Chapter 6: The small town girl.

It may have been a one night stand to him, but to me it was a lifetime of memories.

      I, once again, found myself wrapped up in Ethan’s arms as we drove through Manhattan, unable to move or escape. We talked about, for the most part, the movie industry, what we both liked to do for vacation, things like that. Ethan seemed different, more himself. He never once mentioned real estate or how much he earned. It was nice not to feel like less than anything; he was treating me like an equal.
      “Okay, so here’s my question,” he asked. “How’d you end up in New York? You seem like a small town girl.”
      I couldn’t help but laugh. He was right on the money.
      “Well, I am a small town girl,” I chuckled, leaning forward. “I just happened to end up here.”
      “Let me guess; gang activity?” Ethan joked, smiling.
      “Sure, let’s go with that,” I responded, opening my purse. Ignoring the nagging thought of Ryan, I pushed the pepper spray aside and pulled out my wallet.
      “This was the farm I grew up in,” I said, showing Ethan a picture. “As a child, I thought it was a kingdom. There was just so much space.”
      “It’s quaint. I like it,” he replied, handing it back to me.
      “Me too.”
      I found myself hurled forward as the cab driver stepped on his break.
      “We’re here,” Ethan said, opening his door. Unsure of where “here” was, I looked out. We were, I was assuming, at Ethan’s pent house. I became cautious.
      “Lady, you gonna get out or what?” the cab driver complained, revving his engine. “Hold on,” I mumbled.
      “Sam,” Ethan called, holding out his hand. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can pay for your cab ride home.”
      I shook my head. “That’s okay, I was just a little dazed,” I lied, stepping out. The cab zoomed off.
      The building we were standing out in front of was colossal. With an archway extending out from the front, pillars of marble stood abrupt beside rotating doors. A man stood graciously next to one. He smiled a friendly smile, and ducked his head and we past him.
      “Good evening, Nixon,” Ethan quickly greeted, placing my arm around his.
      “Good evening, sir,” Nixon replied.
      It was the night for luxury because as soon as we got inside, my breath was taken away. The lobby, a mere lobby, was majestic, with old English paintings hanging on the polished, wooden walls. A grand piano sat in the corner left of us, and silk curtains were placed fancily over the Cathedral-style windows that surrounded us.
      “You like?” he asked, leading me to the front desk.
      “Mr. Quincy, how was your trip?” the lobbyist asked. And although he didn’t notice it, the woman was silently putting on a show, flipping her hair casually; twice, and biting her strawberry-red lips.
      “It went well, no problems. Why? Did you miss me?”
      The woman blushed.
      “Mr. Quincy, of course, I missed you. What kind of a question is that?”
      “Just asking,” he laughed. He placed his hand on my back. “Maci, this is Sam.”
      Maci looked at me sternly, as if she were studying me, trying to find a mistake. Then she smiled, holding out her hand.
      “Hi, there,” she greeted. I looked over to Ethan for confirmation. He nodded.
      “Hi,” I replied, taking her hand. It was much smaller than mine, making me suddenly self conscience. Maci smirked. Ethan said nothing.
      Finally, Ethan broke the silence as he lead me to the elevators.
      “Don’t be intimidated by her. She’s wanted to get in my pants ever since I moved here,” Ethan bluntly said, pushing the button with the number eight on it.
      “Uh,” I choked.
      “I’m just kidding, Sam. Gosh, you’re so uptight,” he laughed, leaning against the wall. “But I’m sure after tonight, you’ll be more relaxed.”
      My eyes grew wide.
      “Yet again, it was a joke…” he said, chuckling.
      I let out a deep breath.
      “Sam, I’m not sure what you think of me, but I’m not a bad guy.”
      “I know.”
      “Good,” he replied, letting me out first as we arrived on the eighth floor. I found myself in front of room 546. Surprisingly, there was no key hole. Instead, a key pad replaced it. Ethan swiftly entered his numbers.
      Taking my hand, he pulled me inside and then shut the door behind us. It was dark and alluring.
      Without me even asking, he flipped the switch. I was presented then with an almost identical replica of the lobby, except it was more personal here, with a bed placed in the center of the room.
      “I know it seems strange that I have a bed in the living room. But my decorator said it would make it look more open here, inviting.”
      “I can’t help but wonder if your decorator was a woman,” I laughed, setting my stuff down on the coffee table, placed next to the clothes closet.
      Ethan walked over to the kitchen area. There seemed to be no doors in this apartment.
      “Want anything to drink?” he asked, pulling down two wine glasses.
      “More wine?” I groaned, not meaning to sound rude. I took a seat at the marble island.
      “I have grape juice,” he replied, winking.
      “Thank you for tonight,” I said, as things grew quiet. “I had fun.” Tired, I leaned my head on my hand.
      “You’re welcome. But like I said, the next date is yours.”
      “I’m warning you: I haven’t been on a date for a very long time. I’m a bit rusty,” I joked.
      “Then maybe you should oil yourself up before then,” he laughed, handing me a glass of water.
      “Ha-ha, very funny,” I said, sticking out my tongue. And that’s when he walked over to me, gracefully yet quickly. Startled, I stood up straight. He just stared at me, yet his hand placed itself on mine and then began to travel up my arm. I shuddered.
      “Ethan,” I mumbled, moving away.
      Ethan shook his head violently.
      “Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he apologized, rushing back to his spot. We were now separated by the island. Ethan looked ashamed.
      “I should probably be going,” I said, standing up. Ethan looked relieved.
      “I’ll call a cab,” he offered, walking over to his phone.
      “Ethan, I’m fine. After all you’ve done for me tonight, I couldn’t possibly ask anything else of you. I’ll just take the bus.”
      “You sure?” he asked.
      “Yeah,” I replied, opening the door. And then I remembered I didn’t know how to contact him.
      “Ethan, what’s your number?” I asked.
      He smiled.

Author's Note

Rough draft.

Reviews

[Rosenthorn]

You should continue this story. I love it