by J. B. McGee
“Not as beautiful as you.” He caresses my cheek, then tucks my bangs behind my ears. “I love this longer hair on you.”
“I’m not sure my hair should ever be described as long.” It’s just a shaggier pixie cut than what I usually wear.
“You’re probably right about that. It’s sexy, though.”
“Speaking of sex.” I undo the button of his jeans, then the zipper, and give them a gentle tug. They are so loose, it doesn’t take much to make them pool on the floor around his feet. “Do you have a condom?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I laugh. “Of course you have a condom. You’re Joe Adams.”
He smirks. “You’re not on the pill?”
“I can’t take the pill.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“The way birth control prevents pregnancy in me is by removing my desire to do the deed that produces offspring.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have any of that.”
“Nope.” I’m kinda relieved I can’t take that nasty little pill. It’s always given me an excuse to use protection. I’ve never understood girls who just took a guy’s word for it when they said they were clean. There are asshats out there who just don’t care about anything other than getting laid. They’ll say or do anything to get a piece of ass. “We are going to have sex, right?” I wink at him. “You know, after all this time of waiting to get the girl.”
His lips crash into mine. He doesn’t wait for me to part them to give him access, he greedily takes it. Our tongues dance in perfect harmony. I reach and pull his boxers down, breaking our kiss. His mouth moves to my neck, to my ear, to my jaw. I stare down as his length springs free. His hands pull me to the edge of the bed, and I wrap my legs around his waist. “Do you like what you see?” he asks.
“Uh huh. Very much so.”
He pushes against my mound. “Do you like what you feel?”
“I’d like it better if it were inside me.”
“I love your smart mouth.”
I shrug. “What are you gonna do about it?” He reaches into the night stand and pulls a condom. “How many women have you made love to here?”
“Warning. Mood killer.” He rips the package open with his teeth. “No. I’m kidding. None. Not a single woman has been in this room.”
“You just keep condoms in the dresser just in case.”
“Yep. This house is my man cave.” He slides the rubber over the tip of his length.
Laughter erupts. “Your man cave? Like you have a single one.” He smirks. “I mean, the club is a pretty huge man cave.”
“The club is work.”
“True.”
“But after that conversation about how I wished you’d be here to watch the sunset with me.” He eyes the window. The sun’s setting. “I put them in the drawer. Wishful thinking.” He pushes into me.
“Oh, Joe.”
“Damn, you feel better than I imagined.” He pulls back, then thrusts again. My hips rise to meet his, my arms drift above my head, and I close my eyes as the sensations take over, making my ability to form words or coherent thoughts very difficult. “Ah.”
He rotates his hips as he pounds in and out of me. “Fuck. I’m not gonna last long.” He slows, then stills. “Especially with you like this.” He slides his hand between us and starts to massage my clit.
“Yes,” I hiss. “Don’t stop that.” I buck my hips again, craving friction. “Oh, Joe.”
“You’re so beautiful like this.” His fingers continue to work their magic. The sensations build, and my insides start to quicken. “Yeah,” he groans. “That’s it.” He nearly pulls all the way out and then slowly pushes back in. He does it again, and ripples of pleasure consume me as I quake around his length. I open my eyes, and his are fixed on me. “Ah,” he moans, as his orgasm pumps to the contractions of my own.
“That was incredible.”
It didn’t take him long to recover for round two. The time on the bar doesn’t count because there was nothing for him to rebound from. He’s caressing my hair as I strum his solid chest, the sheet resting at the bottom on the veins that form a V in his hips. “So, Christmas should be even more interesting than it sounds like it’s already going to be. That was pretty bold of Bradley to bring that up like that on the trip.”
“Yeah. I hate a holiday I look so forward to on a yearly basis is now one I’m dreading. Thanks, Bradley.”
“I get why they’re doing it.” He kisses my head. “Maybe you should try to talk to your father before the big day. Maybe you can work it out with him.”
“Because you’re an expert on working things out with your parents.”
“Do as I say, not as I do.” I feel his shoulders shrug beneath me. “I wish things could be different with my fucked up parental situation, but it is what it is.”
“Well, mine is what it is too. He beat my sister. In front of me. I remember every detail all these years later.”
“He was a different person then.”
“The alcohol makes him a different person. What if he goes back?”
“I don’t think he will.”
“Because you’re also an expert in Gabe?”
“Because I know people, and I believe in second chances.”
“Then why won’t you give your parents a second chance?”
“They don’t really want one. They don’t think they’ve done anything wrong. I would if they did. Ryan’s always been their prodigal son.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure they’re proud of you.”
“Proud of the bar owner who barely passed his classes at Clemson?” He threads his fingers in mine. “Nah. I don’t think so.”
“So what do we do about this parent situation?”
“I guess nothing. I do wish you’d give Gabe a second chance, though.”
“I’ll give him a second chance when you give your parents a second chance.”
He stares into my eyes, blinks, and turns away. “I can’t.”
“Christmas should be interesting, then, huh?”
“The only way I’ll survive it is by knowing I get to bring you back here and unwrap you.” He nuzzles my neck. “You’re the only gift I need this Christmas. And you came early, so I get more time to enjoy you.” He slides a finger, then two, between my slick folds.
“Again?”
“Again. And again. And a-fucking-gain, Sam.”
A jingly medley starts to chirp out of Joe’s phone. “Don’t answer it,” I whisper.
“I wasn’t gonna.” His tongue lashes against the mound of my nipple. “Nothing is more important than this.”
“No.” I moan. “Nothing.” The ringing stops. Seconds later as his mouth finds its way to my navel, a chime chirps. “Voicemail?”
He smirks and nods. “It can wait.”
I take his head between my hands and pull his lips to mine. Our tongues twist and tangle in a perfect erotic rhythm until the voice of a toddler starts saying, “Sam, hurry. Answer your phone.” I freeze.
“Who is that? I’ve never heard your ringtone before. How is that possible?” He kisses my cheek, then my ear, and then my neck.
“Hope. A patient with mitochondrial disease I met while volunteering at the hospital in high school. She had to have her feeding tube changed, and she always got tense and would cry. That made it hard to get the tube into her intestines. This one particular day, her parents said I could go with them for the procedure. The hospital was nice and let me watch since they knew I was considering pre-med.
“She loved watching videos on my phone. This particular day, I asked her if she’d record a message for me to keep so I would always remember her. I broke all the rules with her, Joe.” I thread my fingers through his hair and with the other hand squeeze my chest in hopes of holding the tears at bay. “I got so attached. I went to see her every day she was there, and then I would visit her at home. My mission was to make her smile, to bring her pleasure in any way I was able.”
“Damn, Sam.” He
strums the skin over my chest. “You’re amazing.”
I shake my head. “Anyway. She recorded this during her tube change. I will never have another ring tone. Her name was Hope. She passed away three months later. Did you know more children pass away from mitochondrial disease than all childhood cancers combined?”
He falls to the side and pulls me close before kissing my forehead. “I don’t even know what that disease is. I’ve never heard of it. How is that possible?”
“Exactly. I chose to become a doctor because of her. I want to give people hope. I want her life to be remembered and her death to mean something.” The tears I’d been holding back seep from the side and slide down my cheek. “That’s a mood killer, huh?”
“Actually, I can’t think of a bigger turn on than to hear the raw compassion in your voice for a child.” He kisses my forehead. “I know we just got together. I know this is all new—”
The jingly medley that goes with Joe’s ringtone, which is so surprising because it’s not at all what I would imagine he’d have, starts again. “Do you think it’s weird that someone called your phone, then mine, and now yours again?”
“You wanna know what’s a mood killer?” He rolls his eyes while pointing to his cell. “That damn thing. Hey, didn’t you drive your sister’s car?”
“Yeah.”
“Probably Bradley being a dick.” He chuckles.
I smile. “He wouldn’t do that, would he?”
Joe reaches over and grabs his phone. “Oh yeah. He totally would.” He checks out the screen and his brows furrow. “Don’t know who this is.” He swipes the green button. “Hell-o.” His hands strum my arm, and my fingers dance over his manscaped chest. I inhale the woody scent that is Joe. He freezes. “I’ll be right there.”
I prop myself up. My heart sinks. Someone tried to get in touch with both of us. My stomach lurches into my throat. “What is it?”
Joe’s face is pale. He gets up and shoves his hands through his hair. “Fuck, Sam.”
“Tell me, Joe. Who is it? What happened?”
He walks to the dresser and pulls a pair of boxer briefs, then slides them up his legs before reaching for a couple of T-shirts. “Ryan and Rebecca.”
“What about them?”
He extends a hand. “Here. Put this on.”
Ah. I hadn’t really thought of what I was going to wear after he ripped the buttons on my shirt. The vest isn’t really something that can be worn by itself. I shake my head. “Where are we going? Please just tell me what’s happening.”
“Put it on, dammit.”
Why won’t he tell me what’s happening? I’m not putting on a single piece of clothing until he spills the beans. “My bra is black. Do you have something that’s colored?”
He narrows his eyes. “Really?”
“Tell me what’s happening, and I’ll wear whatever you want me to.”
He shoves that one back, opens another drawer, and pulls a black T-shirt and shoves it at my chest. “They were in an accident. Ryan’s in critical condition. Please get dressed. Now.” He pulls a pair of jeans from the closet and slips into them. Immediate regret settles deep in my gut for loving the way he looks when he’s dressing. The blush creeping on my cheeks feels like it’s shaped in the letter A even though I’ve not cheated on Ryan. Something about knowing exactly what is under his clothes and how every inch of his body feels sends warmth coursing through my veins.
Snap the hell out of it, Sam. This is my fault. Things should have never gotten as far as they did with Ryan. Then again, I have no idea what transpired when he came here and picked up Rebecca. This is not just my fault. It’s ours. Based on Joe’s unmoved face, I think he may be having the same realization. What does that mean for us? Why am I even thinking about us right now? My mouth dries instantly. “Okay. Where is he? My bra is in the kitchen still.”
“They airlifted him to Grayson Memorial.” He pulls me up and leads us into the kitchen where he shakes his head, looking at the mess of clothing and buttons we left earlier before heading to the bedroom. Grayson is the best trauma hospitals in the metro area. You don’t want to hear your loved one has been sent there. He reaches down and lifts my bra by its strap. His eyes are cold when he looks at me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I wrap it around my chest, fasten the clasps, and slip my arms through the thin pieces of elastic. “Let me drive you.”
He shakes his head. “You can ride with me, but I’ll drive.”
“I should call Gabby and let her know what’s going on.” I reach down and slip my panties on, then my jeans, socks, and shoes.
“You can call her from the road. If they want their car back, they can come get it.” He picks up his keys, grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and runs his hands through his hair as he surveys the bar where he made love to me with his mouth, then his eyes wander to the floor where the buttons rest. “I’ll clean this up later.”
I scan the area one last time. The leftovers of our passion. The remnants of the destruction of our love. Is this love?
“Sam.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s go. It’s gonna take us an hour to get there as it is.”
Gabby’s keys. I pull them from my pocket as we walk to the front door. “Should I put these under the mat or what?”
He looks at me like I’m an errant child asking a ridiculous question. “My brother, your boy...he’s in critical condition, Sam. You of all people know what that means. Are we seriously going to sit here and contemplate where to put the keys to Gabby’s car?” He opens the front door. We both step through the threshold. Joe pulls it closed, then locks it.
Yeah. I, of all people, fully understand what it means. “I’m sorry. It’s just.” I shove the keys under the coir mat that says welcome. “There. I’m ready.” It was nice for Gabby to let me borrow it, but I don’t want to leave them in a bad situation because of my poor choices. Who knows what’s going to happen in the next minute, hour, or day. Bile lurches up my throat. If Ryan doesn’t pull through, I’ll never forgive myself. But more than that, will Joe be able to forgive me? Himself?
The doors to Joe’s black Tesla Model S click open, and I pull the handle of the passenger side door before sliding into the car. It’s not at all what I’d pictured him driving. Maybe I don’t know him as well I thought. Sharing the story of Hope with him made me realize he doesn’t know me as well as I thought, but it was easy to open up, and I want him to know me better than anyone. Every bit of my being wants him to be the one to know all my deepest and darkest secrets. He opens his door, slips into the driver’s seat, and shuts it while igniting the engine.
The music is blaring. Rihanna’s S & M is playing talking about sex being in the air and the smell of it. Heat travels through my body, ricocheting off my core. I swallow. My heart syncopates with the upbeat rhythm.
Must. Talk. About. Something. Other. Than. Sex. Would he like sex with whips and chains? I never thought I would, but with him, I think I could.
Must. Think. About. Something. Other. Than. Sex.
Ryan.
Must. Think. About. Something. Other. Than. Ryan.
“What made you get this car?” I ask.
“It’s green.”
I stare blankly at him. “No, it’s not.”
He smirks. “Yes. It is.”
I inspect the paint through the side mirror. Surely, I’ve not totally lost my mind or suddenly gone color blind. Pointing out the window, I say, “It’s black.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not the color. It’s a green car. Look in the backseat. It seats three on that row, but the trunk has two seats. How many sedans can say they seat seven people? This is also an electric car.” When he’s on an open road, he guns it. My chest is thrust back. “Plus, it goes zero to sixty in five point nine seconds.”
My eyes dart to him. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? Let’s try to get to your brother in one piece, please?” And Rebecca. I still don’t know what they were or how she is.
He hasn’t mentioned her, and I can’t help but be curious as to what her fate is, but I refuse to mention her. I’m not able to identify why that is.
He shakes his head.
Is he saying no?
My fingers twist with one another. He turns onto one of the main roads. It’s twisty and windy. There’s water on one side and rolling tree-covered hills on the other. The dam. He’s still driving like a bat out of hell. A thought comes crashing to my mind like waves breaking on the beach. Is he so ashamed of what we’ve done that he’d rather put us in a grave, or better yet, sink us to the bottom of that lake? My hand reaches to the door handle and squeezes. “Joe.”
“Hmm?”
This wasn’t how I envisioned us riding together for the first time. Under any other circumstances, I’d probably find his stunts sexy. Actually, no. I’ve seen and heard too much to find reckless behavior attractive. “Joe, can you please slow down?”
He sighs, but I can feel his foot letting off the gas. My fingers still dig into the side of the door. Did he sigh because he’s irritated with me about asking him to slow down? Oh no. Maybe everything Ryan said about him is true. What have I done? I was his conquest. Now that he’s had me, he’s over me. What if everything he said was just a way for him to get me, and now that he’s had me, he doesn’t want me. The thought repulses me, but now’s not the time to bring it up. Because regardless of what’s happening between us, or isn’t, his brother—my ex-boyfriend of only a few hours—is in critical condition. How screwed up is this?
“Do you mind if I call Gabby?” I ask, reaching for my cell phone.
He shakes his head again. Is he incapable of speaking? Maybe he’s trying to keep it together for me. Maybe if we weren’t together he’d be crying the whole way to the hospital, although something tells me it takes a lot to make Joe Adams cry. The song Someone Like You by Adele is on, but he turns it down. On the playlist of possible songs we could hear right now, I’d prefer the one about hot sex versus the one talking about him finding someone else who provided what I couldn’t. Adele makes it sound like it’s so easy to find someone else when you lose the love of your life. I’m not sure I could ever find someone like Ryan again. Or Joe. And I’m scared out of my mind that I’ve just lost them both.