Going South: Pushy

With my arms pinned between us, I try to push him away. He latches around me and pulls me closer, quick enough so our lips never part. Stunned, I hesitate. When his tongue meets my teeth, I shove him hard and he stumbles backwards, catching himself with one hand on a chair.

Wide-eyed, unsure of what to do next, I wait motionless, watching him recover. He stands tall, straightens his shirt and returns a deadly glare.

“You should leave,” I manage to say, still unable to move.

He steps towards me, his expression softening. “Come on, Ana.”

“Stop.” I hold my hand up to block him, averting my eyes. “Leave.”

We both remain motionless for a moment, my heart pounding in my ears.

He shifts, opening his arms to me as if I might climb in for a hug. “Ana, I –“

Another shove to his chest and I slip away. Stopped by a yank on my arm, I turn to face him again. His grip tightens when I try to pull away.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he says, his eyes locked with mine, his hand squeezing my upper arm.

Twisting does not help me break free. “Get out!” I yell. Yelling is all I have left. “Now!”

Our staring match goes on.

“It was just a kiss,” he says, releasing my arm. The sudden freedom leaves me shaky.

He takes a seat at the table as if nothing significant has happened. “I need to talk to Bosley. I’m not going anywhere.” He flips through the paper.

Infuriated yet unnerved, I am speechless. What can I do? I can’t make him leave. Am I in danger? Would Damian really hurt me? I never thought so until now. I rub my arm where it stings, glaring at the back of his head as he browses the news. Loyalty to Bosley’s ‘friend’ battles with personal safety. If he won’t go, I must. Bosley might not like me leaving him here alone but would he prefer I stay? I don’t think so. I make a judgment call and grab my purse.

“Bosley should be home soon. I’m going out.”

He stops reading and raises his head. I’m out the door before he has a chance to speak.

The keys jingle as my shaky hand attempts to get them in their place. I back out and take off down the street. When I’m clear of my neighborhood, I pull into an empty parking lot, put the car in park and stare straight ahead until my surroundings blur. Silence while I contemplate. Breathe while I regain composure. Could Bosley have planned it? How convenient that he had to go out… How interesting that Damian appeared only minutes after Bosley left. Did Bosley even go to work? Or did he visit Myra while Damian was attacking me? Tempted to confirm Bosley’s whereabouts, I take out my phone and hold it. The time display mocks me. I can’t make the call.

I must be losing my mind. Bosley wouldn’t agree to swing, I’m sure. It’s just a misunderstanding, coincidence that Damian appeared when I was alone, just like Damian to come on to me the second the opportunity arose. No, Bosley didn’t set me up. I am sure.

Nearly half an hour has passed and I feel settled again. To make sure I don’t go home until Bosley is there, I head to the library, my sanctuary.

The art section greets me with open arms. The scent of molding books soothes me. I browse the stack, my eye skimming the titles yet not reading them at all. I wrack my brain to come up with some reasonable explanation for Bosley and Damian’s behavior but can’t come up with one thing. My stomach turns.

I pull a book off the shelf and flip through. Monet. He’s not my favorite so I put it back. Another by Munch catches my eye. I open straight to The Scream. How cliché yet how perfectly fitting for the moment. I stay with it a while longer, exploring the colors and emotion. It speaks to me.

An hour passes like minutes as I continue to browse famous painters, then how-to’s. I decide to get out my acrylics and paint again after this mess is cleared up. It’s been years. My stomach flips …more like rumbles. I realize I haven’t eaten lunch. It’s almost dinner time. Bosley was due home hours ago. I deem it safe to return.

Bosley’s car is in the driveway when I get home. I feel better already. The misunderstanding will be cleared up in no time. Just outside the door, I start at the sound of yelling from inside. Bosley and Damian are going at it though I can’t make out what they’re saying. Does he know Damian kissed me? Does he think I kissed him? I push through the door, unsure of what I’m up against. The yelling stops. Both stand frozen, their heads turned to face me as I stare back.

“What’s going on?” I say.

“Nothing,” Bosley says, obviously irritated. He props his hands on his hips.

I know it’s not nothing. Does he think I’m stupid?

“Look, Ana –“ Damian begins, facing me, but Bosley cuts him off.

“Damian, shut your mouth!” he yells, stabbing his finger at the air in front of him. I am shocked to hear my quiet, mild Bosley shout like this. He turns to face me, his finger stabbing towards me now. “Ana, stay out of it. Go back out until I call you.”

What?! My mouth drops open. Excuse me? Stay out of it? How can I stay out of it when I’m already in it?

Damian steps towards me with an empathetic look on his face and Bosley blocks him, walking towards me himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says with forced patience. “I shouldn’t have yelled.” He holds my arms as if to keep my full attention. “Please give me and Damian some privacy for a bit.” I’m not sure how to react to this …foreign Bosley. I look at Damian. He looks away. I look at Bosley.

“An hour,” he says.

I don’t understand. I don’t want to leave. “Bosley, what’s –“

“Just don’t, Ana. I said stay out of it.” He removes his hands from my arms and slides them into his pockets. His determined expression tells me we won’t be discussing it - not now, not later, not ever maybe. I am hurt. Hurt and irritated.

I slam the door behind me on my way out, a pointless retaliation. I am tempted to leave and never come back, just to spite him. How dare he push me around, keep secrets and expect me to work around them?

I drive with more speed now, sharper, more dangerous. I have no idea where I’m going. I’m just going. This mystery plagues me. I’m determined not to rest until I know what’s going on. Bosley is so private he would wring my neck if I said anything to Tania. But she could help me figure out what to do. Then again she might overreact and do something crazy like confront him about it.

     

~~ Should Ana call her friend Tania for help or go it alone? ~~

          

NOTE: Vote by the poll. The official tally will be taken from the poll which closes midnight Thursday (EST).

In addition, leave comments below to persuade me one way or the other in case there's a tie. 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?

Going South: Betrayal

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!

               
           

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?

Going South: Notions

 

I lay my hand over Bosley’s as it rests on the stick shift. Even without touching his palm, I feel his clamminess. I hold my breath. Something is definitely up.

“What’s wrong,” I say, the sound of my own voice unsettling as it breaks the silence.

He stares straight ahead, downshifts unnecessarily and says, “Nothing.”

I retract my hand and lay it in my lap, watching him through the dark as he watches the road.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

I look straight ahead as I try to decide whether or not to push it. Sometimes it only irritates him more. Sometimes I don’t care. I want to know.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” I say. “You’re upset. Why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m not upset,” he says in a tone that confirms he is upset, the same tone that begs me to drop it.

“Does it have anything to do with Damian?” Even as I ask, my heart races, afraid he will turn this conversation on me.

His eyes leave the road and burn into me.

“I said it’s nothing.”

Okay. Fine. I let it go... for now.

It’s the usual routine when we get home; slide our shoes off at the door, change into our comfies, settle in front of the TV. I want to talk. I want Bosley to talk. Instead, we watch Stewie attempt world domination. Usually we laugh. Not tonight. 

“I’ve got brunch with the girls tomorrow,” I say just because I feel the need to say something to lighten the mood.

“Oh.” His eyes are glued to Stewie.

I reach over and lay my hand on his forearm. It’s warm. It always is. And I’m always cold. The simple touch makes me want his arms around me but I let it go and bring my hand back to my side.

When the episode ends, I head to bed. “I’ll try to be quiet in the morning so you can sleep in,” I say, though I know he sleeps like the dead.

“Okay. Have fun.”

~~~

I wake up early Saturday morning, my night restless as usual lately. The sun is shining and it’s the first day over fifty degrees in months. The kitchen table is strewn with Bosley’s evening leftovers; his laptop, a mug and a plate with crumbs. The newspaper is separated and strewn about. The coupons have been stacked neatly for me at one end of the table. I grab the dishes and quietly put them in the dishwasher before heading out the door.

London is waiting at a table when I arrive at the restaurant. I dismiss the hostess who is more than pleased to greet me and a tad disappointed when she realizes I’ve already got a seat. I shuffle through the maze of family breakfasters as I head towards London. Even from behind, I know her perfect soft brown curls and size 2 waist. She looks especially chipper as I pull out the chair next to her. I plaster on my biggest smile just so I don’t look out of place next to her.

“Tania just texted,” London says. “She’ll be here in 10.”

I roll my eyes. Big surprise. It’s the natural order of things. London early. Me on time. Tania late.

“So how was your night at Damian’s?” London says with a grin.

“It’s not Damian’s. It’s Damian and Myra’s. …and don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I cock my head to the side and raise a brow just as Tania joins us. She’s got ten years on me but you’d never know – she’ll outlast even the Energizer.

“Sorry I’m late. Oh good!” she says as the waitress stops at our table. “Coffee.”

I love London for being early …and knowing we want coffee. Conversation waits for us to prepare our drug; warmth, comfort, caffeine.

“Enough small talk,” Tania says although she hasn’t made any small talk yet. “How was dinner last night?”

I keep my eyes lowered to my coffee as I drop in sweetness and stir much longer than necessary. “The usual,” I lie and feel my face heat up.

“What happened?” London says, placing her hand on my arm as if to ensure an answer from me.

“Nothing.” Crud. They know me too well. I still can’t look up. When I finally do, both are holding their breath, wide-eyed, curious as George. “Nothing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Tania says. “It’s something good, isn’t it? Something juicy.”

“No.” I keep up the lie and search for a diversion. “Bosley was in a mood. That’s all.”

“Oh right. You’re red as a rocket and you expect us to believe that?”

Crud, crud and triple crud. “It’s true! He was.”

London flips the menu open and browses the options. “Fine, if you’re not going to tell us. But honestly, hun, we don’t care about Bosley’s mood.” She gets engrossed in the menu now. Not Tania. She narrows her eyes at me while she plays with one earring.

I sit up and lean forward on the table as I retrace the evening in my mind. “Here’s the weird thing though,” I say. “I think Damian is up to something.”

“What?” they both say, menus pressed back down to the table.

“I don’t know. But I walked in on him and Bosley …” I pause, enjoying the fact that they are hanging on my every word and I am not blushing. “Bosley looked upset, like I said. He told Damian not to ask.”

“Not to ask what?” Tania says, scowling.

“I don’t know. That’s all I heard. ‘Don’t ask.’ ”

We slip into deep thought for a moment, menus forgotten, until the waitress returns to take our order. As soon as she leaves, Tania is back at it.

“Was Damian his usual self?” she says. We all know what she means – did he flirt with me?

“Yeah. Pretty much.” There are no more distractions so I look out the window.

Tania grins. “What do you mean pretty much? I knew something happened.”

She is way too excited although I don’t know why. Damian flirts with everyone. And he might be hot but he’s entirely too into himself for my taste.

“Ooooh you’re blushing again,” London says in a tone I don’t appreciate.

“No. Nothing happened.” What would I tell them? He almost kissed me… I think.

“He kissed you, didn’t he?” Tania says as if she read my mind.

“Not exactly. But… I think he might have tried.” My voice rises as I confide and brace myself for their response.

“What?”

“Almost?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell us!”

“It was dark…” I begin.

“Dark? Why the heck was it dark?” Tania interrupts.

“Because he hadn’t turned the light on yet.” The twisted expressions on their faces stop me dead. What did I say? They look at each other then back at me. “What?”

Both are silent. All I get are shrugs.

“Anyway… so I thought he was leaning in towards me but I’m not sure so I slipped away.”

Tania’s eyes are narrow again. London rests her chin on her hand and curls her fingers up over her lips.

“He wants to swing,” Tania finally says.

“What?”

“Swing. That’s what he asked Bosley, I bet.” Tania is proud of herself for demystifying the situation. She leans back in her chair and scans the restaurant.

“No,” I say, deeper than my voice has reached in ages. I won’t believe it.

“Yes,” London confirms. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s so like him.”

I don’t know what to say. How can I defend myself? Why do I feel the need to defend myself? I’ve done nothing. I hadn’t even thought of doing something. What if they’re right? That would definitely set Bosley in a mood for sure.

Though conversation moves on, my thoughts are plagued with the girls’ theory. I keep thinking thank God Bosley said no. Then I realize Bosley never said no. He said don’t ask, which is kind of like no but not exactly. It could’ve meant don’t ask Ana, or don’t ask yet, or you don’t even have to ask.

What am I thinking? Of course Bosley said no. …if that was even the question.

Bosley is still asleep when I get home past 10:30. Like I said, he sleeps like the dead. I’m feeling anxious so I wipe down the counters. Still uneasy so I unload the dishwasher. My stomach churns so I grab the broom and sweep under the table where Bosley dropped crumbs.

A bling from Bosley’s laptop startles me and I jump, dropping the crumbs I just swept into the dustpan. That’s when I notice the Messenger chat window open and Damian’s picture smiling at me. My heart jumps out of my chest. Suddenly I feel like he can see me. I look around as if to locate a camera. It blings again. My hand presses to my heart as I lean forward and begin to read the waiting messages.

10:42 Damian says...  hey u there?

For a minute, I think he means me. But why would he? It’s Bosley’s laptop.

10:47 Damian says...  don’t ignore me man

Yes, Bosley.

10:48 Damian says...  you owe me

He owes him? What the …?

~~ Should Ana pretend to be Bosley and chat with Damian? ~~

Voting has now closed.

NEW: Vote by the poll. The official tally will be taken from the poll which closes midnight Friday (EST).

In addition, leave comments below if you’d like to expand on your vote. In the event of a tie, the decision will be mine but your comments may persuade me to go one way or another. If the comments form is not visible below, click on the word ‘comments’ to open it. Watch next Wednesday for the next 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?             

   

Going South: The Dinner Party

I push my half-eaten, mega slice of chocolate on chocolate cake away, thankful the god-forsaken evening is almost over. Bosley, next to me on one side of the massive dining table sits still and quiet, his face slightly pale, brows furrowed, obviously lost in thought while conversation continues to revolve around Damian, Bosley’s old college roommate. It’s not out of the ordinary for Bosley to be quiet, but something is different. Something …wrong.

“Well, let’s say we bring these dishes into the kitchen and give the boys some space. You mind, dear?” says Myra, Damian’s tall, dark and gorgeous wife. She stands and picks up her own plate, her black spandex capris and four inch high heels showing off her perfect figure. Damian and Myra belong together; both are hot, both know it.

If their we’re-more-successful-so-we-can-help-you attitude isn’t enough, the ‘dear’ sends me over the edge. I grit my teeth and smile. “Sure,” I say, collecting the remainder of the plates. Anything to speed things along. What’s next? Cigars and bourbon for the men, hair and make-up for the ladies?

I’m not entirely off. The kitchen door barely swings shut behind me and Myra starts in on the spiel.

“We’re having a sale on MAC products this week. Did I tell you?” She slides the one plate with two utensils she carried onto the marble countertop. Her shoes click across the stone floor as she walks. My rubber-soled slip-ons are silent.

I carefully lower my stack into the sink and turn on the water to start cleaning up.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear,” she says, shooing me away from the sink. “We’ve got a maid for that.”

Oh right. How could I forget?

Grabbing me by the wrist with her cold, fake-finger-nailed hand, she leads me around the island and backs me onto a leather and cowhide stool. Then lifts my chin and turns my face towards the light. Yes, inspection time. My low-maintenance look bothers her …immensely. Her painted-on look bothers me too. I never mention it.

From …somewhere a metal case appears which opens to a tiered display of colors; powders, lipsticks, liners. Her gaze shifts from my face to the choices laid out next to us while I wonder what the guys are up to. I could just imagine Bosley, with his buzz cut, jeans and polo shirt, sitting in stark contrast to Damian – his hair tossed carefully into a mess over his ears, a goatee and trendy Armani suit just for lounging around. They’d probably be catching up on old times. It wasn’t often we got together with the Kosta’s.

“You know what?” I say as Myra comes at me with a powdered brush, “I’m all set.” I slide off the stool to one side and head for the dining room.

“Wait!”

I pause just a few feet from the door and turn back to look at her. Is that panic in her painted-up eyes? Is it really so bad that I don’t wear make-up? Or is it that she lost a sale?

“Come here.” One hand circles through the air, beckoning me towards her.

For some reason, I follow. With her hands on my shoulders, she twists me to face an ornate mirror on the wall. Dear God I look awful. Maybe she’s right…

“Don’t you see what potential you have?” She smiles over my shoulder at the mirror, her eyes on herself, I notice, rather than me.

Who am I kidding? My eyes are on her too. Smooth, straight brown hair, caramel skin, green eyes…

“You’ve got such rich, dark hair and fair skin.” Her hand strokes my hair as if I am her pet. “You could really play up that contrast. Won’t you just let me show you?”

Puppy dog eyes don’t work on me. And now that I feel like a Mastiff next to her, I decline, heading for the dining room again. There’s probably no hope anyway.

“Don’t ask a--” Bosley says as I push through the door. His face has color again. It is red. Bosley is sitting straight up in his chair, his body language screaming rejection of Damian who is now at his side. Damian puts on a dimpled grin and stands as Myra scurries in behind me.  

“Ladies! Welcome back.” He walks around the table, takes Myra under one arm and me under the other. “And so soon.” He kisses Myra, sending a red glow over my skin that I try to hide by looking away. Bosley seems to have no reaction.

“You ready to go, hun?” I dare ask. I usually leave it to Bosley to decide when it’s time to leave the Kosta’s. He knows I dread these dinners. I know he feels some eternal connection to Damian, though I can’t understand why.

“Yup,” Bosley says and stands up. “Thanks for dinner, Myra. It was wonderful.”

He knows Myra didn’t cook it.

“Alright, if you must go…” Damian says, letting Myra go but keeping one arm draped over my shoulders. “I’ll take you to your coats then.”

Yes, our coats. The ones that didn’t fit in the foyer closet because it was stuffed with Myra’s furs. Furs! Who wears furs? Apparently, Myra.

 “She’s been trying to convert you again, hasn’t she?” he asks after we pass the metal case still open on the island in the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

We continue down the long hall and into the spare bedroom, all the while his citrus and clove scent invading my senses.

“Don’t let her bother you,” he says as we step into the dark room. His hand lifts off my shoulder, leaving it noticeably colder, as he reaches for the switch on the wall behind me. I wait for the light. It doesn’t come. So I wait for my eyes to adjust to the faint glow spilling down the hall from the kitchen while I am conscious of his arm blocking me from behind.

“You’re a natural,” he says and I can barely make out his dimpled grin. Is he closing in on me or is it just my imagination? My heart races and my face heats up. Good thing it’s so dim.

“A natural what?” I say, slipping away from him into the dark room. I pray for light and wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me. Damian has always been …a flirt, but he’s never made such a bold move as a kiss.

The light comes on and the strange world I’d just visited a moment before disappears. Of course it was my imagination. Of course. I pick up our coats from the bed next to me and high-tail it out of there, unable to look him in the eye as I pass him in the doorway.

After hugs, good-byes and promises to get together sooner next time, we begin the forty-five minute drive home in silence. The muddled memory of Damian closing in on me plays over and over in my mind. What would Bosley think if he knew? But then, what is there to know? Nothing happened. And what is bugging Bosley? I know he’ll talk when he’s ready, but not knowing just kills me. How bad could it be? Does it have anything to do with Damian? I blush again. Good grief, no way I could talk about Damian right now. But… I hate to see Bosley upset.

~~~ Should Ana ask Bosley what’s bothering him? ~~~

Vote by commenting. Click the word 'comments' below next to the time to open the comments form. Votes received by midnight Friday (EST) will be tallied to determine what Ana will do. Watch Wednesday for the next episode based on your votes.

Going South

Welcome to the series where you decide what happens next...

Living an artist's life on the countryside has been Ana's dream for ages but her and Bosley live a boring life in the suburbs of Boston, both too busy to even share a meal together. At age 26, Ana imagined things far different from the average life she lives as a secretary in a small family-owned travel agency. But are things as average as they seem? What happens when too many secrets stack up?

Each Wednesday, an episode will be posted, ending with a decision Ana must make. Here's where you, the reader, come in. You decide what Ana should do. Cast your votes (by commenting) by Friday to have a say in what happens next. Watch for the series premiere Wednesday, March 17, 2010.

Important update: New episodes are now posted on Tuesday morning 9AM (EST) and voting closes midnight Thursday (EST). Vote by poll but leave comments to persuade me in case there's a tie.