by Cecy Robson
My fingers work him from his waist, to both sides of his spine, and back down, repeating the motion and using the weight of my upper body to soothe the tightness I feel.
Seamus grows abruptly still when I reach for more balm. “Did something snap?”
“No.”
My goodness, he sounds grumpy. I dig my hands and fingers deeper into his skin. “Don’t be surprised if you hear a crack, I’m working you pretty well.”
“Got that right,” he mutters, the rigid planes of his back twitching.
I pause in the middle of working his shoulders. Grumpy isn’t the right word here. Neither is tense. He sounds turned on. No. That can’t be right. All I’m doing is rubbing his back.
I resume my work, flexing and extending my fingers into his shoulders hard enough to make them ache and him moan.
“Allie,” he says in a grunt. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But therapeutic massage is often quite strenuous. You’ll feel better when I’m done. I promise.”
“Therapeutic massage?” he asks. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“Well, yes,” I reply. “Based on your stance, you don’t need a relaxing massage or hot stones. You needed some roughening up to exhaust the muscles so they naturally relax.”
I sigh when he doesn’t reply. I’m trying to make him feel good, but I’m not certain it’s working.
“You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing.”
I shift position and start on his arms. “A little more than the average person, but not as much as a professional masseuse,” I admit.
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I took massage as an elective in college, believing it was an easy way to earn an ‘A.’” I laugh a little. “I had no idea I’d have to study anatomy.” I toss my head back to remove some of the hair gathered around my face. “But I was committed to doing well, and learned a great deal more than I’d planned.”
“You don’t strike me as a science person.”
I shake my head, although he can’t see me. “I’m not. It was the last class I needed to graduate, and was so stressed because of it. I struggled with understanding the human body and the science of massage. What helped me was that the physical piece of it came naturally.”
He pushes up enough to turn his head. “So, why’d you stay with it? You could have dropped the class when you saw the syllabus and switched to something you didn’t have to be so stressed about passing.”
I play with his hands, noting how massive they are compared to mine. He watches me, his eyes glazing over with something I don’t quite recognize. “I wanted to be good at massage. I thought it would help me please Andres.”
“What?”
As hilarious as my intentions sound now, they’re not even worth a giggle. “In many ways I’m a traditional Latina and traditional Latinas please their men in every way possible. I thought if I learned to touch Andres better, he’d stay a happy and contented husband.” I try to laugh. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
Seamus frowns. “The only stupid thing here is Andres. Allie, I don’t get how that loser broke your heart. I mean, I do, but I don’t. You wasted your time.”
I return to Seamus’s back so I don’t have to face him, dragging my fingernails in a backward motion. “You’re right. But I didn’t know it at the time.”
Seamus makes a funky movement with his toes. I wish I could relish the effect I have, but all I can think about are his words, and how little he can relate to my situation with Andres.
“This may be hard for you to understand,” I say, my tone barely audible. “But it wasn’t just me believing I loved Andres. It was me believing I’d never have a chance to love anyone else.”
“Why? That’s insane.”
I stop for a moment, staring across the mountains of silky flesh beneath rock hard strength. “Seamus, you had your choice of pretty girls from the moment you began to notice them. I only ever had Andres, who I believed was my friend.”
When the only thing that comes is silence, I think I more than proved my point.
“I’m going to ask you something that’s completely out of line,” he says, halting me when I try to lift off him.
“It won’t be the first time,” I remind him.
He can’t see me smiling, but his laugh makes me thinks he knows I am. “All right. I’ll give you that one.” He waits and asks, “Have you ever slept with anybody besides him?”
“Yes.”
My lack of hesitation seems to give him pause. For a moment, all that exists is air between us. “Okay . . . give me a number.”
“You want specifics?”
“Why not?” He pauses. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Although I’ve dreamt of more, yes, I suppose we are.
“Four,” I confess. “One almost immediately following Andres. The others about every two years.” I resume my massage. “The first time was because I needed to feel desirable. He was a good kisser and that’s about it.”
“And the others?” he asks, sounding perturbed. “Were they good kissers, too?”
I lean forward slowly, using my weight to dig the heels of my palms. “They weren’t much of anything. We went out a few times and not much more afterward.”
“After you had sex, you mean?”
“Yes,” I admit.
He huffs. “Did the shitheads at least call you?” he asks.
Wow. Now he sounds angry.
“I didn’t feel like I was going anywhere with anyone. They were wasting my time and I was done with that nonsense following Andres.” I shrug. “So, instead of committing to a man, I committed to becoming successful. I suppose a lot of good came out of it.”
“But did they call?” he asks as if my explanation wasn’t enough. “Or were they assholes who used you until they got what they wanted?”
I throw my leg to the side as if dismounting from a horse, not a man with enough sex appeal to bring an equestrian down.
Seamus snags my wrist. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I’m moving on to your legs,” I respond.
“Do you want me to take my pants off?”
“Please don’t,” I say a little too quickly.
He releases his hold like I slapped him. “All right.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I knew what you meant, Alz,” he says.
Throughout our time, his voice has conveyed a great deal of emotion: anger, annoyance, resentment, but this time there’s a sense of sadness to it that practically splits my heart. “Just answer the question. Did the dickheads call you or not?”
I lower my hand to his thigh, although at this point I’m not certain he wants me touching him. When he doesn’t object, I begin to work the muscles of his legs. I finally answer. “They called, but I told them I didn’t think we’d make a good match.”
“All righty then,” he says, appearing satisfied.
“Why did you want to know?” I clarify my response before he can explain. “It seems like you’re happy they called me. But from what you’ve told me, you don’t call back the women you sleep with. Ever.”
“That’s different,” he answers.
“Why?” I ask. “Those women are no different than me and what I wanted, someone who would change their lives forever.”
“You don’t know the women I’ve slept with. And, no offense, you’re romanticizing something that isn’t there. The only men capable of changing their lives are their probation officers when they catch them doing shit they’re not supposed to.”
I sit back on my heels, reaching for his calves. “That’s not fair, Seamus. They all can’t be that bad, and like I mentioned, they’re looking for someone to love.”
“No, they’re looking for sex and that’s what I give them.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I want it, too, and
I’m damn good at it.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. If these women are so terrible, why not look for someone who isn’t so terrible, who hasn’t served a prison term or stabbed her last boyfriend?” He jerks, making me think I’m being too aggressive. “When we were discussing books the other week, you mention The Good Earth and how you empathized with that poor Asian woman who was stuck with that horrible creature of a man.”
“You’re assuming I look for women with a rap sheet.” He turns enough to show me he’s frowning. “And that I’m that horrible creature of a man.”
“That’s not exactly what I mean. But Seamus, you have to take responsibility for the type of woman you sleep with and are attracted to.”
He pushes up on his elbow and flips onto his back, fiddling with the pillows until he gets them just right. “It’s not that I’m attracted to them.” He holds out a hand. “Scratch that. There’s some attraction there.” I look at him. “Okay. A lot of attraction. But the places I go tend to be, ah, what’s a good word?”
“Seedy?” I guess.
He points at me. “But with good food and you know it.”
I cover my mouth, albeit briefly. “How do you make me laugh, even though I have every right to be angry at you?”
“It’s a gift?” he offers.
For a moment I stare at him, embarrassed that I’m not trying to hide it. He smiles, making me think it’s okay to stare. “Like I was saying, I don’t hang out in the classiest joints this city has to offer. Are the patrons a little hardcore?” He shrugs. “Probably. But you’re wrong if you think I go looking for a woman who’ll steal my keys and take off with my microwave.”
I don’t even want to know how that happened. “Then how do you end up with the women that you do?”
Seamus doesn’t hesitate, but it’s like his explanation comes to him all at once. “I don’t necessarily look for dangerous women. But I think I give off that dangerous, willing to try anything, let’s go crazy, kind of vibe. In the end, I’m usually the one in danger, with some psycho trying to slice me into confetti or booking the next flight to Singapore with my credit cards. I don’t plan it that way, but that’s how it always ends up. After years of going through it, I should be used to it. But I’m not.”
“So why not try someone better?” I ask. “Perhaps allow someone you trust to introduce you to someone a little more stable.”
“You have anyone in mind?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” I snap. I can’t believe he hasn’t guessed I want him all to myself. But I don’t give off that dangerous vibe that seems to attract him. I’m just me.
My attention drifts to the framed picture of Seamus with his family he keeps on his dresser. They’re all in bathing suits and Santa hats, straddling an immense promotional bottle of Guinness they dressed up like Rudolph. That must be the Christmas photo they sent last year. As much as I don’t like the direction our conversation has strayed in, I wish I would have known him well enough then to have received a card.
I cross my legs, returning my focus to this man I’ve fallen so hard for. “What’s stopped you from meeting a nice woman?”
“I’ve met my share,” he says. “But these so-called nice girls were never interested in me. ‘Dumbass’ one of them called me. ‘I’m hoping to marry a doctor,’ another one said. I was told they were nice. But that niceness didn’t last when they found out I was ‘just a carpenter.’”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Why would I lie to my girl?”
His term of endearment hits me harder than it should. This time, he’s the one looking away.
“Do I sleep with women who may not be as classy or educated as the so-called nice ones?” he asks, waiting for me to react. “Yeah. But at least they think I’m good enough.”
“I understand.” I move closer to Seamus. “Never mind. I don’t. You’re very attractive.”
“Good looks and a winning personality only get you so far, babe,” he says. I think he means to joke, but the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I don’t just mean your looks, Seamus,” I reply, wishing I wasn’t so scared to say what I do. “I mean you.”
I think I’m going too far, taking our friendship somewhere it may not return from. Even so, I allow the words to come. “I don’t always agree with what you say or how you say it. That doesn’t mean I don’t sense your heart behind every word.”
I try to smile when he doesn’t respond, reverting to one of the last things he said. “I suppose the women you choose to spend your time with appreciate your honesty.” I make a face. “That is, until you use your dead grandmother as an excuse for not calling them.”
“Don’t bring Grammie—God rest her soul—into this. In all fairness, Pop-Pop would understand.”
Again, that humor he’s going for fails to light that face I constantly dream about. “My point is, at least you don’t promise these women anything past the time you spend with them.”
“You’re right. I don’t,” he agrees.
“Then I suppose I can’t blame you for seeking the women you do. They’re as honest with you as you need them to be.”
He nods thoughtfully. “There have been a few married ones, and some who may or may not have warrants out for their arrest. But yeah, they accept me for the carpenter I am instead of dropping me flat for a doctor they may never meet.”
I ask my next question, but I’m already afraid to know. “Have you ever wanted to spend more than one night with a woman?”
The way he takes me in robs the universe of time and all celestial beings. No one else exists. It’s simply us.
“Just once,” he rumbles.
CHAPTER 17
Seamus
I should be used to the way Allie’s eyes go wide when I say shit without giving it some thought . . . and maybe when I say shit after giving it some thought. I’m not used it, though. It’s like everything that happens between us is always a new experience even though at times it’s like we’ve known each other forever, instead of a handful of weeks.
Her light eyes are blinking back at me. What I said knocked her on her ass. What she doesn’t know is that I gave myself a good slap on the ass cheek, too.
I just asked Allie to sleep with me. Scratch that. I told Allie how much I want to sleep with her—to make love to her—whatever women call it to make it sound amazing and not like the one-night hookups I’m used to.
All right. I didn’t ask her, ask her. I told her how I feel. I want to spend the night with her, getting to know her body and touching her like I’ve wanted since the first night we kissed.
I was hard as a steel pole when she rubbed my back, each squeeze making me hers. That’s not entirely true. I’ve been Allie’s for a while now. I look for her to call when I think she should be home, just to make sure she’s safe and that no one fucks with her. Except her family is constantly fucking with her.
Her mother texts when we’re together, and her sister, then her aunts, all trying to make her feel guilty for not doing more for Valentina. But it was Andres’ text that made me want to find him and snap his scrawny neck. He’s not hers anymore. She’s mine. I try not to roll my eyes, at least that’s what I tell myself.
Am I putting on the moves, sweeping her into my arms, and shoving my tongue down her throat? No. I can’t do that to someone like Allie. So, I’m putting it all out there. Except she’s not coming, and I’m not sure she wants to.
“What do you think about what I just said?”
“I think you’re being honest?” she replies as if she’s asking a question instead of answering mine.
The hell? That was a lot for a ball-buster like me.
I drop my head and rub my eyes, feeling tired and more frustrated than I want to be. “I think something is holding you back and I think it’s your douchebag ex-boyfriend and your overbearing family.”
Allie’s mouth slowly falls open. “Where
is this coming from?”
I grab hold of her tiny body and tuck her against me, grateful to God my giant erection has called it quits, and that the blue balls aren’t as painful as I thought they’d be.
“Here’s the deal. As much as I want to believe you moved on from dickweed Andres, I’m not sure you have. He burned you bad, and Valentina was more than happy to pour the gasoline.”
Allie quiets. I know I’m hurting her and pointing out the obvious, and it kills me, but she needs to hear what I have to say. “You want my advice?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “I think you need to take Andres up on his offer to meet him.”
“Valentina and my family won’t approve.”
“It’s not about them.” Her expression is so sad I want to kick my own ass for upsetting her. “It’s about what this shithead did to you, and how he and your sister got away with all of it.”
Allie’s gaze grows distant. I know she doesn’t want to talk about it, but she tries. “You want to me to confront the past instead of hiding from it and pretending it no longer matters,” she reasons.
I nod. “That sounds good. Mostly I think you should tell Andres to fuck off.”
Allie tenses against me. “She’s my sister,” she replies. It’s the same thing she said the night we had dinner with those assholes. Like it’s supposed to excuse everything Valentina has done.
“Alz,” I say. “I love my family. I’d give my life for any one of them without thinking twice. But not all people have the kind of family I do, the kind that would give up their lives right back. And some people aren’t just poison. They pour it down your throat, happy to let you die in their place.”
I wrap my arms loosely around her tiny waist when she tries to lift off me. I don’t want her to leave and hold her just enough to know, but not so hard she can’t break away. The truth hurts and because it does, I pull her in to me when she starts to cry.
I cup her face, stroking her cheek lightly with my thumb as I kiss away her tears. “I know you’re right,” she says, her voice shaking. “But they’re all I have.”
“No,” I tell her quietly. “You have me.”