Degrees of Love, page 8
Obviously pleased by my assessment, he grinned quite adorably. “Trust me. In high school, I wasn’t the manly specimen I am today.”
Okay, there was something geeky about him, but I found him more attractive because of it. “So what was responsible for your transformation?”
He hesitated and then admitted, “A stylist and a personal trainer.”
“Seriously?” I laughed.
“I don’t use them anymore, but yes. Told you I was a geek.” He joined in my laughter. “You know, you’re doing wonders for my self-esteem.”
I tried to control my giggles. “Okay, I’ll stop … Did you have any girlfriends?”
“No, no girlfriends. I didn’t even kiss a girl until college.”
“Are you serious? Not until college?”
“Hey, give me a break! I was six feet and weighed about one thirty. I wasn’t exactly a babe magnet, and I went to an all boys’ Catholic prep school. My opportunities were limited.”
“Bet you’ve kissed a few since then.” I thoroughly enjoyed making him blush.
“You could say that.”
Bet he made up for lost time. Tempted to ask how many girls he had kissed, I dismissed the thought and moved on to a bolder question. “Have you ever been in love?”
I don’t know why I asked or why it was important for me to know, but it was.
His body shifted, and he slid back in his chair. I didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he said, “Depends on the definition. If you mean having strong feelings for someone, then sure, I’ve been in love. I’ve said the words. If you mean the ‘if you cease to be, then I cease to be’ love, then no, I’ve never been in love.”
I saw it clearly, no doubt in my mind. Reese Kirkpatrick longed for an all-consuming and exquisitely painful kind of love. I asked, “Is that why you’re not married?”
“Exactly why. I was engaged once, but I backed out at the last minute.”
“What happened?”
“I was twenty-nine. I had just hit my first jackpot when the company I worked for went public. My friends were all married or engaged; I thought it was time. Then, I was introduced to Angelique. She seemed ideal, beautiful and poised … her family had money and were well connected. We made the perfect Manhattan couple.” He shrugged. “I thought I loved her.”
“If you loved her, why back out?”
“Everyone said how great we looked together, but that was just it. We only fit surface deep. We lacked real intimacy. There just wasn’t … passion. I woke up next to her one morning and realized I was about to marry a stranger. She didn’t know me either. I should have been able to talk to her about anything and everything, but I couldn’t. I had to be this perfect person for her. I couldn’t see spending the rest of my life keeping up the façade. She didn’t really love me. How could she if she didn’t really know me? I called it off.”
“How did she take it?”
He snorted. “She was more upset about not getting her wedding than she was about losing me.” He paused. “I love my freedom—I can’t deny it—but I don’t necessarily like being alone. I’ve thought a lot about it. I won’t compromise. I’ll wait for someone it would devastate me to lose, who I can be completely myself with.” He met my eyes before continuing, “A woman who loves me just as deeply.” He looked away. “I’m not a commitment phobe.”
“I believe you, and I admire your standards. I think a lot of people settle for less. Whoever wins your heart will be one lucky woman.” I hoped I sounded sisterly, knowing my heart ached for him in a decidedly non-sisterly way.
He chuckled. Then he looked at me and said quietly, almost as a question, “Obviously, you’ve been in love. You’re married.”
“Yes, but not to your standards.”
Surprised by my honesty, I wished I could take it back. It was too late, and our eyes locked together in mutual understanding.
The waitress cleared her throat. I looked up, and the poor thing hesitated with our entrees in her hands, unsure what to do. I slid back in my seat. I hadn’t realized how closely we were leaning towards each other.
The conversation stayed on lighter topics for the rest of the meal. We talked about books, movies, corporate gossip, and the like. The restaurant was practically empty by the time the waitress brought our bill. Reese gave her an apologetic smile and a generous tip.
When we got back to the hotel, he suggested a nightcap. I agreed, and we continued our evening in the bar. He ordered scotch, and I ordered diet coke.
“Diet coke?” He laughed at me. “At least have a glass of wine.”
“No, I’ve had plenty. You don’t want me dancing on tables, do you?”
“I’d love it. Can I interest you in a shot of tequila?”
“Oh no, tequila makes me howl at the moon. Diet Coke.” Reese’s smile lit up his whole face. He gazed at me without saying anything. I asked, “What?”
“I love talking and being with you like this. You’ve become my favorite person.”
I could barely look at him. I wish he hadn’t told me. I didn’t want to know. The cocktail waitress saved me from having to respond.
When she left, Reese’s eyes twinkled playfully. “I shared some of my secrets. Turnabout is fair play. Tell me about your first kiss,” he requested.
I snickered. “You’ll think I’m a little hussy.”
He leaned closer towards me. “Now I really am curious.”
“Alright, his name was Frank Delgado. He had wavy black hair and full red lips. He was my first serious crush. There was only one problem.”
“What was that?”
“He was an older man. I was in sixth grade, and he was in seventh. I would sit on my front porch and watch him ride by on his yellow mountain bike. I thought I was destined to live with catching glimpses of him zooming past. Then one day, he smiled at me when he rode by.”
“Bet you were a little cutie.”
“I don’t know, but I sure thought he was. Anyway, the next day I was in my front yard watching for him, hoping he would smile at me again.”
“Did he?”
“Actually, he stopped right in front of my house … I panicked and ran inside.”
“Poor Frank Delgado.”
“He was persistent. The next day he stopped again, and said to me, ‘Don’t be afraid.’”
“Were you?”
“I was terrified, but I didn’t run away. He became my first official boyfriend a year later. He asked me if I would ‘Go Steady’. Of course, I said yes.”
“What does that mean at that age?”
“Not much. Basically, he walked me home from school.”
“And the kiss?”
“One afternoon we were watching a rerun of the Brady Bunch. He turned to me without warning and tried to kiss me. I pushed him away, but then he said, ‘Don’t be afraid.’ So I let him kiss me. He actually frenched me.” I smiled at the memory and laughed. “I liked it.”
Reese laughed, too. “How old were you?”
“Just shy of thirteen.”
He hooted. “You were a little hussy.”
“Told you,” I giggled.
“Don’t be afraid. Good line. So what happened with you and little Frankie?”
“He bragged to his friends about having his nasty little tongue in my mouth. I was so ashamed that I broke up with him.”
“Poor kid. Bet you broke his heart.”
“He broke mine first.”
“I’m sure that taught him not to kiss and tell.”
“Let’s hope. It’s a lesson all men should learn.”
He gave me an enigmatic smile. I wondered what the subtext was. I’d never told Matt the story. I always had worried he would think I wasn’t a nice girl. I’m not sure why it didn’t bother me to tell Reese.
A little before midnight, I was ready to leave him in the lounge, but he stood, too. He walked with me to the elevator and stepped inside. I’d just spent the evening with the man, but now I couldn’t get my tongue to function. I pushed the fourth floor button. Reese didn’t push a button. Neither of us uttered a word as the elevator jerked upward.
I looked down at his Gucci loafers. Then my eyes fixated on his waist, the way his dress shirt tucked smartly into his pants. He had no hint of a softening middle, and I imagined how hard and defined he must be underneath that shirt, what it would feel like to wrap my arms around his waist, what it would be like to tug his shirt out of his pants and slip my hand underneath it.
The doors opened, and he followed me out. I stopped and turned to him. Despite my little fantasies, I hadn’t intended the dinner invitation to be code for inviting him to my bed. It had been naïve of me to think he wouldn’t expect more. I wasn’t sure what to do.
“I’ll leave you here,” he said, smiling as if he knew what I was thinking. “May I hug my friend goodnight?”
I was being ridiculous. We were just friends. I smiled back. “Yes.”
Our eyes met and we both stopped smiling. He stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat of his body and smell the scotch on his breath. One of his hands flattened on the small of my back and the other cupped the back of my head as he pulled me tight. The entire hard length of him pressed against me. I let him hold me as desire coursed through my body, extinguishing my reason with a flood of hormones, and eventually pooling hot between my legs.
“Susan …” he whispered.
I dug deep to muster self-control and stepped out of his embrace. His eyes bored into me half crazed. It would be so easy to take his hand and lead him to my room. He wanted it. I wanted it. Matt. I’m married. I’m married to Matt. I flipped into business mode.
“Thank you for a delightful evening.”
Catching the mood shift, he looked confused and then wounded. “You’re welcome.”
“Well goodnight then,” I said, concluding the evening.
“Goodnight,” he murmured.
I walked toward my room with jolts of guilt shooting through my stomach. If he had kissed me, I would have had sex with him, no doubt about it.
Tonight had been too close … too reckless. I enjoyed being with him too much. I had been riding a high, buzzing on the euphoria of my crush for months. I was jeopardizing my career and my marriage by being so emotionally intimate with him.
I remembered a reader’s theater I had once watched in church. It was a story warning couples of the dangers of temptation. In the play, a man started having coffee with another woman. “What’s the harm in a cup of coffee?” he rationalized. He started talking to the other woman on the phone. “What’s the harm in talking?” he rationalized more. The harm had been with each little conversation, he’d distanced himself from his wife until he felt more strongly connected to the other woman than his wife.
At the time, I had been dismissive of the sermon. How ridiculous that a man and a woman couldn’t be friends? I had male friends. Wasn’t that proof? Being in sales, I interacted closely with men on a daily basis. Hell, as part of our corporate bonding, I had been out drinking with men from work on numerous occasions without anything inappropriate ever happening.
I’d obtusely missed the point. The harm was not in having coffee with another man. The harm was having coffee with the man who had the power to tempt me. I had already progressed past the first two acts. I was in Act III, fighting temptation.
Only this wasn’t a play. It was my life. I wasn’t innocently sharing morning coffee. I was having dinner and drinks and staying in the same hotel with the man who made me want to forget my marriage vows; the man for whom I achingly lusted … the man who’d kissed my neck. How long could my marriage and his position in the company remain insurmountable barriers?
I remembered the sermon Reverend Jim gave at the beginning of summer. What if the Ten Commandments weren’t commandments, but merely requests? What if I failed and broke one particular request? Would God forgive me? Could I forgive myself? If I called Reese, would he come to my room, right now, at this moment? Was he lying in bed thinking of me?
I knew right from wrong. Shame. Shame on me for considering some New Age interpretation of the Bible as justification for doing something that was wrong. Breaking faith with Matt was wrong. God might forgive me, but I didn’t think I could forgive myself.
I would try harder with Matt. He and I needed time without the boys. I would propose going to Carmel for the weekend, just the two of us. This weekend. The sooner, the better. If we had more time as a couple, I would rediscover why I loved Matt, why I married him. We just needed to reconnect as lovers. With that thought, I finally fell asleep.
I had my Carmel plan all worked out by the time I got home. I waited for the boys to go to bed before I approached Matt. It was stupid to be nervous. Why wouldn’t he jump at a romantic weekend in Carmel? Good wine, food, and sex. What was objectionable about that? I found him in the family room watching a movie.
“Matt, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” he said not turning his head from the screen.
“Do you mind turning off the television?”
Matt sighed and hit pause on the remote. “Something wrong?”
“No, not really … I’ve … I’ve missed you.”
“Honey, I missed you too when you were in Phoenix. Come here.” He reached his arm out to me. I sat next to him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and leaned against him.
“I don’t mean that I only missed you the last couple days, but we haven’t spent much time together in a long time.”
“What do you mean? We went camping last week and you were only gone two days.”
“I mean it’s been a long time since we’ve had couple time, just the two of us. I was thinking it would be nice if we could go to Carmel this weekend. I’m sure your parents will watch the boys. We could drive down Saturday morning and come home Sunday afternoon. What do you think?”
His brows creased and he let go of me. “We’ll miss the boys’ soccer games.”
I sat all the way up. I’d had a feeling he would use that argument. “Matt, they have plenty of games. We can miss one.”
“I’m Jason’s coach.”
“They’re eight-year olds and you have an assistant coach.”
He paused and then suggested, “Let’s bring the boys. We can take them to the aquarium. They’d love it.”
What did he not get about just the two of us? He didn’t want to be alone with me. Why didn’t he want to be alone with me? Tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to turn away before he noticed. I gave up, choking on my words, “Never mind.”
“What’s wrong? Are you crying?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said, fighting against the tears.
“You win.” He hit play on the remote. “I’ll call my mom about watching the boys.”
I made it to our bedroom before I let another tear fall. Matt hated it when I cried and hated scenes. He’d rather agree than risk either. In the early years of our marriage, he’d dismiss me as being “melodramatic” whenever I cried. I stopped crying in front of him and tried not to be overly emotional. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t excited; he’d agreed to the weekend.
In preparation, I made a discreet stop at Victoria’s Secret. It had been a long time since I had worn anything sexy to bed. Rallying my courage, I tried on a handful of over-the-top lingerie ensembles: bustiers with matching garters, see-through teddies, and animal print bras with matching thong underwear. My intent was to excite him, not scare him. The black satin negligee I found was perfect. It gracefully draped my rounded curves and showed plenty of skin.
My next stop was our local bookstore. I found the section where they sold sex books. I wasn’t looking for pornography. I sought advice. I couldn’t believe how many books were dedicated to sex. My eyes ran by titles like What Every Good Call Girl Knows, Going Down, and my personal favorite, Hump! It was rather intimidating. I couldn’t bring myself to walk to the counter and actually buy one of the many books explaining the erogenous zones and 180 possible positions. Instead, I grabbed a Van Gough picture book, slipped books one at a time between the covers, and hid in the back of the store educating myself on how to be more pleasing for my husband.
I wanted our night alone together to be special. I imagined awakening Matt’s hidden passion, staring into his eyes and fusing a deep connection, exciting him in ways I never had. I was focused on re-energizing our marriage.
The next morning we finalized our plans. After dropping the boys with Matt’s parents, we would have a leisurely drive down Highway 1, which hugged the coastline, and then spend the night in Carmel. Matt wanted to go to the Monterey Aquarium. I would have preferred wine tasting or strolling through boutiques, but I agreed as long as I got my romantic evening.
On Saturday morning, Matt dropped the boys at his mother’s house while I finished packing. Smiling to myself, I packed the new negligee in my bag and reviewed my newly acquired knowledge. Matt wouldn’t know what hit him. By the time the weekend was over, we would be closer than ever, and Reese would no longer be a temptation.
As soon as Matt walked in the door, I threw my arms around him. Why not try for a quickie before we hit the road? I kissed him and purposely wiggled against him.
“What are you doing?”
“Seducing my husband,” I answered kissing him on the neck.
“Susan, flattered as I am, we should go.”
It doesn’t matter. I will not cry. I’ll save my energy for tonight. It’s just Matt’s way of telling me he isn’t happy being forced into a weekend get-away. He’ll loosen up later.
I followed Matt out the door. He started to put our bags in the minivan.
“Matt please, let’s take the BMW.” He glared at me. “I’ll let you drive.”
“Fine.”
We rode in silence for the first half of the drive. I wanted to talk but I didn’t know what to say to my own husband. I thought about asking him what his favorite season was. I really didn’t know, but he already thought I was acting oddly. I didn’t want to freak him out.
