by Golland, KM
***
During my drive home, the Bluetooth in Suzi activated and answered my ringing phone. I loved my Suzi. She’s an awesome car: sexy, smart, petite and red. Suzi was a vixen.
‘Hello,’ I answered, still bopping along to ‘Undressed’ by Kim Cesarion, which had now been muted due to the incoming call.
‘Hey, gorgeous, been thinking ’bout me?’ Derek asked, his voice filtering through Suzi’s speakers and exciting every pore of my body.
My car rolled to a stop at a set of lights. ‘Well, that depends, have you been thinking about me?’ I asked, losing the battle not to smile.
‘Constantly. I want your wet pussy on the tips of my fingers again,’ he stated rather loudly, also informing the occupant of the car beside me, as both our car windows were down. I gave the middle-aged dude a proud smile.
Turning back to face my centre console, I rifled through it and dug out my packet of mints. ‘Then, yes, I have been thinking about you,’ I said smugly as I popped one into my mouth.
‘And ...’
‘And I would like to see if your tongue is as good as your fingers,’ I answered, unfazed by the obvious eavesdropper next to me.
‘All my body parts work in unison, baby,’ he said with a husky tone that held promise of what he’d just said.
I swallowed heavily. ‘I bet they do.’
Derek chuckled and the sound made me feel warm and fuzzy. What the fuck? He freakin’ laughed ... laughed. Carly, get a grip.
‘So, how’s Sasha?’ he asked.
The traffic light turned green, so I continued ahead. ‘She was fine this morning, thank god. Again, thank you so much for what you did last night.’
‘No sweat. Speaking of last night, I enjoyed our date. But I’m curious. Did I prove to you that I wasn’t mucking around?’
I could hear the sincerity in his voice, but at the same time, a petite brunette named Layla disturbed my thoughts. Over the course of the night and morning thus far, I’d tried to deny the obvious. But a fool is made by ignorance and a refusal to acknowledge what is clearly in front of them; the evidence in this case being the blatant green-eyed monster I was morphing into.
‘Maybe,’ I said honestly.
‘Maybe?’ he asked, his tone slightly dumbfounded.
‘Yes. I need more than one date for you to prove that you aren’t only trying to get in my pants.’
‘But I am trying to get in your pants,’ he joked.
Sighing, I couldn’t help, but smile. ‘You know what I mean. I still don’t know you, and you still don’t know me.’
‘What do you want to know?’
His forwardness caught me off-guard, and I stuttered, ‘I ... I don’t know.’
‘Okay, how ’bout ... my name is Derek Ian King. I’m aptly nicknamed Dik because I have an enormous one and know how to use it. I want to use it with you.
‘I’m thirty-six years of age, never married, never engaged. I extinguish fires, sing songs and play sports. I leave the toilet seat up and don’t wash dishes. I snore, but will fuck you so goddamn hard that you will be unconscious from exhaustion and won’t hear it. Anything else?’ he asked with nonchalance as if that last piece of information didn’t just parch my mouth.
Realising that I just had to come out and say it, I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds, then let it roll from my tongue. ‘Are you seeing anyone else, because although I’m not seeking commitment, I won’t be someone’s side dish?’
‘No, Carly,’ he said with clear annoyance, ‘I’m not seeing anyone else. Where’d that come from?’
‘What about Layla?’ I asked curiously.
‘What about Layla?’ he snapped.
The sudden angry tone in his voice warned me off. It was clear she represented a sore spot for him.
Screwing up my face in irritation over my stupid probing, I chose to let it go. ‘Never mind.’
‘What. About. Layla?’ he repeated again, speaking each word slowly to enunciate the question he clearly wanted an answer to.
‘It’s nothing,’ I dismissed. ‘You just seemed close, like you shared a past. It was obvious she wanted you.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he advised, seeming frustrated.
Derek’s blatant disregard for my justified curiosity pissed me off. ‘You know what? You are right. I don’t know, which is why I’m fucking asking in the first place. But seeing as you turn into a prick each time I ask a personal question, I can’t help but get the impression you are either full of shit, or don’t give a fat rat’s arse as to whether we take this any further or not. So, Dik, I have to say that I agree with you. You certainly live up to your name.’
Pressing end on the LCD panel in my car, I disconnected the call and took a few deep breaths in order to calm my thumping heart. Arsehole!
‘Undressed’ instantly resumed playing through my speakers, and I mockingly laughed at the irony when, truth be told, laughing was the last thing I wanted to do.
Derek
‘Fuck! Motherfucking fuck!’ I cursed to my phone before throwing it on the pile of clothes on the floor by my locker. Sitting on the bench seat with nothing but my towel wrapped around my waist, I dropped my head in my hands and inwardly berated Carly. Why the hell does she have to ask the wrong fucking questions? The woman infuriated me, but at the exact same time managed to send my dick into a state of desperation. It, too, was desperate to feel the warmth of her pussy, like that of my fingers.
‘Shit!’ I cursed, realising I was too harsh with her. It wasn’t like her observations were entirely false. Layla and I had known each other for quite some time.
‘Fucking Layla,’ I groaned as I took a deep breath.
‘Is that her name?’ Brad asked as he walked into the locker room, ready to start his shift just as mine was finishing. ‘Nice, mate, real fucking nice piece of arse she is.’
‘If you are referring to Carly from Yellow Bark Primary School, then no, her name is not Layla.’
‘Hang on. You got two on the go? Fuck me,’ he chuckled. ‘What happened to a brother sharing?’
Brad turned his back to me and shoved his bag in his locker just as I stood up and opened mine, reaching in for my t-shirt.
‘I haven’t got two on the go, and after the phone call I just had I’ll be lucky to have one,’ I griped.
‘Shame, the blonde was fucking hot. And those tits? Couldn’t keep my eyes off them while you were keeping the kiddies busy.’
Hearing him talk about Carly in that way riled me, especially knowing he’d been staring at her tits. ‘Carly,’ I snapped at him. ‘Her name is Carly, and I’m well aware of how hot she is.’
‘So what happened?’ he asked after closing the door to his locker.
‘She asks too many fucking questions, that’s what happened. Questions I don’t want to answer.’
‘Ahhh,’ Brad said, drawing the word out. ‘She one of those all-looks-no-brains types?’
I shook my head at him. Brad was a dick. He treated women like toys to fuck and then chuck. But out in the field, in amongst flames that licked your skin with a fierce burn, flames that wanted to incinerate you into nothing but a pile of dust, well ... I wouldn’t want anyone else beside me. Brad might be an arsehole where chicks are concerned, but he is one of the best firefighters I’ve ever worked with.
‘No, she’s not that type. She’s smart and quick and feisty as hell,’ I answered, irritated that I was even having this discussion with him.
‘Then what’s wrong with her? Dead lay?’ he asked as he unlaced his boots.
Stepping into my jeans, I didn’t answer him while I pulled them on, not bothering with underwear. Unnecessary items of clothing, anyway.
‘That’s it, isn’t it? Bad fucking lay. Such a shame, man, with a body like that she ought to know how to use it.’
‘Brad, shut the fuck up,’ I snapped, slamming my locker door closed before picking up my phone and dirty uniform. ‘You don’t know shit.’
Fuck, he’s right. That was the last thing I needed. But trying to clear Carly out of my head was near impossible. She’s a work of fucking art; the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
That long blonde hair that I just want to wrap around my hand and fucking pull. If I’d been face to face with her during the spat we just had, I would’ve been hard pressed not to tug her pretty hair while nipping her wordy fucking tongue. And don’t get me started on that tongue. Fuck me. That tongue of hers not only captured mine when we kissed, but it also captured every fucking nerve ending I possessed. Then there were her brilliant green eyes and smile, both of them working together like some kind of voodoo magic.
‘I’m tellin’ ya, Derek. Clear your head. You’ve four days to rid it of big-tits blondie —’
‘Brad,’ I sternly warned him, ‘I’d be very careful what you say about Carly, because if I hear you mention her tits again, I’ll knock you the fuck out.’
The dickhead doesn’t even raise his head while he unlaces his other boot. ‘Whatever. Just get your head clear,’ he advised as he stood and made his way out of the room.
Hearing the door close behind him — and when I was alone once more — I fisted the locker door beside me. ‘Argh!’ I growled with a guttural roar. What is it about her that has me so whipped? Yeah, she was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. And yeah, she had tits that could make a grown man give up beer just to breastfeed, but fuck ... she got me so easily wound up. She was feisty and mouthy. But she was also shy and sweet. Sweet? Fuck ... the taste of her on my finger was sweeter than fucking sugar.
I remembered back to the other night when I had her panting and coming apart on my hand at the movies. How terrified she was watching the movie, but then how quickly I was able to take that terror away with just the simple twitch and slide of my fingers. Seeing how she reacted so easily to my touch was an indescribable feeling. I’ve never had a woman comply so naturally.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of women unashamedly throw themselves at me. I’ve also had my fair share of women come apart on my hand, or underneath me. But not like that. Not like Carly had with her hard-peaked nipples pressing against her shirt, begging to be licked, sucked and bitten; not like Carly with her plump fuckable lips and hands so tense they were tearing into the arms of the cinema seat.
Just thinking about it has my dick dancing against the denim of my jeans. What the hell do I do? I don’t normally chase. I never have. I’ve never seen the point of it. Chasing means they are either too high maintenance, or just not that into you. Is Carly not that into me? No, she fucking is, I can tell. Is she high maintenance? Hell, yes.
I chuckled to myself, thinking of Carly and her impeccable physique. She looks high maintenance, but she’s not. Not deep down. It didn’t bother her one iota that we went to TGI Friday’s and to the local cinema; she didn’t complain. She was also down to earth and fragile when Sasha was sick. No, Carly is not high maintenance. She might pretend to be, but she’s not.
That’s it! She’s blooding bluffing. Well ... I call her bluff. I call her pretence to be hard, unfazed, controlled and dominant. It was obvious she used those attributes as a shield of protection from hurt and betrayal. But I could tell that underneath her hard exterior, there was a fragile woman in need of a man to take the place of that shield. A man who would protect her whether she wanted him to or not. A man who would step up and prove to her that she actually needed him. Do I want to be that man? ‘Shit!’ I mumbled as I shoved my clothes into my bag and pulled my runners on. I think I did. She had a vulnerability that I wanted to protect. Not to mention I could not get her out of my mind. The way she smiled so easily, even when trying not to. Her surrender when I push all the right buttons. She had a pull; a lure, hooking and towing me along. I wanted her like I’d never wanted a woman before. And that’s just it ... she made me want. Really want.
Looking at my phone, I debated whether or not to call her back. I wanted to make it right again and explain who Layla was and what she meant to me, but then thought better of it. No, Brad is right. I need to leave it go for a few days and clear my head. Too much was at stake where the next few weeks were concerned.
Putting my phone in my pocket, I walked out through the garage and waved to the guys, before pulling my helmet over my head and starting my girl with a roar. As her engine purred invitingly, I kicked up the stand and took off. I needed air ... the open road. I needed a fucking breather.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Standing in my kitchen with flour smeared upon my nose, I glanced around me and took in what could be described as my fridge and pantry having thrown up everywhere. The place was a mess; an abomination to say the least. Then again, it was a result of my hard work and effort where baking was concerned, so it pleased me all the same.
Happily applying that thinking in order to ignore the obvious disaster zone before me, I satisfactorily nudged the oven door shut with my hip. Tash, Lil, Jade, Steph, Jen and I were due to head over to Bryce’s apartment later in the evening to surprise Alexis. He had called me during the week, explaining that Lexi had been a little sulky because she was sick of feeling useless. He’d also informed me that she didn’t want to go out anywhere, because apparently her moon boot made her feel as though she should audition for a part in Iron Man. Personally, I thought she was being a sooky sooky la la and could totally rock a sexy superheroine, moon boot and all.
As I was cleaning away the leftover ingredients from the best lemon-lime meringue cake to ever be produced — because I knew it was her absolute favourite cake — my thoughts drifted to Derek.
Just the idea that I could bump into him in mere hours had me a little on edge. I hadn’t seen him since our first and, as it so happened, last date. I also hadn’t spoken to him after verbally biting his head off during our last phone call.
It had been six weeks since then. SIX WEEKS! And during those six weeks, I’d sulked, gotten angry and swept our entire fling under the rug. I’d even tried to take out my sexual frustration on a cute twenty-something-year-old who I’d met at the local pub. Fortunately — and for the first time in my life — I’d abandoned that rebound fuck for lack of enthusiasm, in the end just not having been up to it.
A few days after that last horrid phone conversation with Derek, he had sent a text, saying sorry. He’d also explained that he was due to participate in some form of training program for a few weeks which would inevitably keep him tied up, but that I could call him. I didn’t ... call him that is. I wanted to, but I didn’t. In the end, I chose not to for fear that I had already grown far too attached to him. When all was said and done, I was too scared to deal with those particular feelings, but more so, what they obviously meant.
I’d been on one date with him, one date, and had almost turned into some kind of green-eyed monster. That just wasn’t me. Carly Henkley was no Hulk.
The obvious signs that I had been losing control of my sense of independence, and the ability to live my life with my feelings undamaged, had been right in front of me. But because I was as stubborn as they come — and had sensed I felt something different where Derek was concerned — I chose to ignore those signs and ended up getting hurt anyway. When I thought back on the situation, I couldn’t help but ask myself this: was what Derek and I shared solely attraction or quite possibly something more? Regardless, it didn’t really matter. Derek and I are nothing, and six weeks without so much as a word to one another was a clear indication of that.
‘Okay, whip four egg whites together, gradually adding one cup of caster sugar until thick, stiff and glossy,’ I said to myself as I read the recipe out loud. You’d think that I’d know how to bake this cake with my eyes closed after the excessive number of times Lex and I have made it. But, like I’ve said b
efore, cooking is not my forte; neither was paying attention while Lex did the actual baking.
‘Carly! What did you do, have a food fight with yourself?’ Libby screeched as she walked into the room.
Rolling my eyes at her over-dramatic assessment of the sight before her, I switched on the handheld mixer to whip the egg whites — and to drown out any further whining from her.
‘Oh, please,’ I shouted over the loud hum, ‘it’s not that bad.’
‘Not that bad?’ she questioned, her face expressing disbelief. ‘Do you have cake batter in your eyes? Surely you have cake batter in your eyes?’
Wiping the back of my hand across said eyes, I gave her an enthusiastic smile. ‘Nope.’
‘I’m not cleaning up this mess,’ she stated emphatically, while placing her bag down.
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ I retorted.
Continuing to beat the mixture for a few minutes longer, I watched the clear gooey egg whites transform into white fluffy meringue and, still raising my voice loud enough for her to hear, I asked Libby what her plans were for the evening. ‘So ... what ya doin’ tonight? Want to come to Lexi’s cheer-the-fuck-up party?’
‘Her what?’ Lib shouted.
I turned off the mixer, unplugged the detachable whisk beaters and offered one to Lib. She happily accepted and both of us stood there licking the meringue mixture as if we were a couple of kids.
‘Her cheer-the-fuck-up party,’ I mumbled as my tongue twisted in between the metal prongs. ‘She’s still hobbling around in her moon boot and needs some cheering up. She refuses to go out anywhere so we are bringing the party to her.’
‘Ah ... good idea,’ Lib mumbled back. ‘I’d love to come, but it’s Mum’s birthday dinner tonight.’
‘Bugger,’ I slurred as my tongue twisted and turned.