by Torrest, T.
Trip’s drinking was an unavoidable piece of knowledge. In the years since I’d seen him last, he’d gone swiftly downhill, bottomed out, cleaned up, and set his star back on the rise. He’d actually won an Oscar for his role in Swayed, and it was well-deserved. But by that time, he’d also won a spot as cover boy for numerous entertainment magazines, his downfall documented at every turn. Hollywood must be a very forgiving town, because only a few years later, those same magazines were lauding him as an unparalleled talent.
However, The Backlot, in particular, wasn’t as kind. I couldn’t check out at the supermarket without seeing Trip’s face splashed across their cover, scathing headlines blaring out “Binging Bad Boy In Bar Brawl” or “Another TRIP To The Bottom Of A Bottle?” I knew that most of the stuff in those stupid tabloids was simply made up in order to sell magazines. But when they attacked a person I actually knew—one who’d been to Hell and back in order to set his life straight—it seemed extraordinarily cruel.
I mean, he wasn’t that same party boy anymore. He’d battled his demons and clawed his way back to the world of the living, taking it entirely by storm. He’d taken all that energy he’d put into drinking and channeled it into philanthropy. He’d started his own charity, and from all accounts, it was a fruitful venture. That circumstance had turned him into a media darling, which completely negated the previously held image of him as a drunken playboy.
His work was never better; his family life never more secure.
Claudia was walking around with her new baby, introducing Skylar to the room. When she came in by us, Trip grabbed his niece out of his sister’s clutches and gave her a soft nuzzle, completely smitten with the little bundle in his arms. Seeing him holding a baby just about made me melt. She really was an adorable little thing. Six months old, a little tuft of black hair on her head, those exotic, heavily-lashed, almond-shaped eyes smiling through her gurgling. Plus, she had that perfect amount of baby fat just made for biting. I wanted to put that kid on a plate and eat her.
Sandy came into the room just then, put an arm around Claudia’s shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth.
Oh.
Trip never mentioned that Sandy was family. Although, the trust he placed in her and the way she looked out for him suddenly made perfect sense. She commandeered Skylar from her uncle’s grasp, Trip giving an, “Aww. You stealing her away so soon?”
Claudia shot back, “You get to see her all the time. Don’t hog the baby, Uncle Drip.”
That made us chuckle, Rymer expressing his regret at not having come up with the nickname himself years ago. “What a waste,” he lamented, shaking his head.
Trip actually laughed at that, a full, side-splitting guffaw, and it was as if all the tension of the day was finally draining from his body. Rymer was always good for some comic relief, but that day, he helped to turn the glum occasion into more of a reunion and less of a funeral.
Trip’s mood continued to lighten all evening as the guys swapped stories and reminisced. “Hey,” he said to Rymer. “You remember that time in the locker room when we were playing Pa-ting! And you got hit in the eye with that bar of soap?”
Rymer shook his head laughing. “That wasn’t me. That was Sargento.”
Pick piped in. “No, man. That was you.”
I watched the exchange, finally cutting in with, “Hold up. What’s Pa-ting?”
The guys all exchanged a glance, waiting for someone else to speak up. Pickford finally took the honors. “Okay, fine. So, there was this doorway that led from the locker room to the showers, right. And we’d all decide who was gonna be the target, and then we’d shove them into the showers, you know?”
“No. I don’t know. But continue.”
“Well, the target would have to walk back and forth in front of the doorway, and the rest of us would find random stuff to throw at them as they passed.”
“Wait,” I said. “Like what kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know, man. Like shoes and balls or tape or whatever. Anyway, if the target got hit, he had to yell, ‘pa-TING!’, and then change direction. You know, like a carnival game.”
I asked, “And the point of this was?”
The guys all looked at each other and started laughing. Rymer snorted out, “Who the fuck knows? It was fun!”
“So… You just all stood around naked and threw stuff at each other?”
That made them bust up even harder, Trip explaining, “No! What the hell, Lay?”
“He said it was in the shower!” I defended.
Lisa backed me up. “I was thinking you were naked, too.”
“You would,” shot Pick, before continuing with his story. “Anyway, this one day we had Rymer in there—and dude, it was totally you—and he’s strutting back and forth, pa-tinging away. And Aetine whips this bar of soap at him and bam! Right in the eye!”
“Ow!” Lisa and I squealed in unison.
Pick was practically crying as he started reenacting the scene, holding a hand over his eye and yelling, “I’m blind! I’m blind!”
The guys started cracking up again as Lisa and I exchanged an eyeroll.
Boys were so weird.
“Oh shit,” Rymer said. “You’re right. It was me.”
That had us all laughing that time.
“When was this?” I asked.
Trip pulled himself together and said, “I don’t know. One day during gym.”
“I never heard that story!”
“Why would we tell you? You’re a girl.”
I shoved him for that.
Chapter 4
INTO THE BLUE
A few guests made their leave, stopping in to shake Trip’s hand, offer their final condolences, and say goodbye. Eventually, Lisa, Pick, and Rymer cut out too, but the house was still crawling with Mrs. Wilmington’s people. I figured the party wouldn’t end until very, very late.
I stifled a yawn, and Trip clamped his palm over my knee, asking, “Want the nickel tour?”
Before I could answer, he pulled me in the direction of the stairwell, leading me to the second floor.
I chuckled when he turned the corner and smirked out, “This is the hallway,” as he backed me up against a wall and closed his smiling mouth over mine.
I was pretty sure this tour was going to be worth way more than my five cents.
Those lips against mine once again. It was hard to breathe, but who cared about something stupid like breathing when I had Trip in my arms? His hand slid around my neck, pulling my face closer to his, a slight groan escaping from his lips as they parted and consumed mine. My heart was beating in that familiar cadence, my racing pulse threatening a full-on faint. I ran my hands along the linen shirt at his back, up to his shoulder blades, involuntarily sliding to tangle in his hair, my mouth opening to take him in.
Last time he had me up against a wall, we both practically combusted, and this time looked as though it wasn’t going to be any different.
Only, back then, I ruined everything by being an insecure idiot. But not this time, pal.
Trip’s palm was smoothing against my waist, grasping at the material of my dress, his hardened length pressing against my midsection. The familiar humming in his throat melted me down to my core, and I felt my hands slipping down to grasp his backside, pulling him tighter against me.
Trip braced his palms against the wall on either side of my shoulders, dropped his face, and spat out, “Christ.”
He gave a shake to his head, trying to pull himself together. His smoldering cobalt eyes met mine in wonder as he asked, “Are you trying to kill me?”
I giggled as he backed me through a doorway, but I positively squealed in delight when I realized we were in his childhood room. “Your room! Oh my God. I waited fifteen years to see this!”
Trip chuckled. “Well, I’ve always wanted to bring a girl up here, so I guess the wait is over for both of us.”
He crammed his fists into his pockets, standing there smiling at me as I checked
out all his stuff. I looked around at the Trip Museum: the navy plaid comforter on the bed, the tan walls covered in sports pennants from every city he’d ever lived in, the shelf of hockey trophies.
I pulled a “Trip” and made a big show of checking out every little knick-knack on every surface, from the Michael Jordan figurine to the signed Gordie Howe puck to the vintage Nintendo console, eventually grabbing the Magic 8-ball off his dresser, giving it a good shake.
“Will I hit the lottery?” I asked, checking the answer in the little plastic window. “See there? All signs point to yes! Whoohoo!”
The warm smirk he shot me made my knees go weak.
I noticed some high school textbooks still sitting on a corner of his desk, saw his St. Norman’s letterman jacket hanging from a hook on the back of his door. It was as though his room had been sealed off with caution tape, frozen in time since the day he’d left the house.
“Holy crap. It’s like a shrine in here!”
I turned to see Trip staring at me, that lazy, lopsided grin still plastered on his gorgeous face. “What?” I asked, trying not to melt from the sweet, familiar smile he was aiming into my eyes.
“Nothing’s changed at all.”
I smiled back, knowing his comment applied to more than just the room we were standing in.
I put the 8-ball back down on the dresser and stepped closer to him, laid my hand over his heart. God. It was so amazing to be able to touch him whenever and however I wanted. Finally. “No. I guess it hasn’t.”
At that, his hands slipped out of his pockets and wrapped around me, pulling my head against his chest, a palm smoothing my hair. I hugged him back, allowed myself a deep breath, taking in that beautifully sweet, clean scent that was his and his alone. One of these days, I was going to find out what kind of soap he used so I could put it through a cheese grater and snort it like it was coke. Someday, my body would be found in a dirty alley somewhere, OD’d on the stuff.
I’d woken up that morning feeling sad and anxious, but only a few hours later, my life had begun. Trip and I had torn each other apart, and there were still so many unspoken questions between us. All those years of hurt and anguish don’t just disappear in a day. But right then, I was just grateful that we were standing there wrapped up in each other’s arms. Feeling him against me, his heartbeat drumming under my ear, the only thought in my brain at that moment was getting his lips back on mine again.
He kissed the top of my head and said, “We probably need to have that talk at some point.”
He was right. We had a lot of baggage to sort through. Hell, we had an entire airport of baggage. But right then, I wasn’t really thinking about talking, if you catch my drift.
“Trip? Do we really have to do that now?”
His shoulders shook as he laughed, and I knew victory was within my grasp.
He tipped my chin toward his face and dipped his head for a sweet, soft kiss against my welcoming lips. “Okay, fine. You’re right. But I just want to say one thing.” He put his hands on my shoulders, bracing me for his words. “I know you didn’t marry that guy, but you need to understand that I wouldn’t care even if you did. You need to know that it wouldn’t stop me from taking you, right here, right now. I wouldn’t even feel badly about it. If that makes me an asshole, so be it. But you’re mine, Lay. You always have been.” His hands moved to cup my face, fixing my eyes to his. “The thing is, though, is that I’m yours. You own me. You always did. This is happening. And we’re making it work this time.”
I thought I was going to melt into the carpet from his words before he’d be able to take me to his bed. But take me he did.
I will not go into detail here. I’m sorry, and I know it might seem strange after everything else I’ve shared about our sex lives. But we didn’t have sex that day. We made love. As corny and as sappy as that might sound, it’s the truth. I will share the gritty details about our sexual encounters, because that is fun and sometimes funny and most of the time, it’s just hot. But when the man I love is so deep inside me it’s as though we share a soul, when I don’t know where I end and he begins, when he is looking into my eyes and whispering the sweetest things this side of Shakespeare… that is simply between us and no one else.
Chapter 5
FUNNY HA HA
Oh my God, I’m totally messing with you. Of course I’m going to tell you every detail! Can you freaking imagine if I didn’t?
Chapter 6
NEVER BEEN THAWED
After Trip’s little speech, I couldn’t breathe. You’re mine. I’m yours. What could I possibly say that could even compare to that?
I bypassed any attempt at speaking, and just grabbed his head, pulling it to mine in a shattering kiss.
He was mine. Mine for the taking. And I planned on taking all I could get from that man.
I slid my tongue against the seam of his lips until they opened for me, our breath mingling with one another’s, the rapid gasps exchanged in frantic bursts of pure, unapologetic need.
My body thrummed in his grasp, his hands smoothing over my back, across my hips, pulling me tightly to him, afraid to let go. His low moans reverberated throughout my insides, turning me to mush. He wanted me. He needed me.
And there it was. That inevitable, electric pull we’d always shared. That all-consuming, obsessive attraction we’d never been able to deny, try as we might. It was always there. Even when he wasn’t.
He stepped slightly out of my grasp, a wicked expression on his face, holding my gaze prisoner as he rolled down his sleeves, starting to get himself undressed right before my very eyes. But I stopped him when his hands went to his throat.
“No. I want to do it.”
That made him smile a shit-eating grin, and his eyebrows raised as my hands worked the buttons down his chest.
“Trip? Could you do me a favor and try not to look so damn pleased with yourself?”
That made him chuckle. “I can’t help it. I’m about to nail my old girlfriend in my old room. You know how many times I jerked off right there just thinking about it? And now you’re here. And I totally get to rape your ass.”
“Yeah, um, you go anywhere near my ass and you’ll be whacking off alone again.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, sweetheart.”
He cracked up as he pulled me toward him, reaching around my back to lower the zipper of my dress, whispering against my ear, “Don’t worry, Lay. I’m gonna fuck you just right.”
Yep. I hear ya. That line did it for me, too.
I shivered at his words, the feel of his breath on my skin. He grabbed at the neckline of my dress and pulled one side down my shoulder, kissing the bared skin there before sliding the fabric down my body.
As it pooled into a heap on the floor at my feet, I stood there feeling a bit insecure in just my bra and panties. I mean, the last time Trip had seen me naked, I was in the body of a seventeen-year-old, toned to the bejeezus. To be honest, at the age of thirty-one, things had kind of shifted, filled out, and well, dropped since then. To add insult to injury, I rarely worked out over the winter months, and being that it was the middle of February, I was also ass-pale as well.
But Trip didn’t seem to notice as he cupped my breast over my bra, testing its new weight, running his other hand over my curved hip, pulling me toward him for a kiss. Tongues entwined, I slid my palms over his bare chest to his shoulders, dropping his shirt to the floor as I kicked my dress away from my feet.
He suddenly turned me in his arms, pulling my back against his front as he shoved my hair away and attacked my neck. I leaned into him, raising my arms to his hair, pulling his face in tighter against my skin as his hands went to my front, groping at my breasts and pressing himself against the small of my back. I did what any sane woman would do in that situation, which was to rise up on tiptoes so I could press my backside against the steel rod poking me from behind. He let out a groan and playfully shoved me over the footboard of his bed, my hands splaying out on
the mattress to stop my fall as he pulled down my undies and gave me a slap on my ass.
We both laughed when he smacked me, and I stood up, shooting him a look. “Be nice, Chester.”
He pulled me to him, unhooking my bra and replying, “I will be nice. But only for so long.”
The wicked smile he aimed at me shot an electric charge down my entire length—my entire naked length—as I stood there, trying to not fidget while he looked me up and down.
He was entirely way too clothed for my liking. It wasn’t fair.
I went to unbutton his slacks when I noticed his abs, and stopped short. I mean, I had just stripped off his shirt, but I hadn’t yet really looked at him, you know?
I took a step back and appraised the sight of the naked torso in front of me. He’d always had an amazing body, but Christ. Trip had gotten freaking ripped.
I put my hands to my hips and asked, “Are you kidding me? What the hell is this?”
My anger probably missed its mark, considering I was standing there totally nude. It’s hard to be taken seriously when you’re not wearing any clothes.
He knew exactly what I was talking about and was trying to contain a smile as he asked, “What?”
I rolled my eyes. “When did this happen? Jesus. Look at you! Give a girl a heads up about such a thing, huh?”
That made the smile crack his features. “What? So I’ve been hitting it a little harder lately. I just came off a gladiator film and I’m starting a hockey flick in a few weeks. Occupational hazard, I guess.”
“Yeah. A hazard to me, maybe! Here I am with my saggy ass and you’re standing there looking like Michelangelo’s David, you jagweed!”
He stepped closer, grabbing my butt and pulling me into direct contact with what was assuredly going to be revealed as his perfect dick. He probably lifted weights with that thing, too. His cock probably possessed its own set of washboard abs.
“Your ass,” he stated firmly, “along with the rest of you, is perfect.”