Between the Sheets

by Liv Rancourt

  Krista bounced something off the top of my head. “Follow him.”

  “Yeah.” I still didn’t move, except to shrug off the creeping hand. Maybe he just went to smoke a cigarette and he’d be right back. Five minutes passed. Ten. No Randy.

  Krista reached across the table and used two fingers to lift my forehead so she could look me in the eye. “Listen, I’m clearly not an expert on relationships, but if you blow this you’re going to regret it for a long, long time.”

  Regret what? Regret a man whom I’d never heard of until forty-eight hours ago? Regret a man who couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether he liked me or not?

  Regret a man who took a casual hookup and made me feel like we were making love?

  There was something real between us, and the surprise and shock and confusion gave way to a white-hot anger. I shook off the beefcake and surged out of my chair. How dare he take off without saying anything?

  Outside the bar, antique and faux-antique storefronts all sat one wide sidewalk off the street, with a solid line of cars parked in both directions. Randy stood about half a block away, under a street light with a couple of other smokers. For the first time all night, I was glad to be wearing a pair of high heels.

  They made stalking much easier.

  Randy saw me coming, though his expression didn’t change. I kept my pace slow, swinging my arms to shake off some energy. My gut was coiled so tight I had to lock my jaw to keep in a scream. He took a long drag off his cigarette and dropped the butt, crushing it with his heel.

  “Where’s your date?” he asked.

  I took a white-knuckle grip on the hem of my skirt to keep from belting him one. “Um … you are. Or did I misunderstand something?”

  He shoved a hand in his pocket like he was going to go for another cigarette. “Listen, Maggie, you’re beautiful and smart and funny, and this is just not going to work.”

  His words rolled over me like little razor blades. I should have known someone as cool as Randy wouldn’t be interested in me.

  Except, wait a minute. He likes me. I know he does. My courage was struggling like a salmon going upstream, but I decided to give it one more try.

  “What’s not going to work?” I got close to him, close enough to smell the woodsy, spicy man under the halo of smoke. “It’s not going to work for us to hear a band play on a Sunday night?”

  He pressed his lips together, most of his face hidden in the shadows cast by the streetlights. In my heels I wasn’t quite eye-level with him, but close. I locked his gaze with mine, daring him to ignore me. “Or it’s not going to work for us to spend the night in a hotel room? Because you know I have the key.”

  “Shit.” He rubbed a thumb over my lower lip, then tipped his head like he was moving against his will.

  Or against his own better judgment.

  I didn’t move until he kissed me, and then I grabbed a hold with both hands. I’d never kissed angry before, but I did this time, and it was cold, and raw, and bruising. His scruff of a beard burned my chin and his hands were on me tighter than the stupid black dress and his erection jammed into my thigh. Hungry for more, I bit his lower lip hard enough to make him groan.

  He pulled away, fists against either side of my face. “Hotel?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter 17

  Krista had given me the card for the room with the promise she’d crash someplace with J-Bone. The hotel was about four blocks from the bar, and we covered the distance silently, barely touching. Fine. If Randy only wanted sex, that was all he’d get.

  I swiped us into the room, where the generic, faux-country decor could have come from any hotel in any city. Silently I snatched at his shirt, lifting it high enough to rub my palms over his bare skin.

  In retaliation, he ripped the zipper down and dragged off my little black dress. His action left me breathing hard and naked except for a thong and those god-awful heels. I got my hands in his hair and hammered him with furious kisses, humping his cock through his jeans. I dragged on his shirt until the fabric started to rip and he yanked it over his head. For a second he had both arms in the air and tangled in fabric and I grasped his hardness with both hands. So wanting. So eager.

  Randy jerked away, throwing his shirt across the room and grabbing hold of my wrists. He seized my hands and pinned them behind me, sucking and biting the tender skin on my neck in a ferocious barrage until with a garbled cry I begged him to stop. Or keep going.

  Keep going.

  He backed me up till my knees hit the bed. Determined to bring him down first, I twisted, trying to get some leverage, but he forced me onto my butt. I propped myself on my elbows and spread my legs, unsure who was the predator and who was the prey. It might be another five years and however many months before I had another man between my knees, and I meant to make it good this time.

  He took his glasses off and tossed them in the general direction of his shirt. Without the shield, the heat of his gaze scorched wherever it touched. I wanted to lick the turbulent colors of his gorgeous dragon tattoo, to taste the snake as it crossed his lower belly. My pulse throbbed in my overheated lady parts. He popped the top button on his jeans and I sighed, or whimpered, or something equally embarrassing.

  To get back at him, I slid a hand low over my belly, nudging aside the sheer lace of my thong. The tension in his jaw said he was properly provoked. “There’s a raincoat in my purse,” I said.

  He snorted a laugh. “Yes, mistress.”

  A minute later he threw a packet onto my belly. I let it lie there, counting down from 100 to keep from moving first.

  I made it to eighty-seven before a muffled “fuck” told me Randy had reached his limit. He shucked his jeans and he grasped my thong by the crotch, yanking until one of the side bands gave way. It left a mark like a tiny whiplash across my thigh. He got the condom on one-handed and thrust inside me faster than I could process what had happened. Then he shoved my calves over his shoulders and rose up on his knees.

  Eyes shut and head rocked back, Randy slammed into me, very much the Ginger God. He groaned with every thrust, going deeper than I’d ever experienced. He moved his hips in a slow circle, spinning me tighter than tight. My fists’ bitter grip on the bedspread kept me together until it didn’t, and I shattered in a scream of pleasure.

  He dropped forward to his elbows but didn’t stop thrusting. His body made a cage, trapping me, pinning me, equal parts safety and danger. He rocked harder, faster, head burrowed under my jaw, groans turning to heavy grunts.

  “Now.” He gasped and stilled, buried so deep he had to be leaving some of himself behind.

  We lay there for several long moments, until he lifted my hand and laid it on the center of his chest, covering it with his own. “You damage me, baby. Right here.”

  I shoved him off and ran into the bathroom, afraid to let him to see me cry.

  I didn’t cry, but I didn’t come out, either.

  “Maggie?” One word, accompanied by a soft tap on the door. “Baby, are you okay?”

  Randy’s voice was husky and raw, a perfect match for my soul. Still I waited, my eyes closed, my hand on the doorknob. Deep breath. I turned the handle. Released. The door yielded, swinging slowly open as if propelled by our intensity alone.

  I stepped into the room. He encircled me, held me, murmured soft and indistinct words in my ear. After a long time, longer than I’d waited for him in the bar, longer than I’d hidden in the bathroom, his thumb stroked my cheek. I lifted my head. Our lips met, so soft. Tender. As if we both knew we’d never kiss like this again.

  He drew me to the bed and again we made love, this time slow, deliberate. Taking as much time as we needed, as much time as we had. His tongue wrapped around mine. My fingers threaded through his ginger curls. Our breath mingled. He paused before he entered me, his fingers tracing patterns on my belly, my legs spread wide. He slid home and I curled around him, wanting it never to end.

  But with every gasp, every taste, every t
hrust, I knew we were saying goodbye.

  Afterward, when he fell asleep, I tugged my black dress over my head, slipped my feet into Krista’s killer heels, and left.

  Because anything we tried to say would just make it hurt even worse.

  Chapter 18

  “What do you mean you just left?”

  I excused Krista’s shout of laughter because it was three thirty in the morning and we were both a little hysterical. “I couldn’t stay. He felt so good, and it hurt so bad.”

  “You stole that line from a Hallmark card.” She groaned and flipped the lever to recline her seat. We were in my CRV, parked outside the hotel where I’d left Randy.

  In the room Krista and I were paying for.

  “I can’t believe we’re both out here.” I’d locked myself in the CRV shorty after coming out of the bathroom and finding Randy asleep, and Krista had scared the piss out of me when she’d knocked on the window.

  “We’re lame.” She shut her eyes as if she expected to snooze.

  I’d accidentally dozed off once or twice , but a woman alone in a car at night would be stupid to relax, even in a hotel parking lot. With two of us out here, I felt safer. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes.

  “J-Bone is such an asshole,” Krista murmured, half asleep already.

  “Mmm.”

  “I mean, at least Randy admitted he had feelings for you.”

  I roused enough to glare at her. “He said I damaged him.”

  “In his heart.”

  “Shut up.” Too far gone to interpret oblique references, I only knew I couldn’t be near him if he intended to leave me behind. He was strong, beautiful, talented, funny—everything I wanted.

  And he’d never even asked for my damned phone number.

  Not that I was obsessed or anything.

  “You know,” I said, raising a grunt out of Krista, “I’m an idiot, because I thought getting laid would make me feel better about myself, and I feel like shit.”

  She turned her head toward me and opened one eye. “You were only supposed to fuck him, not fall in love.”

  Oh yeah. That.

  Without answering her, I shut my eyes and tried to relax. And really did sleep, for a while, until the morning sun stabbed my face and dragged me into tomorrow.

  I wanted to catch the first ferry home, but though all my stuff was in the CRV, Krista’s was still in our hotel room. We found a Denny’s restaurant and shared a Grand Slam Breakfast and a couple of bloody Marys. Properly fortified in case of a man sighting, we returned to the hotel.

  The room was empty.

  “Of course he left, the sneaky, evil—”

  “Um, you left him first.” Krista smacked the back of my head on the way by. “You should take your slut clothes off before we get on the ferry.”

  She lent me a vintage housedress with cabbage roses and buttons in the front, and I handed over her black heels. I walked barefoot to the car and helped her load her stuff. I felt sick, and vacant, like instead of scratching an itch, the time I’d spent with Randy had dug a crater.

  Once everything was in, I took a deep breath and put the car in gear. My exhale came out sounding awful close to a sigh.

  “It doesn’t have to end, you know,” Krista said.

  “Oh right, like he’s going to make a psychic connection to my cell phone.”

  “He’s a public school teacher, for pity’s sake. You know which school he’s at. Look him up on their website. Call the district office. Hell, ask around till you find someone who knows him.”

  I bit my lower lip to keep from telling her off. She was right, but I was in too shitty a mood to admit it. We drove in silence along the winding road from Langley to the town of Clinton, where the ferry docked. Fortunately, the crowd was thin and it didn’t take long to pay our fare and get in line.

  About four cars behind a cherry red 1970 Chevy Malibu.

  Using every ounce of willpower, I shut the engine off instead of throwing the transmission into reverse. Krista wouldn’t necessarily recognize Randy’s car, so I kept my mouth shut. She had her cell phone out for a brief flurry of texts. Good. Keep her occupied. Randy climbed out of the car and walked across the holding lot to the espresso stand.

  I shrunk down, hoping he wouldn’t see me, which drew her attention. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She sat straighter and spotted him in about eight and a half seconds. “No shit.”

  “Just … don’t …”

  “Oh, I’m not.” She pocketed her cell phone and shifted in her seat to face me. Everything about her was hard, the edge of her bangs, her bold glasses, the thin line of her lips. “You know what you need to do.”

  “What?” Apologize for leaving? Give him my phone number just so I could feel better about it? Beg him to give us a chance? Wow. No easy choices there.

  Something bumped the hood of my car. Kirk and Jessica, walking arm in arm from wherever they’d parked, headed for the espresso stand. Krista made a disgusted sound, and it dawned on me the only reason he’d messed around with me was to piss Jessica off. Great. Now I could add humiliation to my emotional shit-storm.

  A sunbeam bounced off the Malibu’s chrome trim. Resting my head on the steering wheel, I closed my eyes and interlaced my fingers, clutching hard enough to cut little half-moons with my nails. I wasn’t some scared girl using a softball bat to keep her heart safe. Was I?

  Randy was either scared shitless or a complete dirtbag. We might have started playing a game, but my gut said the heat between us was real, so I decided to put my money on “terrified.” If I was wrong, I could always pick up my ball and glove and go home.

  My move.

  “There’s a Sharpie marker in the glove box. Could you reach it for me?”

  Krista’s eyebrow rose like she thought I’d clearly gone cuckoo. “Sharpie in your glove box?”

  “Grade school teacher.”

  Both eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything. She handed me the marker and I tossed her the keys. “I’ll either be right back, or I’ll see you on the other side.”

  I stuffed the marker in the pocket of the dress, got out of the CRV, and walked over to the Malibu, my heart hammering louder than every bagpipe ever played. Randy met me at the driver’s side door.

  “Can I have your keys, please?” I asked.

  The high overcast reflected silver off his glasses, but his expression was wary. “Okay.”

  I got in the driver’s side, and he got in the passenger’s side, and we sat there in absolute silence for what felt like an hour. I had no agenda, just a heart full of desire I didn’t want to waste.

  “I’m sorry I—”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie—”

  We spoke over each other and stopped at the same time.

  “I shouldn’t have left—” I started again.

  “The bar.” He finished for me.

  This time we laughed. He took hold of my hand and dragged my fingertips through his stubble before planting a kiss on my palm.

  “We’re both forgiven, then.”

  “Yeah.” His lips moved against my skin, sending a thrill through my core. “For a guy who doesn’t do drugs, I can sure act like a fool.”

  My answer was lost in the blast of the ferry’s horn and the rumble of automobile engines all around us.

  “Well, if you’re going to drive this thing, it’s time to go,” he said.

  I turned the key in the ignition and put it in drive.

  Chapter 19

  The Malibu drove like a boat. The shocks were soft and the brakes were crisp and the front end was at least three times as long as the CRV. We followed the line of cars onto the ferry, but after we parked, I stopped Randy from getting out. In my CRV, I could have locked his door from my control pad. As it was, I used my teacher’s voice.

  “Can’t leave until this is settled.”

  It worked. He stayed put. I waited until all the other passengers cleared the car deck, my palms sweating and
my mouth as dry as if I’d been sucking on sponge. Randy sat with his arms crossed, jaw tight, expression shielded.

  When the car deck emptied and the ferry got underway, I scooted across the bench seat toward Randy.

  “Listen, this has been a really great weekend,” he said.

  I cut him off with a palm over his mouth. “Yep.” I got my left hip free of the steering wheel and swung my leg up, straddling him. I was so far past my normal comfort zone I might have been breathing helium instead of the steel and rubber old car smell.

  “Now, here’s the deal.” I pulled his shirt up, baring his belly.

  “Hey, now.”

  His protest faded in laughter, and I took the marker in hand. “It would have been much easier,” I said as I started scrawling numbers across his flat abdomen, “if you’d just asked for my effing telephone number.”

  I finished with my initials and a smiley face.

  He looked at my handiwork, then at me. “Point taken.” He pulled me closer, working his hands under my skirt. “I don’t usually ask for a woman’s phone number, because I don’t usually intend to call.”

  “Oh, oops.” I brought fingertips to my lips like Betty Boop gone crazy. “Guess you’ll have to make an exception in my case.”

  “I guess”—he ran a fingertip along my collar, stopping at the button right above my cleavage—“since you’ve forced the issue”—he flicked the button, the hardness in his groin swelling—“I’ll have to.”

  I leaned forward and nipped his bottom lip. He dragged me even closer, crushing my mouth to his. He kissed me, hard and hot, until I was ready for more. I scooted my butt toward his knees, my hand on his fly, giving myself room to work.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I have a rubber.”

  “No, baby, I mean this, like, get involved with a guy with my kind of baggage?”

  I made a big show of thinking through his question before working down the zipper in his fly. “The ferry’s going to dock in ten, maybe fifteen minutes, I don’t have any panties on, and you are the hottest guy I’ve ever met, ever, in my life.” His cock sprang free and I got a firm grip on its solid length. “Ever.”