Heart Signs

by Cari Quinn

  I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a father. When your mama told me she was pregnant, the first thing I wanted to do was escape. I wasn’t ready. At nineteen, who’s ready for much? We’d partied too hard and made some mistakes and then there was you. I figured I’d regret you and those mistakes but I never did. And though I didn’t fall in love with your mama until after she wore my gold ring, it didn’t make that love any less real. You brought us together and gave us hope. In so many ways you saved us.

  Rory rubbed a hand over her face, needing to erase the mental imprint of Sam’s handwritten words on that yellowed paper. She doubted she’d ever be able to.

  God, had any weepfest movie of the week ever been more raw? She could feel his pain in every word. And his love. Though the picture of Dani and Sam that she’d held in her mind for so long had definitely been inaccurate, she had no doubt that theirs had been a love story at the core. They’d suffered tragedies and bad luck but they’d also shared some good times and deep emotion.

  She made herself go back to them, get through the rest. Fifteen minutes later, after she’d read all four through a blur of tears, she got up off the couch. She longed for a hot shower and something to scour her heart of his anguish. Not alcohol. Nope, only one thing—one person—would do.

  She needed to hear him laugh, to be the one who made him. Tonight it would feel so good to just fucking laugh.

  Once she’d showered and donned the faded boxers and old baseball jersey she slept in, she crawled into her tidily made bed, whistled for her cat Snowdrop and smiled as the brown and gray tabby leaped up beside her. As usual, she gave her mistress a giant headbutt hello.

  Sam should get a cat. One as affectionate as Snowy, she mused as her kitty rolled over and stuck her paws in the air. Rory patted her furry belly and grinned. “Too bad you’re spayed huh, sweetheart?”

  All she got was a rumbling purr in return.

  Settling back into the pillows, she grabbed the bedside phone and the card she’d tucked beneath it. She’d written that number in at least three places and programmed it into her cell.

  “Obsessive much?” she muttered, hitting the digits she’d already almost memorized.

  He answered on the second ring. “Ah, so you decided to call.”

  His voice alone made her smile. Step one to laughter achieved. “I did. And you decided to answer.”

  “Well, it was a tough choice. Watching the end of the fight—which sucked anyway—cleaning out the litter box for Junior or—”

  “Wait, Junior? Who’s that?”

  “He’s a cat.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at his patient tone. “I figured out that part from the litter box. But why do you have him?”

  “I nabbed him from the pound.”

  “Oh really? Yay!” She hated that she squealed but she couldn’t believe he’d somehow read her thoughts. “Just this afternoon?”

  “Yep. I stopped by and they were having some big adoption thing. Due to overcrowding, they let me take him. If my paperwork checks out I’ll get to keep him. Otherwise they’ll return him to his sunny life in a wire cage.”

  With effort she ignored his sudden bitterness. It wasn’t easy seeing so many pets caged up at the shelter and she had a feeling Sam empathized with them more than most. He had his own cage of sorts, though he came and went. “So you named him Junior? He’s not oversized and hairless, is he?”

  He let out a short laugh. “He’s tiny and orange. And lemme tell ya, when I say tiny, I mean miniscule. He fits in the palm of my hand.”

  “Aww.” She stroked Snowy and imagined ginormous Sam cradling a baby kitty. Her heart squeezed. Big, strong men cuddling babies and kittens should be outlawed. The mere thought made women by turns horny and foolish.

  “I bet you want to come see him.”

  “I do.” And you, she added silently.

  “The guy at the shelter told me Junior’d be a chick magnet. Wasn’t sure if he was right. He couldn’t have been more than twenty.”

  “He is. Chicks love orange kittens.”

  “And big bald guys?”

  “That’s a given.” She cleared her throat as the silence dragged. Flirting with him might be fun, if they could ever figure out how to coordinate it to avoid the awkward pauses. “So, ah, I read more of the letters.”

  “Did you call to refer me to a shrink? Because if you did, too late. I had one and I think I fired him.”

  She laughed again and gripped the phone more tightly. The receiver was damp. Nope, she wasn’t nervous. Not at all. “I was okay, more or less, until I got to the letters you wrote to your daughters. Then I turned into a blubbering mess who had to weep her heart out in the shower.”

  His long pause made her wonder if she’d said too much. As usual. “Sounds like I owe you some happier letters then, to balance.”

  What did that mean? Had he written happier letters along the way? Or would he write one for her?

  Shit, that freaked her out. It wouldn’t be a love letter. Maybe he’d talk about the teams they liked. Or something. A letter seemed so much more personal than a quick text or a haphazard email with more abbreviations than actual words.

  Sam didn’t write like that. Even his work emails to her after two years were formal. He didn’t play fast and loose with the rules of etiquette—or the English language.

  Rory swallowed and closed her eyes. Be cool. “You don’t owe me anything. I like reading them. Well, maybe like isn’t not the right word. They’re…compelling.”

  “Like must see TV?” he asked drily.

  “No. Like something that breaks your heart and mends it at the same time. If that makes any sense,” she added, feeling stupid. She wasn’t a poet so why was she even trying to explain herself?

  “It makes a ton of sense.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah. They did that for me when I was writing them. Though it probably doesn’t seem that way to you, they were cathartic. After a while some of the stuff I got out on the page stayed out of my head.”

  “You suffered a lot of grief.”

  “I did. I also caused a lot.”

  “You’re a good man, Sam,” she said, voice trembling, hoping he understood how much she meant that. It wasn’t just empty praise. He, of all people, had shown her through his example exactly how powerful words could be.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Why?” This was why she rarely showed emotion. It never came out right. People thought she was drunk or patronizing them. Not that Sam had said as much but she could only imagine what he was thinking to ask a question like that when she was perfectly sober.

  Okay, mostly sober.

  “Because you have this little lisp going. It’s kind of…”

  “What?” she asked, affronted.

  “Sexy.”

  “Oh.” She hiccupped at the absolute worst time, slapping a hand over her mouth amidst his low laughter. “In that case, maybe I’ve been drinking a small amount. Just a couple glasses of wine. It helps take off the edge when I’m reading.”

  “So I’m making you get drunk.”

  “No, no, of course not. It’s my choice.”

  “Well, this is mine.” His exhalation rushed over the line and her stomach knotted.

  Oh God. He was going to tell her to get lost. That she’d been privy to enough of his soul, thank you very much, and it was time for her to go back to her ordinary, boring, flat world. The one without such devastating lows but no highs either.

  She didn’t know what she’d said but it must’ve been a doozy.

  “I’m not really sure how to do this. It’s awkward and weird but after seeing you yesterday, after what happened here and then this afternoon when you came by my shop, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Or you. And I’m not stupid enough to think I can go for the real deal yet but maybe this would work. If you’re into it. Are you?”

  She frowned, probably hard enough to permanently weld lines into her face. He was gr
eat at communicating so the reason she had no clue what he was saying probably had to do with her. It was the wine. Or maybe she just wasn’t deep enough for a guy like him. Water seeking its own level and all that.

  “I’m sorry but I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” she said, replaying what he’d said just the same.

  All at once she got it. Sort of.

  Was she into it? Hell yeah. She was into pretty much anything when it came to him, as scary as that was to realize.

  A smile bloomed across her face just before he blurted, “Have you ever had phone sex?”

  Chapter Six

  Dani,

  It’s funny how time marches on. The months flip by on the calendar and the sunshine shifts to leaves falling to snow. Missing you is my reality, but I know you’re starting to move on. I can’t keep the feeling alive inside me forever, even if I were to just sit inside these four walls and remember. Soaking myself in the memories is starting to lose its power. Part of me aches to move on too, as much as I hate it. Which side of me will win? The one who can’t stand to remember losing you or the one who refuses to forget?

  ~ Sam

  Now he’d done it. She’d likely peg him as a weirdo, some guy who wrote pedantic love letters and passed them out to unsuspecting females to try to get their panties off. Something he’d failed at miserably when he’d had his chance. Yeah, she’d been fine with the idea of sex yesterday but that hadn’t been via phone. And he hadn’t exactly hit that ball out of the park either.

  He wasn’t a good bet for any sort of sex, in person or otherwise. But he wanted her and he wasn’t about to sit here and pretend he didn’t. Not with a hard-on she’d created just from the sexy slurred tone of her voice and memories of her slick sex squeezing his fingers as she came and came.

  “No to phone sex. I’ve sexted before though. Given the occasional boob flash over Skype.”

  Sam looked longingly at his ancient computer. “I don’t have a webcam.”

  “Too bad.” She sounded genuinely disappointed, enough that he laughed. “You could always just, you know, come over. I don’t live too far. And my kitty won’t do anything but purr around you.”

  His mind shot straight into the gutter, probably because he knew her kitty had definitely responded positively to his touch the day before.

  “You’re thinking something dirty, aren’t you?” she asked as the silence lengthened.

  “Busted.”

  “So share. It’s no fair to keep perverted thoughts all to yourself.”

  Her voice had already dropped, turning warm and silky like rich hot chocolate. His cock twitched but he felt asinine reaching for his zipper this soon. Get it together. He sat on his free hand and clasped the phone tighter with his other. “I was thinking about your kitty. Yours personally. Not like a cat or anything.”

  “Oh, good.” She giggled and he heard a rustling sound as if she’d dropped the phone. “I like kinky but that’s a bit too strange even for me.”

  The perfect opening. Thank you, God. “What kind of kinky do you like?”

  He figured his voice probably sounded scratchy and overeager. Extreme horniness, sensual deprivation and nerves tended to do that to a person. But she didn’t laugh. Instead she made a long humming noise as if she were carefully considering his question.

  “Honestly, the only thing I don’t like that I’ve tried so far is spanking.”

  “Spanking?” he echoed, the hand under his leg flexing with the urge to move. The image of her taut ass nice and pink popped into his mind but he quickly banished it. He wasn’t a spanker. Christ, at this point he probably wasn’t anything but a guy who’d shoot off in seconds from a round of ordinary missionary.

  “Yeah. I know it’s supposed to be arousing after a while. As your ass heats up, so does your pussy. Well, that’s the theory. All that happened with me was I got a sore ass.” She sighed. “So if that’s your kink, sorry, I may not be the right partner for you.” Then she let out another wine-induced giggle. “Though I could probably manage to act suitably excited over the phone if you wanted me to.”

  He was still stuck on her usage of the word pussy as if it were normal conversational language. Dani had always jokingly called hers “her lady parts” and he’d never dated any other women who spoke so frankly.

  “Are you more shy without wine?” he asked, already on the verge of a smile. She had that effect of him.

  “Um, remember yesterday?”

  His hand twitched again. Shit, yeah, he remembered yesterday. How they’d barely kissed before she’d dropped to her knees and started to suck him off. His balls tightened as he imagined her lips encircling his shaft, her small pink tongue fluttering against the slit to soak up his arousal. This was one hell of a sexy fucking woman. Maybe over the phone he could try the smooth guy act he obviously couldn’t pull off in person.

  Phone sex was sounding better and better.

  Besides, it was like riding a bicycle, right? If he took his time pedaling down the street, soon he’d be mastering the corners like a whiz again. He just couldn’t rush it.

  “Yeah,” he managed. “I do.”

  “So how do we do this? Start touching ourselves and see who moans first?”

  Caught between laugher and a groan, he glanced down at the faint brush of claws on his calf. Huge, innocent gold eyes peered up at him. Looked as if Junior had awakened early from his nap.

  “Um, hang on just a second,” he said, scooping up the cottony ball of fur. Junior began insta-purring and Sam grinned as he attempted to juggle the wriggly cat and the phone.

  “You okay over there? Zipper stuck? You should wear shorts like me. No underwear and just a little wiggle and—oh! Is that purring?”

  Sam’s grin widened as the cat scampered up to his shoulder and burrowed into the spot next to his neck. “Sure is. Junior’s feeling frisky.”

  “He’s not the only one,” she muttered. “Sure you don’t want me to come over? We could avoid the phone awkwardness.”

  “And swap it out for in-person awkwardness? No thanks. Just gimme a sec. Junior just woke up and needed some love.”

  “Well, let him sit there or whatever. He doesn’t know what’s going on, right?”

  “I don’t want him near me while I… Well, I just don’t.” Before her laughter turned to gentle and likely effective persuasion, Sam rose and laid Junior on the small blue circular bed he’d placed near the living room sofa. The kitty immediately yawned and curled up to go to sleep.

  Must be nice.

  Sam returned to the couch and stretched out his legs, making sure the kitten had its eyes firmly shut before he rubbed his hand over his flagging erection. A couple slides of his hand and boom, all thrusters operational. “Okay. I’m good.”

  “Are you?” Her sly question traveled a one-way route straight into his cock. “I took your advice and nudged Snowy—my cat—to the end of the bed and she got offended and took off. So now we’re alone and I have my hand on my belly. Just above the waistband of my shorts.”

  He could picture her lying in the semidarkness, her inky hair stark against her pillow, her long lashes dusting her cheeks. Those perfect bow lips caught in a knowing half-smile. Her narrow, tapered fingers resting lightly on her stomach, daring him to ask her to reveal a little more skin, maybe even that inward slash of bellybutton. Or was she an outie? He hadn’t seen that much of her to know.

  “What kind of bellybutton do you have?”

  Her husky laughter rolled over the phone line. “An innie. It’s tiny. Barely big enough for the tip of a finger or a tongue.”

  Now that provided a visual. “Do you like that? When a guy licks your navel?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Long as he doesn’t stop there.”

  “God, Rory.” He shook his head. “How was it I didn’t realize you were a woman for two whole years?”

  “Well, we didn’t exchange innuendoes via work emails. And you weren’t really in the place for that. If you are now,” she added quietly, the pla
yfulness in her tone retreating.

  “I don’t know what I’m in the place for, honestly. I just know I like talking to you.”

  “On the phone.”

  “In person too.”

  “Uh huh. But you like imagining me naked so you can fantasize about what I’m doing. Gives you more control?”

  That she made it a question rather than a statement of fact alleviated the feeling that he was being psychoanalyzed. Mostly.

  “You’re a fantasy at all times, believe me.” His massive hard-on proved that quite well.

  “So maybe it’s time you slip your hand in your pants and tell me what you’d think about if I wasn’t on the phone. If the lights were off and you weren’t stressed about your apartment or pleasing me. You’re in charge. Running the show.”

  Man, she had a bead on him, didn’t she? Especially the part about letting him be the aggressor. He hadn’t realized yesterday that he needed that, even if he hadn’t quite been ready to go for it full throttle.

  Who needed a psychiatrist when Rory Fowler was around?

  “You’re still dressed,” he said. “What are you wearing?”

  “An old 76ers jersey and sleep shorts. They’re terrycloth but they’re so worn the fabric’s almost see-through in spots. You?”

  His brain hadn’t yet moved on from see-through shorts. He glanced down at his baggy jeans and gray shop T-shirt. “Jeans and a shirt. Underwear?”

  “Oooh yeah, answer that.”

  Sam laughed. “Standard navy boxers.”