Rush

by Violet Vaughn

  With a small whisper of rolling wheels the drawers open and close until I find one full of denim. Finding the least adorned pair is tough. She’s a bling girl, and I’m not.

  Nika’s also too damn skinny if my five-foot-seven-inch frame is fitting snugly into her pants. Shingles, how am I going to gorge myself in these? At least my ass will look good. In just my bra and the jeans, I move toward the walk-in closet.

  The dogs jump up, and I turn to a deep, booming voice. “Well, hello there.”

  Coving my breasts with my arm I say, “What the hell? Out!”

  A broad-shouldered blond holds up a hand. “Sorry, I thought this was the room Derrick told me to use.” He backs up slowly while clearly inspecting my body, and Jake growls.

  I walk over, lock the door, and swear I hear the douche canoe laughing. The hangers screech as I shove them aside, searching for a button-down shirt to wear that will cover my butt.

  I find an aqua and green, tribal-print tunic that will compliment my gray-blue eyes. Maybe that’ll keep Paul’s gaze from traveling south, although I seriously doubt it.

  The idea of wearing the heels to compensate for the length of the pants goes out the window. I don’t want one ounce of sex appeal emanating from me. I find flip-flops that are too big, and roll up the hem.

  Hell, I’m even going to dowdy down my hair. The slap of sandals echoes off the pale blue tile bathroom, which is almost identical to Derrick’s. The extra sink is replaced with a vanity covered in makeup. So much is lined up neatly I’m awestruck. I suppose if modeling is your job, it comes with the territory.

  I left my backpack downstairs, so I look for a brush and hair elastic thinking a ponytail would be good. But when I notice the hairpins, I get a better idea. My hair pulls my scalp as I finger comb it into a messy bun. Glancing into the mirror, I’m tempted to scrub my face raw so it’ll be blotchy for a long time, but decide against it. I’m a bit too vain for that, considering Derrick will see me too.

  I put on my take-no-shit-from-anyone face and walk down as if I’m about to work a strip-club bar. Derrick is behind the counter, and because the dogs tumble down first, he gazes over at me descending. A smile twitches at his mouth.

  “Paul, this is my girlfriend, Gretchen.”

  I like the sound of that and smile. Paul gets up from his stool and walks toward me. He grabs my hand and kisses the back. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Tempted to wipe it on my jeans, I pull my hand back and try not to think of his saliva on my skin. “Hi.” No way am I telling you the pleasure’s mine, needle dick.

  A highball glass is on the granite island, half full of dark liquid, and the odor of Paul’s breath tells me it’s bourbon. Southern men and assholes drink bourbon, and I already know he’s both.

  I walk to Derrick’s side. “Need my help with anything?” I’m hoping for something because I don’t want to sit next to Paul. Fortunately Derrick catches on, and tells me to wash and cut the kale in thick strips.

  Paul says, “How did you find such a charming woman?”

  I feel the dig about my reaction to him walking in on me, but don’t take the bait. I shake water from the kale and place it on the cutting board.

  Derrick replies. “She was sitting next to Nika on the plane ride out here.”

  With my back to Paul I let a huge grin form on my face and my knife makes a resounding chop. I love his spin and I decide to play along. Turning forward I say, “We ended up chasing a dog together and the rest is history.” I look up at Derrick with adoring eyes, and his dance with silent laughter as he pulls me against his side.

  He kisses the top of my horrid hairdo and hands me my champagne. “What can I say? She’s stolen my heart.”

  Whoa, what? I cuddle against him as if I’m embarrassed, and not hiding my shock. I quickly determine he’s trying to protect me from Paul and say, “I believe you have mine too.” When I gaze into Derrick’s eyes, I can’t figure out what he’s thinking. They’re dark, and he’s giving me a look I’ve never seen before.

  Paul mumbles. “Lovely.” And takes a big swig of his drink.

  Great. Now he’s going to be a drunken douche. Still not anxious to be anywhere near Paul, I take the cover off the quinoa and stir the pot. Derrick hands me a wooden spoon. “Stir the sauce while I do the fish, please.”

  I take a sip of my champagne and move the spoon lazily through the buttery-wine mixture. The lemon scent wafts toward me, and my stomach grumbles.

  Paul asks, “Where’s that foxy sister of yours?”

  I almost turn to glare and tell him she has a name, but I control myself.

  Derrick’s voice is clipped. “She’s on a shoot. I’ll be sure to tell her you said hello.”

  Before Paul can make a snide comment about Nika, I change the subject. “Are you passing through on business?” Like Breckenridge is on the way to anywhere.

  “Actually, I came here for business. I have client in the neighborhood and thought I would kill two birds with one stone. It’s been a while since I’ve visited the Hamilton twins.”

  Paul is an attractive man, as long as he doesn’t open his mouth. His blue eyes twinkle in a strong, tan face, and I can imagine he does well with women. I ask, “So Derrick says you went to college together?”

  “Yes, we were frat brothers.” He chuckles and takes another hefty swallow of his drink. The crack of glass on the granite when he sets it down is loud, and he says, “Gretchen, would you pour me a little more please?”

  His tone is polite, and I decide maybe I’m being a little hard on him. I pour him half a glass. Derrick is setting another place at the table, and I notice he takes the candles away.

  “Thank you, darling.” While Paul says it with a southern accent my mind goes to hearing it from Derrick earlier today. It makes me warm up to Paul a tiny bit.

  Derrick says, “Dinner’s just about ready. Go, sit, and I’ll bring it over.”

  I grab the bottle of champagne and carry our glasses in one hand to the table. Paul glances at the stemware and then at my face without pausing on the way. A chair scrapes against tile as he pulls it out for me. “So where are you from, Gretchen? I think I hear a New England accent.”

  I sit and begin to pour liquid in a tilted glass to answer. “Woodstock, Vermont.” My hometown is full of rich people, and I wait for him to ask me if I know someone because I suspect Paul comes from money.

  Derrick places steaming plates in front of us, and the garlic mixed with fish is a delightful odor. “Wow, this smells amazing.”

  Paul lifts his glass in a toast. “To old friends, and new.” He winks at me, and I decide maybe I was being a bit harsh. Clinking our glasses, I notice Derrick’s jaw is clenched. Or maybe not.

  Chapter 21

  Dinner was delicious, and I’m not nearly as full as I would have been if we didn’t split things three ways. Paul and Derrick have been telling me funny stories about fraternity antics, and so far none of them have been inappropriate. I keep waiting for the asshat to show up.

  I swallow the last bit of champagne in my glass and wish it weren’t gone. I must have frowned because Derrick says, “I could open another bottle.” His smile is so sweet and I long to touch his lips. Hell, I want to kiss that mouth.

  Tempted as I am to say yes, I decline. While I can certainly hold my liquor, I’m not comfortable getting more than a slight buzz tonight. Derrick is on edge, and I keep waiting for the reason why.

  Paul, on the other hand, is quite drunk. Not quite slurring, his voice is loud. He reaches across and takes my hand. His grip is warm and not too tight. “So waitress or bartender?”

  “I’m a bartender.”

  Derrick’s eyes flash with anger, he clenches his jaw, and it makes me tense a bit. He says, “She’s also a competitive snowboarder.” Derrick stands. “Coffee anyone?”

  I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think I’m about to find out what has had Derrick so nervous all night. “I’d love some, thanks.”

  “Paul
, coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Before he can say more, Derrick speaks again, “How are your parents?”

  Paul waves him off, and leans forward while gripping my hand a little tighter. “Whatever he tips you, I’ll double it.”

  “What?”

  Derrick interrupts again. “Paul. It’s not like that.”

  I pull my hand away. “Not like what?”

  Paul’s voice gets crystal clear. “Do you like it hard and fast, Gretchen?”

  I sit back as tiny hairs on my body stand on end. Fuck. I don’t think I want to know where this is going.

  Derrick sits next to me and tries to take my hand. I pull away, and he says, “That isn’t what we have.”

  Paul is wearing a smug smile, and my voice sounds far away when I say, “Tell me what you mean.”

  He grins, and I have a sudden fear of the devil. “It’s quite simple. Find a girl a little down on her luck. One who’s been robbed, or who has totaled her car. Tip her heavily, and she’s willing to go out of her comfort zone for the rich boy.”

  He tilts his head at me. “Don’t tell me you haven’t caught on.” He sits back with his drink in his hand and chuckles. “What did he tip you the first time? Fifty?”

  Shit. I clench my teeth and glare at Paul as he cackles.

  “Sugar, I’d have given you a hundred.”

  Derrick’s chair scrapes against the wood as he stands and moves to Paul’s side. He gets in Paul’s face and says, “Shut the fuck up.”

  Derrick turns to me. “It’s not like that with us, I swear it.”

  My dinner rolls in my stomach and my hands get cold. He was setting me up to have rough sex with him? Like a fucking prostitute?

  So many of Derrick’s words replay in my head. “I take what I want if it’s offered.”

  “Look. My relationships are about sex.”

  “So we understand each other?”

  Paul smiles like the Cheshire cat. “Tell you what. I’ll triple it, because you must be fucking amazing to have my boy here so torn up.”

  His words snap me out of my daze, and I’m so angry I envision punching Paul and blood spurting out his nose. But I’m smart enough to know a hissy fit is not what I want to do in front of Paul.

  I stand calmly and walk toward my backpack. The strap is rough when I grab it tightly and go upstairs. A series of footfalls tap on the stairs as Jake and Ollie follow me like good friends.

  Almost at the top, I freeze and realize I’m going to lose it. I race to the bathroom and slam the door on the dogs. I crumple to the floor by the toilet and puke up dinner. I flush, but am still nauseated. Inhaling the septic odor makes dry heaves come, and yellow stomach acid burns its way up and into the bowl.

  Shaking, I stand and strip out of Nika’s clothes. I gulp straight from the faucet and swish cool water around my mouth. I spit and stare at my semi-naked body in the mirror. The bruises on my hips are purple, and I push against them to feel the pain. Fuck you, Derrick. I pull on my tight bike clothes. They hug my body like a second skin, and I wish they were bulletproof. Even though I don’t have a light on my bike, I’m getting the hell out of here.

  I rip my brush through my hair, leaving several strands behind and braid it. Casey’s outfit is in the corner. Shit. I’ve become a stupid girl. Prancing around in a fuck-me dress and heels while I let him boss me around. I’ll bet he was laughing when I asked him to stop over-tipping me, thinking he was getting a bargain.

  Just as I’m folding the jeans, someone pounds on the door. “Gretchen, I’ll take you home.”

  Fuck. I really don’t want to deal with Derrick, but riding my bike on the highway, in the dark, is insane. I open the door. “Fine.” I hand him Nika’s clothes. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

  The clothes thud on the floor where he drops them, and he follows me down the stairs. When I walk by the granite counter, and toward the garage, I don’t even glance at Paul. But it doesn’t keep his mouth shut. “Damn, how could you not tap that? She’s got a body to go with that cock-sucking mouth. Bet she’d be up for a three-way if the price was right.”

  Derrick’s movement catches my eye and what I guess is the bourbon bottle shatters on the floor. It makes me flinch, but I don’t stop to look.

  Cold mountain air slices through my thin attire when I get outside. How could I have been so stupid? Derrick rushes to my door and opens it. I slide in without a glance toward him and let him shut it.

  The engine starts with a roar, and he peels out of the driveway. Great, just fucking great. Like he has a right to be mad. “Slow down and get over yourself.”

  Derrick takes his foot off the gas and lets the car coast. At the end of the road, he stops and turns to me. I refuse to look at him. “Gretchen, I swear to you. I never thought I was buying sex from you.”

  “You know what, Derrick? It doesn’t matter. This relationship has always been just sex. We agreed to it that night at the club, remember?”

  A lump is in my throat when I turn and stare out my side of the car. The light from the Land Rover’s headlights fades quickly to pitch black as I glance at the forest of evergreens on the side of the road. The onyx night is sprinkled with tiny pricks of light.

  The gearshift clicks into drive, and we continue on. When we get to the main street in town, Derrick says, “I don’t know where you live.”

  I turn forward. “Go toward Silverthorne. Gold Camp Road is up ahead on the right.”

  I direct him to my house. The tires crunch over the gravel driveway, and he parks behind Casey’s old Saab. The white paint glares back at us, and the brightness hurts my eyes.

  As I reach for the handle Derrick grabs my arm. “This is more than sex for me. It has been since I first laid eyes on you, Gretchen.”

  I yank my arm away. “I almost have enough money for my car now, so let’s call this done.” I shake my head. “It’s a shame this has to end. You were a damn good fuck.” I get out of the Land Rover, and the door slams with a solid thunk when I shut it.

  He waits until I get in the house before leaving, but I don’t turn to watch him go. Tears drip down off my chin, but I refuse to let him see me crying, so I don’t wipe them away. When I step in the door Casey, is on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. The smell of butter makes my stomach clench.

  “Whoa, Gretchen.” She comes to me, and I let her wrap me in her arms.

  I pull away with a sniff and say, “Shit. I left my bike in his car.”

  Chapter 22

  Casey knows me better than anyone, and me crying has to have her worried. But she lets me until I’m ready to talk.

  The pile of spent tissues is a small, white mound on the coffee table. I blow out the last bit of mucus I could possibly have and clear my throat.

  “Apparently Derrick thinks of women as prostitutes. He tips them heavily for sex.” I huff. Tears reappear, and I wonder why the hell I can’t control them.

  Casey picks up the tissues and shoves them in the empty box. She asks, “He’s been sleeping with other women he pays?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s been paying me. Only I thought he was just an overgenerous tipper.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would a guy like Derrick think he has to pay for sex?”

  “Because he likes it rough, so he finds a girl that needs money, hoping they’ll be willing to play for the cash.” I snort. “When he found me, it was his lucky day.”

  “He told you this?”

  “No, his friend Paul told me. I’ve never been more humiliated, because he offered me triple what Derrick tips me, like I’m some fucking whore. Paul acted like I should have known.” I get up, and the tissue box crunches when I squeeze it flat for recycling.

  “I don’t get it because, Gretch, rough sex isn’t that bizarre. Probably not what most people like, but hardly something one would have to pay for.”

  “I don’t get it either, but it doesn’t matter. We’re done.” Hot tears roll down my cheeks. What
the hell’s wrong with me? A relationship based on sex is what I do. Only that’s not all I wanted with Derrick, was it?

  Casey pulls me against her chest. “Oh, honey. You were falling for him, weren’t you?”

  I breathe in her pine-scented shampoo and nod. Casey’s hand pats my hair, and I let her embrace seep into my being.

  She says, “I’ll go get your bike for you in the morning. You never have to see that asshat again.”

  ***

  Casey must have gotten up at the crack of dawn, because when I stumble out to the kitchen the aroma of coffee greets me, and my bike helmet is on the counter.

  Her pale face is full of concern when she looks up from her coffee. “Get your coffee, and come sit at the table with me.”

  Watching the black liquid splash into the red mug makes me think of the scalding coffee at Derrick’s, and my heart aches. I gulp a mouthful down, hoping it can cauterize the pain bleeding out. All I get is a burnt tongue.

  I slump in a wooden chair that seems too hard for my body. Casey moves eggs around on her plate. I’m not sure I want to hear what she’s about to say.

  I wave my hand toward me. “Bring it.”

  “Did you hit Derrick?”

  “What? No, why?”

  She lets out a big sigh, and her body relaxes. “He has a black eye and his hand was wrapped up. I thought maybe… I thought maybe things got physical last night.”

  My stomach lurches. “Oh God, Casey. No, Derrick isn’t like Rod.” Rod was the one that took rough sex too far. Our relationship was volatile. I couldn’t seem to stay away from the rush of fighting and make-up sex, angry sex that turned so hot I craved it. The day he hit me, I was done, and that’s probably what Casey thought when she saw Derrick.

  I say, “He must have fought with Paul. He was pretty pissed at him. The guy’s a pig.”

  “Do you think maybe he’s a big enough pig that he didn’t quite tell you the truth?”

  She’s swirling the coffee in her cup, and it bugs the crap out of me, so I reach over to grab her wrist and make it stop. “You talked to Derrick, didn’t you?”