by J. D. Brick
I close my eyes a second, embarrassed. “It was sympathy sex,” I finally blurt out, using Megz’s term without thinking until a second too late how stupid it sounds.
“Huh?”
“It’s a long story, but I did something in high school that really hurt Tyler, and even though he's a dork, he's not a bad guy, and I felt terrible about what I'd done, and then we were at this graduation party at his house, and I’d had alcohol for the first time, and he was upstairs with me, kind of taking care of me ‘cause I didn’t feel good, and so there was, like, sympathy sex.” I sound even more pathetic than before, if that’s possible.
Blue’s mouth forms an O. He just stands there, not saying anything, so I ramble on. “At least I think it was sex. It was over so fast, I’m not even sure what it was.” I bury my face in my hands. “I feel so stupid right now.”
Blue pulls my hands away from my face and kisses my fingertips, then my forearms, nuzzling his way up to my shoulders and then down along the curve of one breast before moving over to the other one. “Don’t feel stupid,” he breathes between kisses. Then he chuckles. “You’ve got a generous heart, bar girl. And dear God, you’ve got a beautiful body.”
Very good answer. I take a deep breath. I want to reward him and do something I've never done before. I want to be wild, at least the Cautious Keegan version of wild. So I peel off my cutoffs, tossing them on the bed.
“Keegan,” Blue whispers, his breathing scattered and staccato. I place my hands on the waistband of his shorts and pull them down his legs, using my bare foot to send them all the way to the floor. Then I press my naked body against his, reeling at the volcanic feel of skin scorching skin. The desire inflaming his eyes sends my loins into overdrive. “Oh God, Keegan.” His voice sounds almost dreamy.
I’m in uncharted territory now, and I’m nervous as hell. I so want to do this right. But reading about it and actually doing it are two different things. Book blow jobs used to make me blush, but I'd read every word slowly, sometimes more than once, with a kind of fascinated revulsion. Now, as I move slowly downward, never taking my gaze away from Blue's, my skin sliding against his 'til my knees reach the floor, I’m not repulsed—only amazed, empowered—by the look of awe on his face.
I stand up, sweeping my palms from Blue's abdomen to his shoulders as his breathing finally begins to slow down.
“Wow,” he pants.
“I assume that’s a compliment?” I’m being playful. I can tell I performed satisfactorily.
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I can see Blue nodding, then breaking into a wide grin. “I’ll say it is. What else do you think you’re not any good at?”
I put my arms around his neck. “Let’s find out.”
With a growl, Blue sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the bed. “I’ve been wanting to do this since you first pulled up to the Embassy,” he says, standing above me as his eyes travel from my chest to my stomach and further down. “God, Keegan, you are just stunning.”
He stretches out next to me, propped up on his elbow, close enough for me to feel the heat from his skin, but not touching me. I wriggle a little, desperate with desire, just like all the characters in those romance novels. Blue flutters his fingers across my abdomen, dips down a little further, then drags his hand back up. Then he does that several more times, each time getting a little closer to the spot I really want him to touch. He seems to be thinking. Either that, or he’s the world’s biggest tease.
“Blue,” I finally say, impatiently. I’m in agony. “Touch me.”
And then my phone buzzes. We both looked over at it, not moving. He sits up. “Just leave it,” I say, noticing how desperate I sound. When I’m with Blue, I can almost forget about the scary part of my life, the part that would normally have turned me into a complete basket case. “Please, Blue. Just ignore it.”
But he shakes his head and slowly stands up. “I need to see if it’s him.” He crosses the room and picks up the phone, his face bathed in its glow. I see his mouth tighten. “Motherfucker.” Even though he is whispering, I can hear the fury in his voice. “You motherfucker, I’m going to find you.”
For a moment, I just lay there, staring at Blue. I don’t want to see what’s on the phone. But I have to. I get off the bed and walk over to Blue with my hand out. He hesitates, staring at me. Then he hands me the phone. I close my eyes for a second. I can feel myself starting to shake. But I open my eyes and start to read.
DID YOU LIKE MY NOTE? HUH SCREAMING BAD BITCH? HOW’D YOU LIKE IT?!!! DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY FROM ME BY MOVING?!?! DID YOU REALLY THINK I WOULDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU WENT YOU STUPID WHORE?! YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, WHAT YOU’RE DOING, ALL THE TIME? I’M EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!
“Oh, God!” I let the phone slip out of my hand, but Blue catches it before it hits the floor and sets it down carefully. “Blue.” I put my face into my hands. “Blue, what am I going to do? This guy is scaring me.”
He folds me into his arms and holds me tightly. “Shhh.” His breath flutters my hair. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay, Keegan.” I burrow into his body, wanting to believe that, and he strokes my hair. “We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to take care of this sonofabitch. I’m going to make this stop. I promise you that.”
He pulls me over to the bed, and I curl up on his chest while he runs his fingers up and down my back. For a long time, there’s no sound except the rain against the windows. After a while, Blue gets off the bed and slips his shorts back on.
“What are you doing?” I can’t help sounding a little upset. I want to pick back up where we left off. I want to forget about everything else. He comes back to the bed with my shorts and the pajama top he threw off earlier. I sit up and take them, reluctantly.
“Listen to me, Keegan.” He sits on the bed and puts his hands on my face. “You want to make a good memory with me, right?”
All I can do is nod.
“And I want this memory, our first time, to be really special. Somewhere away from here. Away from your phone. Where this asshole can’t reach us. Somewhere special. So, let’s wait one more day.” He holds up his hand as my mouth falls open. I probably look bewildered because I am.“I've just had a great idea. I know how to make it special. Much more special than it will be here at the Embassy, on this bed, where. . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence. “You’ll be glad we waited one more day, I promise you.”
I rub my eyes. Blue is always surprising me. He stands up and walks toward the door, then turns around. “Here’s the thing, though. You have to be ready to go at 8 o’clock in the morning.”
“Huh?” I’ve finally found my voice.
“Do you have any hiking boots?”
“What?”
“Never mind, sneakers will do. I’m going to get out of here before I change my mind and take you back out on that roof.” He walks toward the bed, then trips over Max lying a couple of feet away. We've both forgotten the dog is still in the room. “Sorry, Max.” The dog wags his tail.
I put my hands up and shake my head. “Blue, I can’t go hiking tomorrow. I have the editorial meeting. I can’t miss it! And we have a sponsor visit on Monday that I have to get ready for. There’s just no way I can go anywhere right now.”
Blue gives me a long, lingering kiss and brings my hands together, enveloping them in his. “The meeting’s at 5, right?” I nod, and Blue goes on in rush of words. “I’ll have you back by 4. I promise. Bar girl, you need this.” He kisses me again. “You need to get away.Trust me, you’ll be glad you went. There's a special place I want to take you. Please. Say you’ll go with me.”
I can’t help smiling. I close my eyes. I can’t think straight when I’m this close to him. “Blue. . .”
His lips brush my fingertips. “Please, Keegan, just say you'll go.”
How can I refuse him? I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me with such a tender expression that my arms of their own accord just throw themselves around him. �
�Okay. I’ll go. I'll go.”
He gives me a huge, loin-lighting grin and kisses me one more time. “It’s going to be great,” he says. “I promise!” And then he is gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Make A Memory
Blue
I’m wide awake by 5 AM, and for once it’s not because of a nightmare. I wake up with the image of Keegan's beautiful tits floating in my mind and a painful case of blue balls. And I can hear Cunny's voice in my ears, so real I think, for a split second¸ it’s actually him ordering me to hand over my man card.
“No red-blooded, testicle-totin' man would have walked away from a sweet, warm, willing piece of ass like that. Especially not so he could 'make it special'.” Here the voice in my head turns seriously sarcastic. “You wanted to 'make a memory'? Are you fucking kidding me, Danube? What the hell is wrong with you? Strap on a pair and nail the girl to the wall like she wanted you to!”
Yeah, Cunny would be ashamed of me. But there’s no point in denying that I want to make the first time with Keegan something different. Something, yeah, special. Even if it means tearing a few holes in my man card. And I want to get her away from her phone, away from this fucking nut-job who somehow knows she moved to the Embassy. Did he follow her that night she left the dorm? Has he been following her all week?
The old, familiar panic rises in my throat; it tastes like battery acid or something. Sometimes, I feel like someone’s hands are around my neck, squeezing. It happens every time I think about the guys, about Afghanistan. And now it’s happening because I feel so fucking powerless to protect Keegan. I have to figure out a plan of action. I throw off the covers and sit up, forcing myself to take a few deep breaths.
There’s one more reason I hesitated last night in Keegan's bedroom. I was scared to fall asleep again with her, and that's what would have happened if we'd gone at it on her bed. I still can’t control my dreams, can’t quite regulate my actions in that brief waking-up phase when the dreams are still holding on to me. Better to be making love in the daytime, when I’m just carefree Boy-in-the-Band Blue, fully in command of myself.
I check my phone. Still only 5:30. Shit. Think of something besides what a dumbass you are. I try to distract myself by focusing on the technical details of the day: All rappelling equipment needed? Check, already stowed on the ROTC bus. Transportation method secured? Check, aforementioned ROTC bus already reserved with a driver lined up, assuming he shows up sober. Enough qualified personnel to ensure a safe and effective exercise? Check, as long as you assume a bunch of hung-over undergrads looking to complete their Adventure Training hours fits the bill.
Plenty of the ROTC guys and girls have brought dates along on our unit’s weekend rock-climbing trips, but today will be the first time for me. I’ve never wanted to bring along a girl before Keegan, and I’m not exactly sure how she’ll react to the whole climb-down-a-sheer-cliff-on-a-rope thing. Rappelling as foreplay. Brilliant, Blue. She’ll probably hate it.
It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, to suggest Keegan come along on the training exercise I was already scheduled to assist with as a ROTC adviser. But the rappelling isn’t the memory-making part. That will hopefully happen after rappelling, when we slip away from the group and hike downriver to this pretty little spot I stumbled across last year, a secluded, lushly green alcove where the river tumbles over the rocks into a deep, clear pool. And above the pool, behind the waterfall, is a cave just big enough for a blanket and a campfire. Seriously romantic stuff. At least I hope so.
“You are beyond saving, Double D.” Cunny’s voice again. I can’t seem to shake it.
Double D, short for Dancin’ Danube. The guys started calling me that after I was fool enough one night to tell them the whole Boy Named Sue story. None of them had ever heard of The Blue Danube. “It's a waltz,” I said, regretting it as soon as the words left my mouth. “Well, actually, it was a song written by this Austrian dude, and they used to dance the waltz to it, like, a long-ass time ago, back when women wore long gowns all the time.”
I'd even played an audio clip of The Blue Danube I had on my phone for the guys. The phone's crappy speaker couldn’t do justice to the song. Mama took me to Oklahoma City once when I was 10 to hear it performed by a live orchestra, and I was transfixed. Some things are just better done the old way. Of course, Bill had given her hell for taking me, when he found out. Mama never told him about the dancing lessons she signed me up for, so I’d know how to do a waltz. He’d have killed her.
“A Walt?” Monti’s Southern accent had stretched the word out over a couple of syllables. “Isn’t that a man's name? Like, an old man's name?”
“Not Walt, you dumb motherfucker,” I’d said, irritated. “Waltz. Don’t you guys know anything?”
Cunny had been staring intently at me; for once, he wasn’t grinning. “Your old man named you after some girlie ballroom dance, Danube?” he asked. “That’s some seriously messed up shit. ‘Let’s see, how can I totally fuck up my own kid?’” He’d slapped me on the back in a show of support. That was about the most sympathetic gesture we could give each other and still hold on to those man cards. From then on, I’d been Dancin’ Danube, or more often, Double D. The guys got a big kick out of saying it. Tit references were always good for a laugh.
Jesus. Think of something else.
And so my mind goes back, blessedly, to Keegan’s body. I picture her cute little ass in those short, tight cutoffs, strapped into the rappelling harness. I can see those long legs pushing off the rock face with the rope sliding between them as she slowly descends to the bottom, where I am waiting to catch her and carry her downriver to the cave. I sure hope she wears those cutoffs again today. I keep on thinking about Keegan, and my hand moves down my chest, my stomach and further down, and then it does what I need it to do.
A few minutes later, I look at my phone again. 6 AM. Fuck. I sit up and grab my laptop off my desk, open it, then wait impatiently to get online, vowing to call the cable company to complain yet again about the “lightning speed” Internet connection I’m supposedly getting. That reminds me that Hunter hasn’t reimbursed me for the last three months of cable bills. Every time I bring it up, he makes some excuse and promises to get it to me the next day. And then, just like with the rent, he always manages to forget.
Hamilton, you cheap ass motherfucker. He is using me like he uses everyone else. That’s about to stop, dickwad. It’s not really the cable bill or the rent on my mind, though, as I picture myself wiping the smug look off Hunter’s face with my fists. It’s the way his eyes flickered contemptuously over Keegan and then stared brazenly at her breasts. I’d almost gone all Army on him. If I ever do, the soft, spoiled college boy who thinks he’s some tough shit won’t know what hit him. One of these days, I’m going to stop holding myself back.
It seems to take forever to pull up what I’m searching for: keegan crenshaw blog. But then the links start popping up, one after another: “Cooke Ranch Heiress Revealed as Bad Girl Blogger;” “Virginia Cooke’s Granddaughter Has Legislature in Uproar;” “Cooke Family Embroiled in Blogger Scandal;” “Screaming Bad Girl’s Gone Silent.” I read about a half dozen of the articles. They all describe an unknown blogger who for months ripped apart Oklahoma politicians in a “savagely funny, brutally honest way,” according to one of the stories I read. Then someone figures out the blogger is a high school senior from a family long involved in state politics.
“Heir to the Cooke family fortune and raised on the sprawling Cooke Ranch in northeastern Oklahoma,” I read out loud, “18-year-old Keegan Crenshaw has instigated a firestorm, with some suggesting she was being used by her powerful grandmother to improperly influence legislation.”
“Whoa.” I blow out a breath, reading on about how the blog had abruptly shut down, and Keegan had “gone into hiding.” There are newer links about her appointment as editor of the Ikana College newspaper: “Bad Girl Blogger Now Big-Time Editor;” and “Cooke Granddaughter Back in the Spotlight As Youngest
Editor of College Newspaper;” and “Do Rich Girls Always Get What They Want?” I click on a link headlined: “Ikana College Defends Cooke Heiress Choice” and scan through the interview with the head of the journalism school.
A couple of sentences catch my eye: “Keegan’s appointment had nothing to do with her family connections. It was based on her demonstrated talent, drive and passion. Even as a freshman, her work on our award-winning student newspaper stood out. We are confident that, as a sophomore, she’ll make an outstanding editor in chief.”
“Good for you, Screaming Bad Girl,” I mutter. I try to click on links to the blog itself, but get an error message each time. Keegan said the blog was shut down; I really want to read what she wrote, but it seems to have been scrubbed off the Internet. I put the laptop back on the desk, then stretch out on the bed with my hands folded behind my head. What I read leaves me breathless. Keegan is so much more than a hot chick who can rock a pair of cutoffs. She’s so much more than a small-town innocent who’s never experienced anything but “sympathy sex” with a dork. And she is more than a rich girl apparently raised with a silver ranch in her mouth. I’ve never met anyone quite like her.
Even before I knew all this extra stuff about her, I sensed she was something special; I'd pretty much fallen for her the first time I met her. And what happens when she finds out what you are? What you did? How can she ever trust you? I roll off the bed, shaking my head like I can banish the thoughts that way. But they’re bouncing around in my brain now and shouting into my ears: She’s too good for you. I think of the phrase used to describe Keegan's blog: "brutally honest." Brutally honest people don’t like liars.
I start pacing around the room, trying to avoid the conclusion that’s staring me in the face. I can’t get any more deeply involved with Keegan. Not unless she knows the truth about me. And I cannot tell her. I don’t have it in me, Purple Heart notwithstanding. I’ll have to end it with her. Now. But that’s not going to be easy to do, not when I've just told her I want to be her only Romeo, her only fucking hero. What in the hell had I been thinking? I didn’t think; that’s the thing. The words just came spilling out on their own. And now I have to take them back.