Shiver

She woke splayed out on the bed. Her thighs were soaked again, and her fingers glistening from being between her legs. And Kyle was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Who is Dean?"

She looked down at the mess between her legs on the mattress. Taking a deep breath, she told him everything that had taken place the last couple of days.

He listened carefully, and sat for a moment.

"So, you are telling me that you are not sleeping with him, just dreaming?"

She nodded, her head downcast.

"And you are a bit nervous, because you don't know how to break this so-called spell?"

"I just feel like I don't have any control. Next Tuesday is our next reading, and I have no idea what I'll be feeling when he reads about me."

"I know this may sound weird, but maybe you should try to write about him. If you wrote about him, maybe it will help you gain some semblance of control in this sordid affair. I don't know, I don't have your thoughts, I wouldn't be able to know that someone was writing about me, even if they told me."

Miranda looked into his eyes. Kyle was hurt, but she knew he loved her. Maybe that is all she needed. He took to cleaning the bed as she cleaned herself up. Exiting the bathroom, he patted her side of the bed, and she cuddled up next to him. Closing her eyes, she was confident that Dean would not visit again.

***********

Miranda made it to Luciano's, a nice little bistro on Virginia, slightly early. The lunch crowd here was normally loud and boisterous, and a perfect setting for her meeting with Lauren. The host, a tall college kid with deep brown eyes, smiled dutifully as he showed Miranda to her table. As he pushed her chair in for her, the waitress came to the table.

"Something to drink while you wait for the rest of your party?"

"Just an iced tea, thanks."

The waitress nodded and smiled, and left the table. Miranda let her eyes wander over the men in various places around the restaurant. There was a large cross section of men here - business men conducting lunch deals, construction workers, college students. She reclined and smiled as the waitress returned with her iced tea. Reaching for a packet of sugar, she shook it as she heard the buzz in the place quiet. The first thing that went through her head was: Lauren.

She turned to see her friend smiling and peering around. Lauren's face lit up when she made eye contact with her. Miranda noticed most of the men turning to get a better look at her friend. Although they were similar in personality, they were polar opposites in regards to looks. Lauren was tall and blonde, with shoulder length hair that had loopy curls that seemed to roll on forever. Her eyes were big and blue, and maintained an innocent and coquettish attitude, despite her real intentions. Her body was a stark contrast also, with hard, long lean legs, and big pillowy breasts that she loved to show off. Miranda was the opposite - short and petite, with long raven black hair, and dark almond shaped eyes. She was pretty, but next to someone like Lauren, she seemed to fade away.

Lauren sat down, acting oblivious to the gazes that rained down upon her, and smiled at her friend.

"What's going on babe?"

Miranda smiled weakly, and her eyes dropped to her iced tea.

"Wow, this must be bad.....talk to me, Randi."

Miranda chuckled at the little nickname Lauren had for her, and sighed again. She took a deep breath, and looked at her friend.

If anyone knew what she was going through, it would be Lauren. The running joke between them was not Lauren's flavor of the week, it was her flavor of the day. Lauren had one bad relationship years ago, and to combat that, she simply enjoyed the physical aspect of men, and nothing more, relying on her girlfriends to help her through her emotional peaks and valleys. They had met at a poetry reading, and after talking for a while, found they had a lot in common. They became friends, and over the years, had formed a great friendship. Where as Miranda found love and trust in Kyle, and generally loved men, Lauren just enjoyed men for sex, and would frequently boot them out after the fact.

"Well, you know that new poet that everyone is talking about?"

Lauren's eyes went out of focus for a second, as she tried conjuring up his image.

"Wait....which one? The tall skinny guy with black hair, the one that smokes those nasty cigarettes?"

"No, the other one. The...."

Lauren's eyeballs almost clicked as they can back into focus. A small smile began to creep across her lips.

"The blond? Don't tell me it is the blond.....crap, what is his name? Dan?"

"Dean." Her voice was almost a whisper, and Lauren started laughing.

"Why be embarrassed? He is gorgeous. We have had a couple of nice little talks."

"You have?"

Lauren nodding while reaching for a breadstick, munching away as she answered.

"Yep. That man is a world class flirt. He could have led me all around that night, but didn't seem interested. Said he already had a muse. Fucking tease."

They both giggled, and suddenly Miranda got serious.

"I have a problem Lauren."

"Yeah? What is it?"

Miranda's voice lowered, to the point where Lauren had to lean forward to catch what she was saying.

"His poems are about me."

Lauren was taking a drink, and abruptly stopped. Miranda fiddled with her napkin, her face flushed red as her friend took everything in.

"So, you are the muse? So, the poem "Night" was for you? About you?"

Miranda nodded, and Lauren slumped back into her chair.

"Wow. I am absolutely speechless Randi....I don't know what to say."

"He told me that he has long admired my work - it was a fluke that he was here, that he even met me. He told me that my works, and that I, inspire his work. And you know as a poet that is all you want. To just affect one person takes my breath away."

Lauren nodded and her eyes went back out of focus as she recalled the poetry. Miranda waited a minute, letting her friend digest this, before pulling some papers out of bag. She laid them on the table in front of Lauren.

"What are these?"

"He writes short stories. As good as a poet as he might be, he is better as a writer."

Lauren scanned through the pages, and after reading just one page, put them back down. She looked at Miranda, almost grinning with excitement.

"It seems your friend has quite the crush on you, babe."

"I really hate to say this, but, he is bringing out things I have not felt in a while. I mean, I am completely happy, but, is it wrong for me to want more?"

Lauren shook her head, but it was Miranda that continued.

"And there is more. The other night, after the reading,, we were just chatting, and he told me that he had written a new poem for me the night before. That night, I remember having this distinct chill about me.....like I could feel his writing. That can't be, can it?"

Lauren thought for a moment, as the waitress came over to refill her water. She waited until she was gone again, then leaned in closer.

"You can't be serious, can you?"

"I don't know what else to think."

Their table only heard the din of the others in the dining room. Both women sat there contemplating what was said in silence.

"Miranda, your mind is obviously playing some kind of trick on you. You know that simply cannot be."

"I don't know. It might be possible to feel something like that. I am in just such a weird place, that's all."

Lauren nodded again, as a group of guys made their way past their table. She gazed at them, and then looked at Miranda. A slow smile came over her lips, and she leaned forward.

"You think he is into your head that deep, do you?"

Miranda nodded, and Lauren went on.

"Write about him."

"What?"

"When I was with Michael, my heart would skip a beat when he was around, and break when he was gone. That need for him grew tenfold when I couldn't be with him. It was an ever-present ache. When he was with me, it was a dull throb. But, when Michael would leave, and I was alone, the need would turn into something all-consuming. It was then I wrote."

"Yes, but..."

"But nothing, Randi. You have to get a hold of this. He may be a nice guy, but that still doesn't control your feelings."

She nodded, realizing her friend was right. As they both dug through their purses to pay for their meals, Miranda noticed a couple of guys gazing over her friend. She slid alongside her friend and whispered to her.

"See? That is why I feel so awkward. Guys like Dean don't go after women like me. They chase women like you."

Lauren leaned down, a smirk covering her face.

"I want him to chase me. Maybe he likes your mind more?"

Miranda shrugged as she left the restaurant. Lauren kissed her cheek, and gave her a big hug, and just whispered into her ear.

"Open your mind, and write about him."

She got home, and there was a note on the table.

"M - I took the kids to my mom's, and I have the card game tonight. I know you have things to work out, and you feel the need to be alone. If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to call me. Love - K"

She sighed happily. She went upstairs and stripped off her work clothes, and threw on a pair of sweats, with a sweatshirt. Bounding downstairs, she took off outside, and took a long jog around her block, breathing in the cool air that surrounded her.

Upon getting back to her house, she walked into the office and stretched out. Her hands reached up as she stretched her lithe body. Slowly walking to her desk, she sat down in her leather chair, and sprawled.

She thought of what Lauren had told her.

"But, when Michael would leave, and I was alone, the need would turn into something all consuming. It was then I wrote."

Her husband's words echoed in her brain also.

"If you wrote about him, maybe it will help you gain some semblance of control in this sordid affair."

Her chair creaked as she reclined. Her writer's block couldn't be traced to this, but it was not having a positive affect on her either. Maybe her friend was right. Maybe by thinking of him, she could possibly purge whatever demons hung over her. She stared outside, gazing over the snow.

She closed her eyes and saw him. Her mind's eye poured over him. His obvious physical attributes: the broad chest, his thick arms, lightly tanned skin. His eyes, deep and soft, forever boring into her. His hair, blond, gleaming as it picked up rays of light. She thought of the less tangible things. The powdery scent of his cologne wafting to her. His mind, the poetry, the things he had written for her.

So many topics to explore.

She selected one, and closed her eyes again; picturing it from every side she could think of. Upon opening her eyes again, her notebook began to capture her thoughts as her pencil raced across it. The only sound in the room was the paper imprisoning her feelings. She wrote for a solid five minutes, a torrential outpouring of her view.

She laid her pencil down and reviewed her work, reading it twice before smiling and closing her notebook. She caressed the well-worn leather cover, as she might have drawn her fingers over his skin.

And for a split second, she thought she felt it shiver...