“Do I?” I ask looking up at him through my long lashes. What the hell has gotten into me? I don’t play coy very well.
“Oh yes, most definitely. Very friendly,” he enunciates seductively.
Ok, enough of this BS! I’m a melting pile of slush over here. “Ok, Dorian, let’s be honest. You don’t know me from Eve. Why are you really here?” I ask, satisfied with myself. I can tell my candor has caught him off guard and his eyebrows rise in surprise.
“I simply want to get to know you better. You seem fascinating,” he recovers evenly.
“I am anything but fascinating. I can assure you that.” Well… that used to be true.
“I seriously doubt that, Gabriella. Would you happen to have time to meet me later tonight? Maybe for a drink?” Ugh! There’s that smile again. He’s laying it on thick, and I’m lapping it up like a kitten to milk.
I will myself to play it cool as I mull over his question. “Possibly,” I answer, secretly ecstatic at the thought of having more time with this enigmatic stranger. Yes! Say yes! I scream from within. “Ok, sure. I guess I can do that. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” he breathes, sending my hormones into overdrive.
“Cut the shit. I’m not some giggling schoolgirl and I don’t take kindly to games. So save the googly eyes and phone sex voice.” And with that, I stand and throw my trash into a nearby bin, and stride boldly out of the café. “And I get off at 9:30,” I say over my shoulder as I make my dramatic exit.
Hell yes! I squeal to myself. I literally dig my fingernails into my hand to keep from turning around to read his expression.
At 9:20, I retreat to the stockroom bathroom to primp for my date. I’m way more excited and nervous than I’ll admit to myself. I fish my small makeup pouch from my new tote and commence to applying fresh coats of powder, mascara and lipgloss. I expertly line my eyes, courtesy of Morgan’s tutorial, and finger-comb my waves. Waving goodbye to my co-workers, I take a deep breath before exiting out through the employee entrance.
I step out and see random store workers but no sign of Dorian. Humph, for someone so adamant to get to know me, you would think he’d be on time. I glance at my watch; 9:30 on the dot. I try to stifle my disappointment and resolve to head to my car and go home if he doesn’t show up in a few minutes. I’m not a spoiled princess but I’ll be damned if I wait around outside in the cold for some guy I don’t even know, even if he is ridiculously gorgeous and alluring.
Then it hits me…I didn’t even tell Dorian where to meet me! I was so overwhelmed by his mere presence that once again, I turned into the bumbling village idiot, totally ignorant of conventional civilities and dialogue. Good going, Gabs.
Begrudgingly, I start to fish my keys out of my purse, and panic when I don’t see them. I pat my jacket pockets and come up empty. I peer into my purse again and find them in one of the many pockets. Whew! I sigh with relief and grasp them to my chest. Deciding that I might as well call it a night, I step towards my car and nearly walk right into a broad chest shrouded in a dark leather jacket.
“Gabriella,” he breathes, his smooth voice bathing my name in warm butter.
“You came,” I stammer, struggling to gain my composure under his penetrating gaze. I clear my throat and square my shoulders. “You’re late.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he says confidently.
Arrogant douche. I look down at my watch, prepared to prove his tardiness despite my own oversight, and it reads 9:29. Crap, looks like my battery has died. I shrug off my misstep.
“Ok, then, where to?” I try hard to seem unaffected by my slip and our near collision. The thought of actually touching him excites me more than it should.
“Why don’t you choose? I’m sure you know the area better than I do,” he replies. I can tell he’s trying to seem casual, putting his intensity on the back burner for now. I smirk with triumph.
We walk down to the nearby sports lounge in the mall complex. There are plenty of witnesses here just in case Dorian turns out to be an ax murderer and I just don’t trust myself with him in a quiet, more intimate setting. Psycho or not, I may just let him have his way with me.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks, politely as we settle into a booth.
“Um, just a Coke, please,” I reply.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that what you really want? Please, order whatever you like.” He sounds a bit offended as if I’m insinuating that he can’t afford it.
“Well, I’d really like a beer but you know there’s this little thing called a legal drinking age. Just turned 20, remember?” I smirk.
Right on cue, the buxom blonde waitress strolls over to ask us what we’d like to drink. She instantly flinches once Dorian looks up at her to order our round of beer. All she can do is nod in response and retreat to the bar to fetch our beverages. She doesn’t even ask for ID, and I know I look young for my age. She’s obviously flustered, and I chalk it up to his captivating glacial stare and smoldering good looks. But when she returns with the beer, I catch a hint of fear in her stance. She looks down, attempting to avoid eye contact, her small mouth fixed into a tight, rigid line. Her hands wring her small black apron until her knuckles are white. Suspicion nags at the back of my head.
“Um, an ex of yours?” I ask once the waitress is out of earshot. I casually wave my hand in her direction. Dorian tears his eyes from mine and momentarily glances at her. She almost cringes under his gaze.
“No, I’ve never seen her before in my life,” he shrugs. I’m not going to argue with him. He has no reason to tell me anything; we’re practically strangers. I let the subject drop to avoid humiliation.
“So, Dorian, what is it that you want to know about me?” I ask, and then take a long sip from my beer. Ah! Refreshing.
“Everything,” he replies in a feathery breath. Then he smirks with nonchalance, no doubt toying with me by ignoring my earlier demand. “But I’ll start with your hobbies.”
“Ummm. I actually don’t have any, really.” It’s the truth, sadly.
“No hobbies? So there’s nothing you enjoy doing?” Dorian seems intrigued. He tilts his head to one side as if he’s trying to figure out the secrets hiding behind my hazel eyes.
“Well, when the weather is nice, I like to be outdoors. You know, just soakin’ up the rays. I like to hike I guess, though I’m no hardcore hiker with gear and stuff. Other than that, there’s just not much to me,” I chuckle, nervously. I know how unintelligent I must sound but being this close to Dorian, close enough to smell the captivating scent of his cologne, makes me anxious to say the least. “What about you?” Anything to steer the conversation from me.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Reading, sports, movies, music,” he prattles. “So when you aren’t out hiking, what are you usually doing?” He's really not going to let me off the hook.
“I’m a college sophomore by day and a lowly, underpaid retail clerk by night,” I joke. “And when you aren’t seducing young women in clubs and hanging out in coffee shops all day, what do you do?” I hope he’s not put off by my playfulness.
“Seducing young women in clubs? Who are these women you speak of?” he grins back at me. Whew. Intimidatingly gorgeous and a sense of humor? Pinch me.
“Oh, you haven’t counted all those pairs of panties that every chick in that club was throwing at you last night? Or did you lose count?” I snicker. Dorian returns my crass remark with a bemused expression, his brow furrowing for just a moment. “I’m kidding! Really. What do you do?” Maybe I shouldn’t scare him off with my vulgar behavior just yet.
“Hmmm,” he smiles slyly. “I’m in Law. But I’m taking a little break. Thinking about a career change.”
“Law, huh? So like a lawyer? Impressive.” Let’s just add brilliant to his list of attributes. “How old are you anyway?”
Dorian looks deep into my eyes with such intensity I can feel the electricity radiating from them. The sparks sizzle through my vei
ns, making a direct path to the pit of my stomach. It feels as if I’ve swallowed a handful of Pop Rocks. Then the sensation sinks down South, turning from a fizzle to an aching throb. I catch myself before I reflexively put my hands between my legs to coax my raging desire. I squeeze my thighs together alternatively.
“Twenty five,” Dorian says. His lips twitch before spreading into a cunning smile.
“Huh?” I’m dumbfounded.
“You asked my age. I am 25,” he replies. Snap out of it, Gabs! My face is red hot with shame. Somehow I think he knows my dirty little secret.
“Oh yeah,” I recover. “That’s really young to be so accomplished.” I take a long swig of beer. “So tell me, Dorian, what brings you to Colorado Springs? Business or pleasure?”
Dorian licks his succulent lips and the dam breaks in my Victoria Secrets. “A little bit of both.”
For the next hour, we engage in easy conversation, offering everything from our favorite movies to our favorite books. It’s seamless, though I find myself getting lost in his eyes every few minutes. He acts as if he doesn’t notice and we press on about childhood memories and first crushes. I am just thankful he’s eased up on torturing me with his sex-drenched gaze. Maybe he noticed that I was turning into a pile of unintelligible mush and grew tired of trying to decipher my confused ramblings. Dorian is oddly… normal, despite his extraordinary good looks.
We skim through our family life vaguely, neither one of us wanting to give too much away about our personal lives. He has one brother and I simply tell him I was adopted with no other siblings. I’ve been so caught up in our relaxed exchange that I totally forgot to check in. Crap, Chris and Donna will be worried since I didn’t come home right after work and didn’t call to inform them otherwise. They probably think I went off the deep end with the sudden turn of events in the past 24 hours.
“Oh crap, Dorian, I gotta go,” looking at the time on my cell phone since my watch is out of commission. I also notice a text and 2 missed calls but ignore them for now and shove my cell back into my purse. My time is ending with Dorian and I’m ashamed to admit that I’m sincerely disappointed.
“Can I give you a ride home? I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.”
I politely decline then Dorian motions towards the bar, signaling for the check. The blonde waitress reluctantly strolls over and drops the small black folder without saying a word. After Dorian stuffs a few bills into the small leather black folder we make our way outside. I notice that my car is the only one left in the empty side entrance lot of the mall.
“Maybe I should be asking you if you need a ride. Where’s your car?”
“Oh, it’s around the other side of the mall,” Dorian replies with his usual nonchalance.
Noting the extreme drop in temperature, a cold shiver crawls up my spine as we step out into the frigid night air. I pull my jacket around me, hoping to dispel the chill. “Let me drive you to it,” I say between slightly chattering teeth.
“That won’t be necessary. I can walk; it’s not that far,” he declines.
“I insist. Really. Don’t you know there’s a killer on the loose?” I say, waving him over to my Honda.
For a split second, Dorian grimaces as if the thought of a sadistic murderer physically pains him. He exhales nervously and reluctantly agrees. I’m grateful because I really didn’t want to stand out here and argue with him in the cold. Then I wonder why Dorian was so hesitant to accept my offer. Was he lying about owning a car? Or could he be embarrassed of it? I reprimand myself for being so pushy and try to plaster on a reassuring smile as we ride around the backside of the building.
“It’s right over there,” he mumbles, pointing toward a department store. He really does seem nervous and a pang of sympathy grips my chest. I can spot a shadow of a car but I can’t make out what type it is. I tell myself it wouldn’t matter anyway.
I pull up alongside the silhouette and my jaw literally drops. I can see the sleek, dark frame of a luxurious sports car twinkling under the moonlight and am instantly flooded with guilt mixed with embarrassment at my mental misstep. It’s a Mercedes-Benz SL 65 AMG, a car I recognize from one of the exclusive car shows Morgan has dragged me to, or as she calls it, ‘Sponsor Hunting’. As if his looks weren’t already so impressive, now he has to wow me with his exotic, expensive car? Mild humiliation washes over me as I take in my own 5 year old, trusty Honda Civic. Of course, he’d have a gorgeous car. It wouldn’t make sense for him to own anything otherwise.
“Nice car,” I stammer. “Black Series?” I only remember the model because it was one of my favorites, being that it is elegant and sexy without being too over the top. I try hard not to seem star-struck.
“Yeah,” he mutters with a shrug. Oh geez, is this his play at modesty? I roll my eyes in the darkness.
“So will I see you again?” my mouth asks before my head can stop me. So much for playing it cool!
Dorian’s mouth turns up on one side, the movement of his lips nearly causing me to gasp aloud. “Do you want to see me again?” he asks, his silky voice sounding even more sensual in the shroud of night.
“Yes,” I answer too quickly, growing angry with my mouth for yet another betrayal. I hold my breath in anticipation and to keep from saying anything more to humiliate myself.
“Then you shall."
Dorian leans over just an inch, his alluring azure eyes finding mine, holding my gaze. With just a dim streetlamp illuminating his face, he looks so…dangerously delicious. I want him. And the realization of how deep that hunger aches within me disturbs me. I can feel the heat radiating between my thighs, the pit of my stomach quivering in expectation. I blink rapidly, breaking our reverie and force myself to focus on something, anything, other than his beauty. Or his body. A body that I want pressed against mine, limbs and tongues twisted and tangled, our flesh contortioned into X-rated abstract art…
Ugh! What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve got to get out of his proximity.
“I better get home,” I stammer. I need to get away from him yet I don’t want him to leave. I feel like my erratic emotions are being completely ruled by my hormones.
“Yes,” he breathes.
Dorian takes another long, torturous look, causing my body to squirm one last time before he reaches for the car door handle. No, don’t go! I want to scream, but for the first time, my mouth checks in with my brain and stays shut. Dorian clicks open the door and steps out gracefully. He fishes out a key and hits a button, chirping the gorgeous car to life. After a sexy smirk in my direction, he folds his muscular frame in with precision and revs it up. Then he’s gone.
I gather my bearings, totally baffled at what just went down. I barely know this guy yet I’m imagining having sex with him? And not just any sex at that. I’m talking lip-biting, toe-curling, back-scratching, no holds barred sex. I’m no virgin, but the thought of intimacy with Dorian not only excites me, but scares me. Scares me because I want him so damn badly. I’ve never wanted anyone more, and so quickly at that. Dorian feels like a designer drug; I know I’m not supposed to do it but I want to anyway. And for that reason alone, I know I should stay away. But will I?
In an attempt to regain some sense of composure, I reach into my purse and fish out my cell phone to check my messages before driving home. It’s a text from Morgan asking if I’m still alive and hopefully not too hungover, and the missed calls are from my parents.
Parents.
Just a day ago, that had a completely different meaning. If someone asked me who my parents were, Chris and Donna were the only names that popped into my head. Not Natalia and some mystery baby daddy. And since there was such an overwhelming lack of evidence that my birth parents even existed, I just assumed they were dead and even started telling people that. Now all of my unanswered questions have created new unanswered questions, leaving me more confused and frustrated as ever.
But at least there’s Dorian.
His unexpected arrival into my once drab existe
nce has definitely been a bright spot. Something different, mystifying, for a change. And after years of pining after a guy who only saw me as his BFF, Dorian’s interest in me is more than welcomed.
An inkling of movement out the corner of my eye shakes me from my musings. I quickly turn my head to look in the direction of a group of tall bushes lining the side of the department store brick wall. I don’t detect anything strange so I look down at my phone, beginning my “I’m ok” text to Morgan. But before I can hit send, I sense movement again. Only this time, when I look, I can clearly see the bushes quivering, as if something, or someone, is in them. Just a raccoon, I tell myself but I can’t truly believe my own theory. I throw my phone back into my purse but when I look up again to put my car in Drive, I see that the bushes are no longer shaking. Instead there is a shadowy figure standing in front of them, not 30 yards away from me. It’s too dark and too far away to tell if it’s a man or a woman but I can tell that whoever it is, they are glaring directly in my direction.
Before I can reach the steering wheel, the figure is moving towards me. FAST. In an unnatural, ghostly way, it’s closing the distance between us in an extraordinarily rapid pace. What the hell? Is it floating towards me? Like frames from a horrifying strip of film, the figure advances towards me in flashes of ethereal light, each mutated frame more distorted than the last. In the split second it takes to pry my terrified eyes from the approaching shadow, I gather my bearings and hit the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement. Whatever that was, it was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Yet something about it was oddly, horrifyingly familiar.
I pull up to my house in record time, thanking God for no red traffic lights or police cars in my path. What the hell was that? Before stepping out onto the driveway, I check around and behind me, ensuring that the coast is clear. Then I book it down the stone path and up the three stairs to our front door. I feel slightly foolish as I close and lock the door behind me and sink to the floor, suddenly exhausted with fright.