“Ah, I see. So we’re both boomerangs.” I’m immensely pleased with myself when she chokes a little on her drink.
“You can’t say things like that when I have a mouthful!” I’m even more pleased when she grabs my arm and laughs.
In no time at all I’ve gotten three mojitos in her to my three weak beers. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.
She points at me. “Remember the time we snuck into Church Street Cemetery, and Amelia Bentley swore she saw Joe Cain’s ghost and screamed so loud we thought for sure the police would catch us? Honestly, that girl was a trip. I think she works for the newspaper up in Montgomery now.”
“I do remember that night, but my memory is a little different from yours. I recall you squeezing my hand so hard I thought it’d go numb. When Amelia screamed, you practically jumped into my arms.”
“Did I? Well, I always felt safe with you.” My eyes track her lips’ progress to that itty bitty straw she’s sucking on.
“And now?”
Heather leans across the table and crooks her finger at me. I mirror her position. She says real low, “Now I think it’s you who needs to feel safe.”
Game over. Time to roll the credits. “You wanna get out of here?”
“You have no idea.”
I slap two twenties on the table, take her hand, and lead her to my car. The woman is five-foot-nothing, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and half drunk, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t throw me against the passenger door I’d intended to hold open for her.
Her tiny hands lace in my hair, tugging me down to her already parted lips. Not hard to play my part, what with her lower half pressed against mine. In fact, that part of me seems to have no problem with my duplicity. She groans when she feels it and grinds closer like she hasn’t had any in months. I can relate. I respond by grabbing her waist and dragging her against me, while my other hand threads in her long hair and tugs to expose her throat. Starting at the hollow between her collarbones, I slowly work my way up to her chin before claiming her mouth again. She tastes like summer, watermelon, and rum. Everything about her is so different from—
No. Can’t think about her.
It’s not that Heather’s not attractive. Good God, the woman’s sex in heels, but it isn’t the same. This feels like a desperate mercy fuck.
I’m pulled from my analysis when she goes for my belt. “Not here,” I growl. “Let’s do this right, sweet pea. Come on.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, before brushing her hand along my length. She smirks at my reaction.
“In the car, minx. Now.”
She laughs, a low bawdy sound I’ve never heard from her before. Once we’re both in the car, she’s at it again. She refuses the seatbelt I point out and tries to climb over the console into my lap.
“Woman, you are going to get us arrested or wrapped around a utility pole.”
“Now wouldn’t that be a story to tell Mama.” She laughs again and licks her lips. The mention of Marcie Swann is a freezing-cold shower.
“The belt, or this night’s over, Heather.”
“Oh my, when did you become so bossy? I kind of like it.”
“When did you become so forward? I kind of like that, too.”
“Shut up and drive,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maybe two blocks later she starts again, her hand burning a hole through my pant leg. It’s like when we dated in high school, except the roles are reversed. Instead of me slipping my hands under her dress, she’s determined to get my fly down at a red light.
We make it home in record time. Don’t even care that the place is a mess and probably smells. While I unlock the door, she tugs up the back of my shirt and slowly drags down her fingernails from my shoulder blades to my waist. Nearly lose my shit right then and there.
“This is what you want?”
She nods.
“Not good enough. Say it out loud. Tell me what you want.”
“We never got to finish what Mama interrupted. I want to make up for lost time.”
“Then hold on tight, sweet pea.” Before she has time to protest, I lift her over my shoulder and carry her caveman-style up the steep steps to the second floor. She laughs and kicks off her shoes, so I swat her ass just to see what she’ll do.
“Again,” she breathes. The smell of sex permeates the air, so I oblige. The earthy scent gets stronger. I’m in big trouble. This was just supposed to be a fake fuck to get her back, then send her conniving ass back home to her mama with her panties in her purse. If I’m going to accomplish my goal, I’ll need to step things up.
My bedroom’s a black hole of disorder, but she only has eyes for me when I set her back down on her bare feet. “Lose the clothes.”
While she peels off her shirt, I sit back on the bed and lean on my elbows. Fuck the symphony; I’ve got a front-row seat to the best show in town. Under her dark pink tank top is a matching bra. “Leave that on for now.” The streetlights shine in through my naked window, casting her in shadows and light. It’s impossible to miss how turned on she is. “Skirt next.” She reaches behind her to undo the zipper, but in the process, her breasts push out and nearly break free from the thin material I could easily rip with my bare hands. I dig my fingers into the sheets to stop myself. After her skirt falls to the hardwood floor, she kicks it away and looks at me expectantly.
There’s nothing I can do to stop the lazy grin spreading across my face. “You said it was me who needed to feel safe. Show me.” I raise my fist then point to the floor.
She falls to her knees like a well-trained puppy. “I thought you’d never ask,” is her reply.
The next ten minutes are some of the best of my life. If I’d known she’d be this good, I would’ve flown home from Boston every weekend, to hell with her mama. The girl definitely learned more than corporate law in Tuscaloosa. Try as I might to stay in control and make her work, I lose it at the end, coming loudly with a primal groan and my hands buried in her hair. Heather wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinkie.
“Stand up.” She lifts to her feet with the grace of a dancer. After shucking off the rest of my clothes, I move behind her and sweep her hair off her neck. I place one hand on her stomach and hold her in place while slowly trailing kisses from the nape of her neck all the way down to the small of her back. Can’t help grinning when the tiny muscles along her spine twitch at the contact. A quick tug and her soaked panties are on the floor. The smell of her arousal makes short work of my recovery time. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Her whole body shivers at the compliment. “Turn around.” She obeys. “Look at me.” She meets my eyes and suddenly I’m back on her parents’ couch senior year. She’d handed me a condom and hidden her face. I’d taken her chin between my fingers and forced her to meet my gaze. “Are you sure?” She’d answered by reaching down and putting the condom on me.
Tonight, that shy girl is gone.
“Last chance to back out, sweet pea.” She smirks and reaches back to undo the clasps of her bra. “Guess I have my answer, don’t I?”
A groan escapes when she presses herself against me, soft in the places I’m hard. She tilts up her chin and places her lips next to my ear. I shiver when she whispers, “Fuck me.”
You don’t have to ask this good ol’ boy twice. The whole night may be a sham, but it’s going to count. She’ll be going home to her mama well-used and sore, that’s for damn sure.
“You on the pill?”
“Mm-hm. You clean?”
“Squeaky,” I reply, “but things are about to get dirty.”
She gasps when I flip her over and grip the back of her head, holding her face in place against the sheets. The bastard I’ve been trying to keep in check all night breaks free in a torrent of God-awful filth, and the thicker I lay it on, the louder she moans. The Heather I knew was a sweet little thing. The one underneath me is a sick little bitch. The harder I try to offend her, the slicker she gets. Then
my diseased mind lands on the one thing sure to piss her off.
In my calmest voice I croon, “Fuck, baby, you’re almost as tight as Juli.” She quits her writhing and goes quiet. Mission accomplished. But I don’t stop. I should—I know I should—but I continue to pound into her while laying out my list of grievances.
“You had your fun—my turn. This is for setting me up. Telling me to apologize when you knew it was a bad idea.” I pick up the pace, my breath coming in rapid bursts between words. “Making me think I still had a chance. Bet you and your mama had a laugh over that. Be sure to tell her they threatened a restraining order.” With one final push and a shudder, I tip over the edge for the second time tonight. Between the buzz in my veins and the revenge I’ve just exacted, I feel like a fucking god. “Now get your shit and get out of my house.”
Don’t know what I expected from her. Tears, screaming, shocked silence. What I didn’t expect was a loud moan and pulsing waves when she comes around me. All the bravado I’d been relishing for the last minute drains out and slips through the cracks in the floor. Her harsh laugh draws my attention as she raises her head from the bed, twists around, and pins me with cold, knowing eyes.
“You think you’ve got this all figured out, so ready to accuse others and cast blame.” Her fingers twine in the metal headboard as she pulls herself up. She doesn’t even make a move to cover her nakedness. I can’t wrench my eyes away, nor can I make sense of her actions as she crawls over on all fours, a feral cat moving in for the kill. A sharp fingernail digs into the underside of my chin, pushing my head back and exposing my throat. If she wanted to turn the tables, send a clear message about what I am and what I am not, she’s succeeded.
The flat of her tongue glides up the side of my neck, scraping nearly a day’s worth of stubble like a mother cat with a sandpaper tongue. She stops just below my ear then takes the lobe between her teeth and bites down hard enough to make me wince. The sharp pain mingles with the other confused synapses firing away in my brain and the only thing I know is I’ve once again been proven weak and foolish by a woman. Her warm breath on my ear does little to lessen the sting of the bite.
“Do you honestly think my mama would approve of me meeting you for drinks in public, let alone coming back to your house so you can use me like a whore in your twisted revenge fantasy? You don’t know anything.”
There’s a fist stuck in my throat. “Clearly,” I manage on the second try.
“Tell me, do you believe in fighting fire with fire?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
She maneuvers her way into my lap, wrapping smooth legs around my waist. Her limbs are still damp with sweat, her mussed hair a reminder of my rough treatment. A few strands tickle my cheek when she leans in. “In our case, it means the only way to handle a lunatic hell-bent on retribution is to be vindictive in return. You’re not the only one who’s had a lot of time to think.” She pulls back, only to slowly walk her fingertips up my chest. “I’ll give you some time to process this. Thanks for a fun evening.”
As casually as if we’d just shared the passion of life-long lovers, she dresses, kisses my forehead, and waltzes out the bedroom door. Like an idiot, I simply sit and watch, wondering what the hell just happened and how this will play out. Her soft footfalls pause as she picks up the shoes she kicked off on the way up the stairs.
“I’ll be in touch,” she calls, before closing the front door behind her. The window’s rattle echoes through the vaulted, empty rooms of the house. I sit—naked, bewildered, ashamed—unmoving for minutes, possibly hours, until my thoughts run their futile course and merciful sleep takes me away from this nightmare.
Chapter Five
She’s back in the morning, a coral-clad blond version of the crazy chick in “Fight Club”, the one who wanders in and out of the picture spouting off weird shit and not giving a fuck about steamrolling anyone.
“Here, drink this.” A cup of hot Starbucks coffee is thrust at my chest as soon as I open the front door. “We’ve got work to do.”
“My apologies, but did I miss a memo?”
“Was I not clear last night? We’re fighting fire with fire. Ooh, and don’t you look handsome with my marks on you.”
“Your–” I flinch when she snaps her teeth near my ear and spreads her fingers like claws.
“Have you even looked in the mirror this morning?”
“Uh, the sun’s barely up,” I reply and scratch my head.
“Come, come. Follow me.”
The crazy lady I used to know as Heather grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs like she owns the place. Normally I’d stop her, but it’s all too bizarre and this bastard’s enjoying the view of her curvy ass way too much as it sways with each riser she ascends.
“Where’s your bathroom?”
“You mean you don’t already know? Surprised you haven’t cased the place or studied blueprints.”
When we hit the landing, she turns and says, “Whiny sarcasm is not an attractive quality in a grown man.”
“And psychotic bitchiness is not–” Stars dance in front of my eyes when she cracks me across the face with an open palm.
She smiles. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“I said, psy–” She backhands me this time, the faint taste of blood mixing with the coffee I’d been sipping.
“You’re a slow learner, aren’t you? Oh, look at your clenched jaw and flared nostrils,” she simpers. “Are you going to hit back?” She looks at me sideways and bats her lashes. “I didn’t think so. Now come on.”
The breath I’d been holding rushes out. Of course I’d never hit a woman, though if she doesn’t explain what the hell kind of crazy game she’s playing, I have no qualms throwing her shapely ass out on the curb.
“Come on!” When I don’t move fast enough, she shoves me from behind. “In you go. Oh dear, is that the only mirror you have?” I follow her gaze to the small antique shaving mirror extending from the wall above the bathroom’s dingy sink.
“Yeah.”
She heaves a great sigh. “I guess it’ll have to do.”
“Do what?”
“Stand in front of it, please.”
“Don’t see the p–”
“I said stand in front of the goddamn mirror!”
Holy shit, this woman’s off her rocker. Good thing she’s tiny—she won’t be difficult to restrain until someone gets here with a straitjacket. Until then, better do what I’m told.
“That’s better,” she says. “Now, tell me what you see.”
“What I see?”
Over my shoulder, she rolls her eyes in the reflection. “Eyes?”
“Blue.”
“Hair?”
“Dark brown.”
She fingers my sideburns. “What about this?”
“Bit of gray. Thanks for pointing it out.”
“What does it mean?”
“Getting old.”
“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. Try again.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee? What are you, Scarlett O’Hara on meth?”
She tilts her head and pretends to think. “That’ll work. So what does this mean?” Again, she brushes my sideburns, but this time she keeps going, trailing her finger down the side of my neck.
“Distinguished?”
“You’re getting warmer. What do people with gray hair have that younger ones don’t? And don’t be cute like the other night.” A blush creeps into my face when I recall my awkward hemorrhoid comment.
“Experience?”
“Exactly! That and wisdom—allegedly. Well done, pet.” She reaches up and undoes a button on her shirt.
“What–what is this?”
“You did something right. This is your reward. You do something wrong, you get one of my marks,” she says, pointing at my earlobe, which, according to the mirror, is the purplish color of old-fashioned ink. “Seeing as it’s Saturday and you don’t have to work and neither do I, we’re going to spend the day together w
hipping you into shape. Sorry to say, but you need a lot of work. More than I’d anticipated. Lucky for you, I inherited my mama’s tenacity.”
“Her crazy, too.” No sooner have the words left my mouth than she rakes her nails down my bare chest. “Shit! Ow!”
“I already explained the rules to you. Better keep up if you want me naked in your bed again.”
“I never–” She swallows my protest with a kiss, a deep one that reminds me of the capabilities she displayed last night. To my great dismay, my body overrides my brain. Again.
With a nibble on my lower lip, she breaks the kiss and steps back. “As I was saying, lots of work to do. Take off your shorts.”
“What? I’m not taking off my shorts in front of you.” When she crosses her arms and tilts her head, I see the irony. “Okay, why? Did I earn another reward already?” I employ full air quotes on that one.
“Manscaping.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Lose the shorts and I’ll show you.”
An hour later, I’ve been plucked, trimmed, and shaved in places that should never see sharp objects. I’m also completely humiliated…until I get my reward.
“Much better,” she says as I help her to her feet. “On to the next task.” She bounces out the door and down the hall. All I can do is follow and hope I haven’t made a mistake by not calling the fifth floor at Mobile Infirmary. “Oh, very nice,” she says after opening my closet. We’re wrapped in the scent of fabric softener as it wafts into the room, temporarily canceling out the musty smell of unwashed sheets and dust. “You always keep your clothes so neat?”
“Pretty much.”
“Interesting,” she says. We both stare at the hangers spaced an inch apart, pants on the left, button-downs on the right, divided by short sleeves and long sleeves. After an inspection of my drawers, she selects several items for me to wear. Oddly, she hasn’t picked my nicer clothes. Rather, she hands me a pair of old cargo shorts and one of my ratty, sweat-stained work T-shirts.
“Really?”
“Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” she says.
“Some privacy?”
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