Crys And Gabe Page 6

  "Need to get it?" he asked, almost panting.

  "Yeah, Baby, I do," she said with regret.

  Gabe rolled away from her to lie on his back, his hands scrubbing his face.

  Goddamn.

  He could've come just from kissing and rubbing against her.

  Fuck.

  He'd had the same exact reaction when he'd been fifteen and a half and teaching her to kiss. Something she'd asked him to do and that they'd enjoyed together during a long, late summer afternoon, the blanket spread in their special place at the creek.

  Gabe idly wondered who it was on the phone and realized he didn't know anything about her life now, her life as an adult. He didn't know who her friends were, although he'd met some of them in the hospital. He didn't know how she spent her days, what she was planning for, what she did for fun.

  And it bothered him that he knew so little about her now.

  One thing he did know; she still wanted him.

  Her casual acceptance of him being back in Grantham, back at the shop, was a carefully controlled act. Something he'd suspected but was confirmed with this morning's activities.

  Crys could never hide her feelings when she was younger, but it looked as if she'd learned a few tricks since he'd been gone.

  At least until he kissed her.

  He didn't know what it was about the connection of their mouths, but he'd dreamed of kissing her in his time away. No matter who he was with, how involved he'd been with someone else, he still dreamed of Crys's sweet lips on his, the feel of their tongues entwined. He even measured every other partner's technique against hers, which he knew was unfair.

  When you 'teach' someone to kiss, you show them what you like. So, kissing Crys was exactly what he wanted, perfectly supplying the pressure, movement and with the right amount of wetness.

  Perfect for him.

  And, if her response to him this morning was any indication, perfect for her, too.

  Until that goddamn phone call.

  Still, she'd responded to him and that was a start. A start to what he'd hoped, had planned, would get her to the place he wanted her to be. A place where they were together.

  He made his way to the kitchen, looking for something to eat for breakfast and a way to control his cock as well as his heart.

  But it took a few moments of looking in cabinets and in the fridge before he was able to focus on what his eyes were actually seeing.

  Eggs, bread, milk and vanilla.

  Cool.

  Syrup?

  Nope, but she had some 'No Sugar' berry jam.

  French toast it is, then.

  Chapter Seven

  I made my way to the kitchen, following the wonderful smells that had wafted down the hall towards me.

  Gabe was there, carrying a mile-high stack of French toast to the oak dining room table which had already been set up with dishes and silverware.

  Damn.

  I was already in deep but breakfast, too?

  Being Max Armstrong's kid, I had a saying for everything. And the one that fit for this particular instance was, 'Anybody can buy you dinner, but it's only a lover that will feed you breakfast'.

  Shit.

  Never had a man that I hadn't even slept with yet provide breakfast.

  We had been so fucking close to it, though.

  So close.

  I had been seconds away from shoving the covers out from between us so I could feel him against me. But, then, his mouth on mine had always gotten my motor racing.

  Gabe's kisses had always been the right kind of foreplay, my favorite kind of foreplay. Ever since I'd gotten the balls to ask him to teach me how to kiss.

  And he'd taught me, oh God, how he'd taught me. I didn't know if he remembered it, but that afternoon, the whole of that afternoon was seared in my memory.

  I had wanted him with all the longing of a young girl who knew she'd been in love with her best friend.

  Now my body throbbed with the strong desires of a woman.

  Until my phone rang.

  Steven.

  My on-again, off-again sort of, maybe, kind of boyfriend for the last month.

  I met Steven at the Starlight when he and his crew were drinking the evening away, I was there teaching my basic Line Dance Class. I had two gigs a month at the Starlight. Once a month I did a two hour Line Dance class that had really caught on. The rest of the evening was dedicated to New Country music and really brought in the crowds on what was one of the slowest nights of the week.

  The other was a beginning Hip-Hop class. Because I'd been dancing since I was four, I felt more than qualified to teach. Stella, who owned and managed the Starlight, was one of my favorite people and needed some help in getting the folks into the dance hall on the slower nights.

  They were easy gigs and I loved doing them.

  After I'd finished that particular Line Dance class I had sat at the end of the bar, nursing a lite beer while chatting off and on with Stella. She was a beautiful strawberry blonde that I had known almost my whole life.

  "Hey, Pretty," Steven had said turning his body sitting three stools away towards me. "Looked good out there."

  "Thanks," I mumbled. I had to admit, after having years of being hit on, his was not the most original line.

  "But you don't look like no country girl," he said.

  "So?" I asked, my tone disinterested and wondering where he was going with this. I had no problem shutting people's shit down especially if I didn't like what counted for conversation in their sick, little world.

  "Just sayin'," he said, bringing his own glass to his mouth.

  "What do I look like, then?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

  His brown eyes roamed over the parts he could see; my denim cargo shorts, fishnets, new Doc Martins for Women with a heel and my brand spanking new tank emblazoned with 'The Future Mrs. Howard Wolowitz'. The tank, purchased online, was tucked into the shorts which I'd circled with a studded belt capped with a crystal belt buckle that had a skull and crossbones in pink. Of course the pink of my belt buckle exactly matched my pink straw cowboy hat.

  She was my idol.

  Pink.

  "Alternative, I'm guessing," Steve said. "Not the new stuff. Early to mid nineties or so."

  He shrugged.

  Stella came down our way. "Messing with the girls, Trey?"

  "Hey, Stell. Nope. Just having a conversation with the dance instructor," Steven said with a smile. He had a freaking great smile and I was guessing he didn't flash it too often.

  "Yeah, but this dance instructor is Armstrong's kid," Stella advised, giving Steven a hard look.

  "Fuck," Steven said before swiveling his face my way. "You're Max Armstrong's kid?"

  I nodded.

  At my nod, Steve reached across the bar, his hand palm up. I touched my hand to his.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Baby Girl," he said softly as he shook my hand. "Name's Steven but everybody calls me 'Trey'."

  "Hey, Steven," I said because, let's face it, I'm not an 'everybody'.

  And as he did, my interest grew a bit.

  Nice shoulders pushing out the lines of his black thermal which was covered by his sleeveless vest that had his club and insignia on it which is also known as his 'cut'. Layered, wet sand colored hair and irises the exact same color of the whiskey he was sipping.

  Nice and easy on the eyes.

  And so Steven was in my life and I was in his bed at the Grantham Hotel.

  It was an off and on thing since he and his crew were actually from Montana and were here to work out some kind of deal with the Milosevics.

  I couldn't care less why he came to Grantham or what his business was.

  Steven was just a sometime thing to scratch a sometime itch.

  It was even better that he wasn't around much.

  But, with what was being exposed between me and Gabe, I sure the fuck didn't want Steven anywhere near me.

  Gabe had this thing about bikers. I think it
came from being born into a club.

  His grandparents had been in a motorcycle club, his mom and dad, too.

  But not Gabe.

  Uh-uh.

  No way.

  He didn't like the politics, he didn't like the violence and he especially didn't like being told what to do.

  Worked for me.

  I let Steven's call go to voicemail.

  Eventually, I'd have to deal with it. But I wanted to be completely well, on top of my game, before I scraped him off.

  Since we were only friends with benefits, I didn't think I'd get much of an argument. Especially because the 'friend' portion wasn't even true. We were, at the lowest level, fuck buddies.

  Nothing more, nothing less. Which, to me, meant that Steven was gone from my life as of fifteen minutes ago; from the moment Gabe's lips hit mine.

  I watched Gabe as he moved about my kitchen and felt a shimmer of desire make its way up my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

  It wasn't only that he was gorgeous; it was that he was, well, him. The boy I'd known all my life, my best friend and partner in crime. The person I'd judged every other man against since I was fourteen.

  The one that had broken my heart and disappointed me time and again.

  Enjoy, one part of my heart said.

  Be careful. He'll hurt you, the other part warned.

  "So what was all the moaning about last night?" Gabe asked, breaking off my thoughts.

  "Moaning?"

  Gabe looked up at me as he was spreading the jam on his french toast.

  I thought back trying to remember anything about any moans.

  Oh.

  Oops.

  I remembered dreaming.

  Dreaming about Gabe.

  A dream I'd been having off and on since my early teens.

  After our afternoon on the blanket, the one by the creek.

  I loved that dream, which had gotten more and more erotic as my experience had grown over the years.

  But it was more than a little embarrassing when the dreamee was laying right next to the dreamer when she was dreaming it.

  "Don't know what you mean," I said shoving a huge bite into my mouth to prevent any further speech on my part. And I was so freaking hoping that my face wasn't as red as it felt.

  "You said my name," he said softly, a grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

  I swallowed trying to think fast. "So, you're answering to asshole now?"

  "That's how you're playing it?"

  I kept my eyes on my plate and acted like he was talking through his ass.

  Which, unless he was a mind reader, he kind of was.

  But he was wearing a huge shit-eating grin when I finally got the gumption to glance his way.

  The dickhead.

  I was quiet the rest of the meal and even after, watching as he moved comfortably around my kitchen.

  My pain in my hands had eased off, but my head still felt funny.

  I didn't remember the seizure that sent everyone into a frenzy. Didn't remember most of my time in ICU, except for the first visit from Gabe who couldn't keep his hands off me.

  I was weak though. Really weak and still found my head swam if I turned it too fast. But Gabe was here to catch me if I fell, to catch me if I even breathed wrong.

  Used to be that would've gotten on my last nerve, but after hearing how he'd been glued to my side at the hospital from my posse, I was cautiously interested.

  And, if the word from the posse was correct, he was here for me.

  Totally and completely.

  Good to know, but then again, they didn't know about us way back when. Okay, Frank-kay did, but not the rest of them. I had confided to Frank over tequila shots after hours in Tangles after he'd first opened the salon, his salon. Told him about me and Gabe, the togetherness, the separateness and the connections with the hurts.

  Frank got it, but I knew he would.

  I'd already heard from his sister, Lollie, the premier waxer at Tangles, about how their Roman Catholic family had completely rejected him for being gay and open about it. She was the only one that had stuck with him, that'd had his back in those lonely days. Then he'd found Stan and, with Stan, had found his center.

  That's what Frank-kay called Gabe.

  My center.

  I didn't know about that. I did know that I was, had been in love with Gabe almost my whole life. And now, if what everyone was saying was true, he wanted me back.

  Fucking finally, one part of my heart said.

  But, I didn't trust it.

  I didn't often think about the bad shit in my past or even the horrendously sad shit. Because, what's the freaking point? When you get right down to it, all you can really say it that it happened; shit happens--especially if you party naked. But the point remains that you either get planted six feet under because of all the down and dirty sad shit, the bad shit, or you just damn well got over that stuff.

  I got over it, one stupid, crap-filled handhold at a time.

  But, when everyone you've ever really loved goes away in one way or another, you just can't take a chance on loving another person when you know how its eventually gonna go.

  I'd tried trusting him one too many times and Gabe had let me down.

  I was thinking about giving it to him another chance, though.

  To maybe give Gabe a forty-third chance with my heart, but this time throwing in my body for good measure.

  I was only hoping that he didn't break my heart again.

  Because I knew that if he did it just one more time, he was out of my life forever.

  Chapter Eight

  They had finished off the last of the French toast.

  Gabe brought out the first aid kit and the bandages. He also brought out the pain pills and the antibiotic ointment the doctor had recommended.

  "Are you still hurting?" he asked her, watching her step carefully back to her chair at the table.

  "The cuts don't hurt as bad, but I'm so fucking sore. Bruised, you know?" she answered,

  "Do you want to take a hot bath first? Before we do the new bandages?"

  "Naw, Gabe. Maybe tonight. Let's just get this over with," she said with her nose scrunched up. Changing the dressing yesterday after they had eaten was not fun and she had been hard pressed to keep the stitches in her shoulder and her hands dry during her shower.

  Gabe removed all the bandages on her hands and arms as carefully and as gently as he could.

  "Your palms are looking better, Kitten," he said, leaning close.

  "I can bend them better today, too," she said softly.

  Gabe dropped a kiss on each palm without thinking about it.

  He heard her gasp.

  "Did I hurt you?" he asked, watching the flush spread across her cheeks as her eyes grew soft.

  "No," she whispered, her eyes captured by his.

  He dropped his eyes first, wanting nothing more than to drag her onto his lap and kiss her senseless.

  He dabbed at her skin with the hydrogen peroxide, applied the ointment and just added regular bandages to the stitches, without all the extra gauze.

  "The little cuts are all scabbed over, so I'll leave them alone," he murmured. "Let's look at your shoulder."

  Gabe went behind her and watched as she tried to yank the neck of the t-shirt down far enough so he could get to the stitches, located halfway down her right shoulder blade.

  "Kitten, stop," he said. "Take your shirt off."

  He watched her go completely still.

  "Go get my purse," she said at last, her voice a throaty whisper.

  "Your purse?" Gabe was confused. Why did she need her purse and why did she need it now?

  "Yeah, my purse, Gabe," she said, her gaze now on the table.

  Shrugging, Gabe went back to the bedroom and came back with her purse.

  She had taken off her t-shirt while he fetched her purse and was sitting still as stone with the shirt held in front of her.

  He could see t
hat she was now bare from shoulders to panties.

  White lace panties.

  Nice.

  Gabe put the purse on the table and went to the back of her chair admiring her back's long naked length before reaching to remove the old gauze. He cleaned the cuts before putting fresh coverings on the stitches.

  "Okay, Kitten, all set," he announced, gathering up the little pile of trash.

  "Uh, not quite," she said.

  He came back to the table. "What do you mean?"

  She raised her eyes to his and then looked out the window.

  "I, ah." She cleared her throat and glanced up at him. "I want my metal back in."

  He thought about what she was trying to say.

  Okay, she wanted her earrings and stuff back in.

  "And, uhm, I won't be able to do it by myself," she continued, her eyes now everywhere but on him.

  She pulled her purse over with the hand not holding the t-shirt against her breasts and opened it.

  Gabe saw a stack of what he thought were business cards slide out, but then saw that they were actually the cards from the flower arrangements. The top one said, 'Love, Steven' and the one he picked up off the floor was, 'Love, Niko'.

  Christ!

  What the fuck was this shit? He could feel his jaw clench and the blood rush to his head and knew he couldn't look at her when he handed her the cards he'd picked up from the floor.

  Crys didn't say anything and didn't even look his way as she shoved them all back in her purse.

  His head was pounding when he realized that she didn't have one in the stack that was from him, because he hadn't brought her flowers.

  Hadn't even thought about it.

  What kind of dick gets mad at people doing things that he didn't think to do in the first place?

  She found the zip-lock bag the hospital had put her jewelry in. She had told him on a laugh how Nurse Betty was more than a little flustered at having to remove the body jewelry but, with Crys to talk her through it, all the metal came out. They couldn't do the x-rays or MRI with any of the earrings containing metal on her body.

  Crys handed the baggie to him and watched as he opened it. She dumped all of it out and separated the jewelry in groups and then by position.

  Her earrings, which in this case were studs, she set in one pile.

  Her horseshoe ring that went into her nose. She typically only wore that to work since it impressed her customers a lot but caused a bit of sensation when she wore it just around town.