HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  I studied the contour of his face. His angular jawline, slightly cleft chin, and high cheekbones made him a very attractive man in appearance, but it was what couldn’t be seen that caused him to stand out as exceptional.

  I recalled what he said on the night we made the agreement.

  The beauty one sees satisfies the eyes. The beauty incapable of being seen satisfies the soul. You satisfy my eyes. Only time will tell if you satisfy my soul.

  March Watson satisfied my soul.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I realized I’d somehow drifted away. I blinked a few times and brought my eyes into focus. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  He draped my hair over my shoulder with his index finger, and then looked me over. He grinned. “About?”

  “Fish.” I shrugged. “Icelandic Cod.”

  I had grown to like it, but it wasn’t what I was thinking about. I was thinking about a life with him in it, and what it would be like.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “How much I like it.”

  “I’m glad I could please you with something as simple as a meal.”

  It wasn’t simple, I watched him prepare it. It was time consuming and would have been aggravating for me, had I done it. Having him cook had become a guilty pleasure. I found it oddly comforting that he hadn’t once asked me to cook for him.

  I looked him up and down. “Easy for you, maybe.”

  He moved my hair again. “Everything in life is easy. Some things simply take longer to complete than others. Personally, I find life’s time-consuming challenges to be the most satisfying.”

  I tried not to read anything into his statement, but couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to tell me something. The longer he searched for the right woman, the better the results might be.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said.

  “For me?”

  He nodded and turned toward the glass table. “It’s over here.”

  I followed him to the table and sat down at his side. A single sheet of blank paper sat in front of him. I looked at it, and then at him, bewildered as to what was going on.

  “I hope this doesn’t upset you.” he turned the sheet of paper over and slid it in front of me. “If so, I apologize in advance.”

  I didn’t want to look at it. I couldn’t. I kept my eyes fixed on him, and searched his face for a hint of what lay before me.

  I had several ideas as to what it could be. My walking papers. A formal note, telling me to kick rocks. A description of all the things he’d wished I’d done, but had failed miserably at because I couldn’t read his mind.

  A deficiency report.

  It could be a contract. The sexual side of our relationship, outlined item by item, with a check box beside each one.

  I hadn’t even decided what my safe word was going to be.

  Salamander.

  That would be my safe word. I’d always liked saying the word, and I doubted I’d ever forget it.

  Curiosity got the best of me, and I dropped my gaze from his expressionless face to the piece of paper. Several typed paragraphs all but filled the page. Using my finger as a guide, I began to read.

  Miss Fisher,

  At the insistence of Detective March Watson, an investigation into the events causing and being produced by an accident on the early morning hours of July 27th, 2007 was conducted.

  The results of the investigation are detailed below.

  The eastbound vehicle, driven by Todd Westfield, was traveling in excess of 80 miles per hour, fifty miles per hour beyond the posted speed. Toxicology reports determined Mr. Westfield’s blood alcohol level exceeded the legal limit of .06. Furthermore, methamphetamines and cocaine were found in his bloodstream.

  The southbound vehicle, originally believed to be driven by James Fisher, entered the intersection though the green light, unaware of Westfield’s rapid approach.

  Westfield’s vehicle traveled through the traffic light despite the signal’s warning to stop. The Westfield vehicle and the Fisher vehicle then collided. The collision took the life of James and Marty Fisher, and of Todd Westfield. Taryn Fisher remained the sole survivor of the crash.

  Review of traffic signal video, available following the accident, but not reviewed for reasons unknown to this investigator, have revealed the Fisher vehicle, believed to be driven by Mr. Fisher, was actually being driven by his daughter, Taryn Fisher.

  Further investigation into the accident, Miss Fisher’s driving record, and her temperament at the time of the officer’s interview, indicate no wrong doing on her part, and absolve her of any adverse action associated with this unfortunate event.

  The officer’s report has been modified to include these findings, and this case has been sealed to protect the information contained herein.

  With my highest degree of sincerity, and in acknowledgement of your losses,

  Captain Gene Sprague

  As soon as I finished, I glanced at him for an instant. Then, I read the document again.

  I couldn’t believe it. I felt like a ton of weight had been lifted from my chest. Weight I had no idea was there. I swallowed heavily and looked up. “Is this for real?”

  “On department letterhead and signed by the man in charge.”

  “It’s uhhm. That’s it?”

  “It’s not that simple, but yes. You’ve been exonerated, and that document stands as proof. However, the case has been sealed. I don’t know if you know what that means.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t, no.”

  “To disguise the fact that the officers didn’t review the film from the video cameras immediately following the accident, the case has been sealed. That means that it will not be discussed, and the findings of that document are not to be made common knowledge. It’s a secret they’re sharing with you, because they feel they must. But, you’re not to share their findings with anyone else. I suspect it’s a liability issue. That’s my guess, anyway.”

  “Oh my God. This is just…it’s…I’m so relieved. You asked them to look into it?”

  “I did. I asked my boss. He’s got contacts in high places.”

  Words could not express my gratitude, or how I felt. I looked at the document again. “I’m going to put this in my goodie box.”

  “What exactly is a goodie box?”

  “I keep things that are important. Birthday cards. Letters. Receipts. Notes.”

  “A goodie box, huh?”

  I felt foolish, but I nodded nonetheless. “It must be a girl thing. I’ve done it since I was little.”

  He grinned. “That’s cute.”

  He was one of a kind, that much was certain. “Do you know how many days do we have left?”

  “I do not,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Four. Four days left, that’s it.”

  “That’s not very many,” he said.

  “I want them to be the longest four days of my life.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

  “So I can cherish them.”

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Eight

  Marc – Day thirty

  The repeated ding-dong from the doorbell’s chime resonated throughout the dark room. I sat up in bed and glanced at the alarm clock.

  5:05.

  I wondered why in the ten kinds of fuck someone was doing ringing my doorbell at 5:00 a.m. on Sunday, the one day of the week I allowed myself the luxury of waking without an alarm clock.

  To find out, I got out of bed and proceeded to walk to the front door.

  Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

  I checked my watch, just to be sure I wasn’t going crazy.

  5:05.

  Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

  I fixed my eyes on the front door and sauntered through the living room.

  Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.

  I stepped to the door and pressed the bu
tton to unlock it. After opening it slightly, I peered through the crack.

  At first, I was shocked. Taryn, now blond again, stood on the porch with her hair twisted into a gorgeous mess of loose curls. Dressed in a sleeveless coral-colored dress and flats, she looked breathtaking.

  “Taryn?”

  She cocked her head to the side and gave me a look. “Who did you think it was?”

  I pulled the door open. A hint of her perfume came in before she did, causing me to smile as it rushed past.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry.”

  She came inside and looked around. “It’s dark as hell in here.”

  “It’s night time.”

  The outdoor lighting filtered in through the windows. As I admired the shadows that her body’s curves cast against her dress, she nodded toward my hand.

  “Do you always answer the door with a pistol?”

  “Force of habit.” I looked at my hand as if I had no idea what it held, even though I did. “Didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it.”

  “Did you realize you’re wearing boxer shorts?”

  I didn’t. I looked down at them, and then shrugged. “Must have slipped them on.”

  “Where do we stand?” she asked, her voice demanding of an answer.

  I flipped on the light switch, then immediately flipped it off again. “What?”

  She pressed her right hand against her hip and gave me a look. “Where do we stand?”

  I was completely lost as to what she was asking me. Confused, and wondering just what in the hell was going on, I asked the question I’m sure she didn’t want to hear. “Have you been drinking?”

  “I haven’t had a drink in thirty-one days. Thirty-one,” she snapped back. She arched an eyebrow. “So, guess what that makes today?”

  I hadn’t realized what day we’d made it to in our relationship. We’d gone out on the previous night, and she insisted on sleeping at home, despite the fact I invited her to stay all night. She expressed hope that the last few days would last forever. I, on the other hand, wanted them to somehow disappear.

  As much as I wanted our thirty-day obligatory session to end, however, I’d somehow managed to allow our final day to creep up on me.

  “Day thirty?” I asked, my tone somewhat apologetic.

  “Day thirty,” she said mockingly. She placed her hands on her hips and looked me up and down. “Do we decide now, or do we have to make it through the entire day? Please tell me you’re not going to make me wait until midnight.”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked, knowing the answer would be no.

  “No,” she snapped.

  She was eager. I liked that about her. Regardless of her hope to discuss matters in the wee hours of the morning, I knew starting a conversation – and having it be meaningful – without a cup of coffee preceding it would be impossible.

  I turned toward the kitchen. “I need a cup of coffee before I start much of anything.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Sure. Yeah, let’s have coffee.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll get ‘em started.”

  “But not in the dark.” She turned the lights on. “And, put the gun up, please. It makes me nervous.”

  I walked into the kitchen and placed the gun in the cupboard. After brewing two coffee pods, I carried the cups of coffee to the island and placed them side by side.

  “I don’t want to sit there,” she said with a wag of her index finger. “I want to sit across from you. I want to see you when I talk to you.”

  I carried the coffee to the dining area and sat down. “How about here?”

  She looked the table over as if it were the first time she’d ever seen it, and then took a seat across from me. After taking a sip of her coffee, she winced and then looked at me. “Where do we stand?”

  “It’s something we need to discuss,” I said.

  She glanced at her cup of coffee. “Can we do that now?”

  “Sure.”

  A few seconds of silence followed, primarily because I wasn’t prepared to discuss anything quite yet. I was still recovering from two and a half hours sleep. Apparently, the lull in conversation was more than Taryn was willing to accept.

  “I guess I’ll start,” she said in a snide tone. “In the last thirty days, I’ve learned a lot. For the first time in my adult life, I’m comfortable being me. While being in this relationship with you, I feel like I can just do me, let you do you, and together we make a pretty damned good team. I think having this end would be a huge mistake on your part, I really do. I’ve got a lot to offer, and if you’re too shallow – or too stubborn – to see it, maybe you’re not as good at seeing into people’s souls as you think you are.”

  I leaned away from the table and looked her over. She had gone through changes during our relationship, and I’d noticed each one of them. They weren’t abrupt, nor were they unnatural. They were an accommodating transformation that took place over the course of our thirty days together.

  With my eyes fixed on her, I sipped my coffee. Trying my best to appear in deep thought, I continued until she began to fidget in her seat.

  I lowered my cup to the table. “I’ll need to get a pad of paper and a calculator so I can tally up the points and see if you made it or not,” I said dryly.

  She leaped from her chair and shot me a fiery glare. “Are you fucking serious? A fucking calculator?”

  She reacted exactly as I’d hoped. One thing I admired about her was her spunk and her attitude, both of which seemed to diminish slightly in the last thirty days. I’d hoped they were simply suppressed. It was now obvious that was the case.

  “I was kidding,” I said.

  “Excuse me?” she snapped.

  I grinned. “I was kidding.”

  She glared. “About what?”

  “The calculator.” I raised my eyebrows in hope of coercing her to forgive me. “And the notepad.”

  “Are we going to continue this or not?” she asked in a quaking voice. “I haven’t slept yet. If we’re not, I need to go home and cry myself to sleep.”

  I cleared my throat and then stood. “Four years. That’s how long I’ve been single. Until I met you, I assumed I’d simply live the remainder of my life a single man.”

  “You don’t…” She swallowed heavily. “You don’t think that’ll happen now?”

  I shook my head. “I watched you come and go from that bar for six months before I approached you. Six long months, I might add. You fascinated me, but there was a slight problem--”

  “What…” Her mouth began to twist into an ever so simple grin. “What was it?”

  “I’ve been dropped into some of the fiercest combat zones to ever exist. I’ve been shot at and missed, and shot at and hit. I’ve been stabbed, tortured, and beaten half to death. But. I’ve never feared anything as much as I feared approaching you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you were the most remarkable woman I had ever seen. Seeing you laugh? One of the best things to ever happen to me. Watching you walk made me imagine what it would be like to have you at my side. I’d go there and wonder if I’d see you again. Each time, I thought to myself, if I see her tonight, I’ll say something. But, I didn’t. I watched you, fascinated by what I saw, but I feared what might happen if I approached you. Failure is not an option is the Navy SEAL motto, and I didn’t want to fail. Then, I overheard you talking about being single. So, I decided I’d take the chance. That was the night we met.”

  “I’m guessing you want to continue?” she asked.

  “Only if being in a relationship with me is what you truly want.”

  “It is, but I uhhm. I have a few questions first.”

  “Okay.”

  I was eager to hear what they were, and hoped I could accomplish whatever it was that she may want of me. The thought of continuing life without her made me feel ill, and it had nothing to do with failing.

  I feared I was falling in love with her.

  “H
ave you ever hit a woman?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Will you?”

  “You have my solemn promise. I will not.”

  “If you’re ever too drunk to drive, you have to tell me. And, you have to promise not to drive.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  She let out a sigh. “If you’re ever too drunk to drive--”

  I gave a sharp nod. “I promise. I’ll tell you.”

  “Every night before we go to bed, we make amends for whatever differences we had throughout the day.”

  “I like that.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side and looked away.

  It appeared she wanted me as much as I wanted her, and I couldn’t have been happier. Until we agreed, however, I stood at the edge of the table and refrained from expressing my excitement.

  I simply stood there and admired her natural beauty.

  She met my gaze. “Are you the one who rescued those girls? The nine teenagers?”

  It seemed like an odd question. “I suppose so.”

  “You suppose so?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. After a moment, she looked up. “Acting alone, and with little concern for his own safety, the detective entered the residence. Was he talking about you?”

  “He was.”

  She crossed her arms. “If we continue, just what is it? Are we dating? Exclusive? Boyfriend-girlfriend--”

  “If we continue, I’m committed to you,” I explained. “In my eyes, it’s no different than the commitment of marriage. I’m devoted to you, and I hope you’re able to make the same commitment to me. Proceeding beyond this mark, especially introducing sex in the relationship, is something I’ve always viewed as sacred. If I share that with you, I’d like to believe you’re committed to me, and to this relationship. We’re in this through the thick and the thin.”

  Her eyes fell to my waist. Slowly, they rose along my torso until she met my gaze. “Take off the shorts, March.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m in. It’s a go. Let’s do this,” she said with a laugh. “What do we need to do? Shake hands?”