by Adair Rymer
The whole thing turned my stomach with dread.
“Fire Ant,” Maynard replied, with hesitation in his voice. He was obviously uncomfortable that his friend was potentially injuring people. “How have you not been arrested for shit like that?”
“C'mon, this town fucking loves me! Besides at night no one can prove where they're coming from. Can't arrest what you can't see.” Anthony hugged Maynard who had stiffened up during the embrace. Anthony stepped back and regarded him curiously. “You're not going soft on me, are you, old man?”
I thought of our ride over here, soft was not a word I would ever use to describe any part of Maynard. He definitely still had a wild streak in him, but it seemed less malevolent than whatever was in Ant.
“In your dreams. All the times we competed—races, women, gambling—I can't remember a time you've ever beaten me. Not to mention you physically being older than me.” Maynard diffused the mounting tension between them with ease. Anthony only looked a few years older than Maynard. Maynard cocked his head back toward the receptionist. “When did you open a daycare center?”
“The girl? If there's grass on the field, you know I play ball.” Ant laughed, then stopped when he realized Maynard wasn't joining in. “Fuck, man. I haven't seen you in a year and you went and turned prude on me. I'm just helping her out. When Mary starts college next year she'll already have an internship under her belt.” Ant leaned in and slapped Maynard on the chest playfully. “Well technically it'll be under my belt, but to-may-to, to-mah-to.”
“Marcy.” I interrupted drawing both sets of eyes toward me. I didn't mind swearing but I wasn't a fan of people being objectified. He was talking about getting blown by a high school girl. That was not OK. “Her name is Marcy, not Mary.”
I was beginning to really dislike Maynard's friend. It was hard to imagine that Maynard had ever once been like Anthony. If he was, he wasn't like that now. Had Maynard changed that much since the last time they'd seen each other?
Something else bothered me about Anthony that I was having trouble placing. I'd seen him before somewhere. But where?
“Shit. Where are my manners?” Maynard shook his head as if coming out of a fog. “This is Claire, my girlfriend.”
“Claire,” Ant eyed me for moment as something came to him. “A pleasure.”
He did recognize me, but from where? Where the hell would I have been that I could possibly forget a man like him? Ant smiled, gently shaking my hand. It was a wicked, filthy grin that showed far too much teeth.
Oh, God, no...The smile. I remembered that smile.
All the blood drained from my face. My whole body tensed. My past indiscretions had finally caught up with me. I slipped away from Ant's grip which sent the feeling of slimy spiders crawling up my arms. I knew exactly where I last saw that disgusting monster of a man.
And he knew it too.
How the hell was I going to tell Maynard?
Chapter 3
Maynard
“Why'd you ask me to come by?” I stepped between Ant and Claire and tried to move the conversation along. Something weird just happened.
“I'm going to find a bathroom,” Claire squeezed my hand and started toward the stairs back down. She was obviously uncomfortable; I started to feel bad for bringing her with me.
Claire was becoming my new normal and I was surprisingly alright with that, but it wasn't long ago that I'd been a totally different person. This past year had changed me so much, even before I met Claire, but especially afterward. For some reason I figured the same was true for Ant.
“Quite the off-key piece of ass you have there.” Ant smiled stuffing his hands into his pockets.
I was wrong.
“Don't call her that.” My eyes narrowed. I had become overly protective of Claire in such a short period of time. She wasn't the kind of girl that wanted me to be her buffer against the world, but that made me want to take care of her even more. It was a new feeling for me that I hadn't figured out yet.
“Don't get your panties in a twist.” Ant seemed taken aback at my sensitivity.
I shrugged off the comment. I couldn't relate to his brashness anymore but I could still understand where he was coming from. The last time he saw me I was three girls deep at any one time so it was a fair assumption to assume that I hadn't changed much.
“Have you two met before?” There was a nagging pang in my gut at Ant and Claire's unspoken exchange. I'd have to ask her about that later.
“Hell if I know. I'd have to get a close look at the back of her head to be sure. I've met a lot of women.” Ant shrugged, laughing. He then shot me a bitter half-smile. “Not nearly as many as you, of course.”
“That's not my thing anymore.” Throughout our entire friendship there has always been this undertone of competition. We used to thrive on it.
“Do you remember where we first met?” Ant frowned, changing the subject. He took a few thoughtful steps toward his liquor cabinet.
“That charity gala ten years ago?” The early days all blended together to me.
“We were both there but we didn't actually meet till we got thrown in the same Cook County holding cell.”
“That's right. They had to pull you off the roof. You were so fucked up you tried to convince the cops that you were actually two little people in a trench coat.” I chuckled to myself, remembering. Nostalgia always had a way of lightening the mood. “You weren't even wearing a trench coat that night.”
Ant had an abrasive and overwhelming personality back when I knew him. He was a loose cannon. You never knew what to expect while he was around. I didn't mind it then. Shit, I'd be lying if I said we didn’t have a lot of fun together.
I always got along with extreme personality types because it allowed me to step out of the spotlight occasionally. I loved making waves in the media and having people fawn all over me but after a while it was fucking exhausting. Sometimes I needed a break and that's where Ant came in.
“And you were caught fucking the mayor's hot young wife in front of everyone,” he slyly shot back.
“That ballroom was literally surrounded in curtains, I didn't know we were behind the one set of curtains that would be raised to show off the auction items.” My chuckle turned into a laugh. “Wild times, Fire Ant.”
Fire Ant. It was easy to slip into the old nicknames when reminiscing. I thought way back before Claire, and before I became bored by all the shit I used to revel in. They might've been crazy, but they weren’t bad times. It was like watching an action porno movie; fun to think about but I wouldn't want to relive it.
“Before they dragged me off that building I saw how beautiful my city really was for the first time.” Ant's gaze into the middle distance intensified as he dropped the ice into each glass, then poured the dark liquor.
“I came back a week ago from almost a solid year of traveling to all the best cities in the world. You know what I've come to realize? Chicago, my home, is a joke. All these low-income tenements are a breeding ground for crime and these small mom-and-pop shops everywhere are leftovers from an old system that is grossly inefficient. Most of them are still cash only. Can you believe that shit?” He paused, slowly shaking his head. “It's really throwing a wrench in the gears of progress.”
“You're talking about cultural identity, Ant.” I narrowed my eyes, not liking where this conversation was headed. “We have areas like that back home too but some of the best music and food come out of those boroughs. Manhattan might be the face of NYC but its soul is in Brooklyn, Bronx and Queens. You have to take the good with the bad, that's just how it is.”
“It doesn't have to be.” Ant smiled, handing me a rocks glass of bourbon.
Ant was always second best to me when it came to athletics and women but he was dangerously smart. He liked to push things to their limit—drugs, women, even the police sometimes. That's what got his rocks off. He was mostly harmless but he did have a cruel streak in him.
“What are you talking about?”
I took the glass. That was another reason I used to hang out with him. I was no saint, but I was always able to talk him down and keep him from crossing the line.
“Your family still owns a lot of property in my city, I want to buy it from you.”
“I'm just doing my hotel. Real estate is Bianca's thing. You have to talk to her.” What did we have in Chicago? I never managed our holdings so I didn't pay attention to what they were. I knew we had a few hospitals, community outreach buildings, at least one homeless shelter and few other nonprofit companies in the area.
“She wouldn't sell. I was hoping you could talk to her for me, maybe get her to budge a little. I'm going to clean things up here and bring in more commerce, the nicest condos and the finest restaurants. Start fresh and all that.”
“Start fresh, huh? You're going to make it too expensive for the people who already live here to stay here. Sounds a lot like gentrification to me.”
“So?” Ant shrugged, unconcerned. “This is my home, I'll drag Chicago to the world stage kicking and screaming if I have to.”
I brought the glass to my lips and tapped it with my finger thoughtfully. Even I knew it was wrong to displace people just because of their economic station. That was exactly the kind of thing my family was trying to fight when they originally bought real estate here.
“And what if the mom-and-pop stores won't sell?” I was thinking about Hal's woodworking shop.
“C'mon, Mayday. We both know that everyone has a price.” Ant let the statement linger unfinished.
Even if that price wasn't money, he used to say.
Blackmail, murder, arson, I would always call his bluff with that stuff when we were younger. I knew he was full of shit back then, but now I wasn't so sure. Had that cruel streak of his actually developed into something else entirely?
“That shouldn't be the decision of just one man. You're not the only one that lives here.” I decided against having that drink after all and placed the unsipped glass on an end table. This was a lot darker of a conversation than I was expecting. “It's been fun, but I'm going to show myself out.”
The room fell into tense silence as I left.
“Sorry I didn't make it to your party,” Anthony shouted when I reached the doorway that led out of his office. He loomed above me at the top of the stairs, sipping his bourbon. “I'd have loved to have seen the exact moment that my friend lost his balls.”
I was wrong earlier when I thought he was the same man as before. Anthony had changed, but not for the better. I'd tell Claire to warn her parents to be on the lookout for any weird activity just in case.
“You have it all wrong, I didn't lose anything.” I shot my former friend one last glance before leaving to find Claire. “I simply gained a soul.”
When the opaque glass door swished shut behind me it felt like I had closed the final chapter of my old life. What would've happened in that office had I not met Claire? Would I have slipped back into old habits and helped my friend do something unspeakable?
I didn't think I would, but without Claire's temperance and compassion I couldn't be sure. Either way the old Maynard Cooper was dead and I was glad for it.
Claire was chatting with Marcy by the elevator when I arrived.
“Are you ready?” Claire asked. She tried to hide her worry and discomfort with a weak smile, but I could tell that Anthony really put her off. Seeing what he'd turned into, I couldn't blame her for being sketched out.
I intently studied the face of the most amazing woman I would ever know. I shouldn't have brought her here. I'll make it up to her even if I didn't know how yet.
“More than ever,” I replied, wrapping an arm around Claire's lower back.
Chapter 4
Maynard
“Drink?” I asked, neatly folding my suit jacket over a chair at the bar. It was a short drive back to where we were staying. My family had a hotel across town from Anthony's office. We arrived in Chicago this morning and Claire had been intermittently tense all day. I was hoping that a drink might allow her to relax and open up.
“All of the yes, please,” Claire blurted as if gasping for air. She hadn't said much since arriving at our suite. Something was definitely on her mind and it was killing me not to know what it was.
Another new emotion, I mused. I never would've cared before. I'd come to understand that empathy was a good thing, but it was painful sometimes.
“Sex on the beach?” The corner of my mouth wrinkled into a subtle smile as I made the suggestion. It was the first cocktail I'd ever made her and she still had yet to actually try it.
“Sure,” Claire's thumbs tapped in quick succession as she typed something into her cellphone. She fell into the couch and curled her knees up to her chest in the fetal position. She thought about pulling the linen couch cover over herself but decided against it.
What was she trying to hide from?
“What's in that?” She asked.
“Vodka, cranberry, orange and—”
“That would be great,” Claire interrupted impatiently. “But can you make it a double and skip the cranberry and orange?”
Her urgency gave me pause. I grabbed the whiskey sour I'd just made for myself, a shot glass and the bottle of vodka then walked to the back of the couch. I placed my drink down on the end table and poured her a shot of the vodka. At least it was good vodka.
“Sex on the beach a la carte for—” Claire interrupted me by taking the shot glass from my hand and draining it before I could finish. “—the lady.”
“Thanks.” Claire grabbed the bottle and filled up her shot glass, then drained it again. I had a feeling she was only using the glass for my benefit. I placed my hands on her shoulders and began to massage her.
“Are you going to tell me what's on your mind or will I have to use other methods?” I smoothed my fingers between her shoulder blades and soothed the knots there. I always wondered if I could make a girl come by touching only non-erotic zones. I tabled the thought, tonight wasn't the time. I wanted to relieve some of her tension and encourage her to tell me what was bothering her.
“God, that's good.” Claire moaned, letting her head sag forward. “Is there anything you can't do?”
“I'm no good at letting pretty girls change the subject,” I whispered into her ear after a few seconds of slow thumb circles over the nape of her neck. “And my crochet skills are shit.
“I'm sorry,” Claire said with a heavy sigh. “Between my parents and your meeting with Anthony, it's just been a stressful day. I'm probably just jet lagged, I don't know.”
I let her words sink in. That could be all it was, but for some reason I felt there was more going on. I could call her out on it and demand she tell me the whole truth, but that didn't feel right. What are regular boyfriends supposed to do in this situation? A book might tell me to say something compassionate and kind.
“Take your blouse off.”
“Excuse me?” Claire craned her head around to look at me.
“You heard me.” I walked around the couch to face her, grabbing the remote control on my way. I wasn't a regular boyfriend. “Then lie on your stomach.”
The couches were set around a fireplace similar to the style that her parents had except much grander and electrically started. The remote controlled the large TV and the hearth beneath it. With the press of a button a fire crackled to life and all the rooms lights dimmed.
Instant ambiance. Did they build this feature with me in mind?
“I don't know. Dealing with my parents doesn't exactly put me in the mood.” Claire hesitated.
“The mood for a massage?” I feigned disbelief. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
“The kind of man that is determined to make me walk crooked for the rest of my life.” Claire eyed me, a hint of smile crept along her lips.
She was right. Every time I touched her I wanted to ruin her. I had taken her so many times since we started dating and each fuck left me only wanting more. Every time we ha
d sex it was with a condom on; I'd begun fantasizing what her tight pussy would feel like against my naked cock.
“Walking is overrated. I'll buy you a Segway.” I teased in a low voice. “Lay down, this is just a massage.” I stared at her expectantly, sipping at my drink.
“Just a massage,” She repeated, stripping her blouse off. Claire laid down. The flickering yellow firelight painted her in warm tones, robbing her of some of her paleness. Her skin was hypnotizing.
“When I'm done, you're going to beg for me to touch you deeper and harder.” I ran my hand up her nearly bare back, snapping her bra strap apart in one breezy motion. I worked my hands back down either side of her spine to just above her ass. Slipping a few fingers beneath her waistband, I reached between her and the couch to pop open the front button of her pants.
“Oh yeah?” Claire looked at me with playful indignation. “We'll see about that.”
Her pants were loose enough that I was able to abruptly jerk them down to her knees in one pull, then slide them off completely. I stood back for a moment, drinking in the sight of her light form splayed across the dark upholstered couch. Her curves and soft features were more delicious than any drink I could ever make.
“You are far too tense.” I massaged her arms, shoulders, then all the way down the back of her legs.
“It's been a tense day.” Claire's words slipped out in the breaths between her soft moans. Her heart raced with each of my flourishes and subtle nail drags.
Every touch and groove I wore into her skin made my blood pump a little faster. Claire was so fucking gorgeous. It took everything I had not to dive in and split her thighs.
“Oh...” Claire spiked in air as my hands slipped between her thighs and squeezed tightly. I kneaded her muscles less than an inch from her pussy. I was making her wet without touching anything I shouldn’t. It was cruel but still technically part of the agreement.
“Maynard.” Her voice had a slight quiver to it that made my cock rock hard. She glanced sidelong at me, her eyes flickering down to the massive bulge in my pants.