“I got her,” a deep, rumbly voice said from behind me.
I twisted on my stool, looked up, up, up and saw, standing behind me, Joe Callahan, his hair longer and more unruly, wearing his black leather jacket, a black t-shirt stretched across his wide chest, faded jeans and black motorcycle boots.
“Yo Cal,” Morrie greeted as I stared at Joe.
“Yo,” Joe greeted back.
“Great, Cal, thanks,” Colt muttered, I looked from Joe to Colt and watched Colt call to the back of the bar, “Feb, baby, got a callout.”
“All right, honey,” she called back. “See you later?”
“Yeah,” Colt replied, grinning at her then he slid off his stool, lifted a hand to squeeze the back of my neck, he nodded to Joe and Morrie then he took off.
Through this I sat there thinking firstly, that Joe freaked me out a bit considering he could come up behind me and I never heard him coming and secondly, that I didn’t want him taking me home.
I put my elbow to the bar, my head in my hand and I aimed my mouth at my straw. Capturing it, I sucked up cranberry juice and vodka and considered this dilemma.
“Beer?” Morrie asked Joe before I came to any conclusions about my dilemma.
“Yeah,” Joe replied and slid in between me and the empty stool beside me which meant he came in close to me as well as cut me off from the bar as Colt and I were sitting on the last two stools by the wall.
He didn’t sit though. He stood there even after Morrie opened a bottle of beer, set it on the bar top and walked away. Then he still didn’t sit, just took a pull on his beer, his body mostly facing me but his torso was twisted to the bar.
Then his torso twisted to me and he looked down into my eyes.
“You talk to her about condoms?”
Again, it seemed he was starting a conversation in the middle but, even mostly drunk, I knew what he was asking.
“No.”
He didn’t respond, just looked at me and I also knew what his silence meant.
“Kate’s responsible,” I explained though it was none of his business and even though my daughter was responsible, I was declaring this mostly hopefully.
“Were you responsible?” he asked.
“No,” I answered truthfully and pointing out the obvious.
He kept looking at me then he took a pull at his beer.
I aimed my mouth at my straw, captured it and sucked up some more drink.
I released my straw and asked, “Did you shovel my snow?”
His blue eyes leveled on mine. “What?”
“That day, when it snowed, did you shovel my drive?”
He didn’t answer at first then he said, “Yeah.”
When this knowledge was confirmed, I pulled in breath not knowing what to say because this was a nice thing to do and he didn’t seem like a nice guy then I settled on, “Thanks.”
He didn’t reply.
I was sucking up more vodka and juice, my head still in my hand, my elbow still at the bar when he spoke again.
“Your man gone?”
My chest got tight and my eyes lifted to his.
“What?”
“Your man, came home last week. He gone?”
I blinked at him thinking about Tim coming home and how impossible that would be, and how beautiful, then I realized what he meant.
“That wasn’t my man. That was my brother, Sam.”
He nodded and took a pull of beer. I stared at him.
Then for some stupid reason I asked, “What about your woman?”
His eyes came back to mine but he didn’t reply.
“The one you were with that night Sam came,” I prompted.
“Nadia?” he asked like I’d know her name.
“The blonde.”
“Nadia,” he stated.
“She around?” I asked, not knowing why but also thinking that I wanted to know the answer and not knowing why about that either.
“Nope,” Joe replied.
“Oh,” I whispered and aimed my mouth at my drink.
We were silent a good long while, me halfheartedly sipping at my drink, Joe standing and taking intermittent sips at his beer. This was not comfortable for me. I felt the need to fill the silence but found I had nothing to say. However, watching Joe, he seemed comfortable in some kind of zone where he, his beer and the bar were one and he was content with that.
Finally I figured out what to say. “You don’t have to take me home, I can get a taxi.”
His eyes again came to me and he noted, “You live next door.”
“Well… yeah.”
“Buddy, I can take you home.”
“What if you want to go home and I want to stay?”
“I’ll wait.”
“What if I want to go home and you want to stay?”
“I’ll come back.”
Yeesh, he had an answer for everything.
“That’s silly.”
“Why?”
“Because it is.”
This was lame but with that much vodka in me, and considering I didn’t drink much, it was all I had.
I figured he thought it was lame too because he didn’t bother to respond.
I captured my straw with my mouth and took another drink.
We lapsed back into silence, Joe turning back to the bar and leaning two elbows on it, cradling his beer in both his hands until I found another topic of conversation.
“So, I’m guessin’ Kenzie’s keepin’ her mouth shut.”
Joe’s head turned and he looked at me. “Yeah.”
“Everything cool with your clients?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re home a lot more than normal,” I remarked stupidly since I didn’t want him to notice that I noticed but at the same time I was bizarrely worried that Kenzie Elise was costing him clients and that was why he was home more than normal.
“Yeah,” he said then said no more and I’d run out of steam on that particular conversational gambit.
When I fell silent, Joe turned his head away and, keeping one elbow to the bar, with his other hand he lifted his beer to his lips and arched his neck back to take a pull. This fascinated me for some drunken reason. He had a muscular throat and I could see it as it arched and worked with his swallow. Furthermore, his jaw was on display, I noted how attractive it was and that was fascinating for some drunken reason too.
I tore my eyes away from his throat and jaw and caught on the little tray of fruit Feb, Morrie and Darryl used in the drinks. Wedges of lemon, lime, cocktail onions, olives and maraschino cherries.
“You know,” I started to inform Joe and just his head turned to me again, “back in the day, you could impress a guy just by tying the stem of a cherry in a knot with your tongue.”
Why I said this, I had no idea. I just couldn’t sit there, silent and sipping my vodka and cranberry juice while he did the same with his beer. It was just too weird. I couldn’t hack it. I had to talk about something.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“You do that often?” he asked.
“Not really,” I answered since I was with Tim and only Tim, back in the day and then forever, but it had impressed Tim. “Seems strange to me, why that’d impress a guy.”
Joe made no attempt to enlighten me.
“It’s good you all grow out of that,” I noted sensibly.
“Give you fifty dollars right now, you do it.”
I blinked. “What?”
He straightened, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open and pulled out a bill. Then he placed it on the bar between us and I saw it was a fifty dollar bill. I looked up from the money to him when he spoke.
“That’s yours, you do it,” Joe said as he shoved the wallet back in his pocket.
“Are you serious?” I whispered.
Joe didn’t respond verbally, he just reached out and nabbed a cherry by the stem, turned and held it out to me.
I stared at
the cherry. He was serious.
“Fifty dollars to knot the stem with my tongue?” I checked, just to make sure.
“You can’t do it.”
“I can do it, I’m just…” I paused, coming off my elbow I reached out and took the cherry from him, “out of practice.”
Joe didn’t say anything and I wondered how I got myself into this. I was going to be sitting there moving my mouth around like an idiot while Joe watched and probably in the end not knotting the dumb cherry stem.
But I couldn’t back out now. It wasn’t about the fifty dollars, it was about my pride.
I plucked the cherry off the stem with my teeth, looked anywhere but at Joe as I chewed and swallowed, took a sip of my vodka and cranberry juice to clear my mouth in preparation for my endeavor then popped the stem in.
Within seconds, I’d done it. It wasn’t hard at all. I guessed it was like riding a bike.
I slid the stem from between my lips, showed him the result and set it on my cocktail napkin.
His clear blue eyes were on the stem when I asked, “You impressed?”
His head tipped to my glass. “That your last?”
I stared at him a second not following then I asked, “Last drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Um…” I tried to gauge if he was trying to say he was ready to go home since he was my ride. It would be rude to make him stay longer when he wanted to leave so I answered on a question just in case he was ready to hang out awhile since I wanted to hang out awhile. “Yes?”
“Drink up, buddy.”
I guess he wasn’t ready to hang out awhile.
I was weirdly deflated the cherry stem knotting thing hadn’t impressed him. Tim thought it was the shit.
I lifted my drink and put the straw to my lips, sucking back the rest of my vodka at the same time Joe’s fingers wrapped around my upper arm. He slid me off the stool as I kept the glass in my hand, straw to my mouth and sucked. I also kept sucking on my straw as Joe grabbed my purse from the bar and handed it to me then slid the fifty from the bar and shoved it in my front jeans pocket.
I looked up at him when he called, “Morrie, Violet paid or is she on a tab?”
“Tab,” Morrie answered.
I was realizing that I might be drunker than I expected seeing as I was standing which everyone knew made you drunker after you sat for a good while and imbibed. Therefore, since I was assessing the level of my drunkenness, I didn’t intervene when Joe dug his wallet out of his pocket, pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar.
“That doesn’t cover it, I’ll catch you later,” Joe told Morrie.
“You got it, dude,” Morrie replied.
Joe shoved his wallet back in his pocket and pulled the drink out of my hand even though I was still sucking the dregs out through the straw (making that slurping noise). He put it on the bar, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door.
He was parked on the street several car lengths down from the bar. He bleeped the locks as we approached and when we got there he pulled open the passenger side door.
For some reason his truck seemed significant to me and my first ride in it even more significant so I just stood in the door, staring at the seat I should be planting my ass in and not moving because I was both unbelievably scared and utterly thrilled. Neither feeling made a lick of sense but I had them both all the same. It was like, if I got in his truck and the door closed on me, my life was going to change radically.
“Buddy, climb up,” Joe sounded impatient when I just stood there staring in his truck and he used my hand to push me closer to the seat.
I tipped my head way back and looked at him. “You have a nice truck,” I informed him mostly in an effort to stall.
Joe ignored my compliment and ordered, “Climb up.”
“Maybe I should walk home,” I suggested.
Joe stared down at me a second then he let go of my hand, bent at the waist, slid an arm behind my knees and one around my waist and, within half a second, my ass was in the seat. Another half a second, the door was closed.
Joe Callahan just lifted me bodily into his truck.
I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes.
“What’s the matter with me?” I whispered into the cab and opened my eyes to see Joe had rounded the hood. He opened his door, swung his big body behind the wheel and slammed his door.
We were both in and that feeling of fear assailed me, along with the thrill but the thrill was edging out the fear. I was in the passenger seat of a car, it wasn’t me driving, it wasn’t me responsible. It was me who got to sit back and relax and be taken home.
And I was in that truck with Joe Callahan. Joe Callahan who was scary and thrilling all in himself. He was more man than I’d ever known and I spent most my adult life around cops. His maleness filled the cab, dangerous, assertive, assaulting my senses. I didn’t like him, I was pretty sure of that fact but I admitted, drunk and sitting in his truck, that he fascinated me and not because he was Security to the Stars but because he was Joe Callahan.
“You wanna buckle up?” Joe asked and I turned to see he was facing me, forearm on the steering wheel, the truck was running and Joe was looking as impatient as he sounded.
He wanted to get home.
I wanted to know where he got those scars on his cheek.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and buckled up.
Joe put the truck in gear and pulled into the street.
“This is nice of you,” I said as he drove.
Joe didn’t answer.
I realized Joe wasn’t much of a conversationalist at about the same time I realized the truck was nice. It was clearly top of the line with all the bells and whistles and he took care of it. It wasn’t just shiny on the outside but the inside was clean and looked brand new. The ride was quiet and smooth and Joe drove the big truck like he was born behind the wheel of a pickup.
As he drove silently, I was again reminded how nice it was just to sit back and let someone drive me home. There was no particular reason I was having this feeling since, not but a few hours earlier, Colt and Feb took me to J&J’s. And Tim always drove, I couldn’t remember a time when we went somewhere when he wasn’t at the wheel. This never bothered me, I didn’t care if he drove, it only bothered me when he wasn’t around to do it anymore but, after nearly a year and a half, I’d gotten used to it. Now I realized I missed it.
I was so deep in these thoughts I didn’t notice that we were on our street until Joe turned into his drive and something new hit me. Like being in the truck with him, the sensation was strong, it was scary and it was thrilling. After seeing this truck in his drive on and off for months, even before knowing Joe, but definitely after, and now sitting in his truck, in his drive, staring at his house through the windshield, a vantage point I never thought I’d have, I felt something I didn’t understand. There was something profound about it, something I couldn’t put my finger on but, for some weird reason, it felt life-altering.
I jumped when Joe’s door slammed and I found myself nervous. I turned and fumbled with my buckle, getting it released only when Joe pulled open my door. I hitched my purse up my shoulder and hopped out of the truck. Joe had his hand on the door so I moved out of the way, he threw it to and I looked at him to give him my thanks again for the ride but he was moving.
I stood there for several beats as I watched his big body walk across the yard toward my house.
Even though I lived next door, in Joe Callahan style, he was going to walk me safely home.
I didn’t know what to feel about this but had no time to figure it out and no choice but to follow him, pulling my purse from my arm and digging through it to get my keys as I walked. I had my keys in hand, the correct one between my fingers and Joe was standing in the light I’d turned on by the side door when I arrived. I stopped, Joe took the keys from my hand and he slid the key into the lock, turned it, slid it out and opened the door.
I swallowed nervously as the beeps went for the al
arm. Moving just beyond him, I twisted my torso into the house, punched in the code and the beeping stopped. I took a deep breath, pulled my torso out of the house, turned and tipped my head back to look at him.
In the outside light, the night shrouding us, he looked sinister again just as much as he looked rugged and interesting and something new assailed me. It was that fear, that thrill but there was something else. Something insistent, needy, like a hunger I didn’t quite understand and my mouth went dry at the power of it.
“Thanks for the ride,” I whispered, unable to speak any louder.
Joe didn’t respond nor did he move.
I didn’t know what to do. I had thought he was eager to get home but he had his opportunity to escape and he was just standing there, staring at me in that way of his, something working behind his eyes.
Then I realized that I was being rude.
“Would you like to come in…?” I hesitated then finished, “for a drink or something?”
At first, Joe didn’t reply.
Then he said softly, his tone strange, like he was talking to himself even though I was right there, “You already think I’m a dick.”
I felt my heart beat faster and I whispered, “Joe –”
Joe cut me off. “So, don’t matter tomorrow morning you still think I’m a dick, ‘cause now, even though you’re drunk, I’m gonna take you inside and fuck you ‘til you ache.”
My heart stopped beating and my breath stopped coming which was bad, considering Joe grabbed my hand and pulled me into my house. He stopped to close and lock the door then he tossed my keys on the counter, pulled my purse off my arm and tossed that on the counter too then he dragged me through the kitchen, the dining area, the open study and straight to my bedroom.
I didn’t struggle. I didn’t do anything even when he stopped in my room, let my hand go and shrugged off his leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. Then his hands came to my little corduroy jacket and he pulled it down my arms.
“Uh…” I mumbled, lifting my hands belatedly as he moved closer, “Joe –”
But my hands hit his hard chest then my arms were squashed between our bodies when one of Joe’s arms sliced low around my hips and he yanked me to him, his other hand fisted in my hair, twisting tight. I felt an illicit pain against my scalp that I shouldn’t have liked but I did. I liked it a lot. So much I felt it not only in my scalp but throughout my body. His fist in my hair positioned my head, tugging it back but tilting it to the side so when his mouth came down on mine hard I was right where he wanted me.
At Peace Page 5