by A. C. Bextor
“Maybe not,” I clip. “But you wanna tell me what you were you doin’ out here in the first place?”
Glossing over my question, she bids, “I don’t understand why you’re friends with him.”
“Not a fan of askin’ a question twice,” I give. “Why are you out here?”
“I was—”
“And maybe include why the fuck you’re alone?”
“You don’t have to curse, Mason,” she scolds, using the name no one ever calls me. “I’m able to understand English just fine.”
“Then how about you answer my question?”
“You’re my new boss?” she queries with added sarcasm.
“Katie Mae,” I coin a new nickname, leaning down to get closer. “Answer me.”
Rolling her eyes, she gives in to both the name and my question. “I was supposed to meet someone here.”
“Someone being who?”
“Toby Callison.”
“Who the fuck is Toby Callison?”
At my next curse, she stops us from walking forward. Her lips draw up tight and her eyes narrow. “The boy who was supposed to take me to that movie.”
“You were on a date?” I give back, doing a shit job of hiding my irritation. “You were going to see a movie with Tony? And he was taking you to see Star Wars?”
Giving in and letting some of the attitude go, she replies, “Yeah, well Toby loves those movies. He said I would too.”
“You wouldn’t,” I explain. “It’s all man drama.”
“You’ve seen them?” she asks, holding her hands together behind her back and walking forward.
“I haven’t,” I confess, taking off my coat. “But if you’ve seen one Chewbacca, you’ve seen them all.”
“This is you being funny,” she tightly observes. “You don’t look like someone who’d be funny.”
“I’m a riot,” I assure, lifting the coat over her head and adjusting it over her shoulders. “Take this. You should have a coat.”
“My new boss is bossy,” she chides.
“Your new boss says let’s go back to my truck and I’ll take you home.”
Katie sucks in her bottom lip while holding my coat together at her neck. The oversized denim dwarfs her small frame. She looks up and down the dark, abandoned street in contemplation.
My guess is that she’s debating on whether to get into a truck with a stranger. This, if anything, offers some relief. Next time, it’s likely I won’t be around to save her from a crazy lunatic like my friend. A man I’m now wondering why the hell I’m still friends with at all.
“You’ll take me home?” she queries with doubt.
“Yeah. I’ll take you home.”
“Can we go somewhere else?”
Surprised by the brazenness of her inquiry, I lift my eyebrows. Her half-smile says she’s a handful. I don’t like handfuls. Then again, I have zero interest in anything with teenage girls.
“Can’t take you somewhere else if I don’t wanna chance a night in jail. Otherwise, I’d consider takin’ you to get some fuckin’ shoes.”
A shy but carefree smile crosses her lips. She lifts her toes and admires her well-manicured feet. The nails are painted a light shade of pink and on the first of each foot is a white floral design.
Figures.
“I love these shoes.”
“Those aren’t shoes,” I state. “Those are thongs.”
“Oh God,” she penalizes on an eye-roll. “No one calls them thongs. These are flip-flops.”
Again, it’s winter. Not only is she not wearing a coat, she’s in those same goddamn yellow flip-flops with the pink flower between the toes, just a few sizes larger.
Teenage girls. No wonder I don’t spend time with them. I’m a man who values his sanity.
“Anyway, don’t judge the flops. They’re cute,” she adds.
“Adorable,” I rash out. “Now, you comin’ with me so I can take you home, or am I callin’ the cops and informin’ them I’ve caught a runaway?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she sneers.
“I fuckin’ would dare. You comin’ or not?”
“I’ll go with you,” she finally concedes.
“Well, thank fuck.”
“But wait.”
Grinding my jaw at another delay, I stop. Her small hand extends, inside holds a ten-dollar bill.
“What’s this?”
“Payback.” She nods to the money between us. “You gave me ten dollars before. Remember? At the store. I didn’t use it. Gabe told me to just take what I needed. So I’m giving it back.”
“You’re giving it back,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes and wondering how often she’s thought of making us even.
I hadn’t given the first fuck about the money. I wanted her out of McConnell’s Corner Store, safe and away from Caleb and the drug deal we were engaged in.
When I reach to grab the money, Katie doesn’t allow physical contact. Not that I want to touch her, but I don’t bite, for fuck’s sake.
“We’re even then,” I state, shoving the money in my front jean pocket.
Grinning, she turns in place and starts to walk, but this time toward my truck.
Keeping two steps behind her, I scan the area around us. We’ve ended up in the darker part of town, if this small urban city had what could be considered a darker part.
“I suppose I’m lucky,” she states nonchalantly, as she continues two steps in front of mine.
“You probably are,” I flip back. “But how so?”
“None of my friends have ever met Chewbacca in person,” she mumbles to herself, though the insult is directed at me. “And I have. They’re not gonna believe when I tell them he’s big and bossy.”
As I had already assumed, this kid is a pain in the ass.
She’s a big one at that.
“Fuck, let’s go,” I say. “The sooner you get home, the sooner I can get back to Princess Leia.”
Without missing a beat, Katie glances up and narrows her eyes while saying, “You’ll never be hot enough to get a princess.”
Smart-ass.
Pushing on her back to move her forward faster, I settle with, “Well, I can live with that if you can.”
CHRIST, BUT THIS FEELS SO fucking wrong.
“Lose the teeth and take more,” I grind out, coaching through a clenched jaw.
With my back to the headboard I’m watching Sabrina taking me in and out of her mouth. Again and again. Her head comes up and down as she continues sucking my cock to no avail.
Her efforts to keep my interest aren’t going as I’d hoped.
I met Sabrina four months ago, or five, or six. Damn if I can remember.
I’d been in a bar about twenty miles from home. Sabrina was already there, by the looks of her, she’d been there a while. She was sitting at a table with a group of what I later found were her work colleagues.
Before that night, I’d talked to her on occasion. Usually when the story she was working for her news channel would happen on a lead. She’d bust into the station, demanding to talk to an officer on duty. This means, I’d been well aware of who Sabrina was and what she was like—persistent and self-serving.
Sabrina had been trading glances with me all night, feigning shyness by looking away when I caught her staring. Her play was bullshit. I knew she was determined to strike, and I was interested in a night of faceless fucking, so I waited her out.
When she finally made her way over to where I sat at the bar alone, she ordered me a fresh beer and came on strong.
She made no secret that she was willing to do just about anything to get me inside her.
Not giving the first fuck about where the next day would lead, I had her follow me back to my cabin at Silvervale Lake. We had sex and it was good. It was rough and raw, but it was also empty.
Grasping long masses of her dry, fake blonde hair, I flex my hips until I’m as deep into her mouth as I can go.
Sabrina’s reaction to my resolve doesn’t disappoint. With gr
eed, she wraps one hand around my cock, the other scoring the skin on my thigh. I close my eyes as she takes me in again, this time with added enthusiasm.
Finally.
My patience was tested tonight and to an undeniable degree.
I’d been standing at the bar, ordering drinks to take back to our table. The bartender had been going on about this, that, or the other and I stopped listening. When I turned my focus toward the door, my gut churned.
Katie and Connie were making their way in. I watched undeterred as Katie strode her oblivious way through the crowd. The predatory gazes of the men and the squinty-eyed stares of the women were enough to set me off.
She was wearing a pair of worn jeans that shaped her ass and a black silk shirt with a gray scarf tied around her neck.
I almost didn’t recognize her.
Four years have passed since we last spoke to each other.
Tonight, Katie looked much different. More put together, certainly. More confident, maybe.
“Cole,” Sabrina coos, striding her way up my body with flushed cheeks and lips swollen from the sexual beating I’d given them when we hit the door to my house.
I’ve only ever been the way I was tonight with one other woman.
No one else has ever elicited such a carnal reaction, especially not Sabrina Marks. When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Sabrina’s body I was touching. It wasn’t Sabrina’s face I was seeing. And it wasn’t Sabrina’s moans of encouragement I was hearing.
It was Katie’s.
Katie is the only woman I’ve ever been like this with.
As soon as we hit the door, I ripped Sabrina’s clothes apart, sending them flying through the room until all barriers were stripped away.
I wanted inside and I wasn’t going to waste time with pleasantries to get there.
None of my callous or demeaning sentiments dissuaded Sabrina’s determination to have me, though. The bitch loved every fucking piece of myself I was willing to give.
Christ, I hadn’t just been rough with her—I’d been savage.
My drive to get her in bed, slick with wet and hot for what I was about to give her, wasn’t born from desire. Not even close. I acted out because I was angry. Pissed knowing Sabrina wasn’t even a worthy stand-in for Katie. Livid my body raced for the carnal release that no one else but Katie could provide.
This is empty—wrong and pathetic.
Looking between Sabrina’s legs as she sets to straddle my waist, my cock pulses. The swollen tip, wet from Sabrina’s mouth glistens, dripping in wait for what’s to come.
“You’re riled tonight,” she tells me, bringing her mouth close to mine and moving her long blonde hair to one side.
Fuck yes, I’m riled. But not for you. You’re a vessel to purge my hostility. A willing victim to a dead-end game. You’re nothing.
Christ, what am I doing?
I didn’t see Katie Morris tonight. The girl who laughs freely, cries when the mood strikes her, and rants on about whatever’s on her mind.
The woman I stared into was Katherine-fucking-Dyer. The wife of an adulterer. The mother to two beautiful but unmindful girls. The friend who needs better guidance.
Suffice it to say, I didn’t like what I saw. Katie’s eyes told me she’s been lost. Her lips were tight—pained in my presence. Her hands fidgeted under my attention.
Then she spoke. She said next to nothing, but it was enough to take me back to that hotel room, four long years ago, where we’d finally ended things for good.
At least I ended things. For the sake of her family and for my peace of mind.
“You gonna fuck me or am I gonna finish this myself?” I bait, grabbing Sabrina’s hips and slamming her down on mine. Her warm pussy convulses; my cock continues to throb.
Bending toward me, Sabrina’s mouth takes mine. The kiss is hurried, sloppy, and in a way telling. She’s getting off but I’m not. Not like this. Not if I have to look at her.
Twisting my neck, I break the kiss and lean up. Sabrina discharges a pained yelp as I position her on her knees to face the wall. Pushing on her back, she grabs the headboard and her body braces.
“Fuck me, Cole,” she pleads, a dramatic show of bullshit. “Fuck me hard.”
Fuck me.
I close my eyes to forget the nearly unrecognizable face I saw tonight through the crowd of strangers.
Fuck me.
I dive into the open pussy, given freely by a woman who’s probably been with more men than I have women.
Fuck me.
I curse, roar, thrust, and pound until my balls get tight, pushing hard for my release.
Fuck me.
I picture Katie beneath me, crying and begging for that night not to be our last.
But it had to be. It fucking had to be.
Our choices were limited, the decisions painful to make.
Fuck me.
So fucking tired, angry in circumstance, and exhausted in life, my body shakes as I bury myself into Sabrina and spend my empty release.
Fuck. Me.
AFTER KISSING THE CROWN OF Averie’s head, Thomas smiles into her hair as he credits her with, “I’m proud of you, Averie. You worked hard. You’ve earned this. And it’s a big deal.”
Averie’s academic record hasn’t always been something to admire. My gorgeous daughter tends to be more of a social butterfly, rather than an idyllic, dedicated student.
“Thanks, Dad,” Averie replies smugly, certainly proud of herself. She studies the paper in front of her again and fights a grin before looking to her older sister with lying eyes. “I’m thinking because of all my hard work, I deserve the new iPhone that just came out.”
“What?” Amelia shrieks in response, glaring down to the report card in disbelief. “You’re not getting the new iPhone ‘cause you got good grades, Averie. We’re expected to get those.”
“I can have whatever I want,” Averie throws back, another chastising grin crossing her lips. She’s agitating her sister on purpose. “And for this….” She holds the paper close to her face to examine. “I want that new iPhone. In gold.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Amelia scolds, clearly in another mood.
“Maybe silver,” Averie goes on, absentmindedly torturing her sibling.
Trying to hold her composure, but still suffering, Amelia spits, “You’re such a juvenile.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything to clip the impending argument, but Thomas finds my gaze and shakes his head.
I tighten my lips as Averie asserts, “Wake up, Amelia. If I get the new phone, then you get the new phone. Stop being dramatic. Sheesh!”
“Mom!” Amelia cries.
“Both of you stop,” I declare, coming to rest at Thomas’ side.
When his arm wraps around my shoulders, I relax and move in. He positions me closer before touching his lips to my temple.
Connie, clutching her purse as she stands near the kitchen sink, offers a quiet, knowing smile. But it’s not needed.
Agreeable intimacies between Thomas and I do happen. And often. Not to say this is only for the sake of those in witness. There are nights when my husband holds me as I sleep. There are times I search for him in his. The instances are few and far between, yes, but they do happen.
No matter the state of our relationship, there’s always been a delicate sense of belonging, which helps hold us together. A committed understanding those outside of ourselves may not grasp.
“Mom!” Averie calls, pointing her index finger across the kitchen. “There’s that cop I was tellin’ you about.”
Furrowing my brow, I look to Averie’s focus, the small television on the counter. The screen is roaming back and forth through a crowd of kids playing basketball on the playground.
Connie gasps, coming to stand at my side.
Amelia stands next to Averie, she too taking in the screen.
Thomas remains standing across the room.
“I told you about him, remember?” Averie reminds. “That
super hot cop came to our school. He’s volunteering to coach the fourth grade basketball team, since Mr. Zelner is out the rest of the year.”
Averie did tell me this. When she came home from school a couple of weeks ago, explaining she saw a cop on the playground who was ‘really old, but still hot,’ I blew her off, not giving it a second thought to which police officer she’d be rattling on about.
I should have known.
“Oh my,” Connie breaths, seeing what I do.
The camera zooms in on Mason standing in the center of a group of kids. At least ten boys, all no older than ten, are staring up at his towering frame. He’s holding a basketball in the crook of his arm, bracing it at his hip. Thick veins of raw power run through his arms. His shirt is tight, wet with sweat. His shorts are gray, long, and also sweaty.
My mouth falls open.
A familiar faced reporter, a man not near Mason’s height stands in front of him. The camera closes in on them both as he asks Mason questions we can’t hear. Mason smiles, answers, all while rubbing the top of one boy’s head.
“See? Told you he was hot,” Averie says again, pulling me from thought.
“What did you say?” I question.
“I believe your daughter just said Cole is ‘hot’,” Connie murmurs, barely hiding her satisfaction.
Oh, I heard. But I was hoping the ‘hot’ she was talking about was one of the older boys standing in the background. Not him.
This isn’t the first time Mason’s been on television. With the local news being slow, and consequently their stories small, the local PD is interviewed a lot. Reasons usually include their efforts to raise money for improvements in our town, helping the elderly when needed, or briefing the viewers on the occasional crime that’s been committed.
I’d like to say I try not to watch, but that’d be a lie.
“That’s what our tax dollars are paying for?” Thomas enters, his tone terse. “How about he teaches them how to treat their elders? Or how to apply for college?”
“Dad,” Averie calls. “The kids who are there get free lunches. They don’t have any money. Officer Cole helps because he’s nice.”
I blink my eyes slowly as the story wraps and leads to another.
Mason volunteers to help kids in need. This doesn’t surprise me at all, considering he was once a child the people in this city had all but forgotten.