They both moaned as he slid into her, the sound mingling on their joined lips. He moved slowly, with short, gentle strokes and she raised her hips to meet them. She savored the sweet friction of every thrust as he murmured in her ear—telling her how hot she was and how amazing it felt and how he never wanted it to end.
As his pace quickened, Beth ran her hands over his back, reveling in the light sheen of sweat and the way his muscles rippled under her touch. She was drowning in the intensity of his blue eyes and she closed her eyes as the long-awaited orgasm took hold. He thrust harder and she heard him groan as he found his own release.
As the tremors faded, he lowered himself on top of her, a hot, heavy weight she didn’t mind at all. He kissed the side of her neck and she smiled, stroking his hair. They lay like that a few minutes, catching their breath, before Kevin rolled away. She felt the bed shift under his weight, and then he was back, pulling her against his body.
“I’m glad you stayed,” he said into her hair.
“Me, too.” Very, very glad.
***
A night on her feet followed by a night on her back under Kevin without sustenance had Beth awake at too-early o’clock, her stomach rumbling in protest. Doughnuts, she thought. She’d sneak down to the continental breakfast nook, filch some doughnuts and coffee, and be back before Kevin woke.
It took her a few minutes of rummaging to find her clothes and, when she was dressed, she went digging through Kevin’s clothes for his hotel key card.
And found napkins. The cocktail napkins she’d handed out with drinks, though they hadn’t had names and phone numbers scrawled on them at the time. Oh, and fun notes, too.
I’m a former gymnast and I can still hook my ankles behind my head. Call me!
When she snorted, Kevin rolled over, barely cracking his eyes open, and muttered, “Make sure you lock the door when you leave.”
Beth froze as all the warm afterglow left her body in a disappointed whoosh. So much for him not being
that
guy.
She didn’t waste any more time hunting for his key card. Slipping into the hallway—and making sure the door locked behind her—she told herself she’d never see the man again.
And this time she meant it.
Three weeks later, Beth was doing laps of the drugstore. She’d spent ten minutes analyzing lip balm. Another five smelling cheap air fresheners. Fifteen picking a card for her mother’s birthday, which was still three months away.
Anything to avoid her real destination—the feminine stuff aisle. The one with the tampons and freshening-up things and creams. And home pregnancy tests.
They’d used a condom. And she was only a week late. It could be stress. She should just take her lip balm, birthday card and paranoia and go home.
But her cycle ran like Swiss clockwork. And condoms were ninety-eight percent effective, which meant they had a two percent failure rate. She had a gut feeling statistics were about to kick her ass.
It only took her a few minutes to find the test that promised to be accurate as early as her first late day, and five more to walk home.
The smell hit Beth as she reached the top of the second flight of stairs and turned down the hall to her apartment—old cat urine and stale poverty. She should be used to it by now, since she’d lived in the building for three months, but she’d yet to acquire immunity to the smell of cat piss. It was a good thing she planned to be on to the next city before summer came around again.
But what if there was a blue plus sign in the window?
Her key was ready in her hand, minimizing the time she had to stand in the hall, and she closed the door as quickly as she could once inside. It wasn’t a lot warmer, thanks to a landlord who seemed to think ancient furnaces and a lack of insulation were sufficient for a New England winter, but it smelled a lot better. And that was thanks to a whole lot of elbow grease,
not
her landlord.
She tossed the drugstore bag on the card table that passed for a dining room table, then crossed to the ancient rocking chair she’d rescued from the sidewalk to take off her shoes. The only other piece of furniture in the apartment, besides the metal folding chair that made the card table a dining room
set,
was a twin bed she’d picked up cheap at the Goodwill store. And it would all be donated back to Goodwill when she was ready to get on a bus again in three or four months. Whenever the mood struck.
Unless there was a blue plus sign in the window.
She couldn’t have a baby. A baby meant a home. A real home, not a cheap apartment or by-the-week motel room. And a minivan. Moms drive minivans.
Beth didn’t even have a car, never mind a Mom-mobile. She liked the bus—it was somehow reminiscent of hobos riding the rails. She’d land in a small city she liked, find a job and a place to live, then earn enough money to move on to the next place.
It made income tax time a horror show, but she loved her life. Landing in a new place with nothing but a backpack and one suitcase was like starting over once or twice a year. Nobody to answer to, especially her parents. Leaving their nest, and keeping her nest on the move kept them from hovering too much.
She wasted as much time as she could. The apartment was spotless, but she had a coffee mug and a spoon to wash. She sorted her laundry, checking her pockets carefully since she’d washed and dried her last cellphone. It hadn’t been a big deal because Derek the drunken asshole had supplied her with a BlackBerry, but he’d demanded that back. She always had a landline, though, just to please her father. He’d also coerced her into keeping one low-limit credit card she rarely used along with the landline so at least she’d have something on her credit report should she ever grow up and buy a house. What he didn’t seem to understand was leaving them behind, living the way she did, was the only way she
could
grow up.
When there was nothing left to distract her, she opened the home pregnancy test packaging and unfolded the directions. And…her telephone rang.
Credit report, be damned. She wasn’t paying for caller ID, but it was either her parents or her boss. “Hello?”
“Were you planning to come home for the holidays?”
Her mother never said hello. She just opened her mouth and let her train of thought run loose. “I’m not sure yet.”
She wasn’t sure of anything with that damn plastic wand sitting on the table. She usually took the bus down to Florida at least twice a year for a visit, once usually being for Christmas.
“Adelle and Bob want us to go on a cruise with them because the Donaldsons were going to go with them but had to cancel last minute. They can transfer the tickets to us, but it’s in six weeks. Can you believe that?
Six!
Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“Who’s going to cover your line dancing classes? And knitting class? And the other billion classes you teach?”
A patented Shelly Hansen sigh. “Your father thinks I should slow down a little. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“You’re only fifty-two, Mom.” Just like that it hit her. She was twenty-six. The exact same age her mother had been when she gave birth to her only child who survived to term. “Crap.”
“What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
“No, I…stubbed my toe.” It was on the tip of her tongue—the urge to lean on her mother’s shoulder, even by phone.
But she’d put off doing the test so now she didn’t know for sure and she’d hate to get their hopes up. Though she’d disappointed them by dropping out of business school to be a nomad, they loved her unconditionally and a grandbaby would make them ecstatic. And they’d rejoice at her having an irrevocable reason for growing up.
There was also a possibility they’d drop everything and show up on her doorstep. The problem with being the only baby to survive five pregnancies? Smothering. Crushing, suffocating micromanagement and hovering. With the amount of time they spent coddling and hugging her as a child, she was surprised she got enough oxygen.
Then came her teen years. Where was she? When would she be home? The constant checking in. It only got worse when she started business school, and that’s when she first packed a suitcase and got on a bus. Not to sever her claustrophobic relationship with her parents, but to save it.
“About that cruise…”
Beth smiled, picturing her mother picking at her thumbnail. “You should go, Mom. Really. Where I work now gets busy with Christmas parties and stuff.”
“Are you sure? We can go another time.”
“I’m sure. Go with Bob and Adelle while you can. You know you and Dad will get bored with each other if it’s just the two of you. Send me postcards.”
“You won’t move while we’re gone will you?”
That made her laugh, which got another sigh. “No. I’ll stay put so you don’t need to worry about me.”
They chatted a few minutes about life in a Florida retirement community. Her parents were on the young side, her father being a wise and lucky businessman, but it suited them as well as her wandering suited her.
“Your father’s waiting for me now. He’s got a coupon for the salad bar, but it’s only good during early-bird hours.”
After her mother assured her several times her cellphone would work on the ship, they said goodbye and there was nothing left for Beth to do but pee on a stick.
Three minutes later, there was a blue plus sign in the window.
Her future flashed before her eyes. Diapers. Minivans. And Kevin Kowalski.
***
I can suck a golf ball through a garden hose. Call me!
Because he was a gentleman, Kevin gave the woman a wink and a wave instead of letting her know claiming a level of suction that would turn his balls inside out wasn’t really all that sexy. And he waited until she was gone before tossing the napkin in Paulie’s direction.
It was almost a full minute before she stopped laughing. “Be cheaper in the long run to stick your dick in a vacuum hose.”
He shuddered, then took the napkin back and tossed it into the basket Paulie kept next to the register for that purpose. The guys would like that one.
“You should keep her number,” Paulie said. “She might come in handy if the sink gets clogged again.”
She was still laughing when she walked by, balancing a tray of drinks, and he slapped her on the ass as she went.
Paulie Reed was his assistant manager-slash-bartender-slash-waitress and she brought in the big bucks. Flaming red hair, breasts that mounded into cleavage so spectacular a man could suffocate in there. Slim waist, legs that went on forever and she knew the ERA for every pitcher to take the mound at Fenway. She was a walking, talking, stats-spouting wet dream for a sports bar-frequenting kind of guy, but if you laid a hand on her, chances were you wouldn’t be able to hold a fork for a while.
She’d come with the bar when he bought it a couple years back and it had taken him all of about five minutes to realize she was worth every penny Jasper had paid her. It had taken another few days and one misguided, mutually disappointing kiss in the kitchen pantry to realize she might be one of the hottest women he knew, but they had zero sexual chemistry.
And speaking of sexual chemistry, he looked up just in time to see Beth walk through the front door and the memory of their chemistry had an immediate effect on his anatomy.
She was either on her way to or from work, but even in a stiff white blouse and black pants, she would have turned his head. But, unfortunately, she’d already turned his head and then turned him upside down with her little Cinderella act. Before he even opened his eyes the morning after Joe’s wedding, he’d been looking forward to taking Beth out for breakfast. And maybe breakfast the following morning, too.
Instead, she’d been gone. No note. No phone number jotted down on the notepad next to the phone. Nothing. The people she worked for wouldn’t give him a damn thing. It had crossed his mind a few times to give Officer Jones a call. If her info was on the police report from her boss’s arrest, maybe Jonesy would trade it on the sly for another pair of Celtics tickets.
Pride kept him from picking up the phone, though. If she had wanted to see him again, she would have given him a way to contact her. But now, almost a month later, here she was.
“Hey, stranger,” he said, maybe too pointedly, when she’d hoisted herself onto a barstool.
“Hi. Sorry I didn’t leave a note on my pillow. I didn’t think there was much of a point since it wasn’t going anywhere.”
It might have gone somewhere if she hadn’t dumped him like a bad blind date. “I’d hoped it would at least go as far as breakfast.”
She gave a short, barking laugh. “If you wanted me to stay for breakfast, you shouldn’t have told me to lock the door behind me when I left.”
He said
what?
“I don’t remember that.”
“You couldn’t even be bothered to wake up all the way. You kind of mumbled it at me and capped it off with a snore.”
He would have slapped himself in the forehead if she wasn’t standing there, watching him. “Listen, I was asleep. I swear, my plan was to take you out to breakfast. Get to know each other better and find out how soon I could see you again.”
She didn’t believe him. He could see it on her face. “I’m supposed to be happy you didn’t
mean
to send me on the walk of shame?”
It was a trap. Not an obvious one, but her tone and her body language suggested he had one foot hovering over a spear-lined pit. “I don’t know if it will make you happy to hear it, but I wanted you to stay.”
“Uh-huh. Makes me very happy to know I slept with a man who sends so many women on the walk of shame, he gives the exit line in his sleep by habit.”
“Beth, come on. I’m a single guy. I own a sports bar. I live right upstairs. You knew I wasn’t a virgin.”
“No, but I didn’t know you were a—” She stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “Never mind.”
Never mind
what?
He didn’t want to never mind. He wanted to know what he’d done to deserve her low opinion of him. Unfortunately, Paulie chose that moment to appear at his elbow, obviously angling for an introduction. He never should have told her about that night.
“This is Paulie,” he said obediently. “She’s my assistant manager. Paulie, Beth. She’s…well, you remember her. I broke her boss’s nose a couple weeks back.”
What was he supposed to say?
This is the woman I told you about. The one I thought maybe was special, but she obviously didn’t feel the same. And no, I won’t say she broke my heart but, yeah, it hurt a little.
He watched the two women shake hands, each giving the other a speculative look, and gave a sigh of relief when Paulie walked away after mutual nice-to-meet-yous were exchanged.
“I guess I deserved that,” Beth muttered.
“What did I do?”
“You couldn’t just introduce me as a friend? Or an acquaintance, at least?”
Paulie didn’t need to know she was the woman he’d thought might be special. “Was trying to avoid making you feel awkward. Failed, I guess.”
“No, I…sorry. I’m a bit out of sorts. Can we talk? Privately, I mean. Or should I come back another time?”
He couldn’t imagine what they had to talk about, but he’d play along. His office had stacks of paperwork on every flat surface except his chair, though. “Paulie can handle the bar. We can go upstairs where it’s quiet.”
Her expression was grim and, having some experience with rowdy patrons, he wondered if Derek the drunken asshole boss was making good on his threat of lawsuits.
He’d find out soon enough, he thought as he signaled for Paulie to take over for him. And he’d find out her damn phone number, too.
***
Kevin didn’t talk on the way up to his apartment in an elevator that looked more like a decrepit, oversized dumbwaiter. His silence made Beth nervous, but it also gave her more time to rehearse what she was going to say. Of course, she’d been rehearsing for two days and still had no clue what was going to come out of her mouth. She’d talked to her mirror, to herself, to her ceiling in the middle of the night. Didn’t help at all when she was standing here next to the man whose life she was about to turn upside down.
As he unlocked his apartment door and gestured her inside, her hands started to shake. He pointed to the couch and told her to have a seat, but she chose to sit in the single armchair. If he sat next to her—close enough to touch her—she might chicken out.