Torque

by Shauna Allen

  “Leave them alone, squirt,” Dwayne piped up. “They’ll talk about it when they’re ready.”

  “Nuh uh. He’s my big brother and I want to know if he has a girlfriend.” She pointed to Rach. “More specifically, I want to know if Rachel is his girlfriend, and if so, what the heck? How have we not heard about it before tonight?”

  I moved behind Rachel’s chair and rested my hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle rub to try and ease some of the tenseness now vibrating off her.

  “I’m not his girl—”

  “Something like that,” I interrupted before Rachel could finish her denial. She snapped her head around and met my eyes, her face full of confusion. “We haven’t exactly defined our relationship,” I clarified, my gaze locked with hers. “But I’m hoping to see where this goes.”

  Rachel gaped at me as I digested the words that had spilled from my mouth. I’d been bucking this thing between us from the start, sure I wasn’t good enough for the likes of her. And yet she’d hung around, showing me time and time again that she thought better of me than I did. It was humbling. It filled me with hope. And while I knew I’d end up emotionally obliterated at the end of us, I knew I had to try.

  “I think that’s wonderful,” my mom said, offering Rachel a plate.

  Rachel eventually ripped her gaze from mine and thanked my mom. We settled into our meal and the atmosphere returned to normal after a while. Rachel even kissed my cheek at one point as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and it filled my chest with a warm, slippery contentment.

  Over brownies, Rachel told my family all about her dad’s bike and the plans we had for it. I reached over and laced our fingers when her eyes filled with tears.

  My mom, ever the nurturer, slid next to her on the couch and patted her leg. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Losing your father had to be so hard, and I think it’s wonderful you want to honor him by fixing up his motorcycle.” She glanced at me. “And I know Jesse will do right by you.”

  I swallowed, knowing she was talking about more than the bike restoration.

  Rachel didn’t miss a beat. Squeezing my fingers, she simply said, “I know he will. He’s very special.”

  Thankfully, the conversation switched to things less emotional. Dwayne’s promotion, Leta’s plans to go back to school, the odd couple that had just moved in next door to my folks. We laughed, ate seconds of dessert, and talked until I had to leave or be late for curfew.

  We said our goodbyes and Rachel hugged my mom and sister. It was obvious that my family loved her and that grounded me like nothing else. Once we were alone in the darkness of the driveway, she faced me, her face glowing like an angel in the moonlight. “Thanks for inviting me. That was fun.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  She fidgeted with her keys a minute before her dark eyes lifted to mine again. “What you said . . . about us?”

  I’d never seen her this nervous. It was adorable. “What about it?”

  “Did you mean it? Do you really want to see where this is headed? Or were you just being kind?”

  Kind? I’d never heard that word used to describe me, especially since I’d been released from prison. I was a lot of things . . . loyal, hard-working, devoted to those I loved, even skilled in some areas. But I was also angry and dirty and fundamentally fucked up.

  None of that seemed to stop me where she was concerned.

  I tucked a curl behind her ear. “I meant it more than you know.”

  Rachel

  I wasn’t sure what brought about this change in Jesse, but I’d take it. He wanted to explore the possibility of an ‘us.’

  I reached up and cupped his jaw. “Me, too.”

  A small, uncertain smile ghosted across his lips. “I’m glad to hear that, though I have to admit it scares the shit outta me.”

  “Why?”

  He studied my eyes a moment longer then lifted one shoulder in a shrug before stepping back and shoving his hands into his front pockets. “It just does.”

  I waited for more of an explanation, but it never came. That was fine. I could wait and I would be happy with this tiny milestone. I let my smile bloom. “Well, okay then. Thanks again for dinner. It was fun and just what the doctor ordered after today.”

  “Another bad day?”

  “You could say that. But it’s better now.”

  “That creep ex of yours messing with you again?”

  I sharpened my gaze at his sharp tone. “Uh, kinda. Let’s just say we’re still working through our differences of opinion.”

  “Opinion? About what?”

  Did he think it had anything to do with him? “Work. Politics. The usual.”

  He glanced away then back, the streetlight catching in the golden threads of his hair. “Will you let me know if it becomes more than that? If he crosses the line?”

  Something in my heart thudded. “Why?”

  We stared at each other for several heartbeats as I waited, desperate to hear his answer. “Because I don’t share. If we’re really going to . . . try this . . . I won’t have him fucking with you. In any way.”

  A glimpse of the Jesse that must’ve been unleashed the day his sister was attacked was showing through and I’d be lying if I didn’t say his protectiveness had me equally anxious and thrilled. I’d never had a man feel this way about me.

  “Rachel. I’m serious. I may be on parole, but if he touches a hair on your head in an inappropriate way, I will annihilate him.”

  “Okay, yes, I’ll keep you posted . . . though I’ve been handling him for years. He’s an arrogant idiot, but he’s not dangerous.”

  His shoulders relaxed as some of the hardness left his face. “Well, whatever. Guys do stupid shit where women are concerned.”

  Wasn’t that exactly what he was doing now? I kindly chose to let that go and focus instead on what he was really saying. He was worried about me. “I said I’d tell you, all right?”

  In a flash, he was up against me, his hands threaded through my hair, our foreheads touching. “I have no idea what I’m doing here and I’m not really sure this can work. Please be patient with me.”

  I wrapped myself into his warmth and nuzzled our noses together. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting years for you to come around. I’m not going to let you go that easily.”

  He huffed out a laugh, puffing my hair. I inhaled the warm night air along with the clean scent of his soap as I digested my good luck. I had no idea what had brought him around, but I’d take it greedily.

  “So, how do we do this?” he asked, his fingers making slow, mind-scrambling circles on my waist.

  “This?”

  He drew back and looked at me with quiet uncertainty in his eyes. “Yeah. This. Us.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose there’s no rush . . .” Though I kinda wanted to rush him out of his clothes. Patience, I told myself. “How about we start with a date?”

  “A date?”

  “Yes. A date.”

  A half-smile tilted his kissable lips. “That sounds easy enough.”

  “It is.”

  “How about this Saturday? I get off work early so we can catch an early dinner. Maybe go to a movie or something?”

  I embraced the joyous butterflies swarming my belly. “I’d love that.”

  “Okay then.” He stepped back. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  I was a grinning idiot as I climbed into my Audi and hustled home. I couldn’t wait to tell Delilah the news. It was official. I was going on my first date with Jesse-I’ve-lusted-for-him-for-years-Joyner. Hallelujah!

  Well, the rest of my week was a cluster.

  I’d officially put my foot down on the whole Congressman Hoyt issue, going so far as to contact the congressman himself to apologize and explain that I didn’t have the time to adequately devote to his son’s case. I also reassured him that Angelo would do a fine job. A bit of an untruth, but I frankly didn’t care if the little punk went to prison and became someone else’s bi
tch. I’d seen the news, I knew how traumatized that girl was. I simply couldn’t represent him without some serious bias.

  Then I had a flat tire . . . yes, another one . . . that I had to change myself in my work clothes in the middle of a humid ass rainstorm. That did wonderful things for the curly hair, let me just say.

  Then I came home starving like a caveman to an empty pantry and fridge.

  Then I started my damn period.

  That was just the cherry on top of my craptastic sundae because my periods weren’t just any ol’ run of the mill periods. No, my endometriosis made my monthly cycle not only fun times with hormones and headaches, but also a weeklong battle of bleeding like a stuck pig and excruciating cramps. I took the pill to combat most of this mess, but I still had my horrible moments. Sometimes being a girl really sucked.

  So, Saturday afternoon, I was still holed up in my sweats, curled up on the couch in misery. By three o’clock, as much as it killed me, I couldn’t put it off any longer. I called Jesse to cancel. I was going to be no fun tonight.

  “Hello?” His deep voice made me want to melt like butter.

  “Hey. Sorry to call you at work.”

  “No problem. I was about to knock off and clean up to come get you.”

  “Yeah. About that . . .”

  He paused. “What’s wrong?”

  I let my head thunk back on the couch. “I’m gonna need to take a raincheck. I’m not feeling well.”

  I heard a door slam then his heavy footfalls across the line. “You all right?”

  I groaned. “No.”

  “What’s wrong? Can I bring you something?”

  Now I was embarrassed. I knew that periods were a natural thing, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of info you shared with a guy when cancelling your first date. I fumbled with what to say. “Uh, you don’t have to—”

  “Are you contagious?” he interrupted and I heard the hum of an engine.

  My eyes popped open. “No . . .”

  “Then I’ll be there in an hour.”

  He hung up before I could respond, but I was too tired to be aggravated by his pushiness. On a groan, I pushed myself up and headed to the shower. I’d just managed to clean myself up and get on some clean yoga pants and a T-shirt when I heard him knock. With a towel still wrapped around my wet hair, I padded to answer.

  I swung open the door and the sight of Jesse with shower-fresh rumpled hair, in faded jeans and a forest green Henley had my mouth watering. “Hey.”

  He tilted his head. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I opened the door wider for him to come inside and noticed the bag in his hand for the first time. God, I hoped he’d brought dinner. “Do I look that bad?”

  He closed the door behind him. “No. Just really pale.”

  I was normally pretty pale, but my current anemic state probably wasn’t helping much, nor my lack of makeup. I shrugged. “Yeah, well . . .” I moved and he followed me to the living room. “Just let me go dry my hair. I’ll be right back.”

  I shuffled down the hall to my bathroom and did a quick blow dry then bundled up my hair into a messy bun, pinched my cheeks, and rejoined him.

  I found him in the kitchen, dishing up hot bowls of soup that smelled heavenly. He glanced up. “Hungry?”

  My stomach grumbled beneath the cramps. “Starved.”

  He put the bowls on the table, where he already had Sprite poured. “Hope you like chicken noodle. My mom always made it when we didn’t feel good.”

  My heart tumbled deep in my chest. No one had taken care of me since my daddy. “Soup’s great. Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this.”

  He smiled and sat across from me and offered me a chunk of French bread. “Sure I did. Plus, I can’t really cook, so I just got takeout. It’s no big thing.”

  I dabbled with my soup for several minutes even though it was delicious, as the pain began to gnaw my insides relentlessly. I set my spoon down after a few bites and sipped my soda.

  “Rachel. Look at me.” When I peered up, he said, “What can I do?”

  “Rip out my insides with a spoon. I’m sure it couldn’t be any more painful.”

  He stared at me, his crystalline eyes confused. “Your stomach?”

  “I wish.” I glanced away. “I have Endometriosis . . .”

  “Sorry, I’m not up on medical stuff. Is that bad?”

  I met his concerned gaze. “Yes and no. I’m fine, as in I’m not going to die. I just sometimes wish I would. Like once a month.”

  He stared at me a moment, then it seemed to click. “Oh. That sucks.”

  A soft laugh bubbled up. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Is there anything that helps?” he asked as he rose with his empty bowl.

  “Serious narcotics. Heat. Prayer.” I stood with a hand to my aching belly.

  He followed me to the living room and I was touched when he grabbed the fleece blanket off the back of the couch and tucked me in. He was standing over me, hands on his hips, his body language screaming how out of his element he was. I couldn’t blame him.

  “You can go if you want. Thanks for the soup.”

  He ignored me. “When was the last time you had something for pain?”

  I thought back. “Uh, maybe at lunchtime?”

  “Jeez, Rachel. No wonder you’re miserable. Where are your pills?”

  I told him and in seconds he was back with two of my strongest painkillers and the heating pad I’d left discarded on my bed. I chugged the pills with a glass of water he handed me and watched as he plugged in the pad and fumbled with the controller before gently placing it over my stomach. “There.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply and sat on the other end of the couch, collecting my feet into his lap. I sunk into the cushions with a moan as he began rubbing my arches.

  After a few minutes of silent massaging, he stopped long enough to flip on the television. It was on the History Channel and my attention was immediately riveted to the archaeological dig onscreen.

  “You like history?” he asked quietly.

  “I do,” I admitted. “For a brief moment, I seriously considered ditching law and majoring in history.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  I shrugged. “I love law, too, and I figured I could do more good with a law degree.”

  “Plus your dad?”

  “Plus my dad,” I agreed.

  We lapsed into a comfortable silence as he continued to rub my feet and we watched about the excavation of an ancient temple. At one point, I peeked at him from the corner of my eye and found myself captivated. Again. What was it about this man that had me ensnared all these years? Sure, he was extraordinarily good looking, but it was more than that. It always had been. He was one of the most interesting, deep, thoughtful people I’d ever met. He could also give a mean foot rub.

  When the show was over, I moved my feet from his lap and curled my legs under me. “Thank you.”

  He studied me with his intense eyes. “Feel better?”

  “Yeah.” The pain had been quieted to a dull, manageable roar.

  “Good.”

  “I’m sorry I was such a crappy date tonight. I hadn’t figured on my health issues popping up this weekend.”

  “What do you mean? I love soup and ancient Rome and beautiful women. It was a great date.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

  Suddenly, he was leaning over me, his mouth so close to mine I could feel his hot breath on my skin. “This was the first real date I’ve been on in over five years and it was perfect. Don’t knock it. You might hurt my feelings.”

  I studied the glimmer in his eyes. Cupping his chin, I traced his lip with my thumb. “I’d never hurt your feelings, Jesse. I just had high hopes for tonight. Maybe another time . . .”

  His mouth quieted mine in a sweet, achingly tender kiss. My body responded, even through the pain, as though we were two halves of one whole. He saturated every empty piece of me in such a perfect way
. God, could he feel that, too?

  He drew back a fraction. “It’s getting late. I have to get home.” He dipped his gaze to my mouth and traced my lips with his finger. “I wish I could stay.” His admission sounded pained.

  “Me, too.”

  Reluctantly, he stood. “I’ll call to check on you later.”

  “Okay.” My heart filled to near bursting as I watched him back away slowly, his hand cupping his neck as if he was struggling with some internal battle. He’d seen me at my worst and he still wanted to stay. With me.

  He backed up until he was at the front door. He had his hand on the knob when something inside me snapped. Maybe I was hormonal, maybe I was just crazy, but I suddenly wanted . . . more.

  “Jesse?”

  He paused and glanced back at me. “Yeah?”

  “So, are we . . . I mean . . .” Oh, what the hell. “Does all this make you my boyfriend?” My face flamed at the way that juvenile word felt rolling off my tongue, but I couldn’t come up with anything more appropriate at the moment. I just wanted to know if he was feeling a fraction of what I was. If he wanted to make this official.

  A goofy grin split his face. “Boyfriend? Huh.” He seemed to think it over a moment and my heart sunk. “If that makes you my girlfriend, I think I like the sound of that.”

  I returned his grin. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” His smile fell. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m a bit of a mess and the last thing I want is to hurt you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  His head dipped, then without a word, he was gone.

  Jesse

  So it looked like I had my first official girlfriend. The stupid little relationships I’d had in high school, when I was just after sex, didn’t count. Not like this. Why Rachel would want me was totally beyond my comprehension, and as petrified as I was that I would fuck it up, I couldn’t say no. And I knew I would fuck it up. I always did. I’d never cared for much; never cared whether I soiled the air around me, so it didn’t much matter before.

  The question that haunted me, kept me up the next two nights, was how could I possibly keep her clear of the aftermath if I blew? When my ugly guts were spilled at her feet, how would I keep my shit together when she saw me for what I truly was and ran?