Straddling the Line. Sarah M. Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ arms uncrossed and then folded again, with her inside them. Her weight was warm and comfortable against his chest. She fit well there.

      Something strange happened. The solitary quiet he usually felt when he thought about Mom seemed less solitary. It almost seemed like Josey White Plume understood how alone he felt surrounded by his brothers, how hard it was to always have to be the responsible one, how exhausting the daily battle with his father was, how damn tired he was of not being good enough. She understood it all and was happy to take some of the burden off his shoulders.

      She broke the kiss and rested her forehead against him. Oddly, that was almost as good as the kiss. Forget the last time he’d gotten laid. When was the last time he’d held a woman—without feeling like she wanted something from him?

      Josey’s chest rose and fell against his, strong and steady. Her arms were around his neck, holding their bodies together. For some stupid reason that should have everything to do with his groin but didn’t, Ben would have been happy to stand here and hold her all night long.

      He didn’t get the chance. Right then, someone began to pound on the door.

      “Benny! Zip it up, kick the chick out and let’s rock!”

      Josey jolted, and Ben was forced to let her go. She straightened her top, shook her hair out and licked her lips. Could she still taste him, like he could taste her?

      “I came for the music,” she said, her voice reaching his ears over the pounding on the door. “No strings attached.”

      “No strings attached,” he agreed. So why did it feel like she’d just bound part of her to part of him?

      The band continued banging on the door like it was a secondhand drum set. He didn’t need his spine rearranged, so he got out of the way.

      Toadie, Stick and Rex fell into the room. Rex was giggling—a sure sign that he was happily on his way to roaring drunk. When they caught sight of Josey, the merry band of idiots came to a screeching halt. Toadie was the first to make his move. “Holding out on us, Benny? Or were you planning on sharing?”

      Ben’s thoughts went in two directions. One part of him wondered how many shots they had done and if they would be able to get through the next set before Rex passed out on the floor.

      The other part of him got real pissed, real fast. He wasn’t about to let these jerk-offs call her character into question—never mind that he’d just done the very same thing. Whether she was conniving or innocent, Josey White Plume was no floozy, happy to let any slimeball do shots off her boobs. He’d be damned if he let these morons drool all over her. She deserved better than that.

      Rex punched Toadie in the arm and stepped up. “Ma’am, ignore the cretin,” he said, doffing an imaginary hat and mispronouncing cretin. “And, if I may be so bold, may I suggest joining me after the show’s over? You are clearly way, way out of Benny’s league. Stick with me, and I’ll show you what a real man can do.”

      The next thing Ben knew, he was shoving Rex, and Rex was shoving back. Stick tried to grab Ben, and Toadie made a halfhearted effort to hold Rex, but Ben didn’t care. Rex wanted a fight? Fine. Ben would enjoy beating the living hell out of him.

      He didn’t have to. Instead of ducking for cover, Josey stepped between him and Rex. She looked the singer up and down, shaking her head with distaste. She turned back to him and smiled—whoa. How could a woman look so fiery and so innocent at the same time?

      “Thanks for the offer, but I prefer drummers.”

      So hot, he thought as she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his. The guys began catcalling behind them, but Ben didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to remember this moment, this feeling of no strings attached.

      She started to pull away, but he grabbed her around the waist. “I’ll find you after the show.”

      “Are you guys going on or what?” The bar’s manager stuck his peevish head through the door. “It’s getting ugly out here.”

      With the door open, Ben could hear the riot about to break out in the bar. Josey slipped from his arms and finally he got to appreciate the sight of Josey White Plume walking away.

      Rex looked like he was going to pop an O-ring laughing. “Not a word,” Ben said, cracking the knuckles on each hand with his thumb—a trick he’d learned from Dad, one that was pretty effective when a guy was trying to look menacing. “Not one stinking word.”

      Toadie made the motion to lock his mouth and throw away the key, but Rex still looked like he wanted to go a round or two.

      “Get on the damn stage!” the manager shouted over the shattering sound of glass.

      Right. That’s what they were here for—the music. The only thing that had never let Ben down and never demanded something he couldn’t give.

      Through the rest of the next set, he kept searching the crowd for Josey. The feeling of her lips against his stayed with him, song after song. He caught sight of her a few times—the sequins on her shirt gave her a glow that stood out in the smoky bar—but then the crowd would shift and he’d lose her again.

      Rex split as soon as the gig was up; Toadie took his amp and bailed, too. Normally, Ben was in charge of getting their equipment out of the bar in one piece. Not tonight. He shot Stick a look and headed out to find Josey. No-strings-attached sex could be amazing sex, and maybe if he had some amazing sex, he’d be able to get her out of his head.

      She wasn’t in the bar; no sign of her in the parking lot. He even had a waitress check the bathroom—nothing.

      Gone.

      Where the hell did she go?

      Josey rested her head on the steering wheel, waiting for her mind to clear. The intersection was empty at this ungodly hour of the morning, so she was able to think without being honked at. Thankfully, Jenny had cut out early—something about midnight being past her bedtime—so Josey could think without being judged.

      Which way should she go?

      If she went right, she’d be within the city limits of Rapid City inside of ten minutes. Another fifteen until she got to the gentrifying, hip downtown neighborhood where her apartment was above an upscale children’s boutique. It was a nice place—a small studio, but one where the heat and plumbing always worked and she could watch TV while surfing the internet. All the conveniences of modern life—conveniences she’d become accustomed to while going to school out East and living as a mostly white woman—were at her fingertips when she was at her apartment.

      If she turned right, she’d sleep late, grab a cappuccino and a croissant from the Apollo Coffee Co. down the street and do some work. She’d send a few follow-up emails to sponsors, do a little research into other possible donors.

      If she turned right, things would be quiet. Calm.

      Lonely.

      If she went left, though, she’d get onto Highway 90. In five minutes, Rapid City would be nothing but a glow in her rearview mirror. In twenty minutes, she’d hit the edge of the rez, and in forty-five minutes, she’d be at her mom’s double-wide trailer. She’d try to be quiet when she got in, but Mom would wake up anyway. She’d say, “Oh, Josey, I’m glad you’re home,” the same thing she said СКАЧАТЬ