by Sara Cate
Without another word, she sashays out of the room, leaving me with the spectacle of her perfectly round hips in that tight dress. She wants me to feel defeated, but there’s no chance of that now. I would not be defeated. I had plenty of cards to play still, and she isn’t going to win that easily.
The next three days go by without incident. Murph spends most of his time at his shop and only shows up for dinner and mostly avoids me. I’ve found that my days consist of stolen moments or peeks of him coming out of the bathroom, shirtless with drops of water, cascading down his broad, muscled shoulders.
If he does catch me watching, which he has, the heated stare between us is dangerous. It’s like he wants me to watch...in the same way I shake my hips in front of him. I want him to be crazy for me. Why? I don’t even know. Just the thought of him panting for me, unable to control himself has me feeling more powerful than I ever felt with Hugo.
When Friday rolls around, I decide to take a walk around town when Hazel goes down for another one of her long, nearly endless naps. My time with her is getting shorter and shorter. On a good note, the doctor came by yesterday and was able to get her to drink an entire bottle of Ensure, which we all took as a very good sign.
She did it for Murph. That much was clear, and it was almost painful to watch the poor woman force the shake down, but the settling of his tense shoulders and relief on his face was obvious.
I’m not even paying attention when I walk out of the house through the door next to the garage. The thunderous roar that catches me off guard makes me scream and clutch my bag to my body. When I turn the corner to the garage, I find Murph there, straddling his motorcycle and looking down at his phone, clearly not noticing my presence.
For a moment, I can’t help but admire how good he looks on that bike. Murph is really not my type. I was never into the older guys, and after the toxic relationship I just got out of with Hugo, the last thing I need is a guy who is full of himself and intimidating on purpose.
There is something else there. The way he teases me, not out of cruelty, but for the novelty of it only makes me hungry for more.
A guy like him could easily have any girl on the island—but the idea that I could make him wild fuels the fire.
It’s the wall he has up that really drives my actions. Murph is closed off, distant and resistant to anything too vulnerable—I see the way he wants to break over Hazel, but the cracks in his hard facade have me wanting to dig my fingernails in and pull the exterior away to see what’s inside.
My focus is distracted by the tight jeans on his backside when he whistles at me, stealing my attention.
“Stop undressing me with your eyes.”
I shoot him a scowl and continue my walk toward the road where I was headed before his body on that bike stopped me.
“Where are you going?” he asks as he glides his bike toward me, following me to the sidewalk.
“None of your business,” I answer with bite.
“My business is exactly what it is. Now tell me or I’ll throw you over my lap and carry you home.”
I swallow down the heat rising from the words he chooses and the image in my mind of being bent over his lap, the vibration of the motorcycle motor rumbling through my body. It makes me really want to challenge him. So I remain silent as I continue walking on the brick path through the tree-covered neighborhood toward the boardwalk.
Just when I think he’s given up on me, I hear him approach. His words can barely be heard over the roar of the machine between his legs. But when I glance over, I catch him mouth the words, “Get on.”
“No way.” I don’t even slow down, clutching my tote bag even closer to my body.
“Savannah,” he barks, and this time, his voice can be heard over the engine. I stop in my tracks, glancing at him with shock in my eyes. He nods his head, motioning for me to get on the bike behind him.
I want to be defiant, maintain my impulse control, but it would appear I have none because I am relenting in moments, walking toward him with my bottom lip pinched between my teeth.
“If you try to kill me on this thing, I promise I will take you with me.”
As I drape my leg over the back of the seat, I feel the low chuckle of his laughter with my body pressed up against his back. Suddenly, he snatches my leg in his hand and grips the flesh of my thigh. I gasp, unable to exhale the breath I’m holding as his grip gets tighter.
He turns his face back toward me, his beard brushing the skin of my cheeks. “Watch the exhaust pipe. It’ll burn the shit out of you.” He motions downward with his eyes where my bare leg is only an inch away from the bright silver metal.
I’m still unable to fully breathe when it takes him a moment too long to let me go. “Thank you,” I say in a stuttering breath.
In return, he winks and drops my leg so that my flesh doesn’t touch the burning pipe toward the back.
Then, the bike lurches forward and I have to grasp onto Murph’s back to keep from flying off the seat. Once he picks up speed, I find myself relaxing. Instead of holding onto his shoulders, I let my arms rest against his sides. The cool breeze from the summer morning on the beach feels good after a hot, humid week.
When we come to a stop at a busy intersection, I feel people looking at me on the back of Murph’s motorcycle. He has a tight-fitting T-shirt on, my hands running against the cords of muscle underneath. I wonder if these people think that we are a couple. That this brutish man is mine. The thought entices me.
After a few more minutes on the bike, we come to a stop in front of his shop. I hadn’t stepped foot near his place of work since I showed up out of the blue and basically jumped him. Even now, a blush rises to my cheeks just seeing it.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble as I climb off.
“Taking the day off?” he asks, still trying to pry into my business as if it’s his.
“Not that you need to know, but I’m going to spend some time outside today, try to soak up some of this sunshine.”
“Good,” he says, leaning a little too close.
“Morning,” a voice from farther down the boardwalk interrupts our conversation. A pretty young blonde girl steps out onto the boardwalk and waves at Murph like she knows him.
Curiosity instantly piques as I watch her, eager to see the way he reacts.
“Morning, Sierra,” he answers with an easy smile.
When his eyes land back on my face, I make sure my teasing expression is anything but subtle. It's his turn to roll his eyes.
“That’s Logan’s girlfriend,” he answers, without me even having to ask. The girl disappears into the bookstore.
“Looks like your type. Young and sweet, right?”
“Not quite.” His response is flat, and I can tell I’ve struck a nerve.
I follow him into the tattoo shop, back to the scene of the crime, but I don’t know why I do it. I just want to see this through, I guess. Behind the counter, a younger man with colorful tattoos along his arms watches me with interest.
“Good morning,” he says carefully to me, watching Murph for a reaction.
“Morning,” I answer. I find it funny that it’s almost noon and they greet everyone like it’s the crack of dawn. It might be nice to live a tattoo artist lifestyle. Being a night owl must be mandatory.
“Uh...Logan, this is Savannah. She’s…” He pauses as he glares at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed.
“I work for his foster mom,” I say, thinking that I’m helping him out, but somehow the already silent room grows quieter.
Logan slowly turns toward Murph. “Your foster mom?”
“She’s not—she’s my aunt, really. A friend. You don’t know her,” he stammers, and I see Logan smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Savannah.”
“Same,” I answer with a smile. I can’t remember the last time I was ever so social. I’ve just found a new way to torture Murph. His discomfort with introducing me to his coworkers is too enjoyable not to indulg
e in. He takes off for the back of the shop, but I choose not to follow him. Instead, I call out as I walk out the front door.
“Thanks for the ride!”
I can hear him grumbling something from the back as the door closes, and I can’t wipe the smile from my face.
“Who was that?” Logan is following me around like I have something sweet to give him.
“No one,” I answer, gruffly. I thought giving Savannah a ride on the bike would soften her up a bit, make her a little more pliable so I could dig a little deeper into her defenses. I was becoming more and more desperate with each passing day to break that girl open and make her spill her secrets. But it was starting to feel like the more I fucked with her, the more she fucked right back with me.
All week, I could feel her eyes on me. Sometimes with scrutiny, like she wanted to shoot me in the back, but then sometimes I’d catch her staring, her eyes lost in some far off fantasy like we’re fucking in her mind. Those looks I don’t mind so much. I had drifted off in a few of those little daydreams myself. Bending her over the kitchen counter. My head between her legs in the laundry room, sneaking around so no one could hear us.
Logan gives up on bugging me for info pretty quickly. He had a shitty year, and I was there for him, and in return, he never prodded into my personal life. He knows I own the shop, pretty comfortable financially, and live a solitary life, but he never demands to know more about me. My past, outside of my long friendship with his brother, is not a topic of conversation.
His girlfriend on the other hand…
Without fail, Sierra pops into the shop with a wide smile on her face. “Who was that?” she asks, like she’s Logan’s goddamn echo.
“He’s not talking,” Logan answers as she wraps his arms around her waist, leaning in for a quick kiss that I look away from, like always.
“He’ll talk to me,” she says, her voice taking a deeper, colder tone. Sierra has no fucks to give. It’s one of the things I like about her. She may be a cute blonde on the outside, but inside, she’s a fierce badass...making her the perfect girl to keep Logan in check.
I let out a chuckle as she puts herself back in my line of sight. Keeping myself busy, I organize my station and restock the new inks that came in, but Sierra is there.
“She’s pretty. Are things serious? You took her on your bike, and if Logan taught me anything, it’s that those bikes are pussy magnets, and you guys know it.”
“That’s not all I taught you,” he says while chewing on the straw of his smoothie.
“Enough.” My voice reverberates through the quiet shop. “God dammit, Logan, put on some music or something. It’s too quiet in here.”
Without another word, he walks over to the counter and syncs up the bluetooth speaker to something heavy and loud. Sierra doesn’t waiver from her post in front of me, but instead of being the bubbly girl who walked in, her expression has hardened, and I can feel her reading me.
“Something’s bothering you,” she says, without having to even ask. And it’s true. My shoulders are tense and feel like they’re by my ears. Business has slowed a lot since Spring Break, and I’m constantly on edge about the city’s new cleanup initiative, and I can’t help but think that those two things are connected.
Logan and Sierra don’t know about Hazel, not that she exists, that I’m living with her, or that she’s dying. Sierra wants to know about Savannah, but I can’t tell her that I’m torn between wanting to fuck this girl’s brains out and kicking her out of the house she lives in because I will never be convinced that she’s not a money-hungry freeloader.
Sierra touches my arm.
My shoulders relax with my next deep exhale. I find her eyes and try to think of which piece of this bullshit news I should tell her. Because I can’t deny her, not like this. In the past few months that she’s been on Wickett, pulling Logan out of his lowest point, I’ve grown to really care about the girl.
“And don’t say this is about business being slow.” She says it low enough that Logan doesn’t hear over the bumping of the track.
I wave him over, and the three of us stand together in my office. I already hate this. There’s a reason I don’t open up very often. It’s uncomfortable as hell.
“You heard Savannah talk about my aunt. She was my last foster mom’s sister, and she is the person who owns this shop.”
Logan shifts in his seat, his brow creased as he listens intently.
“She’s dying, and I’m staying at her place to make sure everything is settled properly for her.”
I notice Sierra’s jaw drop when I say ‘dying,’ but I can’t react to it. I have to just pretend I’m not saying these words so they don’t claw their way into my emotions.
“The girl you met is my aunt’s new...nurse, or something like that, but I’m not convinced she’s not after every fucking penny, so I’m keeping a very close eye on her. We’re not...you know.”
Logan and Sierra glance at each other and then at me. I wish one of them would talk already to fill the silence since I stopped. Naturally, Sierra is the first to pipe up.
“First of all, I’m so sorry about your aunt. I think this is hitting you more than you’re letting on, but I won’t push. But second of all, do you think you’re being a little paranoid about this girl stealing from her? She seemed like a nice girl—”
“You haven’t even met her,” I bite back and catch Logan’s hard stare for interrupting Sierra. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. You’re right, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. And you’re an intimidating hard ass with an attitude problem...so you know...go easy on her.”
I can’t help but laugh. I can’t possibly tell them that ‘going easy on her’ is the last thing I want to do, but admitting that would be a whole new fucked up layer to add.
On the quiet walk home, I can’t stop thinking about the way Murph looked, bent over the tattoo chair, deep in concentration on someone’s full sleeve piece. The music was blaring, and he tried playing the cold shoulder on me when I checked in to see if he was going to give me a ride back or if I should walk.
I spent a few minutes chatting with his co-worker, the good-looking younger guy with a dangerous smile, but he didn’t quite have the overwhelming presence that Murph does.
The tree lined streets create a quiet, calming atmosphere for my walk. Tall Magnolia trees hug the cobblestone sidewalks, while the beautiful colonial houses stand silently on either side. There aren’t many people on the road at this hour, and it gives me plenty of time to really clear my head.
I’ve been on the island since last summer, almost a full year of seasons passing by, and now as summer approaches, I have to start accepting that this chapter is over, and it’s almost time to move on. It was a beautiful blessing of a chapter that I do not deserve. Hazel came along without warning, and I never would have guessed my escape from my past life would end like this.
I was with Hugo for two years, although he was part of my life for far longer. He too was older than me, but only by eight years. My parents were uninvolved when I was growing up, and I found ways to get myself into trouble. Hugo worked with my dad before he branched out on his own, starting a much different business. Even back then, he had an eye on me in a way that now screams predatory. When I was an attention-hungry teen, I loved his flattery.
Hugo was powerful. He wasn’t as physically intimidating as Murph, but it was all in the way he carried himself. He could make me do anything he wanted, and for the first few years of our friendship, I honestly believed he cared about me. He wanted me around him at all times. If I was away from him, he would text or call me incessantly.
As I got older, his constant focus began to feel like a noose around my neck—to the point where I couldn’t breathe.
Then Hugo’s business-life took over, and I lost the charismatic boy I fell in love with. Even with the red flags of his manipulation, it was the things he did on the sidelines that drove me away.
I honestly thought
he owned a nightclub. It was a seedy hole in the wall in Newport that was popular among high schoolers for the low cover and nonexistent carding policy. Then, kids started turning up dead or missing, and somehow Hugo always had an alibi. It was never his fault, his club, or his drugs.
And when his excuses stopped covering the lies, he expected me to.
A low rumble from far behind me on the street pulls me out of my deep thought. I know it’s Murph before he peels up to the curb next to me. I half-expect him to blow past without another thought, but he comes to a stop and stares at me.
“I’d rather walk, thanks,” I say without looking at him. He and I are still parading around this awkward relationship of lust and hate, and I honestly wonder if we had started on a different foot if we might be a little more amiable to each other. But as it is, he only sees me as a flake who plays with men and steals an old lady’s money. And to me, he’s a spiteful loner who doesn’t trust anyone and is probably great for a one-night stand.
He’ll never know the truth about me because I could never let him in enough to. I can’t be planting roots here anyway. Once Hazel goes, I’ll be on the run again. And I can’t guarantee my next situation will be as lucky as this one.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking his bike with both legs on the ground slowly rolling himself forward.
“Nothing. I’m just enjoying the walk.”
“Okay, then.”
Just when I expect him to ride off and leave me here, he shuts off his bike, kicks out the kickstand and leaves it between two parked cars on the street. He jogs up next to me.
As he approaches, I watch him with a knot in my brow. “What are you doing?”
“Walking with you.” Standing next to me, he’s at least a foot taller...and wider. It feels like he takes up most of the sidewalk, which is a total exaggeration, but I dwarf in comparison. For some reason, I like being in his shadow, like it protects me.