Everything in Between (3 page)

CJ, his mouth pursed in concentration, slid the spatula under a pancake. With a quick turn of his wrist, he expertly flipped it.

Chip cheered. “See? If I can do it, I knew you could, too.”

“I didn’t know that about the bubbles.” CJ smiled proudly.

“We’ll save the best ones for your mom,” Chip said. “I need to check on the bacon.” He returned to the griddle, where a dozen strips of thick-sliced, hickory-smoked bacon sputtered and quivered.

Chewing the corner of his mouth, CJ softly asked, “You’re gonna stay until mom comes down?”

“No matter how long it takes,” Chip replied.

CJ’s shoulders relaxed and he swiped at his eyes. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, kiddo.” Chip gave him a friendly nudge with his elbow. “I hope your ma’s got real maple syrup in her cupboard. Those good-lookin’ flapjacks deserve nothing but the best.”

Chip rolled over and swung his feet to the floor. His full-size mattress sat directly on the floor, so his knees were only a short distance from his ears. He yawned and stretched, clasping his hands high above his head.

“Chip,” came a soft, feminine voice. A pale hand with blood-red fingernails followed it, gently tugging at his right shoulder. “Lie back down. It’s early.”

His hands on his knees, Chip hoisted himself onto his feet with a quick glance at his alarm clock, which sat on the floor at the head of his bed. “It’s almost noon,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“That’s early for us, baby.” Chip’s bedmate sat up on her knees. A tousle of long blond hair spilled over her shoulder to cloak one small, pale bare breast. So distinct were her tan lines, for an instant Chip thought she was wearing a see-through bikini.

“I’ve got a wedding to go to today,” Chip told her through a hearty yawn. He scratched his left buttock as he shuffled toward the bathroom. “Heather, I’m the best man, so I gotta get to the church on time to help my buddy out.”

“I didn’t know you had plans today,” Heather pouted. “You never tell me anything.”

Hands loosely on his hips, Chip stood at the toilet and let the force of his stream do his aiming for him. “I don’t usually have much to tell.”

“Who are you taking?”

Chip started the water in the basin and lathered his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

The blonde appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed over her petite bosom. “I said,” she started, “who are you taking to the wedding?”

“Nobody.” Chip kicked aside the two damp towels from the night before and stood closer to the chipped bathtub, giving his visitor more room to enter the tiny lavatory. “I’ve got too many best man things to do to keep a date happy.”

“You hand the groom the ring and you make a toast at the reception.” Heather scowled. “Don’t make excuses. If you invited someone else, you can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

Chip directed a short plug of blue gel toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He’d been involved with enough women to know that when one of them said, “I won’t be mad,” she meant the exact opposite. “I also have to dance with the maid of honor.” Chip flashed a foamy smile, hoping his dimples would drive thoughts of the wedding right out of her head.

But no such luck. “Who’s the maid of honor?”

Chip continued brushing his teeth. “You don’t know her.”

“How do you know who I know?” She sat heavily on the toilet. She snatched a length of toilet tissue from the roll and cut an icy glare at Chip.

He sped up his brushing process. Everything about her radiated fury, from the rigid set of her shoulders to the downward slash of her mouth.
Even her peeing sounds angry,
Chip marveled, spitting a glob of toothpaste foam into the basin. He rinsed his mouth, wiped it with the back of his forearm and exited the bathroom. After a quick flush and a cursory wash of her hands, Heather was on his heels.

“What’s her name?” she demanded.

“C’mon, darlin’.” Chip turned from the doubled twin bed sheet he used in place of a closet door. “What’s all this about?”

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while now—”

“Three months.”

“
Four
months, and I think it’s time we got to know more about each other.”

Taking her by her waist, Chip pulled her against him. “I know that you like double whipped cream on your strawberry daiquiris.” He traced her collarbone with the tip of his middle finger. “Your best friend’s name is Ashley, and—”

“I have three friends named Ashley,” she said sulkily. “That doesn’t count.”

“You’ve got a dog named Glitter.”

“What kind of dog is she?” Heather challenged.

Chip blinked. Heather’s dog looked like every other rat dog that girls like her carried around in quilted handbags and dressed in monogrammed sweaters. “She’s a Chihuahua,” he said smoothly, naming the only toy breed he knew.

Heather smiled. “I guess you do pay attention to me,” she cooed, draping her arms over his shoulders to flatten her breasts against his chest. “I think we should move to the next step in our relationship.”

Chip stiffened. “What step is that?”

“I think we should be exclusive.”

“I’m not seeing anybody else,” he assured her.

Heather’s eyebrows moved a bit closer together. “Really?”

“I spend practically every weekend with you, and I’m at work ‘til ten just about every night, ever since my boss opened his second studio. When would I have time to see anybody else?”

Heather pulled away from him and returned to his bed. She sat with her legs daintily tucked under her, and Chip thought she looked as pretty as a model in a vodka ad. “I don’t get you, Chip.”

He stole a peek at his clock. He was due at the church in just under an hour. “Can we talk about this later?” he asked, certain that her statement was the preamble to the kind of discussion he’d had with each of his last three girlfriends.

“No, I need to talk about this now.”

His shoulders sank. “Well, do you mind if I get ready while we do it?”

“Be my guest.” Staring at nothing, she chewed the nail of her right thumb for a moment before she said, “Why don’t you kiss me?”

Chuckling, Chip took his dress blues from his closet. Their clear plastic dry cleaner’s bag fluttered as he carried the heavy garments to the one chair in the room. He draped the bag over the high wooden back, then dug his shoes out of the closet.

Heather eyed the dry cleaner’s bag. “You’re in the military?”

“Was.” Chip opened the top drawer of his dresser and retrieved a shoe-polishing kit. “Served for ten years.”

“Is that what happened to your leg?”

Chip slapped his right leg. “I went into the Marines a flesh-and-blood boy and came out a flesh, blood and titanium man.” Sitting on the chair, he opened the polishing kit and started shining one black shoe. “Ten years ago, a sniper’s bullet shattered my femur. Surgeons put the pieces back together with two dozen titanium screws and plates. I spent two years rehabilitating it. It was brutal, but it was worth it. Today my leg is almost as strong and flexible as it was before.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

He shrugged, his gaze on his shoe, his right hand expertly flicking the brush over the steel toe. “It never came up.”

“I’m tired of waiting for you to give yourself to me.”

Chip chuckled again and stared at her. “If my count is right, I gave myself to you four or five times last night.”

“Six,” Heather corrected, “but I’m not talking about that.”

“Well, what the hell are you talkin’ about, darlin’? I honestly don’t have the first clue.”

“You never talk about your friends or your family,” Heather said.

Chip closed his eyes, inwardly grimacing at the sound of tears in Heather’s voice.

“You talk about work, something I already know all about because I met you at the dojo!” Heather struck away her tears, which came more suddenly than Chip thought they would.

“What do you want from me?” Chip asked gently as possible. “I thought things were going pretty good.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

Chip set his shoe and polishing equipment on the floor and went to the mattress. On his hands and knees, he leaned over Heather to kiss her, but she shrank out of reach.

“I want you to kiss me and mean it.” Her lower lip trembled, tears shining in her blue eyes. “I want to feel you in your kiss the way I feel you when we’re making love.”

“You want more tongue?”

Heather pushed him and he landed on the floor with a hard thump. She kneeled on the bed, her fists balled in frustration. “I want more
you
!”

Chip took her feelings seriously, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching the way her breasts jiggled with the force of her rant.

“When you kiss me, you aren’t there,” she explained. “Your lips touch mine, but your heart isn’t in it. I know it isn’t.”

“I don’t know what to say, darlin’.”

“Stop calling me ‘darling!’ You might as well call me pal, or bud, or man. There’s nothing special about it other than your adorable Tennessee accent. There’s nothing special about me to you, is there?”

Chip opened his mouth to assure her that she was indeed special, but, looking at her, she could have been any of the women he’d been with in the past six months. Blonde hair with or without dark roots, tanned skin so dark she could pass for a native of Fiji or Samoa, weight proportionate to height—Heather’s background in gymnastics set her apart from his previous paramours, but he couldn’t honestly tell her that she was more special to him than the women he’d shared his bed with before her. And like them, Heather was in the midst of kicking him to the curb.

He only wished she’d hurry it up, so he could get himself together for the wedding.

“So that talk about us being exclusive, it was just a test?” Chip asked.

“It was a thought. And since you didn’t show much enthusiasm, I guess I know how you really feel about me.” She stepped around the discarded clothes, towels, magazines, books and other clutter covering his bedroom floor and gathered her clothes. “It’s been fun, Chip, it really has.” She tugged on a flimsy, see-through bra. She stepped into matching panties and yanked them up to her hips. “But I want to be more than some stud’s fun. Call me when you decide you want a grown-up relationship.”

Still sitting on the floor where he’d landed, Chip watched her storm out of the bedroom. He listened to her mutter in his living/dining room, the clomp of her high heels signaling her impending departure. The slam of the door punctuated the end of the morning’s episode.

Chip slowly got to his feet and returned to polishing his shoes. He tried to muster regret and disappointment, but neither would come. Thinking of Heather’s abrupt absence, he closed his eyes and tried to feel sadness. He held up his shoes to gauge the shine and saw his own face mirrored in the blackness. No sadness pulled his features out of shape. If anything, he looked relieved.

His wardrobe set, he took a shower, scrubbing himself thoroughly. He clipped and buffed his fingernails, applied deodorant and trimmed his sideburns, making sure they would pass a senior officer’s inspection. By the time he clipped his nose hairs, he’d forgotten about Heather’s emotional outburst. His towel draped around his waist, he went into his bedroom. With no thought at all as to the things he and Heather had done to leave the sheets so tangled, he tossed his towel on the bed.

Chip combed his hair, dressed and gave himself a quick once-over in the full-length mirror attached to the back of his bedroom door. He grabbed his house keys from the glass dish on the TV tray that doubled as his dining table and desk and walked out of his front door. Two flights of stairs carried him to the main doors, and Chip muttered a friendly hello to the young couple moving into the garden-level terrace apartment. His 1972 Mustang convertible was parked in front. Chip climbed in behind the wheel and set his cap on the passenger seat. He started the engine and steered the car into traffic. Within twenty minutes he was walking into the Chouteau Mansion, which would house the wedding party until the ceremony at the Piper Palm House in nearby Tower Grove Park.

His cap tucked under his arm, Chip approached the woman manning the front desk. “Well, hello, soldier,” she said with a flip of her blonde hair. “You must be here for the Piasanti-White wedding.”

“Yes, I am,” Chip replied. “I’m the best man.”

The petite blonde ran the tip of her tongue over her upper teeth. “I’ll just bet you are,” she mumbled under her breath. “Mr. Piasanti is already in his suite.” She directed him to the room. “If you need anything else, please just call down and let me know. We aim to satisfy.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” Chip said with a wink.

“You look terribly familiar, Mr…?”

“Kish. Charles Avery Kish, but everybody calls me Chip.”

“Have we met before, Mr. Kish?”

He studied her for a moment. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pleasant smile. Her dull navy suit did little to hide her delectable figure. She looked familiar. All too familiar. “No, ma’am, I don’t think we have met. I don’t get into this part of the city often, so I don’t know too many people here in St. Louis.”