After a tight embrace, he pulls back slightly and lifts my chin. He lowers his mouth until it’s planted against mine. His kiss lingers for a few beats then he pulls away.
“Liz is my mother.”
I burst out laughing. I’m such a freaking idiot.
“Liz and John are my parents. My brother is Austin,” he runs down.
“You told me about Austin. Listen…I’m being stupid.” I continue laughing.
“No, you’re not. I get it. You’re just coming out of a three-year limbo with Jake the Snake. I don’t blame you for being skeptical of men.”
I’m perplexed. “Jake the Snake?”
“Oh, yeah—I make up nicknames for everyone who I want to crush. There’s Jake the Snake, Bobby the Bullshitter…”
I keel over in a guffaw, breaking free from his grasp. I’m holding my stomach with both hands and look up as he’s laughing at me laugh at him.
“Your laugh is so adorable,” he croons.
“You’re so not right,” I gasp between howling.
He boyishly shrugs, making him appear fifteen years younger. “I had to make up names, or else I wouldn’t have been able to fight the urge to find them and make them stay away from you.”
I stop laughing immediately. Drew has no clue that Jake has been calling and texting me nonstop, along with showing up to my job and pretending to shop on a regular basis. Thankfully, Drew doesn’t question my sudden mood shift. If he were to confront me, I could never lie to him.
“How was your flight? Are you hungry?” he asks.
My grin returns as I strain my neck to look all the way up at him. “Flight was good. I love your jet. And by the way, Sam is an absolute hoot. He got me this cup of amazingness,” I say, holding out my lukewarm latte.
“I love that shit.”
“I know. Sam told me.”
“I have one of those machines at home, too. We can drink cinnamon lattes all weekend if you want. Naked.”
Hot damn. I’m sure I look like a drooling puppy to him, which is why he turns up his predatory smirk.
“Let’s grab dinner early. I’ll take you to my favorite Thai place. You like Thai food?”
“I love it.”
I glow with the promise of tonight; California, Drew, and me.
Together again.
Quen
I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for two weeks. In the midst of the stresses of my ceaseless job search, making up hours at Lenny’s, and dodging Jake, a single cloud of hope lingered. Those five nights in July with Drew had been life-affirming. Now, I’m in San Francisco picking up where we’d left off at the beach house.
However, dreaming about yesterday and recreating yesterday are two totally different things. Especially now that Drew is back in his natural habitat. Here, in San Francisco, he can’t just ignore a phone call or someone will come knocking at his door.
Since yesterday, Drew has been answering practically every call, all business-related. In fact, yesterday at the Thai restaurant, he spent more time taking one-minute calls and responding to texts than he did talking to me.
After dinner, we arrived at his massive white brick home located in the absurdly rich historical neighborhood of Nob Hill. There, a whole new level of distractions commenced. Drew’s home was built in the early 1900s and renovated only two years ago. Four stories high with an elevator, it has four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and a gorgeous panoramic view of the city. The view of Bay Bridge and Downtown is epic. Marble floors, marble hearth fireplaces—plural—spiral staircases, and beautiful artwork accent the entire interior. Although Drew lives alone, he has two ridiculously-sized his and hers closets. The hers side is eerily empty.
In the middle of the grand tour last night, Drew’s phone rang several times. “I’m so sorry—I’ve gotta take this,” was a saying he used over and over again. I ended up finishing the rest of the tour myself. As he took his calls in the living room on the fourth floor, I started by wandering back out on the deck with wine glass in hand to soak up the view once more. The chilly San Francisco night air didn’t keep me out for long. As Drew’s call became more intense, I awkwardly made my way down the spiral staircase one level. The third floor is where Kirk dropped off my roller bag. It’s also the location of the master suite and Drew’s study.
My favorite area of Drew’s bedroom is a small nook in the corner with a bookshelf. The little bench inside is covered with faux fur and lined with plush pillows. I knew the selection of books there was condensed being that his larger library is housed in his study. Still, I desperately wanted to climb inside that nook to see what books Drew had to have right beside him. I believe you learn a lot about a person by the book-company they keep.
With Drew in the other room, I got on my knees to thumb through his selection. There are mostly architecture and business books on the shelves. Oh—I did find a copy of George Orwell’s 1984, which I’m certain every kid has read at some point in high school. I eventually peeled myself away from the dangerously comfortable corner and ventured down the spiral staircase one more floor. The second floor contains three guest bedrooms, more walk-in closets, and the laundry room. Back on the first floor where the garage is, there’s a powder room and a media room that connects to the wine room past the wet bar. Wine room, goddammit. The media room also opens on to the patio and garden.
Needless to say, I was occupied for hours, exploring the six thousand plus square feet of O’Brien Manor. If this house never had a name before, it certainly does now. When I finally checked the clock in the media room and saw how late it had gotten, it suddenly dawned on me that Drew hadn’t come down to check on me. When I took the elevator back upstairs, I saw that Drew was still on the phone. My heart sank.
In the here and now, I try to brush away the feeling of last night. Drew and I did have sex, and it was wonderful—but it was good and quick. I fell asleep after one orgasm. I guess traveling earlier that day, followed by exceeding my fifteen-thousand step goal, which was mostly done walking this house, put me out like a light.
Today hasn’t been much different than yesterday. I got to meet Donny Forrester, Drew’s second in command. The older gentleman came to the house while Drew and I were having lunch. He didn’t leave until after dinner an hour ago. Donny came specifically to talk shop. On a fucking Saturday. Sigh.
At the dinner table, I had to listen to all manner of technical jargon without any understanding of it whatsoever. It was like sitting at the table where everyone spoke Japanese and I didn’t. I couldn’t contribute anything to the conversation, and it was beyond frustrating. When Drew and Donny did manage to remember that I was still sitting there, they would throw me a bone.
“So, how are you enjoying San Francisco?”
“The weather is a little different here than it is in Portland, huh? More sun here, but it can get chilly.”
“You graduated from the University of Oregon? Good school. How’s the job search coming?”
“The job market is a little iffy all around. Hey…wanna work in technology? It’s not advertising, but it’s a start.”
Awkward conversation would often veer off, leaving Drew and Donny to jump back into their talk about the business. My thumbs got sore from twiddling them so much. Then, right at the dinner table as the two men continued bitching about Gillen Tech’s owner Royce Gillen, my brain said to me, ‘Why am I even here?’