by Natasha Boyd
Sex.
In his bed. All night.
Sex with Joseph.
Again. Not a great idea.
“Actually, you’ve made it impossible to think straight.” He turns to me and fingers a piece of my hair that’s come out of my hastily tied up bun. “You always have.”
I mash my lips together. “I don’t understand you.”
“I’m tired.” He leans back in his seat and smiles ruefully, looking unseeing out the front windshield.
“What does that even mean?”
“I’ve spent years feigning indifference to you.” He shakes his head.
It’s been feigned? Could have fooled me.
“But it’s like the damn elephant in the room every time we’re around each other. It makes me say stupid shit. It makes you say shit that drives me insane.”
“Thanks.”
“All I’m saying is I’m tired of pretending. I’m not,” his eyes roam my face and drop to my mouth, “indifferent.”
My heart punctuates his statement with a hard beat. “Gee, thanks. I’m completely flattered. Seduced even.”
He acknowledges my sarcasm. “And I can guarantee I will always cock up and say the wrong thing. Or do the wrong thing.”
A nervous laugh sneaks out of me. “That’s a racing certainty.”
“But please don’t overthink … this … right now.”
“What? Overthink getting groceries?” I ask.
“Just do me a favor and take it at face value. For now.”
Overthink us? I’d never dare. He’s still on the fence. Half acknowledging his feelings. Half not getting too close. It makes old anger and resentment surface, but I shove it down. What would it accomplish right now? I’m leaving soon anyway.
He laughs lightly. “Come on. Steak and salad?”
“Sure,” I say breezily, getting out of the car.
“IT’S A ZUCCHINI,” I say emphatically as we stand in the vegetable aisle at the Pig.
“It’s a squash,” Joseph argues.
I grab the offending vegetable out of his hand and brandish it in his face. “It may be squash family, but people don’t call them squash, they call them …” I look down at the phallic object in my left hand and the two tomatoes I’ve just grabbed in my right and suddenly get an attack of the giggles. “Ok, never mind.” I set everything back.
Joseph rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re such a child.”
“Tell me you didn’t think Nature’s Dildo right then.”
“Jazz,” he lowers his voice, his eyes darting around. But apparently we are the only one’s buying vegetables at the moment.
I roll my eyes. “You’re so easy to shock.” I lean close to him. “Dildo,” I whisper. “Can you say it without going into spastic shock?”
“I’m not saying it. Now grab the salad. I want to get home, I’m starving.”
“Dildo,” I say.
“Stop it.”
“I’ll stop when you say it.”
“No.”
“Go on,” I urge. “You’re so restrained. It’ll loosen you up. C’mon.”
“No. Stop it. And I’m not restrained.”
“Yes, you are. It’s driving you crazy that Jack Eversea’s probably schtupping your sister. Right. This. Moment.”
“Jazz,” he warns.
I purse my lips. “Can’t bear for her to be having fun.”
“It’s not that. It’s him. It’s—”
“Joseph,” I whine. “Say it.”
“Dildo.” He huffs the word out, spitting it off his tongue he’s so exasperated with me. Then his eyes go wide, and damn but I’ve never seen Joseph blush. His face goes beet red. I turn around and see Pastor McDaniel paused with a head of lettuce in his hands.
“Pastor,” I murmur in greeting.
Holy shit.
Whoops.
“Miss Fraser,” he returns, then looks at Joseph. “Mr. Butler.”
“Hi.” Joey sounds hoarse.
“Seeing you in Church this Sunday?” The pastor looks back and forth between Joseph and me.
How does he do that? We’re not even sinning. We’re standing in the middle of the vegetable section at the Piggly Wiggly.
“We haven’t sinned yet,” I say, earning a choked sound from Joseph. “But we plan to. Tonight actually. So all going well, I guess we will see you Sunday. To repent and all.” I wink.
Pastor McDaniel’s eyes bug, and he clears his throat, putting the head of lettuce back. “You’re just like your mother,” he says. His words drip with disgust.
I bristle, my stomach flooding with acid.
Joey tenses at my side.
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
Pastor McDaniel stands tall, his chest puffing out like a caricature. “There was no hope for her either.”
Well, that was uncalled for. I swallow down my offense. “Still making it to your AA meetings?” I ask, watching with interest as Pastor McDaniel’s face seems to swell. Maybe his collar is too tight. Having been friends with his son, Jasper, all through school, we’d all had a front row seat to the town pastor’s fall off the wagon.
“Jazz,” Joey hisses at me and takes my arm. I shrug him off, smiling through my inner discomfort. “No, it’s fine. I need to go pick up some steaks anyway.” I bite my lip. “Good to see you, Pastor. Tell Jasper we said hi.” I walk off, stuffing my temper under a tight wrap. I expect Joey to follow but he doesn’t.
I dart into the next aisle to gather myself.
Hearing Joey’s voice, I strain my ears to eavesdrop.
He’s talking quietly but firmly. “Don’t you dare insult Jessica Fraser.”
“Look, son, you’re a bright young man, but you have to know how it reflects—”
“She’s one of the bravest and most soul deep beautiful girls I’ve ever known.”
I put my fist to my mouth, biting on my knuckles.
“And keep your filthy hands off my family home,” Joey adds.
I wish I could see McDaniel’s face right now. Actually, I’d like to see what Joey looks like when he’s mad at someone other than me.
Realizing Joey is about to walk around the corner, I tiptoe quickly down the aisle and around the other end cap, beelining for the meat section. My mind is reeling. I blink rapidly as my eyes sting. It’s one of the most beautiful things Joey has ever said about me, and I wasn’t supposed to hear it.
And it sounds like Joey and Keri Ann are still having problems with the town council about their house. The Butlers of Butler Cove are supposed to be a legacy, and their house is supposed to be a monument to the town’s founding, not an eyesore. But leave a dwindled family fortune and two orphaned kids trying to get an education and there isn’t a lot left to fix up houses with. Hence why Joey is so focused on getting through school and into a solid career as fast as possible before they lose the house. The responsibility he feels must be overwhelming. My chest tightens.
STANDING IN THE entrance hall of the Butler house, a home I’ve practically grown up in, suddenly feels foreign. The dark wood floors, the grey walls, the high ceilings with dentil molding, it’s all familiar. But this is different.
In this reality, I’ve willingly come here to spend the night with the one man who is uniquely equipped to snap my heart clean in half. Actually, what am I saying? There’ll be nothing clean about it. It will probably be a jagged ripping and shredding, leaving two unusable parts. So painful, I may never recover.
Yet, here I stand.
I’ve gone ahead into the house without him. Joey is still grabbing the groceries as if we are some domesticated couple who buys groceries together. I want to hang up my beach towel and change out of my bikini. But I’m paralyzed, having not gone farther than a few steps into the house. What are we going to do? Make dinner? Watch a movie? When we go up to bed, will he just assume I’m coming to bed with him? Will I just assume I am? I’m starting to panic.
His footsteps are coming up the porch steps. He
opens the door behind me. “Hey—”
I turn to face him, and something flickers across his face. He uses his foot to close the door behind him and carefully sets each grocery bag down on the floor not breaking eye contact.
I think he’s trying to figure out what’s going through my head. If I’ve changed my mind.
Have I changed my mind?
He looks as if he’s about to approach a spooked horse. His dark blond hair is tousled, windblown from the boat.
I must look the same. My skin feels tight from sun and salt.
“Jazz,” he says softly.
Words are stuck in my throat. I want to tell him I’ve changed my mind. Spend the night with him? I must have taken leave of my senses. I have been thinking after all, I’d say. That this is a very, very bad idea.
He walks toward me.
I take a step back, careful to put my hands behind me to check how close the wall is. Close.
He doesn’t say anything. Just waits. I want to be thinking this through, but his nearness makes my mind blank.
And, like taking my jump off the top of the boat today, I act before I can talk myself out of it. I reach my hands up and tug his face toward me.
He lets out a breath that sounds like relief and steps into me. Our mouths meet. It’s been too long.
His lips open within seconds, and I groan at the feel of his tongue.
The hunger is immediate. Lips bruise and teeth clash accidentally. Three long years, and I never forgot the taste of his mouth. Something uniquely him, mixed with the faint taste of his mint gum. My hand tightens in his hair so I can have his mouth at my mercy. I’m not letting him up. I’m overwhelmed with him, the smell of his body, salt and sweat, and the taste of him, and the feel of his hands roaming over me.
He’s got me around the waist, then he’s in my wind-tangled hair before his hands are holding my face. God, Joseph did always do that so well—take control of the kiss. I let him. I give in to the kiss. To him. Completely.
The heat rises, the pumping of my blood feels thicker, more urgent.
His breath grows shallow.
Our mouths become violent in their assault. His greedy tongue skates down my neck before finding my lips again like he can’t stop drinking from me.
He’s pressing closer, and God, the feel of him. He’s hard. The loose fitting board shorts do nothing to keep his arousal discreet. His hand pulls at the spaghetti straps of my dress until the fabric is only caught on the swell of my bikini top. Then his fingers are following. They close over my breast, kneading, his thumb flicking my nipple that’s straining to get free.
A sound climbs out of my throat, and my hands are under his shirt raking at his hot skin, my lower body pressing back to meet him.
“Shit,” he groans out the word against my mouth
My fingers fist in the fabric, and I pull it up his back.
He pulls away from our kiss to grab his t-shirt behind his neck and wrenches it up and over his head. His hips are pinning me to the wall. He uses this new leverage to lean his upper body back and rock against me, his hands back on my breasts.
“Please,” I whimper. I want him inside me so badly, the need is almost suffocating. Then he’s lifting my dress, his hands running up my leg. No, not just my dress, he’s lifting me. I hang on, my legs coming around his waist.
“I need to be inside you,” he growls. “Pill?”
“Yes, and condoms.” I make no sense. I mean I’ve always used condoms so I’m safe. But my tongue can’t form more words.
“I’m clean,” he grits out. “Please.”
I’m helpless. I nod. It happens so fast. He’s clumsily freed himself from his shorts, and my legs are around his waist, my long dress falling either side. His hands are tugging my bikini bottoms.
Frantic.
Sinning.
Epically sinning. For some reason Pastor McDaniel flashes through my mind.
It’s almost comical except that my skin is so hot it’s burning me alive.
And then he thrusts inside me.
Oh God.
My head drops back against the wall, every part of me focused on the feel of him between my legs.
“Fuck,” he mutters into my neck and draws out, thrusting into me again. So hard. As if he can get deeper. Take more of me.
I cry out.
It’s too much. I hang on to him as he takes me over and over. I’m trembling. My muscles straining, my heart screaming.
His face and hot breath are in my neck.
I suddenly want to cry. I want him to look at me. His desperate need to have me is breaking me in half. Does he even know he’s holding pieces of me against the wall? The part I hate the most is that it feels so good. It’s never felt this good. Before I know it, I’m chasing the edge, pushing back against each of his thrusts with everything I have. I’m holding his head, my hands bunched tight in his hair.
“God, Jazz.” His voice breaks. “I need … I can’t … you …” His hips jerk forward in one last punishing onslaught, not waiting for me. “Fuck.” The word explodes out of his throat, his body shuddering.
Water splashes on my knuckle, my face is resting against my hand that’s in his hair, and I realize I’m crying even as I’m gasping for breath.
He moves back, adjusting himself, and I slide down the wall.
“SHIT,” JOEY SAYS as he sees me collapsing down the wall.
I’m crying so hard, I can’t breathe. My face is a silent grimace, water streaming down my temples to my ears. I keep sliding, just needing to sink to the floor for some solidity. My legs have no strength.
He catches me before I hit the floor, and we both go down. He wraps his arms around me and holds me together as I break apart. “I’m sorry,” he says into my hair. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head as if I can assure him I’m okay, but I can’t speak. I have years and years of swallowed down emotions, brushed aside feelings, pretenses and heartbreak erupting out of me. And the absolute irony of it all is that I know now that Joey feels something for me. Something deep and beyond what just happened. But it’s too damn late for us.
I’m grieving, I realize.
I’m grieving what we could have had. And Joseph, clueless as ever, has no idea that I’m crying because I’m saying good-bye to my childhood dreams of him and me. I’m leaving Butler Cove and my childhood behind me, and it can’t happen soon enough. Though, God, maybe he does know this is goodbye for me. I can’t believe I let him have me again. “I have to go,” I manage. “Let me up.”
“Please,” Joey says. “Speak to me. Please. Did I hurt you? What the hell just happened? Please stay.”
“I can’t.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Please. I’m sorry,” he begs. He threads his fingers through the hair at my temple pushing it back from my face. His lips fall urgently to my skin there. “Please. Stay.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Pulling back, his face slowly bleeds free of emotion, like he folds it all carefully and deliberately away. He nods and stands. His hand comes down, and I take it so he can pull me to my feet.
Swiping the heels of my hand against my cheeks, I try to dry the tears. When I look at him, he’s got his hands linked behind his neck, and he’s raised his face to the ceiling, his eyes closed. His bare chest is broad, billowing up and down, and sun kissed from the boat today. There are red marks from my nails on his shoulders. His board shorts are slung low.
When he opens his eyes, I swallow hard and look away, casting about for my bag. Seeing it by the door, I grab it. I wince. I’m sore and uncomfortable. I twist the door knob to go out, and his palm comes down on the door in front of my face holding it closed. His breath is warm against the back of my head and the tops of my shoulders.
“Did I hurt you just then?”
I shake my head.
“I want you to stay. I don’t want you to go. I want the record to state that you’re the one leaving right now.”
I nod. “I’m okay with that.”
“You’re running.”
“No, Joey. I’m walking away.”
The air around my neck stirs as he inhales sharply. His hand fists briefly before it lifts off the door, and I open it and step out into the deepening dusk.
WITH ANY LUCK, now that Keri Ann and Jack are working their future out, I won’t be at the Butler home much. Less chance of seeing Joseph. Anyway, he has his residency coming up. He hasn’t told us where he’s going. Perhaps he doesn’t know yet, though I doubt it. I know he’s kept in touch with Dr. Barrett. They became good friends after Joey worked with him that one summer, despite it being brief. Even though I can’t stand the guy, I know he’s a good doctor.
I’m leaving soon, and all these details—people, places, plans—will be footnotes in my life. They’ll be interesting pieces of news and that’s all.
My tears are all dried up by the time I drive from Joseph’s to the marina. I stop in at Woody’s and order a burger with everything. Dirty Harry is in his spot at the bar. I clap him on the shoulder, then I walk to our apartment and unlock the sliding door to my room. My mom left yesterday to go stay with an old high school friend who just lost her husband.
I strip my white gypsy dress off my body and pull my bikini off. I’m sticky between my legs and I immediately get into the shower, gasping at the cold as I turn the water on. I don’t wait for it to heat up as I cool my puffy eyes and lather up my hair. I cleanse my body of the events of today. This morning it all seemed so fun, and now I almost wish I could go back in time. This thing with Joey should have remained untouched. Undisturbed. Buried history. Easier to move on from.
I walk out of the bathroom and open my chest of drawers ignoring the framed black and white print of a kitesurfer in mid somersault over the waves, back muscles bunched and rippling. Drops of water suspended in mid air like an explosion. It’s one of the most beautiful pictures I’ve ever taken. It was part of the portfolio that earned my minor in photography. To think I’d taken it before I even went to college. But my professor hadn’t needed to know that. It’s one of the only reckless things I’ve experienced Joseph Butler doing. The only other one I know of is when he took my virginity. And perhaps watching him ride today.