Her Kind of Hero Read online

  He put on his Austin Powers voice. “Hey, baby, how about we do some thinking together, yeah, baby.”

  “Goon. Anyway, now you know why I’ve been quiet lately. I’ve been busy thinking.”

  “Sure you’re just thinking?”

  “Man, what are you, psychic?”

  “I know you better than anyone in the world, Vanessa, and I know when you’re holding something back.”

  I didn’t entirely agree with his perception, but I didn’t see any point in arguing. I also thought it would be cruel to talk about my feelings with someone whose love life was limited to drunken bar encounters.

  “You’re a good guy, Anthony. Thanks. I’m not really ready to talk about it yet, though.”

  “You’re welcome. If he treats you wrong, I’ll kick his ass.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I know you think I’m just saying it, but I would, I would totally kick his ass. I’ll mess up anyone who messes with you.”

  Anthony was always saying stuff like that. He sort of reminded me of a bantam rooster. But his heart was in the right place. “Thanks, man. I do appreciate the thought.”

  “So, Tuesday. I’ll give you a buzz before I head into work. I’m supposed to be doing one to nine.”

  We said our goodbyes. I hung up, sorry it hadn’t been Derek but looking forward to ice cream. Like me, Luke and Derek, Anthony hadn’t left our college town after graduation, and he’d wound up a manager at the supermarket. There wasn’t much local call for his computer science major, not that he’d been that good at programming anyway.

  In school we’d been in choir together and hung around with the same crowd. After graduation, he and I—and Luke—joined the winter choir. We had history. He had become a friend in the way that long stretches of time spent in proximity can forge a connection. He annoyed me if we hung out more than twice a week, but I felt badly about that. He was who he was.

  The phone rang again. This time I looked at the caller ID gadget before answering. Instead of the 540 area code that belonged to both Derek and Anthony, I saw a 571 prefix. Northern Virginia? I sort of knew a lot of people up there, but I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  No reply.

  “Hello? Who’s calling, please?”

  There was no background noise; no sound at all except for someone breathing softly in my ear.

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, same to you, buddy,” I said. The downside to using a cordless phone is that you can’t slam it. But I did press the end-call button extra hard.

  A prank call was not the way I wanted to end the evening. I slapped the laptop shut when it refused to show me a message from Derek and gave me three pieces of spam and a Viagra ad instead. I trudged up the stairs.

  The bubble bath seemed like too much trouble, so I settled for brushing my teeth. When I snapped off the bathroom light, I heard a diesel engine start up. I froze. I almost went downstairs to look out and see if there was a red truck going down the street.

  “You’re being silly,” I said aloud. The sound of a human voice in my empty house was comforting, even if it was my own. Besides, when I was right, I was right. For all its collegiate trimmings, this was essentially a rural area. Diesel trucks were a dime a dozen, for crying out loud.

  I climbed into bed. I flopped around for a few thousand years, and then I went downstairs to retrieve the cordless phone. Just in case it was going to ring.

  Derek’s usual call to see if I would be home on Saturday never came. Neither did the sandman. I finally drifted into a restless sleep when the night’s blackness turned to gray.

  It was close to noon when the hammering noises woke me up. I traced the sound to my own deck and bounced out of bed. No one but Derek would have even noticed the loose railing, and no one but Derek would care about fixing it.

  Sure enough, it was Derek working away. He was bent at the waist, facing away from me and checking to make sure the new piece of railing was exactly level. I was admiring the view. Derek had a fantastic ass. Most men don’t start with much of an ass, and the older they get, the more likely there’s a straight drop from belt to boots.

  Not Derek. I’d always noticed how well he was built, but a few months ago an idle observation turned into a fantastic solo fantasy. Some combination of well-worn jeans and physical exertion worked their magic on me, and so it was that Derek was the first man to attract my attention since I’d lost Luke. And Derek’s attention to me was undeniable for all he’d run out on me last week. He had a way of not looking at me that was like another man’s full court press.

  He made a tiny adjustment to the two-by-four, and firm curved muscles moved with him. I had a sudden image of myself slipping my hands into his back jean pockets and giving him a good squeeze.

  “Mmm-mmm,” I said.

  Derek threw me a startled look, but he didn’t drop the new railing. He didn’t look back at me again either, not until the final nail was driven in and the toolbox was repacked. Then he smiled at me, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  I went in the back door. “Of course you can,” I said over my shoulder. “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  We sat in the warm kitchen, drinking in silence. When he finished his cup, he moved to stand, but I reached out and put my hand on his arm before he got out of range.

  “Der, what happened last week?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he swallowed hard. But he didn’t answer. I tried again. “I’d been having a nice time, and I thought you were enjoying yourself as well. But you left in such a hurry.”

  “I had to go.”

  “But why?”

  “Van, I… I’m sorry.” He jumped up.

  I followed him. “Was it me? Do you just not think of me that—”

  “No!” He turned and faced me squarely. When he spoke next, his voice was low and powerful. “I have thought of you every hour of every day starting from the moment we met. If you hadn’t been my best friend’s wife, I’d have thought of you every minute. Don’t you dare even conceive the idea that I don’t think of you as the most beautiful, desirable woman who ever lived.”

  The unexpected eloquence hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my body respond. Without thinking, I put my arms around his neck and put my face up for a kiss. There was nothing tentative about his answer this time. His tongue met mine with hunger, and his strong hands pulled me against his body. He’d never done that, never acted on his thinly veiled desire. I hadn’t felt wanted so badly in years. I was going to take all he was willing to give.

  I pushed against him, almost whimpering at the strength of his kiss. My hands were sliding over his shoulders, down his hard pectorals, and then over his sides and around his waist. I couldn’t resist trying what I’d imagined earlier, and I slipped one hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

  His own arms weren’t moving, but he held me tightly. When I cupped his ass, I felt him shudder, and the bump in his pants hardened.

  This time he wasn’t getting away. I half pushed, half dragged him into the TV room and shoved him gently onto the couch. The light was dim, with the curtains still drawn, but I could see him clearly. He stared up at me, knees slightly apart and breathing hard. His shirt had come untucked, so I took that as a sign. I started at the bottom and unbuttoned my way up. He didn’t help, but he didn’t resist. I got the shirt open and spread it wide.

  Now it was my turn to stare. Male models didn’t look as hot as he did. His pectorals were broad and perfectly smooth except for a dusting of light brown hair in the middle. His nipples were small and coppery. His abs were so defined that they could have been cut from stone. His waist looked narrow, especially in contrast with his incredible chest.

  “You’re gorgeous, Derek,” I whispered.

  “Thanks,” he said. I didn’t see his face, because I was running my hands over the muscles for the sheer joy of it. I felt his hand under my chin and looked up. �
��Van, will you…take off your shirt?”

  He didn’t have to ask me twice. I hadn’t bothered to put on a bra when I’d gotten dressed earlier, and I posed a little for him. The bulge in his pants grew bigger, but he didn’t make a move.

  So I did. I sat on his lap, straddling his legs, facing him. The feeling of his warm, strong chest against my breasts was electrifying. I rubbed against him and felt his penis straining against the cloth separating him from my pussy. Unless I had completely lost my ability to judge, Derek had an enormous cock. I had suspected as much for some time now, but feeling was believing.

  “Van, tell me what you’d like.”

  “Touch me. Show me you want me.”

  His hands moved over my back in gentle strokes and I shivered. His hand slipped under my arm, up my side and to my breast. I closed my eyes and smiled.

  I felt him push me back just enough to lower his head. His warm, wet mouth covered my nipple. His tongue lapped up and down as though I were something delicious that he wanted to savor. When I moaned, his lips closed over my hard nub in a toothless bite and I cried out.

  My back was arched, now, and I was bracing my hands on his knees. He proceeded to pay more attention to my breasts than anyone ever had. Tracing them with his hands, licking, nibbling and sucking all over, he got me hotter and wetter than I had ever thought I could be for him.

  “Dear God, Derek. You’re going to make me come that way.”

  He groaned. “I want to make you come, Vanessa.”

  I hadn’t had sex with a man in too long. I was grinding on his still-covered cock like a teenage girl, delirious with the sensations of his fingers and tongue and lips on my nipples. “Suck harder,” I begged. “Squeeze the other one. Harder, you won’t hurt me.” He did as I asked, just as my orgasm began.

  The combination was perfect. I called out his name, riding him hard, and felt the hot waves run from my clit to every inch of my body.

  When the last shudder passed, I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “Oh, my.”

  “Was that what you liked?”

  The phrasing was strange, but I was too happy to care. “Yes. Now I want to do whatever you’d like.”

  “I’d—”

  Just then the front doorbell rang. His eyes widened in shock.

  “Ignore it, Derek.”

  “Someone’s there.”

  “So? Just because someone rings doesn’t mean we have to answer.”

  “They might come around to the back.”

  “Curtain’s closed. Who cares?”

  He shook his head and started buttoning up his shirt. “I’m afraid I care.”

  In fact, it felt like he did care. When I climbed off his lap, I saw that the magnificent bulge had gone down. Still, enough remained that I was going to go back for more if it killed me. Luke had been the love of my life, no question. But, well, I hadn’t married a big man. He had often joked that it wasn’t the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean, and I’d had zero complaints. My husband had been a creative, imaginative, passionate man. But who doesn’t like thinking about a nice big penis? I was certainly thinking of one, now.

  Derek saw the direction of my gaze, and he…blushed? Really? I hadn’t known adult men could blush. Before I could look again, he was up and heading to the front door.

  The door opened and closed while I threw my T-shirt back on.

  “You got a box. Be careful opening it, though, it sounds like whatever it is wasn’t wrapped properly. There may be broken glass.”

  “Screw the box!”

  Derek met me in the kitchen. “What’s the matter?”

  “That question goes the other way. What’s the matter with you, Derek? Who cares if the doorbell rings, or the phone rings, or aliens land and ring sleigh bells?”

  “It’s difficult to explain.”

  I was trying to find a diet soda in a fridge full of leftovers and takeout containers. “It can’t possibly be more difficult than me coming on to you, you appearing to react like a normal guy, and then you bailing on me.” There was one silver can all the way behind last week’s Chinese. I tried to squeeze it past the junk and failed.

  Derek’s arms went around me. Before I could accept the hug, he lifted me up and moved me away from the refrigerator. He gave me a steady, calm look. “Where are your garbage bags?”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “It isn’t one. But I still need a garbage bag.”

  I handed him a sack from under the sink. I had to laugh, watching someone with such broad shoulders and workman’s hands cleaning out my fridge. “Goofball, why are you doing that?”

  “Because it needs doing. When did you last go out for Italian?”

  “Three weeks ago?”

  “Good grief.”

  “Little old ladies say good grief, Der.”

  “Apparently, so do I.” He handed me the soda. When he came back inside after putting the trash in the alley can, he washed his hands. Finally, he sat down and looked at me. “Vanessa, I need a favor from you.”

  “Anything.”

  “Did you know that I’d never been to the pavilion before you took me there?”

  I blinked at the non sequitur. He was talking about a little wooden structure about a mile into the national forest beside the university. It was a beautiful spot, and a few months ago, I’d dragged Derek away from repairing a faucet in order to have a picnic there.

  “You told me, yes.”

  “Or the planetarium.”

  “Right, but—”

  “I hadn’t even gone hiking on Mount Baldy or even in the forest at all, and I’ve lived here for twenty years.” He was referring to the mountain trail that began near his farm.

  “I know, Der, that’s why I’ve been making you go with me.”

  “My point is that you do a lot for me,” he said.

  I laughed. “I could take you on field trips from now until the end of time, and it wouldn’t pay you back for all the home repair and hazardous waste disposal.”

  He nodded his head at my fridge. “Really, Van, three-week-old Italian?”

  “I was growing it into a thirty-year-old Italian.”

  This time we both laughed. He reached out and covered my hand with his own. “You bring joy into my life. You show me new and wonderful things every day. But I’ve been on my own, the way that I am, for a long time. I had no idea you might be willing to consider changing our relationship. You can’t know how new everything is to me, and I’m asking you to be patient. Slow down.”

  “Derek, how can you say that you had no idea? I’ve been flirting with you for weeks now. I know you haven’t dated anyone in the last couple years, but your instincts can’t be that rusty.”

  “Well, it’s been a little longer than that since I had a girlfriend.”

  I started to argue. Then I stopped short. Now that I thought about it, he’d never brought a date to one of Luke and my parties, and his little farm kept him busy. But still. “You can’t tell me that when someone openly leers at you, you think platonic thoughts.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What are you not telling me?” I smiled to make it sound less demanding.

  He looked away. “That’s something else I need your help with, Van. I’m not in the habit of, for lack of a better word, intimacy. There are things you articulate as easily as breathing, but they’re not things I’ve ever needed to put into words.”

  I felt a rush of affection for him. He was trying so hard. And he had a point. I had shifted our relationship from platonic to sexual with plenty of warning, for anyone used to flirting and innuendo, but Derek wasn’t just anyone. I squeezed his hand and nodded.

  “So where’d you put the box?” I asked.

  He retrieved it from the counter along with a knife. He was right; broken glass tinkled and slid when he set the box in front of me. I slit the tape and opened the flaps with caution.

  “What the—” I sputtered and stumbled to my feet.

  I
nside was a heavy silver frame with a photo of me from the summer between my junior and senior years of college. The photo was an eight-by-ten, but it looked blurry as if it were part of a snapshot, cropped and enlarged past its resolution.

  Of course, that wasn’t the strangest thing. The smashed glass with the point of impact right over my face—that was the strangest thing. Shards of glass were still stuck in the frame around the edges, but the rest of the glass was in the bottom of the box.

  “No postmark,” said Derek. “This was delivered by hand.”