Kim Karr: Dazed

I laugh, shaking my head. “Your profession is much more interesting. Tell me what Fashion Week is like.”

He reaches for his napkin and wipes his hands. “Nothing like you’d think. A typical day would start with me riding the train to the studio to take a test shot for any new campaigns, and then I’d hurry to a fashion show, and then hurry from that show to the next, then to a fitting. By the end of the day I’d be exhausted and fall asleep in the cab back to my apartment.”

Picking up a piece of flatbread, he offers it to me. “Try this.”

I open my mouth automatically and take a bite. “Mmmm . . . that’s really delicious.”

His grin makes my toes curl and then he pins me with his gaze. “Your turn now. Tell me about you.”

“Well, it’s really not that . . .”

The crash of glass breaking grabs our attention as both of us twist our heads toward the noise. A waitress dropped a bunch of plates. Jagger rushes toward her and helps her pick up the pieces.

When he sits back down he leans toward me and I can smell his scent of lavender and sage combined. “Sorry about that, you were saying?”

I breathe him in and then exhale before deciding to share the basic details of my life with him. I start by telling him about my grandmother the actress, my parents the film advocates, my college years with Dahlia, and that it was the impression my uncle left on Josh Wolf that got me my job at Sound Music Magazine .

Our conversation flows easily and time flies by. When Jagger glances at his watch, I do the same. It’s after five and I look around realizing the waiter must have long ago cleared our plates. Jagger flags the waiter and gestures that he’s ready to pay the bill.

As the sun starts to hang low, he stands and extends his hand. With a slightly sly smile he says, “Come with me. There’s something I’ve been dying to do.”

I give him my hand and at the touch of our skin that flutter in my stomach turns into a pounding.

“Give me your keys.”

I blink at him over and over. “Why?”

“We’re going to do something.”

I hand him my keys, again not sure why, but his commanding tone just mesmerizes me. He clicks the key fob then ushers me into the passenger side of my own car. He darts around to the driver side and he unclips the handle above his window and then reaches across me to do the same.

“I don’t think this is a good—” I start to say, but he cuts me off by placing his finger over my lips. I think about how my insurance policy doesn’t cover other drivers, but decide not to fret over that.

“It’ll be fun. I promise.” He winks.

He hits a button and, just like that, the top of my Audi is down. I twist my hair and knot it into a bun, and before I know it we are cruising onto the Pacific Coast Highway. He takes the dizzying twists and turns with the same ease he displays in his confident walk. I take the time to appreciate the view.

“Did you know this road took fifteen years to build?” he asks.

I glance over at him and can barely hide my amusement. “No, I have to say that is not a fact I have stored away.”

“Well, it did. It opened during Franklin Roosevelt’s tenure.”

“Interesting, since it has been many years since Mr. Roosevelt was in office and this road is still in a state of construction.”

A gentle glow over the horizon signals the sun will be setting soon. Jagger pulls up to a small grocery by the side of the highway that’s caught his attention. “Come on, let’s go in and try the artichoke bread.”

“That sounds really disgusting.”

“Alice, the sign says it’s the best around and you have to try things to see if you like them. Come on.”

Walking out of the store, we are both puckering our mouths. The bread was absolutely disgusting.

“Well, they say some things are an acquired taste and I would have to say artichokes must be one of them,” he laughs.

“It tasted like mashed up Brussels sprouts,” I comment.

He shrugs. “Yeah, it kind of did.”

We drive for another hour. He puts the windows up and turns the heat on, but leaves the top down. Again we talk with an easy familiarity I don’t remember having with any guy, ever. Time passes quickly and I’m surprised by the darkness. Looking at the inky blackness of the night sky, I stare out into it. It’s deep and pristine with hundreds of diamonds, not clear but rather with a hint of color—faint yellows and even a twinkling blue. I tip my head back farther and just stare in wonder.

“It’s beautiful up there, isn’t it,” he says in a husky whisper.

I reach my arm up to the sky and clasp my hand as if trying to catch one of the stars. “It is. It’s like you can connect with the universe.”

He reaches his arm up to do the same and our hands meet. Sparks shoot through me like an electrical shock and my stomach somersaults. I quickly my hand and busy myself with putting my hair back into a knot.

“We should turn around. It’s getting late,” I tell him over the wind as my car careens around the winding road.

He turns to look at me. The escaped strands of my hair whip across my face. He tucks a chunk of it behind my ear. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Do I? I have no idea what I want, but it’s getting late and I have to work tomorrow. The water roars in the distance as he heads back to the restaurant. When he parks the car he closes the top and first fastens his side, then crosses over me to do the same. My breathing is hard and I shiver.

“You’re cold. Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is full of concern.

“I really wasn’t cold and I was enjoying the ride.”

His lips are so close to mine as he fastens the lock in place and I really want to kiss him, and for a moment I think he wants the same, but he doesn’t move any closer. He sits back in his seat and smiles over at me. “There, now when someone asks you if you’ve taken the top down, you can say you have.”

His silhouette is strong against the backdrop of the night as he circles the car and opens my door. His fingers skim the small of my back again as he leads the way to the driver’s side. Before he opens the door for me, he surrounds me with his arms and my pulse races at the closeness of his smoldering sexy grin. His eyes gleam in the moonlight and his warm breath whispers across my neck. “Thank you for spending the day with me.”

“I had the most amazing time.” Then suddenly, it hits me. “Jagger, we didn’t talk about my uncle. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. When is your audition?”

His hand moves up to my face and his thumb moves back and forth across my cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It just gives me another reason to ask you out again.” He pulls back to look at me. “Aerie, will you go out with me again tomorrow night?”

“Oh, Jagger. I’m sorry, but I have to leave for Louisville in the morning for work and don’t get back until late next Sunday night.” I wish I didn’t have to go because I really want to go out with him again.

His smile fades, but his eyes beam. “Then next Monday night.”

“Okay, but I’m not sure I’ll be home early enough since that will be my first day back in the office.” I intentionally don’t say I have yoga as well. Normally that always works as an excuse to get out of a date—but I’m not trying to get out of this one.

“Then I’ll bring over dinner and we can make the evening a productive work one—eat and discuss your uncle. You do eat dinner, don’t you?”

I nod. “Yes.” I giggle.

Our bodies are aligned in such a way that I swear I can feel the beat of his heart and the throbbing of his pulse, or maybe it’s mine. His eyes seem to be swirling again, like he’s thinking about something. I’m staring at the curve of his mouth when my tongue flicks out to lick my lips and before I know it his hands move to tangle in my hair and his lips are on mine. I gasp at the contact as he pulls me close. His soft lips move aggressively once our mouths finally meet, and I don’t want them to leave. I open wider, inviting in his tongue. Just like our conversations, this kiss falls into an easy rhythm immediately. Our lips connect, our tongues intertwine, and by the time he pulls away we are both breathless. He tips my head back and slides his lips down my neck and I think I whimper. The heat of his hand against my neck flares within me and a strange urge runs through my body. It’s not a need for human contact; it’s a need for him, for his body to meld to mine. But before I can press my body to his, he pulls away. His hand moves to the door handle of my car and he opens it as I step aside. Ushering me in, I sit in my seat and just stare at him—lost in his swirling gray eyes.