The Taste of Her Words

by Candace Knoebel

  We glimpsed into each other’s souls, even if I didn’t want to admit it.

  Spread my thighs.

  Water me with your lips.

  He lifted his hand for a wave, eyes pulsing with something inscrutable and alluring. It was like staring at the cover of a brand-new book I’d yet to explore.

  My eyes went wide, my tongue tied up, and the smile I attempted in return felt loose and clumsy. Turning away, I dipped my head in embarrassment as I headed to the sink to wash the glasses Eric had returned to the bar.

  I kicked myself for the reaction I’d had. It was just a wave, and he was just a guy I knew while growing up. The one who shared my passion for literature. Who I used to sit up late at night with after Josh had passed out, talking about life and pain, and all our hopes and dreams.

  He was always sort of a best friend to me… until one night five years ago when he became something more.

  “Damn, girl. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say tall, hot, and brooding over there is checking you out. He’s a solid ten. Hell, I’d even break the scale and give him a twenty,” Eric said in my ear. He loved this kind of stuff. Drama. Romance. Stirring pots.

  My ears were hot as I set the last glass down. “He’s still looking?”

  I didn’t need to ask. I could feel the weight of his eyes on my back. His heady gaze could raise a thrill in anyone’s skin.

  Eric turned and leaned his elbows against the bar, settling in. “Oh, he’s looking, honey. Who is he?”

  I elbowed him away, flustered. “His name is Dean. He’s twenty-four, Eric. Not only that, but he’s also my brother’s best friend.”

  “And?” Eric countered, unperturbed. “Twenty-four is prime. And you’re due for some action.”

  My face formed into a scowl. “That’s a little awkward, don’t you think? I’ve known him since he was little. I used to watch them play football, and cops and robbers. I don’t… I don’t even see him like that.”

  I touched a sudsy finger to my nose, checking to see if it had grown, as my thoughts whirl winded in my head. The truth was that I did see him like that. When I’d realized he was about to leave for college and I might not have the same best friend when he returned, something had broken loose inside me.

  College changed people. I was a prime example of that, so I’d kissed him in my old tree house five years ago, long after the Fourth of July fireworks had subsided, while the warm southern air wrapped its arms around us… something I never should have done. He’d been nineteen at the time, and I’d had a moody five-year-old.

  Lips that burn me so good.

  Eyes that dig into my soul.

  Eric jostled me with his elbow as I finished drying my hands. “But he’s not a baby anymore, now is he? Take off your hate goggles and see the world the way it’s meant to be seen.”

  I waved him off and wandered to the other side of the bar, away from Eric, my brother, and Dean’s heated stare.

  “Have you been helped?” I asked a guy who was leaning in between two regulars.

  “No. Can I get a shot of tequila?” the man asked. His beard was so long it grazed over the edge of the bar.

  “Sure.” I reached for the bottle under the bar.

  “Andy,” my brother shouted over the crowd, hands high in the air. He had to have pre-gamed. “Andy, get back over here. We miss you.”

  I acted like I didn’t hear him, handed the man his shot, and took the cash he gave me in return.

  Lord, if you can get my brother and his friends to leave, I swear I’ll never again complain about my time of the month, the heat, or even the fact I’ve reached an age where Spanx is a must. Just, please, just this once, make them leave.

  I kept my eyes trained on the customers in front of me for the next ten minutes, giving God a small window of time in which to work a miracle and fulfill my prayer. I felt Eric watching me, and I knew I had to look unraveled. I bounced on my toes for another customer… anything to keep me occupied and unable to look over at Josh and… Dean, but Sandra beat me to every customer who wandered up.

  My eyes betrayed me as they drifted in his direction, scoping him out. His eyebrows were drawn together as he scanned the crowd, hands tucked into his pockets as he leaned against a wooden pole. His weighted gaze gave him a brooding air, thoughts wedged between the bindings of a book.

  Josh said something that made the rest of their group laugh, but Dean didn’t. I felt a momentary pang of compassion for him. It was clear he wasn’t comfortable being there, but he cared enough about my brother that he’d come anyway and now suffered in silence.

  My breath caught, heart jolting against the base of my throat when he looked up as if I’d called his name.

  I didn’t know how I could feel so wound up, yet so calm in his presence. Even after five years, it felt like that time was a mere blink as I got lost in his eyes. We were still stuck somewhere in the past… held up in time, trying to break past the roadblock I’d placed in front of us.

  I thought he felt it too, because his eyes darkened, but then his attention wavered and shifted. Following his gaze, I saw a scuffle brewing at a table close to the bar. A guy was yelling at his girlfriend, although I couldn’t make out what he was saying because he was that intoxicated. I grabbed a small footstool to try to flag Mark, the bouncer, by the door, but he was busy arguing with a group of teens.

  “Eric,” I said, tossing my chin in the direction of the couple. The guy had snatched the girl up by her arm and was screaming in her face, causing the nearby customers to turn and look.

  It set the man off.

  He started yelling in every direction, bowing up, begging for a fight while his girlfriend cried, trying to tug him toward the door.

  Mark, I noticed, had stepped outside the doorway, escorting the kids onto the street as one of the customers at the bar decided to take the situation in hand. He shoved the belligerent man, knocking him into a table of gawking bystanders. A full pitcher of beer came off the table, its contents rocketing out like a water cannon, soaking the bachelorettes at the table directly behind the commotion.

  Shit.

  “What do I do?” I mouthed to Eric.

  His eyes mirrored my panic.

  Soaked in beer, the man who started it came off the floor with an all-mighty lunge just as his girlfriend stepped in front of him and tried to wrap her arms around him. It was clear she was begging him to leave, but he never looked her way. His focus was on the man who had humiliated him.

  When he shoved her out of the way, she circled him, stepping into his path, doing her best to stop him. They repeated the same dance twice until his gaze broke from the fight he was so ready to continue and focused on her.

  I knew that look. I had seen it too many times before with Matt. She was a nuisance, in his way, and she was about to be on the receiving end of his anger.

  There was no way I could stand back and watch someone else be made a target when I knew what was about to happen. I bolted toward them without thinking, high on the fumes of adrenaline. My hands were held up in a placating gesture as I moved in front of her, telling the man to calm down. That I’d buy him a round of beer if he’d just follow me.

  But the lights were off in his gaze.

  His hand came up so fast it was a blur, but there was no mistaking where the blow was intended to land.

  Me.

  One second, I was bracing myself for impact. The next, I watched in horror as the man flew sideways until he hit the ground. Someone had charged him.

  Dean.

  Dean was on top of the guy, pinning him by the throat, swatting at every one of the guy’s flying fists until he had his hands twisted like a pretzel. There was something masculine and raw in his strength that fanned the low-burning flames within me. The ease in which he held the man down was almost unsettling.

  Something primal woke as I watched him… a need to explore those muscles. To rediscover who this man was.

  But that need vanished when the memory of his past
tapped me on the shoulder. Dean almost went to jail for putting a former classmate in the hospital eight years ago. It was the main reason he and his father had stopped talking. The reason the town whispered behind his back.

  The reason I pulled him closer to me, to protect him from those whispers.

  Dean had never spoken a word about what happened eight years ago, when he was nearly sent to juvenile detention, not even to me. My father, the only one who would handle his case, didn’t talk about it either. But even if I didn’t know the real reason why he’d done what he had, I always trusted it was for the right one.

  Dean pulled his fist back when the guy spit at him. Even when the town whispered that he had a mean streak, I refused to believe it. Dean wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  Would he?

  I moved closer, his name about to slide off my lips, but Dean dropped his fist.

  “You shouldn’t touch a woman like that,” he said, still holding him down. “You shouldn’t treat anyone like that, but especially not a woman.”

  There was something bearish in his words. A need to protect that made all my doubts vanish like a wisp of smoke.

  The man uttered something incoherent as Mark finally noticed the commotion and rushed over to the situation.

  “Thanks, man,” Mark said, taking over.

  Dean stood, but only when he was sure the guy was done fighting. He looked every kind of pissed as he backed away from the crowd. His eyes flashed to me, a mixture of worry and anger drawing his eyebrows together.

  Always the silent savior.

  “Dean, let’s go,” my brother shouted a few feet from the door, not bothering to say bye or check on what happened.

  Dean waited a moment more, perplexity swimming in the green of his eyes. It was almost as if he was asking if I needed him to stay, but I blinked and looked away, tongue-tied, backing into the crowd until I was hidden behind a group of customers again.

  My hand was against my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. Tried to calm the stampede racing through my blood.

  “The coast is clear,” Eric said a moment later as he shuffled by and helped the next customer who wanted a round of shots. The fight all but forgotten moments after it happened.

  I risked a glance to where my brother and Dean were, letting out a huge sigh of relief when I realized they were already gone. No more jokes. No more prodding.

  No more heated stares.

  “Your brother tips well,” Sandra said as she flipped a napkin over in her hand. It had Josh’s number written on it.

  I held back a gag.

  “He’s twenty-four, Sandra.” I was already on the defensive for my little brother who wasn’t so little anymore.

  “And? I’m only thirty-one. It’s not like I’m robbing the cradle. He’s of age.”

  I shuddered.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a prude, Andrea. Live a little.”

  THE REST OF THE NIGHT was exactly as I predicted, long and taxing, but when the last customer left and our cleaning came to an end, Eric and I took to the sidewalk.

  The streets were empty, the night sky glazed with a coat of yellow from the city lights as the smell of exhaust and grease stifled the warm air. It felt like the heart of the city was taking one big yawn, arms stretching, and then tucking us in tight.

  “Tonight was tense,” Eric said, making small talk as I strolled alongside him to the bus stop near my place. We never let each other walk alone.

  I adjusted the strap of my purse, so it was no longer digging into my shoulder. “We can’t have a week go by without at least one tense situation. Tourists and alcohol are a dangerous mix.”

  Eric chuckled, pulling his phone from his back pocket. “So, you’re brother and his friend… what’s the situation?”

  I was sure he’d have had something snarky to say, but I didn’t think he’d go straight for the kill.

  I played dumb. “Situation?”

  He didn’t say anything, something he always did when I pretended I didn’t know what he was asking. He wasn’t a bull-shitter, and it was one of the reasons I loved him.

  I sighed, tired from the inside out. “He likes to mess with me. It’s a sibling thing.”

  “Yeah, but you had clear and evident anxiety over him and that friend of his,” he remarked as he scrolled through his phone.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing it wasn’t so hot outside. “I just don’t like being messed with when I’m working. Josh loves to get me riled up. He knows what buttons to push, and it just sets me off.”

  “And his friend?”

  “Dean?”

  “No, the other idiots. Yes, Dean. What’s the story?”

  I looked away to the street as a car passed by, muted music thumping against the windows. “There is no story.”

  Tie me up.

  Make me yours.

  Again, he went silent, waiting for me to fess up.

  I folded. I was the worst at poker games. “He had a crush on me a long time ago. It was nothing. The whole younger-teenage-brother’s-friend-wanting-to-date-the-hot-older-sister kind of thing. I swear that’s like a symptom teenage boys go through.”

  “What happened then? Because I sure as hell know the scent of unfinished business… and you reeked of it tonight.” He chuckled and looked over at me, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Hell, if you two stared any more wantonly at each other, I swear you would have ended up pregnant.”

  Heat swelled underneath my skin, joining forces with the boiling temperatures outside. “Nothing happened. He told me he liked me, and I told him he was crazy. Sort of.”

  My stomach knotted as I thought back on that day. I didn’t mention the bottle of whiskey Dean and I had shared that night, or how his arm felt good around my shoulder when he pulled me close to avoid the chill. I left out that I knew what I was doing when I turned my face to his and found myself drowning inside the lust and pain in his eyes. Didn’t tell him Dean had seared himself against my heart when he pressed his lips to mine.

  I didn’t tell Eric, because it could never be.

  Hide me away in your eyes.

  “But if it wasn’t?” Eric asked, looking up from his phone just as a couple passed by us.

  “Huh?” I felt like all my nerves were exposed.

  “But if it wasn’t just a silly crush?” he repeated.

  “It was.” I tried to play it off. “I mean, you saw him. Look at me. Look at the age difference,” I said, as if the thought should be a no-brainer. “I’m damaged goods. I have baggage. I can’t get involved with someone six years younger and expect them to be able to catch up to the hell I’ve already been through. That wouldn’t be fair.”

  He looked me up and down. “You’re only thirty, Andrea. You act like you’re the crypt keeper.”

  “I feel like I am.”

  He rolled his eyes as we approached his stop. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said. “Guys love your type. Short, sassy, and unaware of just how good they look. You’re like sex on a stick for most men.”

  I scowled, not knowing how I felt about that remark.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders and leveled his eyes on mine. “I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’m going to say it anyway, and you’re going to hear me, understood?”

  I nodded, eyebrows pressed together.

  “You’re drop-dead, honey. Long, flowing brown hair I’d kill for. Big, round green eyes that always look innocent, even when you’re being sassy. You have a cute figure. High cheekbones. Pouty lips. I mean, hot damn, go home and just look at yourself. Really. ‘Cause you’re driving me nuts with this whole I’m-not-good-enough act.”

  He let go and turned, scrolling through Facebook on his phone once again.

  It took me a moment to process what he said. Was that really how he perceived me? How the world saw me?

  Eric chuckled as he took a seat on the bench. “Girl, one of these days, you’re going to have an awakening, and I’m going
to applaud Jesus for finally giving your ass a break.”

  A laugh forced its way up my throat. “You and me both,” I said, feeling a bit lighter.

  Wishing it were true.

  3

  T H E F I R S T T A S T E

  Time carves holes in my heart.

  Fill them, fill them up.

  I SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING.

  She was standing right there, and all I’d managed was a wave.

  But damn if she didn’t take my breath away. She was everything I remembered. Five years only added to her beauty, but there were subtle differences.

  Her freckles weren’t as obvious as they used to be. Gone was the sun-kissed bronze I used to imagine running my fingers over while she scribbled in her notebook. And there was a dullness in her autumn-touched eyes. Like a candle on the verge of burning out, muddying the blues, golds, and deep greens.

  There was also a new tattoo on the back of her neck—a butterfly emerging from a shredding cocoon surrounded by the words: What’s past is prologue. A quote I’d pegged from one of the great pieces of literature written by Shakespeare—The Tempest.

  One more reason she’d stayed within my heart all those years—our mutual love of words.

  I scratched at the stubble on my face. Was she still waiting for her past to become the prologue? Would she ever see I could help her write that story?

  I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, picturing her in my mind. The way the lace top stretched across her chest just right. The way her widened hips swung without her even trying. She was the kind of sexy that couldn’t be taught. The wholesome rawness men lusted after.

  And I’d had a taste.

  Once was all it took. Lips like silk. Her scent and heat warm and inviting. The way her face tilted and how her eyes pleaded with me to make her feel something other than an endless cycle of pain. To set fire to the mistakes and disappointments, and replace them with heated touches and whispered words.

  Had she not pumped the brakes, I’d have taken her that night. She would have been my first, and probably my last. But when her eyes filled with shame and her swollen lips pulled from mine, I’d known there was no going back.