ROUGH CUT

by Wyatt, Dani

  “Her shift isn’t over. Back to work.” The manager flips his hand toward Betty, and I step forward between them, the thought of my fist meeting his face surging through my mind.

  “She’s hurt. Did you check on that?” I point to her hand and see his answer in his eyes. “I thought not. You know, it’s your responsibility to take care of your employees when they are injured on the job. If she gets an infection, you’re going to be up to your ass in lawyers with me standing behind them.” His mouth drops open and I see the wheels turning in his head. Every bar owner hates the word ‘lawsuit.’ “She gets the rest of the night off, with pay. Including what she would have made in tips.”

  “I’m fine,” Betty interjects. “And...I’m standing right here. I can speak for myself.” Her eyes latch to mine, her words clipped, but I see gratitude there as well.

  “I know you can.”

  I won’t relax until she’s with me. Back at my house. Where I can keep an eye on her and show her what our future holds.

  Because she is my future.

  “Fine.” The manager huffs. “Betty, go get your things. You’re off until Tuesday. The rest of you, out, or I’m calling the cops. But not before you pay your bill.” He adds and stomps to the front of the restaurant, barking orders at other staff members as he goes.

  The sheriff chuckles, outstretching his arms. “Uh, the cops are right here.”

  Her friend Candice comes by and I see her look at the sheriff, then leans down to whisper something to Betty who nods and smiles. Candice’s eyes glance again at Bill, and I look over to see him returning her stare and if the situation was different, I’d do something to throw those two together because they’ve been doing their own dance around each other since I started coming in here with him.

  The gang from the table grumble and swear, but they gather their things, and I step back, allowing a couple of the guys to help the heap in the overalls off the floor. I shift between Betty and the group, standing guard until they make their way through the tables and disappear into the lobby.

  “We done here?” Vin half chuckles and I nod. “I’m hungry.”

  Candice is stepping away and barks over the din, “I’ll take her tables.”

  I nod at her in thanks, then answer Vin. “Yep. We are very done,” I say, and he and Bill work their way back to the booth, leaving me standing with Betty.

  “I guess I should say thank you, even though I gotta say, you’re a little over the top.”

  I can’t wait any longer.

  “Yes, I am over the top. Yes, you should say thank you. I’ll show you how.”

  Chapter Three

  Betty

  I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M leaving with the man I’ve thought about every time I’ve touched myself for over a month.

  I can’t come without thinking of him.

  Calling out his name.

  Imagining him inside of me.

  I’m a lemming following blindly, but the electric pull between us is like a lifeline, dragging me into the abyss.

  He hasn’t said another word since he stood up for me, and he looks mad.

  He’s way bigger up close like this. He’s placed his hand on my back, just above my ass, and the touch is melting my panties off.

  The way he made Milton give me the night off, and then marched me right out of there, had me swooning. I’m keeping pace with his long strides after grabbing my backpack from the back room as we make our way out of the rear door of the restaurant, but with his legs probably twice the length of mine, I’m scurrying to keep up.

  He pushes the back door open, holding it for me, and as I pass, I manage to find a few words. “Thanks for what you did. I hope you didn’t hurt your hand.”

  He doesn’t answer right away. Just moves next to me with a stiff walk as though he’s uncomfortable, and the tension is making me as nervous as a ferret. “I’m fine.” His curt answer does nothing to ease my anxiety.

  As he opens the door to his truck, I hear his strained breathing and smell that scent that fills my dreams and fuels my wicked fantasies.

  “I don’t live far. Just up Thompson Ave. then left on—”

  “I’m not taking you there.”

  “What?” He buckles me in and turns to face me.

  Those turquoise eyes, the color of a tropical lagoon, darken to a brooding sea, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or desire I see there.

  “Listen.” He lets out a long breath and steadies himself on the open door, forearms resting on the roof of the car, dropping his face for a moment before looking at me again. “It’s day thirty-eight.” He pauses and shakes his head as if chastising himself. “It’s been thirty-seven days since I saw you the first time.”

  Shock nearly doubles me over. He knows how many days.

  Yes, but so do I.

  “Thirty-seven,” I repeat without another thought.

  He narrows his eyes and tips his head, surprise in his eyes. I’ve never felt a wanting like this. It’s tearing at my insides, down low in my chest, and other places, curling my toes.

  “You’re coming with me tonight. When that guy touched you.” He lets out a low groan. “I wanted to kill him. If I don’t know you’re safe tonight, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  His voice shakes, and my heartbeat quickens.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say. My mind is spinning.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” His words soften as my breath catches in my throat. “All I care about is that you are okay. That he learned not to put his hands on you. That everyone understands, from now on, no one puts their hands on you. No one disrespects you. This isn’t a big town, word will get around, and I’m going to make sure it does.”

  Our eyes are locked together, his face so close, and I want him to kiss me more than I want world peace or a winning lotto ticket.

  He’s so different than most of the men and boys that come into the restaurant. He doesn’t move, just staring at me until I think I might faint.

  I glance down. I can’t help it, my eyes wander to the zipper of his jeans and what I see pushing out, leaves me breathless.

  Seems my wet panties are a match for the outline of an enormous erection, and the lust swirling inside of me nearly catapults me into a spontaneous orgasm.

  When he finally speaks, I jump. “So, you’re coming back to my place.”

  With that, his face comes down. Lips crush to mine and the pulse between my legs throbs until it hurts. The rough texture of his beard scratches the skin around my mouth, and it feels a million times better than in my imagination.

  I know I should protest. I should tell him to take me home. I’m always thinking of what I should do, not what I want to do.

  I want to beg him to give me relief from the constant aching inside of me. Instead, I let go of the ‘shoulds’ and lose myself in the kiss.

  His warm tongue swipes over my bottom lip, pushing into my mouth and glancing across mine. His kiss is greedy and frantic, and his eyes close as I whimper.

  I think about Dennis and if I should let him know I’m not coming home. I mean, I’m an adult. And he never lets me know where he’s going or when he’ll be home. So why should I feel bad?

  I know I’m entitled to my own life. I also know there will be hell to pay, but I’m riding a wave of something new and exhilarating, and I don’t want to dampen it with a call to Dennis.

  Selfish? Maybe, but for the first time in a long time, I think I deserve a bit of selfish.

  Roan withdraws, and I feel the sexual energy surging between us, this deep pulsing between my legs.

  “So sweet.” His voice is thick with restraint as he ducks out the car door and closes it behind him, making his way around and into the driver’s seat.

  So many nights I’ve dreamed about those lips. His face hovering over me. Wishing somehow, he would sneak into my bedroom, strip me and slip his hard dick into my soaking pussy.

  I knew it was pure fantasy. After all, we barely know each oth
er than of our brief and less than easy conversations at the restaurant, but it didn’t stop me from wanting him.

  Wanting him to be my first. Wanting him to be my last.

  I even wrote in my diary like a schoolgirl.

  Mrs. Roan Emerson. Betty Dorrant-Emerson. Mrs. Betty Emerson.

  Wondering if he saw me as anything other than the clumsy girl that must amuse him in some way. Now it seems it is more, and being this close to him, knowing I’m going to be sleeping in his house tonight, has my skin on fire and my nipples painfully hard under my bra.

  The drive to his place takes us out of town and winding through black mountain roads. He’s quiet as we drive, his fingers intertwined with mine as his thumb makes tiny circles on my wrist.

  Around a turn, I see lights in the distance, and the fact that I’m about to spend the night at Roan’s house becomes a reality.

  In the dark car, I know my face is bright red.

  Roan parks the truck, turns off the engine gets out without a word coming around to my side, and I think my heart is going to beat right out of my chest.

  When he opens the door, his voice is like a deep drumbeat. “You remember what I said in the restaurant? About thanking me?”

  I choke and nod on a cough. “Maybe?” I nod again and correct myself. “Yes, I remember.”

  He leans in, taking my hand and putting his lips by my ear. “I hope you’re ready.”

  My entire body shivers as he helps me out of the truck and up the path to a massive log cabin that could be on the cover of a magazine. I hear dogs barking inside, and my heart does a flip. I love animals and would have had a dog myself except my brother would never have allowed it. He didn’t even want me to get a cat, but when I met Tornado in the shelter where I volunteer two days a week, I had to have her.

  She’s the most beautiful, loving furry friend in the world, and she’s saved me as much as I saved her. She’s gray and white stripes, and the first time I took her out of her cage to play at the shelter, she did this crazy spinning thing on her back legs that made her look just like a furry tornado.

  “This is all yours?” I ask looking at the massive cabin hugged by pines that look like they touch the sky.

  “Just me and the dogs. Up until now.” He looks down at me as we step up the stairs to the front door, and I’m not sure what he means, but his words have more chills shaking me from the inside out. “I designed it myself. Did a lot of the work myself too. What I could do that is.”

  “It’s incredible. And I love dogs—” The front entry is two stories tall. The roof held up by two logs I could barely get my arms around if I tried.

  It’s funny though, the door is painted this whimsical turquoise that matches his eyes. Above the cast iron door knocker that looks straight out of a Game of Thrones dungeon the door is carved with the words, Beware of Human.

  “I know, you love animals,” he says, as if knowing everything about me is as natural as breathing. Before I can ask how, he unlocks the front door and two Dalmatians come bounding up, jumping, wagging and fussing around the both of us.

  I pet them both as they wiggle around my legs, then look around, lose my balance and almost fall on my way in the front door. The walls are massive logs, but the interior is warm and bathed in soft light. Leather furniture centers the enormous great room with a rustic kitchen off to the left.

  Roan’s arm is around my shoulder as he closes the door behind us, and the reality of the moment descends. I knew he was big, but walking tucked in next to him like this I feel so tiny, the weight of his arm another reminder of the strength he must possess, yet with me, he feels gentle. Protective. And it gives me an odd sense of safety I realize I haven’t felt in a very long time.

  “Pongo. Perdy. Bed.” He orders the dogs, and they immediately follow his instructions, rushing through the kitchen into two large cages with fluffy dog beds inside.

  “Don’t they need to go out? You haven’t been home...”

  “They have a pet door.” He nods toward a door at the back hall of the kitchen, and I see the swinging opening at the base, big enough for them to fit through.

  The dog names make me smile inside. I love the Disney movie, One hundred and One Dalmatians, and knowing that he named his dogs after the ones in the film has me falling for him faster and faster.

  He leads me toward the kitchen and my stomach growls.

  “You need to eat.”

  “No, I’m fine.” I protest, but my stomach betrays me with another loud moan.

  “You’re going to eat. And so am I. I didn’t get my dinner, remember?” His words are gruff and deep, and they leave no room for disagreement. “Have a seat. Do you like breakfast for dinner? I make great waffles, and I have strawberries and whipped cream.”

  My mouth waters. “Actually, that’s one of my favorites.”

  He nods on a crooked smile and I wonder if somehow, he knew. “Mine too.”

  I stumble taking a step forward and grab onto his arm. “Sorry. I’m a klutz.”

  He catches me, and I fall against his massive body. His chest is hard but that’s not the only thing I feel that’s hard. What pushes against my hip is like a steel pole, and I think I might die of embarrassment.

  “Don’t call yourself names. You do wobble about sometimes, I’ve noticed, but don’t call yourself a klutz.”

  I feel my cheeks heat red. I obviously got in the wrong line for being elegant and sure footed when they were handing out those skills.

  I nod, trying not to meet his eyes. “Ever since I was in grade school, I’ve just been clumsy...you might not want me in your kitchen. One of those TV attorney’s for slip and fall lawsuits would love to meet me.”

  “You’re perfect, and it’s fine. You can dance on the counter for all I care. Or just sit there.” He half smiles as he points to a barstool at the island, and I carefully take a seat as he moves around the kitchen and starts to take things out of the refrigerator and pantry.

  I watch as he skillfully maneuvers. The kitchen has stainless-steel appliances but warm, knotty wood cabinets with what looks like hand-forged iron handles. It’s a mixture of modern and rustic sort of like Roan’s own contrast of being hard and yet gentle. His ruggedness is wrapped in this quiet calm that soothes me, and I realize I’m more at ease here than in my own home.

  “So, you must like being up here all alone. Had to be a couple of miles where I saw your closest neighbor.”

  He turns and cracks an egg with one hand into a bowl, and I never realized I could be turned on by an egg.

  “I’m not much for neighbors or people in general.” He answers on a shrug. “Besides, I’m not alone. I have the dogs.”

  “You like to come out to eat. Lots of people in the restaurant.”

  Watching him spinning the fork through the waffle batter is hypnotizing and he looks at me before answering.

  “I put up with most people. I don’t come to your restaurant for the atmosphere.”

  His eyes lower from my face to my chest, and I feel my nipples tingle in response.

  I try to think of something witty to say, but my mind is blank. My, clumsiness not just physical but social as well. Thank goodness, Roan focuses on the waffles as I hear my phone buzz in my bag on the floor.

  My stomach knots as I think about Dennis. I’m ashamed of how I cave to him all the time.

  He’s going to be pissed, so I reach down into my bag and dig out my phone. Under the counter, I tap the screen and see a text from Candice with a few eggplant emojis and drooly faces. I reply with a thumbs up, then decide to shoot a quick message to Dennis.

  It wouldn’t even be the end of my shift yet, so he wouldn’t be expecting me home, thank goodness, and that means he’s not blowing up my phone. I opt for less than the truth but hope it will at least keep him from completely losing it until I can get home tomorrow.

  Will I be home tomorrow?

  The thought suddenly occurs to me, and I realize I don’t know the answer.

  M
e: Hey, I got sick at work. I’m going to stay with Candice tonight. Just leave Tornado in my room. Make sure she has food and water. I cleaned the litter box in there this morning, she’ll be fine. I’ll be home with some money in the morning. I’m going to bed now.

  I hit send, then shut the phone down, knowing there will be hell to pay tomorrow. But deep down I know the tradeoff is going to be worth it, and I know he won’t hurt my cat—if he did there would be no money, that’s for sure.

  Roan is chopping strawberries as the batter sizzles in the waffle maker and the dreamy, comforting smell is making me feel even more at home.

  “Tell me something I need to know about you,” he says, his voice easy and interested.

  “Well...” I pinch my lips together and lean my mouth into my clasped hands, elbows on the countertop. “Being a waitress is not my life goal, for a start.”

  He smiles. “I doubt it is. What is your life goal? What lights you up?”

  I shrug, kicking my feet as they dangle off the stool. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me. I want to know everything that is going on in your head. Everything.”

  “Well, since I was a little girl, I wanted to do something with animals. I thought about being a vet, but truth is my grades weren’t that great, and there was no possibility to pay for that much school. So, then I thought about being a trainer or dog walker. Oh, and I like to sew. I know nobody my age probably sews, but I love it. I make a lot of my own clothes. Even this.” I lean back and motion to my work uniform. “Honestly, I’m a little unfocused when it comes to my future.” I half chuckle. “Maybe I’ll start an animal clothing company. I don’t know. I really just want to be happy, whatever that means. And...” I debate if I should add on the last bit, then decide if he doesn’t like it, better to know right away. “I’ve just always wanted to be a mom. I know that’s not very ambitious.” I swing my legs harder under the counter, hoping I’m not sounding like a simpleton.