by S. M. Shade
The bouncer at the door cards both of us, and Ely grabs my hand as we make our way through the crowd. I scold myself when the first thought through my head is that Tucker’s hand is rougher, stronger, more manly than the soft skin against my palm now. The guy must use more moisturizer than I do.
We find a table in the back where the music isn’t so loud and we can hear one another. A harried waitress comes to take our order and Ely asks, “What would you like to drink?”
“Vodka and Cranberry.”
“And bring me a beer,” Ely adds.
The waitress delivers our drinks, and we spend a few minutes talking and drinking. I don’t drink very often and I can already feel the alcohol taking hold a little. My body starts wanting to move with the music.
The band is really good.
“Sorry about the music. My friend must be hard of hearing. He said they sounded like a crossover between The Decemberists and Mumford and Sons. Not this poppy crap.”
Okay then.
“Do you want to dance?”
He scoffs. “To this? No thanks.”
An awkward silence erupts until he says, “I don’t know what happened to our waitress.”
“It’s busy. I’m sure she’s overwhelmed.”
“I’m going to order at the bar. Another Vodka and cranberry?”
“Please,” I reply. I’m probably going to need two more to get through this date. He seemed so different before. Now he’s coming off as a snooty douche. My feet are itching to get out on the dance floor and if he won’t dance with me after this next drink, I’m going to hit the floor alone.
While he’s waiting at the bar, I take the opportunity to use the ladies room. The line isn’t as long as I feared, but as soon as I step out, I hear a commotion. I hope there isn’t a fight. Some asshole always has to ruin a good time.
Oh shit. Why does the bouncer have Ely in a headlock?
Trying not to be noticed, I approach the bar until I can hear the argument going on.
“Let me go! I’m not leaving! Styrofoam! You use Styrofoam containers for food! Do you have any idea how long they take to decompose? Of course you do! Everyone has known that for years! And you still use it? I’m staying right here until your company agrees to stop killing the earth!”
During the scuffle with security, Ely manages to produce a set of handcuffs and cuffs himself to the bar. “Protest! I’m mounting a protest!” he shouts.
“Probably the only thing he’s ever mounted,” a man behind me calls out, and everyone laughs.
Yeah, I’m not with this guy. At least the place is too crowded for him to see me as I slink back near the bathrooms and consider my options. I need a ride. Judging by the two officers that just walked in, Ely is going to jail…again.
Worst date ever.
As much as I hate to do it, Tucker is the only one who wouldn’t have to drive far to get me. In this little town, there are no taxis that will run out into the county.
Tucker answers on the first ring, like he had the damned phone in his hand. “Leah?”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry to ask you, but, do you think you could pick me up?”
“Did that little fucker do something?” he demands.
“No, he didn’t do anything to me. I’m fine. It just…the date just didn’t work out and I need a ride. I’m at The Cave on Ninth Street.”
“I’m on my way.”
Ignoring the commotion at the bar, I order another drink from the waitress who gives me a commiserating smile when she brings it. “Ditching your date?”
“Wouldn’t you?” I scoff, gesturing to where the cops are patting him down, looking for the handcuff key.
Did he just? Yep, he swallowed it.
The crowd laughs and cheers, thoroughly enjoying the night’s entertainment. “This has to be the biggest first date fail ever,” I groan, draining my drink.
The waitress blanches. “It’s the first date?” She lays a hand on my arm. “Count your blessings, honey. Better to find out he’s crazy now.”
“You’re right,” I laugh. She walks away and the music starts back up as if that will distract from the sideshow going on at the bar. It seems to work since the dance floor fills right back up.
The cops must not have a handcuff key to fit his cuffs since they’ve brought in a small tool and are sawing at the narrow wooden beam he cuffed himself to. Screw this. It’ll take Tucker a while to get here. I’m dancing.
Chapter Six
Tucker
If he’s done something to hurt Leah, I’ll tear the guy apart. She didn’t tell me what’s going on, just that she needs a ride because the date “didn’t work out.” That could mean a million different things.
I hated that she was going on a date, but I knew I had no right to say anything. Still, it was all I could do to stay in my room until she left and not go out and scare the guy away. She’s not mine. I can’t have her, and she deserves better anyway so I didn’t want to chase away her chance at finding happiness with someone.
I should’ve listened to my instincts.
The place is packed, and my heart rate doubles when I see two police cars parked right in front of the doors. Pulling my truck into a spot, I rush inside.
Once my eyes adjust, I see her, alone, dancing to the music. She isn’t alone for long when a guy approaches her and she nods at him. He grabs her waist and they start to move together. Is that the guy she came with? Is she trying to be nice until she has a way out?
There’s some kind of commotion at the bar, but I ignore it as I elbow my way through the crowd to get to her. She notices me and says something to the man she’s dancing with before fleeing the floor. Sweat glues a strand of hair to her forehead, and one look at her glassy eyes tells me she’s been drinking.
“Hey!” She rushes up to me. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Was that him?” I ask and she looks confused for a second before she shakes her head.
“No, I don’t know who he is. Just some guy. Do you want to have a drink?” she asks still moving her hips to the music.
Right now, yeah, I could use a drink. Anything to keep me from dragging this woman to some dark place and fucking her until she begs me to stop. “Just one. I came to drive you home, remember?”
“Yep.” She leads me back to her table where a waitress takes my order and brings me a bourbon.
Leah sips on another drink, wiggling in her seat like sitting in one place is killing her. “So, what happened?”
She nods towards the bar where… “What the hell are they doing?” I ask, watching as two officers appear to be removing part of the bar.
“He handcuffed himself to the bar,” Leah mumbles.
“Why the hell would someone do that?”
“They were using Styrofoam. Apparently, he has a real hard on for the environment.” Crimson fills her cheeks.
Why would she be embarrassed unless…
Environment. The realization hits me and I can’t stop the laughter from escaping. “That’s him? Your date?”
“Not anymore,” she grumbles.
“So, he-he brought you here, and chained himself to the bar because they use Styrofoam?” Laughter makes me stutter through the words.
Shaking her head, she bites her lip. “Shut up.”
“You really know how to pick them.” My eyes water from laughing, and her lips start to twitch up too.
“On top of that, he wouldn’t even dance with me. So much for my night of fun.” She downs the rest of her drink. “We can go now.”
“You want to dance?” I blurt. Where the hell did that come from? She just seems so disappointed.
Her eyebrows jump up and she smirks at me. “You dance?”
Leaning over, I can feel a little buzz from my drink when I murmur, “Not much difference in dancing and fucking. If you’re good at one, you can do the other, and I’ve never had any complaints.”
Her mouth falls open, and I grab her hand, pulling her out to the dance flo
or. The song is fast and upbeat, perfect. Grabbing her hips, I pull her against me and show her what I can do. She matches my moves, stays in sync with me perfectly.
Her hands wander over my chest before sliding around to squeeze my ass as she gives me a devious little smile, daring me to stop her.
“You’re drunk,” I tell her.
“You’re perceptive.”
She spins around and presses her ass against me, grinding on my crotch. All logical thought leaves my head. I don’t care that she’s Dare’s sister or that she’s young, or that I am betraying someone I love. I don’t care about anything but the sensation of her sweet little body against mine.
The song ends and the band takes a break. She looks up at me with shining eyes, her skin damp and flushed. So damned beautiful. “Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asks.
“My mom was a dance teacher. I grew up with it.”
“She taught you well.” She beams at me.
The expression on her face is full of hope and excitement and it’s like I’ve been doused with cold water. Where I know she sees potential, it doesn’t exist, and I’m going to disappoint her. “We should go. Grab your stuff, I’m going to stop by the bar.”
The cops are gone, along with the douche Leah was here with. It’s not too late, but the crowd has thinned a lot. It must’ve occurred to these people that celebrating Thanksgiving with a hangover isn’t a lot of fun. I stop by the bar and buy a fifth of bourbon to take home with me. This night definitely requires more alcohol.
It’s freezing outside and Leah stays close to my side as we walk to my truck. Once we’re sitting in the parking lot, letting it warm up a bit, I notice the remaining cop car and the tow truck accompanying it.
My chest vibrates with laughter when I see them hook up the smart car to the truck and raise the front end. “He drives a smart car? They could just pick it up and carry it. Why bother with a wrecker?”
Leah giggles, shaking her head. “It does look a little like one of those cars Derek had when we were little. You’d pull it back and let it go and it’d race around the room.”
Her phone rings and she answers as I drive us home. I can only hear her side of the conversation but she’s obviously talking about her date. “Ayda? Oh god. Don’t even ask. I had to have Tucker come and get me.” She goes on to tell Ayda about her date night from hell. “For future reference, hipsters are not dating material.” I can hear Ayda’s laugh even though the phone isn’t on speaker.
“We’re home. I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve already made the pies.”
They hang up, and we walk through the lightly falling snow to the house. Once inside, I grab a glass and pour some more bourbon.
“Oh? We still drinking?” Leah asks.
“No. I’m drinking. You’re cut off. Lightweight.”
“Fine, then I’m controlling the music.” She grabs her phone and activates the Bluetooth so it’ll play through the house speakers.
Draining my glass and refilling it, I take a seat on the stool by the kitchen counter and watch as she dances around singing to some pop song I’ve never heard. Every now and then she does something silly that makes me laugh and shake my head, but watching her is a joy.
She’s so carefree and happy. I wish I could be that way, the way I was before I screwed everything up. She dances over to me and grabs my glass, taking a sip. When I take it from her hands, she goes for the bottle.
I grab it and stand, feeling the sudden rush of alcohol steal over me. Shit, I’m drunk.
She’s not exactly tall and I can easily hold the bottle above my head out of her reach. “Seriously?” she laughs, slurring a little. “You expect me to jump for it?”
“No, I expect you to stop drinking.”
Giggling, she makes an attempt to leap and grab the bottle. Her body lands against mine, making me sway a little and my hand wraps around her back to keep her from falling backward.
Her shirt has ridden up and my palm rests on warm skin while her fruity breath wafts across my neck. It’s like I never had a choice. I don’t know who moved first, but our lips slam together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My hand moves to her plump little ass, and she moans into my mouth as I dart my tongue between her lips. The bottle is forgotten on the counter as she fists my shirt and kisses me harder. I slide both hands under her ass and scoop her onto the counter, never breaking the kiss. I never want to. Her hands are in my hair now, tugging it, and it seems like an hour passes before we break apart.
Breathing hard, I look down at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She’s every bit as turned on as I am. She’s also shit faced which means I can’t even though I want to. The last thing I want is for her to think I took advantage of her, especially when I know she has been sexually abused in the past.
Reality smacks me hard in the face when I remember that fact. Unfortunately, my cock doesn’t give two shits about any of these reasons. It’s trying to bust out through my zipper. I have to stop this. I have to get away from her.
She looks up at me, and I watch her face fall as she sees me pulling back. “I-you should go to bed,” I tell her. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon, I turn and flee to my room where I know I’ll be jerking off to the memory of her body pressed to mine.
* * * *
A sickening thumping has taken over my head and my stomach bubbles with old alcohol and regret.
I kissed Leah.
I kissed the hell out of Leah.
And then I left her sitting alone in the kitchen, her lips still swollen from the intensity of our kiss. I got carried away and scared myself at how out of control I let us get. I was seconds away from stripping her clothes off and doing something we’d both regret.
After that kiss…I don’t know how I stopped myself from taking it further. She tasted so good. Her lips were soft and plump and perfect. If I’m being honest, it was the best kiss of my life.
Straining, I try to hear if she’s up, but the house is silent. No matter how much I feel like warmed over hell, I have to get up and moving. Today is Thanksgiving and I have to be at the hospital.
A shower helps, but I know I need to put something in my stomach. Leah’s door is open as it usually is when she isn’t in her room, so I assume she’s downstairs. I don’t know what to say to her. She thinks Dare is the only obstacle we’d face if we started a relationship, and I can’t tell her how much more fucked up than that things are.
It turns out I don’t need to say anything to her. She’s already left. There’s a note on the counter saying she fed the animals and reminding me I’m invited to Dare’s for Thanksgiving dinner today. Judging by the note, it’s like nothing ever happened. A small part of me hopes she was drunker than I realized and doesn’t remember, but a larger part of me would be devastated. That kiss was phenomenal. I don’t want to be the only one to remember it.
My phone lights up with a text from Dare. Shit. Did she tell him?
Dare: We expect you here, asshole. Six p.m. Ayda made homemade noodles.
I had no intention of going, since I’ll be at the hospital all day, but there’s no chance in hell now.
With a sigh, I eat a slice of toast and drink my coffee, trying to shake off the liquor and memories of the night before. Today will be hard enough as it is.
The traffic is light as I make my way to the hospital. Most travelers have already reached their destinations, I guess, plus most businesses are closed. The hamburger place on the corner is open at least. I make a note of it since I’ll most likely want to stop for something on the way home.
The smell of the long term wing of the hospital smacks me in the face like it always does, turning my already queasy stomach. A few nurses smile and greet me as I walk down the white hallways I know as well as my own house.
When I tap on the kitchen door, one of the usual cafeteria workers lets me in. “Hey, Tucker, good to see you. Are you here to help out?”
“Just point me in the
right direction.” This part of the hospital is for long term or permanent residents, kind of like a nursing home. Most of the patients have serious illnesses that make residing here instead of a home more reasonable. Not to mention, some of them are very young.
Like most hospitals, it isn’t well funded and the only reason there is any acknowledgement or celebration of holidays is because the staff and some of the relatives of patients volunteer.
“Can you peel those potatoes and dice them up?” she asks.
“I’m on it.”
The next few hours pass as I peel vegetables, wash pots, and help set up the buffet table in the multipurpose room. Some of the other volunteers have decorated it with brown and yellow streamers, and some of the kids who live here have made paper turkeys and pilgrims.
It’s afternoon when everything is ready and the patients are brought in. Nurses circulate to keep an eye on everyone while volunteers spoon out plates of food and sit with the residents to eat.
This year I’m the mashed potato guy. I put a scoop of mashed potatoes on each plate, listening to the laughter and conversations as patients come through the line, usually with a family member or volunteer helping them. There’s an unbelievable amount of joy in the room considering their situations. A lot of these people will never leave this wing of the hospital.
Once everyone has a full plate, I head for the door. “Tucker! Either eat with us or take a plate!” one of the night nurses calls out.
I just smile and shake my head before escaping down the hall.
I can’t eat. It isn’t right. Not when she can’t.
Her room is chilly when I enter so I pull the blanket up over her chest. I know she can’t feel, but old habits die hard. Her hand is limp in mine as I sit down beside her and talk until late evening.
It’s dark when I leave and I notice I have a few missed texts from Ayda, then one from Dare cursing me for not showing up. We go through this every major holiday. I’m grateful for all of them, but I just can’t. This is something I have to do.
