High Stick

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “You’re quiet,” Jarrett said.

  “I’m full. You fed me well.” But I’m also full of fear, doubt, the desire to run away from you, the desire to run to you. Too fast, too much. What if I’m a phase? What if I’m not?

  What she needed was some distance from him. Good thing he was going to Chicago in the morning. Only that might not be far enough and it definitely wasn’t soon enough.

  “Where do I turn to get to your house?” Jarrett asked.

  “Hell and damnation!”

  “Hell and damnation?” Jarrett said. “Both? Is it really as bad as all that?”

  “I let you miss the turn. Turn right at the next street. We’ll have to backtrack a little.”

  He swung the truck into the right lane. “Won’t be the first time I’ve had to backtrack. I have a terrible sense of direction. Before I had a navigation system, I had back seat full of maps and directions that I had printed off.”

  She laughed. The image of him driving with no clue where he was going settled her down some. “Turn right at the next corner, then right again. Yes. Now left. Third house on the left.”

  He pulled into the driveway and looked at the big, brick Victorian house. “Wow. Turrets. Apparently, Bridgestone arena pays suite attendants more than I thought. Or maybe it’s the ribbon selling.”

  “Hardly. The house belongs to an older couple—retired law professors from Vandy. I live in the carriage house out back.” Now, wasn’t that rich. That would be handy when the carriage crashed. She could crawl into her bed. “They always rent to a law school student.” She’d been afraid that they would kick her out when she took a year off, but they hadn’t.

  Jarrett looked around and nodded. “I was turned around, but I’ve been here before. This is the street where Emile and Amy are moving. Yeah. Just there.” He pointed across the street. “Across the street, two houses down. Emile brought me over.”

  “I’m betting they won’t be living out back.”

  “Uh, no. The people who live here—am I blocking them in? Or out?” he asked. “Should I move?”

  Did he think he was going to be here that long—that he was coming in? That couldn’t happen. Things were confusing enough. Sure, she’d told him she didn’t have casual sex, but that had been after impromptu pizza. He might think now that he’d driven her to a restaurant and ordered extra lobster for her potato that they weren’t casual anymore. She’d be willing to bet that 99.9 percent of the world’s problems could be solved if people would just get on the same page about definitions of words. Everyone should be required to memorize Merriam-Webster before being turned out in polite company.

  “It’s fine to park here. I doubt if they’re out or going out. Even if they are, they can get around you.”

  “If you’re sure. I don’t want to make things hard for you.”

  Then don’t try to come in. Maybe she should just jump out of this skyscraper truck and run—provided she didn’t break her leg when she landed, which she very well might since she had no parachute.

  But no. By the time she had her seat belt unbuckled, he was opening her door and reaching for her. This time when he helped her down, he didn’t just hold on to her and help her give a little hop.

  This time he lifted her and let her slide down his body—and damn it felt good, good to be close, to feel his warmth, to smell him. Once her feet were on the ground, they looked at each other for a long moment until she pulled away.

  “I’ll just see you to the door.” Good. He knew he wasn’t coming in. But instead of taking her arm like he’d done before, he put his arm around her shoulders.

  Chances were he was going to kiss her—or try. He’d asked before and she’d said no.

  “You left your porch light on,” he said when they arrived at her door. “Smart. I like someone who thinks ahead.”

  “I try.” She mounted the step and took her key out. Looked like there was no attempt at a kiss coming and that was for the best. Had any fifteen-year-old ever worried over the possibility—or lack thereof—of a kiss like this? Maybe that’s because you’ve never wanted to kiss anyone this much before.

  “Let me.” He took the key and unlocked the door. “Here’s your key.”

  She turned to face him. “Thank you for dinner. It was—”

  He didn’t ask; he didn’t give any warning. He cupped her face with a hand on each cheek and began to kiss her—began because this kiss could not be summed up in the past tense, as in, “He kissed her.” She could tell this kiss was going to have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

  And she had a feeling that by the time the end came, she would be changed.

  His mouth was soft and barely open at first. Then he urged her lips open with the tip of his tongue and at the same time took his hands from her face and enfolded her fully in his arms. It was not a cognitive act, but an instinctive one when she encircled him with her arms under his jacket and flattened her hands against his back.

  At that, he made a sound—not a moan exactly, but a pleased sound. He tangled his tongue with hers and—though she didn’t know who moved, him, her, or both—they were against each other thighs to face.

  He wanted her. The undeniable evidence was there.

  And though there was no obvious evidence, she wanted him, too. This was not the first time she’d felt desire, but never this much and never from one kiss. It felt good and bad all at the same time.

  He must have felt her tense, because he pulled back and smiled. Their arms were still around each other and it would be so easy to bury her face in his neck. But she didn’t dare. In a night that had already been a carriage ride of emotion, she couldn’t add one more thing—especially not the thing she’d wanted to do ever since the first time she’d set eyes on him.

  “I should tell you something,” she said.

  Their faces were still close together and his fell.

  “Oh, no,” he said.

  “What do you mean ‘oh, no’?”

  “When someone says they should tell you something, it’s never about how great you are or the puppy you are about to get.”

  That lightened her mood, if not his.

  “I could get you a puppy.”

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there? The night we met you told me you weren’t involved with anyone. You got involved with someone between that wedding and when I got back.” He paused, seemed to take in what he’d said, and then looked a little chagrined, as if he’d realized that what he’d said was utterly ridiculous. “You’re married, aren’t you? I was putting together a dollhouse on Christmas Eve night with four thousand pieces—all the while thinking about you—and you were getting married. Probably to some soccer player. Or baseball. Shuffleboard.” A look of mock horror washed over his face. “It’s a figure skater, isn’t it? You have married a figure skater and his toe picks.”

  “If I’d married someone, would I be out with you tonight?”

  “Did you decide to become a missionary?”

  “A missionary? Really? My daddy wishes.”

  His face went still. “I’m sorry. What did you want to tell me?”

  “You know how I told you that I don’t have casual sex?”

  He nodded. “Yes. And I told you if I was looking for casual sex, I’d be having it.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  He wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

  “First, you must understand there is nothing wrong with me.”

  “I never thought there was.”

  “This is a choice I have made.”

  “Then you need to tell me, because I’m as lost as I was that time in Atlanta when my GPS went out and I didn’t have a map.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m not a virgin, but I’m not too far removed. I had one short relationship a long time ago, and I decided that the next time I had sex it would be with the person I would always have sex with—for the rest of my life. I am celibate by choice.”

  His mouth formed a p
erfect O.

  She went on. “It’s my choice. As I said, there’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing happened to make me fear sex. I’m looking forward to it at the right time with the right person. I can’t say my decision has nothing to do with my upbringing, but it’s not that I think I’m going to hell if I have casual sex. And I am not trying to please my daddy. I just considered it all and that’s what I decided. To wait. And I have.”

  Finally, Jarrett spoke. “This is a surprise, but good for you for making your own choice.”

  “I just felt I needed to tell you because if we see each other again—”

  “We will see each other again,” he said. “Or we will if I have anything to say about it.”

  “It has become clear that there is attraction.”

  “I would have to agree with that.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a tease—or for you to call me that.”

  He cupped her face in his hands again and looked at her for a long moment. “Merry, how could I think that? You told me you don’t have casual sex.”

  Was this man too good to be true? “All right.”

  Phase. Crashing carriage. Confusion. Maybe she’d just ride it out and see what happened. If it was nothing, okay. If it was something—she would have to tell him about the calendar. But she wouldn’t worry about that right now.

  “I’m guessing you’ve warned a few others, but they didn’t believe you or thought they could change your mind. When that didn’t work out, they said mean things to you.”

  Maybe he was sometimes a blunderer like he said, but he got this loud and clear.

  “Pretty much.”

  “You know what I say to that? They were boys—no matter how old they were. Snot-nosed boys who should have been beaten and put into time-out. But I am a grown ass man. And I believe you.” He stroked her jaw lines with his thumbs. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “And actually, my views aren’t too far removed from yours.”

  Oh, no. He was a virgin. He was better than she was in every way. She might as well run now, run fast and far. “You’re a virgin!” she blurted.

  He laughed and shook his head. “Far from it. But except for one brief, regrettable time in college after I’d had my heart broken, I have only had sex with women who I thought I would marry. Now, did I have sex with them because I was convinced there was a future, or did I convince myself there was a future so I could have sex? I don’t know. I never will. But I do know this.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “This is different. I know it’s soon, but we could be amazing together. I’ll give you all the time you need to come to the same conclusion. And I’ll respect your convictions. Are we clear?”

  “Yes.” Her knees were weak and she was lightheaded. Was this too good to be real? Was he? If everything he said was true, maybe he would understand about the calendar. Maybe she should go ahead and tell him now before they got in any deeper. But no. Even if she were convinced this moment was right, there was no time.

  He kissed her, but lightly this time. “Then go on in the house. An old-fashioned grown ass man doesn’t leave a woman standing outside. And I’m going to go home and pack.”

  He didn’t leave until she locked the door behind her and waved to him from the window.

  • • •

  Jarrett knew the way home from the main drag, but getting there from this maze of neighborhood might be tricky. He pressed the voice activation button on his steering wheel.

  “Go home,” he said, and like magic, a map appeared on the screen and the robot voice told him to proceed to the end of the street and turn right.

  If only there were a guidance device for relationships.

  Celibate by choice. He had not seen that game changer coming. He had not lost sight of what she’d said about not having casual sex, but when they’d been kissing he’d started to wonder what it would take to advance to where sex would not be casual. He hadn’t had a clue, but now he figured it was a lot more than he’d thought.

  “It has become clear that there is attraction,” she had said in her prim little way. Attraction—that was going light. It was more like a bonfire, and she felt it too. The second he’d touched his mouth to hers, they’d fueled each other until a want like he’d never known had bloomed between them. And he wasn’t over it yet. With any luck he never would be.

  How was he ever going to be worthy of her?

  He sped up. There was packing and thinking to do.

  Chapter Nine

  When Merry woke the next morning, her first thought was that Jarrett was in Chicago. Her world felt a little emptier, but a little safer too.

  He talked a good game. “We will see each other again,” he had said. “Or we will if I have anything to say about it.” But phases lasted a while and then ended. That’s why they were called phases—like the moon.

  There was something worse than a phase—a lark. She could be lark for him. A lark didn’t even rate as a carriage ride. It was more of a roller coaster ride—fun, fast, exciting, and short.

  Enough of this. She needed to shower and get to work. He’d call or he wouldn’t.

  But the rivulets of warm water running over her put her in a sensuous state of mind, and the memories of that kiss came barreling back. That had been no ordinary kiss. He’d felt it, too.

  But still—it was very possible that despite the kiss, despite his vague references to making drinks and seeing her in the future, she would never hear from him again. No reason to think otherwise. He hadn’t made any firm plans, hadn’t asked her out again.

  Out of sight, out of mind. He was gone to play hockey. He might not even think of her again. Just spending enough on her meal alone to feed an Ethiopian village for a year was no indication that he really wanted a relationship.

  And if she never heard from him again? How would she feel about that? Disappointed, certainly, but not devastated. Certainly not heartbroken.

  So really, what did she have to lose? If he showed up, she’d see him again without expectations. He could not fairly say he had not been well warned that there would be no sex. But then, men—people—were not always fair.

  The truth was, she’d been shut down since Anderson humiliated her on that ski trip and the horrific aftermath of the calendar.

  She stepped out of the shower, dried herself, and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Now for a little makeup.

  Maybe it was time to move on. Come New Year’s Eve, the calendar would be a full two years out of date, and it had been almost seven months since anyone had recognized her from it. She couldn’t go on like this forever, telling herself that there was no time, or people weren’t fair, or she wasn’t good enough.

  Her father had always espoused the necessity of forgiving yourself. He said God’s grace was a given and there for the taking, but people were harder on themselves than they needed to be. Of course, that was his general philosophy. Her parents had no idea what Merry had done. God willing, they never would.

  Though she’d considered telling him earlier, maybe Jarrett would never have to know either. It wasn’t as if she owed him—or whomever she happened to end up with—the truths of her life. She’d made a mistake and she’d borne the consequences. It was none of anyone else’s business.

  At any rate, she didn’t have to decide today.

  But whether she chose to tell Jarrett about the calendar or not, she was done letting it hang over her, done telling herself that work and law school were the reasons she wouldn’t contemplate a relationship. Had she thought that she would never have a husband and children because of a choice she’d made? When she thought about it that way, it was ridiculous.

  She felt lighter. Even if she never heard from Jarrett again, he had served a purpose. He had been the first man since she’d been Miss January who had piqued her interest, and she was letting the past go. If nothing came of Jarrett and her, there would be someone else.

  Though that didn’t sound nearly as appealing.

  She was
putting on her coat when she heard a text come through on her phone. She leapt for it like a wide receiver in the end zone at the National Championship Game.

  It was him.

  Good morning. I had a great time last night. About to go to early skate. On the plane ride over Sparks and Robbie finally talked Thor into having a New Year’s Eve party. Will you go with me?

  So there it was. The thing she’d been obsessing about. Well, maybe not obsessing, exactly, but it had crossed her mind a few times. More than a few. At least ten. That was probably obsessing. In view of all that, there was nothing she could say except:

  Yes.

  And he came back with:

  Great! I skate now.

  It was cold, but it was easier to walk to work than to find a parking place. Foolscap and Vellum was allotted two spots behind the store, which worked out well when only two of them were working, but today was not that day. Suddenly, the display in a boutique window caught her eye. She glanced at the sign. Sandrine’s Closet. She’d walked by here at least a hundred times but had never taken much notice. Even if she had been a clothes person, she couldn’t have afforded anything in this shop.

  The words Happy New Year! Get Your Glitz On were spelled with silver glitter on a banner above an antique dress form that was covered in sparkling vintage costume jewelry. Half a dozen dresses hung from the ceiling with clear wire so they looked like they were floating on air.

  What had she done? She’d fretted and fumed over New Year’s until when Jarrett finally asked, her personal code wouldn’t have allowed her to say no even if she’d wanted to. She hadn’t wanted to, but she hadn’t thought it through, either. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have imagined a party. She would have imagined a quiet dinner and maybe a walk down Broadway.

  None of that made sense. He was a pro hockey player. It was a given he would have his choice of parties. And now she had the clothing issue. Inasmuch as Nashville was a boots and jeans town, they liked some glitz, too. Oh, yes they did. She didn’t have anything like these dresses to wear to this party. But then, maybe she didn’t need a dress like this. It could be a casual party.