“No,” I protest. “I need to know this. Is he interested in her?”
He lets out a sigh. “Tomas is a player. He’s interested in almost all the women on the planet, hot or not. He’s probably slept with most of them, too. I wouldn’t wish him on anyone. Certainly not your friend.”
“What do you mean? Is he bad news?”
“Don’t get so serious. It’s a joke, Grace.”
I consider his words. “How is what he does any different from what you used to do with women?”
“There’s a world of difference. I slept with women hoping to feel something, to escape myself. He sees it as a hobby, a pastime, an end in and of itself. There’s nothing behind it.”
“Nobody is really like that,” I say. “Most of it must be an act.”
“I don’t live inside his brain but I’m pretty sure it’s not an act.”
He begins to undo the buttons on my blouse revealing my white lace bra. He rests his head between my breasts to feel the soft skin there.
“Makes no difference,” I say. “She’s stuck on someone.”
“Right,” he says, as he pushes the lace out of the way to find his prize, my hardening nipple.
“All you think about is sex, isn’t it?” I say when he takes the eager nipple in his mouth.
“Sex with you,” he corrects me, unsnapping my bra with one hand.
“Oh, what the hell,” I say, reaching down to undo his belt. “If you can’t beat them, join them.”
He lifts his eyes to smile. “You can beat me actually,” he offers.
“My big fool,” I whisper.
We undress down to nothing, devouring each other along the way. I find a favored position on his lap as he kisses my neck and shoulders. He stills for a moment, looking at me silently, his hand squeezing a breast before traveling down to my slippery entrance, stroking and teasing it. “Everything about you pleases me,” he says. “Do you think I am too in love?”
“The opposite,” I say between two soft moans. “I need you to love me so much more.”
I see one of his sexy grins on his face. “I’m going to make you come without touching you,” he says. “And then you’ll suck my cock.”
“That’s impossible,” I say.
“Which part?” he says as he lays me down on my back.
“The coming without being touched part.”
“Oh, that,” he says, spreading my legs wide open.
I nod, but then he caps my breasts, squeezing them together, before he puts his head between my legs to blow a steady stream of air on my ever needy button. He hits the exact spot. THE EXACT FUCKING SPOT!
My body arches, moaning loudly this time, unable to understand what is happening to me. The tickling sensation of the air on my clit makes me tremble even harder when he pinches my nipples and brings his mouth a mere millimeter away from my sensitive nub, blowing in pulsing intervals.
He repeats the process a few times, increasing the pressure on my nipples, making my body pulse and throb with inexplicable desire.
And then I can’t take it anymore. I wrap my legs around his neck to force him to touch me with his tongue. He does so, laughing and spanking my clit with his amazing tongue bringing me to the brink of a screaming blindness.
“Please,” I whisper desperately.
His tongue spins out a quick, firm dervish that explodes waves of desperation into a sparkling rush of trembling energy. He keeps sucking and kissing through my incessant cries.
“I’m yours,” I say as my lungs gasp for new air. I nestle into his arms.
He rests his hand between my breasts. My heart spasms rapidly in my chest and it makes him happy. He likes to feel his effect on me.
“Your heart,” he says. “It gets so excited.”
He’s never been more right.
Chapter 20
My feet literally refuse to move as I dig my heels in the ground when Jack and I reach the door of The True Blue Tavern.
“A sports bar?” I say, shaking my head at him. “Is that your idea of a casual lunch with me?”
“It will be fun, trust me,” he says, taking my elbow to get me to move.
I flash him a glance that would have injured him severely had it been charged with electricity. “Surely, you know me a bit better than that.”
“All right, you got me. I’ll admit it, the Clippers are playing.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I say as we enter the lobby.
The place is murky with the low lights casting shadows like tall candles. There are dozens of screens on the walls but there’s also art, paintings and drawings depicting scenes from sporting events.
The hostess tells us we can sit anywhere we like in the bar area or wait to be seated at a table. Jack nods in a friendly manner taking my hand to lead me to the bar, past a pool table and a buffet, without giving me a chance to tell him I’d rather wait for a table.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he says as he picks the bar stools closest to the wall, right underneath a big screen displaying golf. Jack waves at the bartender who waves back with a nod.
“There’s no point arguing now,” I say, settling down on the stool next to him, placing my bag on the bar. “Do you know him?”
“Ted? Yeah, we’re acquainted.”
The constant buzzing sounds in the bar will make it hard to talk without raising our voices. The walls are built with brown and red bricks and the drawn blinds combined with the candle-like lights manage to create a creepy feeling in me, almost as if I’m inside a catacomb.
Ted comes to us asking what we want to drink. Jack looks at me raising his eyebrows. “Beer?” he says.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll have a Stella Artois.”
Both Ted and Jack look at me a little more amused than I appreciate. “How about a Stella for the lady and I’ll take a Bud,” Jack says.
“I have no clue if I’ll like it, but we’re being adventurous and all,” I say, loading as much sarcasm in my voice as possible.
“Hey, Ted, we’d like to order some food,” Jack says.
“No problem, I’ll get you menus,” Ted says.
The buzzing blends in with the low lighting to create a lulling effect. I can see how one could get used to this place.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask Jack but he doesn’t seem to listen. He stretches his neck to look behind my shoulder and around the room.
“Are you looking for something?” I ask him.
He quickly turns his attention to me, slightly nudging my Stella with his Budweiser. “No, just taking in familiar faces.”
“So, how have you been, Jack?”
“Trying to stay positive and take one day at a time.”
I have to admit that he looks and acts better than the last few times I saw him. Even with the certainty of an awful diagnosis, he now has more composure and he seems rested and comfortable in his own skin.
“Well, that’s wonderful,” I say.
He takes a sip out of his bottle. “I should always listen to you.”
“You’re smart,” I say.
Since he picked me up we’ve been having trouble coming up with a subject that would interest both of us. Life can be strange. One minute you pour your heart and soul into a person, thinking you will always love them and want to be with them, and the next you barely have anything in common.
“Have you started treatment?” I say, to get a conversation started.
“Yeah... listen, Grace, I want us to focus on the good things. We haven’t had a beer together in years. Tell me about your life. How is it working with Taylor?”
“So far so good,” I say but have to stop as the waiter shows up.
We order burgers and a salad and a guacamole dip for our chips.
“I’ll be damned,” Jack says as soon as the waiter’s left with our order.
“What?” I say, trying to decipher his mocking tone.
“You’re having a burger.”
“We’re at a sports bar, hel
lo!”
“If I remember well, you were never able to finish a big burger like that.”
“That part hasn’t changed,” I say, somewhat amused. “And if I remember well, you never had a problem finishing a burger for me.”
“I’ll never have a problem with that,” he says with a big grin.
“I honestly don’t know how you stay so lean and fit,” I say, remembering all the times I marveled at his insatiable appetite which repelled me to some degree when it was combined with his incredibly loud chewing.
“It’s all the nervous energy,” he says. “I can’t stay put for long.”
I nod in agreement. This is the first time in years we have been so relaxed with each other.
The waiter arrives with our food. “Compliments of Ted,” he says, placing a small bottle of champagne with two tall glasses on the bar.
“Are you serious?” I say, looking at the frothy, sparkly liquid. “Burgers with champagne?”
The waiter nods as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Absolutely. We call it the good life. Enjoy.”
“Well, what do you know?” Jack says as soon as the waiter leaves. He doesn’t seem to be troubled at all with this inexplicable gift.
“Champagne? You think that’s normal? That shit’s expensive. Are you sure you and Ted are just acquaintances?”
“Yes, I’m sure. But maybe...”
“Maybe what? Jack?”
“Maybe word has gotten out. I don’t know. We can send it back if you would rather not have it.”
“No, keep it. It’s fine,” I say. “It was a nice gesture.”
He shrugs. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in any way.”
“Why would I?”
Jack chuckles. “He probably thinks you’re my girlfriend.”
I like that he’s considerate but I’m past caring what other people think. There was a time when the opinions of friends, people I knew or even complete strangers mattered to the point where it could be sheer torture to bear their gaze of disapproval. But that time is gone.
“Let Ted think what he likes,” I say. “We’ll just enjoy his champagne.”
Jack approves with a smirk and pours the bubbly drink in our glasses. He’s about to hand me mine when he jerks back suddenly, spilling some champagne on his shirt.
“Jack? You okay?”
“Yeah, I just felt a sudden pain,” he says. “It happens sometimes.”
I pick up a napkin to wipe his shirt. He lets me do it although I can tell his mind is elsewhere.
“Are you feeling better now?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s gone. Hey, will you do me a favor?”
As well as our lunch has gone so far, I can’t just say yes. Jack’s intentions are inconsistent and unreadable. “What is it?” I say, cautiously.
“Okay, do you remember my grandmother?”
I do remember her. She died six or seven years ago when Jack and I were still very close so it would be pretty impossible to forget how it saddened him. I saw his Grandmother only a few times when Jack took me to visit her in San Diego. She was a nice, sweet lady that made us laugh as she was hard of hearing and made up the words she didn’t hear, always using the most preposterous versions.
“Of course I remember,” I say.
“Look here,” he says, taking a small jewelry box out of his pocket.
“What’s that?”
“It’s her diamond ring that she gave me,” he says, opening the box to reveal an old, fashionable ring with a big diamond in the middle that glistens in different colors under the dim lights of the bar.
“Wow, I don’t know much about rings but it’s stunning,” I say.
His expression turns gloomy. “I wish I could keep it,” he says. “She would have wanted me to give it to my bride one day. But I can’t. I need all the money I can get to help with my medical bills.”
“You’re going to sell it?” My heart tightens a bit at his words.
He turns the ring in his fingers two times absentmindedly. “I’m sure Grandma would understand,” he says, not very convincingly.
“She would. She loved you, Jack. You were her only grandson. But I wish you could keep it.”
He nods. “Okay, here comes the favor part.”
“I’m listening.”
“Will you let me put the ring on your finger?”
His request takes me aback. He notices my reluctance. “Just for a second or two, Grace. Since I’ll never get to actually put it on the finger of a woman I’d want to marry, will you let me have this one moment?”
Something doesn’t feel right about what he’s proposing. I don’t want to hear him profess he has feelings for me ever again. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. It’ll probably make you sadder.”
“Please, Grace. There’s no agenda, I promise you. You have the most delicate fingers, just like Grandma did. The ring would fit you perfectly and I could get to see it on the finger of a woman I care about before I have to sell it off. You were my first love, after all.”
His eyes scour my face intensely. I can see pain in those eyes and something I can’t quite put my finger on. Something that resembles guilt perhaps or regret.
“Okay, you win. It can’t hurt,” I say, telling myself I don’t have to be afraid nor walk on eggshells with Jack anymore. He knows where we stand now.
“Hallelujah,” he says, raising his voice. “You have no idea what this means to me.” The pain is gone from his eyes but I swear the guilt is still there. Do I make him feel guilty for how things ended between us?
“You’re a bit too excited,” I say as he takes my mother’s good luck ring off my finger and gently replaces it with his grandmother’s diamond ring.
“Is there glue on it or something?” I joke. “Will it stick forever?”
“You’ve gotten so suspicious,” he says, admiring the beautiful ring on my finger. “Slide it back and forth, it’s not stuck. It actually fits perfectly.”
I touch the ring and it slides effortlessly across my finger. It’s beautiful and precious and has a sad story to tell. “If I could afford it, I’d buy it from you,” I say. “And then one day I’d return it. When you got serious about someone, that is.”
“Grandma would be so happy now,” he says, ignoring my remark. He takes my hand into his and stares into my eyes. “Can I have a kiss, Grace? The last one between us. It would be the kind of closure I need.”
I hesitate, not sure how much of what he says I can trust to be true. “I’ve already granted you a favor,” I say. “I’m not the three wish genie.”
“It will help me move on and be your friend,” he says. “C’mon, Grace, my whole world has been turned upside down.”
There are two options really. I can refuse and tell him it’s time to go, gently suggesting his request is inappropriate, or I can do as he asks and just this once reconnect with the boy I once loved so much before we can both put the past behind us for good.
In the end, the choice is simple like all impossible choices. They always lead us to the decision that we assume will hurt the least. I lean in and put my lips on his. His body tenses for a moment and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, but then he relaxes and kisses me back putting his arms around my shoulders.
It’s a soft, tender kiss that politely lacks urgency or intrusiveness.
He pulls away first and takes my hand to kiss the ring. I watch his face curiously as he looks over my shoulder for a while. I turn back to see what it is that has captured his attention but all I see are random customers.
Jack smiles at me with a look I can’t place, a mix of satisfaction and regret. His fingers gently pull the ring off and after glancing at it one more time, he puts it back in the box where it belongs.
Chapter 21
Nate’s on the loveseat watching an old western on the TV and biting his nails when I get home from the grocery store. I actually catch him chewing on two fingernails at the same time.
“Have I ever seen you do that before?” I say, not really sure if I have or not. One thing’s for sure, he can’t have developed the habit overnight.
He doesn’t react to my presence or my words. He’s totally into the show, apparently, and not that interested in what I have to say.
“Hey,” I say, taking a bread roll out of the grocery bag I’m carrying and throwing it at him. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“I heard you,” he says, still not looking at me.
“Is that show really that interesting?” I say as I walk in front of the TV to grab the bread roll and get the groceries to the kitchen.
“Not really,” he says.
“Well then get off your butt and get the groceries from the car.”
I start to unload my two bags, placing spaghetti and rice packages in the pantry, cheese and yogurt in the fridge. Nate walks in a minute later carrying every single grocery bag I left behind, including awkward to carry items like two gallons of milk and a dozen bottles of water.
“You’re like a mule,” I say. “You didn’t have to carry everything at once.”
“Better than going back and forth,” he says, setting it all on the floor.
He grabs an apple from a bag and washes it under the faucet.
“I forget how strong you are,” I say, placing my arms around his powerful chest from behind.
He doesn’t pull away from my grip but he doesn’t encourage it either. He keeps washing that apple like it’s been poisoned and dipped in mud.
“It’s organic,” I say.
“What?”
“The apple. You don’t have to wash it so hard.”
He turns the faucet off and reaches for a towel to dry the apple. He sinks his teeth in it three times until his mouth is completely full.
“All right, what’s wrong, Nathan?”
“I asked you to call me Nathan because no one had since I left home,” he says while chewing. “Thought it would make what we have more intimate, but it seems you mostly use it when you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. You on the other hand,” I say letting go of him.
He throws what’s left of his apple across the kitchen into a small carton box I plan to throw away one of these days. The apple lands in the middle of the open box with a thud. “I still have it,” he says, as if he has just scored a three-pointer. “You should put the groceries away. There’s milk and such.”
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