Turn It Up (3 page)

“What might have been doesn’t matter now. You were married and off-limits so we became friends instead. Besides, you mean more to me than any sexual fling ever could. You’re my best friend, the best friend I’ve ever had. That’s harder to find than any piece of ass. I love you, Bastian.”

Lines crinkled around his eyes with his gentle smile. She’d never said these words aloud but knew he knew them. She knew she meant the same to him. They were rare and nothing could make her risk that. But still, a girl could fantasize. In color.

When he jerked his head, a silent invitation to join him, she leaped up and threw herself in his arms. Bastian gave the best hugs. Not wimpy and soft as if she’d break or hard and crushing like she was a grape to be squished. He never tried to cop a feel or worried if he brushed her breasts. He just hugged her. It was one of her favorite things about him.

His lips skimmed her brow, just enough to let her know he loved her back.

Sitting between his knees, she offered him her beer. He took a swig and passed it back before propping his chin on her skull. She snuggled into his chest and sighed. This felt good.

“Did I tell you Lisa came into the ER yesterday before I got off duty?” Precise and cautious above her head, his words bleached away some of the coziness.

She couched her response in wariness. “No, you didn’t mention it. Was she sick?”

“No, she was in labor.”

Charlie winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Her new husband brought her in. Craig sent them up to L&D.”

Maybe no one else in the world would have heard the traces of pain hidden in his voice, but Charlie did. She shifted until her back leaned on one of his bent knees. She searched his face, one hand straying to his chest. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just because I couldn’t give her kids doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have them. She was in pain but excited, you know? I hadn’t seen that kind of…joy on her face in a long, long time.”

He removed her hand from his shirt, gripping it in a tight clench. Bastian didn’t talk about his sterility much, and when he did, she let him set the boundaries. She knew the basics, a bit more than the basics, and why his marriage had failed. She’d suffered through his bouts of proving his masculinity, listened to his philosophical ramblings on “real men,” flat-out told him when he was being a crybaby.

He’d said she was the only one with balls enough to do that. She’d crowed and agreed—she’d kick his ass whenever he needed it. Now he didn’t need kicking, he needed space. The hardest part of being friends was knowing when to back off. His silence was her cue to change the subject.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

“I hope so. I liked being married.”

Charlie wanted to keep him talking, to give him space from the ache she knew never fully left him. “Why? What did you like about it?”

“Everything. I liked feeling I belonged to someone, that someone belonged to me alone. I liked having someone know me well enough to finish my thoughts. I liked knowing I had a date for every major occasion without calling someone. I liked waking up Sunday mornings and smelling her hair before I fell back to sleep.”

Each sentence seemed to lighten his mood so the sparkle in his eye when he looked at her was no surprise.

“I liked rolling over in the middle of the night, knowing if I rubbed her ass right, I’d get lucky. I liked regular sex without latex.” He chuckled on the last line. “I really miss regular sex. At this point, I just really miss sex.”

“Been a while, has it?” Charlie teased.

“Oh God, what year is it?” She laughed and he grinned at her. “I don’t know, fourteen, fifteen months or so.”

“Damn, you need to get laid.”

“You’re telling me.” Pushing back, he slid his rump up onto the log, towering over her. Charlie tucked her knees back under the sweatshirt hem and wrapped her arms around them. The firelight played over his face. He didn’t fool her. If he wanted sex he could get it without batting an eyelash. For some reason, he’d taken himself off the market.

“Come on, there has to be one cute little nurse willing to pass a few nights with a single handsome doctor in that big hospital.”

“Maybe. You’re missing the point. I miss relationship sex, not one-night-stand sex. A one-night stand I can get anytime. I want more.”

“So go find it.” Possessiveness welled inside her but she stifled it quickly. She couldn’t keep him all to herself. That was selfish. He had a right to find a partner, a love. But she hated sharing him again.

The look he settled on her was contemplative, searching. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

His snort was sardonic. “Why not? You already know my favorite sexual position and what I fantasize about.”

“It’s about your marriage…and your sex life with Lisa.”

Golden-brown eyes snapped to hers, guarded emotion shimmering in the fire’s glow. This was an area she had never broached. His slow nod screamed his trust.

“You two were together a long time. How many years?”

“Seven. And nearly four before that, so close to eleven total. Why?”

She dropped her eyes to his ankle, burying her fists in the sweatshirt sleeves. “Did sex get boring?”

Above her shoulder, his chest rose with his drawn breath as he considered her question. She loved how he never blew off her off-the-wall inquiries. He considered every one important. He treated her as if she was important.

“I don’t know if I’d have called it boring. Predictable, maybe. Comfortable.” He rubbed his brow harshly, as if a pain had slammed into his skull. “Then at the end, it was more—I guess I was wrapped up in trying to prove I was still man enough—It wasn’t often but it was…empty.”

“You went a little pussy-crazy after the divorce.”

He rolled his eyes with a soft groan. “You have no idea how much of a man’s identity is wrapped up in his dick, all right? Being told you’re sterile is like invisible castration. Suddenly you’re not a real man. Some guys turn to alcohol or drugs, others get into fights or jump out of airplanes, anything to prove they’re masculine enough despite their sissy-ass sperm counts. So yeah, I bed-hopped a while. I’m not proud of it.”

“Did you ever bed-hop before the divorce was final?”

“No.”

“Not even when you were—”

“I did not cheat on Lisa in any way, shape or form, okay?”

“Did you tell her you kissed me?”

His lids closed and his breath stilled. Tension seeped into each muscle before he leaned away from her.

The first year they’d known each other, Lisa had thrown a huge Christmas party. Bastian arrived late, his hospital rotation running behind. Lisa had been livid. Their argument was quiet and low-key, but Charlie had noticed. She’d also noticed Bastian drinking more than usual.

From what she’d seen and what he’d told her, Charlie knew they were having problems. But she never expected him to catch her under the mistletoe for more than a casual peck. His tongue had tasted of whiskey and, if she was honest, did naughty things to her senses. He’d pulled back, eyes wide in horror, apologized and sought out his wife all in the same breath.

Less than a month later, Lisa had him served with divorce papers.

“It shouldn’t have happened. It was a bad time. I felt like half a man and was trying to…I don’t know. I was drunk and I made a mistake.”

“I know, that’s why I’ve never brought it up. But you didn’t tell her, did you?”

His head bowed and a sigh caressed her cheek. “No. It would’ve just hurt her. We were having enough trouble without adding that.”

“So you did kind of cheat.”

Confusion deepened in his eyes as he brought one hand to stroke her hair. As an only child, she’d always taken the move as one an older brother would bestow on a little sister. It made her feel cherished.

“What’s going on? Why all the questions about cheating? Do you think Adam’s cheating on you?”

The gray fleece crept up and she took the time to pull her knees tighter to her chest and smooth the soft cotton over her legs before replying. “You could say that. I dumped him after I walked in on him and his assistant Thursday.”

“That son of a bitch!” Each line of his body jerked into a seated protective stance. She liked that he was concerned for her. He’d hated Adam, calling him a variety of names despite her objections. Those objections had never been very strenuous. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, I had plenty to say to
him.
Mostly that he couldn’t find my clit if it was painted neon orange and that I faked every orgasm.” Bastian’s lips twitched but he tightened his mouth. Charlie gave him a small grin. “Honestly, I just feel stupid and angry at myself. I meant to tell you Friday but I forgot. That ought to tell you something.”

“What flavor?” Bastian asked, still hiding his smile.

She had a breakup routine. Very few people knew about the ritual. Bastian, of course, did. After every breakup, she drowned her sorrows in ice cream, picking a flavor on a personal rating scale. The lowest any man had scored was low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt.

“Just strawberry. And I didn’t finish it.”

“Good, he was an asshole.” Honey-blond hair fell over his eyes and he pushed it back before returning his hand to her head. “Still, four months, right? You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, which means he’s probably right.” At Bastian’s quizzical frown, she shrugged. “He called me a coldhearted bitch.”

Hard, firm fingers turned her chin to his face. “You are not coldhearted. A bitch, yes, you can be, but you take pride in that. There’s nothing cold about you. You’re the hottest, most vibrant woman I know.”

Her fingers curled around his, tugging them from her face. “Adam’s right. I didn’t care the way I should have. He was just something to fill time. I couldn’t be myself with him, you know? With anyone really, except you. They either want the Honeypot twenty-four/seven or get embarrassed by who I am. I can’t just be me. I have to be ‘on.’”

A small scar ran down one side of his knee, tiny dots alongside it. Stitches, she guessed, a long time ago. She’d have to ask him about it.

“Men just want to screw me and women avoid me, unless they want me too. No one wants to really know plain old Charlie. It takes too much time to trust them and when I think I can, everything’s gone stale. That’s why I asked about you and Lisa. I just don’t think I’m cut out for long-term monogamy. Sex I can do, that love stuff…nah, not good at that.”

“Stop pretending you’re a slut. You use more discrimination than some men I know when taking a lover.”

“But I never keep them for long, do I?”

Bastian was quiet for a long time. Finally he leaned down and tapped her foot with one long finger. “How long have you had these ugly things?”

“My camping sneakers? I don’t know. Why?”

“You’ve worn them every single time we’ve come up here. You even wore them in the lake last summer. They have holes in them and they’re frayed and stained. Why don’t you just throw them away and get a new pair?”

She tucked her feet deeper under the sweatshirt hem as if he might snatch them off her feet. “I love these shoes! They’re broken in and fit my feet perfectly, even my crooked little toe. They’re comfortable.”

“What about your Firebird? The thing is barely legal and borderline safe. Your insurance is through the roof and you can’t even afford to have it painted yet. Why don’t you just sell it?”

She smacked his arm. “No way! I damn near hocked my soul to buy that car. And I’m enjoying restoring it. Finding each piece is like…damn, it’s better than sex at times. I love that car.”

“Exactly.” He smiled. “When you fall in love with something, you don’t want to let it go. Even if it isn’t perfect, it’s yours. You just haven’t met the right guy yet. Give it time.”

She rose up on her knees and glared at him. “You really need to get laid if you’re comparing sex to old shoes and cars.”

Those great strong arms she loved wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing tight. His chest rumbled with his soft laughter and she laid her head on it, delighting in the vibrations. He smelled of wood smoke and fresh air and she fought the urge to rub her nose into his shirt.

Against her ear, his low words echoed. “You honestly faked every orgasm?”

“Yep. Every single one.”

“He must’ve been an idiot. How could he not have known?”

“Oh please, every man thinks they know when a woman’s faking. If a woman has any acting ability, men have no clue.”

His chest stilled. “I’d like to think I know.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” She patted his stomach with a broad smile.

“Isn’t faking it a lie?”

Charlie shrugged. “I guess you could look at it like that. But who’s really getting hurt? Not the guy. If anything, he’s getting protected from either insult or damage to his fragile male ego.”

The corners of his mouth curved down. “The male ego would be a lot stronger if women would be honest and tell us what they want rather than lying back and pretending.”

“Good theory but in practice, it bites. Men and directions are like milk and pickles. They don’t mix. Hey, let’s add that to the show lineup.”

He scowled but nodded. “Fine. I think you’ll find out most men would rather be told or shown what to do rather than be lied to.”

“Touch a nerve?”

“Not like you think. I just don’t like being lied to in any way.”

“Hey.” She ran one hand down the side of his face, the smooth cheek bringing a smile to her lips. He hated his beard and shaved even while camping. “Granted we’re not talking faked orgasms here, but I’ve never lied to you. You do know that, right?”

“Good. And I haven’t lied to you, not once.”

“Then we’re good. No lies, no hidden agendas and no secrets.”

Something flickered in his gaze before his eyes shifted away. Although he brought them right back to her face, she’d seen the secret cross his mind and it chilled her. Secrets led to lies and lies to pain.

Forced past a hollow ache, her words were soft. “Or maybe there is a secret?”

His mouth opened to protest but she refused to drop her knowing look. Slowly, he lowered his lids and sighed. His Adam’s apple jumped with his swallow but he didn’t turn away. When he opened his eyes, they burned her with their intensity.