Pax stops and nods once before disappearing out the door.
I don’t blame him for being territorial. We’re the only family we know and the only friends we truly trust. If his goofy broad turns serious, I’ll worry too. No one stands between the brothers. It’s our motto. One of them anyway. When we’re drunk, we come up with a lot of them.
Folgers sits on the couch next to me while I watch the news then an episode of Tattoo Nightmares. He also hangs around during my shower. At some point while I’m walking around in my dark room, the dog decides to find another place to haunt.
Crawling under the covers, I listen to the rain against the windows and imagine Shay doing the same thing at Darby’s place. She’s likely upstairs in one of the bedrooms that didn’t belong to MJ. Imagining her long blonde hair messy across a pillow, I wonder if she wears a nightgown or flannel pajamas to bed.
A man like me gets only a few shots in life to find a woman who fits. Not like the businessman-type who visits his elderly mom up the street. Clean-cut with bright white teeth and a spray tan, he works out and dates a new woman on a regular basis. He’s searching for his Barbie wife to look pretty in the yearly Christmas cards. They’ll have bland babies and live a bland life. A lot of women can fit with a lame guy like him living a cushy life.
I’m not him. I’m not looking for my Barbie. If I want a kid, I can always go commando with a trailer trash chick unable to remember to take her pills. My club brother Bagman never wanted a wife. Instead, he has a couple kids by a couple chicks and he plays daddy on weekends. No harm, no foul. It’s a good life for him and he’s not looking to change anything.
I’m not looking either. Yet I find myself wondering about Shay in a way that makes me feel like a lonely kid. The house is too quiet and the rain feels oppressive. Mostly, my bed is too empty.
I close my eyes and imagine Shay looking up at me from under the tip of her hat. Her eyes are the same color as the gray marbles I played with on the gravel driveway as a kid. When Shay looks at me, I see no hint to her mood or tease to her plans. Even when I pulled her off Creepy Spencer, her eyes were unreadable. Her lips twisted in rage told me more than those eyes.
No matter how well she lies, I refuse to believe she wants any man besides me. I suspect she’s thinking about me right now too. Feeling her soft fingers on my skin, I know she wants to touch me. She needs me to touch her.
I caress my cock like I know she will one day. Shay will make me come. I suspect she’ll take pleasure in having power over me. Not in a cruel way. No, Shay likes making others happy. I don’t know how I know this about her, but I do.
Thunder crashes overhead and I hear Folgers scramble for his corner. Shay is somewhere, listening to the thunder too. She’s who I focus on. Not the now, but a day in the future when she’s with me in the dark. Thinking of when she downed the shots of whiskey, I imagine those wet lips sucking at my cock.
Closing my eyes, I can feel her in bed with me. Her skin is chilled against mine until I warm her. Her delicate fingers tease me, her lips suck at my flesh, and I hear her say my name in the same whispering voice she used to ask if she was in trouble.
I find relief. The physical kind, but I don’t sleep for a long time. Rolling around in bed, I eventually turn on the TV. Nothing interests me while everything reminds me of Shay. Even the slutty chicks on the phone sex commercials make me wonder about her.
Lucky claimed she worked in a strip club, yet she hides her body now. Her new style works for me. I’m not looking for anyone else to see what’s beneath the flannel except me.
I’m still awake when Pax returns home after two. I don’t bother him as he makes way too much noise in the kitchen. Folgers follows him around, his nails clicking on the wood floors. They’re like a fucking circus moving around my level of the house. I wonder if I sound as loud to Pax when I arrive home after an easy lay.
Even though Shay’s likely asleep, I can’t relax. I need to know she’s safe. She didn’t look hurt when I left her, but I didn’t check close enough.
Is she afraid? In pain? Does she fear Creepy Spencer hurting her again?
Fuck. I need to know the answers, but calling is out of the question. If I woke her up in the middle of the night, Darby would drive to my house and kick me in the balls.
The only way I sleep is to think of Shay wrapped in my arms in my bed where I’m sure no one can hurt her. Finally, I relax into dreams about Shay sitting next to me in the booth at Suede.