She pulls back and glances at me sharply, “You know I do. If I didn’t we wouldn’t have done what we just did,” she says with confusion and exasperation in her voice.
“Okay, I am just checking because I really love this song.” With that veiled warning, I gently scoop her up in my arms. I walk to the center of the dance floor and start swaying in a waltz-like rhythm. Kiera buries her nose in my neck, breathes deeply, winds her arms around me and threads her fingers in my hair at my nape. I feel her purr like a contented kitten. I struggle to keep my response in the PG-13 range and remember that this is a business event. I study her long eyelashes and her flushed cheeks. I notice that she has a red blush on the top of her breasts as they peek out from her dress. Hmm, they weren’t red earlier. My inner EMT perks up. I survey her carefully throughout the rest of the dance.
Kiera catches my increased scrutiny and blushes as she touches her face. “What? Do I have something between my teeth or a booger hanging out of my nose?” she demands in a distressed voice.
I kiss her, but not nearly as meticulously as I would like too. “Relax Pip, I’m a guy. I’m just checking you out. You are so captivating that it takes a while,” I say in a teasing voice.
“Nice cover, but that doesn’t explain why you’re looking at me like my dad does when he thinks I’ve caught the latest bird flu,” she retorts.
“All right, I’m busted. I’m concerned because you look a bit feverish. You know, you can send the life guard to law school, but he’s never truly off duty,” I answer with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Promise me you will not make a huge deal of this… Okay?” Kiera pleads in a resigned voice. “I am a bit overheated. But, I can deal with it. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
My heart stutters. “Pip, it is a big deal! I can’t just conveniently forget my EMT training because you ask me to. I know that the autonomic dysreflexia can be fatal if ignored. Please let me help you,” I plead in an urgent voice.
She opens her purse and takes out a couple of pills from an antique looking case. I cringe as she swallows them dry. “My head hurts too much to argue with you. I need to get some place cooler with a cold drink,” she says, sounding tired and defeated.
“I’ll put you in Ty’s truck. His AC is as efficient as a walk in freezer. I’ll grab you a drink and some Motrin for your headache,” I reply. Kiera starts to take an ice tea off of the serving tray. “Pip, we really need to get some water and some electrolytes in you first” I snag an apple juice and a salt shaker from the table. I mix the apple juice with a very small pinch of salt and some ice water from a pitcher on the table. I hand the concoction to her as we head out the door.
“Eww, what in the Hershey’s Bars is this?” Kiera asks skeptically. “What was wrong with my iced tea? It was cold.”
“I made you homemade Gatorade. It will help you rehydrate faster without all the preservatives and food coloring. Don’t worry. It tastes just fine. You can have more iced tea later; I just wanted to get you hydrated first. The caffeine in tea can mess with hydration,” I explain.
“Oh Lord! This teaches me to mess with a science nerd,” Kiera laments.
“I’m sorry, but remember, I also look like Blair Underwood,” I quip, striking an exaggerated modeling pose.
Kiera examines me from head to toe, “Well… there is that,” she deadpans.
Chapter 12: Kiera
Jeff gently shifts the disposable ice pack on the back of my neck to ensure that my skin doesn’t get any frostbite. I sip on his weird concoction and find it surprisingly refreshing. He encourages me to recline in his lap so that he can treat my headache. I get headaches all the time and just have to suffer through them. I figure there isn’t much he can do for me, but I’m so embarrassed by this whole SNAFU that I humor him. I lay my head across his thighs.
Jeff changes the radio to a soft pop station and turns the volume down. “Pip, baby, close your eyes and try to relax,” he coaxes. Jeff strokes his thumbs along my brows in firm rhythmic strokes. As I relax, he begins massaging my temples in small concentric circles until he reaches my hairline. When he encounters my hair comb, he says softly “Sorry, babe, this is going to have to come out for a bit.”
I nod sleepily, “’Kay.”
Jeff removes my hair comb and sets it on the dashboard careful not to crush the flowers. He runs his fingers along my scalp and through the ends of my hair as he kneads my scalp. A moan of pleasure escapes from my lips and a shiver passes through my body. Jeff’s hands tremble as his body processes my involuntary response to his touch, and I feel him bulge under my right ear. I struggle to sit up to avoid an awkward situation.
“Relax, Pip, It’s going to be okay. I can’t control my body’s reaction to you any more than you can control yours to mine. It is what it is. Right now what it is…is downright embarrassing. I haven’t had this many hard-ons since I started getting wet dreams,” Jeff explains, looking chagrined. Jeff helps me sit more upright, but leaves me plastered to his side. He looks down at me intently. “Kiera, listen to me, please. My body may respond to the mere thought of you, but my brain is still in charge. So, though it may make for some awkward encounters, we are never going to do anything we are not both ready for, okay?”
To my complete and utter mortification, I blush to a deep enough red that I could stunt double for a stop sign, “Umm, I guess so. It’s not as if I can really hide a lot of what I’m feeling from you anyway. I don’t have a lot of experience being someone’s girlfriend.”
Jeff gives me his most charming smile. “I don’t have a lot of relationship experience either. I guess we’ll practice on each other.”
As far as corny lines go, it’s pretty bad. Yet, I am tempted to believe him. Jeff is playing with my hair and scalp when he abruptly asks, “Would it help with the overheating issue if your hair were off of your neck?”
I am confused by the non sequitur, “I suppose, why?” I ask.
“I can help with that if you’d like,” Jeff offers.
“I thought you didn’t have any girlfriend skills?” I tease.
”You are the first girl I’ve ever done this for that wasn’t my sister or didn’t have an appointment,” Jeff replies.
“See, I knew that under those pinstripes, beats the heart of a nice guy,” I tease with a grin.
“Oh no! Don’t give me the ‘nice guy’ curse. It’s the kiss of death for relationships,” Jeff cautions, crossing his hands over his heart dramatically.
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I like nice guys!” I demand for the second time in two weeks. This conversation is starting to feel like a scene from Groundhog Day.
Jeff takes a plastic hair pick out of the pouch beside the seat and proceeds to part and section my hair. I can feel the deft motion of his hands as he braids my hair in a tight French braid. Then, I feel him braiding the ends back through in a complicated weaving pattern. He grabs my corsage and anchors it on my new ‘bun’.
“What are you doing?” I ask Jeff, dying of curiosity.
“Securing your hair since I have only one girly do-dad and none of the goop you girls’ put in there to make things stay put,” he replies.
I lightly touch my hair and I’m stunned by the complexity of the braids. It blows my skills out of the water. “How do you even know how to do this?” I ask.
“I’m the only sibling in a very dysfunctional family. My sister and I played beauty shop a lot; she always got to play the client. I had to braid dreadlocks, doll wigs and everything in-between. At first, I hated it, but I did it so that she would let me tag along with her. Later, it made me popular with the cheerleaders and it helped pay for my books in college, so I can’t complain.” Jeff explains. Suddenly he seems to shift gears, “So, I think I remember the basics about autonomic dysreflexia from my pre-med classes, but it’s been awhile. It has to do with getting pain signals to your brain past the damaged part of your spinal cord, and it makes your blood pressure go all haywire, righ
t?”
I blush as I answer haltingly, “Yes, that’s correct, for the most part. The big debate in the spinal cord injury community — we call ourselves SCIs — is whether an attack can be caused by pain. Some studies say no. However, anecdotal evidence — including my own — seem to support the idea that pain below my level of injury can trigger an attack. Tonight, for example, Mr. Best ran into my knee. Most of the time, though mine are caused by a bladder infection.”
“So, how do you treat it?” Jeff asks, his face etched with concern.
“I take several kinds of high blood pressure medicine and diuretics. I have some that I take just during an attack” I respond with a casual shrug. “But, don’t worry; this is really unusual for me. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve had an attack.”
Jeff looks at me with an expression of stark astonishment as he shakes his head and mutters, “Look, I know I might be missing the obvious here. But, last I checked, your condition can kill you. It might have been helpful to mention to your date — who happens to be an EMT — that you have a condition with life threatening complications and that you have medications for it.”
Dandelions. The man has a point. “You’re right. I’ve been living with this so long that I forget how serious it can be, or at least I try to so that I can stay sane. I hate not being normal. For the most part, my dad treated me like a normal kid, except he worried a lot. I did summer camp, sports and drivers ed. Let me tell you, driver’s education is an interesting experience when your dad’s a trucker,” I comment with a quirky smile.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just want to be able to help if I’m needed,” Jeff assures me, stroking my shoulder tracing a patch of freckles.
“It’s okay Jeff. You’ve been amazing. Do you mind if we return to the party? I’m feeling much better now; thanks to your magical first aid. I feel bad for making you miss any of it.” I announce, trying to smooth any wrinkles out of my dress.
“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. This quiet time with you in my arms has been a highlight of my evening.” Jeff leans down and kisses the tender area behind my ear.
I gasp from the intimate contact and squirm as my nipples tighten against my strapless bra. Jeff nibbles his way down my jaw and captures my lips in a barely restrained kiss. He is thoroughly and firmly exploring my mouth with his lips and tongue. I’m amazed that I’m turned on. I’ve had other guys try this, and it’s been slobbery and gross. I not only find it sexy, I’m enticed to try other things — a first for me. I expel a helpless whimper and run my fingers through Jeff’s short dark hair. “Wow, this is a little too fun,” I murmur.
“Pip, you undo me,” Jeff confides as he pulls away reluctantly.
I try to reassure him with a lopsided, teary grin, “You’ve pretty much rocked my world too, and I’ll never be the same.”
“C’mon Pip, we’ve got a date to finish,” Jeff says as he gently kisses my forehead.
As we reenter the banquet hall, it appears that the speech portion of the evening just concluded, and dessert was being served. It is my lucky day they are serving chocolate cheesecake with raspberry sauce or crème brûlée. I can’t go wrong with either of those choices. Jeff and I decide to order one of each and switch halfway through dessert. This is our first official date, and we’ve already made a radical U-turn into “cute couple cliché-ville.” Seriously, in many ways it feels like we’ve been dating for months. It is a thrilling, yet scary concept.
Jeff leans over to whisper in my ear, “Do you feel up to dancing some more?”
My body shivers violently as his lips brush the top of my ear. I quickly glance around the room to see if anyone else has noticed my body’s betrayal. To my relief, it seems that no one is paying attention to us. I surreptitiously glance at Jeff under my lashes. It is clear from the expression on his face that my involuntary reaction does not go unnoticed by him. Much to my chagrin, I blush as I nod, “Yes, Jeff I would love to dance with you.”
The dance floor is practically empty, but the DJ is trying his best. He is playing Footloose, which is one of my favorite songs. I give Jeff a mischievous grin, “Are you ready to stop being a gentleman and become ‘footloose’?” I can see every muscle in Jeff’s body freeze for just a moment as the wheels in his brain process what I’m saying.
“Pip, I believe that I can do that,” Jeff says with an answering grin.
“I hope so, PC. I’m kind of counting on it.” Jeff is true to his word, and we have the most riotously fun fast dance I have ever experienced. By the time it is over, and audience has gathered to watch us dance and gives us a round of applause. Several people have offered to buy our drinks at the open bar. The next dance is a slow dance to a Taylor Swift song that I have never heard of called Today Was a Fairytale. I felt like I could have written the lyrics. I still can’t believe that Jeff feels comfortable enough with me just to pick me up and hold me in his arms to dance. It is so amazing that if I think about it too much, it makes me want to cry.
Most people around me tend to keep their distance. They feel uncomfortable doing simple things like keeping eye contact or shaking my hand. It is mind-boggling to me that Jeff thinks nothing of picking me up and holding me for several minutes of time. He doesn’t even break a sweat. It is as if we are two puzzle pieces that suddenly found their way into the right box. I inhale the amazing scent that is uniquely Jeff. He smells exactly how I always pictured “guy-ness” to smell. Woodsy and spicy, but not overpowering. I sigh in contentment. I actually feel a low growl pass through Jeff’s body. Oops, I forgot. Bad Kiera! Moaning makes Jeff react in unpredictable ways. This is rather fun. I feel like a seductress.
As the dance ends, we move to the side of the floor where William is waiting for us by my chair. After Jeff gets me settled, William gives me a hug and shakes Jeff’s hand as he instructs, “Jeff, take good care of this one, she is pretty important to me. My wife used to babysit her mama and she has taught my granddaughter, Grace, so much about independence since her car crash.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Of course, I will, sir.” Jeff stammers, a distressed expression on his face.
“Young man, unless you’re standing in front of my bench, I want you to call me William,” he says with a bemused expression.
Jeff looks like someone has punched him in the solar plexus, “Yes, sir. I mean — William.”
William pulls out his card and writes his cell on the back. “Kiera, you already have this number, so make sure he calls me if he needs anything, you hear,” he says with a warm smile. I watch with odd fascination as Jeff’s hands tremble with uncertainty when he takes the card from William. This is a totally different side of Jeff. Sure, he had told me that he struggles to control his shyness. However, to see it on full display is just peculiar given the level of familiarity between the two of us.
“I’ll take good care of him I promise. He’s pretty special to me,” I solemnly vow.
“I plan to hold you to that promise, Pretty Girl. I think he’s suitable for you. I haven’t ever seen you smile this much. Good night folks. Drive safe,” With those parting words, he left the dance floor.
The DJ announces the last song of the night. It is Garth Brooks. The Dance. Jeff bows in front of me, “Milady? May I have the last dance on your dance card?”
“Absolutely,” I utter as I beam, unable to even almost pretend to be demure.
Jeff gently scoops me up to his chest and gave a country two-step flair to our version of the waltz. His musicality is amazing. “Where did you learn to dance?” I ask.
“Who do you think my big sister practiced with all those years?” Jeff answers with a lifted eyebrow.
“Remind me to thank her,” I retort.
“I owe her a big thank you as well. Donda taught me about full service dating,” Jeff explains. “Still, even I couldn’t imagine all that’s happened tonight. I’m here with the most gorgeous woman in the room; I got to play wingman while you slayed the o
ffice bully, got a turn at playing Florence Nightingale, danced like Patrick Swayze and got an Oregon Supreme Court Justice’s private cell number Don’t pinch me…I don’t want to wake up from this fairytale.”
I kiss the side of his jaw, “Yes, this night is pretty spectacular.” I agree. “Add ‘working on the art of the perfect kiss.’ and I say you’ve nailed the highlights. The best part is that it’s all true.” I tilt his chin down and kiss him with everything I have. It’s probably not my brightest idea because Jeff is so startled by my bold move that he practically drops me. However, he quickly recovers and adjusts his grip so that he’s holding me more securely and continues to kiss me with the delightful thoroughness.
The sensations are overwhelming. I can feel the texture of Jeff’s light wool jacket against my shoulders, the heat of his hands where they are supporting me, and I can hear his heart rate increase as we become lost in the magic of our kiss. I forget that we are in a public place with his professional colleagues until the song was over, and light applause broke out.
“Oh Dandelions! I didn’t mean to embarrass you; I’m so sorry,” I gasp, completely mortified. Of course, I’m blushing; I look like I’ve taken a bath in cherry Kool-Aid.
As Jeff puts me back into my wheelchair and carefully arranges my dress around my legs, he kneels down and brushes a feather light kiss across my lips. “My God, Pip do you really think that you embarrass me? Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m the luckiest guy here tonight. You are the belle of the ball. I’m honored to just stand in your shadow tonight. You are simply amazing. I don’t want this date to end. But sadly, it is approaching midnight.”
Until the Stars Fall From the Sky Page 8
