Reviving Haven Page 11

  “As I was saying, I was pretty buzzed and it was quite dark and he had this delicious, sexy accent and really warm hands. He offered to . . . um . . . you know . . . Shit. Hell. Okay, I let him go down on me,” I spit out, hoping that last part flew right by her and she missed it.

  Weezie takes another sip of wine and lights a third cigarette. Her lips curl into a crooked smile.

  “So let me get this straight. You got upset, got hammered and let a complete stranger, who I will assume we now know is Latch McKay, perform oral sex on you,” she confirms with a smirk on her face.

  “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds really bad.” I suddenly feel ill.

  “Holy shit, Haven, you had Latch McKay go down on you. This is not something you should be embarrassed about, this is something you rejoice, maybe even advertise,” she says and grins.

  In my head, I’m thinking, hell yeah! I’ll just put that on next year’s Christmas cards. Then again, I give out more business cards—let it be known, far and wide!

  “Just tell me it was fabulous, because I know for sure that twisted piece of shit, Jared, never ever did that for you.” Weezie spits his name out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “It was beyond description.” I lower my voice to almost a whisper, as if someone might hear us. “I think I had my first real orgasm.” I feel my face warm as I blush.

  Weezie stares at me as her eyes begin to water. She stands up, bends down and hugs me.

  “And you so deserved to have one. Better late than never and by Latch McKay no less. I bet that man has a wicked tongue.” Weezie’s eyes flash.

  “You have no idea,” I laugh.

  I spend the next thirty minutes telling her about the book shoot, the flowers and the panties. I’m stalling, trying to figure out exactly how to explain my logic behind the office visit and what I did. Weezie seems to be accepting everything I’m telling her.

  “Anyway, I kind of decided that a twelve year age difference is too much for me to even consider seeing him, but regardless of what I did or said, he just wouldn’t go away. I tried everything to push him away. I finally devised a plan that I thought would positively get him to leave me alone,” I say practically in one breath.

  “Okay, so what was your plan?” Weezie asks.

  This is the hardest part of the entire story, explaining the reason behind going to Latch’s office.

  “Well, ever since the pool incident, I kind of felt I owed him.”

  Weezie interrupts. “You don’t owe him shit. Whatever he did that night, he did of his own volition,” she says, lighting up yet another smoke. My tale of Latch McKay is going to end up causing her lung cancer at this rate.

  “Well regardless, in my mind, I felt I did. I decided that the only way to get him to stop basically stalking me was to go to his office and give him a puff chore.” I try to sound laid back about the entire thing.

  Weezie spits her wine out of her mouth and nose; it flies several feet into the bushes. Both her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

  “You did what? Are you crazy? You went down to Latch McKay’s business office to give him a puff chore! Really, bullshit, you did not.” Weezie stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind and now that I’m telling her the story—she may be right.

  After three glasses of wine and a little white pill, I’m thoroughly intoxicated. The drinks have nicely warmed me, while the pill made me feel relaxed and calm. I’m feeling gutsy.

  “Yup, walked right into his office and told him I was there to suck his co—”

  Weezie cuts me off as she jumps out of her chair laughing. “You did not!” She’s almost shrieking. She laughs so hard tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

  “Not only that, but I swallowed!” I exclaim proudly.

  Weezie is stunned, but only momentarily. “You let him come in your mouth?” She moves back to a more serious tone.

  “Well, yeah, I was in the zone. And by the way, his cock is as gorgeous as he is,” I state matter-of-factly, not even shy about using the word “cock.”

  “Jesus, Haven, you do realize that Latch McKay is a manwhore, right? What you did is very personal and reckless. I can’t decide if I’m more shocked because you blew Latch McKay, or that you’ve finally said the word‘cock’! What’s next, actually saying the word ‘fucking’? I mean seriously, he’s been with more women than I’ve had men, but I’m always careful.” Her face is a mixture of shock and worry.

  I regard her words carefully. I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean God only knows, along with Google, where his cock has been. Frankly, when I had decided to do it, I lost all sense of rationality. Obviously, if I had been in the right state of mind, I would have never even considered doing it.

  “Oh hell, you’ve had way too much wine. Time to cut you off, Haven.” Weezie chuckles as she pats my hand with hers. I grab her hand and look at her as sadness darkens my face.

  “Aren’t you even going to ask what happened after I swallowed?” I ask with distain.

  “Okay, Haven, what happened afterward?” Weezie asks, staring at me.

  “He didn’t say one word. Just zipped up his pants, walked away and took a phone call.” I lower my voice along with my eyes. I can still feel how wounded his actions made me feel.

  “He did what?” Weezie’s furious. “That motherfucker! WOW! What a prick!” Weezie slams her wine glass down on the table.

  “That’s why he sent me the shoes and the note,” I tell her weakly.

  “Oh, sweetie, I really wish you had told me all this stuff in the beginning. You could have told me the morning after the party. I mean, he must have brought you home.” I nod. “I could have helped you through all of this. Just forget about him. You don’t need someone in your life to drag you back into the ‘Jared abyss.’ Latch is just a spoiled little boy, a poser.”

  “Weeze, I can’t forget, trust me, I’ve tried. I want him more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. He’s the sweetest torture I’ve ever known. He makes me feel things, emotions I’ve never felt with anyone. It’s as if he’s under my skin, in my cells, coursing through my blood. I not only desire him, I crave him. Do I sound crazy? Because I feel unbalanced.” I’m sure my expression is pained.

  “Haven, I do understand. I just don’t want you to read too much into this guy’s attention, because truthfully, he might just be yanking your chain. I’m just worried for you.” Weezie stands up and moves toward me. “And, Haven, you’re not unbalanced. You’ve just had way too much wine.”

  I wobble slightly as I try to stand. Weezie grabs me by my arm to steady me.

  “I know he’s way too young for me. I also realize that this isn’t going to be a long-term thing, but I really just wanted to be with him for a little while, that’s all. You should be thrilled. I might even finally have a boy toy without batteries,” I say, stifling a yawn as Weezie laughs.

  I need a good night’s sleep and some much needed reflection regarding Latch. I need to figure out how far I want to take this. Do I call him, text him, send him a note? I mean, he did buy me shoes. It’s going to be hard enough to look him in the face again after the disastrous ordeal concerning the puff chore. Why send me nine hundred dollar shoes with a note after the world’s worst oral sex? That in itself is confusing. His behavior was strange to say the least. I know what’s wrong with me, but what’s his issue? At least everything is out in the open with Weezie, and that makes me feel better.

  When I get to my bedroom, I quickly change into some shorts and a tank top, brush my teeth and pull my hair into a low ponytail. It’s only nine o’clock, but all the conversation mixed with the wine and my meds has made me tired and slightly loopy. Just as I reach to turn off my light, my bedroom door flies open with Weezie barreling in balancing her open laptop. She looks excited and slightly crazed.

  “Holy crap sista, guess who Latch’s BFF is?” I shrug, sitting on my bed.

  I already know it’s Keenan Stone. Weezie follows and sits beside me. She tur
ns the laptop towards me so I can see the display. There is a full screen shot of Latch McKay and Keenan Stone laughing and partying. The article below it mentions they are family friends. As in the article I had read before, it says when Latch’s father died, he and his mother moved to America. Keenan followed at fourteen in hopes of a modeling career. Keenan lived with Latch and his mother for a few years. Then both boys moved back to Keenan’s hometown in England when Latch was sixteen and Keenan was twenty. Latch went to a school for graphic arts while Keenan pursued his modeling. They lived there for a while and then finally moved back to the U.S. four years later.

  “Kind of already figured they knew each other, that’s how he was able to get Keenan to do that book shoot,” I say, grinning.

  “Oh my God, this is so a game changer.” Weezie looks directly at me. It becomes painfully obvious what the expression on her face means.

  “Weezie . . . oh hell, no way!” I shake my head furiously. I jump off my bed and onto my feet, suddenly feeling a lot less intoxicated. “Close the laptop and step away.” I’m frantic.

  Weezie starts to pout. I hate that she’s trying to manipulate me, and it makes me want to smack those pouty lips right off her face.

  “Puh-LEASE . . . you don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” Weezie says, rolling her eyes as she closes her laptop.

  “You want me to get Latch to introduce you to Keenan Stone?” I have my arms crossed, staring directly at her while tapping my foot.

  “You would do that for little ol’ me?” She looks at me innocently, pretending to bat eyelashes.

  “No way, Latch—and I—already have . . . um . . . questionable history. I’m not even sure if I’m going to see him again. And after the office fiasco, there is no way I’m going to ask him to set you up with Keenan. Just so you can do—what you know you do!” I cringe. I am so annoyed. I know that Weezie just wants an introduction so she can sleep with him.

  “Christ, Haven, you let Latch McKay come in your mouth and you’re questioning my intentions?” Weezie spits out as I cringe.

  “Whatever Weeze, I’m still not setting you up, forget it. Besides, Keenan doesn’t seem like that type,” I say snorting. I use my hands to signal her to get off my bed and go away.

  “What type, the type that bangs hot chicks?” she asks defensively.

  “I just don’t want you to do that with him. It puts me kind of in an awkward position and there’s been too much of that lately.”

  “Do you plan to do that with Latch?” she asks, watching my face carefully.

  “That would be different. With Latch and I, it would be natural progression,” I reply seriously. Weezie stands by my door holding her laptop.

  “Okay, just so I am clear on everything, I let Keenan go down on me, and have him say the word fuck a few times into the phone. Then give him a blo—whatever . . . a puff chore. Then I can fuck him, due to natural progression, of course?” Weezie snorts, sounding exasperated with my logic.

  “Oh hell, you know what I mean, and like I said, I don’t even know for sure I’m seeing him again, so there’s no use even discussing it. For all we know, the shoes and the note were a goodbye, a consolation gift.”

  “Trust me when I tell you you’ll be seeing Latch McKay again—there isn’t any doubt. You think that man sent you shoes to say goodbye? Oh hell no. Just be careful.” She snickers as she flips the bedroom light off and closes my door.

  I’m not sure if I should be happy or terrified about seeing Latch. Latch and I have crammed many intimate moments into the last two weeks. The more I think about him, the more I feel. The more I remember all of the details of us being together, the more I want him. My decision is made: I’ll see Latch and, most likely, sleep with him. This is what I want, what I need. I just have to keep my feelings in check. I cannot get wrapped up emotionally with this man; there is no future with him. If I can rein in my emotions, I can handle the affair. Tomorrow will be the start of a new beginning for me.

  As I crawl into my bed, I quickly make another decision—no more meds. I’m done with the little white helpers. They had been my lifeline when things got out of hand, but somehow I need to be able to stand on my own feet without them. I get out of my bed and take the prescription bottle into my bathroom. I pour the remainder of the pills into the toilet, flushing them down into oblivion.

  Waking up the next morning, I have a more self-assured outlook. It’s been a long time since I felt this happy. I’m feeling comfortable with the idea of pursuing an intimate affair with Latch, even though I still have some reservations. It’s a plus that we already have some sexual history, but I have to caution myself mentally, because if I’m being honest, I wish it could be more than just a fling.

  I don’t really know him as a person. All I know about him is that he has devilish good looks, a cocky attitude and a wicked tongue. Maybe that’s all I really need to know. If I truly want to keep this affair casual, then knowing him deeply isn’t essential. The one thing we do have in common is a very sexually intense desire for each other, which I still don’t get considering I gave him the worse oral of his life, causing him to fall speechless and then act like a complete ass. At some point, even though I don’t want to, I’m sure the “office visit” will come up in a discussion eventually, no matter how much I want to pretend it never happened.

  I feel exhilarated with my revised outlook on my situation, and after I finish dressing for work, I head straight for the kitchen to grab a much needed cup of coffee. Weezie has left a note propped up on the counter.

  Good luck today, although you won’t need it. The man wants you BAD! XOXO

  I laugh and walk back to my bedroom to complete my look by twisting my hair up into a fashionably conservative bun and applying some light make-up. I smile into the mirror with satisfaction and then leave for yet another day in my wonderful store.

  On my drive to work, I wonder what my next move should be. All of a sudden, I begin doubting myself. I finally decide to say yes to him, but now I realize that every single time we’ve tried to have any kind of a conversation, it’s either involved or lead to some kind of sex act. Can I truly have just a normal conversation with Latch McKay?

  Here comes my lack of self-esteem as all my doubts start to bombard my thoughts. How much older do I look, will people know, will they care? Do I care? I’ve always been able to pass as younger than my true biological age, so maybe no one will be the wiser. Latch only knew because he looked at my driver’s license and it doesn’t appear to bother him. He really is a confusing man. I will never be able to understand why he’s so actively pursuing me. I just can’t wrap my head around his reasoning. I'm older, not exactly slim and definitely not skilled in the sexual department. So what exactly is it about me that intrigues him so?

  Maybe I should stop dwelling on the why? and go with the why not? as Weezie would say. The sad part would be if once I slept with him, he just ends it. I’m not so sure I could just walk away. I wish I could be more like Weezie. She has rules. No second dates, ever. After all the years that we’ve been friends, I had hoped some of her ways would rub off on me. Weezie just loves sex, but she knows how to keep feelings out of the mix. I want to be like her and just walk away fulfilled and unscathed.

  Latch has tied me into knots. No matter how resistant I tried to be, I just can’t walk away without, at least, testing the waters. If I think about his smile, his eyes, the amazingly disheveled head of hair of his, I get aroused. Just thinking about him at this moment makes my core pulse. I never knew I could be this sexually attracted to anyone. The erotica books I read and my vibrator have always been two constants, but since meeting Latch, I haven’t needed either. I chuckle softly. I am about to enter my own personal erotica world, and Latch will be leading the way.

  I get to my store and start stocking. I’ll do new window displays later. I find concentrating to be quite a challenge. All I can think about is seeing Latch. I almost feel ridiculous, like a teen girl daydreaming about her new crush.
I cringe. I’ve regressed to the mentality of a teenager. Ugh! I try to busy myself, but regardless, my mind keeps drifting to him.

  It’s now after three o’clock and I haven’t had any phone calls or texts from him. I make a decision that if I don’t hear from him by four thirty, I will call and at least thank him for the shoes. When I glance at the clock and see that it’s 4:28, I’m ready to jump out of my skin and my hands are actually shaking. My heart is hammering as I grab my phone, flipping it open to call him.

  “McKay Enterprises, Amber speaking.”

  I stifle a groan. Crap, it’s Amber. My eyes automatically roll.

  “Umm . . . can you connect me with Mr. McKay,” I say, trying to sound professional and business-like.

  “I’m sorry; he’s out of the office all week. Can I take a message or give you his voicemail?” she asks. I can hear the snapping of her gum as she chews.

  “No, that’s alright. I’ll just touch base with him next week.” I try to sound casual, unconcerned, but knowing he is gone all week is definitely taking the wind out of my sails.

  I snap my phone closed and begin to pace my office. Well crap, I didn’t see that coming. After all the debating I’ve done in my mind, it never occurred to me that he would just leave, without a word, for an entire week. Not that he owes me an itinerary of his coming and goings, but he just leaves for a week without even a text? Seriously, how am I supposed to forgive him if I can’t even talk to him? I can’t text him. I only have the stupid office number. Every time he’s called or texted, it’s been from a private number. The note clearly asked for my forgiveness. He must have known that he would be gone, so why not put that in the note?

  Okay, what is wrong with me? If this were meant to be, it would have happened. Obviously, I dodged a bullet, which is most likely a good thing, even if my heart and brain disagree on that fact.

  Since I have had a somewhat unproductive day, I decide to stay an extra hour or two so I can finish the entire window display tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow. Around six thirty, my cell phone rings. I flip it open and there it is—a private number.