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I follow Brody out of the office, back through the kennel, and out a side door that takes us to the cats’ building. “We need to stop by the feed supply store and pick up some probiotics,” I tell him. “That new lab mix, Nelly, has some loose stools. ”
“Got it. And we need to hit the lumber supply store. I saw one of the fence posts on the paddock is cracked near the bottom. I think one of the horses kicked it. ”
We start to work cleaning out the litter boxes, and yeah, I get sidetracked playing with the five new kittens that came in last week. It takes so little to amuse them, nothing more than the string from my hoodie that I wave in front of their fuzzy little faces.
“So, what was the deal with that English dude you were talking to at the bar last week? He said something that pissed you off. ”
Picking up one of the kittens, I hold it above my face and watch its little paws try to swipe at me. “That’s Gavin Cooke. I clean his house, and he can be a bit prickly. ”
“What did he say to you that made you practically run out of the bar?”
“I didn’t practically run out,” I grumble, although I did have an insane urge that night to flee from his sexual innuendos. “He just asked if you and I were lovers. ”
“No way,” Brody exclaims as he dumps fresh litter into on one of the boxes. “Why would he think that?”
“I don’t think he really did. I think he was just trying to get under my skin, which is something he apparently enjoys doing. ”
“Maybe he was trying to get under your skirt and was checking to see if you were single,” he muses.
“Not his style,” I tell Brody adamantly, and I’m amazed I know Gavin well enough to know exactly what his style is. If he wanted to get under my skirt, he would have said something like, I want to f**k you, and I could care less if you’re f**king someone else.
Yes, that was Gavin’s style.
“Well, he seems kind of full of himself,” Brody says casually. “Besides… he got under Tanya Stokes’ skirt that night, so I’m sure he was a happy camper. ”
I spin toward Brody fast, bringing the kitten down to my chest to cuddle. “How do you know that?”
“Because she was hitting on him pretty hard prior to that. He bought her a few drinks. They left together that night. Pretty obvious, right?”
“I guess,” I mutter as I put the kitten back in his cage.
Man, that bothers me. I mean, I sort of figured Gavin was a player, but he’s kind of a grumpy recluse, so I never figured him to hit a local establishment and then hit the local talent so quickly. I know deep down that there’s really nothing special he sees in me. He’s a man with certain proclivities. I fascinate him for some reason, and he wants to exercise those proclivities because I was opportune. And I have no right to a feeling of betrayal, because we have no relationship… no exclusivity… no expectations to be broken. In fact, I’m betting if anything were to ever happen with Gavin, it would only be on the terms that there was no relationship… no exclusivity… no expectations.
Not that I’m expecting anything with him.
But still… the prospect of a hot, one-night stand with him is a thrilling prospect. It’s so not me… the anti-heroine.
Do I have the daring to do it? It’s something I need to consider, but one thing is for sure, if I do… I’ll have to do the pursuing, because he made it clear that I had to voice what I wanted. The thought of doing something so outrageous, so beyond the limits of my comfort, makes me slightly nauseated.
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have it in me. He’s exactly right. I’m always going to be the woman that waits for the guy to make the move… to save me… to give me an orgasm. I don’t have it in me to be the seducer.
Sighing in frustration, I open up the last cage and reach in past a sleeping black and orange tabby to pull the litter box closer to me.
“What’s with the dramatic sigh?” Brody asks.
“Nothing,” I say absently, and then I change my mind. Brody has hard life experiences, and from those experiences, untold amounts of wisdom which I intend to tap into. “Actually… have you ever felt like you were just stagnating… just running in place without any idea of where you’d go if you could ever get off your hamster wheel?”
“I’m happy to say ‘no’ to that answer,” Brody says as he closes the last cage that he was working on. Turning to me, he leans up against the metal housing and shoves his hands in his pockets as he waits for me to enlighten him.
“Never?” I ask in slight disbelief. “Not even after you got out of prison?”
“Not even then,” he confirms. “I didn’t have any ambitions or goals at that point, so there wasn’t anything to stagnate. I was satisfied with just being, if you know what I mean. ”
I don’t know what he means, but I could imagine. Brody’s charmed life of medical school and a prosperous future were ripped away when he went to prison. Since getting out last spring, he was absolutely content to just sling drinks at Last Call and hide himself away from the rest of the world. Thank God Alyssa reached through to him… got him to want to live life again to the fullest. Now he runs The Haven with her and couldn’t be happier.
It’s what I want.
To be absolutely happy with my profession… my life… my world. I want to get off the freakin’ hamster wheel of mediocrity.
“So I take it you feel like you’re stagnating?” Brody asks as he pins me with his eyes.
“Think about it,” I tell him in a rush. “I have a degree that’s practically useless, I got laid off from my job with which I had hope to put said degree to use, I clean houses for a living now, and oh, yeah, I work for a sleazy photographer who comes on to me every chance he can, and I have to put up with it because I need the job too damn bad. On top of that, I haven’t even started looking for something else, because I don’t know what the hell to do with my life. No fortitude… no drive. I’m an anti-heroine. ”
Brody’s eyebrows rise high, and he gives me a smirk. “That’s a mouthful. Got anything else?”
“I’m done,” I mutter quietly, feeling dejected over the lameness of my life. We both walk out of the cats’ housing and head to the large supply shed so we can load up on restocking supplies in the kennel room.
As we reach the door, Brody reaches out and touches my shoulder to stop me. “Savannah… you have more fortitude and spine than most people I know. Don’t forget what you did… one of the bravest things I’ve ever heard of in my life,” he murmurs.
My skin prickles at his pointed reminder to me of a past that is filled with fear, pain, humiliation, and oddly… achievement.
“That was so long ago,” I protest as I turn to step inside the supply shed.
“Not so long ago,” he argues softly. “It speaks of who you are at the fundamental core of things. ”
His words press in upon me. Really? Is he right? Do I have more resolve and moxie than even I give myself credit for?
He’s talking about a secret I once shared with him and Alyssa… that’s really not a secret, because it was splashed all through the newspapers back in Indiana. I went through hell during my senior year of high school, taking on a predatory monster and his super wealthy, socially connected family. I was bullied, berated, and mocked for my actions. I lost my closest friends and caused my parents’ untold anguish what with the eggs being thrown at our house and the late night, threatening phone calls. I was called a whore, a liar, and made into a public spectacle.
But in the end, I stuck to my guns and I won. I was vindicated, and I went through untold torture to get to the finish line. I stuck my chin out, stiffened my spine, and I never gave up.
Yeah, Brody is right… that was definitely my shining moment in life. I had something within me to battle against evil, and I never gave up. I never waited for someone to save me. I saved myself.
Gavin Cooke doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Anti-heroine my ass.
11
I hear something… a creak maybe… down on the first floor, and my ears perk up. Glancing at the time on my laptop, I see it’s getting close to ten o’clock and I’m on f**king pins and needles waiting for Savannah to get here. I even left my office door open this morning so I could hear when she arrived. So I could, by chance as far as she knew, go down into the kitchen to get something—a bottle of water maybe—and see her.
Fuck, I need to see her, because I’ve spent the last three days obsessing about the woman. Ever since I pushed her off my raging erection and right out the door last Friday night, said raging erection has become positively monstrous. Jacking off doesn’t seem to help, because all I can think about is how her skin felt when I slid my fingers up her leg, or how her eyes darkened when she told me to touch her between the legs, or how frustrated she looked when I wouldn’t.
I’m frustrated as hell that she wouldn’t go that extra step and give in to me. I’m frustrated at myself that I let a golden opportunity get away, because had I just given up a minutia of control, I could have had her. I could have f**ked my brains out and then been done with her.
I had to stop myself probably five times on Saturday from going to help her at that animal shelter, just so I could get another whiff of her scent, maybe brush up against that warm skin. I feel like a boy with an insane crush or something. Frankly, it’s buggering me.
Leaning forward in my chair, I read the last few lines of my manuscript and sigh. It’s not flowing the way I want it to. I started a scene this weekend, writing it almost word for word exactly how my Friday night turned out on the couch with Savannah. My hero, Max, demanded she give him the words he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear her beg, I want you to touch my pu**y, Max.
And just as it happened in real life, my little anti-heroine, who I named Honey—because, yeah… honey is sweet—pushed away from him in embarrassment and shyness, refusing him.
I wrote it that way because I have no intention of changing the plot line regarding this character. Max is ultimately going to have her, but he’ll discard her as well. And he won’t be able to save her from evil, and she sure as hell won’t save herself.
Yup… needs to stay that way… true to my muse.
Staring at the screen, I wait for further inspiration to hit, but it never comes. I read my last paragraphs over and over again, now doubting whether Honey should really deny my hero.
My fingers twitch.
What the f**k… the scene definitely needs tweaked.
Max inched her skirt up her leg, letting his fingers glide along her skin. “You know what I want to do to you? I want you to let me touch you… see if your panties are as wet as I suspect they’d be. Then I want to finger f**k you… let you ride my hand a bit. Just to start…”
Honey’s breath turned ragged, but she remained absolutely still other than her fingers, which dug into his shoulders.
“Tell me, sweet girl,” Max crooned at her in a velvety voice. “Tell me you want it too… tell me what you want me to do to you. ”
Honey’s eyelids drooped, and she licked at her lips. Max’s fingers stroked along the edge of her panties, causing her to jerk slightly in his arms. He was so f**king hard at that moment he could probably jackhammer a sidewalk with his cock.
“Come on, baby,” Max murmured near her ear, easing just the tip of his finger under the elastic edge. “Show me that raw craving I know you have. ”
Honey gave a soft cry and tilted her h*ps in a vain attempt to move his hand closer to her core.
“That’s a bad girl,” Max said with censure and, just to punish her a little, pulled his hand away. “I need the words, Honey. Give them to me. ”
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