“Sally,” his gaze became hardened, cold, “would give you anything you asked for.”
“I don't really think so,” I told him, meeting his eyes with a frown. “I don't think I'm exactly on her top ten list at the moment.”
“Says you,” he muttered. And wouldn't say anything more.
I was one of those people who never, ever, ever took a sick day. I hadn’t actually taken off any days since I’d started this job. I had perfect attendance, all of my sick days rolled over each year...Sally had said at the last quarterly meeting that I had something like three months' worth. It made sense. A little bit pathetically, I’d never had much of a life, and really never had any reason to use them.
But I did now. I had Kara. And how things were progressing was downright beautiful. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I actually did take some days off for myself? I could spend some extra time with my grandmother, maybe take Kara to meet her.
Have some time for me.
It was an interesting concept. I'd never thought about it, but now I couldn’t get it out of my head. I loved my library work, but time off for myself…it had a nice ring to it.
I bit my lip and stood back on my heels, gripping my chair back behind the front desk. And then I went to Sally's door and knocked.
“Come in.”
I entered and shut the door behind me, staring at the floor, at the shelves...at the myriad of rare books that Sally surrounded herself with. Anything, but directly at Sally.
“How can I help you, Megan?”
The voice had softened, but the words were still a little tense.
“Can I talk to you, Sally?”
“What about?” No ‘be seated,’ no asking how I'd been. She had holed herself up in the office for the past few days, like she’d taken up residence on another planet. I walked up to the chair across from her desk and sat down anyway.
“I was wondering if I could take a few days off?” I blurted out, all in one go. “I got into the accident last week, and I've been a little stressed and tense, and I would consider it a very good thing if I could just take…a few mental health days.” I’d rehearsed the speech, and it sounded all right.
There was no thinking about it, no mulling over. Her expression and tone didn’t change in the slightest. One second I was blurting out my request, and the next, she said: “You can have the rest of this week and the next one.”
I looked up at her, then. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was typing on her laptop, her eyes never flicking from the screen in my direction.
“Wow…that’s really wonderful, Sally—thank you.” She waved her hand, apparently deeply engrossed by whatever she was looking at on her laptop. I got up from the chair, not questioning it, and then I’d shut the door behind me with a huge grin.
“What'd I tell you?” Rob winked at me as I walked past him toward the break room, my coat and bag in hand. “She gave it to you, didn't she?”
“Yeah, lots of time.” I was still grinning widely. “It was very nice of her.”
Rob waved me goodbye. “Have fun on your mini-vacation!”
I didn't really consider it a mini-vacation. To someone who hadn't gone anywhere and done anything in years, it was a real vacation. I went to the grocery store and helped myself to a few decadent things, and then ice cream, three different flavors, and then I found myself at the coffee shop, ordering the largest chai latte they had with whole milk, and most definitely yes to whipped cream. It was just one of those days.
“Hey, stranger.”
Kara was seated at a booth, leaning back, arms up and hands behind her head as if she owned the place. She had on a wolfish grin and a tight denim jacket. I had to swallow before I could speak and knew I was already blushing.
“Hi, Kara. What are you doing here?” I drifted over to her booth, chai clutched in both hands. The cup was too hot and I’d forgotten to take a paper sleeve to protect my fingers.
“I live here, practically,” she stretched, it was long, luxurious, lupine, and then she rose in one smooth motion, standing next to me. She wrapped an arm about my waist and drew me to her. She smelled of coffee, of cinnamon. Her soft, hot lips brushed against my cheek, and I licked my lips nervously and brought my own mouth against her cheek, too. She was grinning hugely.
“Sit awhile with me,” she murmured to me, then, indicating the opposite empty seat. I slid into the booth across from her with a cheesy little grin on my face.
Kara leaned forward and brushed warm fingers across the back of my hand. I shivered beneath her touch. “What are you up to?” she asked me, voice low, practically purring.
“Nothing much. I...I got off the rest of this week, and the next one.” The happiness bubbled up into my voice as I searched her face. “My boss gave me all those days. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yes. Very.” Her eyes were dark with hunger as they gazed into mine. She grinned a little. “How's your drink?”
“Good.”
She still hadn’t taken her fingers from the back of my hand, and now she was tracing a pattern over my wrist. I shivered again. “Hey, listen,” she murmured, her head to the side as her grin turned more…mischievous. “Can I come over tonight?” She was beautiful and smiling for me. Just for me. “I just wanted to come over, maybe make you dinner or something. Watch a movie? You're going to have all this extra time...”
I thought about all of my imaginings involving her, my bed…hell, even my bathtub. I was blushing fiercely, but I couldn’t get the single syllable out of my mouth fast enough:
“Yes,” I breathed, my heart beating much too quickly. “I’d like that very much.”
Chapter 4
“So how are things?” I asked, hearing my voice echo in the phone. It sounded tinny to me, a bad signal.
“Fine. Getting stuff done,” Gramma sounded tired, distant, like she wasn't paying attention to the conversation.
There was silence for a beat, and then: “Gramma, I have a really big date tonight.”
“Oh?” she gave me a bit more interest. I swallowed.
“Kara is coming over tonight, Gramma.”
Silence again, but it was for different reasons. I heard my grandmother grunt as she shifted. I could imagine her at the moment, in front of the kitchen table, standing next to the phone. The cord was too short to do much of anything, but she would be twisting it around her index finger. Around and around until it knotted, and she would patiently undo it, and then twist it again.
“Does that make you happy, Megan?”
“I mean—I’m super nervous, Gramma,” I said, then, voice sounding small even to myself. I didn't even know why I was talking to her about being nervous. Gramma was fearless, she couldn't possibly understand fears.
“It can be a scary thing. You've been alone for a very long time. But...Megan, I think this might be the one for you.”
Now it was my turn to be silent into the phone. I wished I had a cord to twirl around my fingers.
“I have a good feeling about this Kara,” said Gramma Molly with resolution. “I wouldn't worry too much. Just be yourself. I think she really likes you.”
I swallowed. “Gramma--”
“Gotta go, Megan...something's on the stove.” Her voice was tight now. “I love you. Good luck—you’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Goodbye.” There was a dull click in the phone, and she hung up.
I closed the cell phone and set it on my own kitchen table. The table was small, much smaller than my grandmother's, which was round and could seat about ten people. Mine could hardly do two, even if you squeezed. My table was in a tiny kitchen, in a tiny apartment in a tiny town, far removed from the gorgeous view and picturesque postcard cabin on the mountain. I spun the cell phone a few times on the table’s surface, nervously biting my lip.
What would I do? How would I look? What would happen?
I stood up and paced the kitchen. I took four steps, and then I turned around and took four more steps. And then four more. And four more. Back and forth and
back and forth I stepped across the kitchen, deep in thought. I didn't have anything to eat. Some microwave popcorn... I think I had a few cans of soup in the cupboard. I went to check. Just one. And it was expired. Canned foods could expire? I stared at it for a long moment, and realized that I’d taken this can from my grandmother's kitchen back when I’d moved from her cabin into town. I’d loaded up paper bags with canned goods and dry goods from her cupboards, because she said I needed a well-stocked “pantry” to start, and then everything else would come together if I had a well-stocked pantry. I remembered struggling to the car with the bags, weighed down by the cans and boxes of things I really had no desire to eat. But would, if I had to, which was the point. Gramma was like that: she bought what was most nutritious, the best for you, what would put hair on your chest, as she’d told me constantly, growing up.
So the can of soup was expired, and I had used the last bag of microwave popcorn last night. So…that probably wasn’t good, considering that this was supposed to be a super special evening.
And Kara had told me she wanted to cook for me.
I put on my coat, still wet from drifting flakes that had clung to me earlier when I’d walked to the post office, and the boots, still soaked through solidly because they were cheap and in the winter, they were never dry. And then I found myself trotting down my apartment steps and getting into my car. Soon the short drive was over, and I was pulling into the grocery store parking lot.
Because I needed to stock my cupboards.
And, according to my grandmother, everything good would happen to me if I had well-stocked cupboards.
I wandered the aisles aimlessly, pushing the stupid squeaky wheel cart again (I was beginning to suspect that every single one of Big Al’s shopping carts might have had a squeaky wheel) that was currently empty. I wasn’t certain exactly what I wanted to get yet. Pantry goods. But there were a lot of choices, and, this time around, I didn’t want to care about if what I was getting was the most nutritious thing on the face of the planet.
I wanted to buy food that made me happy.
And then, I picked up a box of cake mix. It was a triple chocolate mix with a picture of a drool-worthy slice of cake on the front, and when I set it into the bottom of the cart, I instantly felt better. I picked up a can of icing. It was pretty non-nutritious, considering that it consisted of mostly sugar and corn syrup, but that followed the box into my cart. Never mind that the recipes needed eggs or milk or whatever you put into a boxed cake mix (it’d really been awhile since I made one of those). I love chocolate cake. So I’d gotten myself the means to make one.
I picked up cans of soup, and boxes of rice and noodles, bottles of spaghetti sauce and boxes of frozen pizzas. When I was finally done, an hour later, my cart was almost overflowing with stuff that could fill my pantries, food that wasn’t necessarily nutritious (though there were definitely some things, like some organic soups and boxed rice meals that came pretty darn close). I topped off the contents with cans of iced coffee, and called it complete. I checked out, paid the boy my hundred something dollars and wheeled the cart through the slush to my car, triumphant.
If my grandmother’s superstitions were right, I now had well stocked cupboards, and now…anything was possible.
Fitting it all into said cupboards (in my tiny kitchen) was another story, but I got creative. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I’d spent most of my afternoon and early evening hours in the pursuit and housing of food. I barely had enough time to wash my face and drag a brush through my hair before I heard the front-door buzzer. There was someone at the door of the building, and they wanted to see me.
I'd never heard the buzzer before. During the day, I was at work, so if the post office lady had a delivery to make, she left a slip of paper. And during the nighttime hours? I guess it’s kind of pitiful to say, but no one had ever come to see me.
Joy making my breathing fast, making my blood rush, I practically danced over to the door and pressed the button. I could almost hear the below entrance click open. She was in the building. I heard boots on the stairwell, and then a rhythm of knocks came from the door, and--as if I wasn't certain--Kara said in a warm, low voice on the other side: “hey, it's me.”
I laughed, then, and opened the door, and the minute she was over the threshold, I was kissing her. If Kara was surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead, she went with it, kissing back sweetly, less passionate and needy than my own, but she wrapped her arms around my waist tightly and practically lifted me to her.
“I brought you cookies,” she said after a long moment, as my mouth moved to her neck. I could feel her smile as she wrapped her fingers in my hair. “Chocolate chip,” she whispered. “Do you like chocolate chip?”
“I mean, who doesn't like chocolate chip?” I asked, my mouth turning up at the corners as I pressed it to the warm skin of her neck. But I let her go, then, because one of her arms was carrying a plastic bag. I let her into my tiny kitchen by moving my body, waving her in. “Just set them on the counter.”
She'd bought two bags of cookies that looked ridiculously delicious on the package, sold by cartoon elves. She pressed her hips against the counter, her hands out behind her, and her shoulders curving toward me as she grinned brightly. “I was wondering if I could cook you dinner?” she asked, her voice a low growl that made me shiver with delight.
“You don’t have to,” I breathed, wanting to press myself against her, but taking a deep breath. I returned her smile. “We could order in pizza,” I added. “Do you like pizza?”
“I was kind of set,” she whispered, licking her lips as her eyes languidly trailed over my body, “on making something for you.”
“Sure,” I said a little too quickly, my blush deepening. But I wasn’t talking about the food.
I stepped forward, taking her hands in mine as I tugged her into my small living room and down onto the couch. It felt comfortable as she settled against me, breast against breast, her form long and lean against my soft curves. I pulled her down to me, her strong, warm hands at the small of my back, and I arched up to meet her as I reached up and kissed her.
There was such a fierceness to her kiss, to my kiss. We moved together in a rhythm as I opened the front of her shirt with my fingers, as I breathed out in a hiss as her mouth found the skin of my neck.
When I felt her hands beneath my shirt, against the bare skin of my back, I moved so that I was tight against her, my back curved like a question mark. Her palms were hot, hot against my cool skin and I shivered in delight as she spread her fingers and traced a line up beneath the fabric.
We kissed for a long moment, her fingers moving slowly until she was tugging at my shirt insistently. I pulled it up and over my head, and found my teeth chattering as the chilled air of the room made my skin bump. My bra was black, and it stood out nicely against my pale skin, I knew, which is why I’d chosen to wear this one back when I’d only been hoping that this is what this night might hold.
She didn’t look at me long, but her eyes were so dark with hunger when she bent down to kiss me again, trailing sweet, hot kisses down my jaw, my neck, down to the curve of my breasts, the tops of them still encased in the bra, as she delicately traced a finger under the fabric. I shivered so intensely that I thought I’d die if she didn’t move the material, if she didn’t kiss me there. I put my arms about her neck again as she kissed me, long, low and hard and I wondered if my lips would bruise, and I felt her hands behind my back, undoing the clasp of my bra, peeling the straps down my shoulders in such slow, tantalizing motions that I couldn’t take it.
I held the bra to myself, staring up at her, panting as I felt white hot need move through me.
“Please,” I whispered. “Can we go to my bed?”
We stumbled there, every last bit of us touching the other that we could as we moved through the darkened hallway. She kissed me as I stumbled backwards, and I bruised my ankle on the doorframe. I fell, not gracefully, onto the bed. But she was on
top of me, and I was helping her out of her shirt. She hadn't worn a bra--she didn't need to. Her breasts were flat and rounded, large nipples that stood out darkly on her pale chest. I bent my head up to taste them, and she pressed down against my lips and mouth.
I tasted sweat, and sweet, soft skin, and it was hard in my mouth, against my tongue. I licked it, and I pressed my hands to the small of her back. I wanted her closer to me, I wanted to taste more. I needed more.
“Here,” she said, voice dark. She was taking off my pants, her fingers at the waistband of my jeans, and then unzipping the zipper expertly, tugging the band down and around my hips, down to my thighs and down and off my legs. She was taking off her own, then, half standing, half crouching at the end of the bed as she shimmied out of her jeans and then she was tossing them to the floor, staring down at me with hungry, dark eyes. I lay on the bed beneath her, only in my underwear, breathing heavily, aware of the cold air on my skin, of the sound of our breaths, mingled in the dark room. The light from the kitchen gave me her outline over me: it was sharp and lean, and she was naked, and as I watched, her mouth descended against my own. Her wetness pressed against my thigh, and need moved through me fiercely. I pressed my thigh between her legs as she ground down on top of me, and suddenly her hands were twisting and pressing against my breasts, and one traveled down between my legs. I was so wet, and she said as much, licking her lips next to my ear, and tasting my neck again. “I want you,” she whispered.
“Please,” was all I could whimper. Her hands left my breasts, and she pressed my legs apart, dipping her handsome head down, the handsome head of tousled black, flecked with gray...flecked streaks of moonlight in darkness in this half-light of the dark bedroom. I pressed down with my fingers against her scalp as she moved down my body, and then she was licking me...licking me there. I cried out.
Big, Bad Wolf Page 6