by Amber Burns
“A little elbow grease goes a long way.” I shrug and Holly laughs and laughs. I grin sheepishly at Astra whose own eyes are shining warmly. Astra’s friend lifts the hand covering her mouth to her throat, settling from her long, hard mirth. She coughs again; the sound unlike her laughter is unpleasant.
“Damn cold, won’t let up,” she shakes her head and coughs into the crook of her elbow.
“It’s your body’s way of warning you to go home, change into something warm, grab a bowl of the country harvest I brought last night, and catch some sleep.” Astra smooths a hand over her friend’s back, helping her ride through the succession of hacking.
When the worst of the coughing is through, a wry smile twists up Holly’s pale, unpainted lips. “Liam drank all your soup.”
“I’ll make more then, and stop by tomorrow.”
Holly turns her smile to me, her gratitude ready and warm. “Remind me to give you a proper ‘thanks’ one of these days.” She might have asked more, but hugging Astra, Holly heads to the sedan with flashing taillights.
We watch her pull out and drive down the opposite end of Main Street, towards the shore-residing streets of Orange Compass.
Coming down in droves, the snow chases Astra and me off the pavement outside Harry’s shop to her car.
“Whoa,” Astra yelps right off the sidewalk and reaches out for my arm. We both look down at the patch of black ice her boot revealed by lifting off the snow.
“Are you all right?” I ask, steadying her. She bobs her head, relinquishing her hold on my arm. I’m already missing the pressure of her fingers.
Instead of letting her go, I rest my hand over the small of her back, saying lightly, “I don’t want you to fall.”
Astra stiffens at my jocular tone, but she doesn’t rush her steps to escape my touch. She lets me walk her to the car, to her door and I round the hood to drop in beside her.
The ride back to St. B&J’s parking is both dark and quiet. I step out into the late evening when she parks beside my rental SUV, covered by the snow that won’t quit. I lean in through the open door and tell her, “Head off without me. I’ll clean up here on my own.”
Astra doesn’t reply. She opens her trunk and steps out. Pulling out her snow brush, our eyes meet. She breaks the short staring match, her brush pushing off the snow in my rear window. “It’ll be quicker if we do it together.”
I’m not about to argue against the company.
I grab the brush that came with the rental. We work quickly and quietly. I’m struggling to ask her and explain the ulterior reasoning behind the flowers and chocolates.
Speaking of the flowers and chocolates…
“They’re frozen stiff,” I touch the harden petals, and lift up the box of chocolates covered with snow. Astra nears; her eyes are unreadable in the darkening sky, but I hear the guilt in her voice.
“The tulips are probably too gone, but,” she holds her hand out. “I’d be happy to take the chocolates.”
My stomach is looping, my chest drumming: It’s like the moment before a show, the thrill of taking stage and center and holding the weight of the mic in my hand, the heat of the stage lighting and the hot excitement of the crowd pumping my blood.
Astra doesn’t seem to note my goofy smile, and I dial it down when she turns from setting the chocolates on her passenger seat.
My car cleared, I realize it’s time to say goodbye.
It might also be the only chance for me to ask her.
“Dr. Olsen?”
“Astra,” she smiles. “I prefer Astra.”
We’re standing close. I can almost make out the flecks in her eyes. Her breath puffs up, her neck tilting just to level out the height difference. I could lean down and kiss her, turn her to putty and then ply her with my request. She might be more favorable towards me that way.
“Astra,” she perks at her name, and is it my imagination or is she leaning closer towards me, anticipating the latest direction of my thoughts? “I – Have a good night.”
If she’s upset I can’t see it, nor do I want to. I’m beating myself up for the both of us.
Returning the same sentiment, I watch her walk away, my glance dropping to her rear again. I close my eyes and suck in the sweet, winter air to clear my head of what’s quickly becoming my favorite fantasy, dragging Doctor Astra Olsen to my chest, coming around and molding her breasts into my hand until I memorize their weight, and making her as wet for me as I am hard for her.
Her car lights sliding out of sight, I turn and drop behind my wheel, ready to split and hit the bath in the small, cozy room back at the B&B. I forgot my phone in the charge. It’s deathly cold and filled with messages and missed calls.
I delete all of Custodio’s call and check out the messages from the guys. Their arrival in a couple days reminds me of why I’m in this piece of shit town anyways. We’re going to throw Lola a sweet sixteenth that the teen, her family and friends and all the rest of her guests won’t forget anytime soon.
“Then what?” I bark a laugh, the sound harsh even to my ears, my hands squeezing the steering wheel as I bring the car round to face the parking’s exit.
Then I hit Liberty International catch the transit through O’Hare back to the land of angels and tinsel.
And I make a promise to myself as I pass the front desk of the inn, returning a quick greeting to the owners’ teen son flipping through a sports magazine, waiting for guests that likely won’t show.
In the shower I grip my stiff dick in my hand, stroking a steady rhythm, closing my eyes to zero in on the rising pleasure. My palm grows slippery from the combination of the showerhead pelting me and the pre-cum coming away from my tingling tip.
My unoccupied hand flattens on the tiled wall for support as I tug faster, completion nearing like the ending chord and lyric of a song.
By the time I shudder through the sticky release, wash myself down and reach for the towel, the promise is solidified and shielding me from the day’s events.
I’m going to leave only one thing behind in Orange Compass, the three grand I gave old man Harry. That’s it. That’s all.
Mopping a hand over the sweating sink mirror, I glare right back at the man on the other side. Bastard. I resist the inclination to smash my fist against the window, to feel something other than the storm unfurling inside me.
Gripping the sink, I come back down to earth, to rationality, to being Ryker McBride, lead vocalist of Tense Finger and not some hormonal teenager working out his problems physically, violently.
Yeah. I’d only be leaving six grand and not Astra.
Chapter 3
“Mr – Ryker.”
Astra sits up from the crossword she’s poring over as I tap her shoulder in greeting. She jolts so fast, her legs, crossed under the table, smack the top and upset her sweet, sugary-smelling drink.
I catch her cup before it upends over her progress on the crossword. Astra is ready with a napkin and an apology.
“No harm, no foul.” I wriggle my fingers and brandish my top coat aside to show her I’m spill-free. She wipes off the small bit of coffee that did spill and crinkles the napkin, only to unfold it and then scrunch it again.
Our eyes catch and she jerks to the right. “Here.” She pushes a cup I hadn’t noticed toward me. “It’s black, but I grabbed two creams and sugars in case.”
I shrug off my coat and accept the drink, pouring the sugars and holding on the dairy. After my first sip I broach the subject of our meeting. “Your call surprised me.”
She’s silent, so I add, “Not that this date isn’t a pleasure.”
“Date?” she repeats, the hand holding the handle of her mug flying up and shaking off the word. My gut clenches, and I scald my tongue, biting back the curse on my lips.
Why did she have to react like that? Damn it, I was only joking. But I’m the one who isn’t laughing and Astra…she looks pained by my implication, as if I could have mistaken her call, our meeting in the coffee shop a bl
ock from the B&B as something other than platonic.
“Sorry, bad joke,” I mumble, occupying my mouth with a succession of sips. I couldn’t trust myself to say something stupid before I scared her from speaking her mind.
Considering I finally got around to knocking out early in the morning, I chased dawn to the Lopez residence and breakfasted with Custodio and his wife before Lola and her little brother joined us.
The idea was to tell everyone about the news of Tense Finger’s arrival in a couple days. I suffered Lola’s squealing and multiple hugs until Custodio pulled me away to talk more about the upcoming dinner with his business pal, Campo and his daughter, the very single, supposedly nubile, Katerina Campo.
Back in my headspace an hour after Custodio’s second sorry attempt to get me to sign up on this arranged marriage business, I answered the call waiting for me at the inn’s front desk.
Astra’s reason was vague over the phone; she wanted to ask me something from yesterday. We scheduled a meeting in the hour at the café I’d passed multiple times in and out of the B&B.
As soon as I hung up, I regretted the public meeting place. Not knowing how I could reach her again, I seriously contemplated the glasses-and-hat to ward off any curious on-lookers.
Once Lola finished finalizing the designs on her party invitations, the news would be out of my existence back in Orange Compass, but I still liked the idea of enjoying a cup of Joe with Astra.
Looking around now, I’m happy I skipped on the glasses after all. For a Saturday, the cozy café isn’t as packed as I’d suspect it would be. The three-day storm must have weeded out the weaker customers. Fat snowflakes falling from the white-gray heavens are piling around the edges of our window view of Main Street.
The tables behind and in front of Astra’s window seat are empty, most patrons heading for the cushier booth seating.
Having noticed my attention out the window, Astra apologizes for her invitation. “It’s coming down hard. We didn’t get anything like this in Columbia.”
“You’re not from here?” I ask, glad to grip onto a topic change. I’m still smarting from her rejection and the confusing signals in-between since we’ve met.
“I moved down here five months ago for the start of the school year at St. B&J.”
I pegged her as a new hire earlier – just not that new. The pieces fall into place, seeing how she reacted to Lola’s attitude in her office the first day, and the omnipresent fatigue plaguing her aura.
She lowers her mug, tongue dashing across her lips to catch the beads of coffee. “Orange Compass is different than Columbia.”
“In more ways than the snow,” I finish her thought, and when she doesn’t correct me I know I got it right. Taking a break to sip my complimentary coffee, I keep her in my sights over the mug.
Her lashes lower, fanning over her cheeks as her finger traces out an undecipherable pattern over the newspaper. “I should have been clearer when I called. Sorry.”
“To be honest, you saved me from spending the day going out of my mind. I’m almost hoping whatever you called me out for isn’t as dangerous as it sounded.”
Astra pops a hand over her mouth. “Dangerous?”
“Yeah,” I bring my elbow up on the table, supporting a hand under my cheek. “Call it what you want, thrilling, mysterious, adventurous, I’m scared I’ve hyped this way too much.”
“It’s nothing like that, really,” she rushes, looking nervous nevertheless. “I just wanted to ask about yesterday. At Harry’s Gold Trades, what happened? What did you say to the owner to make him give back the jewelry box?”
“I gave him a little heart-to-heart.” My brow quirks up, my lips lifting, “But you don’t believe that?”
“It’s just, I,” she pauses to study her drink, both her hands squeezing around the mug like it’s become her lifeline.
I’m sitting up ramrod before I call to her. Astra is slow to level our eyes, her teeth working her lower lip.
“What’s up?” I ask, a little afraid to hear her answer suddenly.
“I went back to the pawn store,” she’s not finished with her explanation but I fill in the gap. She went back to the store and found out about the trade off and old man Harry’s big payday.
I close my mouth on the entrance of a group of five teens. Thankfully Lola isn’t in the group, but I’m suddenly wary of the café and wishing I’d at least brought the glasses for drastic measures.
“…but it’s too much,” Astra blinks as she notes that I’m not paying her heed. She’s turning her head to follow my gaze when I intercept her.
“Would you like to go for a drive?”
“Right now?” Astra’s voice rises with her confusion. She must see I’m serious because she shrugs. “I’m done with my coffee, but you won’t be able to take yours.”
“It’s all right.”
The teen are making their way to a booth that’s just far enough. Still not wanting to take the risk, I jump at Astra’s acceptance and help her by holding her drink and newspaper while she gathers her coat from the back of her chair and her purse.
She’s heading to her car parked out front when I say, “Do you mind if we take my car?”
Astra doesn’t argue though her intrigue is plainly writ on her face. The walk re-caps her discovery at Harry’s.
“He shouldn’t have told you that.” My jaw locks from irritation. At six thousand bucks, you’d think Harry could shut his mouth and not air our business. Maybe I should have let Astra’s friend, Holly, pull out those gold caps of his.
“I’m glad he did! It’s a lot of money.” Astra takes the passenger side and slips in beside me, looking about as if trying to settle into her surroundings. There isn’t much of me inside the car, other than the empty energy cans in both drink trays.
Since I’m not picking up the topic as readily as I figure she hoped, Astra lapses into silence.
In the car I aim wildly, driving down streets I remember but would love to forget. Astra remains quiet for a few more lights, and when she finally speaks she veers instead to the weather.
When I mention L.A., she looks at me with interest. “You live in Los Angeles?”
“Yeah,” I say, unsure of what that means to her.
She sinks into her seat and continues staring out the window. I almost believe she’s dropped the topic and then she says, “It must be such a shock coming from L.A. to here.”
“What?” braking at a light, I hazard a glance to gauge her expression following the comment.
Astra blinks, worry drawing her thin, red brows together. “The weather must be such a surprising. More of surprising than coming from Columbia to Orange Compass…”
At the tilt of her head, I relax and concentrate on driving through the snow. She wasn’t referring to my history with OC. And I have to stop being so damn jumpy before I kill us both.
I’m exaggerating.
Main Street is being actively plowed. It makes the drive a little bearable. I slow and stop when we reach the end of Main Street, and the quiet beginning of the less plowed neighborhoods nearer the shore.
Deciding the car is as good a place to talk, I adjust the heat and fiddle with the radio station and volume for background noise. Nothing like a little soft rock to take off the edge, the sting of most things…
“About the money,” I interject, taking our conversation from weather back to rockier ground. “It comes favor-free.”
“It’s a lot of money.” Astra repeats. She’s wearing a frown that isn’t going to budge anytime soon. Understandable.
I’d sensed something had been off since I met her, and it finally hit me this morning. A huge part of the reason I’ve been so moody, too. She has no clue who I am, and isn’t that a freaking wonderful.
I know I’m right because I’m looking into her eyes, all deep shit and stuff.
There’s no recognition and none of the familiar fangirl craze glinting in the swirls of warm hazel with touches of green. What’s more she wo
uldn’t be worrying about six grand if she knew how much I was really worth.
“I know Holly, and she wouldn’t have accepted her jewelry back if she knew you paid so, so much for it. It’s criminal!”
I debate telling her and then let it go. She’d probably learn soon enough, and I could savor the sweet, underrated anonymity for a bit longer.
“I’d be able to pay in small installments if that’s all right with you.” Astra is staring ahead, her side profile revealing her set mind. Lips sucked in, eyes blinking rapidly, and her nostrils flared, I get the image of a woman prepared to battle for this.
Damn.
“I told you there are no strings attached. Consider it my Good Samaritan deed.”
