Levi's Blue: A Sexy Southern Romance (13 page)

“That’s a good point, too.”

“Don’t let her ruin this for you, Evie. That’s what she
wants.
That’s why
she came here.
”

I’m already on the fence, leaning toward Levi, but knowing that my friend, who loves me and wants nothing but happiness for me, thinks I should give it a shot, too… Well, that is like the green light for me.

“All right, all right, all right. I’ll give this…
him
a
real chance
,” I concede with a half-laugh.  Quickly, I add, “You realize there’s a penalty for roughing up a blind woman, right?” 

As though she just now realizes that she’s shaking me, Cher stops.

I hear the mischief in her voice.  “Just what would that penalty involve? I might be willing to suffer the consequences.”

“You’re awful, you know that?”

I hear the smack of her lips as she blows a kiss in the air toward me.  “Mwah.  You love me. Don’t lie.”

“Fine. I do,” I agree with artificial aggravation.

“I know because I love you the same way. Even though you’re a filthy roommate. My God, look at your hands!”

I tap my thumbs to my index fingers, and they’re both tacky. “Yeah, I guess I should probably think about cleaning up.”

“I think that would be wise. Evidently unexpected visitors are gonna be a thing around here.  Probably best to wear pants at all times.”

“Ugh!” I groan.  I’d forgotten that I’m still in panties, socks, a Gun N’ Roses tee, and nothing more. 

Damn.

********

The rest of the day, I think about Levi and the trip to New Orleans, and whether I’m nuts for even
considering
it. I’ve thought about the potential for pain if I get any more involved with him. And I’ve thought about how little that seems to matter when I compare it to the way simply
thinking about him
makes me feel—happy, excited, optimistic. Worthy.

And then there are his kisses…

Phew! Thoughts like those are enough to overheat me. He definitely tugs on the strings of my libido.

He tugs
hard.

The problem is, he also tugs on the strings of my heart.  The things he says, the way he treats me, the way he seems to
get me
almost… It seems like something special. 
He
seems like something special. 

I don’t know what it is. It’s not like I haven’t met wealthy, charming, suave men before.  But he’s not like the others, though. Not in the ways that matter anyway. I’d be willing to bet my teeth on it, and we all know how I feel about them.

No, there’s definitely something about Levi that draws me, something I can’t put my finger on.  Like an unspoken promise that he really
is
different. 

Am I a fool for believing something so vague? Probably. 

But am I believing it anyway? Evidently. 

After ordering in and scarfing down an order of General Tso’s chicken with Cherelyn before she left to meet with a client, I make myself comfortable on the couch.  I’m content to just sit in the quiet and think.

When the doorbell rings, my pulse speeds up.  I wonder if I’ll always feel this way when I hear it—this fluttery excitement that it
just might be
Levi.  It’s intensely pleasurable—the idea that it might be him, that he might be surprising me, that I might get to spend a few more unpredictable minutes with him. It’s exhilarating.  Liberating. Addictive.

That alone should scare me.

I get up and make my way across the room. I never need my cane at home. I’ve got every fine detail of this space memorized. As long as Cherelyn doesn’t get a wild hair to move furniture, which she did once and I ended up with six stitches to my temple, I’m good.

“Who is it?” I call through the wooden panel, all three locks still firmly in place. 

“Flowers by Desiree delivery for Ms. Evi
anne
day
Champagne,” the youngish male voice replies, butchering my last name.

I slide open the chain and snap open the deadbolt before twisting the knob to open the door a crack. “I’m Evian de Champlain.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says sheepishly when I give him the correct pronunciation. “I thought it was a pretty cool last name—champagne.”  I smile and he fumbles along through the rest of his speech.  “I have a flower delivery for you.”

The moment he moves the bouquet, I smell it.  The sweet scent of roses and lilies—maybe rubrums?—floods my nostrils and wraps itself around me like an embrace.  And Levi knew it would.  These are from him. I know it. I don’t need a card to know.  He can’t give me things I can see, so he’s giving me things I can smell.

I open the door further and hold out my hands.  Silence greets me for a few seconds until I take pity on the poor guy. “I’m blind,” I whisper. “Would you please put the vase in my hands?”

“Uhhh, sure, but you need to sign for them.”

“Oh, okay. Just show me where and I’ll try not to use up your entire page with my scribble.”  I’m teasing, but I somehow doubt that it’s helping. His laugh is
the very
sound
of discomfort. 

A moment later, a clipboard is placed in my hands. I resituate it and hold my fingers for the pen, which the kid kindly places between them.  

“Right here.”  I feel the pressure of him pointing to a place on the sheet. I use the backs of my fingers to figure out where he’s indicating and put the point of the pen as near to that spot as I can get. 

“Close enough?” I ask before I start writing.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

I scratch out my signature in what I hope is a straight line and hand both clipboard and pen back to the delivery boy.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your flowers,” he says, nudging the vase into my waiting hands.

I push my nose into the bouquet and inhale, answering him as I breathe out, “Oh, I definitely will.”  Before I close the door, I stop the delivery boy.  Even though I know instinctively who they’re from, my curiosity still gets the better of me. I have to know what the card says or it’ll drive me crazy, and I can’t wait for Cherelyn to get home.  “Wait!  Can you tell me what the card says?”

“There was no card, but the guy who ordered them said if you asked to tell you that he didn’t want to use up one of his four dates. He said he doesn’t want you to back out on those grounds. He said don’t forget about him before tomorrow.”

I grin. 

Levi.

Oh, he’s good.  He’s
very
good.

“Okay, thank you.”

Later, I’m still smiling when I crawl into bed, my entire room scented with the aroma of Levi’s sweet playfulness.

“Doesn’t want me to back out on those grounds,” I mutter into the dark.  With a giggle, I shake my head, and that’s the last thought I have before falling into a deep and restful sleep.

********

The first thing that goes through my mind when I open my eyes Wednesday morning is crimson—the velvety crimson of a rose petal, its beautiful sheen dotted with drops of dew; the waxy crimson veins of a rubrum blossom, the center open wide to the sun.  In my mind, I can see them perfectly, the rich color even more so.  And with my fingers, I can reach out and touch them.  So I do.

Last night, I set the flowers on the nightstand so they’d be within arm’s length of me, as they are now.  I carefully adore each fragrant blossom in the bouquet, inhaling, drawing the luxurious scent deep into my lungs.  Memorizing every sensual detail.

Levi couldn’t be any more
here with me
without being
physically
here with me. Like in the bed beside me.  I smell him,
his thoughtfulness,
on every side.  The worrisome part is, I think he’d be just as much “here” if he hadn’t sent flowers.  He’s on my mind almost constantly. He’s
here with me
, it seems, wherever I go.

I realize with a sigh, that’s probably a very bad thing at this juncture.  I’m far too infatuated.

I drag myself out of bed, thankful that Cherelyn had an early meeting this morning. I’m grateful for the quiet, the time alone with my thoughts before I get out of my own head long enough to go paint something with the kids of my class.

My heart pulls me toward my studio as I pass the door on the way to the kitchen. That’s what I
really
want to spend my day working on—my Levi portrait—but I can’t.  The kids and Healing Art
are more important, so it’s with them that I’ll wile away the morning hours.

Less than forty minutes later, I’m pushing through the main door of the Boyd Center building, tapping my way along the hallway toward my classroom.  I drop my things off in the tiny adjoining space that serves as a place for the teacher to leave personal items or grade papers or get some privacy for one reason or another. For me, it’s where I keep my painting shoes.

It’s as I’m slipping on the speckled, splattered shoes that I hear the tittering of voices next door. I pause, listening, wondering what the commotion is all about, but then I hear music.  The beginning notes of a song that sounds vaguely familiar.

I’m pushing my foot into my other shoe when I hear the chorus of “I Want It All”
by Queen roar from the next room. Surprised by the odd intrusion, I think back to my conversation with Levi the day we had lunch, when I mentioned that he’d just be another one biting the dust.
This
was his response.
This
was his song to me. 
This
is his taunt, his way of saying “touché”.

I smile. With my face, with my lungs, with my whole heart, I smile, certain that my chest is going to explode with happy.

God
, this guy…

As I stand, ready to make my way into the adjacent room, I shake my head, feeling lighter than I have in years.

I open the door and stop to let the music and the sound of conspiratorial chatter and muted giggles flow over me.  I can feel the excitement of the kids almost like the buzz of electricity.  The air is thick and alive with it, pulsing over my skin with the beat of the music, washing over my face with the sound of the lyrics. It fills me, forcing an elated laugh up and out of my curved lips.  I feel
considered
. Wanted.  Treasured even.

And I haven’t felt any of that since I woke up in the hospital thirteen years ago with bandages on my eyes.

“What’s going on in here?” I ask, raising my voice above the level of the music.

“We have a message for you, Ms. Evie,” yells Alana, her high pitch practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

“You do?”

“Play the next one,” she whispers to another of my students.

Seconds later, after some shuffling sounds, another song comes on, right in the middle of the chorus.  “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds.  I throw my head back and laugh, perfectly picturing the ending scene from
The Breakfast Club
as I listen.

Impulsively, I throw my fisted hand into the air and sing along with the la-la-la-laaaaas.  The kids in my class whoop and holler, the ones who
can
clap do so.  I feel silly and I feel happy, and it feels
awesome
. 

I only squeal a little bit when arms encircle me from behind and swing me in a wide arc before setting me on my feet and spinning me around.  Hands cup my face for a chaste kiss that somehow doesn’t feel chaste at all. It sears me all the way through.

When Levi finally raises his head from mine and releases me to back away, I’m breathless and giddy.

“Are you saying you don’t want me to forget about you?” I ask, stating the obvious, unable to stop grinning while I do so.

He gives me no answer, and something about the way the space directly in front of me feels empty now tells me that he’s gone, that he came here to sing to me in his way, to take me in his arms and remind me not to forget about him until I see him again.  And then to leave. Before he can use up one of his four big dates.

I don’t have the chance to tell him that there’s no way I could forget about him.  That he’s worked his way into my heart, and I don’t imagine he’ll be coming out any time soon.

I hear an eruption of giggles from behind me, and I turn slowly to face my class.

“Did you get the message, Ms. Evie?”

I nod, still smiling so brightly I’m sure it challenges the sun that’s streaming warmly through the windows.  “Yeah, Alana, I think I got the message.”

I got the message loud and clear.

Levi Michaelson doesn’t play around.  When he wants something, that something doesn’t stand a chance against him.

Just like I know
I
don’t stand a chance against him.

The thing is, I don’t want to anymore. I’m more than ready to let him have whatever he wants.