The Imperfections: A Forbidden Romance

by Sam Mariano

  That last remark surprises a laugh out of me. Alyssa looks over at me, and since I’m laughing and not mad, she gives up her defensive position, scooting back down on the bed and climbing under the thin cover of the bed sheet with me.

  “What? She would,” she says, smiling faintly.

  “I agree. The life insurance benefits would be worth a hell of a lot more than he is.”

  Alyssa snuggles up against me, draping her arm across my abdomen. “Then Bri could move on and marry a better man, someone more like you—but, you know, not her brother.”

  “Bri’s never been attracted to the good guys, unfortunately. When we were younger, I figured she’d grow out of her bad taste, but then she married that piece of shit.”

  “In her defense, there are a lot of pieces of shit out there, and it’s not always easy to tell that’s what they are right away. It’s much harder to find anyone worthwhile. I’ve seen that from observing my mom and my sister over the years. It’s why I’m single a lot. I don’t want to date crappy guys just to pass the time. I’d rather wait for a good one.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find one,” I tell her. “You can’t have any lack of opportunities, looking the way you do.”

  Shrugging one shoulder, she says soberly, “It’ll be harder now. My sister’s prettier than me, and she can’t find a good man. A lot of men don’t want to date a single mom, and a lot of the ones who do think the woman will be desperate and they can get away with anything. It’s gross.”

  “That is gross,” I agree, frowning. “I can’t imagine a man thinking that. Motherhood isn’t a ding against someone.”

  Smiling up at me with something like affection on her face, she tells me, “I think you might be a different breed. The women of the world don’t even know men like you exist.”

  “Probably my own fault,” I say, lightly. “I’m too busy futzing around my own property to go meet any of ’em.”

  Alyssa giggles at me and fills me up with a sense of satisfaction. Closing her eyes, her face lit with pleasure, she hugs me tight. “You’re a hidden gem.”

  I shake my head, looking over at her fondly. “You’re awfully strange. Not many women would describe a man that way after meeting him the way you met me yesterday.”

  Shrugging, she says, “It takes a lot to get my attention. Your way certainly worked.”

  “And you do have a propensity toward shitty taste in men,” I point out, giving her that. “I certainly came off like one.”

  “Then you shifted into an actual good guy. You tricked me into noticing you. Well played, mister.”

  “I wouldn’t call myself a good guy, but I’m damn sure not like Theo.”

  “I bet you’d never cheat on your wife in a million years,” she tells me with unreasonable confidence in my sense of loyalty.

  “Of course I wouldn’t. What’s the point of marrying a woman just to hurt her like that? Doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “You’re not selfish.” She hugs me tighter. “It only makes sense to people who think more about themselves than others, and that’s not you.”

  I sigh with something like contentment. “I like you.”

  She opens her eyes to look up at me again. “I like you, too.”

  “I’m sorry if I keep trying to father you. I don’t mean to be overbearing, I just worry about you.”

  Grinning mischievously, she says, “Well, you are old enough to be my father.”

  I squeeze her in the side. “Hey, you said I wasn’t old.”

  “Just experienced,” she agrees, rising up to kiss me on the cheek before settling back in against me. “I’m only teasing you. I don’t care that you’re older than me. I don’t mind when you try to mentor me, either,” she adds. “Given the position I’m in right now, it’s clear I could probably stand to have a good influence around.”

  “Ha, good influence,” I say, smiling wryly. “You’re desperately in need of some guidance, little girl.”

  “I guess you better guide me, then,” she teases. “Teach me to be more like Brant.”

  “Nah, you don’t need to be more like me,” I tell her. “You’re already a pretty good girl, just need a bit more fine-tuning. Step one: no more sex with married men unless they’re married to you.”

  “That seems like a good rule. I think I can manage.”

  “Don’t have sex with a man unless you want to, either,” I add, cocking an eyebrow at her. “That one doesn’t have anything to do with being a good person, just a good standard practice.”

  “Unless there’s a scarier threat involved, sure,” she amends. “I’ve gotta be honest, though, that’s not always as simple as it sounds.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes guys are really pushy,” she explains. “I didn’t really want to do anything sexual with the first guy I gave a blow job to, either. I kept telling him to knock it off but he wouldn’t listen to me, and I was worried he was going to rape me. Again, I’m always going to lessen the damage to myself if I can. If I can scrape by with just a blow job instead of having some guy make me have sex, or if I can have sex instead of getting killed… I’m going to do those things to avoid the worse alternatives. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Say what now?” I demand, scowling at her. “What’s this kid’s name? The little fuck who tried to force you?”

  Alyssa shakes her head. “I’m not telling you his name. It doesn’t matter. Most guys don’t care if you wanna do it or not. They think if they pressure you enough and don’t take no for an answer, eventually you’ll give in, and it’s extremely unpleasant, so sometimes they’re right.”

  I don’t know how to argue her point considering what I did to her just last night. “Alyssa, ‘most’ guys aren’t like that. That’s not the norm.”

  “And you know that from all the guys you’ve gone out with?” she demands, cocking an eyebrow. “Trust me, I’ve had to deal with slimy, asshole guys all my life. It’s most of them.”

  “It’s not,” I argue, hating that she believes that. “You’ve grown up and been socialized in a cesspool, sweetheart. That’s not normal behavior.”

  Either not believing me or not all that concerned, Alyssa shrugs off my words. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “I can’t believe your first sexual experience wasn’t consensual, either. Shit. Have you ever had sex you actually wanted?”

  Flashing me a little smile, she says, “Sure, I have—tonight.”

  That’s fucking tragic. “This is the closest you’ve come to healthiness? Fucking the man who thought about killing you a night prior?”

  Her smile droops hearing her reality summed up like that, and I hate how powerless it makes me feel. I wish I could walk back through her past with her, protecting her when she needed it, setting her right when she began to believe all the wrong things.

  Since there was no one around to protect her when she needed it or teach her any of the things she needed to know, she grew up to be the girl who means it when she tells me, “Doesn’t sound so crazy that I want to raise my baby on my own now, huh? Single life is better. Guys are mostly jerks.”

  She’s certainly encountered her share of jerks. It’s not lost on me that me and my goddamn brother-in-law account for two of ’em. I can’t do much about us, so I focus on the one I can do something about.

  “You’re gonna tell me the name of that kid who made you blow him so I can pay him a visit. I want to have a talk with him about boundaries.”

  “I’m not giving you his name,” she replies, adamant. “You can keep asking, but my answer won’t change.”

  “Don’t protect some asshole who hurt you, Alyssa.”

  “I’m not protecting him—I’m protecting you,” she informs me. “You’re protective and it’s sweet, but his uncle’s a lawyer, so you can’t show up in his room with a gun and yell at him like you did me. Obviously there’s no one around to protect me, but that’s not the case for him. He made sure to tell me that before I l
eft that night, in case I had any ideas about saying anything bad about him.”

  “He threatened you?”

  Forget having a talk with the bastard; I’ve got 40 acres of property I can bury him under.

  “Let’s not talk about this,” she says, trying her best to steer me away. She offers me a little smile, trying to keep the peace. Her hand absently caresses my side and she squeezes me a little, trying to placate me and reassure me that everything is okay. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m fine, it’s over, and I don’t want you to get involved. It’s not your problem, it’s no one’s problem… let’s just go to sleep.”

  I can’t stand the casual way she speaks about people mistreating her. Maybe I just can’t understand what it’s like to be so powerless that people could treat me that way and know they can get away with it.

  I regret saying she was easy to take advantage of now. Makes it sound like it’s her fault, and it’s not her fault rotten people keep finding her. It’s not her fault she’s never had anyone around to tell her she deserves better.

  Maybe that’s why she fell into my path. Maybe it’s my job to show her how a man treats a woman so she stops accepting scraps from worthless little boys.

  6

  Alyssa

  When Brant swept me out of my house a couple nights ago, I didn’t have time to grab many of my things. It’s not that he necessarily rushed me, it’s just there was a man with a gun thinking about killing me and it seemed like a good idea not to keep him waiting.

  Some might argue it seemed like a better idea to scream my head off and not go with him in the first place, but I’m content with the way it all worked out. I definitely didn’t see things going this way. I knew there was a chance Brant might kill me if I went with him, but at least all my loved ones sleeping in their beds at home wouldn’t go down with me.

  When I wake up Sunday morning, Brant is already up and out of bed. I’m relieved to see my things have been released from their prison, and I climb out of bed and go over to unpack. My clothes might be wrinkled now that he threw them in the chest, but I guess it doesn’t matter much.

  My bag isn’t very big, so I couldn’t fit much anyway, but I filled it to bursting. I dump it all on the bed now, sorting my bras and panties first then grabbing my white sun dress and laying it out across the bed. It’s a little wrinkled, but not too bad. A few minutes in the dryer should fix it.

  I don’t know what we’re doing today, so I’m not sure how I should dress. I do know it’s hot outside, so I fold the single pair of jeans I brought and set them aside.

  Now that I have the little emergency purse I stashed in the bottom, I have some cosmetics with me. It’s not a whole lot—a toothbrush, a trial-size toothpaste, some deodorant, mascara, a tube of cherry ChapStick, a couple hair ties and clips, and a little rose gold hair brush.

  At least I can do a better job getting myself ready today.

  Since Brant’s not in bed anymore, I go in and take a quick shower. I put on a denim skirt with a white T-shirt, then second-guess how plain it looks and go back to the bedroom.

  Brant walks in just as I’m pulling my T-shirt off. He stops, blinks several times, and starts to take a step back into the hall before he remembers he’s seen me naked, so I don’t need privacy to change clothes.

  I flash him a smile as I refold my T-shirt. “Good morning.”

  “It sure is,” he agrees, letting his gaze linger on the exposed cleavage swelling out of my bra.

  I grab a cropped short-sleeved cardigan and slide it on.

  As I’m buttoning the five buttons that start at my breasts and only go to just above my belly button, Brant tells me, “I think they forgot to make the other half of your sweater.”

  I bite back a grin, buttoning the last one and smoothing it down. “It’s supposed to be that way. It’s a crop top—it’s meant to show off some skin.”

  He shakes his head, looking at my exposed belly button like it fascinates him. “Cardigans sure had a different job when I was growing up.”

  “They’re much sexier now,” I acknowledge with a smile. “Did you eat yet?”

  “Nope. Figured I’d wait for you. Scout wasn’t so polite.”

  I can’t help chuckling at his adorable pup’s insatiable appetite. “He’s a growing boy—I wouldn’t expect him to be.”

  Looking me over again, he stops when he gets back to my white top. “That’s gonna get dirty,” he warns. Shifting his gaze to the clothes on the bed, he cocks a dark eyebrow. “Do you have anything that isn’t white?”

  I grab a T-shirt the shade of denim with sunset-hued font and hold it up. “Looks like just this and my nightgown. I didn’t know you lived in the woods, and you didn’t exactly give me any pointers on what I should bring.”

  “That’s darker—you should put it on so you don’t ruin your nice half-shirt.”

  “It’s not cute though. It’s just a plain T-shirt, and it looks better with jeans than this skirt,” I tell him, rejecting his fashion advice and throwing my blue tee down on the bed. “I’m gonna wear the cardigan. If it gets dirty, I can wash it.”

  Shaking his head, he says, “If I were you, I’d change into the jeans. Your pretty top won’t just get dirty. If you go traipsing around the woods with your tummy and legs exposed like that, you might wind up with some scratches.”

  “Are we traipsing around the woods today?” I inquire.

  Brant nods. “Figured I’ll show you around the property. We can take Scout to the lake, maybe do some fishing for dinner, then later we can eat what we catch.”

  “Fishing? For our food? As in, we’ll kill and eat the poor little fish we catch?”

  Brant smiles like I’ve said something funny. “That’s the idea. You know how to cook fresh fish? Some of it can be tricky.”

  “I’ve never made it before, so you’re gonna have to let me look it up on the internet. Fish sticks from a bag, sure, but fresh fish? Nope. What if we don’t catch anything?” I ask.

  “Then I’ll throw a couple steaks on the grill and we’ll eat those instead.”

  “Do you fish with worms?” I ask, wrinkling up my nose. “If the fish eats a piece of worm and then we immediately cook the fish, won’t we be eating the worm, too? It won’t have time to digest. Or do you cut out the stomach? I’m not so sure about this.”

  “You’re a little on the prissy side, aren’t you?” he realizes.

  “If not wanting to eat worms qualifies me as prissy, then yes, absolutely.”

  That makes him laugh and shake his head at me. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll just make the steaks.”

  “Yes, please. I don’t really like fish,” I tell him apologetically.

  “That’s all right, not a big deal.” Taking a step back into the hall, he nods in that direction. “Why don’t you come downstairs so we can eat breakfast?”

  Disregarding his advice about changing clothes, I follow him down to the kitchen where we end up making breakfast together. Brant makes bacon while I make scrambled eggs.

  Being so close to him while we cook gives me mixed signals. I feel like flirting a little since our hips are nearly touching, but I can’t tell if Brant actually likes me like that. I think he enjoys me, and obviously he’s attracted to me or he wouldn’t be having sex with me, but I have absolutely no idea where his head is at where I’m concerned.

  If he liked me that way, wouldn’t he kiss me on the mouth? That’s the part that’s throwing me. Sex last night was really good and cuddling after was really nice, but the man has yet to kiss me, and he has had opportunities. That makes me think maybe he’s avoiding that particular intimacy, perhaps so I don’t read too much into the sex.

  I suppose I could just ask him, but it seems awkward and unnecessary. Surely he’ll kiss me eventually or he won’t, and I guess then I’ll have my answer.

  Still, I find my mind wandering and myself asking, “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

  Brant glances over at me while he turns the bacon
. “Sure. Anything in particular?”

  “I’d like to watch Pretty Woman,” I inform him, thinking of Vivian’s no kissing on the mouth rule.

  “All right.”

  While I’m thinking about it, I ask, “Are you taking me back home tonight?”

  “Wasn’t planning to.” He glances at me again. “Why? You wanna go home?”

  “No, I’ll stay the night if you want me to. It’s just… my sister’s probably starting to wonder why she hasn’t heard from me via text, at least, and I don’t want her to get worried.”

  He seems to consider that for a moment. “I could get you your phone, let you text your sister. Supervised, of course.”

  “What?” I say, laughing a little. “You still don’t trust me? What do you think I’d say?”

  “Kidnapped by crazy outdoorsy type. Tried to make me eat worms. Send help,” he suggests.

  I laugh harder, absently leaning my head on his shoulder. “You are crazy, you got that part right,” I tell him rather fondly. “How could you get my phone? Isn’t it at my house?”

  Brant shakes his head. “I brought it and your charger cord. I had to turn it off, though, just in case anyone saw through your babysitting excuse and tried to track your location. I can bring it in now, charge it up for a bit, let you text your sister before we take the tour.”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  He nods wordlessly, then goes back to cooking our bacon.

  Once he gets it as crispy as he likes it, he puts it on a plate with a paper towel to drain, then heads outside to get my phone. Scout is on the floor, torn between following his master to the door and begging for some of the food he smells cooking.

  “Sorry boy, you can’t have any of this. It’s human food.”

  Scout whines and barks at me as if in complaint, like he understood me.

  “I don’t want your tummy to hurt. Maybe I can boil you some plain chicken later, how’s that? Or your dad can catch a fish and I’ll cook it so you can eat it. Better you than me,” I tell him, shuddering lightly.