by L. Duarte
“Okay. I’ll relay your unconcern to Will, when I fill him in tonight.” I shrug.
Mel hesitates. She sighs, and I see thoughts reeling inside her adorably stubborn head.
“No flirting, just a ride to work and back, and I have your word that you’ll keep it from Dad and Will.”
“Scout’s honor.” I cross my heart.
“Why do I have a feeling you were never a Boy Scout,” she says and treads to the kitchen.
“Because I wasn’t.” I follow her.
“I’ll warm up a plate of dinner Mom fixed me. You want some? I’m sure there is more than enough for both of us.”
“Yeah, sure,” I reply quickly, not because I’m hungry, but because it’ll prolong my time with her.
Mel navigates through the narrow kitchen and thrusts a dish inside the microwave. A small island separates the blue kitchen from the living room. I sit on the barstool facing her.
“Want something to drink? I have water, apple juice, milk,” she offers, opening the fridge. These mundane tasks make me feel comfortable, sort of at home.
“What the hell, you only live once. Apple juice it is, on the rocks.” I smirk.
“How did your therapy go?”
“Your dad is very unconventional.” I put it lightly.
“Yeah, he is. Maybe that’s what makes him so good at what he does. Dad has helped many people, Tarry. Give him the chance,” she says, sliding a tall glass of juice on the counter. I watch it stop right next to me, the amber liquid rippling on the rim. My thumb catches the overflowing drops, and I bring it to my lips. Out of the corner of an eye I see Mel swallowing hard. Oh, Miss Prude is definitely infatuated with me. Good, I need the reassurance. For the first time in my pathetic existence, I want to have someone, but have doubted my skills of seduction.
Mel startles at the ding of the microwave. She retrieves the dish, places it in front of me, and hands me an empty plate.
“Help yourself.”
I stare at the food and hear my stomach growl.
“What is this?” I scoop a long stripe of something yellowish.
“Fried plantains.” She smiles. “You don’t need to eat it if you don’t like it. It’s Colombian food at its core.”
“After yesterday, I can pretty much guarantee that I, too, am a worshiper of your mother’s food from her homeland.”
“Yeah, it’s a rich cuisine, especially when Mom is the cook.” She slides on the barstool next to me. Her thigh slightly skims mine. Her warmth entraps me.
“The company greatly increases the experience,” I say, and she stiffens at my side. Jeez, chill, Mel.
We eat in silence. Surprisingly, I finish my plate and scoop the rest of the beans and rice Mel has left on hers.
Mel gathers the plates and brings them to the sink. She rinses them and slides them into the dishwasher.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” she asks.
“Sure, I would like one very much.” No, not really. It’ll keep me up all fucking night. But, if it gives me a reason to stay here longer, so be it. What’s a night of sleep, compared to spending more time with her?
I grab one of the mints from a bowl and pop it in my mouth. Resting my chin in my hands, my eyes follow her graceful movements. I bring the empty glass to her.
“Thanks,” she says. She turns her back to me and clumsily rinses the glass.
“Thank you for feeding me,” I say. Unable and unwilling to suppress my need for her, I stand behind her and place my hands on the counter, at each side of her hips. She squirms uncomfortably and her gorgeous ass brushes against my hard cock.
“Tarry, you, um, the truce.” She turns, facing me, and presses her back against the counter. Her breathing hikes. I remove the tie from her hair. Wild curls drape sensually over her shoulders. She glances at me. Her eyes are lost. She’s striking beautiful and broken.
“The rules of engagement are only in effect tomorrow. So right now, Mel, I’m going to kiss you.”
MY ENTIRE BODY trembles under his touch. I vainly will my weak flesh to be still. My body, betrayer, refuses to listen to me. I’m almost positive Tarry can hear my loud and stupid heart pounding in my chest.
With his eyes burning into mine, Tarry has imprisoned me. Like an enchanted fool, I open my mouth anticipating the touch of his tempting lips.
As if sensing my desperation, he delays the kiss. His lips hover over mine, tantalizing me. His tongue lightly strokes my lips. Oh my, does he have to torture me, on top of making me beg under his blazing silver-gray eyes. Why does he have to be so handsome and carnal? I swallow hard. Every pore of his body emanates sensuality.
His lips glide gently over mine. Tired of fighting the crazy animal attraction I have for him, I surrender to the warmth of his mouth. My fingers run through his silky and disheveled hair, clenching him closer. Noticing my sudden angst, he deepens the kiss, and a growl rises from his throat.
Instinctively I press my body against his, allowing his yummy body to enclose me. Tarry tangles his fingers on my hair and kisses me deeply. He tastes of apple and mint.
His other hand cups my ass and squeezes. He thrusts his erection against my abdomen and rolls his hips sensually. My knees weaken.
“Damn, girl. What did you do to me?” He moans in between kisses, sending a jolt to my core. His touch makes me feverish and I melt inside his embrace. My mind is foggy and all I can think of is how to cling to his body and get under his skin.
The coffee machine sputters, snatching me from the cocoon of his embrace. Tarry straightens and pulls back.
I feel immediately bereft of his towering body.
He must have sensed my crestfallen reaction. He stares deep into my eyes for an instant and says, “God, Mel, I can’t kiss you for a second longer and be able to stop.” He runs his fingers though his hair.
My wit deserts me, and I simply nod. Silently, we stare at each other.
Finally, I’m able to say, “The coffee is ready.” My lips still burn from the scalding heat of his mouth. I pour the dark liquid into mugs. I hand one to him.
His massive presence is overpowering. I feel at his mercy. My body desperately cries to me demanding more of him. It is confusing because it conflicts with the desire I have that he should leave.
Tarry sips from his mug. His eyes regard me. He doesn’t mutter a word, but there is a strange glint of hurt in his eyes.
I say a silent plea, begging God, to make him leave. Either God answers my prayer or Tarry notices my internal battle.
“It’s getting late, and you have to be up early tomorrow.” He puts the cup on the counter. “What time should I come for you?” He approaches me and, for a moment, I think he is going to kiss me. My body stiffens under a tug-of-war of fear and wanton desire.
“Eight thirty,” I murmur.
“Tomorrow, Mel, I’ll be on my best behavior.” He gives me a peck on my forehead, then turns on his heels.
After the door bangs shut, gushes of relief, sorrow, anguish, desire, and fear ripple through my body. I touch my lips, which still tingle from the kiss. The skin of my chest and face are flushed with heat. What’s happening to me?
In a haze, I clamber up the stairs to my bedroom. I forego a shower. I’m shattered. I change into flannel pajamas and huddle under the covers.
A cyclone of emotions devastates me. The day I lost Tim I had a piece of my heart torn away. Throughout the years, I learned to shove the ache into a dark room and lock and hide the key. Frequently, I open the door, visit with the pain, and lock it away again. I always kept the door of my heart tightly shut with its contents secretly hidden away from any prying. How did I allow Tarry to knock that wall down and expose me to feelings I don’t want to feel ever again.
Scared and confused I drift away into a dreamless land.
The rattling of rain outside rescues me from a fitful sleep. I open my eyes and watch the leaves dance under the pouring rain.
Silver-gray eyes invade my thoughts, followed by guilt. Unti
l recently, Tim’s face was the first image I saw in the morning and the last thought I had before going to bed. I love him and it hurts to think of another man. It hurts to want another man. What do I do with the new feelings?
Memories of another rainy day swamp my mind. It was the summer before Tim was deployed.
“Come on, babe.” Tim held my hand as we hiked the challenging trail. “We are almost to the summit.”
“The sky is turning gray. There is a storm coming, maybe we should go back,” I said.
“Are you afraid of a storm? I’ll shield you from the lightning, babe.” He wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Oh, really? What if I don’t want to be shielded?” I nibbled his lip.
“Then, I’ll make your body lightning and thunder until we collapse, wasted and burned out from a burst of energy.”
“Oh, I love your dirty mind.” I tugged him closer, embracing his neck.
“And I love the fire I see in your eyes.” He pressed me against his strong body. I ran my hand down his hard, sturdy chest and gazed at his dimpled face. A thrill coursed through my spine. Oh, I love this man.
His eyes darkened, and I sensed the desire awakening in his body. Teasingly, I lowered my hand and held his erection. He held my hips and pushed his erection against my eager hand.
“I wonder if I could ever stop this crazy desire I have for your body. God, Mel, you are so soft.”
A distant rumble broke through the sky. Tim kissed me, and I was lost to everything surrounding us. Gigantic drops of rain filtered through the tree branches to pound us.
“We need shelter,” he said.
“There is a small cave back on the trail. I just saw it,” I said.
We rushed down as the rain intensified. The water formed a curtain and made it difficult to see.
“There it is.” I pointed to the small chamber.
Breathless, we ducked inside. It was dry and safe. Sage carpeted the ground. A huge bush hid the cave’s entrance and shielded it from the wind and rain.
“Com’ere.” I drew him to me.
“The rain made someone horny as hell.” He pulled his wet shirt over his head.
“Just for you.” I unfastened his belt.
“Babe, what if someone passes on the trail?” he said, already stripping my shirt off.
“The cave is hidden. Honestly, I don’t care as long as I have you inside me.”
“God, Mel. I love you.”
“I love you too, always.” I eagerly pushed him on the mossy floor and straddled him. He was hard and ready, and so was I.
The blare of my alarm pulls me out of my reverie. I notice my face is wet from tears. My empty room feels colder.
I lock the room of memories and tuck the key in a safe place, hiding it away from everybody, especially Tarry.
After a hasty shower, I change into my uniform, pull my hair into a knot, and pad to Ella’s room. She opens her eyes and gazes my way. Her small body stretches like a lazy kitty.
“Hi, Mommy.” She yawns.
“Good morning, baby. Time to get up.”
“Oh, I want to stay in bed. Lie down with me, Mommy.”
“It sounds very tempting, but we must hurry. You can’t miss the school bus. My car is at the shop.” I pull the covers away.
“Is Grandpa driving you to work?” She climbs out of bed.
“No, Tarry is going to give me a ride.” I pull her Cinderella nightgown over her head.
“I like Uncle Tarry. He seems lonely though. Does he have children?” she asks.
“No, I don’t think he does.” I place a pink shirt over her head and hand her a pair of jeans.
“Put these on, and I’ll head down stairs to start your breakfast.”
“Okay, Mommy, can I have tamales?”
“Sure, honey.”
I POUR A cup of coffee, and get my cell phone. Finding Tarry’s number, I text:
Me: GM. Having tamales for breakfast, want some?
Tarry: Yep. Thxs.
After I prepare Ella’s lunch, I stick tamales in the microwave. As I pull them out, Ella enters the kitchen.
I hand her plates and say, “Set three places at the island, honey. Uncle Tarry is having breakfast with us.”
“Okay, Mom.”
As if on cue, I hear a light tap on the kitchen door. I glance at the clock at the wall. It’s only seven thirty.
“Hi, Uncle Tarry.” Ella swings the door open and hugs him. The gesture tugs at my heart. Ella is a lovely kid and, most importantly, she is perceptive. I’m certain she sees his vacant eyes and wants to share some of her kindness with him. The thought makes me smile.
“Hi, beautiful,” he bends down and awkwardly returns the hug.
“Sorry, Tarry. Ella is just like her grandmother. She never misses an opportunity to hug someone.”
“Nothing wrong with that in my book.” He grins, stroking her hair.
“Grab some coffee.” I point to the coffee maker.
“Thanks.”
He looks dashing. His hair is still damp and he is freshly shaved. Standing beside me, his body expels a delicious citrus smell. Immediately, I want to inch closer to him, and run my nose along his clean jawline, to get a whiff of his attractive male scent.
My eyes return their focus to placing tamales on plates. Tarry pours coffee in a mug and slides onto the barstool.
I place a tamale on his plate. Ella grabs milk and juice from the fridge, and we sit. Again, I have the urge to sniff his citrus scent from up close. Instead, I shove a spoon of food in my mouth.
“At this rate, I will regain all the pounds I lost, plus. Damn, Mel, this is delicious,” Tarry says with his mouth full.
“Mom’s food is always delicious, Uncle Tarry.” Ella glimmers.
“How about you, Ella, can you cook?”
“I’m learning, right, Mommy?” She then gulps her milk, leaving a white mustache.
“It is in the genes, she can already bake a great cake.” I smile proudly.
Ella and Tarry talk about guitar lessons. Between bites, I take a measure of the magnetic presence of Tarry. He is casually dressed in a sweatshirt that honestly has seen better days. He grins at Ella. It’s surreal that a rock star—no, a sexy, god-like rock star—can be this normal, this mundane, and sitting in my blue kitchen. This reality conflicts with the images and footage I’ve seen of his extraordinary stage performances.
“Can he start tonight, Mom?” Ella pleads, her hands enlaced together.
“Huh?” I snap back to the conversation.
“The guitar lessons?” Tarry seems uncertain. He must mistake my dumbfound state for me not wanting him to teach Ella how to play guitar.
“Yeah, I guess. Go brush your teeth, honey.” I gather the plates, and shoo Ella out of the kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, Ella’s bus will come around at eight twenty.”
“That’s okay.” He ambles around the small kitchen, making the room feel even smaller. My gut crumples with his proximity. He examines a painting of butterflies, resting on the windowsill. It reads “Follow your dreams, because one day you will die. By Elvis Duran”
“Did you paint this?” He frowns.
“Yeah, the quote is from a morning show, I listen to.”
“Huh, I know the show. But it seems out of character for you to listen to this type of talk show,” he says.
“Yeah, I love the phone taps. I tend to be uptight, but they make me laugh each time, which is a pretty huge task.”
“Who would have thought you would have words of wisdom by Elvis Duran on your windowsill?”
“Hey, Elvis is a really nice guy, you know?” I defend him.
“Do you know him?” Tarry frowns.
“No, but I listen to the show every morning. People cannot be consistently inconsistent to the essence of who they truly are. He is always kind, even when he is funny or upset.”
“Yeah, he seems all right from what I remember. I was stoned when I
went there.” He shrugs.
“You did sound weird.”
“You listened to the interview?” he croaks and he runs a hand through his hair.
“Oh, yeah, of course. I’m a fan of your music.” And of you. But I omit the last bit.
“I’m ready, Mommy.” Ella storms into the kitchen, and I assist her with the backpack.
“Uncle Tarry, can you come to the bus stop with us?” Ella asks, hopeful.
“Sure, if it’s okay with your mom.”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Before I can wrap my hand around Ella’s, she reaches for Tarry’s.
We walk to the bus stop. They are engrossed in an intense conversation when the yellow bus blinks its light and swings the stop sign. Ella grins and stands on her tiptoes to kiss Tarry. Then, she jumps in my arms.
“I love you, honey.” I kiss her head.
“Love you too, Mommy. Bye, Uncle Tarry.” She waves from the bus door.
“Looks like you can add a new fan to your legion.”
“Wow, she is cute as hell,” he says, waving at the Ella, who is staring at us from the bus window.
“I just have to grab my things, then we can go.”
“No rush. Whenever you are ready.”
I TRY NOT to stare at Mel’s ass as I follow her inside the house, I really do. But, damn, when I see her in her police uniform my inside twists into multiple knots, my dick jolts up, and my mind loses focus of everything.
“Do you want more coffee?” she asks while pouring coffee into a thermos.
“No, thank you.” I sprawl on the red couch and watch her. She moves gracefully through the kitchen, preparing her lunch. Damn, why did I commit to keep a distance? My hands are prickling with an urge to touch her.
Mel comes to the living room, unlocks a cabinet, and pulls out a belt holstering her gun. Goddamn, a sexy woman handling a gun. It can’t get any hotter than this. My dick is so hard that it fucking hurts. I squirm on the couch, hoping she doesn’t look my way. With a pillow resting on my lap to disguise my hard-on, I think of speaking in public after walking through a room filled with rattlesnakes. I then focus on Mrs. Nichol’s horrendous voice and facial wart. Not even the thought of my heinous third grade teacher can distract me from the thought of fucking Mel. Shit. I need to stop home before going to my appointment.
