His dark, short wavy hair blows back and the light massages his bare chest. He’s stunning. His hands are stashed into the pockets of his slightly baggy blue jeans and his Converse shoes remind me of his youthful age. Jack would never wear shoes that cool. He wears white sneakers and I didn’t know it until now but I never liked them. White sneakers are not sexy. Not like these.
The naughty thoughts swirling around my lower regions must be ignored – I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to spend the day alone, if he wants to come. Before I even know I’m speaking, I hear the invitation slipping off my tongue. “I’m going into town. Would you like to join me?”
I can’t believe I just said that!
He looks at me from the corner of his eyes, head only slightly turned.
My heart speeds up as I wait. Oh God. What if he says no? Who’s the old lady trying to pick up on me, he’s probably thinking. I’m a fool. Good job. Well done.
But how can I blame myself for trying?
9
Brendan
Planned: A day of beer drinking, alone. Blood: racing at this unexpected question.
______________________
I cock my head toward her, checking her out. “What’s your name?”
She smiles and looks toward the sun, eyes lighting up like fire. A small laugh escapes her, like she forgot we don’t know each other or something. I guess I forgot, too. The ocean – it’s tricky.
“Rebecca.” She stops, doesn’t add her last name. I will look back on this and realize she didn’t want me to know she was married. Didn’t want me to search for her on the Internet. Didn’t want to know me past this one weekend. But today I’m a naïve kid who’s only ever had one real girlfriend and who’s playing at being a smooth-talking-swanky-ass-mother fucker. I don’t expect slyness or withholding. I will learn.
I pull my hand out of my pocket, hold it out with a smile. “I’m Brendan.” We shake hands and I hold hers a few seconds longer than I would anyone I didn’t want to nail. I hold her eyes, too, and remind myself to keep it together. Inside, I’m nervous, an open wound that will not heal for a long time. “Let’s do it.”
“What?” Her eyes open with surprise.
I grin, realizing where her mind had gone. “Let’s go into town.”
She steps back and puts her arms around herself. “Oh! Right. Yes.” The way the sun lights up her skin makes her look like an angel. I’m wishing I was those arms right now. She glances at me and the electric charge between us can’t be just in my head. She smiles, like she’s thinking the same thing. “Let’s do it.”
I feel a movement in my groin as the blood rushes there. A sexy smirk I didn’t know I had in me, finds its way onto my face. I hold out my arm. “Lead the way.”
She turns to the road, her eyes sneaking a peak at my chest.
I saw that, Rebecca.
I really like that name.
Rebecca…
10
Rebecca
Gallery Bookshop: Corner of Main and Kasten St. Face: shoved in “The Invention of Wings” by Sue Monk Kidd. Arms: stacked with five other novels. Me: In heaven.
______________________
“Have you read this?”
I look up to see Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged held up in Brendan’s hand. His entire body is in halo from the window’s light behind him. Since I’m already above the clouds, my breath catches and I nod. “I read it in college. My friends and I were into Rand back then.”
His eyebrows rise up above twilight-blue eyes deepened by the navy blue of the shirt he grabbed to come here. He walks closer to me, lowers the book waist-level. “What did you like about her?” I flick to it, pretending to check out the cover, but really I’m looking at his stomach. Knowing what’s under that shirt, from having seen his bare chest all morning, is sexy, like I know a secret… a chiseled, kissable secret.
I close my book and lay it on top of the others. “Her books to me are about studies in excellence.”
He looks at my lips. “What do you mean?”
Self-consciously, I watch his eyes drinking me in. My heart beats faster and I struggle to focus. “Um, well, the main characters in her books strive for a transcendence of quality that surpasses excellence. But they don’t look for accolades.” I stop and wait to see if I should say more. His face is a steel door without explanation of opinion. So, because I don’t know what else to do, I continue. “They do it because their souls demand it. Dagney. She’s superiorly intelligent and capable and only cares about the railroad. But her brother, he cares about parties and how he looks to society without any concern that he’s running the company into the ground with his incompetence. Excellence battling mediocrity, that’s the plight Ayn Rand presents. She’s criticized for selfishness, but I believe she believed we should be all that we can, without regard to what others think of that.”
Oh my God, Rebecca, shut up. Shut up right now. Brendan’s eyes narrow and he looks at the generous stack of books I’m holding. I’m waiting for him to tease me about how many I’m buying, like my husband does. Or… did.
Brendan’s eyes glide back up to latch onto mine. “Is that the author of The Secret Life of Bees?”
My jaw drops open. I shut it. It drops back open. “Yes!”
“Ah.” He smiles. “You ready to go?”
I nod, speechless. He holds out his hand and moves to make room for me to pass him in the narrow aisle. Our bodies brush against each other. I don’t move as quickly as I should. Invisible sparks connect our skin and I glance up to him to find him intently staring at me. I look away.
At the register, I put my card on the counter. Brendan’s arm comes around me from behind and he lays his hand on it. “Let me get those for you.” His body, it rests against me and my eyes fly up to the bespectacled man ringing up my novels, expecting judgment from this stranger, and getting it. Did the stodgy old guy think I was Brendan’s mom until he touched me? Oh come on now, I remind myself. I’m not THAT old.
Just because I’m feeling rebellious, I lean against Brendan and purr, “Thank you, honey.” Brendan’s chest shakes with a silent laugh as the old stooge’s lips tighten and his eyes meet ours again, never.
“This one, too,” Brendan tells him, laying down the mammoth thousand-plus paged Atlas Shrugged. An inner smile glows in me. Is he just trying to impress me? Because it’s working. A guy who buys me books has my heart. A guy who wants my advice on books, actually listens when I speak, and then buys the book? Well, he has my heart, mind, body and soul.
“Enjoy Mendocino,” Captain Crusty dutifully grumbles.
“Oh, we will,” Brendan smiles. “After you, gorgeous.” He holds open the door for me. I know he’s only playing, but I touch his chest and lightly brush my lips against his as I pass, causing an explosion of tingles all over both of us.
I murmur, “What a gentleman,” like I’m saying I’m going to rip you apart and eat you.
A sexy smile turns up his soft lips. He looks to the old guy again, waves, and shuts the door behind us. We both break out into laughter ten steps away from the door where he can no longer see us.
“That was fun,” he grins.
“It was.” I haven’t kissed anyone but my husband in twelve years, until now. The feeling is unreal. So, so, sooooooo good.
11
Brendan
Tent: popped. Mind: blown. Food: still needed. Drink: it’s 5 p.m. somewhere, isn’t it?
______________________
This woman is not only a wildcat from whom I want claw marks – she’s also wicked smart which makes me hotter for her than I thought I could be. When she was talking about the book, I wanted to push her up against the bookshelf and hike up that sundress, traveling my lips along the nape of her neck. I want to hear her moan. I want to be the one who makes her moan, and soon.
At the same time – as she was talking – it suddenly occurred to me I might be playing out of my league. That kiss was a light caress against my surprised lips, but it di
d something to me. It scared the living crap out of me. She’s no girl. Rebecca is a woman. She would make girls avert their eyes, knowing they couldn’t compete
I have to keep my hopes down. I’m probably making an ass out of myself. She probably just doesn’t want to be alone today, so she’s hanging out with me.
I’m definitely in over my head.
I need liquid courage. “You want to grab a drink in here?”
She looks up to the antique sign: Mendocino Hotel. The building is yellow and saloon-style, like any minute Billy The Kid will explode out the door blasting his pistol past a bearded centenarian whittling a wood figurine on the porch.
She sends up a shy smile and a nod. “Sounds good.”
“After you, gorgeous.” She passes me and looks up so that, for a second, I think I might receive another kiss. I’m not that lucky.
The bar inside is dark, which I like immediately. The fifty-plus year old bartender is caught up in conversation with a couple of people who appear to have been born on those barstools. As the light pours in with our entrance, he turns and jerks a chin to us, letting us know we’ve been seen and he’ll be right with us.
Rebecca glides onto an empty stool, comfortable in her own skin. She eyes the waiting bottles on the back wall. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she looks back to me and smiles. “What are you having?”
The bartender walks up, asking pleasantly, “Hi there folks. What can I getcha?”
What I really want is a beer – a Budweiser. But I know that’s because I don’t know anything about liquor. I look at the bottles, too, but have no idea what I’m looking at. We all drank beer in college – just beer. All except the twat Melvin who thought he was better than the rest of us. Melvin’s parents were loaded. He’d been places. But he made the mistake of telling us that in such a way that we disliked him for it.
I turn to her and smile. “Ladies first.”
“I like scotch.”
She likes scotch? Wow. That’s simultaneously exciting and sweat-inducing. A woman who likes scotch is not to be toyed with. And man do I want to toy with her.
“Woman after my own heart. I know what I like… but I’ll defer to you, so you choose.” Defer – good word. I pulled that one out of Melvin’s ass.
Her hair whips around gently as she faces the bartender. “Oban please. Two cubes of ice.”
He nods and looks to me. What the hell is Oban? “The lady has good taste. I’ll have the same.” He turns and goes. Can I drink this stuff without blanching like a child?
Rebecca shifts in her chair and looks at me from behind a raised bare shoulder. The depth of her eyes is amazing. My elbow supports me as I lean a little closer to her, like we’re about to share a secret. But neither of us talks. To look at someone without speaking, the room fades away. Her lips are slightly open, the bottom lip fuller than the top. I feel desire build as I look at it, scanning the pillow-crevices that are free of any added color. If I leaned in six inches, I’d be tasting that lip. Sucking on it. Taking her mouth in mine and touching my tongue to hers…
“Here you go.” The glasses hit the wood with a thunk that sends Rebecca and I leaning back fast. We collect ourselves and smile. It takes a second for us to thank Bartender-Interuptus-Shithead. But we do.
As soon as he leaves, I raise my glass to the beauty beside me. “To meeting you.”
12
Rebecca
Panties: fried. Heart: exploded. Shrapnel: flying
______________________
I haven’t blushed since age fourteen. Freshman year. I hit puberty, got my boobs, and gave it up to Trathen Martin – a Senior who took the gold of about fifteen other gullible girls around the same time. I stopped blushing after I found out I wasn’t as special as he said I was. My ability to blush was lost – or so I had thought.
I was wrong. I’m red as the barstool I’m sitting on.
“Thank you.” My eyes fall to the counter, the heat in my face intense.
“Are you blushing?” He’s not teasing. He’s actually surprised.
There is something about Brendan that has me forgetting who I am and what I know. It feels like I’ve got a clean slate. He doesn’t know how breathtakingly handsome he is. We walked here from the bookstore and he didn’t notice when five different women turned their heads to look at him… and then at me, with eyebrows raised way too high. No one is as puzzled as I am, but I wanted to flip them off anyway. In a way, that’s what I’m doing.
I meet his baby blues again. “Am I?”
He laughs. There’s something about a man with good teeth; it’s just sexy.
“You are. You definitely are.” His smile fades and he leans closer. “And here I thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful.”
I raise the still-full glass and cover my face with it, grinning like a child behind it. “Oh my God. You are killing me.”
He’s proud of himself. I can tell. And he should be. He’s made me feel better than I have in years. If men only knew that a well-said compliment gets us wet and tearing off our clothes, husbands everywhere would get a lot more action.
“To blushing.” My young companion touches his glass to mine, the one hiding my embarrassment. I venture out to take a sip, watching him as he joins me.
“You like it?” I ask.
With casual, sexy confidence he nods. “Oban is my favorite scotch.”
“Oh good. I hoped I made the right choice.”
“You sure did.”
I pick up the menu left for us – a large, leather-bound list of comfort foods that makes my mouth water immediately. “This looks incredible. Are you hungry?”
I meet a smoldering blue stare as a dark lock of hair falls onto his forehead. “I’m starving.”
Nobody pinch me.
13
Brendan
Meatloaf: ridiculously delicious. Plate: licked clean. She has two sisters, both older. She moans when she eats potatoes. Her smile: Sara who?
______________________
With all the shops explored, we’re walking back to the Sea Rock Inn. We’re alone – just the way I want it. I feel like I should take her hand. I’m walking with my hand swinging by hers, so close and yet so far away. Every so often they touch and I wish she’d just grab mine and let me off the hook. It was so easy to sit and talk to her in the restaurant – c’mon Bren. Get some balls.
We’re walking on the right hand shoulder of the two-lane road that leads out of the small town. Waves crash below the cliffs to our left, rhythmically soothing as the water methodically cuts boulders into sand. I tell her about how it does that, and the other things I learned in Geology – although I act like I just know about this stuff. Which I guess, now I do. That’s what school’s for, isn’t it? But still, I don’t want to remind her in any way that I just finished college, so my speech is careful.
Rebecca listens, nodding and asking a good question now and then. After a bit of silence, she says simply, “It’s beautiful up here.”
“It is. And to think I almost didn’t come.” I look down at her swinging hand. Here I am, easily a foot taller and I’m scared of her. What a pussy.
Her chin raises and her eyes glide over my face, making my blood pump harder. “Really? I almost didn’t, either.”
“I’ll tell you why I didn’t, if you tell me.”
Her smile fades. “That’s okay.” She looks away, subject closed.
I replay my words and can’t find a reason for the look on her face. “Okay.”
We walk in silence. Once again our fingers brush by accident. I can’t wait anymore. I take the leap and touch her on purpose, weave mine into hers, watching her face for reaction. Her breasts rise with surprise. She looks at our hands. With breath held, and heart hammering in my chest, I wait for her to pull away.
We stop walking. A truck honks as it passes, but we don’t look at it. Her lashes rise to mine and for the first time I see it - she is as nervous as I am. Adrenaline roars into my veins with the s
peed of a launched missile as I realize she wants me, too.
“Come on.” I lead her across the road to a large cluster of trees grown perilously cliff-side. The sound of the waves gets louder, calling to us. We’re walking fast. She jogs to keep up and her freshly blushing cheeks say everything.
I pull her to me in the secret privacy of the trees. Hooded and sexy, her smoky brown eyes close as I stare at her lips. She whispers, “Oh my God.”
That kiss in the bookstore only gave me a taste of what I need. I want more. I slip my hands around her back, pulling up, lifting her onto her toes. Our lips tentatively touch. My eyes close as my need for her pulls at my jeans. I touch my tongue to hers and taste its sweetness. I love the smell of her breath, natural and unfettered. Her arms slide around my neck and her fingers weave into my hair as our tongues slowly explore. She moans into me as I push my hips on hers, feel her leg opening to wrap around my thigh. We grind a little – just a little – and the heat on our skin builds. Her fingers travel down my shoulders, my arms – resting there like she’s enjoying touching my muscles.
“Stop,” she breathes. She pulls back enough for me to see her face. “Brendan, stop… I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
I release her waist and step back. With the newfound space to move, she breaks free and quickly walks away in the direction we came.
What did I do wrong?
“Rebecca!”
14
Rebecca
This shoulder of road has never been so guiltily trudged up.
______________________
We’re walking in silence with me a couple safe paces ahead. Even with the distance, I can feel him. I can still feel his hands on my thighs, on my lower back, pressing into my skin. His breath on my lips. His heat enflaming my everything. I can’t handle this.
Searching Hearts Page 2