“Don’t talk about her like she’s some barfly. She’s not.”
One brow rises and then the corner of his lip curls upward. “Based on her outfit, I could see that.”
So her coat was long and her hat homemade. She isn’t like the regular girls who attracted me before—younger, darker, more leather, and all lace, but I find I’m liking the taste of someone more my age, refined, and a little on the innocent side. “She’s … sweet.” Hesitating after the word, I wait for Todd’s scoff.
“Pussy is sweet, Nathan. She is—”
“Choose your words carefully,” I warn, suddenly feeling like I need to defend Naomi’s honor to my brother of all people.
“Interesting.” He smirks. So what if she was different than my usual flavor? Perhaps it was time to expand my palate.
“Ever think the universe is working against you?” I ask of my big brother, expecting his sideways glance and narrowed eyes.
“I think everything happens for a reason.” I can’t find the reasoning in a person senselessly dying. I can’t find the reasoning in losing Becca or Margie. Then Naomi moves forward in my thoughts. “Could it be the universe is working for you for once, Frog?” The soft tone he uses to call me my childhood nickname lets me know he isn’t teasing me. I’ve never doubted my brother wants what’s best for me, and he knows a thing or two about losing people. He lost Meldee, and I know it still hurts him.
“How so?” I ask.
“Maybe she’s another reason you were meant to come home.” Todd knows I shouldn’t have returned, but he missed me, Ma missed the mountains, and I needed more security than the transient work in Florida. “She’s unfinished business for you.”
I nod. Could it be? Could Destiny or Fate or Naomi’s Goddess have pulled me back to the valley for one of those reasons? Then I consider our first date and the phone call. Her tears when she spoke about her fears with the library and her kisses when she latched onto me. She’s more than business I want finished. I’m not sure I ever want to be done with her.
I’m stuck on you.
“What about Charlese?” Todd asks.
Shit. I haven’t thought of her in the last week since missing our night when I took Naomi to the Nut House. I called to cancel. A simple something came up was all she needed. That’s how the relationship went between us. Uncomplicated. But I’m finding I like some complication in my life, especially if it comes wrapped in a little awkwardness and lick-me eyes.
“Guess we’re over.” I drink down the rest of my beer. One is plenty before I ride home. I stand from the stool, feeling Todd’s eyes on me.
“You really dig this Naomi chick.” He’s questioning me, and I nod. I’m definitely getting buried in the possibility of her and me.
Date number two needs to happen sooner rather than later, but unfortunately, Naomi works the remainder of the week and has plans for her day off on Wednesday. I never knew Beverly Townsen and Scotia Simmons were her sisters.
“Scotia is the oldest.” Naomi teases, exaggerating a drawl as we speak on the phone later that evening. “She’s a peach. And she married a Simmons, so don’t you know that makes her someone.” Sarcasm drips in her voice and I like her snarky.
“Then comes Beverly, and I’m sure the whole town knows her story. Drunk driving accident. Lost the use of her legs, not to mention her driver’s license and her pride. Became a self-proclaimed shut-in.”
“Actually, I hadn’t heard the story. I’ve only been back here for about eighteen months.”
“Oh, well, this happened ten years ago. None of us are from Green Valley in the first place. We’re from Cedar Gap. I’m the baby of the family.”
“Me too I guess, seeing as there is only me and Toad.”
“He’s one of the men from the other night, right?”
Right. The two men who flanked her as I lipped off with Dwight. “Yeah, about that. Again, I’m sorry for losing my temper in front of you. I don’t want Dwight speaking ill of you. Hell, I don’t want anyone talking about you, but I should have taken a second to introduce you to my big brother.”
“Maybe another time,” she hesitates as she offers, a question lingering in her voice.
“So, speaking of another time … I want our second date.” I wish I could see her face, see those lick-me eyes I like so much. As I sit against my pillows, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, I wonder how she’d respond to me in this bed. Thinking of her in these sheets prompted me to give in and call her.
She clears her throat. “I host the Thursday night poetry reading at seven. Ever been to a poetry reading?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever done something like that.”
She giggles. “Well, I’ve never been to a racetrack.”
Oh no. I’d never live that down if the guys found out. Todd would have a heyday with that one.
Rose are red,
Violets are blue.
Nathan’s crazy for some chick,
And lost his balls too.
Then again, Naomi isn’t a chick. She’s different … to me.
“How about Saturday?” I suggest brushing off the poetry reading.
“Sure.” Her voice betrays her, but I can’t do it. No to poetry.
“So, Saturday,” I continue. “Genie’s?” Genie’s Country Western Bar is known for dancing and drinking. It’s a little less rambunctious than The Wooden Plank or The Fugitive.
“I don’t dance,” she says, her voice lowering. Okay then. “I mean, I don’t know how.”
How hard is it to dance? I lead. She follows. But then I remember something. “I don’t believe that’s true.” A vision of her dancing around me when we met and leading her slender, wiggling body to a room off the Fugitive fills my head.
“I don’t anymore,” she clarifies, and I realize this is all tied up in more bullshit from her parents. She’s carrying some strong guilt linked to their words and I wonder if it’s connected to something she did. I can’t imagine what she could have done to inspire such reproach, but then again, I know how guilt works.
“Maybe it’s time to try again,” I offer, my voice teasing. She holds back from me, but she’s like a rubber band, springing forward without warning after you tug and tug and tug.
When she doesn’t answer me, I ask another question. “Well, what else do you do?”
“I make soap. I knit. I work at the library.” That’s all? She sounds eighty instead of thirty-nine. Next, she’ll tell me she has sixteen cats. We need to find her some fun.
“I’m not good at things, Nathan.” She speaks as if she’s read my mind.
“Maybe we just need to reintroduce you to things.”
“To drinking, dancing, and cavorting?” I can tell she’s trying to be funny but her voice is tight and I’m not joking anymore.
“Let’s talk about cavorting. What does that even mean?” I think I know, but I want to hear it from her. If she whispers one four-letter word rhyming with truck I’m going to have a night’s worth of fantasy just from the sound of her voice.
“You know,” her voice deepens, and I smile at the hesitation.
“I want to hear you say it. Call it what it is.”
“Sex,” she blurts like she did when I asked her to agree to three dates, only this time her breath exhales in a pleasant sigh around the word. There’s my girl, I think as I slip lower on the bed. My hand rubs over my belly as a part of me twitches to life.
“Hmm … say that again,” I tease.
“Sex,” she purrs, and my fingers loosen the button of my jeans. I hear her shift through the phone and I wonder where she is and what she’s wearing, which makes me sound like a creeper, but I need to know, so I ask.
“I’m in my bed, in a nightgown.”
I have girls, so I know what a nightgown can be. Frilly ruffled material tight to the neck. Flannel down to the wrist. Dragging on the floor. With a giant Cinderella on it. For my purposes, I’m imagining her in a silk nightie. Deep black.
“Naomi Wi
nters, are you trying to have phone sex with me?” I flirt, slipping my fingers inside my jeans.
“Is phone sex simply saying sex through the phone?”
“You’re teasing me, right?” I want to chuckle, but I hear the reluctance in her question. “No, sweetheart. You touch yourself, while I touch myself, and we describe what we’re doing.” The idea has me hard in a heartbeat, and I curl my fingers around my warm shaft, giving myself a quick tug. “Do you do that? Touch yourself?”
“I might not have sex, Nathan, but I don’t deny myself completely.” Her voice sounds stern, almost like she’s reprimanding me. She can spank me if she wants. But her comment reminds me of what she told me the other night. She’s been waiting—eighteen years—and she hasn’t had sex. I find it hard to believe, but a strange sense of pride fills me. She’s been waiting on me.
Then I think of her alone—an image of her slipping her fingers between her thighs—and I’m squeezing myself harder.
“Why did you hold out, sweetheart?” I can’t help asking although the serious question could dampen the hard-on I’m working. I don’t want to think about other guys with her. I kind of like the fact it’s been only me.
“Besides the guilt my parents put on me, and the fact I didn’t want something terrible to happen?” Her tone lowers, and she pauses a moment. I frown at her response. She’s hinted before at an incident resulting from our first encounter, but she hasn’t explained it. I figure when she’s ready, she’ll tell me. Tonight, I want to know more about her sexual history. “I guess I’ve also just waited. I wanted it to be right. I didn’t want to be hurt again.” Something stabs at my chest as I’m the one who hurt her before. “I want it to be special, if it happens again.” Her final statement conveys her vulnerability.
She was special to me.
“I want to be special to you,” I whisper, closing my eyes with thoughts of how we could be. “Would you ever let someone touch you?” It’s an intimate question, a sensitive one, but I want her secrets and her fantasies.
“If someone were to touch me again, I want it to mean something.” Her voice remains quiet, husky and deep. If? Oh, there’s definitely going to be touching in our future, and I’ll make it as special as she needs.
“So you aren’t totally opposed to my wand in your cauldron?” I flirtatiously tease.
She lightly laughs, but then admonishes me. “Don’t tease.”
“I get it. You want intimacy and meaningfulness. That’s what foreplay is for. A little practice. A lot of warm-up.”
“Foreplay?” She chokes, but there’s a hint of curiosity in her voice. I’m so damn attracted to this vulnerable piece of her. I imagine it’s what drew me to her the first time. My fingers tighten over my thick length which wants her innocence again.
“Touch yourself, sweetheart.” My voice drops an octave. It’s so rough and deep I don’t recognize myself, but I want her to trust me. I want her to give me this moment.
“I don’t know if I can.” Her voice lowers to a whisper, but there’s something in her tone suggesting she’s willing to try, she just needs me to lead.
“Just a little stroke,” I plead. In my mind’s eye, I see her expressive eyes and her wild hair spilling everywhere. “Pretend it’s me. You’re safe with me,” I assure her, pausing a beat as her breath hitches through the phone. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Oh.” She breathes out. “Oh.” The sweet breathiness stiffens me further.
You’re giving me something sacred. The words trickle through my memory, finally making sense to me. Her original innocence. Her current vulnerability. I don’t want just her body; I want her faith in me. I won’t disappoint her again.
“Yeah, Nae.” I exhale, gripping myself tighter. “I’m thinking of touching you while I touch myself.”
There’s more shifting, and then the soft hitch of her breath.
“I wish I could see you right now,” I say, my voice lowering as my arousal rises. “You give me these eyes …”
“What eyes?” Her voice catches.
“Eyes like you want me to lick you all over.” Another sharp hitch and I’m ready to crest the hill. “Lick-me eyes.”
“Nathan …” she warns on a low moan.
Sweet Mother. I want to say nasty things to her, swirl my tongue over her essence, and part her like the Red Sea. I want to fill her with all of me and hear the husky groan of my name.
“Nathan,” she breathes out like she did riding me in my truck. My name is a spell on her lips, and I drink in the potency of it.
“Goddess,” I whisper as I hear her unfold and I make a mess of myself.
What is this strange woman doing to me?
Her breath shudders through the phone.
“You okay, sweetheart?” A soft purr is her response. Coming down from my high, I stare up at the ceiling, sensing I crossed into a protective circle around her and liking that she let me pass. “See you Saturday, baby.”
“Good night, magic wand,” she whispers with a pleasure-filled voice and a smile clearly on her unseen face. I send up an enchanted request to hear that sweet tone every night before I sleep.
“Good night, my little cauldron.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dewey Decimal Classification: 808.81 Collections of Poetry
[Naomi]
“Ladies, we’re so pleased you could join us for another evening of poetry.” Julianne greets our poetry reading regulars. Our Thursday evening gatherings have dwindled and shifted over the years. Bethany Winston started this themed night. Diane Donner-Sylvester was one of the biggest patrons. She was the one who introduced me to Vilma Louise and her self-discovery videos. Surprisingly, I miss her at this weekly event.
Some nights people read classics. Other nights originals are presented. We told those present about the plight of the library prior to this evening, and Julianne requested it be our theme, so I find Julianne’s reading of “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou profoundly appropriate. She wants to believe we will overcome the injustice of the closing and she’s even made a new sign for the front counter.
Books have been oppressed, suppressed, and addressed for years. Don’t deny our access. Use your right to express Freedom of the Press.
I wanted to remind her that the state isn’t burning books, but when she becomes passionate about something, look out …
When it is my turn, I read “Little Red Cap” by Carol Ann Duffy about seduction by a wolf. From the wolf’s poetic words, he lures his prey to his den. It is graphic and intense while beautiful and sad, and as I finish, I look up to find Nathan watching me over the low shelf at the back of the gathered audience. Our eyes lock and the hunger in them makes me shiver. I’d let that wolf eat me.
I still can’t believe I did what I did with Nathan the other night. It felt wicked and salacious and freeing. There’s something about him which calls to me and draws the inner goddess out. I wanted to feel guilty afterward. I should have felt guilty after what we did. But I didn’t, and I said a chant, dispelling the negative thoughts and calling on the Goddess to make me whole again. Strangely, Nathan is contributing to this sensation of wholeness, which goes against what Vilma teaches, but I’d like to believe there’s room for personal interpretation with her videos. He serves a greater purpose in my life—although I’m not quite sure what that is yet.
Mabel Murphy is up next, and I excuse myself to walk to Nathan.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper with a sheepish grin on my face, as I round the shelf to stand next to him.
“I wanted to see what this is all about.” He smiles slowly, the dimple peeking out and I want to tackle him to the floor behind the bookshelf. Nathan came to poetry night. My body heats everywhere. This isn’t a hot flash but the nearness of him and the memory of what we did. Quickly, I look away, catching the tail end of Mabel’s reading of “Interview” by Dorothy Parker which I can never interpret. Does the poet mean staying home is the way of a woman or going out is?
“I thought you didn’t do poetry,” I hush-whisper without looking at him.
Nathan moves his arm and I know he’s going to scratch under his neck. “I was chicken.”
I softly chuckle, and then try to cover it as a cough. “What do you mean?” I keep my voice low as Julianne has already given me a glaring, silencing look. She’s perfected that stare.
“I didn’t think I could handle some boring poetry reading, mainly because I knew I wouldn’t understand any of the poems.” He shrugs. “But then I thought about the other night and how you might have been nervous to go to the racetrack. You still came.”
My head swivels to him. Is he being funny? Punny? His lip slowly curls, and forget the innuendo, I want to kiss him silly.
“I decided if you could trust me, I should trust you. It won’t be boring.” He winks. I blink.
The poem I read comes to mind. You frighten me in the best of ways.
“I do trust you,” I say, offering a piece of myself to him. I realize I do, or I wouldn’t have given him the experience we shared the other night. The curve of his mouth deepens, and I want a sip of him. He’d be hot cocoa on this cool evening—sweet and filling.
“Anyway, I figured I wasn’t giving it a fair chance. Besides, you were right. So far, it isn’t boring.”
I bite my lip, pleased that he’s trying to meet me on my turf like I went to his. In fact, I find his open-mindedness kind of endearing.
“But this isn’t a date,” he clarifies, holding up a finger. “We still have Saturday.”
Love in Due Time Page 14