Even what?
There’s this sense that this isn’t a fling. That it’s a relationship. I just . . . I really like him, that’s all. And liking him the way I do, the way he makes me feel, it’s different from the way that the demon makes me feel.
So why not confide in him? You're obviously not bound by the rules that you had before.
You wanna give me a first line? I can't exactly go to him and say, 'Hey Rafe, I know that I'm just a student and you're the closest thing this university has seen to Superman, and I'm sure that there's about a hundred girls who have hit on you since you started teaching, but I'm a total psycho who has a side of me that's into kinky sex with strangers. In fact, after our first date, I went to a sex club and had sex with a man in a mask.' Not a good way to start a potential relationship, even if we have kissed.
I agree, that might be a bit much to dump on him at once. Maybe something simpler, like 'Hey Rafe, can we talk?' And then, if things progress, you be honest with him.
Yeah . . . I think we both know that good men aren’t lining up to be with a woman like me. Not to mention, I just get the feeling that there’s this other side of him I don’t know.
Does it worry you?
I’m not sure.
Why?
Because Rafe’s seriously Mr. Perfect to me right now, even if he says he isn’t. But what if that’s just the image I have of him in my mind because I need someone to look up to?
There’s nothing wrong with that. Did I ever tell you about the time I met Matt Damon?
Uhm, no? Is there a point to this?
Bear with me. All through my grad courses, ever since seeing him in a movie, I idolized Matt Damon. I even knew the lyrics to that stupid song, “Fucking Matt Damon.”
And I’m the one seeing the shrink.
Counselor. I’m not an MD. Anyway, I knew it was stupid, I knew I was just using him as a fantasy to let me get through the tough times. But then, about five years ago, I met him at a charity dinner, and you know what happened?
You gave Bourne your ultimatum?
Very funny. I like that. Actually, I mean sure, at first I was like, ‘holy shit, it’s Matt Damon! I want to bear your children!’ But after about five minutes, something changed. He became this totally normal, if really handsome, guy. I guess what I’m saying is that it’s okay to fantasize about Rafe a little. But try to get past the fantasy and talk to the man. You’ll find his faults, and who knows, maybe you’ll like him more because of them.
Yeah, well, you don’t have this other side of you that you have to fight to keep suppressed.
I think you're selling yourself short, Shawnie. I always have.
And I think our hour's over. I'll see you next week.
Chapter 10
Rafe
It's a testament to the flexibility of Stanford, or maybe it's just a testament to my abilities, that none of the coaches or athletes complain when I show up at the field house to work out.
“Ah shit, we're going to look like shit again. Superman is here,” someone jokes as I walk in the door and head toward the locker rooms, and I check my thoughts. They complain, but it's the good sort of complaints, the kind that tell me that, at least on a certain level, they respect me. It resonates with at least part of my history, and I find a bit of solace in it. And while I don't like the old nickname from a few years ago, it hasn't been long enough to make it fade away yet.
The exercise helps me think, taking the time to just take care of my body instead of trying to juggle everything at once. I change clothes, a tank top and shorts, and pull on some turf spikes. Inside the field house is a short turf practice field, used by some when the weather sucks and for offseason conditioning. I see what I’m looking for by the wall, and I roll over the big tire, setting it at one end of the twenty-yard course that I'm going to use and then positioning a sled at the other end. After warming up, I load it up with six hundred pounds and buckle on the harness.
I get down in a four-point stance, driving low as I explode against the harness, driven by five simple words.
She was good all weekend.
The mantra sits in my head as I drag the sled down the track, my legs pumping into the turf, my heart starting to speed up, maybe as much from the words as the exercise. I reach the twenty yards and cross the line, unbuckling my harness from the sled before I take thirty seconds’ rest, then start flipping the big tractor tire back the direction I came.
She was good all weekend. For a week now, since bringing her into the lab with the rest of the team, I've held back, even though every time I close my eyes, I remember what it felt like with her inside Club Paradise. The way we kissed last Friday night has left me feeling like I'm totally out of control. It's uncomfortable feeling this way, uncomfortable but also thrilling. No woman has ever caused this level of insanity inside me.
But I can't trust myself. I can't trust my mind. It's the area that they literally pounded into me. How can I trust that my desire for Shawnie is legitimate when every time I look at her it's like looking at a recipe for my perfect woman? Especially when she's so fragile. One wrong move, and she shatters into a million pieces.
Still, she's so perfect for me. Physically, she's the completion to my personal puzzle, the perfect match to me. Intellectually, she's the first woman since I left home who could actually excite me, who can challenge me and make me think.
But emotionally . . . after what Chris Lake did to her and what I saw in Club Paradise, it's a wonder she's sane at all.
I promised her that I would show her things she's never felt before, and I could see in her eyes that she believed me. Considering what I know of her sexual activities, I should be intimidated. I mean, I’m all for being in charge . . . but Shawnie's had no limits except self destruction and humiliation for a long time now. How can I show her something she's never felt before? To take it to that place she needs to go in order to break past whatever damage is inside her?
If I screw up, if I take one wrong step, I won't just hurt myself, but more importantly, I'll destroy everything that I need to do to build Shawnie back up. She needs to feel self-worth again, to be shown that she's a remarkable woman. That's what worries me. My original plan was to have a fling with her, let her 'rebound' with me and then move on.
But the voice that whispers deep in my mind, the voice from my past, says it doesn't want to let this one go. Not until I have what every fiber in my body is screaming I need to do—to have her carry my child inside her. But I can’t just use her for that. I'm a monster, but I'm not that monstrous.
“Shawnie, can I talk to you for a moment?” I ask, uncharacteristically nervous. It's not all an act either. I really do feel a tremor of uncertainty about this. I'm still not a hundred percent sure if I'm acting out of real thought or just drilled in instinct or even brainwashing, but I can't hold back anymore. I need to drive through, to finish what I started, or else this whole damn thing is going to fall apart on me, and that's nearly as bad as if I fail.
“Sure, Rafe. Is it the report I handed in?” Shawnie asks, her eyes wide. She's eager and bright eyed, and it's been hard not to talk to her earlier as I waited for the right time when we wouldn't be overheard by the rest of the team. “I double-checked my figures.”
And I've spent the past ten minutes checking yours, I want to say, but instead I smile, shaking my head. “No, not at all. It’s not that. Did you do your homework?” I rumble softly, so close that only the two of us can hear. Shawnie looks at me, biting her lip, and I can see the faded marks of her hickey that I gave her as a reminder, the bruise calling to me in another way. “Because if so, maybe we’ll try that dinner again tonight.”
“I was good,” Shawnie says softly. “And dinner sounds great. Where?”
“Someplace closer. What if I let you choose?”
Shawnie's eyes sparkle with excitement and she nods. “I know just the place. When?”
“How about now?” I ask, looking around the lab. “Everyone's leaving, and we
won't look out of place.”
“Let me grab my bag,” Shawnie says, grinning. “You had me worried when you didn't ask earlier.”
“I was waiting for the right time,” I admit as we leave and go out to my Jag, where I hold the door open for her.
Settling in, I give Shawnie a look, smiling. “Thank you.”
“What?” she asks, surprised.
“I said thank you,” I repeat, starting up the engine. “I know I don't say it that often, but I am now. Thank you for all your hard work. And of course dinner. Are we changing or are we going like this?”
I'm wearing my typical lab gear of jeans and a t-shirt. Shawnie's dressed pretty similarly, and she thinks, then shakes her head. “We’re okay. The place I have in mind is pretty casual.”
“Fine by me” I answer, pleased to see her willing to make the decision. “Where to?”
“Redwood,” Shawnie says, “near the 101. It's a place I found near my apartment.”
I drive over. It's not too far, and when Shawnie directs me to get off near the San Carlos Airport, I glance over, semi-surprised. “Aircraft really is in your blood. Don't tell me you spend time on the weekends . . .”
“In the Hiller Museum?” Shawnie finishes, grinning. “What do you think motivated me to pick the apartment complex I did? It kinda sucks when you're trying to sleep in Sunday morning and you've got somebody taking a Learjet a hundred feet over your head, but yeah, I love it there.”
I give her a smile and nod. With the way she is now, and most of the time, for that matter, you’d never know of the inner turmoil she’s going through. She should take comfort wherever she can get it. “So what is this joint we’re going to?”
“A little Mexican joint. They've got good fish tacos,” Shawnie says, directing me toward a tiny restaurant that I've actually been to. It's so close to the airport that as we sit down to our plates, we can look over the runway of the airport, which is quiet now that the sun's going down. The San Carlos airport is used mostly by hobby pilots, private planes, and a few charter lines, nothing super sexy but still, it's an airport.
Our dinner is nice, and while the night’s not over, things are going well.
She smiles, and we walk out to the car, where I drive us down to the end of Skyway Boulevard, parking in the little parking lot the city has there. “You know, I'd swear you know this area,” Shawnie says as we get out and she takes my hand again. “How is that?”
“You’re not the only one with a love of aircraft. I’ve been here a few times,” I admit. “I've been to that taco shack a few times too.”
We start walking, Shawnie moving closer and closer as the breeze picks up and we enjoy the peace and the growing closeness between us. “So how was your weekend?”
Shawnie's quiet for a moment, then shenchuckles. “Harder than I thought. But I got a lot of work done. Your gift helped to keep me on track. So . . . about that.”
I stop, taking her in my arms. She feels right, and I look into her sandy colored eyes in the light of the sunset and decide to open myself a little to her. “Ask me any question you want about myself. We can go from there.”
Shawnie thinks, and her question catches me slightly off guard. “So you told me Suicide was a call sign from your time in pilot training. But why'd they give it to you?” she asks. “I mean, I know they assign it for all sorts of silly reasons sometimes. What's yours?”
I take a deep breath, controlling the raging battle inside me as my past fights what I want to say. My stomach does a slow flip-flop, but I've dealt with this before, and Shawnie's different. She's special and unique, and I have to have her. I guess it's time to let someone in on my past, at least some of it. “Have you ever had a suicide?”
“You mean having someone kill themselves? That's a pretty fucked up idea,” Shawnie says, shocked but not repulsed, which sends a shiver of fear down my spine. If she's not sickened by the idea . . . I wonder how close she's been to an actual attempt. Fate, it seems, is smiling on me, forcing me to go so much faster than I originally thought.
“No, not that,” I quickly clarify, just to be on the safe side. “The drink. Maybe it's a little boy thing, but there's a drink that the kids call a suicide. You know, a little bit of everything that's at the fountain? Each time is a little different, but you get some Coke, some Pepsi, some root beer, a little cherry something or the other—”
“And a lot of orange because nobody uses it otherwise,” Shawnie finishes, relaxing. “Okay, I know what you're talking about. When I was a little girl, I played youth soccer. The snack shack let us do that. We called it the swirl in the town I lived in. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Nicer name. Anyway, that's me, a little bit of everything. The Census bureau has no clue what to make of me.”
“What do you mean?” Shawnie asks, looking at me with those intelligent, perceptive eyes. “I mean, you don’t look abnormal. Well, except for the good looks. Those are far beyond normal.”
“It’s true though. You can probably find a little of just about everything in my gene pool if you dig enough.”
Shawnie laughs and shrugs. “Honey, I'm from South Carolina. There's so much mixed up in my background I'm not even sure where to begin.”
“And the results are amazing,” I tell her, seizing the opportunity to give her an honest compliment on her looks.
“I'm nothing special,” Shawnie says, shaking her head. “I'm not beautiful at all.”
“You are,” I say, taking her other hand. “I've seen those scars on your arms, remember? I know you're self-conscious about them, and in your mind, they’re probably three times the size of what they really are. In fact . . . do you want to see my place?”
Shawnie blinks, then nods, chewing her lip. She knows I'm not just asking her back to my place to enjoy a glass of wine and maybe some Miles Davis. “Are you sure, Rafe?”
I nod, pulling her in close. “I’m sure. But I have just one thing I need to confess.”
“What's that?” Shawnie asks, and I stroke her face, brushing the ringlets out of her eyes that the wind is kicking up. “Rafe?”
“I'm a man of strong desires. If you come with me, you can say no and I'll respect it . . . but I might demand a lot. I need to know, Shawnie, and you don't have to answer this now . . . will you serve me? Will you obey?”
Shawnie shivers, and I can tell it's not from the cold wind. She nods and pulls herself closer. “Let's find out . . . sir.”
Chapter 11
Shawnie
I've had Rafe's home address since the time I was his TA. He gave it to me supposedly because he wanted to make sure that I could reach him if there was ever an emergency or I needed to bring something by. It's pretty far from campus so I've never been out here before. It takes us nearly a half hour to drive there, a nice little subdivision of Palo Alto that is as far from my neighborhood as you can get without going to San Fran or Oakland. It's quiet, and each of the houses has a little grass in the yard with most of the homes being that sort of cookie cutter two-story style that allowed the builders to cram as many houses with fifteen hundred square feet of floor space into as little land as possible.
I'm actually a little surprised at the normalcy of it all. After the Jag and his fashions, I figured Rafe would be living in some high-rise or maybe in some swanky apartment with a view, but this quiet looking little house is also reassuring in its own way. Still, I have to wonder. “Did you blow your entire budget on the Jag?”
Rafe laughs quietly and looks over at me, shaking his head. “What? I like this neighborhood. And I own the house outright.”
I gawp, looking around. Sure, it's a cookie cutter neighborhood, but this is California, and Palo Alto isn't cheap. “Uhm . . . sorry? I wasn't trying to throw shade.”
Rafe reaches over, taking my hand again. We've been doing that a lot this evening, and I like it. A lot. “It's okay. It’s nice and quiet, that’s all.”
He gets out and opens my door for me, escorting m
e to the door and unlocking it. At the entrance, I freeze, both sides of me unsure, but for different ways. My demon maybe wants this, but isn't sure because Rafe's being strong but respectful. It doesn't want me respected. It wants me degraded and humiliated. On the other hand, the normal side of me worries that perhaps I'm doing the wrong thing by crossing the line. I don't want to earn my degree and my place on the team on my back. And I definitely don’t want to do anything to jeopardize either of those. They’re about the only things keeping me sane.
Somehow, Rafe notices. “Shawnie . . . at any point tonight, just say the word and I'll take you home.”
“You said you wanted to be obeyed, though,” I ask, turning to him. “What if I don't want to obey?”
He reaches up, cupping my cheek, and I feel desire flare within me. It's a clean passion, I think. It's been so long since I've felt this that I'm not totally sure. I just know that looking into Rafe's eyes, I want him tonight. “You obey by your own choice. So . . . how about some coffee and ice cream?”
“No, I want something stronger,” I reply, making my choice. I step in and push him against the wall that makes up the other side of his entrance hallway. It's short. I can tell it's one of those that's mostly meant to provide privacy to the people in the living room, but it's enough for me to close the door behind me and grab Rafe's shirt, pulling him to me and kissing him hard. He's stiff for a moment in surprise, but then his hands come up, pulling me against his body, and his lips soften, the same amazing feeling that they were in the lab. I trace his lips with my tongue and he responds, opening to me and letting me taste him. “Rafe . . .”
“Slowly,” Rafe commands, chuckling and giving me enough room to step back. “Come with me. Let me show you my home. Just a little patience, then I can show you the light you want so badly.”
He takes me by the hand, leading me past the frosted glass bricks and plaster of his tiny entrance area and into his living room, which is lower than his entrance and richly carpeted, with a beautiful living room set in the center with a big TV. He looks at me, like he's waiting for a comment. “I like it. Very modern.”
Crossing the Line Page 27