Beatless (10 page)

My whole body flinched when his hand reached over and scooted mine away from my legs. Much stronger than he’d ever touched me before; he gripped my left thigh and slid it toward him. His palm crept higher and I kept my eyes closed, losing myself to the feeling. When his fingertips brushed soft cotton, I turned my hazy gaze to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Distracting you,” he said, using his other hand to turn down the volume a bit. The reverb was still pulsing through my body, but with less force. My hips slipped lower to chase the sound, ultimately giving him more access than he’d ever had before. With just one finger, he traced the elastic digging into my inner thigh, and then inward across the familiar heat and ache I’d been carrying around for weeks.

My knees spread wider, easy under his touch. He got bold and added his other fingers, massaging me through my underwear until I was sure I would hyperventilate in his car. The air was thick and warm, the windows fogging up with each shallow exhale from my mouth. The skirt was riding higher until I could feel it bunched up around my midsection, and with a start, I realized my panty-covered ass was flush with the passenger seat, Tucker’s hand between my thighs.

Taking hold of his wrist, I turned my attention toward him and noted the look of surprise on his face when I made a bold move and slipped his fingers into the elastic waistband, and lower until they were flush with my skin.

The sound that came out of his mouth made my chest shudder.

He circled and skimmed his pointer finger slowly before tilting forward across the console to kiss my open mouth, tugging at my lower lip at the same time that he dipped his finger inside.

Raising my right knee higher, it wobbled against the door and I gripped the back of his neck, lifting my hips to get more contact. I kissed his mouth, his cheek, down his jaw and buried my face in his neck. It felt so good to be wanted. To be right there with him.

The intense feelings that were building up inside me threatened to burst through my chest as his knuckles rose and fell, keeping up the pace. Eventually I placed my hand atop his to slow it down to a gentle rhythm. His focus was on what he was doing and when he finally looked up at my face I could see
everything
in his eyes.

Without a word, he removed his hand and used both to grip the sides of my underwear. I lifted my pelvis to let him roll them down my thighs, over the grey wool, past my shoes, and onto the floor. He kissed my throat when he repeated the process with my shirt. And then my bra. The only piece of clothing left was the bunched up skirt and I didn’t mind the small amount of decency it afforded me in a very indecent situation.

He didn’t need to tell me with words what to do. Lifting me by my arms, he helped me into the back of the car and then folded the front seats forward to give us more room. Lying on my back I waited for him to settle above me so that I could help him out of his shirt. His chest against mine was rapidly becoming my favorite thing in the whole world. The heaviness and warmth of his body against mine. The way he held his full weight off, locking his elbows by my head to run his fingers through my hair, or one handed to glide his palm across my chest and stomach.

His hips rested between my thighs and I wrapped my calves around his legs, urging him closer. Tucker groaned and his stomach flexed against mine when his pelvis angled upwards. His lips traveled across my throat and lower, mouth finally connecting with my chest, kissing and using his tongue while I tried to find a place to put my hands. Gripping his sides, my back arched up and I let out a foreign, breathy sound.

With an expert maneuver, he had us sitting up and I straddled his lap, letting his hands traverse my spine and lower, cupping my cheeks while he continued the sweet torture with his mouth, my head falling back. When his palm moved between us to resume what we’d started, I dug my fingers into his shoulders and sank down onto his hand.

His other digits traced my side and back; palm open he pressed the heel of his hand into the base of my spine and led my hips into a tempo that matched the music around us. Sweat started to form between my breasts and I couldn’t find air as my head went dizzy. I was fumbling between us for his belt. For something to hold onto. And in a momentary rush of bravado, I shoved my hand down his jeans.

“Hold on,” he gasped in a pained voice. “Hold on.”

My thundering heart stopped and then sank. “Why?”

He cradled my cheek in one hand and ran his thumb across my swollen bottom lip. “I don’t have anything.”

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “You. Tucker Scott. Don’t have anything?”

His fingers continued moving between my thighs and he shook his head as my hips reacted.

Leaning in, I kissed him and ran my tongue across his. “You should.” Between us, we took in shaky gulps of air and I sighed with force. “I don’t want my first time to be in the back seat of a car anyway.”

“Understandable.”

Brushing the back of my fingers against him, I lifted up on my knees once more to sink down on his thighs. “I should at least reciprocate.”

He laughed. “Again, I’m not prepared.”

Setting back on my haunches, I pulled at his jeans anyway. He let me budge them down and then, with his hands in my hair, he taught me a whole new version of breath control.

Mal,

You know what I’m thankful for? I’m thankful that I was a teenager in the late eighties and not today. The pressure your generation feels to be noticed and adored by faceless masses makes my stomach and heart hurt. I thank God all the time that we didn’t have Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Tumblr and, and, and. My mistakes and asinine activities were relegated to long forgotten rolls of film in disposable cameras.

Disposable cameras were these things you bought . . . never mind. I doubt you’d understand and explaining it makes me feel so damn old.

Pictures included multiple people, not just you. They were usually taken by a third party. If I’d been caught taking a picture of myself in the hallway at school, I’m sure I’d have been ostracized beyond belief. And if a video of my drunken high school behavior had ended up online, I would have inevitably had to change my name and go into Witness Protection – make no mistake that your grandmother would not have stood for that nonsense.

Death threats on twitter. Confessionals on Tumblr. Snapchats of boobs. Horrible. And yet, your generation returns again and again to up the ante. I hope, above hope, that you’ll get out alive without something coming back to bite you in the ass.

I’m nostalgic for the days when your private life was your own. It was nobody’s business. And you were safe in your own home.

Maybe someday it will all fade away and we’ll return to the good old days of actually speaking to one another face to face.

Maybe in another decade people will take road trips free of any technology and see the world with their own eyes instead of through Google Earth.

Sam

~*~10~*~

Everything was happening so fast that I’d barely been able to take it all in. It was all moving so quickly.

Except for Sam, who’d become increasingly listless and lazy. She rarely left the house, and when she did, she asked me to drive, saying that I needed more practice. But her attention was rarely focused and once we’d get to our destination, more times than not, she’d forget why she needed to be there in the first place.

“Maybe we’re out of milk.” She’d laugh and then stand in front of the dairy section for ten minutes before grabbing a gallon. When we got home, she opened the refrigerator door to find two more gallons that she’d purchased just the week before but couldn’t remember buying.

For the first time in my life, I was worried about my aunt.

“It’s like she’s imploding,” I told Tucker over the phone one night. He’d taken an additional shift in order to have extra Christmas money for Eliza. I’d asked to meet his sister once and he told me that I could, but that he’d have to time it so that she was in a good mood and feeling up to it.

The introduction hadn’t happened yet.

“Maybe you should get her out of the house for more than an hour. To a movie, maybe? I’m shit at these things.”

“You really are. We don’t even pay attention to the movies
we
go to.”

His voice dropped lower when he responded. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know. I really like when you come over and watch them
here
.”

“Did you do finger quotes when you said ‘watch them?’ Because I don’t remember finishing a single one we started.”

A tingling started in my stomach and I chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I did. Come over and let’s not watch a movie later.”

“I wish I could, but my dad’s working overtime and I need to be here.”

“Want me to come over?”

“Not tonight. It’s a rough one. Plus I have to study . . .”

“I never thought I’d hear you say you’d rather study than . . .”

He groaned. “Trust me. It’s not my first choice . . .” He paused and I could hear his smile through the phone when he said, “Remind me to tell you something the next time I see you.”

“Tell me now.”

He chuckled. “It’s a surprise.”

We said our goodbyes and I sat on my bed, surrounded by the echoes of nothing but the muffled volume of the television downstairs. I made my way down to the living room and bent over the couch where Sam was wrapped in my grandmother’s old afghan.

“Should I order some food?”

Her head swiveled, heavy and almost wobbling. It occurred to me that maybe she’d started drinking a lot – but I’d never seen a bunch of wine bottles or any beer cans lying around, like with my parents.

“I’m not really all that hungry. But if
you
want something, I can give you some money.”

“I have my own money,” I reminded her.

She pushed her hair from her face and forced a smile. “Right. Of course you do.” Her arm dropped heavily at her side and her shoulder twitched a little. She rubbed the spot and patted the couch next to her in invitation. “Come ‘ere. Sit with me.”

I sank down next to her and accepted the blanket edge she offered, warm with her body heat and smelling faintly of the old cedar chest in my mom’s room.

“It smells like her, you know.” Sam had the blanket to her nose and closed her eyes to inhale. “My mom. She always smelled like cedar in the winter because she kept her sweaters in the chest. For as long as I live, there will never be a better smell.”

“I remember.”

She smiled, small and wistful. “There’s so much history in this house. Did your mom ever tell you stories about when we were younger?”

“Not really.” I leaned my head back and watched her profile as she looked around the room. Her attention reverted to the television for a minute, another one of her old movies playing on the screen.

“We used to read books in the sunroom and your grandma made the world’s best sweet tea to drink while we sat around. It was that really good sun tea – not the boiled stuff that your mom makes now. Perfect amount of sugar. In her famous yellow tea jar. The one with the little spigot?”

I nodded like I knew what she was saying.

“We were hellions, you know. I thought she’d have a heart attack by the time she was fifty. But she was spunky. Sarcastic. She didn’t take shit from anybody and made sure that we were raised to be that way, too.” She trailed off and stared blankly in the direction of the sunroom, the night sky cloaking the wicker furniture in darkness.

She rubbed her face and pulled the blanket tighter. “I lost my virginity in the room I’m in now.” A laugh cracked through her chest. “Oh God, when your mom found out, she was pissed. Not that she had any room to talk. She lost hers in your room.”

“Why would you tell me that?” I choked on my laughter and made a face of disgust.

“I never said
where
it happened in your room. Now you’ll be afraid to sit anywhere . . .” She practically cackled and I could see a glimpse of the aunt I once knew. Sam patted my hand beneath the worn fabric of the blanket. “Don’t go keeping up tradition.” She looked thoughtful. “Or do. I don’t know. That’s just another adventure.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She lost herself in the movie again and I just sat by her side, unable to move for fear of missing something huge that she needed to say. Eventually she spoke again.

“You know what I miss?” She pointed to the television and I saw a boy leaning against a car, red and shiny, his eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“Old movies?”

“No, smart-ass. Chivalry. True love. Your generation doesn’t know about The Grand Gesture. Showing how damn much you love someone in the most over the top, movie worthy way you could possibly imagine. The declaration of undying devotion.”

“Those still happen.”

She glared at the television, the scene on the screen reflecting in her glassy eyes. “Youtube proposals and flash mobs don’t count.” Leaning over, she placed her head on one of our couch pillows and I let go of the blanket as she wrapped herself tighter. “We need more grand gestures.”

I reached out a hand and tucked the blanket under her feet. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” It had just occurred to me that she looked like she’d lost some weight since she’d moved back in.

“No. I think I’m coming down with something.” Her shoulder twitched again and she anchored it with her other hand.

“Maybe you should see a doctor?”

“No insurance anymore, kiddo. My Cobra coverage is over. I’ll ride it out.”

“Have you thought about calling some of your old friends? Maybe getting out for dinner or something would make you feel better.”

Sam sighed and closed her eyes. “Mallory. I have three contacts in my phone. And you’re one of them.”

It struck me as a sad reality that she was as alone as she could be. Even with me by her side.

With her eyes closed she mumbled, “Do me a favor and don’t end up forty-three years old with three numbers in your phone. I want more for you.”