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Monday, August 29, 2005

Can you imagine these two together?

As I mentioned in my earlier post, my work-in-progress involves an affair between a 40-something black woman and the 20-something ex-friend of her son, recently killed in a car accident. The relationship is rife enough with obstacles, but it doesn't help that her son's ghost is hanging around and is violently opposed to his mother taking up with his former friend and begins to haunt both of them.

Here's a scene from the novel:

Sean waited outside the large brownstone, his motorcycle parked at the curb. He discarded his spent cigarette, lit another. He’d been waiting nearly forty minutes and was beginning to wonder whether he’d missed her. After all, she hadn’t known he was coming. Hell, he hadn’t known he was coming until the second it occurred to him. Luckily, he remembered the address from that one time he and Cal had driven over to drop something off for Cal’s grandmother. He’d waited at the curb then just as he was doing now. Finally, the door opened and Lacey stepped out. Her mother stood inside talking, her words muted with distance. Lacey gave her a peck on the cheek, then turned to walk down the stairs, glancing either way for a cab. The street was a major thoroughfare and cabs often passed by, but there wasn’t one in sight. After a moment, Lacey looked in his direction and saw him waiting. For her. Sean dropped the cigarette, crushed it to the ground.

As she walked toward him, he wasn’t sure whether she was glad he was there. Her expression was more puzzled than anything, her eyes a question mark. He found he couldn’t pull himself from those eyes. He remembered just before the old lady had started screeching about Calvin that he’d caught Lacey staring at him. And it hadn’t been an innocent look. He knew when he was being checked out, and he’d taken the opportunity to let his eyes roam as well. He’d hoped that she picked up his subtle signal. Had begun hoping from that moment that there was something mutual going on between them. But then Cal’s grandmother jerked him back to reality, scaring the bejesus out of him with her insistence that Calvin was standing right there in the room. He began feeling paranoid, thinking of the touch he was sure until that moment he had imagined.

He wasn’t good around death. Never had been.

“Sean, what’re you doing here?” Before he could answer, “I know you’re not expecting me to ride on this.” She eyed the motorcycle warily, and he could tell she was going to reject his offer.

“It’s safe enough. Gets you where you want to go. Besides, I’ll let you wear the helmut,” he grinned. “Or do you really want to wait God knows how long for a cab? Just say the word and I’ll go and meet you back at the house.”

She hesitated, looked up the street probably trying to will a cab to come. Sean waited, hoping, then held back a smile as she finally reached out a hand for the helmut. His smile broke through as she pushed the helmut over her hair. He imagined her with ‘helmet hair’ and thought she would still look good.

She slipped into the seat behind him, her body molding into the contour of his back. The intimacy sent a tremor through him, caused him to stiffen uncomfortably against the crotch of his jeans. He cursed beneath his breath. He was definitely going to have to control his reactions for the next twenty-four hours or he’d never make it.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed. And skipped a breath as her arms tightened around his stomach, as her thighs pressed into his own. Her breath fanned against the side of his neck, pricking his nerves. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he felt her hand stroke his stomach. The thought had him almost at a full salute.

He revved the motor and they took off. Cold air whipped against them as he accelerated, the blast nearly stealing his breath. As he drove, his mind barely registered passing cars, signs and stoplights. At one red light, he had to jam hard on his brake to keep from going out into the intersection. He had never been this off in his driving. But he found it hard to concentrate on anything except the soft body melded to him, and the arms around him.

Twenty minutes later they were in front of her house again. She didn’t move right away, which was fine with him. He wasn’t in a hurry to be away from her. Even out here in the cold, he felt the heat from her body fusing with his own. One of her hands was still splayed on his stomach. And it wasn’t his imagination this time; there was a slight movement, a barely perceptible caress that had him painfully encased, dying to unzip, dying to bury deep inside her. He moved his hand over hers, intertwined their fingers. Heard, or rather felt, a sudden intake of breath on his neck.

“I have to go…and rake up out back.”

Then suddenly she was off the bike and practically running for the front door. She still had the helmut on.

He sat on the bike, engine off, trying to figure out what to do. Should he follow her and apologize? Not that he could follow her just now, at this moment. He was going to have to sit a few minutes before he could get up. He was that far gone. And the last thing he needed was for her to see how erect she’d made him.

She’d probably kick him out now. Because there was no way to explain away the fact that he had made a move on her. On his friend’s mother.

If Cal were still alive, he’d no doubt kill him. As he promised to do several years ago. After… Sean squelched the memory. It was too painful still. He couldn’t afford to think on the past.

Instead, he closed his eyes and willed his hard-on to disappear.


Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 8/29/2005 04:43:00 PM Permanent Link     | | Home


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