by Aria Ford
I had nodded breathlessly, and we’d climbed in.
I was surprised I reached my place. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My hand was glued to her leg, and I couldn’t resist making little moves up to stroke the satin of her panties. She gasped and the noise she made shivered through my blood.
We followed each other up the stairs into the building. I held her waist and buried my face in her hair. She giggled, and the sound tortured me with wanting.
“Come on,” I whispered.
Upstairs in my apartment, we had fallen onto the bed together. I took her dress off in one smooth motion and stared.
She was wearing a small black bra and matching undies. She lay back against the pillows, proud and smiling and beautiful.
I let my eyes devour her. They traveled down her long legs to her breasts and back again. The bra was a push-up, and it revealed her high, full cleavage. I leaned forward and took it off, burying my face between her breasts.
She sighed and giggled, and I drew one into my mouth. The nipples were a peach color, somewhere between the color of peaches and that of tea or freckles. I bit them gently, and she moaned, making me suck harder. My cock was throbbing now, unbearably.
I had moved lower, letting my fingers take off her undies. The smell of her essence made me ache. I let my fingers stroke her folds, playing with the small, hard nodule there.
She yelled. “Oh. Oh, I’m coming…”
I was impossibly ready, and yet I teased myself, loving the sounds she made as I worked her, reveling in the feel of her wetness and the way she was aroused.
She came, sighing and gasping. Then I was on her. I thrust into her and let myself go wild, possessing her with an intensity I’d never experienced previously.
I cried out and collapsed on her, exhausted. I must have slept, because I woke beside her.
She smiled and kissed me, and I kissed her back. I stared with amazement at her beauty.
Margo was so stunning, so beautiful. I sometimes thought I didn’t deserve her. It wasn’t just the way she looked, it was who she was.
I could relate to her. She was just like me. I loved that.
We were both awkward, ordinary folk forced into a prominent position. I felt as discomforted at interviews as she did at shoots. We both felt shy at premiers or other big events. And we both tended to stay on the edge of crowds.
Despite her awkwardness, Margo was funny, sassy and chatty. We’d spent hours together just talking. She got me in a way no one else ever had. I trusted her.
Which was, I reflected sleepily, why I’d walked.
“Sir?”
“Mm?” I looked out of the window and realized we were outside the building.
“Airport, sir. Can I get your bag for you?”
“Oh. Thanks. Yes.”
I sighed, fiddled the door open and swung out. I winced as the weight went onto my left leg, almost tipping me off balance. Ever since my stupid accident, my agility has been trash—obviously—but my balance is even worse. I can’t even walk down the sidewalk without veering into the middle of the damn road. My heart sinks and I block out thoughts of the game that ruined me. I got onto the crutches and hauled myself to the sidewalk.
“Here you go, sir.”
“Thanks.” I shrugged on my rucksack.
“Here’s the bill, sir.”
As I fiddled the bills out of my wallet, trying to balance on one leg and hold the crutches against the car with the other hand, I tried to ignore the people streaming inside.
They shouldn’t judge me. I could be anyone.
Why would they stare at me pityingly? In Houghton or Hancock, even though people surely watched football, it seemed that they had no idea who I was. I stood more chance of being recognized in Milwaukee, where I’d been raised. Which was, of course, why it was totally demanding to go there.
Oh, come on, Jay. The guy doesn’t turn fifty every day.
“Stop it,” I scolded myself.
A few people looked my direction and murmured under their breaths. Surely, they thought I’d gone mad. Well, they were right.
As much as I didn’t want to go home, I couldn’t miss Dad’s fiftieth for anything other than fire or flooding. I thanked the driver and tipped him generously, then headed inside. It was time to get going before I decided to just go home—Houghton was home, whatever anyone thought.
The flight to Milwaukee would be indirect and take about six hours. I dragged myself across the arrivals lounge and toward departures. I had a long wait before my flight arrived.
I guess I’m always thinking it takes longer than it does with this leg.
I reached my gate in good time and sat down. Oddly, as I sat there looking out at the airplanes all lined up, touching down and rising and taking on the supplies and flight attendants and passengers, I couldn’t get the thought of seeing Margo again out of my head.
I sighed.
I had walked out on her because of what I’d become. A cripple. A source of pity. She would try and love me despite the change in circumstances. Margo was kind. But I didn’t want kindness. I also loved her too much to shackle her to a broken creature.
She was a high-flying model now, and the last thing she needed, in my way of thinking, was a hulking invalid following her around. We would have looked awful together. Beauty and the hulk.
I laughed at myself ironically.
“Attention, all passengers booked on flight number…”
I sighed. That was my flight. All around me, people were standing, lifting bags, getting boarding cards. I watched them, noting grimly how easy it was for them to just stand up and lift things. I shouldn’t envy them. After all, there was a time when I could lift two hundred pounds of weight in the gym. Now, I could lift weights from the safety of my chair. I’d gotten up to hefting thirty pounds in each hand, but it was slow and hard work to reach that, especially after the months in hospital.
“Boarding card, sir?”
“Uh…here.”
The attendant, a pretty, young woman with brown glossy hair pulled back from a fine-boned face, glanced with sympathy at my leg.
I winced and showed her the boarding card.
“Have a nice flight,” she said.
I tried not to feel as if she was giving me a funny look, but I couldn’t help it. I could sense the slight cringe in her posture as she glanced at my useless leg. Most people looked at it that way. It wasn’t their fault. It just made me feel, well, like there was something wrong with me.
I hauled myself onto the bus, wedging myself grimly upright against the wall, and let it jolt me all the way to the plane.
I slept on both flights and by the time I arrived in Milwaukee, I was barely awake.
“Whew.”
I leaned heavily against the wall, watching the people coming and going. Women and men, boys and girls. Kids in strollers or on wobbly feet, reaching up to embrace parents they’d just reunited with. Someone had a dog with them and it barked joyfully, racing to greet its humans as they disembarked.
“Lance! It’s you.”
I heard a voice that ripped through my heart. Without even thinking about it, my head shot up and I stared.
No.
The woman was greeting a tall, pale-haired guy with the build of an athlete. He was bending down to hug her, all big shoulders and thin waist. She was hidden from me for the moment, except for glossy black hair. Then she looked up.
“Oh no. No.”
The girl had big brown eyes with wide eyelids. A straight nose. Red lips. She was grinning up at her brother and then, suddenly, she was looking at me. Her grin fell. She stared.
“No way.”
I stood. I had no idea what to do. I wanted to run, but that was out of order. I wanted to hide. I really wished I could disappear.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do any of those things.
Which meant that, when I looked again, I was staring straight into the eyes of Margo Lawrence, the girl I loved almost four years ago.
CHAPTER TWO
Margo
“No.”
I couldn’t get the word from my mind, a flat refusal to believe what I had seen. Now, I was saying it out loud.
A negation. Denial is the first line of response, or so my friend Alexandra told me after she’d finished her psychology degree. I suppose she was right, because all I could think of was a big denial.
No. It can’t be him. No way.
But it had to be. No one else had those blue eyes, that soft sandy hair, that strong jaw. No one else had those massive shoulders and that hesitant smile and that way of tilting his head. And no one had any reason to look so shocked at seeing me.
“Jay?” He looked like he’d just woken from a nightmare.
“No,” he said.
Lance looked at me, then turned around to face Jay. “Margo, what did…oh.”
My brother stared too. He knew exactly who he was. We’d met at a party, but it was when Lance and Jay met that I’d finally decided Jay was really as wonderful as I imagined. Lance really liked him. Now, Lance looked at him with a strange mix of horror and compassion.
“Hey,” he said. He got his face into neutral and walked over. “Uh, Jay?”
I saw Jay stiffen and he looked as if he was going to run. Of all the people who knew him, I knew that expression the most well.
“Jay!” I said, heading suddenly over. “It’s me! Margo. Hi!”
He looked at me. His blue eyes were cool and bleak.
I shivered.
“Margo,” he said softly. Even his voice was different, the arid sigh of a breeze over tarmac. He sounded so distant, so cold and sad. “Hi.”
I stared. “Jay, it’s me. Where…what…I’m so pleased you’re here.”
I reached up and hugged him. I couldn’t quite believe I did that, but I couldn’t help it. The instant I did, I wished I’d not. The scent of him filled my lungs and almost made me cry.
I hadn’t smelled him for years—the spiced cologne, the warmth, the traces of aftershave and, more distantly, the traces of sweat—not offensive, just healthy and warm and masculine. I breathed it in and felt as if my heart would crack.
“Jay,” I said.
He stiffened, and I stopped immediately. I wanted to touch him, to feel that warm, firm chest that I remembered so well under my hands. Where had he gone? I wanted to ask so much. But he looked awkward and uncomfortable, surprising me.
“Margo,” he said again. “I…I should go.”
That was enough. I felt almost four years of hurt mix inside me. “Jay, no,” I said. I hadn’t raised my voice, but I saw him tense as if I had.
“What?” he said coolly.
I laughed. “You’d think you might say something more than that. It’s been years. And where…”
“Margo, I have to go.”
I closed my eyes. He was already trying to head back. I could see that was hard for him—he was quite injured—and I didn’t want to humiliate him by getting in the way. I sighed.
“Okay,” I said.
“Bye,” he said.
I wasn’t going to cry. I turned my face away. “Bye,” I said.
He headed off.
I stayed where I was, turned away. Then I heard my brother.
“Come on, Mimsy.”
He always called me that. I felt the familiarity soothe me. “Okay,” I said.
We headed to the car, his suitcase behind us.
When we reached my car, I got in behind the wheel and he sat down heavily beside me. I watched him lean back, eyes closed. He’d just flown in from Long Beach and I should have had some compassion—he’d been traveling for hours.
“Let’s go, then.”
I eased our car into the traffic and we headed home. I tried to watch the road, but I wasn’t thinking about driving.
“Thanks for fetching me,” Lance said. “It’s great to see you. How’s Mom?”
“She’s okay,” I said. I felt dazed. It was all really unreal, talking about things like travel, flights, care. I was lost in the sight of my hero.
My Jay.
I wanted to ask Lance if he knew anything. He hadn’t told me anything, really, about Jay, but if he knew anything, he was quiet. I knew Lance—he’d say something if it was relevant and when he thought it was a good idea to say something but not a moment sooner.
“Weather’s great, huh?”
“It is springtime,” I reminded him.
Lance laughed. “Yeah. It sure is. I’m even tanned.”
I grinned at him. He’d gone to Long Beach for a weekend, and he was spending the rest of his holiday with Mom and me. Then he’d head back to Kenosha where he worked as a consultant. I had no idea what he did, other than that it involved large sums of cash and it was something he did entirely at odds with his hobby of kitesurfing. And it sounded confusing. Well, not that kitesurfing didn’t, but it was confusing in another way. Though kitesurfing also involved risks, if a lot of sunshine too.
“Well, you’re more tanned than me, Lance. I need to avoid sunshine.”
He smiled. “You know you’re always beautiful.”
I glowed. His gentleness made up, at least in part, for how unkind Jay had been. It was weird. Why had he just ignored me? It was really rude considering he disappeared from me in the first place. I sniffed.
“Mimsy?”
“Mm?”
I blinked, trying hard not to cry.
“It’s because he’s injured. That’s why he’s ignoring you. He doesn’t…”
“Lance, did I say I was upset?”
He looked at me with tenderness. “Well, not really.”
“Exactly,” I said tightly. Man, why did my dumb voice have to wobble like that? I didn’t need Lance feeling bad for me.
“Mims, I should have told you what I heard,” he said. “When he had his accident…” he trailed off as I interrupted angrily.
“I don’t want to know. Okay? Can we just pretend I never saw the guy?”
Lance sighed. “If you want.”
“Fine.”
I stepped savagely on the gas and we shot out through the light as it changed.
When we got to Lance’s hotel, I stopped and then looked at him sorrowfully.
“Lance, I didn’t mean it,” I said.
He smiled. “I know you didn’t. I get it. And if you want to talk, just say so, Mims.”
I nodded. “It’s just…I’m confused. I’ll talk when I’m not as badly confused.”
He laughed. Those brown eyes twinkled cheerily.
I reached over for a hug. He hugged me back. The gear shift dug into my ribs, and I didn’t care. I could smell the comforting presence of Lance, and I felt better.
“You look after yourself,” he said, looking into my eyes tenderly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Yes.”
We squeezed hands and he slipped lithely out of the car and headed off, suitcase behind him. I watched until he’d gone into the place and then leaned on the steering wheel miserably.
Why is it that the one guy I care about, Lance aside, is so unkind?
I didn’t know how to understand what Jay just did. I hadn’t seen him for years and here he was treating me like I didn’t exist. Or, worse. Like I did exist and somehow that was bad.
I drew in a shuddering breath and looked at my reflection. My makeup had run and there were dark streaks down my face. I reached for a tissue and dabbed away the tears. Then I drove off.
When I got home, my mind was still full of Jay. I couldn’t believe it. I had seen him after almost four years. As if he’d never gone, suddenly he was here in Milwaukee again with no explanation of where he’d been for the last while. And no sorrow for having walked away.
“Well,” I said aloud, angrily, “if he can’t say sorry after four years, then he can just go away.”
I wasn’t about to hunt down a guy who wasn’t really interested. Why would I?
But, then again, the more I tried to forget about seeing
Jay, the more it haunted me. I kept on thinking of him, seeing things that made me think of him, smelling him. From the sunset outside my window, I remembered watching it with him from the hilltop that time we’d headed to Green Bay, and the marigolds in the window pot. He was allergic to them and they made him sneeze. The whole house was full of him.
“Get outta my head!” I groaned.
I wanted to shout at him. I went through to the kitchen and cooked dinner. Then, while I sat eating it, I thought of a plan.
He’s got to be online somewhere.
Everyone had some kind of presence, surely even a football player who’d vanished. If I wanted to have words with Jay, I just needed an email. Or a phone number. Or Facebook.
I should just walk away. Why would I want to take time in pursuing a guy? I could take Alexandra up on her offer of going out to find a date if I wanted to. We were planning to go to Singles Night or something. So why should I be bothered with someone who had no interest in me?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t exactly because—though I wouldn’t say no—I wanted Jay with me now.
I just wanted an explanation.
That was all I wanted from him now. I didn’t need remorse or regret. All I wanted was to understand why he’d left me, what had happened, and where he was. And why, now, after four years, he still treated me as if I was some poison?
I sighed and pushed my plate away. I was sad. My brother was right, despite my trying to pretend he wasn’t. I stood, closing the curtains where yellow sunshine leaked slow nostalgia across my tabletop. I was too sad already to want any more tender reminders.
In the living room, I reached for my phone.
I did a search. The Jay Locke profiles that came up weren’t him. Not Facebook. Not Twitter or LinkedIn or any of the other social media sites. If they had people of that name, none of the pictures were Jay. Well, to be fair—if he had a Facebook, it’d be full of media types wanting to hound him.
And Jay wanted obscurity. Or so it seemed, anyway. Ever since that one game where he’d been injured, I’d heard nothing about him. But surely, he must have some kind of contact details online?
I sighed. Not if he doesn’t want to be contacted.
I paged through the results, hoping for some inspiration. Then my eye landed on a hit from a college site.
