Forever Falling

by Paige Randall

  At this point in his life, he can get most any woman into bed. When he told Victoria that everyone wanted to sleep with him, he wasn’t being facetious. But the fun has been going out of it as of late. He remembers to interject an, “Interesting,” as Victoria explains her life and then he starts to wonder if that is why he let himself love Elizabeth. Was he just getting bored with the capture and the kill? Was it just the timing? Is he just aging out of banging strangers? Is he wanting more out of life, something meaningful? Bullshit, he tells himself and gives Victoria a sympathetic nod. Or is it more about Daisy and Laila? Did they curse him to only care for women he can never have?

  “That’s about it,” she says. “What about you?”

  “I am boring as hell,” he tries. It fails, of course.

  “I doubt that. Men like you don’t lead boring lives. I am as sure of that as I am sure that the sky is blue and the day is long.”

  “Men like me?” he asks, fishing for it.

  “Oh come on. Movie star good looks. Trust fund babies.” She frowns as if disapproving of his movie star good looks and his trust fund.

  “Is that what you think of me?” He smiles for the cameras but tries not to pose.

  “I’m sure this is all a big shocker to you. Do you actually have product in your hair right now?” she asks, leaning forward to rub her hand across his very styled hair.

  “Whatever, moving on,” but he could talk about this topic until the sun sets, rises and sets again.

  “What makes you think I’m wealthy?” He is genuinely surprised by that one.

  “Trust fund baby,” she adds. “Not your own money. Inherited, not earned.”

  “Ouch. Why on earth do you think that?”

  “What are you doing Callum? Not everyone can afford to take a, what did you call it? Sabbatical?

  “Ah that. You are so very wrong about me, my love. I have been working since I was fifteen. This is the first time I have had a break for more than three consecutive days in almost twelve years.”

  “Really?” she asks, dubious of his words.

  “Really. I am starting to understand your face,” he says. “You are actually quite lovely.”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her hand instinctively goes to protect her cheek.

  He laughs because she is easy to irritate. “It means you need no adornment. You require no make-up. You have fantastic bone structure. You freckles give you the slightest contrast in skin tone. Those lashes are extraordinary against your blue eyes. You are really lovely.”

  “Fuck you,” she says.

  “Fuck me?” he asks, not sure if she is mad or happy.

  “I have been thinking we were flirting a little, but you are gay. I am so mad you didn’t tell me.”

  “I’m not gay,” he says. He reaches for her foot, holding it firmly in his hand. “Metrosexual maybe but very hetero.”

  Her toes are soft but cold. He warms them with the heat from his hand. She tenses but lets him keep her foot. “I’m having thoughts of pulling you closer and doing things to you with my mouth. I could do wonderful things to you with my mouth. I promised no hanky panky though, so off with you,” he jokes holding her foot tight. Her breathing deepens just a little.

  “Behaving well isn’t one of my better qualities. You had better scram for your own good.” His voice is low and intoxicating, like a siren drawing sailors into the water. But his lure is all sex.

  Still she doesn’t move. Her mouth moves like she is trying to decide what to say. She wets full lips with the tip of her tongue. She has a lovely mouth. The glimpse of her tongue breeches his resolve to behave and he pulls her foot closer to his side. His fingertips dance across her calf. “I’m not going to kiss you. The moment I kiss you, it is all over. I’m just going to touch you a little.”

  She closes her eyes at his words. He sits up so he can reach higher and grazes her thigh with his thumb. Her breathing deepens and he is sure he has just seconds before her panties are off or she runs out the door. Discerning the subtleties of these situations is Callum’s specialty. And then she smiles. He thought he was playing with her, but she is really playing with him. She is going to be a no. Not yet anyway. She is laden with traits like self-respect and dignity.

  He debates going for it anyway. Her shorts are loose. He could glide his thumb over her clitoris and have her coming in his hand within moments. Her face would relax and her head would fall back, spreading curls along her back. Her first moan would get him hard. And then he would… but that is certainly not behaving like a gentleman and a promise is a promise. He lays his palm over her thigh and slides it back down to her calf. He holds her calf like he owns it.

  Her eyes open. Does he detect disappointment or is that just his own ego imagining it?

  “You are so lovely Victoria,” he says and the words snap her out of it.

  “And so are you.” She says very matter-of-fact and tosses a nearby sweatshirt at him before walking to the door. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

  Ouch again.

  “Come and get it. Dinner I mean,” she calls over her shoulder from the hallway.

  Five

  Callum’s head clears over the next few days and he starts sleeping through most of his nights. He decides reading isn’t helping his headaches so he sets Hunger Games aside for a few days, but he wants to keep the TV off after school since Marina is banned from TV for the month, so he just watches while she is at school. He learns to work the remotes and flips channels all day long. He watches old Seinfeld episodes, but he doesn’t get the humor. He tries to watch Food Network, but he can’t stand it for two consecutive minutes. American soap operas are hard to follow and the women are so so. No porn or pay channels of course. He ends up flipping around and not really committing to anything. Marina reads to Callum after she does her homework.

  “I’ll read Hunger Games myself later,” he says, to keep Jennifer Lawrence to himself. “You pick another. Not Twilight though. No romance please.”

  She chooses The Maze Runner. A perfectly unromantic but very interesting story about a colony of young people trapped in a bizarre reality complete with an endless maze. It ends in a cliffhanger so after a few afternoons of reading, she continues with book two.

  “I’m hungry,” she says laying the book across her lap.

  Callum and Marina go into the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets and refrigerator has become a daily afternoon activity. She has good instincts as a cook and he likes teaching her.

  “I want to make this,” she holds up a page pulled from a magazine. The photo shows a pot of stew, beef presumably, being stirred by a dark haired woman, smiling with her arm around a seemingly good friend.

  “Barefoot Contessa,” she says and gets no reaction. “Ina Garten?” still nothing. She pulls a recipe book off the counter and hands it to him. It is a nice enough book.

  “Why do you need a recipe book?” Callum asks her.

  “To learn to cook, duh,” Marina responds with the requisite eye roll.

  “Oh bullshit. You just need to understand the basics and then you know what you like and you go from there. You already have a good grasp of the fundamentals.” Callum places the torn magazine page and the book back down on the counter and pulls a pot from the cabinet.

  “Callum, can you read?” Marina asks simply.

  Callum sets the pot down and exhales deeply to manage his irritation and impatience at this child.

  “Yes I can read,” he says.

  “But you don’t like to, do you?” Marina asks.

  He grips both handles at the sides of the pot while carefully choosing his words. “I do, in fact, like to read very much. I just so happen to suck at it.”

  “Are you dyslexic?”

  For a precocious little brat, she is very intuitive.

  “I am.” He pulls stew beef, vegetables and butter from the refrigerator. She gets stock from the cabinet.

  “Beans. Tomatoes. Garlic.” He deman
ds tersely.

  “Are you mad at me for guessing? You shouldn’t be ashamed of it,” she says “It is a medical condition.”

  Little shit.

  “I’m not mad. I just hate talking about it and it is a huge pain in my ass.” He pulls a knife from the drawers and starts chopping onions on a large cutting board. “Flour, salt and pepper. Where are those herbs your mom bought?”

  “There is a kid in my class and he’s dyslexic too. What’s it like?” she asks.

  He decides to let go of his ego momentarily and educate a single human being on dyslexia. “Words on a page tend to shift around for me. I have to focus incredibly hard to get the basic meaning. I might be reading Hunger Games for 6 months.”

  “I can read it to you,” she offers.

  “No, I have set that goal for myself and I’ll read it.” As least until I can find a Playboy or get laid, he thinks.

  “Everyone thinks dyslexia is just about numbers and letters reversing on the page. It isn’t just about what is happening with your eyes. It’s also what happens in your brain. I am atrocious with numbers. I can’t follow a recipe. I didn’t finish school, if you must know. I can’t follow a fucking map, thank god for GPS.”

  “Really?” she asks.

  He chops and adds onions to the sizzling oil. She stirs the pot and the aroma fills the kitchen quickly.

  “Really. I worked my way up in restaurants and learned the business through experience and hard work. The moral of the story is do your fucking homework. With a less complicated brain I’d be running the damned world by now. Use yours well.”

  Together they make a stew that Ina Garten herself would approve. An hour later, Victoria gets home from work and Callum and Marina sit at a decorated table, complete with candlelight and the good placemats. Victoria shoots Marina a look that Callum thinks he might understand. Marina is determined to create an atmosphere of romance for Callum and Victoria. That’s okay, Callum likes romance. Marina eats quickly and then begs out for some fabricated homework she forgot about.

  “I’m sorry about that. She seems to have plans for us beyond besties,” Victoria says because she seems to like keeping everything out in the open.

  He leans back in his chair and she pulls his leg onto another chair. “You’ve been upright too long today. Elevate.”

  She sips her wine and watches him over the rim of her glass. “You look better. How are the headaches?”

  “Much better, thank you. I should probably be about ready to drink a little wine.” He gestures to the bottle.

  “How about a half?” She reaches for another glass. “Don’t forget your follow-up appointment at the ortho in Salt Lake tomorrow. Hopefully, they’ll move you to a less restrictive cast.”

  He nods and gratefully sips the offered Cabernet. She takes good care of him considering they are strangers. Actually, she takes good care of him, period. His mother wasn’t much of a caregiver. Getting sick at boarding school meant a few days in a cold, antiseptic smelling infirmary. The time he hurt himself with Laila and Daisy, they wrapped him up with a towel and dropped him off a block from his house.

  He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome though. “Victoria, I want to thank you again for taking me in. Your care and hospitality will never be forgotten. I will go on to Osprey Island in a few days to my sister. I called the leasing company to take my car and I’ll fly out of Salt Lake. I have been a burden to you long enough.”

  “You are not a burden at all Callum. I am getting used to having you around.” She smiles over her wine. A little flirty he wonders.

  “Your sister will be happy to see you.”

  “They have an empty house next door to theirs. I can hole up there for a few months and heal.”

  “This is weird,” she says shaking her head. “In a few weeks, Marina and I are packing it up and going to try out living with my Dad in Asheville. We’ll be just a couple of hundred miles away. It is kind of ironic.”

  “Seriously? When are you leaving?” he asks.

  “In a week or two. I want to get there before Christmas, but I don’t want to rush it. I’m going to rent this place out furnished and just pack us and our clothes. I need to be sure I can go back there before I actually sell my house.”

  “Isn’t Thomas Wolfe from Asheville?

  “Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” she says referring to the title and subject matter of Wolfe’s novel You Can’t Go Home Again.

  “You’re driving?” Callum asks.

  “To Asheville? Of course.”

  “Alone?” He doesn’t like the sound of that.

  “No, me and Marina,” she says, not liking that he is obviously not liking the sound of that. “Why?”

  He looks at her like she is crazy. “There are predators out there looking to prey on women like you.” He doesn’t mention that he might just be one of those predators, non-violently of course.

  “Is that how you see me, Callum? Do you see me as a victim?” She is angrier than she should be.

  “No, of course not. But there are a lot of assholes out there. Turn on the damn news.”

  “Oh for God’s sake. We’ll be fine, Callum. I can take care of myself and my daughter.” She stacks his dishes and Marina’s onto her own.

  “And the weather. And the car. And who knows what else.” He is not expecting this flow of words out of his mouth. They have taken good care of him and he is truly grateful, but he is starting to sound like he cares.

  “I have been handling weather and the car and the who knows what else for thirteen years.”

  He isn’t sure why she is speaking like she is ready to punch him. So he asks the question that he thinks will piss her off the most. She’s mad anyway. “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?” she nearly spits.

  “Why are you alone?” It is a simple question, but she doesn’t answer it. She stares at him with angry, wide eyes, breathing shallow breaths.

  “I just am,” comes finally and she gets up to clear the table.

  “My being here requires a lot of trust on your part.”

  She loads the dishwasher loudly, carelessly slamming dishes onto the rack.

  “Mine too. For all I knew you could’ve been Kathy whatever her name is in Misery. You already got one of my legs.”

  She can’t help but smile at this.

  “What do you want to know Callum? Why I have no husband?” She folds her arms defensively across her chest.

  He doesn’t want to demand information from her, but he is curious. “You are a beautiful woman, Victoria.”

  “And that’s enough? My beauty has all the perfect, single, men dropping at my feet, ready to care for me and my daughter and protect me and change my oil and shovel my driveway?” She mocks him.

  “You are a nice person, too,” he concedes.

  “Ah, the true value of all women is unleashed right here in my very own kitchen.”

  “Okay you don’t want to talk about it, I get the fucking point. Forget it.”

  He rises quickly, annoyed, and knocks his crutches to the floor. Victoria reaches for them and hands them back to Callum before she leans up and lays her lips on his. She doesn’t touch her hand to his chest. She doesn’t grab his head and pull him close. She doesn’t let her tongue touch into his mouth. She doesn’t make it any more than it is. She just rises to her toes, his head naturally lowers to the necessary height and she lays her lips on his just for a moment. She doesn’t even look into his eyes to share her desire through thick, fluttering, eyelashes. Still… She just touches his lips with her own, for a moment, maybe two. A low sound of surprised pleasure escapes Callum’s throat.

  Without warning, Victoria pulls her lips from his and leaves the kitchen silently. He hears the bedroom door close gently behind her. Callum is left standing in the kitchen with his jaw low. A woman hasn’t lowered his jaw in a very long time.

  Victoria leans against her bedroom door, trying not to regret that kiss. It shut him up is all. Her hand moves to her
lower lip, touching where she touched him. She hasn’t kissed a man in a long time. Oh a few have kissed her, but that is different. She hasn’t wanted to be the one to do the kissing in a long, long time.

  Dating in Park City is interesting. Truly her interest in dating is slim to none. Working, studying, caring for her daughter and all of the day-to-day crap that makes up a life have really filled her days quite adequately. Her nights, well that is another story. She has a friend she can call. He is sweet enough, but there are no fireworks. She also has the necessary apparatus to make a boyfriend less relevant.

  She sits on her bed and tries to decide what she wants from Callum. Sex? So much for no hanky-panky. The thought of sex with an actual man like Callum has her digging for the lockbox at the back of her linen closet. Despite the kiss and the desire that are flooding her senses right now, she really doesn’t want to blur the lines.

  Marina seems hell-bent on pushing a romance here. Well, what is the point of that? Another few days and he’ll be on his way. Still the thought of a few good rolls in the hay while Marina is in school is well within the realm of possibility. All she needs is to fall in love with this gorgeous, underemployed Playboy, and then say good-bye and then she will be a mess before she even gets to Asheville. A recipe for failure. Forget it.

  Still, she thinks about it, over and over and over again.

  Six

  The next morning, Callum and Victoria make the thirty minute drive into Salt Lake City for the ortho follow up. Callum is overjoyed at the smaller leg brace. Victoria has a few hours before she needs to get to work, so they find a diner for a late breakfast in the city. They order omelets, bacon and sausage, fruit, toast, biscuits, juice and coffee. Callum has a good appetite and enjoys the big breakfast.

  “I think there is a shower in your future,” Victoria says. No word of the kiss has passed between them.

  “Thank god.”

  “You’re telling me,” she laughs.