Shattered and Shaken (8 page)

“Come here,” he instructs, extending his arms to me.

Walking to him, he pulls me into him and crashes his mouth to mine. His tongue overtakes my mouth as he kisses me passionately. “Goodnight, baby, sweet dreams.” He kisses me one last time before turning away and making his way down the stairs.

“Night, B,” I toss over my shoulder, entering the apartment.

I'm not upset, I'm sad...empty...lonely.

I make my way back into the apartment, and Sophie's sitting on her couch with the cover lifted, patting the cushion beside of her. I walk over and take a seat. Covering up and resting my head on her shoulder, I ask, “What did I do to deserve such a shitty life, Soph?” I need to know what I've done so wrong. I wasn't a bully. I've obeyed the golden rule- treat others the way you wish to be treated - so why the hell do I get the worst of Karma?

She rests her head on mine and places her hand on my knee. “Nothing, Allie. Sometimes bad things happen to good people; it'll make you stronger in the end...fuck, you're the strongest person I know,” she says sincerely.

She has no idea how wrong she is. This smile, the laughter I let out; it's all a cover up. If my nerves were wires inside a house, I would've blown up already. I'm a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Sophie places a light kiss on top of my head and flips through the channels – great, ‘The Notebook’. The last thing I want to do is watch a sappy-ass love story, but I don't bother saying anything. The words won't come, and I'm too tired to watch anything anyway.

Chapter Seven

IT’S BEEN OVER A month since I found out about my mother and Jack. We haven't spoken much, but I respect her enough to inform her of my living situation. Although I'm upset with her, she's still my mother and I don't want to worry her. She knows I stay back and forth between Sophie and Blake's, but that's it. I've been home once, and that was to collect the rest of my belongings. I can't stay under the same roof as her while she dates Jack, or any other man.

All I've ever wanted was for her to be happy, but not with another man - especially with one who's not my father. Tell me, if the love of your life, father of your children, died suddenly, could you move on? It's been five years, but it's still too soon! Obviously, she doesn’t think so, but for me, it’s still too raw, to fresh. When I lost my brother, it really was like losing my dad all over again.

She texts and calls every day asking if I'll meet with her, if I'll come home, or if I'll give Jack a chance - fuck no. I'll be damned if I let someone else play my father's role. Call me childish, but I don't like him. Maybe I just need time - maybe not, but at this moment, all I want is my dad. And I want my mom to myself. I feel abandoned. I can’t help how I feel.

I've considered taking her up on her offer to meet with her and Jack, but truth be told, I'm terrified. What if I end up liking him? How would my father feel about this situation? As long as I refrain from conversation with him, I won't betray my father. All in all, the short amount of time I had spent with Jack at Betty's, he seems to be a genuine man. I'd like to continue thinking of him as the asshole who stole my dad's woman - a home wrecker.

I've picked my phone up several times to call her, but every time we speak, she brings up asshat. I'd like to talk with her about how she's feeling, and what she's been up to, but all of those topics lead to Jack. How happy Jack makes her, how she feels alive again, and their plans on visiting Nashville. I'm over it.

Mom's big on country music. She's talked about visiting Nashville's honkey
tonks for years; she and Dad had plans to visit, but cancer canceled their trip. Now, she's going to fulfill her dream with someone else. It’s bullshit. She could've asked me. I would've accompanied her. I'm not a country music fan myself, but dammit, I'll get my heehaw on like it ain't nobody's business.

It’s been a few months since Blake and I deemed our relationship to be exclusive. We’ve never had a normal friendship; it’s always been flirty, pretty much like a couple that doesn’t have sex. But after that night at Willie's, flirty friendship was no longer an option. Once I felt how my body reacted to him, how my vagina craves him, there was no going back. We haven't been able to spend much time together, but tonight he's taking me to dinner. He should be here to pick me up in about ten minutes, and I'm ecstatic.

He's been busy with his residency, but he tries his best to spend most of his off time with me. I hate that his patients have to come before me, but I knew what I signed up for before I agreed to be his girl. He works five nights a week; every third shift, he sleeps at the hospital, and several nights he's on call. I stay at Soph's the nights he's on call. We get woken up quite a bit; it frustrates me more than a cat getting a shower. It's not pretty.

I stayed at Sophie's last night, so I'm well rested and ready to go. My hair's in curls flowing down to the center of my spine, and my make-up is light but noticeable. I've settled for a black strapless dress with a heart shaped neckline, and red strappy open-toed heels. I accessorize with dangling red and black earrings and a silver and black heart-shaped ring. Reaching for the purple and gold bottle in my bag, I spray on some Wonderstruck perfume and head down to meet Blake.

When I hit the platform, I'm stunned. Blake's posted up against the hood of his truck, feet crossed at the ankles, and his hands are tucked into his front pockets. He's wearing dark denim jeans with a black long-sleeved collar shirt, with the sleeves cuffed just beneath his elbows. I look into his eye, but immediately avert my attention to the ground as my cheeks fill with heat. Fuck me! He's wearing flip flops. Normally, a man in flip-flops is a total turn off. I hate feet, but Blake's feet are the exception; they're sexy.

“Wow, babe, you're a sight for sore eyes." He stands in front of me, reaches under my chin and lifts my face. “Are you laughing at me?” he questions seriously.

“Yup,” I give him my best ‘I'm sorry but forgive me because I'm cute’ look.

He releases my chin, steps away, and shoves his hands back into his pockets. “May I ask why?” He shrugs and a light smile plays across his lips.

Giggling uncontrollably, – yes, I do turn into a ’girl’ when I’m around him - I explain, “That line you just used on me, 'You're a sight for sore eyes,' no one says that shit.”

He stares at me in complete shock. “Bullshit, my pop told my maw that many times, dammit - it's in,” he insists. “In fact, if more men spoke to their ladies that way, there'd be less...well, fuck, I don't know what there would be less of, but the shit’s in,'” he continues.

Still giggling, I shake my head and walk past him to the truck. Each moment I spend with him, I feel my heart healing; I can feel the pieces coming back together again.

As we drive towards our destination, I reach out and turn the volume on the radio up. A song I've never heard flows through the speakers; the melody is soft, beautiful. Blake reaches over and takes my hand into his, interlacing our fingers. Bringing my hand to his lips, he places a soft kiss onto the back of my hand. He doesn't release my hand or bring it down to rest after the kiss; he keeps it attached to his lips as he begins to sing the lyrics to the song that's playing.

His lips caress the back of my hand, and his breath tickles my skin with each word he sings. The warmth from his breath has my hand tingling and my arm begins to feel heavy, numb. His eyes glimmer from the street lights, and as he drives, he glances back and forth between me and the road.

He sings the lyrics with meaning, as if he's speaking to me. He's telling me I won't scare him away, and that he won't give up. Good. I don't want him giving up on me. I need him - more than I need air. My eyes are locked on him as he sings to me, asking me if he can “sleep beneath my beautiful, if he can sleep beneath my perfect…”. I may be beautiful, but I sure as hell
ain't perfect. As the song comes to an end, he places a butterfly-like kiss to the inside of my wrist, and then brings our tangled hands down to rest in his lap.

“That's a beautiful song. Heartfelt,” I say, scooting as close to him as I can get, which isn't close. Damn seatbelt laws.

“It is. It's Labrinth,” he answers, grinning sadly. I hope I'm not the cause of his sad excuse of a smile.

I reach over and give him a swift kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for putting on a show for me. You sing beautifully, Dr. Andrews,” I tease. He hates me calling him Dr. Andrews, but I think it's sexy.

“Babe,” he warns, tossing his head back to the headrest, rolling his eyes. I reach over and place my hand between his legs. I run my nails along the inside of his thigh, trying to cheer my man up. I drag the tips of my manicured nails down to the inside of his knee, and slowly drag them up, stopping just beneath his cock - which is pressed to the side of his thigh, just in case you're wondering. He's deliciously large, definitely a good nine inches in length, and he's wide - not that I'm measuring or anything. But normally you can't get the complete package; cocks are either short and fat, or long and skinny; so if you get one like Blake's, you hold on to it.

He reaches down and grabs my wrist, stilling my hand. “Keep teasing me, babe, and I'll make you
my
dinner.” Baby, I have no objection to becoming your dinner. I rub along his length one last time before bringing my hands over and placing them into my lap.

“Touché, Dr. Andrews.”

He looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow. “Touché? How so, Miss Anderson?” he asks. “I haven't even touched you, yet." Oh, he doesn't have to touch me. He's a total mind fuck. He flashes me his famous panty-dropping grin on a daily basis, hypnotizes me with his hazel eyes. The way he bites his lip, the way his breath sends chills throughout my body, everything about him soaks my panties.

When he touches me I come undone, completely. He knows this. “No? Kissing the back of my hand, singing those lyrics to me as if you wrote them, and topping it off with a light kiss to the most sensitive place on my wrist, isn't teasing?”

He pulls into the restaurant parking lot, and silences the engine. “Baby, believe me, I've done nothing to tease you. If I had, my truck would've erupted into flames in the middle of the interstate; judging by the heat you're letting off at this very moment.” He's so cocky, but also correct.

Damn, I should've worn a panty liner; the thin material from my thong is worthless; I can feel my moisture seeping through.

Blake helps me to the ground and we make our entrance into a Japanese hibachi-style restaurant. Blake provides his name to the hostess and she leads us through double bamboo doors that lead into the back of the restaurant. There's a cherry-oak table surrounded by red and gold Chinese floor cushions. In front of our table, about fifteen-feet away, is a fire, and on the side of us is a hibachi stove with chiefs ready to prepare our food. Besides the waitress and two chiefs, it's only Blake and me; we're secluded from the rest of the customers. Take that back, it's the two chiefs, Blake and me. The waitress brought us our drinks and vanished.

Blake and I split several rolls of sushi. I order the California rolls, and he orders the spider rolls. We split the sushi evenly between the two of us. As I'm eating, Blake
reaches over and swipes my hair away from the side of my face. “There's something I want to ask you. You don't have to answer me tonight if you don't want, but I ask that before you tell me no, you take a few days and consider my offer, okay?” he asks.

“Okay....” I nod, giving him the green light despite the crazy-ass nerves that have just gathered into my stomach. He's leaning back on one hand and he's sitting on top of the cushion, Indian style.

“I know your mom and Jack are going to Nashville and they didn't invite you,” he begins.

Are you kidding me? Jack, again? I take in a deep breath and swallow hard. “Continue,” I encourage.

“Well, you know my parents live in Nashville, and they've invited us up for the Fourth of July. I've accumulated enough time to take off for a week or so, but I refuse to go unless you join me.” He has a hopeful gleam in his eyes, and even though I don't want to be the person to quench it, I'm not sure I want to meet his parents. Sure, I've spoken to his mother over the phone, but seeing her in person, staying in her home, that's taking Blake and mine's relationship to the engaged-to-be-married level - I'm not ready.

I don't answer him. I just cock my head and stare into him. I try to keep my breathing calm, and count backwards from ten to one, but that doesn't help. I count from one to ten Mississippi's. It doesn't work. My chest begins to rise and fall rapidly. I'm panicking but I can't explain why. I try to focus on spelling Mississippi backwards ten times in my mind, and it works enough to a point where my rapid intake of breaths aren't as noticeable. I begin to push myself to my feet, but Blake stops me. “Allie, just calm down. I already told you I didn't need an answer now. I just want you to sleep on it. If you say no tomorrow, that's fine, I won't go. I'd be miserable watching fireworks without you,” he adds. “Plus, I
kinda want to stay here and make our own fireworks show.”

Oh Lord Jesus, with my rapid heart rate and the heat coming from my sex, he's
fixin' to see an explosion earlier than expected. He pays the bill and escorts us out of the hibachi grill. We're hand-in-hand, and his thumb traces the outskirts of my hand, relaxing me. By the time we arrive to his truck, my breathing is back to normal, but I still feel my heart beating from the inside of my throat; however, that's typical whenever I'm around him.

Blake pulls out of the restaurant and begins driving towards Sophie's. “Sick of me already?” I question.

He looks at me confused. “What? No...you seemed frustrated earlier. I thought you wanted some space. Babe, I could never get enough of you,” he assures.

Well, I was sort of frustrated, but not at him.
  Anytime Jack's name is mentioned, it sends fire through my veins, and makes me wanna chop his balls off - just sayin'. “I wasn't frustrated, Blake. Well, not at you. It's just, I hate speaking of that asshat Jack. Every time I speak to Mom, that's all she ever talks about, and I'm sick of it.”

Blake reaches over and places his hand on my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then my house it is, babe.” He makes an illegal U-turn and heads south taking me back to his place. A burst of excitement explodes throughout my body. Blake’s work
schedule has been preventing us from releasing our sexual desires. Tonight, that's going to change; I’m going to ride him so hard his dick will become numb….

We arrive at Blake's condo thirty minutes later. His parents are loaded, so his place is pretty fancy, especially for a guy. The walls are cream colored. There's a large cream leather couch surrounded by marble-top tables occupying the center of his living room. Directly in front of the couch is a ninety-inch flat-screen television mounted to the wall, and it's hooked up to surround sound speakers; it’s perfect for movie watching. To the left of the foyer, there's a winding staircase that leads into his master suite - no hallway, nothing...just a king size four-post bed, a desk, and an open master bath. He has a stand-alone shower, granite double vanity, and a Jacuzzi tub that can fit four people comfortably.
 As you continue to walk forward, there's a bar separating the living room from the kitchen, and I plan on putting that empty countertop to use, sometime in the very near future.