by K B Cinder
Rini squeezed the stem of her glass like she was wringing my neck. “Excuse me, but you threw crackers at them like dogs for two seconds. Try wiping asses 24/7 and running a business. Then talk to me.”
Lita threw an olive at each of us, striking me in the eyelid with the briny grossness and Rini in the forehead. “Guys, knock it off!”
“She started it,” we said in unison.
“Look, it’s my business, and I trust Raya,” Lita said flatly as she glanced at Rini.
Her eyes flicked to me, taking a decidedly darker turn. “And since it’s my business, I trust you won’t play games with it. I think you belong in a kitchen. You’ve got baking in your bones.”
“In her ass, too,” Rini jabbed with a grin, earning one of my half-chewed strawberry stumps to the cheek.
In any other family, those would’ve been fighting words, but from us, they were a white flag of surrender.
“I didn’t mean to be a bitch,” Rini clarified, unbuttoning her shirt more with a grumble. Something told me it was the first and last time Mama would pick the outfits for the yearly family photos as we’d all started slowly stripping out of the starched top. “But I’m worried about you, Ry. You almost fucking died because you wanted to go to a party. I want to be sure you’re ready before jumping out on your own. Especially down the shore.”
“Ocean City is a dry town,” Lita added, taking a sip of her wine. “Just sayin.”
I picked at the corner of the tablecloth; the plastic shielding Mama’s prized wicker set. “Rini’s not wrong,” I mumbled as a breeze ruffled my hair. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
I couldn’t believe I was saying it as much as my sisters, who both looked at me like I’d just revealed I was an alien.
But I knew a problem when I saw it.
The shore spelled danger, especially as we inched closer to summer. Not that I worried about seeking trouble, but I needed to be ultra-careful about avoiding it while getting back on my feet.
Well, besides the Rebel thing. He was too fun to pass up.
Allegra said it took twenty-one days to break a habit, and twenty-one to make another. I might’ve finally fallen out of love with acting like everything was okay and started to enjoy hearing Papa bitch and moan about sports trades all day. Sometimes, I’d ask him about one I’d look up at work, just to hear him rant.
I didn’t know if it was the therapy working, the pressure cooker of my childhood home softening the walls I’d built, or plain-old maturing. I just knew I was tired of running.
“I’m proud of you,” Rini said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand in hers. “I love you, you booty-ful bitch.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled. “Love you too, Dildo Queen.”
I threw back a gulp of wine before I swallowed too many of the feelings puddling in the air surrounding us.
As gross as they were, they felt right.
And I’d missed them.
14
Raya
Mama decided we’d tackle the rear flowerbeds on my day off from the gym.
At seven a.m.
Rather than spending the morning wiping equipment or answering phones at work or I don’t know, sleeping, I decapitated plants of their dying buds, split gigantic hostas into smaller ones, and found more creepy crawlies than I needed to know existed.
Seriously. I could’ve gone my entire life without knowing just how many roly pollies, crickets, and spiders lurked in the shrubbery surrounding the house. Paired with the back-breaking maintenance, the knowledge made a landscape-free house that much more attractive.
We’d spend all day working aside from a quick lunch break, and physically, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done between lifting mulch bags, weeding, and running for my life from honeybees that wandered over from the Bane’s boxes.
For the afternoon, Papa attacked the front yard while we manned the back, a set of huge loppers his weapon of choice for tackling the overgrown rose bush along the driveway. The chop of the blades sounded every so often, followed by the crunch of fallen branches against the concrete and a mini victory cheer from Papa.
Mama and I crouched along the rear flowerbeds—Mama transplanting our split hostas in the shadier section while I spread mulch with a hand rake that was frustratingly small on the bed’s sunnier side.
Mama looked like Brazilian Martha Stewart in her high-waisted capris, matching green garden gloves, and chic floppy hat, but my oversized sweatpants and t-shirt trapped the sun, forming a Raya tamale as I baked in the heat.
I must’ve looked it, too, Mama looking over mid-stab into the soil with her trowel. “You okay over there?”
Even though I totally wasn’t, I nodded anyway, reaching to wipe my dripping hairline with my wrist, my sky-high bun droopy with sweat. As I did, the scrape of soil stretched across my forehead, and Mama lost it.
I looked down at my arm, seeing dirt clear to my elbows, some of which was now mixed with sweat in a disgusting mud streak.
“You look like that little lion!” she cackled, dropping her trowel as she sunk back on her haunches.
I pulled a glove off and rubbed furiously at my skin, making her laugh harder, as it no-doubt worsened the smear.
Mama held out a thumb, mimicking like she was swiping it over my face with one eye closed from her spot in the shade. “Simbaaaaa.”
“Are you done yet?” I tried to hold it in, but a giggle slipped in at the end, sending Mama into another meltdown.
“What’s going on back there?” Papa called from the gate as he nudged by the dogs to secure it behind himself.
“Raya’s attempting a mulch facial,” Mama teased, picking up her trowel as laugh tremors shook her shoulders.
Papa neared with the dogs at his feet, rumbling with his own husky chuckles when he got a good look at me—sweaty, apparently muddy, and undeniably frazzled.
I could’ve baked and decorated a full-size wedding cake in the time we’d spent fussing with plants, and honestly, I would’ve preferred that plus last-minute orders for birthday sheet cakes over repeating any of it.
Papa crouched down to pet the dogs after he and Mama finally stopped feeding off one another’s laughs. “Well, Pigpen, as much as I hate to end your fun day outside, you have your group meeting in an hour, and I think you need a shower unless you plan on going like that.”
“Thank God.” I didn’t miss a beat jumping to my feet, sending my parents into another frenzy as I brushed away dirt clumps and greenery from my clothes.
“Strip in the mudroom and put your clothes right in the washer,” Mama choked out as she looked away to regain her composure. “I don’t want a mess to worry about when we come in.”
“As long as you two promise to not do the same until I leave for group,” I counteroffered.
If I came out of the shower to two naked parents waiting in the hallway, I’d need years more of therapy to stop the eye twitching. And group wouldn’t cut it.
Mama and Papa exchanged a look, and as Papa bounced his eyebrows mockingly at me, I ran into the house, leaving them to descend into hilarity again.
Once inside, I did as directed, tossing my clothes in the washing machine that sat off of the mudroom before sprinting to the bathroom upstairs naked with my phone in-hand.
As I flipped on the light and looked in the mirror, I understood why my parents were in stitches, the dirt sweep across my forehead looking like a bear delivered an Ash Wednesday blessing.
I snapped a selfie from the head up and sent it to Rebel with #pigpen as the caption as I flipped on the shower, needing a miracle to power through the grime in time to leave.
Normally, I’d never let a photo like that see the light of day with the lack of makeup and overall ick, but it was too damn funny to go to waste.
My phone buzzed just as I went to set it on the counter and hop in the stream.
Rebel: You make a sexy dirt princess, babe.
I smirked down at my phone.
Babe.
I could get used to that.
See you soon.
I set my phone on the vanity and let that giddy buzz fuel me through a shower, replacing exhaustion.
Arriving early to group left me with time to kill, so I wandered the halls of the center, taking in the tidal wave of gray one hallway at a time with the drone of the cleaning crew’s vacuums winding down.
I’d twisted my wet hair into a clip after my shower to save time before throwing on jeans, a tank, and flip-flops, soaking up the last bits of sun on the drive over.
The rubber soles of my flip-flops slapped against my heels with every step, propelling me alone through the barren halls.
My body might’ve ached from the day in the yard, but my legs were still restless, eager to travel from the well-worn paths I’d taken since the monitor entered my life.
Along the way, I found a man in black, his stubbled smile beckoning me over.
Keys bulged in his front right pocket as he leaned against the wall, the motorcycle helmet I’d expected on such a beautiful day nowhere to be found.
“Didn’t ride today?”
He stole a peck as I neared since we were alone, his lips tasting faintly of lemon. “I needed the truck for errands.”
I kissed him again on my tippy toes before sinking away, putting much-needed space between us since we stood in the open. “Busy day?”
I hadn’t asked what he did for a living, but it couldn’t be a 9-5 with his oddball hours. Sometimes early morning. Sometimes afternoon. Maybe a mover or construction, given his long, lean muscles. There was no way he was at a desk all day. Not with that body of ink and mouth either.
Asking felt like it’d violate some unspoken agreement, where we only met within the center, carrying out our own form of x-rated therapy during or after sessions.
He tugged a wet curl hanging from my hair clip. “You look happier,” he noted, ignoring my question.
“Yard work,” I grumbled. “Don’t even ask.”
I needed a beer after the day in the sun, and I didn’t even like the hoppy, bitter taste.
He grinned as his eyes drifted over me. “You have a big backyard?”
I shrugged. “It’s average, I guess. Yours?”
Weird ass question, but maybe he had a thing for landscaping. God knows my parents were all-aboard the green thumb train.
He copied my shrug. “It’s average, but yours is a hell of a lot nicer.”
I glanced around before playfully swatting his chest. “That wasn’t what I was talking about, perv. But what did you do today?”
Since he’d dodged the question, curiosity got the better of me.
“Odds and ends. A kid relative has a birthday coming up, so I ran around grabbing party supplies.”
I raised a brow. “That’s sweet. How old?”
I couldn’t picture him shopping for kids’ stuff at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He kinda was a big kid at heart.
“A helium tank, balloons, streamers,” he trailed, pepping up with every item listed. “I’m storing them at work to keep it a surprise.”
He stopped speaking abruptly, looking off behind me, likely checking if everything was still clear.
Now that was interesting. We hadn’t talked about living arrangements, either, and I happily avoided that subject like the plague given mine, but that caught me by surprise. “They live with you?”
He was still focused on the distance. “You can never be too careful with a surprise, you know?”
I glanced at the time on my phone, noting we still had five minutes until starting group. “That’s nice of your job, though. I can’t keep anything at mine. People eat everything in sight or move it into the great unknown.”
Someone ate my avocado ranch salad the week before, and I was still plotting on outing the offender with laxatives the next time they tried to pull that crap on me again.
“Well, if it’s not safe there, it’s not safe anywhere.” He chuckled before pushing off the wall. “Come on, we have problems to discuss in painstaking detail in group. Don’t want to miss that.”
I cocked my head. “Are you a security guard or something?”
“Nope. A cop.” He smirked, gesturing at his full-sleeves of tattoos, and I busted out laughing.
He might’ve been evading the truth, but at least he made me smile doing it.
It wasn’t like I wasn’t doing the same.
15
Lev
If you put a wild bird in a cage, its spirit breaks.
I watched firsthand as mine paced the halls before and after group, then drifted to her car with me before driving off into the night.
I wanted to go with her.
To see where exactly my little bird rested her wings.
But I didn’t.
I fed her out of my hand when I could and let her fly away after; giving her the freedom she craved.
She never offered more than a few tweets about herself between pets, but even now, as she lay in my arms after a romp in an unlocked office, I craved more.
Of her body, yes. I’d gotten more voracious. More desperate to spend a night with her rather than snippets one day a week. I wanted to fuck her in my bed, sleep with her there in my arms after, and do it all over again.
But more importantly, I wanted to know her.
The little things.
If she slept with the covers on or off.
Whether she sang in the shower or stayed quiet.
If she’d laugh at all my jokes, even the duds.
And the big things.
Her dreams, goals, ambitions.
Her family.
But I didn’t ask. I couldn’t. I wanted things I couldn’t give and asking for them wasn’t fair.
I’d admitted a bomb earlier about my job, but even then, she laughed, thinking it too absurd. Not exactly the best omen of what would come if we peeled back more truths.
So I kept quiet, even as we prepped for round two after our third group session together, her hand toying with my cock, stirring it from slumber as we laid across a futon after thoroughly desecrating every available surface.
I wondered if the accountant whose office we occupied would smell the sex in the morning.
If he’d see any fingerprints or otherwise from where I’d fucked her bent over his desk, slapping her ass and making her cum so hard I swore the Chief himself would hear across town.
If he’d thought it were possible to fuck someone against his bookshelf.
“You’re doing wicked things to me, Rebel,” she laughed, sitting up in my lap. “You and your dick dark magic should be banned.”
My hands skimmed her hips, her body bared from head to toe for the first time in front of me aside from the blinking monitor that kept me from sneaking her into my bed at night. “I’ve done no such thing.”
She feathered her lips up my chest, following the trail of ink toward my neck. “You’ve put a spell on me.”
“I could argue you did that to me.”
She had, no doubt—crossing the line from casual sex to somewhat of a friend.
Maybe it’d be something more if it weren’t for the circumstances.
She shook her head, the ends of her hair tickling my nipples as she sucked on my neck hungrily.
“You’re just here for the pussy,” she breathed, nipping at me.
I hooked her chin with two fingers, tilting her face toward mine. “That’s not true.”
She laughed, but her smile faded when she realized I wasn’t joking.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said, holding her gaze before shoving into her, earning a hiss. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for you.”
She leaned back, sinking onto my cock fully, taking everything that she thought I had to give with the smug smirk returning. “Oh?”
I gripped her hips, forcing her down as I ground up, offering everything I had to make her eyes pop wide. Our bodies collided in a slow, brutal circle, her nails biting into
my forearm as she cried out, the punishing move bringing us both dangerously close to the edge.
In every sense, I found relief.
The ability to be the Rebel I’d once been.
In name and in action.
I wasn’t a dad or a cop.
With her, I was forbidden. A man that loved her body without saying the words. That worshipped her needs without hesitation.
There were no expectations. No strings.
But as I lifted her, flipped her onto back and spread her legs wide, that wasn’t enough.
My mouth found her center, and I wanted it all.
Walking her to her car after felt like a dream.
I couldn’t remember leaving the office or drifting to the parking lot as we leaned on one another for support, our knees reduced to jelly.
Not from sex either. But from laughter over the absurdity of what we’d done.
As we neared her car, the white coupe the last left in the lot beside my truck, I realized I was holding her hand, my fingers threaded in hers and feeling as natural as when I’d accidentally called her babe in a text earlier in the day.
Before I knew it, I was kissing her goodbye until the next time.
The time that’d bring my last group session, and seemingly, our last time together.
My little bird hopped in her little white car and flew off into the night again, leaving me alone to grapple with uncertainties.
Like if I too were a bird, trapping myself in a cage rather than flying free.
16
Raya
Rebel: Good morning, Sparky.
I smiled at my phone as I walked toward the front doors of the gym, my text buddy reappearing right as I needed a swift kick in my exhausted ass. The massive cappuccino in my hand wasn’t doing a damn thing to jumpstart my brain fog.
It was partially his fault I was so tired, keeping me up past midnight giggling and blushing like a girl with a crush.
I was one, in a way, not that I’d admit it.