That Boy From Trash Town

by Billie Green

  She walked back into the living room, carrying two cups of coffee. She handed one to him and sat down, cradling the other cup between her fingers.

  Several minutes of silence passed. Dean was taking a sip of coffee when she finally said, "Okay, let's do it."

  He choked. "Damn it, Whitney, you made me burn my mouth."

  "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

  He drew in a sharp breath and turned his bead slowly toward her. "Yes...yes, 1 want that very much."

  Turning slightly in her seat, she leaned toward him. This was what she wanted. It was what she had always wanted. But now that it was finally going to happen, she felt awkward. She had always imagined their first real kiss would come about in a more natural, less calculated way.

  She drew back a little and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then glancing at him, said, "I'm getting there. Don't rush me." She pushed the hair from her forehead. "I can do this." She leaned forward and almost immediately pulled back again. "But on the other hand, there's something to be said for being carried away by the heat of the moment. I feel like there's a script for this and I've forgotten all my lines."

  He gave a soft laugh and framed her face with his hands. "Want me to help?"

  Pulling away from his hands, she rose abruptly to her feet. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not like I've never been kissed, for pity's sake. I even did a little petting when I first got into college, back when I-"

  "I remember." His voice was rough. "You told me all about it, every damned time it happened."

  "There weren't that many times."

  "There were enough. I had to sit and listen to you tell me about some snot-nosed kid touching you."

  She stared at him in silence. Something about his tone, something about the look in his dark eyes, nagged at her.

  "I don't remember any of them being snot-nosed," she said, her voice distracted as she tried to analyze the information that was being received by her brain. "In fact, I'm almost sure they weren't. I happen to be very discriminating."

  She continued to stare at him, a frown creasing her brow. "You sound mad. Did it really bother you to know that I was... getting close to other men?"

  "Bother me?" He gave a short, harsh laugh. "That doesn't even begin to cover it. I told myself that I was simply being protective. That I didn't want you getting into something you couldn't handle. But that didn't explain why I had the urge to pound some heads on the pavement."

  She gave a soft whistle. So that was it.

  "Ain't life strange," she muttered, then walking to the window, she pushed the curtain aside to look out.

  The minor sexual skirmishes he was referring to had taken place during her first year at college. Six years ago. He had wanted her for six years?

  Her first reaction to his amazing disclosure was relief that on those long, lonely nights when all she had had of him were dreams, Dean was feeling something similar. But relief was soon superceded by anger. All those lonely nights. If he had told her this years ago, those long, lonely nights wouldn't have happened.

  Then finally she began to think about the implications of Dean's revelation. He said he wanted her. He wanted an affair with her. Period. And he was careful to tell her that she wasn't to make more out of it than there was. Nothing but good old-fashioned lust.

  He was fooling himself. She didn't know why, but he was fooling himself. Lust was notoriously fickle. It wasn't the kind of thing that hung around for six years.

  As she stared into the darkness, the hand that was holding the curtain to the side began to shake. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to share this as she shared everything else with him. She wanted to turn around and say, "You fool, you're in love with me." She wanted to list all the facts and show him why her conclusion was undeniable.

  Whitney had to clamp her teeth together to keep from confronting him with the truth. She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell him. Not yet. Dean was the most intelligent man she knew. He understood all about people and motivations. And he spent a lot of time examining his own actions and reactions. Which meant that something was keeping him from this particular truth. For some reason, he was hiding from his feelings for her. Dean didn't want to be in love with her.

  There was only a little pain attached to the realization. It would have been better if he were able to return her love freely and joyfully, but she had long ago accepted the fact that he was complicated, mentally and emotionally. This was the man she had loved all her life. He was worth fighting for. He was worth waiting for.

  "What are you thinking about?" he asked now.

  When she turned around, she found him close behind her, a frown worrying his features.

  She raised one hand to smooth away the lines from his face. "I'm thinking that I'm through thinking. I'm thinking that thinking uses up time that could be spent—" she wiggled her eyebrows "—more productively." She moved closer. "Did you notice how I wiggled my eyebrows? That's to let you know I was making an oblique sexual reference. Now this—" she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his, smiling when she heard his sharply indrawn breath "—there is nothing at all oblique about this. This is—"

  The rest of her explanation was cut off as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to him. Hie molded her body to his, touching her with hands that shook, as though he had been waiting for a long time to feel this particular feeling and couldn't wait a second longer.

  His breathing was labored when he pulled back a little and rested his forehead against hers. "You remembered your lines," he said in a hoarse whisper.

  Her laugh was cut off by his mouth. The taste of him, the feel of him, had filled Whitney's dreams, waking and sleeping, for most of her life, and now it was no fantasy. It was real. His kiss set off an explosion of sensations and she couldn't get enough of it. Afraid he would change his mind, she clasped his neck and frantically sought his tongue with her own, pushing her body even closer to his.

  Now that she knew he loved her, she was fearless, and she felt the shock of her response rock through him. A deep groan came from deep in his chest, and he bent slightly, picking her up in his arms without interrupting the fiery kiss.

  He carried her into her bedroom and fell with her onto the bed. Then he was touching her and it was better than all her dreams put together. All the long, lonely nights were forgotten as they hungrily explored territory that had been forbidden than only hours ago, staking claim with their lips and tongues and fingers.

  Even in the heat of passion, Dean was still protective. He didn't rush her. He made sure she was ready before he took the next step. He discarded his shirt, but merely unbuttoned her silk blouse, easing her into total intimacy. He had to take it slow. He had to make this right for her.

  But Whitney didn't want cautious moves. She had been waiting for him, starving for him, for most of her life, until now the aching need had taken over completely. She didn't wait for him to remove her clothes. She was out of them, tossing them away without a thought.

  When Dean pulled away from her to take off the rest of his clothes, he stood for a moment beside the bed staring at her in awe. The pale body, the midnight hair fanning out on the white pillow, made him catch his breath as her beauty went right to the heart of him.

  He had finally allowed his true feelings to surface and the power of them knocked him sideways. How could he have lived so long without this? How could he have managed without knowing what it was like to touch her, to feel her hands on him?

  His whole body was shaking as he joined her on the bed, and he whispered incomprehensible words of love in her ear as he lifted her and made them one.

  For Whitney, there was no room for fear, no room for pain. As she had always known, their bodies were specifically made for the purpose of loving each other. But she hadn't known that this moment would bring sensations, wilder and more incredibly beautiful than anything that had gone before. How could she know that each movement, each heated caress, would be more
deeply felt than the one that went before?

  As they moved together, the moonlight streamed across the bed, illuminating naked flesh against naked flesh, hunger matching hunger. And then, together, they let the feelings gather strength. Building and growing until there was nothing in the wide world other than the sweet, fierce sensations. It was around them and in them. It was in their heads and their bodies and their hearts. It bound them forever and finally gave them peace.

  * * *

  Dean felt the impact of the fury through a dense, black fog, then gradually the fog dissolved and he saw the two people. His stepfather stood before him, a raging giant, towering over everything in the room, one tightly clenched fist raised, his features twisted in violent anger. Dean's mother looked tiny in comparison as she cowered in an armchair with torn upholstery. She was crying. Helplessly. Hopelessly. Fear shook through every inch of her fragile body.

  In the next moment Dean was no longer viewing the scene, he was living it. He was inside the man he hated most in the world. And in the torn armchair, Whitney shook and cried. Then he knew he wasn't looking at her through his stepfather's eyes. It was his own eyes. IBs own body. Dean was the despised, raging giant. And he was making Whitney cry. He was hurting her. His dear, sweet Whitney. He was making her tremble with fear.

  Please God, he couldn't let it happen. He had to get away from her. He had to run. Run!

  He struggled to turn his sluggish giant's body away from her, but finally he was at the door, forcing it open.

  Dear sweet heaven, she was there beside him! Holding onto him, pulling him back, trying to make him stay. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. No words to tell her, to make her understand that he had to protect her. He had to keep her safe.

  Groans born of frustration and fear burned in his throat, but still there was no sound, and the look in her eyes was kilting him, ripping him up inside.

  Whitney...for pity's sake, Whitney! Please, please—

  * * *

  Whitney turned her head slowly on the pillow and watched Dean sleep. Early morning sunlight had been floating through the curtains for almost an hour, but she didn't want to wake him. She wanted to savor the pleasure of seeing his head on the pillow next to her. It was a little bit of intimacy that was as unexpected as it was thrilling.

  Whitney was convinced she hadn't made a mistake last night. Dean loved her. She was sure of it. But something was keeping him from acknowledging that fact, even to himself. Maybe he was afraid of commitment. His mother had gone through two bad marriages, two divorces. It would be no wonder if he was afraid the same thing would happen to him.

  She would simply have to show him that he didn't have to be afraid of love. She would wear him down until eventually he had no choice but to marry her and be happy for the rest of his life. Because she could make him happy. She knew she could. She would be a good wife to him. She would give him so much love and happiness, he wouldn't know what hit him. She would make him forget all about the past.

  When he muttered in his sleep and moved restlessly, she couldn't stand not touching him for one second. Brushing a kiss across the top of his ear, she said, "You're awake now, aren't you, Dean? I wouldn't be taking advantage of a helpless man if I happened to touch you here—" she moved her hand down his body "—would I?"

  His eyes opened abruptly, and for a moment he held himself stiffly, then he released his breath in a sigh and grabbed her, flipping over to pin her with his body.

  "If you did that, I might have to retaliate and touch you here." He smoothed one hand across her breast, letting his thumb linger on the nipple. "Or here... or-"

  He broke off and groaned when they heard a knock at the front door. Rolling off her, he folded his arms behind his head and sighed deeply. A martyr's sigh.

  "Don't forget where you were," she said as she climbed out of bed and pulled on a short robe. "I'll gun down the idiot at the door, then be right back."

  Before she left the room, she had to bend over him for one last kiss. Two. Three.

  She kissed his cheek. "You have the sexiest cheekbones in creation." And his forehead."The brow of a genius, honest to God." And his chin. "Stubborn ... too stubborn for your own good." And his mouth. "I don't think I can leave these lips. I really don't."

  Shaking with laughter, he pulled her down on top of him. He was giving her a sample of Ins irresistible lips when they heard the knock again.

  Dean stood up with her in his arms, then set her on her feet. "Get rid of them," he ordered as he ran a hand over her buttocks. "Get rid of them fast."

  On her way to the front door, she straightened her robe and pushed her fingers through her hair. If a salesman was at her front door, he would be on the receiving end of the fastest turndown in history.

  But it wasn't a salesman. It was her father.

  "Lloyd," she said in surprise as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I thought you had some kind of inventory thing you were supposed to take care of today."

  "It was canceled. I just wanted to—" Looking beyond her, he broke off and smiled. "Good morning, Dean."

  Whitney glanced around and saw Dean standing in the doorway to the bedroom. Although he had pulled on his jeans, even the slowest observer would have known that he had just gotten out of bed. And Whitney's father was definitely not slow.

  "Lloyd," Dean said politely.

  Her father was still smiling. "I'll come back later," he said, turning away.

  Whitney grabbed his arm and pulled him into the apartment. "No you won't. You're going to stay and have breakfast with us. Dean was just saying how hungry he is. Weren't you saying that, Dean?"

  "My very words." He walked farther into the living room. "Join us for breakfast, Lloyd. I promise I won't let her anywhere near a skillet."

  She made a small huffing noise. "Are you implying—I'll have you know I scramble a mean egg."

  "Mean is right. When she gets through with them, those suckers are tough enough to fight back," Dean said as he pushed open the door to the kitchen. ' 'Stop sulking, Mary. If you behave yourself, we'll let you make the toast.

  * * *

  A short while later Whitney was sitting on the kitchen counter as she scraped the black parts off the last piece of toast.

  "Is it my fault the stupid toaster is defective? You helped me pick it out, Lloyd." She put the toast on the plate with the rest and hopped down. "Besides, I've heard that carbon is good for the digestion."

  Both men made rude noises, but they ate the toast anyway. And Whitney had to admit that Dean made a good breakfast. Maybe he would teach her.

  Having breakfast with the two men she loved was destined to become one of those bright spots in life that one looks back on with an automatic smile: Dean and Lloyd arguing about baseball and jazz; Dean and Whitney fighting over the last of the strawberry jam; Lloyd popping Whitney's hand with his fork when she tried to take more than her share of the bacon.

  When it was over—Lloyd insisted on staying to help with the dishes—Whitney hated to see her father leave. She knew he was trying to give them their privacy, and she wanted to tell him that he wasn't intruding. He was her father and therefore a part of their life. But she didn't say anything.

  When the front door closed behind him, Whitney turned to Dean. "I've got to do it. I've got to tell him. He likes me now. Don't you think he likes me now? Don't you think we're real, true friends?"

  "He loves you, Whit," Dean said quietly. "And you need to tell him soon. Because the longer you put if off, the harder it's going to be on both of you."

  "You're right. You're right. I know you're right. But I need to work out how I'm going to do it. I need to figure out exactly what I'm going to say to him."

  He put his arms around her and pulled her close. "Be prepared for some anger, honey. I don't want to scare you, but you need to remember how you reacted when you discovered your mother's deception."

  She nodded against his chest, then drew in a slow breath. "I called her a couple of days ago."<
br />
  "Did you? I'm proud of you."

  "Don't be too proud," she said, her voice rueful. "I was barely civil." She gave a short laugh. "Not that Mother noticed. It was like I was away at college or something. She told me everything that was going on in San Antonio. How they missed me at the hospital benefit, things like that. She never once mentioned Daddy. I knew it would be this way. I knew she would pretend it had never happened."

  He stroked her hair. "Everyone has his own way of coping. She wouldn't know it was hurting you."

  "Do you really think it would make a difference? I mean, if the impossible happened and she actually wondered if her actions would hurt me, would it make a difference to her?"

  She pulled out of his arms and walked a couple of steps away from him. "Would you listen to me? When did I turn into a whiner?" She reached out and punched his arm. "And why on earth did you let me?"

  It had just occurred to her that Dean had never once complained about his mother's neglect or his stepfather's abuse. Compared to what his parents had put him through, Whitney had led a fairy-tale life, and she was suddenly very much ashamed of herself.

  "You weren't whining," he told her. "You have a perfect right to be angry. And talking about it is one way of working out that anger:"

  But not Dean's way, she told herself silently. His life was filled with injustices. Injustices that he carried alone.

  Whitney would change that. If she had to pry the words out of him with a tire iron, she would make him share all his pain and anger with her. She would make him see that it was all right to give a little bit of it to her.

  They spent the rest of the day doing silly things—her idea. Now that she was free to love him, she wanted to give him back some of his missing childhood. She made him take her to Six Flags Over Texas, where they ate pink things on a stick and curly fries. They rode the giant wooden roller coaster and the Cliffhanger and the Runaway Mine Train. They played every game of chance in the arcade and came home tired and hot and happy, with their arms full of cheap stuffed animals.