Page 54 of I Love My Mistake

I pull away. He groans. I shoot him a look as I step away to hold onto the wall to steady my spinning head.

“Nicole.”

I don’t look at him for fear I’ll jump on him and rip his clothes off. “I love the way you say my name.”

He smiles and I can’t help but look over my shoulder to see it. He walks past me toward the door and says, “If you have plans tomorrow, cancel them.” He turns. “I want to spend the day with you. The night, too. We’ll go to Central Park and to dinner…and do anything else you want to do. I want the whole day.”

I lean on the wall, and smile. “Okay.”

“After one o’clock, that is,” he adds, holding his finger up.

I laugh. “What’s before one o’clock?”

“The meeting with potential investors.”

“Oh, right. Well, then after one o’clock, I am all yours.”

“I don’t want to leave.” He shakes his head, using a hell of a lot of will power to walk away. I follow him, my eyes scraping up and down his gorgeous body. His ass is to die for in those pants. He is killing me. He turns around and I look up. He smiles, catching me in the act, and reaches over to pull me to him again, passionately kissing me as he lifts me a little off the ground. I slide my fingers into his soft sandy-brown hair, pressing against him. This feels so good.

I groan against his lips, “No. I think you’re right. I want to wait, too. Why is this so hard?” and push him away, kick my feet to be let down.

“We’re idiots.” He sets me down and drags his feet the last couple steps. He opens the door and stands in the hallway, shaking his head at me. I lean on the open door, rest my head on it.

He points to my welcome mat. “I’ll meet you here – right here – at 1:30 p.m!”

“I’ll be here. Oh!” I run over to where I dropped my bag, pull out a card from my wallet/phone case and run back. “Here! Just in case you’re running late… or something happens.”

He takes it and gives it quick flick with his finger. “Deal.”

We look at each other for a tormented second. “Bye, Mark.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not saying goodbye to you.”

He walks away to the old elevator, still waiting on my floor. He throws me one last look and waves before the doors close. I don’t wave because already my imagination has gone places I don’t want it to. I close the door and go inside, trying to shut my brain off. “Stop it!” I say aloud, as I imagine him getting hit by a car, or running into that girl. All imagination leads to my never seeing him again and that being our last kiss. These are the types of thoughts that always come when I’m feeling happy.

I say aloud, “Don’t be stupid, Nicole. He’s going to be fine. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

But the fear feels very real.

I pace around and call out to my guardian angel. “I didn’t get the cigarettes, right? You owe me one! Go watch over him… okay?”

Only silence is my answer.

I look toward the paintings, thinking about his dream. How can that have happened? I look back up to the ceiling, desperately. “I’m serious. Make sure he’s here tomorrow. I can’t take another heartbreak so soon. Look at me! I’m chattering to myself, alone in my apartment.” I stare, waiting for a response I know will not come. Sighing and giving up, I’m surprised by a knock on the door.

He came back for more kisses!

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be able to turn him away if he wants more,” I mumble, excitedly running over to swing open the door.

Standing there with fire in his eyes, his strong jaw set firm, is the last person I would expect to see at my home. “Who was that?”

My heart stops. “What are you doing here? Were you following me, Michael?”

He pushes past me. “Close the door.”

I’m so shocked. I comply without argument. I follow him as he storms into my studio. He scans the place fast. His glare lands firmly on the two large piles of paintings, askew from Mark’s perusal. Michael marches to them and picks one painting up, then another, and another, until he’s devoured them all like a blind man who’s been given one day to see…but only one.

I’m silent as I watch. What does he think? Does he like them? Sweat sparkles on my forehead and in between my breasts. My chest is heaving from astonishment. I bring my palms together and subconsciously hold them in the prayer position, the tips of my fingers touching under my chin. Michael sets the last one down, looking straight at the wall in front of him. His voice is hoarse and pained. “Who was that guy you were with?”

---