Moore To Love (18 page)

Lane looks over his shoulder to the waiting cab and raises his finger to indicate he’ll be another minute.
A minute.
I’m only deserving of one more minute of his time to wrap up this crazy turn of events? Excuse me while I remove the tail—and vacant, throbbing need—from between my legs.

His warm lips meet the chilled skin of my cheek—such a step back from the progress we made with our lips—and he retreats with a shy smile. “There’s no need to rush things. I told you I’m not the kind of guy you think I am. Can you trust me enough to accept that you did nothing wrong? You’re beautiful and sexy and I really, really want you, but—”

There’s that annoying word again. “But?” I ask, trying with all my might to stop my lip from trembling.

“But I’m not going anywhere. Let’s take it slow. And if you’ll allow it, I’d love to see you again when you get back.”

That’s it? No explanation? I’m still stumped, even if enamored by his proposition.

I can do one of two things. Walk away and sulk because I didn’t get my way. Or, gracefully trust his hesitance as an
it’s not you, it’s me
situation.

While the old Leni would no doubt opt for scenario one, make a fool of herself, and then drown her sorrows in a gallon of Rocky Road, the new Leni has turned a new leaf. “Fine,” I huff, my body slumping against the wall. I almost make a joke about how my trusty Lelo will have to finish what he started, but I think better of it and smile with poise. “I hate to see you go, but I’ll love watching you leave.” I wink, masking the devastation that has to be visible in my eyes.

Lane hovers against me and places a soft kiss on my lips. I want more. I want to pull him closer and get lost again, but I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing. With one final peck on the tip of my nose, my hand falls from Lane’s as he withdraws. “Thank you for a perfect date. It may not have ended the way you wanted it to, but this is far from over.”

I smile, hoping this isn’t a let down, just a hold up in our—whatever this is. I wave him off as he gets back into the cab, holding back the tears of rejection until he’s out of sight.

I CAN’T RELY ON HER
as a shopping buddy, but Tatum wants to be front row center while I wallow on Misery Lane, pun totally intended.

She shows up at my place wielding a giant stuffed teddy bear that’s almost the entire length of her five foot four frame. I can barely see her behind the massive thing, but there’s no denying it’s Tatum. I’d recognize those hot pink Uggs anywhere.

“Get in here, you idiot.”

I pull her inside and she stumbles, the bear breaking her fall.

“I thought you had plans with Paul, number one. And number two, what’s with the bear?”

Tatum seats our new furry friend on my oversized armchair and adjusts him, just so, until he’s no longer lopsided. His inanimate, beady black eyes mock me and I hold myself back from punching the factory manufactured smile off his plush face.

“Paul fell asleep mid-Netflix so we never got to the
chill
part, and the bear is a comfort gesture because I know Rocky Road is off limits.” Her eyes flicker with an idea. “Oh! That can be his name! Leni, this is Rocky Road. He’s here to listen to your dilemma.” Her voice is high pitched, saccharine. She over enunciates her words the way a mother would when speaking to her baby in goo-goo-ga-ga language. It doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it pisses me off even more.

“Please don’t make fun of this situation. This blows donkey balls, Tay. You shouldn’t have come. I’m just gonna haul my ass to bed and forget this night ever happened!” I plop down next to Rocky Road and crane my arm around his neck. It’s not a hug, it’s a choke hold, but his warm, round body
is
kind of comforting so I ease up on the big fella.

“Start from the top and leave no stone unturned. I need all the deets to make sure I can give you the best friend advice you so rightly deserve.” I almost expect her to whip out a pencil from behind her ear and a notepad from her back pocket. She doesn’t have to, though. We’ve been down similar roads many a time, and Tatum is like my own personal therapist, minus the hefty copay.

“We had the best time.” My heart thunders in my chest when I recall how effortlessly wonderful the entire day with Lane was. “We laughed while we shopped, and he actually helped me pick out a few things that I might not have found on my own. He carried my bags for me, waited patiently outside of dressing rooms, yayed and nayed when I asked for his opinion. It was surprisingly comfortable, considering we just met.

“Then after we were done, we walked over to La Esquina—hand in hand, the way a couple would. We sat at a quiet table; it was romantic, and candlelit, and all the things a girl hopes for in a first date setting. He never took his eyes off me; his hands, either. The connection was intense. I’m not just saying it, Tay. I felt it. From the tips of my fingers to the ends of my toes. His words mesmerized me and his touch made me weak. I haven’t enjoyed a man like that since—since
never
.

“And before you think about mentioning Hudson, just don’t. Hudson was a one-night stand, a Stella’s-got-her-groove-back moment. Sure, it felt good, but it didn’t feel
Lane
good.” I sigh and deflate into the couch cushions, remembering just how good that feeling was.
Good, but gone.

Tatum remains quiet, her wheels turning underneath her beachy blonde waves. Her silence means she’s evaluating, trying my tragic love story on for size. I won’t dare mess with her mojo and ask anything prematurely, so instead, I continue. This is the part that needs the most judgment, anyway.

“So, after dinner I was tired and my feet hurt a little from all the walking. I suggested we get a cab back to my place—and let me tell you, Tatum, there was no denying what I was getting at. It was an invitation to jump my bones and he had to know that when he accepted. The heat between us was the real deal Holyfield, even in the restaurant. If I weren’t so worried I couldn’t stuff my big ass
and
his together in a bathroom stall, I would’ve dragged him into the little niñita’s room and had my way with him right there. So, we get in the cab and we’re talking and flirting, and he’s dimpling and I’m squirming, and one thing leads to another, and—Oh my God. The kiss. Earth shattering. Measured 9.5 on the Richter scale. Things got a little heated, his hands copped their feel and mine wound up in his lap—”

“You copped the cock. In the cab. You dirty, dirty whore. Continue.”

“It was a nice cock, too, might I add. But! And this is a major
but
, this is where the goddamn cabbie stopped the car
and
our momentum, and rather than pay the dude and rush upstairs, Lane asked him to wait so he could say goodnight to me. The end. Good night. No night cap.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it . . . Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. What did he say when you asked him
why
?” Tatum scootches to the edge of her seat and narrows her penetrating gaze. Damn, when did she become Dr. Fucking Ruth?

“That’s the thing. He never really gave me the answer. He beat around the bush.”

“Not your bush, unfortunately,” she sneers.

“No, Captain Obvious, but he
did
pin me against the wall and he
did
tell me he wants me but also wants to take things slow.” I take another long breath. Getting it out feels better, but I’m also biting my nails in anticipation of Tatum’s analysis. She knows the male species better than any of my other friends. Ashley’s been with Reynold and only Reynold since tenth grade. Jane and Mandy are into each other. Raven and the girls at work are all married with children and totally out of the wooing stage. That leaves Tatum. My lovely, wonderful, beautiful friend, who has been around the block a time or two. She’s not exactly what you’d call a slut, but . . . okay, there’s a very thin line here . . . but my point is that Tatum knows her dating shit and I’m scared to hear her achingly truthful advice about my flop with Lane.

My thumbnail is down to a jagged nub waiting for her to process. I picture her brainwaves working on overdrive, computing and calculating. She snaps her neck from side to side and then cracks her knuckles. The chick is ready for battle. This can’t be good.

“Okay, from the way I see it . . . he seems . . . I don’t know, Len. I hate to break this to you, but is there a possibility that Mr. Fancy Pants is, well, you know . . .
fabulous
?”

Oh no she didn’t.
“Gay!? You think he’s gay?” I scream, jumping out of my seat and sending Rocky Road the bear tumbling to the floor.

Tatum rushes to rescue him and pulls him onto her lap where she can hide behind her accusations and his fuzziness. “Your story had a couple of red flags, Len. His love of shopping. The ‘I’m not the kind of guy you think I am.’ His hesitance to get down and dirty with you. I’m sorry, babes, but there is a strong possibility that Lane is playing for the other team. Call it a hunch or what have you, but—”

My brain becomes an internal cheerleader chanting,
DEFENSE—clap clap—DEFENSE—clap clap
. “So, basically what you’re saying is that I’m
crazy
for thinking there was any kind of spark between us—I imagined it—
and
that a guy as good-looking and swoony as Lane can’t possibly be attracted to someone like
me
.”

Rocky Road is tossed to the floor again as Tatum stands to make her point. “No, that’s not what I said. He’s not
not
attracted to you because of who
you
are, Leni. What I’m saying is, maybe he’s just not attracted to women. Period.”

This is a lot to take in. I mean, seriously. I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life with the opposite sex, but this is a first. I’ve never thrown myself at a gay guy, and I’d like to think I’m pretty keen on reading people and would have known if I set my sights on someone who wasn’t into me. I replay every conversation, every tender touch, every dimple flash, the kiss that felt like fireworks inside my body. “It can’t be. It simply can’t be.” My head falls into my hands as uncertainty plagues me. When you don’t want to believe that something can be true, you find every excuse to have faith in the opposite. But I’m drained. From the accident, from the dieting, from the day with Lane, from this joke of a life.

Tatum’s hand jolts me from my blubbering. “Hey, come on. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s just shy, Leni. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle someone as fierce as you.”

“Fierce?” I don’t lift my head, I don’t react, I just mumble the word, wondering what business it has describing someone like me.

“Look at me!” Tatum orders, her hands prying my own from the clutches of my tear sodden face.

I don’t budge. I can’t. I don’t want to face her. I don’t want to face
this
. I’m not up for convincing myself of his reasons for rejecting me. I can’t force myself to believe that what I felt was nothing more than hopefulness because it was . . .
wonderful
. It was so goddamn wonderful to feel wanted by Lane and there was not one second of our time together when I was fat Leni. I was just
me
. And the thought that Lane liked me for me was simply . . .
wonderful
.