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Story: Soft Rebound
It’s really stressful when one of them is sick
Joe: No problem, man. Sorry about Millie. Hope she feels better soon
Give my best to Sarah and the kids
When I’m done, I half expect to go back to the bar and find Liz gone.
But she’s not. She’s sitting prettily, smiling, looking a little shy and more than a little excited. I walk over to her, and her knees part—that hits me straight in the groin. I stand between her legs and grab her face in my hands. Her cheeks pinken as she grins, and I realize that this is it, this is the moment, I absolutely have to kiss this woman right this instant.
I press my lips to hers, lightly and softly at first, barely a whisper of a kiss, but then her mouth opens and I feel her body reach toward mine. She places her hands on my forearms as I deepen the kiss, and she slides forward in the chair, her legs spreading wider as she tries to get closer. Her hands move up my arms to my shoulders, down my back and toward my waist, and then she stands up and presses herself flush to me. I lower one hand onto her back and I’m not sure what our lips and teeth are doing, but I know it’s only been seconds and I’m as hard as a rock as she rubs against me probably more eagerly than strictly acceptable in a sports bar, but I shield her with my body and enjoy how she tastes, mostly of herself and a little of beer. She’s just as into it as me, her tongue exploring my lips and teeth, and when I roll my hips just slightly against her core, she lets out a breathy sigh.
The crowd goes wild and I pull back, briefly disoriented. Who are they cheering for? I mean, it was a very good kiss, but I didn’t think—
Liz chuckles as she takes a peek at the screens from behind my bicep. “It looks like the Vikings just scored a touchdown.”
“Damn straight,” I mutter as I nuzzle her neck.
Chapter Four
Liz
A gust of warm wind hits me as we leave the bar, and I’m suddenly stone-cold sober. I realize I am about to go have sex in a hotel with a guy I’ve just met, and I feel sick to my stomach. I can’t take another step.
“You okay?” Joe asks.
I just shake my head.
“We don’t have to do anything, you know. We can go back inside if you want.”
I shake my head again. I know I seem like a child, but I am suddenly overwhelmed by everything, and I wish I could be back in my parents’ home and have Mom and Dad make everything better. I want that, and I resent myself for wanting it. That weakness, that need to be taken care of, to be made comfortable by someone else, that’s why I had been stuck for so long, why I almost resigned myself to a life that I’ve long known I didn’t want. I am weak and a coward and I need to learn to go through with things I decided I would go through with.
I straighten my back and square my shoulders. “I’m okay. Let’s do this.”
But Joe grabs me by the upper arms and stops me. “You don’t really seem to want to.”
“Doesn’t matter now. I said I would do it.”
“Oh, hell, no, you don’t. I am not going to sleep with someone who has to talk themselves into sleeping with me.”
My resolve instantly dissipates. “It’s not that. I... I really liked the kiss. I like how you look and ... I felt connected to you.”
His face softens. “Me, too.”
“But this all feels like a bit much.”
“I get that.” He strokes my arms in a slow, soothing manner. “Do you want to go home?”
I shake my head again. “I do, but I don’t. Like, I want to keep spending time with you, but the whole hotel thing, I don’t think it’s for me. I was talking a big game and now I’m pulling out. I’m sorry...”
Joe sighs. “Look, I wasn’t crazy about the hotel anyway. It feels very impersonal.” He rubs the top of his bald head and I smile. If he had any hair, I bet he’d be running his fingers through it. I raise my hand and rub his head, too, feeling the bones beneath the smooth skin, and then I gently move to touch his cheek, touch his beard.
His brown eyes are very warm and he wears a small smile when he grabs my wrist, removes my hand from his face, and kisses the middle of my palm.
My body relaxes as all the tension seems to seep away through my palm. Joe’s beard lightly scratches as he moves his lips over my skin, kissing the ball of my thumb, the fleshy base of the fingers, each finger, the pad of my thumb.
Then he says, “I have a new suggestion. And again, we’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do. I say we stop at a gas station and grab some snacks and some drinks, and then we go to my place and watch some TV. We can actually finish watching the game, if you want. No pressure, I promise.”
And just like that, I am back in the moment, and the wave of panic has passed. “I think that sounds amazing, actually,” I say. “But I might have to take your picture and maybe your license plate to text to my cousin, just in case you turn out not to be the lovely lumberjack type I just met and are instead another among this state’s infamous crop of serial killers.”
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