chapter Four
That week, the songs pour out. As soon as work is over, I run home, jump in the shower, grab a quick bite to eat, and head for the piano so I can commit to paper all the melodies that filter through my head in a constant stream. More than once my supervisor’s kicked the unused shovel in my hands when a daydream’s gone on too long.
Uncle Robert’s instructions about what the publisher wants me to write remain secondary to the pieces I have to write. Briefly, I wonder if Juli’s begun composing again. It’s one of her few weaknesses, but in my fantasy we’re both up late at night writing songs for each other that neither has the courage to share. My brain gets stuck on the word courage. That’s when I decide she needs to hear these. The old Isaac would send these off to the publisher and never let her know they’re all for her, but this Isaac needs to stop being afraid and take a chance.
In short, I need to grow a pair.
I pick up the phone to call Uncle Robert. “Hey, have a favor to ask. Can you come over tomorrow after I get home from work and listen to some pieces I’ve been working on?”
I hear him suck in a breath. “So you took my suggestion seriously? You’ve been composing?”
“Yeah.”
“Wonderful! You make an old man happy. Unfortunately, I can’t make it tomorrow evening.”
“Got a hot date?”
After a beat, he says, “No, not exactly.”
“Stop being mysterious, Uncle Robert. You got me curious now. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“It’s nothing, Isaac. How about the day after tomorrow?”
“Hmm, now you’re changing the subject. Must be really good. Bet I could figure it out if I tried.”
“Since when did you turn into a busybody? If you must know, tomorrow is Julianne’s birthday and I’ve been asked to attend a party in her honor. Do not ask me for details because I will not provide them. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I hang up the phone, stunned by his admission. Tomorrow. Juli’s birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. Its significance hits me square in the chest, ripping open a ragged hole and leaving nothing but blackness in its wake. If I had exercised patience and good sense, I could be over there tomorrow as well, possibly going public with our relationship. It would no longer be any kind of offense, legal or moral. Instead, my absence will likely be the giant elephant in the room, though I know damn well Dave is probably on a plane right now so he can be the one to stand at her side while she cuts the first piece of cake.
And after the party…How many times did he tell me to wait until she was eighteen? He even programmed it into my goddamn phone once as a joke. I grab it off the kitchen counter, scroll through my ridiculously empty calendar, and there it is staring me in the face: JC 18. You may now pass GO.
Tomorrow, it’ll be him. I turn and slam my fist into the bare plaster of the wall, sending white powder floating through the air. Volcanic anger erupts from the fiery pit of my gut and spews out in a molten snarl. I punch the wall with my other fist, driving clear through the plaster to the lathe behind it.
“F*ck!” My knuckles throb like a son of a bitch, but not nearly as hurt as my pride. Black shadows descend behind my eyelids. Dave may have her now, but he can’t bring her to life the way I can. Doesn’t know how to push her to her limits or even have the balls to try. He doesn’t know about the little spot at the nape of her neck that makes her whimper, or how to make her eyes roll back in her head. That’s me. Game on.
At the end of the kitchen island sits my laptop. In the drawer below it are a couple of extra flash drives. After icing my knuckles on ancient bags of frozen vegetables from the back of the freezer, I set up the equipment I haven’t touched since Juli’s audition recording in the fall. I spend the next couple of hours playing the shit out of the pieces I’ve composed for her. She once told me I said much more through the piano than I ever did with words. If that’s the case, she’ll get this message loud and clear: We are not finished.
***
Sometime in the early hours of Julianne’s eighteenth birthday, I pull into the alley that runs behind her piano studio and cut the engine. Everything’s still in the same place, but it looks different, like going back to your old school and feeling massive next to the miniature desks. The grass is a little longer, flowers bloom where once there was nothing but pine straw, and the darkened windows seem more sinister. Julianne is a creature of habit so I’m counting on her consistency to leave the studio door unlocked.
It is. Good girl.
I’d planned to simply place the flash drive on top of her grand piano, but once inside, memories assail each of my five senses. She’s rearranged her sheet music. A new plant replaces the one she threw at my head, no doubt a gift delivered during her time in the hospital. It still smells of musty books and innocence, but instead of mingling with the scent of my aftershave—and later, the smell of sex—it’s been replaced by a different yet familiar cologne.
I grit my teeth and tamp down the urge to destroy something. Instead, I gently place the flash drive where she’ll see it and turn to leave. But I can’t just walk away. The a*shole in me rears up, and like a dog lifting his leg to mark his territory, I rub my newly shaven face against either side of the door frame. Yeah, it’s a pathetic move, but this is war.
Once I’m out of her neighborhood, I realize what a bone-headed move that was, but it doesn’t wipe the grin off my face. At work, Herman shoots me funny looks.
“There something you wanna share, Romeo?” He scratches his nose, leaving a wide dirt smudge behind.
“Why’s that?”
“Can count on one hand the number of times I seen you smile in the months I knowed you. All them been today. Aw, man, there must be a girl. You get some last night?”
I lean on my shovel, glad for the break, and squint at him through the sweat dripping in my eyes. “Yes and no.”
Herman slaps his knee. “I knowed it! She pretty?”
“Gorgeous.”
“Frisky?”
“You have no idea.”
“Damn. Tell me ‘bout it at lunch?”
“Nah, wouldn’t be right.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, shaking his head. “But whatever you doing, keep it up. Ain’t never seen you work so hard.”
He’s right. All day I’ve been picturing Juli going out to her studio and finding the flash drive. Hope she smelled my aftershave and it sent her heart into overdrive. She’s a sight to behold when her adrenaline’s up, all flushed cheeks and false bravado.
I remember the day she got so riled up she threw a fern at my head and missed. It was a valiant effort, but thoroughly ineffective. When she pulled out her most powerful weapon, that’s when she broke through the thin line separating wrong from right and called my bluff.
She’d slammed her pretty little mouth into mine. Swear to God I wanted to strangle her into submission and show her what dangerous ground she was treading, but that’s when my body went rogue. She sank her teeth into my lower lip and that was the last straw. Even now, I’m overwhelmed at the remembered feel of the flushed, smooth skin at her waist when my hands traveled under the hem of her shirt and how she’d shivered against me when I backed her into the piano. Expected her to be frightened, but instead she’d moaned and deepened the kiss to the point I wasn’t sure I could stop, and damn if taking her right there in the studio in broad daylight hadn’t been tempting.
I draw a shaky breath and channel my energy into the trench I’m digging, lest one of my coworkers notice my growing discomfort and get the wrong idea. At lunch, Herman gives me shit about not telling him what happened, but there’s not much to tell.
After work, I follow the same old routine—shower and eat a pathetic dinner alone. I’m on my second cup of ramen noodles when heavy pounding on the door makes me slop hot broth over my hand.
“Shit. Hold on, I’m coming! Swear to God, if it’s someone from the paper asking me to subscribe…”
It’s not. I see his blond spikes through the glass and snicker, knowing he couldn’t stay away forever. Wonder if he brought Juli with him, if she’s out there on the porch remembering the last time she was here. I thank my lucky stars I showered first and ate later.
As soon as I turn the doorknob, Dave shoves it open. His glare could shrivel a bull’s nuts. “What the f*ck?”
“Great to see you too, buddy. Come on in. Can I get you something?”
“F*ck you. What’s this about?” My flash drive dangles from his finger.
“That,” I snatch it from him, “does not belong to you and is none of your business.”
“Correction—everything to do with her is my business, so start talking, f*ckwad.”
“Jeez, Dave, relax. It’s a flash drive with some compositions. Remembered it was her birthday. It’s not like I can send a card in the mail and get it past her folks. Or you, it seems.”
He smirks. “Oh, is that all? So that’s why I found her in her room crying her eyes out? You just can’t leave well enough alone. Some days I wonder what the hell goes on in your head, but I don’t want to know. You’re seriously messed up. It’s one thing to keep your craziness locked in your own head, but you’ve got no right to spread it around.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to make her cry, but–”
“But nothing, Ike. You’re not right in the head. She finally starts getting better, and you call her over to your uncle’s.”
“I needed to apologize.”
He throws out his arms. “And you did—over the phone. At least three times, from what she told me.”
“Owed it to her to tell her to her face,” I tell him, already hearing the hint of uncertainty in my voice.
“No, you might tell yourself that, but I know you better. You just wanted to see her and you wanted her to see you. You think you have some power over women, like they can’t resist your movie-star looks or some bullshit like that,” he says.
“Movie-star looks? I didn’t think you’d noticed,” I say, striking a pose. I expect my best friend to laugh, but he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
“It’s not funny, man. And neither is sneaking onto private property and leaving unwanted gifts. Her parents asked me to tell you if you try to contact Juli again, they’ll be forced to file a restraining order. They could already pin you with breaking and entering.”
“Re– Are you shitting me? That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it? Can you promise you’ll leave her be?”
“And the door was unlocked.”
“Dude, that’s not the point. The fact that you’re arguing about this speaks volumes.”
I open my mouth to answer but the gravity of the situation finally hits me. He’s serious, and until this moment, I had no intention of leaving her alone, nor did I really see anything wrong with entering the studio.
“She cried?”
“Yeah.”
“And she’s getting better?”
“She was,” he says.
“So I ruined her birthday.”
“Pretty much.”
The fight leaves me and I sag against the wall. “Dave, I never meant to hurt her. Never. Didn’t think–”
“That’s the thing,” he says, pointing at my head. “You never think. You have no concept of how your actions affect others. I used to assume it was because you thought you were above everyone else, but now it’s just sad. You gotta get your shit together, man.”
His words are lead cannonballs. How did I screw things up so badly? When did it come to restraining orders? I’m that guy, the one you look away from on the street who sleeps in dirty clothes, clueless that he’s turned a metaphorical corner and veered off into an empty field muttering to himself while stinking of stale beer and cheap cigarettes.
Just when I thought I was getting back on the right track, doing what Heather suggested.
Heather.
She and her bitch mother probably cooked up this plan to make me look even worse. She’s the one who put the idea in my head, pretending to be concerned and sympathetic. Familiar anger replaces despair. I take a deep breath. This is more familiar territory and the feeling fills me like water on a dry sponge.
“You’re right, Dave. Sorry. You have my word that I’ll stay away from the Casquettes’ house and I’ll steer clear of Juli.” For now. “Go on back and try to salvage her birthday. Pretty sure I know what you had planned. Sorry if I cock-blocked you, man.”
Dave shakes his head. “You know, I joke about that stuff a lot, but it’s not the only thing on my mind. You know me better than that, or at least you should. Call me when you grow the f*ck up.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, that hurts, does it? Good. At least you’re capable of feeling. Get some help, ’cause you need it even more than Juli.”
Red anger mixes with disbelief as I watch my best friend turn his back and drive away to be with the girl we both love, though according to both of them, I’m not capable of that emotion.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I just want what I can’t have. First I denied myself of her because I was too caught up in my own shit from Boston. Then I told myself I couldn’t have her because she wasn’t old enough, that the biddies in Mobile would have a field day…and they did once I let my guard down and gave in to temptation. Was it worth it? Worth losing my career, my reputation, my friends, and even most of my family?
Regret won’t change anything, so yeah. Having Julianne was the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever experienced, and now that I can’t have her again, she’s all I think about. I need a new plan.
But first, I have a score to settle. I punch in the numbers and count the rings.
Heather picks up on the third one. “Hey, how are you? How did it go?”
“Can you meet me tonight for dinner?”
“Um, not on such short notice, but we could do drinks later. That okay?”
“Absolutely. There’s something I want to say to you.”
***
Entering Felix’s again after such a long time, and everything that went down since the last time I was here, is a bit disorienting. Its location and clientele, however, make it the perfect spot for what I have planned for Heather Swann.
Her long blond hair stands out in the dim, smoke-filled room. She furtively glances around the room, looking like a little white mouse about to be swooped up in the clutches of a hungry owl. Perhaps she is. I watch as she checks her phone, probably to see if I’m late, and adjusts the straps on her deep pink tank top. Her other hand clutches a sweating bottle of beer, though I know she detests the stuff. Probably afraid to drink out of a glass from this place.
Now that I know she’s good and uncomfortable, it’s time to move in.
“Hey,” she drawls as I slide into the seat across from her. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show. You doing okay?”
“Fantastic,” I tell her, and curve my mouth into a smile guaranteed to put her at ease. Sure enough, her shoulders relax and she grins back. “What are you drinking?”
“This? I have no idea. I can’t even pronounce it.”
“Why’d you order it then?”
Her nose wrinkles. Gotcha. “So, tell me how things went with Julianne. Did you apologize?”
“Sure did.”
“And?”
“And she wouldn’t answer my calls, so I had to leave voice mails.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Mails? As in plural?”
“Yeah.”
The waitress comes by and I order my usual. Well, it used to be my usual when I came here in high school and then with Juli.
Heather peels at the label on her bottle. “So, you left several messages? All saying the same thing?”
“Pretty much. Like I said, she wouldn’t pick up or return them.”
She grimaces. “Isaac, I hate to say it, but that’s kind of creepy. You eventually stopped, right?”
“When she called back.”
“And?”
“I asked her to meet me so I could apologize in person. Owed it to her.”
Heather slams her palms down on the table and leans forward. “You did what? Isaac, you had no right. Please tell me she said no.”
It takes monumental force to unclench my jaw before answering. “She said yes. We met at–” Start to tell her Uncle Robert’s house, but it’s probably best to leave the old man out of this. “We met at a neutral location.”
“Oh, God, Isaac. You did it again.”
“Did what?”
“Made it all about you. You didn’t apologize because you wanted to make things right. You did it so you could feel better about yourself. I take it you want to work things out with her? That you’re not making a clean break?”
I shrug, trying not to show her how much those now-familiar words make me angry. This was her idea, anyway. She’s trying to twist things around, surely a part of her plan. Time to put mine into practice.
“Did what you suggested. Told her I was sorry, hoped she was getting better, and I wished her well in Boston.”
Heather’s narrowed eyes give away her uncertainty. “How did Juli react?”
Bitch wants a play-by-play, no doubt so she can report it all to her mama. “She cried a little, but she was okay. Looks really good, healthy. Dave must be good for her.” There’s not enough beer in the world to wash down the bitter taste left in my mouth from that lie.
Skepticism and hope flit across Heather’s face, like she wants to believe me but isn’t sure she can. Gotta hand it to her, she’s an excellent actress. Her mama’s taught her well.
“Well, that’s great,” she says, leaning back in the booth. “Do you feel better?”
“Absolutely. You were right.” Another lie for me to choke on. We clink bottles. “I’ve learned my lesson. Had a lot of time to think about things the past few months, and that’s not the direction I want my life to go in. Must have just been a rebound thing after what happened in Boston with Marie.”
I take a draw on my bottle and wait for that name-drop to register.
“Marie was another girlfriend?”
I nod. “Almost a fiancée. Wanted to get married and start a family, but she wasn’t on the same page. Dumped me the day I put down the first payment on a ring.” If there’s anything all women have in common, it’s sympathy for a jilted guy. She’ll be eating out of my palm in no time.
“Oh my gosh, Isaac. I had no idea.” She lays her small hand on mine and squeezes. This is too easy. “It’s no wonder–”
I wave her off. “Ancient history. Anyway, I realized that just because it didn’t work out with her, there was no reason to think I wouldn’t find someone else who wanted the same things as me.”
The cute brunette waitress bumps my arm when she approaches the table. “Another round for you two?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, “but could you bring a watermelon mojito for the lady? And a straw.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
Heather arches an eyebrow.
“What? I know you like those, plus you make a face every time you take a sip of beer. Promise, I used to come here all the time and never caught any strange diseases from the glasses. The straw will be one more barrier. Besides, didn’t anyone ever tell you alcohol kills germs?”
She smiles and tilts her head just slightly, like she did in high school when I’d tease her. Have to admit, it tugs on what’s left of my heartstrings, but I need to remember the woman in front of me is not as innocent as the one I loved. This one has been poisoned by her mama’s vitriol and God knows what else.
When the waitress returns with our drinks, Heather takes a tentative sip. “Mmm, not bad. Pretty good, actually.”
“See? Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” I say, pointing my bottle at her. “They’re often deceiving.”
“Point taken,” she says. “So what’s next for Isaac Laroche?”
“Good question. Suppose I should work on getting my family to speak to me again.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep. Uncle Robert’s the only one I talk to these days.”
“How is he? I always loved his charm.”
“Good. Had a stroke last year but you’d hardly know it.”
“Oh, dear, I hadn’t heard.”
“He’s fine. Strong as an ox.”
Heather fiddles with her straw, stirring the pink watermelon juice around in her drink like bloody bathwater. She peeks up through her eyelashes. “Will you stay here?”
“Will you?”
“I asked first.”
“No plans to leave. Kind of like to stick around and see what develops.” I make sure to keep eye contact when I say this. Even in the dark bar, it’s obvious she’s blushing. “So what about you? Heading back to Tuscaloosa soon?”
She shifts in her seat and stares somewhere over my shoulder. “No. I’m here for the foreseeable future. I, um, need some time to regroup after…you know.” She holds up her left hand and wiggles her bare ring finger.
“Ah, I see. So we’re both boomerangs.” I’m immensely pleased with myself when she chokes a little on her drink.
“You can’t say things like that when I have a mouthful!” I’m even more pleased when she grabs my arm and laughs.
In no time at all I’ve gotten three mojitos in her to my three weak beers. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.
She points at me. “Remember the time we snuck into Church Street Cemetery, and Amelia Bentley swore she saw Joe Cain’s ghost and screamed so loud we thought for sure the police would catch us? Honestly, that girl was a trip. I think she works for the newspaper up in Montgomery now.”
“I do remember that night, but my memory is a little different from yours. I recall you squeezing my hand so hard I thought it’d go numb. When Amelia screamed, you practically jumped into my arms.”
“Did I? Well, I always felt safe with you.” My eyes track her lips’ progress to that itty bitty straw she’s sucking on.
“And now?”
Heather leans across the table and crooks her finger at me. I mirror her position. She says real low, “Now I think it’s you who needs to feel safe.”
Game over. Time to roll the credits. “You wanna get out of here?”
“You have no idea.”
I slap two twenties on the table, take her hand, and lead her to my car. The woman is five-foot-nothing, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and half drunk, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t throw me against the passenger door I’d intended to hold open for her.
Her tiny hands lace in my hair, tugging me down to her already parted lips. Not hard to play my part, what with her lower half pressed against mine. In fact, that part of me seems to have no problem with my duplicity. She groans when she feels it and grinds closer like she hasn’t had any in months. I can relate. I respond by grabbing her waist and dragging her against me, while my other hand threads in her long hair and tugs to expose her throat. Starting at the hollow between her collarbones, I slowly work my way up to her chin before claiming her mouth again. She tastes like summer, watermelon, and rum. Everything about her is so different from—
No. Can’t think about her.
It’s not that Heather’s not attractive. Good God, the woman’s sex in heels, but it isn’t the same. This feels like a desperate mercy f*ck.
I’m pulled from my analysis when she goes for my belt. “Not here,” I growl. “Let’s do this right, sweet pea. Come on.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, before brushing her hand along my length. She smirks at my reaction.
“In the car, minx. Now.”
She laughs, a low bawdy sound I’ve never heard from her before. Once we’re both in the car, she’s at it again. She refuses the seatbelt I point out and tries to climb over the console into my lap.
“Woman, you are going to get us arrested or wrapped around a utility pole.”
“Now wouldn’t that be a story to tell Mama.” She laughs again and licks her lips. The mention of Marcie Swann is a freezing-cold shower.
“The belt, or this night’s over, Heather.”
“Oh my, when did you become so bossy? I kind of like it.”
“When did you become so forward? I kind of like that, too.”
“Shut up and drive,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maybe two blocks later she starts again, her hand burning a hole through my pant leg. It’s like when we dated in high school, except the roles are reversed. Instead of me slipping my hands under her dress, she’s determined to get my fly down at a red light.
We make it home in record time. Don’t even care that the place is a mess and probably smells. While I unlock the door, she tugs up the back of my shirt and slowly drags down her fingernails from my shoulder blades to my waist. Nearly lose my shit right then and there.
“This is what you want?”
She nods.
“Not good enough. Say it out loud. Tell me what you want.”
“We never got to finish what Mama interrupted. I want to make up for lost time.”
“Then hold on tight, sweet pea.” Before she has time to protest, I lift her over my shoulder and carry her caveman-style up the steep steps to the second floor. She laughs and kicks off her shoes, so I swat her ass just to see what she’ll do.
“Again,” she breathes. The smell of sex permeates the air, so I oblige. The earthy scent gets stronger. I’m in big trouble. This was just supposed to be a fake f*ck to get her back, then send her conniving ass back home to her mama with her panties in her purse. If I’m going to accomplish my goal, I’ll need to step things up.
My bedroom’s a black hole of disorder, but she only has eyes for me when I set her back down on her bare feet. “Lose the clothes.”
While she peels off her shirt, I sit back on the bed and lean on my elbows. F*ck the symphony; I’ve got a front-row seat to the best show in town. Under her dark pink tank top is a matching bra. “Leave that on for now.” The streetlights shine in through my naked window, casting her in shadows and light. It’s impossible to miss how turned on she is. “Skirt next.” She reaches behind her to undo the zipper, but in the process, her breasts push out and nearly break free from the thin material I could easily rip with my bare hands. I dig my fingers into the sheets to stop myself. After her skirt falls to the hardwood floor, she kicks it away and looks at me expectantly.
There’s nothing I can do to stop the lazy grin spreading across my face. “You said it was me who needed to feel safe. Show me.” I raise my fist then point to the floor.
She falls to her knees like a well-trained puppy. “I thought you’d never ask,” is her reply.
The next ten minutes are some of the best of my life. If I’d known she’d be this good, I would’ve flown home from Boston every weekend, to hell with her mama. The girl definitely learned more than corporate law in Tuscaloosa. Try as I might to stay in control and make her work, I lose it at the end, coming loudly with a primal groan and my hands buried in her hair. Heather wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinkie.
“Stand up.” She lifts to her feet with the grace of a dancer. After shucking off the rest of my clothes, I move behind her and sweep her hair off her neck. I place one hand on her stomach and hold her in place while slowly trailing kisses from the nape of her neck all the way down to the small of her back. Can’t help grinning when the tiny muscles along her spine twitch at the contact. A quick tug and her soaked panties are on the floor. The smell of her arousal makes short work of my recovery time. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Her whole body shivers at the compliment. “Turn around.” She obeys. “Look at me.” She meets my eyes and suddenly I’m back on her parents’ couch senior year. She’d handed me a condom and hidden her face. I’d taken her chin between my fingers and forced her to meet my gaze. “Are you sure?” She’d answered by reaching down and putting the condom on me.
Tonight, that shy girl is gone.
“Last chance to back out, sweet pea.” She smirks and reaches back to undo the clasps of her bra. “Guess I have my answer, don’t I?”
A groan escapes when she presses herself against me, soft in the places I’m hard. She tilts up her chin and places her lips next to my ear. I shiver when she whispers, “F*ck me.”
You don’t have to ask this good ol’ boy twice. The whole night may be a sham, but it’s going to count. She’ll be going home to her mama well-used and sore, that’s for damn sure.
“You on the pill?”
“Mm-hm. You clean?”
“Squeaky,” I reply, “but things are about to get dirty.”
She gasps when I flip her over and grip the back of her head, holding her face in place against the sheets. The bastard I’ve been trying to keep in check all night breaks free in a torrent of God-awful filth, and the thicker I lay it on, the louder she moans. The Heather I knew was a sweet little thing. The one underneath me is a sick little bitch. The harder I try to offend her, the slicker she gets. Then my diseased mind lands on the one thing sure to piss her off.
In my calmest voice I croon, “F*ck, baby, you’re almost as tight as Juli.” She quits her writhing and goes quiet. Mission accomplished. But I don’t stop. I should—I know I should—but I continue to pound into her while laying out my list of grievances.
“You had your fun—my turn. This is for setting me up. Telling me to apologize when you knew it was a bad idea.” I pick up the pace, my breath coming in rapid bursts between words. “Making me think I still had a chance. Bet you and your mama had a laugh over that. Be sure to tell her they threatened a restraining order.” With one final push and a shudder, I tip over the edge for the second time tonight. Between the buzz in my veins and the revenge I’ve just exacted, I feel like a f*cking god. “Now get your shit and get out of my house.”
Don’t know what I expected from her. Tears, screaming, shocked silence. What I didn’t expect was a loud moan and pulsing waves when she comes around me. All the bravado I’d been relishing for the last minute drains out and slips through the cracks in the floor. Her harsh laugh draws my attention as she raises her head from the bed, twists around, and pins me with cold, knowing eyes.
“You think you’ve got this all figured out, so ready to accuse others and cast blame.” Her fingers twine in the metal headboard as she pulls herself up. She doesn’t even make a move to cover her nakedness. I can’t wrench my eyes away, nor can I make sense of her actions as she crawls over on all fours, a feral cat moving in for the kill. A sharp fingernail digs into the underside of my chin, pushing my head back and exposing my throat. If she wanted to turn the tables, send a clear message about what I am and what I am not, she’s succeeded.
The flat of her tongue glides up the side of my neck, scraping nearly a day’s worth of stubble like a mother cat with a sandpaper tongue. She stops just below my ear then takes the lobe between her teeth and bites down hard enough to make me wince. The sharp pain mingles with the other confused synapses firing away in my brain and the only thing I know is I’ve once again been proven weak and foolish by a woman. Her warm breath on my ear does little to lessen the sting of the bite.
“Do you honestly think my mama would approve of me meeting you for drinks in public, let alone coming back to your house so you can use me like a whore in your twisted revenge fantasy? You don’t know anything.”
There’s a fist stuck in my throat. “Clearly,” I manage on the second try.
“Tell me, do you believe in fighting fire with fire?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
She maneuvers her way into my lap, wrapping smooth legs around my waist. Her limbs are still damp with sweat, her mussed hair a reminder of my rough treatment. A few strands tickle my cheek when she leans in. “In our case, it means the only way to handle a lunatic hell-bent on retribution is to be vindictive in return. You’re not the only one who’s had a lot of time to think.” She pulls back, only to slowly walk her fingertips up my chest. “I’ll give you some time to process this. Thanks for a fun evening.”
As casually as if we’d just shared the passion of life-long lovers, she dresses, kisses my forehead, and waltzes out the bedroom door. Like an idiot, I simply sit and watch, wondering what the hell just happened and how this will play out. Her soft footfalls pause as she picks up the shoes she kicked off on the way up the stairs.
“I’ll be in touch,” she calls, before closing the front door behind her. The window’s rattle echoes through the vaulted, empty rooms of the house. I sit—naked, bewildered, ashamed—unmoving for minutes, possibly hours, until my thoughts run their futile course and merciful sleep takes me away from this nightmare.