by M. S. Parker
I went to snap back.
But I stopped.
Without thinking, my eyes slid to her neck, then her shoulders. That tumble of dark hair. That soft, smooth skin, a warm, dusky gold. I’d never thought about it before. This was California.
Give me ten minutes outside and I looked like that.
But…
“I’m Spanish,” Maya said, her voice cold. “My mom and dad’s family are both from Spain, although Mom’s family has been in the States a lot longer. Dad’s family came over before he was born. But…no, I’m not exactly white, Glenn. And if you think I haven’t ever been treated differently because of it…”
She stopped speaking and then just sighed. “You know what? Let’s just get the gas and go. If you want to eat, fine. But I’m not hungry.”
Then she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
I didn’t have much of anything to say. What was there to say?
She was right. I hadn’t lived her experiences. Unfair, I’d said. I sounded like a pompous ass. I didn't actually think unfair covered it.
Feeling hollow inside, I pulled the car over to the pumps and sat there as the attendant pumped the gas.
Maya slid deeper into the seat, her face averted. I looked over at her, wanting to say something. Anything.
Finally, unable to sit there and be totally silent, I just said, “I’m sorry.”
Seven
Maya
By the time Glenn pulled up in front of the diner, I was fighting to keep my eyes open.
I was so tired.
I hadn’t dared sleep while I was inside that jail cell. Not that anybody had made me feel scared—or more scared than I was. Most of the women in there were like Sharon, or at least it seemed that way to me. Young and scared, and I’d almost bet my perfectly aligned teeth—courtesy of my dad and a lot of orthodontic work—that they had been, and might still be, in that squalid, dimly room for similar reasons.
But I hadn’t wanted to risk it.
Sharon had been the same and, we’d ended up against a wall on the floor, propping each other up with our backs pressed to together.
Now that I was out, now that I was safe, and I knew she was, the exhaustion was so thick and heavy, I felt drugged.
But I was also furious—with myself. Some part of me agreed with Glenn. Some of me knew that it had been reckless to get involved yesterday. If I’d gotten hurt…I didn’t let myself reach down and rub my belly with Glenn so close, but I wanted to.
Trudging inside with him, I told myself it was a good idea to get out of the heat—the diner was air-conditioned, unlike some of the places in California. One might think a place that was caught in a perpetual summer like California would’ve invested in that newfangled thing called the air-conditioner, but it was still a luxury in this time.
Hell, probably in my time. I’d just never realized it.
“Hey, folks!” A friendly voice greeted us, but I was on auto-pilot and stayed that way even through the server guiding us to a table and taking out drink orders.
The only thing I could stomach was Sprite and luckily, that was on the menu. I ordered that, and only that, then put my head on the back of the padded booth, closing my eyes.
“Sure you don’t want something to eat?” Glenn asked.
“No.” The thought of eating left me feeling nauseated.
But not even fifteen minutes later, our server was back, smiling cheerfully as she put a plate down in front of Glenn and checked out soft drinks.
The smell of his fries was making my mouth water.
He caught sight of the look on my face and arched an eyebrow.
“Are you hungry now?”
Swallowing the saliva in my mouth, I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe a little.” Grabbing my Sprite, I sipped on it and told myself that was all I needed. My stomach yowled in protest.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I managed, somehow, to keep my voice calm. “Besides, it’s not like I need a burger and fries.”
“Then just order the fries. Or the burger.” Glenn shrugged.
The server overheard and dropped back by the table. “Is there something I can get for you, sweetheart? Did you want a burger?” she asked, her pretty young face cheerful.
“No, I'm fine.” I offered a strained smile. “I’m fine.”
“She’s hungry,” Glenn said, shaking his head. He gestured to his meal. “Why don't you bring her what I have?”
“I probably shouldn't eat it.” I shot him a dark look.
“Why?” He hitched up a shoulder. “I saw you belting back a burger and fries before. It can’t make you that sick.”
“I’m not sure it would stay down,” I snapped.
The server finally figured out what we were talking about—or mostly. “Oh!” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Are you…oh, I bet you are. You just wait right there, honey. I’ve got just the thing.”
She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, calling to her other customers she’d be right back.
“Wow, thanks,” I said, shaking my head in disgusted. “Why not just take out an ad next time?” Slumping in the seat, I reached for my Sprite and closed my eyes, telling myself I’d nod off.
I almost did.
And a hand shaking me was the wake-up call I got.
“Food, Maya.”
I wanted to sleep, but as the server put a grilled cheese and a bowl of chicken noodle in front of me, I realized that there was something else I wanted more.
I woke up and had to pee—that was the one clear thought in my brain. It wasn't until I was standing in the middle of the room that I realized it was unfamiliar.
I had no idea where I was.
“What's wrong?” a sleepy voice asked from behind me.
Not just a sleepy voice.
Glenn’s voice.
Swallowing the panicky knot locking up my throat, I asked, “Where are we?” Then priorities took hold. “I’ve got to pee.”
A light filled the room and I recognized a doorway in front of me. He didn't answer, though my bladder wasn’t waiting for him anyway—it was like it had shrunk down to the size of a golf ball. Besides, the relatively bland interior and small size of the room—and the bathroom —all of made it clear where we were.
A hotel.
A couple of minutes later, I stood in front of a mirror and washed my hands, staring at my pale face. Exhaustion had sapped the color from my skin and put circles under my eyes. I looked gaunt and tired, and not particularly pretty.
My vanity wanted to weep a little.
But I was so tired, I didn’t even feel like indulging that.
I splashed water on my face to clear the cobwebs from my brain, then finger-combed my hair into some semblance of order. That was about all I could do, so I slipped outside.
The sight awaiting me did more to clear my brain than any amount of cold water could do.
Glenn stood there, back against the wall, chest bare. He wore only his jeans, unbuttoned and partially unzipped. Slung low around his hips, the denim invited the eye to look…to linger.
My mouth went dry.
Dragging my gaze up across the hard planes of his chest, I met his eyes.
“Why are we in a hotel?” I asked.
He hitched up a shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. “You nodded off less than ten minutes after we left the diner. I still hadn’t been able to get a hold of Florence or Astor. So, I thought maybe we should come back here and get some rest. I was feeling pretty beat myself—hadn’t slept much, trying to find you.”
My heart skipped a beat at those words. Stupid heart.
He yawned and stretched, the muscles in his belly flexing with each movement.
That stupid heart of mine began to race, and I tucked my hands behind me, curling my hands into fists to keep from reaching for him.
Get a hold of yourself, I thought.
He looked like he was still struggling to wake up.
My brain was now working in overload, and when he reached up to scratch at his chest, it only made things worse, because I had hot, vivid memories of how I’d been able to reach up and touch that chest anytime I wanted.
It wasn’t even that long ago.
Not for me.
Heat exploded through me as he blinked, then focused on me, eyes sharpening.
I knew that look all too well. Just as I knew the feel of his chest under my hands or the feel of it moving against my breasts.
Hunger started to pulse, beating inside me like a wild thing, and I eased away from the doorway, taking care not to come too close to him. If I touched him, I’d lose it. I’d just lose control and pounce on him.
“Were you able to get a hold of Florence after we got here?” I asked. My voice was husky now, too husky and I licked my lips, wishing I’d gotten a drink of water from the bathroom while I’d been in there.
Guess I wouldn’t be finding a nice bottle of Aquafina in here, would I?
“Yes.”
His voice was closer, but I didn’t look back.
“Good. That’s good.” My voice sounded too bright, false. I sounded like a bad actress in a cheap commercial. “Is there anywhere to get some water?”
“Try the refrigerator,” he suggested. “I filled up the pitcher after I got you tucked away. How are you feeling?”
Fridge…I looked around a little more closely, squinting in the dim light. The light he’d hit only lit up the area by the bed, but now that my eyes had adjusted, I could see a small kitchenette area on the other side of a retro divider. Although I guess it wasn’t really that retro. It was modern right now.
Grimacing, I went to the fridge and opened it, reaching for the pitcher inside.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“About what?” I opened a cabinet and found glasses on the first try.
“How are you feeling? You were so out of it, you didn’t wake up even when I picked you up to carry you inside.”
“Wow, Glenn,” I said, mockery lacing my words. “You almost sound concerned.”
“You spent a day inside a jail cell,” he snapped. “Then you all but pass out in the car and sleep like the dead. Yeah, I’m a bit concerned.”
The nice, cuddly feelings—okay, the nice, sexy feelings—began to fade away.
“You’re concerned…why? Because I spent the night in jail, or because I’m tired? Why are you concerned?”
He clenched his jaw, eyes flashing. Finally, he said, “I just want to know if you’re feeling okay. Is that so hard to answer?”
I felt like crying. But I pasted a smile in place and nodded. “I’m fine.”
I wasn’t. Physically, I was okay. I was tired and sore, probably from spending so much time in the car, and then the hours I’d spent just sitting with Sharon in the jail.
But inside, I was a wreck. I’d been fighting back anger at myself ever since I’d realized that I just might be trapped inside that jail cell for a while. Although I still didn’t regret helping Sharon, a part of me insisted I should’ve known better.
What would’ve happened if they’d decided to just leave me in there?
It wasn’t like people’s rights were universally respected in the sixties.
I had to be careful—for myself. For the baby.
Tears burned my eyes and I ducked my head to hide them, turning back to the counter and sipping at my water like I had no other thought or concern, save sating my thirst.
What would happen if I had this baby, and then I was sucked back to my time? Just me? It wasn’t like I had a lot of control over any of it.
I started to shake, the idea so appalling, I felt sick. Putting the glass down, I pressed my hands onto the counter and pulled a breath in, trying to calm that wave of nausea, that fear.
If I went back…
Tears edged closer and closer as the idea cemented itself in my mind. It could happen. The last time I’d gone back, I hadn’t even been wearing my engagement ring or the nightgown I’d had on. I’d reappeared back in my time wearing the clothes I’d had on when I disappeared, in a different place from where I’d been in 1962.
There was no logic to it; no rhyme or reason.
For all I knew, I could walk outside, and the diary would be on the hood of the car and I’d pick it up…
No. I didn’t have the locket.
I’d left it locked inside the jewelry case Florence had lent to me, and that was in the top of the closet back in her house.
As long as they weren’t together, I should be safe. Right?
“Maya.”
Glenn came up and touched my shoulder. I flinched, pulling away. But I shouldn’t have let that out. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Forcing a laugh, I said, “I’m just…tired.”
My gaze landed on the clock on the wall, another retro—no, I told myself, another modern piece. “It’s midnight. How did it get to be midnight?”
“Yeah. Like I said, you were out of it.” He cupped both of my shoulders in his hands and tugged me back against him. “I want you to talk to me, Maya. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“Stop it, Glenn.” Pulling away from him, I paced to the other side of the room and turned to glare at him. “There’s no reason to talk about this. Once you drop me back off at my apartment—”
His eyes locked on mine. “You are not going back to your apartment right now. I was watching the news earlier—they’re burning things in Los Angeles, Maya. They’re going to have to bring in the National Guard. You asked if I’d gotten a hold of Florence—I did. Right as Astor was packing them up to leave the city for a few days. They’re going to stay with some friends in Santa Barbara. He took the phone out of her hand while we were talking—they’ve all left the city.”
They’re burning things…
“I…” I stopped and blew out a breath, looking away from him.
In the blink of an eye, a missing puzzle piece fell into place. Watts. It had sounded familiar. Now I knew why. The Watts riot. I hadn’t paid too much attention when I’d read about it, because I’d been focused on 1962, not 1965. But I’d read about a number of civil rights issues in college, and had seen this one mentioned when I’d been searching the library for news on Glenn or Florence.
It was hard to overlook numerous headlines that referenced thousands rioting, or millions of dollars in damage.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat down in the wingchair in front of the small television, as if it might offer some answer to all the problems in my head. Fat chance.
“Fine. You can take me to a hotel closer to the city and once things are calm, I’ll reach out to Florence. You and me…” Sighing, I looked away. “There isn’t a you and me anymore, Glenn. You made it that clear enough. I’m not your responsibility.”
“Trying to cut me out?” Glenn asked softly.
“Trying to cut you out?” Dismayed, I looked up.
He crossed the floor to kneel in front of me and I retreated against the chair, staring at him warily.
“You told me to leave, remember? I can’t cut you out because you already forced me out.”
He put his hands on my thighs. Through the thin material of my skirt, I felt the warmth of his palms, and I clenched my hands over the arms of the chair to keep from reaching for him.
“I’ve been scared to death, worrying about you. Then I find you in jail and I’m half sick thinking about what could’ve happened.” Glenn shook his head. “You’re not going to just disappear on me, Maya. This isn’t done between us.”
Gaping at him, I started to sputter.
“What…you—” Struggling to form a coherent thought, I shook my head. “You are the one who decided it was done—” I finally managed to get out.
But nothing else.
Because his mouth came down on mine.
“I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” he muttered against my lips. Then he kissed me and all my thoughts completely died.
Eight
Maya
At some point, he’d picked me up and carried me to the bed
I didn't know when.
My mind had melted away to a surreal, serene state the moment he’d put his mouth on mine. I only knew that I could feel the hard curve of his muscles as I clutched his shoulders, that his hands gripped my butt as he pressed me against the heavy ridge of his cock.
His mouth tore from mine and he kissed a burning line down my neck.
The little pearl buttons on my blouse gave away under his fingers, and I gasped as he began to kiss his way down my torso. My skin hadn’t ever felt so sensitive.
My body hadn’t felt this alive since…ever.
Maybe it was because I didn’t think we’d have this again.
My blouse completely unbuttoned now, he let go of it to seek out the zipper on my skirt. He dragged it down slowly, lips tracing the waistband of my skirt, the skin above.
With a shiver, I pushed my hands into his hair and pressed him closer.
His hands cupped my hips, slid under.
It was no time before the skirt was gone, the panties too. After the night in jail, my pantyhose had been shredded. I’d already thrown them away.
His fingers stroked that soft, sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh, no other barrier in the way.
The rough callouses on his strong fingers drew slow circles, making me shiver.
“Stop teasing me,” I demanded.
He made a low, rough noise in his throat but there was no change in direction. Instead, he caught my ankle and dragged it up and over, spreading my thighs.
As he opened me, cool air slid over my pussy. “Glenn, please.”
He licked me.
I gasped.
One slow, lazy circle around my clitoris, followed by another long, slow stroke of his tongue that went from the bottom of my slit, all the way up to my clit.
Then another taunting circle.
Shuddering, I tightened my hands in his hair and began to move against him.
