Falling into Temptation (Falling 1)

He looked intimidating all the way up there although I suppose that’s what he was going for. He stood before me like the perfect male specimen. Tall and virile with a lean muscular build, filling out his impeccably tailored suit with ease. His dark brown hair had been gelled into a style that leaned just on the edge of wild. But when he started running his hand through it, things really started to get crazy. It only made me think of what his hair would look like after sex, which wasn’t a good thought to have in that moment of weakness.

But what really got me were those eyes of his. I’m such a sucker for a bad boy with nice eyes. And he had them in spades. They seemed to change before me from icy blue to stormy gray. And I couldn’t help but think that his photographs in the magazines hadn’t done him justice. Or maybe I just never really paid that much attention before. I guess I can see why all the women go gaga for him.

Still, all the good looks in the world can’t make up for his shitty attitude. I giggle as I recall the way I talked to him that day. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he just really pissed me off, but either way I think he was as surprised by my outburst as I was. He just stood there, towering over me like he was King of New York. Looking at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off right there in the street. Or maybe that was just my imagination because the thought is ridiculous.

I am so not his type. From the little I’ve seen in the pictures, I’ve gathered as much. But still, I can’t dismiss the fact that he had that look in his eyes. It’s something I learned a long time ago, how to tell when a man wanted you. It might not sound like rocket science, but there are a lot less obvious clues than people might realize. And when you base your entire self-worth off a man’s affections, those things become important. Of course, that was reckless me.

I’m proud to say I’ve come a long way from my self-destructive ways. It helps that my best friend Alanna is always here to guide me too. She doesn’t tolerate any of my bullshit and has no problem telling me when I’m doing something stupid. With her help, I’ve gone two years without dating anyone.

I used it as time to try to sort my own problems out, and figure out what it is I really like. And I’ve grown much stronger for it. I’m done being the desperate girl I was before. But now, my self-imposed man detox is getting a little old. Especially as I watch Alanna go on yet another date while I sit home with a tub of Ben and Jerrys.

I wish I could be more carefree and unemotional with men like Alanna is. She knows how to have fun without getting attached. She’s like one of those gypsy free spirited types who can go on a couple of dates with a guy, have a good time and leave without regret or feelings getting in her way. Of course, that’s the way she has to live because of our lifestyle, but Alanna doesn’t seem to mind.

I’m the total opposite. I’m usually shy and awkward around men and have a tendency to be too passive. Alanna says I’m a classic people pleaser. Unless I’m provoked, and then I’m a force to be reckoned with. My father always used to tell me I inherited a fiery Italian temper from my mother, and I suppose it’s true.

For as long as I can remember, my relationships have been emotional train wrecks. I had a somewhat unsettling fascination for bad boys. I suppose it has something to do with my past, but I don’t really want to analyze why. I always let myself get emotionally invested too fast, even when I know it’s a recipe for disaster. Alanna often jokes that I’m a masochist, but I wonder to an extent if that might be true.

I set my ice cream container on the coffee table and ease back onto the couch, wanting to rest my eyes for just a few moments. I’m surprised how tired I am.

The last thing I remember is drifting off into a blissful dream of Gabriel touching my hand softly like he did the other day.

And then I’m awoken by soft laughter above me. I half open my eyes to see Alanna hovering over me, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Her long brown hair is casually braided over her shoulder, her green eyes bright with amusement.

She looks happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, and I wonder if it’s New York, or something else. She may look like your average twenty-six-year old, but she is far from it. Behind the relaxed and happy face she shows the world, Alanna’s scars run deep. Though she’s come a long way, it’s always refreshing to see her looking so… alive. A vast difference from the first time I ever met her.