by Ella Goode
I slam the car door shut, punch the starter button and peal out of the parking lot, spitting loose gravel behind me. “Don’t sit up or I’ll kick you out on the most deserted stretch of road I can find.”
“Did some animal die in your asshole or are you always this cranky?” I hear from underneath my jacket.
I curl my fingers around the steering wheel and tell myself that murder is, unfortunately, still illegal in all fifty states.
Chapter Two
Mallory
My heart pounds in my chest as I try and keep my breathing even. I’ve learned if you appear weak that’s when an animal strikes. I had no idea when I slipped into this fancy-ass sports car that it would be owned by a super extra asshole. I should have known better. My bad. I’m used to dealing with men like him. Assholes, that is. I obviously attract them from all walks of life. I think it’s a habit that I inherited from my mother. If that’s the only bad one that I got from her I’ll consider myself lucky. The last thing that I would ever want to be is like her. It’s why I’m currently sleeping in a car. My desperation has reached a whole new level.
Also, the fact that the car was unlocked should have been a tell. It shows me that he’s so sure of himself that he didn’t even fear leaving it that way. He assumed no one would mess with it. Probably because everyone around here knows what a giant dick he is. I should have kept moving but my feet were killing me. I was only going to sleep for a few hours. I figured I’d have a little nap and be gone before the owner got back. The back of the car sounded like a good idea at the time so I slipped in. The small space hid me well in the busy parking lot. It also helped that the entire area was dimly lit. I knew if there was a problem I could easily scream and help would be near. Everything looked fancy around here so I’m sure it’s somewhat of a safe area. It’s why I ventured across the tracks to this part of town to begin with. I didn’t really care where I slept as long as it was safe. Eventually I’ll get back on my feet and be able to afford to sleep somewhere with a bed. Right now I don’t have that luxury but I have to hope that the day will come when I do.
I was out of money with nowhere to go. I thought finding a nice area of town would be a good start. That’s as far as my plan went. Now it looks like I might be in more trouble with this guy, who is clearly a straight-up dick, than this uncomfortable car nap was worth. I don’t have time for this guy who thinks he’s better than me. He doesn’t need to say it. I can feel his judgment. His lack of care about anyone but himself and his car is clear.
It shouldn't hurt my feelings but it does. I’m used to people treating me poorly by now. It’s essentially another person tossing me out. If it isn’t my mother wanting me out for the night because she is having a date come over, then it’s a hotel manager because I didn’t have the money to pay for another night—unless I wanted to pay in another kind of way. I always get kicked to the curb one way or another. I really hope this guy isn’t a big enough dick to actually leave me stranded out in the middle of nowhere. My phobia of the dark is one that could have me shut completely down and that is not something I can do in the middle of nowhere. I push those thoughts to the side. There is no way I’ll let him toss me out of this car in the middle of nowhere.
I hear Deuce, as I’ve now dubbed him, curse from the front seat as he pulls out of the parking lot. I think I heard people call him Carter but the number two is plastered across his back. Between that and the bag he pretty much threw on me, I think he’s a football player. I take in a deep breath trying to calm myself. I know I’m going to have more words with Deuce in the near future and I can’t let my fear show. Out of the corner of my eye I see a half-eaten Snickers bar in his bag and I lick my lips, thinking about the last time I ate. My stomach clenches with hunger. Clearly he isn’t going to eat it because who only eats half a candy bar? My eyes flick from him to the candy bar again, trying to decide if I should shove all of that yummy goodness in my mouth.
I think what the hell and decide that I’m going to eat it. What’s the worst that can happen? The man already said he’s dropping me off in the middle of nowhere. Which is not happening, just so we are clear. I take the candy bar out of the partly open bag and eat it in two quick bites. I think I let out a small moan when the first bite of the chocolatey caramel peanut combination hits my tongue. I close my eyes for a moment after I swallow the second piece, trying to savor it for as long as I can.
“Did you just eat my fucking candy bar?”
My eyes pop open and annoyance immediately takes up residence inside of me. He says it as though I’ve just killed someone inside of his fancy car. Maybe there is a no food rule in the car. I wouldn’t be surprised, as uptight as this guy is. He probably does everything neat and tidy. I’m not the one who brought the candy bar. It was in his bag. The car jerks, coming to a hard stop. I slam forward, my head hitting the seat in front of me. I try and fight a whimper, not wanting him to know I’m in pain.
Another round of curse words comes from Deuce before I’m being pulled from the car. I breathe a small sigh of relief when I see that we’re in a parking lot flooded with light. I let him finish guiding me out of the car because it looks safe here. At least we’re not in the middle of nowhere. My hand covers part of my face. I stare at his broad chest. I didn’t realize how tall he is. I focus on the number two that’s bold in my face.
“Let me see.”
I shake my head no. He reaches for my elbow to remove my hand himself and out of instinct I flinch back. His hand stops in midair and he doesn’t make another grab for me. “I could call the cops.”
“For eating your Snickers?”
“For breaking into my car.”
“It was unlocked,” I toss back. My head throbs more. Did I really hit it that hard or is it a mix of lack of sleep and hunger? Either way I’m starting to feel faint.
“Doesn’t mean you can just crawl in and make yourself at home.”
Home. The simple word rattles around in my head. Have I ever thought of anywhere as home? “Call the cops. At least they’ll feed me and give me somewhere to sleep for the night.” This time it’s him that flinches. I don’t care at this point; it’s the truth.
“Get in the car,” he demands.
“You’re an asshole. Maybe I don’t want to get back in your car so you can assault me again.” I let my hand drop away from my face.
“I didn’t assault you. I—" He stops speaking when his eyes lock with mine. We move to the front of his car. The headlights along with the parking lot lights make it easier to see each other. Of course he’s handsome. No wonder he’s a cocky asshole. “Get in the car,” he says again.
I shake my head no. He reaches up, running a hand through his hair, almost pulling at it. He looks more frustrated than when he found me in his car in the first place. He really is handsome. Even more so when he gets flustered. I’ll have to remember that.
“Please.” The one word comes out coarse. It’s as though he’s never had to say it before and it’s left a bad taste in his mouth. I can tell it took everything in him to utter that word.
“Fine. But I want Taco Bell.” I turn to stomp back to his car. I don’t know how he does it but he beats me to the passenger side door to open it for me. So he’s a cocky jerk who’s still a gentleman.
“Name’s Carter,” he informs me.
“Too late. I’ve already been calling you Deuce.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy and I point at his shirt.
“It’s Carter,” he says again.
I shrug. “Okay, Deuce.” I watch his jaw tick. He hates it. Perfect. There is only one way to beat an asshole at his own game. Be a bigger asshole. I hate doing it because I don’t like to play games but I learned early in life sometimes you have to play them to survive.
“You going to tell me your name?” he asks.
“Nope.” I grab the door he’s holding and yank it closed before he can shut it for me. I watch him stomp around the front of the car. All six foot four inches of his h
andsome self. If I had to guess his height I would say that I’m pretty close. He isn’t handsome. I was mistaken when I described him before. He is beautiful. He has the kind of face you see in magazines.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you home,” he offers.
“Taco Bell,” I repeat.
“You do not live at Taco Bell.”
“Just drop me there.” I sigh. He glances into the back seat, his eyes going to my backpack and duffle before coming to me. His eyes roam over me. My body heats as he takes me in. I shut that feeling down immediately. I’m not in a place to even think about a man that way. Especially not one who’s a dick.
“I make better tacos,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot, heading in the opposite direction of Taco Bell. Or at least the one I know of. I don’t say anything to that. I remain silent as I watch the landscape through the window. I’m enjoying the quiet. I put on a tough façade for Carter but inside I’m fragile. My head is throbbing and my ire is growing by the second. The world hasn’t been the kindest to me but that’s not his problem. Well, it wasn’t until I climbed into his car.
Chapter Three
Carter
“I can’t fucking believe I’m browning hamburger meat at ass o’clock for some random chick who decided that eating my food and sleeping in my car was okay.” I slap a bag of lettuce onto the counter. Fortunately for the waif, tacos are one of about five foods I’ll eat.
“I told you to drop me off at Taco Bell, not be a Taco Bell,” the waif chirps from the bar stool. She’s wearing my old practice jersey and it’s nearly swallowing her up. I can see her head, a lot of her throat and then nothing so it shouldn’t get me heated and my dick shouldn’t be hardening into a half chub, but it is. I blame the post-game adrenaline rush.
“You can’t be a restaurant.” I tear open the bag and dump the shredded lettuce into a bowl. Out of my produce bowl, I grab two tomatoes and start chopping.
“It looks like a restaurant here.” She hops off the bar stool and wanders over to the window that overlooks the car park. “You have a whole parking lot out there. There are one, two, six garage doors. How many people live in that thing you call a house?” She points to the main building—a fifteen thousand foot brick Tudor that my dad had built for my mom after their second remarriage. To this day I’m not certain whether he gifted it as a way to apologize or drive her away because she only spent a few nights there before flying off to Paris. She’s currently in Greece, I think, with her latest lover—some duke or prince or something. He’s about two years older than me. Family get-togethers are awesome. I smash my knife against the tomatoes too hard and have to grab a fresh one. I’m making tacos, not salsa.
“There are four people in the house.”
“Four.” She’s dumbfounded. “In a house that big? Why do you live in this place then?” She waves a hand toward the interior of my loft that stretches across one of two garages.
“Because I’m an adult.”
“You’re a high school student.”
“I’m nineteen, which is an adult.” Age doesn’t matter in determining adulthood. There are people in their forties, like my mother, who are not adults. And then there’s me, who has been taking care of myself since I could tie my own shoes. I toss the chopped tomatoes into another bowl and turn back to the meat. It’s almost done. “Do you know how to run a microwave?”
“I’m not five,” she grouses, pulling herself away from the window and coming back to the kitchen.
“You look like it,” I retort. It’s a good thing that I’m standing in front of the stove so she can’t see how my body is responding to her in my jersey because otherwise she’d know I’m lying. If my hard-on doesn’t deflate, I’ll have to intentionally burn myself on the pan or some shit like that. I’m not used to this. My dick doesn’t react unless I want it to react. Unlike other guys, I don’t let my pecker make decisions for me. I’m in charge. I glare down at the bulge in my sweatpants. Get it together, Carter. It’s a girl. You’ve seen girls before. You’ve seen girls in bikinis and short skirts and no clothes on. One jersey-wearing girl should not get your blood pressure up.
“I said how long do you want me to nuke these for?” An irritated voice breaks through my internal pep talk.
“And I thought you said you weren’t five and knew how to use one,” I snap.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care if the shells are burnt to a crisp but I thought you might. Excuse me for trying to be thoughtful.” She slams the microwave door shut and jabs the touchscreen as if it’s my eyes she’s poking out. My dick hardens even more.
I turn off the burner. “I’ll be back,” I grind out between clenched teeth before walking down the hall and into the first bathroom that I come across. I slam the door shut, shove my sweatpants down and grab my dick.
“It’s the post-game adrenaline,” I repeat to myself. The image in the mirror mocks me. Post-game adrenaline my ass. I’ve never, in all my games, ever had a hard-on due to some stupid fucking win and I’ve been a champion ever since I strapped on the pads during pee-wee football. Winning is second nature to me. There’s a room in the monstrosity across the walkway that is full of my trophies and awards.
My dick throbs angrily in my hand. Whatever it is, I just need to get rid of it. I’ll jack off and once I’ve climaxed, my body will be back to normal. I use the precum on my head and spread it down the shaft and get to work. My eyes drift shut and a girl appears in front of me. A girl with tangled brown hair, hazel eyes, a fat lower lip, and a set of tits that make my balls tighten up. Fuck. I snap my eyes open and try to get rid of the image. I don’t need to tie my orgasms to that girl out there. I try to bring up another image—any image—but my mind drifts back to her and the way she bites on her upper lip when she’s nervous and the way she straightens her shoulders when she decides to be brave and the smart-ass way she keeps talking back to me as if she’s the one who lives in this carriage house and drives the Maserati. Fuck me.
My hand works harder, jerks faster. I give in. She’s a hot piece of ass. Why not use her in my head? Why not let my fantasies run wild? I’m not going to act on them. I’m not going to touch her. Women have no place in my life. I’ve dreams I’ve got to accomplish and a woman would stand in my way. I may want her, but I don’t need her I tell myself, but the statement feels hollow when I come all over my hand with the image of her standing at my window, wearing my jersey fixed in my head.
Chapter Four
Mallory
“What were you doing?” I ask, leaning up against the far wall as Deuce goes back to making tacos when he returns a few minutes later. I know exactly what he’s been doing but I want to give him a hard time about it. He left the kitchen and went into the bathroom in a hurry. I don’t know why but I made a snap decision to follow him. I kept my footsteps light until I reached the door that he’d shut in a hurry. I put my ear up to the door to see if I could hear what was happening on the other side. I stood listening to his breathing pick up and the low groans that were coming out of him. I’m pretty sure he was masturbating behind that door. He let out one final groan and that was my cue to high-tail in back to the kitchen before I got caught.
My heart races, wondering if it was me that had him so worked up that he had to practically run from the kitchen to get himself off. Or he could be a sex addict. My mother once dated one of those. Well, she told me he was but sometimes I wonder if she is the real addict. His cheeks are still a little rose colored when he returns, which I’m guessing is from the orgasm he just gave himself. The thought of him jerking himself in the bathroom shouldn’t have me turned on but it does.
“Can you get the shells out of the microwave?”
I don’t think he’s asking. I’m not sure the man asks anyone to do anything. He snaps at people and expects them to jump. It’s pretty clear that his antics usually work. I can see by the way he reacts to me when I refuse to do something he told me to do. He definitely isn’t used to it. He also isn't ans
wering my question. He’s avoiding it by being his usual charming self.
“You doing drugs or something?” I toss out there. His arm that is reaching up to grab a plate from the cabinet pauses as he turns to look my way.
“Do I look like I do fucking drugs?” No, he doesn't look strung out. He’s more of a type A personality and I don’t mean that because he’s an Asshole. An asshole who happens to be making me tacos. I can’t get a good read on him and it is messing with my head. So I am choosing to mess with his.
“Steroids?” I suggest. “You are rather angry.”
He pulls the plate down, placing it on the counter. He isn’t only angry but also freaking big. Not too thick, but tall and lean. I’m not shocked that he plays football. If I had to guess he’s either a quarterback or receiver. I’m going with quarterback because Deuce has serious control issues. I imagine he needs to be in the driver’s seat during a game.
If looks could kill I’d fall over dead. Too bad my body doesn’t react to his nasty looks the way I'm guessing others do. He doesn’t intimidate me. He’s not the first jerk to throw a dirty look my way. I turn around, ignoring him. That’s another thing I bet he’s not used to having someone do. Oh, I think he wants them to ignore him but they don’t. Well, he’s met his match because I’ll ignore him because I know it’s going to bug him. I really should stop being a jerk but he started it with his rude behavior. So what I was taking a little snooze in his fancy car? He needs to get over it. Plus no one told him to take me to his house. That was his decision. I hear a pan bang on the stove in the background, causing me to turn my head. I have to take into consideration that he is making me food but right now my attitude is the only defense I have. Believe me, I need all the attitude in the world to protect me from Deuce. His actions are confusing to me. He says one thing and does another. The harsh responses he throws at me make me want to leave but his actions say something different. We all know which speaks louder. The only thing that I can’t figure out is why he would want me to stay.