Shotgun

by Marie Sexton

  He shook his head. “I can’t.” And yet he reached for me. He rested his hand on my hip, and my heart missed a beat. His touch felt hot, even through my clothes.

  “You could. Just for tonight.”

  He shook his head again, but he drew me nearer until there was barely an inch between us. He brushed his fingers down my cheek. I could see the pulse pounding in his neck. I put one hand on his chest and noted the way his breath caught in his throat at my touch.

  I wanted him desperately. It wasn’t even the sex I longed for so much as the closeness. I wanted him to make me forget about my depressing life and the mysterious stalker. But I wouldn’t beg. I refused to say “please.” I put one arm around his neck, tangling my fingers into his dark hair. But before I could kiss him, he spoke.

  “I have to go,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Are you sure?” I slid my other arm around his waist. I kissed his jaw. His cheek. Brushed my lips over his ear and thrilled at the shiver that went through him.

  “Lamar,” he said, and shifted away from me, and yet, just as before, he couldn’t seem to let me go. He reversed direction and came back to me as quickly as he’d tried to pull away. We stood nose to nose, forehead to forehead, his hand tight on the nape of my neck. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered.

  I heard the struggle in those words. I felt the tension in his arms and back as he battled with himself, knowing he wanted me but refusing to let it happen.

  “Dom?”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Naomi’s waiting for me. I promised her I’d bring home dinner.”

  Naomi. In my haste to find the distraction I needed, I’d somehow forgotten his other obligations. I didn’t hold it against her—or him—but I couldn’t quite hide my disappointment either. I wasn’t ready to face my empty house.

  “Maybe you could just stay for a bit? An hour?”

  But the spell was broken. I felt him gathering himself, pulling away. “It wouldn’t be fair to you,” he said quietly. “That’s not what you need right now.”

  I winced but didn’t argue. It was true that had he given me only an hour—or even two—I would have felt that much worse when he left. I wanted him with me the whole night. I wanted to lie in his arms and feel safe.

  “You’ll come by tomorrow?” he asked, still holding me as if he couldn’t stand to let me go.

  “Don’t you work?”

  “It’s my one Saturday off for the month.”

  “Then yes, I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “We have to finish the Imperial Walker, and then we have a Death Star to build.”

  I laughed. “I know. I have some papers to grade in the morning, and I need to mow the lawn, but I’ll come by in the afternoon.”

  “Good.”

  He sighed. His grip on my neck loosened, but he didn’t release me, either. His grip turned into a caress. He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering for a second before moving to my eyebrow and then my nose, my cheek, to the corner of my mouth, his breath teasing gently over my lips, reminding me of our first night together and the sharp tang of marijuana smoke between us. I closed my eyes and waited, thinking maybe he’d change his mind.

  But he stopped.

  “Holy Christ,” he swore softly.

  And then, before I could catch my breath, he let me go. He moved away quickly, leaving me alone and unbalanced, as if all my strength had been torn away from me.

  “Good night, Lamar. Be sure you lock the door behind me.”

  DOMINIC

  I WALKED out of Lamar’s house without looking back, although it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. My hands shook as I climbed into the car and fumbled with the seat belt. The pieces refused to lock together, and I cursed emphatically and gave up. I leaned forward and put my head against the steering wheel, breathing deep, trying not to think about how much I wanted to go back, pound on his door, tell him I’d made the wrong decision.

  But I hadn’t. As much as I wanted him, a sexual relationship with him was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and swore, hoping he wasn’t watching me, seeing how unhinged I was.

  If only he’d come back fifteen years ago. If only I’d come out of the closet when I was nineteen rather than marrying Elena. If only Elena hadn’t needed me so much back then. If only….

  If only I had the freedom to choose my own happiness.

  But I didn’t. Not at this late date. Elena would have understood, but not my parents. And Naomi?

  No. I couldn’t do that to her. I had to keep her in mind, no matter what I did. If life was a journey, she was my copilot, and I had to put her needs before my own.

  And I hadn’t lied to Lamar. She really was at home, waiting for me to bring her sweet and sour chicken from the China Palace downtown. Waiting to ask me for help with her homework, even though I rarely knew the answers. Waiting for me to be the best dad I could be.

  I finally started the car. Maneuvered the goddamn seat belt into its little slot with a gratifying click. Turned the car around and headed for home. I took advantage of a stop sign and the complete lack of cars behind me to call Naomi’s cell.

  “Dad!” she answered impatiently. “What’s taking so long?”

  “I had to give a customer a ride, but I’m headed for the restaurant now.”

  “Okay. Mom’s here too. She wants Mongolian beef. And get fried rice too.”

  “You got it.”

  I clicked off and tossed my cell phone into the passenger seat, wishing I could forget the entire encounter with Lamar. I didn’t want to think about the kiss on Angelo’s front porch, or about how scared and desperate Lamar had seemed, or how exciting it had been to touch him again, or how I’d volunteered so willingly to be his savior. I also didn’t want to think about his invitation to spend the night, or how tempted I’d been, or the disappointment in his eyes when I’d rejected him. And so I settled on his house.

  It had scared me, seeing the way he lived. The entire space seemed to resonate loneliness and hopelessness. I knew how depression worked, and I didn’t think anybody could live in such a lifeless, joyless space for long without going a bit mad. It was no wonder he drank.

  I shouldn’t have left him there alone with his bourbon and his empty walls and a stalker who may or may not have his key. I should have told him to pack a bag. I should have taken him to my house. I could have pulled out the hide-a-bed and then….

  And then what? Gone to my own bedroom, only to lie there awake, dreaming about how easy it would be to creep down the hallway? Imagining the thrill of slipping under the sheets and pulling him close? Could I have made it through the night without going to him? Without kissing him? Without feeling his soft, naked flesh under my hands?

  Would I have made love to him while my daughter slept only a few yards away?

  No.

  Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.

  Still, I couldn’t help but ponder the possibilities. Maybe next time he was at my house and Naomi was at Elena’s, I could dare to reach for him. Maybe I’d let myself kiss him, feel his body against mine, slide my hands up under his shirt to explore the silky flesh of his back.

  My loins stirred at the thought. But then I imagined Naomi walking in on us, and the eroticism quickly gave way to horror.

  I couldn’t let that happen, and dwelling on it would only make me more miserable. I needed to concentrate on the issue at hand: feeding my thirteen-year-old daughter.

  “Took you long enough!” Naomi exclaimed when I finally arrived home with dinner.

  “I had to give somebody a ride.”

  I set the takeout on the table while Naomi went to the kitchen for plates.

  “Was it Lamar?” Elena asked.

  I hung my jacket over the back of my chair and sank into my seat, doing my best to tell her to shut up without saying it out loud. “Let’s talk about it later,” I said, my voice low.

  “Talk about what later?” Naomi asked as she re
turned with the plates.

  “About how your father’s an idiot.”

  “Not exactly news, Mom.”

  I let their good-natured chiding roll off my back. I could handle Elena scolding me later if it meant keeping Naomi in the dark about my history with Lamar.

  We chatted through dinner about Halloween. It amused me how Naomi could declare herself too old for Legos, yet argue she was still young enough to trick-or-treat. We also debated our plans for Thanksgiving. With my and Elena’s families so close, it was always a struggle to keep everybody happy.

  “Do you have a preference whose family you spend it with this year?” I asked Naomi.

  She’d eaten her rice and meat and left a pile of pineapple and pepper strips on her plate. She pushed them around with her fork. “I want to spend it with you guys.”

  Elena and I glanced at each other. We went through this every year.

  “I’ll be at my mom’s, and your dad will be with his parents,” Elena said. “You know that. But Dad’s family usually eats a lot later than mine, so maybe you could do both.”

  “Oh God,” Naomi moaned as if we’d suggested she shave her head bald. “Why would I want to double my pain?”

  “It’s not that bad,” I told her.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied. “Grandma Martinez makes tamales and chicken mole for Thanksgiving, which is just wrong. And at Grandma Jacobsen’s, there are way too many people. I get stuck at the kids’ table. And then Grandma and the aunts will expect me to help clean everything up afterward, because that’s what the girls do, even though I’d rather watch football. Nobody ever tells the boys they have to help with the dishes afterward! They all get to lie down and take naps!”

  I couldn’t argue with her on that point.

  “Besides,” she went on, “somebody always gets in an argument, and then it takes until Christmas to make up.”

  Elena and I exchanged looks again, trying to decide which one of us would speak. I could tell by her baffled expression it would have to be me.

  “Okay,” I said to Naomi. “Then, what do you suggest?”

  Her eyes brightened, and she squirmed excitedly in her seat. She set her fork down and leaned forward against the table. “Why don’t we do our own Thanksgiving?” she asked. “The three of us, plus Greg. What do you think?”

  It sounded simple, but the family politics involved would be anything but. “I don’t know,” I said, looking at Elena.

  “Maybe,” Elena said thoughtfully. “Greg will have his daughter this year for Thanksgiving, and she never likes going to my mom’s house. I’m sure she’d be more comfortable if it was just us.”

  “It’d be great,” Naomi said. “And Dad, you could invite Mr. Franklin too, since he doesn’t know anybody else in town.”

  Elena’s eyes flashed amusement, but she hid her smile by wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Your dad and I will talk about it.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “Don’t you have homework?”

  Elena took pity on me and waited until the table was cleared of all but the opened but uneaten fortune cookies and Naomi was firmly ensconced in her bedroom before turning on me.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “About Thanksgiving?” I debated. I knew my parents would be upset. On the other hand, Naomi’s assessment of my family’s annual celebration was on the nose, and spending the day with the people I loved most sounded appealing. But I worried about inviting Lamar into our circle. “It’s an idea.”

  “She seems to like Lamar.”

  I used my finger to sweep the cookie crumbs into a neat pile in front of me rather than meet her eyes. “He’s been spending a bit of time here.”

  “So I hear.”

  A simple enough statement, but I heard the question behind it. I chose to remain silent.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “Well, what?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me. What’s going on with the two of you?”

  “Nothing. We’re friends.”

  A moment of silence. Just enough to let me know she didn’t buy it, but she let it drop. “Speaking of Lamar, I had a visit from Coda’s finest today.”

  “Yeah, I meant to ask how that went. Was that cop a total ass to you?”

  “Nah, he was fine.” She spread her fortune on the table, smoothing it flat with her fingers. “Lamar has a stalker?”

  “It looks like it, yeah. I told him it couldn’t be you, but—”

  “I get it.” She shrugged and began rolling the strip of paper into a tight coil, grinning up at me as she did. “It was a logical leap for him to make. I could have been the spurned ex trying to keep you all to myself. I think he was a little surprised at how much I knew, and at the fact that I’m kind of rooting for the two of you to get together.”

  I chose to ignore that last tidbit. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him you’d never do this because you’re crazy about Lamar. And I told him how you spent our entire senior year talking about him and have been a bit obsessed with him for the last fifteen years—but not in the ‘let’s trash his car’ kind of way—and I told him I was pretty sure you still had a crush on him, and—”

  “Jesus, Elena!” I asked, appalled and embarrassed. “You told that big, burly cop about me having a crush on Lamar fifteen years ago?”

  “I told that big, burly, gay cop, yeah. Why not?”

  Gay or not, I was pretty sure any amount of respect I’d managed to earn with Officer Richards had now been flushed down the ‘stupid high-school obsession’ toilet. “Next time, cut to the chase and tell him I have the smallest penis ever, all right?”

  She rolled her eyes, reminding me again that Naomi came by the habit honestly. She tossed her fortune at my head. “Don’t be a baby. I was helping.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She pushed her chair back and stood up. “I need to get home. Greg’s probably wondering where I am. I’ll see you Sunday, right?”

  “Sunday?”

  “Yeah, Uncle Mario’s birthday, remember?”

  I slapped a palm to my forehead. “I completely forgot.” Mario was my mother’s brother, and his birthday was always a major family event. It’d take up my entire Sunday.

  At least I’d have Saturday with Lamar.

  NAOMI LEFT the house at eleven on Saturday, saying she’d be home around seven. She was spending the day with her cousins. “Don’t dye your eyebrows again,” I told her on her way out the door.

  She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Dad. You’ll never let it go, will you?”

  I had a couple of hours before I expected Lamar. There were dishes to be done, and I had a mountain of laundry. I went into my bathroom and dug under the sink, pulled out the little tin box stuck in the back, and took it to the kitchen. I didn’t smoke weed on a regular basis, but occasionally, when I was home all day and Naomi was gone, and I was faced with eight hours of nothing but housework and bad daytime television, I still partook. And now that it’d been made legal in Colorado, there was less guilt involved.

  I took out one of the store-bought joints. It was far stronger than the weed we’d had back in high school, and I didn’t smoke it often enough to have much of a tolerance, so I took a single long hit and left the rest on the kitchen counter while I went about my housework.

  Dishes first, then a quick break to eat a sandwich for lunch, then laundry. Naomi was in charge of her bathroom, but I cleaned mine and did another load of laundry. I stared into the yard for a while, deciding how ambitious I felt. I’d have to get on a ladder and clean the gutters soon, but there was no point in doing it before all the leaves had finished falling.

  Now what?

  The idea of porn and a bit of quick self-gratification crossed my mind and I squirmed at the twinge in my groin. I’d been on edge since leaving Lamar’s the previous evening, but I hadn’t let myself indulge in masturbation. I knew I’d end up thinking of Lamar while I did it, and that felt wrong and dangerous on
multiple levels.

  I was surprised when my doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly two. I’d completely lost track of time.

  Lamar was all smiles as I let him in. I was struck by how much lighter I suddenly felt, having him there. I couldn’t help remembering the night before, when he’d invited me to stay.

  He’d invited me to share his bed.

  I didn’t dare think about it.

  “You want something to drink?” I asked as he followed me into the kitchen.

  “Anything’s fine.”

  “Bourbon?”

  “It’s a bit early in the day. How about—” He stopped short, staring down at the metal box on the countertop, the lid upside down next to it, and the snubbed-out joint lying in it.

  “Oh,” I said, feeling like the world’s worst dad. “Naomi’s gone for the day, and I was doing laundry.”

  “It’s fine,” he said. He laughed. “Before I left Dallas, I’d tell people I was moving to Colorado, and that was the first thing they all said. Either ‘you’re moving because pot’s legal, aren’t you?’ or ‘send me some weed when you get there.’”

  I moved closer, déjà vu rattling through my brain. I picked up the joint. My hand trembled as I held it out to him. I was playing with fire here, and I knew it.

  But I wanted more than anything for him to feed those flames like he had fifteen years earlier.

  “Do you want some?”

  He smiled up at me, shyly biting his lip exactly as he had fifteen years before. “Maybe.”

  “Help yourself.”

  He pushed the joint toward me. The simple touch on my hand turned into a caress on my wrist. “You know how to do shotgun?” he asked, his Southern accent strong and sexy as hell.

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I think I’ve done it before.”

  I barely managed to operate the lighter with my shaking fingers. I took a good, long hit. I set the joint aside. He stood on his toes and put a hand on the back of my neck. He stopped with his lips so close to mine, I could feel the brush of his breath.