Hard Choices: An Erotic Romance

by Joan Farraneau

  A live band is playing in one corner of the dance hall, a raucous number that seems to get faster with every verse. It’s a real bluegrass band. Not the best for country dancing, but not too bad either. A banjo player is fingering his instrument furiously as another man hops back and forth with a washboard tied to his waist. The drummer croons into a mike, something about love lost and found again. There’s nothing quite like going to a dancehall in the south. This is where the true southern spirit resides.

  I lead us to the bar where I grab two beers (Shiners, if you must know) and hand one to Sam.

  “Cheers,” I say, holding up my beer.

  “Cheers,” she says, clinking hers to mine. Her eyes are lit up with girlish excitement. She must have not been kidding. From the way she’s holding herself it doesn’t look like she’s been to such a place in a very long time.

  We watch the dance floor for a while with our backs leaned up against the bar. There are a lot of pretty women about. Just like I remember. There are only a few men who know what they are doing. These are in high demand and are kept busy by the constant stream of women asking them to dance. For a dancing man, picking up women is like shooting fish in a barrel.

  I finish my first beer quickly and grab a second. One more and I’ll be loose enough to hit the floor.

  “There sure are a lot of women looking at you,” Sam grumbles beside me. I look down at her and smile.

  “They’re wondering how a schlub like me got with a beauty like you.”

  She blushes and takes a sip of her beer. I find everything about her adorable. I can see why the younger me was so hopelessly in love. She’s even better now that her hard edges have softened. Life tends to do that to a person. From the way she holds herself and the guarded looks I sometimes get, I can tell she’s been tossed around a bit. I’d have to be blind not to see it. But what is it that’s happened to her?

  We don’t talk much as we stand there at the bar. There’s not much to say. I just feel so comfortable being here with her. It’s nice knowing I’ll spend a fun night out and end up with her when it’s all over. It’s a feeling I haven’t ever really known.

  “Okay,” I say when my second beer is finished. I set it on the bar top and let out a burp. “Let’s do it.”

  “Wait, what?” Sam yelps as I grab her hand and pull her towards the dance floor. “You mean dance?”

  “I mean dance!” I yell over the band. They’ve started a new number, a more traditional country song. My boots are itching to move now. “Come on, I’ll take care of you!”

  “Okay…” she drawls. “I guess.”

  Her nervousness makes me laugh. As soon as my boots hit the slick floor in the center of the barn, I yank Sam towards me, twirling her into me, my arms around her and her back to my chest.

  “Ready?” I ask. Before she can reply, we’re off. I lead her through all the steps and tricks I know, spinning her faster and faster as we weave through the crowds. There’s only a few couples out on the floor—the music is too fast for most. Several men and women cheer as I whip Sam past. She spins and I yank her back to me just as she is about to lose control. Before she can catch her breath we’re off once more.

  The song shifts and slows. Both Sam and I are breathing hard now. The folks lining the floor clap for the couples who’ve managed to stay afloat for the entire song. Sam draws in a deep breath and places her head against my chest. I clasp her tightly and we spin slowly in the center of the floor, our bodies rooted to one spot.

  “I didn’t know you were such a good dancer,” she whispers, just loud enough so that only I can hear.

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffs, straightening and grinning up at me. “You were doing all the work. I was just a ragdoll getting pulled along.”

  “Well, you are one sexy ragdoll.”

  The next song is slow too and we stay right where we are. For me, there’s no one else in the world but her. Once or twice we’re interrupted by women asking me to dance. Each time, I gently turn them down. They are pretty, but I have eyes for only one person.

  Sam must feel it too. Not once do her eyes stray from mine.

  “Luke,” she murmurs halfway through the song. “I’m so happy.”

  With the way she says it, I know she means a whole lot more than just in this moment. I can see the same guardedness in her eyes, the same cloudiness that comes over her every time she thinks of a life once lived that I know nothing about. A life that wasn’t happy and now is.

  “I’m so happy,” she repeats, this time more forcefully, and I watch as the cloudiness dissolves away. Whatever it is, she’s moved beyond it. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the first time she’s really started to believe that the two of us are more than just a dream.

  When the fourth song ends, I lead her off the dance floor and back to the bar. We haven’t been here long, no more than forty-five minutes. Even so, we’re both yawning.

  “This is fun,” Sam yawns. “But I’m still looking forward to getting back home and stripping you down, fucking, and then promptly passing out.”

  “Are you already ready to go again?”

  “What can I say? I’m a woman. Our bodies are ready to go at any time.”

  I’m about to reply when I feel a hand on my shoulder and a voice behind me says, “Sean Hartwood. Son of a bitch!”

  It’s a voice I recognize. My heart plunges to the pit of my stomach and I feel ice shoot through my veins. Oh god. Please not here. Not like this. Why?

  “Sean,” Brian McDonald continues, his hand tight on my shoulder, “I thought you said you hadn’t seen Sam. You sly dog, don’t tell me you two are dating?”

  I don’t have to look up to guess the look on Sam’s face. I close my eyes, for a second hoping that this is all a dream and that the worst thing that could be happening is in fact not happening. But it is. And there’s nothing I can do but face it.

  Sam has the exact look I expect. Confusion. Her mouth is hanging open. Realization slowly blossoms in her eyes. She looks back and forth between me and Brian. He’s smiling with a glazed look in his eye and a half-empty beer in his hand.

  “Sean?” she finally whispers. “Sean Hartwood?”

  “Hi, Sam,” I say meekly.

  “But you told me your name was Luke.”

  Brian laughs. He’s the same stupid kid I remember from geometry. I always had thought he’d smoked too much weed.

  “Luke? No way. This is Sean. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him. Weren’t you two like best friends or something? Wasn’t he in love with you?”

  “Go.” I look up at Brian, fire in my eyes. I’m so angry that he takes an involuntary step back. “Leave.”

  “Whoa, dude,” he says, holding up both hands. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just been ten years, you know? I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  I force myself to take a deep breath. He’s right. It’s not him I’m angry at. It’s me.

  “Can you give us some space?”

  “Sure, sure,” Brian says. He takes a swig of his beer as he backs away. “Good to see both of you. Don’t be a stranger, Sean.”

  It’s Sam looking at the ground now. I don’t know what to say. I reach out to stroke her arm. She jerks at my touch and recoils. When she looks up there’s hatred in her eyes.

  “Take me home,” she says simply, her tone flat.

  “Look, I can expl—“

  “Take me home.”

  I sigh and set my beer on the counter. It’s everything I can do not to shatter the bottle on the ground. I want to smash everything in sight. How could I be so fucking stupid?

  Sam’s already halfway out the door. I follow her out. Several people’s eyes follow me. They can tell something is wrong. What are you looking at? I want to scream. Goddamn leeches!

  Sam’s walking so fast I have to jog to keep up. For such a tiny girl she sure has a long stride.

  “Sam,” I say when we reach the bike. It’s
a plea. I grab her elbow and turn her around. Her lips are pursed and she’s breathing heavily through her nose. The cloudiness is back and darker than ever. “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck you, Sean. I trusted you.”

  “Sam, really, I can explain. I didn’t think—“

  “Didn’t think what? That you should tell me the truth about who you were? You told me you were from San Antonio! That you were just visiting. I should have known. How could I be so fucking stupid? You knew all these wonderful places to take me!”

  “Sam, I—“

  “Don’t even. What did you think was going to happen? You probably spent all this time laughing to yourself. Sean Hartwood, nerdy kid from high school, finally fucking Sam Atley. I bet it made you all sorts of happy to see me working in that diner! You probably thought that I was desperate, that it served me right after I rejected your sorry ass in high school. You’re the same loser you always were!”

  “Hey,” I say, my voice rising. “You were the asshole in high school. Why the fuck would I tell you my real name when I already know the history of how you treated me. If you had known it was me, you would have probably done the same thing you did back then and pretended to care for me when all you cared about was what I provided!”

  “I was the asshole?” she snorts. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re the same little boy you always were. Wittle Sean Hartwood gets his feelings hurt because he doesn’t understand that chasing after a girl and telling her how you love her over and over isn’t the way to get her to like you. Wittle Sean Hartwood has the world against him because he thinks he should be loved no matter what, that just because he’s more sensitive and caring than all the other boys, I’m supposed to drop at his feet and beg him to marry me.”

  “You told me I’d be the perfect man to marry. And then the next week you were fucking the quarterback.”

  “You were! You were the perfect man to marry! Because you were boring! But it didn’t make me want to fuck you.”

  “Oh, but you wanted to fuck me now? Now that I have some tattoos and have been in a few fights? Now that you thought you’d finally find someone to take you away from this shithole? You thought after all these years you could have your cake and eat it too, that you deserved happiness regardless of your shitty choices. Let me guess how that worked out for you. You probably spent a few years chasing those same bad boys you preferred over nice guys like me. And one probably snagged you and it wasn’t long before you found out about the lie, that there are no happily ever afters and that people only love others when it’s expedient. I’m the same as I always was? No, you’re the same. The same selfish, little girl who thinks the world owes her something and is surprised to learn that her actions have consequences.”

  “Okay, Sean,” she says, suddenly defeated. “Okay, you win. Stop. Stop.” Her voice is quivering. “I’ve had enough. Just take me home. Please.”

  “Fine,” I growl. “Whatever you want, princess.” I climb onto the bike, put the key in the ignition and rev it up. “I’ll take you home.”

  She says nothing as she climbs on behind me. There’s nothing to do but drive away.

  25.

  Sam

  I’m numb for the next ten minutes. Completely numb. It’s a cool night and I’m without a jacket but it doesn’t matter. I don’t feel a thing.

  So much has just happened that my mind can’t find a foothold to begin to unpack it all. Sean? Sean Hartwood? No wonder why I felt like I knew Luke. I did know him.

  Memories of our weekend come flashing back. I feel dirty, like I need a shower. Not just one, a thousand. I feel used, tricked, disgusting. How could I have not known?

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ is what I should be asking. Why was I so desperate for love? It’s obvious I have some serious self-esteem issues. Stuck in a shitty marriage, I pounced on the first man to show me interest. Should have known it was too good to be true. Nothing in this life comes that easily. The entire affair stank from beginning to end.

  The numbness wears off quickly and is quickly replaced by anger, which comes in waves. Whenever the anger dies down for more than a few seconds and I can breathe normally again, some small memory pops up and sends me tumbling back over the edge. The clouds have cleared and the stars are out in full regalia; it’s a gorgeous night. Funny how life keeps churning even after everything has gone to shit. I stare off into the trees flashing by one either side as we speed down one dirt road after another. Sean is driving a little recklessly. I can feel the fury emanating off of him.

  Fuck him! What does he have to be angry about? A part of me wants to jerk the bike and send us both straight to our deaths. What the fuck does it matter for anyway? Not one person in the world will care if another 28-year-old fuck-up of a woman ends up in an early grave.

  I’m so distracted I don’t notice the extra truck in the driveway when we pull up to the trailer, nor the light on in the kitchen. All I want is to be in bed alone so that I can cry until I can’t cry anymore. Luke (Sean, I have to remind myself) shuts off the bike and sighs. He looks over his shoulder. I meet his gaze with eyes I know are dead.

  “Sam,” he begins. “Look, I’m sorry for all those things I just—“

  The sound of the screen door creaking open stops him mid-sentence.

  “Well, well, well,” a man’s voice, a voice I would recognize anywhere, says. “What do we have here?”

  Sean’s eyes narrow and he turns towards the porch.

  “Hi,” he says, confused. “Can I help you?”

  “Can you help me?” the man repeats mockingly. He stumbles down the porch steps, swaying slightly. In his hand is a half-finished bottle of whiskey. “I’m not sure.” He burps. “Depends on who you are.”

  “My name’s Sean. Sean Hartwood.”

  “Sean Hartwood?” The man squints and then his eyes light up in recognition. “The Sean Hartwood? The same one Sam went to high school with?”

  “Do I know you?”

  “Well, that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how much Sam told you about her husband.”

  Silence. For a moment, no one moves. I’m staring down at the ground, afraid to raise my head. I don’t want to see the look I know is on Sean’s face. The dancehall is all but forgotten.

  “Sam?” he asks quietly. He sounds heartbroken.

  I look up at him looking back at me and open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. His face looks exactly how I expected it to. It’s like he’s been hit over the head by a two by four. He looks dazed, confused. And most of all, hurt.

  “Is it true?” he whispers, his voice raspy.

  “Sean—” I begin.

  “Is it true?” he cuts me off. The fire in him is returning. His hurt is turning to anger before my eyes.

  “Yes. But it’s not—“

  “How touching!” Tim snorts. He steps off the last step onto the still-wet ground. He takes a swig from the bottle in his hand and tosses it into the grass beside the driveway. “The married woman who didn’t tell her new toy that she was already taken. That’s women for you, eh, Sean?”

  “Sean…”

  “Get off,” Sean snarls

  “Sean…” I repeat, but he’s already far away. Reluctantly, I climb down off the bike. Before I can say another word, his tires squeal as he whips his bike around and races back down the driveway. I watch him disappear into the darkness. Soon only his taillight is visible. A second later it is gone.

  What have I done?

  PART TWO

  26.

  Sean

  Three Weeks Later…

  “One more!” I say, slamming my hand on the top of the dirty bar. “And make it a double!”

  The bartender shakes his head and pours some whiskey into a glass. He sets the glass in front of me, takes the twenty I’m holding out and turns away in disgust. I knock back the drink in one gulp and swivel in my stool to eye the rest of the bar. In the front corner near the door three women are
drinking cosmos. The prettiest one looks over at me while she’s telling a story, blushes, and begins to twirl a strand of hair between her fingers. I stare for a moment and then turn back to the bar.

  “Don’t you think you better slow down?” Brian asks beside me. We’ve been here only thirty minutes and already I’ve had four very strong drinks. But what the fuck do I care? I’m filthy rich. Nobody can tell me what to do. Not anymore.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I growl, and wave the bartender down for another drink. Already he’s looking like he’s thinking of cutting me off.

  Just try it, you son of a bitch. I’m not above taking you out back and kicking your ass.

  “Whoa, dude. Calm it down. Just sayin’. Our night’s just starting. Not sure you want to get blotto yet. Especially cause those girls over there keep looking over at us.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mumble, not really hearing a word he’s saying. My eyes are fixed on my image in the mirror behind the bar. I look like I haven’t slept in a year. I’m about three days past needing a shave and the shirt I’m wearing I’ve been wearing since sometime the previous week. Fuck it. Who am I trying to impress anyways? Everything’s shit and always has been.

  “So, dude,” Brian continues, unperturbed by my lack of response. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. What have you been up to? I read in the paper that you’re donating half of your father’s estate to the city to build a school and a hospital. Paper said that’s over seventy-five million dollars. Is it true?”

  I shrug without breaking my gaze in the mirror.

  “Well, damn, I had heard your pops was loaded but I didn’t know he was that loaded. I assume drinks are on you, motherfucker.” Brian laughs. “Anyways, you’re not looking so good. Look like you’ve been hitting the drink a little too hard. What’s up, man? You doing okay? Why did you call me? I mean, I don’t mind. I’m always happy to see you. It’s just I haven’t heard from you in a while, you know? Not since the night I saw you and Sam in the dancehall, anyway.”