The Traveller

by HJ Bellus

  “I did!” I squeal like a child.

  “Another dance or two?” he asks.

  I glance over to the bar to see Peaches wave me on.

  “You’re a sneaky bugger, Hart.”

  “You should never dare me.”

  “I see this.” I hold him tighter. “I have to be on stage in a few.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  I’m thankful the next song is a slow one by George Straight. Hart’s a lot better at slow dancing. I’m not even tempting him into two-stepping, not that I’ve ever two-stepped with anyone, but have practiced plenty solo in my apartment.

  “Want to know a secret?” I whisper into his ear on my tip-toes.

  “I’m shit at keeping them, so there’s that.”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever danced with a man in public.”

  He freezes, pushing me backward, holding me out with a serious look on his face. He doesn’t give me long to freak out before talking.

  “You dance with women in public then? That’s a turn on, nothing to hide from.” He waggles his eyebrows.

  “Hart.” I step back into him burying my face in his shirt. “You are crazy.”

  I feel it happen in slow motion. Hart bends over, inhaling the scent of my hair then he presses a delicate kiss to the top of my head. He lingers there, letting me cherish the moment. No fear comes, just a wave of powerful energy washing over me. It tingles. It’s exciting and invigorating.

  I could live in this moment forever. I don’t realize how tightly I’m hugging his waist until he whispers in my ear.

  “You better get going, Vannie.”

  I force myself to step away from him, and I take a second to gather my wits before speaking. “I have a surprise for you tonight as well.”

  “Hot damn, woman, get to it then.”

  “But first…” I reply then perch up on my tip-toes.

  He looks puzzled but doesn’t say a word. I pull the horrendous cowboy hat off his head, finger comb out his hair, and then kiss his cheek.

  Holy Shit. That last part wasn’t planned, it just happened, but that hat had to go.

  “My hat,” he protests.

  I put it behind my back before he has a chance to react. “It’s ugly as hell. It looks like a bird’s ass is hot glued to the front.”

  “Fine, since you kissed me.”

  And that makes me blush and walk away from him as fast as possible.

  9

  Hart

  Ten-foot-tall and bulletproof, baby, or whatever that cowboy saying is, that’s how I feel right now. I’m thankful when I return to my spot that the other women are gone. I went to school with one of them and didn’t want to be rude, but sure as hell sensed the moment Vannie decided to pull away.

  I was nervous as fuck that my plan would backfire on me. But that brave girl pulled through for me. The smile and pure joy radiating from her did something to me. Struck a nerve deep down and made me feel shit I never thought possible. Now as I sit here and listen to her soulful voice fill the bar, I second-guess everything I figured I knew about life.

  Peaches serves me a whiskey neat while I listen. I do and will forever despise country music except for when it’s coming from Vannie. The pain that must be seeded deep down in her to make her sing like that must be something poisonous, possibly even damn near toxic. I want to know what it is, but also fear that I won’t be able to handle it.

  Song after song she continues to mesmerize me. Just like the last time, it’s just her and her guitar up on the stage. I don’t miss the fact that several big suits are in the audience watching her. It’s no damn coincidence either.

  “I have a special treat for you all tonight. Met a new friend this past week and he doesn’t care for country music.”

  Oh shit, she didn’t. My ass is smack dab center in one of the most popular country music bars. Grand Ol’ Opry inductees started their careers on this same exact stage; being called out as a non-lover of country music is high treason in here.

  A wet bar rag slaps me in the face from the side then I hear Peaches’ voice. “You asshat.”

  Vannie must have picked up on it since she lightly giggles into the microphone.

  “I have a surprise for this man. Maybe he’ll appreciate it.” She shrugs her dainty shoulder.

  I realize she didn’t change like she did last time and that’s on me. I’ll have to ask her why she chooses to change when performing. If I had to guess, it would be because she’s more covered up when exposing herself on stage.

  Vannie begins strumming an upbeat song then rolls into her own rendition of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll.” When her pipes join the mix, it’s like something incredible takes over the atmosphere of the bar. Her sweet, sultry voice is a stark contradiction to the upbeat song. She owns that shit, making it all her own. The cherry on top is when she begins getting into the song with a sway of her hips and lifting of her shoulders. Her raven black hair swings with the rhythm of the music.

  I’m up on my feet clapping like a lunatic when the song ends. I’d do anything to race up to that stage and sweep that sweet, little country singer off her feet. That’s not her or the way she operates. One day. Is there going to be a one day? Is that even lined up in the stars for me?

  “You’re falling hard, Hart.”

  “Eh?” I look over to Peaches who’s perched on the end of the bar.

  “You are falling for her.” She clearly enunciates each word.

  I shrug going for a noncommittal reply even though I’m confident that I’m a goner. Peaches tries to send Vannie home early, claiming she has plenty of help closing up, but Vannie wants nothing to do with it. It’s just a glimpse into her true character and heart. She refuses to take the easy road in life.

  “How did you get to the bar?” she asks, on the walk back to her apartment building.

  “The bus.”

  “What?” She stops mid-step.

  “It’s simple. Wanted to hang out a bit tonight after your shift and…” I stall not sure how to complete my explanation.

  “My psycho freak-out,” she finishes for me.

  “Jesus, no, Vannie.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with the direction this is going. “Just wanted you comfortable.”

  “Good answer.” She grins.

  “Were you testing me?” I plop the deemed fugly cowboy hat I’m carrying on top of her head.

  “No. Guess just reassuring myself.” She goes to pull it off. “I will never wear this thing.”

  “Wait.” I stop her from taking it off and pull out my phone. “Selfie.”

  “No, Hart.” The tone of her voice is harsh and absolute.

  “Please?” I ask.

  She takes her time thinking about it.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “You can take it, but don’t post it anywhere. Okay?” she asks with her eyes desperately pleading.

  I tuck my phone back in my pocket. “It’s fine. I’ll wait until you feel more comfortable.”

  She slumps in defeat. “Won’t ever happen, Hart.”

  “Hey, hey.” I smoosh the cowboy hat further down on her head, grab her hand, and start walking again. “We’re not going there tonight. Sing to me.”

  “Are you certifiable?”

  “More than likely. Sing, or I’ll sing.”

  “If your dance moves are anything to go by, then let’s pass.”

  “Harsh. I need to be in my element to get my groove on.”

  “Excuses. Excuses.” Vannie reaches for the door into the apartment building.

  The walk was way too fast for my liking. An awkward silence settles in between us. I begin slowly stepping backward in the hopes of not pressuring Vannie or making her feel uncomfortable.

  “Want to come in? I mean, I hardly have anything,” she stutters over her words.

  “Thought you’d never ask, but really, Vannie, I just wanted to walk you home.”

  She steps toward me, adjusting her guitar on her back, causing t
he cowboy hat to fall crooked on her head. She reaches up on her tip-toes until her lips are touching mine. It’s way too fast, but she does it. Vannie presses a chaste kiss to my lips and then steps back in a rush.

  “I want you to come up. I like you, Hart.”

  I answer her the only way I feel appropriate. I step into her until her guitar case bumps into the brick side of the building, cup her cheek, and then give her a real kiss. The type you don’t forget. Her heart is pounding so hard, and rapidly it vibrates off my chest. The rest of her body melts under my touch. Her taste is addicting and one I’ll never get enough of, but with my tongue exploring hers right now I couldn’t care less. I’ll take all she gives, even though I already know it will never be enough.

  Vannie doesn’t glide her tongue against mine, but she also isn’t pulling back. If she were any other woman I’d have that fucking guitar ripped off and over her head, her back pressed into the brick wall, her legs wrapped around my waist, and then my hard cock grinding into her core.

  I force myself to pull back, leaving Vannie panting for air. She shocks me when she grins up at me.

  “I want to come up, and I like you, too.”

  We walk up to her apartment in silence. The smell of the inside of the building is musty and disgusting, causing my stomach to roll. Tamping down the urge to gag, I take the stairs two at a time, passing Vannie and managing to knock myself out with the guitar case on her back.

  “Let me guess.” I tap my chin. “You look like a seven B type girl.”

  “Nope.” She stops at the top of the stairs.

  “Nine A.”

  She shakes her head then walks over to thirteen B, reaching into her pocket, and pulling out a single key. I’m relieved when we enter her tiny apartment, and the stench vanishes and is now replaced with a light, sweet vanilla smell. It reminds me of her to the point of nearly making me drunk.

  “Not much here.” She shrugs off her guitar case over her head.

  Honestly, I haven’t even had the chance to survey the surroundings between staring at her legs and inhaling her sweet scent.

  “I like it. Less is more is always my theory.”

  Vannie fidgets with the hem of her jean shorts. “Water?”

  I’m not even close to being thirsty but I want her to relax. “Sure.”

  She hustles to the sink, fetching the glass of water. It’s then I look around noticing the size of the apartment. It’s one large room with a door leading to what I’d assume is a bathroom. There are no pictures, decorations, or any artifacts of a history. It seems as if her guitar propped in the corner is the only thing she cherishes besides a four-drawer, brown dresser in the corner.

  “Here.” She hands me the glass.

  Like a proper house guest, I down the water in one gulp, and then let out a loud ahhh sound. “Best water I’ve had in a long time.”

  She socks me in the gut. “Smart-ass.”

  “No, really, it was refreshing.” I wink at her.

  “Okay, this is weird. What do we do now?”

  “Talk,” I suggest.

  “I’m not into that. I mean, I’m weird.”

  I grab her by the hand, dragging Vannie to the mattresses stacked on the floor. I let go to not freak her out then flop backward on it, so my back is relaxing on the wall with my arms tucked behind my head.

  “We can get to know each other. Play a game.”

  “A game?” she asks.

  “Yeah, you ask me a question then I ask you one.”

  “Real original,” she replies.

  “I know. You go first.”

  “What’s your favorite color, Hart?”

  “Red. Now, that was boring. I thought you’d ask my favorite sexual position.”

  It’s a test to see how she’ll react. I relax back into the bed when I see her flush with embarrassment. Reaching forward, I grab her hand, dragging her down onto the bed. She falls quickly enough but remains rigid in my arms.

  “I know I said I just wanted to be friends, Vannie. But I think there’s more. Do you think there’s more?”

  She nods her head, not answering with words.

  “Your turn.”

  “What was it like having a family growing up?”

  “Geez, from colors to deep shit you have game, Vannie.” I swat her butt. “Parts were good, and parts were hell, but it made me into the man I am today.”

  “Your turn.”

  This is the perfect opportunity to delve into her past. I have an overpowering feeling that even when asked, she won’t give me the information. Maybe it will never happen or time will help ease her way into it.

  “Favorite kind of pizza?”

  She’s quiet for a long time. When I look down she’s nibbling on her bottom lip. “I’ve never really had pizza.”

  I shoot upright on the mattress. My first instinct is to ask more questions, pushing the topic, but I tamp that down. “Well, that shit’s about to change.”

  I pull out my cell phone and call the Domino’s that’s open all night and delivers before ordering meat lovers, Hawaiian, pepperoni, and cheese. Seems to be a good enough variety to get her started.

  “Cash.” I look down to Vannie. “What’s your address?”

  “Uh…um, 1205 Colorado Street, Apartment Building C, Apartment…”

  I don’t let her finish the last part, already knowing the number. When I hang up, Vannie is sitting up in the bed gap-mouthed staring at me.

  “Pizza. If we are going to be friends, then we need to have the same opinion on pizza, or it’s a no go.”

  She lightly chuckles, but then fires back with a question of her own. We do this until the pizza arrives. We learn about favorites, dislikes, and greatest fears. I never knew a toasted marshmallow would be someone’s biggest fear until this woman. It seems she’s also teaching my heart much more.

  I study her in wonderment as she opens each box, peering down at each pie. The question is all over her face. When she peers over to me, I only shrug, wanting her to make the decision on her own. Vannie goes back to studying the boxes for a long time before she pulls a slice of the meat lover’s from the box.

  I hold a napkin up under her hand as she brings it to her lips biting down on it. I’m not sure if it’s the moan that escapes her or the sparkle lighting up her eyes that chisels away a piece of my beating, once thought, dead heart.

  10

  Savannah Ray

  I’ve been schooled in UNO, Monopoly, and Go Fish, taking Hart’s word for the rules. He’s spent the last four Saturdays at The Shade Tree then my apartment. We’ve also experienced Buffalo wings, pasta, and Peaches’ homemade enchiladas.

  Tonight is different. Very, very different. I packed a sleepover bag before heading to my shift at The Shade Tree. It’s Saturday night. Our night. Instead of hanging out at my place, falling asleep together, and waking to an empty mattress, I have my very first sleepover. And it just happens to be at Hart’s home.

  It’s another one of the many firsts he’s determined to give me. Hart’s pushed here and there, digging for answers as to why I’m so sheltered. But just like all the other counselors and therapists in my past, he gets nowhere.

  The bar is hopping tonight. The tips are pouring in while I sling out the drinks. I have plenty of cash saved up to run again, but something unique has happened over the last month. I feel settled here. There’s an invisible string keeping me planted. It’s an odd and foreign concept. I’m a natural roamer, having no roots.

  “You’re up in ten.” Peaches hands me another tray of drinks.

  “Roger.” I wink at her.

  “He’s here again.”

  I scan the bar for Hart, but don’t see him and grow confused.

  “Him.” Peaches points to a good-looking man in a suit who’s nursing a whiskey.

  She must pick up on my confusion.

  “Talent scout that won’t give up on you.”

  I shrug. “Too damn bad.”

  “Girl, Hart has rubbed too m
uch off on you cussing and all.”

  That makes me smile. Anything Hart related seems to have that effect on me lately. He’s that annoying itch you just can’t scratch. Wait, that’s a terrible analogy, but you get it.

  “Savannah Ray.”

  I turn to see the man I was just staring at standing right in front of me. His suit; sharp, sexy, and dark with his clean-shaven face much the same. There’s something about it that sends chills up my spine.

  “Yes,” I stutter out.

  “I’m Blake Patton with Arena 55 Studios.” He extends a card in my direction.

  “Not interested,” I say in my most polite voice, not taking the card from him.

  “You’re on top of our recruiting list, Savannah. One of my guys sent me here to listen to you last week, and I gotta say, I can’t get enough of you, darling.”

  Now, I’m sure he woos plenty of naïve and eager music talent with his good looks and charming words, but not me. Being able to sing to make a living is the ultimate dream of mine and also one that will never happen. The attention of singing on the big stage would be a living hell undoing everything I’ve built up.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” I pick up the tray and turn on my heels.

  “I’ll leave the card here with your boss in case you change your mind.”

  I should be polite, turning around offering up a smile or gesture of thanks, but I don’t have it in me. A panic attack lays on the horizon threatening to take me down right in the middle of a job. Nobody can find out who I am or where I live. That’s the bottom line. Singing for a living is a dream and just that.

  “Lily will be your next waitress. She’ll be checking in with ya in a few.” I set down the longneck bottles of beer on the round table in front of me.

  My throat constricts and my knees tremble when I turn around to see the man in the suit back at the table enjoying the band on the stage. He’s a predator seeking prey until they give in. I can’t sing. My eyes sting with built-up tears because singing is the only thing that’s helped me get through life in somewhat of a whole piece. Singing makes me feel alive and connected with the real world.