by Kat Bastion
In the end, I chose an iffy Sherlock Holmes movie, skipping an action adventure, a comedy, some sappy romance, and a couple of artsy flicks. I figured with “iffy”, I had a fifty-fifty shot at a horrible movie for a chance to find out what his back-up plan entailed.
Sherlock ended up being funny and interesting. But even with my attention riveted to the big screen, I found out what Ben had meant halfway through the movie.
Our clasped hands that relaxed on the armrest, gently broke apart. He lowered his hand until it settled warm and heavy on my inner thigh. When he spread his fingers, curved them downward toward the seat, heat radiated through the thick denim of my jeans. And a deep sizzling ache spread upward.
My breath caught as the aching heat intensified—without him doing any other thing.
He angled his face toward me. And the fingers of that devastating hand curled on my thigh. “You okay?”
I nodded, then whispered, “You’re turning me on.”
With the shine of a brighter scene on the screen, I caught his smirk before he leaned closer. “I am?” The two words were barely whispered, feathered over my lips.
His hand dragged a little higher, fingers tightening.
And I instantly lost all interest in the movie.
We left the theater amid a throng of moviegoers nearly an hour later. We hadn’t done much of anything that a “horrible” movie would warrant, at least I didn’t think so. We’d softly kissed. He’d gently stroked, but nothing overtly sexual happened: No clothes came off, no skin-to-skin contact, and his hand had never moved from the middle of my thigh.
Yet my body buzzed, wild and alive. Clearly, there were a whole lot more erogenous zones than I’d realized. His soft lips, rough whiskers, and warm breath traveling across my jaw, down my neck, and over my ear, barely touching my skin, proved to be effective sensual weapons.
Back on the crowded pedestrian street in broad daylight, I took a deep breath to clear my head—with the hope that the extra oxygen would also reset my charged body.
A soft drizzle floated down from a grayish sky like a snow globe. We veered left, heading toward the protective awnings of the shops. Without saying a word, he automatically switched sides so that his broad body blocked the slight wind and mist.
When he slipped his warm hand into my colder one, a thrilling heat spread into all kinds of exciting places. But we kept walking, him oblivious, as I exhaled a slow breath to steady myself.
The end of the awnings marked the outer edge of the Arts District where a handful of quaint neighborhoods began, each unique depending on which direction you turned, a couple with storefronts on the main streets. He glanced down at me. “Where now?”
“You mean, after I blew it picking a horrible movie?”
He tugged me toward him, then enfolded me in his arms. His warm breath feathered over my lips. There it was again, one of his sensual weapons, teasing mercilessly without his doing much more than breathing. His eyes searched mine. “It was a little horrible.”
“Maybe just a little,” I murmured, staring up into darkened eyes that promised so much more pleasure than the small taste he’d given me.
“We’re just getting warmed up.” His taunting words were as powerful as his teasing breath, because my body pressed closer against his, craving more of his delicious heat.
All of a sudden, my stomach growled between us.
We both laughed at the intrusion. Then I gave him a slow kiss, making a promise of my own, before I broke free and tugged him forward. “How ’bout that ice cream you promised?”
Minutes later, after ducking into an old-fashioned ice cream parlor a couple of blocks down, I slid my hand into his again and led him toward my favorite neighborhood. “Let’s walk down Maple Lane.” I balanced my double-scoop ice cream cone with my free hand and took a small sugary nip from the very top.
“Sure you’re okay in the rain?”
His question was innocent, protective. But he had no idea that I’d lived most of my life out in the rain, exposed to the elements. But we didn’t need to go there, he didn’t need to know the dirty details about what I’d been through. Not on my first Monday.
“I won’t melt.” Lighthearted. Where I wanted to keep the day.
“Your ice cream will.” Said the man who’d refused his own ice cream and wouldn’t even accept a lick from mine.
In defiance of his suggestion that any harm would come to either me or my cone, I licked an entire surface layer beginning with the bottom of the salted caramel toffee crunch and ending with another slurp off the top of the french vanilla.
He watched with amusement, then shook his head as he began leading me down Maple Lane. “Love these old houses, so full of history.”
My heart warmed, happy to my bones that he’d been through one of my favorite haunts before, that we might’ve even passed each other on the fabled street without realizing it.
“Which one’s your favorite?” I hungered to know what he liked, learn more about the man who’d begun to infiltrate my well-guarded heart.
“Hard to pick. I like so many of them. I’ve been keeping my eye out for one to come on the market. Something with more character than my ‘echo-y’ condo. But there are only thirty-two houses, and it’s rare for any of them to go up for sale. Hannah’s house reminds me of these.”
After I finished another ice cream lick, I nodded toward one with a fence made of slender tree branches that still wore some of their bark. “I’ve always liked this one.”
Beyond a small rise sat a quaint white cottage with a curving shingled roof. Between the organic fence and the storybook house, a steppingstone path meandered through whimsical free-form flowers, pastels of lilac, cream, and pink, that blurred as they bobbed in the misty rain. Nature’s rare snapshot struck me, as if we’d stepped into an impressionist painting brought to life, like one of the priceless works of art I’d spied on while wandering the galleries of public art museums.
“Yeah, it’s cool. Look at that chimney.”
I tore my gaze from the flower garden. A weathered yellow-and-pink brick structure rose from the curving light-brown shingles. But the chimney didn’t rise in a straight line. From its fat base, it curved left, right, then left again as it narrowed toward the top. A rusty bent piece of metal capped it off.
“Huh. I’ve never noticed that before.” I’d always gotten lost daydreaming in the cozy feel of the flower garden. I stared up at the cottage and smiled. “I half expect Hansel and Gretel to burst out that country kitchen door.”
Over the next few minutes, we made our way down the charming lane. He commented one thing or another about some of the houses, a few that he’d taken the time to research in depth, others that he wanted to. All the while, I devoured the rest of my ice cream cone in silence, content to listen and learn about the man more than the houses.
As we neared the end of the street, my heart began to pound a little heavier. The house I wanted to see every single time I walked down Maple Lane appeared right as we turned along a gentle bend.
But before I had a chance to say anything, he paused right at the corner of its property line. “This one’s my favorite.”
I blinked. “Really? Mine too.”
A ton of emotion hit me at once: relief, amazement, skepticism.
Do you see what I see?
Would he appreciate the sad decrepit house the same way...see her hidden beauty?
The front garden and lawn had died, replaced by clods of dirt melting in the misty rain. Broken bricks had upheaved and fallen over down a long walkway with empty beds on either side. Porch steps sagged. Roof eaves rotted. A paint-chipped wooden railing guarded a derelict two-story with cracked windows and dangling shutters.
He sighed and tightened his hand around mine. “It’s been neglected for too long. ’Bout time someone paid attention to it.”
Tears began to well in my eyes. Is this what being normal is like?
Because I’d been wanting the same thing he’d been
after...all along.
One almost-horrible movie, a delicious double-decker ice cream cone, and a stroll down the very lane with a house that I’d felt a kindred spirit with made me think he’d won the day.
But will I be able to live every day like this? Going legit? Abiding by the law?
More importantly, could I trust in that dream again? Or would someone steal it away?
I need to be certain.
Because my life wasn’t the only one hanging in the balance. Others who’d been neglected far too long still relied on me. They deserved attention too.
He pulled me out of my whirling spiral by tugging me onward, back toward his condo. “Ready for your next movie?”
The movie I’d been wanting to see for a while. About someone who fights for others, risks it all to help those who’ve suffered, puts her life on the line to save humanity itself. One soul at a time.
“Yeah.” I gripped his hand tighter and cast a wish up into the cloudy sky that I could have both: the man taking a chance on me and the hearts I fought so hard to protect.
Ben…
“Thought you already snooped.”
Shay opened each drawer of the map table in my office. “That was a breeze-through.”
“And this?”
“Is learning about you.”
Once we’d stepped back through my front door, she’d taken her time, room by room, her leading, me following. She’d asked a question or two, I’d provided a brief but thorough answer.
The reverent way she took in every little detail of my space surprised me. Slow steps led her around the room while her intent gaze wandered with great care, hovering over each object it encountered, absorbing, learning.
I’d never felt so exposed in my own home. No one I’d brought in had ever shown much interest. When had I ever wanted anyone to? I couldn’t remember.
Sudden nervousness gripped me, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. My mouth ran dry, and I swallowed hard. Doubts flashed through my head.
What are you thinking? Of my sparse life? Of me?
I sucked in a deep breath. Shake it off, Ben. She’s into you. All you need to know.
She passed the leather couch parked against the far wall and tipped her beautiful face up to bright daylight, following the expanse of glass to the peak of the office’s high arched windows. Then her attention drifted back down toward the black walnut desk, and she bent over it.
As she began to examine the three framed photos on the far back corner, my pulse started to hammer. Because the biggest shocker to accept? The stubborn bartender I’d fired only a week ago had begun to matter to me. On a level I hadn’t known I’d been capable of.
Maybe stupid-level. It had tempted me to put everything I’d worked so hard for at risk.
But what had all the hard work and sacrifice been for?
Maybe I’ve been biding my time, waiting for you.
A soft laugh escaped her lips as her gaze landed on three drunk college guys: Mase, Cade, and me. Each had one arm slung around the neck of another, all with our free hands holding out the saddest three minnows ever to be caught. Proud grins stretched across all three mugs.
“None of your family?” Her fingertips floated an inch above the matte glass of eight-year-old me and my only childhood dog.
“No. I didn’t even put them in those polished silver frames. Kiki dug up some ancient photos, awww’d over my ‘genuine smile’, and insisted they were needed to warm the place up.”
“She was right.” She nodded toward the one with the red Siberian husky. “What was his name?”
“Teddy. Followed me everywhere. Learned to walk with him by holding onto his tail.”
She half-turned and stared at me for a moment. “He’s family.”
“Yeah, I guess he was.” The best kind of family, one that only gave unconditional love.
She must’ve caught the seriousness in my distant expression. Because after a couple of silent beats, she clapped her hands together. “Okay, Mr. Monday. Where’s my movie?”
“Where it’s most echo-y.” I nodded toward the living room, where nothing personal existed. “But apparently acoustically solid. Sound dampeners on the walls. A rug on the floor.”
“Thanks to designer Kiki.” She gave a nod but held no animosity in her voice as we moved into the living room. Then she kicked off her shoes and jumped onto the sectional.
“So, what’s this movie you’ve been dying to see?”
She’d been unusually silent the entire walk home. Contemplative, even.
“Wonder Woman.”
“Of course.” Didn’t surprise me one bit.
She settled along the cushions, then grabbed a large pillow in the corner and stuffed it under her head. “This thing’s more comfortable than I realized.”
Good. Her getting comfortable in my place? Worked for me.
You warm the space up just by being here.
I dropped a nod toward the flat-screen mounted on the wall, tossed her the remote, then headed into the kitchen. “You order it on iTunes. I’ll fire up some popcorn.”
“Don’t suppose you frost up blue ICEEs here?”
I paused midstep, then tilted my head to the side and hit her with a deadpan look. “You had your chance at the snack bar.”
After gorging on pancakes, she didn’t want a thing at the theater. No popcorn. No blue ICEE. I had to force a bottle of water on her.
But then, I kind of understood. Nerves. She’d probably been too excited to eat on her first movie date. And the weird thing? After dozens of dates I’d gone on—and even more one-night stands—I’d been nervous with Shay too. Fucking butterflies-in-the-stomach nervous.
When I stopped to examine that as I heated up the skillet, the greater why of it all hit me. Not one of them mattered as much as Shay does.
Minutes later, I settled next to the pillow behind her head. Then she shifted, angled enough on the corner space to drape an arm over my leg and nestle the popcorn bowl in the triangle of cushion between us. Then she dramatically aimed the remote at the TV and started her movie.
It rolled out pretty impressively. A wild island with hundreds of striking female warriors. One different among them. Great battle scene. Mystery about her heritage. The risk and sacrifice—from him, needing to fulfill his mission, and her, needing to face her destiny.
She paused the movie and glanced up at me. “Would you say you’re a typical example of your sex?”
I did my best to pull off the same humble honesty as Steve Trevor. “I...am...above average.” She gave me a coy look, then turned back toward the screen and pointed the remote, rolling the frozen scene back into action.
The movie played on for a few more minutes, both of us quiet until the sailing scene.
She paused it again. “Greek sex texts?”
I snorted. “Ancient porn.”
“Twelve volumes full.”
“Prehistoric times? No TV, no movies, no gaming or phones. Probably got bored. I would’ve. Great motivation for experimenting.”
“Or mastering.” She sat up a little straighter, turning toward me. “Outliers.”
“What?”
“A book I read. Ten thousand hours to master something.”
I smirked. “You’d like to master sex?”
She glanced at the ceiling for a beat, pretending to consider it. “Maybe.”
“With me, I hope.” Damn well better be with me.
“You wouldn’t mind ten thousand hours with me?”
“I think I could tolerate it.”
I got a face full of popcorn for my sarcasm. But then she kissed me, and all was forgiven.
Halfway through the movie, she paused it again and pointed the remote at the big screen. “It’s her father.”
“Totally her father.”
Shay’s emotions ran the gamut from one scene to another. Soft laughter. Tense anger. Quiet observance.
She let out a heartfelt sigh. “They’re dancing.”
&nb
sp; I tangled our fingers together and clasped her hand. “We’re dancing.” How the last few days had been for me, us swaying to some instinctive rhythm as we shared important firsts together.
Then the movie delivered its twist. “Oh.” Her brow furrowed, as if she’d been disappointed.
Not long after, she sat upright. “No. No!” Her hand clutched her chest as she sucked in a huge breath. Tears began to stream down her face.
I rubbed a hand over her upper arm, hit hard with her. Choked up. Minus the tears.
Wonder Woman ended, Chinese food got delivered, and we discussed the merits of the film over the next hour, the most I’d ever talked about a movie. But I’d learned more about Shay than I’d ever expected in that short period of time.
Diana Prince had cared about the innocents, about their suffering. But Shay seemed even more affected, talked at length about their plight, empathized about how everything they’d ever known had been ripped away.
And I listened. And agreed. And commiserated with her. Because Shay had meant more than those in the movie. And we both knew it.
A comfortable silence fell between us while we finished our dinner, shoulders touching as we sat side by side on the sectional with only dimmed lights on in the living room.
“They never had a date.” She pointed a chopstick at me.
“But they did have one night.” I tossed my emptied takeout container with the others we’d demolished and scattered over the coffee table.
“I’m glad we have a week.”
I nudged her shoulder. “Just a week?”
“Seven whole days.”
To start, if I had my way. “And how was your first?”
“Too early to tell.” She slid her empty container next to the rest. Then she nestled up against my side, dragged her lips over my cheek, and murmured into my ear, “It’s still happening.”
A loud buzzing jarred the silence.
My phone lit up the darkness of the kitchen.
Irritated at that damned leash, I sighed. “Not getting up to look.”
“What if it’s important?”
After our breakdown of the movie, after understanding how the quiet pain of those in need affected Shay on a visceral level, I gave her thigh a light squeeze and stood. “Then I’m on it.”