Slow Burn

SLOW BURN

By Nicole Christie

Copyright Nicole Christie 2012

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2012 by Nicole Christie

This is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

A real love story isn’t always pretty and exciting.  Sometimes it’s loads of laundries, balancing checkbooks, and ten grandchildren.  True love is quiet, patient, and enduring.  Someone to hold your hand through sickness and death, and never let go.

I won’t say good bye, for you will always be with me.

******

Chapter 1

I look into
Johnny’s cerulean blue eyes, inches away from my face.  “If you strike any part of my body with that raised fist, I swear to god—I will stab you in the nipple with my pen,” I whisper.

His beautiful features are tight with frustration and anger.  I
know he would never hit me, so I don’t even flinch when he suddenly drives his clenched fist into the wall next to my head.  I hear cracking sounds and fervently hope they’re from his bones shattering.

“Feel better now?” I ask him dryly.

Johnny stares at his hand, carefully flexing it.  “Shit, no, that hurt.  It’s a good thing I like pain.”

I roll my eyes at him.
  “Are you done throwing your tantrum?  Get off me.”

Johnny
leans his warm heated body against mine, trapping me against the wall.  His weight is reassuring and suffocating, and insanely sexy all at the same time.  Just like him.

He lowers his head and I feel his breath, warm and uneven on my neck.  “You were kissing him,” he growls in my ear.

I grab a handful of his soft golden blonde hair and yank his head back.  “I was talking to him.  He’s Amy’s boyfriend.  You remember Amy?  She was the one that kept bending down in front of you in the parking lot last week.”

I try to shove him off of me, but he’s just too damn heavy and strong.  If
Johnny doesn’t want to go, I can’t make him.  I start to try to wiggle out from under him, but abruptly stop when he pushes his hips against mine.

“Juliet.”  He presses his forehead agai
nst mine.  “You make me crazy.”

“
Johnny.”  I roll my eyes.  “You are delusional.  You’ve got to get over this insane jealousy thing.  You don’t see me getting all hibbidy jibbidy about all the girls who chase after you.”

He suddenly grins, eyes sparkling.  “’Hibbidy jibbidy’?  Are we making up our own words now?”

“Stop smiling!  We’re fighting, remember?”  I glare up at him, and try to shove at his firm hard chest again.  He doesn’t budge.

“H
m.  Suddenly I don’t feel like fighting.” Johnny leans into me so I can feel what he means.

Usually, those intensely blue eyes and that sexy grin is enough to make me melt, but not this time.  I stop his hands from wandering up my shirt.  “No,” I say firmly.  “We need to talk.  You can’t just beat up every guy who talks to me. 
It has to stop.  The other night at work, I was chatting with one of the kids’ dad, and I suddenly got the eerie feeling you were going to jump out from nowhere and attack him!”

“Why, was he hitting on you?”  A corner of his mouth turns up when he sees my annoyed expression.  “Kidding.  I can’t help it, baby.  I want you all to myself.”

“I changed schools for you—in the beginning of senior year!  It was a pain in the ass, and Heather is still pissed at me.”

“Aw, com
e on.  You’ll love Leclare—it’s the better school, academically speaking.  And I can keep my eye on you,”  He brushes his lips against my neck, making me shiver.  “And all your sweet little parts.”

“Pervert,” I accuse, even as I tilt my neck so he has better access to that sensitive spot at my collar bone.

“It’s sexual frustration,” he counters, undoing the top button of my shirt.  “My girlfriend won’t sleep with me.”

“Smart girl.”

I shove against him again, and this time he lets me, dropping his arms and taking a step back.  I immediately inspect the wall he punched, and my eyes widen in horror at the fist-sized dent.

“
Johnny!” I yelp.  “My mom’s gonna be so pissed!”

Johnny
inspects the wall, rubbing the crumbling plaster with his thumb.  He gives a lazy shrug.  “Sorry, I didn’t think I hit it that hard.  I’ll fix it before she gets home tomorrow.”

Shaking my head, I open the refrigerator
and pick a water bottle from the bottom shelf.  I turn around and stare at him.

His presence makes my already small kitchen look even smaller.  He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, with that smug smile on his face.
  I don’t know how he manages it, but he always looks like he’s standing under a spotlight.  I’m certain he was born with it.  I imagine when he came barreling out of his mother with his usual impatience, the doctor delivering him threw his hands up in the air and declared, “We have a winner!”

Johnny Parker, football star and gorgeous player (reformed—better be!) is my boyfriend, and has been for the past six months.  I still can’t believe it, not after the way we met.  I almost hit his motorcycle when one of the tires on my car blew, making me lose control and swerving into the other lane—straight into the path of a speeding Johnny. 

Thank god for his
excellent reflexes.  He swerved out of the way just in time, and though he wiped out, he managed to escape serious injuries.  Except when he came to check on me, and I accidentally hit him with the door of my car when I swung it open to go check on him.  He was okay, though his voice had remained a couple of octaves higher for a couple of minutes.  But I still believe that was his way of making me feel bad.

Anyway, I asked if he had a concussion, and he asked if I wanted to go out with him.  The answer to both was yes. 
We went out to dinner, and he confessed he’d seen me around a few times, and I admitted I’d heard of his legend before.  Thus began our extremely dysfunctional love/hate relationship, built on tears and passion, and lots and lots of screaming.  I swear, I’m not usually a crazy person.  Something about Johnny turns me inside out and backwards. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing.

I’ve
never said “I love you” to Johnny.  Not until he says it first.  And he won’t.  He can tell me that I consume his thoughts, that the sun rises and sets out my ass—but he can’t say three little words.  Okay, neither can I, because I’m not completely sure.  Do I love him, or lust him?  I definitely lust him.

Just look at him standing
there.  He is simply amazing:  tousled golden blonde hair, rugged features more charismatically handsome than perfect…those crystalline blue eyes full of mischief—not to mention he’s tall and muscular, with broad shoulders, amazing abs, and trim hips.  Don’t even get me started on his ass. 

But that
grin is what transforms him from your typical good-looking jock to oh-my-god-hot.  It’s reckless and wild, full of dirty promises—just like his personality.  He’s sexy and gorgeous, and he knows it.  But besides the arrogance, mood swings, the crazy temper, the possessiveness, his bossy ass attitude, and…

Okay, but
Johnny is also sweet, funny, smart.  He totally gets me—and not many people do.  I would like him even if he wasn’t so hot.  It’s weird to say, but I think I would like him more even, if he wasn’t so…
much
, you know?  So handsome, charming, and exciting.  On one hand, I just described every girl’s ideal boyfriend.  On the other, you know…blah!  Some days, I wanna just curse his flawless complexion with a couple of big zits.  Or just…trip him on the escalator one day.  Would it be so bad if the mighty mighty Johnny Parker fell flat on his face in front of a bunch of people?  I think not.  It could teach him a little humility. 

Believe me, he needs it.  He gets away with way too much.  Who else can punch his coach in the face, and get away with a slap on the wrist? 
All because the coach called his playing sloppy and shitastic. 

I know,
I’m dating a psycho with an abusive personality.  He’s never raised a hand to me, no matter how hard I push him.  I’m kind of curious to see if he will.  I guess we deserve each other.

I must have been glaring at him, because he fidgets slightly and leans back against the counter.  “What?” he says warily.  “What did I do?”

I sigh a litt
le, and take a big drink of water.  “Nothing,” I say quickly.  “Hey, you’ve got a big game tonight, and I’ve got to get ready for work soon.”

Johnny
’s face falls slightly.  “You’re not coming?”

“I can’t, Leila can’t cover for me
tonight,” I say regretfully.  He looks so disappointed, I can’t help but go over to him, and wrap my arms around his waist.  I look up at him, my chin jabbing into the hard muscles of his chest.  “But I’ll see you at the party.”

Johnny
’s eyes suddenly brighten.  “Don’t be late!  We’ll be celebrating our victory against Crawville.”

I chuckle at the absolute certainty in his tone.  “Cocky, aren’t you?”

He shrugs.  “Me and Dean are unstoppable.  We haven’t lost a game yet.”

I want to say,
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”  Just to mess with his head, and start a fight—but I ruthlessly suppress the urge.  “Well, good luck, anyway,” I say instead, like a supportive girlfriend.  “I’m sure you guys will kick ass.  Uh, your parents aren’t going to be there tonight, are they?”

Johnny
sighs and rests his hands on my hips.  “You know, you’re going to have to meet them sometime.  At least my mom.  I couldn’t care less if you ever see Dean’s dickhead father.”

“Oh, well, he’s hardly ever home, right?”
I say, relieved.

“Yeah, thank god for small favors,” he mutters.  I move out of his arms and he absently rubs the middle of his chest where my chin dug into him.
  “You gonna need a ride tonight?”

“No,
Heather’s going to pick me up from work, then we’ll go together.”

“Awesome
.”  His dimples flash when he grins at me.  “Later, Teeny.”

I pretend to scowl at his
nickname for me.  He tugs on my long hair in goodbye, then heads for the door.  When he’s got it halfway open, he suddenly turns and jogs back to me.  He picks me up off the floor and crushes his lips against mine.  I immediately respond, wrapping my legs around his hips, and cupping his face with both hands.  The kiss is both devastating and thrilling.  I feel it from my head to my soul, to the tip of my toes. 

Extremely flustered—and way overheated—I
try to untangle myself from him, and he lets me slide slowly down his beautiful body.  I hastily step away from him, pretending to be intensely involved in the task of picking up my water bottle from the floor, and inspecting it for damages.

Johnny
’s soft laughter teases my senses.  “You’re blushing.”

“Yeah.  N
o.”  I abruptly start fanning myself.  “Is it really hot in here?  Like, unseasonably?”

He continues to grin.  “And my job here is done.  Good bye, Juliet.”

“Yeah.”

Johnny
leaves, taking the life and energy out of the room with him.  I slump back against the counter, both exhausted and exhilarated, wondering for the billionth time how a smart girl like me got caught along on the roller coaster ride that is Johnny Parker.  I’m honestly questioning my ability to keep up with his meteoric rise to the top. Johnny knows exactly what he’s doing in life—a full ride to Alabama (just one of the many colleges that have been courting him since he was a sophomore), and considering the possibility that he won’t eventually drafted into the NFL, he’s decided on a surprisingly practical fallback career in sports medicine.

I, on the other hand, have no clue
what I want to do, or who I want to be.  It’s not that I’m not interested in anything, it’s…there’s just so many possibilities.  What if I choose wrong, and start myself along a path that ends in boring job and a husband with a pot belly and sweaty junk (I’m just guessing here)?  It happened to my aunt Jessie, whom my mother says had once held so much promise.  I don’t want to end up like her, bitter and miserable, and full of lost potential.  I’m terrified of making the wrong decision, and so I don’t make any.

That’s why I’m still a virgin.  Yes, I can’t believe I’ve held out against
Johnny’s seductive ways for this long, but I know I’m fighting a losing battle.  He seems to think I’ll be following him blindly to Alabama—even though I’ve told him I have no plans to apply there. I do care for him, and I want to be with him, but I…I don’t know.  I’m afraid.  I don’t like change.  I can talk a good game, but the truth is I’m a big coward.  I’m afraid of him, sometimes—his intensity.  The way he looks at me like he owns me.  I don’t like that when I look at him, I see nothing else.  It’s not healthy.

It’s really not
.

******

Chapter 2

“Aren’t you suppose to be at work right now?”
Heather answers, by way of greeting.

“Leila called me at the
last minute, and said she can cover for me, after all,” I inform my best friend.  I hitch my shoulder up to hold my phone to my ear while I shimmy into a pair of jeans.  “So…feel like going shopping tonight?”

It’s a rhetorical question. 
Heather lives to shop.  Her answering squeal confirms this.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes,” she says happily.