So, That Got Weird

by Amelia Kingston

  “Yep, hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re rich,” I confirm with a laugh.

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” she says, almost to herself. It’s a revelation to her.

  She’s so naïve. She’s never really experienced life, the good or the bad. She lives a sheltered beige existence, never knowing the brilliant shine of intense pleasure or the dark grunge of true suffering. She’s only tasted a fraction of what the world has to offer. Her unassuming innocence is intriguing.

  “About money? People who have lots of it rarely do.” I don’t mean it to be an accusation, but that’s how she takes it.

  “I’m not taking my private jet to our family’s island in the Bahamas or anything.” Her definition of being rich is enough to make me laugh. She’s rich because she’ll never have to work to eat.

  “Maybe not. But you had five thousand dollars you parted with quite easily.” It comes out harsher than I meant it to be. I’m frustrated that she doesn’t understand what it’s like for people with nothing.

  People like me.

  “It’s from a trust. From my mother. After she died.” Her words are choppy and disconnected, as if she isn’t sure if she wants to keep going but somehow she does. I’m an asshole.

  “I’m sorry…” I mumble. “I guess my small talk could use some work too.”

  She gives me a weak smile.

  I’m not sure which one of us is more relieved to have our food finally arrive. We both let out an audible sigh at the sight of our approaching waitress, thankful for the excuse to be quiet as we each dig into our burgers and fries. Our eyes meet a couple of times as we’re eating, and the awkward silence between us makes me desperate to say something.

  But this isn’t a date. I’m just feeding her. So, I take another mouthful of burger and keep my mouth shut.

  “Thank you,” she says to our waitress as she clears away our plates. Without the distraction of our food, we are back to uncomfortable silence. It’s a little too close to an awkward first date for me.

  “Did you like it?” I ask.

  “It was delicious!” she says with a genuine smile. “I can’t remember the last time I had a burger that good. And those fries!”

  This time I’m trying to keep our conversation on the lighter side. “You save room for dessert?”

  “Always.” She gives me an innocent smile.

  I order a slice of chocolate cake for us to share.

  “Oh my God,” she groans, a sensual moaning sound accompanying her first bite.

  “That good?” I ask.

  “It’s awful. Don’t bother trying it. I’m just eating it out of obligation,” she claims with a playful grin on her chocolate-coated lips.

  “You’re so selfless.” I laugh out loud as she shovels a second massive forkful of cake into her tiny mouth.

  I manage a few bites before she consumes the rest of it. She reaches for the bill, but I grab it before she can manage. I shuffle out of the booth and help her up.

  “It’s my treat. I am rich, after all.” She tries to grab the check out of my hand, but again I’m faster than she is. She’s forcing a smile, still a bit insecure.

  “That’s not how dates work, Goose.” I pull her against me. “The man buys his woman dinner.”

  “But I’m not really your woman, am I?” She stares up at me. I can’t tell if she hates the idea. For the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder what it would be like to have someone. What if that someone is Elizabeth?

  “Tonight you are.” Before she can respond, I capture her mouth with mine. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s possessive and hungry. I don’t try to hide how much I want her right now.

  “Not on the first date,” she objects half-heartedly. There’s the controlled passion in her voice, even as she’s trying to push me away. I’m bigger and stronger and I’m not going anywhere.

  “I can’t help myself. You taste like chocolate.” I give her another teasing kiss before paying and heading out.

  I help her into the cab of my truck and shut the door behind her. The drive isn’t long, but it’s quiet. Too quiet.

  “Let’s play red light twenty questions,” I say to her as I pull up to the stoplight.

  “What’s red light twenty questions?”

  “When we stop at a red light, you ask me as many questions as you can before it turns green. You can ask me anything and I have to answer honestly. Next red light is my turn. Whoever asks the most questions wins.”

  “But it’s already halfway through this red light,” she objects.

  “You better get going then,” I quip. She rolls her eyes but plays along anyway.

  “Middle name?”

  “Peter. That’s one.”

  “Favorite color?”

  “Green. Two.”

  “Dogs or cats?”

  “Dogs. Totally. Cats are assholes. Three.”

  “Uhhh…”

  “Come on, is that all you’ve got? Clock’s ticking, Goosey.”

  Anger flashes behind her eyes. She’s a competitive one. I never would have guessed.

  “Favorite movie?”

  “Scarface. Say hello to my little friend.” I do my best Tony Montana impersonation. She’s unimpressed.

  “Favorite holiday?”

  “Holiday like vacation or holiday like Christmas?”

  “Like Christmas and stop stalling, cheater!”

  “Fourth of July.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Beer, barbecue and explosions. What’s not to love?” I skip the part where it’s one of the few holidays that the world doesn’t shit on people for having no family and no money. “But that doesn’t count as a question. You’re still at five.”

  “Biggest pet peeve?”

  I know instantly what my answer is, but I hesitate. The last thing I want is for her to ask follow-up questions. I debate lying to her, but I haven’t yet, so why start now.

  “People who break promises.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Biggest turn-on?” she asks.

  “Watching a beautiful woman come.” I peek over at her blushing cheeks. “I take that back. Making a beautiful woman come.”

  She bites her bottom lip and looks away when I wink at her. Images of her naked body writhing in pleasure under me flash through my head, and I get hard again.

  “Green light.” She points out of the windshield in front of us and refuses to meet my gaze.

  “Lucky number seven. Not bad.”

  “Would’ve been better if I’d gotten my full time.”

  “Don’t pout. You might get another turn yet. We’ve got a few blocks to go.”

  “I’m not pouting,” she says.

  With a pout.

  “Of course you’re not.”

  “Ass,” she mutters. I can’t stifle my laugh. This girl can’t look me in the eye when I talk about making her come, but she has no problem telling me when I’m an ass. I decide to take the long way back to her place, the one with the most stop lights.

  “Red light. My turn.” I bring the truck to a stop and turn in my seat to face her.

  “But you can’t use any of my questions! That’s cheating,” she asserts incredulously.

  “For someone who’s never played, you sure enjoy setting the rules.” A shrug is her only response. “Fine. Biggest fear?”

  “Uhhh…”

  “Hurry up, little cheater,” I tease.

  “Spiders.” Her voice goes up an octave and I can tell she’s lying. All the intimate things I’ve asked her, the confessions about her childhood, and this is what she chooses to lie about?

  “Liar. New rule, you lie, you forfeit.”

  “Fine. Rejection. Ass,” she retorts with a sigh and holds up her index finger. She’s vulnerable and fierce. I love it.

  “Favorite song?”

  “Stand By Me.” She holds up a second finger. Goose loves keeping score. I’ll have to remember tha
t.

  “Which version?”

  “The Temptations. But that doesn’t count as another question!”

  “Favorite food?”

  “Chocolate.”

  “Should’ve guessed that one. Least favorite food?”

  “Escargot.” She makes a scrunched face and shakes in her seat with disgust. We both laugh.

  “Most embarrassing moment?”

  “Getting rejected by you in the library. Thanks for that.” She holds up a fifth finger and eyes the stoplight.

  “Name something you can’t live without. Other than me, of course.” I smirk. She doesn’t blink.

  “The Internet.”

  “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

  “Paris.” Dejected, she holds up seven fingers now, knowing I’m about to win.

  “Favorite thing about me?”

  “Green light!” she shouts triumphantly. “That’s only seven.”

  “Nice try. That’s eight. I finished asking the question before the light changed, so it counts. And you have to answer.” The car behind me honks, but I don’t pull forward.

  “You better move. It’s a green light.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until you answer me.” I shift the truck into Park, ignoring the increasing amount of honking coming from behind us.

  “Please go.”

  “Just answer. And remember, you lie, you forfeit.”

  “God, you’re obnoxious! Fine. You make me feel normal. Now move!” she shouts at me, crossing her arms and sinking into her seat.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I soften the taunt with a gentle squeeze of her thigh.

  “Excruciating.” She tries to sound annoyed, but there’s embarrassment and vulnerability underneath it.

  I pull the truck forward and we’re quiet for a few blocks. “How do you feel usually?” I’m not sure why I want to know.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said I make you feel normal. How do you usually feel?”

  “Weird.” She sounds disheartened.

  “What’s so wrong with being weird?”

  “Everything.” She stares out of the window, dejected.

  “Weird isn’t so bad. Weird is…unique. Interesting. Rare.”

  She interrupts me with a scornful laugh. It’s a load of cheesy bullshit and we both know it.

  Normal is acceptance.

  Weird is rejection.

  “Bizarre. Strange. Odd. Scary. Creepy.” She pauses for a beat. “Lonely,” she adds almost too soft to hear.

  I know exactly what she means. I know the terror of not being enough, not being worth loving. If it were any other girl, I’d feed her a line about how being herself is enough. But we both know that’s a lie.

  Love is conditional.

  Temporary.

  The closest thing I’ve ever seen to that cheesy do-anything-for-you, can’t-live-without-you Hollywood cliché was my mom’s relationship with drugs.

  That isn’t love.

  That’s addiction.

  We all play a role to get what we need. We hide the ugliest parts of ourselves, desperate to be wanted. To be loved.

  “Trust me, everyone’s weird. Some of us are just better at hiding it.” Keeping my eyes locked on the road ahead of us, I reach across the cab and take her hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. This touch isn’t about sex.

  It’s about connection.

  Without speaking, she brings my hand up to her lips and kisses it softly. My chest tightens.

  Don’t get attached. Don’t let her break you.

  “You ready?” My words pierce the silence and sever our connection.

  “For what?”

  “To take back the lead.” I pull up to the intersection, take my hand from hers and point at the red light in front of us. She launches into her first question without missing a beat.

  “What superpower would you want?”

  “Invisibility.” I hold up one finger with a forced smile.

  “Biggest regret?”

  “Thinking people can change.” I hold up a second finger.

  “I win,” she announces with a light smile.

  “And you’ve still got time. You don’t want to know anything else about me?” I arch an eyebrow in challenge. She bites her bottom lip, concentrating hard before she continues.

  “Why are you here? With me.”

  “Because we couldn’t stay in the apartment, remember?” My voice is dark and lustful as I remind her how close to the edge she had me. I try to sidestep her question, keep our game fun and light. She doesn’t let me.

  “I mean, why did you say yes?” She’s holding her breath, her body is tense and her eyes are searing into me with sheer anguish. So much for keeping it light. “To this crazy idea. To me.” She’s gnawing on her bottom lip and she has a death grip on the seat. She’s terrified of what I might say. It’s brave to ask without being sure she wants to know the answer.

  “Because I needed the money.” I don’t think about my answer, I just say it. She takes it like a punch in the stomach, physically recoiling from the pain. From me. I think she might actually vomit.

  I’m a fucking prick. It’s the truth, but not all of it. Sure, I need the money. But not bad enough to have signed up for her crazy sex tutor scheme if I didn’t want to. That’s my dirty little secret.

  Part of me wants to be here with her.

  But I’m sure as fuck not going to tell her that.

  The hurt in her chocolate eyes makes me feel worse than if I’d kicked a puppy. I’ve got to give her something to keep her from taking a bath with her toaster tonight.

  “Besides, for some reason I find your particular brand of weird irresistible.” That does the trick.

  A shy smile twists up her lips. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  I can’t tell if she’s playing the game or asking me out. That’s a hell of a one-eighty. Time to let her down gently with a little reminder of who I am and what we are not.

  “It’s a bye week. That means there’ll be a party at our house. Lots of drinks, lots of chicks, lots of hookups. You know, college at its finest.” I answer with my most devious smile, eager to push her away.

  “Oh.” She sounds deflated. “Green light.”

  “I’d invite you to swing by…” I try to sound unenthusiastic. “But I’m sure house parties aren’t your thing.” I don’t want to hurt her, but I need to be clear that we aren’t dating. Some lines have blurred tonight and they need to be redrawn. In Sharpie.

  “They’re not.” She’s curt. I guess she got the message. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t begging for an invite. I was just playing your stupid game. Which I won, by the way.” She crosses her arms.

  She’s so far away suddenly. She built an invisible wall between us. Part of me is relieved. And part of me is pissed at myself. We’re both quiet for the last few blocks of the drive. Mercifully, we don’t hit any more red lights.

  “We’re here.” I pull in to her apartment complex. “Should I come up?”

  “I’m done for tonight,” she answers.

  I’m not ready to let her go. I don’t want to leave it like this. After a quick internal debate, I decide to hop out of the truck.

  “Thanks,” she says as I help her out of the cab. She turns to walk away without saying good night, but I don’t let her just yet. We need boundaries, but I don’t want this distance.

  “Thanks for a weird night,” I tease. She rolls her eyes, but I ignore it. Instead, I pull her against me, wrapping one arm firmly around her tiny waist. I plant a passionate good-night kiss on her, snaking my tongue through her parted lips and claiming her mouth. I remind her exactly what it is we’re doing together. I don’t stop until she gives in to the lust, digging her fingers into my biceps and pulling me closer with a soft moan.

  My eyes locked with her, I tell her, “I’m not here to make you feel normal. I want to make you feel like the sexual goddess I know you are.” She doesn’t
respond. She’s speechless. There’s a first. “Good night, Goose.”

  “Good night,” she manages to squeak out as she walks away.

  As her petite frame disappears into her building, I continue trying to convince myself she hasn’t gotten under my skin with her artless charm.

  I don’t feel anything for this girl.

  This woman.

  This weird little goddess.

  This is nothing but a simple business arrangement.

  Keep telling yourself that, Jacobs.

  Chapter Six

  Elizabeth

  “I know xXGodsGift69Xx is an obnoxious prick, but the trade deal’s actually pretty sweet. He seems a bit desperate after getting sanctioned by The Federation for trading with Hellofaplace during the embargo. It’s a gamble, since no one wants to touch him with a ten-foot pole, but I think I’ll do it. What do you think?” I ask Jackie in our private video chat window while I check on the status of my small but mighty country in the background.

  I’m hoping for some decent advice on the nation-building game we both play. We’re each the proud owners of first-world nations in Rule Them All, an online game where players create and run their own country. I’ve been playing since it first came out seven years ago. Players interact with other countries, forming alliances and making trade agreements. Or, they can invade and conquer. Whatever floats their boat.

  The game is how we met. Being a woman gaming online can sometimes make you a target for juvenile perverts, so I try to keep a low profile. Not so much in Jackie’s case. Her player name is DominaTrix and she usually does just that, dominate. Her country is named WomansWorld. Subtlety has never been Jackie’s strong suit.

  My player name, Lizbit31415, and country name, Uforia, are both gender neutral. At least, so I thought. Jackie had a hunch I was a woman. What did Jackie do? She asked me for a picture of my tits, so I blocked her account. Turns out it was a fake account she uses to troll other gamers. She messaged me from her real account, claiming she knew I had to be a chick after I blocked her. A dude would have done a Google image search and posted the first pair of tits he could find before asking for some in return. Apparently, only dudes send titty pics.