Pucker Up

by Seimas, Valerie

  Melody’s eyes drifted away from the screen, thinking. “It seems the girl is real. Stands to reason the story might be too.”

  Harmony pursed her lips in thought and sat down in the middle of her bed. “Have you ever seen any of the Apple Lodge movies?”

  Melody raised an eyebrow. “Those summer camp tween musicals on the Disney Channel? I think I’m a little past their demographic.”

  “You’re not eleven? Color me surprised. But seriously, you remember how big they were five years ago – huge. In the first one a singer named Hope is staying at the Apple Lodge under the alias, Amy. And the name of the love interest, that works there, is Justin.”

  “Where are you going with this, Harm?”

  She got up and started pacing the room. “This may sound a little farfetched, so bear with me. I’ve always thought that the Apple Lodge movies sounded like our bedtime story. But if you consider that the Apple Lodge movies are about a singer and the real Ally is a singer, they’re like exactly the same.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Melody said. “You think, what? That famous Faith West wrote a screenplay about her life?”

  Harmony shrugged. “Not necessarily. But maybe someone that knew her and Uncle Dust did. That’s just too many coincidences, right?”

  The sisters sat, lost in thought, until Melody started at a knock on her door. “That’s Eric and Nell with the pizza for the study group.” Harmony watched as her sister got up and walked to the door of her dorm room. “Okay, I’ll try and find out more about who wrote the Apple Lodge movies; you see what you can get out of the adults on your end.”

  “Gee, sis, thanks for the easy task.”

  Melody rolled her eyes. “Hey, if I was home, I would not leave Faith West’s side. You can have internet research any time little sister.” She paused for a moment. “Is this really a good idea?”

  “If we don’t know why he’s sad, we can’t help him,” Harmony said. “For Uncle Dust.”

  “For Uncle Dust.”

  Faith looked out across the yard, hoping the deep breaths of crisp spring air would help right herself. She had been a fool for coming here, for thinking it would be different. Or for thinking it would be the same. All she could hope for now was getting out relatively unscathed.

  She didn’t need to turn to know he’d joined her. “It just wasn’t meant to be, Dusty.” Her words were tired, her voice reserved.

  “Or we were, and you just weren’t willing to fight for us, Ally.”

  She looked up at him from her seat on the porch swing, and some of that old fire coursed through her, the passion she hadn’t felt for too many years to count. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know exactly what that means. I wasn’t the one that destroyed our marriage license. I wasn’t the one that decided to pretend like nothing ever happened and run off.”

  “What did you want me to do? Open up and tell everyone about our pain?”

  “Better than writing it off as something you failed at on your damn checklist, and moving on.”

  She stood, as close to unraveling as she’d been in a decade. “Don’t stand there and tell me that I didn’t grieve correctly for you. Don’t preach to me on how this was all supposed to go. You think I don’t think about her all the time? About us? About what could have been?!”

  Dustin didn’t speak for a long time, his eyes cast to the ground. “Her?” he asked quietly.

  That’s right, she’d never told him that. Never told him their child was a girl. “Yes, her.” He nodded his head, like this was old news, but she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

  They’d been very careful the whole visit not to get too close, not to touch. It hadn’t been tested in ten years, but their chemistry used to be combustible – too close and you could kiss your eyebrows goodbye. Their attraction had been a drug, something Faith quit cold turkey a long time ago, hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Something she’d run from ever since, getting involved with attractive men, yes, but ones who couldn’t even start the pilot light let alone a forest fire.

  But she couldn’t let him stand there on the verge of tears and not reach for him. She crossed the porch in three steps, slipped a comforting hand over his white-knuckle grip on the railing, and the other around his torso in an embrace meant to be reassuring. He stood ramrod straight in her arms for just a moment before he buried his face in her neck and cried.

  She tried to be strong for him, but she couldn’t help but join in, tears streaming down her face and soaking the front of his shirt. Grief. She’d made sure they’d never grieved together, so confident he wouldn’t want her anymore when the baby was gone that nothing had been there to hold them together. But the way he was yelling at her, maybe she had been wrong – she cried for that too.

  Faith felt his tears stop and pulled herself together, leaning back just slightly to look at his face. She shouldn’t have. The yearning in his eyes was her undoing. And then his lips were on hers, demanding a response. Demanding pieces of her she’d been careful to keep from everyone else. He pulled away for one beat, the knowledge of what they were doing skirting across his eyes, before capturing her mouth again, his tongue sliding in to taste her.

  It had been a decade since she’d been kissed like this, with a ferocity all but forgotten. The longing that songs were made of. The exasperation of his lips stalking hers, needing to get closer. The confidence of his stance, pressing her against the porch post, cornered by his presence. The intimacy of his hands, slipping her shirt up over her head and then settling on her hips; hands rough and worn and oh so gentle. And then not really gentle at all.

  Dustin shook with desire, the first brush of her lips awakening things he’d long forgotten. Part of him was sure she was still a dream and he leaned closer, needing to feel that she was real. His hands slid up her body, stung by the heat of her skin, and came to rest in her hair. He filled his hands with her curls, and a wave of need and remembrance crashed against him.

  “Owww,” she yelped. The sound of her pain caused him to release her and take a step back. But her body curved towards him.

  “What’s wrong? Did I – did I hurt you?” he growled. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stop himself from reaching for her.

  “Something did,” she murmured. But she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she turned to look at the post he’d pressed her against. He cursed when he saw her back. A cluster of splinters were embedded just beneath the strap of her bra. He should have refinished the porch years ago. “What?” she asked.

  Dustin reached for a hollow section of the railing and pulled out a small box. “Stand still. You have a sliver.”

  “The porch bit me?”

  “I think I helped.” He removed a pair of tweezers and approached her. “Stand still.”

  His fingers brushed against her back, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. She wasn’t any less affected than he was – it only made him want to press his lips against her skin even more. “I thought Andrews were gentlemen.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” He yanked without warning, and she jumped.

  “Absolutely no clue.” He pulled out the others in quick succession, placing a Band-Aid over the small punctures when he was done. The last time he’d tended to slivers the girl had pigtails; his hands hadn’t shook then.

  “There. Good as new.”

  Faith turned around, and their eyes met for a moment before she looked away. One hand on her hip, the other covering her lips, she looked exactly how he felt – shocked, sexed, and scared. “I have to go.”

  She turned to leave, took two steps, and then returned, grabbing her shirt from the floorboards. She cast one long look at him as she slipped it back on. “I have to go,” she repeated, stomping off to her car.

  He watched her walk away, his mind more confused than before. He thought he wanted her to leave; he’d wanted nothing else since he saw her step out of her car. A couple of kisses and now it seemed it was the last thing he
wanted. She reached her car, and he started for the door, knowing he didn’t have the strength to watch her go, but stopped. A smirk hit his face as he saw her slip behind the wheel and realize she didn’t have any keys.

  He waited five minutes before making his way over to her, never actually expecting her to return to the house. He leaned his hip against the passenger side door, looking out at his driveway. “What happened to ‘I have to go’?”

  “I still have to go.” She paused and strummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m just having a bit of trouble with the execution.”

  “Thought maybe you remembered you hadn’t said goodbye.” He snapped his fingers and slammed a hand down on the car for emphasis. “That’s right; you’ve never been all that good with goodbyes, have you?”

  “This isn’t really the time for – ”

  “No?” he asked. “When’s the time then, Ally?” He looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Maybe that was a good thing; her visit had already made him too volatile as it was. He dropped her purse onto the front seat and straightened. “Another decade it is then.”

  Dustin walked back to the house, waiting to hear the engine of her car spring to life, and wondered how he could feel so angry and so empty all at the same time. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? He was on the bottom porch step when he heard it – the car sputtering but never starting. She tried three times, each sounding more desperate than the one before.

  Peter stood silhouetted in the front door. “Looks like we have a houseguest.”

  Chapter 9

  Faith stood at the window in Dustin’s office, staring at the tree across the yard. She’d tried to sleep, but as the silence of the house descended, she realized it was not going to happen. Some years she liked to be alone, but she’d already decided this wasn’t one of them – that’s why she’d orchestrated a couple of houseguests. She’d wandered into his office looking for a drink, but the view from the window was enough.

  “What are you doing in here?” She jumped at the sound of his voice, so loud as it fell into the silence of the night. His tone didn’t sound angry, just curious.

  She raised a hand to her face, wiping away the tears, and hoped there were no remnants in her voice. “Looking for a drink.”

  “Milk’s in the fridge.”

  His tone was mildly chiding, mildly amused, and she smiled, chancing a look at him over her shoulder. “Not that kind of drink.”

  “I think I can help with that.” Dustin waved her to the window seat as he crossed the room to the credenza behind his desk. He turned away from her, needing to take a deep breath before he reached for the glasses. He’d come downstairs for the same reason, but finding her in the middle of the room had made him drunker than the whole tumbler of scotch would have.

  He’d given her an old t-shirt to sleep in, and memories assaulted him seeing her standing there, the fabric just barely covering the tops of her thighs. Finding her at the tree had blasted a hole inside of him, and things he hadn’t thought of for a decade warred for his attention. He didn’t like it – he’d kept them locked away for a reason.

  When he turned back she’d folded herself into the corner, trying to look as small and relaxed as possible. He handed her a glass and then sat down, as far away as he could get. “You don’t have to stay,” she whispered.

  He took a sip then stared into the glass like it held the answer to an important question. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  Faith inhaled sharply, and he chanced a look. Unshed tears made her blue eyes look even brighter than usual. “Neither do I.”

  “Then cheers.” He clinked the rim of his glass against hers and downed the rest of the liquid. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw her head back and emptied hers in one swallow. “Well, that’s one way to get me to move,” he murmured, crossing the room to refill the glasses.

  “No more for me, thanks.” Faith stretched her legs across the cushions, her toes just barely missing the opposite wall.

  “Still have more self-control than me I see,” he said as he poured himself another.

  “It’s self-preservation – alcohol and me don’t get along so well.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”

  Faith sighed. “Things change.” Her voice was full of such regret and sadness, he couldn’t stand it.

  Dustin crossed the room in two steps and sat down beside her, picking up her outstretched legs and placing them in his lap. “What else has changed?”

  She tried to answer and ignore the flicker of awareness at his hand resting against her skin. “Everything,” she murmured.

  His forehead creased, a look of skepticism, and he ran his thumb over her toes. “Can’t be everything. You’re still painting these bubblegum pink.”

  “You first.”

  “Fine.” He drained the liquid from his glass and placed it on the windowsill. “Let’s see, what’s changed in the last decade. I live with two women who have me wrapped around their little fingers. Got really good at braiding hair because Peter is still useless when it comes to ‘styling’ as the girls say. Never put that whole tinkering in the garage thing to rest; I’m a general contractor now. Andrews Construction and Consulting. I sit behind my desk more often than I like but still get to be outside and work with my hands. And I haven’t had a taste of lemon since you left.”

  Faith just barely stopped herself from recoiling at his last statement – there was too much honesty and subtext there. She hadn’t wanted to be alone, sure, but she hadn’t wanted to be this present either. She could feel him pulling her down a road she was sure she’d get lost on. She couldn’t handle lost again.

  “Your turn.”

  “Uh, let’s see. I went vegan – ”

  “I already know that. Next.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Dustin shifted restlessly before answering. “Read it in a magazine. Tell me things I’m not gonna read in a magazine.”

  “You read about me in magazines?”

  He snorted. “Peter likes to keep me up to date on your press, Ms. West.” He paused and his eyes turned serious. “Tell me about you, Ally.”

  When he called her that, how could she not answer truthfully. Damn this man. “I live with a rather haughty Persian cat who prefers my maid since I’m always on the road. I hire people to braid my hair, or straighten it actually since curls are so last decade I’m told. Never put that whole singing thing behind me; I’m a bona fide pop sensation now. I spend too much time on a bus and make too few of my own decisions. But I get to sing, and even now that I’m by myself, there’s still thousands of people that want to listen. And I have lemons every chance I get.”

  “You smell like lemons.”

  “It’s my shampoo.”

  “God, I missed you.” He said it so quietly she wondered if he knew he’d voiced the thought aloud.

  Faith just shook her head and leaned back against the wall, not quite closing her eyes so she could peer at him from underneath her eyelashes. “What part? The crazy girl not grounded in reality. The insane diva who always had to get her way. The spoiled brat who never learned responsibility. Which one of those did you miss?”

  “The dreamer who thought anything was possible. The explorer that blazed her own trail. The adventurer that leapt without looking. That girl, I miss her.”

  “I miss her too,” Faith agreed. And then she watched as his hands moved slowly from her foot to her ankle, slow strokes of his fingers fanning the flame of desire she was sure she had under control.

  “Think I could convince that girl to come out and play?” Dustin whispered.

  His hands continued to move up her body, skimming her calf and across her knee. “She doesn’t think that would be such a good idea.”

  Faith almost swooned at the quick, half-cocked grin that appeared on his face, so close to her own now he was all she could focus on. “That never stopped her before,” he said, looking down as his
hand caressed her thigh, still crawling higher.

  “We all have to grow up sometime, right?” There wasn’t much conviction in her voice. Not when his thumb brushed against her hip. Not when he made a low growl at discovering it was bare.

  “Not tonight we don’t.” He leaned forward, his lips barely brushing her ear to whisper, “Pucker up.”

  His flirty words made her gasp, remembering. “I…” She wasn’t sure how to answer, not sure if she was anything close to that girl anymore. Her breath was coming quickly, as if running a marathon and about to cross the finish line. She reached a hand up to his face, her fingertips lightly skimming the stubble on his check. Silence stretched between them, and he pulled back just far enough for her to see disappointment enter his eyes, his hands retreating.

  “No,” she said, trapping his hand against her thigh. “I…”

  Dustin didn’t let her finish. His lips descended, capturing any sound she was planning on making. He wound a hand into her hair, pulling her as close as he could, wanting to soak up the sweet taste of lemons she put on his tongue. He growled at the angle and pulled her closer, across his lap until she straddled him.

  Faith couldn’t hold in a moan when his mouth slipped along the curve of her jaw, to her ear, his teeth raking across it. She reached a hand out and braced herself against the window behind him, her eyes focusing once again on the lemon tree silhouetted by the bright moon. And then she didn’t care about anything else – about any reasons or objections or warnings. In that moment she wanted to soak up all of the emotion Dustin was throwing at her and damn the consequences.

  His hands slipped under her shirt, caressing her back. The feel of his calluses had her moaning again. She’d dated – bankers and businessmen, golfers and government officials – but no one that worked with their hands. Because she went weak in the knees at men that labored for a living. And had the body to show for it – the rough hands, the corded muscles, the tan lines. Every single one of them reminded her of this man, so she avoided them, actively trying to prevent wishing it was him that was touching her. And now he was.