Rescue Me (Butler Island) (11 page)

 “Cool!” Connor removed the last remnants of paper, then
rotated the box in his little hands. “What is it?”

“Twister… You’ve never heard of Twister before?” Connor
shook his head from side-to-side.

“Damn, I feel old”, Randall mumbled to Lana, wryly.
“Okay”, he said, turning his attention back to Connor, “It’s real simple. One
person spins while the others play. When the spinner calls out, ‘left foot on
red’, everyone puts their left foot on red, but you have to keep it there until
you’re told to move your left foot somewhere else. Understand?”

Connor’s head bobbed up and down. “Can we play?”

“Sure”, Lana answered, snatching the box from Connor’s
grip. She opened the game and spread the polka-dotted mat on the floor in front
of the coffee table, then tossed the spinner board at Randall. “Think you can
spin and call out the combination at the same time, Mr. Multi-tasker?” She
asked, smiling.

Randall chuckled under his breath. “I think I can
manage.”

It didn’t take long for Connor to become distracted by
the allure of the spinner, leaving Lana behind in a rather compromising
position: bent over with her ass in the air.

“Can we trade places?” he asked Randall. “I wanna spin
now.”

Maybe he should’ve purchased Monopoly instead, he thought
to himself as he approached the tangled woman on the mat. There was nothing
sexual about nudging a thimble around a board. “Let see what we have here”, he
mumbled as he deciphered what color each of his extremities were to be placed.
Hovering above her, Randall stretched his limbs until his hands and feet
mirrored Lana’s.

Connor began shouting combinations, laughing as the two
struggled to move, while Lana and Randall bantered back and forth.

Who knew a simple game of Twister could incite so much
trash talk?

Randall had never seen this competitive side to her before.
Her taunts were sort of weak and unoriginal, but that made the whole experience
that much more enjoyable. Her walls were down. She was being silly, having fun.
And Randall thought she’d never looked more beautiful than she did at that very
moment.

Concentration severed, Randall’s foot slipped and his
sturdy frame suddenly warped. His knee came down to cushion the fall causing
his hip to nudge into the back of Lana’s leg, and like a house of cards, they
both collapsed. Howling with laughter they remained on the mat until their
cackles quieted, suddenly aware they were lying next to one another, limbs
still tangled.

Their eyes met and held for several moments before
Randall cleared his throat, unwinding their coiled extremities. He then stood
and offered his hands.

Lana stared at his calloused palms for a few long beats
before placing her trembling hands in his. In one swift motion, she found
herself on her feet staring into two hungry gray eyes. His stone-like
expression may have been neutral, but the intensity of his heated gaze spread
warmth across her skin like a sweltering summer’s day.

“I’d better go before this kid gets me injured”, Randall
uttered, tilting his head slightly toward the sofa behind him.

Holy cow
, she’d been so wrapped up in Randall—the way his
perceptive eyes bored into hers, the sensation of his powerful body blanketing
her small frame—she’d all but forgotten her six-year-old son was still in the
room. “Um, yeah…that would probably be smart…”

His thumbs lightly scaled over her knuckles, almost as if
instinct had overpowered reason. Such an insignificant touch, yet
overwhelmingly endearing. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d meant something
by it, if his modest caress had been a way to communicate the unfeigned
pleasure he experienced by merely touching her.

Because she was reveling in the simple brush of his
fingertips.

As if he’d read her thoughts, Randall released her hands
and turned to Connor. “See ya tomorrow, kiddo”, he declared, rustling the boy’s
blond hair before snatching his shoes from the floor.

“Can we play this game again next time?” Connor questioned
excitedly. “It makes me laugh when grown-ups’ fall!”

Randall finished sliding his feet into his shoes and
straightened his large six-foot frame. “Guess we’ll see what happens.”

His eyes skittered to Lana one last time before he turned
to go, leaving him to decipher the irony of Connor’s parting words. Because
falling wasn’t funny—not when he feared he was beginning to
fall
for his
best friend’s widow…

Chapter 14

“Man, what’s gotten in to you tonight, huh?” Grant asked
as he leaned his hip against the edge of the pool table.

Randall straightened his upper body and reached for his
mug of Miller Lite after missing another clear shot. It couldn’t have been a
more perfect set up: the solid number three was perfectly aligned with the
center pocket, but he’d managed to miss it.

Why? Well, it may have been a mystery to everyone else,
but not him. Nope, the person responsible for his uncanny performance stood
roughly seven inches shorter than his six-foot frame, with long light brown
locks and lethal curves, wearing a white cotton dress and those damn fuck-me
cowgirl boots…

“Maybe I’m feeling guilty about takin’ your hard earned
cash every weekend”, Randall shouted over the music. “Until tonight, I can’t
remember the last time I actually bought myself a beer here…Thought maybe I’d
give you a break.”

Grant laughed with such intensity, he had to grab hold of
the billiard table to keep his balance. “C’mon, man, are you shittin’ me?” he
finally asked once his cackles quieted. “You’re one of the most competitive
people I know. You can’t stand to lose! What’s going on with you?
Really.
”

Grant followed Randall’s gaze, which just so happened to
be on Lana, swaying with newly-single Tommy Carson on the dance floor.

Tommy worked with the guys at the station. He was younger
than Randall; graduated with Lana back in ’03, and had joined the fire
department about five years ago. He’d been married to Jenny for nearly three
years now, but rumors of Jenny’s infidelity had surfaced just days into the new
year. He didn’t seem too torn up about their separation at the moment, Randall
acknowledged—considering how he held Lana’s body close on the dance floor.

“Lana’s a big girl—a
good
girl”, Grant emphasized.
“No way would she let Tommy—”

“That’s not what I was thinking”, Randall retorted as he
stepped around Grant to align his next shot.

“Really?—‘cause you looked nearly rabid a minute ago. In
fact, you still kind of do! Listen, at some point she’s gonna move on, you
know? You can’t stand guard just because you think Jimmy would ‘ve been—”

“That’s not what I was doin’. Just drop it, already,
okay?” Randall hovered over the table, stretching his body over the green felt
to gain better access. He ran the cue stick over his left thumb several times
to get the feel of it, then forced the chalked-tip against the white cue ball.
The white cue accelerated, striking the orange number five ball, the clank of
the collision rising above the blaring melody of music.

Number five barreled down the table at near lightning
speed, charging toward the right corner pocket. He watched as the orange sphere
vanished from view, followed by the white cue as it, too, disappeared into the
pocket.

“
Fuck
!” Scratching was a beginner
mistake—something he hadn’t done in years—at least, not on purpose.

Randall straightened, then glanced over his shoulder at
the dance floor, feeling helplessly enraged by the image of Tommy’s hands on
his sweet Lana.

His
?

Since when had he laid claim on Lana Phillips?

Reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, he fished a
crisp twenty dollar bill from the hidden groove. He laid it on the table and
shoved the wallet back into his rear pocket, then swallowed the remainder of
his Miller Lite in one massive gulp. “Beer’s on me tonight. I’ve gotta go.” He
started to walk away, but Grant’s baffled tone stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait!—where are you going? It’s not even ten o’clock
yet!”

Randall turned back to Grant, speaking through clenched
teeth. “As far away from the temptation of beating that sorry bastard—” he
gestured toward Tommy “—as I can get.” Pivoting, he weaved through the growing
crowd, his vision almost tunnel-like as he focused on the heavy wood doors that
led to the boardwalk.

He barely remembered climbing into his truck, let alone
the short five-minute drive home. When he finally emerged from his deranged
daze, he was still sitting behind the wheel in his driveway, the radio quiet,
his engine idling.

Fuck, he was so screwed… The familiarity of the situation
couldn’t be overlooked. He was on the verge of falling for an unavailable
woman. Again.

Randall climbed out of his truck and shoved the front
door open. The house was dark. Silent. Empty. Kind of like his life.

Kicking off his leather flips flops he reached behind his
head and grabbed a fistful of his white polo, then tugged it off, tossing it
onto the tan sofa on his way to the kitchen. Flipping the light switch, his
eyes immediately darted to the bottle of whiskey perched on the counter next to
the fridge.

He needed the comfort the amber liquor provided. Needed
to feel the instant gratification of fiery warmth as it trickled down his
throat, burrowing deep until the heat cauterized his open wounds. Trekking
across the kitchen he reached for a tumbler in the cupboard, poured three
fingers of eighty-proof whiskey, then drew the glass to his lips.

Almost immediately his mouth and throat were ignited in
feverish bliss. The feeling was so soothing—so fucking incredible—he swallowed
another mouthful, certain he’d be too drunk to feel anything at all if he kept
this up.

And that’s precisely what he wanted:
to stop feeling
.

Randall wasn’t exactly sure when it’d happened, but
somewhere along the way he started viewing Lana Phillips as the seductively
beautiful woman she so obviously was, instead of his best friend’s grieving
widow. Somewhere along the way the platonic nature of their friendship had
shifted on its axis.

Somewhere along the way he began wanting more.

And the scariest part: the pain of chasing Kendall for
two long years, only to lose her to Ty Everitt, didn’t begin to touch on the
intensity of how he felt about Lana—which was completely crazy considering he
and Lana had only shared one brief, incredible kiss roughly three months ago.

Eyeing his glass, Randall swallowed the remains. He
feared there wasn’t enough whiskey left to mask the overwhelming need mounting
in his gut tonight. Maybe there’d never be…

Reaching for the bottle, he poured another round, then
returned to the couch. Light from the kitchen spilled into living room, just
enough to allow angular shadows to distort the silhouettes of the
sparsely-placed furniture.

Seeing Lana on the dance floor tonight, her body swaying
in time with the music while Tommy Carson held her close had infuriated Randall
beyond reason—which was rather surprising, since he‘d never considered himself
the jealous type. Sure he’d been upset by Kendall’s fascination with Ty Everitt
last spring, but he’d never pictured beating the life out of his lieutenant.
Much.

He couldn’t say the same about Tommy Carson at the
moment.

Tommy was a good friend of his—that was one of the things
that made this entire situation odd. Hell, Randall was a groomsman in Tommy’s
wedding three years ago, for crying out loud! Yet just thinking about how his
hands had settled on the small of Lana’s back on the dance floor had Randall
fantasizing about all the ways he could murder the guy.

Randall caught the edge of the tumbler between his lips,
ready to drain the remnants of poison he’d poured minutes earlier in hopes of
numbing the ache that resided in his chest, when the sound of the doorbell
halted him. He sat motionless for several moments, praying the person on the
other side would get the hint and simply go away. But when the sound came again
he slammed his tumbler on the coffee table, brown liquid sloshing over the edge
of the glass as he stumbled to his feet.

He hurried to the door, ready to scare the britches off
the little shit on the other side. He expected to find one of the teenage boys
that lived in the neighborhood, hustling to find a good hiding spot. This was
Butler Island, after all. And a group of teens mischievously roaming the
neighborhood on a Saturday night, ringing doorbells on a dare, then sneaking away,
wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

Damn pussies. When he was their age, he and Olivia had
caused quite a ruckus with the stunts they’d pulled. In fact, he was partly
responsible for her Jet Ski fiasco now chronicled as the crime of the century.
Yes, Olivia’s three-hour joyride had caused quite a stir. In fact, that’s how
she’d earned the nickname DD in the first place: Daredevil. He probably
should’ve known better than to dare her into driving off on Mr. Baker’s Jet Ski
that summer—he knew she’d never back down from a dare.

And he’d been right.

The doorbell rang again, jolting him from his adolescent
reverie. Randall was ready to bolt through the door and run the little shit
down, but standing on his front porch he didn’t find a pimple-face teen.

Nope. It was
her
.

“Lana… What’re you doing here?—is everything all right?”

“I-I don’t know. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Randall stepped aside, allowing her access to his
sparsely furnished living room, then gently nudged the door closed behind him.
“What’s going on? Is it Connor?—did something happen?”

Lana shook her head, swallowing hard as her eyes dipped
to his bare chest, then lower to his rippled abs. “No, Connor’s with my
parents. As far as I know he’s fine.”

Randall stepped closer, his hands nestled low on his hips.
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know”, she uttered as her focus skittered back
to his analytical gaze. The room was poorly lit, light from the kitchen casting
shadows along his angular face. But even in the dim light she recognized
genuine concern in his somber gray eyes. “I saw you storm out of The Saloon
earlier. And when I asked Grant where you went—what happened—he just said you
got angry and left.”

Shifting his weight onto his left foot, he answered, “I
sucked at pool tonight. It…” Randall shrugged his broad shoulders. What could
he say? He could practically play eight ball with his eyes clamped shut and
tonight he’d managed to lose four games in a row. “It just pissed me off,
that’s all.”

“Is this a multi-tasking thing?” She asked smiling,
trying to make light of the bleak air surrounded them.

Randall scrubbed his right hand down his face while he
half-groaned, half-laughed at her playful dig. “Yeah, guess you could say
that.” Because what man in his right mind could witness what he’d seen on the
dance floor and still be expected to be competent at another task? Hell, even
something as simple as breathing had proven to be difficult while he’d stood by
and watched.

“So that’s it? You left because you lost a game of pool?”

“It wasn’t just one loss—it was more like four—and the
other reasons…well, they’re complicated.”

“Okay, so…explain it to me, then.”

Randall shook his head. “It’s not important.”

“Well, it sure didn’t look that way from my vantage
point. Don’t shut me out, Randall. You’ve been there for me; let me be here for
you, too.”

The worry in her eyes tore him to shreds. He didn’t want
her to waste one second fussing over him. Her midnight orbs glistened in the
dim light as the uneasiness lingered. He fought the urge to reach out and touch
her, reassure her, but he didn’t trust himself. He was losing grip on his
self-control, slipping, sliding. Fearing his restraint would fail him, he
interweaved his hands behind his neck and stared skyward at the ceiling. And
when the silence stretched on, Lana made the next move, taking a step forward;
launching inquiries in rapid succession.

“Is it Grant?—Kendall?”

“No.”

“Work?—your boat?”

Randall subtly shook his head. “No.”

Lana placed her palm over her chest and asked, “Is it
me
?”
She waited a few long beats for Randall to dismiss her as the subject of his
fury, and when he didn’t outright deny the notion immediately, she knew she was
getting closer to the core of his anger. “Did I do something wrong?—something
to offend you? Because you barely spoke two words to me tonight—I  just don’t
get it! Please, Randall,
talk to me
…”

Randall groaned deep in his throat, running his hand
through his black hair before placing it low on his hip again. “You really want
to know?” he questioned gravelly. “Because once it’s out there, I can’t take it
back.”

She hesitated for an instant. “Yes.”

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage, ignoring
the whisper of forewarning clutching his tongue. He couldn’t live like this
anymore, couldn’t pretend he wasn’t feeling what he was feeling.

“You drive me crazy”, he began. “It takes every ounce of
will power I have to keep my hands off you. Every time I’m with you, I want to
touch you…

“I want you, Lana—so bad, sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
I want to do things to you”, he murmured as he slowly walked toward her,
halting when their bodies were inches from colliding. “
Dirty things
…”