Manservant

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I warned you about Long Ho—Sterling. I was just trying to be helpful. Some might say thank you, but I can see that might be expecting a little much from you.”

  “You want me to thank you for going through my underwear drawer and leaving me a note earlier, then decorating my bathroom as if I were some kind of prostitute?”

  My voice is escalating, and I’m trying so, so hard to stay calm, especially with Dylan sleeping next door, and Samantha and Daniel across the hall. I can’t control myself. It’s like I’m turning into the Hulk. He’s doing this to me. He’s making me crazy. I breathe heavily out of my pursed lips, silencing my rage.

  “Well, yeah,” he says in response to my prostitute question.

  “I get it,” I laugh sardonically. “The nannies don’t quit. You chase them away, right? Since you haven’t chased me away yet, I must, therefore, be a prostitute? What the hell kind of sense does that make? There is something wrong with your mind. Really wrong. You have an issue you should seriously address. Wow.”

  Liam smiles in response. “If that’s what you want to think.”

  “I’m not sure what else I could think at this point. You have a huge dick—I mean, you’re a huge dic—asshole. Asshole. You’re an asshole, Liam.” That’s it. I need to leave this room, now. I just said everything he wants to hear. No. Whyyyy? Can I just cry and ask for a do-over? I don’t understand why this is happening.

  I turn to leave and grab the door knob again when I hear, “How about a truce?” A truce. Right. I’ve seen this in movies. It’s the exact point in time when the person calling a truce makes his ultimate move.

  “No truce,” I tell him, holding my focus on the back of his door, which of course, has an oversized mirror that shows the reflection of his cocky grin.

  He shrugs his shoulders and pushes away from the wall. “Fine, be that way.” He moves over to his bed then slips his thumbs inside the hem of his boxer briefs and pulls them down.

  My mouth falls open, and I quietly gasp.

  Regardless of feeling this involuntary spasm on my face, I can see it in the mirror, along with his smooth, round, hairless ass that has muscles. Whose ass has muscles?

  He drops down into his bed and rolls over, facing away from me. “Mind hitting the lights?”

  I do. Because every time he tells me to do something, I fucking do it like he’s my goddamn master.

  Now that the lights are out, it’s time to get the hell out of his room before I say or do something stupid. I race down the hall and close myself back into my room, hitting my own lights, and climb into bed to end this confusing-as-hell day.

  It takes at least twelve long, deep breaths before I can steady my nerves. Although, I don’t think there is enough oxygen in this entire world to erase the image burnt into my head. I can’t even get mad at him for that. I was in his room. I entered without knocking or asking.

  Forget about it. Forget about him. Forget about Sterling and whatever meaning is behind Long Horn. Forget about landing in the zone of becoming a born-again virgin due to lack of use. There’s no way to forget any of it. Who am I kidding?

  I reach down to the ground and pull my suitcase out from under the bed, reaching into the small compartment inside, ready for some relief from this day.

  I feel around, but it’s empty. It’s empty because someone moved it. It was the very last thing I took from my bedroom at home, the item I made sure to conceal safely beneath all my clothes.

  I want to say he’s gone too far, but he went too far when he touched my panties, never mind Shermanator.

  Back to the idea of crying, it sounds like my only option right now. Otherwise, I might explode. Considering whatever look he must have had on his face or the thoughts going through his head as he touched my precious Shermanator makes me want to go back into his room, and junk punch his big . . . junk.

  Nervously, I whip open the nightstand drawer, assuming it would be in a normal place to keep my little personal device, but instead, I find a note. Another fucking note that says, “Dylan likes to go through drawers, so don’t keep anything too private or battery operated in here.” Yeah, that’s why my suitcase was a good place for it, don’t you think, you goddamn manservant?

  I get out of bed and rummage through the bathroom, feeling my need for Shermanator grow, partly because I don’t know where he is.

  It’s nowhere in the bathroom, not in the drawers, or under the bed. Shermanator is gone. GONE.

  I turn out all the lights again and get back into the bed, seething with rage. I shove my hands under my pillow, feeling something odd touch my fingertips. What the hell? I turn the bedside lamp on and pull out whatever I was just touching, finding my lacy black thong with another note on it saying, “You left this on the bathroom floor.”

  He’s playing war with me. That’s what this is, but he doesn’t know who he’s messing with. I know I come off as sweet, but if you mess with me, it’s all over.

  Sleep is completely overrated, right? I’m certain I got a solid three hours at some point between midnight and . . . how is it six already? Geez.

  I couldn’t help noticing how unreasonably cold the water was yesterday morning when I had to wade over to Dylan in slow motion, even though the sun had been up for a few hours already. I have a bad feeling the water will be even colder this morning, being only an hour after the sun rises. Of course, there’s also the whole spending time with Liam thing . . . the issue that’s going to make the experience worse. I had no idea I’d have to endure such torture for a summer nannying job.

  I thrash my hand around until it comes into contact with my phone, continuing to tap and swipe at the screen until the damn sound stops. I need to change my alarm sound and learn to close the blinds before I go to bed. The moment I peel my eyelids apart, the sun’s rays assault me like a thousand tiny toothpicks poking me in the eyeballs. I shield my face from the vibrancy and slip out of bed.

  I can’t complain as I step into the softest carpet I’ve ever felt, feeling it squish between my toes. We’ve always had hardwoods throughout our house in Indiana, old hardwoods that don’t absorb much heat in the wintertime. I never enjoyed the first seconds of starting my day by stepping out of bed onto what felt like ice cubes, but I was used to it. I could get accustomed to this warmth beneath my feet first thing in the morning.

  As I’m dragging each drawer open in search of my bathing suit, I find it hard to avoid thinking about Liam’s hands touching every article of clothing I own. That bastard was trying to leave his imprint on my stuff and mess with my head.

  I find my damn bathing suit beneath a small pile of panties and tear it from the drawer. Why am I doing this? Probably a better question to ask myself is why can’t I swim? And why didn’t I go shopping last night for a more practical swimsuit instead of going out on a date with Long H—Sterling? Ugh. Too late now. This one will have to do for another day.

  After piecing myself together and pulling my hair up into a messy knot, I slide into my flip-flops and grab a towel out of the linen closet in my bathroom. I’m fully ready in less than an hour, so I slip out of my room and head down the stairs, finding the first floor one person emptier than I left it last night. Good.

  Maybe some fresh air will clear my head before I get this “session” over with.

  I drop down on the front steps, having a moment like the one I had when I first arrived here. I’m surrounded by stillness, peace and quiet, and the scent I want to have burned into my mind. I used to spend an hour in Yankee Candle smelling all the ocean-scented candles, wondering if the fragrance was accurate. While it came close, there’s nothing that could truly capture the essence and contain this kind of freshness.

  Part of me feels guilty for enjoying this without Dad. Every school vacation and summer, he would say, “Some day, Jelly-Bean, we’re going on a vacation, and we’re going to experience the ocean together.” Dad’s family didn’t have a lot of money when he was growing up either, so he hasn’t been farther than our surroundin
g states. I’m the first of the two of us to get this experience, and it’s because I lied. It’s such a dumb lie too, but nevertheless, a lie is a lie. He probably wouldn’t have cared about the truth, but after spending so much money on my education, I wanted him to think it was worth a good opportunity.

  The screen door opens and closes behind me, startling me with its clang. “Good morning, sunshine,” Liam greets me. It’s probably the liveliest I’ve heard him sound since we met.

  “I guess you’re a morning person,” I grunt.

  “Or maybe you’re just a little cranky. Why so uptight? Could you not relax last night or something?”

  I glance up at him from the step I’m sitting on, finding him in a different pair of board shorts than he had on yesterday—red with black stripes. His white t-shirt is too tight, or he should think so anyway, and he has a towel draped over his shoulder. “What would make you think I couldn’t relax last night?”

  He shrugs. “I dunno. You just seemed stressed out, I guess. You know what I do when I get like that?” The scowl on my face melts into a straight line, hiding the fear of what might come out of his mouth next.

  “Act like a jerk? Seems to be something your good at.”

  “You’re close, actually,” he says.

  I stand up from the step and brush off the back of my white beach shorts, hoping I wasn’t sitting in a pile of dirt. Why did I wear white? At some point, I’m going to be thinking straight. I don’t know when that’s going to happen, but I have never been so airheaded before.Still sweeping at the dirt that may or may not be on my butt, I head in the direction of the water. “Don’t you want to know how to fix your problem?” he asks.

  “I don’t have a problem, Liam.”

  “I was just going to tell you to take a hot shower.”

  I glance over my shoulder at him, knowing I can’t control the slight snarl screwed into my lips. “What does that have to do with you being a jerk?”

  “I jerk off in the shower,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I thought you might be interested in knowing that since you seemed so interested in my cock when you visited my bedroom last night.”

  Now I’m picturing him jerking off in the shower, and squeezing my eyes as tightly as I can doesn’t seem to fix the problem; it makes it worse. “I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what?” he asks calmly.

  “These sexually-fueled exchanges of hate, lust, or flirting . . . whatever you want to call them. You’re driving me nuts.” I’m only slightly regretting everything I just said, but he needed to hear it because this must stop. I mean, it doesn’t have to stop, but it should stop. We’re living in the same house. Plus, I need to deal with Sterling as it is, and this is just adding fuel to the burning sensation between my legs that I can’t fix without Shermanator.

  “Whoa,” he laughs. “Can you repeat what you just said once more?” Why?

  “I’m sure you heard me.” Plus, I don’t know what was in my head and what would come out of my mouth now if I tried to repeat my sentiments. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “That’s great. You think I’m crushing on you,” he jests.

  Ha ha, Liam. Elbow to the gut, I get it. It’s all in my head, right? Yeah, no. Touching my panties, hiding Shermanator. The condoms. Come on.

  “Is that some kind of surf slang for flirting with a girl?” I ask.

  “We’re in Maine, not Cali, but sure.”

  We reach the hardened sand where the tide is easing away, and Liam wastes no time pulling off his shirt. Eyes forward . . . breathe. Look how pretty the water is. The sun is reflecting off the horizon line beneath the fluffy clouds in the bright blue—I just can’t do this! He’s too distracting.

  Swallow. Breathe. Blink. Remove shorts and shirt, kick off sandals, and walk toward the water. That is why we’re here, and it’s too early in the morning to banter.

  I approach the water’s edge and then quickly walk into the foamy sea scum like I’m walking down a long hall in a race to get into the bathroom, which is a huge mistake. This water is so shockingly cold that I might pee myself! “Holy shit!” I shriek. This is probably one of the reasons I don’t swim. I hate cold water.

  “It’s cold early in the morning,” Liam informs me.

  “You fucking think?” I yell back.

  “Easy, I was just trying to warn you.”

  “I’m already in the water, jackass.”

  “Yeah well, most people don’t normally rush in as if they’re being chased by a bull. Although, it is one way to get over the cold faster. I’ve always been a firm believer in getting it over with rather than painfully enduring it, but it might also help if your swimsuit covered some of you up, too.”

  I wrap my arms around my chest as I convulse from the frigid temperature surrounding my ankles and below.

  “Come on, you’ll be fine.”

  I don’t see how there is any possibility of taking another step further into this ice pit. Clearly, I’m not given that choice, though, because Liam’s hand is firmly wrapped around my wrist, and he’s pulling me against the current. “I can’t go in there,” I tell him, sounding weak and freaking cold, but right now I don’t care.

  “Trust me, okay?”

  “Trust you?” I shout back. “All you’ve been trying to do is piss me off since I crossed this state border. How in the world could I trust you of all people?”

  “You still think I’m trying to piss you off, huh?” Liam has managed to distract me with our passing words, and somehow, we are waist deep in the Arctic. I believe we have even crossed oceans. Actually, I think I see an iceberg ahead. “See, you’re okay now.”

  Either my body is becoming used to an iced-over version of hell, or I’m numb from the waist down.

  “What else could you possibly be trying to do, other than piss me off?” I press for an answer I’m sure I still won’t drag out of him.

  “I’m not trying to piss you off, Julia, despite what you want to believe.”

  “Then what is it?” I’m hardly able to annunciate my question through my chattering teeth.

  “Look, I figured if I pissed you off enough, you’d leave before anyone got hurt . . . meaning Dylan. I can’t stand watching that poor kid hurting every time he gets attached to someone, only to watch them leave soon afterward.”

  I feel like this is the first piece of honesty Liam has offered me outside of Dylan’s dad situation, but this isn’t only about Dylan. He feels pain watching Dylan suffer, which means he has real people emotions, and he’s not one-hundred-percent prick, infused with materials that make up a douchebag.

  “You still think I’m going to leave?” I ask.

  “Actually, no, but, you’re so damn cute when you get mad, it sort of just became fun to torture you.”

  Inside of my now frozen soul, I feel a slight wrath of fury swirling around inside my chest in response to his confession. I pry one of my arms away from around my chest and point at him. “Stop trying to piss me off.” It’s all I can come up with. How is he not even shaking?

  “Did you sleep with him last night?” Liam asks, serious as day, no hitch to his voice, no emotion, just a solid question like he just asked me what the weather is like.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I tell him. “And why do you care?”

  “I would congratulate Sterling later. That’s all. He’s got a working tally, and he is a little behind this summer. I know he was worried about it, but it looks like you’re solving that problem for him.” Liam winks at me as if he’s convinced himself that I slept with Sterling last night. He can try to ninja his way into my head all he wants, but it isn’t happening.

  “A tally? Are you kidding me? Can’t you come up with anything better than that? Let me guess . . . he has notches on his bedpost too?”

  “That part, I can’t confirm. I’ve never been to his place, but I wouldn’t put it past him.” At least this time, he can see me rolling my eyes since we’re out in broad daylight. />
  “Okay, put your face in the water,” he instructs.

  “What? Why?”

  He laughs. Because apparently, I’m funny. So funny. But as far as I’m concerned, there is absolutely nothing funny about my question. “Um, so I can teach you how to blow bubbles.”

  “And you’re laughing at me?” I ask.

  “Hold your breath, sunshine,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “No, no, no, no, wait a minute. You’re not going to push my head down,” I state and question at the same time.

  “I won’t push your head down, but I’m happy to if that’s something—”

  “Stop! Just stop.” I get down on my knees, feeling more of the water cover my body, wrapping me in its glacial death grip. I can do this fast or slow. He prefers fast seeing as he mentioned getting things over with, so we’ll do it his way today. I plunge my face into the water and pull it back out just as quickly like I were bobbing for apples and got lucky within the first second. It’s freezing! Oh, why couldn’t my nannying job be on the Florida coast instead of Maine?

  “I told you to blow bubbles. Do you need me to show you how to do that too?”

  “I know how to blow.” I leave him with that as I dunk my head back under the water to give him his stupid bubbles.

  When I re-emerge, he’s staring up at the sky with a stupid grin on his face. “Good, now let’s go in a few more feet.” The water doesn’t feel as stabby now, so it’s not as hard to walk in a bit further. “We’ll start with floating.”

  “Okay, but I can’t, so . . .”

  “Everyone can,” he corrects me. “Put your face back in the water, but this time lift your arms and legs.”

  “I’ll just sink to the bottom,” I argue.

  “Okay, I get it, you don’t trust me, but you won’t sink.”

  At least if I do, there are only small waves over here, and I can stand back up. I dip back under and shoot my arms out first because that’s easy. Then I lift a leg, imagining what I look like now because if he can see into the water, I probably look like one of those Italian peeing statues in the middle of a fountain.