One Night Hand Stand

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Case

I have never met a woman like her.

And I never will again.

The sound of her giggles is like a warm fire on a cold, snowy day. An ice-filled lemonade after a scorching time in the garden. She is pure light and deep intrigue and every breath I take in her orbit makes me need more. She has become a form of oxygen, one I cannot live without, my lungs unable to function if I’m not fed by her very presence.

Which makes this whole mess even worse.

Emotional whiplash is one hell of an insult, the pain the least of the it all. Where do Sarah and I stand? We’ve screamed at each other. Lashed out. Flung accusations and hit nerves. I was cruel and she was brutal and then we were both thrown under a bus by a guy with the moral compass of a cockroach.

Two of them, actually.

And then we kissed.

And spilled poison all over ourselves.

One hell of a baptism. Maybe I do need that gospel CD after all.

Who am I right now? These thoughts race through me, my chest bouncing with our shared mirth, my skin tingling – is that a chemical burn, or love? Hard to tell the difference.

“Smurfette,” she shrieks, slapping her hand on the ground, rubbing her eye with a towel. She sniffs, hard, then frowns. “Is your skin burning?”

“I thought it was arousal.”

She cracks up again and I tumble down to her, arms wrapped around my gut, Sarah rolling away from me in fits and shakes.

“Can’t. Breathe,” she gasps, but as the reality of whatever that blue stuff is truly seeps in, we both stop and look at each other.

I stand and walk to a hairwashing station, turning on one of the sprayers. “Sarah.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“We have to.” I give the lever a quick squeeze, a foot of water spraying into the sink wash bin.

“Let’s do it doggie style.”

“Excuse me?”

“Doggie – oh geez.” Walking away from me, one hand in the air waving me to her – and you bet I follow quickly – she opens a door and shows me a low bathtub, except it’s not quite a tub. Taking up a quarter of the floor space in this small room, it’s a tiled area with a knee-high barrier, a spray attachment coming out of the wall, along with a strange loop.

“DOGGIE STYLE!” she wheezes, as if I’m supposed to understand what on earth she means.

“I damn well know what doggie style is.”

“I mean we wash like dogs!”

“Like… dogs ?”

“This isn’t just a hair salon. Mom has a dog groomer who works here, too.”

“You want to have sex doggie style in the dog grooming bath area?” For someone who, not fifteen minutes ago, was screaming hateful things at me, this is a bit much.

Not that I’m not down for it, but…

“NO! Case, no.” She calms down, takes a deep cleansing breath, and makes eye contact.

Then turns into a walking bundle of giggles again.

“This,” she finally says, reaching for the spray attachment, giving me a taste of my own medicine by hitting me square in the neck with a blast of cold water.

“Hold on. Stop right there,” I boom, palms out, ready to wrestle her for that hose. “You’re saying you don’t want sex, that we should use this dog grooming tub thing to wash off, and that your mother owns an establishment that is half hair salon, half dog grooming center?”

“No, yes, and yes.”

It takes a moment to match those three answers to the questions I just asked.

“How wet do you want to get?” I ask her, the heat palpable between us. This shouldn’t be happening. I have a tidal wave of phone calls about to break on shore, and she’s run away to this tiny little mountain town to get away from me, her boss’s betrayal destroying her well-laid plans.

We’re enemies.

Worse than enemies. We’re people who found each other at the wrong time. Right person. Great chemistry. Phenomenal sex. Outstanding conversation. Sarah gets me on a level no one else really does, even when we’re frustrated and angry, on opposing sides of an impossible Catch-22.

One that just blew up in our faces.

A spray of water fills my nose.

“You’re about to regret that.”

“Regret getting your face wet?”

“I can think of a far better way to accomplish that goal.”

Momentarily confused, she freezes for a second, just enough time for me to grab the spray hose and shower her tits with divine revenge.

Again – I can think of better ways to make her wet there, but this will have to do for now.

Plus, I’d rather come in her than on her.

“Case!” she squeals as I hold the jet and run the spray down her torso, aiming it between her legs. Tiny gasps turn into big breaths and soon, she’s curled up, laughing and shrieking as I drop the hose and bend down to her level, flat on the tile on my side, giving her a kiss.

Every joint in my body aches, and the skin along my shoulder starts burning.

“Get out of those clothes,” I say as I pull back, beginning to unbutton my shirt. “We really do need to get this off our skin. Where’s the shampoo?”

“I don’t think we have any here,” she deadpans, but fortunately she also listens, pulling her wet shirt over her head, the blue liquid in streaks along her creamy chest. As she unbuttons her jeans and strips down to underwear, I’m pulled in two directions: find shampoo, or fuck her silly on the floor.

Sadly, my responsible side wins.

“We can just use dog shampoo,” she says as I’m halfway back to the salon section. I spot a row of bottles next to a sink, black plastic with gold coloring. I grab the one marked shampoo and return to find Sarah wearing only panties, head tipped to the ceiling, spraying her hair.

It’s been one hell of a day.

Carving out time to make up with her – assuming that’s what we’re doing here? – means holding the wolves at bay. At some point, it’s possible law enforcement will hunt me down, and while being here in a town that doesn’t even have a traffic light means it’ll be harder to find me, make no mistake.

Unlike Prakash, who can use international borders to his advantage, I’m screwed.

Why not get in a little voluntary screwing before the involuntary part begins?

“Case?” Sarah’s eyes are closed. “Can you give me a pump or two?”

I blink. “That’s quite the invitation.”

“I meant shampoo.”

“Oh.”

“You sound so disappointed.” She laughs a bit, which is what every guy wants to hear in a moment like this. But I do as asked, pumping two squirts of shampoo into my hand. Then I walk behind her, entering the little tiled area, and rub the goo between my palms, lathering her hair up.

“Oh, God,” she groans. “Your fingers are magic.” I dig in a bit, really working the soap in her long hair. Blue runoff turns soapy, the color lightening as we really get it off.

At least something’s getting off.

Once my hands are free of the soap, I strip to my underwear as well, and search the wall for another sprayer. Whoever designed this little dog washing station was smart.

“What about you?” she asks, turning around as she opens her eyes, surprise all over her wet face. Then she’s looking me over, her breath shaky, her hand dropping the sprayer.

She walks into my arms and kisses me, pushing me back against the wall, her hands on my shoulders, down my arms, her kiss hard and hot, the sound of her breath like brushfire.

“I barely know you,” she whispers between kisses, my hands on her ass, the thin cloth of her panties like wet paper. “But I feel like you’re deep inside me.. Not just this,” she says, moving her thigh meaningfully against my erection. She taps her head. “This. You’re in deep here.” Then she touches her heart. “And here. How can you get inside me like this so fast, Case? That’s why it hurt so much. Because you’re the guy. That guy. The one. I can tell. And then suddenly, you weren’t. And it felt like someone ripped out all the happiness in me, by the roots, all at once.”

“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” I say before kissing her, hands caressing her wet back, moving up to cup her face. “Not sorry for finding my way inside you. You’ve done the same to me. It’s been so fast, so good, so easy. Too easy. And then life decided to make it impossible.”

“And now it’s not anymore, right?” She lets out a sigh, eyelashes wet, eyes gleaming. “Impossible, I mean.”

“No. It’s not. If we both want this, it can be possible. It can be whatever we make it.”

“That’s what I want, Case. I want possible. I want probable. I want certain .”

“I’m certainly here for you. With you.”

She slides my underwear down and I kick them off, her hands moving next to her own, which are gone in seconds. Then slowly, as we kiss, Sarah reaches for the sprayer and holds it over both of us, hosing us down. The water’s hot and her skin is so slick against mine, our bodies free and open against each other. When she stops, she moves us over to the half wall, leans against it, and I bend down to kiss her. She hooks one leg around my hip and guides me in.

“Oh, Sarah,” I groan, unable to hold back, the cyclones of emotion and adrenaline chasing each other within my skin. She’s hot and wet and her hips curl under, breasts pert and glistening in the light.

“Come here,” she whispers, pulling me out of her, and as I’m puzzled, I realize she’s changing positions, her hands now on the half wall, ass toward me.

Doggie style in the dog grooming station?

Why not? It fits with this fucked-up day.

The second I’m in her I forget everything, her luscious ass on display, begging for my hands. I reach under her and find her clit, Sarah’s inner clench so tight I know I’m doing something right. She bows her head and makes low, throaty sounds of pleasure, so heavy and hard I can feel the vibrations as I stroke, her ass pushing back to meet me.

She comes first, a hard tremor turning into a full-body crest that tips me over, too. All my anger, frustration, fear, arousal, fury, adoration, and love pours into her, a fevered climax that leaves me collapsed across her back as we sound like we’ve just finished a marathon in the rain.

“Who am I?” she whispers, resting her forehead against the half wall’s edge.

“Did I bang your name out of your head? So sorry.”

“Close.” She takes a few fast breaths. “I just – this day – and you.”

I kiss the back of her neck, moving some of her wet hair aside. It looks like mermaid’s locks. “This day is one for the record books. I have been up all night. Got in the car and just drove. All I could think of was you, Sarah. How we needed to figure this all out. There had to be a way.”

“Can you pull out of me so I can face you? If we’re going to talk about feelings, I’d rather not have you do it to my butthole.”

I reach down and smack her ass. “It’s such a lovely butthole.”

“Case!”

“Would you like your anal glands expressed? It’s free with every doggie bath.”

“CASE!”

I do as asked, and soon she’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall, and I’m next to her. We’re basically limp noodles acting like human bodies. My arms shake a bit, and her thighs do as well.

“You came all the way here, before we knew the story broke – ”

“Before that guy stole your story,” I correct her.

“Right. Fucking Stuart!” she says, her voice moving up to a bellow with his name. “Before that. And before we knew Prakash fled the country and tried to pin the laundering on you.”

My stomach twists. “Yes.”

“Even when we were in a double-bind, you chased me down to try to unwind it?”

“You’re worth it. I had to.”

She kisses my shoulder. Her stomach roars.

And our phones, out in the salon area, start ringing.

“We have to face that, don’t we?” She points in the general direction of the tones.

“We do.” I sigh. “We do.”

“I don’t want to. But we do. You really do,” she says, giving me a sympathetic look. “I got screwed out of a byline and a job, but you have much worse problems.”

“I know I’m innocent. I’m not worried. But yes – it’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice trails off and she rests her head against my shoulder. We breathe for a minute, and then I reluctantly stand, offering my hand. She takes it and stands as well, sad eyes combing over the mess we’ve made.

At least the grooming station and the salon can be made right with just a little elbow grease. Some messes are easier than others to clean up.

“What now?” I ask as we gather our soaked clothes, toweling off.

Sarah looks at me and laughs.

“Dinner at Mom’s house?”

“Does she have good internet? Because I have about fifty-seven calls and two hundred text messages to answer.”

“Overcooked salmon first, the outside world second.”

I kiss her, our smiles so genuine I’m ready to burst.

“Deal.”