by Kade, Teagan
He leans against the door frame, a perfect canvas of blue behind him. “Are you ready to tell me what happened, who you are, anything?”
I’ve been considering it. I sat here for almost an hour today rolling my hands together and wondering exactly what to do. I considered leaving, but where would I go? I’ve got no money, no contacts, no family here. Worse, I shouldn’t be here at all.
I don’t know why, but I’m drawn to Archer. Maybe it’s savior syndrome, the fact finally someone was looking out for me, but I know it’s more than that. There’s a pull to him, an attraction I can’t deny. Telling him everything could put him in danger. I don’t know if that’s something I want to do, if someone so selfless deserves that.
What do you think he’s going to do? my head retorts. Go running to the cops?
Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad, I consider. At least then I’d be truly safe.
Yeah, right. You know how far their reach goes, my head warns. There is nowhere you can go that’s safe. This is your best bet right now.
I shake my head meekly. “I’m sorry. I can’t, not now.”
I expect backlash, a plea for information, but Archer simply looks around the room. “Well, it’s going to take a while for the place to air out, and I’m starving, so how about we head out, grab a bite to eat?
My stomach gurgles in agreement—mortally embarrassing.
“Okay then,” Archer nods. “That settles it. What are you in the mood for?”
Some rather less culinary options come to mind, but I shift that aside. “I’ll eat anything,” I reply. “I’m not a fussy eater.”
“Good,” says Archer. “I know just the place.”
I look down at my shirt, or Archer’s rather, sniffing at it. “Do you mind if I take a shower? I don’t really want to go dinner smelling like a coal mine.”
Archer scratches his head. “Yeah, sure, no problem. Like I said, the towels are in there.”
I brush past his arm on the way through. It’s not a deliberate action, but the simple act sends fresh sensation bolting down my spine, goosebumps blanketing my body.
I step into the bathroom and close the door, pressing my hands against it, my head hanging between my arms like I’m doing a horizontal push-up. “Get a grip,” I whisper to myself, finding a fresh towel hanging on the door.
I strip and pile my clothes neatly on the stool next to the vanity, staring into the mirror at myself and unable to recognize the stranger that stares back. My hair’s basically a bird’s nest. There are deep grooves under my eyes that suggest either a) I haven’t slept in weeks or b) I’m some kind of drug addict. I look terrible, in short, not that Archer seems to think so. His eyes light up when he sees me, and I know it’s not a misunderstanding on my part. The attraction is running both ways. I’m sure of it.
Good thing dinner went so well then.
He didn’t seem to mind I almost burned his apartment down. It was almost like he found it… endearing? Given the state of his fridge, I don’t think anyone’s cooked for him in a long, long time, though I quickly dismiss the idea of trying again. I want to thank him, not kill him.
There are other ways you could thank him…
I dismiss that idea too, as inviting as it sounds. I’ve gone from a life-threatening situation to this. I know half of this excitement is down to the simple fact I’m still alive. That latent adrenaline is still clouding my thinking. I need time to get my thoughts back into order and decide what’s best. I don’t think it’s going to be jumping into bed with the first guy I meet.
Pity, I lament.
I turn on the shower and step under the stream, enjoying the way the hot water envelops my body. I run my hands through my hair and close my eyes. He’s there behind my eyelids, of course, smiling, looking wholesome.
My eyes snap open and I have to place one hand on the tiles to steady myself. My other hand’s on my belly, fingers starting to slide south, but I pull them back. Now is not the time and this is definitely not the place.
I keep the shower short and step out, quickly toweling myself off and suddenly realizing I don’t have anything to change into.
I wrap the towel around myself and open the door, making my way to the room at the end of the hall. I’m about to walk in when Archer appears in the doorway. Except he’s not wearing anything.
He’s unclad, exposed, au naturel, in the buff, not decent, starkers… naked as a nun without her habit.
I’m in such a rush I collide with him, or his penis rather. It smacks into my thigh first, the force of the collision enough to send me sprawling onto my back screaming.
Just as shocked, Archer can’t seem to decide if he should try to cover himself up or reach down to help me, his hand kind of stuck halfway between us.
On instinct I reach for his hand and misjudge, basically grabbing his cock, his momentum forcing him into a kind of crab-walk forward until said appendage is swinging no less than an inch from my face.
I’m still screaming somehow, eyes wide in confusion, Archer trying to hobble backwards, grabbing the wall for support.
And God damn it I can’t stop looking at it. My eyes are glued to the thing—again. I finally manage to stop screaming and force them upwards, whereupon I see his eyes are directed right between my legs, because yeah, I’m lying on my back spread-eagled basically about to give birth and providing him a premium, front-row seat to the vagina show.
He sees me seeing him and his eyes dart upwards, left, right, continuing to hobble backwards until he’s back through the doorway muttering apologies.
I take a breath and snap my legs closed.
What the hell just happened?
I can hear him trying to dress himself, cursing and hitting a wall. “Are you… decent?” he calls.
With some effort I manage to stand and pull the towel tight around myself. The heat in my face is real. It’s an inferno.
He emerges this time in a collared shirt and jeans, sort of shielding his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” stealing a glance at me. “I heard the shower going, thought you were still in there…”
He’s right. I can still hear the shower. I never turned it off. My eyebrows lift. “Oh,” I stammer, for the second time that night.
I walk back to the bathroom and shut the shower off, holding my towel up with one hand because I’m sure we’ve both seen enough skin for now.
I step back into the hall. “Sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
We both laugh, the awkwardness passing, though I’m pretty sure the image of his cock swinging in front of my face like the pendulum of a grandfather clock is going to haunt me for all eternity.
“Ah,” he says, returning to the room, “I’ve got some clothes here if you, ah, want to, you know, try them on.”
“Yes,” I reply robotically, unsure what else to say.
He returns. “Okay,” he says, trying to shuffle past me in the small space of the hallway.
“Yes, good,” I say.
“Awesome.”
“Excellent.” The two us jammed up there.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“Now.”
“Great.”
And it’s with the conclusion of this intensely abstract conversation I finally make it into the main bedroom, closing the door and sighing against it after what is without question the most embarrassing moment of my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
ARCHER
I didn’t dare tell Winter where the pile of women’s clothes I had came from. Truth is, I keep a sort of ‘lost property box’ of my own under the bed. The simple fact it’s close to overflowing with panties, thongs, and sex toys should say enough, but I did manage to dig out a choice or two of dress, an old leather jacket of mine for fighting the nighttime temperature drop.
As I watch her eating, I’m blown away by how Winter makes even a simple red dress look so damn incredible. I noticed eyes glui
ng themselves to her as soon as we walked into the restaurant. A ‘roided-up jock shifted from the bar to say something to her… just before I eye-fucked him right back into his chair. He sat there and didn’t say a single word. Sometimes that’s all it takes to get these pricks to back down—a look. They soon work out who’s the real alpha around here.
Being my usual go-to place, the service is personalized, quick, and efficient—Cuban dining at its absolute finest. Yes, the place could do with a dust and looks sort of like a Tropicana porn set, but the food can’t be beat, and this is from someone who’s spent two glorious months on the island.
Winter’s too busy stuffing her face to care. She’s hoeing into her meal like it’s her last. She’s alternating between a rusty picadillo and a side of mojo shrimp.
“Anyone would think you haven’t eaten in a week,” I offer.
She doesn’t stop, her eyes simply glancing in my direction. She talks with her mouth full, which is simultaneously kind of gross but also oddly endearing at the same time. “This is so good. You wouldn’t believe what they gave me to eat in…” She stops, trailing off, eyes downcast.
I reach across the table and lift her chin up. “Hey, what were you going to say?” I ask, hoping for a clue.
She swallows and smiles, bright enough to light up the entire room. “It’s nothing. It’s delicious, thank you.”
I lean back in my chair, deciding to test the waters. “You do remember what happened, don’t you? You don’t have amnesia?”
She shakes her head. “I remember. I just don’t want to talk about it,” she says, reaching for a napkin to wipe some of the marinade off her fingers.
“I had a friend,” I go on, “lived up north as a paramedic. He was a medic in the Army back when I was serving, great guy. Anyhow, one day he found this girl shot in the head, couldn’t remember anything. The trauma was blocking it out, you see.”
“What happened to her?”
“She survived, but the people who shot her in the first place came after her wanting to finish the job. Thankfully, my friend knows a thing or two about survival, managed to get them into witness protection.”
Winter has stopped eating, her expression almost scowl-like. That skittish, paranoid look is back, her eyes darting behind me, to the darker corners of the restaurant. What is she looking for? I wonder. Who?
Her eyes find me and focus. “They were together, your friend and this girl?”
I smile picturing Ethan. “Yeah, fell for each other in the hospital, I guess you could say. Real rom-com stuff.”
“That’s sweet... You were in the Army? Those are your Army friends in that photo?”
“That’s right, and better guys you won’t find.” I don’t want to elaborate. Not now.
I play with my fork, turning it over and over. Outside, a siren whoops, Winter jumps in her chair.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Calm down. You’re safe here.”
She brushes her hair back over her shoulder. “I’m not so sure.”
“The chef here’s a kickboxer the size of a bulldozer. Everyone knows you come in here looking for trouble, you’re going to wind up on the pavement with half your teeth missing.”
“Is that supposed to be reassuring? What happens if you don’t like the food?”
I point down to it. “Come on. You tasted it. No one’s ever disrespected the food here.”
She smiles, but it’s fleeting.
On impulse, I reach across the table and take her hand, surprised how delicate it is in my fingers but also how warm and soft it feels. “Listen, I know you said you didn’t want to get the police involved, but I do have a contact, a friend, who works in the local PD here. He was also in Army with me, in my squad, actually. He’s solid. He could help.”
It’s not like I haven’t considered the possibilities. Winter didn’t just wash in from across the ocean. She must have been out there on a boat, a cruise… something. My guy could run checks, dig up files—a fuck-load more than I can do from the tower.
But Winter isn’t interested. Her hand slides out of mine. She crosses her arms over herself. “Look, Archer, I appreciate the concern, but I have to think first. Can you trust me?”
“Of course,” I reply, putting my hands up. “As I said, I only want to help.”
“And you’ve been a huge help, but I need to figure this out on my own.”
“Okay,” I relent. “It’s your call, but I’m here if you need me, and you’re welcome to stay at my place as long as you like.”
“Just as long as you keep your clothes on,” she grins
I’d forgotten all about our little encounter earlier, though it comes right on back in a second flat.
Every. Vivid. Detail.
She was lucky I didn’t poke her eye out.
I smirk, nodding easily. “I promise. No more surprises.”
She smiles back, returning to her meal.
We finish up, standing outside where the next wave of nightlife is busy meandering around the streets. It’s an eclectic mix.
A guy on a rainbow-colored Segway goes blasting between us, Winter immediately moving back into position by my side. “Where to now?” she asks.
I look at her stunned. “You’re still hungry?”
She shakes her head. “No, no, no. Any more food and you’ll have to carry me home, but I don’t really want to go back yet.”
I have to smile. “How do you feel about salsa?”
*
The Ball & Chain is a popular club any night of the week, but tonight it’s especially pumping.
“Archer!” the security guard on the door beams, reaching for my hand. “Long time no see, my friend.”
I give him a wink to suggest he can cut the act this time. He winks back in acknowledgement, directing his attention to Winter. “And ma’am. Nice to see you.”
Somewhat shy, Winter hides behind me, continuing to do so as we’re ushered through into the club proper. I stop by the cloak room, Winter looking at the dancefloor with something close to wonder.
I join her. A DJ’s up on stage cranking out an upbeat, heavy salsa groove so thick you could carve it with a knife. “Drink?” I offer, raising my voice to be heard over the music.
I’m surprised when she grabs my hand and basically runs us to the dancefloor. “Let’s dance first!” she shouts.
Now, I like to think my salsa skills are up to scratch, but Winter is something else. She heads right to the middle on the dancefloor and immediately starts sashaying and swinging her hips with such perfect syncopation it’s like the music is part of her.
I try to match her tempo, but her feet are moving like lightning.
She’s smiling so wide I don’t know where her face starts and her mouth stops, eyes yellow, then blue, then pink in the changing light. “I haven’t danced for so long!” she says, twirling and cheering.
I take her in position and we dance together, but it’s clear she’s doing the leading here. It’s hard work, and being this close to her isn’t exactly helping my concentration. I feel the side of her breast against my arm, the soft weight of it there, the natural, soapy scent of her body as she moves, her hair brushing past my face.
Before long we’ve started to attract attention, a space opening up for us. Winter takes full advantage, leading me into a complex series of breakthroughs. I almost miss a step, correcting just in the nick of time.
Winter’s lips are at my ear, her breath warm on the shell of it. “What’s the problem? Can’t keep up?”
Before I have time to reply she shuttles us into a Noventa, twisting and turning so fast I’m not quite sure what’s up and what’s down before immediately lurching into a slingshot.
We break apart and pull back, the crowd clapping and cheering us on.
I thought I could dance.
It would appear I was wrong.
I manage to use the shift in music to pull Winter away, reluctantly, from the dancefloor and over to the bar. I order two mojitos and take a s
eat, my feet, quite literally, burning.
I look at Winter like she’s another person entirely. “Well, you can dance a lot better than you can cook. Where on God’s green earth did you learn to dance like that, and don’t tell me it was your father’s doing?”
Winter seats herself gracefully. I don’t think she’s even broken a sweat. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here like Aquaman.
“It was my mother. She was an excellent dancer.”
“You clearly enjoy it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not so bad yourself. You actually dance behind the beat, like you should. Not many guys can pull that off, not in a busy, complicated percussion like salsa.”
“I lived in Cuba for a while,” I confess.
“A girl?”
I shake my head. “No, I was young, foolish, travelling the world. I ran out of money there, one thing led to another and before I knew it eight weeks had passed. It’s a beautiful country.”
Winter nods, but I also see sadness welling in her eyes. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Our drinks arrive, momentarily breaking us out of our reverie. I use it as a chance to change the subject. “Have you ever thought about teaching?”
“Salsa?” she laughs.
“The way you were leading me around that dancefloor…” I give a whistle. “I bet you could teach a cinder block to hit the beat.”
“It looks energetic,” she says, “but the salsa is all about subtlety. It is pure expression, a gentle push and pull of the music… an ocean.”
“I’ve never heard it described that way before. Everyone just tells me it’s the horizontal equivalent of sex.”
I don’t mean to say it, but the line’s so practiced it simply slips out.
Thankfully, Winter seems amused more than anything. “Which tells me you like to dominate in the bedroom, take control. Am I right?”
Well, you’re not wrong. “Perhaps,” I reply coyly.
Suddenly, Winter’s face goes white, the color draining from it completely. I follow her eyes, turning around but unable to see anything in the mix of people there.
I turn back, reaching for her hand. “Winter?”
But it’s like she’s in a trance. She suddenly reaches for my hand, squeezing it hard. “We need to go.”