The Lovers (9 page)

Masturbation is a great pastime for a lonely hermit like me. Like I have been, anyway. I came here so I would learn not to be such a hermit. I have no idea if it's working, or if I'll go back to being myself once I'm home. Or maybe the group is simply small enough that I can be okay here.

Except that I am no longer okay.

I shut the water off and get out, simmering with resentment, suddenly. This trip had a purpose! And it was not to sleep with Audrey, to fall for her. To be undeniably, exquisitely, painfully attracted to her goddamn boyfriend.

I pull drawers open, find my skin creams, my dental floss,
my lip balm, slam the drawers shut. I have no right to be so furious. I know that. But it doesn't matter.

Terry would say that even though my feelings are valid, my response is not necessarily appropriate to the situation. But Terry isn't here and I have to handle things on my own, like a big girl. And my stomach is rumbling now; there is no way I can avoid going up to the house.

Fuck.

I get dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, comb my hair out and go.

The house is bright with lights, and I can see through the windows everyone gathered in the kitchen. I feel a terrible sense of isolation for several moments, as though standing there looking in on the warm, friendly scene from the outside is symbolic in some way. But I have to get over this stuff.

Moving inside, I force myself to walk into the kitchen. There's an old Janis Joplin song playing on the radio and Viviane is singing to it, really belting it out, her voice strong and raspy. Really awesome singing voice. I looked up some of her old songs online as soon as I found out who she was: Viviane Shaw of Crush. But hearing her sing in person is something else. It's too bad she gave it up, but I understand her reasons: the lifestyle, the drugs that eventually killed Malcolm, her husband and guitarist. But she's so into it, her body moving, her throat working, even as she stands at the center island chopping vegetables with Patrice, who has a small smile on her face, her birdlike eyes sparkling.

Leo is dancing a little to the song in uncoordinated, jerky motions, a huge smile on his face. He's wearing an apron and looking faintly ridiculous as he mixes something in a big bowl, and Kenneth is snoring in one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace, Sid laid out at his feet, snoring in time with
him. Everyone nods at me as I enter the kitchen, as though it's assumed I belong there. I suppose I do.

A nice thought, and it warms me a little.

“Can I help with dinner?” I ask.

Viviane nods her head in time to the music and hands me a knife and, with a small push, guides me to a wood chopping block on the island. A bunch of the gorgeous tomatoes she brought home from the farmer's market is laid out there. Viviane is still singing, and I smile as I begin to cut up the tomatoes, the knife biting through the plump, red flesh. They smell fresh and slightly acidic, and my hand stings where I have a small paper cut, but I don't mind.

Leo has joined in now, his voice surprisingly good, if a little high-pitched. He has a huge grin on his face. Viviane sidles up next to him, and they sing the rest of the song together, their voices harmonizing nicely. Patrice and I applaud when the song is over, and our applause is joined by more from the back door as Audrey and Jack come in.

They look fresh and beautiful and the slightest bit ruffled, as though the evening breeze has caught their hair. Or as though they've just gotten out of bed, rumpled from sex.

Stop it.

But it's hard. Their eyes are shining a little too brightly, their cheeks a bit too flushed, and I know that expression. I have it myself after sleeping with Audrey.

My body goes warm, remembering. And just looking at them, Audrey's bohemian beauty, Jack's grace, the power of his long, lean muscles, makes me sort of melt all over. Longing is like honey in my veins, making me feel soft and weak. I don't like it. Except that I do.

Unexpectedly, Audrey comes up behind me, draws my hair aside and kisses my cheek. But before I can even look up, she's moved on, hugging Viviane from behind, her arms wrapped
around Viv's tall figure as they sway together with the music, and I have no idea if the kiss actually meant anything.

Jack is hanging back, a smile on his face, and God, his mouth is beautiful. I have never wanted to kiss a man more than I want to kiss Jack Curran. And I'm still having a hard time separating out my crush on Audrey from my attraction to him. Is it all tied in? Or is it that I simply don't trust my feelings about anything? How can I trust them when I've been half-numb most of my life, and suddenly I'm feeling…all of this?

Emotion and chemistry and sexual yearning that's nearly painful.

My stomach is in knots. I try to swallow the anger, the confusion, and simply accept things the way they are. But how are they? I still don't know. I turn back to my tomatoes and give them a good hard chop.

“Whoa, easy there, girl,” Jack says. And before I can respond he is standing behind me, one arm around my body as he covers my right hand, helping me grip the knife. His skin is hot, even hotter than Audrey's. “You'll add your fingers to the salad if you're not careful,” he warns.

“Gross,” Leo says, laughing.

I am frozen. Jack's body is so damn solid behind me. He smells like fresh laundry, which is suddenly utterly sensual to me. I hope I'm not visibly shaking, but my insides are trembling. On fire. He steps away and I can breathe again. I can breathe enough to realize in some logical way what an intrusion of my personal space that was, from a man I hardly know.

Yet I want him to do it again. Want him to press up against me, want to know every plane and curve of muscle in his body, instead of this teasing little taste.

I want him.
Want
him!

I suppress a small groan and, more carefully this time, go at the tomatoes once more.

Somehow I get through the rest of dinner preparation, and we sit at the big indoor dining table. The lights are low, and a fire burns in the big fireplace, the acrid, ashy fragrance mixing with the scents of the food. We're having a Tuscan pasta dish along with the big salad and baskets of crusty Italian bread, and wine, of course. A beautifully simple meal that we eat leisurely. I love these long meals. They feel luxurious, eating and talking, lingering over the wine. Viviane serves bowls of sliced melon with crisp almond biscotti for dessert, and I watch from the corner of my eye as Audrey feeds Jack bits of the succulent melon with her fingers. I can't help myself. Her fingers disappear between his lush lips, then slide back out, and it looks sexual to me, like fucking, all wet, pink flesh.

I need to calm down, but it's not happening, is it? And worse yet, Jack talks through the meal, and he is smart and funny and kind, and utterly charming.

“Kenneth, how is Gracie doing? And the girls?”

“They're all fine. Diana is off to college in the fall and they're all after me to get her a car. Since when does an eighteen-year-old girl need a car?” But he's smiling as he says it. Kenneth adores his wife and daughters.

“I had a car at eighteen,” Audrey breaks in. “It was a beat-up old Honda Prelude.” She tears a piece of bread, bites into it, chews. “That car ran forever. Had a million miles on it.”

“Yeah, at eighteen I was on my fifth car. A '79 Camaro. Powder blue.” Jack's eyes are dark in the firelight, gleaming. “I loved that car. But there was always another one I had to have. I sold it for a classic El Camino with dual exhaust. That baby had flames on it.”

“Awesome,” Leo says.

Leo sort of fan-worships Jack, I can tell already. Which is
maybe why he doesn't seem to resent Audrey paying attention to Jack the way he did when she was focused on me.

“How's the horror novel coming, Leo?” Jack asks.

“It's coming. It's really different from doing comics. The story is still there, but I have to keep reminding myself to execute it on the page, that I don't have any images to tell the story.”

“It'll come to you, don't worry. Your stuff is good. Solid. But talk to me if you need any help.”

“Sure. Thanks, man. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow?”

“Yeah, let's do that.”

Jack smiles at Leo, and it's warm and sincere, and I want to hate them both. All of them and their easy conversation with this man who is more kind than I want him to be. And all the while Audrey fawns over him, looking at him adoringly.

She looked at me that way in bed.

Fuck.

I stand and begin to clear the dishes, carrying them into the kitchen. I am annoyed to find Jack joining me.

“Want some help?”

I don't, but it would seem stupidly ungracious to say so.

“Sure.”

He disappears, returns with another armful of dishes, Sid trotting at his heels. The dog finds his bed near the fireplace and is immediately snoring again.

“You want to wash or dry?” he asks, setting a pile of plates on the counter next to me.

“Wash, I guess.”

“You're not much of a talker, are you, Bettina?”

I blow out a long breath. “No, I'm not.”

He reaches around me and I step to one side as he pulls the garbage can out from beneath the sink and begins to scrape
the plates into it. I run the hot water, filling up the sink and adding dish soap, watch as the bubbles rise, reminding me of the foam that crests the ocean waves.

“But you talk to everyone else,” Jack says quietly.

“I…” But I don't know what to say. It's true.

“Bettina, I know I just got here, but have I done something to offend you? Maybe said something online?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Because I can be a self-centered son of a bitch sometimes, I know that.”

I look up, and his expression is teasing, a small smile on his lush mouth.

I want to kiss him.

Fuck.

“Bettina, look…” He moves right up next to me, and I can feel the heat of his body again. His eyes are a deep mossy-green now, his lashes thick and as black as his hair. “You should know that Audrey told me what happened.”

“What?” My cheeks go hot. “She…told you? What did she tell you?”

“She told me about the two of you being together this last week. That you've slept together.”

“And you're so calm about it?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

He looks truly puzzled, and I don't understand.

“Because she's your girlfriend! You don't mind if your girlfriend sleeps with other people?”

“First of all, Audrey is not anyone's girlfriend, and in particular, she isn't mine. Second, if she's going to sleep with other people, I kind of like that it was you.”

I'm so flustered all I can do for several moments is stare at him.

“Wh-what does that mean?”

He smiles, all too-good-looking charm, his mouth wide and soft. He has the most incredible bone structure, his dark stubble outlining his strong jaw. Despite myself, my confusion, my small bit of outrage, I am melting again.

“The image of you two in bed together makes a pretty picture in my mind,” he says, his voice low. “I'm sure it was even more spectacular in person.”

I feel my mouth open in a small o. I have no idea what to say to this. The idea that he's fantasizing about Audrey and me together. The idea that Audrey told him about us! The still-fresh painful confusion over her leaving me in the dust for Jack.

His smile fades. “I'm sorry. I see that I've offended you.”

He takes a step back.

“What? No. It's just that Audrey…I mean…God, I don't know what I mean.”

I look away, pick up a dish towel from the counter and dry my hands.

He moves back in. “She's confusing, I know. Believe me, I know. It's the same every summer, every time the group meets for our winter retreats.”

“What do you mean?” I still can't make myself look at him. I stare instead at the pile of plates stacked on the counter, the bubbles popping in the sink.

“When Audrey is focused on you, it's overwhelming, even for someone like me. I should be used to it by now. But it's like she has some sort of ADD. As soon as someone else comes along, you're invisible.”

“She's so happy to see you.”

“She always is. For a few days. A few weeks. Then it's someone else. A waiter. Another writer who drops in. Poor Leo last summer, and it really made his head spin for a while.”

“Leo? I couldn't figure out why he stares after her like some
lost puppy. I thought it was just that everyone seems to want her attention. Actually, I thought before I got here…I mean, I got the impression from talking to him online, and because he's friends with my friend Calvin, that Leo was gay.”

“He is.”

“Oh. But…never mind.”

“Yeah.” He gives a low, rough laugh. “She's like that. She has that magic. But you'll find after a while that her magic is as temporary as she is. You get over it.”

I look up at him once more. He seems taller than ever, standing right next to me. “Do you?”

He shrugs. “Sure. Every time. And every time I see her again, I fall under that spell. But I let myself do it. I give myself permission to.”

I pause for a moment, thinking, watching him. He's put his hands in his pockets, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Something going on with him, but it's hardly my business to ask.

“So…what did you mean when you said ‘even for someone like me'?”

He shrugs, a graceful ripple of muscle moving beneath his plain white T-shirt. “I'm not exactly the relationship guy myself. I'm always amazed that being with her has any repercussions for me. I'm always surprised that I'm not immune.”

“I don't get when people say that.”

“What?”

“That they're not relationship kind of people. I think it's…just a stage people go through. I mean, I haven't been that person, either, but it's not what I want. It's nothing I've aspired to. I think saying you're perfectly happy being that way is a cop-out.”