Friday, October 10th, 2008
I DIDN’T REALLY GIVE a f*ck if it made me a stalker. It was public knowledge and good for my business. Blake's company, Couture Dining Incorporated, knew what the hell they're doing.
I didn't want my first trade-show to be the first show we met up at. So, since CDI had an information-rich website—including pictures of Blake at trade shows, new restaurant openings and with new clients—I made a decision to follow their staunch social and marketing excellence.
Since, taking over thirty percent of Bay Brewing last month with the help of my mom, stalking Blake, and ultimately her boss’s moves with their company, these trade shows proved to be good business and hopefully the traveling would lead to pleasure as well.
If I had anything to say about it, there would be a lot of pleasure.
We didn't talk on the phone often, okay we did, just not as much as I'd like. But we text every day about nothing and everything and I both loved and hated it. I was becoming stingy and sharing her was difficult.
I couldn't wait to see her face when she walked in. It was Friday and according to The Atlanta Food and Beverage Show's itinerary, she should be arriving to set up her booth anytime minute.
That was pretty much what the first day of the show entailed. Setting up display areas and signage, and then walking around and getting to meet the other vendors. It was great networking for Bay. Afterward, there would be a cocktail thing and a dinner.
It may have been a little overboard to call the organizer and have our tables placed across the aisle from each other. I could admit to that. But ask me if I cared. It'd been too long since I’d seen her face. I wouldn't be able to focus on work all weekend if I was wondering where she was and making up excuses to leave the booth to seek her out.
And Marcia, the event planner, was very receptive. Turns out her husband loves beer. Who would have thought? I may have walked an inappropriate tightrope to get my way, but I'd gotten it, so to hell with it.
I'd do what I had to do, and if that meant bribing a middle-aged woman with beer for a front-row seat to a weekend of, at very least, seeing her front and center, only fifteen feet away for a whole day, then I was guilty. I don't give a shit.
Since Bay only had a handful of employees—and we were currently swamped—I'd suckered Troy into joining me that weekend. He actually knew quite a bit about the company and the process, but really, all the people wanted at these shows was a nice-looking face and free beer. Not to sound like a chick, but he was a pretty good-looking guy and I had enough beer to last a week.
Troy had many jobs. He worked with my brother at Tinnitus Music, played in a few bands, and worked some nights in a recording studio. Sometimes he even bartended at The Front Row, a music venue back home.
I arrived early, knowing I'd want to be done setting up by the time she arrived. I even knew when her plane landed. If she took that morning's direct flight from Seattle to Atlanta and then came straight there, she should be walking in at any moment.
“I'll grab the ice in the morning. I'll just take this cart up stairs with me tonight,” Troy said about filling up the sample and display tubs.
“Good idea. One trip.”
“You say that like you're surprised that I'm good at this. I'm a musician, remember. I know how to gig.”
“Gig?” I huffed a laugh, “When was your last gig?”
“F*ck you. It wasn't that long ago,” I heard him say, and then I thought he called me a dick under his breath as he set up the signs behind the booth.
That's when I saw her walking through the double doors that lead into the massive convention room in the bottom floor of the hotel hosting the event. She was wheeling in two huge hard cases, probably full of their company's propaganda. She was prettier then I remembered.
She was luminescent. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and pieces of it had fallen out, and she'd cut the front part again, which fell just above her eyes. She was wearing dark brown dress pants and an ivory, silk sleeveless, button-up shirt. So hot.
As I watched her sign in and talk to the folks at the front of the room who managed the registration, I pulled my phone out.
Me: What are you doing right now? I want to tell you about what I'm looking at.
I watched her startle and heard the sound of her phone from across the room. She was fantastically disheveled, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She sprang into action looking for her cell. When she found it in the pocket of her jacket, which was threaded through the handles of her cases, she swiped her hand across the face to open the message.
She smiled and blushed.
The couple on the other side of the table gathered her registration forms and documents and set about putting them into the event folder that each vendor was given.
Honeybee: I'm busy. I'll text you later.
She smiled again, but didn't put the phone away. She was still holding it when I sent a message back.
Me: Too busy for me now? Come on. I really want to tell you about this.
“Dude, you're not doing shit. You better be naming a beer after me for this,” Troy complained from behind me where he almost had the whole booth ready to go.
“Sure, I'll call it Man Bitch Ale,” I replied, but I didn't take my eyes off the front of the room where she was standing.
“Who are you staring at?” Troy asked as he stood by be and followed my line of sight. Blake and Troy were both a Micah's graduation party, but Troy was too wasted that night to remember anything, let alone a girl who wasn't there for a whole hour before she left to get drunk by herself. “That girl? You're looking at the one at the registration table.”
I didn't answer, I only watched as she finished with a message she was typing back to me.
Honeybee: You're so needy. What are you looking at?
Me: I don't want to tell you now.
Honeybee: Good. I'm busy. Text later.
Me: I'm not texting you later.
I liked playing that game. Even though the look on her face was one of annoyance and confusion, I reveled in the way telling her I wouldn't text her later visibly bothered her. She sucked her bottom lip in her mouth, pulling at the right side of it, and scowled at her phone. She still didn't notice me. One of the event workers escorted her to her booth.
Her focus was solely on her phone, and she didn't look up as she walked. She couldn't be browsing anything. It was damn near impossible to do that with one hand. And with her only one free hand, she hauled her cases behind her. She barely noticed that one was tipped on its side and she was full-on dragging it. Blake's shoulders were hunched forward, looking a little deflated. She kept her eyes locked to the same spot on the phone.
When she got to a spot where she had to make a turn to stay in the mostly unfilled aisles, I texted her once to prove a strange theory. I told myself, playing the devil's advocate, “She's not rereading your message, don't f*cking flatter yourself.”
Me: Cheer up, Betty.
Instantly, she released her lip.
I'd really missed her. How was it that I'd only spent a handful of hours with this girl and I missed her that much? It couldn't only be because she was sexy as hell in bed. It probably wasn't that she was ambitious and weird. I didn't know what, but it was something. And seeing her in front of me brought home how much I'd truly missed her.
I didn't think she'd try to text with one hand. I totally thought she'd wait, and then she'd see me before she would have time to type back. But she surprised me.
She stopped in the middle of the aisle about thirty feet away. She should have let go of the rolling suitcases, but she held onto them. And with one hand she sent a message.
Honeybee: Dnt do tht.
It flashed across my screen.
I held my phone out in front of me, higher than I normally would so that I wouldn't have to look away from her. I was enthralled. It had been so long since I’d seen her and my greedy eyes wanted to indulge as much as they could.
Me: Do wht?
She let go of both cases and they fell to the outside of the walkway around her legs. With both hands she typed.
Honeybee: Don't play with me like that. We're friends. Remember? Don't be a jerk.
Me: Just friends?
Still holding my phone up close to my face, keeping both in view, I saw the breath she pulled in. I prayed to myself that that was what lying to yourself looked like, before I read her reply.
Honeybee: Yes.
Me: We'll see about that.
I closed out of the message. I didn't know what she'd reply. I opened the camera app instead and waited for it to ready itself, taking the time to zoom in a little, and allowing the lens focus on her.
I said, a little louder than my speaking voice, “There comes trouble.” I was so glad I'd had the forethought to take the picture, as her face was priceless. It was pure Blake.
Her eyes lifted to mine hearing my voice, like her ears were tuned to me from all those feet away. She didn't even need to scan for me. Her sharp gaze landed on me instantly. Then she did this thing where she sucked both of her lips in her mouth to keep from either screaming or smiling. I'd be happy with either; and knowing that it was one or the other made me want to do the same.
But I held my shit together and tried my best at being cool.
Then reality hit her and she realized that the person escorting her to the booth was picking up her cases and dragging them to the area right across from mine.
I was a f*cking genius!
But she didn't know I was a genius. She thought it was something else. I could see the awe on her face at the realization we were right across from each other, in the same state, town, building and room as each other. It was awesome to watch.
When she finally started walking toward me, her hands out in front of her cream silk-covered breasts, phone still in hand, ponytail and bangs swishing from side to side, she asked, “Can you believe this?” Then she shook her head wildly and looked from one side of the aisle to the other. “What. The. Hell?” she said slowly and to herself.
“I saw you walk in. This is crazy, huh?” I smiled. “Looks like you're right across from us.” I tried to make a “that's weird” face when I shook my head like she was, playing along. Then I couldn't resist and went to her.
There was a bounce in my step for many reasons. Our booth was finished; hers was not. I'd had Troy and she appeared alone.
Things were working out.
“Is this all of your stuff? Do you need some help?” I asked.
She said, “I'll have more tomorrow, this stuff is easy really. I'll have some food on the table and someone here to help. I came today to register and make sure everything got here.” Then she looked at me in wonder. “How are you, like, here?”
“My company sent me. Thought it was good marketing or something. I do these shows all the time.”
“You do?” I imagined the wheels in her head were spinning, trying to remember me talking about these shows, but I never had. She never asked what I was doing when we text. How was she to know that I'd been in over a dozen cities in the last few months? If I wasn't at a show I was scoping out bars, hotels, restaurants and talking to distribution houses about getting us into their retailers.
“Yeah, I haven't been in San Francisco more than four nights in probably the last two months. It's been wild. Why?”
“I don't know. I just...I don't know. I've been traveling a lot, too.” She huffed. “I guess we were bound to run into one another. Me with the food. You with the drink. Makes sense.”
I hated that she rationalized it. It was more fun when she thought it might be some cosmic force, but no. She was only befuddled because she hadn't thought of it.
It was incredibly difficult to be in the same space as her and not have her in my arms. They ached to be holding her, my mouth was dying to kiss her, but I kept my distance. It was excruciating.
I said, “Let's get a drink. Let me help you get this all set up first.” She only nodded and smiled.
She was right. She didn't have much. Two, vertical signs like ours, and a cover for the table that had pictures of their client's restaurants. She unpacked a few pamphlets and propped up a few things and that was it. She'd said that there would be more tomorrow.
That was true.
I’d seen from pictures online a small buffet and some of their favorite signature idea dishes. They displayed food with before and after menus. It was genius. Their company overhauled older, tired restaurants into new fresh versions of themselves. It was actually pretty f*cking cool.
As soon as she finished tidying things up for the morning she asked, “Can we walk around first?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Then we'll get drinks.”
“I said a drink,” I corrected, being innocuously argumentative.
She deadpanned, “I always overdo it when I'm with you. Why stop now?” Then laughed outright. “That was bad,” she said as she cackled. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
I laughed, too, mostly at her laugh. It came straight out of her gut. Boisterous and loud.
My phone stole my attention away from her giggles. It was Aly. I silenced it and put it on vibrate. I didn't have time to talk to her. Not when everything was working out so well.
“So who is that guy with you? What does he do?” Blake asked me as we sat at the hotel bar in the early afternoon. We'd gone straight from the convention center to the restaurant in the hotel and bellied up to the bar. The hotel was full of other vendors and their inhabitants, making the bar loud and crowded, even for that early hour in the afternoon.
“He's an old friend. He doesn't actually work for Bay. He just doesn't have anything better going on and I got him to tag along. These things are better with backup.”
We didn't order drinks when we'd ordered our food. I didn't because she didn't. It wasn't until Troy swung by our end of the bar, that he coerced us into getting real drinks. And by coerced, he really only said, “Hey. You guys need drinks.” Then he lifted his half-empty Heineken in the air to be dramatic. “I'll buy first round,” he said. It definitely wasn't his first round.
The best part about a bar being loud and over-populated when you were there with a girl, was when it was so loud that you had to lean in to talk. I stood at the very end of the bar, because there weren't any more seats open and I let Blake have the one on the end. I stood and ate around the end side and moved back and forth as the wait staff came to pick up their customer's drinks. They didn't seem to mind though, so I didn't see any reason to move.
Blake ordered a BLT. She's a chef and she ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Classic.
“Hey, I like what I like,” she said when I teased her about having a simple palate for a chef.
“Don't you want to see what that chef back there is really up to?”
“Nope. Not really,” she admitted while taking her last bite. Around a full mouth she spat, “I come in peace.” She tried to squelch herself from laughing at her own joke and a piece of bread flew from her mouth and landed on her plate. It was both disgusting and adorable.
When she finished swallowing and taking a drink of her beer, she said, “What’s amazing about a BLT is that they're always good. The perfect ratio of meat to veggie to bread. It does the trick every time.”
“Are you staying in this hotel?” I asked out of nowhere. All right, it wasn't out of nowhere. I'd been dying to know. I thought she would. I hoped she would, but I wasn't sure.
Even with my new flare for stalking, I recognized that would be too much.
Troy and I were staying there, but we had two rooms. It was part of his agreeing to come with me that he had to have his own room. Troy liked women and I didn't need to be around anything that might make me uncomfortable around possible clients and industry people the next day.
One time when we were in high school, he had sex with a girl on the floor of my bedroom. I knew he was a good dude, when he explained why he hadn't done it on the bed. “Dude, I didn't even know that girl. I wasn't about to mess up your shit. Besides the floor worked just fine.” Then he gave a few air humps to the closest wall for good measure.
“I'm staying here. Isn't everyone?” she answered.
I didn't give a f*ck about everyone else. My only concern was if she was sleeping there. “Yeah, I guess they probably are.”
“Are you going to that thing tonight? That party thing?” Blake asked.
I didn't really want to.
What I wanted to do was take her upstairs and rip that f*cking tease of a silk shirt off her. Every time the door opened, a breeze blew in and her goddamn nipples got hard. I damn near did, too. The way that silk hung tight to her breasts made me want to destroy it. I couldn't tell from her voice if she'd planned on going to the party or not. “Maybe for a little while. Best to get in and get out of those things,” was all I could get out of her.
“Yeah, that's a good plan. Tomorrow will come early. I should probably have an early night,” I said into her ear while leaning in and motioning to the bartender for another round. “We might as well enjoy the afternoon then,” I added with my best good-boy smile.
My mouth being that close to her face, her skin, was driving me mad. It was the same as the last time we were together. Probably better.
Wait. Probably worse. Worse because I already knew what I wanted. I already knew what it was like to not have it. To not have her. And I felt the loss of her every night when we were only texting, “Goodnight,” instead of kissing goodnight.
It was that thought that kept racking my mind.
That and... You F*ck, you think about this girl every night while you jack your dick in the shower. You figured out a way to be around her again. Quit wasting your f*cking time. Touch her. If she doesn't want you to, you'll know. Then you can stop.
So I touched her, mostly to gauge her reaction. Well, that and because my arms were going to fall out of their sockets in protest, if I didn't. I ran my hand up the small of her back, and I felt the warmth of her body all the way to her shoulder. I left my arm possessively draped there.
The bartender brought our drinks.
Blake looked at my arm.
The hairs on her bare skin prickled and stood. I knew it was because of me. The f*cking prick-teasing door hadn't opened in minutes. Her doe-like eyes glanced over to her shoulder where my fingers held onto her, bridging my body to hers.
Blake returned her eyes to mine and said, “Is this going to get harder or easier?” There was an honest curiosity in her face. Her eyes were wide and a little glassy after having four—really stout—draughts. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing shallow.
She reacted to my nearness.
Her body was saying to mine, “Where were you all that time? I've been right here.” But she was trying to not think with her body but with her head instead. Her head needed to shut-the-f*ck-up.
I didn't hesitate to kiss her right there. The moment was just right. Before she could weigh the pros against the cons and therefore me against him. I was the con and we both knew it.
My lips met hers and she fell forward into my chest. Her arms wrapped underneath mine and latched onto each other behind me. She pulled me tight. I felt a sharp scrape against my skin as she tightened her grip.
As she kissed me she said, “Say easier, Casey. Tell me that if this happens, then it will be easier.”
“I don't know.” I told her. I didn't want to lie, but for me it was easy to be with her. There wasn't a thing in the world that would keep me away from her in that moment. Nothing else mattered. The dream I'd been having over these last few months was coming true and I wasn't about to analyze the why and how of it all. I wanted to live it. The hard part wouldn't come until Sunday.
F*cking Sunday.
F*ck only having a few stolen hours.
And to hell with it, while I'm f*cking things up, f*ck the motherf*cking ring I felt digging into my back right now. I'd think about all of that later.
Right then the only thing I really wanted to f*ck was my honeybee.