by Denise Marie
Hello there Isabelle Chambers.
I got your email address off your Twitter page, hope that’s okay. I read your tweet and was intrigued. Seems we both may be in need of a change, or something new, right about now. My name is Cole Davies, lead singer for the rock band Scandals. As you read this, we are somewhere…on tour. You didn’t specify any preference in music on your list. If you can handle a little partying—okay a lot of partying—we have an empty bunk with your name on it. Interested?
Cheers, Cole
Send.
Now that that was taken care of, another issue required the attention of a firm hand. No bandmates, roadies, or groupies could interrupt this moment—or the fantasy that inspired his body last night in the crowded room.
Her beautiful blue eyes stared at him as he placed the phone down on the bed. When he closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow, Isabelle was there. She straddled him, and ran her delicate fingertips down his body as if she hungered him in every way imaginable.
“I need you, Cole,” she begged in the most seductive voice.
He slid his hand down his body and used his palm to smooth the pre-cum that already leaked from his swollen, sensitive crown. The silkiness coated him, just like her heat when he raised his hips to thrust into her.
“Yes.” She threw her head back and moaned.
Her blonde hair fell back and tickled his thighs in the most erotic way. “God…Isabelle.” Every muscle in his body clenched. He kicked back the covers and pumped into her. “Take it all, baby.”
“Cole. I’m going to come, please.” She pleaded like she needed a push over the edge, and only he could get her there.
She leaned forward, gripped onto his shoulders and rode him, her touch firm yet delicate. He pumped into her hard. A shockwave of lust coursed through his veins and he swelled to an unbearable length. “Isabelle.”
“Oh God, Cole, yes.”
All sound faded, and their orgasms became one. He slid in and out of her with ease as she coated him.
A loud pound on the door startled him out of his euphoric state much too soon.
“Stop stroking it and get your ass up, Cole, time to go,” Zander shouted from the other side of the locked door.
He opened his eyes and inspected his empty, untouched except for his lone bag on the luggage rack near the door, hotel room. A quick glance made reality crash down on him. It wasn’t her cum that coated him; it was his, all over the place. He wiped his hand with the sheets, got up, and flicked the lock on the door. With little desire to listen to Zander rib him about his condition, he continued into the bathroom. “My hand is a lot safer than what you left with last night, asshole.”
The cold shower didn’t wash away her image, though. With the towel around his waist, he braced his hands on the counter. The reflection in the mirror was one he’d seen for years. Would she really be interested in the pierced ears, tattoos, and muscles?
Familiar banter from the guys, already helping themselves to his room, snapped him out of his one-man pity party. With a cocky grin on his face and sure to cause a scene, he tugged at the towel and let it drop to the floor. If they haven’t learned by now, they never would.
He whipped the door open and joined the men who didn’t seem to understand the word “unwelcome,” with a little added strut to his step. All the guys groaned and threw pillows at him. He tipped his head back and laughed—he needed that.
“Cover that shit up, man. We all know you’re hung, doesn’t mean you have to flaunt it.” Brett held up one hand and searched in his pocket with the other. “No, wait. Maybe this Twitter chick will be impressed and won’t say no to coming on tour with us. Let me just send her a picture, so she knows what she’s getting herself into, or onto.”
Cole tugged on a pair of faded, ripped jeans and glared at Drew. “Just couldn’t keep your mouth shut about it, could ya?”
Drew held his hands up and shrugged. “Hey, I told you they’d be okay with it. What did you decide anyway?”
Cole yanked a shirt over his head, smoothed his hair back with his hand, and placed a ball cap on backward. He didn’t want to miss their reactions when he spoke. “I sent her an email not long ago and invited her to come with us. I haven’t checked to see if she responded.”
Drew laughed and threw Cole’s phone in the air, short. “Check it.”
Cole lunged and managed to snag the corner of it only inches from the floor. His heart raced at the possibility of a response. He dragged his feet to the bed, so focused on the phone he tripped. A quick glance down revealed nothing but bare, ugly-patterned carpet.
Get it together, Cole. Since when do women make you nervous?
With his back to the guys, he sat on the edge of the bed and let out loud breath.
“It’s a girl, Cole, not the end of the world. Give it another hour, and there will be more begging for your attention. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
He shook his head, ignored Brett, and searched his email. The immature comment sparked a conversation about some chick from last night, but he tuned it out. His hand froze when he landed on it.
RE: Bucket List item #10
“She responded—”
Before he could finish, Drew stole the phone from his hand and read the response so everyone could hear.
“Dear Cole, if this is really Cole Davies, although this may sound like a joke, I am truly committed to the completion of this list. Have another drink. Cheers, Izzy.”
“Ha. Feisty little thing isn’t she, I like her already.” Brett laughed at the shocked expression on his face.
“How can I make her believe me?” He wasn’t used to this; women never brushed him off. They were irresistible to women ’cause of their fame, even on their worst days. That part of his lifestyle he struggled with, never knowing whether a woman liked the real him or the fame linked to him.
Zander yanked the marker clipped to Cole’s bag; they all had one in case of ideas, and spun around to search the room. He hurried to the table and ripped a paper out of the hotel directory binder and scribbled on the back of it. “What’s her name?”
Cole shook the nervousness from his free hand, and made his way over to Zander. “Isabelle Chambers, or Izzy, why?”
He jolted backward when Zander slammed the piece of paper into his chest.
“Hold that up and smile.” Zander wrestled the phone from Cole’s firm hold. “Where’s the fucking camera on this thing?”
Brett peeked from behind. He elbowed him, “Every group has a genius.”
Zander winked. “You know it.”
He yanked his phone from Zander before he could snoop any further, and attached the picture to another email. This has to convince her.
Believe me now Isabelle—Izzy—Chambers?
Chapter Three
Dear Diary,
The pain will travel with me, to new heights.
Isabelle sat at the kitchen table, covered with odds and ends that she didn’t bother to put away, since family meals no longer took place. Well, meals for two. She held onto her coffee with one hand and poked at her car keys with the other while she gazed her favorite room in the house. The chiffon-colored paint, which David had picked out and her mother helped apply, still streaked around the edges of the white ceiling and taunted her attention. Today was a Memorial Day holiday, which meant no work, a bonus to being a teacher. She took a deep breath, scooped up the keys, and strode for the door. Just as she gripped the knob, her gaze drifted to the picture on the wall, a close-up of her on her wedding day, caught in an emotional embrace with her mother. She frowned, two years had passed, but it was still like yesterday. Not able to put off the inevitable any longer, she opened the door and stepped out.
****
“Isabelle, you are my daughter, which also means you are a strong young woman. You will be the one person in my life to defy the odds and come out stronger than you went in.” Carol smiled at Isabelle, perched on the stool in front of her. If she timed her re
action right, the anger that bubbled inside her would stay just that—inside. Flashes of the little girl her daughter used to be crossed her mind. Izzy on that very stool with icepacks and Band-Aids. She couldn’t fix this one.
She placed two mugs of hot tea on the kitchen island and paced. Water welled up in her eyes as she glanced at the tiny space. The refrigerator no longer revealed her little girl’s artwork, the oven she didn’t use much anymore, and the sink never filled after meals for one. Food. That she could do something about.
“We need something to go with the tea. Biscotti?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. The well-organized cupboards fell apart, much like her as she sifted for a box she wasn’t quite certain even existed anymore. Empty-handed and angry, she clamped her hand to the powdered sugar, and squeezed until her fingertips pierced the pliable plastic. No food could replace the loss of their husbands or the potential for more heartache.
She let her shoulders fall and fixed the boxes of crackers tipped over in her haste. Isabelle waited in silence and no doubt expected some kind of release or emotional breakdown, but no. She’d vowed to her dying husband she would remain strong; she wasn’t going to let him down now.
She closed the cupboard and ambled out of the galley kitchen, lost. When she’d cleared herself from Isabelle’s view, she braced her hand on the tiny wall and let a tear slip down her face.
“Mom?”
She wiped the tear away with the back of her hand, straightened her back, and forced her feet to move. She cleared her throat. “Yes, dear?” With her gaze locked in front of her, she dragged a stool closer to Isabelle, slid the tea into her daughter’s cold hands, and sat.
“Mom, I have to tell you something.”
She peeked out the corner of her eye. Isabelle’s attention remained glued to the inside of her mug.
“I’ve made a list.”
Her stomach fluttered at the uncertainty in Isabelle’s voice, leery, as if what she had to say would disappoint. Not possible. Carol sipped her tea and waited for its effect to calm her. It didn’t.
“There are things I would like to do…before surgery. Yes, the doctor would like me to have the surgery soon, but this diagnosis has sparked something in me. A need for fulfillment.” Isabelle swiveled on her stool.
She copied the movement, needed her daughter to witness her strength, and acceptance. Isabelle was clearly struggling to mask her doubts and fears in her tone, not actually call it a “bucket list,” but she imagined the words, and it hurt like hell.
All the years she’d allowed her daughter to be so reserved, compliant, no longer gave her the peace of mind she treasured as a single parent. Isabelle’s life would not be perfect, no matter how hard she shielded her.
Isabelle handed her a piece of paper with a list. It wasn’t very long, and not what she imagined. She’s got to want more than this. Is there something missing? I could add to it for her. Would that be awkward? She stared at it, and listened to her reasons for doing this. She didn’t need any. Carol folded the paper when her daughter’s voice trailed off to silence. She glanced up, and the tears she’d held back slipped down her face.
“You’re right, Isabelle, you haven’t lived. As your mother, I have to try and persuade you to act now, but as your friend, I won’t let my needs come before yours. Do what you need to do, honey.”
She hugged her daughter tight. The day of Isabelle’s and David’s wedding flashed before her. Isabelle had glowed as she walked down the aisle in her beautiful, white-satin gown. Happiness spread across her face, content with her choice. Not the troubled way she does right now.
Carol let go, grasped the handle of her mug, and marched back into the kitchen. She set it in the sink and stood still with her back to Isabelle.
“Thank you, Mom.”
She wiped her face with both hands and spun so her back rested against the counter. “No need to thank me, Isabelle. You deserve this.”
Isabelle’s shoulders slumped as she released a breath, consoled by Carol’s unconditional support. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed. She’d seen her daughter do that for years when overwhelmed with emotion. The corner of Isabelle’s mouth rose and she stared back at Carol, but not really at her. Eagerness brimmed in her eyes.
****
For the first time ever, she pulled into her driveway and parked not so close to the house.
Typical Isabelle would traipse into the living room, plop on the couch, and allow her red-rimmed eyes to become watery once again. Instead, she sauntered in with a newfound lightness and aimed straight for the curtains to let the sunlight in.
A beep interrupted her endeavor to start different routines. She threw her hands in the air and growled. “Seriously? I was having a moment here.” With her hands on her hips, she spun until she spotted the computer she’d left on, and froze.
“Nah, it can’t be. Right?” In the short distance to check, her throat dried, so she veered toward the kitchen. “A drink would be nice.”
Way to be a coward, Isabelle.
She opened the fridge and held the door ajar. There had to be something that would calm her nerves, but she lost focus every time she glanced back at the living room.
Could it be?
She nabbed the first cold bottle and started back for the computer. Yes, it was a little early for a beer but hey, she was on the path to a bold life unlived to date.
She sat at the desk, next to a floor to ceiling bookshelf that’d been neglected for some time. Unable to go explore the possibility just yet, she set the bottle down and shuffled bills around. She even opened them, but her attention wandered to the black screen. She held her finger out over the button that could send life in a new direction, squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed it. Not quite brave enough, she opened one eye, but it was enough to see.
Him.
He smiled at her and held onto the proof she needed. Her pulse raced as she admired him with both eyes—stared more like it. Maybe even drooled a little. She grinned in return. The silly expression on his face eased her doubts, no more worries about a joke at her expense.
Cole Davies was famous and from what she’d seen in the news, displayed a great stage presence. But this picture of his clear-blue eyes, and hair held back by a ball cap was real, no façade. It represented more than a sign or a single piece of paper; it was her new path in life. But why? She leaned back in her chair and tapped her leg a moment before she dug in her pocket for her phone and sent a text to Katherine, Abigail, and Taryn.
You have to see this. My place ASAP.
Within seconds, the replies blew up her phone.
On my way. Katherine
’Cause I am sooo not busy. Be right over. Abigail
Shift starts in an hour, gotta be quick. Taryn
She tapped her fingernails on the desk, and glanced around the room at anything other than the man in front of her. No one had ever pursued her before, and the foreign rush it created baffled her, but the pleasant tingle of arousal was something she’d missed.
She sat up straight and then slouched, many times. Every back and forth motion bunched her clothes, so she’d fix them. The girls needed to hurry. A picture of David popped up on the screen and she startled right out of her chair, knocking it over too. She flung it back upright, raised her hands in the air, and wandered to her bedroom. A tirade of rational explanations escaped her in the short distance.
A need for comfort consumed her. The half-empty closet made the search for her yoga pants and tank top very easy. She stared at the open space, didn’t like easy anymore. Time to shop. The room spun around her and a cold sweat broke out over her body. Familiar with the sensation, she ran to the bathroom.
She sat back on her haunches and wiped the tears that streaked down her face. The pregnancy test in the trashcan next to the toilet—the one she’d convinced herself was false—still lay in plain sight. She cringed. Wasn’t she supposed to be living her dreams? She wasn’t even thirty yet.
O
n unsteady legs, she rose from the cold tile floor and braced her way to the sink. It didn’t seem to matter how much she wiped her face or pinched her cheeks for color. The mirror, and florescent light above it, didn’t lie. The mint of her rinse replaced the acid-like burn in her mouth, and she held it there for as long as possible. When she glanced down at her watch, she winced and spit it out. She needed to get it together fast, or they would see.
She opened the door to leave with much less determination than going in. Two familiar hands greeted her, with a glass of water and tablets.
“A little something to take the edge off?” Katherine held out pills and shook her head. “It will take a lot more than pinched cheeks to convince me, honey.”
Both women laughed.
She took the tablets but only sipped enough water to get them down, not wanting to relive her earlier moments.
“Time’s a ticking.” Taryn demanded with as little patience as usual.
Katherine latched onto her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before they made their way out to the living room.
“I am still feeling hung over, and it’s been days. Please tell me this will not require booze, Izzy.” Abigail placed her hand over her stomach and sat down with a sigh.
“Check this out, and tell me if you think its bullshit?” She clicked the email from Cole and leaned back.
They stood behind her in record time; wind breezed along her back from their rush to spy. Curiosity about their reaction clawed at her. Nothing. Their silence forced her to spin around in her chair. Katherine, Abigail, and Taryn stood side-by-side with their hands over their gaped open mouths.
“Isabelle Chambers. Is that what you responded?” Katherine scolded her with flare in her eyes and pointed at the screen.
“I didn’t believe it to be true. I still don’t. Why would he want to help me? Me?” She spun back to the computer, and slumped in her chair. She was an ass. “Fuck me.”
Taryn laughed. “If I remember right from the gossip Katherine reports, he may be able to help you out with that too.”