New Life

by Bonnie Dee

  “Not canceling, only postponing,” I assured him. “I’ll drive you home, make you tea or something.”

  He frowned. “You don’t want to park your car in my neighborhood.”

  He was probably right. “Nonsense. I—”

  The door opened, and a man entered the restroom. “Hey. Whoa.” His gaze flicked from me to the urinals as if checking to make sure he was in the right place.

  “We’re just leaving.” I put my hand on Jason’s back and propelled him from the room.

  “If you were feeling crappy, I wish you’d told me,” I said when we were outside the restrooms.

  “I really wanted to go out with you tonight.”

  He looked down into my eyes just as someone shoved past and knocked me into him. I felt the warmth of Jason’s body pressed against mine, the heat sizzling in our locked gazes, and even though he’d just thrown up, I was inclined to kiss him. But he looked away, breaking the moment of tension.

  I seized his arm. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

  Jason let me guide him outdoors. A breath of cool air made me realize how stuffy the club had been. No wonder the poor guy had gotten sick. I was touched by how hard he must have fought to appear okay when he felt like crap, all because he wanted to be with me.

  “My car’s only a couple of blocks away. Can you walk that far?”

  “Yes. I told you I’m okay.” He pulled away and stalked stiffly by my side.

  Okay, a little male ego happening. I could tell he was embarrassed and my fussing was making him think he appeared weak. I could be cool. Pretend nothing had happened.

  “So, tell me more about your little sister. What’s her name again?”

  “Katie. Today I got to learn more than I ever wanted to know about the horror of being a middle school girl. Sounds like everybody except her is a catty bitch.”

  I chuckled. “I remember those days. You’re in, then you’re out, then you’re back in again and somebody else is on the outs. Worst years ever. Like walking on hot coals every day.” I gestured to my car. “Over there.”

  Jason stumbled as he stepped off the curb, and my hand shot out to steady him, but I pulled it back, remembering his pride. He balanced himself with a hand on the roof of the car. I unlocked the passenger door and waited for him to climb in.

  As I walked to the driver’s side, I thought about the unexpected direction the evening was going. There was a lot about Jason I didn’t know. If I was going to see him more than this one time, if we were going to continue going out, I needed to know more about the extent of his problems and what I was getting myself into.

  It was time to get a few answers from Jason about both his condition and the accident that had caused it.

  Chapter Seven

  I felt like some drunk slumped in the corner of Anna’s car, leaning my head against the window while she drove me home. But I wasn’t drunk. Hadn’t had a chance to do more than sip my vodka before the churning in my stomach reached epic proportions and I had to bolt to the john. I should’ve known better than to add alcohol icing to the cake when I was already feeling ill. Now Anna would think I was truly pathetic. She was seeing me at my worst.

  Well, maybe not my worst. There’d been much lower levels in the early part of my recovery, temper flares, crying jags, and giving up to lie in a fetal ball. Anyway, now she knew some of my warts, but I would’ve preferred she not see them on our very first date.

  I straightened. “So, how’s your new dog doing?”

  “She chews. I’ve had to puppy proof the apartment, and even then she managed to destroy one of my favorite pairs of shoes, a couple of area rugs, and the leg of my couch. I couldn’t leave her caged all day, so I hired a walker who takes care of a lot of dogs in my building. But one walk every afternoon didn’t seem like enough, so now she’s in doggie day care, socializing with friends.”

  “Sounds like you’re being a good mom.”

  “I hope so. I never had a pet when I was young and always wanted one. Now I kind of understand why my mom said it was too much work.” She glanced over at me, her face illuminated by the headlights of a passing car. “How about you? Did you have any pets growing up?”

  “A beagle named Skeezer. By the end, he was a fat, blind, farting lump, but nobody had the heart to put him down.”

  I remembered the squirmy pup he’d been when we brought him home compared to the arthritic mess he’d become. How could I have such clear memories of a family pet yet couldn’t remember more important things—like whatever the hell had happened between me and my high school girlfriend?

  “I was at college when my mom called one day to say Skeezer had died. But he’d had a good, long life, and it was kind of a relief by then.”

  A sudden sharp spear of sorrow stabbed through me, and tears prickled my eyes. Oh Jesus, not now. After waking from the coma, I used to fall apart easily. Now those crying jags were rare, and I was better able to control them. I closed my eyes and waited for the melancholy to fade. It wasn’t really the memory of good old Skeezer that haunted me, but an aching sense of loss of myself, my past, my future potential, and many other things.

  This was not the time to give in to sad introspection. I cleared my throat. “If you ever want a dog sitter, I could do that. I like dogs, but I can’t afford one right now.”

  Anna paused a beat, probably considering the fact that I was so poor I couldn’t keep a pet. “They are expensive. The doggie day care is outrageous, not to mention the vet bills. At least human babies are covered by insurance.”

  She talked a bit more about her dog, but my mind drifted ahead to when we would arrive at my apartment. It wasn’t too messy, but it was tiny, crappy, and always a little musty smelling. I didn’t want to invite her up. On the other hand, I didn’t want this evening to be over so soon. My headache had lessened, and my interest in Anna was way stronger than any pain.

  As it turned out, she didn’t give me the option of saying good-night on the street. “I’ll walk you up to your apartment,” she told me as she parked the car.

  Inside the dimly lit building, a sweat-socks-and-chicken-soup odor welcomed us.

  “Sorry, the elevator’s broken,” I said. “We’ll have to take the stairs.’

  “What floor are you on? Are you going to be able to make it?”

  “I’m fine.” But fire burned my hip as we climbed the steps.

  I unlocked the door of my apartment, and as Anna followed me inside, I saw it as she would—a real shithole. One room with a kitchenette and a tiny bathroom was the extent of my domain. I’d covered the ancient linoleum floor with a big area rug, but I didn’t own a vacuum, so it was littered with bits of crud. The living area contained a couple of ratty armchairs, an end table on which sat my laptop, and my bed in one corner.

  Anna smiled at my circa ’70’s cat-hanging-on-a-wire poster. I hoped she understood it was meant to be ironic and not something I considered art.

  “This reminds me of a place I lived in when I was going to college,” she said. “I shared it with a friend to save money? Can you imagine two girls in one tiny space? We were friends at the beginning but hated each other by the time we broke the lease.”

  I was surprised. I’d assumed her parents had paid for her entire college experience and that money hadn’t been an issue.

  I gathered the clothes draped over one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

  “You’re the one who should sit down. Let me make tea for you like I promised.”

  “I don’t have any tea.”

  “Coffee, then? Juice? Water?” She eyed my tiny fridge.

  “There’s, uh, juice.” I limped over and took a couple of glasses from the cupboard while Anna got a bottle of pineapple juice from the fridge. “Sorry. I don’t have any beer or wine.”

  “This is fine.”

  She poured two glasses; then she sat in one chair, and I gladly dropped into the other. I wished I had a couch so we’d be side by side. Two chairs weren’t exactly conduciv
e to getting closer.

  “Do you still feel sick? Can I get you something for it?” she asked.

  I shook my head, wishing she’d forget about what had happened at the club. “No, I’m good. My dad had a big birthday party today. Lots of relatives and friends. Being around a lot of people can be stressful for me. I guess I overdid it.”

  “I wish I’d known you don’t like crowds. We could’ve gone some place quieter tonight.” She gazed at her glass for a moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, but can you tell me a little more about the injuries from your accident? They’re part of you. If we’re going to spend time together, I think I need to know.”

  Going to spend time together? Well, that was promising. I would’ve been happy to ignore the subject forever, but Anna had a right to know what she was getting into. Hopefully, the facts wouldn’t drive her away.

  I avoided telling the details of the accident itself. Not something I felt like dredging up just then. “Most of the damage was on my right side, a shattered hip and broken arm and collarbone. My head smashed into something. I was in a coma for a couple of months. The brain injury messes with my memory and ability to process things. That’s why I generally follow a simple routine. Too much input and my mind sort of scatters in all directions.”

  Anna frowned. “So a loud, crowded club was the worst date I could’ve suggested. On top of which you’d been to a family party and took your sister to a movie. I wish you’d have said something. We could’ve rescheduled.”

  I gripped the cold glass and watched the beads of condensation rolling down. “I really wanted to go on a date with you. I was looking forward to it.”

  “Me too.” She leaned over and rested a hand on my knee. “But please don’t feel like you have to hide parts of yourself. Hell, you’ve seen me at my worst, crying like a baby. I think we’re way past having to put on a show for each other. If you feel like crap, tell me. We didn’t have to go out. A quiet evening is fine by me.”

  She smiled, reminding me just how gorgeous she was. “And if talking feels like too much effort, we can sit here quietly and listen to music. It is possible for me not to babble, you know.” She squeezed my knee. “How are you feeling now? Do you want me to go and leave you in peace?”

  I smiled at the ridiculousness of that possibility with her hand on my leg. “No.”

  “Want to”—her fingers lightly dug in, and a jolt of lust rocketed through me—“put on some music?”

  “Sure,” I croaked.

  My stereo system consisted of my laptop and a couple of cheap speakers. I put on a mix with a lot of quiet songs. Anna sat back, resting her head against the chair and closing her eyes. “Nice.”

  This gave me an opportunity to study her face. Thick lashes fanned over her cheekbones. Pale constellations of freckles tattooed her face in mysterious designs. Her wine-red lipstick made her full lips even lusher. My desire to feel her mouth beneath mine was almost unbearable. If we hadn’t been kept apart by the yawning chasm of two chairs, it would’ve been easy to slide closer, rest my arm behind her so her hair brushed my skin.

  She sipped her juice, then set it aside. “This is nice.”

  “Mm-hm,” I grunted, still busy plotting how I could make some sort of move. Maybe it was too soon and I should be patient. Anna would let me know if she wanted this to be more than a platonic evening. But the singer whispering lyrics about bodies entwined was reinforcing my haze of desire.

  “Would you…want to dance?” I asked.

  Anna opened her eyes and smiled at me. “Absolutely.”

  I rose stiffly, feeling awkward and nervous, until she moved into my arms as naturally as a cat curling up on a cushion. Then my body seemed to know exactly what to do. I curved a hand around her waist and clasped her hand, closed my eyes and felt her warm softness, inhaled the sweet scent of her hair, practically tasted her essence in the air. It had been a very long time since I’d touched a woman, and I was rediscovering how amazing it felt simply to be close. Naturally, I wanted more. I’m a guy. But at that moment, I was pretty content to be pressed against Anna and swaying back and forth.

  She rested her head against my shoulder. “See. I knew you could dance.”

  “Guess I can.”

  I rubbed a circle at the small of her back. Her ass curved just below the edge of my palm, and I was tempted but didn’t go any lower.

  “Mm, that feels nice.” She let go of my hand to put both arms around me. She held me so close I feared she could feel my erection pressing against her. After a few moments of dancing like that, barely moving, Anna tilted her head to look up into my face.

  Should I kiss her? I didn’t want to get it wrong and have her flee my apartment, never to be seen again. But then I stopped worrying as nature took over. I lowered my face toward hers, and our mouths brushed together lightly.

  I cupped her neck, and her soft hair brushing the back of my hand felt every bit as good as I’d imagined it would. Anna’s mouth opened and her tongue slid over mine, warm and sinuous. I tasted the sweet tang of pineapple juice. I lost track of time for a bit as our mouths fused and our hands moved all over, touching, stroking, dragging each other even closer.

  Anna’s fingers tangled in my hair when she finally let go with a little gasp. “Whoa.” Her wide eyes gazed into mine. “I didn’t really mean for that to happen.”

  I was breathless, and my mind was too blown to put together a coherent thought. And so I reached for her again, pulled her close, and went for round two. She tasted so good, and her body melted against mine as if she didn’t really regret the kissing at all.

  It seemed like a dream, an impossible fantasy. But the sensations were too intensely real to be a dream. Anna’s arms were so tight around me I could hardly breathe, and her tongue invaded my mouth, stealing away the last fragments of logical thought. My cock was rigid between us, demanding the natural next step. I followed its direction, walking Anna backward across the room toward my bed.

  Chapter Eight

  Kissing is a tricky thing. What techniques work or don’t are different for everybody and can change depending on who you’re with and how much you’re attracted to them. To have the person, the mood, the technique, and desire all come together in a perfect storm is a rare thing. I’ve kissed enough men to know the difference between so-so and superb. That night with Jason was indescribable.

  I’d planned to end our date with a handshake, maybe to meet again or maybe not. But suddenly we were slow dancing in his shabby apartment, and then I was all over him. A spark, a hunger, a madness overtook me. We tumbled onto his narrow bed, his weight bearing me to the mattress, my legs wrapping around his.

  “Hey, we’re not going to…” I said between kisses. “I don’t plan to have…” More kisses. “Sex tonight.”

  “Mm-hm.” His mouth moved from my lips to nuzzle under my jaw. I lifted my chin and groaned as he kissed my neck as if he would devour me, vampire-style. His hunger echoed mine—rushed, desperate, needy, but in a good way. I craved the cock I felt nudging against me. But I wasn’t going to give in to desire. Not tonight at least.

  “Look. This is great, but we’ve got to slow down.”

  “Okay.” His tongue dipped into the hollow in my throat. I suppressed another moan as he cupped one of my breasts and teased the nipple to a point.

  “I’m serious.” I made myself a liar by clutching his ass through his jeans, pulling him even closer.

  Jason’s mouth drifted to my cleavage. “Nothing below the waist,” he promised, his breath heating my breast.

  “’Cause this is going way too fast,” I reiterated weakly, then whimpered when his mouth engulfed my nipple, dampness soaking my thin cotton top with the built-in cups. The tug sent a bolt of fire lancing through me. Surely just a little more making out would be okay.

  I relaxed against the pillow as Jason pulled down my neckline until my breasts popped free. He kissed and fondled them, commanding my nipples to attention with his sucking mouth and mol
ding fingers. I slid my hands into his hair, holding his head to me as I gave in to the blissful sensations darting through my body.

  I glanced down at Jason’s profile, dark eyelashes shielding those amazing eyes, his lips stretched around my nipple. I hadn’t expected this, but didn’t regret it. I stroked his hair and murmured how good it felt as I arched my breasts into his touch.

  After a bit, Jason moved back to kissing my mouth. His chest pressed against mine, and I wanted to feel skin against skin. I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and started to haul it up.

  Immediately, he pulled away. “Wait. Don’t.”

  I blinked, my lustful stupor dispersing. “Why?”

  His dark eyes stared into mine. “I have scars. Worse than the one on my face.”

  “I don’t care.” I tugged on his shirt again.

  “I do.” He sat up, and I nearly whimpered at the loss of his body covering mine. I gripped the front of his T-shirt, not letting him move too far away.

  “Please, don’t be self-conscious. I want to feel your skin against mine. Your scars don’t matter to me. Hey, you’ve seen my tits. It’s only fair.” I kept my tone light, willing him to trust me and reveal more of himself—and I wasn’t thinking of the physical scars.

  I held his gaze. “It’s okay, Jason. Now, take off your shirt.” I tried for a playful dominatrix command, except I really meant it. Trust me. Do as I say.

  He paused. When he finally reached down to grab his shirt and pull it over his head, I held my breath, a little afraid of what I might see. After I’d pushed him into exposing himself, I didn’t dare show any negative reaction.

  As it turned out, the scars were no more than a handful of thin ridges wandering like a roadmap across the right side of his chest and side. They were no worse than the severe red line on his face or the one visible below his T-shirt sleeve.

  I quickly brought my attention back to his face. “You look hot to me.” I reassured him. It was the truth, because his body was tautly muscled in all the right places.

  I slid one hand up his belly to his chest, my other around his waist, and drew him back to me. More kissing ensued. Great kissing. Extravagant, luxurious kissing. The kind that was likely to make me forget my promise to keep my panties on. Our bodies thrust together as if we were fighting our way out of the armor of clothing. Before I could completely lose control, I pulled away again, panting.