Wishes in Her Eyes (2 page)

“What did you say?” I held my breath, bracing for one of Darry’s flamboyant answers.

“I told him you weren’t seeing anyone....” I let out my breath. “Except,” he continued, “your shrink for your nymphomania issue.”

“Oh my God! Please, please tell me you didn’t say that,” I implored. I never knew what would come out of Darry’s mouth. I desperately hoped that this hadn’t.

“Of course I didn’t. You have to have sex to be a nympho and since you haven’t had sex since Christ was a child I—”

“Okay I get it! What did you tell him?”

“I told him you weren’t seeing anyone and that you were as free as a bird. He said that he’s been wanting to ask you out, but didn’t know if you dated white guys. I told him that you were an equal opportunity lover.”

Ugh, I felt flustered. I wanted this, now I didn’t know how to behave. What should I do? Let him come to me? That sounded good. I’d go with that. Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to ponder this decision.

“What’s wrong? You look a little green around the gills,” Darry stated as he came around my desk. “Harper, there’s no time for that! Stone might still be in the break room.”

And with that he yanked me off my chair, out of my office and to the break room. Oh, look. Stone was still in there.
Great.

“Hello Stone. I’m so glad you’re still here!” Darry said, his words were sugary sweet and dripped from his tongue. “I wanted you and Harper to continue the wonderful conversation we were having.”

Darry pushed me in front of Stone so hard that if I had had wheels on my feet, I would have squealed to a stop. Humiliation washed over me as I looked up at Stone. I was gonna kick Darry’s ass for this.

Looking so proud of himself, Darry said, “I’ll just let you two kids talk,” as he scurried out of the room.

Stone looked as uncomfortable as I felt, but at least he was gracious about it. “Uh, Darry didn’t waste any time.”

“Time is something Darry never wastes when it comes to men.”

He laughed.
Was I funny? He thought I was funny. I wasn’t trying to be, but I’m glad I was.

“I guess Darry told you that I wanted to ask you out.”

“He mentioned something about that,” I said as I waved my hand in the air and tried to appear nonchalant. I didn’t want him to think I’d give my right pinky toe to go out with him, which I would have. But maybe I was playing it too cool.
Damn!
Luckily he didn’t seem to notice my stupid attempt at being blasé.

“Would you like to—” Stone started before being rudely interrupted by a guy running and yelling his name. I’d never seen the man before, but he looked rheumy and contagious. With his ashen face I wasn’t sure if he’d even make it to talk to Stone, but despite his questionable condition and the fact that our break room/lunch room was about seventy-five feet long, he was quite speedy. When he got closer, he looked even worse, and the closer he got also brought his lack of oral hygiene to the forefront. All the huffing and puffing he was doing in his rush to get to Stone had him blowing his rancid breath in my face. What I would have given for a piece of gum or a full-length facemask.

“Stone...
huff, huff...
man we are in trouble...
huff, huff
.”

“The numbers....”
Blah, blah, blah,
was all I heard as I watched my chance for a date with Stone go up in stinky smoke.

“Hey, Harper I—” Stone tried to get in before Funky Breath stomped all over it.

“Come on!” barked Smelly Man, “We need to have a meeting now!”

“That’s okay. We’ll talk later,” I said, feeling more than a little disappointed. And that’s the last I heard from Stone.

“How late are you going to stay at work on a Friday night?” Darry asks, frustrated. “Har-per, you should be going out with me.” He likes to string out my name when he’s whining, thinking that will annoy me enough to give in. It isn’t working this time.

“Why? So I can watch you chase every available man within a hundred miles? I’ve seen how talented you are at turning a straight-as-an-arrow hetero man into a simpering puppy by the mere touch of your hand. As much as I enjoy watching you work your magic on your latest conquest, I’m going to work out.”

“You’re never gonna find a man when all you do is work and go to the health club. Come on sweetie, come out with me. I just bought a new Armani suit and Jean Paul Gaultier shoes. We could accessorize together.”

“As much fun as that sounds, I’ll pass. I’ve got to go to the gym. I would think you would be happy that I’m spending time with muscle-bound, sweat-drenched men.”

“I would be happy if it ever led to anything, but it never does. I’m just trying to speed up the mating process before your eggs refuse to hatch. I want nieces and nephews to spoil and outfit before I’m too old and I have to buy off the rack,” he says, shuddering for effect. Deftly changing subjects, he says, “Have you talked to Stone?”

“Nope. I heard they’re going through an audit and we’ve been so busy getting ready for court, I haven’t had time to talk to my own mother.”

“I know! It’s been crazy! That’s why you should come out and play.”

“Darius. I’m not going.”

“Oh, alright. Whatever. I’m not wasting the mani-pedi and eyebrow threading I got at lunch. I’m off to the ball.” Darry huffs on his way out the door, “Call me later!”

As a lifetime member of the Big Girls Club, I live by three rules: Love your body, love yourself, look good and you’ll feel good. The first and second rules have been a bit of a struggle for me. In order to be comfortable in your own skin, in my humble opinion, you have to work what you’ve got. You have to have strong self-esteem. Now that it’s “in” to be curvy due to the oversaturation of celebrities I refuse to mention, it’s gotten a little easier to be Rubenesque. The third rule is why I’m on my way to the gym or the “sweat, grunt and faint” club, as I like to call it.

I live in Westport, the “hip” part of Kansas City, Missouri. Bars, art galleries, funky shops and restaurants that cater to every imaginable palate pepper the area. The rent here is obscene, but being within walking distance to most things is well worth it. On a Friday after work, Darry is right, I probably should be out with him and all my fellow singles, trolling the warm spring night in search of whoever, but I have to keep my hourglass figure from turning into a circle. So here I am dismounting the treadmill and sweating like a whore at bible study. With my workout finished, all I want to do is go home, take a hot bath, and plop in front of the tube. After walking out of the health club and getting in my car, I realize that all I have to eat at home is a science project that had once been a couple of slices of pizza and half a bottle of wine. Shit! That means I’ll have to go to the store to get something for dinner. I really don’t want to be in public in my less than appealing physical state, which consists of being hot, sweaty and stinky. Along with my non-springtime-fresh feeling, the air smells of rain and the sky is lighting up like a Christmas tree. Great.

Stopping at the closest grocery store, hoping to just run in and run out, I dash for the frozen food section. I peruse the television dinners, trying to decide on gourmet mac and cheese or chicken nuggets. Finally I say to hell with it and grab a single-serve lasagna. A quick run by the bakery for French bread and I’m on to the register.

Having safely made it in and out of the store without being seen by anyone I know, I sprint to my car. As I reach for the door I notice something doesn’t look quite right. One look down and I see the problem—a flat tire. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” I say to myself. I throw my food in the car, slam the door, open the trunk and my heart sinks. No spare. One of things I said I’d get around to doing. Slamming the trunk down, I mumble, “Shit! Now what?” At that precise moment the sky opens up and the rain comes. At first an annoying sprinkle, then a determined drizzle, and finally a deluge of mythical proportions. All in a matter of minutes. Un-ladylike words stream from my mouth.

As I stand there drowning and wallowing in pity, a deep “Need some help?” comes from behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn around and plow right into the chest of Stone Masterson, nearly knocking him to the ground.

“Umfp. Sorry,” I stammer, trying unsuccessful to look composed. Bulldozing him down like a Kansas City Chiefs defensive end isn’t exactly how I want to behave in front of my crush.

“No problem. That’s what I get for scaring a beautiful woman at night in a thunderstorm.”

Did he just say “beautiful?” Naw. Must be the storm distorting his words.

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. You scared the shi... uh, stuffing out of me.”

“Where’s your spare?” Stone asks, taking a quick assessment of my car.

“Where’s my what? Oh, my spare... heh, heh, well, um. That’s a good question. Uh, what I mean is... I don’t have a spare. That is, I mean, I meant to take care of that, but it seems I never got around to it.”

What the hell is wrong with me?
I sound like a Twilight fan that has just met Robert Pattinson with all the sputtering I’m doing. I’m usually pretty calm, cool and collected around men, even men I’m attracted to.... Not so much with Stone.

While I’m still trying to figure out why I’ve gone all dumbass, I realize that Stone is laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a big belly laugh. I mean he laughs until he’s holding his side.

I’m usually good at laughing at myself, but my stupidity at not having a spare has kinda zapped my humor.

Noticing that I’m giving him the stink eye, he says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you. I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that this same thing happened to me when we had that crazy storm last month. I was already running late, I didn’t have a spare and I’d forgotten my cell phone at home. I hit the trifecta of bad luck that night. I was so pissed at myself I cussed a blue streak so loud that people started to stare at me.”

Ah, so he has stupid moments too. That makes me feel a bit better. “You just missed my blue streak. If you’d been here twenty seconds earlier, you would have heard words that would make you blush.”

“I heard them. Quite impressive.”

“Lovely,” I say hoping the ground will open up and swallow me whole.

“So you let a few curse words fly. I’m not a prude. I’ve heard worse.”

“Uh, okay. Can we take up my use of harsh language at another time? I’m freezing, I’m kinda getting waterlogged here and I still need to find a tire somewhere.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry. Let’s get out of the rain.”

We run back to the store and I call AAA. Fifteen minutes later, I snap my cell phone closed and sigh in defeat. “Two hours. It’s gonna take them two hours to get to me. Apparently everybody’s cars within a fifty-mile radius have decided to have a flat.”

“No problem. I’ll take you home.”

We head toward the door as a soggy man runs past us to escape the monsoon. “Hey, if you’re headed north, you can forget it. There are trees and power lines down everywhere.”

Watching me as I hang my head, almost in tears, Stone says, “I take it you live north.”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ll come home with me.”

Snapping out of my misery, I say, “What?!”

“You’ll come home with me.”

“Uh, that’s not necessary. I’ll just call Darry to come get me.”

There’s no way I can go home with him. I don’t trust myself not to do something embarrassing, like roll around on his bed and sniff the pillows.

“It’s Friday night; Darry is probably in bed, in the arms of some happy man.”

He’s right. Darry is probably in the middle of a man sandwich. He’ll kill me if I call and interrupt him. Oh, he’ll come and get me, but I’ll never hear the end of it.

“Probably. Plus he lives up north too.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

It could be my imagination, but Stone seems to be happy about our little impromptu sleepover.

As he heads toward the door, I remember what brought me to the store. “Wait! I forgot. I have food in my car.”

“I’ll go get it. Give me your keys.”

He runs to my car, gets the food and runs back. At the door, Stone yells above the thunder, “Let’s go!”

As we run, I slip in a puddle of water, right on my ass. Mortified, I scramble to get up and fall back in the hole.
This just keeps getting better,
I think to myself. Stone hauls me up and carries me to his car.

“Put me down! I don’t wanna be responsible for you getting a hernia.”

“Don’t make me laugh or I’ll drop you. I’ve carried ammo that’s heavier than you.”

What?!
Carried ammo that’s heavier than you.
Concern begins to creep into me. Do I want to go home with a man that is clearly touched in the head? But it doesn’t seem that I have a choice.

Once at his car, he lets me down, unlocks and opens the door for me. He even reaches in and straps my seat belt for me.
Disturbing
. This man can’t be real.

Stone gets in and cranks the heat up. Soothing music drifts from his stereo. Warmth, intoxicating tunes and an airtight interior make me feel like I’m in a cocoon... with Stone. Not safe. Not safe at all.