“You don’t agree?” I grab a cupcake from the lower drawer and peel the paper wrapping. Red velvet, my favorite.
I let myself take the icing off the top and slowly work my way to the batter. It’s the simple things in life that matter. This is totally going to fuck with my diet, but I figure after the shit I’ve been through the last day, a little cheat meal is the least of my worries.
An ex boyfriend and a stalker in my life is more than I can handle right now.
Marina lets out a sigh that would blow me away if I were next to her. “I don’t know. That just doesn’t seem like King’s style. Growing up, he was always the one who was straight-forward and didn’t play games like this. Are you sure it’s not someone from one of your classes?”
My nostrils flare and my head grows warm. If I was in a cartoon right now there would be steam coming out of my ears. She can’t be serious right now. Right?
“Didn’t you also doubt that he was cheating on me when I went to you for advice last time? Look how that turned out!” The words leave my mouth before I can fully understand what I’m saying.
Silence.
I shove the cupcake into my mouth before I can say anything else. I can picture Marina bitting down on her bottom lip, taking in my words, and holding back tears. I want to apologize, but her voice crackles on the other end.
“I’ve got to go. Tyler is climbing the spruce tree in the backyard again. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Marina, I’m sorr,” I say, but there’s no answer on the other line. She hung up on me.
I slam the phone down on the counter top. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I mumble over and over, a hand hitting the sides of my head.
Well, there goes one of the only friends that I have left. I throw the cupcake wrapper into the trashcan, her words about King still at the forefront of my mind.
There’s some truth to what she had to say. King was never one to play around when we were together. He was always forward with me. At least, that’s what I thought.
The thought of King with another girl makes my stomach hurt. I open the fridge and push another cupcake into my mouth. My taste buds take in every flavor, letting me forget about King for a moment.
Chapter 4
I lean against the door-frame watching, Tommy install the new locks. It’s the only way that I can feel safe in my own home anymore. The police said that there was no sign of forced entry through the front door, so someone must have the key to my place.
“I’m just about done here,” Tommy says, his bad breath hitting me like a wave. I put on my best smile and just nod, not wanting to engage him for too long. When I met Tommy there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way. But my instincts have been pretty shitty lately so I hired him anyway.
He is tall and gawky. He has a big nose that he sniffles every two seconds instead of blowing it, acne that covers his cheeks, and a black hoodie and jeans that are two sizes too big for him.
I keep my distance and watch him work. I try not to judge him too much. After all, I lucked out and saw his “locksmith for hire” poster outside my apartment on a telephone pole. It was almost destined to be.
The front door to the apartment building opens, and I casually look in the that way, wondering which of my neighbors it could be. When I see who it is, I almost slip away from the wall and try to scamper into my apartment. I want to close the door before he sees me, but I forget that Tommy’s still putting the final touches on the door. So there’s nowhere for me to run, I have to face him.
“Cami, you can’t just keep running away from me,” King yells, his voice booming down the narrow hallway. Like a cornered mouse, I pace between Tommy and King. Unsure of where to go.
“I’m all done here,” Tommy announces and grabs his toolbox off the floor. He hands me his card and practically sprints down the hallway. He must feel the discomfort between King and me. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who can handle these kinds of situations well, and I don’t blame him.
At the top of the stairs, Tommy bumps into King’s shoulder, the toolbox falling out of his hand and down the stairs. There’s a loud thud at the bottom.
Tommy looks at King for a moment, then at me, before getting his pudgy body down the stairs. King’s eyes follow him for a moment, but I’m already inside the apartment, ready to close the door on him.
The door is inches away from closing when King’s black motorcycle boots butt through the small crack. I push on the frame, making sure to leave a buff mark in his precious boots, before looking up into those glowing blue stars of his.
“Can you not?” I say, trying my hardest to push him away from the door. All that does is let me feel the tautness of his chest. My palm slides down his favorite black motorcycle jacket, the one he wore back when I dated him, and stops at his belt buckle. His face breaks into a gloating smile and he gives me a little wink, thrusting his hips toward me.
“Moving a little fast, aren’t you?” he says, stifling back a laugh. My face gets red hot and I pull away, letting the door swing wide open.
I shake my head from side to side, his footsteps bouncing off the wooden floor behind me. “Guess I’ll just let myself in.” He shuts the door and takes in my apartment, letting out a little whistle to show that he’s impressed.
I grab a coffee mug from a handle that hangs over the sink and pour myself a cup. This coffee was supposed to be for Tommy and me, but he rushed out of here before I could get him one.
The only sound in the apartment is from my spoon as I hit it against the inside of the mug. Extra sugar and cream. Something tells me that this is going to be a longer day than I wanted. I need to get back to my work, but life can’t stop throwing curve balls at me.
“So, did you see how he looked at me?” He pulls a stool up and tosses his leg over it, bringing out a thick bulge on the side of his thigh. I bite down on my lip and remember what lies underneath those riding pants of his.
I hadn’t thought of King’s package in a long time.
I shake my head. “Who?” I take a long sip of my coffee and pretend that I’m looking at something on the ground before bringing my eyes up to him. There’s a smirk on his face, but he doesn’t say anything.
Busted!
“That guy who was changing your locks. He gave me a pretty dirty look when you went inside.” He leans over the kitchen counter, making his riding jacket really bring out his muscles. Even now, several years later, it still fits him perfectly.
Most men would have lost their shape after their early twenties, but that was never King’s style. If he wasn’t racing or with me, he was at the gym pumping iron. He always told me that he had to keep up appearances. I wonder what his excuse is now. Probably likes the attention he gets from other women gawking at his bulging biceps and hard shoulders.
“You’re just imagining stuff. Maybe, even a little jealous that someone was here before you,” I tease, letting the hot coffee run down my throat. My hands shake and I lower the mug, my knuckles completely white.
“Jealous? Me?” he says, pushing away from the chair and grabbing himself a mug without even asking. “That doesn’t sound like me.” We both know that’s a lie, but I’ll let him get away with it. Just like he let me get a sneak of his package.
“What do you want, Arthur?” I use his first name. The only time I use his first name and not his street one is when I’m mad at him. I’m the one who gave him that racing name after all.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pours himself a cup of black coffee, brings his lips to it, takes a sip before resting his elbows down on the counter next to me. He flutters his eyelashes at me, like we’re two girls having a drink and talking about gossip. He then spends the next couple minutes alternating between staring at me and sipping his coffee.
“I want you. I’ve always wanted you,” he finally says. He lets go of the mug and inches his fingers toward me. I jump off the seat and move to the opposite side. The last thing I need for him to do is touch
me. He lost that privilege a long time ago.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m scared. Scared of the fact that I might want more of him if he touches me. Nothing good could come from him getting close to me and telling me his lies. As far as I’m concerned, every word that comes out of his mouth is just something to get me back in bed.
I’m not going to give into his temptations that easily. I didn’t spend the last four years running away from him just to have him saunter back into my life in one afternoon. Every minute since last night has been spent trying to convince myself that I’m still better off without him. That I can find someone else that will treat me better than he ever did.
Yet, here I am, with nobody in my life. Jean’s set me up with multiple people and none of them have gone further than the first date. It always ends with no calls after I reject their advances.
Why is that every man just wants to get laid on the first date? What ever happened to working for the right girl?
It also doesn’t help that I’m being picky as hell. There was always something wrong with every guy that I went on a date with. He was either too skinny. Too fat. Didn’t listen well enough. Or talked too much.
Or he wasn’t Arthur Stone.
“Camilla, did you hear me?” It’s his turn to use my full name. He didn’t have to. I know that he’s serious about getting back with me. That much is obvious when you move across the country and open up a garage shop. But there’s no way that I can let him back in my life. Not after all that he’s done to me. That doesn’t even change the fact that it’s possible he’s been stalking me for the last couple months.
“I heard you. But first you need to do something for me.” I make my way across the room, eyes falling on the corner of the coffee table in the living room.
This is his only chance to come clean. To show me that he’s serious about not hurting me anymore.
I need to watch his reaction. Every move that he makes in the next couple minutes will tell me what I need to know.
“Anything,” he answers, without any hesitation. There’s an eagerness in him to prove anything. And for some reason I feel like if I told him to jump out the window, he would do it.
I press my hands on my jeans, smoothing them out. Part of me doesn’t want to ask him. What if he really is the stalker? Is it a good idea to be so close to him? And alone?
I let myself breathe before turning my focus to King, taking in every little feature on his face. The way his pupils contract and release on me. How his chest rises and falls. Or how tightly his fingers are intertwined in front of him.
“I need you to give me back my panties.” I hold my gaze on him, waiting for the reaction that hasn’t come.
He tilts his head to the side, brings his hands up to his face, and runs them through his hair. One hand stays on his head like he’s in disbelief while the other props his body away from the counter. He looks around the room and back at me. “You want me to do what?”
“My panties. I want you to give them back to me,” I repeat.
The stool screeches as he pushes it away. He shakes his head, opens his mouth like he’s stretching his jawline, and makes his way to me. He looks at me for a moment, and holds up a finger before putting his hand back down to his side, and sits down next to me.
The cushions sink and I slide down next to him. Our hips touch, but I’m the only one to notice. He’s still trying to comprehend my request.
The subtle, soft smell of burnt cigarette and beer wafts into my nose. It mostly comes from his jacket. That’s what happens when you hang with that kind of crowd, it becomes part of you.
He rubs his palms on his dark denim riding pants before turning his attention to me. His eyebrows rise and fall, and his mouth opens before it shuts again. “Okay, I’m having a little trouble understanding what you want from me. Maybe you can fill me in. What underwear are we talking about?”
I watch him for a moment, taking in his chiseled jawline with the nicely trimmed black hair that covers it. He runs a hand through his long, wavy red-gold hair, moving it out of his eyes before looking at me.
I thought that it would be easier than this. Nothing that he’s doing is giving me a weird vibe. Although, I do like the confused look he has on his face.
It brings me back to when we took high school math together. Every time the teacher started a new lecture he would always look at me, tilt his head, and shrug his shoulders. His math smarts was never what won me over.
“So, you didn’t take my panties?” I say, clearing my throat and trying to figure out how much I should tell him. The more information he knows; the more reason he’ll give me to get back in my life.
The last thing I need is for him to be back trying to protect me from every person on the street. Not that he can even give me that much of his time, since he just opened up a new garage. I’m sure he’s busy with that more than anything else.
Although, having him next to me day and night might not be the worst thing that could happen to me. Knowing that I have a friend who could look out for me, even if it is King, might not be a bad thing after all. The police weren’t going to give me any help unless I was already dead. Someone like King by my side might get this stalker off my back.
“I mean I might still have some of your old panties. You left in a hurry after graduation and I never did get an address. Is that what you’re talking about?”
The memories start to flood back. The reason I left so fast after graduation was because I wanted to put as much distance between King and I as I could. The less information he had, the better off I was. I didn’t even bother telling my parents where I was going when I left, for fear that King might guilt trip them into telling him.
“There was a reason for that. You know that.” I grind my teeth and hiss at him.
King holds his hands up at his sides and slides away from me like I’m a ticking time bomb. And in a way I am. There are still so many unanswered questions about that part of my life.
“I know. I know. That’s not what I meant. Cami, what the hell is going on?”
For the third time that day I finish explaining what happened last night. At this point, it’s practically imprinted into my brain. I recite the events after I left the garage. He doesn’t say much, just nods along to my words to let me know that he’s paying attention.
When I get to the part about the guy taking my panties, he clenches his fist and his nostrils flare. A dark shade of red covers his face, his chin sticks out, and he bites down on his lip.
He’s mad. It’s in every movement that he makes. I’ve spent enough time with King to know his every little habit. Some that he doesn’t even know about himself.
The way he picks at the wrinkles that aren’t there in his denim pants, the ones he cherishes the most. Or how he flexes his hand into a fist every time I mention how scared I was last night.
It’s almost adorable. I have to turn away a couple times to hide a smile that creeps up on my face. Knowing that he’s still concerned over me is something that I can’t help but feel happy about. But that doesn’t mean I have to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I still care how protective he is of me.
Back in high school, he would get pissed at any guy who made a pass at me. I always pretended like I hated how protective he was, but I know that he meant well. That he just loved me so much and didn’t want to lose me. It was never about him not trusting me. He just never trusted the guy who hit on me, even though I was never interested in anyone beside him. He won my heart long ago.
Having someone care about me, beside Jean, would be refreshing. Having someone in my life other than Jean and my artwork would also be a huge improvement. The feeling of Arthur by my side, watching over me and taking care of me, would be a nice touch.
Even if I hate his guts right now.
Chapter 5
I run a hand through my brown hair, tucking it away behind my ear. It always gets in the way and I’ve been meaning to get it cut. One of the first thi
ngs I did when I got to Portland was cut my hair short. At the time, long hair reminded me of King and how his fingers twirled through it, creating knots around his digits.
Now, four years later, it’s grown to around the same length as when I left.
King moves a little closer to me, closing the space from when I threw accusations at him before. Just opening up to him about last night has rekindled something inside of me. The fact that he isn’t the stalker that I feared means something to me, even if I won’t admit it to him right now.
King’s long, powerful arms drape over me and pull me in close. There’s a flutter in my heart, but I hold myself together. I can’t show a sign of weakness. Not when the last four years have been about getting over him. I should slap him right here and now for even making this kind of move.
Yet I don’t pull away from his touch. I know that I should, but the lack of intimate contact over the years has worn me down. So much so that I’ll even accept King’s tainted touch.
His fingers curl around my arm and bring me close to his chest. Every move that he makes brings out a soft crinkling sound from his leather jacket. I sink my head into it and let the old, rustic smells overwhelm me.
This jacket has been through so much trouble over the years. All of King’s races and all those years we were together. And the last four years we were apart. For a moment, I wish that it could tell me what King’s been up to. That way I won’t have to let King into my life.
A mixture of cigar smoke, whiskey, and the open road. I reach out and grab his right cuff. I poke a finger through a ripped hole, one that he’d gotten during my freshman year in college when we were learning to cook.
That night he almost lost a finger and I almost peed my pants crying with laughter. Both of us learned an important lesson that day. Always pay attention in the kitchen. Especially when there’s a knife involved.
Double Heat: Menage Firefighter Romance MFM Page 17