Red Hot Blues (11 page)

But she’s more than that. I feel something
around her. Comfortable. Safe.
Cared for...

I’m bad. I’m bad for doing this. But the need
has taken over me, the drug has hit my head, the hormones have
taken control and what I feel for her now is pure lust.
Uncontrollable want.

I shouldn’t do it, but I’m doing it. I’m
standing, watching her fingers move to her ear to push the only
long strands of hair she has. I’m walking to her, slowly, a
predator. A predator who knows what he wants. A predator
intoxicated on hot desire. Desire for her. For everything about
her. For her breasts, her stomach, my tongue on the most private of
her parts.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve
imagined what her whimper might sound like—every time I saw her
laugh, every time I saw her blue eyes shine when she made a joke at
my expense. What did it for me, ultimately, was when I remembered
her holding me yesterday, when I broke apart in her arms.

And how she said nothing about it.

She deserves so much better than me. So much.
Because I’m an asshole with a temper. I can’t give her what she
needs, stability, certainty, commitment. Not because I don’t want
to. But because I can’t trust myself. I can’t trust the anger in my
mind, how it flares up, how sometimes I just want to punch a wall
or a face or break a jaw.

And then I run. I run for the hills. I jump
on my Harley and rev it. And run.

I can’t promise her that I’ll stay.

I’m behind her now. She hasn’t moved. The
wind strokes my cheeks and I know it does hers as well. I push
against her, slowly, and I hear it: That whimper I’ve dreamed about
all day today. All day.

It’s magical.

It’s sensuous.

It completely undoes me.

It takes every force of strength I
have—
every drop
—for me to not simply take her, rip her dress
apart, push her up against the wall behind the elevator. And take
her.

But I can’t do that to her. I can’t.

She needs to know what she’s getting into. No
secrets. No promises.

I put my arms on either side of her, grab the
railing. Push up against her below. I’m hard, so hard, and I know
she can feel it, so if she hasn’t run yet, she’s thinking on the
same lines as I’m thinking. She’s thinking there’s something here,
some spark, something I don’t understand.

I lean down to her ear. “This wasn’t what I
intended with you, Gin, I promise.”

She clears her throat. “It wasn’t?”

The wind almost hides her meager voice.
Almost.

I shake my head, even though she can’t see it
because I’m behind her. And then I whisper, “No.”

I feel her shivering, her nervousness. “I
don’t know how I should feel about that.”

I understand my error in what I said. “That’s
not what I meant. I’ve...wanted you since the first night I laid
eyes on you.” She tenses, grips the railing hard with her small
fingers. “But I’m no good for you. No good at all.”

“Why’s that?”

Goosebumps break on my arms. “I can’t promise
you that I’ll stay. In fact, I know I won’t. I’m on the run. I’m on
the run from... I don’t know. I get angry. I get angry, and then I
run. I just can’t stay.”

“I figured.”

Her scent is killing me. Perfume mixed with
sweat. Her exposed neck is so close that I almost jump it.

But I can’t. I can’t.

Because I care about her. I do. That much I
can admit. It’s a no-brainer. There’s something about the way she
deals with me, the way she treats me, that makes me feel like we’ve
said so many things without saying anything.

I feel my head move in closer, lower. She
tilts her head left, giving me access to her neck.

She wants it as much as I want it. Tacit
consent.

War and fear rage inside me. I can’t do this.
Can’t. But I want to. I want to so badly.

She pushes back against me with her butt,
against my hard-on, just ever so slightly. Instinctively. Not
thinking. But wanting. Like I want her.

I take my hands off the railing, rub them up
her forearms slowly. I feel her sigh, deeply, her whole body
shaking. My hands move up. Goosepimples break out over her skin,
and her whole body trembles.

My hands reach her upper arms, squeeze, hold
tight, not sure what to do, where to take this.

She bows her head.

In a perfect world...
, I think.

But it isn’t a perfect world. It’s an ugly
world. Ugly and painful and full of broken promises and broken
hearts and hateful people.

In my moment of doubt, my moment of wonder,
time stops. The moment lasts forever. My hands on her upper arms,
her hands on the railing. Both of us holding on, holding on to
something. Too afraid to let go. Too afraid to take the next step.
Me, because I don’t trust myself with her. Her, for reasons I don’t
yet know.

But then she makes the next move.

She
makes the move.

And I’m floored. Completely floored. But I’ll
be damned if I don’t make the second one.

She turned, one moment to the next, and
before I knew it, she had her left hand on my neck, yanking me down
with all her strength.

When her lips met mine, my whole world
exploded.

And everything changed inside me.

Everything.

It’s strawberries and peppermint, her lips.
Full and wonderful. She kisses beautifully, passionately. I feel
her entire body tremble as the need takes over her. Her scent, a
mixture of sweat and flowers. And the wind, blowing against us,
cooling our moistened bodies.

I want her. So bad. So bad. And that
is
bad.

I grab her arms, fling her around, ram her
back three paces against the wall and I’m pushing up against her.
We can’t kiss fast enough. I can’t get my hands low enough, under
her dress and then up, underneath it. Her breasts, round and
wonderful. Real.

Sexy as hell.

Her sounds are music, whimpers and gasps and
needful cries in a dead and drowning desert of nothing, emptiness,
sadness, dry mountains and vast open plains: Her voice is a bird’s
call in the open air, echoing, lustful.

We’re in the shade, an overhang above us, the
sun fast setting, no one else around.

My hands race down, grab a clump of her dress
and soon it’s all in my fists and up above her incredible thighs
and to her waist.

I press. Against her. Hard, below.

“Ah!” she yelps.

Her eyes are closed, then open, then closed.
Lips, fighting, turning, kissing. Tongues finding each other. I
feel the roughness of hers as my full tongue laps over it.

I melt. Die. Part of me disappears behind me,
into the highways, the trees beyond, up into the heavens.

I’m lost in her. Lost completely. Gone,
drowning, not thinking. Just taking. Taking what I want because I
do
want her. I want her more than water and food and life
and—

My hand thrusts up. And finds her. Moist.
Warm. Swollen.

And tightening.

“Take me,” she says, grappling with my neck,
pulling me down, widening her legs as my fingers ply desperately
into her behind her underwear.

I move them away from her, reason suddenly
dawning on me. I can’t do this to her. I can’t hurt her like this.
I’m bad. I always run.

But she takes a hand and
pushes
me
back into her.

She’s beautiful down there, soaking, wet
velvet, soft and feminine.

I fall on her, my hand still on her nether
lips, touching, feeling, pressing. “I’ll hurt you,” I say. “I’ll
hurt you, I promise. You don’t want me to do this.”

“Then hurt me,” she whimpers. “Hurt me. But
you’re gonna take me now. You’re gonna take me over the edge
because I want you to.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” I beg, still
feeling her, still kissing her ears, her eyes, her nose. And
touching her. There. Below. Fading into a mist of desire which is
Gin Waters, her eyes, her soft body, her roundness, her curves. Her
womanhood.

Her.

“I know who you are right now. You’re the guy
turning me on. You’re the guy with his finger just at the right
spot. And to
not
take me now would be the biggest fucking
insult you could ever make to a girl. Now don’t make me ask you
again. Fucking take me. Make me come and we’ll deal with the rest
later.”

I take her.

I thrust two fingers up into her...and
push
.

She falls. Her legs give way and I hold her
up and she
groans
into my shirt, sweat forming on my brow,
her brow, my arm.

I pump, thrust, feeling her moistening and
wettening and—

Her hands fist around my shirt behind me as
she holds me, almost ripping my shirt apart, and she breathes, and
pants and—

Muffled cries into my chest while my bicep
and forearm burns: “Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god, yes—”

Then she squeezes all the air out of me as
the wave of ecstasy crashes and pummels into her. Her cries are
wailing stings of pleasure. She bites my shirt, catches a piece of
my nipple with it and I groan with pain. And just as she’s shaking,
shuddering, exploding in my arms, I feel one of her hands leave my
back, move down, in front of me.

And then she holds me. There. Over my
jeans.

And she rubs.

It doesn’t take me long.

And we share a moment. We share a moment that
means the world.

We share a moment that unites us fully and
forever. One screwed-up dude. One insecure girl.

But it’s a moment I love. It’s an intimate
moment. A moment where I feel closer to someone than I’ve ever felt
for anyone. Ever.

And it scares the shit out of me.

I don’t know why, but it does.

And it makes me wanna run.

I giggle afterwards, actually
giggle
—because what else is there to do?

Every muscle in my body is chilled. I feel
like I’ve been hit with a searing shot of hot dope. (No idea what
that feels like, but I imagine it must feel something like this.) I
lean back against the cold wall, feeling the smile all across my
face.

Wow. Wow.
Wow
.

That was good. That was
so
good.

I look up at him. He’s so beautiful. He’s so
out of my league. And that’s OK.

I took a decision. I wanted him. I wanted him
badly. I like him. So I let him touch me. It’s been...four years.
Four
freaking years! It was time. And I’m glad Ace was the
one.

Will it hurt when he goes? Yes.

Will he go right away? I don’t believe he
will. I think he and I are gonna do at least a little bit more of
what we just did before he leaves. Why? Because I turn him on. I
know I do. I don’t know why I do, but I do.

And that makes me confident. Right now, right
here, I’m confident. And confidence is something a person needs,
like little insulin shots for a diabetic. Vitamin shots for a
depleted body. The Energy Drink of Life.

Confidence. I’ve needed my shot for too long
now.

Four years.

I know he’ll get sick of me, when he sees
girls with tighter asses, tighter boobs, thinner thighs. I know it.
But for now, I’ll ride this wave. I’ll ride this confidence wave as
far as I can take it.

The day we spent together today was amazing.
We laughed. He pushed me into the fountain outside the city hall
and I was lucky I just missed getting wet! He took funny photos of
me. I took funny photos of him. We rode past a couple playing
Frisbee and stole their Frisbee and rode away on our bikes and got
sworn at by them.

I had fun. I had
friend
fun. And now
it’s progressed to more than that.

A girl can dream. A girl can pretend. I knew
I was pretending when he touched me. I know he’ll go. But this time
I made a choice. When I was with Brett, I’d had no choice. And
that’s what’s different. I knew what I was getting into this time,
no illusions, just living in the moment. And knowing the moment
will end.

“Don’t feel pressurized to stay,” I say.

He frowns. I straighten my dress, pull my
underwear back into place (front
and
back!)

“Promise me something,” I tell him. “When you
want to leave, don’t stop talking to me. I’m not clingy. But don’t
do that.”

He frowns even more seriously.

“Promise me!” I demand.

He hesitates. Then, “O—OK. I...promise.”

“You promise what?”

“That—that I won’t stop talking to you.”

I smile widely. “I’m not clingy, Ace. And I
know
I’m not the sexiest girl—”

“Gin—”

I stop him with my hand. “Let me finish. I
know
I’m not the sexiest girl in the world—”

“You’re wrong.”

“—so just don’t get all macho and shit when
you realize it for yourself.”

“You’re wrong.”

I shake my head, frustrated. “Ace, whatever.
You don’t need to play to my ego. I’m a big girl.” I realize the
awkward pun in that too late... “Just, treat me with respect when
you leave, OK?”

He waits.

“Ace?”

“You assume I’ll leave.”

I cock an eyebrow. “
You
said you
couldn’t promise me you’d stay.”

He looks way. Caught out. “But it’s not
because of you that I can’t stay. It’s—”

He doesn’t finish. On my right, his left,
coming up the stairs, is a man. He smiles at us when he gets to the
top. We smile back, shifting slightly away from each other. You
ever get that feeling when you just
know
someone’s been
making out? Ace and I were standing really close, and I know this
dude knows what we were up to.

Ace whispers. “It’s not because of
you
that I’ll leave. It’s—”

“Shhh. It’s OK. I don’t need to know why.
Just...give me warning, OK? I understand you have...issues.” I look
at his swelling eye. My hand moves up to it and I hover my finger
just above it, not wanting to press the bluing area. “I get that. I
also have issues. Let’s respect each other. If you wanna tell me
about them, tell me. If you don’t, don’t. But you need to let me
know before you leave. Don’t just split without saying goodbye. And
if you ever pass through town, say hello, have a honey whiskey with
me. Don’t ignore me, OK?”