In just a few weeks, I will be moving across the country to start school at New York University. Taking my entire loose-fitting, conservative, and very proper wardrobe to Goodwill is at the top of my To-Do List. I’ll go shopping for a new, younger life once I get there.
I’m going through my massive collection of books when my mom knocks on my door and opens it.
“You almost ready for our lunch date?” My mom is always a little overly dressed, and one of her huge earrings threatens to blind my left eye as the light catches it just right.
“Yes, I just keep trying to weed through the books. I’m down to two boxes of books now,” I cringe. “I can’t stand to think of not having all the ones I want with me. A little bit of home…”
“Don’t get me crying, honey.” Charlie leans over and hugs me. “I’m just now making my peace with you leaving. You can’t take all your books too, your room will feel like you’re gone forever.”
“I’ll be back. I guess I should leave my favorite books here, so I’ll have a reason to come home,” I tease.
“Hey now…” She tweaks my nose. “Good thing your boyfriend’s staying behind … that should help entice you home.”
I think about that for a moment. Michael is quiet about the approaching separation lately, and it makes me wonder for the millionth time how the distance will affect us.
“Get ready, so we’re not all waiting on you. I’m excited for you to see Jeff and Laila. It’s been so long. And I know how much Michael is looking forward to meeting them. He’s supposed to be here soon to pick you up, isn’t he?”
“Yep … I’ll hurry.”
I’ve been dating Michael for the last four months. He’s twenty-two and beyond hot. Our four-year age difference would be a problem for some parents, but this is where my “maturity” comes in. Oh, and Michael is my dad’s right hand man and the youth pastor at our church. Problem solved.
I have a date with Michael later tonight, too. He’s been talking about a restaurant he wants to try in San Francisco. He’s also been talking a lot about meeting Jeff Roberts, now that I think about it. Jeff is an international speaker and has written at least three bestsellers. He and his wife have been friends of our family for years, but I can’t even remember the last time I saw him. I barely remember his wife at all.
I catch sight of the clock and jump up. After the world’s fastest shower, I look for something that doesn’t need ironing. I hate ironing. I put on a new fitted, short t-shirt dress that I bought last week on a whim. This is the exception to my All Things New in New York expedition. I just couldn’t help myself with this dress. It’s too cute and I’m so ready for a change.
I quickly diffuse my long hair and have the usual internal argument with my mother that I always have regarding my hair, only it’s typically not internal. She prefers my hair up because I look older, or calmed down with hot rollers. My naturally curly hair makes her nervous. It’s too wild, too “wanton.” Her word, not mine. But secretly, I think it really might be my only sexy feature, at least of the ones that show. Or maybe my mom put that in my head by using the word wanton.
Michael has been exploring more of my “sexy” features lately when we make out. With all the layers and such, I’m not sure how he will ever find anything at this rate. He has amazing patience; I’ll give him that.
I take one last look in the mirror, giving my hair a final fluff. Michael will most definitely approve of this dress.
I bounce down the stairs, suddenly feeling a bit excited about the lunch. I read Jeff’s last book and was impressed. Maybe I can get inside his head about how the writing process is for him. Do writers ever truly think they’re great? If so, I’d like to roam inside their brain and let all that self-confidence ooze over my guts and pores and cells. It would make writing a lot simpler.
Michael is just coming in the door. It bothers me slightly that he comes in without knocking. My parents keep the door unlocked most of the time, which is crazy, even in our nice neighborhood. However, my dad gave Michael a key before we even started dating, when he house-sat for us. My parents think nothing of it; in fact, they encourage him coming and going as he pleases. They see Michael as the son they never had. This concerns me, but only because I don’t want anyone to be disappointed if we don’t work out. I have a feeling if we did break up, they’d choose Michael.
He really is gorgeous. Michael is the first blonde guy I’ve ever been attracted to—I’m usually all about the tall, dark and mysterious. Michael is tall, blonde and there is nothing mysterious about him. He is so fun … so funny. Every girl sits up taller and giggles louder when he comes into the room. Even my mom. His eyes crinkle up when he laughs. I haven’t even started on his body. Oh my, the arms, the lower abdominals. I now know the term V-cut muscle, thanks to Michael. I didn’t even know I cared about all that until I saw him without a shirt and all of a sudden I did care. I cared a lot.
He asked me out a half dozen times before I said yes. If he’d just shown me his chest, we could have settled the matter much sooner. The fact that I’d be leaving for school troubled me, but there was also the little complication of getting involved with someone who worked for my dad … and the whole preacher thing itself.
Can I just clear the air right now by saying that I love Jesus? I do. I believe he’s way better than we give him credit for. I love Christians. Okay, I love SOME Christians and the rest only because I HAVE to. I love my parents, period. I just don’t want to be a preacher’s wife. Now that that’s settled, hopefully we can move on.
Michael has a thing for my feet. When I said we “make out,” it’s not that we do a ton of that, but a couple nights ago, he did this thing where he washed my feet—I know, it’s a little weird when I think about it, but I went with it and have no regrets. After he finished washing them, he slowly licked and sucked every single one of my toes. He took his sweet time, and I thought I was going to come unhinged. Never in a million years did I think I would want that done to me EVER, but land sakes, it did things to me. Things that I can’t even fully explain just yet.
Is sucking someone’s toes off even considered making out?
Michael’s eyes pop when he gets a look at me. Uh, yeah, he’s not going to have trouble finding anything now. Shoot. I didn’t think this dress through.
“You look amazing!” He kisses me and hugs me tight. I think I just heard him groan.
I hear my dad before I see him. “Hey kids, you ready?”
Michael jumps back like a scalded dog. I laugh and he shakes his head at me, knowing he’s caught.
I kiss his cheek and call out to my dad. “We’re ready.”
“Come on, let’s ride together,” he yells from the back door.
Michael leans into my ear and says, “I don’t know whether to ask you to wear this dress every day or to never ever wear it again.”
“Wow, who knew something that actually fits could cause such torment?” I grin mischievously.
“You’re going to get me into so much trouble.”
“I’m pretty sure you have my parents wrapped.”
We round the corner, and my dad is holding the back door open for us.
“Michael, looking good. Hey, Rosie, you’re looking good too.”
I could wear a tow sack and my dad would think I look good.
“Thanks, Dad,” I kiss his cheek.
“Anthony, how are ya?” Michael shakes my dad’s hand.
When we get to the restaurant, I go inside with my mom. Michael and my dad are finishing up a discussion and are taking too long to get inside. I am HUNGRY, and you don’t get in my way when I’m hungry. I am about to ask my mom if she sees the Roberts when I see him.
“MOM, Ian Sterling is here. That’s Ian Sterling. Look!” I am clutching her arm and about to pass out.
She takes a look at the hunk in front of us and shakes her head, “I don’t think so, dear. That is Jeff and Laila he’s talking to, though.”
“It’s him. I know it’s him.?
??
Just then Jeff and Laila turn around and spot my mom. “Charlie, hello!” They walk forward and take turns hugging her and then see me. “Sparrow, oh my word, you’re all grown up! I can’t believe it!” Jeff looks thoroughly pleased to see me.
Laila is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I shyly hug her, and she comments on how pretty I am. “Thank you. You’re so beautiful,” I nervously say and then I feel silly.
Jeff turns around and says, “And we brought a dear friend of ours, Ian Sterling? Ian, come meet Charlie and Sparrow. Where is Anthony?”
Ian steps forward and takes my hand. I immediately feel my skin blaze; the flames start in my hair, down my face, neck, guts, all the way down my entire body … at least that’s how it feels. He is staring down into my eyes. The way he looks at me, I feel exposed, raw, awake…
I’ve been looking for you, his eyes are saying.
You’ve found me now, I’m certain my eyes are responding.
Actually, what he really says is, “Sparrow Fisher. There’s a story there, I’m sure. I’m Ian.” He grins and squeezes my hand. I melt. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve been looking for you,” I say. NO! Did I just say that out loud? Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Please tell me I did not just say that out loud.
He smirks. Oh, he’s so hot. Pretty, even. However, there is nothing but raw masculinity bouncing off him. “Have you? Well, now you’ve found me. I wasn’t aware we knew each other? I would have remembered this face.” He runs his eyes from my head down to my toes and back up again, painfully slow. “I would have remembered you for sure,” he leans down and whispers.
I’m dying. I wish a hole would swallow me up now. I’ve got to find a way out of this. I can’t tell him…
“Jeff!” My dad’s boisterous voice fills the air and I breathe a sigh of relief. They hug and I feel an arm go around my waist. I assume it’s my mom until Michael says, “And you are?”
I’d completely forgotten Michael. Oops.
Ian lets go of my hand to shake Michael’s and my hand has never felt so bereft. I hear Michael say, “Sparrow’s boyfriend,” but it sounds very far away. My eyes have never left Ian’s face. Ian looks back at me, and he seems amused.
“She’s stunning; you’re a lucky man,” I hear him say.
“I know. I’m so glad she’s mine.”
This pulls me out of my stupor and my temper flares. I glare at Michael, but he is oblivious. He’s too busy strutting his peacock feathers to notice I want to take his head off.
When I look back at Ian, his eyes are laughing, and have a light in them that makes me feel faint. His lips curve up and I stare at that mouth, wishing it was on mine.
What in the world is happening to me.
I try to snap out of it as we find our seats. Unsure of how it even happens, I find myself with Michael on my left and Ian on my right.
“There you are, Brady,” Laila pats the seat next to her and across from me. “Brady, this is Sparrow and Michael. And you remember Anthony and Charlie from their visit last fall?” Brady nods and shakes everyone’s hand. He looks about twelve and seems very shy.
I try to concentrate on the menu, but Ian’s leg is flush against mine. We’re on the booth side of the table. The other side has chairs. I should have sat in a chair, so I could breathe and so I could look at him. No, this is better. I don’t need to breathe anyway.
After we’ve ordered, Ian turns his whole body toward mine, places his elbow on the table, rests his head on his hand and stares at me. He slowly begins to ask question after question. It’s at this point that I tell God I’ll do whatever He wants, I’ll even BEHAVE—and that’s saying a LOT for me—if He’ll just please not let me get hives and if He’ll also please let all my words come out intelligibly.
“So what are you into, Sparrow Fisher?” he asks. “Besides Michael, that is…”
I roll my eyes at him.
He grins. “Unless, you’d like to talk about that. I’m sure Michael would be pleased.”
I look at Michael and for the moment, he’s mesmerized by something Jeff is saying.
“How long have you been dating?” he asks.
I don’t want to talk about Michael with him. “Four months,” I answer.
“Ah, a new romance,” he teases. “So he shouldn’t take it too hard…” his voice trails off.
Something in his tone makes me defensive. My mother has drilled being “hard to get” as far back as I can remember. “We’re doing just fine, thank you very much.”
He raises his eyebrows and continues studying my face.
In middle school they used to say, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” But I’m studying him just as thoroughly and don’t want him to call ME out, so I resist the sass.
“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Why? Do you want to fill the spot?” The mischief is back. He’s something else.
“You’re quite the tease, aren’t you,” I laugh and want to say, Yes, I’ll fill the spot. Pick me, pick me. I’m startled when Michael takes my hand, and I feel the first twinge of guilt. Took you long enough, I berate my conscience.
“You seem able to take it,” Ian replies.
The waitress comes with our food, and I promise, she practically lays her entire chest on Ian as she sets my food down. He looks at her and smiles. “Well, hello,” he says. She stands up and brazenly tucks her number in his pocket … the pocket in his jeans, no less. “Okay … thanks?” He looks back at me and raises his eyebrows.
“That happen often?” I ask.
“It happens,” he shrugs.
“Ah, so pretty much old hat, then.” I feel indescribably angry and sad that I have no right to this emotion when it comes to Ian Sterling.
He pulls the number out of his pocket and hands it to me. “If you’d put your number on this paper, it would be worth something,” he says quietly.
“Are you really hitting on me with my boyfriend sitting right here?” I am both proud and appalled by his audacity. Scratch that, I am loving his audacity.
I’m a horrible person. Let’s not even try to sugarcoat it.
He looks over at Michael, who has my hand, but is laughing at something Jeff has said. “Jeff’s keeping him occupied. He’s good that way.” He leans in closer and gets right in my face. “Your boyfriend doesn’t seem very attentive,” he whispers.
“Oh, he’s attentive,” I whisper back.
“Well, I guess if you like them like that.”
“Don’t you worry about what I like.”
“Can’t promise you that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, look at you. I already want to steal you.” With these last two words, his nose bumps mine and for a moment, I think he is actually going to kiss me. My stomach takes a nosedive into my feet. I’m pretty sure I turn magenta.
Wanton Waitress—now that’s a better description for this tart than my hair, right?—has to ruin the moment by checking to see if everyone is okay. I haven’t eaten a single bite. I stare her down as she returns for more of Ian. She doesn’t notice me. She does, however, make sure to put on a show as she walks to another table. If there was a pole in the vicinity, she would be Worrr-king It right now.
“So you changed the subject before … what do you like to do, Sparrow?”
“Uh, well, lots of things,” my voice sounds shaky and I want to raise my fist to the heavens and force God to honor our agreement, however one-sided it might have been.
Ian smiles. “Lots … of what?”
“Books,” I say firmly. “I’m crazy about books.”
He laughs. “Okay. That’s cool.”
“I like to read them and write them,” I say shyly.
Hello, my name is Sparrow and I am a nerd.
He lifts his eyebrows, and his eyes land on my mouth. “God, everything you say is hot.” He runs his hands through his hair, making it go another equally fabulous direction. I wish I could do that. “So le
t me get this straight … you look like this” —he waves his hand up and down in my direction— “and you’re a book-smart, writer goddess too?” He inches closer to my face again, and I am positive he can hear my heart pounding. “Do you have glasses and wear your hair up with a pencil, too? That would be too…” He closes his eyes for a second and when he opens them, his pupils are huge swimming pools. “I don’t know if I could even take it.” He shakes his head.
I laugh hard then, coming far too close to snorting for my comfort. Keep it together, Fisher. I clear my throat and look down at my food, momentarily thinking it can save me. It does nothing to help, but does stare back up at me, looking tasty. I try to dig in, but seem to have lost my appetite. Ian doesn’t seem to be eating either.
“How do you know Jeff and Laila?” I ask, trying to lighten the air.
“Jeff is actually my third cousin. We just got back in touch a few years ago and have gotten a little closer. I stay with them when I come through San Francisco. They also have a house in L.A. I’m there a lot, too.”
“Do you come through here a lot?”
“Not San Jose, really,” he says. “I’ll be back in San Francisco next week, though. Laila mentioned you’re all coming out next weekend?” He nods his head toward me.
“All?”
“Yeah, this whole clan,” his eyes twinkle. “You gonna bring Michael?” he whispers.
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re delicious.”
I ignore him. It’s the only way I won’t kiss him. “Where are you off to this week?”
“Dallas. I’m playing at the House of Blues a couple nights this week. Have a few rehearsals to show up to … I’m a musician,” he explains.
“I know.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I heard you play … four years ago,” I confess.
“Really! Where was this?”
“It was at a huge concert in Central Park.”
“Central Park? You saw me in Central Park four years ago and you’re just now telling me?”
“We just met.”