by BK Rivers
I close my eyes, savor the drag of his thumb across my lip until his lips replace his thumb in a whisper of a kiss. They are soft, warm, and a dam bursts inside of me, flooding me with every memory of the two of us I’ve ever locked away. The kiss is short—hesitant—and then he rests his forehead on mine.
“I never want to make you cry, Bug. Never. Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”
“I can’t, not right now.” My hands move to his chest and he inhales sharply.
“When is your next night off? Will you tell me then?” he asks, his breath mingling with mine, swirling around us like a million fluttering butterfly wings.
“Thursday,” I whisper, not understanding what’s happening and refusing to open my eyes, knowing I’ll break.
“I need to know you’re okay,” he says, pulling away. “I’ll pick you up Thursday at seven.” His thumb traces over my lips again, parting them.
Risking a glance in his eyes, I realize what he’s just said. “No!” I nearly shout. “I mean, no. I’d rather meet you wherever we’re going.” A smile passes over Jordan’s lips, and I seriously begin to doubt my sanity.
Chapter 11
Jordan
Bowling. Reggie picked bowling. I’m the man, it’s my job to plan our date, but she picked freaking bowling. And she’s driving herself. I’m beginning to think this really isn’t a date after all.
I roll to a stop outside Bowlers, wipe my slick hands over my jeans, and give myself a mental pep talk. This is Reggie—there’s no need to be nervous. I’ve played concerts for thousands of screaming fans and never felt like this.
Glancing across the busy street, I happen to catch Reggie stepping out of her car, and my jeans seriously shrink three sizes around my middle. She’s dressed in black leather pants that show off her slender curves, and the shirt she’s wearing—it’s a silky gray top that wraps around her waist but is cut so low I can tell she’s not wearing a bra. Is she trying to kill me? Her long brown hair is pulled up into a high ponytail that drapes over her shoulder. There’s no way I’m going to be able to hide the rather inconvenient situation going on in my pants.
I close my eyes and concentrate on anything and everything that could possibly talk him down. Ice fishing. My great-aunt Betsy and her purple hair. In the middle of concentrating, a knock on my window breaks my train of thought and…shit. I can see straight down that low cut V of her shirt and the curve of her breasts—and there go my jeans tightening again.
This is going to be a long night.
Inside Bowlers, Reggie and I rent our shoes, pick our lane, and sit down at the table to order dinner. I haven’t been bowling in years, and this place is a lot fancier than other place I’ve been. They have a gourmet menu, chandeliers, and by the gleam on the lanes it looks like they polish them after every round.
Every time Reggie leans over the table to reach for her glass of water or she ducks her head in laughter, I get a glimpse at her bare chest under that shirt and I truly believe tonight is going to be the death of me.
It’s been twenty months.
Twenty. Months.
Before getting sober, I hadn’t gone twenty days between girls. Honestly, I’m not even sure if he’s performance ready after all this time. Somehow that doesn’t even bother me. Sure, I’ve had a perma hard-on since Reggie stepped out of her car but, for once in my life, tonight isn’t about sex. I’m on a date. I’m sober. And I’m having a great time. Twenty months ago, I would’ve walked out by now knowing I wasn’t going to get laid. Now, even though I’d love to take her to my bed, I won’t let it go that far with Reggie. It would be too hard to leave her when I go back on tour.
“Ready to lose to my awesome bowling skills?” Reggie asks as she stands and saunters over to the ball return to grab her ball. She leans over, showing me her perfect ass, and pulls a hot pink ball from the return and wiggles her hips.
“You’re such a tease,” I say, coming up behind her. She smells incredible, like cinnamon and roses, and the spice courses through me, warming me from the inside. I lean over and place my hand on the small of her back while I grab my ball. If she’s going to tease me by shaking her ass, then I’m going to give it right back to her by touching her whenever and wherever I can.
“You’re so going to lose.” She struts to the lane, brings her arms up in front of her face, shimmies to the center, and glances back at me, wearing a killer smile. She takes three steps, bends over, and releases the ball, ending up with a strike. So, I’m going to lose. But I can at least be a man about it.
I hit the outer three pins my first roll and earn a spare on my second roll. And so our match continues, her getting strikes almost every turn, and me totally losing.
When we start our second game, Reggie walks up to me wearing that killer smile, showing off her dimples, and places her arms on my shoulders. She leans in and, for a second, I think she may kiss me. But she only whispers in my ear.
“I’ll go ask for the bumpers this game,” she says, and then pulls away, laughing at my obvious lack of bowling skills.
“Hey.” My fingers close over her wrist, and her pulse speeds up as she gazes up at me. Reggie’s chest is rising with heavy breaths; her eyes flit to my lips and then back up. My body remembers this. It remembers how she used to press up against me and run her fingers through my hair, driving me crazy. I’m doing all I can to keep myself from claiming her lips with mine right now, and it’s killing me. I’m aching to touch her, to taste her, to see if she still makes those little sounds of pleasure when we’re connected.
“Let’s do this without bumpers,” I say, clearing my throat. Her eyes fall as the moment passes. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or relieved I didn’t kiss her. She pulls her ball from the return and then passes in front of me.
“No bumpers, but you go first.” She bumps her hip into mine, and her cheeks brighten.
“Come on, you remember. I always made you go first, and then at least twice.” I wink at her, lean down, and give her a quick peck on the cheek and grab my ball. Her cheeks blush even pinker, and I step around her, square up, and release my ball, earning a strike. Game on!
“I’ve always been good at finding my mark,” I tease, then smack her ass.
“It’s easy when the target is so large,” she shoots back.
“Do go on. Tell me how big I am.” That gets a rise out of her, heating her neck and cheeks even more. “You know how I like to have my ego stroked.”
“That’s not all you liked stroked.” Reggie lines up, shakes her ass in her black leather pants, and releases her ball. Halfway down the lane it ends up in the gutter.
“Now who needs the bumpers?”
In the end, she wins both games and it kills me that I lost, but I take it in stride and ask her if she wants to come to my place to watch a movie.
Chapter 12
Reggie
I should tell him I can’t go back to his condo, quit while I’m ahead. I should go home to my little man, back to being a mom. But I can’t—I don’t want to.
I want to go with him and sit close while we watch a movie so that when I go home, my clothes smell like spice and musk and man—just like him. We’ve been flirting all night, shooting off lame sexual bowling innuendos that most would think are corny. But to me, they made my night. It’s like these years we’ve been apart don’t matter. We could pick up where we left off and be okay.
But then I think about Micah. I couldn’t bring Jordan into my life without it affecting Micah in some way. And I haven’t a clue if it would be good or bad for him.
Tonight. Tonight I’ll enjoy our time together, and then tomorrow I’ll return to my reality and remember the fun we’ve had. They’ll be memories I treasure and will someday share with Micah. Someday when he’s old enough to understand.
I follow Jordan in my car to his condo and work to keep my breathing steady, hoping I’ll survive this night. We ride the elevator up in silence, each of us standing in a corner trying to ignore the g
rowing tension between us. Our innocent flirting has somehow gotten us to a point that seems too big for either of us.
He unlocks the door. It swings open and the nighttime view of downtown Phoenix takes my breath away. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the streets, the flashing red, yellow, and green lights remind me of Christmas, when my parents and I would drive around looking at holiday lights. It’s beautiful to the point of being almost intoxicating.
“How are you liking it here?” I ask, walking across the open room to the windows. If I lived here, I’d never leave this spot. “The view is incredible.”
“Yeah,” Jordan agrees from behind me. When I turn around, his eyes aren’t gazing at the sight outside the windows, but down at me. My stomach swirls as his pupils dilate and he licks his lips. If he leaned down to kiss me, would I let him? Would I let this thing between us become something more? Could I let it become more?
His arms cage me in against the cool glass; his gaze turns my brain to mush. I’m back to being a puddle of goo at his feet, and it’s a beautiful state to be in. My chest flutters and heats. My fingers long to dance across his skin, and my lips crave his.
Yes. I would let him kiss me. But I know it will ruin me.
“Should we watch a movie?” I ask, nearly panting from the touch I want so badly but am terrified of. Jordan’s forehead falls and rests on mine; his eyes close, spreading his inky lashes over gloriously flushed cheeks. We stand like this—stuck in a place neither one of us knows how to get out of—not knowing if we want to move away. Do we break through the barrier of lost years, or do we push these feelings of desire down and stomp on them like a fire that needs putting out?
“Reggie-bug,” he whispers softly, his breath landing on my lips like a kiss from a ghost.
And…
I am…
…done.
I reach up, grasp the back of his neck with my fingers, and pull his lips to mine. The barrier has broken, the dam has fallen, and we’re tongue-tied and lip-locked like our lives depend on this kiss. This one kiss that has shattered my heart, rebuilt it, and shattered it again. We move across the floor until the backs of my knees hit his couch, and I fall—him on top of me—with our mouths never separating. It’s messy, hungry, and beautiful.
When his tongue finds mine, there’s no longer room for thoughts. My brain has turned off and in its place is a glorious haze dominated by the feel of Jordan’s scruffy beard on my face, on my lips. I thought kissing him with his beard would feel strange and awkward, but instead it’s soft and soothing like a blanket on a cold winter’s day. It’s another layer of touch that sends tingles through my lips and chin, making me crave so much more.
He expertly grips my waist, turns over, and pulls me on top so I’m straddling his thighs, still never taking his lips from mine. I grip his shoulders, pressing my chest to his as he pulls my hips closer, leaving no space between us. He rocks against me, pulling a moan from my lips.
His tongue glides across my jaw, finding my ear as he caresses the outer shell. He pulls my lobe into his mouth and playfully nips, making me press against his hips even more. Jordan’s fingers trace scorching lines down my sides until his palms rest on my upper thighs. His thumbs swipe across the front seam of my leather pants, and I nearly leap off his lap from the jolt it sends through me.
“Oh God,” I whimper as my forehead falls to his shoulder. It’s been so long since I’ve felt a man’s touch there, it’s a wonder I haven’t completely lost it. Jordan’s finger lifts my chin, and our lips collide once again. He holds me, possessing me like he’s trying to convince me no other lips could be better than his. That a touch from any other will never hold a candle to this.
“This shirt is like a torture device, Reggie-bug,” Jordan whispers against my neck. “Your breasts have been mocking me all night, and I think it’s time they come out to play.” He kisses a line down my neck, stopping at my shoulder to take a breath.
I gasp as he pulls the fabric of my low-cut shirt to the side and frees my bra-less breasts. He glances down, closes his eyes in appreciation, and then covers my left breast with his mouth. I jerk against him as his tongue flicks and lavishes me while his free hand kneads my other breast. I rock my hips against his and pull my lower lip between my teeth.
My body warms, welcoming the heaviness settling in my belly, delighting in Jordan’s tender touches. My fingers run through his hair and pull him closer while he sucks and nips on my breasts.
“Don’t stop,” I pant, tightening my thighs, and pressing my center harder against him.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he answers, dragging his lips back up to mine. His tongue delves inside my mouth while his palms help me grind against him. I moan into his kiss as the heat between us intensifies, and I’m so close to falling over the edge.
“Oh. My…” My breath is coming in short bursts until the front door flings open.
“This is just like in high school.” Jeremy laughs, his voice dousing every spark trying desperately to come out of me. I’m scrambling to cover my breasts and hide the embarrassment covering my cheeks, while Jordan tries to shield me from view.
When I’m fully covered, Jordan presses a kiss to the tip of my nose and scoots me off his lap, but holds me close.
I. Want. To. Die.
Right here on this couch. Jeremy continues to laugh while he joins us, sitting on the other side of me. I pretend to find something in the lights of downtown Phoenix riveting.
“Relax, Reggie,” Jeremy says as he pats my shoulder. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“That may be true, but it’s been years. Things…bodies change.” I clench my teeth, trying to block out the memory of Jeremy walking in on me and Jordan making out in his bedroom when we were seventeen. At least this time I had on a bit more clothing.
“You look better now than you ever did in high school,” Jordan says as he presses yet another kiss on me, this time on my temple. I may have just melted a little. If only he knew all the changes I’ve been through. How I grew a little human, and my breasts increased in size only to settle into what they are now. How my narrow hips spread just enough to birth a seven-pound baby, and how they never truly went back to what they were before I was pregnant.
Now that little human is home—sleeping—and I’m out on a date. Guilt is an evil thing. It burrows deep and festers like a parasite. Growing and feeding off the happiness you have until it’s too big and suffocates your every agonizing thought.
I should be home, snuggling my little boy. Not here in the arms of Jordan Capshaw, the man who once held my heart. Who still may hold my heart. As Jordan uses the remote to turn on the TV, I stand abruptly, jostling the remote from his hand.
“You okay?” he asks as he leans down to scoop it off the floor.
“Yeah. I need to get home.” I stumble away from the couch, grab my purse where I dropped it by the door, and turn around, colliding with Jordan’s chest.
“It’s only ten,” he says, lifting my chin to meet his gaze.
“I know. I have a busy day tomorrow. Two jobs, and all.”
“Are you sure? Don’t let Jeremy scare you away.”
A laugh bubbles up from my throat—Jeremy scare me away? Hardly.
“No, I just need to get home.”
“When can I see you again?” Jordan dips his head closer, moving his lips over mine. He’s so close, each breath settles on my lips like a promise. The haze returns, and it takes all my strength to speak.
“Um, I’ll call you?” My resolve is weakening, which is clearly due to the way the simple statement comes out sounding more like a question. I fumble, trying to find the handle, and when my fingers connect, Jordan’s lips brush across mine. I succumb to the kiss, but only momentarily, until I can duck under him and pull the door open and slip into the hallway. I rush to the elevator, press the down button, and tap my fingers on my elbows as I wait for the doors to slide open.
Please don’t let him come out here. I repeat it
over and over until I can safely climb into the elevator and slink away from this place. I clamber into my car and receive a text from Jordan.
I miss you already. I want to see you again. Soon.
A sob bursts from my lips as I realize how easy it would be to fall back into a relationship with him. How kissing him feels like I’ve been waiting my entire life for him to return to me. But I’d be lying to myself if I thought anything could become of us. He has a band and a recording contract to think about; I have a kid at home who means the world to me. I’m not a carefree woman who can tour-hop with Jordan to try to make a relationship work. None of what we have is real. It’s all a pretty fairy tale wrapped up in the lust-induced fantasy of Jordan Capshaw.
Chapter 13
Jordan
I couldn’t put it off any longer. Today is my first appointment with a NA counselor. The first of many, I’m sure. I pull up to the white stucco building in the middle of the industrial part of town and think maybe more goes on here than just rehab counseling. If I were looking to score a big hit, this area would be the first place I’d go.
The windows are dark with sunscreens to block the hellish summer sun, and the white paint is chipping off the crumbling stucco. He better be worth the seventy-five an hour I’ll be paying him.
Inside, I’m assaulted with avocado-green shag carpet and dark wood paneling covering the walls. Thankfully, the room doesn’t smell like the seventies, but more like fresh cookies, which makes my stomach growl. Guess when you’re high and have the munchies, walking into a building that smells like Grandma’s kitchen goes a long way in convincing someone rehab is the right way to go.
