Crazy 4U

by Cach, Lisa

  His hand left her breast and found a place to rest on her knee, his fingertips stroking the sensitive skin at its side. Kelsey’s shod feet began to slide away from each other on the car floor, taking her legs with them. With a distant sense of shock she felt her thighs part in invitation to his hand.

  He did not decline. His palm slid slowly along the inside of her thigh, moving inexorably north towards her sex. Kelsey writhed under his touch, her body desperate for more of it even as a small voice of reason told her she would regret this when the shoes came off.

  Jack’s fingertips found the damp, thin layer of panty over her mound, and brushed lightly over it. Her sex came alive with shooting stars of sensation and she raised her hips against his hand. He played his fingers over the center of her sex, then traced the edges of her panties, fingertips running underneath the edge of the elastic.

  Kelsey’s feet hit the sides of the foot well until her left foot found its way past the center console and waggled into the free space on the driver’s side. The milkshake got squished, cold ice cream dribbling over her ankle. Wider! The shoes were demanding of her. Open wider!

  Jack’s tongue slowly thrusted against hers as his palm covered her sex, rubbing gently. A cry of desire squeezed from Kelsey’s throat, and in answer Jack nudged aside the crotch of her panties and pressed a fingertip against her entrance. She was wet and swollen, and when she thrust against his hand she felt him slide inside her without hindrance.

  It was not enough. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer with her powerful landscaper’s muscles, her strong body arching towards him.

  “Rosa, oh God, Rosa,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’ve got to get you home.” He released her, tugging down her skirt as he sat back. He righted the squished milkshake cup. “Put on your seat belt,” he said, and started the car. Rubber squealed as they pulled out onto the street.

  By the time Kelsey was upright again and had regained some faint semblance of composure, they were halfway to his house. Her whole body ached with desire. The intensity was greater than anything she’d experienced outside of the dreams that woke her with the rippling waves of orgasm.

  “I don’t normally do this,” Jack said, taking a hard left and tearing down a residential street. “I don’t pick up women in clubs and take them home.”

  “It’s been two years since I’ve had sex,” Kelsey said. “I’m really ready.”

  “Two years? Jesus, how could you keep guys off you for that long?”

  “You’re the first who’s tried.” She remembered the college boy with the box. “Except for the guy I punched.”

  Jack cast her a surprised look.

  She shrugged. “It was effective.”

  They pulled into his driveway, the garage door opening in front of them. He led her through the door into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

  She shook her head.

  He took her hand and pulled her into the living room. “Do you want the grand tour?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God.”

  He rushed her down the hall to his bedroom, then stopped her inside the doorway. “I’m sorry, that’s not inviting, is it?” he said, looking at the bed sheets in a tangle, the blanket half on the floor.

  In answer, Kelsey crawled onto the mattress and shoved the rumpled bedding onto the floor. She lay sideways on the tight bottom sheet. “Now it is.”

  “God yes.” A pained look crossed his face. “Oh shit.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t unpacked yet. The condoms are in a box somewhere.”

  She laughed. “I’ll go wash the ice cream off my leg while you search.”

  “I know right where they should be,” he said, ripping into cardboard.

  She went to the bathroom down the hall, running the faucet until the water ran hot over her wrists. She stepped out of her panties and used a wet cloth to clean herself, her eyes closing as the wet heat soaked into her hungry flesh. She rinsed and re-wet it, sitting on the edge of the tub as she wiped at the sticky white film on her leg. It had soaked the green strap of her shoe, and she undid it to get at the underside.

  As the strap fell away from her skin, she suddenly asked herself what the hell she was doing in Jack Lovgren’s bathroom, preparing herself for sex?

  Kelsey stopped, washcloth poised above her ankle. Had she really let him put his finger inside her, in the parking lot of Dick’s Drive-In?

  “Found them!” Jack hollered from his bedroom.

  Kelsey looked warily at her shoes. The roses down the vamp looked larger than she remembered, their blooms fuller.

  She gingerly picked up the end of the loose strap and draped it back over her leg. A tingle ran through her body and her whole soul whispered yesss! Do it!

  She made herself knock the strap off her leg and a hint of reason instantly returned, bringing with it doubt and caution, and a rising wave of embarrassment.

  “Rosa?” Jack called.

  Kelsey raised her head and caught sight of herself in the mirror behind the sink. Her newly red hair fell in a sultry cascade of waves around her face and over her shoulders. Abundant dark bronze eye shadow masked her eyes, setting off the blue-green color. Her lips were swollen and pink from kissing, her cheeks flushed.

  She looked the best she ever had, but she knew she was no unique beauty. Made up as she was, she had the average prettiness that most women achieved with a little effort. There was no reason Jack should have been so drawn to her.

  Her hand again on the green strap, she wrapped it round her leg and watched her face transform. Her chin rose, her eyes became seductive, her tongue darted out to lick her lips. She leaned closer to the mirror and watched the pupils of her eyes dilate, growing large and black. Bedroom eyes. Women used to put drops of belladonna in their eyes for the same effect.

  “Rosa?” Jack said again, this time from outside the door.

  “Be right there.”

  “Okay.” His footsteps retreated.

  She undid the strap again and stared at the shoes on her feet. “Shoes aren’t just something you walk on,” she heard a tart, 1940s voice say in her head. “They’re a way to get where you’re going.”

  But where was that?

  Chapter Seven

  “That’s what you’re wearing?” Holly asked.

  Kelsey smoothed the flowered skirt of her maroon dress. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s kind of matronly. And why is your hair in a bun, and why don’t you have your contacts in? The lenses on those glasses make your eyes look tiny. Is this Mark guy some sort of ultra-religious conservative?”

  “No.” Kelsey checked herself over in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. The dress was sleeveless with a V-neck in front and back, and reached almost to her ankles. On her feet were a sensible pair of black Naturalizer flats. “I think I look okay. I look like me.”

  “Kelsey! You’re dressed like you’re going to teach kindergarten, not go out on a date. At least put on some make-up.”

  “I’m wearing mascara and lip gloss.”

  “You know, there can be a happy medium between party diva and Mennonite, especially if you don’t down a bottle of wine before going out.”

  Kelsey knew it wasn’t the wine that had turned her into a Lindsay Lohan wannabe, letting loose like the world was coming to an end. It was those devilish shoes, her own personal kryptonite. They were sitting now in a locked metal box in the back of her closet.

  “I don’t think Mark would want a party girl.”

  “Now you’re shaping yourself to be what you think a man wants? Great recipe for happiness, Kelsey.”

  “Let me figure this out on my own, okay?”

  Holly held up her hands in surrender. “Fine!”

  “You should be glad I’m going on a date,” Kelsey grumbled.

  “I am! And I hope you have a nice time, and that he’s as nice as he’s come across in his emails. His looks aren’t anythi
ng on that guy you picked up at the club, but…”

  “Please don’t go there,” Kelsey said, pained.

  “Look, Kelsey, I don’t think you did anything wrong by changing your mind and running out of there. I’m sure he was disappointed, but he’ll get over it. He’d probably be delighted to hear from you if you called him. I still have all his contact information.”

  She shook her head. It had been three weeks since the Jack fiasco, too late to make amends. She’d left a piece of toilet paper with “Sorry!” scrawled across it on his bathroom vanity. Barefoot and carrying her shoes, she’d run down his driveway and hid in the neighbor’s bushes, hoping the foul little Pomeranian wouldn’t be let out, and called Holly for a ride.

  It had been a coward’s retreat, but it had been the only way she could think to save herself from her own animal instincts. Even with the shoes off there’d been part of her that wanted to throw herself on Jack’s bed and demand that he have his way with her, yes yes yes!

  Yes, she was a woman with rampant sexual hungers.

  No, she was not a woman who slept with men she barely knew. Morals, feminism, and culture aside, she didn’t think it was a behavior that was good for either her mind or body, and she would stick to that no matter what any damn shoe goddess told her.

  Every night since, she’d dreamt of Jack’s hands on her in the car, only in her dreams the encounter didn’t end with only his hand between her legs. In waking hours she remembered him looking at her and saying that he wanted to find someone with whom to share his life.

  Of course it was impossible that such a pairing could work. She’d have to keep the Hiheelia shoes on twenty-four hours a day to keep up the Rosa façade. Jacks words were spoken out of a momentary lust, anyway. He’d grow tired of a nymphet who only wanted sex and to hang big-eyed on every word he spoke.

  Wouldn’t he?

  At any rate, she’d surely grow tired of playing that role. Her natural self might be weird and awkward, but she liked harvesting snails and hanging out with goats and digging in the earth. She liked creating gardens, and couldn’t see how the Kelsey with dirt under her nails and a composting fetish could find a satisfying existence within Rosa.

  Jack adored Rosa. He didn’t look twice at Kelsey.

  And the ‘twain shall never meet.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Prince Charming!” Holly said. “Yippie!”

  “Maybe he has a brother for you,” Kelsey said, going past her to get the door.

  “God, I hope not.”

  Kelsey paused to compose herself at the door, then opened it.

  A bald hobbit with a bouquet of flowers smiled up at her. “Hi!”

  “Hi!”

  “You’re taller than you looked in your picture,” Mark said.

  “And you’re, uh…” Shorter, much shorter. “Much cuter than in yours!”

  He laughed. “Didn’t Bridget tell you I’m only five foot four?”

  Kelsey shook her head.

  “I make up for it in girth,” he said, patting his barrel chest. “These are for you.” He handed her the flowers: a cheap bunch of Peruvian lilies from a supermarket, a small produce sticker still affixed to the cellophane. She’d once spent an entire day ripping out a bed of the invasive plants for a client.

  “Thank you.” Kelsey took them, then didn’t know what to do with them. Was she supposed to take them with her? Make Mark wait while she put them in a vase? What she wanted to do was compost the monsters. She turned round, looking helplessly to Holly.

  “I’ll take care of those for you,” Holly said, taking them. “I’m Kelsey’s sister, Holly,” she said, holding out her hand to Mark.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The three of them stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Mark bounced on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands together. “Well, shall we go?”

  Kelsey grabbed her shawl, and while Mark was looking the other way Holly gave her a thumbs up.

  Kelsey raised a brow. Really?

  “He’s sweet,” Holly mouthed.

  They bustled out to Mark’s Prius, Mark leaving her to open her door herself. She chided herself for noticing: Mark probably believed utterly in the equality of the sexes.

  Would he want to split the check, too?

  “So, Bridget says you’re building quite a waterfall on your present job. I want to put a small one in my back yard. What type of material do you use?”

  She told him, and answered the rest of his waterfall questions all the way downtown. His queries were so detailed that she began to wonder if he’d asked her out for free landscaping advice.

  More likely he had asked her out to get Bridget to stop nagging him to do it. Kelsey was discovering that Bridget had a way of picking at a topic until she got what she wanted.

  Ergo, the short introductory email from Mark a week ago, and after a brief back-and-forth here they were.

  They found a parking spot on the street and walked to the restaurant, Cascadia. It had a reputation as one of the better restaurants in town and was popular with people dining on expense accounts. Holly had once seen Bill Gates Sr. eating there.

  The restaurant was crowded, but after a short wait they were shown to their table, weaving amongst the other diners on their way. As they passed a table of men, a voice pierced through the hubbub, making Kelsey start. She gaped at the back of the male head two feet from her. She didn’t need to see his face to know that it was Jack.

  She stumbled forward, hurrying after the hostess and hoping their table was far, far away.

  It was ten feet away.

  She snuck a peek back at Jack’s table. They still had their menus. Shoot! They were going to be there all night. She’d been keeping her distance from Jack at his house, afraid that he might somehow make the connection between her and Rosa. The sight of him in his kitchen every morning also filled her with shame – not for what she’d done in his car, but for running off without explanation. Her cowardice had been unspeakably rude.

  “You can have the better seat,” Mark said, gesturing to the bench seat along the wall.If she sat there she’d be staring right at Jack, and she might be in trouble if their eyes met. Her bun and the big glasses were a good disguise for Rosa, but the unusual eye color she and Holly shared made an impression on people. “I’ll sit here,” she said, and grabbed the outer chair.

  “Are you sure? You won’t be able to people-watch.”

  “It’s too much going on. I’d rather concentrate on you.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that, can I?” He slid into the bench seat.

  Kelsey was left to scoot her chair in and out herself. It wasn’t that she wanted him to mess around with her chair, she told herself, but the gesture would be romantic. She would bet her worm bins that it was something Jack did with every woman he took out.

  She mentally slapped her hand. Stop it, Kelsey! Mark’s a nice guy; don’t sabotage this before it even begins.

  She draped her shawl over the back of her chair and resolved to give Mark a fair chance, even as her ears pricked for every murmur of Jack’s voice behind her. A wicked part of her hoped that he would notice her.

  And if he did, would it be Rosa he thought he saw, or Kelsey?

  It was shortly after the arrival of the entrees that Jack noticed the redhead sitting with her back to him at a nearby table. His colleague across the table had excused himself to make a phone call, leaving a clear view from Jack’s seat to the long alabaster neck and coiled red hair of the woman.

  “Rosa,” Jack said under his breath.

  “What was that? Rosebud?” Todd asked. He was a business guest from Toronto. “Ro-o-o-sebud,” he repeated, echoing Orson Welles.

  Jack smiled and shook his head. “No snow sleds here.”

  “Not much hockey, either.”

  “Can’t argue with a Canadian on that one.” His gaze went back to the redhead. Could it be her? Skin like glowing moonlight was rare even in Seattle, where most p
eople looked like a carp’s underbelly by the end of winter. It was rare to wear pale well.

  The redhead said something to her grinning toad of a companion, her long, sculpted arms briefly rising above her head in illustration.

  He saw Rosa on the dance floor, slender, shapely arms swaying above her head.

  It was her!

  He had half-risen from his seat when she turned her head slightly, and he caught sight of the heavy horn-rimmed glasses she wore. He eased back into his seat.

  “Do you know her?” Todd asked, following his gaze.

  Jack shook his head. “She reminds me of someone.”

  “She must have been some someone. You’re staring a hole in the back of that girl’s head.”

  Jack breathed a laugh. “Yeah, she was someone, all right.”

  Their colleague returned from his phone call and sat down, blocking Jack’s view but not his thoughts. His night with Rosa had been haunting him for weeks now.

  He’d gone over their time together in his house again and again, looking for where he’d gone wrong, for what he’d done that had made her bolt. Was it his pig sty of a room?

  Possible, but she hadn’t seemed to care.

  His over-eagerness for sex?

  She’d been equally eager.

  Did he pester her too much while she was in the bathroom? Did his house smell bad? Did he smell bad?

  Maybe she had a boyfriend, and had second thoughts about cheating on him. Richard said that Rosa’s friend had told him he couldn’t know who he was getting involved with. Maybe she was mentally ill, or maybe she got off on messing with guys’ heads.

  It was the not knowing that was killing him, and making it impossible to forget her. “Sorry,” was all her note had said. Thanks for the thought, but I’d rather you told me why.