Rock'n Tapestries

by Shari Copell

  I swear I didn’t intend for it to happen. I was just trying to get the tape. I leaned across and got a whiff of him—not Paco Rabanne this time, but something equally as heady. I turned my head just a little and caught his gaze. His lips were a scant millimeter from mine. We both blew out a frustrated breath at the same time and then...

  In one smooth Asher-movement—I still don’t know how he did it—he swept across my waist with one arm and before I knew it, I was lying flat on my back beneath him, the full length of that long body pressing me into the carpet.

  I stared up at him for a nanosecond, not breathing, and then he dropped his mouth over mine with a patently sexual groan. He slanted those full lips across my own as though he were starving, grinding hard, pushing me to answer him. And to my horror, I did. Big time.

  It was the freaking Fourth of July under my skin. Every nerve ending I possessed was singing the Hallelujah Chorus. He expertly plundered my mouth with his tongue, and all I could think was that he still tasted the same. Warm hands slipped under my shirt, pushing my bra up and over my breasts. Somewhere I heard a warning that I should stop him, but I went limp instead. His hands completed a primal electric circuit within me as they brushed over nipples so eager to be touched they practically leapt into his palms.

  Godgodgod. How often had I thought of this? He still did something to me that I was sure no other man would ever be able to do. My arms went around his back, and I pulled him against me. His cock was cradled in the junction of my thighs, large and hard even through two layers of jean material.

  He pulled his mouth from mine, breaking the kiss with a slight pop. We were both panting. I was soaking wet, ready to let him do whatever he wanted to me. So much for the resolve to be just friends.

  “I want you so bad,” he whispered against my mouth, those caramel eyes begging me for more.

  Reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Jesus Christ, Chelsea, he’s got you pinned down on the floor of your bedroom, and your mother is just downstairs!

  “We can’t. My parents...”

  “Later, when they’re sleeping. Please. I have a condom in my wallet...”

  It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me with a baseball bat. Always ready at the drop of a hat, aren’t you? I glared up at him.

  “Oh, let me put on my surprised face,” I hissed as I bared my teeth at him. “Get off of me! I’m not going to be just a fuck buddy for you!”

  His nostrils flared, making him look like a wild animal. I nearly caved. God, he was so gorgeous.

  That look was quickly replaced by one of regret. He sighed and rolled away, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against my bed. “I’m sorry. I promised myself I would respect the boundaries you gave me. I really don’t want to ruin what we have. I’ve enjoyed being around you, and I appreciate being able to spend the holidays here. Forgive me?”

  I rolled over and scrambled back as if I faced a rattlesnake in my bedroom. Maybe I did.

  I know it doesn’t sound like much, but apologies from Asher Pratt were as rare as diamonds. I, too, enjoyed being around him and didn’t want to lose his friendship simply because we’d slipped. This was my fault too. I hadn’t been in all that big of a rush to stop him. In fact, if my mother hadn’t been downstairs...

  I blew out a breath. “I’m sorry too. We can’t...we shouldn’t....Asher, you can’t touch me anymore. It’s still too raw...too soon...”

  He gulped and nodded. He knew it too. We were like gasoline on an open flame. Maybe we were just fooling ourselves with thinking we could even be friends.

  The silence was awkward. Then he apologized again and made me laugh, and the moment passed.

  I rose and started to clean up the gift-wrapping mess, but he stopped me. “Can you leave me alone with this for about fifteen minutes?” He had mischief all over his face.

  “What are you doing?” I crossed my arms in front of me and gave him a look.

  “You’ll find out later. Please?”

  “Okay. Just come downstairs when you’re done. Dad should be home any time now with the pizza.”

  It was one of the nicest Christmas Eves I’ve ever had. We ate pizza until we nearly burst, opened presents, and then, as predicted, my mother started to read a book and my father fell asleep on the sofa as A Christmas Story blared away on the TV.

  Asher helped me clean up the wrapping paper and ribbon that was strewn all over the family room. He’d been smiling and lively in the presence of my parents. Now he looked thoughtful and…well, sort of bummed out.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  He sighed and gave me a wistful smile before he threw a wad of ribbon at me. “I’m fine. I just didn’t realize how much I missed all this.”

  My heart squeezed a little, but I had few words of comfort for him. He was missing his mother, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to have fun tonight.”

  “Oh, I did,” he assured me as he sat down in front of the tree. “It’s just that my mother always made Christmas so special for us—just the two of us. Food and presents, and we stayed up all night watching those stupid Christmas movies. The same feelings came to me when we were laughing and opening gifts tonight, and it was odd to feel that way again. They were good feelings—God, they were so good—but painful, you know?” He swallowed and intertwined his fingers in his lap. “Thanks for inviting me over, Chels. It means a lot to me.”

  I plopped down in front of him and took his hand—I don’t know why—and he squeezed it gently. He was a lonely human being, and no matter how I felt about him or what he’d done to me, I knew I’d made the right decision to invite him to share in my family’s celebration. What is it the Grinch said? That his heart grew three sizes that day? That was exactly the way I felt, sitting on the floor in front of Asher Pratt that Christmas Eve.

  “Hey, I almost forgot.” He slid his hand under the tree skirt and withdrew a small package that looked as though a Sasquatch had wrapped it. He extended it out to me with a small grin. “I got this for you. Merry Christmas.”

  I smiled as I took it. The box was small, clearly some type of jewelry. “Is this why you needed fifteen minutes alone in my room with the wrapping paper?”

  “Yep. It was too damned small to wrap, so I just crumbled a piece of paper around it and wrapped it with tape. Sorry.”

  I glanced up at him, wanting to keep this memory forever. Asher had actually gone shopping for me. It was a first.

  “Well, open it!”

  I suddenly felt shy and self-conscious, but I did as he asked. Under the crumpled paper was a gray velvet box. I smiled up at him as I prepared to open it. “You shouldn’t have done this.”

  He leaned forward and bit his lip in anticipation.

  My hands shook as I lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful heart-shaped gold locket with the initial C engraved in fancy script of the front. I could tell it had come from a jewelry store.

  “Oh, Asher, it’s beautiful. Thank you!” I ran my fingers over it.

  “Open it. Open the locket.”

  I held the golden heart between my fingers and gently pried it open with my fingernails. Asher had inserted a picture of himself inside.

  The grin was lopsided. His hair had been brushed to the side as he stared straight into the camera. The picture was small, but I could tell it was taken at Tapestries. The white ties of his apron were visible around his neck.

  He spoke as though he could hear my thoughts. “I didn’t have anyone else to do it, so I had Marybeth take my picture in front of the bar at Tapestries. “

  “Why didn’t you take your apron off?”

  “I didn’t want to. I’ve had the best four months of my life working with you at Tapestries. It seemed like a good idea to leave it on.”

  That did it. I was fucked. I dropped my face into one hand, held the locket with the other, and sobbed like a baby. He pulled me into his arms and just held me.

  I started thinking dangerous, rebellio
us things. And what was even more dangerous was that I knew I was going to give voice to at least some of them.

  “God, why can’t we….why can’t we just be? Why can’t you just love me?”

  His voice had a catch in it. “I do love you, Chelsea. So much more than I ever thought possible.”

  I sat up and glared at him, my eyes wet with tears. I’m sure my nose was bright red as well, but I didn’t care. “Then what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  He gulped. “I… I only know when I start to feel like I might have…I dunno…a future or something with you, I panic. It crushes me. I feel like I have to run as far away from everything as I can possibly get. Does that make any sense?”

  “No! Not at all! People look for love, you dumb shit! They do crazy things to get it, and when they find it, they do their best to hold on to it! We have it…God, you make me want to hit something! We have it. And you don’t want it! Does that make any sense to you?”

  “No. Not when you put it that way.”

  So there we sat—Asher and Chelsea— on Christmas Eve, on the floor in front of a beautiful Christmas tree with candles burning all over the place, making the air smell of cedar and pine. Two people so close to having it all and yet so far away. In love but separated by something that had no name, could not be touched, but could certainly be felt.

  Still, he’d said he loved me. It was more than I’d ever gotten out of him. I sniffed and gave it some thought.

  “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.” He pulled me tighter against him. I felt as though I were going to throw up.

  “You women want honesty? This is me being honest. I don’t want to hurt you. Do you think you could at least take a stab at understanding?”

  Hell no. I didn’t want to understand. I wanted him to change, to get a clue. But I knew whatever was wrong with him went deep. Nothing I said was going to make any difference.

  What was this thing, this pseudo love affair we had? Could I exist in limbo feeling the way I did about him? If I couldn’t, the alternative was shit-canning our friendship altogether, and I didn’t want to do that.

  Decision made, I sniffled and nodded. “You drive me crazy. I don’t know why I allow you to do this to me.”

  “Just don’t abandon me, baby girl.” He kissed me on top of the head. “Please don’t give up on me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Dirty Turtles played a Saturday night gig at Tapestries three weeks after Christmas. I felt a sort of dull excitement, a tickle in the pit of my stomach. Now that Asher and I were speaking, I could actually enjoy them.

  I was washing up a few stray dishes in the back room of Tapestries that afternoon when Asher came hurrying in, a large box in his arms and an equally large smile on his face.

  “I want you to be the first to have one of these, Chels. Mr. Dreyfus said all of the servers could wear these tonight.”

  He dropped the box on the floor and bent over to open it. I grabbed a towel to dry my hands and turned my attention to him.

  “What have you got?”

  He plunged both hands into the box, fished around for a bit, then straightened. In his hands, he held a light blue T-shirt. On the front over the left breast, screen-printed in black, was a small flaming electric guitar. He spun the shirt around. On the back, it said The Dirty Turtles are Rock’n Tapestries!

  “This is a medium. Will it fit you?” he asked.

  “Yes!” I mock squealed like a groupie and pulled a Sharpie out of my apron pocket. “Will you autograph it for me?”

  “Of course!” He took the Sharpie and signed on the front, right under the flaming guitar.

  When he handed it to me, I clutched it to my chest, rolled my eyes toward heaven, and sighed. “Asher Pratt just signed my shirt. I can die happy now! “

  Asher laughed. “We’re going to throw some of these out into the audience tonight, but I want the staff to have first pick. Do you think Marybeth would wear one?”

  “I think she’d break your arm if you didn’t ask. She may not wear it tonight, but I know she’ll want one.”

  What a great Saturday night at Tapestries that was. The Turtles put on one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think she would, but Marybeth actually wore the Rock’n Tapestries shirt Asher gave her. When I think about it now, it never fails to make me smile.

  Asher was at the top of his game. When he wasn’t making his guitar smolder with one awesome song right after another, he was throwing T-shirts to the throng of people standing at the base of the stage.

  Once he even took his guitar off and jumped into the crowd. They promptly hoisted him into the air, passed him around a bit, and then set him gently back onto the stage.

  He was so happy, so vibrant. So fucking hot. Pain mixed with pleasure as I stood behind the bar and watched him, waiting for Marybeth to finish my order.

  Why? Why can’t you just be mine?

  Asher chose that moment to speak to the crowd. “Make sure you tip your waitresses tonight. These girls do an awesome job here at Tapestries. Keep your hand off of that one though.” He pointed across the crowd to me. “She’s all mine, boys.” It seemed like every eye in the place was on me.

  My cheeks flamed hot as I dropped my head to stare at the floor. Marybeth bumped me with her elbow, a shit-eating grin on her face. Willow smiled at me, her eyes bright. I said nothing.

  My heart was thumping with pleasure, but my head knew better. He was a real showman, my Asher, a consummate speaker of words that meant nothing. I swallowed and shored up the wall I’d built around my heart. It felt as though it would hold.

  We cleaned up, all of us grinning from ear to ear. The crowd was one of the largest I’d ever seen, and the cash register was overflowing. I made a small fortune in tips that night.

  Willow jingled like sleigh bells when she plopped into the chair beside me at the bar. “I have twenty-five pounds of change in my pockets!” She laughed. “What a great night! It should be illegal to have this much fun at work.”

  “Count out some change, and I’ll give you paper dollars,” Marybeth said. “I never have enough quarters in the till.”

  When Asher finished helping the band tear down, he came to the bar and sat with us.

  “How did we sound tonight?” He was sweating and sounded winded, but he was happy. He knew they’d done a great job.

  “You were awesome, dude,” Marybeth said enthusiastically as she high-fived him. “You sure know your way around a guitar.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been playing since I was four years old.”

  “Did you take lessons?” Marybeth asked, setting an Iron City beer in front of him.

  “Nope. I’m self-taught. Played along with my mom’s cassettes, and just figured it out for myself.”

  “Now that’s talent. It’s an honor to know ya.” Marybeth high-fived him again before disappearing into the kitchen with a handful of wet dish towels.

  Willow gathered herself up and sat at a nearby table. With a smile, I watched her empty her bulging pockets onto the table. She started piling quarters in front of her like a mad king in the counting house.

  “Can I come over to your place tonight?”

  I turned back to Asher. “What?”

  “Can I come over to your place tonight?” He cut his eyes to me and took a long drink of his beer before he set it down. The grin—that seductive “I’ll make all your dreams come true” smile—was firmly in place.

  “Absolutely not.” I started to slide down off the barstool. He grabbed my arm.

  “Why not?”

  I glanced up at him. He was serious. He had no idea why I didn’t want to spend the night with him.

  “Because I’ve already given you my ground rules, and none of them was ’allow Asher to spend the night with you if he asks’.”

  He turned his mouth down in a comical frown and stuck his bottom lip out. “You make me sad.”

  “You make me crazy,” I countered.

  I grabbed my pu
rse, slung it over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

  “Let me walk you out to your car,” he said.

  “No thanks.”

  “You’ll be lonely!” Asher called across the wide open space of the dining room and dance floor. It echoed back through the room and hit me hard. “I could help you with that!”

  “Yes, but I won’t hate myself in the morning,” I said under my breath.

  It was three o’clock in the morning by the time I got to my apartment building. I strolled down the hall, stopped in front of my door, and went to stick the key in the lock, when a funny thing happened.

  The door swung open.

  I stood for a second, blinking into the darkness. I couldn’t hear anything besides the air-conditioning/heating unit out in the alley humming away.

  Pittsburgh is a big city with its share of crime, but my apartment wasn’t located in one of those high-crime areas. My initial reaction was that I simply hadn’t pulled the door closed all the way. It stuck sometimes, and I was still getting used to it.

  I pushed the door open slowly. It squeaked in protest. “Who’s there?” I called, just to be safe. I regretted not leaving a light on for myself, but the bulb over the kitchen sink had burnt out and I hadn’t had time to get another one.

  The refrigerator was running. It didn’t look as though anything had been ransacked. In the little bit of the apartment I could see in the moonlight coming through the kitchen window, everything looked normal.

  My nerves settled. I just hadn’t pulled the door shut tight enough. Don’t do that again!

  Stepping through the door, I kicked my shoes off and turned around to close it, giving it a hard shove this time. I locked it and secured the sliding chain lock in place.

  It was the usual nightly routine—drop the purse on the table, grab my cordless phone from the dock in the kitchen, and go through the living room into my bedroom.