by Louise, Tia
A column of light streams across the room, illuminating me naked, in only his shirt.
“Oh!” It’s a gasp, my breasts rising and falling with each quick breath. “I was just… I…”
I don’t know what to say.
He hesitates, and his lips part, his dark brow lowers.
My eyes travel down his bare chest, and my head gets light. His skin is tanned and something is inked on his upper chest. I can’t read it from here. He has another tattoo on his shoulder leading down to his round, bulging biceps. Deep lines of muscle cut across his torso, and a mouthwatering V disappears into his loose jeans.
Returning my eyes to his face, his jaw is perfectly square, and a cleft is in his chin. “You shaved.”
He rubs his face, stepping into the room. “I wanted a fresh start.”
His face is strong, manly—with a straight nose and high cheekbones. My fingers curl with wanting to touch him. “It’s perfect…”
Without thinking, I take a step closer, ad his shirt opens, giving him a view of everything.
His eyes flinch, and I see the struggle, the flex in his jaw. “What are you doing?”
I glance down. “Trying on your shirt.”
Desire crackles in the air around us and ice blue eyes blaze at me. “You’re playing with fire, Hope. I haven’t been with anyone in almost two years.”
“Neither have I.”
His eyes slowly move down my body like a caress, lingering on my breasts, my hardened nipples, drifting to my stomach, my bare pussy. His throat moves with a swallow, and my whole body is on fire. I want him to kiss me, touch me, anything…
“Give me the towel.” It’s a rough command.
“It won’t do any good.” A high, soft reply.
“I’ll decide that.” He snatches up the soggy scrap of terrycloth and returns to the bathroom, closing the door fast.
Scout lets out another loud snore, and I step back to sit on the foot of the bed, trying to breathe, trying to calm the trembling in my stomach, the raging fire in my veins.
JR Dunne is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and oh boy, I would’ve done anything just now for him to touch me.
Jr
I wanted him to say dirty things to me. I wanted him to be rough… Her words taunted me as I lay on the backseat of the car pretending to sleep.
Now I’m gripping the crummy sink in this cheap motel bathroom, fighting the urge to go back out there and take her.
Opening the door, I was pretty sure I’d go blind when I saw her standing in the shaft of light wearing nothing but my light blue shirt. God, she’s a walking wet dream.
Her pink lips parted, and her body… Small breasts rising and falling, dark nipples tight, peeking at me from inside the fabric. It took every single ounce of will power to keep myself in one place. My hands shook… My hands are still shaking.
My dick is a steel rod, aching for her tight body. Fuck. I step into the shower, flicking on the water and grabbing the tiny bottle of cheap conditioner. Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead on my arm. I imagine bruising her pink lips with mine, turning her to the wall and pushing in from behind.
Her soft voice transforms to moans as I slide my hands from her stomach up to her breasts, kneading and caressing, tweaking the hardened tips. One hand would go between her thighs, stroking and circling her clit until she’s begging for more.
She likes it rough. I need it rough. After this long, it’ll be hard to stop. I see my large hands covering her soft ass, squeezing and lifting her. I see her small feet rising onto her toes with every thrust, and it doesn’t take long before orgasm snakes up my thighs, centering in my cock, and pulsing into the stream, disappearing down the drain.
Coughing to hide my groan, I stay there until the water is no longer warm, and I’m able to leave this tiny bathroom without thinking about touching her. She’s right about the towel. It doesn’t dry me off for shit, although it doesn’t help I’m the third person to use it.
Snatching up my jeans, I jerk them over my hips before opening the door. I move slower this time, quieter. Scout’s still sawing logs on the couch, and I scan the room for her. She’s curled on the bed in that thin yellow dress. Her eyes are closed, and she seems to be sleeping.
My blue shirt is on the chair with a Deluxe Inn notepad on the table in front of it. I’m sorry is crawled across the top sheet.
I study her a moment. Her light hair is wavy against her cheeks, and her face is relaxed. Her skin has the slightest gold tone, like she’s been in the sun, and her nose tilts up at the end. Her lips are full and pink, and damn, I want to kiss her. I want to fuck her hard, but I want to kiss her softly, pull her lips with mine, touch her nose.
Stepping away, I scrub my hands over my face, forcing these thoughts to stop.
I don’t know where this is coming from. I don’t even know this girl. I’m exhausted and frustrated and too much anger is driving me. I have to stay in control. The last thing I can afford to do is make a foolish mistake with this dreamy-eyed girl, this innocent who stumbled into my path and doesn’t belong here.
Going to the other chair, I set my phone alarm to wake us in two hours and try to get comfortable. We’ve got to get on the road and make up for lost time. The sooner I get to Fireside, the sooner I can take care of business—and put both of them on a bus back to California.
Jr
It’s a long day driving across Texas, with a whole lot of nothing to see except miles and miles of flat, brown desert dotted with cacti and, I imagine, rattlesnakes.
My brother seems to have caught up on all his words. He’s quiet in the backseat most of the day, watching out the window with a Red Vine in his mouth. Hope seems withdrawn, and I guess it’s because of our moment. She leans against the door, and I think she’s asleep.
I’m pushing us hard—mostly because every time I glance at her, I still see her blue eyes looking up at me so open and needy. I’ll probably never forget the sight of her small breasts, nipples tight, beneath my shirt.
I have to forget.
We’ve been driving since morning, stopping only for gas and snacks. At this point, we’ve gone ten hours on Red Vines, Slim Jims, and sunflower seeds, but I want to get through Texas. We switched from I-10 to Interstate-20 several hours ago, and we’re on the other side of Dallas, closing in on the state line when my brother comes to life.
“Come on, man, we’ve got to stop for food,” he groans, shifting in his seat. “I can’t eat another Red Vine.”
“Can you make it to Shreveport?” I glance at him in the mirror.
“Only if you let me drive.”
“Deal.”
We make one last pitstop in Longview to gas up and switch drivers. Hope hangs back, looking cute in that dress and those boots I bought her, sneaking glances at me as we stand around, stretching our legs and waiting on my brother.
Walking over to where she’s hanging by the car, I put a hand on my hip. “It’s okay.”
“Okay?” She smiles, barely meeting my eyes before looking away again.
“Yeah.” I feel like I ought to say something more reassuring, so I tell her what I’ve been thinking about all day. “What you told Scout about that guy… Wade?”
Her eyes go wide as pink fills her cheeks. “You were listening to that?”
“I’m not deaf when we’re in the car together.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Anyway, I’ve known guys like that—who can’t be honest about themselves for whatever reason.”
Her slim brows furrow, and she looks up at me curiously. “You have?”
“I’m from South Carolina.” She frowns like she doesn’t understand, and I explain. “It’s pretty religious there.”
“Ohh…” Her chin lifts.
“Guys like that can be cruel—especially to people who are sure of themselves. Like you.”
She blinks up at me, wrinkling her nose in that sweet way she does. “I’m not always so sure.”
We’re right bac
k to where we were last night with her looking at me in that way that feels like an open invitation. I’m starting to wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. She had pulled back. She was giving me space. Why can’t I leave well enough alone?
I clear my throat, backing away from her like she’s an electric fence. “Well, that’s all.”
Scout jogs up, and I’m glad to let him take over the conversation. “Everybody ready?”
“Yes.” The gruff is back in my voice.
Climbing in the car, I take the backseat, determined to keep her at arm’s length before I forget what I reminded myself this morning. This girl has no business in my world, especially considering what I’m doing, what’s waiting at the end of this journey.
We’re less than an hour down the road, forty-five minutes of Scout and Hope singing along to 1960s satellite radio, when blue and red lights flashing ahead pull us up short.
“What the hell?” Scout lets off the gas, and we ease back.
“Get off here.” I grab his shoulder. “NOW.”
He hits the brakes hard, exiting fast onto a state highway headed north. “What the fuck, JR?”
“That was a roadblock. Put on the news and see what’s happening.”
Hope fiddles with the dial, but we can’t find anything useful. It’s all national news. Nothing local.
“Use my phone.” Scout hands it to her, giving me a worried glance, and she taps for several seconds, swiping and reading.
“Here!” Her voice goes loud. “Road blocks at the border to keep sick people from entering the state.”
“Damn…” Scout exhales. “Should I circle back?”
“No.” I have my phone out, charting a new route. “We’ll cut over through Arkansas.”
“Arkansas?” Scout groans loudly. “When are we getting food?”
“We can stop here… in Magnolia.”
It’s dark as we slip across the border from Texas to Arkansas on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. The Impala headlights cut through the dark night in white columns, and The War on Drugs blasts on the radio.
None of us speak, and Scout keeps glancing at me like he knows I’m hiding something. I’m not getting into it with him.
We’re getting closer to Magnolia, and I see golden arches. “Just stop at the McDonald’s.”
“Fuck that.” Scout cuts his speed through the small town. “I want real food.”
We’re crawling up the four-lane strip leading through town, but other than the usual fast-food restaurants, everything appears closed.
“It is Sunday.” I look out the window not seeing any other options.
We’re on the other side of town when a big tent rises like a circus in a large, open field. It’s white and enormous, and lit up like it’s some kind of festival.
Scout turns the Impala onto a dirt drive leading up to it. “Let’s check this out.”
I sit forward. “We don’t have time to stop.”
“Miracle Tent Crusade…” Hope reads the big white sign above the chain-length fence. “Lose your sins and find your savior.”
Her expression is playful as she looks to my brother. “I don’t know…”
“I’ll praise Jesus for a plate of fried chicken.” My brother pulls up next to a parked station wagon, but I have a bad feeling about this.
“Let’s just get McDonald’s.”
“No way.” He shoves it into park and gets out, me right behind him.
Catching his arm, I pull him back. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“That’s your guilty conscious talking. You need to get some chicken and lose some sin.” He gives me a wink and takes the keys, striding in the direction of the mob with confidence. “We’ve been driving for ten hours, and I need a break. Christian people aren’t going to hurt you.”
My stomach is tight. It feels like famous last words.
Hope glances at me like she’s not sure what to do.
A voice echoes through the tent, extending out to us in the parking lot. “Come in, brothers and sisters, come in…” It’s a voice like urgent singing. “Find your seats. We’ve got a special guest for you tonight. God’s man of faith and power, Brother Bob Gantry, all the way from Colorado Springs, Colorado.”
I tear my eyes off the giant white canvas and look at Hope. “I guess we’re going in.”
“Let me hear you say yes!” The man with the microphone hits the yes hard.
Brother Bob has a big white grin and even bigger white hair. It’s brushed back from his face, but a curl falls down on his forehead like one of those old-timey preachers.
The air inside the tent is hot, making my mask uncomfortable. Industrial-sized round fans are situated on both sides, blasting air through the space, and bugs swoop and dive at the lights far overhead.
People in masks stand in small clumps throughout, swaying in time with the music, arms raised overhead.
“Yes!” They cry in response, filling the air with their muffled voices.
“Yes!” The man shouts louder, this time with a touch of vibrato.
“Yes!” The congregants echo.
I catch up to where my brother’s holding a long paper plate loaded with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and two dinner rolls.
“Yes, Lord!” Rings out over my head.
“What are you doing?” My voice is sharp at Scout’s ear.
“Yes, Lord!” He shouts in time, grinning behind his mask. “Grab a plate and let’s dig in.”
I watch him go to a group of long picnic tables lining the perimeter, but I don’t fix a plate. Hope is close at my side watching the people moving in time with the organ music.
“Is it okay to eat the food if we’re not planning to stay?” She looks up at me, but I shake my head.
Some people close their eyes and do a dance where they’re hopping back and forth on each foot. The atmosphere is charged, and I can’t decide if it’s a good charge or something more ominous.
“I’m not hungry.” My stomach’s too tight to eat, and I lead her to where Scout’s sitting.
The best thing I can say is the table where he’s sitting is a safer distance from the crowd. The sides of the tent are open, so we can run if we need to. Also, it’s a little cooler here, the air is fresher.
Scout is at the end of the long table, and I take a seat beside him facing the stage. Hope sits at my left.
“Why didn’t you get any food?” My brother shovels a plastic fork full of green beans into his mouth and shakes his head. “Mmm… Somebody cooked these with bacon.”
Ushers in black masks stand in locations throughout the crowd watching. They’re big guys, and I can only see their eyes, which has me on guard.
I’m sure it’s residual defensiveness from being in prison. Still, I’m not sure we’re going to get out of here without making some kind of commitment.
“Must be five hundred people in here.”
Scout nods. “Big crowd.”
“It’s like we’re crashing a wedding.” Hope leans forward, her mask hanging off one ear.
Scout hands her his extra roll, and she pinches off a piece.
“I’m sure it’s fine if we don’t stay long.” I say it to them as much as to me. “They prepared all this food. They probably meant for people to eat it.”
“People who are here to praise Jesus!” Scout’s voice goes louder, and he holds up a fork.
I can’t tell if he’s making fun, and I wish he’d keep it down. Maybe this isn’t our flavor of church, but I don’t believe in ridiculing others—no matter how strange their style comes across.
Also, they have us outnumbered.
The man on the microphone grows solemn. “How many of you are afraid tonight?”
The organ does a loud flourish, changing from dancing to solemn just that fast.
“Amen!” Somebody shouts from the crowd.
“How many of you are in the grip of anxiety?” He says it like anxi-uh-tay.
It’s all drama—his heavy
breathing loud in the mic and lines of sweat tracing down his cheeks from temple to jaw.
Scout raises his eyebrows like he’s having the best time. “I didn’t know they still did shit like this.”
“Don’t swear in the tent revival.” Hope’s voice is barely audible over the din.
Glancing at the faces, it’s a mixed crowd, mostly white folks. They’re not well-dressed, and some of them are in serious need of dental work. All of them have hungry eyes, sad eyes, mistrustful eyes.
My throat grows tight. “I think people are ready to try anything to appease this year.”
“I’d love to play a character like him in a movie.” He polishes off the chicken, wiping his fingers with a paper napkin.
A woman steps to the center of the tent, right in front of the stage and begins to wail and shake her hands over her head. Her back arches, and she spins in place like one of those whirling dervishes.
“Yes, Lord!” Brother Bob hops off the stage and strides to her. “Release that spirit, yes-ah. That spirit of tor-ment. That spirit of fear.” He smacks his palm on her forehead, giving her a firm shake as he shouts. “Release her!”
The woman goes down, and several ushers surround her, easing her to the grass as one covers her legs with a blanket.
Hope sits higher in her seat, straining to look. “He shoved her down!”
“It was the spirit.” Scout leans forward. “Or was it?”
“I don’t like this.” I shift in my chair. “Are you done? Give me the keys. We’re leaving.”
“Hang on.” He holds up a hand. “This is great research!”
“For a movie you’re not in. Let’s go.” I stand, and the man with the mic locks eyes on me. Shit.
“When Paul was on the island of Malta…” Brother Bob’s voice changes to storytelling-style. “The Bible says a serpent came out of the fire and latched onto his hand.” He paces back and forth on the grass in front of the stage. I don’t like his eyes on me.
“Dammit, Scout.” My jaw is clenched, and I want to sock my little brother in the nuts. If this guy tries to shove me down, I swear…
