Worth the Weight (13 page)

“Okay
,
you eat. Though I have yet to see it.”

“Maybe I’m just a cheap date,” she said, the defensiveness gone from her voice, replaced by a light teasing.

“My favorite kind.”

She laughed. That Liz laugh that he loved. He got up and went over to the shelves on the far wall. A boombox was on one shelf, surrounded by a stacks of CDs. “Music?” he asked, although he had already set his beer down and was pawing through the discs.

“Sure, what have you got?” She didn’t move from the couch to join him. Instead, she put her wineglass on the coffee table in front of her, slipped off her sandals and pulled her legs up onto the couch, curling them underneath her, tucking her skirt around her legs.

He
watched the graceful movement with the appreciation of a man watching a woman do something so innately female. He turned his back to her and continued
to pick through the CDs
. “Waylon and Willie,” he said.

“Ugh! Country?” she said, laughing.

Jesus, would he ever tire of hearing that laugh. It was beckoning him to her, like the call of the sirens, so he quickly found the CD he was looking for, loaded it, and returned to the couch, this time sitting closer to her.

As he moved, she berated his taste in music, as she had done on previous occasions when they’d dated. “You’re still in to that stuff? Come on
Finn
, grow a little,” she teased.

“Hey, country music has become huge, very mainstream. I can say I was ahead of my time.”

“Mainstream country has hit the U.P., I’ll give you that. But you were never mainstream,
Finn
, not in music, or anything else.” Before he had a chance to wonder if he’d just been criticized or complimented, she continued. “I bet you
don’t have
a Faith or a
Carrie Underwood
in that pile. It’s probably stuffed with Willie, Waylon and Johnny Cash. Oh, maybe you’ve gone daring and hip and added a little George Strait.”

He smiled. She wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t know what else he’d added to his tastes. She would in a second. The CD finished its roll of the disc to the songs he’d selected in sequence. The identifiable strains of Springsteen’s harmonica opening “Thunder Road” came through the speakers.

Her head snapped to attention. “Bruce? You listen to Bruce now?”

Her surprise made him smile. “Someone a long time ago got me turned on to him.”

“I didn’t think you were even listening, you used to bitch up a storm when I’d put him on.”

“Yeah,
well, I guess I was listening.
I got
some of his stuff, the ones I’d heard
with you. But no, I don’t listen to him a lot.” He didn’t tell her that he found himself reaching for the Boss when he was feeling low, feeling sorry for himself, wanting to sit in the dark of the living room after Stevie had gone to bed and Annie was asleep. He’d grab a beer, put on some Springsteen, and just sit on the couch in the dark room and brood.

He’d never made the connection before, but it seemed so glaringly obvious to him now. Listening to Springsteen reminded him of a better time in his life. Reminded him that there were people in the world who had seen him for more than just a shitty husband, or a struggling father. They had seen a glimmer of possibility in a young
Finn
, someone who would see his dreams through.

Liz leaned back into the corner of the couch. The corners of her mouth turned up as she hummed along with Bruce.
He
watched the perfect bow of her upper lip. He could barely remember Gran’s birth date, or even his own phone number, but the shape of Liz’s mouth seemed imprinted on his memory forever.

He
placed his hands under her bent knees, and eased her legs from underneath her to straighten over his lap. She let him take her legs and push her back farther int
o t
he couch. He cupped her calf,
then ran his hand down to her ankles where he began to rub her feet.

“That feels wonderful, but I should probably be doing that to you. You’re the one who worked all day. I’m on vacation, I’m permanently relaxed.”

He
didn’t mention the hum he felt flow through
her
body. He wouldn’t call that relaxed. He’d call that…aroused. He sure as hell felt the same way.

“Don’t worry, you can do plenty of rubbing on me.” He was greeted once again with her laugh, but this time it was low and throaty.

He slid her skirt up her legs to the top of her thighs, freeing her legs so she’d be able to move to the next place he wanted her. Her eyes followed his movement, and when his hands stilled, she looked up to his face. Met his eyes. Shared his hunger. She licked her lips, an unconscious movement, which sent
Finn
into action.

Taking her by the waist, he lifted her from her sitting position, turned her and settled her across his lap. Her hands came out looking for balance and landed on his biceps. She sat straddling him, face to face.

It all exploded after that.

Her hands slid up his arms and locked behind his neck as his mouth crashed down on hers. She met him with every thrust as his tongue explored her. She tasted of wine, chocolate, vanilla and…summer.

She started to rock against him and he slid his hands up her thighs, taking her skirt all the way with him so that there was only the barrier of her satin panties against his jeans. She gasped as her sensitive skin found the seam of his denim, and his cock rallied to show her his response. The room had grown dim as twilight had come upon them, but he could see her face clearly when he pulled away from her mouth.

Her hazel eyes glowed, sparkled. Her mouth was wet and already swollen from his hungry kisses. She took her hands from behind his neck. As he hoped she would do - as he
needed
her to do - she cupped his face in her hands and looked deeply into him. Into his soul, or what was left of it.

“
Finn
,” she whispered, so softly he wasn’t su
re he even heard it. But he felt it
.

Her eyes were full of compassion and redemption and second chances, all of which
he
needed, and none of which he sensed she was able to give him. Fine. He’d take whatever else she was offering. By the way her hips were moving against his hard dick, he was pretty sure what that was.

He took her hands from his face, unable to take the feelings her gesture raised in him. This was not about redemption or new leaves or healing old wounds, for Christ
’s
sake. This was about getting laid, pure and simple. About getting this damn blouse off of Liz and burying himself in her lush breasts. His fingers stumbled over the buttons, but he got them undone.

They were larger, and fuller now, of course. Having lost their girlish perkiness, they hung lower. But still spectacular. There were small silver marks in her skin at the top sides of her breasts. He pulled aside the straps to look at them more closely, the only light in the room now
streaking in from the kitchen. He felt her stiffen as she followed his glance and her hands left him and started to pull at the sides of her shirt, as if to cover herself.

Not knowing what had made her suddenly shy, he placed his hands over hers and stilled them before she could cover up. “No, Liz, let me look at you. Your breasts, so womanly, so...” he didn’t finish, couldn’t, because his mouth was full of the soft, jiggly flesh that overflowed the cups of her bra. Also satin, and a pristine white, just like the panties. There was a lot of material to the bra - to cover a lot of breast. But there was also a lot of flesh peaking out over the lacy top of the cups and that’s what
his
hungry mouth feasted on.

It wasn’t enough. Not when he could feel her nipple tightening just below his chin. He peeled the cups down, hooking the material below her breasts, becoming as much support as the underwire, and lifted her bared breasts to his waiting mouth.

As he clamped down on her aroused nipple,
he
was assaulted with memories. Of this woman as a girl, in this room, writhing as he suckled her. Her hands holding his head to her as she was doing now. Her hips moving then, too, but that night, in her innocence, she hadn’t known why. Now she did, and
he
guessed by her rhythm that she’d learned a thing or two about pleasure since that night.

It was too much, he needed to be inside of her. At the very least he needed to be on top of her.

He rolled her to their sides,
then rolled himself up, tucking her underneath him. Her skirt, now tangled around her waist, was no hi
ndrance as she opened her soft
thighs for him to settle himself on top. His mouth returned to her breasts, wet and flushed. He was glad he’d shaved again when he’d showered. The thought of putting stubble burns on her unsoiled flesh was unbearable.

He was just about to readdress those little marks when he felt her hands pull on his shoulder. “
Finn
.
Finn
.” He didn’t find it hard to believe that she was so hot so quickly, he knew he was.

“I know, Liz. I feel it too.” It was consuming him, this need to be inside her. He rocked against her. But she kept tugging on his shoulders.

“No,
Finn
. I think I heard a car.”

That wouldn’t be unusual. The picture window behind the couch faced the road and a loud car could occasionally be heard from inside the house. He tried to still and listen for the sound that had her spooked but all he could hear was the throbbing inside his head. And his cock.

“It’s nothing.” He returned to laving her nipples. He loved how the puckered flesh felt against his tongue.

Then he heard it too. But it was in the kitchen now. Another light
flickered on
and
two unmistakably female voices
drifted through
the doorway to the living room. Two voices he knew. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Not again!” Liz groaned as
he
thought the same thing. “This is so déjà vu,” she said, once again mirroring his thoughts. She ducked her head under his chest and furiously began putting her bra back in place and reaching for her buttons. “I’m too old for this.”

He grunted. “You and me both. This is unbelievable.” He lay on top of her, once again protecting her until she was decent.

The light of the living room went on and
he
peeked his head over the arm of the couch. “Gran. I didn’t expect you back tonight.”

“Apparently.”

“Annie’s with you?”

“Of course. Where else would she be?”

“Shit,” he whispered and felt Liz freeze underneath him. A few seconds passed, he felt her take a deep breath, as if steeling herself for battle. She ducked her head under his arm, and peered out around the side of the couch.

“Hello Mrs. Robbins. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Lizzie Hampton.”

Finn
could have kissed his grandmother. She didn’t even seem to blink as she took in the scene. “Of course I remember you, Elizabeth, it’s nice to see you again. And please, call me Clea.”

“Thank you, Clea. It’s nice to see you too, although I wish it were under different circumstances.” She smiled at
Finn
’s grandmother and the woman melted at Liz’s friendly charm, just like everyone else. Gran waved
her
comment away and gave her a warm look of understanding. A
sort of blood-brother look that he
assumed only women could understand.

There was movement behind
his
grandmother and she stepped to her side to make way for Annie.

“Annie,”
Finn
let out in a sigh.

Liz strained her neck to get a better look at Annie as she made her way around Gran. A mechanical “whoosh whoosh” preceded the rubber tires and spokes of a wheelchair that came to a stop. The inhabitant stared at Liz and
Finn
.
His
little girl, her eyes shining with tears and an anger that crushed
him
. “Oh Annie, honey, don’t.”

Liz took in Annie.
Finn
tried to see Annie through a stranger’s eyes. She was breathtaking. An angel. White hair, wide blue eyes that a few tears had escaped from. Cherubic cheeks heightened in color by her rage and a wide mouth that was trembling

He felt Liz gasp beneath him. “Hannah? ‘Help Hannah’, Hannah?”

“I hate that damn name!” his p
otty-mouthed angel shrieked,
then wheeled herself through the living room. The bedroom door
,
which crashed open at the force from the bottom of her chair
,
crashed shut again as soon as she’d wheeled herself over the threshold.

After giving
him
a sympathetic look, Clea made her way out the door, to the trailer, leaving
Finn
and Liz alone once again. It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same again.