Текст книги "Wet"

Автор книги: Ruth Clampett

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Is that a command or a request?”

“A little of both,” I admit.

“Hey, I’ve got bad news. I may not be coming home Sunday. Mom’s having a reaction to the medication and I’m taking her to the doctor this afternoon. Depending on what he says, I may have to extend my trip. Thank God she has Internet, at least I’ve been able to keep up with all of my work while taking care of her.”

“No!” I say with more force than intended.

“What? Is something wrong?” she asks.

“It’s just that I miss you.”

“Really? I miss you too.”

“And I’ve been working on our fairytale.”

“Ooo. Are they still in the shower?”

“No, they’ve moved into the bedroom.”

She sighs. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Well, hurry home.”

“I promise I’ll do my best.”

“Oh before I forget, Patrick and his new girlfriend have invited us to a concert.”

Her voice goes up an octave. “His girlfriend? When did this happen?”

“I’m not sure but he’s all in, and it appears that she is, too.”

“What’s her name?”

“Skye.”

“Really? Like clouds in the sky, Skye?”

“Yup, and as Ma pointed out to me privately before they showed up, she’s a hippy. I didn’t really need the explanation. It was evident the second I saw her.”

“Ha! Well that explains the name. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Where are we all going?”

“Some kind of tribal drum performance. She’s turned him into a vegan and everything. The sex must be phenomenal to be willing to stop eating meat for this girl.”

“You know, I’ve got to say, I always suspected your brother had it in him to be wild. He just needed to find the right person to bring it out of him. Sounds like she’s it.”

The next day the tone of our conversation is completely different.

“You okay?” I ask when she answers my call with a subdued voice.

“It’s a hard day,” she says.

“Your mom?”

“She’s wearing me out, but it’s not that. I was putting in upcoming event dates on my calendar this morning and saw something upsetting. I still haven’t stopped crying.”

My mind races to wonder what could upset her so much. I didn’t miss her birthday, did I? “What was on your calendar?”

“I saw the doctor’s appointment where we would have heard the baby’s heartbeat. I forgot to take it off my calendar after, well, you know . . .”

The pain in her voice takes my breath away—it’s a kick in the gut.

“Oh, Elle.”

“I wasn’t fully awake when I looked and for a moment I was confused, like I was still pregnant. Why didn’t I erase that appointment? I’m hurting so bad right now.”

I can picture the tears running down her face as she cries and it twists me up. It pisses me off that she’s so far away when she needs me.

“Maybe you weren’t meant to erase it. Maybe it’s part of the grieving process. Life can kind of suck that way. Like Ma cries every Mother’s Day that she lost her mom.”

“Oh no, I didn’t even think about Mother’s Day. How will I get through that?”

“I don’t know. All I can promise is that I’ll be there with you.”

Almost a week passes before I’m finally winding through the Westside neighborhoods trying to get to LAX at rush hour so that I can pick up Elle on her return home. I’ve got it for this girl bad because I sure as hell wouldn’t go to LAX this time of day for anyone but her.

It was hot today and the heat still shimmers off the asphalt. I’ve got my windows all open, so depending how you embrace the sounds of L.A., at every stoplight I’m either serenaded or assaulted with mariachi or rap music from nearby cars. My favorite is when the base is so loud that my car literally throbs with each beat. I bob my head mindlessly.

I’m on the final stretch of La Tijera Boulevard when my phone chimes.

“Where are you?” she asks with a wicked teasing tone. I’m surprised how much just knowing she’s close gets to me.

“Exactly where I should be. Where are you?” I reply.

“I’m about to hitchhike up Century Boulevard. We got in thirty minutes early.”

“How did that happen? Isn’t the flight like thirty minutes?”

“Yeah, something like that. By the time I got my Bloody Mary and pretzels there was a flight attendant, right behind the one who served me, asking for my empty glass.”

“That’s messed up.”

“I know, right? I’ve got to warn you, I drank it really fast and now I’m loopy. So don’t hold anything I say in this conversation against me.”

“Okay.”

There’s a long pause.

“Did you miss me?” I ask.

She groans. “Sooo much.”

“What do you miss the most?”

“Well, in a perfect world I’d say your anaconda. But you don’t let me play with it, so I’ll say your story telling.”

“And I’ve got more stories to tell, but right now I’m heading up Century and I don’t see you hitchhiking.”

“Okay, I was joking. I’m standing in front of the United terminal and fending off an army of suspicious indie drivers with tinted windows. You better get here quick before one of them sweeps me off my feet.”

“I’m pulling into the airport from hell right now. I may never forgive you for this rush hour crap and not flying into Burbank.”

“Well I come bearing gifts so don’t write me off yet.”

She’s not hard to spot, being a gorgeous woman in a sea of forgettable people. She’s also the sexiest woman I’ve seen since she left town. As a result my inner sexy radar, which is still finely tuned from my hook-up days, spots her a terminal away. She’s barricaded herself behind a sea of baggage. What is it with women and their poor packing skills?

When I pull up to the curb she drops her folded arms and pulls her sunglasses lower to peek over the top. She gives me a big grin.

“Well, it’s about time.”

I grin back. “Don’t you start . . .”

I get out of the car, and before I can even get to her she propels herself off the curb and into my arms. I grab onto her tight, completely overwhelmed to be holding her again.

“Welcome home,” I say with my lips pressed against her neck and just loud enough to be heard over the airport din.

She settles into my embrace. “Glad to be back.”

We load up the bags and we haven’t even gotten out of the airport when she rolls up her window, gestures for me to do the same, and then turns on the air.

I arch my brow at her. Bossy woman. “You want to drive, too?”

She slides down in her seat and kicks her shoes off. “Nope.”

“Was your mom sad to see you leave?”

“Hardly. There’s no apartment big enough to house our two personalities. I’m sure she’ll miss me taking care of everything for her, but she definitely won’t miss my sass.”

“I don’t know. I missed your sass. By the way, my family misses you too. Ma asked if you’d come for dinner Thursday.”

She smiles and looks out the window. “Sure. I have a new dessert recipe I want to try.”

“And Sunday I thought maybe we could go to Descanso Gardens.”

She makes a face. “From Friday on, my life is not my own. Stella’s wedding stuff goes full force then.”

“But I thought the wedding was a week from Saturday?”

“It is, but women don’t just show up at a wedding, and although I’m technically not part of the wedding party, I’m still her best friend. There are many rituals we must act out leading up to it.”

“Like what?”

“There’s the spa day, then make-up and hair trial runs, the special wedding shower for the out-of-town relatives that missed the official shower . . . shall I go on?”

I shake my head. “Did you do all that crap when you got married?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t want to but Bridezilla Stella made me. And since I’ve been a total bestie-fail with her wedding, I really need to step up this week.”

“Damn. I’m so glad I’m a dude.”

“I’m glad for that too.” She nods and winks.

Chapter Seventeen

THE CHALLENGE

“What’s in the big bowl?” I ask Thursday evening when I pick up Elle before driving us to my parent’s place. She’s holding it in her lap like it’s something precious.

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

“You’re such a tease,” I say.

“And this is news to you?”

When we step into the kitchen Ma approaches us with a big grin.

“Ah, we’ve missed you, lass. I’m so glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” Elle replies as they hug.

“Did you hear that our Patrick met a girl and he’s a hippy now?”

“I did indeed.”

“They’re up in his room meditating,” Ma tells us with a roll of her eyes.

“Meditating?” I snicker. “Sure they are. You keep telling yourself that, Ma.”

“Believe me, I’d rather he was shagging her. Whenever they meditate they burn that God-awful incense stuff that stinks up the entire upstairs. As a matter of fact, Paulie, can you go up and get them? Dinner is almost ready.”

Before heading upstairs I hold up the bowl full of Elle’s mystery dessert. I’m tempted to rip a hole in the foil cover to see what it is. “Where does this go?”

“Let’s put it in the refrigerator until it’s ready to be served,” she says.

Ma’s eyes grow wide. “What did you make this time, lass?”

“Irish cream and berry trifle—and I put extra strawberries in it just for you, Millie.”

Ma’s hands fly up to her cheeks as she lets out a joyful cry. “You did not!”

“I did so,” Elle says with a grin.

Ma wraps her arm around Elle’s waist and squeezes her before looking up at me. “Paulie, I love this girl!”

A warm feeling shoots through me as my heart silently agrees, I do too, Ma. I do too.

Based on the ‘What, no meat!’ drama with Dad from our last dinner, Skye brought stuffed potatoes for her and Patrick, along with extras in case we aren’t too freaked out by the tofu gravy. All of us but Elle politely pass on the travesty that looks like a potato that ate its vegetable neighbors and then threw up on itself. I may want Skye to feel welcome, but even I have my culinary limits.

Ma serves beef stew, knowing that it’s a favorite of Elle’s. Ma isn’t too subtle as to which of the two girls she prefers.

“So Paulie says that between your job being busy and taking care of your mom that you’ve been working hard, Elle,” Dad says before taking a roll from the basket and passing it on.

I watch her pretty smile fade to a serious look. “Yes, it’s helped to be busy.”

“Of course,” Ma replies.

“I think it’s important not to be busy,” hippy girl chimes in. “We have a tendency to fill every working hour with business to prevent really feeling all the deep thoughts that fill our soul.”

Patrick nods like the zombie hippy he’s become.

Trisha turns to Patrick. “What in the hell is she talking about?”

Skye leans forward. “Feeling, Trisha. Feeling everything and living every day like it may be your last.”

Trisha turns to Patrick. “Are you guys high?”

Patrick turns pale as an unbalanced spreadsheet. “Don’t be rude, Trisha! Of course we aren’t high.”

“Not now at least,” Skye says with an expression so neutral I can’t fully tell how much she’s fucking with us. She turns to Elle. “Don’t fill your days with work, Elle. It sucks the life from your soul. Ask yourself why you are so unhappy that you have to fill your emptiness in such a way.”

The entire room goes silent.

Elle’s devastated look should say everything to hippy girl, if she’d just pay fucking attention.

Patrick leans over and whispers something in Skye’s ear. I watch her cheeks redden as she looks down and folds her hands in her lap. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opens them she looks over at Elle.

“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Elle replies.

Dad makes a feeble attempt to pass the rolls again. I can’t help it . . . I’m mad enough that I wish Skye would take one and then choke on it. I’m not as forgiving as Elle is.

Elle stands up. “Dessert, anyone?”

We all chime in and I rise to help Elle gather stuff.

She slides the trifle bowl out of the fridge as I watch. I then step up to her, take the bowl out of her hands, and set it on the counter before pulling her into my arms. I kiss the top of her head and hug her tightly, swaying slightly side to side.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

She nods. “I know. Me too.”

“You okay? I’m starting to regret making you come tonight.”

“Don’t say that. I wanted to be here.”

“That stupid stuff Skye was saying made me want to stuff her in the stuffed potatoes.”

“It wasn’t stupid, there’s some truth in what she’s saying.”

“But she hurt you. I could see it on your face.”

“True . . . but she didn’t know about the baby.”

“Still . . .”

“I will say, it’s a little naïve of her to think you can go through life and not be busy and work hard if you are going to support yourself. Life is expensive.”

“Damn right.” I grab a beer out of the fridge and after taking a swig, Elle pulls the bottle out of my hand and takes one before handing it back to me.

She shrugs. “Maybe she’ll end up living in a commune or something, and not need cell phones and internet service. But that will never be me. I want more out of life, not less.”

I realize as she says it that I want more for Elle, too. She deserves it.

“I admire how hard you work,” I say.

She smiles. “Thanks. I feel the same about you.”

“I can’t help but worry about Patrick. I hope Skye doesn’t make him too freaky. It’s like an alien landed in our neighborhood and now she’s trying to abduct one of our own.”

“I think he’s finding himself. Maybe she’s good for him. She can loosen him up and get him to try things he never would have.”

I think about tofu and chanting and shake my head. “The sex better be great.”

“Well, judging from how happy he looks with her, let’s assume it is.”

Realizing we better rejoin the family before they send out a search party, I gesture to the dessert. “Shall we?”

She smiles and peels the foil off the top. I peek over her shoulder.

“Whoa! Is that pudding or something?”

“It’s a little bit of everything good . . . so yummy.”

I gather up the bowls, and follow her back out to the dining room.

Dad seems excited. “Is that trifle, lass?”

Elle nods with a grin.

Dad and Ma share a look. I can only imagine what they’re thinking. With every moment like this I know Elle is settling deeper into their hearts.

She stands above the bowl as she serves it up. She even remembered to bring separate servings of just the fruit for the vegan freaks. I watch her with pride.

Damn, she’s amazing.

When I take my first bite, my eyes roll back in my head as I groan.

“You like it?” Elle asks with a demure smile.

“Hell yes! It’s fit for a prince!”

“King,” Patrick says. “You mean fit for a king. That’s the saying.”

The corner of Elle’s mouth curves up and she winks at me.

I notice Skye studying us and I sense more awkwardness up ahead.

“How long have you two dated?” Skye inquires.

I’m still watching Elle as I answer, “We aren’t dating. We’re just friends.”

Elle smiles at me, and it’s a mysterious smile. I can’t tell what’s behind it. I’m then reminded of the time she yelled at me because of what I said about Melanie’s mysterious smile.

“Wow,” Skye says.

Patrick’s brows knit together. “Wow, what?”

Skye nods toward us. “With the energy sparking between them, I would’ve never guessed they were just friends.”

Damn right.

Hippy girl finally got something right.

Elle does the dishes, and I dry, while Ma deals with the leftovers.

“I hear you two are going to a wedding a week from Saturday,” Ma says to Elle.

“Yes, my best friend Stella.”

“So when are you going to marry my Paulie?”

Both Elle and I snap our necks in Ma’s direction. Elle laughs. I’m not sure whether to be offended by that or to join her.

“Is he going to ask me?” Elle says. The way her eyes are dancing, she looks amused.

“He better,” Ma huffs.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Millie, but your son has no interest in marrying me.”

“I have to disagree. Paulie seems quite taken with you.”

What the hell? Thanks, Ma.

“Besides, I’m done with marriage. I think I’m meant to be single. And Paul knows that. He’s still searching for his nice girl who isn’t a handful like me.”

I throw down the dishtowel and pound my fist on the counter.

“Does my presence here count for anything? Why are you two talking like I’m not here?”

Ma continues to ignore me as she replies to Elle, “Well, I’m not giving up hope. Maybe you’ll change your mind in time.”

Elle glances over at me and winks.

What the hell does that that wink mean?

When did she become so mysterious?

“So that was fun,” Elle says when we get in the car to leave.

“Yeah, loads,” I reply with a huff.

“Aww come on.”

“Why is it that I become the butt of everyone’s humor when you’re over?”

“Maybe because you’re so fun to tease.”

“Awesome.”

“Your mom sure got you riled up trying to get you to marry me.”

“And you were no help with that.”

“Why does she want you to marry me so much?”

I roll my eyes with a dramatic flourish. “I have no idea really. It’s especially baffling because you’re so unattractive and unappealing. The grandkids would look like trolls.”

She seems to be fighting back a smile. “Go on.”

“And you don’t get along with anyone thanks to your incredibly sour personality.”

“Yes, I can believe that. I can barely stand to be around myself.”

“See what I mean? Oh, and your desserts suck.”

“Yeah, that explains why you had three helpings.”

I shrug. “Well, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You know how emo you get. Let’s not even talk about that.”

She lets out a long dramatic sigh. “Well, it’s just as well that I’m undesirable to you because I would never marry the likes of you anyway.”

I roll down the car window. It’s getting hot as hell in here.

“And why would you never marry me?”

She gazes out the window. “I’m not telling.”

What the hell? “That’s not playing fair. I told you—why won’t you tell?”

“I don’t think you could take it.”

I pull the car into her driveway and park. We sit in silence for a minute. I tap my fingers on my knee but she’s still not talking.

“Okay, thanks for dinner.” She pops out of the car and walks to her porch before I can figure out what she’s up to.

I move quickly to catch her before she can get her key in the door. Reaching over, I press my palm against the lock so she can’t push her key into it.

“Why?” I say in a low voice as I lean into her, my chest against her back.

“Why, what?” She doesn’t turn, just jingles the keys in her hand.

“Why would you never marry me?”

When she turns around and looks at me, I study her expression to try to figure out what she’s thinking. It doesn’t feel like joking anymore.

“You really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

There’s a long pause as she studies me.

“The thing is, even if I were the type of girl that wanted to get married again, I wouldn’t marry you because I don’t think you’re interested in sex anymore. I know you were once, hell you were obsessed with it, but then something happened to you. I’m not sure what, but what you’re doing just isn’t natural.”

“Really?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest as I step back from her.

She nods. “And I need sex . . . a lot. I need it all the time. I threw myself at you countless times, and despite your low opinion of me, most men think I’m really hot.”

I don’t like where this is going and I squint at her. “Is that so?”

She folds her arms over her chest mimicking me. “Yes, sir, it is. Yet despite that, you didn’t just turn me down, but you turned down that goth girl who was begging you for it, as was that Melanie goddess. Any normal man would have screwed all of us just for the easy sex. But you walked away so easily . . . without a second thought.”

“You think you have me so figured out.”

“Well, what other reasonable conclusion can be made?”

I drop my arms and storm across her porch, but instead of marching down to my car, I turn and walk back toward her.

“You have no idea.”

“Well then, explain it to me.”

My fingers tighten into fists as I turn to pace the porch again. How can I explain anything when my feelings of love and lust for her get so tangled up that I can’t see which way is up anymore?

How do I tell her that at dinner tonight there was a point that I was completely lost with want for her?

We had just finished eating and my sister was going on about something when Elle sat up straight and swept up her hair behind her head.

Something about the way her arms were lifted drew my focus to the curve of her neck and the way her breasts looked so perfect—they were calling out to me to be fondled. I immediately pictured her in this pose again, but under me in bed and naked . . . her hair making waves over the pillow.

As I watched, she let her hair fall back down over her shoulders and reached for her glass—I don’t even think she knew I was looking at her and that just turned me on more. I started to fantasize crazy thoughts of slipping from my chair to under the table, and passing by the sea of legs until I got to hers. I would press my lips to her bare knee and slowly pull her legs apart so I could trail kisses up her inner thighs.

Shaking my head of the memory, I try to focus back on what I’m going to say to Elle to explain myself. I keep pacing.

On my third stride across the porch she sighs and sits down on the bench. I can’t read the worried look in her eyes. Does she regret that she turned my teasing of her into something so personal for me . . . something I’m not sure I understand enough to explain?

Most of the time she thinks I’m a good man but she has no idea how not good I was back when I spent every free hour hunting for sex. I was such an asshole and I’m scared that fucker is still buried inside of me just waiting for the trigger to inflate my dirty lust again, expanding like a hot air balloon, pushing out all the good that has filled me.

Elle doesn’t understand that she’s the motivation that makes me want to be good; she’s transformed me. Yet I still don’t trust if we get intimate that the darkness won’t prevail.

I run my fingers through my hair and make fists of it, tugging hard. I’m protective of her so it weighs on me that I was an asshole when I played the field. The quest for that surge of euphoria as I got off, ruled me.

Tonight when that idiot Skye started babbling that inner soul crap about burying empty feelings and I looked over to see Elle’s expression, I was angry. As Elle blinked back tears I could feel in my bones how she was suffering the loss of her baby all over again, just when things had started to get better.

In that moment I wanted to go sweep her out of her chair, and pull her tight in my arms. With her pressed against my chest, I’d carry her away to a quiet place where we could find our peace again.

I glance over at her patiently waiting on the bench for me and I want to yell in frustration for all the words I can’t say. Does she really mean it when she says she’s done with relationships? I’ve never even come close to having crazy intense feelings like this about anyone . . . what else could it be but love?

Does a love like this break you, or put you back together again?

I finally stop pacing and approach her. She looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Elle, I’m sorry.”

The corners of her lips turn down. “Why?”

“I can’t talk about this right now. I need some time to figure stuff out.”

She tips her head as she looks at me. “Can I help you? I’d do anything to help you.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “Thank you. I think I just need some time to get my head on straight.”

“Alone time?” Her brows knit together.

“Yeah, that would be best.”

She casts her eyes down at the ground and I notice her hands tighten on edge of the bench. “Does this mean you won’t come to Stella’s wedding with me?”

I slip my fingers under her chin and lift up so she’s looking at me.

“I’m taking you to the wedding. I promise.”

Her eyes have a gray tint, like the blue color has faded along with her spirit. “Thank you.”

I sit down on the bench next to her. “Look, you’ve got a crazy week ahead with all the wedding stuff. Just focus on that and a week from Saturday I’ll pick you up and I promise we’ll have a great time.”

Standing up, I reach for her hand. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

She joins me and takes a step toward the door but then turns and puts her arms around me. I hug her back, and from that gesture she sinks into me and runs her hand down my neck until it rests on my chest.

“I’m so sorry if what I said hurt you. You’re the last person in the world that I would want to hurt,” she whispers.

“It hurt. But you’ve got to be honest with me.”

She presses her eyes shut tight at my words. “I’m selfish. It’s just sometimes I lie in bed and imagine us together. I remember how turned on I was when we kissed that one night and how perfect it was when you held my breasts in your hands. And then I fantasize about how it would feel with you inside of me . . .”

My heart is thumping. Why is she doing this to me?

“Elle,” I gasp.

“I don’t even read my erotic books anymore, I just think about you.”

I run my hand down her back and it takes everything I have not to slide my hand down to her ass and tug her against me.

She leans farther into me and the heat between us is overwhelming. I’ve never wanted anything more than to pull her into the house and make love to her all night. The undercurrent of my passion for her is off the charts. Surely she can sense it burning through me.

I can feel everything so acutely—her breasts against my chest, her leg sliding between mine and pressing in all the ways I want her to.

She skims her lips against my neck. “I can feel you, Paul. I can tell that you want me . . . or at least your body does.”

I swallow thickly as she rubs against where I’m already so hard for her. “Is just sex enough for you?” I ask in a low voice.

She looks up at me with a hopeful expression. She’s misread the tone behind my question. “Enough? Sure it’s enough. That’s all I want.”

I shouldn’t be broadsided but I am, and I can’t make sense of any of this. The one thing I know is that sex with Elle without the rest would never be enough for me. I gaze at her, hoping to get a glimpse of anything more.

She pulls away. “Damn. I’m so selfish. You said you needed some space and I throw myself on you. I’m sorry.”

It hurts like hell to agree but I nod. “Just a little time. Okay?”

She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Okay.”

After the door closes behind her I walk slowly back to my car. I’m so damn pent up. In the old days I would have gone directly to a club I used to frequent on Sunset Boulevard where my choice of hook-ups was a given.

Instead I head home for the longest shower of my life.