by Karen Booth
“Mom? Are you in here?” Sam flipped on the overhead light. “Oh! Sorry!” She jumped and flapped her hands, averting her eyes from what was probably a horrific scene to her. “I didn’t know you were…I’m sorry.”
I sat up straight and blinked from the sudden brightness, distancing myself from Chris. “It’s okay, honey. We were just talking.”
Chris cleared his throat, which only made us look guiltier. He rubbed my back as I leaned forward and craned my neck to see Sam.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“Is it okay if Andrew comes over? I know it’s kind of late, but he won’t stay long.”
“Is this okay with his mom?”
“Yes. Can he?”
“I guess so,” I said. “But he needs to be out of here by eleven-thirty.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Phone in hand, she flitted away.
“You’d better clean up your room,” I yelled after her. I slumped back on the couch while every molecule in my body reminded me it was furious. “I guess I’m on teenager duty. Sorry.”
Chris raked his fingers across my shoulder. “That’s all right. I understand.” He followed me to the kitchen, rubbing my shoulders and making me mental in the process. “I need to use the men’s room. I swear I won’t dirty the guest towels.” He laughed.
I wondered how he managed to shrug off every little thing. “It’s the door at the bottom of the stairs.”
I opened the refrigerator, staring because I couldn’t remember what I’d opened it for. The light was unpleasantly bright, cutting a wide swath in the dark across the gray and black checkerboard linoleum.
“Mom, I’m so sorry.” Sam walked in and glanced out the window. “You should’ve warned me.”
“Honey, really, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I closed the fridge and smiled, riddled with guilt at putting her in the situation. “I had no idea I’d need to warn you,” I whispered.
Sam lowered her voice, “You really like him, don’t you?”
I shut my eyes before stretching them wide. “It’s that obvious, isn’t it?”
Chapter Fourteen
The smell of bacon woke me the next morning and I bolted out of bed, thinking I’d overslept. Downstairs, an unlikely pair of grins greeted me—Samantha and Chris, in their pajamas, making breakfast.
“Aren’t you two cute?” I chirped. The sun rushed through the kitchen windows as specks slowed in the beams.
“Morning, Mom,” Sam said, tending the bacon on the stove.
I poured myself a cup of coffee as Chris abandoned his post at the toaster and came up behind me, softly tucking my hair back behind my ear and whispering, “Good morning.” He subtly pressed his body against mine, conveying everything I’d ever wished for in a nearly imperceptible show of force.
I turned in the sliver of space between him and the counter and looked into his gleaming face. “Be good,” I mouthed, just as Sam turned to catch us standing too close. I ducked and stepped away. “Smells great. What are we having?”
“Eggs and bacon,” Sam said.
“Thank goodness,” Chris said. “I was wondering when I’d get a decent meal around here. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” I said.
Sam’s eyes darted to me, seeming to take note of the familiarity my comment suggested.
We sat at the kitchen table and I was overcome with an unexpected contentedness, eating breakfast with the two of them. “What time did Andrew leave last night?” I asked, well aware of the answer. I’d been lying in my bed, alone, listening for kissing and the sound of jeans dropping to the floor.
“It was after eleven-thirty. Sorry it got so late.”
“You must’ve been pretty engrossed in whatever you were doing.” I eyed Chris and he appreciated my motherly torture with a grin.
“We were talking.” She smirked. “Just like you and Chris.”
Chris finished his breakfast in record time and sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers and stretching his arms above his head. He focused on me with his undeniable green eyes, at a slow burn this morning. His rumpled black t-shirt revealed a peek of the stomach I’d spent so much time pining over as a teenager. I hoped like hell that I’d live long enough to see the rest of it.
I dismissed Sam from clean-up duty after breakfast. Chris had offered to help, but I insisted he’d already done enough by burning the toast.
“What shall we do for an entire day together?” He sat at the kitchen table with his lanky legs crossed, the question dripping with ulterior motives.
“We should listen to your record. That’s why you came to visit, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no. I only promised to deliver the CD. I never said we’d listen to it together. I’ll need a stiff drink before I subject myself to that.”
He stood and crept up behind me. I grinned, watching his superb reflection in the kitchen window while my hands stayed submerged in hot, soapy water, leaving me conveniently defenseless.
“You know that’s not the real reason. I came to see you.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned down, kissing my neck, the lowest spot where it curved into my shoulder. The kiss was subtle, evaporating quickly, but leaving behind a lasting tingle.
I closed my eyes as the dishwater steamed, swirls of suds, and my body warmed from his touch. “We agreed this weekend was just as friends,” I croaked. The sun beating through the window, my hands in scalding dishwater—none of it left me as hot as he did.
“I’m sorry.” He kept hold of my shoulders, murmuring with his face at the back of my head. “I had the feeling you were re-thinking that last night.”
I dried my hands and turned, a grave error on my part. It was impossible to form coherent thoughts with his face so close. “I was, I mean I am, but not now. I don’t know if this is a good idea and it’s hard when you do things like that because it makes me want to give in.”
A satisfied smirk washed over his face. “Well, now that I know that you might give in, I can try to behave.” He played with my fingers, hot and chapped from the dishwater.
“Good. I appreciate that,” I said, happy I’d established order.
With that, he bundled me in his arms and pushed his hand into my hair, creating chaos, kissing me exactly as I’d wanted him to last night. It was fluid and more exceptional than I’d ever imagined, his lips moving perfectly with mine as he tugged me closer. I rose on to my tiptoes, no longer bothering with the charade of resistance, arching my back while grasping at his. It surpassed the proverbial opening of floodgates, my entire being at his mercy, which he seemed to sense as he softened our connection, torturing me with a delicate brush of his mouth against mine.
I didn’t dare open my eyes. Good or bad, I was terrified by what might happen next.
His breath, gentle and hot, grazed my lips. “I was hoping that might help you decide if this is a good idea.”
* * *
I was unrecognizable after my shower. The woman in the mirror had a flush in her cheeks and her eyes were a vivid blue, nearly violet. I hadn’t felt so good and frustrated in a very long time.
Chris was waiting for me downstairs in another devastating pairs of jeans and a white shirt, frayed at the cuffs and collar. On any other man, I would’ve thought the shirt was a sign he was in need of a wardrobe overhaul. He sat in my favorite chair, reading a magazine with hair that was damp from his shower. That alone demanded restraint. I imagined myself slinking over and running my fingers through his glorious mop—he probably would’ve loved it.
“There you are,” he said, tossing the magazine on the table. “I was about to send a search party.”
“I must require more maintenance than you do.” I perched on the arm of the chair but kept my hair-messing hands to myself. My role in his bad behavior became evident when his arm curled around my hip and he tried to pull me onto his lap. “You’re not holding up your end of the deal,” I said, grinning.
“I said that I would try. I will sporadical
ly slip up. You can hardly blame me.”
Sam came downstairs, engrossed in a novel, wearing a lavender flea market cardigan with a short black skirt and grungy Converse high tops. She’d done her own thing with clothes as soon as she’d learned to dress herself. I’d encouraged her no matter how loony the outfit, even when it meant sending her to school looking like a box of Froot Loops.
“I’m going to do homework at Leah’s. Then we’re going over to Andrew’s house to watch his band practice.”
“Ah, Andrew is in a band,” Chris interjected.
“It’s part of his appeal,” I said.
“Mom. Please.” She wedged the book into her backpack and the zipper strained when she closed it. “I’ll be home by four. Okay?”
A car horn made a muffled honk and Sam was gone like a lavender streak. I locked the door after her, out of habit, and my stomach lurched when I realized we were alone, nothing but privacy and a colossal lack of willpower between us.
I strayed to the kitchen for water, hoping that would calm everything brewing inside me, but Chris followed and his physical presence, the way he took up space, made me woozy.
“Now what?” He placed a hand on my hip, hooking his thumb into one of the belt loops on my jeans.
“This would be a good time to listen to your CD.”
“I’m not ashamed to admit I’m afraid of your opinion.” He playfully tugged at my waist.
“I thought you were happy with the way the record turned out.”
“I’m still gun-shy.” His face was so distracting. A girl could spend days going from one captivating feature to the next—the green, the impossibly square jaw, those perfect pinkish brown lips. “Once you hear it, you and I will be the only people on the planet who know both the music and the story behind the songs. It’s like I’m baring my soul to you. Again.”
For the first time since the interview, I saw the vulnerability he hid so well. He’d clearly learned to use his many assets—good looks, fame, sense of humor, to deflect the bad things. I knew then that there were parts of him that were fragile, broken even, despite the capable and commanding persona he showed the rest of the world.
“I promise to be fair.”
“What if you don’t like it? That will certainly kill the mood.” He pulled me closer, searing me with a dreamy gaze.
“Please, Chris. You’re killing me.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He kissed me on the forehead and raised his hands in surrender. It was meant to look as if he was relenting when I suspected he was building things he could set aside for later.
I shook my head to erase the fuzziness. “Let’s do this. You’ll feel much better when it’s over.”
“Hey, that’s my line.” He walked away and swiped the CD from my desk. “Remember, only half of these songs are the final mixes and nothing has been mastered yet.” He was locked and loaded with qualifiers, reasons why it might not be perfect.
“Got it. Now play it. Enough build-up.”
Chris put in the CD, pushed play and quickly traveled to the other side of the room, distracting himself with book spines.
“Don’t you want to sit?” I asked, finding my spot on the living room couch and tucking my legs under my butt.
“I would love to sit with you, but I can’t bear to watch your reaction.”
I couldn’t blame him. It was never easy to listen to music with the musician or band in the room and it had to be much more difficult the other way around. Still, I felt as if I owed him my honest assessment in person, even if he thought he didn’t want it.
He seemed to relax after the first two songs, but could never bring himself to look at me. The record was surprising—soulful, genuine—the opposite of his last attempt. Many of the songs were nothing more than his voice and guitar and sometimes drums or piano, but that let the lyrics, everything he needed to express, float to the surface.
I was relieved and truly happy for him when we finished listening. I didn’t love all of it, but he had every reason to be proud. The look on his face was awful when I approached him. He preemptively recoiled as if I was about to throw a punch.
“It’s amazing. Your voice sounds incredible and the lyrics are so poetic, they’re heartbreaking.”
He stared at me for a moment, holding my arms at my side. I had no idea what he was searching for—a fissure that would give away what he feared was my true opinion.
“How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“I didn’t like two of the songs.”
“Okay…” He nodded, but his eyes narrowed as if unconvinced.
“And I hated your first solo record. I thought it was one of the worst things I’d ever heard.”
He blinked. “Uh, thank you, I guess. I mean, you’re right. The first one was awful. It’s good to know you’d tell me if it was bollocks. Which ones didn’t you like on the new one?”
“The third one and the second-to-last one,” I replied, hoping I wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “They aren’t bad, I just didn’t like them that much.”
“Was it my singing?”
I tilted my head to the side. “Don’t torture yourself. You did a great job. I probably just need to listen to it again.” I snapped up my keys from the coffee table and looped a fluffy gray scarf around my neck. “Let’s get out of here and find some lunch.”
Chris studied me with a peculiar look. “I have to stop you from doing this.”
“What?”
“You know what. Give me the keys.” He snatched them from my hand. “There’s no way I’m letting you drive. You are the bloody worst driver I’ve ever seen.” He’d crushed me with the insult but then he had the nerve to continue, “Including my mum, who has very poor vision and babbles to herself constantly.”
“I’m not a bad driver. This town is full of bad drivers. I drive defensively.”
He held open the kitchen door, making a point of keeping the keys out of my reach. “Listen to yourself. Does it make sense that you’d be the one good driver and everyone else is barmy?”
With any other man, this would have prompted true indignation from me. “You know, you’re the first person who has ever criticized my driving.”
“I’m not surprised. Everyone has been living in fear. The intervention is long overdue.”
Chris stepped ahead of me and opened my car door. I couldn’t recall any man opening a car door for me, other than one who’d been paid to perform the task. It made me feel overly lucky as he rounded the front of the car. He drew me in so easily when it was just the two of us, when my worries about what I was doing were frolicking in the outer reaches of my mind, near the spot where my mom hangs out until I need her.
“Where to?” he asked.
I didn’t want to go anywhere. What I really wanted was to take him back inside and get past the build-up, but I held fast and directed him to a pizza place uptown. Afterward, we walked among small packs of students, out for a Saturday study group or ice cream. I wrestled with my paranoia about anyone seeing us together, but decided to set that aside for the day. I even let him take my hand.
We returned to the house before Sam was expected and I put on some Coltrane and a pot of coffee. The caffeine was supposed to get us through the rest of the day, but Chris sprawled out and fell asleep on the couch. He was bewitching, his chest rising and falling with every breath, an arm tucked under his head, and his mouth agape in complete relaxation.
I folded myself into the chair across from the couch with a magazine and my second cup of coffee. The idea of reading anything was a ruse, I could only sit and pore over him. While he was asleep, I could look at him without my pulse racing.
Hours later, there were signs of life. “Hey, sleepyhead,” I said.
He smiled and stretched. “That felt great. Couldn’t tell you the last time I had a kip.”
“You must’ve needed it.” It was dorky, but I felt a pride at the fact that he’d taken a nap at my house. Drawn to him, I slinked to the end of the couch, at his fee
t.
“What time is it?”
“Around five.” Without thinking, I placed my hand his leg. I had to touch him.
“I slept for a long time. What’ve you been doing?”
“I read a magazine. Sam came home and packed up for a sleepover.”
He propped himself up on his elbow and ran his hand through his unbelievable, sleepy hair, turning to give me one of his looks. I didn’t have a name for it or know exactly what it meant, but I had an idea.
“A sleepover,” he said. “So, it’s just us. For the night.”
“Yep.”
“That’s an interesting development.” His matchless eyes flickered. He moved his legs and sat up next to me.
Had it occurred to Chris that I’d dreamt of a moment like this off and on since I was seventeen years old? Because I had. My hand impulsively moved to his thigh, but then I froze. I couldn’t even look at him.
He graciously put his arm around me and pulled me closer. He did it without any sense of urgency, not the way I would’ve done it at all. My whole body was boiling over with anticipation; I couldn’t see how he could be so nonchalant once we were touching.
He gave me what was best described as a hug, holding the side of my head flat against his chest. His heart beat quickly, but at an even pace, while mine rattled around in my body. He kissed the top of my head. “Your hair is so soft, Claire.”
The instant he said my name I’d had enough. I wrangled my head from his grip and grappled with the resulting look of surprise on his face. “I’m going to explode if you don’t kiss me.” My only thought was that I couldn’t risk falling prey to a rare tropical disease tomorrow or accidentally drinking drain cleaner.
He smiled at my impatience and leaned down to give me a kiss, delicate, but longer than the one in the kitchen. He pursued things slowly, being too gentle—it annoyed me at first, even though we were doing exactly what I wanted to be doing. He soon intensified things, showing more passion, his tongue deftly finding the most sensitive part of my lips.