The Girl He Knows (17 page)

“Josie is getting married soon, right?” He scoops up a handful of popcorn.

Our legs are touching and he keeps brushing his hand against mine as he reaches for more popcorn.

“Yeah, in a few weeks. You used to work together, right?” I probe for a reason for his interest in Josie.

“Barely. She was leaving as I was just coming on. We maybe overlapped a few weeks.

I laugh at a campy, supposed to be scary, part in the movie. Seriously, who runs toward the dark, scary area and away from the light? Even bugs fly toward the light. It’s instinctive, except, apparently, in dumb girls.

I look at Jake and laugh. “These movies are the best.”

“May I kiss you?” He catches me unaware and lowers his lips to mine. It isn’t the best kiss of my life, rockets don’t go off, my heart doesn’t race, and the earth stays on its path. It’s pleasant enough. He’s not one of those guys who kisses like a lizard, flicking his tongue in and out. But the strongest reaction I muster is “eh.” He picks up speed, moving to my neck, right below my ear. This is my sweet spot, yet something about the way he teases it is annoying.

A nervous giggle escapes, and I press my lips together hoping to stop any more from getting out.

“Do you like it when I do this?” He tugs on my earlobe.

“Mmm.” I stifle another giggle and close my eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me how much you like it?” He nips my neck.

My eyes pop open. Uh-oh. I don’t do dirty talk
.
I close my eyes again and choose to ignore it, hoping to distract him by running my hands over his back.

Jake lowers me flat onto the couch and stretches out on top of me. He pulls my top from my shorts and makes quick work of the buttons, laying my shirt open.

He goes for my breast and asks, “Do you feel dirty, Paisley? Do you need me to clean you up?” He runs his tongue up my belly, starting at my navel, traveling to my neck. Little goose bumps cover me and not in excitement.

I must have tensed up because Jake stops to look at me.

“Are you OK?”

“Uhh, yeah.” I go for broke. “I’m inexperienced with the dirty-talk stuff and uh...a bit nervous. Could we ease our way into this?”

I smile and hope I don’t look terrified. I’m baffled how he can go from asking for permission for a kiss to dirty talk.

He pauses, his dark head bent in front of me, and shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

Nobody moves. The way he rests against me, pushing his weight into me, reminds me of Trevor and I’m taken aback by the sudden sense of a power struggle. It’s stupid but I don’t want to be perceived as prudish. Inexperienced but willing is one thing. Priggish is another. Frigid is what Trevor used to say and I sometimes wonder if he was right. Because I want to push Jake off me. Am I not being open-minded enough? Yet, my hands tremble and my knees twitch and not from the uncertainty that anticipation brings. This is rooted deeper in doubt and discomfort.

I don’t want to kiss him anymore. Honestly, I want to call it a night but he’s staring at my boobs as if he’s expecting them to do something and that makes me apprehensive. Jake is suddenly very unpredictable. How will he react if I push him off? Ask him to leave? I haven’t felt this vulnerable since Trevor.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

He doesn’t immediately answer. “I’m used to being with more experienced women. It’s refreshing to be with someone as innocent as you. You may lack imagination, but I can teach you how to please me.”

He smiles and unsnaps my bra, the whole time staring into my eyes. He moves his mouth to the side of my right boob and begins to suck it, still not breaking eye contact.

I don’t know what to do. I’m far past nervous and my mind races, muddling my thoughts. I don’t consider myself naive by any stretch of the imagination. I was married, for fuck’s sake. Isn’t there a purple plastic, albeit unused, penis in my dresser drawer? And he can teach me?

I hate myself for lacking the instant courage I need to force him off me. I close my eyes, trying to bank my fear and draw on my anger. His sucking begins to get uncomfortable. I arch toward him, hoping to ease the contact between his mouth and my breast.

“Jake.” I squirm as panic fills me. Jake digs his hands into my hips, pushes me back down, and he grinds himself against me. I try to steady my heart, control my trembling. My mind races, desperate to remember some sort of self-defense move Josie taught me that I could use against him.

He breaks free. I peek through my lids and see him coming in to kiss me. Any ounce of harlot in me has packed up and moved on, replaced by the Paisley I thought I left behind in my divorce. I’m seconds from a full-blown panic attack when his cell phone rings.

“Sorry, babe, I have to get this.” He sits up and reaches for his phone. I grasp my shirt and tug the two sides together, avoiding the glaring red mark on the swell of my breast. I button my shirt, not caring if the buttons line up or that my bra isn’t fastened. I roll off the couch and sidestep around him.

He reaches out and catches my legs, pulling me back to stand in front of him. I try not to shake and steady my breathing. My heart is pounding in my ears. The burning of his hands on my thigh holds my attention, making it impossible to focus on his conversation. My mind screams, asking me where’s my self-respect? But I have no answer, I’m a pliable shell of a person.

Jake disconnects the call and yanks me toward him. He buries his face in my stomach, nips at my flesh, looks up, and says, “I have to head out, girl. I’m sorry we were interrupted.”

I’m not.

I shrug as if there isn’t anything we can do about these things. He pushes me away, gets up, and gathers his keys, phone, and shoes.

“Can I take the beer?”

“Sure.” Take whatever you want. Just leave.

“I have to go to Ft. Lauderdale for at least a week. I’d love to see you when I get back.”

A lock of brown hair flops over his eyes, and he looks nothing like the guy I spent a fun day with, the one who asked for permission and seemed to take things slowly. He looks like the player Josie warned me about and worse.

“Um, it’s going to be hectic soon. I’ve Josie’s wedding and... I’m in the wedding, um, so I may be out of town.” My goal is to avoid a confrontation that could get ugly quick. Instinct tells me I’m no match for him.

“Oh yeah? Let me know what day and time and I’ll make sure I’m free to escort you.”

Did he just invite himself? It doesn’t matter. Just leave! I want to scream it at him. Leave already!

“We’ll talk about it when you get back,” I say. I’m such an idiot. I know I should say no, that I already have a date, or make up some other reason. The idea of spending the weekend out of town with Jake has absolutely no appeal. Shoot, spending any time alone with Jake has no further appeal. But I’m hoping once he’s gone I’ll have the advantage of distance to help me avoid the problem.

He gives me a kiss and leaves, oblivious to my unease. I bolt my door and go around checking the windows. I want to call Josie, but am too ashamed. Gigi? I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone, much less dial.

I start a hot shower and sit on the tub floor, letting the water wash over me until my skin is shriveled. I ignore the welt on my chest, even though common sense tells me I should put a cold pack on it. But, I can’t face it. I can’t face myself and my inactions.

When I was married to Trevor I used to stand up for myself, try to set limits but he always wore me down. Even a simple disagreement was exhausting. Tonight, I saw the same mannerisms in Jake, the desire to manage me. I’d thought I’d moved on from those days and that person I use to be and it’s a devastating crush to my soul to know that I haven’t entirely done so. I cover the welt with a baggy T-shirt and leggings, and climb in bed, where I channel surf for several hours until sheer exhaustion forces my eyes closed.

I need to accessorize my new bridesmaid gown and the best place in town to do is Jayne’s shop, the Daily Mirror.

I’m still unnerved from my incident with Jake. Every time I think about how I handled the situation, I get angry. I have a talent for finding fault with myself first, rather than assigning the responsibility to the person who deserves it. In this case, however, that person is me. The last time I was overcome with self-loathing because of another’s actions, I was with Trevor.

Jayne’s shop is always busy. Lots of people drive from all points around Florida to get her exclusive, European-style clothes. She carries both high-end and off-the-rack fashion. Jayne is incredibly talented with putting together outfits for every body type and accessorizing with a flair original to her.

I carry my shimmering navy blue gown in and wait for Jayne to get to me.

“Give me fifteen more minutes, love. Mrs. Anderson needs a little more reassurance.” She winks and moves into the area separated from the off the rack shoppers like me.

In the back private dressing area, Jayne offers her clients tea, coffee, or wine, and fresh scones. She also has a woman on hand to complete tailoring. Out front, we poor peasants are subjected to mints, Walker’s butter cookies, and our choice of water with lemon or cucumbers. Point is, it’s still water.

Stains must be avoided at every cost because, clearly, we spill things.

A classic eighties song comes on overhead, and I walk around the shop, trying on hats, scarves, and costume jewelry, singing along.

Jayne walks by and unwinds a lavender scarf off my head. “Go put your dress on, Paisley, and stay away from this shade of purple. It does nothing for your skin. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

I look at my eggplant tank top and grimace.

“Darker purples with blue tones are fine.” She walks into the back with an armful of clothes.

I move to the changing room with my gown. It’s a simple dress I like better than the original one we picked out. Strapless, with a sweetheart bust and tea-length, since it’s an afternoon wedding, the gown tightens right below my breasts and goes straight out in what Jayne would call a conservative A-line. The length makes me looks leggy. I hope Jayne can hook me up with the right shoes and jewelry. Maybe even suggest a hairstyle.

I slide the dress over my body and admire how well it fits. I may not have the most becoming of faces, unflattering hair, and pale skin, but I did inherit my mother’s fantastic legs and running keeps me lithe. It also keeps my boobs on the smaller side, and with the right garment I can go braless without flopping everywhere.

I try to zip it in the back, but I’m all elbows and keep bumping the stall walls. I wait for Jayne, holding it up until she’s free. I poke my head out of the dressing room and she’s there so I turn and let her work the zipper.

“This is quite lovely on you, Paisley.” Jayne stands back and studies the dress. Together we take in the shimmering navy blue with threads of silver running through it.

Peeking above the gown line is the red bruise.

Jayne raises an eyebrow and smiles to encourage me to spill the story.

I shake my head in disagreement. “It wasn’t like that, Jayne.”

“Oh please, you don’t have to be shy with me. It can be however you like.”

“No, really. It was a bit....” Jayne fusses with my hair, twisting it into various updos. I struggle to find the right word and shudder with the memory.

“What happened?” She brings me to a cozy seat and pushes me in it.

I wonder if I might get a scone. Jayne’s mother makes the best scones. I smooth the folds of the fabric, tracing a thread down the length of the dress. Better not get a scone. I’d probably get a stain on the dress.

“I don’t know what happened. One minute he’s trying to get me to talk dirty and the next he’s doing this.” I look at the angry red mark and cover it with my hand.

“Just tell Hank you don’t like it.”

“This wasn’t Hank.” He’d never do something like this without the girl’s explicit consent. I don’t want to tell Jayne it was Jake, afraid of the lecture she might give me. But I do anyway.

Jayne is quiet for a moment, and stands abruptly. “It sounds to me like you both have different sexual energy and you’ll have to come to a compromise before you go any further. If you want to go any further that is.” She leaves the room, comes back with a tray of scones, and holds them out to me for selection.

“Bless you, Jayne.” I bite into one full of cranberries as she spreads a napkin over my lap. “You may be right.” About the sexual-energy part, how we are on different wavelengths. Though I don’t see myself talking to Jake about it. There’s no possible compromise in our future. How do we meet halfway on this?

“Make sure you don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with in the future. Be honest with him and see where it takes you. Now, I bought some lovely silver sandals from Italy a few months ago and they’d be perfect with your dress.”

She vanishes into the back room and comes back a moment later carrying a small shoe box. She pulls open the lid and pulls out a shoe bag.

These must be some shoes, wrapped up better than Waterford crystal.

She slides the shoes out of the bag and I’m stunned. The silver of the shoes looks almost translucent and they sport a three-inch heel. Thin straps cross over the foot, swirling around to finish as they wrap around the ankle.

I “ooh” like Nana and my mother always do. The shoes are breathtaking.

“Try them on.” Jayne hands them to me.

I slide them on, stand, and feel like a princess. I walk to the full-length mirror and like what I see, minus the red mark. I’ll try to cover that with makeup if it isn’t gone in three weeks.

“OK.” I brace myself. “How much are they?”

“I’ll give them to you for a bit over cost.” She smiles, names the price, and I sway. They come pretty close to the cost of my dress, but since I didn’t paid for my dress and I’m in love with the shoes, I go ahead and buy them.

“Are you taking anyone to the wedding?” She rewraps them.

“Well, no. Jake volunteered. He’s not an option.”

She gives me a face to indicate she agrees.

“And there isn’t anyone who I could take up to Amelia Island anyway and spend the whole weekend with.”