by Ella Miles
I smirk. “Probably because you were too busy getting your brains fucked out to care.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it’s not.” She walks back to the living room where there is an empty bowl that used to contain her Chinese food and a glass filled with tequila. She takes a seat on the worn-in tan couch. Her dogs climb up next to her, making themselves at home as they curl up with her and each other.
I take a seat on the reclining chair next to the couch, knowing that she isn’t going to offer me food or drink. She doesn’t want me here, so why would she make it more comfortable for me to be here?
“I want our last fuck.”
“You know that’s not going to happen. You knew before you came here that I would never give it to you. That, even if you had treated me like a perfect gentleman that last day, I still wouldn’t fuck you after you showed up here. I told you, I was only ever interested in one week.”
She takes a drink of her tequila, and I watch as it slides down her throat.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say as my eyes burn into hers.
“You don’t care about me.”
I sigh. “You’re right. I only care about you as long as I get to fuck you, but it seems you won’t let me fuck you until I pretend to care, so you can see my predicament.”
“I’m not talking about Gabe.”
“I didn’t ask about Gabe. I want to know why you are in so much pain right now. And don’t lie to me. I know your body better than anyone. I know that your eyes are usually filled with a little bit of light, but today, they only see the darkness. Your breathing is slow and heavy, like the weight of today is pushing you down, making it hard to move, let alone breathe. Why are you in such pain?”
She stares off into space, giving me no indication if she is going to talk to me or not. “Because bad things happen to creatures that don’t deserve it.”
I narrow my eyes, not understanding.
“I lost a dog tonight. It was painful. He was just a puppy. He didn’t deserve to die, but there was nothing I could do.”
She drinks the rest of the tequila. She shakes the glass, listening as the ice rattles around.
“I’m sorry,” I say because that’s all I can say.
“Life sucks.”
I nod and walk back to the kitchen to get the tequila. I grab the bottle and bring it back to her. She takes it from me and pours herself easily three more shots’ worth. She’s drunk already and getting drunker by the minute.
I don’t stop her. She needs the distraction. And, since she won’t take me up on my offer to let me fuck away the pain, the alcohol is the only thing that will do.
She keeps talking about how the poor puppy didn’t deserve to die. That he didn’t deserve the life he was given. But, as sad as it is that she lost the puppy, it’s not what she’s really sad about. There is still something that she isn’t telling me. Something that I’m desperate to know. Because the only way I’ll get to fuck her again is if she gets past whatever darkness is currently consuming her.
11
Skye
I get a lick on my face, as I almost always do when it’s time to get up in the morning. I open my eyes and sit up in bed. I feel like I was hit by a truck, and then that truck backed up and ran me over again.
How much did I drink last night?
I feel my stomach heaving, and I run, making it to the toilet just in time for the alcohol to all start coming back up. Apparently, I drank way too much.
I sit on the cold floor for a minute before I stand and clean my mouth out with water and brush my teeth. I vaguely remember the pain. I remember the tequila. And I remember Brody.
Ugh, why did he have to come back into my life?
He’s a giant dick, but he’s a dick that I want to ride. And, even though I can’t deal with him right now, he’s all I’m going to be able to think about until he leaves town. Maybe I can just fuck him once like he wants, and then he will leave.
I doubt it, but maybe the sex will suck, and I’ll realize that what we had in the Bahamas was just a fantasy that I played up in my head. It wasn’t real.
I take a deep breath and get a whiff of what smells like pancakes. Except it can’t be. I don’t live with anyone else. I must be dreaming.
I walk out into my living area, and the smell gets stronger. I’m greeted by my dogs and cats, which I give each of them some attention before rounding the corner and continuing into my kitchen.
My stomach flips at the sight of Brody cooking shirtless in my kitchen. Of course, he stayed. And of course, my body doesn’t understand that it shouldn’t get excited about backstabbers like Brody, no matter how hot they are.
“You know how to cook?” I ask, surprised.
He turns his head as he continues to stand in front of my stove. “I have many talents. Cooking isn’t one of them, but I can make a basic meal.”
I want to yell at him to get out, but I really want the pancakes. My stomach is aching for some carbs to soak up the alcohol still causing havoc in my stomach.
“Sit down,” he commands.
I walk over to my two-seater kitchen table and take a seat. I don’t have the strength to argue with him.
He brings me a large glass of water and Advil.
I take the water and drink until the glass is completely empty.
“I made you a Bloody Mary, too. Not sure if you want it though, but it might help to fight the hangover with a little more alcohol.”
I stare at the glass; there is no way I can drink it.
“Nope, I’m good,” I say, scrunching my nose up at the sight.
He grins, and my heart melts a little at the sight of his dimples.
“The pancakes should help,” he says, placing a large plate of pancakes drenched in syrup in front of me.
I dig in without a thank-you. He’s the reason I drank too much last night anyway. He provided the alcohol. He amplified my emotions by coming here.
He watches me as I eat while he does dishes at the sink. I continue to eat while discreetly looking around at my house. It’s clean. Like really, really clean. The dog and cat hair has been swept off the floor. The counters and end tables are dusted and clean. The clutter of mail I usually leave scattered on the counter is now sitting in an organized pile. The dog toys have been picked up and placed in a basket. And he’s not only washed the dishes he created but the dishes from yesterday as well.
I put my fork down as my stomach finally starts to feel better.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Dishes.”
“No, why did you clean up my house?”
“Because, despite what you think about me, I can be a nice guy if I want to.”
“No, you’re a dick. You would only ever be a nice guy in order to get something. What do you want?”
He tosses the dish towel he was using to dry the dishes down onto the counter next to the sink.
“I would think it’s obvious.” His eyes show a desire that takes over his entire body.
I roll my eyes, trying to act like I can easily just forget about him. That nothing he does affects me. Not his stare. Not his muscular body. Not his intense grin. Nothing can touch me.
But he knows my body too well. He knows it’s all a lie.
He pulls out the chair across from me and casually sits down, his legs spread and his body leaning back in the chair like he owns it.
Grumpy walks over to Brody and licks him on his arm. Brody gently pets his head.
I frown, staring at my dog that hates everybody. He hates Alicia and everyone else from work. He hates Gabe. He hates strangers. He won’t go near them, except to bark. Not Brody, though. Apparently, he’s decided, the one person he should hate the most, he actually likes. I’ll have to talk to Grumpy later.
“I have a proposition for you,” he says.
I take a bite of my pancake so that I can answer him with my mouth fu
ll. Maybe, if I’m as disgusting as possible, he won’t want anything to do with me. “Let’s hear it then.”
He watches my mouth as I talk, but it seems to just get him more excited.
“I want to continue our arrangement from before.”
“For how long?” I ask before I realize what I’m doing.
He grins and cocks his head from side to side, like this is way easier than he thought it was going to be.
I shouldn’t have given him any indication that I was interested in continuing our arrangement. I should have just said no right away. But my big mouth always seems to get me into trouble.
“You tell me. You owe me at least one more day, but I don’t think you want to stop at just one more day. I’m good with another day, a week, a year. What do you want, baby?”
I hate how he speaks like he already knows the answer to the question that he is asking. He thinks I’m going to say I want a year. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of being right.
“You think you can come here, clean up my house a bit, and make me breakfast, and then all is forgiven, huh?” I grin, taking another bite of my pancake.
“I didn’t think I needed forgiveness because you don’t give a shit about me.”
I narrow my eyes, glaring at him. “You’re right. I don’t. But I’ve had enough pricks in my life to know that the only thing to do with them is throw them out with the trash, not make arrangements that only benefit one side.”
I get up from the table and walk to my bedroom. I pull out a suitcase and start throwing clothes into it.
I continue to throw clothes into my suitcase, not bothering to look at what I’m throwing in until the suitcase is filled with clothes. I can’t think straight. All I can think about is that Brody wants to have sex with me again. And, despite the pain that it will likely cause me, I want to fuck him again, too. But I can’t. I walk a few feet to my small bathroom and grab my already-packed toiletry bag from my last trip to LA. I toss it into my suitcase. I have to sit on the suitcase to get it to close.
Then, I look into my closet and find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I put them on and pull my hair up into a ponytail. I give myself a quick glance in the mirror and then grab my suitcase. I walk out of the bedroom, carrying my suitcase, hoping that Brody will get the hint and just leave me alone.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t look at him. If I look at him again, I’ll just start drooling over his shirtless, hard body. I’ll start remembering how good it felt to have his strong arms wrapped around me and how good it felt to lick every inch of his chest. I’ll start caving, and I can’t afford to cave.
“I have a flight to catch. Don’t worry about the animals. I have a babysitter coming in a few hours to watch them. But make sure you take the snake back to the clinic.”
I walk to the door and throw it open, pulling my suitcase out behind me. The door slams shut behind me. I don’t say good-bye to my animals, and I definitely don’t say good-bye to Brody. If I spend one more second in the house, I might stay instead of leaving.
I walk to my truck and throw the suitcase in the back. I start it up and drive off. Only when I’ve driven a few miles away do I allow myself to look into the rearview mirror. He’s not behind me as much as I wish on some level that he were. I could really use some distraction even if I can’t do his arrangement. It’s wrong in more ways than one.
12
Brody
I don’t know if she really has a flight to catch or if she just packed and left in an attempt to get rid of me. But it won’t work.
I look at the box that hopefully still contains the snake as I grab my shirt and push it back on before I pick up the box and dart out the door behind Skye. I get a glimpse of Skye’s pickup truck driving off down the road in the general direction of the airport. I want to jump in my rental and chase after her, ensuring that she’s going to the airport. I would if it wasn’t for this damn snake.
I throw open the trunk of my car and place the box with the snake in it, keeping it as far away from me as possible. I slam the trunk and hop in the driver’s seat. I speed off down the road as fast as I possibly can. When I get there, I carry the box inside and hand it off to the receptionist, not bothering to wait for Alicia to come get it. I make the receptionist verify that the snake is still in the box and not in my car before I leave, but that’s all I wait for.
And then I’m back in my car, racing toward the airport, hoping that she didn’t lie to me and that I manage to stop her or at least get on the same flight with her.
Thank God for checked bags because that’s where I find her waiting in line—to check her bag. I watch her from a distance so that she won’t know I’m here. She’s oblivious to me as she stands in the line. And it gives me another opportunity to really just watch her. She looks so different from the last time I saw her in the Bahamas. She looked so normal compared to now. Now, she’s trying to blend in instead of stand out.
She finishes at the counter, and I immediately go up after her. Luckily, there is a young woman working there. With a little flirting, I get her to tell me exactly where Skye is headed—LA. And there just so happens to be several seats left on the same flight as her, so I buy a ticket. I could try to convince her to stay here and think more about my offer. But I doubt she would consider staying. This way, I get to find out more about her life and what she’ll be doing in LA.
The flight attendant calls for boarding, and Skye gets in line while I linger back. She still hasn’t noticed me, but I do know that I will be sitting about three rows behind her on the plane. I give her about a fifty-fifty shot whether she will see me or not.
I board the plane and immediately spot her six rows back, fumbling with her phone. I doubt she’ll even notice that I’m on the plane, which will give me the entire flight to plan on how I want to reveal to her that I followed her to LA.
As I start walking by her, she looks up. Her eyes widen as she realizes what’s happening. She opens her mouth to say something but doesn’t get it out before I casually walk past her and take my seat.
I smirk but otherwise don’t give her any attention. This is better. Now, she’s going to have the entire flight to worry about me.
I put my earbuds in, planning on listening to an audiobook about business strategies to keep my mind occupied. I close my eyes, ignoring the safety briefing and all the other BS that happens before the flight takes off. I’ve flown enough times to know how everything works. I feel the plane take off at some point while I listen to my book.
“Excuse me,” I hear Skye’s voice say even through my haze of sleep and the audiobook.
I try to ignore her as she convinces the stranger next to me to swap seats with her. I keep my eyes closed like I don’t notice her at all as she finally takes a seat next to me, even after her thigh and hand brush against my leg—whether intentionally or unintentionally. I try to act like I couldn’t care less about her when what I really want to do is sneak her into the restroom and fuck her brains out.
“I know you can hear me and that you know I’m here. Stop acting like you can’t hear me,” Skye says.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were on this plane.” I remove one of my earbuds, giving her half of my attention.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says, reaching for my other earbud and jerking it out of my ear.
“I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes again. She lifts her legs up into her seat, and she wraps her arms around them like she is giving herself one big hug. “Why did you follow me here?”
“I didn’t follow you. I live in LA. When you told me you were leaving, I got on the next available flight since there was no longer a reason to stay in Albuquerque.”
“Liar. You don’t live in LA.”
I closely study her. “You looked me up, did you?”
She looks away from me. “No, I didn’t.”
I laugh. “You totally did.”
“No, I
didn’t,” she says empathetically.
“Then, how do you know I don’t live in LA?”
“Because you live in Detroit.”
I bite my lip to keep my excitement down. She looked me up. She wants me just as badly as I want her. I just have to figure out what the key is to unlocking her hesitation about starting this up again. Because, clearly, the pain I caused her on the last day in paradise isn’t the reason.
“Why don’t you want to do the arrangement?”
“Because you’re an ass.”
“I am, but then that’s exactly what you wanted. An ass. So, tell me the real reason you won’t agree to my arrangement, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”
“For real? After I tell you the truth, you’ll get out of my life and never come back?”
“I promise I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”
She leans her chair back and closes her eyes like she’s going to take a long nap.
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
“I’m going to show you.”
To my surprise, the rest of the flight is uneventful. We both sleep—or at least pretend to sleep. When we land, we get off the flight, being relatively civil to one another. After we collect our bags, she tells me to get into her car with her.
I do.
The Maserati we climb into isn’t a rental. It’s a car that she owns but is the complete opposite of her car in Albuquerque. That pickup truck was all about function and getting the job done with no fuss about its appearance. This car is a luxury car with little purpose other than to provide comfort and be flashy to all those who look at it.
“Do you have a split personality or something?” I ask as she drives.
“No.”
“Then, explain to me why you have such a fancy car in LA and such a shitty one in Albuquerque.”
She glares at me. “My truck isn’t shitty.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Just because it isn’t what you expect on the outside doesn’t mean it isn’t worthy on the inside.”