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The ghost of my dreams, my fantasies, and most importantly, my memories. The past comes flooding back to me like a movie being replayed in my head.
I can’t believe it’s her, nine years later.
With a surge of panic, my mind is swirling with all the things I need to say to her. This is my chance, and I have to begin with apologizing for what I did. There are so many things I need to say because I never got a chance to. I’m so overcome with mixed emotions, unable to string together a coherent thought in my racing mind. My palms start to sweat, the voices around me droning in a low and incomprehensible murmur. My eyes feel like they are betraying me. This has to be my mind playing tricks, but as I focus once again, it’s undeniable that everything I see before me is indeed the woman I once loved.
She does a double-take, panic-stricken, her eyes wide and cheeks flush. Leaning over to the man sitting across from her, she mouths something before rising from her chair.
Klein is still talking, and quick to cut him off, I excuse myself abruptly, desperate to follow her to what I assume to be the restroom. Her pace is fast, darting in and out of the waiters serving, making it difficult for me to catch up. I increase my steps until I’m only an arm’s length away.
“Charlotte, wait.”
I know she heard me, but she doesn’t turn around. Stretching forward, I grab her arm, immediately hit with the familiar surge of electricity jolting through me as I touch her—how much I crave it, how much my body misses this feeling. Closing my eyes for a millisecond, I allow myself to get lost in this sensation.
Frozen on the spot, her body stiffens. Slowly, she turns around cautiously to face me. Her once-loving eyes turn to fire, her smile and laughter no longer apparent. Shaking her arm out of my tight grip, she manages to pull away, only to fold her arms under her breasts.
Oh fuck, no, no, no, now it’s all I can see.
My eyes, unable to peel themselves away, admire the beautiful sight—round, full—and how I so desperately want to reach out and caress them.
Yet, despite being drawn to her body, the fire in her eyes bores into me, warning me of what’s to come.
“Charlotte, please…” I beg again.
As soon as her name leaves my mouth, she clenches her jaw, a pained stare following as the color drains from her face. Her icy silence gives me a chance to examine what stands before me, connecting my memories to the present moment.
She’s tall, of course, the pumps she wears giving her height. My eyes drift toward her arms, noticing the sun-kissed tan enhanced by the white blouse she wears. Her hair is pinned up into a tight-knit bun. With a longing ache I want to take it out, have it flow down her back, just the way I remember her.
As my gaze wanders back toward her face, it’s evident my memory stayed true to the past with nothing much changing besides her wearing a little mascara accentuating her long eyelashes, a trait from her Cuban heritage.
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I allow myself to be drawn to her mouth. Unknowingly, my eyes soften over her full, luscious lips covered in a ruby red lipstick. My mouth becomes moist, remembering how she tasted when our tongues would battle feverishly lost in a deep kiss.
But nothing stands a chance against the deep chocolate-brown eyes staring back at me which completes the picture-perfect beauty in all its essence. Capturing me and making my heart beat so fast, I could’ve sworn it fell out of my chest the second I saw her. She has become this beautiful woman, even more so than the girl I left behind.
“I looked for you after you left,” I tell her, desperate with my tone. Dropping my chin to my chest, the words seem frivolous when the pain runs so deep. I’m never at a loss for words, and this overwhelming feeling of shame is tearing me to shreds, overshadowing my normal confident persona.
“Obviously not hard enough,” she angrily shoots back.
My eyes dart back up to meet hers, caught off-guard by the angered tone. I knew my leaving abruptly would hurt her, but we were young. You’re supposed to get over these things. How ironic to be thinking that because one look at her and I know it’s far from over.
“Can we please go somewhere and talk?” I plead.
I’m never one to beg for attention, let alone from a woman, but I want her to know how sorry I am. I need a chance to explain what happened, for her to understand my reasoning for leaving her behind.
“Alex, there’s nothing left to say. It was years ago, a high school fling. It’s all in the past. I really need to get
back.”
She called me Alex.
No one calls me that anymore.
I’m known as Lex in the business world because of my ruthless behavior. I have been compared to that of Lex Luthor. Overhearing a bunch of interns call me it once, instead of firing them, I enjoyed them being afraid of me. Not long after that, I demanded that my family stop calling me Alex because it was a shadow of who I used to be.
I’m no longer the Alex Edwards she knew. But this isn’t the moment to correct her because her other words linger, a high school fling.
Charlotte tries to push her way past me, but I grab her arm again. She doesn’t turn around. Instead, she stands completely still with her back to me.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
