Malena Lott - Dating da Vinci

“You know Monica, right?” Cortland said as he wrapped Monica's lithe, tight body in a side hug.

“Not officially,” I said, nearly forgetting to stick my hand out for her to shake, but of course she would know what to do with it and she did. Very lawyery, firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Ramona,” she said, her white teeth shining even in the overcast afternoon.

“You, too,” I said stammering and wishing Cortland would go away.

“Sorry I haven't called you back yet,” Monica said. “It's been a crazy week.”

“Oh, same here,” I said. “We can get together another time.”

Monica pulled her Blackberry out of her jacket pocket and clicked a few times before looking back up at me. “What about Tuesday morning then? Same place?”

I-of the no-PDA, no-calendar, no-big life-stammered some more. “Perfect, fine, sure. That works. See you then.”

Monica turned her attention to Cortland. “You and Rachel still on for dinner at my place Sunday night?”

I could feel my jaw dropping. My sister dining with my pseudo-archenemy? No way.

“Rachel moved some stuff around so she can make it,” Cortland said. “We'll see you then.”

“We'll eat light,” Monica said. “Maybe Rachel can show me some exercises for my little baby gut here.” She patted her flatter than flat tummy. Her “baby” was two, and if a person's stomach could get any flatter, it would be concave.

“Oh, she loves personal lessons,” I said dryly.

Monica shook her head, puzzled.

“I'm sorry. I thought you knew,” Cortland said. “Rachel is Ramona's sister.”

“I didn't connect the dots,” Monica said.

But why would she? We didn't look a thing alike. If it weren't for inheriting the weird earlobe shape from my father, I would've sworn I belonged to the mailman. Mom always said she was a bored housewife before she found the Lord. I wouldn't have put an affair past her, back in what she called her “sinning days.”

As Monica left, her firm buttocks rocking to and fro in her jeans, we both watched her, and then I watched Cortland watching her, obviously liking what he saw, and I hated that I had to be jealous of him liking her, too.

“She's something else,” Cortland said, diverting his eyes from her finally. “I mean her success. And she's a nice person, too.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, willing my voice not to give out on me. Nice I wasn't so sure about, but she was something else, something irresistible. Clearly every man admired her.

By the time Cortland and I had left in separate cars, we'd both gotten calls from our respective other halves, telling us that they were on such a roll, they wanted to record just one more show and to go ahead and start without them at the restaurant. No arguments here.

“Story of my life,” Cortland said, as we ordered our second bottle of wine. “Women always keep me waiting.”

“Look,” I said, feeling drunk-happy. “You told me I deserved a worthy bed, and I'm telling you that you deserve a worthy mate. Not one that keeps you waiting every time you turn around.”

“Is that so?” He refilled my glass of wine, though I certainly didn't need it. “You think I should dump your sister, then?”

“If I wouldn't miss you coming around, I'd say ‘Hell, yes‘ to that,” I said, clinking my glass with his.

“You think I call and come around because you're Rachel's sister?”

I snorted, an unattractive result of having drunk too much. “Um, duh? Why else would you call and come over all the time? Look, it's fine. Widow sympathy is a natural human phenomenon.”

Cortland reached his hand across the table and placed it over mine. “And here I thought you were the smart one in the family.”

Our eyes locked and I pulled away, excusing myself to go to the restroom and vowing to myself not to return until I knew da Vinci and Rachel had arrived. In the bathroom, I splashed water in my face, drank water out of my hand from the sink to try to sober up and stared at my raccoon eyes in the mirror. “What are you doing, Ramona Griffen?”

I freshened up my makeup and eventually felt clear-headed enough to return. I was an adult. I could tell Cortland that while I appreciated that he wanted to be friends, perhaps our flirtation had gone a little far, and it wasn't fair to either of our mates to ever be alone with each other again. Ever. After all, hadn't da Vinci said something about Cortland seeming fishy?

When I swung open the swanky bathroom door into the darkly lit hallway, arms reached around my waist, pulling me into the even darker corner. Cortland's face was inches from mine, his hot breath on my cheek. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? Because, believe me, the last few times we've been together have been sheer torture for me. I've felt something since the first time I saw you. I wanted to kiss you in my office and on the patio next to the pool and at the Starbucks and on that country road with the puppy asleep in the back and outside in the rain. How do you think it made me feel to lie on that bed with you in the department store with that lingerie you would wear for another guy? Or how just talking to you on the phone makes me feel weak inside, especially when you're talking about French kissing when I've wanted to know what it's like to kiss you for so long? I'm sorry, Goldilocks, but I just can't wait another minute.”

He pressed his lips against mine, and I let my body take over, my mouth on autopilot. The kiss became a French kiss. A soul kiss. A kiss that muddied my normally logical brain, and when he finally stopped, I pulled him into me, our bodies touching in the darkness, and I wanted to tell him that I had felt something, too, especially in the rain, when I could smell his aftershave in the car and on the bed when I secretly wished he could see me in that lingerie, and all the times I had pretended the tone in his voice wasn't tinged with wanting something more.

“Oh, my God,” I said when we broke apart. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away or run away with him.

Cortland held my gaze. “I won't apologize.”

“Me neither,” I said, straightening my blouse.

“But I don't know where we go from here.”

Da Vinci. Rachel. Of course. I had selfishly forgotten them. “We do nothing,” I said. “Look, we got that kiss out of our system, right? We'll just play it cool. I'll just tell da Vinci I'm not feeling well, and you can have a nice dinner with Rachel.”

“You're feeling fine,” he said, his finger brushing against my cheek. “In fact, I want to feel more of you.”

I held his hand and pressed it against my chest, between my breasts. “You're wrong. I'm not feeling well at all. I need some time to think about this.”

He nodded, his eyes full of yearning. “I have to see you again. Soon. Tonight. Even that's not soon enough. Let's leave right now.”

If I looked at him too long, I'd be lost and we'd do something I'd truly regret. I could feel tears well in my eyes. “I'll call you in a few days.”

The yearning turned to disappointment. “I'll wait.”

Just minutes after I'd told him he deserved a woman that didn't make him wait, I was doing it to him, too, but what choice did I have? He was my sister's boyfriend, for God's sake. And da Vinci, Leonardo da Vinci, was mine.

“ I don't want to live-I want to love first, and live incidentally. ”

– Zelda Fitzgerald, letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1919

PANCHAL WANTED TO SEE me. Panchal never wants to see me, which could mean only one thing: da Vinci and I had been found out. If he had been bragging about me to his frat buddies, what kept him from saying anything to his classmates? The English class bonded like family. And foreigners were whip-smart, reading the physical cues of others long before they even knew the English words to describe them. But, like da Vinci, they all clearly knew the word “sex” by now, and “affair” and “wrong.”