Visions
Page 45
“Don’t,” I said, grabbing the front of his T-shirt and pulling him down for a kiss.
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re apologizing. I’m pretty sure if anyone should apologize, it’s the person who had her hands where they should never be on someone operating a motor vehicle.”
“Oh, I wasn’t complaining. I just—I thought I had it under control, and then—”
“Stop. I said yes. You used a condom. If you keep apologizing, I’m going to presume that means you don’t ever want to do that again, and I’m really hoping that’s not the case because . . .” My tongue slipped between my teeth. “Hell and damn, that was good.”
He smiled, but I could tell he was still worrying he’d messed up, been too eager, disappointed me.
Since we’d first met, Ricky had pursued me with the confidence of a man twice his age. Now that he’d succeeded, the doubts and vulnerability peeked through, and I knew they’d vanish again when he got his footing, but it was fascinating to see, more contradictions adding to his endless tangle of them.
He kissed me then, one hand behind my head, cushioning it from the ground, the other under my ass. When a car passed, he broke the kiss only long enough to make sure the long grass hid us. Then another noise stopped him: my grumbling stomach.
“It’s reminding me that I promised you dinner,” he said. “And I should damn well deliver before I try for more.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Dinner? Or more sex?”
I laughed. “I mean that after lying on the grass, I’m not in any condition to be taken to a restaurant.”
“Would you settle for pizza? Delivered?”
I slid from under him and sat up. “Delivered where?”
“Here, of course.”
We were in the middle of nowhere, on an empty road surrounded, I was sure, by more empty roads.
“If you could manage that—” I began.
“—you’d spend the night with me? Yes, you have work in the morning. I’ll get you back in time. But if I can manage to get pizza delivered here, will you let me find us a place for the night? I know that’s not what you had in mind.”
“I—”
He cut me off with a quick kiss. “I aim to impress, and I need a bed to do it. Besides, you don’t believe I can get a pizza delivered out here, so . . .”
“Go on and try.”
“We have a deal?”
“We do.”
He had to walk to his bike to get decent cell service. Then he used his phone to look up a place. He called one. I heard a male voice answer. Ricky said he had the wrong number, hung up, and called another place. He got a woman this time and shifted into full charm mode, chatting away. After about two exchanges, I knew he had her. It was too damned easy for him. So I decided to make it tougher.
I started unbuttoning my blouse. He caught the movement and looked over. He could have looked away. He didn’t. As I stripteased, his eyes never left me. Nor did he falter for one goddamned second in his other conquest, even as the growing bulge in his jeans told me my performance was not unappreciated. Less than two minutes later, he hung up.
“Pizza’s on its way, isn’t it?” I said.
“Yep. Twenty minutes. Which gives you plenty of time to finish.” He took a step forward. “Unless you want help.”
“Not yet,” I said.
“You’ll tell me when?”
“You’ll wait until I do?”
He grinned, his look sending heat through me. “That might require ropes. Strong ropes.”
“Another time,” I said. “For now, you’ll wait. Right there. Until I’m ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and eased back to watch the show.
—
I think Ricky was right: strong ropes would be required to hold him back when he wanted something. Possibly chains. I teased until it was clear he was about two seconds from breaking. Then I said the word and got very enthusiastic, very satisfying sex, with a few minutes to spare before pizza arrived and we ate, half dressed, on the grass.
At the motor inn, he did indeed show me exactly how attentive he could be. I was soundly asleep ten minutes after, the clock having not yet even struck nine.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two days ago, I’d compared my trek through James’s office to a walk of shame, stumbling back after an unexpected all-nighter, everyone who sees you knowing what you were up to. Now I was doing exactly that. Getting dropped off at the diner at seven in the morning, still wearing my uniform from the night before, still with the guy I’d left with the afternoon before. And I didn’t give a shit.
Ricky had offered to leave sooner so he could drop me behind my apartment and I could walk to work. I didn’t see the point. Anyone spotting his bike in Cainsville would know exactly what had happened. I’d spot-cleaned and ironed my uniform at the motel, and I’d showered and put on lipstick and mascara from my purse. Good enough.
There was one thing I’d forgotten—to turn my phone back on and check for messages. Being with Ricky was like going on a vacation, and I sure as hell hadn’t wanted to be reminded of my “back home life” with voice mail and texts. When I did turn it on, I had three missed calls, three voice mails, and four texts. Six were from Gabriel. I ignored them and checked the others.
One voice mail was from Rose. She’d found some interesting information, let her know when I could come by. One missed call and one voice mail were from James. I hadn’t heard from him since I’d walked out of his office, and now he phones. Damn it. He’d left a simple “I’d like to talk. Call me.” I sent him a text saying I was at work. Did I promise to call later? I did not.
The last non-Gabriel message cheered me up. A text from Ricky sent right after he’d dropped me off. A simple Have a good day at work. Talk later.
Then it was on to Gabriel. Two missed calls. One voice mail. Three texts. All with the same message: “Where the hell are you, damn it?” Not in those exact words. Gabriel would never be so crude. But the messages became increasingly curt, his patience fraying.
I sent a text before I started setting tables. Got your messages. Early night. Missed calls. Sorry! Give me 5. While Ricky and I didn’t plan to hide our relationship from Gabriel and Ricky’s father, neither of us was exactly anxious to deal with those conversations.
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re apologizing. I’m pretty sure if anyone should apologize, it’s the person who had her hands where they should never be on someone operating a motor vehicle.”
“Oh, I wasn’t complaining. I just—I thought I had it under control, and then—”
“Stop. I said yes. You used a condom. If you keep apologizing, I’m going to presume that means you don’t ever want to do that again, and I’m really hoping that’s not the case because . . .” My tongue slipped between my teeth. “Hell and damn, that was good.”
He smiled, but I could tell he was still worrying he’d messed up, been too eager, disappointed me.
Since we’d first met, Ricky had pursued me with the confidence of a man twice his age. Now that he’d succeeded, the doubts and vulnerability peeked through, and I knew they’d vanish again when he got his footing, but it was fascinating to see, more contradictions adding to his endless tangle of them.
He kissed me then, one hand behind my head, cushioning it from the ground, the other under my ass. When a car passed, he broke the kiss only long enough to make sure the long grass hid us. Then another noise stopped him: my grumbling stomach.
“It’s reminding me that I promised you dinner,” he said. “And I should damn well deliver before I try for more.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Dinner? Or more sex?”
I laughed. “I mean that after lying on the grass, I’m not in any condition to be taken to a restaurant.”
“Would you settle for pizza? Delivered?”
I slid from under him and sat up. “Delivered where?”
“Here, of course.”
We were in the middle of nowhere, on an empty road surrounded, I was sure, by more empty roads.
“If you could manage that—” I began.
“—you’d spend the night with me? Yes, you have work in the morning. I’ll get you back in time. But if I can manage to get pizza delivered here, will you let me find us a place for the night? I know that’s not what you had in mind.”
“I—”
He cut me off with a quick kiss. “I aim to impress, and I need a bed to do it. Besides, you don’t believe I can get a pizza delivered out here, so . . .”
“Go on and try.”
“We have a deal?”
“We do.”
He had to walk to his bike to get decent cell service. Then he used his phone to look up a place. He called one. I heard a male voice answer. Ricky said he had the wrong number, hung up, and called another place. He got a woman this time and shifted into full charm mode, chatting away. After about two exchanges, I knew he had her. It was too damned easy for him. So I decided to make it tougher.
I started unbuttoning my blouse. He caught the movement and looked over. He could have looked away. He didn’t. As I stripteased, his eyes never left me. Nor did he falter for one goddamned second in his other conquest, even as the growing bulge in his jeans told me my performance was not unappreciated. Less than two minutes later, he hung up.
“Pizza’s on its way, isn’t it?” I said.
“Yep. Twenty minutes. Which gives you plenty of time to finish.” He took a step forward. “Unless you want help.”
“Not yet,” I said.
“You’ll tell me when?”
“You’ll wait until I do?”
He grinned, his look sending heat through me. “That might require ropes. Strong ropes.”
“Another time,” I said. “For now, you’ll wait. Right there. Until I’m ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and eased back to watch the show.
—
I think Ricky was right: strong ropes would be required to hold him back when he wanted something. Possibly chains. I teased until it was clear he was about two seconds from breaking. Then I said the word and got very enthusiastic, very satisfying sex, with a few minutes to spare before pizza arrived and we ate, half dressed, on the grass.
At the motor inn, he did indeed show me exactly how attentive he could be. I was soundly asleep ten minutes after, the clock having not yet even struck nine.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two days ago, I’d compared my trek through James’s office to a walk of shame, stumbling back after an unexpected all-nighter, everyone who sees you knowing what you were up to. Now I was doing exactly that. Getting dropped off at the diner at seven in the morning, still wearing my uniform from the night before, still with the guy I’d left with the afternoon before. And I didn’t give a shit.
Ricky had offered to leave sooner so he could drop me behind my apartment and I could walk to work. I didn’t see the point. Anyone spotting his bike in Cainsville would know exactly what had happened. I’d spot-cleaned and ironed my uniform at the motel, and I’d showered and put on lipstick and mascara from my purse. Good enough.
There was one thing I’d forgotten—to turn my phone back on and check for messages. Being with Ricky was like going on a vacation, and I sure as hell hadn’t wanted to be reminded of my “back home life” with voice mail and texts. When I did turn it on, I had three missed calls, three voice mails, and four texts. Six were from Gabriel. I ignored them and checked the others.
One voice mail was from Rose. She’d found some interesting information, let her know when I could come by. One missed call and one voice mail were from James. I hadn’t heard from him since I’d walked out of his office, and now he phones. Damn it. He’d left a simple “I’d like to talk. Call me.” I sent him a text saying I was at work. Did I promise to call later? I did not.
The last non-Gabriel message cheered me up. A text from Ricky sent right after he’d dropped me off. A simple Have a good day at work. Talk later.
Then it was on to Gabriel. Two missed calls. One voice mail. Three texts. All with the same message: “Where the hell are you, damn it?” Not in those exact words. Gabriel would never be so crude. But the messages became increasingly curt, his patience fraying.
I sent a text before I started setting tables. Got your messages. Early night. Missed calls. Sorry! Give me 5. While Ricky and I didn’t plan to hide our relationship from Gabriel and Ricky’s father, neither of us was exactly anxious to deal with those conversations.
