Monday, August 14, 2006
All I Want... is You
I knew, when I saw the random chicken strutting his stuff up Lexington Ave, that the night was going to be an interesting one.
I had seen Marc the night before, as Karen and I sat on her stoop, enjoying the perfect weather and attempting to plan out our evening. He came outside bearing trash and stopped to talk to us. He acted guilty and made constant attempts to get my attention. When I could finally face him, I was mean. Karen's roommate, who had no knowledge of the history there, commented later that he had been walking on eggshells, not his normal self at all. Karen and I giggled at her apt description of his behavior. He invited us to dinner at his place the next night, making sure that I knew that I was included in that invitation.
And so, I walked into his house with trepidation last night. Unsure of what the night would bring.
As we all sat at the table, talking and laughing, I relaxed, settled into myself. Only tensing up again when he would reach over and put a hand on my thigh.
After dinner, he came up behind me and starting rubbing my shoulders, remarking on how tense I was. Then he asked to see The Tattoo, so I took off my jacket and pulled the straps of my cami and bra aside to show him the orchid on my right shoulder blade. He ran his finger over the tattoo, then slid it underneath my bra strap and ran his finger down the length of the strap, snapping it back into place. Everyone else had gone into the other room at this point, and as I turned around to face him, he cornered me.
Marc: Why were you so mean to me yesterday?
Me: Because you treated me like a cheap floozy.
Marc: What are you talking about?
Me: The text messages?!?!?
Marc: I only sent you one and you never wrote back.
Me: No. You didn't. Would you like to see the text message that I have from you?
I whip out my phone and show him. He says he didn't write it. He says he had a friend over that night and the friend must have been messing around with his phone while Marc was upstairs. He keeps my phone though takes the opportunity to read through other text messages in my phone book. He finds the text message that he wrote to me last December that I still have in there.
Marc: I didn't write this!
Me: Yes you did, you big dummy! Last December!
Understanding dawns on Marc's face and he looks at me confused. I've been caught with a 10 month old text message in my phone from him. I'm embarrassed.
Me: I'm out of here!
I grab my phone back, grab my purse and head out the front door. Unfortunately it's difficult to make a dramatic exit when the gate at the front of their apartment is locked and you have to be let out. Marc had followed me out and is standing at the top of the stairs, asking me to come back.
"Please let me out," I said.
"Please come back," he said.
I trudge back up the stairs. He puts his arms around me and asks me if we're okay.
"You didn't write those text messages?" I ask him.
"No," he said.
"Good, now I don't have to hate you anymore, " I said and I walked back inside. Not sure if I really believe him.
We watch TV, his hand resting on my arm. He asks me if I've ever seen the upstairs and when I answer to the negative, he offers me a tour, showing me his bedroom last. But when I jump on his bed, testing it's softness, he stands in the doorway just watching me. Later, as I'm on their computer, he comes over and starts wrestling around with me. His hand lingering a little too long, holding mine. He orders me to add him as a friend on myspace.
As I get up from the computer and walk away, he comes up behind me, putting his arms around me.
Marc: So, where's the boyfriend?
Me: Which one?
Marc holds up 2 fingers with a questioning look on his face. I nod.
Marc: Do you love them?
Me: No.
Marc: Do they love you?
Me: I doubt it. It's too early.
Marc: So, you're a player.
Me: I can't help it if men fall in love with me like crazy! Besides, neither one is really my boyfriend. I'm not dating anyone exclusively and I'm not choosing one over the other because I don't have to.
Marc: So, technically you're single.
Me: Yes
Marc: Me too
We talk as he cleans up his kitchen. Our old rapport established. The magic still there.
Everyone else in the house converges on the kitchen, its late and its time to go. We're gathering our stuff together in the living room and I poke my head into the kitchen to say goodnight to Marc.
"Goodnight," he says and I head out the door.
As I'm walking away, I hear from the kitchen- "Chloe!"
I turn around and head back.
He yells it louder this time, "CHLOE!!!!"
Me: WHAT?
Marc: We'll finish this conversation later, right?
Me: Sure. Anytime.
He steps in so he's super close to me. Invading all my personal space.
Marc: Okay then, later...
I kiss him on the cheek, dangerously close to his lips and leave.
I had seen Marc the night before, as Karen and I sat on her stoop, enjoying the perfect weather and attempting to plan out our evening. He came outside bearing trash and stopped to talk to us. He acted guilty and made constant attempts to get my attention. When I could finally face him, I was mean. Karen's roommate, who had no knowledge of the history there, commented later that he had been walking on eggshells, not his normal self at all. Karen and I giggled at her apt description of his behavior. He invited us to dinner at his place the next night, making sure that I knew that I was included in that invitation.
And so, I walked into his house with trepidation last night. Unsure of what the night would bring.
As we all sat at the table, talking and laughing, I relaxed, settled into myself. Only tensing up again when he would reach over and put a hand on my thigh.
After dinner, he came up behind me and starting rubbing my shoulders, remarking on how tense I was. Then he asked to see The Tattoo, so I took off my jacket and pulled the straps of my cami and bra aside to show him the orchid on my right shoulder blade. He ran his finger over the tattoo, then slid it underneath my bra strap and ran his finger down the length of the strap, snapping it back into place. Everyone else had gone into the other room at this point, and as I turned around to face him, he cornered me.
Marc: Why were you so mean to me yesterday?
Me: Because you treated me like a cheap floozy.
Marc: What are you talking about?
Me: The text messages?!?!?
Marc: I only sent you one and you never wrote back.
Me: No. You didn't. Would you like to see the text message that I have from you?
I whip out my phone and show him. He says he didn't write it. He says he had a friend over that night and the friend must have been messing around with his phone while Marc was upstairs. He keeps my phone though takes the opportunity to read through other text messages in my phone book. He finds the text message that he wrote to me last December that I still have in there.
Marc: I didn't write this!
Me: Yes you did, you big dummy! Last December!
Understanding dawns on Marc's face and he looks at me confused. I've been caught with a 10 month old text message in my phone from him. I'm embarrassed.
Me: I'm out of here!
I grab my phone back, grab my purse and head out the front door. Unfortunately it's difficult to make a dramatic exit when the gate at the front of their apartment is locked and you have to be let out. Marc had followed me out and is standing at the top of the stairs, asking me to come back.
"Please let me out," I said.
"Please come back," he said.
I trudge back up the stairs. He puts his arms around me and asks me if we're okay.
"You didn't write those text messages?" I ask him.
"No," he said.
"Good, now I don't have to hate you anymore, " I said and I walked back inside. Not sure if I really believe him.
We watch TV, his hand resting on my arm. He asks me if I've ever seen the upstairs and when I answer to the negative, he offers me a tour, showing me his bedroom last. But when I jump on his bed, testing it's softness, he stands in the doorway just watching me. Later, as I'm on their computer, he comes over and starts wrestling around with me. His hand lingering a little too long, holding mine. He orders me to add him as a friend on myspace.
As I get up from the computer and walk away, he comes up behind me, putting his arms around me.
Marc: So, where's the boyfriend?
Me: Which one?
Marc holds up 2 fingers with a questioning look on his face. I nod.
Marc: Do you love them?
Me: No.
Marc: Do they love you?
Me: I doubt it. It's too early.
Marc: So, you're a player.
Me: I can't help it if men fall in love with me like crazy! Besides, neither one is really my boyfriend. I'm not dating anyone exclusively and I'm not choosing one over the other because I don't have to.
Marc: So, technically you're single.
Me: Yes
Marc: Me too
We talk as he cleans up his kitchen. Our old rapport established. The magic still there.
Everyone else in the house converges on the kitchen, its late and its time to go. We're gathering our stuff together in the living room and I poke my head into the kitchen to say goodnight to Marc.
"Goodnight," he says and I head out the door.
As I'm walking away, I hear from the kitchen- "Chloe!"
I turn around and head back.
He yells it louder this time, "CHLOE!!!!"
Me: WHAT?
Marc: We'll finish this conversation later, right?
Me: Sure. Anytime.
He steps in so he's super close to me. Invading all my personal space.
Marc: Okay then, later...
I kiss him on the cheek, dangerously close to his lips and leave.
Labels: Marc
