Turn It Up

by Inez Kelley

  Eddy must have granted the present because the red mailbox stood on a post outside the fence now. He’d always thought it made the house look welcoming and cheerful. The opposite of how Eddy was looking at him now.

  “Seems an odd thing for a kid to want,” he offered.

  “I thought so, too, at the time.” Wizened eyes locked with his. “I never claimed to be mother of the year. I was nothing more than a baby myself when she was born. I did my best, but I was too wild to settle down. I dragged her diapered ass from this man to that, this town to the next, always looking for better. Things slowed down some when she started school, but it was to the point where I kept all her records in the car so registering her wasn’t a hassle. Charlie learned never to really unpack. Cardboard was normal to her.”

  A glimpse of the young woman she used to be flashed on her face before sliding into seasoned determination. The same slanted brow he knew was followed by a recognizable jaw thrust. “I started renting this place when she was fourteen. By then, she didn’t talk much to me, so I read her diary.”

  Maybe his brows rose, maybe he looked stunned. Either way, she nodded. “Yes, and I don’t care what Oprah says, I’d do it again. She’d wanted a mailbox because, to her, it meant home. Not a new place or a stay-over or a for-right-now but a steady place where she could pick out paint for her room and bury a dog if we had one. A forever place, she called it, a place where the mailman knew our name. When she didn’t get it, she gave up the idea of ever having a forever place.”

  Eddy sighed and dropped her gaze. “I did that to her. So I sucked up a job I hated and bought this place. That’s what a mother does, not a kid with a kid. I grew up for her. Too little, too late. She still never picked a paint color for her room or got rid of the boxes. Charlie was afraid to believe me, that this was our place forever. She moved out at sixteen.”

  Her head jerked up and the fierceness on her face jabbed at Bastian. “She’s afraid to believe you, too. Forever seems like too much to wish for, too big a fall when it doesn’t happen. I taught her to be independent, maybe too much so. You really think you’re the right man to teach her about forever?”

  Bastian found the lump in his throat hard to swallow. Eddy had shown him something he almost knew, the thought skimming his brain but not with the insight she had. The soda bottle left a ring on the table and he traced the circle, never-ending, round and round. He tried to put every bit of resolve in his words. “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re divorced, right?” She tossed it out casually but the tone didn’t hide her grit.

  “Yes. For several years now.”

  “Promise your wife forever?”

  Ouch. Like a mother lion, she pounced on the weakness and latched on with sharp teeth. The urge to cringe struck but Bastian was not a boy. He’d made his decisions, right or wrong, and faced the consequences. Never dropping his gaze, he nodded.

  “Yes, I did. I meant it, too, but things changed for both of us.”

  “So what’s to keep things from changing with my girl? Why should she trust you if you’ve already showed you can’t stay the course?”

  “How many times have you been married, Eddy?”

  “I’m not the one who proposed to my daughter.”

  Unblinking, those been-there-survived-that eyes locked onto him. Hard questions didn’t seem to bother the Pierce women. His answer seemed woefully inadequate but it was all he had.

  “I’m not twenty-four anymore. The rose-colored glasses have been off a long time. Can I promise Charlie forever? Not really, no one can. All I can promise is that I don’t want to face any type of forever without her. I’ll die trying to make her happy. That’s the best I can do, but I’ll do it the best I can.”

  Head cocked, she studied him like a bug under a microscope. A slow nod led to a begrudging smile. “You might do all right, Bastian.” The smile grew to a knowing grin. “If you can keep your pants on long enough to get her to say yes.”

  Jealousy licked at Bastian as the sound spilled from the back veranda. Caz was playing, not for money but for pleasure, an exercise that had always fascinated him. Snatches of melodies, bits of songs, pieces of harmonies, each invoking a different emotion, flowed across the yard like river.

  Caz sat shirtless in the setting sun, the bar piercings in his nipples catching the light. A dragon unfurled wings on his back and spat fire over his shoulder. Various vines, roses, skulls and a mismatch of other designs coated both bare arms. A single name curved over his heart in a swirling script. Whoever Grace was, she must have been one hell of a lay for Caz to have memorialized her that way.

  His long hair was loose around dark sunglasses. Smoke curled from a nearly finished cigarette tucked in his lip as he paused, wrote a note on a lined sheet and began again. He was the picture of creative patience. One note, one perfect note, took time.

  Another note of perfection rose from the chair beside him. With her silky black hair pulled back by two tiny clips, Charlie’s eyes dominated her face. They landed on him crossing the grass and sparkled in welcome.

  “You’re late.” Laughter rang out as she leaned on the hand railing. “We ate without you.”

  “Sorry. Don’t blame me, blame the pickup that plowed into a parking lot twenty minutes before my shift ended.” His footsteps bounced up the steps. “Plus I stopped by your place and talked to Eddy. She said you got a ‘not interested’ from Fort Lauderdale. Sorry.”

  Charlie shook her head. “No big, too hot anyway.”

  “How is your mom?” Caz asked setting the guitar aside.

  “Same as always,” Charlie shrugged. “Divorced again.”

  “I like your mother, she’s a blast.” Long blond hair tossed aside, he stubbed the cigarette out and removed the sunglasses before winking. “I’d do her.”

  Bastian groaned. “I do not need that mental picture, thanks just the same, Boo. Besides, my ass is still sore from her chewing on it.”

  “What?” Charlie started to touch him but he stepped away, heading inside. She blocked his path. “You can’t drop a statement like that and walk away. Nobody chews your ass until I get a bite.”

  Charlie wasn’t moving. Her arms crossed and her lip tilted in determination. Short of rudely walking around to the side door, he was stuck. “Your mother just had some questions about my divorce.”

  Fury splayed across her face, twisting her brows. “What? She had no right to—”

  “It’s okay. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Eddy can be a bit of a lioness where her cub is concerned.”

  “Cub, my ass. It’s a bit late for motherly intervention. I’m sorry, I’ll tell her to back off.”

  “It was no big deal. I’m the one who proposed on the air.” He sidestepped her hands. “Let me shower and get something to eat and then I’ll be back. My skin’s crawling.”

  Her eyes dropped, searching, before rising once again. Understanding softened her gaze. She’d seen his pants cuffs and shoes. “That’s not tomato juice, is it?”

  “No. So let me shower and change.”

  She watched him walk through the kitchen, fighting a sigh that craved release. He never said it in words, but Bastian wouldn’t touch her if the smallest amount of ER grime clung to him. Logically she knew what he did, had even seen him work a few times, but still he tried to protect her. It was just his way.

  “You need to marry him, Littlebit.”

  She twirled and shot Caz a grin. “I need to get him naked.”

  Caz fixed a curious stare on her and cradled the guitar like an infant. “You’re stalling. He could drop his pants tonight and you’d still hem-haw. What’s up?”

  The sigh escaped as she settled back into her chair, knees pulled to her chest despite the heat. Fireflies appeared, tiny blips of illumination in the fading daylight. A slight wind stirred to life, its breath muggy and weighted. A few plucked notes filled the humid air.

  “Have you ever been in love, Boo?”

  The notes slid from random to a chorus but his e
yes never strayed from his fingers. “Once.”

  “What was her name?”

  He took a long time in answering, the memory changing his song from sweet to sad. A low voice complemented the chord. “Maggie.”

  “What happened?”

  “She left me. Too many drugs, not enough maturity.”

  The music continued though his eyes closed and she knew before she asked, “Still love her?”

  “Yep. Always will.”

  “Why?”

  The music died as his eyes opened, a shuttered expression masking the normal twinkle. “You’re stalling again. You and Bastian are great together. Why the holdout?”

  “Do I really look like a doctor’s wife to you? People have a hard enough time believing we’re friends. I was stripping when he was in med school. If we did get married, can you imagine what people would say? How they would look at him?”

  “Screw them. Who cares what everyone thinks? The only thing that matters is what you and he think. You’re looking for excuses. He loves you.”

  “I know.” Her stomach roiled and jumped. Words floundered in her head. She propped her chin on her knees and watched a bead of condensation race down his water bottle. His lighter flicked with a rasp of metal and the smell of smoke drifted over the porch as he took a deep drag, waiting in silence.

  “I’m not the marrying kind. I’m the other woman, not the little woman. I’d give him everything I have but I can’t lie to him. Bastian wants forever. I don’t think I can promise that.”

  Somewhere a woman called for a child named Katie to come inside. Her voice echoed over the hedges and Charlie wondered what kept Katie from her home. Was she wrapped up in a game of kick ball or hopscotch, things more interesting than homework? Or did she dread going back to an unhappy home? Did her mother cry herself to sleep because her one-time best friend was now a stranger? Had the bond faded from passionate love to uncomfortable domesticity? Was her father regretting his choice? Had love been enough?

  “Were your parents happy, Boo? Did they stay in love?”

  Long bangs pushed back, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so. Dad died when I was fourteen so I only have a kid’s view. But it seemed like they were happy. Why?”

  Because that’s what he wants. And what I’ve never had. Can I give him what I’ve never had?

  Disgusted with her rambling emotions, she sprang from the chair and leaned over the handrail. “Do you think forever really lasts?”

  “If your love’s strong enough, yeah.”

  “Did it last for you and Maggie?”

  Acrid smoke drifted over her shoulder but it carried no words. She had her answer. There was no Maggie in his life. Instead a sweet song rose into the night, a gentle tune from a simpler time, medicine for an aching soul. She let the music sluice over her. He doctored her with melody.

  “Littlebit, are you in love with him?”

  An easy question with a hard answer. Charlie didn’t lie. Was she in love with Bastian? Salt coated her tongue and stung her eyes. “He knows I love him. I’ve told him that before.”

  The falling night pressed too heavily. Love was risky but sex was safe. She was good at sex, not love. She could talk orgasms and foreplay all day, but commitment made her bones itch and her throat close. Spinning around, she pressed her butt against the iron and tried to divert the conversation with a flirty look. “He knows I want him, too.”

  Caz fingered up the guitar neck, eyes trained on the strings, and shook his head. “Don’t marry him, Charlie. If you’re just in heat and not in love, it’ll never last. But don’t regret it when he moves on.”

  The twanging note pierced her heart like a knife.

  “Strip.” Charlie cocked her eyebrow and held up the oil.

  Arms crossed, Bastian fumed from the center of his bedroom. “No.”

  “You’re not being fair. If I go along with whatever surprises you have lined up, you have to give me the same chance to win the deal. You want my heart, I want your body, even-Steven.”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off.”

  “A massage through your clothes is going to get awfully messy.”

  “Then forget about it.”

  From the stubborn set to his jaw, Charlie knew he wouldn’t budge. So she changed tactics. “Fine, then I’m not going anywhere with you Saturday. In fact, I’ll see you at the station and only at the station. The whole thing is off. No thinking about marriage, no trying for sex. Nothing.”

  Bastian snorted. “Going out with me is a little different from getting naked and letting you rub oil all over me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Charlie tossed the oil back in her tapestry bag and crossed her arms to mimic him.

  “I’ll get naked when you wear white.”

  Unable to stop it, she let a sultry grin curl her lip. “Afraid you can’t resist me?”

  “Frankly, yes, I am afraid. I can’t control how my body responds to you.”

  “You’ve turned me upside down and sideways here. Two days ago, I had a best friend. Now I have a boyfriend who won’t sleep with me.”

  “The common denominator in those phrases is friend. I’m still your friend. That doesn’t go away, in bed or out.”

  “If I stop touching you, the physical feelings go away. I carry my emotions everywhere, all the time, in every look and every word. There’s no such thing as a cold shower for the heart. You tell me who’s taking a bigger risk.”

  Released in a whisper, the words hit him. His lips parted and his chest stilled. He focused on her face, searching for answers she struggled to find.

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  One step brought her to him. Arms looped around his neck, she looked into his face. The hope there stole her breath. He really did love her. He dared her to believe. Slowly, his arms uncrossed and circled her waist, large firm hands splaying on her back. Maybe he didn’t understand what his touch did to her, also.

  It means that forever is too big but I can’t lose you. I’m scared.

  “It means…I’m not saying yes. I’m just saying…if there was any person who could make me believe forever might last, it would be you.”

  A swallow flexed his throat. “It will. We’ve been working for this for six years without knowing it. You trust me the way I trust you, completely and without question. That is real love. It’s what’ll make it work between us.”

  “Then trust me now.”

  “Resisting you is hard. I’m fighting myself, too.”

  On tiptoes, she grazed his mouth with a kiss. “Please.”

  White lines formed around his lips and she knew he was struggling. “Nothing is going to stand at attention while you resist me.”

  She deliberately pouted and his eyes fell to her mouth. She rarely used such overt feminine wiles on Bastian but this time they worked. His opposition crumbled. His arms went slack before falling. His eyes closed with a sigh. “Fine, but the pants stay on.”

  “Boxers, no pants.” A protest rose and she pressed one finger to his mouth. “I promise not to touch anywhere covered by cotton. Deal?”

  He took a step back, guarded warning on his face. “When I say stop, you stop. No games. This will not lead to sex, got it?”

  “Nothing will happen we’re not both totally in agreement with, okay? Now strip, you big chicken.”

  Grumbling under his breath, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it on the chair. He whipped around and faced the bed. The muscles in his back rippled as a muted snap and the scrape of a zipper sounded. He shucked the jeans to the same chair before climbing facedown on the bed. The deep maroon print of his boxers highlighted the intense flush of his neck as he propped his chin on his crossed hands.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Charlie fished the oil back out of her bag with a chuckle. “You make it sound like you’re facing a firing squad. Hang on, I want to warm the oil a bit.”

  “Forget about warming it. I don’t need it hot. Just do it. The
sooner you start, the sooner it’s over.”

  “Whiner.” She set the sealed bottle on his nightstand. The overhead light blinked off, leaving only the soft glow from the side lamp. “You’re going to like this, I promise. I even made sure to not get a girly scent so you won’t smell like a rose garden.”

  Her shirt hit his jeans. His damp blond hair smacked the air when his head spun to stare at the growing pile. “Leave your clothes on, damn it!”

  A teasing laugh trickled out. “Not part of the deal. You need negotiation lessons. Now hush.” Her shorts fell on top of her shirt and he groaned, face buried in his arms. Each muscle tensed as the edge of the bed dipped with her weight. “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. The woman you love isn’t naked and planning on touching every inch of you.”

  “I’m not naked. I left my panties on.”

  “Oh, big help.”

  Climbing up, she straddled his butt, one bare thigh on either side. It was like sitting on a fence pole, he was so rigid. She leaned across him for the oil bottle and saw his eyes were clenched and his cheeks rosy. Tenderness made her pause. Most men would have greedily grabbed at the offer of personalized nearly nude attention. How unique he was and he was hers for the asking.

  Her fingers stroked through his hair before grabbing the bottle. The click of the cap made him jump before a deep breath expanded his chest. He held it and she smiled. Three single drops of oil hit his spine followed by her fingers spreading them out in a circle. He still hadn’t released his breath.

  Slowly and methodically, drop by drop, Charlie coated both her hands and his back with the fragrant orange oil. Warmth infused her motions from his skin and her hands. Tense muscles bunched and then gradually loosened as she leisurely massaged his shoulders down to his spine. She wasn’t gentle, using knuckles and the heels of her hands with punishing force. Not sex, comfort. Resistance bled away as her hands stroked and squeezed in rhythmic movement.

  One hard muscle under his tattoo resisted and she forced her thumbs deeper into it, bringing a low moan.