To Catch a Falling Star (27 page)

“By the way, when you call Portia, tell her you went to Green Pool with us, and were too tired to call her. That was lie number one.” I fill him in.

“All right.”

While Tarry calls Portia from the landline, I use my cell to dial my work number. Lie number three: I call in sick. My heart is thundering. I’ve never done that before.

In Tarry’s brief conversation with Portia, he is so convincing that if I hadn’t been present last night I would never have guessed he was lying. He then calls his personal assistant.

“Yes, I need you to send me a new iPhone with all my contacts and music. No, dude, I need it ASAP. Yes, I lost it. Yes, cancel all the credit cards as well.” He looks at me. “Yes, get me new credit cards and a new driver’s license, too.” He runs his hand over his hair. “Well, find a way. Call in some favors. I can’t go to LA for a new license.”

He hangs up and looks at me expectantly, but so vulnerable. He looks like a child waiting for a parent to issue a punishment.

“Tarry, the golden coin I gave you during our first therapy, did you have it last night?” I ask.

“I had it with my wallet. I remember getting it out with your card. I was going to call you. Apparently, I lost it along with my cell and wallet, or someone stole it.”

I act nonchalantly. Tarry is clueless to the importance of that coin. I should have told it to him when I gave him the coin. Now it’s too late.

“You ride motorcycles, right?”

“Yeah, haven’t done in a while, but I do have a Harley.”

“Would you take me on a ride then?”

“Um, I thought you wanted me to do therapy or something. Have you called your father yet?”

“No, I thought you could use time to cool off before talking to Dad and having to witness his well-intended attempt to hide his disappointment.” I smile.

“No, shit. I feel like a bloody murderer caught with a weapon in my hands,” he says lightly, trying to mask the guilt stamped on his face.

“No need for condemnation, Tarry. Conviction is enough.”

“A bike, huh, but where are we gonna get one? No! Don’t tell me you own one, or I will drop to my knees and propose. And that wouldn’t be very romantic.” He flashes me a sad smile. Immediately his eyes fill with regret. He is probably afraid of how I’m going to take the comment. I’m skilled in the area of reading people. Besides studying human behavior in school, my job as a cop requires me to sharpen the skill daily. However it’s different with Tarry. I wonder if lust clouds my judgment regarding him. After all this time, I’m just starting to read him. He is insecure. Hmm, that’s puzzling. I’ll have to dwell on the thought later. Right now, I’m too excited.

I let out a small laugh. “No, silly, I’m not that badass. Lucas has a Harley. I texted him and he’s lending it to us.” I grab a leather jacket I haven’t worn in ages.

“Let’s go.”

MY MIND IS spinning. Contrary to what I thought yesterday, Mel is not immune to me. The pull grounding me to her appears reciprocated. Though I wonder how strong it is at her end, I’m relieved. I just need to figure how to go from here. Ridiculous and a novelty since never before I had to worry about—for lack of better word, serenading a girl. My relationships began and ended. Period. Most times, I was blissfully unaware of when, how, and with whom. We are two broken souls trying to mend our pieces back as a whole. A tiny dose of hope infuses me with resolve. With Mel by my side, I’ll learn to handle this new and confusing me. Then, I’ll learn to handle her.

Finally, the killer headache subsides, but the itching is worse. I refuse to scratch my chest in front of Mel.

Mel retrieves a key hidden in a plant pot on the front porch of Lucas’s house. Once inside, we go to the kitchen. On the table, we find a man’s leather jacket, a pair of gloves, and two helmets next to a yellow sticky note that reads:
Full tank, good to go. Have fun, be safe.

I try the jacket while Mel braids her hair. I hand her the helmet and strap it on. My fingers brush lightly on her skin. A shudder runs through me at the thought of her soft curves glued to my body while we ride.

“Thank you,” she says curtly. But she remains in the same place, even though I am closer than necessary.

As I don the gloves, she says, “Shit, forgot my gloves.”

“Want to use these?” I offer.

“No, you will need them more than me. I’ll tuck my hands in the sleeves.”

“Okay.” I smile. In my mind, I grin with a tempting idea. I strap my helmet on. All the while, I keep the flirting to a minimum. I won’t screw this up again.

“Let’s go.”

I nod. I’m anxious to have her body against mine. “Where are we going?” I ask, straddling the bike and zipping my jacket.

“Are you afraid of heights?” she asks with a smirk.

“Nope, not afraid of much in this life.”

“Well, we’re going to Uncle’s Tommy’s in upstate Connecticut,” she adds as if that clarified everything. I decide to play her game. At this point, I might as well admit that I would do anything this woman tells me to. Really, I would.

“Where to?”

“Take I-95 North, I’ll tell you from there. It’ll be about an hour ride.” She puts on a backpack and hops on the back of the bike.

My heart gallops when her body slides and presses on my back. I fight the instinct to stroke her thighs, cautiously wrapped around my hips. God, what a sweet torture.

I follow her directions. Within a few minutes, we are cruising through a picturesque route. The quiet traffic allows me to enjoy the view.

Mel’s hands are tightly wrapped around my waist. The autumn day breeds a chilled air. Her fingers must have turned to icicles. I let go of the steering handlebar and grab her hands, one at a time, tucking each under my shirt. The contact of her cold fingers on my skin sends a shiver up my spine. I sense Mel tensing against my back. I question if this was a smart idea. But her body relaxes, which fills me with relief. She spreads her icy hands against my abs and I’m thankful to have been working out. Defined muscles are beginning to appear on my stomach, replacing the floppy mess of before.

Mel moves her hands in a long caress. She slides her small hand up to my chest. Her fingers, soft and now warm, delicately brush on my hardened nipple. Yeah, my cock is hard. But not even my overactive testosterone can get in the way of me enjoying the fullness of this moment. Her hands trace the trail of hair on my abdomen, and settle over the rim of my jeans. The touch is naïve, yet sensual. It undoes me. I place my hand over hers, squeeze it lightly, and then I let my hand rest on her thigh.

Wow. What a ride.

Colorful trees smudge on my peripheral view. Farms, apple trees, and animals feeding on green pastures pass in a blur.

Fear, with the callous tact of a dull-toothed saw, begins grinding at my heart. Fear as I’ve never felt it before. Now that I have tasted of Mel, I can’t lose her.

Before I became involved with Mel, I lived oblivious to feelings that are much more addictive than any hallucinogen this planet offers. The veil that had been blinding me is off.

This moment with her is so pure. I would willingly give up anything in my possession to keep this bliss for eternity. I breathe in again and, with new resolve, I vacate the fear from my heart. I savor the moment. It’s too precious, too scarce to go to waste.

Mel leans her helmet on my shoulder and straightens her hold on me. I’m almost sure I sense her sighing.

My eternity lasts about an hour. Mel taps on my shoulder, directing me to an exit. We ride past the sign that reads “Welcome to Green Hill” and in and out of twisted country roads. Lonely houses nestle at the end of long driveways. Trees display their foliage under the perfect sunlight.

After several minutes, Mel points to a deserted gravel road. I slow down, aware of the pebbles under the tires.

We end up at a building that appears abandoned. A precarious sign reads “Dash and Zip.” I wonder what the hell it means.

I park next to a rusted red Chevrolet truck. Mel gets off the bike. I feel bereft without her warmth behind me. And, oh, yeah, I feel stupid for being so emotional.

“We’re here.” She beams under the helmet.

“Okay.” I remove my helmet. “And do you mind elaborating.” I arch my brows.

“You’ll see. Let’s go inside.” She pushes through the door. The loud squeak of the door announces our presence.

A man hunched over a book sits behind a counter. He glances up and removes the glasses perched on his nose. Immediate recognition brings a grin to his weathered face.

“I’ll be damned. The cold autumn wind just blew the most beautiful Melody my way. I’m a lucky bastard.” He circles the counter, and embraces Mel’s waist. Her feet leave the floor, and a squeak of delight rises from Mel’s throat.

I briefly examine the interior. Other than a computer desk, there is an outdated vending machine and a table with mismatched chairs.

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” she says when he puts her down.

“Sweet mother of God, I never thought I would see your smile brightening theses ropes ever again.” He holds her at arm’s length and examines her. “You look just as beautiful as the time Tim last brought you here.

“Thank you,” she says and uncomfortably glances at me.

“And who is this fine-looking young fella?” He backpedals when he finally notices me standing next to them.

“I’m Tarry Francis. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I offer on my most polite tone.

“Please, call me Tom.”

“Of course, Tom.”

“So are those lines still up or what?” Mel asks.

“As strong and sturdy as ever.” He grins.

“I need two tickets,” she requests as she puts her backpack over the counter.

“Your money is no good here, Mel,” he says.

“Yeah, I know, but thought I ought to try anyway.” She smiles at him.

“How is Ella? I miss that rascal. Haven’t seen her since Easter.” He goes behind the counter and retrieves his jacket. He places an arm over her shoulder and guides us to the parked truck.

“Ella is great. She started kindergarten.”

Mel glances at me and offers that pure smile that always sends my heart into a frenzy.

“Soon she will be zooming through these lines. Little Tim, started at the age of ten, how about you?”

“Oh, I was twelve.”

He puts the jacket on, and punches the button of a walk talkie. “Hey, Jerry, I’ll be sending two down. Copy?”

“Affirmative.”

I follow them to the car.

“You can put our helmets here, Tarry,” she tells me as she places the backpack in the back of the truck. I open the door for Mel and slide in after her.

“How about you, ever gone zip-lining before?” Tom asks me as he turns the key.

“I did once, in Hawaii,” I say.

“Oh, yeah, well, I have one of the best in New England, half a mile of exquisite nature spreading out below your feet.”

“That ought to be interesting,” I say. My thighs pressing against Mel’s send a thrill through my spine. Incredible, but my body is so in tune with hers. It really is.

A glimpse of sadness crosses Mel’s eyes. But it’s so brief, I wonder if I only imagine it.

“I hear they have great zip lines out in Hawaii,” Tom says. He turns to Mel and asks. “Tell me, how is Pete doing.”

“He is okay. The dialysis takes a toll on his body. But you know Pop. He never complains.”

“Yeah, that son of a bitch is as strong as a horse, but the damn diabetes messes with him. Thank the Lord for those kids. Raising them is what has kept him going since Tim and Jo passed.”

“Yeah,” Mel says and glances nervously at me. I offer a reassuring smile.

“I heard rumors that he owes back taxes on the lake shack. Is that true?”

“I don’t know. If it’s true, I know Pop would never complain to me.”

They continue to talk as Tom drives up on a narrow, twisted gravel road. Within a few minutes and a lifetime of updates on family members, we reach the summit.

I grin anticipating the experience. The adrenaline, already pumping through my veins, excites me as hell. The feeling is invigorating.

“The gears are in the back of the truck.” Tom parks next to a tower.

We retrieve the gear. Tom assists Mel in securing all straps.