“I love you.”
I looked at him blankly. Thoughts were spinning in my head, my voice was nearly gone, I tugged at the collar of my blouse. It was suddenly so hot, even in the heated lounge of the Four Seasons.
“Stop fucking with me.”
“No,” he grabbed my wrist. “I love you, I still do, I always have.”
I started into his golden brown eyes, eyes that used to make my stomach flutter, eyes that could burn a hole through my soul, eyes that tore apart my heart.
“I’m leaving,” I said. I tossed a ten onto the counter, grabbed my clutch and started walking. I was a good ten feet from the swinging doors when I heard footsteps running behind me. He swiftly put his hand on my waist to stop me, but still his touch was gentle.
What was I even doing here, standing in the Four Seasons lobby agreeing to meet with him when I knew it wouldn’t have come to anything? Two years, two years I still let him jerk my heart around. I remembered Cordoba, I remembered Prague, I remembered Venice – I remembered all the places I attempted to escape to throughout Europe hoping I could find fast romance, heated nights of passion, and slowly begin to piece together the shatters of my heart.
Then I thought of Chris. And how I almost didn’t even meet him. Lauren’s dinner party and how I was running late because of an emergency meeting at the firm. I was about to skip it for a night of Chinese take-out and Sex and the City reruns in bed but just as I was about tell the taxi driver my address I changed my mind. And then I met Chris.
He made me laugh from the first moment I met him. He was sweet, and smart, and incredibly thoughtful. Little notes here, and there. Fresh flowers to start the week. I loved the instant reminders of him at my apartment. His tennis rackets sitting against the hall closet, his Fortune magazines amidst my Vogue’s and Food and Wine’s on my coffee table, his soapy scent lingering on my pillows.
“Come upstairs with me. Let’s talk. Please? It’s been such a long time.”
Why was I so weak? He looked so damn good too. His shoulders still broad, hands still soft, and the stubble – the stubble. I had always told him he looked sexy with stubble but he insisted on always shaving, even during the weekends when he didn’t have work.
My mind raced back and forth. We do need to talk, I reassured myself. It has been a good six months. We used to talk every day, hours sometimes. He understood me, he got me, he was able to make me feel things otherwise never known to me. He motivated me, encouraged me, fought with me, made me cry, laugh, smile. He did something to my heart no man had ever did before. And god, he tenderly coerced my body into movements I never knew it could perform – made me feel heights I thought could never be reached. No one, not even Chris, has ever made love to me the way he did; the physicality of it, and all the immense passion behind it – that was always hard to erase from my memory.
I turned towards him. “You know I can’t.”
He sighed grinning. He scratched his stubble. Oh my god, that was so adorable.
“I’ve missed you. All this time.”
I felt my knees buckling, my mind screaming at me. The rationality of what was left in me trying desperately to tear my body away from that lobby and send me into the shivering cold. My mind was screaming no, but oh god, what was happening?
I felt his hands slide inside my coat, his arms pulling me into him. It was too late – too late and I already knew it. I thought of Chris, I thought of the tears that fell having to face the partners of the firm begging for time off. I thought of the days spent wandering throughout San Francisco, discovering the places I missed during my four years at college.
My mind was telling me to push him away, force his hands off of me, screaming no at the top of its lungs.
But my heart --- fuck, my heart --- couldn’t stop saying yes.
November 27, 2003.
(inspired by lisa)
I looked at him blankly. Thoughts were spinning in my head, my voice was nearly gone, I tugged at the collar of my blouse. It was suddenly so hot, even in the heated lounge of the Four Seasons.
“Stop fucking with me.”
“No,” he grabbed my wrist. “I love you, I still do, I always have.”
I started into his golden brown eyes, eyes that used to make my stomach flutter, eyes that could burn a hole through my soul, eyes that tore apart my heart.
“I’m leaving,” I said. I tossed a ten onto the counter, grabbed my clutch and started walking. I was a good ten feet from the swinging doors when I heard footsteps running behind me. He swiftly put his hand on my waist to stop me, but still his touch was gentle.
What was I even doing here, standing in the Four Seasons lobby agreeing to meet with him when I knew it wouldn’t have come to anything? Two years, two years I still let him jerk my heart around. I remembered Cordoba, I remembered Prague, I remembered Venice – I remembered all the places I attempted to escape to throughout Europe hoping I could find fast romance, heated nights of passion, and slowly begin to piece together the shatters of my heart.
Then I thought of Chris. And how I almost didn’t even meet him. Lauren’s dinner party and how I was running late because of an emergency meeting at the firm. I was about to skip it for a night of Chinese take-out and Sex and the City reruns in bed but just as I was about tell the taxi driver my address I changed my mind. And then I met Chris.
He made me laugh from the first moment I met him. He was sweet, and smart, and incredibly thoughtful. Little notes here, and there. Fresh flowers to start the week. I loved the instant reminders of him at my apartment. His tennis rackets sitting against the hall closet, his Fortune magazines amidst my Vogue’s and Food and Wine’s on my coffee table, his soapy scent lingering on my pillows.
“Come upstairs with me. Let’s talk. Please? It’s been such a long time.”
Why was I so weak? He looked so damn good too. His shoulders still broad, hands still soft, and the stubble – the stubble. I had always told him he looked sexy with stubble but he insisted on always shaving, even during the weekends when he didn’t have work.
My mind raced back and forth. We do need to talk, I reassured myself. It has been a good six months. We used to talk every day, hours sometimes. He understood me, he got me, he was able to make me feel things otherwise never known to me. He motivated me, encouraged me, fought with me, made me cry, laugh, smile. He did something to my heart no man had ever did before. And god, he tenderly coerced my body into movements I never knew it could perform – made me feel heights I thought could never be reached. No one, not even Chris, has ever made love to me the way he did; the physicality of it, and all the immense passion behind it – that was always hard to erase from my memory.
I turned towards him. “You know I can’t.”
He sighed grinning. He scratched his stubble. Oh my god, that was so adorable.
“I’ve missed you. All this time.”
I felt my knees buckling, my mind screaming at me. The rationality of what was left in me trying desperately to tear my body away from that lobby and send me into the shivering cold. My mind was screaming no, but oh god, what was happening?
I felt his hands slide inside my coat, his arms pulling me into him. It was too late – too late and I already knew it. I thought of Chris, I thought of the tears that fell having to face the partners of the firm begging for time off. I thought of the days spent wandering throughout San Francisco, discovering the places I missed during my four years at college.
My mind was telling me to push him away, force his hands off of me, screaming no at the top of its lungs.
But my heart --- fuck, my heart --- couldn’t stop saying yes.
November 27, 2003.
(inspired by lisa)
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