His For Keeps: (50 Loving States, Tennessee) (18 page)

I suddenly feel upset for Josie, who deserves better than a guy who’s keeping secrets from her.

“And then what would you have done after you had her… kept some girl you could
trust
on the side?”

Some girl like me, I think, a sick dread filling up my stomach.

But Colin draws back, shaking his head like I just accused him of a federal crime. “No, I wouldn’t have cheated on her. That’s not me. I hate liars, and I don’t ever let myself lie either. If I make a vow, I keep it. If Josie and me had gotten together, I would have been… different.”

Now I don’t have a degree in psychology like Josie’s former boss, Sam, but even I can clearly see where he was going with his plan to “close the deal” with Josie. And how messed up it was.

“That’s the real reason you wanted her so bad. Because you’re messed up and you wanted her to fix you. And when you couldn’t have her, you settled on me.”

I disentangle myself from him and not only move all the way out of his arms, but also sit up in bed. I don’t know who to be more disgusted with. Him or me.

“That’s what you think? That I couldn’t have Josie, so I settled for you?” Colin asks. He sits up, too. “I wish… I wish that was the case.”

“You’re trying to tell me it’s not?” I shoot back. “Because if that’s not the case, I’m not understanding your motivation for going after her, then deciding to do this with me.”

Colin’s eyes find mine. His gaze as cold as the wind I can now hear raging outside the window.

“Did you really think I didn’t remember who you were?”

20

“Did you really think I didn’t remember who you were?”

An anvil drops down on my heart, and I stare at Colin, speechless.

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah,” he says, dipping his chin like this is a conversation he really didn’t plan on having tonight. Maybe not ever. “From the moment I saw you singing. You’ve changed a lot.”

He points to my now very messy curls, which had been dark brown and straightened with a flat iron that long ago night. “Especially the hair. But I remembered you clear as day. And I could see from the look on your face you remembered me, too.”

“But…” I shake my head, trying to process what he’s just told me. “Why didn’t you say so? Why did you pretend we were meeting for the first time?”

Colin scrubs a hand over his face. “Do you really think I wanted to get turned on by that fight we had that night? By one of Mike’s girls? You think I wanted to keep obsessing over you after it happened… like a goddamned psycho?”

He breaks off and turns his head away from me, staring into the morning fire. “I tried the whole dom/sub thing. For years I tried to make it work. But it just got to feeling… hollow. So I decided to try something else with Josie, who I had a nice, wholesome teenage crush on before you came along. I figured if anybody could have cured me, it would have been her. Sorry if that doesn’t sit well with you, but I was fighting hard against becoming the beast you saw that night.”

He turns back to me, his stare now pained. “But then you had to go and fuck that up for me.” He throws me a half-wry, half wary look. “The truth is, you’re lucky I let you out of that hotel room, Purple. Lucky I didn’t pin you to the floor and fuck you right there, after you blocked my last path out. Because that’s what I wanted to do.”

“I—I…” …have no idea what to say.

“And then you called me.” He bares his teeth at me. “Asked to be friends.”

I shake my head, feeling defensive and confused. “I thought we were friends.”

Colin shakes his head. “We’re a lot of things, Purple,” he tells me somberly. “But friends ain’t one of them.”

I stare at him, my mind a complete blank for moments on end. He remembers me. He’s been remembering me all this time, just like I’ve been remembering him. Remembering and trying to fight against becoming the guy he was with me that night.

“But I should thank you for calling me,” he says. “Talking to you… getting to know you helped. Helped me come to terms with something I’d been fighting for a while now.”

I think about his earlier words about us being consenting adults and not letting other folks get a weigh in on what we do, and realize he must have said them to himself a whole lot before he ever said them to me.

“I’m really not sure how I should be handling this,” I tell him.

My shaky words seem to bring him back from some emotional ledge, and a little of the intensity fades out of his eyes. “You don’t have to handle anything. We just had a lot of fun together. That’s all that matters.”

His face then breaks out into the easy going smile that graces all of his album covers. Like he’s decided to flip some kind of switch back on.

“You know what, Purple? That coffee didn’t do nothing for me. Come on over here, and cuddle with me while I catch a few Zs.”

I want to take him up on his invitation. Maybe because I’m tired. Maybe because I’m as out of my mind as he is. Maybe because when all is said and done, the thing I want most in that moment are his arms back around me.

But when I carefully lie myself down with my back toward him, it’s on my side of the bed. A small defiance to say the least, one I’m not sure he’ll even notice...

“You want me to fuck you again, Purple?” he asks my back. “Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t get over here like I told you to.”

I lie there, completely paralyzed. Knowing I should just move over to the other side of the bed. My body already feels sore and battered, and besides, what does it matter? My pride’s already been stomped out like a big dog. I should just do as he says.

But I don’t move.

And it feels inevitable when he lies down behind me. Lifts my leg and starts fucking me from behind. His hard, rough strokes make my tender core burn in a bad way at first. And then it begins to burn in another way.

I moan and my hand floats down, wanting more than I can get from just this position alone…

A hand catches both my wrists and folds my arms, locking them down between my heavy breasts. “I’ve already told you, Purple. You’re not allowed touch my pussy.”

His voice is sandpaper in my ear, and I struggle against it. Against him, even as my hips undulate into his hard thrusts. But he’s got my wrists wrapped up tight, and I can’t bring my hands down no matter how much I try.

“Only I get to touch my pussy,” he tells me. “You want me to touch my pussy, Purple?”

I do. But I don’t want to say the words. “Yes… please… ” I say instead, hoping that will be enough to meet his demands.

It isn’t. He actually starts moving slower behind me. “Let me hear the words, Purple. Give me a reason to give my pussy what it wants.”

I grit my teeth, trying to hold off. And to my credit, I do… for a minute or so. But by mind is tired, my heart is on an emotional edge, and my body—it knows what it wants, greedily drinking in every stingy stroke Colin gives it, while my clit quivers, desperate for more.

“Please touch my pussy.” The words come out choked, wrestling to get out past my good sense.

Colin laughs darkly behind me, and his Alabama accent is as deep as I ever heard it, when he says, “I thought my grammar needed some work, but you got your pronouns mixed up, Purple. You called it your pussy when you done already said it’s mine.”

He pushes into me so hard then, that the action sends ripples of pleasure up my entire body. I groan against the feeling, trying to temper it, trying to keep myself from wanting more. I’m so close…

“Yours!” I give up with a gasp. Tears of frustration fill my eyes as I say, “Please touch your pussy, Colin. Please—”

I cry out when his other hand settles over my mound, kneading it in that punishing way of his, the ball of his hand rubbing my button in hard circles.

The sensation is so intense it caves my back. I cry out, caught between an electric fence of pain and pleasure until I come with a helpless scream. Soon after that, I feel him spilling inside of me. Again. And I wonder at the both of us, because seriously, how are either of us capable of coming this hard after the night we just had?

I’m pretty far gone by the time I come down from the climax, and only vaguely aware of Colin pulling away from me and getting out of bed. A few moments later, there comes the feel of the warm cloth again.

“I’d suggest a joint shower, but I don’t think either of us could stay on our feet too long after that.”

He’s right. My body’s little better than a mason jar of my grandma’s peach jelly at this point. I can’t see myself rolling over, much less standing up.

Colin ends up doing all the work for both of us. He’s cleans me up, this time, I dimly notice, not bothering to stay away from hot spots. He probably knows he’s wrung me all the way out and it doesn’t matter anymore. After he’s done with that, he rolls my limp body all the way over to the other side of the bed, and settles in beside, spooning me from behind.

I’d take this as a kindness. Rolling me out of the wet spot, because Lord knows I don’t have the energy to do it myself. But when one large hand settles over my pussy—his pussy—I’ve given it to him twice now and I know this isn’t him being sweet.

I’m now in the spot he’d originally told me to lie down. And even if his arms around me feel sweeter than anything I’ve ever known, there’s no doubt about the message he’s sending me with his cupped hand.

My sex belongs to him. And even if I wanted to say the safe word, it would be too late, because in the moments before we fall asleep, we both know the truth.

I didn’t say it then, and I’ll never say it again. No matter what.

21

He’s gone when I wake up. Not just from the bed, but the entire house. I open my eyes and can sense his lack of presence as soon as I sit up. The cabin somehow feels even more empty than before. Devoid of the sexual energy I’d felt thrumming through the entire place when I’d first set foot inside it.

Apparently Colin, not the cabin itself, was the source of that energy.

Realizing I’m all alone makes me want to cover myself. But… I soon remember my clothes are now ash at the bottom of the fireplace. I go over to the small closet on the other side of the bathroom and find a few of Colin’s vintage concert t-shirts hanging there.

I pull out one with “Nitty Gritty Dirt Band” emblazoned underneath a mountain sunrise graphic. Remembering the great cover of “Fishin’ in the Dark” that Valerie used to do, I put it on.

It fits me like a very short dress and paired with one of the flannel shirts I also find in the closet, it could almost pass as a whole outfit. If I was skinny with long legs and fake glasses, people would probably mistake me for a hipster. In any case, it’s enough clothing to get me through the one gas station I’d have to hit for a fill up before reaching Alabama. And thank goodness, I think, spotting my shoes under the bed, at least he didn’t burn those, too.

I search the main room’s floor and find my purse on the ground right beside the door. Where Colin must have dropped it when he carried me back into the house over his shoulder.

Surprised he’d risk me running off while he was gone, I pick it up… and find everything’s in there—except the keys.

A sinking feeling replaces all my plans. But I yank open the door anyway. I’ll walk back to town, I think. Find a phone. Call Triple A. Prove to Colin that I’m still my own person no matter what I said last night.

And maybe I would have done it, too… if the faint sound of guitar strings hadn’t hit my ears when I step outside.

I follow the sound of the guitar playing like a sailor to a siren.

Colin, I find out after a few minutes of walking, has a creek, too. More like a brook or stream, though. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a lot bigger than the dinky one at my grandma’s house. But it’s just as respectful to the songwriting process. It quietly babbles in the background while Colin sits on the couch afghan, working out the melody to a song that sounds both dark and sexy. Like the hook to Chris Isaak’s “Baby Did a Bad, Bad, Thing” decided to marry a Top 40 country standard.

I can tell the moment he knows I’m there, because he stops playing, the melody breaking off in an awkward twang of guitar strings.

He looks over his shoulder at me, his blue eyes glittering and hard.

“I didn’t say you could put on clothes.”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t either.” I come over and sit down next to him on the afghan. “It’s cold out here.”

“September in Tennessee. You never know.”

I chuckle. “You got that right.” But he’s only wearing a t-shirt, I notice. “You’re not cold.”

“Nah. Just came back from freezing my ass off in Scotland. I can deal with the 50s just fine.”

I wrap his shirt around me, wishing I’d found some socks, too, as I bend my legs to tuck my feet underneath my bottom.

“You ready to eat?” he asks. “I ran into town earlier. Picked up some chicken.”

I am more than ready to eat. Can feel my stomach gurgle at just the mention of chicken, reminding me I haven’t eaten since yesterday.

But there’s something I’m more curious about than eating. “Was that a new song you were working on?”

“Yeah,” he says. He looks away, like the shy kid he might once have been before all the money and the fame. “Thought my well had run dry, but the melody hit me as I was driving back from town. Figured I should come here and work on it before I lost it. Songs don’t come to me as easy as they used to before…”

He trails off.

“Before your mama died?”

He nods, his jaw setting, like his mother’s death is on his list of stuff he can’t do anything about like seasonal hunting laws and property taxes. And that’s when I notice it, hanging under the neckline of his t-shirt. His mother’s silver cross, the one she was wearing when she passed. I can see its simple outline underneath the shirt’s cotton front.

“You’re lucky then,” I tell him, reaching out. I lay one hand on top of the covered cross, letting him know as best I can without words I’m happy he kept it.

“I couldn’t write for years after my Paw Paw died,” I tell him. “I thought the music would never come back, and I should get used to being a home aide for the rest of my life. But then one day it did. Kind of like it did with you. I woke up and there was this little song all worked out in my head.”