Cutting In
v. The process of quickly combining flour and dry ingredients with fat, usually butter.
Annette
* * *
"Wait a second," Brooke cried, tearing her sunglasses from her face. "You left? You had a cock in your hand and you left?"
"Yes?" I answered, shrinking behind my glass of sangria. I didn't have much else by way of cover out here on the day-drinking deck at Arundel Wharf in Kennebunkport. It was another warm July day, the sun high overhead and a cloudless sky stretching on for miles. That meant this harborside restaurant was packed and everyone was hearing about my questionable dick-juggling skills.
"I can't fucking believe you. When there's a hot cock in your hand, you fuck it. It's the law," she yelled. People around us turned to stare but Brooke waved them off. "Oh, please. You're fine," she called over her shoulder. "Learn to eavesdrop less obviously."
I folded my arms on the table and gestured her closer. "If you keep screaming about cock, we're not going to be allowed to come back here," I whispered. "Turn down the volume a touch, okay?"
Rolling her eyes, Brooke sat back in her seat. "I just can't believe you left him there in that," she started, motioning toward her crotch, "condition."
"Would you listen to yourself?" I demanded. "I leave one guy with blue balls and it's a crime against humanity. You leave half the men in New York City in the same condition and it's a point of pride. Please, explain to me how the situations are different."
Brooke tipped her sangria back and drank deeply. "First things first, I'm the baddest, beastiest bitch New York's ever known. I can't help it when men find that arousing and run after me with their sad little dicks hanging out. But most importantly, I didn't care about any of those guys. Hell, I couldn't even keep track of their names when I was with them."
I stared out at the water and the boats moving through the harbor. It really was the perfect summer day, the kind of day I stored up in my memories to save me in the winter. "I don't care about Jackson," I said.
"You know what's awesome?" she murmured. "How you're so bad at lying. Say that again—about how you don't care for him. Maybe this time you'll be able to look at me while you do it. Oh, and also? Try to say it as if you believe it, too, and you're not asking me a damn question."
I shot a sharp glance across the table. "Okay, fine," I said. "I care about Jackson. He's my neighbor and I see him around town but—"
"Oh my fucking god," Brooke said, groaning. She pushed her sunnies to the top of her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I love you but I also want to slap you. Really hard. Not some quick tap but a full slap, the kind that leaves a handprint on your face and knocks this bullshit out of your head."
"I'd slap you back," I muttered.
"I'd fucking hope so," she replied, tugging up the top on her strapless sundress. "Girl, what is your malfunction? Why are you avoiding that fabulous slab of man?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said, lifting the pitcher of sangria to top off our glasses. "Perhaps it's because I barely know him and I can't hook up with him and then avoid him for the rest of my life."
Brooke shook her head, sending strands of pale blonde hair over her shoulders. "You'd only have to avoid him if you do something unforgiveable. You know, like calling out the wrong name or kneeing him in the balls or passing gas while he goes down on you. You get that, right?" Not waiting for a response, she barreled on. "And don't quote me on this but I'm mostly certain you won't have to announce your sexytimes at the monthly town council meeting. I know Talbott's Cove is behind the times but I don't think it's necessary to present courtship plans to the community anymore. So, to recap, call him now and tell him you're ready to come to your senses."
"Great info. Thanks bunches."
I guzzled my drink. It was all I could do. I was out of explanations for Jackson, for Brooke, for myself. All I knew was that my head had told me to leave, my heart had been on the fence, and my vagina had screeched at me to stay. And that was the crux of it for me, this internal war of wills.
It was go-for-flight with my lady bits, of course. They hadn't been the center of someone else's attention in ages. My heart was still bruised from Owen and my poor judgment, but it also beat a little harder, a little faster when Jackson was near. But with every one of those hard, fast beats, the ache of my semi-imaginary breakup shot through my chest. My brain was taking neither shit nor prisoners. It didn't like the idea of me jumping into it with Jackson and was lobbying hard for me to take it slow, get to know him, keep my panties on.
My major organs were locked in a staring contest.
"Please, just explain to me why you dropped the cock," Brooke said. "I'm actually very curious about this and if you don't tell me now, I will probably hound you for the rest of your natural life. Maybe longer. I've heard there's a witch in Salem, Massachusetts who communicates with the dead. She might be able to tell me, once and for all, why you rejected Jackson Lau after you got your hands on his jewels. So, it's fine if you don't explain this shitshow to me now. The witch will get it out of you after you're gone. And that might be very soon because I'm going to strangle you if you keep pussyfooting over a man who is clearly obsessed with you."
I glanced at her, the afternoon sunlight bouncing off her hair. Her sunglasses were enormous, straight out of Jackie O's accessory drawer, and her dress's deep blue and lime green print made her skin look like buttercream. It was amazing how someone so beautiful could also be so relentless.
"He's not obsessed with me," I argued.
"Uh huh, sure, okay," Brooke replied, bobbing her head.
"He's not," I insisted. "He's a really nice guy. He's just being nice."
"Did you realize the juice wasn't worth the squeeze?" Brooke asked. "He's got the meat but not the motion?"
"I can't believe you just said that out loud," I muttered. "It's one thing to think it but entirely another to say those words in the middle of a busy restaurant. I don't understand your brain."
"Few do," she replied. "But can you blame me for asking? You're not giving me anything. You tell me you went to his office with pie—which is the pastry equivalent of come-fuck-me heels—and things quickly heated up. Then you dropped his dick like a hot potato? I can't square that circle, sister. I can't do it. Set me straight or plead insanity."
I tugged my lower lip between my teeth as I considered this. The answers, they weren't the kind of truths I could get my arms around on the first try. I wanted Jackson, there was no mystery there, but it wasn't that simple. I didn't know how to want him while guarding my emotions and I didn't trust myself with those emotions right now.
"He said he wanted to take me back to his place," I started, plucking each word with care, "and he wanted to do things the right way."
Brooke blinked at me for a solid minute. "You're not helping your case here, hun," she said. "Look, I'm all for the quick-and-dirty-on-the-desk routine. I love the Q-and-D. But him saying he wants to take you home, do it right…that's a big neon sign informing you that he wants to go downtown and spend a little while visiting each neighborhood."
"What—what are you talking about right now?" I asked. "Honestly, I'm confused. I thought I knew where this was going but—"
"Vagina licking," she roared.
That drew several surly glances from the people around us.
"I'm sorry," I called to the table beside us, motioning toward Brooke. "She's not…she's not well. It's a condition."
Ignoring me, she continued, "If he only wanted to get his dick wet, he would've fucked you on the desk. I continue to be baffled by your rejection of this guy."
"To be fair," I replied, "he said no before I said no."
"He didn't say no," Brooke argued. "He said, 'Let's go back to my house so we can play Jane and Tarzan.' The difference is remarkable." She signaled to the waiter for another pitcher of sangria. "It's worth noting that we have sufficient amounts of time and liquor to continue playing logical fallacy games but I'd love to hear t
he real story. The one you're hiding under a mountain of horseshit."
"I'm scared," I confessed. "I'm scared that I'm going to start things with Jackson and—"
"Hate to break it to you, honey," Brooke interrupted, "but you've already started."
"Brooke," I warned.
"Annette," she replied, matching my tone. "I'm just calling you on your shit. It's all I'm really good for."
That wasn't true but I'd deal with her comment later. "I'm scared that things are going to progress with Jackson," I started, shooting her a pointed look, "and I don't know if I'm ready for that. I don't know what I want. I don't even know him. I just don't trust myself to make the right decisions."
Brooke stared at me for a long beat and then said, "You're overthinking this. Forget about Owen Bartlett and the beautiful, fictitious babies you were going to have with him. The best remedy for that nonsense is getting laid. You're taking a simple situation and making it all kinds of extra. Stop worrying about everything. If you don't climb him like a jungle gym in the next few days, I'm going to do it."
I slammed my drink on the table as white-hot possessiveness zipped through me faster than I could comprehend. "You wouldn't."
Shrugging, Brooke continued, "I'll dig the Louboutins out, put on one of the two dresses that make me look like I have tits and an ass, and bring him some of my pie."
I could see it now. Her tiny waist wrapped in a mere scrap of fabric and her long legs made even longer by the most treacherous heels in her closet. She'd go for the full red lip, too. She always knew how to pull that off whereas I looked like a kid playing with Mom's makeup.
But I couldn't see Jackson's hands on her. As much as I attempted to torment myself with the sight of Brooke in Jackson's arms, I couldn't get there. In trying to mentally pair my best friend with the guy I couldn't get out of my head, I found myself toggling through the memories of his hands on me. The way he squeezed my waist when he picked me up and set me on his desk. The way he'd gripped my thighs when he'd tossed me over his shoulder. How he was rough but tender.
Despite the day's heat, a patch of goose bumps broke out on my skin. I refused to acknowledge the tightening of my nipples. They were on their own.
"Listen, girl. If you don't want to take what he's offering, someone else will," Brooke continued. "And that someone else will be me." She smiled at me, shrugging. "What? Is that a problem for you?"
I still couldn't see them together but even the thought of Brooke's hands on Jackson turned me inside out. Working hard to keep the cavelady screech out of my voice, I said, "Uh, yeah, it is." I shifted to face her. "Keep the Louboutins on the shelf and stay away from the cherry red lipstick."
"Really? Because I thought you weren't interested," she said, waving her I had no idea hands at me. "You've spent the entire afternoon telling me how it wouldn't work out and you didn't have feelings for him. Since you walked away and refuse to consider going back, I am left to infer that he's free for the taking."
Most people underestimated Brooke. They saw the hair, the face, the body first, and they assumed she was nothing more than a real-life Barbie doll. Head full of plastic, right? Wrong. She was whiz-bang smart and worked harder than anyone I knew. And she had the biggest heart. It was wrapped in barbed wire and kept on ice but huge nonetheless.
I tapped her elbow to grab her attention from the men a few tables away. "I'm going to say something and I need you to know it comes from a place of love."
Brooke rolled her hand, urging me to proceed. "Quickly, sweet pea. I need to get back to eye-fucking those guys."
"Sometimes you're a manipulative bitch."
She threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh. "Sometimes? That is literally on my business cards. 'Brooke Markham, Manipulative Bitch and Hedge Fund Manager.'"
"Is that what you do?" I asked.
"For fuck's sake, Annette," she muttered. "First you tell me I can't sink my hooks into your man meat and now you're saying you don't know the basic details of my professional life? I'm beginning to think we're not friends but acquaintances who drink and complain together."
"There's nothing wrong with being acquaintances who drink and complain," I said, raising my glass to meet hers with a clink. "Acquaintances who say things to each other that no one else will say, and not hate each other too much because of those things."
That was the straightforward but also convoluted truth. Adult friendships were complex. Ours certainly was.
"Stop it. I don't do sentimental," she whined. "And don't forget—we're basically the only thirtysomething single ladies in town. This is friendship born from scarcity."
"Of course," I replied, nodding along with her snarked-up version of reality. "Okay, this calls for a new law. If I've had his penis in my hand, you're not allowed to go after him. Bare, not over the clothes."
"Does that allow for dry humping?" When I leveled her with a scowl, she asked, "What? It's an important clarification."
"We're too old for dry humping," I said. "We're not seventeen anymore and we don't hookup with men in the back of someone's mom's minivan."
"Fine," she replied with a dramatic eyeroll. "Care to legislate anything else?"
I shook my head, laughing. "That's all for today. I can't handle much more than Jackson."
Brooke edged her sunglasses down and peered at me over the frames. "But you'll handle him?" she asked, the suggestion weaving through her words.
I held up both hands in surrender. "I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen. He might not want me handling him anymore." As I said it, I remembered Jackson telling me the next time wouldn't be on a desk. I had to fold my lips together to keep from bursting into a silly grin. "You'll stay away from him and I'll take it as it comes."
"Excellent," she said. "Taking, coming. All good things. You need more of both in your life."
"Only me?"
Brooke shot me a wide-eyed scowl. "Uh, no. We both need it. The world would be a happier place if we were getting it on the regular. That's why I need to return my attention to those snacks on the other side of the deck. Let's see if we can get them to buy us some more drinks."
I glanced at the group of guys, each in a different colored pastel polo shirt. They were young, probably early twenties. Cute but far too fresh-faced for me. I needed a bit of age on a man. Some experience, some wisdom. "Starting a harem?"
"Don't you know that term is outdated and pejorative?" she snapped. "It's polyamorous love puddle now."
"Oh, right," I murmured. "Yeah, you should have one of those. Definitely. But I'm going to stick with the one dick if you don't mind."
"That's what I'm screaming about," she shouted, drawing the attention of the surrounding patrons again. She looked around, grinning. "What? I didn't even say cock this time."
9
Macerate
v. To soften or become softened by soaking in liquid.
Jackson
* * *
Three days went by without a word—or a crumb—from Annette.
It was strange, really, having a relationship with a woman that started with her getting naked, peaked with me refusing to fuck her, and then declined to wondering whether we'd see each other again. Was it even a relationship at this point? It had to be. I wasn't entertaining any alternative designation.
I'd thought about going after her when she left my office. Who wouldn't? But there was the slight issue of my dick being harder than an iron spike and her arousal all over my fingers. I wasn't fit for public appearances. It was bad enough my station manager, Cindy, was already starting a wedding registry and drafting a list of baby names. I couldn't make matters worse by chasing Annette through the village while everyone watched from their decks and screened-in porches.
Instead of going after her, I waited…and waited. I'd held out hope that she'd drop by with some baked goods just to keep the pattern going. No such luck. Over the past few days, I'd managed to work hourly loops down Main Street into my routine.
Y
eah, I was checking up on her. Part of me was hoping she'd notice me driving by her shop a time or fifty and come outside to holler at me.
Thankfully, I didn't have to wait much longer. I caught sight of her pawing through a display of fresh peaches at the local market and I wasn't too proud to admit I stared at her for a full minute or two from the far end of the produce section.
I hadn't planned on grocery shopping tonight but now I was thrilled about running out of eggs. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder, curtaining her face while she studied the peaches. Sniff, squeeze, inspect.
I envied the shit out of that fruit.
After drinking in a good, long look at her, I was able to move again. Quick strides had me out of the leafy greens section and closing in on the seasonal fruits. I sidled up next to her, my elbow bumping hers as I reached for a peach. She glanced up at me, her automatic smile shifting into an eyebrow-arching smirk.
"Sheriff," she said, giving me a quick once-over. Her gaze swept across my shoulders, seeming to pause at the sheriff's office emblem on my sleeve. "Funny seeing you here."
"Is it? Funny?" I asked, my words innocent. "Should I take that to mean you believe I subside on your baked goods alone? Or that I haze my rookies, making them shop for me?"
"Of course not," she murmured. "It's just that I've never seen you here. I figured you used one of those delivery services as you have your hands full."
"My hands haven't been full for three days," I replied under my breath. "Know anything about that?"
"Sure don't," she replied, reaching for another peach. Sniff, squeeze, inspect.
"Well then," I said with a shake of my head. "I do my own shopping. I'm not sure any of the local markets offer delivery, and none of the big chains come out this far."
I held out a peach for her and damn near burst into flames when she leaned down to inhale its fragrance, her breasts grazing my forearm in the process.
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