by Isabel Morin
When they finally came up for air she stepped back, flushed and breathless, and it was all he could do to make himself leave.
Back home he showered and changed, then took care of things around the house, all the while replaying last night’s delights. It had been incredible, so great he couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that his time with her was limited.
But that was fine. They’d have a good time while it lasted. Women like her didn’t come along every day. He was lucky to know her at all, and he would just enjoy whatever time he had with her. This was, after all, pretty much the male fantasy, a no-strings-attached fling with a gorgeous, sexy woman. He wasn’t going to turn into a sappy jackass about it.
He went back to her hotel room after work that night and the next and each time was just as hot and heavy as the first. Unfortunately, he had a couple of jobs lined up Tuesday and Wednesday, which meant he was a zombie at the worksite from lack of sleep. It was a wonder he didn’t saw off his own hand.
He didn’t work at the club on Wednesdays, though, and neither one of them broached the idea of getting together before Sunday night. He thought about asking her to get together sometime before they worked together again on Sunday, but second-guessed himself. Maybe it was better to keep it a strictly sex after work scenario.
Friday night he shot some pool with Frank and Scott at their favorite dive bar, but he played lousy, too distracted by thoughts of Emily. He caught shit about it, too, since the two of them had been waiting for him the night he jumped Emily’s bones in the closet. He’d gone back out to the floor thinking he looked presentable, but it hadn’t fooled them.
“Dude, did you just get laid?” Scott had asked, as impressed as he ever got.
“In my dreams,” Cutter replied, never one to kiss and tell.
But it didn’t matter what he said. They knew, and they felt free to give him all kinds of shit.
“Are you thinking about that chick?” Frank asked after he missed an easy bank shot. “Not that I’d blame you, but try to focus, would you? It’s no fun whipping your ass when you’re not trying.”
Cutter usually beat them both, it was just a matter of by how much, but tonight his vivid memory was too distracting. He lost every game and had to put up with much head-shaking from his friends. He considered calling Emily on his way home but decided eleven o’clock was too late for it to be anything but a booty call, which seemed kind of lame.
By Saturday morning he was in a state of withdrawal. He needed to see Emily and he didn’t much care how or where. He made himself wait until after ten and then he called her. A current of heat shot through him at the sound of her voice.
“If you’re not doing anything tonight, I was thinking I could make you dinner,” he said, trying to sound casual, like it was no big deal.
“Like a real, home-cooked meal, in a home?” she asked, the pleasure in her voice making him smile.
“That’s right. From scratch and everything.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Excellent. Any requests, allergies, hidden traumas related to food?”
Emily laughed, the sound husky and low. His cock throbbed in response.
“I’m not feeling real picky. A grilled cheese sandwich would make my day at this point.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear. Are you okay getting here? If not I can come get you.”
“I’ll be fine. It’ll be good to get my car out on the road.”
Cutter gave her his address and directions and told her to come by at seven. As soon as he hung up he started planning. He was no gourmet, but he had a few things up his sleeve and he could follow a recipe as well as anyone.
***
Emily hung up her phone and danced around the room. She’d spent the last three days determined to give Cutter space and not seem needy. He had a life here after all, and the last thing she wanted was to seem like a lonely looser. Also, let’s face it, she needed the rest after the stretch of scorching nights they’d had together. But three nights apart was more than enough, especially when she had nothing to take her mind off how good it was with him.
And it was good, better than good. It made her question her plans, reevaluate how long she should stick around. Between Cutter and the money she was bringing in, she had powerful motivators for not going leaving town. Which in effect meant not getting on with her life.
But she didn’t want to think about that. She had a date with Cutter. Not only that, she would finally have a real meal, and one with another human being, no less. It was enough to make her giddy as she worked on her routines for the coming week.
Then it was time to get ready for dinner. Her dinner date. When was the last time she’d been on a date? Of course, they’d done the crazy sex part before the first date, but whatever.
She threw open her closet and rifled through every article of clothing she had, looking for something casual yet classy. Something unstripper-like. Finally she settled on a sky blue halter-top sundress that ended at her knees and a pair of blue sandals with little pink flowers that matched her toenail polish. She twisted her hair into a loose chignon and added a pair of dangly silver earrings with little bluebirds on the ends. A touch of lip gloss, blush and a swipe of mascara and she was ready to go.
She waited for the elevator, so excited she all but tap-danced. The last time she’d felt this way was a year ago when she was dancing a new ballet, one that had been created especially for her. The possibilities had been endless, all of it completely new and never before seen. And like any live performance, you never knew exactly what would happen next.
The valet brought her car around and then she was off, stopping for a couple of bottles of wine before heading northwest into the part of the city regular people lived. She’d barely been outside of the Strip the entire time she’d been in Vegas, and even then she hadn’t gone far, just to the mechanic, a supermarket and a costume shop for Vegas performers. She’d assumed, quite wrongly she now realized, that the whole city looked more or less the same.
At first she found the landscape dull and ugly, but as she drove she began to appreciate the sparse beauty of the unfamiliar plant life. After her weeks on the Strip, it was a relief to see regular houses in neighborhoods where children rode their bikes and dogs raced after them.
Cutter lived about twenty minutes from her hotel. She turned onto his street, surprised to find he lived in a quiet residential neighborhood, one where the houses looked fairly prosperous and had generous amounts of land surrounding them and ensuring privacy.
She parked her car in front of his house, a hacienda style a little bigger than your average ranch house. Rock gardens took up most of the front yard, with tall grasses filling the places in between. A paved walkway led from the driveway to the front entrance.
Cutter opened the door before she even had a chance to knock. He smiled at her, beamed really, and instantly her nervousness evaporated, replaced by pure joy. In deference to the heat he wore olive green cargo shorts and a red t-shirt. How in the world was she going to make it through dinner like a civilized person without jumping his bones?
He stepped aside to let her in, taking the wine from her before pulling her to him for a deep, knee-weakening kiss that left her breathless.
“You look amazing. If it wasn’t for the fact that I have food cooking, I would drag your gorgeous bod straight to my bed,” he said, looking at her like he might devour her anyway.
She stepped away from him. “We can do this. We’re adults, right? Besides, I’m starving and whatever it is you’re cooking smells amazing.”
Cutter acceded to her wishes, though his gaze raked her approvingly, looking at her as if drinking her in. When they finally made it to the bed, it would definitely be worth the wait. But she’d been looking forward to having something resembling a normal date. As much fun as it was to eye each other all night at the club and then tear each other’s clothes off back in her room, she was looking forward to talking.
“I’ll gi
ve you the grand tour first,” he said, leading her down a short hallway into the kitchen.
It was spacious and sunny with tiled floors, high ceilings, and a large island in the middle. It opened into a dining area and generous living room. Southwestern style rugs in earth tones covered the floors and red-hued clay vases and jugs sat on tables here and there. Most striking were a series of framed black and white photographs of kids playing kickball, men and women smoking cigarettes outside a run-down house as the sun set behind them.
“I took those,” he said, nodding toward the photos.
“They’re beautiful. Is that where you lived with your mother?”
“Most of them were taken on the reservation near Carson City, where I grew up. A couple were taken on a Washoe rez in California where a few cousins live. I was really into photography for a while in my twenties, but I haven’t done much in the last few years.”
He had a good eye and the photos seemed to be looking its the subjects with affection, but there was no mistaking the underlying poverty in the surroundings. It was her first bit of insight into where he came from, but now wasn’t the time to grill him on his childhood.
“This place is gorgeous, Cutter. You’ve really done something amazing here.”
“I spent about a year’s worth of weekends building it, but it was worth it.”
“You built this yourself?” she asked, floored by the idea. Imagine creating something as concrete as a house. Dance was so ephemeral, with nothing but the memory to show for it in the end.
“It was kind of a dream I had for a while. I figured if I was building houses for complete strangers, I ought to do it for myself.”
“It’s bigger than I was expecting for a bachelor’s lair,” she said, peering into one of three bedrooms at the back of the house. Like many houses in the area, this one spread out on one floor in deference to the heat.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I decided if I was going to do it, I’d make sure it was one I’d want to live in for the duration. Who knows? There may be more than just me one day,” he said.
He looked away, as if he’d revealed too much.
“You did a beautiful job,” she replied softly, touched at the thought of him creating a home for some future family.
A hollow seemed to open in her chest that it wouldn’t be her, couldn’t be her. She’d be long gone, barely a memory by then. She gazed into the last bedroom, sparsely furnished with a twin bed and chest of drawers. But instead she saw what it could be, a child’s room with walls covered in bright pictures, a bookshelf with stories to be read before bed.
They were quiet as they returned to the kitchen.
“I hope you like lasagna,” he said, opening the oven to peek inside.
Heavenly smells wafted out. Emily let out a deep sigh of appreciation.
“Who doesn’t love lasagna? I just haven’t eaten it since I was about eleven. When I was dancing I was always watching my weight. I feel like I’ve been pigging out for months now, but it’s so nice to be able to eat good food.”
Cutter quirked an eyebrow at her as he looked her up and down.
“If this is how you look when you pig out, then I’m happy to help feed you.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll invite me back again.”
“Oh, you can count on that,” he said, his heated look stopping her breath.
The chemistry between them was as potent now as before they’d started their fling. It seemed counter-intuitive, like they should have diffused all the sexual tension by now, but nothing of the sort had happened. Now the tension contained the knowledge of what was possible between them, memories of how crazy they made one another.
Overwhelmed by the constant hunger, the utter craving he called forth from her, she turned away. It didn’t matter how vital he made her feel, it couldn’t last, no more than a dance could last after the lights went up.
From behind her she heard Cutter leave the room, then the soft croon of a saxophone. Coltrane, if she wasn’t mistaken. The music’s sensual throb surrounded her, loosening her limbs. She would take things one day at a time and enjoy pleasure where she found it. What was the point of anticipating pain while they were still together?
Chapter Seven
“Everything all right?” Cutter asked, coming in from the other room.
“Absolutely.”
“Then let’s eat.”
They sat together at a round wooden table in front of glass doors that led to a generous deck and the backyard beyond. The lasagna was delicious, so homey and substantial she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes and had to distract herself with conversation.
“So is it just you and your sister here, or do you have other family in the area?”
As soon as she asked, it struck her how odd it was that they’d never exchanged even this basic information. She knew so little about him.
“Just me and my sister. My mom’s still on the rez and my dad’s in Reno. I came here right after college. There was so much building going on then it was easy to find work. Lisa ran into some trouble in Carson City and came here.”
Emily looked at him questioningly, not sure if she should ask what sort of trouble he was talking about. Cutter hesitated but then continued, his face schooled to show no emotion.
“When I was fifteen I went to live with my dad in Reno but Lisa stayed with my mom. Things were fine for a few years but by the time Lisa turned sixteen I think she was already in pretty bad shape. I was in college by then and my mom was too out of it to notice or do anything about it. I didn’t even know Lisa had started into heavy drugs until a friend of mine ran into her. She was strung out on heroine and stripping in a place that makes the Pink Pussycat look like a palace.”
His face contorted with emotion and he stopped talking as if unable to go on. He scrubbed his face with his hands as if he could wipe away all feeling.
“Never mind,” she said, putting her hand on his. “You don’t have to tell me everything.”
But he seemed to want to get it all out now.
“It was another year before she let me help her, and probably another year before she was clean. She lived with me for a while but she’s doing great now and has her own place. She waits tables and goes to school part-time.”
He stopped and shot her a wry look. “I don’t usually have to pick her up at work but her car was in the shop.”
“I wasn’t even going to mention it,” Emily said, smiling as she speared a piece of salad with her fork. “I’m glad she’s doing so well. She’s lucky to have you.”
“If I hadn’t left I could have protected her better.”
“Maybe, but maybe not. There’s a good chance it wouldn’t have mattered. Plus, you made something of yourself and were in a better position to help her.”
He looked surprised. “I never thought of it that way.” He paused, considering. “Maybe you’re right. I think I’d have gotten into some bad shit myself if I’d stayed. My dad seemed to think so anyway.”
“Was it so bad growing up on the reservation?”
“It’s complicated, and it’s taken me a long time to sort it out. I think that’s why I took those pictures. Looking back I can see how little people talked about the future, how hopeless we all felt. Everyone was poor so as a kid I didn’t think too much about that part, not until I went to a new high school. It got harder to go back after that. Plus my mother fits right into the stereotype of the alcoholic Indian, so there’s that. But there’s not a day that goes by I don’t feel guilty about leaving, even if it was the best thing for me.”
“Do you ever visit?” she asked.
“I visit my mom every couple of months. It’s always rough, though. She’s not an easy woman and time hasn’t been good to her. Or rather, she hadn’t been good to herself.”
“So is your sister the reason you took the job at the club?” she asked.
“You mean am I working there to make up for the fact that I couldn’t protect Lisa?”
“Sorry. I
don’t mean to sound like an armchair psychologist.
“That’s okay. I can see how it might look like I was trying to atone for past mistakes or something, but it’s nothing like that. I was putting an addition on Steve’s house and we got to talking. This was when things had started to go downhill with the housing market, and I mentioned how few houses were being built. He offered me the job and I took it. It was more in spite of what had happened to Lisa than because of it.”
Cutter stopped and looked at her plate. “Have you had enough?”
“God, yes. That was delicious, but I’ve hit the wall.”
Cutter beamed at her. “You liked it?”
“That was the best thing I’ve had in years. Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked.
“I hate to admit it, but this is pretty much the only thing I can cook. I ate lasagna once at a friend’s house and it rocked my world. I learned how to make it so I could have it whenever I wanted.”
“Are you saying this is the beginning and end of your repertoire?”
“Well, I can also roast a chicken and cook a steak. And I can grill.”
“You are such a guy. But that’s fine, since it’s not your cooking I’m after,” she said, batting her eyes at him.
Cutter laughed and stood up to clear the table. Emily followed suit, carrying dishes to the sink.
“Driving out here was the first time since I got here that I didn’t think all of Las Vegas was awful,” Emily said, covering the salad in plastic wrap as she spoke. “Maybe it’s because it’s so different from what I’m used to, but I just can’t imagine living here.”
She glanced up from to see Cutter looking at her in surprise as water ran from the sink faucet.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to send so judgmental. Obviously plenty of people like it out here…” She trailed off, feeling as if she’d written herself into a corner.
Cutter leaned back against the counter, looking thoughtful. “I’m not surprised you feel that way. I mean, you’ve been living in a hotel on the Strip and working at the Pink Pussycat. But that’s not how people actually live around here. There are neighborhoods and parks and sights people come from all over to see. Plus there’s more culture here than you probably realize. Did you know we have two ballet companies here?”