by C. M. Lally
“Shame on him for not stopping to check on you. I’m gonna make him grapple with me a few hours on the mat when we get back. I’ll twist his arm a few good times for you, Miss Crawford.”
“Oh, Child. Don’t go hurtin’ the man on my account. He’s been through enough, I reckon.” She stands and begins to clear our plates, while we both finish with our tea.
“I’m so full now, I don’t know how much help I’ll be going back to work,” I declare, leaning back and patting my full belly very unladylike. Kol’s eyes sweep over my body. The heat from his stare races up my spine, and I sit up straighter. We’re both hot and sweaty, tired and sore, and hungry for each other. I crush the heels of my sneakers down onto the patio and push myself up from the chair. “Let’s go finish up so we can get home...and rest,” I suggest, raising a mischievous eyebrow.
He springs from his chair and races to the front yard. By the time I get there, he’s got four nails hanging from his lips using them as extra fingers to hold them, two more are squeezed between his fingers lying in wait to be next, and he’s pounding one into the board he’s laying down. Someone’s on a mission to get home.
Within the hour, I’m sweeping off the refurbished porch while he’s collecting the tools we used and putting them back in the garden shed.
He’s appears carrying a long glass pan with some aluminum foil wrapped over it. “Miss Crawford is taking a nap, but she left this for us on the patio.” I lean into it and take in the aroma of tomato sauce and garlic trapped under the foil lid.
“Mmmmm. I can’t wait to dig into that.” He tugs it away from my nose, either protecting it or keeping it all to himself. I’m not sure. His chiseled jaw is clamped tight in concentration.
“But first, we shower.” He wrinkles his nose as she sniffs his T-shirt.
I gasp loudly. “We? Together?” My hand rushes to my chest in mock surprise.
“Yes, unless you don’t want too. I guess I should have asked rather than commanded.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Commanding me might have been interesting for you.”
We turn onto Rose Petal Lane, and he pulls out his phone to Google something I can’t see. Give him some privacy, Jade; you don’t need to know everything. But damn that’s easier said than done. He finds what he wants and tucks his phone back into his pocket without making any eye contact with me. Shit. It’s killing me not knowing what he looked up.
We walk in silence the rest of the way. He’s absorbed in his thoughts, and that worries me. What in the hell is he thinking about? My shoulders tense from the lack of words between us, not even a side-eye glance in my direction. He carries the pan between us with it resting on his hips.
Is he closing himself off from me again? Are we one long night and done?
Well, not if I can help it.
Chapter Fifteen - Kol
JADE IS CONFIDENT. That’s what I want in a woman. Someone who knows their own value; who doesn’t cling to me for advice about every little moment in their life. I want to sit back and let her do her thing while I brag to everyone around me, “That’s my fucking girl! MINE!”
She came to help me today. That blows my mind, and I certainly didn’t expect it. Without asking, she worked as hard as I did without complaint. All to help an elderly woman in need.
She didn’t give one rat’s ass about her nails getting chipped, even though I handed her some gloves, or how unruly her messy bun was. She didn’t bat an eyelash when spiders crawled out of the wood to catch a moment of the sunlight. She flicked them back down into the darkness to live another day.
Jade may be a Barbie doll with her flawless hair and nails, soft skin, and luscious body— hell, you name it she’s got it in spades, but she’s unmistakably the definition of the saying ‘less is more.’
She works out in cut-off shorts and old, thin T-shirts. She hardly ever wears make-up. She lives off fruit, veggies, and her beloved Ramen Noodles. Just thinking about those nasty things gives me the heebie-jeebies. Spending time with Jade is like hanging with the guys, except she’s the pretty one.
She’s confident, but not cocky; she’s smart, but not condescending; she’s strong, both physically and emotionally, without being brutally cold; and she’s endearing and funny, without being a pushover or a joker. She’s that perfect mix of beauty, brawn, and brains.
How in the hell did I get so lucky?
All the previous ‘women’ in my life have begged me for more: more time, more energy, more dates, more sex, more sharing, and more communication...I’m not into more. Less completely gets all my attention.
I pull out my phone and do a quick Internet search “romantic night at home.” How pathetic that I can’t think of a few things on my own, but I’ve never cared enough. As I scroll up and down I get aggravated and close out of the internet; most of the ideas are geared towards actually being in your own damn home. I guess I’m on my own.
Fuck. I can’t repeat last night. I’m screwed.
WE ARRIVE BACK AT LOU’S, and I realize we walked the entire way back without speaking. I let her go up the steps in front of me, but I pull on the tip of her ponytail to get her to stop and turn around. We are face-to-face, within a hair’s breadth of each other. I reach out and wrap my pinky finger around hers. Her head lowers to mine and our foreheads touch.
She’s staring at our hands that are connected by those two little promise fingers.
“Hey. Thanks for coming to help me today. You didn’t have to, but you did. You worked really hard, and I appreciate that.”
“I have a confession: I was mad at you when I woke up. I fully expected us to wake up wrapped in the sheets together. When you weren’t there, I thought you’d left me. I got dressed to run until my heart burst since it was shattered anyway. As soon as my feet hit the porch, I heard hammering and remembered your promise to Miss Crawford. Who could be mad at a man who helps the elderly? Not me.” She shrugs her shoulders and screws her lips up into a pucker, and I kiss them quickly.
“C’mon. Let’s go take a bath.”
After putting the dish in the oven on warm, we head upstairs together, hand in hand with me leading the way. I release her fingers and kick off my shoes as she steps over to her bag.
I go to inspect the small bathroom.
That’s one tiny clawfoot tub. We’re never going to fit inside there together. Guess that’s that. She comes in behind me wearing a black and hot pink silk robe that’s loosely tied, swats me on the ass and says, “We’ll fit. Stop worrying.” How in the hell did she know what was on my mind?
“If you say so.”
She leans over and sets the hot and cold water running together to fill up the tub. I lean with her but only to get a small glimpse of what’s inside that robe. She stretches up on her tippy toes to pull towels off the linen shelf, and I see the soft swell of her ass. Now I’m second guessing the bath suggestion. After setting the towels on the stool, she pulls some kind of fat circle cake from her pocket and drops it into the hot bathwater. It starts to fizz, and the bathroom fills with the scent of lavender and mint making the water turn a light, milky green.
“Am I going to smell pretty after our bath?”
“I don’t know about pretty, but you’re going to be calm and relaxed,” she winks before reaching around me to turn both handles off. “You first, because you’re bigger.” She slips her hands under my t-shirt and grazes her nails across my stomach. My dick hardens with her warm touch. Her fingers grasp the hem of my shirt and push it up and over my head before letting it fall to the bathmat. She pulls the loose tie of my shorts and pushes them down, pausing a moment as my cock springs free from my briefs before I step out of everything I had on.
Her fingers trail over my skin and across my shoulders before grabbing one of the washcloths and placing it over the faucet for me. Her hard nipple brushes against my forearm and a small electric coil of heat races up my spine. I step in and slide down into the water, not-so-gracefully as water splashes up and over the rim of th
e tub. My legs are slightly bent at the knee, but I’m comfortable.
I watch her pull the loose knot on her robe, allowing it to fall open and hang. My fucking God, she’s a vision no matter how many times I see her...I’m in awe. My heart hammers in my chest as she lets the robe fall to the floor on top of my clothes and steps in. With her back to me, she slides her body down into the water between my bent legs and rests her back to mine. My hard-on is the only space between us.
“Business or pleasure first?” she asks innocently. I’m confused by the question.
“What? Business? In a bathtub?”
“Sorry. That was a standard bath time question growing up. You know, the business of washing. Do you want to wash first or play?”
“Oh. I see. And I suppose the answer was always pleasure first, because I’ve never met a kid that wanted to take a bath.”
“Yes, most of the time, even as I got older I’d sit in the tub reading and let the water soak away my troubles until my skin pruned. It was still pleasure first.” She sighs deeply.
I wrap my arms around her and chase away the memories that are occupying her mind. “I want to sit here and relax for a while with you in my arms.”
“Okay, but the water is going to get cold quickly,” she sing-songs, teasing me.
“It’s blazing hot outside. Let the water get cold. I would like to be chilly for once today.”
I know she wants to play, but I want to hold her close. She rests her head back against my chest, and I gather her hair up, twisting it until it’s long and sleek laying it over her shoulder. I kiss her temple, and massage her shoulders. Her eyes close and another sigh escapes her lips as she relaxes.
My eyes close in contentment with her in my arms.
The bubbles from the fizzy bomb have popped. Her body is slippery as I pull her tighter into me. The water cools hardening her nipples, so I grab the washcloth she laid out and soap it up with the coconut-scented soap she also brought with her.
I take my time gliding the soft cloth over her chest, back, and long arms while she holds them out for me. Each leg lifts for me to wash when I get there. She wiggles and squirms a little when I get close to her private areas, but I go slow and take my time, rubbing her gently, coaxing a few soft moans from her. There isn’t one inch of her skin that doesn’t smell like the tropics.
I cup water in my hands and rinse the bubbles off her.
“Six weeks ago, I thought you hated me,” she says. Her voice is soft, warm and very relaxed. “Three weeks ago, it felt like you were thawing and simply tolerated me. Now, you’ve completely melted since I’m getting a superb bath from you. Funny how time changes things.”
“Really? I could never hate you. What made you think that?”
She turns herself around in the water to face me, splashing it over the sides like I did in her hurry to respond. Her long legs wrap around my waist, and I scoot forward a little for them to fit around me. She holds me to her with the strength of her legs, and soaps the other washcloth, swirling it around my chest and shoulders.
“Ha, let me see...for starters, your constant scowl.” She mimics it briefly before continuing on with her reasons. “And the way you make me repeat my moves over and over again, growling and barking, until I could fall down from exhaustion. Oh, and the way you yelled at me when we got stranded in the cave.” Her eyebrow lifts in its high arch at me for that one. “Then there’s the forceful demand of me coming on this trip resulting in the loss of my job. I don’t know. Take your pick.” She shrugs her shoulders with casual indifference.
Her eyes meet mine, and we stare at each other for a long moment before I break away. She’s calling me out on my shit, and I’m locked in this tub. I can’t walk out. I have to face her, and the truth stings as bad as a scorpion.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” I swallow hard. I know she’s not attacking me, but showing me how much of an asshole I’ve been to her doesn’t make me feel good. “Most times, I don’t know what to say— I’m a quiet man. Usually, my fists or feet do my talking for me. Would you rather I kick you down and lay you flat, or simply stare in silence at how great I think you are?”
“But that’s the point. I don’t know that you know I’m great with that hateful scowl on your face. Expressing your emotions doesn’t make you less of a man. It makes you more of one.”
“Not where I come from. It means you’re weak.” Her eyes fill with pity.
My heart pounds against my chest. The anxiety that builds in me when I think about expressing my innermost feelings is overwhelming. I push them down, burying my true feelings even deeper than before, but I feel them rising back up against my will.
We’ve only known each other for a short time, but I know how I feel when she’s near: phenomenal. I want to jump and holler when she perfects a move.
And that giggle. If sunshine had a laugh, it would sound like Jade.
She makes my darkness not seem so crushing.
I don’t think about my past, because I’m so consumed with my future. It doesn’t seem so far lost to me when she talks about planning matches and the titles that I could take from people.
She believes. I fucking want that. I want to believe.
“I can’t change your past. Being a child of the foster care system has to be the worst way to grow up. It means your parents either died, like mine, or they were degenerates, but there are positive aspects to it. You have to find them,” she tilts my chin up and looks me straight in the eyes. “Only you can choose to move beyond it, and not let it haunt you. It’s already strengthened you. Now let it refine you.”
She reaches around me to wash my back, her lips are hovering over mine while she completes her task. I lean forward and touch mine to hers, sucking her bottom lip, coaxing her to open to me. When she gives in, I pull her to me. Her hard nipples press into my skin, and I instantly get hard for her. I take the kiss deeper, inhaling her. Our tongues dance in a syncing rhythm that we both have come to know over the last few days. Suddenly she draws back from our kiss, and grabs my hard dick standing at attention against her belly.
“Don’t show me how you feel. Tell me.”
I sit in stunned silence for a moment. That goes against most everything I believe, but she doesn’t know that about me. Yet.
I point to the tattoo across my arm. “Do you know what that means?”
“Acta non verba. No. What language is that?”
“It’s Latin. It means ‘actions, not words.’ I can show you how I feel or tell you how I feel. Which one makes a lasting impression?” Her eyebrows scrunch together while her brain processes the meaning of the phrase.
“I get it. It’s like anyone can have a baby, but not everyone is a mother or father. Showing me makes the lasting impression, but the way you’ve been showing me only leaves me thinking you hate me. I need to know the language you’re speaking. I need the words.”
Damn it. She’s got a point. There she goes calling me out on my shit again.
Fuck.
I push her off me and stand, letting the cold water drain off my body before stepping out of the clawfoot tub. The towel unfolds as I pick it up and wrap it around my waist.
“Where are you going?”
Without turning around, I walk into the bedroom and towel dry off before sliding my boxers on and wrestling my arms through a T-shirt. I hear water splashing, and then the tub draining in the bathroom. I sit on the bed and think about what she wants to hear. Can I do it? Can I give her the words of my heart? She’s going to run. It’s crazy how I feel in so short of a time. Right?
I rake my hands through my hair a few times and stand up, only to sit back down again. The nerves in my stomach are twisting again. Here comes the anxiety busting up through the concrete I just poured. The fucking worry that I’m not good enough. I’m the fuck up with the fists and the loose temper.
They say relationships are great in the beginning ‘honeymoon’ phase until they know your bad habits and/or your dark side, an
d then everything about them starts to drive you crazy — the bad crazy. The crazy that makes you say things you don’t mean, or you really do mean them, but you don’t care that you mean them. You start to pick fights with muttering phrases under your breath to intentionally piss the other off. The silence. The disrespect. The second-guessing of mistakes and missed opportunities to leave. The noise of it all.
This was love in the Porter household growing up. It was a constant battle of hateful words, contempt forever twisted with bitterness, and it all was delivered in a screaming rampage. A decade of nothing but loud communication with words.
Did their ‘crazy in love’ start out as the good kind of crazy? The kind that I feel now. What’s the time limit of turning that crazy love into hate? What did their first ‘I love you’ sound like compared to their last?
This is why I don’t communicate with words. They fucking drive me insane.
She wedges herself in-between my bent knees and wraps her arms around me, hugging me. The soft feel of the terrycloth towel she’s covered in brings warmth to my cold soul. She bends her knees and straddles me, boxing me in by the circle of her arms. She’s determined to hold me close. How can I fucking deny her that? How can I deny her anything? She wants my love, and I’m a fool for walking away.
Chapter Sixteen - Jade
WE FINISHED OUR WEEK in casual silence. That’s the way it started, so that’s probably how it needed to end. After the bath, he clammed up. I must have struck a deep cord for him to do a complete turnabout on the emotional sharing is caring vibe we had going on. He was only willing to go so far, and when I tried what his brother suggested— to push him, I bombed.
