Summer Heat: Anthology

by Sonya Jesus

  We weren’t that couple that cuddled in bed. Hannah slept on her side, and I slept on mine. If she was really feeling vulnerable, which was extremely rare, her toes would reach for mine, and she’d fall asleep with her foot cozied up to mine. So, when tonight’s conquest nestled into me, I didn’t pull her away, which surprised me. But now, the sun is peeking through the blinds of my window and she needs to go.

  She’s hidden under the covers. I only see the tips of her hair, scattered all over the pillow. I nudge her with my leg and she stirs. I do it again, just to make sure she wakes up, then say, “You can go now.” She peeks her head out from under the covers. “What?”

  I ignore how seductive her morning voice sounds and shuffle out of bed. I glance over at her, she keeps the sheet tucked tight against her naked body, but it does little to hide the sultry outline of her curves. I shift my gaze toward the window, attempting to appear unbothered by the way she’s eyeing me hungrily.

  I busy myself by searching for the green shirt she was trying to pass off as a dress and throw it onto the bed. I rummage through the room and collect the rest of her belongings and hand them to her before I escape into the closet to dress myself. I have no intention of giving her a call back. I open the drawer and pick out a fresh pair of boxers. As I slide them on she joins me. Her eyes drink me in, thinking she’ll get a repeat. I shut her ideas down immediately because I’d be down for another round, and that isn’t something I do. I harden my expression and narrow my eyes at her. “I said you could go.” The offense plastered on her face nearly makes me regret my harsh tone. Then I remember I don’t owe her anything and dismissed her. “I have places to be, and you can’t stay here. Get dressed and get the hell out.”

  “I heard you were an asshole and into some weird kinky shit.” She means that to be demeaning but it backfires on her. “Yet, you were the one hanging all over me, darling. If you weren’t into that kind of shit, you should have stayed away.” She smacks her lips together and sucks in air through her front teeth. I pay her pouting no mind and throw on a pair of clean jeans and a nice dress shirt. I had a meeting to attend, and I couldn’t waste time with some chick I won’t ever see again.

  Priorities, I remind myself. I ignore her staring for a while and at some point, she disappears into the other room hopefully to get dressed and get the hell out of my space. I wait a few minutes, listening for her movements. When I hear drawers closing, I rush out and find her fiddling with her undergarments.

  “Why the fuck are you still here?” I lean against my wall, far away from her. Either she doesn’t hear my abrasiveness, or she doesn’t care because she ignores me. She is having trouble fastening her bra and I remember why. Shit. Remembering stirred the need and put a smile on my face. “I broke the clasp when I ripped it off of you last night.”

  “No shit!” She rolls her eyes at me. I notice a stapler on my bed. “Are you planning on stapling yourself into that?” I don’t know why that makes me laugh, but the way my lips curl feels strange.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing. You know how much bras cost?”

  Is she scolding me?

  “I can only imagine how many pricey undergarments you’ve damaged.”

  “You should feel lucky. Some girls walk out of here with torn dresses and nothing but shirts beneath their jackets… well, if they have a jacket.” I chuckle softly at the thought of how many girls have given my next door neighbors an eyeful.

  She releases a frustrated growl and sharpens her tone. “Are you serious?”

  I shrug. “Why does that surprise you?”

  She lifts a single eye brow in my direction and fixes me with a disapproving glare. “You aren’t even decent enough to give them a shirt?”

  “Never occurred to me,” I answer, even though I owe her no explanation.

  “That’s disappointing,” she says as she takes a few steps back so that she can see herself in the mirror. Holding both strands of her bra with one hand, she uses the other to try and staple them together. After her fourth attempt, she brings the stapler down and huffs out an adorably cute mumble that sounds like, “Fucking great.”

  Against my better judgement, and at the risk of actually coming across like I care, I ask, “Do you need help with that?”

  She gives me a hesitant nod and draws in a breath as I approach. Avoiding eye contact, she hands me the stapler. I take both strands from her and punch a few staples through the fabric. My fingers brush against the curve of her spine and she breathes in heavily. In the mirror, I can see her tongue sliding over her bottom lip, slowly.

  She swivels her head to peek at my reflection and catches me watching her. We don’t avert our gaze. The fact that she doesn’t shy away surprises me. I’m not exactly an inviting kind of person, most girls don’t dare to see past the rough exterior. A deep emotional tie isn’t exactly what they seek me out for. I’m a rough lover, who doesn’t like repeats. Yet here I am, staring down a girl whose name I don’t even know.

  I take in the shape of her body, the defined cheek bones, the button nose and the heart shaped face. Her hair is messy, tussled from our night in the sheets and the mascara she had on is smudged enough to make her eyes look deep and seductively smoky. My eyes travel down her body, landing on the outline of her perfectly sized breasts and her perfectly round bottom. Her black thong accentuates the curves and my fingers suddenly ache to touch her delicate skin again.

  I lean in to her so that my chest is almost pressed against her back, but I stop myself when I notice the two small back dimples. Hannah had those too.

  Fuck. Moving on is impossible when I want nothing more than to stay in a place where Hannah still existed. I missed her. It’s been months and the memory of her still slices through me like a sharp knife. I wish I could bleed her out of me, but she runs deeper than blood. She’s crawled beneath my veins, into my nerve endings and corroded them so that all I can feel is loss.

  The longer she isn’t physically in my life the more I realize she wasn’t a good person. Actually, the only redeeming qualities Hannah had was her love for me and for the Dragons. My brother keeps telling me she would want me to move on, to find another love, but she wouldn’t. She was the kind of girl who would be vicious even in death. I’m sure she’ll give the Devil hell right before she takes the thrown from him.

  “You should stop staring at me.” My recent Hannah hangover’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I wasn’t staring at her exactly, but my eyes were still fixed on her backside. She takes a step forward and reaches for the hunter green dress and pulls it over her head. “I guess, I should say thanks for the staple and for the umm… sex.”

  I keep my mouth shut because my heart is bursting with a familiar pain that dulls all my senses. I suppose she is waiting for an answer because her mouth draws into a straight line and she juts her chin forward. “Well, okay then.”

  She side-steps me and heads for the door. I let her go because I only want the flock of girls to remind me of Hannah when I’m in an alcoholic daze. Remembering her sober is a whole different story.

  When she gets to the door she stops abruptly and swivels on her heels to face me. She uses her hand to gesticulate her disappointment. “I don’t know who Hannah is, but you really need some therapy. Asking me to do things she did, or calling me her name while you came inside me, could be fun once, but I doubt any girl will put up with it repeatedly.”

  I tilt my head to the side and stare at the girl who is calling me out on my shit. Not a wise choice on her part. “Well, let’s just say, I don’t usually double dip.”

  “Of course, you don’t. Commitment isn’t your thing, right?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She nods her head and exits. That’s how I prefer my women these days. Distant and always ready to leave.

  Chapter 3: Alpha-holes

  Lexi

  Why the hell did I sleep with that asshole? Ugh. That’s all my life has been lately, a string of bad decisions, that usually lead me to even more
bad decisions, that usually involves a penis. Yep. It’s not that I don’t try to make good decisions. Every day I wake up thinking today I am going to be better, make smarter choices, and it lasts for all of twenty minutes. Then I check my social media, and his stupid face shows up on my news feed, reminding me how much fun he is having now that he isn’t tied down to me.

  That’s what I get for thinking a long-distance relationship could work. We made it until junior year, then I went home for a weekend and found Steve’s dick deep in a cheerleader. We dated for almost seven years, and apparently, he’s been cheating on me the whole time. While stupid me remained faithful and only his. Well, fuck that.

  And fuck Keenan and his own issues. I have my fair share of relationship phobias and you don’t see me asking guys to screw me like Steve did. The last thing I want to think of when I am orgasming is that shithead. But I guess to each his own.

  I have to give Keenan props though, despite that being the weirdest sexual experience, it was amazing. Well, I knew it would be. Screwing Chains is on every Vonwest girl’s to do list. He’s racked up a certain kind of reputation, and there’s a ton of rumors about him being dangerous. Honestly, I just think he’s damaged. I kind of feel sorry for him actually. Whoever Hannah was, she most likely messed with his head.

  And I can’t let him get in mine. But his emotional damage is appealing to the psychologist in me, and I am really struggling not to march back in there and give him my professor’s card. I stand in the hall debating the situation for a little too long. Some guy with long dirty blonde hair and a mustache emerges from the apartment next to Keenan’s and fixates on me. Moments later a more clean cut, excessively cut man joins him. I tap on the elevator button repeatedly.

  “You know that doesn’t make it move faster.” The bearded guy stands beside me. He’s intense, like his presence overwhelms me and invades my personal bubble even though he isn’t that close.

  “Did Chains just kick you out?” The blue eyed bearded man asks when I don’t bother to answer his first comment. “Don’t take it personal. He’s unique, and he has a particular taste for pretty young blondes.”

  I raise my brow in question and tilt my body in his direction. Behind all that hair is actually a very handsome face. He looks a little older, but it might just be the facial hair that makes him appear that way. His muscled arms have tattoos for sleeves, their color stands bright against the simple white t-shirt. His jeans are snug around his massive thighs. If I were easily intimidated, I might feel threatened by his persona. Instead, I look him directly in the eyes and ask, “Are you a friend of his?”

  He smirks and glances toward the slightly taller man on his other side. They exchange some sort of psychic dialogue and he, without looking at me, replies, “You can say that.”

  I roll my eyes. Elusiveness is always an evasion tactic. He’s either not his neighbor’s friend or he’s hiding something, either way it was none of my business. Though, that thought of asking who Hannah was did cross my mind a couple times, I just blocked those thoughts out.

  Tall guy looks at his cell phone and grunts. Leaning over he hits the elevator button again… and again. “Fucking twat on fifth is probably holding the elevator.”

  Twat? Guys are such assholes.

  I can’t control the snicker that escapes my lips. Both of them turn in my direction and this time it’s the tall boy who asks. “Do you have a problem with my vocabulary?” By the way he’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and his pinched expression, I am guessing he doesn’t find my contempt amusing.

  This is the time where my no filtered, no lie, mouth should shut up and keep me out of trouble because these two don’t exactly instill a sense of security. Unfortunately, my filtering process only works after I’ve had my coffee. “Yeah, actually I do.”

  The elevator finally opens and the beard guy leans inside and presses the close button. He waits for the doors to close then rotates, placing his back to the elevator and blocking it.

  Well, okay then. Stepping back, I scan the hall for the stair well door and find it behind the tall boy. I fix them with a hard stare because I refuse to be bullied by two pricks who have nothing better to do than irritate me. “So, what? You plan on keeping me up here because you two successfully fail at having manners?” I slyly reach into my purse and feel around for the can of protection, just in case. “I have no problem pepper spraying dipshits.”

  “You have a mouth on you,” the bearded guy says. I am not sure if he is slightly amused by said mouth, or if he’s threatening me. “If you were smart you would keep it shut.”

  Guess we are going with threats. “I also have eyes and ears… and a nose too.”

  The tall guy shakes his head, but I manage to make him chuckle with my sarcasm, and he steps away from the stair case door. But I am on the 25th floor, and that’s a lot of freaking stairs in these heels. So, I tempt my luck and hit the elevator button.

  Beard guy stares at my hand intensely as I perform the action and then tilts his head to the side, studying me as I wait for the elevator. He however, does not budge from his place.

  My stomach churns with unease and hunger as the taller guy repositions himself. I glance back. He is behind me now, leaning against the wall, using his leg as leverage to prop himself up.

  Their silence is making me anxious and when anxiety takes over, my tongue doesn’t stop moving. “Look…”

  “Maddox,” Keenan’s assertive voice reverberates through the hall, interrupting my potentially dangerous babbling. Beard guy stiffens up, standing straighter as Keenan approaches. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Maddox, I presume, answers him with a coy smile. “Entertaining your guest until you got out here.”

  I scrunch my lips together, forcing them to stay shut.

  “Unnecessary.” Keenan glances over at me, pensively. After a moment, he finishes his statement. “Veronica was just leaving.”

  “Seriously?” I shut my eyes for a split second when they all stare at me with awe. It’s as if they weren’t used to girls talking back. I don’t know what kind of girls they met because all my friends aren’t into the whole roll over and take it thing these three have going on.

  “Are you going to finish that statement, darling?” Keenan’s words are meant to demean, but they sound way too sexy for it to actually work. There was a hint of a drawl and a whole lot of enticing in that one statement.

  “You don’t even know my name.”

  Tall guy steps in now. “You have to excuse Chains. With all the girls coming in and out of his room, I am surprised he even tried to guess at your name.”

  That’s disgusting. “You know?” They hang on my words. “I don’t think that’s his problem at all.”

  “My problem?” Keenan’s voice elevates, but when he continues his voice is deep and full of anger. “And who the hell are you to tell me my problems? You are just a girl I fucked, wishing it was someone else.”

  “And you’re just an asshole I screwed, to get back at someone else.” I cross my arms in front of me, shielding the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

  He steps forward, invading my personal space. I don’t give him the pleasure of knowing how much it affects me. Keenan, as menacing as he is right now, is steaming hot and there is no denying the allure he exudes. It’s like sex, arrogance and danger, all bottled up and intoxicating me. I wade through the pheromone overload and impetuously lift my head to stare at the somewhat hostile man towering over me, and challenge him to either tell me off or turn me on.

  His eyes lower to my lips just as the elevator pings and opens its doors. “I guess we are even then.”

  I let the guys get in first. Keenan is in the middle, slightly ahead of the other two who flank him on either side. I’m not stupid enough to join them, so when Keenan raises his brows at me, silently asking if I was going to get in, I reply, “I’ll wait for the next one. I’ve had my fair share of close encounters with alpha-holes.”

  The door clos
es and I take a deep breath. Guys like Keenan “Chains” Payne are exactly the type of guys I should steer clear of. He’s damaged and there’s a part of me who wants to fix him, while the other part wants to tell him exactly where he can shove his arrogance.

  Chapter 4: Chained

  Keenan

  I could kill these two fuckers for being dicks to her. They knew nothing about her, and they just took it upon themselves to be assholes.

  “So, she was hot,” Gunner breaks the silence. “Hotter than all the other one nighters.”

  “Yeah, Chains. I mean, your tastes have been seriously lacking these last few months. I am glad you finally landed some prime pussy.” Maddox always had to go there. My mom always taught me not to disrespect women by referring to them by their sexual parts. Hannah used to give them all shit for it, but now since she’s gone. I guess no one gives a damn anymore… including me.

  “Why are you two keeping tabs on who I dip into?”

  Maddox smiles slyly. “It’s our business to know what you do, who you do it with and where you are. You aren’t out of the Dragons. Remember that?”

  “How can I forget?” I exhale loudly. Chains. I was nothing more than a Dragon on a leash. I should have suspected that when they moved in to the building they weren’t doing it because they wanted a taste of the upscale life. Dragons never travel alone. That was another rule. The council used our friendship as a way to keep tabs on me. Maddox and Gunner probably volunteered because they were the only two lower level Dragons who gave a damn about me. Most of the others only accepted me because they feared Hannah’s wrath.

  Without Hannah, I don’t fit in. That’s why I am banking on them letting me pursue this music career. I am more use to the collective outside of the Den than I am inside. I’ve never broke in Denners or went on deliveries. My only responsibility was running the Den. I served alcohol to drunks, drug cocktails to junkies, and dealt with stock, including the back room that served as a back-up armory. Below all the boxes of whiskey bottles and high-end drinks were the bullets, and the back of the refrigerator was a make shift door that lead to a room with weapons. That was my job: a metal librarian and a glorified bar manager. Well, that’s not true. I was the well-trained lethally vicious guard dog.