Crave You: A Novel

                                                                                           Kayla Was it easy? When I glanced at Nathan snoring loudly beside me, I got up and wearily slipped into my yellow summer dress. I didn't bother checking myself in the mirror. Neither turned to look behind me as I silently opened the door and left him, in our bedroom, alone. I would say, that was level one, easy. After getting off the porch, I didn't think where I could go. I only knew I needed a walk — I needed to breathe. I pushed myself on the pavement. I can trust my sneakers to lead me where these Puma shoes think no one can find me. That's how, now, I'm here, sitting at Seus Doces shop, eating away a sweet sensational custard tart outside the cafe in the depressing early Friday morning. It feels good licking this gooey custard filling off the fork. Whenever Nathan and I fight, I make sure I eat something sugary in the kitchen. Baking is after all my solace. My therapy. When I whip, I feel my anger blending uproar in the large bowl. When I mix, I feel my mood hardening like a spatula. When I pour, I imagine Nathan struggling for air in the thick buttery batter. When the warm smell hits me, I smile. Something that instantly perks me up. But, our last night, is making me have tart instead. At a Portuguese pastry shop. Not in our home. Tart — the last thing I was supposed to be doing is jabbing the fork sharply in the center of this crusty bitter tart. "Excuse me?" A silky voice interrupts me. He sounds concerned. Rather confused. Or was he intrigued? I sigh and reply, "Yes?" I sound dejected. I have no strength to put up my best fake sunshine smile. Like I do with Wendy, my next-door vlogger neighbor, who meaninglessly asks me, "You didn't mind right? She didn't mind the prank guys! This is called a good neighbor" on live on her phone for her fifty-thousand followers on t****k. Getting away from that memory, as I look up, I see a pair of deep blue ocean eyes looking at me. His thick brown eyebrows are arched up. The way he is leaning beside me, tilting his head, I can see his tanned skin burning radiantly. His face is red. His dark bangs fall on his strong forehead, hiding the lines, but visible only to me. "Are you alright? You look troubled?" These questions get to my nerves when Nathan asks me. Sarcastically. This handsome stranger under twenty-seven degrees in looming heat is asking me, curiously. "Of cour-- I'm fine. There's nothing wrong." I said, pressing my lips weakly. "Didn't seem to me. Or to anyone." He said, standing straight, slipping his right hand in his black skinny track pants. I turn over my shoulder. I see few people avoiding me. As if they weren't caught already. I turn back and look up at him again. I lower my lashes and avert him quickly. Without looking at his gorgeous face, I tell him, "No. It's fine. I was just trying to cut this tart." I reach for my black coffee eagerly. I was glad this man couldn't see me abashed behind the white porcelain cup. The coffee was losing its warmth. But, not the heat around me. "I'm Scott Miller. Mind if I join you?" He moved and stood in front of me. I looked up, clutching the cup tight in my pink palms against my chest. The sun fell on him. Breeze slightly whizzes his manes. Underneath the soft light partially falling on him, I could see his irresistible dimples, making his eyes crinkle and his shoulders shrug. He looked marvelous. Like a GQ cover model. Photogenic. Mysterious. Alluring. That made me want to stroke his neck. Down to his chest over his grey Metallica tank top. And further down, slipping my hand in his pants - imagining him moaning, breathing heavy, and pressing his soft lips on my neck. Will he slink his long fingers up in my smooth frizzy hair if I squeeze his shaft a little harder? No. What's wrong with me? I can't think in broad daylight about the person I just met. Especially, when he's standing by my table. What was he thinking of me? I haven't answered him yet. When I check my phone, the screen boldly flashes 8:30. I'm late for work. "I'm sorry. I've to go. You can have this seat. It's all yours." I get up, gathering my wallet and Xiaomi after leaving a five-dollar tip on the table. As I pass by him, a faint musky cologne sways me. I wasn't too close to him but we almost brushed. I didn't look back until Scott asked, "Wanna get coffee later?" Is he hitting on me? This is rare. I assume he might be asking me out since I'm not wearing my wedding platinum band. Or is it out of pity that I was sitting alone and furiously stabbed the poor artsy tart? I might've looked like a 'lost lady in need of a friend to him. I opened my mouth. Then shut. I open again but close quickly. Perhaps, "Sorry, I can't. It was nice meeting you though." I said decisively. I took a few steps. Sprinting. This stranger has been nothing but sweet to me. I can't trust him either. Yet my heart sped, thrumming faster like his mere touch with his eyes has excited me inside. This is too much. Too much to want to touch him. I stop. I don't know why I did. It's as if, I want to look at him, no matter how fast my heartbeat. I look over my shoulder to see if he's still there. He wasn't. He was now sitting in the same chair where I sat earlier. I shouldn't be staring at him. But, it felt as if he was on me. I shouldn't be turning back. I should be returning home. Instead, my Puma shoes lead me to him like a compass till I'm standing, looking down at him. He looks up the moment I stand before him. That dark gaze and the luscious smile with imperceptible stubble have me weak on my knees. Oh god, Kayla. Stop it. "Thank you. I didn't say thank you when you asked me whether I was fine or not. So, thank you." I said, restraining myself from smiling too much. "This won't do." He said, piercing his gaze at me. "If you tell me your name, I'll consider your thank you." His dimple pushed back as he waited for me to fill the blank space. I flit my eyes nervously looking ahead and sideways, to be sure I was well covered before he said, sensing my hesitance, "If you think I'm some psycho, then no. I'm not. You can have my business card if you like. I can assure you — I'm safe." He said gently as he placed his business card on the table. Eco - Dresser Mfg. Pvt. Ltd. Mr. Scott Miller Sr. Operation Manager 523, Main St, Hattiesburg, MS 39401 scottmillar89@ecodresser.com Call +1 601 8679974 I look up from the glossy card. His swirling eyes were searching mine. Flustered, I tuck my loose hair behind my ear. "I'm Kayla M- Mohanty," I said automatically. Professionally. Like I do with clients. Except, I don't use my Indian paternal surname, 'Mohanty'. It should be Kayla M. Lee, stating I'm attached to Nathan. For this reason, I didn't give away my business card. Neither do I mention I'm married. I should be clearing the clouds. When I know Nathan is waiting for me. But, somewhere inside me, the dark side of me, didn't want me to bring up Nathan. I wanted to be a stranger. The forgotten stranger to this stunning man in front of me. "Don't mention, Kayla." He said seductively. Like my name on his tongue melted smoothly before giving away his coquettish smile. I felt a tiny bit — seen. Like somehow I can't remember when it was the last time Nathan looked at me. This stranger here is making me unearth a forgotten feeling that once used to rush me blindingly. To hide my blush, I nodded awkwardly and turned my back to him. I know I wouldn't see him again. There's no point standing here like a fool and expecting something from him. I was right. He didn't interrupt. I kept walking the same way I came. The crowd grew around me. Dead leaves fell my way. The river blew pleasant against my skin. I kept on walking and thinking, how I would act around Nathan. We've been together for five years. I never thought one day he would become distant. I thought everything was perfect between us. Despite forgiving him for being lousy. Despite forgiving him for canceling our Friday date nights. Despite forgiving him refusing to go down on me. I compromised. And gave and gave away. What did I find out before our sixth marriage anniversary? "Kayla." Nathan shakes me from my subconscious as I see him about to get in, in his red Hyundai Grand i10. "Where were you? I didn't find you when I woke up." Neither did he call or text me. "Somewhere to clear my head." "Where?" Nathan demanded as he straightened himself. "A cafe. Just a mile away." I didn't give him the name or where I sat and with whom I met. The compassion between us was flat and cracking. "What cafe?" He asked, frowning. I inhaled deeply and curled my hands. The tart failed to cheer me up. "Shouldn't we be talking, Nathan? It isn't over yet, you know." I look at him, gritting my teeth. "I've to travel today. Biloxi. I won't be returning until tomorrow night." Nathan said matter-of-factly. So easily, as if, nothing happened last night. I stand there. Numb. I can't believe he's running away today. The day of our anniversary. Why am I not surprised? "Nathan, you're doing it again," I said crossing my arms against my chest and stand, shifting my legs a little bit where I can rest my sore soles. I look at him, pushing him through my action. "Jesus, Kayla. Here? On this street? Could you please remember where we are?" He snorted, shaking his head. "I didn't ask you or say anything to instigate a scene. I'm simply reminding you where you left things unsaid." I said glaring at him. Nathan chews inside his mouth. He knows I'm not easy to back down. I get what I chase. I chase till I get some answers. "Kayla. I have to be somewhere really important. I can't miss this conference. We will talk when I get back." Nathan got inside. I stood there wrapping my arms tightly. Usually, I wave when I show I forgive him. A language we know. Or used to. Till his car fades away, I release my arms. I walk inside our so-called home and slam the door shut. The noise in the silence reverberated my levy, shooting curls of black soot tendrils over me. I run upstairs. Throw my summer dress on the floor. I look at my hourglass shape in the mirror. I can't help but bite my bottom lip when I admire the white lace holding my breasts, round and perky. My n*****s harden, pointing off the bra. I adjust my tiny white thong, wedging it high in between my cheeks. The sensation rubs, tingling my slit. I close my eyes and feel a warm hot breath pressing on my ear. The lips sensually travel my neck. The warm tongue slides down the curve to my shoulder blade. Then desperately reclaims my ear, where the mouth bites my shell, gently, possessively, and says, "Don't mention, Kayla." I snap my eyes open. I step away from the mirror and tie my hair in a pony. Not him. I shouldn't be thinking about him. I take the phone where I threw on the unkempt sweaty sheets. I dial the number, hoping my assistant, Kelly, has reached the workshop. "Hey, babe." Kelly huffed, what sounded like they were somewhere packed because the noisy background joined them too. "Hey, Kelly, hi. Where are you?" "Dungeon. Among the ghouls. They're waiting somewhere in the shadows to feed on my soul. In the meantime, I'm pole dancing. The vampires on the front can't decide whether I'm tasty or wild." Kelly sighed, giving out an exaggerated breath she knew for how long she had been holding. "Accurate description to say you're in subway." "Just hopped in. You know me, boss. I freelance ghostwriting for God's sake." We both chuckle. Talking with Kelly, feels I've something beyond my crumbling life with Nathan. Their voice makes me want to believe I can think of having fun. I don't think without them, I would've been able to run my fabric manufacturing business. "Listen, I'll meet you in the afternoon. Can you hold the shop for me?" "Sure, boss. Is everything alright?" "Yea, it is. I just didn't get much sleep last night. I want to get some rest before the meeting with Mr. Henderson." "Okay. Get some snooze. I'll cover for you." "Thanks, Kelly. You're my lifesaver." "And you owe me a frappuccino." "No, doubt. So shall you have?." "That's more I like it, see you!" "Yeah." I disconnect and toss the phone on the side table. The picture frame falls. I pick up and turn over. In here, I'm grinning like I couldn't have asked for more. Nathan is looking at me fondly - making me feel loved and needed. This moment is forever trapped behind the screen. Frozen and forgotten. I need to get a hold of myself. I need something to distract my mind. I need my life back. The thrill. The rush. The kind of hot blood pumping my chest. Aching me. Gasping me when his fingers dug inside my flesh. I look at Nathan again. I put down the picture on the table and snatch my phone. I search for my dark desire when midnight used to consume me in its arms. Google hands me the link. The website still sits proudly on top. I swore I wouldn't go back again. Nathan changed everything for me the day he stroked my lips and whispered in my ear, "Make me yours." Now on our anniversary, he's changed everything for me again. I entered my alias name. I fake my age too. I hit enter and nervously wait as the page loads. Then suddenly, I'm welcomed into a world of deep trouble. An exploration. A taboo. The forbidden garden which closed for me when Nathan kissed me passionately while inching by inch, he entered me and said breathlessly, "Trust me." The world I used to live in. The world I used to give non-verbal deepthroat blowjobs to dazed men who misspelled their next words, pleading me desperately to suck their thick velvet lengths harder. And the exploding pleasure I used to receive, overflowing tantalizingly, that trickled down in my panty when they fed my eyes shamelessly with lewd dirty talk. But now, as I scroll on pleasuremechat.com, I don't want just any man. I want someone lascivious, who can awaken my simmering lust — like Scott.