Nothing More Beautiful (9 page)

I gazed at Vince, my heart pounding, kicked
into overdrive as though I’d started sprinting. I didn’t want to
let on that I agreed with Emma, denying the urges that emerged in
his presence. “Being generous, I’d say he’s an eight.”

“An eight?” she roared. “Seriously? Do you
need glasses? He’s definitely an objective ten.”

I glanced down at the machine’s countdown,
wondering what time it was, searching for an excuse to leave. “I
have to get going,” I said, checking my phone. I slipped off the
elliptical in a hurry but managed to keep my balance.

She peered down at me. “So soon?”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize what time it was.” I
gathered up my sweater, coat, and scarf from the floor.

“All right, well, hold on—let me get your
number.” She climbed off of her machine and rummaged through her
bag for her phone.

I was about to decline when she retrieved
it, so I gave her my number in a rush, making a B-line for the
stairs afterward. Unable to elude Vince’s vigilance, he nodded and
waved at me, starting to jog my way.

“In a hurry,” I shrieked, keeping my eyes on
the stairs. My breathing didn’t start up again until I was outside.
Reaching Eddie in the bakery parking lot, I rested against his
frame, gasping. I hadn’t run so quickly since track, nearly seven
years ago. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what made me
flee like that, but talking about Vince’s body just made my
attraction too real, and made those secret urges too palpable.

Letting the heater warm up, I beat the
steering wheel with my fists. Then I headed home, scolding myself
the entire way.

I SHOOK OFF THE
gym,
showered, and picked out my outfit for the night, allowing for
plenty of time in case I needed to change. To Danielle’s delight, I
selected one on my own and stuck with it. A pair of super-tight
jeggings made it look like I had a butt to speak of, and the
push-up I chose could have fooled me into thinking that I had
D-cups. I wore a revealing red blouse in the hopes that tonight I
might move on from Ryan, as all my friends kept pushing for.

Andre, aka ThePortlandPirate, offered to
pick me up, but just in case the night didn’t go as planned, I
wanted my own ride. On the way to dinner, my mind pored over what
ThePortlandPirate could signify, as Danielle’s words echoed in my
head. I remembered that pirates and ninjas had been a fad a few
years ago, so maybe it was a lingering name from those days, or
maybe he owned a boat and that was its name. My guesses went on and
on.

I pulled onto Johnson Street, then turned on
13
^th
, hoping a spot would be free. I got lucky again,
parking in the same spot from Saturday. However, this time I only
had to cross the street to reach my destination, Irving Street
Kitchen, a place I’d dreamed about patronizing for years, but had
never wanted to fork out the money. There was a 50/50 chance this
way that I wouldn’t have to.

Andre was waiting inside. He stood when the
hostess brought me to him. Dressed in a fine gray suit, his smooth
dark skin contrasted perfectly, almost glowing. My eyes locked on
him, unable to turn away. At 31, he was a little older, but that
was okay as he was even more attractive than his picture led on—a
welcomed change from the last two dates.

“You must be Maci,” he said, loosely
wrapping his arms around me. He had an aura about him that eased my
nerves.

“Hi.” I returned the hug. “And you must be
Andre.”

“The one and only.” He let go and pulled out
my chair, all his beautiful white teeth showing. He looked so much
like Ryan: tall, short hair, muscular, but much better dressed.
“I’m glad you agreed to the date,” he said, as I sat down. “Sorry
we had to do it midweek. I’m going out of town this weekend, but I
was too excited to wait.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I was very glad to get
your message.” I touched his arm in a flirty way. Ryan once told me
that that turned him on—the simple contact—so maybe it would with
Andre too. “I was also happy you chose this place.”

“You’ve been here before?” he asked,
situating his napkin on his thigh under the table.

I followed his example. “No, but I’ve parked
across the street enough,” I said, trying to be witty.

He flashed a brief, uneasy smile, as though
he didn’t comprehend the joke. “Well, I like everything on the
menu. I recommend it all.”

“You come here often, I take it?”

“All the time, especially for breakfast. I
absolutely love their omelets.” Our conversation continued like
that until our waiter came and presented the night’s specials. I
wondered the entire time how much money he made, able and willing
to regularly spend so much on his meals. Andre was relaxed and easy
to talk to, and I couldn’t see a flaw in his personality, which I
was carefully watching out for. What made the restaurant a little
fancier was the two-course options, labeled “First” and “Next.”
Although you didn’t have to order from both, it brought the level
of dining up a notch. For my first course, I ordered the meatballs,
and Mary’s organic fried chicken—on the waiter’s recommendation—for
my second course. Andre ordered the gumbo and black squid ink
risotto, one of the specials for the evening.

He was charming all night, and funnier than
Ryan—maybe even funnier than all of my past boyfriends—and it was
nice that he made eye contact instead of being glued to his phone.
When the check came, he immediately snagged it.

“Want me to drive?” he asked as we left.
“The movie starts in twenty.”

I was having such a great time that I
decided against my getaway vehicle. “Sure.”

“I’m parked around the block.” We walked
beside each other, the conversation flowing as he led me to his
polished Beemer, a silver coupe that looked fast and stylish and
very expensive.

We made the 8:50 show time at the Fox Tower
10 for the comedy-drama he wanted to see. Andre was confident
enough to put his arm around my shoulder, which no one had done
since high school, but I thought it was sweet. His touch didn’t
electrify me like Vince’s had or make my heart patter in quite the
same way, but it was nevertheless an exhilarating experience.

Even though the date was going better than I
could have dreamed, I wasn’t quite sure if I was ready to take the
next step like Danielle and Bridgett had urged. It wasn’t that easy
to forget a person, especially when you dated for seven months, and
thoughts of Ryan continued to haunt me. But maybe sleeping with
Andre was the exact impetus I needed to leave those thoughts
behind.

“I love Amy Adams,” I said after the movie,
walking into the lobby, entangled in the crowd.

“She does seem to keep getting better and
better,” he replied, our hands intertwined, making sure we didn’t
lose each other.

I glanced at the exit ahead and saw familiar
brown curls. The next thing I knew, I was staring at Vince’s
profile as he spoke with a woman who had mocha-brown skin and was
wearing a dazzling blue dress that stopped just below her butt.
Alarmed, I squeezed Andre’s hand.

“Something the matter?” he asked in a husky
voice.

“No. Sorry.” I couldn’t control my rushing
heart rate. “I—I.” The woman leaned up and kissed his cheek. My
face flushed with anger and surprise. He had a girlfriend. Of
course he did! He was as attractive as Emma from the gym claimed,
so it was logical—and I was on a date with another man trying to
get over the past, so what did I care? “I wanted to know if you
wanted to go back to your place.” Seeing Vince with another woman
gave me all the convincing I needed that this was the right
move.

“A bit forward,” Andre said, smiling. “How
do you know I’m one of those guys?”

“Aren’t all guys
one
of those guys?”
I halted him in the lobby, distancing us from Vince and his
girlfriend, who were now lost outside the theater.

He was biting his lip in anticipation.
“True.” His smooth, sexy baritone enticed me, pushing Vince from my
thoughts. “My place it is.”

“But you’ll have to take me back to my car
now. I have to work at 5.”

“You bakers are crazy people, you know
that?” he laughed. “Sure, you can follow me back to my
condo . . . it isn’t far.” Outside, neither
Vince nor his girlfriend were within sight, and I sighed in relief,
spared from the picture. Andre dropped me off, and I followed him
in Eddie west on Glisan, up 24
^th
, and then left back
onto Irving, all the way to a colossal brick building. He opened up
a steel-linked garage door and parked a few rows in. “You can park
there.” He pointed three spaces down from his. “It’s never
used.”

My hand in his, he led me up to his
fourth-floor condo, which had a great view of the city. He poured
two glasses of white wine and sat down on his leather sofa.
“Cheers,” he said, and we clinked our glasses together. After a
sip, he slid his tongue across his lips and leaned into me.

The kiss was hot. A rush flooded my veins as
my heart sped up.

We put the wine glasses down and he fought
to unbuckle his pants. I hoped he had the length that Ryan did, but
with a little better blood flow.

He stood up suddenly.

“Everything all right?” I asked, nervous
that I’d done something wrong.

“No, I just thought I’d put on something for
the mood,” he said, which sounded like a line a woman would use in
a porno. He grabbed the TV remote and powered it up. I could hear a
disc spinning as he turned on the DVD player. “My favorite movie is
Pirates
,” he added as the TV warmed up. “I think it’s paused
at the perfect spot.”

Just as his last word rolled off his tongue,
two women filled the screen, both nude, sweaty, and in what looked
like uncomfortable positions. The DVD began playing without
sound.

As Andre fiddled with the universal remote,
he turned to me and said, “You’re into girl-on-girl, right?”

My jaw had dropped when the women popped on
screen, but now it fell to the floor. Angry beyond words, dismayed
beyond belief, and shocked at a level only reached twice in my
life, I rose from the couch, silent.

I swept out the door so fast, he barely had
time to gasp. I heard, “It’s cool if you’re not.” But the door
slammed before another word reached my ears.

I drove home, disappointed and frustrated
yet again.

R
unning on fewer than four
hours of sleep, I forwent the gym and took a nap after work. I lay
there for hours until a rap on my door woke me. “Maci, you feeling
all right?” Danielle asked, worried. “Bridgett called me and said
your date didn’t go well. You want to talk about it?”

“No,” I groaned. “I don’t.”

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“No.” Even though my door had a lock, we
worked off the privacy system, meaning we only entered if the other
permitted it, so I never bothered to lock it. Danielle broke that
rule, cracking the door, a stream of light blinding my eyes. I
squinted at her and the harsh light. “What are you doing? Go away.”
I tossed a pillow at the door but missed.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said, opening the door
all the way and sitting down on my bed. She peered down at me with
concern. “What happened?”

“I’m never fucking dating again,” I screamed
into my pillow. “Men are such fucking jackasses.”

She rubbed my back. “What’d he do?”

“You wouldn’t fucking believe it.” I sat up,
looking at her. “In the middle of making out, the sicko goes and
turns on a porno.” Her mouth dropped. “He didn’t ask me, didn’t
clue me in on what was happening until
Pirates
was on the
screen.”

“I told you all usernames have meaning!” she
exclaimed.

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” I shot her
a nasty scowl. “Really, Danielle?”

“Sorry, I was just saying.” As if realizing
her mistake, she waved her hand for me to continue. “So he turns on
a porno, and. . .?”

“And?” My face contorted, puzzled. “And I
fucking left.”

“You just left?”

“Just left. Didn’t say a word to him.”

“Pornos aren’t so bad, you know,” she said,
with a slight grin.

“You and Ashley watch porn?” I asked,
nonplussed. I stared at her for a moment, unsure how to move
forward with the news.

“We have, sure. Softcore ones,” she
answered.

“But they’re disgusting and degrading to
women,” I countered. “How could you sit through it? It’s virtually
prostitution, Danielle.”

“Not every porno is the same, Maci,” she
defended. “They’re not all graphic, hardcore raunch-fests. Some
have actual dramatic plots, where the sex is tasteful, and are shot
very professionally. I don’t know anything about
Pirates
,
but maybe if you’d given it a chance . . .”

My eyes lit up with fire, my lips pursed,
and I balled my fists, my nails digging into my palm.

She must have seen my fury. “Granted, he
should’ve asked you, definitely. There, he was a jerk.”

“A fucking douchebag.”

“Right,” she acknowledged, “and you’d every
right to walk out on him, but for the future, if you talk about it
beforehand, you might want to give it a try.”

I was shaking my head. “Don’t you feel like
you’re not enough then? That you’re not really turning the other
person on?”

“In your situation last night, yeah,” she
agreed. “That guy definitely has some problems, probably an
addiction. Turning it on in the middle of a make-out session—that’s
weird. But, if you watch it beforehand, it can help get the juices
going, you know? There’s a reason why sex sells. People want it.
Not just lonely, depressed men, either. It can be very arousing in
the right context.”

“Ugh! I don’t want to go through it again.
I’m fucking done.”

“You can’t be
done
, Maci. What about
the hunt for Mr. Right?”