by K B Cinder
Anyone else would have thrown me out on my ass at the restaurant. She should have done the same. I was bad for her. Always had been, and always would be.
She took another cautious step forward, coming close enough that I could smell the ridiculous dick donuts on her skin. Her brown eyes drifted up to mine, a slight smile touching her lips. “I want you to stay.”
God, she smelled good. Like powdered sugar and honey. I bet she tasted like it, too.
“I want you to be happy,” I countered, shoving the thought away, even as my pants tightened below. I could take care of that later in my hotel room. Not as good as she could, but it would have to do.
“So, stay…” she trailed, leaning so close that I could practically taste the sugar on her lips.
A second later, I did, though she tasted more like coconut than sugar as her lips found mine. Her body pressed flush against me as she tippy-toed forward, time standing still as our mouths met.
The moment I’d wished for countless nights came true, and it was better than I ever imagined. Soft. Sweet. Tender. She was everything I remembered and more.
A simple peck delved into a frenzy, her lips and tongue meeting mine. Her hands linked behind my neck while her fingers threaded in the long strands at my collar.
The knotted tension I’d carried on my shoulders faded away. The hollowness in my chest filled again. This was what I was missing.
But a soft moan against my mouth knocked me back to Earth.
Talita’s eyes fluttered open, and she pulled away, realizing I’d stopped kissing her back. “What’s wrong, babe?”
Babe.
I couldn’t do it. “I have to leave.”
“You can’t stay?” Her hands slipped from around my neck to press to my chest, leaving a trail of fire.
“No, I’m sorry.” I practically choked on the words, but it was the best thing for her. I needed to stop being selfish for once in my fucking life.
Her face contorted as she pulled her hands away, recoiling as if I disgusted her. “When will I see you again?”
I didn’t have the clear-cut answer she wanted, and as her face fell, I knew she could tell. “Theron, don’t…” she warned, the words fluttering out in airy breaths.
Coming was a mistake. She should have been inside and well on her way to forgetting about me, surrounded by people that could love her. Not standing in a parking lot with some asshole that would only hurt her in the end.
“I have a flight to catch.” It was another lie, but she didn’t know that.
Well, it was a half truth. I had a flight. It just wasn’t until four in the morning.
Her hands drifted toward me again, not seeing the writing on the wall. “Ther, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
I took them in mine, rubbing my thumbs along her knuckles gently. “I’ll be away for a while. I’ll contact you when I can, okay?”
Another lie. She would forget about me in time, and life would return to normal. If I hadn’t been a selfish prick, she’d be further along in that journey.
She pulled her hands free abruptly. “Just tell me what’s going on. I can’t deal with this hot and cold crap, Theron. This isn’t a game.”
“I’m sorry, Lita.”
Fire raged in her eyes. “You can’t walk in and out when it’s convenient. Relationships are a two-way street.”
“I know; I’m working on that.” I hadn’t had the best examples of a healthy partnership growing up. But I was learning. Enough that I knew she deserved better.
“Okay, well, while you work on that, I’ll work on not being your doormat,” she said, walking backward toward the building on shaky legs.
“Lita, it’s not like that.”
“Sure it is,” she argued. “You showed up expecting me to cave, and I did. I’m clearly still weaning off the Slater Aid. Thanks for the wake up call.”
“I didn’t expect anything…” I began, but it was useless.
She walked away, not giving me a second more of her time to waste. She didn’t turn back once, storming straight to her apartment and slamming the door.
In those slow-moving seconds, I watched my world implode a second time. It might’ve been the best thing for her, but I destroyed a part of myself.
Talita Nunes was better off without me.
11
Talita
Hell hath no fury like a woman confronted with surprise glitter.
My neighbors likely wanted to strangle me with the cord after vacuuming for an hour straight at ten o’clock at night, but I was willing to sacrifice myself in return for a glitter-free apartment. Among other things.
Anyone else would’ve gone to bed and started the good fight in the morning, but I needed to do something other than that sit. Sitting let my mind wander toward things I’d rather not explore.
Like Slater’s lips. Slater’s body. The fact that he left me with a pair of wet panties and a houseful of family members. Well, technically I left him, but I wasn’t splitting hairs. He made me do it.
I knew he was an asshole, but I didn’t expect him to be that much of an asshole. That little stunt violated at least one part of the Geneva Convention.
After painstakingly running the hose attachment around my living room on my hands and knees, the space returned to its state of rent-control chic. The vacuum canister, on the other hand, looked like it was having a bachelorette party with all-you-can-drink tequila and male strippers. If there weren’t glitter involved, I would’ve happily joined the party.
But with the deed done, I sat alone with my phone on a kitchen barstool, the excitement of the evening still whispering on the wall. And I had no one to share it with. No one to celebrate with.
Rini and Sage returned to their new house, while Mama and Papa headed home. Raya, the only other singleton, had a date with a punk rocker. That left me floating all by myself.
A half-eaten egg roll sat in front of me on a pink party plate, the food fantasy that coaxed me into the dinner with Slater that never happened remarkably unpalatable without him around. The same applied to the vibrator in my bottom drawer. Downstairs dried up quick when it was offered something other than him. Damn picky pussy.
I’d never met someone as frustrating as Theron Slater. I wanted to scream until I couldn’t speak. Cry until I had no tears. Write a rant until I ran out of words. But worst of all, I wanted him.
Even after he pulled his hot-cold routine, I still wanted him in every sense of the word.
I didn’t know what kind of black magic he had cooking up in those eyes, but it had a spell over me like no other. It also terrified me. One man shouldn’t have that kind of control over me. No one should.
I grabbed the neglected egg roll and tossed it in the trash before slipping on my sneakers and a hoodie. It might’ve been late, but I couldn’t sit anymore. I needed to act.
With my keys stuffed in my jacket pocket, I fled the apartment.
It was well past midnight, but I didn’t care. I needed air.
The streetlights lit my journey as I walked, the twinkle of the night sky not supplying the answers I’d craved. In them, I found more Slater; the stars aligning in a way that I swore I saw some of his tattoos in the sky. Like the withered rose on his forearm or the melting clock on his back.
Even the universe was mocking me. Teasing what I couldn’t have. What I shouldn’t want.
God, I hated him. I hated him just as much as I loved him, and every block, I hated him more.
I deserved better.
I deserved someone who knew what they wanted and went for it. Someone who could love me just as fiercely as I loved them.
Not some boob who treated our relationship like a horoscope reading. Oh, today this sounds nice. I’ll call her. I was more than that. I wanted a man that wasn’t afraid to love me. That wouldn’t mind a boring life with a dog and maybe a kid someday.
I raged on, covering what felt like the entire town of Honey Hills, even venturing past my childhood home on Holly Hearth. T
he split-levels were dark, of course, every non-nocturnal human tucked in for the night. Meanwhile, I probably looked like some deranged prowler that needed a cheeseburger or seven. Thanks genetics.
Maybe that’s what his problem was. I wasn’t curvy enough. I didn’t have those Hollywood knockers or that reality starlet booty.
Or was it the height? I was tall, but not tall enough to grace a runway at five-foot-seven.
My age? I hadn’t traveled the world or tasted fame, but I liked to think I was a little more mature than most people my age. I didn’t live with my parents, and I rocked a full-time job and school. That counted for something.
Who cares? I didn’t. It didn’t matter why he didn’t want me.
It was his loss.
Not mine.
But fuck, it sure felt like it sometimes.
12
Talita
“You know, a T-Rex with crabs would smile more than you,” Helen observed as she walked into the kitchen with a tray of empty dishes. Her metallic pineapple earrings danced in the light like fruity disco balls, their sheen matching her yellow honeycomb pants. “Cheer up before you get wrinkles like me.”
I smirked as I plated a portion of moussaka fresh out of the oven. “T-Rex had crabs?”
She emptied the tray into the sink before looking over with buckets of sass in her eyes. “You really think dinosaurs didn’t catch the nasties from sleeping around?”
I reached for the feta, dusting the top of the dish with crumbles. “I didn’t know they had hair down there to house crabs; that’s all.” I had also never put much thought into dinosaur sex. They hadn’t had hair at all that I knew of, either, but I wouldn’t argue with my mentor.
Despite her crazy sayings and Greek rants, in my week at Agatha, I’d learned a lot from the walking cookbook of authentic Mediterranean cuisine. She was a natural teacher.
“Maybe they waxed for the photos,” she said, glancing at the plate in front of me. “Now that’s a damn good dish of moussaka.”
“Thanks,” I beamed, glad my first attempt turned out so well. She’d kept her recipe under lock and key until I learned how to handle an eggplant. Embarrassingly, before starting at Agatha, I’d only ever used the vegetable as a stand-in for dicks in texts.
“Now, are you still scowling over that tater tot?” she asked, watching me load a serving tray with the moussaka and a gyro from the heat rack.
Ha, as if. I hadn’t heard a peep from that salty prick, and life was good.
Quiet.
Predictable.
But good, nonetheless.
And kiss-free.
The hate mail still came in waves, but the tide slowed since its fever pitch, and there were fifteen-thousand fewer problems on my plate after the network withdrew the contract fine and travel fees.
Umi even sent a bouquet of apology flowers that I was 99 percent sure weren’t poisoned.
“I’m not scowling; I’m concentrating. Moussaka is hard work.” I scooted the completed tray her way before grabbing the next ticket off of the line.
“Men are too,” she sassed. “Now spill it, or I’ll name a special after him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I wasn’t scowling. I wasn’t even unhappy. I wasn’t anything—sad, happy, angry—none of it.
“He’s roughly six feet tall, sandy blond, and good enough to lick the spoon for.”
“Licking the spoon causes salmonella,” I warned, buzzing around prepped ingredients to whip up a radish salad. I’d almost sliced my finger off preparing the radishes on the mandoline at the start of my shift, so I was making the suckers last.
“Is that what he did to you?” she teased, watching me intermingle the pickled vegetables. “Food poisoning?”
“No, but he does make me want to throw up,” I offered.
If I could escape Slater questions for one day, it would be nice. Rini and Raya had finally stopped asking why he’d been at my apartment, and it seemed like Helen was always waiting in the weeds to pounce with more.
“The good ones always do,” she mused with the bat of her lashes. “Especially if they’re packing a big you-know-what.”
“Helen!” If I’d been chopping anything, I could have lost a finger.
Good God. Every time I got Slater’s pants freighter out of my mind, someone else whipped it out to wave around in conversation.
“Hey, I’ll never lie to you,” she said, shrugging. “Mr. Andrianakis was a handful in more than just the kitchen. All worth it.”
“I thought you said he was a jerk?” I asked, freezing as soon as the words came out. Crap. “I’m sorry; that was rude.”
Her husband was dead, and there I was questioning how she spoke about him. We all handled grief differently. Some people lashed out, while others, namely me, kissed the pain just to feel it a little longer. To know it was real.
The tiny woman laughed, throwing her head back as her shoulders shook. “Oh, honey, that was our thing. I called him a jerk, and he called me a shrew.”
“How romantic?”
“He was a grouch, and I used to be a lot cheekier than I am now, if you can imagine.”
“I can’t.” I’d never met anyone like Helen Andrianakis. Somehow cheeky seemed too dainty of a word for her.
She chuckled, lifting the tray to take to table one. “I had to be. Lex was a jerk until the very end. You know he had a heart attack the day before my birthday? Joke’s on him. I celebrate both the same day now.”
“Celebrate?” We’d officially left weird and entered a whole new level of what the fuck. Who celebrated death?
“We don’t mourn here, honey,” she said with an easy smile. “That’s why we wear pink on Fridays. Every second is a chance to celebrate. If you’re not laughing and smiling, you’re living your life wrong.”
I wished I’d had a tenth of her positivity. I had maybe half of it at some point. But now I was floundering between meh and miserable.
“Was pink his favorite color?” I asked, prepping another radish salad.
“Nope—our daughter’s,” she replied, beginning the slow shuffle to the door with the loaded tray. “Agatha.”
I arranged pickled onions in the shape of a rose on top of the salad in front of me. “Does she live nearby?”
She didn’t talk about family much, aside from her sisters. With how much of a character Helen was, I was dying to meet her daughter.
“She passed, dear.”
I swore my heart stopped beating in my chest. “Oh, Helen, I’m so sorry!”
She smiled, pausing at the door. “It’s okay, dear. I have a little piece of her back in my life now with you here. You sound just like her. Thank you.”
13
Theron
“I need more passion from you, Mr. Slater.”
The director, Chase, looked ready to throttle me, but he kept a pleasant tone with only a twinge of irritation at its edges.
My first week on set was, as expected, a disaster. I was nowhere near ready to film. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but trading the retraction for filming early was an easy decision. Clarke was too happy to take me up on the offer, especially when I promised to keep his office pleasures off the record.
“Passion?”
I didn’t even know what passion felt like anymore. It definitely didn’t feel like trading lines with my on-screen flavor of the week under the midday sun in the middle of a fucking field.
Courtney was a nice girl. Cute as can be with a big, honking laugh like a goose. But she and passion didn’t belong in the same hemisphere. Nothing personal.
That word had died as far as I was concerned. Not exactly something you wanted to admit to the director when your show focused on steamy sex scenes. Most people only tuned in to catch a pair of tits or my dick root.
The leggy blonde stood a heartbeat away in a corset and panties, the boning and lace cutting into her slight frame, constricting an already-tiny waist.
“Does she have
to wear that?” I asked, concerned with the ruby-red sheen to her cheeks. There was no way that torture device was comfortable, let alone allowed her skin to breathe. If they wanted to show some skin, couldn’t they stick her in a bikini or something? It was too hot to wrap someone up like a sausage.
“I’m okay,” she assured. Perspiration pricked her forehead, the frosted mask of makeup glistening. “Just a little warm like everyone else.”
Warm? I had a sauna around my balls in my pants. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were floating in a pool of sweat like beach balls.
“I need more from you, Theron, and then we can move onto the next scene.” Chase was losing patience with each exasperated word.
I ignored him, locking eyes with the blonde. Courtney might’ve been just another no-name actress for him, but she was a person. A person who clearly wasn’t doing well. She was moments away from saying hello to the gravel with her forehead. “When’s the last time you had water?”
Since stepping out of my trailer, I must have downed over a liter between takes. I didn’t know how she’d swallow a sip with how tight the garment fit.
“Earlier,” she answered, her green eyes darting between Chase and I.
“When?” I pushed. “Be honest with me. You can’t fuck around with the heat.”
“Kate is fine, Theron! Worry about your passion, and we can move on!” Chase exploded, finally losing it with me.
I gave the curly-haired douche some passion in the form of my middle finger, never taking my eyes off the flushed blonde. “Her name is Courtney.”
I’d always learned the name of every person on set. Captain Fuckface needed to do the same if he wanted my respect. People weren’t numbers. They had names. Likes. Dislikes. We were all pieces of the same puzzle. Without one of us, we would lose the overall story.
“When’s the last time you had water? Do you need a break?” I asked in rapid-fire. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a minute to cool down. You won’t get in trouble.”