Wolf (A Little Red Riding Hood Retelling) (Brother's best friend romance)

by J. A. Wynters

  “It’s a three-bedroom …” he prattles on as if he didn’t hear me object.

  “—Hunter!”

  He lets out a long breath, and when he speaks, he leaves no more room for arguments, “Red, this is non-negotiable. You will come and live here. You will get a job, and you will get your shit together.”

  “Or?”

  “Or? There is no or, but if you need time to think about it, you can call me back when you’ve worked out you have no other options.”

  “Wait,” I call out and chew on my lower lip weighing my alternatives. He’s right I have none. “Fine,” it’s a whinny mutter, “what do you want me to do?”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Outside our, his house.” I correct and my breath hitches in my throat. I pretend to clear it and he pretends like he can’t hear how much I’m hurting.

  “Get to a coffee shop and grab a hot drink.”

  “I have no money.”

  “You will in ten minutes. Go now, have a coffee, wait for my call.”

  “Okay.” I grab the handle of my suitcase and look up at the darkening skies.

  “And Red?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t spill anything on anyone.” He hangs up before I can swear at him.

  Ten seconds later my phone pings with an alert from my bank. Brother dearest has come through with some cash. Guess I can forgive him for his little jab.

  3

  Red

  The waitress places the steaming cup of coffee in front of me with shaking hands. It spills into the coaster and she apologises profusely. Her drab hair falls about her, and she grabs some serviettes and shoves them in my face in way of further apology.

  I smile briefly and accept her peace offering, then tuck a serviette under the mug. The brown liquid seeps into the paper and stains it. It feels like life is sending me a message in the form of spillage. I look up trying not to dwell on the time I’ve wasted here with Dave.

  Light rain patters on the window and I bite down the sob trying to erupt from me. I haven’t grieved the end of our relationship yet, but I’m not out of town, and not nearly far enough to feel like it’s actually over.

  I sip the rich coffee and let it scald my festering insides. I need it to burn away the anger and resentment and betrayal.

  The coffee warms my frozen fingers and fills the newly carved cavity of my chest. Heat spreads inside me as tears pool in my eyes. I’m yet to process everything that’s gone wrong. In twenty-four hours, my perfect fairy tale has shattered into a million pieces. I am the eternally hopeful fool that hopes for the best and ends up with poison apples instead of enchanted roses.

  My phone rings and jerks me out of my thoughts.

  “Are you enjoying your coffee?”

  “It’s edible.”

  “Good.” Hunter sounds genuinely relieved, “I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in five hours. Drink your coffee, stand up and go straight to the airport.”

  “Yes, dad.”

  “I’m not fucking around here Red.” He growls, “No more fuck ups. This is the last time I’m bailing you out.”

  My head falls back, and I stare at the hanging yellow lampshade, “Yeah. Okay, I get it.”

  “Make sure you do. I’ll text you the flight details and email your ticket.”

  “Thanks, Hunter.”

  “Thank me later, when you’re home.” He hangs up leaving that word hanging between us,

  Home.

  We haven’t had a home in so many years, it feels like an empty joke.

  I take another sip as the sky darkens and the rain starts lashing against the windows. Typical. Voices around me get louder as the rain taps outside and everyone competes with one another to be heard above their collective din.

  The rain clears the street and forces people under roofs and into the café. The door swings open, heralded by a gust of cold wind. The warmth returns as soon as the door shuts and a shadow looms over my table.

  “There you are.”

  I look up to see Dave slipping into the seat opposite me.

  “You should go.” My voice is as brittle and sharp as icicles.

  “No, we should talk.”

  “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “Don’t be like that Shortcake.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You had no problems me calling you that two nights ago.” He smirks and I feel the heat rush to my face and somewhere down below.

  “Two nights ago, I still thought you were a good guy.”

  His face twists for a second and he reaches out for me. I yank my hand away and his brow furrows.

  “Hey, don’t be like that. I’m still the same guy.”

  “No, you’re not,” I bite out.

  He reaches for me a second time and I pull away again. A flash of anger crosses his face, but he quickly schools his features and pulls his chair closer.

  “Don’t do this Shortcake, you owe me.”

  “I owe you?” My brow quirks as his jaw clenches.

  “I paid for your ticket over, I put you up in a nice apartment, I made you feel good.” His voice dips with the last word and his expression darkens, like he’s imagining himself inside me.

  I shiver, “I didn’t ask for any of those things—you offered, I accepted. Had I known the truth, I would have never agreed.”

  His hand slips over my thigh and creeps up. “Don’t lie to yourself Shortcake, you had nothing back in London, besides, I know you like me.”

  “I did.” His hand creeps up with renewed confidence.

  “So, nothing’s changed.”

  “Everything’s changed,” I growl at him and grip his wrist, yanking it off my body. “You are bloody married Dave,” I shout loud enough for every eye in the place to stare right at us.

  “Keep your fucking voice down, slut.” He squeezes my thigh and his nails dig into my flesh.

  I bolt up, my chair scrapes the floor and falls with a loud clang, “Keep your fucking hands off me!” I grab my cup and fling my hot coffee at his face.

  He screams, either in surprise or in pain. I don’t stay long enough to find out which. I snatch my phone off the table and grab my suitcase then weave my way through the tables.

  Eyes follow me as Dave screams my name.

  I bolt through the front door and into the pounding rain, and just like I’ve done all my life, I look straight ahead and don’t turn back.

  4

  Red

  It’s not till the plane starts to move that my heart rate finally settles, and I shuffle lower into my seat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I was expecting some kind of chase. Policemen tackling to me to the ground and hauling me away to face Dave and whatever damage my coffee inflicted on him.

  Fuck it, he deserved it. Let him explain his burns to his wife, plus a few receipts and pictures I may have left for her.

  She deserves better.

  I let my head fall back and roll along my shoulders letting the stress slip away as we lazily manoeuvre along the tarmac. I ignore the air hostesses showing off the emergency procedures and check my phone one last time. I have just under twelve hours to get cosy and enjoy this ride.

  The crew does their final preparation and soon enough the engine whines and I get sucked into my seat, my stomach flutters with a second of weightlessness.

  As soon as the seatbelt lights are off, I press the ‘call’ button and a petite redhead—without a hair out of place and enough makeup to cover three dead bodies—smiles down at me.

  “How can I help you miss?”

  “Can I have a wine please?”

  She presses her lips together all judgy and juts out her hip, “The dinner cart will be over shortly, and we will be serving drinks then.”

  “I know, but I need my wine now.”

  She gives me a death glare about to explain why she would not be bringing my wine, when my neighbour—which I’ve been happily ignoring till just that second—pipes up.


  “Better make that a double love. It helps with my arthritis, and my granddaughter here is just trying to be polite, pretending it’s for her instead of a silly old lady.”

  At her words, the air hostess’ demeanour changes. Her face parts into a wide, lovely smile that seems rather genuine and she grips the older lady’s hand, “My grandmother has whiskey,” She winks at her, and lowers her voice, “white or red?”

  “Whatever’s going, sweetheart.” The older lady squeezed her hand, then without giving me a second look, she walks down the aisle, presumably to bring me my wine.

  I turn to look at the woman sitting in the seat next to mine. “Thank you,” I say and watch as her crinkled face stretches in a kind smile and her glacier blue eyes crinkle behind her round spectacles.

  “You’re welcome,” she says, her voice suddenly far less frail and far sharper than it was a second ago, “I usually don’t start this early into a flight, but you obviously have something going on.”

  I sigh, deflating into my seat, “You can say that.”

  We’re interrupted by the air hostess who brings two glasses of wine served in translucent, plastic cups. It’s all class.

  “Thank you. And keep them coming,” I say as I grab my glass from her.

  She quirks an eye toward the old lady who just nods then walks away. I know she won’t keep them coming, but it felt good to say anyway.

  I sip the wine remembering how much I hate the stuff. It always tastes the same, no matter if it’s cheap or expensive. An initial crisp bite that turns sour after the second sip. I force myself to drink it anyway. The only real benefit is how quickly the heat spreads through my body and makes me feel lightheaded.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Spill.” The old lady’s sharp eyes and focused tone unnerve me.

  “It’s not that exciting, just boy problems.”

  She nods like she knows what I’m talking about, and I try for a second to imagine what she might have looked like in her youth. I decide that she would have been drop-dead gorgeous.

  She stares at me in silence, unrelenting. I sigh and start talking.

  “I travelled halfway across the world for the wrong one.” I cringe. I can’t get over what a mistake it was. But he just felt so right.

  “Two months ago, I was sitting in a Costa, minding my own business wondering how I would break the news to Hunter that I was just laid off – again. I was having the worst day ever, which was about to turn into the best day ever—which in retrospect, was still in fact the worst cherry on any cake, ever.

  I ordered a strawberry frostino with the last of my cash. I wanted to give myself something nice before I couldn’t afford anything again. Knowing I would have to beg Hunter for everything and justify all my spending. Ugh, he was such a parent whenever I got into trouble. The barista was cute and winked when I grabbed the drink from him. Our fingers touched as he handed it to me, and two dimples appeared on his cheeks when he smiled. God, he was cute, and I was distracted—which is why, when I turned around, I didn’t notice the man standing directly behind me.

  Crashing into him propelled my life in an entirely new trajectory. My takeaway cup crushed between us and splashed up like a pink volcano.

  ‘Shit! Sorry.’ I cried as a pair of crystalline blue eyes collided with mine while the milkshake soaked through my shirt. The plastic cup a crumpled mess between us, pink milk coating his angular jaw and sliding down his buttoned-up work shirt.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled again and took a step back, letting the rest of the drink and the humiliation soak into me.

  His jaw ticked for a minute, ‘Fuck.’ He threw me a look then muscled a path to the men’s toilet.

  ‘Sorry,’ I ran after him and barged through the door, not paying too much attention.

  He came to a dead stop when he saw me in the mirror. He turned slowly and studied my face, then his gaze dipped and tore a path up my strawberry pink body.

  ‘This is the men’s,’ he said with an amused voice, his lips tugging at the edges as he tore away at his black tie.

  ‘I know, I’m just sorry. I thought maybe you needed help.’

  ‘In the men’s room?’

  I stilled and shut up, suddenly realising what I was implying. ‘Oh shit no, not like that. But your shirt and your suit …’

  ‘Are drenched, probably ruined.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And you were going to?’

  I fumble on my words my hands gesturing aimlessly at all the empty ideas I try to grab from the sour air.

  ‘I don’t know, offer to clean your shirt?’

  ‘Now? In here?’ Battling a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  ‘I guess I didn’t think it through.’

  He chuckled nodded, then tore away his tie and tucked it into his back pocket. ‘Unless you have a spare shirt on you, I can’t see you being much help.’

  I chewed on my lower lip, ‘I could dry clean it for you. Drop it at your office?’

  He took a minute to think about it before he shrugged off his jacket and discarded it next to the sink, then unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly, meticulously, watching my gaze follow his fingers as they moved down, till he peeled the shirt from his body.

  I stood there and watched, riveted to the spot like someone poured quick-drying cement around my feet. He spun around to the sink and I stared at his strong back. My eyes drifted along his torso till I caught his reflection in the mirror. His smirk vanished when our eyes met and he started washing his shirt under the tap.

  ‘This might take a while,’ he said as he scrubbed. I nodded while staring at his chest like a teenager in heat.

  ‘Yeah, right. okay, I’ll just wait outside.’

  ‘Sure.’ I noticed how hard he worked at keeping his face straight, so I left him to his hand washing and walked out of the men’s bathroom and back into the main room where the cute barista gave me a hostile look while he wiped the floor with a grotty mop.

  I sighed and leaned against the wall, wondering what other shit this day will throw at me. The pink milk started to solidify in my bra, and everything felt sticky. I wanted to go wash, but I didn’t want to miss the man I just splashed after I told him I’d clean his clothes.

  I felt ridiculous. I had no money for rent let alone dry cleaning. Guess Hunter will be footing another bill.

  I seriously needed a better life plan.

  When the man walked out, he seemed surprised to find me. His eyes landed on the giant pink strip across my once white shirt, ‘You didn’t clean up?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think I left. I promised to …’ I wring my hands together and notice he’s wearing his shirt again. It’s not clean and not soaked but it passed for wearable. I hoped he had another in his office. I felt even more ridiculous as he folded his destroyed jacket over his arm.

  His lips curled into a smile and he handed me his jacket and phone, ‘Put your phone number in here, I’ll call you later with directions of where to drop it off.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ I put my number in his phone and wondered where the hell I might find a dry cleaner and how I was going to explain this to Hunter.

  I handed the man his phone back and he looked at the number. ‘Red?’

  ‘That’s what people call me.’

  His face split into a charming smile and he turned and walked out, leaving me with his jacket and a sticky stupid feeling.

  I watched him leave and made my way to the bathroom. My shirt ruined, the rest of my outfit saturated in souring milk. I didn’t particularly want to take my bra off in a public bathroom and wash, so I wrapped myself in the jacket and walked out. It smelled like old spice and felt expensive. I promised to wear it just till I get to my apartment, it wasn’t too far.

  I took two steps out of Costa when my phone rang. A number I didn’t recognise, I ignored it. When it rang for a third time I gave in and answered.

  ‘Hi, Red.’

  ‘Hell
o?’

  ‘This is Dave.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’

  ‘You just spilt your drink all over me.’

  ‘Oh,’ I cringed, ‘sorry,’ I mumbled again.

  He laughed, ‘I was beginning to think you gave me a wrong number.’

  ‘No, I just …’ I let the words drop off and wondered why I never had the presence of mind to do that.

  ‘I know where I want you to drop off my jacket.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Shishahary, at 7 p.m.’

  ‘I can’t afford that place.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to pay for dinner, just to join me for one.’

  ‘But I just spilt my drink all over you.’

  ‘And you offered to help.’

  ‘Which I can do by cleaning your jacket.’

  ‘I’d rather have some company.’

  My ears burned. ‘Okay, I guess.’

  ‘And Red?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Don’t forget my jacket.’ He hung up and I floated the rest of the way home.

  I went to that dinner and Dave was charming and smart. He told me he was a stockbroker working on some big project. He was enchanting and charismatic, and somehow after a few too many wines and a lot of laughs, I ended up in his hotel room and later in his bed. I spent two weeks with Dave. He was my prince charming, and I fell under a stupid, delusional spell where I thought this knight in shining armour just solved all my problems.

  I knew I was lying to myself and it was only a band-aid solution, but it worked. He let me stay in his hotel room. We dinned and wined and laughed and fucked, and he was pretty good at that too—till his contract ran out and he had to go home.

  ‘Come with me, back to California.’

  ‘I can’t, my whole life is here.’

  ‘What life?’ He didn’t mean it as a harsh reality call, but a cold, sobering truth. ‘You have no job and you’ve been evicted from your apartment. If you’ve got friends, you refuse to introduce me to any of them, and the only person you vaguely mentioned was your brother—who you don’t seem that keen on seeing anyway.’

  ‘It’s not like that …’