At This Moment

by Karen Cimms

  She ducked behind Billy.

  “That’s OK,” Billy answered. “I can use a night off. Where’re you headed?”

  “Well, unless you feel like sharing, I’m in search of a little entertainment of my own. Then I’m heading home.” He paused as if he seriously expected Billy to invite him up. When no invitation was forthcoming, he shrugged and climbed into his car. Kate watched him slide sideways out of the parking lot, glad he was gone.

  When Billy turned toward her, his grin made her forget all about Pete’s sleazy proposition and the cold air swirling around her bare legs. “So, snow. What shall we do?”

  She made like she was giving this serious consideration. “Since I have a shirt and no pants, snow angels are out of the question. But if you can find a carrot, I might be persuaded to make a snowman.”

  “Good point. Although snow angels could be a lot of fun.” He winked, and her face grew warm.

  “Let me see if this rat trap has a laundry room. That may solve a few of our problems. Not that I find you having no pants a problem, just so you know.”

  Her cheeks were on fire.

  He returned a few minutes later, on a mission to take their clothes to a Laundromat around the corner. “I’ll be right back, and I’ll come bearing gifts.”

  “Just come bearing food. And maybe some aspirin.”

  “There’s aspirin in my travel bag.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Help yourself.”

  She tapped two into the palm of her hand, then followed them with some metallic-tasting water. After trying to clean her mouth again, she climbed back under the covers to consider her predicament.

  They were definitely in a cheap motel—dirty, off-white walls, a generic oil painting, jewel-tone curtains and bedspread. In the corner were two guitar cases. She wondered if the rest of Billy’s equipment was with Pete. She didn’t know what to make of him, although she could guess what his kind of entertainment entailed. Then again, she was all but naked in a stranger’s motel room. That didn’t say much about her, either.

  To be honest, once she’d gotten past the fear of not knowing where she was or who she was with, waking up in Billy’s arms had been nice. She might even go so far as to say she liked it—a lot.

  Careful, Kate. You don’t know this guy. He could be a crazy rapist. Of course, if that were true, he would have raped her by now. Then again, throwing up all over him might have diminished his ardor for college virgins.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the number for her dorm. It rang three times before Toni picked up.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Where the fuck are you?” Toni screeched so loud she had to pull the phone away from her ear.

  “I’m okay,” she sputtered. “I kinda passed out last night when we left Kildare’s. Billy brought me back to his motel.”

  Two, maybe three beats of silence. “Where?”

  Good question.

  “I’m not really sure . . .” She searched through the drawer in the nightstand. Beneath the standard-issue Bible, she found the television channel guide with the name of the motel stamped at the bottom.

  “Murray’s Motorlodge.”

  “Where the hell is that?”

  Beat’s me. She flipped the guide over. The address was printed at the bottom. “Lincoln Boulevard in Bound Brook.”

  “Jeez, Kate. Do you want me to find someone to come get you?”

  Did she?

  “Um . . . Look—he’s being really nice. He just went to get us something to eat.” She shot a quick glance at the door. “I’m okay, really. I’ll call you if I need a ride.”

  “Give me the number there,” Toni demanded. “If I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’m hunting him down—and I’m bringing reinforcements.”

  After assuring Toni repeatedly that she was fine and promising to call later, she hung up and burrowed deeper under the covers. Using the remote, she turned on the television, flipping through the channels until she found one of her favorite old movies.

  Billy stomped through the door a few minutes later. The way his eyes lit up when he saw her made her feel like Santa had left her under his tree. All she was missing was a big, red bow.

  “I was cold,” she pointed out. “And pantsless.”

  “Not for long. As soon as we eat, I’ll go throw your clothes in the dryer, then I’ll take you home. Which I would’ve done last night, if I knew where you lived.”

  “Oh.” She flushed. Idiot. She was only there because he hadn’t known what to do with her. “Sorry about that.”

  He set two cups on the nightstand, tossed the bag of food on the bed, then flopped down beside her. Her stomach clenched as she caught a whiff of greasy French fries.

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, opening the bag and pulling out a fried egg sandwich and a bagel. “I needed to wash those clothes anyway. It’ll save me the trouble when I get home.”

  He seemed sincere, but he was probably just being polite—a nice guy stuck with a drunk girl. After they’d eaten and her clothes were dry, he’d take her back to her dorm. The end.

  She tore off a tiny piece of bagel and chewed slowly. It didn’t threaten to return, so she tried a second bite.

  “What’re you watching?”

  Her heart stuttered as he licked a dab of egg yolk off his bottom lip.

  “Just a silly old movie. I love Cary Grant, but I think I like the house even more. I watch lots of movies because I like the houses. I picture how my life would be if I lived there. I guess it’s my way of getting away from—” She had started off rambling. Now she hesitated, not exactly sure what she wanted to say.

  “Go on. Getting away from what?”

  “I don’t really know.” She tore another piece from her bagel. “Maybe it’s not really the houses after all.” He was listening so intently that she felt even more exposed. “Um . . . Maybe it’s more about trying on someone else’s life. See if it might be a better fit, you know?”

  He nodded. “So where do you see yourself fitting in? What do you want to do with your life?”

  “Honestly? I think I’d like to write. Be a novelist, or maybe children’s books. My parents want me to teach—they’re both teachers.” She twisted a long strand of hair around her finger. “Of course I also want to fall in love and get married one day to a man who adores me.” She couldn’t help but smile. “And I want lots of kids. I want a big, crazy, noisy life.”

  He laughed. “Is that what you’re used to? Lots of noise?”

  “Oh God, no. No siblings. No pets. Just me. I was raised in a museum under a microscope so that all my flaws were enlarged and exaggerated.” She couldn’t believe she’d just spilled her guts to a stranger, but her frankness didn’t seem to bother him.

  When she glanced up, he was no longer smiling.

  “Flaws? I don’t see any flaws.”

  A soft laugh escaped, although there was no humor in it. “I’m pretty sure they’re there.”

  Uncomfortable when he didn’t respond right away, she reached for her tea. It had grown cold but she drank it anyway. She tried to focus on Mr. Blandings and his dream house, but she’d begun to feel as if she were back under the microscope.

  “How many?”

  She looked up, horrified. “Flaws?”

  He chuckled. “No. Kids. How many kids?”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “Five—three boys and two girls.” Wrinkling her nose, she lowered her voice, as if her future children might be listening. “Girls can be kinda bitchy, so two, even one would be fine with me.”

  “Based on my experience, I would agree.” He shoveled the last of his fries into his perfect mouth. “I can’t say for sure about all that other stuff, but the adoring you part should be easy. You’re pretty adorable.”

  If he kept smiling at her like that, she was going to melt into a big pile of goo.

  “So what do you want?”

  He wiped his hands on his thighs, then leaned back against the pillows, folding his arms behind hi
s head. “That’s easy. I want it all. I wanna play my music. I wanna hear my songs on the radio and see my picture on the cover of Rolling Stone. I want the screaming fans and everything that goes with it.”

  “Don’t you want someone to adore you, too?”

  “I don’t know. Fans love you. That’s not what you mean, though, is it?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not really sure I believe in all that, but if I can find the right girl someday, one who understands my needs and what’s important to me and what I do, one who can stand behind me no matter what . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “How about a girl who stands beside you?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Oh, I get it—women’s studies minor, right?”

  She laughed. “Not exactly.”

  “Okay. Guess you’re right. That might be better.”

  Chapter Four

  After the movie, Billy left to finish their laundry while Kate took a shower. Since he’d already told her she could check his bag for aspirin, she didn’t think he’d mind if she looked for a hair dryer. Rooting through the bag, she came up with a copy of Ulysses.

  “No way!” She turned the large volume over in her hands. She wouldn’t have guessed he was a reader, let alone James Joyce. She’d read this book in high school and hated it. It was torture. She couldn’t imagine anyone tackling Joyce without a gun to his head. “Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  And oh, what a cover. It was easy to get swept up in Billy’s looks, his smile. Last night he’d had the bad boy thing going on, but today he was different. More sensitive. Of course, she was probably wrong. She’d known him just a few hours. Still, if he’d made a move on her that morning, she would’ve let him. It would be nothing more than a one-night stand; she knew that. But the way he looked, the way he moved, and the few times he’d touched her, she had all but turned to jelly. Impressive.

  She put away the dryer and was running his brush through her hair when Billy came in, stomping snow from his feet.

  “It’s brutal out there. When I passed the diner, they were getting ready to close, so I bought us some dinner. It was that, or we don’t eat again until spring.”

  He grinned when he saw her. “I like your hair like that.”

  She thanked him, cheeks burning, and pulled back the drapes to look out the window, feeling the cold radiating from the glass. Maybe there was a pill she could take so she wouldn’t blush whenever someone paid her a compliment.

  The snow was deeper now and showed no sign of stopping.

  “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  He tossed the clean clothes onto the bed. “I could think of far worse things.”

  Her cheeks remained pink as she disentangled her bra from a pair of his briefs, trying hard not to giggle at the intimate relationship their undergarments had formed while being tossed around inside a hot dryer. She ducked into the bathroom to finish dressing, slipping Billy’s shirt back on top, since it was much warmer than the tank top Toni had loaned her.

  Crap. Toni!

  “Do you mind?” she asked, picking up the phone. “I need to check in with my roommate before she calls out the National Guard.”

  “Be my guest. Definitely don’t wanna tangle with any guys with guns.”

  It took a few tries to convince Toni that she was fine, but in the end, she gained her roomie’s blessing.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Toni teased.

  “And what might that be?”

  “With a hot guy like that? Beats the hell out of me.”

  In spite of the annoying warmth creeping up her cheeks—again—Kate was laughing when she hung up.

  Billy had set their dinner on a little table in the corner, but she had a better idea. While he folded his clothes, she pulled the bedspread onto the floor. He gave her a curious look.

  “Picnic,” she explained.

  His grin went through her like an electrical charge. She busied herself with the food, setting it in the center of the blanket, then grabbed two clean washcloths from the bathroom.

  “Cloth napkins?”

  “Only the best,” she answered, arranging them neatly on the bedspread next to the paper plates and plastic utensils the diner had provided.

  “Only thing missing is ants,” he said, dropping down beside her. He moved his place setting so that they were knee to knee, while she ladled out the food. They dined on room-temperature turkey with mashed potatoes, a stuffing of unknown origin, congealed yellow gravy, and mushy green beans. For dessert, there were huge slices of devil’s food cake.

  “Isn’t it amazing how these desserts look so yummy spinning around in those carousels, but when you eat them, they’re as dry as stale bread?” she asked.

  “Just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  She nodded, thinking of the copy of Ulysses stashed in his duffle bag.

  Reaching across their unfinished picnic, Billy ran his hand through a strand of her hair. Shiny and straight, it hung nearly to her waist. “I really do like your hair this way.”

  “Without the vomit?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I meant.”

  When they finished, she cleared away the containers while he unfastened the latches on his guitar case.

  “I was ten when my grandfather gave me this.” He lifted out an acoustic guitar. C.F. Martin was written in script on the head near the tuning keys. “I don’t play it at every gig, but I always have it with me.” He ran his hand over the dark wood body before drawing the strap over his shoulder and fastening it. It was a deliberate gesture; one that told her he cared very much for his grandfather.

  She lay across the bed and listened as he turned rock tunes into complex acoustic ballads. Then he surprised her with a classical piece by Bach. What she loved most, though, was one of his own songs, hard and edgy, filled with pain and longing. He practically growled the lyrics.

  “You’re incredibly talented,” she said when the song ended. “Someday, I’ll tell everyone that I knew you when.” He looked at her a long while, as if weighing his response. In the end, all he did was mumble something about it getting late.

  He returned the guitar to its case and took out a small cloth bag. From that, he pulled out a smaller plastic bag, and although she’d never been anywhere near it, she knew exactly what it was.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, taking out a small wooden oval. When he flipped it open, it became a pipe.

  She did mind, but she wasn’t about to complain.

  She picked at the nubby texture of the bedspread and tried to sound casual, like she was used to people smoking pot around her all the time. “So, where’re you from? You have a bit of an accent.”

  “Kansas, but we moved a lot when I was younger.” He filled the pipe as he spoke, then sat down beside her on the bed. “My old man was in the army. After he took off, I lived with my grandparents. When my grandfather died, it was just me and my grandmother for a while. I’ve pretty much been on my own since I was seventeen.”

  He sucked hard on the pipe, drawing in the acrid smoke. She tried not to make a face. “What about your mother?”

  “Gone,” he answered in a tight voice, holding his breath. He offered her the pipe, but she shook her head.

  “Really?” He seemed surprised. “Helps me relax, loosen up, you know?” He took another hit and held it in.

  “I don’t smoke,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

  Still holding the smoke in his lungs, he leaned toward her. She thought at first he was going to kiss her. He pressed his lips gently against hers and then, parting them slightly, exhaled into her mouth.

  “Breathe in,” he instructed. “Hold it for a few seconds.”

  She did as he said. When her throat started to burn, she blew it out quickly, then started to cough. What a dork.

  “Not so fast next time.” He took another hit and
moved closer. She leaned forward, more for the feel of his mouth on hers than anything else. She closed her eyes and held the smoke in until he told her to let it out, then exhaled slowly. This time she didn’t cough. After a few more times, she realized he was right. She felt relaxed. Better than relaxed.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked as she lay back on the bed. “Zoning out?”

  “Pretty good.”

  He ran a finger along her jaw. The side of his mouth curled up. “Can I kiss you, Katie?”

  Her heart was doing double-time inside her chest. She swallowed, then nodded.

  His kisses were soft at first, sweet and smoky. He cradled her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. He flicked his tongue over the corner of her mouth. A sound escaped from her throat. Was she actually purring? She felt him smile against her mouth.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said, drawing her arm up over her head and threading his fingers between hers. He leaned forward and kissed her again.

  She didn’t know if it was the pot or Billy, but her body responded in ways she’d never experienced before. Rising up to meet him, it was like bodysurfing, and she was ready to ride this wave wherever it took her. She swallowed a giggle. She felt like Sleeping Beauty, and he was kissing her back to life.

  Deepening his kisses, Billy gently parted her lips. His tongue slipped into her mouth, seeking hers. His hand slid under her shirt and along her ribs. Raising it higher, he leaned back. When she didn’t protest, he slipped the two shirts over her head, his intense blue-gray eyes fixed on hers.

  Some tiny part of her nagged that this was wrong, she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. Her hands reached around his neck and tugged the elastic from his hair, allowing it to fall, thick and silky, around his face. She stroked the soft skin at the nape of his neck and pulled him toward her. She was hungry, starving in a way she’d never known existed.

  His kisses grew more urgent. He nipped at her lip, then pressed his mouth against her throat. She made a gurgling sound. Yep, she was purring all right.

  Rolling her toward him, with a quick flick he unfastened her bra. She almost stopped breathing and fought the instinct to cover her breasts. Instead, she let Billy slide the straps from her shoulders. Her skin pebbled under his touch. Closing her eyes, she embraced the rush of excitement and adrenaline that washed over her. Her breath came in short, rapid bursts as he ran his tongue lightly along the outside of her ear, then down the side of her neck. He planted tiny kisses from her shoulder along her collarbone until he reached the hollow of her throat.