Dare to Love (16 page)

Her popcorn spilled all over the floor of his car as she reached up and wrapped both of her arms around his neck. She gave him kiss for kiss, wantonly mating her tongue with his, pressing her breasts more firmly into his grasp.

Doug slid his hand beneath her sweater, shaking with his eagerness to know her more completely. He'd been dreaming of her for so long he could hardly believe he was finally touching her—that she was welcoming his touch. That she was touching...

“Oh baby,” he groaned against her lips, lifting his hips up as Andrea's hand pressed against the fly of his jeans. He was so full he ached, but her gentle touch brought such sweet pain he knew he'd rather die than stop her. She molded her hand to the length of him, squeezing him as he thrust against her. He felt his passion building, nearing its peak.

“Stop,” he said, holding her hand still against him. “Not here. Not like this. Let's go home. I don't want to take this trip alone.”

Andrea pulled her hand back, clenching it together with the free hand in her lap. She scooted over on the seat—not very far, but much too far.

“What? What's wrong?” Doug asked. He was going to lose his mind if she turned away from him now.

“I can't, Doug.”

“What do you mean, you can't?”

“I just can't. It wouldn't be fair. To either of us.”

“Fair? It wouldn't be fair? My cock's so hard I'm about to lose my mind, and you call that fair?”

“Look, I'm sorry. I know I was wrong to let things get so out of hand. I just wanted to make you feel good. I guess I got carried away.”

“You got carried away? You haven't even begun to get carried away, baby. That I can promise you.”

“I can't start anything with you, Doug.”

“You gonna tell me why not?”

“I tried this before, and I screwed up badly. I can't go through it again. I can't be responsible for putting you through it. I've already hurt two people I've loved.”

“You can't just turn your back and walk away, Andrea.”

“Please don't ask me to do this, Doug. You could talk me into it with very little effort, but I know I'd regret it.”

Doug sat in his seat, his arms folded across his chest, focusing on the screen in front of him. He had to get home, to take a cold shower, before his frustration made him say something he'd regret. This was not just about sex. Somewhere along the way Andrea had become his friend. And he had precious few of those, too few to want to lose one over a little pain in his groin.

“Then what was this?” he asked, wishing he didn't need so badly to know.

“It was—it was...you turn me on, Doug. More than anyone ever has in my life....” He started to reach for her again, but she slid over to the other side of the seat. “But I also care about you, too much to make either of us into a one-night stand.”

Her words made no sense. “And you think that's what we'd be?”

“It's what we'd have to be. I'm not open to any other possibilities.”

“So what now? We just stop wanting each other? We just ignore what being together does to us?”

“I don't think we have any other choice.”

Doug looked over at her, at the determination in her eyes, at the fear she probably didn't even know was there. He was afraid to push her. He was afraid she'd never want to see him again.

He reached for his keys, started the car and drove her home, leaving her with a tender but chaste good-night kiss. He thought of the way Gloria had described her daughter before her divorce, how lively Andrea must have been then, how full of brimstone. And he vowed that someday, somehow, he would have that woman in his bed.

D
OUG SAT IN HIS CAR
thinking about Andrea as he waited for Jeremy Schwartz after school one Monday, about ten weeks into his first semester as a DARE officer. He wondered what he could do to get Andrea to take a chance on life again. If there was anything he
could
do.

The school buses had long since left, and the after-school crowd of kids dispersed by the time Jeremy sauntered outside. His ratty jean-jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he wasn't carrying any books. He glanced around and then crossed the playground, heading out behind the school.

Doug got out of his car, shutting the door quietly behind him, and carefully followed the skinny blond boy. Jeremy cut through a couple of yards and turned into an alley a few blocks from the school. Doug kept a discreet distance as he headed down the alley after Jeremy, ducking behind dumpsters anytime the boy turned around. He didn't blame Jeremy for keeping his back covered. The neighborhood on the other side of the alley wasn't anything like the one they'd just left behind.

It still amazed Doug how quickly the scenery could change. How strange it was that the children of successful businessmen played with relative safety on their fresh green lawns just one block away from some of the city's worst squalor.

Jeremy reached the end of the alley and headed up a street that hadn't seen grass in at least a decade. Doug followed him.

“Jer'my, how ya doin', boy?” a drunk called out from the doorway of a vacant building.

“Just cheesy, Butch, just cheesy.” Doug heard the sarcasm in the boy's voice even if the drunk didn't.

Jeremy walked on, nodding to some of the people he passed, avoiding others, until he came to another alley. It was deserted except for the overflowing trash bin that sat there. The boy dropped his jacket, approached the trash bin and weeded through it, coming up with an open coffee can. He set the can high on top of the pile of trash and backed up about eight feet. He bent down, picked up a rock, adopted a perfect basketball stance and shot the rock straight into the coffee can. Doug listened as four more rocks, one after the other, clinked into the can.

Jeremy continued shooting rock after rock, changing his stance, his angle, his distance from the can. And stone after stone met its mark with uncanny precision. Doug was impressed as much by his determination as by his talent.

He finally had a way to reach the boy, maybe even to help him. Doug walked out into the alley, picked up a rock of his own and lobbed it toward the can.

As the rock flew by him, Jeremy jerked, swung around and reached for the knife that was hidden at his waist.

Doug held both hands up and away from his body. “Hold on there, guy. I was just about to suggest a game of one-on-one at the Y, nothing else.”

Jeremy lowered the knife, but his defensive, belligerent expression didn't change. He spat at Doug's feet.

“Get lost, cop.”

Doug studied the boy for another couple of seconds, then turned around and left.

* * *

A
NDREA PEDALED FURIOUSLY
, barely listening to the news blaring from her television set as she tried to work off images of Doug in her apartment, looking so out of place at her glass-and-brass kitchen table, filling her living room with energy even when he was suffering from a concussion, lying in her bed, his bare chest—

Her doorbell rang, saving Andrea from following where her thoughts were trying to lead her. She slid off her exercise bike, panting heavily, pretending that her lack of air was due entirely to exertion from her physical workout.

She looked through her peephole, and was actually glad to see her mother standing on her doorstep with a package under her arm.

“Hi, Ma!” she said, flinging open the door. “Come on in.”

Gloria frowned, peering closely at Andrea. “You okay?” she asked.

Andrea took her mother's free arm, dragging her into the living room. “I'm fine, Ma. Really. I was just riding my bike.”

Gloria frowned again as she glanced over at the exercise bike in Andrea's living room.

“It's not right, making your living room look like a gym. How's a man supposed to relax after a hard day's work with that thing staring him in the face?”

“So what man's gonna be relaxing in my living room?”

Gloria harrumphed. “My point exactly.”

Andrea refused to rise to the bait. She didn't have the energy to fight both the world and her mother.

“I bought these for you today. They were on sale,” Gloria said, handing Andrea the package she'd brought.

Andrea opened the bag hesitantly, knowing better than to get too excited. The last time Gloria had found a sale, it had been on the laciest, skimpiest teddies Andrea had ever seen. Her mother had bought seven of them. They were in one of Andrea's dresser drawers with the tags still on.

“Ma! They're beautiful!”

Andrea held up the oversize cotton shirt and leggings her mother had brought. They were black, with tiny silver studs outlining a striking leafy design from the right shoulder to the left ankle. It was an outfit Andrea would have bought for herself in an instant if she'd been able to afford it.

It reminded her of Doug, of the silver-studded wristband he never took off.

Gloria was running her finger along Andrea's coffee table, checking for dust.

“I did it yesterday,” Andrea said. “Ma, they weren't on sale, were they?”

“It's not polite to ask the price of a gift, Andrea.”

Andrea walked over to her mother, wrapping her arms around Gloria's ample girth. “Thanks, Ma.”

“Mark and Amy are getting married.”

Andrea pulled back from her mother, too excited for her new friends to care about the accusation in Gloria's words. “They are? That's wonderful! When?”

“They haven't set a date yet, but it'll be soon, I'm sure. Someday you're going to have to try it again, Andrea. I'd hoped it was going to be Mark, but just because it isn't doesn't mean the show's over you know.”

“There's no law that says a woman has to be married, Ma.”

“You're not happy alone.”

“I'm happier alone than when I was married.”

“But that's because you married the wrong guy.”

“I don't want to discuss this anymore, Ma.”

“Isn't there anyone, Andrea? Anyone who makes your knees just the least bit wobbly when you think about him?”

Andrea had passed the stage of wobbly knees weeks ago. She was into hot flashes and heart palpitations these days. “Nope.”

“No one, Andrea? Are you sure? You always went for dark hair. Don't you know anyone with dark hair? Or what about eyes? All the guys you ever dated had brown eyes. Surely you can think of someone who attracts you?”

The image of Doug in her bed came back to haunt Andrea. If only Gloria knew how close she was....

“No, Ma. I don't. Now just leave it alone.”

Gloria studied her, seeming to come to some decision.

“I'll leave it alone if you'll agree to meet Mabel Stewart's brother. He's moving to Columbus and he's staying with her while he looks for a place to live.”

“Mabel Stewart from the supermarket? She's your age, Ma! You want me to go out with someone your age?”

“He's her step-brother from her mother's second marriage. He's younger than she is. He works at the supermarket, too.”

“How much younger is he?”

Gloria looked away, straightening a pillow on Andrea's couch. “Years younger. Believe me, Andrea, Blake isn't too old for you. He's a really nice young man, takes the time to help all the old ladies at the market. And he's gorgeous, too. He's got this thick head of brown hair and a body that all the ladies talk about.”

Andrea was tempted. Here was an opportunity to prove to herself that Doug didn't have any hold on her. “No, Ma. You know I don't go in for blind dates.”

“But I already told him you would, Andrea. I'll never be able to show my face at the market again if you don't at least see him once. Come on, Andrea. What's one dinner?”

Doug's image popped up in front of Andrea's eyes again. His big brown eyes were half-closed, hazy with desire, and the sheet had slipped so low on his hips it might as well not even have been there at all....

“Okay, Ma. I'll go.”
I'll prove once and for all that Doug's kisses aren't the only ones that make me so desperately hungry....

* * *

D
OUG WENT
to school early the following Monday. He entered the gym, calling out for Rich Peterson, the junior-high basketball coach. Rich doubled as the elementary gym teacher on Mondays. Doug had met him in the lunchroom several weeks before.

“Back here.” The words came from a little office at the side of the gym. Doug headed in that direction.

“Officer Avery,” Peterson said when he spotted Doug, and he got up from behind his desk to shake his hand.

“Call me Doug.” Even after all these weeks he wasn't used to the respect he got from the staff at the schools. He was more comfortable with people calling him “pig” and spitting at him.

“What can I do for you, Doug?” Rich asked.

“I got a favor to ask you,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his uniform trousers. He felt like a fraud cashing in on the reputation of his badge.

“Sure, Doug, whatcha need?”

“I'd like you to take a look at one of my students. The kid can shoot.”

“Sure. I'll look. Who is he?”

“Jeremy Schwartz.”

“Schwartz? Are you kidding, Doug? That kid's nothing but trouble.”

Doug's jaw clenched as he bit back the response on the tip of his tongue. “He's not the nicest kid I've ever met,” he said instead, “but he can shoot a basketball like I shoot a gun. He's right on every time. Maybe if we give him something to do with himself, he'll straighten out.”

The coach studied Doug. “You're trying to find him one of those alternatives you're always talking about, right?”

“Could be. But what could it hurt to take a look at him? If he's not as good as I say he is, you've wasted five minutes of your day.”

“Have him here at lunch. I'll take a look.” Rich walked back around his desk and sat down. “But he'd better be good....”

Doug decided to wait until lunchtime before approaching Jeremy. He didn't want to give the boy any time to back out on him. But when they were seated at the lunch table and Doug broached the subject, Jeremy stood up, picked up his lunch tray and walked away.

Doug followed him to the trash can and then over to the window where Jeremy dropped off his tray. “What can it hurt, Jeremy? All you have to do is shoot a couple of baskets.”

Hope flashed briefly on the boy's face, but it was gone so quickly Doug wasn't sure he hadn't just imagined it. “No way, cop. When you gonna get the picture? I ain't no charity case.”

Doug followed Jeremy to the door of the lunchroom. “No, you're not. But you're one helluva good shot, Jeremy. What's wrong with giving yourself a chance?”

“A chance at what?” Jeremy asked bitterly, stopping in the entrance to the lunchroom. “Look at me, and look at them.” He nodded toward the clean-cut young boys at the table nearest the door. “I ain't gonna get a place on that team, and you and I both know it.”

“You're never going to get any chances if you don't try.”

“Go away, man.”

When Doug didn't move, Jeremy pushed open the door and left the room.

He couldn't force Jeremy to meet with Coach Peterson. He couldn't force Jeremy to do anything—but he couldn't give up, either. Lord knows, he'd tried. But Jeremy just kept coming back to haunt him. Here was a chance for him to do things over, to save a young man from the hell that had been his own life for too many years.

* * *

D
OUG TOOK
A
NDREA
out for an ice-cream cone after school that afternoon. It was November, and too cold for ice cream, but he knew she had a soft spot for the creamy confection. And he needed to talk to her.

“I'd like your opinion on something,” he said as soon as they were back in his cruiser licking their cones.

“Shoot.” She looked at him over the top her cone, and Doug felt his groin clench. Even in her uniform she took his breath away.

“What?” she asked when Doug continued to watch her without saying anything.

He told her briefly about his attempts to get through to Jeremy Schwartz. “I've tried everything I can think of and so far nothing's working. Got any suggestions?” He took a bite of his cone.

Andrea stopped licking. “You can't do it, Doug.”

He stopped crunching. “What?”

“You can't abandon an entire classroom full of students to concentrate on one boy.”

Doug rolled down the window and tossed the rest of his cone to the birds.

“I'm not abandoning the class,” he said carefully. What the hell was she talking about?

Andrea bit into her cone. “You're running that risk if you pick out one child to befriend over the others. You've already done more than you should have, approaching Coach Peterson like that. What if any of the other boys found out?”

Doug was getting angrier by the minute. “I don't get it. I show them I care about them. I give to them all day, everyday. I get them to trust me—but I can't help the one little boy who probably needs me the most?”

“That's just it, Doug. If you lose even five of the twenty-five kids who are learning what you're trying to teach them, would helping Jeremy be worth it? Five kids who have a great chance, for one who probably won't make it anyway?”

He pounded his hand on the steering wheel. “How can you say that? How can you sit there and decide a boy's fate, like it's nothing more than old cat litter?”