Ren
It's been awkward at work this morning. I didn't sleep well after texting Gio, and I'm feeling the significance of my thirtieth birthday weighing on me like a ton of bricks.
I am definitely an adult now. Not like I haven't been an adult for the last twelve years... but sometimes I still feel like a teenager on the inside.
And what makes it awkward is that no one at my office knows. I feel like somehow I must look different—older, but of course, that's not true, and everyone around me is just carrying on with their normal day.
It's not all sad, though. I have dinner plans with my dad tonight, my mom is taking me to brunch on Saturday, and I'm especially looking forward to Saturday night. Sydney is coming up, and then she, Hannah, and Kristin will go clubbing with me. I'm so stoked! Yet...
My stomach churns whenever I think of what I texted Gio the other night... and that he didn't respond. I don't know what to do about it. Nothing, most likely. Probably for the best.
I get back to modifying my bézier curve on this new design I'm working on —it's just not looking quite right. My fingers press command C, then command V, and I try again. I hear the sound of Gemma's quick, petite footfalls approaching my desk.
"OMG, Lauren, look what just got dropped off for you!" Gemma blurts, practically bouncing with excitement.
She holds out a small brown box wrapped with a pink ribbon, with an equally small card attached—a birthday present. My pulse quickens as I take it.
I shoot a quick glance to Gemma, who is clapping her hands in that miniature applause of anticipation we girls do sometimes. I turn my attention back to the gift, open the tiny envelope, and take out the card. It's just a pre-printed card that says happy birthday—no name.
"Who gave this to you?" I ask, with such a serious face that Gemma is taken slightly aback.
"Oh," she answers shortly, then she gets this look. A look like I'll never be-lieve the scandal she's about to lay on me. Her big blue eyes become even more expansive. "Well, that's the thing! It was... (wait for it) the Elevator Hottie."
"The Elevator Hottie?" I ask, confused.
"Yeah, The Elevator Hottie," she squeals and rolls her eyes back in her head with the remembrance of him. Then gathers herself together and continues.
"Okay, you, like, haven't been here that long... but there's this really attractive guy we see in the elevator on Fridays sometimes. Anyway, us girls in the office refer to him as the Elevator Hottie."
"Oh yeah...?" I say, feeling a bit unsettled about where this is going. "What's he look like?"
She raises her eyebrows and smiles. "Um, he's like freaking gorgeous!" She comes up closer to me and starts gushing, gesturing with her hands. "Okay, he's tall with a tan complexion, he's got dark brown kinda curly hair, a gorgeous smile, and—"
"Hazel eyes?" I throw in, interrupting her.
"Yeah! So you do know him!" she practically accuses me, pointing her finger.
I close my eyes, not believing this conversation is all really happening with Gemma right now.
"Yeah, you could say that," I manage to mutter, turning my attention to the little box. I lift off the top and inside are four small chocolates. I suck in a quick breath.
They are all oval-shaped dark chocolates with a ribbed texture on the top, and I know exactly where they've come from and what that means. They are Mint Meltaways—my favorite. Gio and I used to fight over them in a box of assorted chocolates.
"Woooow!" she says all scandalously, bringing my attention back to the present. "Soooo, why is the Elevator Hottie bringing you chocolates?"
"It's my birthday today," I say slowly and absently.
Gio remembered my birthday...
"What!" She says so loud and screechy it practically goes supersonic.
"What's all the commotion over here?" Olivia asks, alarmed, her heels clicking quickly over to my desk.
"It's Lauren's birthday today, and she just got fancy chocolates delivered to her from the Elevator Hottie!!"
"What!" Olivia knocks me with her fist on the shoulder. "I mean, Happy birthday! Ren, why the hell didn't you tell us!" Then it hits her. "Wait a minute, how does the Elevator Hottie know it's your birthday," she probes, squinting her eyes at me.
"Can you please stop calling him that?" My ears hurt hearing it.
"We will if you tell us his name and answer our questions!" She pins with a stare. "Spill!"
I take a big breath, shut my eyes for a second, and then look up at the ceiling, avoiding her intense eye contact. "His name is Giovanni, and he's... my high school ex-boyfriend." When I look back at them, I immediately have to glance away due to their absurd and goofy scandalized expressions.
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Gio
"Every single fucking time," I sigh, leaning back in my desk chair and running both my hands through my hair.
Since Ren came home, every time I think I've cleared my head, doused the flames of my feelings for her, and gotten back to feeling somewhat balanced and in control, she pops back into my life to blow on the embers, sparking them up again.
What the fuck? Did she wire-tapped my brain in the elevator or something? Gets a ping to her phone the moment she's been out of my head for more than forty-eight hours? Christ.
I've been hiding out in my room since I got home from her office after dropping off her small birthday gift. Man, if Adam knew I did that—getting the very girl I'm desperately trying to stay away from her favorite chocolates on her birthday—he'd flip out on me.
I've been on my computer trying to do some demoralizing business finance bullshit and figure out how to advertise myself better—you know, make some crappy fliers or whatever—but I can't concentrate today.
How'd she suddenly get my fucking cell number? Or, more to the point, who would have given it to her...
Sydney? My ass. I haven't even thought about her since high school. No, it has to be someone else. I've changed my number since her dad had it. It's not on the internet. Adam would have told me. Charlie's in Alaska and also not easily found online. It would be illegal for Dr. Thompson to give it out. I can't think of who the fuck she knows that has my number.
These are the sorts of privacy things that bug the crap out of me, and trying to figure it out is driving me freakin sideways.
Her text had come in just as I got in bed last night—a mysterious 'hey' from an unknown number. I almost deleted it until I saw the area code—646. She's the only person I've ever known with that area code, and believe me, I thought about calling her more times than I'll ever admit. But pressing those first three numbers is as far as I ever get before hanging up, never knowing what to say to her—where to begin. But I guess all you have to begin with is 'hey.' Fucking simple, apparently.
I still feel a little amplified by it—the extra energy is still kicking around from the rush of texting with her last night. A few minutes go by as I stare at the login page for my bank. Fuck it.
Standing up from my chair, I unbutton and step out of my jeans and pull off my shirt, balling it up and making a five-point shot into the hamper in the closet. Then I slide into bed and grab my new book—The Accidental Universe. It takes a deep look at how the world we humans perceive is only a tiny part of the incredible, incomprehensible whole—pointing to why our minds and personalities remain largely unexplainable to modern-day science. Fascinating. But after reading the same paragraph three times, I put my bookmark back in and lay it down on the mattress.
Damn it. Why'd I have to make it weird and tell her I saw her downtown? Carrying on with her life is what needs to happen. Right? But why'd it have to be with Bryce fucking Anderson? My yuppy ex-landlord... or son of my ex-landlord, rather. His family's rich, he's good-looking, and, from what I know of him, a nice-ass guy to boot. He wasn't a dick to me when he easily could've been. He might have even... saved my life. Shit. He's like the perfect guy for her. I'm like... street-meat compared to him.
I was such a freak in the car the last time I saw her, and I'm still shocked she reached out after that. But then what did I do? I accosted her about why she did! It was a dick move because, deep down, I already knew. It was everything I wanted to hear and also did not want to hear simultaneously. I'm contrary as all fuck—I know.
She can't stop thinking about me...
I didn't know what the hell to say after she told me that. Not like I can't admit that back. I don't even want to admit it to myself! I acted like a total jerk—again!
The guilt over how I've behaved was eating me up. It's her fucking thirtieth birthday today, for Christ's sake! I had to do something to repent. Getting her those chocolates was the right thing to do to make her feel better, right? Make it up to her for acting like a shit. Like a way to communicate, I still care without really saying it, you know?
I dropped them off without signing the card. The receptionist with the big blue disco ball eyes asked for my name, but I didn't give it to her. I didn't want Ren to know who they came from. I just hope she's having a really good birthday... wherever she is.
"Ugh." I roll over with a groan. My heart aches again, and I don't fucking like it.
I switch off my light and curl onto my side. I've had trouble falling asleep again lately. Back in the day, I'd smoke a bowl to help me drift off. That's off-limits now. The doctor told me I could take something over the counter to help, but I've never really liked taking pills. The ones I do take are already a concession.
As I close my eyes and take some deep breaths to relax, I bat away the images of Ren in the gym that keep flicking into my head. Then, I let one stay. Hmm. Maybe a quickie will put me to sleep.
Flipping on my back, I slip my hand under the elastic of my boxer briefs, massaging myself lightly at first with my thumb. Remembering her soft lips on mine in the car, my tongue in her mouth, I slowly stroke my growing arousal. My hands had her curves memorized when I was seventeen. Touching her again was like suddenly finding myself in one of my old fantasies. But that's what I have to keep it—a fantasy. It's safer for everyone that way. In my head, however, anything can happen. Pushing my underwear down, I grasp myself now, picking up a steady rhythm and biting my lip as the erotic images form behind my eyelids and the pleasure builds.
BZZZZZZ
My eyes shoot open as the soft buzz of my phone alerts me to an incoming text. Who the fuck is texting me this late! Then, my heart punches my chest with the only logical answer: Ren.
Maybe she does have an alert in my fucking brain.
Holding my breath, I flick the light back on and pick up my phone. Even though I guessed it would be her, I blink a few times at the text to ensure I'm not still fantasizing here.
Ren-Don't text her: Thanks for the chocolates
Fuck. She figured it out. My pulse ratchets up, but I need to respond casually. I sit up more in bed, my still stiff erection making a model of Mount Everest in the sheet below my hands as they type...um... something relaxed and friendly.
Me: You're welcome. Happy birthday
A deep chuckle vibrates in my throat—if only she knew I was just beating off to her right now.
I should just leave it there, but I gotta know.
Me: How'd you know it was me?
Ren-Don't text her: Well, the Mint Meltways kinda gave me a hint
Shit. Was it that obvious?
Ren-Don't text her: But also, apparently, you're well-known in my office
SAY THE FUCK WHAT? What the fuck does that mean?
Me: WTF
Ren-Don't text her: LOL, they have a nickname for you.
Christ, Ren! Now, Mt Everest looks more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Me: What!! What is it?
Ren-Don't text her: Wouldn't you like to know...
I stare at her words. I can just hear her sexy tone when she says something like that. I can see her eyes sparkling mischievously, and I love mischievous Ren. She's fucking playing with me. Whatever the nickname is, she thinks I'll like it. A grin spreads over my face as Mt Everest peaks once more. She loves teasing me. It was like her favorite thing when I was a horny teen.
Me: Don't tease me, Ren.
Ren-Don't text her: I'll tell you later :)
That's it! She thinks she's so coy, adding that little smiley face. You try to come off all innocent, Ren, but you know exactly what you're doing. My rational brain is now being overridden by the hormones pumping through my body, and it feels fucking amazing. I guess I haven't changed that much—or at least not as far as she and my dick are concerned. I don't even think as I type my response.
Me: Oh yeah? When will that be? ;)
Ren-Don't text her: Tonight, when you come over here and have a drink with me for my birthday.
Jesus! My body zings with excitement.
Me: Come over to your mom's?!
Ren-Don't text her: No. I have my own apartment now.
Oh fuck yeah!! It's fucking ON!
I start to type 'Where,' but my fingers slow.
Am I really that stupid to go see her again? The last time ended in a mother fucking dumpster fire. Do I really want to tempt fate? I don't think Ren's looking for a one-night stand, and although I might want more than that, too—I also know I'm apparently not built for relationships anymore. No. We'd only hurt each other. Again.
I erase the word on the screen. Going over to her apartment would be a terrible idea, my brain dictates, and I force myself to write, 'Sorry, I can't tonight.'
My thumb hovers over the button, but I can't seem to press send.
Fuck me. This might be my only chance to get one more night with her. Maybe she does just want to hook up for old time's sake. Just play it by ear and see where things go. You can keep your emotions in check this time, right? Right?
I know I'm playing with fire, but my heart throbs yes, and my dick twitches its assent, so I throw fucking caution to the wind.
Me: Ok. What's your address?
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