Shadow Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 1)

by Taeuffer, Pam

“How did everyone pair up so quickly?” Jerry asked suggestively. “I didn’t know some of them were even seeing each other.”

  “I think a few of our friends are drunk or stoned,” I knelt down and wiggled into the sleeping bag. “You know how that makes everybody friendly.”

  “How do you know?” he teased.

  “I’ve heard. Shut up, Jerry.”

  He snuggled against me.

  “Lance said whenever he smokes pot he wants food and sex, not necessarily in that order,” he laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s what—God, Jerry.” I felt his erection against my leg.

  “I can’t help it. Your curvy body next to me makes me hard."

  “Let’s go to sleep,” I suggested. I'll never sleep tonight.

  Little by little, in small moves, he gradually turned his body so that he was on top of me.

  “Jerry, I can’t breathe,” I protested.

  “Shh, just let me kiss you.” He pushed up on his elbows to let my body get some air.

  Let yourself experience this boy. You’re alive, and a woman bound for college. Just see where it goes.

  His innocent lips began to cover my face and neck. I felt his suggestive hugs and his belly pressed into mine. His hips squirmed so he could rub his penis against me.

  “Jerry, we need to . . .”

  I struggled for the words and reasons to stop, even as I was losing my breath. When his hand moved inside my pants, I no longer needed an excuse.

  The park rangers pulled up, their strobe lights illuminating all of us scattered on the beach in our sleeping bags. They honked their horns, and I knew they were going to send us home. Although we’d gotten away with it plenty of times before, we all knew we weren’t supposed to camp there.

  Just like that, our party was cut short, like our time together.

  “Oh shit,” Jerry was frantic. “It’s the fucking rangers.”

  Thank God.

  “You better get up and put your pants on before they shine the light on your butt and . . . stuff,” I laughed.

  “Think it's funny, huh? He grinned. "Hand them to me, would you? I’ll dress in the sleeping bag just in case.”

  I tossed his pants to him, trying hard not to laugh as the law closed in. The frantic movements in his sleeping bag as he struggled made it difficult to stay silent.

  “Break up the party, ladies and gents,” one of the rangers shouted into his megaphone. “Those of you who are sober? Stand up now and form a line for a sobriety test. Those who pass will be designated drivers. Anyone who doesn’t take the test is not allowed to drive.”

  A second ranger spoke into another megaphone. “I want every piece of garbage picked up in a three hundred foot stretch up and down this beach. Get this fire put out . . . right now.” He was short, with a stocky build. It struck me so funny that he had to be heard, as if to make sure he asserted his authority, too. “Get all your personal shit off this beach. You have thirty minutes or we’ll fill our jails with a bunch of pot-smoking drunks tonight. Don’t even think of trying to hide from us. We won’t leave until every last car is gone. And just for kicks, we made sure to get your license plates. If any debris is on this beach tomorrow, we’ll be visiting you for garbage detail the rest of the summer.”

  They both laughed sarcastically, knowing we were all helpless.

  Those of us who were sober lined up for the Breathalyzer test, and the rest of us packed the food, blankets, chairs, and armfuls of whatever else had been brought to our bonfire that night.

  “Jerry,” I tapped his shoulder. We both waited our turn in the “test” line. “I don’t think there are enough sober drivers without both of us volunteering. We’ll need to go home separately.”

  “You’re right, there's not. Shit.” He didn't hide his irritation. “I was hoping we could at least go back together and maybe make out a little in your room or another spot at the coast.”

  “I know, but we needed protection anyway,” I whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  Did he bring a condom with him? It sounds like he was prepared! Ask him, Nick. Don't second-guess the situation.

  “Did you bring a condom?” He hesitated and one of our friends who’d overheard, giggled. Now I was self-conscious our discussion would be circulated through the gossip chain that seemed eternal. “I don’t remember any conversation about having sex with you on the beach.” I covered my mouth with my hand so my voice stayed low and was no longer overheard by busybodies. “I did enjoy the kissing, though.”

  “Yeah, the kissing rocked, it’s just . . . the guys, they’re uh . . . relentless. They're always asking if we’ve done it yet and feeding me with the things I need to do to encourage you.”

  "Encourage me to do what?" I feigned ignorance. He only shrugged his shoulders.

  They’re urging you to get some? Are you that weak?

  Both Jerry and I passed the breath test and began helping the others clear the beach.

  “I don’t care what the guys say.” I was working alongside Jerry picking up paper plates and cups. “This is about you and me, not for you to have a whopper of a story to tell the guys.”

  “I know, but it’s a lot of pressure.” It was as if he expected empathy from me.

  “I guess.” I reluctantly gave in. My stomach twisted as I said the words. “None of you really know about sex anyway. Why pressure each other?”

  “Well, I’m trying to know something about it,” he laughed. His casual and easy way made me laugh, too. “Let’s do something Monday.” Just as he said those words, he began choking on his soda.

  “Pretty appropriate place to choke up.” My robust amusement of him moved up a notch.

  “Yeah.” He continued to cough, gasping as he tried to fill his lungs with air. “I meant, we could, go see, a movie.” He coughed after every few words.

  I stopped laughing when I noticed he’d spit up on his shirt.

  “Are you okay?” I put my hand on his arm.

  “Yeah,” he coughed again, several times. “I’m trying to get my breath.”

  “Just relax," I stroked his forearm. There are enough of us to clear this beach.”

  “You’re concerned about your baby Jerry?” he kidded.

  “You know I am, baby.” I punched his arm.

  We helped throw things into whatever car was handy. Our friends who hadn’t been able to take the breath test weren’t much help. Most waited in a car or on a bench at one of the picnic tables.

  We tried to get out of there as quickly as we could, knowing the rangers would have liked nothing better than to watch us clean every day for the rest of the summer.

  “You’re doing well in your summer baseball league?” I moved his bangs off his forehead and rubbed his back. "Need anymore water?"

  “No, I'm fine now." He took a few deep breaths. "Yeah, I'm doing really good with my baseball.”

  “I’m so proud of you.” I patted his back.

  “I have a chance for the state batting title and maybe a golden glove.” Everything about him seemed to straighten with pride.

  “Wow! You might get to play varsity at Stanford if you keep going at that pace!” We’ll see when I talk with Walter Dixon.

  “There’s a damn good chance. I’ll need to play in the fall and winter leagues, but as long as I don’t slump . . . I don’t wanna jinx it. Cross your fingers.”

  “My buddy, a blossoming baseball player." Something inside me eased. "That’s so cool. You’d better not get drafted to any LA team, though. I’ll have to boo everything you do.”

  “You better not!” He bumped my butt with his.

  “About getting together Monday, I have to find out what’s going on with Alex. She asked me to go to a photo shoot with her in LA and she’s supposed to call me and let me know what day.”

  “Call me tomorrow, then, gorgeous.”

  “It’ll be pretty late, but I will.” I put my arms around his neck. "I'm going to drive Brett’s car and take him and then Colleen home, and a
nyone else that needs a ride. Maybe I’ll see you Monday.” I gave him a kiss on the lips.

  “Until Monday.” He returned the kiss. “Guess I’ll go see who’s left. Bye, gorgeous.”

  “Stop with the gorgeous crap, Jerry.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  I turned away so he couldn’t see me smile.

  After dropping everyone off except Colleen, I drove up to her house and parked Brett’s car in her driveway. I emptied her purse and found her keys, and then helped her to her bedroom. Even though she wouldn’t remember the next day, I tucked her in and said good night.

  One of these days somebody is going to help me stumble up to my room instead of the other way around.

  It was after 3:00 a.m. when I walked up to my front door and finally looked at my phone. When I saw I’d missed a call from Ryan, my stomach sank.

  The guilt I felt was overwhelming.

  Pulled in two directions, I couldn’t decide which to follow.

  What do I say? Why didn’t I tell him I was going out? I like them both. What do I do? Can't I be a friend to both?

  As usual, no porch light was left on for me.

  I fumbled with my key and finally slipped it inside the lock, opening the door. I got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went upstairs in the dark. As I stepped out of my jeans and pulled off my sweatshirt, I paused to touch my stomach, pretending they were Ryan's fingers—no Jerry's. Ryan's. Jerry's.

  After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I put on my pajamas, pulled down the cover, and tucked myself in bed as I’d done all my life.

  Special Offer for Readers of Shadow Heart

  For special announcements, freebies, live chats, advanced chapters and pre-sale press releases, sign up for our newsletter at: www.PamelaTaeuffer.com

  Resources

  Books

  It Will Never Happen to Me, Claudia Black, PhD

  Oxford American Writer’s Thesaurus

  The Bald-Headed Hermit & The Artichoke, A.D. Peterkin

  The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Amazing Sex, Sari Lockner, Ph.D.

  The Romance Writer’s Phrase Book, Jean Kent & Candace Shelton

  Thinking Like A Romance Writer, Dahlia Evans

  The SEXaurus, Stefanie Olsen

  Dirty Words, Ellen Sussman

  How to Please a Woman In & Out of Bed, Daylee Deanna

  Schwartz

  The Emotion Thesaurus, Angela Ackerman & Becca Puglisi

  Organizations/Web sites

  www.sexualityresources.com

  www.crimescene.com

  Pandora’s Project, pandys.org

  The Joyful Heart Foundation, www.joyfulheartfoundation.org. Provides information of all sorts, writers, actors, programs, and news releases . . . on sexual assault and domestic violence.

  Acknowledgments

  As with any project, there are many people who influenced my journey. Some friends exist only in my memories, and others have crossed my path in sweet or dramatic ways. I hold all of you to my heart, even if you’re not mentioned below.

  For my beautiful sister, whose life ended much too early—I understand you more now than I ever did.

  For my father, at times your disease took you over. I miss you. I wish I had the maturity back then to have understood. I couldn’t have stopped you, but I would’ve spoken differently. You gave me so many twisted gifts, and I thank you in spite of everything.

  Claude and Aaron, I love you guys so much that sometimes I think I’m sick because the joy is so mountainous and hurt so deep.

  Louise—I couldn’t have done this without you.

  My sweet girlfriends from childhood—Colleen, Patty, Lorraine, Kathie, Marilyn

  TS Babes: (Santo, Spanky, Uno, GG, Wiseone, BL, Nine, Catnip xxoo) thanks for allowing me so much.

  Mom, you have problems saying I love you, but I get it now.

  About the Author

  PAMELA TAEUFFER, BIOGRAPHY

  _____________________________________________________

  My passion is writing books that tell a love story and family saga of leaving old fears behind as the characters embrace intimacy and transition to joy. My first series, Broken Bottles, details those fears of growing up in a family battling alcoholism. Along with the struggle and pain of a parent's rage, there is intelligence, strength, and survival. How to love intimately in all relationships is the challenge. For children of trauma, it can take years to let another person come close. When they do? It's like rainbows cover their heart.

  Slowly, you'll read how my characters become vulnerable, reach for deep, sensual intimacy, and try desperately to let go of their fears. They struggle and risk everything to trust others—and themselves. My stories are about daring to take the baby steps that let them really come alive and in every way, experience and give love.

  MAKING MONEY TO CREATE: The small, vacation rental/ property management company I run with my husband and son in Sonoma County, California allows me to have the money for my creative life. I love that I was born and raised in San Francisco. My father introduced me to baseball when I was six. I've rung a cable car bell, and went to concerts in Golden Gate Park with my sister where Jimmy Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane and Santana once played.

  WHAT I'VE DONE/AM DOING – IT'S A JOURNEY OF DREAMS: Broken Bottles is a four part series. Two books, Shadow Heart and Fire Heart, are ready. Soon to follow are Jagged Heart and Amazing Heart. I'm honored to have 3 poems in an anthology called The Beats Go On, and a story in Sisters Born, Sisters Found. I have released the first book in a series for Introverts called The Introverts Guide to the Galaxy: Attending Conferences.

  My Dream? To create beautifully decorated and custom journals with gorgeous paper that accompany each book series: The Introvert's Journal, A Family Saga Journal, My Body's Journal, and Trauma: You Can't Stop Me Journal. Journaling was a lifesaver for me. I was in shock. You may be in shock. Don't let that keep your heart frozen!

  Also available by Pamela Taeuffer

  Fire Heart

  My heart is on fire. For the first time in my life I am awake and the desires I’ve pushed down are smoldering. The shadows of my youth dare me to step away from them.

  My name is Nicky Young. I’ve just come of age and there is one thing I know—I want to live differently than my parents—an alcoholic father and co-dependent mother. How? I know I need to forgive them. I must learn to trust myself and take a risk. I have to open my heart and dare to be loved.

  Jagged Heart

  I walked quietly so I didn’t disturb the fragile web that stretched throughout our home: Nothing good would last; I would ultimately be abandoned; my feelings didn't matter; as long as I looked okay, I was okay. My name is Nicky Young. I stay away from hurt by not risking too much. Ryan Tilton, a professional baseball player, has swept me off my feet and I can't let go. I refuse to be intimate, but then I’m desperate to fall into his arms. Adding to my fears, I’ve learned about Jesse, a beautiful and successful artist and socialite from his past, may have moved to San Francisco to follow him. My boundaries are softening, melting, being redefined, becoming “Jagged.”

  Amazing Heart

  It's amazing, but I am filled with the desire to open my heart and love another, a new person, out of the comfort zone of my childhood, not a relative, not family and breaking through every chain of dysfunction I'd bound myself with. Amazing is how I feel, that I seem to have the love of someone who will accept me for who I am, a bundle of insecurities and fears, wrapped inside my body of round curves that I tend to cover in jeans and sweatshirts.

  Having someone who seems to want me in spite of all my demons—it feels as if I'm set free! I walk with a light around me: bright, open, shutting out the darkness of my youth—the alcoholism of my father, his rage, his violence, my mom's codependence and support of his addiction—I know I can risk everything now. The freedom to ask for what I want; dare I dream of feeling safe enough, trusting myself enough to share my thoughts, wishes, fears . . . dare I actuall
y hope in another person? Won't his promises fall apart? Am I really free? Can I dare to really, really, be alive and through being vulnerable, open to deep, sensual, intimacy?