Charlie focused on straightening papers on the clipboard. Knowing Bastian, he’d probably tried to make Lisa’s first time something special, given her a dose of extra love in his loving. That was just the type of man he was. In comparison, Charlie’s first time fell way below the mark.
“I told you about that a long time ago.”
“Not really. I know you were fifteen and his name was Bobby. That’s about it. Oh, and it was in the back of a truck. What, no shooting stars?”
Her snort was far less than feminine. “Hardly. More like the day after Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, Bobby was a nice guy, it just was weird. I felt like a frog.”
“A frog?” Chin in hand, he leaned on the console and studied her with an indulgent smile. “This I’ve got to hear.”
A shrug softened her sigh. Fine, if he wanted to know the nitty-gritty then he had to expect to get the dirt as well. “Buck naked, flat on my back, spread-eagled, legs pinned open by an overgrown marine leaving huge bruises on my thighs. Frog in a biology class.”
“Marine? I thought you were fifteen? How old was he?”
“Oh, twenty-two, I think, maybe twenty-three.”
Bastian’s brows slammed together. The glare he settled on her was hard. “Twenty-two? He was an adult, he should’ve known better.”
“Yeah, well, that was kind of what I was hoping for, you know?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what you wanted, he knew it was wrong. That’s borderline molestation. Or statutory rape. You were jailbait. He could have gone to prison for that.”
“It was bad but not that bad. Lighten up. I knew what I was doing as much as you did.”
“Two kids fooling around are a lot different than an adult taking advantage of a child. He shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Well, he did. Poorly. Why is this bothering you? It’s over and done with.”
His lips were a tight slash outlined in white. “No grown man should ever touch a child and you
were
a child, Charlie.”
“Wearing a C cup.”
“I don’t care. It was wrong.” His eyes flew to hers. Under the anger, something lurked inside, a compassion so deep it scared her. “And he hurt you. For that alone, he should be taken out and shot.”
“A lot of girls hurt their first time.”
“But they don’t have bruises.”
The belated protectiveness touched her and hushed her words. “Some men leave them and not just on your thighs. Not everyone is as noble as you’d think. But I can take care of myself. I have for a long time.”
“Shouldn’t have to,” he muttered.
A smile twitched one corner of her lips. Bastian had solid, definitive ideas on what made a
man.
Private rules, codes of ethics and some internal invisible ruler he measured everyone against, most stringently himself. Not that he’d ever tell someone they didn’t measure up. It wasn’t in his nature to be outwardly critical. After learning of his sterility, he’d come to define the word
man
as something other than penis-owner.
How many times had she listened to him rant about some injustice in life? Like the teenaged scum who’d knocked up four different girls yet shunned condoms because they weren’t “natural”? One entire televised football game had been muted as he railed against the players who owed back child support and refused to pay though they were worth millions. And once, when a newborn was found in a Dumpster and brought to the ER barely breathing, she’d held the heavy punching bag while he beat the shit out of it, bitching at the unfairness of it all.
Slowly he came to realize those rules applied to both genders and didn’t signify a real man but a decent human being. Decency and kindheartedness made the difference, not fully functioning reproductive equipment. He’d accepted the hand he was dealt but still, that rigid code of morality was there. Now it was directed more inward than outward. He strived every day to prove to himself that he was worthy of the title
man.
He was more than worthy of it. It was what made him who he was…and she loved him for it.
Charlie blinked away sudden shininess in her eyes and slid into her Honeypot mode.
“Welcome back, lovers. Are you ready? Are you panting in anticipation? Has Doc realized the error of his tightly zipped ways and caved to my womanly wiles? Did I fall victim to his prescription for a white veil and a gold ring? Who said yes first?”
“Wasn’t me.” Bastian chuckled.
“Me either. But I did get you something. I found you a new theme song. Want to hear it?”
“Don’t think you’re going to give me much choice, are you?”
“No way. This is for you with all my lust.”
The push of one button filtered in the rapping tones of 2 Live Crew’s “Me So Horny” through the room. First his mouth fell open. Then his eyes widened in horror as the explicit lyrics sailed over the airwaves. Charlie bounced and popped in her chair, singing along with the prostitute’s accented lyrics. When he’d suffered enough, she slid the volume down and spoke into her mike.
“Me love you long time, Doc.”
“You’re evil.” Head shaking, he blew out a slow breath. “But you aren’t the only one who’s been busy. I thought you needed a new theme song too. This is for you with all my love.”
Shocked into silence, Charlie watched him nod to Justine, and the soothing strains of the Dixie Cups’ “Chapel of Love” overshadowed the rap beat. The all-girl band sang of going to the chapel and getting married in innocent tones. Amazement sank into her bones. He’d outdone her, known her tactics and used them against her with help from Justine. The “gotcha” look he beamed at her illuminated the room.
“I really love you and we’re going to get married. We’re going to the Chapel of Love, Honey.”
The lyrics sounded like a promise. The volume faded, eased by Justine, who grinned through the partition, enjoying this one-upmanship game. Charlie had to search for her tongue. She found it buried in bravado.
“All right, musically the score is even. I’d say, zero to zero. No wait, I think I might have scored a point or two last night. I almost got you naked. What do you think? And be honest. Santa is watching.” Dangerously close to sharing too much personal information on the air, she knew she was playing with fire.
He gaped at her. “You
are
evil. Okay, I’ll give you two points. But I’m claiming two for myself.”
“Really? For what?”
“I showed you a way to get rid of your headaches.”
Seemingly innocent, his words fell like a bomb. He fought the fight to win and the prize was her heart. Measuring the intensity in his face, she conceded. “Okay, two points all.”
“We’re tied, Honey, and here’s a warning. Brace yourself, because I’m going rock your world in a few days.”
“Awfully big words.”
“I have a medical degree. I know a lot of big words.”
Conviction revved his voice from jazz to swing with a piercing trumpet blast. Low in her gut, a tremor grew and a small whisper echoed. Maybe this time she had bitten off more than she could chew.
Her swallow squeezed down her tight throat before she faced the console. Reaching for the familiar, she latched on to flirtation. “It’s not the size of the word that matters, Doc, it’s the way you use it. Although I’d much rather have a nice big adjective than an itty-bitty pronoun, if you get my meaning.”
His laughter lifted the tension, easing the mood back into play. Thrust and parry. Jab and retreat. A bit more banter, a little more flirting and the show faded to a close.
“Good show, guys. Doc, your face was priceless. Wish I’d had my camera.” Intoned from above, Justine’s amused words echoed before clicking off with a snap.
“Glad to provide your entertainment for the night, Justine,” Bastian called. Whirling on Charlie, he shook his head. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“Hey, I’m not a shock jock for nothing.” Reclining on her chair, she smiled up at him. “I’m just warming up, too.”
“Yeah, well, bank the fire for a while. I’ve got to go get some sleep before I do this double.”
A double followed by his regular shift meant thirty-six hours. He would only be off a few hours before their show on Friday. She wouldn’t see him until then. Before, it wouldn’t have bothered her. But now she minded a great deal. It seemed like too long to be parted from him. Concern bloomed in her stomach as she trailed after him to the hall.
“How about I bring you dinner tomorrow night? Save you from the cafeteria food.”
“Sounds great. Are you cooking?”
Of all the talents Charlie had, her skills in the kitchen were not ones she bragged on. No one would die from eating her cooking, but they wouldn’t be writing any recommendations either. “Maybe. If not, Mom will be. I’ll make sure it’s edible.”
“That’ll work.” Pulling her close, he pressed a brief but firm kiss to her mouth. “I’m starting to feel like just your best friend again. It’s been hours since I kissed you.”
“Then shut up and do it right.”
“Bossy.” His smile lasted until his lips danced over hers.
Kissing was a lost art form for many, an act lost in the frantic race to more. Bastian took his time, tasting each corner of her mouth before sipping again from her lips. Each touch was a delicacy to be savored. She couldn’t remember any kisses before his that titillated her senses and sent her brain spinning. It was like getting buzzed without the wine. Clinging to the hard line of his shoulders spiced that wine and increased the hum.
“You two are so adorable.” Justine snickered.
Bastian reluctantly pulled away and cleared his throat. “Ready to go? I’ll walk you out.”
“No, I’ve got some more stuff to wrap up. You go on. Ron’s still on the road so I’m in no hurry to get home.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.” He dropped a quick peck on Charlie’s cheek. Both women watched until the door clicked shut behind him before laughing.
“He’s so cute. You’d think a man who sees people naked for a living would’ve forgotten how to blush.” The adopted-motherly love rang clear in Justine’s voice.
“He’s a paradox, all right. He can talk blow jobs on the air but turns pink over a kiss. I think he separates himself, you know, clinical versus personal. And I like his personal just the way it is, sweet. Dr. Hot aside, Bastian is still pretty shy.”
Charlie swung back in the broadcast room with Justine on her heels. As she did her wee-hours show intro, the older woman typed some sequence of keys into the computer. The printer whirled to life in the outer office.
“I hate the end of the month. Nathan and his damn spreadsheets. If he is so all-fired worried about ratings, he should get rid of that crappy morning crew and get some real personalities in here. They put you back to sleep, not wake you up.”
Used to the monthly grumbling, Charlie let her spew for a few minutes. When she had vented enough, Justine sank into Bastian’s chair and sent her an inquiring look. “So, going to marry him?”
“Don’t know.” Charlie shrugged. “Thinking about it.”
“You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know.”
“I know.” Idly flipping through memos on the clipboard, she studied the manager over the brim. “How’re things with Ron?”
The pause was too long, drawing Charlie’s frown. Justine kept her eyes trained on the status bar blinking on the computer screen. “We’re working on it.”
After a bit of radio commentary and selecting a three-song block, Charlie turned to her manager. “You okay?”
Justine melted into the chair. “Some days yes, some days no.” Her mouth opened to say more but then snapped shut. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about my marriage troubles. You’re trying to figure out if you should get married. I don’t want to scare you.”
“You’re not going to scare me any more than my mother has. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was just too young when we got married. Maybe I lived through my boys too much and have that empty-nester shit happening. Everything just feels stale. Little things irritate me about him. Like we’ve been married for over twenty years, he should know by now that his socks are in the left-hand drawer. Why does he insist on waking me up to ask every damn day?”
“Maybe he just wants to talk to you.”
“Once you’ve been married as long as I have, talking’s overrated. I know everything he’s going to say, right down to the pauses.” Justine typed another sequence of keys and hit Print. “I know it’s me. I’m just bored with everything. Maybe I need hormone therapy or something. I’ve always wanted a mustache.”
Charlie worried her bottom lip. “What about Ron? Is he bored too?”
“Who knows? I doubt it, as long as he has supper on the table and a weekly nookie break, he’s fine. We’re talking about the man who owns twelve identical blue shirts.”
Stomach churning with anxiety, Charlie rubbed her temples. “Do you love Ron? I mean, like you did when you got married.”
“Who knows? I love him, but back then I think I was in love with love. Now, we’re comfortable, bland but filling, like chicken soup.” When Charlie didn’t speak, she cocked her head and fixed her with a hard look. “Why? You wondering about Doc?”
Unable to find the words to explain her racing thoughts, Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m feeling or thinking half the time anymore. I’m just confused.”
“You know what I think your problem is? You two did it backward. Most people are attracted to each other, do the bedsheet bingo, fall in love, get married. Then they have to learn to be friends if they’re going to make it through the rough spots. You two met and became friends, fell in love without the hanky-panky and settled into a routine. You were so busy being just friends you didn’t recognize the falling part. Now it’s there and you’re afraid to go back and pick up that last step.”
Conversation paused while the Stones sang about satisfaction and Charlie lined out another three-block. Justine fetched her paperwork and keyed in more numbers. The rhythmic scratch of a highlighter filled the silence as numbers were tallied and analyzed. She dug into the console drawer for the Tylenol, swallowing four with a gulp of cold coffee.
“Maybe you’re right,” Charlie murmured a long while later. “Not a great way to start a marriage, huh, picking up leftover pieces?”