Chapter 23: Woody and Crystal

"How are your joints feeling?" asked Woody, as he and Crystal walked out the doors of the conference center.

"Fine," she said, looking around.

"Oh," he said. "Good. I just thought you might need to stretch... or something."

Crystal turned to him, her gaze level.

"Just because I acted like a fool last night doesn't mean I'm a fool."

"You didn't act like a fool last night," he objected. "You acted like a woman, who needed something. I thought I gave it to you."

"Don't think you can just snap your fingers and I'll just hop in bed for you," she said. "I thought you wanted something deeper than that, anyway."

"I do," he said. He looked off down the street. "OK, then, sex is out. Sex is just a fond memory. No more sex. What do you want to do instead?"

"And don't try that either, you bum," said Crystal, leaning toward him and frowning. "This isn't just black and white. I didn't say I never want to have sex with you again, and you know it."

"I don't know anything," said Woody. "Except that you're in a bad mood, for some reason. I find it fascinating that I like being around you, even when you're in a bad mood."

"You're the reason for my bad mood," she grumbled.

"Me? What did I do?"

"You made me feel happier than I've felt since long before my divorce," she said.

"And that's bad?"

"We're leaving here in two days, Woody. I understand completely what Roberta was talking about. I finally meet a man I like, who I think I can trust, and who makes me feel things I didn't think I'd ever feel again, and, in two days, he's going to trot back off to where he came from."

"Well, for Pete's sake," said Woody. "Why didn't you just say so? Can I have your address?"

"Like you'd really come see me," said Crystal.

He looked stunned, and took a step back. Then the look on his face went determined, almost angry.

"Room!" ordered Woody. "Now!"

"What?" She actually looked surprised.

"Go to your room right now," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"You were in charge last night. It's my turn," he said. "We're going to your room right now. Go on," he said, waving at her with the backs of his hands, like he was shooing a flock of pigeons away.

"Woody," she complained.

"Now!" he said firmly. "No questions... just go."

To his immense relief, she turned, and walked off. She used her normal gait, and did not wait for him. She didn't quite stalk, but her body was tense. He caught up with her just as she pushed the door to her room open.

"Please take off your blouse and bra," instructed Woody.

"I told you..."

"And I told YOU that it's my turn to be in charge," he said. "I'm not going to touch you. Just take off your blouse and bra."

"What about my skirt?" she asked.

"I was going to have you take that off later, but if you want to, you can take it off now."

"Woody, what are you doing?"

"No questions. Just do it," he said.

To his added relief, she began unbuttoning her blouse. She was looking at his face, and there was curiosity on hers. That was good. Within a minute she stood before him in only panties.

He walked around her, examining her body. She took a breath, and opened her mouth, but it was obvious he was looking for something, and her curiosity about what he was doing made her wait.

"You have freckles," he said.

"Yes, on my shoulders," she said. "So what?"

"I didn't notice those last night." He kept walking. "There's a scar on your hip," he said.

"I got it when I fell out of a tree when I was a girl," she said. "Woody, what in the world are you doing?"

"I'm looking at the woman I spent the last two days with," he said calmly. "May I touch you? Not sexually... just to point out a few things."

"I guess so," she said, uncertainly.

He traced a finger lightly from the middle of her back up toward one shoulder.

"There's a band of muscle here that bulges and ripples when you move your arm. I saw it the other day when you were in the hot tub." He walked to her side, and his fingers touched her thigh. "You're thirty years old, but there isn't an ounce of cellulite on your thighs."

He came to her front, and his fingers traced across her belly. That flesh sucked in and rippled as he did so.

"Harden that," he instructed her.

The flesh went taut and flat, hard as a board.

"Good abdominal muscles," he said, like he was examining a cow or something.

His eyes came up to her breasts. He stared at them and did not look in her eyes. He knew, somehow, that she was looking at his eyes, and not what they were looking at.

"Fantastic breasts, with full nipples," he breathed, and for the first time there was more than just description in his voice. He kept his eyes on her breasts, first one, and then the other. "The left one is a little bigger than the right, though," he said, almost as if he were disappointed.

"Woody..."

"Hush, I'm not finished yet," he said, letting his eyes move upward. "Freckles on the upper chest too, and a long neck." His eyes finally came to her face and he felt almost fear as he saw her eyes had tears in them.

"Strong jaw, with high cheekbones. Eyes I could fall into," he said, his voice softer now. "Lips that call to me every time I look at them."

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Because I love everything about you," he said calmly. "I love your voice, and the way you think. I love your hair, and your eyes, and the planes of your face. I love every freckle you have, because I want to kiss them all, and that means I'd get to kiss you a lot, and I love kissing you. I love that you gave me a chance. I loved it when you had the book upside down, because I knew you were rattled, and that meant you'd actually noticed me, even though you pretended not to. I love that you told me how you felt. I even loved it last night when you teased me, and took charge." He smiled. "I think you know how I felt about what happened last night."

He stepped back suddenly.

"And this woman I love has disappointed me, because she thinks I'll be able to forget all about her in two days. She thinks I won't care enough to do whatever it takes to be near her. She thinks I don't love her. And that makes me disappointed in me too, because that means I was too chicken... too scared... too gutless to tell her how I felt until right now."