Kelly, in her blue-and-white band uniform with her snare drum hanging from the strap around her neck, gestured wildly with her drumsticks and appeared to be giving Keith an earful.
Bruce couldn’t hear.
But he was pretty sure Keith deserved it.
Kelly stormed off in tears toward the relative safety of the volunteer station. Keith got into his car, slamming the door before he drove away.
Young love. What a pain in the ass.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A WOMAN WALKED into the lounge on Sunday and Mitzi looked up from wiping down the bar. “Audrey!”
“Do you like it?” she asked, turning in a slow circle so Mitzi could get the full effect of her makeover. “I was watching What Not to Wear and realized they were talking about my entire wardrobe.”
“I love it,” Mitzi said.
“Do you mind if I borrow your dad? My car stalled out on me not too far from here. I was hoping he could come take a look.”
“Dad’s really good with cars.” But then, Audrey knew that. She was glad the woman had decided to fight Nora Jean for him. “And I bet he would appreciate a home-cooked meal in return.” Audrey was a good cook and Mitzi knew for a fact Nora Jean didn’t know her way around a kitchen.
“Right—dinner,” Audrey said, catching on quickly.
“Wait.” Mitzi leaned over the bar and unbuttoned the other woman’s top button. Audrey gasped, but Mitzi was pleased with the result. “You might want to tell him you were headed out on a date when your car broke down. It will make you seem unavailable.”
“Do I want to seem unavailable?” Audrey asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Mitzi said. “Just don’t play too hard to get.”
With that advice Audrey went in search of Mitzi’s father. A few minutes later he came into the bar. “I’m gonna go help Audrey. Do you think you can close up for the night?”
“Not a problem.”
As they were leaving she heard her father say, “Where did you say you met this fella?”
“Online?” Audrey said, making it sound more like a question.
Mitzi finished wiping down the table with a smile on her face. Restaurants and bars were allowed to sell alcohol on Sunday in Colorado. The Broadway Bar & Bowl was no exception, but it still closed at six on Sundays.
It was almost that now.
She sent the staff home on the dot, then went around locking doors and turning out lights. She heard music and realized it was coming from the arcade.
She’d already turned out the lights in the arcade.
Her dad kept a gun on the premises—he was a retired cop—but it was locked in the safe. Along with a lot of cash. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey in one hand and her cell phone in the other and went to investigate.
Tashannie’s “Caution (Don’t Bother Me)” was a real favorite of the “DDR” pumpers, the kids who put a lot of energy into their “Dance Dance Revolution” game. Judging by the number of times she’d heard it in passing this evening, she had a real diehard on her hands.
When she crossed the threshold from the bowling alley to the arcade, she was surprised to see Calhoun was the pumper. He wasn’t dancing, really. But he was up on the platform of the “Dance Dance Revolution” game, trying to keep up with the lights.
He was so focused on his feet he didn’t even notice her. She leaned back against the arch and watched. Was there nothing that man wouldn’t try?
He sure didn’t let a little thing like a missing leg hold him back. She admired that about him. She waited to clap until the song ended.
“Nice Riverdance there, Gunny.”
He whipped around, embarrassed. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“You just need practice.” She moved toward the “DDR” machine and ducked under the bar to join him on the platform. “Try it again.”
He shook his head. “I was just trying to keep out of your way until you were ready to close.”
He’d looked as if he really wanted to master this machine.
“I’m not busy now. And there’s nobody here but us,” she said, looking around. “Come on, try it with me.”
She fed the coins into the slot when he wouldn’t.
“If you can do jumping jacks, Marine, you can handle this machine. Just remember you have four arrows shoulder width—two sides, front and back. Start out feet together—” she demonstrated “—now shoulder width. See, a jumping jack.” She did it again, and this time he did it with her. “Now add a turn. Feet together, shoulder width, hop/turn, shoulder width. Again…” she repeated until they’d made a circle. “Other direction. Now front and back…”
Once he had those few basic moves down, he was ready for music. She made her selection and “Caution (Don’t Bother Me)” started again. “Look at the screen, not at your feet,” she said, showing him the arrows with the steps he needed to follow. “Memorize these patterns. That’s what the pumpers do. After you learn a song you won’t even need the screen.”
He missed a beat. “Jumping jack, turn,” she called out to get him back on track. “Now you’re getting the hang of it. Add your hips. Your shoulders.”
He relaxed enough to have fun, and they were laughing together after a few songs.
“So tomorrow’s the big day?”
He nodded. “I fly out in the morning.”
That’s it? No goodbye? Just this awkward moment to remember him by?
Her throat closed around everything she wanted to say right now.
“How ’bout we slow it down?” she suggested.
She chose Ne-Yo’s “Closer” and danced just for him.
She tapped every light on both sides of the game with some very un-jumping-jack-like moves. Her eyes never left his as she rolled her hips. Her shoulders.
He leaned back against the screen to watch.
She untied and unwound the bar apron she was wearing over a sweater and jeans and tossed it over the side of the platform. Then she unbuttoned all but the one button at her breast to flash him some skin.
As the song ended, Mitzi dropped to her knees. “Hit it again,” she said. He did.
And she gave up all pretense of dancing.
“Mitzi—” He started to protest.
She gripped his thighs. “I’m calling your bluff, Calhoun.” She ran her hands up the backs of his legs. On the right there was flesh and bone beneath the denim. On the left the hard shell of his socket. She slid both hands up to cup his ass. “Tell me you don’t want this,” she said, her palm riding his erection through his jeans all the way up his button fly.
His answer was to brush the hair back from her mouth and free her ponytail. Tangling his hand in her hair he brought them both closer to where they wanted to be.
Mitzi didn’t need any more encouragement than that.
She unbuttoned his jeans from the top button down. Slipping her hand inside his open fly, she felt his heat beneath the cotton of his boxer briefs. She wrapped her hand around the length of him, using the friction of the thin material to draw out her slow seduction.
She traced the line of flesh along his elastic waistband to the head of his erection. She slid her fingers beneath the band and freed him from his briefs.
He threw his head back against the machine as she touched him skin to skin. She drew out his torture with slow strokes before bringing her mouth close enough to trace the head of his penis with her tongue. When a taste was no longer enough to satisfy either of them, she closed her mouth over him.
He gripped her head in both hands and groaned.
BRUCE TUGGED Mitzi’s head back. She looked up at him through her long lashes. “I’m not done,” she said sweetly.
Could he be any more turned on?
“I want to return the favor,” he growled.
“Oh,” she said, teasing him, “why didn’t you say so?”
“I thought I just did.” He pulled her up by the hair none too gently. His mouth came down hard on hers. He had her back against the rail and was
n’t letting up. He tasted the warm, wet heat of her mouth—her mouth that had been on him.
He deepened their kiss, demanding more.
Lifting her to the rail, he spread her legs wide, pressed her to him. She clung to him, answering his demands with demands of her own.
He had a hand on her thigh, working the inseam of her jeans with his thumb. There’d been a lot of “clothes on” make-out sessions when they were younger and he knew just where to rub to really turn her on.
Sliding his other hand up her rib cage, he cupped her breast over her bra. She moaned into his mouth. Her hand slipped back into his jeans and he had to reach for her hand to stop her. He wanted to drag this out as long as possible.
Lifting her off the rail, he wrapped her legs around his waist and headed for the pool table. Fred was going to kill him. Then again, he’d be living one of his top ten fantasies.
They’d just never had the opportunity before.
He laid her back on the green felt. He stood over her for a moment, then very deliberately unbuttoned her jeans as she lay there looking up at him.
He didn’t break eye contact as he lowered her zipper.
She lifted her hips, inviting him to pull her jeans past her bottom. He paused to remove her shoes. He took a heel of each shoe in his hands and dropped them to the floor.
He left her socks on.
He got back to the business of removing her jeans, which meant he had to step from between her legs to pull them off and toss them aside.
He left her panties on.
Navy blue, stretch lace with a peach bow, and wet to his touch.
The moment he touched her beneath the lace, she threw her head back and arched into his hand.
Cupping her bottom in both hands, he positioned her so he could get a better angle for what he was about to do next.
Murmuring words of encouragement, he lowered his mouth to taste her with his tongue.
MITZI BUCKED BENEATH HIM.
Her climax came hard, and like a wave crashing against the shore, again and again. He lifted his head with a satisfied smile on his face.
She couldn’t have erased the smile from her own face if she’d tried. He could be as smug as he liked.
He dragged her back toward him. She pushed his unbuttoned jeans past his hips. And grabbed two fistfuls of that hot ass of his.
She wrapped her legs around his thighs as he settled between hers. She reached for his shirt to unbutton it. Before she’d finished, he’d unbuttoned his cuffs and lifted both his shirt and T-shirt off over his head.
While he tossed them aside, she admired all that hard muscle. Running her hands over his shoulders and chest, she followed with soft kisses.
Shrugging out of her unbuttoned sweater, she watched as he bent his head to her breasts. He pushed them up out of her push-up bra and gave her aching nipples all his attention.
Her bra straps fell from her shoulders, but her bra stayed on. He stretched the leg hole of her panties aside to enter her.
They’d always been a tight fit, but she was more than ready for that first thrust. And the next. And the next.
She pressed a kiss to his neck and he lifted his head. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, tasted herself there and kissed him again. And again.
He deepened the kiss without demand this time.
A soft exploration, encouraging her to explore.
He murmured endearments against her mouth.
Her neck. Her shoulders. Her breasts.
And when he came, he filled her completely.
BRUCE HITCHED HIS PANTS back up around his hips and buttoned his fly. He didn’t want this night to end in awkwardness, so he was careful to take his time getting dressed.
“I’d invite you back to my place,” he teased, “but my mother might have something to say about that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, buttoning her sweater.
“Not okay,” he said, stopping her so she had to look at him. “I want to spend the night with you.”
She had a pink tinge to her cheeks. Was she embarrassed by this? Was she thinking about Dan? He certainly wasn’t.
He leaned in and kissed her again.
She pushed against his chest. “You don’t want my dad to come looking for me.”
“Not if it means explaining why he might want to re-cover his pool table.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she agreed.
“We could go somewhere,” he suggested.
“Somewhere, like where?”
“Like anywhere with a bed.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MITZI DIDN’T KNOW how they got to the motel. Other than he drove her car. She didn’t know how they’d gotten most of their clothes off the minute they’d stepped inside the door. Other than his hands were all over her. And her hands were all over him.
Suddenly she realized they were in the same motel they used to sneak off to as kids. Spending the night with Calhoun was a bad idea at best. Spending the night with him here, well, that was heartbreak waiting to happen. They’d said their goodbyes tonight. What was the point of prolonging the inevitable?
“Wait,” she said against his lips. “Don’t you…want to take your pants off? And your leg?”
They were face-to-face. He was sitting on the bed with his shirt off and his pants unzipped. And she was straddling his lap in her bra and panties.
“Do you want me to take my leg off?”
She swallowed past the catch in her throat. “I don’t even know how it stays on.” She touched his face.
“It stays on with suction and it doesn’t come off until you’re ready.”
She nodded. This had been a long time coming. But now that the moment was here, she felt apprehensive. She could tell he did, too. What did he have to feel nervous about? He took his leg off every night and put it back on every morning.
She slid off his lap and sat next to him on the bed. He didn’t take his pants off standing up anymore, but sitting down. He had them halfway down his thighs before he bent to take off his shoes and socks. He took the right ones off first.
“I don’t always take the left shoe off,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just easier to take the leg off.”
The artificial foot was the only part of his leg fashioned to look the way it should. He finished taking his pants off. She’d gotten glimpses of his leg before, but had never seen the silicone socket that covered his stump. It was cut low on the inseam and high on his hip.
“The length is for stability,” he said. He depressed a button near a valve at the bottom of the socket to release the vacuum.
She sucked in her breath.
He had to gently rock the suction socket back and forth until he’d freed himself. Red and pinched from the tight fit, surprisingly, what was left of his leg was hairless. She didn’t know if hair just didn’t grow there anymore or if the leg had been worn smooth by the socket. But she was glad to see his surgical scars had healed.
He leaned his leg against the nightstand. If it was that tight coming off… “How do you get it back on?”
His jaw tightened. “Well, that’s going to be a problem. I didn’t bring a donning sock. But I’ll manage.” He reached for his leg, but she reached it first.
“Get over yourself, Calhoun,” she said. “I wasn’t asking you to put it back on. Just curious. I might have something you could use, though.” Her purse had wound up on the nightstand and she pulled out a knee-high stocking. “It has a run in it.” She stretched it out for his inspection.
“That’ll do.”
Tucking it into the socket, she set his leg back where he’d put it. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him.
“It would feel really good right now, Mitzi, if you touched me,” he said. “I usually massage the stump when the leg comes off.”
“I can do that,” she said, surprised by the huskiness of her own voice.
He closed a firm hand over hers. “Not too light. Otherwise it feels like pins a
nd needles. Nerves take a long time to recover. If ever.”
She increased the pressure. “How does that feel?”
“You can’t even imagine.” His voice filled with desire. Eyes closed. Breathing shallow. Legs touching. He had his hand along her inner thigh.
When he dropped his head in his hand, breathing labored, she mistook it for excitement. Simply because she was about to come again from his touch. Then she realized his hand on her thigh had stilled and his shoulders were shaking. “Bruce,” she said softly.
“We were this close. Our thighs bumping up against each other… I should have sat on his left. I should have sat on his left,” he repeated, his voice strained.
If he started crying, she’d start crying.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned, “ever think I would trade one of you for the other. You were meant to be in this moment, Bruce. Please don’t feel guilty about that.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
When he looked up his face was wet. And when their lips met she tasted the salt of his grief for her brother. Laying her back on the bed, he kissed her. He took his time stripping her underwear and slipping off his boxer briefs. He stared into her eyes, gauging her reaction as he spread her thighs with his stump.
And entered her.
BRUCE STOOD with his hand on the doorknob debating whether or not to wake her before he left. They’d made love till near exhaustion and, if he had to leave, this is how he wanted to remember her.
She was lying on her stomach. Her bare back and lower legs exposed by the rumpled sheets. Head turned away from him into the pillow.
The motel room didn’t look any better in the predawn hours than it had last night. He should have taken her someplace nice. But this was where they’d gone all the way that first time.
He took one last look around the room.
She’d given him a gift. What could he give her in return? The promise he’d leave her again and again?
Last night had been about letting go. She was ready to move on.
And he had to let her.
MITZI WAITED until Calhoun closed the door with a quiet click before she sat up. She reached for the knee-high stocking he’d left on the bed and twisted it around her hands.
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