I've had a crush on Lesley ever since I met her, years ago.
We were in high school together, back in Pennsylvania. She had red hair down past her shoulders that shone in the sun, and hazel eyes that lit up with every joke we shared. Oh, did her laugh kill me, her laugh and the little freckles that spread across her cheeks and her shoulders. She was slender, with small but shapely breasts and a round little butt, tight and muscular from running track.
We were close friends, but despite my feelings for her, never more than that. We kissed once, after a party where we had both been drinking, and to this day I can recall the feeling of her lips pressed against mine, wet and warm and tasting slightly of Malibu rum. The next morning, over black coffee at the local diner, she apologized. She cherished our friendship, and loved me in her own way, and was sorry to have lead me on. That was all right with me: I cherished our friendship, too. And in fact, before we had kissed that night, I had been trying to hit on her friend Michelle, anyway.
Life went on, and we stayed in touch over the years, but you know how it goes. She went to Penn State, while I went to Columbia, so after high school we only saw each other briefly, over breaks. Then my family ended up moving out of state, while I fell in love with New York City, and so had less and less reason to go back to Pennsylvania. Weekly phone calls turned monthly, then turned to emails, with the gap between them growing farther and farther apart. She got married to some guy she'd met at college, and they had a couple of kids. I met a beautiful girl named Sara, and we lived together for a couple of years. I almost asked her to marry me, but before that happened she had a "quarter-life crisis," quit her job and asked me very tearfully if we could live separately again for a while. She insisted it wasn't a breakup, but in the end "a while" turned into "forever," as we both pretty much knew from the start.
In the meantime, my professional life took quite the interesting turn. I worked in finance, but writing was always what I loved. In my free time, I wrote short stories and random articles for various blogs. For a while, I worked on a novel, a science-fiction story about time travel. It was published to average reviews and middling sales, and so I kept on doing what I was doing. But then some Hollywood producer got his hands on it and thought it would make a great movie, and I very gladly signed over the rights. They changed the title, half the characters, and the entire ending, and to be brutally honest the movie itself was kind of crap. But the credit still said, "Based on the book by" my name, and sales of the novel went way, way up. Up enough that I could finally leave my finance job and dedicate all my time to writing.
And that's what eventually brought me and Lesley back together. My second book had just been published, and I was traveling all across the nation doing publicity. I was doing a reading-and-signing at a Barnes & Noble in Philly, and of course I recognized her as soon as she walked into the room and took her seat. The years had been good to her. She had grown curvier since high school, though she was still in fine shape, and the added curves only made her seem more womanly rather than girlish, beautiful rather than pretty. She wore her hair shorter now, to about shoulder level, and the red had turned darker and more copper-colored with time. Her freckled face and her eyes were as radiant as ever. She was wearing a simple, short-sleeved white blouse and a purple pencil skirt that hugged her shape nicely. She smiled and waved as she caught me looking, and I smiled and waved back, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. It was great to see her again - why was I suddenly so nervous?
I got through the reading, then sat at the table the store had prepared for the signing. I went through the motions, shaking hands and inscribing books and thanking everyone for whatever compliment they made, until finally she came up.
"Hi," I said.
"Omigod, I'm so proud of you!" she gushed.
I stood up and we hugged over the table. Her perfume smelled of lilac. She kissed my cheek, her breath soft and warm on my face. Reluctantly, I let her go.
"How are you?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm good, I'm good," she said. "I'm so happy to see you!"
"I'm happy to see you," I said. "What's going on?"
"Oh, everything's good. Little Mikey's starting school in the fall, can you believe it? He's six!"
"That's amazing. Now, Mikey's the oldest?"
"No, he's the little one. Gregory's already eight."
"Eight? Holy crap. So the last time we saw each other was..."
"Yeah!" she said, and punched me hard in the arm. "Ten fucking years ago!"
"Jesus," I said.
The store manager, a gray-haired old man with thick glasses, interrupted. "Ma'am, I know you two know each other, but I still have to insist that you not punch the author. Even if he does have it coming."
"Sorry," Lesley said, laughing.
"Also," the manager continued, "I do have to ask that we keep the line moving, so that everyone here can get their books signed."
"I'm on the clock," I told Lesley, "but how about this?"
I quickly inscribed a note in her book, autographed it, then added my cell phone number, taking care to keep it hidden from public view.
"Text me some place we can meet and catch up, and I'll be there the second I'm finished here."
"I will," she said. Then she read my inscription. A tiny smile played across her face, and her freckled cheeks turned slightly red. "I definitely will." She followed the line out of the store.
I had written: "You're more beautiful than ever. I had no idea til just now how much I've missed you."
