CONTINUING EDUCATION

By DixieHellcat

Miss Part One? Chapters 1-6

Chapter 7

Downstairs, we jumped the next northbound trolley and sat back while it wound its way through I-Drive’s Saturday morning traffic. When Wet’n’Wild’s tall water slide came into view we got off. Clay cast a wary look at the squeals and splashes of the water park, but they quickly faded behind us. We crossed I-Drive at the light, passed the hideous haunted-castle minigolf course on the corner, and walked up Universal Boulevard and across Interstate 4. I pointed to the strips of neatly trimmed grass, the flower beds and meandering sidewalks that greeted us as we stepped off the bridge over the interstate. “See, we’re here! It’s a little farther to the park entrances, but we are officially on Universal Studios property now.” Clay all but jumped up and down with excitement. I was excited too, and strangely calmed. Enough wishing for something I couldn’t have; it was time to be happy with what I had. I was in one of my favorite places, about to share it with someone who had rapidly and in truth become one of my favorite people. We walked another block or two, past Universal’s posh hotels and up a long flight of stairs, to the pedestrian walkway that spanned the boulevard from the massive parking garage on our right and descended into a busy plaza ringed with shops and themed restaurants. “This is CityWalk,” I told Clay. “Kind of a glorified mall, but it’s fun.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ve seen enough malls to do me a lifetime. Where are the rides?”

“Ah, a man after my own heart!” I pointed across a lagoon toward the two park entrances. “The fake-tribal gate goes to Islands of Adventure. It has the bigger thrill rides, but I like the Studios park better. To me it has more stuff you won’t find anywhere else. I love roller coasters, but they’re a dime a dozen. Rides like ET aren’t.”

Clay gazed across the water, then started around it toward the huge rotating globe that marked the entry to the Studios. “This is cool,” he said when we reached it. “I’ve seen it in a hundred movies, and here it is…Yeah, let’s do this one first.” First? I laughed to myself while he paid (cash) for a pair of double-park passes. I should’ve known he wouldn’t settle for just one park, even with just one day. Thank heavens I can work a theme park with the same speed and thoroughness of a flea market. “Okay, so which way is ET and what does it do?”

“I was hoping you’d say that! It’s my favorite ride here. You ride on the magic bikes from the movie and take ET back to his home world to heal it. The management keeps saying it’s cheesy and sappy and trying to get rid of it, but people raise too much cain.”

We entered the park but were briefly halted by the sight of a Krispy Kreme sign. Another one of my fantasies realized—eating KKs with Clay! “Cheesy and sappy but people like it,” he snarked around a mouthful of donut. “And the bosses can’t get rid of it no matter what they do? Sounds familiar.”

Polishing off our donuts, we walked up a street designed to look like Old Hollywood, populated by park cast playing the roles of hopeful starlets or sleazy would-be starmakers. Whenever one accosted us I nearly strangled trying not to laugh. If you only knew how big a star is walking around among you! I thought but did not say; today was not for reminding Clay of his fame. We rode ET, and Clay was as enchanted as I had hoped. You give the attendant your name at the start of the ride, and at the end a mechanical ET says goodbye to each rider by name. When we left, I noticed my name was followed by ‘Chad’. So he hasn’t forgotten, darn it. “Wow!” Clay enthused. “What next?”

“I’d say Back to the Future. It’s practically next door.” As we neared the huge ride building, raised voices met our ears. A young black woman stood at the entrance arguing with an attendant. Three little girls huddled beside her, two almost identical in appearance, the third smaller and standing with the help of leg braces and arm crutches. “She rode it last year,” the woman protested, “and she was much smaller then, and her braces were heavier too!”

“I don’t care, she ain’t ridin’ on my—“

“Of course my husband was with us then, so maybe you figure you can get over on a woman alone!” she continued, running right over the pimply boy’s pronouncement, and moving her head in that telltale manner that says a black woman has had enough. Ohh, an accessibility issue, and a sister workin’ her neck. This could get ugly.

The potential for ugliness skyrocketed when Clay stopped in his tracks. He looked around at the visitors actively avoiding the altercation, then turned straight toward it. As if I were surprised. I was right beside him, and as ticked off by what little I had heard as he probably was. “Is there a problem?” he said crisply when we reached the entrance. So much for the slacker cover!

The kid looked up at him—way up—and tried to glare. “Park business isn’t your bus—“

Again the woman ran his mouth over like nothing was coming out of it. “This fool won’t let my Keena on the ride!”

“So I heard. I also heard you say she’s ridden it before without any difficulties?” Clay fixed the attendant with a look that made me pray I never made him that angry. (Did I mention it was also unspeakably sexy?) “So what’s the difficulty, then?”

“Employees have a right to refuse—“ the boy began.

“Sure you do.” Clay cut him off as briskly as the mom had. “Except if you do you’re likely to run afoul of a lil’ Federal law called the Americans with Disabilities Act. Not to mention your own company. Per Universal theme park policy, if a person can stay upright, hold their head up, and hang onto the grab bars with one hand, they’re safe to ride. This young lady’s got pretty good posture and a nice grip on those crutches, so I don’t see a problem.” He did his homework, not that that was a shock!

Keena yelled, without words, but the cheery tone of her voice made it abundantly clear to me that she understood, if not Clay's words, then certainly his approving tone and his smile at her. The attendant, on the other hand, jumped and grimaced at her shout. “Look, dude, I’m not gettin’ blamed for everybody in here being mad. Would you wanna get on a ride with that kinda racket?”

“Ohh, you fucked up now, junior,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Clay’s face darkened like a summer storm. “Yeah, I would. I find you a lot more repulsive. In fact, I think the park might want to move you away from the general public, before you run folks off.”

He strode toward the opening ride doors. I gestured to the woman and the girls to precede me. “Shall we, ladies?” The kid tried to sputter something, but I cut him off—hey, a trifecta! “Don’t go there. What makes you think we’re any better than this gal? Or is it just that you think you are?” I turned on my heel, dismissing him, and followed our new friends into the boarding area.

The thrilled woman introduced herself as Angelique, and Keena’s younger twin sisters as Raquel and LaQuita. We explained we were teachers in town for the WCD, who decided we’d been straight-laced for way too long. She drove down from Pensacola every year for the conference too, but this was the first year she had brought the girls without their dad, whose Air Force unit had been sent overseas. “But I thank the Lord for sendin’ me a man on loan to help me out!” she declared to Clay, who blushed quite nicely.

The twins hadn’t ridden Back to the Future before, but they had seen the movie. I explained, “This car doesn’t really go anyplace, but it’s fixed up to wiggle like it is. There’s a big movie screen in front of it so it looks like we’re moving. It’s make-believe, but it’s lots of fun. Just hold on tight and holler all you want to. I will!”

The ride cars seat six so our party was a perfect fit. Angelique sat in front between the twins, and Clay and I stowed Keena’s crutches in back and put her between us, each putting a hand over one of hers on the grab bar. “Hang on!” I yelled, and everybody hollered their way happily through a wild ride across space and time. From Keena’s squeals, which frankly sounded no different from anybody else’s, she especially enjoyed our vehicle being swallowed by a T-rex and then spit out!

“Whoa!” Clay gulped as he staggered off the ride. “Keena, I think I need to borrow your crutches!”

We got a big round of hugs before the family headed off toward ET, which has ‘space bubbles’ for riders with special needs. Clay waited till they were out of sight and phoned the park management. He identified himself, and described what he had ‘observed’. When he finished he looked around for the next ride to conquer. “Just a second,” I said and threw my arms around him. “I cannot imagine another person on this planet I would rather be with right now than you.”

He looked happy, and surprised. “What? I just wanted the right thing for them.”

“Sure, but did you see how many people took the wide way around to keep from getting involved? You didn’t. You couldn’t.” And I believe I could love you for the rest of my life for that—dammit. “Men in Black is right over there. Let’s go shoot some evil aliens.”

We rode MIB twice—the first time I was there after it opened I rode it five times in a row! It’s essentially a live-action video game. Clay could cheerfully have stayed half the day to up his score, and honestly I could too, but there was too much more to see and do. Jaws, however, was emphatically NOT one of them. On the Revenge of the Mummy, I even allowed myself to do something I’d never, ever done before—scream and clutch the guy next to me. Of course, the guy next to me had rarely been anyone I even knew, let alone wanted to clutch. In fact, he screamed and clutched me too.

After we both recovered, I declared a sunscreen break. That was a mistake. The smell of Coppertone is one of my favorite smells; the scent of it on him nearly broke my will altogether. I clung to my self-control, and broached the subject of lunch. “As long as they’ve got real food,” Clay said, “and not weird stuff.”

“Oh, my Lord. Your taste buds have no sense of adventure! You should’ve taken me to Ireland. I could’ve shown you the good food! Fresh fish, Guinness stew—I think Guinness sucks to drink but it’s great to cook with—meat pies, tiffin, high tea with hot scones, full-blown Irish breakfasts with black pudding and white pudding and grilled tomatoes—“

“I saw that pudding stuff,” he shuddered. “Seeing’s the closest I wanted to get to it.” I groaned. “Okay, next time I go I’ll take you, deal?”

“Deal,” I agreed with tongue in cheek. “Stuff me in your suitcase, I don’t care. Anything if it’ll get me back to Dublin!” I waxed poetic about my overseas studies while we walked to the Universal Monsters Diner, where the burgers and fries would suit even Clay’s boring tastes. The line was long though, and I was about to suggest we grab a hot dog from a cart and soldier on so as not to waste any of our precious time, when two tiny squealing brown rockets slammed into Clay. Near the head of the line, Angelique waved us forward and Keena hollered happily. Clay came on, with a twin attached to each leg.

Angelique shushed our protests at jumping line. “Everybody else here has been wonderful. Good thing too, I’ve had my limit of lip today, and nobody better try to dish me out any more! This can be a little payback for you two. Besides, the girls aren’t about to let you leave now!”

Lunch was chaos, but delightful. Clay gave Dracula a strange look when the vampire visited our table, and I silently snickered thinking of my fic. I got serious, though, when Keena started to cough. While Clay amused the twins, I watched Angelique help her with her mashed-up macaroni and cheese. “Has she ever had a swallow study?” I asked. “It’s like an X-ray video of the swallow. That cough has a certain sound—it’s hard to describe but I’ve heard it a lot. It sounds like she could be getting some food down the wrong way. It may be nothing, but you might want to check it out.”

“She does do that occasionally,” Angelique said thoughtfully. “I’ll ask her doctor.”

Clay tried to pay for all, but Angelique would not have it. After another round of hugs she led her little band off to find a show where they could sit a while in air conditioning and digest. I was ready for more adventure, but was stopped by two long arms encircling me from behind, one hand holding a half-full cup of lemonade. “Remember what you said a while ago?” Clay said quietly. “Well, I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather be with than you.”

“Uh…thanks.” I froze in place, startled by his words, and captive to my body’s response to his touch. “Is that just because I can’t turn off the SLP?”

“Because you’re you.” His mouth was so close to my ear I shivered. “Because my world has been like a faded black and white movie on fast forward, and then you walked into it and brought the most vibrant color. And because you make me feel the way I’m feeling right now.”

He can’t mean that the way it sounds. Quit reading what you wish for into everything he says. From somewhere I found the courage to turn in his arms. His smile was small and sweet and strangely serious. “I’m glad,” I said sincerely and hugged him back. “Just don’t spill that lemonade down my backside now, okay?” He snickered, and we were off again.

Chapter 8

We took in the Twister show, a pretty good simulation of the stuck-at-a-drive-in-with-a-tornado-closing-in scene from the movie. Clay even yelled ‘we have cows!’ at the appropriate moment when one blew past. When we decided our lunches had settled enough we went next door to Islands of Adventure where pretty much everything got shaken out of us. Amazingly though, Clay somehow managed to keep his do rag on while riding every roller coaster in the park and Doctor Doom’s Free Fall! He stayed far away from the water rides and show though, which was fine by me—I wasn’t in a mood to walk around in a wet tank top for all eyes to see. Now, if only one particular set of green eyes were seeing…Yeah, right. Well, the day would be over soon, and as much as that hurt, it would be a relief in a way. I wouldn’t have to fight these feelings anymore. All I had to do was maintain for a few more hours and not do something stupid.

I thought I might have to drag him out of Seuss Landing—he really is a big kid! Back at IOA’s Port of Entry, he eyed a newly sprouted scaffold with unease. “They’re setting up for their Halloween thing,” I told him. “In October they stay open late and turn all the parks into a huge haunted place.”

He shuddered melodramatically. “The diner was scary enough for me.”

We still had a couple of hours before they threw us out though, and Clay confessed he wanted another crack at MIB.. On our way back toward the Universal globe, we spied Angelique and three very tired, very happy-looking little girls. All of them were sprawled on a low ledge except Keena, who was nearly asleep in a rented wheelchair, her crutches packed in the back. “Wow, they ought to sleep sound tonight!” I grinned.

“Yeah, I’ve just gotta keep ’em awake long enough to get some supper into ’em. I planned to splurge and take them to Emeril’s—they love to watch him on TV—but it’s booked up till ten o’clock tonight!”

Clay got a thoughtful, focused look on his face. “I’ll be right back,” he said. As he walked around to the other side of the globe I saw him pull his cel phone out again.

I sat down beside Angelique, and Raquel clambered into my lap and settled down with a sigh. “I may not want to get up for a while,” I smiled, but with an unusual touch of melancholy. I’d never had much of a drive to have children, until recent medical issues made it unlikely I ever could. How perverse human nature is, that we desire whatever we can’t have.

“They’re used to having two laps. They miss their dad a lot. You two have been just like angels sent to me!” She nodded in the direction Clay had gone. “Hang onto that one, baby girl. The Lord doesn’t make many men that good.”

“I know, and I sure wish I had that option; but I don’t. We’re just friends.”

“Hah! Evidently you forgot to tell him that!”

“No, really!” You don’t understand, I thought, and I can’t explain without violating his privacy. “Neither of us is married, so don’t think it’s that. But his position, well, calls for a certain type of woman. Good looking, polished. I’m not what he needs.”

“Maybe you think that,” she persisted, “but he doesn’t. I know. I got an eye for these things, and I say I need to give you my email address, ‘cause I expect an invitation to the wedding!”

I sat and stared at her, her child half-asleep and drooling a little on my sun-pinkened shoulder. Her error was perfectly logical. She had seen Clay’s radiant personality and his joy at being freed from his luxurious cage for a while, and being a charitable soul she had guessed I was the focus of his glow. It would have been sweet and funny, if I didn’t wish with all my heart that she were right. I cuddled Raquel, determined not to spoil this day with such foolishness.

Clay walked back toward us, his phone still to his ear. I hadn’t gotten to watch him walk much; those long legs and that assured stride rocked me. “Angelique!” he called. “Early supper or later?”

Puzzled, she replied, “Early. I have to get the girls in bed so we can head for home in the morning.”

With a nod, Clay finished his phone conversation and rejoined us. He bummed a pen from me, tore a strip off the show schedule all park visitors get, and scribbled on it. “You’re set,” he told Angelique and handed her the paper. “Just give the lady up front at Emeril’s this name when you get there.”

Angelique gulped. “Girls?” she said. “Girls, wake up, we’re going to eat with Emeril!”

That revived some weary children! “Bam!” LaQuita yelled.

“Bam!” Raquel echoed and scrambled down out of my lap. Keena flailed her arms and joined the chorus of gleeful screams. Angelique jumped up and hugged Clay.

“You are a blessing!” she cried and then gathered her brood up. ”Girls, don’t run off on me, help your sister steer!” We offered crowd management help, but she insisted she was fine. “We don’t want to keep Emeril waiting! So I just give ‘em this—“ She glanced at what Clay had written, and frowned. “Aiken?” she said. “Like the guy from American Idol?”

Clay didn’t move, but bit his lip slightly; he knew he’d just gambled big, and maybe lost. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Like that.”

The woman regarded him steadily, nodded, and glanced over at me. Yeah, sister-girl, now you get it, I thought a little sadly. She hugged him again, and said something in his ear that made him frown, and then grin a lopsided grin. I’d only seen that in a few pictures, but it had never failed to do me in, and seeing it in person was nearly unendurable. While the twins and Keena demanded their own goodbye hugs from Clay, Angelique claimed my pen and wrote her email addy on the remains of my schedule. “I’m gonna be looking for that invite!” she muttered when she hugged me.

“Huh?” I shook my head. “But—you know now—who he—“

“Yeah, I know, and I don’t care if he’s the king of Burundi. You mark my words. It’s there, if you want it!”

I stood agog as the family trooped off. She had to be wrong—but I couldn’t dwell on it. All I could be certain of was this moment, and for once I intended to savor that. Clay was looking at me, still wearing that crooked half-smile. I shook my head again to bring myself back to real life. “So,” I said brightly, “are you gonna work your cel phone hoodoo and get us a table in Emeril’s kitchen?”

The grin faded, and he looked surprisingly uncomfortable. “Not unless you really want it. Places like that are such a production. It might distract people from me, or then again it might not. Whatever you want, though.”

“No, I’m not big on the dog and pony show myself. I know just the place then. Pastamore`. People go to those big theme restaurants and they don’t notice this place because it doesn’t have a star’s name on it or a fancy décor, but it’s great. It’s really laid back and the Italian food is very good.”

“That sounds just right.” One more quick call got us a 6:30 table.

Back inside the Studios park we stopped at the gift shop beside the Lucille Ball exhibit for Clay to pick up a gift for his mom, and I spotted my favorite fruit stand. “Fuji apples!” I found a big ripe one, paid and took a big bite of its juicy goodness.

“Hey, give me a bite!” Clay protested. I switched hands to keep it away from him, and when he tried to use his height to reach over me I took off running. He chased me up the street till I ducked into a restroom alcove, planning to take cover in no-mans land, so to speak. Unfortunately for me, he was hot on my heels, and the ladies room door was right beside the entrance. By the time I realized that, he skidded to a halt and flung himself into the corner, arms and legs outspread to block both my escape routes.

I raised my hands in laughing surrender, and leaned against the alcove’s board wall to catch my breath. He grinned like a wolf panting, his body still tense and poised. It was quite a pleasurable sight. “Uncle, already!” I giggled. “When I say uncle I mean it!” I held the apple out but he didn’t approach, shifting on the balls of his feet as if expecting me to fake and run. “Suit yourself,” I shrugged and took a couple more bites. “Ohh, these are the best. The first time I bit into one I almost cried it tasted so good. I swore if I ever saw you I’d kiss your whole face, just for telling Rolling Stone about them.”

Clay’s posture relaxed, as he evidently concluded I meant what I said. He really is competitive, I thought and was amused. “You didn’t,” he said after a moment.

“Didn’t what?”

“Kiss my whole face.”

That was unexpected! “Uh, no,” I replied, in a tone I hoped would convey just how self-evident that was. Of course not, why would you want me slobbering on you?

Apparently the message didn’t get across as I had hoped. “Why not?” Before I could form an acceptable answer, he laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was un-called for. Talk about sounding like I think I’m somebody! Once you met me I guess you realized I wasn’t as kissable as you thought?”

“What? No. More so, if anything!” I blurted, and flushed and looked away, till I heard him laugh again. “Oh, come on. How many magazines have to declare you one of the sexiest males breathing before you believe it?”

“They just do that for laughs,” he said, and I groaned with exasperation. “Okay, if I’m so darn sexy—hah—how come you don’t want to kiss me?”

His tone was self-mocking, but my response was not. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to! I…just can’t imagine myself as a woman you’d want to kiss.”

As closing time approached, the crowds in the park thinned; no one was in the alcove except us. Clay pulled off the cheap sunglasses and moved toward me, slowly, and so suddenly male that my legs turned to noodles. “Really…considering what you write, I’d’ve thought surely you have a better imagination than that.” Those incredible eyes seemed to exert a physical force, pinning me to the wall. How does he do that—big geeky kid to alpha wolf in an instant? His hand rose to my face, his long fingers curling around my cheek, and he stood for a long moment looking at me. I literally could not move, until his lips met mine, and then my arms went around his neck as of their own will. “Mm,” he chuckled, “so it honestly wasn’t that you didn’t want to?”

“No,” I whispered. “Absolutely not.”

“Good. That makes a guy feel better.” He shifted as though to move away, and without thinking I tightened my hold, but he didn’t go anywhere. Instead he chuckled again, and gently sucked and licked at my lips. “You were right about that apple,” he murmured. “It sure tastes good.” He even licked at my chin where the juice had run. It tickled and I giggled.

“I love that about you,” I said, unable to hold back. “How you can be so serious and so silly.”

“I’m better at the silly,” he returned, and suddenly looked almost anxious. “I’m not usually this, um, bold. But you’re wonderful. You need to know that. What else do I have to do to make you believe it?”

Maybe I was still his pet project, and the kiss meant no more to him than a way to build my self-esteem. If so, he shouldn’t have asked that question, not if he didn’t want an honest answer. “Another one of those, and I’m liable to believe anything you say.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked inexplicably excited now, as if he had won something. I offered him the apple again. “No thanks, Eve,” he said with a small smirk, and before I could reply caught my hand in his and said, “Let’s go shoot some more aliens.”

Chapter 9

I blew out my past high score on MIB, and so did Clay. Afterward, he insisted we ride ET one more time. As we passed Back to the Future, I noticed a different attendant greeting visitors, and pointed her out to Clay. “It might just be shift change—but I’m snarky enough that a bit of me hopes otherwise.”

“Hmph,” Clay snorted. “Maybe the kid’ll learn his lesson if he spends a couple of weeks cleanin’ toilets or something.”

We were the only ones on the ride, and when our bikes passed ET at the end he said ‘Good-bye-Clay-ton” in his stilted computer-voice. It made me grin, and then sigh when I remembered I’d have to say that too, before long.

We got to Pastamore` just in time for our dinner reservation. The maitre’d looked skeptical, probably wondering from our bohemian appearances if we could pay for our meal, but maintained his composure admirably. I was mildly offended, but Clay thought it all hilarious. “It’s kinda nice not to have people kissing up to me, for a change,” he said.

“I understand that,” I agreed as we sat down and ordered, “but I’ve got to confess, a part of me would love for you to whip out your multi-platinum credit card, just for the satisfaction of watching his face break.” He cackled and reached for his wallet. “No, don’t, seriously! Don’t blow your cover. Today has been so perfect, so happy…and you don’t know how few times I’ve been able to say that.”

In the low lighting of the restaurant, Clay could safely remove his shades without being recognized. “Why so few?” he asked.

“Always asking why! How old are you, three?” I tried to deflect him with humor, but he is not easily deflected when he doesn’t want to be. “As far back as I can remember, when my family went to do something, a vacation, or even just to the movies, stuff always went wrong. Somebody got sick, somebody got mad, somebody lost something and blamed somebody else. My mom was sick a lot so I always ended up playing cruise director, holding the map, looking for ice or aspirin or somebody’s rag doll or whatever.”

Clay nodded slowly. “That explains a lot,” he said, but would say no more when I pressed him.

I shrugged. “I guess that’s why I like to travel alone—there’s nobody to take care of except me. In any group, I’m always so on guard for the first sign of trouble I don’t really enjoy anything. I hardly know I’m having a good time till it’s over.”

“But you are now?” An odd hint of urgency colored his voice. ‘You’re having a good time? You’re happy?”

“Absolutely,” I assured him, and was pleased to see him relax. Goodness, why was he so intent on me? It felt quite strange.

I hadn’t realized how ravenous I was until our food arrived, but I made myself eat slowly. It wasn’t just that the chicken parmesan was so darn good (though it was), but the knowledge that the real world lurked just up the road, ready to suck me back into its cheerless morass, and take him back to the glittering lonely stars. So I dragged the meal out, relishing every bite of this last meal we would share; every giggle; every moment that our eyes met. When the dessert menu appeared, I nearly swooned over the white chocolate mousse. “Get it!” Clay urged. “I can handle a little chocolate, and the white isn’t as hard on my insides. This way I can swipe a bite to make up for that bite of apple I never got.”

“I offered!” I mock-protested while the waiter brought the dish and two spoons.

“I liked what I ended up with better,” he retorted, with a smirk that left me aching, and angry with myself. He does not mean that the way it sounded. He couldn’t. Stop it, before you ruin this perfect day. I looked away to recompose myself, and found my hand, spoon and all, claimed by his. “Hey, are you mad at me?”

“Huh? No. About what?” He stared down at his hand clasping mine, as if unsure whether to hold on or let go. I poked the spoon into the mousse and freed my fingers to take his. “If you mean about—you know—kissing me, I am not mad. Dazed and confused, maybe—“

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “Please don’t.”

“Then don’t worry about me! Haven’t we been through this before? I’m not used to people concerning themselves so with my feelings.”

“You should be.” His quiet voice was unrelenting. “You haven’t been treated the way you deserve to be…”

I had no idea how to respond to that, but his kindness touched me as little ever had. ‘I’m not mad, Clay. I promise.”

“Good.” The smirk crept back. “’Cause I think I remember you saying I owed you another one, the next time I need to convince you of something.” Fleetingly then, I was angry at him, for pretending there would be a next time; but when he grabbed his spoon and dove into the mousse I let the emotion go. If I examined it, I feared it would look too much like grief, and I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in a sense of loss for something I had never had.

When we left the restaurant, a street party had broken out in the plaza. A DJ was spinning a mix of old-school and current tunes, and we stopped to listen. “This is fun,” Clay said. “I’m not big on crowds, but sometimes I like being in the crowd instead of having the crowd staring at me.”

Two young black girls standing beside us started doing the Bump when the Brothers Johnson classic ‘Stomp’ blasted out through the speakers. I matched my moves to theirs and joined in, much to their delight. “Ooh, check your rear views, girlfriend!” they hollered after a minute or two. “You are gettin’ appreciated back there!”

“I hope not. I got entirely too much junk in my trunk!” I glanced over my shoulder. Clay stood watching me. Despite his wide grin, dismay gripped me—Lord, don’t let him think I shook my big booty in his face on purpose! Instantly I stopped moving and turned to him. “I’m sorry. We should go, shouldn’t we? I don’t want to draw attention to you—“

Without a word, he turned me around and with a gentle push put me right back where I was. My dance partners howled with laughter. I was utterly baffled, but apparently I was entertaining him, so what the heck. So I danced on, till the DJ mixed into Outkast’s ‘The Way You Move’. The girls were surprised I knew the words to the rap—the unedited words, by the way—they’re only a little raunchy, after all. When the rap changed to singing I heard Clay’s voice, quiet enough to not attract much notice: “I love the way you move, I love the way you move…”

The girls poked me. “Aww, now you gettin’ serenaded too!” they hollered. “You go, baby boy!”

We bumped double time on the rap, and switched to a slower sinuous wind-down for the choruses. The second time through, I felt big hands on my hips. When I looked around, Clay was swaying with me as he sang along with the bridge: “Hey baby, girl don’t you stop, come on lady, dance all around me, you look so fine, so fine, drivin’ me out of my mind, ooh baby…if I could I would just leave with you baby, cause you light me, and excite me, you know you got me…”

It was more than I could handle. I closed my eyes and gave myself to the wish, filtering out everything but his voice and his touch, and wanting as I had never wanted anything in my life to stay this happy forever. When the song changed, he still held me close. I opened my eyes. “It’s getting dark. We really ought to go, I guess. Jerome’s gonna clobber us both.”

“Aah, I can handle him.” We retraced our steps through CityWalk, across the walkway and down to the street. When we reached the bridge, we paused to watch the cars below.

“I love that sound,” I said, “the cars rushing by. When I was a kid we drove out west to visit relatives—LA, Vegas, Phoenix—everybody in my family is afraid to fly except me. I love it, which makes them all mad. We’d stay in motels by the interstate, and I’d hear this sound all night, hundreds of people going who knew where.”

“Kinda like Tolkien.” Clay hooked his long fingers in the wire mesh covering the bridge and peered down at the river of headlights. “’The Road goes ever on and on’.”

“Yes.” I love your mind too. “We lived in the country, so the only time I heard it was when we were traveling. The two kind of got linked in my head.” I grinned at him, loving once more the way he listened. “You’ve traveled more and seen more in the past two years than you ever dreamed, I bet.”

He snorted. “Hotel rooms and arena dressing areas are about all I’ve seen. It’s the people more than the places that I enjoy. Always meeting new people, so many it’s hard sometimes to remember them all, but God made every one of them special. I try to keep that in mind and it helps.” I hope I’m special to you in some little way, I thought. I hope you keep me in mind.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s not as romantic to you now; but I always looked forward to a trip. I saved my change all year in a milk jug so I could buy some trinkets I wanted without having to ask for money, and being told I couldn’t have it to ‘waste’ that way. Even knowing something would probably go wrong, every opportunity to travel was another chance to see something new: a chance for the road to carry me away, and a hope maybe this time things would be all right. Maybe things wouldn’t get dumped on me.” I glanced at Clay, suddenly afraid I’d run my mouth too much. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound self-pitying.”

“You don’t. That’s worse, in a way. You sound so matter-of-fact, as if what you’re describing is normal, as if you don’t think you deserve better.” He pulled hard at the mesh and made it rattle, then jerked his hands free and spun to face me. “Do you apologize to everybody all the time, or just to me?”

His sudden flare of anger so startled me that the truth burst out before I knew it. “I screw up a lot, so I have a lot to apologize for. I screwed up being born. Actually, I’ve apologized a number of times just for that. I look at you and I think how nice it must be to have been told you were a mistake and prove ‘em wrong. Me, I wonder—“

I didn’t finish before Clay pulled me into his arms. “No, no.” His big hand cupped the back of my head, and I hid my face in his chest and fought back tears of humiliation. “You are not a mistake, or a scapegoat, or the bearer of everybody’s burdens. You don’t have to apologize for anything. You have a glorious purpose. In fact, I think I know what it is.”

After a deep shuddery breath, I looked up. His face was absolutely alight, and it wasn’t just from the street lamps, or the headlights of a truck passing us on the boulevard. “We better get going. We must be putting on quite a show.”

“Big deal.” The truck rumbled by. Clay bent his head a little, till we were nose to nose again. “You said if I kissed you again you’d believe anything I said, right?” Even with my heart crumbling, he could make me smile. This time his kiss was slow and tender, and when his lips left mine he whispered, “I know why you’re here…God put you here for me to love you.”

Chapter 10

At first the words might as well have been Urdu or Farsi. I pushed away—not far, he wouldn’t let go of me—and frowned up at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m, uh, trying to make some sense out of what I thought I just heard…I can’t bring myself to think you’d be mean enough to make fun of me…”

“Make fun?” His voice rose. “What have I done to make you think I’d do that?”

“Nothing! But no guys ever acted like they liked me, except to make fun of me. I mean, you’re talking to the girl they called Moose in junior high!”

“Moose, huh?” Clay picked up one big foot and jabbed a finger at it. “Try Titanic!”

“TITANIC?!?” Right in the middle of this emotional mudslide, he still made me laugh! “I have no clue how to act when confronted with something like this,” I said after a few moments. “A couple of guys in college liked me, or so my friends told me later. Whatever they may have done to try to convey it went right past me. My friends didn’t say anything; they thought I wasn’t interested, but I just didn’t know. So I lost out.”

“That was just so you’d still be available when I came along,” Clay said, and then sighed. “Now I get it. I’ve been trying to tell you all day. I’m not good at subtlety, so I thought surely you’d get it but you never seemed to. One minute you acted like you liked me, and the next it was like you were scared of me.“

“Not of you,” I replied, breathless with shock. “Of what I was feeling for you. It didn’t seem—acceptable. Come on, Clay, I’ve been to music biz parties. Can you see me walking into some swank RCA thing with you?”

“Yes!” He made a face as if searching for more emphatic words, and finally spat out, “Hell yes!” I gasped, I admit it. “Especially after seeing you demolish that Disney bunch. If I want something that looks nice on my arm I’ll go buy a bracelet! I don’t give a crap about that anyway. I never intended for that business to be the sum of my existence. If it stays a month, or twenty years, fine; but I won’t build my life to suit it. My life is my own, and I want you to be a part of it. I need you to be a part of it, if you will.”

I was glad he was holding me, or else I might have fallen down. “Clay—are you sure? Are you sure you’re not just so excited to get out and be semi-normal for a day or two, that you’re, like, projecting that onto me? Maybe it’s not me you love but that.“

“It’s you. You wanna know how I know? My cousin told me once—“

“Is that the cousin I know?”

“No,” he teased. “I’ve got lots of cousins, and this one said, ‘Clayton, you’ll know it’s love when you think about her all the time; and maybe you don’t fully understand what you feel; but mostly it’s when you want her to be happy more than you want yourself to be happy.” Now, to my horror, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That’s what I want now. I want to be the one to make you happy. I want you to have years’ worth of perfect days.”

“I…have no idea how to respond to that,” I said with a shaky laugh.

“Saying yes would be a good start. Say you’ll let me. You’re so giving, but you’ve never been given what you deserve. No wonder you don’t know how great you are. Let me tell you for…how long do you think it’ll take? A year, five, fifty?”

His gentle insistence washed my fear away. “I’m thinking I may be a long-term project.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He squeezed me tight. “I want you beside me for the rest of my life. I want to feel forever the way you make me feel. I want to spoil you so rotten that folks can smell you a block away. I want you to mother my children.“

Oh, crap. I shook my head. “You may want to reconsider then, Clay…I’m not sure I can have kids.”

The disappointment on his face almost shattered my fragile re-forming composure; but it passed in an instant. “Darn. Well, there are lots of kids who need love. We’ll just adopt a dozen or so.”

“Not a dozen, please!” He laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you want children of your own, and I don’t even know if I could carry.”

He took my face in his hands. “First,” he said, “do not ever say ‘I’m sorry’ to me again, unless you actually do something to be sorry for. Promise?” Held by his bright eyes, I nodded. “And second—don’t you think I of all people ought to know gettin’ a woman pregnant doesn’t make a man a father?”

Well…what could I say to that other than “I love you!” I pressed my face to his chest and felt him let out a long breath, and when I looked up he looked so relieved.

“I’m so glad you said that,” he said softly. “I was afraid to say it. I thought I was readin’ you all wrong, until Angelique said you—you thought you weren’t good enough for me.” He gave me a stern look that dissolved the last of my tears into embarrassed giggles.

“She’s good. Wish I knew where they’re staying, I’d call her just to admit she was right. I’ve got her email though. She wants an invitation to the wedding.”

“I know. She told me that too,” Clay grinned. “I didn’t know when to say it, I just knew I had to. But I still didn’t know what I was doing wrong.”

“You weren’t doing anything wrong,” I said. “I was scared you’d think I was just another crazed fan after all.”

He pretended to sulk. “Give me credit for some sense, woman!”

“I am! I guess I was so busy trying not to delude myself into thinking you cared about me, that I deluded myself into thinking you didn’t.”

“Some delusion,” he grumbled. “I did everything I could think of short of beatin’ you over the head with my club and draggin’ you off to my cave by your hair!”

Now that was an image…and then, of course, my mind went straight to the gutter, and sent me from giggles into howling spasms of laughter. When I could speak again I confessed, “I guess I never got around to telling you, but…I’m a Lecherous Broad.”

“Uh-oh,” he said, but his expression was anything but fearful. If anything, he looked rather intrigued. “So what set it off…” His voice trailed off as he clearly tried to think back through what he had just said, and search it for the Broads’ trademark innuendo.

“The thought of getting beaten with your club.” Finally, it was my turn to smirk! His mouth flew open, but he did not look at all appalled. In fact, his laugh was—dare I say it—downright rowdy! We laughed and held each other, and then heard a car horn honk.

“Girrrrlfriend!” The gals from CityWalk waved out the windows of an SUV crammed full of people. “How’s baby boy treatin’ ya?”

I felt as if I could never laugh enough to let out the joy bubbling over inside me. “Baby boy is da bomb, my sistahs!!” I hollered.

They whooped. “We were gonna invite y’all to pile in,” they yelled, “but you look like you gonna get your own party on!”

“Thanks anyway!” Clay yelled and waved.

“Hah! Now you be tryin’ to get rid of us, player. Okay, be that way…” Hollering raucous encouragement, they rolled off.

I smiled up at Clay. “You know, I lied. This wasn’t exactly the perfect day I said it was.”

“Huh?” He looked suddenly distressed. “Why not?”

“I put so much energy into trying to hide my feelings that I didn’t really get to enjoy the park…or your little flirtations.”

“Oh, that can easily be fixed.” He found the tickets in one voluminous jeans pocket. “They’re two-day passes. We’ll just come back tomorrow and do what we should have done today.”

“But I have to be on a plane to Nashville at eight AM!”

“Also fixable. Throwing money at some things works really well. Matter of fact, I need to do that for mine and Jerome’s, since we were leavin’ tomorrow too. We’ll shoot for flights late tomorrow evening. Or can you manage another day off work, and leave Monday?”

“No, I better get back, we’re so short-staffed…Oh gosh, Clay, Jerome is gonna lock you in your room and never let you out! We can’t get away with doing this again tomorrow!”

“On the contrary. Today proves we can do it. After Jerome barks himself out, he’ll see that. Besides, he likes you.”

“Liked me. Since I kidnapped you he may have the cops out looking for me!” I fretted, but only half seriously, while I dabbed gingerly around my wet eyes. “Darn contacts, they always dry out when I cry. They won’t be right till I take them out and sleep.”

“We can stop and get your glasses at your motel. And a change of clothes, maybe?” For the first time since his declaration, Clay sounded uncertain. “Come back to the Rosen with me. I’m not ready for this night to be over yet. It took me so long to find you, I want all the time with you that I can get before—before we have to be apart.”

“So do I.” A cool breeze wafted across the bridge, and I untied his shirt from my waist and slipped it on. I was ready to walk, but Clay seemed stuck to the spot, staring strangely at me. “What?”

“Nothin’. Tell you later.” He wrapped an arm around me and we resumed our walk. “Does this qualify as ‘gettin’ our party on’?”

“Considering I’m no more of a party animal than you are, yeah, I think so,” I teased, then sniffled and hiccupped from crying.

Clay cocked his head. “Are hiccups scored on the same scale as burps?” That set me laughing again. “I almost said it right then—Thursday night at supper, I mean, when I burped and you rated it. I almost said ‘I think I love you’. I didn’t know where it came from, but I knew beyond a doubt it was true. You never acted like you wanted to be anything but friends though, and I thought—she’s from Nashville, she knows a little about this business, maybe she just doesn’t want to get mixed up in, y’know, the fame thing.”

“The ‘fame thing’ means nothing to me. You know when it hit me? Friday morning when I brought my notes over, and you opened the door—“

“Oh gosh, it hadn’t been that long since I crawled out of bed! I’m definitely no prize then!”

“Oh yeah? Well, all I could think at that moment was ‘omigod, I could so fall in love with that man’!” He laughed and shook his head. “I was so sure if you knew, you’d think it was the star I loved and not the man. But it’s not, and it never was. It was such a struggle to hide it.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” he said softly, “but I wish I hadn’t either. When I said ‘like at first sight’ yesterday, I was already way past that point. I wish I’d had the nerve to tell you sooner, or at least the brains to realize you couldn’t see what I was holding out to you.”

“Well, it’s over now, and this feels so much better!”

“Yes,” he agreed, and we walked on in quiet.

Chapter 11

As we reached the bright lights and cheerful noise of I-Drive I found myself moving closer to him, as if to protect our newborn love. We sat down on a bench to wait for the next trolley, and I rested my head on his shoulder, half-dizzy with disbelief. “The ‘fame thing’,” he said after a minute. “It’s there, whether you want to think about it or not. If you take me, it comes along, at least for the time being. I want you to be sure it won’t change your feelings about me.”

I nearly rolled my eyes, but his sweet face was so grave I could not discount his concern. “You know what I think? I think, in a universe very like this one, there is someone very like me, and she came to Orlando for this conference, and she met a guy. His name is Clayton, and he’s a teacher in North Carolina. I don’t know if he was presenting or just attending, but Thursday they started talking and hit it off. He didn’t know where a good place to eat supper was, so she took him, and maybe a friend of his too, to Lulu’s. Then it started to rain, and they drove her back to the Comfort Inn in their rental car, and she and Clayton made plans to get together again Friday morning. Only he called her Friday, real early, and, hm, he was sick. Maybe something he ate didn’t agree with him, but he felt icky. So she took notes for him, and took them to him at lunchtime, at, umm, the Motel 6 across from the convention center.”

The free association was rolling out of me now. “And she ran into the KFC on the way and picked up lunch, ‘cause he felt well enough to eat by then. Afterwards he took a nap and she went back to the convention, but by evening he felt better and they went out to eat. Maybe they went to Tu Tu Tango, but it was closed for this party of Disney bigwigs. They peeked in the windows a minute, and laughed at themselves for being silly, like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Then they walked on up I-Drive, and ended up at—oh, there’s a junky little diner up there that makes great Cuban sandwiches. And then he walked her home, and stayed to watch a movie, and they fell asleep! He woke up, but just long enough to decide he didn’t want to leave. They slept late Saturday morning, and decided there wasn’t much of anything going on at the conference that grabbed ‘em, so they went to Universal, and stayed all day and had a great time. And while they walked back that night…he told her he loved her…and she couldn’t believe it, because he’s so—so smart and funny and sweet and caring and spiritual and, oh by the way he’s utterly adorable. So she can’t imagine what he could see in her, but apparently he does, which is a good thing, because she loves him too. And now, right now, they’re sitting on this bench, or maybe over there on that ledge in front of the little Portuguese market, waiting for a trolley; and she’s thinking she came to Orlando for continuing education and got more than she dreamed, and she’s wondering what kind of SLP positions are open in North Carolina…” My eyes had half-closed, and I sat in silence for a second just enjoying the sight of those two in my mind’s eyes. “That’s what I feel. If you never sang another note in public again, if that were what it took to make you happy, it wouldn’t bother me. Well, okay, it would bother me, but only because the world would be deprived without your voice, and your heart. I didn’t fall in love with fame. I didn’t fall in love with a famous man, or a rich man or a powerful man, even though you’re all of those. I fell in love with a man, a wonderful man, you.”

When I opened my eyes, Clay’s were wide. “Did all of that just come out of your head, right now?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it feels like I’m just watching and taking notes.”

“Not all the time, I hope!” he said with an odd touch of fervor. “Wow.” Up the street, the trolley bell rang. “Promise me you’ll tell our children stories like that.” Our children. The words took my breath. “Till then, you can practice by telling me bedtime stories.”

I laughed, but a little nervously. Thank goodness he had no idea I had written some fic by that name—some darned explicit fic too. It wasn’t that I harbored any hesitation about a physical relationship with him—the thought excited me beyond words—but I wasn’t sure how he’d handle written online documentation of exactly how excited he had made me before we had ever met! He escorted me up the trolley steps in true gentlemanly fashion and we snuggled into a seat on the crowded ride. After a couple of minutes, I glanced around and murmured, ‘People are looking at us.”

“Mm-hm.” He smiled smugly. “They have been the past three days. Believe me, I noticed, even if you didn’t. I hate being stared at, but this isn’t that kind of starin’. This I can live with.”

“Three days…good grief, three days ago I was just getting into town. I didn’t even know you!”

“You knew me better than you think, I’d say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He wouldn’t say, even though I hassled him about it all the way to the motel. While I rolled up a T shirt and some pedal pushers and stuffed them in my tote bag, I handed Clay my return airline ticket. He got on the phone, wielded his considerable charm and the Aiken name, and changed my flight to late Sunday evening. “Okay, got Jerome and me fixed up;” he said when he hung up, “and when you get home there’ll be a round trip to North Carolina waiting for you, for next weekend. I’m singing in Charlotte, and in Raleigh at the state fair, and I want you to be there.”

I gaped. “My family will die. They’ll have me committed if I go home and tell them this.”

“I’ve got good lawyers.” His green eyes got that glass-hard glint again. “You’d want to give thirty days’ notice, won’t you? Can you meet me in New York Thanksgiving week? That’d be about right.”

“Whoa. You’re fast! I… Right now we’re supposed to have nine speech pathologists on staff, but we’ve only got three.” The crestfallen look on his face said it all; he understood the needs of those my skills would serve, and that I wouldn’t want to abandon them. “But my boss is getting us help, and they’ll be in by then. So…yeah. Yeah, I can. I will.”

He grinned broadly and hugged me, then let me go but followed me into the bathroom while I gathered up a few more things for an overnight stay. “Get those contacts out,” he said when I found my glasses, “before they hurt your eyes.”

“Ohh Clay, I hate going out in public in those awful things!”

“C’mon, at least put ‘em on. I’ve never seen them on you with your makeup and stuff.” Reluctantly I did. My eyes were much happier when they could breathe! He put his hands on my hips and looked into the mirror with me. “See, they’re not awful.”

“Not when you’re looking at me that way,” I sighed happily and put my hands over his.

I refilled the little tube of sunscreen from my big bottle and rubbed some on my hands. “Oh, I love this smell. I must’ve had some good times at the beach, when I was too little to remember, because this stuff—you know smell is the only sense your conscious mind doesn’t control—“

“I think I read that somewhere,” he returned with a puckish look I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Anyway, it’s most closely linked to emotions. And this smell—not any old suntan lotion, but Coppertone—does it for me. I keep a bottle of it around all the time, and if I’m sad in the middle of the winter I can get it out and just take off the top, and…it smells like happiness, and warmth and pleasure.” I didn’t mention how smelling it on him made me want to attack him. I knew how he felt about holding off on sex till marriage, and if that was where we were headed I could respect that. I didn’t exactly have an outrageous sexual history myself. As Maya Angelou once said, plain girls tend to be virtuous, if for no other reason than a lack of opportunity to not be.

I scoured the motel room one more time for essentials. Clay followed, picked up his clothes from Friday in a wad (I did get him to stuff them in the plastic bag from Bargain World) and perused the books I left scattered all over. “Some of these are pretty deep.”

“Aw, not that deep. And what was up with that crack about how you didn’t have a chance with me when you found out I got into Mensa? Are you gonna have to be my long-term project too?”

“Maybe,” he replied, sounding unconvinced.

“You are so freakin’ smart! I always loved that about you.”

“Likewise.”

“Hey, I had to have something to make up for being a homely mud fence of a girl—“

Sometimes he moves a lot quicker than I expect. He stepped forward and put his hand over my mouth, so suddenly I dropped my tote and sat down hard on the edge of the built-in dresser. “Hush,” he said, his voice low and throaty. “Or am I gonna have to find a black silk scarf to make you stop talkin’ like that?” I let out a muffled cry, and he pulled away. “Hey, I was just kiddin’!”

I shook my head and gripped the edge of the formica to control my sudden trembling. “I know.” That wasn’t what had scared me. “How…how’d you find it?”

“I read your first CSI story. Then I found the main page on that site and read the other two. They were so good I googled your pen name and got the vampire stories, and the Bedtime Stories.”

Of course, how stupid of me. Didn’t I just say how smart he is? I should’ve just promised to email him the one story, and then conveniently forgotten. I wanted to hide my flaming face in my hands, but if I let go of the furniture I thought I might pitch forward into the carpet. I couldn’t look at him, so I fixed my gaze on his large tennis shoes. “And…when did this happen?”

“Yesterday, after you left the hotel. I gottta admit I didn’t even look at the notes from the conference once I started reading. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t stop.” He’d seen it all. At least the CSI fics were about a fictional character who happened to resemble him; but oh my God, the others…I tensed to face that anger I had wished to never feel turned on me, waited for him to say how mortified and invaded he felt. “They’re amazing. If your novels are that good we’ve got to get them in front of a publisher. I’ll talk to the editor I worked with in New York, and maybe when you come up in November we could meet with her…” That shocked me into looking up. “Oh gosh, you’ve got that confused look again. What is it?”

“Uh…I figured you’d be really mad. I was expecting you to ask what kind of psycho slut I am.”

“What?” He burst into giggles. “Well, you might be a little psycho, if you really think I’m that sexy. That’s why I said you had an incredible imagination.”

My fear began to give way to a wicked spark of joy. “I’ll just have to test my theories out now, won’t I?” The delight flickered out the next instant when Clay flushed and looked away. “Oh, Clay, I didn’t mean right now, not if you don’t want to. I know how strongly you feel about that. I was raised the same way, and I understand. I agree, really, a few collegiate lapses aside…okay, more like acts of desperation because I figured I’d never get any otherwise, but you follow me. I’m okay with waiting.”

“Well, actually…” Now he was studying his shoes. “I was reading and, uh…you write a really hot love scene…” Compared to some, mine were quite tame, but I held my tongue. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’—this was you, writin’ this, and about me, more or less, and…” He looked toward the window; even now, inexplicably troubled, his face was so striking. “I got really, really turned on,” he admitted at last, quietly. “It—I always laugh when I find that kind of thing online, it’s so ridiculous, and it never did…that…to me. And times when I have felt that way, in other situations, with women, I could control it, you know? I could tell myself it would be wrong, and I could, um, do something, and the need was gone. But I didn’t sleep much at all Thursday night for thinkin’ about you, and nothing I—did—could take the edge off it. And then I read those—and it wasn’t any particular situation in a story, it was just the idea that you’d been thinkin’ about me the way I was thinkin’ about you.” He tilted his head toward my bed. “I promised you last night I wouldn’t make a move on you, but it wasn’t because a part of me didn’t want to.” Finally, his eyes met mine. “I couldn’t treat you that way…but the more I think about it, I’m afraid I’m settin’ up a disaster here, askin’ you to come back to my hotel, when this may not be what you want right now—because I can’t make this wanting go away. I’ve tried. Every other time it was just physical sensation. There was never any emotion. So makin’ it go wasn’t so difficult. But this…I’ve never been in love with the woman I wanted. Love makes it totally different. It’s scary, and yet it’s so exciting. It pulls at me, and I try to tell myself it’s not right but in my heart I can’t believe that…is this makin’ any sense at all?”

“Yes.” I found I didn’t need that death grip on the motel furniture quite so badly, and I reached up and took his hands in mine. “I wouldn’t have noticed a thing last night, short of you absolutely ravishing me, because I was so convinced there was nothing about me you could find the least bit desirable. But you’re right—having sex and making love are two completely different things. I love you, Clay. I want our first time to be special, and memorable. If it’s on our wedding night, it will be. If it happens an hour from now, it will be too, because it’s you. I can’t believe it could be wrong either, not as much as I love you. Hearing you say you love me was the most incredible moment of my life, but hearing you say you want me comes in a darn close second—especially when I was so sure you’d run as hard as you could to get away from me if you ever saw the crazy stuff I wrote!”

He started to laugh again, and pulled me up and into his arms. “On the contrary,” he murmured in my ear, “your imagination is fascinatin’, and we’ve got the rest of our lives to explore it.”

“Agreed…except I don’t think I could go for being tied up on a first date.” While he bent double laughing, I retrieved my bag. “C’mon, let’s get the rest of our lives started.”

Chapter 12

At Clay’s suggestion, we got off the trolley a stop before the Rosen Plaza. He led me around the back of the hotel, where he used his room keycard to open a small security door. We rode up a private elevator to his floor, stifling giggles like naughty schoolkids. Once we were safely inside his suite he pulled out his cel phone and hit a familiar button. “Hey, it’s me. How was your day?” he asked, then winced and held the phone at arm’s length while a tinny but quite peeved voice squawked. I was torn between amusement and concern while I put my bag down on the dining table. “Are you finished now?” he asked when the volume diminished. “Okay, so how ‘bout we start this conversation over? ‘Hi Jerome, it’s Clay, I just had the most incredible day, how about you?’…No, I just hung out and did regular stuff for a change—mostly.” His eyes flicked toward me and he smiled so tenderly I almost melted. “Like I said, it was incredible.” Then the smile became a brief scowl and his voice cooled. “Jerome, you are not my mama or my jailer. So let’s not go there, all right?” He began to pace across the suite’s sitting area. “No, I’m not mad at you, truly I’m not. I just need my space. You know that. This was one of the more successful times, thanks to good help.” He grinned at me again. With his free hand he pulled off the do rag and the fake earrings, dropped them on the coffee table and fumbled with the wristband. “Yeah, it’s all good. We’ll talk tomorrow—oh, I moved our flights to later in the evening. Is that okay? I guess I should’ve checked with you, I know you want to get home to your family, but I need to stay and finish up something I started today…Oh, so now I’m cryptic?” he laughed. “I’ll explain tomorrow, I promise, as soon as I get it figured out myself. Okay?…Cool. Night, man. Thanks.” He switched the phone off and deposited it on the table. “See, told ya I’d take care of him.” He ran both hands through his hair. It hadn’t gotten near a flatiron since sometime Friday afternoon. Between sleep, shower, and sweat, it was all kinds of unruly, and all I could do was stand and stare and try to remember to breathe. “You okay?”

I finally managed to nod. “The last time I saw you look like you was this morning, and so much has changed since then…seeing you now, it’s suddenly hitting me.”

My heart began to pound, but Clay’s half-grin was wry and his tone self-deprecating. “It’s occurring to you that you’ve been glommed onto by a so-called star?”

“No.” I went to him and wrapped my arms around him. “That the most wonderful guy on the planet says he loves me, although I have no clue as to how or why.”

“I don’t know that I could put it into words myself right now. Let me think about it for a few years and maybe I can…” He held me and swayed slowly, and started to hum, and my brain filled in the words: “I can’t put my fingers on just what it is that makes me love you…”

“You were singing that in the shower this morning.”

“Uh huh. I was thinking about you, and how I’m understanding that song now more than I ever did…I know one of the first things I noticed about you was the way you treat people. Didn’t matter if it was Jerome, Raoul, the girls sitting next to you at the conference, the waiter at Lulu’s, me—there was no distinction. You’re so genuine. No falseness, no pretense. It’s like you don’t know how to be any other way.” My gosh, he could read me like a newspaper! “This business is so manufactured, sometimes I feel artificial; but being with you makes me feel real again. I love your heart, and your soul…and your brain!” He pulled away, suddenly enthused, dug through the papers beside the couch and pulled out the reason he had gotten them out of my sight so hastily the day before—the fic he had printed off and stashed among them. “Tell me about your books. I know you did a little already, but if I’m gonna talk to a publisher I need to know what I’m talkin’ about.”

I protested—I didn’t want his contacts feeling he was trying to take advantage of them on my behalf, but he laughed down my every objection. So I settled on the couch in his arms, and told him all about a reluctant sorceress caught up in royal intrigue for love of a spell-bound gladiator (complete and ready for a publisher to read); and then about a vegetarian mage, the knitting swordswoman he loved, and the evil Brotherhood of the Salamander (rough draft done, first eight chapters typed). My initial timidity was undone by the pleasure of watching his beautiful big eyes get bigger and bigger as he listened. “I’m not telling you everything,” I teased. “You might want to read ‘em sometime.”

“They should be movies!” he exclaimed. “I can see it all while you’re telling it!”

“I see them like that sometimes when I’m writing. Wish there were a part in there for you. There’s one in another book I haven’t written down yet. It’s eerie, because I wrote this detailed outline months before I ever heard the name Clay Aiken, but he reminds me a lot of you.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, I thought, and tried to casually dismiss it; but he shifted to face me in obvious anticipation. “Uh…he’s a redhaired bard from the South, with an angelic voice, who gets kidnapped by Amazons and enslaved by their princess. She’s taken by his beauty, but he’s so stubborn she decides to break him herself.”

One eyebrow hiked, and his head tilted slightly, with an air somewhere between ‘oh please’ and ‘bring it on’. “I bet she doesn’t, though.”

“Of course not. She realizes her people’s way was wrong all along. And she makes a plan to get him back to his homeland, and—aw crap, you couldn’t play that role. He swims like a fish! And I can’t take that out ‘cause it’s important to the storyline—the Amazons live on this weird floating island, and he has to dive in the ocean and save her when…well, shoot.”

Clay’s gaze was unwavering. “They can do a lot in Hollywood with special effects,” he said in a low voice. “I think maybe we should keep that one to ourselves for now though. After all, you said the book isn’t even written yet.” I couldn’t look away, and somewhere south of my belly button excitement began to flutter butterfly wings. Finally he released my eyes and turned his attention to the papers he held. “These are amazing too. There are things in here—they’re true, but I know I never told anybody about them, so I kept reading and going ‘how’d she know?’”

The flutter got shivery. “Like what?”

“Like, how’d you know I like raspberry lemonade?”

I relaxed. “Oh, I just needed something in that scene that could have an unusual ingredient left out and still be whole, but the right character would notice it was missing. Just a coincidence, but how funny! I didn’t know that.” Listen to me. As if I’ve ever believed in coincidence!

The alternative was a bit scary—but that was exactly where Clay was headed. “Yeah? Then how’d you know, um…” His cheeks pinked. “How’d you know I’d thought about girls in corsets?”

I sat straight up. “You’re kidding…I have no clue where that story idea came from, honest.”

“That’s what I meant,” he said quietly, “when I said you knew me better than you thought, before we even met. Those things kept piling up, and I couldn’t help but think maybe this was meant to be.”

“You’ve done the same to me,” I said without thinking. “You’ve been telling me things about myself—I guess I was afraid to see them, but they’re true, and I certainly didn’t tell them to you!”

“It’s weird—but it’s okay,” he said, and suddenly it was. How could I fear anything about him? If he were right, then all my qualms about being drawn to him meant nothing. “I told you I thought I knew why you were here.” I took a deep breath, and settled back into his arms, and made a decision to believe. “Do you have one? A corset, I mean.”

“Yeah, actually. I bought it while I was researching that story. It’s black silk with red beads and embroidery down the front. They really are comfortable. It’s not a good one—I got it off the sale rack at Frederick’s—but it’s pretty.”

His lips found my ear, and his stubble tickled my neck. “I want to see you in it. Will you bring it to New York?”

“Uh…sure…” That low voice again made me shiver. “I’m not so pretty in it though—“

“Gotta get started on that project of mine,” he murmured. His fingers pressed lightly to my lips, but he yelped when I stuck my tongue out and licked him. “Oh God, don’t do that!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have put ‘em in harm’s way then!” I giggled. I did think how I’d love to get finger lickin’ good with him! “Did I gross you out?”

“No—not exactly that—“ He looked startled, and breathless. Omigod, did I just…Thrilled and terrified all at once, I changed the subject. “Okay, what else did I divine about you?” He shook his head—at least he did look less freaked out. “Oh, c’mon, you’ve got me curious now!” I coaxed, but stopped when he looked away. “Clay—is it something bad?”

Again he shook his head, just a fraction, and stared down at the pages. “How’d you know sometimes I did feel like he was suckin’ the life out of me?” he said softly. “The things he’d say, or not say, and some…other things, he did, or allowed…how’d you know? I never told anybody.”

“Not in so many words, no, but it was there. In what you did say, and what you didn’t, and the hurt in your eyes when the topic came up.” This time I drew him into my arms, to rest his head against my shoulder. “There were three reasons I wrote that story, really. One was, I read a truly awful attempt at a vampire story and went ‘oh Lord, I can do better than that’. One was to express my utter contempt for that man. And one was, I wanted to write a song of praise for your strength.”

He laughed a little. “I don’t always feel strong.”

“Gotta get to work on my project now!” I retorted. The next laugh was more relaxed; and he sighed and snuggled against me. It felt so good I thought I might pop from sheer bliss. We sat quietly for a while, and I worked my fingers in his hair (like a cat making biscuits, though I definitely didn’t mention that analogy to him!). “When we were sitting here yesterday and you dozed off, I just watched you sleep, and I wanted to touch you so bad. Not even sexually, necessarily, just touch you.”

“Last night I watched you sleep too. I wanted to touch you too, only not quite so innocently.” He turned his head and kissed my chest, above where my tank top hid my cleavage. “It was sad to think maybe you didn’t want me to...”

“Clay—ohh, sweetness—“ He slid upright, and I hugged him tight. “I wanted it—oh good heavens, I wanted it, but I couldn’t imagine you wanting to touch me—“

‘Imagine it,” he whispered, and kissed me. There are rumors, glowing rumors, about his kiss, some started by girls who claim to have experienced it. Not one compares to the truth, and that is absolutely all I have to say about that. I yielded myself to it, totally, and rose from it with tears of joy in my eyes. “I lied a little too, earlier,” he admitted. “When I was talkin’ about the first things I noticed about you? Well, I didn’t exactly lie, I just didn’t tell the whole truth. I did notice your sweet self, and your smarts, and your caring…but I also noticed your eyes, and your smile, aaannnnd…” The tips of his fingers skimmed the outer curve of my breasts, and I caught my breath. He did too, and started to move away, but I folded my fingers around his forearms. “I don’t want to push you,” he said. “I don’t want to move too fast.”

“You’re not.” I ran my hands up his arms, bending the soft hairs the wrong way. Goosebumps rose on his skin, but he smiled. “You looked at me that way before. Like a kid at Christmas eager for presents.”

“Of course.” His hands rose to my cheeks. “Look at the present I’ve got.” We kissed again and again, slow soft kisses that gradually deepened, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths as our hands explored each other’s bodies. I slipped my hands under the black T-shirt and pressed my palms to his back, feeling the taut play of muscles beneath the ribbed cotton of his undershirt. He caressed the swell of my breasts again; then his hands moved down my sides and found the bottom edge of my top, where they halted. “Is this okay?”

I grabbed the hem of his T. “If this is. I should warn you though, I dress for comfort, not looks. My underwear’s not exactly pretty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He slid his shirt off my shoulders and then lifted mine off. “Liar,” he said, and put one finger out to stroke the pale pink satin half-cup of my bra. It’s lightly lined, which is nice when you don’t want your nipples announcing themselves to the world; but I could feel them harden under his feather-light touch and the laser power of his eyes. A shiver rippled through me, and he smiled again.

Chapter 13

I tugged at his shirt, and he reluctantly abandoned his pursuits for me to pull it off over his head. That mussed his hair even more, which suited me just fine. In fact I tousled it a little more just for fun. “Now this isn’t fair!” I complained. “As delicious as this view is, I’ve seen it before.” After a moment, he reached over his shoulders and peeled the tank off. I moved my open hands down his sides and up his long lean torso with its dusting of coppery fur. His eyes half closed, and his perfect white teeth took hold of his bottom lip. The sight nearly undid me; my heart began to pound, and I had trouble taking a breath. “Will you do something for me?”

I tried to sound casual, but judging from his small frown of concern I’d failed. “Anything.”

“Just—hold me for a minute. Tell me this is really happening. How can I be here with you, how can you say you love me—it feels so surreal—“ I reached out and he pulled me into his arms.

“It’s real.” He rocked gently with me. “I love you. It’s real. Is it too much though? Do you need to stop? It’s okay if you do, I promise it is. I’ve waited this long for you, I can wait a little longer.”

‘No, I just need to process...” He rubbed my back with long firm strokes, and the anxiety ebbed. ‘You feel so toasty. Undershirts certainly do hold in body heat.” He snorted in amusement. I kissed his freckled shoulder. “I never realized how broad your shoulders were till I saw a picture of you from the back, in a turtleneck. I like guys’ shoulders. I love yours.” I kissed along his collarbone and lingered in the little hollow at the base of his throat. He let out a small sigh. I traveled down his chest and discovered some wonderful playthings—butterscotch kisses that got bigger and firmer when I licked them instead of melting! “And scientists say male nipples have no purpose!” I scoffed. “They must be some frustrated fellas.”

I expected a suitably snarky reply, but got only a gasp and a husky “Yeah…” Oh, I was turning him on, I was, and seeing and hearing and feeling it was turning me on now! He caught his breath, took hold of my shoulders and gently pushed me away. “Now this isn’t fair!” he said when I grumbled. “You’re gettin’ nipples and I’m not!” He grasped the top edge of one bra cup with two fingers, pulled it out a little and poked his nose down in it. “Hello, anybody in there?” I started to laugh. “Well, now that I’ve ruined the mood—“

“You have not!” Still laughing, I hugged his neck. “I told you, I love that about you! Without it you wouldn’t be you, and you wouldn’t be who I love.” His self-conscious giggle became a real one, and we sat in happy embrace. He rubbed my back again; then took hold of my bra back and paused. I looked up into his questioning eyes and grinned, and pressed myself to him so he could see over my shoulder to unhook it.

When I moved back to slide it off and toss it over the back of the sofa, Clay’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly and curved in delight. “Ohh, they’re beautiful.” Was he really saying this to me? He took my breasts in his hands tenderly, as if he were holding newborn puppies. (So is that why guys call them that sometimes, I wonder?) “They’re so soft,” he marveled, and lowered his head to them. “Creamy…”

His mouth roved all over their roundness, the prickly stubble on his face only heightening the sensations. That made me think of something. “Hey, don’t shave in the morning, but if you have time before we go to the airport, do. It might throw off anybody who’s seen us out.”

He nodded, and then raised his head. “If you’re still able to make a coherent sentence, I haven’t done my job yet. Didn’t I read that somewhere?”

I had to laugh—he had indeed—in my fic! His hands shifted, and he rolled my erect nipples lightly between his thumbs and forefingers. That stopped my laughter cold! “Don’t let me get too rough for you.” All I could manage was a spastic shake of my head. With a small wicked grin, he lifted his hands so he could suck on my nipples and watch my face at the same time. What he saw must have pleased him; the realization that he was deliberately trying to drive me wild, and watching for my response, pretty much chased all capacity for rational thought out of my head. My back arched, and my hands clutched in his hair before I could stop. He was making little smacking sounds against my skin, as if I were his new favorite dessert, but the low grunt that emerged when I pulled didn’t sound pained. I moaned softly and started to squirm where I sat, little electric shocks of pleasure firing from my hard and aching nipples straight to my throbbing—

“Oh, no,” I wailed as horrible reality struck me like a slap. I must have sounded as devastated as I felt, because Clay visibly jumped and looked at me in dismay. “Clay, we can’t. We can’t…not tonight…we can’t make love. I’m not on any kind of birth control—no reason to be—and I know you don’t carry that kind of thing around—and we couldn’t risk going to get any, what if somebody saw? The chances are slim that something would happen, but if it did your fans would freak out—think how crazy they got just seeing a picture of you goofing around with a gal’s boobs—and I probably can’t carry—and oh God I couldn’t bear losing your baby…I should’ve thought of this before now…” I choked and finally got out, “DAMN!!”

Shockingly, he didn’t look upset at all. In fact he seemed to be fighting back a smile. Maybe he didn’t really want to, and this is a convenient out—but no, if he loved my honesty as he said, surely he wouldn’t be so dishonest. “Wow. You don’t have much of a Southern accent, but if they’d let Scarlett O’Hara cuss in Gone with the Wind that’s what she would’ve sounded like.” The smile crept out at last. “C’mon and let me show you something. I bet you laugh as hard as I did when I found it.” Puzzled, I grabbed our clothes and followed him toward the bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t notice I was already walking funny. He deposited the clothes on a chair, then took my hands and sat me on the edge of the huge bed while he rooted around in the nightstand drawer. He muttered to himself in fleeting annoyance, then straightened up with a wide grin. “Either this suite wasn’t cleaned very thoroughly after its last occupant, or the management has some assumptions about the kind of people who can afford it.”

He held out his hand. In it were a half dozen condom packets in a variety of colors and sizes. I squawked, and fell back onto the bed. Clay flopped down beside me and we laughed till my sides were sore. “Ohh my gosh…so, what d’ya think, a sign?” I cackled. He shrugged with a mock-innocent look. I snickered some more, then sobered as I realized where we were. “We can really do this, then.”

He rose up on his elbow to look down at me. “If you want to,” he murmured, his eyes searching my face.

“If you want to.” Again he shrugged. “I don’t want you to feel pushed either, Clay. If it helps any…I read that in Bible times, when a couple got engaged they were legally as good as married. That’s why the author of Matthew made a point of saying Joseph found out Mary was pregnant with Jesus after they were engaged but before they had been together—because nobody would have thought anything of it if they had been together, because they were engaged. Or betrothed, as the translators said.”

“Really?” Clay looked impressed. “Your mind is amazing…I guess that would have made Jesus a mistake in the eyes of other people, wouldn’t it?” I nodded. “People just don’t have a clue sometimes.” His voice was soft but definite. I knew what he was trying to tell me, and for maybe the first time in my life I could accept it. I nodded again, and met his unyielding gaze, a little awe-struck by him. “Betrothed,” he said after a brief quiet. “What a neat old word.” His fingertips brushed my cheek. ‘My betrothed.”

“Yeah. It literally means ‘promised to’, I think. I promise myself to you, and you to me. My betrothed. My beloved. Clay.” His mouth descended to meet mine, then trailed down my body. While he renewed his acquaintance with my breasts, I slid my hands around his slim waist and inside the back waistband of his jeans. Through the thin cotton of his boxers his butt felt wonderfully round and firm. I kneaded and squeezed it, and when he wriggled against me something else hard brought itself to my attention.

“Will you do something for me?” he said.

“Within reason.”

“What’s that mean?” he glared.

“Nothing too kinky. Or perverted. You do know the difference, right? Kinky uses the feather, perverted uses the whole chicken.”

He almost spat laughing, and lay down on me; but the laugh ended with a sudden catch of breath. “I always wanted to believe it could be like this…” His voice pulsed with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“Like what?”

“Silly. Fun. Playful. Happy. Two people enjoying each other’s company, not someone takin’ from someone else just because they can.”

I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but I was sure of what I wanted him to know. “This is our love, Clay. Only we make the rules. It can be, will be, what we want it to be. Personally, this is what I want it to be, full of love and fun.” He raised his head from my chest and simply nodded, with a vulnerability in his eyes that made me wonder if despite his public statements, someone had hurt him; if that had made him so unsure of himself as a sexual being. “With regular doses of hot pig-snortin’ sheet-tearin’ sex thrown in of course.” His giggle made me sigh with relief. “Now, what was it you wanted me to do? ‘Cause seriously, I can’t conceive of much you would ask of me that I wouldn’t do.”

He cast his eyes downward briefly. “Would…you call me Clayton? I know it probably sounds dumb, but it’s more me, somehow. Clay is that guy on the stage.”

“I understand, and no, I don’t think it’s dumb. It’ll be easier for you to integrate everything as time goes on, I suspect. Me, I love both of you, and anybody else living in there. It’s all the same person to me…my sweetness…my Clayton.” I rolled the word around in my mouth. It tasted great. His smile practically glowed. As his lips claimed mine again, I felt down the front of his jeans, thrilled by the stirring I felt beneath. I undid them, and he slid out almost immediately. I paused to admire his lovely strong thighs, and he returned the favor when his hands slid under the hem of my skirt and up my legs. His fingers left a tingly trail of heat along the smooth surfaces of my inner thighs, around my hips and over my butt, before they took hold of the elastic at my waist. I lifted my hips and he slipped the skirt off. “What was that lie you were tellin’ about ugly underwear?” he mock-scolded.

“I didn’t say ugly, just not pretty. C’mon, plain pink cotton panties?”

He shook his head in feigned exasperation. “A gift is just as special whether it’s wrapped in fancy paper or the Sunday funnies.”

My throat almost closed with sudden tears. “Do you have any idea how good that makes me feel?” I said in a choked whisper. “When you say things like that, or you look at me that way, I—I feel—so--“

“Special?” he smiled. “Beautiful? Loved? That’s the idea.” We kissed and I clung to him, sweet emotion conquering me. “Tell me how to touch you,” he murmured against my mouth. “I know now what makes your soul and your heart feel good. What makes your body feel good? Tell me.”

“Oh, anything, Clayton, just as long as you’re touching me—“

“No!” Suddenly he sounded almost stern. “You don’t take very well, do you? All you’ve ever been taught to do is give. What happens when someone tries to give to you?”

“It’s not very good,” I admitted. “I had a friend from India, and she tried to give me this beautiful sari once, and I wouldn’t take it. She didn’t understand—it’s their way, to give—but I was raised that when someone offers you something you don’t take it, because they’re just doing it to be nice and they don’t mean it. It still bothers me, how I hurt her feelings and didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know it.”

My vision blurred with tears of remembered remorse, and he lifted my glasses and kissed my eyes. “How could you if you weren’t ever taught different? I want to teach you. Lesson one starts now.”

I sniffled and looked him over. “Ooh, you must be serious, Teacher Clayton.” I brushed my hand across the front of his dark blue boxers. “You’ve got your pointer out and everything!”

“You’re changing the subject.” He tried to stay stern, but he blushed all over—I mean all over—and struggled not to laugh.

I, on the other hand, didn’t struggle at all. “Am not!” I giggled, but then I did get serious again. “This can’t be a one-way street, sweetie. You’ve got to tell me what makes you feel good too.”

“Right now, makin’ you feel good makes me feel very good.” He nuzzled my neck. “Tell me,” he urged. It was so alien to have someone so focused on me, on my pleasure. I felt uncertain, selfish, guilty even, but he coaxed it out of me. I gave him the keys to my body, and he fired it up. “What else?” he asked, over and over, and I told him, with words, and with moans and squirms when his hands and his mouth on me drove words from my head.

Chapter 14

When I came up for air I realized that somewhere along the way we had parted company with the last of our clothing. “Wait, I want to hold you for a minute,” I said. “This feels so great, your skin against mine…”

“Yeah, it does.” We lay full length, wrapped around and rubbing slowly against each other. “What else?”

“Surprise me,” I said this time.

He lit up as if he had been waiting for me to say that very thing, and baffled me by fumbling through the pockets of his jeans on the floor—until he pulled out my big bottle of suntan lotion. He squirted a handful out and started to spread it across my skin. The fragrance absolutely intoxicated me. I took the bottle from him and massaged it into him too, and we laughed like kids as we slipped and slid all over each other. “I can’t believe you thought of this,” I sighed, touched by his simple gesture. “Now I’ll always know one reason I love this smell.”

“What now?” he asked.

“Surprise me again.”

He smiled that panting-wolf smile, and wiped his hand off on the sheet before it crept between my legs. When his long fingers slid inside me I gulped, and so did he. “You’re so tiny!”

“I—I’ve never been with a guy who—was very well endowed,” I gasped. I moved just enough to get a good full look at him. Reports didn’t overstate the situation…my gosh, is that really gonna fit in here? I hope so!

He looked suspicious, but my answer was truthful. He stroked inside me, following my every sigh of faster or slower or harder, and my every wordless thrust and cry. Then suddenly he halted, his fingers resting in my wetness. “No,” he said to my groan of need. His voice was tight, and his face flushed. “When you come, I want to be inside you.”

I shook a little sense back into my head. “Yes. Yes, I want that too, Clayton, please…” He sat back on his heels, opened a packet and took the condom out…then just stopped. “Whassa matter, is it too little for ya?” I teased. This time though, my silliness didn’t get the usual response. “Do you need some help? It’s okay. I’m not an expert, but between the two of us I’m sure we can figure it out.”

He laughed, at last, but it was a sharp harsh sound. “No, this I can do. This I was taught to do…very early.” He did not look at me, but stared down at his penis as if it were a strange and not altogether pleasant thing.

Worry scratched at my insides. I sat up and laid my hands on his thighs. “Want to talk about it?”

“My first times…weren’t much fun. I, uh, got taken advantage of, you might say, although I’ve never quite figured out if it was something I did or…no, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s the past. It has no place here. This is the present. You—you’re my future, unless you change your mind after—“

“Oh, you are so full of crap! You can’t do anything to change how I feel, so what makes you think something somebody else did to you can?” That wounded look inhabited his eyes again when he finally looked up, and I took his face in my hands and traced those stunning cheekbones with my thumbs. “You’ll tell me, I suspect, sometime, and that’s fine. If not, that’s okay too. I know all I need to know right now, Clayton: that I love you. I trust you. I believe in you.” Then my hands dropped to his lap and I ran the backs of my nails lightly up the entire…considerable…length of his hardness. “Oh yeah, and right now I want you so bad my head’s about to explode. So you better get over here and beat me with your club, unless you really want to be responsible for me going through the rest of my life looking like an empty Pez dispenser!”

He laughed so hard he almost started to cough. With one smooth motion he pulled the condom on, pulled me to him and tumbled me back. “You—are—amazing,” he panted between kisses. “Amazing, you hear me?”

“Amazingly silly,” I replied, breathing hard again myself. “And amazingly in love with you.” I opened my legs and he settled between them. “I want you, Clayton, don’t make me wait any longer.”

He caressed my hips, then tilted them back. “A Pez dispenser?” he chuckled and shook his head. “I certainly don’t want that on my conscience!” We got one more good laugh; then he positioned himself at my entrance—and stopped. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, and slid barely inside me, then withdrew. An instant later he moved again, a little deeper and out, then deeper still.

My eyes half closed, torn between wanting to watch him and wanting to fully experience his heat as he penetrated me, slowly, so slowly. It was the most exquisite torture conceivable. ‘Hurry…”

“No.” A pleased little smile danced across his tense features. “You’re opening to me, a little more every time…you feel incredible…that’s it, darlin’, that’s it…”

I tried to thrust upward, to hasten him, and he pulled away. “Oh Lord, you really are a tease!” I gasped in feigned horror.

“I’ve got to live up to my rep, don’t I?” The smile took over his face. He was loving what he was able to do to me, and I loved it too. Finally, he went completely inside me, his girth drawing my clit and lower lips into frantic ripples of arousal. “Yes…oh, you feel so good…so tight around me…wonder if a corset feels like this?”

“Oh—gosh—don’t make me laugh now—you may not feel so good!”

“True.” He looked down at me, still smiling. “How do you feel?”

I got a breath and smiled back. “Whole,” I said. Screw political correctness; it was true, and that was that. I felt completed. “And close to coming, very close.”

“Me too.”

Our hips began to move in the oldest dance in creation. The dance might not last long for me though; I was already so aroused when he entered me that fireworks were already starting to go off in my body. “Almost—almost, Clayton, ohhh—“ Then I burst into flames, and all I could do was scream his name. I forced my eyes open—someday when this was familiar to me I’d let them go, but now I had to see—his head was flung back, mouth open and eyes shut, his grunts of effort melting into an ecstatic guttural groan of release. Dear Lord, it’s true, I’ve never seen him so beautiful.

I held onto him, shuddering, as climax continued to roll over me and we thrust together. At last our movements slowed, and then stopped. I looked up at him, and began to giggle. He eased himself down and rolled to his side. I turned to face him and burst into uncontainable laughter. He started to laugh too, but in bafflement at me. “What’re you laughin’ for?” he demanded.

“For joy,” I said. Suddenly, amid the mirth I felt tears on my cheeks. “I have never felt so happy in my life as I do right this instant, never, never…”

He held me tight. “The first of many,” he murmured into my hair. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” I whispered.

We lay gently touching each other’s damp bodies, till he kissed my cheek and said “Be right back.” I watched him go toward the bathroom. He really has the most marvelous butt, and I made a mental list of everything I wanted to do with it while I pulled the covers back on the bed and climbed in. When he returned, he slid in beside me with a big grin.

“If we don’t get some sleep we’re not getting to any theme park tomorrow,” I noted.

“Yeah, and I do want to. Although I’m thinkin’ your body’s more fun than any amusement park.” He reached for the light switch, conveniently located beside the bed, while I smiled in silent wonder. “Good night. I love you.”

“Good night, Clayton. I love you.” I had never slept naked in my life, much less with another naked someone. I found I liked both almost as much as I liked hearing those words the last thing before I settled down to sleep. I hoped both would mark the end of every day for the rest of my life.

I woke up some time later and slipped out to go to the bathroom. The air conditioning hit my still sweaty skin; I shivered a little, and found his discarded dress shirt to toss on. For someone with such horrid eyesight, my night vision is great, so I found my way there (and around—the bathroom was huge) and back without turning on a light to bother him. I even dared dash into the suite’s main area to get my bag—not as if anybody would waltz into Clay Aiken’s suite uninvited, but still. When I crept back into the bedroom, though, a sudden blaze of light startled me. He sat up in bed, a small lamp switched on. ‘I’m sorry, baby, I was trying not to wake you up!”

He shook his tangled head. “Just checkin’ to be sure you weren’t some fantasy that vanished into the night…” he began, and then trailed off and just stared at me. It made me a little ill at ease, and I was about to ask what was wrong when he said in that low voice I was starting to think of as his ‘sex voice’, “Last night, on the bridge, when you put that on…I was imaginin’ you like this. Wearing nothin’ but that.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just said what I thought. “Thank you. Although it’s still so hard to imagine you fantasizing about me.” He rolled his eyes, and stretched his long arms up.

Yeah. Yeah, I did it. I made a head-first baseball slide onto the bed, nailed his ribs and tickled for all I was worth. He yelped and launched a counterattack, and I ended up flat on my back, with him straddling my hips and pinning my wrists beside my head. I shrieked and wiggled and giggled until I realized he was sitting very still above me. “Y’know, you were right about that struggling thing too,” he said hoarsely. “It is kind of…exciting.”

To make his point, he shifted to kneel between my legs and ground his pelvis against mine, slowly and firmly, still holding me down. The renewed hardness of him against my crotch, and his weight pressing me into the mattress, made me moan and writhe helplessly in his grasp for a moment. I arched my back, and wrapped my legs around him. “Yeah, it is,” I gasped, “except when you’re not trying to get away from anybody.” Our eyes met, and he grinned and let go of my hands. ”Where did this wild man come from? I don’t know, but I’m sure glad he’s mine!”

“You freed him. Last night on that bridge, this—imagining you like this—it was so real I could’ve grabbed you right there, an’ done things that, well, would not only have ended my career but probably gotten both of us arrested.”

My mind raced back, to the breeze in my hair, and up my skirt…just where his hands had gone later…”No, that wouldn’t have been wise. But thinking about it is definitely…”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence; my mouth was busy for a while after that. This time our lovemaking was a little less tentative. Our bodies seemed to already be figuring out each other’s rhythms “When I’m in you it feels like your body is embracing me,” he whispered at one point. “Like your whole body loves me.”

“It does, Clayton, it does.”

Afterwards he insisted I keep the shirt on. “I’m not even gonna wash it. When I miss you this week I want to be able to hold it, and smell you on it. That’ll keep me goin’ till I can hold you again.” So, in his thoroughly rumpled (or maybe I should say debacled, ‘cause I sure was!) dress shirt, I snuggled up to him and dozed off. The next time I woke the world outside was lighting up, and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen was snoozing beside me. I lay and watched him for a few minutes; then I kissed his jaw, moving down toward his chin and up to his cheek. He stirred. “What’re you doin’?” he mumbled.

“I never did get around to kissing your whole face,” I said, and proceeded to do just that. His skin was so smooth and soft, and the contrast with the roughness of stubble was delicious. When I finished, his smile was utterly blissed out. “Our first Sunday together. Wish we could go to church.” Clay located the TV remote and we found an early local service. I suppose some people would have been appalled to see two unmarried people all but naked, cuddled up in bed singing along with every familiar hymn. My heart was so full of thankfulness I couldn’t have cared less what anybody thought. “Who showers first?” I asked after. “I’d say both, but we’d never get anything else done.”

“Go ahead. I’ll call down for breakfast.”

“Call for breakfast? Mmm, I think I’m gonna like being spoiled.”

“Good. Get used to it,” he grunted, and smacked me on the butt for good measure as I clambered out of bed! By the time we were both cleaned up and dressed, breakfast arrived, followed by Jerome only minutes thereafter. He didn’t seem overly surprised, or distressed, to walk in and find me inserting a cream cheese danish into my face. Maybe he really does like me.

Clay dug an old T-shirt out of his baggage, and while we described our day to Jerome I found my small knitting scissors and hacked the sleeves out of it. That, and two days’ stubble, should make my Clayton even harder to recognize! When I capped off the report with a demonstration of my disguising skills, Jerome threw up his hands and conceded defeat. (He confessed that he had promised his daughter some special Disney souvenirs, and another day ‘off duty’ would let him get the job done—“especially a day where I’m not losin’ my mind wonderin’ where your skinny ass is at!” he scolded Clay, who looked not at all repentant.)

Our second day at Universal was a glorious blur. The man at the fruit stand in the Studios remembered us, or more accurately remembered me racing away with my apple, with Clay in hot pursuit. “Did he catch you?” he wanted to know.

“Boy, did he ever,” I grinned, then started to giggle and threw my arms around Clay’s neck. I found myself doing that at odd times all day, overcome by delight, and it didn’t appear to bother him at all.

“Ohhh, it’s like that, is it?” The old man’s grin was pretty darn lecherous. “Congratulations!”

We still screamed and clutched each other on the scary rides; but we also sat in the very farthest back corner at the Terminator 3D show and kissed and touched each other the whole time. “We’re makin’ out like high schoolers!” Clay muttered.

“Speak for yourself, I never made out in high school.”

“Oh…then you’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

He truly is awful sometimes.

The day went by far too fast, and we had to get back to our respective lodgings. We rode the trolley one more time, back to the Rosen, where I gathered my things and Clay packed—well, his idea of packing, which is pitching stuff in the bag willy-nilly—except for two items. He rolled up his wrinkled shirt I had worn and stuffed it in his backpack, then nestled the little cinnamon-furred bear with the WWJD bracelet carefully in its folds. “Clay Bear’s gonna have to keep me company till I see you again.”

I got my belongings together at the Comfort Inn, after a quick limo ride (Raoul’s grin nearly wrapped completely around his head when he saw us emerge from the Rosen’s back door together) The lacquered egg in its box went in my purse, though. “Just so I don’t wake up tomorrow and think this is a dream.”

“Oh, I won’t let you. I’ll probably call you twelve times a day.”

The limo ride to the airport was a little bit sad, but my sadness at a brief parting from Clay was far outweighed by the thrill of anticipating a future with him. My family would have a cow, but it could just moo. At long last I had found my time, and my place.

I suggested they let me out a short distance away. “You know I can walk,” I kidded. “This way maybe we can keep things private as long as possible.” Clay wasn’t thrilled, but he agreed with me. I hugged Jerome, and Raoul too. Both Clay and I teared up a little, but he was much worse than I. Now it was my turn to comfort him. “Just a week, sweetness. I’ll see you in a week. And I’ll get to meet Raleigh—Lord, I hope she likes me! I hope your mom likes me! Omigosh, now I’m getting nervous!”

“Bring Raleigh those dog biscuits on a stick you talked about. She loves anybody with food.”

“Ah, there’s my silly Clayton. The one who can make me laugh no matter what.”

“Mom’s gonna love you, trust me. And you’re gonna love her. I can’t wait for you to meet her.” He hugged me tight one more time. “I’ll work on something for your Y, and your people.”

“Maybe I can get started knitting your socks this week. Then I’ll think about you every time I pick them up. Not as if I won’t be thinking about you every waking minute, and most sleeping ones too!”

His giggle was reassuring to hear. “My betrothed,” he said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Clayton. I’ll see you next weekend.” I got out of the limo and situated my bags to carry them up to the terminal. The door slammed, and it was just another big car with tinted glass like the ones I see every day in Nashville—except my heart was inside this one. The window opened a crack, and Clay’s green eyes peeked out at the mundane world that was no longer his. I made the sign-language gesture for ‘I love you’, and saw the window open wide enough for his hand to emerge with the same gesture as Raoul pulled away. I blew kisses until the limo was out of sight, then got myself to the check-in and onto my plane. As I settled into my seat, one scary thought occurred to me: Lord have mercy, what am I gonna tell the Broads?

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