by Natasha Boyd
“Or,” she says, “he developed erectile dysfunction. Serves him right. And just wasn’t able to perform.”
“In which case,” I pronounce, attempting a grave tone despite my laughing, “you don’t want him anyway.” I mean what good are the pretty Jacks and Brandons of this world if they can’t give you a good, stiff—”
The screen door bangs, and Joey walks in, making us jump.
Joey is here?
“It’s nothing to laugh at girls.” He’s wearing his faded blue jeans and a blue button down shirt that turns his eyes into the kind of things that might spur a crusade.
I swallow.
“It’s a real medical condition,” he says, heaving his duffle off his broad shoulder and letting it drop to the floor with a thud. “And it sure is good to know that you all don’t grow up much while I’m away.” His gaze sweeps over me as he speaks, then zeroes in on his sister.
“Joey! What are you doing home?” She jumps up to hug him.
I guess my phone call this morning got him thinking of coming home sooner rather than later.
“Thought I’d surprise my best girl,” he says to Keri Ann.
“And make sure I wasn’t jumping into Jack’s arms?” she asks.
“And that,” he says. His gaze flicks again to me briefly as he returns her hug. “Jazz,” he nods at me.
On his feet are scuffed brown cowboy boots, and his dirty blond hair is longer and messier than I’ve ever seen it. I hate my stupid heart right now as it quadruples in size and threatens to implode my lungs.
I flash a carefree smile. “Hey, Joey,” I chirp. “We were just discussing Jack, so since he has that ‘medical condition,’ Keri Ann is probably safe.”
“And how might you all know he has this condition,” he asks, playing along.
“We’re surmising.” I huff. “Because despite all evidence to the contrary, apparently he’s been celibate since the last time he saw your sister.” I widen my eyes, letting him know how much I believe that. Which is not at all. But man, I wish it were so. The tabloid photographs from the last few months have been pretty damning.
Joey snorts. “Yeah, right.”
A look of hurt passes across Keri Ann’s face and guilt surges through me that I’m sided with Joey in my skepticism. And irritated at Joey for actually being vocal. It’s one thing to think it, but God, hadn’t the poor girl had enough hurt? “Well, it’s either that,” I aim at Joey with annoyance, “or you may have to face the fact that Jack is going after Keri Ann for real. Sometimes,” I can’t help adding, curse my stupid pride, “people just know what they want.”
I keep my glare on Joey, who refuses to break it. Damn his blue eyes. I sense Keri Ann next to us shifting uncomfortably.
“Or he’s lying,” says Joey, still meeting my look. “You girls are way too trusting of men. Guys often want just one thing and will say anything to get it.”
A dagger. That’s what it feels like. A dagger straight through my chest. I manage not to gasp or crumple by sheer force of will.
“Us girls are too trusting?” I ask, my voice deadly calm and betraying the dark swell of anguish beneath my words. “Or girls in general? And guys in general say anything to get it? Or guys like you?”
The shocked silence from both Keri Ann and Joey slams into me, waking me up from whatever dark place I just fell to. That’s twice today I’ve called Joey out. Over something that happened years ago. Shit. He must think I’m certifiable. And why the hell am I still not over this asshole?
I slump back in my seat and gasp in pain as the skin on my back connects with the chair. “Ow,” I yelp.
“What’s the matter?” Joey immediately steps forward, his brow creased in concern.
“I got burned. It’s nothing.” But I wince again. It really fucking hurts.
Joey comes around behind me before I can stop him. “Shit. That’s not good,” he says. I look up at Keri Ann’s face to see her smirking. Traitor. “When did this happen?” Joey asks, gingerly moving the strap of my dress over on one shoulder. The skin of his fingers is as hot as a blowtorch.
“I fell asleep in the sun. It’s fine really. The lidocaine I sprayed on earlier must be wearing off.”
“What the hell? Wasn’t your … wasn’t Bradford, or whatever, supposed to be with you?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think he deliberately butchered Brandon’s name.
“Brandon!” I burst out at the same time as Keri Ann and catch her eye. We chuckle at our synchronization, and I latch onto the humor like a life raft. “Of the chocolate brown eyes!” we chorus. We’d taken to calling him that for the whole year he’d spent persuading me to go out with him.
“Have y’all been drinking?” Joey asks, nonplussed at our hysteria.
I chuckle again. Something is crossing Keri Ann’s face that looks remarkably like mischief. She gets up and goes to the pantry cupboard, pulling out the first aid basket. She pulls out two items and flings them at Joey as he steps away from me. “Catch,” she says, but he’s already snatched them one after the other.
I realize what she has in mind. “He’s not—”
“I’m not—” Joey says at the same time.
“Yep,” she chirps with a mischievous grin. “Yep, you are. I’m going to shower the Grill off me. Then let’s order pizza and watch a movie.”
I watch her leave, shooting daggers at her back. No way. Swallowing hard, I turn to Joey. I can see the struggle on his face. He’s made such a big deal about my sunburn, he’d literally be defying his Hippocratic Oath by denying me relief.
I actually find myself taking perverse pleasure from his discomfort. Why not make this fun? “Fine.” Taking a deep breath, I lock eyes with him and slip my dress strap down on one side. His eyes track the movement. Then I reach for the other and I see his jaw harden.
I sigh and wink at him. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Doctor Butler.”
He meets my eyes, one eyebrow arched, his mouth twisting. “You did always make me want to play doctor, Miss Fraser.”
It takes nano seconds for his words to register and scalding shock to flood my system, and then eons for the surprise to ebb and release my tongue. By that time, Joey has cleared his throat and rolled up his sleeves. He squeezes lidocaine into the palm of one of his strong hands, then uses the other to swing a chair out to sit on.
I swallow some saliva back into my mouth. I didn’t expect him to flirt back.
“Shift around,” he says gently. “So your back is facing me.”
I do as he asks. The sound of the zipper on my sundress going down seems to reverberate around the room like a Boeing engine.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speechless before.” He chuckles, warm and husky just as the cold cream hits my skin. “Is there anywhere else that hurts?” he says into my ear.
Is he serious right now?
The iciness of the cream steals my outrage, and I inhale with the uncomfortable sensation. Then I moan in relief.
Finally, annoyance surges in the wake of his suggestive comments. What the hell is he playing at? Did he seriously just say that? I almost want him to repeat it. Actually why the hell not? “Did you just say I make you want to play doctor? Like sexy doctor? Like, ‘let me examine you’ suggestive weirdness?”
“Shut it.”
“No. I won’t.”
“I preferred you speechless.” He swipes more cooling lotion on my back.
“So let me get this straight. You don’t want me, but the second you hear I’m seeing someone else you start coming on to me?” I keep my back to him though I know he’s done. And feel, rather than hear, his body shift away from me. My zipper slowly rises. He’s quiet.
I scoot around on the seat until I face him, my bare knees knock against his rough jeans. “Coz that’s what you just did, isn’t it?” His eyes are cloudy and brooding and locked on my mouth. His skin is flushed. Why does he have to be so Goddamn sexy?
“I never said I didn’t want you.”
; Holy—
I swallow. Speechless for the second time in the space of five minutes.
“But,” he adds. “This—us—just wasn’t advisable.”
I process his words.
What a complete jackass.
Abruptly I stand up in front of him, my dress straps are still down, it makes me feel half undressed. I’m practically standing between his legs I’m so close.
Looking down at him, I narrow my eyes. “Actually, Doctor. I do hurt somewhere else.”
He winces almost imperceptibly. His eyes flick to my chest.
My heart? Is that what he thinks?
Oh, no fucking way.
“Actually …” I lean down and grab his hand and slide it up my dress and between my legs.
Joey expels a shocked breath.
“It hurts right here.”
His blue eyes flare dark as the surprise and arousal stuns him.
I press his hand against my underwear. “Feel like soothing this ache?” I hiss.
I’M HOLDING JOEY’S hand between my legs. Holy shit. He flirted and I totally called him on it. Not just a call. I doubled down.
The silence, filled with the pulse of blood beating in my ears, doesn’t last long. The shock of what I’ve just done is a physical, pulsing thing.
Joey stands abruptly, and his body slams against me, pressing the backs of my thighs into the hard kitchen table. His hand, still under my dress, is wedged between us. “Doesn’t Brandon do it for you?” Joey growls, his eyes hot. “Or is he as careless of your needs as he was with your back?” His breath is warm as it washes over my cheeks and smells of spearmint gum.
“Brandon does it for me just fine,” I lie, but the words feel thick on my tongue. My heart is pounding with adrenaline.
He arcs an eyebrow. “Really?”
I feel his fingers twitch along the edge of my panties, and warmth pools. Nope. Nothing as simple as warmth. I ache. I throb. I want to shift sideways so his fingers can reach me. Not good. So not good. What the hell am I doing? God, and the smell of him. His body smells faintly of laundry soap and summer heat. I’m dying. Incinerating. Melting away.
“Yes. Really.” I’m hard pressed to make any sense right now.
He smirks. “Right.”
His fingers twitch again, and I realize he’s doing it on purpose. He’s deliberately letting me feel him almost touch me.
Playing.
“Step away from me, Joseph.”
“Why, Jazz? I thought you wanted me to soothe this ache.”
“Turns out, I’m getting that ache soothed by far more accomplished candidates. Thanks for reminding me. Now, step away.”
His eyes narrow on mine. He doesn’t believe me. His gaze slides to my mouth. His pupils almost cover the blue of his eyes.
We’re sharing breath. And mine is heavy.
His mouth is inches away, and I want it so bad. I want to remember the taste of him. The way his lips molded to mine perfectly, his teeth grazing my skin, his tongue hot as it slipped inside.
Then his fingers move and they’re on me. “Jesus Christ,” he says as his fingers make contact with my underwear, and we both realize how wet I am.
I shudder out a moan of surprise and relief. I’m shaking. I want to stop him. I’m embarrassed my arousal has been found out so easily.
Then he slips easily beneath the material and finds me, and it’s like I’m pulled under a wave of lust. The giving in to it is a sweet rush. I whimper.
Joey’s breath is rough, labored, almost a groan as he creates room between us and starts to move his fingers, slipping easily over my slick skin.
I started this. I don’t want it. But I do. Panting out air in rhythm to his fingers, I mindlessly press against his hand, my legs widening. Seeking more like I’m starving.
His mouth is closer but not touching. His fingers are moving faster.
I thrust my hips forward on a whimper.
“Shit,” he rasps and a finger slips inside me.
A loud cry rips out of my throat and reverberates around the kitchen. It’s like an alarm bell. What the hell am I doing? My hands are on his chest, and I push with everything I have.
Joey stumbles back.
I’m cold in the wake of his heat. Icy, and trembling. Desperately trying to find a semblance of mental armor before he sees how he almost laid me bare.
Our gazes clash together. Both of us are breathing hard.
His chest is heaving beneath the blue of his button down that’s molded to him.
I can’t tell what’s going through his head.
He looks angry. Shocked, but angry. I should be the one angry. Yes, I called him on his flirtation. More than called him on it. But he took the challenge. Why?
A noise sounds, and I hear Keri Ann coming down the stairs.
Joseph rakes a hand through his hair as we stare at each other.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper fiercely.
“What you wanted apparently.”
“What I—?” I glance toward the still empty doorway then back at him. I have only seconds. “That’s rich. You touched me.”
“You started it,” he says and winces at his words.
“Started what?” asks Keri Ann as she walks in with the scent of hot steam and strawberry shampoo. “Never mind,” she adds, taking one look back and forth between us.
I’m sure I’m flushed, sunburn not withstanding. But surely the air is still heavy with leftover sexual tension. Certainly feels that way to me. And a whole lot of frustration.
She heads to the cupboard and grabs three plates and some paper towel. “Pizza’s on the way, and I just queued up three new releases to choose from.”
I smooth my sundress and tie my hair up into a bun with the elastic on my wrist. “Great.” I smile brightly and vow not to catch Joey’s eye for the rest of the evening. “Let’s see what our options are.”
I can’t believe what just happened. Jesus, we didn’t even kiss.
Joey retrieves his duffel where it’s still lying on the floor. “Going up to grab a shower,” he says, his voice slightly off pitch. He walks out of the room.
The sound of his heavy footsteps fade up the stairs.
I stalk over to the sink, grab a glass and fill it with cold tap water. I absently take a sip then spit it out.
Keri Ann is watching me, the jug of filtered water from the refrigerator in her hand. “Everything okay, Jazz?” she asks. She knows I hate to drink tap water on the island, the taste of mud, sulphur, and ancient cast iron pipes grosses me out. I take the jug from her, fill my glass and drink. “So what movies did you queue up?” I ask.
She stares at me for a beat, realizes I’m not going to fill her in right now and sighs. “Come on.” She huffs and nods toward the living room. “Let’s go decide on the movie before Joey gets back down here.”
I’M STARING BLANKLY at the TV screen.
We’ve put on some movie with Scott Speedman, and as hot as he is, the movie just isn’t doing it for me. Keri Ann is curled on the other end of the sofa. On my other side, radiating tension, is Joey.
He’s freshly showered, wearing baggy workout shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair is damp and finger brushed back from his face.
That’s all the detail I can make out because I am deliberately avoiding looking directly at him.
I’m feeling the aftermath of my adrenaline surge in the kitchen and all my late nights last week. I’m tired, so I fail to catch myself glancing at him when my guard is down. Joey’s not watching the movie either.
He’s watching me.
Meeting his eyes in the dark, with the flickering screen as the only illumination, is a shock to my system again. Instinct makes me want to look away. Instead, I narrow my eyes at him. “What?” I mouth.
He shakes his head subtly then turns his attention back to the screen, but not before I see what looks like a smirk on his lips.
The hell?
“I’m done here,” I tell Keri Ann, getting up. �
��I preferred Scott Speedman in Underworld. I’m exhausted from the drive and frankly Brandon kept me up every night last week,” I add for Joey’s sake. “I need to get some sleep.”
She reaches for the remote. “No, don’t pause it,” I say and lean down to kiss her cheek. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay, be safe,” she says. “Don’t forget I need your help finding a dress for the Art Auction.”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
“Okay. Love ya.”
“Sweet dreams, Jazz,” says Joey as I pass his chair.
Without looking, I reach out my left hand and give him the bird as I keep walking. I’ve no doubt he sees it.
I take a few moments to sit in my car outside their house. I stare up at its beautiful old plantation bones. Its wide porches and fat columns. I love this house. And I’ve loved everyone I’ve ever known who’s lived within its walls.
But what the hell just happened in there?
The sand is shifting beneath my feet. I don’t understand it. Is this new terrain or quicksand?
THE NEXT MORNING, I check in with Faith at the boutique and field random texts from Brandon who seems to have woken up from his drunken haze and realized I was serious when I said I was leaving. I’m going to have to see the poor guy again and tell him to his puppy dog eyes that it’s over.
First though, I unpack my camera and take out the lenses to clean them. The partying down in Florida was brutal on my equipment. I didn’t take my dad’s stuff, thank God. Anyway, now that I no longer have access to the art department’s dark room, I fear I’ll be using his camera less and less. I’ve become dependent on the ease of the digital SLR I got last year. But every time I do something cool on it, or run it through one of my filters, the ache to talk to my dad about it becomes unbearable. I often wonder if he experimented with the early digital cameras. After loading the images onto my computer to look at later, I hop in the car to Beaufort.
I have to go back to campus and pick up paperwork and check the board for our work experience postings. As part of our degree in hospitality from USC Beaufort, we get assistance getting an entry-level resort position somewhere in the world. All the foreign kids in the program choose to stay in the United States, go figure. They get to roll their visa from student status to J-1 Internship Visa status and from there onto the path to citizenship. And the Americans among us seem to be split between the local crowd who lived local, studied local, and never want to leave the state, and those of us who want to experience some far-flung exotic locale. I’m in the latter. Maybe it’s my father’s blood.
