The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

I was lonely other than my occasional time with Shirley. Being alone and cold with no one other than Brooks to warm my feet was getting old. And I liked Lane more than a little. Maybe even a lot. I just couldn’t figure out how he fit into my carefully crafted life. But now he was in my house, kissing me silly.

  So when Lane interrupted my thoughts with, “A hike sounds perfect,” I quickly took him up on it. It seemed the smart thing to do at the time.

  We hiked through the woods, taking a path from my house. Brooks followed along off leash, but Lane noticed he wore the collar he’d sent in his second package. He also noticed the giant container I was using for Brooks’s treats that he’d sent in his most recent package.

  I thought that would be my last package and cherished the tiny mementos of our weekend he included. The miniature snow globe with a swimming pool inside sat on my window sill, and the votive full of sand and shells held a permanent spot on the mantel. He probably noticed those too, but I didn’t point them out.

  As we made our way along the narrow paths wearing almost matching puffy vests, we held hands and had conversations we shouldn’t have been having.

  “So, you got this dog pretty much under your little finger?” Lane asked as we rounded a bend and Brooks came as soon as I called him.

  “I don’t know about that, but we came into each other’s lives when neither of us had anyone else. I think he knew how much I needed him.”

  I stopped and caught myself from going on and on about a time of my life that would certainly bore anyone.

  “Hey, go on,” Lane insisted, grabbing my hand and keeping us moving through the trees.

  “Really? It must sound so silly and touchy-feely.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” he said, and pumped my hand.

  “Well, it was right after I left rehab and was on my own for the first time in ninety days. The worst was behind me, I hoped, but I still felt really alone. My dad wanted to come and be with me, but we were never close like that, and I grew up without a mother.”

  Bess paused for a moment in her story, reaching out her free hand to stroke Brooks’s head as he trotted beside her. “So I got a dog. One Saturday I went over to the pound, and they had a litter of puppies that had been abandoned in a barn. I felt so bad for those little guys, I wanted to take all of them. But I could barely take care of myself, let alone eight puppies.” She tugged affectionately at Brooks’s ear. “And then this one tumbled over to me. He was tripping over his own big paws and kept trying to jump in my arms. I picked him up and didn’t put him down until it was time to get in my car to go home.”

  This time, Lane came to a halt and grabbed my cheeks, bringing me in for a kiss before he said, “Bess Williams, you are magnificent.”

  Brooks sat down right at our feet in between us and stared up at us like we were the two weirdest creatures he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Would it be wrong if I said I want to turn around and go back to your house and strip you naked?” Lane said, interrupting my thoughts.

  “No,” I choked out, already breathless and barely able to speak.

  Practically racing back up the hill, we made it to my door in record time. I unlocked it, let Brooks in, and by the time he was finished shaking the moisture off his fur, we were ripping our coats and shoes off, leaving a trail of clothes behind us as I led Lane to my bedroom.

  We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Lane helped me scoot over, smoothing the hair around my face as my head fell into the pillow, lightly tracing down my neck and collarbone with his tongue. A hot trail formed where his warm breath laid tracks barely cooled by the mountain air swirling around my room.

  My hands and hips reached for him of their own volition, betraying any rules I had put into place where it came to my heart or unwanted disruptions in my very organized simple life. Apparently my body didn’t mind complications as long as it meant Lane was inside me.

  He slowly licked a path up my inner thigh, taking so long that I was squirming when I begged, “Lane, now!”

  “Be patient,” he breathed out, and went back to teasing me.

  My heart pounded in my chest, my own breathing coming in pants, and when he finally landed where I wished he would, my body yelled, Yes!

  His strokes were both tender and rough, patient and urgent—a living, breathing contradiction, much like our lives and paths crossing.

  With a final sweep of his tongue, I came. My orgasm was hard and furious, my body angry that I’d waited so long since I last saw Lane, sending chills spiraling through me that were almost punishing.

  With my tremors still running their course, Lane slipped on a condom and was inside me. He pulled me up to meet his chest, my nipples rubbing against his very hard body, the friction causing peaks to form as he shifted me back toward the headboard, and I caught a glimpse of his six-pack working hard.

  With one hand on the headboard, the other holding me tight, his tip hitting the spot that drove me wild, I was pretty sure I was going to come again when I felt Lane pick up speed, hunting down his own release. As soon as he started jerking and I felt him losing it inside me, I followed suit.

  Toppling down on me, yet careful to hold some of his weight back, he slid the condom off and tossed it on the nightstand. While I lightly scratched his back, he held me until all the sensation passed.

  We spent most of the afternoon this way. Lounging and talking with lingering touches.

  Tucked in the crook of Lane’s neck, our bodies sticking together in the sweaty aftermath of sex, I didn’t want to move. I said in a hushed whisper, “Wow, Spain. So that’s where you were?”

  “Mmm,” he said into the top of my head.

  “Was it amazing?” I asked, unable to keep a touch of melancholy from my words. Not sure where it was coming from, I couldn’t help but feel a longing to travel and explore with Lane. But that would never be possible.

  “It was work. Of course, it is a beautiful country, but I was there for work,” he answered, before rolling me on top of him and smiling. “But it would have been better if you were there.”

  “Don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I’m not. Actually, I’ve never really traveled much with anyone else. It would be fun with you, and hot.”

  Our eyes met, and I blinked back the wetness in mine. “Lane, let’s not get carried away. I’m a waitress in rural Pennsylvania. You’re a mega-successful entrepreneur from South Beach. I’m a recovered addict and you’re essentially a playboy. Even I’m smart enough to know this has a short shelf life, whatever this is. What I’m not smart enough to do is to say ‘no thanks’ to you and your fabulous offers, but I know this will end sometime soon.”

  And I hope I don’t fall apart. I pray I’m strong enough not to crumble.

  “Bess,” he whispered, steadying my face with both his hands so I couldn’t look away. “Don’t make this into some awful self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t know what this is either, but like I told you on Christmas, I feel drawn to you in a way I’ve never felt before. I can’t stop the pull and neither can you, so we shouldn’t. And for the record, when I’m with you, I don’t feel like a playboy. I’m a man chasing a woman, scared I’m not gonna catch her.”

  He didn’t use any more sweet nothings to capture my heart, only actions.

  After another round in the sheets, this one slower and less frantic than our first hit, we drifted off to sleep. As dusk deepened outside the house, I was jolted awake with a swift punch to my ribs.

  “Ow,” I mouthed, unable to make the sound come out with the pain rushing through me.

  Lane was thrashing in the sheets, his hands fisted, punching the air. “No! No! What did you do? What?” he yelled, his cries hoarse and raspy with emotion.

  “Lane,” I whispered while holding my side after shifting to the other side of the bed. “Lane,” I said quietly again, afraid of what might happen if I said it louder. I wasn’t equipped to care for someone this way. I’d been tasked w
ith doing it for myself all my life, and look how shitty that turned out.

  What was he screaming about? Was it the darkness that lingered in his eyes, that indefinable something I’d seen in him before?

  Luckily, Brooks had gotten up from the corner of the room where he had been resting, and came straight to the side of the bed where Lane was sleeping. Apparently concerned, Brooks poked his wet nose into Lane, jarring him out of his nightmare.

  “Shit,” Lane said, coming awake. He ran a trembling hand along his forehead, then pushed it back through his messy hair. He wasn’t facing me, but I could feel anger and an unwelcome embarrassment radiating from him. Whether he admitted it or not, he was a playboy, and this wasn’t how playboys drifted off to sleep after fucking their girl.

  Unsure of what else to do, I placed my hand on his shoulder and asked, “Lane, you okay?”

  He slowly turned my way, his eyes no longer the cornflower blue of a bright sky, and they were certainly no longer happy. They were muddled and pained, a sea of roiling emotions that I couldn’t dive into. I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer.

  “Shit, Bess. Fuck!” He sat up in bed and rummaged around for his shirt, whipping it on before grabbing his boxer briefs and throwing those on in a fury. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stood up and paced beside the bed, his brow furrowed, his mind more than likely racing between fight or flight.

  His breathing was heavy, his eyes frantic and wild, and I felt the need to go to him. Gingerly, I brought my feet out of bed, pain jabbing my side from the movement. As I stood, I held my ribs, trying to act like I was stretching. No such luck.

  “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?” Lane asked, marching over to me when I should have been running to him.

  “Nothing. You just clipped me in your sleep,” I said, trying to be vague.

  “Don’t do that, Bess. Don’t be all naive and pretend what just happened didn’t freak you the fuck out. One minute I’m making . . . I mean, we’re having sex, and the next I’m punching the shit out of you and waking up in a terror.”

  “Well, I was worried,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. “But you’re up and we can talk about it now if you want.” I ran my hand down his cheek.

  Isn’t that what I should say? I felt like I needed to call Shirley or May. I was at a loss, clueless about what to do next.

  He swatted my hand out of the way and stepped back. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s an old bad dream. Haven’t had it in years, and now it’s back. Probably stress.”

  I didn’t have a chance to respond because before I could open my mouth, he turned away and said, “I gotta roll. I’m really sorry, but I have to cut this visit short. I can’t stay and risk hurting you.”

  Lane was out the door and peeling down the gravel driveway in his Jeep before I could even wrap myself in my robe and get to the door to watch him pull away.

  Lane

  “Jake! Pick the hell up!” I yelled into the phone as I barreled down the hill faster than I should have been going.

  Of course, my fucking brother wasn’t picking up when I needed him to. It had always been a one-way street when it came to us.

  Frustrated, I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat.

  Screw him.

  I drove straight to Pittsburgh’s airport, not stopping for gas, food, or anything. I kept my foot heavy on the accelerator, feeling myself gain control with every push. I was in charge of the car, where I was going, and my own destiny. Not Jake. Not Bess. Not my nightmares.

  Fuck ’em all.

  My phone rang, startling me as the sound blared through the dark car.

  With my left hand and knee on the wheel, I reached over to grab it. Swiping my finger across the screen, I didn’t need to see who it was. It wasn’t Bess. She wasn’t strong enough to call me, let alone survive my lies and nightmares without getting hurt. Not only emotionally, but physically too.

  “Hello—Jake?”

  “Yeah? What the fuck is up?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. My nightmares are back, you little shit. I had them the whole time I was gone, thought it was the hectic travel schedule I’d been keeping. Then I had one last night, when I got in from Spain. No way this was another one-off, no such fucking luck! Fuck you, Jake. You started all this!” I yelled into the phone.

  “Calm down, Lane. You’re losing it.”

  “Me? I’m fucking losing it? No, you’re gonna be the one losing it because I’m going home. No way I’m staying until Monday to go to Youngstown. You got that?” I said this as I leaned into a curve, the Jeep just about on two wheels, the dark mountains on one side, a straight drop into a ravine on the other.

  “Lane, listen, come back to Pittsburgh. Let me buy you a beer and you’ll calm down.”

  “Nope. No fucking way, Jake. ’Bye.”

  I disconnected the call without waiting for him to answer. I’d had enough.

  It was time to go back to my world. Business and bikinis.

  Lane

  One month later

  “Good evening, Mr. Wrigley? Checking someone in tonight?” Stuffed like a pig in a blanket into his fitted dress shirt and skinny chinos, James greeted me with his usual sarcasm as I walked into the Dylan.

  “No, James, I’m not, but thanks for asking. I’m here for a late dinner. Can you call down to the restaurant and see if they can accommodate me?”

  The snarky little shit. He’d seen me come in a few times this month for a drink, never once checking anyone else into the damn fucking hotel.

  I had no idea why I continued to go there; it only held memories I would have liked to banish. Yet I kept torturing myself with quick glances at the hammock or toward the suite where she’d stayed.

  “For how many, Mr. Wrigley?”

  James interrupted my thoughts of Bess spread out on the bed, my head between her legs. Unable to talk yet, I held up two fingers, my fantasy so real I could almost taste her pussy. When he waggled his eyebrows at me, I was tempted to make two fingers into one. The middle one.

  James hung up the phone. “If you’ll head over to the patio, they have a table ready for you. Should I direct your guest that way?”

  “Yes. Randi, I mean, Ms. Pepper should be arriving any minute.”

  I hadn’t sealed the deal in a month. Not since I shoved my boxers back on and ran out of Bess’s, fleeing the scene, leaving only bullshit in my wake. My balls felt like they were going to burst, even after rubbing one out—often.

  I’d gone on a bit of a bender when I first returned home, spending the remainder of the weekend holed up with a bottle of aged scotch. Then I thought of Bess and her struggles, and scolded myself.

  On Monday I jumped back into my life with a renewed vengeance, ignoring twenty-five frantic calls from my brother, and then I remembered Bess and her story of helping the puppies. I called him back, Skyped with the smoothie fuckers, wired them their money, and solved my brother’s problems again. Except he wasn’t a lost puppy.

  After that, back to work I went. I had closed three new accounts in a month. It was a new record for me, traveling eighteen days of the month. I’d even been back to Spain once for forty-eight hours. All I thought about was Bess and how dreamy-eyed she got when thinking about traveling.

  Losing myself in my preferred rigorous workaholic lifestyle, I felt my shell snap back into place. But every time I ran or twisted in yoga, it felt like it was going to crack wide open again. I couldn’t help but think of Bess holding her side. Christ, I’d hurt her; I’d physically injured a woman. The very one who held all my fantasies, and as of recently, my heart. I almost felt her pain when I bent into the side crow pose, or pounded down the beach.

  She was all I thought about. Essentially, I’d traded one nightmare for another. At least I’d been able to somewhat control the awful dreams of my past since returning to my refuge—sunny Florida—where all that mattered was people’s appearances, no matter how contrived they were, and nothing was more
important than a tanned, firm body.

  Like the fake beauty walking my way at the moment. Randi had arrived and was taking the outdoor dining patio by storm, air-kissing a plastic face here and another one there before sitting down across from me.

  Tonight was about exorcising my latest living hell, burying myself deep inside some faceless woman so I could forget the girl who had taken up permanent residence in my head.

  “Hi, Lane. How are you?” Randi asked as she slinked into her seat. Her tits were popping out of her miniscule black minidress. Thank God someone came and put a napkin on her lap as she sat down, because if she had to bend over, one of those fake C-cups was going to come popping out onto the table.

  It didn’t even look remotely sexy. My tastes had turned toward skinny jeans and Nikes.

  “I’m fine. You?” I asked, not really caring.

  Randi flipped her auburn tresses back in a practiced gesture, her long French-manicured nails catching the light. “Oh, great! I just got booked on a shoot in Australia! I can’t wait. I wonder if the toilets actually flush the wrong way there . . .”

  She never shut up, yapping incessantly about herself, and as she waved her hands in the air to emphasize a point, I couldn’t stop thinking about Bess’s hands. They were small with short nails that felt so good scratching up and down my back as I rode her hard. Bess was smaller than the average model I dated, but we fit together so perfectly.

  Oh fuck! I wasn’t going to get her out of my head. Not tonight.

  Interrupting Randi, I stood up and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I have to go.” And like that, I walked right out of the Dylan, calling my assistant on the way out.

  “I have another package to send.”

  Bess

  Not bothering to look up when the bells above the diner door chimed, I heard, “What the hell are you doing here?” The tone was gruff, and a waft of cigarette smoke and Jim Beam hit my nose.

  “Um, working,” I said as I looked up into AJ’s angry face. “The question is, what are you doing, AJ?” I stepped back, giving myself some fresh air.