ME & PETE
After class I went straight to work, changed clothes, and nabbed a sticky-finger before lunch. Despite the hectic morning, the afternoon dragged. Maybe it was the nagging disappointment.
I was decked out in finery. Dripping of someone else's money. Strolling up and down aisles, stilettos sinking into three inch thick carpet, I sifted through racks of designer originals: gorgeous fashions I'd love to own, but got to wear for free. It was part of my job. I had to look fantastic so I'd fit in with the wealthy. The wealthy whose clothes covered their inadequacies. Or so my grandma would say whenever I complained about my wardrobe. I'd never forget her words: "Jewelia ... you remember. It's not the clothes that make you who you are. Your beauty is on the skin you were born with ... and also beneath that lovely surface."
My grandmother disputed the adage: "Clothes make the man," with a sharp lifted chin assuring everyone, in Grandpa's case, "Man made the clothes. My man." She'd roll her eyes that sparkled like a moonlit lagoon, laugh until she teared, then turn reverent as she tapped the sign of the cross. My grandma's eyes were like navy blue gems. Most unusual, especially given her heritage. La más bella, [the most beautiful] my grandfather would swoon in Spanish with an adorable German accent.
My grandfather was from the old country; the old country being Germany, where they met when he was a tailor designing clothing for royalty, and she was a Latina beauty. One of Grandpa's clients was a famous artist, and Grandma was one of his treasured models. From the moment he set eyes on her, Grandpa was lost in love. She let him chase her for six months until finally agreeing to a dinner date. The rest was history, and the blood that followed.
Yup, she'd scoff at the adage. If that were the case, hands on curvaceous hips she'd insist, department store dummies would be real-life supermen. Her reasoning always made sense, and stuck with me. And here I was today, remembering, agreeing, missing them so much.
My grandparents were the most in love couple I'd ever known in my entire life. Totally opposite in ethnicity and disposition, they were mad about each other until the day they died, three months apart. I wondered if I'd ever find a love so strong that I'd want to die, like my grandpa did, if I lost my true soul mate.
"Always make sure he loves you more." I remembered Grandma telling me with a nod and wink. By surrendering to death so close to hers, my physically fit grandpa proved he'd loved her more than life. I sighed and wiped a brimming tear from my duct before it had a chance to trace the curve of my nose.
Following my reverie, I felt a pang and needed a change of scene, so I took the escalator to the second floor, pausing to admire a rack of slinky dresses recently added to a spotlight display. After fingering silk, sequins and tulle, I moseyed into the hair salon where I grabbed a natural bristle hairbrush, then picked up a striking red lipstick instead. Thanks to AMA I'd become an impulse buyer. I had more odds and ends in my room than I had space for. Four p.m. finally rolled around and I was on my way home – in my own clothes and ballet flats, running for the bus.
When I walked through the door, Emma was in the kitchen making a stir fry. It smelled delish, but since I was eating out with Pete, I had to pass.
"Save me some leftovers. I'm taking a shower."
"You look beat." Her eyes were sympathetic, then their almond shape rounded. "So?"
"So what?" I huffed. Why was I annoyed with Em?
"How did it go? I half expected you to call ... or text. But when you didn't ... well, I guess I assumed ..."
The expression on my face must have warned, because she backed off.
I flopped into a chair in the living room. After munching on an apple while watching Judge Judy reruns, I hopped into the shower. Unable to hear the doorbell which Em answered, I paraded out with a towel slung low around my hips, hair dripping spray-on conditioner down my back, shoulders and chest. I figured I must have glistened like an icicle in a thaw, because Emma's eyes widened. Then her hand flew to her mouth, covering a gasp. Sitting beside her on the sofa, Pete sucked in a long breath, then returned a burst of air to the room in the form of a low wolf whistle.
"You have the body of a goddess, Jewel," he groaned, throwing a forearm across his forehead to fake a faint.
I cupped my breasts. "Eat your heart out."
"Oh, don't think I don't." He lifted a brow.
"Maybe if you'd wear your uniform you'd have a better chance," I teased, then padded into my bedroom to dress. He had a way of lifting my mood. But definitely not in the same way that college Joe did.
Pete Williams was an NYPD rookie. Also a Criminal Justice major, he'd settled on the first job offer after graduation, which was a stepping stone to his career choice: Plain Clothes Detective. In his blues, Pete could knock anyone, anything off his feet, literally. Standing six three, and over two-hundred-twenty pounds of lean muscle, with a Latin look, he was hotter than August pavement at high noon. He was all American, but second generation Sicilian mixed well with Brit and Scot.
Emma and I ran into Pete one afternoon while he was on his corner beat. He tried to nail us for jaywalking, but ended up buying us drinks instead of issuing tickets. From that day on we forged the perfect triangle. Pete's loving soul was hard to resist, blending easily with Emma's compassion, and my lust for life and need to control every aspect of it. Our personalities may have ricocheted now and then, but we never really clashed.
Pete turned to Emma, who was dressed in workout sweats. "You coming with us?"
"Nah." Magazine on lap, she slid to the floor and stretched her hamstrings.
Besides being absolutely adorable, Pete had a definitive nature. Life was broken down categorically – cut and dried – yes or no. He wouldn't take nah for an answer.
"Get off the fence and come with us. Bring someone, Em. We'll make it a foursome."
"Scott's working and there's really no one else ..."
"Are you two an item yet?" Pete was relentless.
Emma pruned her lips. "Scott's an emergency escort. Nothing more."
"Like Pete?" Standing beside the hunk occupying almost half of the sofa, I giggled, tweaked his bristly chin, then fell into his soft brown eyes.
"Not at all." Emma didn't move from her lotus position.
I grabbed Pete's arm and yanked. "Let's go. We're gonna be late."
Emma tore her stare away from Elle long enough to swipe a once-over. "You make the cutest couple." She winked. "Have fun."
We stopped at an Italian restaurant for pasta with marinara sauce, garlic bread and salads. Afterward, we hit up a candy store to bag some goodies to munch on during the show. As we strolled down West 54th, headed for the theater, I must have unconsciously been thinking about college Joe, because I barely absorbed Pete's jabber about work, complaining about the system, his salary, his temporary assignment on the corner of Madison.
"Hey," he said, flinging an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "So, what do you think, beautiful?"
"About what?"
"About my parents' cabin in Maine?"
Oops. His droning must not have been all about work. "Maybe. Why don't we talk about it later?"
"You can be such a drag sometimes. But I still love you." He planted a kiss atop my head.
Looking up at him, I smiled. I was lucky to have him. "I love you back, Pete. I always will." I slowed his stride, reached up and aimed my cherry red lips for his cheek. My new lipstick looked terrific ...
During the two hour comedy, we put on our own show, laughing like idiots – at each other – not the flick. As usual, we sat in the back row. Pete could become boisterous if coerced, and it didn't take much to get me going. When I wouldn't stop tickling him, Pete began pitching popcorn at me. Despite the usher who made numerous threats to unseat us, the night was exceedingly pleasant, taking my mind off college Joe and his bitch. Well, almost.
Before the movie ended, Pete's arm tightened around my shoulders, his head resting against mine. "You're fun to be with, Jewel. Helps take the load off life."
"Sure." He kissed my cheek. "But I can't wait to lose the uniform."
"Shit. You heat those blues, baby," I teased, patting his thigh which felt solid beneath his jeans. "I'm having a great time, too." I pressed my cheek firmly against his, then settled back into the seat.
The movie ended and as we exited the theater the first thing to hit me was the invigorating smell of rain. Without hesitation, I led us into the middle of a thunderstorm. The sky flashed above us, thunder accompanying each bolt of lightning.
"Want to wait it out?" Pete was so thoughtful. "How convenient. There's a bar two doors away." He eyed me, shrugging one of his caterpillar brows.
"Hmm. I'm tempted." Damn early mornings. Whatever happened to freedom and irresponsibility? "I'd like to, Pete, but I'm beat. Let's make a run for it."
Pete's guiding arm went around me, shoving me under awnings, close to buildings we scooted past. When we ran out of overhead shelter, he held a big hand over my head.
"It's fine, Pete. I'm not gonna melt." Between running and laughing I was growing short of breath. "Besides, I love the rain," I practically gasped, enjoying the feel of clean rainwater on my face, rinsing my lips when I spoke.
"Now you tell me." He laughed and pushed me into the middle of the massive downpour, lifting me off my feet, tossing me around like I was weightless.
By the time we reached my apartment, my hair was glued to my scalp, my clothes to my skin.
In high gear, we took the stairs like athletes in training. Standing before my door, we dripped puddles, stifling our laughter so we wouldn't wake the neighbors, or heaven forbid, interrupt Emma's beauty sleep.
I fumbled through my bag, found my key and opened the door. Palms over mouths we fell through the doorway and into the foyer. The apartment was silent and dim. Emma's door was closed, no reading lamp bleeding from the bottom inch of white painted wood.
"Look at you," Pete clicked his tongue. Bending at the knee, he pulled off my shoes. "Into the shower, Kit Kat."
"What are you, my sitter?" I gulped down a chuckle.
"Keep walking." He shoved me into the darkened bath, then switched on the light, grabbed a towel from a rack and mopped rain from my face. He laughed. "You should wear waterproof mascara."
Standing before the mirror, I wiped charcoal streaks from my cheeks with a cotton ball, while he unzipped my jeans, dragging them down to my ankles. Lifting one foot at a time, he steadied me as he freed me from the drenched garment that felt like it weighed ten pounds.
"Woman, you are soaked to the skin. Let's get these clothes off before you get sick."
"Me?" My eyes swept him from head to toe. Beneath the lights his face and smooth arms glistened. His damp hair curled carelessly, raindrops trailing jaw line to neck, rolling into his crewneck tee. I pulled his shirt up and over his head, then threw a towel around him. "Practice what you preach, officer." I tweaked his chin, then smooshed the wet cotton fabric into his smirk. "Grab one of my oversized tees from my dresser."
"If I can't dry mine in the microwave, I'll take you up on that offer."
Pete adjusted the stream of water to just the right temp. While his back was turned, I slid down my panties and stashed them in the hamper, unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. Swallowed by a cloud of steam, I blew him a kiss and shut the frosted glass, luxuriating in the warmth.
The door cracked open, and Pete poked his head in, stare glued to my foamy face. "I'll make us some tea. Lemon and honey?"
"Don't forget to scrub the lemon before you slice it. And just give it a good squeeze. Don't drop the rind in my cup."
He let out a good-humored sigh. "Of course, dear. I know you and bacteria don't mix." He rolled his eyes and shut the door.
Grinning, I lathered with scented wash and shampooed my hair, then padded into the kitchen, comfy and dry, sporting Hello Kitty sleep shorts and tank top.
Pete greeted me with a chuckle. "You look like a little kid."
"Sometimes I feel like one. Too bad life doesn't realize this."
"What are you talking about? Something wrong?"
I was tempted to vent my emotions, then decided against it. Pete was understanding, but I didn't feel comfortable confiding in him about college Joe. For sure he'd start the third-degree, which I wasn't up to. I had no idea what was going on, so how could I explain it to someone else?
Sitting at our small table, we shared tea and gossip we hadn't had a chance to dish during the movie. Cop talk was usually interesting, not to mention occasionally shocking.
"So you were the first one to find the victim?" Even though my body was tired, my eyes were wide awake. So was my mind.
"Yep. First on the scene." Cop talk always sobered Pete.
"Oh my God. How awful was it?" I remembered my grandmother resting in a casket and shuddered. Experiencing a natural passing was a far cry from witnessing a gunshot victim left bleeding to death in an alley.
"Hey. Don't flinch. You'll be encountering this stuff soon."
"With luck." With moist pink lips, I shot him a duck face to lighten the mood.
Reaching across the table, he patted my hand. "You'll get in, Jewel. Just flash that smile of yours." He winked then laughed. "And that dumb looking face."
"Hey," I protested his crude remark, throwing a spoon at him, then got serious. "Score high, you mean."
"Yeah, babe. You've got to. Lots of competition out there."
I scrunched my mouth and sighed. "Ugh. Forensic Science tomorrow. With Professor Blooming Onion."
Pete burst out laughing. "Who?"
"Eidlehorn. I swear, that guy must search for the most offensive breakfast foods on the market. His breath is a knockout."
"So are you." Pete grinned. "I remember that dude. Listen, doll. I'm gonna hit the road." He went to the sink, washed and dried his cup and placed it on a shelf. "Let you get some rest. You look beat."
I met him at the doorway and ruffled his hair. "You too, big guy." I poked one of his pecs straining through my borrowed shirt. "Lavender is your color. Keep the shirt."
His dramatic posedown stressed the shoulders and back. He tugged at the sleeves. “Geeze. I’m about to burst through the seams. I don’t know how you manage to squeeze into this, Jewel.”
“Very funny.” I swatted him. “Unlike you, mine’s all up front.”
“Haven’t we all noticed.” He peered over my shoulder. "Hmm. Not to underestimate the backside."
"Sometimes I think you just like me for my body." I backed him into the living room.
"And all this time, I've felt the same about your intentions."
Laughing, he followed me to my room, waited until I crawled into bed, then tucked me under the covers. His lips were warm on my forehead. Plush and gentle. "Nite, sweetie." His breath was raspberry tea scented.
"You're so good to me, Petey." A sigh of contentment warmed my pillow. I curled up on my side. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
With a palm sinking into my mattress, he leaned in for a good night kiss. "You're the doll I always wanted. Someday I'll walk you down the aisle." His face took on the strangest look. "You're the only woman I've ever loved."
I knew Pete and his family weren't close, but until that moment, I never realized just how distant he and his mom were. What the hell was wrong with her? Pete was a sweetheart. To imagine him anything other than jovial made me sad. How could she not treasure him? I wanted to pull him down beside me, cuddle away every worry. But Nikos was the only man who had ever shared my bed.
"If I'm ever lying in some alley, I hope you're my first responder," whispering, I looked deep into his eyes. "I feel safe with you..."
"You really know how to get to a guy."
My lids began to flutter. "Night, Pete," I mumbled, as a peaceful wave of sleep engulfed me. "I had a great time tonight."
"Ditto. I'll lock the door on my way out." His voice moved to the other side of the room.
&
nbsp; MY FIRST BIKE-A-THON
I knew I made unjust withdrawals on college Joe's funds, but Saturday dawned into a stunning reminder of Nikos' condo on the scenic Hudson.
Lying in my bed, brisk air from my open windows washed my face, chilling my upper torso exposed by a sheet that half hung on the floor. Cha Ching! Instant replay. Nikos had draped the sides of his terrace with blankets for our weekend sunbathing. Wrapped in his terry bathrobe, I'd hunched over the railing, admiring sails and tugboats skim the river's lazy current.
The Hudson was the condo's backyard luxury I missed almost as much as I'd missed him. The Saturday sun had been hot as Nikos' hands when he pulled me down beside him. He lacked nothing in the romance department. Eventually rolling off his sturdy mattress, another name for my body, he brought a towel to his privates and padded into the kitchen to grab some drinks.
Cap lock: IMHO: What's said about the Greeks is true, at least in my experience. Not only are they fabulous lovers, they're generous, hospitable, naturally uninhibited ...
I lulled on the terrace, disconnected from the gentler chaos of weekend Manhattan, the classes I should have been studying for, the laundry I should have been doing. The buzz of a Cessna broke the silence and a sudden visualization of an upcoming Political Science quiz I absolutely had to outscore myself on.
I never figured planes flew that low. Not even small ones. Naked and innocent as a newborn in a woman's body, I retained my prone position, spread eagle on the terrace floor, catching as many rays as possible before heading home to hit the books.
The overhead roar faded. I heard it make another pass at what had to be treetop level. My eyelids shot up, along with my brows. I could literally read the call letters on the Skyhawk's belly. With a chuckle I rolled onto my stomach, hoping the single engine didn't crash before it had a chance to climb into a cloud. Men ...
Head Over Wheels (Spicy Young Romance) Page 3