The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  God bless Robbie.

  “Oh well, happy holidays again,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” Averting my eyes, I picked up my tray and walked away as his heated gaze burned my back. I didn’t dare turn and look, but with every step, I felt like I was running away from home.

  And then the smell of whiskey raced up my nose, chasing any warm and fuzzy feelings I might have away. Desperate to get away from the temptation—of both kinds—I hurried to deliver the beverages.

  Lane

  For the first time in five years, I went home for the holidays. Not really home, but to the five-star William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh. Why the hell did I leave the sun and sand to make a trek back to the ice and snow? I knew damn well why, but I wasn’t about to admit it aloud.

  I needed to be saved from myself. I needed redemption.

  With one more small lie, my life had turned sour. I carried the guilt of that dinner with Bess around with me, and it weighed me down like a trunk full of bricks. Our shared breakfast the morning after was my additional carry-on, a briefcase of evidence that I couldn’t do anything right. That baggage piled up with other suitcases full of indiscretions on my back, staying with me whether I was eating sushi with Randi, going for a punishing run, or conducting business meetings. They were with me always, weighing me down like a European traveler on a six-month tour.

  My life was beginning to look like an empty movie set, and I had to save myself from becoming a poor excuse of a person like Jake.

  Mostly, I obsessed over fixing things with Bess. Problem was, there were no things. It was a great big nothing built up in my head, so there was nothing to fix.

  The halfhearted greeting I got from my brother should have been my first clue to the lunacy of my plan. I’d landed at dinnertime in Pittsburgh on December twenty-third, and had decided to give my brother a ring before I rented a car.

  After selecting Jake’s contact info from my phone’s screen, I’d stuck in my earbud so I didn’t have to hold the phone to my ear while walking to the rental counter. He answered right before it went to voice mail, and by his tone, he’d apparently debated answering at all.

  “What?” he barked into the phone.

  “Hey, Jake! Merry Christmas to you too,” I said, laying it on thick.

  “Merry fucking Christmas to you, Lane.”

  I paced the waiting area in front of the rental counter. “I’m here. In Pittsburgh. Thought I’d see you in person for the holiday.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. You around?”

  “I am now, but getting out of Dodge tomorrow. Got a sweet little honey I’m taking to the mountains. Sorry, my man, you shoulda called me sooner.”

  “Now that you say it, I guess so. Well, I’m here, so you want to grab a beer tonight?”

  “Sure. Where you staying? Oh, never mind. I know where. Only the best for Mr. Hotel Software.”

  “Drop it, Jake,” I grumbled.

  “Take it easy, dude. So, the Tap Room? Eight?”

  “Fine. See you then.”

  I disconnected and got my car, thinking I should have taken a flight back to Florida.

  Later that night, over drinks with Jake and his “honey” named Courtney, I learned they were heading up to the mountains to ski. As luck would have it, they were staying at the WildFlower. Like a fool with a winning lottery ticket, I’d exclaimed, “Cool! They’re my client, so I should have no problem getting a room. I could come up and have dinner with you two!”

  Jake looked at me like I’d completely lost it, but Courtney got me. She was ecstatic to meet her beau’s brother, and even more excited at the prospect of spending Christmas with his family.

  It was decided. I would drive up the next day and have Christmas Eve dinner with Jake and “Court” before they spent Christmas Day skiing. Then I would drive back to the airport and get on a first-class flight back to Florida.

  I was counting the minutes.

  At least, I told myself so.

  But I didn’t get on a flight. I spent Christmas morning pacing the carpet in my suite—the one management had on hold in case a VIP like me wanted to stay at the last minute—debating what to do.

  Was Bess downstairs? How could I tell her the truth? Did she take the holiday off?

  After wasting the day worrying over it, I threw on a suit and went down to the bar for a drink and something to eat.

  Spending Christmas alone was nothing new for me. I was used to it, so I settled into the cushy bar stool and ordered a Lagavulin straight up. After throwing back the scotch, experiencing the slow burn that came with it, I opened the menu to see what I would be eating for my holiday dinner when I felt the tingle.

  Yes, an actual tingle ran up my spine, and before I could consider what the fuck was happening and when exactly I’d turned into a giant wuss, I heard Bess’s voice.

  Sneaking a quick glance, I saw she was preoccupied and talking with her head stuck in her notebook, so I hurried up and made my way over to her. The tingle ramped up into a full-blown electric shock with every inch closer I got to the source.

  When I said hello, she asked what I was doing there. I wanted to come clean, I really did, but before I could, she brushed me off and went on her way to do her job. Like an idiot, I thought there would be another chance, so I waited.

  It finally dawned on me she wasn’t coming back when she sent runners to get her drinks. So I ordered a steak and moved back to my original seat, where I had a better view of the restaurant floor. I always planned better on a full stomach.

  No way was I leaving now.

  AJ

  I paced my kitchen until the oven timer rang, signaling the turkey was done.

  Thank fucking God. Now these asses can eat and go.

  My Christmas was sucking big-time. I wanted Bess to be with me, but she wasn’t.

  I kept picturing her bursting through my door, all bundled up for the cold and apologizing for being late, but there was nothing. No random noises or car lights outside. Just my recovery gang and me shooting the breeze around the fire, avoiding bellying up to the bar, and killing time until December twenty-sixth when this miserable holiday was officially over.

  “That smells fucking great,” my buddy Pete yelled from the other room.

  I’d rather smell pussy; Bess’s tight one, to be exact. Once I got a taste of that sweet cunt-sugar, I didn’t want any other. And I wanted her now. By my side.

  My mind was in overdrive, unable to slow or halt the continual loop of Bess. Somewhere, the rational side of me knew it was my addictive personality. The addict in me didn’t care. I wanted my next hit. Now.

  “Damn right! I know what to do with a bird,” I shouted back to my room full of guests, sliding my poker face on. I’d perfected that shit when I was using, and refined it more when I got sober and started giving construction estimates.

  I was a master of disguise. Thank fuck because no one outside this kitchen could know what drug I’d traded up for—a brown-haired one with legs that went on for miles.

  Slapping the turkey onto a platter, I called out, “I’m gonna grab a quick smoke outside and then I’ll serve dinner.” But I couldn’t even think about eating.

  Bess

  Lane sat all night at the end of the bar. He made small talk with Robbie, ate his dinner, ordered dessert, and occasionally looked up and spotted me. I caught quick glimpses of him, never meeting his eye, but I knew every single time he turned his eyes on me. My cheeks burned, fire licked up my back, and embarrassingly enough, my panties got wet.

  I asked Paul to do my bar runs for the evening; he knew my background. After I blamed it on the booze getting to me, he was gracious enough to do that favor for me.

  But it wasn’t totally the alcohol. It was mostly the hot-blooded male at the far corner.

  Now the end of another holiday had come, and my feet were at war with my heart. My body longed to crawl into bed and go to sleep. Unfortunately, the muscle beating fu
riously in my chest screamed for more Lane.

  I wound my way around the back hall of the hotel to the housekeeping locker room in an effort to avoid any temptation to talk with him by walking through the restaurant. Beating back desire the whole way, I tried desperately to lose myself in the sterile ivory decor, a stark contrast to the opulence of the hotel’s front areas. Christmas carols were still piping through the speakers, and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” did little to calm my nerves.

  Opening my locker, I checked my phone and found I had two voice mails and thirty-two texts. Quickly scrolling through the texts, I realized they were all from AJ. They started out benignly enough, wishing me a merry Christmas and asking about my day, before they sank into a pathetic slump, begging me to text him and hurrying me to finish work.

  After packing up my bag, I hit LISTEN TO MESSAGES and held the phone between my ear and neck.

  Hi, honey. It’s Dad. Merry Christmas. I was hoping to hear from you, thinking you probably worked a double, but wishing you spent some time with friends. I know I didn’t say it enough when you were growing up, but I love you. Come see me sometime, Bess-baby. Okay, happy holidays. ’Bye.

  After the beep came my next message.

  Bess! It’s me, AJ. Where the hell are you? I was hoping to at least wish you a merry Christmas in person. I know we left on bad terms the other day—well, I did, and I’m sorry, but I have to see you. It’s Christmas, and I don’t want today to end without seeing you. Come on, Bess, answer the phone or text me back. Shit . . . please?

  I shoved on my jeans and sweater, slammed my locker shut, deleted my dad’s message, and walked to the door. Completely lost in thought over AJ—picturing him pacing and taking drags on his cigarette while leaving me that message—I was trying to dig deep and find some inner resolve over his current freak-out as I swung the door open.

  “Ouch!”

  “Shit! Sorry,” I said as I looked up into blue eyes, a little red-rimmed, and shadowed behind dark hair.

  “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you, Bess,” Lane said, his hands held high in mock surrender.

  “What are you doing back here?” I leaned against the locker room door, taking in the fact that even under the harsh bright light of the staff hallway, Lane looked lickable. I knew that underneath his perfectly pressed Italian suit of armor he was toned and fit, based on the times I’d collided with him. Both times I’d practically bounced off his muscles.

  And that hair; it was such a contradiction to his proper and business-like appearance. It was wild and always mussed, and I wanted to dig my hands in it and use it to pull him close before melding my lips to his.

  Hot damn. I was a hormonal puddle ever since sleeping with AJ. It was like the power was back on and all my sexual fuses were burning brightly.

  AJ. The man waiting for me, texting and calling nonstop. The guy who doesn’t want me to be a booty call.

  “You okay?” Lane asked, pulling me out of my heated moment.

  Was I flushed? I brought my hand up to touch my cheek, and sure enough, it was hot to the touch.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Tired. I worked brunch and dinner today, so I’m just really tired.” I stumbled over my words. Collecting myself, I asked again, “What are you doing back here?”

  This was when my world tilted because Lane leaned in with a smirk and a wink and whispered, “Checking on my favorite WildFlower employee, and wishing her a very merry holiday.”

  If I were a kite floating through the sky when he leaned close, I was a jumbo jet at thirty thousand feet when he mentioned “favorite employee.”

  He brought two fingers up to his lips and said, “Shh. Keep the favorite part on the down low, because I don’t want to offend anyone.”

  Afraid to speak, I stayed quiet, but he didn’t.

  “Happy holidays, Bess,” he said as he moved closer and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  When did this totally inappropriate flirting and touching start?

  “Umm, Mr. Wrigley, I’m not sure I’m understanding you exactly. What are you really doing here? In Pennsylvania? Back at the WildFlower after your deal was closed? On Christmas by yourself? And who let you back here?” The pitch of my voice rose a little with each question until I was practically squeaking as I flailed a bit, waving my hand up and down the staff corridor.

  But I wasn’t quite finished because then, boldly and out of left field, I asked, “Why me? Why are you back here talking to me?”

  He leaned back on his heels, a tiny glint in his eye as he said, “Let’s see. I came back to Pennsylvania to see my brother for the holiday, except he had plans to go skiing up here. So, I came up with him and his lady friend. We had dinner last night, but today was their day on the slopes, which left me all alone.”

  Licking his lips, he ran his hand through his dark hair and leaned close once more. “As for why I’m back here with you, I can’t really say. I only know I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since our unbelievably boring dinner in the tavern, or the coffee we shared in the back room the morning after.”

  His expression softened. “There’s just something about you, Bess. You’re sweeter than the aroma of the blueberry muffin I devoured with you, prettier than the sun setting over the ocean back home, and tangier than the lemons you squeeze into your water. Something I can’t put my finger on pulls me in and makes me want to be close to you, probably the same thing that makes you want to run. Hell, it makes me want to flee so fucking fast, but I’m not. So, just don’t.”

  He stopped talking and looked intently in my eyes. I stared back, studying the blue of his irises. They were so blue, but more a cornflower shade than ocean. There was something untouched and innocent about them, which was probably misguided to think on my part, considering that standing in front of me was an extremely successful, well-traveled, worldly, and probably well-fucked man.

  My throat dry, I choked out, “I’m not sure what to say. Actually, I don’t think any of this is appropriate, and we should probably just part ways.” Completely unnerved, I pinned my lower lip between my teeth, and could almost taste a tinge of coppery blood as I bit down on it.

  And then I got lost in his eyes, like blue skies floating above me. My mind drifted, barely registering the arms that reached out and framed me against the door. The sky came closer. It was so, so blue, not a cloud in it. And then he kissed me. Lane’s lips touched mine softly, and I braced myself against the wall. I was falling or floating, I didn’t know which.

  His mouth was warm, his tongue probing my troublesome bottom lip, looking for entrance. I gave it, and my own tongue found its way over to his side. He tasted like scotch and some other smoky flavor mixed with gingerbread.

  What did he have for dessert? Maybe gingerbread cheesecake?

  I sought the sweet and ignored the bitter, not one bit tempted by the essence of alcohol, only the man. In my mind, I was an innocent girl without a past, and definitely not a past that included cocaine and ecstasy and months of inpatient drug and alcohol rehab. Just a young woman entranced with a gorgeous, brilliant, smart man, one I assumed was very rich and worldly.

  Lane broke away first, but didn’t step back. Instead he reached one hand behind my neck and released my ponytail. My hair fell all around my shoulders, giving me a false sense of protection. And then he invaded my space once again while muttering, “Need another taste.” His lips feathered along mine cautiously before his tongue swept along my bottom lip, forcing itself inside. No longer gentle, Lane was now fucking my mouth, and with every stroke of his tongue, I visualized other body parts delving long and luxuriously inside me.

  I wanted his dick in my mouth, deep and choking. I was like a fiend, tapping a vein, tying a handmade tourniquet, seeking the fastest, quickest way to feel my high.

  My body was hot and sweaty, desperate to intertwine with his. My hips were drawn forward, reaching for something they didn’t know but wanted to—intimately. I’d fallen down the rabbit hole
, lost in everything Lane, searching for the way in or out from this brand new sensation. Behind closed eyes, I could almost feel him pulsing inside my vagina, holding my hips steady while he rammed inside me, pulling out all the way and then doing it again.

  I was so wired I was practically hallucinating. I didn’t know who or what I was.

  And then he broke away. My eyes wide, I watched him catching his breath, the rapid pulse fluttering in the hollow of his throat matching mine beat for beat.

  Stepping close again, he leaned in, his lips lingering on my temple before grazing my ear. “Now it’s a very happy holiday, Bess,” he said as his breath fanned along my cheek.

  I needed space, air, room to breathe. Sliding to the side, I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, just now realizing I was still holding it despite my descent to the dark side. Rational thought finally returning to me, I found my words.

  “Happy holidays, Mr. Wrigley. I’m not sure what just happened, but I don’t think it was meant to, especially between you and me. I trust you can find your way out of here since you figured your way back. Good night,” I said, and walked straight down the hall to the rear exit.

  It took every single fiber in each and every muscle of my body to keep from turning around and rushing back to the party known as Lane Wrigley.

  Bess

  Twisted in the covers, Brooks hot and heavy on top of the comforter, I was in the middle of a very graphic dream when the sound of my phone ringing dragged me back to reality. I swiped the CALL button without looking and murmured hello as I rubbed my eyes, then pushed up to lean against the headboard.

  “Bess! Thank fucking God you answered. I was about to bang down your door.”

  “AJ, hi,” was all I could muster, my voice sounding breathy and guilty. I felt like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  “Hi, you okay? Where’ve you been? Was work okay? I tried to get a hold of you all day yesterday. I thought you mighta come over after your shift.”