Beyond Touched

by Ashley Logan

  “Shut up.”

  “No really. It warms my heart,” I add as I make my way through the door she’s holding open to the street. “Right down in the cockles.”

  “I’ll warm your cockles with my foot in a minute,” she warns in a joking tone, making me laugh. “Are your keys in your bag?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, wishing I’d thought to put them in my pocket so she’d have to get up close and personal to fish them out.

  “I totally thought you’d have kept them closer to your cockles so I’d have to feel you up,” Alexa says, making me wonder if maybe she really can read my mind. Laughing as she rummages in my bag, I hear the car unlock and then the trunk open. When she removes a box and her face comes into view, I catch the glint of mischief in her eye.

  “Unlike some people, I would never think of such things,” I say, barely able to keep a straight face.

  “Mmhmm.” Holding the box, she smiles knowingly and takes it around to the trunk. Able to see clearly now, I follow with the rest of my load and arrange it so there’s still room for the rest. Alexa leans against the car, watching me.

  “This is a really nice car.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It does have a really big trunk.”

  “I need a lot of space for my gear,” I reply, distracted by her ass as she reaches in to push one of the boxes further back. Standing back up, she catches me looking and blushes slightly.

  “What kind of gear?”

  “Just stuff. Mainly hobby related. You know, skis, my painting seat, the odd canvas or unicycle.”

  “Painting seat?”

  “It’s like a collapsing recliner, so I can lean back and paint with my feet.”

  Alexa’s eyes travel my body from head to toe, and then half way back up. “Is that why your abs are so defined? Painting?”

  “It definitely helps, I suppose.” My cheeks warm under her attention. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me towing her towards a stoop and surprise-kissing her, so I need to get off my current train of thought. Clearing my throat, I take a step back and close the trunk. “We should get the other stuff and get going.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, turning quickly back towards the club.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALEXA

  After dropping the boxes off, Damon drives out towards Forest Lawn Cemetery, which is apparently close to his place. He drives way better than most people I’ve been in a car with, even if he does have to wear hooks and use the weird ring attached to the steering wheel. Making small talk the whole time, I wonder why he’s acting a little strange.

  “Are you worried about me seeing your place?”

  “Huh?” he asks, distracted from his current verbal outpouring about the history of the cemetery or some such. “No. Why?”

  “You seem nervous. I thought maybe because you weren’t expecting company, that perhaps you’d left your place in a mess and now you’re worried about me seeing it.”

  Turning on to Florida Street, Damon frowns a little. “I’m not that messy.” Looking sideways at me he shrugs. “I mean I’m no clean freak, like Bruno, but it makes my life easier if I’m tidy.” Slowing the car he reaches to a small black box stuck to the dash and hits the button on it with one of his hooks. A garage door opens in front of us and he pulls in. Turning the car off, he removes his hooks immediately and rubs his stumps under his armpits as if itching them. I look out the windscreen.

  Tidy is right.

  Everything in the garage seems to have a place, from the unicycle on its hook next to other hooks for other things like snow gear, helmets, assorted sports equipment, to the skis and snowboards resting in the rafters. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a huge collection of... stuff. He did say he liked to keep busy, but it looks as though he’d never have time to do so many things as well as school work. And seeing and tutoring me. Suddenly aware of how much time I’ve spent with Damon in the last twenty-four hours, I find myself breathing a little faster.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, turning towards me more. “You’ve gone pale.” Looking out the window to follow my gaze, he looks around his garage. “It’s a lot. I know. I keep trying new things to see if it’ll help the pain.”

  I look at him, wondering if I’m the latest thing, or if he sees me as something more. I used to think it was the latter, but I can’t tell anymore. I don’t know which is better and I can’t remember what it was that I wanted.

  “Alexa?”

  Closing my eyes as the shiver passes through me, I remember I definitely like that. And that’s a really big deal.

  “Alexa, I don’t know what’s happening. I’m going to go and get my keys. You can come if you want, or you can stay here. I’ll be right back. You’re not going to run away, right?” he asks, moving an arm toward me, before pulling it back.

  Blinking, I look at his face. Kind. Worried. Hurt? I shake my head. “I’m not running.”

  Pressing his lips together, Damon nods slowly and gets out of the car, slinging his hooks over his shoulder before he disappears through the garage’s internal door, leaving it open.

  Unclasping my safety belt, I get out and follow him. The door leads straight through a utility room and into a small, clean kitchen space. There is indeed a box of rhubarb and raspberry teabags on the shelf by his kettle, but the whole place smells of good coffee and Damon.

  The living room is across the kitchen counter. Again, it’s smallish, though it seems smaller because of the stuff crammed into it. Books line the walls. There is a huge desk is in one corner, with room for its computer and a large work surface. An easel is set up beyond that, with two different looking seats near it - one of which is the reclining one he told me about. There is a small table with two chairs, a very modest television and a small couch loaded with cushions. Amongst the cushions is a very strange looking teddy bear. Apparently made from salvaged parts of at least five or six different bears, it looks a little Frankenstein-esque, but is cute all the same.

  Damon appears from a doorway opposite the kitchen. Stopping when he sees me, he smiles a little with something similar to... relief, maybe?

  He’s changed out of yesterday’s clothes, opting for a t-shirt instead of the slightly dressier polo he’d worn to the club. He smells good, even from across the room.

  “So, this is my place,” he says, opening his arms in presentation. “The bathroom is there if you need it. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  I shake my head.

  Pressing his lips together again, he nods silently and walks across to a loaded bookshelf. Taking a box from the end of a shelf, he keeps the books from spilling by tilting one sideways into the box’s place. Bringing the box to the kitchen counter, he rifles through it and frowns before flipping it upside down on the counter. Raising it slowly, as one might raise a bucket when building a sand castle, he keeps the contents from scattering everywhere. Setting the box to one side, he plucks a set of keys from what is now the top of a pile of bits and bobs. Putting them to one side, he carefully sweeps everything else back into the box and returns it to the bookshelf.

  Nabbing the keys on his way back past, he pauses briefly in the kitchen, next to me.

  “Do you know what’s happening right now?” he asks quietly.

  I lift one shoulder. “Not exactly.”

  “Are we okay?”

  “I don’t know what we are,” I admit.

  “Is that the problem?”

  “Maybe.”

  Nodding, Damon looks around. Pulling a bar stool out from under the counter, he sits on it in front of me so that our eyes are level.

  “I like you, Alexa. Very much. Not just because you make me forget that pain is a constant in my life. I enjoy your company. I also very much enjoy the connection we seem to have on the physical side of things. I’m happy not to put a name on anything, if you feel like the word relationship is a deal breaker, but we have in fact stumbled into some type of relationship, as unconventional as it might seem. You can trust me not to h
urt you, and with anything else you want to share, because I certainly wouldn’t dream of betraying that trust. I won’t demand anything from you, and will appreciate anything you give me freely. If I’d like anything beyond that, I’ll ask. I’ll also respect your response. Do we need to clear anything else up?”

  “I think I like you too,” I whisper, unable to confess it any louder.

  “Is that a problem?” he asks with caution.

  “Maybe.”

  Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly. “Not with me. Come on,” he says, walking to the door. “I need to get your hands on my junk.”

  Snorting, I shake my head at his grin as I head back to the car.

  Ready in my seat, I reach over and open his door for him when I see his complexion paling dramatically as he dons his prosthetics. Smiling at me, he slides in and quickly busies his hooks by pulling on his seat belt. Despite his brave face, his breathing has picked up and his expression is strained. Placing my hand on his thigh, I see the lines leave his face. Looking at my hand a moment, his eyes search my face for an explanation.

  “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

  His surprised face softens. “You don’t have to touch me every time I’m in pain, Alexa. I mean, I appreciate it, but I’m used to dealing with it. I don’t want you to feel you have to do that.”

  “I want to.”

  Studying me a moment longer, he puts the car in gear and begins reversing out of the garage.

  “I’m sorry I had a minor freak out,” I say quietly, as we head back towards Main Street. “I’m just not sure I know where I draw the lines on us anymore.”

  “Do we need lines?” he asks, watching the road. “I mean, they might just get in the way of a nice time. We already have rules. Do we need to add a rule?”

  “I don’t know. This is all new territory to me. No-one’s been able to stick to the rules properly since I made them.”

  “What?” His wide eyes snap to me, and he seems almost torn when he has to watch the road again. “Why not?”

  “Guys like grabbing? I don’t know. It’s probably because I’m not very good at sharing my problems - because they screw my chances of having a normal relationship. I avoid the issue and settle for what I can get. Casual sex.”

  “I’m not sure I like this conversation,” Damon says, spinning the wheel with one hook as he scratches his beard with the other. “Do I have to think about you and other guys? Why am I different? I mean, you haven’t told me about any issues in words, but I understand you have reasons for your rules.”

  “I don’t know why you’re different.”

  “Well,” he says, laughing a little. “I’m sure the other guys had hands.”

  “Hands are definitely a problem for me. If I’m not brave enough to explain that to a guy, I have to be inventive to prevent him from touching me. Truth is, I never like them enough to try being honest with them. I didn’t want to share my secrets with them.”

  “Inventive?” Damon asks, visibly paling. “Do I even want to know? Forget it. I don’t want to know. Oh crap, I’m imagining worst case scenarios.” Looking at me sideways, he shakes his head and stares at the road. “I need an example. It can’t be as bad as what I’m thinking. How do you keep them from touching you without telling them not to touch you?”

  “What are you thinking?” I ask, laughing.

  “Glory holes. Bodysuits made of thick leather with strategic openings. Handcuffs. Whips. Assorted methods of accidentally breaking a man’s fingers.”

  Still laughing at glory holes, I shake my head. “Mainly I just chicken out before I go through with it and have to make up excuses! But I have tied a guy's hands before. And the most success I’ve had is with a mechanic that I convinced not to touch me because of the grease on his hands. The next time, he’d scrubbed them clean, so I had to let him go.”

  Exhaling roughly, Damon adjusts himself in his seat, the tension gone from his shoulders. “Okay. Thank you.”

  Cracking up again, I shake my head. “Glory holes? Really? Ew.”

  “Don’t laugh at me. I have an over-active imagination,” he says, pulling up to City Storage. “It’s a curse.”

  “Or a blessing,” I counter with a shrug. “You’re pretty inventive. Maybe I should pick your brain sometime.”

  Turning in his seat, Damon scowls at me. “You want my ideas on how to keep other men from touching you?”

  Unable to help myself, I laugh at the look on his face. “Why? You got any?”

  His jaw tightens as his eyes travel my face. A fleeting smile touches his lips and a definite gleam hits his eye. “You won’t like them,” he says with a sly half-grin before getting out of the car.

  Shivering a little from his slight suggestion of the ominous, I let it rest, trying not to think about how unhealthy it is that his being jealous turns me on. That’s a slice of the old Alexa. I’m not the girl who will do anything for protection anymore. I can be choosy. I can make the rules.

  But can I stick to them?

  Sighing, I give myself a reality check. I’m sure Damon wasn’t even hinting that he’d beat men away from me. That’s just my warped history causing me to misinterpret things; I think. He’s a lover, not a fighter. And what a lover. Oh dear. I’m drifting back to those thoughts again.

  Trotting around the car to join Damon, I glance up at him. “You didn’t mean you’d beat other men away from me right?”

  “What?” he asks, his eyes flying to mine. “No. Where did that come from?”

  “The past. I was just checking.”

  Damon keeps watching me until eventually, he turns to the garage-like door in front of us and holds out the key to me.

  “What did you mean then?” I ask, taking the key.

  “Not that, but I’m still not telling you, because you really won’t like it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Just a hunch. I swear it wasn’t anything like peeing on you to mark my territory. I know you’re not mine, Alexa.”

  Staring at him a minute, I try to absorb what he’s just said. I’m coming to believe that Damon Shermansky is a master of distraction and redirection. I can’t think beyond him peeing on me. “Gross.”

  Turning to the lock, I insert his key and open up. The unit is huge; an actual garage sized space. Filled with stacked furniture and boxes and more sports gear and art and goodness knows what else.

  “Holy shit. It’s huge.”

  “That’s what she said,” he jokes, only to turn red. “Sorry. I guess that joke doesn’t really work with people who’ve actually seen my penis.”

  Raising an eyebrow at him, I snort. “You know when you apologize about your jokes it makes them less funny, right? I was laughing until you said sorry.”

  With a sheepish grin, he gives me a lop-sided shrug. “I forget sometimes what’s appropriate. I hang out with Bruno and Jenkins way too much and I know the humor doesn’t always transfer well to others.”

  “And just how did you find that out?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

  “Mom told me.”

  Laughing again, I turn back to his stuff. “Where do we start?”

  “Ummm... with anything that requires hands to use, I suppose. Most of this stuff is from my old place. The one I had when I had hands.”

  Folding his arms, he exhales slowly and moves down a purposefully made channel of free space between the stuff. He disappears behind a tower of cartons and soon a light comes on in the back. Following the path, I find him standing in front of a jet-ski.

  “I guess we should limit it to what will fit in the car for now,” he says in a flat tone, his eyes distant.

  Looking around, I wonder if he’s remembering all the things he used to love doing, and how depressing that must be and if this is the first time he’s confronted the past since he locked it up in here.

  “Do you come in here much?”

  “I used to. In the beginning,” he says, pulling out a collapsed weight-lifting bench and wheeling it
in front of me so I can take it to the car. Bending to stack a bunch of weights, he lifts them easily enough and waits for me to get moving so he can follow. “I stopped coming when I accepted that part of my life was over.”

  “Must have been hard,” I say, parking the bench next to the car. “Having to let go.”

  Damon shrugs. “Some things were harder than others,” he says, going back for more weights. Following, I carry the bars he would have used, wondering how much he would have lifted when he had hands. I guess we’re starting with the stuff that was easy to let go. After a few more trips, I’m wiping sweat off my forehead and Damon laughs a little.

  “You should have a rest,” he says, pulling a sheet off a huge, brown leather couch that looks as if it belongs in the study of some distinguished hunting lodge. “Can’t have my number one helper flaking out on me.”

  Climbing onto the sofa over the arm, because of the stuff blocking access to the front, I stretch out, amazed at how comfortable it is. Looking up at Damon, I find him watching me with a strange smile on his lips.

  “It’s good, huh?”

  “It’s amazing. Will it fit in your new place?”

  “Oh it’s definitely coming. I have missed flopping onto that couch, believe me. You make it look even more appetizing than I remember,” he says, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Blushing a little, he rolls his eyes at himself and disappears again.

  Moving around on the worn leather, I roll onto my belly and peer into the box closest to me. It’s full of trophies. Pulling myself closer, I look through them. There are trophies for soccer, and science, and even a spelling bee.

  Damon walks past with his arms full and stops. “Oh man. Don’t look in there.”

  Laughing, I pull out a trophy for academic excellence. “Oh my God, you’re such a super nerd.”

  “I know,” he says, frowning. “Break time is over. Stop slacking or I’ll find you a really hard job.” Picking up the two cases he was carrying, he heads for the car. Dropping the trophy, I scramble over the arm of the couch and rush after him as he sets them in the back of the car.