A Notion of Love (9 page)

“They have three kids now, or four?” asked Jim.

“Three,” I said, noticing that Blythe was intently listening as I talked about my sister. “All girls.”

“Imagine that,” Del said, draining his mug.

“Well, bring her over the minute she gets to town,” Eddie said, giving me a wink.

“I will,” I promised. The three older men headed to the pool table, leaving Justin, Blythe and I leaning on our elbows against the bar.

I was acutely aware of Justin on my right, angled so that his knee was just a few inches from mine. He was saying, “Don't worry, Jills, I won't tell anyone about Jackie cheating. It's no one's business.”

“I was just thinking that,” I said, even though I hadn't been. But it was nice of him to let me know. I added, “Jo would be so embarrassed. It seems like everyone knows anyway, at least at Shore Leave.”

“I know how she feels,” Justin said then. “I'll talk with her when she gets here, if she wants. I know how bad that fucking sucks.”

From my other side Bly added, “Yeah, you don't exactly get over that kind of thing.”

Justin grunted a little, but said, “Especially when it's your wife.”

Blythe didn't ask any more questions, but again I was struck with the sense that he was a good listener. Justin must have subconsciously reached the same conclusion, because he added, “We were married for a long time. And we'd dated in high school too. Shit, I stuck around here to wait for her.”

I curled my hands around my mug and studied Justin's reflection in the mirror; he was looking up and to the right, back into time. Finally Bly followed up with a quiet, “What happened?”

“This,” Justin said, turning his face directly towards us and flippantly indicated his scars. “This happened, and Aubrey couldn't live with it.”

Blythe narrowed his eyes as though in speculation and said, “You know what's funny?” When neither Justin nor I responded, he added, “I don't even notice your scars unless you talk about them.”

It was the best thing he could have said. Justin, who'd appeared just a wee bit confrontational, laughed a little and turned back to his beer. I gave Blythe a small, sidelong smile, letting him know he'd said the right thing. I totally agreed with him.

An hour later the mood had lightened considerably, perhaps because I was fairly drunk, and Eddie's partner for a round of pool. Justin and Jim were taking us on, while Blythe hunkered on a stool and watched. He'd insisted that he was not a pool player, and would rather relax with a beer and be our audience.

“Those pool cues feel like toothpicks in my hand,” he'd explained in his deep voice, his southern accent more pronounced the longer he continued drinking. “I can't handle 'em right.”

Though I doubted Blythe had ever had trouble handling anything in those big hands, I left him alone, concentrating instead on beating Justin. Jim was the lesser of the two evils on their team. Justin, though, was canny. He was also drunk, but that was no impairment to him; in fact, it even seemed to sharpen his focus. I was a good pool player myself and determined to beat Justin, and the competition between us had reached a peak at this point. It was no-holds-barred between him and me now, though Eddie and Jim were still hanging around the table, laughing and heckling us, by turns. I still had the two and the three, Justin just the fourteen, and the table was currently mine.

“Come on, honey,” Eddie coached me, as I leaned into the shot and muttered, “Two in the corner,” nodding at the far right pocket.

I was really concentrating, knowing I had to sink this one or lose for sure, my fingers perfectly poised over the end of the cue, when Justin commented wryly, “You know, Jillian, some people might consider that cheating.”

Dammit, I knew he was trying to distract me. And to my chagrin, I found my gaze flickering over to him. He was just across the table from me, his cue balanced on the floor, both of his hands wrapped around the top of it, his chin tipped just slightly down. His dark eyes were skewering me, directed straight down my shirt, which, from the angle I was currently in, allowed for a pretty deep glimpse of my cleavage. Sitting just behind him, Blythe made a choked sound, like he was trying not to laugh, and actually flushed a little. Jim and Eddie both laughed heartily, though Eddie said, “One more word like that about my partner and I'll kick your ass, boy.”

Although I was flustered as hell, I refused to give Justin the satisfaction of acting embarrassed. Probably four beers had something to do with it. I squared my shoulders, offering even better viewing access to say
so there
, and from the corner of my eye I was terribly pleased to see Justin's lips twist up in a crooked little smile. A hank of black hair had fallen over his forehead, causing him to look even more disreputable, and admittedly, sexy as hell. I drew in a breath, concentrated on my shot with real effort (a trickle of sweat actually skimmed over my temple), and then sank the two in the corner. Eddie howled while Jim slapped Justin's back and Justin himself gave me a knowing grin.

I stood straight and blew a lock of my own blond hair from my eye. I had to stand right where Justin currently was to make my last shot before the eight. I moved towards him, pinning him with my eyes. He lifted his eyebrows at me as though in challenge, but then moved to the side so I could have access. I was incredibly self-conscious of having to bend forward over the table again, in my jean shorts that were probably a little shorter than they should be, but shit, I have to admit I liked showing off my legs. I zoned in on the three, again calling my shot, murmuring, “Three in the side,” while Eddie ordered in a mock-strict tone, “Eyes off my partner, Miller.”

But I couldn't pay attention to them, knowing this was it; I had to sink this ball or Justin would nail me.
In the game
, I hastily corrected myself, but my heart was already going triple-time just thinking about the other context of that thought. I breathed in and held it, drew a bead, and lightly tapped the cue ball, gently as I could manage. Time seemed to crawl as I stayed bent over, watching as it rolled along smooth as butter, clicked against the three, and…sank it. I breathed out in a rush, feeling a smile flow across my face.

Eddie was whooping and Justin was shaking his head, raising his mug of beer to me in a silent salute. I gave him my most sugary smile and sank the eight ball with no pressure this time, winning the game. Jim was laughing too, Blythe grinning at me and clapping proudly. I sauntered over to Justin, who stood his ground and regarded me with amusement and something…something that made my heart blast off into my throat yet again. But I didn't let him see any of my discomposure, instead saying, sweetly, “I believe you owe us a round of drinks.”

“You got it, Jilly-Anne,” he teased me and again my heart danced rapidly against my breastbone.

“I think I'm in the mood for a shot,” I said, though I should have known way better. Did I think I was still in high school? This tigress attitude was a direct result of four beers in quick succession, certainly not because Justin seemed somehow tethered to me by an invisible thread, following in my wake and straddling the barstool beside mine, leaning over on one elbow and regarding me with his dark eyes slightly hooded and a smile playing over his sexy mouth. Eddie appeared behind the bar and asked, “What'll it be?”

I kept my eyes on Justin's as I requested, “Your most expensive shot of tequila.”

Justin narrowed his eyes even further, but he said, gamely enough, “Make it two.”

Blythe ambled up and gave me a brief pat on the back. He said, “Good game, Jills. I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

I managed to look away from Justin and asked, “Aw, you're going already?”

Bly nodded, glancing at Justin and then back to me. He winked and said, “Have a good night.”

“See ya, buddy,” Justin added as Eddie produced three shot glasses and proceeded to fill them with something, I didn't really pay attention.

“Here's to my partner,” Eddie said in mock-seriousness, bumping his shot glass against mine. He was never above drinking with his customers.

“Thanks,” I said, batting my lashes at him.

“I'm only buying the two, Ed,” Justin teased, his dark eyes glinting as he chimed his glass against Eddie's.

For a moment I held my breath, poised with my glass in the air; Justin tapped our shots, lightly, and we all drained the round.

“Another!” I pronounced, though Eddie shook his head at me and moved to rejoin Jim at the pool table.

“Jilly, you'll be sick,” Justin said.

“I'm fine,” I insisted. I teased, “Let's go dancing.”

Justin rolled his eyes at me and suggested, “How about I get your ass home.”

I wasn't about to give up this unexpected time with him and said, “No, I'm not ready yet.”

“Jills,” he said then, and there was something in his voice that made my heart kickstart. But in the next second he stood up and said, quietly, “Come on.”

“Should you be driving?” I asked him.

“Shit, I'm fine,” Justin told me. “I think, though, that you're going to be feeling pretty terrible tomorrow.”

I couldn't read him at all. During our entire pool game until just a few seconds ago, I felt a vibration of heat flowing between us. And now it was as though he'd purposely stomped on it, becoming friendly but businesslike all of a sudden. I studied him intently for a moment as he pretended not to feel the weight of my gaze, finding his keys and then a twenty-dollar bill to put on the bar.

“Night, kids!” Eddie called over as Justin held the outer door open for me, and we waved good-night to him and Jim.

Outside the late-night air was still mid-spring chilly and I shivered a little. Justin clicked the automatic locks on his truck and opened the door for me, while I climbed inside and tried to reconcile what was going on between us. My insides were jittery and as he slid behind the wheel I suddenly felt like crying. But I wouldn't dream of letting him suspect that.

“Shit, are you cold? It's cold out here,” he said, starting the engine and messing with the controls. “Here, I'll get the heat going, sorry, Jills…”

“I'm fine,” I told him, keeping my voice steady with effort. The buzz I'd been enjoying was fizzling fast under a wave of sudden gloom. I wanted him to pull me against his warm side. I wanted it so much, and so fiercely, that I could hardly even look at him. He drove to Shore Leave in silence; when we got to the parking lot just a few minutes later I finally braved it and looked over at him. He met my eyes, though the rest of him was motionless, his hands hanging by the wrists over the top of the steering wheel, like always. My belly jumped and everything was so tangled up inside of me that I had to get out of his truck. Or I would embarrass myself by giving in to my desperate urge to move like lightning, straddle him and make him forget all about his scars, his bitterness, and Aubrey…

He seemed about to speak, and I lost my nerve all at once, saying, “Thanks for the ride,” before hurrying out of the truck. He stayed there, engine idling, until he'd made sure I was safely up my steps and into my front door. Inside I leaned against it, palms braced behind me, and listened to him drive away.

Two nights later I hadn't seen a
wink of him, even in the mornings for coffee.

This fact was making me ache inside.

That also may have been why I'd thrown myself into our Davis women margarita night just a few hours earlier, all of us joyously celebrating the fact that by next Saturday, Joelle would be here to join the festivities. It had been relatively fun, and distracting, but now hours had passed since everyone had gone to bed and I was alone in the dark, out on the dock. The night air was soft as a lover's hands on my bare shoulders. I raked my fingers through my hair and then crunched up the handful of
TicTacs
in my mouth. I usually loved sitting down here in the wee hours, letting my thoughts drift a little as I studied the stars. Sometimes I thought about Chris; how could I not, with so many memories of us built into these plank boards, this very air? But tonight I was thinking again of Justin.

Dammit.

I thought about him all the time, though he especially lingered in my mind after I lay down at night, longing for sleep, hearing my teenage son snoring in the next room. Justin and his way of coming into the café and making me feel whole. A way that I hadn't felt in over a decade. His hunky shoulders and dark eyes. There was something about the darkness of his irises that made him all the more appealing, so full of heat, like embers of a campfire that had been smoldering for hours. I rolled my own eyes at my thoughts, rubbing my shoulders roughly, arms crossed over my chest. I'd slid off my bra hours earlier, but it didn't matter since no one was here at this time of night, no one was stirring except the mosquitoes. I was irritated that my nipples were as stiff as peaks of meringue under my t-shirt at just the thought of Justin.

And my dreams had been so amazing; he came to me there almost every night.

His scars had never put me off, ever, not even before this attraction to him that seemed to swell within me on a daily basis. I hadn't wanted a man this way since Chris. Justin was the opposite of my husband in so many ways, but that was fine with me; where Chris had been tender and sweet, Justin was blunt and temperamental, with an enormous chip on his shoulder. But such wide shoulders, such powerful arms. Oh how I wanted those arms around me.

I hopped to my feet, wishing desperately that Joelle was already here. Fuck, I missed her and she would be such a distraction when these kinds of thoughts came creeping at my door. I knew there was a pack of smokes on the windowsill from earlier and headed over the dock boards with my chin tipped down. I was thinking that maybe I should repaint my toenails pretty soon and when Justin suddenly said, “I knew you'd be out here,” I gasped and started so hard that I almost fell into the lake. He was coming down the incline from the café with easy footsteps while I stood watching him with my jaw all but hanging open, my heart doing a slam-dance inside my chest.

He's here, he's here!

I knew if I tried to speak I would sound embarrassingly breathless. I crossed my arms over my breasts and instead, despite the joy that tidal-waved through me at the sight of him, mustered up a glare. He was wearing a pale t-shirt and his faded jeans, and was barefoot, of all things. He offered no explanation for why he was here at this time of night, scaring the shit out of people. For a moment I wondered if I'd just had more to drink than I'd thought and my intense longing for him had conjured up his image, then almost laughed at myself. I'd only had three margaritas and he was absolutely really here. And some part of me had known he would be, sooner than later.

He reached me but continued right past, moving to the end of the dock and sitting on the glider. I turned slowly, my face burning and my heart refusing to chill out. He tipped back as though to study the silvery, starry view in leisure. Finally he asked, not looking back at me, “You care to join me?”

“What are you doing here? You're barefoot! Are you drunk?” I asked then, moving to join him though not uncrossing my arms. I stood looking at him, probably appearing pissed off due to my stance. But I was a little pissed off, and though I hated to admit it with him so close, totally and completely aroused.

He tipped his head at me and said, “I'm not drunk, Jilly. I just knew you'd be out here.”

“So?” I demanded, though the word came out less irate than I'd intended. After he'd brought me home so abruptly the other night, I was still a little hurt. He bent forward and leaned his forearms on his thighs, keeping his eyes on mine.

“Because,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and my heart was thudding so loudly he could probably hear it. But he remained totally composed as he asked, “You want to sit?”

I sat, near but not touching. I heard myself say, “Remember how we all used to skinny dip out here?”

He laughed a little and said, “Of course. Is that an invitation?”

My heart seemed to beat out of my chest. Without thinking I stood abruptly, though I'd just sat down, and then he stood too. For a long moment we faced each other through a crackling net of tension and then Justin moved forward the mere two feet that separated us. With no hesitation he took my upper arms in his strong hands. I made a small sound in my throat and my arms went way up around his neck as though they had minds of their own, pulling him directly down to me. In the next moment I was pressed tightly to his powerful chest, my heart crashing against him, being kissed like this was Justin's last night before shipping out to war in the morning. I moaned again, tipping my head the other way to deepen our kiss, as I'd been daydreaming about for weeks now.

No…much, much longer than that.

“Jillian,” he murmured against my mouth, his hands all over me, voice deep with desire in a way that made my knees falter.

Despite the fact that his palms had never been against my bare skin, when he slipped them under the ragged hem of my old t-shirt and up my naked torso, nothing had ever felt more natural, or better. I went up on tiptoe and curled my fingers deliciously into his thick black hair as he cupped my breasts. I hadn't been touched this way in so long. So long, and it felt amazing because it was him. How many times had I dreamed about Justin like this?
Too many to count
.

He groaned against my mouth and then moved swiftly to lift me up into his arms, my legs around his waist. I tipped my head back, exposing my throat, hoping he'd bite it, which he did, lightly, sending shockwaves of heat through my belly. I tightened my legs around his waist and knew I had to feel him inside of me or I might die right here.

“Don't stop,” I ordered, breathlessly, and he grinned into my eyes like a gorgeous demon that was after my soul. But that thought aroused me even more.

“I won't,” he informed me, low, letting my feet slide to the dock and swiftly pulling the shirt over my head. I twisted out of its confines, impatiently, then tearing off his next, curling my fingers through the dark hair on his powerful chest, just like I'd been fantasizing. I bent and trailed my chin down the narrow line of hair on his hard, lean belly, unzipping his fly and then continuing to my knees, yanking down his jeans and taking him into my mouth before I even knew what I was doing. It was as though a red-hot haze had descended over my vision, the way people describe when they're terrifically angry. My insides were liquid and I had become a demon myself, of the intensely horny and needed-to-be-satisfied-
now
variety.

“Jillian,” he said, breathless, cupping my head with one hand as I took him deep, and then deeper. I had once been rather expert at this, and ran my tongue and lips around his hard cock, taking him down my throat and loving every moan and gasp that I elicited from him. I would have swallowed every drop, I was that into it, but he shifted suddenly and was on his knees beside me, gathering me into his arms and tipping his forehead against mine.

“Oh my God, you're incredible,” he said, sounding like he'd just swum across the lake at thirty miles an hour. He worked quickly then, spreading his t-shirt on the dock boards while I watched, moved at this gesture and loving the sight of his broad, muscular back shifting as he made a space there for us. He kicked out of his jeans and then turned back to me instantly and caught me close, kissing me in that way of his that made my head spin. His kiss was what had created the red-hot haze in my mind. I was shaking, incredibly wet, as his mouth plundered mine, so urgent and with such skill. I didn't break the kiss as I shimmied out of my own shorts and pulled him over me, lying back on the dock on the t-shirt he'd spread with such care. I curved my thighs around his hips.

He held himself over me, on his forearms, looking down into my eyes with an expression I couldn't quite read. He was breathing hard and I was sure that if I pressed my palm to his chest his heart would be generating enough energy to illuminate the whole state, same as mine.

“Justin,” I breathed, reverently, my voice hoarse, and his eyes lit with a smile as kissed me again, so amazingly. I bucked up against him, feeling his hard length against my thigh, needing to be filled up by him. I needed it so much I was a little afraid of myself. I grasped hold of him and he groaned like I'd plunged a knife into him, gliding his hands over my hips and then driving deep as I cried out, trying to muffle the sounds against my forearm. He beat into me like nobody's business, but I needed that, meeting his thrusts and then some. No condom, nothing. But I knew neither of us had made love in so long we were practically insane from the deprivation. It wasn't like I was getting pregnant, not since I took the pill to keep my periods regular.

“Oh my God, Jilly…” he gasped out, and would have pulled out if I hadn't clung to him with my arms and legs.

“It's all right,” I murmured minutes later, cradling him against me. He was still inside me and was still hard, though he'd just come about a milk truck's worth. “I'm on the pill.”

He drew a deep breath and lifted his head, bracing above me again on one forearm. He traced the right side of my face with the back of his fingertips, a smile playing on his lips. He was truly beautiful, scars and all. I ran my own hand lightly over those, finally, touching every last ridge and deformation, letting him know how I felt with just my fingers. He shuddered a little and closed his eyes for a moment, still within my body. I moved beneath him, taking up a less frantic rhythm, and his eyes flashed open and drove into mine. He kissed me again, with so much feeling that a small but intense orgasm shook me. I tipped back my head as he kissed my neck, again taking my hips firmly in his hands as he plunged into me. He bit my earlobes, my throat, took my nipples between his teeth. I shivered and melted by turns as he played with my body, running his tongue between my breasts, nipping me and placing suckling kisses all over my skin. Sweat beaded on me, fine as mist, as I came again, gasping against his neck. And still he didn't stop.

“Justin, oh God, Justin,” I moaned, panting in between intense rushes of pleasure. He slowed his pace but deepened his thrusts, as though reading my mind.

“Jillian,” he said back, his voice hoarse. He took my chin between his teeth and my nails were raking against the dock boards, as though seeking sheets to grab in my fists. I clutched his shoulders instead, tipping my face against his collarbone and breathing in his scent and though I'd never been so close to him, it was utterly familiar to me. For a second I marveled at finding this passion with Justin, who I had known my entire life. Whose face Gran had always said was too pretty for a boy. Whose easy laughter and bright, teasing spirit had diminished so much in the past difficult years that Dodge worried his boy would never regain those things. Just as my family had feared for me. And in that moment I was struck forcefully by the knowledge that I loved him, was so in love with him that it had surely been building for years, just waiting for the moment of recognition. It burst like firebombs through my mind, my soul.

But I couldn't tell him, I couldn't risk that. Not yet.

“I knew…you'd be like this,” I managed to say instead, though my own breath was short. I twined my fingers again into his wild thick hair, ran my hands over his face, his chin scratchy with stubble. The edge of my thumb brushed his mouth and he bit it, before my hands continued their course over his neck, his shoulders, my hips moving with his, our bellies pressed tight. He was as sensual as I'd imagined in my most secretly-guarded thoughts.

He grinned at me, his lashes lowered, catching my mouth for one last kiss before he came again and I moaned against his lips, stroking his tongue with mine, quivering along my entire length. I noticed that the stars had rotated in the sky as I studied them with a sense of stunned wonder, holding him tightly. I recalled how Chris would always be concerned that his weight was squashing me, and how I'd explained time and again that I loved that part: the heaviness of a man's body. To hold a satisfied man after making love was a necessary part of it, a wonderful part. I curved my arms more even snugly around Justin, sliding my fingernails over the back of his scalp. He shivered and his arms caught me closer, too.

“You're still so hard,” I observed after a moment, my body so hungry for his that I was mildly alarmed at myself.

I felt him grin against my neck, like a naughty boy. Experimentally, I shifted and took him even deeper, and he muttered, “Jilly, you're gonna kill me,” but he was kissing me passionately in the next instant, slanting his head over mine while I dug my fingernails into his tough shoulders. I shifted and then he allowed me to roll him to his back, not breaking our kiss, though I was forced to in order to ride him as hard as I wanted. I braced myself on his chest, remembering how my long hair used to swing wildly in this position, like a golden curtain. I felt free, uninhibited now, with no such restraint. His neck was bowed back as I worked over him, breathing hard, sweat trickling between my breasts and down my temples. He moaned again and again while volcanoes seemed to erupt through my lower belly. At the last moment he flipped me back under him, cradling me. I wouldn't be able to walk back to my apartment unless I found a towel somewhere, and I almost giggled at the unseemly, though practical, thought.