So Different (16 page)

What had started out as simple sex between two consenting adults was going where? It didn’t have to go anywhere, as far as he was concerned. It was meeting its intended goal, satisfying the needs of two people attracted to each other in that way. No more, no less, yet he'd sped up to make it. He didn’t want her to think he’d stood her up, because he did like her. She was funny, tough, entertaining. He looked forward to being with her two nights a week for a number of reasons; sex, of course, but it was her, too. Yet if he could continue to keep it simple, he would.

They wanted two different things in life, right? Not that he had any idea of what she wanted. She’d never mentioned it, and he’d avoided asking.

She was so far from his norm, and that had been the initial beauty of this arrangement; she was never a real threat to him. He pulled into a spot next to her car, hopped out, and made his way in.

They were as regular as clockwork. The girls smiled and glanced his way, some even waved. He found her and met her eyes as she looked up on her way around the rink, giving him a smile—her sly one—which foretold all kinds of things for the night. So here he stood as he’d stood every Tuesday and Thursday for the last month, waiting for her and what the half night with her meant to him.

Five minutes later practice was over and she started toward him. He walked the remaining distance to meet her; that was also a part of their routine.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Sorry I was late. How was practice?” he asked, surprised that he’d apologized. He opened the door for her and followed her out into the night, like they were some old married couple.

“See you in a few?” he asked once they reached her car.

“Yep,” she said, closing her door and driving away. She seemed different to him, a little distant. He watched her leave, then got into his car and drove home to wait.

* * *

Last Saturday in May

Brass Knuckles vs. Divas

Adam stood taking in the activity surrounding him. He was at the derby with Michael tonight. It was the Brass Knuckles vs. the Divas. Adam’s dad had handed over the tickets to him, telling him to represent the practice. Sure, he’d said, not disclosing the fact that he’d become a season ticket holder, too. He’d invited Michael, hoping he’d come alone. He was not in the mood for new company tonight.

Adam took a sip of his beer as he re-examined the Divas’ line up. They, like Team Thunderstorm, were heavy with strong blockers. That combined with the addition of their new speedier jammers, was the reason they’d beaten Thunderstorm. The blockers for the Divas were circling the track now, warming up. He was a little worried for Mariah.

“I saw Tiff the other day,” Michael shouted, trying to be heard over the noise.

“You saw who?” Adam shouted back, his eyes glued to the track. The ref had just blown the whistle to get the pack moving. Mariah and Kick Butt, the jammer for the Divas, stood at the back of the pack waiting for the second whistle.

“Tiff. Remember? She was with us the first night here; Allison’s cousin,” Michael said.

Adam was quiet, staring at the track as the whistle blew and Mariah sprinted ahead.

“Allison is your girl, right?” Adam replied over his shoulder.

“Yes, and her cousin, Tiff, would like to see you again.”

“Would she?” Adam replied, focused on Mariah now as she ducked under the arm of the lead blocker. His body jerked to the side as if it were the one taking the hit.

“She’s tough,” Michael said, watching as Mariah was knocked down onto her right hip. She hopped back up and was now working to get past that blocker again.

“Yes, she is,” Adam said, more to himself.

“I gave her the address to the shop. So don’t be surprised if she gets in contact with you.”

“Who?” Adam asked, standing up and cheering now that Mariah had made it to the front, the referee pointing to her. She was the lead jammer now, and Kick Butt was not far behind. She’d cleared the pack, too. Mariah was now catching up to the back of the pack, pushing against one of the Divas blockers.

“Yes!” Adam said underneath his breath, his arm moving upward in a silent cheer as Mariah cleared one of the weaker blockers. He followed her as she passed another one and grabbed Reagan’s arm. She whipped Mariah around, and Mariah ducked under the arm of another blocker and was now coming up on the pivot.

“She’s good,” Michael said.

“Yep. Her hip has been giving her trouble lately, though,” Adam said.

“Oh, it has, has it?” Michael said, his remark lost on Adam, who was intently observing Mariah as she was hit again, knocking her off her feet. Michael fought against laughing outright as he watched Adam flinch and stand motionless until Mariah stood up. He relaxed when Mariah had the presence to call off the jam, and he trailed her with his eyes as she made her way to her seat.

“She’s favoring her hip again,” he said more to himself than to Michael. Michael looked over and found her sitting in one of the chairs located in the middle of the rink, joining her other teammates.

Adam turned to face him. “Who did you say you ran into?”

“Tiff,” Michael said and laughed, repeating his story about her wanting to get in touch with him.

“Oh,” Adam said, after he’d heard the whole of it.

“So she may make an appointment to see you. Said she was looking for a new dentist,” Michael added.

Adam had turned his attention back to the skaters. The last jam had ended, and the next one was about to start.

“Sure,” he said, taking a sip of his beer, his eyes on the game again.

* * *

“Don’t forget Tiff will be giving you a call,” Michael said, not sure he’d had Adam’s attention this whole time.

“Sure, I’ll remember,” Adam said as they made their way over to the skaters. The Divas were circling the track, passing out high fives to the crowd. They’d won. He found Mariah skating slowly to the section to meet fans.
Her hip is bothering her again
, he thought, taking in her small limp. This sport was tough on its participants. He’d been personally privy to the bruising, sore ankles, sore wrists, and other injuries that came from derby.

“You okay?” he asked when he caught up to her.

She groaned, but smiled. “My hip again. I landed on it wrong,” she said, grimacing as he lightly rubbed the injured spot.

Michael cleared his throat, and he and Mariah turned to him.

“You remember my buddy Michael from the first bout?” Adam said, catching himself, remembering where he was.

“Yes. Hi,” she said.

“Hey. I liked watching you skate. Sorry you lost,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Hey, I’m going to run and get a drink for the road. You’re driving,” Michael said to Adam as he walked away.

“Hanging out with Michael?” she asked when they were alone.

“No. What are you going to do?” he asked.

“The usual. Drinking with the girls.”

“Want to skip it? Meet me at my place?”

“I don’t know. My body aches. It’s a Saturday, you know,” she said.

“I know what day it is. Don’t worry. Stop by,” he said, moving close, for her ears only. “I’ll make it better.”

She smiled. “Home first and then I’ll meet you,” she said, and watched as he turned and walked away in search of his buddy.

* * *

She pulled her bike into the parking lot, locked it to a nearby pole, and made her way to his door. She took a breath when he opened it, his face catching her off guard. He was a picture of health, fitness, and intellect, and he would probably make someone a nice husband. He was sexily attired in a worn t-shirt and sweats tonight. She was starting to feel regularly unbalanced by his presence, and it was frightening.

She walked in. She bet he’d been on the couch; the TV was on, same as always when he waited for her. There wasn’t much to look at in this apartment, just your basic furniture, no added touches that made a house a home. He probably would leave after his dad returned to work.

She sat her helmet on the floor and removed her bag while he stood there and watched her. He walked over to the TV, hit the remote, walked back, hit the lights, and reached for her hand. He backed out of the living room, walking backwards, his eyes on her the whole while, communicating what? She couldn’t read him, just followed as he led the way to his bedroom.

Once inside his bedroom, he let go of her hand long enough to removed his clothing, while she did the same. He reached for her again, moving until his legs hit the back of his bed. He sat, her hands still in his. She took control, pushing him back, and bent down between his legs. He took in a huge breath, surprised again, and heard her wince.

“Nope,” he said, pulling her up gently to sit on the bed. “I’ve got something for you. Let’s see if we can find a position that doesn’t hurt as much, that doesn’t require you to move much,” he said. He winked and smiled his smooth, sure smile as he pushed her onto her back. He squatted down in front of her and he pushed her legs apart.

“Found it,” he said, his head now between her legs, softly kissing the inside of her thighs. She laughed and closed her eyes.

* * *

“What now?” she asked, after he was done with her. She felt relaxed, liquid even, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Turn over,” he said as he stood up and walked to the bathroom. She did as she was told, moving to lie fully on the bed. He returned with something in his hand. It smelled like something her granddad used to have her rub into his fingers, something mentholated.

“Where do you hurt?” he asked, moving to straddle her back.

“Here.” She pointed to her left hip, looking at him over her shoulder.

He worked the salve into her hip. She moaned, but in a good way, and he smiled. His fingers were strong as he massaged her from her hip to her back and shoulders, and then all over. She moaned again and yawned. She was sleepy.

He worked at it for a while. Her mind went quiet and her eyes closed, enjoying the firmness, the strength of his hands moving over her body. This was a first. No one else had done that for her; not that she’d given them the opportunity, but they hadn’t tried, either.

Her mind drifted to the men who came before him. Actually there hadn’t been many, and none that she considered serious. And why was that? She knew, but decided it could keep until later as she let herself fall sleep.

He worked her body for a while, and could tell the exact moment when she’d fallen asleep. She was a lovely woman. Lovely. Did those words just cross his mind?
What, wait, back
up,
he thought and stopped. He got up, replaced the lid on the tube of whatever it was, and went to wash his hands. He returned and looked at her lying there, dead to the world. He slid into bed next to her. A few minutes later he’d joined her in sleep.

He awoke up, later, a moan at his lips, trying to get his bearings. He moaned again, longer than before. He was in his apartment, and Mariah was—he moaned again—down by his waist, her mouth was softly wrapped around him, moving up and down, making his head spin. His hands moved to her head, his fingers found purchase in her hair, and he went with the feel of her, softly surrounding him. He groaned a few minutes later, emptying himself into her mouth, holding on to her head, moaning as he came. He couldn’t have stopped his climax if he’d wanted to.

She turned onto her side and watched him, a smile on her lips as he opened his eyes, giving her one of his beautiful smiles.

“You liked that, did you?” she said.

He chuckled. “I did, Mariah Scary. You are something else. And in less pain now, I see,” he said, closing his eyes and pulling her to his side. She continued to watch him as her hand made its way over to trace his features. He smiled again—his softer, sleepy smile. His breathing was slowing.

“Your turn,” she said, pushing him over. “Turn over onto your stomach,” she said.

She lay on her side next to him, her hand roaming over his back now, kneading it. He groaned with pleasure. After a minute of two, his breathing deepened.

“Sleepy?” she asked. He sort of smiled his reply, his last pull against staying awake. She rolled over onto his back and sat up, her legs straddling his waist, his butt a cushion for hers as her hands moved over him, twisting and rubbing, beginning with his shoulders. He groaned, not much different than his earlier expressions of pleasure as her hand moved lower, massaging and kneading.

“I could grow to love your hands on my body,” he whispered.

She chuckled at his choice of words. Men were so easy. Sex was usually enough, but any other rubbing sent them to the land of the dead.

The
I love you part
was nice too, even though she knew he was teasing. It had the same effect on her as his
open for me
request when delivered smoothly and with the right amount of confidence behind it. “You could have them around more if you wanted,” she said, almost under her breath.

He heard her but didn’t reply—he was too relaxed to respond to the push from her again. Just let it go, sleep pulling him under.

She had fallen for him and would have to make a decision about him sooner than later. She wasn’t doing this for fun anymore. Fun wasn’t enough now.

She hadn’t had many relationships. She was too independent, too selfish, maybe had too much attitude. She was too focused on her brother and his restaurant, wanting to make sure he was taken care of, just as her grandmother had before her. It had been her promise.

Not that Joshua appreciated it. He wanted her to have her own life, choosing not to understand that her life was him, work, derby, and probably not Adam.

She didn’t really fit Adam, except for sex. There she fitted perfectly. But otherwise they were as different as night and day. Junior D.D.S. was a good catch, with a nice suburban life laid out before him. Too bad for her that she didn’t fit that lifestyle. She wasn’t quite sure where she fit, to be honest; once the outsider, always the outsider.

A black girl who likes rock? She also took to country—Rascal Flatts and the Zac Brown Band—and liked R&B, but was also hooked on the Dave Matthews band. Who was this? Her high school had been a mixed bag of cliques, and she hadn’t fit in much there, either. She hung out more with the white students.

She wasn’t black enough for her black friends. What black girl wanted to roller derby, to swim, to horseback ride, to deviate from the list of any and all things black girls could and couldn’t do. It was all good if we all followed the same script, if we were all the same women, with the same goals, aspirations, desires, and histories.

She stopped moving her hand and looked down at Mr. Dead to the World, snoring lightly now. She laughed, removing her body from his bed and going in search of her clothes. That was fun while it lasted. She yawned, deciding to leave early tonight, needing to get home to her bed. She had to work at Joshua’s in the morning. They were both tired, it seemed. She ached less, though, smiling at the memory of her full body massage.

She dressed and stood back, looking over Adam one final time. She sighed and left.

* * *

First week in June – Wednesday.

Mariah entered her brother’s home, grocery bags in each hand. She’d shopped for both of their households, hers and Joshua’s, and what was wrong with that? She could hear his regular
I don’t need your help
playing in her head
.
Theirs was a tricky relationship. He protected his independence, and she got his need for it. She wanted to help, and it didn’t make sense for him to shop for himself, not when she was going to the store anyway. She sat the groceries on the counter and looked around his home.

Her experiences working around the visually impaired had taught her that shielding them from life, doing for them, was not in their best interest. They should function on their own, but he was her brother, her only living relative. Besides Casper, he had been the only one who she felt knew her intimately, that knew she was mostly bite, but loved her anyway.