Rhythm

by Gem Sivad

  He grinned, not missing my sarcasm.

  I wondered why I found him attractive. Marty wasn’t cute, or handsome in a conventional way. He was big, but more than just being size extra-extra-large, his personality filled the room even when he kept his mouth shut. His gaze lingered on my chest and without looking down, I knew my nipples were puckered nubs tenting the thin material of my tee.

  “How you feeling?” His grin got down right wolfish.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Did you come to check on my health or fool around?”

  “Is option two on the table?” he growled.

  “The only fooling around I’m doing is making myself breakfast. Drink your coffee. Have a donut. I’ll eat one, too. Then you can leave.”

  “Seriously, how do you feel?”

  “I feel like breakfast.” I pulled a skillet from my oven. With sawdust swirling around and half the doors off the cupboards, it was currently the best place to store my cooking tools.

  “Nice kitchen. Beautiful wood.” He clearly knew how to romance me. The solid cherry I’d uncovered gave me incentive to continue sanding but it was a lot of work. Marty’s spontaneous admiration made me smile. While I set out my ingredients, preparing to cook, he got off the chair and inspected my cabinets.

  “Some dumb ass painted them white. Tell me it wasn’t you.”

  “Would I be sanding the paint off, if I’d slapped it on?”

  “Tedious work,” he grunted, then picked up a tack rag and began wiping down the upper cupboards. From where I was standing, facing the stove, I could see him from the corner of my eye.

  Like me, he had on gray sweats. The drawstring pants rested on his hips, and when he reached high, the gesture hiked up his sweatshirt, displaying a line of black hair, arrowing down his stomach, a road map to what lay below. And what went below, suddenly went up.

  I will not laugh, I will not laugh, I will not… I focused on the stove and pretended interest in frying the hash browns. Once they were crispy and golden brown, I broke a dozen eggs in the skillet and scrambled them, sprinkled grated cheese across the top to melt, while I nuked a pound of bacon, and toasted half a loaf of bread. Like I said, I was hungry, and my hulking visitor didn’t look like he was leaving before he at least got some food.

  “Eat up. Then you can leave.” My manners seemed to have deteriorated in direct proportion to my lust as if I tried to drive him away because I wanted him. Okay, I’m nuts.

  After I laid cutlery on the table, I handed him a plate and served myself eggs and hash browns from the skillet, added a couple of slices of bacon, stacked two pieces of toast on the side, poured myself a glass of milk, and slid into my chair at the table.

  He set a coffee in front of me, kept the other for himself, and sat facing me across his own loaded plate. Very loaded, falling off the edges, loaded. At my round-eyed blink, he said gruffly, “I’m a man with a big appetite.”

  He gave me a knowing look and smirked, making me blush, and that pissed me off. But my face got red just the same. I pushed the coffee in its carry cup back across the table at him.

  “You don’t like coffee?”

  “Not in the mood,” I answered.

  “You drank milk last night.”

  “Yes, I did. And?”

  “You have an ulcer?”

  “No ulcer and I don’t think milk is a cure for ulcers anyway,” I said and began making my way through the food on my own plate. Then embarrassed at my own churlishness, I added, “Help yourself. I’ve got all I want.”

  I ignored him and ate.

  He took me at my word, plowed through the first plate, then finished off the eggs, the hash browns, and wrapped the last piece of bacon into the last piece of toast before he stood and began clearing the table. “Great breakfast. Got a dishwasher?”

  “Soon. Sink for now.”

  “You own this place?”

  “Me and the bank,” I told him.

  “Mind if I look around out back?”

  Whether I cared or not, he piled the breakfast dishes in the sink and used the door off the mudroom to get to my backyard.

  I smiled to myself while I did the dishes and watched him wander around the yard. It was my version of paradise. My grandma had been a gardener. She’d passed away before I was born. Grandpa Bob had kept the bushes trimmed and didn’t bother the flowers that returned every year. After I’d reclaimed the house, I’d been identifying the flowers from the weeds, by carrying my laptop out back and making comparisons between cyber pictures and what was growing in the neglected jungle.

  Last fall I’d bought a package of gladiola bulbs and planted them. I was looking forward to seeing if my grandma had passed down her green thumb.

  That thought startled me. I found myself staring at my stomach, my wet hands splayed protectively over my belly. Oh, my gosh. I needed to go sit in my closet again. And dunderhead was still out back.

  Breathe in, breathe out… I gripped the edge of the sink and focused my gaze out the window on Marty, now gently rocking back and forth in my backyard swing. He looked relaxed. I calmed down a little.

  My gaze switched from him to the grocery sack and its contents. While Marty was otherwise occupied, I’d just get it over with.

  “Ready or not, here I come,” I muttered and grabbed up the bag, carrying it to the bathroom.

  Chapter Nine

  Marty

  I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt so peaceful. Tired too. I’d been putting in some hours lately.

  The dance-a-thon had brought in more than good will. Smoke, had reaped a few local contracts that wouldn’t have happened before the fund raiser. Last week we’d assisted in a Coast Guard rescue and I’d chalked it down to PR, too.

  I yawned. My office couch seemed far away now. I considered sprawling sideways for a nap in the great outdoors.

  She has a great place going on here. The weather had been fucking nuts. Thirty-four degrees and ice one day, sunshine and seventy the next. Her yard was already showing green but in the corner where fence met gate, a pile of snow hadn’t completely melted.

  I’d left her kitchen and headed for the back yard rather than leave after eating breakfast. I knew I should get out, but, when I’d spotted the swing, it had drawn me like a distress beacon. I suspected she’d adjusted the drop to accommodate her own tall frame. And though it was still a little low for me, it worked.

  The day had turned out to be warm and after I closed my eyes and leaned against the cushion in the two-seater, I’d lost myself in the pleasure of mindlessly gliding back and forth.

  Okay, not mindlessly. I analyzed the Holly situation as I enjoyed the feel of sun on my face. She was fine. She’d eaten almost as much as me and kept it down. At least, I thought she had.

  Having a company physician kept Smoke’s insurance premiums from eating us alive. So far it was working and was worth every penny of our investment. Garret had been damned handy last night.

  Okay, I overreacted. Having resolved my concern for her health, my thoughts meandered back to our final conversation the night before. When we were in the booth. Before she puked all over my shoes.

  I hadn’t had time to think about our talk as I’d been busy right after that, holding her over the toilet while she made me certain I’d never eat Church’s chili again. But I had time, now.

  Point one. She’s a Baby Doll escort and doesn’t work for Maxine. Good. Like I’d told her, it could have gotten awkward.

  Point two and three went together. The gist of them being, Maxine needed a dance partner for a desperate client, or maybe desperately needed a dancer for a client. I couldn’t remember the exact words.

  But I got the important part. Holly did someone a favor and showed up and danced with desperate client—me.

  Point four, ditto. She wasn’t for sale. Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? My bad that after six years of not having the urge to fuck anyone, I’d wanted her.

  I pushed the swing a little harder as my dick twitch
ed indicating that that want hadn’t disappeared.

  Point Five. She’d never fucked before. Was that possible?

  I’m thirty-eight, I don’t know how old she is, but she’s too old to be a virgin. That whole concept kept my mind churning for a bit. I mean, if it was true, what had she been saving it for? Not me, that was for damned sure. She treated me like gum she’d found stuck to her shoe.

  You’re a high maintenance kind of guy. Belatedly, her insult landed. Huh? I picked up my own clothes, ironed my own shirts, washed my own vehicle, paid my own bills. Whatever else there was in my life needing done, I did.

  You’d want to know what I’m doing. She’d lost me on that one. What was to know? You’d expect me to care about what you’re doing. Not really. Half the shit I did, I wouldn’t tell anyone. The other half got sanitized—a lot. So, not talking was safer than talking, texting, or whatever fucking way men communicated with their women these days.

  My woman. I mulled over that thought. She’d been eyeing me when I wiped down her cabinets. She’d looked away, but not before big john had decided to stand tall. I’d seen her grin, even if she’d been trying to hide it. Her tits had perked up, too. I was sure underneath her sweats she’d gone commando, at least up top.

  I’d showered in Garret’s office bathroom; glad I hadn’t stinted on that addition when we built. We were all big men and Garret kept sweats on hand for when one of us came in wearing torn clothes from whatever encounter had caused us to need bandaged or stitched.

  Underwear wasn’t a clothing accommodation Garret kept on hand, hence beneath my gray pants, there was nothing holding me down. I swung harder. Inside my sweats, my cock stretched, pointing the way to the house and the woman I’d like to be inside.

  Every once in a while, I opened my eyes and peered at the house. At first, she was there doing dishes and watching me swing. I waved at her, wanting to expand the playground to include her. When she disappeared from sight, I knew it was time to go.

  Haul ass, Jones. But, we hadn’t had any of the donuts, yet. The thought of two different kinds of dessert got me out of the swing.

  Holly got me out of the house even faster. Shit. All I said was, “Wanna…?” Dammit, I didn’t even get ‘donut’ out of my mouth before she snarled at me and said, “Get out.”

  What the fuck? “Did you throw up?” Her illness must have kicked back in.

  “None of your business. Leave.” She had a ball bat in her hand, and though I was sure I could take her, it didn’t seem like a good idea. Reason seemed better.

  “Calm down, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You’re still here.” Looked like she knew how to handle a bat. Good for her.

  I stepped back and continued talking and backing as she stalked toward me. “Do you need me to drive you somewhere, back to the clinic maybe? I can call Garret, he’ll be there and ready.”

  I mumbled suggestions across the floor and out the entrance. She followed me, catching the thick inside door in her hand and bringing it along with her until she stood in the doorway, set the end of the bat on the floor, and leaned on it.

  “Your company doctor said I had to let my sex partners know about my illness. Call him, tell him you’re one of my victims and you need the cure. He said the problem would go away, but it’s going to be a bitch for months. Maybe for years. The treatment includes weekly anal probes.” Having gotten the last word, she shut the door.

  I thought about knocking and asking for my donuts back just to piss her off. But, I took the high road and left them for her. She’d been lying through her teeth, but I’d call Garret anyway. Hell, if there was any chance I’d encountered dick rot, he’d have already told me.

  But, something was up. Maybe she wasn’t sick-sick. But she’d looked a little green around the gills when she’d been throwing me out. Garret knew all about her problem.

  I climbed in my Hummer with a frown on my face. Oh yeah. Dr. Wilson knew all about her problem, and she’d told me to call him. Okay. I was damned sure with that order in hand, I could finesse some answers from the kid. I voice dialed. I loved this technology. He answered on the first ring.

  “Unless you’re dying, leave me the fuck alone.”

  “She told me.”

  “Good.”

  He was going to hang up if I didn’t come up with something fast. “She said she gave me something.”

  “Marty, I don’t want to hear any of this. But if I must, I should tell you, I put you on speakerphone, so I could finish my steak.”

  “Where the hell are you? And who’s …”

  “Church’s fixing breakfast for the crew at his place. Surprised you don’t know about it. Oh. And you pretty much just told everyone we know that you got a case of something from a hookup.” Too late, the tinny echo of his voice, as well as the raucous sound of the Smoke, Inc. maniacs in the background, confirmed what he said. Shit.

  “You, sonofabitch,” I snarled.

  “Dr. Sonofabitch, to you. If you’re bleeding, need bones set, or an x-ray, come see me. I don’t know anything about Trichomoniasis issues. You’ll have to see a specialist.” He hung up.

  That had been way too easy. I drove to Church’s place trying to piece together the information I had. One, Garret wasn’t worried about Holly at all, so basically, I extrapolated that she wasn’t bad sick, and whatever was wrong was neither life threatening nor my business. I disagreed about the last part, but I didn’t have a strong case for why, so I’d leave it at that.

  I parked in back, used my phone to Google Garret’s diagnosis, and then went inside. As usual, most of the crew had ended up at Church’s place. Garret sat a table with Jack. Both were eating steaks. I pulled the phone out and read aloud.

  “Trichomoniasis, a bovine venereal disease, specifically targeting male cattle.” Jack snorted but kept on eating. Garret grinned.

  Dick rot for bulls. Cute.

  I sat at the bar. Mistake number two.

  “Good looking woman,” Church said.

  I nodded. “Give me a beer.” Yeah, it was early. But I’d already had coffee and breakfast.

  He sat one in front of me, opened another for himself and asked, “You care if I ask her out?”

  What the fuck? “Shit, yes I care. Stay away from her. And if she’s with me in here, or anywhere, stay away from both of us. And if by pure bad luck we run into each other, for fuck’s sake don’t go sniffing her hair, again.”

  “Smelled good,” Church answered. He tipped his beer, drank deep, and belched before he added, “I’d like to bury my face in…”

  “My fist.” I set my beer on the counter and left.

  Shit. Once back inside my vehicle I didn’t know where to go. I should go back to the office. The same pile of paperwork that had been waiting before still waited. I could nap on the couch and watch something on the tube this afternoon.

  But it was a nice day. I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the breeze, the sway of the swing, the sky overhead, Holly at the window pretending to not watch me while I watched her through half-closed eyes.

  Okay, I’d go back to her place. Based on the fact her nipples had pebbled a couple of times when I’d been with her earlier, I didn’t think she’d use the ball bat on me. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go and going there felt right.

  And that was fucking stupid since I’d danced with her once. Okay, all night long ending in a magnificent fuck that I could be remembering as great because it had been so fucking long since I’d fucked who the hell knew whether it had been fantastic or fair to middling. She hadn’t been impressed.

  I wanted a do-over.

  I made a couple stops, picked up some condoms in case I got lucky, and headed her way.

  Holly

  Unfortunately for Marty after I’d used two of the three pregnancy kits I’d purchased, my first encounter out of the bathroom was with the dancing sperm donor. I’d felt a panic attack coming on, grabbed my bat, backed Marty out the door, and retreated to my closet.


  What if it’s true? What if I’m pregnant? I did not want to face that possibility. I almost left the closet to avoid it. But I sat, trying to fathom how it had happened again, how my world could shift, changing everything with no warning.

  I sat with head bowed, surrounded by darkness… My lifestyle was not conducive to having a child. I worked a lot of the time to afford the things I had. And I could only afford the things I had, because I worked a lot of the time. I couldn’t stand the idea of selling my house. But a baby cost money. A baby needed lots of things I didn’t have…

  My chaotic thoughts paused as I strained to identify a new concern. I’d just heard the backdoor open and close. I’d locked the front door when I’d escorted Marty out. I’d neglected the back.

  The floor boards creaked, and the building shifted slightly. Someone was in my house. I held tight to the bat, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.

  The closet door swung open. I froze. I hadn’t expected it. While my eyes adjusted to the light, Marty peered inside. I’d moved the shoes and boxes, but I hadn’t cleared the entire area, yet. His gaze focused on the vacuum cleaner then shifted to me, sitting on the floor.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  “What the heck are you doing in my house?” I scrambled to my feet, belatedly remembering the bat I still held.

  “If that’s your security, I think you need an upgrade.”

  Smart ass.

  “How about I upgrade to a 911 call and report a burglary. Then I can beat you over the head until they arrive and still claim self-defense.” And yet, as I lobbed threats and insults at Marty, I felt so much better. “You broke into my house.”

  “Technically, no. I rang your doorbell, it doesn’t work by the way. I knocked, you didn’t answer. I was worried about you. I went around back and came through the kitchen door.”

  “I received unsettling news. I needed to think.”

  “You think in the closet?”