“Take me home,” Olivia whispered into George’s ear when she finally couldn’t hold off any longer. If George didn’t send her screaming into an orgasm in the next few minutes she was certain she would surely explode.
He didn’t need any additional encouragement. He drove them home faster than he had brought them there. The front door didn’t even make it closed before Olivia had them stripped of the minimum requirements and he slammed her into the wall. He lifted her up, hooked her legs around his hips and pushed inside her with a heady moan, sending her free-falling into oblivion. He went tumbling not long after her, his fingernails digging in as he came, sending crumbs of drywall sprinkling down around them. She clutched his shoulders and quaked around him as he pulsed, avoiding the return to reality for as long as the tide was willing to keep her from shore.
“Liv?” George gasped for air. His entire body drenched in sweat, he was actually trembling from the experience.
“Yeah?” she answered as she tried to get her eyes to refocus.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“It’s only been one day.”
“That’s what terrifies me the most.”
She kissed him slow then asked, “Better?”
“A little.” He kissed her again before setting her down. “Let’s go wash the stench of fire off and then go see Eugene.”
“Shower together?” she asked with a wink and wiggle of her eyebrows.
“Not this time.” He laughed and swatted her ass as she sashayed past him.
As the shower water washed over her body and she lathered her hair with George’s shampoo, her heartbeat gradually returned to normal. But as it did, her mind began to race. Her smile slipped away and the realization that she really, truly could have lost everything this week hit her like a bullet to the brain.
As the pain and grief engulfed her, she cried muffled sobs into her washcloth and slid down the wall of the shower, melting into a puddle on the tub floor. She wept in misery over what she had lost and in joy over what she had been spared, the confliction of the emotions seemingly ripping her into two jagged and bloody incomplete halves of a defective whole.
When George came looking for her, he found her crumpled under the ice-cold spray, struggling to regain control. He gently lifted her out and dried her off and held her against his bare chest, warming her with his heart, until she pulled enough strength from him to put one foot in front of the other, and begin again.
* * *
Olivia didn’t tell Eugene about the fire and neither did George. When they finally made it to the hospital in the early afternoon, Eugene was pretty worked up over the tragic events of his own life. He was finally awake enough and feeling well enough from his heart surgery to start going through withdrawal from the three C’s, and he was in excruciating, physical agony over it. The doctors refused to let him have even the Cheez Doodles, and the nurses were losing patience with him and his constant struggle to pull out his IV’s and monitors so he could go get his own.
Olivia sent George down to the vending machines to get Eugene a Coke, and then she made him stand guard at the door while she let Eugene take tiny sips through a straw, giving him a little hit of the caffeine and caramel-colored fizz. What he really needed was a Camel, but even Olivia refused him that. There was no way in hell she would unhook him from the monitors for even the ten minutes it would take to wheel him outside for a few little puffs.
At suppertime, the nurses tried to convince Eugene to eat some mashed carrots and applesauce. When he refused, Olivia lost it. Not at Eugene—at the nurses. Especially the fat one who had spent the day noshing on King-Size Snickers bars and Doritos, and then had the audacity to lecture Eugene about his diet. Olivia unleashed every single one of her colorful words on the big, fat fatty-fatty. In the middle of her tirade, she knocked the tray off of Eugene’s bed stand so hard the dish of applesauce flew across the room and splattered on the opposite wall.
Security came and escorted a kicking and screaming Olivia outside. George was forced to plead her case with the hospital director, and beg for her to be allowed to return in the morning once she had calmed down. She paced the sidewalk outside the hospital entrance, smoking and muttering left-over curses under her breath, and damn near jumped out of her skin when a voice behind her said, “Olivia?”
Nightmares of Mitch danced through her head, and she whipped around swinging. Clete caught her in his arms and held her by her wrists while she struggled to cage her rage.
“Shit, Clete! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Her heart slammed against her ribcage like a battering ram. It was a good thing she was in the hospital parking lot because she was certain she was having her very own heart attack. She clutched her chest and bent over, and tried not to hyperventilate. “Shit.”
“I’m so sorry, Olivia.” Clete rubbed a tight circle on her back as he bent down with her. “Where’s George?”
“Inside, fighting with the hospital director. They kicked me out and won’t let me back in,” she said through her heavy breathing.
Clete’s face turned crimson and he yanked her by the arm, dragging her back into the hospital. The security guard assigned door-duty jumped to his feet to stop Olivia from entering, but as soon as he saw Clete’s uniform, the gun in his hand, and the fire in his eyes, he stepped aside.
Clete dragged Olivia down the hallway, past the serenity fountain and lounge area, and into the suite of executive offices. He plunked her into a cushy chair and barged into the director’s office without knocking. The door slammed behind him. George came out a few moments later, looking a wee bit bewildered, and sat next to Olivia. She asked him what was going on, but all he could do was shrug.
After what felt like an eternity, the director came out and shook Olivia’s hand, and apologized profusely for the behavior of the staff. While he couldn’t promise Eugene a Camel, he approved a small dose of Cheez Doodles and Coke daily, as long as Eugene made an effort to at least try the rest of his food. He apologized again for forcing Olivia out of the hospital and also assured her that had he known about her ordeal it never would have happened.
They assigned a security guard to watch over Eugene. Olivia accepted even though she knew it wasn’t needed. Mitch was pissed at her, not Eugene, and even he wasn’t deranged enough to take his anger out on Eugene. At least she hoped he wasn’t.
Once the director shut himself back in his office, clicking the lock solidly in place as soon as he did, George looked at Olivia and asked, “You want to go to Kitty’s for awhile before we go home?”
“Yeah,” Olivia agreed with a sigh of surrender. It had been almost a week since she’d had a beer, and boy did she need one.
“Come with us,” George offered to Clete.
“I…”
“Yeah, come with us, Clete,” Olivia pleaded. “Call in one of those 10-17’s and come to Kitty’s.”
“A request for gasoline?” Clete asked with a smile.
“Yeah.” Olivia laughed at her own mistake. “Let’s go get some gas for your dance machine and teach your hips how to groove.”
George drove Olivia to Kitty’s. Clete followed in his cruiser somewhat reluctantly. When they walked in, Lonnie was the only customer in the bar, and he was staggering his way to the door. George said good-bye to him, and to his lone employee, then locked the door behind them to keep the public away.
While he grabbed a handful of beers, Olivia looked around the bar, noticing all of the little changes he had made since she’d been there last. Almost a year had passed since she had quit making her nightly stops to chug as many beers as she could in an hour and try to talk George into sleeping with her. She kissed him in apology for her absence and stupidity, he kissed her back in acceptance, and then she skipped over to the jukebox.
“Oh! Hang on!” George disappeared into the office. He came back a few moments later and loaded a CD into the jukebox. He slid a handful of quarters in the coin slot, and seconds later John Cougar Mellencamp bro
ught Olivia all the way home.
George held out his hand and Olivia slipped hers in. He spun her around and into his arms and kissed her. Olivia and George danced and sang and acted out the lyrics while Clete settled onto one of the bar stools, sipped his beer, and watched. George and Olivia danced to a few more songs then he left the dance floor to get more beers and Olivia looked over at Clete.
“Are you ready for your dance lessons now?” she asked with a giddy grin.
“Uh…” He looked around to see if she was talking to someone besides him. As if. “I don’t need dance lessons.”
“Yeah, you do!” She laughed. George’s quarters still had credits on the machine and she sifted through the play menu trying to find the perfect song for Clete.
George pointed to one of Olivia’s favorite songs. “What about this one?”
“Too hard for his first try.”
“How about some Lil’ Wayne?”
“Don't want to scare him off.”
“This one then?”
Olivia shook her head and flipped through more titles. Clete sighed and shifted his feet and looked nervous.
Her eyes lit up when she found the perfect song. “Ooh! This one!”
“No way!” George laughed.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll kill him if you dance with him to that one,” George said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you about kill me every time we dance to that one, and I'm used to dancing with you. Pick something milder.”
“I do, huh?” She smiled.
He smiled right back at her. “Yeah, you do.”
She leaned into him and kissed his cheek near his ear, and whispered, “Poor baby.”
“It’ll take more than that to make me feel better.” George tapped his cheek.
Olivia kissed him again. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
“Promise?” he whispered. His hand traveled down her back and around her curves.
As Olivia’s eyes drifted shut, she caught sight of Clete inching his way toward the door. She snapped to attention and commanded him to stay. She backed away from George and flipped through the titles faster before he could make another break for it. The perfect song caught her eye, and she pushed the button without asking George’s opinion.
“What did you…” he started to ask, but when Flo Rida’s popping dance track “Low” started, he laughed. “Aw, hell! Better buckle up, Clete. You’re in for one helluva ride.”
“Oh, hush now, George. This is the perfect song for beginners.” She took Clete’s hand in hers and pulled him to the dance floor
“What planet are you living on?”
“Should I be afraid?” Clete asked, his face betraying that he already was.
“You should be terrified.” George leaned against the jukebox and took a drink of his beer, settling in for a good laugh.
“Ignore George and put your hands on my hips.”
Reluctantly, he did.
She started to move with the music and said, “Feel the rhythm of the music and move your body with mine.”
They moved jerkily together. Olivia tried to get Clete to loosen up, but he was loaded down with a hundred pounds of cop gear and what little movements he did make were restricted by the weight. Every time she tried to press into him to help guide his body, he stiffened up and stopped dancing altogether. Clete on the dance floor was like a rock in a hurricane. He was solidly anchored, stubbornly immovable, impervious to the rhythm of the earth.
“Clete!” she cried out in frustration midway through the song. “This isn’t me doing a pole dance where you’re the pole! You have to move your ass! Haven’t you ever had sex?”
“What?” Clete asked in horror and took a quick step away from her.
“Sex, Clete! Sex! The good kind of sex—the nasty, sweaty, bumping and grinding kind of sex. Sex and dancing go hand in hand,” she said. “Play it again, George, so I can show him.”
George started the song over. He leaned against the jukebox with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as Olivia grabbed Clete and forced her hips into his. She held him tight against her as she undulated in a slow, seductive motion.
“Feel that?” she asked. “Feel how the rhythm enters your body and courses through your blood? Just close your eyes and let everything else go… let the heat and the passion of the moment consume you as you imagine we’re making love to each other in time to the music.”
“What? No!” Clete turned red and ripped away from her in embarrassment. “I’m not doing that!”
“Why not?” Olivia stuffed her fists onto her hips. “I’m not suggesting we actually make love! Just dance with me like you want to.”
“I… what…” Clete sputtered and turned an even deeper shade of red.
“Come on, just try it.”
“I can’t…” Clete started to protest again but Olivia brought a hand up to silence him.
“Fine! How about you watch me and George for a minute? Watch what we do, how we move, and then me and you’ll try it again.”
George started the song over for the third time, then pushed away from the jukebox and swept Olivia up in his arms. He led her in a smooth, sexual dance, and she closed her eyes and allowed her body to listen to everything George’s body wanted to do to her. The pace of the music controlled their dance and their hips, and Olivia leaned back in his arms so her hips could press tighter into his as they gyrated in a fast, pulsing, erotic grind.
She got hot, he got hotter, and before the song was over she forgot Clete was even in the room. George melded her body into his, fusing them together until they shared one breath, one heartbeat, and they danced through another slower, sultry song.
Clete cleared his throat. “Thanks for the beer and… everything,” then made a break for the door.
“Ok,” Olivia murmured dreamily and waved a half-hearted good-bye. A split-second later, she snapped out of her trance and lifted her head from George’s shoulder. “Clete!”
“I'll catch you guys later.”
“Oh, come on, hang out for a bit and have another beer.” She put on her cute, pouty face and Clete started to sway in her favor.
“I don’t know…”
“Why don’t you stay for a bit and keep Liv company while I go and catch up on some work in the office?” George suggested. “She promises not to try to make you dance anymore. Don’t you, Liv?”
“Boo! You’re no fun,” Olivia play-pouted, but she promised. “I swear we’ll just sit here and drink George’s beer.”
She could tell he didn’t want to, but Clete came back over to them.
“Behave yourself,” George warned Olivia. He gave her a quick kiss then headed toward the office.
Clete watched George leave, and as soon as he was out of ear-shot, Clete asked Olivia, “So, I take it he lied about being gay?”
Her jaw dropped. “How did you know I was talking about George?”
“I took a wild guess.”
Olivia watched as he finished his beer and pulled two more out of the cooler behind the bar. He was always a little quiet, a little reserved, but as he walked back to her he also looked a little sad, and she worried about him. With everything that was going on in her life, it made her wonder if something was going on in his besides a crazy girl trying to force him to dance.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
“I don’t believe you.” She motioned him over to a table in the corner and waited until he’d settled in to ask, “So, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Something’s wrong. I can tell.”
“Seriously, Olivia, nothing’s wrong,” Clete said.
“Fine, don’t tell me then.” Olivia tried to look disinterested. “See if I care.”
Clete sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked like he wanted to talk, but he didn’t say anything.
“So how’s Allie?�
� she asked, assuming his daughter was the problem. Kids always seemed to be the problem in parents’ lives.
“Real good,” he said with a hint of a smile. “She keeps talking about you.”
“She does?” Olivia asked in surprise.
“You made quite an impression on her.”
“Yeah—the wrong kind,” she said with a huff.
“I probably over-reacted that night,” he said as a way to apologize, and he actually did look as though he felt bad. “But Allie’s my life, and if anything happened to her—”
“I understand.”
“Until you have a child, I don’t think you will.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The love you feel for a child is different than the love you have for anyone else,” Clete tried to explain. “It’s fiercely protective and self-sacrificial. Her life is more valuable than any other person’s in the world—especially mine. I would step in front of a train or stare down the barrel of a gun and take a firestorm of bullets to save my little girl’s life.”
“You’d take a bullet for me, too. You have to. It’s your job.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “Not for you.”
“Sure you do. You’re a cop.”
“I would fire a bullet for you, but I don’t have to take one,” he said.
“You’d take one for me,” she said with a smile.
He looked at her for a long, silent moment, and then admitted, “I probably would.”
“I knew it.” She smiled bigger. “You love me.”
“Now that might be pushing it a little.” He smiled back at her, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. Not even close. He sat up straighter and held his beer bottle loose in his hands, lazily spinning it on the table. “How’s Eugene doing?”
“Ok, health-wise, but he’s going a little crazy in the hospital. He wants to come home.”
“I know how he feels.”
“How could you possibly know how he feels?”
He watched his bottle spin another rotation, then lifted it to his lips and took a drink. He held the beer in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Without looking at her, he said, “Because I had a long stay in the hospital once.”
Olivia Page 21
