Lindsay Delagair - Unforgivable

I grinned and gave him a quick hug, putting a brief kiss on his cheek, “September 15 thand you can return that kiss.”

He smiled broadly.

“On my cheek,” I finished.

With that I left and headed home, wondering the whole time what state Micah would be in when I got there.

I pulled into the drive way at 5:15. Mom’s car was missing and I was somewhat relieved because it meant Micah and I would have some private time to discuss my time spent with Ryan, and how he handled allowing me that freedom.

The door from the garage to the house was locked and when I opened it, the alarm gave its shrill warning. I quickly entered the code, realizing I was all alone. Micah’s car was in the garage, so he evidently rode with Mom and Kimmy somewhere. I grabbed my cell. Two rings and he answered the phone. They were at one of Mom’s favorite restaurants having dinner.

“I half expected Ryan would have asked you to have dinner with him or else I would have waited for you. We only left the house about fifteen minutes ago. Do you want to join us?”

I was actually tired from my adventure and, after all the time I spent driving Ryan’s car with the windows rolled down, I felt like half of the air strip was clinging to my skin. There were leftovers in the fridge, so I told him to enjoy himself and I’d see him when they came home.

I showered first and then slipped on a bikini top with a cotton over-shirt and a pair of short-shorts. The last thing I had eaten were pancakes this morning so I was starving by the time I came downstairs and began digging through the fridge. There was plenty of Hawaiian Chicken left over from last night along with Somen salad. I was reaching for a slice of mango bread when I saw the bottle of wine in the fridge. Mom would occasionally have a glass of wine at a restaurant, but she didn’t keep it in the house.

This was a bottle of Italian wine and it had been opened. It appeared several glasses had been consumed; I could only pray that Micah didn’t buy this in response to having left me in Ryan’s hands today. I didn’t like the idea of his drinking and I know he knew that. I began to think about what Ryan said to me several times today about the fact that I really didn’t know Micah that well and I might be jumping into something I would regret. I couldn’t imagine any regrets between Micah and me, but I still didn’t want to discover he had a weakness for alcohol.

I was feeling the heat of anger building inside me. I knew it wasn’t hard liquor, like the rum he once tried to get me to drink, but why did he need it at all? Wasn’t he happy enough to be here with me? Did he really need to have an occasional drink to satisfy something within him? I was starting to boil over. I nibbled a few bites from my dinner, but I lost the need for food. What I needed was an emotional release before my thoughts consumed me. I put the plate back in the fridge and went to the one place in our home where I knew could take my mind off my fears for a little while; my music studio.

Mom had the studio built off the apartment by the pool cabana so when I wanted to really crank up the volume, I wouldn’t disturb the whole house, or the neighbors. It was heavily sound proofed, although it could still be heard from outside the studio, but just as a muffled noise that didn’t travel far. We had mirrored the room on all four sides and put in the ballet bars for dance practice for both Kimmy and myself, but I didn’t do ballet anymore. I just liked to dance and sing when I wanted the world to go away.

I went into the control room and started the computer. Sitting there behind the one way glass, I looked out on the dance floor as I waited for it to boot up. We had put the one way glass in the booth so the dance floor would stay seamless. I found that I danced differently if I thought no one was watching. My dance instructor once told me I needed to learn to dance with an audience because I was very good at impromptu expression dancing, but when I knew I was being watched I was much more subdued. He proved the point by having Mom film me one day from inside the booth when I thought I was alone. The difference was like watching two completely opposite people; even I was impressed when she played the tape back for me.

With the computer up and my favorite playlist starting, I went out to the dance floor and let myself unwind. I had several playlists that went with whatever mood I happened to be in, and right now my mood was mainstream rock and roll; Springsteen, Mellencamp, Loggins, Seger, Golden Earring, ZZ Top-I was ready for a workout.

I slipped off the over-shirt before the first song ended; sweat starting to roll off me as I pushed myself to my physical limit. It was as much fun as Ryan’s car had been today. I moved every limb and joint, stretched and flexed each muscle and swung hips and shoulders to the pulsing rhythm; I was having enough fun to forget, temporarily, the bottle of wine in the fridge and the anger that went with it.

‘Hurt So Good,’ by Jon Mellencamp had just ended and I grabbed my shirt from the ballet bar and wiped the sweat from my face and patiently waited for the next song to begin. My chest was a little uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough to stop me. I knew the next song, from the first note, wasn’t from this playlist. It was a killer to dance to and I wondered who had added it to my list, but that was no reason not to enjoy ‘Temperature’ by Sean Paul. Three and a half minutes later I was dying for a drink of water, but I didn’t want to quit. I’d get my drink and cool off before everyone got home, right now was my time to burn up the floor. I wiped my face and listened for the next song.

Okay this was getting weird, another song began that I knew wasn’t on this playlist. I had heard it before, but didn’t recognize it immediately. The beat was so familiar. I started to move to the pulse, but when the first sounds came out of the singer’s mouth I knew right away someone was in my control room. Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N’Roses wasn’t one of my songs; it was Micah’s.

I stormed to the control room and jerked the door open. Micah was seated there with a smile tearing at the corners of his mouth. “Baby, I never knew you could dance like-like that ,” he said through a smoldering stare.

“Ah! You’re supposed to be at the restaurant not-not spying on me!”

“We were at the restaurant, but when I told your mom that you were here, she asked them to put our orders in takeout boxes and we brought it back. I was wondering where you were, but your mom figured it out and let me into the control room to-to surprise you, I guess.”

“She knows I don’t like people watching me dance!” I snapped, my anger getting hotter. I felt as if I could pitch a fit. “ I will discuss this with Mother .”

“Annalisa,” he reserved using my whole name for times when he wanted my full attention, and it worked.

I blinked a couple times, letting myself cool down, “What?”

“What made you decide to dance?”

I wanted to yell at him about the bottle of wine. I wanted to know if he drank when he was nervous or upset, but I knew better than to fly off the handle with him.

“I-I just needed to…”

The smile faded from his face as he rose slowly from the control table and turned to walk out of the booth to the pool area.

“Micah,” I stopped him, reaching for his arm. He turned and I could see his eyes were filled with hurt and sadness. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the way I was dancing?” Something was upsetting him and I hoped he didn’t think I looked, well let’s just say less than innocent on the dance floor. When I danced alone, I didn’t feel any reason not to be provocative, but he had told me before that it was my innocence he found so alluring.