And how long until I let you hold my heart.
There are some things I expected when I landed in Las Vegas this morning: casinos, alcohol, video gaming, slot machines, crap tables, neon lights, and even River Wilde. What I didn’t expect was the bitter exchange that just took place in the cab.
Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the elevator inside the large glass building. As we stand in silence, I take the opportunity to collect my thoughts as we rise the forty floors to the restaurant. First, he remembers me. Second, he is, was, I’m not sure, upset with me for leaving that night. Finally, he went to the Kappa Sigma party to look for his sister after leaving the USC Campus Bar and saw me with Ben.
The facts are easier to sort than the underlying feelings accompanying them. It’s my feelings I can’t seem to get a handle on. They are growing, almost intensifying with every word he says to me. And although I don’t really know him, this doesn’t dampen the unspoken truth that I feel more connected to him right now than any other living man.
These are the feelings driving me to stay here, to not walk away. But the biggest reason keeping me here is I actually get him. He’s mad right now, but what I see are his struggles between his emotions and his charm. I can see through his anger to his wounded pride at being jilted. I can also see a little hurt there too. The fact that I get him intrigues me, it captivates me, and makes me want him more.
Facts and unanswered questions are swirling in my head as I exit the elevator into the restaurant. We are hand in hand and I’m wondering how this can be real. Doubts start to cloud my reason. Is he on the up and up or is he trying to get me back for leaving that night? Is this all a game? If it’s not, can we put the past behind us? Can I tell him about Ben? What is his motivation in asking me to stay, while pushing me away at the same time? My doubts mix with my certainties, but what I’m most concerned about is why do I feel every time he looks at me he can see through to my soul?
I’m desperately trying to shut thoughts of Ben out of my mind, but for some reason the conversation keeps leading back to him. Not literally in terms of using his name, but figuratively in that all outcomes of this conversation lead to Ben.
As the hostess leads us to a secluded U-shaped booth, I notice the beautiful view of Las Vegas. Our booth faces the interior of the restaurant, and a wall of glass is to our right. Sliding into the booth, I turn to look out at the view and long for the tranquility it offers.
I stay very close to the edge of the booth, not allowing River access from my end. He smirks at me when I don’t move in but doesn’t say anything. He just nods as he gets in from the other end and sits down.
The restaurant is dimly lit, but there is an ominous glow coming from the candle in the center of the table and I swear from River too. As we sit in silence, I know he’s staring at me. I can feel it, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I shift my eyes down to study my menu.
When the waiter approaches, he asks what I would like to drink, and I order my trademark cocktail. “A filthy Grey Goose martini with extra olives, please.”
River orders a bottle of beer and starts chuckling.
Looking at him for the first time since we sat down, I ask, “What’s so funny?”
He’s staring at me, and my gaze shifts to meet his eyes as he says, “Filthy. That sounds really dirty and really hot.”
I smile coyly at him, but I don’t break our eye contact. I actually allow his stare; almost welcome it. I decide to join in the banter and ignore the sexual undertone of his statement. “I only drink three types of drinks.” Then holding one finger up in the air, I say, “Beer with ice.” Holding a second finger up in the air, I say, “Martinis.” And finally, holding a third finger up, I finish with, “And champagne, but only with a strawberry.”
Then smirking, I decide to go for it and throw a detail from our first meeting at him. Without any perk or animation I say, “And oh yeah, an occasional shot, but then you already knew that.”
Running his hands through his hair, he raises an eyebrow. “Yes I do. I remember that very well actually.”
And there it is again. A ménage of shuffled signals where words and body language aren’t always in sync, but emotions and body language seem to be oddly connected. With my mind and body having had enough of the chaos, I let it out. I just say it.
“River, what kind of game are you playing? Is this your way of luring me in, because if it is, I’m not interested? I’m not a groupie!” I finally manage to say what’s been on my mind, and I feel relieved.
He moves toward the center of the booth. He’s inching his way closer to me, but he’s still a good distance away. Putting his fingers on the table, he starts tapping it. He looks at me intently and says, “Dahlia, I’m not playing any game. I’m just interested in you, and I know you’re not a groupie.”
His fingers stop tapping the table, and he reaches over to where my hand is clutching the hem of my skirt. He takes it and rests both of our hands on my leg, his over mine. I notice he hasn’t laced our fingers together though. He clears his throat before saying, “I’m just trying to figure that night out. Believe me, the facts are pretty clear, but it’s the whys I’m struggling with.”
River looks at me for a beat, dragging his tongue over his lower lip before continuing. “This is how I remember it. I was singing a gig at the USC Campus Bar. During a break I went to grab a beer. I met the most incredible girl whom I don’t think even knew that I sang in the band, but loved music. We seemed to hit it off. We did a couple of shots, drank a few drinks, and talked without any pretense. I asked her to wait for me after the show. She didn’t say anything about having a boyfriend or not sticking around and then when I finished she was gone.” With his eyes still piercing through me, he pauses as if waiting for a response even though he hasn’t asked a question.
The restaurant seems very quiet as I return his gaze and just nod my head in agreement. All the while knowing what he said is the truth and knowing what he hasn’t asked for is the answer.
Before River can continue, the waiter returns with our drinks and asks us if we’re ready to order. River asks him to give us a few minutes. Once the waiter leaves he raises his glass and out of politeness I do the same. “To beautiful days,” he says and clinks his glass to mine. I can’t help but smile that he remembers my concert t-shirt that I wore that night and the toast he made then, but this also infuriates me.
“That’s what I mean!”
“What?” he says, actually looking confused.
“That! You’re back and forth with me, with your actions, with your emotions. You act like you don’t remember me, then spring on me that you do. You flirt with me and then you stop on a dime. You kiss me and then you pull away as soon as I touch you. You’re mad then you’re not.” I don’t stop to take a breath or let him speak before finally raising the hand he’s holding and letting it go. “You’re holding my hand, then . . .” I trail off, not sure of how to finish that thought. Tearing my gaze from his, I try to rein in my emotions, to wipe the flustered girl up off the floor.
Pulling myself together, I look over at him again and decide to continue. As I’m about to speak, I can’t help but notice that he seems to be contemplating everything I just said. I can read it on his face. So I stop and give him a chance to respond.
“Hmmm . . ." is his only response, as he quickly slides next to me and suddenly his lips are on mine. He’s kissing me very softly. He tugs at my bottom lip before he leans away and moves back into the center of the booth. He rests into the bench and puts both hands behind his head as he looks past me out into the night. When his eyes shift back to mine he says, “Here’s the thing Dahlia, you confuse the shi . . . out of me. Boyfriend or not, I really thought we had some epic connection and then you bagged out without even giving us a chance.” When he finishes he just shakes his head and gazes out the window. His eyes are darker now, sad even.
The waiter returns and we order our food. I’m not the least bit hungry anymore. My stomach is in knots, and I feel uncertain as to why we are still discussing this, where we’re going with this, and what the purpose of staying here is. I just want this conversation to be over. And if we leave together I have no misconceptions that this attraction isn’t anything but a one-night stand, and I’m all right with that. I’ll put aside my confusion and just be with him. I’m craving intimacy: a touch, his touch; a kiss, his kiss; and so much more. But this bittersweet conversation is blocking the way to satisfying my needs, and the driver behind the madness is confusion.
His confusion. He’s confused? My confusion. I’m confused!
Oddly enough, the desire I feel for him is only being stroked by our emotional conversation. What I see in him is so real. I feel like I know more of him, of his soul, than I knew of Ben’s in a lifetime. And that draw is irrefutable, but confusing at the same time. Why do I feel like this?
If tonight happens, I know I will have to deal with tomorrow’s emotions because I’m certain my flame won’t be doused. But to get to tonight, we have to get past this bitterness. We have to speak the unspoken words about Ben, my relationship with Ben. I’m not sure I can.
Soft music is playing overhead, and the candle flame has burned out, but River’s ominous glow is still ever present, and he’s still sitting in the middle of the booth. As I glance over at him. I see sadness in his face, and the pull I feel to be closer to him is overwhelming.
Knowing I’m the cause of his confusion, of his sadness, makes me want to close the distance between us. Physically and emotionally. So I move just a little closer to him. As I do, he shifts his gaze to mine and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly into an almost charming half-smile.
When I’m close enough, I grab his hand, lacing my fingers with his as I say, “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand why I didn’t say anything or stop what was happening between us then because I didn’t, I don’t, understand it myself. All I know is, I was a young college girl who flirted with an insanely attractive guy at a bar and had to leave because she felt like the cosmic universe had crashed down on her. And she couldn’t have that, she had a boyfriend.”
I pause a minute, scanning the room before continuing, but I don’t see anything but his intense stare. “To be perfectly honest, she didn’t even think that guy would remember her from that night. And that’s why she didn’t bring it up, that’s why, I, River, didn’t bring it up.” When I finish my speech, I take a deep breath and exhale, clutching his hand a little harder to help contain all the emotion.
River pauses for a moment to watch me and then gives me his most charismatic grin. “Hmmm . . . you flirted?” Then rather seductively he continues with, “I think I was the one flirting with you, and I couldn’t stop because you were perfect really, still are.”
Bringing my hand to his mouth, he softly kisses it. “Beautiful girl, of course I remember you. How could I not? You’re unforgettable.”
Our food arrives and I try to contain the tears welling in my eyes. Before he lets go of my hand he squeezes it and with the utmost of charming looks, he winks at me. With that one little look I can feel the tension washing away.
Then he does the most adorable thing I have ever seen a man do. He crosses his right hand to his heart and draws an X over it as he says, “Dahlia, I was never mad. I could never be mad at you, I promise.”
Believing him completely, I decide to leave that conversation behind for now and like River does so well, I change the subject. As we eat, I ask him about his childhood, his family, and his career. We talk again with the ease of familiarity. He casually touches me whenever the opportunity presents itself and before I know it we’ve finished our meals and our second drink.
The waiter returns, asking if we want dessert. I pass, but River orders chocolate mousse. Once the dessert arrives he offers his spoon to me and I sample it in the most seductive way I can. Carefully and slowly eating the mousse off his spoon. Taking the spoon from my lips, he leans into me, licks some chocolate off my upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and then leans back on the bench.
I’m not sure if it is the alcohol, his fresh scent, or just him, but the sexual tension is everywhere, and every fiber of my body is screaming for him to touch me. I can’t take it any longer. So I flat out bring my hand to River’s neck and pull him to my mouth, pressing hard, not caring that we’re in public. I allow his tongue to meet mine just once before I pull back.
Sitting back and grinning, I can see he is looking at me that way again; that mesmerizing way he has with his eyes. He leans into me again and whispers in my ear, “Are you ready to get out of here, because I am?”
I want to scream, ‘I was born ready’, but I restrain myself and simply move to stand up. Swallowing hard and slightly nodding my head, I say, “Excuse me while I use the ladies room.”
When I exit the ladies room, he is standing against the wall, foot propped up, and head down, grinning. He’s the epitome of sexy with his long lean toned body and killer smile. He looks up at me and grabs for my hand. He surprises me by gently backing me up to the wall. He kisses my forehead before moving his mouth down to my nose and kissing it too. He moves to my lips and tenderly but aggressively bites down on my lower one and then looks at me. I close my eyes as he sucks on my lip, sending an overwhelming sensation through my body. Pressing his lips firmly to mine, he starts to kiss me in the most erotic way. First, he lightly kisses me, then opens our mouths together and exhales. I can only inhale his sweet breath. He runs the tip of his tongue over my lower lip before slipping it into my mouth and firmly pressing his lips to mine. I’m left breathless as the kiss ends and he takes my hand.
There are some things I expected when I landed in Las Vegas this morning: casinos, alcohol, video gaming, slot machines, crap tables, neon lights, and even River Wilde. What I didn’t expect was the bitter exchange that just took place in the cab.
Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the elevator inside the large glass building. As we stand in silence, I take the opportunity to collect my thoughts as we rise the forty floors to the restaurant. First, he remembers me. Second, he is, was, I’m not sure, upset with me for leaving that night. Finally, he went to the Kappa Sigma party to look for his sister after leaving the USC Campus Bar and saw me with Ben.
The facts are easier to sort than the underlying feelings accompanying them. It’s my feelings I can’t seem to get a handle on. They are growing, almost intensifying with every word he says to me. And although I don’t really know him, this doesn’t dampen the unspoken truth that I feel more connected to him right now than any other living man.
These are the feelings driving me to stay here, to not walk away. But the biggest reason keeping me here is I actually get him. He’s mad right now, but what I see are his struggles between his emotions and his charm. I can see through his anger to his wounded pride at being jilted. I can also see a little hurt there too. The fact that I get him intrigues me, it captivates me, and makes me want him more.
Facts and unanswered questions are swirling in my head as I exit the elevator into the restaurant. We are hand in hand and I’m wondering how this can be real. Doubts start to cloud my reason. Is he on the up and up or is he trying to get me back for leaving that night? Is this all a game? If it’s not, can we put the past behind us? Can I tell him about Ben? What is his motivation in asking me to stay, while pushing me away at the same time? My doubts mix with my certainties, but what I’m most concerned about is why do I feel every time he looks at me he can see through to my soul?
I’m desperately trying to shut thoughts of Ben out of my mind, but for some reason the conversation keeps leading back to him. Not literally in terms of using his name, but figuratively in that all outcomes of this conversation lead to Ben.
As the hostess leads us to a secluded U-shaped booth, I notice the beautiful view of Las Vegas. Our booth faces the interior of the restaurant, and a wall of glass is to our right. Sliding into the booth, I turn to look out at the view and long for the tranquility it offers.
I stay very close to the edge of the booth, not allowing River access from my end. He smirks at me when I don’t move in but doesn’t say anything. He just nods as he gets in from the other end and sits down.
The restaurant is dimly lit, but there is an ominous glow coming from the candle in the center of the table and I swear from River too. As we sit in silence, I know he’s staring at me. I can feel it, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I shift my eyes down to study my menu.
When the waiter approaches, he asks what I would like to drink, and I order my trademark cocktail. “A filthy Grey Goose martini with extra olives, please.”
River orders a bottle of beer and starts chuckling.
Looking at him for the first time since we sat down, I ask, “What’s so funny?”
He’s staring at me, and my gaze shifts to meet his eyes as he says, “Filthy. That sounds really dirty and really hot.”
I smile coyly at him, but I don’t break our eye contact. I actually allow his stare; almost welcome it. I decide to join in the banter and ignore the sexual undertone of his statement. “I only drink three types of drinks.” Then holding one finger up in the air, I say, “Beer with ice.” Holding a second finger up in the air, I say, “Martinis.” And finally, holding a third finger up, I finish with, “And champagne, but only with a strawberry.”
Then smirking, I decide to go for it and throw a detail from our first meeting at him. Without any perk or animation I say, “And oh yeah, an occasional shot, but then you already knew that.”
Running his hands through his hair, he raises an eyebrow. “Yes I do. I remember that very well actually.”
And there it is again. A ménage of shuffled signals where words and body language aren’t always in sync, but emotions and body language seem to be oddly connected. With my mind and body having had enough of the chaos, I let it out. I just say it.
“River, what kind of game are you playing? Is this your way of luring me in, because if it is, I’m not interested? I’m not a groupie!” I finally manage to say what’s been on my mind, and I feel relieved.
He moves toward the center of the booth. He’s inching his way closer to me, but he’s still a good distance away. Putting his fingers on the table, he starts tapping it. He looks at me intently and says, “Dahlia, I’m not playing any game. I’m just interested in you, and I know you’re not a groupie.”
His fingers stop tapping the table, and he reaches over to where my hand is clutching the hem of my skirt. He takes it and rests both of our hands on my leg, his over mine. I notice he hasn’t laced our fingers together though. He clears his throat before saying, “I’m just trying to figure that night out. Believe me, the facts are pretty clear, but it’s the whys I’m struggling with.”
River looks at me for a beat, dragging his tongue over his lower lip before continuing. “This is how I remember it. I was singing a gig at the USC Campus Bar. During a break I went to grab a beer. I met the most incredible girl whom I don’t think even knew that I sang in the band, but loved music. We seemed to hit it off. We did a couple of shots, drank a few drinks, and talked without any pretense. I asked her to wait for me after the show. She didn’t say anything about having a boyfriend or not sticking around and then when I finished she was gone.” With his eyes still piercing through me, he pauses as if waiting for a response even though he hasn’t asked a question.
The restaurant seems very quiet as I return his gaze and just nod my head in agreement. All the while knowing what he said is the truth and knowing what he hasn’t asked for is the answer.
Before River can continue, the waiter returns with our drinks and asks us if we’re ready to order. River asks him to give us a few minutes. Once the waiter leaves he raises his glass and out of politeness I do the same. “To beautiful days,” he says and clinks his glass to mine. I can’t help but smile that he remembers my concert t-shirt that I wore that night and the toast he made then, but this also infuriates me.
“That’s what I mean!”
“What?” he says, actually looking confused.
“That! You’re back and forth with me, with your actions, with your emotions. You act like you don’t remember me, then spring on me that you do. You flirt with me and then you stop on a dime. You kiss me and then you pull away as soon as I touch you. You’re mad then you’re not.” I don’t stop to take a breath or let him speak before finally raising the hand he’s holding and letting it go. “You’re holding my hand, then . . .” I trail off, not sure of how to finish that thought. Tearing my gaze from his, I try to rein in my emotions, to wipe the flustered girl up off the floor.
Pulling myself together, I look over at him again and decide to continue. As I’m about to speak, I can’t help but notice that he seems to be contemplating everything I just said. I can read it on his face. So I stop and give him a chance to respond.
“Hmmm . . ." is his only response, as he quickly slides next to me and suddenly his lips are on mine. He’s kissing me very softly. He tugs at my bottom lip before he leans away and moves back into the center of the booth. He rests into the bench and puts both hands behind his head as he looks past me out into the night. When his eyes shift back to mine he says, “Here’s the thing Dahlia, you confuse the shi . . . out of me. Boyfriend or not, I really thought we had some epic connection and then you bagged out without even giving us a chance.” When he finishes he just shakes his head and gazes out the window. His eyes are darker now, sad even.
The waiter returns and we order our food. I’m not the least bit hungry anymore. My stomach is in knots, and I feel uncertain as to why we are still discussing this, where we’re going with this, and what the purpose of staying here is. I just want this conversation to be over. And if we leave together I have no misconceptions that this attraction isn’t anything but a one-night stand, and I’m all right with that. I’ll put aside my confusion and just be with him. I’m craving intimacy: a touch, his touch; a kiss, his kiss; and so much more. But this bittersweet conversation is blocking the way to satisfying my needs, and the driver behind the madness is confusion.
His confusion. He’s confused? My confusion. I’m confused!
Oddly enough, the desire I feel for him is only being stroked by our emotional conversation. What I see in him is so real. I feel like I know more of him, of his soul, than I knew of Ben’s in a lifetime. And that draw is irrefutable, but confusing at the same time. Why do I feel like this?
If tonight happens, I know I will have to deal with tomorrow’s emotions because I’m certain my flame won’t be doused. But to get to tonight, we have to get past this bitterness. We have to speak the unspoken words about Ben, my relationship with Ben. I’m not sure I can.
Soft music is playing overhead, and the candle flame has burned out, but River’s ominous glow is still ever present, and he’s still sitting in the middle of the booth. As I glance over at him. I see sadness in his face, and the pull I feel to be closer to him is overwhelming.
Knowing I’m the cause of his confusion, of his sadness, makes me want to close the distance between us. Physically and emotionally. So I move just a little closer to him. As I do, he shifts his gaze to mine and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly into an almost charming half-smile.
When I’m close enough, I grab his hand, lacing my fingers with his as I say, “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand why I didn’t say anything or stop what was happening between us then because I didn’t, I don’t, understand it myself. All I know is, I was a young college girl who flirted with an insanely attractive guy at a bar and had to leave because she felt like the cosmic universe had crashed down on her. And she couldn’t have that, she had a boyfriend.”
I pause a minute, scanning the room before continuing, but I don’t see anything but his intense stare. “To be perfectly honest, she didn’t even think that guy would remember her from that night. And that’s why she didn’t bring it up, that’s why, I, River, didn’t bring it up.” When I finish my speech, I take a deep breath and exhale, clutching his hand a little harder to help contain all the emotion.
River pauses for a moment to watch me and then gives me his most charismatic grin. “Hmmm . . . you flirted?” Then rather seductively he continues with, “I think I was the one flirting with you, and I couldn’t stop because you were perfect really, still are.”
Bringing my hand to his mouth, he softly kisses it. “Beautiful girl, of course I remember you. How could I not? You’re unforgettable.”
Our food arrives and I try to contain the tears welling in my eyes. Before he lets go of my hand he squeezes it and with the utmost of charming looks, he winks at me. With that one little look I can feel the tension washing away.
Then he does the most adorable thing I have ever seen a man do. He crosses his right hand to his heart and draws an X over it as he says, “Dahlia, I was never mad. I could never be mad at you, I promise.”
Believing him completely, I decide to leave that conversation behind for now and like River does so well, I change the subject. As we eat, I ask him about his childhood, his family, and his career. We talk again with the ease of familiarity. He casually touches me whenever the opportunity presents itself and before I know it we’ve finished our meals and our second drink.
The waiter returns, asking if we want dessert. I pass, but River orders chocolate mousse. Once the dessert arrives he offers his spoon to me and I sample it in the most seductive way I can. Carefully and slowly eating the mousse off his spoon. Taking the spoon from my lips, he leans into me, licks some chocolate off my upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and then leans back on the bench.
I’m not sure if it is the alcohol, his fresh scent, or just him, but the sexual tension is everywhere, and every fiber of my body is screaming for him to touch me. I can’t take it any longer. So I flat out bring my hand to River’s neck and pull him to my mouth, pressing hard, not caring that we’re in public. I allow his tongue to meet mine just once before I pull back.
Sitting back and grinning, I can see he is looking at me that way again; that mesmerizing way he has with his eyes. He leans into me again and whispers in my ear, “Are you ready to get out of here, because I am?”
I want to scream, ‘I was born ready’, but I restrain myself and simply move to stand up. Swallowing hard and slightly nodding my head, I say, “Excuse me while I use the ladies room.”
When I exit the ladies room, he is standing against the wall, foot propped up, and head down, grinning. He’s the epitome of sexy with his long lean toned body and killer smile. He looks up at me and grabs for my hand. He surprises me by gently backing me up to the wall. He kisses my forehead before moving his mouth down to my nose and kissing it too. He moves to my lips and tenderly but aggressively bites down on my lower one and then looks at me. I close my eyes as he sucks on my lip, sending an overwhelming sensation through my body. Pressing his lips firmly to mine, he starts to kiss me in the most erotic way. First, he lightly kisses me, then opens our mouths together and exhales. I can only inhale his sweet breath. He runs the tip of his tongue over my lower lip before slipping it into my mouth and firmly pressing his lips to mine. I’m left breathless as the kiss ends and he takes my hand.
