by A. E. Radley
“You’re wet,” I whispered.
“I’m always wet for you,” she answered.
I slid my first two fingers down and into her; she tilted her head back, mouth falling open into a silent moan. I leaned closer to her, sliding one arm beneath her neck and shoulders while I kept working the two fingers inside her. It had always been two fingers with Jules, never three. And there was something so familiar and intimate about knowing that one little fact that my heart nearly burst with love for her.
I moved faster, harder, dipping my head to kiss her chest, neck, the corners of her open mouth.
“I love you,” I said. “I love you so much.”
She was too far gone to answer me; her mouth moved in an attempt to make words, but no sound came out, until finally,
“Fuck! Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”
she came.
So we wrapped our arms around each other
Trying to shove ourselves back together
We were making love
Making love
I was on my own back and screaming mere minutes later.
We each arrived two more times after that, then collapsed in a tangled heap of sweaty, sticky limbs. The futon cover was damp and cool beneath us; I kept one arm around Julie while tugging up the throw blanket over us with my other hand.
The sun had completely set some time ago, and what little light there was in the room came from the blue-white glow of ground lights around the infinity pool two stories below. How long had we made love? How long had it been since we had stopped? Was it seven o’clock or midnight?
We talked some. We talked about her break-up with Karen, about what her dogs had been like as puppies, about why she wanted to open a gym. We talked about my leg, the future of my career, the music scene in Los Angeles.
At some point, our conversation trailed off, dissipating like steam in the dark room, and we fell asleep.
NEW YEAR’S DAY: “NEW YEAR’S DAY,” U2
JULIE ARON ~ ONE YEAR LATER
I fidgeted just inside the locked glass door, looking out into the parking lot. Helium balloons both inside and outside the plate glass window obscured my view, but not so much that I didn’t know the lot was empty.
Maybe no one will come, I thought.
No, that’s ridiculous, I thought next, trying to quell my own doubts. Hope invited more than a hundred people. And it’s Hope. People will come.
Dog toenails clicked against the faux wood floor, and a wet nose pressed into my hand. I bent down far enough to rub an ear, although I hadn’t looked to see if it was Wilson or Spalding who’d come up to me.
“If you build it, they will come. Right, guys?” I said, quoting from the only Kevin Costner movie I’d ever really liked. I glanced down. Spalding, then. I kneeled down to give him a more thorough scratching, since he was the needier of my two dogs and required that kind of reassurance.
Though I had to admit that right now, I was the one who needed the reassurance.
“Maybe you knew that, huh buddy?” I said while I rubbed his neck. He turned and licked the side of my face.
A white car with a ride share sticker in its windshield pulled up, and I stood up in time to see Hope get out of the back seat. She waved goodbye to the driver and limped a little as she made her way to the front door. I unlocked it for her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said after giving me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “My meeting with George ran late. He’s not keen on me overhauling the new album, but it’s like I told him — I’m done with being a pop star.”
“What did he say about donating all the proceeds to gun control groups?”
“Oh, that was the only part of the plan he liked,” she said, grinning. “He thinks it’ll boost sales.” She sighed, the kind of sigh someone gives when they finally sit down at last at the end of a long day. “But that’s not why I’m doing it. It feels so good to get back to making the kind of music I really love, for the reasons I love making it.” Her gaze flitted around the room, nodding her approval at the shiny new gym equipment, the stability balls I’d inflated while she’d been gone, the rows of rubber-coated dumbbells. “Everything looks great. But where’s the caterer?”
I shrugged. “Not here. Nobody’s here.”
She took my hand, squeezed it. “Stop worrying. They’ll come. But it’s Los Angeles; no one wants to be the first person to arrive at a party. Trust me.” She frowned. “Although the caterer definitely should’ve been here by now.”
Hope reached into the purse dangling from her forearm and pulled out her phone. “I made a playlist. What did you do with the Bluetooth speaker?”
For a brief moment, I thought of Karen and her Bluetooth speaker. Sometimes it surprised me how little I thought of Karen, how I spent five years with her and now she hardly ever crossed my mind. As if those five years had been nothing but a bad dream, waiting for Hope to wake me with her reappearance.
I gestured to the corner. “It’s over there,” I said. “But I made a playlist, too.”
“Maybe you did, but mine’s better,” she said with a wry smile. “Your playlist probably has nothing but 90s music and hip hop.”
“I like hip hop,” I said.
“Oh, stop whining,” she said dismissively, pecking me on the cheek as she crossed the room.
I resumed my survey of the parking lot, brightening when I saw a car pull up and three people in catering uniforms get out.
“The caterer just got here,” I said.
“About time,” Hope said. “There — I think I got it working.”
Something electronic crackled to life. I heard guitar, keyboard, drum, and Bono’s plaintive “Yeee-ahhh!”
I unlocked the door for the caterers, propping the door open for them.
“Do you want us to set up inside or outside?” they asked.
“Inside,” I said.
“Outside,” Hope said at the same time.
I shrugged. “Outside, I guess.”
The caterer glanced from me to Hope, and if I wasn’t mistaken, her eyes widened with recognition. It was something I was getting used to about having a superstar for a girlfriend. Hope smiled pleasantly and put an arm around my waist.
All is quiet on New Year’s Day
A world in white gets underway
I want to be with you
Be with you, night and day
Nothing changes on New Year’s Day
On New Year’s Day
The caterer walked out, barking instructions to her two companions.
Hope squeezed. “You’re going to be the most sought-after trainer in Malibu,” she said. “Trust me.”
I managed a faint smile. “And if I’m not? You’re going to be my sugar mama?”
She nodded. “I’ll make you my housewife and keep you locked away where no one else can find you. What do you think about that?”
“I think I’ll expect chocolate bonbons every day.”
She giggled — a light, musical sound. She giggled like that a lot these days.
I will be with you again
I will be with you again
SONGS EXCERPTED IN THIS NOVELLA
(LISTED IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)
Seger, Bob. “Turn the Page.” Back in ’72, Palladium, 1973.
DiFranco, Ani. “32 Flavors.” Not a Pretty Girl, Righteous Babe, 1995.
Germanotta, Stefani and Khayat, Nadir. “Bad Romance.” The Fame Monster, Interscope Records, 2009.
Saliers, Emily. “Least Complicated.” Swamp Ophelia, Epic, 1994.
Gilmour, David and Waters, Roger. “Comfortably Numb.” The Wall, Harvest, 1980.
Taylor, James. “Fire and Rain.” Sweet Baby James, Warner Bros., 1970.
Clapton, Eric and Jennings, Will. “Tears in Heaven.” Rush: Music from the Motion Picture Soundtrack, Warner Bros., 1992.
Guthrie, Arlo. “Alice’s Restaurant.” Alice’s Restaurant, Warner Bros., 1967.
Alexakis, Art; Eklund, Greg; and Montoya, Craig. �
�I Will Buy You a New Life.” So Much for the Afterglow, Capitol, 1997.
Mescudi, Scott; Stroud, Mike; and Mast, Evan. “Pursuit of Happiness.” Man on the Moon: The End of Day, GOOD Music, 2010.
Guaraldi, Vince. “Thanksgiving Theme.” A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, CBS, 1973.
Kiedis, Anthony; Flea; Frusciante, John; and Smith, Chadwick. “Scar Tissue.” Californication, Warner Bros., 1999.
Duritz, Adam; Mize, Ben; Gillingham, Charles; Vickrey, Daniel; Bryson, David; and Malley, Matthew. “A Long December.” Recovering the Satellites, Geffen, 1996.
Winehouse, Amy and Ronson, Mark. “Back to Black.” Back to Black, Island, 2007.
Michael, George. “Last Christmas.” Music from the Edge of Heaven, Columbia, 1984.
Menzel, Idina; Anderson-Lopez, Kristen; and Lopez, Robert. “Let It Go.” Frozen (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), Walt Disney Records, 2013.
Mars, Bruno; Brown, Christopher; Hernandez, Peter; Reeves, Jeremy; Yip, Jonathan; Fauntleroy, James; Lawrence, Philip; McCullough, Ray; and Romulus, Ray. “That’s What I Like.” 24K Magic, Atlantic, 2017.
Harris, Neil Patrick and Trask, Stephen. “The Origin of Love.” Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Atlantic, 1999.
ABOUT ELIZA ANDREWS
Find out more about Eliza Andrews on her website:
AuthorElizaAndrews.com
Get a free short story when you join her mailing list:
AuthorElizaAndrews.com/readersclub
EASIER SAID THAN DONE (A LOVE BITES CHRISTMAS) BY LILA BRUCE
CHAPTER 1
The best thing about the holidays is the food—there always seems to be lots of it, and people have no problem sharing it with you. On Labor Day and the Fourth of July, you can count on hot dogs and hamburgers. New Year’s Eve can be hit or miss, but is usually good for the occasional pizza and other assorted finger foods. Ditto Super Bowl Sunday.
My favorite holidays, though, are the ham holidays—Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. There’s nothing like the glorious smell of a ham baking in the oven, its delicious aroma wafting through every corner of the house. And it never fails that people always overestimate how big a ham they’ll need, leading to the wonderful human phenomenon known as “leftovers”.
And then, of course, there’s the ham bone.
Very few things in life can compare to the mouthwateringly scrumptious delicacy that is a ham bone. I can gnaw on one for days. In fact, I’d take a ham bone over most anything else. But what dog wouldn’t? My favorite are the ones that still have little bits of ham attached to them.
The kind of ham bone that literally melts in your mouth.
The kind of ham bone that my person, Ashley, was carving around right then.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that, along with the bone, there was an awful lot of ham left on the platter that was tantalizingly positioned at the edge of the island that sat in the middle of the kitchen. I’d gotten a good look at the plate earlier when Ashley had unreasonably carried me to the backyard so the people could “eat in peace”. Mostly, it was the kind of ham that had more fat to it to than meat. The kind that the people tended not to eat. I, however, was not so picky when it came to matters of food.
I sidled up to Ashley, giving a pitiful little whine as I wound around her legs. I didn’t normally resort to such tactics, but when it comes to ham…well, sometimes a dog has to do what a dog has to do.
Ashley paused in mid-cut and looked down at me. “All right, Moose,” she said. “If everyone is done, then you can have a small piece.”
Yes!
She rested one hand on her hip, then half-turned in the direction of the dining room. “Does anyone want more ham?” Ashley called out.
Say no, say no, say no…
“I wouldn’t mind just a small piece if there’s any left,” a male voice answered back.
Damn it.
“Sure thing.” Ashley picked up the platter with both hands and then started to head out of the kitchen. “Sorry, Moose,” she said, giving me a quick glance. “Our guests come first. But, if you’re good, I’ll save you the bone.”
Our guests, in my opinion, had already eaten more than their share of the Thanksgiving feast my Ashley had spent the better part of two days preparing. They were seriously cutting into my leftover potential.
It’d been about three months since I moved with Ashley out of our cramped little one bedroom apartment downtown and into Ashley’s girlfriend Peyton’s house. Peyton is the second best thing to happen to my Ashley, me being the first. It took Ashley a while to realize that, but, thanks to my help, everything worked out between them in the end.
Peyton’s place was not far from my best friend Elvis’s house and has a nice, fenced-in backyard. It wasn’t as big as the one at Elvis’s, but it was a backyard and I had it all to myself. Well, me and Daisy, Peyton’s daughter. Still, it beat the apartment any day of the week.
And Peyton’s house has a huge kitchen, almost three times the size of the one back at the apartment. We never used to do a lot of cooking, but how could you not in a place like this. I do occasionally miss the take-out that me and Ashley used to eat all time, especially the plum sauce chicken from Mr. Woo’s place, but it’s hard to beat a home-cooked meal.
Home-cooked like the ham that Ashley had just carved up and was now absconding with into the dining room.
“Hey, wait!”
It was too late. Before I could get the words out, she was gone. Growling under my breath, I followed her into the dining room, arriving just in time to see Ashley scraping off a huge section of ham onto Peyton’s brother’s plate.
Damn him.
As a general rule, I don’t care for human men. Mike, though, has been an exception to that rule. I kept my distance from him the first time we met, but then I discovered our mutual love of food. Mike and his family had come over to Peyton’s right after we moved in, and we’d all had a big cookout. Mike had been in charge of the grill that afternoon. I’d been looking at him from the other side of a big red cooler, when I noticed that he’d accidentally dropped a couple of hot dogs on the ground. I was halfway through my third one when I realized he was doing it on purpose. Mainly because Peyton was telling him not to, but that just gave him extra points in my book.
Of course, that was before I saw him take the ham bone—my ham bone!—off the platter and start nibbling on it like it was an ear of corn. The sheer audacity of the man!
“Mike, that’s my ham bone. Put it down right now,” I snarled at him.
Mike leaned down from his seat at the dining room table and patted my head. “Hey, little buddy,” he said and then proceeded to gnaw on my property inches from my face. It took every ounce of restraint I had not to bite him in the leg right then. I knew that if I did, I would find myself exiled to the backyard for the remainder of the night.
“Mike,” I heard Peyton shout out from the living room. “Stop teasing Moose.”
He rose back up in his chair and then twisted halfway around to look back toward her direction. “What makes you think I’m teasing the dog?”
Peyton stepped into the dining room holding an empty plate. “Because I know you…and I recognize Moose’s ‘give me back my food’ bark,” she said, reaching across the table and sliding the pecan pie that sat near Mike’s plate close to her. She cut a slice and slid it onto her plate.
He twisted his face and pointed my ham bone toward the pie. “How many pieces does that make, Peyton? Two or three?”
In response, she licked the knife she’d used to cut the pie and then dropped it on his plate. “Thanksgiving calories don’t count,” she said. “Now give Moose the bone and stop teasing him.” Peyton turned and walked back into the living room, already starting in on the piece of pie. “Grow up a little.”
“Yeah…well,” he huffed, “Why don’t you go back to watching your football game.” He looked back down at me, winked, and then dropped the ham bone onto the floor. Not giving him the chance to change his mind and take
it back, I snatched it up and sprinted off toward the bedrooms. The ham bone, I decided, could be hidden in my toy box for later. Between the people still in the dining room, and those eating in the living room while they watched television, there were still plenty of opportunities for food to be dropped or forgotten about long enough for me to get a taste of it.
I’d taken two, maybe three steps when the smell hit me.
It was a funny smell, one that I knew but still couldn’t quite put my paw on. Whatever it was made my stomach clinch and set the hairs on my back on end.
I quickly stashed the ham bone behind the giant plant in the corner of the dining room and went to investigate. I frowned, trying to decide exactly what the smell was and why it was bothering me so. When I stepped through the doorway to the living room, the odor was so strong that it punched me in the face.
I knew then exactly what it was.
“It’s a kitten!”
“I can see that it’s a kitten,” Peyton said, grimacing at Ashley before turning to stare at her mother, Jolene. “Why is it a kitten?”
Ashley couldn’t help but smile at the look of consternation on Peyton’s face. With her bottom lip curled, eyes narrowed, nose twitching, Peyton bore more than passing resemblance to the mewling kitten in Daisy’s arms that smelled like it had been left out in the rain too long.
“I thought you were running to the store to get more ice,” Peyton continued.
“We were,” Jolene said, patting Daisy on the head as she spoke, “but when we got to the convenience store, we saw this tiny little thing walking out in the road about to get hit by a car.”
Daisy jumped between the two of them and held the kitten up in front of her like a shield, smiling broadly at her mother. “Please Mama, can we keep him?”
“Honey, I’m sure it belongs to someone, we can’t just keep it.”
The eight-year-old was not to be deterred. “No, it doesn’t have a collar on, and Grandma said that it was going to get hurt running out into traffic.”