I poke my thumb through the slit in the back of my flannel shirt before setting it back on the counter, the memories from last night flooding back. The fight. The cops. Trevor. Blood everywhere. I look around, finding no evidence that anything occurred in this room. Autumn’s loft is immaculate. Hospital clean. Not a speck of blood. The items on her shelves, magazines on her coffee table, and her dinnerware visible through the glass front cabinets in her kitchen are impeccably organized as if staged for a magazine shoot. A cookie recipe on the counter brings the butter to mind, and my knife is next to it, alongside a bottle of Vicodin. I ingest a pill with a gulp of orange juice from her fridge, take a second drink, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Autumn, you here?” I get another whiff of cigarette smoke and follow it back to her bedroom, tracking sounds of splashing water coming from the bathroom.
Autumn’s in all her glory, naked before me in a bubble bath, one foot bouncing on the edge of the tub, a cigarette between two fingers. Her eyes are shut, lips moving to whatever song is on her iPod.
“Luscious, drop-dead diva,” I say, filching the cigarette from her hand. She sits up and places her earbuds on the floor, her breasts cresting over a wave of water.
“Hi.” She smiles.
“Did I score?” I ask, taking a drag of her smoke before handing it back.
She laughs. “Dylan, I said hello.”
“Hey, gorgeous. Did you take advantage of me while I was knocked out? I’m sore from head to toe.” I look in the mirror, the bridge of my nose the color of a beet, matching my bloodshot eyes. I need a shave, and my hair is flat on one side. I’d be in better shape if a truck had hit me.
“Is that what you think happened?” she asks. “We did the deed?”
“Nah. I’d remember.” I look down at her, and she masks her chest under bubbles. “I’m glad we didn’t. I wanna be alive our first time. Not all drugged up. You deserve the best after saving my life last night.”
She wrings out a washcloth. A nipple peeks out from the bubbles, baiting me to come over and kiss it. “I gave you a relaxing massage last night. I touched you everywhere, except for there.” She points at my crotch. “It was magnificent. Sorry you missed it.”
“Me too. I need to take a piss.”
“Nice changeover. Kiss me first,” she says. I put my hand on the edge of the tub and give her an affectionate kiss. She licks her lips and says, “You taste like oranges.” She licks them again. “And smoke.”
“Good combo. Can I go while you’re in here?”
“Yep.” She gestures to the toilet and closes her eyes. “I won’t watch.”
“Doesn’t matter, you’ve seen it.” I stand over the toilet, trying to relax, but can’t get a stream started.
“It’s the painkillers and the sedative,” she says.
“Must be,” I speak in short sentences, my brain in need of a jump-start after such a rough night. “Slow stream,” I say, casting a side-eye onto a breast surfacing underneath the popping bubbles. “Amazing.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“This. You. Me. What we’ve been through and the way we’ve touched without having sex. It’s strange. I mean, comfortable. Don’t you think?”
She smiles and smokes. I wait for an answer that doesn’t come.
“Do I sound like a nerd? Too soft?” Still, she doesn’t answer. “What, Autumn? What?”
“You sound like you like me. Now I think I have less of a chance of becoming a ‘tap-that-ass’ girl like the drunk guys at the party wanted.”
“I’m not like them.” I flush and wash my hands, fixing my hair with my wet fingers.
“No? I have a sneaking suspicion that you are. Once I give it up, I’ll never see you again. That’s kinda sad, don’t you think? But, maybe I’m wrong.”
She can’t think that’s true at this point. Not after the way I obsess over her.
“Come over to me,” she says. “I took the day off for you.”
“From where?”
“From doing stuff. From life.”
“Being secretive again?” I straddle the tub, putting one foot in the water and the other on the floor. I pull her leg onto my thigh, and she hands me a washcloth.
“Wipe, please,” she says, lowering into the tub until the water is level with her chin.
“What do you do?” I wet the cloth and wipe her leg, working up her thigh and back down. “I thought maybe you were a poet.”
“No.” She laughs. “Why’d you think that?”
“The poem you gave me. It was clever.”
“Being clever may be the only thing I’m good at.”
“You a student?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I’m a woman who loves a great adventure.” She pauses, dips her head underwater, resurfacing with her hair slicked back. “Don’t tell me that’s cliché. It’s the joy of life, Dylan. Live each day as if you’re on a fantastic never-ending road trip, following your heart and not your foolish brain.” She ashes into a metal incense burner on the edge of the tub, her pinky finger sticking out, smoke trails lingering overhead. “Remember, thinking’s bad. It will kill you.” She points at me. “Let up and let go, see what happens then. Maybe you’ll be free from whatever’s causing you to cry out in your sleep.”
“Oh.” I shrink back, taken off guard by that comment. “I…I didn’t know—” I stop short and decide to change the subject. “How do you make enough money to afford this place?”
“Who in our generation makes enough money to afford anything?”
“I make enough.”
“Why is that?”
“What do you mean, why? Because I work.”
“But, is it because you don’t have people breathing down your neck?” she asks. “No boss? No one above you to control your life?”
“The bar’s not mine. Not yet, at least.” I dunk the washcloth and take her other leg, wiping from knee to ankle.
“By the way, how do you feel today?”
“Like I got stabbed.” I steal the cigarette from her, letting it hang off the side of my mouth as I wash her feet. She leans back and scoops handfuls of bubbles over her body. A gray tiled shelf built into the wall above her head has a supply of rolled washcloths, and a bottle of strawberry-scented bubble bath—the source of her Kool-Aid scent, surely. I feel the silk shower curtain and dig my toenails into the plush bathmat. “I should fix my place up. It’s a dump compared to yours.”
She looks around. “My parents bought this loft as an investment. I’ve been renting it since college.”
“Ah. So it’s not yours.”
“No, but I’m not a freeloader. On top of my rent, I pay the utilities, taxes, and building fees. My parents won’t find a better tenant, and they like the fact that I’m so close to my dad’s office. You know, so he can keep an eye on me, even when we’re fighting.”
“You still haven’t said how you afford this place.”
Her ringing cell cuts into the conversation. She grabs it off the floor before I can see the caller’s name, groans, and drops it back down. “My dad.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure a rumor from last night spread to his office today.”
“About the fight?”
“No. About the ‘suspicious man’ in my life.” She wiggles her toes, and I wash them one by one. “Because I’m only twenty-three, right? I’m just a baby to him. And unless I’m married, men shouldn’t be at my place.” She shakes her head. “Before you woke up, he sent a text that said not to embarrass him, that I need to start acting more like a lady. What’s the exact definition of a lady anyway?” She picks up her cell and taps the screen. “Let’s see … a lady is ‘a woman of sophistication and gentle manners.’ Well hell, I guess that means I shouldn’t be killing drug dealers.” She drops the cell on the floor and plunges underwater, staying down longer this time, breaking the surface with a gulp of air. “Damn.” She slides her hand down her
face and sits back. “My dad wears me out, always on my case to follow in his shoes. Have you noticed how exhausted people our age are? We’re too young to feel this way. Are you as tired as me?”
I nod.
“Why is that, Dylan? Why are we exhausted in our twenties?”
“Because we have conversations like this way too early in the morning.”
“Funny.” She gives me a cheeky smile. “Keep pampering me.”
I laugh. “No problem. I owe you for taking care of me last night.”
I hand her the cigarette and load the washcloth full of soap, slinking forward on the tub to wipe her shoulders and neck. She hunches over, happy to rest her forehead on my leg.
“I lucked out. My parents have always been supportive.”
“That’s because you’re a guy and not a laaady,” she jokes. “My dad’s strict views are ancient. That conformist routine of going to school, then working every day, every week, all year from the time I’m eighteen until the day that I die will destroy me. I believe somewhere in that span I should be allowed to live. His generation’s existence is all about staying busy, letting society own them until it’s over and they’re too old to walk. But that’s death in and of itself. I’m more about taking my retirement in my twenties, letting my heart thrive while I’m young. How can anyone enjoy having time off when they’re old? Sounds boring and ass-backward to me.”
As usual, I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. Listening to her is like climbing out of a dark hole to be bathed in light, only to duck underground and back out again, unsure which way to go. But what’s great about her is she’s passionate about being. Just being.
“I have no shape,” she says.
“What type of shape?” I look down at myself. “I’m kinda rectangular.”
“No, Dylan. You asked what I do. I’m answering you by telling you what I don’t do. I wasn’t created to fit inside a box. That’s what my dad doesn’t get. He’s trying to mold me into something I’m not.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Never. Get in the tub.”
Her command is so unexpected that it doesn’t register at first.
“There’s lots of room. Sit on the opposite side and face me.” She blows smoke upward, spreads her legs wide for me to get in.
I drop my boxers, and she checks me out, but keeps a poker face. I wish she’d smile or say something. Anything. I’m not stiff, but I have a sizeable chub. Come on. A straight face, Autumn? No expression at all, Autumn?
“Superb,” she finally whispers, passing the cigarette as I slip into the water.
“Thanks. What do you want from your dad?”
“Same thing everyone else wants—to be recognized. Most days I’m stuck behind a desk, filling out paperwork and filing reports. I want credit for what I’m doing.” She holds the incense burner up for me to ash the cigarette. “I’m not interested in tagging along in the same way he does. People manipulate him. It’s pathetic, just plain sad.” She puts the burner on the floor, so elegant and conscious of her surroundings as she speaks. “I’m powerful. I am, in and of myself. I’ve proved that to some people. But still, my dad taints my life. What I want is for him to understand that I’m not inspired by what I’ve seen and experienced, but fired up by what I haven’t seen and who I’m not. I have no desire to use the family name, his name, to get ahead.”
I’m not following any of this with her foot on my erection. Every time she gets excited, it slides up. Now it just slid back down. I think I’m in the middle of a footjob. There it goes again. With the onset of the Vicodin, this is the best high I could ask for.
“He doesn’t dream like me,” she adds. “My dad doesn’t dream about anything. I’m going to change all that and prove him wrong. It’s time to take it down.”
“You’re going to take your d-dad down?” Her touch is incredible, powerful enough to make me stutter.
“No, not him. It. This city,” she says. Her knee crests the water and her other foot joins the play. “You like that?”
Paradise. I’m in total paradise, forgetting everything she just said.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah, it’s terrific.”
She takes the cigarette from my hand and snuffs it out in the burner. “Would you like more?”
“Please.”
“How polite.”
She leans in for a kiss, and I meet her halfway. Her fingers tiptoe up and down my legs while our tongues dance. I smile into her mouth when her hand sneaks between my thighs and takes hold.
“You’re so sexy.” I glide my lips along her jawline until I reach her ear, sucking the lobe between my teeth.
“You’re big for me.”
“It’ll get even bigger.”
“Show me.” She moves closer, her slender fingers stroking my dick. I brush the underside of her breasts, and then take her nipples between my fingers, drunk on her kisses. “Be careful,” she whispers, placing my bandaged hand on the edge of the tub.
“I will.” I slip my tongue past her lips.
“Dylan.”
“Mm?”
“I want you inside me when you’re feeling better.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it, more sensual than a whisper. “For now we can play. Sit on the edge of the tub, and I’ll make you feel sensational.”
I do what she asks, spreading my legs to give her room to wedge between them. I run my fingers through her wet hair, and she looks up with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“Beautiful.” I drag my thumb across her freckled cheek and down her small nose, losing my breath when she opens her mouth wide and moves in. “Uh … oh my God.” My feet strike the facing wall of the tub. My hands grip the edge. “Autumn.” I breathe.
She goes slow, trying not to smile when a wave of lustful sounds crawls up the walls of my throat. The more she indulges, the deeper I sink into her mouth, adoring her playful tongue. It’s not long before I’m warning her with “I’m almost there. Pull back.” But her lips lock harder. “I can’t stop it.” My legs shake and arms brace.
She changes positions and nestles me in her cleavage, shielding her face with the washcloth as I come. I remain deep between her warm breasts, nearly falling backward in delight.
She smiles at me, placing tender bites up my neck and chin. Our lips meet, tongues hot and quick.
“That was fun.” She tosses the washcloth behind me and pulls the plug in the tub.
“Mm.” She drives me mad.
“Sounds like you agree.”
“Mm.”
She hands me a clean towel and steps out, putting on a short robe.
“Wait, what about you?” I grab her leg and pull her back. “I can return the favor. Actually, I’d love to return the favor.”
“I just satisfied myself before you came in.”
I feel my whole face light up. “Really?”
“No.” She pats my cheek.
“Oh.”
“I’m fine, Dylan. I wanted you to have fun, something to hold you over until our romantic date. Besides, you probably have to go to work.”
“Nah, I’ve got all day. I don’t need to be there until four-thirty.”
She picks up her cell and taps the screen. “It’s quarter after four.”
“What?” I stand and dry off in a rush. “It’s four-fifteen? I’ve been asleep all day?”
“It was a strong sedative. I was gonna try to wake you earlier, but you looked so comfy, I just couldn’t.”
“Where did the time … ugh, I’m opening tonight.” I set the towel on a hook and pull her close for a goodbye kiss, one that will make her hunger for me all week. “Not to be rude after such great play, but I need to run,” I say, picking up my boxers and heading toward the kitchen to get the rest of my clothes.
“Dylan?”
“Huh?”
“Thanks for confiding in me last night.”
“What about?”
&n
bsp; “Jake.”
My heart stops. I turn around, taking a step closer, but then I have to steady myself against the wall. “Jake?”
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with such a painful loss.”
I hide my face in my hands, panic-stricken. “Autumn.” My voice cracks. “What did I tell you? What the hell did I say?”
16
I don’t remember talking to Autumn about Jake’s death, but apparently, I did. She knows he fell through the ice and was swept away by the current. But what else I said is a mystery. I could’ve told her about Heather and the suicide note. I could’ve brought up the fight at the party last year, and the guy who had me on my knees at gunpoint. I could’ve told her about Jake tapping his hockey stick on the ice, and the guilt I’ve carried for a year over what happened next.
I could’ve.
But she didn’t mention any of it.
“You guys were at a party next to the river. Your brother, Jake, he went out on the ice to shoot a puck around while you finished drinking. He fell through, and the current pulled him under, away from the hole. You couldn’t find him. You reached in, but he wasn’t there.”
That’s not what I officially told other people. I’d better keep my story straight.
“Holy Mary-Mother … Dylan, what the heck happened to your face?” Our bartender, Tim, stares at the beet color across the bridge of my nose. I unlock the front door to the bar and let him inside, turning the overhead lights on, and the neon signs in the front windows.
“Just a fight,” I say.
“Guess you lost.”
“No, he did. Sorry I’m late.”
“Whatever. I was just freezing my balls off for twenty minutes while you were out getting snacks to stuff your face.” He nods at the take-out box loaded with chicken wings that I’m carrying. “You look like shit. What was the fight over?”
“The usual.” I follow him behind the bar.
“Hope she was worth it.” He elbows me.
“Definitely worth it.” I fill a glass of water and head toward the back hallway. “I’ll be in the office for a few hours. I have to place some orders. Gina will be in at six to serve.”
In Autumn's Wake Page 14