Breaking the Seventh

by Allie Gail

  Now I’m intrigued. How do I say it? Do I have a weird accent I’m not aware of? Well, okay – if vocal assertion is what he wants, I can get into that.

  “Give it to me, Shane baby. Just like that. Yes, that’s it…fuck me…please…oh yes, that’s it…fuck me hard, Doctor Becker…”

  That, apparently, is exactly what puts the cherry on his ice cream sundae. Groaning and muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he slams into me a few more times, hard, almost painfully deep, and I cry out his name once more but this time it was purely unintentional. I fist the covers in my hands as he fills me with the most intimate part of himself and I know, I know in that instant that I’m in a world of trouble because just-sex is fast becoming mindblowing-sex and poor Eduardo will never live up to my expectations after this.

  Yes, I named my dildo Eduardo. Don’t judge. A single girl gets lonely.

  Shane falls forward on his arms, nuzzling my hair as he breathes in a deep, low voice, “That. Was. Superb. You are one hell of a woman, Melanie Lane.”

  So this is what gets him off? Hearing his name? Didn’t see that one coming. It’s kind of sweet, actually. I have this sudden mental image of a scene from American Pie, the one where the ditzy band camp girl is getting freaky with her prom date. I can’t help but visualize Shane doing the same thing. Say my name, bitch! I try not to laugh, but an erratic giggle spills out nonetheless.

  Slowly pulling out of me, he flops down on the bed by my side while I roll over into his waiting arms. He smiles, his eyes warm and gentle. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. You. You’re just funny.”

  “I am? How am I funny?”

  “I don’t know. You just are.”

  “I think you’re funny.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I don’t know,” he echoes, imitating me. “You just are.”

  I fold one of my legs around his. It feels so nice being held like this. Why couldn’t he stay with me last night? “So what you’re saying is, you have some kind of clown fetish.”

  “Maybe. If I asked you to wear one of those big red noses that honk, would you be down for that?”

  “Hmm,” I pretend to consider. “Okay, but I have to draw the line at anything involving seltzer and rubber chickens.”

  “Damn. Well, there go my plans for this afternoon.”

  “I’m not even going to ask.” Smiling to myself, I snuggle closer to him and for one crazy second I wonder – was he serious about never having done this before? Without a condom, I mean. And if so, what made him decide to deviate from that practice? Not that I’m worried or anything. I trust Shane. I know that’s hard to fathom considering our combative past and the fact that I barely know him – well, the adult version of him anyway – but my intuition tells me that whatever else he may be, he is not dishonest.

  The rain is pounding against the roof in heavy torrents, and the lonely sound makes me shiver.

  “Are you cold?” His warm arms tighten around me.

  “Kind of,” I mumble against his chest. “Why does it feel like it’s ten below in here all of a sudden?”

  “Probably because I turned the thermostat down as low as it would go.”

  “Why? Was ice skating one of your plans for this afternoon?”

  “I want it to stay cool in here. We won’t have any air conditioning after the power goes out.”

  “Maybe the power won’t go out,” I suggest optimistically.

  “Mm-hm. And maybe the hurricane will get swallowed up by Puff the Magic Dragon.” Kissing my forehead, he disentangles himself from me and gets up to search through his pants for the cell phone that’s rudely trilling. “Hi, Audrey. What’s up?”

  Audrey? While he’s focused on the call, I hop off the bed and rummage through the chest of drawers for some clothes. I try not to appear interested, but it’s almost impossible to pretend I’m not listening. Curiosity has my ears sharply tuned in. I find myself resenting the interruption. Who is Audrey? And what’s more, why do I care?

  “No, Thursday should be fine,” he is saying. “Did you get the lab results yet?”

  Oh. Someone from his clinic, obviously. Feeling way more relieved than I should, I shut myself in the bathroom to freshen up and get dressed. By the time I emerge, he’s got his underwear on and is trying to pull his pants up with one hand while still engrossed in conversation with Audrey. He winks at me with a grin as I head out into the living room.

  Even with the lights on, it’s gloomy in the house with all the shutters closed. I peer through the narrow decorative glass panes that frame the front door. The rain has stopped, and water is dripping from the eaves. The sky is a monochrome sheet of mottled gray, rolling swiftly past like the blurred credits of a black-and-white film.

  I hear a faint whooshing sound that’s gradually getting louder, and at first I think it’s about to start pouring again. Instead the noise turns out to be a strong gust of wind passing through. For a few brief moments it shakes the dwarf palmetto trees lining the deserted street. The bright green fronds dip and sway gracefully before slowly relaxing again.

  How bad will it get by tomorrow, I wonder? For the first time I feel a twinge of nervous apprehension. Was it a bad idea to stay? A lot of locals pulled out, but I really thought they were overreacting. What if I was wrong?

  I reassure myself with the logic that since there was no mandatory evacuation ordered for this area, then that must mean we aren’t expected to see anything catastrophic. Plus, Elliott’s not supposed to get any stronger. So I shouldn’t worry. Right?

  Get a grip, Mel. This isn’t Armageddon. It’s just a storm.

  The sound of the bedroom door closing down the hallway reminds me that I am not alone here.

  “It’s stopped raining,” I comment to Shane as he saunters up behind me.

  “Wrong, Felony. It’s only just begun.” Spinning me around, he pulls me into his arms with an impish grin.

  “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that anymore.” I can’t stop myself from smiling though. I have to admit, that idiotic name is starting to grow on me.

  “Old habits are awfully hard to break.”

  “So are bones, but if you keep it up I might break one of yours.”

  “There you go, threatening me with bodily harm again. What did I tell you? Old habits.”

  “Speaking of old habits…can I ask you a question?”

  “I think you just did.”

  I roll my eyes at his corny rebuttal. “I was just wondering. How’d you know about Mark MacKinnon?”

  “Who?”

  “My neighbor. The guy with the red Mustang. Remember, he was the reason you started calling me that in the first place.”

  His smile fades as he studies me warily. “I’m not sure what you mean. How did I know about him…?”

  “I just thought…I mean, in retrospect it seemed like you were the only person who saw him for what he really was. Like you knew–”

  “What he really was?” His dark eyes seem to suddenly flash like lightning and he releases my waist to grip my shoulders. “Melanie. What did that goddamn piece of shit pedophile do to you?”

  “Nothing!” I hastily assure him, taken aback by his anger. “I mean, not really.”

  “Oh? How about you define ‘not really’ for me, please.”

  “It was no big deal. He just asked me if I’d text him some nude selfies.”

  Shane’s fingers dig into my shoulders. “That’s your idea of no big deal? You were fourteen fucking years old! Jesus Christ – you didn’t do it, did you?”

  “Well, of course not!”

  “Are you sure?”

  I raise one eyebrow and give him a look that hopefully conveys how absurd I think his question is. “Um, yeah. Pretty sure. Unless, you know, I did it in my sleep or something.”

  He isn’t amused. “Did he try anything? Did that pervert touch you?”

  “No. I would’ve ripped his balls off.” I would have, too. Or
at least given them a good swift kick. Back then I was pretty spunky.

  That, of course, was B.L.

  Before Luka.

  Visibly relaxing, Shane runs a hand through his loose hair with a sigh. “Of that I have no doubt. So that’s all there was to it? He asked for pictures and you said no?”

  “Technically I didn’t say anything. I gave him the silent treatment until he stopped at a stop sign and then I just got out and walked the rest of the way home.”

  “He never bothered you after that?”

  “No. He was probably afraid I’d tell someone.”

  “That’s exactly what you should have done.”

  “Maybe, but you still haven’t answered my question. How did you know?”

  “Well…I didn’t,” he admits with a shrug. “Not really. I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

  “Oh.” I consider this for a moment. “Why did it matter to you how he was looking at me?”

  He frowns slightly, and a strange faraway look clouds his eyes. After a very long pause, all he finally has to say is, “I don’t know.”

  I think it’s time to get off this subject. I never should have brought it up in the first place. This is just way too much seriousness, and I am not prepared to handle that kind of depth right now.

  “Hey. I’m getting hungry,” I announce with a bright smile. “How about you?”

  “Absolutely.” His eyes instantly clear and he reaches up to tweak my earlobe playfully. “I’m guessing pancakes are no longer on the menu?”

  “How about a BLT? Since I already have the bacon cooked and everything.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We breeze into the kitchen together and instantly freeze at the same time, gazing wordlessly at the mess we left behind. Whoa. It’s a disaster zone in here. The goopy batter is drying on the ceramic tiles and in hardening trails where it got splattered down the cabinet doors. It’s going to be a major pain in the ass to scrub that crap off.

  It was still totally worth it.

  Shane is the first to break the silence. “Um. Tell you what. I’ll clean this up if you make us those sandwiches.”

  “Deal.”

  “And Melanie?”

  “Hm?”

  “Promise you’ll keep the condiments to yourself, okay?”

  ~ Chapter Sixteen ~

  “Here we go. This looks like something you might enjoy.”

  We’re snuggled together beneath a blanket on the couch, and I’ve paused the remote on the cable program guide over some sappy-sounding chick flick. Definitely not something I’d normally be interested in, but I am trying to be a considerate host here. Although since she’s the tenant, I suppose technically that makes me the guest even if I do own the place, right?

  Whatever, screw semantics – I just want her to realize I’m not the complete dickwad she remembers.

  To my surprise, she wrinkles her nose and gives me a funny look. “What makes you think that? You don't want to watch that, do you?”

  “Well, no,” I admit. “Not particularly.”

  “Keep going. Oh – wait, wait! Look, Fire in the Sky is about to come on. I haven’t seen that since I was about eight or nine. It creeped me out so bad I had to sleep with the lights on. Have you ever seen it?”

  I have, but what surprises me is that she has. I would have figured her as the Lifetime movie-of-the-week type. But UFO’s and alien abductions? Don’t tell me the girl’s into sci-fi. No way. Shit – like I need one more reason to fall for her.

  Don’t you mean fall for her again? Yes, again. The same way you did when you were still a wet-behind-the-ears kid. Only you were too ignorant to know what to do with those mixed-up emotions back then. History is simply repeating itself, old man. Or maybe it’s a continuation of something that never really ended. Either way, how about NOT fucking it up this time?

  “You like science fiction?”

  “Yes. Why? You don’t?” Looking up at me, she blinks innocently as if I should have known all along what her preferences are.

  “I do happen to enjoy a good sci-fi movie.” I select the channel and try to shift my position discreetly. She’s lying between my legs, sort of sideways with her cheek resting against my chest, and I know she has to feel my insatiable cock twitching. The damn thing’s pretty much in a permanent state of rigor mortis lately. I know she’s got to assume sex is all I ever think about.

  As far as she’s concerned, that could very well be an accurate assumption.

  “What else do you enjoy?”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that. Is she flirting with me or asking what my interests are? “What else?” I hedge uncertainly.

  “For instance, now I know you like sci-fi movies. So tell me something else about yourself. Something I don’t already know.” The soft glow of the television reflects in her curious eyes. “No, three things. Give me three things, and then I’ll give you three. Okay?”

  It’s cute how she’s making a game of this. “Three things about myself. Mm, let’s see…” I ponder what I should tell her. What is it she wants to know, exactly? Just trivial stuff or something more personal? “I had my lip pierced when I was nineteen,” I offer to start with.

  “You did?” Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Where?”

  “Right here.” I point to my bottom lip. “It was a vertical labret ring. I didn’t keep it for long, maybe six months.”

  “What made you decide to do that?”

  I shrug carelessly. “Why do teenagers do anything they do? Someone probably told me it would look good so I went and had it done.”

  She rolls her eyes with a knowing smirk. “My guess is, there was alcohol involved.”

  “There may have been,” I concede, grinning.

  “Figures. My first month of college, this girl got wasted out of her mind and wound up getting a tattoo in some random guy’s basement. She was showing it to everyone. I saw it. It was supposed to say Robert, only it was misspelled. The second ‘r’ was missing. Plus she didn’t even know anyone named Robert, which made it twice as funny. So basically she ended up with a tramp stamp that said Robet and she didn’t even remember having it done.”

  I shake my head with a chuckle. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk.”

  “I didn’t notice any misspelled tattoos on you.”

  “There aren’t any, but you don’t have to take my word for it. I’d be happy to let you look.”

  “I bet you would, perv.” Her fingers glide underneath the t-shirt I’m wearing to tickle my ribs lightly. “There isn’t a shy bone in your body, is there?”

  “Feel free to check for one of those as well.” I move my hips just enough to guide her direction. If she wants to check for shy bones, she may as well start where it counts.

  “Later. Don’t try and distract me. Okay, so that was one…keep going.”

  “Hmm. Have I mentioned that I have a roommate?”

  “No, you never did. Just the one? What’s his name?”

  “Her name is Dori.” I struggle to keep a straight face. “You should meet her sometime. She’s gorgeous. Jet black hair and the roundest, clearest green eyes you ever saw in your life. A little on the possessive side, though. Not the greatest breath either. Also, she has a bad habit of constantly licking my ankles.”

  Melanie’s astonished expression relaxes and the corners of her mouth twitch as she realizes I'm joking. “You have a dog, don’t you?”

  “A cat, actually. Her full name is Dorito, but I usually just call her Dori.”

  “Dorito?”

  “She’s crazy for Doritos,” I explain. “She likes to lick the cheese off them. If she knows I have any, she’ll go bonkers and try to climb up me to get at them.”

  “So your cat’s as weird as you are.”

  “Yeah…we make a pretty awesome team.”

  Melanie rests her cheek against my chest again, and I automatically reach up to stroke her hair. “I’m not surprised you have a pet, conside
ring your line of work. Was she one of your patients?”

  “She was. Someone found her and brought her in after she was hit by a car and left in the street to die. We never did find out where she came from. I was only planning to keep her long enough to find her a permanent home, which is what I usually do in situations like that, but she had other ideas.”

  “In other words, you’re a big ol’ pushover.”

  “Exactly,” I laugh. “I don’t know – she just jumped right in and made herself at home from day one, like my house was right where she belonged. So I guess I’m stuck with her.”

  “Is anyone taking care of her while you’re gone?”

  “Of course. I gave my neighbor a spare key. He's looking after her for me.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “So one more and then it’s your turn, right?”

  “Right.”

  I smile to myself, contemplating whether or not to share with her one of the dorkier aspects of my life. But then I figure it can’t hurt, so… “Here’s something you probably wouldn’t have guessed about me. I’m in a bowling league.”

  She lifts her head to stare at me, lips pressed together in a blatant effort to suppress a smile. “Did you say bowling?”

  “Yep.”

  “You are not.”

  “Uh…yes. I am.”

  “No way. People still do that?”

  “Yes, people still do that.”

  Her eyes sparkle as she chokes back a snicker. “You mean you put on one of those butt ugly shirts and carry around a bowling bag like Fred Flintstone?”

  “I beg your pardon! Our shirts aren’t ugly. They’re just black t-shirts with our team’s name printed on them.”

  “Oh, I see! And what would that be, pray tell?”

  “Gutter Mutts.” I feel her body shaking on top of mine as she bursts into uncontrollable giggles. Her face is nothing short of radiant when she’s happy. There’s something about that adorable laugh of hers – I just love hearing it. Love seeing it. “Well, two of us are veterinarians and the other two are vet techs. We thought it was pretty clever at the time.”