My fingers find the keyboard while my eyes are glued to the computer screen. I pause to reconsider what I’m about to do, then type.
Bosley says… hey
My breathing grows heavier as I wait for his response.
Damian says… hey man wutz flyin
How would Bosley respond?
Bosley says… not much
My heart pounds. There’s no turning back.
Damian says… no man wutz flyin
His response confuses me. Didn’t we already cover this? Let’s move on.
Bosley says… not much
what do u want?
I wait for indication that he is typing. Nothing. My eyes burn into the screen, scanning my last line to see if I missed something. Seconds feel like minutes as regret kicks my pulse up another notch. At last Damian types…
Damian says… ana?
I jump back in my chair, the sound of my own gasp echoing off the walls in the quiet kitchen. My eyes shift left then right. How does he know? How!? I search for a way out of it, an excuse, some explanation. But my mind goes blank.
Damian says… ana i know its u
get Bosley
I still can’t move, ashamed of myself for trying to deceive him, embarrassed that he somehow figured it out, afraid Bosley will find out too. My fingers graze the keyboard but refuse to type. What can I say?
Bosley says… He’s sleeping
Damian says… wake him up
Yeah right. Wake him up. My brows lower into a scowl. Waking Bosley before he’s ready is like taking your life in your hands. On top of that, waking him to come see my incognito chat with Damian? I don’t think so.
Bosley says… no
No? What am I saying? No is not enough. What to say?
Bosley says… I’ll tell him to call you when he gets up
In a panic, I close the chat window and log off before Damian can post another message.
After shutting the laptop, I sit back in my chair. Silence settles around me. Surely Damian will tell Bosley. Then what? Can I pass it off as a mistake? A misunderstanding? It would depend on exactly what I wrote. But the chat window is closed already. So I wrack my brain to remember the exact words I used. The longer I replay the messages, the more obvious it becomes that I had been deceitful and the more my stomach turns. Why couldn’t I just leave it alone? Do I really distrust Bosley that much?
The air in the kitchen stifles me so I open the back door and close my eyes to the sun, taking deep breaths to calm down. It’s probably not a big deal, I try to tell myself. But myself doesn’t believe me.
“Morning,” Bosley says some time later, making an appearance in his boxer briefs and t-shirt.
“You mean afternoon.” I can’t bring myself to mention Damian's expecting his call though I know it’ll make matters worse later if I don’t. Buying myself another moment to think, I slide my hands around Bosley’s waist and press my face to his t-shirted chest.
He wraps his arms around me and I settle into him. We hold each other for a while. He rubs my back. I kiss his neck, enjoying his just-out-of-bed warmth and scent. He kisses my forehead. I could stay all day with him like this.
“How was brunch?” He slides away and heads towards the fridge.
“Good.”
“Good. I’ve got to meet Mike at work in a few minutes. There was an issue with inventory this week that we need to straighten out.” He pours himself a glass of milk and heads toward the pantry. “Did you get my cereal this week? It’s been a while.”
Fruity Pebbles. His guilty pleasure. “Yeah. They were on sale.”
He pulls out the box and pours some in a bowl. All the while I try to come up with a way to mention calling Damian. If I say anything about the chat, he’ll know I was snooping. If I say Damian called, it would add to the lie.
“Damian wants you to call him,” I say and busy myself with the newspapers on the table.
Leaning against the stove, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other, he stops crunching and looks at me. “Really?”
I get vigorous with the newspaper cleanup. “Yeah.”
“Why?” The cereal is still on hold.
“I don’t know. He just wants you to call him.” I pray he stop asking questions while I wipe the counters down …again.
He puts the bowl down. “When did you talk to him?” His full attention is on me.
Talk, chat – same thing, right? “This morning. You were sleeping. It was just for a second. He just wants to talk to you.” I realize I’m saying too much, speaking too fast, avoiding eye contact, but I can’t stop.
“Oh.” He picks up the cereal again. “I’ll call him later.”
Bosley finishes his cereal in deep thought and I’m smart enough to leave him alone. When he's barely gone, the doorbell rings. Expecting Bosley, I instead find myself face to face with Damian – ripped jeans, button-down shirt, a trendy striped sports jacket. He looks anxious. I must look stunned.
“What are you doing here?” is all I can come up with.
He steps past me into the house and turns towards the living room.
“Bosley’s not here,” I tell him with one hand still on the door.
He stops and spins around. “Where is he?”
He comes at me so fast I find myself backed into the now-closed door. “At work.”
He stares me down as if to read me, as if I might be lying… or deceiving him again perhaps. For a moment, I think he might hit me. This sort of frenzy is uncommon for cool, collected Damian. It makes me aware of our aloneness.
I brace myself and bravely slip past him, heading for the kitchen at a casual pace that denies my rattled innards. “You shouldn’t have driven all the way here without making plans with him,” I say to the air ahead of me while fighting the urge to run.
He follows me to the kitchen, slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the fridge. Cool, collected Damian is back.
“Want some coffee?” I say, pulling the pot out before I even have a mug to pour it into.
“How long is he going to be?”
“I don’t know. An hour or so maybe.” I head to the appropriate cabinet.
“Then, yes, I’ll wait. And I’ll take a cup of coffee.”
My hand shakes as I reach for a mug. Hopefully he can’t see it. To let him see he has unnerved me would be disastrous. I can’t remember a time when I was alone with Damian. I mean this alone. What will we say to each other for the next hour? How awkward will it be? How often will I blush? The fear of blushing makes me blush and I want to kick myself. Instead I pour his coffee and hand it to him. He sits in the very chair I sat in when I tried to deceive him. He leans back comfortably, stretches his arm out beside him and lets his fingers glide over Bosley’s closed laptop, a reminder of my indiscretion.
Elbows resting on the back of a chair at the end of the table, I try to think of something else I can do to escape. Laundry, vacuuming…
“Sit,” he says and presses his foot against the very chair I’m leaning on. I’m sure he can hear me swallow. The chair scrapes across the floor as I pull it out. I sit and clasp my hands together in my lap, prepared for a lecture …or something.
“Thanks for having us over last night,” I say, a weak attempt to divert the conversation I know is coming. Stupid. Stupid.
He watches me, analyzes me. “Sure. Any time.”
My eyes stay on his mug and follow it to his mouth as he sips his coffee. A heat rush spreads through me as my gaze meets with his lips. I look down at my hands and wait in silence for his next move.
He stands up to remove his jacket, sending the citrus and clove scent wafting towards me. Can’t he just get it over with? Call me out or let it go? I know he enjoys watching me squirm. I can’t sit still any longer so I stand to dump the grounds from the pot. He backs out of my way as I head for the trash, then he leans against the counter.
Hand-washing it will kill some time so, pushing my sleeves up, I grab the sponge. Damian’s scent grows stronger which tells me he stands behind me. I clean the pot better than I've ever done.
“Why did you pretend to be Bosley this morning?” he says, sending my pulse flying.
I have no answer. Nothing I can think of sounds right. The situation begins to irritate me. Why does it have to be such a big deal? I turn and face him straight on, strong and defiant, ready to defend myself. Except nothing comes. No defense. No explanation.
“I had no idea you were so nosy,” he says then explores me with his eyes. “Unless of course you just wanted to talk to me.” A grin comes to his face. His investigation stops at my mouth.
“No,” I say and turn my back to him then dry the pot.
“No what?”
I sense his grin without even seeing him.
“Nothing. Just…” leave me alone? I can’t say it. For some reason I don’t want him to leave me alone. Something about him has my body doing all kinds of flips and turns although I’d never admit it, especially to him.
“Just what?” His voice is closer now.
My breathing becomes heavy and I pray he can’t see my heaving chest. I feel trapped. “I’m just nosey.” Nosey is better than him thinking I want him. He’d just love that. Nosey is definitely better than --
The room around me blurs as a force on my jaw turns my head, leaving me lost and dizzy. Heat rushes over my body, starting with my lips, and I realize he’s kissing me. I’m horrified to discover I’m too weak to stop it, enjoying it in fact. My arms are limp, legs frozen, insides twisted, skin melting. His hand slides from my jaw to my neck. His tongue presses through my lips.~~ Should Ana shove Damian away or enjoy the kiss and come up with an excuse later? ~~
Voting is now closed!
Voting is now closed!
NEW: Vote by the poll. The official tally will be taken from the poll which closes midnight Thursday (EST).
In addition, leave comments below if you’d like to expand on your vote. Click on the word ‘comments’ below to open the comments form. Watch next Tuesday for the following episode based on your votes.
Note: Don’t vote according to what you think I want for the story. Vote as if you were Ana or Ana were your friend. What would you do?
