by Trixie More
“In six hours, I will have been awake for two days. I backed over a curb.” She shook her head and then let herself slide down the wall to the floor. Her legs were out straight. Let him see the bottoms of her feet. He didn’t want her anyway. Albino raccoon.
He stood over her, looking down. “No date, for real?”
She pulled up her knees and rested her head on them. “For real,” she said into her lap. “And my dad doesn’t have dementia.” She heard him slide down next to her. He put one arm around her shoulder.
“Do it again,” he said.
Now he wanted her? She jerked her wrist, letting her hand flap at Derrick. “Moment’s past.”
Chapter 7
Derrick watched as Allison pulled up her knees and rested her head on them. She spoke into her lap. “And my dad doesn’t have dementia.” While her eyes were shut, and her head was on her knees, he let himself look at her legs, ankles, and … feet. From this angle, with the bottoms flat on the floor, they weren’t as bad as he’d first thought. The tops were pale, but the sides were an angry red. The toenails were perfect though and painted bright pink. Imagining her, carefully polishing her toenails brought a tightness to his chest. The bottoms, they were the worst, misshapen lumps of furious skin twisted across them; that had to make walking in heels a living hell. How did this woman work in a kitchen every day?
No woman with feet like that would have chosen to wear those shoes anywhere. Her roommate had to have selected them. Derrick realized he believed Allison. But what had caused the scars? He sat down beside her. He’d turned down a kiss from this woman. He was an idiot.
“Do it again,” he said.
“Moment’s past.” Her bossy voice was back, and he smiled. She was tough, and she wouldn’t want his pity. That much he could tell by the way she didn’t hide her feet, by the way she spoke. He admired that about her.
She turned her head, slanted a quick glance through her lashes and then let her eyes slide shut again; he bumped her with his shoulder. He saw the lift of her cheek and knew she was smiling. The thought sent a tremor of happiness through him. He didn’t think about her bossy attitude, her round ass, her skirt riding up her smooth legs or her too tight clothing. Every ounce of his attention was on Allison herself, exhausted and undaunted, and so immediate.
The woman beside him sighed, leaned her head back against the wall, stretching one leg out straight, crossing the other over, knee bent, so that her foot was flat on the floor beside his hand, misshapen and graceful at the same time. He put his hand down and laid it across the top of her foot. He just rested it there and felt her shiver beside him, her head rolling restlessly as she lifted her chin and let the long column of her neck stretch. He wanted to lay his tongue beside her ear, press his mouth to that bare expanse. He brought his hand down across her toes, and when she didn’t object, he turned his hand over, slipping his palm under her arch, cupping the battered heel. He held his hand there, gently squeezing, carefully watching for signs of pain. She moaned and pressed her foot down into his palm. The sound awakened his arousal, but this was not the time. He pulled his hand away and ran his palm up her cold, smooth leg, tugged her skirt farther down to warm her and threaded his fingers through hers. Forgetting then, about her feet, her father, the cold floor, Derrick sat quietly and let the feelings wash over him until she decided she was done.
She broke the moment decisively like she seemed to do everything, releasing his hand and looking him in the eyes.
“You are so damn handsome,” she said.
He sighed. He’d expected better. He stood and offered her his hand, helping her up.
“Where’re your boots?”
Her green and brown eyes widened at that, and once she gained her feet, she ducked into her office, returning with socks and the grease-spattered work boots. She put a hand on Derrick’s arm to steady herself, as if she had a right to touch him any time she wanted now, and put on her gear. The Wolverines didn’t hold a candle to the dress shoes, but her sigh of relief stirred an answering feeling in him.
“Let's go get your dad,” he said. She looked up at him, her face tired in the fluorescent lighting.
“I got this,” she said.
“No,” Derrick replied as he led the way back over to the bar, shutting off the lights, checking that the door was locked.
“No? No?” she said, back to bossy now. “It’s not up to you.”
He stopped, and she bumped into him from behind as he turned. He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. This woman would be a lot of work for the guy who decided to take her on.
“You’re tired. The van is unsafe,” he said. He waited while suspicion and plain stubbornness chased across her face, which hid nothing. Everything she thought and felt was written there. Finally, her shoulders slumped.
“If you could drive us home, I’d appreciate it,” she said reluctantly.
Derrick smiled and hugged her, pressing his lips to her cool ear and whispered, “I’d love to.”
The hour-long ride to Sheepshead Bay was one long tease. And one long guilt trip. Allison could feel her hip pressed against Derrick’s. Her own hyper-awareness of every place their bodies aligned spelled trouble that she wasn’t sure she could handle.
“Thank you again for doing this,” she said, torturing herself more by watching his profile. The passing cars, the homes lit by Christmas lights and the glow of the dash sent his handsome face into shadows and lit planes. To her fascination, when Derrick was driving, his face lost its carefully controlled blandness, the opposite of what happened with most people. He was unusually alert, turning his head often, and when he did so, if he caught her looking at him, there would be a brief second when he was looking directly at her. When that happened, a warm smile passed over his face, then his gaze would move on. Worse yet, when she found herself the object of that intense focus, she felt the answering warmth of her arousal. This man only had to look at her and that killed her because men this desirable didn’t stay interested in her for long. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she suspected it had to do with her bossiness, which, she was not giving up. She was in charge of herself, thank you very much.
The truck hit a pothole, and she jostled side to side, bringing his attention to her again, a brief glance and then his gaze returned to the road.
“Did you have plans tonight?” Her question to him was ridiculous. Of course, he did, and now she was further in his debt. She owed his grandfather; she owed her father, and now she owed Derrick, too. These burdens weighed heavily on her thoughts, so she said, “I shouldn’t have let you go so far out of your way. You could actually let us out, really anywhere here. We could catch the train.”
She rode with one boot propped on the hump. Now she restlessly moved her foot, to the left, the right, trying to find a way to sit that would make her comfortable with her debts. As if. Her thigh rubbed against his.
For one electric moment, Derrick let his right hand drop onto her bare leg, just above the knee, warm and heavy. She stilled.
“You’re cold,” he said and turned up the heat in the truck, removing his hand to do so, and not returning it. Allison watched that hand on the steering wheel, trying to will it back.
“Allie Girl,” her father whispered in her ear, cutting his eyes toward Derrick, “do you know who that is?”
She frowned, noticing for the first time how thin the white hair was that floated around the sides of his head, falling free from his comb-over. “That’s Derrick. He works next door to the shop.”
“What shop?”
Allison’s gut clenched. How did this all come about? Surely her father hadn’t become this distracted in the few hours she was gone tonight. And if that hadn’t happened, how come she hadn’t noticed it before now?
Derrick’s hand dropped again, but this time, he took her left hand in his, threaded his fingers through hers, and let their hands rest on his thigh. An ache swept through her chest, so suddenly and with such force, she felt th
e promise of tears threaten. She blinked the weakness away. Her hand remained in Derrick’s though, and he began to brush his thumb gently back and forth.
“Allison’s Kitchen, Dad. My catering company.” Her heart clenched as a baffled expression flitted across her father’s face and was quickly covered with the confident expression she always expected to see.
“Oh. Right,” her father said, “late night.” And he turned his face away from hers, but in the passenger window, she saw his reflection and his eyes were worried. She covered her mouth with her free hand, and Derrick’s arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her into him. He gave her a squeeze, kissing the top of her head briefly. He withdrew his arm, re-twined their fingers and returned them to the warm safety of his lap.
“Put my number on your phone, in case you need me, OK?” His voice was gentle, his expression somehow soft. Allison couldn’t think of a single reason not to comply and was grateful for the task. After she entered his info into her contacts, she just sat, looking at the screen for a moment. He solved her dilemma for her.
“Allison,” he glanced at her, and her body hummed, “send me a text, love.” The endearment was general, something he might say to a waitress, as in, bring me the check, love, and it didn’t matter to her heart. Her heart took it seriously. She looked at the phone. She didn’t want to do it. He didn’t need her number, didn’t need her. She struggled.
“Wish me Merry Christmas,” he said, and there was no way for her to refuse. She sent the text, and she heard the ding of his phone. It was in his glove box.
“Thank you.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“Allie Girl,” her dad whispered, “who is that?”
By the time Derrick dropped Allison and her father off at his home in Sheepshead Bay, Allison could barely keep her eyes open. Her father, on the other hand, seemed to have his second wind. He was alert and amiable, but as Derrick had insisted earlier, his confusion was unmistakable.
When they pulled up to the home her father had purchased after the fire and paid off with great pride and fanfare only a few years before he retired, he finally seemed to be free of the confusion.
“Ah, Allie Girl, we’re finally home.” Her father’s face lit with good humor as he unhooked his seatbelt and opened the cab door. She had to hold onto his arm and warn him that the truck was high off the ground. Derrick quickly worked his way around to the door and was able to help Harry out, and then he reached in and offered her his hand. She didn’t need it. It was just a small step, and there was a running board. Her automatic reaction was to ignore the hand with its broad palm. She looked up at Derrick and found him watching her with a small smile and sad eyes. He’d driven them home tonight and cared for her father.
Allison placed her hand in Derrick’s, his fingers closed around hers, her body alight with awareness of him, his maleness. Earlier, sitting against the wall in the shop, she’d told him he was handsome, and he had just sighed. She had the feeling that had been the wrong thing to say. His hand released hers, and she turned to look at him. He was handsome, of that, there was no doubt.
“Thank you,” she said, “for everything. For being there for my dad, and for driving us home. You did a lot, and I appreciate it,” she said. Her mind was searching for ways to make up the debt to him, but she couldn’t think of how to do it. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her wallet.
Derrick’s eyes flicked between her purse and her father’s retreating figure. “Go inside. You’re exhausted, and he’s got a big lead on you.”
She dug out a twenty and handed it to him. “This is for all the gas.”
Derrick’s eyes never left hers as he took the money with one hand, and wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her into him. Her chin lifted as her stomach fluttered, anticipating. She felt his hand pluck at the waistband of her skirt. He closed his eyes just before he kissed her, there on the sidewalk, the passenger door of the truck open, the motor rumbling behind her. He tasted of mint and coffee. Wild hope swooped inside her, but she didn’t let it land. This was temporary. Sliding her fingers into his hair, Allison told herself it was just one moment, she could afford it. He kissed her in small, moving bites and brushes, bringing both hands to the middle of her back, something scratchy sliding down into her panties and then both hands were moving down, grabbing at her bottom, pulling her tight against his thigh.
He opened the throttle on the kiss then, pressing forward, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, eating at her and letting her follow him back. Then she was the one controlling the pace, pressing into him, bending her knee, bringing her thigh up along the outside of his leg, feeling his jeans on the inside of her bare leg. She felt the delicious flex of a stone hard bicep, and then he lifted her by the ass, helping her climb him. She strained her neck, trying to bring her mouth fully level with his. The feel of his chest against her breasts brought out an overwhelming desire to seat herself fully against that hard, hard thigh and just rub. He turned his face, letting his mouth move along her neck, as the sound of footsteps on the sidewalk and the chattering of happy voices rose in her awareness. His thigh retreated, her leg fell, and she became aware that she was in a skirt with unlaced, grease-spattered work boots. Leaning her forehead against his shoulder, she said, “You put the twenty down my underwear.”
She felt his cheek, lying against hers, shift and she knew he was grinning.
“I’ll look for it later,” he said.
She was speechless, hot and hot.
“I’m going to assume you’re fine with that,” he said. He put his hands on Allison’s shoulders, stepped back and gave her a peck on the cheek, commanded her to go help her dad. Then he was gone, shutting the truck door carelessly as he headed around the nose of the vehicle.
Allison stood there, with nothing to do but wave goodbye, as he left to take the long ride back to where ever he’d come from.
Chapter 8
Inside her father’s house, reality smacked Allison sharply on the back of the head. And thank God, because she deserved it. She watched her father move around inside his home, following the same routine he always did. He headed for the bathroom. She heard the water running, the sound of his toothbrush, the sound of gargling. Then back to his room, returning dressed in fresh clothes with slippers on. He puttered past her.
“Good morning, Allie Girl. Did you make coffee yet?” His voice faded as he motored along to the kitchen.
It was three a.m., pitch black outside, and Derrick had just driven away. Her belly clenched in fear. What was going on with her father?
“Um, no, Dad, I didn’t. We just walked in the door.” Allison strode to the kitchen to find him at the sink filling the coffee pot.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear me?”
Her father’s eyes, with their fading color, turned their gaze to her. The perplexity she saw there shattered her. Where was he going? He was her father.
Allison pulled herself together, finding a napkin, blowing her nose. “Dad, it’s only three in the morning. We should go back to bed.”
Confusion flitted on his face again, and then he brightened. “That’s weird. I must have looked at the clock wrong.” He put the pot on the counter, eyes jumping to the windows, confirming the darkness there, seeing the neighbor’s twinkling Christmas lights. “It’s so nice to have you here for Christmas,” he said, and he gave her a soft hug. “Let’s go back to sleep so Santa can come.” And if she had been staying there overnight and just wandered into the kitchen to find him there, she would have thought everything was normal. But everything wasn’t normal, was it? Everything had been changing, the river of her father’s life reshaping itself, merging, in a confluence, with some new way of being while Allison had continued to view him in generalities, glancing into his world carelessly and pronouncing it the same, finding it all to be water. They were two against the world and somehow, they were always falling short of being what the other needed.
She felt a sting at the back of her nose, but she decided to save her tears for another day. Today she had learned something new. Tomorrow, she’d figure out what to do about it.
“Yeah, Dad, back to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Her dad disappeared into his room, and when she checked on him a half hour later, he was tucked under the covers, his clothes placed neatly on the dresser, just like always.
Christmas morning dawned sunny and cloudless, and Allison’s resolve unfolded along with it. She borrowed her dad’s car, drove them to her place and together, they opened up the gifts she’d bought. Her father delivered the customary Christmas card with a check in it, but now she realized it was from the same box of cards he’d used last year, and most likely, the year before. And this year, instead of the generous gift he always gave her, it was a smaller number, more in line with what he would have given her as a child.
He’d never shopped for gifts, one more way the slow building of confusion had been masked. She sat with her hot coffee, luxuriating in the familiar aroma, the rich taste of it, laced with cream and sugar, as she watched him open a package of pajamas. She bought him clothes for Christmas every year. If he never shopped again, who would know? Allison waited for him to get to the main present. Every year, something frivolous and playful made its way onto her shopping list for him. Every year, something like that for herself did too.
She’d long ago given up the bitter wistfulness of her youth when holidays had been filled with the big build up, day after day, in which she imagined what her classmates enjoyed. She believed that everyone had a holiday like the Who’s in Who-ville: mountains of gifts, candy canes clutched in their hands as they slept, fancy meals and the warm joy of relatives. She’d known, even then, these were silly thoughts. She had only to look to the homes on her block to find other children who had modest holidays. A gift or two, maybe a sled or a bike. She’d always received a check from her father and a package from her mother. She returned the clothes her mother sent, they never fit, and she spent the money on whatever it was she told her friends she had wished for, pretending to her schoolmates that it had arrived, wrapped in paper and bows, right on time.
