by Clover Hart
I wanted it to last forever until, with a shattering crash, I finally came to my senses.
In that moment of clarity, I’d backed away from him, surprised as hell that he’d kissed me. Freaked out. Reminded that once upon a time a few years ago, there was a guy who’d come and gone from Cherry Valley just like Zach, and he’d burned my trust but good.
I can’t do it again with a person who’s probably going to leave town after he realizes it’s not right for his tech company. I won’t.
The door to the shop opens, and I hold my breath, hoping and not hoping it’s Zach. But it’s only Tommy, who’s reporting way before his shift is scheduled to start. My fellow barista crankily motions with his hand toward the backroom, where I’m sure he’s monitoring Twitter for tidbits about the pep rally. I nearly volunteer to take his hours because I’m in no mood to socialize, but I’ve been here since daybreak and I’m beat, so I go back to reading about that movie.
When the door opens again, I’m caught off balance, especially when I see who’s just entered.
Zach.
Oh God. I want to crawl under the counter so he won’t see me, but I do the next best thing and push my ponytail partway over my face. My hair’s not going to hide me, but it’s the best I can do without backing out of the shop and running for it.
Instead, I make like a chameleon and use my amazing peripheral vision, watching him set up for work with his laptop. I brace myself as I wait for him to come up here and order whatever coffee he’ll be trying today. Ever since we traded vehicles, he’d been dabbling in the less fancy drinks, and I hadn’t even dared him to do that. But I wonder if he’ll forgo coffee and pie today altogether because he sure seems determined to keep his distance and ignore me.
Jeez, I really suck. In a different world where I don’t suck, I’d march right up to him and tell him that I was being weird last night and that I liked the kiss. It’s just that anything that might happen between the out-of-towner and the girl who doesn’t want a fling has zero viability. If our chances were like tiny little bull calf sperms swimming toward a heifer’s eggs, all of them would die out.
I frown and shut the top of my computer, erasing Abby’s blog about Aroused from my sight. But not from my mind.
The word — and the movie — is about as ever-present as Zach seems to be.
In the empty shop, the country music seems to play too damned loud. The room seems to close in on me, pushing me toward Zach.
Boy, this is ridiculous, two grown people who won’t even look at each other. And I’m the one who impetuously dared him to go dancing last night in the first place because I didn’t want our games to end. He’d been right about that. He didn’t have to talk me into dancing with him at the saloon either — it was all me, even though he has a way of getting me to do things without saying a word. And maybe, after a few slugs of whiskey, he’d sensed that about me and he’d taken the next step in the mating process.
Aroused.
I can’t blame him for seeing that I’m in reluctant heat.
After a few more minutes crawl by, I say to hell with it and come out from behind the counter. The minute I see that he’s got a plain navy-colored tee shirt on, my heart dips a bit. I like his dopey graphic shirts, and this one seems like such a blank.
As I sit in the chair that his partner Barry used to inhabit, Zach gives me a lowered gaze from beneath his glasses, then grins.
My heart swings back up again. Not that it means anything.
“How’s it all going, Hamilton?” I ask.
Is he relieved that we’re still talking? I think so.
“You mean with FCT?” he asks. “Things are looking good for us to set ourselves up in Cherry Valley.”
I hold back a smile. For reals? He might stay after all?
Well, there’re all those jobs FCT could bring in, and they could be the first of many businesses that come here. Then again, I’m still not sure about all the changes. They seem to be happening so fast.
Some more than others.
He sits back in his chair, surveying me, and I tuck my hair behind my ear, even though there’s not a stray lock there. Should I tell him that I’m sorry about last night?
He saves me by saying, “I’m reading Abby Peters’ latest blog. Her new one.”
“Oh. It’s about that movie, right?” As if I don’t know.
He nods, and the title, Aroused, hovers over the conversation, circling over our heads.
Neither of us says it, though.
Zach runs a hand through his thick, sandy hair. It has less gel in it than usual, and it looks nice. Scrumptious.
I subtly blow out a breath.
He says, “I’m actually surprised the town is letting this movie be shown. Isn’t the PTA or some kind of uptight morals committee organizing a boycott yet?”
“I wouldn’t be shocked if that happened. But Abby’s blog just went live, so maybe it’ll take time to gather the proper amount of offended steam.”
Zach turns the laptop’s screen toward me. “Did you read all of her post?”
I nod mutely. I’m almost thinking this is Zach’s way of trying to talk around last night’s kiss. My lips tingle just thinking about it.
He clears his throat, then turns the screen back toward him. “Abby doesn’t really say what the film is about, but she’s savvy about wanting to make someone want to see it.”
“She knows that telling people not to google it will get them to go to the theater instead. She’s trying to get the Bijou back on the map.”
“Well, she’s definitely making a case for a firsthand experience with the film.”
I look up at him, and he’s watching me. I tuck another phantom hair behind my ear and gather my guts. I’ve never been this bashful. After all, I’ve seen everything — stallions covering mares, how to perform an artificial insemination — so why should I be such a shrinking violet now about the way males and females relate?
“I don’t know what that film is,” I say. “But it can’t be porn. Cherry Valley would never allow that.”
“It’s something risqué for sure, based on the reaction the film got at Cannes.”
We still won’t say the title. Aroused. But with Zach sitting just across the table from me, that’s what I am. I keep thinking about that kiss and how it made me go hot and liquid.
“You going to see it?” he asks. “Because you sound … interested.”
This can’t be another dare coming on. He’d have to have balls the size of planets to do that after what happened last night.
I shrug, then gauge him. “How about you?”
“Probably not. Too busy with work.”
“Exactly. Way too busy with school.”
But I am curious. And he’s acting way too disinterested to not be curious, too.
It feels like I should probably leave him alone now. I’ve shown him that everything is good between us, and he’s got work to do, so I rise from the chair and start walking.
“Mandy,” he says.
I stop in my tracks at his low tone. It sounds like he doesn’t want me to go, that maybe he’d like to see me again in a bar or a restaurant or even in a movie theater for a film neither of us wants to see. Allegedly.
I bite my lip, part of me wishing he’d ask me out, but as I look over my shoulder at him, I see that this isn’t going to happen. I’ve had my last dare with him, and I messed it up but good.
I have no idea what to do with him.
Finally, he grins. “How about a cup of Colombian Blend and a piece of pie?”
Relieved and not relieved, I smile, then go to fill his simple order.
I’m not disappointed that he didn’t ask me to see this film that’s sparked our interest. I mean, I want to see it, but I don’t know why, so it’s not worth my effort. Besides, I don’t even like indie films much, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone else in town to catch me in the theater watching this one.
Especially with Zach.
I’m good,
I think as I put the counter between him and me once again. And I’m definitely not up for being aroused even more.
Chapter 18
Mandy
After my shift ends at Screaming Beans, I can’t shake off the thought of Aroused.
I toy with the idea of sneaking into the Bijou, because the more I think about the darned film, the more I want to know what the deal is with it. But Cherry Valley is still small enough so that you can’t do too much without the locals knowing about it, so seeing the movie might take a little work.
But wouldn’t it be totally worth it? Racy hot stuff? Sexy good times in exchange for nothing personal in return because it’s only a movie?
Sure it would.
Once I’m home and in my bedroom, which is a basic place with animal-related hardcover books piled on the table and floor, I go to my cork bulletin board to look at the monthly Cherry Valley events calendar that’s mailed to everyone. I need to know how long that football rally and carnival will go on because I’m not about to see Aroused with a crowd, and the rally is one event that’ll divert a great majority of the town.
Hey, well look at that. The Homecoming parade will start in twenty minutes near the school route, and the carnival next door to the field will open with a concert from a local band in an hour. Festivities will last through the weekend, but this first day is always major.
I have the newspaper tucked under my arm, so I take out the Gazette and open it to the movie show times, just to confirm that Aroused is playing when Abby’s blog post said it would be.
Confirmed.
So now I’m in the clear to sneak into the Bijou if I really want to. No one will ever know, and the realization … excites me.
A deviant giggle wells up in my chest as I change out of my Screaming Beans shirt and pull on a red, cozy crewneck sweater. Then I shake out my ponytail and fluff my hair. After I look in my mirror, I ask myself why I care what I look like when I’m only going to the movies, but there’s something about the way my sweater clings to me that makes me feel …
Kind of sexy.
I can’t forget Zach’s kiss either, and that makes me feel even more revved up.
Heck, I’m allowed to feel this way, even if it’s been a long time since I have. I mean, I’m about to see a naughty movie, and I even go so far as to dig into one of my drawers for some red lipstick that I never wear, swipe it over my lips, and then check to see if there’s a difference in me.
The bold shade brings out the brown of my eyes, making them look like the whiskey Zach was drinking last night. At the thought of how he threw back his shot with such assurance, my temperature rises.
I think I need to watch this movie, if only to scratch an itch that isn’t going away.
I shrug into a jacket, drive the short distance to Main Street because I want to be there on time, and park enough distance away from the Bijou so no one will know I’m in there. The road is ghosted. Some shops are even closed down for the day because of the rally and carnival. Even so, I pull up the hood on my jacket as I walk down the autumn-quiet street and buy a ticket from Mr. Darnell at the box office in the round booth out front.
“Here you go, Mandy.” He seems pleased that someone has scorned Homecoming for one of his precious movies, and when he smiles at me with a gold tooth flashing under the marquee lights, I lean toward the glass.
“Not a word about this, Mr. Darnell?” I ask hopefully.
“It’s a beautiful film, Mandy, nothing shameful about it at all.”
“Still.”
He winks. “Not a word about anyone who goes in there.”
“Can you tell me how many people are at this showing?”
“So far it’s only you.”
Yes!
I feel as if this is my own sweet little secret as Mr. Darnell follows me into the lobby and sells me cola and popcorn. After I settle into one of the vintage velvet seats way up in the balcony, I exhale and take off my jacket to stuff it into the seat next to mine.
I can’t see most of the chairs on the floor, and as the lights dim over the dramatic curtains and crown molding on the ceiling, my heartbeat gets going. There’s just something so much more sinful about seeing a movie with this kind of reputation in public rather than in the privacy of your home. I don’t watch anything but late-night, old-school flicks by myself, but here, anyone could walk in and judge me for being a dirty girl who’s getting her fill of the very arty, beautiful Aroused.
Maybe that’s just what I am deep down. Aroused. And the last time I allowed myself to be that way was a few years ago when Matthew, the out-of-towner who told me it was okay to be naughty, swept in and out of my life. He talked me into it, and I didn’t know any better. After he’d had his fill of me, I decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to go through such a thing again, but today it feels good being naughty all on my own.
Zach will never know any of this, of course, but he actually talked me into seeing this film just by saying he wouldn’t go see it. Part of me wishes he knew what he’s done to me.
Part of me wishes he were in the seat next to me.
But as the projector flickers on and starts to run, I have the theater all to myself, and I huddle into my seat, my eyes wide and ready.
I have no idea what to expect, thanks to Abby’s recommendation to stay in the dark about this film, and the opening scene already has me riveted, with a man and a woman who live in houses across from each other, their windows open, the sheer curtains blowing in a sensual breeze. There’s minimal sound at first, only the hush of the two of them breathing as they furtively watch each other in their rooms, pretending not to notice that the other person is paying attention.
She sits at her frilly vanity table, slowly putting on lipstick.
She watches in the mirror as he leans against his window frame, devouring her with his hot gaze.
I shift in my seat as the scene fades into an aside — a dying sunset over lawns, then a gradual close-up beneath a perfectly potted plant to show roots entwining, choking one another.
Darkness gives way to another scene. There’s still no music, only white noise from a fan as summer sweat beads the woman’s skin. She obviously knows that the man is in his room as she slowly strips off her loose white shirt down to her bra, then peels off her skirt to reveal her lacy panties.
She glances over to find him looking at her with startling hunger, then suddenly pulls the shades.
As I watch, I don’t know yet what separates this movie from something on Cinemax, but I keep thinking that another customer is probably going to ease into a seat in this balcony at any moment, catching me watching everything just as intently as one of the voyeurs keeps watching the other onscreen. The thought of getting caught only makes me sink lower into my seat, imagining that Zach is sitting next to me, trying to control his breathing just like I’m doing.
When the woman in the movie pulls the shades up again, time has passed. I don’t know how much, but enough so that she finds that her neighbor has upped the stakes of their wicked game. He’s brought a woman home, and she looks a lot like his neighbor with her dark hair and eyes. With the lights out in her bedroom, she watches him strip the clothes off his date so deliberately and erotically that I feel like I should look away. As he eases his hand over her bare belly, the neighbor can’t help but do the same thing to herself, getting off with every seductive move he’s making on his date.
As the breathing on the soundtrack only gets louder, I glance around the balcony. No one is here but me, and I rest my hand on my stomach, feeling the soft pressure of my touch there. Onscreen, the man slips his hand into the front of his date’s panties, and I bite my lip, clenching my sweater.
The camera focuses on the neighbor’s hazy gaze as she watches the man and woman in the opposite bedroom. She’s listening to the rising moans of his date, then the way she starts to plead with him to take her.
As the neighbor slides her own hand into her open shirt to pleasure herself, my breathing is stilt
ed, but I don’t dare touch myself like they’re doing, even if I’m dying to. Getting off like this in a public place is unthinkable. I don’t really even masturbate much on my own at home.
Too much work. Too much effort.
I’d rather only think about being seduced, and I like watching it happen right now. I like having it all in my head.
That is, until I start imagining Zach again — his kiss at the saloon, the clean scent of him making me giddy. I like his fingers because they’re long, and I wonder what they’d feel like if they were in my panties …
I take my hand away from my stomach and firmly plant it on the armrest. In the movie, both women are climaxing now — the date across the way loud and wild, the neighbor in her bedroom quiet and desperate as they come, one right after the other.
Afterward, when the man looks at his neighbor, clearly knowing that he had her going all along, I hold my breath.
Then he shuts the shades, and the screen goes black until the soft image of him smiling and her smiling gives way to them both opening their shades on another day to face each other.
I’m turned on like you wouldn’t believe — I can feel it between my legs. My jeans press against me, and I wish I could make the ache go away. Then again, I don’t wish that at all, because it feels nice, liberating.
I only wish I had the guts to ask Zach to make it go away …
So what the hell is wrong with me that I can’t do that?
The rest of the movie makes me even more restless as the same actors portray different characters in various carnal scenarios: he’s now a writer who creates erotica that she reads out loud at night so she can become aroused, and in the end of this vignette, he turns out to be the woman’s cold husband who ignores her, only to come back to their loveless bed in the end. Then the same actress appears again as a beautiful countess in corsets and powdered wigs who teases the servant who adores her until she drives him to a tragic yet sexually fulfilling death by autoerotic asphyxiation …
