Pushing Limits (6 page)

Tommy stands, brushing my cheek softly with his lips.  “Hey,
Amber.  I wasn’t sure if you would prefer outside or inside so I picked
something in the middle.”  He gestures to the patio.  His infectious
smile manages to persuade one from me in return.

Sally reaches us and says, “Hey, Tommy.  I hope you don’t
mind.  Tracy and I were hanging out at the dorm and invited ourselves
along.”

“Sit here with three gorgeous women?  Why, Ms. Westin, I don’t
recall ever receiving such a tempting offer.”  His southern charm oozes
from every pore.

“This table is a tad bigger.  Carrie said we could snag it.” 
Sally gestures to the new table.

Standing, Tommy crosses to the new table, pulling out a chair for me to
sit in.  I thank him and take a seat.  He waits as Sally and Tracy
take their seats before sitting down.

The waitress hurries over.  “What can I get for y’all?”  She
says
y’all,
but she stares at Tommy, her eyes never leaving his face.

Sally turns to Tracy.  “Juice or coffee, Darlin’?”

“Cappuccino, please.”  Her shy smile contrasts with her model looks.

“Two cappuccinos, please.”  Sally orders, forcing the waitress to
notice her.  Her brows raised in a questioning stare.  One that read
-
would you please back off, Chica
.  I recognize that look. 
Angela used it often when she felt someone was disrespecting her, or me.

“Make that three,” I say, “and, an order of Huevos Rancheros, please.”

“A woman after my own heart.”  Tommy grins at me, turning to the
waitress.  “I’ll take the same.”
         

“I’ll have the coffees out to you right away, hon,” she says, twirling
her hair.

“So, what are you ladies up to, today?”  He asks Sally and Tracy.

“Not much…I thought we would head over to the Pavilion…haven’t
decided.  It’s such a nice day, the sun is out, and it’s not too
cold.  I have to be outside.”  Sally chats about the possible
destinations she has in mind. 

The waitress hurries over with the cappuccinos.  Huge brightly
colored mugs, filled to the brim with a chocolate swizzle stick emerging from
the fluffy cloud of whipped cream and sprinkles.  I pounce on my coffee,
pulling the chocolate stick from its cloud and sliding it down my puckered lips
for the right dip of sweetness.  Grazing my finger into the frothy whipped
cream, I pop my finger into my mouth, sucking off the glorious confection, my
eyes rolling to the heavens.  I sip the addictive creamy liquid and
whisper, “Sweet nectar of the Gods” as the liquid explodes in my mouth, zinging
caffeine into my blood. 

My eyes rise to notice the others staring at me with heated looks.

“Damn, Girl.”  Sally whispers.

Tommy grins at me wickedly.  “I’m glad you …uh, like it.”

Tracy’s mouth is gaping, and she closes it saying, “Wow.  That was
hot.”

“What?  I like my coffee.”  I shrug.

Shaking her head from her trance, Sally asks, “So, Tommy, where have you
been playing lately?” 

Thankful for a subject change, I watch him answer Sally and talk about
his latest gig.  With his attention on Sally, I steal a look at his face,
noticing he hasn’t shaved.  His dark beard is past that rough stubble
phase.  It looks soft, but I keep my hands to myself, willing myself not
to reach out and stroke his cheek.  He smells like soap, woodchips, and
citrus.  His hunter green shirt makes his eyes even bluer, at least from
what I remember.  His dimples come out to play often. 
I like
that.

As if he felt me looking, he glances my way, his lips curving into an
easy smile.  I blush and study my coffee.

Before I can feel like a bigger dork, the waitress brings over our
food.  As if on cue, Sally looks to Tracy saying, “We should head
out.  We have to meet my aunt in about a half hour at the Pavilion. 
Y’all have fun.” She gives us a wave as she and Tracy walk out of the
restaurant.

The aroma of beans, eggs, and enchilada sauce marry and drift to my
nose.  I gaze at my plate lovingly
.  I am so fucking hungry.
 
I cut into the eggs and they
seep
over the beans and
sauce, a heady mix of yellow, red, and brown.  The cheese is melted to a
nice gooey consistency.    

Cutting the first bite is crucial.  All elements must be on the fork
to ensure the perfect bite.  I load egg, tortilla, refried beans, and
cheese onto my fork, drag it through the enchilada sauce, and place my lips
around the morsel.  Sliding the fork out leisurely, the flavors assault my
taste buds.

A soft gasp comes from beside me, forcing my eyes open.  
Shit
! 
His eyes are bemused, but his mouth is twisted into a wolfish grin.

“What?  I like food.  Give me a break, I’m hungover.”

Tommy chuckles and says, “Apparently on an orgasmic level, it
seems.  Please, don’t let me stop you.  Eat more. 
It’s…umm…enticing.”  He nudges me, leering at me, and laughing.  He
says, “Wow, is it hot in here?”  Flapping the neck of his shirt open and
closed repeatedly.

I smile and study my food, grumbling, “For your information, a plate of
huevos
rancheros is the perfect hangover remedy.”

“That it is,” he agrees.  “Why are you hungover?  Did y’all hit
a club last night?”

“No, Sally moved in last night.  She brought a bottle of Patron to
christen the room.   We didn’t even start drinking until one.”

“Did y’all get rowdy?”  His sapphire eyes alight with mischief.

“Not really,” I say with a sneer.  “Woke the neighbors,” shrugging
my shoulders.  “So, tell me more about you.  You’re a musician – how
many years have you been playing?”  I take a bite, hoping he will talk for
a bit, so I can finish my meal.

“I’ve been playing for about fifteen years.  I do demos in Nashville
to try out new songs for more established singers to listen to.  That’s
really what I like.  I write some, but wish I wrote more.  It’s
harder than I thought.  Everything with music has always come easily for
me.  But writing?  I am leaving Suckville on that one…but I’m just
now pulling into Mediocre Town.  I keep pluggin’ along.  I play
around Nashville, but I prefer studio work.  I can do the spotlight, but
I’m not sure I have what it takes.  I love music, and whether I end up in
front of a
mic
or behind a sound board, I’m glad I
can scrape out a livin’.”

“If you’re doing demo work, you must be good.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”  He locks eyes with me, letting his
words hang in the air with a devilish grin.  “But…I enjoy interpreting a
song and putting my own spin on it.  It’s cool when someone like Tim
McGraw uses your interpretation when they record the song.”

“How many years have you been in Nashville?”

“Oh, about three years.  I graduated, packed up my truck, hitched up
my bike, and drove straight there.”

“You mentioned riding on the way in from the airport.  What do you
ride?”  I ask.

“Harley…of course.  I ride a Switchback.  She’s right
outside.  How about you?  What do you like to ride?”  His eyes
get that mischievous look again. 

Oh, he’s asking what I like to
ride.  
Well,
smartass, two can play that game.

“Harley.”  I grin.  “Sportster Low.”  Lowering my voice, I
lean in closer, staring into his eyes hard, licking my lips lightly
. 
“It
has a wonderful vibration to it.  Horsepower is tight.  I feel it
every time I ride.  There’s nothing like a good, long ride on a powerful
machine, ya know?” 

His eyes dart from my eyes to my lips and back again. 
Ca-ching!
 
I hear his breath hitch.  Soft, just a hint. 
How do ya like me
now, sucker?

“Wanna take a ride after we finish eating?” he asks. 

Shit, he’s upping the ante.  Put up or shut up. 

Staring into his face, my whole body tingles. 
Shit, I can’t do
this
. 
I’m just me…I’m not Sally…shit. 
I’m tempted to see
where this goes.  Sally was right about it having been a while.  But,
crap…I don’t want to look like a total dork.  Or worse, a stupid high
school girl.

“You want to take me for a ride on your machine…or your bike?”  I
ask, feigning innocence. 
Shit, I hope he laughs…let him laugh…please
laugh.
  I hold my eyes and face steady, waiting for his answer.

His blush is so brief, I almost miss it.  His hand closes around
mine, and he smiles shyly.  “Shoot girl, you make me blush.  I didn’t
think that was possible so much anymore.”  He laughs. 

I laugh, too, thankful for the release.  Now, if I could get that
electrical current flowing between us to stop, I’d be golden.  Studying
his face for a moment, I know he’s older, but I can’t tell how much. 
“Wait…didn’t you say you’ve been playing for fifteen years?  How old are
you?”

“I’m twenty-five.  How old are you, if you don’t mind me
askin
’?”

“Twenty,” I say. 
Well, almost
. 
 

“So, what’s your major?”  His tone indicating he is well aware of
how cliché he sounds.

“I’m undeclared now, but I plan on majoring in music once I get all the
Gen Eds out of the way.”

“Really?”  He locks eyes with me.  “Ok…CD or Vinyl?”

“Vinyl, of course.”  Staring at him like he is only slightly
learning impaired.

“Interesting.  There’s a vinyl shop down the road.  Wanna go
check it out?” 

“Sure.”

He pays the check at the front.  I’m thankful I don’t have to sit
through more of the waitress’ hair twirling, and side-to-side dances, coupled
with vain attempts to flash her cleavage at him.  I say goodbye to Carrie
as she pulls two helmets out from behind her station and hands them to Tommy.

“How did you know I would take a ride with you?” 

“Didn’t.  Brought it in case.”  He grins.  “A guy can
dream.”  He grabs my hand enclosing it in his massive one as we walk
around to the side of the building.  His bike is parked in a spot in the
back.  I recognize the 2012 model.  Painted in sleek black, the bike
shines and the chrome sparkles in the sun.

“Sweet ride.  Saddlebags and windshield at home?”  Circling it,
I check it out from all angles.  “Tricked it out.  Damn.  Custom
seat, bitchin’ wheels, thunder struck exhaust, special intake.  The whole
thing is custom.  What?   Didn’t like the custom paint job? ”

“You know the bike.  Impressive.”  He straddles the
motorcycle.  Thankfully, I am far enough back I can actually check out his
ass when he gets on. 

Sweet Jesus, that shit is tight.

“Amber, quit checking out my ass and get on the bike.”  He laughs.

“I am
not
checking out your ass.”  I declare indignity,
crossing my arms.

 “Rearview mirrors, Amber.  Now, get the hell on the
bike.” 

My turn to blush.  I slip the helmet on and swing my leg over the
bike, careful to tuck my skirt under my legs.   I grab his belt
loops.

“You know better than that.”  He pulls my fingers from his loops and
crosses my arms around his waist in a close hug.  It’s closer than I would
have if I had opted for this option in the first place. 

His stomach is flat except for the ripples from what I am sure is a six
pack.  My face pushes against his neck and he smells delicious. 
Fucking delicious.  My stomach clenches as he looks back at me, and my
lips graze his neck. 
Shit, I hope I don’t leave a wet spot on the
seat.
  Turning my head, I can’t help but lick my lips.  Just a
taste.  His skin tastes salty and sweet. 

“Aw, hell.”  He turns abruptly, so he can kiss me.  His lips
are soft, velvety.  His mouth caresses mine.  I push open my mouth
with his to deepen the kiss.  My hands close around his face, touching his
beard.  It is soft….so silky.  His tongue explores mine, and I moan
in his mouth, shocking even myself. 
Fuck, I do need to get laid
. 

He pulls away saying, “Thought I’d get that out of the way.  Been
watchin’ your lips all mornin’, wondering what they taste like.” 
Chuckling, he points, “Rearview mirrors, Amber.”  Turning the key, he revs
the engine, the roar of the engine is deafening at first, but when he lets the
throttle out, the engine purrs to a soft rumbling.

“Impressive machine,” I shout into his ear.

Shaking his head, he smiles and pulls out onto the street.

Great!  He saw me lick my lips after they grazed his neck. 
Well, la-di-da, if he kisses me like that again, I’ll lick him from head to
toe.  The thought makes me wet, again. 
Shit
!

***

Tommy pulls up to the record store.  As we walk inside, a choir
sings the hallelujah chorus in my head.  Rows and rows of vinyl records
fill the aisles.  I am in heaven. 

I graze through the stacks, checking out the selection.  Man, I
could spend hours in this place.  I wonder if Elise remembered to send my
record player when she packed my room up.  My mom hates my vinyl. 
I’m sure this was the perfect opportunity to dump them all into the trash. 
Pulling my phone out, I text Elise to make sure she grabbed my records.

A few people are browsing in the store, an older couple in their fifties
or sixties so we have the store to ourselves.  The woman running the
counter is older, and friendly.  She greets us warmly when we walk
in.  Wearing a tie dye shirt and jeans, the prayer beads around her wrist
make sense....must be a Buddhist. 

I feel like a kid in a candy store.  The collection is extensive,
especially the older stuff.  I browse around the punk section looking for anything
by the Sex Pistols.  Deep in thought, a voice behind me whispers, “Never
figured you for a Sex Pistols fan.  I’m surprised you know who they are.”

I laugh saying, “Look who’s talking, country boy.”

His blue eyes sparkling, mouth curved in a whimsical grin, looking
oh-so-fucking hot in a t-shirt and jeans.  I am finding it harder and
harder not to jump his bones.  “So, where did you hear your first vinyl?”
Tommy says.  His voice is a soft sexy rumble, and it’s a hard to
concentrate.