by Lily Ryan
“Thank you,” I say, breaking the silence between us. “For everything.”
“No worries. I’m glad I could help.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Something’s off and I’m not sure what it is or where it came from. It wasn’t here a few minutes earlier. This might be his way of keeping me at an arm’s length. At letting me know he isn’t interested in me in the lustful-I’m-barely-keeping-my-hands-off-you way I’m interested in him.
Oh, no! What if he can read my thoughts? What if he knows I’m thinking about him in that way? That since Timmy left us alone I can’t stop wondering how he looks with his clothes off. How his naked body feels pressed up against mine. Skin to skin. Rubbing. Touching. Caressing.
“You know, you don’t have to stay.” I give him an out. He’s already gone above and beyond what anyone else would’ve done for me. I don’t want him to feel obligated to babysit me, too.
His green eyes narrow and singe a hole in my heart. A tiny hole with his name written all over it. A whole a piece of him crawls in and fills.
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not at all. I just—“
“Shh.” He holds his pointer finger up and steps forward. Close. Inches away. He’s so close, I feel his energy mesh with mine like entwined fingers. I expect him to touch my lips. I plan for it. Plan to take his finger in my mouth and give him a taste of what my lips and tongue can do.
I’m shaking. Trembling. My heart races. I feel Chance’s warmth and strength as he reaches his hands under my hair and holds the back of my neck. My head tilts up slightly. I wonder, if he‘ll kiss me. My lips part. Please kiss me.
His touch feels so good. Electric. Energized. Completely right.
My breaths deepen in anticipation of what’s coming next. I imagine him, will him, to lean in and meet my lips with his, but he’s given no indication that he wants to kiss me. Except for the fact that he’s so close, and hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
He spends a few long moments looking over the right side of my head and face, then turns his attention to the left.
“Does your head hurt?”
“No,” the word is barely audible.
“Your neck?”
I shake my head.
“You sure you’re okay?” His eyes pierce mine, they’re intense and beautiful, and I just want to stand here and stare into them. Maybe forever.
“I’m fine. Really.”
He lets go of my head, and takes my hands into each of his. He lifts and studies them in the same way.
“You’re not shaking anymore.”
Maybe on the outside. On the inside every nerve vibrates from his touch.
”The shock wore off.”
“Good.” He says, his voice warm and velvety. I think my spine turned to rubber.
And then nothing.
For a few long beats, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. He just stares into my eyes. The weight of the moment builds. It’s heavy. Palpable. I can’t breathe.
“You know, you still haven’t told me your name.”
“I haven’t?”
He shakes his head. “I could call you Mrs. Doherty if that’s the way you want to play it.” He smirks and raises his eyebrows playfully. “Or I could look at Timmy’s participation form, but I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from your luscious lips.”
I’m wet.
Dampness rushes to the area between my legs hearing those words come out of his mouth. Like dry kindling, the air around us cracks and sizzles with every look. Every touch.
I clear my throat, but my voice is still heavy. “Kim.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He holds my head again, and rubs his thumbs back and forth across my cheeks.” The touch is gentle. Intimate. A completely inappropriate way for my son’s coach to be touching me.
He breathes hard. His eyes smolder. I stare at his full, pouty lips. The idea of him kissing me seems like it might actually happen. While I want him to because I long to be touched and desired, especially by him, I’m torn. I haven’t kissed anyone but Mike in almost two decades. That makes me feel old.
Very old.
Being attracted to this young man and wanting him to want me in return, feels wrong. Shame and guilt swell inside me.
I dart my eyes away, breaking the connection. This way I can hide any doubts or negativity he might find there. Keeping my eyes off him also helps me stay strong so I don’t throw myself against his chest, wind my fingers through his hair and pull his head down to meet my lips. I can’t, do that, no matter how much I want to, because I’m enjoying this connection with him too much to risk doing anything that might sever it.
His face inches in, just a bit closer. I meet him half way. That I can do, but he has to initiate it. I inhale and stay focused on his eyes, and not the warmth of his breath bushing against my lips.
Centimeters separate us. I stand perfectly still. I don’t move. I don’t close the distance any further because I’m afraid. I want to kiss him more than anything at this moment, but the thought terrifies me.
Turns out, I don’t have to worry about it. Chance lets go of me, drops his eyes, and reaches for his phone. The moment is gone, and I’m crushed. Overwrought with disappointment. Because I doubt either of us will allow things to get so heated again. It would be Irresponsible. Dangerous.
“C’mon,” he motions his head toward the door. “Your chariot has arrived.”
“My chariot?”
He raises his eyebrows and starts toward the door.
I take a few deep breaths as I follow him. I think I’ll be playing with my toy again later tonight. So much for forgetting about it. Looks like I might become dependent on it instead.
Chance stops suddenly and turns back to face me. I don’t realize he’s no longer moving, and bump right into a wall of warmth and thick, solid muscle. His hands grasp and hold my upper arms as he steadies me and searches my eyes once more.
“I want to kiss you, Kim. You need to know that. But I won’t. And it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to bend down and taste your sweet lips right now.”
“Why? I mean why not? I mean . . .”
He holds my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head up so that I’ll look at him. “Because,” he cuts me off. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid you’re not ready, and if I move too fast, you’ll shut down and push me away.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because it does. Now don’t look so disappointed. Just know that when the time is right, I’m going to kiss you long and hard while I hold you pressed up against me. And when I do, I’ll work my hardest to make sure you’re not thinking about anything but that kiss. Our first kiss. And I have no intention of it being our last kiss.”
I nod.
“And one more thing, Kim. It’s going to be the best kiss of your life.”
Chapter 8
“Thank you, but I can’t drive this,” I say, looking at the shiny red Camaro parked in my driveway. I don’t know what strings Chance pulled, but I’m too pre-occupied and unnerved by his promise a moment ago to understand what accepting this means.
“Yes you can. You need a car, I got a car for you. Problem solved.”
Timmy joins us outside just in time to hear me decline the very generous car Chance’s auto-body-friend dropped off. My son’s eyes light with excitement.
“C’mon, Mom, it’s a ZL1 all my friends at school will be jealous,” Timmy insists.
“It’s not practical. And you won’t be the one driving it.”
“Who cares? It’s lit. Please, Mom?”
“Why don’t you take it for a ride?” Chance asks with challenge strong in his eyes.
I hesitate. Chance steps forward, opens the driver’s side door and leans on the frame. I swear if he didn’t just let me down a few minutes ago, I’d think this was an invitation to pull him in the car and fuck his brains out.
Draped on the
car door like that he reminds me of a television game show model, showing off prizes. He’s definitely in the wrong profession. He should be selling cars at a for-women-only lot. He’d be raking in the money because he looks even sexier like this than usual, and I didn’t think that was possible.
I hate that all Chance needs to do is lean on something and stare at me to make me feel warm and gooey inside, while at the same time hot, wet and wanton on the outside. He stares his eyes into mine, and I wonder if he does that because he knows it makes me tingle all over.
“Get out of your comfort zone. What’s the harm in trying something new?”
The question feels loaded. Like he’s talking about more than the car. The rise of his eyebrow confirms it. In the next heartbeat Chance tosses the keys at me. Instinctively I reach up and catch them mid-air.
“Fine. We can take it for a ride, and then you can call your friend and tell him to take it back. I’m sure a car like this is way out of my budget. I can only pay what the insurance company is going to give me.”
Chance smirks. He’s cocky and self-assured and I want to smack that look off his face. With my lips.
“I don’t think it’s as far out of reach as you think. We’ll see what we can work out if you like it.”
I sit behind the wheel, and adjust the seat and mirrors. I’m nervous to drive. I shouldn’t be. I mean a car is a car. But less than two hours ago, I did nothing wrong and still ended up sandwiched in the middle of a crash. I take a deep breath then back the car out of my driveway, easing off the brake. When I step on the gas for the first time, I want to be facing forward.
“Take it on the highway,” Chance instructs after I drive a few blocks.
“I don’t know.” I want to, but I have no intention of keeping the car.
“C’mon, Mom, do it! Do it!”
“Fine.”
Sitting in the driver’s seat, I enjoy the power of the engine when I accelerate. It doesn't take much for the engine to come to life. The wheel is super responsive when I make an adjustment. I’m surprised when I look at the speedometer. We’re doing eighty down the highway. I have no idea I’m driving this fast. Chance is right. This car is fun to drive. A lot of fun.
I feel something I haven’t in a long time. Young and free. The only problem I’ll have driving this car is that when mine is fixed I might not want to give it back.
“So what do you think?”
“I like it, but like I said, I’m not sure I can afford . . .”
“It won’t cost you anything.”
“You can’t ask that of your friend. Business is business.”
“It’s my car. I’m selling it. I thought I’d get some good exposure at his shop where people might be in the market to buy when they find out how much fixing their car will be. I can wait a few more weeks until your car is fixed.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or don’t want to?”
“Both.” Something akin to guilt fills my chest and wrings my heart. Accepting this would be taking advantage of him.
“Why not?”
“It’s yours.”
“You were considering it when you didn’t know it was mine.”
“You’re selling it. You need the money. What if something happens to it? I’d feel terrible, and I wouldn’t be able to replace it.”
“I don’t need the money. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to have a little extra, but I’m fine financially. The car was a gift, so it’s been paid off. Right now it’s just collecting dust because no one is using it. And if anything happens, that’s what insurance is for.”
I open my mouth, but before I can utter a word, he interrupts me. “I’m loaning it to you, that’s all. No strings attached.”
I don’t speak for a few seconds. I let his words sink in. He makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is that simple and I’m just making too much of it. Part of me is disappointed with his no strings comment. I sort of wish he’d want something from me sexually in exchange for use of the car.
Something is wrong with me. I hate that he’s awakened the sexual part of my brain. No doubt it expects my body to follow suit.
“Okay,” I agree.
“Great. Now, let’s go for pizza. None of us have eaten, and I’m sure Timmy’s hungry. He worked up an appetite at practice today.”
More time with Chance Carter. That’s music to my ears. I work to keep my face blank so he won’t know my insides are wiggling and jiggling like Jell-O on a trampoline.
*
In an attempt not to run into any of his students, Chance suggests going for pizza a few towns over. It’s only a fifteen minute drive, but decreases the likely hood of running into anyone either of us know.
Timmy’s very talkative over dinner. He dominates the conversation with useless facts about Italy, pizza and how it’s made. Turns out his “friend” Arianna brought homemade pizza into school for him to try. She’s taking an Italian cooking class and brings him samples of the things she cooks. Right now cooking is her go to activity. I can think of a lot worse.
I know she means a lot to my son from his enthusiasm. He’s never been one to get excited over eating. Sure he likes when I bake treats for him, but he’s never, not one time, gone on about anything I made the way he’s going on about Arianna’s pizza.
“The crust was amazing. It wasn’t just a regular crust. I mean it was but it sort of tasted like a garlic knot. I’ve never had crust like that. It was almost as good as her bread. The bread was different though. It was sweet and almost tasted like the bread grandma makes for Easter. And next week she starts working on desserts. She’s going to make cheesecake and cannolis.”
Timmy goes on and on. I listen in fascination, curious about this girl, and why he hasn’t mentioned one thing about her before now. Obviously she’s important to him, because I haven’t seen his eyes shine like this since . . . his father was alive.
“Arianna’s a really nice girl,” Chance says, as if he knows where my mind is going. “When you meet her, I think you’ll like her.”
It bothers me that Chance knows more about the girl Timmy’s crushing on than I do. And clearly Timmy doesn’t have a problem talking to his coach about her. When I bring Arianna up, I get shot down.
“Why would Mom meet her?”
“Because she’s your friend. And I like getting to know your friends,” I answer.
“Yeah, but not girls, Mom. C’mon, you don’t need to know every girl I talk to.”
“From the way it sounds, she’s not just a girl you talk to. She sounds like a lot more than that.”
“Jeez, I didn’t know being friends with a girl was such an issue for you.”
I have no fucking idea where this attitude is coming from, but I don’t like it. I’m about to unleash everything I’ve kept bottled up since the earlier accident on my ungrateful son, when Chance beats me to it.
“Tim, you need to watch your tone.”
“Whatever.” Timmy gets up and stalks off to the bathroom.
I consider following after him, but I know that won’t do an ounce of good. I’ll end up making a scene and the last thing I want to do right now is draw attention to the fact that we’re here with Mr. Carter. If there is anyone from the neighborhood that recognizes us, rumors will spread like wildfire in school.
“Will you be okay for a minute?” Chance asks, his eyes glued to Timmy.
“Yeah, fine,” I lie.
Chance follows after Timmy. I guess that’s better than me going bat-shit-crazy on my son in front of everyone. Alone at the booth, I use the opportunity to pay the bill before Chance can. It’s just a small token for all the help he’s given me tonight.
The guys come back laughing, and like a disappearing act in a magic show, the attitude that crawled up my son’s ass is gone without a trace. I guess whatever happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom.
“You want to tell your mom, or should I?”
Timmy shrugs, then jumps in and beats Chance to the
punch.
“Mr. Carter’s going to work with me, and teach me some wrestling moves on Saturday’s.”
“I know the season is almost over,” Chance works his green eyes on me, and he has my full attention. “I don’t have as much time to work with Timmy during practice as I’d like, because I’m a bit spread out, but if you don’t mind, I’m happy to give him a little one on one time on Saturdays.”
“You want to do this?” I ask my son.
“Are you for real?” Timmy’s eyes grow to twice their normal size. “I would love it. And this way I have a real shot at making the high school team next year.” His excitement is infectious. I feel it bubbling up around me. Or maybe that’s my own excitement because I know I’m going to be seeing a lot more of Chance Carter.
Chapter 9
I pull into my driveway. No one moves to get out of the car. Seconds pass in silence. I think they turn to minutes. It feels like it, but I’m sure that’s just because I’m nervous and feeling unsure of myself. I expect Timmy to rush to get out, but he doesn’t.
“Hey, Mr. Carter, were you ever in a band?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think my son is trying to keep his coach here. Looks like none of us are ready for the night to end.
“Nah, I’m not what you’d call musically inclined.”
“Oh.” Timmy goes on for about five minutes, telling Chance the plans he has to put a band together, and how he wants to market it.
When my son is finished, I jump in. “Would you like to come in for coffee?” I ask, yawning.
“I’d love to, but I think I should let you get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
I want to protest, tell him I have too much adrenaline pumping through me, mixed with lustful thoughts of him. There’s no way I’m going to rest. Instead, I agree.
Chance opens the glove box and checks to make sure the insurance and registration are where they are supposed to be.
“Take my cell. This way if you have any questions about the car,” his eyes turn toward the back seat, “you can call me.”
