by M. Leighton
I don’t know why, but I get the feeling he’s anxious to get away from me.
“No, I’ll be fine until we get home tomorrow. Toothbrush and toothpaste is plenty.”
Hemi nods. “I’m gonna put my clothes back on and then I’ll hit the road.”
I nod as well and he disappears back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. When he reemerges, he holds up his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you from my phone so you can call if you need anything?”
I think it’s an odd request since he’s only going out for a couple of things. How long does he plan to be gone?
I keep my thoughts to myself, however, and I’m as casual as I can be when I give him my number. He taps it into his phone and a few seconds later, mine chirps with an incoming text. It says simply, “Hemi.”
Then, with a rushed Be right back, he’s gone. I wait for about half an hour, wide awake, before I scoot down in the bed to get more comfortable. It’s then that the events of the day catch up to me and my eyes get heavy.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I wake, all the lights are off in the room but for the lamp on the desk. I see Hemi sitting there, sketching something onto the complementary notepad. His head is bent and his face is intense in the soft, direct light. I roll over to look at the clock. It’s twenty minutes after two. When I glance back to Hemi, his head is up and his eyes are on me. He says nothing and neither do I. I just lie back down, closing my eyes and trying to push thoughts of him out of my head so I can go back to sleep.
And, sometime later, I do.
Finally.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Hemi
Sloane has been quiet all morning. I’m sure she’s responding to me disappearing for a while last night. I needed to go get my head together, think things through. Seeing those letters on my side reminded me of my goal, my mission. And, even though I like Sloane and I feel guilty for what I’m doing to her, it’s what I have to do. Period. If I told her, she might even understand it. Then again, she might not. But I’ll never know because I can’t tell her. I can’t trust her with it. She could ruin everything and that’s a risk I just can’t take.
As soon as she woke up and said her leg was feeling much better, I suggested we get on the road. It’s Saturday, so she might not have plans, but I do. I need to get back to work. And now I need sleep, since I got none last night.
When we are about an hour outside Savannah, it starts to sprinkle rain, so I turn down the music and pull off onto the shoulder to put up the top. It’s as I’m easing back onto the highway that I hear a grumbling sound.
“Shit, damn, piss! I’m such an asshole!” I say aloud as I start surveying signs we pass along the interstate.
“What?” Sloane asks me, her expression puzzled. “Why are you an asshole?”
“You haven’t even had breakfast. And I’m sure you’re hungry.”
She shrugs. “I’m fine. I’ll live.”
“Stop being so agreeable. You need to speak up, tell me what you want.”
“Seriously, I’m fine. It’s not a—”
She’s so sweet and understanding and it only makes me feel worse about what I did. What I’m doing. “Look, I feel like shit and you’re just making it worse. Call me a selfish bastard. Tell me to stop the car and get some food in your damn stomach. Punch me in the leg. Do something!” My rant comes out angrier than I intended. I can tell that by the stung expression that now clouds Sloane’s features.
“Fine,” she says. She pauses for a second before she reaches across the seat and punches me in the leg. And it’s no light little girl punch either. This is a punch she probably gives that Sasquatch brother of hers. “Stop at the next restaurant and get me some breakfast, you selfish bastard.”
There’s sincerity in her voice, so much so that it leads me to believe she has some aggression of her own to get out, no doubt a product of last night.
“I didn’t say you had to do it all,” I mutter, teasing her. “Damn.”
She glares at me for a few seconds. I stare back, wearing my most wounded expression. Finally, she relents and smiles.
“Sorry. I get grouchy when I’m hungry.”
“Grouchy? The hell you say! You’re mean as a snake!”
She laughs and slaps my arm playfully. “I am not.”
“Now I’m gonna have to explain why I have a limp.”
She rolls her eyes, but her face looks more relaxed, which was my goal. It won’t do me a bit of good to alienate her at this point. I need her. And I need her to be able to talk to me.
I see a sign for an IHOP, so I take that exit. Within a few minutes, we are seated in a booth with menus in our hands.
After we order and the waitress brings us coffee, Sloane says conversationally, “I don’t blame you for forgetting breakfast.”
“And why is that?”
“You said you’re not the breakfast kind of guy.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“I’m flattered that you’d make an exception for me.”
“We didn’t sleep together, so this doesn’t count.”
“So you don’t take the girls you have sex with out for breakfast?”
“Nope.”
“And why is that?”
I shrug. “I just don’t have the time or the inclination to get that…involved with anybody.” Sloane doesn’t meet my eyes. She blows carefully into her mug to cool her coffee before she takes a sip. I take the opportunity to change the subject. “So, tell me about this family of yours.”
She sighs. “Well, I have three brothers. They’re all cops. My father is, too. To say they’re overprotective would be like calling the Gulf of Mexico a puddle of rain.”
I try not to seem too interested, even though I am. “Three brothers? All cops? Wow! I bet that is rough. Tell me about them.”
“Sig is the youngest. He’s not as rigid as the other two. We’ve always been close and he’s not as hard on me as the others are. He’s only been out of police academy for about a year. Next is Scout. He’s kind of a split between both my parents, temperament-wise. He can be more understanding at times, but he isn’t always that way. And then there’s Steven. He’s the one you met the other night at Cuff’s. He’s a bear. Just like Dad. Those two would never let me out of the house if they had their way.”
“Is that why he was acting like such a prick? He didn’t like that you were there?”
“Yeah, I showed up without giving them any kind of warning. I wanted to make a point. And I did. Oh, boy, did I ever!”
“Seems like he didn’t take it very well.”
“Well, by the time I actually saw Steven, I’d had quite a bit to drink. It probably wasn’t the best timing.”
“Did you know he’d be there?”
“Yeah, my family frequents Cuff’s quite a bit.” She takes another sip of coffee and then frowns. “Speaking of Cuff’s, what were you doing there? That’s a cop bar, I thought.”
I school my features. “Do you realize the population of cops that have tattoos? They’re almost as bad as people in the military.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
I take a drink of my coffee, too. “So, what does your mother say about all the overprotective men?”
Sloane’s smile is sad and I immediately feel like I’ve stepped in a painful pile of shit. “She’d probably just roll her eyes if she knew. She died when I was seven years old.”
“God, Sloane, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She lived a good life while she could. She had acute lymphoblastic leukemia. She had it first when she was just a little girl. She did great for a lot of years. Unfortunately, she had a relapse. And when it recurs in adulthood, the prognosis is usually bad. She relapsed when she was twenty-eight and died when she was thirty.”
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry I brought it up.”
“Don’t be. Really. She was a wonderful mother. She never let it keep her from really living. She
was determined to squeeze as much happiness out of life as she could. And she did.”
Ain’t that a kick to the nads?
I feel like such an ass for bringing it up. “I’m glad she did. Life is short. It’s up to us to make the most of it.”
“Exactly!” Sloane says emphatically. “That’s why I want to start living now. My dad and my brothers might not like it, but I’m an adult and they can’t keep me locked away in a pain-proof, mistake-proof, life-proof tower forever. They have to learn to let me go.”
Her words…oh God, her words!
“Sometimes it’s harder to let go than what you might think.”
Sloane looks at me over her coffee cup, her expression…odd. “I don’t doubt that it is, but it’s necessary. We have to move on. We have to live life. Just like those words on your side—‘Live, no regrets’.”
I nod, staring into the black liquid in my mug. Before either of us has to say anything else, the waitress comes with our food. I’ll ask her more about her family later. But right now, I think we both need a break.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN- Sloane
“Are you kidding me? That’s it? That’s all that happened?” Sarah asks me from the passenger seat. It’s my turn to drive to school this week and she’s starting Monday off with an inquisition that the KGB would be proud of.
“Yep.”
“Girl, we need to watch some porn. You need help. A lot of help.”
“I don’t need to watch porn, Sarah. And I don’t need help. He came right out and told me that he doesn’t usually like ‘innocent’ girls. He acts like he’s gonna ruin my life if he gets involved with me.”
“Then you need to convince him otherwise. With your shirt off. That always helps change a man’s mind.”
“Oh God, Sarah! You’re the one that needs help.”
“No, you need help. I told you that. I’m telling you, Sloane, you need for this guy to help you spread your…wings.” Her pause is intentional and when I look over at her, she’s grinning devilishly.
“You’re disgusting, you know that?”
“You wouldn’t think so if you’d go ahead and ditch that pesky virginity.”
“I’m trying! It’s not as easy as I thought it’d be.”
“It’s exactly as easy as you thought it’d be. You’re just losing your nerve.”
“But I’m not! Not at all. I want him. Really bad. But for some reason he’s determined not to give in to it. I don’t know what it is. It’s more than just my…inexperience. It’s like he wants to leave me alone, but can’t. And he resents it.” I think about my own words. “Well, maybe ‘resents’ isn’t the right word. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like he wants to be with me, but then he doesn’t. Like he feels like he should stay away from me, but then he doesn’t. It’s freaky.”
“And hot!” Sarah adds.
I grin over at her. “And it’s driving me crazy!”
“Oh, I bet. By the time you get him to get on that horse and ride, you’ll be ready to fall apart. But that can be a good thing, especially for your first time.”
I hate thinking about my first time, much less talking about it. I know all the details, all the mechanics and physiological aspects of it. I just want to get past all that painful, awkward shit and move on to the good stuff. Time’s a wastin’!
“Well, if there’s anybody I would bet big money on to make a girl’s first time pure heaven, it’d be Hemi.”
“And I want alllll the details. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“And hurry up about it. You’re a woman. Use all the tools God gave you and bring that boy to his knees.”
I sigh. “I’m trying.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just floating along, letting things ‘happen’. You can’t do that. You have to make things happen. Your way. In your time.”
“I’m on it, Sarah. Trust me. I’ve got this.”
I say this to get Sarah off my back, not believing it for one second. The more time goes on and Hemi doesn’t make a move, the more insecure it makes me. But I’m not ready to give up yet. If I could pick anybody in the world to be my first, it would be Hemi. As tough and hard and matter-of-fact as he is, he’s shown me a whole different side of himself. The side that’s caring, and wounded, and uncertain about some things. He may not have intended to show me, but he did. And I saw it. And now I can’t forget it.
What I can’t—and won’t—tell Sarah is that this is too important to me for me to just capriciously screw it up over sex. It’s worth more than that to me. Hemi is worth more than that to me. I just can’t tell her that.
“So when do you see him again?”
“Since I’ve got school, he doesn’t want me coming in there so late and being tired the next day, so he said I should plan on coming Thursday and Friday night.”
“How considerate,” she says sarcastically. “He needs to get over that shit and just get this done.”
“Sarah…” I roll my eyes. “You should’ve been a guy.”
“Why? Because I’m honest?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, that’s why I’m not a guy. Guys aren’t honest. They hide things from you and tell you what you want to hear. I don’t do that. Therefore God made me a female. By far the superior gender.”
“You really should put that on a mug.”
“I’m working on it. I’m working on it.” One glance in her direction tells me that she probably really is. And if she does, I’m sure at least one of them will end up under my tree at Christmas time.
I shake my head and roll my eyes again.
Sarah’s one crazy girl.
********
By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m more than ready to see Hemi again. I feel like I’m becoming addicted to him, like time spent away from him is nearly painful. Which is ridiculous, of course, since I haven’t known him very long.
But still…
I dressed carefully for my first night in the “studio” as Hemi calls it. I wanted to look sexy and mature without looking trashy or like I’m trying too hard. I chose some snug jeans that ride low on my hips and a cap-sleeved shirt that makes my boobs look good and my waist look small. When I move a certain way, it gives a glimpse of my stomach, and showing a guy some skin is always a good idea. At least that’s what I’ve heard. It also gives a peek-a-boo look at my butterflies from some angles, which I love.
I park in a spot at the end of the street, so as not to take up any customer spaces, and I climb out, leaving my purse but grabbing the folder with the forms for Hemi’s boss to fill out. Releases for school and stuff, and then Hemi’s preceptor form. It’ll be official then. He’ll be stuck with me for the rest of the semester, a thought that thrills me to the bone.
When I walk in, there are two people in the lobby. By the looks of them, they’re waiting for their turn in one of the chairs. I give them a smile and make my way to the doorway that leads to the back room. I’m not sure whether I should just walk on back or not, so I poke my head in and see if I can spot Hemi. And I do. Immediately. My eye is drawn to him like the earth is drawn to the sun. I can just make out his head behind the partition that divides his area. It looks as though he’s talking to someone, a female most likely, judging by what little bit of her face I can see.
A young guy appears at my side. I was so caught up in looking for Hemi, I didn’t even see him approach. He can’t be much older than me. He has a Mohawk and several piercings on his face. Even so, he’s cute in a punk rock way, with his engaging smile and sparkling green eyes.
“You looking for Hemi?”
“Yes, I see him over there, but I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Oh, you won’t. She’s not a client.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to get him into trouble.”
“How would you do that?”
“Well, his boss might get mad if—”
The guy laughs. “Hemi doesn’t have a boss. He is the boss.”
I�
��m puzzled. “He runs this place?”
“Yep, he sure does. He’s the manager.”
“Oh,” I say flatly. I wonder why he never told me that.
“That’ll be our little secret, though. He doesn’t tell a lot of people that. I just assumed he’d tell you since you’ll be hanging around here quite a bit.”
“How do you know about that?”
“He told us to expect you, that he’d be showing you the ropes. Some kind of thing he’s doing for your school.”
“Right. Yeah, he’s…helping me.”
“So, what are you waiting for? Go on back,” he says with a pleasant smile. “I feel sure he’ll be wanting to see you.” I’m not quite sure of what to make of his comment, but he distracts me from it when he sticks his hand out and introduces himself. “I’m Paul by the way. I’m one of the part-time artists.”
I return his smile and take his hand. “Hi, Paul. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sloane.”
“Sloane,” he repeats. “It’s gonna be very nice to see you around here, Sloane.”
Virgin or not, I can still spot appreciation in a man’s eyes. And there’s appreciation in Paul’s. Lots and lots of appreciation.
“You’re a flirt, Paul,” I tell him bluntly. “But I like you anyway.”
“I knew you would. Girls can’t help it. Wanna touch my hair?”
He bends his head slightly forward, presenting me with his stiff Mohawk. It’s a silly gesture on his part, but it makes me grin. And I do actually want to touch his hair once he practically shoves it in my face.
“What is that?” I ask as I touch the spikes.
Paul lifts his head, dances his fingers over his prickly hair and grins at me. “You don’t even want to know.” He starts to back away, toward the chair that now has a client in it. “See you around, Sloane.”
I smile as I watch him go greet the heavy man. He offers his hand in an upright handshake, taking the customer’s palm against his and patting the back side like they’re old frat buddies or something.
