Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men)

by Connor, Eden

  * * * *

  Amy had the car she drove now because she’d hit a deer with the old one. The night of the collision, she’d felt exactly this way. Watching that graceful animal bound out of the woods had felt like a dream. Many people had spoken to her that night. The policeman who’d come when she’d called nine-one-one. Her parents. The wrecker driver might’ve been from De Marco’s, but their words melted like snow flurries in sunshine, because every time she blinked, all she could see was those long eyelashes and gorgeous eyes.

  It’d taken two days for her numbness to wear off so she could cry. Not for the damage done to her prized first car, but for the beautiful creature whose life had intersected so unexpectedly with hers.

  Though she responded to Eric’s introduction, five steps down the mall she didn’t recall a word of the interchange. She felt his arm at her back and the way he tucked his fingers through a belt loop on her jeans. She could still smell his aftershave. Most of all, she still felt his lips, but nothing felt real. She glanced into the windows of the stores they passed, but couldn’t see the merchandise. All she saw was her reflection alongside Eric’s, and she kept thinking the same thing she’d thought before the deer crashed into her windshield. This shouldn’t be happening.

  Like a malfunctioning watch, her mind kept replaying the moment his lips touched hers. Her body buzzed in all the places where he’d pressed against her. When he halted, she had no idea where they were, or why. Did he really kiss me? Her body sent signals it was so, but her mind rejected the idea as pure fantasy.

  Why would he do that? Why would I kiss him? He’s not my type.

  It slowly dawned on her to wonder why they’d stopped walking. Amy darted a look back, realizing they now stood at the end of a deserted corridor. When she looked to Eric for an explanation, their eyes met. Her body reacted like she’d stuck her tongue to a battery. The jolt seemed to start in her nipples and sizzle along an invisible wire, till the sensation exploded in her clit.

  “Isn’t this where you said you wanted to go?” He tugged on her belt loop again.

  If the unnerving tingle didn’t stop, she’d be able to heat an entire village with her cheeks. She dragged her gaze from his face and looked around the unfamiliar hallway, but the phenomenon singeing her girlie bits short-circuited her brain. The big pane of wavy glass at the end of the hall seemed to belong more in South Miami Beach than Nowhere Much, South Carolina. Black letters were painted on the door, but her brain refused to interpret them.

  The sickly-sweet scent of cherry air freshener assailed her when he pushed the door open. A woman with large breasts, a spray-on tan, and platinum-tinted hair sat behind the counter. Her eyes went wide, inspecting Amy’s sweatshirt. “How may I help you?” Her tone made Amy feel like a little boy who’d wandered into the ladies room. The secretary’s gaze moved to Eric. She straightened her shoulders and stuck out her breasts. Did those things come with an air pump? If so, she’d exceeded the recommended pressure. If they were saline, maybe she doubled as the fire extinguisher?

  Eric propelled her forward. Her rubber-soled shoes grabbed the thick carpeting. Amy lost her balance, stumbling into another young woman who stood in front of the short counter. The woman’s dark hair and bronzed skin made Amy blurt, “Le ruego me disculpe. Lo siento mucho.” She hoped she’d phrased her apology correctly.

  The brunette didn’t respond, but Malibu Barbie rolled her blue eyes, making Amy feel fat and awkward. Eric tugged her belt loop. “Amy, did you need to talk to Phil?”

  Who’s Phil? “Um, I n-need to make an appointment to speak with th-the m-mall manager.”

  The blonde’s fingers flew across her keyboard, but she didn’t take her eyes off Eric. “Mr. Chapman has left for the day, but he can give you a few minutes tomorrow at one-ten. May I tell him what this is regarding?”

  The brunette turned. Amy spied the most gorgeous gray eyes she’d ever seen, so perhaps she’d been mistaken in assuming the woman spoke Spanish? Her brains felt like flambéed mush. She tried to shove her free hand into the back pocket of her jeans, but only succeeded in jamming her fingers on her cell phone.

  She wished Eric had stayed in the hall. The sensation of his body pressed against her side made it hard to think straight. Every word she’d composed about this important proposal evaporated. Why couldn’t the heat from her face unthaw her brain? “A-a... a charity... thing. I-I can be here at one tomorrow. T-th-thanks.” Dammit, she didn’t stutter. Her tongue refused to co-operate. All that muscle wanted to do was roll around with Eric’s again.

  “See you then.” The receptionist gave her a final, scornful, glare and Eric another come-here-so-I-can-lick-you look. Hammered by waves of embarrassment, Amy whirled.

  Eric’s damn finger in her belt loop pulled her up short.

  “Do you know Mr. Chapman... personally?” the receptionist cooed.

  Seriously, someone needs to punch her in the face, just for that simpering tone.

  Eric’s chuckle seemed to echo in Amy’s nipples like bee stings. How the hell does he do that?

  “Mister Chapman and I are first cousins. Started kindergarten together, graduated together. I just call him Phil, but I’d be afraid to ask what he calls me.”

  Her fingers were too damn short to reach the door knob. Straining to break free, she felt the waistband of her jeans bite deep into her hips.

  “Ooh, you’re Eric De Marco. I recognize you now. I’m so sorry about your mother. Mr. Chapman speaks fondly of his dear Aunt Camille.”

  The last thing on earth Amy wanted was to stand around, her body still buzzing from kissing Eric, while she watched him pick up the hussy behind the desk. She made a desperate lunge for the knob. Eric didn’t let go, still treating her like a toy poodle on a leash.

  Even the Hispanic girl began talking to him. “Los De Marco merecen todos sus problemas. Si tus ancestros hubieran intervenido para detener a su señor abeja de violar a inocentes, tu madre quizas estuviera viva.”

  Amy’s Spanish was gleaned from two years of high school and one semester in college. She picked out a few words. “Señor abeja” meant... bee man? I have no idea. She’s talking too fast. There was no mistaking the derision in the other woman’s tone.

  Maybe she called him... a honey bee. Amy’s cheeks felt nuclear-powered now. She thought Lila made up the bee joke in retaliation for Eric calling her Colton’s “baby mama”, but maybe the nickname was common knowledge. Maybe this woman and Eric had dated, too? The Latino woman kept looking from Eric to Amy and back. Amy didn’t need a translator to see the scorn in those unusual eyes.

  “What?” Eric demanded. His tone made Amy dart a glance at him. His expression darkened. “Repítelo una vez más pero más lento?”

  If she was right, Eric asked the dark-haired girl to talk slower.

  Or did he know how to flirt in Spanish? Of course he could flirt in two languages. He could flirt in Italian, just by batting his eyelashes. She’d never managed to learn how to flirt in her mother tongue. Amy made another lunge, finally breaking free of his grasp. Yanking open the office door, she stalked into the hallway.

  She was built like a boxcar, no matter how many miles she ran. She might not be in Eric’s league, but she’d be damned if she intended to hang around with him and see that look on the faces of everyone they passed. Fuming, Amy stalked down the corridor, determined to put as much distance as possible between her and Eric De Marco. She kept a spare key in a magnetic box under her car. Lila could retrieve her wallet and keys.

  His hand closed around her arm before she got halfway to the mall concourse.

  Spinning her, he caged her against the wall with thighs that felt like steel. Slapping his hands on the wall above her head, he glared. “I guess your Spanish is better than mine. What the hell did she say?”

  “I suppose you dated her, too? Pretty damn sure she called you a honey bee and me something else, like a weed.” She stuck her chin in the air, returning his glare and fighting the snap, crackle, and pop
going on inside her. “Okay, so my picture’s in the dictionary beside ‘great personality’. I know I’m not sexy, but did she have to be such a bitch?”

  His dark brows drew together. “I don’t do hot-tempered chicks. I like my balls right where they are, thanks. Besides, every woman has something that makes her sexy.”

  Her heart stuttered at the look in his eyes, but the man seduced women the way she drank iced tea—which was all day, every day. She twisted, trying to break free. Her elbow connected with his abdomen. He jumped a half-step to the side. She dove under his arm. Too late, she realized his big boot was on the hem of her pants. She pitched forward, flinging her hands out to break her fall. Her palms made a hideous noise sliding across the waxed flooring. Pain flared in her knee.

  Amy stared at the commercial tile. She had to be having a vivid, weird-as-hell dream, because there was no way any of this was really happening. This mini-nightmare was damn realistic, though, because her palms stung and one knee throbbed. Wake up!

  Slowly, she cut her eyes to the right. Eric’s boots were still planted by her side. Maybe if I stand up, I’ll wake. Because, yeah, lying at his feet didn’t make her look stupid.

  She made it to her knees, wincing from the flare of pain in her left knee. Eric moved to stand in front of her, but rather than help her up, he knelt. He lifted her chin with one hand. His palm felt rough and warm. “The sexiest thing about you is your laugh. But something tells me, if we got you out of those baggy clothes, I could damn sure add to that list.”

  Maybe I don’t wanna wake up.

  Chapter Four

  The chairs in the hair salon’s waiting area were uncomfortably narrow. Unsure why she’d let Eric talk her into coming here, Amy shifted onto one hip. Cringing from the assault of pink everywhere she looked, she massaged her aching knee.

  The magazines were all hairdo-related. She’d rather read an article about the uses of cow manure. Shoving the pile around, she spied a folded newspaper. Her hopes fell when she pulled the paper free and saw the Entertainment section, dated last Sunday. Finding the sports page was probably asking too much in this girly-girl cathedral.

  An older woman seated beside her swiveled, watching Eric follow the hairdresser to the sink in the back. Permanent wave solution—or estrogen wafting off the open-mouthed woman—made Amy’s eyes water, so she snatched up the paper, hoping to block the stinging fumes.

  This new gawker had to be her mother’s age. She turned to Amy with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I saw you two come in together. I can’t help staring at him. I think my ovaries just started working again. Good God, he’s gorgeous. Is he your... brother?”

  The lift of the woman’s brows pissed Amy off. “No.” She’d had it with snide looks and comments. “No, he’s not my brother. Does your daughter work in the mall office, by chance?”

  The matron’s drawn-on brows pulled together. “Never had kids.” Leaning closer, she placed her hand on Amy’s arm and whispered. “I can’t say I blame you for not letting him out of your sight. He must get... um, offers right and left.”

  She means better offers. Amy snapped the paper open. “I bet so, too,” didn’t seem like the right response. Neither did “fuck off and mind your own business.” No wonder Lila refused to come to the mall.

  A fast scan of the front page didn’t catch her interest. She still had no idea what had jumped up Eric’s ass to make him kiss her. Did he come here often and randomly make some woman’s day? Better yet, what the hell was her excuse for kissing him back?

  Ha! Kissed him back? You’re the one who stuck your tongue in his mouth. Feeling her phone dig into her butt, she contemplated texting Lila to ask if she could explain Eric’s sudden burst of... yeah. No. That was one conversation she wouldn’t be having. Lila would tell her he was just being Eric.

  If his big truck, long hair, motorcycle boots, and tattoos weren’t enough to turn her off, his reputation was another obstacle. Double standards be damned. Who wanted to be with a man who’d been with every woman in town?

  She needed to stop wallowing in pointless lust and figure out where she planned to sleep tonight. Her friend Kevin’s house was a possibility, but he lived with his parents. Lila’s couch was more comfortable than most beds. Neither place was good for studying far into the night.

  She peered over the edge of the paper at Dee, who leaned over Eric to wash his hair. The woman’s mountainous boobs rested on his chest. Amy’s baby fat declined to reside in her breasts, preferring to gather around her waist. Bitch, let him breathe.

  And you care...why? In her defense, she’d never been kissed the way Eric kissed her, right out in public and fuck what anyone thought. He’d ambushed her, and she’d reacted on reflex. But why’d he kiss me in the first place? Amy was a cause-and-effect person. She still felt the Eric effect, but had no idea of the cause. Yeah, you can’t replicate the experiment unless you know that.

  She couldn’t look away from the scene at the sink. The hairdresser was going all out to make her attraction to Eric obvious. Even Dani stayed behind her small makeup counter, as if afraid to approach. Was that his deal? He’d dragged her around the mall and kissed her, to show the stylist he wasn’t interested in resuming their high school romance?

  If so, he’d picked the wrong girl. Dee didn’t seem deterred by Amy’s presence.

  Growling under her breath, she turned to a new page of the paper. Engagement and wedding announcements made up the majority of this section. She’d never understood the purpose of an engagement announcement. She doubted many men jumped up off their knees and said, “I’m so happy! Let’s call the paper.” Just women, marking their territory... like Dee. Her gaze wandered to the sink again.

  She was positive women participated in sex to get to the cuddling afterward. That was the best part. She knew one thing for damn sure. That momentary flash of release wasn’t worth the stupid way sex made women act, with their claws out and ready to kill if you looked twice at their man. Shaking her head over the spectacle Dee was making, she turned her attention back to the paper. Photos of people she’d attended high school and college with littered the page.

  Amy stopped her rapid scan of the photos, riveting her attention on one image. This dream was something else. Here was an announcement with Drew’s photo. She squinted at the text. The parents of Drew Pearsall and Karen Riley are pleased to announce—you have gotta be kidding. High school romances seemed to be the theme in this dream.

  But, if she was really awake, the way the noxious chemical solutions around her suggested, Drew was engaged to his high school sweetheart.

  He got engaged? In three weeks? Less than three weeks. It’d taken time to have their picture made together and get the announcement to the paper. No wonder he’d never called. Karen Riley was beautiful enough to belong with Eric.

  What should matter was that she’d left him. She should feel relief. She didn’t want him back, so the tears stinging her eyes had to be from the hairspray and peroxide in the air. But knifing pain cut off her breath, rushing into the void left by the thought slamming into her, Drew got a better offer.

  She felt fat and ugly. Undesirable. New clothes and eyeliner pencils wouldn’t change that.

  * * * *

  Eric eyed his reflection, hoping Dee had cut off enough length. He had no idea what was considered “respectable” by the suit-and-tie brigade. Most days, he didn’t give a fuck about such, but for months, the media had been saying John Carpenter wouldn’t get more than five years for killing his mother.

  Eric couldn’t fathom how the bastard could get such a light sentence, no matter how many times various reporters and legal experts explained South Carolina law. Five years wasn’t gonna make up for the twenty-seven years he’d felt abandoned. Hell, no, and the damn prosecutor is gonna listen to what I have to say.

  To his relief, Dee talked only of the predicted snow and how badly she wanted to unleash her scissors on Amy’s hair. “I saw the cutest cut at the last show I went to. The mode
l had thick, straight hair like hers. I think I have a photo here somewhere.” She yanked open a drawer, rooting through clips and curlers.

  “How much do I owe you?” Five years is the sentence for stealing a car. Stealing a life has to get him more time than that.

  “Here!” Dee cried, wrenching his thoughts away from his mother’s murderer. “Look.” She shoved the photo under his nose. He had to agree, the cut looked good on the woman in the photo.

  “Show her.” He shrugged. “You ever met a woman who’d take a straight man’s advice about her hair?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Dee retorted. “If I show her, I’m just trying to drum up business. If you show her, she’ll be more apt to consider it, to please her man.”

  That was another thing about Dee. She threw the word “idiot” around a lot. He’d had a gutful of that word.

  Amy had her nose buried in the newspaper when Dee pounced. “This haircut will change your life,” Dee vowed, making Eric roll his eyes. When had Dee started sounding like Dani? “I have a customer waiting, but I can work you in around seven forty-five.”

  Amy didn’t seem interested in a haircut. He shoved a twenty into Dee’s hand. “See you later, Dee. Thanks.”

  Stepping out of the salon with a sense of relief, he rubbed his newly-bared neckline and smiled at Amy. “Ready to eat?” They walked in silence to the food court. “I had burgers for lunch. You pick.” He stroked Amy’s back, pleased with how well his plan had worked. “Wanna try that new Caribbean place?”

  A woman seated at one of the small tables to his left stood, extending a plastic bottle of water. “I can’t seem to get the cap off. Would you mind helping me?” Eric twisted the cap free, and handed the bottle back. “My name’s Wendy. What’s yours?”