The Walls of Jericho

Elation

“I know it’s a lot.” He scoots a little closer to me and rests one hand on my waist.

Even through my clothes I can feel how warm he is. And the sparks are flying between us again.

“Are you okay?”

I roll to my back. “Yeah. I’m a big tough girl, remember? I walk home by myself after dark.”

He huffs. “Jesus. You’re really rough on my ego,” he says, but he’s smiling.

“Come on, you big baby.” I take my tablet from him and put it on my bedside table. “Best you get home so you can get your beauty rest.”  

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Shit. He got me with that one. I exhale in resignation and blush. Again. “Will you stop that?”

“Only if you give me your number. Well,” he qualifies quickly, “I’ll dial it back a notch.”

“Give me your phone.”

When Channing hands it over, I go right through the security on it. I scroll through his contacts, looking for girl’s names and numbers.

But he’s told me the truth. Every female name in there is associated with an organization. I can’t stifle this little self-satisfied grunt. I create a new contact and add my number before closing the app and flipping the phone back at him.

“I never answer it anyway.” I couldn’t resist one last dig.

Beside me, Channing jerks upright and yanks my sweatshirt up, exposing belly. I squeal as the cold air hits me, then burst into hysterical laughter as he plunges his face into it and blows a huge raspberry.

I ball up around his head, but from this angle, he’s got me. There’s no way to fight him off. Assuming I wanted to. He lays with his head on me until I settle again. The sparks go haywire when he nuzzles my belly. I suck in my breath as he plants and open-mouthed kiss there.

Restoring my shirt, Channing rises and stands over me. He just stares for a minute.

Since I have no idea what to do, I stare back.

He puts his hands on either side of my hips, close but not touching me, then crawls up my body. His face is directly over mine, his deep blue eyes boring into me. Then Channing gives me a lazy smile. He snatches his phone and pushes himself upright.

“G’Night, Jericho.” He makes for the stairs and starts down them. “I’ll check on you at Esteban’s tomorrow.”

**

I lay in my bed for a long time after Channing leaves. I curse myself for the alpha and omega of bad ideas letting that guy in the house was in the first place. Then I went and wrapped it up in pretty paper by letting him stay on my bed in my bedroom. And tied it up with a nice bow afterwards by giving him my phone number.

In between moments of mentally kicking myself as the absolute most stupid person to ever walk the planet, my recalcitrant body conjures images of his six-pack abs when his t-shirt rode up. And that mouthwatering V nestled invitingly over the low rise of his fine fitting jeans. And how every single inch of him felt deliciously hot and hard when he pulled me down on top of him.

As if that’s not getting most of the mental airtime already,  then there’s the lingering twisting knot he left low in my belly when he planted that warm wet kiss. My whole body lurches every time I think of it. It also casually reminds me that even though I’ve comp’ed more than one huge bowl of chocolate sauce-drenched ice cream for some sobbing broken-hearted girl crying into it over Ferdi, I’ve never actually done that for Channing.

Or Damien.

But I’m not certain he counts, since I’m pretty sure the only girls of interest to him would have to be able to out computer-geek him. That’s never going to happen.

So when I get down to brass tacks with myself, ultimately what I come up with is that Channing may very well be the baddest gang leader in all of Crossroads. But he certainly didn’t seem like it.

And his not-the-playboy-girls-think-I-am story checks out with some pretty damn gentlemanly behavior with me tonight.

Plus, he is so delectably delightfully dreamy that my ovaries are offering themselves up to him like a s*x god. I’m exhausted not from the long day I’ve had, but from spending the last few hours with him in a hyper-stimulated state of arousal.

My God, I’m a basket case.

Padding down the stairs, I flick off the television in the sleeping Mr. Adriani’s room. In the kitchen, I grab my shoes and socks, then lock the front door. Turning out the downstairs lights, I pause on my way up the first flight of stairs hearing the distant squeal of automobile tires and sharp rapport of gunfire. I always pray that no one gets hurt, but tonight, I’m seeing a specific face as I do.

**

I’m walking on air all morning through my shift. Neither Mr. Chancy and Jimmy’s ribbing nor Esteban’s sour attitude can curb it. The morning rush keeps me hopping. A lot of working folks on the way to district jobs in the morning drop by for the cheap lousy coffee, greasy pre-made breakfast burritos and the remarkably delicious cherry and cream cheese danish that the diner sells out of nearly every morning.

It’s after ten when business slows down before the lunch crowd starts trickling in around eleven-thirty. Starting the automatic dishwasher to take care of this morning’s dishes, I tidy up the dining room. My imagination dances with thoughts of a lazy smile and a pair of deep blue eyes.

Esteban’s diner faces south, and when the sun gets high enough to hit the glass windows mid-morning, this place heats up hotter than the barrel on a squeeze machine gun. Even though it’s close to freezing outside, between the greenhouse effect of the sun pouring in and the heat of the diner equipment in the kitchen, I’m sweating something fierce by the time I finish sweeping.

“Esteban!” I shout into the back, hoping he can hear me over the dishwasher. Suddenly I wonder if I shouldn’t go back and see if he hasn’t fainted from heat exhaustion back there.

Nah.

“Esteban! Open the back door so we can get some air through here!”

I prop the diner’s front door open with a heavy rock and a few seconds later feel a nice cool draft start up. Apparently, the old grouch did hear me.

Folding up the scattered sections of the newspaper into a pile at the end of the bar nearest the door, I rub my hands together and do a little soft-shoe. “Must be my lucky day,” I mutter to myself, fixing an icy glass of Coke and warming one of the three leftover cherry-cheese danish on a plate. I comp the sale on the register, then come around the bar and perch myself on the stool.

Skimming the headlines, I see that five teenagers were killed in the crossfire during a shoot-out between rival gang members last night. My heart breaks recognizing the names of a couple of the kids. I sigh heavily and take a sip of my Coke through the straw. “God. I have got to get out of here.”

I open the paper to the business section, sitting a little sideways so I can prop the paper against the counter and nibble off my danish. I get a little excited seeing a headline about another KDS database software deployment for a huge global company whose name I recognize. Setting my danish down, I suck the sticky cherry filling off my thumb as I read the article. I’m hoping it says how many new jobs they plan to add.

Leaning forward on my elbow, I pull another sip through my straw. I’m so engrossed in the newspaper, I almost stick my index finger still covered in cherry goo in my hair. “Pilot deployment in the headquarters office in Chicago,” I mutter to myself. “Ooh, approximately thirty-thousand users expanding to four-hundred thousand worldwide over the course of the two-year stage-scheduled implementation.”

Another nibble off the danish gooeys up my thumb some more. I suck the sweet filling off my fingers and read on.

I’m mostly skimming the words now, still looking for how many jobs it’ll add. The KDS headquarters are located here in the north part of Crossroads.

The article spans onto the next page and my eyes shift there. As I take another distracted nibble off the danish and wash it down with some Coke, I find what I’m looking for.

I squeal to myself, excited. "Here it is! Estimated thirty-five hundred new jobs for database architects—he-he! that’s going to be me!” I wiggle excitedly on my barstool and keep reading. “Technical support and miscellaneous administrative staf—.”

My eyes slam shut and I heave in a shuddering breath as the slumbering knot in my lower belly awakens with a wrenching twist. The sparky things ignite a roaring inferno that scorches my insides.

A mind-bending jolt of electric pleasure screams along my nerves and into my brain. The kick is so hard I feel light-headed and can’t breathe.

Channing’s warm mouth has closed over my index finger, sucking gently at the danish filling. His hot wet tongue curls around my fingertip. It’s so blatantly s****l the way he’s stroking that even though I’ve never had one, I’m pretty certain this is what an orgasm feels like.

I shiver, an involuntary sigh ripped from my lips. Inside my shoes, my toes curl. Utterly shaken to my foundations, I open my eyes as he releases me. Channing’s smiling wickedly, his deep blue eyes aglow with an electric intensity like I’ve never seen.

“That’s how it hit me too,” he whispers. He ducks his head and snakes a big slurp of my Coke from the straw. “Got another one of those, babydoll?”

Still trying to suck in air, I slide the half-eaten danish in front of him. I’m not even sure if I can form coherent words.

He swings one long leg over the stool next to me and plops onto it. “Nah. I’ll get something else if there isn’t another one.” Channing slides the plate back towards me. “You need to eat that. You need the calories.”

Closing the paper, I twist on the stool to face him. I blush furiously to feel a slick wetness seeping between my thighs and take a calming breath. I reach for a napkin to wipe the goo off my thumb so I can get him a plate.

“Don’t do that!” Lightning fast, he wraps warm fingers around my wrist. “Watch,” he whispers, trapping me in his eyes and closing his mouth over my thumb.

“Oh s**t! Channing!” I gasp as the agonizing pleasure washes over me again. Every hair on my body stands on end. I’m so pins-and-needly raw with it that it’s all I can do not to spring off the barstool.

Channing presses a kiss to the tender space where my thumb hinges to my palm. “I kind of wanted to watch you do that but watching what it does to you is pretty rewarding too.”

“We had a deal. I give you my phone number, you dialed it down,” I sputter. I’m still trying to catch my breath. I’m also embarrassed as hell about how easily he kicks my body into overdrive.

His smile gets wider, a perfect row of straight white teeth gleaming at me. “No, the deal was: you give me your phone number, I dialed down the flirting. And I did. But there’s absolutely no way in hell you’re convincing me to dial any of that—,” his eyes flick to the tip of my finger and think I can actually hear my uterus sigh, “—down.” His voice drops low and soft. “There’s only one way that’s going,” he assures me.

Another sizzle of electricity spikes up my backbone and into my brain.

Pretty much boneless, I ooze off the barstool. My legs wobble like a newborn giraffe’s as I walk behind the counter to get him a danish. “You want something to drink too?”

“Sure. I’ll have a Coke.”

I microwave the danish. Then set it with a set of utensils in front of him. As I get his Coke, he laughs at me.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

Sliding the napkin-wrapped bundle of flatware back to me, he strips the paper off a straw. He drops it into his glass. “I told you last night I’d come by to check on you.”

“Check on me. Not—that.”

He makes a big production of the sweet innocent farmboy routine. He even bats his eyelashes. Taking a long sip from his drink, he asks, “What?”

“That!”

“Missy, you watch that smart mouth of yours with my customers or so help me—.”

Great. Esteban’s awake again.

“Hey, Esteban. How’s it going?” Channing grins and flicks a glance my direction. Then he takes a bite of the warm danish.

“She gives you any trouble—.”

“Yeah, I know,” he laughs. “You’ll dock her pay. I got this, man. Thanks.” Those killer blues lock on me again. “What were you saying?”

“Mm-nothing. I’ll just overcharge you on the bill.”

Channing pats my stool beside him. He twists towards me as I sit back down.

But he’s not getting the best of me again. I pick up my fork and cut a small bite off the cold half-eaten danish, then put it in my mouth.

“Aww, babydoll. That’s just mean.” He’s grinning madly as he says it.

Moodily, I cut off another bite and put it in my mouth. To reinforce my displeasure, I let the fork clatter on the plate.

The problem here is that I’ve met my nemesis.

He lifts that scarred brow, then picks up his danish. Making sure he keeps eye contact, he licks the filling with a wide swipe of his tongue.

I nearly spew my partially chewed food all over him as the scorching electricity spikes through me. “Okay! Okay!” I choke, taking a sip from my soda to keep from dying. “You win. Just—please. Stop doing that.”

Through the kitchen cutout, I hear Esteban chuckle and shuffle around back there. Mortified, I blush furiously.

“God. I wish I had followed you home years ago. This is so much more fun.”

“Channing, please—.”

“Come out with me tonight,” he interrupts.

My throat’s still tickling from coughing and he sets me off again. “What?”

“Come out with me tonight.” Flicking a glance to the cutout window, he leans close. Then he says softly, “Let me take you to dinner someplace where the food doesn’t suck.”

This time I snort. “I can’t.”

He stares at me, crestfallen. “Sure you can.”

“No. I have to look after Mr. Adriani and I need to study for my final.”

“I’ll get a babysitter for Mr. Adriani and you studied for your final! You got nearly every one of those questions right.”

“Channing, those won’t be the questions on the final. There’ll be different ones. I have more study guides.”

A long staring contest ensues. But on this one, I’m adamant. Channing had forced his advantage as far as he could. This time I wasn’t backing down.

He wasn’t going to get me to go out.

Well, at least not until after my final.

I’ll bring dinner tonight,” he offers. “When we’re done, I’ll help you study again.”

I’m about to agree when he adds to it.

“On your bed.”

I blush, but I’m smiling. “Nope. Not on my bed.”

Channing grins. “But I can bring dinner and help you study. We both agree to that, right?”

I rub the bridge of my nose.  I can’t believe how he just outmaneuvered me. “I guess.”

“Dinner. Which I bring. Then studying.”

It’s weird, what he’s doing. Plus the little static sparks he causes are zapping and making me so crazy it's hard to think. “I suppose.”

“You know I don’t know about you—,” Channing pauses, giving me a sidelong glance, “—well, yeah, I do know about you—work, work, work. But never mind about that. Look, I just want to tell you, it’s been a long time since I had so much fun.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and huff. Here it is. Here’s what he’s been trying to get me to confess. “Okay. I admit it. It was fun. Cooking. Talking,” I clarify hastily. I don’t think anything good can come of admitting how much I liked laying beside him on my bed.

“Damn straight. I know it was. Maybe we got a little carried away. Just circumstances though, right?”

Oh, now this is getting tricky. What the hell is going on? I eyeball him warily. For the sake of my pride and dignity, I have to agree. “Of course.”

“Yeah.” Channing stuffs a bite of danish in his mouth. He chews briefly, nodding to himself. “Just circumstances.” He shrugs. “Maybe a bit of attraction.” He eyes the kitchen cutout, then turns his head towards me and lowers his voice. “Still. No big deal, right?”

At this point, I have to admit, I’m confused. We were talking about dinner. And studying. Now he’s brought up the mushy stuff. At least he agreed it wasn’t a big deal. I can’t help feeling like he’s working an angle, but I nod anyway.

“Just sorta happens, you know? Now we know, and we’ll have everything under control when we’re studying there tonight. Right?” Channing takes a sip from his soda.

He gives me a wide grin when I do the same.

We’ll have things under control now. Right. I nod to him.

Stuffing the last of his danish in his mouth, he wolfs it down. He washes it down with a big slurp from his Coke. “Okay. I’m glad we talked about it.”

Planting his hands on the bar, Channing swings his leg over and stands. He faces me, and I gasp when he lifts his shirt a little over that gorgeous abdomen with one hand. He stuffs his other hand in his pocket for some cash.

The jolt that shocks me is enough to restart a semi-truck with a dead battery. When he glances down at the wadded bills he’s pulled from his pocket, I shudder again, following his gaze. That gorgeous V-line cuts over the blade of his hip and I can't take my eyes off it.

Selecting a twenty, he tucks it under the edge of his empty plate. He leans forward and pecks me on the cheek. “Are you sure?”

Am I sure about what? After another peek at that body of his? I have no idea what’s going on anymore. So I nod, pointing at the twenty-dollar bill he left. “It’s not going to cost that much, you know.”

“Then keep the tip.”  He shrugs. “I’ll pick you up at nine. Catch you later, babydoll.”

He darts out the open door without waiting for me to agree.