At Peace (7 page)

“You do that often?” he asked.

“Not really,” I answered since I was with Tim
and only Tim, back in the day and then forever, but it had
impressed Tim. “Seems strange to me, why that’d impress a guy.”

Joe made no attempt to enlighten me.

“It’s good you all grow out of that,” I noted
sensibly.

“Give you fifty dollars right now, you do
it.”

I blinked. “What?”

He straightened, pulled his wallet out of his
back pocket, flipped it open and pulled out a bill. Then he placed
it on the bar between us and I saw it was a fifty dollar bill. I
looked up from the money to him when he spoke.

“That’s yours, you do it,” Joe said as he
shoved the wallet back in his pocket.

“Are you serious?” I whispered.

Joe didn’t respond verbally, he just reached
out and nabbed a cherry by the stem, turned and held it out to
me.

I stared at the cherry. He was serious.

“Fifty dollars to knot the stem with my
tongue?” I checked, just to make sure.

“You can’t do it.”

“
I can do it, I’m just…” I paused, coming
off my elbow I reached out and took the cherry from him, “out of
practice.”

Joe didn’t say anything and I wondered how I
got myself into this. I was going to be sitting there moving my
mouth around like an idiot while Joe watched and probably in the
end not knotting the dumb cherry stem.

But I couldn’t back out now. It wasn’t about
the fifty dollars, it was about my pride.

I plucked the cherry off the stem with my
teeth, looked anywhere but at Joe as I chewed and swallowed, took a
sip of my vodka and cranberry juice to clear my mouth in
preparation for my endeavor then popped the stem in.

Within seconds, I’d done it. It wasn’t hard
at all. I guessed it was like riding a bike.

I slid the stem from between my lips, showed
him the result and set it on my cocktail napkin.

His clear blue eyes were on the stem when I
asked, “You impressed?”

His head tipped to my glass. “That your
last?”

I stared at him a second not following then I
asked, “Last drink?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…” I tried to gauge if he was trying to
say he was ready to go home since he was my ride. It would be rude
to make him stay longer when he wanted to leave so I answered on a
question just in case he was ready to hang out awhile since I
wanted to hang out awhile. “Yes?”

“Drink up, buddy.”

I guess he wasn’t ready to hang out
awhile.

I was weirdly deflated the cherry stem
knotting thing hadn’t impressed him. Tim thought it was the
shit.

I lifted my drink and put the straw to my
lips, sucking back the rest of my vodka at the same time Joe’s
fingers wrapped around my upper arm. He slid me off the stool as I
kept the glass in my hand, straw to my mouth and sucked. I also
kept sucking on my straw as Joe grabbed my purse from the bar and
handed it to me then slid the fifty from the bar and shoved it in
my front jeans pocket.

I looked up at him when he called, “Morrie,
Violet paid or is she on a tab?”

“Tab,” Morrie answered.

I was realizing that I might be drunker than
I expected seeing as I was standing which everyone knew made you
drunker after you sat for a good while and imbibed. Therefore,
since I was assessing the level of my drunkenness, I didn’t
intervene when Joe dug his wallet out of his pocket, pulled out
some bills and tossed them on the bar.

“That doesn’t cover it, I’ll catch you
later,” Joe told Morrie.

“You got it, dude,” Morrie replied.

Joe shoved his wallet back in his pocket and
pulled the drink out of my hand even though I was still sucking the
dregs out through the straw (making that slurping noise). He put it
on the bar, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door.

He was parked on the street several car
lengths down from the bar. He bleeped the locks as we approached
and when we got there he pulled open the passenger side door.

For some reason his truck seemed significant
to me and my first ride in it even more significant so I just stood
in the door, staring at the seat I should be planting my ass in and
not moving because I was both unbelievably scared and utterly
thrilled. Neither feeling made a lick of sense but I had them both
all the same. It was like, if I got in his truck and the door
closed on me, my life was going to change radically.

“Buddy, climb up,” Joe sounded impatient when
I just stood there staring in his truck and he used my hand to push
me closer to the seat.

I tipped my head way back and looked at him.
“You have a nice truck,” I informed him mostly in an effort to
stall.

Joe ignored my compliment and ordered, “Climb
up.”

“Maybe I should walk home,” I suggested.

Joe stared down at me a second then he let go
of my hand, bent at the waist, slid an arm behind my knees and one
around my waist and, within half a second, my ass was in the seat.
Another half a second, the door was closed.

Joe Callahan just lifted me bodily into his
truck.

I took in a deep breath and closed my
eyes.

“What’s the matter with me?” I whispered into
the cab and opened my eyes to see Joe had rounded the hood. He
opened his door, swung his big body behind the wheel and slammed
his door.

We were both in and that feeling of fear
assailed me, along with the thrill but the thrill was edging out
the fear. I was in the passenger seat of a car, it wasn’t me
driving, it wasn’t me responsible. It was me who got to sit back
and relax and be taken home.

And I was in that truck with Joe Callahan.
Joe Callahan who was scary and thrilling all in himself. He was
more man than I’d ever known and I spent most my adult life around
cops. His maleness filled the cab, dangerous, assertive, assaulting
my senses. I didn’t like him, I was pretty sure of that fact but I
admitted, drunk and sitting in his truck, that he fascinated me and
not because he was Security to the Stars but because he was Joe
Callahan.

“You wanna buckle up?” Joe asked and I turned
to see he was facing me, forearm on the steering wheel, the truck
was running and Joe was looking as impatient as he sounded.

He wanted to get home.

I wanted to know where he got those scars on
his cheek.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and buckled up.

Joe put the truck in gear and pulled into the
street.

“This is nice of you,” I said as he
drove.

Joe didn’t answer.

I realized Joe wasn’t much of a
conversationalist at about the same time I realized the truck was
nice. It was clearly top of the line with all the bells and
whistles and he took care of it. It wasn’t just shiny on the
outside but the inside was clean and looked brand new. The ride was
quiet and smooth and Joe drove the big truck like he was born
behind the wheel of a pickup.

As he drove silently, I was again reminded
how nice it was just to sit back and let someone drive me home.
There was no particular reason I was having this feeling since, not
but a few hours earlier, Colt and Feb took me to J&J’s. And Tim
always drove, I couldn’t remember a time when we went somewhere
when he wasn’t at the wheel. This never bothered me, I didn’t care
if he drove, it only bothered me when he wasn’t around to do it
anymore but, after nearly a year and a half, I’d gotten used to it.
Now I realized I missed it.

I was so deep in these thoughts I didn’t
notice that we were on our street until Joe turned into his drive
and something new hit me. Like being in the truck with him, the
sensation was strong, it was scary and it was thrilling. After
seeing this truck in his drive on and off for months, even before
knowing Joe, but definitely after, and now sitting
in
his truck,
in
his drive, staring at his house through the
windshield, a vantage point I never thought I’d have, I felt
something I didn’t understand. There was something profound about
it, something I couldn’t put my finger on but, for some weird
reason, it felt life-altering.

I jumped when Joe’s door slammed and I found
myself nervous. I turned and fumbled with my buckle, getting it
released only when Joe pulled open my door. I hitched my purse up
my shoulder and hopped out of the truck. Joe had his hand on the
door so I moved out of the way, he threw it to and I looked at him
to give him my thanks again for the ride but he was moving.

I stood there for several beats as I watched
his big body walk across the yard toward my house.

Even though I lived next door, in Joe
Callahan style, he was going to walk me safely home.

I didn’t know what to feel about this but had
no time to figure it out and no choice but to follow him, pulling
my purse from my arm and digging through it to get my keys as I
walked. I had my keys in hand, the correct one between my fingers
and Joe was standing in the light I’d turned on by the side door
when I arrived. I stopped, Joe took the keys from my hand and he
slid the key into the lock, turned it, slid it out and opened the
door.

I swallowed nervously as the beeps went for
the alarm. Moving just beyond him, I twisted my torso into the
house, punched in the code and the beeping stopped. I took a deep
breath, pulled my torso out of the house, turned and tipped my head
back to look at him.

In the outside light, the night shrouding us,
he looked sinister again just as much as he looked rugged and
interesting and something new assailed me. It was that fear, that
thrill but there was something else. Something insistent, needy,
like a hunger I didn’t quite understand and my mouth went dry at
the power of it.

“Thanks for the ride,” I whispered, unable to
speak any louder.

Joe didn’t respond nor did he move.

I didn’t know what to do. I had thought he
was eager to get home but he had his opportunity to escape and he
was just standing there, staring at me in that way of his,
something working behind his eyes.

Then I realized that I was being rude.

“
Would you like to come in…?” I hesitated
then finished, “for a drink or something?”

At first, Joe didn’t reply.

Then he said softly, his tone strange,
like he was talking to himself even though I was right there, “You
already think I’m a dick.”

I felt my heart beat faster and I whispered,
“Joe –”

Joe cut me off. “So, don’t matter tomorrow
morning you still think I’m a dick, ‘cause now, even though you’re
drunk, I’m gonna take you inside and fuck you ‘til you ache.”

My heart stopped beating and my breath
stopped coming which was bad, considering Joe grabbed my hand and
pulled me into my house. He stopped to close and lock the door then
he tossed my keys on the counter, pulled my purse off my arm and
tossed that on the counter too then he dragged me through the
kitchen, the dining area, the open study and straight to my
bedroom.

I didn’t struggle. I didn’t do anything even
when he stopped in my room, let my hand go and shrugged off his
leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. Then his hands came
to my little corduroy jacket and he pulled it down my arms.

“
Uh…” I mumbled, lifting my hands belatedly
as he moved closer, “Joe –”

But my hands hit his hard chest then my arms
were squashed between our bodies when one of Joe’s arms sliced low
around my hips and he yanked me to him, his other hand fisted in my
hair, twisting tight. I felt an illicit pain against my scalp that
I shouldn’t have liked but I did. I liked it a lot. So much I felt
it not only in my scalp but throughout my body. His fist in my hair
positioned my head, tugging it back but tilting it to the side so
when his mouth came down on mine hard I was right where he wanted
me.

And I wanted to be there. There was no other
thought, not to protest, to push away, to fight. I just wanted to
be there, pressed against him, his arm around me, his hand in my
hair and his mouth on mine.

I opened my mouth, his tongue spiked in, I
liked the taste of him, the feel of his tongue and my body
liquefied in his arms. My hands forced their way from between our
bodies so my fingers could slide into his thick, overlong hair and
I pressed deep into his big body. I gave no thought to what I was
doing and who I was doing it with. I gave no thought to anything. I
just felt and what I felt was unbelievably good.

His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was greedy,
demanding and I liked it, so much I mewed in protest when he took
his mouth away but didn’t protest when his hands went to my t-shirt
and yanked it over my head, pulling it free and tossing it away. He
moved into me, turning me, guiding me to the bed and I went down on
it. Joe towered over me, pulling up a calf to yank off my boot then
my sock then he went after the other one and did the same. Without
delay, he leaned in, his hands went to my buckle and he’d undone it
and my jeans and had them down my legs before I could take two
breaths.

And I was breathing hard, already turned on.
I came up to sitting which meant I collided with Joe when he came
down on me and that’s when it really started.

I yanked his shirt out of jeans and pulled
it over his head, his arms lifting to help me. I tugged it free and
threw it to the floor then his hands came back to me and his mouth,
his tongue, his teeth. I wanted them and all they were doing to my
mouth, my neck, my ears, it was brilliant, my body was alive,
vibrating, like I’d woken up from a seven hundred year sleep but
what woke me was an electric shock. At the same time I wanted what
he was doing to me back from him. I used my hands, my nails, my
mouth and tongue everywhere I could touch, every inch I could
taste.

It was wild, almost a struggle. I couldn’t
get enough of him, take enough from him. No matter what I got, I
wanted more, like a craving that hollowed out my insides, needing
to be filled.