Free Satellite of Love by Christa Maurice

she rubbed her nose on his. “Starbucks it is.”
     

 
    5
     
    Maureen picked up their empty cups and carried them to the kitchen. She still wanted him. All week long her wishing had gradually become plotting until she was ready to have him to breakfast tomorrow and every day until he had to leave town, damn the torpedoes. But his announcement still had her staggering. She’d never kept up with popular culture. Among her friends, it was a joke. Her car radio was fixed to NPR and when she played music for the kids it was classical or ethnic. They came in with new bands, but she never listened to the music. She wasn’t sure the kids did either. For them it was mostly about having the right binder or t-shirt.
    Now she was dating a famous rock and roller. Well, it had to be a step up from grease monkey. Linda would be impressed. Might even know who he was. What kind of life must he be leading to feel he had to lie to her about who he was? She tossed out the cups and paused in the kitchen door to look at him.
    His revelation had derailed her for a long time, but coffee, giant cookies and another round of Mulder and Scully and she was back on track. Warm, willing, and now with twenty-five percent more curiosity.
    He was still incredibly sexy. Those shoulders, those hands, that mouth. What did he say he played? Drums? That just spawned a lot of cheesy jokes from her id about natural rhythm.
    No school tomorrow.
    Maureen chewed her lip. In the middle of his confession, he had used the word love. He’d also kept using the word “really.” She’d heard enough kids falling back on that word when they were desperate to get their point across.
    She’d never intended to get into a serious relationship with her mechanic’s brother, whoever he was, but it was all headed that way like an overloaded train on a steep hill. He was funny, sweet, sexy as anything. Instead of expecting her to watch his every entertaining move, he paid attention to her. Michael was the first guy she’d met who didn’t make her feel like she was along for his ride. Maybe it wasn’t her school marm wardrobe that drove all her other dates away but the fact that she wasn’t willing to be their audience. How was it that the first guy she’d met who didn’t want her to be his audience and chief cheerleader was a professional performer?
    The way he looked at her brought her temperature up a few degrees and when his hands got involved, she went straight into fevered. She wasn’t exactly a hussy, but something about Michael made her more than willing to experiment with the role.
    She slid onto the couch next to him and trailed her fingers up his arm. Now she understood the phrase iron hand in a velvet glove because it applied perfectly to his arms. “You know I have this problem with my brakes.”
    “They giving you trouble again?” He glanced at her hand, looking puzzled. She’d left him in the doghouse too long.
    “I’m talking about my personal brakes.” She shifted closer, her breath shortening in anticipation. “I seem to be having trouble stopping.”
    “That so?” He raised one eyebrow, smiling. “I’ll have to take a look under the hood.”
    She straddled his legs. “You know that was a cheesy line, don’t you?”
    “You started it, sugar.” His hands wrapped around her waist, proving he had iron elsewhere too.
    “I suppose I did.” She leaned in and kissed him. Over the past week she’d totaled at least a couple of hours kissing him, but it never got old. The softness of his mouth always intrigued her when everything else about him was so hard. His taste was magic too. Flavored now with coffee and chocolate, she could still detect his dark spice. Utterly indescribable, but this was what had been driving her crazy all week. This taste and the things she imagined he could do with his mouth, especially when she woke up in the middle of the night.
    Sliding under her shirt, the touch of his hands brought an electric sizzle. His hands