Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) (36 page)

With a trembling hand, I reached over and took my martini and downed a huge gulp. The burn did little to calm me at this point, but it gave me something else to focus on for a split second.

“Out with it,” he said calmly.

“How old do you think I am?” I asked.

“I figured you were just a few years older than me. It’s not a big deal, at least not to me.”

“You’re fourteen years younger than me,” I whispered.

“It’s just a number,” he shrugged.

“Just a number…What am I doing?” I asked him, looking into his eyes. Even though he was younger than me, he seemed wiser.

He made himself comfortable sitting at my feet, and took a sip of his SoCo and Coke.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, peering up at me through his inhumanly thick eyelashes.

Unable to speak, I simply nodded.

“When you said you were married when we were in Times Square, you were serious?”

Oh, I remembered that conversation. Me:
Oh, married for twenty some years, three kids, a beautiful home in the suburbs in Northern California.’
And his reply:
‘Three kids! Woman, you have to catch up. I’ve got myself six and one on the way with my li’l lady down on the ranch.’

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out, and took another sip of liquid courage.

“I guess what you could call my current situation is a mutually agreed separation. I actually left him, two and a half weeks ago.”
Had it really only been two and half weeks?
“I didn’t come to New York to meet any men.” I glanced at him through my martini glass. He was glued to my every word, his hand gently rubbing on my thigh. “I came to New York because, while I was busy keeping house and raising three kids, I had forgotten who I was. And I realized that I never knew who I was.

“Greg, my husband, and I got married the month after I graduated college. Bradley came along just one month before our first anniversary. And over the years, we grew further apart, him climbing the corporate ladder, me the domestic glue of the home. When Phoebe left for college, I tried to figure out my place in the home, but I felt lost. Greg’s work schedule only seemed to get busier, or at least work seemed more important. I tried to spice things up with sexier clothes, and special dinners, but his reaction was never what I hoped. Our lives were more like compatible roommates.”

“What did he say when he learned you left.”

“He was all over the place. Lost, angry, desperate. He accused me of having some paramour and that was why I came here. When I convinced him that there was no other man. He relaxed. But then he brought up that I had gotten married young and that Greg was basically my first.” Another glance at Kevin, I was comforted that he didn’t seem shocked or disgusted by any of this story so far. I took another sip of my martini and continued.

“The last time we talked, a week and half ago, just before I moved into this apartment, he told me to
‘sow my wild oats’
while I’m here. And I hadn’t intended to get involved with any man. I swear to you –”

“I believe you, Lizzie,” he interrupted. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“But Kevin, I do. I’m an adultre –”

He stopped me mid-word with a finger placed over my lips.

“What I don’t understand is how a man married to a woman like you could just tell you to go and
‘sow your wild oats.’
Who says that to their wife?”

My shoulders dropped. “I guess the disconnect went both ways. I was just a wife, not a partner. Twenty – two…” and cue the water works. A tear fell from my eye and forged a trail down my face. Kevin sat up on his knees and brushed it away. Then he kissed my forehead.

I looked at him for a moment or two. His face so full of caring and love. “It’ll all work out,” he assured me. “I’ll help you figure it out.”

I cupped his face, and searched his eyes.
Twenty-nine.
“Thank you,” was all I could reply.

“Oh!” he suddenly said, straightening up. “I almost forgot!” He reached around into his back pocket and pulled out a long thin, velvet box. “Happy Birthday, a day late,” he apologized with a shrug.

I started to cry again.

“It’s just a birthday gift. From one friend to another,” he urged.

Birthday gifts.

“But, I can’t accept –” I started.

“Just open it, would ya? Please,” he pleaded, giving me large, green, puppy dog eyes.

M
y heart started to pound again loudly in my ears. I thought about the dress and shoes from Jack hiding under my bed. Now I was holding a velvet box in my hands from Kevin. I couldn’t recall the last time I had gotten a birthday gift like this from Greg. They were all practical gifts, like cardigans or appliances, or the dreaded gift card.

With my hand quivering, I pulled back the lid of the velvet box. What was inside caused me to dissolve in a fit of laughter and I snapped the box closed.
Oh god, thank you! I needed that.
I started laughing so hard I thought I would wet myself.

“May I put it on you?” he asked with the utmost of serious intentions, even if he was hiding his own smile.

“Of course. I would love that!” I managed.

Kevin got up and ducked into the bathroom. He returned with a wet washcloth and a dry towel then took his place back at my feet. He opened the box and took out the gift that I was still laughing about.

“Now this won’t hurt one bit. Not like a real tattoo,” he said, struggling to maintain his professional composure. He held up the temporary tattoo paper. On it was an anklet ‘strung’ with three stars.

“Are you sure?” I asked cheekily.

“I selected this one for the three kids that I thought were just imaginary,” he said, winking at me. Then he wrapped the paper around my ankle. “Look at that. I bought the right size too,” he giggled, starting to lose it, just a little. “Now hold still. The water may be cold,” he admonished while wrapping the wet washcloth around my ankle, covering the paper to transfer the tattoo to the skin.

When he was satisfied that the paper had soaked enough, he peeled away the tattoo backing to reveal a very attractive anklet tattoo. I extended my leg and checked it over carefully. It looked quite realistic. I felt a little bad-ass, too. Even if it was a temporary tattoo.

“You are a marvelous tattoo artist, Mr. Parker. Thank you.”

I leaned in to him, still seated at my feet like a loyal servant, and kissed his cheek. Kevin turned, and kissed my lips, placing a hand possessively around the back of my head. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip, begging for entrance. My body betraying my mind, let him in and the kiss quickly grew more urgent and desperate. As if were trying to erase all the baggage I had just dumped all over him.

Like a woman possessed, I reached for his tie and slid the knot loose. The hand that was still resting on my freshly “tattooed” ankle slowly dragged up my leg, burning a trail as it went.

I slid off my chair and straddled his lap. Lowering myself carefully, I became fully aware of how aroused he was. His cock was huge and throbbing, straining against the zipper. I rocked slightly and ground myself gently into him. He groaned his approval.

My hands next went to the buttons on his shirt, and I undid them as quickly as I could. His kisses on my lips pressed more and more urgently, softly bruising them. And I loved it.

I finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt and brusquely shoved it back over his shoulders. My lips trailed down, kissing his tattoos. Across his chest, his shoulder, his bicep…

I dragged my tongue over his salty skin, tracing the tribal lines that had been permanently inked. Thinking that maybe one day I’d be brave enough to get a real tattoo.

I pulled my mouth from his tattoos as he lifted my shirt over my head. Sitting back, letting him look me over, it appeared his breath stopped.

With renewed vigor, his mouth crashed onto mine as he hungrily plunged his tongue into my mouth, massaging every inch, making love to my mouth, his hands caressing my skin. His breath rushed out of him and he pulled us to standing, before he swept me up into his arms, and marched us to my bedroom.

I woke up about five fifteen in the morning. The early light filtered into my bedroom, and softly caressed Kevin’s skin. I studied him as the sun climbed and cast different shadows on his impressive figure. He was young. He would be a marvelous husband to a deserving woman out there. And a fabulous father. I took stock and made some tough decisions.

I got up, showered, and brewed coffee. At five forty-five, I went in and woke Kevin up.

Shaking him gently, I whispered, “Good morning. What time do you need to leave for work?”

He groaned and rolled over, his eyes slowly opening to look at me through the light of day. He stretched, flexing those incredible arms, pecs and abs. The stubble on his face doing crazy things to my insides.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily, shoving himself upward to sit and take the mug of coffee I was offering.

“Going on six,” I answered.

He took a sip of coffee then set the mug on the side table. He took my hand and tried to pull me into his arms. I reluctantly went, knowing what I was about to do. “I’m feeling under the weather and I think I’m going to call in sick today. Wouldn’t want to be the one to spread a nasty virus through a building of middle schoolers,” he reasoned.

I pushed gently on his chest and sat up. I studied his face for a long moment.

“Kevin…” I started.

“Please don’t, Liz.”

I searched his eyes, willing him to read my mind so I didn’t have to say it out loud. But he only looked back at me, hoping for the best.

“There’s a foreign movie festival going on in the Village today. We can hide out in the theaters. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

“As enticing as that sounds…” I could see it register in his eyes that he knew where this was headed.

“Is it Jack? Do you love him more?”

Love?
I didn’t know. Need? That was more like it. Kevin was fun and made me feel great about myself, but Jack did too.

“What you and I have shared is very special, Kevin. And, no, I don’t
love
Jack more. I don’t know what is between me and Jack. My head is a mess. I feel like I’ve used you. And Jack. I’m still married and –” A sob escaped my lips and tears started to roll down my cheeks.

He placed a finger over my lips to quiet me, then he brushed away my tears and nodded. Quietly, he slid out of bed and slipped on his jeans, socks and boots. He held his hands out to me and I took them, standing quietly in front of him.

“I understand. I do. Can we still be friends?” he asked gently.

“I would love that,” I whispered back, my eyes brimming with tears as he placed a kiss on my forehead.

“Me too,” he murmured against my skin.

He pulled back and noticed the tears.

“Stop,” he softly chided. “It’s okay. I don’t regret a single moment. And we’ll still be friends. Honest. I promised I would help you through this bumpy road and I meant it.”

His generosity was my undoing. The tears streamed down my face. “I’m so honored to have met, and gotten to know you,” I blubbered.

“Same goes for me.” He kissed my forehead again and said, “Now promise me you won’t spend all day crying. I won’t. Because to cry would mean that I regret what we had – what we have. I think I knew somewhere that we were headed to this place. I’m good, Liz. Really.”

I smiled through my tears, hugging him tightly before he kissed my cheek chastely and walked out the door.

My heart stopped. How could someone who had been in my life for such a short span of time be so important? I collapsed on my bed and cried. A good cry. I had done the right thing. A tough decision, but an adult decision. The right decision.

O
kay, so I lied. I wasn’t two seconds in my own apartment before the first tear found its way out of my eye. I cried in the shower, too. I showered longer than normal so I could get it all out.

There will never be another Lizzie. Forgiving. Courageous. Feisty. The things she taught me about myself, I will never forget. She has raised the bar for the women out there.