Available to Chat

by Sutton, Jacy

  “I know. Yesterday got away from me.”

  “I’m not blaming you. Daniel could pick up a bit.”

  “He’s on crutches.”

  “Stupid accident,” Mike said, rubbing ineffectually at his temple. “Insurance doesn’t cover a cent of that ambulance.”

  “I suppose Brad should have given Daniel a ride over on the motorcycle. Once he pulled it off him,” Olivia said, as dully as a dime-store knife.

  Mike looked at her and began rubbing the other temple. “Have you seen my phone?”

  She glanced around the kitchen, which vied for the gold with the living room in the unkempt-home Olympics. “I have. Somewhere.” She turned toward the center island. It held a mix of mail, cereal boxes, and more of Daniel’s school supplies.

  “Did you try calling it?” Olivia asked.

  “I turned the ringer off.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice sounded weary.

  “You don’t know why you turned your ringer off?”

  “I didn’t want it to disturb you if someone called late.”

  “Who would call late?”

  He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled slowly. “I just want to find my phone so I can get to work on time.”

  “Why don’t you shower and I’ll pick up the kitchen. I’m sure it’s buried under something.”

  “Then you’ll be late.”

  “I took the day off. Daniel has a check-up, remember?”

  “No,” he said simply, and he turned back toward their bedroom.

  By the time Mike showered and dressed, the kitchen looked respectable, and Olivia had laid his phone blatantly on the countertop next to the refrigerator.

  “Better, eh?” She gave Mike a pleasant smile as he walked in.

  “Yes. Thank you.” He brushed his lips on her cheekbone and pocketed his phone.

  Daniel had come downstairs and sat at the kitchen table, toast and oatmeal on his right, a notebook to his left, his casted leg propped on a side chair. After Mike gathered up his breakfast things, he joined Daniel.

  “I finished the book last night,” Daniel announced.

  Mike had suggested Daniel read A River Runs Through It for his English novella project. To convince Daniel, they’d watched the movie two nights ago.

  “I liked the book better,” Daniel said. “There are great parts in the book the movie just brushes past.”

  “Agreed,” Mike said.

  “We should go fly-fishing sometime.”

  Olivia had been cleaning inconspicuously. She looked up now from collecting the four odd remotes strewn about the family room and saw Mike set his hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

  “July,” Mike said. “We could go over the Fourth.”

  Daniel looked delighted, evidently not expecting such an immediate result to his query. “That’d be great, Dad.”

  “I remember my dad giving me Norman MacLean’s book for Christmas one year. I was a sophomore in college,” Mike said. “I must have given him a look when I opened it. Something to imply it wasn’t much of a Christmas gift. But he said the second part was taking me fly-fishing. He wanted to plan a big trip for my college graduation.”

  “Was it the next year he died?” Daniel asked.

  “Yep,” Mike said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. “That’s why we won’t put these trips off.”

  Olivia tried to catch Mike’s eye to show him she approved of his plan. But Mike was looking at Daniel, and then he stood, having quickly finished the bowl of cereal. Walking to the sink, he added, “We won’t even let your broken leg keep us from fishing this weekend.”

  “Wait.” Olivia pushed into the conversation. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  Mike grimaced. “He can sit in the boat with his foot propped up and look at the lake, or he can sit here and look at a TV.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

  Olivia started to protest, but Mike asked quickly, “What time is the appointment, Olivia? You two don’t want to miss it, right?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  OLIVIA HAD SPENT the better part of an hour deciding between heating up a cup of soup for dinner or driving to the local Chinese takeout. She’d gone so far as to put on makeup and jeans, and then opted for Campbell’s instead. Typically, when Mike and Daniel left for the weekend, she tried to make plans. But Nancy was going on an overnight trip with Brad, and the stress at work and a general feeling of malaise had kept Olivia too preoccupied to call Marti or Beth. And so she sat alone on a Friday night, consuming large gulps of rubbery chicken noodle soup.

  She had a pretty clear idea of what the evening ahead would hold. She’d read her novel in two to three paragraph bites, and then her thoughts would turn to Jake. She’d check Facebook, look for his familiar icon, and hope to see the green chat light beside it.

  She got out the laptop, pulled up Words With Friends and was surprised Jake had played just a moment ago. She looked at the board quickly to take her turn. Sometimes if he saw she had played, he came online to say hello. She scored forty-seven points on virile and was rewarded a moment later with a “What’s new?” chat message.

  “Hey. You’re on at an unusual time. Who’s making dinner?”

  “Not me,” he wrote. “I’m not at home.”

  “Where are you?”

  “American Inn Hotel on Highway 13.”

  “Romantic getaway?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Writing a review for Trip Advisor?”

  “Nope.”

  “Staycation?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then?”

  “Dana suggested we need a break. And by break she meant I leave the house.”

  “She kicked you out?”

  “In so many words. Yes.”

  “Oh, Jake. What happened?”

  “That’s private.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No. It was a fair question.” He didn’t respond at first, then he wrote, “But I do want company tonight. Talk to me, okay, Liv?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. They went up north for a couple nights.”

  “Uh-huh.” He paused, then wrote, “This room is depressing as hell.”

  “Oh,” she typed uselessly.

  “I wish I would have grabbed a book.”

  “There’s a new one out that everyone’s talking about,” she began.

  Before she could tell him more, the next message came up. “I want to hear a voice. Can I call?”

  “Yes,” she typed. “Call.”

  She looked for her phone, which was always someplace unexpected. She checked in her purse below the kitchen table and the coat closet, but didn’t find it until she heard it ringing in the laundry room, even though she didn’t remember going in there today.

  Although they didn’t talk often, Jake’s voice was familiar now, rich and deep, like a steaming warm cup of cappuccino. He sounded strong. He asked her about work and told her about his son’s upcoming lacrosse game. He didn’t broach the topic of Dana and neither did she.

  As they spoke, she heard her phone’s low battery beep, and she rummaged in the cord drawer for the charger. She poked around for a few minutes as she listened to him talk about a goalie clinic his son wanted to attend.

  Mike must have taken the only phone charger they’d been able to find for months. Still listening, she grabbed her car keys and went outside. Mike had left her car parked in the turnaround at the top of the driveway. She hopped in and plugged her phone into the charger as Jake’s voice came over the speaker. Olivia melted into the seat, letting him surround her. He talked about his daughter and her book report due on Monday. Olivia listened for a few moments with the car turned on, and then without consciously making a decision, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. His daughter had yet to pick a book, so they discussed the merits of Anne of Green Gables versus the popularity of Harry Potter, as Olivia drove pas
t the gas station and took a right onto the highway with no particular destination in mind.

  Olivia and Jake’s conversation took on the smooth pattern of the freeway, whizzing along steadily from subject to subject. She listened to him as she drove, watching the mile markers decrease as she headed south. Sometimes he’d pause a moment too long between sentences, and sometimes there was a pronounced heaviness in the timbre of his voice. But mostly, he simply sounded like Jake.

  Over an hour had gone by, and Olivia hadn’t changed course. She had to pretend she was startled to discover herself just eighteen miles north of Mankato.

  Right before the town, she saw a sign with lodging options. There were icons for Super 8, Econo Lodge, and the American Inn. She took a deep breath and the exit.

  He must have heard her sigh and he asked if she was okay. Did she need a break from talking? She told him she was fine and they continued on. She could hear how hungry he was for company.

  The American Inn was easy to find, two miles down the road on the west side. It was a sad, cement-block affair with rooms that opened right out to the parking lot and 1970s era wrought-iron handrails. She pulled in near the front office and stared at the building for several minutes as the conversation continued.

  “Jake,” she said. “I want to look at the moon with you.”

  “That sounds nice,” he answered. “I can see it out my window.” She watched futilely for some movement of curtains.

  “No,” she said. “You have to step outside.”

  “Right now? It’s twenty degrees.”

  “Please. Just for a second. I’ll step outside, too.”

  She got out of the car, still clutching her phone, and walked toward the motel. Nothing happened for a long moment, but then one of the doors opened and out walked Jake. And it struck her how crazy driving here was, how audacious to show up uninvited at his hotel, and how handsome he looked against the backdrop of the starry evening. Mostly, she thought of how desperately she longed to feel his arms around her.

  His shoulders hunched against the cold. He wore a plaid cotton button-down shirt and blue jeans. And just as she’d asked of him, he stared at the moon, still holding his cell phone. “I see it,” he said. “It’s beautiful. Are you looking now, too?”

  “I am. Just beautiful,” she said, staring at him. She spoke into the phone, but she’d walked so close now, her voice carried and he turned. In that instant, she prayed silently he wouldn’t be angry at her presumption or at the recklessness of being at the American Inn on a cold March night.

  His expression was blank for an instant before her face registered. Then he looked shocked, followed almost instantly by acceptance. He started to say something, shook his head slightly, took a step toward her, and gathered Olivia tightly in his arms. Her face was buried in his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shirt. She was intoxicated.

  “Olivia,” he whispered into her hair, and it sounded like amen.

  After a long moment, he stepped back so he could look into her eyes, but he didn’t let her go. Impulsivity had brought her to within a breath of him, and she rose up on her toes and kissed him tenderly. His arms stayed tight around her small frame, and while not kissing her back, he didn’t stop her either. His lips were warm and he tasted malty, like beer.

  Finally, he whispered, “It’s cold out here. You’re shivering.” He took her hand and led her into the room.

  In the hours Jake had been there, he’d left almost no imprint. There were only the remains of his dinner, a half-eaten Big Mac, a couple cold, limp french fries and two empty Budweiser cans. He hadn’t even pulled back the lackluster-gold and cheerless-brown bedspread.

  After quickly appraising the room, Olivia turned to him and saw him gazing at her as though drinking her in. She touched her temple self-consciously, trying to remember the last time she’d colored her hair. “I’m not the eighteen-year-old you met all those years ago.”

  “I’m not interested in that girl,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, indulgently, lingering on her lips, but pausing to whisper, “Liv, you’re beautiful.”

  “I have a wrinkle here,” she said, touching the corner of her eye.

  He kissed just there and said, “Laugh lines from your magnificent smile.”

  “My hair’s not as thick as it once was.”

  He ran his hands through it and leaned in close. “It’s soft. Smells like lavender.”

  Jake took her hands in his, kissed her palms and touched them to his stomach. “I’m not eighteen either,” he said. “No longer chiseled. Not rippling. Not.…”

  Olivia shushed him, gently holding one finger to his lips and cupping his cheek in her other hand. Her breath caught, standing so close to him. She studied him. His brown eyes, like witch hazel bark, crinkled as he gazed down at her. She rubbed her thumb along his russety beard. Standing so close, she could not keep herself from taking what she desired most. She raised up on her tiptoes and leaned into him, kissing his sweet, desired lips.

  He responded. He pulled her slender waist into him and pressed his body tightly against hers. For a moment, a heartbeat really, his kiss was soft and gentle, but then he wrapped his arms around her more tightly, demanding her attention, demanding her desire. He captured her mouth with hungry urgency, and the thought formed, I am in Jake’s arms. I am kissing Jake. She would have tried to gain a sense of equilibrium by biting down on her lip, but he already was. Her hand wandered down to his shoulder, then his chest and found its way to the top button of his shirt.

  “So, you’re interested in an old man?” he asked.

  “I’m interested in this man,” she said. She unbuttoned his top button and kissed the skin she’d just exposed. Slowly, deliberately, she unbuttoned each one, biting her lip in anticipation. She worked her way down his chest. Unbutton. Kiss. Unbutton. Kiss. Then she helped him shrug out of his shirt completely. Olivia made an appreciative noise as she touched his warm skin and felt the strong, muscled pecs.

  “Did you just purr?” he asked.

  “I think I did.” She raised her hands above her head, indicating he should pull off her sweater, too.

  He cupped her chin so she would look directly into his eyes, and he said, “I am going to take this very slowly.” He gave her a long kiss to emphasize his point. “We are going to figure out exactly what you need, Liv.”

  Then he lifted her sweater, tugging it over her head to expose her flushed skin. He outlined the swell of her breast above her black lace bra with his finger, and she heard the pull in his breath. “Exquisite,” he murmured. He used his thumb to trace a lazy circle against her hardening nipple, making her clench in anticipation.

  He led her to the bed and slid one strap off her shoulder, kissing the bare skin. Then his lips moved to the curve of her breast. “I need you naked.” He undid the clasp of her bra, taking her breasts in his hands. Then he sensuously kissed each one, running his tongue along the taut rose-tipped center. His beard pricked at her sensitive skin, and the variety of sensations left her reeling.

  “Is this good?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, arching her chest toward his gifted lips. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He moved one hand down to her waist and let it loiter there.

  Olivia wrapped him tightly in her arms, trying to pull him even closer. Then, almost without realizing, she took his hand and placed it between her legs.

  “Mmmmmm,” he murmured. He continued making love to her breasts as he unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. His fingers brushed her silky panties before they slipped inside. Jake stroked her and she kissed his chest. Gentle kisses for his soft strokes and small bites as he moved deep inside her.

  “Tell me what’s good,” he said, his voice low.

  Olivia could only murmur.

  His lips moved from the soft spot between her breasts, to her stomach, to her hip. With each kiss, each movement, Olivia’s hunger grew. Desire threatened to overtake her. And then, so softly, he kissed inside her thi
ghs.

  “Please, please,” she begged, not knowing specifically what she was asking for.

  But the moment his tongue lapped at her sweet, wet softness she knew that was it. The rush nearly overtook her. With Jake, there were no inhibitions. She opened herself to him fully. Each kiss he gave her, each taste he took, brought her nearer to the edge.

  He pulled back to appraise her naked form. “You’re so fit. So ready.” She heard his voice catch.

  Olivia could only offer herself to him more fully in response. He kissed the satiny skin of her inner leg again before moving to her erotic core. His tongue parted her and he lingered with long, ardent kisses.

  She strummed through his hair, her fingers twining around the thick locks. And as though she were not in her own body, she heard herself utter his name over and over again, like a mantra.

  In a low, deep voice he asked, “You’re so close, aren’t you? So fast?”

  She could hear the wonder, but she was teetering on the brink of the abyss. He reached up and caressed her breast, the pad of his thumb making sensual circles around her nipple, and with his other hand he rubbed her sweet cloistered softness, his finger melding with his tongue, prodding her, pushing her deeper into pure feeling. He brushed his thumb against the petal-soft gateway to her essence. And that was the moment she exploded.

  “Oh, Jake,” she cried. “Oh. Yes.” She arched her hips up, pressing against him as he continued to kiss her, lap at her. She tightened every muscle, letting the flood of sensations fill her. She pushed her hips against him and felt his power as he continued his erotic feast.

  The tide was glorious, waves of intensity, then the frenzied explosion of exquisite sensation. She lay exposed, every part of her open to him: his touch, his mastery, his desire. As the fury began to ebb, she heard him say, “Well that wasn’t so tough,” his voice buoyant with success.

  “Kiss me, please,” she begged.

  He came to lie next to her on the bed and her lips wandered over him madly—his chest, his lips—everywhere she could find.

  She pulled his body into her own. The cold button on his jeans pressed against her hot skin and reminded her he remained half dressed. She ran her fingers to his waist, and then cupped his hardness, needing to liberate him. They worked together to relieve him of his pants. Once fully unencumbered of clothes, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Olivia onto him, straddling him. She approached him as if she were a scientist. Studying his face close up. Using her fingertips to explore, she traced his cheekbones, brushed the hair from his forehead, drew her finger along his upper lip and followed it as it curved in that cocky, crooked grin. He bit at her finger. And she laughed.