Here He Comes Again

by Melissa Shirley

  “Jeez, Simon. You aren’t a butler. Stop acting like it’s your job to greet the guests.” I patted his back. “Don’t worry, Bud. She won’t sneak past you. The smell of cheap perfume and bitch will announce Danielle’s arrival before she ever gets close to the door.”

  “What does bitch smell like?” He’d asked under his breath as I walked past him.

  “I don’t know. You tell me. I try not to get close enough to sniff her.” He shoved my shoulder, and I bumped into my mom as she eyed Eric’s too long hair, torn jeans, and wrinkled T-shirt. My hair, on the other hand, still looked amazing in an intricate up-do, and I wore my favorite denim mini with thigh high boots. My low-cut cream top hid under a soft white cashmere sweater Mom bought for me a few weeks earlier.

  It took forever before my mother approved of Eric/Matthew as a suitable escort for her princess. She asked about his car, job, and girlfriend--which made me almost cough up a lung--but, finally, we walked side by side down the cobblestone front steps. Danielle, in a pristine white winter queen, fur-lined dress, pranced up the walk with her parents. Of course.

  “Hey, Eric.” Her sweet smile never quite succeeded in hiding her malevolence, and my heart sank. I couldn’t guess how long it would take for her to sidle up to mom and rat me out, but I figured it wouldn’t be more than twenty or thirty seconds.

  I brushed those thoughts away, knowing I could handle my mother. After climbing up in the truck, I reached back over my shoulder for the seatbelt. When Eric turned to me and raised his eyebrows, I let the nylon go and shrugged. Embarrassment warmed my skin to what I was sure became a bright shade of pink that probably glowed in the dark. He chuckled and gunned the engine.

  “God, your mom is over the top.” After we turned the corner away from my house, he patted the seat next to him.

  I giggled, scooting closer. “Oh, that was nothing.” He escaped without having to show her his driver’s license or insurance card, either of which would have ended the game for me. If she had caught a glimpse of his tattooed forearms, she probably would have required a blood test before she let me out the door. The stars must have aligned perfectly on my behalf.

  His calloused hand rested on my leg. As he inched up my skirt, I grabbed his wandering fingers, pulling them back to an acceptable spot on my knee. “Hey there, big boy. I told you I’m not ready for that.”

  “Fine. I’ll just rest it there.” His words said one thing, but his actions said another. He kept snaking his hand farther up my skirt, and I continued to move it back down. His eyes narrowed as he tried to watch the road and me at the same time.

  He whipped his truck into the parking lot, grabbed a bag from behind his seat, and helped me out. We walked hand in hand to the apartment, but as soon as he shut the door, he trapped me against it. One of his hands gripped the doorframe, the other on my waist while he tried to reach my belly button with his tongue. He moaned into my mouth and lifted the hem of my shirt. “What are you doing?” I asked out of breath.

  “I just wanna see,” he said softly.

  “Eric.” I pulled away and ducked under his arm, tugging my sweater back down. My stomach lurched as I battled my fight or flight instincts.

  He shook his head and sighed. Turning, he held out the plain brown bag he had pulled from behind his seat. “I bought you something.” He produced a bottle of what looked like juice but whose label read Boones Farm Wine. “Something special for my sweet baby girl.” He strolled to his kitchen and poured half the contents into a Big Gulp cup he rescued from the sink. “This’ll loosen you right up.”

  I shook my head. “I’m okay.” I didn’t want to look like a baby, so I kept the fact that a single sip of champagne I’d snuck during Mom’s party last year provided my only experience with alcohol. My mouth went dry, and my palms grew damp as he strolled toward me, then handed me the cup.

  “Come on, babe. One drink won’t hurt. It’s like Kool-Aid. I promise.”

  I slanted a sideways glance his way, then took a small drink of the wine that tasted anything but sweet. When I tried to move the glass away, he pushed it higher, forcing me to chug the entire thing. The semi-clean cup emptied, he set it aside, took my hand, and pulled me to his sofa. “Come here, beautiful.” He slid an arm around my waist and yanked me closer, then lifted me easily onto him, turning me so his chest pressed against mine and my legs straddled his.

  After a few minutes, the wine kicked in, and a warm feeling washed over me all the way to the tips of my toes. His mouth came down on mine as he stroked my thigh with one hand and breast with the other. He crept his fingers higher, sending chills through my veins. I couldn’t figure out how to stop it. His body rocked under mine as he deepened his kisses and continued pushing the limits I’d set.

  “Eric…” I turned my face out of his kiss.

  “Oh, baby. It’s okay. I love you. I am going to make you feel good.” His two hands were more like seven, and I squirmed to avoid his touch, making his predicament harder--pun intended.

  “Eric, I want to go home. I feel funny.” I stood up and stumbled backward, my calves bumping his coffee table. “Please, take me home.”

  “Come here, baby. I promise. I’ll make you feel all better.” He reached for me, and I clumsily sidestepped his grasp, leaning down to steady myself on his cluttered coffee table. Two beer cans toppled to the floor. Dizziness clouded my vision and I swayed, teetering closer to the floor.

  “I think it’s the wine, Eric. I don’t feel good.” Wooziness tilted my world, and the churning in my belly persisted. He grabbed for me again, and I used his forehead to push him away. “I wanna go home.”

  Fury blazed in his eyes. “Go then. There’s the door.” He pointed to the exit in an over-exaggerated motion. “Did you honestly think I brought you here for movie night, little girl?”

  “Eric, take me home.” Twenty long miles stretched between his apartment and my house. Walking, drunk or sober, would have taken forever. “I feel sick.” I didn’t think I could form another warning without heaving the shrimp I’d eaten for dinner all over both of us.

  “You wanna go home, go, but I’m staying right here.” He grabbed his remote and propped his feet up on the battered table, sending more debris to a carpeted resting place.

  “Eric, please.”

  “Run back to your mommy, little princess.” As I turned away, his parting shot buzzed its way through the ringing in my ears. “Don’t come back until you’re ready to grow up.”

  My chin quivered and tears burned my eyes. Rather than prove myself the big baby he accused me of being, I flung the door open and slammed it shut behind me. Because I wanted to show off my outfit, my coat still hung in the closet at home. The drizzling rain, along with the lack of sunlight, had dropped the temperature, but my body burned from the wine and my own humiliation. My tears, combined with the raindrops, caused my makeup to run onto my cheeks, and my hair fell into my face.

  In the distance, a gas station lit up the sky, and I headed straight for the parking lot, a plan forming in my mind. I would call home and beg my mother to come and pick me up. She would believe Eric’s truck left us stranded as I diligently tried to make it home before my curfew ticked down. I hoped so anyway, since I had no Plan B.

  When I stepped inside the warmth of the station, Keaton stood at the counter paying for gas and a candy bar. He’d turned sixteen back in August and his parents bought him a spiffy little sports car. He drove anywhere he wanted, but mostly to my house.

  “Jocelyn? What happened to you?”

  “I got into a fight with Eric, and I need to call my mom to come and get me.” Embarrassed by the details of the wrong turn my night had taken, I prayed his good manners would overtake his curiosity. He didn’t need the dirty details, and I didn’t want to explain them.

  He shrugged. “I could give you a ride home.”

  “Really?” The strawberry wine blurred the edges of my mind or as soon as I saw him, the thought would have come
to me on its own. I threw my arms around his neck, hanging on as much for stability as in gratitude. “Thank you, Keaton. You’re my hero.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he murmured dryly.

  Obviously being my hero wasn't prize enough for him to appreciate my arms around his neck and my breath in his face.

  He pulled away. “You smell like alcohol.”

  “Eric gave me wine.” He wrapped his letterman jacket around my shoulders as I used a sleeve to try and repair some of the damage to my makeup. Dark smudges of mascara lined the cuff, and I drunkenly swayed as I attempted to wipe the remaining black marks off of my face. Keaton reached an arm around my waist to steady me. He helped me out of the store holding me up the whole time.

  After buckling me safe and snug in his front seat, he pulled the car onto the road toward home.

  “So, what did you and Eric fight about?”

  Apparently, curiosity beat out good manners.

  “Oh, it was nothing.” I lied, sad my night ended badly, but also glad Keaton bought gas in such a fortuitous spot. Leaning my head back against the seat, I closed my eyes. “Keaton,” I said, after a while, genuine gratitude and strawberry flavored alcohol spurring me on. “I have always thought you were a good person, you know? Not like Eric. All Eric wanted was sex.” I blinked back a fresh batch of tears. “But you’re different. You treat me good just because it’s how you are. How come I can’t ever go out with a guy like you?”

  “You could.” His voice softened and hid nicely behind the ringing in my ears.

  I looked over at him. My brain couldn’t keep up. “I could what?”

  He chuckled. “You could go out with a guy like me.” He looked at me for a split second before training his eyes back on the road. “You could go out with me.”

  For the first time I could remember, friendly and normally outgoing Keaton Shaw sounded unsure of himself.

  I laughed and slapped his arm playfully. “You’re Simon’s friend. That would be weird.”

  He nodded. “I guess so.”

  He sat there looking sexy with his hair slightly tousled and grinned at me with those delightfully shaped lips. How weird would it be to kiss Keaton? I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck as he drove. “But we could make out, if you want.”

  Taking his right hand off the wheel, I slowly drew each of his fingertips into my mouth, one after another.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Joss…”

  “We could go sit at the lake. I don’t have to be home until eleven. It’s only like nine o’clock. That is a lot of time for kissing.” This time of year the lake stayed deserted, except for couples who also wanted to be alone. Well, as alone as they could be with ten other cars parked in the immediate vicinity.

  “What about Simon?” His voice cracked as he finished.

  I nibbled on the end of his finger before I answered. “I don’t want to invite Simon.” Seriously, I could not keep up with his thought patterns.

  He laughed. “Well, I don’t want to go to the lake tonight.” He pulled his hand away and put it back on the steering wheel. Mr. Cautious held his hands at ten and two.

  “Why not?” I mostly pretended he’d hurt my feeling. My bottom lip jutted out, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

  “I think you have probably been kissed enough tonight.”

  His tone of voice said he thought he was too good for someone like me, and that pissed me right off. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Kissing him no longer sounded the least bit stimulating. When he started to speak, I held a hand up between us, silencing him. Nothing he could say would make it better. “Whatever, Keaton. Don’t expect me to ever ask again.” I said it as though he would forever be denied the privilege of my company.

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. He’d hurt my pride, then sat right next to me, ignoring my huffing and puffing.

  I hopped out of his car as he rolled to a stop in front of our house and stomped in the front door, then slammed it hard behind me, shrieking as I kicked the heavy oak. Mother’s guests turned to look at me. Bobby pins barely hung on in the tangled, sticky mess that had once been intricate curls and waves. Makeup runs still colored my cheeks. My clothes twisted in ways that made it look as though I dressed, or more accurately, redressed quickly and in the dark. I hauled ass up the stairs away from the prying eyes of my mother’s friends.

  The next morning, my mother, who’d spent a few minutes too many with Danielle, grounded me for the remainder of Christmas break. We ended up right back to where we'd started.

  Chapter 5

  Present July 13, 2009

  I shook from head to toe every time the thought of Keaton’s visit sprung to mind. My reaction made no sense. We’d been married, for goodness sake, but I stood in my closet as nervous as a virgin on sacrifice Sunday. I eyed, then rejected every garment I owned. It came down to a black dress with a sweetheart neckline, or going naked. I went with the dress, though I hoped it would end up in a pile on the floor. The A-line skirt hem landed an inch or so above my knee. Pretty and delicate, a bead of light orange lace trim made my skin look downright Tahitian, and my eyes look deeper, darker, and more mysterious. At one time, Keaton loved my eyes, and again, more than anything, I wanted him to want me.

  Beer chilled in the fridge, pizza warmed in the oven, and a light jazz saxophone floated out from the stereo speakers. This would be the first time Keaton set foot in my apartment, and I hoped to make a good impression. I’d moved out of the one we shared the same night I caught him in the bar with--no, wait. I couldn’t go there right then.

  A soft knock on the door announced his arrival. I took a deep breath before letting him in. “Hi.” Seeing him knocked the wind right out of me. Keaton’s brand of handsome fouled even the strong-hearted, which I would never be considered. With the same clear eyes and deep brown hair falling slightly over his forehead, he wore a pair of jeans, which made his legs look even longer and his waist look even thinner. His black button down hung loose, and teased me with what he hid underneath. In high school, he’d been rock solid and beautifully tanned, even in the winter. During our marriage, his body rippled with lean, sculpted stomach muscles and a tight, beautifully shaped behind. I had a compulsion to investigate exactly how many of those traits still rang true. Anticipation caused a spring in my step and a warm flush in my cheeks.

  “Hi.” I stood there drinking in the sight of him as though I had never seen him before.

  Finally, he chuckled. “Can I come in?”

  I laughed as well and stepped back, my bare toes curling into the plush carpet of my living room.

  “This is nice.” He walked away, checking out my apartment.

  I lived in a modest two bedroom with a large lofty living room and a galley kitchen. My budget for interior décor totaled about two day’s pay, but allowed me to buy enough to make it look homey and lived in. Pictures hung on the wall and a couple of blue throw pillows provided color to my white sofa. In my opinion, it was decoration enough. “Thanks. I like it.”

  He wandered off to the fireplace and stared at the framed photos on the mantel. A picture of Keaton and me taken at his senior prom sat on one side. “Do you always keep this out or is it out for me?” He held the frame, looking down at our younger selves while he spoke.

  “It’s always out. Seriously, I looked amazing that day.” We shared an awkward chuckle. The sound died on my lips. Prom. A single day in a calendar of happy days. If I put a smiley face on the happy days in my current event planner, there would be a woeful amount of empty pages. I clasped my hands together in front of me, mentally seeing those thoughts crushed between my palms. “Do you want some pizza? I got mine with pineapple and ham and yours with mushrooms, olives, and sausage. And I have beer.”

  “Aww. You remembered.”

  Why wouldn’t I recall his taste in pizza? We’d only been apart for three and a half years. His soft-eyed stare said it mea
nt way more to him than it did to me. I shrugged. Not that I planned to tell him, but it had proven impossible to forget a single thing about him.

  We sat at the bar and ate, my insides still quivering at the mere sight of him. I lost myself in envisioning what I’d planned, fantasized, and dreamed of happening between us in a few minutes, and didn’t hear him speaking.

  “You look nice tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I said you look pretty.”

  His eyes caressed me from neckline to hemline, and my skin tingled in response. I remembered how wanting Keaton felt, had never actually forgotten, but this longing screamed for release. Every square inch of my body blazed in an all-consuming fire. My breathing came in shallow gasps of air.

  “So do you.” My hands itched to touch him, to feel his smooth skin and rock hard muscle. Instead, I popped a bite of pizza in my mouth and silently thanked God Keaton’s power to read minds remained undeveloped.

  “So you got your bakery, huh?” His voice came an octave too high for me to believe him unaffected by the sexual sizzle crackling in the air around us.

  I nodded, then swigged a quick swallow of beer. “I didn’t have enough room to keep baking cakes here, so Lizette and I each took out a loan to buy Mary Elizabeth’s place. It’s a big payment every month, but we’re making it and it’s ours. You know?”

  “I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it.” He reached out and wiped a dribble of pizza sauce from my lips. The temperature of the room climbed another ten degrees. “How’s it working out?”

  I ignored the fire in my belly flaming brighter with his touch and tried to answer his question while fanning myself with my napkin. “Pretty well. The bakery is making money right now, and I’m making two or three wedding cakes each week. It’s busy, but I love what I do.” My pride jumped out for show and tell. “What have you been doing all this time?” I adjusted my position on the barstool, and all of my lady parts began their incessant whining for Keaton as I watched him lick his lips and swallow hard before he answered.