Page 99 of I Love My Mistake

NICOLE

Chapter Forty-Five

With my head still on Michael’s chest, I stare at my phone. I don’t want to talk to her. I mute her persistency by hitting the volume button on the side, staring at her name in the silence until it finally disappears. My heart had jumped out of my chest when I heard the ring. I’d hoped it was Mark. How weird is that, considering where I am, and who I’m with? But I had hoped it anyway; that somehow he’d felt me make this choice and had reached out to stop me. He had the dream about my painting… maybe he’s somehow connected to me, telepathically? I sigh… wishing that were true. As the taxi speeds down narrow streets, I slide my hand onto Michael’s ribcage and shut my eyes tight. My heart has become slow hollow thuds, like a flat tire struggling to get to the shoulder of the road. Stop me, Mark. Why aren’t you stopping me?

Michael runs his fingers over mine until gooseflesh sprouts all over me. There is no denying he still has an insane effect on my body. I feel guilty about the moisture that’s been in my panties since I was sitting in that booth looking into his eyes, smelling the spicy musk of him, unable to resist loving it. I feel like I’m cheating. But that’s ridiculous. Mark’s probably met someone already. Lord knows he met me quickly enough after being dumped by Jess. The idea sizzles my brain flat. Stop thinking about him. Think about Michael.

“Michael?”

His fingers lightly trace mine. “Yeah?”

My voice breaks in the middle as I quietly ask, “Are you going to turn me away again?” The second I hear myself, I wish I’d kept quiet. I hate how insecure I sounded, how insecure I feel. Insecurity used to be my daily state of being when we shared the studio together. I was used to feeling off balance. It was normal for me. His talent so eclipsed my own, I couldn’t help it. Does it now? My mind speeds to scan memories of my recent work, organized in piles at home, some pieces framed already and waiting to go on the gallery walls.

Am I as good as Michael now?

His arm tightens around me. “Will I turn you away? No, Nic. Never again.” He looks out the window. If he were Mark, he would’ve kissed the top of my head. The thought kills me.

I give a small nod, and close my eyes again. Never again. Those are intense words and the truth is, they apply to everything that’s going on right now. Never again did I think I’d be with Michael Benitez. Never again did I think I’d set foot in his studio.

Never againwill I be with Mark.

I move away from Michael to the edge of the seat. He shifts his body around, surprised. Is the great Michael fidgeting behind me because he’s unsure of what to do? The idea gives me satisfaction. Welcome to my world. Now it’s your turn to feel unsure. My eyelashes flutter as I watch the world pass us by. We ride in silence, separated by miles of resentment.

After awhile he says my name in that slow way he does, drawing out the short, single syllable so that it sounds sensually beautiful. “Nic.” He pauses, waits to say more. I wait too, my heart picking up speed, but he doesn’t say anything else. Maybe he’s hoping for me to say something and ease the silence. Is that what he used to do? Open a door and wait for me to do all the walking through it? I can’t remember, so I stare at the buildings blurring past, and say nothing. This doesn’t feel right, being with him. I should be excited, but I’m angry. Not just a little angry, but down and dirty livid.

The taxi stops in front of his studio door. I stare at it. I haven’t been here since that night. My old paintings are inside. I can’t imagine looking at them. They’d seem like children’s finger paintings to me now. The door has a new scuffmark on it. I wonder where that came from? I’ve memorized that door. Staring at it on all those nights I was obsessed and infatuated. The bastard didn’t even know how much I loved him then. How much I lived for a look from him, and a bit of praise for my art. How much just being around his talent made me feel honored and special.

The seat moves. I don’t look but I know that behind me, Michael Benitez is angling to get money out of his pocket to pay the driver. What am I doing here with him? This man crushed me. This is my chance to run! I can escape. Now’s my chance.

I hurl myself out of the car and start running for the subway, fast.

“Nic!” Michael leaps out and runs after me, our feet thumping hard on the sidewalk. He catches up with me quickly, turns me around. I fight him, but he holds me strong. He searches my eyes, his own filled with hurt. “Stop it. What are you doing?”

I’m panting and trying to free myself, that’s what I’m doing. But all I say is, “I have to go!” as I look everywhere, except at him.

“Stop. Please look at me, Nic! Look at me!”

“NO! I can’t look at you, Michael! I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU!”

He wrestles against me. “You’re acting wild! Stop it!”

“Why?” I spit, anger forcing my eyes to his as I snarl at him. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You did this!” I yank free and stare at him, my chest heaving in fury.

He takes a step back and stiffens, shaking his head slowly. “I didn’t want to harden you.”

My eyes crystallize, chin jutting out defiantly. “An unexpected side-effect of your good work. God, I just want to….” I bring my hands up, but he protects himself and grabs them both.

“Woman, you are making me crazy!” he growls and leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. His eyelashes fall to my lips then flash back up. His breaths are short, just like mine. The electricity between us is incendiary madness. My veins pound with desire even as I want to run. A primitive need to wrap my legs around him takes over my senses.

I hiss at him, “Fucking kiss me already.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He smashes his lips to mine, sending waves of heat all over me. Our tongues lash together, out for blood. He backs me against a building, brings one of my arms up above my head and grabs my breast with his free hand. I moan and push my body into his. He hoarsely whispers my name as his lips work their way down my neck. Someone whistles loudly from across the street and Michael pushes off me to look at them sideways like an animal sending a dangerous warning.

“C’mon. We don’t need an audience.” Grabbing my hand, he rushes us to the studio. He jams his key in the lock and quickly opens the door. I yank my hand away from his and flash him a look as I pass him. Tossing my coat and bag on the floor with a thud, I ascend the stairs first. Instantly the familiar smell hurls itself into my nostrils and I’m taken back in time. Nervous anxiety pounds blood painfully into my temples. I have to steady myself as soon as I step into the room. My eyes dart around and I spot a pack of cigarettes on the table near a predictably half-empty, uncorked bottle of Syrah. Michael watches me from the top of the stairs as I head toward it. When I throw a look to him over my shoulder, I can see it plain as day, he can’t believe I’m really here. I’m having a hard time believing it myself. I snatch up the cigarette pack, wiggle out a stick and hold it to my lips, turn and lock onto his mesmerizing eyes.

“Light me.”

He doesn’t know I quit, and doesn’t think to ask. He strides over and picks up the lighter. Holding my stare, he raises the flame. I bend down, holding his look and he cups his hand around the fire. The taste of nicotine is as exactly as I remember it – nasty deliciousness. Just like Michael. I’d never put the two together before, but I’m doing it now. Hard not to see the connection. They both give me a deadly buzz, but fuck it. Who cares? Life is about doing crazy things you’ll remember when you’re old, right? Regret is a waste of time, I tell myself. Stop being such a prude. You have no one to be faithful to. You’re finally going to have sex with the man you’ve wanted, ever since you met him. I don’t want to hear the argument that raises itself in my mind, so I shut it down fast.

---