by Costa, Bella
They obviously care a lot about each other but she also knows we have been up to no good - although I have not admitted it - and she seems fine with it.
~.~
I am running late and frankly, I am nervous which isn't helping. I take a moment to check my appearance in the mirror. Savannah insisted on doing my makeup earlier. I have never worn this much before but I like it. I look – well – a little wild and younger. I quickly touch up my lipstick and hear a knock at the door. I smooth my hands over my very tight jeans and straighten the tailored, halter neck blouse Savannah has lent me. Red suits me. I should wear it more often, I think to myself wistfully.
"Acacia?" Savannah calls.
"Coming!" I grab my purse.
"Wow, you do grunge down nicely." Savannah takes in my overall rock-chick appearance appreciatively and I twirl dramatically. We both giggle and my nerves dissolve.
"Actually I am a closet rocker but please don't tell!” I plead with mock sincerity.
"Your secret is safe with me," She whispers glancing around frantically as though spies are everywhere. We both burst into fits of giggles again. Savannah has opted for the more metal look in torn jeans and a baggy AC/DC t-shirt and loads of thick black eyeliner. It suits her and makes her look years younger. Sadly, I suspect her choice is more about what will hide her brace. We are both wearing Dr. Martins, and I am relieved at the support the tight boot is giving my ankle. It only feels a little bruised if I lean too heavily on it.
Savannah pulls me into the yard, anxious to get going and I am surprised to see Morgan waiting next to a black SUV, then I realise Savannah, probably can't drive properly with her back brace.
I wait while Morgan helps Savannah into her seat, noting how careful and attentive he is with her. I think he likes her and wonder if she has noticed. When she is safely strapped in, next to the cake, which she has insisted on babysitting personally, Morgan opens the front passenger door for me and waits for me to climb in and settle. He closes the door gently and while he is out of earshot, I turn and whisper back to Savannah.
"He is definitely hot for you!" Before she can reply, Morgan is climbing into the driver seat. I note, with amusement, Savannah's flushed expression and know at that the feeling is probably mutual. I wonder if they have actually expressed their feelings to each other, or maybe they are already together. As we wind our way through the thickly forested mountains my mind drifts back to my frantic phone call to Victoria a few hours ago.
The cake is cooling, waiting to be iced and Savannah has disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As if the last week had not been bad enough, the last twenty-four hours have me completely frazzled. I have squirreled myself away in my room and dialled Victoria from my BlackBerry.
"Victoria, hi."
"Acacia? Hey, how are you?"
"Terrified," I whisper.
"Acacia, what's wrong? Where are you?" she asks quickly, her concern obvious.
"I'm not in any immediate danger," I counter quickly, reading her assumption. "I am just confused and ...” This is so much harder than I thought it would be.
"Okay. Where are you?"
"Donavan's Pass."
"Still?"
"The road was closed for a while."
"Okay. What's bothering you Acacia?"
"I'm not sure; everything," I sob.
"I take it being trapped on the mountain, is stretching your reserves a little?"
"And then some. Victoria, I haven't been near my office for a week and..."
"Shhh. Acacia, listen to me! You are a bright and resourceful person. You have surrounded yourself with a team of capable and reliable people. You chose them for that reason. It's not the end of the world to let them get on with being capable and reliable."
"Yes but..."
"But nothing. The road may have been closed but the miracle of modern technology has not isolated you, Acacia. So tell me; what's it like up there?"
"Beautiful," I admit. "Like having a five star hotel to myself."
"Good! Then think of it as a weeklong holiday. Now why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"
"Well, there's this man here."
"Ooo, go on!" she cackles.
I sigh. She is not making this easy. "Well, he is hot and I kind of slept with him," I whisper.
"And? Come on Acacia, don't leave me hanging here!" A sob escapes and I sniff loudly, unable to formulate my words. When Victoria speaks again, her tone is kinder.
"Alright Acacia, let's look at this problem of yours. He is hot! What do you mean exactly? Hot as in gorgeous or hot as in feverish?"
Well, both actually. "He is straight-out-of-Hollywood-fuckable."
"That's usually a good start. So does he pick his nose? Does he belch the alphabet perpetually? Does he smell bad?"
"No, nothing like that."
"Okay, does he have a medieval torture chamber?"
"I er, don't think so..."
"A harem?"
"Not that I'm aware of." My thoughts cross to his love shack, and wonder.
"Acacia, does he grow fur at night and lick his butt?"
"No!” I sniff and giggle at the same time. "Don't tease, it's not professional."
"I'm not on the clock so I don't have to be."
"Still – it's not fair," I grumble.
"So, let me understand this. There is this hot, single, fuckable – as you put it – house trained man," she pauses for effect. "And you, an intelligent, beautiful, single, consenting, adult female; have exercised your right as such, and slept with him."
"That's a fair summery."
"Acacia what is the problem? Are you looking for my approval?" she groans exasperated.
"He is confusing. Sometimes he is kind and thoughtful and makes me feel cherished and other times he is cold and distant."
"Are you giving him mixed signals?"
"I...I don't know. Maybe. Probably.” I admit. I had not thought about it. Is he maybe, reacting to my mixed signals? I don't want to think about that. "There is also our agreement..."
"What agreement?"
"Well he came right out and asked me if I would sleep with him 'no strings attached'."
"He did, huh? So a man who knows what he wants. And you agreed?"
"My body did!"
"I see." There is a long pause. "Acacia, are you falling for him?"
"Impossible!” I gasp. "Victoria, I've only known the man six days!"
"Is it impossible? Acacia, I think you are falling for him and you're worried that he isn't sharing the experience. You don't want to get hurt. Take the risk," she urges.
"Victoria, you are no help at all."
"Acacia, my job is to tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear. Are you coming back today?"
"No, tomorrow. I've promised to go to a hen party."
"That's great! I like Donavan's Pass more and more. You should have gone there years ago. You go and let your hair down and stop over analysing stuff. Men are delicate beasts. They have as much right to be complicated as we do."
"Okay!” I sigh, knowing I am being dismissed.
~.~
I stare out the window at the landscape. We have left the mountains now and farm after farm are whizzing by. It takes a little under an hour to reach the roadhouse. The roadside bar is larger than I expected and the large yard is full to capacity with cars and bikes. Mostly bikes. Morgan opens my door, helping me down. While he helps Savannah, I look appreciatively at all the bikes parked up.
The heavy base of a rock song is spilling out of the bar into the yard and suddenly I am dying to get inside. I haven't, had a night out like this in years, not since college. I realise how much I've missed it.
With Morgan carrying the cake and following behind us, we make our way through the forest of chrome and lacquered paint on wheels to the bar. As we get closer I recognise 'How you remind me' by Nickelback, blasting from the speakers and I sing along. Oh, yes! Bring it on!
We make our party
at table near the window, especially reserved. Several girls are already there and Savannah introduces me to them. The bride to be is a striking redhead who can't seem to stop blushing. The blushing woman and two sweet looking blondes on either side of her are under-dressed in biker's leathers, ripped t-shirts and few fake tattoos. I quickly make room on the middle of the table and Morgan carefully places the elaborate cake down. I bask in the appreciative gasps, 'Oohs' and 'Aaahs' as he removes the cover. I am so pleased they like it and Savannah hugs me warmly.
"Thank you." She shouts at my shoulder over the loud music. "They love it."
I hug her back and we all take a seat while Morgan takes our drinks orders and heads to the bar. Papa Roach is groaning hoarsely through the words of 'Last Resort' as our drinks arrive and Morgan leans down between Savannah and myself.
"I'll pick you ladies up at one Am, unless you call me earlier."
We both nod, smiling, and he leaves us to party. I take a long swig of my beer. It's cold and welcome. I settle in and try to relax as everyone starts talking animatedly around the table.
Four beers later, I spy a long line for the bathroom. I will need the bathroom soon and decide it probably isn't a good idea to wait until I need it urgently. I excuse myself and wind my way, beer in hand, through the crowd to join the back of the line.
As it slowly shuffles forward, I ponder how much of my life I have wasted living someone else's life. Iggy Pop is now singing my college group's anthem, 'Real Wild Child'. Finally, I reach the front of the line and rush through the motions as 'Sweet Home Alabama' starts to play. The beat reverberates through the floor into my feet and I long to dance. I leave my empty beer bottle on a table and I make it to the dance floor just in time for the second verse. I am probably throwing myself around just a little too wildly, but I don't care. I have a lot of catching up to do.
All too soon, the song ends and Boston starts singing about more than a feeling so I stay on the dance floor moving a fraction more sedately with my eyes closed allowing the music to envelope me. Occasionally I feel another dancer brush by close to me as my body moves to its own will. Then who can resist 'Space Lord?' With my wrists crossed above my head, I sway my hips seductively in time with the music, smiling as I listen to the words filled with very naughty sexual innuendo.
Tired and in need of a drink, I decide to take a break. I take a step toward the bar and my breath catches in my throat. Chayton is standing less than two meters away from me leaning casually against the bar with a beer dangling from one hand. Oh my!
His eyes are dark and hooded as he gazes at me. The intensity of his gaze is at complete odds with his relaxed posture. I am frozen, uncertain, on the dance floor. I wrestle my eyes from his and run them down his body. His broad shoulders fill a worn black leather jacket, open at the front. I spy a plain black t-shirt tightly stretched across his chest. Further down, low on his hips, hangs a pair of snug black jeans, slightly torn at one knee. I allow my eyes to roam back to his lightly stubbled face.
Aside from the intensity in his gaze, his expression is unreadable. His hair is tousled and thick and suddenly I want to run my fingers through it. He blinks and the room is sways. I have forgotten to breath.
My chest heaves as my body plays catch up, dragging much needed oxygen into my lungs. My mouth has gone as arid as the Sahara. We stand gazing at each other for another long moment. He is hot! The ultimate bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks and he is looking only at me. Liquid gold is pooling at the base of my belly, swirling languidly.
He blinks again and slowly moves away from the bar. One - very slow, sexy - step at a time. He stalks toward me and the world shrinks. Only the shrinking, electric, airless space between us exists. Finally he comes to a halt in front of me, close enough for me to smell his delicious scent, to feel his body heat, to see the emeralds glowing in his eyes - but he doesn't touch me.
"Hi." His lips mouth the word.
"Hi." I mouth back.
He brings one hand up to my face and brushes the back of a knuckle across my cheek slowly.
Santana's guitar oozes the slow, soulful opening strains of 'Black Magic Woman' against the backing of a fast Latin percussion. Chayton spreads his fingers through my hair and holding the back of my head with one hand starts to move. A strong thigh eases its way between mine bringing our hips closer. His other arm hangs loosely by his side. I lift my arms to hold him but he shakes his head slightly and I drop them to my side. Trapped between his thighs and held fast by his one hand I have no choice but to move with him as his hips grind sensually. It is a weird type of Salsa, Rock move that is so intimate, so hot; I am lost. His blazing eyes still haven't left mine.
As Santana starts to croon, Chayton mouths the words to me.
“I got a Black Magic Woman
Got me so blind I can't see
But she's a Black Magic Woman and
She's trying to make a devil out of me.”
I watch his mouth, mesmerised. He must have a direct line to my groin because desire is unfurling in lazy, swirling, liquid whirlpools, almost to the point of pain.
“Don't turn your back on me, baby
'cause you might just wake up my magic sticks.”
As the guitar cocoons us, again, he presses his forehead against mine, we keep moving in that sexy way, and he mouths the rest of the song along with Santana.
“You got your spell on me, baby
You got your spell on me, baby
Yes, you got your spell on me, baby.”
The music morphs into a heaving AC/DC number and we stop moving. His forehead is still pressed to mine and I sense him take a deep ragged breath before releasing me. He grasps my hand and leads me back to the bar.
"What are you drinking?" he says close to my ear.
"Vodka and Coke please." I need something to sooth my wits.
"Diet or plain?"
A choice? "Um, plain please." I stand at the bar my ankles crossed and press my legs tightly together to ease the dark ache, screaming for attention.
He gestures to the barman who serves him, immediately. Paying for the round, he turns and hands me my glass. He leans against the bar like this was home, where he belongs and it does curious things to my breathing. I take a few grateful sips of the cold, sweet liquid. Better I think.
"Savannah said you were staying another night. I didn't expect to see you here," he says, only just loud enough for me to hear him over the pounding music.
"I um,” The words are lost and I end up gesturing to the table where the hen party is in full swing.
"I see." His lips curl slightly at the end. I really do not understand what is so amusing. "Shouldn't you be with the party instead of putting on a show?"
I stare at him. "I liked those songs and there is nothing wrong with dancing alone!” I snap. Yes, I am an individual who is capable of deciding when, where and how I will enjoy myself. See I can do this. Robert has not totally destroyed my self-will!
Ironically, Bon Jovi starts singing 'It's my life' and I shove my drink in his hand and race to the dance floor. I raise my hands in the air, bouncing up and down in time to the music, my hair swaying in a cloud around me as I shake my head and hips in time to the beat. As the chorus starts, I sing along, safe in the knowledge that no one will hear me over the loud music.
“It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive.”
Every so often, I catch a glimpse of him glowering darkly at me from the bar. My attempts at trying to communicate my annoyance, is slowly becoming a game of seduction. I notice him talking to the barman and I am a little disappointed that I don't have his attention anymore, but I am enjoying the music; so damn him!
Another Bon Jovi song starts and I glance at the bar. Chayton has gone. Jon starts singing 'Lay your hands on me' and I feel a pair of leather clad arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me close. I can smell that familiar warm-summer-
sun smell and my heart sings. He takes my hands and holds them flat against his thighs behind me, encouraging me to move with him. Who is seducing whom, now?
His hands stroke up my arms and I start to lift mine off his thighs.
"Uh uh!" he murmurs. He voice is so close to my ear that he doesn't need to raise his voice above the loud music. He places my hands firmly back in place to reinforce his order, before trailing up my arms again, allowing them to rest on my shoulders.
My hormones have started a riot, surging through my blood, leaving me breathless. He nuzzles my neck and I feel the dampness between my legs. As the song finishes he skims his hands down to my hips and pulls me back against him and I feel his arousal against my backside.
"Let's get some air," he murmurs against my neck, "we need to talk."
"I thought we were talking." I murmur sweetly, in the brief pause between songs.
"As much as I am enjoying this conversation," his arms tighten around my belly, "some things need to be said in private." The words hang heavy with promise and I start to feel feverish.
I am suddenly aware that the whole table of hen night revellers are staring at us and Savannah is quietly clapping her hands at us in glee. I can feel the heat flooding my face and ears.
We wind our way through the crowd, into the cool spring evening. Chayton looks at home weaving between the sea of bikes and I watch his swagger appreciatively before quickly catching up with him. He finally comes to stop alongside a black and chrome Triumph Rocket III and leans side-saddle on the enormous bike.
I take in the beautiful classic lines of the heavy road bike.
"She is beautiful!” I exclaim appreciatively. "Yours?"
"Yup. You like?" He raises an eyebrow in surprise.
"Hell yes!" And I'm not sure now if we're talking about him or the bike but as the answer is the same, the question is not important. He leans forward and grabs my hips pulling me between his knees.
"You're a good dancer," he says softly. I search his face, trying to read his thoughts. "You constantly surprise me."
"These days I'm constantly surprising myself." I cock my head at him. "You don't think much of me, do you?"