Magic Hands (12 page)

she ran her tongue around her lips nice and slow. “I’l be your tutor, how’s that?”

He almost rol ed his eyes. Instead, he squirted a little of the pink, flower-smel ing stuff in his palms feeling like an idiot.

“Now.” She lowered her voice. “Touch me.”

Megan and Shaylee’s eyes locked on him like he’d been stripped naked. He swal owed. Waited. Reluctantly, Cort put his hands on one of Bree’s legs. His face felt like it was on fire and that fire spread everywhere else. Her leg was smooth as silk, without any bumps whatsoever. He was afraid. Afraid he’d rub too hard or not hard enough. Did he rub in circles?

Lines? Use his fingers? His palms?

He glanced at Jasmine, now using her whole hand in the process, so he did the same.

“Mmm,” Bree purred. “You’re good at this.”

Again, heat flushed through him. He couldn’t look her in the eye, not when his hands were going places they had never gone before. Somehow it didn’t feel right. A guy shouldn’t be touching a girl like this unless they were an item.

“Who’d have known,” Bree lul ed, her eyes closed in bliss.

“Cort Davies and his hands.”

In a quick jerk he pul ed back. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can,” Bree shot out. “You were doing the best ever. Don’t stop. It can’t be that bad.” Lifting her leg, Bree turned it temptingly before him.

“I’ve been told I have great legs. Consider yourself lucky.”

Cort licked his dry lips, saw Miss Chachi make her way over with a frown on her face and he put his hands back on Bree’s calf and started rubbing.

“So.” Bree settled back and looked at Shaylee. “Did you and Mark stay at a hotel last night?”

Shaylee shook her head. “He’s saving for prom. But he did stay late. I snuck him out the basement door at four this morning. What about you and Ty?”

“He was so boring. I can’t believe I went with him. Never again—I’m done with that loser. He looked good though, don’t you think?”

Shaylee and Megan nodded.

“So at least the pictures wil be perf.” Bree’s gaze stayed on Cort. “You and I should have gone, Cort. We’d have had so much fun.”

He wanted to rol his eyes but didn’t. He’d never go anywhere with her. He knew that like he knew he’d never do another pedicure for her.

“Higher,” she told him when he stopped the massage at her knee.

He looked at her.

“Oh come on,” Bree taunted. “Don’t tel me you can’t handle it.” She laughed and so her friends did. He started on her other calf with his face averted.

“Wait!” Bree almost shouted. “Wait just a second! I don’t believe it. Don’t tel me you’ve never—” She started laughing loud then, and the whole salon looked over. Cort kept his head low to hide his heated cheeks.

Bree tapped her feet in the water gleeful y, and leaned toward him so her lips brushed his ear. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you? Cort Davies is a virgin.”

Cort’s heart pounded. Sweat sprung from every pore.

Bree sat back, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Unbelievable.”

“What?” Anxious, Shaylee leaned over. “What? Tel us.”

Bree shook her head slowly, her eyes pinning Cort over lips spreading into a grin. “It’s a little secret between Cort and me, isn’t it, Cortie?”

His throat was tight so he swal owed. “I didn’t know it was a secret.” As if it wasn’t any big deal, he started her massage again, but his fingers shook.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Bree barked. Then she leaned close so only he could hear. “You’re a virgin and a liar?”

He shot her a glare. “At least I don’t spread myself around.”

“I don’t hear any complaints.”

“Here’s your first one.”

“Don’t complain until you’ve tasted for yourself,” she whispered. She sat back with a sigh. A pain in his gut warned him this could get bad.

“You know what I think?” Bree stretched like a wicked kitten. “I think I’m going to take you out, Cortie—on me. It wil be a date you’l never forget.

That, I can promise you.”

Darkness cloaked Pleasant View like the secret threatening Cort’s social existence—the blackness came fast and cold, like a menacing fog, and when he final y said goodnight to Miss Chachi and the girls, al he could think about was Bree and her big mouth.

It was hard to concentrate on his plan for Rachel when Bree was out somewhere no doubt spil ing the juice on him.

His closest friends already knew. Virginity was a secret they al shared. It was what it was, and Cort wasn’t ashamed of it. Or hadn’t been, until snaky Bree guessed. He was so tongue-tied from the newness of giving a pedicure he’d been unable to respond.

Stil , he wouldn’t lie to her. He’d get around it some how, though. The world didn’t need to know his sexual status.

He got in his car.

A few weeks ago, he considered Bree a friend, someone he could easily go for if the moment was right. Every guy at school drooled over the cement she walked on. Pathetic.

Couldn’t any of them see beyond the fake California hair and tan?

He sat a moment in his car, unsure what to do next. He felt trapped, and hated it.

His mother always said, what goes around comes around and if you live long enough, you get it al . He hoped it was true and that someone would give Bree what she deserved.

For him, he’d focus on what he real y cared about—finding out what Rachel did when she “worked.”

He drove the quiet streets of Pleasant View looking for her. Where did she go? Did she stand on some corner, under a street lamp? Maybe she hung out at the pool hal or the local bar.

He slowed in front of Sadie’s, looked in the windows, but it was just crowded enough, smoky enough, that he couldn’t see inside. He parked and went in, knowing ful wel he’d get kicked out because of his age.

Smoke nearly choked him. He resisted the urge to wave a hand in front of his face. Something by Aerosmith blasted from a jukebox. Four guys and a girl, al with cigarettes hanging from their lips, surrounded a pool table. One leaned on his cue as another hung across the table taking a shot.

The bar was lined with men, some talking, some staring off into nothing as they nursed bottles or amber-fil ed glasses.

The bartender took one look at him and started over. Cort quickly scanned the place for Rachel.

“You can’t be in here.” The pouch-bel ied man without hair told him. His right ear winked with a gold hoop earring.

A woman appeared out of nowhere. She wore a tight red blouse and even tighter jeans. She eyed him, smiled. “Maybe he’s older than he looks.

Maybe he just has a baby face.”

Cort stuffed his hands in his front pockets and drew his lower lip between his teeth feeling like he was in a naked dream.

“How old are you, baby?” she asked.

“I’m looking for somebody,” his voice cracked.

“I’m somebody.” Her mascara-caked lashes resembled black fangs.

“Somebody else,” he said.

She laughed. “I seen you around.”

He inched backward toward the door. “I work over there,” he pointed over his shoulder.

“Yeah? Where at?”

“Miss Chachi’s.”

“The nail place?”

He nodded, relieved to feel the door at his spine. The bartender was back behind the bar and he shouted, “Get the kid out of here, Brenda, ‘fore I get arrested.”

Brenda opened the door and stepped outside with him.

“I met the lady. She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she?”

Cort nodded, taking fresh air into his lungs with a deep breath.

She eyed him with sincere concern. “Who you lookin’

for, baby?”

“A girl.” He looked around. There was no one in sight.

Pounding music seeped from the wal s of the pool hal and out into air around them.

“I haven’t seen any your age down here tonight. You go to that place I seen the kids go, that Wendy’s on State Street.

That’s where you’l find a girl for you.”

He gave her a nod and gladly made his way back to his car. He drove some more but Rachel was nowhere in sight.

The world of that pool hal was not his world and as he drove along, searching the streets, he wondered about that woman. Pleasant View was like any other smal town, with its cozy neighborhoods lined with hundred-year-old trees and houses both archaic and brand new.

There wasn’t a lot of crime here. He knew this first hand because his mother was a defense attorney for the city besides having her own practice.

He wondered how those people in the bar liked living in a place as sheltered as Pleasant View.

How a girl like Rachel Baxter, with her supposed night job, liked living here.

Then he saw her.

She was walking along 100 West—alone. Was she nuts?

It was dangerous near the train tracks this time of night; anybody with a brain knew that.

He parked and got out, jogging until he was close enough to keep her in his sight, dart out of hers, and stay on her tail without losing her.

She wasn’t wearing what he thought a hooker would wear, though he’d never seen one before. He’d seen plenty of movies with actresses wearing bright colors and flashy stuff.

Here she was in conservative jeans and a dark turtleneck.

She held something under her arm and her walk was brisk. A car drove by and slowed but she didn’t even look at it. Even when they rol ed down the windows and he heard the unmistakable howling of male voices, she kept walking.

Soon, the car drove off and the two of them were again alone on the deserted road. The houses were the size of tiny boxes with the exception of Countryside Manor. Court thought the rest home looked like it belonged on some ranch somewhere in Texas.

Rachel headed straight for it.

Every now and then, leaves under his feet crunched and she turned. He ducked into the nearest bush or darkened spot until she continued on.

She must know some people down here, he thought once again in step behind her. And, once again the idea of her hooking sickened him. Until she walked up the sidewalk and directly into Countryside Manor.

He hid behind one of the giant oaks flanking the walk until she was inside. Then he stood out in the open and stared at the massive building. Why was she going to a retirement home at nine o’clock?

Too curious to leave it at that, he climbed the steps and opened the heavy double doors. It smel ed like his grandpa’s house and something used for cleaning.

A woman with grey hair piled on top of her head looked up at him from behind the front desk and smiled. “May I help you?”

“Does Rachel Baxter work here?”

The woman nodded in the direction of an open double door off the lobby. “She’s in the gathering room.”

“Can I?” he asked. She nodded.

Nerves twitching Cort approached the doors. He heard Rachel’s voice, the cool tone both deep and heavenly and he peered in. She greeted a smal semi-circle of senior citizens, shaking their hands, kissing their cheeks. He recognized them from Kippers Fish and Chips. He stayed safely hidden in the doorway.

“What’s our lovey going to read to us tonight?” Mannie asked.

“I didn’t bring the Dirty Dozen, Martin.” Rachel sat down in the center chair and opened the loose-leaf binder in her lap.

The old gentleman huffed but didn’t move. “Wel I hope it’s not a romance. Could you find us a suspense?”

“For you, I wil .”

The group quieted and Rachel’s voice fil ed the air like the scent of hot chocolate. Cort stood motionless. This was what she did at night? Read to senior citizens? He would have broken into a laugh if guilt hadn’t slugged him. How could he have thought for one second what Bree said was real?

He listened to Rachel change with the characters she brought to life and was overcome, utterly floored by this secret of hers.

But it real y wasn’t secret; she said she was friends with these good people. He saw the anxious way she left him and his friends to stop at their table for a visit that wasn’t rushed.

The friendly way she kissed their cheeks in goodbye. She was something else, Rachel was. That was real.

Most nights Rachel walked to Countryside Manor, like she did tonight, because the long walk gave her time to think.

Tonight, she was bothered by the feeling that she wasn’t alone. She’d walked this way a hundred nights and never felt threatened but a creepy skittering lodged in her spine. She looked around at every noise only to find a leaf dancing in the gutter, a cat crossing the street.

She neared Main Street and was glad. For what it was worth, what little went on there after sunset was better than the dead stil ness of the neighborhood by the train tracks of Countryside Manor.

Passing the pool hal , the bang of loud country music clouded the air. She heard laughter, smel ed smoke sneaking out the door. She passed without looking in and hurried on up the street, figuring if she ran into any trouble at al , it would be in the vicinity of the pool hal .

She stil had a good mile to go until she was home, and that mile took her along quiet streets that weren’t lit but for the occasional street light.

Her heart pounded when she heard another crackle. She turned, saw a shadow move into darkness and quickened her pace. Digging out her cel phone, she decided to cal her mom for a ride.

The crunch of leaves, the soft pad of foot on pavement had her whirling around again.

“Rache?”

She gasped. “Cort?”

He moved into what little light streamed between thready clouds. “What are you doing? Fol owing me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. What are you doing?”

“Walking.” She started up the street not sure if she should be annoyed or pleased he was fol owing her.

“It’s dangerous.”

“We’re in Pleasant View.”

“And crime sometimes happens,” he said. “My mom’s a defense attorney for the city. She sees it.”

“Oh, you mean the drunk who pees outside a building?”

“I’m serious.”

Even in the faded moonlight the concern on his face was obvious. “Thanks for worrying.”

They walked up the long stretch of road without talking for a while. As they ascended, homes grew larger, property more spacious. Fences popped up. An occasional car drove by.