Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  Before I’m able to give that question any more thought, my attention shifts from my dream to the present, and I find myself further mortified. This is far worse than I thought! In my right hand I am tightly griping Drew’s shirt with enough force to rip it off his back. My other hand is tightly wrapped around his body; fingers pressed into his back and pulling him towards me. My right leg is between his and my left leg is over his hip and locked around one of his legs. Holy shit! I knew my dream felt real but this can’t happen. I’ve talked in my sleep before, but this is just not possible!

  “Are you awake yet?” he asks, uncertain.

  “Uh huh,” is all I can muster.

  “That must have been some dream,” he says, gently stroking my cheek. “I’m getting rather fond of your style of a wakeup call,” he laughs.

  I respond with a forced laugh that sounds exactly like I feel; horrified. I need to say something – downplay my actions somehow. But what the hell am I supposed to say? I have basically mounted this man while unconscious. Holy fuck!

  In my dream it was him that I wanted; apparently pretty bad. But now that I’m awake and aware of my actions, I don’t know what I want. I know I care about him, more than I would have thought possible after two days. I have also been trying to ignore how responsive my body is to his voice and touch. Maybe I have a crush…aren’t I too old to have a crush? Perhaps the stress of our circumstances and the lack of physical contact I’ve had in the last two years have brought this on. It can’t be more than that, can it? I shake my head, hoping to trigger some synapse into making a connection that makes sense.

  I don’t know exactly what the feelings I have for him mean, but this attraction is real. And thinking about how he pushed me away, I’m not only embarrassed – I’m a little hurt. I’ve certainly never done anything like this before, but to have the king of one-night stands turn me down is a blow to my self-esteem. I hope it’s too dark for him to see my face. Thank God he’s making light of it; maybe I need to do the same.

  “Drew,” I start, still trying to get my breathing and hormones under control, “I am so sorry, I uh…” but words fail me.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry,” he conveys with sincerity, but there’s also an edge to his tone.

  What does he mean? That he forgives me or he wants me?

  “But, I uh, you….”

  “I want to know that you’re consciously doing this, that you’re not just reacting to some dream,” he says while tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “If you aren’t sure or you need to think about it, then maybe we should stop,” he pauses. “I can wait. I’m in no hurry,” he finishes in a hushed voice.

  A shiver of pleasure warms my body and I’m not sure if it’s from knowing he wasn’t turning me down or because he wants me, too. What does he mean he’ll wait? Is he giving me a few minutes to think this through? Does he want me to want him? Are these the lines he feeds to the variety of women he’s had casual relationships with? Shit, maybe this is part of his routine.

  I want to ask him but I’m sure talking this through isn’t what he has in mind. I wonder, if we take this further will we be able to be friends after or does that even matter to him. How much does it matter to me? These thoughts and several other questions fill my mind but in the end what I focus on is what I said. What am I sorry for, I think to myself. I don’t want to be sorry. And with that I have my answer. I may regret this later but for now I’ve made up my mind. I’ll deal with the aftermath another time.

  Slowly, I drag my hand down his back and withdraw it from his body to mine as I begin unbuttoning my blouse. I hear his sharp intake of air and feel him scramble to his knees to pull his shirt off. There is just enough moonlight to see how perfectly sculpted he is before he lowers himself on to me and the feeling of his flesh against mine nearly sends me over the edge. I place my hand on his scruffy face, gliding my thumb across his lips from one corner to the other I feel my courage build. Softly, he kisses my thumb and I stop, causing him to freeze in place as well. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but decide not to ask.

  Running my fingertips up his jawbone to his hairline I comb my finger through his hair, resting at the base of his neck so my hand is cupping his head. Resigned to not speaking, and not knowing what to say anyway, I simply pull his face to mine. Our noses touch and he caresses mine with his before cascading kisses from my temple down to my cheek.

  “Kiss me,” I demand, and I sense his smile.

  Too slowly, his lips travel down to mine causing me to groan in anticipation. His lips brush against mine, and I feel like I will combust when a blasting sound, similar to that of a foghorn cuts between us like a knife.

  Wordlessly, Drew jumps up and fumbles towards a dim light a few feet away.

  “It’s coming from your purse,” he says, confusion etched in his voice. My purse? What would make that….oh, no. I forgot to turn off my phone earlier. That’s not the sound of a phone dying or of a phone call though, so what is the noise I ask myself.

  The phone illuminates his face and I see Drew press a button on my phone and watch his eyes scanning the screen. His lips press into a hard line before falling to a frown. Suddenly, his expression hardens and his glance shifts to me as he hands me my phone. Puzzled by his expression I take the phone. It’s a reminder; one I didn’t set.

  Even title: Dad’s Remembrance Dinner

  Location: Antico Forno, North End

  Starts: Thursday at 8:00PM

  Repeat: Every Year

  Invitees: Colin, Aubrey, Maddie

  Alert: 2 days before

  Notes: Wear dad’s favorite blue dress. Love, Colin

  I read and re-read the reminder countless times, feeling my heart sink. This is why I should have been sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I never should have left them. How irresponsible could I be to leave three kids who have already lost one parent alone, and at such a difficult time in their lives? Yet here I am, held up in a freaking barn putting the moves on a professional baseball player I’ve known for two days, while my children are at home waiting for confirmation that I am dead. Instead of attending a dinner meant to remember and celebrate Mark’s life they have been left to deal with my memorial. And Mark, how could I do this to him. I am so thoughtless. I was wrong. This is wrong. My inner monologue is making me so dizzy I think I may be nauseous. I drop the phone and my head follows. I am full on sobbing and I desperately wish I could turn off my mind but it’s hopeless.

  My thoughts are so loud I don’t even notice Drew move. His arms are around me, attempting to soothe me. I let him; not because it’s working but because I can’t bear the weight of any more guilt on my conscious. Another person to add to the list of those I care about and have let down.

  I have no idea how long I cried for, but when I open my eyes the sun is rising. My blouse is still unbuttoned and I lay half draped over Drew’s bare chest, skin to skin. We are both covered with the blanket and his wounded arm is wrapped around me, but above the blanket like a true gentleman. I can’t hide behind the darkness of night any longer, I tell myself. I lay there, watching the sun filter through several small windows and gaps in the wood paneling. Once again I’ll have to apologize but this time I’ll have to be clear about what.

  I’ll tell him that I’m sorry I let myself get carried away, that I didn’t mean to come on to him and that I should have stopped when I realized what was going on. I’ll explain that I can’t afford to be distracted right now and that our situation clouded my judgment and how I had no intention of pursuing anything. He’ll probably be relieved. He’s used to seeing women off the day after they’ve slept together. While we didn’t even get close to doing that I can only imagine how awkward this will be for him. As soon as he wakes up I’ll tell him so he doesn’t think I have the wrong idea and we can put last night behind us.

  While I firm up my plans for an apology, other thoughts surface. I don’t remember his exact words, but shortly before my phone blared he said something about wa
iting. Now that my hormones aren’t controlling my brain a small part of me wonders what exactly it is that he was referring to. He’ll wait longer to hook up? Maybe because we’ve been through so much he wanted to make sure it’s what we both wanted. What does he want? I think about what he said in the tree house before we fell asleep. He listened to everything I said and shared just as much about himself. And then I think about his questions before the snake attacked…if I’d ever date. Is it possible that he has feelings for me? No, it’s likely compassion. Do I have feelings for him? It doesn’t even matter.

  This man has taken care of me repeatedly over the past few days. Even now, it’s like he’s trying to protect me. I lift my head and watch him sleep, hoping it brings me perspective. Instead, I feel more conflicted. I want to get home more than anything so that I can be with my kids and get on with our lives. But I also feel content and alive at this moment and want to finish what we started last night. He’s so handsome; I’m surprise that even now I feel drawn to him. Clearly, whatever possessed me last night hasn’t entirely passed.

  As I watch him, time stops having meaning. I find myself staring at his lips and unintentionally running my fingers across his chest. I’m hungrier for him than I am for food. Without thinking, I place my hand over his heart, feeling it’s rhythmic beat. Making sure he’s still asleep I lean over him and gently press my lips to his, lingering longer than I should have. As I’m starting to pull away I feel his eyelashes flutter slightly. Crap, now I’ve done it. What the hell did I think was going to happen, I ask myself. Slowly, I lift my head and return his gaze that I felt boring through me. He appraises me, curiously, and I fumble for something to say. Hi, is apparently the best I can come up with.

  “Hi,” he replies, and a wide grin stemming from ear to ear expands across his beautiful face.

  “I was uh just, um, trying to wake you up,” I stammer, sensing my cheeks turning red from my lie.

  I’m expecting him to call me out, to say some sarcastic comment about me having a thing for unconscious men; but he doesn’t.

  Instead, he lifts his head to mine and whispers, “and I uh, just um want to say good morning,” before placing his lips on mine.

  It’s a slow sweet kiss that morphs into a deep, passionate exchange that sets my body on fire from the inside out. He shifts his weight so I am underneath him; but he’s hovering over me with his weight resting on his forearms and knees. Placing my hands on his backside, I pull him toward me until his full weight rests between my legs. When our lips part he trails kisses down my breasts. He gently nuzzles them as he finds, and single-handedly unsnaps, the front clasp of my bra. His eyes search mine for approval, which I give by arching my back and pressing into him. Drew smiles appreciatively and slowly pushes the fabric away. When I’m fully exposed, his breathing hitches and I swear I hear him whisper, “so beautiful.” He licks, and sucks with his expert mouth and playfully tugs with his teeth until I can’t take it anymore. I can’t remember anything ever feeling so good. God, I need him.

  “Drew,” I gasp and he lifts his head, watching me hesitantly. I need him closer. I pull him upward and wrap my legs around his waist. “Don’t stop,” I beg.

  He gazes at me with hooded, burning eyes for a nanosecond before our bodies and mouths slam into each other as if we need each other more than air. I fist his hair and thrust against him hard. Drew moans into my mouth and the intensity of our rhythmic pace picks up. The friction is a perfect blend of torture and pleasure. I almost forget there are clothes between us. I don’t want there to be. I want more of him. I’m about to reach for his pants when I unexpectedly find myself on the verge of coming undone. Christ, is this even possible? He thrusts against me again and again as every muscle in my body clenches in that delicious way. I dig my nails into his back and I swear I see stars. Breathlessly, I break away from his lips and groan, “Drew…oh, God…Drew!”

  When I start coming down from my high, I open my eyes and find Drew staring at me with a mix of wonder and pure happiness. He leans down and kisses me gently, keeping eye contact the entire time. As he’s catching his breath he tells me, “You can forget what I said the other day about killing my self-esteem. Now, are you going to tell me what you were honestly thinking?” he questions, apparently not buying my response earlier.

  “I think I just showed you,” I counter. I’m still reeling from having an orgasm via dry-humping like teenagers. Conversation is the last thing on my mind.

  “I want to hear you say it. Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because I’ve never done this before,” I reply, and confusion registers on his face.

  “Done what? What are we doing, Breanne?” he asks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine.

  “What does it feel like?” I retort, tipping my chin up so our lips lock again.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he says, slowly brushing his lips over mine. Then what the hell does he mean?

  “Didn’t you tell me there wouldn’t be much talking? I wasn’t expecting this much conversation to be involved. Is this normally how it goes?”

  He pulls away from me and for a long moment we wordlessly stare at each other. He strokes my cheek with his thumb and watches me with an unreadable expression. He’s lost the carefree look of moments ago and now appears unsure.

  With both hands I cup his face. “I don’t want to overthink this. I’m tired of always making the right, responsible decision. I want to get caught up in the moment without worrying about what it means,” I say, thinking this will alleviate any worries he has.

  “And what about later? How are you going to feel a week from now, or even later today?”

  “Does it matter?” I ask.

  Drew sighs and drops his head so that I can’t see his face. Why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong? This is how he operates…these are his rules. Maybe I phrased it wrong. I told him I couldn’t talk about this. I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back, thinking how actions speak louder than words. Ignoring the tensing of his body, I slide my hands over his hips and inside the waistband of his pants. He makes no move so I continue, dragging my fingertips against his skin, making my way towards his zipper. I’m nearly there when I make contact with his rather impressive package, which is protruding above the top of his boxers. For the love of God! I moan and slide my hand down the inside of his boxers, getting in one stroke when Drew shifts, yanking both of my hands away and forces them over my head, holding them firmly in place.

  “It matters to me.” He squeezes my hands tightly and whispers, “I’m not going to be your mistake,” in my ear, releases his hold and rolls away.

  Chapter Twelve

  Unbelievable

  Drew

  “Wait,” Breanne calls to me.

  I must be having an out of body experience. That, or I have brain damage. What the fuck is my deal? She had me in her hands…literally. I made her toes curl. For fuck’s sake, she wanted to take it further. One-night stands I get; the way I’ve felt since I met her…especially the way I feel right now, I don’t get at all. What a time to grow a freaking conscious. I literally hate myself right now. Maybe the venom did do something to my brain.

  I sit with my back to her, waiting for her to say whatever it is she needs to say. What I really want to do is get the hell out of here and put some space between us. I must be losing my edge, I think, running my fingers through my hair. She makes me question everything I had figured out about myself. It’s like this whole experience has thrown me off and I’m starting to wonder if I’m the same person I was, or if I will be again once all this is over. I have wanted to taste her lips since I first laid eyes on her. When we’ve touched, even the slightest bit, I’ve imagined her body pressed against mine and doing much, much more. I have wondered what it would be like to be inside her. She turns me on more than I’ve experienced before, which is why I don’t understand how my head just over road other parts of my anatomy.

  I sigh and close my eyes
. I wish she’d hurry up and get on with this already. Her uneven breaths take me back and I can’t help visualizing her panting beneath me, and her lips on mine. That kiss and her touch made me want more of her in every way. If it hadn’t been for her saying that what we were about to do was being irresponsible and wrong, I would have gone against my better judgment. Christ, I may not have even considered slowing things down, let alone stopping. But because of what she said I had no choice. Did I?