Searching Hearts (3 page)

I need liquid courage. “You want to grab a
drink in here?”

She looks up to the antique sign: Mendocino
Hotel. The building is yellow and saloon-style, like any minute
Billy The Kid will explode out the door blasting his pistol past a
bearded centenarian whittling a wood figurine on the porch.

She sends up a shy smile and a nod. “Sounds
good.”

“After you, gorgeous.” She passes me and
looks up so that, for a second, I think I might receive another
kiss. I’m not that lucky.

The bar inside is dark, which I like
immediately. The fifty-plus year old bartender is caught up in
conversation with a couple of people who appear to have been born
on those barstools. As the light pours in with our entrance, he
turns and jerks a chin to us, letting us know we’ve been seen and
he’ll be right with us.

Rebecca glides onto an empty stool,
comfortable in her own skin. She eyes the waiting bottles on the
back wall. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she looks back to me
and smiles. “What are you having?”

The bartender walks up, asking pleasantly,
“Hi there folks. What can I getcha?”

What I really want is a beer – a Budweiser.
But I know that’s because I don’t know anything about liquor. I
look at the bottles, too, but have no idea what I’m looking at. We
all drank beer in college – just beer. All except the twat Melvin
who thought he was better than the rest of us. Melvin’s parents
were loaded. He’d been places. But he made the mistake of telling
us that in such a way that we disliked him for it.

I turn to her and smile. “Ladies first.”

“I like scotch.”

She likes scotch? Wow. That’s simultaneously
exciting and sweat-inducing. A woman who likes scotch is not to be
toyed with. And man do I want to toy with her.

“Woman after my own heart. I know what I
like… but I’ll defer to you, so you choose.” Defer – good word. I
pulled that one out of Melvin’s ass.

Her hair whips around gently as she faces
the bartender. “Oban please. Two cubes of ice.”

He nods and looks to me. What the hell is
Oban? “The lady has good taste. I’ll have the same.” He turns and
goes. Can I drink this stuff without blanching like a child?

Rebecca shifts in her chair and looks at me
from behind a raised bare shoulder. The depth of her eyes is
amazing. My elbow supports me as I lean a little closer to her,
like we’re about to share a secret. But neither of us talks. To
look at someone without speaking, the room fades away. Her lips are
slightly open, the bottom lip fuller than the top. I feel desire
build as I look at it, scanning the pillow-crevices that are free
of any added color. If I leaned in six inches, I’d be tasting that
lip. Sucking on it. Taking her mouth in mine and touching my tongue
to hers…

“Here you go.” The glasses hit the wood with
a thunk that sends Rebecca and I leaning back fast. We collect
ourselves and smile. It takes a second for us to thank
Bartender-Interuptus-Shithead. But we do.

As soon as he leaves, I raise my glass to
the beauty beside me. “To meeting you.”

Rebecca

Panties: fried. Heart: exploded. Shrapnel:
flying

______________________

I haven’t blushed since age fourteen.
Freshman year. I hit puberty, got my boobs, and gave it up to
Trathen Martin – a Senior who took the gold of about fifteen other
gullible girls around the same time. I stopped blushing after I
found out I wasn’t as special as he said I was. My ability to blush
was lost – or so I had thought.

I was wrong. I’m red as the barstool I’m
sitting on.

“Thank you.” My eyes fall to the counter,
the heat in my face intense.

“Are you blushing?” He’s not teasing. He’s
actually surprised.

There is something about Brendan that has me
forgetting who I am and what I know. It feels like I’ve got a clean
slate. He doesn’t know how breathtakingly handsome he is. We walked
here from the bookstore and he didn’t notice when five different
women turned their heads to look at him… and then at me, with
eyebrows raised way too high. No one is as puzzled as I am, but I
wanted to flip them off anyway. In a way, that’s what I’m
doing.

I meet his baby blues again. “Am I?”

He laughs. There’s something about a man
with good teeth; it’s just sexy.

“You are. You definitely are.” His smile
fades and he leans closer. “And here I thought you couldn’t be any
more beautiful.”

I raise the still-full glass and cover my
face with it, grinning like a child behind it. “Oh my God. You are
killing me.”

He’s proud of himself. I can tell. And he
should be. He’s made me feel better than I have in years. If men
only knew that a well-said compliment gets us wet and tearing off
our clothes, husbands everywhere would get a lot more action.

“To blushing.” My young companion touches
his glass to mine, the one hiding my embarrassment. I venture out
to take a sip, watching him as he joins me.

“You like it?” I ask.

With casual, sexy confidence he nods. “Oban
is my favorite scotch.”

“Oh good. I hoped I made the right
choice.”

“You sure did.”

I pick up the menu left for us – a large,
leather-bound list of comfort foods that makes my mouth water
immediately. “This looks incredible. Are you hungry?”

I meet a smoldering blue stare as a dark
lock of hair falls onto his forehead. “I’m starving.”

Nobody pinch me.

Brendan

Meatloaf: ridiculously delicious. Plate:
licked clean. She has two sisters, both older. She moans when she
eats potatoes. Her smile: Sara who?

______________________

With all the shops explored, we’re walking
back to the Sea Rock Inn. We’re alone – just the way I want it. I
feel like I should take her hand. I’m walking with my hand swinging
by hers, so close and yet so far away. Every so often they touch
and I wish she’d just grab mine and let me off the hook. It was so
easy to sit and talk to her in the restaurant – c’mon Bren. Get
some balls.

We’re walking on the right hand shoulder of
the two-lane road that leads out of the small town. Waves crash
below the cliffs to our left, rhythmically soothing as the water
methodically cuts boulders into sand. I tell her about how it does
that, and the other things I learned in Geology – although I act
like I just know about this stuff. Which I guess, now I do. That’s
what school’s for, isn’t it? But still, I don’t want to remind her
in any way that I just finished college, so my speech is
careful.

Rebecca listens, nodding and asking a good
question now and then. After a bit of silence, she says simply,
“It’s beautiful up here.”

“It is. And to think I almost didn’t come.”
I look down at her swinging hand. Here I am, easily a foot taller
and I’m scared of her. What a pussy.

Her chin raises and her eyes glide over my
face, making my blood pump harder. “Really? I almost didn’t,
either.”

“I’ll tell you why I didn’t, if you tell
me.”

Her smile fades. “That’s okay.” She looks
away, subject closed.

I replay my words and can’t find a reason
for the look on her face. “Okay.”

We walk in silence. Once again our fingers
brush by accident. I can’t wait anymore. I take the leap and touch
her on purpose, weave mine into hers, watching her face for
reaction. Her breasts rise with surprise. She looks at our hands.
With breath held, and heart hammering in my chest, I wait for her
to pull away.

We stop walking. A truck honks as it passes,
but we don’t look at it. Her lashes rise to mine and for the first
time I see it - she is as nervous as I am. Adrenaline roars into my
veins with the speed of a launched missile as I realize she wants
me, too.

“Come on.” I lead her across the road to a
large cluster of trees grown perilously cliff-side. The sound of
the waves gets louder, calling to us. We’re walking fast. She jogs
to keep up and her freshly blushing cheeks say everything.

I pull her to me in the secret privacy of
the trees. Hooded and sexy, her smoky brown eyes close as I stare
at her lips. She whispers, “Oh my God.”

That kiss in the bookstore only gave me a
taste of what I need. I want more. I slip my hands around her back,
pulling up, lifting her onto her toes. Our lips tentatively touch.
My eyes close as my need for her pulls at my jeans. I touch my
tongue to hers and taste its sweetness. I love the smell of her
breath, natural and unfettered. Her arms slide around my neck and
her fingers weave into my hair as our tongues slowly explore. She
moans into me as I push my hips on hers, feel her leg opening to
wrap around my thigh. We grind a little – just a little – and the
heat on our skin builds. Her fingers travel down my shoulders, my
arms – resting there like she’s enjoying touching my muscles.

“Stop,” she breathes. She pulls back enough
for me to see her face. “Brendan, stop… I can’t. I’m sorry. I
can’t.”

I release her waist and step back. With the
newfound space to move, she breaks free and quickly walks away in
the direction we came.

What did I do wrong?

“Rebecca!”

Rebecca

This shoulder of road has never been so
guiltily trudged up.

______________________

We’re walking in silence with me a couple
safe paces ahead. Even with the distance, I can feel him. I can
still feel his hands on my thighs, on my lower back, pressing into
my skin. His breath on my lips. His heat enflaming my everything. I
can’t handle this.

I haven’t kissed anyone besides Jack in over
twelve years. Marriage plus courtship. And it never – and I mean
never
– felt like this. My heart is pounding. My
starved-for-attention body is dripping with desire. I’ve never
cheated on Jack. Until I make it really clear that we are over,
this is cheating. I can’t cheat – I’m not a cheater. My best friend
Noelle’s husband cheated on her and she nearly ate all of Arizona
while simultaneously hanging herself with a metaphoric rope of cork
from all the wine bottles she’d sucked dry.

I am not a cheater. I’m just not. I can’t
be. Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT.

Wrapping my arms tightly around me, I
stumble on a chunk of rock I didn’t see. “Ooh.”

“You okay?” he asks.

I sneak a peek at him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” His beautiful
eyebrows are knit together…and I want to kiss the temporary little
lines.

A sharp angle to the right and I’m almost to
my cottage. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Rebecca…” His voice pulls at me with sweet
longing.

He’s so young; so new, fresh and un-jaded.
He embodies all of what I want for myself. I want to feel hopeful
about life again. Young in mind if I can’t be younger in body. I
head toward middle age with unacceptable speed. I don’t want to
feel like it’s over!

I spin around. “I’m not fine.”

“How can I help?”

A huff of air escapes my lungs and I look
everywhere around me. “I want you to help me. I want you…”

“I want you, too. Is there any reason we
can’t?”

My mind races. I want to say that I’m newly
separated… as in yesterday! I want to tell him that he scares me! I
want to confess that I haven’t kissed anyone besides my husband
since Brendan was probably in grade school! But instead I whisper a
lie. “No. There’s no reason.”

He smiles and my heart fills with steam,
looking at it. “You probably just want someplace more private than
a tree?”

I laugh. I loved the tree! The tree wasn’t
the problem. Biting my lip, I shake my head and grin at him. “Would
you like to see my cottage?”

“I’d like to see more than just your
cottage.” He flashes a sexy grin.

Nervously, I turn. “Follow me.”

He walks a few steps behind me and I can
feel my ass heating up under his appreciative stare. I walk up the
porch, sliding the key out of my bag, but I never get the chance to
use it. Because the door opens, and there, looking at me with red,
tired eyes and crumpled airplane/rental car clothing, is my
husband.

An emotional storm waves through me,
rendering me able to utter only one terrified word. “Jack!”

“Surprised?” he asks, smiling weakly.
Brendan keeps walking as though we don’t know each other. Behind me
I hear his footsteps continuing on to his own cottage.

My heart goes with him, as I stare at my
husband. “Very! What are you doing here?”

“I made the reservation for this place. It’s
our anniversary, remember?” His forced smile hurts me. Did Brendan
hear him say anniversary? I look right and see Brendan pause before
he disappears into his cottage. He heard.

I walk past my husband and close the door.
We don’t hug. Men are like dogs – he’d smell young man meat
lingering on my mouth and would know what I’ve been doing.

“When you didn’t answer your phone and I
couldn’t find you, even called Noelle, I figured you had to have
come here.”

My mind is spinning so badly. I’m only half
listening. I’m only capable of making two sounds. “Uh-huh.”
Brendan’s arms. The smell of his shampoo…I walk into the tiny
cottage kitchen. Stand with my back to the counter, my hands
gripping onto it as I face out so I can stare at my husband and try
to focus.

“I can’t believe you flew out here on your
own.” He laughs like he didn’t think I had it in me. This breaks
through. Familiar. Angry. Done.

“You act as though I can’t do anything on my
own, Jack.”

He blinks. His eyes flash annoyance. It’s
back on. “I never said that. It’s just you don’t really do anything
without me and I…”

“That’s just it! I don’t. I’ve let you
dictate my whole life for the last ten years!” My hands are tightly
gripped on the counter for support.