by R. R. Banks
I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't even realize there's somebody behind me until I hear the scuff of a shoe on the pavement. A jolt of adrenaline shoots through me as I spin around and find myself face-to-face with a man holding a knife. He's tall, well-built, and wearing a hoodie pulled down low over his face. I can't see his face.
But I see the knife. Can see the light glinting off the sharp edge of it. Wordlessly, the man lunges at me. It's a clumsy lunge, but it's quick. I grimace and let out a grunt as the blade slices through the arm of my jacket, slicing open the skin beneath. I feel the blood, warm and sticky, begin to flow down my arm, suddenly thankful for the jacket I had on since it absorbed the brunt of the cut.
I dodge to the side and square up as the man rounds on me. I used to be an athlete back in school, but I'm not a fighter and have no training. All I can really do is react to whatever he does. But, thankfully, it doesn't look like my attacker is a skilled fighter either. The smart thing to do would be to hand over my wallet since I'm sure that's what he's after. However, I'm not in the mood to do the smart thing.
A deep, dark anger rises up from within me, fueled by the frustration over everything that's happened over these last few months. As I stare at the man in the hoodie, trying to anticipate his next move, the fury in my heart and soul at what Brittany did to me suddenly boils over. And at that moment, I just want to hurt somebody.
The man lunges at me again, but this time I'm ready. I grab his knife hand with my left and drive my right hand straight into his face with every ounce of strength I can muster. I feel the bones give way beneath my fist. The man grunts and staggers backward. The knife falls to the ground with a clatter as the man clutches his face.
I take a step forward, my fists still clenched and the rage still burning a hole in my gut. The man surprises me by moving quickly. My head is rocked to the right by the man's fist slamming into my cheek. A beat later, the heat flares in my face as I register the pain of the blow. I'm knocked a couple of steps backward, my head spinning. The cheek where his fist landed hurts, but the pain only serves to fuel my rage.
Thinking to press his advantage, the man advances on me again. I spin toward him and grab the front of his sweatshirt. Using my size, I drive him backward, smashing him into the dumpster against the wall. He lets out a pained yelp as he makes impact with the steel bin.
Still gripping his sweatshirt, I rain down blows with my right hand, connecting with his face again and again. A strange wailing sound fills my ears and I think it's the man I'm beating, but I realize that sound is coming from me and it gives me a moment's hesitation. The sound is a scream of anguish. A scream of primal rage. It's the sound of all the anger and frustration that's built up within me.
The moment of pause in my beating gives the man the opening he needs. He drives his knee upward, connecting sharply with my balls. I grunt and double over as his knee comes up again, catching me in the face. I stagger backward as I feel the blood flowing from my nose down my face, the distinct taste of copper filling my mouth.
Lights flare in the alley and the man turns and flees into the darkness. A moment later, strobing red and blue lights slice through the night as the police cruiser drives up to where I'm standing. The two cops jump out of their cars, weapons in hand.
“Down on the ground,” one of the men calls out.
My anger surges once more. I'm the goddamn victim here. I'm the one who just got jumped. They should be chasing the asshole in the hoodie, not harassing me.
“On the ground, asshole,” the other cop shouts. “Now.”
“That guy tried to mug me,” I shout.
“Get on the ground or I'm going to hit you with a Taser,” the first cop yells. “Final warning, asshole.”
The rage still burning within me, I slowly get down on my knees and then lie on my belly. After the shit night I've had, the last thing I want is to get hit with a goddamn stun gun. The cops are on me a second later, cuffing my hands behind my back.
They help me to my feet and sit me in the back of the car while they do whatever it is they do when they're not arresting the wrong goddamn guy. More cops arrive, and I continue to sit there, in the back of the car, for more than an hour. And I don't know if they even bothered looking for the other guy.
The door opens suddenly, and I'm being helped out of the car. The two cops who'd put the cuffs on me are standing in front of me while a man in a suit is behind me, unlocking the cuffs. Free of the restraints, I rub my wrists together.
“Mr. Anderson,” says the man in the suit. “Lieutenant Phillips. I'm awfully sorry about this misunderstanding.”
I glare at the two cops standing before me. Neither of them can meet my eyes, choosing to look at the ground instead. Their boss had obviously figured out who I am and ripped them a new one.
“Did you find the guy who tried to mug me?” I ask.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Phillips says. “We did not. But, we do have the weapon he used during the attack and we'll be running it for prints.”
“Great,” I say.
“On behalf of Seattle PD, I'd like to apologize for how this went down,” Phillips says. “You understand though, dark night, the heat of the moment. These officers were just doing their jobs.”
I glare at them both again, still salty about the attack, but also about being cuffed and stuffed in the back of a car without reason. But, now that the situation is defused, and I'm thinking a little more clearly, I understand their actions a little bit better. They have a tough job.
“I understand,” I say. “It was a tricky situation.”
“Can we get you some medical attention, Mr. Anderson?” Phillips asks. “That wound on your arm–”
“No, I'm fine,” I say. “Thank you though. I think I’m just going to go home now.”
Chapter Thirteen
Paige
It's been a few days since I went up to see Liam, and it's been a little longer since I last saw Skyler. She's busy with Henrik, her hot Swedish masseuse, or whatever. But, with his ship leaving port and Henrik leaving with it, Skyler is going to have to find a new playmate soon.
Which, given that another cruise ship is coming in soon, I don't imagine will be too difficult for her.
“You are kidding me,” she practically squeals. “You actually went up and saw Gatsby? Like live and in the flesh?”
“Live and in the flesh,” I confirm.
“So?” Skyler asks. “What's he like?”
I shelve a few books and run the feather duster over the shelf, doing my normal routine of tidying everything that doesn't actually need to be tidied.
“He's – nice,” I say.
“Nice? That's it?” Skyler asks. “That's all you're going to give me? Seriously?”
I laugh. “What do you want me to say?”
“Details, girl,” she says and laughs. “I want details.”
“Details? Well, I listened to what you said –”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“Of course, I did,” I say. “I always do.”
“That's a lie, but that's okay,” she says and grins. “Which part did you listen to?”
I set the feather duster down on the counter and lean against it, folding my arms over my chest and look out at the street.
“The part about maybe me coming at him too strong,” I say. “About me being a little too harsh, maybe.”
“Okay, that's good,” she says, positively beaming. “And?”
“And, I took a bottle of wine to him and apologized.”
She leans forward, looking at me expectantly. I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint her though.
“And?” she urges me.
“And, nothing,” I say. “We had a cup of coffee and we talked for a while.”
A look of disbelief crosses her face and she blinks a couple of times. Sitting back on the stool, she sighs and shakes her head. Like I said, I knew I was going to disappoint her.
“Talked?” she asks like she hopes she misu
nderstood me.
“Talked,” I reply.
“No, naked, hot, crazy sex?”
I laugh. “No, nothing like that,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I don't think disappointment is a strong enough word.”
“He's actually a pretty good conversationalist,” I say. “He's a lot different than I expected him to be.”
Skyler looks at me for a long moment, as if trying to understand everything I'm saying – like I'm suddenly speaking Chinese or something.
“So, let me get this all straight,” she says. “We've already established that he's a hot guy, right?”
“He's – an attractive man, yes.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Attractive man is Paige-speak for super-hot stud of a man.”
I laugh. “Fine. He's hot.”
“So, hot guy, hot girl,” she says. “You got to his house, you're alone...”
“More or less,” I say. “His house manager was there.”
“But like, not in the room with you?”
“No, not in the room.”
Feeling fidgety beneath Skyler's cross-examination, I pick up the feather duster again and start dusting the shelves I dusted half an hour ago. I know she'll just keep pressing until she feels she's wrung every last bit of information out of me, so I figure it's better to just get it out of the way now, so we can move on to other topics.
“So, hot guy, hot girl, alone in a room…” she says. “And all you do is talk?”
“We also had coffee.”
Skyler let's out a sigh of frustration and shakes her head again. All I can do is laugh.
“Honey, are you medically incapable of having sex?” she asks. “Or is it a religious thing?”
“Just because a man and a woman are in a room together doesn't mean they need to have sex.”
“It should,” she says and laughs. “Especially when a hot woman is into said hot man.”
I gasp and stare at her wide-eyed. “I am not into him.”
“You are totally into him,” she says. “I can see that into him glow about you. Don't think you can fool me, Paige, I'm an expert on these things.”
I turn my back on her – mostly to hide the color in my cheeks – and keep dusting. I'm not into him, despite what she says. He's an attractive man, yes. He's not anything like I expected him to be. He's smart, funny, and way more sensitive than I would have ever thought possible.
I may be intrigued by him, but I'm not into him. At least, not in the way Skyler is suggesting.
“I enjoyed having a cup of coffee and conversation with the man,” I say. “That doesn't mean I'm going to strip down and bang him.”
“That's exactly what that should mean,” she says. “Coffee is the universal symbol for sex. If he asks if you want a cup of coffee, what he's really asking is, would you like to bang?”
Laughter bursts out of me, despite my best efforts at controlling it. “You are incorrigible.”
“Yes, I am,” she says. “And good thing for you. If it wasn’t for me, you'd probably be living in a convent somewhere.”
I putter around the shop, dusting and straightening shelves as best as I can. Anything to distract me from Skyler's line of questioning.
“Do you like him?” she finally asks.
I turn to her. “I don't even know him.”
She shrugs. “But, do you like him?” she asks again. “Is he somebody you might want to get to know better?”
“I – I really don't know,” I say. “I haven't given it any thought.”
That's a lie. I've given it a little bit of thought. But, I'm not going to tell Skyler that. It would only add fuel to the fire. She's always been concerned about my love life. Or, more specifically, my lack of a love life. Ever since we were younger, she's always tried fixing me up with this guy or that guy, never seeming to understand that I don't necessarily want, or need, a man in my life.
Not that she is one who needs a man to feel complete or anything. Skyler is a very strong, independent woman. She's also someone who owns their sexuality. She sees no reason women shouldn't be allowed to enjoy sex – and talk about it – like men do.
She lives her life with vigor and passion, I'll give her that. She enjoys everything that life has to offer. It's something I've always admired about her. Not something I try to emulate, but something I admire. When it comes to sex, I've always been a little more Victorian in nature. More restrained and reserved. I've tried, unsuccessfully, but I am not a random hook-up kind of girl. It's simply not in my nature.
Which, of course, has led to a hell of a lot of sexual frustration. I have vibrators and all, but it's not the same. They serve a purpose and help get me off when I need it. The sex toys scratch the itch, sure, but it’s still a far cry from being sexually satisfied.
Even still, I’ve never been able to force myself to go out, find some random guy to have sex with and never talk to him again. To Skyler, sex is a sport. When she needs to get off, she goes hunting, and bags herself a trophy. Although some of the women in town judge her for it, I don't. She's right in that there is nothing wrong with a woman owning her sexuality.
But, for me, sex is about connection. It's about intimacy. I honestly don't know where it came from because my parents were basically old hippies. They were libertines, very open about their sexuality and never really sheltered me from it. As I grew older, they encouraged me to explore myself and experiment, get in touch with my inner desires and fantasies. All the while, they told me it was perfectly natural.
For some reason though, the lessons never took, and I ended up going in the opposite direction. While I'm not necessarily a prude – an assertion I know Skyler would disagree with – I'm also not the “free love” kind of person either.
“He's filthy, stinking rich, and he's successful,” Skyler says. “He's got all kinds of fancy toys like that private helicopter.”
“You know stuff like that doesn’t matter to me,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “But, wouldn't it be nice to have somebody in your life who could take care of you?”
I laugh. “I don’t think I would like to be a kept woman.”
“Not what I'm talking about,” she says. “All your life, you've taken care of other people. You take care of this shop. You took care of your parents. Your friends. Hell, you take care of me most of the time. Wouldn't it be a nice change of pace to not have to worry about anything? To have somebody take care of you for a change?”
“I don't take care of you,” I say.
“Yes. You do,” she says, looking at me earnestly. “In a million different ways, you do. I guess I don't do a good enough job of thanking you for it or making you feel appreciated, but you do, Paige. I wouldn't be half the woman I am today if it wasn’t for you.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks and my heart swells with happiness. Skyler isn't one who often gives into displays of emotion like that – especially with other people. Which makes what she said means that much more to me.
I have to admit, not having to worry and stress about how I'm going to keep the lights on or feed myself would be a nice change of pace. Not having to constantly fear that I am going to go bankrupt for holding on to my shop would be wonderful.
At the same time, I don’t think I’m willing to only be somebody's kept woman. I'm not the type to go out looking for a sugar daddy. I'm not willing to sell myself out for a little financial security. That's not the kind of person I am and not who my parents raised me to be.
“I just want to see you happy,” Skyler says. “I want that more than anything.”
“I am happy,” I say, her hand a gentle squeeze.
“No, you're not,” she says. “You don't think I see it, but I do. You're unsettled, hon. You're not happy. At least, not as happy as you could be.”
“Don't worry about me, Sky,” I say. “I'm just in a little rut. I'll figure it out and bounce back before you know it.”
She surprises me by pulling me into a tigh
t embrace. We both stand there for a moment, looking at one another, tears shimmering in our eyes. And the stupid thing is, I don't even know why we're both so weepy all of a sudden.
We both awkwardly laugh and dab at our eyes. Skyler looks at me and a small grin touches the corners of her lips.
“So, do you like him?”
I laugh and shake my head. “This question again?”
“Yes, because you so deftly dodged it last time,” she says. “Don't think I didn't notice.”
I sigh. “I don't know him,” I say. “But, I'm – intrigued – by him.”
“Intrigued,” she says and nods. “That's something. I can work with that.”
“There's nothing to work with,” I say. “A man like that isn't going to be interested in a woman like me. We come from two totally different worlds.”
She shrugs. “They say opposites attract.”
“They say a lot of things.”
“That they do,” she replies. “But you're also making assumptions again.”
“I think this one is pretty well founded,” I say.
“I think you're wrong,” she replies. “And there's only one way to find out.”
“And how's that?”
“Go back to his place and see him.”
I open my mouth to shoot down her idea but then close it again. I'm not entirely opposed to the idea of seeing him again. But, that's presuming he'd want to see me again. For all I know, he offered me coffee just to be polite.
“I don't have anything left to apologize for,” I say and laugh. “I have no reason to go to his place.”
“You said he's a reader,” she says. “So, bring him a book.”
I look around at the cluttered bookshelves and smile. That might actually work. There might not be anything there. For all I know, Liam has a girlfriend. Or, he's simply not interested in me. Hell, for all I know, he's not interested in women at all. But there's only one way to find out.