Pushing Limits (Fighting Love: Book 1)

by cross, kali

  We keep a good pace, and I realize Sally was right, I don’t need a sweater. The sun is out and a nice breeze blows across campus as we head to the restaurant. As we reach the edge of campus, Sally links my arm and guides me across the street. The restaurant is packed with students. The rich aroma of pancakes and waffles fill the air, making me realize I am famished. The patio is in the front, and flowers and ivy fall from the four posts of the half wall that lines the patio area. It’s packed with kids in shorts and flip flops, hanging out, and chowing down. Voices buzz and occasional laughter floats across the air as we approach the hostess stand.

  A short girl with a pixie haircut and a sweet face approaches us saying, “Hey Sally! I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you?”

  “Hey, Carrie. This is my roommate, Amber, and this is Tracy. How are classes?”

  “Great….Roommate? What happened to Lily?” She rolls her eyes. “Never mind, I forgot it was you I was talking to for a minute.” Giggling, she asks, “Table for three?”

  “Actually we’re meeting someone. Well, Amber is but I don’t think she told him. What are the chances we can get one of the round tables?” She leans forward, smiling her most persuasive smile. “Pretty please?” She giggles.

  “On a Saturday morning?” Carrie smirks and with a sigh, she says, “For you, maybe. Let me take a look around and see if anything’s opening up. Go in and find your friend, and I’ll take a look.”

  I scan the room looking to see if he’s here and spot him inside the restaurant at a table. His hair is a dark mass of curls. He’s scoping out the menu so I have a moment to stare. Wow. He’s in a t-shirt and jeans, so different from the suit. He seems relaxed, comfortable. So hot. I don’t belong here, having breakfast with him. Shit! What the fuck am I doing? I turn sharply in an effort to leave, but Sally scoots me forward.

  “Ok, now you’ve seen him. Breathe, Amber. It’s ok to exhale.” She eggs me on.

  I weave my way towards him. Somewhere along the way, Sally has pulled back to speak with her friend, Carrie, pointing to the round table next to Tommy. As if on cue, the two couples stand and work their way toward the door. I force my feet to keep moving. What is wrong with me?

  “Hey,” I say, biting my lip, shielding my eyes from the bright sun drifting in from the patio. I have never been so thankful for momentary blindness.

  Tommy stands, brushing my cheek softly with his lips. “Hey, Amber. I wasn’t sure if you would prefer outside or inside so I picked something in the middle.” He gestures to the patio. His infectious smile manages to persuade one from me in return.

  Sally reaches us and says, “Hey, Tommy. I hope you don’t mind. Tracy and I were hanging out at the dorm and invited ourselves along.”

  “Sit here with three gorgeous women? Why, Ms. Westin, I don’t recall ever receiving such a tempting offer.” His southern charm oozes from every pore.

  “This table is a tad bigger. Carrie said we could snag it.” Sally gestures to the new table.

  Standing, Tommy crosses to the new table, pulling out a chair for me to sit in. I thank him and take a seat. He waits as Sally and Tracy take their seats before sitting down.

  The waitress hurries over. “What can I get for y’all?” She says y’all, but she stares at Tommy, her eyes never leaving his face.

  Sally turns to Tracy. “Juice or coffee, Darlin’?”

  “Cappuccino, please.” Her shy smile contrasts with her model looks.

  “Two cappuccinos, please.” Sally orders, forcing the waitress to notice her. Her brows raised in a questioning stare. One that read - would you please back off, Chica. I recognize that look. Angela used it often when she felt someone was disrespecting her, or me.

  “Make that three,” I say, “and, an order of Huevos Rancheros, please.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” Tommy grins at me, turning to the waitress. “I’ll take the same.”

  “I’ll have the coffees out to you right away, hon,” she says, twirling her hair.

  “So, what are you ladies up to, today?” He asks Sally and Tracy.

  “Not much…I thought we would head over to the Pavilion…haven’t decided. It’s such a nice day, the sun is out, and it’s not too cold. I have to be outside.” Sally chats about the possible destinations she has in mind.

  The waitress hurries over with the cappuccinos. Huge brightly colored mugs, filled to the brim with a chocolate swizzle stick emerging from the fluffy cloud of whipped cream and sprinkles. I pounce on my coffee, pulling the chocolate stick from its cloud and sliding it down my puckered lips for the right dip of sweetness. Grazing my finger into the frothy whipped cream, I pop my finger into my mouth, sucking off the glorious confection, my eyes rolling to the heavens. I sip the addictive creamy liquid and whisper, “Sweet nectar of the Gods” as the liquid explodes in my mouth, zinging caffeine into my blood.

  My eyes rise to notice the others staring at me with heated looks.

  “Damn, Girl.” Sally whispers.

  Tommy grins at me wickedly. “I’m glad you …uh, like it.”

  Tracy’s mouth is gaping, and she closes it saying, “Wow. That was hot.”

  “What? I like my coffee.” I shrug.

  Shaking her head from her trance, Sally asks, “So, Tommy, where have you been playing lately?”

  Thankful for a subject change, I watch him answer Sally and talk about his latest gig. With his attention on Sally, I steal a look at his face, noticing he hasn’t shaved. His dark beard is past that rough stubble phase. It looks soft, but I keep my hands to myself, willing myself not to reach out and stroke his cheek. He smells like soap, woodchips, and citrus. His hunter green shirt makes his eyes even bluer, at least from what I remember. His dimples come out to play often. I like that.

  As if he felt me looking, he glances my way, his lips curving into an easy smile. I blush and study my coffee.

  Before I can feel like a bigger dork, the waitress brings over our food. As if on cue, Sally looks to Tracy saying, “We should head out. We have to meet my aunt in about a half hour at the Pavilion. Y’all have fun.” She gives us a wave as she and Tracy walk out of the restaurant.

  The aroma of beans, eggs, and enchilada sauce marry and drift to my nose. I gaze at my plate lovingly. I am so fucking hungry. I cut into the eggs and they seep over the beans and sauce, a heady mix of yellow, red, and brown. The cheese is melted to a nice gooey consistency.

  Cutting the first bite is crucial. All elements must be on the fork to ensure the perfect bite. I load egg, tortilla, refried beans, and cheese onto my fork, drag it through the enchilada sauce, and place my lips around the morsel. Sliding the fork out leisurely, the flavors assault my taste buds.

  A soft gasp comes from beside me, forcing my eyes open. Shit! His eyes are bemused, but his mouth is twisted into a wolfish grin.

  “What? I like food. Give me a break, I’m hungover.”

  Tommy chuckles and says, “Apparently on an orgasmic level, it seems. Please, don’t let me stop you. Eat more. It’s…umm…enticing.” He nudges me, leering at me, and laughing. He says, “Wow, is it hot in here?” Flapping the neck of his shirt open and closed repeatedly.

  I smile and study my food, grumbling, “For your information, a plate of huevos rancheros is the perfect hangover remedy.”

  “That it is,” he agrees. “Why are you hungover? Did y’all hit a club last night?”

  “No, Sally moved in last night. She brought a bottle of Patron to christen the room. We didn’t even start drinking until one.”

  “Did y’all get rowdy?” His sapphire eyes alight with mischief.

  “Not really,” I say with a sneer. “Woke the neighbors,” shrugging my shoulders. “So, tell me more about you. You’re a musician – how many years have you been playing?” I take a bite, hoping he will talk for a bit, so I can finish my meal.

  “I’ve been playing for about fifteen years. I do demos in Nashville to try out new songs for more established singers to listen to. That’s rea
lly what I like. I write some, but wish I wrote more. It’s harder than I thought. Everything with music has always come easily for me. But writing? I am leaving Suckville on that one…but I’m just now pulling into Mediocre Town. I keep pluggin’ along. I play around Nashville, but I prefer studio work. I can do the spotlight, but I’m not sure I have what it takes. I love music, and whether I end up in front of a mic or behind a sound board, I’m glad I can scrape out a livin’.”

  “If you’re doing demo work, you must be good.”

  “I’m good at a lot of things.” He locks eyes with me, letting his words hang in the air with a devilish grin. “But…I enjoy interpreting a song and putting my own spin on it. It’s cool when someone like Tim McGraw uses your interpretation when they record the song.”

  “How many years have you been in Nashville?”

  “Oh, about three years. I graduated, packed up my truck, hitched up my bike, and drove straight there.”

  “You mentioned riding on the way in from the airport. What do you ride?” I ask.

  “Harley…of course. I ride a Switchback. She’s right outside. How about you? What do you like to ride?” His eyes get that mischievous look again.

  Oh, he’s asking what I like to ride. Well, smartass, two can play that game.

  “Harley.” I grin. “Sportster Low.” Lowering my voice, I lean in closer, staring into his eyes hard, licking my lips lightly. “It has a wonderful vibration to it. Horsepower is tight. I feel it every time I ride. There’s nothing like a good, long ride on a powerful machine, ya know?”

  His eyes dart from my eyes to my lips and back again. Ca-ching! I hear his breath hitch. Soft, just a hint. How do ya like me now, sucker?

  “Wanna take a ride after we finish eating?” he asks.

  Shit, he’s upping the ante. Put up or shut up.

  Staring into his face, my whole body tingles. Shit, I can’t do this. I’m just me…I’m not Sally…shit. I’m tempted to see where this goes. Sally was right about it having been a while. But, crap…I don’t want to look like a total dork. Or worse, a stupid high school girl.

  “You want to take me for a ride on your machine…or your bike?” I ask, feigning innocence. Shit, I hope he laughs…let him laugh…please laugh. I hold my eyes and face steady, waiting for his answer.

  His blush is so brief, I almost miss it. His hand closes around mine, and he smiles shyly. “Shoot girl, you make me blush. I didn’t think that was possible so much anymore.” He laughs.

  I laugh, too, thankful for the release. Now, if I could get that electrical current flowing between us to stop, I’d be golden. Studying his face for a moment, I know he’s older, but I can’t tell how much. “Wait…didn’t you say you’ve been playing for fifteen years? How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-five. How old are you, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

  “Twenty,” I say. Well, almost.

  “So, what’s your major?” His tone indicating he is well aware of how cliché he sounds.

  “I’m undeclared now, but I plan on majoring in music once I get all the Gen Eds out of the way.”

  “Really?” He locks eyes with me. “Ok…CD or Vinyl?”

  “Vinyl, of course.” Staring at him like he is only slightly learning impaired.

  “Interesting. There’s a vinyl shop down the road. Wanna go check it out?”

  “Sure.”

  He pays the check at the front. I’m thankful I don’t have to sit through more of the waitress’ hair twirling, and side-to-side dances, coupled with vain attempts to flash her cleavage at him. I say goodbye to Carrie as she pulls two helmets out from behind her station and hands them to Tommy.

  “How did you know I would take a ride with you?”

  “Didn’t. Brought it in case.” He grins. “A guy can dream.” He grabs my hand enclosing it in his massive one as we walk around to the side of the building. His bike is parked in a spot in the back. I recognize the 2012 model. Painted in sleek black, the bike shines and the chrome sparkles in the sun.

  “Sweet ride. Saddlebags and windshield at home?” Circling it, I check it out from all angles. “Tricked it out. Damn. Custom seat, bitchin’ wheels, thunder struck exhaust, special intake. The whole thing is custom. What? Didn’t like the custom paint job? ”

  “You know the bike. Impressive.” He straddles the motorcycle. Thankfully, I am far enough back I can actually check out his ass when he gets on.

  Sweet Jesus, that shit is tight.

  “Amber, quit checking out my ass and get on the bike.” He laughs.

  “I am not checking out your ass.” I declare indignity, crossing my arms.

  “Rearview mirrors, Amber. Now, get the hell on the bike.”

  My turn to blush. I slip the helmet on and swing my leg over the bike, careful to tuck my skirt under my legs. I grab his belt loops.

  “You know better than that.” He pulls my fingers from his loops and crosses my arms around his waist in a close hug. It’s closer than I would have if I had opted for this option in the first place.

  His stomach is flat except for the ripples from what I am sure is a six pack. My face pushes against his neck and he smells delicious. Fucking delicious. My stomach clenches as he looks back at me, and my lips graze his neck. Shit, I hope I don’t leave a wet spot on the seat. Turning my head, I can’t help but lick my lips. Just a taste. His skin tastes salty and sweet.

  “Aw, hell.” He turns abruptly, so he can kiss me. His lips are soft, velvety. His mouth caresses mine. I push open my mouth with his to deepen the kiss. My hands close around his face, touching his beard. It is soft….so silky. His tongue explores mine, and I moan in his mouth, shocking even myself. Fuck, I do need to get laid.

  He pulls away saying, “Thought I’d get that out of the way. Been watchin’ your lips all mornin’, wondering what they taste like.” Chuckling, he points, “Rearview mirrors, Amber.” Turning the key, he revs the engine, the roar of the engine is deafening at first, but when he lets the throttle out, the engine purrs to a soft rumbling.

  “Impressive machine,” I shout into his ear.

  Shaking his head, he smiles and pulls out onto the street.

  Great! He saw me lick my lips after they grazed his neck. Well, la-di-da, if he kisses me like that again, I’ll lick him from head to toe. The thought makes me wet, again. Shit!

  ***

  Tommy pulls up to the record store. As we walk inside, a choir sings the hallelujah chorus in my head. Rows and rows of vinyl records fill the aisles. I am in heaven.

  I graze through the stacks, checking out the selection. Man, I could spend hours in this place. I wonder if Elise remembered to send my record player when she packed my room up. My mom hates my vinyl. I’m sure this was the perfect opportunity to dump them all into the trash. Pulling my phone out, I text Elise to make sure she grabbed my records.

  A few people are browsing in the store, an older couple in their fifties or sixties so we have the store to ourselves. The woman running the counter is older, and friendly. She greets us warmly when we walk in. Wearing a tie dye shirt and jeans, the prayer beads around her wrist make sense....must be a Buddhist.

  I feel like a kid in a candy store. The collection is extensive, especially the older stuff. I browse around the punk section looking for anything by the Sex Pistols. Deep in thought, a voice behind me whispers, “Never figured you for a Sex Pistols fan. I’m surprised you know who they are.”

  I laugh saying, “Look who’s talking, country boy.”

  His blue eyes sparkling, mouth curved in a whimsical grin, looking oh-so-fucking hot in a t-shirt and jeans. I am finding it harder and harder not to jump his bones. “So, where did you hear your first vinyl?” Tommy says. His voice is a soft sexy rumble, and it’s a hard to concentrate.

  “My girlfriend in Chicago turned me on to vinyl. The sound that comes from the original vinyl totally puts an overly produced, synthetic CD to shame. I like to listen to music in its traditional format. It seems more pure, ya
know? It’s closer to the original sound that the engineers and artists intended. A CD of an older record is a bastardization of the original recording anyway. Music from instruments is totally analog. A CD is sampling of those tones with an approximation of the sample to form a digital reproduction. The sound of the vinyl as the record plays on the turntable, the cackle of the needle against the vinyl, the purity of the sound...it’s beautiful.” I shrug with a slow smile.

  “Wow, I think that is the most I have heard you say all morning.” His smile lights up his whole face.

  “Yeah, I guess it takes me a while to warm up to people.”

  How fucking embarrassing! I am such a tool.

  “What bands are you interested in?” he asks.

  “I like Blondie, the Sex Pistols, the Dead Kennedys, most of the 70’s and early 80s punk rock…The Who, Zeppelin, Foreigner, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Segar, old rock and roll. I like old blues, too...Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, Sippie Wallace, Robert Johnson, Bonnie Raitt, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, the real influential artists. The old stuff shows where music came from, and where it’s going. I don’t listen only to older stuff. I like a mix. Kid Rock is totally underappreciated as a musician. Metallica...well, they’re gods. Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Loretta Lynn are all great wordsmiths. I dig on Jason Aldean and Eric Church. I love everything that P!nk puts out.....I’m sorry...you probably didn’t want a dissertation on the question.” I find myself smiling.

  Why am I bearing my soul to this guy...well, my musical soul, anyways. He’s probably bored.

  “That’s an eclectic mix.” He leans down, capturing my chin and raising my face. “I love how your eyes sparkle when you talk about music,” he whispers, moving to kiss me again. This time the kiss is soft and gentle, a sensual caress of my lips. My breath hitches as he pulls away. He looks at me with interest. Or, is it curiosity? Tommy takes my hand, guiding me to the door, and saying, “We need to go.”

  Chapter 5

  His hasty walk to his motorcycle makes my stomach clench. I struggle to keep up with his long legs, but being dragged behind him has its advantages. It gives me an opportunity to admire the muscles in his arms as I hold onto to him, taking two paces to his one.