Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3)

by Grider, J. P.

  "Sure." I'm apprehensive no matter what type of dance we do, but I'm determined to move past my insecurities and do this.

  We put on our taps and stand in the center of the room. "Follow what I do?" she asks. "I step. You follow. I step. You follow."

  "Right. Like Simon Says," I joke.

  "Right."

  She shuffles. I shuffle.

  She cross shuffles. I cross shuffle.

  She side cross shuffles. I side cross shuffle.

  Before we know it, we're doing the same moves at the same time and I'm beaming. Tap is not nearly as difficult with this leg as my ballet spins. Why on Earth I didn't start with tap when I first put this leg on escapes me. I may have grown in confidence and not beaten myself up for not doing a fouetté turn on my bad leg. One step at a time. That first step should have been something simpler. But hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

  We continue tapping until Lindsay suggests jazz. Another duh moment for me before I say, "Of course." We spend the next hour dancing - tap and jazz. Something tells me Lindsay knows exactly what she's doing by not suggesting ballet and pointe. Then I remember, she's not just my musicology professor, she's a doctor of psychology.

  Does God just put the right people in our paths at the right time for a reason?

  Could it be that God really does know what He's doing?

  I smile at that thought and continue dancing with Lindsay - my dancing angel sent to me by the Man Himself.

  40

  BEN

  Two weeks go by way too quickly. The moment of truth, and change, is only a day away. I return home tomorrow, and as per the doctor's insistence, I go into surgery the following day.

  Our first game of the season is about to begin. It's almost eight o'clock. A night game under the lights. I used to live for this not long ago. Though Coach still hasn't told me, and the team was expected to do the same, rumor has it Major League scouts are coming in to see me. Jax filled me in, because as he puts it, he thought it was right that I know.

  "Coach told us, man," he said to me. "I'm really sorry to hear about your cancer. But who's Coach Rock to decide if the Majors matter anymore for you or not? Maybe by graduation, you'll be all cured and ready for them. Coach thinks he's protecting you, but I don't. You go out there and kick some fuckin' ass."

  That was in the locker room this morning. Right now I'm in the bullpen, practicing my pitches, but all I can concentrate on is Rose sitting in the front row on the third base line between home and third. Probably not the best place to have her seated if I'm hoping to score the attention of a scout, but I don't care. If it weren't for her, I may have just passed on playing tonight altogether. Rose thought it'd be good to be conscious of the last game I play before my surgery, claiming that if she knew June 11th would have been her last time dancing, she would have taken the time to appreciate each dance step. So on her advice, I'm here. Even though as each day ends, I lose a little more hope that the Majors are in my future.

  Before the game starts, I just need to see Rose one more time. I just need to hold her. And maybe kiss her. To get her out of my head for the game. If that's even possible anymore.

  "Hey," I say to her from beneath the stands.

  "Hey." She stands and leans over the rail to kiss me.

  I wasn't planning to, but I grab her under the arms and lift her over the railing. She makes the cutest squeal when I do it. I set her down on her feet and take her in with my eyes. "God, you're gorgeous."

  She gives me the sweetest smile.

  She's wearing black today. She never wears black. But she wanted to wear a dress. And tights. Not leggings. Black tights like pantyhose. This is big for her, because she says it's more obvious that she has an artificial leg when she wears them. But Rose wants to show me that she is moving past her fears about her flaws - even though I don't think they're flaws at all - and accepting the new Rose.

  "Aren't you cold?" I ask, rubbing her bare arms.

  "I have my sweater." She motions to her seat. "I just got hot."

  "Oh, you're hot, baby. No doubt."

  I love it when she blushes.

  "Tell me again why I'm here? 'Cause really, I just wanna be holding you in your bed tonight." I've been sleeping in her bed this last week, because it just makes sense, but we haven't made love yet. I'm not sure she's ready for me to see her, and I don't want to push her. She only recently started dancing again, I don't want her moving so quickly that she regresses. So we kiss. A lot. And fall asleep in each other's arms, her in her flannel pajamas, me in my boxers.

  "You're here because what if? What if you never get to play again? What if you do, but you missed this chance for the scouts to see you? What if...I wanted to see you play at least once?"

  I stare at her pretty, pleading face and smile. "Then tonight's for you, half-pint."

  She smiles back at me, and then I kiss the shit outta her. "God, you taste delicious," I tell her when we're done. "And oh yeah, I love you."

  "Ben...you take my breath away. Now go pitch the game of your life."

  And that's exactly what I do. My pitches are perfect. No anger, just determination. In the end, I pitch a no-hitter and we win the game. I speak with a couple scouts afterward, explaining my situation to them and telling them I expect to return in the fall. I don't promise, because like Rose says, "Life has a way of breaking your promises." And I have no idea, really, what the near future holds for me. But I don't want to burn bridges, just in case. I have a good game and I'm reminded just how much I love playing, but I love Rose more. And anything I do from this day forward will be for her.

  After the game, Rose and I celebrate alone. There is no way I'm going for pizza and beer with the team when I can feast on Rose's maple sugar lips.

  "You're not hungry?" she asks on the way to Griffin's.

  "Not as hungry as I am for you," I tease, but not really. I'm serious as hell.

  She giggles. She's been doing that a lot lately, and I decide I’ve never heard a sweeter sound. "We have roast beef and ham if you want a sandwich."

  "Seriously, Rose, I'm not hungry for food. Don't worry about it."

  She smiles and her cheeks turn that wonderful shade of peach.

  Inside the house, she goes right for the refrigerator and starts fumbling through the meat drawer. I walk up behind her, lift her hands from the drawer, and push it shut. Then I reach down beneath her knees and pick her up, cradling her in my arms as I close the refrigerator door with my foot. "This is my last night with you for God knows how long. I'm not gonna waste it by eating a sandwich." I carry her up the stairs and into her room, where I lay her on her bed, kick off my shoes, and lie down next to her. "All I want to do tonight is hold you. Can we do that?" I hate the sadness that suddenly creeps over me. I don't want to be sad. I just want to enjoy the scent and feel of Rose as I hold her until the sun comes up.

  "We can do more than that if you want," she says quietly, circling her fingers over my t-shirt covered chest.

  My mouth drops open as my heartbeat picks up. "What?" The word comes out more like an expression of air than an actual spoken word.

  Her hand slips under my shirt. "We can do more than just...lie here." Again her voice is soft. Quiet.

  I cup my hand behind her neck and bring her to me, where I then crush my lips to hers. "You wanna kiss me all night, half-pint? Is that it?" I say into her mouth.

  She stops kissing me and places her hand on my face. "I want to do more than that."

  I still at her words.

  She nods.

  I slowly turn her onto her back and run a finger down the side of her face. "We don't have to."

  "I know," she says, looking directly into my eyes. "I want to."

  "You sure?" I ask, my hand still on her freckled face.

  "Yes."

  I get up and kneel next to her, sitting on my heels. "I don't have a condom," I say with a shit-load of disappointment.

  She sits up next to me. "I do," she whispers.

  I w
iden my eyes.

  She blushes. "I went to the store this morning when you were at practice," she says, looking embarrassed.

  "Rose." I look at her in astonishment. "You really want this?"

  "I really do."

  Running my finger along her collar, I feel the zipper in the back. I stand on my knees and slowly unzip it. As I sit back down on my heels, I lower the dress down her shoulders. "You're positive? I'm really allowed to see all of you?" I ask, still not believing she really wants this.

  "Yes." Her answer is more like a panting breath than a word, and it's one of many quickening breaths that cause her chest to rise more visibly.

  I pull the dress down to her waist, then run my thumbs under her bra. "You are so amazingly beautiful, Rose."

  She closes her eyes and inhales. With her exhale, she lets out a sated moan.

  I grab hold of her dress again and slip it down further, lifting her ass to maneuver it past her hips. I bring it over her ankles and sit back on my heels again. In her black lace bra and panties, and her black stockings, complete with garter belt, she is a paradox. Wholesome yet absolutely sexy. "Holy shit," I say, tugging lightly on the garter belt, "I thought these were those full-length things. My God, you're sexy."

  She blushes. And her smile, so innocent, makes me wonder if she's ever done this before.

  "Rose," I say, sliding my palm up her right leg, but stopping at mid-thigh and lacing my fingers around the belt. "Have you ever done this before?"

  She shakes her head, but keeps a small smile on her face. "No."

  "You sure you want..."

  She stops me. "One hundred and ten percent sure, Ben."

  I start by unhooking the stocking on her right leg.

  "Don't. Please. Keep them on."

  She's biting her lip and looking nervous.

  "At least this first time," she says quietly. "I don't want to be conscious of it. Not tonight."

  "Of course," I say, looking directly into her eyes before hooking the stocking back to the belt. Then I appreciate the contours of her body with my hand, but bring my gaze back to her eyes. "If that's what makes you most comfortable. But please know...it will never bother me. Ever."

  "I know that. But for tonight, I want to forget about it."

  Running my other hand up her body, I gently lower her to her back and slowly peel off her bra and panties, taking my time to appreciate every inch of her perfect body with my eyes, my hands, my mouth. When there is not one part of her that's gone untouched, I slip on protection, and with all the tenderness and love I have for this flawless angel beneath me, I make love to her finally and completely.

  41

  ROSE

  "You're sure I didn't hurt you?" Ben asks me for the third time since we made love an hour ago.

  Extremely sated and very sleepily, I assure him he didn't hurt me. "You could never hurt me, Ben." I let out the yawn I stifled to answer him.

  He squeezes me tighter and I snuggle closer into him, resting my head on his chest instead of his shoulder. Ben plays with my hair while I listen to the steady beat of his heart.

  "Not that I want to leave this position, but aren't you supposed to take the prosthesis off?"

  I sigh into his chest and then I groan. "Yeah, I guess I should."

  "Can I do it for you?"

  I lift my head to look at him. "You want to?"

  He smiles. "I do."

  His touch when slipping off my garter and stockings and unlatching my prosthesis is as tender and loving, and ironically, almost as erotic, as when his hands were exploring my body before he made love to me and gave me the most passionate experience of my life. At first it hurt...the moment he entered, but he was gentle and slow and made me feel like the most important person in the world. He even kept his eyes open to look at my face, so he could know for sure if he was causing me pain by my facial expressions. He wasn't. He felt so good. And I loved being connected to him that way.

  "How'd I do?" he asks, and I'm so completely lost in the feel of his touch on my skin that I hadn't even paid attention to what he was doing.

  "Oh." Now that I realize I'm completely naked - without anything covering me, not even the sock on my...residual limb - I am thoroughly and extremely self-conscious. Oh my God, my scar is out, and it ends so abruptly at the end of the limb.

  I clutch the comforter on my bed and tug it up, but Ben is on it, and it doesn't cover anything but my foot and ankle of the good leg.

  Ben gets off the bed and covers me with not only the comforter, but the sheets too. Then he climbs back in, slides under the covers with me, and holds me again. He doesn't say another word, and I silently thank him for that. Then I close my eyes and drift asleep in the crook of his arm.

  I wake up before Ben, so I take the opportunity to rub my leg down and put the prosthetic back on. Then I go to my drawer and slip on my yoga pants and chartreuse cotton cami.

  "That color green looks good on you."

  I turn to find Ben sitting against the headboard, his arms crossed behind his head. "When did you get up?"

  "Just when you were bending over to put on your pants."

  "Oh," I say, realizing he probably got a full view of my butt up in the air.

  "The sight of your rear end when I first wake up in the morning is a wonderful thing, half-pint," he says, grinning, confirming my thoughts.

  He pats the bed next to him. "Come back to bed, Rose."

  I do. I climb under the covers and sit next to him. He grips my waist and pulls me between his legs, then lets me rest my back against his chest, my head against his shoulder.

  "Thank you for last night," he breathes into my ear.

  "Thank you. Thank you for making me feel special.”

  "You are special, half-pint. Are you going somewhere?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Because you're dressed."

  "Oh. Well." I don't know what to say.

  "Did I tell you how beautiful you are, Rose?"

  He must know why I'm dressed. "Thank you."

  "And how absolutely heavenly you looked last night?"

  My heart pounds at his words.

  The backs of his fingers graze the spot just below my ear, and a wave of tingles crashes over my skin from the spot he touches all the way down to my toes. His fingers act like a drug on me. Especially after last night. I can't get enough. I lean my head to the side to give him better access to my neck. This accomplishes what I need him to do. His fingers travel beneath my jaw, down the front of my neck then one of them dips down the crevice between my breasts. It's amazing how his touch can transcend me beyond my fears. When he's touching me, I almost forget I'm not a whole person. It's when they stop touching me that I remember.

  With both his hands, his fingers continue to journey the center of my body, under my shirt, under the band of my pants, when he says, "Every single inch of you is more beautiful than the last." Though his hands are beneath my clothes, he only encircles my stomach area, never dipping below my navel or up over my breasts. "Whatever sets you at ease, puts me at ease. You want to stay clothed, or covered, or anything, then that's what I want you to do too. But please know" –he talks into my ear, his fingers still navigating my belly— "that all I see is you. What you see as flaws, I see as something that makes you unique and extraordinary. Rare, Rose. Like a mint-condition 1955 Roberto Clemente rookie card..."

  Turning to look at him, I interrupt his comparison. "A baseball card?" I can't help but crack up. "You're comparing me to a baseball card?"

  "A one-of-a-kind, Rose. Do you know how much it's worth?"

  I shake my head in laughter.

  "Seriously, Rose." He cups my chin in his hand. "You're a rarity. And you chose me. Do you know how much that means to me? One leg, two legs, shit, scars or no scars, all I see is perfection when I look at you, Rose."

  Oh my God. Really? "Really?"

  "Really. So if the next time we make love you want to stay covered or you don't, that's fine with me. But for the recor
d...your naked body trumps your clothed body any day."

  I close my eyes and let his words sink in. He wraps both his arms around my chest and pulls me back against him. I rest my head on his shoulder again.

  "I love you so much, Rose."

  "I love you too. Ben?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Are you scared?"

  "Scared as shit, Rose."

  "I wish I could make it all disappear for you. The cancer, I mean."

  He doesn't respond right away. "Me too," he whispers.

  "Can I come visit you?"

  Again he takes his time answering. "I'd like you to, but I have no idea what state I'm gonna be in. Will you feel comfortable?"

  "No. I'd be upset for you. Scared, kinda...but...I still want to be there. If you want me to."

  His lips find my ear again. He kisses it, then whispers, "Then please." He drags out the word. "Be there. To wake up from surgery to your gorgeous face...it'd be like I'd died and gone to Heaven."

  "Oh, please don't."

  "Never. Not while you're in my life."

  The two of us sit silently like this for a long while after we decide I would be there for his surgery tomorrow. Staying in bed seems to be our version of time standing still - we don't want today to end, so we sit rooted to this spot. On my bed. Ben's arms wrapped firmly around me. My body tucked neatly and comfortably within his.

  42

  BEN

  I don't think I ever want to wake up without my arms around Rose again.

  It's frightening.

  For more than a week now, I've been waking up with Rose tucked safely in my arms.

  Even this morning.

  Last night, she followed me home to my house in Cherry Hill. I told her she could use my car while I'm laid up, but she insisted she's more comfortable in her big-ass old pick-up truck.

  Though my mother wasn't so happy about Rose spending the night in my room, my father laughed at her and told her, in Italian, to open her eyes and get with the twenty-first century. This made Rose uncomfortable, but I explained how much I needed her to be there with me all night. She agreed and let me hold her in my arms, in my bed until early this morning.