by J. L. Wilder
Chris had always seen her as someone who needed help, someone who couldn’t get things done. He probably expected me to fall apart after the divorce.
For the first time, Amy felt as though falling apart might be something she wasn’t going to do.
SHE TOOK HER TIME GETTING up and ready for the day, but by noon she felt ready to go downstairs and join her parents for lunch. She dressed in a fitted tank top and a pair of black leather shorts she hadn’t worn since college, feeling a little daring. If Chris could see me now—
Her parents looked up when she walked in. “You’re up,” her father said, sounding pleased. “I was just about to make your favorite. Grilled cheese with provolone. You want one? And maybe a tomato soup for dipping?”
“Can we put ham on the grilled cheese?” Amy asked.
Her father frowned. “You’ve never eaten it that way before.”
“I know,” Amy conceded. “But it sounds really good, doesn’t it?”
“She’s probably craving meat,” her mother said. “She lost a lot of blood, after all. She needs iron.”
“Okay,” Amy’s father said. “Grilled cheese with ham it is.” He got up and went to the stove.
“Where are you off to?” her mother asked.
“Off to?”
“You’re actually dressed,” her mother said. “Not in your sweatpants like you have been for the last several days. Are you going out to meet a friend?”
She sounded so hopeful that Amy couldn’t bear to disappoint her. “Maybe I’ll see if Veronica wants to go get a drink.”
“Veronica!” Her father sounded pleased. He flipped the sandwich and Amy heard it sizzle in the pan. “How is good old Veronica?”
“I haven’t talked to her since I’ve been home,” Amy admitted. Veronica had been her best friend throughout her school years, and she had stayed in the area when Amy had moved away to be with Chris. She had reached out a couple of times since Amy had been home, but Amy hadn’t returned her calls. She had been too ashamed to talk to anybody. She hadn’t wanted to face her old friend and admit that her life had fallen apart.
Now, though, she felt different. She had a story to tell that wasn’t simply Chris left me because I couldn’t give him a baby. She had gone into the woods at night and come face to face with a wolf. She had the scar to prove it.
Honestly, it almost felt as if her blood was pumping faster than usual.
Her father placed the grilled cheese sandwich on the table and Amy tore into it ravenously. Her mother chuckled. “Looks like somebody’s hungry.”
“I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.”
“Well, you burned off a lot of calories with that fever,” her mother said.
Amy got to her feet as she polished off her sandwich. She strode over to the fridge, pulled out a beer, flicked off the cap with her thumb, and took a long drink.
When she looked up, her parents were staring at her. “What?”
“Are you having a beer in the middle of the day?” her father asked.
“Is it a big deal?” It occurred to her suddenly that she had never done that before. Her parents didn’t usually drink alcohol before dinner. It was a kind of unspoken house rule. But she had found herself craving the taste. Maybe that has something to do with my fever breaking too, she thought, although she couldn’t think what nutrient she would possibly be getting from beer. Weird.
And for that matter, how had she managed to flick the cap off with her thumb like that? This wasn’t even a twist off. She should have needed a bottle opener. It must just be because I’ve spent the past few days resting, she thought, looking down at her hand, her eyes wandering to the bite shaped scar on her wrist. I guess my muscles were just eager to be used or something like that.
She made her way back up to her room, beer still in hand. Her cell phone was on her childhood desk, plugged into its charger. Amy hadn’t touched it in days, but now she picked it up and scrolled through her list of contacts until she found Veronica’s name.
Her old friend answered on the first ring. “Amy! You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive,” Amy laughed.
“Your mom said you’d been attacked by a wolf!”
“Don’t tell me she put it on social media.” Amy was a little disappointed.
Veronica read her voice. “Don’t worry. She didn’t really include any details, she just asked us to all pray for you. So I still need the whole story. When are we meeting up?”
“Are you up for drinks tonight?”
“Are you up for drinks tonight?” Veronica countered. “You never want to go out to bars.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m kind of feeling it tonight.”
“Better seize my moment then, I guess,” Veronica said, laughing. “There’s a really cute little place in town. What time should I pick you up?”
“Say nine-o’clock?”
“Perfect, Veronica said. “Wear something slutty, if you even have such a thing.”
This was an old joke between the two of them. Amy’s line was supposed to come next—wear a bra, if you own one. It was how they teased each other. But Amy regarded her closet, lost in thought.
Suppose she did wear something a little more revealing tonight?
She jumped up from her bed and made her way over to her closet. Most of the clothes here were relics from high school, but Amy had maintained her figure and knew that she would be able to fit into most of them. Her chest and her butt were both a little bigger now than they had been when she was eighteen, though. What impact would that have?
She pulled out a black dress she had worn to a few parties immediately following graduation and pulled it over her head. It sheathed her more tightly than she remembered, and when she stepped in front of the full-length mirror, she saw that the skirt only came down to mid-thigh. It had hung lower when she was younger.
As for the neckline—well, she couldn’t allow her parents to see that. They would be appalled that she was leaving the house in such a revealing outfit.
And yet, she found, she wanted to. People would look at her in this dress, and for the first time in her life, Amy really wanted to be looked at.
Could her encounter with the wolf be responsible for this strange new feeling? Was it possible for one incident to entirely change the way a person saw herself and the way she wanted the rest of the world to see her?
Chapter Eight
AMY
Veronica arrived at nine o’clock precisely.
She had held up her end of the bargain by wearing what Amy supposed was probably the most revealing assortment of clothes she owned—a tiny red skirt that looked as if it was made of plastic and a white lacy crop top. She wore huge acrylic hoops in her ears and her blonde hair hung down to the middle of her bare back.
She blew in like a hurricane and wrapped Amy up in an embrace. “It’s so good to see you!” she enthused, then held her at arm’s length. “What are you wearing?”
“Do you like it?” Amy ran her hands self-consciously over the dress. It was so much less than she ordinarily would have worn, but there was something about it that made her blood feel alive and full of sparks.
“Oh, I like it fine,” Veronica said. “But you already knew I was going to like it, Ames. That’s not really the question. The question is, what are you doing in it? Is that really what you’re wearing to the bar?”
“Is something wrong with it?” Amy frowned. She had no experience with this sort of thing. Her usual bar-going outfit would have consisted of jeans and a cotton tank top.
“It’s just not very you,” Veronica said.
“Well, I don’t know,” Amy said. “Maybe it’s me now.”
“Chris leaving really did a number on you, huh?” Veronica marveled.
Amy didn’t answer. The truth was, she didn’t feel like this had anything to do with Chris. Of course, it made sense that it would. A girl gets dumped by her husband and decides to go a little crazy—there was a tale as old as time if e
ver there was one. And certainly, that was a narrative Veronica could understand. So, she didn’t disagree.
But the truth was that she had hardly thought about Chris all day. She hadn’t wondered what he would think if he could see her in this dress that barely contained her figure. She hadn’t thought about how he might feel about the attention she would probably get tonight at the bar. It was as if all thoughts of Chris had been completely driven from her mind.
And that was a welcome relief.
“All right,” Veronica said, shrugging. “Let’s go if we’re going.”
They left the house quietly, careful not to draw the attention of Amy’s parents, who were sitting on the couch and watching TV. Amy knew her mother and father were glad she was going out today, but they would have mixed feelings about the outfit she had chosen. The last thing she wanted was an argument on her way out the door.
VERONICA’S BAR OF CHOICE turned out to be a bit of a dive. Amy supposed she had imagined someplace nice, someplace with soft jazz music and plush, comfortable chairs littered around a lounge. Wasn’t that the kind of bar people went to in their twenties? That was what the bar she’d worked at during her time with Chris had been like. It had been a classy place.
Well, good, she thought. I don’t want to be at a place like that. I don’t want to run into people who might know my parents or people who might talk to me like I’m a smart, nice girl.
She wanted to make bad decisions, she realized.
That was a little bit frightening. Maybe this was about Chris. Maybe she shouldn’t have come out tonight.
But it was too late now. She was here. And she didn’t want to go back. She wanted to have fun for once in her life.
She grabbed an open booth, and Veronica took the seat across from her. “Let’s get some shots,” she suggested.
Veronica raised her eyebrows. “Shots? I was thinking maybe a beer or something.”
“Come on,” Amy said. “I haven’t had fun in years, Ronnie. Do some shots with me.”
“This is peer pressure, you know,” Veronica scolded.
“You’re twenty-four. You know your own mind.”
Veronica groaned. “Fine. You know, I can’t believe this. You’re supposed to be the good girl. You’re supposed to talk me out of crazy ideas. What’s going to happen to us if we’ve both got our feet on the gas? Answer me that.”
Amy grinned. She felt wild and wicked. “Don’t you sort of want to find out?”
“You know I sort of do.” Veronica shook her head. “I’ll go get the first round. Stay here and try not to get into any trouble.”
Trouble. Even the word felt delicious. Decadent. Do I want to get into trouble? Amy asked herself.
Veronica was right. This was all so unlike her.
She was good. She followed rules and did as she was told. Amy was usually the last person you’d expect to find in the same sentence as trouble.
But tonight, she was out in a black dress that was so little it shouldn’t even fit her anymore. And she was single, for the first time in years.
Maybe the rules weren’t what she’d always thought them to be. Maybe she could live a little more dangerously, have a little more fun.
She sat back in her booth and glanced around the bar. There wasn’t much of a crowd today, but there were a few well-muscled looking men of about her own age clustered around the pool table. Maybe it would be fun to go over there and do a bit of flirting.
After all, flirting is perfectly harmless.
Veronica came back to the table clutching four shot glasses. “Cinnamon whiskey,” she announced.
“Perfect.” Amy grabbed one and tossed it back. “I’m going to go talk to those guys. Want to come?”
Veronica did a shot of her own. “Let’s finish these first, yeah? If we leave them untended, we’re not going to be able to drink them.”
“Right. Smart.” Amy knocked back her second shot and stood up. “Okay, let’s go.”
She made her way over to the pool table without looking back to see if Veronica was following her. “Hi,” she said.
The men looked up from their game. She allowed them a moment to take her in. I look good, she realized. They’re at a loss. It felt awesome. She felt powerful.
Finally, one of them spoke. “Hey.”
“Who’s winning?”
“Game’s over,” he said. “I just won.”
“Congratulations. Can I buy you a drink?”
She peeled him away from his friends and led him over to the bar, mindful of the fact that her skirt was riding higher on the backs of her thighs, clinging to her butt. She was slightly embarrassed, but more than that, it felt as though she were tumbling downhill. She was powerless to stop. And that was good, because this was exhilarating. She didn’t want it to stop.
“A gin and tonic,” the man said when they’d reached the bar.
“Two, please.” Amy had no plan. She had lost track of Veronica entirely. She supposed her friend was probably still over by the pool table, waiting for the two of them to return, maybe flirting with some of the other men over there.
“What’s your name?” the man beside her asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. She didn’t want to give her name. She didn’t want to know his. She wanted no illusion that whatever this was might turn into a relationship. The last thing in the world she wanted was to wake up tomorrow morning wishing he would call her. We’re just having fun. Nothing permanent. Nothing lasting.
“Okay,” the man agreed easily. “It doesn’t matter, then.”
The drinks arrived. They sipped them slowly. Every now and then, she looked up and met his eyes. They were deep, soulful, captivating. Every inch of her body felt alive.
She ached to touch him.
It was crazy. She knew she couldn’t just put her hands on a random man in a bar. And yet she was filled with an almost unquenchable thirst. It bordered on painful, her desire for him.
She had never felt like this before.
She had never even been intimate with a man other than Chris. And now here was this stranger looking at her like she was a candy bar and the dress she’d squeezed herself into was the wrapper.
A wrapper he was longing to open.
Do it, she thought, feeling dizzy and wanton, knowing that if he reached for her right here and now, in full view of the bar’s patrons, she would let him do whatever he wanted.
He was in total control of her.
Did he know it? He certainly seemed to be looking at her as if he could sense that he had the power to do whatever came to his mind. And suddenly he drained his glass, reached out, and rested a hand on her shoulder.
It was electric. She tingled. She looked up at him.
“Thought I might go out back and get some air,” he said, his voice casual. “Could you go for a bit of fresh air too?”
Wordlessly, helplessly, she nodded.
“Come on then.” He drained his glass, stood up, and held out a hand.
Everything seemed to balance on the razor’s edge of that moment.
Amy couldn’t tear her eyes from his, but she felt as though she could feel Veronica watching her. She felt her friend’s shock coming across the room in waves.
She didn’t care.
This was trouble, she knew, and now that she was standing with her toes in the shark infested waters, Amy realized that this kind of trouble was the entire reason she’d put on this little black dress and come out tonight. It had never been about getting looked at at all.
She had wanted to be touched.
She had wanted this.
She took his hand and allowed him to lead her out the door of the bar and into a little side alley between the bar and the neighboring sandwich shop, which had closed hours ago.
There were no windows here. There were no people here. And yet, she knew, anyone could walk by and see them at any moment. It was impossibly risky.
It was delicious.
He didn’t speak. He peeled
the straps of her dress from her shoulders and rolled the top down, exposing her breasts. Her nipples pebbled in the cool night air and she gasped and arched her back, pressing into him. She felt hardly human. She should be shocked by what was happening. She should be ashamed.
She shouldn’t be desperate for more.
The man paused for only a moment to weigh her breasts in his hands. He hummed happily as he circled his thumbs slowly over her nipples. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist, lowered the other hand to her skirt, pushed it up, and gripped the waistband of her panties.
And yanked.
She let out a surprised cry as the fabric tore away in his hands and the night air kissed her between her legs. She was already wet. She was shaking.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her ear. His voice was a growl.
Amy shook her head.
“Tell me to stop now,” he insisted.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she breathed.
With a sound that was almost animal in nature, he spun her around, slapped the palms of her hands against the brick of the building, grabbed her hips, and canted them up to meet him. She heard the zip of his fly and the rustle of fabric as his pants dropped.
She felt him press against her, his cock huge and hard between her legs, sliding back and forth, so powerful that she imagined she could lift her feet and sit astride it like this, as if it was a horse.
Then he drew back and found his way inside her.
They bucked together, no longer thinking, just desperate for each other, just moving. As her orgasm dropped over her, she had time to think that she had never come like this before, just from this. This was what she had been missing all this time.
He let out a groan as he came and pressed his lips hard against her shoulder.
Then he stepped back.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was amazing.”
And as he disappeared down the alley into the night, leaving her in disarray, she noticed that he was limping.
Chapter Nine