She pulls tight the strap of her mammoth purse and glances up at me with that red glow in her cheeks. “Not a fan of the heat?”
I look about her face, noticing how uncomfortable she is. “No,” I tell her, choosing not to flirt.
We skip baggage claims and are on route to the exit. My steps are slow, waiting for her to join me on our walk out. She’s been shaken out of our moment in the plane because now she’s awkward and quiet.
“You alright?” I ask her with a small smile.
She nods, eyeing the floor as she walks beside me. Eventually we slow down to a pace that’s hardly walking.
Standing in front of her, I lean down and whisper, “Catch a ride with me. I’ve got a car waiting out front that’ll take us to my place.”
Her blue eyes widen as she looks into mine with indecision. “Aidan, I can’t…”
“Why? All that talk on the plane, you can’t just leave me hanging, Ivy. I know you want to.”
She swallows and shifts from foot to foot. Her eyes leave mine and she’s looking down at the ground now. I lightly brush my fingers along her jawline and her face glows once more at the touch. I can feel her hunger for me, and mixed with my own, it’s palpable and thick. It’s not the kind you can easily walk away from.
“Aidan,” she says, “I can’t be that way with you. You should find someone else.”
Find someone else? She’s intrigued me, and once I have my mind focused on a woman, I can’t just move the fuck on. Hell no. I’m a stubborn man. And there’s something about her. Something raw and real. Something that stirs me alive in ways I haven’t felt in eons.
I’ve never abandoned a quest before. And right now I’m on a quest to tasting every inch of her. I’m not backing down without good reason.
“Ivy,” I reply, “I already told you. What I want, I get.”
“Well, what you’re getting isn’t what you think.”
“Tell me why.”
She sighs and steps back, clutching that strap of her purse so tight, her hand goes white. Without looking at me, she takes a deep breath and says, “I’m married, Aidan.”
My gaze automatically flickers to her wedding finger. There’s nothing there. “Don’t fuck with me,” I retort.
When I see her eyes glisten, I feel my heart plummet. Ah, fuck. You gotta be kidding me right now. Married? Her? What kind of guy would let her walk around like this alone? No man that yearned for his woman would want this much attention drawn to her without being by her side to keep dickheads like me away.
“Where’s your wedding ring?” I question her, hoping still that she’s fucking with me.
She glances down at her wedding finger and shrugs. “We’re… separated. I went away to be with my mother these last two months.” And then she stops right there. Like she’s explained everything. Like there’s nothing at all that needs to be expanded in that ridiculously short and vague response.
I grit my teeth. “And now you’re, what, back on again? That’s why you’re back here?”
“No.”
“No?”
She hesitates. “It’s…complicated.”
“Right.” I look around the airport. “So, where’s your husband then. He’s here, I take it, waiting on you.”
“No, I’m supposed to catch a taxi.”
My face hardens. “You’re here at night after a six-hour flight, and your guy isn’t waiting on you?” The douchebag alarm is ringing loud and clear and I know nothing about this guy except that he has a ridiculously beautiful wife that doesn’t deserve to take a taxi home.
She looks embarrassed. “It’s not like that. He works early in the mornings.”
“Doing what?”
“He’s a crane operator, and he works ten-hour shifts. It’s a weekday and he’s got work in the morning. There’s no way I wanted him to come out at midnight to pick me up. It was my choice. Not his.”
She’s so adamant defending him, but I’m at a total loss in understanding. So what if the guy worked ten, fifteen, or even twenty hours in the day? The fact remains his unbelievably sweet, unbelievably attractive, and unbelievably down to earth wife has returned, and he’s waiting at home for her?
No, no, something isn’t right at all about this. I stare at her hard, barely able to believe in that rubbish story, but I know she isn’t lying about her marital status.
Married.
Or Separated.
Or Complicated.
Or whatever the fuck you want to call it, it’s all the same to me.
Fuck, I have a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m finally desperately attracted to a girl and she turns out to be legally bound to another dick. Is the universe being cruel to me on purpose? Is it laughing at me yet again?
“Were you ever intending on telling me?” I then ask Ivy in a sharp tone. I can’t help that I’m staring daggers at her face. I’m pissed. “Did you think that we’d just go our separate ways right after the plane landed?”
“I’m sorry,” she says remorsefully. “When I started talking to you, the last thing I expected was the conversation to turn the way it did. I didn’t speak to you out of experience. I don’t… talk to guys much. I’m not that social anymore. I just…I thought we’d talk about normal things, you know? Then it became more, and…God, I don’t know, I fell into it so fast, so selfishly. Because look at you. You’re…you, and… I’m weak.” In a smaller voice, she whispers, “I’m so weak.”
Again, honesty. Half of me wants to just turn around and walk away. I feel like a fool. I’m not sure why I’m still standing here.
I can’t be standing here. I need to go. A married/separated/complicated woman was never on my agenda. No matter how beautiful, real and honest Ivy is, I have no desire to venture into this
