by Molly Mirren
She was right. What the hell was he doing? He'd been given a reprieve, a painless way to end the chats where Erin would never have to find out, and he'd just screwed it up.
Panhead: Now that things are going well with your roommate, maybe you should show your stuff to him and let him read it instead of me.
emanomaly: I'm not ready for that yet. He doesn't even know I'm a writer.
Panhead: You live with the guy. How could he not know?
emanomaly: It's not something I advertise. My last boyfriend who knew about my writing didn't take it seriously and thought it was a waste of time. I'm not ready to go there with my roomie.
Panhead: Don't you trust him?
emanomaly: Everything's still new. We're gradually revealing things to each other, and I'm going to have to really, really, really, really trust him before I let him see my work. Plus, right now, it's about him and me and nothing else. I don't want to complicate things with my hang-ups about my writing or my devness or anything else. That's the way he said he wants it, too. Just him and me.
Before Jay could respond, she added something else.
emanomaly: You don't have to look at my other stuff. I understand if you don't want to or don't have time or whatever. It's not even finished.
He couldn't stand to let her think he didn't want to, although he was stupid for keeping Panhead alive. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he started typing.
Panhead: Did I say I didn't want to?
emanomaly: No.
Panhead: I really want to.
emanomaly: You sure?
Panhead: Yes.
emanomaly: You're the shit. You don't have to read the romance. I know guys aren't into that sort of thing.
Panhead: I like romance. Transformers is one of my favorite movies.
emanomaly: *eye roll* Sorry to break it to you, but Transformers is not a romance.
Panhead: Shia LaBeouf has the hots for Megan Fox. It's a romance.
emanomaly: Right.
Panhead: Are you rolling your eyes again?
emanomaly: Yes.
Panhead: I'll read your romance anyway. I'm a sensitive guy.
emanomaly: I'm sure. :) I can't believe I'm letting you read my raw stuff. What is it about you?
If she only knew.
* * *
Erin studied Jay's hand. They were lying on their backs in the backyard on a blanket, soaking in the sun. The temperature was relatively mild in San Antonio for the last day of May. It had been a hot spring, but today there was a blue sky, a nice breeze, and it wasn't too hot—sort of a reprieve before the real heat of summer kicked in.
They'd just taken Chopper for a walk and weren't ready to go in yet. Jay had taken his T-shirt off to cool down. His eyes were closed, but Erin didn't think he was asleep.
She was wearing knee-length yoga pants and a racer-back purple tank top that accentuated her boobs, which Jay seemed to do a lot of staring at when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She smiled to herself.
Their elbows rested at their sides on the blanket and their hands were suspended in the air between them, so Erin had a good view. His hand was warm and beautifully male, and she liked the way his long fingers interlocked with her smaller ones, making her feel safe. As happened often when she was with Jay, she got a tingle in her belly that made its way down to parts unmentionable.
Inhaling a deep breath to get her hormones under control, she squinted at a wispy cloud overhead. How long was an appropriate time to wait for sex when you were taking things slow?
She and Jay spent every moment together they could when they weren't working. They took Chopper for walks and both loved to be outdoors. If she was off from the bar, she would hang out with Jay while he worked on his Harley in the evenings. Sometimes they would talk about anything and everything, and sometimes they sat in companionable silence—Jay working on his bike, Erin reading a book or a magazine, content to be near him.
They had different tastes in music. He was into classic rock and heavy metal (but not any cheesy '80s hair bands, thank God), and she was into more obscure indie and alternative rock. Jay was open-minded, however, and she'd introduced him to some of her favorite bands. Some he liked; some he didn't. Some of it was too weird or too mellow for him, and they would playfully argue over whose iPod got plugged into the living room speakers.
They liked a lot of the same movies and TV shows and had the same sense of humor. He took her on real dates, like out to dinner or to see a movie, not just to Lars for beer with a side of weed like Duncan.
He treated her like a man should treat a woman, something she hadn't experienced since she'd been engaged to Trynt. And, although Trynt had taken her to fancy restaurants and such because that's what someone of his social standing did (because keeping up appearances was everything), he'd never really respected her or her opinions. Jay did.
Maybe she was ready for the next step, but she felt nervous about it, like she was a freaking virgin or something. Jay had never said anything to pressure her, but she knew he was ready. All she had to do was say the word. It was just that she wanted so much for things to be perfect with him and dreaded the inevitable awkwardness that would come with sex.
In the past, when she'd been with wheelers, most of them had made it about her from the get-go. That might seem like a good thing to most women, to be the sole focus of a guy's attention, but it wasn't as great as it sounded. Because wheelers couldn't feel anything below the belt and didn't expect to get anything out of it themselves (at least the ones Erin had been with), by the time she came (if she did), they were over it, easily getting bored with the whole thing.
One guy had actually checked his watch while she'd been on top of him, about to come. Needless to say, she hadn't. She'd been humiliated; he'd been an asshole.
Erin didn't want it to be that way with Jay. He seemed to genuinely care about her, though, so maybe it would be different with him. She hoped that was part of it, that being with someone he liked would help with his pleasure.
She reminded herself he'd been injured a long time and should know what to expect. But he'd never been with a dev. What if he expected more than she could deliver? She didn't know any special secrets to make him orgasm if he couldn't feel anything in his southern parts, although she was willing to try just about anything. She wanted him to experience mind-blowing pleasure, and she wanted to be the one to give it to him.
Maybe Panhead was right. Erin felt comfortable around Jay and liked the easy, bantering relationship they'd fallen into. Maybe she should trust him completely—not just about the sex, but with her writing. Maybe she should at least let him read the novel she'd finished, if nothing else.
Her stomach contracted into itself at the mere suggestion. She felt exposed—stripped—at the thought of Jay reading her writing. Panhead had liked her portrayal of the wheeler in her novel, but what if Jay thought it was stupid? What if she'd botched it horribly and Panhead was just being nice by saying it was good? What if parts of it reminded Jay of her devness? She wanted to downplay that with him, not emphasize it.
If it came down to it, she'd rather take a chance at having bad sex with him than let him read her work—and that was saying a lot. The thought of him reading her stuff was like having severe stage fright—the worst, most immobilizing kind imaginable.
She studied Jay's silhouette. His eyes were still closed, and his lashes, which looked more brown than blond, skimmed his cheek. His nose was straight and nicely shaped, his cheekbones broad and chiseled; his jawline, which was covered with blond stubble that could pretty much be called a beard at this point, was firm and masculine. She was eating crow for insisting she didn't like blonds. Jay was blond, and he was a god.
Lying on his back as he was, Erin could see how long his legs were. If he could stand, he would dwarf her. Because he was lying flat, his slight paunch had disappeared, and his loose gray sweatpants (apparently he didn't own any other color) rode low on his narrow hips. The black waistband of his bo
xers peeked out above his sweats, and even that little detail was unexpectedly sexy.
Wiry, blond-brown hair dusted his muscular chest—not hairy-as-a-gorilla, old-geezer hair, but still enough to be manly—and it tapered into a thin trail that traveled down his belly and disappeared into his boxers.
Erin couldn't resist. She carefully laid his hand, which was still entwined with hers, onto his stomach, then turned onto her side, propped up her head with her elbow, and lightly ran her fingertip over the hair on his chest.
His lids popped open, and she found herself looking into a pair of silvery blue eyes, made lighter by the sun.
She leaned in close to him and kissed the tender spot just below his ear. “Hi.”
His mouth curved up on one side. “Anyone ever teach you about personal space, darlin'?” he teased in his easy California drawl.
She ran her hand along his soft beard and smiled. “Anyone ever teach you how to use a razor, darlin'?”
“You want me to shave?”
She raised her brows. “Would you if I asked?”
His eyes got sultry. “I'd do anything for you.”
Holy horny toad. He had an uncanny ability to disarm her with a few simple words. A lump of emotion clogged her throat, leaving her speechless for a second before she said, “You don't need to shave. I like you any way you come.”
He reached toward her face as if to touch it but stopped in midmotion. Grimacing, he closed his eyes and dropped his hand.
Her heart sank. “Your back is hurting again?”
He grunted noncommittally. The grimace went away, but there was still a tightness around his closed eyes, and he looked drained.
She placed her palm on his face and gently turned his head toward her. “Jay, how long has it been since you had a good night's sleep?”
“1987.”
“I'm serious.”
He opened his eyes. “So am I. That's how long it feels like it's been.”
“Would a back rub help? If you turn over onto your stomach, I'll give you one.”
His jaw tensed and his tone grew harsh. “It won't help. Nothing does, so why fucking bother?”
Erin didn't know how to respond. She knew his anger wasn't directed at her and she hated that he was hurting, but she knew he wouldn't want her pity.
His irritation fizzled as quickly as it surfaced, and he let out a sigh. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a dick. I just get so damned tired of it sometimes, and I haven't slept in days.” He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “I'd have to be insane to turn down a back rub from you. I'd appreciate it, if you still want to.”
Still want to? She had visions of running her palms all over the sun-warmed skin of Jay's broad, powerful back. The pleasure would be all hers. “I think I could still be persuaded.”
Cupping the nape of her neck, he pulled her toward him to give her a kiss. It was one of the toe-curling ones, the kind that scrambled Erin's brain and made her forget to breathe. When they broke apart, she stared into his eyes, hypnotized by them.
“How was that?” he asked, his voice sounding a little gravelly.
“How was what?”
“The kiss.”
Her brain still wasn't firing on all four cylinders, but she knew he was getting at something. “Um, great?” she hedged.
He flashed his white teeth in a smile. “I mean, was it persuasive enough?”
“Oh, my God. Yes.”
Jay chuckled at her heartfelt response, and the smooth rumble of it was contagious. Erin snickered. “Um, so, what was it I was supposed to be persuaded to do?”
“Back rub.”
“Oh, right.”
Erin sat up and, after Jay rolled onto his belly, she helped him put his long legs in the right position. Only the upper half of his torso moved whenever he turned over, so his legs had to be manually untwisted. He could do it himself, of course, but Erin liked that he was letting her help and that he didn't seem self-conscious about it. The small squeeze of lust she got while touching his heavy, thin legs, she fiercely and doggedly ignored.
Once he was settled, head turned toward her and resting on his bent arms, Erin got to work. She ran her hands over the steely sinew of his back and shoulders in a cursory rubdown and tried not to drool. Then, starting with his neck, she rubbed and kneaded at the knots there. She wasn't a professional masseuse by any means, but even she could tell he was wound way too tight. “Tell me if I do anything that hurts. I don't want to make the pain worse.”
“Mmm,” he groaned with pleasure. He turned his head forward, resting his forehead on his forearm and exposing more of the back of his neck. His words were muffled when he said, “Trust me, darlin'. There's no way you could ever make it worse.”
Erin's hands glided over his warm skin easily as she moved down to his inked shoulders, and it was every bit as good as she'd imagined. No gross back hair, just smooth, bronzed skin that got warmer and warmer with her touch. She ran her hand over his tattoo, the one on his left shoulder with the intricate lettering. “What does your tat say?”
He snorted. “It used to say 'Jennifer.' Now it says 'loyalty' if you look at it one way and 'betrayal' if you look at it upside down.”
Erin paused and studied the tat, cocking her head to one side. Now that he'd explained it, she could see the hidden words. “Oh, my God,” she said, widening her eyes. “That is so cool. It's amazing the tattoo guy could do that.”
“Not tattoo guy—tattoo girl,” he corrected. “She was a fucking genius.”
“Apparently. That's some of the coolest ink I've ever seen. And she completely covered up the 'Jennifer' part.” Thank God, Erin added to herself, feeling a twinge of jealousy. “I don't have anything that good, but I have a few tramp stamps I got when I was drunk.”
Jay turned his head slightly more toward her, a sudden mischievous gleam in his eye. “I know.”
“How would you know?”
“You were a mess that night—or morning—I got you home from your brush with the A-bomb, so I helped you take a bath.”
“Oh,” she said, pressing her lips together to hide a smile. She was a little embarrassed and a lot intrigued that he'd seen her naked. The realization gave her goose bumps. “Sorry about that.”
He grinned, then closed his eyes as she resumed the massage. “Trust me, darlin'. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
For that, he got a kiss on the spot behind his ear again, and it made his grin grow bigger.
Erin worked methodically down his back and was glad he couldn't see when she winced at the long, vertical surgical scar from his SCI that ran along his spine.
After a few minutes, he looked over his shoulder at her. “Erin?”
“What?”
He glanced pointedly at her hands, which were massaging his lower back. “I can't feel that.”
“Oh. Sorry. But your muscles are doing weird things down here. They're spasming or something. I think it would help to get out the knots.”
He didn't say anything, just turned his head and rested his chin on his arm, but Erin didn't miss the annoyed tic in his jaw.
She felt like she was doing some good, but first and foremost, her purpose was to soothe Jay, and it was clear he didn't like her touching where he couldn't feel. When she moved her hands back up above his waistline, he flinched as if she'd tickled him, but then he relaxed. “That's better. Thanks.”
She massaged for a minute in silence, trying to decide if she should pursue the subject of his back pain. Her concern won out. “Jay, why do you live with the pain? Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“Wouldn't do any good.”
“Why not?”
“Some things a doctor can't fix.”
“But—”
“Look. My back hurts because three of my vertebrae were shattered, my nerves are all fucked up, and I've got enough hardware in me to open a Home Depot.”
She cringed. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
“I didn't mean
. . . That wasn't pity.”
“I know. I didn't take it that way. But there's no reason you should be sorry. 'S just how it is.”
“The pain's been worse lately, though. Right?”
He didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.
“You should go to a doctor, Jay.”
His shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “You think I haven't? There's nothing a doctor can do. That's what the last three I went to in California said. 'Sorry about ya, Jay. You're shit outta luck.'”
Erin didn't want to believe nothing could be done. “Then go to someone here in San Antonio. There has to be something to make it better. What about surgery?”
Jay scoffed. “There's always some doc willing to cut into me, but the payout is shoddy at best.”
“What do you mean?”
“There's a lot of shit involved with surgery—hospital stay, recovery time, possible complications—and I would need . . . help . . . afterward.”
Her heart clutched, knowing it was hard for him to admit that. “I would help you.”
“No. I wouldn't ask you to do that. I'd have to go back to California, and I sure as hell don't like the thought of having to rely on my old man. Besides, there's no guarantee surgery will help when it's all said and done. Most SCI pain has to do with nerves and neurological problems that can’t be fixed. Might as well stick with the status quo.”
“But what if it keeps getting worse?”
“I'll deal,” he said stubbornly.
“That's ridiculous. Maybe—”
“Erin,” he said, turning to look at her, “just let it go.”
She bit her lower lip, wanting to argue, but his unbending tone told her this wasn't an argument she would win anytime soon.
Chapter 21
An enormous, slobbery, foul-breathed water buffalo was licking her ear. When Erin opened her eyes, she realized it was just Chopper, who took up a large portion of her queen-sized bed. “Gotta get you some doggy breath mints,” she grumbled.
Chopper's response was a direct lick to her mouth.
“Blech!” She turned over to escape her amorous companion.
Daylight streamed in through slim openings in the slightly tattered curtains of Erin's room. She looked toward the door, expecting to see Jay wearing the playful smirk he always wore when he let Chopper in to join her in the mornings, but he wasn't there. That was strange. She must not have shut her door all the way last night and Chopper had let himself in. But where was Jay?