by Hilary Storm
My eyes travel back up to his face just in time to see that he’s enjoying the view as well. Sitting back quickly, I pull my shirt up a little to hide any cleavage that’s showing. What am I doing? Why am I reacting like this with a complete stranger? Guilt reigns over me for the next few minutes. I try to process the reasons that I feel like this. It's been a long time for me and I know that's part of it. James and I had a very active sex life and I've really isolated myself since his death. I must be sex starved; that would explain why my thoughts are complete chaos right now.
What frustrates me a little is the fact that I know this guy knows he's affecting me like this. Really, what's the harm in flirting with this guy? It's not like I'll ever see him again. This drought could go on for a decade if I don't let myself feel every once in awhile. What if?
What if I let this guy into my life just long enough for some fun and he rocks my world just like I crave? What if he rocks it so hard that I forget my damn name and where I live, which is all totally possible. Writing romance novels really does get to a girl after a while.
What if I try to get somewhere with him and he rejects me? Can my ego take that right now? Being an author really messes with your self confidence and actually traveling to New York at this moment has me nervous if I think about it at all.
What if we have sex and he decides he wants to see me again? That can't happen. Listen to me! I'm already plotting how the story will go and I've hardly said a word to him.
What if I put my ear bud back in and ignore his pompous ass for the rest of the flight and write him into my next novel? I could kill him off in the first chapter just to prove a point. I'll make it gruesome and let it be at the hands of the strong female character.
"What kind of business in New York?" He attempts to strike up the conversation once again. I could tell him that I'm an author, but why tell a complete stranger how to actually find you if he chooses to search for you?
"I'm an accountant. There’s a conference I have to attend." Neither of those statements are a lie, yet I think they will manage to keep my information private.
"Nice. I'm terrible with numbers."
"Yeah, luckily it comes easily to me. What about you?"
"Business as well. I'm doing research for a project that I'm working on."
"Oooooh. Intriguing. You have my attention now! What kind of project would have you traveling to the big city?"
"Family stuff. I promised a loved one that I'd follow up on something very important, and here I am doing what I promised."
"Man of your word, then."
"Most definitely." Okay, this is good for me. Honesty is very important to me, not that I'm looking for a relationship with him, though.
"So tell me, Miss Drake, did it hurt?" Hurt? What is he talking about?
"Not sure what you're asking."
"When you fell from heaven." Oh great! A corny ass pick up line. My laughter becomes obnoxious before I have a chance to stop myself.
"Don't be so sure that's where I'm from!"
"I can tell you're one of those good girls, straight out of the book. You don't get out much and you're okay with that. You probably stay home on the weekends and work." I really hate that I'm this transparent.
"Well, I can tell that you get around and probably use lame ass pick up lines on girls after getting them drunk, just so you can get laid."
"Damn. You see right through my plan!" My face lights up with a smile. Actually, it's one of the first smiles I've had in a very long time. "You have a very nice smile. You really should smile more often." His words make me stop and think about my life for a second. I really don't take the time to smile. My life revolves around being an author and living vicariously through my characters. My reason for smiling is gone and I can't really do anything to get that back.
"Yeah, well I'll try to work on that."
"I always try to find at least one thing every day that'll make me smile." I choose not to tell him how lonely my life is and that there really isn’t a reason to smile outside of my success as an author. Our conversation stops for a few minutes while the attendants serve the complimentary snacks. I shove mine in my bag, knowing New York City is a big place and I'll probably opt out of leaving the hotel in search of food.
"So, Livi, tell me more about yourself." I pause in thought as my mind runs wild with reasons to shut him off from any actual information about myself, but my gut feelings about him win over. Livi as a nickname kind of grew on me when it came across his lips.
"I'm a single, hard working woman who stays at home on weekends and works. I live in Phoenix and I have a dream of traveling the world one day."
"Very nice! I knew I was right about you. Where would you like to travel?"
"Oh, you know, London, Paris, Australia, Canada. Really my list could go on forever. I just want to see places that I've heard so much about."
"Sounds like you need a bucket list."
"Yeah, I guess you could say I already have one. One day I'll be able to do some of the things I have planned."
"I hope so."
"How about you? I've shared a few of my secrets, now it's your turn."
"I'm a single, hard working guy who doesn't stay at home on weekends and I also live in Phoenix, but I'm originally from Denver. I've traveled quite a bit in my life, but not for enjoyment. Maybe one day I'll be able to travel for leisure. I have four brothers and we all work together."
"That's awesome! I wish I had a brother."
"There have been days where I would've let you have them. But all in all, I'd do anything for every single one of them." He's so serious now that he's talking about his family. His mind seems to wander for a brief second before he quickly returns to give me his full attention again.
"I'd give anything for a family." My statement is cut off by the announcement that our plane will soon be entering turbulence. The thought of a rough flight doesn't settle well with me. I start to look through my phone for another song to play. I'm so used to having music on all day.
"What are ya listening to?"
"I have a huge play list, I'm just scrolling through."
"Let me choose a song for you." His finger brushes over mine when he reaches for the phone. I glance down as he removes the phone from my hand and notice his leg bumped up against mine again, but this time it doesn't irritate me.
He scrolls through my music and I watch as he hesitates, but I can't see what he's looking at. "Okay. You ready?" The song begins and an instant rush of heat flows through my body. There is no mistaking that beat. I'm not sure where the grin on my face comes from, but it spreads across my lips. I begin to move my leg with the beat, closing my eyes and allowing the music move me. It's impossible not to move your body to this song. He really did just play 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails to me. I'm going to take this as a sign that we will be pushing this a little further than conversation.
I listen to the entire song while he watches my every move. I can feel him adjust in his seat a few times while the music moves me. The pressure of his body leaning on mine gives me hope for what's to come.
When the song finishes, I don't really know how to react, so I begin to scroll again. The sexual tension is so damn tight right now I can hardly breathe and I know he feels it, too.
"What hotel are you staying at?" His whisper in my ear sends a chill straight through to my core.
"Downtown Marriott." My breathy answer proves to him that I'm game for anything. He hasn't pulled away from my face since whispering in my ear. I let my eyes move up his chest, over his lips and to his eyes. His close proximity has me holding my breath for sure. His eyes begin to move over my features right before he sits back in his seat. He's still leaning in my direction, but not right in my face so I can finally take a much needed breath of air.
The rest of the flight seems to go extremely fast and it isn't long before we land. I spend the remainder of the time contemplating what I'm about to do. It's been almost a year since James passed, but I still
really miss him. I think knowing that this will be nothing more than a one-time hookup will work for me. Anything more than that and I know I'll have a hard time,
There really isn't any further conversation between us until I step into the airport. "I'll help you with your luggage and then we can get a cab to your hotel room." He stands right behind me while we are waiting for the luggage to arrive. I'm talking right behind me and I'm guessing it's to hide the bulge that I can feel against my ass. Shit, it's been a long time and I want to do this. I refuse to let myself begin to think about my past and reasons why this shouldn't happen.
Shattered and Shaken
Shaken Series
Book 1
Written by J Bailes
Copyright © 2013 J Bailes
Chapter 1- Shaken
WAKING UP TO SORE muscles and a tight chest, my body feels like it's been torn to pieces. My head hurts, my heart aches, and my soul is shattered. The sun is unwanted, shining bright into my eyes. The loud joyful chirping of birds infuriates me.
Fighting against the sun, I force my eyes open and look at my surroundings, praying I'm lost in a nightmare. The events from this week remain fresh in my mind, and I'm having difficulty grasping the concept that Kyle's never coming home. The thought of never seeing him again is unbearable. Not only was he my brother, he was my best friend, my provider: my everything.
How could he leave me? He had promised to come home safely; he promised to think of me and push through whatever came his way. He lied. I'm hurt, but I'm also livid that he could be so selfish. When Kyle decided to join the military, he didn't consider the emotional hell he'd inflict on Mom and I; he didn't give a flying fuck about either one of our opinions. Kyle was as stubborn as a mule, and once he had his mind set on something, he made it happen - no matter what the consequences were. Prime example, him joining the military. I pleaded for him to stay, but he didn't, and look what his stubbornness resulted in - death. Now he's gone and we have no one!
Our father was diagnosed with stage-four lung cancer my junior year of high school, and Kyle's sophomore year of college. Dad's physician estimated he would live no more than six months, but he was a fighter and determined to prove them wrong. The cancer was so advanced the physicians were uncomfortable providing him with chemotherapy treatments. The doctors had explained that chemo wouldn't cure his cancer, but there was a possibility it could help prolong his life. Despite the physicians’ beliefs, dad decided to give chemo a try, but it made him deathly ill.
After six months of treatment and a two-week hospital stay, he decided to let the cancer run its natural course. Dad thrived to live, but unfortunately, he died eighteen months later. Mom, Kyle, and I watched as dad withered away to nothing. The tall, dark, and handsome man I knew as the strongest man in the world had turned brittle and weak. His thick curly locks disappeared, his broad body frame became narrow, and his muscles deteriorated. As days passed and the cancer spread, dad's will to live diminished. We stood by him and held his hand as he struggled to take his last breath; it was the most painful experience I've ever encountered - until now.
After our father's death, mom took on a second job to pay for his medical bills. It seems that insurance companies only want to provide their services to healthy patients. Get sick and they kick your ass off the policy faster than you can blink. We were determined to beat cancer's ass.
Mom had to refinance the house and take out several high interest loans so that dad could receive his treatments, home health, and follow-up doctor visits, putting her eyeball deep in debt. She worked as a nurse for the local emergency room every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. The other nights, she worked as a private nurse caring for patients with disabilities. Before our father became ill, Mom was gorgeous, sporting healthy long brown waves, glowing sun-kissed skin, vibrant green eyes, and a nice toned body. But depression set in, and with the stress of two jobs, mom's great looks and enthusiasm diminished. Her hair became brittle; her appetite vanished, and she lost an absurd amount of weight. Her cheeks sunk in, while her skin paled, and her eyes lost their shine. In all honesty, she looked like shit. Don't get me wrong, I mourned the loss of my father, but life moves on. Kyle mourned and moved on, but seeing Mom worn out and defeated made Kyle take matters into his own hands. He knew the true reason mom had to work two jobs.
Mom was a Dave Ramsey graduate, and she refused to let us take out student loans. She was being unrealistic believing I could pay cash for college. Dad's insurance policy expired before he died, and the money left from his 401k was only enough to pay for one of our tuitions. Since Kyle was oldest, it belonged to him. Kyle wouldn't allow me to skip college. He put his foot down and demanded Mom drop her second job. He advised her to take his tuition money and invest it into my education. He had made the decision after he had met with military recruiters. They fed his brain with lies, luring him into their trap; it was all bullshit. If being ‘Army strong” is such a great thing, then why must you sign a contract with your blood, huh? What other job requires you to sign a minimum four-year contract to offer up your life? Go ahead, I'll wait...not a damn one. Their contract isn't one you can breach and be forced to pay fines or anything like that. You go AWOL and breach your contract, your ass is going to jail. The only pro of enlisting into the military is that it's a career that requires no experience, and they pay a decent salary for you becoming a life-offering slave, simply my opinion.
I remained bitter for a while, but eventually, I'd adjusted to Kyle's absence; his first deployment was the most difficult. Normally, he was deployed for seven months at a time, give or take a few months. We talked to each other over the phone almost every morning. We got to speak to one another for about ten minutes, sometime less; they were the minutes I craved each day. Hearing his voice put my nerves at ease; I loved that man more than most siblings will ever admit. Every once in a while, we'd Skype, but those conversations were even shorter. Soldiers would be lined up waiting to see their families, so we made our conversations quick.
I loved seeing Kyle over the screen, but I'd hate to be the reason a child didn't get to see their mom or dad for what could possibly be their last time. The worst part of Kyle being overseas was playing the waiting game. When someone was killed in the line of duty, their systems would shut down for two weeks, or until the next of kin were notified. The silence was debilitating, and I absolutely hated waiting to hear his voice. When the phone rang and I finally heard his voice, I would fall to my knees and cry. I'd cried for the loss of soldiers. I cried for their families, but mostly, I cried out of happiness, because Kyle's heart continued beating.
I stop myself from reminiscing and untangle from my sheets. I sit up and my muscles scream out in protest. Sitting still, I allow them to adjust to the position before slinging my legs off the bed and attempting to stand. Reaching my arms above my head, I stretch out soreness that has consumed my muscles. Strolling towards my bedroom window, I pull the curtain aside and reach down to slide the window open. It's beautiful out. The sun is brightly shining. The air is warm with a slight breeze, and I hear laughter of playing children. Really?
What is Mother Nature thinking? It shouldn't be gorgeous the day after I buried one of the most important people in my life. Kyle's death is devastating and the world moves on as if nothing's happened. I feel as if Mother Nature should be unleashing her wrath on Earth. There should be heavy downpours of rain that cause floods, rolls of Earth-shaking thunder, damaging winds and lightning strikes catching shit on fire: anything but sunny. A piece of me wants someone to feel the tiniest ounce of pain my mother and I are experiencing, but another piece of me wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy. Tears prick my eyes, and I attempt to take in a few deep breaths but fail. As soon as I suck in the air, I bust into heart-wrenching sobs. Why is this happening to me? Did I not experience enough heartache watching my father lose his battle to cancer?
As I press my back against the wall and slide down to the floor, my hands cover my face and I scream
out every bit of pain that's within me. I don't stop until my tears run dry and I'm gasping for air. I try to focus on breathing but it's difficult. My sadness has turned into complete anger and I have the urge to break things, anything. I push myself up off the floor and punch at the air. I look around my room for something to smash, but there's nothing. Looking over to my side, I see picture frames filled with Kyle's smiling face; seeing him causes my heart to clench and pain surges through my veins. Jumping onto my bed, I reach over and forcefully swipe my arm across the nightstand, successfully knocking every picture of me and Kyle to the hardwood floor.
The frames break apart and the glass shatters. Immediately, I regret breaking them, but there's something about the sound of shattering glass that makes my chest feel lighter, making it easier to breathe. I should feel some sort of remorse by not wanting to look at Kyle's face, but at the moment, my heart can't tolerate the slightest glimpse of him. I'd rather surrender myself to the pain of a thousand hornet stings than to feel the pain I get when looking at someone I know I'll never see again.
I gather some towels and head towards the bathroom. Laying my towels on top of the vanity, I glance into the mirror. I look like shit. My hair's in knots and matted to the side of my face. My eyes are red and swollen, and my cheeks are tear stained with smeared mascara. I turn towards the shower and turn the water to its hottest setting, praying the heat will ease my aches and pains. I wait a few moments before sticking my hand under the water to test the temperature; it's hot but tolerable.
Gently pulling the shower curtain aside, I submerge myself into the heat. It's friggin’ hot! It stings like a mother, but eventually, my body adjusts to the temperature, and the stinging becomes bearable. I reach around and hold my hair up so the pressure from the water can beat against my neck. I roll my neck in circular motions trying to release the tension, but as I let the water relax me, I have flashbacks from the day Kyle was supposed to return home.
