Between the Sheets (11 page)

• • •

“Mom? Mom, wake up.” Molly heard pounding on the door. Her daughter’s voice sounded like it came from Pluto. “Mom?”

The bedroom door cracked open just as Molly pulled her eyelids apart. She had to shut her left eye to focus her right, but when she did she saw a slice of Flora’s worried face peeking into her room. “I’m here,” Molly whispered, because that’s all the sound she could make.

“It’s like eleven thirty.” Flora pushed the door open wider. “I’m supposed to go to Petland with Hillary to get some volunteer hours this afternoon.”

Molly stopped listening after she heard the time. “Eleven thirty? You said it’s eleven thirty?”

“I’m not even joking. I need to be at Petland at like noon.” Flora came in and dropped onto Molly’s bed. The cream-colored comforter was all twisted up, as if Molly had been doing yoga in her sleep. Flora was wearing her Saturday casual clothes, which still involved vintage black lace. Molly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her daughter wear anything pink or yellow. She also wondered how a fifteen-year-old girl found so many syllables in the word “Mom.”

“Um, okay. Just let me get up and dressed and … ” Molly stopped struggling to sit up when she heard Flora gasp.

“Gross, Mom, you’ve totally got a hickey on your neck.” Flora was nearly squealing by the end of the sentence.

“I do not.” Molly put on her best mother’s voice.

“Do too. Jamie, come see this. Mom’s got a hickey.”

“Flora, stop it. Jamie, I do not have a hickey.” By now, Molly was standing up, more or less. She tried to push her bedroom door shut so that her son Jamie couldn’t get in. He was three years older than Flora and at about six feet, two inches tall, he towered over his mother and sister. He pushed back against the door and slid his shoulders through.

“She’s right, Ma, you do have a hickey.” Jamie’s voice was deep like his father’s, and at times like this, she had trouble remembering which one she was talking to. Jamie and his father shared more than their voice. They had the same name: Wallingford Jameson Spencer.

Molly rounded the end of her bed and leaned against the polished maple bureau, staring into the mirror that hung on the wall behind it. “No no no no no,” she whispered, fingertips touching the dark welt that was plainly visible right above the pulse point on the right side of her neck. Her shoulders were narrow and if her slim hips had started to widen recently, it was only to be expected when someone was forty-three years old.

“Um, I’d say it was yes yes yes, Mom.” Flora flipped her long dyed-black hair and rolled her eyes.

Molly stared at her own reflection. Her cap of loose curls was going wild and yesterday’s mascara was a shadow under her lower lashes. The light yellow nightgown she wore had only thin straps at the shoulders, so there was nothing to cover the mark on her neck. This was bad. Her cheeks bloomed bright at the thought of her kids seeing it, especially since she had no idea how it got there. She needed a shower and some time to think. She tried to say something, cleared her throat, and tried again.

“Okay, Jamie, you’ve got practice this afternoon, right? Can you go in a little early and take Flora to Petland?”

“Yeah, it’s like in the totally opposite direction, but I guess I can drive her.”

Molly made a face at him in the mirror. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Can I have some money for gas?” His wide brown eyes that were so much like his father’s lit up when he found an angle he could use. She’d fallen for that look so many times.

“Take whatever cash is in my wallet.” Molly sighed, and Jamie grinned at her. Fortunately his smile was his own, though she suspected he used it in much the same way his father did.

“If we’re picking up The Princess I’m not going.” Flora flounced off the bed and headed to the door. The Princess was her name for Jamie’s girlfriend. Paige was tall, blond and athletic, the complete opposite of Flora and Molly, who were both petite and dark.

“Don’t call her that,” Jamie said.

“I can’t believe you actually kiss her. I bet even her tongue’s cold.” Flora pushed past her brother and headed down the hall. He turned as if to follow her, then leaned back through the bedroom door.

“It’s probably none of my business, Mom.” That’s as far as he got.

“You’re right. It’s none of your business. Thanks for driving your sister.”

He gave her half a smile and closed the bedroom door.

Molly was glad when their bickering faded away. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands, then groaned because she felt like such a cliché. She couldn’t remember. She hadn’t slept till eleven thirty in the morning since … well, college, maybe. And she had no idea why there was a hickey on her neck. Her stomach turned in on itself and she wondered if she was going to throw up.

The only noise she heard was the soft squish of feather pillows against sheets. She flipped the comforter around until it lay smooth and put both pillows behind her shoulders so that she was halfway sitting up. Her mouth tasted like she’d eaten a dead coyote and her stomach was still rumbling. When she shut her eyes, she saw a carved crystal shot glass filled with a golden liquid. Definitely tequila … maybe. That would explain her stomach.

Okay, this is bad.
Forty-three-year-old mothers didn’t go out and get sucked on. She raked her memories from the night before. There was the man. He was tall, handsome, definitely crush-worthy. She couldn’t remember his name. All she came up with was talking, even sparring. No kissing. No sucking.

Embarrassment over the fact her kids had seen the mark on her neck splashed over her like a bucket of hot water. She was supposed to be scolding them for getting hickeys, not the other way around.

Obviously, she could call Sam, who had been there for at least some of the shenanigans. That would mean confessing the big blank wall in her head, and it would give Sam the chance to crow over the fact that she’d finally gotten laid.
Oh God, had she?
Her stomach clenched as she rubbed her fingers between her legs. No. She didn’t have the raw, morning-after feeling that only happened when it was really good or a long time. And it had been a very long time. She sniffed her fingertips and only smelled herself, then exhaled with relief.

Everything in her room was normal and tidy, the jewel-tone throw pillows from the bed stacked on the dresser and the nightstand clear except for the pair of gold hoop earrings she’d had on and a glass of water sitting in a circle of condensation. Yesterday’s clothes made a puddle of green and black on the hardwood floor in front of the bathroom door.
Shit
. That outfit would have to go to the dry cleaner, unless she could press the wrinkles out of the suit. Worrying about her clothes kept her from worrying about bigger things, like whether the strange guy had slipped her some date rape drug and how close she’d really come to something horrible. Her breathing started getting shallow and her heart raced. Better call Sam.

Her purse was on the big antique buffet right by the front door, a piece of furniture that primarily worked as the family shit-catcher since she’d left the good china at Ford’s. All of them dropped their keys and backpacks and bags either on or in front of it when they came through the door. Her wallet and phone were in the purse, right where they were supposed to be. The credit cards were still in her wallet. Okay, so Mr. No Name hadn’t been a thief, at least.

“So tell your best friend all about it,” Sam said as soon as she answered the phone.

“I was hoping you could tell me all about it. I seem to be missing some of the details.”

“What are you talking about? Did you give him your phone number?”

Molly could hear Sam’s youngest in the background asking her to cut the crusts off her peanut butter sandwich and had a moment of gratitude that Jamie and Flora could make their own lunch.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could remind me of a couple key things, like, maybe, his name, and whether you saw him slip me some kind of drug.”

“What?”

Molly could hear Sam’s mind switching gears.

“Um, yeah. I woke up this morning — well, actually, it was almost noon, and there’s a huge hickey on my neck and I can’t remember a thing. Oh my God.” Molly bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. To distract herself, she glanced through the big front window. Her car was in the driveway, and while that was reassuring, it also meant she’d driven while, if not intoxicated, at least a little impaired. Damn again.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry. He seemed like a good guy. Are you, um, did you … ”

“I’m pretty sure we didn’t have sex. I mean, it doesn’t feel like we did. I didn’t even hang my clothes up, Sam.” A weird little giggle punctuated Molly’s comments, brought on by how unreal the situation was.

“It’ll be okay. You should, like, call the cops or something. Go to the ER so they can test your, um … ”

“Or take a hot shower and hope the blotch on my neck fades fast.”

“Wait, no, you have to report this guy.” The snap of the knife was audible through the phone. Sam must be cutting the bread right on the granite countertop.

“I don’t know his name, I barely remember what he looked like, and I can’t remember what happened. What am I going to report?” Molly perched on the edge of her old couch. If she tried to lean back, the fading springs would swallow her up, so she kept to the edge, knees together and elbows resting on her knees. One hand held the cell phone pressed to the ear, and the other cradled her chin.

“Well, he was … he said his name was … Fuck, I don’t remember either.” Dropping F-bombs in front of the children was a clear indication of how upset Sam was. They swapped details back and forth, but despite their efforts couldn’t remember much about the man they’d met.

“It’s useless.” Molly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” Sam sounded like she might start crying.

“Stop it. Stuff happens. I didn’t get raped and the neck thing will fade. It’ll probably teach my kids something about life to see me like this. Wait, I take that last bit back.”

“Oh, your kids … ”

“From now on, stick to lecturing me about my job, okay?”

“Sure,” Sam said, her voice subdued.

Molly put her phone away and went to take a shower in the small master bathroom. First, though, she had to run down to the basement laundry room to find a clean towel since the linen closet was empty. Molly shook her head when she realized it was Jamie’s turn to fold clothes. Just another opportunity to practice her mothering skills.

Half an hour later she was scrubbed and buffed and feeling marginally better. The fact that Sam couldn’t remember much about the mysterious man was somehow reassuring, as if Molly wasn’t his only target. While pulling on some clean jeans and a plum-colored turtleneck, she started packing away some of her embarrassment and dismay. Molly was very efficient at organizing her emotions and keeping them in neat little boxes.

She put on her favorite diamond earrings, and was scrunching some hair paste through her rowdy curls when she heard a sound, as if someone out in her bedroom had cleared his throat. She turned away from the bathroom mirror and leaned out the door, expecting to see a dark-haired stranger, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears.

Her bedroom was empty. Turning back, she grabbed hold of the vanity’s edge. In the mirror, a man’s face was next to hers.

“Aw shit.” Molly shut her eyes, hoping that when she opened them things would be back to normal.

Praise for
Forever and Ever, Amen
:

"A twist on angels and demons, with a little vampire. It was quite fascinating and not what I expected. If you are looking for a heartfelt contemporary romance with a touch of the supernatural,
Forever and Ever, Amen
is just for you."—Satin Sheet Romance

To purchase this ebook and learn more about the author,
click here
.

In the mood for more Crimson Romance?

Check out
Drive Me Sane
by Dena Rogers at
CrimsonRomance.com
.