Earning Her Trust: Braxton Arcade Book One

by Adore Ian

  She finishes the order and moves over to me. “Another beer?”

  “Sure.” I push the box forward. “You said you hadn’t eaten, so I got you dinner.”

  She blinks, stunned. And I wonder if anyone has ever done this for her before.

  “There’s enough for you to share with your coworkers, so don’t worry about it looking suspicious.” She rolls her lips together fighting a smile then gets me a beer. “Also Vicky thinks I’m bringing this up here for Priya—which is a testament to how much she trusts me to stay away from her friends. If she only knew.”

  Marrin tilts her head back and laughs. I’m pretty sure it’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard.

  She opens the box. “Are these from that place Devon works?”

  “Yep.”

  “Bless you. You have no idea how starved I am.” She stuffs one of the sliders into her mouth and sighs.

  “Mar,” Priya calls over the noise. “Why don’t you take your fifteen—are those mini burgers?” Mar pivots to show the box. Priya rushes over and wastes no time taking a bite of one. “All I need now is a foot massage,” she says through a mouthful of food.

  Marrin grabs her wrist, “Right?”

  I sip my beer, enjoying my victory. Whoever said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach clearly never tried feeding women. Marrin eats two more burgers before taking her break. We head to the table we’ve commandeered in the middle of the room and she helps herself to more food.

  “We should play something,” Marrin says, fidgeting. “So, like, no one gets suspicious.”

  “Sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to spend time with me?”

  She rolls her eyes, but I detect a slight curl to her mouth.

  I follow her across the room to a two-player game called Realm Quest that’s hidden in the back corner. She inserts coins for both of us and the player select screen pops up. I’ve never heard of this game so I have no idea what character to choose. I scroll through fae, dragons, and evil shadow looking things before selecting a Prince Charming type character with high magic stats. Marrin chooses a witch and the game begins.

  Right off the bat, she hits me with a blast of power and Charming’s life points plummet.

  “No fair,” I say, blindly hitting buttons. “I’ve never played this game.”

  “Want me to go easy on you?”

  “Never.” I try a few combinations and manage to block her next attack. “FYI. If you’d like a foot massage, I can make that happen.”

  “Don’t play with me, Wane. Are you serious?” Her witch attempts to behead Charming.

  “As a heart attack. I never joke about massaging a woman.”

  She barks a laugh then blasts Charming to smithereens.

  We play five more rounds (I lose each one) before Marrin has to go back to work. The high score screen pops up and I’m not surprised to see her initials at the top.

  Could she get any sexier?

  Marrin knocks on my door at 2:45 A.M. She’s fresh from the shower, wearing pajamas with a robe thrown on top. She laughs when she sees the coffee table. I’ve laid out several bottles of lotion, and as a joke, a travel-sized bottle of baby oil.

  We sit at opposite ends of the couch, and I pat my thigh for her feet. She leans back and places them in my lap.

  “Does the lady have a preferred lotion brand?”

  “Whichever one you don’t jack off with. I don’t want my feet covered in your juices.”

  I grab the closest bottle. “You’ll be pleased to know I prefer to masturbate in the shower.”

  “Oh good. A lotion-free zone—” She moans when I drag my thumb along the arch of her foot. Her eyes close and she settles in. “God that feels good.”

  Unsurprisingly, the sound of her moaning makes my dick hard.

  Sorry, buddy. It’s not about you tonight.

  I stuff a pillow on my lap and she smiles like she knows exactly why it’s necessary.

  “Seeing as I told you something about me,” I say, “it seems only fair you do the same.”

  “Do you want me to tell you where I prefer to masturbate, Damian?”

  “Do you want to tell me?” I punctuate the sentence by massaging a line up the side of her shin. I’m rewarded with another moan.

  “I prefer my bed.”

  “Do you just use your hands?”

  A smile curls her mouth. “Yes, Damian. Just my hands. I’ve thought about buying a vibrator, but it just doesn’t interest me that much. How about you?”

  “Just my hands… I bought a pocket vagina once, though.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing compares to the real thing. I consider it a waste of money.”

  “Why’d you buy it?”

  I look away as a thread of anxiety slithers up my spine. For the first time in years, I think about the anxiety meds I keep for emergencies in my nightstand. “Once upon a time, I… um, wasn’t sure if intimacy with other people was something I wanted.” I feel it the moment her eyes open.

  “Did you think you were asexual or something?”

  “No. I just…” Thought I was dirty. Was terrified of letting someone else touch me. Didn’t want to be taken advantage of again. I choke on the truth.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Her voice is soft but strong. There’s no judgment, just quiet understanding.

  I shrug, gaining control of myself. “I had a bad experience.”

  She nods, looking away. “I’ve had a few of those.”

  It’s the most she’s ever offered me. I’m not sure if I should push, or let it go. If I push, she may want something in return, and I’m not sure I’m ready for her to know about the worst experience of my life.

  “True or False?” I declare. “Rumor has it, you put a guy in the hospital last semester.”

  She flinches like I hurt her. Eyes wide, face pale. Clearly, that was the wrong question.

  “Did I hit a boundary?”

  She licks her lips like her mouth has gone dry. She nods.

  “Too personal?”

  She nods again and it’s not lost on me that she’s fine telling me the intimate details of how she touches herself, but a story about something that happened in public is off limits.

  I pivot. “Have you ever waxed your lady parts?”

  Her tension eases. “Of course. Have you?”

  “Seeing as I don’t have lady parts the answer is no. I have shaved myself bald once or twice, but ultimately decided it wasn’t for me. I prefer things well groomed but with hair.”

  “I appreciate that about you. I feel the same.” She closes her eyes. “I’ve had a few full Brazilian waxes before, but I prefer to keep hot wax out of my labia. Give me a deep bikini wax any day but go no further.”

  I move to her other foot.

  “Do you have an opinion on vulva hair?” she asks.

  This sounds like a trick question. “Am I allowed to?”

  “Of course. But just because you prefer something doesn’t mean I’m going to do it for you.”

  I massage up her calf. She moans. “I like how you groom. I think a bald vulva is fun every now and then, but I prefer hair on my women. This one time—”

  Her eyes pop open. “Ooh, I love a good sex-gone-awry story.”

  “Well get ready. When I was in high school, I started babysitting for some of my neighbors. The kids were mostly old enough to take care of themselves, but sometimes I’d have to change a diaper or whatever. A few months after I started, I was at this house party, hooking up with this girl. One thing led to another and we started undressing. When I saw she was totally bare, I went completely soft—”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way. Like a wet noodle, I shit you not. All I could think was how her vulva looked like it belonged to a child and it freaked me out.”

  “What did you do?” Marrin chuckles.

  “What do you mean ‘what did I do?’ I went down on her then got the fuck out of there.”

  “Di
dn’t she notice? She had to have noticed.”

  Now I’m laughing. “I told her the night was all about her and when it was over, I made up an excuse and bolted. I almost couldn’t go down on her. I seriously thought I might have a panic attack. I was so freaked out.”

  “Oh my God. That’s awful.”

  “It was.” We’re not laughing anymore, but she’s clearly still enjoying my misery. “How about you? Have any embarrassing sex stories?”

  Her brow furrows. “Not that I can think of right now. I have a period horror story. Not sure if you’re one of those guys who’d prefer to believe vaginas don’t bleed.”

  I deadpan. “You realize I’m majoring in biology because my plan in life is to be an OB-GYN.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I lie about that?” Her mouth opens and closes like a fish. “Why do you think I spend so much time with my face between your legs?”

  She launches a pillow at me.

  I laugh. “Period story. Give it to me. I’m ready.”

  “Okay. So when I got my period, I didn’t have anyone around to ask about what to expect and how to manage it. All I had to go on was that shitty talk they give in health class. And trust me when I say, they don’t teach you about pads and tampons and ibuprofen or anything useful. So freshman year of high school, I get my period and think a tampon will last all day.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, uh-oh is right. Third bell, I’m sitting in study hall and I can feel it leaking. I ask to go to the bathroom and my stupid male teacher looks at my planner—we had to get planners signed to leave the classroom and get through checkpoints in the hallways and stuff—and sees that I’d gone to the bathroom in second period. So he refuses to let me go.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “I know. I swear male teachers need special training on how to deal with female students. So anyway, I sit back down and my friend Jeannie leans over and tells me there’s blood on my pants. I freak out. I mean freak out. I’m on the verge of tears when my other friend… Jake,” she says.

  “Jackass from the bar?”

  “That’s the one. Anyway, he asks what’s wrong. Long story short, Jake gives me his sweatshirt to tie around my waist, then makes a scene so Jeannie and I can sneak out of the classroom and go to the bathroom. It was horrible.”

  “I bet. What’d Jake do to distract the teacher?”

  “He threw a chair through the window.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah. Got a week’s worth of suspension.” She yawns. “He wasn’t always an asshole… I’m sorry he called you names and stuff. I should’ve kicked him out right then and there. I just…” She shakes her head.

  “It’s complicated. I get it. And don’t sweat it. You think those are the worst things I’ve been called? I’ve heard worse from members of my own family, okay?” Her brows pinch. “My dad was a rich white man from a rich white family and he married a woman whose grandparents immigrated from the Middle East. Thanksgiving was always a nightmare in my house. I used to hide upstairs with my brother—he looks way more mixed race than I do.”

  She cocks her head. “Is that ever strange?”

  I shrug. “Only when people don’t believe me. I get it though. I look just like my dad. Most people, white people, can’t tell from looking at me until I point it out. No offense.”

  “None taken. But for the record, I’ve always seen you clearly.” Her eyes travel over my face. “There’s a hint of taupe always present in your skin tone and something about your browline and nose maybe.”

  I smile because she has a good eye. “All from my mom. Only thing you forgot was my hair. My father was blond.”

  She sits up, tucking her feet beneath her. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Vicky told me once it was you who threw that dorm party freshman year that the cops had to break up.”

  “Guilty as charged. And before you ask, yes, I threw it because my dad died.” I wait for a follow up question that never comes.

  “Must’ve been a huge asshole if you threw a party.”

  I smile. “The biggest.”

  6

  Damian

  The next two weeks are filled with midterm exams. I only see Marrin in passing, sometimes in our building and sometimes on campus.

  I’ve texted her a few times and I know she’s busy, but every time I check my phone and see she hasn’t texted me, I get a little pang of disappointment. Which is stupid because I’m not her boyfriend.

  “I need a beer,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket.

  Hayden sighs. “You don’t need a beer, you just want a beer.”

  I glare at him from the space between my eyebrows and the top of my sunglasses. We’re sitting on a low stone fence outside the English department where Jayce is taking his last exam.

  “Say that to me again.”

  “Jesus, who got your knickers in a knot?”

  Marrin.

  “First, who says ‘knickers’ anymore? Second, I’ve been studying my ass off for two weeks straight. I’m about to start bleeding out my eyes. I just want to get a beer with my boys. Besides, Vicky and them are going to that new cowboy bar. Perfect excuse for a guys’ night.”

  He glances at his feet. A telltale sign he’s hiding something.

  I wipe a hand down my jaw. “You didn’t.”

  He makes a face as if to say, Well…

  “Vicky invited that Sasha girl you’ve been crushing on, didn’t she? And you’re going as her lap dog.”

  “I’m not her—”

  “Unbelievable.” I stand to pace. The sun is starting to set and the temperature is dropping. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  “What’s unbelievable?”

  I whirl around to face Jayce, who’s just emerged from the big brick building in front of us. “Hayden. Sasha got invited to Vicky’s little ladies’ night at that new cowboy bar, and he’s going because she’s going.”

  Jayce glances at Hayden. “What’s wrong with an old-fashioned cowboy bar?”

  I freeze. “Mother of fuck. Please don’t tell me you’re going?”

  “Where Vicky goes, I follow.”

  “You’re both pathetic, you know that? Whipped and pathetic.” We start walking toward the parking lot.

  “Just come with us,” Hayden says. “It’ll be fun.”

  “No. Vicky in cowboy boots with spurs?” I point at Jayce. “You know they’re real, right? Real spurs. That do real damage.” Lifting the hem of my shirt, I twist so he can see the scar on my lower back. “Evidence.”

  “As I recall it,” Hayden drawls. “You were drunk off your ass, going through her closet, where you tripped—of your own accord—and fell into the spurs.”

  I round on Hayden, who’s standing on my right. “We can play the blame game all day. Doesn’t change the fact that those shoes are a danger to the community. I refuse to be around them when they’re strapped to the feet of a drunk girl.” I turn to Jayce. “Sorry.”

  “Come on,” Jayce pleads, “it’ll be fun. Everyone will be there. Marrin will be there.” He wags his eyebrows.

  I don’t dignify that with a response. I just keep on walking. One foot in front of the other, my Jeep in sight. Yep, I’m just gonna keep on walking, keep on ignoring.

  “Cat got your tongue, Dame?” Hayden chides.

  “What I do with my tongue is none of your business, sweetheart.” I lower my sunglasses and wink.

  “But is it Marrin’s business?” he muses to Jayce.

  I shut my mouth because I walked right into that one.

  “That’s not a no,” Jayce says, fist bumping Hayden before stopping at his car.

  I take a few more steps before swiveling and walking backward toward my Jeep. “Have fun losing your dignity falling off mechanical bulls like a bunch of rednecks. No offense to your people Hayden.”

  “My parents are farmers, not cattle ranchers.”

  I loo
k at Jayce. Jayce looks at me. We both look at Hayden. “Same thing,” we say.

  Hayden shakes his head, grumbling.

  Jayce says, “We’ll tell Marrin you said hello.”

  “Fuck you very much.” I flip him off before turning my back.

  “Come on, Dame,” Hayden yells. “We all saw you ready to go a round with that Jake dude.”

  I stop. My Jeep is so close I can almost taste it. I pull out my phone. I’m not surprised when I see zero new texts, I haven’t felt it vibrate. I put it back in my pocket and turn around.

  “I fuckin’ knew it,” Jayce roars, slapping the trunk of his car.

  “How long?” Hayden says, equally satisfied.

  I smile. “A gentleman never tells.” But I walk back to my friends. “How long have you suspected?”

  “Since that night with Jake,” Hayden says.

  Jayce adds, “You confirm it every time you drag us to the Braxton.”

  Oops.

  “Does Vicky suspect?” I ask.

  Jayce shakes his head. “Not that she’s mentioned to me. She was sure as shit pissed that one night, though. What’d that Jake guy say to get you all riled?”

  “I don’t remember,” I lie.

  “So you coming tonight?” Hayden asks.

  “Are you both going to keep this little discussion to yourselves?”

  They both agree. I nod.

  Marrin

  I’ve never been in more pain in my life. Well, okay, that’s not true. But this is a close second.

  I’m curled up on the couch in my apartment in the jeans and T-shirt I’d intended to wear to some cowboy bar Vicky convinced me to be seen at. But there’s no way in hell that’s happening now.

  “Fuuuck,” I half cry as another cramp spasms across my abdomen.

  I grab my purse and pull out the IUD aftercare instruction paper the doctor gave me. Cramping is normal and they recommend a heating pad and a few different kinds of pain meds. Listed under “Warning Signs” it says to contact your doctor if severe cramping occurs. I’m pretty sure my suffering doesn’t qualify. I’m just a baby when it comes to any kind of stomach pain. It brings back bad memories that make the pain seem worse.