Not Looking for Love: Episode 4 (5 page)

I take my time getting ready, starting with a long shower then fixing my hair so it hangs in loose curls down my back. I try on ten dresses before finally settling on a tight black one, which fits me perfectly now that I've lost so much weight. It hugs all my curves snuggly, and leaves little to the imagination, even though everything from my thighs to my neck is covered. I complete the outfit with a pair of black stockings and the stilettos I wore on that first night I spent with Scott. It's almost six by the time I finish doing my makeup.
 

Phillipa is in the living room, watching the news, so I slip out of the house through the back door, draped in my long black coat, with slits on the sides that show of my legs. I'd do me in this outfit, and I'm sure Scott would too. If he comes. Which he has to, or I'll truly lose it.

Only it's five past six by the time I reach the driveway and he's not there. By six fifteen, I'm biting my nails, even though I just painted them, trying not to cry and ruin my makeup.
 

By six twenty-five, my legs are numb from the cold. I should go back in the house. I shouldn't have hung up on him last night; I should have begged him more.

My heart is going crazy in my chest, my head spinning. I can't go back inside, he will come, he has to.
 

At six thirty, a car finally pulls into the street. I walk to the end of the driveway, because I have to know if it's him.

I slip into the car as soon as he pulls to the curb.

"You're late," I say. My perfume is mixing with his cologne in the car.

"Yeah, well, didn't you get my message?" he replies, his eyes travelling up my bare thigh up to where my dress has ridden up so it's barely covering my hips. All the cold numbness is burned away under his gaze.

"No, I didn't," I say and try to meet his eyes, but he's looking straight ahead now.

"Should've turned your phone on then," he mutters, his jaw clenched.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask.

"I don't think this was such a good idea." He's clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white.
 

"It's just a dinner, Scott," I say. "Drive."

We don't talk during the ride into town, except for me giving him directions. I tell him to park just off Main Street.

"I'm seriously underdressed for this friend dinner," he says, eyeing me up and down once we're both standing on the sidewalk.

But he's really not. He's wearing dark jeans, which aren't as baggy as the ones he usually wears, tucked into a brown pair of boots. His thin black sweater is just tight enough to hint at his six pack, the unzipped windbreaker hanging loosely off his shoulder, and he might as well have come here straight from a casual fashion photoshoot.
 

"It's this way," I say and start walking, thankful that the night is hiding the redness burning in my cheeks. Because I'd much rather just get back in the car and direct him to some secluded place.

I lead us to the Italian restaurant me and my dad usually go to. It's the only one where my fancy outfit won't look too out of place.
 

"You eat spaghetti, right?" I ask once we reach it. "Or is that on your ewww list too."

His lips twitch up into a smile as he holds the door for me. "Honestly I'd rather just have a burger, but you'd stick out at a McDonald's in that dress."

I brush up against him as I enter, stopping just inside the door to remove my coat. "You're probably right."

I feel his gaze on my back like someone doused me in boiling water. But I don't acknowledge his reaction, don't look back as the hostess leads us to our table. It's one of the smaller ones by the back wall, scarcely illuminated by a candle inside a lamp shaped candleholder.

"This feels a lot like a date, Gail," Scott finally says after I order the wine for both of us.
 

I shrug, undoing the clasp on my napkin. "It's whatever you want, Scott."

I don't like his tone, it's cold and level, and I feel like I've trapped him into something he'd rather not be a part of. I should've just worn jeans and flats and took my chances with that.
 

"I'd rather if you respected my decision." Scott's eyes flick up from the menu. They're a golden brown in this light, but they're not opening up into any place nice. "And not gone to see Janine.
 
She lectured me for hours like you were the first girl I ever broke up with."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do," I mutter, heat rising in my cheeks. "So Janine didn't want you to break up with me?"

"That's not exactly what she said. Mainly she just thought I should have considered your delicate state of mind more."

Janine thinks I'm insane, and so does Scott! The waiter comes back with our wine, giving me some precious time to swallow my anger before I have to answer. I order the prawn risotto that I always have, and he orders a lasagna. The wine I ordered is too sweet, I always get the wrong one.
 

"You can't tell me you don't want me," I mutter, because I probably shouldn't be saying it. "I'll never believe you."

"That's besides the point," he says and leans back. Under the table, his legs are as far away from mine as they can be without him sitting sideways.

"What is the point then, Scott? Tell me, and then maybe I'll let you walk away." I don't know where the harsh anger in my voice is coming from. Or maybe I do. It's because he still has no problem saying no to me. And it hurts.

"In your texts you said you won't ask any questions," he says, his eyes gleaming from more than just the candlelight now.
 

"So you did read them? Why didn't you reply?" I ask.

"That wasn't easy. Those texts, Gail…" he says, waving his napkin at me. "What the fuck? I never did that to you when you left."
 

"I don't think we should just walk away from what we have," I say, fighting the urge to take his hand.
 

"I know, you said," he murmurs, not looking at me. "But I do."

"No, you don't," I spit out, and hear the waiter gasp as he catches Scott's murderous gaze back.
 

"Will you need anything else?" the waiter asks, looking straight into my eyes like he's asking if I need help.
 

I shake my head and he leaves. By then, Scott's already eating, fast, like he wants to go. He's not touching his wine, and I'm already on my second glass. He came, sure, but it's like he hadn't and tears are a hard ball in my throat.
 

"I don't want to break up with you," I choke out finally, because I can't stand the silence. It feels like I'm eating alone and I'll never find anyone else, ever.

He sets his fork down with a clank, glaring at me. "That's just it with you. It's always what you want. From the beginning, you never cared how I felt about any of it. You wanted to get laid and you did. And then you walked away. And you would've stayed away if you hadn't gotten pregnant. Which was your fault." He's speaking so loudly the woman at the next table turns around, both her and her date eyeing me. I ignore them. "And now you're freaking out because I want out. Besides, I don't think you'll have any trouble finding someone else. Not with the way you approach guys."

"I don't…I…" But I have no idea what to say. I've said it all already and he's still sitting there, yelling at me, saying things I know he doesn't mean, because his eyes are soft and blue now, clear like a stream in spring. "I don't want anyone else."

"See, you're doing it again," he says, and picks up his fork, stuffing the rest of his lasagna in his mouth. "Eat, so we can go."

But I'm just pushing the prawns around on my plate, biting my bottom lip hard because I can't cry now. My mascara will run and he's already caused enough of a scene.
 

"Let's just go," I whisper, waving the waiter over. I won't be able to hold back the tears much longer.
 

Five minutes later, we're standing on the sidewalk, the cold wind building a wall between us.

"Did you come just to tell me all this?" I ask, tossing the brown bag with my leftover risotto into the trash. I won't eat it. I'll probably never eat again.

He's got his windbreaker zipped up all the way, hands deep in the pockets. "I wasn't gonna. But your phone was off all day."

I close the distance between us, so we're almost touching, but not quite. "I don't believe it. You came because you wanted to see me."

He turns and starts walking toward the car. I have to jog to catch up. I want to ask why he's doing this, I have to know, but I've asked him so many times, and none of his answers are making any sense.
 

Only I have so little time left and he's not even looking at me anymore.

He finds the way back to my house on his own, and parks the car behind mine in the driveway. Phillipa's car is gone. Once he leaves, I'll be all alone. I should get out of the car, but he's not telling me to, so I don't. My legs are shaking so hard that my shoe is tapping against the dashboard, but I can't stop it.

He turns off the engine, gets out and walks to the back of the car.
 

"I have your bag here," he says loudly, showing it to me through the passenger window.

I get out of the car too, because I'm acting like an idiot just sitting there. But I don't take the bag he's holding out to me. Instead I run my fingers across his cheek, pressing my body against his. He sighs and takes a half step back, but he's hard and I know he wants to stay as much as I want him to.
 

I crane my neck and kiss him, lightly, just brushing his lips really, but it's enough to send a searing jolt right down my middle. This is my last chance.
 

"No, Gail," he whispers, but I ignore him, locking my arms around his waist, holding him close.

"I know you want me," I whisper back, not daring to look up into his eyes. I rub up against him a little. "I can feel it."

He stays put for a change, his hand resting on my lower back. "That's always like that around you. And you look especially nice today."

His lips are slightly parted, gleaming in the soft light from the street, his breath hot against my forehead.

"I was going for more than just nice," I say. It's finally like he's here with me and I need to hold onto it.

"And you succeeded," he says. But he's still not kissing me. Desire is coiling inside me like a hundred pound snake.

"Want to come in?" I ask, running my hand under his sweater, making him gasp.
 

"I really shouldn't," he whispers.

"But you're going to anyway?" I ask, though it's more of a statement, one we both agree on. Else we'll just stay here, in my driveway for the rest of the night.

"Nothing good'll come of it," he says, but his gaze is making my lips tingle like he's already kissing me.

"Of course it will." I peel away from him, but keep my arm around his waist and walk to the front door. He's not fighting me now, not saying anything.

And then we're in my bedroom, my coat in a heap on the floor, his hands on my ass, his tongue deep in my mouth. All the hurt and pain I felt for the past week is melting away, receding like it never was. I'm not even standing, but floating a few feet off the ground and I'll never come down.

He's already got his jacket off, and I'm struggling to undo his belt. He gasps as I run my cold fingers down behind the waistband of his boxers.

His lips leave mine, his tongue on my neck now, tracing a line to my ear, making me moan But I want more, faster, harder. We can kiss and cuddle later. I step away from him and pull my dress off over my head. He's still just standing there, staring at me, not removing his clothes. He can look later, now I want to feel his bare skin against mine.

I slide my hands under his sweater and pull it up. While he's taking it off, I slide his pants down, to speed it along.
 

His hands are warm and dry against my back, his breath hot and moist on my lips as he kisses me again, fast and hungry. I guide one of his hands to the front, down my panties, gasping as his finger finds my wet clit.
 

"I want it hard, like on that second night," I whisper into his mouth, taking his bottom lip between my teeth.

He pushes his finger in all the way to the second knuckle, making me gasp and release his lip.
 

"What, no niceties?" he grunts, his eyes black again, dark like a deep winter forest, predators roaming free. Exactly what I want.

I move my hips. "None."

He works his finger in deeper, pulls it out, and adds a second. I wince, but I'm wet enough. He pulls his fingers out. He's just staring at me, not trying to kiss me again, his eyes growing darker, fiercer by the second.

I grab his wrist and pull him to the bed, but he yanks me back, bending over to get a box of condoms from my bag.
 

"I'm on the pill again," I mutter, my desire waning at the reminder.

"I heard that before."
 

I let him go and walk to the edge of the bed.
 

Once he joins me, I wrap my arms around his waist, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "Fine, Scott, we can do it your way."

His eyes soften, the night receding like before a glorious sunrise, predators hiding from the light. I let his tongue into my mouth, and run my hand across his stomach, tracing the center groove down to the tip of his cock. His hands reach behind me and unclasp my bra, and the feel of his bare skin against my erect nipples is electric.
 

I step out of my panties and lie down on my back, pulling him down on top of me. His eyes are locked on mine, his chest heaving, as the head of his cock slides past my opening.

I gasp, digging my nails into his back as he pushes it in further, not giving me time to adjust. I feel him in my stomach now, and I want it deeper.

He pulls out a little, then pushes back in further than before. I groan, as he does it again. And again. The heat building in me is higher up now, halfway to my chest, and each time he slides out the, emptiness is overwhelming, erased each time he pushes it back in.