by Joey Bush
I shrugged my shoulders, playing coy. “Of course not. I had many other things to do. People to see.” I smiled. I brought myself toward him, aligning my body with his. I could still feel his heart beating fast beneath my head. He sighed evenly.
“You know. I haven’t done the couple thing. Not for a long, long time. It broke my heart when I was in college,” Drew murmured. He kissed the back of my head.
“I didn’t know this about you,” I whispered back.
“Well. That’s why I’m not good at committing to people, you know. Not even to you. You who deserves it. But you’ve always been different, Molly. I sensed it the moment I met you in that coffee shop. You were the woman for me.”
I spun around, looking at him with wide eyes. What was he saying?
“I think I want to be in a couple with you.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it slowly, allowing his eyes to link with mine. I felt a stirring in my naked body; I felt my pussy grow wet once more. “If you want to be official. We can be official.”
I leaped upon him, kissing him passionately. I felt his tongue in my mouth, and I closed my eyes. After a moment, I pulled myself away, allowing myself to tell him: “I want to be official. I want to be with you.”
He nodded. He brought me on top of him, and I began to ride him, hot and heavy, allowing my breasts to bounce in his face. My body was at its prime; my pussy was wet and dripping. I felt his cock deep in my body, making me nearly scream as I humped him. We were together, even as we fucked each other. We were together, even as we played together and teased each other. He was mine. And I was his.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, Drew and I rose early, at around six, and got dressed at the dance studio. We ran down the street to his apartment, donned running clothes, and trekked to the lake. It was the first day of November, and already Lake Michigan was looking grey, crispy. I grabbed his hand as I led him toward my favorite part of the trail.
We ran swiftly next to each other, pounding our legs onto the sand. He was fast—almost too fast—but I kept up with him. I watched as his supple back muscles lurched this way, then that as we ran together. I allowed my limbs to grow long, like a ballerina’s, beside him.
We stopped to grab water as we neared the end of the trail. I tossed the water back into my mouth, and he wrapped his sweating arms around me. He planted a great kiss on my mouth. Suddenly, his cell phone began to ring in his pocket. He grabbed it and looked at it, saying “Shit!”
“What is it?”
“They’re about to demolish the new building I bought for the bookstore. I really need to get the ball rolling on this,” he said. “I completely forgot.”
I smiled at him, taking his hand. “Let me come with you.”
We rushed toward the street and hailed a taxi. We cuddled in the backseat, unable to remove our hands from each other’s bodies. We coursed toward Wicker Park, toward a building not far from my apartment building. In fact, it was only three blocks away. I eyed him, and he shrugged. “I thought ahead, okay?” he tickled me.
We lurched from the taxi and I stared up at the building. It was about to fall over; this was clear. “You’re going to demolish this beautiful place?” I teased him once more.
A few construction workers had already arrived, as had Mel and her baby, Jackson. I rushed toward them and flung my arms around both of them, feeling like I was on top of the world. I kissed baby Jackson on his sweet little nose. This pleased Mel, of course. She grinned at me. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you about—about what I was sending you to, yesterday.”
She was referencing sending me to the old dance studio, to find Drew. “You little sneaky lady,” I said, laughing. “It was wonderful. Actually—one of the best days of my life.”
She brought her hand out and grabbed my shoulder. “You’ll be great together, Molly. I think you need each other. You know? You’re both two of the loneliest people in the world. Maybe that won’t be true anymore.”
I thought about this as the great bulldozer came forward, as its great ball swung from side to side. Had Drew been lonely before me? Certainly being afraid of things made you afraid to seek comfort, seek solace. My mother had been afraid for years after the death of my father. And she’d been afraid even before that of being alone. That was why she’d stuck with him all those years; that was why she’d decided to stay in Indianapolis instead of pursuing her dreams.
I had been afraid as well. I’d been afraid I wasn’t good enough for my dreams. I had been afraid that I wasn’t going to succeed and that I wasn’t good enough for Drew and that—well. The list went on and on. My fear was immense.
Drew placed a hat on his head as the bulldozer crept further. He gestured toward several men as they discussed their plan of attack. I turned toward Mel, my best friend in the world. “Do you want to grab bagels for the boys?”
“Coffee, god. I need some coffee,” Mel spurted, laughing.
We walked toward the coffee shop, once more. The same coffee shop in which I’d bumped into Drew. The same coffee shop that’d changed my life. Just as I’d hoped, I found the young, pimpled man at the counter.
“Good morning,” he said to us, bleary-eyed.
“Good morning!” I called to him in a chipper voice. I looked in the great window, looking at the bagels, all stacked in a line. “We’re going to need something like ten bagels. With cream cheese. Let’s see.” And I named them all, haphazardly, one after another. Poppy seed. Blueberry. Everything. Pumpernickel. I handed a wheat one to baby Jackson, who’d begun to eat solid foods recently. He pounded it on his mother’s chest and laughed and laughed with just a hint of maniacal attitude.
We paid for the bagels, and walked back just as the bulldozer struck the building, allowing bricks to crumble to the earth. Everyone below began to clap. It was ridiculously amazing to see something—something that had taken time, effort, everything—to fall to the ground. But there it went, brick-by-brick.
I watched a young mother and her young son walk toward it on their way to someplace else. The young son spoke up to his mother, asking her: “What are they doing that for?”
“They’re making a bookstore, Jim,” the mother answered. “We can buy your comic books there.”
Jim the young boy leaped into the air, showing me the bottom of his orange tennis shoes. Tiny creatures rimmed the exterior, giving them a whimsical quality. There was so much you couldn’t understand about a person unless you looked at them closely; unless you gave them room to breathe.
The young boy and his mother walked on, leaving me there with Mel and Jackson. Jackson cooed up at his mother, a small bit of bagel dangling from his new teeth. Mel shook her head, looking toward me. “Do you see your future?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I have a whole lotta stuff to do before that,” I said, running off.
I reached Drew, finally. I caught his body up in my arms and held him close in a deep hug. I looked up at his surprised eyes. “What are you doing?” he murmured, not unkindly.
“I just realized I have some things to do today. Can I meet you at your place tonight? We can drink wine, talk to Hector, dance in the big room, and make love?”
“Especially that last part.” He winked at me and leaned down, kissing me on the lips passionately, if only for a moment.
I was off. I rushed back toward my old dance studio and burst into the well-lit arena. I glided toward the back where I found my old dance outfits. I laced the shoes up tightly, all the way to just below my knees. I flung myself forward onto my toes, and took small, graceful steps toward the middle of the room. I began to twirl, to glide. I was presenting myself for all the world to see. I was a dancer, beyond anything else.
I made up different steps; I leaped into the air and landed softly in a unique twirl. I felt the wave of the music around me—Mozart, then Handel. And I felt alive—as alive as I’d felt the evening before, when Drew and I had become a part of each other. When we had become one.
As I danced, a few of
the on-lookers began to stop, to peer into the window and gaze at me. I hardly noticed them, of course. I continued to twirl, to wield myself gracefully with the music. I was dancing with all the passion I could possibly feel, from my toes to the tips of my fingers. Suddenly, I heard a banging on the window. I peered up and found some of the little girls from my six-year-old class peering in at me, laughing at me with such wild passion.
I leaped toward the door and opened it, allowing them to enter. They were wearing little dresses, and a few of them still had make-up on from the previous Halloween night. I didn’t give them any instructions. Rather, they began to do all the beautiful choreography I’d taught them during their young lives. They held in their giggles, and they twirled; they leaped. I could hardly stand it, but I kept dancing, not wanting to kill the magic.
A few moments later I heard the door open. Mel had come in, holding baby Jackson in one hand. In her other hand, she held the bell from the old reign of the dance studio. She placed it on the door and jangled it slightly, allowing me and the girls to cheer, leaping into the air. I called into the air: “MOLLY SAYS DANCE IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS!” And then I pushed my hands into the air many times. The girls followed my lead.
A few of the other girls from the neighborhood joined me, as well, allowing the bell to jangle each time. Some of them had been in my class before; some of them were strangers. But we all indulged our bodies in the glories of dance. A small girl came up to me and grabbed my hand, spinning beneath me like a tiny Cinderella. I peered up at Mel, shaking my head with incredulities. But Mel was busy talking to a parent, writing information down. This parent, I understood, wanted to get her daughter involved with dance class.
Mel nodded to me as the parent left with two of her daughters, holding up the paper. She grinned a wide grin. Jackson readjusted himself in her arms, bringing her to place him on the wooden floor where he bobbed his arms in time, dancing to the music.
“He’ll be a dancer, just like his momma!” I called to her.
“Or like his cousin!” She winked toward me as she took another parent’s number down. Everyone wanted dance lessons, suddenly. They couldn’t get enough of our passion.
The girls had begun to grow tired; some of them had fled to school. Mel had begun to dance alongside me, as well, showing some of the unique dance techniques she’d utilized in her day, at Loyola, when she’d been top-tier ballerina.
“I would have killed to see you on that stage,” I said to her, shaking my head back and forth. “God. You are incredible.”
She flapped her hand in front of her face, shaking her head. “If you think I’m good, you should look at yourself. You’re the most incredible performer I’ve ever seen. There was a reason you didn’t make it in the big leagues. These are the big leagues. Right here.” She gestured around her, nodding at all the young girls who danced, tossing their slim arms into the air and feeling the weight of the 400-year-old music.
I nodded, smiling at her. I didn’t realize there were tears in my eyes. Suddenly, I heard the bell jangle once more from the door. Thinking we had another young girl dancer, I spun around. But there, standing before us, was Drew. He was still wearing his construction hat; he was still covered in dust from the bricks, from the debris. He walked toward me, and the girls made a part in the great sea. They all snickered at him. He nodded at them, grinning. “All right, ladies. All right.”
He reached me. I found myself bringing my hand to his head to remove his hat. I brushed some of the grime from his face and nose.
“You’re looking quite rugged these days, Drew.”
But he brought his hands forth and reached down, holding me high in the air. In time to the music, we orchestrated our dance techniques from the previous night. He brought me in beautiful circles around his head and I allowed my limbs to glide gracefully. I landed back down on my feet and flung myself into many twirls, making the girls around me screech, wide-eyed. They loved the glamor of it—the drama.
Finally, my chest heaving, I leaned against him, looking up at this man. This man who was giving up so much of himself to be mine. “Thank you for the dance.”
“I’ll dance with you anytime you need,” he replied.
And then, to the shock of everyone, he leaned down and kissed me deeply on the lips. The light shone in from the streets; the Chicago traffic beeped and spurted outside. I wrapped my hand around his neck, and I felt his beating heart within his chest. He brought his head back once more, and rubbed his nose on mine. “I love you,” he murmured.
“And I love you,” I whispered back.
The girls rushed off to school, thoughts of Molly Says Dance and romance swirling in their heads. Mel strapped Jackson into his carriage and walked through the park, filled with a sense of motherly bliss. And Drew and I—well. We went home. We were caught up in the mystery of each other. And that was enough.
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THE COMPLETE
THE NEIGHBOR SERIES
Part 1 - 4
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Claire Adams
Chapter One
I started volunteer work because it looked good on my college applications. I did a lot of things then just to help boost my image. For example, applying to more than one college was just a formality for me. It showed that I had broad horizons and that I was willing to attend college anywhere. I wasn’t afraid to travel across the country if the financial aid package was good and the course study fit my needs. I would bravely leave behind the familiar. I would never choose a college or university based on who went there—especially if it was an old boyfriend whom I considered a good friend.
The entire premise of this adventurous girl was a lie. I was scared to leave South Carolina and the friends and family that I loved. Following Max to the University of South Carolina made sense—or at least it felt safe. I would be close enough to home to travel back on the weekends if I wanted. Max would watch out for me; plus, we had a past sexual relationship that we could tap into. Only if we got lonely, of course.
Therefore, my passion for volunteer work only came about because of my lie. While I didn’t expect it at first, I ended up enjoying working with wounded veterans.
Magnolia Country Club hosted the event annually. Magnolia was a public golf course, but with greens fees as high as $330, it had the feel of a private club. Only certain people could afford a round of golf at Magnolia. Veterans got a deal and, on this weekend, they played free.
As a volunteer, I drove a golf cart all day. I passed out cold beverages and snacks to the players. They gave me a nametag shaped as a magnolia emblazoned with my name – Jenna Walsh. It wasn’t a bad gig. The added benefit was the reception that followed with heavy hors de oeuvres. I checked with my mom regarding the meaning of heavy. She told me that they were springing for some substantial food—I could expect more than carrots and ranch but I shouldn’t expect a full meal. It was free and fancy, so I would eat until I was stuffed.
Famished after a morning run with some school friends followed by a day in the sun, I headed for the seafood table. I went for the biggest shrimp I could see and poked a tanned forefinger with my toothpick.
“Shit – oops, excuse my language. You just harpooned me with your toothpick.”
Attached to the bronzed digit was a man’s hand that went along with a spectacular body. My gaze eventually met his eyes, and his face was no disappointment, either.
“I’m sorry. I saw that shrimp and I just had to have it,” I quipped.
“I see you will go to great lengths to get what you want. I’m Ryder Curran. I would shake your hand but I’m wounded,” he said with a cheeky gleam in his eye.
> “Wounded?” I teased. “Look around you. Some of these folks are truly wounded. They are missing limbs in some cases. You don’t see them whining and you can’t handle a little poke from a toothpick.”
“If you think I can’t take being poked you should know—” Ryder stopped.
“I should know what?” I pressed.
“You should know that I donated blood last week. I’m tough.”
“I don’t believe you. Show me your arm. I donate blood all of the time and I can see if you have been pricked.”
Ryder rolled up his left sleeve.
“You must have had a shitty phlebotomist. Was she blind?” I looked at the bruise on his arm.
“No. My veins are difficult to find. They call them rolling veins.”
Ah, a smartass.
“Well, Ryder, I’m Jenna Walsh.”
“Yeah, I can see that. I like your flower nametag.” Ryder smiled, revealing his great teeth. They say you can tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wear—I’ve always thought teeth were more telling.
“I hope your wound heals quickly. It won’t be a big deal unless you’re a surgeon. You aren’t are you?” I asked, trying to be crafty in finding out more about the handsome stranger.
“As a matter of fact, I’m a neurosurgeon. I have a slice and dice job at 8 am tomorrow.” Ryder looked stoic.
“Oh my god. Of all of the hands to stab. I have to pick a doctor’s.” My jaw fell open.
“Got ya,” he said, cracking a smile. “You are cute. And gullible. Nice combination, but you had better watch out. Someone might come along and take advantage of you.”
I rolled my eyes and shot back. “Don’t call me cute. Anything but cute. My father called me that when I was in pigtails. As far as gullible goes – I’m not.”
“Relax Jenna. Cute is a compliment. I’m sure your boyfriend would agree,” he said.
I blushed. He was trying to be crafty as well.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I was honest. I liked to say I was a girl who kissed a lot of boys and had a lot of fun. I wasn’t, however, a slut.
