by Heather Lin
*
Monroe’s eyes opened to find gray light filtering through the trees and corn stalks around them. She bolted upright. Big mistake. She put a hand to her head and fought back the alcohol-induced nausea. Alton was still next to her, snoring softly, his arm thrown over his eyes so he remained unaware of the impending dawn. At least her sleep had been nightmare-free. That was one pleasant side effect of drifting off by way of sex and alcohol.
But why didn’t Wayne wake them up? She looked around. Four trucks and one car were left around the smoldering embers of the fire. Two guys had passed out in lawn chairs. Wayne and his girlfriend were nowhere to be found. Monroe ran a hand through her hair and looked down at Alton again. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to wake him or just leave without a word. She didn’t see Rodney, but she guessed he’d gone home with a girl. She checked her phone. A text message said the keys to the farm truck were in the ignition.
She shook Alton’s arm. He grunted and began the slow process of waking up. Monroe could tell by the way he squinted and the grimace on his lips he wasn’t feeling so good, either.
“I have to work this afternoon,” she said before any morning-after awkwardness could set in. “I’m gonna get going.”
He propped himself up on his elbows and opened one eye. He was a sexy, disheveled mess. Her eyes were drawn to his still-unbuttoned pants and what lay beneath. She could feel that heat rising in her again.
Time to go.
She put on her boots and blazer and stood, pausing as she fought a dizzy spell.
“We slept here?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah.”
“Shit,” he groaned.
“What? Do you have some place to be?”
“No.” He sat up. “But anyone could have come by. Anyone could have taken pictures or…shit. It’s not good.”
Monroe glanced around. They couldn’t be seen from the road. Wayne’s MP3 player had run out of songs hours ago. No one could know they were here.
“Everyone’s the paparazzi, ‘Roe,” he reminded her quietly, as if he knew what she was thinking.
“Oh, you mean my friends?” She asked. She knew her people, even if he didn’t. She climbed out the back of the truck.
“I had friends, too, you know. Before I had my career. And I trusted them.”
Monroe paused, her irritation giving way to sympathy. “I’m sorry. I know I’ll never understand what it’s like to be you.”
“See you at the farm,” Alton said.
Monroe nodded and headed for her truck. It was harder to walk away than she’d expected.
VII
Alton watched Monroe go. He lit the cigarette he didn’t want to smoke in front of her last night. The evening hadn’t ended at all the way he’d anticipated. He hadn’t planned on having sex with her, exactly; they both just seemed to know it was inevitable. But she’d turned the tables on him, taken control even while he was on top of her, straddling her slim figure, smelling the sweet musk between her thighs.
Something about her ability to do that excited him, added to the intrigue. And although he’d been placated by her skilled touch, he was far from sated. He wanted her again. And this time he wanted more than a touch and a taste. He wanted that perfect, aerial view of her body and soul as he took her to the brink of ecstasy and followed her over the edge.
Alton crushed his cigarette in the bottom of the truck bed. He needed to stop thinking about it. He was in danger of giving himself an erection that had nothing to do with the morning.
He stood, stretched, and hopped down from the truck. His head was killing him. Getting back to Applewild for food, water, and more sleep became his top priority. When Monroe’s truck revved, one of the lawn chair occupants snorted awake. Alton hadn’t caught his name, but he waved as Alton passed by to get to the farm truck. They all seemed like good people. But good people could justify doing bad things.
Alton started the vehicle and looked up in time to glimpse Wayne and his girlfriend stumbling out of the woods. Clearly, he and Monroe hadn’t been the only ones to slip into a post-sex coma.
He took the bumpy path through the field until he hit blacktop. The way back to Applewild was easy enough to remember, but it was long and winding. In the daylight, he could see lush fields and forest on all sides. The scent of late-blooming honeysuckle reached his nose. Madison had been right to suggest this place. In this small town, it was easy to forget the drama with Sophie—as long as he stayed away from media outlets.
Alton punched in the entry code at Applewild’s front gate and drove back to the barn. He left the keys in the ignition and glanced up at the second story window. The building was quiet except for the occasional snort or stamp of a hoof from the horses. He guessed Monroe was already asleep.
He considered walking up those stairs, knocking on her door, and taking her to his imagination’s content. But even though his fantasies were wide awake and willing, his body was exhausted.
He walked back to the main house, let himself in, and saved his impure thoughts of Monroe for later.
*
Alton woke up for good around one o’clock in the afternoon. He brushed his teeth and took a long, cool shower, washing away the last traces of dirt and sweat from his romp with Monroe. He dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and went downstairs to the kitchen. Elsa had meatloaf and mashed potatoes on a plate for him. He grabbed a glass of water and took his lunch out to the patio.
He sat in his usual spot and lit a cigarette. The outside was cool and quiet. He slouched in the rocking chair and blew a puff of smoke. It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago he’d lost his cool over seeing Sophie with that prick. Now he could barely bring himself to care. He couldn’t say for sure his focus wouldn’t switch back once his desire for Monroe had been fulfilled, but for now he felt good.
He put out his cigarette and ate. As he downed his water, he saw Monroe pushing a wheelbarrow through the open barn doors and around the side of the building. He left his empty dishes where they were and descended the patio stairs to the dirt lane. Monroe saw him coming and stopped what she was doing. She brushed the dirt off her gloved hands.
“Hey,” she greeted.
She was back in her usual jeans and flannel shirt. Her hair was pulled back again, and there wasn’t a trace of makeup. Still, just looking at her turned him on. He remembered what she felt like, smelled like. He remembered that heavy-lidded gaze and lips parted with pleasure. The only thing giving him pause was the way her feet dragged and the exhaustion in her voice.
“Hey, you look…” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue. “…tired?” he finished.
“Thanks.” She turned away and rolled the empty wheelbarrow down the center aisle to the next set of stalls. He stood outside while she used a pitchfork to sift out manure. “Jamal quit today.”
“Your stable hand?”
“My only stable hand. So instead of taking the morning to recover like I’d planned, I was on the phone with his ass trying to get him to come in to work after he didn’t show up at six a.m.”
“That’s really rotten.”
“Wish I could say it was surprising. He didn’t want to be here lately. That much was obvious. But I expected him to give two weeks’ notice before calling it quits. Not land me with the morning chores when I’m hung over.”
“I could help,” Alton offered.
She looked at him like he was ridiculous, which he found a bit offensive. She thought he couldn’t get down and dirty?
“I do recall you asking me to load a hundred pounds of ice into your truck,” he reminded her.
“That was for our mutual benefit. And we were off the farm. You’re a guest here. I’m not going to have you cleaning up horse shit.”
“But you’ll fuck me.”
She stopped what she was doing and stared at him. She didn’t seem to know whether to be offended or amused by his frankness. “I didn’t fuck you.”
“You will.”
He grinned, overconfident but feeling well within his right.
She tried to hide a smile and went back to mucking out stalls. “Maybe.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Grab a pitchfork. Cecil’s stall needs to be mucked out.”
Alton found the tool by the feed room door and started working in the stall next to Monroe. He didn’t mind, really. Hard labor was yet another welcome distraction from his woes. And he was doing it with his distraction of choice.
It didn’t take long for them to fill the wheelbarrow again. Monroe disappeared briefly to dump it. He helped her pitch fresh straw into the stalls and watched her water the horses. Then she wiped her brow and sat on a bench just outside the barn doors with a bottle of water. He leaned on the door frame farthest from her and lit a cigarette.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“I’ll round up the horses and give them dinner in a few hours. I’m too damn tired to exercise them today.”
“Why do you need to?” Alton asked as he rolled his cigarette out and sat next to her. “Don’t they just run around out there?”
“They eat out there.” Monroe brought the water to her lips again. “This time of year the apples are starting to fall off the trees by the back pasture. The horses just hang out there and get fat.”
“They’ve got it pretty good.”
“They do. So do I.”
Monroe stood and stretched. Her button-down shirt rode up slightly, giving Alton the quickest glimpse of her fair flesh. She seemed to realize he was looking and tugged down on the hem of her shirt.
“What’s with the modesty?” he teased.
Monroe’s eyes flitted away from his, confusing him. Once again, he felt like he’d said the wrong thing. But she smiled at him, reassuring him without satisfying his curiosity.
“I’m going to take a nap,” she said. “Finally. Thanks for your help.”
“I want to see you tonight.”
Monroe turned, fidgeting with the water bottle. Her fingers were gloved again—work gloves, so he couldn’t even see her slender fingers. “Okay.”
“Do you want to go out somewhere?”
“Do you?”
“Not really.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“Can we get pizza out here?”
“We have to pick it up at the front gate, but yeah.”
“Then we’ll do that.”
“Okay. Goodnight.” She waved as she turned back to the barn and then disappeared. He heard her footsteps on the stairs and saw a light turn on briefly through curtains in the loft window.
Alton shoved his hands in his pockets and lingered. If he went back to the house, he’d drink. He wasn’t keen on watching TV. He didn’t want to chat with family or friends. He didn’t want to go out again. In the end, he found himself going for a long walk around the back of the property.
The air was cool, but the sun warmed his skin. He followed a dirt trail flanked by sweet-smelling, overgrown grass around the expansive fence of the back pasture. Birds chirped in the treetops and bugs buzzed unseen in the underbrush. Sure enough, he came across the horses tugging apples off of low-hanging branches. He wasn’t sure of the farm’s acreage, but by the time he looped the enclosure, he was short of breath. He realized and ignored the irony as he paused to light a cigarette.
He leaned against the fence and puffed, resting his eyes on the barn. He saw a light on in Monroe’s room, and her shadow moved behind the lace curtain. She hadn’t taken much of a nap—maybe an hour at most. Desire flared. He didn’t want to wait. She had time now.
Before he could make a move, his phone rang. It was Madison.
“Hello?” he answered, smoke escaping with his words.
“Hi, Alton.”
He could already tell she had bad news, but he headed her off. “I already know, Mads.”
“You do? How?”
“They had a TV on in the bar last night.”
“It already leaked?”
“Yeah. Anyone could have seen it coming, really. Desperate, drama-driven girls can rarely stand to be single for long. I didn’t think this prick would leave his wife for her, but she is a super model.”
“I’m glad you’re handling it so well.”
“What’s not to handle? I’m sure she’s taking him to Morocco with her. They can have their happy little vacation and make a happy little love nest. I give them a month.”
Madison was quiet. Dread settled heavily in Alton’s chest.
“Oh, Alton. You don’t know,” Madison said. “See, it just happened last night. And I wasn’t even sure I should tell you except I thought it might be better coming from a friend, and I’m sorry if that wasn’t the right choice to make. I mean, you are out there to be away from this bullshit.”
“What are you going on about?”
“Do you want to know?”
“For Christ’s sake, Madison, spit it out.”
“They’re getting married, Alton.”
He froze. The cigarette fell from his fingers, and it wasn’t until the smell of burning rubber reached his nostrils he had the sense to kick it off of his shoe and stomp on it.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I wish. I’m sorry.”
Alton didn’t know what to say. He ran a hand over his face and lit another cigarette with shaking fingers. He shouldn’t be this affected by the news. He shouldn’t feel this hurt, this outraged. What was the difference if they were fucking or fucking and holding hands or fucking and married? This probably meant they’d been seeing each other for a while. A long while. Behind his back. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the fact that they were over.
But knowing beyond question that emotion had been involved in their affair was another hard slap in Alton’s face.
“I’m really sorry, Alton.”
“Thanks, Madison.”
“You can stay at Applewild however long you want. And I’ll have some free time in a week. We could come for a visit. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know. Bye, Mads.”
“Bye, Alton.”
He ended the call and stared at the barn. No amount of cigarettes or alcohol could tamp down the feeling of pure, unadulterated betrayal swirling within him. But he had something better. Forget the date. Forget charming Monroe. It was all just a means to an end, an end she’d admitted to wanting, too. He finished his cigarette as he closed the distance to the big red building. He entered through the back, just in time to find Monroe coming out of the feed room, tugging on those damned gloves. Her initial smile faded quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
He hesitated just long enough for her to read him, to understand exactly what he wanted from her and stop him. But those eyelashes dropped and those plump lips parted and he took that as permission. He brought his lips down possessively against hers, needing to feel in control of something. Her pert breasts pressed into his chest; she held the front of his v-neck t-shirt in a death grip. He splayed his hands across her ass and pressed her hard against him. Their tongues danced, tasted, explored. He slid one hand under the back of her shirt, relishing in the feel of her smooth skin.
His lips moved to her neck, the sweet scent of hay mixing with the taste of salt. She trembled against him, one hand in his hair and the other on his back. Her hips moved in a slow grind against his. He doubted she even knew she was doing it, but it drove him crazy. All he needed was a dark corner—someplace to pull her pants down and release his frustrations in the best way.
“Upstairs,” he said.
She looked as though she might want to ask for an explanation, but Alton nudged her toward the door with his knee, shifting his erection against her thigh, reminding her of the task at hand. He moved with her, their lips never fully parting, stumbling through the feed room and half way up the stairs until she finally lost her footing and sat down hard.
Alton braced his arms on either side of her, ducking his head to
continue kissing her lips, drinking in her tantalizing flavor. Her cheeks were flushed; her hair was falling down. He couldn’t wait. He reached down with one hand and skillfully unbuttoned her jeans. She lifted her hips to let him bare her lower half. He unzipped and pulled his hard length through the opening.
He was there. Nothing stood between them. A finger dipped between Monroe’s wet folds told him she was ready.
But a warning fought its way through his torrid haze of emotion, making Alton pause. Nothing stood between them. He had to remember who he was and where he was and why this couldn’t happen. He closed his eyes and sighed, using all of his willpower to readjust and zip up his pants.
“What?” Monroe asked, half in a panic as he drew away from her riled body.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“It’s okay.”
Alton rested a knee on the step below her and ran his hands through his hair. “It’s not okay. The pill isn’t 100% effective.”
“Neither is a condom. And I’m not on the pill.” He stared at her. She seemed to consider elaborating, but words failed her or she decided better of it. She was desperate. It was his fault. “Just trust me.”
Alton hesitated, and the flush that rose in her cheeks this time didn’t stem from passion. She pulled up her pants and stood. Anger flashed in her green eyes. “Or don’t.”
He grabbed her hand, begging without words for her to stop and listen to him. “I just can’t risk it. I’m sorry. This is my fault. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Oh, I know you weren’t thinking. And I know it’s your fault. What I don’t know is why. What the hell happened?”
“Sophie’s engaged.”
Monroe pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I don’t appreciate being used as a stand-in for alcohol or Xanax or whatever the hell it is you need.”
“You’re not a stand-in.” He knew the words were what he was supposed to say, but they seemed insincere even to his own ears.
That was exactly why he’d come to her—to take his mind off things, to make himself feel better. To use her.