The Happy Hour Choir (24 page)

Chapter 28

F
or all of my drunken bravado on a certain night that would live on in infamy, stepping into Luke's house this time scared me. We would be alone, and
things
could happen. To give myself to a man while sober would be new and intentional. To give myself to a man I actually had feelings for would be different still.

Not that Luke tackled me at the door.

No, his eyes held a patient, calculating look.

He offered me some of his old sweats and then closed the door to give me privacy. When I came out of his bedroom, practically swallowed by his Vandy sweatshirt and matching pants rolled up five times, he'd already made a fire. He changed quickly and bustled around the kitchen making a tray of cheese and crackers, veggies and hummus.

“It's not much, but I'd planned to let someone else do the cooking tonight.” Ah, there were the dimples.

“Looks like a feast to me.” I was mainly glad to have something to do with my hands. I dragged a baby carrot through hummus and wondered what was going through Luke's mind. So he'd been looking forward to the date. What did that mean? He wanted to see the movie or he wanted to see me?

We ate in silence, and I wanted a glass of wine or a beer almost as much as I needed oxygen. I didn't have to look into his fridge to know it was bare. Then I felt guilty for needing such a crutch.

“Trivial Pursuit?” he asked.

I nodded, even though that wasn't the pursuit I'd had in mind.

We played in front of the fire and finally found some small talk about church, the choir, and folks around town. I thought he would cream me at the game, but I won the first round and he won the next. He might have history and sports, but I had entertainment and literature. We split the difference on science and geography.

“Well, I wonder how Tiffany and Sam are doing on their date?” he finally asked while we stared into the fire. I wanted to move to the couch since his sweatshirt was getting warm and I didn't have a T-shirt on underneath, but I didn't want to ruin the moment. It was a moment I'd always envisioned since my relationships with men had been quick and frenzied and never in the least domestic.

“I'd imagine they're getting along just fine,” I said.

“And what about you, Beulah? How's your night going?”

I felt his stare on me but kept looking into the fire. My heart hammered. “I'd say it's been close to perfect.”

When I forced my eyes to lock with his, I saw hunger. He upended the board as he reached for me, and game pieces rattled across the room. “Not quite perfect.”

I expected his lips to crush mine, but he surprised me with a soft-yet-insistent attack. Then he deepened the kiss, which sent my arms around his neck to draw him closer. He pulled me underneath him, and I almost passed out from the unexpected bliss even as my heart raced with that old apprehension. I'd never wanted a man like I wanted him.

I've never
really
wanted a man at all.

The realization skittered down my spine just as his hand reached under my sweatshirt and cupped my breast. I arched into him with a gasp. He yanked his sweatshirt off my body, and it was his turn to gasp at the white lacy confection I'd chosen for a bra.

Turnabout was fair play, so I yanked off his shirt and reveled in the planes of his chest. He picked me up to sit on his lap so we could kiss while skin to skin, and we both groaned at the delicious feel of it. Finally finding my confidence, I pushed him back and straddled him, pinning his hands above his head so I could better explore his jawline. In the past I'd always taken this position, one of control. I had given up my body, but always under my terms.

He flipped me over to return the favor.

My breath caught when his hands clamped down gently over my wrists, but he must have thought it was surprise rather than the first stab of panic.

Kissing me thoroughly, he tested each breast but somehow missed the hammering of my heart underneath. His leg found a particularly sensitive spot at the juncture of my thighs. Pleasure and pain, past and present intermingled, and I couldn't catch my breath. I fought and clawed until I found myself huddled on the couch gasping for breath.

“Beulah?” His beautiful blue eyes widened. Tears coursed down my cheeks, but I only squeaked when I tried to talk.

He sat down at the other end of the couch and tentatively opened his arms, crushing them around me when I crawled over to his side.

“Who hurt you?” The tone of his voice said “Thou shalt not kill” was a commandment he was willing to break.

“I need to go.” I tried to scramble out of his embrace, but he held me tighter.

“No. You're not running away from me this time.”

“I've got to go. I need to check on Ginger. I—”

“What you mean is you need to run away because I've discovered some kind of deep, dark secret.”

I wrestled against him again, but this time he was expecting it and he held me close for an entirely different reason. I slumped against him. “I was stupid to think for even a minute I had a chance with you.”

He had the gall to snort at me. “You're being stupid to think for even a second that you don't. Tell me.”

I lay back into his arms, and I told him the whole story from beginning to end. I told him about my parents, about the Vandivers, and about losing Hunter. Almost choking on the words, I told him about my quest for what was so special about sex and how rumors of my sluttiness were greatly exaggerated.

I sat up and looked him in the eye. “And the sad thing is I want to have sex with you right now—just not like that.”

He cupped my cheek. “You really know how to stroke a guy's ego, you know that?”

“I know how to stroke something else,” I said, planting a hand on his crotch. My words sounded hollow, not my own.

His hand grabbed my wrist, and his eyes turned harsh and dark. “No. Not with me.”

The world flickered black. He was going to kick me out now that he knew the full story. He was going to be a goody two-shoes and kick me out. All of the cheese and crackers threatened to come right back up as I scooted to the edge of the sofa. “I'll get my purse.”

“Stop running!” His arm held me like a vise. He lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes as he thumbed away the damned tears I couldn't seem to stop. “That's not what I meant. When, if we have sex, it's going to be because you want to and because you're sharing all of yourself, not just your body.”

The
when
gave me hope.

“You would still . . . ?”

“What kind of man do you think I am?”

A good one. One who's way too good for me.
I swallowed hard. “Right now. I'll give you all of me right now.”

“No, no you won't,” he said with a sad smile that still managed to show his dimples. I couldn't help but touch them, marvel at them. “Not yet, anyway.”

“But someday?”

“Someday,” he agreed as he pulled me tighter and planted a warm kiss on my scalp. The warm feelings cascaded down my head and over my body, a baptism of fire instead of water.

“Hey, you did me a favor,” he said with a chuckle after we'd been staring into the fire for quite some time.

“I did?”

“You sorely tempt me. That's twice now I've come close to breaking my vow of chastity.”

“What?”

“Fidelity in marriage and chastity while single—that's what we Methodist ministers vow to do. But you make me forget myself.”

I blushed. At least I thought that was a compliment, and he still didn't know about the wad of condoms in my purse, red foil, if I remembered correctly. I giggled.

“What's so funny, Miss Land?” he asked while lazily stroking my arm.

“Check my purse.”

He reached over to the little table on his side of the couch and came back with my purse.

“Go ahead, look through there and find the little giftie Ginger gave me on my way out the door.”

He pulled out the line of condoms and let them dangle in front of us. “Divinity school teaches spirituality, not stamina. I'm not Sting!”

I shrugged and giggled some more as he held up the foil packets even closer. “These don't expire for another two years. We could easily make that . . .”

I froze. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

“Calm down, woman. We're going to take this one day at a time.”

I snuggled deeper into his arms. It felt good to be with a man who knew what he wanted, and that that something was me. Exhausted from unloading my burdens, I fell asleep while he stroked my hair with a relentless tenderness.

Luke took me home at dawn with all of the foil packages intact, but I was happy nonetheless.

“That was some flat tire,” Ginger said as I tried to tiptoe into the house. She had made it as far as her favorite metal chair and was looking wistfully at the coffeepot.

“Need coffee?” I leaned against the counter and tried to figure out by looking at her if it was going to be a good day or a bad one.

“Does a fat baby fart?”

Definitely a good day. Just as long as I got the coffee brewing quickly.

“Those are some nice duds you have there.” Ginger sat up a little to read my sweats, winced, and sat back down gently.

“It's not what you think.” I already had the coffee brewing and butter sizzling in the skillet. I started cracking eggs.

“Well, that's a shame,” Ginger said. “I had such high hopes.”

“I'll have to keep your gift for
much
later.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and put a cup of coffee, black with two sugars, in front of her.

“Well, well,” Tiffany said with a yawn as she waddled into the kitchen scratching her belly. “Look who's sneaking in early this morning. In a conspicuously large sweatsuit.”

“It's
not
what you think,” I repeated as I flipped the eggs.

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“I'll tell you all about it over breakfast,” I said as I opened the loaf of bread and started putting slices in the toaster.

“Bow-chicka-bow-bow,” sang Tiffany as she took her seat.

“That's enough.”

“Give the girl some details,” Ginger said. “She only got a chaste kiss at the door.”

My eyes cut to Tiffany, but she looked away. A chaste kiss was all she needed for now, and, despite what I'd said the night before, Luke had given me no more than I needed. Tiffany and I both had a lot to figure out.

“Yeah, Beulah, spill,” Tiffany murmured.

“What has gotten into you two?” I slid eggs and toast on plates and placed them in front of my so-called friends. I rustled up butter, jelly, and calcium-fortified orange juice for the pregnant lady.

“We're sitting over breakfast.
Now
tell me all about your date.” Tiffany couldn't even wait for me to sit down. She waggled her eyebrows for effect, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

I told them about the flat tire, the Trivial Pursuit, even the long conversations. I didn't get into all of the details since there were parts that Tiffany knew that Ginger didn't and vice versa, but they got the idea. They expressed the proper amount of incredulous indignation at the idea of a celibacy vow, but then Tiffany started mooning about how it was so romantic.

“Uh-oh, they've both got the glow, and it's
not
because they got some.” Ginger shook her head.

Tiffany went to the coffeemaker to hide her blush.

“Hey, momma to be, you're not supposed to have that,” I said.

Tiffany leveled me with a glare that told me she would eat and drink whatever she damn well pleased. I backed down. It was only half a cup; if she wanted to have that big ol' baby tap dancing on her bladder because he'd been fed caffeine, then so be it.

“What about your date?”

“It was great,” she said with a dreamy look before yanking herself back down to earth. “It's a shame.”

“What's a shame?” Ginger and I asked in unison before turning to look at each other.

“It's a shame I had to meet him now. Maybe if I'd met him before . . .”

Before would've been a lot easier. I had to give her that.

“I mean, he probably only asked me out as a favor to Luke,” she said. “I wouldn't want to date a pregnant woman if I were him.”

“But you're not him,” I said.

“And he doesn't know the real me, now, does he? How could he, when I'm not even sure who I am?”