“Jason, really, I’ll take the couch.” I try to argue with him yet again.
“Nope,” he says, flopping down onto the cushion, ignoring the squeal of the springs. He sets his bag next to him, and gingerly leans against the back of the couch.
I sigh, and set my bag at the foot of the large bed. I sit down on the edge of the bed, my body sinking into it. Yeah, this bed is nice. Guilt starts to eat at me, but Jason sees it, and points his finger at me. “Don’t even think about it.” I start to speak, but he cuts me off. “Knock it off, Fallon.”
The words stun me silent. Normally, I’d react negatively towards those words. It’s something Brad used to say to me all the time. I wouldn’t even be doing anything bad, orsaying anything, but he used it as a way to exert control over me. But… weirdly, coming out of Jason’s mouth, it sounded hot. A tingling heat builds low in my belly, and I can’t stop the shiver that breaks out on my skin, such a contrast to the cold hotel room.
I can’t help but notice the difference in the way Jason said it too, the real reason it made my body heat. It was less of a scolding tone, and much more… caring in a way. He wasn’t saying it to make me feel childish or silly, it was him doing what he could to stop the guilt from seeping through my veins, the guilt he could surely see written all over my face. The infliction in his voice didn’t want to make me curl up and die, it made me want to lay myself out for him to preen over, something I never anticipated myself wanting to do.
The heat pooling low in my belly spreads throughout my body, flushing my chest and my cheeks in an embarrassing show. I stand, turning away from him to hide my reaction, and face toward the large windows that take up a majority of the far wall. Minneapolis stands before us, a sea of tall buildings the only thing I can see.
The view of downtown reminds me of the days when I worked here, the way I loved the constant hustle and bustle of the city, and the high energy of my job. Brad always thought I could be doing more, be something more important than “just an assistant” to one of the most influential CEOs in the city. He had so many mixed messages toward me. One day, I’d be so incredible, the next, I could be better. It only got worse as time went on, and even more so when I became a full time stay-at-home mom, by his insistence. He wanted to be the breadwinner, the one to provide for his family.
At first, I thought it was sweet. Now, Iknow it was another way for him to control me, control who saw me. I needed to be the perfect little housewife for him.
Jason pulls me out of my reverie, saying, “Should we head to the event center soon? The first vendor set starts at four.”
“Yes,” I reply. “I should change though.”
“You look really nice,” Jason immediately replies, and I glance down at my black leggings and sunshine yellow blouse. I cringe internally, trying to shove down the thought that he’s just saying that. He doesn’t really feel that way.
I smile, trying to hide my emotions. “Thanks, but I should put on something a little more professional, especially if I’m the only one here to represent Meadow Grove. I’m glad I remembered to bring our business cards.”
“Yeah, that’s smart.”
“Did you bring any of yours?” I ask as I rifle through my suitcase for my slacks and a new top.
“Yeah.” He nods, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his pants. Once I have the items I want, I turn, and head toward the bathroom. I change quickly, and check my makeup in the mirror, as well as giving myself a fresh spritz of my favorite perfume. I wonder if he’ll like my perfume, or perhaps he’ll think it’s too much? Will he compliment it? Do Iwanthim to like it?
Wearing perfume is yet another thing I started trying to reclaim after Brad. I loved wearing perfume, even if it was a cheap one from Bath and Body Works. He hated the scents I wore, even when I changed it up a few different times. Said they were too “perfumey”, and gave him a headache.
I slide my feet into ballet flats, figuring I should choose comfort today over attire. I do a lot of walking during events at work, but today, I don’t think I have it in me to wear heels. Maybe tomorrow.
I exit the bathroom in my new outfit, a pair of black slacks with a black top I’ve tucked into the pants, and a mauve blazer. It’s not a fabulous outfit by any means, but it’s something. Who knows, maybe Jason will like this one better than the other outfit. “Ready?” I ask, catching Jason’s eye as I close the door behind me.
Jason nods, his suddenly heated eyes glancing up and down my body. I try to ignore the way he looks at me, but it’s hard. He changed while I was in the bathroom too, into a pair of khaki pants and a button up dress shirt. He lookshot. What is it about a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up a man’s arms that does it for me?
“You look nice,” I state, almost stumbling over the words.
He Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. “You look beautiful,” he says in reply.
I want to contest him, tell him that this outfit is nothing to write home about, but I don’t. I take the compliment, thanking him. I sigh a breath of relief.
He holds open the door for me, and when it closes behind us, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the extra room key. “Here. I’m sure we won’t be together all weekend, and I don’t want you locked out.”
“Oh, thanks, I forgot about that,” I admit, and put the key into the pocket of my pants. I have my small purse with me that I have over my shoulder, but if I need to come up before Jason I don’t want to have to dig the key out of the bottom of my purse.
As we walk down the hall toward the elevator, Jason speaks softly. “Did you put on perfume?”
My heart stops. I knew the perfume was too much. “Um, yes. Is it too much? It’s too much, isn’t it. I can runback and wash it off quick, I’m sorry,” I stammer over my words, spinning on my heel to walk back to the room.
Jason’s hand reaches out, grasping my forearm. “No, don’t.” He pulls me close to him, inhaling deeply. “I like it. It’s sweet. It smells like the one you wore back in college.”
My lips fumble, trying to speak, not just make noises. I clear my throat, “Um, it’s the same one. I don’t wear it often, so it’s the same bottle.”
“Hm,” Jason ponders, trying to come up with his next words. “You should wear it more often.”
With that, he continues his jaunt down the hall, as if he didn’t stop my world from turning in those few seconds, bringing my self-confidence up a few more notches and erasing all earlier thoughts of repulsion.
