The Heart of a Stranger by Sheri Whitefeather

hammered and crazy.
    Crazy, like the song.
    Suddenly they stopped to gulp air, to gaze at each other.
    â€œI wish you could stay,” he said.
    Her breath hitched. “Me, too.” She glanced at the sofa bed. “But I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
    â€œI know.” He stepped back, realizing how dangerous this was. “I’m not asking you to, Lourdes.”
    She blinked. “You’re not?”
    He shook his head. “Even if we agreed to be together, I don’t have any protection. I’m not prepared.”
    She fidgeted with the ruffles on her blouse, and he saw the silhouette of her bra, the aroused tips of her breasts pressing against the fabric.
    â€œI’m not prepared either,” she said. “I don’t keep condoms around. I don’t have affairs. I’m just not that casual about sex.”
    â€œI am.” Juan shifted his feet. “Or I used to be.”
    â€œUsed to be?”
    â€œBefore this. Before us. I still can’t recall the last time I made love, but I know I wasn’t attached to my partner. Not emotionally, the way I am with you.”
    She worried her lip. “I’m afraid of what will happen when you’re gone. When you return to your old life.”
    â€œI’m afraid of that, too.” So afraid he would lose her.
    She crossed her hands over her blouse, shielding the outline of her distended nipples. “Then I should go home, and we should stop thinking about this. About each other.”
    Her hair still fell in disarray, he noticed, and her lips were swollen from his kiss. “Yes,” he agreed. “We should stop thinking about each other.”
    But even as he walked her to the door, as they fumbled through a platonic hug, he knew he wouldn’t stop thinking about her.
    Not tonight. And heaven help him, maybe not ever.
    Â 
    Lourdes went home, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Juan.
    Three hours later, she sat on a velvet stool, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to his house, gazing at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
    She wanted him. And he wanted her.
    Anxious, she let out the breath she’d been holding. How could she face each day without touching him? Without knowing how it felt to lie naked with him?
    She couldn’t. By God, she couldn’t.
    Then go to him, she told herself. Be with him. Make it happen.
    Knowing she had to stop by the all-night convenience store for a box of condoms, she grabbed her purse, checked on her sleeping children and left Cáco a note.
    Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home in time for breakfast.
    Or sooner, she feared, if Juan turned her away. If he decided their relationship was too complicated for sex.
    She drove along the deserted highway, fretting her fool head off. Of course their relationship was too complicated for sex. They’d both admitted they were afraid of what the future might bring. Afraid of what would happen once Juan returned to his old life.
    Yet Lourdes couldn’t stop the want, the need to hold him in her arms, to feel him moving between her legs.
    The newly-built convenience store, which offered overpriced necessities and junk food, sat on a lone corner, right before the edge of town.
    She parked her truck and went inside. At 12:00 a.m., she was the only customer milling up and down the short aisles.
    She found the prophylactics and glanced at the clerk, a young man who looked casually alert on this quiet Tuesday morning.
    Feeling shy, she added a carton of milk, two candy bars, a package of breath mints and a box of tissues to her purchase, hoping the condoms wouldn’t stand out like a neon sign.
    The clerk rang up her order without raising a brow, and she breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how many other desperate-for-sex women had showed up at midnight trying to camouflage their craving with unnecessary items.
    On her way out the door, another convenience-store patron arrived, a trucker who nodded