Electrify Me (The Fireworks Series Book 1)

by Rizer, Bibi

  “Charlie?”

  His face as he looks up at me is devastating. Beautiful and bloodied. His perfect nose is swollen and bruised. Blood is also dripping from his hairline. And when a rivulet of it drips into his eye and he tries to blink it away, something awakens in me. Some instinct I didn’t even really know I had. I want to kill someone. And the fat cop hanging over Charlie seems a pretty good contender.

  But then Charlie smiles at me. I take three long strides, shove the fat cop out of the way and wrap Charlie in my arms. “Baby, what happened? What did they do to you?”

  “Ma’am, is this the man who kidnapped you?”

  I turn back to the cop, a new understanding of the word incredulous blossoming to life inside me.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?! Are you out of your mind? This is Charlie who works for City Light. And that’s his truck, which was stolen with me in it. By someone else who apparently with all your fabulous police work, you haven’t found yet. So good job there, Detective Shiny Pants.”

  Charlie drops his head and muffles snorts of laughter on my shoulder.

  “You know this young man?” Shiny Pants asks, in a futile attempt to hang on to some of his authority.

  “Yes, I know him. He’s my boyfriend!”

  Charlie looks up and our eyes meet for a second. I don’t know how to interpret his expression. Is he my boyfriend now? When you give someone a hand job and then you get kidnapped in their truck and they rescue you before fucking you over a table, does that make them your boyfriend? I think so. Does Charlie agree? Maybe we should leave that discussion until later.

  “Am I under arrest?” Charlie asks.

  “No, I suppose not.” The cop hikes those shiny pants up so high his balls split into a moose-knuckle. I feel a little nauseous as he unlocks Charlie’s handcuffs. “Thank you for your service, son.”

  Son. He’s like ten years older than us, max. And “service”? What the hell does that mean?

  “You’re welcome, I guess.”

  I help Charlie stand and watch as he takes a moment to brush gravel off his knees.

  “Are we free to go?” I ask.

  “You’ll need to make a statement – ”

  “No,” Charlie interrupts him. “Let’s rephrase that. We’re free to go. Gloria will make a statement in the morning.”

  Shiny Pants looks like he wants to argue but in the end, he just takes my cellphone number and watches us limp away. Someone hands Charlie a Ziploc bag with his stuff in it. Phone, wallet, keys, a crushed condom box. “Sorry for the trouble,” this person says. Like that makes it better. On Monday I’m calling my uncle, the bloodsucking lawyer, and we’re going to sue the Seattle police back to the Triassic.

  When we get back to the truck, I steer Charlie to the passenger seat and take the driver seat myself. “You look a little dazed. Did you hit your head? Did the cops do this?”

  “It’s nothing.” He fishes the keys out of the Ziploc bag and hands them to me. “Head wounds look worse than they are.” He dabs the blood off his face with one of my lavender Handi Wipes as we pull onto the road.

  “Are you sure? Do you want to go to the ER?”

  “I’m fine.” He prods his nose gently. “I don’t think anything is broken.”

  We drive in silence for a few minutes. Then we’re back on the I5, heading south. Hotels, liquor stores, gas stations flash by. I think to check the gas gauge. Third of a tank. Plenty to get us back to Seattle.

  “When that druggie bailed, why didn’t he take the truck?” I ask, more to break the silence than anything else.

  “He must have left the keys inside. They were in the bag anyway. I guess the cops found them.”

  “Oh. So where do you suppose he is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  There’s something awkward between us. Since we met a few hours ago, it’s been like we’ve known and loved each other for years. Now suddenly we’re talking like strangers. Or rather, not talking. We’re having one of those silences. I know he’s thinking a pile of stuff. He knows I’m thinking a pile of stuff. Both of us are probably wondering if the other is thinking about the same pile.

  The way I see it, there are two choices. We can view this terrible, terrifying night as a blessing–a gift from the New Year’s gods. After going through what we’ve been through tonight, surely we can build a relationship that will survive anything. Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe we can see everything that has happened as a sign–a sign that love and lust are dangerous, a sign that we should both run full speed in opposite directions and never look back. Would the devils of New Year’s do that to me? Would they be so cruel? If that’s what they want for me, couldn’t they just send an email?

  Long minutes pass. I glance over, sure he has fallen asleep, but he’s just staring out the windscreen. Silent.

  We’re almost at the exit to Seattle before he speaks again. “I was in the Army, did I tell you that?”

  “No.” He hasn’t told me anything about himself. And I haven’t told him much either. All those stories and no time in which to tell them.

  “I was discharged. Medical.” There’s something in his voice as he says this. Something noncommittal. “I’m allergic to bees. Who knew?”

  “Oh.”

  He falls silent for a few more minutes. I make the exit into the city and begin winding through the streets. Roughly, I’m heading to my place. I guess I could go back to the church, pick up my car and say goodbye to him there. But what kind of goodbye are we talking about? Is it “goodbye and farewell”? Or “goodbye for an hour while I go home and get a change of clothes because I’m basically moving in with you as of today”? Maybe if I just drive around all night, we’ll never have to find out.

  “Back there,” Charlie says. “Before the cops came. You wanted to have sex right?”

  “What?! Of course! Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “The cops were asking me if I raped you.”

  I’ve never been one for theatrics, but I slam on the brakes right in the middle of the road. Pulling the hand brake, I turn to face him, thinking maybe I’ll just make a joke out of it, get him laughing, but the dark expression on his face stops me.

  “Look, Charlie… I don’t really know how things like that happen. I mean, I’ve been pretty drunk a few times and probably not had enough brain cells online to make a reasoned choice, but I’m sober as a Mormon right now. And I’m pretty sure if you tried to touch me when I didn’t want you to, I’d punch you in the head. Then at least you’d know.”

  He laughs. Almost laughs. It’s a bit half-hearted but I’ll take it. I put the truck into gear, pull over and park properly.

  “Those cops are idiots,” I say, gently. “They thought they saw something and jumped to conclusions, because you’re a guy and bigger than me and…that’s the just the way it is. I’m sure they’ve seen some terrible things.”

  Charlie nods. “I saw some things too, in the forces.”

  God. This is the conversation we get to have now? Maybe this is what Father Time had in mind all along. Maybe Charlie is the one I’m supposed to save. “I’m sure you did.”

  “The Army is not a very nice place for women.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I wait for him to say something else. And wait. And wait. Until it becomes obvious to me. My heart is pounding though, because there are a few different ways this can go and a couple of them are deal breakers. “Does that have something to do with why you were discharged?”

  He doesn’t answer for a few seconds.

  “There were these two guys in my unit,” he finally says, though his voice is so low I have to strain to hear him. “I saw them one night with this girl. She was pretty drunk but…” He shakes his head. “I mean, by the time I saw them, it was pretty much over. Whatever it was. The guys ran off and the girl was throwing up, so I went to get a towel for her and when I came back she was gone.”

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “Yeah. I told my comman
ding officer. He talked to the girl. She denied it. Then she came to me and told me to shut the fuck up.”

  “And then they discharged you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because of bees?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that was bullshit?”

  Charlie sighs, and I see he’s been squeezing the remains of the bloody Handi Wipe this whole time. “Not exactly. I am allergic to bees, but they gave me and everyone in my unit epi-pens and that was that. Then two months later, the thing happened and I reported it. Next thing I know I’m discharged and going home.”

  “Weren’t you happy to be going home?” He just looks at me and I realize that was probably an ignorant thing to say. “I guess I don’t know much about being in the Army.”

  “No. I just...I didn’t do much of anything in the end. A few patrols. Once we got cornered by insurgents. That was scary but it was over pretty quickly. And that girl that night but…I had ideas I was going to be some kind of hero, you know”

  “You’re my hero, Charlie.” He nods. I hope that’s what he wanted to hear. It’s the truth anyway. “Seriously. That slime ball was just about ready to take off again, and he was going to take me with him. Where do you suppose I would have ended up? Some brothel in Guatemala. Or dead.”

  Charlie takes a breath, then leans over the center console and wraps his arms around me. I hug him back. This time there is nothing sexual about it. It’s pure comfort. I realize then how much I needed this hug. And how tired I am. I hurt all over from the effort of keeping my muscles vaguely upright.

  “Charlie,” I say into the hair behind his ear. “Do you want to sleep over at my place?”

  He turns his head and presses his warm lips on my neck. “Yeah,” he whispers into my skin. “I really do.”

  Chapter Twelve – Charlie

  Her apartment is in Montlake, just over the bridge. It’s a cozy one-bedroom on the top floor of a heritage-style house. The minute we walk in the door, she tosses her giant purse on a little sofa and makes a kind of clicking noise with her tongue as she pulls off those boots. While I’m averting my eyes from the torn tights coming off too, a striped cat pops through a little pet door in the window above the radiator.

  “You have a cat?” I ask.

  “Yeah, that’s Mauly. It was Molly, but then I discovered he was a boy, so I changed it. Mauly. Like Darth Maul.”

  I crouch down and give Mauly a good scratch. He seems to like it, even rolling over and letting me have a little tummy action.

  “I hated the prequels, by the way,” Gloria says.

  “What?” Mauly grows bored of me and wanders into the kitchen.

  “The Star Wars prequels. I named him Mauly because it was the only thing that fit. Not because I liked that stupid character. Those movies are terrible.”

  “Oh. Of course. Original three or nothing. Carrie Fisher rocks.”

  “Right?”

  She beams at me as though we just discovered we’re both part of some obscure religion that forbids dating outsiders. Then we stand there, grinning like fools because neither of us knows what comes next. This is uncharted territory for me. I mean, I’ve had girlfriends, of course, and hook-ups. But I’ve never rescued one from a kidnapper. And I’ve never felt so connected to a girl so quickly. Maybe I’ve never felt connected like this at all. I just want to curl up and go to sleep, so tomorrow will come faster so I can get up and make her breakfast. How sad is that?

  “Oh, my God!” Gloria says suddenly. “I just remembered something. It’s my birthday!”

  “Today? Like New Year’s Day?” She nods, pressing her lips together. I take a tentative step towards her. “What do you want for your birthday?” I hope she’ll say something involving us both getting naked. I’m dying to see her naked.

  “A hug,” she says instead.

  Oh, well. That’s good too. I take the last step and wrap her in my arms. She smells like stale weed, disinfectant and root beer. I’m certain I smell even worse. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is about the best hug I’ve ever had in my life. With her boots off, she’s small enough to tuck right under my chin. And even though her hair is full of grit and grass, I lay my cheek against it and just hold her. She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes for a few seconds before untucking the back of my shirt and…

  “Ahhh…your hand is cold!” I step back and take both her hands in mine, trying to rub some life into them. “You’re ice cold. Why don’t you take a warm bath?”

  “I don’t have a bathtub.” She pulls her hands from mine and untucks the front of my shirt. I gasp when she slides her fingers under, partly from cold but partly, well, because she has her hands under my shirt.

  “You’ve got abs,” she says. “I didn’t notice that before.”

  “I…uh…I’ve been working out. I mean I’m going to apply to be a firefighter, so I need core strength.” Wow. Way to sound about five years old, Charlie.

  Gloria doesn’t seem to mind. She starts unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up. “You’re going to be a fireman? God, that’s so sexy.” She opens my shirt and trails her hands over my stomach and chest. “I’m going to train my cat to get stuck up trees.”

  “Firemen don’t really…” But I don’t finish my thought.

  Gloria grabs me by the front of my trousers and drags me down her hallway. “Come have a shower with me.”

  She’s half-naked by the time we even get to the bathroom. After she turns on the shower, she strips the rest of her clothes while the water heats up. I just stand there like an idiot, watching her.

  Her body is like an art class–one of those ones that emphasizes the circles and curves that make the human shape. She has an adorable round face, soft rounded shoulders the color of sun-kissed sand, perfectly round, plump breasts with tantalizing pink circles around her pert nipples. Her hips curve out from her waist, and there’s a little round tummy below her cute little belly button. Without the black tights, the shape of her legs is even sexier, if that’s possible. They look both soft and strong, as though I could rest my head on them or they could choke the life out of me like a python. Even her knees are little circles–even her toes. The smallest one looks so much like a vanilla jellybean, I want to get down on the floor and pop it in my mouth. I have a feeling she might like that.

  The only angular thing on her body is the triangle of shiny brown pubic hair, which is like an arrow saying “insert penis here.” I’m still staring at it, the steam of the shower rising behind her, when she speaks.

  “You might enjoy the shower more if you’re naked too.”

  I have never stripped faster in my life, including the time I fell asleep on an anthill.

  The shower is only a few degrees off scalding, so much so we both gasp from the heat of it. But we soon acclimatize. She opens a bottle of some citrus-smelling soap, and we lather each other from head to foot. It feels splendid to be clean. She takes care with the cut on my head, declaring it to be smaller than she expected and healing on its own. I finger-comb the tangles from her hair, with considerable help from a hazelnut-scented conditioner. When both of us are squeaky clean and smelling of fancy desserts, we just let the hot water stream over us, and our hands and lips, tongues and other parts meet and mingle and tease each other.

  Gloria lays her hands on my shoulders and, with a little pressure, invites me downwards. I don’t need to be asked twice. Kneeling in the shallow, swirling water, I slip one of her gorgeous thighs over my shoulder and sneak a glance at her face. She looks down at me, her lips pursed, her eyes alight with expectation and desire.

  And something else. God. I could fall in love with her by sunrise.

  I slide my fingers up her wet thighs and find her opening, slowly pushing two fingers inside. She makes an approving noise, curling her fingers into my damp hair and pulling my face forward. I part her folds with my other hand and behold the sweet, little round button of her clit, like a pink pearl on a bed of satin, just asking to be kiss
ed and sucked.

  She gasps as I flick it with my tongue and moans softly when I circle it with my lips and suck gently, moving my fingers inside her.

  There’s something meditative about giving oral. As together we develop a rocking rhythm–her hips and my tongue making interlocking circles–I feel myself relax, body and soul. All the knots this night has tied me up into begin to fall away. And then other knots untangle too, as though my past just washes away with the soapy water, swirling down the drain like the nothing it is. There is no past. There is only now. I swear, licking a girl’s clit is like yoga.

  I glance up to see her looking down, such love in her expression I feel as though I could catch fire, despite the water pouring over me. Yes, love. I’ve stopped thinking that was impossible. We’ve been through more as a couple in one night than most couples do in a year. Is it so crazy that we’re already in love?

  Gloria opens her mouth in a silent cry, the hunger in her face betraying how close she is, and seconds later her pussy is convulsing around my fingers, her hands pulling at my hair as she moans incoherently. While she’s still twitching, her leg muscles give out, and I have to move quickly to catch her as she slides down the wall.

  “I’ve got you,” I pull her into my lap. My cock prods tantalizingly close to her pussy. If she would just move a fraction to the right…

  “Need a condom,” she says dreamily, breathlessly.

  “And a bed maybe.”

  We clamber apart and I help her stand.

  “Why don’t you dry off and get into bed?” she asks. “I want to finish combing my hair.”

  I hate to leave her, but after a cramped shower, a dirty table and the back of my truck, the idea of making out in a bed sounds like heaven right about now.

  Chapter Thirteen – Gloria

  Times like these, when I least want my hair to be the ethnic mash-up that it is, it goes all Cubana Africana on me, one-eighth of my hair DNA tangling and curling and sticking together like some new, advanced kind of Velcro. Ten minutes later, after I have bullied it into a mangled braid, I wrap myself in a towel and bolt for my bedroom, expecting to find Charlie rock hard and eagerly waiting for round four.