J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

I shove past him with a frustration that is as misplaced as it is annoying. Reacting to a woman on any level is uncomfortable, but something about the black-haired motorcycle-riding barmaid is rocking my damn psyche.

~*~

It’s after two a.m., and I’m loading up the last of our equipment. Like most nights, the other band members have disappeared either to head home or hook up. Or both.

Usually I’d give them all a ton of shit for taking off, but the club was packed tonight, and we ended up playing an extra set. We all walked off stage to a crowd of chanting fans. The guys were on such a high that they needed to go blow off steam with the activity of their choice.

“Rex?”

I turn from where I’m strapping down our amps to find Mac standing by the tailgate of my truck. She’s fidgeting nervously.

“Hey.” I squat down to sit on the open tailgate. Her eyes dart around the dark alley behind the club, avoiding my eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” She tucks a few loose strands of her long hair behind her ear. “Listen, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me out back there. Another minute and I may’ve passed out from a panic attack.” She laughs, but the sound is unnatural, as if she’s trying too hard.

I nod. “No problem.” My arms ache to wrap her in a hug. What the fuck is that all about?

“I also wanted to apologize for the, um . . .” Even in the limited light of the alley, I see her light-skinned cheeks turn scarlet.

It’s so pretty on her, and again I have to wonder why I hadn’t paid more attention to her in the past.

Her hands knot together. “Last week, when I, uh . . . it was out of line.”

“By it you mean the kiss?” Saying the word in her presence, I watch her neck take on the same color as her cheeks. The innocent blush stirs up a nauseating wave of arousal in my gut. I swallow it back and tug at my lip ring to avoid smiling at her reaction.

“Yeah, that.” Her eyes fix on mine, her expression serious. “I had no right taking advantage of you like that. You helped me and I repaid you by making you uncomfortable.”

I don’t know what to say. As much as I know I should say thank you and reassure her it’ll never happen again, my body is begging to relive it, so much so that it’s overriding the rising bile in my throat. Maybe I’m still riding the high of the kick-ass show we just played. Or it could be all the extra testosterone that’s pumping through my veins because of the eight-hour training sessions I’ve been having all week. Either way, I’m enjoying the feeling. Again, what the fuck?

“I acted like a dick, got you alone on a bed with a bottle of booze.” I shrug. “What’s a girl to think? I set you up and then treated you like shit for taking the bait. I’m sorry too.”

A tiny smile lights her pretty face. “Thank you for being so cool about it. And for the record, I don’t go around, you know, kissing any guy who helps me out of a jam.”

Damn if this little shy-girl routine isn’t fucking adorable.

“Mac?” I draw out her name. “What is it with you?”

Her head jerks a little and she lifts her chin. “Me?”

“Yeah. You ride a motorcycle, take punches meant for a man and don’t even cry. And now, you’re confronting the guy who treated you like shit.” I fight to keep my shoulders up through the weight of my guilt. “Even though I’m the one who owes you an apology. And yet”—a slow smile curves my lips—“you blush talking about a kiss.”

She props her hands on her narrow hips, glares at me, and smiles. “I am not blushing.”

I nod and fold my arms over my chest. “No?”

“No.”

“All right, fine. Let’s put it to the test.” And satisfy my insane fucking urge to recreate it. “Tell me what happened between us a week ago tonight.” The fact that I know it’s been a week probably gives away that I’ve been thinking about our kiss, but there’s no taking it back now.

She lifts one eyebrow and bites her lip. “Hmm, let’s see if I can remember.” Her gaze slides to just over my shoulder and her lips purse in thought. “You gave me a ride to my place, I took a punch to the cheek, we went back to your neighbor’s place, and you tried to get me drunk.”

“Not the most accurate retelling of events, but I’ll accept it. You’re still missing the most important part.” The part that makes my blood feel as if it’s itching to relive it.

She takes a step closer and tilts her chin back to look up at me. “I was grateful for all your help, so I . . .”

I quirk an eyebrow, waiting and watching for the light of her cheeks to flood pink. “Go on; you’ve come this far,” I whisper. “Say it.”

Her eyes roam my face from my eyes to my neck and back up to my lips. Her smile falls. “I kissed you.” She blushes.

My dick swells and queasiness rips through my stomach. Her words affect me in such polar opposite ways it’s intoxicating. And even now, after she’s apologized and I’ve promised myself to avoid her at all costs, I’m gonna do it again.

I drop down from the tailgate and take a step toward her, dissolving the little space left between us. With the tips of my fingers, I hook her beneath the chin and tilt her face up to mine. Her eyes flutter, as if she’s trying to keep them open, and her lips relax. The bursts of air from her mouth prove that I’m having the same effect on her as she is on me.

“This looks better.” I run my thumb along the healing split on her cheek. It’s no longer scabbed and only an angry red mark remains. With a gentle pressure, I run my finger against her skin. “So soft.”

Her breath hitches, and my stomach threatens to unload. I’m wound up tight and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“You kissed me because you were grateful that I helped you.” I move my hand from her face to the nape of her neck. “Don’t know if you remember, baby, but I did it again tonight.” I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to want it. But fuck, I need it. “I’m thinkin’ you owe me another kiss.” My lips burn to feel hers again. I tug on my lip ring with my teeth.

Her neck stiffens and her eyes narrow. “But . . .?”

“Told you I was a dick.” I flex my fingers into her tight muscles. “You caught me off guard. Won’t happen again.”

She gives a tight nod and lifts up on her tiptoes.

I groan at her willingness to give me what I want. What else would she do if I asked? I swallow back the saliva that floods my throat and pull her up to meet my lips.

Just like the first time, we meet with a tentative brush. The warm, pliable flesh of her mouth runs along mine and lingers at my lip ring. She curls her lips around it and pulls away with a tug that makes my dick throb.

“There.” She backs away and smiles. “Goodnight.” Turning on her heel, she pulls open the back door and disappears into the club.

My heart pounds in my chest, half of me screaming to go to her and fuck her senseless and the other half looking for a safe place to puke.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’d gladly take the vomitous reaction if it means even ten seconds between Mac’s thighs.

I scrub my face and fist my hair. What the hell is this woman doing to me? My appointment with my therapist is tomorrow. Maybe it’s time we work harder to get to the bottom of all my shit, if for no other reason than to be able to hang out more with Mac without having to run off every time things breach the make-out level of an eighth-grader.

The memory of her soft skin beneath my hand, her rushed breath, and the honeyed taste of her lips. . . Huh. Thinking about it now is only mildly repulsive. Progress.

Rex

“Hey, Rex.” My shrink pops his head out of his office and waves me in. “Come on in.”

I stand from the leather couch in the waiting room, happy to get away from the damn flute music that’s dancing through the stereo speakers. Honestly, does that shit really make people relax? It gives me the urge to flute-whip a hippy.

“Have a seat.” He motions to one of the two overstuffed chairs in his office then swivels around to grab his yellow legal pad and pen.

I drop down into the chair I always pick, the one I’ve been sitting in one day a week for all these years. Not sure why I always pick this one, but something tells me Darren Gale—with a ton of letters after his name—would say it’s OCD tendencies or some psychobabble shit like that.

“So?” He leans back in his chair, legs crossed. “How’ve you been?”

When I first started coming here, I was barely speaking and he had a hell of a lot more hair. He never pushed me to talk about things until I volunteered, and he’d be happy to just sit and not talk at all if that’s what I needed. Often times it was. But now, he’s the closest thing I have to family.

“I’ve been all right.” I flick a ball of lint off the chair’s arm.

He hums in acknowledgment. “You sleeping okay?”

I shrug. “Had to take some Trazodone last week, but it’s been better since.”

“Dreams?” He scribbles something down.

“Yeah. Same ole same.”

He drops his gaze and busies his pen on his legal pad. “The little girl or the men?”

My stomach tightens at the mention of those dreams. “The little girl and the one where I’m stuck in the dark.” And sometimes the others.

“Are you writing in your journal as I suggested?”