“Oh my God,” I yell, finally moving forward then back. He lets me go with a pop and I move into him, craving more.
“There’s my girl. Take it all, baby.”
I expel a breath. God, I love his mouth. I love his dick. I love . . . no. I growl my thoughts and rise above him to slam back down.
Now it’s his turn. His breath singes my bare chest, so I do it again. And again. The horn blares, the car shakes and I don’t stop. His hands claw at my ass, leaving welts, I know. I don’t fucking care. I beg him with my body to give me everything he has. Everything he feels. Everything he needs.
I slam my body onto his as hard as I can, and still he asks for more, so I try to give it. The windows are fogged, my head is bruised from hitting the roof but I don’t stop until I can’t control my movements anymore, because I’m blasting through everything, locking onto him in a vise he can’t escape.
But he doesn’t want to. No, he grips my hips hard, leaving bruises I won’t soon be forgetting, until he’s empty and I’m seeing stars in daylight.
We pant, sucking in each other’s gasps until all of the windows are too fogged up to see through, from any angle. My thighs shake as I shift off of him. He grips the condom with a spent hand, making sure to keep it on as I move into the seat next. I slowly find my pants, which are only hanging on by an ankle, and fight them to turn until they’re on again, some minutes later.
Batty settles himself simply and much faster than I do, pulling up his pants, throwing the condom in the dirty alley then redoing his belt. He waits patiently, but I suddenly feel rushed. He watches me. Is he judging? I shove my feet into my boots and zip them up in triumph. He silently starts the car and backs into traffic quickly.
When he pulls into the spot behind my car, I grab the handle like a lifeline.
“See you Sunday.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
BATTY-
Did she really think I wouldn’t notice her rubbing all over my seats? This day has been the longest of my fucking life, having to sit across from her and watch those green eyes eat me alive. I didn’t leave the room on purpose, because I know for a fact that if Sadie had followed me our ruse would be up. Sadie can scream her empty house down, a corporate bathroom didn’t stand a fucking chance.
I take a deep breath and smirk. Gun my car into traffic. Who needs the new car smell when sex is an option?
Chapter 14
I visit my shrink. I organize things with Jacque. I go fucking stir crazy until the show is supposed to come to my house. I look around, but there’s nothing to organize. I don’t have anything.
The production crew installs their cameras and select laptops, lighting, and hide their electronic wires in my spartan abode. Finally, the door rings.
“Sadie, love!” Fandy holds out his arms for a hug and I give it.
“Fandy, thanks for the booze,” I say, grabbing the whiskey from his hands. He laughs.
“Anything for you, baby doll.” He’s in pajamas, like I am. It’s part of the script. We’re supposed to look over the YouTube videos, like it’s a slumber party or some shit.
The door rings. I let in a giant and a pack of Bud. Danny’s pat on the back almost has me exiting my own house.
“Are we ready to do this?” I ask. They both take a bite of the pizza I had delivered and mumble their assent.
I settle on the couch between them with my own beer and press play.
The first isn’t so bad. We save it and go to the second. By the fifteenth we’re all chugging our drinks.
“Do they all have to sing that song? Come on, there’s classics here,” Danny murmurs.
I click on the next.
“They might be good if they didn’t use the same song,” Fandy decries.
“Let’s see what this one has,” I say with false enthusiasm.
As soon as it starts the boys groan and I roll my eyes. “Come on, guys. It’s a good song.”
“But can no one make it their own?” Daniel cries from the sofa.
“Give it a chance!” I yell as the same melody comes through the surround sound and we all groan.
“It’s a mockery of the original,” Fandy yells and covers his ears.
“Only if they can’t sing it. Most of these people can’t. Maybe they could pull off something if it was their own, instead of the same,” I admit. I love this song, but after sixty-two times of the same exact rendition with only a few that could pull it off, it did suck.
We are all frustrated, but I imagine this is what happened to everyone on a reality singing competition before us.
“If I did it, it wouldn’t sound like a soundtrack,” Fandy mumbled into his beer. I put down my pizza and dust my fingers off.
“How would it sound, Fandy?” I prompt. He looks around the room, licking his lips before bounding off of the couch and jumping over the back to get to the kitchen. Daniel and I watch as Fandy opens drawers until he finds the silverware. Daniel moves to my dining room to gesture toward the guitar on the wall.
“May I?” I nod, so he takes it down.
When the boys were back on the couch on either side of me, I curl a foot beneath me and watch them set up a rhythm. Even if they didn’t know the song before tonight, after so many times, they definitely picked up the lyrics by now.
Fandy starts with his spoons and Daniel comes in with the guitar. I slap my thighs for lack of anything better, and we give it our all. The men provide my chorus and I go for notes I wouldn’t have tried had I not just done it the weekend prior. The whole time I’m thinking of the ice rink, thinking of little Ella seeing this on TV in her room and the smile she would have. At the end I blow a kiss and mouth Ella to the camera.
We all laugh and high five. The guys put the instruments away and we get back to work selecting our hopefuls for the next round. All in all, it’s a positive experience and we find a few diamonds in the rough we think have potential, but it’s frustratingly slow going. The whole premise behind the show is that we hear everyone. We hand select them instead of producers behind the scenes vetting everyone before we see them, like on previous shows.
It’s extremely late by the time the crew leaves, and I sigh in my favorite lounger on the deck when they’re gone, too keyed up to go to sleep.
I feel him before he makes a sound. I knew he was watching the monitors with the rest of the crew upstairs before they all left together. He climbs the stairs and hands me another beer as he sits on the foot of the chaise.
“Good night,” he says simply.
“Mmm.” I take a drink.
“Is this a five hundred dollar pair of pjs?” Batty asks, fingering the sleeve of my black top. I laugh.
“Pac-Sun.” I look down at the shirt that says ‘lazy bones’ and the shorts with little skulls and crosses on them.
“Very cute. You have great charisma on camera. I’m glad it’s working out.”
“What would you have done if it didn’t?” I ask, curious. He shrugs.
“I would have figured out something. Your voice isn’t what I was expecting,” he admits, running a cold finger over my throat.
“I was always good with that, but nobody wanted to hear it.”
“I’m glad they get the chance now.”
“Thanks.” I eye him, not knowing where the conversation is going. He shifts and hangs his hands between his knees, relaxed in my space.
“What’s your middle name, Sadie Dinah?” he asks suddenly. I blink at him before shrugging.
“Is Popper not an answer?” He gives me a narrow look, and I smile. He laughs and it makes mmy smile widen. He does it so rarely. “What’s yours, Finnigan?”
Batty leans in to touch his lips to mine. “It’s weird hearing you say my name.”
“Do you like Batty better?”
“From you? Yeah,” he says with a shrug.
“So who is Finnigan?” I ask, not sure I want the answer. These are questions we haven’t asked each other in the five months we’ve b
een together. They seemed taboo before now, but since he started it . . .
“Finnigan is . . .” He looks up to the stars. “He’s a CEO, a brother, a . . . caretaker, a son.” He looks back at me.
“Caretaker of your corporation? Or with the kids?” I wonder.
“Definitely the kids, and the corporation.”
“Sounds like a lot.” I wonder how many people he’s responsible for at the label for the first time. There must be thousands, and yet he volunteers his time at the hospital without fail.
“It is. That’s why I have you.” He comes back to my lips again. I don’t know what to do with the mood he’s in.
“What did you do before me?” I ask quietly. He sighs.
“I did a lot.” He’s quiet and I give him room to think. “I lived without living. I went through the motions, what I thought was right, what I had to.”
“Without taking anything for yourself?”
“I have you to myself.” I see his life now as one mission after another, picking up his brother’s obligations and doing what he thought was right. It sounds lonely as shit. Kind of like my life before him. We have that in common.
“You have a plane to catch?” I ask, moving my bare leg into his lap. He looks over and smiles, giving me both of his dimples.
“Not for a while yet,” he says, moving into my lips, finally, finally touching me with his chilled hand, setting the beer down with the other. He cups my face, moving my chin up to his.
By the time he leaves, the sun is coming up over the horizon, and I sink into a dreamless sleep that only Batty can give me.
BATTY-
Despite how this show came to exist, after seeing the tape I’m thinking it might actually make some money. I left with the crew, was halfway to the airport and couldn’t do it. I was betting she would be on the deck and got it in one.
The more I’m around her, the more I want her. There’s still so much between us, and with each innocent question I feel the distance closing. The thing is, she doesn’t know anything about me. Not a fucking clue.
Chapter 15
SATURDAY
“You must tell me about the enigma that is ‘Batty’.”
“What do you mean?” I look over at Jacque as he spreads brochures across the countertop.
“Are you kidding me? You’re banging Finnigan Brennick. Share the deets, sista,” Jacque says with a smirk as he pulls out his iPad.
I blink and shift my weight. “Are you gay?” He shrugs while munching on a fried mozzarella stick.
“Equal opportunist.”
“Huh.” Color me I’m stumped.
“So back to the hottie. Is he all broody in bed, or does he come out of his shell some?” Jacque sits on a stool and puts his hands under his chin with wide eyes. I laugh and try to blow him off.
“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t be coming back for more if he was horrible.”
“So he rocks your socks.” It’s a statement instead of a question, but I can’t help but answer.
“Oh. Yes. Definitely yes.”
“Ugh. God you suck. Where does he live? I bet it’s some penthouse somewhere, right?” Jacque asks as he unwraps his burger. I shovel food in my mouth to stall, but Jacque apparently doesn’t have ADD and waits for an answer. I roll my shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable that I’ve been sleeping with someone for five months and have no idea where he lives. How is that possible?
“No, we come back here.”
“That’s . . . cool.” The silence quickly turns awkward.
“It’s not a big deal. He drives me home.”
“From where?” Shit.
“Oh, that’s . . . just this thing we do. Let’s get to work on these.” I pick up a brochure and start reading about retirement homes. Stimulating it was not, but it is something I can control in my life.
For a long time, I’ve had this comfort that the relationship I had with Batty was uncomplicated. Just physical. Now there were things like jealousy and soft kisses that were making everything jumbled in my head. Don’t even get me started on the fact that he’s my boss.
I toss the paper. “This one sucks. Next.” I pick up another and stare at pools and hospital beds in places that look like apartment complexes. I need to focus on right now, but in the back of my mind a little voice who sounds decidedly like my libido whispers that tomorrow is Sunday.
~
SUNDAY
“How’s my girl?”
“Still dying.” I sigh.
“Come on, Mara.”
“You come on. Why even ask?” she says, her mouth pinched and pale.
“Fine. You’re dying. Probably. Does that make you feel better?” I ask. With these kids, there’s really no rhyme or reason to their moods. Most of the time I’m flying by the seat of my pants, positive I’m saying the wrong thing. I’m so never having kids.
“No,” she sulks.
I sigh and sit in a chair. “Yeah, it didn’t make me feel better saying it, either. Tell me the gossip around here.”
I see the first sparkle in her eye and know she has something good, so I scoot closer. Her hands pick at the blue blanket on her bed and I watch the many hospital bracelets on her hand shift and bump into each other.
“Well, you know the new nurse? Jessica?” she asks slyly. I start to smile.
“The one with the bleached streaks in her hair?” Mara rolls her eyes.
“The one with the fat ass. Come on, streaks, really?” I roll my eyes back.
“It’s not nice to say that stuff. I was trying to be nice,” I explain, trying to fight my smile. Jessica does have a big ass.
“Whatever. Anyway, Tim told me that he saw the new doctor and her coming out of the supply closet at the same time, but they swapped stethoscopes after they left. He saw the whole thing.” I gasp, only half playing up her excitement.
“Isn’t he married?” I ask, scandalized. Her eyes get big.
“Nobody knows, but it’s probably true. Such a shame he picked her for the closet.” She sighs. “The other girls have had their eye on him for months, and she comes along and ruins it.”
“Bitch.”
“So true. Anyway, tell me about your luva.” I shoot my eyes to her.
“Say what?”
“Your boy toy. You can’t tell me you haven’t been hitting up the Batattack.” She laughs and points to my face. Her eyes bug out and go crossed as she imitates me. Apparently, I resemble an ancient pug.
“Batattack? Are you talking about me and . . .” I can’t even say it. These people are not supposed to know about that. No one is. Now the info was spreading like wildfire across California’s population.
“Yes, the man in mask and cape. Tell me you’ve kissed him in that mask. Please, I’m begging you.”
I reach down for my purse. “Oh my God, I am not having this conversation.”
“Why? You don’t have friends. Who am I gonna tell?”
“You’re thirteen, Mara. I am not talking about kissing or anything else with you,” I say firmly.
She sighs. “Fine. Will you tell me about your dates?” I set my purse back down.
“You mean the ones where I get in his sidecar and we drive into the night with our capes flying in the wind behind us?” Mara giggles, which is pretty much the best sound in the world.
“No. The real kind. Where does he take you?” Oh, shit. My bed is not the right answer. I debate telling her that he doesn’t do that for half a second, before her excited look sways me the other way. So I do what I know best with these kids. I make shit up.
“Well, one time we went out to eat at this little hole in the wall. It was a Mexican restaurant and we shared this huge margarita the size of a fish bowl. Huge. Then we walked back to my house on the beach.” I nod to myself, happy that I kept it simple, but already regretting the margarita part. No way Batty would ever drink that shit.
“Did you hold hands?” My mind forms the image in my head as I consider it, and it’s surprisingly not unpleasant,
so I tell her we did.
“Did he kiss you at the end of the night?” I nod once, firmly.
“Definitely.”
“Is he a good kisser?”
“The best.” The answer comes out without thinking, because she was asking me so fast.
“I want to be kissed,” she admits, looking back at her hands. “Before I die, I mean. And dancing. You should ask the Batattack to take you dancing, for me.” I nod, silently agreeing to ask. I don’t know that I ever would, but these moments are some of the hardest. When a kid accepts that they’re not going to make it and realize everything they’ll miss.
I stay a while longer with Mara, making sure to get another smile and little laugh out of her before I leave, then I head down the hall to the next.
“Hey, bud! What’s your name?” I ask with a smile big enough to split my face. The nurses had mentioned a new patient, so I made sure to stop in. Usually they get a kick out of the mask.
Not this one. He doesn’t even look up.
“That’s a pretty cool game.” I look from him to the TV and back. I notice another controller on the little tray by the bed. I point to it. “Can I play with you?” If I wasn’t watching him so closely, I would have never seen his little twitch of a shrug.
“Saweeet!” I say loudly, making the kid jump. I have to press every single button to try to turn it on, but the thing finally lights up. I watch the TV screen split in half and press more buttons to see what happens.
“Holy . . . crap!” I yell as my car goes into a crowd of people. I have to figure out how to reverse, which takes a while. The whole time, the kid’s car is sailing through every turn perfectly. It gets my competitive side into the game. I don’t notice when his parents come in. I yell, I groan and bounce in my seat. We play match after match. Finally, I’m in seventh place and it’s the best I’ve done so far. Sure the kid is just passing the finish line in first, but who cares? I. Am. Pumped.
Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) Page 9