by A. Gorman
“Wait. I need a couple more books. Can we get them before we get the food?”
He huffed, barely looking at me before scanning the store again with his eyes. “Woman, you brought like 10 books with you. You read them all already?”
“No, I brought 5. I have like 200 of them on my e-reader, but you wouldn’t let me bring that, so I need to get some good, old-fashioned books.”
“Fine.”
With his hand still intertwined with mine, which I was liking way too much, I led him toward the books.
He shifted uncomfortably as I looked through the selection, his eyes scanning the store, the crook of his elbow always firmly rested against the handgun he wore in a holster under his jacket. Even though deep in my mind I knew he was just doing his job, a part of me felt a little soft toward him. He was protecting me, potentially could give his life for me if he had to, and I don’t think anyone could be ungrateful for that.
Sneaking a sideways glance at him, I could see why he did what he did. He was pretty tall, I’d say over six feet. He had a rugged beard that normally I wouldn’t find attractive, but it was cut pretty close and not hanging down his face like some crumb-catching mess. He had strong, wild eyes that if you paid close enough attention, you would catch an occasional look of compassion and warmth. It was fleeting, but still, sometimes it was there. His body was hard and fit, and I bet I could bounce a quarter off his ass – if he’d let me.
I grinned at the visual.
He turned his head toward me and I quickly looked back at the books, plucking up the first one in front of me. I grabbed a few more, and satisfied I had enough books (about ten), I threw the last one into the basket.
“You good?” he asked, pointing at the shopping cart, pulling a can of chew from his back pocket. I watched as he grabbed a pinch and fingered it into his bottom lip. He replaced the cap and shoved it into his back pocket.
I suppressed the urge to make a face. “Yes, don’t you want to get anything?”
He pointed in the cart. “I already got some magazines.”
I looked down. I hadn’t even seen him get any. Guns & Ammo, Men’s Fitness, and of course, Maxim.
I simply nodded once, and then we went over to the grocery aisles, where I didn’t protest anything he bought. I did, however, toss a few chocolate bars and a bottle of wine into the cart.
He looked at me skeptically and took the wine out. “Absolutely not.”
I sighed. “Just one bottle, please?”
“No. Alcohol reduces inhibitions and delays reflexes and responses. We cannot afford any slip-ups.”
My lips twitched in amusement. “You read that in a textbook? Because you certainly haven’t ever had any alcohol, have you, Cowboy?”
I could tell my nickname annoyed him, but I would keep calling him that until he stopped calling me “Blondie.”
We headed toward the check-stand and as we reached it, he began loading our items on the belt. I saw him pick up a small packet from one of the items near the check-out, and held it up. To my mortification, it was a packet of “Midol.”
“For your bitchiness,” he growled, tossing it in the cart. Then he grabbed two more and threw them on the belt.
When he had to load my tampons, he picked up the box like it might bite him, and before I could get mad at his bitchiness comment, I was laughing at how ridiculous he was being.
“I can load the belt, if it upsets you that bad,” I said, goading him some more.
“I can handle it just fine,” he snapped.
“Oh, okay. Well it looked like you were having some trouble there, Cowboy.”
He stopped what he was doing, and looked at me square in the eye. A little bit of excitement fluttered in my stomach at the eye contact. Then he said, “Ya know, I’m glad you’re having your monthly whatever. I was wondering on the ride here if you were always this moody, but I’m glad to see it was just this.” He pointed to the tampon box.
I stomped a foot. “That’s rude!”
I saw him grin as if he’d bested me. That’s it. I’m gonna put salt in his coffee or something tomorrow.
As the male cashier, who looked no older than 20, was beeping the items over the scanner, I saw him shoot Duke a sympathetic glance and that annoyed me. They were both acting like I was some menstruating girlzilla on a rampage. I thought I’d been pretty reserved. Assholes, both of them.
I watched Duke take a wad of cash from his pocket and pay for the items. Obviously, neither of us could use our cards, and I was secretly happy the government was paying for my feminine products, my books, and my damn chocolate.
After walking to the car in silence, he loaded our things into the small trunk of the sports car, then darted his eyes around the parking lot, his hand hovering near his weapon.
It was mid-afternoon, and I watched him take the same highway back toward our old, ugly cabin. Deciding he already clearly disliked me, I figured I had nothing to lose when I asked, “Can’t we go somewhere else and not back to that place? It’s already wearing on me.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” I whined, and instantly cringed at the sound of my own voice.
He huffed. “This isn’t a vacation, and that,” he said, jerking a thumb behind us, “was the last time we’ll be going into town.”
“I know it’s not a vacation.” I decided I’d try some charm. “You’re doing such a good job protecting me.” I laid it on thick now, placing my hand on his arm closest to me. “We could go somewhere like a park or somewhere public, where I can get some sunshine. Couldn’t we? Can we at least go get some fast food? I have cash, I can pay for it.”
He looked down at my pale hand on his tanned arm, and then looked at me briefly before putting his eyes back on the road. In the fleeting couple of seconds he looked at me, I could see that warmth I liked. I thought he’d be angry, but he wasn’t. He did, however, use that same arm to grab his mirrored sunglasses from the visor of the car, slamming them on his face with more force than necessary. With a Styrofoam cup still in the cup holder, he spat a stream into it, and kept his eyes on the road.
I put my hands back in my lap and sighed. He never answered my question. He just continued to steer the car down the highway toward the cabin. I saw him have to pull out the paper map once, but otherwise, he knew his way. I soon found myself staring at the old trees that lined the small dirt road that led to our prison.
* * *
We only had 4 bags. Duke grabbed all four and then armed the car’s alarm, and with his eyes darting to and fro, he made sure nobody was around. Before going into the house, he made me wait outside while he checked inside. It didn’t take him more than 30 seconds to come back outside to tell me it was safe to come in.
I knew why he did it, but it did seem a little extreme. I didn’t think anyone could have followed us or had found our location so quickly, but I guessed anything was possible.
Following him into the kitchen, I told him I would put the food away. He grunted his thanks and left the bags sitting on the dining room table. I watched him disappear around the corner and laughed to myself, thinking he probably didn’t want to actually have to see or touch my feminine products.
With a snort of amusement, I put the food away, and began to think up recipes in my head I could make with the few items we had bought. Meat, milk, cheese, eggs, bread, pasta, spaghetti sauce, tortillas, coffee, creamer, some frozen breakfast items, portable drinks, and other quick packaged snacks.
I opened a cupboard and was delighted to find a rack of spices. Then my smile fell when I realized they were probably 30 years old. I began pulling them out, checking the expiration dates (did spices ever ‘expire’ anyway?) and was happy to see quite a few of them weren’t expired or were barely past their dates and deemed them safe. More creative recipes began to form in my mind, glad I would have something to do to fill the boredom besides read. As I was replacing the spices, the light from the kitchen caught something shiny like glass in the bac
k of the cupboard. Looking to see if Duke was around, and satisfied he still wasn’t, I stood on tiptoe and reached for it. My hand closed around cold glass, and carefully pulling it out, I set it on the counter. I gaped in shock to see a black label reading “Jim Beam. Original Bourbon Whiskey” and then smiled at my find.
I turned the bottle around to read the small date printed on the label: 1997. Wow, 19 year old whiskey – score! He didn’t want me having wine, but at least if I needed a shot to take the edge off, I’d have this.
Quickly replacing the bottle back into the cupboard and putting the spices in front of it, I closed it and made two sandwiches. I carefully placed a small bag of chips on each plate and set them down at the table.
“Hey, Duke, I made sandwiches, are you hungry?”
Chapter 11
Duke
When I heard her call me to lunch, I grinned a little. Hell yeah, little woman making me a sandwich. Every guy’s dream. Too bad she’s not doing it naked. Then the fantasy would be complete.
Wait. I’m working. I’m the agent, and she’s the vic. Not my little woman. I shook my head in disgust at myself and went out to the kitchen. When I walked in, all I saw was ass. A nice, round one in a pair of jeans, bending over at the dining room table.
“Did you lose something?” I asked, my arms folded over my chest.
She righted herself, cheeks turning pink as she held up a small bag of chips. “Dropped this.” She sat down at the table and pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”
I obeyed and my mouth watered at the sight of the sandwich sitting on a glass plate. A bag of chips lay near it, and a can of soda next to the plate.
I watched as she took a small bite of her sandwich, which was cut in half. She bit into it like a priss, then used a paper napkin to wipe away the nonexistent crumbs or whatever.
Without wasting time, I took a huge bite of mine and my eyes rolled back in my head. Best damn sandwich ever.
“What’s in this?” I asked, my mouth full.
When my eyes met hers, there was a happiness and pride I could see there. She didn’t look smug, but rather satisfied with herself. As if she enjoyed the compliment I had inadvertently paid her.
“Turkey, cheese, mayo, mustard, and baby spinach. I grilled the bread in some butter and salt in the pan over the stove first, though.”
Nodding, I bit into the sandwich again. “It is very good, you are a good cook.”
Did I just pay her another compliment? I was seriously losing my hard edge. No way was this very attractive yet infuriatingly annoying woman gonna do that to me.
She was still smiling, and she held eye contact with me as she shoveled a chip into her mouth. I swallowed my bite without chewing it all the way at the look she was giving me. Grabbing the soda, I popped the top and guzzled down the sickeningly sweet fizzy liquid. Once my food went down, I fought the urge to gag. Soda… no. Cancer in a can.
I got up, rummaged through the cupboard, and found a cup. Filling it with tap water, I drank long and deep to be sure the food went down – and to get that disgusting sugary taste out of my mouth. Tap water wasn’t the best, but it was better than soda.
Returning to the table, I sat down and continued to eat. Rayanne, who was done with her lunch, watched me, her eyes dancing in curiosity.
“Not a fan of pop?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s bad for you.”
She chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “And that dip you shove into your lip isn’t?”
My sandwich paused at my mouth, I quickly countered, “Dip doesn’t make you soft and fat.”
“That’s what the gym is for,” she replied, seeming to be proud of her quick retort. I decided not to reply to that, but she kept talking. “That’s diet soda, by the way, no calories or sugar.”
“But full of chemicals,” I rebutted.
She laughed again. “Ah, the truth comes out. Chemical nazi, are you?”
I wasn’t going to respond to that, because she was right and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I finished my sandwich, then tossed the crumbly paper plate into the trash. I dumped the Diet Pepsi down the drain in the sink. With a look of pride, I made eye contact with her as I tossed the now-empty can into the trash.
I heard her laughing again as I left the kitchen.
* * *
As much as she annoyed me, I knew she was right. There was nothing on the damn TV and I’d already read all the magazines I’d bought, cover to cover. I was so bored, I was tempted to ask to borrow one of the paperback books she’d bought earlier. I was never a huge fan of reading, and seeing as she’d mostly picked up chick romance books and some vampire shit, I was reluctant to ask. I then briefly wondered if I should look around the house for something to fix. I suppose I could replace her doorknob. If I could find some tools.
I looked at my watch and saw it was about 10 p.m. Doorknob could wait, I guess. I went in search of her, and I found her on her bed, her door wide open, reading a book. She’d changed out of her jeans and was now in some sort of white dress thing, her bare legs and feet so smooth looking. She was lying on her stomach, her ankles crossed and in the air, swinging back and forth as she read. She must have heard me approach, because she turned her head toward the doorway and placed the book, still open, face down on the bed.
Smiling, she said, “What’s up, Cowboy?”
Trying not to smile at her, and feeling my dick twitch behind my zipper at how sexy she looked, I kept my face impassive. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m heading to bed. Get me if you hear or see anything suspicious.”
She swiveled her body around, placing her bare feet on the floor. She saluted me with her left hand, which made me bite back a smile, and said, “Yes, sir.”
Coming to stand just inches from me in the doorway, she whispered, “Goodnight.” Then the door was closed in my face.
Once it was closed, I couldn’t help but smile. Why did she have to be so damn cute?
Thankfully, I had slept soundly. But upon waking, I checked my phone to see the time, and seeing it was 6 a.m., I pushed myself to get up and check on the vic.
Just like the day before, she was lying in bed, the blankets piled on top of her. I smiled a little at the paperback still clutched in her hand. I checked the front door and all the windows once again to be sure they were secure. Then I set my phone’s alarm for 8 a.m. and crawled back in bed. I didn’t see any reason to be up this early.
As I was about to pull the covers back over me, my phone lit up and vibrated. I looked at the screen to see a text from Jack-N-Jill:
Still alive, big guy?
I quickly typed back my reply: Yes. Thanks for waiting 2 days to check on us, asshole.
I shouldn’t be so disrespectful, but fuck… I couldn’t believe they’d waited this long to make contact.
Another text quickly shot back: We tried several times to reach you on the landline at the cabin and received no response.
What? What landline? We’d been here the whole fucking time. Well, shit, except for our little shopping trip. So I replied: What time?
The response was immediate: About noon yesterday.
Oops. We’d been out. So I apologized. Sorry, we were out getting essentials. Won’t happen again.
Another speedy response read: Copy.
And that was it. I lay back down and drifted back into nothingness.
As my phone’s alarm screamed at me to get up, I slammed my eyes open. As my senses hit me, the one coming after sight was smell.
Is that bacon?
Bacon can always make me get out of bed. Of course, I could eat bacon after I hit the bathroom and get rid of this boner. Was there anything worse than morning wood after waking up in an empty bed? No, no there wasn’t.
Leaning over and trying to pee with a hard-on was always a challenge, but of course I had mastered it. Spend a year eating sand and MREs, surrounded by dudes and very few attractive women (trust me, there were a couple, but I didn’t meet
their standards, apparently), and you could master the art of pissing with rock-hard wood.
Pulling my shorts up and wandering into the kitchen, I saw Rayanne shoveling eggs and something else onto plates and putting them onto the old wood dining room table. She had on that same white dress thing, which was probably a nightgown, and nothing else.
Just when I had gotten rid of the hard-on…
“Good morning, Duke,” she said with a smirk, her eyes traveling the length of my body before settling back on her chore.
She set the second plate onto the table, and with a smart look on her pretty face, she gestured toward the food. “Please eat.”
With a nod and the niggling urge to get some nicotine in my system, I sat in the same chair as last night and looked down at the plate. Bacon, eggs with cheese, and a waffle that had been cooked in the toaster. I picked up my fork and ate without a word.
Rayanne sat across from me, her fork poking at the food on her identical clear plate. Even though the table was oak, I could see from the corner of my eye, that her slim and pale legs were crossed under the table as she ate the breakfast she’d prepared for both of us.
I could also tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, but there was no way I was going to let my eyes wander there again. They’d gone there when I’d entered the kitchen a few minutes ago, but being the gentleman I am, I had kept my gaze fixed on hers without wandering down to her chest.
“Did you like breakfast?” she finally asked, her light brown eyes boring into mine.
I nodded. “Yes, thanks. I would have gotten this but obviously you got up first.”
Setting her fork down with a clink, she replied, “I don’t mind doing the cooking. In fact, just let me do it. I’m bored and need to keep busy.”
I nodded in understanding. That’s why I had made breakfast yesterday. I had been used to keeping busy. I wasn’t the best cook around, but I knew how to make bacon and eggs and a few other things.