Just a Number (Downtown #1) (23 page)

“It is over a man. You’re right, but wrong one…my father. The latest email from Modern Marian included a letter from my father, dated from the night I destroyed his precious award and stormed out.” I angled my laptop to give her a better view. She lifted it and moved to my sofa, patting it for me to join her.

Parked next to her, I listened to her gasps. I watched tears roll down her cheeks. Then, I listened to the cheerleader come out of her. She was never an actual cheerleader in the way of short skirts and pom-poms, but she always cheered me up, cheered me on. She was my best friend for life. I loved her. She had been my only
family
for years.

“I see this as a positive, Lolo. I’m sorry about your dad. That disease is a bitch. I’m happy, though, that his words reached you even if not from his own mouth. Some people aren’t good at communicating their feelings.”

“I was thinking the same thing after I read both of their words over and over a few times.” I grabbed a tissue from a box sitting on a recently added side table to wipe my nose and handed her one.

“Look at what has happened with your mother. She never talked to you about anything other than domestic work and fashion. You two were the glamour girls of the neighborhood.” She made me laugh. “But, with all of her emails, she finally opened up to you. She really is a human being.” She nudged me and I lightly pushed her back.

Looking at my best friend and her new hairdo, I couldn’t help but smile. “You do know that that color matches perfectly with the walls of fashion show room.”

“Well, duh!” she said with both of her hands bouncing the ends of her pink hair up, proudly, turning from side to side. “Wait until you see my matching jewels!” I was so glad that she stopped by to discuss last minute event details.

The day of the big show finally arrived. Along with a few members from our work staff and our friends, Dash and I walked the red carpet, holding hands. Once inside, he excused himself to go speak to the representative for Pinard Vineyard.

I quickly found Lark and Tomasina near Suze, gawking at something or someone. Following their line of sight, I exclaimed, “Holy shit, Suze! Who the fuck is that?” There was a fine specimen of a man messing with her equipment.

“Holy shit is right…” Lark jumped in, “How does he walk with that package between his legs?”

“Fuck! I want to lick those tattoos!” Tomasina was just as enthralled.

“Easy, girlees… he’s all
mine
,” Suze reminded us.

“Oh my God, Suze, look at you with your own hot roadie!” I said with excitement.

Not sure
hot
was doing him justice. Our jaws dropped, watching a tall god with short, spiky blond hair, wearing tight jeans that cupped a nice ass, a tight short sleeve t-shirt that showed off ripped muscles, and motorcycle boots walking in, carrying sound equipment. As he drew nearer, we got a better look: sexy stubble, piercing green eyes, silver studs in his ears, and ink decorating his incredible arms. He was definitely an advertisement for sex.

Lark warned Suze with a giggle. “You better hide him. He looks like a wild ride. An animal. Grrrr!”

“No need, he is ridden well. And you’re right, he can be an animal, but he’s house broken,” Suze growled in response.

We were so bad, but we couldn’t seem to turn it off. “Mmmm, got him on a leash, Suze?” I prodded her more.

Thankfully Suze didn’t seem to mind. “We take turns wearing the collar.”

All filters were off, Tomasina the worst of us. “Ooh… naughty! Please tell me he has one of those apa-thingies—you know, junk piercings? He so looks like he could rock one of those bad boys!

I attempted make him more than an object. “Does he have a name?”

It didn’t help, Lark continued to taunt Suze. “Or we can all just purr…”

Not to be left out, Tomasina made another inappropriate suggestion, “And rub up against him—meow!”

We all laughed loudly. “Only if you want your eyes clawed out,” Suze said, joining us in our uncontrolled laughter, throwing her head back.

We continued to make comments and laugh with her until a burly British voice interrupted our cattiness and we instantly swooned. “Sorry to break up your dirty girl club, but I need
my woman
.”

She melted on the spot as he guided her away. “Sorry, girlees,
my
man needs
me
. And, for the record, his name is Ian.”

What is it about a hot man that turns grown women into teenage girls with raging hormones?
We were all behaving so badly.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Dash wrapped himself around me from behind.

“Just having a bit of fun. Everything set?” I asked
my
own amazing man.

“Yep. Now let’s go join the festivities. Ladies, right this way.” With a swoop of his hand toward the main event, we followed him like the Pied
Hot
Piper.

The rest of the evening was off-the-charts fabulous. Smooth sailing with lots of excitement thrown into the mix, all in a positive fashion.

Dash

T
he fashion show was spectacular as Willow had promised. Every local news channel, entertainment show, newspaper, fashion magazine, and blogs covered the event. The red carpet was treaded on by many heavy hitters: film, theatre, TV, music. Every showbiz industry was represented. Along with the celebrity crowd came the elite fashion nobility and well-known fashionistas of the blogging world. Skylar Lovingier’s name was the topic around town.

Pinard Vineyards were thrilled so with the response to their wines at the Dupree-Lovingier soiree, all credit to Lark, that they invited all of us to be guests at their farmhouse on the property. Wanting Willow all to myself, I made plans to whisk her away for romantic getaway. The others could go on their own time.
Selfish? Hell yes!
When it came to my gorgeous corporate-girl, that is.

Upbeat after reading all of the reviews, Willow agreed to join me for sunrise yoga in Grand Park. As the sun was just starting to lighten the dark sky, we had a car service drop us off at the corner of First and Grand. Holding hands, with our mat straps over our shoulders, we passed several hot pink benches to a large grassy area. Slowly but surely, participants started to arrive. With Willow’s help, I set up quickly and started the group moving through basic sun salutations to warm our bodies before we began a dynamic flow.

“Breathe in. Breathe out.” That was what I told my students… and myself. My focus was a bit off. “Calmness. Let it envelope you. Moving up. Downward dog. Let’s hold right here for five long counts. Good, deep inhalations. Exhalations. Blow out all negative thoughts. Gone. Push them away.”
Including mine.
“Release your body to the mat.”
Why I was nervous, I had no idea. It wasn’t like I was asking her to marry me. Just a simple trip.
“Cobra. Plank. Up to downward dog. Another five counts. Hold. This time, let’s focus on a place. Say, the South of France. Visualize the grapes. The Vineyard. Breathe in. Smell the dew. The grapes. Can you see it? Can you picture yourself there?”

I gazed to the dark-haired girl with red lips in the back row. Where the naughty girls…
my
naughty girl hung out. Her icy-blue eyes met mine. Thankfully, I had confiscated her earbuds or I and the rest of the class would’ve never heard her answer. “Yes. Yes, I can.” I had expected a nod, not a yell. Shaking my head, I smiled and continued through the class without posing anymore questions.

Finished with meditation, we packed up our gear and made our way home on foot. Stopping to eat a light breakfast of smoothies and egg white sandwiches along our route, I told her about our mini-vacation. Though Pinard had offered up his home to us, I had booked us into a quaint little hotel in the middle of the village square. We were to visit the vineyard for a tour and dinner one night. That was all the information I would tell her. Willow was so excited, she began loading her suitcase as soon as we walked in the door, even though we had a whole week to go before our departure. Touching down in the South of France, Pinard and his charming wife, Caron, picked us up from the airport and took us straight to their vineyard. Refusing to let jet lag attack us, we were lead on a walking tour. It actually felt good to stretch our legs after our long flight. Roaming through the vines, they told us about the different grapes that were grown on the property, which ones made each wine. Leaving the rows that stretched across the rolling hills, we moved into their wine cave. There, they told us about the wine making process and let us sample a few of the different wines they produced at the vineyard.

Grabbing a couple bottles from their racks, we strolled to a grassy area. A long table, draped with three different Provençal patterned tablecloths, was set with glasses and plates, and workers were bringing food. Directed to rusted wrought iron chairs near the head of the table, next to Pinard, we sat down to enjoy a three-hour lunch that was indescribably delicious. After the meal concluded with a variety of cheeses from the area, our hosts drove us into the little town where our hotel was located.

Checked in, we fell into bed fully clothed and passed out. In the early morning hours, I finally welcomed Willow to France in a proper fashion. Or, what I thought was the correct way. Capturing her lips in a French kiss was my first step, of course. Leisurely, then more aggressively, my tongue explored her mouth. Nipping and sucking her on earlobes, I moved on to licking down her neck, across her collarbone, down to the swells of her breasts.

Adding my hands, I caressed one breast while my mouth took care of each raised nipple. Listening to her body and feeling her hands in my hair pulling me up, I smiled and moved back to her mouth. I knew her motions well enough to know she wanted me inside of her. Sliding my hands down her arms to her hands, I raised them above her head to the antique headboard. Wiggling beneath me, she broke our linked hands and grasped the scrolled metal. With free hands, I stroked her body as I entered her. Oh, so good. We moaned simultaneously as we moved in a rippling motion together to reach pure satisfaction.

After a nap and another round of more vigorous deep-penetrating stretches, we ventured out to explore the village. Meandering around, we popped in and out of shops. We sampled different offerings at an open air market. After purchasing some olives, cheese, crusty bread, and a bottle of wine, we sat on a bench and watched some of the locals play boules. My wicked little Willow challenged me to take on one of the men. Not one to back down, I got my ass kicked and gave everyone a good laugh. Conceding defeat, we thanked them for allowing me to play, and moved on to partake in naptime like the rest of the village residents. Up and refreshed, we headed out for dinner in the next village over where our boules friends had suggested.

On our last day, we had a big breakfast designed for Americans before venturing to the coast. We were to have dinner at Pinard Vineyard before we caught a late night flight home. Reaching the marina area, I surprised her with a visit to a museum that housed one of my mother’s sculptures. We both were floored when we saw it, sitting in the middle of Matisse, Picasso, and Van Gogh paintings. I snapped several photos with my phone and messaged them to my father before we left.

Later, we found our way back to Pinard’s beautiful
farmhouse
—more like what we would call a mansion in America. Constructed with natural stone and ecru painted plaster, cornflower blue louvered shutters framed each multi-paned window and door. The cozy, warm interior furnishings reflected our hosts—very welcoming and cordial. Escorted to a covered stone patio with a large candle chandelier over a long dining table, we had an apéritif wine before enjoying a three-course meal in their wine cave. The view from the outdoor room, through a series of open archways, was stunning, looking out over the vineyard.

Departing the South of France was difficult. We really loved the laid back atmosphere and the beautiful scenery. I promised her that when we had more time, we would return, rent a car, and drive from village to village.

Back to our real world, Willow attempted to recapture our too brief stay. Shopping daily, she found a unique wine shop where she bought different cheeses, olives, and breads for us to try. For breakfast, she served me oven-heated rolls, with unsalted butter and import French preserves. She even purchased a French press to make us coffee. It was fun for a while until we were craving spicy breakfast burritos and chocolate mocha lattes.

Life with her was incredible. Our relationship was going strong, in full force. I loved every moment we were together.
Every moment
was probably an understatement; we were never apart. I stayed at her apartment. My apartment was nothing more than a storage facility. My clothes were hanging in her small walk-in closet, and all the rest of my things were waiting across the freeway until our new, larger loft in her building was ready for us. Not willing to part during the nights, needing more space, we agreed to find a bigger place to co-habitat.

As much as we were more than compatible, our new place would provide us with our own areas for a bit of private time. Neither of us had ever lived with a person of the opposite sex, intimately. Obviously, we had never been in a relationship with anyone. It was a new experience. So far, we hadn’t had any real issues. Our only head-butting seemed to take place in the office, we both had strong opinions. Fortunately, we were able to check our professional life at the company building door. We both had the same work ethic in regards to we never took our work home, our boxing gloves came off once we entered our apartment.