“There is a huge difference,” he interjected.
“Then we won’t stop you.”
“Just tell us one thing about her,” Dale said.
“I don’t know anything.” He fished money out of his wallet and dropped it on the table.
“Does she make you recite the alphabet before she goes down on you?”
“Stop.”
“Does she give you a gold star for—”
“See you tomorrow. Or not. I don’t care.” Jarek strode off through the crowded bar, their laughter ringing in his ears. In the past, their comments wouldn’t have bothered him. He’d never cared about anything enough that he could be bothered. But even now, irritated though he was, their words weren’t the ones getting his back up. Olivia’s special little F-word, four letters and one syllable, was digging into his gut, making him feel all sorts of things he didn’t want to feel.
Two days later, the cause of his recent frustrations strolled past the open door to the carpentry trailer at three thirty in the afternoon. Jarek was bent over a table saw, cutting a piece of wood for one of a zillion door frames, when her hair caught the sunlight and sparkled brightly enough to catch his eye. He finished the cut and placed the wood carefully on the table, watching as Ritchie walked beside her, scribbling in his notepad as Olivia chatted and gestured with her hands.
Jarek took off the safety glasses and gloves, wiping dust off his nose before striding to the door to look out. They were about twenty feet away, moving slowly, lost in their conversation. Olivia wore faded blue jeans that clung to her ass, and had traded her winter coat for something black in a lighter fabric that showed her shape. Her long hair fell halfway down her back, pin straight and gleaming, and Jarek wanted nothing more than to wrap it in his fist and drag her into the trailer.
He scuffed his foot on the top step of the makeshift staircase, and Ritchie glanced back at the sound. “Hey, Jarek.”
“Hey.” He was speaking to Ritchie, but his eyes were on Olivia.
“Hey,” she said.
He nodded, not trusting himself. It was sunny today but there was a cool breeze, and her lips and cheeks were pink. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever been with, hands down, and he hated that he even noticed.
“We’re just talking about this thing for her class,” Ritchie said, when the silence stretched on too long.
“Sure.”
“How was your trip?” Olivia asked. He couldn’t tell if she was testing him or not; it was quite possible she suspected he’d been hiding out in this trailer for the past two days, avoiding her.
“It’s over.”
“He had to go with Dale,” Ritchie pitched in, bailing him out. “His best friend.”
She smiled. “Did you have a slumber party?”
There’s only one person I want to sleep with, he thought. “No.”
“What are you working on?”
He stepped away from the door and gestured inside. “Come see.”
Olivia glanced at Ritchie, who fumbled to put away his notepad. He was an awkward guy, but he wasn’t stupid. “I’ll look at this and give you some ideas tomorrow,” he said quickly. “I should probably get back to the site, anyway.”
“Thanks, Ritchie.”
“Any time.”
She watched him hurry away before turning back to Jarek and slowly approaching. He liked watching her come to him; he liked everything about her. She climbed the four steps to the trailer and he didn’t shift back to let her in, making her brush against him as she entered, squinting to let her eyes adjust.
Jarek followed her inside and closed and locked the door, letting the click hang in the air. He saw her stiffen for a second, but she didn’t turn around or argue, so he figured it was okay.
“This is it, huh?”
“Some of the time.”
He moved past her into the room, wiping sawdust off the table saw and into a small garbage can. The room was well organized, every inch used efficiently, and because he was the only one in here ninety percent of the time, it was exactly as he liked it. He had tools, a desk, a window—curtains drawn—and a water cooler. Everything he needed, until now.
She moved farther inside, looking at the equipment, touching the edge of the wood he’d just finished cutting. His desk was in the corner, looking out over the room, the surface bare except for a stack of notepads and an empty water glass.
“But this is what you really like, right?” she asked. “Carpentry?”
“Why would you say that?”
“When I asked you what you did here, you said it was mostly this.”
He hesitated. It wasn’t a big thing for her to inquire about, his hobby. His interest. “Yeah. This is what I prefer to do.”
“What are you making now?”
“Nothing special. Door frames. Trim. Stuff like that.”
She stroked a finger over the grooves in the wood he’d cut, decorative touches requested by the client. “It’s nice.”
“Is it fine?” He was surprised by the tension in his voice.
She may have been too, because she glanced over her shoulder to look at him. “I said it was nice.”
He nodded and looked away, then followed her down the narrow aisle, closer to the desk. “Do you know who Frank and Joe Hardy are?”
“Boy detectives? Nancy Drew’s—Oomph!”
He’d turned her, lifted her, seated her on the desk, and covered her mouth with his in approximately one-eighth of a second. She didn’t put up a fight, didn’t pretend she’d come in here to talk about his hobbies. He dragged her hips right to the edge of the desk, pressing his against hers, grinding himself between her legs. Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck and he unzipped her jacket, filling his hands with her breasts, still kicking himself for not getting her shirt off the other night. He’d touched her in a lot of places he hadn’t even seen, and the thought, among others, kept him up nights.
She stopped him, however, when he tried to remove her shirt, and he realized she was worried about the trailer. “I locked the door.”
“I know. Still.”
“No one’s going to come in.”
“Still.”
He made a show of sighing heavily and pulling the V-neck away from her chest to peek inside, making her laugh. “Show me yours,” she ordered, sliding her hands beneath the black T-shirt he was wearing and pushing it up to reveal his tight chest and abs. He was fit, but he wasn’t bulky. He had strong hands and arms, no flab. He clutched her hair when she ducked her head to lick the line dividing his pectorals, tongue circling his nipples, kissing him right over the spot where his heart was supposed to be. His dick had been waiting for this moment for two and a half days, and didn’t want to wait much longer.
“That enough foreplay?” he asked, lowering his shirt and undoing the button at the top of her jeans.
She laughed again and he liked the sound, liked it even better when she made a different sound when he slipped his hand inside her pants and covered her over her panties, pressing against her folds hard enough to penetrate a little bit. He kissed her mouth, kissed her neck, even dipped his head to find her nipples through her shirt and bra, biting them harder than necessary as punishment for refusing to show him.
She pushed his face away and admonished him not to ruin her shirt, even as he felt her grow wetter and wetter on the fingers he now plunged ruthlessly inside her. “Do you have…?” Her voice trailed off as he fished the condom out of his back pocket and dropped it on the desk.
“Did the Hardy boys teach you that? To come prepared?”
“No,” he said, tugging off her sneakers and dropping them on the floor before helping her out of her jeans and panties. “You did.” He freed his straining cock and she dealt with the condom wrapper as he pushed her knees wide to look at the only part of her she’d let him see. She squirmed uncomfortably after a second and he shot her a look that said he was in charge—she rolled her eyes—and dropped to his knees to drag his tongue through her wet s
lit and tug on her clit with his teeth.
Her eyes rolled now for another reason, and after a minute he stood and sheathed himself with the condom, unable to wait another second. That’s how he always seemed to feel around her. Couldn’t wait to kiss her. Couldn’t wait to see her breasts. Had to taste her pussy. Had to be inside her.
Olivia braced her hands on the desk and looked him in the eye as he fit the head of his cock to her and pushed. She was really fucking tight. He’d expected it, given the look on her face the other night when he’d tried to penetrate her with three fingers, but this was brutal. He didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want to stop.
He fisted one hand in her hair like he’d fantasized about doing, and pulled her up to kiss him, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her while he nudged his way inside, and she gasped and writhed and worked to accommodate him, yanking her head away to suck in air when he was buried to the hilt. “You okay?” he asked, instantly regretting it. Please don’t say fine. Please don’t say fine.
Her head had dropped back and her eyes were on the ceiling. “Yes.”
Well. Better than nothing. “You need anything special?”
Her head came up and her lips curved. “You’re special.”
“Knock it off.”
She smiled, showing too many teeth. “Make me.”
He gripped her hips, pulled out and shoved back in, too hard. Her breath hitched and she winced, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“Do it again.”
So he did. She held onto the desk and later onto his shoulders, and he held her hips and pounded into her with all the zealousness of a man possessed, and none of the finesse she’d probably gotten from her ex. He could feel her and smell her and hear her, and in no time at all she fit him.
She fisted a hand in his T-shirt and buried her face in the fabric when she came, a whimper, not a bang, muffled by his chest. Her pussy seized him and refused to let him go, and when she was spent he drove into her a dozen more times and exploded with a shout he tried to stifle with her hair.
When he regained his senses, his heart was pounding and he was sweating, a line trickling down his back to pool at the base of his spine. At some point she’d wrapped her legs around his hips and now they fell open, giving him the cue to pull out and dispose of the condom. By the time he’d turned back she’d already stepped into her panties, bright pink with white polka dots, and all too soon she’d covered them with her jeans.
She avoided his eyes as she picked up a sneaker and untied the laces, something he hadn’t bothered to do in his haste to get them off. Jarek picked up the other one and did the same, handing it to her when she was ready, refusing to let it go until she looked at him. He cocked an eyebrow and she smiled, no teeth, and he didn’t know what he was hoping for.
“Why’d you ask about the Hardy Boys?” she asked, slipping into her jacket. She untucked her hair from the collar and ran a hand over her face, pink in places from his lips and stubble.
“Brant and Dale didn’t know who they were.”
“Do you guys normally discuss teen detectives?”
He smiled thinly. “No. It just came up.”
She glanced around. “I guess I should let you get back to work. That was—”
He stepped forward and covered her mouth with a hand. “Don’t fucking say fine, Olivia.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?” Her lips moved against his palm.
“Don’t say nice, either.”
She swatted his hand away. “I was going to say stupendous.” She kept a straight face for all of one second, and then he gave up and smiled, too.
“I want to make you come properly.” He hadn’t expected to say that, not out loud.
She squeezed his fingers as she moved past. “You did.”
He stopped her at the door, pressing a hand against the wall over her head, trapping her between his body and the trailer. “I didn’t.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Do you have a secret fetish?”
She snickered. “No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Jarek, stop. That was stupendous.”
“It was good, Olivia. Not stupendous. For me, anyway. You wouldn’t even let me take off your shirt.”
She turned to face him. “Do you know how old I am?”
He shrugged. “Approximately.”
“Do you know where I’m from?”
Uh-oh.
“Do you know my birthday or my favorite food or the name of the school I teach at?” He stared at her silently, and she tapped his chin. “Then don’t ask me how I come, Jarek. That’s the least of the things you should be wondering about.” She pulled open the door and stepped outside. “Are you going to come over tonight?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Wrong question, dumb ass.” She didn’t sound angry, but she didn’t look back when she walked away, either.
Chapter Five
“WELL. GOOD THING we built it on a dolly.”
Ritchie looked up from his spot crouched on the floor and looked doubtful. “It’s bigger than we talked about.”
Olivia gnawed her lower lip. “Yeah. A bit. But it looks real.”
She took a step back, a wet strip of newspaper hanging from the tips of her fingers, and studied the papier mâché tree she’d roped Ritchie into helping her design and build. It was a prototype for the forest of trees she planned to create for her class’s performance of Little Red Riding Hood at the end of the year. She wasn’t in any way, shape or form qualified to stage something like this, but the school had given her an assignment and she had nothing better to do, so she’d taken it on with gusto. And papier mâché paste.
“You’re making a mess.” Ritchie pointed at the pool of paste on the floor for the seventeenth time.
“I’ll clean it later.”
He rose and came to stand beside her, peering at the monstrosity they’d spent the better part of two hours creating. Her students had music class before lunch on Tuesdays, and they’d agreed that he would come by then to help her with the trial run of the first of many trees.
“It’ll look better when it’s painted,” Olivia said, slapping on the soggy strip of paper with no finesse whatsoever.
“You don’t think it’s…enormous?”
“Um, maybe.” She glanced over at him and tried not to laugh. Ritchie was an architect and he was extraordinarily uncomfortable when things did not go according to plan. The original intent had been for the tree to be approximately five feet tall—including the leaves, which she’d already constructed by tying together roughly one hundred large green feathers she’d found at the crowded indoor market. This particular…thing…was all trunk, about a foot and a half in diameter, more than double the measurements he’d given her, and stood about seven feet tall. It was just a giant, lilting, soggy newspaper covered…thing.
“Let’s wheel it outside to dry,” she suggested. Olivia steadied the “tree” as Ritchie maneuvered the dolly through her classroom and out the door into the courtyard to sit in the sun. “I think it’ll be good,” she tried.
“Yeah.”
She laughed and hit him in the arm with her dirty fingers. “Shut up.”
He trailed her inside and they tidied up as best they could, still twenty minutes left in the lunch break. She had a tiny microwave she used to heat up Styrofoam containers of instant noodles, and they sat at the kids’ tables and ate as they made small talk. Olivia knew he wanted to ask her about Jarek; it was kind of an open secret. She hadn’t been back to the gym trailer in the two weeks since she’d had sex with him on his desk. She hadn’t had to; he met up with her four times a week to run outside, then followed her upstairs to her apartment for an entirely different kind of workout.
“You seem…better,” Ritchie offered. “Less unhappy.”
“Yeah.” She forked too much food into her mouth and chewed. “It’s nice now that it’s warmin
g up. Thank God for spring.”
“Did you figure out how you’re going to make this play work?”
She snorted. “Not a clue.” She’d been told two weeks earlier that she was responsible for helping her class stage an all-English performance of Little Red Riding Hood for their kindergarten graduation. The school was the only one in Lazhou with a foreign teacher, and the parents of Olivia’s students paid extra for them to be in her class. They needed to be wowed. More important, however, was the fact that they were supposed to have performed something at the Christmas pageant, but the Australian teacher hadn’t managed to cobble anything together. The kids had eventually sung an entirely garbled version of “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer,” which no one had understood. They were incredibly excited to have a second chance in June.
The problem was, Olivia knew Little Red Riding Hood. It didn’t have thirty characters. The school principal had chosen it because it had “red” in the title and Chinese people loved the color red. Beyond that, they needed some changes to the story. It couldn’t be scary, grandma couldn’t be kidnapped, the wolf couldn’t eat anybody, couldn’t, in fact, be a wolf, and everyone had to be happy and speaking English in the end. Olivia prided herself on thinking outside the box, but she hadn’t quite figured out a way to make this performance anything other than a hugely embarrassing debacle. So she’d made an enormous tree instead.
“Hello, Olivia?”
She and Ritchie turned to see Honor standing in the doorway, the sunlight silhouetting her slight shape, the flare of her dress around her knees. She still wore a long sleeve shirt and thick tights, but somehow managed to look pretty and dainty at the same time.
“Hi, Honor. Come on in. We’re just having lunch.”
Honor took a tentative step into the room, sniffing. “What…What is that?” she asked, gesturing out the window at the trunk basking in the sunlight. A few strips of newspaper had already come free and hung off like dripping gray moss.
Olivia stood to join her to study the tree. “It’s a tree. Or it will be. For my class.”
“A tree?”
“It’s not finished yet.”
“Hmm. Yes.”
Going the Distance Page 6
