In Time to Love

by Gloria Martin

  “And what if I go to the police instead?” I ask. He chuckles.

  “With what evidence?” he asks. “And even if you do acquire some, we’d stop you before you even made the call.”

  “How would you do that?” I ask.

  “Well, Emma, unrequited love is a very powerful thing. It makes people do things they wouldn’t normally do. A lot of people have killed themselves for less. So, when they find you with a rope around your neck and a suicide note, I’m guessing no one’ll think twice about it.”

  He moves towards me and I step back, finally I’m pressed against the wall of the office.

  “So, you see, Emma? I’ve got the upper hand,” he says. He grabs my neck and kisses me fiercely. I stand rigid and motionless.

  He pulls back still smirking.

  “See you after lunch,” he says. “We still need to go over the color scheme for the reception.”

  With a chuckle, he leaves me standing in the office with a look of terror and shock on my face.

  When the door closes, I replace the feigned look with a smile of my own.

  Slowly, I saunter over to the computer on Gus’s desk, turn the microphone back to its original position, further away from where Jake and I were standing and press the stop recording button on the desktop.

  *****

  It takes two days for the police to come back with information on Ramona and Jake. It turns out their real names are Gene and Robert, and have links to the mysterious deaths of four other men under various aliases.

  I make sure I’m there when they’re both taken into custody. The memory of Ramona screaming and crying to Gus that it’s all a huge mistake as well as the memory of Jake looking at me in shock as he’s handcuffed and taken away is one I’ll relish forever.

  The best part is, Gus asks me to go out for celebratory drinks with him that night.

  “I still can’t believe I was that stupid,” Gus says. We’re sitting in a booth at our favorite bar just a block from Gus’s apartment.

  Deciding I’ve had my fill of red wine, I’m sipping on a light beer as Gus drinks his traditional Guinness.

  “It wasn’t just you,” I tell him honestly, “I’m the one who decided to go home with some guy I’d only known for two weeks. That’s why Jake...Robert...whoever he was thought he could blackmail me.”

  “Honestly, I’m glad you went home with him,” Gus says. I put down my beer and my eyes widen in shock.

  “I mean, I’m not glad you...you went home with him...like that,” he amends quickly. That adorable blush is coming into his cheeks and I can’t help but smile, “I’m just glad you heard what they were planning. If you hadn’t, I’d have been dead in two weeks.”

  “I’m glad I heard it too,” I say with a smile, “I like you alive.”

  “That makes two of us,” he says with a smile of his own.

  We sit at the bar for another hour. We don’t talk about what’s just happened. Instead, we talk about the new Star Wars that’s just about to come out, (Gus thinks it’s going to be amazing, I’m nervous about it); about the new gossip around the office, and about what music is trending.

  In short, we talk about everything and nothing. When both of us are feeling fairly inebriated, we finally decide to close out the tab. I offer to split the bill, just like we always do when we go out for drinks together, even though he is so rich. But this time, he insists on paying.

  “You saved my life,” he tells me when he hands his card to the bartender. “I think that’s worth a few drinks.”

  I can’t help but smile as a pleasant tingling sensation begins in my stomach. The reason we always split the bill is that Gus didn’t want his outings with me to feel too much like dates. He said it would be too weird.

  Now, clearly, something’s changed.

  The tingling sensation continues when he invites me to stay at his apartment so I can sleep the drinks off.

  We walk in silence the two blocks to his building. Tension seems to be growing with every step we take.

  When we reach his apartment and step inside, I almost don’t trust myself to act normally around him.

  I try as best I can when he offers me a glass of water and we both sit on the couch.

  I see him sipping out of his water glass out of the corner of my eye and I can’t help but imagine crawling into his lap, kissing him and continuing right from where we left off in his office three days ago.

  “You know it is a shame,” he says finally.

  “What’s a shame?” I ask trying to keep my voice as steady as possible.

  “You did all that work for the wedding,” he answers. “The church is booked, so is the reception venue. The flowers, the invitations. We’re going to have to cancel the cake, the silverware, the catering. Everything.”

  “It’s okay,” I answer. “Like I said, I’d rather you be here and alive than pull off a perfect wedding.”

  “I know,” Gus says. “But, I’ve been thinking about it the past couple of days and I thought...well...if you want...we could still have a wedding.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask my heart beginning to hammer in my chest as I pray he’s talking about what I think he’s talking about.

  “I mean,” Gus says, “I love you, Emma.”

  My heart stops beating and my breath catches in my throat.

  “I...I think I have for a long time,” he says. “I just tried to ignore it because I thought it would be too weird. I think that’s why I proposed to Ramona in the first place. I thought if I was with someone else, I could get you out of my head. But, it didn’t work. Even before I found out about...you know...I still couldn’t stop thinking about you and—”

  He never gets a chance to finish. In one move I reach over, wrap my arms around his neck and press his lips desperately to mine.

  It’s not long before he kisses me back, pulling my body once again into his lap so that I’m flush against him.

  He pulls back gently and whispers.

  “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He smirks and pulls me back against him.

  He kisses me desperately, passionately. I can feel his member growing beneath his pants as his hand travels to my knee once again.

  This time, he doesn’t stop.

  His hand moves over my panties and I adjust my waist to help him slide them off me. Soon, I’m pressing against his fingers, writhing in pleasure, shaking and moaning against him.

  He moves his hand out from beneath my skirt and I gasp in protest before he picks me up, like a bride on her way to the honeymoon suite.

  “Aren’t we supposed to wait until after we’re married to go across the threshold?” I ask teasingly as he opens the door and moves me to the bed. He places me on it gently and, with the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen from him says.

  “Well, we’ve never exactly done things the proper way. Have we Emma?”

  I smile and shake my head ‘no’.

  It’s not long before we’re completely naked in front of each other. I stare at him as he traces my body lightly with his fingers before placing a kiss on each of my breasts in turn.

  He kisses his way down my body as though he’s paying it homage. Under his hands, I don’t feel like I did with Jake. I don’t feel like an object to be had.

  I feel like a goddess, I feel like something to be cherished, adored, and loved.

  When he slides into me, I cry out in pleasure and keep my eyes locked on him. He looks at me with a desperate, hungry expression as he pushes into my body in an ancient rhythm. He wants me. I can feel his want. He thrusts hotly and heavily inside me.

  I feel pressure building inside of me as I feel Gus above me, moving faster. Just before he loses control completely, he leans down and whispers into my ear.

  “I love you so much.”

  That one phrase sends me over the edge. Gus joins me and soon, we are lying together in a tangle of messy and exhausted limbs.

  He moves aside and opens
his arms to me. I move into them willingly. He presses a soft kiss on my hair and snuggles against me. I smile to myself.

  In that moment, I remember what I told Gus that night in his office. If you can’t imagine life without a person, that’s when you know it’s right.

  I can’t imagine my life without Gus.

  And now, finally, I know that I won’t have to.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 11 of 40

  Biker Routine

  I never liked motorcycles. I didn’t like motorcycles the same way I didn’t like tattoos or leather jackets or drugs. To me, they were trashy, things that people in another, more dangerous world indulged in. Not me.

  I even stayed away from drinking if I could help it. It was not just the thought of losing control I didn’t like. It was also the taste of alcohol. The bitter, burning sting it caused as it flowed down my throat was not in any way relaxing or cathartic.

  Needless to say, I was not the kind of girl you would take to dance clubs. I was not the kind of girl you could feel up and maybe take home to have sex with. But, if anyone thought I was a sweet, compliant bookworm who would be content as a housewife in the kitchen, they’d have been wrong about that.

  I was a nurse, and definitely not the sexy kind. More the busy kind. My brown, natural hair was always pulled back in a tight, functional bun. As I worked around the ill and dying all day, there was no need to wear makeup. Hospital food and lack of time to exercise did nothing for my figure. I wasn’t exactly a blob, but I wasn’t a size zero by any means, either.

  And I wasn’t content to stay a nurse. I was studying hard at med school at night to become a general practitioner and open my own practice. But studying took up even more time than nursing already did. So, in the little free time I had, I sleep.

  There was no time for going out, no time for socialization and definitely no time to mess around with guys. None of that. So I definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

  Anyway, one night in October, I was sitting at the coffee table in my little townhouse. I had just gotten off an eight-hour shift one hour before. I’d hoped to get two hours of studying for the medical exam in before bed. But when I started, I found that my eyes were blurry. I couldn’t focus.

  It was ten o’clock and I’d only gotten halfway through. I was about to give up and go to bed when I heard a knock at the door.

  I froze. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Indeed, I hardly ever had visitors to my place. Mostly because I was hardly ever here.

  I thought of pretending I wasn’t here. There were no windows beside the front door, after all. The door was locked. Anyone could easily assume that I was either in bed or away from home.

  Then, I heard the knocking again. This time it lasted longer and sounded more desperate. My mood switched quickly from annoyance to fear.

  I knew the statistics. Women were most likely to be assaulted at home and, when that home was close to a college campus (as mine was) the risk increased tenfold.

  The knocking changed to a pounding on the door and I ran to my purse. I was deciding whether I should grab my phone to call 911 first or grab hold of my mace in case the insane knocker broke the door down.

  “Kayla! Kayla, please! Open the door!”

  I knew that voice though I hadn’t heard it in almost a year.

  All the same, I ran quickly to the door and peeked through the spyhole.

  “Heath?!” I exclaimed, opening the door and looking my stepbrother over. He looked as though he’d just been to hell and come back.

  His shoulder-length black hair, which he usually took great pride in, now looked matted. His narrow, thin face was sweaty and his swirling gray eyes, normally brimming with an arrogant sort of pride, now looked fearful, almost terrified.

  My eyes were drawn to his right arm. Just above the colorful sleeve tattoo, he was clutching his large bicep and grimacing in pain. I could see a hint of blood under his hand and between his fingers.

  “You’ve got to help me, Kayla, please!” he said. “They’re coming, there’s no one else.”

  “Get in,” I said, quickly grabbing him by his free arm and dragging him into the house.

  I closed the door forcefully behind me as I rushed him to the couch and, shoving my books off of it, moved him to lie down.

  “They...they didn’t follow me. I don’t think they followed me...not sure,” he was muttering incoherently as I laid him down. I was beginning to feel more afraid than I had been when I thought I was about to be assaulted by a pervert.

  I’d never seen Heath look so vulnerable. Heath was always confident. Often to the point of arrogance and stupidity.

  I remembered the day we first met. Two months before our parents’ wedding, he introduced himself. I remember staring at him and thinking about how incredibly handsome he was. But, that was before he spoke.

  “Look, I know you probably want to kiss me. But, we’re going to be family pretty soon. So, it’s not really allowed,” he’d said, before winking at me.

  I was only fourteen but, I knew enough not to be charmed by the sixteen-year-old. No matter how handsome I thought he was. I gave him a snarky reply which he blew off.

  And that’s been our relationship since. Him hitting on me ill-advisedly. Me turning him down.

  But now, this Heath, this vulnerable terrified man, more of a boy really; I didn’t know him at all.

  Once he was lying down, I pried his hand away from the arm he was clutching.

  When I did, I saw copious amounts of blood flowing from what was, very obviously a bullet wound.

  “Heath,” I said staring at it a moment in shock, “what...what the hell happened?”

  “Never mind about that,” he said. His tone was more forceful now. More like the tone I knew.

  “How bad is it?” he asked instead.

  I took a closer look at the wound. While it was clear a bullet had nicked his skin, it did not look like it had lodged in his arm.

  “You’ll be okay,” I said, “I just need to clean it and get you a compress. You shouldn’t get up from the couch for a while.”

  I moved from my spot next to him on the couch towards my medical bag.

  “That’s good,” Heath said as I unzipped the bag and rooted around for a compress and alcohol swabs, “‘cause I’ll need to lay low here for a couple of days.”

  “What?” I asked, dropping one of the swabs back into the back and turning around to face him.

  Tending to a family member, making sure he was okay was one thing. But letting him stay with me...

  “No,” I answered. “Absolutely not.”

  “Kayla, come on!” he said now clearly frustrated, “it’s a lousy two days then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said to your dad a year ago,” I answered, “you ended up staying a month and taking off with one hundred dollars.”

  “He’d said I could have some money,” Heath said defensively, but I wasn’t buying it.

  “If you’re in such dire straits why didn’t you go to your dad for help?” I asked. Marvin, Heath’s dad, had helped his son out of multiple jams before even though my Mom tried to tell him that he needed to be a lot firmer with his son. Marvin, it seemed, never had the heart to turn Heath down.

  “I called,” Heath said, “your mom won’t let him take me in. Absolutely put her foot down.”

  “Good for her,” I snapped at him. “It’s about time somebody did.”

  He at least seemed to have the self-awareness to look away from me when I said that, a blush coloring his cheeks.

  Heath seemed to know that he had taken advantage of his father for years. And, what was more, for the first time, he looked utterly ashamed of that fact.

  “Look,” Heath said, “I know you don’t like me. I know you never have but...believe me. I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to turn. Please, Kayla. Just a couple of days. That’s all.”

  I looked at him, his eyes downcast. A guilty knot formed in my stomach.
<
br />   Oh, don’t get me wrong. I still remembered all the times Heath had let us all down. It was something he’d been doing since I met him when we were both in High School.

  First, he’d been arrested for drinking and driving when he was sixteen. Then he’d been suspended for smoking pot in the restroom his senior year. As soon as he turned eighteen, he left school altogether and started taking up with the worst kind of criminals.

  Marvin and my mom had bailed him out of jail more than a handful of times.

  But, then I also remembered the good things he’d done. He gave a beautiful speech at our parents wedding all about how his dad was the best man he would ever know. He’d gotten mom’s medicine for her and even cooked dinner when she had the flu.

  And then there was the time my first boyfriend dumped me for some blonde cheerleader. Heath caught up with him after class and beat him down until he had two black eyes. All the while screaming about how no one treats his sister like that.

  All this, combined with his pitiable, forlorn look softened my stance. At least a bit.

  “You can stay one night,” I said.

  “And tomorrow I’m getting kicked out to the curb?” he answered in a sullen almost child-like voice.

  “Tomorrow,” I began gently, “I’ll call around and see if I can find somewhere else for you to stay.”

  “Like where?” he asked derisively.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I can get mom to change her mind. Until then, we need to get that arm taken care of. Then you need to rest.”

  I moved back over to the couch alcohol swabs and compress in hand.

  “I’ll need to move my bike into the garage,” he said as I began wiping the blood on his arm. I was lucky, very lucky to find a townhome with an attached garage. They were difficult to get.

  “Where is it now?” I asked.

  “By the curb,” he answered.

  “Not exactly lying low, are you?” I asked. Anybody who had been chasing Heath would clearly be able to recognize his bright red bike standing starkly on my front lawn.