Riding Lil' Red Hard

by Eddie Cleveland

  Not that I’m worried, obviously.

  I just don’t want to get any rumors swirling at the office. I’m still six weeks away from getting my full benefits package and I don’t want anyone finding a lame excuse to send me packing just so they don’t have to pay them out to someone who…

  I walk into the cool store and avoid the eyes of the other customers. I’m not here to make friends. I’m on a mission. I swerve down the aisle with the feminine products and search in vain. Where are they? I don’t see them anywhere.

  My shoulders tense up and I make my way up the next aisle, full of condoms, lube, and... there we go, pregnancy tests.

  I almost want to laugh at the set up. Almost. It’s like the stock person had a grand design idea when he put the boxes of pee sticks next to all the other stuff. Like he was saying “If you don’t use these, you might need this!”

  My throat squeezes tight and I peer at the tests out of the corner of my eye, like I’m afraid that I’ll make my suspicions come true if I look at them straight on. Like somehow, by buying one of these things, I’m going to make real what my sore boobs and early morning nausea has been hinting at. As if the little lines that appear will make the pregnancy real, not the little baby that might be growing inside me right now.

  I realize I’m holding my belly and drop my hand, snapping out of my daze.

  What am I going to do if I am pregnant with Connor’s child? I know, with absolute certainty that it would be his. I haven’t even kissed another man since I last saw him, when was that? Two months ago. Damn. I haven’t had my period in over two months? Do I even need this test?

  A groan escapes my lips and a woman down the aisle gives me a look of pity before pretending I don’t exist again.

  Thanks lady, you don’t even know the half of it. If I am carrying Connor’s child, what am I going to do? I don’t want to do it alone, but I don’t know if he’ll even want me back after I took off that night and never returned.

  He called night and day the first week, but I didn’t know what to say to him. I told myself that I’d get over him in time, but the truth is he got over me. The calls dropped off. Not that I blame him. There’s just too much bad blood, too much history. Connor can have any woman he wants, I’m sure he’s moved on with a few of them by now.

  Ugh, Marcus. I can’t even think about him right now. I push away the thoughts and pluck a pink box from the shelf. This one promises to give the earliest results in a digital readout that tells you how far along you are. It’s pricey, but it comes with two tests. I’d rather buy two expensive tests and get it right, than spend five times less on the cheap ones and not be sure.

  Should I call him? I’ve thought about it every single day since I walked out. I run my hand over my hair and sigh, let’s just tackle one crisis at a time. Take the test and then figure things out with Connor.

  I begin to walk up the aisle when something makes me stop in my tracks.

  “Lottie! I mean, Charlotte, wait up,” I turn and my mouth hangs open when I spot Connor coming toward me.

  Butterflies explode into a million beating wings in my chest as ice runs through my veins. He can’t see the test! He’ll know everything before I can even think of how to talk to him about it. Without thinking, I stuff the pink box in my purse and sling it back over my hip.

  “Connor,” my voice is shaky and my hands are sweating. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I try to sound casual but it comes out more like an accusation.

  “I came into town for a supply run,” he nods to the soap and shampoo in his basket. “What about you?” He looks down at my empty hands.

  “Uh, yeah, same, gonna get some shampoo,” I lie. I haven’t been to a pharmacy yet that sells good shampoo or conditioner for black hair.

  “I should go,” I turn but Connor circles his fingers around my arm.

  “No, Charlotte, please. I can’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you answer my calls? I need to talk to you, give me a chance, please?”

  I whirl back around on my heel and get locked in his intense eyes. All I’ve thought about is him too. I want to talk to him more than he can possibly know. I want to tell him that I miss him. That I’m scared. That I need him and always have. That my life is empty without him but complicated with him. I need to spill it all before I burst at the seams.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  12|Connor

  I rub my hand over my scruff and look at all the sterile boxes of Band-Aids and bottles of pills surrounding us. “Not here, please? Come back to my place and let’s really talk.”

  I watch her eyebrow lift cynically. “Go to your place to talk? Come on Connor, I’m not stupid,” she purses her thick lips together and looks at the floor.

  “Listen,” I cup her chin and lift her gaze back to mine, “I can stand here and tell you how many times I’ve tried to call you, but you know that don’t you?” She looks away and bites her lip. “Yeah, and that’s fine, this whole thing got fucked up fast. I’m sure it’s been a lot to digest.”

  “It’s just, I wanted to answer, I really did, but Marcus is the only family I have left. I don’t want to hurt him, even if he hadn’t given up his entire adult life to look out for me, I still wouldn’t want to hurt him.” Her chin quivers and I pull her into my chest.

  “Hey, don’t cry. I get it. I’m not upset with you, blood is thicker than water. You’re a good sister,” I run my hand over her hair as she buries her face into my shirt.

  And I’m a bad brother. Blood brother at that.

  My mind drifts back to the crimson streak dripping from my palm in the woods behind the elementary school.

  “Now what?” The blood pooled in my hand as Marcus took the same razor blade I stole from my Dad and slit his skin open just below the lifeline and bright red smeared across his own palm.

  “Now we shake hands, this makes us blood brothers. Just like real brothers,” Marcus reached out and his black hand enveloped my pale white one as we shook on it, making it official.

  “Blood brothers for life,” I smiled.

  “For life,” he agreed.

  I push the thought away, letting the eight-year-old versions of us and all of the optimism and innocence that came with that age all float away. That was a decade before I destroyed our friendship. Before I killed the ties with my only brother. Sure, in the SEALs I got more brothers, but nothing compared to the friendship I had with Marcus.

  “Charlotte,” I swallow the lump in my throat and grab her arms, looking down at her, “I haven’t seen you in two months. Sixty days. You know how I know that? Because each one has been painful without being able to see you, to talk to you, to feel you,” I rub my hands over her arms. “If you want me to bare my soul in a pharmacy, then I will, but I would really like you to come home and talk this out with me. Give me a chance, please.” She looks up at me from under her wet lashes and nods her head.

  “Let’s go,” she agrees.

  I drop my basket of toiletries on the floor and grab her hand, leading her to the door without hesitation. I’ve been waiting for months to just hear her voice again, and I’m not going to wait around here for another second and risk her changing her mind.

  “I parked over there,” she vaguely waves across the lot but I open the truck door for her. “Let me take you, I’ll bring you back to your car, I promise.” I don’t want to watch her walk to her car, I don’t want that space between us, no matter how short of a time it would be for. I need her next to me now and I don’t want to let her go.

  “Okay, sure,” she shrugs and I give her a hand getting inside before making my way over to the driver’s side and sliding in beside her on the old bench seat.

  “So, we’re going to your place?” She looks up at me and it takes every fiber of self-control I have in me to resist wrapping my arms around her and kissing those full, pouty lips.

  “Yes,” I manage to answer through gritted teeth. As if, by opening my jaw, I might not be able to contain the desperation
of my tongue, longing to find hers.

  “Just to talk, right?” She tilts her head and the sunlight gleams off her dark hair.

  “That’s right,” I nod curtly, not taking my hands off the steering wheel.

  She nods and slides across the beat-up seat to me as I turn the key and the ancient engine roars to life. As I pull out of the parking lot, Charlotte nuzzles in against me, her sweet scent filling my nose and getting me drunk with passion.

  I know we’re just going to talk but as she relaxes against my chest, as I breathe her in like the very oxygen I need to live, I can’t help but wonder where else this is going.

  13|Charlotte

  Connor opens the door to his beautifully renovated cabin and steps aside to let me walk in first. As I stride into the open concept living room and kitchen with a huge loft overseeing the main floor, I can’t help but feel proud of him for how much he’s changed this place. I remember when this was old man Lou’s “haunted” shack. He was a legendary recluse who only came into town a couple of times of year to buy some food and supplies to make moonshine. As a kid, we all heard crazy stories about Lou. Some were tame, like that he was running from the law and trying to keep a low profile, others were crazy, like that he was some kind of modern day witch from Hansel and Gretel, participating in cannibalism as he ate the children he’d steal away in the night. Of course, no one ever knew of a child being kidnapped. Not firsthand. Always some distant cousin, twice removed on their mother’s side.

  Anyway, I remember seeing this place in all of its “glory” and by glory, I mean its decrepit, run-down, borderline forced eviction status back when Lou was alive. My father worked for a charity that delivered Christmas hampers to people and Lou was the last stop on our drive. I cowered in the car as Dad took him the food. When he returned, I asked him why he gave him any. I was a bit angry. Didn’t everyone know what kind of monster Lou was?

  Dad said, “Lou isn’t a monster, but he fights them. When you get older, you’ll understand that monsters aren’t scary creatures in the closet, they’re demons we fight from our past. Some people win the battle and some are consumed.” He set his jaw and we drove home in silence as I thought over his words.

  “Want a beer?” Connor interrupts my thoughts and I spring back into the present.

  “No!” The word forcefully blurts out of my mouth like a sharp slap on the wrist of a child who was only looking at a cookie.

  I turn away, my cheeks blazing at my overreaction and try to fight my instinct to rub my hand over my belly.

  Searching the room for a distraction, my eyes fall on his books haphazardly strewn on the shelves of his bookcase. I glaze over the titles I’d expect Connor to be interested in, American Psycho, Revolutionary Road, stopping to stare at the odd book out. It reminds me of that old Sesame Street tune, “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn't belong. Can you tell which thing is not like the others, by the time I finish my song?”

  “Charlotte’s Web?” I look over my shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and don’t wait for an explanation before I cross the room and pluck the curious selection from the shelf.

  “It was a gift. More of a joke, really,” Connor grabs his beer and lets the fridge door slam shut, following me across the room. I flip open the cover and admire the beautifully handwritten inscription:

  Connor,

  Just remember, you can be the most “Terrific” pig in the world, but at the end of the day, you’re still just a pig.

  Cynthia

  “Who’s Cynthia?” I snap the cover closed as jealousy burns over the back of my neck.

  “No one,” he laughs, but the noise dries in his throat when he meets my eyes. “Well, not ‘no one,’ but not what you’re thinking. She was a military clerk I knew. She always called me a pig, but I figured she had the hots for me. So, when she gave me a Christmas present I was sure she was finally admitting her feelings, but, as you can see,” he sweeps his hand to the book in my grasp, “that wasn’t the case. I thought it was funny, so I kept it,” he shrugs.

  My tense shoulders slump with relief as I put the book back down. Why am I feeling so worked up anyway? It’s not like Connor is mine. And even if he was, he had a life before me. That’s not exactly a surprise. Even when I was a little girl, I noticed how he had a different piece of flaky arm candy dangling from him every week.

  A leopard doesn’t change his spots, my brother’s voice echoes in my mind.

  I clear my throat, “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type, I guess.” I finally let myself look into his eyes and am suddenly lost in a jungle of green.

  “Oh no?” Connor steps toward me, and I can feel that buzz of electricity spark between us that I’ve ached for. A current races over my skin making my nipples taut and my pussy slick. I can smell the faint trace of beer on his breath mixed with the natural, woodsy musk he’s picked up by living out here in the forest. If raw, feral, rip-your-clothes-off man had a bottled scent, it would be him.

  He moves in closer, his lips inching toward mine and I let my worries, the ones that haunt me about his past and my future, all float away as I let my eyelids slide shut and wait to feel the warmth of his mouth on mine.

  “Then how would you explain this?” He lifts an old-fashioned photo album, covered in colorful hot air balloons, from the shelf.

  “I haven’t looked at a photo album since Mom died. She loved scrapbooking and putting old pictures in. She would say ‘it’s a shame to let anything collect dust, but especially the blessings life gives each of us.’ Then she’d tell me the stories behind every single picture. I was always amazed at how much detail she remembered,” I run my hand over the cover and feel a pang in my gut as I wish I could listen to her tell me just one more of those tales.

  “I’m sorry about your parents, Charlotte,” Connor squeezes my shoulder with his broad hand and I fight back tears I haven’t cried in years.

  “Me too,” I swallow hard and blink quickly. “So, what stories are you holding onto? What memories are you making sure don’t collect dust?”

  14|Connor

  I take a swig of beer and lead Charlotte back to my sofa as she eyes me with curiosity. “I’ll show you,” I answer, plopping down on the navy blue cushion. I watch her bubble butt grow rounder and even fuller as she eases down beside me. For a second, I want to throw the photo album on the floor and tear her clothes open. I want to lick every part of her, taste every inch of her skin, and swallow every bit of her sweet nectar. My cock twitches, but I snap out of it, forcing myself to focus. I told her I would bring her here to talk, nothing else. Unless she shows me that she wants more, I’m going to be a man of my word.

  I take another mouthful of beer and run my hand over the cover of the album. It feels like the pictures inside, the details and the moments were a lifetime ago, and at the same time, like they were only yesterday.

  “Come on, let’s see what’s hiding in here,” Charlotte nudges me playfully. “Got a bunch of pictures of you done up in camo, maybe posing with a gun as you burst out of the water? Isn’t that what they show on the commercial for the SEALs,” she jokes. “I bet you were their cover boy, weren’t you?”

  “I must have those in another book,” I smile and crack the cover open. “This one is all…”

  “It’s me,” she breathes the words lightly running her fingers over an aging picture of little Lottie King with her frizzy afro and pink overalls, sticking her tongue out at the boy behind the camera. Me.

  “Yep,” I let my eyes scan the page as memories swirl back in full force. “And Marcus. And me.” I turn the page and Charlotte laughs as a much younger version of her brother who is holding up a bullfrog proudly while in the picture below I’m showing off on the monkey bars in the park.

  “I forgot how you used to carry that camera around all the time,” she sits up straighter and pours over the pictures. “Didn’t you get it as a gift or something?” Charlotte looks up at me, her eyebrows reaching skyward a
nd her brown eyes softening.

  “Yeah, my Mom gave it to me for my birthday,” I nod and finish my beer in one gulp before putting the bottle down on the end table.

  “You were obsessed with taking pictures,” Charlotte flips the page and laughs loudly as she glances down at herself in puffy pigtails, giving me the finger. “I forgot how bratty I was to you guys,” she chuckles.

  “You just kept me in line,” I smirk. “I deserved it, most of the time,” I look over at her as she flips through the book. I’ve seen these pictures more times than I can count. Watching her reaction to each new page is impossible to look away from.

  Charlotte crinkles her nose at the pictures of the dog taking a crap, boy stuff, and she laughs until she’s gasping for air at the picture of Marcus dressed up in spandex with a blanket for a cape.

  Charlotte taps her finger on the picture and tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes as she struggles to breathe.

  “What’s so funny?” I glance down.

  “That’s my bodysuit I wore to dance class,” she giggles at the skin-tight onesie Marcus wore under a pair of blue shorts in his homemade Superman costume.

  Laughter bubbles up inside of me, “Really? I didn’t know that.” I wrap my arm around her as she flickers through more pages, each one that she flips, turning into later years of our childhood.

  “Oh, look how handsome you two looked for prom. I remember I was so jealous of, what was the name of the girl you took?” She tears her eyes away from the past and looks up at me.

  “Fiona.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Fiona,” she spits out the name like a bitter taste on her tongue. “I never liked her,” she lifts the page.

  “You didn’t know her.” I laugh.

  “What I knew, I didn’t like,” she turns over the cardboard page and stops, her fingers hovering over the envelope tucked into the back of the album. “Is that?”