My Bluegrass Baby

  I practically launched myself through the motel room door, closing it so fast that I barely registered Josh’s hurried “Good night!” I leaned my forehead against the door, thumping it against the map of emergency exits.

  I was making the right choice, the smart choice. Josh and I had agreed about this waiting thing. And I had no doubt that screaming his name in my orgasm voice would give him quite a bit of leverage in this strange battle of wills we had going. I didn’t know if we really liked each other or if it was just our weird creative natures combined with the thrill of competition creating these intense situations. We had heat and chemistry, but so did most nuclear reactors, and I tried to stay away from those whenever possible.

  But still, I was all keyed up, with no place to go. Okay, yes, dragging Josh into my room and stripping that uniform off him with my teeth might have proven awkward around the office next week, but being left wondering “What if?” seemed so much worse now. I was horny, frustrated, and wearing about four articles of underwear I wouldn’t be able to remove by myself. Maybe I should call Josh back here. I would need his sword to hack my way out of this corset.

  Flopping onto the scratchy polyblend motel comforter, I took off my white cap, rubbing at the pressure marks the pins had left in my scalp. I kicked off my pointed black shoes and had begun my wrestling match with the apron when I heard a knock at my door.

  I looked through the peephole to see Josh bouncing on his heels in the hallway. “What the—” I opened the door. Josh opened his mouth long enough to say, “I—” and suddenly that mouth was on mine, kissing, nibbling, biting, until I sagged against him. His lips were just as soft as they looked and he tasted like cider and smoke.

  “Waiting?” I asked, breathless. “Professional integrity?”

  “Screw it,” he growled, fumbling with my apron. I wrapped my fingers around the collar of his coat and dragged him inside. His fingers plucked at the knot at my waist, tossing the apron aside. I felt like I was suffocating under all these layers. He ripped open the back of the dress with a yank, sending buttons skittering across the motel room’s nubby green carpet. I pushed the heavy blue jacket from his shoulders, taking time to appreciate the way his linen shirt fit across his broad, built chest. This was so much better than any historical romance novel could ever be, because this was real, and for the moment, he was mine.

  Insistent fingers at the stays of my corset brought me back to the moment. The laces had gotten tangled and knotted over the course of the day and Josh was tugging at them like a frustrated kid with stubborn shoelaces. The more he pulled on the stays, the harder it was for me to breathe.

  “Go get the sword!” I wheezed. Josh, who had apparently left the sword in his room, patted his pockets and produced a Swiss Army knife. With mental apologies to Kelsey, I leaned back and let him slice through the stays. I gulped in deep, greedy breaths as my ribs expanded fully for the first time all day. The sense of release was incredible, the rush of blood back to its proper place creating a full, dizzying rush of sensation that only helped Josh’s cause.

  “Oh, thank goodness, I had no idea how I was going to get out of this thing on my own.”

  “Well, I’m glad to serve some purpose,” he snickered, nuzzling my neck.

  He sat on the bed, positioning my legs between his, and began unwrapping me like a present—first the corset, then the shift. I was a bit worried, considering the heat and hard work of the day, but Kelsey had taken the time to launder the underclothes with lavender water before she gave them to me. So the more he removed, the more the sweet floral scent wafted up from my skin. He paused when he found the frilly white bloomers underneath that counted as my underwear.

  “Those are way hotter than they should be,” he breathed, stroking the lace and ruffles at my rear reverently before pressing a kiss above the drawstring, just under my bellybutton.

  “The truth finally comes out,” I said, noting that look of panic he shot me. “You have an antique underwear fetish.”

  “When you’re wearing them, yes.” His hands gently skimmed up the back of my thighs and squeezed lightly before he slipped his finger in the opening of the pantaloons. He dragged his thumb over wet, warm flesh. I gasped and he pressed harder, working in small, tight circles until my knees went watery and I collapsed against him. He tumbled back on the bed, dragging me with him, all the while keeping his hand working. I hovered over him, barely brushing over the growing bulge in his pants as he pulled me into his lap.

  He reached up and shook my hair loose, grinning as it fluttered against his face. Meanwhile, I was struggling with the series of suspenders and fasteners on his pants. I could not figure out how to get him out of his pants! There was no zipper, no buttons, no instructions. Shouldn’t trousers like this come with instructions?

  “Get the pocket knife!” I grunted as he flipped us over and wriggled out of the blue wool prison. I let out a giggle as he gave the pants a final yank and shimmied out of them. We crawled up the bed, naked—and oh God, we were really going to do this. I couldn’t help feeling terrified, but on the verge of ecstatic, girly squeals.

  I combed my fingers through his hair, sliding my feet along the lines of his thighs. He sank into me, pressing his mouth to mine, surprising me by staring right into my eyes as he slid in to the hilt. I made an embarrassingly breathy little sound in my throat because—damn. Damn, it had been a long time since I’d done this. He sighed, tilting his forehead against mine as I adjusted. I hitched my leg over his hip, anchoring him to me as he moved. His hips shifted forward at just the right angle and I yelped a bit, throwing my head back.

  I kissed the little divot in his chin, biting gently at the curve of flesh. I groaned, nuzzling his neck. His hands clutched at my hips and I was sure I would have fingerprint bruises the next morning. But part of me was looking forward to it, to some evidence that this really happened. This wasn’t some crazy, home-brewed-cider-induced hallucination.

  He slid his hand under my back, fanning his fingers over my tailbone and holding me secure while he slid home again. I’m not sure what I’d expected of Josh, probably a bit more anger and thrown furniture, but we seemed to be savoring each other. As if we both knew this was probably going to be the only opportunity we had before the commissioner made his decision or one of us lost patience with the other.

  I could feel everything. The scratchy motel sheets against my skin. The bite of his fingernails against my hip. The tight, coiling pressure that had me so slick and hypersensitive inside. I was so close, but didn’t want to end this way, writhing on my back like some recently deflowered waif. So I rolled, crouching over him and rolling my hips until I saw his eyelids flutter. He clutched at my hips, grinding me against him until that last bit of distance from the edge became falling over and plummeting. I clutched at Josh’s shoulders, sure I was leaving deep claw marks in my wake. Through the pulsing waves of sensation, I felt him bend his head to my breast. He gently bit the skin over my heart, as if he could leave his mark, making it impossible to forget the moment I completely lost control.

  • • •

  I woke up around 2 a.m. to find him still there, still wrapped around me with his fingers curled around my hip. His face was buried in my hair and I could barely feel the warmth of his mouth against my neck. This was nice, sharing a bed with someone—knowing that at least one person knew and cared that you were tucked away safe for the night. How long had it been since I’d done something as simple and intimate as sharing sleeping space with someone?

  Years, I realized. I’d cuddled up with a drunken one-night-mistake in a narrow dorm-room bed and slept like a baby. Since then, I’d been careful to get up and get dressed before I or my date had the chance to nod off. That probably said much more about my taste in boyfriends than anything else.

  Still, this was nice. I doubted that it would last. For all of Josh’s insistence that we would attempt to dat
e after the fair, I just didn’t see how our feelings could stay the same when one of us had what we wanted and one didn’t. But for the moment, I would let myself enjoy this. I smiled to myself, turning to him and pressing my face against the warm skin of his shoulder, and went back to sleep.

  • • •

  Josh was gone the next morning, and for a second, I thought I had dreamt the whole thing. Until I swung my legs out of bed and felt the smooth, round buttons of my nurse’s uniform loose on the carpet. And, of course, there was the strange Jell-O sensation in my legs when I tried to stand. Ow.

  Note to self: have sex more than every few years. I leaned against the dresser and chewed my lip, considering the damage we’d done to my clothes, my skin.

  I felt like I’d fallen victim to an interoffice booty call. While I wanted to interpret this as Josh being sensible and not wanting to be seen doing the Walk of Shame from my room by our coworkers, I knew it wasn’t a good sign that he hadn’t woken me up before he left. I was 90 percent sure it didn’t mean, “I will love you forever. Would you like to meet my mom?” I guessed this meant he’d reconsidered the whole dating thing. Because I was pretty sure that when you attached some sort of emotion to sex, you actually stuck around the morning after.

  I tried to bite back my disappointment, though it stuck in my throat like a stone. I had no one to blame for hurt feelings but myself. I was a big girl. I’d made the decision to pull him into my room. I’d stripped him out of that uniform like it was my job. I’d taken the ride and come Monday morning, I would pay the awkward price.

  I wobbled a little on my unsteady legs as I made my way to the bathroom and couldn’t repress the slightly smug smile on my face.

  It was still a pretty good ride.

  In Which Murdering Kelsey Seems Like a Viable Option

  9

  Pulling on yoga pants and a hoodie after the corset experience and the hip bruises was absolute bliss. I managed to put myself together enough for the drive home in Bonnie’s van, adding a few accessories and a huge pair of Jackie O sunglasses. At least, I thought I looked presentable until I wheeled my little suitcase out to the van and Kelsey got a look at me.

  “Oh my God, you had sex,” she gasped, nearly dropping her cell phone, which would have seriously disrupted the text message she was typing.

  “What? How would you . . . ? What?” I spluttered.

  Kelsey’s jaw dropped as she yanked my scarf—a floral linen affair that had been stuffed in the corner of my overnight bag after a previous trip—away from my neck. “You have a hickey, you big hussy!”

  “Who are you texting at this time of the morning?” I asked, pulling the light linen floral print back into place. “And that’s not a hickey.”

  “Why else would you be wearing a scarf in fricking July? And don’t change the subject,” she snapped.

  I chewed on my lip, trying to think of a plausible explanation. I fell on a circular hairbrush. I’d been hit by a high-powered Ping-Pong ball. It was an experiment with a new makeup technique. Unfortunately, Kelsey was not, in fact, an idiot and wouldn’t believe any of it. I sighed. “I’m blaming the cider.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Because apple juice makes you want to do the dirty?”

  “One-hundred-proof apple juice does.”

  Kelsey burst out laughing, the mischievous glint in her eyes making me distinctly nervous. “Sadie, that wasn’t hard cider we were drinking last night. The encampments are booze free to keep them family friendly, remember?”

  And suddenly, I did remember. So why had I felt so silly and off-kilter the night before? Why had I been so quick to jump on the idea of being “tipsy” and not in control of my impulses? “Damn it.”

  “So did you meet someone after we came back to the motel? Who was it? That cute fiddle player from the band? The glassblower? Was he able to put those strong pouty lips to good use? . . . Oh, no!” Kelsey cried. “We agreed that you would not have sex with Josh unless it was my day in the pool!”

  “How did you guess— When did we agree to that?”

  “It was an unspoken agreement,” she insisted, shaking my arms, which wasn’t helping the whole sex-soreness issue. “And I guessed because of that frozen ‘trying to find a way to tell Kelsey upsetting news’ face you make when you’re about to disappoint me. Seriously, Sadie, I don’t think you’re ready for anything Vaughn is going to dish out. He’s a classic nail-and-bailer. And you’re sort of a prude. You’re going to get all emotionally involved and he’ll be throwing his clothes back on and texting his next ‘appointment.’ And then the rest of us at the office will be treated to the awkwardness that is post-breakup Sadie.”

  “You’ve never dealt with post-breakup Sadie.”

  “And that’s what scares me. Developing squishy feelings for the person who could end up being your boss is not a good idea. You know this. Hell, you led our office sexual harassment training on this. And let’s not even discuss the fact that he may be just trying to distract you from working on your campaign so he can swipe the job out from under you.”

  “So the only way I could get a guy to date me is if he were trying to literally screw me out of a job?”

  “No, you know I don’t feel that way. I just . . . I worry about you, Sadie. You glide along, acting like everything is okay, when we both know you take this stuff so seriously that it makes you physically ill.”

  “What happened to all of your sympathy for Josh?”

  “I wasn’t worried about Josh. I was worried about you and your bad decisions.”

  “I’m fine. I’m a big girl. I’m not going to let this get out of control. And if I do, you will be the first person I will accept an ‘I told you so’ from.”

  “You know I don’t do that,” she said, patting my shoulder. “Not without the proper backup music. But I will mock you in the moment. Hell, I plan on mocking you on the way home.”

  I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. I heard approaching footsteps and realized that Charlie, Ray, Josh, and Bonnie were joining us in the caravan of discomfort.

  Kelsey patted my shoulder. “You know, I was kind of bummed that I forgot my cell phone charger and have no entertainment. But I am really looking forward to the long van ride home, aren’t you?”

  “You are not my favorite person right now.”

  I looked up to see Ray watching me, carefully, a wrinkle of worry forming between his brows. Josh seemed to be making a concerted effort not to look at me, which was more than a little upsetting. So I focused on tucking my luggage away and not blurting out anything embarrassing.

  I blushed furiously as I tried to step up into the van and faltered, those stupid strained muscles preventing me from climbing into the back row of seats. I hissed and Josh’s head whipped toward me. Charlie solicitously offered his hand and helped me up. “Walking around in period shoes has us all sore,” he assured me.

  Kelsey snickered, and I smacked the back of her head as Charlie boosted me into the van. She glared back at me but I went all innocent doe eyes on her. “Muscle spasm.”

  Josh climbed into the front row of seats and cast a glance over his shoulder toward me. I slid my sunglasses over my eyes and hid. I didn’t know how to respond, but it wouldn’t be like a high school girl upset that her boyfriend didn’t sit next to her in study hall. I would hold my head high. I would behave like an adult, an independent, progressive woman who did not assume that an evening of naked gymnastics equaled guaranteed lifelong commitment. I would stop blushing because it seemed to make Kelsey giggle.

  Kelsey was getting on my last damn nerve.

  “If anybody wants some more of that apple cider, I bought some for the trip home,” Ray offered.

  I groaned and covered my face with my scarf.

  “Best. Trip. Ever.” Kelsey sighed.

  • • •

/>   We seemed to have decided not to talk about it. Or at least, Josh had decided not to talk about it and I didn’t want to be the one to start that conversation. If I refused to bring it up, then he would assume I was just as emotionally well adjusted (read: shut off) as he was, so he didn’t have to worry about me breaking into his office to steal his Facebook password.

  For a week, we both pretended to be just fine. We remained calm and cordial, but we only talked about work-related matters. Our previous playful banter was all but forgotten. There were a couple of days when I wondered whether the sex had actually happened, which was pretty damn irritating. I did not enjoy sexual gaslighting.

  And this is why people should not sleep with coworkers. But I would never admit that to Kelsey, because her “I told you so” sometimes involves singing and complicated choreography.

  My feelings about Josh were a big murky mess. I tried to figure out what I’d done wrong, and then I realized I hadn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong. You know, other than sleeping with a coworker, which was frowned upon. But I hadn’t been clingy. I hadn’t started naming our unborn children the moment he took off his pants. I’d behaved like an adult. If Josh was upset about something, he could talk about it with me like a big boy. If not, well, that was on him.

  To my disappointment, emotional maturity wasn’t any more fun than being a hypersensitive drama queen. My feelings were still hurt. Work was still awkward. But I held my head high and behaved professionally, with the exception of smacking Kelsey every time she mentioned the words “apples” or “cider.”