by L. B. Dunbar
“Fuck, you’re better than porn, beautiful.” He reached for something outside the screen and wiped his fist.
I laughed, rolling to my side to face him. “Not quite.”
“My private porn star,” he muttered. His laptop rose and movement rattled my view of him. The mattress dipped, and he settled on his own bed. Setting the computer in the same manner as mine, he lay facing me, propped up on an elbow. The position was awkward, with computer screens and not so perfect angles, but it was as close as we could get.
“I love you, darlin’,” he said, his raspy voice lowering.
“I love you, too, baby.”
His plump lips curled. “You know I love it when you call me that.” We just stared at one another a moment. “I wish I was there.”
“Me, too. I’d kind of…it’s been hard for me.” I swallowed down the nerves to speak my mind. “I wish we lived closer. I want to see you. In person.” His eyes opened wide, and I worried I’d said too much. As if I love you wasn’t revealing enough, but they were only words. Admitting to my desire to live closer, spend more time with him, be near him, seemed more exposing.
“Hang on.” He disappeared and returned with his phone, lying back down. “What time do you get off work on Friday?”
“Around five.” I hadn’t told Tommy that I accepted The Nights concert ticket. I told myself it was nothing. Max was younger than me by a few years, but we were close enough in age. We’d been chatting more often about personal things, as well as business, and the attention was refreshing. He seemed tortured that he only had his kids twice a week and every other weekend. He said his ex-wife had been his best friend, and strangely they remained amicable despite their separation. It didn’t change the fact he still missed his children. He was alone, like me, and I’d convinced myself a concert wasn’t a date, just two lonely people listening to music. It wasn’t that I wanted to date someone other than Tommy, but I didn’t want to be alone any longer.
“Can you get off work earlier?” Tommy addressed me, but stared on his phone, and I grew a bit agitated that I lay under his leather jacket, replete and warm, while he played with his cell phone.
“Why?” He chuckled at my response, and my phone pinged on my dresser. Flipping his phone to face me, my eyes narrowed, but I couldn’t read the information.
“Grab your phone, darlin’.” I sat up and reached for it. Opening up the text messages, he had typed, Check email. Clicking over to my email, I found a confirmation message from an airline.
“What’s this?” I snorted, staring as I read the information. Friday afternoon flight from O’Hare Airport to SFO, San Francisco International Airport. “You sent me a plane ticket?”
“I told you, you say you love me and you want to see me, and I’ll bring you here. I’ll be in that area this week.” He was proud of himself; it showed in his expression. “It’s the first time you asked.” He’d been waiting for those words from me, and I wanted to kick myself for holding out on saying anything sooner.
So much for the concert.
That Friday, I was going to California for the first time in my life.
14
California dreaming
His mouth crushed mine as he met me at the airport. It was almost embarrassing, but it had been weeks since our lips had been together, and he devoured me, publicly.
The coolness of San Francisco accosted me in a good way. I’d left behind zero-degree temperatures, so I was thrilled to shed my heavy jacket. Tommy took my bag and held my hand as he led me to his car. The vehicle wasn’t exactly what I pictured him driving, and I stared at it.
“Is that a ’65 Mustang in robin egg blue?”
“You know cars, darlin’?” I knew even less about cars than I knew of music, but this car I recognized.
“This is my dream car,” I sighed, swiping a finger along its curved edges as I passed to the passenger side.
“Oh, yeah?” His voice teased, husky and puddle-plopping. “What did you dream of doing in a car like this?” I looked up to find his eyebrow wiggling, hinting, and I laughed.
“I’d dream of you doing me on that hood.” Tommy stared at me, bracing his hands on the trunk where he’d just placed my suitcase. He stalked toward me without a word, his face dropping. When he reached me, he almost knocked me over as he pressed me into the passenger side door and kissed me hard. He wasted no time, lowering his hips and grinding into me.
“God, I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. He opened my door, and I sat on the leather seats, rubbing my hands up and down the worn canvas. It was a beautiful car, a musician’s car, and one that cried badass and carefree. He lowered to his seat and started the engine, which purred. Pulling onto the highway, I got a glimpse of the hazy surrounding area.
“Fog,” Tommy clarified. “It isn’t a joke.” Neither was the traffic. Chicago didn’t even rival this standstill. Eventually, we broke free as we seemed to be travelling north.
“Where we headed?” I asked, hinting at my unasked question. Why wasn’t he taking me to his home in LA?
He drove with his right hand, and his left hand ruffled the bands at his wrist—a set of wooden brown beads, a solid silver bangle, and a leather strap. Jiggling them, he seemed nervous.
“I thought I’d take you some place special.” His eyes shifted to me before returning to the road.
“Okay,” I smiled.
“Yeah?” His lips curled.
“Sure.”
“We’re going to Napa. I know a vineyard inn there that’s private.” He was elusive, and it sounded romantic, but the privacy thing struck me.
“Are you worried that people would recognize you?” He shrugged and replied. “It happens.”
Another thought occurred to me.
“Are you worried people would see you…with me?” His head spun to face me, briefly blinking in shock before gazing back out the front window.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” The pause lasted a beat. “I mean, look at me.” I waved a hand before myself. “And look at you.” I dismissively flung my hand in his direction as my heart dripped like candlewax to my stomach. “We don’t exactly match.”
“What?” His voice rose, irritation lacing the edges.
“I mean, you’re all leather and I’m not even lace. I’m just cotton and occasional pearls.” Come to think of it, I hadn’t worn my pearls since I met Tommy, but that was beside the point.
“Darlin’, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re Lawson Colt and I’m just Edie Williams,” I said exasperated.
“First,” he bit. “I am not Lawson Colt. I’m me, Tommy Carrigan. And second, you’re more than just pearls, although you’re just as precious and pure. I like that about you. It makes you different than the bullshit I see.”
“Different,” I sighed, my shoulders lowering as I stared out the window.
“Yes, different, in a good way, in the best way. You aren’t assuming. You aren’t scheming. You aren’t money hungry, or gold digging, or even recognizing of who’s who. You’re just you, and I love it. I love you,” he said adamantly.
“I just worry that I’m not enough.”
He sighed as he swiped a hand through his hair. The silver shimmered in the sunshine. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
“No,” I scoffed, startled by the accusation. The hint sounded precariously similar to something David would say to me and that dripping-wax heart melted. He shifted so his left hand held the steering wheel and his right hand reached for me. Taking my hand in his, he lifted it and kissed my palm.
“Edie, you’re everything I need.” The comment gave me momentarily ease, so I let my worries flicker away.
After an awkwardly silent ride, we arrived at The Vineyard Inn, the ironic name of a quaint and secluded resort. The older couple who owned the place told us they had been married for over fifty years. I loved their wrinkled faces and the sly smiles they gave one ano
ther. Hard work and long love made them beautiful.
That night, we had a very quiet dinner despite other patrons in the restaurant. An eerie feeling surrounded me as I scanned the couples. I was quickly learning the guests were not there to intermingle but to not be seen.
“This place is famous for the rich and famous,” Tommy explained. He nodded toward a couple. “Movie director. She’s not his wife, but his assistant.” Peering over my shoulder, I tried not to stare. Their age difference had to be over twenty years.
Shifting his eyes to my right, Tommy continued. “Movie industry exec and a girlfriend, also not his wife.” I briefly took in the more age-appropriate match. Then Tommy tipped his head toward the bar. “World champion MMA fighter. That is his wife.” The brunette beauty giggled softly behind the bar as she served her husband a drink. “Her grandparents own the place,” Tommy clarified, and I remembered the older couple who registered us.
“Just be thankful the first wives’ club isn’t in session this weekend.”
“What’s that?” I laughed nervously, sipping my Californian rosé to disguise the dread creeping over my skin as I awaited his explanation.
“A group of barracuda women on the rebound from their divorces. They’re first wives of the famous and they come here to celebrate their freedom.” He air-quoted the second statement. “They have no shame.”
I suspected Tommy had been the recipient of such a celebration. Moreover, he’d probably brought a woman here previously for its privacy. The place suddenly didn’t hold the romantic appeal I had imagined, knowing I didn’t qualify as the second wife, but more likely a third or fourth woman he’d brought here. I took another sip of my wine to divert my attention.
The weight of his stare pressed on me as I remained quiet. “You don’t like it.”
“I do,” I said too emphatically. “It’s just a bit surreal. I feel like I’m having a clandestine affair instead of a romantic weekend away.” Then again, we were lovers. Nothing more.
Tommy sat back, his head bobbing. He tugged at his plump lips with his teeth and a hardness filled his eye. I’d hurt his feelings, and I laid my hand on the table, but he didn’t reach for me. My feelings hurt instead.
“So, what did you have planned for this weekend?” he asked, swaying the conversation.
I took a deep breath as I withdrew my hand, lowering it under the table as if ashamed of myself. “I was supposed to go to a concert.”
Tommy’s brows shot up in excitement. “Oh yeah, who?”
“The Nights.” Tommy whistled low in response. “That’s some serious shit, that band.” He leaned forward, crossing his elbows on the table. “How’d you get that ticket? And why didn’t you tell me?”
I didn’t speak for a half a second, but I watched as his brain clicked.
“Were you going on a date?” He teased, but his dark eyes narrowed.
“No,” I sputtered. “No, not exactly.” His eyes widened.
“Well, what exactly was it?” he spat, his head lowering as he realized his voice rose too loud in the hushed surrounding.
“Just a friend going with a friend.”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed on mine. “What friend?”
I chewed at my lip, tugging so hard, it burned. “Max.”
“Your boss?” He sat up and slapped a hand on the small table, jiggling it under the pressure.
“Yes.” My voice was so low, it was hardly a whisper. Tommy signaled for the check. When the waitress came to the table, he told her our room number and stood without a glance at me. I stood as well, thanked the girl, and followed his large stride. I didn’t race to catch him. His anger filled the void between us, and it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have been honest. Actually, I shouldn’t have accepted the concert invitation, but I’d been alone so long, so often, and I didn’t see anything wrong in wanting company, even if it was my boss. My attractive boss, who might be paying too much attention to me.
I followed Tommy into the room, where he stood with a hand braced on the wall. He stared out the window, despite the darkness of the night.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accepted.”
“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have accepted.” He pressed off the wall and spun to balance against it with his back. He glared at me across a small room that felt just as wide as the miles between us.
“You don’t have to raise your voice.”
“Raise my voice?” His teeth clenched. “I’m pissed. What else should I do?”
I stared at him. “Maybe tell me what this is.” I waved a hand between us. “Tell me what we have.”
“I love you, Edie, isn’t that enough?” It was. But it wasn’t.
“Where are we going? Is this a relationship? Are we exclusive? I don’t really know what you’re doing when you’re socializing for business. You went to the Grammy’s, for God’s sake.”
“I explained that,” he huffed, exasperated with me. He had explained. The band had been nominated, and the tickets distributed long before I was even a thought to him.
“I didn’t predict you, darlin’”, he had teased, making light of the fact I came into his life after the nomination. It didn’t bother me that I didn’t go, but it was another reminder that he was famous, and I wasn’t anywhere near him. I had no idea what he did at that event amongst the beautiful people, but I could only imagine.
“You did,” I replied, not wishing to argue about something I had no control over. We glared at each other a moment, an impasse of crossed arms and strong wills. “So…”
“So?”
“What are we? Are we a clandestine affair, is that why we didn’t go to your house? Are you hiding me from someone?”
He huffed as his arms flared and then smacked on his jean-clad thighs. “I thought it would be romantic.”
“And it is,” I said, stepping toward him, but realizing our disagreement was ruining it. “But I wanted to see your home. I want to know where you live, so I can envision you there. I want to know how you decorate, where you grocery shop, where you take your runs.” My heart raced as my voice stressed the things I desired to learn about him. His shoulders sagged and his head lowered. His arms returned to cross over his chest. “I’m sorry that I’ve ruined this.” I plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to learn more about you and your real life.”
It was too intimate to want those details. Did he prefer bananas or apples? Potatoes or pasta? Orange juice or water? I lowered my head, a war within my mind of all the mundane things I wanted to know, as if I could capture his history and speed it towards the present, making up for lost time and years of never knowing him. It was a ridiculous thought.
I sensed him walking, and my eyes closed briefly, preparing for him to walk away.
Then another thought occurred. I seemed ungrateful for this weekend, when I wasn’t. He’d flown me here. He’d brought me to this beautiful inn. We were alone. I wanted him…I just wanted a little more of him, the man, not the extravagance. Shaking my head, I realized I made no sense to myself. I was being foolish. I should just live in the moment.
He surprised me when he sat in a chair diagonal from me. His elbows rested on his thighs and his hands cupped together.
“You really want to know those things about me?” His voice lowered, somber and hesitant. Looking up, I saw him staring at his fingers.
“Yes,” I sighed, breathless. His eyes met mine.
“Why?” Startled by the question, I had only one answer.
“Because I love you. That means I want to know everything about you. At least, for me that’s what it means.”
He nodded slowly and sat back in the chair, his arms shifting to the rests. He seemed lost in thought, his mind drifting away, and I worried he wanted to return me to Chicago.
I stood and crossed the short distance, folding to my knees before him. My hands covered his thighs.
“I’m sorry. If you want to send me home, you can.”
“I don’t want to sen
d you home, darlin’,” he said, reaching forward and brushing my growing hair behind my ears. His eyes roamed my face. When he looked at me like that, I felt naked—not undressed, but exposed, like he wanted to see inside my soul, like he questioned who I was, and what I wanted from him.
There was only one way I felt I could reach him. My fingers hesitantly stretched for his belt.
“Edie?” The seriousness of his voice spurred me on. I unclasped the buckle, and he shifted his hips. Next, I slid down the zipper. Tugging at the sides of his jeans, I jostled him like a rag doll. He lifted his hips enough for his pants to free the thick shaft. My mouth watered, and I brushed my fingers up the ridged length, circling the tip with a delicate stroke, and then holding him upright. I rose up on my knees and lowered my lips, swallowing him deep, sucking hard and swirling my tongue. He jolted in my mouth, the wetness increasing the slide. My cheeks hollowed, drawing him deeper, tugging at the firmness as he filled my mouth. I forced back the gag reflex and lowered myself further until he reached the back of my throat. A hand came to the back of my head, and he held me steady. Tangling my tongue over him, I pulled back only to lower rapidly.
He hissed without endearment or my name, his fingers folding into my hair. I opened wider, swallowed deeper, and sucked harder. He pulsed in my mouth without warning, the first jolt surprising me, but I took what he gave. Eventually, his hand stilled on my head, and he gently tugged at my hair. I released him and gazed up at him. He stood, cupping me under my arms and dragging me two steps before we fell to the bed, not speaking the entire time. As we tumbled and then bounced, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close, but far enough so he could see my face.
“I don’t want to send you home, darlin’,” he said in that quiet, low voice he could sometimes have. “I want to make my home with you.”
The words startled me. “What?” The shaky question quietly squeaked.
“I want to take you to my home, but if I did, I’d never want you to leave.” I didn’t believe what he was saying. Not that he wanted to imprison me, nothing like that, but more…was he asking me to move in with him? That was crazy. We’d only know each other six or seven weeks.
