by Unknown
His eyes darken with pain. I know that look well—I own it. It’s the look I hope he can’t see in my eyes or smell on me. It’s there though. Skin-deep. Maybe deeper.
Then I blurt out, “Oh, God. Are you married?”
“No! No, you’re the only... no, I’m not.”
“What is it, then?”
He places his palm on my cheek, and it takes me back ten years and forward forty.
“I can’t regret the choices I’ve made, because I needed to move forward. If I didn’t, I was gonna die. I missed you that much. But I need to be honest with you.”
“You better end the preamble,” I say as my skin prickles with fear. “You’re scaring the shit out of me.”
“I’m an adult performer.”
“Like you’re a clown or what, a politician? What the hell is an adult performer?” Shit, if he’s a politician, I’ll die.
Then I connect it: Adult performer. He must be joking. I mean, who the hell does that especially if you’re him? Handsome, nice as pie, gentle, and sweet. The country boy next door meets sexy times ten.
“Darlin’, I’m the number-one porn star in the world.”
“Hey, we back to this again?” Based on the oh-my-God-you’re-kidding-me look on her face, I guess we are. The silent treatment.
It’s there for lots of reasons. I’ve seen it on faces over the years. It’s on Sloan’s face for a very different reason though. Not because she’s about to judge me or ask why I would choose a career like porn. Or what conversation is like at the Thanksgiving table or what my parents think. No. It’s because it means a different sort of relationship for us, if—now that she knows what I do—one can even exist.
I had to tell her. I couldn’t consider having sex with her then letting her know afterwards. She has a choice now, and it won’t be an easy one. Mine is simple. I’ve never had a choice with my love for Sloan—it was an innate thing. Because, early on, my internal homing system tracked hers and the single-shot probability was no miss.
Her hand is over her mouth; her eyes are watery and wandering all over me. I can’t tell if she thinks she got me back and lost me in one damn short amount of time.
“Hey, Cricket, talk to me.” I tip her chin up, hoping she’ll look me in the eyes. “Come on, girl. How about you open that pretty, little mouth of yours and let me in on your thoughts. Because this silent communication thing you’re doing is bullshit. You can smell it, right?”
“For the record, I’m not judging you, but what exactly does this mean?” she asks, sounding like she’s walking over a pit of rattlesnakes. “What do you do? Be specific.” She smiles. It’s shy. Confused. But I’ll take it. I see fragments of that sweet child of a girl I loved long ago in that smile, who is now all woman.
The backs of our hands meet until I flip mine and curl my fingers into hers. I let out a deep breath then rip in. “I star in films I produce and direct. I have sex in all forms that are crossing your mind. Now and again, there are guys in the films. I’m not into guys, so I don’t have sex with them.”
“Are you… I mean… Have you ever…”
“Am I clean?”
She nods, as color deepens in her cheeks.
“Yeah. I have a test run monthly. I’ve never had one foul thing show up. Listen, we’re professionals. This is no college campus with dicks running rampant, exploring everything and anything. Most of us, anyways. I make a hell of a living doing this; I’m proud of the empire I’ve created, and I’m using my gifts. My brain and my body. I have no shame about it.”
“Nor should you. Like I said, I’m notjudging your choice. It’s just…”
“It’s just you don’t know if you can have a relationship with a man who’s using his body as his nine-to-five.”
“I can have a relationship, just maybe not the kind I was hoping to have. That sounds awful now that it’s come out of my mouth,” she says, rubbing the middle of her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s a lot. I know. I’m not offended, honestly. A little crushed, but hell, I didn’t know who I was going to be running into this weekend as it was. You could’ve been a nun.”
We both laugh.
“Nothing to be sorry about. We can be friends, or whatever.”
“Whatever?” she says through pursed lips. “Never thought we’d be defined by whatever.”
“Really?” My throat tightens as I narrow my eyes on hers. “Because that’s exactly how I would have defined our last ten years.”
“We have some catching up to do,” Hawke says, thrusting an impatient hand through his hair. “And you have some considering to do.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice scrapes over my throat as our eyes meet.
“Hey, it’s all right. Race you to the shore.” He stands and dives into the water.
I’ve hurt him. Again. I saw it when his eyes were downcast and his cheeks flushed with color. He’s too proud and humble to admit it. But he still has feelings for me, no question about that.
When I reach the shore, he’s there. Standing on the sandy beach, and he’s grown, must be six three. His hands are pinned behind his head. He looks like a bronzed god growing up from the ground. As I walk toward the shore with my arms across my body, he meets me in the water. Seeking a distraction, I study his feet, which are right in front of mine, and I place my toes over his. My body tingles with goose bumps when his hands touch my hip bones in a tender squeeze. Each goose bump has his name on it, and the memory of his touch.
He twists my hair into a ponytail with one hand then slants my head up to his. With his other hand, he draws a line down the center of my face until he reaches my lips. Part of me feels like he’s dividing me into two people in some metaphorical way. Oddly, that’s how I feel.
I want to ball my hands into fists and leave them hanging at my sides, where they won’t say things they might say if I touch him. Things like I need you, want you. I have to have you. Things like I’ve missed you so damn much. I was hardly alive without you. I’m sorry. I wish it hadn’t been what it was. I wish I could tell you why…but I can’t. Not yet.
My hands move of their own accord to his body. At the same time, his breath mingles with mine, his lips not yet touching my own.
Our combined swallows are loud and his eyes burn with emotion when he asks, “You think you could love me again?”
I don’t answer. I just kiss him.
He answers for me when he pulls away for a few seconds. “Maybe you don’t love me, and maybe I don’t believe you.”
If I tell him I still love him—like I do—then there’s no choice left in this thing between us. The least I can do is give this man an out before he learns what this last decade has been for me. He might want an out. I owe him that, amongst other things. But still I cling to this kiss. I’m giving him my body right now, but can I give him what he really wants? My heart, soul, and every ounce of my love? Like he finally deserves? But may not want once he knows what happened to me.
Hawke stops the passionate lovemaking he’s doing to my mouth, and it makes me want to scream from the top of my lungs, I love you! I’ve always loved you! Never, not once, stopped loving you! But I don’t, because deep inside my heart, something says, Wait. Think. Give it some time. Make sure this makes sense. Make sure you can both handle this. Because, if you don’t do right by him this time, there will never, not ever, be another chance. Do the right thing, and maybe it will all work out.
“You need time,” he says, stroking my cheek.
“I do, yeah.”
He grabs my hand, and we amble out of the water. I hop around avoiding the burn underfoot as I shake out my sundress. Hawke frowns as it slides down my body covering me up.
“Well, it was nice for that small bit of time,” he says as he rubs his forehead.
“You liked that?”
“Hell yeah I did.” Leaning toward me, he whispers against my neck, “I’ll be honest—I was hoping for a weekend full of that. And then some.”
Hawke edges us toward the shaded path, saving my feet from the sizzle. “You up at the main house?” He nods toward my folks’ place.
“No, down here in my cabin. Didn’t Mama tell you I was staying down here too?” A blush rises over my face.
“She failed to mention that. Well, good, then. Neighbors.” A dirty smirk plants itself on his lips. “You have a smart mama.”
My gaze travels down his still naked body. I guess some people are endowed with trust funds, others with beautiful body parts.
“Mama knows best,” I say through my smile, forcing my eyes to forfeit looking at anything but his mouth.
“No question about that.” He winks.
“I need a shower, and we should get ready for the rehearsal. You want to drive up there together?”
“Sure. Come to my cabin when you’re ready. We can begin the ten-year catch-up process. You know, overturn some stones, dig up skeletons.”
He has no idea what he’s saying. He couldn’t. My family knows. Well, at least what I shared. Some of it’s too much to say aloud, things I don’t think my folks could bear to hear. Things I couldn’t tell anyone. Maybe not ever.
“Hey, wait. Before you shower, c’mere.” I take hold of Hawke’s hand and lead him into my cabin.
“Holy hell, look at that.” He chuckles as I pick the duckling up from its box and hand it to him. “One leg?”
“Yeah, poor sweet baby.” I cringe.
Hawke tucks the ball of fluff under his chin just like I did. Damn, he’s good to see. Big hunk of a boy-man snuggling with this baby duckling.
“How’s this thing gonna live?”
“Please.” I roll my eyes and reach for the duckling. “You can take the girl out of the country, but—”
“Got it. Of course. What’s her name?”
“I don’t know yet. School Bus, maybe. I’ve never seen such a bright-yellow duckling.”
“School Bus?” He bursts with laughter. “You cannot be serious. What kind of name is that for a cute little thing like this? That’s awful!”
I stick my tongue out at him. “It’s a good name! Plus, I’ll need to come up with some sort of contraption for this bit of fuzz to roll around in. Her own little set of wheels. I think it’s quite fitting.”
Hawke crosses his arms over his chest as his lips form an O. A cocky, sort of you-are-still-that-crazy-girl look.
“You’re going to keep her?”
“Have you forgotten who I am? Good Lord, boy.”
“Of course not, darlin’. It’s just, it’s a duck.”
“Well, no shit. It’s obviously not a cow. Ducks make great pets. Don’t you remember Miss Paint Can?”
“Indeed, I do.” He takes the duckling from me then sits in a chair with the duck in his lap.
I chuckle, hoping to hell the duck doesn’t poop on his dick. Ducks poop a lot, as I recall.
“I’m the one who drove you into the hardware store to ask Mr. Piper for the empty paint can so you could tote that thing to school in the ninth grade. Mary friggin’ Little Lamb.”
I squat in front of Hawke as he scoots the duck toward me, nestling it between his muscular thighs. My eyes wander up his abs, stopping at his hard nipples, landing on his lips. One side lifts when he notices my blatant ogling. How will I refuse him?
“You were a nice boyfriend.”
Hawke nods. Then stands and places the tiny, now-asleep creature in her box. The second he sets her down, she squeaks. I pick her up, and she goes silent. Already imprinted. Holy smokes.
“You even helped convince the principal that my bringing Miss Paint Can to school was appropriate, considering all the kids who had to carry around eggs and not break them for that one month of sex ed.”
“You’re right. I was a good boyfriend. Okay, since you’ve admitted that, you can keep the duck. The name though? Not so much.”
“As if you have any say in either of those things! Now, get out of here and shower. Shoo!”
Hawke Slater—porn star. Shit, he looks good. Ten years on him and he’s wearing it like a prizefighter.
Now that I’m in the shower, my brain begins to process the idea of us. The second that happens, I get a swirl of excitement in my gut. I need to Google him.
I know there’s no chance he’s given his heart to anyone else—not by the way he was looking at me. Or touching or kissing or confessing. But still, every day, he’s having sex with someone else? So, how exactly would I fit into this picture? I try to imagine a conversation we might have over dinner. I’d ask him how his day was. He’d tell me he had a regular day on the set. Then, later, we’d start to fool around and I’d be thinking, Shit, he’s been with maybe four women today.
Damn all the obstacles we have now. Why the heck did he have to go and become a porn star?
Post-shower, I throw on a dress and a dusting of makeup. Then I take a few minutes to check Hawke out online.
I type in www.hawkeslater.com, glance up over my laptop, fanning my face, hoping he’s not about to walk in the door. I decide to relocate myself into a proper Feng Shui location with my body facing the door just in case he does amble on over.
Okay, let’s see you in action. I click on a random video. Holy crap, look at him go—he’s like a machine. With a big fucking dick. I turn up the volume to hear him groaning out man sounds.
I’m not turned on.
Liar.
I’m not interested in a man who does this for a living.
Lord help me. I want him.
I’m relationship mystified. How will this really work?
Bullshit.
I don’t know if I could have sex with you now, Hawke.
God, I want you in me.
Okay, then. Time to go.
“Knock knock.” I walk into his cabin. He doesn’t answer me back though. Wandering farther in, I hear his voice bellow with joy.
“That too. Holy shit! Record-breaking is right. Five? That’s huge!” A laugh booms out of him.
My senses spin. I’m home. Hawke kissed me, wants me to love him. Hawke Slater. I practically carve a heart in my mind with our initials blazing in the center of it as though I’m all of eighteen again.
“I’ll be back on Sunday. Let’s get together for lunch. I’m not shooting anything next week. We can celebrate. I love you for this, Samantha! Not sure I’d be here without you, sweetheart. You’re the best ever!”
Samantha? Sweetheart? Best ever? Oh. Got it.
Welcome home, Sloan. He has a life.
You walked out of it—just in case you forgot that little piece.
How could I ever forget I was the one?
I saunter out to the screened-in porch as heat burns my cheeks. A minute later, he finds me there fidgeting with a chunk of hair wrapped around one finger.
His gaze travels up and down my body twice. Clearly we are still in that let-me-get-an-eyeful phase.
“Hey, Cricket,” he says in a slow drawl. “You look beautiful.”
I check him out too. And besides taking in all of his handsome jean-clad, painted-on-T-shirt-wearing self, all I can think is, Hey, you looked really hot in the few minutes of porn I just watched you perform.
“Hey, yourself. In clothes. Must feel weird, huh?”
He shoots me a sideways glance. I question if he’s wondering if I checked him out online. How could I not?
“Funny girl. So, this is how you plan on doing this?”
I shrug and walk past him.
“You ready to hit it?” he asks. “Not bringing your little School Bus?”
“No, that sweet thing is sleeping. She’ll be fine—has water, food, and heat. As for me, I guess I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” I sigh. “Haven’t seen Coco in a while—can hardly believe she asked me to be her maid of honor.”
“Why? I’m assuming you guys kept in touch. Oddly, none of your dick brothers told me you were in the wedding party until recently. Though you did fall off the face of the earth, I guess they thought I might go into s
hock if they gave me much of a warning.”
I glance at his tightening jaw, hoping my voice won’t crack when I speak. “I, uh, didn’t do a good job of keeping in touch with anyone. Just my folks.”
We saunter outside, letting the screen door slam behind us. Hawke’s hand settles onto my lower back as if it never left that spot.
“Mass desertion?”
“Sounds dramatic when you put it like that.”
“It was dramatic. Traumatic. And a boatload of other ‘matics.’”
“Obviously we have some things to work through.” I grimace, then smile.
“Ya think?” He slaps my ass. That’s twice now.
We walk down the clementine path, inhaling its sweetness, a scent that will forever be locked in my mind as our scent. Losing your virginity in a clementine orchard is as close to Heaven as the guy you’re losing it to is.
We round the bend and I see her, Hawke’s old pickup. Talk about memories.
“You still have Pumpkin?”
“Cricket, I will never get rid of Pumpkin. She’s sacred.”
He opens the passenger-side door, and I jump in. Sacred. The front seat, the hood, the back bed. Music blaring, six-pack popped, kissing, wandering fingers… Sacred indeed.
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
Heat creeps into my face. How is it everything feels so comfortable and so new all at the same time? I wondered if it would. But still my stomach sinks. Who is Samantha? I can’t ask yet.
Hawke clears his throat, forcing me to glance over at him as we head toward my folks’ house.
“I’m not exactly sure where to start, so how about we begin with welcome home.” He shoots me a flashy grin as he throws his arm over my shoulders.
I get gooey on the inside. “Thanks. Yeah. I think the change of scenery is going to be nice.”
“So, LA? I hear Silver Lake.”
“The Brohicans been talking?” My stomach churns; fuck, they better not have said more. This is my story to tell.
His mouth twitches into a sarcastic smile as he nods. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get any details. Just that you were moving back.”
“Right. They’re well trained. Yeah, Silver Lake. Know it?”
