Ian’s name pops
up.
I was right. He’s sorry, mortified, filled with remorse for
taking advantage of me when he said he wouldn’t. The guy has a conscience like
none other. It amazes me that the mold for a decent man hasn’t been thrown away
after all. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get used enough.
After reading the doleful, remorseful email over and over, I
don’t know what to say. He’s probably staring at his page even now. I note the
time he sent it—three o’clock in the morning. “Poor soul,” I say aloud. I hope
he didn’t lose any sleep over it.
Perhaps I should console him. What I really should do is to
tell him to walk away from me, because I’ve got a hell of a lot of baggage he
knows nothing about. Then my mind drifts to fantasyland, and I see us living
together happily ever after. Yeah, sure, I chide myself. I click on reply and type a quick note.
“Nothing to forgive, Ian. I’m a grown woman, and I could
have said no.”
Boy, was that a flat-out lie. When did I last say no? There
hasn’t been a time since I was five years old. The truth slaps me in the face
hard enough to sting my eyes with tears. You’re such slut, I chide
myself.
I tap my fingers across the keyboard trying to think of what
to say next. “I had a wonderful time this weekend. Let’s not spoil it with
remorse.” I hit send and exit.
I’ve got to leave this behind, because my emotions are in my throat. People are
arriving at work, filling up their cubicles, and life goes on as it always
does—in pain.
The day progresses as usual, and I try to fill my mind with
work rather than with Ian. It’s hard to do, because at three o’clock I get
another call from reception about a delivery. Instantly, my gut tells me that
it’s not an envelope from a courier.
I hesitantly get up from my desk, walk toward reception, and
slowly lift my eyes to the top of the counter. There it is, another huge
bouquet of flowers—this time pink carnations. He’s figured out my favorite
girly color. This guy is serious, or he’s just an apologetic sod who can’t get
over his failures.
“Looks like your admirer is at it again,” Melanie grins. Her
face is filled with jealousy. I take the card, and sure enough it’s from Ian.
“Thanks for the great weekend, sweets. Next time, I’ll
control myself.”
All I can do is shake my head. The problem is he’s ignited
the hunger in me for him, and I’ll never let him control himself. I can see the
red caution signs ahead. Hopefully, my emotional ambulance is on alert.
When I get back from my desk, I grab my cell and walk over
into the employee lounge. I’ve got to get his number in my speed dial, because
trying to push the right ones doesn’t work when my hands shake. It rings, and I
hear his velvet voice.
“Ian Richards.”
“What are you doing?” I question him with a tight jaw.
“Uh, talking to you?”
“No, the flowers. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did. Made me feel better. It’s my penance for
taking advantage of you when I said that I wouldn’t. Also, I wanted to let you
know how much I still like you the morning after.”
Someone walks by, and I lower my voice to a whisper. “You
made me feel wonderful yesterday, Ian. You don’t need to buy me flowers.”
“I didn’t make you feel wonderful enough,” he says,
with his voice laced in distress.
“Get over it, sweets.” I enunciate his little
endearment. “I thoroughly enjoyed the moment.”
He doesn’t say anything, and the end of the line goes deadly
quiet. For a moment, I think we’ve been disconnected. Then I hear him sigh and
whisper into the receiver. “Next time, it will be better. I promise.”
Now the cat has got my tongue. I don’t know what to say. A
myriad of emotions are buzzing about my head like angry bees.
“I’ve got to go. My boss wants me. Talk to you later.”
“Rachel…”
I hear his voice, but I end the call. I’m sick inside over
the anticipation of next time. The
up.
I was right. He’s sorry, mortified, filled with remorse for
taking advantage of me when he said he wouldn’t. The guy has a conscience like
none other. It amazes me that the mold for a decent man hasn’t been thrown away
after all. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get used enough.
After reading the doleful, remorseful email over and over, I
don’t know what to say. He’s probably staring at his page even now. I note the
time he sent it—three o’clock in the morning. “Poor soul,” I say aloud. I hope
he didn’t lose any sleep over it.
Perhaps I should console him. What I really should do is to
tell him to walk away from me, because I’ve got a hell of a lot of baggage he
knows nothing about. Then my mind drifts to fantasyland, and I see us living
together happily ever after. Yeah, sure, I chide myself. I click on reply and type a quick note.
“Nothing to forgive, Ian. I’m a grown woman, and I could
have said no.”
Boy, was that a flat-out lie. When did I last say no? There
hasn’t been a time since I was five years old. The truth slaps me in the face
hard enough to sting my eyes with tears. You’re such slut, I chide
myself.
I tap my fingers across the keyboard trying to think of what
to say next. “I had a wonderful time this weekend. Let’s not spoil it with
remorse.” I hit send and exit.
I’ve got to leave this behind, because my emotions are in my throat. People are
arriving at work, filling up their cubicles, and life goes on as it always
does—in pain.
The day progresses as usual, and I try to fill my mind with
work rather than with Ian. It’s hard to do, because at three o’clock I get
another call from reception about a delivery. Instantly, my gut tells me that
it’s not an envelope from a courier.
I hesitantly get up from my desk, walk toward reception, and
slowly lift my eyes to the top of the counter. There it is, another huge
bouquet of flowers—this time pink carnations. He’s figured out my favorite
girly color. This guy is serious, or he’s just an apologetic sod who can’t get
over his failures.
“Looks like your admirer is at it again,” Melanie grins. Her
face is filled with jealousy. I take the card, and sure enough it’s from Ian.
“Thanks for the great weekend, sweets. Next time, I’ll
control myself.”
All I can do is shake my head. The problem is he’s ignited
the hunger in me for him, and I’ll never let him control himself. I can see the
red caution signs ahead. Hopefully, my emotional ambulance is on alert.
When I get back from my desk, I grab my cell and walk over
into the employee lounge. I’ve got to get his number in my speed dial, because
trying to push the right ones doesn’t work when my hands shake. It rings, and I
hear his velvet voice.
“Ian Richards.”
“What are you doing?” I question him with a tight jaw.
“Uh, talking to you?”
“No, the flowers. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did. Made me feel better. It’s my penance for
taking advantage of you when I said that I wouldn’t. Also, I wanted to let you
know how much I still like you the morning after.”
Someone walks by, and I lower my voice to a whisper. “You
made me feel wonderful yesterday, Ian. You don’t need to buy me flowers.”
“I didn’t make you feel wonderful enough,” he says,
with his voice laced in distress.
“Get over it, sweets.” I enunciate his little
endearment. “I thoroughly enjoyed the moment.”
He doesn’t say anything, and the end of the line goes deadly
quiet. For a moment, I think we’ve been disconnected. Then I hear him sigh and
whisper into the receiver. “Next time, it will be better. I promise.”
Now the cat has got my tongue. I don’t know what to say. A
myriad of emotions are buzzing about my head like angry bees.
“I’ve got to go. My boss wants me. Talk to you later.”
“Rachel…”
I hear his voice, but I end the call. I’m sick inside over
the anticipation of next time. The
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