Page 90 of I Won't Be In On Monday

I spin her around, and we chassed into the living room. "Hey, Google," I say. "Play Frank Sinatra." Within seconds, “Strangers in the Night,” one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs, starts playing, and I sing along in her ear as I press her body towards mine, and we dance. She doesn't say a word, and neither do I,aside from the lyrics to the song. The next song starts playing, and I grab her hands and pull her closer to me. I stare into her azure eyes, and then I kiss her lightly. Her lashes brush against my cheeks, and I feel the delicate touch of her skin against mine.

"This feels like magic," she says, and I nod because I agree. I grab the back of her head and kiss her hard. She kisses me passionately, and I can feel her heart racing. I spin her around so that her back is pressed into me. My hands go around her waist and up so that they're cupping the underbelly of her breasts. Her hands come up and hold mine, and I kiss the side of her neck. She's breathing rapidly now. I'm hard, and I want her to know just how much she affects me. I push myself into her so that she can feel my rigid length behind her, and she gasps.

"Someone's excited to see me," she says, and the words make me laugh. I can see her smiling. "Are you sure that we shouldn't go into your bedroom?" she whispers. "I don't want to wake Canyon."

"I'm sure," I say softly. "Once she goes to bed, she's normally fast asleep."

"Oh, that's good," she says idly. And I know that she's just trying to play for time. We're both trying to play for time.

"I don't want this moment to end," I say.

"Me either," she whispers back. I run my fingers across her stomach, and she squeezes my hands.

"Tell me a story," she says, standing there as an Ella Fitzgerald song starts playing.

"What do you want me to tell you a story about?"

"I don't know... any story."

I stand there for a couple of moments, trying to encapsulate what I'm feeling. "There was once a man," I say, "looking around my luxurious living room, staring out at the tall buildings with the glittering lights, staring at the wine bottle and thewineglasses, my leather couch, my Persian rug, all the small things that made up my home but didn't make it homey.

"There was a man," I say again. "He lived in a big city and thought he had everything. He had the job of his dreams, the apartment of everyone's dreams. He had enough money in the bank to feed a small country for several years. He had beautiful women who hung on to his every word and who he could take to dinner, lunch, breakfast, whatever, yet he wasn't happy. He wasn't sad, but he wasn't living. And then one day, along came this woman, sweet, innocent, beguiling, quiet, and she crept into his life unnoticed at first. She was like a butterfly fluttering around, beautiful to see, but never standing still long enough for him to truly appreciate everything that she was.

"And then one day, the butterfly stopped on a leaf, and the man was walking in the garden and stopped to look at the leaf. He studied her wings and beautiful colors, then she started fluttering around again, going further into the garden. And this time he didn't just watch her fly away. He followed her until he came to a waterfall and Eden. And there she stopped again, and he realized that the life he'd been living was not the life that he wanted or the life he craved. He wasn't fulfilled. And yet, he didn't know how to tell the butterfly that he wanted more because he was scared that she would just fly away."

My heart races as I pause. Juniper turns around to look at me. She grasps my face. "Am I the butterfly?" she asks softly.

I stare at her, knowing in that moment that this is so much more than just a story. This is so much more than a passionate love affair or clandestine lovemaking session. This is a story for the ages, something that fairy tales are made of, and I am scared. I’m scared that I’m going to fuck it up because I’m not made for fairy tales and have never believed in them before.

"Are you okay, Remington?" She licks her lips nervously. "I mean, if it was just a story, that's okay."

"You're the butterfly," I say, "and I'm the man."

She nods slowly, a wide, beautiful smile crossing her face. "I'm the butterfly, huh? You're not just saying this because..."

"You know I don't just say things, Juniper. And I would never say this for any reason other than the truth. But you know I'm just an infallible man, who's never been in a situation like this, has never felt things like this. And I can't promise you the world because I don't know if I have it to give you. And I can't promise you a happily ever after because I don't know if I truly believe they exist."

"I don't need you to promise me the world," she says. "And I love your honesty. None of us ever know if we're going to have a happily ever after, but..." She blinks and looks away.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I don't just want this to be a one-night-wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am thing. I don't want to go into the office on Monday and feel dirty and ashamed. I won't want to keep sending flowers to..."

"Don't you get it, Juniper? There are no more flowers for you to send." I grin. "Unless you want to send flowers to yourself from me. But I think I'd rather pick them up for you myself."

She stares at me in shock. "What?"

"I'm saying that I more than like you, Juniper. I'm falling in love with you. I don't know what this will be, but I know I don't want to see anyone else while I'm trying to figure it out. And I just hope that you like me enough to give me a chance."

"Like you enough? I'm freaking falling in love with you, Remington Parker. How could you not know that? I've had the biggest crush on you forever."

I stare at her in shock. "You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not." She giggles. "You didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know? You never told me."

"How was I going to tell you? You never even noticed me."

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