Who says I can’t be the naughty girl for once? Who says I can’t have some fun?
Before I have a chance to think too much, or talk myself out of it, I grab Cayden’s T-shirt and pull him down toward me. His eyes open with surprise, but his lips collide with mine in a warm, sensual kiss.
In the background I can hear the kids laughing, but I don’t care about that. I don’t care about any of it. Because, for the first time in my life, I’m living it.
THE END
10
Fan Not Fiction
Chapter 1 - Annabelle
The tires of the moving truck crunch over the driveway as I pull up to my new place. The world is still in that strange place between darkness and light as the very first streaks of sunlight crest the sky. It’s beautiful and perfect for me, because I’m also standing between the darkness and light in my life.
I throw the truck into park and years of stress slide away as I exhale. This is it, my new start. I’m free to be myself. To live my life however I choose to. I’m free from him.
Zoomer is curled up in a tiny ball of cuteness in the passenger seat. My Jack Russel puppy is just over six months old and the sweetest thing you can imagine. A dog was another thing Carl wouldn’t allow. Back then, the list of restrictions was so long, I didn’t even notice.
I can’t remember the exact moment the insults started, or the first time he made me check in with him all the time. It sort of took over my life slowly. Like a snake coiling around my leg, at first I thought I could kick it off, that I could easily free myself from something creepy, but not deadly. But the next thing I knew, it was years later and the snake had slowly slithered around my entire body, squeezing the oxygen from my lungs, trapping me in its hold, smothering me.
I always told myself it wasn’t that bad, because he wasn’t hitting me. I shake my head and my lips tug down as I remember how low I had set the bar. He might not have been hitting me with his hands, but his words slapped me around every day. Carl had no problem telling me how fat I was or how disgusting he found me. How I was repulsive to everyone and lucky he put up with me. I was always a heavyset girl growing up. I heard every name kids spewed at me, and I desperately wanted to be accepted by them. I dreamed of the day I would have friends who truly loved me, and instead, I married a man who was like every school yard bully I’d ever dealt with.
Only worse. Because with Carl, there was no escape. There was no summer vacation from his abuse or spring break from his rage. It was every day, every night, every year for five years.
I wince as I scold myself, for probably the millionth time, for not leaving him sooner. For believing him when he told me I was unlovable. For actually being grateful that, even though it hurt, at least I had him. At least I had a man who sometimes cared for me. Who, long ago, made me feel beautiful.
But that’s what they do, isn’t it? That’s how they operate. The therapy I’ve gotten has taught me that Carl is the one who isn’t special. He’s like every other piece of shit out there. His tactics for tearing me down are straight out of every playbook used by every abuser. He knew I was already fragile and that, if he pushed me off the wall, I would break. Then, he stomped on my shattered eggshell pieces for good measure.
Well, Humpty Dumpty’s men may not have been able to put him together the exact same way he was before he fell, but here’s the thing. They don’t tell you about that nursery rhyme. He did get patched up and pieced together, but he wore the scars of that fall. They became a part of his new shell. They became a part of the new him.
I’m not ashamed of my scars. And I refuse to be ashamed of myself anymore either. I may never be whole, but who is? I had the guts to leave. I found help for myself and now, I’m starting over in a new city, in a new house, with a new puppy and a new life. The new me might have cracks in my shell, but I’m not broken. Not anymore. Never again.
I lean back in my seat and watch the pale pink sunrise paint the sky and breathe in the fresh air with a smile.
I did it.
I’m free.
Chapter 2 - Ryker
Thud! Boom! Thud-thud!
I frown out my window as the bass from next door interrupts my writing. Well, interrupt might be too strong of a word. I glance back at the flashing cursor taunting me on my screen. Daring me to string together a sentence after being stuck in this dry slump for over a month now.
It used to be that I sat my butt in the chair, enjoyed some drinks, and let the juicy, smutty words flow from my fingertips. This never used to feel like work. Not even on the hardest days. Now, with this writer’s block holding my words under lock and key, I’ve never felt more stressed.
I’ve carved out an amazing career writing fiery, explicit sex stories that women devour. And, it didn’t take long for sponsors to take notice. The blog gained traction much faster than I ever could have dreamed. Of course, it helped that BuzzFeed and HuffPo picked it up and ran stories on it. It felt like I went from a few hundred readers to a few hundred thousand overnight.
And I couldn’t ask for a better or more supportive bunch. Now, I’m letting them down. Sitting here day after day, night after night, staring at a blank screen. It’s infuriating…almost as infuriating as that stupid music the new neighbor is blasting right now.
I mean, isn’t it bad enough she spent all day yesterday making a racket as she unpacked her moving van? Now she’s having some kind of party too?
I leap to my feet, eager to put some space between me and my white screen, and glare out my window over at her house. I have half a mind to go over there and tell her how rude she’s being. I probably should, right? How am I ever supposed to concentrate on my work if she’s going to crank her music at all hours? Sure, it’s only eight, but that’s not the point.
I march over to my front entry and slip into my shoes, flinging the door open angrily. A fire in my belly ignites and fills my chest with hot air that I’m ready to unleash on her in a little rant about manners. I stomp down my stairs and across my front lawn to her driveway. After all, who does she think she is? I’m right to lay down the rules early, so she won’t make a nasty habit of having wild parties, or whatever she’s into.
With each step I talk myself into this a bit more. I make it halfway up her driveway in the pitch-black and stop dead in my tracks. The new lady next door doesn’t have any curtains on her windows yet and I can see her, like an actress on a Broadway stage with a spotlight shining down on her, dancing inside her house to the music while she ices some cupcakes.
Do I notice the bad lip syncing into the spatula? Yes. Do I see her shimmying and shaking her ample ass in nothing but a tank top and her undies? Of course. But the thing that strikes me the most, the thing that makes me stare catatonically into her house is the fact that she’s absolutely stunning.
“Wow,” I mumble. My heart races and heat licks my body from head to toe as I soak in her sexy dance. She looks so uninhibited. So happy. So fucking beautiful. I know it’s probably creepy to stand here and watch without her knowing, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes off of her. The soft sway of her hips and the way her auburn hair bounces around her shoulders has me under some kind of spell.
All my anger peels away as I study her. Every emotion dissolves until the only thing left is desire. Need. Hunger.
And I’m not craving cupcakes.
I clear my throat and blink hard, forcing my feet to scurry my ass back to my house. I should get back inside before someone sees me standing here and calls the cops. Besides, it’s only eight o’clock. It’s not even that late. She deserves to enjoy some music while she works, right?
I slip back inside my house and sit down at my computer. Behind my eyes, her full figure gracefully dances in my mind. The way her full breasts almost spilled free from her top, the way her feminine hips twirled around to the beat of the song, it plays in my mind like a movie I want to watch again and again. I breathe out and all the stress and confusion I’ve been carrying since this writer’s block hit clears awa
y and leaves me lighter.
My fingers hover over the keys, and, for the first time in five weeks, the words spring forth onto my computer screen. It’s like I can’t stop typing. Each line blurs into the next and the one after that as I hunker down and let another story bubble up from my subconscious.
Finally.
Chapter 3 - Annabelle
Unpacking boxes is brutal. Especially if organization isn’t your strong suit. It’s weird how I can be so hyper organized with my job, but such a shit-show when it comes to something as simple as labelling boxes properly or packing them with any sort of order in mind.
I sigh and drop the cutlery back down into the box next to my jewelry box and sex toys and shake my head at how I even manage. Zoomer whimpers and I watch him sniffing around by the patio door.
“Do you want out? That’s a good boy!” I race over to open the sliding door for him. Even in the midst of all this chaos, he’s getting better at house training. I’m so proud of my little pup. I follow him outside and puff up like a mama watching her child reach a milestone as he sniffs around the yard for a place to mark.
Zoomer stops by the fence and tilts his little puppy head beside the fence and yips excitedly. Before I have a chance to even call his name, he squeezes down under the fence and disappears into the neighbor’s yard.
“Zoomer!”
So much for being a proud mama. Damn it! I can see him frantically running in crazy figure eights around the next door guy’s grass. Perfect. That’s the guy who always glares at me intimidatingly out his window. He’s the only neighbor around me who hasn’t bothered to come over and say “hi.” Of course that’s the yard Zoomer decided to go crazy in.
“Zoomer, get back over here. Please? Come on, baby, don’t do this to me,” I hiss and plead all the while hoping the guy in that house doesn’t hear me.
No such luck.
My pup is chasing butterflies in his own little world over there. I know there’s only one way I’m getting him back. My shoulders slump over in defeat as I head back in through the patio door and head to the front of my house. I have to go get him.
Well, this is one way to introduce myself to Mr. Unfriendly. Not the way I had hoped, but what can you do? I put on my sneakers and walk over to the house like a kid heading to the principal’s office. Even though I’ve never talked to the man next door, I believe I’m probably better off for it.
I timidly knock on the door and silently pray he’s not home. Maybe I can just sneak into his yard and collect my dog before he even has the chance to know I’m back there. The front door opens with a jerk and I jump noticeably.
“Oh, uh…” But no more words come out. They get caught in my throat as I realize my hair is probably a bit messed up and I wonder if I look tired as I stare at the man watching me from inside his open door. He’s so much hotter than I realized. I guess I never got a good look at him at a distance, but with his tight, white T-shirt revealing his chiseled body and the way his faded jeans hang casually from his lean waist, I lick my lips. It’s hard not to see how hot he is.
“Yes?” He tilts his head at me, locking me in his blue eyes. His hand still holds the edge of the door and, from his fingertips to his shirtsleeve, I can see a mosaic of colorful tattoos etched into the tight muscles of his arm.
Damn.
“I’m sorry to bother you”—I finally find my tongue—“but I have a little dog, Zoomer, and he escaped into your yard under the fence. Would you mind if I grab him?”
Moments ago, I would’ve told you it was chilly outside. But now, with the way he’s looking at me, with a flicker of something in his eyes I’ve only ever imagined seeing in a man’s eyes, the heat rushing over my skin could rival any tropical day on record.
“Your dog?” His eyebrows furrow together like he’s piecing together my story and seeing if it checks out. “In my yard? I didn’t see a dog,” he mumbles, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself. His gaze lazily travels over me, like he’s lost in my body and he doesn’t want to find his way out. Suddenly his eyes snap back up to mine and he shakes his head slowly. “Uh, sure, come on in. I’ll take you back there.” He jerks his head and I follow him inside.
I pad across the floor behind him, through to the backside of the house and out his glass deck door to the fenced-in yard. Zoomer is having a heyday, earning his name with every frenetic, loopy circle he runs around the yard. I can feel my neighbor’s eyes on me as I hunch down and try to call my puppy over. Of course, this is exactly when he has to prove how untrained he really is. Zoomer completely ignores my calls and continues reveling in his imaginary race.
“He’s not going to listen. Jack Russells are bad for that.”
A long shiver runs down my spine as his deep voice reaches my ears.
I stand back up, dejected. What am I supposed to do now?
“Hey, don’t worry about it. He’ll tire himself out. Why don’t you sit here and have a drink with me? Once your dog gets all this energy out of his system, he’ll crash.”
I can’t help but notice how close he is to me. I can smell his musk and I struggle not to breathe him in too deeply. “Thank you, that’s really nice.” I smile, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest.
“Don’t mention it.” He shrugs. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.” He holds out his broad hand. “I’m Ryker.”
I grasp his hand lightly and enjoy the little tingle I get running up my arm. “I’m Annabelle,” I murmur.
“Annabelle.” Somehow when he repeats my name, he makes it sound musical. Like he’s singing me a song.
“Well, take a seat, Annabelle, and I’ll grab us a couple drinks. What would you like? I have some hard lemonade, beer, rum.” He grabs the door handle and waits for me to answer.
“Hard lemonade sounds great,” I agree. The truth is, after all the moving and unpacking, I could use a drink. Besides, if Ryker is going to have one with me and keep me company, I kind of hope Zoomer runs around like this for a long, long time.
Chapter 4 - Ryker
I walk over to the fridge and grab a couple bottles of vodka infused lemonades from inside. I don’t waste any time inside, heading straight back out to sit down with her. Ever since I saw her dancing that night, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. And I also haven’t been able to stop writing. The words pour out of me now like water rushing over a waterfall. It’s as if there’s some sort of force of nature behind it. Like it’s beyond my control.
“Thanks.” She smiles up at me with her plump, pink lips. They appear so soft, so perfectly kissable. I can’t help but watch as she takes the first long swig of her drink. I’m not going to lie. Watching her lips circle around the tip of the bottle gives me some ideas. Ideas I’ll probably be writing about later on tonight.
“Don’t mention it.” I tear my eyes from her face and watch her puppy. He’s still tearing around the yard like a little Tasmanian devil. It’s incredible how much energy he has. “So, you said your dog is named Zoomer?” I try to make small talk as we wait for him to calm down.
“Yeah, I guess you can see why.” She giggles. Her heavy breasts jiggle as she laughs and I get distracted by the sensual bounce. I can think of a hundred other ways I’d like to make those tits shake like that, and all of them involve my cock.
“All Jack Russells are crazy.” I glance back out at the puppy. “Or at least all of the ones I’ve met.” I shrug and take a drink.
“How many have you met?” Curiosity dances in her brown eyes.
“Including this one?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that would be…two.”
Annabelle’s laughter sounds like the magic I outgrew as a child. The magic I once found in every leaf. The magic I once saw in the full moon following my father’s car overhead as we drove home, or the magic I once experience when my grandpa helped me reel in my first fish. That long dead feeling of all things being possible suddenly breathes back into my soul and for just one fleeting second, for o
nly as long as her laugh lasts, it’s all amazing again.
“Yeah, so my parents had a Jack Russel too.” I laugh. “His name was Bailey. He’s long gone now. They had him when I was little.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She looks sad for a second and for some reason it touches my heart. That she could have a moment of sadness for a long lost dog she never knew. It tells me just what kind of person she is inside, and it’s rare.
“He had a great life.” I wave my hand, like I’m chasing away a cloud. “But thank you. Anyway, Bailey was a nut. I mean, he must have had a screw loose or something because about sixty percent of the time he was such a chill dog. Nothing got him frazzled.”
“Okay.” She watches her dog with distant interest as she listens to me talk. She tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles at me, and my hand hovers in the air as I freeze. I don’t mean to. I can’t help it. She’s just so pretty. It’s disarming.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, so our family cat, Mr. Bojangles, used to pick on Bailey something awful. It was like watching an older brother torture his younger sibling all the time. And, since they were both almost the same size, there wasn’t much he could do. But then, like I said, that forty percent of the time he’d just go haywire and lose it on the cat.” I laugh as I remember my old family pets duking it out.
“How so?” Annabelle asks.
“Well, Bailey knew from experience that if he went after the cat he’d get a face full of claws. So, he figured out that if he turned around and chased him backward, like if he tried to attack him with his butt, the cat’s claws couldn’t hold up.” I chuckle as I recall the absurd way my dog would defend himself. “Bailey used to scurry all over the house, trying to ram the cat over with his butt and he’d be banging into walls and knocking into furniture. It was a riot. That dog was something else.”
Hot, Quick & Dirty: 12 Steamy Short Stories Page 18