Page 11 of Lady Sings the Blues

So this is where I make the biggest mistake so far and follow him. Two streets over from my dad’s—or I guess Hadley’s house now—I continue to follow him. And wouldn’t you know his place is located three houses down from Beau’s parents, George and Margo, and two houses down from Dave and Lenore, Logan’s. His house, the only tiny house on the block, sits between the two massive ones to the left and right, looking like a small child compared to the big, expensive parent houses. He’s kept it up nice from what I can see, but it still looks out of place.

How many times did I walk past this place going to see Logan or Beau? Mark pulls into the drive motioning for me to turn in behind him. I do it, but I don’t want to knowing what he’ll face tomorrow from his neighbors. They may not know my car anymore but I have no doubt on who will be the first to identify the Illinois license plate as being mine.

“Pop the boot,” he tells me in his Kentucky-ese for “open the trunk.”

Mark grabs my bags.

I slowly, hesitantly climb out. The strap of my small red travel bag he shrugs over his shoulder while my matching suitcase he just picks up to carry, not bothering to extend the handle and wheel it.

Little bungalows like his are rare in this neighborhood anymore. Although they used to be plentiful, peppering every street in town, now buyers would be hard pressed to find one outside River Street, which is basically the poorest section of the town proper. Where the new subdivisions started going in back in the eighties, homeowners abandon tiny with character for cookie cutter HOAs.

He has a porch when no other house on the block has a porch. Somehow it makes me respect Mark even more for choosing the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of houses.

“What’s earnin’ me that smile?”

“I like your house.”

“Yeah?”

He grabs my hand right as I answer him. “Yeah.”

Outside has nothing on the inside. Most guys his age would gut the inside of an old house like this. New. New. New. Dark woods. Granite countertops. Stainless steel appliances. But not Mark. The first thing I see are the built-ins. That is, great built-in shelves filled with books and knick-knacks. The carved arches. The refinished hardwood floors. He hasn’t gutted, he’s restored.

“I take it back, I’min lovewith your house.” I fawn.

And I think I hear him say, “Well that’s a start.” But my heart is still beating so wildly loud in my chest that I probably didn’t hear him correctly.

When he drops my bags next to the sofa it just makes it real that I’m in Mark’s house. That I’m staying in Mark’s house. I could picture myself spending a lot of time here, despite being in the land of Hollister.

Two steps, his hand falls gently on my hip while the other tilts my chin using his thumb and forefinger until I’m looking in his eyes. I guess he’s decided against denying me more kisses. I guess this when he leans his face close to mine. Then we’re touching mouth to mouth, harder than before but not more urgent. No, he kisses me as if we have all the time in the world. That there isn’t a town full of people wanting to run me out or that in a couple of days they’ll get just that. And right now, wearing his lips, it’s hard to imagine how fast that day will get here.

“I’m gonna be good,” he tells me with his lips still pressed against mine. “Don’t wanna confuse you.”

“Think I’m okay with confusion.” I offer back through my dizzy, fallen under his spell, lust pants when his mouth slides from my lips slowly up my jaw.

Apparently I’ve given the wrong response here as he stops the kissing all together to hold me away from him.

“Not now. Not with this,” he says firmly.

I wish my body would listen. Undaunted by rejection, his voice, his touch, the memory of that kiss shoots chills over my now much fevered skin.

I know he feels it. I know he feels it when his eyes drop from my face to my arms. Neither his voice nor his look dampen my libido. They just up my embarrassment.

“You don’t want me,” I say really to myself. I mean, I just threw myself at this man. “I’m so sorry.”

Though I can’t look at him. I just can’t, and stoop to pick up my bag, ready to change into my pajamas and sleep the rest of this humiliating night away.

Luck’s never on my side. But luck’s really not on my side as I try to pull away to make my grand escape, he grips my shirt with both hands keeping me rooted to the spot.

“Look at me.” Not a soft request, he’s outright ordered me.

But I can’t. I’m humiliated. The man is practically a stranger. A stranger. Yet I threw myself at him again, like some attention-starved hussy.

“Elise. Please look at me.”

What could I do? He said please. So I look. And wait. He keeps me waiting for a beat contemplating something. With his eyes so intense on me I’m kind of freaking out on the inside.

“I want you.” He finally lets me off the hook. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But I can’t let myself have you ‘til you know everything. And it ain’t time for you know everything. Couple more days.”

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