by R. K. Lilley
"Jesus," he said, and it reminded me so much of Dante that I wrenched away.
I leaned against the bar, flagging down the busy bartender.
He didn't make me wait, in fact stopped what he was doing and came to do my bidding with a smile.
I'd been flirting with him all night, but he wasn't my type. He was tall but his shoulders weren't broad enough. Still, the right smile got me some amazing service.
"Hey, Scarlett," he said, his tone when he said my name making it sound like we were old friends or new lovers. "Another Black Label for you?"
"You're the best, Benny," I told him, leaning forward, shamelessly teasing him. "Can you make it two?"
He nodded, eyes on my cleavage. "Anything you want, gorgeous."
"Wow," Bastian whistled when Benny moved away to get our drinks. "If I was Dante, I would lock you up."
"Well, that's not what he did," I said, and it was an effort to keep my voice steady. "He threw me away. Again."
"Oh, Scarlett," Bastian sighed. "I have a few things to ask you, and so much to tell you. I'm not sure just how drunk you are, but I'm pretty positive that what I have to say will sober you up."
That was an understatement. What he had to tell me didn't just sober me up.
It changed everything.
CHAPTER NINE
"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
~Eleanor Roosevelt
PAST
SCARLETT
I was so mad I was shaking.
It'd been a hell of a morning.
It was my own fault, I knew. It was a Saturday. My grandma was off work on Saturday and Sunday, and on every single one of her days off, no exceptions, she went into a calculated and steady drunk.
She was unpleasant and surly when she was sober. Drunk, she became outright hateful, and if I was stupid enough to stick around, I was automatically the go-to target for all of her animosity.
When I was being smart, which was most of the time, I didn't come home until she was passed out cold, and I left quietly in the morning before she roused.
This morning was one of the exceptions. I'd overslept, somehow even more so than her, and boy was I in for it.
Of course I'd been out late with Dante. Out doing all of the things that would drive her the most crazy, and she always seemed to know it.
But this morning was worse, because instead of her usual tirade where she accused me of things she couldn't prove, this time she'd actually found something to vindicate her venomous rant.
In our defense, Dante and I had hidden the evidence. The crazy woman must have gone outside and dug into the trashcan to find the handful of used condoms that she threw in my sleeping face.
"At least you're the kind of whore that uses protection," she spat.
I was still blinking awake, automatically batting off the sticky objects that she'd flung at me.
When I realized what I was touching, I recoiled, my face drawing tight in distaste.
"What the—?" I grumbled.
"I suppose you think I should be happy? You're one step up from your slut of a mother," she continued, screeching the words.
I wasn't sure what smelled worse, the day old-plus used condoms, or her breath, which was a combination of her usual halitosis, mixed with vomit and liquor—a particularly putrid, if familiar, stench.
"What time is it?" I asked her, voice flat, even, not letting her know that no matter how old I got, she still terrified me. "What are you doing up already?"
My casual tone just set her off more. "What the hell does it matter what time it is?"
"Because usually I'm gone long before you wake up from one of your blackouts. Did you never notice?"
I got a sharp slap across the face for that bit of sass.
"That's all you have to say for yourself? Not even defending your behavior now? Shameless!"
I supposed she was right. I was a bit shameless about what went on between Dante and me. I just couldn't see it as wrong.
Maybe a part of me even wanted to rub it in her face. She'd been telling me I was going to be a whore since I was too young to know what the word even meant.
Now here I was, a sex-obsessed teenager that spent as much of her free time as possible underneath or on top of her equally sex-obsessed boyfriend.
I wasn't sure if you could really call me a whore for having sex with one guy, no matter how many times we'd done it, but I knew my grandma would have no problem doing so.
"You know there's something wrong with you, don't you?" she asked me, voice gone deadly calm, which I knew from experience was even worse than her shouting.
"You're the one digging around in trashcans, looking for used condoms," I muttered back. Sometimes I just couldn't help myself.
I was rewarded with another ringing slap, and then another.
"You think you're so smart," she said, punctuating the words with another slap. "But you're as stupid as your mother. You think you're special, spreading your legs for a Durant? Every girl in the county gave it up to his daddy, and I'm guessing the son's not much different. That boy is going to use you and throw you away, just you watch."
"I'll take my chances," I told her stubbornly, not so much as flinching from her slaps.
"Your mom threw you in a dumpster because even she thought you were trash, but that's not what made you trash. You've done that to yourself."
And there it was. Her slaps weren't the terrifying thing about her. Her words were without a doubt her best weapon.
She didn't just exploit weaknesses, she opened them wide, put her unfeeling hands inside, and sifted through you until she unburied new ones, uncoiled them, and let them plop down at your feet.
"Y-y-y—" I tried, but my temper, and my fear, and her damned slaps, had gotten the better of me. I was so frustrated by it that I just got up and left, wearing nothing but a now soiled T-shirt and the first pair of jeans I grabbed off the floor on my way out. I couldn't even get to a bra, she was blocking that part of the room with her body, and I needed out now.
"Good. Get out!" she shouted at my retreating back. "But remember, if you're running to that boy, he doesn't care about you! He thinks you're trash, too. You're just the little trailer girl he sticks it in. Mark my words! He'll leave you for one of his own kind, I promise you that! He's never going to stay with some piece of filth that came from the dumpster! Especially not a slut like you that gives it up for free!"
I ran and didn't look back. I was trembling in rage as I made my way up to Gram's house, but in the short time it took, I'd nearly calmed myself, because I knew that as soon as I saw Dante, I'd feel better.
That was the point of him.
He made the world make sense again with just a look.
I was so caught up in thinking about him that I forgot I was a complete mess.
I remembered again as I caught sight of a pristine looking Dante. He was already at Gram's house, hanging out in her front yard, wearing a suit and tie; his hair combed, parted, and slicked back.
Oh, that's right. He'd had some country club thing he'd told me he had to attend this morning. He hadn't invited me along. He never did. He claimed I'd hate the country club, and I believed him.
I didn't care about any of it—how clean he was or how filthy I was. I nearly ran as I made my way to him.
But as I watched, the front door of Gram's house opened, and out came Tiffany, looking even more pristine in a lacy white dress.
I stopped in my tracks, lingering at the tree line, feeling my temper begin to re-boil.
She beamed at Dante, and he smiled back, his hands in his pockets like he didn't have a care in the world.
She said something I couldn't make out and he laughed.
My vision went red, and I must have made some noise because Dante, finally, noticed me.
His smile didn't falter, in fact it widened, and he said something I couldn't hear to Tiffany and started moving toward me.
I began to back away, painfully aware of th
e picture I made—bed-mussed hair, slapped red face, in a tight, soiled shirt with no bra.
I couldn't have looked more different from the two of them in their country club uniforms if I'd been trying to.
Still, Dante didn't even notice at first. He was already talking as he approached, too intent on what he was saying to notice how I looked. "Listen. I have an idea. I think you and Tiffany should spend more time together. I had a long talk with her—"
"When? Why?" I interrupted without even meaning to, moving deeper into the woods. What the hell was going on? Hadn't we been over this?
Never. I would never give that girl a chance.
"She caught me on my way out at the country club brunch this morning, and I gave her a ride. She asked me to hear her out, so I did. She's never done anything to either of us. She has nothing to do with my mother's schemes. She's as baffled as we are about the things my mom claims. We had a good laugh about the fact that my mom says I'm going to marry her after college. Trust me, she's no more interested in that than I am."
I was glaring at him, hands clenched at my sides, and it was only after he'd finished talking that he seemed to notice something was wrong.
Well, something other than the idiocy he'd just spouted that he had to know I wouldn't be swallowing as easily as he had.
Tiffany wanted him. I knew it in my bones. Like recognizes like.
He blinked a few times, eyes running over my face and down my body. He took a step closer, his hand darting forward almost unconsciously to palm one of my breasts. It was a casual touch that spoke of absolute intimacy. He was so accustomed to having me under his hands that it was second nature at this point.
His brows drew together. "Why aren't you wearing a bra? Do you realize how revealing that top is like this?"
His mouth twisted up in distaste as his roaming hand made contact with one of the still sticky stains on my shirt. "What's all over you?"
I wanted to punch him in the face. "Long story," I gritted out. I didn't feel like telling him anything. I was just too frustrated by then. The morning couldn't have been going worse.
He wiped his hand on his immaculate suit then brought it back, this time slipping it under my shirt to fondle me. He backed me farther into the woods, until we were well hidden. "I woke up dreaming about last night," he said, voice thickening, eyes on his hand inside my top. "I wish you could have been with me." He stepped closer. "I wish we didn't have to sleep apart. It seems wrong, doesn't it?"
He had no idea. I'd have given anything for that.
Also, he was a master at manipulating me. He'd nearly made me forget why I was so upset with just a few drugging sentences.
Still, I tried to rally, to get back on point. "It's semen," I answered his earlier question.
"What?" he asked sharply, his hand still kneading at my breast, his thumb rubbing circles around my puckered nipple
"On my shirt. It's cum. My grandma went digging through the garbage can outside this morning, found a bunch of our used condoms, and woke me up by throwing them on me."
His free hand came up to finger my cheek, and he seemed to notice my face for the first time. "She was slapping you again, wasn't she?"
I shrugged, dislodging his hand. "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters! If she's putting her hands on you again, I'm going down there—"
"What are you going to do that you haven't done before? Even if you talk sense into her, she'll forget it all the next time she's drunk."
"Are you okay?"
I shrugged again, not looking at him. "I'm fine." Code, of course, for not fine.
"We're going to go down there, and I will call the police."
"You think that will help? Last time we did that, she turned it on me, said I was hitting her and nearly had me arrested."
"Fuck," he cursed, because he knew I was right. The cops were never on my side. I'd been in too much trouble to ever ask the authorities for help. "Well, I'll walk you down and keep her away from you while you grab some clean clothes. In the meantime, though, take off your shirt."
"Excuse me?"
He grinned, shrugging off his jacket, loosening his tie. "I'll give you mine. You shouldn't have to wear that dirty one for another second." He was already unbuttoning his before he'd finished speaking.
I took off my shirt, and in spite of everything, or maybe because of that, the way his eyes moved on my bared body, I was suddenly ravenous for him—insanely, madly, starved.
I licked my lips, hands going to the button of my jeans. "Dante," I rasped.
He dropped his shirt and jacket on the ground, crowding close to me. He still had his undershirt on, unfortunately, but I took care of it in short order.
"Do you have anything on you?" I asked, rubbing my chest against his.
He was flushed and panting into my face. "Yeah. I was just about to come find you." He pulled a wad of condoms out of his pocket. "Please, please, get on the pill."
I'd had some weird paranoia about my grandma figuring out I was having sex if I went through all the steps of getting on the pill, but that cat was evidently out of the bag. "Okay," I panted, stroking him through his slacks. "I will. Soon as I can."
We didn't even kiss, which may have been a first, but I was too far gone. I braced my hands against a tree as he worked my jeans off, got us both ready, and took me from behind.
He kneaded my breasts, mouth rasping in my ear as he pushed into me.
It was quick but still more tender than rough. I came with a fast and quiet intensity, shutting my eyes tight, barely making a sound.
He came louder, much louder, calling out my name as he rooted deep and finished.
He was still rutting inside of me, milking out every last twitch when he stiffened suddenly.
"Fuck. Tiffany," he said, voice pitched loud.
That, of course, made me stiffen. I was craning my neck around, heart already wounded with just two words, absolute murder in my eyes.
Had he really just said Tiffany? I couldn't quite believe it.
But as my eyes caught on movement in the woods, it all made sense. There she was, backing away, eyes wide. Our gazes met an instant before she turned and fled.
"What the fuck was that?" I asked no one in particular.
"She accidentally walked up on us, I think," Dante said, coming way too fucking quickly to her defense. "She couldn't have known we'd go twenty feet into the woods and start having sex."
"She clearly doesn't understand us at all, then."
"We need to stop doing this. That's twice now someone's been creeping on us in the woods. I don't like it." As he spoke, his weight lifted off my back and he slipped out of me.
I turned, leaning my back against the tree as I looked up, up, up at him. "I can control myself if you can." It was probably a lie, but one I doubted I'd ever be tested on.
As though proving my point, his eyes were on my body, one hand going to cup my breast, the other to my sex. "Did you get off? You were so quiet I couldn't tell."
I bit my lip and lied, "I didn't."
"I'm sorry. Want me to take care of you?" he asked, voice gone quiet and dark. He moved closer, thumb circling my clit as he pushed a finger inside of me.
I gasped and nodded. "Please, Dante," I pleaded, because he loved that, and as a sort of penance for the selfish, pointless lie. I hadn't had to make him feel guilty to get him to go down on me, but for some reason I'd wanted to. Needed that element of repentance in his touch.
He wasn't the only manipulative one here.
He lowered to his knees, perched one of my legs onto his shoulder, and buried his face between my thighs. He pushed two fingers into me and went to work on my clit with his tongue, his free hand sliding up to fondle my breasts.
I gripped his hair with one hand, the other covering his on my chest, feeling at my body with him. There was something unutterably sensual about experiencing his touch on me through my own fingers.
I was calling out his name less than quietly,
eyes pointed beseechingly up at the sky, when a movement caught the corner of my eye.
My head snapped to the side. It was Tiffany. Again. Peeking at us from behind a thick pine.
I glared at her.
She smiled back, turned, and fled. Again.
Dante was standing, wiping his mouth before I told him. "Tiffany came back to watch round two."
He looked infuriatingly confounded. "What? Are you sure?'
I was so pissed by that, by the fact that his mind worked that way, that somehow me imagining seeing her was even vaguely possible, that I just stopped talking.
I shrugged on his shirt, put on my jeans, and started walking determinedly back to my grandma's trailer.
He was on my heels. "Why would she come back? I don't get it."
To see you naked, I almost replied, but bit my tongue. It was becoming apparent that he needed to figure out for himself who and what Tiffany was. I was sick and tired of trying to show him myself. I'd lost all patience.
He dropped the subject, which was for the best, because I was brewing for a fight.
CHAPTER TEN
"Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood."
~Oscar Wilde
Thankfully, my grandma was passed out cold when we got back to the trailer.
Dante waited for me on the sofa while I showered and changed into clean clothes.
I was rubbing my wet hair with a towel as I walked out of the bathroom.
"Let's go see a movie with her this afternoon," he greeted me with.
I knew what and who he meant immediately, though I wished I hadn't. More like, I hoped I'd misunderstood. "What? Who?"
"Tiffany. I think we should all go out. Grab a movie and pizza, or whatever."
I gave him my best drop-dead glare. "No. Hell no."
"Just try this once. For me."
It only took a few words to take all of the steam right out of me. "For you? She's that important to you?" I tried hard not to let him see how much that bothered me.
"Oh, stop. It's not like that. I honestly believe that you two will be friends. You could use some more friends, Scarlett." He said it kindly, and so it hurt all the more.