by Jamie Beck
“Should we jog?” he asked, wiping back his bangs.
“We’re already wet. If I turn something unpleasant into a game, it’s usually not as bad.” She started to whistle the melody to “Singin’ in the Rain” as they journeyed toward the car.
It reminded him of her Gene Kelly remark from earlier in the day. “Is there a reason you like that old movie so much?”
“Sixth-grade dance recital.” She dipped into an exaggerated bow, then began skipping ahead, whistling louder.
“You liked being onstage, I bet.” He trotted beside her, trying to picture her at eleven years old, all coltish legs and giant eyes.
She slowed to a walk, shrugging. “Not really. But my dad made it to that show.” Then she skipped ahead again.
He let her go, knowing she’d need a bit of distance after that admission. She spun, arms flung outward, face up and welcoming the rain.
He caught up to her at the car, where they huddled in the front seat in their wet clothes.
“Thanks for coming with me.” He touched her hand, wishing he had better words to express his feelings.
She sighed. “Hate to admit this, but I would’ve been a little nervous to do that by myself.”
“Don’t ever do that alone.” Some of the men had leered at her shapely legs and chest even with Ian standing beside her. “You could be attacked.”
“Ha! That’s rich, coming from you.”
“That’s different. I know what I’m doing and how to avoid danger.”
“Well, we just helped a bunch of people without risking cholera or kidnapping. I know it isn’t lifesaving work, but if you worked with Colby or other groups, you could make a huge impact right here in Portland.” She cast a quick glance at him before pulling onto the street. “But no more lectures from me. Today should be about fun. That’s another thing you probably don’t experience too often in Haiti.”
“There’s fun to be had in Haiti. Waterfalls and beaches.”
She wrinkled her nose, replying wryly, “I’m betting you don’t allow yourself much leisure time.”
He didn’t like her impression, although he also couldn’t pretend that he took much time to sightsee or relax. Truth was, maybe he did have a stick up his ass like she claimed. Then he got an idea. A bizarre idea, but one he thought she’d enjoy. “I can be fun, Gentry. In fact, let’s go play mini golf.”
His matter-of-fact yet absurd pronouncement drew a disbelieving glance. “Mini golf . . . in the rain?”
“Glowing Greens.” The indoor mini golf course boasted neon-and-black lights and crazy 3-D decor.
Her eyes went wide. “I haven’t been there in ages . . . and when I went, I was drunk. Do you plan to get drunk today, too, Ian?”
“No. I’ve never been there, so I want to see it sober.”
“You’ve never been?”
“Nope.”
“Then let’s go!” She shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the lot, smiling as if he’d given her a diamond ring.
He’d put that smile on her face, which made his chest fill with the heady fizz of joy.
Four Voodoo doughnuts and two legitimate belly laughs into the afternoon, Ian stared at Gentry as she lined up her putt. Her white shirt glowed under the black lights of the indoor miniature golf facility—a 3-D neon extravaganza that must’ve been designed by someone in the middle of a psychedelic hallucination.
“Were you ever that wild, Ian?”
“Hm?” He picked up his ball and followed her to the next hole.
“Those boys, running and laughing.” She pointed in the direction of a birthday party of energetic ten-year-olds circling one another on a nearby hole, where a few mothers failed to keep them organized. “I’m trying to picture you that way but can’t. I can only see you like you are now.”
“In other words, boring?”
She chuckled. “Well, we wouldn’t have been coconspirators. That’s for sure.” She lined up a shot and took it.
He looked at the eager boys, joking with each other. Some vying for a sort of leadership role, others more interested in unwrapping candy than playing golf. “I was pretty quiet. An only child. Spent a lot of time with adults.”
“I hated grown-ups.” She paused to putt. “And I wasn’t quiet.”
“You weren’t an only kid, either.”
“Kind of was.” She picked up her ball after sinking it in the cup. “At least I got to run around with neighborhood kids instead of being dragged to my parents’ work like you were.”
“You probably had big birthday bashes like that boy, too.” He lined up his shot, but it hit the purple fin obstacles and went sideways.
“You didn’t?”
“Not in our budget. I’d have a few neighborhood kids over. Duncan Hines cake. No gifts.”
Gentry’s eyes grew as round as the doughnuts they’d devoured. “Why no gifts?”
“My birthday is December sixteenth. I think my parents worried I’d get something that Santa had already bought, so they’d tell parents to have their kids make something or bring candy.”
Gentry tossed up her orange ball and caught it. “I had huge birthday parties with all the bells and whistles—petting zoos, bounce houses, kids from the whole grade. My mom would busy herself with the parents. My dad manned the grill. Colby and Alec would sit off to the side, counting the minutes until they could go join their friends somewhere else. Half the kids in my grade weren’t my friends. They only came for the pool and the cool goody bags my mom gave out.” Her gaze wandered to the group of boys behind them. “I would’ve rather spent the day with Hunter and Colby.”
Ian looked at the harried mothers shuttling those boys to the next hole. “Parenting is an impossible job, isn’t it? You can’t control the way your kids interpret your choices, or what they remember. You think you’re doing something great, but they wish you did something different.”
He could only assume she’d heard him, because she kept staring into space without offering her two cents. Was she thinking about her own parents, or about her son?
Time to lighten the mood. When he teed up on the eighteenth hole, he exaggeratedly wiggled his hips, making her giggle. “What’s the score?”
She dragged her eyes away from the curve of his behind. “I’m winning.”
By one stroke, if he’d been keeping correct count.
“Not for long.” He knocked the ball, which rolled right up the ramp, to the alien monster with an orange hat, and into the hole. “Good luck beating that!”
She set her ball down and took her shot, which backfired and rolled back to her feet. “Well, dang.” She picked up the ball, but instead of swinging again, she walked up the putting green and placed the ball in the hole she liked best. “Tie!”
He laughed, letting that airy sensation take over again. The frustration that began his day had all but dissolved, thanks to her.
Gentry’s gaze wandered back to the young boys. Her peculiar smile piqued his curiosity.
“You picturing Colt a decade from now?” It dawned on him then that he wouldn’t know Colt at ten. Hell, he wouldn’t even know the kid at one.
Gentry’s palm cupped her cheek. “Right now he needs me for everything. When he grows up, he won’t need me at all. I’m eager to see who he’ll become, but I also don’t want it to go too fast.”
A surge of emotion roughened his voice. “I don’t know who he’ll become, either, but with you as his mom, I’m pretty sure he’ll be interesting.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Her green eyes shone in the black lights.
“I meant it as one.”
Chapter Twelve
Orgasm
According to Merriam-Webster: intense or paroxysmal excitement; especially : the rapid pleasurable release of neuromuscular tensions at the height of sexual arousal that is usually accompanied by the ejaculation of semen in the male and by vaginal contractions in the female
According to me: something long overdue, and so much be
tter than I remember
Gentry couldn’t read Ian. Perhaps that accounted for some of his appeal.
Reading men had never before presented a challenge. Pretty much all of them wanted sex, however, and whenever they could get it and with whoever was willing.
They didn’t have to like you or even find you pretty, a fact that had been underscored when she’d overheard high school boys’ crude jokes about how “all girls look the same between their legs.” In her experience, guys rarely cared if you liked them much, either. In fact, given how often guys complained about girls becoming clingy, she guessed some men preferred to have sex with women who had no real interest in them whatsoever—as long as they could fake an orgasm well.
By the age of eighteen, she’d adapted to these realities by keeping her heart on lockdown while enjoying the powerful pleasures of flirtation and sex. That way of life worked for her until Colt came along. Until her heart had been thunderstruck with a love so vast and protective that she couldn’t be bothered with lusty games and stupid men.
But Ian wasn’t stupid. Stubborn, perhaps, but not stupid. Not heartless. Not cocky. Not governed by the head between his legs.
She wanted his affection, respect, and belonging. A terrifying reality, because, until recently, she’d successfully avoided the pain of dashed hope where men were concerned.
Romantic hope, the great destroyer of rational women. There should be a T-shirt or a mug.
When they returned to her house after picking up Colt, she transferred her sleepy son to his bassinet. Sara and Ty must’ve worn him out. Not that Sara had seemed the least bit tired. Even her blouse still looked freshly pressed when handing over Colt, who’d been recently fed and changed into a clean diaper.
Gratitude and annoyance wrestled in her chest like pigs in a trough. Sara never even complained about Colt’s colic. Did she have special ears that didn’t hear it? Or was Sara’s heart that pure, and her patience that remarkable?
One benefit of her son’s colic was that it stopped Hunter from keeping her there to discuss work. He’d practically shoved her out the door, wincing as Colt wailed.
Last night she’d started to work on the Snapchat campaign but then gotten invested in replying to one young single mom’s blog comment where she’d lamented her choice to be a single parent, worrying it would scar her child. Gentry identified with that fear, especially because she’d heard nothing on the search for Smith. But Ian almost had her convinced that Colt could thrive as long as he had her unconditional love, and as long as she didn’t let herself get so overwhelmed that she’d wear down. She knew she’d been handling motherhood better these past weeks because of his help.
Tonight she’d have to focus on CTC. Absolutely. No excuses.
For now she closed her bedroom door after settling Colt into a nap and shuffled down the hallway toward the living room. Ian stood at the wall of windows, watching the rain. The droplets sprinkled across the plate glass. Dim lighting from gray skies shrouded them in a melancholy kind of peace.
She stopped to admire the lean lines of his body. No one would complain about any of his physical attributes. Sometimes his moods were black as night, but when he smiled, it was as welcome and radiant as the sun bursting through a cloud.
Soon he’d be gone. She wanted to memorize each detail, like the curls of his hair against the back of his neck, or the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, or the dark hair on his calves. His tight butt was already unforgettable. She pressed her lips together to keep herself from making a wisecrack.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
He flinched, then turned. “For what?”
“For today. For the spontaneity.” She stood still, hesitating to approach him. All afternoon she’d been at war with herself over this man. “I liked seeing you kick back for a while.”
“It turned into a good day.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Even his posture relaxed.
It seemed as if he’d let go of his early discussion with Archer, for which Gentry was both proud and grateful. “You look peaceful now. Can I ask one last favor?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Shoot.”
“Can I snap some photos? Not for my blog. For memories . . .”
Memories. The word was a bitter reminder that, while she enjoyed his company, he was busy making plans for a life far away from here. If she’d hoped their single day of adventure would persuade him to change his mind, she must have been losing her own.
Ian shrugged self-consciously. “As long as I don’t have to pose.”
“Hang on!” She dashed to the hall closet for her Nikon D7500 and tiptoed back to the room, hoping to catch him unaware again. She spied on him, using the large window as a mirror, while he finger-combed his wavy hair. Before he noticed her reflection, she zoomed her lens and snapped a few candids.
He spun around, laughing at himself. “No fair!”
“Oh, Ian. Surely you’ve figured out by now that I don’t play fair,” she teased, continuing to snap photos even as he approached her, his arms thrust forward in an attempt to block the shots and grab her camera. When he came close enough to snatch it from her, she held it high and away. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”
He narrowed his gaze, lowering his arms like a gunman being forced to drop his weapon. “Can I trust you?”
“At your own risk,” she joked, pointing to the part of the sofa bathed in a bit of remaining daylight. “Sit in that corner of the couch, please.”
While he got comfortable, she returned to the closet for her tripod and then set up her camera, focusing its lens. “Leave room for me on your left.”
She hit the self-timer and scooted across the small carpet, plopping herself beside him and leaning in. Willing the timer to slow down, she savored the warmth of Ian’s body as she pressed against him under the guise of staying within the frame. “Say ‘cheese.’”
The flash went off, leaving her no choice but to separate.
“Don’t move. Let me see how that came out.” When she viewed the photo, his face looked distorted, as if he’d been looking at her, then turned toward the camera as it shot the photo. “Oh no. That’s blurry. Try again and don’t move.”
She reset the timer and resumed her cozy spot beside him, this time inhaling the scent of his cotton shirt and her citrus bath soap. When she checked on that photo, she laughed. “Can’t you smile like a normal person?”
“Let me see.” He motioned for the camera with his hands. “I can smile.”
Naturally, she welcomed yet another chance at body contact. When she showed him the two photos, he chuckled. “Maybe that’s appropriate. Despite your earlier joke, I’m no cover model.”
“You’ve got potential, Ian Crawford. Let’s try something else.” Gentry would need to engage him to get some candid close-ups. She twisted on the cushion while quietly adjusting the camera, preparing to aim and shoot. She couldn’t help but notice his full lips through the lens. Those lips were meant for kissing, and he did that well. The memory gave her an idea. Just before snapping the photos, she asked, “Do you ever regret stopping our kiss?”
Snap. Snap. Snap.
When she looked at the pictures, she burst into giggles. “Oh my God, your face! Priceless.”
Flushed, he reached for the camera, but she pulled it away, teasing. Suddenly she was on her back, pinned down, both of them laughing and breathing a bit heavier from wrestling.
Then his smile changed—softened—until a sober expression replaced the last hint of a grin. Heat lit up his eyes, but they also looked sad as he hovered over her, his weight suspended by his elbows.
Her heart beat erratically, battling a rising tide of new and terrifying truths. This man might be her first genuine friend. Such a gift, yet friendship alone wouldn’t satisfy the pull—the need—for more. What if this could be more? What if it could be everything?
Desperation pushed her to be more honest than she had ever been with any man. She let the camera slide to
the ground before reaching up and touching his hair. “I know you think we’re a disaster in the making, but I . . . I really like you.”
He clasped her wrist and brought it to his chest, flattening her palm so that she could feel his pounding heart.
“I really like you, too” came his hoarse reply. Without taking his eyes off hers, he raised her hand and kissed her wrist.
The heat from his mouth sank beneath her skin and slid through her entire body. Last time they’d been on the brink of crossing lines, she’d scared him off. Now she willed her impulses into submission, praying that, by letting him set the pace, he wouldn’t stop.
The steady patter of rain against the windows created a sensual cocoon. Gentry held her breath, barely blinking for fear of missing out on the array of emotions crossing Ian’s face.
“Ian,” she whispered. She knew he’d lost the battle with his conscience once he slid his arms beneath her shoulders and cupped her head, his thumbs gently tracing her jawline. When she wet her lips, his gaze fell to her mouth. Like a magnet, her moistened lips pulled him closer. In the moment where they shared one breath, she closed her eyes, and then he kissed her.
A warm, tender kiss that gradually roughened with the edge of desire. Still, she waited, afraid to make a move that might send him running. I really like you, too, he’d said.
Instinct caused her to wrap her legs around his hips. He tightened his hold and deepened their kiss, a low moan filling in his chest. She skimmed her hands along his back and over his butt, wanting him close. Wanting some part of his kindness and virtue.
Her hands itched to touch his skin, but she didn’t dare. She restrained every urge except the one that made her hips undulate. Fortunately, Ian suffered from the same restlessness. The friction set off an explosion of tingles that fanned through her core and to her limbs, over and over, each time coming a little quicker and stronger.
Finally, Ian tucked his hand beneath her shirt and cupped her breast, his thumb feverishly circling her nipple.
“God,” he uttered before his mouth descended on her neck, leaving a warm, wet trail of kisses along the sensitive skin. His muscles were hard, his hips impatient. “I can’t stop myself.”
