Beyond Heat

by Ashley Logan

  “Scarlett,” I say in surprise, clearing my throat as I glance over my shoulder at Jenkins. “How long have you been standing there?”

  She sets her gear on the bar top. “A little while. I didn’t think anyone would be down here, but when I found you with company, it surprised me. Who’s your friend?” she asks, walking around me and holding out her hand to Jenkins.

  Jenkins grins at me, takes her hand and kisses it instead of shaking it, earning him a warning growl. With a hearty laugh, Jenkins puffs out his chest a little, setting his arms on display. “Brad,” he says in a put-on manly voice.

  Stepping up behind him, I release his brakes and push him away. “Scarlett Warner, Bradley Jenkins. Jenkins, Scarlett.”

  Scarlett hides her amusement as Jenkins wheels himself back over. “And where do you fit into Bruno’s secret life, Brad?”

  “I’m the bad-ass who gave him his fat lip and that lump on his ugly mug. Did that one with an apple,” he says proudly, breathing on his fingers and polishing them on his chest.

  Scarlett gives an overstated ‘impressed’ face. “I’m guessing it earned you that split brow and black eye,” she says with a laugh. “What are you guys doing?”

  “Prepping a few walls for painting,” I say, pointing Jenkins back to his task. “Jenkins is meant to be helping me out here so I can start on the kitchen.”

  Scarlett’s face progresses through confusion and curiosity to some sort of conclusion. “Well don’t let me keep you. I’m just going to get a quick workout on the pole.” She gathers her things and starts off toward the stage. Jenkins rolls slowly after her, his work forgotten.

  “Oh hell no!” Grabbing the handles of his chair, I spin him around. “Don’t even think about it Bradley.”

  “What?” he says innocently, raising his palms. “I was curious. I’ve never been to a strip club.” He can’t even keep a straight face and is laughing before he can finish telling me how it might make him feel better.

  Meanwhile, Scarlett has come back to watch us, the amused look back on her face. “I wasn’t going to take my clothes off.”

  “Are you sure?” Jenkins asks, earning him a cuff around the ears.

  “Scar, if you’re going to dance, can you please drop the curtains so this perv can’t watch. I’ve got work to do and I don’t have time to smack his hand away every time he starts wanking.”

  She meets my eyes, a wicked glint shining in hers. “You don’t want to come behind the curtain and watch?”

  Swallowing roughly, I push Jenkins away again when he starts laughing.

  “Why are you stirring shit up?”

  She shrugs, as if it’s no big deal that she just offered me a private dance to wank off to. “Not fun to tease, is it?” With that, she walks to the stage and disappears. Moments later, the curtains fall and the music starts.

  Jenkins wheels back over with a slow whistle. “Bit of sass in that one, Jackson.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh in agreement, still staring at the curtain and wishing I could see through it. Jenkins wheels over my foot.

  “Would you quit doing that, lard-ass? I know you do it on purpose.”

  Laughing, he goes back to the wall and carries on with the job.

  Sighing, I head to the kitchen. Having pulled the vats out from the wall, I arm myself with scrubbers, cloths and enough detergent to dissolve a truck load of grease. It takes less than five minutes to get hot and sweaty and I peel off my wet t-shirt, hating the way it clings. I’ve spent too much time hot and sweaty in my life, which is why moving to Buffalo to help Mom transition into care in her old neighborhood had been so appealing. Even if she were well and we hadn’t needed to move, I think I’d still have wanted to live somewhere in the north, away from sticky heat.

  Lost in my thoughts, I check the time and realize I’ve been completely irresponsible, leaving Jenkins unsupervised for so long. Setting down my scrubbing brush, I grab a cloth to wipe my hands as I carefully step around the soapy mess I’m making on the floor.

  Releasing the breath I was holding when I see him still plugging away, I call out, asking him if he wants a drink.

  “Sure. A bottle of Jack would be good. This is the most boring shit in the history of the world. If you make me paint this and then watch it dry I will kill you before I top myself, asshole.”

  “As if I’d let you, dumb ass. And lucky for you this needs drying, sanding and cleaning before we can even begin to paint. And in between that, you get to come with me to the dick doctor, and to hang out with the poor assholes stuck in the Vet hospital,” I say with glee as I hand him a plain coke.

  “Oh man! The dick doctor?”

  “We can always check you into hospital instead?” I suggest with a shrug as I check his work.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Buy me dinner first, sweet cheeks.”

  Jenkins smiles and shakes his head. “I gotta piss. Where’s the can?” I point him to the washrooms and he rolls away, muttering something under his breath.

  Heading back to the bar, I pour myself a coke, turning at the noise behind me. Scarlett is on her way to the bar with her empty water bottle. Stripped down to a tank top and booty shorts, she’s slick with sweat. Even her hair is wet with it; evidence she’s been working herself hard.

  Her eyes travel over my body before meeting my eyes. Shit. She looks fierce and fucking hot. My dick jerks awake, swelling at the sight of her.

  Coming in close, she sets her bottle on the bar with a sexy smirk. “Fill ‘er up, soldier.”

  Gulping, I realize I’m still holding the drink hose. Taking her bottle, I fit the nozzle in its neck and push the water button, all without taking my eyes off her, the voice in my head telling me just how good it would be to fill her up. Forgetting the water, I’m reminded when it overflows, squirting us both.

  “Shit!” Lifting my finger off the button, I reach over to set the nozzle in its ring and grab a cloth, mopping up the puddle on the bar.

  “You sure know how to get a girl wet,” she says with a smile as she wipes drips from her chin.

  A strangled squeak escapes my lips and I decide I should not even try to speak. She looks me over with a knowing smile.

  “You look good too,” she says, leaning closer. “And you smell like a man.” Her hand strokes my mediocre erection through my old jeans. “Even half hard you’re more of a man than most.” I stand frozen as she runs her tongue between my pecs. “Mmm, salty.”

  I can’t take any more. Grabbing the back of her neck, I bring her mouth to mine, slamming her body against me. Her sweat-slick skin slides over mine as she wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. I groan into her mouth as she presses against my struggling erection.

  “You’re killing me,” I whisper against her skin as I kiss along her jaw and down her neck, lapping the salt from her and breathing in her scent. My mouth finds hers again as my hands slip under her damp tank top.

  “Well isn’t this cozy?” Brad’s voice makes us both still. “Don’t stop on my account,” he complains, on the verge of laughter.

  Lowering Scar’s top, I wait for her legs to release me before setting her gently back on the ground. With rosy cheeks, she gives me a cute smile and takes her water before turning to Jenkins.

  “It was nice meeting you, Jenkins. Make sure Bruno does his share of the work,” she says, nodding at the wall before leaving without so much as a glance in my direction.

  Jenkins chuckles away until she disappears, earning himself another clip around the ear.

  “What? I can’t laugh?”

  “I know you were watching her ass as she walked away,” I say in explanation.

  “How would you know? You were looking too!” He laughs again, realizing he’s just dropped himself in it. “So what does that all mean then? Does she know about your little problem?” he asks, waving his pinkie at me.

  “I won’t even argue the size issue, because I could hit you with it from here, but yeah, she knows.”

&nb
sp; “So what just happened means...?” he prompts with a grin.

  Sighing, I run a hand over my lips, remembering hers. “That she likes a challenge. Nothing more.” I start to walk back to the kitchen.

  “So let her compete!” Jenkins says, wheeling into my path. “Don’t you want her and her... assistance?”

  I snort at his sudden attempt at being less crude. “Sure I want her. Real bad. But I want her for keeps, not the short game. I’m not interested in getting assistance, and then losing the damn assistant because her goals are achieved. I want to be her end goal.”

  Jenkins sighs and wheels back to the wall. “I think you should just focus on sticking your end in her goal. I mean, it seems wide open.” His laughter is cut short when I dump him out of his chair.

  Jenkins lies in a heap, unable to get up for laughing so hard. “Bully! That’s twice in two days you’ve tossed a poor cripple from his chair!”

  I kick him in the ass. “You fucking deserved it both times, asshole!”

  “I’m gonna tell Blondie what a heartless bastard you are!” he calls after me as I walk to the kitchen.

  “Like she’d believe anything out of your punk ass mouth after you stalked her to the stage. Now get back to work slave, or I’ll make you go to Special Ed with Damon.”

  “WHAT’D THE DOCTOR SAY?” Jenkins asks when I arrive back in the waiting room. “Do you want me to punch him?”

  Shaking my head, I nod him out the door as the receptionist eyes us warily. “I can punch my own doctors, thanks. I’m a big boy. In fact, that seems to be the problem.”

  “What?” he says, stopping in the middle of the hospital corridor to stare at me in amazement. “Your doctor told you your dick was too big?”

  Two nurses giggle as they walk by, looking over their shoulders at me once they’ve passed.

  “Dude. Shut the fuck up.” I push him through the doors to the cafeteria where the noise of hungry people should cover any conversation we have. Jenkins rushes along and rolls to a stop at the nearest empty table.

  “Explain.”

  Sighing, I slump into the chair next to him. “He says it’s all good news that things are beginning to look alive and that I should continue with my current rehabilitation regime.”

  Jenkins’ hand churns the air as he gestures for more information.

  “But he says that I shouldn’t get my hopes up, because even though things are happening, I could have a residual level of permanent damage that may prevent me from filling entirely, or sustaining the fill, because there is such a substantial amount of inflation required.”

  “Meaning what? Your dick’s too big to fill, or can be filled, but not kept up for long?”

  I nod and he sighs, shaking his head. “So I was right. Medical science has deemed your dick too big.”

  “The doctor’s exact words about size were ‘both a blessing and a curse’. This fucking blows.” I sink down in my chair.

  “Screw it. Get her lubed up well enough and you can go in with a partial. This one time-”

  “Jenkins!” Cutting him off as a mother and her kids walk by, I shake my head at him. “I told you before, it’s not even about that. Just... let’s stop talking about it. You want to go back up to the ward and hang out with Magnus, or fuck off back to painting?”

  Jenkins is already reversing out from the table. “Man, even watching paint dry is less boring than that old man.”

  “Well you can hardly blame him. What kind of stories is he gonna have when he spends most of his life in that room? That’s why I read to him. Give him at least a few stories to keep him from going completely bat-shit.”

  “You are a bigger man than me, Jackson. A much, much bigger man, apparently. Did you get the doc to put that in writing so you can hang it on your wall?” he asks, shaking his head in wonder again as we head for the exit. “That would be so awesome.”

  “I’ll make you one for Christmas,” I say with a laugh, quietly crying on the inside.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SCARLETT

  “You going to tell me who left the foot shaped bruise on your chest?” I ask, cornering the elusive Bruno Jackson in the kitchen. “I mean, I’m guessing it wasn’t Jenkins.”

  “Good guess,” he says, eying the exit.

  “That’s not an answer. Are we going to talk about any of the stuff that’s been happening?” I press.

  Sighing, he runs a hand over his face and opens the pantry. “I thought you understood I was staying away for a bit?”

  “You didn’t seem to want to earlier,” I reply, trying to get a reaction.

  Closing the pantry, he looks straight at me. “Like I said, we’ve established that I’m all kinds of crazy about you. If you dangle the bait, it’s pretty hard to calm the frenzy,” he says pointing at me when he says bait, and himself when he says frenzy. A shiver runs down my spine and resonates low in my gut as I recall what the frenzy feels like.

  Reign it in, Scar.

  Frowning, I toy with the alphabet magnets on the fridge, arranging them into obscure curse words to give Lex a laugh later. “Was it the guy that picked up Jenkins?”

  “Was what, who? Shermansky?” he asks, confused. Frowning, he takes a beer from the fridge. Seeing my face, he opens it, hands it to me and gets himself another. “Oh, you mean who kicked me? Yeah. Shermansky. Not much of a fist fighter, that one,” he says with a secretive smile. He eyes the door again. “Is the interrogation over? I have to go find my winter gloves.”

  “It’s called a conversation. It’s what normal people do, only it sounds more like an interrogation to you, because you don’t want to hold up your side of it. You think this,” I gesture between us, “Is messed up by my stuff, but you’re just as much at fault, and avoiding me isn’t going to sort it out. We both need to open up about some things.”

  “Agreed. Are you ready?”

  Put on the spot, I feel myself clam up immediately. “No.” My voice is pitiful and small.

  “Neither,” he says in a tone just as quiet, “So I guess we’re done here.” Making for the door, he brushes against me, making me tingle when he lingers just a fraction longer than necessary.

  “Fine,” I say, finding my breath. “But if you’re staying away, stay away. No lingering, no looking, no parading and no topless painting.”

  “Fine,” he says, looking me up and down. “Same for you.”

  “But I love topless painting!” I say with an over-the-top pout.

  “And no sexy pouting, or suggestive scenarios about nudity!” he adds, pointing at me. “I won’t watch you dance and you can’t watch me because I’m not dancing until further notice.”

  My smile vanishes. “You’re not?”

  “I’m not overly secure in my sexuality this week, so no. I won’t be ‘parading’ on stage. I have a lot going on, so let me know when you want to start sharing secrets and braiding each other’s hair and I’ll try to fit it in.” He turns and leaves before I can say anything else.

  Turning back to the fridge magnets, I create another line of curse words inspired by Bruno Jackson.

  Irritating, panty-twisting Bruno Jackson with his hot... everything, and his stupid, half-broken wiener giving him a complex. He’s reverted back into the confusing, half-interested, ‘back-off you’re too close’ Jerky Jackson.

  Probably best for both of us if he stays away for good. I’ll just find a casual hook up to relieve the ache he’s created inside of me.

  Heading down the long hallway, instead of the short one where my room is, I knock on Lex’s door. She doesn’t answer, so I scribble on her noticeboard.

  Lex, let’s go out. X Scar.

  Walking back around to my room, I feel Bruno’s eyes on me as I walk past his door, while I pretend he isn’t even there. Taking my robe, I head back the other way, for a shower before work. When I walk past again, his door is closed.

  Perfect.

  As I’m about to head downstairs, I bump into Benji.

  “Hey Scar,” he
says, linking his arm in mine as we descend. “I keep forgetting to ask, but now that I have you, I was wondering if you knew the details about Bruno’s exhibition. I thought maybe we could all go and support him. He seems a bit out of sorts lately.”

  “He’s always out of sorts. And why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about an exhibition. I thought his painting was a secret?”

  Stopping on the bottom step, Benji faces me. “Maybe it is,” he says, looking thoughtful. “I overheard his phone call with his Sunday-school art teacher, or whatever. Father... someone, about some charity exhibition. He did warn me about his private life being private, but screw that, I want to see what he paints. Hey,” he says, flipping my ponytail. “You knew he painted. What does he paint? Cars? Boobs? Cats dressed as ninjas?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ve never seen any of his work. I asked him if he painted landscapes. He said sometimes. I don’t know. Cat ninjas would be awesome.”

  “I know, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me as we walk through to the club. “And I only asked you because he shares more with you than anyone else; so you want to follow up this lead on the exhibition, or should I?”

  I almost laugh. If Bruno shares the most with me, he will forever be an unsolved mystery. I shake my head as Benji waits for an answer.

  “I think you should. I’m in the bad books at the moment. I doubt I’d get very far without being shut down.”

  Benji rolls his eyes. “You two should just fuck already. We all know you both want to. It’s distracting.” Sighing, he delivers me to the dressing room door. “Fine. I’ll find out about it, and we’ll keep it secret from him so he can’t hide his work before we get a chance to see it.”

  “Okay. Whatever. Just don’t follow him - he’ll know and will lure you into some sort of confessional trap.”

  Benji looks at me sideways. “Spoken from experience?”

  “No comment,” I reply with a smirk. “See ya later.”

  LEX AND I MANAGE TO arrange the dance line up so we’re all done by 10pm. Running upstairs, we change to go clubbing. After much deliberation, I decide on my low cut, shimmering gold, baby doll dress. It barely reaches to mid-thigh, showing off a lot of leg. Using my tried and true concealer and powder combination, I cover up the scars on display. The silvering, sharp edged scars from my skin grafts are easy enough to disguise, but the darker scars from the more intense burns haven’t faded enough yet, and take more effort to conceal.