He reached for his glass, took a sip, set it down and looked at me. “Do you need help moving?”
That wasn’t exactly where I thought the conversation was going, and I managed to hide my disappointment. “No. I don’t have much to take back. Mostly clothes.”
He nodded. “What are you going to do after graduation? Thinking about grad school?”
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“You don’t sound too sure.”
I reached for another crab leg. “No, I’m sure I’m going, I’m just not sure where.”
“Go anywhere you want to.” He wiped his hands with a napkin. “Something tells me you were going to finish your undergrad degree at USF, and stay there for grad school.”
“No,” I said. Well, he was partially wrong, anyway. The plan all along was that Kevin and I would apply to all the same grad schools, and then pick the same one among those that we both got into. The easy thing and the likely choice was indeed USF, but I didn’t want to give Drew the satisfaction of knowing he’d nailed it. “I have time. I have options.”
He nodded. “Or you could not go at all.”
I was looking down at the table and lifted my eyes without moving my head. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “Things happen. Things change. Life changes. Like the old phrase ‘shit happens.’ I don’t know. You tell me. Your head’s still in the same place it was…before?”
“Right here on top of my shoulders. Twenty straight years.”
He laughed. “You know what—”
“Yeah,” I interrupted. “I know what you meant. And yes, my head is still in the same place it was before all the shit with Kevin. Why should I change my goals—my life—just because he fucked me over?”
Drew pulled back and put his hands up as if I had pointed a gun at him. “Just asking. And I don’t think you should change anything.”
There was a little tension. I didn’t think we were on the verge of an argument, but the situation had become uncomfortable, mainly because I was coming to the difficult conclusion that Drew wasn’t thinking beyond the end of the summer. I guess that shouldn’t have surprised me, knowing the way he lived his life, but still it wasn’t easy to accept.
. . . . .
“You won’t be counting, you’ll actually be gambling.”
“Yeah, but with you coaching me, how do I know you aren’t counting?”
Drew pulled his sunglasses down from the top of his head to cover his eyes. “You won’t.” He grinned, turned his head to face forward, and leaned back against the airplane seat.
“Great. We’re going to get busted again.”
“Relax, Leah. I’m not going to count. This is straight-up blackjack, just like I promised you. And I’m only going to say something when you want some advice, just like I promised. Have I broken a promise to you yet?”
“Not yet, but you’re kind of unpredictable.”
He put on a fake frown. “I can try to be boring, if you’d like.”
We were on a flight to Atlantic City, New Jersey. I’d never been that far north before, so it was yet another new adventure, courtesy of Drew.
This trip was just an overnighter. It had been two days since the awkward conversation in the restaurant, but since then we’d had fun. I gave Drew his second surfing lesson, and he seemed to be picking it up pretty quickly, although I didn’t tell him that. Despite having never given lessons before, it turned out I was a pretty good teacher, even if I was a hardass, which Drew pointed out several times.
While Drew had bobbed in the water, waiting for the perfect wave on each practice run, I had stayed on the beach with Cliff. More than once I had found myself thinking how much I would miss him as well, and even told him so. In response, Cliff had dragged his slobbery tongue up the side of my face.
When I’d mentioned that I wished we could have had one more trip to Vegas, Drew correctly pointed out that the meager winnings I’d had on the last trip had given me the blackjack bug. I didn’t deny it. That’s when he suggested a quick trip up to Atlantic City.
Our plane landed just after eight p.m. and we caught a cab to the Golden Nugget.
“Do you come here much?” I asked as we made our way to the casino floor.
“Couple times a year, at most.”
“Why not more? It’s a lot closer.”
“Yeah, but it’s no Vegas.”
We passed row after row of slot machines and the people sitting there dropping their coins in. It looked boring to me. Not as interesting as blackjack, anyway.
Sitting down at one of the tables, I got out four fifty-dollar bills and the dealer changed them into chips.
I started off betting the minimum and quickly lost half my money. I got another one hundred in chips, and my next hand was a 10 and a 6.
I glanced over my shoulder. Drew nodded and I gave the sign for hit, drawing a 3. The dealer got 22, busted, finally giving me a win. I looked at Drew again and quickly dropped the smile from my face when I saw that he was expressionless. I remembered him saying you didn’t need a “poker face” while playing blackjack, so I figured I’d caught him concentrating, which meant he was counting the cards as he coached me.
I hadn’t been expecting him to do that. When I realized that he was, I quickly scanned the area, looking for a pit boss. I got a little nervous about what we were doing, but decided to trust Drew’s experience and instincts.
After another hour of alternating between winning and losing hands—a few more winning ones than losing—I had turned my three hundred dollars into a little more than two thousand.
. . . . .
Later, as Drew brushed his teeth in the bathroom, I was lying on the bed and called out to him: “I know you were counting.”
He stuck his head out of the bathroom. “Prove it,” he said, through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.
I laughed. “Nice try, but I’m not a pit boss. I don’t have to prove it. I just know. I could tell by the look on your face.”
I heard the faucet running as he finished up. He came out into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his shoes off.
I had already brushed my teeth and washed my face, and I was still wearing the black shorts and red tank top I’d worn all day.
Drew didn’t say anything.
“Fine,” I said, “then how about you just explain how you were able to stand there and count the whole time without getting busted.”
He ran his hands through his hair. The curls around the edges were wet from him washing his face. “It’s too obvious. Nobody would be dumb enough to stand there, counting and coaching the whole time. So it looks innocent. Maybe like you’re a rookie and I’m just helping you learn the game.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Then why not do that all the time, and then you’d never get caught?”
Drew grinned and reclined, propping himself up on his elbow. “Because then it would be too obvious.”
I frowned. “So, obvious is good, but not too obvious, and not too many times?”
“Now you see why I work alone. Some people do it in teams, but they’re taking a bigger risk that way. They’re also going for hundreds of thousands a night. I’m not. Anyway, you say you could tell by the look on my face, huh?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know what I was thinking?” He yawned. “Maybe I was daydreaming, thinking about how I couldn’t wait to come up to our room so I’d have you alone.”
“Nice diversion.” I shifted so that I was almost flat on my back. “Fine. You won’t answer that, then answer something else.”
He turned to face me, pulling one knee up onto the bed, still sitting. “Ask away.”
I took a deep breath. The previous topic had been light-hearted. This one would be anything but that.
“Why don’t you look at me?”
An expression of confusion grew across his face. “I look at you all the time. I’m looking at you right now.”
I rolled over on
to my side, resting my head in my hand. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the times we’ve had sex.” I bit my lip.
His jaw clenched and he looked away, down at the floor. “I don’t know why I do that.”
“Yes you do.”
He looked back at me. “After what happened to you, I don’t want you to feel like you’re being gawked at.”
Just as I’d figured. I could see that it was a sweet, considerate thing from his perspective, but that also meant that what happened to me was baggage I was carrying over into…whatever this was with Drew. Fling? Relationship? It didn’t matter at the moment.
“It’s not the same,” I said. “Not even close.” And that’s when the idea struck me. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. Right in front of him. Barely a foot away. My heart raced, but I knew I needed this, wanted this. “I want you to look.”
I unbuttoned my shorts and pushed them down my legs until they fell to my ankles and I kicked them aside.
“This is different,” I said.
I grabbed the hem of my tank, lifted it over my bra, my head, and tossed it near my shorts.
Drew’s eyes had been locked with mine, but as I stood there motionless, his gaze swept down my body, then back up.
“You’re different,” I said, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra.
Drew had undressed me before, and while that had given me a rush of excitement the few times it happened, this was a different kind of feeling. A surge. Not the usual excitement, not a thrill. This was an intense, intimate moment. I didn’t want him to undress me this time. I wanted to undress myself as he looked at me. This was something I needed—I was allowing him to see me like this on my terms, trusting myself to trust again.
I let the bra fall from my body. Drew’s hand shot out and caught it. He held onto it as his eyes drifted from mine…down to my neck, over to my right shoulder and then back across to my left, down to the upper part of my chest, then to my right breast, where his gaze froze for a moment before sliding over to my left one.
I swallowed hard, the nervousness subsiding with each passing second.
He didn’t have to touch me. His eyes were so intently fixed on me, I could almost feel where his focus was.
There was an unusual mixture of vulnerability and security stirring within me. Two completely opposing emotions, oddly in perfect tune, and I knew it was because of who I was with.
Which is why I didn’t object when Drew slowly reached for me, taking over. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, pulled me closer to him until I was standing just inches in front of him. He leaned forward and placed a kiss just below my navel.
I looked down and saw him looking up at me. Our eyes trained on each other’s as he slipped my panties down my legs. I stepped out of them.
Having explored my body with only his eyes, now he was looking and touching. I watched his fingers roam over my stomach, stopping on my left side.
“You have a birthmark.” His voice was just a whisper.
He looked at it closer. It was about the size of a quarter, irregularly shaped, and it was light pink. It never tanned, so it stood out against my browned skin. Drew traced the outline of it, then moved on.
Up to my breasts where he gave them a light squeeze, slightly plumping them up as his thumbs grazed over my nipples. He leaned forward and took one into his mouth.
I wrapped my arms around his head and held him there, not wanting him to release it.
He did, though, just for a second, as he said, “You need to lie down.” His arms around my waist, he stood, lifting me. My legs wrapped around him. He lowered me a little so our faces were together. His breath was hot against my lips as he playfully nipped at them with his teeth.
We turned and suddenly I was on my back, Drew hovering over me, holding himself up with his hands.
“You used to be scared,” he said. “Look at you now.”
My mind flashed back to that morning on the boat, the first time we had sex, when he told me I was afraid and that I acted weak because I had no idea how strong I really was. It seemed like forever ago, but in just a matter of weeks I’d gone from timidity to boldness—choosing to make myself vulnerable to him, trusting him, and then, on my terms, ceding control to him.
As he lowered himself onto me, I reached for him and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, pulling him harder against me, then tugging his shirt upward. He lifted his arms and I pulled his shirt off, and he was instantly against me, the heat radiating off his body and warming my skin.
Drew pressed his lips to mine, prying them open with his eager tongue. I put my palms against the taut skin of his chest. His tongue swept through my mouth, making stroking motions against my tongue, then along my teeth, my lips, and I could almost taste the urgency between us.
I felt his excitement through his jeans and I slid my hands down his chest, to his stomach, my fingers hurriedly finding the button, then the zipper, and I freed him from the denim restraint, feeling his hardness against me as I locked my legs around his waist and we rocked our hips rhythmically together.
I trembled, and he noticed.
“Okay?” he asked, his irregular breathing allowing only one word.
I nodded. “Uh huh.”
The shiver that ran through my body wasn’t negative—quite the exact opposite, actually—but he was just making sure.
“God, Leah, I can’t take much more of this, but I don’t want to stop, either.”
“Don’t.”
Our mouths devoured each other’s for several more minutes as our bodies writhed together, his erection slipping along my wetness. We were teasing the hell out of each other.
Drew halfway stood, dropping his jeans to the floor after retrieving a condom. I watched as he quickly rolled it on.
Then he was on me again. Nudging me up the bed toward the pillows, his tongue fluttering across my nipples as we moved.
As I got farther up the bed, he stopped, his head level with my thighs. He lowered his face, kissed the insides of my legs before moving his mouth between them, then up my body.
He looked into my eyes. His voice hoarse, he said, “This has already been amazing for me, but I want it to be the best ever for you.”
As he pushed into me, I knew it would be.
And it was.
Chapter Eighteen
Drew and I stayed up most of the night and then caught an early flight back to Charleston. The next week was relatively uneventful, filled mostly with work and low-key evenings with Drew. We didn’t talk at all about my departure day approaching. That was probably for the best. There was no way to work around it, and not bringing it up meant less stress on the time we still had together.
I got to work just before noon one day and found Rick and Marla there. They’d been out of town for the better part of a week. Chad and Warren were leaving for lunch. I asked where Rebecca was.
“Called in sick,” Rick said. “That’s unlike her.”
“Did she say what was wrong?”
Marla shook her head. “No. I didn’t get a chance to ask. She left a voicemail around six-thirty this morning.”
Rick was right—it was extremely unlike Rebecca to call in sick. I had a feeling she would have called me if she’d gotten into some kind of trouble, and since she hadn’t, I was pretty sure she was okay. My curiosity was piqued, though.
“I’ll try to find out what’s up with her,” I said. Before they could ask if I knew anything that had been going on with her lately, I redirected the conversation. “Oh, by the way, I have the rest of that money I owe you.”
“You sure?” Marla said.
“Yep, got it right here.” I reached into my purse and took out the cash. I knew they weren’t going to ask how I got it, but in the off chance they did, I was going to tell them my parents sent me some money, rather than tell them that I’d been in Atlantic City several nights ago and had won over two-thousand dollars.
. . . . .
After several unanswered texts and voicemails, I finally heard from Rebecca around four o’clock. She sounded awful. “I had to go to the hospital.”
“For what? Are you okay?”
She was trying to talk through her sobbing, but I couldn’t make out much of what she was saying.
“I’m coming over there,” I said.
She lived just across the bridge to Isle of Palms, and I had to fight the late afternoon tourist traffic to get to her apartment. When she answered the door, she was wrapped up in a blanket. Her hair was a mess, some of it stuck to her cheek that was damp from tears.
She let me in and I hugged her, looking over her shoulder. Her apartment was dark. She’d shut the blinds in the den and didn’t have any lights on. The place reeked of cigarette smoke, so I surmised that she wasn’t going to tell me she found out she was indeed pregnant. Or at least I hoped so.
We stood like that for a few moments until I broke the silence. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” She let her arms fall from embracing me, and turned to walk over to her couch.
I followed. “I told you it was okay to call me.”
“I know.” That’s all she said, and I let it go. It wasn’t the most important issue at hand. She picked up a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, took one out, put it between her lips and lit it.
I sat down beside her, noticing the ashtray on the table. It was full and a thin stream of smoke was rising from the center, clearly from a cigarette she had failed to fully extinguish. I had a flash of fear, a vision of her in the apartment alone, depressed, and accidentally starting a fire.
“I wonder if a person can get dehydrated from crying too much,” she said, looking straight ahead at the wall.
I watched her puff on that cigarette, several quick ones in a row. I reached out and put my hand on her back and lightly rubbed it. “So what happened?”
She was silent for a solid minute before she told me.
Waking up from a nap the previous afternoon, she had severe abdominal pains. She got scared again that she might be pregnant and that something was going wrong. She called Kyle who, much to my surprise, rushed over to her apartment and brought her to the emergency room.
Break My Fall (No Limits) Page 16
