The NYCE Girls!

by Raquel Belle

  “I know,” I say. I know exactly what it is, but I also know what it’s not. There’s no way I’m letting her go again. Sitting in the diner, with her across from me, her legs occasionally brushing against mine under the table, and the contagious laugh that flows from her like a song— it’s become very clear to me.

  She’s mine. She always has been. And she will be again.

  Casey returns with our dinners, and we eat in silence. Thankfully, no one else interrupts us, and we’re able to leave without any more fanfare.

  ***

  “Wow, crazy night, right?” I say, as we pull up outside her house.

  “Not really. It was pretty nice.”

  “If you say so, but I’m glad it didn’t suck, you know, because you’re from New York and there’s much better food and company…”

  She giggles. “Trip… Stop it. I had a great time.”

  “But we had no wine and caviar or fancy cheese…”

  She giggles so hard that her eyes are watering. She pulls in her breath, holding up one hand. “Just stop. I’m getting out.”

  “Okay, hold on,” I say and jog around the car. I take her hand and lead her to the walkway. “I promise, next time, I’ll take you somewhere nicer.”

  “It’s not a problem, Trip.”

  “To me it is. You deserve the best of everything.”

  We’re standing outside her door, and she’s facing me. All parts of me are itching to take her in my arms, and without thinking, I do. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and when I lower my head to kiss her, she doesn’t hold back.

  Her lips are soft against mine, and I pull her tighter to me, crushing her to my body, making her feel every pulsating beat of my heart. I feel her hand move against my hips, and I reach up and cup her face as I drink her in.

  My soul remembers her, like she’s created just for me—to fit my mold.

  “Trip…” She mutters against my lips. “Maybe I should go in.”

  I pull back hesitantly and my eyes open slowly. “When can I see you again?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to have to look at my schedule and get back to you.”

  I laugh. “Is that so? Well, you do that. I’ll be right here.”

  “Okay. Good night, Trip.”

  “Goodnight, Jazz.”

  I pinch my lips and wait until she’s inside before I walk back to my truck—all the muscles in my body tense, and every part of me is on edge.

  Chapter Six

  Jasmine

  My eyes open, and the first thing I see is his face.

  Not next to me in bed, but his face from last night. He was wearing jeans that hugged the muscles in his thighs, a buttoned-up white shirt, and brown cowboy boots. I’ve seen a lot of sexy men, and Trip fits any cover of any of the fashion magazines in New York.

  The entirety of my plan focused on coming home for Christmas, spending some time with my folks, and going right back to city life. Not the kiss—the lingering warmth of his lips that went to bed with me. The kiss that still clings to me, traveling through me, forcing me to return to a time when I lived for his kisses.

  I touch my lips, and they’re quivering. I close my eyes and roll over onto my back. My hands glide down my body, past my breasts, my navel, and the scruff of hair that’s beginning to form on my lower region. My body quakes when my thumb moves over my clit, and my eyes close…

  “Do it again,” I say. “Touch me there.

  “Where?” He says and caresses my cheek.

  I tilt my head, so my face cradles in his palm. “No, lower.”

  “Here?” He says, and thumbs my hardened nipple.

  I giggle. “No… Lower.”

  He cups my face and kisses me, moments before his hand goes lower, to where I want it. My mouth opens, and I exhale sharply when his finger thumbs my clit. All of me is pulsating, and I arch my body underneath him.

  “Are you sure?” He says.

  “Yes,” I say, breathily and raise my head to kiss him. “This might be the last time.”

  His eyes get sad, and he strokes my face. The hand on my clit stops moving, but my body isn’t prepared to stop. I’m already in full-throttle mode.

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper and touch his hand.

  His hand starts moving, and I begin my climb to the peak again. He kisses my lips, my throat, and I press on the top of his head when he finds my nipples. I want to keep his tongue swirling around my perked tips. I’m breathing hard, and my clit is vibrating like it’s on batteries.

  I claw at his arms, and he switches breasts. My legs part, and I anticipate him entering me. I need him to. This is the last time, and I’ll have my fill.

  His body crushes mine, as the breath escapes him, and I feel his heart beating through my chest. I’m electrified, and my breath begins to come out in gasps and moans. I’m shivering and shaking, and when he moves further south, it’s like someone has a defibrillator on me.

  I throw my head back, when his tongue begins to dominate my lower ache. It’s moving up and down, licking and sucking and…

  Knock! Knock! “Jazz? Are you up?”

  My eyes open, and I jump up and look around wildly. I’m in my old room, at my parents’ house. I look down and realize my hand is still groping my crotch. I pull it back quickly, like it’s on fire.

  “Jazz?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m up,” I say, shakily and try to wipe the embarrassment off of my face. I can’t help but smile though. “Be out in a minute.”

  “Okay, dear. I’ll be in the kitchen,” she says.

  Once I’m positive she’s gone, I fall back against the bed, and wait for my heart to slow down. It’s still racing, and I blink away the traces of my last night with Trip.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” I mumble to myself as I sit up again. Trip isn’t supposed to be in me—not anymore—and I begin to think that going to dinner with him and kissing him had been a mistake.

  I get up and walk to the full-length mirror that’s so familiar to me. It bears testimony to my crazy years, and I smile as I look at my reflection. My hair used to be more of a tangled mess of curls. Not so much now. I shake my head and let my large curls fall into place. Then I place the base of my palms over my ears and use my fingers to fluff them out.

  I trace my fingers over my toned arms, down to my flat stomach, and I turn. My ass could use some work, but that’ll have to wait until I get back to New York and manage to get in some gym time—if my clients ever let me have any personal time.

  It’s very demanding working for affluent people—they expect everything to be done right away, and just think how busy it gets when more than one of them want to invest in a certain stock, or move their money to an offshore account, or a countless number of other things as they sit around their pools, or on a golf course, and discuss.

  Then I’m strapped with the fun part. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and the perks that come with it, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s challenging.

  “Jazz?” I hear Mom calling from downstairs.

  She must really need me for something. I quickly wash up, hop into a faded pair of ripped jeans and a knitted sweater and grab a pair of tennis shoes from my bag.

  “Good morning, Mother,” I greet her and kiss the top of her head. “I thought the house was on fire.”

  “If it was, you wouldn’t make it out alive.”

  I laugh and head over to the coffee maker. I pour a cup and turn back to her. “Oh, you’re all dressed up.” She’s wearing navy jeans, a blue and orange flannel shirt, and socks. “Where are you going?”

  “You mean where are we going,” she says and stands. “That’s why I’ve been calling. It’s Saturday, and I want to go to the farmers’ market before they’re all out of fresh produce.”

  “Oh,” I say between sips. “Well, let’s go. I have nothing better to do, so… Where’s Dad?” I check around me. “Patio?”

  “No, he went into town. He needs suppli
es for the yard.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s go,” I say and place the cup into the sink. What else am I going to do in a town with only so much to do?

  “Okay,” she says and glances at the clock over the archway. “It’s almost ten. This is a good time for it.”

  “I’ll drive,” I say quickly, and hurry over to the keyholder close to the door. I swipe the keys to the Prius and grin as I turn to her. “No Old Blue today.”

  Her eyes twinkle. “Not necessary today.” She slides past and gives me a cheeky smile.

  “Mom, you’re something else, you know that?” I laugh, and as we head out she closes the door behind us.

  Willow Creek is one of those towns where you can leave your front door open—everyone looks out for everyone else, and there’s a respect for privacy that’s almost reverent. It’s refreshing when I think about all the locks that are still necessary even after having a security post and cameras in my building.

  New York, New York. Gotta love it!

  It’s a beautiful day, and Mom has her hair down—no scarf or head wrap. It’s sixty-five degrees, and by New York’s standards, it’s summer.

  “It’d be nice to go to the creek today, wouldn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, as she looks out the window on her right. “Remember when you used to go frog hunting down there?”

  I laugh, heartily. “Don’t remind me how gross I used to be. How old was I? Ten?”

  She smiles. “Eight. So many good memories here.”

  I know what she’s doing. She wants me to get homesick enough for me to want to come back home. I’m not falling for it. No matter how hard she tries.

  “That’s not working,” I say in a sing song voice.

  “What’s not working?” she says, naively, and then looks over and smiles. “You do have a lot of good memories here, don’t you?”

  “I do, but I have as many in New York, where my actual life is. You’re just not going to give up, are you?”

  “Nope,” she says. “Oh, look, the whole town’s already here.” We drive up to the open lot littered with tents, stalls, and busy shoppers.

  “Wow, this has gotten bigger than I remember. Even animals too?” I say, as I’m forced to stop to let Mr. Fred, the pig farmer, pass with a litter of piglets.

  He waves, as he passes in front of the car. “Howdy, Mrs. Taylor!”

  “Hello, Fred!” Mom pushes her head out the window and waves. “You’ve got a lively bunch today.”

  He laughs. “I do! Quite a handful. Say, do you think Mr. Taylor…?”

  “No,” Mom says, as she shakes her head. “We don’t want to start a pig farm.”

  “That’s alright. You can park in the back, over by the trees,” he says, when he’s on the other side of the car. “Oh, Jasmine, good to see you.”

  “You too, Mr. Fred,” I say, as the car rolls past and over to the grove of trees beside all the other vendors and buyers.

  We get out, and I sniff the fresh air, rich with the pungent smells of tree bark, wild flowers, produce, and animal droppings. It’s a glorious smorgasbord of everything I miss, and some things I can do without.

  “Come on,” Mom says and takes my hand like I’m a child. “I want to get some more pumpkins, and Johnson will be out of those very quickly. Oh, and I need more eggs. I remember how you love eggnog.”

  I laugh softly, as I hurry along next to her. I love seeing her so happy and animated, and it gives me a warm feeling inside.

  The air is buzzing with children scurrying between their parents’ legs, causing a ruckus, as they do. Mom shuffles between a tight group of women clamoring for pumpkins, and I almost get knocked to the ground by a little rascal.

  “Oh,” I wail and clutch the small child, as he crashes into me. “What do we have here?” I steady him.

  He looks up and grins. “Sorry!” He has the most adorable smile and his blue eyes light up.

  “Kyle!” someone screams.

  “That’s Ma,” he whispers.

  I giggle and hold his hand, just so he won’t run off again before she finds him.

  “Kyle, how many times do I have to tell you…Jazz!” Trisha laughs and runs to me when she sees it’s me with her child. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Yeah,” I say and point my thumb at Mom. “She dragged me out of the house. I guess this little one belongs to you.”

  “That he does,” Trisha says and gives him a warning look before she takes his hand. She has a matching one in her other hand.

  “Oh, twins!” I say. “They’re so cute.” I bend down to toy with their cheeks, and they look across at each other and giggle.

  “You won’t think they’re so cute if you have to deal with them all day,” she says. She’s flustered, and you can see it. Her eyes are tired and her cheeks are sunken…like someone who’s overwhelmed with life.

  It’s then that I remember Derrick didn’t make it back home after that last tour. The last time I’d seen Trisha, the boys were babies, still in their cots.

  I straightened. “Trisha, I’m so sorry about Derrick. This must be hard for you.”

  Her eyes soften. “Yeah, it’s been a rough couple of years. But it’s been a helluva lot better since Trip came back. He’s been like a god send. I don’t know how I’d manage without him.”

  The sound of his name has my heart running laps again. “I can imagine. Trip’s always been like that—he can’t walk past anyone in need.”

  “No, he can’t. And he’s so good with them. He was made to be a father. But don’t feel bad for me,” she says in a heavy Southern accent. “I’ll be alright.” She lets go of Kyle and grips my arm. “How about you?”

  The child seizes the opportunity to run off again, and the other struggles to do the same. I laugh. “Let them go. Not like they’re going anywhere. They just want to play.”

  She smiles and folds her hands across her chest, and we walk in the direction they’d run off. “So, how ‘bout it? How’s the city life treating you, huh?”

  “It is what it is, you know. There’s just work, and traffic, and on demand TV mostly.”

  She laughs in a quirky way, “Really? Oh…Kyle! Conrad! Put that down!”

  I look and realize they’re picking up one of Mr. Fred’s piglets. I slap my hand over my mouth and giggle. “Oh my god!”

  “Yeah. Welcome to my life,” she says and rolls her eyes. “Maybe you should stay in the city.” She smiles at me and then clears her throat. “It suits you. I couldn’t imagine you chasing after children in the marshes.”

  I laugh. “Oh, god no, but children are great. I might have some of my own one day.”

  She smiles. “Is that so? Anyone special back home?”

  “Nah, not yet,” I say, wistfully. “But…you know, I remember you wanted to leave town, back in high school.”

  “Yeah,” she says and kicks a tuft of grass out of her path. “Life had different plans.”

  She has a hint of regret in her voice, and I don’t want to make her feel bad about the choices she’s had to make. “I know what you mean. How about we go get those—”

  She sighs with relief, and I’m a little bewildered. I smile at her. “What is it?”

  “Trip,” she says. “He’s finally here.”

  “Trip?” I turn to see where she’s looking.

  He’s approaching, looking a lot like he looked in high school. He’s wearing jeans, a cut-off flannel shirt, and the muscles in his arms ripple while he walks toward us. I’m pretty sure my mouth is open, but it’s like I can’t feel anything in my face.

  Trisha moves past me and walks towards him, but all the while his eyes are on me, probing me, and I get flashes of my embarrassing morning. My midsection starts drumming, and my cheeks warm right as he gets to me.

  Mayday! Mayday!

  My thoughts scream at me to run away, but when he smiles, and the dimple in his chin grows deeper, I’m unable to move.

  Chapter Seven

  Trip

 
“There you are,” Trisha says. “I was about to go nuts.”

  I laugh. “Sorry, got caught up at the shop. Tourists…” I can’t keep my eyes off Jazz. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Jazz blushes and toys with her hair. “Yeah… You can credit Mom for that.”

  “Hold on a second,” I say, when I spot Kyle chasing a chicken.

  “Oh, lord,” I hear Trisha groaning as I hurry away. I catch him just as he’s bending to pick up the bird and throw him over my shoulder.

  “No fair,” he says, laughing and thrashing. I fit him snugly between my arm and neck.

  “What’s not fair is you and Conrad giving your mother all of this work. I think someone’s fixing for a time out.”

  “No! Please, Uncle Trip. I’ll stop.”

  “I don’t believe you, I bet if I set you down right this minute, you’d be off running again.”

  “No, I promise,” he squeals. “Conrad!”

  “I’ve got them if you want to go and grab some items,” I tell Trisha. “I’ll go and get Conrad.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” she says, quickly. “You want to come with me, Jazz? We can catch up. We didn’t get to talk much last night.”

  I’m hoping she says no, but what kind of conversation could we have when I’m manning two rambunctious boys and chasing pigs and chickens.

  “Sure,” she says, and eyes me. “Mom probably needs help too.”

  Trisha looks around at the rows of tables and stalls laden with fresh garden produce. Every week the town gathers on the field to share what they’ve grown. At the end of the day, what’s not sold is shared among the less fortunate.

  “Alright,” I say, and watch as they walk away, Trisha’s probably already retelling some childhood story.

  “Okay, where’s your brother?” I ask Kyle and flip him around to set him on the ground.

  Kyle shrugs and dances around me. “There!” He points and begins to run.

  I don’t bother picking him up again. They reunite before retreating to my side and taking my hands. “Good boys,” I say and rub their curly heads. “Now, what do you want to—”