“I don’t like you right now,” I say, moving my hips against his to get the most friction against my aching core.
Batty’s free hand comes up to my face, moving my eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to like me right now, babe. Let’s just do what we’re good at, huh?” he says so quietly I barely hear him over the waves, but my eyes are mesmerized by his lips, so I don’t miss a word. I barely nod before his mouth claims mine.
Our tongues duel in the most beautiful fight, my hand reaching for his head to pull him as close as possible. From the very first moment, we’ve ignited like the most powerful fireworks and tonight is no exception. When Batty curls his fingers inside of me, I moan involuntarily into his mouth. I feel his smile against my lips, forcing me to bite them in spite. The things he does to me.
He rocks me against him hard, creating the perfect friction I need as his hips rise up to meet mine. He pushes my shoulders back, then viciously yanks on the button of my jeans. My lips part in a sigh. I know this Batty, the one who demands and takes what he wants, the same thing as me. I can handle him.
I stand, quickly shedding my jeans and underwear. He pulls the caped shirt first from his body, which is difficult since he’s sitting on his long material, then mine. As his mouth fuses to my collarbone, I focus on his belt. I’m not gentle and rip it from the loops harshly. The gleam in his eye tells me he likes it as much as I do, our breathing erratic and urgent.
I palm his hard length with cool hands, his intake of breath causing an uncharacteristic giggle to escape, which Batty rears up to taste before it can dissolve. He holds me with one hand, pulling me against him, rubbing me the way I need, while the other reaches behind him to pull the wallet from his back pocket.
“Always prepared,” I whisper into his mouth, his tongue caressing mine before he replies.
“I’m Batman.”
“You’re Batty,” I correct him quickly. I have no illusions that I’m fucking a fictional character. I know it’s flesh and blood beneath me. To prove my thought, I push him back and dig my short nails into his tattooed chest. He groans in his throat, his eyes on me the whole time he rolls the condom onto his dick. The second he’s done, I’m rising, accepting him into my body.
We lock eyes, both of our mouths open and gasping. It’s always like this with us. We ignite in a way I’ve never experienced. My nerve endings shoot from my sex up through my body, to my scalp and back down. My senses are immediately heightened. The sound of the waves are muted to the faintest roar, the sound of our bodies sliding together more prominent to my ears. The fine hairs on my body stand on end in the faint breeze from the ocean. I take a deep breath through my nose, smelling salt and the distinct aroma that is Batty. His hands roam my body, up my torso, then venture to tweak my hard nipples.
I set a rhythm, undulating my body as he watches, the heat in his gaze spurring me on. After he tortures my breasts enough, Batty wraps his hands in my long hair, pulling me into another kiss. I don’t relinquish my pace as I cover us in a curtain of my hair, our mouths feeding from each other roughly.
We breathe each other’s air as he starts to pump from beneath me. We’ve always come together so seamlessly. This part of us, there’s no misunderstanding. We are synced together in the bliss of our bodies. He feels me tightening and lets go of my hair to grip my hip, grinding me more forcibly against him. “That’s right, baby. Come all over me,” he growls into my mouth. He knows my cues. He knows what’s going to happen before I realize it.
“Ah!” I yell inches from his lips as I come. His grip tightens, simultaneously pulling my hair tight and squeezing my hip to ride out my orgasm. I’m still seeing stars when suddenly I’m falling. Now I’m literally seeing the stars. He’s lain me down on the legs of the chaise to rise above me. My head falls slightly over the end as he rears up on his knees to go deeper. I feel my breasts bounce with his thrusts, the force increasing to the point that I feel him in the deepest part of me. In these moments, I’m not Sadie or Popper, not docile or violent. I’m a woman, taking a man in the most intimate act of all.
I’m shaking my head, my eyes half lidded, struggling to see him, overcome with sensation. His cheeks are rosy, jaw tight as he watches me squirm. “What do you want, Sadie?”
“Everything,” I gasp incoherently. He pumps into me harder.
“That’s it, Sadie. Take it all.”
His words cause me to tighten and on his next lunge I’m seeing all kinds of stars, they explode above me and inside of me. I don’t allow my eyes to close this time, watching Batty’s neck strain as he pulses his release inside of me. He groans loudly into the night, making me grip his cock tighter, scratching down his tattooed chest.
“Fuck!” he yells, surging one last time before his elbows give way.
My eyes close as we struggle to catch our breath. I give myself precious seconds to relish his weight on me, his breath whisking across my chest. Too soon he’s pulling away, gripping the condom as he leaves me and stumbles inside.
I force myself up to grab my shirt. He should be leaving soon. As I’m buttoning my jeans he walks outside again, glorious in all of his naked, tattooed maleness. His eyes are expressionless as he watches me before pulling his shirt on. It’s my turn to back against the railing. I wait for him to leave. Instead, after he’s secured his wallet back into his pocket and stands before me fully dressed he says, “We need to talk.”
BATTY-
I’ve asked myself a million times why I put up with her shit. She’s a pain in the ass. I’m convinced Sadie has magical powers. She can make me forget every single thing but the touch of her hand, the taste of her mouth. Every other second of every day I feel the pressure that my life consists of dragging me down, except when I’m with her While I feel like I’m merely existing every other day, Sadie makes me feel alive.
Chapter 9
“You didn’t think of that before?” I ask. Why is he changing the script?
“No. All I could think about was you. We need to talk business.”
“I have a phone,” I remind him.
“You don’t like to use it very much, if I remember correctly.” One side of his mouth lifts in a half smile. I shrug. His head moves in the direction of my house. I watch him carefully as I make my way inside, sitting on the uncomfortable couch in the living room.
“So talk,” I prompt after he watches me for several seconds, making me uncomfortable. He walks around the area, looking at the abstract paintings and comes to a stop next to a shelf and stares up before turning back to me.
“You need to sign the contract for the show.”
“What’s it called, anyway?” I ask, only mildly interested.
“Triple Threat. There are three parts of the competition you’ll need to familiarize yourself with. Since you chose venues, there’s going to be some travel. It’s important everything is signed so that the expenses are paid.”
“Fine. Have your secretary message me a time and I’ll be there.”
“Will you?” he asks without inflection.
“Yes, I’m broke, remember? I said I would do it and I will.”
“Good.” He looks relieved that I didn’t put up a fight. “I need you to come in for some promotional stuff soon. This is all coming down to the wire and I can’t put it off any longer.”
“What kind of stuff?” I ask warily.
He shrugs. “Promotional photos and interviews about the other judges.”
“Great. What are they going to say about me?” I hate that I’m so self-conscious, but these people have to hate me.
“They’ll be professional. What you need to think about is what kind of image you want to portray.” He comes to rest on the coffee table, sitting down directly across from me.
“What do you mean?”
“You have a chance to change the image of what people know. The image of Popper from Chimera is an option, but the news is going to hit soon that you’re divorced from the band. You have a chance here to make yourself
over.”
I study his serious face, wondering what he would change about me. Finally, I ask quietly, “What would you change?”
His eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Firstly, I would suggest you introduce yourself as Sadie from the start. Separate yourself from the band. Let me ask you, do you like the greasy haired, scantily clad woman you present to the world?” he asks as delicately as he’s able.
I laugh without humor. “You mean the slut grinding microphone stands isn’t fit for prime time?”
His lips press together. “Stop it. This is your chance to represent who you are. Not your band.”
I want to ask him who am I? But I can’t.
“What would you suggest, oh CEO record label executive?” I ask as sarcastically as I can.
“Stop it,” he says more forcefully then leans forward. “You may never get the chance to show people the real you, instead of the persona you invented. You’re not pigeon holed to be that person anymore.”
I look away from him and my eyes move to the ocean automatically. “We’ll see.” I can barely form the words over the terror those words cause me. Batty shifts on the table and I can see his hands rubbing together. His nervousness brings my head back around to watch him warily.
“Just spit it out.”
“You haven’t gone to see your parents, or called my office for the address.” I stay silent and try to swallow, but my throat is so dry I can’t manage it. Batty’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. Great, now he’s pissed. “Why do you wait until the last possible minute to do everything?”
Batty stands up and runs his fingers through his short hair as he paces the room. When he stops in front of me, I have the urge to stand, if only so that he doesn’t tower over me. When I get to my feet, it brings us so close that if I sway the tiniest bit our chests will touch. “Why are you nagging me so much?”
The huff of breath Batty lets out hits my face, dissolving the challenging look in my eyes as I’m forced to blink. He backs away and throws his hands in the air. “Sadie, this is the real world. You can’t live in a bubble and only deal with what you want. Yes, you have bills, and you need a job. Yes, you have parents out there somewhere. Wake the fuck up!” he yells.
I stomp across the hardwood to him and wish I had shoes on to make more of an impact. “I’ve been through more in my life than probably even you, much less people double my age. Don’t give me your psychobabble, I already have a shrink. Now get out of my house.”
“Of course. I knew this shit was going to happen. You’re so good at running and deflecting, Sadie, and honestly it’s such a disappointment.” With those parting words, Batty walks out of my house. I half expect him to slam the door, but he doesn’t. With a quiet click, I’m left alone once again.
~
TUESDAY
Lesson number one of ‘adulthood,’ check the weather before getting on a plane to another state. Noted. I shiver and head to the parking lot of nondescript rental cars and push the key fob. Lights flash at the end of the row, so I pull my carry-on behind me, rushing in the cold.
Once inside, it takes an eternity for the heat to work. By this time my hands are shaking, the rings on my fingers threatening to fall off as the blood leaves them. “Fucking Oregon,” I mumble. Driving away from the airport, I head for the highway to make the long trip to my hometown.
Three hours later, I stretch, then flinch at the place I have to go into. The trees look dead, the clouds overcast. The building doesn’t look haunted or creepy, it’s just not where I pictured my parents since I started making money. I had been shelling out a hefty sum each month to make sure they were comfortable, warm, not here.
At the front desk, I’m asked to sign in by an older woman who looks faded around the edges. “ID please,” she says softly. As soon as she has the little card in her hand, her eyes shoot back to mine. “Dinah?”
I nod, confirming my last name. “Yeah.”
“Let me get someone to take you back. I can’t leave the front desk.” I watch her walk down the hall, completely confused. She just left the desk. I scan the walls, and take in the faded furniture. The squeak of rubber shoes on linoleum brings my head around. A young man, probably still in high school, offers me a bright smile and waves me forward.
“Hi, I’m Sam,” the kid says, offering me a hand. I shake it.
“Sadie.”
“We don’t get many visitors for the Dinahs. It will be a treat, no doubt.”
“Mmhmm.”
Sam stops at a door, knocks then twists the knob without waiting for an answer. “Ralph, Polly, look who’s come to see you!”
I stand outside of the door, unable to cross the threshold, like that will prevent this from being real. I did the same thing at the hospital my first time. This is wholly different.
“Who is it? I can’t see a damn thing,” comes a grumbly voice from the elevated bed. The quilt on top is what I notice first. It’s got holes from years of use. It’s an ugly brown and puke yellow. It used to cover the big stain on the back of our couch. The legs underneath look frail and skinny. The slight gut protruding beneath the covers is more familiar. Shaking hands fidget with the blanket. It’s the face that I don’t recognize at all. The lines of age have transformed someone who should be seventy into a man that looks to be pushing one hundred. “I said, who is it,” he says louder. His lips sink into his mouth and he has a sort of lisp when he talks. I realize he has no teeth at the same time my feet start to work.
“It’s me.” I don’t know why I say it like that. I don’t know why I don’t say my name.
I watch those eyes come into focus and the smile I get is almost genuine. “Well, come here, pretty lady, and give Ralphy a hug. Come sit right over here.” He pats his lap, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Oh, knock it off, Ralph. It’s your daughter for Pete’s sake.” Damn that’s where I get my voice from. I bet I sound pretty close to her tires on gravel sound. Hers actually is from smoking a pack a day, though.
“Hey, Momma.” I walk around the bed, watching her struggle to get out of the bed.
“What are you doing here, girl?” I reach my hand out, but she bats it away. “I can take care of myself. What’s wrong?”
“I’m . . . I . . . I just found out you were here. I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” The woman, who used to chronically dye her hair for as long as I can remember, is now snow white with a bald spot in the back. I watch her dab at my dad’s mouth with a folded Kleenex.
“That there ain’t no Tammy. That girl’s a box of trouble. Who’s this young thing here?”
“Where’s your coat, anyway? It’s supposed to snow tonight.”
“I didn’t know,” I answer. “How are you, Mom?”
“Oh, we’re just right as rain, sunshine,” she says sarcastically. “Why don’t you have a sit and we’ll chat. I’d offer you tea, but we’re fresh out.” She’s treating me like a stranger, but I can’t say that I blame her.
Pulling up a chair to the side of Mom’s bed, I sit and drop my purse. “How is he, then?” I ask cautiously.
“Old. Dementia, liver damage, arthritis, compacted disks in his spine. Did you really come here to hear what all’s wrong with us? Do you want mine next?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I’m sorry you’re not someplace nicer. I really thought things were different.”
Mom sits down on her bed. “What, you got out of the trailer park and tucked us away all neat like, just like you wanted, didn’t you? Don’t even visit, don’t write.” She fists her hands together tightly and punctuates words with hits to her lap.
“I’m—” Shit, I’ve already said I’m sorry more than I have in my entire life. “Brian said he had it under control. That you were cared for.” I want to roll my eyes at the lame excuse.
“Brian!” Dad yells, making me jump. “Where is my boy? He brings the good stuff. Are you his chickie, then?”
Mom lean
s over and yells back to him, “She’s your daughter. It’s Sadie!”
“Sadie?” His face scrunches up in confusion. “I don’t believe I know a Sadie.” He focuses his eyes back on me. “But you’re a looker. Can’t be mine.”
A part of me wishes he was just mad that I wasn’t there all of these years. But another part of me cringes at his words.
“Do you need money, child?” Mom asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “No. I’m going to move you into a nicer place, and I’ll visit more. Is there anything you need? Something I can get you?”
“We don’t need your fancy places and your California. We’ll stay here,” Mom says forcefully.
“Yeah. We don’t need you,” Dad says with a nod, his whole face looks like it will slide off of his body with the movement.
“Are you really upset that I got out of the park, Mom?” I ask quietly as blood rushes through my ears.
Her throat constricts when she swallows. “No, Sadie. I’m not mad, just disappointed, is all.”
Fucking disappointment, that’s all I bring people around me. I shaped my life so that no one expected things of me. Now it’s happening left and right. I take a steadying breath and try again. “Do you want me to paint your nails?”
Mom purses her lips and studies me. “Well, I guess that might be alright. Just make sure you do it right. I don’t need to look like that harlot Farah.”
I freeze with my hand in the black hole that is my purse. “Farah?”
She tilts her head at the door. “At the front desk. Farah.”
That my brother and sister put my parents into a home where the woman that ruined our lives works makes me so mad my vision flips to red. Literally, I see red and try to blink it away. The woman at the front desk is the reason we landed in the trailer park. Dad is silent, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the wall.
Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) Page 5