The Truths about Dating and Mating

by Jaycee DeLorenzo

I scrubbed, scraped, and squeegeed my shower clean, working with mechanical efficiency. My thoughts were millions of miles away. I felt like I slipped into a trance. Again and again, I fretted over the reasons for Ian to be summoned to the police department. My speculations grew more and more outlandish, but all that did was cause intense worry and frustration. Finally, for my own sanity, I pushed all thoughts concerning the police station as far back in my mind as I could.

  Of course, with the worry tucked away, the fury came back to the forefront of my mind. Caustic phrases and images of giving Ian a tongue-lashing like he’d never experienced before flashed before my mind’s eye, playing out like a movie – one I had the power to edit and revise every time a new and more biting remark occurred to me.

  Come the time of our actual confrontation, I knew I’d never say half the things passing in my head. Still, that didn’t stop me from stockpiling every empty threat and insult that came into my arsenal.

  As my energy started to dwindle, so did my control over the images paying out in my mind. They took on a life of their own; one that I found a little unsettling. It would start out the same: with me doling out punishment for Ian’s interference, but then it would take a different path. Instead of him being contrite or apologetic – so not his style in the first place, but it worked well in my morbid fantasy - he would jerk me to him and silence my rants with his mouth, explaining his every reason away with his lips and hands.

  I knew it was stupid to think he interfered because of jealousy, but I found myself almost wishing that was his motivation. After all, I would be willing to forgive any and all infringement on my love life if it meant he wanted to be a part of it.

  ***

  By the time nine o’clock rolled around, I’d run out of steam. Armed with a trash bag and a sluggish mind, I reentered the living room. And shivered. When had it gotten so cold in the apartment? I looked at the thermostat to see it was only sixty-seven degrees. Hiking it up to seventy-five, I went to get the trash from the pantry so I could make a dumpster run.

  I opened the front door and went still in the doorway, my mouth dropping at the sight that greeted me. Snow covered the ground and cars in a thick, white blanket. The snow reflected the moonlight, painting the apartment complex a magical blue color. By the size of the flurries falling from the sky, it didn’t look like it would slow anytime soon.

  I walked out to the rail of the balcony and lifted a hand to catch some of the flurries in my palm. I’d noticed the air had a bit of a bitter chill to it that afternoon, but it hadn’t seemed nearly cold enough to snow.

  But that was Ironwood, Arizona for you. Local motto: Don’t like the weather? Wait ten minutes.

  The wondrous smile on my face froze when a couple of flakes hit my shoulders, sending a body-racking shiver straight up my spine. The thin layer of sweat dying on my skin began turning to frost.

  I could hear Nonni Rossini’s voice in the back of my mind: “Get inside, pupa, or you’ll catch pneumonia!”

  I debated leaving the bags just outside the door, but I didn’t want to attract the local raccoon family who resided in the woods backing the complex. I dashed down the three flights of stairs to drop my trash in the dumpster. By the time I returned, my teeth chattered and my nose was numb.

  I showered and dressed in a pair of Hello Kitty flannel pajamas. After wrapping my hair into a sloppy top-knot at the crown of my head, I went into the living room and thumbed through mine and Chelsea’s small collection of DVDs. In the end, I decided it was a “Dirty Dancing” kind of night.

  I grabbed the cordless phone from its cradle and laid both it and my cellular on the coffee table, wanting to keep them both close in case Ian called. Then, I stretched out on my side on the sofa and hugged the pillow to my chest.

  Fifteen minutes into the movie, my eyelids grew heavy and started to flutter shut. I fought it off for as long as I could, but finally succumbed to the sandman’s call when it became apparent I was fighting a losing battle. The next time I opened my eyes, it was while bolting upright as the distinct two-tone chime of the doorbell reverberated throughout the room.

  I blinked in rapid succession, waiting for some of the fog to clear my brain before even attempting to stand. On the television screen, Baby and Johnny were dancing in his cabin. I’d been asleep for roughly forty-five minutes, I’d guess. Pushing myself up into a standing position, I shuffled to the window and peeked through the blinds.

  I saw Ian’s spiky head as he stood outside the door, body hunched in on itself and staring down at his feet.

  My first emotion was relief, accompanied by a wordless prayer of gratitude for his safety. That was immediately followed up by a thrust of righteous anger. I moved to the front door, winding up to give him an earful for making me hear the truth from Miles. And when I’m done with that, I’ll fill his other ear for keeping the news that Jayden called from me.

  I unlocked the deadbolt and yanked open. “Where the hell--?

  My scolding cry died in my throat when I saw his face, and I took a step back. His head had only risen for a moment, but I’d seen the dead look in his eyes, seen the trail of blood beneath his nose, the discolored flesh encircling his left eye. The unmistakable moisture of tears on his cheeks.

  I closed my eyes and sagged against the back of the door, feeling the wind go right out of my puffed up sails. “Oh, Ian.”

  Pressing his lips together, he jammed his hands in his pockets and kicked a foot into a small mound of snow.

  With a sigh, I stepped out onto the landing, ignoring the crunch of snow under my shoeless feet and the icy liquid seeping into my socks. “Come on,” I said softly, pulling one of his hands from his pockets and tugging him forward.

  Ian turned his head and squinted into the distance, but didn’t resist my pull. I closed the door behind him and let go so I could lock the door. I kept my eyes on him the entire time. He just stood there, motionless, save for the shivers racking his body.

  I didn’t have to ask what happened. I’d seen it more times than I could count, though I doubted I would ever forget a single bruise, welt, or cut.

  Blinking back the hot tears welling in my eyes and clogging my throat, I took his icy hand in mine again. “Come on,” I repeated, leading him to my bedroom and through to the bathroom. I stood him in front of the closed toilet seat, pressing on his shoulders until he sat.

  Ian stared forward, new tears leaking in slow tracks from his eyes. I pulled a fresh washcloth from the cupboard above the toilet, wet the material and knelt before him, gently dabbing at the drying blood above his lip. A hot/cold sensation spilled into my gut, an equal mix of sympathy for his current state and fury at the man who had caused it. It ripped me to shreds.

  I swallowed and went back to work. No matter how many times I had to do this, it never got any easier. Between the bruises and the conversation with Miles, I could put two-and-two together, and fill in the blanks for the rest. Only one person had the power to bring Ian to his current state, anyway.

  My guess? Pete must have gotten arrested, no doubt due to something drinking related, and Ian was called because he was still on the contact list. After taking him home, some kind of argument must have ensued, and ended with Ian being on the receiving end of his stepfather’s fist.

  It wouldn’t be a first time.

  I pulled back the rag to survey my progress. I’d cleaned most of the blood away, but some still clung to the inside of his nostril. Not knowing the extent of the damage to his nose, I decided it was probably best not to add any additional pressure. Better safe than sorry.

  I rinsed the cloth under the faucet and wiped down his face. Tossing it into the sink, I lifted my hand to cup his cheek. “That’s better,” I said, using the pad of my thumb to catch another tear in its tracks. Ian shuddered out an exhale and closed his eyes.

  His skin was icy cold. How long had he been out in the snow? Had he walked all the way to my apartment? I needed to get him warm.

  I rose and leaned forward
, kissing the top of his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  Not wanting to leave him long, I raced to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, and then to the linen closet to get a fresh towel.

  He was sitting right where I left him when I returned to the bathroom. I placed the glass of water and the towel on the side of the sink, and stepped by him to run the shower. Kneeling before him once more, I tugged on sleeve of his riding jacket. “We need to take these off.”

  His head bobbed just the slightest bit. Together, we worked him out of his jacket and T-shirt. “Stand up,” I instructed next, rising to my full height and pulling him up with me. With my thoughts focused solely on getting him out of his wet clothes, I reached for the button on his jeans and unsnapped it. I was tugging on the tab of his zipper when his icy hand wrapped around my knuckles, stilling my movements.

  My head shot up to find him peering down at me with flat, tired eyes. Even so, I swore I saw the corner of his mouth quirk. “I can get it from here,” he assured me.

  It was only then that it hit me what I’d been doing, and I felt my cheeks warm just the slightest bit. “Of course.”

  He was talking, at least, and that was a good sign. It meant he was coming out of the semi-catatonia that I’d witnessed holding him captive for up to six hours in the past. Thankfully, the duration of his spells seemed to be lessening with time. I liked to think I had something to do with that.

  Exhaling loudly, his free hand rose up to push a strand of hair away from my face. “Thanks,” he murmured. Another tear spilled down his cheek.

  “Anytime.”

  He shook his head. “Every time,” he whispered, his green eyes flaring with emphasis.

  I nodded with mock-severity. “And don’t you forget it, Buster.”

  Ian stared at me for a long beat and his thumb stroked my cheek. “I never do.”

  My smile faded at the grim reminder that this wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last. I sighed and dropped my head. And that’s when I realized that my hand was still on his zipper and his hand was still on mine. “I guess I can take this back,” I said with a faint laugh as I glanced up.

  This time I knew I saw his mouth quirk.

  He released my hand and I pulled mine away from his zipper and turned to the door. “I’ll lay out some sweats on the bed, and I’ll be in the living room if you need me. You can sleep or just hang out. Whatever you need.”

  Ian nodded once, his eyes conveying a touch of embarrassment. But there was gratitude, too. And something else that made me feel warm all over, like I was glowing inside. Biting down on my lip, I lowered my lashes and closed the door.

  ***

  I was sitting on the couch with my legs crossed beneath me when Ian emerged from my bedroom. He wore the pair of extra-large Riordan Athletics sweatpants I’d left out for him. They were a little tight on him, especially around the hips, but the legs were long enough, and the only thing large enough that I owned to fit his lengthier form. He’d forgone the shirt I’d left out for him, and I assumed it must not have fit. His wet hair was combed back from his face and a few remaining droplets of water on his shoulders and neck caught the light of the television.

  He came around the back of the couch and dropped down on the other end.

  I gave him a faint smile. “Feel a little better?”

  Slumping low on the cushion, Ian stretched his long legs out before him. In an instant, Pandora hopped up on his lap and shoved her head into his palm. She’d always favored him – like almost any other female I knew. He scratched her behind the ears without saying anything. I gave up on getting an answer, and didn’t really need one. A shower couldn’t heal the kind of wounds he had. Eventually, though, Ian looked up at the television and shrugged.

  He’s embarrassed. That was okay, though. I’d give him the time he needed, even if it meant he didn’t speak to me for the remainder of the night. Prepared for a night of silence, I was surprised to see him turn his face my way. “I’m warmer, at any rate.”

  “It’s a start.”

  Our eyes remained on each other for a few compatible moments – mine conveying that I wouldn’t press him to talk; his with grim appreciation. We looked at the television at the same time. When Ian was in the shower, I’d replaced “Dirty Dancing” with the more guy-friendly “Office Space,” figuring it would provide a comedic distraction of some sort. It seemed to do the trick, too. Ian made several breathy sounds during the next few minutes that I thought might be laughs.

  I turned the volume up a few notches, and leaned back into the cushion. A minute later, I felt the couch shift below me and I looked over to see Ian curling up on his side. Pandora mewed in complaint and hopped onto the floor. Keeping his eyes glued to the television, Ian placed his head in my lap and loosely wrapped the fingers of one hand around my right ankle.

  My mouth parted. Usually, once Ian had a chance to collect himself and gain control over his emotions, he pulled away, both emotionally and physically. I’d always figured he viewed the act of receiving comfort a weakness of some kind, and it hurt his pride to appear weak.

  I lifted my hand and threaded my fingers through the black strands of his wet hair. His eyes closed and a soft rumble of pleasure vibrated in his chest.

  The purr brought me more pleasure than it should have, given the circumstances. I kept myself braced for his retreat. I kept expecting him to realize he’d let his walls slip and pull away.

  That moment never came.

  I continued to stroke his head; even when my fingers began to ache, my skin began to prune, and the moisture from his hair sank through the flannel of my pajama bottoms. I didn’t complain and I didn’t stop. Anything that soothed him at a time like this was worth the mild discomfort.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I was in the twilight of sleep, that elusive state between wakefulness and dreams, where awareness is fractured and reality seems nearly unattainable. Disjointed imagery flitted in and out of my mind; an eerie kaleidoscope of faces and places; a slideshow of memories from my past intermingled with scenes from my present.

  One face in particular appeared with more frequency than the others. While I distinguished it as belonging to Ian, it didn’t really resemble him. It didn’t really resemble a face at all, for that matter, rather an impressionistic rendering imbued with shadows and colors, with hard edges veiling softer contours that coalesced to form what I recognized as the essence of Ian.

  As I edged toward consciousness, scraps of memory began to surface, offering a vague justification for his recurring appearance in my mind.

  And as my eyelids slid open to see the electric blue screen on the television, all the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place.

  Ian came to me that night, seeking refuge and solace. He was still with me now. I faced away from him, but I could feel him pressed against the length of my back. The furnace-like heat of his body warmed me throughout, warding off the chill of the rest of the apartment.

  We’d moved into that position after I’d finally had no other option than to tell him my legs had fallen asleep, some twenty minutes or so after he first rested his head in my lap. His breathing evened out roughly five minutes later. I’d drifted off not long after.

  Closing my eyes again, I tilted my head to the left, the right, and then down, stretching out the cricked muscles in my neck. I moved back just slightly and peered over my shoulder to find Ian already awake. “Hey,” I murmured. An inhale through my nose turned into a yawn, and, from there, rolled throughout me in a full-body stretch. Going limp, I gave him a sleepy smile.

  The smile faded from my eyes first, gone after one slow blink and three rapid ones. My mouth followed shortly thereafter. I lifted my head a fraction of an inch and the last tendrils of sleep fled my system. My lips parted and my heart fluttered wildly in my chest.

  My gaze wavered to the ceiling above Ian’s head and then back again, but look on his face hadn’t changed.

  His hooded, mossy
eyes burned bright, contrasting eerily against the blue tint of the television screen. Shallow and quiet breaths came from his parted lips as he gazed down into my face.

  He looked dazed. Hungry. And I didn’t need the feel of him pressing against my backside to tell me he was aroused -- though it was definitely there.

  My lips ignited under the tangibility of his stare. The blood quickened in my veins, racing about like a river of molten lava that flowed south and concentrated between my legs. My inner-muscles flexed involuntarily and my nipples tightened, causing me to gasp.

  Drawn by the sound, Ian’s eyes snapped up to mine.

  We stared at each other for a long time. Then he lifted a hand to sweep some hair from my face and whispered my name.

  The sound made my chest tighten. It wrapped around me, sweeping me up into a riptide of emotions and yearning that knocked the air from my lungs and threatened to swallow me whole.

  My eyes shifted from side to side over his face, before falling out of focus. I wanted time to address my misgivings, but I was having a hard time remembering what they were. And those I did remember were eclipsed by the way he was looking at me – like I was, indeed, his world. My eyes slid back into focus and I nodded.

  “Yes,” I said. Such a simple word, yet so powerful.

  Ian’s eyes widened, and I thought he might have stopped breathing. Then, he cupped my cheek and lowered his lips to mine.

  It was a surprisingly gentle whisper of a kiss, a sweet contradiction to the smoldering heat in his eyes. Even so, it sent the pit of my stomach into a wild swirl and had me straining for more when he pulled away.

  I peered up at him through creviced eyes. Why was he stopping? Was he having second thoughts already? Seeing his questioning look told me he wasn’t; he was making sure I had none. Touched, I smiled and nodded.

  His mouth crashed into mine and I melted back against him. His tongue delved inside, testing and tasting, becoming more urgent and explorative. I was thrilled to find his kissing technique mirrored my own. Perfect.