by Kelly, Hazel
“What is it then?”
“Instinct.”
“Whatever you say.”
I looked out the window as he pulled away, wracking my brain for something we could talk about besides the nauseating subject of love.
Plus, I already felt like I’d said too much. The last thing I wanted was for him to figure out that no one had ever loved me. He might second guess whether he should spend time with me in the first place.
I mean, even though I’d spent a lot of time wondering why my parents didn’t give a shit about me, that didn’t mean I wanted other people to ponder the subject. Besides, I could be whoever I wanted with this guy.
We had no mutual friends and perhaps even fewer mutual interests. It was hard enough not setting him off as it was. But maybe if I chose a topic he enjoyed talking about, the rest of the evening would go more smoothly…
And then it hit me.
Himself. If there was anything he truly loved, surely that was it.
“So where did you learn to play the guitar?” I asked.
“In my room,” he said. “When I was twelve.”
“You taught yourself?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve always loved music, and one day my brother told me girls liked guys in bands so-”
“Typical. So how long did you hold onto that dream?”
Wyatt put a hand on the top of the steering wheel and sighed. “Until I got good enough to start a band.”
“Did you have a name?”
“Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “The Mudruckers.”
“No way. I used to listen to a band with that same name. They had a song I really liked-”
“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Do you remember what it was called?”
“Something sugar,” I said, squinting. “Sugar me down, maybe?”
“Sweeten Me Up.”
“That’s it!” I said. “That was such a catchy song. Cheesy, but irresistible.”
“Thanks.”
I furrowed my brow.
“I always liked that one myself.”
“You wrote that?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I swallowed. “So you really aren’t a handyman?”
“Well, I like to think I’m still pretty handy,” he said. “But I wish you wouldn’t keep saying it like that cause my Dad’s a mechanic, my Mom was a housekeeper for thirty seven years, and there’s nothing wrong with an honest day’s-”
“Of course, not. I’m sorry.”
Wyatt reached forward and turned the radio on low.
“I can’t believe you wrote that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s obvious.”
“Shouldn’t you be on tour or something instead of taking me on a picnic?”
“No,” he said. “The band broke up. Everyone’s doing their own thing now.”
“Creative differences?”
“Among other things.”
“I see.”
“Believe it or not, there’s more to life than fucking groupies and having easy access to drugs.”
“You don’t say.”
“My priorities changed.”
“So now what?”
“Now I write songs for movies.”
“Anything I might’ve heard?”
“Probably not, but I have a good feeling about the song I’m working on now so ask me again in two weeks.”
The suggestion that we might still be talking in two weeks intrigued me. “Is it hard to write a song?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. But I think that’s just cause it’s hard to do anything that’s important to you.”
I nodded. “And here I thought you were a total meathead.”
He looked at me.
“That was a joke.”
He turned his eyes back towards the road. “It’s the music that’s hard. Anyone can write a good line, but putting the music behind it that supports the feeling you’re trying to create is the challenging part. That’s what makes or breaks it.”
“Makes sense.”
“Do you play any instruments?”
“I used to play the piano,” I said. “When I was younger.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I said, realizing I hadn’t thought about that in years. “Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. It was just one of those little keyboards that fits on your lap.”
“I’ve heard people make decent music with those things.”
“I used to get in trouble for wearing out the batteries so fast,” I said. “So I used to practice with the sound off to make them last.” I smiled. “I wouldn’t turn the thing on until I was sure I could play it perfectly.”
“Wow.”
“That way I could conserve the batteries and not tick people off for banging on the wrong keys all the time.”
He laughed. “I wish that feature had been an option for our drummer in the beginning. His progress was more painful than my own.”
I looked out the window. The memory of escaping into that little keyboard was as happy for me as it was sad.
“Maybe we could play together sometime?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t play anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been ten years since I even touched a keyboard, much less played one,” I said. “I don’t have time for that stuff these days. Besides, I’m sure I’d only embarrass myself.”
“Why would you be embarrassed?”
I tilted my head. “Cause you’re a professional.”
“So?”
“So, I’m not even an amateur anymore.”
“I’m sure you’re better than you think you are.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said. “Are we almost there yet?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just up here.” He turned down a steep gravel driveway and pulled up towards a house that looked like a much larger version of the one I was staying in.
“Whose place is this?”
“No idea,” he said. “But they’ve got a fantastic lot out the back for us to enjoy.”
“Isn’t that trespassing?”
“They’ll never even know we were here.”
“Wyatt, I don’t think I’m comfortable hanging out in someone else’s backyard.”
“You will be when you see it,” he said, opening his door. “Besides, I wasn’t comfortable power washing their chimney for six hours this afternoon, but I guarantee they’re not going to have a problem with the fact that I came by to do that.”
“I don’t know.”
“Trust me,” he said, getting out of the car. “I’ve got everything under control.”
I popped my door handle and reached a foot down to the ground. “As long as one of us does,” I muttered to myself.
Chapter 13: Wyatt
It was the perfect place for a picnic.
There was a wonderful spot to spread out the blanket beside a fire pit near the water’s edge, and even from so near the bank, the forest was thick enough that none of the neighbor’s houses were visible from where we were.
“What do you think?” I asked, wheeling the cooler through the grass.
“The only thing that would make it better would be if we actually had a right to be here.”
I groaned and kicked some pinecones out of the area I had my eye on. “Do you always focus on the problems with a situation?” I walked over and took the blanket from under her arm. “Can’t you just admit that this is a glorious spot?”
“Yeah, it’s glorious, okay. Obviously, I can see how lovely it is.”
I spread my arms to open the blanket. “Are you anxious cause you can’t hear the comforting sounds of honking and ambulance sirens?”
She rolled her eyes and grabbed the opposite corners, laying it down between us. “I’m not that out of touch, okay? I’m not some kind of horrible nature hater.”
“That might change if you don’t put some bug
spray on,” I said, making my way over to the cooler. “So how about you spray your delicious looking ankles, and I’ll get us a drink.”
“Deal.”
When she walked around the blanket, I noticed a little rowboat tied loosely to the dock behind her. Then I started laying the food out on the blanket while she fumigated the forest.
She came back coughing and held the can out to me. “You want some?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re wearing enough to cover both of us.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, dropping to her knees on the opposite side of the plaid patterned blanket.
“So,” I said, screwing the top off the wine. “Since you’re new to this whole picnicking thing-” I handed her the bottle. “Let me tell you how this is going to go.”
“Okay,” she said, kicking her feet out to the side.
“Basically, you can eat whatever you want in whatever quantities you want.”
“Seems pretty straightforward.” She tilted the bottle up to her lips and drank from it for much longer than I was expecting.
“Good,” I said. “Then help yourself.”
“Thanks for this,” she said. “I know I’ve been doing your head in, but it was nice of you to bring me here. Beats eating alone anyway.”
“One swig of wine and the prospect of some real food, and you’re a different person.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Yes you are,” I said. “You’re the fifth most controlling woman I’ve ever met.”
“The fifth?”
“Yeah.”
“Who are the top four?”
“My Mom and my sisters and my brother’s wife.”
“You have sisters?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh.” She tried to open the spinach dip jar in vain.
I put my hand out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gave me the jar and kept her eyes on it while I cracked it open. “I’m just surprised.”
“Why?”
“Cause the way you talk about women- I don’t know. I thought maybe you didn’t have any respect for them.”
“That seems unfair.”
“Does it?”
“I thought I showed you a fair bit of respect last night.”
“Disrespect more like,” she said, leaning on one arm and reaching for the bag of tortilla chips.
“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were on your back.”
She lowered her eyes and opened the bag.
“Or up against the wall.”
She grabbed a chip and scooped some dip onto it.
“Well?”
She put it in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and licked her lips. “I suppose I didn’t.”
“I’ll have you know,” I said, reaching for the wine. “That I have great respect for women.” I tilted the bottle against my lips. “Even women who don’t deserve it.”
“Are you saying I don’t deserve your respect?”
“I’m saying I don’t think you really want it.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to respect me?”
“Because.” I scooted next to her and fixed my eyes on hers. “Correct me if I’m wrong-” I took a swig of wine.
“I certainly will.”
“But my guess is you’re so sick of guys treating you like an equal that you can’t even see straight, and what you really want is for me to disrespect you so thoroughly that you can’t hear anything but the sound of your voice screaming my name.”
“You’re full of it,” she said, not taking her eyes off mine. “I’m not sick of men treating me well.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “They obviously don’t.”
“What are you talking about? Of course they do.”
“No they don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Or you wouldn’t be here with me, wetting your panties at the thought of me taking all your control away.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You might,” I said, leaning back. “If things get really heated, but you won’t mean it. Not really.”
“Is this always your game?” she asked, reaching for the wine. “You tell women what you want them to think and hope they’ll spread their legs for you.”
“No,” I said, handing the wine to her.
She looked at me as she tilted the bottle against her lips again.
“Most women don’t have to be told what to think.”
She laughed. “They just fall apart and take their clothes off at the sight of you?”
I shrugged.
“So why are you telling me?”
“Cause you obviously like to know what to expect,” I said. “Or at least, I’ve never seen anyone do a shittier job of feigning nonchalance and consensual spontaneity in my life.”
“Oh please.”
“It’s true,” I said. “And since you don’t like surprises, I want you to know what’s going to happen so when it does, you’re ready.”
“And what’s going to happen?”
“We’re going to have some more stimulating conversation and enjoy our picnic.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then once you’re feeling the wine and you realize how quiet it is out here, you’re going to want a distraction from how out of your comfort zone you are.”
“Is that so?”
“It is,” I said, sitting up to unwrap a ham sandwich. “And you know what’s going to comfort you?”
“Let me guess- you.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And the more you act like you don’t want it, the harder I’m going to give it to you.”
She swallowed.
“Cause that’s the kind of respect you deserve.” I held half the sandwich out, and she took it. “And even if you can’t admit it to yourself, it doesn’t matter. Cause I know that’s exactly what you want.”
Chapter 14: Addison
My heart was beating so loud I could hear it.
I wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. I was used to being asked my opinion, not told what I wanted, what was good for me.
And the way he said it was so sincere, like there was no doubt in his mind that I was just sitting there pining for him so hard I could barely keep my knees together.
And I wasn’t feeling like that at all.
Obviously, I was attracted to him. Between his physical presence and masculine competence, he was by far the most intriguing man I’d spent time with recently, but he was acting like I had no self-control, like I was the most undisciplined woman on the planet.
And I was anything but.
I reached for the cheesecake and opened it, deciding that answering him would only egg him on.
“Here,” he said, pulling his keychain from his back pocket.
I watched him flip open a small pocket knife and reach for the cake.
“Wait,” I said, putting a flat hand in between the knife and the cake. “What’s the last thing you cut with that thing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some wire ties?”
“Wire ties?”
“Yeah, you know, the plastic thingys I’d use to tie you up if I was the psycho you initially accused me of being.”
I suppressed a smile at the thought that tying me up had even occurred to him. Not that being tied up- especially by wire ties- had ever appealed to me before. “I know what wire ties are,” I said. “Were they dirty?”
“If you want to cut the cheesecake with a stick, be my guest,” he said. “But I wouldn’t say that’s any cleaner.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure I can think of something,” I said, reaching for a strong looking tortilla chip.
He watched as I carefully stuck the chip in, rocking it back and forth to break through the bottom layer of crust.
Unfortunately, the chip broke when I tried to hoist the slice of cake out, but I wasn’t about to admit defeat. “Would you like me to cut a slice for you?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“No thanks,” he said. “I
don’t know where that dirty chip has been.”
I chucked the cake covered chip past the edge of the blanket.
“I hope that doesn’t attract ants,” he said, nodding towards the chip.
“I thought ants were part of the picnic experience?”
“They wouldn’t be my favorite part.”
I picked up the thin piece of cake with my fingers, and much to my delight, it stayed together reasonably well. However, after my first delicious bite, I noticed Wyatt was watching me. “Do you have to stare at me like that while I eat?”
“I’m not watching you eat,” he said.
“What is it that you’re doing then?”
“I’m watching you swallow.”
I pursed my lips.
He leaned back on straight arms as a smile spread across his face.
“You’re the most disgusting person I’ve ever met, you know that?”
“Disgusting?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m surprised that’s the word you went with.”
“Why?”
“Cause it reflects poorly on you.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Yes it does, and it’s obvious that your image is important to you.”
I stuck another bite of cake in my mouth because I didn’t know what to say and my top finger was starting to sink into it.
“What would people think if they knew you were out here with such a disgusting guy?”
“No one would believe it.”
“Well that’s the best news I ever heard.”
I furrowed my brow at him. “How is that possible?”
“Cause if no one would even believe you were ever here with me, that means we can do anything we want and get away with it.”
“I don’t want to do anything with you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What about to me? I bet you’d like to do some disgusting things all your own.”
“You bet wrong,” I said, putting the last piece of cake in my mouth and licking my cake coated fingers.
“My mistake,” he said.
I needed to get some space. The assumption that I would even consider giving him head was so presumptuous it wasn’t worth refuting. But what was really disturbing was the fact that part of me was intrigued by the idea.
However, I was vulnerable enough with him without giving away how totally inexperienced I was sexually. Even if I was curious about what it would be like to be with someone like him in that way, it would never happen. One, because it would simply reward him for the outrageous way he was talking to me, and two, because I would only embarrass myself.