by Annie Stone
When I finally set a steak on her plate—medium-well—she takes the headphones off. “I love them.”
“You like metal?” I ask, skeptical.
She shrugs. “I’ll listen to anything. I’m not into one particular genre.”
“Cool,” I mumble. And it is. The more I learn about her, the more I like. “I mostly listen to metal.”
“I know.” She smiles. “It drives your dad nuts.”
I laugh. “Yeah. My old man is definitely not a fan.”
She shakes her head and puts a piece of steak in her mouth. A drip of juice runs out the corner of her mouth and down her face. I watch it drop off her chin and land on her breast.
“Oh,” she says, grabbing a napkin to wipe it off. My mouth goes dry.
But all I see is her touching her tits. Maybe I’m visually impaired, but… It is all…I…can…see. Her hands…on her tits.
When she puts down the napkin, I take a shaky breath and say, “I think you missed a bit.” She runs the napkin across her body again, and I enjoy the show. My dick doesn’t, though. He wants to be let out.
“Did I get it?” she asks, looking down at her chest.
I nod, even though I could keep watching her for hours.
“Oh, good. I’m such a messy eater.”
Gulping, I try to tame my racing heart. “So, uh, where are Dad and Carey?” I ask.
She skewers a piece of cucumber with her fork. “There was some trouble with Carey enrolling at the new school. I wasn’t really listening, but I think some documents were missing.”
“What about me?”
“No problem, I guess. No idea.”
I shrug. Whatever. “So why are you home so early?”
She shrugs, rubbing her napkin at a new drop of steak juice on her cleavage. I guess tits are like a catch basin for all kinds of shit. “I need to write some stuff,” she said, “and I focus better when it’s quiet.”
“What kind of stuff?” The words feel far away, because my eyes are still glued to her tits. But I’m still managing to keep up with the conversation. My dad would be so proud. Oh, wait…maybe not, considering the subject…
“We’re making a new brochure, and I was the final choice to write it up.”
“Wow,” I say, finally meeting her eyes. “Out of how many people?”
She pauses for a moment. “Just me.”
I smile, and she laughs, a bit embarrassed. “That makes more sense.”
“You’re so mean!”
“What? You volunteer to do things nobody else would. Just because you like doing things for other people. It’s nice.”
“Ugh! Nice?”
I laugh. “I thought nice was a good thing!”
“Nice is totally boring.”
“No way,” I say, shoveling steak in my mouth and trying not to glance down to see how her tits are faring. “Nice is good.”
“Okay. Then you’re really nice, too, Hunter. Such a nice boy.”
I pull a disgusted face. She got me. Nice sucks. “I am not nice.”
“Ha!”
We both laugh about the absurdity of our conversation, and she is so damn beautiful when she laughs. So indescribably beautiful. And I don’t think she’s ever been this relaxed around me before.
I love it. And, incidentally, so does my dick.
11
Mackenzie
It’s weird. I’m starting to actually enjoy Carey and Hunter’s company. Ever since they decided to stop being assholes, they’ve been pretty cool—kind of smart, super funny, and pretty interesting, too. Which means I don’t mind being left alone with them anymore.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m okay with Carter being gone all the time. That still bothers me. But it could be worse. If his sons had decided to stay assholes, for example.
They don’t run from the room as soon as I walk in anymore. We eat together and watch movies, or I watch them kill people and do other illegal things…in video games, of course.
I feel like they’re happier, too. More relaxed. Which definitely helps Carey open up to me, even though I still think it would make more sense for him to see a therapist who isn’t dating his father. But whatever. It seems to be helping them.
It gets to be so good that when the boys go away to football camp, I even start feeling a little lonely. Especially because Carter’s off to New York—again. And I can’t help but wonder where this is taking us.
During the week, I work way too much, turning to work when there’s nowhere else to go to. No reason to go home. It’s sad but true. I’m so lonely that I’m actually excited to go pick the boys up from the bus station at the end of the week.
In fact, I have my little pink car waiting for them at the pick-up spot a whole fifteen minutes early. I watch the bus pull into the parking lot, and the doors open, letting teenage boys spill out. They bump fists and pat each other on the shoulder by way of goodbye. It’s super cute. But as each boy starts walking toward his parents, there’s a noticeable change. It’s obvious in each of them. After a week of fun and camaraderie, they don’t want to go home.
Hunter and Carey aren’t quite the same as the others, probably because they get to go home and live with one of their friends. As they approach my car, they’re joking, as usual. Carey punches Hunter’s shoulder, and Hunter raises his fist in a mock punch. Boys. Seriously.
“Hey, Mac!” they call out happily, as they stuff their bags in the tiny trunk.
“Hey,” I say. As they climb into the car, I ask in a mockingly strict voice, “Have you two been good boys?”
Hunter grins, and Carey calls from the back seat, “Hey, you know us, Mac!”
“So you haven’t,” I say with a smile, buckling my seatbelt.
“Wow, that’s how little faith you have in us?” he protests.
“Oh, you rascals.”
“Rascals?” Carey laughs. “Man, you’re really showing your age! Who talks like that?”
“Only grannies,” Hunter chimes in.
“Hey!” I shout. “That was out of line! Okay, you asked for it. Now I’m gonna sing “How You Remind Me” the whole way home. So there.” I turn on the player, and right on cue, Nickelback blasts from the speakers.
“Turn it off!” they both scream, and I ignore them as I calmly begin singing along—really out of tune, obviously, and just really badly all around.
Hunter moves to turn off the radio, but I bravely smash his hand aside. He gives me a surprised look before a diabolical spark appears in his eyes.
That can’t be good.
“Mac…” His voice is suddenly low.
I look at him. “What? No… Whatever you’re thinking…”
He grins. “Oh, yes, you should be afraid. Be very afraid.”
“It’s just Nickelback!” I screech.
But before I can react, he reaches for the radio again, deftly grabbing my hands with his and holding them hostage in his strong grip. With me helplessly bound up, he fiddles with the knobs until we hear rock, some band I don’t know.
Then I have a stroke of genius. “Owww!” I wail.
Hunter looks confused and releases my hands. “I’m sorry! What—”
My hand darts out and switches the radio back to Nickelback. “Ha!” I yell triumphantly. “Gotcha!” And I cheerfully sing along as I start the car. Hunter shakes his head, admitting defeat, and I wonder if he’s impressed.
“Hey, Mac, can we go for burgers?” Carey asks.
“Of course. Haven’t you seen the size of my ass?”
He just laughs, but Hunter mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Yeah, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”
I glance at him, but as usual, he’s wearing his poker face. The guy could be a statue.
In the drive-thru, the boys order a pile of food. I guess, huge as they are, they have to eat a lot, but their order almost exceeds the capacity of my little car.
Back at home, we sit on the couch to eat. “So,” I say, unwrapping a burger, “tell
me about it…”
“What do you want to know?” Carey asks through a mouthful, revealing chewed-up bits of burger.
I bite into mine and reply with a full mouth, “Well, how was it?”
Carey grins, takes another bite, as if trying to upstage my full mouth, and says, “Fucking awesome!”
I stuff even more in my mouth. “Oh, yeah, well what do you think of this?” I’m about to challenge him to a contest, but the contents of my mouth threaten to land on the table, and I have to clamp my mouth shut.
Both boys burst out laughing, but Carey just took a sip of Coke, and it comes shooting out his nostrils. “You are so gross!” he squeals, wiping his nose.
“Me?” I protest, laughing hysterically.
“You two are such freaks!” Hunter observes.
And, ladies and gentlemen, I have nothing to say in my defense.
It’s like a smile has been stapled to my face. It’s so nice to have them back. Really nice.
As we settle down again and return to our burgers in a more civilized manner, I ask, “So what are your plans for the last week of summer break?”
Hunter shrugs. “Same old, same old.”
“Hanging out?”
“Eating my weight in burgers,” Carey says.
“I think you’ve already done that this summer,” I shoot back. How did these puppies ever manage to scare me? They’re fun. That’s all there is to it.
He opens his eyes wide. “Are you calling me a fat ass?”
I smile. “If the shoe fits.”
“Wow, I’m never sharing my food with you again!” He pulls his fries away just as I’m about to grab one.
“Hey!”
“Apologize!”
“What for?”
“You hurt my feelings.” He gives me an exaggerated pout.
“Give me the fries, and nobody gets hurt.”
Carey and Hunter both smile. Because we all know, really, what power do I have against them? I’d probably land in the pool.
“Apologize,” Carey sings, waving the fries back and forth.
“Fine. Sorry.”
“Now make me believe it.”
Laughing, I bow low in front of him. “I am so sorry—”
Hunter noisily sucks in air in a strangled gasp. When I look at him to see why, his eyes are on my breasts, which are about to slip out of my top in this position. Shit. I pop upright again.
I spend the last few days of summer chilling at the pool at Brittany’s apartment. It’s up on the roof, and everyone in the building can use it, but most don’t. I guess they prefer the beach. Brittany, on the other hand, has an intense aversion to sand. She hates it because it gets everywhere—in her eyes, ears, belly button, and her ass crack. She can’t stand that. Whenever I talk about sex on the beach, she threatens to put me in a psychiatric ward.
“How’s your love life?” I ask one day as we’re laying out by the pool.
“Let me remind you that I’m waiting for Hunter,” she says.
Ever since she saw him at the mall, she can’t stop talking about how sexy he is. I mean, sure, he’s good-looking, but he’s seventeen, for God’s sake! I’d feel like a pedophile if I had the hots for him. Brittany, however, has no such scruples.
“Make sure Carter doesn’t hear you say that.”
She waves me off. “I don’t think he’d have a problem with his son dating an older woman. I mean, he’s dating a much younger one, so…”
“Quod licet Iovi, non licet bovi,” I retort.
“Oh, no Latin, please!”
I laugh. “At least you recognized the language this time.”
She smiles. “I know exactly what you said. ‘A blind chicken’—”
“You are crazy, girl. It means what is permissible to Jove is not permissible to an ox.”
“Are you calling me an ox?”
“If the shoe fits.”
She laughs and throws an ice cube at me. “Anyway, I’m not a blind chicken. I can see Hunter’s…ahem…youthful appeal.”
“You’re making me ill.”
“Come on, Mac! Young men are great! They have no idea what they’re doing, but they can keep doing it for hours.”
“Brit, seriously. I can’t keep listening to your pedophile ramblings. You’re talking about Carter’s son, for God’s sake!”
She gives me an irritated look. “Finding a seventeen-year-old hot does not make me a pedophile. I said I’d wait till he’s eighteen.”
She’s surprised by my harsh reaction. And I am, too. But something deep inside me rebels against the idea of Brittany with Hunter. I feel responsible for the boys. I’m not their mother, and I never will be, but I care about them. I don’t want them to get hurt. And ever since that day on the rage mountain, there’s been a kind of bond between us.
“He’s Carter’s son,” I repeat. “There are lots of hot guys out there. Go find yourself another, please.”
“But he’s so tall. Mmm. And he’s got those beautiful, lean muscles. And those eyes! Like liquid chocolate. Can you imagine what it must be like to have him look at you with those eyes, full of desire, like he wants to eat you right there and then?”
Suddenly I’m back in the hallway when I caught him with Liza. When he reached inside his boxers and rubbed his penis. The look in his eyes then…
I shake my head, more to chase the thought away than to protest what Brit said, but I guess it’s two birds with one stone.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t think his eyes are amazingly beautiful?” she asks incredulously.
“Sure, Brit, he has beautiful eyes, but that doesn’t mean I want to imagine him devouring me.”
“He’s not supposed to devour you. He’s supposed to devour me,” she corrects. “And besides, it would be really messed up if you fucked Carter and then proceeded to fuck his son.”
I frown. “That’s not all that weird. I’m sure it happens all the time.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Ew! It would be like incest!”
“Incest is when you’re related to someone,” I correct her.
“Hey, your sex life is none of my business.”
“Oh, you drive me crazy!”
She laughs. “I know. But seriously, would you want your boyfriend to fuck your mother?”
“The man would have to be a necrophiliac for that.”
Brit waves her hands in front of her, annoyed. “Theoretically speaking! I mean, I’d find it creepy if you were fucking Carter and Hunter.”
“I do not intend to fuck Hunter!” I remind her angrily.
She looks at me triumphantly. “Ergo, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t fuck him.”
“Your logic is flawed,” I say. “There are plenty of reasons.”
“Never mind that. What matters is, I’m going to get it on with Hunter on his eighteenth birthday. When is it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“I’ll find out,” she says, giving me a look that makes it obvious she’s thinking about something. Something hot. “Have you ever imagined what it would be like to fuck him?”
“No!” I yell. “He’s my boyfriend’s son! He could be five years old for all I care.”
“Thank God he isn’t. I don’t know if I could wait for him for thirteen years.”
“I give up.”
She smiles. “Do you think Brittany Tilman sounds nice?”
“You’re out of your mind.” So why am I her friend?
“Maybe. Maybe not,” she mumbles, reaching over to pour me another margarita, and suddenly I remember why.
By midnight, I’m totally drunk. I can’t very well drive home, so I call the house, since Carter’s actually in town for once.
But it’s Hunter who picks up. “Mac?” he asks incredulously.
“Yup.” I hiccup. “Carter?”
“Dad had to go into the office.” He pauses. “Are you drunk?”
I giggle. “Drunk. Funny word.”
“W
here are you? Do you need a ride?”
“Brit’s. Funny girl.”
“Okay, I’m coming to pick you up. Stay there.”
I hang up and turn to face Brit, who doesn’t exactly look sober, either. “Downstairs,” I say. “Picking me up.”
“Okay.” But her eyes won’t even focus on me, and she walks straight to her bedroom. Maybe I should have mentioned Hunter’s picking me up. That would have gotten a reaction out of her.
Down in the lobby, I wait for my personal driver. He knocks at the locked front doors, and I stumble over. “Hi!” I say, and pinch his cheeks. I take three steps outside and stumble.
He catches me, his face as incredulous as his voice was on the phone.
“I’m fine,” I say, slurring my words as I straighten. I take a few more steps and stumble again. “Goddamn heels.” Holding on to the side of the building, I try to take off my pumps but end up falling over. Once again, he catches me.
“Mac, you’re so drunk!” he says, shaking his head. He picks me up and carries me to the car, somehow managing to open the door without putting me down. After sliding me into the seat, he buckles me up, his arm pressing against my breasts.
Then he carefully closes the door and gets in on the driver’s side. As soon as he pulls away from the curb, my stomach starts sloshing around. “So sick,” I whine. “Never gonna drink again.”
He laughs quietly. “I bet you’ve said that a hundred times before.”
“But this time”—I hiccup—“I mean it.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that the next time this happens.”
“Ha!” I call out, raising my index finger, which almost stabs Hunter in the eye. “There won’t be a next time!”
“Careful with pointy objects!” Smiling, he catches my hand, interlacing our fingers and letting them fall to his thigh. I stare at them, trying to wonder what my proper reaction to this should be.
But then I fall asleep.
I wake up as Hunter carries me up the stairs. We must be home. I can hear Carey’s voice, and he’s talking about painting someone’s face. As soon as Hunter puts me down, I jump up—realize I’m in my bed—and run to the bathroom to throw up.
Hunter comes after me, holds my hair back, and hands me a wet towel. Then he disappears for a few minutes and returns with a bottle of water from the kitchen. I don’t know how many times I kneel in front of the toilet bowl that night, but I do know I don’t spend a second in my bed.