Pushing Limits (10 page)

“Thanks, Amber.”  Her quiet smile contradicts her sad eyes.

“What?”  Her reaction takes me by surprise.

“My parents wouldn’t approve.  They want me to get a degree that
puts me in rooms with the right people…like public relations or
marketing.  My dad needs me to marry someone who can either provide a
merger possibility or help the family business. “

“What’s the family business?”

“My dad owns an IT Logistics company.  They do a lot of work for the
Department of Defense.  Fashion wouldn’t mesh with the family
business.  And, hey, Dad wants what he wants.  He would love a
son-in-law who was a senator or congressman, but he would settle for someone in
line to take over a similar firm.”

“Are you seriously going to get married someday…to…a man?”  I ask
with an incredulous smirk.

“Wealthy families have been doing it for centuries,” she says dryly.
 “Forcing their kids to marry and continue the bloodline.  The couple
agrees to be discreet and carry on separate private lives.  The public
sees a happy smiling couple and in private they do what they want. 
Everybody’s happy.”

“Right and how do you plan to get a baby in your belly when the time
comes…since that’s the whole objective?”

“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.  Artificial
insemination?  Adoption?  Shoot…A quick fifteen minutes under the
right conditions…problem solved.  Hell, I slept with Bobby.  It was
fun.  Didn’t want to switch teams, mind you, but it was good.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”  I shrug.  My phone beeps.  “I guess my
aunt is feeling the need to bug me.”  I pull my phone out and glance at
the text with Tommy’s name displayed. 

I can’t stop thinking about the way your face looks when you
come.

Giggling, I say, “Uh, I don’t think it’s my aunt.

“What does it say?’ 

I show the display to Sally, trying to stop smiling.

Her eyes return to my face.  “You’re blushing!”  She laughs.

I text:

School tomorrow or I would ask you for a repeat performance.

My phone beeps a reply: 

Feel free to use me for sex whenever the need arises,
darlin’.

I’d hate to interfere with your school.

How about dinner on Tuesday?

I text:

Sounds great!  Or I could just have you for
dinner.  ;)

My phone pings:

That’s an idea. 

But, the least I can do is feed you before I ravage your cute
little body. 

I have some fun ideas that involve rope and your nipples.

I’ll text you later.

I text him:

Later!

Sally reads the texts and cautions, “Girl, don’t go gettin’ your heart
broke now.”

“I know, I know.  I won’t.  I’m just using him for sex.” 
I grin, glancing down at my wrists.  “Hot, naughty, nasty sex.”  My
breath catches as I slide my finger along the welt. 

“I wanted you to see this place.”  Tommy smiles down at me. 
“It’s practically a historical landmark.  You can’t
come to Austin and not step foot in
the place Janis Joplin was discovered in.  It’s an Austin institution and
the food is really good.”

“Janis Joplin
played here?  That’s really cool.”

“Yeah, when she
was starting out.  She and the owner became good friends apparently.”

We hang out in the
front waiting for our table to be ready, checking out all the old photographs
of great musicians who’ve played at Threadgill’s in the day.

“See, look at
this.  That’s Mr. Threadgill in that Willie Nelson movie.  He wrote
some of the songs on the soundtrack.  He wrote a ton of songs.  I
know you know,
T for Texas, T for Tennessee
.”

“I do.”

“I heard one year,
Janis Joplin cancelled a concert and flew back to Austin just to sing at his
birthday party.”

“Wow.”  My
eyes glide over the many pictures.  I feel him watching me and I glance
up.  “What?”

“Oh nothin’. 
It’s nice to be around someone appreciates music like I do.” 

His dimples appear
and I feel weak-kneed all of a sudden.  I feel the heat rising so I divert
his attention and ask, “Who’s that?”

“Amber.  You
know who that is.  Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice you blush or
somethin’?”  His arm slings around my neck, and he pulls me closer. 
“Let’s get a table.”

The hostess walks
us to the table and hands Tommy our menus with a smile.  He thanks her,
not appearing to notice.  I give her a heated up and down for kicks, and
now she’s the one walking away blushing.  I make sure she notices that I
turn my head to watch her walk away with a hungry look.  I open my menu
and giggle.

“Do you think you
could keep from ogling the staff while you’re with me?”  He smirks with a
soft chuckle and fakes studying his menu.

“Jealous?”  I
ask.

“I know I’m the
one taking you home tonight.”  He shrugs. 

“Pretty sure of
yourself, huh?”  I smirk.  The waitress arrives and takes our
orders.  Disappearing with a bright smile and a flip of her hair after
focusing her attention on my date and completely ignoring my existence. 
When she walks away, I say, “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, you know
what I do.  You know I grew up here, that I left and now I’m back.  I
guess I could start with family.  I have a sister and a brother.  How
about you?”

“Only
child.”  I play with my napkin.  “Are you the oldest, youngest?”

“I’m the
baby.”  He smirks.  “My brother is thirty-five and I have a sister
who’s thirty-two.”  He winks.  “I was a surprise.”

“Are you close to
your siblings?  I mean they’re so much older…”

“Not really. 
Well, I’m close to my sister but my brother not so much.”  His eyes darken
and his face clouds over. 

What’s that
about?

The waitress
brings out our food and the aroma of chicken fried steak fills my
nostrils.  I build my perfect bite and place the fork in my mouth. 
The flavors explode on my tongue, and I close my eyes as I chew, content that I
have just tried the best chicken fried steak known to man.

“Lord knows, I
love watchin’ you eat.”  He chuckles cutting into his steak.  “So,
what’s it like being an only child?”

I cringe inwardly
wondering how I’m going to bypass the landmines that are my childhood. 
“It’s different, I guess.  I never really thought about it.  I always
had my friends at boarding school…”

“You went to
boarding school?”

“Yeah, all my
life.  I went to Prescott Academy for first through fifth grade.  St.
Paul’s for middle school and Deerfield and Phillips Academy for high school.”

“How often did you
come home?”

“During Christmas
and summer break.  It was just like college.”

“Did your family
go on vacation during breaks since you were away most of the year or stick
around the house?”

“A little.” 
Wow, this is getting really uncomfortable.  Poor little rich girl. 
Not exactly great dinner conversation.  Would he really want to know that
I barely saw my parents and most breaks were spent hanging out with Elise and
Arthur?  Doubt it.  Diversion always works.

“Did you go to
high school around here?  I bet you played sports.  Were you into
football or soccer?”

“Darlin’, football
is a religion in Texas.  Everybody lives for Friday nights.”

“What position did
you play?”

“Tight end.”

“Yes, it sure
is.”  I give him my best wicked grin.

“Did you play any
sports in high school?”

“Tennis.”  I
smile.  “Do you play?”

“I’ve
played.  I can’t say I’m any good, but enjoy driving it down the middle.”

“Really?  My
favorite part is when the balls come deep and hard.  I love a good rally.”

The waitress comes
over to ask Tommy if he would like another beer.  My empty bottle is
poised on the edge of the table.  I just give him a look that says
‘Really?’ and he orders us another round.

“So are you closer
to your mother or your father?”  Tommy asks.

“Oh, I don’t
know.  Who are you closer to?”

“I guess my
mom.  How about you?”

“Wow, look at that
couple.  They look like they are about to go at it right on the
table.  Wanna see if we can out do them?”  I pull him in for a kiss
for what I hope is a subtle diversion.  My hands stroke his beard and it’s
so soft.  My hands start to wander as my heart races. 
Man, this
guy does it for me.  Damn.  Such a good kisser.

Tommy pulls away
and whispers, “Let me get the check.”  Tommy motions for the waitress, and
she brings the check over.

***

I unlock the dorm room door, and I’m greeted by the sight of Sally in
pajamas, her hair tied high in a ponytail, holding a bowl of chicken
soup.  She mutters, “I’m sick.  I feel like crap.”  She sinks
onto her bed and gives Tommy and me the most pitiful look I have ever seen.

“It’s no surprise.  You’ve been burning the candle at both ends.” 
I shake my head and say, “Get under the covers.  Did you take any
Tylenol?”

She sniffs.  “No.”

Tommy puts his hand to her head.  “No temperature, coz.”

“Coz?”  I look back and forth between them.

“We’re cousins, Amber.”  Sally sniffs, looking up at me with saucer
eyes.  “I know I told you that….maybe it was that first night.  I
thought I told you, maybe I didn’t, I don’t remember.  I’m dying
here…”  She looks up at me, rubbing a tissue under her nose.

I shake my head.  “Maybe you did.” 

I turn to Tommy, saying, “I’m sorry.  I better say goodnight. 
Can I walk you out?”

He gives me a crooked grin and says, “Sure, darlin’.”

I give him my best goodnight kiss, trying desperately to send him home
with a hard-on that will last until he makes it back to the ranch.  I walk
back inside with a dirty little grin and a wave goodbye.

***

After an entire year without sex, another week without it should’ve been
no big deal.  Instead, it felt like an eternity.  I would have
thought I could go a damn week without thinking about it.  I tried, I
really did.  But I saw sex everywhere, in class, on TV, in the movies.
 Everyone was doing it except for me, damn it. 
I’m obsessing.
 
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
  Sally was right.  I needed
to get laid.  Again and again.  I chuckle.

He said we were going out this weekend, but I haven’t heard from him
since Tuesday.  A call asking how my week is going?  A sexy, flirty
text?  Something?  I feel like some thirteen-year-old girl waiting
anxiously for a boy to call.  Waiting, wishing, wanting…but
it’s
nada.  Crickets.  No call, not a single text.

As the week dragged on, I told myself it was “just a fuck.”  Nothing
more.  I try to tell myself I don’t care.  Casual sex is just
that.  It’s sex, no strings.  I’m a big girl, I don’t need to sit
around and wait for anyone to call. 

But something inside my head whispers, “
He likes you,”
and “
he
wants round two
.”  There’s a part of me that believes it was
more.  That he felt it, too.  The connection.

Hell, I’m probably one of many.  A guy that hot probably screws
someone new every night.  I guess he didn’t think the sex was that great
or he would be texting and calling, trying to hit it again.  And one night
with me?  Why would that bring anyone to his knees?  Least of all
him.  Said it once, I’ll say it again, that guy is too good-looking for
me.  The mind-blowing sex was probably nothing new to him, an every night
occurrence for your average neighborhood Greek god.  It’s been almost a
year for me. 
Shit, did I suck in bed?

Other than that embarrassing make-out session with Logan, there hasn’t
been anyone since Angela.  When I think about the whole Logan thing it
makes me cringe.  I liked him, but he was a friend.  When we started
fooling around, the hormones took over.  There wasn’t really anything more
and then my mom walks in.  It was humiliating.

With Tommy, I felt something.  Hell, I felt it in the
restaurant.  The attraction, the connection.  It wasn’t just about
sex, for me at least.  I liked him.  After Angela, I don’t think I
could put myself out there again.  My heart still aches when I think about
her.  I miss her so much. 

People always leave.
 

What difference does it make anyway?  I needed to get back in the
saddle again.  I did that. 
Moving on.
  I force myself to
muster up even a bit of dignity
.  Screw him
.  I shut down my
mind and push out all these dumbass feelings.  Maybe I should ask someone
out.  That guy in my government class is pretty cute…or that girl in
English Lit, she’s pretty.  I always see her checking out my ass.

***
 

As I stand outside my academic advisor’s office, waiting to meet him for
the first time, I take another look at the notification slip.  It reads
that I have been assigned to ‘Sir Alec Stewart.’  Yeah, it says
‘Sir.’  I guess he’s noble or something. 

Great.  Another academic with a stick up his ass.

The door to his office opens and as a student exits, I stand in the
doorway and say,   “Professor Stewart, I’m Amber Turner.  Ms.
Chadwick assigned me to your advisory group.”

A tall, bald man with kind blue eyes and full lips regards me.  His
white smile is nestled inside a salt and pepper beard.  “Right.  Yes,
of course.  Please come in.”  He motions for me to enter the office
and to sit down in the oversized beige chair opposite his desk.  His
office is larger than I expect for a professor.  The furniture is heavy
and ornate.  The picture lining the walls are of him and his friends
hiking up a mountain, on top of a snow peak, astride a horse swinging a polo mallet. 
He gracefully walks the few steps to a single cabinet in the corner, gesturing
to a hot plate and cups in a makeshift tiny tea station with a thin elegant
hand.  “Would you like some tea?  I have a nice Earl Grey.”

“Tea?”

“My dear, an Englishman without tea, is like an American without
coffee.  I think the American writer Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best when
he said,
‘
The Englishman who visits Mount Etna
will carry his tea-kettle to the top.’  Now would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you.”

“Right.  Now what can I do for you?”  He asks taking a seat at
his expansive ornate desk.   His keen eyes stare, considering
me. 

“You’re my academic advisor,” I say.

“Right. Right.  You mentioned that,” he says, leafing through
various bulky stacks of paper cluttering his desk.  “I have your file
here.”  He switches piles.  “It was sent over yesterday.” 
Switching to the papers on the back of the credenza, he rifles through those as
well.

“Is it in that stack?”  I ask, pointing to a stack of blue binders
with student names labeled on the front.

“What stack?”  He looks at me, as if he’s not sure why I have
spoken.  His teal blue eyes muddle with a flash of confusion. 

“Behind you.  On the credenza.”  I motion to the stack on the
corner of the credenza behind him.

“Right.  Right.”  Pulling my file, he reviews its content,
muttering out loud.  “I see, hmm, excellent grades in secondary
school.  High college entrance scores.  Good, good….Oh my, three
schools in a year, one expulsion.  Abysmal grades.  How on earth did you
ever get admitted here?  We do have standards to adhere to after all.”
 He sniffs, murmuring to himself, “
I see
.”  His ardent eyes
settle on me again saying, “Why are you here, my dear?”

“You’re my advisor.  Ms. Chadwick sent me.”

“Yes.  But why are you here at Texas College?  Are you
interested in making a go of it?”  He asks leaning in, intensely
interested in my response.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Why are you in school if you don’t give a damn about giving it even a
bit of effort?” His eyes narrow with a quizzical look.

“I don’t know what to say to that.”  I sneer.

“I see.” Looking down, he reads a note, “Oh, I see here, Ms. Chadwick has
scribbled some rather nasty notes…that woman is in dire need of a good shag, I
must say…Hmmm.”  He sifts through the papers.  “Right, a
trauma.  You witnessed a robbery and a homicide…Terrible stuff…anyone
would go a tad barmy under the circumstances.”  His fingers rub his strong
chin absentmindedly.