Cross My Heart

by K. D. Friedrich

  “You didn’t call. When did you get back in town? Are you here for Darlene’s wedding?” Darlene had mentioned she invited Stan, but she hadn’t heard whether he could make it.

  He offered a faint smile. “Among other things. My parents are moving to Florida in a few weeks. I’m helping them with the sale of their house and the cabin. Cleaning up and packing boxes.” Stan had left a few years back and joined the New York City Fire Department. He even posed for their annual calendar, the talk of their little town for weeks. “I’ll be in Heart Falls for about two weeks or so.”

  “Wow, the fire department let you take two weeks off. Nice.”

  Stan’s slight grin fell. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a choice, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

  She decided to let it go and filed her curiosity away for a later date. “Sorry to hear your parents are moving, but it’s so good to see you. What brings you to the library today? Searching for a juicy romance?” She waggled her brows. “Some erotica, perhaps?”

  “You know me so well. Something sexy with a sweet edge. Wouldn’t you know, I found it. You free for lunch, sunshine?”

  “Shoot, I can’t, Stan. I promised Darlene I’d meet her at the dress-fitting place. Hey, you can come along if you want.”

  “Sounds like a hell of a good time, but I’ll pass. Unless…if you’ll be modeling some of the wedding night attire, you might be able to talk me into it.”

  “Sorry, but no. If you want, I’m free for dinner. We can grab a burger and a beer at the Billiard and then play a few rounds of pool.”

  “I wouldn’t mind kicking your ass at pool.”

  She waved him off. “In your dreams, I learned from the best.”

  “Sunshine, there isn’t anybody better when it comes to pool. Prepare to get served.”

  She shook her head, unable to hide her smile. “Oh, the gauntlet’s been dropped. You’re going to eat those words, buddy.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. Your house is out on Rural Road, right, your grandma’s old house?”

  Oh boy, so not a good idea. The less Pete knew about her plans with Stan Morrison the better they would all be. “How about I meet you at the Billiard?”

  He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll meet you there at seven-thirty.” He glanced at his watch. “I got to run. Don’t be late.”

  “Am I ever late?”

  “Well, it did take me years to get a second date.”

  She laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. “Go on, get out of here, you big jerk.”

  Spinning, he strutted down the aisle, moving with a smooth grace she hadn’t noticed before. Stan flashed her one last grin before disappearing around the corner. She lifted her arms and stretched, relieved when some of the tension lifted from her shoulders. With a sigh, she returned her attention back to the piles of books. Now, how am I going to get out of the house without Pete’s prying eyes noticing?

  The tension returned.

  * * * *

  “I can’t believe you have a date with Stan Morrison and Pete Cross is living in your house. You’re the only virgin slut I know.” Darlene wiggled her ivory gown over her hips. Mirrors lined the walls of the changing room, giving them a view from every possible angle. The aroma of French vanilla candles drifted in through the vents as the air conditioner hummed. Darlene groaned. “Holy shit, did I gain ten pounds. This won’t…go…on.” At last, the dress slid over her curves.

  Cara leaned on the closest wall. “Hey, I’m not a slut. Pete is an old friend who needed a place to stay.”

  “And Stan?”

  Cara frowned. “Stan and I are hanging out. It’s not a date. We’re…”

  “Friends,” mocked Darlene.

  Cara frowned at the sarcasm.

  “You’ve been spewing the same crap since high school. He wants you in his bed not hanging out like one of the guys.” Darlene pulled the gown up over her shoulders. She turned her back to Cara. “Button it up for me.”

  Cara sighed as she reached for the round pearl buttons. Darlene had a point. She recognized the heat in his eyes. Sure, he liked to flirt and joke, but beneath all the innuendo lurked the truth. Stan wanted her as more than a friend. “Nah, we kid around. He says I’m the one he can be himself around.”

  “Wait, I stand corrected. Stan doesn’t just want you in his bed. He wants you in his life. Stan wants to ride the love train with you, honey.” Darlene caught her eyes in the mirror.

  “You’re crazy. I’ll admit he’d love to get in my pants, but I’m sure I’m one in a list of many.” Cara nibbled on her nails. “It has nothing to do with love.”

  “Cara, I have known Stan for a long time. He’s not one to let his guard down. If he can be himself around you, he has more than a hard-on for you. He cares about you. Have you ever thought about dating him?”

  Cara trudged over to the pink floral sofa and plopped down. She sighed. “I don’t know. I like Stan. He’s been a great friend to me over the years, but…there’s no spark. Not like how I feel with…” She didn’t say his name, not wanting to catch the disappointment in Darlene’s face.

  “Not like how you feel with Pete?”

  Darlene knew her so well. “Exactly…wait…I mean…” Cara narrowed her eyes on her best friend. “I hate you.”

  “You love me.” Darlene chuckled. “So did good old solider boy mention the…kiss?”

  Cara shook her head at Darlene’s cynicism. “It almost happened again.”

  “Holy crap! What, he’s been home for like a second and he’s already jumping you?” Darlene giggled. “I can’t believe you waited this long to dish out info this major. What happened? Spill every gory detail. Did he stare deeply into your eyes? Did he pull you close? Did he do the lean and lick?” Darlene sat down beside her, seemingly starved for the juicy piece of gossip.

  “The lean and what?”

  Darlene nudged her with her elbow. “You know…did he lean in and lick his lips in anticipation?” Darlene flicked her tongue out for reference. “It’s the classic prerequisite for a smooch.” Darlene sat on the edge of her seat.

  “Uhm, I don’t know. It happened so fast. We were kidding around, I sprayed him with water and he snatched the hose from me and shot me.” Cara smiled at the memory. “He grabbed me around the waist and…”

  “Go on…go on.”

  Her body tingled, thinking of his arms around her. “We were laughing. He stopped and stared in my eyes. He started to lean closer.”

  Darlene bit her lip. “Did he lick?”

  Cara flashed a grin. “I don’t know.”

  “What happened then?”

  “John showed up and ruined everything, as usual. Pete jumped back about two feet.”

  Darlene fell back against the back of the couch. “I hate to tell you this, sweetie. Pete Cross is a lost cause. He’s way too hung up with the fact you’re John’s sister. It’s obvious he wants you, but he’s never going to make the move on his best friend’s sister. If you keep pining over him, you’ll stay a virgin forever. I say forget him. Move on. Stan is single, successful, and crazy about you. Not to mention sexy as hell.”

  Cara lifted her eyebrows. “Hey, you’re almost a married woman.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not dead. Stan is smoking hot. Besides, my man knows I look and he knows I don’t touch.”

  Darlene had a point. Cara had wasted years pining after a man who didn’t want her. Maybe she should forget Pete. Stan had made his feelings clear in high school. Though they agreed to be friends, they based the decision on her suggestion, not his. The seamstress entered the room with Cara’s dress covered in plastic. She hung the gown on a hook a few feet from the door.

  “Tonight would be the perfect chance to move on, Cara. Stan has no expectations about the little get together and you won’t feel pressured to make it work. Go out and have a good time. Don’t think about Pete or John. Concentrate on giving Stan a shot.” Darlene walked over to Cara’s dress, unzipped the cover, and slid the satin materia
l from the outer shell of protection. “You gotta try this bad boy on for me. You’re gonna stop traffic in this.”

  Cara dropped her head back against the sofa with a thud.

  * * * *

  Pete surveyed his new room as he took a break between exercises. Nothing more than a plain white dresser, a nightstand the color of chocolate, and a full-sized black iron bed, the two hundred and fifty square foot of space offered a perfect escape for a man used to sharing a minuscule tent with a half-dozen men. All it needed was an hour of organization and a hefty amount of cleaning. He glanced at the four walls covered in floral wallpaper and realized that, at that moment, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Pete began another set of shoulder presses. He struggled to raise the twenty-pound dumbbells, half the weight he used to lift, above his head. He should have been able to hoist the bars with ease, but his ambitious gardening exploits had aggravated his damaged shoulder. His injuries had made him soft and limited. The simple fact made him furious.

  Even with the large window air conditioner set at full blast and an extra fan circulating the room, sweat poured down his face. He grunted as his entire body shook and twitched. Pain radiated along the muscles and nerves in his arm, shooting past his ribs, before reaching around to stab him in the back. A roar tore from his lips seconds before his biceps gave out and the weight crashed onto the floor with a loud clank.

  He plopped onto the mattress with a deep groan. The old bed creaked beneath his weight. With his elbows on his knees, he cradled his head in his hands. Frustration burned him to the core. Yet he held back the tears burning his eyes. Sobbing like an infant would change nothing. He swiped the soft towel off the bed and wiped the moisture from his brow with a curse. He hated this, hated that twenty pounds felt more like a hundred.

  Held together with pins and a rod, his knee cracked and popped as he stood. The explosion, which killed his men, had sent a piece of shrapnel the size of golf ball straight through his leg, cracking his femur in half. Another chunk of debris took out his knee, while the pressurized wave flung him out of the truck like a rag doll, slamming his shoulder and skull into the rocky sand. The doctors told him he was lucky to be alive. Had he been in the front of the truck instead of the back, he’d be dead.

  He limped over to the mirror and eyed the burn scars running along the right side of his throat, curving over his shoulder and chest and blending into the smooth healthy skin of his hip. His burns were minor compared to other Marines he’d met in the hospital, but they still left scars. He didn’t mind the bumpy, raised flesh as much as the memories they evoked.

  From outside the door, Pete heard dishes clang and the clunk of cabinets. Not long after, the pounding bass of rock music joined in the noise pollution. The girl made an entrance with as much grace as a circus elephant. He should stay in his room; nothing wrong with avoidance. He’d lived the last few months staying away from everything and everyone. However, the deep ache centered above his heart refused to let him ignore her presence.

  Groaning at his weakness when it came to her, he snagged his shirt from the bed. He covered the scars on his skin, walked out into the hall and down to the kitchen.

  He found her bending over a lower cabinet, rummaging through stacks of pots and pans. Led Zeppelin blasted through the speakers. He smiled, surprised she listened to the retro rock band. She rolled her hips back and forth as she hummed out of tune. Never had a simple pair of jeans sparked such arousal in him. The song had an erotic rhythm, a sensual flow that seemed to take hold of Cara’s perfect ass and guide her movements as one would a lover during the pinnacle of fucking, when an orgasm hovered just out of reach. Sliding his gaze down her long legs, he didn’t stop until he caught sight of her dainty feet. She wore a simple pair of black flip-flops, but on her, they looked stylish. His men had made fun of his foot fetish all the time while on tour. Hey, what can I say, I like a woman’s foot. The sharp arch along the sole, the way the heel curved up into a toned, well-rounded calf. The sight made him harder than steel and Cara Sands had the sexiest feet he had ever seen. Toenails painted deep blue with a silver ring decorating the middle toe, and soft, pale skin.

  She straightened, placing her hand on her waist as if annoyed. A second later, her hips popped back and forth to the beat. Warm brown, shoulder-length waves obstructed her features, but he bet she had one of her goofy smiles plastered across her face.

  He stared at her perky cheeks like a stallion eyeing a ripe, round apple. He rubbed his face and licked his lips, prepared to take a big juicy bite. She spun, screamed, tossed the steel pot at him, and jumped back.

  He swung up his arm and blocked the makeshift projectile from hitting him in the forehead. “Jesus, Cara! You trying to kill me?”

  “You scared the crap out of me.” She turned off the radio. “What the heck are you doing standing there, grinning at me like a darn stalker?”

  “Trying to figure out what you’re doing.” Her shirt stopped an inch above her navel. His gaze fell to the ivory skin peeking out before locking onto her breasts, which he might add, were about to burst free from the thin tee. He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip, while his cock rose to attention, offering her a sharp salute.

  She gaped at her shirt. “What? Do I have something on me?”

  Sprawled across the front of her shirt the words read a rose by any other name …mesmerized, he eyed the quote with admiration and hunger. He wondered if her secret tattoo hid somewhere beneath her top. Jesus, I’d love to peel away the layer and find out.

  “Well, do I have something or not?”

  Busted. His eyes snapped up. “No, all clear.” He needed a drink. Shit, he needed the whole bottle.

  “Good, it’s one of my favorites.” She brushed her hands over her cleavage, and he almost groaned.

  Stop leering at her chest. Change the subject, moron. He cleared the lump in his throat with a cough. “Uhm…John wanted me to let you know we’re going for drinks tonight. Your dad’s coming too.”

  She broke eye contact. “Oh…I’m sorry, I can’t. I…I have plans.”

  Hesitation…interesting; his interrogation skills went into overdrive. “What kind of plans?”

  She stopped fidgeting, planted both hands on her hips, and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

  Defensive, are we? “Never mind.”

  One, two, three…

  “If you must know…” She always had fallen for the I-don’t-care attitude. He grinned in triumph. “I have a date.”

  His cocky smile took a dive, as did his erection. “Anyone I know?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Have you seen the strainer? Darlene asked to borrow it. She’s having some kind of romantic dinner thing with her fiancé. I’m supposed to stop by her house before—”

  “Your date?”

  “Uhm, yeah…my date. So, have you seen it?”

  Evasive tactics again, what was she hiding? “Nope, can’t say I have. So where are you and your date going? Catching a movie or…”

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh my God, I didn’t realize it was so late.” She swiped her keys from the counter, grabbed her sweat jacket, and headed toward the door.

  “What about the strainer?” he called out after her.

  “I’ll tell her I couldn’t find it.” The front door clicked shut.

  A deep level of unease settled in his stomach as he glanced around the empty kitchen, lost in the sudden silence.

  * * * *

  Cara pulled into the Billiards Bar and Grill parking lot, claiming the first vacant spot she saw. Beat-up trucks and a dozen motorcycles filled the area, highlighting a typical Friday night for most of the locals in Heart Falls. Living in a small town offered very little in the way of nightlife.

  She shut off the engine and glanced up through her windshield to find Stan standing next to the front entrance. Stan’s dark jeans hung low on his hips. A white tank top stretched tight over his thic
k chest and toned abs. I guess fighting fires does a body good. For a second, she wondered how amazing those fireman’s suspenders would look over his bare pecs. She shook her head with a grin. She was such a sucker for heroes. A thin tribal tattoo wrapped around his well-formed bicep. Not built as thick as Pete, Stan’s athletic build still impressed any woman within flirting distance. Slate-blue eyes paired with his raven-black hair had helped him win the hearts of many women at Heart Falls High School.

  Staring up at Stan, she tried to sense even half the desire she suffered for Pete. Nevertheless, she experienced nothing except platonic affection. Not even the memory of her one make out session with Stan back in high school created a spark.

  That night, she swam in alcohol. Naïve and curious, she had let her impatience guide her decisions, not desire.

  Why lie to yourself? Either it’s there or it isn’t. You shouldn’t have to force attraction…right?

  Cara dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. To think of tonight as a date spelled nothing but trouble. Not one foot had left the car and she already swam in an uncomfortable anxious swamp of emotion. Lifting her head, she watched Stan shuffle his feet as he talked on the phone.

  Classic rock beats echoed across the lot every time the door opened beside him. Two men stood off to the right, cigarettes hanging from their lips, big bellies stretched across their once-white T-shirts. A group of giggling women dressed in tight jeans and low-cut tops stared in Stan’s direction with appreciation and interest. If she didn’t get over there soon, she may need to grab a hose and douse the heat pouring off his admiring audience before they melted the clothes off his buff body. She shook her head with a wide grin. Had they never seen an attractive man before? Cara shrugged. She couldn’t blame them. Friendship aside, Stan Morrison represented one fine, juicy prime rib of a man.

  Too bad she craved a different cut of beefcake.

  Realizing she’d spent far too long lost in her thoughts, Cara opened her car door and jumped out into the cool night air. Humidity hadn’t yet arrived this late in the spring, so the temperature remained comfortable. Thousands of stars decorated the heavens, their brilliance enhanced by the glowing half moon smack dab in the center of nature’s enormous black canvas. Thank God the rain had stopped, for today anyway.