Loving Me, Trusting You

by C. M. Stunich

  And then before anybody can say a thing, before they can see the bit of wetness that's streaming down my face, I turn around and walk away, hips swaying, hair flowing behind me. I feel powerful and weak at the same time, like I'm a perfect conundrum, something to be feared and worshipped both.

  I hit the glass doors of the lobby with both hands and emerge into liquid heat that washes over me like a wave, drenching my body in sweat, plastering my hair to my forehead.

  “Fucking Southern summer shit,” I murmur. I hate the heat. I'll be honest. Growing up in Seville, in Spain, the weather was one of the things that I hated the most. Three hundred days a year it was sunny, bright and hot. At least fifty of those days were akin to living on the sun with soaring temperatures that made the city look like a ghost town. I don't miss it there, and I hate this. I like places that have a definition between the seasons, where you can see fall change to winter, winter to spring, spring to summer. There's a magic to that. Not like this long, oppressive blanket of stifling heat.

  I growl under my breath and dig around in the pockets of my jacket for a smoke, pulling one out and placing it between my lips with trembling hands. The leather comes off next, peeled away from sticky skin and slung over my shoulder as I cross the street without checking either way. This is a one horse town, so to speak, one of those places where everything closes down after five o'clock.

  “Sawyer, wait up.”

  I don't wait. I keep going, ignoring Gaine's voice as I step up on the sidewalk and under the pale blue-white glow of the bar's single sign.

  “Back off, Gaine. I used to think your obsession with me was cute. Now, it's just plain fucking creepy.” I kick open the heavy wooden door with my foot. Probably a little overdramatic, but it feels damn good. Inside, a couple of lazy drunks and a group of young kids stare at me with interest. This place must just worship the antique bike show every year because instead of the hopping joint it was a few weeks back, now it looks like a dive.

  I move over to the bar with Gaine on my heels and toss my coat over a stool before sitting down and ordering yet another beer. I could get to my drunk with something else, but it wouldn't feel right. A good beer buzz is the only thing that sounds good to me right about now.

  I run my fingers over the mangled top of the bar, tracing scratches with my nails and pretending that Gaine didn't slide onto the stool next to mine.

  “You feel any better after that outburst?” he asks, and I glance up at him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Here's the thing about Gaine Kelley: no matter how hard I try, how loud I yell, how fierce I get, he never goes away. For years, I've been trying to swat the asshole off like a fly in the hot summer sun and still, he persists. To tell you the truth, I can better understand why Austin doesn't want me than I can understand why Gaine does. I don't know what man would want to take on a woman with the emotional scars I have, to deal with someone who has a temper even she doesn't fully understand. Something is seriously wrong with me, and yet, Gaine acts like I'm a fucking goddess. At first, I thought it was youth and inexperience. Now, I just think he's nuts. Loco hijo de puta.

  “Sure, Gaine. I've had a revelation and am going to become a saint!” I hold my hands in the air and shake them around. “Praise the Blessed Virgin. Gloria a Dios!” I drop my fists back to the bar and wrap my fingers around the pale yellow label. When I glance at it, I don't recognize the brand. Probably something local, homegrown, and tasteless. The night I danced on this bar, that I filmed Austin and Amy together, I had no idea how much my life was going to change in such a short time. I'd gotten used to the way things were. I liked them that way, and now? I feel more alone than ever.

  Kelley drums his fingers on the counter and watches me with eyes that glitter like the night sky. They're so dark that in the right light, his pupils melt into his irises and make him look otherworldly. I won't deny that it's sexy. Gaine is as attractive as they come, but I'm not in the mood to be swept off my feet by a man, especially not one that's five years my junior.

  “Are you done yet?” he asks me and his voice slips out of that Southern sultry drawl and into a bit of New York. Oh yeah. He thinks I don't know where he comes from, but I do. We can hide from our pasts, but eventually, they'll catch up with us. It's best to keep a net waiting just in case. “Because I'd like to have an actual conversation with you.”

  “This is the mood I'm in tonight, Gaine. If you don't like it, leave. You don't owe me anything.” I finish my drink and start in on the next. The bartender here is good. I don't like having to ask.

  I stare at the dirty mirror above the rows of bottles and try to imagine that there's another world in there, one that doesn't fuck you at every turn, where people care and shit smells like roses. Hah. Fat chance.

  “No, but I owe you everything, Mireya,” Gaine whispers, bending close. The bartender sets a beer down next to his wrist, the one with the koi fish tattoos. I hate the damn things, but I guess I can't complain. I've got a tramp stamp on my back, right above my ass crack. It's a winged pig. You know that phrase, when pigs fly? Sounded like a good idea after a night of tequila shots. I do my best to keep it hidden at all times.

  “How's that, Gaine?” I ask, turning my head slightly as the doors to the bar swing open and in walk Beck and Melissa. God. What a train wreck that girl is. If I thought I was messed up, Mel has completely lost it. She doesn't even look like the same woman. She's not wearing any makeup and her clothes are as plain as can be, just a white tee and a pair of dirty jeans. Her hair is loose and stringy and her lips are stuck in a permanent frown. I mean, I never thought she actually liked Kent, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe she did love the asshole?

  Beck waves at us and grins, but I turn away without acknowledging him. Gaine gives him a nod of his chin and spins back to face me.

  “Because I like you, Sawyer.” He tries to smile, but I don't return the favor. Instead, I focus on his pinched nose, his rough lips, the speckle of stubble across his jaw and throat. Usually, Gaine keeps himself nice and clean and smooth. It's one of the things I like about him. I wish I could tell him, ask him to shave it all off, so I can run my fingers down his throat, but we don't have that kind of relationship, he and I. He'd like that, sure he would, and that's what this is all about. I don't know why he's chosen now to pursue me at full speed, but he has and it's already getting old.

  “And I like you, too, Gaine. As a friend. Don't be as clueless about me as I was about Austin. We're friends, and we have fun together. That's that.” I notice I've knocked out another beer. When did that happen? The soft, yellow lighting in the room is starting to blur at the edges and the dirty wood floors don't seem so trashed. I smile and push aside my empty bottle to make room for another.

  “Then as a friend, I'm worried about you.” Gaine pauses and licks his lips, looking around the room like he's trying to sort out rival spies from the local clientele. “How did you … take care of Walker?” I laugh and the sound isn't pretty. I wish I could laugh like my mamá, toss my head back and not care that I'm broke and single and alone, just let my hair hang and smile while the sound of bells peals from my throat.

  “I'm not talking about that with you or anybody else. Now leave me the fuck alone.” I close my eyes and let my lashes rest on my cheek, sipping my drink and swirling the liquid around on my tongue. I swallow it quick and try not to choke as my mind conjures up images of Walker lying unconscious in a pool of red. I can't decide if it's a dream or a nightmare.

  “You sure you don't want to party it up with us?” Beck asks, appearing out of nowhere behind my left shoulder. I ignore him completely, but the man can't take a hint worth crap. “Couple of the college kids are home for the summer and want to live it up with some real, live bikers.” He winks at us and flicks his tongue over his lower lip. “Couple of good lookin' fellas over there and a few girls that'd make their mamas cry if they saw the skirts they were wearin'.” I turn to glare at him and spot the group surrounding the table next to Mel. She's flipped a nice, little 18
0, grinning and pulling at the silver hoop earrings she's been wearing for days. The bitch is as shallow as a puddle and half as deep. Figures. If anybody could get over the death of their husband and the surprise of his betrayal in less than a week, it'd be her. Not that I think Mel is over hurting. Pain doesn't disappear that fast, no matter how far you go or how fast you run. I should know better. I'm the one that got raped by my own husband.

  My hand clamps around my beer and I spin away from Gaine, snatching my coat and sashaying over to the group. There are a couple guys with big shoulders and easy grins, a girl in a trench coat that hits her mid-thigh and does little to hide the tattoo on her left leg, and a set of skinny bitches in slinky red and black dresses that don't exactly look like they belong here in Wilkes, Small Town, USA.

  “You guys looking to have some fun?” I ask them, liking the way their gazes turn towards me and sweep me up and down and back again, absorbing, glorifying what and who I am with a single glance. I smile.

  “We want to take a ride on your bike,” one of the guys says unashamedly. He has nice eyes and bright blonde hair, but he's stupid as shit. I can already tell. I nurse my drink and bite my lip, noticing the way his gaze holds on the line of cleavage peeking up above the neckline of my gray wife beater. I like this old thing, even if it's riddled with holes and twice as old as I am.

  “I don't do joyrides, kid,” I tell him, pushing Melissa over with my hip. She gives me a strange look but moves anyway, propping her hand on her chin. Gaine and Beck follow us over and only one of them is smiling. I'll give you a single guess.

  “Mireya, I ain't done talking to you yet,” Gaine says, not caring that he's being eye fucked by all six of the college girls. I keep drinking my beer and ignore him.

  “You have such a sexy voice,” says the chick in the trench coat, touching his arm with her fingers. Gaine ignores her, keeping his eyes on me. “You're not from around here, are you?”

  “This stupid fucker is from New York City,” Beck shouts with an ugly belly laugh. “Thinks if he pitches his voice to match mine, he'll be hotter than two rabbits screwin' in a wool sack.” The girls start tittering and reaching out to poke at Beck's massive biceps. He, of course, laps up the attention like a dog in heat.

  “You going to give us a ride or what?” says Trench Coat Girl. I rest my chin on my folded fingers and examine the rose tattoo she's got climbing up her leg like a trellis.

  “We'll give you a ride, sweetheart, but it's not going to be on a bike.” The boys whistle and a couple of the girls snort with laughter, but this girl, the redhead with the twisted smile doesn't seem to mind. I look over at Gaine and push myself to my feet, enjoying the sway of a body slowly succumbing to bitter, brown poison.

  I lean in close to Gaine's ear and brush my lips against his lobe. There's a small scar here that slices through his flesh and leaves a jagged, red mark. I have no idea where it came from, but that doesn't stop me from running my tongue across it, tasting the sweaty salt of his skin with a gentle flick.

  “If you want to talk to me, you'll play with me first.”

  “Like hell I will,” he growls back at me, but as soon as his hand comes up and his fingers brush the bare skin of my shoulder, he pauses and leans into me. He doesn't mean to do it; it just happens. “What do you want from me, Sawyer?” I suck in a cloud of cigarette smoke and the heady scent of booze, breathing out against Gaine's neck and watching as the hair on the back of his hand stands on end. And I'm sure it's not the only part of his body that's standing at attention.

  “A night of fun, a frozen slice of reality where pain doesn't exist and pleasure reigns king. Can you do that for me?” A part of me realizes I'm not playing fair, that I'm stretching Gaine to his limit. He's not Austin or Beck; Gaine doesn't pick up random fucks. I love that about him. I admire him even though I don't understand him, yet I just keep doing what I'm doing and I don't know why. Do I want him to hurt as much as I do? No. I just don't know how to stop. “Play with me tonight and I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “And you'll listen?” he asks, voice gruff and kind of breathy, like he doesn't know what to do with the air in his lungs if he isn't kissing me. I pull back and look him in the face, lean forward and breathe in the scent of oil and dirt and masculine spice. I press a kiss to the spot below his lip where he used to wear a piercing. He hardly wears it anymore, but I think it's hot. I wonder if I can convince him to put it in again?

  “I'll hear you out,” I promise as Gaine pulls back a bit and then tangles his fingers in my hair, kissing my mouth so hard it hurts. I can taste his desire and his need on his lips, hot and spicy, so bright it burns my tongue and brings a drip of sweat rolling down my chest and between my breasts. There's a flash of jealousy inside of me and for an instant, I think maybe that I don't want to share. Ridiculous, Mireya. You know booze makes you sentimental. I ignore that blip of thought and pull back, turning around and touching my fingers to the side of Trench Girl's face.

  “What's your name, butterfly?” I ask her, watching as her friends stare in open fascination, drinking me in like I'm an exotic spice, something flavorful and forbidden.

  “Crystal,” she says, her lips parting like a flower, half in surprise and half in desire. I can see the way she's staring at Gaine, eyes catching on his rounded biceps, his flat chest, the square lines of his pecs beneath the tight cotton of his T-shirt. The fabric's stretched over his body like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. I can even make out his belly button from here. I follow Crystal's gaze and then touch her mouth with a single finger, bringing her eyes back to mine. They're pale and colorless, like glass, with tiny flecks of green, a nice match to that headful of red hair.

  “Do you like Gaine, Crystal?” I ask her as I move my hands down and unbutton the clasps on her jacket. She reaches up her fingers to stop me, but then pauses when she sees him start backing away towards the door.

  “He's cute,” she says which nearly pulls a scowl from my mouth. I almost want to shove her back and pick somebody else. Cute? Gaine isn't cute. He's young and cut and muscular, one of those guys that's got that nice, gritty edge on the outside, but who cleans up real nice and always smells good. Cute doesn't really work for me. But then I open Crystal's jacket and find out what she's hiding underneath. It's a black lace dress stretched tight over her tanned body, almost tasteless but classy enough that it works. I can see why she kept the coat on. She looks like she's ready for a night out in the city, not a boring slump at a dive bar with tearful soft rock and cheap drinks.

  I look over my shoulder and watch as Gaine tosses a wad of bills on the counter and gives me a look that's part hunger and part melancholy. I ignore it and turn my attention back to Crystal, listening to the sound of the doors swinging open and shuttering closed.

  While her friends laugh and heckle her behind us, goaded on by Beck's ridiculous one-liners, I lean in and whisper in her ear.

  “Do you want to fuck him?” I ask. I'm not shy about it. Tonight isn't about being shy. I don't need to bring a shy girl up to my room and walk her through the delicacies of sex. I need somebody that's going to give and take equally, who I think will leave that room tonight or tomorrow without any fantasies about what might or could be.

  “Yes,” she whispers, completely enraptured. She doesn't seem drunk though, just wild, a bit of untamed spirit back home for the summer, a small town girl with big town dreams. They're a dime a dozen, but at least I know how to handle them. Austin and I used to … play around sometimes. But Gaine's not like that. And I'm forcing him to be. I keep the why off the tip of my tongue and smile at Crystal.

  “Then come with me.”

  I turn away and start towards the door with catcalls and whistles abounding behind me. Either the girl will follow or she won't. This is the perfect way to test her, see if she's really up to it. My feeling here is that little Miss Crystal wants Gaine, that I'm inconsequential. Sometimes, they come for me. Mostly they come for the guys, but that's alright. That's what
we're both there for anyway. I just like to watch.

  I make it halfway across the street before I hear her heels behind me, clacking across the cement in hurried steps. When she finally catches up to me, her arms are crossed over her chest, keeping the jacket closed.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, looking up and down the quiet street with wide, fearful eyes. I'm about to take her inside the hotel when I see Gaine leaning against the street entrance to the parking garage with a cigarette between his lips and his arms crossed over his broad chest. When he turns away and moves down the steps, I change my direction and follow. “You're not going to, like, rape and murder me, are you?” Crystal asks, steps slowing as I start down the cement stairs without waiting to see if she's going to follow.