Lifers

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” I yelled back. “Don’t you think I wish a thousand times a day that it had been me and not him?”

  Momma’s eyes snapped to mine. “I wish that, too.”

  She slammed back into the house, rattling the door and frame.

  I leaned over as my stomach emptied itself, splattering the open cans of paint with vomit.

  Torrey

  Two days in the city had been about my limit. Guess I was turning into a country girl. What a thought.

  The barista training had been tedious beyond words, mainly because I didn’t learn anything new, just a bunch of marketing slogans they wanted us to use as we prepared a triple soy latte chai mocha with cinnamon shit. But I liked a couple of the girls I’d met, and we made arrangements to meet up in a few weeks to hit the clubs.

  I’d been given the late shift at the mall for the first month—two till midnight. It suited me. I definitely wasn’t a morning person … although some things made an early start worthwhile.

  I looked out of the window when I heard Jordan’s truck. I’d calmed down considerably since I’d last seen him. Thinking about it long and hard, I recognized that neither of us had a great track history with relationships. And if I was honest with myself, I knew that I’d tried to push him too hard. So I was giving him one more chance not to be a douchebag. He’d better damn well take it with both hands or I was kicking his ass.

  I immediately noticed the incredible artwork he’d painted to cover up the ugly graffiti. Damn, he was some artist! I recognized the motif—it was the same as the tattoo over his back. It made sense now. It was a memorial to his brother, and it was obvious that he suffered Mikey’s loss every single day.

  I looked at the small box lying in a plastic bag next to my bed, wondering again about the present I’d bought him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I wasn’t so sure. But as I’d already lost the receipt, he may as well have it. But getting involved with someone so … damaged? Now that was a really dumb idea. Pity being smart wasn’t enough to stop me jumping in with both feet.

  Since I’d broken up with Jem, my first serious boyfriend when I was a college freshman, I’d made it a point of staying away from guys I liked too much. Instead, I played the field and kept it simple. Even my ex-boss was supposed to be casual. But there was something about Jordan; plus, I had a shrewd idea that the sex was only going to get better. The combination of his strength and softness, his firm fit body and kindness that he let out every now and again. Not that what we’d shared so far hadn’t felt pretty damn good at the time, but I sensed he had plenty more to offer. I was looking forward to finding out, providing he did the appropriate amount of begging my forgiveness, of course.

  I staggered downstairs and took the time to make some coffee. Then I carried two mugs out onto the porch step. Jordan was already shirtless, wearing just his cut-off jeans, and hauling garbage out of Mom’s shed.

  His smooth skin glistened with sweat, and I could appreciate again the breadth of his shoulders and his narrow waist, the fine curve of his ass, and long, strong legs. He was beautiful on the outside, but I think I was the only person who saw that there was beauty on the inside, too.

  “Hey, cowboy! You forgot your damn coffee!” I shouted.

  His head shot up, and I could see from the expression on his face that he hadn’t expected to hear from me again. It was kind of sweet how nervous he looked. I sobered quickly when I remembered the reasons for that.

  He walked up and hovered in front of me, uncertain whether to sit or make a run for it.

  “Put your ass down,” I said, pointing to the space beside to me. “Seeing you hopping from foot to foot is making me want to pee.”

  He cracked a small smile at that and sat down on the step below me so I had a grandstand view of his strong shoulders and muscled back.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, softly.

  “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving person,” I said.

  “I am … lucky,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I don’t deserve for you to even talk to me right now.”

  “Oh, jeez! Not the pity party again! ‘Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I’ll go and eat worms!’”

  He frowned and wrinkled his nose at the same time. “Worms?”

  “I’m guessing you weren’t in the Boy Scouts.”

  “Um, no! Not my scene.”

  “Oh, right—resident bad boy.”

  He scowled and looked down.

  “You owe me an apology, you jerk,” I said, insistently. “And I’m not a very patient person.”

  “God, I know,” he said, hanging his head. “I was such a fuckin’ tool.”

  “Yes, you were. Here…” and I dropped his present onto his lap.

  “What’s this?”

  “For you.”

  “You … you got somethin’ for me?”

  He seemed stunned.

  “Yup.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, gee! Why don’t you take a look-see, numb nuts!”

  He opened the plastic bag and stared inside.

  “You bought me a cell phone?”

  “Yep. Cheapest I could find. It’s pay-as-you-go so you’ll have to add the minutes when you need them. I put $50 on it to get you started.”

  “You bought me a cell phone?” he repeated.

  It really wasn’t sinking in.

  “Yes, Jordan, I bought you a cell phone.”

  “But … I don’t have anyone to call.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “It’s so you can call me to apologize when you fuck up again. I programmed my number in already. And you still owe me a fucking apology. So get texting.”

  I left him sitting on the step with his new toy. He wasn’t moving, but I was pretty sure he was still breathing, so I figured he’d be okay.

  I guessed he wasn’t used to receiving presents.

  It made me wonder what happened in prison at Christmas. I couldn’t imagine they had presents from Santa, but you never know. I’d have to ask him.

  When I got out of the shower, my cell phone was blinking: 1 new message.

  I grinned to see that it was from Jordan.

  I’m sorry.

  Well, hardly Pulitzer prize winning, but it was a start. Clearly, he was a man of few words.

  I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I read his message again.

  I slid my new black polo-shirt out of the polythene sleeve and dressed slowly. My uniform was all black, showing that I was a barista. It was way cooler than having to wear a green apron like the rest of the staff, but not that cool. They’d promised me some uniform pants, too, but because they hadn’t had any in my size, I was allowed to wear my own jeans for now. Yay for me. At least they made my ass look good.

  I decided to debut my new outfit to Jordan and make him another coffee before I left.

  I was just about to bang on the kitchen window when I remembered that I was trying not to scare him to death. Instead I just took two mugs outside and waited for him to notice me. It didn’t take long.

  “What do you think?” I said, holding my arms out so he could see the new uniform.

  His eyes swept up and down my body and he swallowed several times.

  “Uh, you look good. Great. You always look great.”

  “Oh my God! Don’t tell me my barista uniform is turning you on!”

  He gave a shy smile. “Well, yeah. I guess it is.”

  I laughed out loud and fist-pumped the air. “Workers of the world unite!”

  He sat down next to me and picked up the second mug of coffee.

  “Uh, so did you get my text message?”

  I smiled at him.

  “Yes, Jordan. I got your effusive, heart-warming message.”

  His cheeks flushed and he looked down.

  “I liked your message very much,” I said, quietly.

  “I mean it,” he said, still staring at the dirt by his left foot.

  “I
know you do. Apology accepted. So, do you want to do something on Sunday?”

  “Sunday?”

  “Yes, Sunday, the day after tomorrow. I’m working Saturday but I thought it would be fun to do something on the weekend.”

  I paused, waiting for the penny to drop. Waiting … waiting … but … nope. No dropping pennies.

  “Jordan, this is where you ask me out on a date!” I said, giving him a huge, Texas-size hint.

  His eyes got big as he stared at me.

  “You … you want to go on a date with me?”

  “Well, jeez! You don’t have to! Way to make a woman feel wanted!”

  I stood up to go, feeling the raw sting of rejection.

  He leapt to his feet.

  “No! I mean, yeah! I do! I just … I thought I’d blown my chance with you.”

  “Well, you said you were sorry. I believe you, so … how about we try again?”

  “God, yes!” he said, his eyes alight with hope. “Torrey Delaney, will you go on a date with me on Sunday?”

  “I’ll have to check my calendar.”

  His face fell instantly.

  “I’m teasing you, Jordan. Yes, I would very much like to go on a date with you on Sunday.”

  He closed his eyes, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. When he looked at me again, his pupils were dark and intense.

  “I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, huskily.

  A pulse of desire shot through me. “Go ahead.”

  He took a step toward me and placed his hand on my cheek, stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

  Because I was still standing on the porch, we were nearly the same height. He simply leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, sighing as he pulled away.

  “So soft,” he whispered.

  I wanted more.

  Wrapping my arms firmly around his neck, pressing his body against mine, I pulled him toward me again.

  It was like striking a match, except I didn’t get a chance to stand back before the flame burned. His explosion of desire awed me.

  He grabbed me around the waist and took two quick steps up onto the porch, slamming my back against the wall of the house so breath rushed out of my lungs. I gasped and felt his tongue in my mouth, forceful and demanding. My legs wrapped around his waist and he ground his hips into me, a hard point of heat against my inner thighs.

  His intensity was unnerving, but I was too lost in the moment to care.

  “I want you so fuckin’ badly,” he growled, against my neck. “God, I want you!”

  His grip was almost painful and I could feel his whole body trembling.

  I was panting hard, mewling wordlessly.

  “Please!” he begged. “Please, Torrey, please!”

  Thoughts of being late for work, thoughts of any description flew out of my mind.

  “Upstairs,” I gasped.

  Still clutching me in his arms, he shouldered his way through the screen door and into the kitchen. His eyes darted around and I pointed toward the stairs. He almost ran up them, the weight of my body insignificant against his need.

  “Second door on the left!”

  We crashed against the frame and fell backwards onto my bed. I felt the springs of the old mattress protest beneath me.

  He bit my breasts through my shirt and started tugging at my jeans even as I fumbled with his zipper.

  “Condoms are in the drawer,” I rasped out.

  He yanked the drawer so hard, it flew apart, showering the contents over the wooden floor. But he was a man on a mission and he found what he wanted among the debris. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold the packet.

  I’d managed to push my jeans and panties past my knees, but they’d snagged around my sneakers. Jordan took one look at my predicament and flipped me onto my stomach, then pulled my hips up so I was on my hands and knees.

  A second later, he was inside me and I cried out.

  I felt his whole body hunched over me, his bare skin slapping loudly against mine. Each thrust threatened to make my arms collapse and I had to fight to keep my balance, pushing back against him.

  It was hard and shocking, coarse and crude. Utterly unrefined and utterly thrilling. His roar as he came was loud and certain.

  We collapsed onto the bed, his weight on top of me, his hot breath searing my neck.

  I felt his dick twitch inside me and I whimpered.

  He cursed softly and pulled out, rolling onto his back.

  From the moment we’d kissed on the porch, to this second must have been less than four minutes.

  For a while I lay unmoving, feeling sluggish and fighting sleep. Finally, I turned so I could see him. His chest was still heaving and one arm was thrown across his eyes. I looked down to see my jeans and panties tangled around my feet and I couldn’t stifle a small giggle. He froze at the sound.

  “Hey,” I said, “you still alive under there?”

  I tried to move his arm but he wouldn’t look at me.

  “Jordan!”

  “Christ, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, still refusing to look at me.

  “Um, what for?”

  “I behaved like a fuckin’ animal.”

  “Well, yeah, you did. But I liked it.”

  This time he let me move his arm and he turned his head toward me, his beautiful soulful eyes filled with doubt.

  “Did I hurt you?” he said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

  “Hell, that was a great start to my day!” I chuckled. “It was like a shot of adrenalin followed by a coma. My body doesn’t know what the fuck’s going on, but damn that was good!”

  “Good?” he sounded puzzled.

  “Jordan, you dope! That was amazing! I haven’t been fucked like that since … well, ever. I’m slightly in shock. I think I’ve been missing out all these years.”

  I glanced at my watch.

  “Oh, hell! I’m going to be late on my first day! Oh, this won’t look good, turning up looking well used and smelling of sex!” I slapped his chest. “It’s your fault! Look, I’ve got to hustle, but feel free to take your time, have a shower—whatever. Oh, and you totally have to clear up the drawer you upended.”

  I sat up, grabbing my pants and shuffled to the bathroom to clean up as best I could. A damp washcloth was good for soothing my throbbing lower half, and I splashed cold water on my flushed face. Hopefully, I’d look reasonably presentable by the time I got to the coffee shop.

  Jordan had his shorts back on and was scrabbling around on the floor, collecting my scattered belongings.

  “I like to see a man on his hands and knees,” I laughed.

  Jordan looked up and smiled, then pulled me forward by my hips and yanked up my shirt to plant a soft kiss on my belly.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve been at your feet since the first day I met you.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said, ruffling his already unruly hair. “But I’ve got to run or I’ll be out of a job before I start. I think it’s too early in my barista career to use the hot-guy-in-my-bed defense. There’s a key in the flowerpot by the front door. Lock up after yourself.”

  I kissed the top of his head and left him kneeling on the floor in my room, a huge smile plastered across his face.

  Jordan

  It took me nearly 10 minutes to gather up everything I’d dropped on the floor, fix the pieces of bedside drawer and hammer them together with my bare hands.

  I didn’t know what the hell had just happened. When she touched me, I completely lost my mind. The way I’d behaved was unforgivable. But the real mind fuck was that Torrey had said she’d liked it. I’d had her bent over on all fours, fucking her like a damn dog, and she liked it. Well, good—because I fucking loved it.

  I didn’t understand her, not for one freakin’ second. I’d thought that I was just a mercy fuck. At least I’d talked myself into believing that afterward; it’s not what I’d felt at the time. But when I was with her, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel
judged. I couldn’t figure out why, but she seemed to accept me for who I was. Not that I knew what that meant anymore, but she made me feel alive.

  Jordan

  Working in the Reverend’s backyard for the rest of the day was almost relaxing. Clearing the shed tested my muscles and patience, but it gave me time to think about Torrey, too. And not just her. For the first time, I allowed myself to think about what would happen in four months and two weeks, when my parole was up. I needed a plan of some description: a job, somewhere to live … how I was going to just be.

  My parole officer had told me repeatedly that I needed to work on having some achievable goals. I was finally beginning to understand what she meant.

  I drove home stinking and dirty, and got straight into the shower. I swear I tried not to think about Torrey’s tight little body pulsing around me, but the moment I had that thought, I was hard as a damn rock. It was like my libido had taken license to go crazy. I was jacking off three and four times a day like I’d just hit puberty.

  In prison, there was rarely any privacy—that didn’t stop everyone from beating the meat occasionally. Most guys would keep it under the covers at night. I wouldn’t say it was tolerated by the guards, but I guess they understood. The only time I saw them come down heavy on anyone was when it was used to disrespect a woman corrections officer. That used to happen sometimes. One of the cons would get talking to the woman officer and keep her talking, while a guy sitting in his cell across the corridor or across the room would get himself off, staring at her ass.

  It creeped me out, but a lot about prison life creeped me out. And if it didn’t, you were one of the nut jobs.

  But now, my damn cock wouldn’t stay down. Jeez, I hoped I hadn’t scared Torrey off with the way I’d behaved—all the shit I’d put her through already.

  Suddenly, after the stress of the last few days, I needed to see her. I needed to be sure that I hadn’t scared her off completely. She’d said she was okay but I needed to see her. I needed to know.

  I finished my shower and changed into the jeans Momma had gotten from Goodwill. They fit pretty well, which was a nice change, and then I snuck into Mikey’s room to get another t-shirt. I still felt guilty about being in there and using his stuff, but somehow it was getting easier. We’d always borrowed each other’s shit. Half the time we never knew whose was what anyway, except for pants. I was taller and he was bigger, but everything else we’d shared. I saw his favorite Maroon 5 shirt in the drawer.