Caged by Amber Lynn Natusch Page B

the living room to see if Sean was awake and ready for some food. When I arrived I saw an empty couch with a neatly folded stack of blankets on top of it, but no Sean. There was, however, a note atop the pile.
Ruby,
I looked in this morning to see that you were okay. I had to leave to go grade some awfully written term papers - didn’t want to wake you to say goodbye. Will stop by the shop later today to make sure you’re doing well.
Sean
    No longer needing to cook for two, I opted for a banana and a water to go. I’d been neglecting the business part of my business for too long, so I had a hot and heavy date with QuickBooks to rectify that situation. I grabbed the stack of blankets and took them to the linen closet, neatly placing them on a shelf before continuing down the hall to my room. I needed to grab a jacket but couldn’t find one in the mass chaos of my bedroom, so I settled for a black Nike hoodie that I found buried in the back of my closet. I also grabbed a bandanna to pull my hair back with so it wouldn’t drive me certifiably insane while working on the books. As I turned to leave, a small piece of black paper lying innocently on my bed caught my attention. It was slightly hidden by a fold in the covers so I didn’t recognize it immediately. I knelt down on the bed and reached across to retrieve it from my wadded-up comforter. The second I touched it, a rush of heat went through me and I knew exactly what it was. Eric . It was his card, which was really just his name and phone number - no business, profession, address, or last name.
    I felt compelled to call him that second, and it took more restraint than I thought I possessed not to do it. Don’t want him to think I’m fatal attraction material . I sighed and stuck it in my back pocket. Maybe out of sight out of mind would prove true.
     

     
    After hours of filing through bank statements and invoices, and reconciling the accounts, I came to two very distinct conclusions: that accountants were certifiably insane, and that I was the world’s worst business woman. The biggest challenge for any self-employed craftsman was that being great at your skill did not equal business success. I needed to get my bookkeeping shit together before I failed, as that possibility was becoming all too real to me. I really needed help.
    Torn between my desire to face the situation and run away from it altogether, I decided I would organize the back studio and put my frustration into that task for a bit. On my way around the counter I reached my hands to the small of my back to force a low back stretch; computer time was proving terrible for my body. As I slid my hands down, they eventually landed in the back pockets of my jeans. My right hand flared like it was on fire when it touched the little piece of black paper I had tucked away so strategically. I pulled it out just as I crossed paths with my office phone. The compulsion to pick it up and call him was all consuming and undeniable. I was clearly no match for it.
    The receiver was ringing before I even realized I’d dialed him.
    “Hello?”

15
    When I hung up three hours later, I realized that I had no idea what had just happened. I knew we talked, flirted and made plans for the night, but I would have sworn that the person talking just wasn’t me. It was as though I’d been in some sort of weird fugue that I snapped out of as soon as the receiver clicked off, leaving me with the gist of what had been said and done, but no sense of ownership of the words or actions - a real out-of-body experience. I’d never sounded so self-assured and confident talking to a guy before, but with Eric everything seemed so natural, so effortless, so right. I didn’t have to try, I just was, and it was a feeling I really started to like.
    He had asked me to go to a party that his friend was hosting - nothing too formal, but not exactly a college kegger either. It was at a downtown apartment building in Boston, in the penthouse.