Peaks of Passion: Pleasure Point Series Book One Page 12

  “I know the NBA needs you, Kobe Bryant, but if it’s not too much trouble, can you tape off the ding?” He handed me the masking tape, and I gave him a little shoulder bump before setting to work. He shook his head and began mixing resin and foam dust in an old coffee can. “Good ol’ dad. Doing things the old-fashioned way.” He ignored me, dropping in the catalyst and stirring.

  He inspected the ding. “Good job, kiddo. Nice and smooth. Now grab a putty knife and help me with this.”

  I strutted across the garage, opening the top drawer of the six-tiered toolbox, dancing to the music all the way. Shuffling through the tools, I found the putty knife and held it aloft. “Ha ha! Look out world, here comes Ding Doctor Jax.” I laughed maniacally. “And sometimes he’s the Mad Doctor.”

  “Will you quit and help me with this?” My dad suppressed a grin. We always had fun working on guy projects together, but that day, everything felt happier than usual. I could’ve sanded until my fingers bled, could’ve repaired thousands of surfboards in hundred-degree weather, and then when I was done with all that, I could’ve made love to Rosalyn all night. Make love. That’s what we did. I bit down on a smile.

  We worked side by side as the Beach Boys sang to us. I became so engrossed in filling the ding with resin paste that I didn’t hear Rosalyn’s car pull up.

  My dad stood up straight and waved. “Hey, there’s Rosalyn.” I popped up from my hunched over position, the putty knife slipping out of my grasp and clattering to the floor. I felt like running to her car and pulling her into a hug and a long, passionate kiss, but I forced myself to play it cool even though my heart was thudding in my chest.

  In slow motion, one shapely leg exited her car then she smiled that smile that lit the whole world up and gave a little wave. “Hey, guys. Just getting back from Palm Springs.”

  “Well, come on in,” my dad said. “Want a beer?”

  Rosalyn glanced at me then my dad and said, “I’d love one.”

  “I’ll get it for you,” I said. I jogged to the fridge and pulled out a can, but my hands were shaking so badly that I could barely pop the top. Finally I opened it. “You want a glass? A lady’s got to have a glass.”

  “No, honey, I don’t need a glass.” I handed her the beer can, and when our hands touched, my stomach went funny. She’d been gone all weekend and I’d spent the whole time thinking of her, wondering when we’d get together next, and fantasizing about what I wanted to do to her.

  My dad went back to filling the ding. “How was the trip?” he said.

  “Fun! My friend from Santa Fe’s an artist just like me, so we got to work on our paintings together.” She leaned against the worktable, sipping her beer. While my dad was bent over looking at the surfboard, she shared a secret smile with me. My gaze roamed over her body, head to toe, lingering on her breasts. She wore a skimpy tank top that was extremely low cut. I wanted to yank it down and lick her pink nipples right then and there.

  “Jax!” My dad elbowed me. “Mind helping me finish this?” He glanced up and caught me staring at Rosalyn. His eyes traveled from me, to Rosalyn, to me again.

  Rosalyn straightened and said, “Is Lydia home yet?”

  Dad said, “Yeah, she’s inside.” He stared at Rosalyn a few beats too long.

  “Okay, then. I’ll talk to you guys later. Lyd’s and I are going to the mall.”

  She sashayed into the house, leaving a trail of Sandalwood scent in her wake. I stood next to my dad and stared at the closed door. Finally my dad bent over, picked up my putty knife, handed it to me and said, “That Rosalyn’s a looker, right?”

  “No, it’s just that —”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I remember what it was like being a teenager.” He rubbed his jaw. “You know, Jax, it’s good to feel those kind of feelings for attractive women, but I hope you also respect Rosalyn.” He stared at me, his blue eyes boring holes through my skull.

  My grip tightened around the putty knife and my cheeks got hot. “Umm, yeah, of course Dad. You know that I would never do anything—”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Rosalyn’s a talented person. She’s an old friend and she’s working hard on getting her act together. I hope you appreciate that women are not just sex objects.” His eyes searched mine.

  Did my dad know what was going on? Did Tyler rat me out? Maybe I said something myself that I didn’t mean to, making my dad think I loved Rosalyn. I combed a hand through my hair and swallowed hard. “Of course I know that. She’s a great lady.”

  He stared at me for a long time, and then broke into a wide grin. “You’re a good man. Just making sure the Priest name keeps its class. Now let’s finish up here.” He whistled softly as his fingers ran over the ding.

  I blinked away dizziness from the pins and needles that ran through my system. I exhaled relief. We were safe.

  We went back to fixing the surfboard, but the whole time, my body burned with desire. I couldn’t wait until the next time Rosalyn and I were together.

  Rosalyn

  Lydia and I strolled in the mall, stopping in front of Victoria’s Secret. Seductive mannequins stood in the picture windows in provocative poses wearing black fishnet stockings, G-string bikini bottoms, and sexy push-up bras.

  Lydia looped her arm through mine. “Come on. I need to buy something to spice things up in the bedroom.” We walked into the shop together. The cloying aroma of imitation pear and vanilla assaulted my nostrils. Attractive young girls, makeup perfectly applied and hair flat-ironed to perfection, floated through the boutique, intent on spending their life savings on the latest bras and panties. We stopped at a table, where a mannequin chopped off at the waist wore a pair of black satin underwear. Lydia’s hand trailed along a display of silk lingerie. “These look nice,” she said. She held up a pair of pink panties, a black bow front and center.

  I picked up a pair of plaid cotton boy-short underwear. “These are more my style.”

  Lydia laughed. “You need to get some action. Get out of that ratty bathrobe you wear all the time.”

  “What’s wrong with my bathrobe?”

  “Nothing. If you don’t plan on entertaining in it, that is.” She picked up another pair of panties, a slinky, crotchless affair. “Now this’ll get something going in the bedroom. Not that things are boring, but you know, Troy and I have been together a long time.”

  The plaid underwear really were not my style at all, but I felt uncomfortable being in this sexy underwear shop with Lydia. In fact, I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to keep my close friendship with Lydia when every time we were together I felt like she could read my desire for her son all over my face.

  “Rosalyn,” she said, “do you think something’s wrong with Jax?”

  My head snapped up. “No? Why?”

  “It’s just that all these girls keep calling the house for him and a few of them even come by and he’s not interested.”

  The thought of girls hounding Jax gave me an irrational feeling of jealousy. I cleared my throat. “How many girls?”

  She picked up a pair of red satin panties, holding them in front of her. “Lots. I guess it’s time this started happening. Same thing happened with Tyler starting a few years ago.” She looked off into the distance. “Those boys are so damn polite sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “I mean I trained them to have manners, but doesn’t it seem like they’d have girlfriends by now? They need to take charge.”

  My hand made its way to my mouth where I chewed my cuticle. “Maybe not. They’re good boys.”

  “Tyler’s at least nice to girls and seems like he’s interested, but the way Jax acts is not polite. When girls call the house, he begs me to lie for him, tell them he’s not home. Then, when one comes over, I invite her in and offer her a drink, and Jax just sits there looking distracted and makes up some dumb excuse, like he’s got homework. Sometimes he’s downright rude. Would it kill him to go out with a girl?�
�

  “No.”

  Lydia was on a roll. “I know I asked you to tell me if either of the boys mentioned anything about sex or drugs.” She set down the panties and looked at me. “So you probably think I’m being weird now, but it’s almost like … Do you think Jax is gay?”

  I laughed so loud that a few shoppers stopped and looked at us. “Sorry, that’s funny. No, I don’t think he’s gay.” I looked down, fidgeting with a few pairs of underwear. “He probably has high standards.”

  “But some of the girls are really nice. They seem sweet and some of them even surf and one of them’s a singer in the choir at school and the other one …”

  I put up my hand. “I get it. A lot of girls like him.”

  Lydia busied herself with the lingerie, picking up one pair after another and selecting a few possibilities. “I think it would be nice if he dated. Nothing serious, just date.”

  I didn’t like this feeling. I had visions of young nubile bodies wearing flimsy underwear, seducing Jax. Visions of Jax using everything I’d taught him on those girls. But he would be better off if he did get away from me.

  “Do you want me to talk to him?” I said.

  “And say what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe just …” Maybe just jump his bones and make sure he forgets about all those other girls. “Encourage him to give them a chance?”

  Lydia put her hand on my arm. “That’d be nice.” She shook her head. “I’m sure I’m worried for nothing.”

  I took a deep breath, and let it out.

  Jax

  Tyler had a gig a few days after Rosalyn got back from Palm Springs, and my mom was doing that annoying thing that moms always do: trying to dress him.

  “How about this T-shirt?” she said, holding a light green shirt with a likeness of Jimi Hendrix silk screened on the front. “Hendrix is cool. Or what about this one?” She picked up a blue and grey plaid flannel shirt.

  Tyler sat on the sofa tuning his guitar and humming, his hair hanging in his face.

  “Tyler! Look at me,” Mom said. She held both shirts up for inspection.

  “They’re okay,” he said then went back to tuning his guitar.

  “It’s just that I don’t like those black T-shirts you and the band insist on wearing,” she said.

  I stood by the window, glancing out every few seconds to see when Rosalyn pulled up. She’d planned to go to the concert with us, and I’d already surfed, taken an extra long shower, combed my hair just right, and even put on some cologne.

  “What’s wrong with black?” Tyler mumbled.

  Mom said, “It makes you look like you’re in a goth group. Like Black Sabbath or something.”

  “We like the black T-shirts.”

  “Can’t you at least put this nice plaid shirt over it?” she said. “A lot of the cool bands wear flannel shirts. All the surfers too.” She walked over to him and stroked his hair. “And I think you should do something different with your hair.” She scrunched her face up. “Maybe a little hair gel. Make it more curly.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Yeah, curly like a girl. That way the guys’ll like him.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Tyler said.

  “Maybe if you wear that plaid shirt with your board shorts some of the homo’s that hang out downtown’ll ask you out,” I teased.

  “Boys, be nice,” Mom said.

  Tyler sat up straight, putting his guitar aside. “Who you calling homo?”

  I puffed up my chest. “Wanna make something of it?”

  He stood up. “Maybe I do.” He jabbed a finger at my chest.

  I put my hands up. “Hey, just messing with you, man.”

  He glared at me. “Yeah, well, if you weren’t so busy with … Never mind. What do you know about anything?”

  Mom said, “What has gotten into you two?”

  “Nothing.” Tyler sat down. “Jax thinks he knows everything about girls.”

  Mom stared at me, her eyes questioning. Then she said, “Well, this is going to be nice. Dad will meet us at the club, and Rosalyn will be here any second.”

  At the sound of Rosalyn’s name, my heartbeat sped up and my palms got sweaty. I glanced out the window again, and there she was.

  Rosalyn

  When we got to the Bottom Line that night, Troy was already waiting for us.

  He waved from a table that was set up in front of the stage.

  “Hey!” he said. Seeing Troy in the dim club was like witnessing a flash-forward to what Jax might look like when he was older: tall, same color hair, commanding. Why couldn’t I find somebody my own age? He hugged me. “Cool you could make it. The boys’ve been working on some new stuff.”

  Lydia fell into her husband’s embrace, and while they saved the table, Jax and I went backstage to check on Tyler. He sat on the ratty sofa, his guitar already strapped to his chest, elbows on knees, face in his hands, hair hanging like a curtain. When he saw us, his head slowly lifted. “Oh, hey guys.” He gave a nervous smile.

  I sat next to him, putting my arm around him. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “But what if—”

  I kissed his cheek. “They’ll love you. They always do.”

  He stood up and paced. “What if I forget the lyrics? What if I mess up like I did the other night? And what if …” He stopped pacing, looked at me, and smiled. “There is one thing I’m excited about.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  His eyes lit up, and he broke into a wide grin. “I wrote a song for you.”

  “A song? For me? You did? How sweet. Nobody’s ever written a song for me before.” My body flooded with happiness. Tyler must have liked me more than I thought. Maybe if my affair with Jax ever came out, Tyler would be in our corner. “Jax, has he ever written one for you?”

  Jax punched his brother on the arm. “Nope. When you going to write about the star of the family?”

  Tyler said, “When you do something cool for a change.”

  “Everything I do is cool.” Jax looked at me and smiled. I blushed.

  We said good luck to Tyler and pressed through the crowd to sit with Lydia and Troy.

  The house lights went down, the room became quiet, and the stage lights came on with a spotlight on Tyler. He went through his usual routine of adjusting and readjusting the mic stand, stomping on each of his pedals, checking and re-checking his set list. Then he smiled at the crowd and stammered, “Hi everybody. I’m Tyler Priest, and this is Love Bone.” He raked a hand through his long hair and smiled his easy smile. “Let’s try not to wake the neighbors.” He nodded at his bass guitarist. “One two three, one two three…” The small club came to life, vibrating with the sensuous sound of Tyler’s deep, gravelly voice, the bass thrumming through my chest. The band performed many of the songs I’d already heard, lovely ballads followed by kick-ass rock and roll.

  At the end of a set, Tyler said, “Thanks for coming out tonight.” He leaned into the microphone. “Me and the band have been working on some new stuff. Hope you like it. This next one’s a song I wrote for a friend of mine.” Tyler’s green eyes bored into mine, and winked. “It’s called Poison Temple.”

  Jax slid his hand down my leg and squeezed my knee.

  Lydia and Troy stared straight ahead at the band, their eyes filled with pride.

  Tyler counted down the band. His guitar cried out the opening chords to his song and he sang directly to me. Leaning into the microphone, his voice growled and keened as he launched into the lyrics.

  She walks naked into her temple

  And he’s waiting for her

  Her smile seduces and

  A young man is poisoned by her perfume

  She spreads her legs

  Are you ready?

  A young man thinks he’s in love

  In the poison temple

  My smile faded, and all the blood drained out of my head as Tyler’s haunting voice permeated my soul. He toyed with the microphone, stroking it with his long fingers.
His body swayed, jerked with the music as he sang.

  My body sank lower into the chair. Jax touched my leg, and I slapped his hand away. Tears filled my eyes as my throat tightened. I swallowed. As he sang, Tyler’s gaze wandered to some of the star struck girls in the audience, then drifted back to me, his eyes piercing. I stole a glance at Lydia and Troy who sat hypnotized by the music. When I looked sideways at Jax, he was looking at his brother, and catching me looking at Jax, Tyler smiled. The song reached a crescendo. A young man thinks he’s in love. In the poison temple. Mercifully, the song ended. Tyler pushed his long hair out of his face, his eyes not leaving mine, and beamed as the crowd broke into heartfelt applause.

  “You like it?” Tyler asked the crowd. They roared in response. “Sometimes,” he said in a low voice, “art imitates life.” Before anyone had a chance to ponder that statement, the band continued their set, this time an especially loud rock and roll song that brought the crowd to their feet.

  When the band took a break, the house lights came up, causing me to blink.

  Lydia said, “Where does he get his ideas?”

  Troy smiled, put his arm around Lydia, and said, “Kids today, they know too much.”

  Jax said, “Well, I really like the new stuff. How about you, Rosalyn?”

  I wanted to die. “Umm, yeah, it’s groovy.”

  “Groovy?” Troy said. “Rosalyn, you’re sounding old.”

  First Troy and Lydia laughed, and then Jax joined in. Finally, I started, and we all laughed like we’d smoked some especially good weed.

  When the laughter died down, Jax wiped his eyes and said, “I like the way Rosalyn talks. In fact, I like lots of things about Rosalyn.” He made strong eye contact with me, without blinking, and licked his lips. What was the matter with Jax? Did he not get it? A deep warmth crept across my cheeks and I felt like slapping him.