?”

“Stubborn as a bull on the outside, but all putty once you get to
know her,” he jested playfully.

“Well then, what have you decided for our Lena’s wedding
photography?” As sly as a fox, she toyed with poor Myles, who struggled
for a
feasible answer. He
wasn’t privy to my mother as the expert manipulator, only the sweet lady from
the post office.

Eying Myles,
I
said,
“
A
ctually
,
Mom, we decided to meet
for coffee to really narrow the options and compare our notes of what would be
best for Lena. I’m completely booked tomorrow, but Saturday afternoon, I’m
available. Work for you
,
Myles?”

“I’m putting it in my phone right now. Lena and Sam Carter Wedding.
Coffee with
maid
of honor
,
Laila
Smart.
Coffee Bean and
Tea Leaf on West Charleston.
One
p.m.” Taking the cue, he keyed with exaggerated purpose. “There. It’s in
the phone and now it’s set in stone.”

“Myles, you can be so corny sometimes.” I laughed at his rhyming
skills.

“Well, I’ve got a lot of preparations to get started on for our
appointment Saturday, so I better get going
.
”
H
e fumbled
as he
gather
ed
his portfolio and photo books. In the
manner of a gentleman, he gave a quick kiss to Mom’s hand and shouted a polite
good
-
bye to my father.
And though I thought he’d be just as professional with me in front of Mom, he
spared no passion as he gently touche
d
his lips to mine a minute too long for us
to hide behind the façade of solely a newfound friendship. “I’ll see you
Saturday.”

Lazily, my eyes opened in time to see him out the door. But before I
had time to recompose myself and stabilize the beating of my heart, the weight
of Mom’s stare was heavy upon me. A knowing smile crossed her face and I was
prepping for the brunt of what I had coming, but she only muttered, “I won’t
say a word.”

Most of the time, I don’t want to hear anything she has to say, nor
any of her speculations of how this guy might be the one. But, after that kiss.
After Myles, I was dying to get her take on the two of us. How cute we looked
together. How it must’ve been kismet that we had the phone
number
mix-up. Would it have killed her to
oblige me and tell me what findings her sneaky snooping revealed? The whole
night had been so surreal. I needed another person’s perspective for it to be
real.
Or, at least to pinch me.

TWELVE

Curse the
Fine Line
.

Well, not them personally, but their songs. They were in town and
every radio station was playing them back
-
to
-
back. Which, on any other occasion would
have been fine. But the fact that Myles, not so casually mentioned that he’d be
at their concert, made it a constant reminder that he was going with a woman,
who wasn’t me.

It wasn’t as if we were an item or anything, so I had no right to be
jealous. But Fridays had always been date night for Ethan and me, so all I
could think about was
Myles
and
me
having dinner or walking
T
he Strip like tourists,
having fun and getting to know each other, the right way. But that wouldn’t
happen as long as he was out with that hussy.

Rather than dwell on the depressing reality, I tried my luck at music
again. Pandora wasn’t much relief either, so it was back to the old fail
-
safe, CDs. My collection
was rather extensive. I refused to give it up mostly on principle, but it also
felt nice to have something tangible. Change never was something that came
naturally to me. It always came back to tradition and loyalty. Nevertheless, I
opted for the classic sounds of Michael
Bubl
è
. As he crooned
“
Everything
”
through
the speakers in my bathroom, I put on my prettiest, buttercup yellow summer
dress with comfy gold ballet flats. I knew it was all superficial and
psychological, but my mood lifted instantly.

It wasn’t even eight yet, and I’d already knocked a few things off my
to-do list.
I grabbed
the bullet-pointed
P
ost-it
from
my desk and
placed
a check
mark
next to each of them.
Marketing updates. Check. Confirm pending candy orders with tracking numbers.
Check. Despite the unfinished website, online sales had already taken off and
the doors weren’t even open yet. Work on website. Check. Finish up second batch
of assorted candy sample bags.

Against the wall next to my desk were a few bags without ribbons and
business cards. With my own sweet tooth, it took sheer willpower not to devour
them. Cherry sours.
Licorice and lollipops.
Cinnamon
bears, lemon drops, orange slices, and chocolate galore. My weakness has always
been chocolate.
Milk,
dark, white, it d
idn’t
matter.
Sweet goodness either way.
But they were for potential
vendors, I reminded myself as I sealed another bag and laced it with a bow.
Business first.

I was pumped. Things were getting done and the progress was finally
visible. The shop only needed a few finishing touches. Everything was falling
into place, except for the cookie
-
cutter website. I had the domain name, the
hosting services, and the e-commerce button
s
, but that was the extent to what I’d done.
Call me creative, but technologically savvy, no. My engine had long since
stalled once I got past the excitement of conjuring up the concept. Rather than
finish what I’d started, I
switched
to
something else. Anything as important as overhauling my entire closet
in the name of
s
pring
cleaning to stocking up on supplies for which I hadn’t actually found a
functional or aesthetic use. Really, any viable excuse would do. The day
before, it was kissing a beautiful stranger and today, the sun.

Beaming in on me, it called, whispering enticingly to grab a good
book and a drink, preferably alcoholic despite the hour. “Unwind,” it said,
“while I spray on your
summer
bronze and wash away the tolls of
winter
.” Images of long white sand beaches
with a hammock and surrounding ocean waves came to mind. P
i
ñ
a coladas. Reading until I’m lulled to sleep by warm
breezes. But, it
was
Vegas.

Substitute the beach, and the sun and the book would have to suffice.
The tower of books lining the walls of my home office stared me down. I was in
the mood for a happy ending, even if it wouldn’t be mine. As I scanned the
romance section, the Outlook calendar on my computer popped up with a reminder.

I had no plans. I’d purposely left the day open for a little down
time. What could I have forgotten? Moving with purpose, I clicked on the
reminder to open the details of the appointment. Instantly, rainclouds shaded
my sunny day.
A dark omen.
Jury Duty.

“Shit! What time is it?” I yelled at the computer, for daring to be
the bearer of bad news.

Flashing back at me, the clock read five past eight. Twenty-five
minutes to drive all the way downtown and find
legal
parking. Quickly, I swapped the sundress for jeans and a
long-sleeve shirt and grabbed a jacket. Despite the hundred plus degree
summer
outdoors, the AC
would likely be blasting inside. Without looking, I snagged an orange and the
first pink book that caught my eye. Armed with empty hopes for a case
dismissal, I was out the door with fifteen minutes to spare.

By the time I exited the southbound 95
freeway
onto Casino Center, I narrowly escaped a
n
accident and a couple speeding tickets.
Five minutes left. Slyly, I parked in an office building lot adjacent to the
courthouse. Not so much running, but sprinting, I made it to the front door and
thanks to my timeliness, whisked through the unusually empty security line.
Noticing that the officers on duty looked
very
bored, I thought of a mutually
beneficial use for the one with a bare ring finger.

With
every ounce of charisma and charm in me, I cunningly asked the guard
where I needed to be.
A
personal escort would be the only thing to
save me. The sands of the
hourglass
ran out, but the plan worked. However, brief our walk may have been, Officer
Daniels, as his nametag read, had been charmed nonetheless. As he escorted me
to the holding room, he handed me his card and authoritatively instructed me to
call anytime I needed
anything
.
The words dripped with innuendo like hot wax. Digging into my purse, I handed
him one of my freshly cut business cards, loaded with the same instructions
along with a wink and a smile for effect.

The room was cramped. Every seat taken and people lined the walls,
awaiting the selection process. The stench of people from all walks of life
meeting reflected on upturned noses, tightly gripped handbags, and the din of
foreign languages rambling in succession. The DMV and courthouse
were
the two places where
people
,
who would never
intermix under normal circumstances,
were
required to do so for long spurts of
time. I hadn’t a clue where I fit. I wasn’t covered with dirt from work on some
sprouting construction site, nor was I rolling in the dough.

The looks darting at me were not the same, though similar to the ones
I’d received at Della
Vite
. Not warm and welcoming,
just searching.
Some for recognition.
Others for a connection.
Though most were calculating my
worth. What category or clique, like high school. In there, I didn’t know who
were the cool kids or misfits, but I usually found my niche somewhere in the
middle between the geeks, the drama freaks, and the jaded hybrid
hippie-yuppies. Most days, it was casually professional, but that day, I
could’ve pulled off the hometown college student, clad with the Rebel red of my
alma mater. But, like high school, most would likely loathe me for the fact
that I could care less what they think.

With the next name called, everyone paused on edge. Not for the
selection process, but for open seats. Really it was a grown
-
up version of musical chairs
and the slowest people missed out.
Then, movement.
A
lady with graying hair, a long tan cardigan tied at the waist, and matching
orthopedic shoes, twitched. I jumped at the chance to do my good deed. “Ma’am,
may I help you to your feet?”

“Oh dear. Thank you so much. These old bones don’t move like they
used to.” She smiled, revealing the lines of a full life. Mostly laugh lines, I
could tell by the smile that lit up her face.

 
“No problem.”

She smelled of sweet pastries and the settled scent that only comes
with years gone by. Besides a few frayed ends and mended snags, her sweater
showed no signs of its age. But, I knew it was her favorite. Not because it was
so stylish or beautiful, but there was something sentimental about it. My mind
drifted to images of a mother she’d likely lost in her younger years, knitting
it with care. She probably lost so many loved ones.

Careful of her sweater, I gently helped her to her feet. I angled
myself between her and the chair to stake my claim. “Will you be okay, now?”

“Yes
,
dear.
Thanks again.” As she turned to go about her way, I lowered myself to the seat.
Then, she looked back. “Most people wouldn’t take the time to help someone
else. You have a good heart and I’ll pray for many blessings for you, though I
know they’re on their way.”

“Thank you,” I said, tasting the truth in her words. It was something
about the way she said it that made me think she knew something I didn’t.
Maybe, if you g
ot
close
enough to heaven, you hear
d
the angels talking.

I might’ve felt guilty for letting her seat be my ulterior motive,
but when I looked around, she
was
right. Not one person in the jam-packed room even moved an inch to
help her. Not even the people seated beside her. With a clear conscience, I
comfortably settled in for the long haul. Names were called alphabetically. It
would be a while before S.

I picked the right book. Helena has already fallen in love with
Giovanni within her first week studying abroad. She had no clue that the new
money of her working
-
class
family would stand between her and the love of her life. But Giovanni had just
renounced his long lineage of wealth and privileged circumstance upon the thro
ne
, when I felt the weight
of someone’s eyes upon me.

They were only on the
Ms
, so I hadn’t
missed my name.
A
once-over around the room revealed
nothing. Then, a sophisticated young woman in the corner caught my eye. There
was something familiar about her, though I couldn’t quite place her. Not
wanting to be obvious, I
glanced
back down at my book and then peered up slightly. Her vision was locked on me.
Glancing side to side, neither
person
beside me
was aware or
looking back at her. Balling up the gumption, I decided to ante up for the
staring game—as did she.

Dramatically, I closed my book for added effect to make sure she knew
I was ready to take her on with undivided attention. Eyebrow raised,
questioning her,
now what?
In
response, not one
blink
. She’s good.

At first I thought I might be overreacting, she could be blind. But
the reading glasses daintily hanging from her pale pink cashmere cardigan
beneath freshwater pearls, gave her away. Since we were staring, I figured I
might as well take note. She’s pretty, but in an understated, refined way.
Very much concerned with being prim and classy.
Her decadent
chocolate brown locks were evenly cut at the shoulder and neatly tucked behind
her ears, which were adorned with matching pearl studs. A smile had yet to
cross her face, though she exuded a sort of confidence that indicated she was
well-kept
.
Beneath her delicate wrist, an
Italian leather handbag likely from some highly sought-after
designer
.

As
well-kept
as she appeared, something
didn’t fit. There should’ve been a rock on her finger that could illuminate the
entire
room,
instead there
was
only the
light tan strip
where one used to be.

As I was, I knew she too was taking notes. Still, the way she stared
at me
was a searching
look of recognition. She knew me, but I didn’t know her.
But
how?
For the next few minutes, our stares were filled with intent. Then
she mouthed something to me.

For the life of me, I couldn’t unscramble the words. From the
distance across the room, it looked
as if
she was saying, “who can react now.
”
As if I knew what that
was
supposed to mean. Still, I just stared
back at her with upturned eyebrows.

Again, she mouthed the same thing, but in trying to decipher her
gibberish, the bigmouth
ed
bailiff called out a few more names to be questioned for the selection process,
including me. Apparently, following the alphabet was no longer an issue, as
they’re all over the place with the names. The bailiff kept calling names. At
the sound of the name to which she stood, the same sting of recognition went
off in me.
Catherine Hutchins
.