Be Good (8 page)

Brett stopped walk
ing and turned to face me. “I’m glad you decided to take a risk with me. Even if I’m not dark and dangerous.”

“And who says you’re not dangerous,” I teased.

“No one had ever mistaken me for dangerous.”

Not taking my eyes from Brett’s, I moved in closer. “Maybe nobody has gotten close enough to bring out your dangerous side. I know it’s there, Mr. Conner. I
f you didn’t have a dangerous side, you never would have slept with me that first night. You just needed someone like me to bring it out.”

I could see Brett swallow hard. “I think we need to get back to the townhouse.”

“Nice try at changing the subject. Does it make you uncomfortable that we’re so attracted to each other? Does it make you feel like you could lose control?”

He nodded.

“Good. Let’s go back to your place.”

And we did.

Five

Brett walked me upstairs as if he
was walking me to my doorstep after a date. It was a sweet gesture.

He gave me a peck on the lips and we both stood looking at each other. 

“I’m not tired,” I said with a glance into the guest bedroom. I wasn’t ready for him to go downstairs and leave me alone. It felt good just being with him, talking with him and having him close to me. Brett made me feel safe. I could be myself with him, which wasn’t something I was with very many people. That’s a lie; I hadn’t ever been truly myself with anyone.

Brett gave me a half smile. “Neither am I.”

He took my hand and led me over to the bed. We both lay down on our backs, fully clothed. Brett took my hand and held it. We turned to face each other.

Brett seemed to be inspecting every inch of my face.

“What,” I asked.

“I’m memorizing your face
.” He said it was if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Why?” I laughed.

“Because I’m not going to see you for a while. I want to remember everything about you. The way your nose turns up slightly and your mouth turns up a little more on the left when you grin. The way your blue eyes sparkle when the light hits them at a certain angle.”

I could feel a lump starting to form in
my throat. I had never gotten into romance and I didn’t want to be a sappy girl, who cried when a guy got all mushy. I wasn’t
that girl
. Was I?

“What are we doing, Brett? You don’t want sex. You said you want to get to know me better but why? What
’s the angle here?”

He propped himself on one elbow and looked into my eyes. “First of all, I never said I didn’t want sex. I just said we weren’t having sex this weekend. There’s a big difference. I want to have sex almost every minute I’m with you. I just want to take things slow. I want you to let me love you first
—before we have sex.”

Then he leaned over and gave me a soft kiss.

I wanted more—so much more. We looked into each other’s eyes and I felt like he was looking into my soul. As many times as I had shared my body with other guys, I had never had a moment as intimate as this one and we were both fully clothed.

Yet I felt naked
and completely exposed. Brett leaned in and kissed me again, this time with more intensity and passion. A shiver ran through me as his kisses became more heated and needy.

When we
stopped for a breath, I said, “I thought you didn’t want to have sex yet.”

He looked at me puzzled. “I don’t.”

Now I was the one with the puzzled expression. Then what were we doing? Things were definitely starting to heat up.

“We can just make out and not have sex.”

But why, I wondered, but I was afraid to say it.

He eyed me with suspicion. “Haven’t you just made out with a guy without having sex? When you first start dating?”

“Maybe when I was twelve,” I joked but I could see Brett wasn’t laughing. He didn’t even crack a smile.

I shrugged. “I like sex.” I said
it as if that was the answer to everything. I wanted to stop the line of questioning but I could tell by the look in his eyes he was far from done with the conversation.

A touch of sadness seemed to creep into Brett’s eyes. Or maybe it was disappointment. I had never given much thought to my sex life before I met Brett. I had a reputation
for being easy and it was well deserved.

“So you’ve had sex with every guy you’ve ever kissed. You never said no.”

I gulped. I could feel the words sticking in my throat. How could I tell him that it never even occurred to me that I could say no? Once things started I never stopped them. 

I could feel myself shrinking again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer any more of his questions but Brett pressed on. He was like a detective out to find everything he could about me. Like he had to solve the mystery of Anna before it was too late.

“Did you ever have sex even when you didn’t want to?” His look was so intense it scared me a little.

My mind immediately flashed back to Rodney Porter. He was one of the star football players, a senior, and I couldn’t believe
it when he asked me out. I was only a freshman. We made out in the back seat of his car. I remembered it was really cramped. It was a few months before summer break. He turned the engine off, so there was no air conditioning. It was sweltering hot. As we were making out, he started to sweat a lot. He was sweating so much it starting dripping all over me. I was sweltering and it was so cramped and he was so sweaty, all I could think of was, “Just get it over with.” I just wanted him to have sex with me so I could get out of the back of his car and get away from him and his disgusting sweat dripping everywhere.

That was the first time I had sex when I really didn’t want to but it certainly wasn’t the last time.

I didn’t look at Brett. I couldn’t. I just nodded. I could hear him exhale, long and hard. I thought for sure he was going to get up and leave that he would be completely disgusted with me.

“Look at me,” Brett
demanded.

When I finally got the courage to look into his eyes, I could see they were wet. He was holding back tears. “Promise me you’ll never do that again. Promise me you’ll only have sex when you really want to and that you’ll say no if you don’t.”

“Okay,” I agreed although I wasn’t sure I could actually stick to my promise. Saying no wasn’t easy when you were easy. But my response seemed to satisfy Brett for the moment anyway.

“And what about you?
There were times you made out but didn’t get past first base?”

He laughed. “I never got past first base. In high school, I was like a human set of training wheels for nerdy and geeky girls. They’d date me and we’d make out. Then they’d break up with me and find someone else to get serious with. For a while, it was a pattern. Christie, she was a band geek. She played the clarinet. We dated
our sophomore year of high school. I finally got the courage to kiss her the night after the Holiday band concert. We made out in her parents’ basement. The next week in school, she dumped me for the snare drum player. They dated for two years after that. Melanie was a theater rat. We dated our junior year of high school. We’d sneak into the lighting booth and make out. She dumped me for the guy, who played the lead in Fiddler on The Roof. I guess she couldn’t resist his beautiful tenor voice.”

Even though his story was sad, I couldn’t help but smile at the image of Melanie swooning over
Tevye while singing “Sunrise, Sunset.”

“At the end of my senior year, I dated Marcy. She was the Science Fair State Champion. We went to prom together and made out at the
After Party. The next day, she dumped me for one of the State Science Fair runners-up.”

“That’s one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard
.” I lifted my hand and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand then took a deep breath.

When
he opened his eyes and looked at me, there was still a bit of sadness there. “Please don’t dump me for a snare drum player.”

I smiled and gave him a light kiss. “I promise I won’t dump you for a snare drum player.” I kissed him again. “Or a cast member of
Fiddler on the Roof
.” I gave him another kiss. “Or any science fair contestants.”

“Do you want to make out some more?” he
asked.

I kissed him as my affirmation.

“Good,” he said and kissed me back. 

***

When I awoke on Monday morning, I was so overcome with sadness, I could hardly breathe. It was like a blanket of sorrow had enveloped me in the middle of the night and now it threatened to suffocate me. The feeling was so consuming and completely foreign, I didn’t know how to react.

I was
overwhelmed with the feeling that I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back to Phoenix—back to my dead end job—back to my tiny apartment and my witch roommate and her evil cat.

I wanted to stay with Brett.

But it was ridiculous to even consider. We had only spent a few days together. I couldn’t very well move in with him. We weren’t even sexually active yet. Well, technically, we weren’t sexually active
again
, since we hooked up at the wedding.

I pulled myself up from the bed and looked around. A big part of me was afraid this might be the last time I’d stay here. Call it old habits but I was used to guys quickly tiring of me and dumping me for the next flavor of the week.

Not that I thought Brett was like that. But did I really know him that well? I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe that he truly cared about me and wanted something more but I was still cautious. I still needed to protect my not-so-desolate heart, just in case.

I thought I heard noises out in the garden. I hopped out of bed and went over to the window
. Brett must have gotten up early because he was already futzing around in the garden.

I threw on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and decided to join him.

Brett was so engrossed in his gardening, he didn’t notice me at first. When I offered, “Is there anything I can do to help?” He looked startled.

“I don’t expect you to do hard labor while you’re here.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t call gardening hard labor and I really do want to help. If you want me to.”

He turned to face me, his eye narrowed. “You can help if you really want to.”

“I really want to,” I assured him.

He still didn’t look convinced but he handed me some shears
. “Why don’t you prune that miniature rose bush?”

I was suddenly frozen with fear. I knew how much the ga
rden meant to him and I didn’t want to mess anything up with my incompetence.

Brett watched me just standing there looking at the
rose bush. “Have you ever gardened before?”

I shook my head.

He closed the distance between us. “It’s okay. You won’t mess it up. If you trim a little too much, I assure you, it will grow back.”

I gulped. I still couldn’t make my arm move toward the
bush.

Sensing my hesitation, Brett took my arm in his and guided me toward one of the branches
. “Snip right here,” he said as he pushed my hand to the spot he wanted me to cut.

I did as I was told and a small branch fell away from the
rest of the bush.

“You did it,” Brett said as he placed a kiss on my cheek. “Now where do you think the next cut should be?”

I examined the rose bush. I thought the right side looked at little fuller than the left. I pointed to three small branches that I thought could have been eliminated to even things up. “Maybe trim these?”

“I think that’s a good choice
. Go for it.”

I clipped the three small branches off and we both examined my work.

“I think that’s perfect,” Brett praised. “You’re a natural.”

“Anything else you need me to do?”

Brett grabbed a small garden shovel and handed it to me. “I want to add these tickseeds. I think the yellow will really brighten things up.”

“I’m ready,” I said
as I eagerly held up the shovel.

To my surprise, Brett kissed me. “You have no idea how happy I am that you’re helping in the garden.”

“Honestly, before I met you, I’d never given gardens much thought. But you love them so much and I can see how happy they make you. I want to be a part of that and share that with you.”

Brett took three small potted plants and showed me where he wanted them replanted. I dug small holes for the three plants based on Brett’s guidance and he carefully placed each of the plants into the holes
I’d created. He added a bit of plant fertilizer then carefully patted the soil around each plant. The way he expertly handled the soil reminded me of a sculptor handling clay. Brett grabbed a spouted water container and he carefully gave each plant a small amount of water. I marveled at the love and care he took with each plant. He was nurturing. It reminded me of the care he took with me when I was sick and hung over the morning after we hooked up.

After the three small plants were settled in their new su
rroundings, Brett perched on the garden wall. I sat beside him.

“I got my love of gardens from my mother,” he said. “Ga
rdening was her passion and I’d always help her around the garden on the weekends. We spent a lot of time together planting, weeding, pruning, and trimming. She loved her garden and she taught me to love it, too.”

“Do you mind if I ask what happened to your mom? You don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He seemed to think about it for a few moments then said, “She died in a car crash.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting. For some reason, I thought he was going to say she had been ill.

“I think deaths can be harder to deal with when they’re unexpected.”