It Happened on Maple Street Page 3

  And that was not something I was going to tell the man sitting next to me. He was not going to hear about me using the restroom. Ever.

  Or about my penchant for romance novels, either. After years of living with my brother’s ribbing about them, I knew better than to confess my life’s plan.

  The fact that I’d never had a date, that this was my first-ever date, fell in that same category.

  What guy would want a girl no other guy wanted?

  I drove. Hoping I didn’t do something stupid.

  “Don’t worry about my dad,” I told the man sitting next to me. “He won’t be home when we get there.” Dad was on duty at his real estate office and wouldn’t be home until after Tim had to leave. Mom and I had made certain of that.

  “My older brother isn’t there, either,” I chattered away, making turns, driving too fast, slowing down too quickly when I came to lights. “He’s away at college,” I said. “I miss him like crazy. He and I are only thirteen months apart, and last year when he left for Armstrong was the first time in my whole life that we’ve been separated, and I hate it.”

  Tim nodded. I caught the motion out of the corner of my eye, and stole a full glance at him. He smiled.

  Oh, God. That smile.

  He seemed interested in what I was saying. So I kept talking.

  “He’s a musician. So’s my dad. They play by ear. But Chum, that’s my brother,” I said, embarrassed, as I always was when I first told people my older brother’s name. It wasn’t his given name, but it’s all I’d ever known him by. “Chum plays guitar. He’s really good. I play, too, but only for me. I’m not good like he is.”

  I talked fast. Always had. My brother had teased me about being an auctioneer when I grew up because I talked so fast. Could I help it that I had so many thoughts that they had to race themselves out of my brain?

  Another nod. And I said, “Chum’s real name is Walter, like my dad and grandfather. When he was born my grandmother was changing him and said that there were too many Walters and told him that he’d always be her little chum. The nickname stuck. None of us ever called him Walt.”

  I was rambling. Free thinking. It was better than panicking. Or worrying about everything that could go wrong. “I remember when we took him to school a year ago August. The whole family went. It was horrible leaving him there. And on the way home, we were in this podunk place in Alabama, where Armstrong University is, and my dad made a wrong turn and we had to stop at this farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere to ask directions, and the old farmer guy, he looked at us and shook his head and in all seriousness told us we couldn’t get there from here. Can you believe it? Like, what, we could never go home because we were there? I mean really . . .”

  We were getting closer to my house. Closer to Tim meeting my mother. She just had to like him. I was going to die if she didn’t like him.

  I was afraid of my father, but next to my childhood soul mate, Jeanine, who lived with her folks in Wisconsin, my mom was my best friend.

  And I was bringing home a person who I would gladly leave my mother’s house to be with.

  How crazy was that? I barely knew him.

  And how could I walk in my house feeling the things that Tim made me feel? I was tingling in places a good girl didn’t tingle. Would it show? My mother knew me so well. Would she be able to tell?

  Would the neighbors see me pull up with Tim? Would my little brother be home? Was the sky still blue and the grass still green?

  I was Tara Gumser.

  And I was bringing a man home with me.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” I asked, because I wanted to know everything about this guy. And because I didn’t want to freak myself out about the coming meeting.

  “Brothers, no sisters.”

  He wasn’t the most talkative person I’d ever met. But that was okay. I could talk a lot. When I liked the person I was with. I had thoughts about everything.

  “How many brothers?”

  “Four.”

  We were stopped, and I stared at him. “Four?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Older.”

  “You’re the youngest of five boys?” My incredulity showed. I wasn’t savvy enough to stop myself.

  “Yes.” He turned and looked out the window. He was shy, and I’d made him uncomfortable.

  Calm down, I admonished myself. You’re going to lose him.

  “What about your parents?”

  “What about them?”

  “Do you live with them?”

  “With my mom.”

  “They’re divorced?” I didn’t know anyone closely who’d been through a divorce. Or whose parents were divorced.

  “No.”

  “But your dad doesn’t live with you?”

  “He died when I was five.”

  Oh my God. My heart bled. All over the car. My dear, sweet, great-haired Tim had pain in his life. I wanted to make it all better right then and there.

  “I have a friend—she actually lived with me and my family last year during our senior year of high school—her dad died when she was five, too. He was a teacher. And a football coach. Our high-school football field is named after him and his twin brother, too, who was our tennis coach and athletic director. Heidkamp Field.”

  He nodded.

  “What did your dad do?”

  “He was a teacher.” And he was done talking.

  I wanted to take his pain away.

  I was falling in love.

  And no one was going to believe that. No one. Not in a million years. But I knew. I recognized the truth as surely as I knew I had to breathe to stay alive. It settled upon me with a certainty that didn’t leave room for doubt.

  So the secret was mine. To cherish. And to keep hidden away where no one could do it damage.

  He sat in the blue Opal Manta watching Tara drive. Not only was she beautiful—so much so that he kept wondering about the abundance of assets hidden behind that soft white top and the tight-fitting blue jeans—she was also an impressive driver.

  Her car was a stick shift.

  What girl drove a standard-shift car?

  Tara did.

  Every time she stopped and had to start again, they started moving smoothly, first gear into second, then third, and finally fourth without so much as a hitch. No hopping. He had friends who could still only drive automatics.

  Before he knew it, they were in Huber Heights, a newly incorporated city that was a hub of Dayton and swarming with people. So she was a big-city girl and he was a small-town guy—he could hold his own with the best of them.

  When she turned off from State Route 201, one of the main roads through Huber Heights, onto Brandt Visa, the suburb’s ritziest street, he started to get uncomfortable. He lived in a rented house on Maple Street, with grey exterior shingles. It was nothing compared to the huge brick homes on landscaped acre lots that they were passing by now.

  Hopefully they were simply passing all these elegant places to get to a house in the country.

  He’d barely finished the thought when Tara made a right turn and then an immediate left into the driveway of a trilevel, Tudor-style house, one of only two homes on Drywood Place. One of two elegant brick custom homes.

  “Come on in and meet my mom,” she said, turning off the car and grabbing her denim purse.

  He was in way over his head.

  The front door of the house he’d grown up in was a single piece of wood with a handle that swung open and shut and locked at night. You opened it and walked in one person at a time. Tara approached a set of double doors inlaid with etched glass, put her key in a deadbolt lock, and then pushed gently on one of the pull-style door handles and stood back for him to enter. They could easily have gone in together. He stepped into a foyer that was as big as the kitchen at home. From there he could see Tara’s kitchen, twice the size of the one on Maple Street, and part of a family room off to his left, a formal living room str
aight ahead, and stairs to the lower level off to his right.

  Tara walked toward the kitchen area and, nervous as hell, he followed her. Her mom was standing there in a gray dress and slightly oversized glasses. The only other thing he noticed was her smile.

  “Hi, Tim. Welcome,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gumser.” He held out his hand. It always felt strange and somewhat confusing to him to meet his friends’ parents. They were always about half his mother’s age. Tara’s mom was no different. She looked to be about the age of his oldest brother.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, taking his hand. Her grip was soft, but sure. Tim liked her. “Tara’s talked about you . . .”

  “Come on,” Tara interrupted, turning back the way they’d come. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  He saw the living room. Her dad’s organ. A formal dining room. Some stairs that led, she said, to three bedrooms, including hers, and a couple of bathrooms. She showed him a bedroom on the main level, a laundry room, and another full bathroom. Tim could barely take it all in, and she was heading for the stairs he’d seen off the foyer when they’d come in.

  The first thing he saw on the lower level of that house was of a pool table, and he relaxed just a bit for the first time since she’d pulled her little blue car onto Brandt Vista Drive. People with a pool table couldn’t be all that uptight.

  There was a small office down there, too, but he really liked the room with the wet bar, a full-size working pinball machine, Atari video games, and a poker table. Definitely a man’s refuge.

  Even the furniture was guy-like—the bottoms of the table and the couches were all made out of beer barrels. There were two couches, black leather with some kind of color design along the back.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked. “We can play pinball. Or pool. Or . . .”

  He hadn’t meant to do it, but she was so damn cute and driving him crazy, and before he had a single thought about the advisability of grabbing a beautiful girl in her home on their first date, Tim pulled Tara to him and pressed his lips against hers.

  Just like that. They’d never even held hands and he was kissing her.

  He could have ended up in jail.

  The kiss would have been worth the trip. Her lips were so soft.

  Tara’s arms were around him and the kiss deepened. They fell down to the couch and he didn’t have enough blood supply to his brain to conjure up any thoughts. Involuntary actions took control.

  Until he opened his mouth and Tara did the same. He moved his tongue, lightly probing her lips—and her tongue touched his, too. It was like a dance: everything he did, she followed expertly. His tongue entered her mouth fully and she not only accepted him, she entered him as well.

  He’d never in his life been kissed like that. Or kissed someone like that. Instead of relieving some of the pressure he’d been feeling over the past few days every time he thought about this girl, the feelings only intensified. His entire body was on fire.

  Lying down with her, feeling her body along the length of his, just seemed natural. He’d never had sex, had no intention of having sex right then—he just had to be closer to her. And, as if their brains and bodies were already communicating, as if the dance merely continued, she moved with him until she was flat on her back and he was lying on his right side, half on top of her. Their lips had never broken contact.

  Slowly, he edged himself closer to her until his crotch was firmly pushed up against her left leg. She didn’t protest.

  He had experience. Knew exactly how to touch a girl, and he didn’t fumble as his right hand made its way under Tara’s shirt. Her stomach was bare to his touch and he stroked it a few times before sliding his hand along the outline of her rib cage. He couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t think. He just moved instinctively, touching her everywhere. She wasn’t telling him no. And his hand just kept exploring. Her breast was only a breath away, teasing the edge of his finger, and he moved again and covered the roundness.

  The desire burning through him drove him. The way she moved her hips when he touched her mound drove him further. Her bra was in the way so he went under it. Her bare breast seemed to welcome his touch, reaching into his palm, fitting as though it belonged there.

  Her kisses were as hot as the rest of her body, her lips moving on his in ways he’d never imagined lips could move. She was a power he couldn’t resist. And he continued his exploration of her body.

  Over to her other breast and the nipple that was already hard. He stayed there for a while before his hand started to roam again, back down across her stomach to the button on her jeans. He didn’t even attempt to unfasten the closure, but he didn’t let it stop their adventure, either. Sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans, Tim touched her pubic hair.

  And he had to stop. His penis was ready to explode and that imminent danger finally brought him to his senses.

  What in the hell was he doing? It wasn’t like he’d never touched between a girl’s legs before, but this was a first date. And her mother was right upstairs.

  He pulled back, and looking down at Tara he could hardly believe he was living his own life. She was so beautiful she made him ache. Her lips were swollen, and she had a look of awe in her eyes.

  “We have to stop or we’re going to be in trouble.”

  She nodded. And reached up to kiss him one more time. He kissed her back and would have been lost to all rational thought if she hadn’t broken the contact. She moved slowly, trying to sit up, and Tim moved too, reluctantly getting off her.

  They didn’t say anything as they put themselves together, but he took her hand as they climbed the stairs.

  Her mother was still in the kitchen.

  “Mom, I’m leaving to take Tim back.”

  “Okay.” Mrs. Gumser came around the corner, drying her hands on a towel. And Tim realized the enormity of what he’d just done.

  Tara’s hair was messed up. Her makeup mostly rubbed off. He felt like his jeans were stretched two sizes out of shape.

  “It was nice to meet you,” he said. “Thanks for having me over.”

  Mrs. Gumser had to know that they’d just spent more than an hour alone in the basement, but she didn’t seem the least bit suspicious about what they’d been doing.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “Please come back. Anytime.”

  Tara was quiet on the drive back to Wright State, and Tim didn’t have any idea what to say to her. The way things had happened so quickly was embarrassing.

  She pulled up to the curb at Wright State and he opened his door.

  “I had a good time,” she said.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  He got out of the car and heard her say, “If your friend’s working next Thursday, too, you can come over again.”

  “Okay.”

  He shut the door.

  She drove off.

  Four

  I COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT I’D DONE. I was no longer untouched. Just like that. In the space of hours I went from never been kissed to experienced.

  Mom served dinner like it was any other night. Pork chops and scalloped potatoes and peas.

  I ate. I left the table. I couldn’t sit there. Not with Tim’s kisses still tingling against my lips. Not with those disturbing feelings between my legs.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Couldn’t stop wanting him.

  My father would say it was wrong. That I wasn’t a nice girl.

  I didn’t answer to my father any more. I answered to Tim. I was his.

  “So?” They weren’t even out of the Wright State parking lot before Steve, Tim’s closest buddy from high school, started in on him.

  “What?”

  “How’d it go?”

  “It was nice.” The fields and trees were there, just like always. The bridge and the water below. And nothing was the same.

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’
s nice?” Huddled over the steering wheel in a jean jacket that couldn’t possibly ward off the cold, Steve scoffed at him.

  “Just nice.”

  “Come on, man,” Steve chided. “What was she like?”

  “She was nice.” Tim stared out the window, wishing Steve would just shut the hell up and step on the gas.

  “Nice, how? Did you kiss her?”

  “Shut up.”

  Grinning, Steve turned onto the highway, sat back and said, “You did, didn’t you? You kissed her.”

  “I was at her house. Her mom was there.”

  “So did you like her?”

  “She’s nice.”

  Eventually Steve shut up.

  Saturday morning, I woke up early. And sick to my stomach. What in the heck had I done? I wasn’t a good girl anymore. I’d let a boy touch me in places no one had ever, ever touched me before.

  Worse, I’d liked it.

  And he wasn’t there with me. He was working, in the meat department of the grocery store in the small town where he lived.

  Forty-five minutes away from me.

  I did my house chores. I had to dust. The most boring occupation known to womankind. Until now. Now as I dusted, I thought about Tim. I felt him. Dusting gave me the freedom to let my mind wander wherever it wanted to go without interruption. Dusting freed me from having to explain my silence. I went downstairs and sat on the couch where Tim and I had sat.

  And wondered if he’d ever talk to me again.

  Had I been a total fool? Letting a guy use me, just like I’d been warned they’d do? I’d been too easy. Loose. All of the horrible things I’d heard about “those” girls.

  And I’d done it all on a first date.

  But, oh, it had been good. Better than good. That hour with Tim had been what most girls only dream about. The magic. The emotions that had consumed us with mindless need . . .

  By that afternoon I was a mass of confusion. Excited and ecstatic in one moment. Despairing the next.

  What had he thought?