Swing Time Ch. 05byl8bloom©
All characters in this story are age 18 or older.
Stan piled Craig, Allie and David into his SUV after the concert. "Where do you want to go?"
"Let's get pizza," Dave suggested.
Allie fussed about getting red sauce on her white dress until Craig offered, "How about Sgt. Pepper's? My treat."
Everyone knew the Stewart family could easily afford it.
Allison's face lit up. "Great!"
Stan agreed but insisted the tab would be his. "Come on, make an old man happy."
So they headed off to the venue in question. Sgt. Pepper's was, in some ways, merely an overpriced pizza joint. The menu was not extensive, but it took the notion of gourmet food seriously. The furnishings were classy, but comfortable. And the owner managed to pull off a family atmosphere. The restaurant was well-liked by teenagers, thirty-somethings, and first-date couples, as well as moms and dads.
The owner recognized Craig, and their party was seated quickly.
"What about Hillary and Mr. Olaffsen?" Allie wanted to know.
David chimed in. "Yeah, shouldn't we get a bigger table?"
Stan said smoothly, "Hillary had a headache. Jake took her home."
"Yeah, I bet she never has a headache for him." At her father's chastising look, Allison added, "Sorry." She turned her attention to the menu.
They chatted about what to order, interspersed with exclamations of how well their concert had gone. More than one patron recognized them and smiled. Craig excused himself to the washroom. On his way back to their table, he blanched. Seated in a booth near the cash register were his old cronies, Hank Jones and Jeff Mullins. Thank god they hadn't seen him. He wondered if they'd been at the show.
Craig wound his way around the bar and carefully cast another glance at the former members of the Cherry Poppers Club. Jeff was lifting a slice of pizza to his mouth. The teenager's leather jacket pulled open. A pistol was shoved casually into his waistband.
Logical thinking left Craig completely. The only word in his mind was Columbine. He hustled back to the table. The goat cheese pizza had just been delivered. Stan was handing out slices of the fabulous-smelling confection and everybody was swooning ooh, ah, yum.
Craig ground out the words under his breath: "We have to leave. Now."
"What? Why?" Allie protested. She was slow on the uptake.
David knew something was horribly wrong. He looked kind of sick and stood up, extending his hand to Allie.
Stan remained calm. He shepherded his daughter and her boyfriend out of the restaurant. In the parking lot, he asked Craig, "What's going on?"
"We have to call 911," Craig flipped open his phone. "They've got a—"
His sentence was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot, then another. A chorus of screams burst from the restaurant.
Stan swore. "SHIT!!" He shoved Allie into the car. David and Craig leapt into the backseat. Stan tore out of the parking lot. "Seat belts!" he snapped.
David twisted around, looking back toward the restaurant. He saw Hank and Jeff run out of the building. One of them fired a parting shot. The two men clambered into a beat-up sedan and took the same exit, right behind the Katz family SUV.
"Nine one one, what is your emergency?" said the operator in Craig's ear.
"I've just witnessed gunfire at Sgt. Pepper's restaurant."
"They're right behind us!" gasped David.
"Any injuries." The dispatcher's voice was calm.
"They're following us!"
The GPS data from Craig's phone streamed through the computers. The dispatcher repeated his question. Upon learning the negative, he directed them to stay calm. "Do not put yourself in danger in an attempt to learn more information."
The restaurant's alarm had gone off comparatively long ago. As soon as Jeff had waved his gun under the cashier's nose, she kneed the switch under the desk. The alarm company in turn notified the police, who shaped the information into an efficient response.
Stan was not stupid enough to lead the pursuers to his home. He made a beeline for the police station. He needn't have worried; within a minute, cop cars popped out of nowhere and seemed to surround him. He pulled over and told everyone to get down.
The four listened to squealing tires and slamming doors, barely breathing. They stayed that way, huddled on the floor mats, until a policeman rapped on the driver's side window and told them it was safe to come out.
Allie climbed out of the car and stared, horrified, at her classmates. A policeman put his hand on Jeff's head — the boy was already cuffed — and pushed him into the back seat of a cop car. As he went down, Jeff turned and saw Allison. The white ball gown shone like a halogen on the street. He leered at her, an ugly, frightening grimace that made her step behind her father.
Stan took his little girl's hand. "It's okay, baby. He won't hurt you." Even as he said it, he knew the way the world worked. In twenty years, who knew?
Stan looked around to see how Craig was taking it. His first thought was how nauseating it must be for the boy, to see his former friend in such a situation. Maybe the road not taken was crossing Craig's mind. The teenager was not in sight.
"Craig?" Katz was starting to worry, when he heard a sound. The young man was a few meters away, clutching a city garbage can. He was tossing his guts.
* * *
After they all made their statements — Craig's being the longest, and by far, the sweatiest — Stan made his rounds, stopping at the Stewart home first. He hopped out of the car and walked the young man a few steps toward the door.
They shook hands and pulled into an embrace.
"Why didn't you want your parents to come downtown?"
Craig shrugged. "I have to start handling my own problems. It's the story of my life these days." One side of his mouth twisted up.
"Well, you done good." Stan didn't want to get too corny, so he resisted his thought. Aw, what the hell. He went ahead and said it: "You might have saved our lives just now, you know."
Craig looked embarrassed. "What else could I do. Good night." He waved a hand and went inside. Through the sheers of the big bay window, Stan saw two shadows rise and hug their son.
While the two men were talking in the yard, David and Allison cuddled in the back seat. Lust was the last thing on their minds. Since he had caught her flirting with Craig, a distance had sprung up between them. Each had wanted to pick up the phone, but couldn't.
Now she clung to him and whispered her heart. "I love you so much." Tears stung her eyes. "I never want to lose you." She laid her face in his neck and wrapped her arms around him.
David stroked her hair. "I never want to lose you, either, Allie." He wished he had a ring in his pocket; or at least, that they were side by side on his piano bench.
Words would have to do. He pulled at her shoulders so he could see her eyes.
"Allison, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?"
"Yes! Oh, yes. David, I never want anyone else but you."
Their kisses tasted of salt.
* * *
About the same time, Hillary Fairchild was running her hands over Jacob Olaffsen's body. The scars she encountered were beyond her ken; her teenage fantasies utterly failed to consider events that had shaped her lover's personality. Had she had any idea, she might have been amazed at how mentally healthy he actually was.
Jake took her tender breast in his callused hand and laid his mouth to the sweet pink tip. Arousal burned its wildfire through her body. Wetness surged in her core and started to leak out.
Hillary wanted to bring him pleasure but was badly distracted by the firebrand of his tongue rolling around her nipple. Like a runner caught between two bases, she alternated between the two desires, chasing in one direction and then the other. She convexed her back to urge him on; then she wanted to touch him, but didn't know how, so she stroked his back and arms.
He settled this question by pinning her arms to the bed. The demonstration of control pushed a powerful ripple of pleasure through her system. "Oh god, oh god! Fuck me, Jacob, I want you to take me."
He kicked her ankles apart with his. "When I am good and ready, little girl."
She sidled under him and he commanded her to hold still. The willing captive obeyed as long as she could. Jake nibbled at her belly and hips. He established a wide perimeter. Hillary whimpered and tried to roll toward his mouth. He gave her a little smack, causing her to yelp.
"I told you to hold still!"
This time she did better, though she ached to so much as wipe the perspiration from her breasts. Jake circled closer. Eventually she could feel his hot breathing at her cleft. It was agony to wait for the kiss she craved, but the torment was sweet, and she held her breath.
Jake looked up from his vantage point. Between the hills of her lovely breasts, the beauty queen's face showed total submission. She would do anything he asked, and he knew it.
He used both thumbs to open her slippery entrance.
"When you feel my tongue, Miss Fairchild, I want you to cum in my mouth."
With satisfaction he saw her nipples harden in response to his words. Desire transformed her face so that she almost looked like a different person. She really was a slut.
He slid his hands under her ass to hold her fast, and stabbed his tongue as deeply as he could into her hot pink flesh. The acrid wash of her orgasm burst against his face. Her cry was nearly that of a woman in pain.
Jake retreated and petted her mound. "Very good, Miss Fairchild," he praised her. "Can you do it again?"
"I," she breathed in and out, "I think so."
Without warning he renewed his attack on her tender folds. Hillary bucked and groaned. Jake slid two fingers inside the girl and saw how desperately she was trying to hold the pose he'd given her.
He scooted up so they were face to face. "Are you sore? Do you want me inside you?"
"Yes, yes please, I want you," she begged.
"What do you call me."
"Please, Mr. Olaffsen, fuck me."
He rolled on top of her and did as she asked.
By morning they had made love twice more. In the early light the teacher saw that his pupil was smiling in her sleep. He kissed her very gently, so as not to wake her, and slipped off to the shower.
When he came out, she was in the kitchen chopping an onion. The fumes didn't seem to bother her.
He ghosted up behind her in a silence born of necessary practice. "Would you believe that always makes me cry?"
Hillary whirled and clutched at her collarbone. "Oh! I didn't hear you come in."
He hugged her, noting she had already grated cheese for their eggs. Lightly he dropped a kiss on her hair. "Thank you for cooking."
Her smile was shy for a young lady who'd spent the night with her legs wide open. "Least I could do."
Jake was wearing only a towel slung around his hips. Her admiring gaze made him feel good. She indicated the stylized "7" on his bicep. "Lucky number?" she asked.
He looked at it. The memories were too old to bother him any more. Well, at least not every day. "Seventh Regiment," he answered.
The blank look on her face made him sad and amused, all at the same time. I could say 'Son Thang' and she'd think it was a rapper, he thought. He shook his head at her innocence. Sex, big deal! By the time he was her age, he'd killed a man. More than one, actually.
Hillary furrowed her brow but didn't press. She went on chopping onion. Jake broke eggs in a bowl and took them to task with a wire whisk. Together they made breakfast. Their conversation was ordinary, as if they met every day to share a simple meal.
Jake was trying to figure out how to break things off with her, and hating the idea. He had no wish to hurt her; he really did care for her wellbeing. The latter made it especially important that he set her free as soon as possible. They'd had a great time, but their relationship could not continue.
He was trying to find an opening when the phone rang.
"Where have you been? I tried to call you three times last night!" Stan sounded anxious, almost angry.
"Oh. I've been having trouble with my phone lately." Jake had plugged it back in shortly before he stepped into the shower.
Stan filled him in on the events of the night before.
"Shit!" Jake exclaimed. "Is everybody okay? Are those two little assholes in jail?"
Hillary watched her lover's face. His words calmed after that, but his face was set in a mask of wrath. Cautiously she sipped her coffee. This wasn't the stern expression he wore when they were playing. Something much darker shaped his features. Involuntarily, she found herself pulling back.
"Stupidest thing I ever heard of. ... In a busy restaurant on a Friday night, how dumb can you get. ... Yeah. They wanted attention, all right. I guess they got it. ...Uh-huh. Later."
Jake hung up the phone. His normally brown eyes were almost black.
"Last night Stan took Dave and Allie and Craig out for pizza. There was a shooting at the restaurant. Everyone's alright!" he added when a little scream fell from her lips.
"They're safe," she whispered. She wanted to hear that part again.
Jake nodded. "They're safe. But I could have prevented it." His eyes were odd again, turned inward to look at something she could not see.
"How?" She shook her head and lifted one shoulder. "Nobody can prevent that."
Jake envisioned Jeff Mullins, the same punk he'd easily defeated after the fall concert. As casually as drinking a glass of water, he could have squeezed the kid's wrist and slapped the weapon from his hand. But he hadn't been there.
He hadn't been there to stop it.
The old emotional wound shoved aside his intention to tell Hillary he was not in love with her.
"Finish your breakfast. I'll take you home."
* * *
Thanks to members of the Literotica Authors Hangout who helped edit part of this chapter.
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