Carried Away

by P. Dangelico

  He doesn’t answer right away. I can practically feel him internally debating how much to tell me. “My mom…until I was fourteen. Then foster care.”

  That explains a lot.

  “Let’s see if that worked,” he says, scooting out from under the sink.

  He stands, offering me a hand up, and when I place mine in his, the feeling returns. It wasn’t a fluke or my imagination. A sense of awareness covers every inch of my skin. And it’s not a cold feeling. Just the opposite it’s warm and soothing, drawing me in. Something strange is happening here.

  “You two gonna stand there all day holding hands, or are you going to help me make dinner?”

  Nan’s voice is nails on a chalkboard. We break apart and he turns to face her. “Thanks, Martha, but I’ve got plans.”

  Then he walks out the back door without saying goodbye while I stare after him.

  “How’s the faucet?” Nan asks.

  I turn it on, and a steady stream of water flows out. “Fixed.”

  Chapter 10

  “Finally! I was beginning to wonder if had to come drag you out,” Gina says as soon I push through the stack of bodies to reach the bar where she’s standing behind.

  Queen is lit. I can barely breathe in here it’s so packed, and this place has a high exposed ceiling.

  “Yeah, I know,” I mutter sheepishly. “Sorry it took so long for me to put this on.” I open my (Jackie’s) leather jacket and flash her my vintage Superman T-shirt beneath.

  “You––” she says, pointing to a twenty something hipster with blond dreads. “––out of that barstool. This is the VIP section by order of the owner.”

  Hipster kid makes a face. “Fuck that, I spend money here. Lemme talk to him.”

  Not the answer Gina was looking for. One well-groomed eyebrow twitches up.

  “Hey, crystal deodorant. You’re looking at her. So get up, or I’ll have Dana escort you out.” She hooks a thumb at the dude at the front door. Dana happens to be a seven foot Samoan. Sensing the attention, he dips his chin at us. One glance at Dana and the hipster kid slides off the stool.

  “Haha. That has to be the most satisfying.”

  “The mostest,” she echoes.

  If you had any idea how many times we were bullied to either move over, or move altogether off the bleachers at football games back in high school you would understand.

  Grabbing a glass from a stack behind her, she lifts it. “What’s your poison?”

  “I don’t really have one so you decide. Nothing too sweet or strong though. I’m walking home.”

  Gina gets busy mixing ingredients, smashing mint, and pouring the contents of the shaker in a tumbler. I take a sip and smile. Just perfect.

  “Mojito, but with my own little twist. Raspberry infusion.”

  “Deeeelicious.”

  She leans her elbows on the bar, a big toothy smile on her face. “Can you believe this is us?”

  “Speak for yourself. And yes, I can believe this is you. You were never one to back down. Me, on the other hand…”

  “Everyone can’t be a fighter. You’re strong in your own way…what you did took some guts.”

  “Or sheer stupidity.” I shrug, sucking down my drink. “May I have another please?”

  “You sure? That went down a little quickly.”

  “You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t.” Snapshots of all the things that have taken a turn for the worse the last few months flips through my mind. “Maybe I should.”

  Two hours later…

  “I dunno. I dunno. Maybe it was for the best. He was a lousy kisser, know what I mean?” I can hear myself, and yet I don’t seem to be in charge of my mouth. “Like swallowin’ a chuncka raw tuna. Like bad sushi.”

  “He sounds wonderful,” Gina deadpans.

  “I should get going.”

  “Tough love?”

  “Shoot.”

  “You’re the biggest lightweight. Those mojitos weren’t strong at all.”

  “Not a drinker. Shouda told you that.”

  Gina slides a glass of water in front of me. “Drink up and I’ll drive you home.”

  “No…no, no. I’ll call my dad to come get me. Gene missed out on all that good stuff when I was in high school. He’s got a lot of catching up to do.”

  I take out my phone, hold it up, and hit my dad’s cell icon.

  “Hello? Carrie?”

  Why does he sound winded? I shove the strange thought aside because somewhere in the recesses of my mind I know that I am mildly inebriated and shouldn’t attempt to think right now.

  “Why do you sound winded, Dad? Never mind. Can you pick me up? I’m at Gina’s––’scuse me––Regina’s bar. It’s beautiful and it’s called Queen. Cause she’s a beautiful queen…”

  Chuckling, Gina helps the bar back clear the counter of empty bottles and glasses.

  “I’m…” Dad exhales. “Yeah, okay. Give me a few minutes.”

  “Everything alright?” she says, reading the puzzled look on her face.

  I shake off the strange feeling. Now is not the time to play investigative reporter. “Yeah…he should be here soon.”

  Ten minutes later my investigative alarm starts ringing when I see Jake walk in the door, scan the room, and make a beeline for me.

  “Hello, stud muffin,” I hear coming from my long lost friend. “Damn, he’s fine.”

  “Not my type,” I hear myself retort. Which of course is a bald-faced lie. Whether he’s my type of not doesn’t mean jack. The inconvenient truth is that I am one hundred percent attracted to a man I can barely tolerant, and who can tolerate me even less.

  “Smoking hot and built like a brick shit house isn’t your type?”

  “Not this time. Also, he’s an insufferable stick in the mud.”

  “So you know him well?”

  “Not at all.”

  Which is mostly the truth. Turner is close to impossible to pin down. One minutes he’s gazing at me like he wants to discover every single one of my secrets, and the next he wants to shove in a box under the bed.

  Speaking of moods, Turner walks up with his usual permanent stamp of disapproval on his face. “You need a ride home?”

  “Huh?”

  “A ride.”

  “Where’s Gene?” I look around him, attempting to get a gander at the door.

  “He’s…he asked me to come get you. He’s indisposed.”

  “Indiswhat?”

  Sighing, Turner slides onto the empty stool next to mine. “Club soda please,” he asks the young male bartender who scurries over with a look of unadulterated hero worship on his face.

  Most of the time, I forget that Turner is a world class famous athlete. That he has fans. i.e. people that don’t know his personality is rough with a capital R.

  “Regina Polizzi meet Jake Turner. Turner meet the owner of this fine establishment and my only friend.”

  Grinning, Regina takes Jake’s outstretched hand. “I know who you are.”

  Turner––he doesn’t smile. God forbid the man appear pleasant. Too much work.

  “You’ll have to excuse him, G. Turner has a permanent case of the sadz. But he did save my life. He did do that. Probably regrets it now. Don’t cha, Turner? Don’t you wish you left me out there to become a human popsicle?”

  “No.”

  “That’s it. That’s all you have to say?”

  “No. I don’t regret saving you from becoming a human popsicle.”

  My attention swings back to Gina. She’s watching us closely, a smile pulling up one corner of her mouth.

  “Isn’t he a hoot?”

  Jake’s elbow bushes against mine and a sense of awareness zings up my arm.

  My gaze flickers over him as I drink my water. The thin black sweater he’s wearing skims the swell of his chest. He trimmed his hair. It’s in one of those side parts now, in the same style every other pro athlete on the planet wears. But damn it looks good on him.

  My eyes can’t see
m to stay away. They’re bad, with no regard for manners whatsoever. In fact, I’m studying him so intensely I could get a PhD in his anatomy. While that goes on, my insides do that thing that I’m pretty sure they should not be doing about this man in particular. They flip out.

  I don’t like myself very much right now.

  Regina places her hands on the bar and leans in. “Hey, you know what I was going to ask you…are you dating anyone? Because Luca is back in town and he’s single again.”

  Of course he’s single again. Luca is single every three months like clockwork. Regina’s middle brother is a total player. I would rather eat bad sushi.

  “No…no, I…” How do I say this without insulting her brother. “We never had…any chemistry.”

  It’s a total lie and Regina knows it. Last time Luca saw me I was seventeen. Back then, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice even if I was on fire.

  Someone down the other end of the bar waves to Gina, a guy wearing a suit. “I’ll be just a minute, Care.”

  “Take your time,” I tell her even though I don’t want to be alone with Turner longer than necessary. I’ve got a nice buzz going and I’d like to keep it that way.

  “Like we have,” comes from my immediate right.

  This requires my immediate attention. I glance over, and find him staring back at me. “Come again?”

  Because I know I’m still tipsy and couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “Chemistry. You know, that thing between us.”

  I scratch my temple. Maybe I’m drunker than I realize. “Chemistry?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m confused. “You think we have chemistry?”

  Dead serious, he nods. What do I do? I look around. This can’t be real. I look over his head. In the opposite direction. Either I’m in a fever dream or someone is punking me.

  “Stop messing around. And where the hell is Gene?”

  “Busy…” Turner’s gaze falls to my lips. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

  Wtf?

  My pulse jumps. “We don’t have chemistry.” I can’t look at him as I say it though. I can’t keep the truth out of my eyes. I can’t do it drunk or sober. He’s got me completely boxed in.

  Down the bar, Regina is directing her staff. She probably found our constant bickering boring. I can’t blame her.

  Dark sapphire eyes hold mine for what feels like forever. So does the slow progress of heat marching up my neck. It’s not chemistry. It’s a sickness, this attraction.

  “Anymore chemistry and we’d burn down the house if we ever slept together.”

  Instantly, I picture him naked, and my cheeks burn red hot.

  He leans in. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you…”

  What has gotten into him?

  “No. And the Lake Placid Fire Department can tuck in because it’s never gonna happen.”

  Silence follows. So does a staring contest as per our usual routine. One...two...three beats later...

  “We’ll see.” Sliding off the stool, he motions to the door. “Come on. It’s late and it looks like your friend needs to close up.”

  I say goodbye to Gina spending a good ten minutes of that time insisting I pay for the drinks and her insisting she won’t let me. Then I follow Turner to the Expedition parked outside. He opens the door for me, and I slide in. Before he shuts it, however, he hangs on for a while.

  “Second-best, huh?” There’s a spark in his eyes tonight I haven’t seen before. It makes him ten times more attractive. This is bad news for me.

  “Hard to believe you’re even on the list at all––I know. Then again, I haven’t gotten out much lately.”

  He shuts the door and the dark chuckle tails him to the driver’s side. He gets in and starts the engine. In the quiet of the dark cab, the smell of fresh oil paint and turpentine hits me. It reminds me of the farmhouse. It seems like an eternity ago instead of two month.

  Glancing at the back seat, I spot three canvases covered in cheese cloth.

  “When did you learn how to paint? I mean, I know you’re a pretty good hockey player, but you’re an amazing artist.”

  The booze is hitting me hard, my eyelids getting heavy, my lips loose. Add to it the cozy comfort of the SUV, and the familiar scent of the man seated next to me and I’m super relaxed. For the first time since we’ve met we are on a level playing field. “I mean it, Turner. Your paintings are…they take my breath away.”

  Every time I pass by the ones hanging in the main house I have to stop and stare. There’s something about them that feeds the soul, soothes it in the same way a great piece of music does. It’s more than skill. It’s the emotion he pours into them. And if Jake Turner does everything else with as much passion and attention, I shudder to think.

  Smoothly, he pulls the Expedition onto the mostly deserted road and drives up the hill that leads to the Cottages.

  He clears his throat, and I glance over. One hand is on the steering wheel, the other strokes his chin. “My therapist. She wanted me to journal or something––after the accident.”

  I twist in my seat to watch him, to see if there’s an actual crack in the ice, but he’s stoic as always.

  “I used to draw when I was a kid…One thing led to another. I taught myself how to use oils…”

  He shrugs, a tight sheepish smile shaping his lips. Warmth spreads in my chest. It’s really kind of pathetic how high I feel simply because he chose to share this piece of himself with me.

  “You’re incredibly talented.”

  The veins in his neck pop. His chest rises and falls. His body reacting while his mouth stays still. He doesn’t know what to do with the compliment.

  “It’s okay, Turner. Don’t worry. I won’t think highly of you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  It’s enough to set him at ease, his big body sinking into the leather set.

  A few minutes later, he parks the SUV in front of the cottages and turns off the engine. I’m too tired to do anything else other than breathe. Jake opens my door, unbuckles the seat belt, and picks me up. Scoops me into his arms again like he did the fateful night at the farmhouse when he saved my life. Good old Jake is always there when you need him.

  Every instinct in my body forces me to wrap my arms around his neck and place my head where it meets his shoulder. I take a deep breath, inhaling his skin, scratch my fingers through the hair at the back of his head. I can’t stop touching him.

  He makes a sound, and I do it again. I’m so tired I can’t even be bothered to care that I’m being inappropriate.

  Pushing my door open, he carries me inside and gently places me on the bed. Only I don’t let go. Nope. I hang onto his neck like a baby monkey.

  “Thanks, Turner. That…that was nice of you.”

  He studies me closely. His intense gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes. For a second, I get the impression he’s going to do it, he’s finally going to kiss me, and my body comes awake, prepared for anything. It’s been so long I’ll probably screw it up, but at least I’ll have fun trying. But right before I take a victory lap, he pulls back and breaks the weak hold I have on him.

  “Night, Carebear.”

  And then he’s gone, locking the door as he leaves.

  Chapter 11

  “Where are the flowers?” Dad shouts over the din of nearly two dozen people working furiously to set up the main dining room for a wedding party of seventy-five people.

  It’s the day of the Azzeritti Comofort wedding and every single person on staff is working today.

  May weddings are notoriously unpredictable around here. We’ve learned over the years to have both indoor and outdoor seating available should a freak snowstorm or spring shower roll in, but it looks like the bride is in luck today. I’d like to believe that the clear blue sky spotted with white puffs of clouds up above is a good omen for the rest of her marriage.

  It’s also unusually warm. Warm enough that I’m wearing my sister’s Chloe p
eacock blue minidress with a ruffle collar. It’s safe to say Jackie is never getting this one back.

  “Calling the florist again right now,” Nan yells back.

  You know it’s all hands on deck if Nan has been enlisted to pitch in. Elvis jump up on one of the tables and almost scream. It’s taken me hours to make sure each tablecloth is pristine.

  Nan grabs him and pats the fat bastards head before she drops him.

  My job is to steam linens and set the tables. Which I’ve been doing since 7 am this morning. Nan catches me yawning for the third time and makes a face.

  “Go get some coffee and I’ll finish the steaming.”

  “I’m fine. I only have a few runners left to do,” I tell her as I lay out the pale sage cloth down one of the long banquet tables.

  I’m not fine. I’m exhausted. Writer’s block is a bitch.

  I must have started and scrapped the article on Jake and the hockey program five times in the last four days. Something about it didn’t seem right. It sounded stiff and boring. In other words, like hard news. And that’s not what Hal asked for. So late last night, I started over.

  After staring at the computer screen for a solid hour and a half, I just began typing. I don’t know, maybe it was the combination of too much caffeine and mixed emotions, but my fingers started moving and didn’t stop till dawn. It’s finally done. And before I second guess myself for the fifth time, I plan on emailing it to him tomorrow.

  I haven’t seen Jake since the night he drove me home from Gina’s place four days ago. Since the near kiss, as I like to call it. Since the night he opened the door a little more and let me in. The same night he said the quiet words out loud.

  He thinks we have chemistry.

  I wasn’t sure whether to believe my ears, but frankly it’s a relief to know I’m not the only one feeling it for once. I’m so used to pining from afar I have no idea how to behave when it’s reciprocated.

  Where that leaves us––I don’t know. Or takes us, for that matter. But I’m more than willing to find out. And hey, it’s not like I’m getting ahead of myself. I know this is a temporary thing. Everyone needs human touch once in a while. I’m not deluding myself into thinking I’m the girl of his dreams. Maybe he’s just as lonely as I am. Everybody needs somebody sometime, right?