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One hour and a half later, Jones was done and picking up the last set of ladders, starting to unhook them. Z walked over and began to help.
“What are you doing?” she said, surprised again.
“Helping,” he said.
“I can see that, but why?”
“You want me to stop?” he asked, chuckling.
“No, you’re good. Monday you helped me, and today is two days of helping me, and I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“‘You’re welcome’ works,” he said, chuckling.
“Thanks,” she said, a little sheepishly. “I sent Marisa an email today, an update of the things I’ve done so far for the opening. Has she told you anything?” she asked, glad she had something to put to use to keep him talking, something to prolong her time with him.
“Nope,” he said, walking over to her, the ladders he’d separated in his arms.
“Want me to take those in?” she asked.
“Nope. I’m good. I’ll walk over with you,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, working to hide her surprise and pleasure again. “Thanks. Next week I’m meeting with the caterer, the one I like. Your opening date works with him, so we’re just meeting to sample. You want to come?”
“I would, but I’m pushing up against a Saturday deadline, so no.”
“No problem. I’m thinking Texas-style finger food in an elegant setting,” she said.
“What is that? Texas-style elegant food?” he asked, looking at her like she was Texas-styled food and he was hungry.
She cleared her throat. And what were they talking about now, she wondered… Oh, yeah. “Small ribs, losing the sauce, and potato salad in finger food form. Don’t know what that will look like, but it was what he said he could do. So we’ll see. You sure you want to leave these decisions up to me?” she said.
“Yep, you’re fine,” he said. They were almost to the utility building now.
“Okay then, boss, moving on to music. I picked this small quartet, back to the elegant theme, but they play country tunes, which is way cool,” she said, chuckling.
“It is,” he said, holding the door open for her to enter.
“It’s all little stuff left: me ordering tablecloths, tables and chairs, and decorations. Of course I’ll run it all by Marisa, who I like by the way. She is easy to work with, and I like people who are easy and nice,” she said, passing through the door, with him following along behind her.
“Good. She likes you too, and she’s pretty good at judging people. Told me that you were doing all the work,” he said. It was into the storage room where she dropped her ladders in their designated spot on the floor.
“She’s providing direction, which is very helpful. I know it’s why you sent me to her. I understand, she’s another Yancy. You like to be sure of things… people before you make decisions—to trust. I understand. So do you have enough things to sell once your place opens?” she asked, neatly restacking some of the ladders that had fallen over when she’d set them on the floor.
“Inventory, you mean, and yes, I do.”
“Like, what kind of things will you sell?”
He looked around the room like he was considering what to do with her question. “I guess I could show you if you want to see,” he said.
“You could. I’m up for seeing and trying new things,” she said, smiling.
“Are you flirting with me, Jones?” he asked.
“Yes. All during practice. I know you noticed.”
“I did,” he said, smiling. “We have that rule.”
“Yes, but technically I’m not officially on the team,” she said, moving towards him, and she didn’t stop until there was just an inch of daylight between their bodies.
He smiled, a slow one; eyes lowering. Dang, so sexy, she thought.
“What am I going to do with you, Jones?” he said.
“I can think of a few things,” she said, laughing. She met his eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds more.
“What?” she asked, eventually.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
He laughed.
“So can I see, or is it some super state secret?”
“Is what a secret?” he asked, lost in her smile for a minute.
“Your art stash. You were going to show me, unless you don’t trust me, Mr. I-don’t-trust-anyone-easily.”
“I used to trust easily,” he said, turning away and heading out of the storage room, and then they were moving towards the front door. He held it open for her, before following her out. It was over to his studio next.
“Can you be any more cryptic?” she said, laughing to his back. “I read somewhere that you were thirteen when you started?”
“True,” he said.
“That’s young.”
“It was,” he said.
It was quiet between them until they arrived at the front door of his studio/shop. He pushed it open and walked in. She followed.
“Nice,” she said.
“Everything is nice to you, Jones. It’s your favorite word. Nice,” he said.
“What’s wrong with nice? I like nice.”
“That’s nice,” he said, and they laughed.
“It’s bigger on the inside than I thought,” she said, looking around at what was basically a square-shaped garage with two rolling garage-type doors on each end. “For ventilation,” she said, moving over to the garage door closest to her. Cement for floors and a bunch of equipment she could and couldn’t identify. Her research on the Internet had yielded much information about what went on inside this space, but it hadn’t covered everything. Some of the equipment she didn’t recognize.
“Yep,” he said.
“I looked you up on YouTube,” she said, turning to face him. “There are videos of your time in Seattle, a few actually of you, working with a bunch of other dudes. I only found one of you working alone. You were here, weren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t spend my time looking at myself on YouTube.”
“This is a furnace. It’s where the glass is kept at 2400 degrees Fahrenheit,” she said, pointing to the large metal box with a door that slid open, as she’d seen on her computer.
“It is, and very good, Jones. You pick that up from the Internet, too?”
“I did, as a matter of fact. It’s hot and you never turn it off,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, watching as she continued to examine his place.
“Seattle has a community of glassblowers. That must have been nice when you played for the Seahawks. I read about this one glassblower, the one with the eye-patch. Did you have the chance to attend his school? Maybe one summer between football?” she asked, smiling sheepishly at his face. “The Internet is a dangerous place, is what you’re thinking now,” she added, moving on to another piece of equipment she recognized.
“This is a glory hole,” she said of the other furnace-type machine she was standing in front of. “Hot like the furnace, but with a hole cut in the middle, and perfect for sticking one’s rod into, right?” she asked. His eyes darted over to hers, and they both started laughing again.
“Jones, Jones, Jones,” he said, smiling and charmed again. “Dale Chihuly and the Pilchuck Glass School of glassblowing, and yes, I have spent some time there,” he said, answering the first of her questions. He shook his head and smiled again, the remnants of his laughter fading away. “And yes, it was nice, good environment in which to learn. There is a community of glassblowers in Texas, too. Wimberley, just up the road south,” he said, watching as she finished her survey of the room. She was looking in the bucket of tools he kept near his work bench.
“I didn’t know that,” she said.
“Yep. So you done looking around in here?” he asked.
“I am,” she said.
“I keep my inventory through here, in my office. Much smaller and more orga
nized than my home office, so you don’t have to worry,” he said, pointing to a door at the back of the room. “Office and a restroom,” he said, after he entered. It was small, three feet by six feet maybe. “I keep my inventory over there,” he said, moving toward a door to what must be a closet. He had opened the door and turned on the light by the time she caught up to him,
Wow was her first thought. “You did all this?” she asked, standing in the middle of the doorway. Her eyes were on the shelves in front of her, taking in the wealth of color along with the variety of objects sitting on the shelves. Small and large vases, wide mouths and narrow; some clear, other with flecks of colors in them. Lots of Christmas ornaments on one shelf, and clear and orange colored glass pumpkins on another.
Two rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, positioned toward the back of the room, leaving a large space in between them and the front wall. It was half the size of his studio’s office.
“I did. Not all in one day, over time, but yes, I did. I wanted to have as much inventory as I could stockpiled,” he said, standing in the doorway behind her. He was close. She could feel him at her back, and what to do? All that flirting had apparently paid off. He took a small step forward and now he was standing really close, touching her back with his chest. Now what to do, she wondered, torn between moving further into the room to get a closer look at his work, or staying put. Staying put won out.
“Meredith helps too?” she asked, more breathless than she would have liked.
“Yes,” he said, softly into her ear, which was easy as his head was beside hers now.
She turned to look over her shoulder. She could lean a little bit forward and kiss his cheek. He was that close. He made no move to put any distance between them, just stood there, looking down into her eyes.
“What about the dude that’s here when I drive up sometimes? He helps too?” she asked, turning to face him now, helping him out a bit, making it easier to kiss her if he was so inclined. He wanted her; the look she read on his face told her so.
“Carl? Yes.”
“That’s good,” she said, admiring his mouth, supple and yummy looking. She knew, since she was staring at it, having given up on pretending she didn’t want this… want him.
“It is,” he said
“So you and Meredith?” she asked, meeting his eyes.
“Are friends,” he said.
“I heard…”
“Not anymore. I’ve met someone else,” he said, his lips moving toward hers, and he didn’t stop until he kissed her.
“Me,” she said when he pulled back. He didn’t go very far; an inch of space between their mouths.
“Yes, you, Jones,” he said, smiling fully now.
“But I’m not your type.”
“And who told you that?” he asked.
“I just thought…” she said, meeting his eyes. “Nothing,” she added.
“It is not nothing. What?”
She didn’t answer, stared into his eyes instead, hoping to read something: truth, sincerity. She ran her finger over his lips. A little emboldened by his lack of resistance to her hand moving across his mouth, and some major desire in his eyes, and he’d kept this desire hidden from her. She’d seen interest sometimes, but not this. “I just thought. I’ve seen pictures of those you’ve dated before… and they don’t look much like me,” she said, letting her voice trail off.
“The Internet again? That’s your main source of information?”
“Yes.”
“Not every person I’ve dated has their picture on the Internet.”
“Right?” she said, looking away from his gaze, where all of his feelings were on display; out of nowhere nervous. How had she missed that so completely? “It’s really quiet out here,” she said.
“You’re changing the subject,” he said.
“I am,” she said, chuckling.
“Why?”
“Why what? I don’t know.”
“You’re not going to start swaying on your feet, are you?” he asked.
“Maybe, it depends on what you’re about to do,” she said, laughing, and dang, he was close. Both of his hands were on her waist, holding her in front of his body. He smiled. So handsome, this one, she thought again, watching as his lips descended toward hers again.
“I…” she said, a little breathless, overwhelmed a little at this turn of events, but not enough that she didn’t part her lips for him as soon as he settled his on top of hers. He pulled her closer then, and she lost herself in his mouth for a while.
Jones, he thought, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, finally; lips on hers, chasing her tongue for a bit, and then tangling with it for a while longer. He was smiling when he pulled away.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
“Excuse me?”
He pushed her further into the room, kicking the door closed behind him, moving her over to the front wall, before he turned her to face it. “Do you trust me, Jones?” he asked, moving his hands to her hips then, to the curves he found irresistible, and back down to her ass, smooth and firm under his touch, the most irresistible part of all. He’d been waiting forever to get here, to touch this. He slid his hands over her ass again, softly, caressing. His hands were next at the waistband of her shorts, and so quick, and he was pulling them down past her hips. “Perfect,” he said, looking down at all he’d uncovered.
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless, trying to see over her shoulder.
“What do you think? Do you trust me?” he asked softly again, his hands continuing to slowly slide her shorts down her legs, letting them fall to the floor in a pool around her feet, and there was nothing left for him to admire but the brown of her skin against the pretty deep pink boy-cut panties she wore.
“What?” she asked again.
“Shhhhh,” he said into her ear, and then the area just underneath it. “I’m answering your question. You should know what you do to me. You think I don’t find you attractive and that’s not true,” he said, his hands running over her hips and ass.
“It’s not?” she squeaked out, trying to see over her shoulder again, caught up in the pleasure of having his hard body pressed so closely to hers. She closed her eyes.
“Not at all,” he whispered into her ear and pushed his hips into the back of hers.
He lowered the zipper to his jeans. She could hear the sound of it and felt what had been behind that zipper resting against her a few minutes later. She reached her hand behind her to touch him. She found his erection, bare and hard. She swallowed; maybe she should rethink this. He pushed his hips into the back of hers then, moving his hands down to take a handful of ass into each of them, squeezing and caressing before parting them. He pushed his hips in close again, sliding his erection in between the cheeks of her ass.
“Jones,” he whispered into her ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting used to the feel of you. I’ve wanted you in this way… since the first day of camp. I won’t hurt you,” he said, moving his hips so that his erection slid up and then down the seam of her ass. “Does that feel like I don’t find you attractive?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Every time you’ve stepped out of your car, wearing something that hugs your body just so, I’ve wanted this.”
“I…” she said.
“Shhhhh, you’re okay. We can make it work and I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Do you trust me?” he said, kissing her neck softly, moved by the way she felt in his arms, and with his favorite part of her body cradling his erection. He placed his forearms on the wall in front of them, on each side of her, blocking her into his body. He wanted her unmoving, for a bit. He thrust his hips, an infinitesimal push of his erection up, and then down.
“Yes… I trust… you,” she whispered, not that he could hear her reply over his moan as he did it again, another smooth glide up inside the cheeks of her ass and then down. His head rested in th
e curve of her neck, breathing in the womanly scent that was Jones. He did it again, a smooth thrust of his hips up and back, small movements again, and then again, and okay, once more before he managed to rein in his desire to just enter her and fuck, think about her needs later.
He moved one of his hands to the front of her body, down to her center, and smiled when she sucked in her breath, pushing her hips back into his at the contact. He moaned and began to move his fingers—really, it was only one finger that moved—that softly skimmed over that soft little nub of flesh that was all his to control. He moved his finger again, letting her sounds of pleasure be his guide.
If he touched her this way, her hips moved to the right. A push downward made her hips move in a circle around his erection, upwards and it was all push back into him, a little frantic even, was this push into him, as if she were trying to get away from his hand. He could control the speed and the direction of her hips by increasing the pace and direction of his one little extremity.
A puppet on the string of his thumb was Jones. So perfect was her ass pushing back into him, moving up and down, softly stroking his erection. She moaned and her head fell forward, toward her lovely breasts—another something he’d craved, wanted his hands and mouth on those, but later. Today it was all concentrated effort to bring her pleasure in this way first.
It went on for a while before he settled his finger in this one spot, the one that drove her hips back in to his, that went perfectly with the up and down thrusts of erection.
He moaned into her hair, feeling the stirrings of her climax, the strong vibrations of her body, surrounding him. “Memphis,” he whispered into her ear, all feeling good and nothing but sensation now, as her hips moved in time to his finger, plucking out his very own Memphis tune. She was closing in on her climax, the sounds escaping her mouth told him so along with the up and down movements of her ass. She moaned again, her hips still moving, fast and then faster, responding to the caress of his finger. Up and down and up and down her ass moved, her hands on his wrists now, holding on for dear life; and up and down and up and down, her ass moved, pushing hard into him, stroking him.
The Odd Ballerz Page 26