I step in front of him and rest my hands on his chest. The gesture is enough to divert his attention away from Isaac and back to me. “Let’s just go,” I murmur. He allows me to push him backwards a few steps. He stops and his eyes slide over to the corner. “If I ever catch you bothering this woman again, you’re done.”
Isaac’s brown eyes bulge out of his head. “Dddon’t worry, I won’t.”
Jeb and I stand together, my hands still on his chest while we watch Isaac crawl down the hallway. When he disappears around the far corner, I release one long exhale. The adrenaline that kept me standing during my encounter disappears. My legs give out. My arms flail in every direction, in search of something, anything, to hold on to. Jeb catches me and pulls me to his chest. “Tiffani, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m just tired,” I whisper. It takes everything in my power not to rest my head against his chest.
“Let me take you to your room.”
“Th-that’s probably a good idea.”
Tiffani, don’t you remember your rules? Never leave a friend behind. Always travel in pairs. You don’t know Jeb.
He pushes the elevator button. “That’s the second time I’ve had to save you this evening,” he whispers in my ear.
I shift my head to apologize and notice his smile.
Hey Tiff, just reach out and try a taste. I know he’d loo-vvveee it!
I bite my lip to compose myself. When I feel less horny and in theory, more capable, I risk speaking, praying I don’t spew out one gigantic, incoherent, drunk babble. “You can put me down. I can walk.”
He draws me closer to him. “Let me take care of you. I’ve got you.”
I always imagined I would enjoy thoughtful gestures and chivalrous notions. They always seem to work well for the damsels in distress in the used romance novels I buy for fifty cents. But sadly, my story doesn’t take place in 1843 or on a cotton plantation. I probably should take care of myself.
I move a little to demonstrate that my body is capable of purposeful motion. “Jeb, really, I’m fine.”
He hesitates. His pecs tighten. Not that I’m paying attention to his muscular chest or anything. He seems to be struggling inwardly about whether he should set me down or not. I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m a bit drunk, not dead. “Really Jeb, I’m fine.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he sets me down. My legs wobble back and forth in the stupid stilettos. The edges of the hallway grow soft and fuzzy. I blink once, twice, three times as I try to regain my balance. In no time, I’m back in his arms.
“Let’s play it safe, shall we?”
I nod as I realize my hand is resting on his chest. Flashbacks of glistening muscles, glorious six packs, and exquisite man lines flash through my muddled brain. The effect on my body is immediate and uncontrollable. Shudders riffle through me, and I struggle to hold back a sigh.
“You okay?”
“Just a little cold,” I manage to whisper. He pulls me closer to his rock-hard muscles.
Come on, just a little taste…
Chapter Nine
The soft beep of the elevator bounces off the tile walls of the foyer as it invites us into its six by nine foot cell. The hard lines of Jeb’s pecs tighten as he steps in. He pushes a button on the side wall that would remind me of a Christmas tree if it was all lit up, but it’s dark except for one, lonely five. My floor, though I don’t remember telling him.
The door whooshes shut, effectively cutting us off from the faraway cheers and music of everything nostalgic and familiar. Gears clank and groan at the change in direction. He turns to face the mirrored back wall. He cradles a beautiful woman in a red dress. A stranger wearing my face smiles back at me. Her white tipped fingers stretch across the silver wing design on his shirt as if by sheer will she can keep her angel grounded. Her bare legs with red devil spikes dangle over a thick, veined tan arm. His long, able fingers possess her rounded hip and exposed thigh. He leans into her and breathes deeply.
Heat waves radiate off the bodies, charging the tight, cramped quarters with want and need. Anything could happen, and no one would know. No one would ever know.
The elevator screeches to a halt much too quickly. I shift to get down, but Jeb clutches me closer to him. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. His hot breath sends shivers down my neck. Unable to resist, I rest my head back against his chest and listen to the steady, even thump of his heart.
He heads down one of the narrow corridors, his footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors.
“Card?”
I peel my head away from his chest. Cold air presses against my cheek reminding me of his absence. I fumble through my clutch until I find the little plastic card that will gain us access.
He flashes the card over the lock. After a quiet click, he pushes open the door. The only light in the room shines down on my bed, as if highlighting the dual act that is about to occur.
He carries me over to a chair, lit only by the barely there spillover light from the bed. Once I’m seated, he pulls back the white down comforter, exposing crisp, clean virginal sheets. He caresses the heart of the bed with his long, able fingers in one, slow, seductive sweep.
The room begins to spin before me. White and black shapes blur into gray until I can’t tell the difference between light and darkness, and it all turns to shadow. I grip the arms of the chair to keep from losing myself.
As blinding fireworks erupt throughout the room, Jeb returns to me, his eyes intent with purpose. He kneels down between my sprawled legs. I swallow hard, remembering my red lace thong. He lifts my right leg. The tips of his fingers slide down the bare skin of my calf. I dig my nails into the wood armrests as he removes my red stiletto. A gasp escapes my lips as it hits the floor. His hands fold over my barefoot, massaging the sole, the heel, the arch. A single finger pulls across hitting tiny cataclysmic trigger points. I clench my jaw and my sex. Satisfied with either his performance or mine, he releases my leg.
He shifts over to my left leg. My breath catches as I anticipate the sensual feel of his fingers on my body. The moment he touches my leg, I release a quiet moan. His fingers stretch around the back of my calf so his palms caress the front of my shin. He lingers on his way down my leg. Crackles of raw sensuality sizzle between us. I close my eyes to pretend that nothing is happening, but it’s my turn on the tilt-a-whirl. I lose myself in red and yellow flashes.
When the second stiletto hits the floor, I open my eyes. His sexy amber ones meet mine, my legs on either side of his knelt body. One flimsy piece of red lace separates my sex from his lips. I close my eyes again, unwilling to confirm or deny what he will do next. When nothing happens, I open them.
He now stands before me, his face void of emotion. He stands motionless for a long time, his body stiff as if a great battle wages within him.
After I don’t know how long, it could have been ten seconds. It could have been ten minutes. His jaw sets. A decision has been made. He bends down and hooks one arm under my legs and another behind my back. In one swift motion, he lays me down on the bed. Careful not to touch me, he pulls the blankets up to my chin. He leans down and kisses the top of my head. His lips feel warm and full against my skin. I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing his decision but unsure how I feel about it. He stands back up. The corner of his right lip quirks into a small smile, but his eyes lose none of their intensity. “I’ll see you at the next reunion.”
“Thank you,” I manage to murmur though I want to cry for reasons I don’t understand.
He flicks off the light above my bed, shrouding the room in darkness. I close my eyes, relieved I don’t have to make any difficult or stupid choices in a red wine haze.
When Jeb opens the hotel room door, a small ray of light silhouettes his muscular frame. “No, thank you,” he says, then closes the door, extinguishing any hint of light with it.
Chapter Ten
God awful banging interrupts my sleep. I burrow under my comforter, the layer
s of down my only defense against the indifferent knocking.
“Tiff, let me in!” Cassie shouts. With great reluctance, I open one eye and peek over at her empty and untouched bed. She bangs on the door again. “Tiff, open up!”
Sighing, I crawl out of my warm nest. I squint to block out the bright light as I open the hotel room door. Cassie stands before me. Her blond hair and black dress mussed up from sleep or sex or both. Her strappy, cheetah print stilettos, dangle from her left pointer finger.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. “What happened to your key card?”
“Hell, if I know,” she replies, strolling past me. She tosses her matching cheetah print clutch on the chair, drops her shoes on the floor, and collapses on her bed.
I slide the door bolt shut. “Who was the lucky guy?”
“Hell, if I know.”
I climb back into my nest. “Cass, you don’t know who was in bed with you this morning?”
She shrugs her shoulders and pulls the comforter up to her chin. “I woke up, and the room was empty. I grabbed my things and came here, but I don’t think I had sex. I still had my dress and underwear on. Usually, I’m naked.” She yawns and rolls over. “I’ll tell you what though, I’m sore as hell.”
I shake my head, as I crawl under the blankets. After all these years, Cassie still surprises me.
As if suddenly remembering something, she sits up. “What happened to you last night? You were talking to McSteamy and then you disappeared…,” as if struck by a flash of lightning, she’s out of her bed and on top of mine, wiggling her ass the way a dog wags his tail. “Did you? Did you?”
I consider her question. Dress on. Check. Underwear? I reach down and feel for the strap of my thong. Check. According to Cassie’s Rules of One Night Stands with Random Men, I didn’t, but according to Tiffani Beth’s Rules of Social Interaction with Men other than Drew, I might have.
“It’s a yes or no answer, Tiff.”
I hesitate. Did I or didn’t I? No. NO, I didn’t. I shake my head. She purses her lips to one side, disbelief written across her pink, rosy cheeks. She leans over me.
“Cassie,” I try to say, “I can’t breathe.”
She turns on the bed’s overhead light, the very light that was lit last night when Jeb and I entered the room. Together. Alone. With nobody watching. The very light he turned off before he left. Alone. By himself. The perfect gentleman while I was far less than perfect and far more willing to allow anything to happen.
Her fingers wrap around the trim of my comforter. She grabs a handful of soft down and yanks it off the bed.
I grab for it, but it’s just out of reach. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for cum stains,” she says, surveying the sheets.
“Ewww! Gross!” I jerk back the comforter to cover myself. “I didn’t sleep with Jeb.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek as she studies my face. “You don’t sound very convincing. Better work on that before you talk to Drew.”
My mouth drops. I barely thought of Drew last night. I didn’t think of him when Isaac attacked me. I didn’t think of him when Jeb held me in his arms while we were in the elevator. I certainly didn’t think of him when Jeb removed my shoes and put me to bed. In a single evening, I forgot some half dozen years of sweet whispers and tender moments. In a single evening, I almost threw away my future. Our future.
“Awe Jeb,” she purrs, planting exaggerated kisses all over my pillow.
I knock her over on the bed. “Quit it, you spaz.”
She rolls off of mine and climbs back into hers. “Hey, someone died last night.”
And just like that she drops a bomb shell with the same nonchalance as, “Hey, I had sex with a random stranger,” or “Hey, I broke a fingernail.”
I sit up. “What? Who? Someone from the reunion?”
“The hotel bartender.”
Cold dread forms in the pit of my stomach. “Isaac?”
She picks at one of her pink and black diamond studded fingernails. “Uh, I’m actually not on a first name basis with the hotel’s bartender staff.”
“His name was Isaac. What happened?”
She lifts her eyebrows and smiles. Her ability to uncover classified information amazes me. She was the first to reveal that Haley gave Tom a blow job in the boy’s bathroom in the eighth grade. She found out Lara slept with the math student teacher for extra credit when we were seniors. She walked in on Lara and Haley having a threesome with the Italian foreign exchange student, Raul—that took a quite a bit of therapy since she slept with Raul the night before.
“I don’t know his name, but the hot, young cop was more than willing to fill me in.” She dances her eyebrows up and down.
“I don’t doubt it, Cass, but what happened to Isaac? How’d he die?”
She folds her legs, pushes back her hair, puffs out her chest, and places her hands on either knee. Her performance will be worthy of an Oscar before the day is through. “Officer Blake believes the bartender tripped and broke his neck. The victim reeked of alcohol when the police arrived on the scene approximately fifteen minutes after a hotel guest found his mangled frame on the 4th floor landing around 5:00 am this morning. They’re running tox screens back at headquarters.”
She lifts her hand to her mouth, her blue eyes wide with accusation. “How’d YOU know his name, Miss ‘I love Drew and would never look at, let alone talk to another living, breathing male as long as I live?’”
A hot blush heats my cheeks. “I had a couple of drinks at the bar since YOU were late. The bartender and I got to talking.”
“Talking,” she says, using air quotes, “so that’s what they call it now.”
I roll my eyes. “Later in the evening, when I came out of the bathroom, Isaac grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let me go. Then Jeb punched him. Do you think I should talk to the cops?” I ask, spinning Drew’s ring until I realize there is no ring.
“My ring…,” I look up at her in surprise. “It’s gone.”
“Some promises are meant to be broken,” a voice whispers in my ear.
Part Two
Chapter Eleven
Staring out the grimy window of the Diner, I watch two college students walk hand in hand down the sidewalk. They remind me of the couple Drew and I used to be—that is, before he got drafted. Spring training was just a preview into the life of a minor league baseball player and his significant other. When the Lumber Riders do cruise into town, all physical contact beyond a quick round of sex is out of the question. Weeks living in and out of cheap motels and endless hours of practice and games leave him too tired for extended physical exertion. Lucky me.
My lips turn into a sad line as I wrap a bread tag around my finger in place of the lost promise ring. One night of too much alcohol. Three months of regret.
I’ve read about people who lose a limb but still feel the missing appendage. It’s called a phantom pain. I didn’t lose a finger, but something changed the night of the reunion. Jeb made me realize that there is more to life than just being Drew’s girlfriend.
“Miss, could I get a cup of coffee?” A gravelly voice asks me.
Remembering my job, I pull out a pad of paper and a pencil as I turn around. “Sure, would you like anything else?”
“Tiffani?” My eyes travel up to the customer’s face—sun kissed skin, amber eyes with gold and green flecks, and a tight brown ponytail with gold highlights. I blink a couple times not trusting my sight.
My body responds immediately to his presence. “Jeb?” The last time I saw him I was drunk with liquid courage and he put me to bed. Not my finest moment, but I’m certain I looked a lot better than I do in my coffee stained uniform. I can’t remember if I brushed my hair before throwing it up into a sloppy bun for work, and I’m pretty sure I brushed my teeth. I glance around for another customer to rescue me from Jeb, but other than my boss and Old Man Ray, I’m on my own.
“I can’t believe I ran into you here,” he pauses. His head sta
rts nodding back and forth. “You did mention you worked at a diner, but you never said where…” He smiles at me again, and my knees turn to orange marmalade. “I haven’t seen you since the reunion.” The corners of his lips twitch up and down.
The reunion. My face turns a shade of red that typically warrants first responders to grab the defibulator.
“So, what have you been up to?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I may be a sad case for a human being right now, but it’s going to get better. It has to. “Just working.”
“Did you get any writing done?”
He remembered I wanted to be a writer. I tug at my bun. “No, but I’ve read a couple of good books.”
Tiffani Beth, bargain bin romances don’t count as reading.
Hell ya they do.
He smiles. “Well, that’s a start.”
“Uh-huh,” I agree. My lack of practice in the art of conversation beyond the occasional chatty diner patron surprises me. I never used to be so inept. I never used to be a lot of things. “How about you?” I pretend to dig deep into the recesses of my memory. “Weren’t you backpacking across Tibet and then a dig somewhere?”
Egypt, you sly girl.
“I did, but I had some business opportunities that required my attention.
“Tiffani!” shouts my boss from the other side of the diner.
I roll my eyes at Jeb, before looking at my boss. Walter’s shiny black hair clings to his head—the unfortunate byproduct of too much time over the French fryer and too few hair washings. When the short order cook calls off and he runs the grill, I urge patrons to skip the meal and go straight to dessert. “Yes?”
“Get moving. You’ve got customers to serve.”
Jeb and I glance around the Diner. We share a knowing smirk as I take his order.
When I head into the kitchen, Walter sidles up beside me. I sidestep three paces. “Is your friend a paying customer?”
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