Shelter from the Storm Page 5

  Mac turned around, walked back into the bathroom, crouched down in front of her. “Oh, I like sex, Jennifer. I didn’t like her.”

  “But you kissed her.”

  Mac tilted his head to the side. “Why would you say that?”

  She reached out and dragged the pad of her thumb across his earlobe. “Lipstick.” She showed it to him. “You also have some on your neck.”

  “She kissed me. When I dropped her off.”

  “So there was kissing.” Jennifer took another sip of wine. “But, you don’t like her.”

  “We just didn’t…spark, you know? Why would I want to waste my time?”

  “Because you could have gotten laid?”

  Mac rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to remind me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’ll leave your present on your bed. I’ll see you in the morning, blondie.”

  “You’re going to sleep?”

  “Not likely. Not now. Not with these images I’ve got rolling about in my head, thanks to you.”

  “You sure you don’t want your book?”

  “Nah, I think I’m going to have myself a nice long wank.” Mac stood and again headed out the door.

  “Mac!”

  Before closing it, he peered back around and winked. “Pay no attention to the man moaning in the next room…even if he calls out your name.”

  Jennifer sat alone on her bed. The apartment was dark and quiet, except for the soft sounds of jazz emanating from Mac’s room. It took her quite some time to gather up the courage to open the card. She looked down at it and after wiping a tear from her eye she read it again:

  Jennifer,

  I know you’re nervous about Sara, wanting everything to be perfect. It won’t be. It’s going to be awkward, sometimes painfully so. You’re going to have doubts. You’re going to make mistakes along the way. I suspect soon after Monday’s home visit you’re going to get the green light. I wanted to get you something to mark the occasion, but I wasn’t sure what. Then I realized sometimes it’s the subtlest of things that create the greatest changes in our lives, in us. Maybe finding the right path doesn’t have to be complicated. Maybe direction can come from something as simple as stopping in the hallway to help some girl pick up her spilt groceries. Or, maybe it’s not even the actions we take that are important. Maybe it’s more about being open, about thinking, feeling, believing…about believing in ourselves…about believing in one another. I believe in you. I think you can.

  Mac

  Jennifer tore open the wrapped package. It was the 60th Anniversary Edition of The Little Engine That Could, by Watty Piper. Jennifer opened the book to the first page and began to read. “Chug, chug, chug. Puff, puff, puff. Ding-dong, ding-dong. The little train rumbled over the tracks…”

  Chapter Four

  Mac sat at the dining table, reading the Sunday edition of the San Diego Union and eating some oatmeal. It was close to ten thirty. He had found sleep elusive and had spent most of the night tossing and turning, thinking about her. The phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “So? How did it go?” Mike asked.

  “How did what go?”

  “Melody! It seemed like she really liked you. I mean, she did ask you to drive her home. What happened?”

  “Yeah, she liked me all right.” Mac realized he sounded bored.

  “But you didn’t like her?”

  “Not really.”

  “Maybe you didn’t give her enough of a chance. She’s a beautiful girl, man. And she’s obviously attracted to you.”

  “We didn’t click.” Mac took another sip of coffee. “The chemistry wasn’t there. It was all right, good even, but not great, not what I want, not what I need.”

  “So, you and Melody?”

  “We kissed, that’s all. She was offering, but…”

  “But what?”

  “It didn’t feel right.”

  “Mac?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m officially taking away your Guy Card.”

  Mac smiled.

  “I’m telling you, if I were there, I would hit you upside the head. Did you not notice her tits?” Mike asked.

  “They were kind of hard not to notice.” Mac leaned back in the chair and allowed himself the brief memory of how her breast had felt, cupped in the palm of his hand. As Melody moved in and kissed him goodnight, she had boldly led his hand under her sweater, placed it over her right breast and encouraged him, guided him…

  Someone beeped in.

  “Hold on. Hello?”

  “It’s me,” said Jennifer. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  Mac lowered his voice. “I missed you this morning.”

  Jennifer swallowed. “You did?”

  “Yeah, well, I slept late. When I woke up you were already gone. Where are you?”

  “The mall. I had to do some clothes shopping. I’m going over to Ikea in a little while to order the bedroom stuff for Sara’s room.”

  The sales clerk who had been helping her knocked on the dressing room door. “Jennifer? We don’t have your cup size in the beige, just black, red and ivory.”

  “Try on the red,” Mac said.

  Her heart rate picked up. “The red?”

  “It’s my favorite color.”

  “Hold on.” Jennifer sat the phone down, opened the dressing room door and accepted the handful of lingerie. She picked the phone back up. “What were you saying?”

  “You’re trying on lingerie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Describe it. The more detail the better.”

  “What? No!”

  “Come on. Is it satin? Lace? Does the set come with a matching garter?”

  “Mac, are you wearing pants?”

  “Yeah, but they’re becoming uncomfortable. I should take them off. I will if you ask me.”

  Jennifer blushed. “I’m not having phone sex with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Even as she said it, she removed her panties.

  “Tell me I’m imagining this. Tell me you don’t feel it, the attraction between us. It’s off the charts. I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was low, and oh-so-sexy.

  Jennifer leaned back against the door to the dressing room and closed her eyes. Her hand slid across the full mounds of her breasts, then down the length of her stomach. As her fingers reached her center they slid easily between her folds, dipping into the hot wetness. “I feel it,” she admitted, slightly breathless. “But we can’t…we shouldn’t…”

  “Tell me what you’re doing. The sound of your breathing, it’s—”

  Jennifer looked at herself in the mirror and quickly removed her hand. “Wrong.” She turned around and rested her head against the door.

  “It’s not wrong when two people—”

  “It doesn’t matter if I’m attracted to you. I can’t act on that. I won’t. My sister’s moving into the apartment in just a few days. She’s going to need my attention, my focus. She’s going to need stability. No.”

  “No, as in eventually?”

  A tear rolled down Jennifer’s cheek. “Maybe you should go out with Melody again. She seemed to really like you.”

  “I don’t want Melody. What I want…”

  She sniffed reflexively.

  “Are you crying?” Mac asked.

  Jennifer didn’t answer.

  “You’re not being true to yourself. You’re not being honest. Why are you suggesting I go out with Melody?”

  “Because I’m not available.”

  “Have dinner with me?”

  “That’s why I was calling, actually. I invited my friends Rachel and Tom over for dinner.”

  “I can go to a movie or something, stay out of the way.”

  “They want to meet you. I want you to be there. Please?”

  “Jennifer? You do realize you give off a lot of mixed signals, right?”

  “Maybe I’m really mixed up?”

 
Mac smiled. “How does lasagna sound?”

  “Depends, am I making it or are you?”

  “Me. I’ve got the leftover Bolognese sauce in the freezer. It’ll be a snap. Tell them to come around six o’clock.”

  “It’s dinner, not a date.”

  “Dinner is all I asked for.”

  “Thanks, Mac. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Mac clicked back over to Mike. “Sorry about that.”

  “Jesus! What the hell took you so long?”

  “It was Jennifer. We had phone sex. I was trying to draw out her pleasure. It took a while to make her come. I’m not quite as good over the phone as I am in person.”

  “Wow. Maybe you don’t have to go back to remedial Guy Camp after all. In fact, you might be my new hero. But, she’s your roommate. Couldn’t that get, I don’t know, complicated?”

  “I expect it’s going to get very complicated. She’s a difficult woman to understand.” Mac refilled his coffee cup before taking the Bolognese sauce out of the freezer.

  “You mean they make a model that’s not? I wish to hell someone had told me.”

  Mac shook his head. “Why does Tameka put up with you?”

  “I have this magical tongue. Hey, as much as I’m enjoying this little chat, I was actually calling to speak with Jennifer. I’m bowing out of doing the home visit tomorrow, potential conflict and all. Bonnie over in the Continued Services Department agreed to do it. If all goes well, she can place Sara in the home maybe as early as Wednesday, Friday at the latest.”

  “Let me give you Jennifer’s cell number,” Mac offered before rattling it off.

  “By the way, the kid’s going to need a therapist. She’s not talking,” Mike said.

  “She’s been through a traumatic event. It could take a long time before she feels ready to talk about it.”

  “No. It’s not that she won’t talk about it. She’s not talking at all. Not one word. Not since the police found her.”

  “Is she catatonic?” Mac asked.

  “No. She’s mute.”

  “Is she going to be able to go to school?”

  “They think so. She’s following directions and processing. The shrink says she’ll talk, in time, when she feels safe.”

  “Jennifer was going to get her signed up at Grant. It’s within walking distance from here. Think she should hold off?”

  “I’m looking at her last report card. The kid got straight A’s, so school is a place she’s been successful. I’d recommend she set up a visit, see how it goes. If Grant isn’t comfortable, we can explore alternatives.”

  “Good idea. Tell Bonnie we’ll plan for Friday. I’ll take it off. That’ll give us three whole days with her before Monday.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you on Monday, buddy.”

  “Thanks for everything.” Mac hung up the phone, then walked over to the smaller third bedroom and peered into it. It was completely barren. Not one piece of furniture. Not one stitch of fabric. Not one bit of color. It was empty. He dialed Jennifer’s cell.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Did Mike reach you?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah. We just hung up.”

  “I’m not sure Ikea is the best idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” He stepped into the sterile room. “Yes, I do. Sara’s going to need warmth. She’s going to need comfort. She doesn’t need cold, hard lines and furniture without history. I’m painting the room yellow.”

  “Yellow?”

  “Yeah. A soft yellow, like the color of butter. Listen, I saw some stuff yesterday while I was out shopping for my table. There was a sleigh bed with a matching nightstand in the same shop. The sales girl seemed to take a shine to me, maybe if I talk dirty for her we can get a deal. What do you say?”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Talk dirty? You know I would. And a lot more. You want to meet down there?”

  “Why not?”

  “Go buy a twin-sized mattress and box spring. I’ll run over and pick up the paint, maybe stop by for some bedding. We’ll hook up at two o’clock outside of the Antique Row Café?”

  “Okay.”

  “With luck, we’ll be back here and painting by three.”

  “What’s this we stuff? I thought you were painting.”

  “You’re painting, too. We’ll get it done much faster if we work together.”

  “I don’t know how to paint.”

  “Good grief, it’s not that hard. You just smear the color on the walls.”

  “What if I make a mistake and mess it up?”

  “You won’t. But if you do? We’ll fix it. Deal?”

  “Deal!”

  Mac disconnected, then wasted no time in dialing a new number.

  “Good morning!”

  “Antonio? It’s me. I need some decorating advice for a little girl’s room. Can you meet me at Bed Bath and Beyond in forty-five minutes?”

  Chapter Five

  Mac lifted the end of the braid that ran down Jennifer’s back. “Uh, Jennifer? I think somehow you dipped your braid in the paint.” He walked around to face her and brought the tip up to show her the evidence, a glob of yellow paint. The two of them had been working on painting Sara’s room for a couple hours. Since it was empty, it took little time to prepare. After changing into work clothes, they covered the floor with a large drop cloth and masked it off. Then they taped the ceiling and window, poured the paint and went to town. Mac took charge of rolling on the quick-drying cheery yellow latex he had purchased earlier in the day. Jennifer took on the task of cutting in around the baseboards, corners and the one small window. The room had already begun to take on a much different feel.

  “How did that happen?” Jennifer asked.

  “Don’t know, but it’s managed to drip down your back, too. Aren’t you glad you listened to me and changed into work clothes? Let’s hear you say those three little words that every man longs to hear. Come on…” Mac waved the paint-covered tip of her hair in front of her nose.

  Jennifer swallowed. “Three little words?”

  “Mac, you were right.”

  She frowned. “That’s four words.”

  He dropped her braid. “Anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn?”

  “You did it!” she gasped.

  “Did what?”

  “You did it on purpose! Like some little boy, you went and dipped the end of my hair in the paint.”

  “I most certainly did not!” Mac bent down and added more paint to the roller. “This second coat is going on much faster. It’s a good thing, too, we don’t have much time before our guests arrive and I’m in desperate need of a shower. How about you open the window? It’s like a bloody furnace in here.”

  “It’s not hot in here, you’re just all sweaty!” Jennifer said as she struggled to open the window.

  Mac began to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” She turned to look at him.

  He placed his hand on her wrist and gently twisted her arm so she could see the long path of yellow paint stretching down its length. “You must have brushed against the wall.” He pushed the window open. “You look good in yellow.”

  Jennifer impulsively dipped her paintbrush back into the paint and flicked it at him, spattering his white T-shirt, chin and neck with the color.

  Mac stood there for a second, his mouth gaped open, speechless. He looked down at himself and then up at her. “What did you go and do that for?”

  Jennifer burst out in a fit of laughter. “You look…you look… Oh, oh… You look kind of mad. Mac?”

  His eyes narrowed as he took a step toward her. “Jennifer.”

  She looked beautiful, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. The image played through his mind in the space of a second. Jennifer’s nude body pressed against the wall, covered in wet paint. His arousal started to build and he wanted desperately to give in to it.

  “I’m sorry. I was being playful.”

 
He took another step. “You’ve been a very naughty girl.”

  “Please, don’t hurt me,” Jennifer said.

  Mac registered her fear and his expression immediately softened. He set the roller down on the tray and held up his hands in surrender. “I would never hurt you, Jennifer.”

  Her breaths were coming in heavy pants, her face was flush and she looked almost panicked. The hand gripping the paintbrush was trembling, the knuckles on it white.

  “It’s all right.” Mac walked over to her and slowly placed his hand over hers. “It’s all right.”

  Her eyes tentatively rose to meet his. She gave him a shy, hesitant smile.

  “Someone’s hurt you,” Mac said. “A man.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Jennifer turned her head slightly, breaking eye contact.

  Mac nodded his understanding. He was content to leave well enough alone, for now. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was going to resort to that age-old foolproof strategy called tickling to get the brush away from you.”

  “Wouldn’t have worked.” Jennifer defiantly lifted her chin in the air, any evidence of fear vanishing. “I’m not ticklish.”

  “I have a theory about that.” Mac began to walk his fingers up the side of her torso. “See? I think I just…need…to find…the right…spot.” He wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and with the other he attacked the side of her stomach.

  Jennifer squealed. She managed to break loose, but only for an instant. Soon he had her again. Peals of laughter escaped her lips and her legs began to fold beneath her. They dropped to the floor and she began to kick her legs back and forth as she pulled away, trying to escape.

  “No! Stop! I can’t stand it!” she pleaded between breaths.

  “Not ticklish, my ass!” Mac rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her, straddling her hips.

  He had her hands pinned over her head. The paintbrush was still clutched firmly in one of them. His eyes locked on hers as he hovered over her face. She was smiling up at him, chuckling softly, her breathing still labored. As he looked at her underneath him, his smile began to gradually fade. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Still not getting the brush,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Jennifer,” he said patiently, “let go.”