"Romancing Jack" (MF, rom) I sat in the window seat watching the rain as it lashed against the pane. The glass felt cool against my forehead. Cool and numb, just like the rest of me. "Damn! You're good." I raised my head and turned to look at Shane. He had the last of his stuff shoved in his gym bag. I had no idea what he was talking about. "What?" "You. Miss Bitch. You've got that down to an art." I could hear the anger in his voice now. "You're sitting there as if you haven't got a care in the world. I wish I could be as emotionless as you." "Just leave, Shane. Just . . . leave." As the door slammed behind him, I leaned my head back against the window. The rain was coming down harder now and I could make out the shape of the old elm out front, its boughs bending under the relentless wind. Try as I might, I couldn't get Shane's words out of my head. "Damn, you're good!" It had been almost a year since anyone had said that to me. God! Had it really been that long? Sometimes it seemed like it had been a lifetime ago, yet the memory was as clear as if it'd just been yesterday. **** "Damn, you're good!" The voice, coming from directly behind me, startled me and I let out a small scream. I almost fell off the ladder I'd been standing on. Strong hands gripped me around the waist and steadied me. I looked cautiously over my shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." The voice held a hint of a southern drawl, and was attached to a man who looked vaguely familiar. "It's okay," I replied, still trying to figure out where I knew him from. I hated it when I couldn't remember. He moved back, and I climbed down the ladder until I was back on terra firma. I realized then how tall he was. I shaded my eyes from the late afternoon sun as I looked up into a pair of light blue eyes. They were guarded and somewhat cautious, as if he might take flight at any moment. The dark blonde hair, rumpled by the autumn breeze, begged for my fingers to run through it. I shook myself. Where in the hell had that thought come from? "I'm Charlene. But my friends call me Charly." "I know." He must have noticed my puzzled look because he continued, "We met at Francis' party last month. I'm Jack." He stuck his hand out and I took it. His hands were slightly callused. Working man's hands. "I remember now," I replied. "I'm sorry. I'm just bad with names at times." "It's okay." He just stood there, looking lost and a little out of place. "Um, may I ask why you said I was good?" "Oh. That." He gestured to the small sign I'd been hanging above the shop door. "Charlene Delaney: Freelance Writer" it said. "I read your article in the Tribune last Sunday. Very articulate and informative. You're obviously good at what you do." "Thank you." I felt my face turning red. Compliments tended to fluster me. "Well, I have to be going now." He stuck out his hand and I shook it again. "I'll be seeing you around I hope." "Sure." I watched him walk away and then turned my attention back to the sign. *** The next time I saw him, I was leaving the grocery store as he was coming in. I said "hi" and he asked how I'd been. Even though I was in a hurry, I took the time to watch him walk away, noticing the shape of his butt in the crisp jeans. It would fill my hands nicely. "Arghhhhh!" Several people turned to look at me but I ignored them. What had gotten into me? First his hair and then his butt? I put his nice ass, and him, out of my mind and hurried to my car. *** Over the next three months, we'd run into each other occasionally in town, and stop to talk. I learned he was a house painter, around my age and single. He learned that I loved to read, had a weakness for cheesecake and was owned by a brown tabby cat. If I happened to pass by wherever he was painting, he'd take a break and we'd talk about the weather, music, literature; whatever subject came up. Likewise, he would stop in my tiny office at least once a week, just to talk to me about an article I had written. One day, he leaned a hip against my desk and casually asked, "Would you like to go out to dinner one night?" "Sure," I replied quickly. Too quickly? I guess not, because he just smiled. His teeth were straight and his smile the best thing I'd seen all day. I could just see myself licking the deep creases that appeared at the corners of his mouth every time he smiled. I closed my eyes and mentally chided myself. 'You've got to stop noticing things about him, Charly.' He asked about some weekend a few weeks away; he said he'd be through with his current job by then. I agreed and he left with a wave and another smile. I pushed all thoughts of Jack aside, and concentrated on my work. *** Two weeks later, and still two weeks before the scheduled date, he called me at home. I'd been painting my toenails and watching reruns of "Whose Line is it Anyway?" and had to duck-walk to the phone to answer it before the machine. He told me he'd found my business card in the pocket of his overalls, with my home number on the back, and decided to give me a call. I flopped back on the couch with my legs stretched out in front of me, staring at my half-painted toes while we talked. It started raining while we were still on the phone, and the thunder and lightning soon followed. We said our good-byes and I hung up. My unpainted toes were forgotten, the television droned on, forgotten; I curled up in the corner of the couch and stared at the falling rain. The flashes of lightning gradually slowed and stopped, as did the thunder, and the rain lessened. I fell asleep with the sound of the rain pit-pattering on the roof, and the sound of Jack's voice echoing in my head. *** Something changed that night. I don't know what; it wasn't something tangible I could put my finger on. I found myself thinking about him more and more, looking forward to our occasional talks with an anxious anticipation that left my palms sweaty and my heart pounding. I shivered when I thought about the sexy way he said my name - low and breathy and full of mysterious promises. I daydreamed about us going skinny dipping late at night in Johnson's creek, nothing on my skin except the water, the moonlight and the heat of his silvery blue eyes. I would wake up in the middle of the night and turn my head, picturing how he'd look lying next to me, his arms cradling me gently and his long legs tangled with mine. I couldn't believe I was having these kinds of fantasies and I hadn't even kissed the man! I tried to see if he'd been affected by that innocuous phone call like I had. I couldn't tell. I was terrible at "reading" people, though, and couldn't work up the courage to ask. I looked forward to our upcoming night out with an excitement that I hadn't felt in a long time. *** We had dinner at a small Italian restaurant down the street from my apartment. We laughed and talked over antipasto and tortellini Alfredo. He held my hand across the table. He had strong hands. His fingers were long and lean and no strangers to manual labor, but gentle as the silky lick from one of his old paintbrushes. I could imagine him taking the brush and sliding it up and over the inside of my wrist, along my arm and towards my breast... I took a drink of my wine and concentrated on the conversation. After dinner, he walked me to my door and hugged me. He started to leave but I pulled on his hand. He swung back around and before I could think about it, I leaned up and kissed him. I don't know who was more surprised, him or me. Surprise quickly turned to pleasure as he kissed me back. His kisses were hesitant, his lips soft and supple. There was a fluttering down in the pit of my stomach and I felt lightheaded. It was as close to swooning as I'd ever come. When he let me go, I had to lean against the doorframe to keep from falling over. He smiled and kissed my forehead, then walked to his car. Neither one of us had said anything about a second date but I knew it would happen. *** We did go out on a second date. And a third, and a fourth, until we both grinningly acknowledged to our friends that we were "officially an item now." We'd go out to the movies, to dinner, or go dancing. Sometimes we'd just stay either at my place or his, watching tv and talking, stealing kisses and slow, lingering caresses during the commercials. One such night, we were playfully arguing over what to watch. He wanted to watch an old Italian film and I wanted to see "Romancing the Stone" for the fiftieth time. I took the remote and hid it in the cushions behind me and refused to move. Instead of giving in gracefully, he started tickling me. I had no choice but to defend myself and tickle back. Before long we were rolling on the floor, all thoughts of the television forgotten. I'm not sure who made the first move; all I knew was that he was kissing me with a fierce hunger that he'd never shown before. It was like I was standing on the edge of a cliff and this great wave came roiling up and crashed over me. I was drowning with no desire to be saved. I matched him kiss for kiss, hunger for hunger. Clothes were hastily removed. He rolled me underneath him, flesh to flesh, and used his hands and mouth to touch, squeeze, lick, suck and bite me to a mindless frenzy. I didn't care that it was our first time and we should take it slow and build the passion; make it something to remember for a lifetime. I pushed on his shoulders and he rolled over so I was the one on top now. I raked my nails down his chest, an action that elicited a shocked gasp from him. "Too hard?" I questioned. He grabbed the back of my head and gave me a bruising kiss on my lips. The fluttering in my stomach was back in full force. I moaned low and deep into his mouth and he ground his hips against mine. His erection was pressing against my pelvis and bumping my clit. When his mouth moved from my mouth to the side of my neck and started alternately kissing and licking the sensitive spot under my ear, I knew there was no way I could wait any longer. "Protection," I managed to say. He rolled out from under me and dug in his discarded jeans for the magic foil packet. He fumbled to get it open, his hands shaking from nervousness or impatience, or a little of both. With a low growl I snatched it from his hands and tore the end of the package off with my teeth. I removed it, reached for his hard member and slid the latex sheath on in one hurried movement. It could have been on inside out for all I cared. Jack picked me up by the waist and impaled me on his rigid sex. I wanted to sit there for a moment and revel in the feeling of being totally filled, but he had other plans. He sat up, and with his feet braced against the base of the couch, started a rocking motion that caused my clit to rub up against his pubes. The scratchy hair was like dozens of tiny little fingers all working to drive me insane with horrible pleasure. It didn't take long before I was lost in the midst of a powerful climax, dragging him down under with me. My legs were like a vise wrapped around his waist, and I could feel his blunt nails digging into my hips. Coming down from the sexual plateau, I rested my forehead against his as I struggled to catch my breath. I pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "I need a drink," I said, and stood up very carefully. I padded into the kitchen and poured myself some water. I filled up the glass for Jack and when I walked back into the living room, he was still sitting where I'd left him, his hands working around his crotch. He looked up at me. "I can't get it off." "Huh?" "The condom. I can't get it off." His cheeks started to turn red and there was the hint of an embarrassed smile upon his lips. "You put it on in such a hurry that it's tangled up in my hair now. I can't get it off." "Oh. Hang on a second." I rummaged in a desk drawer until I'd found a pair of scissors. I handed them to him and he reached up to take them from me. The hilarity of the situation hit us at the same time and we erupted into a fit of giggles. *** I lived in a state of bliss for three more months. Jack and I spent every spare moment together. We had nothing in common, but that didn't seem to matter. Every day I discovered something new about him to like and I was fully convinced that I couldn't get any happier. One day my mother called to tell me my grandfather had passed away. My grandmother was taking it pretty hard and she wanted to know if I could come home for the funeral. Of course I said I would and Jack drove me to the airport. On the flight home I realized that the trip had affected me more than I'd expected, and in ways I hadn't counted on. I had watched my grandmother literally fall to pieces. She didn't know how to keep on living now that my grandfather was gone. I thought about Jack and me and how things could eventually progress toward a lifetime commitment. Was that what I wanted? To get *that* close to someone, knowing that one day he would be gone. Or that I would die first. I started to panic. I had to break up with him, call it off as soon as I got home. I knew my fear was irrational, but I couldn't stop myself from rationalizing that what I was doing was right; that we'd both benefit in the end. Jack met me at the airport and drove me home. I knew he could tell something wasn't right but he probably attributed it to grief. It was grief, just not the way he was thinking. We pulled up at my apartment and I turned to face him. "Jack, I don't think we should see each other anymore." The look on his face would haunt me for weeks. "Why?" was all he said. "I just think it's for the best. I'm not ready for a relationship. I never will be. We should just end it now while we're still friends." He looked like he was about to argue but all he did was grab my bag from the backseat and hand it to me. There were tears in his eyes but he still didn't say anything. I ran up the stairs and unlocked my door as quickly as I could. Once inside, I leaned against the door and let the tears fall. I felt like a part of me had died. *** Shane came breezing into my life less than two months later. He was a dealer at one of the nearby casinos and was the complete opposite of Jack. He was short and stocky with dark hair and a devil-may-care, fuck the world attitude. He pulled up alongside me on his motorcycle one afternoon when I'd been caught in the rain and was walking home. He offered me a ride and some perverse imp made me accept. I invited him in to wait out the rain and he ended up spending the night. We fucked no less than four times that first night and within a week, I'd asked him to move in. Looking back later, I wasn't sure why I'd gotten involved with Shane in the first place. Maybe a sense of loneliness. Maybe that same perverse imp that convinced me breaking up with Jack was the right thing to do. Whatever fire might have sparked between me and Shane, quickly died out. It wasn't long before we started fighting. We'd fight over finances; I wanted to keep our accounts separate, but he wanted to get a joint one. He wanted me to quit writing and come work at the casino with him. I didn't want to be a dealer or give up my writing. He didn't care; he said I could make more money. The sex was okay when we had it. He had a low sex drive he'd conveniently forgotten to tell me about. Sex soon became a problem. Once a week was perfectly fine for him. He liked getting oral sex but not giving it. He only went down on me once, and that was our first night together. Needless to say, that was another source of contention. I started spending more time at my office and he started working overtime at the casino. I knew it was a dead-end relationship but I didn't end it. Maybe I was afraid of being a failure, or being alone. I don't know why. I still saw Jack every now and then, in the grocery store or at the mall. I don't know if he ever saw me or not, and I was too afraid to go up to him and say "hi." I kept my distance, but he was always there in the back of my mind. I'd find myself thinking about him at night, when Shane was asleep and I was left all alone with my memories for company. *** I came home early one weekend from a writer's conference in San Diego and found Shane in bed with another woman. Girl actually. She was the younger sister of his best friend, barely 18 and with curves in all the places I hadn't. I turned around and walked out, and kept on walking. Hours later when I came back, Shane tried to explain but I just told him I wanted him out as soon as he could get all his stuff together. I noticed it had started to rain. I curled up in the window seat and rested my chin upon my knees. I listened to the sound of Shane moving around in the apartment and the falling rain outside. **** The sound of Shane revving up his motorcycle and peeling out of the drive, startled me out of my trip down memory lane. I wiped the tear stains from my cheeks with the back of my hand and wondered where I had gone wrong. People talk about having a moment of clarity; one moment where everything is perfectly clear to them and there's no confusion, no ambiguity, and no loss of direction. A robin came and lit on the windowsill, shaking the raindrops off his back. As soon as I saw him, I knew what I had to do. It was as clear as crystal. I gathered up my keys and ran out the door. *** I rang the doorbell a third time. Even though there weren't any lights on, I prayed he'd be home. I was about to push the bell a fourth and final time when the door opened. Jack stood there in bare feet and sleep-rumpled pajamas, looking at me as though I were a ghost. "Charly?" I threw myself into his arms, heart-wrenching sobs coursing through my body and muffling my words. "I'm sorry, Jack. God, I'm so sorry. I was an idiot. I loved you, I still love you. I was just so afraid. Afraid that one day I would wake up and you'd tell me you never really loved me at all, that it had just been a game. Or that I'd lose you, through my own stupid pride or stubbornness or the fact that I'm not perfect or because one day you'll die." He let me ramble on and on and on, just holding me and rubbing my back. My sobs subsided into jerky hiccups. I raised my head and looked at him. For the first time I saw him, really saw him. Not just one particular part of him, but *all* of him. I loved this man; for what he made me feel, for the way he accepted me as I was, and for all the little things that made him special in my eyes. "I made a mistake and I was stupid. Please say you'll give me another chance." He smiled that same smile I'd noticed so many months ago. "I made a mistake, too. I let you walk out of my life and didn't even try once to get you back. I was stupid. Please say you'll give me another chance." I smiled back at him and with fresh tears in my eyes, nodded. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes, then we'll talk." He kissed my forehead, tucked me against his side, and slowly shut the door.