Page 6 of Dirty, Bruised Martini
Which gave you time to learn that I graduated college three years ago and used the inheritance from my Dad to follow my dream. The only requirement he insisted upon for me to receive the money was to use it to launch my career. I may have been able to open my business because of him, but I would do everything possible not to fail. Him or my company. To keep going and make him proud. To prove his legacy to me was well spent and never wasted. So even though I didn’t owe you an explanation, I revealed why I purchased this bungalow and lived upstairs to save rent.
The severe pinch of your brow attested to your complete dislike of the justification for my situation. Swiftly rising to your feet and stalking through the small room with such a purposeful grace and presence. I caught up with you at the top of the stairs where you shook your head from the door I used to separate my home from my work. This is unacceptable you pronounced. You’re not safe you decided. I argued with you until you mentioned the worry my father would have, and I realized you were right. Creating this set up, I’d left myself more vulnerable than I should have, and I was embarrassed you had to be the one to point out my mistake to me.
A long finger lifted my chin while your knuckle ran down my blazing cheek. Hot from shame yet quickly morphing into a different kind of heat from your touch. I shivered from your whisper of liking my blush. Of being rosy and sexy and fiery for you. Wondering where else I was pink.
I should have slapped your smug face for your audacity but before I could respond, you tugged the end of my braid and said I would be even more gorgeous with my hair loose. Finally, I found my voice and reminded you this wasn’t a date. I was working and corralling my long hair made things easier without the stands falling into my face.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget what you said. Smooth, cocky, and irresistible. “No, rosy girl, the date’s tonight, and I don’t want you to be easy for me. I want you to be sexy. I’ll be here at seven to pick you up.”
I didn’t even get the opportunity to respond. Or, finish our session. Your lips brushed my flushed skin, and you strode down the steps and out the front door. Leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened between us. And if I was actually going to go out with you.
Nope.
No way.
Absolutely not.
I would definitely not be going out with you. I would definitely not be here when you arrived. I would definitely not be seeing you ever again.
Which I knew were the three biggest lies I’d ever told myself. I knew before I finished that futile argument in my head I would be waiting at seven wearing my favorite dress and sexiest heels. With my hair in a bun because I wanted see what happened when I defied you as much as when I obeyed you.
You arrived at six fifty-nine. I’d been ready since six thirty with a heart pounding full of anticipation I couldn’t deny. I smirked when I twisted slightly to show you my chignon. You nodded with indifference, and I can’t lie. I was slightly disappointed you didn’t fight with me about my defiance. Instead, you cupped my cheek again and whispered, “You’re magnificent rosy girl,” and I melted into your hand faster than rich chocolate on my greedy tongue. Unaware at the time we’d argue about my insolence later, and you’d pull the pins from my French twist in the most seductive, most possessive touch I’d ever experienced.
Since you’d been nothing but a jerk since I met you, I expected more of the same for our evening. Once again you surprised me. Tucking me close as we walked to your obviously expensive sports car. Opening the door for me and waiting patiently until I buckled my seatbelt. Hustling to the driver’s side not to leave me alone for longer than necessary.
I should have jerked my hand away when your fingers curled around mine once you slid into the driver’s seat. I’d spent all of an hour with you at that point, and your forwardness was offensive. But also kind of nice.
Actually, really nice.
I’d never had anyone take me out who was so protective, who behaved like such a gentleman. Guys in college, even ones who were good hearted for the most part, felt the pressure to impress their friends and treat me more like a trophy than a date. A means to an end—dinner for an invite to my bedroom afterward. Which of course never happened, and my virginity embarrassed me to no end at the time. Before that night with you, I regretted not taking a chance, not giving myself to anyone. Maybe I was too picky like my friends accused me of. Maybe there was no such thing as the perfect guy or soul mate. Maybe I was hanging out with the wrong kind of people.
Maybe it was wrong to be with you too.
But I was starting to doubt that thought more and more. I decided at that moment it was time to trust my instinct rather than my brain and squeezed your hand back. Which made you smile. Your gorgeous, satisfied smile that warmed me more than the heater blowing on full blast in your luxury vehicle.
At the restaurant, you were polite and amiable with the maître d’ and waitress. Relieving a definite concern for me following your brash demeanor earlier. Alleviating the initial impression of rudeness and disrespect that you quickly abolished with your graciousness.
Actually, you easily blew through my entire checklist for first dates. One mistake and there wouldn’t have been a second. And, of course, there was. LOL! A third and a fourth before you tried to talk me into moving in with you. A fifth and a sixth before I agreed. Because regardless of what we were doing or who we were with, you were always generous and thoughtful with me.
Suggesting a good wine but ultimately letting me choose. My drink, my dinner, my dessert. A realization sparking at the end of the meal that you were only overbearing in the things that impacted me being with you. Otherwise, I could be independent. Relief quickly transformed into comfort. You understood that I can take care of myself, but I liked that you wanted to as well.
For our nightcap, you ordered a dirty, bruised martini. I told you that you were pretentious. You told me I was adorable. I think that’s the moment I fell in love with you. It was too soon, too crazy, too unlike me. You felt the connection too. Yet you were the only one brave enough to act on your feelings. I didn’t have to pretend like I thought you were nuts and no one can feel anything that fast. Lust maybe but not love.
You just smiled and laughed. Already knew me well enough to know I was bluffing. But it was fun. Playing hard to get. I liked being chased. You loved chasing me, and when I gave in, it was the best night of my life.
Which makes me sitting here crying even more pitiful. I miss you so much it hurts. I’m so scared I won’t ever get the chance to make any more memories with you again. Please don’t forget about me! Please don’t give up on me! Please don’t stop trying to find me!
If you even are. I try not to think that way. I try not to think that you won’t come. I try not to think that you’ve moved on. But the doubt creeps in day after day when I’m still here. When you haven’t found me yet. When it seems like I’ve been here forever.
This cannot be my life. I won’t survive it.
I love you. I miss you. I hope you’re thinking about me the way I think about you. I hope you’re thinking about your rosy girl.
I think about you while I vomit.
If you were here, you’d bundle my long hair onto my neck. And rub small circles on my back. Tell me everything is going to be okay. Give me a glass of water and a cold washcloth. Instead, I lie here on the freezing tile all alone.
I think this is the most scared I’ve been since he kidnapped me. Please let it be food poisoning. Let it be stomach flu. Let it be stress. Anything but that.We’resupposed to be pregnant. Me and you! My belly filled with YOUR baby like you always told me. Not his. Not his! Please God not his!!!
