Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll)

by Kisner, Stevie

  “I’m working, lemme be!” she yelled in muffled response. JT dropped back a step and gave the closed door a long, one-raised-brow look of disbelief. Maybe she didn’t know who was knocking, or hadn’t heard him properly. He stepped forward and knocked again.

  “Go away, JT!” she said, her voice rising with her level of frustration. Okaaay, so she did know who was here. And he was most definitely not welcome. He tucked his hands into his pockets and dropped his head like a chastised little boy. He sighed heavily, deciding to find Rafe and maybe head to the downstairs bar for a beer or three.

  Korina waited a few beats to see if he knocked again. When he didn’t, she resumed her typing.

  ***

  The dream had not returned since arriving in Denver. Kori threw herself into work, and into having fun, with equal fervor. Much to JT’s chagrin, Korina having fun did not seem to include him. She maintained a polite distance, and he never managed to find himself alone with her.

  It was now their second night in the Mile High City, and Korina was passing it in the bar with Rafe and Paul. She’d spent most of the day with them, talking, joking, and asking questions, intending to post something substantial on their web site before the show tomorrow night. They’d suggested playing pool, and although Korina admitted to being uncoordinated and a lousy player, she stayed to watch, and play the winner. “That way, whoever wins will get to win twice,” she laughed.

  “Aw, c’mon, now, ya can’t be that bad,” prodded Paul as he racked up the balls.

  “Ever see somebody rip the felt?” she asked. “That’s my best move. At least when I’m sober.”

  “You get worse than that when you’re drinking?” Rafe shook his head slowly, a hint of a smile on his lips. He chalked up his cue, preparing to break.

  “No, actually, I get better. More loose. I’m the only person I know who gets more coordinated after a couple of drinks.”

  “More coordinated? But that’s not how it normally works, luv,” Paul interjected.

  “So I’m not normal. Too much, though, and I lose all control. I miss the cue ball, even. Or hit it so hard it skips off the table.” Rafe was bent over the table, cue stick pulled back and ready to break, but not moving. Except for his shoulders. He looked like he had a nasty case of hiccups.

  “You alright, mate?” asked Paul. Rafe was beyond words. Unable to hold it in any longer, he dissolved into laughter, picturing Korina plonking the cue ball over the edge of the table.

  “I guess we’d better keep you from getting drunk, then, lass. I want a challenge after I beat this sot. That is, if he ever breaks and we get to actually play.” Paul grabbed the chalk for his cue. He loved a good competition, and Rafe was a player who could be tough to beat. Still, there was something to be said about losing this particular game, especially if the loser got to watch her tight little bum while she bent over the table. He didn’t find himself thinking of her in any lustful way, but he always had been one to enjoy a nice view. He thought about muffing enough shots to end up being the lucky loser sitting in the booth.

  Rafe wondered how he could throw the game without being too obvious. He was looking forward to sitting back and watching Korina bending over to shoot. Repeatedly.

  He snapped the stick forward and the triangle of balls scattered around the table.

  While they played, Kori sat in the booth, watching. And downing beer after beer from the pitcher on the table. She didn’t drink often. Was usually a teetotaler, in fact.

  Tonight, however, she seemed hell-bent on getting plowed.

  Paul watched the waitress arrive with another pitcher of beer. He wondered if that was the third or fourth; he’d lost count. Korina was beginning to look bleary-eyed and in no condition to play the winner of this interminable game. It seemed they both were playing terribly, missing easy shots and constantly sinking the cue ball. Was Rafe thinking the same thing he was? He decided to bring it to a merciful death, sinking all but one of his remaining striped balls before missing a difficult banked shot.

  Rafe continued to play like crap, sinking one shot (marginally) before missing the next. Paul sized up his position, bent and shot. His last ball sank neatly into the corner pocket. “Game over, mate. And none too soon, either. I think she’s ready to pass out on us.” He tilted his head toward the booth.

  Rafe was mildly disappointed. He had been so looking forward to watching her play. Well, to watching a specific part of her play, anyway.

  Korina rose unsteadily to her feet. “Okie-dokie, Paulster, I guess it’s you and you…I mean me. You and me.” She took a wavering step forward. “Let’s do it.”

  Paul put a hand on her shoulder to stop the wobbling and lead her back to the booth. She plopped down with zero grace. “Oh, Kori, as inviting as that sounds…” he began.

  She pushed at his shoulder, mumbling “You know what I meant. Mind’s in the gutter, always.”

  “You’d need a crane to haul it out, luv. But you’re too thoroughly soused to play me now. What do you say we take you back upstairs to sleep it off?”

  “I say you’re no fun, tha’ss what,” she slurred, trying to focus on just one of him. “And I don’t wanna sleep it off. I worked too hard to get here an’ I wanna enjoy it for a while. Besides, he’s up there.” Her eyes grew big and round.

  “Who is?” asked Paul, wondering who’d been giving her trouble.

  “Right on the other side of that wall,” she drawled, ignoring his question.

  “And that would be…?” JT’s room was on one side of her and Stuart’s was on the other.

  Rafe smirked; he knew but wasn’t telling. And he wanted to hear the details JT wasn’t willing to share. He sat back into the corner of the booth, watching Kori string Paul along.

  “Besides, Paul, you’re easier to talk to. You don’t get into my mind the way he does.” She snorted, amused. “Invade is more like it. And he’s so damn loud!”

  Now Rafe, too, was intrigued. Just what in the hell was she talking about? But he said nothing, letting Paul run with this ball.

  Paul decided his questions were falling on deaf ears, so he held his tongue and let her ramble. He’d surmised it must be JT she was talking about, but just what else was she saying? Invade her mind?

  She fixed her bloodshot gaze on Rafe. He noticed the blue shade was even deeper in contrast to the pinkshot whites.

  “Does he do that to you, too, Rafemeister?”

  Rafe’s brows shot up into his hairline.

  “Does he think so loud that he makes your head hurt,” she explained like he was a slow-witted child.

  “Uh, no,” he answered quietly. What did thinking so loud mean? He was afraid to ask.

  “You’ve stopped making sense, luv.” Paul stood and held out his hands to her. “Come on, it’s beddy-bye time.”

  “Party pooper,” she muttered, but she took his hands anyway and allowed him to pull her to her feet and lead her to the elevators. Rafe stayed behind, pouring himself a beer from the pitcher and waiting for Paul to return.

  “You’re not going to tuck me into bed, are you?” she asked as the elevator made its way to their floor. “I’m not sleepy.”

  “If I just walk you to your room, will you promise to go inside and stay there?” Paul remembered being chased down when he and Ian were off on a bender in a strange town, and didn’t relish the thought of having to do that with her.

  She sighed and stared at the dark crimson carpet on the elevator floor. “I’ll stay in.” She was quiet for a long moment, then raised her eyes to Paul’s, holding him in a bloodshot stare. “Did you ever have a dream that came true, Paul? Not like an ‘I wish’ dream. I mean a dream you had while you were sleeping that came to pass?”

  “Nope, can’t say that I have, Kori. Why?”

  She looked crestfallen, but not really surprised. “No reason. I just wondered.” The elevator cruised to a slow stop and the doors slid open. Paul didn’t lead her this time, instead following half a step behind in case she stumbl
ed. She wobbled and weaved a bit but made it to her door.

  “Happy now, pooty parper?” she yawned.

  “Very. Now inside with you, and I’ll be completely ecstatic.” She unsteadily rammed her keycard into the doorframe, then the door itself. Paul gently took the card from her hand and fitted it into the lock, then turned the knob and opened the door. He tucked the plastic card back into her hand. “Get some sleep now, luv.” He gave her back a little nudge and watched her weave her way inside.

  She turned and faced him, knob in hand. “Know what? I’m drunk.” She yawned again.

  “Uh-huh. G’nite, Kori.” He started to walk away.

  “Night, Paul. You owe me a game of pool.” She wobbled against the door and looked like she might actually stay upright.

  He smiled. “I’ll remember, even if you don’t.” She stepped back, almost stumbling, then closed the door. Satisfied that he’d done his gentlemanly duty, he headed for the elevator.

  Neither of them noticed that the latch hadn’t completely caught.

  ***

  JT sat on his bed, flipping through the television channels, wishing he was tired enough to sleep. It was still early, barely midnight, but he didn’t want to go out alone. Paul and Rafe were in the bar downstairs, and Korina was with them. She’d made it quite clear all day that she didn’t want his company. At all.

  He wondered for the thousandth time why he’d told her he didn’t know what he wanted from her. Now look where that had gotten him. Alone. Again. He found himself hoping she’d make an early night of it and come upstairs. He wanted to tell her he’d thought about what she’d asked, that the honest truth was that he was falling for her, and falling hard, and damn the consequences. You never know until you try, right? She said that she wasn’t certain any longer where her life was headed, and was trying to find a direction. He knew he was somewhat to blame for her confusion and wanted to clear up whatever part of it was his fault.

  He felt her return to her room, rather than heard her. It was odd, he thought, how quickly it had become normal to sense when she was close by. Just a warming in his heart when she wasn’t far away, and the feeling of some important part of him missing when she was. He hopped off the bed in his stocking feet and padded to his door, not bothering with shoes. He grabbed his keycard and shoved it into his pocket, then left his room.

  It was only a few nervous steps to her door. God, how I hate this. Baring your heart leaves it so vulnerable to getting stomped on. Not that he thought she would. But what if she took a different tack and let him down easy? She was, after all, happily married before she met him. What if she wanted to stay that way?

  You never know until you try, he reminded himself, and knocked on her door softly. To his surprise, the door swung wide open under his knuckles.

  JT stood transfixed by the scene as the door arced open. Korina had her back to the door, her discarded t-shirt in a heap by her feet. She still wore her jeans and black bra and her feet were bare. Her skin glowed golden in the low light of the bedside lamp.

  “I knew you’d come, JT. I was thinking about you.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door, completely this time. “Ah, shit,” he mumbled through lips suddenly gone dry. His fingers itched to trace those light patterns over her bare shoulders, down her arms, to twist in the silky waves cascading down to the middle of her back. His insides tightened as he fought the urge to step closer and indulge them.

  She turned around. He couldn’t stop himself; before he even looked to her face, his eyes traced the outlines of her nipples standing taut under the thin, shimmering fabric of her bra.

  “Like what you see?”

  Her seductive tone slammed a double-punch of lust into his gut. Was this the same woman who’d been avoiding him since the previous morning? He didn’t answer, wanting to say what he’d come to say without making her think it was caused by touching her, tainted by wanting her.

  She stepped closer as his gaze dragged over her body. The perfectly sized breasts, the smooth stomach, the swell of her hips. He had to close his eyes to shut her out and collect his scattered thoughts.

  He felt her warmth as she drew nearer, then her soft breath on his neck as she nuzzled into him, gently kissing his throat. “Sweet Christ,” he groaned, his head falling back, lost in the jolts of electric desire from her lips. Of their own volition, his hands swept down her sides and spanned the gentle curve of her waist, pulling her into the heat of his body.

  This was the first time she’d actually pursued him and it excited him beyond all reason. He slid one hand to the small of her back, bringing her even closer. The other drifted up her spine and buried in the soft tangle of her hair to pull her head back. He dropped his face to meet her lips.

  And stopped, caught short by the alcohol on her breath. He raised his head and looked down at her. “I can’t do this,” he managed between haggard breaths. “You’re drunk.”

  She opened her still slightly bloodshot eyes to meet his. “So what?”

  “So it would be taking unfair advantage, that’s what,” he said, taking a step back, his arms falling away from her.

  “No, it wouldn’t. Why in the hell do you think I’ve been drinking, JT?” She lowered her eyes, pretending to study his t-shirt. “I’ll tell you why,” she said, her voice so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it. “To get you off my mind, out of my head. I thought if I just passed out, I could fall asleep without wanting you. But instead, it only gets worse.”

  JT’s thoughts were a raging turmoil, and (this was a rare change) she seemed unable to read what he was thinking. He’d come to hand her his heart and she might be too drunk to remember it tomorrow. And while he wanted her to the point of pain, he still wouldn’t take advantage of the willingness she’d found in the bottom of a bottle.

  “Dammit, JT, I didn’t plan it, didn’t want it, even, but I need you.” More than you know. That was the other reason for the drinking. Passing out might keep her from dreaming. She didn’t want to dream. If that awful premonition-dream comes a third time, I can be certain it’s true. Or rather, it will be. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to change it. That’s the worst part. The damage was done years ago.

  No, she thought, that’s not the worst part. The absolute worst part is that he already knows. I saw that, too. He received his death sentence this summer, and he’s kept it from me. That’s why he encouraged me to live my dream. Since that last annual CT scan, he knew.

  We talked about this possibility every year since the crash when it was time for the tests and scans. We couldn’t stop ourselves; the fear of mortality runs deep. He always said the same thing, too. If all those painkillers have wrecked his liver or his kidneys, he didn’t want to be put on some waiting list for ‘parts.’ Parts, he called them, like something to fix his car. Hoping somebody else dies so that he can live. Getting false hope, taking even more drugs, all the while knowing the statistics regarding the available organs. Very few people actually receive transplants.

  Then there was the real worry of rejection. What if the transplant didn’t take? he’d said. Would another be available in time? They’d never considered the possibility that his prescribed medications would wipe out both his kidneys and his liver. It was always an either/or possibility, never a yes to both. Yet that was where they found themselves. That is, if the dream was truly a vision of the future.

  She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t certain yet, and this was not a topic she’d bring up on their frequent telephone calls. No matter how worried she was, she was going to wait until seeing his face in Dallas to ask him. Still, if it was both his liver and his kidneys, the likelihood of replacing both of those organs with someone else’s was slim, if the doctors would even do it at all. He might not live to wake up from the anesthesia.

  She couldn’t tell JT her fears, either. At least not tonight. He wouldn’t believe me. He’d think it was the drink talking, overreacting to a dream. And it was wrong to try to lose herself in
his kisses, to escape her looming reality by using his arms. I feel so much for this man and I don’t want to use him, or have him feel used, not when so very soon I may need him more than he realizes. “I need you,” she said again, this time stepping closer. “Will you just hold me, JT? Please?”

  He looked at her sorrow-filled face, now uncertain whether her eyes were streaked with red from the beer or from unshed tears. And he wondered why. He pulled her into his arms, unable to say no when she looked like her heart was being wrenched apart. “Why the sad face, love? Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to make it alright again,” he murmured into her hair as he gently stroked her back.

  “I—I’m afraid of that nightmare coming again, and I don’t want to be alone if it does,” she told him truthfully, albeit only by half. She wasn’t willing to voice the rest just yet. After Dallas, she’d know.

  ****

  Paul walked around the pool table, considering what he hoped would be his final shot. “So, what do you think that was all about?”

  “You mean besides JT always getting the women? I dunno. Bet you a beer you sink the cue ball if you shoot from that angle.”

  Paul bent over the table and placed the pool cue in the slot between his first two fingers, lining up the shot. “Bet you a beer I don’t.” He snapped the cue forward and dropped the blue-and-white striped ball neatly into the side pocket. The cue ball lazily followed, almost pausing at the rim, then apparently decided that Paul needed to buy the next round and dropped into the hole.

  “Shit. Scratched,” he mumbled. “Seriously, I thought there might’ve been something going on there. It seemed too convenient that he was always tired and sleeping, and she was always working. Her being up on the catwalk, and him being so pissed off after, just sorta clinched it for me.”

  “Yeah,” Rafe replied, deciding where to place the retrieved cue ball for his shot. “Even when he’s not following her, his eyes are, know what I mean? Stuff going on everywhere, banging and whatnot, she’s watching it all like a kid in a toy store, and he’s just….staring. With that focused look he gets. The world could blow up all around him when he gets that look —”