The Reality of You, page 1
The Reality of You
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2014 by Jean Haus
All right reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Even though I lived in New York City, one of the most exciting cities in the world, I thrived on boring, wrapped myself up in it, and wallowed in it gladly. Boring was my specialty, and regardless of my roommate’s wishes, it worked for me, kept me content and sure of safe. The future of becoming a cat lady who wore housedresses and watched game shows around the clock wasn’t pretty, but it was safe.
And safe always beat out everything else.
I’d once been witty and outgoing and fun. After being dumped by every boyfriend—each one taking a piece of my heart—I safeguarded the tattered organ by only allowing it to beat. The last breakup had sealed the cat-lady deal. Nothing will turn you into a lifelong wallflower like coming home from a month in the hospital after a horrific car accident to have your fiancé break up with you. Between my broken body and heart, I’d descended into an abyss of depression. Almost three years later, I’d learned how to be witty and fun again—at least I’d held on to that belief while imagining flowery house dresses—but outgoing? Nope. Obviously, when it came to men, my choices stank. So I stuck with safe.
My job equated to safe and boring too. I worked for a technology company that served several small and upcoming companies with a bunch of computer wizards most likely smarter than I was, but computer wizards on the whole were a safe lot, if a bit boring. Like me. Yet one part of the day—my favorite part—wasn’t boring. Lunchtime.
As usual, I lived for the silent noon whistle that rang each day in my head. While I was immersed in updating virus definitions, the time in the corner of the screen startled me. Five minutes until twelve o’clock.
Oh, noooo… If late, I’d miss half the excitement.
My mouse bumped across the desk and crashed into the partitioned wall with a bang as I spun the chair back and snagged my lunch bag. Amid the hum of computers and the soft tap of keyboards, I exited the dungeon maze of cubicles the long way around even though I might be late—or else Ray would ask me to lunch for the hundredth time. He seemed nice—and most likely safe—but my lady parts had not become desperate enough in their unused state for the gawkiness of Ray Burns.
In the corridor, I hurried toward the battered elevator doors. The technical company I worked for was hidden in the deep recesses of the building. As in the basement. Unfortunately, when I got mere feet from the elevator, the doors closed.
No. No. No.
A quick glance at my watch had me running toward the stairway. Going up was a bitch, but I refused to be late. I huffed—running in clogs and a long pencil skirt that reached my ankles wasn’t easy—my way up two sets of stairs, burst out onto the main floor, and forced myself to a slow walk. In the huge glass entryway, I proceeded to my normal bench partially hidden behind massive pots of foliage, plopped down, and yanked a water out of my bag.
I chugged the water then retrieved a romance novel from my bag. Drawing in a deep breath, I commenced pretending to read and checked my watch again. In exactly one and a half minutes, the absolute best part of the day would begin. Weekends and days off were boring without this.
People passed by me without notice as usual. Just the way I liked it.
At exactly five after noon, I brought my book under my eyes and peered at the down escalator. Like clockwork, there he was.
Dark brown hair with a hint of red. High cheekbones. Full lips. Perfect straight nose. Wide shoulders. Tapered waist. Gray pinstriped suit. Darker gray tie. Strong hand holding a briefcase. Exiting the escalator. Graceful walk. Head held high, almost rigid. Custom Italian leather shoes quietly pacing by me. Beautiful shoes on a beautiful man.
Yum. Yum. Yum.
The nutrition to my libido.
The zing to my zang.
The pollen to my bee.
He never got close enough for me to smell him, though I was quite sure he smelled deliciously masculine. Nor did I know the color of his eyes. I’d imagined them in my daydreams as every color possible. I wistfully watched him cross the entryway then the sidewalk before he slipped into a waiting limo.
Wistful. Wistful. Wistful.
Once he departed, I released a girlish sigh and noticed my upside-down book. After an embarrassed glance around the huge lobby, which proved no one was watching me, I quickly spun the book right-side up and reached into my lunch bag. Nibbling on pretzel sticks and pretending to read, I imagined I waited in the limo.
The door opens and the sunlight blinds the woman inside for a long tense moment before the sight of him becomes clear. Her hand flutters to her chest while her heart races thumps beats to a bashing staccato. He stands tall and commanding. His eyes narrow on her. Heart still racing, she scoots over, taking in the gorgeous vision of him. The wide width of his shoulders. The deep, hard cut of his jaw. And the firm set of his full, lush lips.
“What a fetching surprise,” he murmurs in a deep, sensual voice as his heated gaze rakes over her. “Lunch just became very, very interesting.”
Her lids drop lower and her red, glossy lips part in an erotic pout. Enormously aware of him, she tucks one long endless, tan leg under the other.
He slides onto the seat next to her. “Yet I find my hunger for nourishment has vanished.”
Lust becomes a tangible entity in the small space as they stare at one another, drowning in the other’s gaze.
Scooting back, she leans her head against the luxurious leather seat, nearly cowering, but a muscular arm wraps around her tiny super small petite waist and pulls her close.
“And has been replaced with an entirely different hunger,” he says in a lush, hot whisper.
The woman continues to drown in his piercing blue black dark-blue, almost-black stare .
He bends slowly then presses his full, sensuous lips to the pulse beating, hammering, practically jumping from her throat.
The smell of him—male and…woodsy? Citrusy? Really, really good—engulfs her senses and makes her weak. She clutches the lapels of his suit while his scorching, wet mouth travels the length of her neck. His lips graze her quivering chin to pause above her trembling lips. She shudders underneath him. He groans. His lips come closer.
And then…
And then…
The glass partition in the middle of the limo slowly comes down. The small internal engine grates its sound into the interior once filled with lust.
As they break apart, each gazing out an opposite window, the driver asks, “Where to?”
I dropped the empty pretzel wrapper into my bag with a huff. The meeting of our lips always evaded me, even in my imagination. Either my imagination fantasized too chastely or my idiocy led me to ache for the real thing, which was never, ever going to happen. I’d been watching my mystery man for over seven months. Besides the fact that he was out of my league—obviously I was a peon and he worked in the upper echelons of some company in our building—I’d never once said anything to him, never attempted to get him to notice me. And really, my obscurity didn’t bother me. But I’d like to lock lips once in my fantasy. It would be glorious even in my mind.
After checking the time on my watch, I packed up my lunch remains, picked up my book, and pretended immersion in the text, right-side up this time. Instead, I watched him over the edge of smut-filled pages—yes, the view of him beat out smut—as he strolled back into the building.
Brief case swung slightly. Hair looked windblown. Suit creaseless. His handsome features appeared a touch drawn. He swaggered by me, the epitome of masculine beauty, head held high again, and my eyes devoured every inch. The man was crazy fine. Once the escalator drew him—and his ass—out of my view, I released a dreamy sigh. A few minutes later, I tossed the book in my bag and rushed to the dungeon in the basement and boring virus definitions.
After work, I’d head home for some online gaming.
Oh, the excitement of my life.
****
“Back up! Back up! It’s an ambush!” I yelled into my headset and tossed the bag of Cheetos on the coffee table.
On the flat screen, various creatures, from wizards to werewolves to warriors, scrambled in all directions. I’d been spending my nights playing online games for the last two years. Other than my small group of girlfriends, this equated to major social action. And yes, it was very safe.
“How do you know that?” shouted Bing Boy into my ears.
I jumped up and down in front of the coffee table and pointed at the screen even though my online buddies couldn’t see. Online gaming had some inherent challenges.
“Trolls always patrol the creeks, and we haven’t seen one yet.”
“You’re right!” Bing Boy shouted in my ear.
I plopped back onto the couch. “Two of us are going to have to draw them out. Who has the most health?”
The apartment door opened behind me and the words, “You have to be kidding me,” rang louder than the action on the screen.
I glanced over my
“You and Bing got the most pink,” Frosty said, referring to our health meters.
Kara tried to pry my headphones off. I smacked at her hand.
“Screw that. I ain’t getting my ass lambasted!” Bing shouted.
“I’ll do it,” I said, still smacking at Kara’s hands. “Frosty, you up for some ass-kicking?”
“Of course,” Frosty said. Name definitely worked. The rest of us were always pumped up with adrenaline. Frosty always remained calm.
I gave Kara’s hand another smack then leaned over my keyboard. “You take the left and I’ll take the right.”
We moved our characters onto the field.
Having given up on yanking my headphones off, Kara now stood in front of the flat screen situated between the two tall windows in our living room. She pointed to my laptop.
“It’s Friday night, Naomi. This is getting ridiculous!”
“Move,” I mouthed at her and gestured her over with my hand.
“You promised you’d go out this weekend!”
“Move!”
She grabbed the remote from the coffee table and the wide screen went blank, but trolls overtook the small screen of my laptop.
Until Kara shut it, nearly snapping off my fingers.
“Um…Goodbye Kitty?” Frosty flatly asked.
Bing shouted into my headset, “What the hell? Why are you letting them destroy you?”
My look at Kara translated to pure nasty. She fisted her hands on her hips and stared down at me. Green eyes constricted to slits and practically glowed. Even in the shadows—the only illumination coming from the light fixture above the sink on the other side of the room—she was a perfectly bedecked monster with tapered, beady green eyes under perfectly waxed eyebrows.
“Guess I’m aborting the mission,” I said, tugging off my headset and tossing it on the coffee table.
“Damn right you’re aborting the mission.” Kara’s gaze raked over me as she flipped back her long, blond hair. “Really, Naomi? Pajamas? At seven thirty? On a Friday night?”
Crossing my arms, I fell back onto the couch.
“Oh no.” She leaned across the coffee table and yanked me up by lapels of my Hello Kitty pajamas. “We’re going out.”
We stared each other down.
We’d been roommates all through college. She had a job in human resources in a placement company here in New York, where she and her business-oriented family were from. I’d returned home once I got my degree, mentally and physically recovering from the car accident and being dumped—again. My body had taken months to heal, my mind had still been digesting that I wasn’t getting married, and my broken dreams of Olympic glory on the soccer field had been hard to come to terms with. I’d been playing soccer since four, had been on a Division I college team, and had been considered a shoo-in for the next Olympic team. Leaving it behind had proved harder than I’d ever imagined.
Stuck in depression, I’d been working a part-time minimum wage job at a grocery store and living with my parents in Wisconsin. It had taken Kara a whole year to talk me into moving. Eventually, I couldn’t stand looking at my pitiful face in the mirror anymore or my mother begging me to change into clean pajamas at least if I were going to lie on the couch all day.
Kara’s beady gaze told me that I kept letting the past control me, still sat under that umbrella of depression.
I heaved out a sigh. “Fine. You win.”
Her forehead unscruched and she smiled wickedly. “Don’t I always?”
Yeah, she did. We’d become close friends within the first months of college, but after the accident, I’d been left feeling indebted to her. Though I’d been a moody, depressed piece of shit in the hospital and more after my fiancé dumped me, Kara had stood by me, helped me, even stayed an extra four months to help me finish my final semester.
After doing so much for me, along with the fact that she felt like the sister I’d never had, I’d walk on coals for the crazy bitch.
Chapter 2
Turds. One sat next to me. Two were across from me. Kara sat to my right. They each had some kind of jackass drink: dry martini, cosmopolitan, Manhattan, and one neat, overpriced single malt scotch. Except for me. I drank beer. American beer. From the tap, thank you very much.
The guy next to me kept trying to peek down my shirt. Really? He had to be at least thirty. The guy across from me kept bragging about his job and name-dropping all the celebrities he’d met through his marketing firm. Apparently, famous stars needed his fabulous marketing skills to be even more famous. The third guy talked nonstop about his motorcycle. It was a Harley. He rode it every weekend. Had it custom made. Wannabe. The first guy continued peeking down my shirt. He seriously needed to visit a strip club. Immediately. As in leave and find one now.
I remained quiet and sipped my beer.
Kara had straightened my wavy, brown hair, applied lots of mauve eye shadow to make my light brown eyes pop, and dressed me in a pair of her designer jeans and a sweater with a plunging neckline. So yeah, I looked like I wanted attention from these douchebags.
A beady stare shifted toward my cleavage.
Where had Kara met these jackasses? And why oh why would she think they’d be possible candidates for me to date? My dating was all Kara thought about. She deliberated about it more than I did, which ended up being a lot. Okay, when they’d sat down, two of the three jackasses had appeared attractive, but after half an hour of antics, all attraction had dimmed. Seriously, even if my lunches were spent daydreaming about a certain hot, unattainable guy, personality mattered much, much more to me than appearances.
After downing my second beer, I had to escape, if only for a long bathroom break. I snuck off without a word while the bragging continued. In the marbled room, I unhurriedly applied lipstick. I fluffed my hair. I washed my hands. Women came and went. I dabbed on cologne. I reapplied lipstick. I rewashed my hands.
“Really, Naomi?” Kara said from behind me as I wiped down the dry counter around the sink with a paper towel.
I couldn’t help a smirk as my eyes met hers in the mirror. “What? I sprayed water all over. Merely being a good citizen.”
“You’ve been in here for almost a half hour.”
“Hasn’t been twenty minutes. I have two more minutes to reach my time-allotted twenty.”
Stepping next to me, Kara adjusted blond locks around her shoulders. With light blond hair and naturally big boobs, no one noticed the big—it really wasn’t—nose she complained about. Well, except for her. Funny though, Kara was always going on and on about how, if I dressed right, my darker hair coloring in contrast with my fair skin paired with my toned body were the perfect recipe for sexy. But I was sure it was my pert nose that she envied most.
Finished with arranging her hair to frame her chest, she started arranging my hair. “Naomi, you’re not going to get back on the bike if you hide in the restroom. Or sit sulking over your beer. I know you want this. You read so many of those smutty romance books and watch that guy at lunch that it’s obvious you want this. You want this, right?” she asked, suddenly sounding worried.
“Well, books and men across the way are safe. I’m not ready to get dumped again.”
She fluffed the hair at my temple. “You can’t really count the first two.”
“Well, my heart does,” I said stubbornly. From Jake, my eighth-grade boyfriend—yeah, that wasn’t going to last, but tell that to my thirteen-year-old heart—to my high school love, Shane—I’d spent three years with that cheating douchebag—to my college fiancé, each one had broken my heart. I’d never been the jealous or clingy type, rather the easygoing fun girlfriend. Yet I’d gone through the wringer with every single one of my relationships in the end. Obviously, the last had been the worst.
“Middle school and high school don’t count, Naomi,” she said as if reading my mind. “That’s puppy love, but James…” She dropped her hand and clenched the edge of the sink. “Yeah, I get your heartbreak there. You two were inseparable for over two years. I was stunned when he broke your engagement and beyond pissed when he started dating that gymnast…” Noticing my despondent look in the mirror, she flinched.
