Uninhibited (Unlikely Lovers)

by Brooks, Cheryl

  The weird thing was, he had an idea she felt even worse than he did.

  So much for that.

  Chapter 3

  Emily made it home somehow that night, barely remembering the drive and completely spacing undressing and getting into bed.

  I wasn’t even drunk.

  She’d planned to go Christmas shopping the next day. Unfortunately, Saturday morning dawned, not bright and crisp enough to get her in the Christmas spirit, but gray and dreary with a chilly, incessant rain. She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, tripping on the curtain and nearly breaking her neck in the bathtub—which was her first clue that she would’ve been better off staying in bed.

  By the time she arrived at the mall, she was sniffling, and she even managed to put a damper on the spirits of a lively Israeli man who was selling cosmetics from a kiosk.

  “Come, lovely lady, let me spoil you,” he said, taking her hand. “Let me do your nails.”

  Her response was a sneeze. Without missing a beat, he handed her a tissue and went on with his sales pitch, buffing her nails to a high gloss, scrubbing her hands with sea salt, and offering her the best possible price on his wares. Poor guy. He’d probably never had such a disinterested customer before. After selling her a number of products that she had every intention of giving to someone else, even he seemed subdued.

  Nonetheless, she caught herself checking the crotch of his jeans to see if there might be anything stirring there. Not that there would have been, but it served as a reminder not to mess with such things because she had a tendency to kill them. Alan had seemed disappointed when she’d left him so abruptly the night before.

  He’ll thank me for it someday.

  She trudged on through the mall, falling victim to yet another spirited sales pitch. This time it was for aromatherapy pillows filled with herbs that could be heated in the microwave and then applied to any painful area. She got the best price for buying two of them, which was still exorbitant, and she was now weighted down with perhaps twenty pounds of healing therapy—which she would probably need by the time she got back to her car.

  Then there was Mitch. With no ideas whatsoever, she wandered into Sears. A stroll past the air compressors and treadmills didn’t help—too expensive and difficult to transport, let alone wrap. In the end, she purchased a gift set of very manly cologne. Even if he didn’t shave, he could always use the cologne, or he could re-gift it to someone else. No one could hold her responsible if he didn’t like his present. It was his own damn fault for being such a mystery.

  She bought a calendar for her friend Becky, which featured pictures of perfect men, complete with little keys in their backs to wind them up. Being married to a man who, to hear Becky tell it, was far less than perfect, she was sure to get a kick out of it. After purchasing a pizza oven for her brother Todd, Emily considered checking out the adult toy store in hopes of finding a cock that wouldn’t go limp on her, but immediately dismissed the idea. It was bad enough that she had a deflating effect on genuine erectile tissue. If she had the same effect on latex, she’d just as soon not know about it.

  Leaving the mall laden with an assortment of gifts, she drove on to her next stop, passing a man holding up a sign that declared him to be a desperate, out-of-work painter. The next one she passed was more direct. His sign said, Homeless, can you spare a buck? The car in front of her stopped and the driver handed him a bill. Her eyes met his as he took it, his expression of hopeless resignation wounding her to her soul.

  She didn’t stop or even look at him again because she was completely out of cash, having spent it all on needless, whimsical items when she should have given every last dime of it to him and his fellow sufferer.

  The rain continued to fall. She stopped at the grocery and got forty dollars cash back when she bought a rice bowl for lunch. Afterward, she headed back to where the men had been standing—next to a bank, of all things. The man claiming to be a painter was the only one left. Pulling into the parking lot, she motioned to him when he glanced in her direction.

  “I don’t have any work for you,” she said when he approached. “But you can have this.” She gave him both twenties.

  “Thanks so much,” he said. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

  He seemed like a decent sort—tall and nice-looking with a gentle face. She felt so lonely, she almost asked him to come home with her.

  “Not really. Just eat something healthy and stay dry.” She handed him her battered umbrella and drove away.

  Returning home, she hauled in her purchases then sat on the couch staring at them. Wrapping them up to give them away seemed so pointless. The bleak faces of the men she’d seen on the street haunted her. She should’ve talked with the painter longer, taken him to lunch, listened to his story, and done whatever she could have to help him out. She consoled herself with the fact that she’d done more than most people, but it wasn’t enough.

  Leaning back against the cushions, she drifted off to sleep.

  The phone startled her awake.

  It was Janice. “Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”

  “I wasn’t home,” she replied. “And I think my cell phone is dead.”

  “You were supposed to call me and we were going shopping together,” Janice scolded. “Don’t you remember?”

  Emily tried. Unfortunately, her brain wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Hel-lo, Sis. Did you hear me?”

  “We were supposed to go shopping together?” Frowning, she tried to recall their conversation.

  “Well, duh. Of course we were.”

  “I’m sorry, I must have missed that part.” Janice had a tendency to make casual suggestions and then consider those plans to be carved in stone. Emily should’ve remembered that.

  “We were going to go shopping and have lunch. Then we were going to look for a man for me to cheat on Ned with. Remember?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t.” Ned wasn’t the sort to take an eye for an eye lying down, which was something Emily had probably told Janice at the time—or would have if she’d had her wits about her, which obviously, she hadn’t.

  “Really, Emily,” she scolded. “You need to get your head together. Chad was a nice guy, but you should be over him by now.”

  Emily hadn’t told her sister the whole story about Chad. No one would want the details of that particular break-up to get out—no one who ever wanted to get laid again anyway. The only person she’d ever told was Alan, and he didn’t even know her name.

  “Look, Janice, I don’t feel well. I have a horrible headache.”

  “Bullshit,” she snapped. “You never have headaches.”

  Janice claimed to have migraines all the time. It was only fair that Emily be allowed a simple headache now and then, if only to use as a viable excuse. “I’ve got one now,” she declared. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  “That’s because you weren’t paying attention,” Janice said. “I don’t think you heard half of what I said last night.”

  “I’m sure I was trying to listen. I haven’t been myself lately.”

  “Well, hurry up and get over it,” she said, not bothering to mask her irritation. “You’ve got to help me retaliate against Ned.”

  Emily sighed. The things I do for my sister… “What if I tell him I saw you out with a tall, dark, handsome stranger?”

  Janice snorted a laugh. “He’d probably assume it was Jeremy’s math teacher.”

  “You could be screwing the math teacher, couldn’t you?”

  “Hmm…you’re right. I could be. You be sure and tell him that.”

  “At my earliest opportunity.” Which would probably be on Christmas Day. Hopefully it would have all blown over by then. “Okay, then. Bye, now.”

  She hung up the phone and disconnected it before checking her cell phone. Yep. Dead as a doornail.

  The rest of the weekend was a total loss. S
omeone knocked on her door on Sunday afternoon. Emily didn’t even bother to see who it was. The Christmas presents lay in the middle of the living room floor, right where she’d dropped them. She tried not to look at them, because whenever she did, they taunted her, daring her to get up the gumption to wrap them.

  She never did.

  * * * *

  For the first time in ages, Alan wanted a stiff drink. Not that booze was his problem, nor would it fix the one he had. It was simply the only thing he could think of to do.

  When he’d sworn off sex a year ago, he’d done his best to calm his nerves with herbal tea, exercise, and conversations with his cousin, Travis York. None of those things could help him now.

  I don’t even know her name.

  He’d been hung up on women before, but this one was different. How the hell had she gotten to him so easily? He’d been going to that ice cream place every Friday night for over a year. She wasn’t the first woman he’d stood in line with. Hundreds of women went there for ice cream, and some of them were real lookers. They might’ve tempted him, but he’d managed to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself. What was it about her that crumbled his resolve so completely?

  Alan had helped Travis when he’d fallen for Miranda, a woman Travis had mistakenly assumed was married. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Alan had done his best, which turned out to be completely unnecessary, since Miranda was actually a widow. Travis might return the favor and at least talk to him, although Alan doubted anyone could help him do what he wanted most. How could he possibly find a total stranger again? Going out for ice cream every Friday wouldn’t help unless she went there looking for him. And she did have his phone number.

  His heart dropped when he realized what he’d done. He hadn’t given her his cell phone number. Stupid me, I gave her my home phone, and the answering machine is glitchy.

  He was close to panicking when he realized she probably wouldn’t call him anyway. She was the first woman he’d ever warned up front, and now that she knew better, she’d avoid him like the fuckin’ plague.

  So much for being honest. Still, that tactic might actually work someday. Considering her history, she could’ve been the one. If she hadn’t been in such a rotten mood, he could be fucking her right now.

  Damn.

  He had to laugh. Ice cream had been his salvation, his reward for making it through another week without succumbing to temptation, a substitute, however poor, for sex. And now it was simply the bait that had lured in the seed of his destruction.

  My, how melodramatic.

  In the end, he didn’t go to a bar. He went home and brewed up a pot of chamomile tea. Double strength. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but it sure beat a hangover.

  * * * *

  Saturday morning, Alan rolled out of bed at six, having only fallen asleep somewhere between four and five. After guzzling a bottle of water, he hit the streets for his run. What few dreams he’d had were about the woman he’d met the night before. Sensuous, erotic dreams, which triggered the inevitable effect. Alan might be abstaining from sex, but his body certainly wasn’t.

  Still, he hadn’t experienced wet dreams in several months. She’d started them again.

  She. Who was she? What was her name? The not knowing was almost as bad as not having her. Almost, but not quite.

  I am such an idiot. He should never have spoken to her or touched her, let alone kissed her on the neck. He could still smell her hair, could almost taste her skin. Travis would probably laugh his ass off. He’d always known Alan would fall off the wagon eventually.

  Then again, he hadn’t truly fallen. He’d just slipped a little. Control could be regained.

  Yeah, right.

  * * * *

  By Monday, Emily’s mood hadn’t improved to any appreciable degree, but since calling in sick hadn’t been an option, she was sitting at her desk when Dillon knocked on the wall of her cubicle.

  “Hey, Em, are you busy Friday night?” Tall and skinny with very short blond hair, Dillon looked like a light bulb with an Adam’s apple.

  “I’m sure I’ll be doing something,” she replied. “Breathing, of course, and perhaps eating or drinking. Who knows?” The possibilities were endless....

  “A bunch of us guys are taking Stephen out for his birthday, and we get drinks cheaper if we have a woman with us.”

  “And you would be going where, exactly?”

  “The Mouse’s Tail,” he replied. “You know, the strip club down by the airport?”

  “No, I didn’t know, but I suppose I do now. Oh, and let me guess. I’m your last resort.”

  If he’d had any idea what she could do to a man’s penis, he’d never have asked her, even if she was the last woman on earth. She tried to imagine a whole strip joint full of impotent men. They might as well have gone bowling.

  Fortunately, Dillon wasn’t privy to her peculiar thoughts. “Not really. Everyone else I’ve asked so far has had other plans, and now I’m asking you.”

  She shrugged. “No plans.” Like every other weekend in recent memory.

  “Then you’ll do it?” He seemed quite pleased. “We get half off on drinks if you’re there, so it makes a big difference.”

  “Yeah, you’ll be twice as drunk, won’t you?”

  “Sure. It’s a party, so we should get drunk.”

  Emily felt like she was half-soused all the time, so, obviously, she wouldn’t need any drinks at all. “I don’t have to get drunk, do I?”

  “Not unless you want to, and we’re taking a limo, so nobody has to drive.”

  Which meant that unless she drove herself or took a cab, she would be stuck there until God knew when. It sounded like a very dismal evening. Perhaps she could nap in the limo from time to time. “I just have to be there, right? Don’t have to get up and dance or anything?”

  He took about a half-second too long to reply. “One of us will dance with you, and you don’t have to strip.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Dillon.”

  “No, really,” he insisted. “You don’t have to take off anything. It’d give us a bigger discount on drinks if you did, but you don’t have to.”

  With cheaper drinks as an incentive for a bunch of drunks, Emily was sure one of them would be more than happy to yank off her shirt. “What’s in it for me?”

  Apparently he hadn’t considered this aspect. He chewed on his lip for a few moments. “We’ll pay your expenses.”

  Which wouldn’t be much if she stayed sober. “I will not be taking off any clothes. Don’t even ask, because the minute one of you does, I’m outta there, even if I have to walk home.”

  Dillon nodded vigorously, intensifying the light bulb effect. “I’ll make sure everyone understands that, but we will be drinking.”

  “How could I forget?”

  She was probably making a huge mistake. However there was always the chance it might help improve her state of mind. Novel experiences were good for a person—at least, she thought they might be.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Dillon was profuse with his thanks. “We’ll have a blast. You’ll see.”

  Emily was a little afraid of what she would see. She’d never been to a strip club before—had never felt the slightest desire to do so—and suspected she would regret this decision until the end of her days.

  Still, the airport was nowhere near the ice cream parlor.

  Or Alan.

  Chapter 4

  That evening Emily received another call from Janice. “You’ll never believe this,” she began in ominous tones. “Mom and Dad are going to Jamaica for Christmas.”

  “Nice of them to tell us so soon,” Emily grumbled. “Any thoughts on what the rest of us should do?”

  “We can have Christmas at my house, although I can’t promise much in the way of peace on earth and goodwill toward men—at least not toward Ned. He’s been a real shithead. Honestly, you’d think I was the one who’s been cheating.”

  Janice h
ad always been something of a free spirit, and Emily had never understood how she’d managed to wind up with such a controlling, opinionated asshole—and now he’d been unfaithful. “Maybe he’s pissed because he got caught cheating and can’t get away with it anymore.”

  “Possibly.” Janice heaved a sigh. “So should we have Christmas here, then?”

  “Sure,” Emily replied. “But it won’t be the same without Mom and Dad. I can see Mom now, running around like a chicken with its head cut off while Dad tells everyone how much better Christmas was when he was a kid. Maybe he’s right about that. I miss having Christmas with Papaw. He really knew how to enjoy himself.”

  “Yeah.” Janice sighed. “Didn’t matter what you gave him, he was always tickled to death with it.”

  “Must be because he wasn’t actually related to any of us,” Emily mused. Papaw had married her grandmother when she and Janice were little. Their brother Todd, being much younger, barely remembered him.

  “Now, that’s not fair,” Janice protested. “We have fun…sometimes.”

  “True, but none of us have his child-like attitude—at least I don’t. I must’ve been born old.”

  “You just need to get out more.”

  Janice obviously meant to sound encouraging. However, given that the last two times Emily had been out, she’d met a clinging vine of a man who liked sex and ice cream and she’d cried over a homeless painter, she didn’t think she’d benefitted very much. Going to Stephen’s party probably wouldn’t help, either.

  “I get out,” she protested. “I’m just not a kid anymore—and neither are you.”

  “Yes, but look at Mom and Dad going to Jamaica for Christmas. Talk about living.”

  “Go with them,” Emily suggested. “I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

  Actually, Emily suspected their parents might’ve planned the trip to escape from Janice and her moody, bickering family. Unfortunately, without Mom and Dad there to even things out, she and Todd would probably spend the evening off in a corner somewhere, which actually sounded pretty good.