Smooth Moves

by Marie Harte

  “Normal-looking?”

  “A few around my age, some older, maybe two or three younger. The back room had pallets, like yoga mats but softer. And they had been arranged in a ring around Miriam at the center. Incense burned, smelling like roses and lavender. It was relaxing. At first.”

  “At first!” Once his laughter wound down, he apologized and waited for her to continue.

  “Dick.” They paused while they began devouring some delicious down-home cooking.

  A busty blond woman slowed as she passed by and winked at him. He didn’t respond so she kept walking. He said nothing, not wanting the distraction. He used to consider it a point of pride that women liked him enough to be so bold. But he didn’t want it anymore, too used to the superficial attractions that never went anywhere once his admirers looked deeper.

  So he made no mention of the woman, and Jordan didn’t either. She swallowed down a forkful of her breakfast and pointed at his plate. “I don’t know how you’re going to finish all that. What’s in there?”

  “Biscuits, eggs, sausage gravy, sausage, cheese, potatoes, and something else. It’s amazing.” He’d thought about getting a double serving but didn’t want to look too piggish in front of Jordan.

  “Wow.” Without asking, she dug into his food and took a huge bite. “Oh, that is good.”

  “Help yourself,” he said with no small dose of sarcasm.

  “I did.” She beamed, naughty and sexy and so damn pretty.

  He let out a quiet breath then drank more coffee to distract himself. “Waiting on those details…”

  “Of course you are. Right. So everyone is looking comfy in their robes, lying around Miriam’s ‘Modiste.’ Miriam hands me a robe, and I just put it on over my clothes. I had no idea everyone else was naked until later.” She frowned. “Still not sure about where you’d fit into her class.”

  “It’ll come to you.” No pun intended. “What happened next?”

  “Some interesting talk, actually. About taking control of ourselves, to stop apologizing for being women. To feel free to reject a man’s advances and feel good about it. Not as if we owe him anything.”

  “Why are you giving me that look?”

  “You’re a man, aren’t you?”

  He glanced down at his hard-on, fortunately hidden by the tabletop. “Pretty sure that’s a yes.”

  She glared. “A man who threw me under the bus. All that girl-power talk went on for an hour. And we shared, and I actually liked that part. Everyone talked about how they’d been screwed over by a guy at some point. Or a girl. We had a few lesbians in there too. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t a man-hating session. Just a place where we all shared experiences of not feeling in charge of ourselves at some point in our lives.

  “It was a nice group. Like, no one cared about where you came from, only that we were all women together. It felt good.”

  He waggled his brows up and down. “How good?”

  Her groan turned into a pained laugh. “Up until the part where the women disrobed and showed themselves in all their glory—led by Miriam’s naked splendor. So the nude bit threw me, but then I thought, hey, be okay with a woman’s body. Like, they got really into being okay with themselves.”

  “I so wish I could’ve been there.” He had to stifle more laughter.

  “Yeah, then Miriam starts, ah…” She glanced around, her gaze focused on Irene across the diner. “Well, Miriam started doing it right there.”

  “I’m sorry. Doing it?”

  “Don’t be a jackass,” she snapped. “You know.” In a lower voice, she added, “Touching herself.”

  “Where?” He couldn’t help prodding her.

  “I hate you.”

  “Hate is just the flipside of love, you know.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Something I once heard Miriam say.” He laughed at her blush. “You can’t leave me hanging. What happened next?”

  “God. This is so embarrassing.”

  “I know. I love it.”

  She flipped him off. “So then the other ladies start doing it. Fondling themselves. I’m sitting there frozen, not sure what the hell’s going on. And the moans and groans are just awful. Before I can move, Miriam’s shouting ‘Oh yes, oh yes.’” Jordan rubbed her eyes and cringed.

  “Getting her happy on?”

  She looked miserable and took a swig of coffee. “Exactly that. I had to leave. Except I tripped on my way out and ended up sprawled on someone in the throes, if you know what I mean. It was awkward.”

  “Awkward?” Cash just stared at her, imaging the scene. Then he laughed so hard he cried until he wheezed, having trouble breathing. God. The image. He kept laughing and wheezing.

  Jordan stared as if not sure what to make of him.

  He finally stopped, told Irene he was okay, and accepted her offer of coffee refills. Once she left, he asked, his voice hoarse, “I have to know. How did Miriam get herself started? I mean, was she just talking herself through the oohs and ahhs?”

  Jordan shook her head, as if to blunt the memory. “God, my ears. But yes. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “You never did tell me. Why did she want your help with the class?” After a pregnant pause, Jordan’s eyes widened and she gaped at him. “No.”

  * * *

  Which set him off again, laughing himself hoarse.

  Jordan had a feeling she knew the answer. She wouldn’t have shared the details of that insane class, except it was funny, and she knew Cash would get a kick out of it. Oh, she planned on getting her revenge. But she couldn’t fault him for getting one over on her big-time.

  “Miriam”—he paused to wipe his eyes—“wanted me to inspire her class by getting off.”

  “Oh my God. No.”

  “Oh my God. Yes.” He grinned. “Had I known you’d be going Saturday, I’d have volunteered my services instead of declining.”

  “Liar. You used me to get out of saying yes.”

  “I did.” He nodded, his green eyes bright. “I thought about it the first time she asked me, but Reid said no. Then I realized that might make things awkward. You know, Miriam sees how hung and amazing I am, and then she’ll be hooked. Her students would be so gaga over me they’d start clogging the hallways.” She rolled her eyes, but that didn’t stop him. “Passing by them all every day while they pined after me would get weird.”

  Jordan felt her cheeks heat, remembering his impressive size from Thursday night—a night that refused to leave her thoughts no matter how hard she tried. “I can’t believe she wanted you to…perform…for her class.”

  “Oh yeah. We’re not talking standing there looking pretty. She wanted to see some action. Like taking myself in hand and—”

  “I get it.” She did, too well. “So that was my Saturday. After tripping over a woman having an orgasm, I dropped the robe and took off. I don’t know how I’m going to go by her store on a daily basis.” She cringed. “And you’re telling me Heidi takes those classes?”

  He nodded. “She finished her sessions already, but she said something about taking the next level after she’s done training for her upcoming race.” He pushed aside his empty plate and sipped his coffee. “I wonder if they do other sex stuff, or if it’s some kind of sexual meditation? Do they bring in partners?”

  “Please stop talking.”

  He shot her a wicked grin. “Can I tell you how happy I am you took that class?”

  “Asshole.” She fumed, trying to disguise her amusement with anger. “You’re gonna owe me a bazillion donuts for that.”

  “All I can say is it was worth it.”

  * * *

  An hour later, they stood in his mother’s—in Cash’s—house, eating donuts. Though Cash had bought them for her, he’d already eaten three of them. The man had an appetite, but it
sure didn’t hurt his physique any.

  He looked like a Greek god come to life in worn jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. Make that a sad god. His expression as he stared around him seemed lost, and Jordan empathized. How terrible to have to pack up his dead mother’s belongings.

  She swallowed a bite of Boston Cream donut and sighed with pleasure, hoping to perk him up a little. “God, I love sweets.”

  “There’s a joke in there somewhere, but damned if I can find it,” he said around a mouthful of sugared dough. After he’d finished and dusted his hands, he waved around him. “Well, this is the place. Most of the shit is my mother’s, but there are a few things of Reid’s still around.”

  “Not yours or your dad’s?”

  “She must have taken care of the old man’s stuff a while ago because I haven’t seen anything of his except for some tools in the garage.” He grimaced. “Me? I might as well not exist. I’m still not sure why I inherited the house.”

  “Just you?” She’d heard one of the guys at work mentioning something to that effect, but she hadn’t realized Reid had been cut out of the will.

  “Yep, just me. Quick background—my family sucked. My father was an asshole who hated me, and my mother barely knew I existed. Which is to say I was kicked out of the house when I was sixteen and never came back. Not until now.”

  “Wow. That’s terrible.”

  “Yep.” He gave her a pathetic look. “Does that make you want to cuddle me? Offer comfort? Maybe hug me tight, to make me feel better?” His sly grin made her belly do somersaults.

  This man she could handle. “I would, but I have a firm policy against not hugging dickbags.”

  “Lets me off then.” He grinned, comfortable with her razzing.

  She wondered if her ability to withstand his buried charm and amazing looks made her more of a challenge. The guy had women looking at him all the time. She saw it whenever they went out. Case in point, that woman who’d had the nerve to wink at him while Jordan had sat right there, across the table from him. At least he’d ignored her.

  But Cash was like that. A weird combination of obnoxious blowhard and gentleman. At work, he kept things professional with clients, ignoring any come-ons from interested parties. Sure, he’d talk a good game behind their backs, but he never followed through on it—that she’d seen. And it wasn’t every time. He wasn’t a sex magnet per se. Yet it happened often enough that Funny Rob had started calling him Gunny Gigolo behind his back, which was kind of funny except she had a feeling it would bother him to know.

  Not that she could blame any of them. Cash’s big mouth rarely made him less attractive to his many admirers.

  Not Jordan though. She worked with her friend. That kiss they’d shared had meant nothing. Had to get it out of the way so they could focus on…focus on… His lips kept moving, but she didn’t hear him.

  “Hey, you having a sugar rush or what?” He frowned. “Hello? Earth to Jordan?”

  She ignored the heat in her cheeks. “Sorry, I’m still digesting that big breakfast. Sue me for not moving faster.”

  “Try moving at all.” He shrugged. “Fine. Keep digesting that fat pill, and follow me on the tour.”

  He showed her the many boxes he’d already packed up and moved to the side of the living room. A ton of romance books, videotapes, and even a few DVDs mixed with collectibles and plain junk were stacked nearby. The sheer number of books astounded her.

  “Wow. It’s like a library in here.” She stared in awe. Though his mother had clearly had a problem collecting things, she’d kept the place fairly neat. They had plenty of room to move around through the expected dust and occasional cobweb from a house that hadn’t been disturbed until recently. “Your mom has all the classics. Is that a VHS tape of Casablanca?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. Too bad they didn’t have streaming back then. Would have saved on a lot of space.”

  The tour through the hallway into the back bedrooms showed a heck of a lot of movies. “Do they even make VHS players anymore?”

  “I think so.” He scrubbed the back of his close-cropped hair. “There’s so much here. I swear I packed up half a room last week. And it doesn’t feel like I did anything.”

  “What are you going to do with it all?” she asked him.

  “Dump it.”

  “What? No.” Jordan saw the anger in his expression and sought to ease some of it. “Think of all the people who could use some fun in their lives.”

  He snorted. “Fun? Try escape. Why help someone else ignore their kids or husbands? This shit needs to go.”

  “Not everyone goes to the same extremes your mom did, Cash.” She moved closer to him and put a hand on his forearm, feeling his tension. Understanding it. “Hey, my parents didn’t understand me at all. And sometimes I still don’t like them all that much. But my mom used to read romance books and didn’t ignore me or my family because of it.” No, she’d ignored Jordan anytime Jordan did something she didn’t like. But that had nothing to do with avoiding her family in favor of entertainment. “I know a lot of people who enjoy TV in a healthy way. Sometimes when your life sucks, that kind of fun takes you away from your misery.”

  “I guess.” He looked around and sighed. “So you think I should try to sell it all?” He didn’t sound enthused.

  “You could, but it’ll be a hassle. I think you should donate it. Give it to Goodwill, a woman’s shelter, or some place that could use it for their own fundraiser.”

  “Not a bad idea.” He planted his hands on his hips and stared around him. “I’ll be honest. I want this shit gone so much I hadn’t thought about where to take it. Just boxing it up and dumping it sounded like a plan.” A moment of silence as he took in everything. “Um, would you mind helping me out with the donations? Maybe see who needs or wants this stuff?” In the corner, he knelt and picked up a tattered child’s book, one that had obviously seen its share of wear and tear. He didn’t say anything as he stood, clenching it in his hand.

  Jordan felt for him. “Sure. I can help with the donations. Let me make a few calls then I’ll help you pack.”

  He looked up and met her gaze. It was as if she saw the real Cash, the hurt little boy inside the man needing reassurance. In a blink, the expression vanished, but she knew what she’d seen.

  She pretended not to notice the suspicious shine in his eyes and left the room to find something to write with. After she’d made a few calls and found places to donate, she rejoined Cash in his mother’s bedroom.

  More of the room had been packed up, his mother’s clothing bagged and tagged, the way they did it for Vets on the Go!

  “Hey, you’re actually not bad at this.”

  He turned to see her and forced a smile that hurt her to see. “Yeah, how about that? I got some skills.”

  “You mean, more than just making women faint from the sight of you?” she added in a dry tone, pleased beyond measure when he gave her a real smile.

  “Well, there is that.” He leered at her. “You feeling the magic, sweetness?” He flexed a huge bicep her way, and she had to fight to pretend disinterest. “How about now?”

  “Ohh. Please. I want you,” she said with no inflection whatsoever. “So, so bad.”

  Cash chuckled. “Man, you are such a ballbuster. No wonder I like you.”

  “You like it when people bust your balls?”

  “Yeah. You’re real. I can work with real.”

  She couldn’t read the look he shot her, but it felt intimate. Something more than a friendly glance. Simultaneously relieved to see him happy and nervous to be at the center of his attention, she didn’t know what to say next.

  “All right, Fleming. Enough. Quit slacking.” Thank you, Cash, for smoothing over that suspended moment of awkwardness. “I paid for your time with a baker’s dozen of health-hazardous sugar crap—even let you get those frilly pink frost
ed donuts that are, frankly, embarrassing. Now get to work.”

  “Such an asshat,” she muttered, heard him laugh, and packed with a smile on her face.

  Chapter 7

  Cash and Jordan got a surprising amount of work done. He wouldn’t have thought they could do so much in so little time, but with her help, a few hours saw them clear out a good sixth of the house.

  They’d stacked the donations along one wall. On the other, trash. To his bemusement, something good would come out of Angela’s shit. They’d use her belongings to help others. He knew Reid would agree, might even be proud of him for acting so mature about things. All thanks to Jordan.

  The memories he’d tried to bury as he’d sifted through Angela’s possessions—those things that had been so much more important to her than him—hadn’t hurt as much as he’d imagined they would. What did that mean?

  “Good job.” Jordan smacked him on the shoulder, her version of an attaboy that was supposed to hurt more than it did, most likely.

  “Thanks. I mean, ow.” He rubbed his arm and pretended it hurt.

  She rolled her eyes. “Those boxes over there can be donated too. But that last one has stuff you probably need to look through. I’ll be back.”

  “Back? Where are you going?” She wasn’t leaving already, was she?

  “To the john. That okay with you?” She turned on a huff and left him.

  “Prickly little thing.” He moved the boxes then found the one she’d pointed out. He took it to the kitchen table, sat, and opened it.

  Only to find it full of old photographs.

  Back then, his mother had been keen on family. She’d documented everything, filling old photo albums with a zeal to capture every memory.

  Shock held him immobile as he stared at a picture of him, Reid, and his parents, all smiling and happy. He had to be five or six years old, so little, and so proud of that stupid football he’d received as a present from his father. He turned it over and saw the date. Christ. That picture was from his sixth birthday party. He remembered his mother kissing his cheeks and laughing. His father tossing the pigskin and smiling, praising Cash for being such a natural. Then Reid begging to play too, and the four of them enjoying the sunny spring weather before Cash’s friends arrived for his big birthday celebration.