Rash and Rationality

by Ellen Mint

  “Martin…”

  “Would it kill you to not call me that?” he asked, glaring at the tea instead. “Like actual strike by lightning, you fall down dead?”

  All he got was the Eldon sigh. “Why are you twisting this month-long romance into something special?”

  “Because it was! I thought…she was the one. My other half.”

  “Who never laughed with you. Who didn’t seem to share any of your interests. Who only tolerated you for views.”

  Marty shivered in his wet clothes. “We were fated. I mean, how much better of a meet-cute do you get than ‘I saved her from a mugging while on a bicycle?’ It’s perfect.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eldon said.

  “To you.”

  “To anyone! Do they hear your story of how you met before handing you a marriage license? No. Do they require you to pass a certain level of ‘aww’ before letting you sign a lease together? Martin…Marty, it’s all in your head.”

  He thudded his knuckles against the table, listening to each bone rat-tat-tat as they rolled. “You don’t get it. You never did. You don’t have to, you’ve got…” He paused at Eldon’s look and restarted. “I just want that rush of butterflies and urge to skip singing down the sidewalk. To have someone I can sweep off her feet into my arms and watch her eyes light up whenever she sees me across the room.”

  But he hadn’t had that with Janeth. He could pretend, sure, and boy had he ever. She’d loved the gifts, the attention he’d given her. The dates that had fed back into her bank account thanks to AdSense tagging along. But had she ever looked at him when she didn’t have to?

  “What do you know about love?” Marty moaned as he crashed his cheek to his table. “It’s all data files to you.”

  “You’re such a fool.” Eldon kept on being his usual self. He was right. Marty was foolish for trying to explain anything to his robotic brother. The man avoided romance like a rash, and look where that had got him. Two fools trapped in a quagmire of their own making.

  “I need to get back to work,” Eldon said, checking his phone. Marty was curious what time it was and moved to swing his watch around, only to find it had stopped dead. Damn it, not again.

  Eldon rose to his full height. “I will check on you again to make certain you’ve cleaned this biohazard up.”

  “Because Mom told you to?” Marty fired back. As his brother’s eyebrows shot up, he knew he was right.

  Tugging on his suit coat, Eldon turned to leave, but before he did, he gestured to a new container he must have left behind. “You’re a fool for missing what’s right in front of you,” he said, and slipped back out of the door he hadn’t broken down.

  Marty twisted around the nearly opaque white plastic container until he found a blue latch on the bottom. As he popped it open, a tray of cupcakes with verdant green frosting greeted him. They could only have come from one person, but he tasted one anyway to be sure.

  “Oh God, that’s good,” he groaned, falling into the perfect marriage of buttercream, amaretto, sponge cake and a hint of pear. Brandy must have been by to leave this for him. Had she knocked on his door and he was too deep into the cups of misery to answer?

  A new ache rose through his heart. Work was a fog, made all the worse because he could never talk to her. See her. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until she wasn’t there.

  Marty absently poked a finger into the second cupcake’s frosting.

  At least I can rectify that pain.

  Chapter Twenty

  He took the time to not only put on an ironed shirt—hunter green to better match his color, and unstained pants—but even shaved. Not that Marty had much in the way of facial hair. Like a chihuahua had fallen into barber clippings, as he liked to joke. It didn’t matter—the freshly clean look suited him best.

  The strong odor of Wildcat Mountain lingered around him as he raised his fist to knock. Okay, maybe he’d overdone it on the cologne. But after Eldon’s performance, the last thing he wanted was to still carry a smell that would put her off. While tossing the boxes and giving a halfhearted scrub of his kitchen, Marty put in a lot of time thinking.

  Thinking beyond how thinking hurt every nerve in his body. And while he couldn’t escape the red burning behind his eyes if he let his mind wander, one fact kept bobbing to the surface. He owed it to her to try one last time.

  He knocked again, about to go a third time, when a voice shouted from inside. “Yes, I’m coming! Just had a pot on the…”

  The door swung open to reveal her deep eyes glistening in shock. Wisps of black hair dangled around her face as the always-there ponytail started to slide to its demise.

  “Marty?”

  “Hey, Brandy,” he said with a small wave, as if he’d spotted her across the street on their way to work.

  “What are you…?” She whipped her head around behind him, as if expecting to find someone forcing him to be there.

  “I wanted to thank you for these.” Hoisting up the cupcake container by way of explanation, he opened the lid to reveal all the treats were gone.

  Her soft cheeks brightened pink and Brandy slid back. “Come in. Probably silly of me. I mean, I just…I dropped them off and, for all I knew, you weren’t even home. But I kept thinking that, wondering…”

  As he stepped inside and she shut the door, her wandering sentences all focused to a single beam. “How are you doing?”

  He twisted on a smile and focused on her. “Getting better. Do I want to know how you found out?”

  Wincing, Brandy grabbed the container from him and hustled off to whatever dinner she’d been working on. “It’s, um, Mel.”

  “I should have known.”

  “Saw it all go down on, ya know, the ’gram,” she said. “Do people even use that? ’Gram? Never mind.”

  Absently, Marty’s gaze swung away from the woman vanishing behind her counter to the now minty fresh wall. Brown accents divided it up, making it look like it belonged in an old-fashioned Tudor home. Or at least some quaint village cottage. She’d known what she was doing all along.

  “Let me guess, I’m the big bad in her story.”

  “Actually, they’ve been ripping her apart in the comments. I mean, not all, but a lot of them are behind you one hundred percent. Think that what Janeth did…”

  Her jolly reporting faded as Marty made a low grinding sound at the name. He’d be a happy man if he never had to hear it again.

  “Sorry the, uh, the place is a mess.” More banging of the pots broke from the kitchen before Brandy emerged. She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, causing her hair wisps to scatter. Marty watched them all fall haphazardly, practically crying out for someone to help.

  Brandy glanced down at her requisite green polo and she blanched. “I am a mess.”

  “You look…” Stunning. Sweet lips that whispered jokes in his ears. Rich eyes that sparkled with mirth whenever he walked to her. A wholesome face that’d never lash wicked malice against him. And her body was…banging. The polo didn’t matter. The loose khakis with the worst pleats couldn’t hide her. Every soft curve made itself known in an instant. He stared at her like one of those eye puzzles where at first there was only garish wallpaper, then suddenly a sailboat.

  Where once there was a friend, I saw…

  “Good,” Marty whispered. “Very good.”

  “Ha,” she said with a scoff, but her blush increased and she began to comb back her hair. “Work is the worst now. All day back and forth, moving inventory, keeping an eye on the front. On the back. I swear I’m running ten miles a day just to look out for shoplifters and…”

  Brandy’s complaint faded as she stared at him. Silly Marty. That goof who’d build castles out of cardboard boxes. Who’d once asked her to dance to a children’s nursery songs album. First because he’d thought it was funny, but as the music continued, because he didn’t want to let go.

  “It’s not the same without you there.”

  “You m
ean Mr. Fensin didn’t calculate the cost of having one person doing two jobs? I am flabbergasted!” Marty responded and flapped a palm to his face as if he was about to faint.

  Her luscious lips with the perfect little bow on top quirked into a smile. But as they parted, her smile faded. “I’ve missed you,” she released into the world between them. The truth he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he might try.

  It was one thing for Janeth to crush his heart, but to not see Brandy six days of the week? To not slip up front to be closer, share a sandwich with her, talk about anything and everything—that gutted him. And he hadn’t realized how much he needed her until he’d seen that little cupcake container to remind him that she cared.

  She’d always cared.

  Marty took a step closer and a knot clenched in his stomach. Strange. In all his years playing the part of Romeo, not once had he gotten knock-kneed, sweated from his palms or felt like his belly would burst. If he got this wrong, he could ruin everything between them.

  If he got it right…? That was just as scary.

  “I’ve—” he started, when Brandy’s phone rang.

  At first she didn’t react, her gaze only on him. But as the phone ran through its second verse of My Half, she snapped away. When she pressed it to her ear, all the color drained from her face.

  “Brandy?”

  “It’s…it’s the doctor’s office. Finally. Oh, God.” Tears welled in her eyes, striking deep into Marty’s heart. She shook her head as if she couldn’t do it. He rubbed her shoulder, trying to will any strength she might need.

  Brandy smiled and answered the call. “Hello. Yes, this is Brandy Benson.”

  She walked away to listen to the news that could be doom. As she slipped from his grasp, a cold terror swept through him. He tried to read her body language, but she’d fully turned from him. Only her back was visible, her free hand hanging by her side.

  It felt as if decades passed before she said, “Thank you,” and hung up. Marty held his breath, watching on tenterhooks as she turned back to him. Tears glistened at the top of her cheeks.

  No.

  It didn’t matter. He wasn’t losing her now. Striding forward, he opened his arms to pull her safe, when a smile appeared. “It’s not malignant!”

  “What?” Shock ripped away Marty’s vocabulary until he could only handle the See Spot Run words. “Is that…what does it…?”

  “I don’t have cancer,” she shouted, happy tears tumbling from her eyes like a cleansing rain.

  Elated beyond all reasoning, Marty wrapped his arms around her. They leaped up and down, laughing together. “Oh God,” Brandy kept whispering, her lips beside his ear. “God, oh God. I thought…And it’s not. All that worry over nothing. I couldn’t stop thinking.”

  “Me too. The idea of—” He paused and shifted in her safe embrace to fall into her sweet soul.

  I could have lost you. Not for a day, or a week, but forever.

  Marty pulled her to him, those petal-soft, honey-sweet lips pressing to his. In a flash, the knot he’d been carrying around burst into a stream of electricity zapping through his body. Heat coursed from her touch into him not only by her tender mouth, puckering gently to his for a deeper kiss. His hands, cradling her resilient body against him, felt each rising charge.

  Somehow, his palm found its way up to her hair and he did what he’d wanted to do for a year and half. Brandy gasped as he tugged her ponytail band down through her silky dark locks. As her freed hair tumbled to the small of her back, Marty ran his fingers against the fallen tips.

  All his life, he’d prided himself on being the man with a thousand lines to sweep any girl off her feet. But in that moment, he was completely speechless.

  A soft breath curled across her cheek, Marty’s flushed lips parting as a second, uncertain laugh escaped. Brandy felt her knees could go any second, her body hanging upon the fingertips she had pressed around his waist.

  He’d kissed her.

  Really. Truly. Taken her chin in his palm, pressed his lips to hers and changed everything.

  Was she ready?

  Her heart’s once tepid beats kicked to a pounding rhythm as she watched Marty’s hand. Wide, tan, the pads holding calluses from all the boxes he’d carried for her, but the tips…perfect for caressing.

  “Marty,” she whispered, her eyes closed tight as if she was wishing on a star. The cliff’s edge hung before her, a million fears circling below and waiting to pull her under. A barely evident gasp caused her to look at him. “Be with me.”

  “Tonight?” he said with a gulp.

  “For…” she began when he surged forward. The gentle kiss of a summer’s rain transformed into a famished typhoon. Heat rose from her belly, causing Brandy to clasp him. To touch the stomach she’d seen naked what felt years ago, to reach up and tousle through his hair. To cling to Marty as he swept his palms over the back of her shirt.

  Even through the thick polyester she could feel those palms pressing and kneading, bringing a flush through the part of her she’d thought dead. She wanted more. She needed it, him. To have not just any man but Marty himself hold her body and bring it to such blissful heights…

  Brandy snatched at his shirt, fumbling to undo the buttons. She walked closer to him, their hips glancing off one another as she pulled and tugged at his impossible shirt. Marty chuckled at her force, his laugh caressing her ear before he lapped along the shell. A shiver danced down her spine, Brandy finally undoing enough of the shirt that she could graze her palm over his chest…only for Marty to stumble back.

  “Whoa!” he cried as first he, then she, stumbled onto the couch. His hands remained locked around her waist, pulling her on top so he had to take the brunt. A reassuring laugh rose from Marty, whose shirt dangled to the sides of his chest. Brandy was trapped, her hands pinned on the cushions and her breasts pressed over his acreage of warm, naked skin.

  Marty smiled wide and caressed her back. “If I knew you were that strong, I’d have let you bring in the stock,” he said. A burn rose in her stomach from her wondering if she had already messed everything up, when Marty’s touch rifled its way under the back of her polo.

  “Oh God,” she gasped, biting on her lip at the warmth radiating across her spine. Two years since she’d known that touch, since she’d wanted anyone to caress even the small of her back. Her body hummed from only the sweep of his palm against her skin.

  Marty drew his nose along the side of her throat, raising her chin with the tip as she trembled above him. “Hey,” he said, “you’re stealing my thunder.” He brushed hot lips against the thin skin on her neck, the pecks gentle and soft, until Brandy began to grind against him. They landed so his hips rested right above hers, but she felt a hardness rising from his pants and pressing ever tighter to her lower belly.

  “Holy shit,” Marty sputtered, a moan rising from his throat as he glided his hips back against her.

  She knew what was there, but in that moment, Brandy needed proof. To see it, to feel it, to hold it in her hand, to thrust down upon it until he begged only for her. She snatched the zipper, when Marty grabbed her hand.

  “Wait.” He released his grip in an instant and cupped both his hands around her face. “I want to do this right,” he said, and kissed her on the lips.

  Right how? Even confused, Brandy moved to resume the kissing, but Marty was already rising off the couch. She stumbled with him. He was still in his shoes, leaving him a half an inch taller than her. An odd feeling, to have to look up in order to fall into his sweet face.

  Marty brushed through her hair, softly combing the locks back until they lay on her shoulder. Was that it? He didn’t want to take it any further right now? He tumbled his combing fingers from her hair down the line of her arm. One touch after another set off goosebumps across her body. As he reached her wrist, he circled the rest of his fingers around and reached for her hand.

  Without another word, he pulled on her hand to lead them to the bedroom. Panic tried t
o take hold. What was she doing? Did she even remember how to do this? Oh fuck, how messy was her room?

  But at the reassuring smile on Marty’s tender lips, the panic faded. He shoved the open door, walked into the bedroom then promptly turned and filled his arms with her. Only the blue light of her fish tank shone upon them, not that Brandy noticed. Her eyes were tight as she savored every touch of his certain hands.

  The coy and careful lover from the couch snapped to a man who hoisted the cursed polo straight off her. His palm cupped along her bare stomach, causing the breath to catch in her throat. “Purple,” Marty said, causing her to stare at him.

  Purple what? Had her stomach gone purple? She glanced down and got her answer.

  “I’ve always wondered, and somehow always knew,” he said and swept his palms straight up her purple bra.

  God almighty! His gentle touch, soft through the padding of the cups, sent her reeling. Marty answered by taking her lips in a kiss. As he swirled his fingers over her nipples, coaxing them through the petals that were meant to hide them, he delved his tongue into her mouth. She wanted it. Needed it, too.

  Greedy, Brandy parted her lips and drank Marty’s nutty and sweet taste. He was amaretto sours, peanut butter ice cream, salty and sugary and masculine too. Every roll of his tongue with hers, every assured flex of it rippling along her lip made her legs tremble in anticipation. She wanted more, all he had to offer for as long as he could.

  Marty picked up her hand and placed it on his waistband. Then the other. She clung to the pleated fabric where a belt could go and stared in wonder at him. Did he really want that? Want her to…?

  A soft chuckle rumbled from his throat. He cupped her chin and brushed across her lips. Brandy chased it with her tongue, rolling along his thumb and causing a sputter of breath to escape from him. He pressed tight to her back, holding her close so he could breathe the same pant of hunger down her ear.

  For a brief second, a cruel urge to torture him rose through her. To watch Marty squirm as she teased him with all he could take until he screamed for her. But that would require her to not be begging for him now.