by Mj Fields
Ox laughs, releasing me and stepping back, and then he turns to Aaron. “You’re a cheap bastard, you know? Could have hired me to do this.”
I look at Aaron, who is carrying some spray paint contraption, as he shrugs.
“Some things, you just gotta do yourself, man.”
He glances at me and winks as they walk by.
I start to follow them when Aaron shakes his head. “Get painting.”
I begin with the people—Mom, Bruno, Aaron, then me and Elijah.
Half an hour later, I am happily painting a mixing bowl and all the ingredients to make Mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen wall while listening to Ox give Aaron instructions on how to use the spray gun. I reflect on our picnic conversation and the fact that my memories, my good memories, were shared with others that weren’t part of the family’s day to day lives. Aaron was probably here more than any other kid who was a part of this.
And so was Elijah.
I study the painting and focus on Elijah. He’s not smiling as big as the rest of us. It’s pretty accurate even today.
My heart has always hurt for his sadness.
When my phone vibrates in my pocket, I pull it out to see a text from him. It’s as if he knew.
Guilt threatens to rear its ugly head, but I haven’t cheated, nor would I ever.
I read his text.
Elijah: Day got away from me. Going to be here for most of the night. Can’t wait to see you this weekend, Stella.
Me: If you need me, I’m here to listen.
Elijah: May take you up on that tomorrow.
I smile as I begin to type out of course when another comes from him.
Elijah: You still menstruating?
Why does this question embarrass me when he asks?
Me: Yep.
Elijah: Probably should wait for the weekend … unless you’re thirsty.
And now I’m confused again. Pissed.
Maybe I’m just tired.
When I hear Aaron say, “Thanks, Ox. I’ll message you when I’m done,” I shove my phone in my pocket, look back, and smile at them.
“Thank you, Ox.”
He laughs. “No problem. Doing this more for your old man than this guy. I owe him.” He walks over and hugs me. “He was a good man.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, he was.”
When they walk out, I pull my phone back out of my pocket and see another text from him.
Elijah: What? You don’t want me now?
Me: I love you. Just busy painting.
Elijah: I can wait until this weekend. It’s fine. I’ll message you tomorrow.
I hear a huff and feel a hot burst of air hit my neck.
Looking over my shoulder, I shove my phone in my pocket as I turn to face him. “Are you reading my messages?”
His eyes are narrowed and angry. “We’re friends, right?”
“That doesn’t mean you get to sneak up and—”
“As your friend, I’m gonna tell you, a guy says shit like that to you, he’s unworthy.”
“My and Elijah’s relationship isn’t—”
“It’s mature. Yeah, so you said.” He rolls his eyes. “But let me tell you, I’m a grown-ass man, and if my woman’s bleeding, I sure as fuck am not going to be begging for a blow job. I’m gonna be throwing a towel over the silk under her ass and fucking her until she doesn’t even remember her own goddamn name.”
“That’s gross.” And hot. So hot.
“It’s the truth.”
“Well, maybe I’m just really, really good at giving blow jobs. Did you ever think of that?”
What the hell is wrong with me? I scold myself as my face heats up, no doubt turning beet-red.
His face loses the tension, and a smirk threatens at the corner of his mouth before he turns away. “Make sure you paint the sun.”
Then he’s gone.
Half an hour later, I step off the chair as the spray machine in the dining room stops. While I’m looking at the painting, he walks in.
He has removed his button-down shirt and is wearing just a tank top and those faded blue jeans hanging low on his hips.
Damn, damn, damn …
I look away then hear the rustle of a paper bag. I glance back over to see he’s holding a paper bag that I must have missed. He reaches in and pulls out a cookie.
“They aren’t as good as Miss Ginny’s, but the closest I’ve found over the past few years.”
I take the cookie and look up at him.
He winks, sets down the bag, and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Go stand in front of the painting and smile.”
I do as he asks but take a bite of the cookie as he snaps the picture and chuckles.
“Perfect.”
Four hours later, every room in the downstairs has been sprayed white.
“You okay?”
I nod as I look at the wall in the old toy room that had been converted into a bedroom when Dad was too sick to walk up the stairs.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his side. Then he kisses the top of my head. “You did good, Stella.”
I look up at him and smile. “Thank you.”
He moves his eyes from mine to my lips then back to my eyes. “It was probably just as much for me as it was for you.” He looks at my lips again. “I’ve always loved it here, too.”
I tilt my chin up, and his eyes do that flare thing again. Heat pools in places heat shouldn’t pool right now.
He looks up into my eyes and licks his lips. “All you have to do is ask.”
I blink several times as I think about what it really is that I’m thinking or wanting to ask. Surely it can’t be what I think it is.
I step back and turn away from the cause of confusion … the source of the heat … him. “Are you going to help me tomorrow?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, of course I am.”
I clear my throat of the lust thickening it. “Good, because I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“Shouldn’t have to.”
I look back at him and see the way he’s looking at me. And right now, I know it’s not because I’m confused about where Elijah and I stand. It’s because I am now, and have always been, attracted to Aaron’s physical beauty and the ease in the relationship forged between two innocent and carefree kids. But we’re no longer kids.
He looks between my eyes, my mouth, and then down my body, a body that’s not just heated from the closeness of just moments ago, but reacting to him, to Aaron.
His eyes stall on my breasts, and his jaw tightens. Then he lifts his eyes slowly up until they meet mine. “Come with me.”
His voice is unmistakably thicker, deeper, sexier, and his blue eyes turn darker.
I swallow back the saliva pooling in my mouth. “On your date?”
His chest rises and falls in a silent chuckle. I watch it, appreciating the size and the fact that I can see his sexy male nips that are also harder now than before.
“Stella.” His voice grates at me like sandpaper.
I look up at him.
“Fuck,” he sighs out as he runs his hand through his hair then reaches down and adjusts himself.
Fuck is right, I think as I turn my back on him. “I’m going to … paint.”
I hear him move closer, feel his hands on my hips, then his lips on my neck. “We both felt that, and I’ll be damned if I let you—”
“Aaron, don’t.”
“Why?”
“Elijah.”
“Fuck,” he whispers as he kisses my neck, “Him.”
I have to force myself to reply, “I’m not a cheater.”
“No, Stella. But you’re cheating yourself.”
“Don’t.” I step away, keeping my back toward him.
Without a word, he’s gone.
I pull my phone from my pocket and send a text.
Me: I need a break from painting. I miss you.
I watch dots jump then stop.
“Dammit!” I toss my phone on the floor and step toward my shoebox of watercolors.
When my phone dings, I turn and hurriedly grab it.
Elijah: I can take a couple-hour break. You hungry?
No, I’m not, but I’ll pretend to be.
Me: Yeah.
Elijah: Want me to send Roger, or do you want to take the ferry?
My heart aches. As much as Aaron knows me, Elijah does, too.
Me: I’ll catch the ferry.
Elijah: Text me your arrival time.
Me: Will do.
Me: I love you.
Me: I love us.
Elijah: I know, Stella.
12
Stella
Stepping off the ferry, I see the black Town Car waiting. When Elijah steps out, the phone is to his ear, and he gives me a curt nod.
As I get closer, I notice he’s not looking at me. He’s looking over me as he spews into his phone’s receiver, “I don’t give a damn what you think is going on. I know him, and his intention is to do nothing but sink this ship. I will handle it. Get him in my office tomorrow morning.” Pause. “I don’t know. Lure him with whores.”
Half of me wants to run, jump into the water, and swim home. The other half wants to comfort him.
I decide to push myself to continue, and when I get to him, I wrap my arms around him and hug him.
When he just pats my back then opens the car door, I realize he needs a minute.
I slide in, and he follows.
“You okay?” I ask.
“No.” He looks out the window as Roger shuts the door and pulls his phone back out of his pocket. He sends a text then tosses it across the car to the seats opposite of us as the privacy window goes up. Then he turns to me. “Get over here.”
I smile as I move over to him.
He kisses my lips, pushing his tongue inside my mouth and licking greedily inside. I close my eyes and slide my tongue against his. He pushes it aside with his, pushing his inside more harshly. More controlling. More …
Zip.
The kiss stops as he sits back, pulling himself free of his dress pants.
“Come here, Stella.”
An hour later, I’m back on the ferry with a bottle of drug store bought wine that is already half gone.
My phone dings, and I look at it.
AE: Where are you?
I want to throw up. No, I want to drink more wine.
This is not me, I think as I open the bottle and chug from it. Then I scroll through my phone and hit Natasha’s name. She answers immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“No,” I reply, my voice breaking, and then I cry.
“Where are you?” she asks
“On the ferry.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, thank God.” I sniff back my tears.
“Okay, breathe and then talk.”
“Elijah,” I cry quietly.
“Is he okay?”
I laugh. “Sure he is. He just got a blow job.”
“Um …” She pauses. “I’m not sure how to reply to that.”
“Well, I have my period, and he’s grossed out by it.”
“I assume a lot of men are?”
“It’s not a fact if you say it like a question, Natasha.”
She sighs then whispers, “Well, I’m not a guy.”
“Yeah, well, thank God, because you’d probably want me to suck your dick while driving around the city, then drop me off at the ferry like a common whore.”
I hear some guys snicker and turn to scowl at them. I must look intimidating because they quickly look away.
My phone pings and I pull it away from my face to look at the screen.
AE: I know things got a little confusing earlier, but we can deal with it. Where are you, Stella McCarty?
“He’s going to hate me.”
“Elijah?” She sighs. “You just gave him a blow job. He’s probably got a sated look on his face, and his head’s in the clouds.”
“Not him. Aaron.”
“What’s going on with Aaron?”
Shit.
“Um, nothing?”
“It’s not true if you say it like a question,” she throws back my idiotic rationale.
“And it’s uncomfortable talking about him when you and he …” I hiccup. “You know.”
“Are you drunk?”
“I’m hoping to get there.”
“You’re by yourself on the ferry, at midnight, and you’re drunk?”
“I make poor choices.” I hiccup again.
The same guys laugh again.
“Who was that?” Natasha asks.
I glare at the men as I speak loud enough for them to hear me. “A bunch of little rich boys who think they’re thugs and are heading back to their mommas for some pasta before she tucks them in.”
“She got jokes,” one of them says with a laugh.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I roll my eyes and hiccup.
“Stella, you need to be more careful and …” She stops. “Hey, gimme back my phone, Oliver!”
“Stella, this is Oliver. Where are you?”
“ ‘I’ve been staring at the edge of the water, long as I can remember’ ”—I hiccup again—“ ‘never really knowing why.’”
“Okay, smart ass, you do know I have a daughter who’s addicted to all things Disney, right?” He sighs as if I’m annoying. And I know I am, but I can’t help myself.
“ ‘I wish I could be the perfect girlfriend’ ”—another hiccup—“ ‘but I come back to the water, no matter how hard I try.’”
He sighs in annoyance. “Natasha, take the phone.”
“ ‘Every turn I take, every trail I track’ ”—I look over at the stupid boys and laugh then hiccup as one of them starts singing to me while two others start beatboxing—“ ‘every path I make—’ ”
“Stella!” Natasha calls my name, and I laugh.
“I’m gonna be fine.” Hiccup. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Sorry.” I hang up as I stand to join in with my new friends.
My phone rings immediately, a FaceTime request from Natasha.
I hit accept.
“Go to bed. Seriously. See? I’m fine.”
She scowls at me. “Give the phone to the kid in the Yankees hat.”
“He’s singing.” I grin at her and hiccup.
“Stella, now.”
I point at him and curl my finger as he continues singing, moving to the beat his friends are making. Then I hold the phone up, and he winks at Natasha.
“You lay one hand on her, and I will have my husband kick your ass.”
He laughs until she turns the phone to a very pissed off, half-naked Oliver.
“Well, shit.”
“He’s a pussy cat,” I tell him as I hand him the phone. “Have a nice chat.”
Hiccup.
I take a big drink from my bottle as the boys do their thing. I can’t help dancing along. But then the song ends, and Yankees hat guy hands me back my phone, shaking his head and smirking.
“You’re something else, Stella.”
Hiccups gone.
“How do you know my name?”
“Surprised I didn’t recognize Bruno’s older sister.”
I grin. “I love Bruno.”
He smirks and shakes his head.
Fuck him.
“Buzzkill.” I walk over to the railing as the ferry approaches the port and begin my song again. “‘I’ve been staring at the edge of the water.’”
The boat jolts as it stops at the terminal. I finish the bottle of wine then toss it in the trash as I exit.
I see the boys following close behind, and one starts beatboxing again. I laugh. Then one starts singing, and I join him as we exit.
When I get inside the terminal, still singing, I am met with bright blue and somewhat angry eyes.
Hat guy walks up to him and shakes his hand.
“What the fuck?”
“Ricky’s dad, Ox, k
nows your boyfriend,” one of the guys tells me.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap.
“Tell him that, yo.” He chuckles as he walks away.
I lift my nose in the air and attempt to walk past him, but he steps in front of me.
“What?” I look away.
“Where were you?”
I shrug.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he huffs.
“He’s my boyfriend, Aaron.”
“Is that what you call a guy who doesn’t want you in his daily life, nor does he want to be in yours when you fucking need him?” He laughs out haughtily. “Yeah, the same fuck who uses your mouth as a fucking dumpster?”
I slap him across the face then step around him again. This time, he lets me.
I want to say I’m sorry. I want to take back the slap. God, what is wrong with me?
I feel him grab my hand. When I try to pull it away, he holds it firmer.
“Don’t do that shit to me.”
Fighting back tears and not wanting to bring further attention to myself, I walk outside with him and follow him to his car. When he opens the door, I step around him, drop his hand, and get in. When he walks around the car and gets in, though, I quickly get out and start walking.
“Hey Stella!” he yells after me, and then I hear his door slam shut.
I begin to walk faster, but a second later, I am swept up and thrown over his shoulder.
“I hope I puke all over you!” I smack his back with my fists.
“Me, too. Then his fucking cum will be out of your goddamn stomach.” He groans when I kick him, and his knees buckle. “Fucking bullshit.”
“Put me down or I’ll do it again!” I cry.
“You think another kick in the nuts from you today will bring me down, you’re out of your goddamn mind,” he snarls.
“Just put me down,” I beg as he starts to jog. “I’m going to puke.”
He doesn’t heed my warning, just picks up the pace.
He doesn’t stop at the hill, doesn’t even slow down, and when I throw up, he doesn’t even break his stride.
When he finally sets me on my feet, I stand in front of him, covered in my own vomit.
He pulls his shirt over his head then grabs my hand, pulling me behind him to the backyard.
“You so much as move,” he says when we get to the backyard, “I swear to God, I’ll chase you down again.” He unbuttons his pants as he kicks off his sneakers, then pushes them down and stands there in his boxer briefs, looking fucking amazingly infuriating.