by JA Huss
Jesus fuck. They are spectacular. Tight nipples in the middle of dark pink circles of peaked skin. They fall slightly to the side, but they are so big they don’t lose their shape, but instead make perfect mounds on top of her chest.
My mouth wants nothing more than to take them in and suck until she’s begging me to fuck her again.
The ringing stops, and the silence jolts me back to reality until a sharp ding signals a voicemail.
I place my head in my hands, rub my hands down my scratchy face, then get up and walk to the bathroom to take a piss. When I’m done, my phone is ringing again and I manage to tab the accept button in time to save myself another voicemail as I pull on a pair of cut-off sweats.
“Yeah,” I groan.
“Mr. Vance,” the voice on the line says.
“Who is this?” Usually I’m good with voices. I can remember a voice forever. But I’m distracted right now, and I don’t feel like racking my brain when a simple question gets the job done just as easily.
“Liam Henry. I hired you to help my son a few years back.”
Steven Henry. Yeah, I remember that stupid little fuck. “What can I do for you, Mr. Henry?”
“I think the better question is, what can I do for you?”
“OK,” I say, walking down the stairs to take this conversation to the kitchen. “Shoot. Tell me. I’m all fucking ears, man.”
“Hmmm,” Henry says, like he hates my guts but has to talk to me because he needs something. I don’t take that personally. I expect everyone to hate my guts. It sucks being nice to an asshole like me. Especially when I hold all your dirty little secrets. “I think this calls for a personal meeting. How soon can you be in Miami?”
I think of my little bombshell upstairs and smile. “A week? Maybe two if I lose interest in what I’m doing here. But I have to be honest, Henry, that’s not looking good.”
“This is a job, Mr. Vance. Are you, or are you not, a professional?”
“A very busy one at the moment. If we have this out over the phone I’ll get your problem sorted twice as fast. How about that?”
“No,” he says sternly. “In person.”
“OK, well, it’s gonna be a week, maybe two—”
“I’ll come to you.”
“Fantastic. How about Monday at—”
“How about today at six PM?”
“What time is it now?”
“Noon.”
I sigh. Well, I can fuck her once more, then we can take a shower and fuck again, then take a nap. “I guess that’ll work. Where—”
“I’ll be at your house.”
I get the hang-up beeps and the line goes dead. So I just stare at it for a few seconds and then toss it over onto the couch as I go searching for the coffee I most definitely need.
“Who was that?” my delectable little bakery girl asks, coming down the stairs rubbing sleep from her eyes. She’s wearing a half-buttoned dress shirt she must’ve pulled out of my closet.
Her legs, man. I know I’ve seen them in skirts, and shorts, and bikini bottoms plenty of times. But coming out from under that dress shirt. Fuck. Sexy doesn’t even cover how that shit looks.
“Just work,” I say, filling the coffee pot with water.
“You’re leaving me today for work?” Cinderella pouts. “On Saturday?”
“Nah,” I say, smiling. But with my back to her, so she can’t see. I feel like I have a girlfriend all of a sudden. And it doesn’t feel like a bad thing. “He’s coming here tonight. So unless you’ve gotta work, we can spend the whole day together.”
“I don’t have to work,” she says.
I start the coffee maker and turn to face her. Fuck. She is fun to look at. “So what’s the story with that? The sub shop? You bought it”—it’s crazy, but everything about her is crazy—“to stalk me?”
Another shrug. “Is it creepy?”
“Depends, I guess. Why are you so interested? Are you some femme fatale out to screw me up? Or…” God, the smile on my face.
“Or?” she prods.
“Or the distraction I’ve been waiting for.” I exhale. Unsure what those words mean. Knowing full well what those words mean.
Cinderella walks towards me, her mouth not smiling, not frowning. Just flat. And my honesty feels like a mistake all of a sudden. “What does that mean?” she asks, taking my hand in hers and placing my palm against her cheek. She’s warm and her cheeks are flushed pink. Her lips gently brush my fingertips and that little red flag that I tried to put away last night is flying again. “What kind of distraction do you need?”
What’s wrong with me?
That’s a loaded question.
“I’m just…” I can’t stop looking at her mouth. I want to kiss it. And even though I don’t consider myself to be an impulsive person, I do kiss it. I lean down, take her face in both hands, and it’s the gentlest, the softest, the sincerest kiss I’ve ever had. “Tired,” I say, practically whispering. “I’m tired of thinking about things. Of fixing things. I’m tired of all of it. I bought these two islands in the Exuma Cays and I’ve been fixing them up, you know? One is sorta shitty. Just a small house and I haven’t done much to it. But the other one is perfect. I remodeled it all. Kitchen, bathrooms, everything.”
“Two islands…” she says, letting her sentence drop off. Then, “Why do you need two?”
“I…” But it’s such an important question. The answer is so telling, it makes me stop.
“Pax?” she asks. “Why do you need two islands?”
And even though I’ve never articulated the answer, I know the answer. “The backup plan, right? I always have a backup plan. I bought the little one first but then I realized it wasn’t what I needed. Too small, too insignificant. Too easily washed away in a big storm. So I got another one nearby.”
“Just in case?”
I bump my forehead into hers and nod. “Just in case.”
“It sounds a little like running away,” she whispers.
“Call it whatever you want, I guess. I just like to have options.”
“Running from the past? Do you really need to run?”
I think about this for a second. Yes and no. “No, I don’t. But I want to. I want to leave everything—everyone—behind. Stop working and just do nothing for a while. Sit on a beach. Catch fish off a boat in the middle of nowhere. No cell phone, no email, no problems.”
“It doesn’t sound very fun. The leaving everyone behind part. You have friends and family. Wouldn’t you miss them?”
“No,” I say, pulling away, stepping back. “Not really. They wouldn’t miss me either, so who cares.”
“Hmmm,” Cinderella says, side-stepping me and walking over to the coffee pot. She reaches up and opens a cupboard, pulling out a coffee mug like she’s helped herself to coffee in my house a million times.
It reminds me of… me. In Nolan’s houses. The way I help myself to his things when I’m there. The way I know all his houses intimately, even the ones I have no right to claim. Because I use them whenever he’s not there. He has almost as many houses as me, and you can only stay in one at a time.
She’s been in here before. In my house. Without me.
This should be the last straw. This should be the part where I freak the fuck out and drag her to the front door, slamming it in her face after pushing her outside. This should be the part where I grab my things and walk away, leaving her behind.
She’s lying about a lot of things. I’m not sure anything she told me was the truth, if I’m being honest with myself. In my line of work, you gotta rely on instinct and every instinct I have about Cinderella Vaughn is screaming lies… lies… lies. And all it would take is one more search. One more thorough search when I don’t have her looking over my shoulder or sucking my dick to distraction, and I’d figure out what the lies were.
So what’s stopping me from getting that truth?
This is the part I’m suddenly having problems with. It’s like… it’s almost like
… I’d rather not know. Maybe ignorance is bliss? Maybe having access to whatever you need, whenever you need it, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?
I watch her pour her coffee. But then she turns, without adding sugar or milk, and hands it to me.
“Here,” she says. “Let’s sit and be still together for a little bit. I’d like to hear more about your escape plans, if that’s OK. Just in case you bolt and I have to go after you.”
I take the mug and set it on the island countertop. “If I… do bolt, you’ll never find me.”
“So I guess you better not do that, Mr. Mysterious. Or you might miss out on the chance of a lifetime.”
I smile and turn the questions to her. “What about you? You don’t come off as the most grounded person.”
“Oh, God.” She laughs, reaching for the teapot and filling it with water. She sets it on the stove and turns up the flame, then turns to face me. Leans her hands on the counter behind her. Smiles. “No one has ever dared to call me grounded. I’m as flighty as they come. And not in the ditzy blonde way, either.” She stops, looks away quickly, then catches her mistake and looks me in the eyes again. Recovered. She is a natural blonde. That is something she’s hiding for sure.
“Is that the reason the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” I ask, taking a sip of my black coffee as I try to hide my smile.
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
“It’s my job to notice, Sugar.”
She draws in a breath through her teeth at the nickname. “I think we might be the two most secretive people on the planet right now, Mr. Brown.”
“Hmm,” I say, wanting to wince at the name, but deserving it. It was the one I gave to the sub shop, after all.
“Do we want to share these secrets?” I ask.
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“So we’re going to ignore all the red flags and warning bells?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
How did I get sucked into this conversation? Why am I still participating in it? What is happening? Inside I’m screaming, waving my arms around like that robot on that old-ass TV show. Warning, warning, warning. But outside I’m as cool as they come. “Not really,” I say.
“Well, me either. I’m sure they’re gonna come out eventually. And by that time we’ll have it all figured out.”
“Will we?”
She nods. “We will.”
When the teapot whistles she makes herself a cup and we go out to the beach patio and lie next to each other on top of a giant double lounge chair and take in what’s left of the summer sun. She’s still wearing nothing but my dress shirt and her bikini bottoms. I’m still wearing nothing but my cut-off sweat shorts. And the beach is filled with people, and kids, and games of volleyball and surfers.
But we pay no attention to any of it.
Chapter Nine - Cindy
It’s an afternoon of silence and whatever the word is for non-silence. It’s not that we’re quiet, because nothing about us is quiet. And it’s not like we don’t talk, because we never seem to stop talking. But we’re silent in all the ways that matter. The past is closed up and put away. The future isn’t even here yet, so there is no reasonable way for it to interfere.
He calms me though. Tethers me to the ground like one of the weights draping over the side of those giant hot air balloons. All my wanderlust tendencies seem to disappear under his scrutiny. He looks at me like he knows me. But of course, he doesn’t, since I’ve told so many lies, even I’m having trouble knowing who I am.
We go inside after a few hours of meaningless conversation and have sex on the kitchen counter. It’s slower this time. I sit there, my legs wrapped around his middle as he kisses my neck and makes me come.
We take a shower and he fucks me again, this time pressed up against the cold tile wall. Afterward, we nibble on crackers and cheese and a plate of cucumbers he sliced, since his fridge doesn’t have much in the way of food. And I can see him watching the clock, wanting me to leave before his business arrives, and not wanting to tell me to leave so he can do business.
So I woman up and do the right thing.
“I’m going to go home and get cleaned up.” All I have in the way of clothing is the bikini I came here in, so I’m putting the top back on in the master bedroom when I make this announcement.
“Where will you go after that?” he asks.
“Where will you go?”
I get a shrug. “I’m not sure yet. I might need to leave for this job.”
“I’d hope you’d take me with you, since, you know, I work for you now.”
We both smile at that.
“The detective smiles,” I say. “Like the thought escaped him. But now that it’s back, it was like it never left.”
“That’s weird, you know. Narrating shit like that. Making us into some kind of story.”
“I don’t care.”
“I think that’s why I like you.”
“The careless part?” I ask, wondering how we got this way overnight. Wondering if it’s a good or bad sign that we fell into each other’s arms like old friends or old lovers.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the wall in front of the stairs that lead down to the living room. “No,” he corrects. “Not careless. Careful, but uncaring.”
“We are two of the most unsolvable riddles ever, Mr. Vance.”
“I think I like that about us, Miss Vaughn.”
“Well,” I say. “I know where to find you.”
“Do you?”
I nod. “I do. Thanks for a great time, Pax. I’ll see you later.”
I go down the steps and I’m just about to turn towards the pool and walk to the front house when he calls out after me.
“Cinderella?”
“Cindy,” I say, stopping to look up at him. “You can just call me Cindy.”
“Cindy.” He smiles. “You didn’t turn into a pumpkin last night.”
“No,” I say, feeling sad and happy at the same time. “I might have on someone else’s ball gown at the moment. But I’m real. I swear.”
I turn away feeling off. I walk a few houses down to where I parked my car last night, the hot concrete stinging my bare feet, and get in. I sit there for a few seconds, ignoring the fact that I came here to party with one guy and went home with another. I don’t feel bad about it. Not at all. I came to Malibu for one thing and one thing only and that was Mr. Mysterious.
I got him.
But now what? What to do with him is the only thing on my mind.
I start the car and drive up to the front gates of Malibu Colony and ten minutes later I’m five miles up PCH and turning into the beach-side campground. I pull into the parking spot next to my camper and sit there for a minute, sweat rolling down my back in the stifling heat of the late afternoon, and watch the minutes tick off on the dashboard clock.
I get out, eventually, and make my way inside. I grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, slip my feet into the sneakers I use to… well, sneak, and drive back to Malibu Colony. There’s no parking on the street, so I take up my usual spot by Buster’s and jog down into the Colony by way of the public beach access path. I’m three doors down from Paxton’s house, sitting on the street-side porch of the place we used to escape the party last night, when a silver Mercedes parks in front of Pax’s house and an older gentleman gets out, looks around with either nervousness or caution, buttons his dark gray suit coat, walks up to the door, and rings the bell.
A few seconds later he steps out of view and I start walking in that direction.
“Hey,” a voice calls from behind me.
Shit. I turn and smile at one of the party guys. I can’t keep their names straight. Tyler, or Matthew, or Thomas. One of them is calling after me.
“Oh, hey,” I say, forcing my feet not to shuffle in impatience. I’m missing part of that meeting right now. I need to get rid of this guy.
“What happened—”
“Are
you having another party tonight?” I interrupt. “Because last night was a bust.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, a sheepish smile on his face. “Yeah, sure. We have parties every weekend. Are you coming back?”
“Definitely,” I say.
“Are you dating that guy again?”
“I told you before…” Matthew. I think he’s Matthew. “We’ve been dating forever. We’re just one of those on-and-off kind of couples.”
“So you’re on now?”
Fucking men and their stupid jealous gene. “No. He took me to his place last night when the cops came, but I left immediately and forgot… my earrings. The nice ones. I need them back. That’s all. What time should I come by tonight? For the party?”
He looks like he has more questions. Maybe he’s even observant and knows I wasn’t wearing earrings last night. But my question stops that line of thought and refocuses it on something unrelated to the mysterious man down the street.
“How about nine?”
“How about I’ll see you then?”
He nods towards Pax’s house. “Want me to go get those earrings for you? So you don’t have to bother?”
“I got it, thanks.” I give him a little wave as his buddies start calling his name from inside their house.
Go back inside, I pray. And my luck holds, because when I get to Pax’s front door, he’s gone.
A few weeks ago I broke in and stole Paxton’s house keys, had a copy made, and then returned them. Since then I’ve been making frequent visits. I slip the key in the door as quietly as I can, but I’m confident they are on the beach side of the house, so way out of earshot. And then I sneak inside.
I tiptoe inside the foyer and softly down the steps that lead to the pool.
“I don’t think so,” Pax says from the living room. I freeze, and realize I’ve missed something. Shit. Probably something important.
“Why not?” the visitor asks.
“Because I just don't think he’s like that. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“I don’t think you know one single grain of truth about that guy’s life.”
I slink past the tall palm trees, then back into a corner just on the other side of the entrance to the beach side of the house.