Eyes down, eyes down, eyes down. He is not in the room. Eyes down. Why am I shaking? Okay, it's more of a trembling. I'm in a room full of people. Breathe, girl. Breathe.
I held onto my coat tight, like it was a lifeline, as I tried to scan the room looking for someone, anyone, that I might know at the party. All I needed was someone who had an empty chair next to them that I'd be able to crawl into. I needed to be out of the way or at least out of His line of sight. I needed to at least appear comfortable and casual, even if I felt like the room was spinning.
The mysterious He that I was avoiding was a mess of complicated, and in my current disaster of a long-distance, live-in relationship I needed another lover like I needed a hole in my head.
Whether I wanted one or not, I had one. And although the lover I live with from time to time was flying personal jets for billionaires around the globe at this moment. I was at a crowded party filled with people loosely connected to other people who knew that I wasn't available.
At the same time, He knew I wasn't available, but it didn't stop Him. He was all cool and collected when it started. And now, now, He looks at me with a blank face whenever I get the ovaries up to ask the question, "What does this mean?"
Tonight, He stood across the room. I spotted the back of His giant head when I walked in. I tried not to think of how the last time we'd slept together I couldn't get enough of running my fingers through His hair. I was sad when He combed it straight. But that's my issue – it all seems so temporary, like the whole thing could be wiped away and no one would ever know there was a "we" here. I leave no marks, but maybe that's my whole problem.
I'm not going to lie. The Psych 101 factors in our relationship look insurmountable. He likes to remind me that there are generational differences. There are culture differences. And our day-to-days don't line up at all.
But from across a room, the very idea of Him makes me giddy and hopeful and wet with anticipation. The little bumps stand up at attention on my arms, and I begin to fiddle with my hands with all of my pent up sexual energy. It's sad, really.
And the poor man, for casting an interested look in my general direction, he got naked privileges, which makes me feel easy as hell, and yet, it opened a door I had never noticed. With Him, it's like instead of me being a giant mess I might actually be wondrous and beautiful just for being me. A large part of me knows that this feeling is how I know the relationship is based in fantasy. The other small part of me is hopeful that along with the sexual beast in me that He, quite literally, poked awake, I'll find my backbone in other areas of my life, too.
Right now, I needed to not concentrate on the word "bone" or "back" or anything that might generally make me think of taking my clothes off.
I whip out my phone and start looking like someone has contacted me, so I can slip out of the room with a few comments about work or a friend in need or some other bullshit that would get me out of this lame reception full of hotel banquet hall dry chicken breasts and cheap champagne.
I make my way past Him, out the door and down the hall to the elevator, praying I didn't bring any attention to myself. I get on the elevator with my head still down in my phone and mindlessly push the top floor button. (A benefit of having a boyfriend who flies everywhere and stays in a lot of hotels. He shares his executive floor privileges with views of cities around the world. Don't think me rude, but he's shared them with everyone. So, this isn't really a special gift he gave the love of his life. He gave miles to our postman at the holidays.)
Two men get on the elevator. One is clearly Him. I'd know that body anywhere, but I'm a coward and don't look up.
At the 15th floor, the elevator stops and the man He's with starts to get out. He tells the gentleman that He forgot his phone on the table in the reception and He'll catch him sometime later. Christ.
The elevator door closes and His hand takes my phone and puts it in His jacket pocket. I still can't look up to meet His eyes.
He whispers my first name. My body opens to Him at the sound of His voice. It's gentle, knowing. It's like the first hit of morphine that you take after surgery. You push the button and less than five seconds later you're subdued and blissful. As He moves His body closer to mine, I shut my eyes and lean my head back against the elevator wall. His lips find my neck as His hands get a firm grip on my hips and slide down to the sides of my thighs. I grasp onto His broad shoulders as His fingers slip under my short skirt, clutch my bare ass and lift me up against the wall. I wrap my legs around His waist in response as if it's the most normal thing to do. It's like I've done it a million times, rather than just four.
"Look at me," He demands.
I open my eyes slowly.
