No Time to Explain

by Kate Angell

  Stevie, on the other hand, was a girl’s girl. She liked sisterhood, romantic comedies, feminine clothing, delicate jewelry, and gourmet cooking. She shied away from relationships, preferring to concentrate on herself and get her life in order. A personal choice.

  “How close is Joe?” she questioned.

  “He just passed Denim Dolphin, the children’s store.”

  Stevie stood before Waves, a women’s swimsuit shop, three doors down. He was close. Too close. She cut him a quick look.

  He dominated the boardwalk. Big man. Bigger entourage. The lustful female crowd swept him along. Unrestrained touching, kisses, and deep sighs. Joe responded, spreading himself around. Slowing to sign autographs. Posing for photos. Making everyone feel special.

  “He’s one dangerous-looking dude,” said Lori. “His body’s built from a kit.”

  Stevie’s heart agreed, skipping a beat. Athletes weren’t new to her. Some of her closest guy friends played sports, including her cousin DJ. Joe had an undeniable presence. Roughly handsome. Lawless blue eyes. Slicing cheekbones. A slightly crooked nose. A mouth that invited kissing. Square jaw. Strong neck. Powerful shoulders. Muscled chest. Long legs. A total alpha.

  Lori moistened her mouth with the tip of her tongue. She eyed the ballplayer with interest. “Should he stop and chat, introduce me. I’d like to meet him.”

  Stevie blanched. “I’m trying to avoid him, not take up where we left off.” They’d parted poorly.

  “I’d never run from that man.”

  Stevie wished she wore track shoes. “Join his party posse, then.”

  “His posse is renowned,” said Lori. Stevie had heard the same rumors that her friend had heard. “Beach babes gone wild. They’re all hot, sexy, the stuff of wet dreams. They wear next to nothing and do tequila shots off of their bellies. They take the night by the balls and squeeze.” She grew thoughtful. “I’d never qualify. One beer is my limit. I’m in bed by eleven.”

  Stevie didn’t qualify, either. Her favorite bar drink was a virgin piña colada. Lights-out by ten. “You could always talk to him about sports.”

  “Joe’s a Rogue. He gets his sports talk at the ballpark. He’d find better uses for a woman’s mouth than reciting his stats.”

  Stevie took a step away from Lori. “Are you coming or not? I’m gone.”

  “Not sure you can avoid him. He’s here.”

  There, and facing her. His entourage pushed Lori back. Rather rudely. They then stepped on Stevie’s sandaled feet. Painful. Joe blocked them from fully shoving her aside. Their gazes locked, and, in that instant, she saw only him. His unsettling eyes. The quirk of his mouth as he looked down at her legs. The faint line of the garter was visible beneath her skirt, for anyone who knew it was there. For everybody else, it appeared to be only a wrinkle in the denim. Joe grinned. A big old gotcha grin. For some reason, her still wearing the garter brought him amusement. Aggravation curled her fingers. She had the urge to wipe the smile right off his face.

  He caught her clenched fist, and had the balls to laugh. A deep, rough laugh. Heat scored her cheeks in the silence that followed. Those around them stared. Confusion and curiosity gathered, thickening in the crowd. She was as cornered now as she’d been with the security guards. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  Joe leaned toward her. She gave him the cold shoulder. He made her hot. Inappropriately warming her nipples. Her belly. Her thighs. Leaving her panties damp.

  She had no escape. He fronted her. Women hovered behind her like a human wall. Eyeing her lips, he lowered his voice, then said, for her ears only, “You have cake crumbs on the corner of your mouth.” He reached around her, snagged a napkin from the corner of the cake table. Handed it to her. Then left.

  Left her standing there with her mouth wide open. Women pushed past her, rushing to catch up with him. Stevie and Lori could only stare after them.

  Lori was the first to speak. “That was an interesting exchange.”

  “Obnoxious man,” Stevie muttered. She turned to Lori, piqued. “Why didn’t you tell me that I had crumbs on my mouth? ”

  “You were turned away from me. I never saw them.”

  Stevie’s napkin had dissolved within her sweaty palm. Lori passed her a second. “He saw them.” She hurriedly wiped them away.

  “That he did,” said Lori. “He had hungry eyes. I thought he was going to lick the crumbs right off of your lips when he bent over toward you.”

  Thank goodness he hadn’t. His earlier kiss on her forehead had left her on edge. His second appearance moments ago had rattled her completely. She hoped she wouldn’t see him again. Not today, anyway.

  She scanned the nearby event tables. The security guard named Roy protected a glassed-in display of engagement rings and wedding bands. The diamonds sparkled in the sunlight. Roy recognized her and waved. “Stevie, sign up for the drawing. Lux Jewelers is giving away bridal sets. Your choice, if your name is picked.”

  Lori headed over to the table. Stevie was more hesitant. She dragged her feet. What was the point of entering the drawing? There was no man in her life. An unrequited love held Lori’s heart. She’d cared for DJ, for as long as Stevie could remember. Her cousin hadn’t a clue. Despite Lori’s countless hints and propositions, the dude was oblivious.

  Trailing Lori to the table, Stevie filled out the square piece of paper. She could always pass the win to her friend if her name was drawn. She folded the form, dropped it in the padlocked wooden box. Subsequently admired the rings. Unique, beautiful, and incredibly expensive. A starburst engagement ring winked at her. Stevie couldn’t help but wink back.

  “Where’s Joe?” the security guard asked her as she worked her way down the table.

  What to say? That she wasn’t his keeper? That they’d gone their separate ways right after the garter fiasco? That she had no desire to see him again? She drew in a short breath, said, “He’s—”

  “Right behind you, babe.” Joe appeared, a human boomerang. He slipped his arms about her waist and drew her back against him. His hands spanned her abdomen with the familiarity of a lover. Her bottom wedged against his groin. “I had an errand, but I’m back now.”

  She wished he’d stayed away. His errand had included flirting with dozens of women during a walk down the boardwalk. “You didn’t have to return.” She attempted to pry his fingers off her stomach. He had big hands. He covered her hip bone to hip bone.

  He spoke near her ear. “You got rid of the crumbs.”

  Her mouth compressed. “Did you think otherwise?”

  “I came to be sure.”

  “You’ve checked, so good-bye.”

  “Chill,” he whispered. “I heard Roy ask about me. I didn’t want to blow our cover as a couple. We don’t want security to reinvestigate your case.”

  “It wasn’t a ‘case.’”

  “It was documented. Roy wrote it all out in his notepad.”

  “With pencil, not pen. Erasable.”

  “But remembered.”

  “I was released.”

  “Into my care.”

  “I never heard the words ‘your care.’”

  “I did.”

  The man was impossible. She had needed him for all of ten minutes. He was well-known in town. His word was respected. She was newly arrived. Not trusted. The situation had resolved itself. Over and done with—or so she’d thought. Yet he was starting things up again.

  The security guard cleared his throat, requested, “Ladies, once you’ve filled out your information cards, drop them in the box and move along. You’re blocking others from signing up. The next three tables have additional prizes.”

  Joe was forced to release Stevie. A slow slide of his hands over her stomach and hips. She jumped when he patted her bottom. “You’re pretty free with your hands,” she accused.

  “I like to touch.” He pressed his palm to her lower back, nudged her along. “Just keeping up appearances until we pass Roy.”

  They were well beyond the
guard, and deep into the crowd when he let her go. The heated imprint of his hand remained, like a permanent tattoo.

  Lori was eyeing her now. A smile played impishly over her mouth. “Who’s your little friend, Stevie?” she asked.

  “Little friend?” Joe was larger than life. He towered over her. “Lori, meet Joey.”

  Lori extended her hand, and Joe stretched to shake it. He frowned. “No one’s ever called me Joey before.”

  No one would dare. “First time for everything, Joey,” Stevie purposely repeated.

  “Fine, Stewie.”

  Lori raised an eyebrow. “Pet names for each other already? What have I missed?”

  “Private joke,” said Stevie. She chose not to explain her earlier encounter with Joe.

  Lori didn’t press. The friends proceeded to check out the next table. A professional photographer offered a wedding video and photo album package. They filled out individual cards, then entered additional drawings for a five-course, sit-down dinner and open bar reception. A travel agency offered a ten-day honeymoon to Saint Thomas. All lavish and luxurious. Lastly, a drawing offered a spectacular centerfold spread in I Do bridal magazine. The potential bride’s choice of locale. Winners would be announced on Sunday.

  Security appeared shortly thereafter. The guards parted the crowd to make room for a fashion show. Models in designer wedding gowns took to the boardwalk, looking like walking fairy tales in satin, silk, and lace. Lori and Stevie both sighed over an off-the-shoulder dress comprised of sparkling crystals. Glass slippers peeked from beneath the hem.

  A flower girl followed. She carried a white wicker basket filled with miniature bridal bouquets. The young girl tossed clusters of pale pink tea roses and baby’s breath to hopeful women. She aimed one at Stevie, and Stevie sidestepped. Lori reached out, snagged it.

  Her friend breathed in the fragrance, murmured, “This bouquet is the closest I’ll ever get to planning an actual wedding.”

  “Don’t sell your love life short.”

  “Your cousin has known me since middle school, and he’s never acknowledged my existence.”

  “DJ’s life revolves around sports.”

  “He hangs up his jock at the end of the day. His downtime includes his buddies, but not me.”

  “Not you or any other woman. He doesn’t date much.”

  “I’m relieved by that.”

  “Get him to the beach and wear your new bikini.”

  “It shows a lot of skin.”

  “He’d have to be dead not to notice you.”

  “We’ll see.” Lori looked over her shoulder, noted, “Your man, Joey, isn’t keeping up with us.”

  He was not “her man.” Still, Stevie glanced his way. He’d distanced himself from them, and was leaning against the blue metal railing. Surprisingly, he was alone. He removed his baseball cap, slapped it against his thigh. His hair was nonconformist long. The breeze lifted it, mussed it up. He ran one hand down his face, and the color drained. He appeared pale beneath his tan. He rubbed his throat, as if he was having trouble swallowing. Then he rolled his shoulders. He looked down. Shifted his weight. Shuffled his feet. He was visibly ill at ease.

  Realization came with her stare. She nearly laughed out loud. She’d been right about him. Joe Zooker was a fraud. Far from marriage-minded, he’d come to the bridal event to flirt, charm, and find a new lover. He’d attracted many women. His choices were numerous. Yet his pained expression said it all. Rings, receptions, and all things wedding gave him cold feet.

  The parade of gowns had pushed him to the edge. He’d momentarily removed himself from the event. Her plans to draw him back in would ultimately distance him further. From her. She had no immediate desire to get married. Obviously neither did he.

  She finger-waved, called to him, “Joey, join us. I want your opinion on a gown.”

  Had his eyes just crossed? He settled his cap low on his head and pushed off the railing. Then he crossed to her slowly, slipping between a model with a bustled train and a second flower girl, who was tossing red rose petals. Several petals landed on his shoulder. He brushed them off. He looked out of place, a rugged man amid goddess gowns.

  “Which dress?” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got other commitments.”

  “Do those commitments have breasts?” Snarky-sweet.

  “You the jealous type?”

  “Not when it comes to you.” A white lie. A man with a huge female following would drive her nuts. He’d never narrow his choice down to just one woman. Not that she cared.

  The fashion show continued. Lori pointed to a model in a vanilla-cream satin gown with a sweetheart neckline and a mermaid skirt. The bride floated toward them. “Whatcha think, big guy?” she asked Joe. “The perfect gown?” The back showcased a long row of pearl buttons.

  He shrugged. “Good enough, I guess.”

  Lori contemplated, “It would take a groom half the night to undo the closures.”

  “No man wastes that much time on his wedding night. I’d pop those pearls while I ripped it off of her.”

  Lori’s eyes dilated, her expression dreamy.

  Stevie shivered. No man had ever wanted her badly enough to tear off her clothes. The word thrilling came to mind. She dismissed the thought outright. Joe had plans for the afternoon, and so did she. She cut him loose. “Lori and I want to check out the music venue. The harpist, pianist, accordion player.”

  “I’m outta here.” Which she’d expected. He nodded to Lori, then touched his hand to Stevie’s thigh. A slow burn tucked beneath her skirt. Then it shot high. “I don’t need X-ray vision to picture your garter under your skirt.”

  “X-ray vision is for superheroes.”

  “I could be a superhero.”

  “Only if you used your powers for good.”

  “Trust me, babe, I’d be very, very good.”

  She believed him.

  Two

  Three superheroes pushing wheelchairs raced around the central nurses’ station. Twelve circling laps, then a final straightaway down the sixth-floor pediatric hallway of Beachside Memorial Hospital. The finish line was marked by a stream of toilet paper stretched between the drinking fountain and the door handle to the linen room. Easy to break.

  In compliance with the motto of “safety first,” the kids were strapped to their chairs with physical therapy belts. They pumped their arms, shouted, urging Jake Packer, costumed as Captain America, Sam Matthews as Batman, and Joe as Super Zooker to go faster. Running was not allowed. A hospital regulation. So Super Z took giant steps. No rules broken. The galactic bounty hunter edged out the lead.

  “Victory is ours!” Super Zooker shouted as his chair turned the corner. One of the RNs winked at him. He winked back. He liked a woman in scrubs. Accessible sex. Drawstring pants were easy to untie. Fast to drop around the ankles. A female physician in nothing but a white lab coat turned him on, too. A fantasy recently satisfied. She’d given him one hell of a physical.

  “We’re going to win!” His nine-year-old patient squealed her excitement. Ashley’s face was flushed. Her thinning hair broke from her ponytail. Hanging limp and loose at her shoulders. Chemo had been rough on her. Her happiness meant everything to him. He’d known her for a year, from her initial diagnosis. Lymphoma. She was finally in remission. He gently wobbled her chair, making it more like an amusement park ride and drawing further giggles. She’d be going home soon. A second chance at life. Ashley was one of the lucky ones.

  The bounty hunter pressed forward. A challenge was a challenge. The superheroes took winning seriously, even when it came to a walking wheelchair race. His chief competitor was Batman. The caped crusader rode his heels, all heavy-booted steps and flapping cape.

  Batman purposely bumped the back of his calves. Super Zooker sneered over his shoulder. Batman bared his teeth. Captain America’s athletic lunges were close to catching up to them.

  “Kapow! Wham! Zoom! ” Bat-fight words. “Point your toes!”
he encouraged the boy in his wheelchair. David had a broken leg. His plaster cast was elevated on the foot plate. The two could easily take the win, a big toe ahead of everyone else.

  Super Z carefully weaved his wheelchair from side to side so that Batman didn’t have room to sneak by. But the caped crusader cheated. He ducked through the nurses’ station, a diagonal shortcut that immediately put him ahead. David pumped his arm.

  Super Zooker and Captain America booed him. Loudly.

  Batman grinned triumphantly.

  A small crowd had gathered. A dozen children emerged from their rooms, assisted by medical staff. It was slow going for most. Several leaned on walkers. Others clutched tall IV poles, supporting medical solutions and health monitors. All wanted to catch the outcome. Only three laps around the station left to go.

  Captain America came on strong. He zigged right, zagged left, trying to pass Super Z. The Cap championed Drew, a twelve-year-old boy with a dislocated shoulder, set in a temporary sling. He faced surgery the next day.

  Authentically costumed in his patriotic jumpsuit, Captain America embodied justice. He entrusted Drew to hold his disc-shaped shield with a five-pointed star design in its center. The boy strained against his therapy strap, leaning as far forward as his chest would allow. He reached out his good arm, held the shield high. A hand’s advantage at the finish line.

  Tension grew as Super Zooker gained on Batman. Soon side by side, they exchanged a short, but significant look. Message received. A silent understanding. Super Z and the caped crusader gave ground, and allowed Captain America to squeeze in between them. A tight fit. The wheels on the chairs rubbed. They walked abreast the last twenty feet down the hallway, keeping perfect pace. The race ended in a three-way tie. Cheers rose. Everyone was a winner.

  “Victory lap,” directed Super Z. The champions wound around the nurses’ station one final time to a round of applause.