Dirty Little Secrets

by Kierney Scott

  “Because you’re a man. But the journalist part means you can screw me over in a public way.”

  “Why would I screw you over?”

  Megan shook her head. Why did anyone do anything? It just was what it was: people used people. She didn’t question it any more than she would question why a predator stalked its prey.

  “So it’s not just journalists you hate? It’s anyone with a penis. Lucky both things apply to me,” James pressed when she did not respond.

  “I don’t hate men,”Megan said.

  “Really? Just me then?”

  “I don’t hate you. I wish I hated you. That would make things more straightforward. I like you. I think you are one of the few nice men I have met. It might all be an act, but…I don’t feel unsafe with you even though I should.” She closed her mouth before she could say any more. He was doing it again, getting her to talk about things she shouldn’t.

  “Oh Megan. You’re even more fucked up than me. I don’t want to screw you over. I want to screw you, hence my numerous phone calls, but I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not my style. What you see is what you get. I’m a simple man that way.”

  They continued walking as she let his words wash over her. There was something about his voice, a sincerity she rarely heard, that made her want to believe him. He was probably just better at bullshitting than most men, but for right now she was going to pretend because she needed to think there were kind men in the world.

  “Were you a cynic before you moved to New York?” James asked.

  His question caught her off guard. Her official bio had her birth place as Brooklyn. “I am a New Yorker born and bred.”

  “You’re not from New York. We both know that. You let it slip the first night before you called me a paedophile. You said something about your Southern manners. And then when you were drunk your accent slipped. I’m guessing Louisiana.”

  Megan stopped dead in her tracks. An icy cold descended on her. What else had she accidently told him? “Now I do kind of hate you. I can’t believe I told you I was from the South.”

  “So I am right? Louisiana?”

  “Close enough. Are we off the record? Just one fuck buddy to another?” Megan asked.

  James nodded.

  “I’m from Mississippi. Tell anyone and I will spray you again.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Megan drove James back to his house. She parked her car in the garage so it would not be spotted in his driveway. James had a shower and then took a sleeping pill and went to bed. She wanted to take him to the hospital but he insisted he just needed to shower and sleep.

  Megan should have gone to work at that point, but guilt and concern kept her put. She phoned her office and said she had a family emergency. She had never missed a day of work in her life. Once, she had managed to get through opening arguments with a migraine. And she had won the case.

  But this was different. There were few things she would tolerate missing work for, and dealing with the aftermath of inadvertently trying to blind someone, was one of those things she would give herself a pass for.

  Megan opened her laptop and got stuck into researching pepper spray, something she really should have done before she unleashed it on the unsuspecting public. Poor James. She shook her head at herself.

  It took her less than thirty seconds to figure out the wi-fi password. When James woke up she was going to inform him that 1234 was not a secure password. She typed in “pepper spray after care” into the search engine and cringed when the first item that popped up was an article about the fatalities associated with pepper spray. Her eyes widened as she read through the paper. Her muscles relaxed as she reached the end. Apparently pepper spray was only lethal for people with an allergy or asthma.

  As far as she knew James did not have either condition but she would feel much better if she checked on him. She slid off her running shoes and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. She waited at the door, not wanting to disturb him if he had not yet fallen asleep. She opened the door as quietly as she could. James was fast asleep, wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. The sheets and duvet were pushed to the bottom of the bed. She stood for a moment, transfixed by an emotion she could not understand, something deep inside propelling her to look after him. She had not felt the need in a long time. There was Ben, she took care of him, but this felt different and new but familiar. Carefully she pulled the sheet up until it came to just below his broad shoulders.

  She returned downstairs and continued reading every article the search engine proffered up until she reached a forum devoted to survivalists ranting about how the government wanted to rape them of their liberties and how automatic weapons were their only defence, by which point she could safely call herself a pepper spray expert. Hell, she might even call herself as an expert witness at some point. Megan continued reading the forum as she waited for the printer to finish printing out the list of herbs she needed to buy. She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the posts. She was all for defending the Constitution, but not with outrageous arguments. “The government has aircraft carriers and nuclear bombs. You are going to need more than an automatic weapon to take down Uncle Sam, boy,” she said to an empty room.

  She gathered up her impromptu research and headed for the health food store to stock James up with every herb and tincture recommended for minimising the effects of pepper spray exposure. An hour later she returned with two overflowing bags. She had made the mistake of asking the sales assistant his opinion on nettle versus milk thistle. After an explanation that would be suitable for any dissertation, she decided to buy one of everything they sold in the nettle and thistle family and let James decide which he preferred.

  Megan’s stomach growled to alert her that she had forgotten to eat lunch. She glanced down at her watch; it was nearly time for dinner. Apparently time flies when you are researching the potentially lethal effects of pepper spray. She went to James’ kitchen, set down the bags and searched through his refrigerator before she remembered she couldn’t cook. She should have picked up something at the health food store. On second thought, James had already had a hard day, he deserved something more than kale and alfalfa sprouts for his dinner.

  She ordered a pizza and salad. She would leave it for James to find when he woke up. It was the least she could do. According to the internet James should avoid alcohol and fatty foods for the time being to give his liver time to heal, but she knew that she personally could not endure a faceful of pepper spray without at least a little comfort food to get her through.

  She thought about staying until he woke up to make sure he was OK but she realised waiting would mean actually having to speak to him and she didn’t know what to say. He would do his whole nice-guy thing and she would open up to him without meaning to and then overcorrect by being horrible. And he didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve to be subjected to her.

  Things would be easier if he had turned out to be the asshole she thought he was. She had had sex with lots of assholes. They were sort of her type. She liked knowing from the get go that a guy was a jerk so she was never stupid enough to expect anything different.

  James was right; she really was a mess when it came to interpersonal relationships. On the surface, she had lots of relationships that could pass as friendships, but they were all superficial. No one really knew her. And she liked it that way. That was the way she intended to keep it.

  Megan had the cash ready when the doorbell rang.

  “Keep the change,” she said as she handed the delivery driver two bills.

  “Thanks.” The kid nodded and handed her her order.

  Megan sat the food on the kitchen counter before she shut down her computer and packed up her stuff. She left the research she had done along with the food and groceries in the kitchen. She would text James later to make sure he knew how to use the arsenal of products she had purchased.

  “Something smells good.” James’ deep voice called from the stairs. “Wh
at did you make?”

  Megan’s head shot up. “Nothing. I don’t cook; I order. There’s pizza and a salad in the kitchen.” She finished putting her last file in her bag before she stood up.

  “You don’t cook. You insult people at every opportunity and you have the temperament of a rabid dog. Remind me again why no straight man has snapped you up.” A smile tugged at his lips. He looked like he had been through the wars. His eyes were bloodshot and the short hair at the back of his head was standing on end but he was till the sexiest thing on two legs. He was well within his rights to scream at her, really let her have it, but he was teasing her like there was nothing wrong.

  She shook her head. She would never understand him but she had to ask. “Why are you so nice?”

  He ran a hand over the dark stubble that was beginning to appear along his jaw. “Trust me, I’m not.”

  “You are. I don’t get it. Even after I insulted you repeatedly and unabashedly, and then tried to blind you, you never lashed out. Not once. It’s not normal.” She had never met anyone like him. He belonged in a museum, so women could come and ogle the mythological “nice guy”.

  “Woman, how is it that you can make even a compliment sound like an insult? I’m not as nice as you seem to think, but I will never lash out at you, or any woman for that matter. You have set the bar pretty fucking low if all it takes to be considered a nice guy is not hitting you. What kind of dicks did you hang out with before you met me? Who hurt you, Megan?” James stood on the bottom stair which made his considerable height even more apparent; she barely reached his waist.

  He was so large and powerful but she knew that he would never pose a physical threat to her. The sensation of feeling secure was foreign to her, somewhat unsettling. She shrugged off his question; his observations were too close to the mark. She needed to end this. She couldn’t handle him getting any closer, learning any more. “It’s just my job, too much time with bottom feeders. I’ve left you some herbs in the kitchen with instructions on how to use them to help your liver process the pepper spray. You need to drink at least two litres of water a day and avoid alcohol. I also bought some liquid antacids. Apparently if you mix it with water it makes a decent antidote. You know, in case another crazy bitch sprays you. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

  James smiled. “You’re not a crazy bitch.” His voice was soft and warm, comforting after everything she had put him through.

  Megan dusted a piece of imaginary lint from her running pants. Suddenly she felt awkward and out of place. She didn’t know what to say to him. She extended her hand to shake his. “I stayed to tell you I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m really busy. But you really are a nice guy,” she added lamely.

  James stared down dubiously at her extended hand. “Is this where I get my marching orders? You think I’m nice so you can’t see me any more? Every time I think we’ve arrived at the bottom of your shit, there is another layer.” James ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it down. “Christ you are one fucked-up woman.” His words were harsh but his tone lacked any malice, instead it was laced with sympathy.

  Megan’s back straightened. She knew she was messed up but she didn’t want him to know. She managed to keep up the persona of the ice queen with everyone else but James was constantly chipping away at it. Everyone else thought she had it together. Her facade was poised and polished and no one questioned it except James, not even Ben. She had hidden herself away for so long, she wasn’t even sure what was beneath the mask she had created. She knew the victim she had left behind in Mississippi and she knew the wild child who had arrived in New York, but she had no idea about the woman she was other than the roles she played. “Wow, your ego is even bigger than your dick. Ever consider that I am going home because I don’t want to be with you?” She winced inwardly at her words. She was doing it again, lashing out. She hated that she couldn’t stop. Her go-to mode was attack. She wasn’t a victim when she was on the offensive. How did James manage to be kind and still not let people take advantage or hurt him? She wished she could do that.

  James shook his head. “Don’t forget I can see now. Hurts like hell but I can see. I can tell you’re lying. You’re pulling back because whatever this is between us has got you shit scared. If you want to end it, do it, but just be honest.”

  Megan pulled back her hand. “You don’t need to analyse it. Maybe I’m just not into you. Or maybe I really am as big abitch as people think I am.”

  James smiled again. “Sweetheart, we both know you want this. I have never met a woman as sexually driven as me. We’re well matched that way. Give me five minutes and you would be coming so hard and fast you would forget your name. Let’s not pretend this is about lack of desire. And stop pretending that you’re a bitch. You’re not. You’re uptight and shit scared but you’re not a bitch. A bitch wouldn’t have driven me home the first night, and a bitch wouldn’t have stayed today to make sure I was OK. Stop pretending with me. Be honest, you owe it to yourself.”

  Megan froze. She felt trapped and exposed and vulnerable. With a few words he had stripped her bare. “You don’t even know me.”

  “True. If you have your way, I never will. No one ever will. That’s what you want isn’t it? Is that the real reason you married Ben? He is so fucking self-absorbed that he does not know the incredible woman he’s married to. It is the Ben McCoy show. But that is exactly how you want it.”

  “Don’t talk to me about Ben. And don’t compliment me. I don’t want it. You know bugger all about my relationship with him. I am not pretending to be anyone other than I am.”

  James stepped down from the last stair and pulled her in against him, close enough that she could smell the subtle scent of cologne that clung to him.

  “You want to run. I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared. I scare you.”

  Her back straightened. “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Prove it. Spend the night with me.”

  “Ha,” she scoffed. “I have slept with you before. That won’t prove anything.” She turned away from him and reached for the door.

  “I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about you in my bed until the alarm goes off and we both need to go to work. I’m talking about reading the paper together over cereal and coffee. I’m talking about what normal human beings do alongside their sex. But if you can’t do it, just keep running, sweetheart.”

  She turned slowly to face him. She wanted to run but she would not give him that satisfaction. He thought she couldn’t manage a whole night with him. “Why? What are you trying to prove? You’ve said yourself that you don’t like having someone stick around after sex. But you’re willing to keep me around to prove a point?”

  “Since I met you I have realised, I simply don’t want someone around after sex. You can’t handle it.”

  She did not bother denying it. She had never managed a proper functional relationship with anyone other than Ben. “So what if I do? What will spending the night prove?”

  “It will prove to yourself that you can do it. It will get you over the hump so to speak. Because, Megan, you’re not a bitch and you’re not incapable of intimacy. You need to know that. Someday, after me, after Ben, you may want to have a real relationship. And no man worth his salt is going to put up with your shit for very long.”

  Megan took a deep breath. Her instinct was to say something caustic and then run before he had the chance to think of a comeback but she stopped herself. She ignored her reflex. He didn’t deserve it. And deep down she wanted to believe him, she wanted to be the person he thought she was. He saw something in her that wasn’t there, but she wanted it to be. She wanted to be the decent person he saw. She had been nice once, before she realised nice girls just made more compliant victims. And she was nobody’s victim. “What if I really am just a bitch?” she had to ask. What if he was only seeing shadows of kindness in her, a glimpse of who she was a lifetime ago?

  James shrugged his shoulders. “Th
en I would be wrong. There’s a first time for everything.” A slight smile tugged at his lips. “Before I met you the first time, I did some research. I spoke to your boss. And do you know what he said? He has never met a DA with more compassion. He said that you don’t see your victims as cases you see them as people who need your help. He said you fight tooth and nail for them because no one else will. He told me about the scholarship fund you set up to pay for private schools for inner city kids. You’re not a bitch. Sometimes you do a fabulous impersonation of one, but you’re not fooling me.”

  Megan shook her head. She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat. A strange pressure built behind her eyes. “Please don’t put any expectations on me. I will only disappoint you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. This heart is unbreakable.” His smile broadened as he tapped his chest with his casted hand. “Look at the pain you’ve inflicted on me thus far, woman, and I’m still standing.” With his cast he indicated his blood-red eyes and jagged stitches.

  Megan smiled despite herself at the levity that only James could provide. As much as she wanted to run, something deep inside her was drawn to him. Something in her wanted to stay put and learn from him, discover how to find joy. She wanted to learn how to be kind again and still be strong. But she couldn’t say that so instead she said, “Ben has his election committee over anyway. I suppose I have less chance of being seen here than a hotel.”

  “Good. I’m starving. Let’s put those ordering skills to the test. What kind of pizza did you get?”

  “Pepperoni. Is there any other kind?” She smiled again. She was making a habit of it.

  “It’s like we share the same mind.” James put his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. His head lowered as he captured her mouth with a deep greedy kiss. She relaxed into him. She felt safe in his arms, happy even, and it scared her. But her body didn’t seem to care. His lips teased hers open. With each skilled caress of his tongue she thawed and opened to him.