He + She

by Michelle Warren

  “In bed!” Hew screams.

  “Right, I forgot. In bed!” I scream back over the racing wind of the convertible.

  I look over to Hew, who is looking at me with a boyish grin, and I nearly die.

  “Good in bed, huh?” he asks.

  “Fortune cookies do know best.”

  I finish my cookie and Hew takes one for himself, which he lodges between his teeth and bites. The cookie breaks with a crunch, and he pulls out his small white paper and reads, “Accept your imperfections.”

  “In bed!” we scream together.

  “How do I get imperfections in bed and you get you’re talented in bed?” Hew guffaws.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything I know.” I reach for his knee and squeeze. Though all these little flirtatious innuendos started out as a joke, they are slowly holding more weight as we get to know each other. And I can’t deny that there is pure electricity between us. It causes me to shiver and I pull away. Hew is like a flower to a bee, and my body is buzzing.

  Hew hands me a new cookie and we do it all over again several times. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, we always find a way to make things fun. And plowing through a bag of fortune cookies while racing down the highway at seventy is more fun than I imagined.

  I steer off the highway, taking an exit, and pull into a gas station.

  “You need gas?”

  “Nah, I’m parched from all the fortune cookies and no water.” I pull into a space and park, facing a Quicky Mart.

  We run inside and separate to load up on goodies. After I’ve grabbed an armful of Funyuns, water, Mountain Dew, Twinkies, and a reload of Twizzlers, I walk up to the cashier and drop everything on the counter. Hew joins me and adds a supersized beef jerky, a bag of pretzels, and a Coke.

  Hew scans my pile and gives me a quizzical look. “How the hell does someone who looks as sexy as you eat all that garbage?”

  “I’m a trash compactor of junk food. What can I say? It’s a trait I’m quite proud of.” I flip my hair with a wave of my hand.

  “Can I also get one random Mega Millions ticket?” Hew asks the clerk as he removes his wallet.

  The cashier nods, hands him a ticket, and rings us up. Hew pays, and we leave with a bagful of goodies.

  “You realize that you have a better chance of physically sprouting wings and becoming a zombie brain-eating seagull of San Francisco than winning the lottery, right?” I ask.

  “Shea, you of all people should understand.”

  “I should?” I open the car door and slide inside. Hew settles in the passenger seat, slams his door, digs through the bag, then hands me a bottle of water.

  “You’re the queen of adventure, so you should know that I didn’t buy this ticket because I think I have a chance of winning. I bought it to have the right to dream about the 150-million-dollar jackpot, and what I would do with all the money.”

  “The right to dream?” I laugh. “You don’t have the right to dream without buying a one-dollar ticket?” I unscrew the top of the bottle and take a swig of water. Though I’m questioning Hew, I realize that there are many things in my life that made me feel like I didn’t have the right to dream. Luke being just one of them.

  “Sometimes I need a little help. Even just spending the dollar loosens up the dream muscles, gets me thinking creatively.” Hew stretches his long neck and rotates his shoulders as if he’s warming up for a basketball game, and suddenly my mouth goes dry watching him. I take another gulp of water.

  I laugh nervously. “And what would you do with your dream money?”

  Hew blows out a long breath. “For one, since I’m an architect,” he winks, “I’d have to build you a new dream home. A bright yellow one that will make you crazy-anxious.”

  “Oh yeah, don’t forget the hot tub.” I smirk. I love how he’s still playing along with the job I gave him several days ago. “And where would you build this magnificent domain?”

  “Not sure. But I think we should start looking for the perfect spot on our road trip. We may have 150 million bucks to spend in the next few days. So we should make an effort to dream a lot.” He waves the ticket in my face and then slides it into his wallet.

  “Keep dreaming, big boy.”

  “I intend to.” He gives me a smoldering look, suggesting he’s thinking about more than money. It’s the kind that suggests that I am his dream.

  Chapter 25

  He

  Shea stabs the key into the ignition and turns on the car, but she’s mostly been turning me on with her sexy cuteness. For some reason, I’m all about her strange and mysterious ways.

  Within a few minutes we’re back on the highway. The interesting thing about California is that every thirty minutes the terrain changes. Just driving north out of the city, we’ve passed over the cerulean water of the San Francisco Bay, through the mountains, the high rolling hills covered with long brown grass, and then smaller hills with green farm-type grass. Each area is so distinctive, you would never know how close together they are. But as the evening turns quickly into deep night, Shea announces, “I think we’re almost there!”

  Sometime later, the car rolls to a stop and she turns off the engine. Without opening my eyes, I hear her unbuckling her seat belt, and she leans close and strokes my arm from shoulder to elbow. Her touch warms my skin in the chilly fall air, causing pinpricking hairs to rise at attention, among other things. I restrain a smirk, not letting on that I’m awake, so that she’ll continue.

  “We’re here,” she whispers, but I have no idea where here is. I’ve had my eyes closed for the last twenty minutes, listening to the music as we drove through the countryside. Every so often I stole a peek to study her shape in the night. Long tendrils of dark hair escaped her bun, coiling in the wind, while the stars looked down on her with an extra-special sparkle, just like the sun. While she thought I was sleeping, I watched her silently lip-synch every song on the radio, grooving in her seat, arms rolling and hips swaying to the beat. I bit my lip, holding back laughter when she enthusiastically rocked out with an invisible microphone, singing “Lady Marmalade,” the Christina Aguilera version.

  Shea’s adorable, sexy, and someone I never want to stop stealing looks of. There should be a rule against falling for someone so quickly, but how can you tell your heart and dick to get a grip when they seem to beat to their own rhythm (not “Lady Marmalade,” thank God, but still). And the truth is that I’m not exactly fighting it. I’m inviting it.

  I open my eyes at her seductive voice, and she’s still close. Her breath warms my cheeks and dries my lips, making me lick them. Our gazes lock, and it’s all slow motion and breathless. Looking into her eyes under the lamp of the quiet street, I get a clear view of their striking jade color. Immediately, I want to seduce her and press my lips on her ear, breathe hot and seductive air down her neck, plant soft kisses on her pronounced clavicles to drive her crazy, and finally mix her warm, soft lips with mine, and so much more.

  The thought of her beneath me makes me adjust in my seat. But I know I can’t go there. Not yet. I’ve come this far, and I need to be patient. I want every sexy part of her, but only when the time is right—her body, her mind, and her truths, every single one, no matter what they are. I suck in a ragged horny breath, trying to control my thoughts, and she smiles, like she knows her proximity affects me. This girl is seriously messing with me. She leans away, and I stretch my arms high in the air, looking around, trying to focus on anything but her in a desperate attempt to make the hard need in my pants relax.

  We’re on a neighborhood street of little slat-sided bungalows with golden light illuminating front bay windows and country porches. The only sounds are the crickets who haven’t yet died for the season, or maybe they never die in California, and a distant highway that I can’t see.

  “Where are we?”

  “Yountville.”

  “Why did you choose this place?”

  “Because it’s just outside Napa and when we
were driving through, it reminded me of Tuscany, Italy. So obviously I had to stop.”

  “Italy in North America,” my sister called it after she and her husband got back from their honeymoon. But Layne didn’t talk about the wine with me like she did with everyone else in the family. Singing the praises of the fruit and body of a great glass of cab isn’t at the top of an alcoholic’s dream discussion. Even though wine wasn’t my poison, it still doesn’t stop me from salivating at the thought of what it would do in my bloodstream, loosen me up, guarantee me a good time. I’ve always been the party drunk, no drama needed, just fun.

  Even now, over two years completely sober, I still want it, just from thinking about it. I suck at my cheek and realize that alcohol and Shea have something in common. I desperately want both, but I can’t seem to have either.

  “Hew?” Shea looks at me in question, like she may have been talking to me all this time.

  “Sorry, just zoned out there for a sec. Always wanted to visit after my sister told me how much she loved it on her honeymoon.” Which is actually true. I always did, just given the circumstances, I didn’t. No point in tempting the bull with a red muleta.

  Leaving the tension behind, we exit the car and grab our bags from the trunk. Then I close the fabric convertible top and lock it shut. At the sidewalk, I can see a small blue neon sign that reads VACANCY in the window of the multistoried stone cottage, which is covered with thick winding vines. Shea walks along the rose-lined path, up a stair to the main door. We have to knock because it’s getting late, and this is a private bed and breakfast.

  A young guy, who looks like he might be in high school, answers. “Hello there. How can I help you tonight, do you have a reservation?” He opens the door completely.

  “We don’t.” Shea takes the lead. “But I see you have a vacancy.” She points to the window.

  “We just had a cancellation. Come in.” He waves for us to follow and guides us into a small back room. “You’re kinda the luckiest people on the planet right now. This is the only room left in a twenty-mile radius.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “The Harvest Festival. Wine connoisseurs, locals, tourists, media, they’re all here. It’s a big deal. You didn’t come for it, then?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Did you know anything about it?” I ask Shea.

  “I saw some signs on the way here, but I didn’t know it was anything big. We must be lucky.” She perks up with excitement, and I perk up that she just referred to us as we. “Do we buy tickets for it or something?”

  “The street festival starts tomorrow, and is up in the next town, Saint Helena. That’s free during the day, and all the wineries have their own swanky parties every night, but I think they’re all sold out.”

  “I have a feeling that won’t stop you, will it?” I instinctively slide an arm around Shea’s tiny waist, pulling her close and whispering in a conspiratorial manner.

  “It usually doesn’t,” she says.

  “Can I get your ID and credit card?” the boy asks.

  Shea and I awkwardly glance at each other. To take out either card would reveal our real names, and it seems that even now when we’re about to share one room, our game is still on.

  “How about I take care of this one?” I offer.

  “Are you sure? I have cash.” She places her purse on the counter.

  “I’m sure, but you’re gonna have to go in the other room if we’re going to continue playing by the rules.” I half hope that she’ll give up.

  “Okay. Thanks.” She squeezes my arm, collects her bags, and saunters into the next room, a large common area with a stone fireplace, sofas, and a dining table.

  After she leaves, I remove my credit card and ID from my wallet and hand them to the boy, who is eyeing me suspiciously. “Don’t ask,” I tell him with a slight smile.

  I figure if I make a joke he will let our strange conversation go, and thankfully, he does. He finishes checking me in and points us in the direction of our room, then returns to studying the thick textbook on his desk.

  Shea and I walk back through the cottage, which is decorated in what my middle sister, Ashley, would call “shabby chic,” with her fancy interior design degree from MICA.

  We drag our bags up the creaky stairs of the old home and find our way through the dark hallway to room five. She leans close to the doorknob and fiddles with the key.

  “It doesn’t want to open,” she says, sounding frustrated after a moment of jiggling the loose metal handle. The sound rattles not only the wooden door, but also echoes off the surrounding walls of the rickety old home.

  “Shh, we have to be quiet. I think everyone is asleep already,” I offer in hushed tones near her ear, and place a hand on her forearm. She shivers, and the sensation seems to run over her skin. I’m finding pleasure in torturing her the way she does me. Just enough to get her thinking that she may want more.

  “It’s not even nine yet.”

  “Trust me,” I say. “In this place, I bet we’re the youngest people. Here, let me try.”

  I take the key and we trade positions. I lean in and slide it into the keyhole, but once it’s inside, it won’t turn. It’s really and truly stuck. I wiggle it, shaking the door the same way Shea did, and she shushes me like I did with her, and giggles as if to say, “I told you so.”

  This continues for a few moments, but I’m too far in not to get this damn thing open. It’s the whole principal of the thing. I’m a guy. I push my shoulder into the door and finally, with the right amount of pressure, something catches in the lock. The door flies open and I lose my balance and tumble into the room, crashing onto the floor with a huge thump. “Uhh!”

  This time Shea is not the only one who’s laughing. I let loose an uncontrolled crow, and it’s anything but quiet. That’s when we’re rewarded with several strong bangs on the wall from the adjoining bedroom. This, of course, makes us laugh even louder, but we hold our hands over our mouths, trying to be quiet.

  “I guess you were right,” Shea says as she regains control of herself and helps me up from the floor.

  I stand and drag my bags into the room, then shut the door behind us. The room is really small, maybe ten by twelve feet. The outer walls are old stone, and there’s barely a place to stick my luggage, but I find a spot in a low niche. There’s also a bathroom and shower stall, but together they are as small as a closet.

  Shea’s already found the best part of the small room, a set of narrow French doors that lead out onto a second-floor veranda. It’s private and all ours.

  She walks outside and I follow. I think at this point, I would follow her anywhere.

  Chapter 26

  She

  “It’s so beautiful.” Looking out into the darkness, we see there’s a low mountain ridge. Behind it, on the other side, glows a gradient light that runs the length of it, silhouetting the rolling and jagged shapes of the peaks. A city sits on the other side, but from here it’s only represented in light, not buildings or the chaos of people and traffic.

  Hew joins my side. “Wow. Nice job.” He pushes two reclining lounge chairs together, sits, and then pats the seat next to him.

  “Hold on a second.” Wanting to make everything perfect, I hurry back inside and gather a few items: a quilt folded over the back of a chair, a bottle of complimentary wine (it’s Napa Valley, after all), a corkscrew, two plastic wineglasses, and the rest of the fortune cookies. With everything carefully balanced, I walk back out onto the terrace. Hew grabs the quilt, and I settle everything else on a small round metal table.

  He’s watching my every move like he normally does, but this time there’s a certain intensity that I don’t understand. His gaze follows me as I quietly walk to his side and retrieve the quilt, unfold it and shake it out, then drop it over his body, spreading it like I’m making a bed, and then I return to my side to open the bottle of wine.

  “You like wine?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer right away. Instead his
jaw tightens and his gaze flicks away, but then he finally says, “I do.”

  A few minutes later, we each have a plastic wineglass, and I settle into the lounger next to him.

  “Here’s to dreaming.” He lifts his glass and toasts, but his grasp seems shaky.

  “To dreaming.” I clink my glass with his and as I sip, he places his aside.

  “It’s bad luck not to sip after a toast.”

  “I know, but I’d rather drink you in,” he says jokingly, and nuzzles into my shoulder. It’s playful and sweet, and I just may let him.

  “While you were gathering your tools here, I was thinking that with our lottery winnings, I could build you a house in the valley with this incredible view. Just think of doing this every night on your own private veranda.” He leans closer to me at the last part, and his breath is warm on my neck.

  I think he realizes this turns me on, and I sigh inside. Could this guy be any more romantic?

  “With a Jacuzzi,” I insist.

  “Of course.”

  “I could totally handle that.” I reach for the fortune cookies and offer one to Hew, but he shakes his head, so I remove a few and pile them in my lap as we snuggle close.

  “Fortune cookies and red wine?” he asks.

  “Actually, it’s the perfect combination. The slightly sweet wafer with the wine.” I break off a piece of cookie and eat it, then sip the wine. “I think I’ll try to start a new trend.”

  “When we win the lottery, you can use your half to travel the world, promoting the combination.”

  “That’s a great idea!” I say, playing along. “I could do chocolate-covered fortune cookies and wine, too. Ohh,” I say dramatically, thinking of the possibility. “That would be so good. I’m dying just thinking about it.”

  “You can call it the Napa Valley Wine and Fortune Cookie Company.”