by Lisa Gillis
“Mariss?” Matt held out the other steaming cup.
She straightened from her slouch over the laptop that held her attention, and it took a moment for her brain to switch gears. “Oh, wait! Did you… I need to make a new pot.”
“Done.” Jules manifested in the doorway with a smile and took a sip from a chipped Jewelweed mug.
“Thanks.” Marissa curved her fingers into the handle. “I had a breakthrough on the lyrics to Lulah’s Track Eight rewrite and… What time is it?”
“Almost four.”
“Yeah. I should text Kim.” Whipping out her phone, she typed in a text confirming with their sitter that the girls had made it home from school okay.
“I took a look at that band you came across.” Matt settled in one of Jewelstone Studio’s leather captain’s chairs.
“Skull Smasher?”
“No, Splynter.”
“Oh. Yeah. Them. They have a big following, don’t they?”
“They do. And it looks like they’ve recently added to their lineup. A Guitar. It really enriches their overall sound.”
“You’re kidding. I totally see them as a trio. The gal’s voice is too distinct to risk losing it in the music.”
“Well, take a look at some of the newer videos. You might change your mind.”
“Who is it?”
“Just a kid from what I can see. The videos aren’t too clear, and I haven’t done any homework on it yet.”
Which meant his father wasn’t serious enough to do any research on the band yet.
“So, why am I here? Who’s blocked tonight?” Matt drained his coffee.
Jack got his dad set up for the artist who would be arriving in the next couple of hours, and after giving his parents a hug, he and Mariss made their way out to the car.
“Date night?” As he held the car door for her to slide in, he tossed out the suggestion.
“A date night sounds wonderful.”
Chapter 30
Cold Encounters
SENDER: Tristan
SUBJECT Hi
Dad you were right about destiny and so many other things. Sometimes one hard thing has to happen for another great thing to come. Thank you both for being there for me though my hard times.
Our gated community in the suburbs of Dallas is always quiet. One adjustment I had some trouble with is right outside the Splynter house is a semi busy road. Not a minute goes by without a vehicle passing. Yet, tonight I wake up to a stillness so silent it reminds me of the silence between music tracks anytime I’ve worn studio-grade, noise-proof headphones.
The television is black and the lights are off. Sladen and Mark have disappeared to their bedrooms to sleep, no doubt. My feet are still propped on the sofa table. I move my neck to work out the stiffness that has set in because of the angle my head had rested on the couch back. Automatically, I look to the hall toward Sash’s room and then become angry with myself for doing so.
The streetlight shining through the window throws a pattern on the floor. Getting to my feet, I cross to the panes and peer through the glass. The moon is bright, and the glow of the snow holds me spellbound. It’s a thick, white, smooth frosting covering everything. No car has passed in the time I’ve been looking out. I can’t even see the road.
Now I’m worried about Sash and wondering what the hell black ice is. Watching my feet so I don’t trip over anything on the shadowy floor, I cross toward the hall, making my way to the bathroom. When I pass Sash’s room, I find the door half-open. The room is dark beyond, and now when I’m closer, I hear a faint beat of music.
I’m in and out of the bathroom in less than a minute, and pausing in the hall, I wonder if Sash left the music on earlier when she went out. At this point, after our argument earlier about her going out, I feel creepy even thinking about opening that door enough to see if she’s in the room—something I had done as her friend dozens of times before.
Still, I know I won’t be able to fall asleep unless I know she’s safe in bed. My fingertips touch the panel, pushing it, and I let out a disappointed breath when I find her bed unmade but empty.
I pull the door back how it was. By the time I reach the den, I no longer hear the music, and the house takes on a tomb similarity again. So freaking silent that I jump out of my skin when she says my name.
“Trey?” Sash is in the kitchen.
My eyes scoot from her shadowy form to the front door. “You just get home?” I could kick myself for the question. I’m trying to figure out how she appeared out of nowhere, but she’s apt to go all psycho defensive.
“I got home a little while ago. Then I was getting some tea. I guess I woke you. You walked right by me.”
I join her in the kitchen but decline to answer as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The appliance light beams into the room until I swing the door closed.
She places a hand on my arm as I begin to pass her in my return to the den. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
I stop in my tracks because I don’t want to be an ass and jerk away from her, and the way her fingers have curved around my bicep, that’s what it would take. Still I trust myself to say nothing.
“Are you mad at me?”
And now I explode. “Yes! Yes, I’m fucking mad! I thought we had something going on, and you pulled that shit!” Now I do wrench away and mock, “I’m going on a date that’s not a date. What the fuck, Sash? What. The Fuck?”
“I didn’t go. Not to Bill’s. I couldn’t. And when I told Mindi I couldn’t and why, she and I went to Chows. We had some shrimp rolls. Well, she did. I couldn’t eat. The weather got bad, and all I could think about was you thinking I was out with someone. So I came right back.”
“Mindi missed her date?” Why I focus on the one thing I don’t give a shit about, I don’t know.
“She’s a good friend. That’s what good friends do, right? They drop everything in a crisis. And they tell you when you’re being a dumbass.”
“Am I being a dumbass?” My feet widen into a defensive stance even though it is only words she’s just hurled at me. Her next sentence clears things up, and I realize I’ve tried to read between her lines when I shouldn’t have.
“No, I am. Mindi told me I am. But I already was beginning to realize that.”
I’m not sure I like what she’s inferring—that she’s talked to Mindi about us. But I know how girls are. Men are different. Sladen and I never said a word about what he saw go down between Sash and me earlier. But women are all about talking their emotions out with other women. Which I will never understand. Because information in the wrong females’ hand is a dangerous thing.
“Are you going to say anything? Or just let me keep babbling about how sorry I am?”
“Sorry? This is the first I’ve heard the word sorry.”
“Don’t be a dick. I’m sorry, okay? You hear that?”
I’m trying to protect my heart now when I’ve seen how easily she can crush it. But the emotion in her tone gets to me, and I peer into her face, trying to read her shadowy features. I hunker down so close I can feel her breath, and I pull her waist to me. “Say it again…”
“I’m sorry, Trey. I’m so sorry.”
“Not that. The other part…”
She stills, and I feel, more than see, her confused gaze on my face. “The other part?”
“Yeah. I never heard that word before from your pretty lips.” And without waiting for her to reply, I kiss those too tempting lips. Because the next time I hear that word, I want her to be begging me, not cursing me.
After a minute or so of kissing her, I curve my hands to her hips and lift her onto the countertop, bringing her to a more accessible level. Her legs wrap me, and her body melds to mine. The feeling of her against me sets off an explosion of endorphins.
I crave her bare breasts in my grasp, the tips tickling my palms, but I put that off for now. Instead, I flatten my hand to the back of her tee shirt and dip my fingers below the waistband of her pajama bottoms.
The silk of her panties is like a second skin, and I’m contemplating if it’s too soon to breach them when her hands snake beneath my shirt.
The feel of her short nails lightly scraping my back is a nirvana like nothing I’ve ever known. I groan into the kiss and splay my fingers to smooth hot skin beneath the silky fabric. Having Sash’s ass in my hands spurs a full hard on.
I wanted to wait until the perfect time with Sash, but I am beginning to think I should seize the day and take the opportunity presenting itself if I want to move past the walls she continuously erects. Just do it. Make her mine, as primal as that sounds. At some point afterward, I’ll have an occasion to make it perfect.
“I want you, Sash. I want you so much…” I speak against the softness of her lips as my fingers skim sloping curves I no longer have to imagine.
Pulling her mouth from mine, she responds, “I thought you wanted me last night, and then, what… What happened?”
The tremor in her voice stills me. Moving my hands more chastely to her waist while keeping them intimately against her silken skin, I seek her eyes, the best I can see them. “It killed me to walk out of your room. But, I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I know Nyquil. I thought you might be drunk.”
“You know Nyquil?” Her light giggle breaks the tension, and her lips hold the bantering smile.
“I’ve had a cold or two—and I was once in junior high.”
“Were you a delinquent?”
“I have a cousin who led me astray a few times.”
“And got you drunk on Nyquil?”
“As a matter of fact.” Why were we talking? I wanted to be kissing… And so much more…
“I kinda was. Drunk.” And she leans close enough to resume the kiss.
“You’re not drunk now, right?” I glide my tongue along her bottom lip.
“Not one drink.” She touches her tongue to mine and then claims it back long enough to add, “And not one dose of Nyquil.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better…” I’ve already figured out she is braless beneath the long sleeved tee, and with a pull at the hem, I attempt to bare her body to my eyes and hands.
“Wait…” She doesn’t move her hands from their place on my back to physically stop me, but I pause, hoping she isn’t about to have second thoughts because of Mark and Sladen being just down the hall.
While them being around had initially bugged me any time I imagined this moment with her, I had been teased with the image of her with me so much now, it seems I don’t give a shit if one of them walks in or hears us.
“Don’t think this is stupid. But, can we go in there?” She tips her chin to the door across from us. As well as being the farthest room from the bedrooms, the mudroom-slash-laundry room shares a wall with only the kitchen.
“Hang on.” I pick her up, and her legs tighten around me. Getting the door open, I walk in a couple of steps and deposit her onto the washer before turning to close the door. “Shit, Sash. It’s cold in here. You sure?”
“C’mere, wimp. I’ll warm you up…”
Willingly I return to the warmth of her embrace.
There is something sensuous about the extreme cold and hot that turns this into a monumental experience I could never have planned. The second her shirt comes off, the moonlight illuminates the rock hard tips of her breasts. She flinches when my cold hands cover them, and groans when I take them into the heat of my mouth. In the minute or so her lips were bereft of mine, they cooled to the temperature of the room, and when she pushes my shirt up enough to touch them to my abs, I growl in strange satisfaction, and then gasp when her hot tongue lashes my skin.
As she works her way down, her lips are soaking in the warmth of my skin and the temperature contrast lessens. I’m sifting her hair though my fingers while staring out the window behind her, watching the snowfall, when her fingers begin fumbling with the fly of my jeans.
I could help her and have it done in a half second, but the feel of her undressing me far outweighs the torture of the time it’s taking. Her hand is cold even through the cotton of the boxer briefs I wear, dragging another groan from my throat. And then her fingers are inside, encircling, her bare touch to my bare skin. And holy fuck. Her touch is freezing at first, but then I’m burning up.
I lock my lips to hers, and close one of her breasts in each of my hands, cupping, toying, tugging.
I can’t take much of this, it’s coming on so fast, but I can’t seem to speak or pull her hand away. Instead, I rip into her jeans, and that creates enough diversion for her to stop what she’s doing. She helps me tug them over her hips, panties and all.
Her back straightens when she’s settled on the washer again, and I realize if she didn’t sit back in the exact same spot, that the metal is cold. In the odd gray light coming in the window, I can actually see the goose bumps on the tops of her thighs, and I kneel, giving in to the sudden urge to run my tongue down them. I follow the wet trail with my fingers and realize my mistake. Now she’s wet and cold.
But she doesn’t seem to mind. When she whimpers and tugs at my hair, I realize that I’ve been working my way up the inside of her leg and am contemplating kissing her like I never have before—like I never have anyone before her.
There is no more cold and hot. Only hot. Sash is on fire, and she’s crying out like the flames of hell are licking at her body instead of me. My ears soak up her every sound, and I savor the tingling tug of my hair and the bite of her nails on the back of my neck.
When her ragged breath is the only sound, I study her, enjoying the beauty of her mussed hair falling around the art on her arms, as she lies collapsed on her elbows, her head propped on the frosty window.
I kiss my way up, over the smooth skin of her stomach, through the valley of her cleavage, and pause to take one last taste here and there before I crush my lips to hers and straighten enough to dig inside the pocket of my jeans.
She’s sitting up now as she had hooked her hands behind my neck, pulling up with my movement, and she turns her attention back to the inside of my briefs.
Extracting the square packet from my billfold, I toss the wallet to the top of the dryer. I put the foil edge to my teeth, instinctively knowing this is the fastest way inside the package, but I freeze for a moment, enjoying her touch. When she hunches enough to put her mouth to me, I almost lose it.
“Shit, Sash! Damn…” One hand clenches around the condom and the other in her hair, and even though I had no control over what came out of my mouth at that moment, I feel immediate guilt for cursing. “Sweet… Baby… you’ve got about five seconds, no more…” Every cell in my brain and in my body is focused on her mouth and tongue. I hadn’t been wrong. I give her head a desperate tug, and somehow manage a step back.
I sheath like I’ve done it a hundred times, and likewise, my body seeks and fits to Sash’s like a long lost lover of another life.
I’m in a dream and I never want to wake.
Ironically, I can’t fall asleep.
We had dressed quickly to escape the room that was so cold our breaths were frosty, and raced for the warmth of Sash’s bed.
Snuggled together, it only takes a few minutes for our bodies to reach ninety-eight point six and ease beyond.
I’m hot for her again, but I don’t want to come across as a nympho or something. Worse, I don’t want her to guess the washroom sex was only my second time. Someday I’ll probably tell her. But not now.
With that thought, I realize I’m thinking of Sash long-term. I want to take her home. Introduce her to my Mom, Dad, and sisters. I want to watch her exclaim over the one brown eye and one blue eye of Fredo the cat.
Sash isn’t asleep either. She’s having her own thoughts—seemingly opposite of mine. Her next words jab at my heart, even though she’s gently brushing her lips to my chest when she speaks them.
“Trey? Do you think we can keep this thing between us for a little while?” Her fingers circle the area she’s just kissed.
�
��I’ll keep it between us as long as you want, baby.” Shifting my hips close to hers, I make a joke, hoping to cover any animosity I feel upon hearing her request. The endearment slipping into my words surprises me, and I’m not sure I want to know what her reaction will be. But she astonishes me again, manipulating my emotions like a yoyo.
“I don’t know that I could handle it longer, Trey-be.”
If I wasn’t in love with her already, that nickname—all mine—from her lips notches the feeling up.
And then I realize something. I’m beginning to think of myself as Trey. I’ve morphed into my alternate identity. Eventually I am going to have to tell her about Tristan. Then what will become of Trey-be?
Brushing her hair from her face, I address the other ego stroke in that sentence. “No?” (You can’t handle it any longer?) I know I’m blessed. There’s not a guy alive who doesn’t want to buy Magnum XL’s. All I care about at this moment is Sash’s impression.
“No. Why? You got another one stashed somewhere?”
Rolling to my back, I laugh.
Reaching over me, she grabs something, and seconds later, the chandelier above us is speckled with purple, blue, and white lights.
It’s been mentioned before that the bedroom lighting fixtures hadn’t been included when they’d contracted the rewiring of the main floor. A lamp atop her nightstand provides illumination. But Sash has added to the ambience of the room by looping a string of battery-operated lights through the arms of the chandelier. A remote control, complete with a timer, powers them on and off.
The effect, the colored lights shining and refracting through the crystal, is mesmerizing.
We talk in whispers until dawn when I leave her with a kiss and relocate to the couch.
Our secret lasts through one more liaison in the mudroom the next evening after band practice and after Sladen and Mark go to bed.
After putting ourselves back together, we sit on the couch smoking a joint. Sash crawls into my lap, kissing me thoroughly before going to her own bed.
I fall into the deepest sleep in years. Waking refreshed in the gray hours of dawn, I fix a mug of coffee and a cup of tea.