Finding North (Naïve Mistakes Series) (6 page)

He popped the cork open and poured me a glass, sat next to me on the settee.

"You seem very nervous. Everything OK?"

"Of course... I just haven't
— Never mind."

"No, please, go ahead." He was turned to me now in that classic "arm on top of the couch while holding the glass" pose,
boring
into me with his Tanzanite eyes.

"It's nothing," I whispered, then sucked down my wine like some white trash bimbo downs a beer. Romantic. However, he clearly wasn't trying to get me drunk, because he didn't offer me another. I, however, did help myself.

"Um, this is not a line, but tell me how you stay in such good shape. Do you compete?"

"Um, compete in what?"

"Well, you're very athletic clearly. I wondered if you competed in any physique or fitness competitions."

"What, like 'bodybuilding'?" I said, unimpressed. Prick. I wasn't "buff."

"No!" he chuckled. "Of course not! But there are other leagues... Anyway, from your answer, it's clear you
don't
compete, so never mind."

"What kinds of leagues?"

"Well, bodybuilding is well, for the 'buff' types. The physique and fitness contests are more for 'shapely' figures."

Shapely? Oh, that sounded nice...

How did he know this stuff? I looked at his dress shirt and tried to see through it like frickin superman. Didn't work. I did see the hollow above his chest, and the tops of his pecs. Not huge, not
Brad
huge, but definitely firm. Very shapely, like a Calvin Klein model. I was staring at that hollow so much, taking in the few black hairs underneath it and the soft glisten of man-sweat on him, that I completely missed him coming closer to me. Until his lips landed on mine.

-3-

His tongue wet my bottom lip gently while his hand rubbed my thigh up and down. I eased back into the couch, letting him get on top of me. I was so mellow, so relaxed, so full of aching pressure down below that I pulled his shirt and ripped two buttons off of it.

He eased in between my legs, moved his hand under my tee and scraped my back gently with his fingertips. Gooseflesh broke out all over my body and all my muscles tensed. He grabbed the latch of my bra but didn't open it, just tugged at it.

He slid his tongue over mine and we wrestled back and forth with them. I could feel him breathing his spearmint breath into me. I pushed at his chest. God that was hard and firm... I clutched his butt, pulled it against me; let him rub against me to fill that itch, that ache, that sudden need. I heard my breathing quicken even more. His tongue moved to below my ear, my neck, my shoulder—

"No! Stop!" I pushed him off me. It was like moving a mountain, not because he wouldn't move, but because every pore, every
fiber eerie cell in my body was
pulling
him into me, deep, deep, all the way! And yet, I couldn't do it. I couldn't.

I was seventeen fucking years old! And this guy deserved to know it. I know it's legal in New York. But maybe this dude was grossed out by it. And yet, if I told him, maybe he'd lose interest...

My crotch was fucking throbbing! I was breathing so quickly that I felt like I'd just benched a hundred. I sat forward, tightened my legs, crossed them, took a deep breath.

"Leora, I'm so sorry, I thought that, by you coming here... And, to be honest, I got a little carried away. I don't normally do this, actually..."

"Um..." I breathed out, fanned my shirt. "Conall, um... Look, I take it you don't live in New York, do you?"

"No, but
—"

"When are you going back?"

"A day or two."

"For how long?" I kept fanning my shirt. It wasn't helping.

"Well, I rarely travel here. We had this one deal—"

"I'll be in London at the end of the year. For, um,
work
... Let's meet then. I have your card. I saw your website. I'll find you." I got up, walked out.

Before leaving the hotel I went to the bathroom in the lobby. This could
not
wait.

When I was done, sitting on the toilet there and feeling dirty as a skank (I mean, a public
toilet
!), I emailed my girl.

Leora: I need your help. Big time!

-4-

"You pushed him
away
?" Kayla's eyes looked like she'd smelled a skunk.

"I couldn't let him
—"

"Aw, c'mon, Leora. The guy sounds cool."

"The guy is a player!"

"Same thing. But, look, don't interrupt me. He sounds like a
cool
player, a
clean
player. You know, none of that herpes and shit.  I mean, that shit stinks!"

"Thanks for the picture."

"Keep it mind. It don't all run like they say in books. I mean that stuff is nasty! You know half your book boyfriends probably have that shit!"

"Kayla? Can we stay on topic?"

"Yeah, look, he sounds
hot
! And decent. You say he canceled a half-a-mil deal? For
me
? Hell, I'll do him. What's his number?"

"No, Kayls...."

Kayla sat back on my pink beanbag. "Whatever. So what help do you need?"

"I need to go to Europe with you! I'll be eighteen by then..."

"Wow, one whole year. No, you'll be eighteen in a month. So one whole month older! Shew!" She wiped her forehead mockingly.

"Older is older. I don't want to risk it."

"Girl, you live in a fuckin dream world, do you know that?"

"Kayla, I like him."

"Shit, sweetie, you need to get
laid
! You'll like anything with legs and a tight ass for crissakes. I mean, you're even going nuts for that loser from Bushwick."

"Who?"

"Brad! The one you..." She waggled her finger at me and the bed.

"Stop it!" I threw my pillow at her.

"Look, Leo, I know you've got this whole romantic notion about 'saving yourself' and 'the one' and all that
bull
—because trust me, sister—it's
bullllllll
-shit! So long as two people are semi-compatible (and not riddled with disease) why, let them screw, you know? If it's good it's good. If not, move on! No harm done."

And when you're fat, you're fat. And no one will want you. So why risk it without love?
But I said nothing.

"Damn it, Europeans don't give a hoot about age. Legal age is sixteen in Britain. Hell, you could even get your rich mom to get one of her boyfriends to fly you over for a weekend and shag him there for all I care. If it makes you feel better. There you'd be
two
years over legal age."

"How do you know this stuff?"

"How do you know the caloric content of every food they sell in the supermarket?"

"Touché."

"England: Sixteen (Except Northern Ireland which is seventeen, Like New York.) Croatia: fourteen. Disgusting, but whatever. France: fifteen. Need I go on?"

"No, please, you're grossing me out."

"So, anyway, if you're scared of 'hurting him'"—she really did make the air quotes—"then, by all means, go do him in his country estate. Fucker probably even plays polo..."

"God!
Why
am I friends with you!?"

"Because I can rattle off the Age of Consent for every country in Europe?"

"Urgh!" I stormed off to splash my face.

"...called Brad..." I heard being said from my room.

"What?"

She opened the door, stuck her head inside. "I said, I called Brad."

"Oh, you did..." I swallowed a dry lump. "An—and?

"I told him you like him."

"What?"

"Nah, fuck that. I told him I wanted to see him again. So he picked me up. We had it on, in his bedroom,
several
times."

My mind drifted.

"Are you listening?"

"Yeah, yeah, wow. You don't stop, do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." I walked past her and fell on my bed.

"No, c'mon, it's not nothing. What is it?"

I turned onto my stomach. "It's...nothing."

"You do like him, don't you? I asked you, damn it! I would've laid off!"

"No!" I rolled over. My mind was so confused! "Kayla, why...why am I like this? All I think about is guys but I don't do anything with them. Then, when I get the chance, I run away. I'm hoping for some true love and yet... I don't know."

Kayla eyed me up and down as I lay there. I could feel her glare strongly upon my skin as if she were touching me. I turned to her. "What!?"

She looked away. "Nothing."

I sat up, grabbed her hand. "What? What is it?"

She looked at me with her wide green eyes, put her hand on my cheek, caressed it. I was stunned, not moving. She eased into me. Her soft lips touched mine. I just sat there, not reacting, not saying anything, letting her kiss me. She pushed me onto the bed, thrust her tongue into my mouth, moved it around. I was more stunned than participating.

She sat up, looked at me. I can't say I was turned on in any way. I mean this was my best friend!

But I wasn't disgusted by it, either. Not at all.

"Nah, didn't think so," she said, very nonchalant, then wiped her lips.

"H
—huh?"

"I was just checking. You're definitely not into girls. You kiss like a wet fish. I sure hope that's because you were shocked. Because if you kiss guys like that, it's no wonder you still haven't gotten laid."

I stood up. "Y—you're—?"

"What? Gay? No way. I mean, I don't know. I like guys. Like them a
lot
! Anyways, don't read too much into this. I was just feeling the water is all. Whereas my tastes might be in question, you're as straight as a bamboo whip in a bad BDSM novel. So, moving on?"

I chuckled. "Wow, I can't believe I was just kissed passionately by a girl... My best
—"

"Get over it! Now, about your man-friend. What's it: Collin? Conan?"

"Conall."

"Yeah, him."

Mentioning him again got me thinking about him on top of me, his pelvis against mine.

Nope. Not gay. Definitely not. Thanks, Kayla.

-5-

I called him after Kayla left. Sunday night. I had this sudden dread of him somehow walking past me at school and then the pussycat would be out of the bag (no, not
that
cat! It's any expression...)

If he saw me at school he'd probably run for the hills!

I know it was paranoid. A hundred or more high schools in Manhattan (some wild figure like that) and he'd walk past mine? Yeah right.

But when you're guilty, you're guilty. And you think everyone's looking at you. (I learned that in a
Sopranos
episode.)

His phone had rung twice.

"Leora," he said, a lilt in his voice that said, also:
Despite all your shit, I'm still interested in you
. At least I fucking hope it said that.

I imagined how easy it would be to play the Bianca card. You know, "Oh woe is me I have so many problems because I'm so rich that I just need to get laid." I couldn't bring myself down to that level, no matter how hard I tried.

"Brad..."

"No, it's Conall."

Fuck!
"Damn it..."

"So, I guess that's what this is about. Well, good on you for not cheating on 'Brad.'"

"No, no! It's not like that... Man, I must sound so desperate to you right now..."

"No, what you sound like is seventeen..."

I felt like I'd been given an ice cold drink and was suffering brain-freeze in my chest. "Wh—what?"

"I said it sounds like you could be seventeen! The way you change your mind, meander, go back and forth, storm out of people's hotel suite's running. It was a joke... I know you're not seventeen. Oh, never mind. It's not funny if you have to explain it."

"Oh, a joke, right... Seventeen. Haha."

Silence.

"So?" he prompted.

"I...like you. And I don't know why I like you and it's probably infatuation and some stupid crush and ridiculous and creepy and all that, but, um, I, well, I do like you. And..." I waited for the inevitable:
I like you too, Leora.

It never came.

"Uh-huh..." he said.

"Yeah, um, look, I'm sorry, never
—"

"Don't hang up! Jeez, Leora, look. You seem like a wonderful woman"
—(
Woman
, yeah right)—"but you have to learn to take a stand on a subject. So much hemming and hawing and 'oh I don't want to impose for I may upset thee, sire.' Bugger! You sound so, well,
British
! Aren't Americans supposed to be arrogant and outspoken? Be American and
say what you want to say
!"