by Sybil Bartel
Her smile dropped. Pink lace bra, tight black skirt, face full of makeup, she looked hot, confused, but hot.
“Just the underwear.” I sat perfectly still, holding her gaze. I had no idea why I was doing this except that the power of being in control was giving me a rush.
The smile returned, shy, tentative. She reached under her skirt, dragged pink panties down her legs and stepped out of them. “Now what?” Her voice was all throaty.
I held the condom up.
She flushed and glanced down. “I have my boots on,” she whispered.
I didn’t give a shit about her boots. The less she took off, the quicker she could dress afterward and leave. I grabbed her arm with one hand and pulled her down so I could kiss her. My other hand snaked up between her thighs. Moaning, she fumbled with the zipper on my jeans and managed to get the condom on me. I’m not gonna lie, I liked her doing the dirty work but when she straddled my legs, I took over.
One hand on her hip, I guided myself in with the other. And fuck if it didn’t feel good. My other hand went to her waist and I began to move.
Noises, stupid shit people said during sex, she did it all. I didn’t care. I was looking for my own release and since she happened to come when I did, she thought it was something more than it was.
“Oh my God.” She put her head on my shoulder.
“Nothing God about it. Endorphins, look it up.” I pushed her back. “Get off. I need to take care of this.”
Her head whipped up and she looked at me like I’d killed her dog. I needed to work on my game face because damn if I didn’t want to burst out laughing. Women were all the same. And this one wasn’t moving fast enough for me. I lifted her off and dumped her back on the couch.
“Shit, woman, something wrong with your ears?” I tossed the condom and zipped my jeans.
“Oh my God.” She sat there staring at me.
“Like I said, endorphins.” I smiled but all I was thinking was, Jesus, chicks could be clueless. She just met me, she said she was game and now that it was over, she was pissed? At me? Get a clue.
Her face went scarlet. “You’re a total jerk.”
“Yep.” I put my hands on my hips. “You done? Because I got places to be.”
Mainly my bed, alone. But then I thought of Carly in my bed, in my T-shirt and I was fucking sick.
“I can’t believe I just had sex with you!” She scrambled to her feet, tugging her shirt on and grabbing her underwear.
I fell back on the couch to watch the side show. “Yeah, thanks for that. It was decent.” On a roll, anger mounting, I couldn’t stop myself. “On a scale of one to ten, it was a solid six.”
“Omigod! I can’t believe I just did that, with you.” She said you like I was a fucking leper, then grabbed the door and threw it open.
Fucking dramatic women. “It’s sex, you didn’t rob a fucking bank.” I stood up, intending to slam the door after her.
But my heart stopped.
Carly. In the doorway, fist raised like she’d been about to knock. Her eyes stricken, she went dead white.
Oh...fuck.
The blonde pushed past her. “Don’t bother, he’s a total douche!” Her feet stomped down the hall.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and forced my voice to a level closer to calm. “Hey.” Jesus, I wished I had my shirt on. Some small part of my brain thought maybe this wouldn’t look so bad if I was clothed. Then in my drunken stupor I tried to process why I was worried. I didn’t owe this girl anything. I wasn’t with her. I didn’t cheat on her.
But my heart was looking into those blue eyes and it knew. I’d hurt her, bad. God, I didn’t want to hurt this girl.
Her lips parting on a shaky inhale, tears threatening, Carly said nothing.
Desperate, stupid, I said the one thing that’d make it worse. “Hummingbird.”
She pivoted and ran.
I didn’t even think. I went after her.
And damn, could she run. Like the wind. She flew through the club, hit the parking lot and kept going. I had a feeling she was only just getting her stride. I knew I’d caused a scene in the club, running half naked after a fleeing girl, but I didn’t care.
I was trying to gauge where she was going and somehow cut her off when she slowed at the far edge of the property. She jumped on a beat-down dirt bike, at the same time giving it a kick start. The motor turned over and she wasted a few seconds throwing her helmet on. It was all the time I needed.
I grabbed the handlebars and straddled the front tire. “Hey!”
Carly whipped her helmet off, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t get to do this!” she yelled back. “You do not get to pretend you give a shit!”
Jesus, she was crying. And that was all I could think about, those tears. She wasn’t leaving like this. I cut the engine on the bike and tried to piece this together through all the alcohol. “What are you doing here?”
She looked stunned for a moment. “I came to see the show.”
“How’d you get in the back hallway?”
“I know Hank.”
That motherfucker. He was so fired. Wait, she knew him? “How do you know Hank?” I was gonna kill him.
“Go inside and put your shirt on before you freeze.”
She was worried about my shirt? “I’m fucking drunk, I don’t feel the goddamn cold. Answer the question.”
“That’s rich, Allen. Nice.”
Goddamn it. “How do you know Hank?” So help me, if he’d fucked her, I was going to kick his ass then fire him.
“I’ve worked with him!”
“Fine!” I could live with that.
“Yeah, it is fine. And if it wasn’t, that’s too bad because it’s none of your business!”
“God damn it, Carly, I’m trying to talk to you! Not yell.”
“I’m not yelling!”
I stepped away from the tire, pulled her off the seat and kicked the bike over. Wrapping my arms around her tight, I brought her to my chest. She fought like hell but I held on. Goddamn it, I held on.
“Let go! I hate you!” She kicked at my shins. Her hands pounded my sides. “I hate you! I hate you!”
“I’m not gonna apologize, Carly. I know I hurt you but I’m not going to apologize. We’re friends, nothing more. You know that. That’s what you wanted.” I tried to sound calm, rational.
“You kicked my bike!” Then she began to cry. Really cry.
“Shh, baby, don’t cry. C’mon, don’t cry. I’m not fucking worth it.”
“You smell like sex.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” But it felt like I had.
“I know,” she wailed.
“Shh, stop crying.” It was ineffectual but I didn’t know what else to do. All I wanted was her sweet smile to return. Guilt was eating me alive. I hadn’t felt this shitty in twelve years.
Chapter Eighteen
Penance
Carly stopped crying but I was reluctant to let her go. I didn’t do the holding-for-comfort thing but I wanted to hold her. God, I wanted to hold her. I stroked her hair and chanced a kiss to the top of her head.
“You okay?” She wasn’t but what could I do?
“Yeah.” She pulled away and went to her bike to pull it up.
“I got it.” I gently shoved her aside and righted the piece-of-shit dirt bike. “Jesus, Hummingbird, is this thing street legal?” It was old as hell and caked in mud.
She picked her helmet off the ground. “No, and don’t call me that.”
Tear stained, cheeks flushed, she was so sad and beautiful I wanted to kiss her but I didn’t dare. Covered in slut skank, even I wasn’t that much of an asshole. “Why? You call me Allen.”
“It’s your name. Hummingbird isn’t my name.”
I stared at her. “My mother made me call her Mrs. Allen. I hated her. Out of respect for my father, I haven’t changed my last name, but I hate it. I hate Allen.”
Her lips made a small O. “I’m sorry, I didn’t k
now.”
“Not your fault.” I had to turn away from the look on her face. I glanced at the bike. “This thing’s covered in mud, what the hell have you been doing on this?”
“It’s a dirt bike, Graham.” Her voice small and quiet, she sounded like a child but her words sounded like a woman’s.
“Christ, Hummingbird, it looks like you just came off a motocross track.”
She swiped at her face but she didn’t answer.
I took a deep breath. “You busy tomorrow morning?”
“What?”
“Tomorrow morning, you busy?”
“It’s Saturday.” Wounded and sad, she looked at me with confusion but none of the hate I deserved.
“I know. Meet me at the shop at eight.” I stepped back from the bike and shoved my hands in my pockets.
“Why?” She got on and kick-started it like a pro.
“Wear clothes that can get dirty. See you at eight.” I kissed her cheek and turned to go into the club. I heard the dirt bike take off but I didn’t look back.
I woke at six, exhausted and hungover. I took another shower and tried not to think about the crushed look on Carly’s face last night. I bypassed coffee and drove to the shop. Turning on the lights, I put coffee on and moved the Super Bee out of the main bay. I had a 2006 Honda Rebel I’d taken on trade a year ago. It ran, had low miles and barely a scratch on it. I’d worked on some dude’s car and he hadn’t had enough to pay me so he’d offered the bike as payment. I’d bought new tires and parts for it but I’d been too busy to ever do anything with it.
I wheeled the bike to the main bay, found the tires in back and rifled through my parts shelves. I dumped everything I needed by the bike and set to work. An hour later I had the new tires on and balanced and I’d replaced the spark plugs. I stopped for coffee and the aspirin I’d taken had kicked in so I put music on. Latin jazz.
I was draining the oil from the Rebel when Carly showed up fifteen minutes early.
“Hey.” I glanced at her. Jeans, boots and a soft jacket. Perfect.
She strolled in through the front bay. “Nice bike. What are you doing?”
“Changing the oil.”
She paused. “What am I doing here?”
“Helping.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to know how. Grab that wrench.” I pointed to one.
Sitting down next to me, she smelled like heaven, clean, citrus, Carly, pretty. She handed me the wrench and I talked as I worked, telling her what I was doing.
“What time did you get here?” She handed me a tool before I’d asked for it.
“Six-fifteen.” I removed the crankcase cover to check the oil screen.
“Did you get any sleep?”
I paused. I didn’t know if she was being sarcastic. When I glanced at her, I knew I was an ass. Carly was a lot of things, but she wasn’t spiteful. “I’m cursed with the early-wake-up gene.”
She smiled. “I can relate.”
A ghost of a smile hit my lips.
“Oh, ho! Did you just smile?” She laughed delicately. “Caught you.”
All the tension released from my body. Christ. I never thought a woman’s laughter would make everything in my life seem like it fit together. “You have a beautiful smile. Seeing it makes my day.” I grinned at her, nudging her knee with mine.
All of a sudden her face dropped and she looked away.
Shit. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Hummingbird,” I said gently. I didn’t want to scare her but I couldn’t pretend, not with her.
“Why do you call me Hummingbird?” she asked quietly.
I tightened a bolt before I answered. “Because you’re beautiful like a hummingbird. You hover in my thoughts and every time I come near, you fly away scared.”
“When you call me that, it sounds like a term of endearment. It makes me think you like me.”
I stopped what I was doing to look at her. “It is. I do.”
She turned away.
I grasped her chin and brought her face back to mine. I needed to see her eyes but when she looked up, all I saw was the wounded bird from last night. It killed me not to pull her into my arms but I needed her to know I would respect her boundaries. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You already did,” she barely breathed.
Jesus. That cut. Really cut. I dropped my hand. “I’m not going to apologize for last night.” It was a shit move to say it again but she had to understand where I was coming from.
“I’m not asking you to,” she said quickly.
“Then what do you want with me?” I sounded like I was accusing her of something, and maybe I was.
“You asked me here today.” The hurt in her voice was palatable.
Okay. Fuck. Inhale, count to ten. No lies, no lies... “Look, I have about as much experience in friendship with a woman as I do with pink shit or flowers. I don’t do this. I’ve never done this. I’m flattered you chose to share your past with me and I will be respectful of that, always, but your expectations of what else I’m capable of should be close to none.” I stared at her, hoping she understood me.
“Why do you put yourself down?”
“Don’t,” I warned. She wasn’t going to turn this around. I wouldn’t let her.
“Don’t what? Care about you? Want you to think you’re capable of more than just sharing small pieces of yourself?”
Anger began to seep in. “You don’t know me,” I said low and threateningly.
“I want to know you. I’ve wanted to know you since the first time I saw you play. I look at you and I see...” She stopped and stared at me like she needed permission.
Fists clenched, heart pounding, I wanted to know what she saw. God, I wanted to know. And I didn’t. Air trapped in my lungs, I hated that she had the upper hand right now. Damn it. Only one way out, I inclined my head.
Looking away, she inhaled and held it. Then in a rush, she brought her eyes back to mine, exhaled and spoke. “I see something like me.”
Fuck.
I stood. “Coffee?” I’d thought I could have this conversation with her but I couldn’t. I was going to hurt her. I couldn’t hurt her again, I couldn’t take it.
“I’m sorry.” She grabbed the hem of my jeans. “Please, don’t go.”
“It’s just coffee.” I walked away.
My hand shook as I poured two mugs. I heard her come up behind me.
“I don’t know how to do this, Graham.”
“Do what?” I didn’t turn around.
“I don’t want to like you.”
Jesus, she was honest. I turned around. “No, you really don’t.”
“When you say something like that it makes me like you more.”
There was absolutely no guile in her voice. Emotionally, she was like a child. Unfortunately, I related. And here we were, having the conversation I did and didn’t want to have. No lies, I reminded myself.
“I sleep around, Carly. A lot. I’m a selfish bastard and I’ll only hurt you. You deserve more. I use women for one thing. I’m not gonna lie and tell you that I’m not attracted to you or that I don’t want you, but I’m not capable of what you deserve. I don’t do relationships. I’m only offering friendship, and even that’s going to be a lot more one-sided than you’re used to.”
She didn’t say anything.
Miserable and not wanting to think why, I went on, “I understand what you told me and you’re right. Follow your instincts, they’re dead-on. You need to stay away from me.” As much as I didn’t want that, I knew it was for the best.
“What if I don’t want to?” Her voice was so tiny and so fucking honest it ripped my heart apart.
“Have you forgotten last night? I’m not what you want.” I handed her the coffee and went back to the bike, praying she’d listen to me, my heart wishing she wouldn’t.
My resolve cracking, I was pissed and taking it out on the bike. My hand slipped when I tightened a part too tight and the wrench went c
lanking to the floor. Carly’s small hand reached for the tool and she sat down next to me.
“What’d the bike do to you?”
I didn’t say anything.
She handed me the tool. “I like the Latin jazz.”
“It’s Myles’s father,” I grumbled.
“He’s really good.” She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head, watching me.
“Was.” Jesus, I liked having her close. Despite everything I’d said to her, she wasn’t walking away from me. Why the fuck wasn’t she walking?
“Was? He doesn’t play anymore?”
“He’s dead. So is Myles’s mother. They died in a car accident when he was sixteen. He doesn’t advertise that so keep it to yourself.” Was she self destructive? She had to know sticking around me was emotional suicide.
“Oh, okay. I’m not making the Latin connection. I pegged Myles as Scandinavian or German, his looks, I mean.”
I didn’t like her talking about Myles, let alone thinking about his looks. “You’re half right. His dad was Danish and his mother was Cuban. I’m on bass on the next song.”
Stunned expression, Carly looked at me for a heartbeat. “You? You play jazz?”
I liked that I’d shocked her. Don’t know why. “Yeah, I played with Mikkel’s band for awhile. It’s how I met Myles.”
“Wow.” The next song came on and she was quiet.
I was almost finished with the bike. I put in fresh oil, began to put the tools away and as I watched them fit into the drawers, I realized something. Maybe Carly and I fit together. Like the tools, all different sizes and shapes, they still fit together in the drawer. Maybe this didn’t have to make sense. Maybe I needed to stop fighting with myself.
“You’re really good.” Carly followed me to one of my tool carts.
I stopped and looked at her. She was so damn pretty, so innocent, for one moment, I felt it. That moment. A moment I’d only ever felt on stage. Adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, chills from the inside, you were so high on the rush that everything stilled. And for one single moment in time, the world made sense. No bullshit, no pain, no anger, no sorrow, I was where I was supposed to be and I just fit. Like the bass in my hand, she just fit. And for today, I was going with it.