Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak Page A
Authors: Crystal Cierlak
Tags: Romance
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and lift damp hair from my shoulders up as the fabric falls into a mint colored cloud. With a quick twist my hair is secured in a messy chignon at the base of my neck and I am nearly ready. My phone vibrates, and when I pick it up I see a new text notification.
Wasn’t sure of the protocol for post-spur-of-the-moment blind date callbacks. I took a chance. Happy (belated) birthday, btw.
Eric (not Clapton) Jacobson. Before the earlier call which was nearly intercepted by Nick I’d almost forgotten what he looked like. I vaguely recall kind brown eyes, and a multitude of smiling.
Happy (belated) birthday to you, too! I think your callback (textback?) falls within the parameters of post-spur-of-the-moment blind date protocol. Does such a thing really exist?
I hit send and pick out a pair of new gold sandals, slipping them on my feet. Just as I’m fastening Nick’s rose gold heart locket around my neck I hear the bzzz of the phone again.
We may have just invented it. Surely there is paperwork to fill out to make it officially a “thing.” Do anything special for your big day yesterday?
My cheeks flush with crimson as I recall last night’s incredible lovemaking. Hmm, incredible seems too understated. Life affirming is more apropos.
I did. You?
There’s a knock at the door, and the blush returns, knowing the man responsible for said life affirming sex is on the other side of it. Wonder how bright my post-coital glow is exactly. I open it and he’s smiling at me, eyes reverently skimming down and up my body.
“Yes, I would love to go back to bed with you,” he says with a satisfied smile, grabbing my hand and leading me further into the room.
“No! Driving to Camarillo first, remember?”
He looks mock hurt. “I’m sorry. I just saw you in that dress and assumed you were inviting me to take it off you.” He sweeps me dramatically into his arms and plants a kiss on my mouth, taking a nip at my bottom lip before kissing my hand in his. “You look beautiful.”
As does he in a plain fitted tee under a blazer and dark rinse jeans, but I keep that to myself.
“Ready to go?”
“Give me one sec,” I ask, heading to the bathroom to grab a tube of lipgloss to stuff in my purse and grab my phone. There’s a new message lit up on the screen.
Had some drinks with friends and told them I met a woman with the prettiest smile I have ever seen.
Aww.
You’re sweet.
I type it quickly and hit send. When I look up Nick is eyeing me curiously and smiling.
“All set?”
“Take me to Camarillo, Mr. Hudson.”
Traffic on the 101 is light for a mid-Saturday morning, and as we make our way down I keep my eyes out on the Pacific. Once in a while we’ll drive past a crop of surfers bobbing up and down like buoys in the water, waiting for waves and taking in the beautiful surroundings.
“Bet you wish you had views like this in New York,” I say casually.
“Bet you wish you didn’t have to jump on the freeway to go to the grocery store,” he counters, and when I look up he offers me a teasing smile.
“You should move back, Nick. California suits you.”
“We’ll see,” he acknowledges. “You never know how things will turn out.”
Boy is that the truth, especially when it comes to the two of us. We’ve done a 180 so many times I never know which way we’re pointed anymore. What I do know is that this lightness in me is a refreshing change, and I hope it lasts.
I absentmindedly pick up my phone and check my messages.
Does ‘sweet’ earn me the honor of a second first-and-on-purpose date? Drinks? Harry’s? 6pm?
I can feel Nick eyeing me from the driver’s seat. I quickly type back.
Friend visiting from out of town. Raincheck? I like Harry’s.
Wait, what am I doing? Have I just committed myself to a future date? Nick was in my bed - and in me - an hour ago and I’m fielding outside offers? I should have put more thought into my
Wasn’t sure of the protocol for post-spur-of-the-moment blind date callbacks. I took a chance. Happy (belated) birthday, btw.
Eric (not Clapton) Jacobson. Before the earlier call which was nearly intercepted by Nick I’d almost forgotten what he looked like. I vaguely recall kind brown eyes, and a multitude of smiling.
Happy (belated) birthday to you, too! I think your callback (textback?) falls within the parameters of post-spur-of-the-moment blind date protocol. Does such a thing really exist?
I hit send and pick out a pair of new gold sandals, slipping them on my feet. Just as I’m fastening Nick’s rose gold heart locket around my neck I hear the bzzz of the phone again.
We may have just invented it. Surely there is paperwork to fill out to make it officially a “thing.” Do anything special for your big day yesterday?
My cheeks flush with crimson as I recall last night’s incredible lovemaking. Hmm, incredible seems too understated. Life affirming is more apropos.
I did. You?
There’s a knock at the door, and the blush returns, knowing the man responsible for said life affirming sex is on the other side of it. Wonder how bright my post-coital glow is exactly. I open it and he’s smiling at me, eyes reverently skimming down and up my body.
“Yes, I would love to go back to bed with you,” he says with a satisfied smile, grabbing my hand and leading me further into the room.
“No! Driving to Camarillo first, remember?”
He looks mock hurt. “I’m sorry. I just saw you in that dress and assumed you were inviting me to take it off you.” He sweeps me dramatically into his arms and plants a kiss on my mouth, taking a nip at my bottom lip before kissing my hand in his. “You look beautiful.”
As does he in a plain fitted tee under a blazer and dark rinse jeans, but I keep that to myself.
“Ready to go?”
“Give me one sec,” I ask, heading to the bathroom to grab a tube of lipgloss to stuff in my purse and grab my phone. There’s a new message lit up on the screen.
Had some drinks with friends and told them I met a woman with the prettiest smile I have ever seen.
Aww.
You’re sweet.
I type it quickly and hit send. When I look up Nick is eyeing me curiously and smiling.
“All set?”
“Take me to Camarillo, Mr. Hudson.”
Traffic on the 101 is light for a mid-Saturday morning, and as we make our way down I keep my eyes out on the Pacific. Once in a while we’ll drive past a crop of surfers bobbing up and down like buoys in the water, waiting for waves and taking in the beautiful surroundings.
“Bet you wish you had views like this in New York,” I say casually.
“Bet you wish you didn’t have to jump on the freeway to go to the grocery store,” he counters, and when I look up he offers me a teasing smile.
“You should move back, Nick. California suits you.”
“We’ll see,” he acknowledges. “You never know how things will turn out.”
Boy is that the truth, especially when it comes to the two of us. We’ve done a 180 so many times I never know which way we’re pointed anymore. What I do know is that this lightness in me is a refreshing change, and I hope it lasts.
I absentmindedly pick up my phone and check my messages.
Does ‘sweet’ earn me the honor of a second first-and-on-purpose date? Drinks? Harry’s? 6pm?
I can feel Nick eyeing me from the driver’s seat. I quickly type back.
Friend visiting from out of town. Raincheck? I like Harry’s.
Wait, what am I doing? Have I just committed myself to a future date? Nick was in my bed - and in me - an hour ago and I’m fielding outside offers? I should have put more thought into my
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