by Arie Lane
It is right about that time the music on my alarm clock starts blaring a rather loud, upbeat song. I roll over and groan into my pillow. Damn my alarm, and damn my inability to ever be able to put a face to my mystery man. Oh well, shit happens. If I want to get my cardio in, I need to get my happy ass up and out of bed and out of this room in the next ten minutes. Trudging myself downstairs, I get ready to brace myself for the frostbiting cold I am about to step out into. Too bad I won't be going anywhere. There’s a good three and a half feet of snow blocking the doors and it shows no signs of stopping.
Dante traveled back here with me, only instead of staying at the hotel, he went to his parents so he could spend time with them. I rarely travel without him. It’s nice to have that bit of extra security he offers. Pulling my phone out, I send him a message telling him not to chance it. I know Dante is crazy enough to do just that. Sure he's a bit on the insane side, but he’s the best damn kickboxing instructor you'll ever meet.
After confirming with him that I won't be going anywhere, I begrudgingly head down toward the hotel gym. At least I'll be able to get some fitness in today, even if it isn't the ass kicking kind I so desperately need. After parking my now very much unhappy ass onto an elliptical, I load up my IPod with as many angry rock songs I can, and start burning away some of the stress lingering from the previous day.
Sadly, my reprieve is short lived. A pair of hands close around my waist, and set off my hair-trigger self-defense mechanism. First, my foot comes down hard on the instep, and then I lean forward and bring my foot back to kick right under his knee, and quickly turn and nail him in the crotch as hard as I can. I am really hoping to have caused some serious damage. Judging by the heavy grunt and a very unmanly high-pitched squeal, I'd say my task was accomplished. He is definitely incapacitated. It isn’t until I catch my breath that I actually open my eyes and look down to face my attacker. Instead, I am faced with the asshat from last night attempting some kind of standing fetal position.
Catching my breath, I rage at him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What, one assault wasn’t good enough for you? Are you really that fucking hard up, you think it’s acceptable to feel up whomever the hell you please?”
I can hardly make his words out through the wheezing and grunting, “I wasn’t trying to assault you. If I wanted a piece of ass there is plenty of it around. I was trying to correct your posture. The way you were carrying yourself your back is going to ache later tonight.”
Placing my hands on my hips, now even more pissed off for his so called correction, I continue my rant. “Well I’d say thank you, but truthfully I’d be fucking lying. I’m perfectly capable of knowing my own body. My posture was strained because I was trying to change my song while still moving. Had you been looking at something other than my ass you might have noticed that.”
“Look I get it, ok? You’re a prude bitch who obviously doesn’t like men touching her. No wonder you’re so high strung. You know, if you actually got a bit of dick, you might relax a fucking bit,” he said, still doubled over.
“I’m not a prude anything, and my sex life is none of your fucking business, nor will it ever be. Now unless you plan to crawl up to your room, I’d shut the fuck up asshole,” I finish, while stretching a hand out toward him.
I want to ask where the fuck he thought he had any right to say those things, but seeing him hurting got the better of me. The stupid voice of reasoning inside my head says helping him would be the only decent thing to do. After waiting a few moments and him not taking my hand, I go and grab the moron some ice then send a text to Electra letting her know her boy might need some medical attention. I'm not really sure what I feel worse about, the fact that he is in pain, or the fact that two minutes later Electra is standing over him laughing like a hyena. Seriously, as soon as she caught her breath she'd take another look at the anguish on his face and double over again in laughter.
I watch as Tristan gives Ele a death stare. I don’t know what he expected, the girl gets off on seeing others in pain, she always has. Before I can ask her to give me a hand in helping him up, she excuses herself, saying she has someone she needs to meet in the lounge. I seriously debate leaving the moron on the floor, but even the smallest movements have him grunting in pain.
I finally feel bad enough for the jerk-off half standing in front of me, to offer my assistance again in getting him back to his room. Sadly, any hope of that was short lived when I ask where his room actually is, to which he informed me is across from Ele's. Of course it is... because it's only convenient to get the two rooms that are furthest from any elevators, and he sure as hell isn’t walking three flights of steps.
I swear fate is playing some cruel fucking joke on me. There is no way in hell he will make it to his room in his condition. He is barely able to make it to the elevator without collapsing. Son of a bitch! Here I go again doing something stupid. As we get ready to enter the elevator, we are informed the event we are here to attend had been postponed for weather reasons and would be delayed to the following day.
So here I am lugging Mr. Muscle over to my own room, because it's right across the hall from the damn elevator. I really think at this point I've lost my damn mind, because not only am I letting him crash in my room while his injury subsides, but I'm running this asshole a bath to soak in. As I leave to go get ice for an ice pack, I'm truly wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I'm sympathizing with my own assaulter, and taking care of him. After helping his ass to my bathroom without so much as a single word, I go open my door to a much calmer Electra wondering where her boy is. I point to the bathroom then leave the room.
Figuring I can use some fresh air, I go back downstairs in search of fatty, gratifying foods. I am not disappointed when I see the bakery shop somehow manages to be open. After picking out a few things to take back up with me, I figure room service might be in everyone’s best interest since I doubt my new guests are leaving anytime soon.
Tristan
As I'm sitting in Spitfire's tub nursing my wounds, I can't help but wonder who the hell this woman is. When a knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts, I look up to see a less than pleased Electra standing in the doorway. I take a deep breath, knowing I'm about to get lectured like a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I expected she would be annoyed with me, but what I wasn't expecting was the hint of anger I hear in her voice as she begins to speak.
"I thought it was pretty clear after last night that assaulting Bentley was not a good idea. Did you honestly expect that after attacking her twice she would willingly allow you to put your hands on her? For fuck sake, Tryst, what the hell were you thinking?”
I mull over her words for a moment before it finally strikes me. Bentley. Bentley is the girl who likes to write stories that leave you mind-fucked. I look to Electra asking half jokingly but completely curious, "Isn't she the chick who writes the erotica that always ends up killing some dude off in the most fucked up, psycho ways? I mean damn, some ex must have really screwed her over for her to write shit like that."
When I look back up at Electra I expect to see an amused look, but I couldn't have been more wrong. When she opens her mouth I visibly cringe as the venom pours from her lips. "She doesn't write about some pathetic asshole who fucked her over. It’s her way of punishing the sick fuck who murdered her twin in the only way she knows how, through her writing. She throws in the happy endings as a twisted way of punishing herself because she carries the blame of her sister never getting to have her own happy ending."
Oh fuck me, you have got to be kidding, no way in hell... shit, shit, shit. How the fuck did I not realize that last night when Ele was ranting about Cora right after Bentley left? Damn it, no wonder she kicked the shit out of me. She probably does really think I was trying to stalk her. I look back to Electra, and am more than slightly pissed off at my circumstances."Why the fuck didn't you tell me when I asked you last night who she was? Why didn't you tell me you still spoke
to Cora's twin, or even that she would be here, Ele? How the fuck was I supposed to know that? You think I went out of my way to run into her? No, that shit was a fucking accident. Yes, today when I saw her down at the gym I put my hands on her waist to get her attention. I figured she would have just stopped moving. It's isn’t like I expected her to go bat shit crazy. I sure as fuck didn’t expect her to go all Jet Li on my ass. Although, I can't say I'm sorry she did. I feel better knowing that at least she could hold her own, so long as it's a fair fight."
Truth be told I’m kind of proud of my Spitfire. Sure it hurts like hell, but at least I know she's not one of those girls who just lay down and take the abuse. My Spitfire, I smile at the way it sounds playing in my head.
I try not to laugh at my predicament, because that shit hurts like a motherfucker. But hey, I'll take what I can get. Judging by the smell coming from the living room and the fact I'm in her room at all, tells me Bentley doesn't hate me nearly as much as she's letting on. I let the thought sink in for a moment before reality rears its ugly head again. If I remember what Ele said, after the trial Bentley ran as fast and as far away as she could. She moved into her own little fortified prison where she rarely awards herself for good behavior and hardly ever leaves the confines of her structured prison walls. How the fuck am I going to break down walls she created to protect herself the only way she knows how? Well fuck me sideways, this is one hell of a predicament. Not only do I still want this girl, but I want her that much more.
I need to show her not everyone is a monster hiding in the dark corners just waiting for her. I need to make her see some people are worth taking a chance on, but how the fuck do I do that? I've heard the shit Ele said. After Cora's death, her mom went ballistic on Bentley, blamed her and her big dreams for crushing her own. She blamed her for stealing the life of her shining star. The bitch even told her if she was prettier, maybe it would have been her attacked instead of her sister. Ele said when Bentley was a kid she never made time to date. She was always studying, thinking if she was smarter she’d finally become someone important.
After her sister’s death, when she went into hiding, she never let anyone even remotely close to her. She wouldn't know the difference between me flirting with her or insulting her. All those dirty scenes she writes... nothing but fucking words, and fuck if that doesn't make me want to show her just how much she could enjoy all those dirty little thoughts she writes about. But damn, this girl’s defenses are locked away tighter than a presidential bunker. It's going to take more than a fucking miracle to get through to her.
The door to the hotel room opens and closes as I hear a couple more voices. I look to Electra who just shrugs and tosses a towel my way. "Looks like Bentley might be feeling forgiving…, she ordered food," she states as she walks out of the bathroom, allowing me to dress. I can't help but smile just a little as I slip on the sweats I had donned to work out in, and make my way back into the main room.
The image in front of me has to be the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen. She is sitting on a couch with her legs sprawled across it, but not even close to touching the other end. The long sleeve shirt she is wearing outlines her bra and every natural curve along the way. I'm gnawing the skin off my lower lip, trying not to fucking moan as my eyes roam down to the most ridiculous pants I've ever seen. They are black fluffy fleece, covered in shiny silver stars. As I look further down I damn near choke on the laugh caught in my throat as I watch her wiggling her toes in these asinine toe socks with bright stripes running the length of them. I'm trying really hard to hold my reaction back as I allow my eyes to wander back over her. When I finally look up at her face I'm awestruck, taking in the mess of dark brown hair falling from her clip and framing her face. Her gorgeous eyes can't seem to decide what color they want to be. At the moment though, they are dark green with flecks of gold intertwined.
I lick my lips while staring at her mouth. Her full lips look as though she’s just been thoroughly kissed, but that’s not what has my attention. It’s her thumb that is nestled between them that has me entranced. I can't tell if she is biting or sucking on it, but damn if it isn’t fucking sexy. Through all of my ogling she's completely oblivious, her attention lost in the book she is engrossed with.
I'm not sure how long I have stood here, just watching her little reactions. It isn't until I hear Ele clear her throat that it occurs to me I have my own audience. I look over in Ele's direction, and catch her reaction. I’m pretty sure is annoyance mixed with something else- jealousy maybe? Bentley, whose attention was no longer on her book, decided to look up and ended up catching me with my cat that ate the canary grin.
I let out a short laugh, shrug, and head for the cart of food. As I sit down in the chair between the two, I debate asking the question that is eating at me since we got to this room. Finally, I decide to stop acting like a pussy and just ask, “Who taught you to fight back like that?"
Her head shot back up from her book and her eyes narrowed at me. For a second I thought maybe I had asked some forbidden question. Perhaps it was her dirty secret, but then she closed her book and spoke so soft I barely heard her, "Dante." That was all I got, just a name, hanging on the edge of the word wondering who the fuck Dante is.
Ele chimes in with a bit more info. “Dante is Bentley's best friend since grade school. His dad owns the local gym here. It was supposed to go to Dante, but after Bentley took off, he followed. It was his way of making sure she is safe. He opened his own gym in the town where they live and has a place just down the street with his partner.”
Sadly, Ele's answer just leaves me more perplexed. What kind of guy moves a thousand miles away from his family just to be near some girl? I start to feel the jealousy prickling under my skin when I look back to Ele and catch her mouth the words, "He's gay." Well, if that doesn't make me feel like a complete dick for thinking this dude was a creeper. I know it's fucked up that it makes me happy he's not interested in her, but damn if it doesn't, especially knowing he's kept her safe.
Chapter 3
Bentley
As I watch the exchange between Ele and Asshat I can't help but feel confused as to why Dante's sexual preference means shit. Why should Asshat care that my best friend isn’t into women? Who does he think he is, that he has any right to question the people in my life?
I am about to ask as much when the dick with legs decides to grace us with more questions that are none of his damn business, “So, Spitfire, where exactly do you live?"
Motherfucker... the hot as hell apple cider I was sipping on burns its way down my throat and I choke on his words. "Spitfire…? I'm wondering… do you have a talent for pissing women off enough that they want to castrate you with rusted scissors, or am I just special?"
His laugh sends shivers down my spine and causes a fluttering in my stomach that is nothing short of nauseating. Clearly, there is a joke here I have not caught on to, since I am less than amused.
He continues with his verbal vomiting, "Well since I'm either Asshat or Ele's Boy to you, I think it's only fair you get a pet name also," he finishes the statement with a wink as if his admission is cute.
Pet name... as fucking if I would ever think of him with any fondness. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and it sure as fuck isn't from blushing. This man is ridiculously obnoxious.
As I am thinking of something clever to retort with, he cuts my thoughts off with another less than brilliant admission, "For the record I am neither Ele's, nor am I a boy. I suppose I can be an ass, although most who refer to it usually have a much more gratifying approach. Fuck, I’ve been asked if women can lick it, bite it, kiss it, and spank it, but baby, you’re the first who has ever been intent on kicking it."
I am completely at a loss for words, not because I doubt his propositioning, but because he seems all too pleased with his proclamation. While a part of me has to concede I haven't had this much social interaction in years, and as much as I hate to admit it, or at least I was trying to convin
ce myself I hate it, I kind of enjoy Asshat's banter.
I finally gather my thoughts enough to answer without sounding like a pathetic schoolgirl. “I am well aware you aren't a boy. Sadly, I remember all too well when those changes occur, although the squeak you delivered so eloquently earlier leaves room for doubt. I can also assure you that your assessment of my interest in your ass is decidedly correct. Since the only thing it holds of any interest to me is how much fun it would be to kick the shit out of it. And for the record, since you lack the common mannerisms of society that dictate you introduce yourself, I still have no knowledge of your name. Therefore, Asshat is a fitting alternative."
I watch as his jaw takes a slight drop before quickly returning to his usual come fuck me smirk. The one that typically graces his gorgeous face and just begs to be smacked the fuck off. Also not helping my case is the fact I can’t seem to deviate my eyes away from the lines of ink master-piecing their way across his body. I'm not sure which came first, the muscle or the tattoos, but damn if they don't outline each other in a delicious pattern that longs to be traced, very slowly, with my tongue. Starting with the ink scripted below is collarbone.
He leans in closer to where I'm sitting, his voice almost gravelly, holding a hint of the huskiness as his voice drops just above a whisper.