Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series)

by Sabrina Lacey

  “I never needed to promote. The place I worked at, then managed, had been there for years before I got there.” She follows my eyes around the place, seeing her baby. There’s pride on her face, but it doesn’t hide the fear. “I guess I expected because this is a busy area, it would just sell it itself, you know?”

  The towel stops. “It’s a busy neighborhood, but these people are loyal to their own and you’re an outsider.”

  She winces. Mutters, “Story of my life. Listen, let’s not talk about it, okay?” She turns around abruptly, her hands on the open register drawer, her shoulders sunken. What did I say?

  “I’m sorry. I was just saying it like it is, but I could have been a little more…”

  “Dishonest?” She throws me a rueful smile over her shoulder.

  I can’t help but smile. “Yeah. I guess.”

  She walks over and changes the song from Riders On The Storm that just started, to Otis Redding’s These Arms Of Mine. Walking back, she looks a little bit lighter. “I love this song.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I go back to wiping tables. We don’t talk for a little while and I’m running through ideas for what I’d do to spread the word, other than tell my friends and acquaintances. Does she have a page on Yelp? Are their photos? Does she have a Facebook page? How about Pinterest? She could have boards on cocktails and a music playlist with suggestions and… the list goes on and on.

  I don’t know what’s giving me the urge to help, but I know that I can. Isn’t that enough? She might shoot me down. It was hard enough to talk her into seeing me tonight.

  Looking at her silence as she counts, her hair pulled over one shoulder; I decide I’m going to give it a shot. She can always say no. I’ll just walk over and offer my services to her. Tell her I’ll do it for free; help her get set up and she can take it from there. But without a map, how can you get anywhere? Why am I nervous? People pay me for this.

  She looks to her right and sees me standing next to her behind the bar. With her pen suspended in the air from writing the final drawer count, she says, “Oh! I didn’t hear you walk up.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to get you worried.”

  “You didn’t. I was worried already.”

  I scan the bar again, building up the courage to say it. “I could help you.”

  She blinks, still holding the pen. “What do you mean?”

  Glancing to the floor, I weigh the dirty, now crumpled-up bar towel in one of my hands, looking at the dark crinkles. “Well, this is your baby, so forgive me for imposing. But I think I could help you market it, if you’ll let me. Marketing is my thing. It’s what I do.”

  She brings her hand up to her mouth, the pen stuck between her fingers. She looks pretty cute. On a whisper, she finally manages, “Why would you do that?”

  I really don’t know why. Because I like the place? Because I can? Something tells me it’s more than that. “I feel like I could help. I want to.”

  She drops the pen and brings both of her hands up to hold her head like she’s afraid it might explode. “Are you being serious? You’re not just saying this?”

  I smile. “I’m totally serious. You know what’s cool?”

  “Having someone help you?”

  That makes me laugh and I shake my head. “No, it’s offering to help someone and have them appreciate it as much as you just did. Great. So it’s a plan?”

  Staring at me, she’s speechless. She just nods. Chuckling to myself, I walk back out and grab a chair to turn it over on the table. As I do, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap comes on, by AC/DC. I glance to the iPod player, impressed that she has this on it.

  “Great song.”

  13

  Annie

  Mind: blown, with pieces caught in my hair, on my clothes, and in the rubber mats under my feet. What the fuck just happened.

  ________

  I finish the ledger and slide it into a drawer, struggling to accept that this night isn’t a dream. It has to be. “Of course you love it. All men love AC/DC.”

  “That’s because all men have good taste,” he throws back.

  “I disagree with that.” I grab a clean towel, dunk it in the sink, wring it out and wipe the bar counter down as we talk. Many, many times, I steal looks at him, watching him picking up those chairs with his muscles tensing each and every delicious time.

  “That’s because you women don’t get the genius. Women hate AC/DC.”

  His smile is challenging, and it stirs up my competitive streak. “See, now that’s bullshit.”

  His eyebrows fly up. “Is that so? Bullshit, you say?”

  I make a pffth sound and nod, moving the pile of napkins over so I can get under them. “Total bullshit. We don’t like AC/DC because most of us mistakenly believe that there was only one singer, not knowing that Bon Scott died in his own vomit, thereby leaving the band to have to settle for the screaming fuckhead who took over. It’s the screaming fuckhead we don’t like!”

  “Because who would like a screaming fuckhead.” He’s stealing glances at me, too, but I’m too caught up in my argument to notice.

  “Yeah! When women – any woman I’ve ever made listen to them – when they hear Live Wire, amazing. Dirty Deeds, priceless. It’s A Long Way To The Top? Awesome. And they’re confused, thinking, hey this is pretty funny stuff. But it’s AC/DC so they blow it off and discount it, because they are forced to stick to their guns and think men just love that screaming fuckhead and Lord only knows why.” I grab the condiment tray and almost spill out the olives when I see his face. “What?”

  He puts down the chair he’s holding, and crooks a finger my way. “Come here.”

  Oh, shit. Am I in trouble? I walk around the bar to him, and as I meet his eyes again I see that the only trouble I’m going to have is keeping him out of my pants. In other words, none. He’s looking at me like I’m meat and he hasn’t eaten for two years. I stop just short of climbing onto him without further ado. “Yes?”

  “You’re too far away.” He pulls me in to him. “And you’re wrong about AC/DC.”

  “I’m not.” He smiles, and shakes his head briefly. I gaze up at him as he ebbs closer.

  “You make a very compelling argument but you’re wrong.”

  I close my eyes and say on a whisper, “Back In Black is a screeching disaster.”

  His eyes dance. “You’re very, very wrong.”

  He kisses me, opening my mouth with his. The soft tip of his tongue touches mine and we move on each other. My fingers languidly slip into his wavy hair. His hands travel up my back and he firmly pulls me in as close as he can, our bodies becoming smashed. He’s growing hard against me, the strength of him so powerful. Our kiss moves faster, until we’re gasping and urgent. I want to dissolve every moment we’ve ever been apart. I want to give myself to him. Every cell. Every pulse.

  “Wait. Wait.” I say on a gasp, pulling away. “Not in front of the window. It’s my business and I…”

  “Of course. You’re right.”

  “So move me out of sight already.”

  He laughs. “Oh.” Picking me up in a standing position, my feet slightly off the ground. I feel the wall come up against my back as our mouths move on each other and he sets me down. Reluctantly, he pulls away to look to the window, check to see if we’re hidden. We both glance over. All clear. He mutters against my lips, “If we can’t see it, then it can’t see us.”

  He pushes me hard up against the wall. His hands fluidly move down my body and back up to hold my breasts, cupping and massaging them while we kiss. With tantalizing slowness, he nibbles down my neck. I close my eyes, losing myself to the feelings, aching for him. Through the halter fabric he flicks my nipples with his thumbs, bites me, tugs on my neck, pulling it between his lips. He’s the man and I’m the woman. He wants me to know and I want nothing else. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. My leg wraps around him to press against the bulge in his pants. His fingers slip behind me, down inside the back of my jeans and under the wisp o
f lacey fabric below. He presses hard into the flesh of my ass, massaging me in time with kisses as he takes my mouth again in his.

  Suddenly he pulls back to look at me, eyes hooded. His hungry smile fades quickly. He searches me. I stare back at him, my breaths shortened now. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “There’s something familiar about you.”

  No! Not now! You can’t recognize me now!

  I shake my head. “I’d remember you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Totally sure. Very sure. Kiss me again.”

  He grins. “Fair enough.” Rock-hard, he pushes against me again, his lips so close to mine I can feel the heat of his breath as he hungrily tells me, “I’d like to do more than just kiss you. I want to rip off these clothes and take you right here against this wall.” I watch him through a haze of need as he comes in and kisses me hard, opening my lips with his to find my tongue again and suck on it. Grinding me mindless, rocking my body up and down, all I want is for him to do that. The delicious burning ache is so intense and so, so good.

  I bend my neck as he kisses my earlobe. “I want you, Annie.” The heat of his breath sizzles me, but the words are what really knock me over. I’ve wanted to hear this ever since the first day I saw him. He’d been thumbing through one of his textbooks on the way to class when the shade disappeared and the sun bounced bright off the white page. He’d looked up to the sky and the light caught the blue in his eyes so beautifully that my mouth had dropped open. I’d been sitting under the tree he walked under, enjoying the same shade and doing my usual disappearing act. I just stared at him. Of course he didn’t see me. I thought he was going to leave, but instead he backed up into the shade right in front of me to finish what he was reading, giving me full license to gaze at his profile, memorizing his angled chin, the strength of his neck, his arm taught under the grasp of the stack of books he balanced. When he closed the top one, I watched him walk all the way into the building, thinking, if I married that man, I would be the happiest woman who ever lived. I just knew. It felt like I had always loved him.

  “I want you too, Brendan,” I say, so quietly I’m not sure if he can hear me. By the look in his eyes, he did. He wrestles the arms out of his jacket, chucking it to the ground. I struggle with the buttons of his shirt while he helps me, and as bit by bit, his chest is revealed, I just stare in awe.

  “You’re making me blush,” he jokes.

  “Yeah right.” Lust whips through me as my fingertips trace the two delicious lines leading down to the promised land. He’s so grown up now. I bend to kiss his broadened chest, tasting him. He groans and bends into me. My hands rest on the belt of his jeans as I kiss my way across his chest. I lock eyes with him as I unzip his jeans.

  He watches, his breath short. But then again something changes in his eyes. “Your eyes… they’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure we haven’t met?”

  No! Please. I don’t want to stop kissing you. My body rages war with my sense of integrity. Please don’t take this chance away from me. I don’t want to stop. Looking away to hide my giveaway blues, I mumble, “Maybe we’ve had sex before and you just don’t remember.”

  He chuckles. “If we had sex, I don’t think you’d have forgotten.”

  Instinctively, I counter, “Yeah well, I didn’t think I was so forgettable either.” Kicking myself, I add, “If we had met, I mean. So, we haven’t.” I slide my hand into his jeans and grab his cock with confidence, stroking it. “Do you want me to stop?” I am evil.

  He makes the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard. “No. Don’t stop.”

  I unzip, slide his jeans down to the floor. “Are you sure? Now’s your chance to walk away a free man.” I’m feeling like the worst person ever born, but the second I see his cock, my pussy screams at me to keep going. I have to taste it. I have to. I bend and take it into my mouth, shutting everything else out.

  He grabs onto my head like he can’t help it. His head falls back and he moans as I take all of him into my mouth. I cup the soft fragileness of his sack, toying with it gently. The blood pulsing more and more into his cock is intoxicating. I drive him insane, licking and stroking him, alternating the speed so that when he teeters on the brink of collapse, so close to cumming, I switch gears, slowing down before I build up again, over and over. He yells out, leaning forward and holding onto the wall behind me so he doesn’t fall. I grab his ass with my free hand pulling him back and forth hungrily. I touch the soft space under his sack and he practically yelps. “Oh God! Stop! I won’t be able to hold back. Stop.” Panting, he pushes me back with my mouth open and hungry for him. “Wow. Someone’s had lessons. You’re really good.”

  An unwanted memory of Christiano slinks out from the recesses of my mind. On a whisper, I say, “Am I?” Before now, I’ve never gone down on anyone other than Christiano. If I’m good, it’s because he loved me enough to show me what having a good lover can do to you. He changed my life in so many ways. He made me feel beautiful even when I was a mess.

  My heart beats fast. I’m closing down. Unable to get rid of the realization that if Christiano knew what I was doing, he would die. I stand and close my eyes, laying my hands flat against the wall. I’m losing track of what’s going on. The worlds are blending, Tuscany and San Francisco. Why did he have to remind me of Christiano? I was so good at forgetting about him tonight, until now. But it’s not easy to make four and a half years disappear.

  14

  Annie

  Stomach: Making noises no one should ever have to hear

  ________

  “Mi scusi. Cibo? Umm… negozio…ummm…” Standing in the sunlight with the pale cement sidewalk throwing a glare into my eyes, I frantically thumb through the English/Italian translation book

  The old Italian man sitting with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of red in the other, leans forward as though to hear me better. It’s not my volume that’s the problem. He’s got his ear cocked in my direction. Feeling terribly helpless and dumb, so I thumb faster. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to find it.”

  I hear footsteps and a voice come up behind me. “What are you looking for?”

  Slouched over the book, I look over. My eyes almost fall out of my head. A man with black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and olive, sun-kissed skin, is smiling at me. He looks maybe forty. I’m only twenty-three, but he’s so handsome, all I can think is, wow.

  Standing straighter, I manage a smile back and self-consciously smooth down my black, clipped rat’s nest. “I’m looking for the grocery store. Or whatever you call it, I’m not sure. I need food.”

  He says something in Italian to the older guy, and his voice is really easy on the ears. They seem to know each other. I can’t be sure, though, but they appear to be familiar. If I knew what they were saying, maybe I’d know. People in Tuscany prefer if you speak Italian and I speak none. In Verona, they were nicer, but in Verona I was still thinking of Brendan and Corinne. So I ran. Again.

  Their exchange complete, the handsome stranger offers, “I can show you.”

  I look down at the cement and catch site of my black tights tucked into dirty sneakers. I feel so dingy and dark compared to this man. He’s everything you’d expect of casual elegance. He’s got two buttons open on his white cotton shirt and I sneak a glance at his chest. Just one little glance can’t hurt.

  “Um… that’s very nice of. Grazie.”

  He motions with his hand, this way. Together, we walk in silence for awhile. I’m really not good at talking to new people. Adjusting the strap of my purse out of habit, I hold the translation book to my chest like a shield. But I came here to change, so I force myself to speak first. It feels like someone is pressing razors into my eyeballs, it’s so hard. I cough, straining to overcome the dryness in my throat. “Um…Do you live here?”

  He nods. “Did you just arrive?”

  “How did you know?” I stare at the sun’s halo-like light around the edges of his
hair.

  “You don’t know where are the stores,” he points out with a jog of his index finger. “I’m not… erm…come si dice?”

  I know that come si dice means how do you say it, so I smile. “Psychic?”

  He nods and repeats as though to memorize the word, “Psychic. Si. Psychic. Psychic.”

  I love his voice. I also love his Roman nose. I find it very appealing that there’s nothing feminine about it. What I want to do is tell him he’s gorgeous, but that would be really bold. If Corinne were here, she’d tell him. She’d probably fuck him right here in the street, too. In broad daylight. With that old lady in an apron and slippers watching. It’s lame, but the second I imagine it, I realize the fact of the matter is, I would LOVE to do something wild like that, so I guess I’m a hypocrite. That’s why I liked her so much; she did things I wanted to do but never could. Like fucking Brendan for example. There I go thinking about it again.

  Struggling to change my thoughts to the present, I say, “Your English is very good.”

  “I studied since childhood.” He glances to me and chuckles. “…a long time ago.”

  Did he say that because he thinks I’m a kid? I’m a woman. I want him to know that.

  “I’m Annie.”

  He bows. Actually bows! “Christiano.”

  As he rises, I blurt out, “I’m not as young as I look.”

  His eyebrows go up, eyes dancing. “No?”

  “No.” Then I roll my eyes. “I am however, just as dorky as I look. I’m working on it.”

  The amusement leaves him. “I know this word. It does not apply to you.” He holds my eyes until he’s sure I heard him. Reluctantly, I nod. This seems to satisfy him. “Come. This way.”

  Thrown by his everything, it takes me a second to follow him. With him a few steps ahead of me, I check out his body and like what I see very, very much. He looks over his shoulder. My eyes fly up too late. He saw me looking for sure. I stare off to the left at nothing in particular, but it’s obvious I’m trying to cover.