Glass Houses: A Modern Steamy Alice In Wonderland Fairy Tale (Fairly Twisted Tales Book 3)

by Lux Miller

  She sniffs and snorts as she dabs at her eyes with a napkin, reassuring me, “I’m fine. It was just a little argument. I pushed his buttons, that’s all. Really, it’s okay. He’ll be over it tomorrow. Things will be fine tomorrow. They usually are until I screw up again.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. There’s a lot of things I could say right now about how things probably won’t be fine, but I barely know this woman. It’s not my place to question her relationship, even though anyone in this restaurant can see that her husband is a tool. I nod slowly and inhale deeply, “Okay, so I won’t berate you over how bad of an idea I think it is for you to go home. You don’t need me to point out the obvious to you. I will, however, offer you a ride anywhere you want to go, even if it’s back to that... “ I stop myself before I say something I might regret, “...to him.”

  She watches me with bated breath. I can only hope that she’s considering my offer. She finally nods slowly. “I’ll take the ride, but I’m not a complete idiot. I’m not going anywhere near my husband tonight. Can you take me somewhere to forget him, even if it’s just for an hour?”

  My gut clenches at her words and I nod immediately before even considering what she’s asking. I pull out a twenty dollar bill and lay it down on the table with a smirk, “What did you have in mind?”

  She shrugs and stands up quickly, a gleam in her eye as she motions all around her. “We have the entirety of the Wonderland to explore, or we can go escape the ridiculousness of how this place has cornered us and let us down, and go anywhere you want.”

  I stand too and nod, a grin cracking my otherwise tough exterior. “Anywhere, huh?”

  Poppy smiles, “Maybe not to play croquet in the middle of the night. That would be absurd, but half of Atlantic City is open twenty-four hours a day. The world is our oyster and all that jazz.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as I watch her excitement grow. “You’re not the least bit worried about going off with a strange man to unknown places?”

  She shrugs and steps around the table, grabbing hold of my arm. She pats my bicep as a softness infiltrates her voice. “I’ve already proven I have horrible taste in men. You seem to have your head mostly on straight and I know you’ve got a contract here in Wonderland worth more than anything you could possibly do to me. If I go with you and you’re a total asshole, then I’m par for the course. If you’re not, then you just prove that there are men who know how to treat a woman like a proper lady.”

  I shudder at her touch, but play it off as I shift around to dig into my pocket for my keys. “I don’t know about being all proper like having a tea party or anything, but I know a great little hippie joint that has some killer hookah… and I bet the owner could whip you up some tea if that’s your fancy. He’s a pretty chill dude. Helps me with some of the side-effects of my fighting. I think you’ll like him.”

  Poppy nods with a grin. “Well, then, Mr. Storm… lead the way.”

  She walks quietly in step beside me to the parking garage where I stashed my ride in the employee parking. I’m aware I could’ve given her to the valet, but sometimes, they get a bit careless with her and she’s my baby. Had her since I was sixteen and I don’t trust just anyone to take care of her. I click the key fob and Poppy gasps beside me as the lights flicker on my bike.

  She turns to look at me, stopping suddenly in her tracks. “You have a motorcycle?”

  I nod dumbly, like it shocks me that she hadn't figured this out. “Is that a problem?”

  I shrug and walk over to the saddlebags attached to the back of the bike, glancing over my shoulder to see she’s slowly edging closer to the bike. She shakes her head slowly, “What about—?”

  I smile and pull out a helmet and toss it to her. She catches it with a soft squeak, then looks up at me. I nod as I wind the wildness of my hair into a ponytail of sorts at the nape of my neck, then secure it with a rubber band. I plunk my own helmet on my head, close up the saddlebags, then throw my right leg over the seat and settle my ass against the supple leather.

  She tucks her own hair into the top of her uniform and tugs the helmet I tossed her onto her head. Bits of dusty brown peek out around her face as she looks down at what she’s wearing. “There’s no way I can gracefully get on that thing in this…”

  I watch her silently as she motions to the sorry excuse for a dress she’s wearing. Truthfully, I’ve seen more clothes on a stripper than her uniform, but it’s what all the waitresses at the Wonderland wear. To be honest, I’m surprised they don’t have to wear little rabbit ear headbands too. I chuckle and shrug, “Well, are you wearing underwear?”

  She gasps as her gaze shoots straight to mine, her cheeks flushing as she stammers, “Uh, I, well, of course! I’m not a two-bit whore looking to cheat on my husband!”

  The sound of her saying husband grinds my insides like nails on a chalkboard. I pat the seat behind me and turn back around, “Then hop on up.You ever ridden a horse?”

  She makes a strangled sound as she puts her hand on my left bicep to steady herself, “Lots of times. Grew up riding them.”

  I nod and scoot as far forward in the seat as I can, then reply, “Well, you ride a bike just like you ride anything else… horse, man, whatever… you throw one leg over her, digs your knees in until she purrs and hang on tight!”

  She slides into the seat behind me as I kick the gear shifter up with the toe of my sneaker half a notch into neutral. I turn the key as she settles in behind me and tentatively rests her hands against my hips. I chuckle and shake my head, then reach around behind myself and grab her hands, tugging them around my waist. Setting her hands against my stomach, I can feel her tense up behind me. Her discomfort makes me tense too, the muscles under her hands rippling.

  Before I start the bike, I twist my head around and tell her, “Hold on tight. This baby hits sixty in a matter of seconds.”

  She still looks nervous as I reach up and flip down the visor on her helmet, before doing the same to my own. “You don’t wanna swallow any bugs, so keep your mouth closed and lean in close to me. Neither me nor the bike bite.”

  Without looking, I run my hand over the starter switch and press it, the bike roaring to life underneath us. “Just pretend you’re on one of those horses you said you grew up with and trust me. I may not be a perfect gentleman, but I’m not going to let you get hurt…”

  SEVEN

  Poppy

  Riding on the back of a motorcycle with my arms wrapped around a big, burly MMA fighter is not how I thought this evening would go. Or my life for that matter. Who dreams of things like that? This is wrong on so many levels, but right now, Brad can eat a dick for all I care. I’m still shaken to my core that he lashed out at me in public like that. Sure, he’s been demanding before and he’s never been particularly gentle with me, but I’ve just convinced myself that’s how Brad is. He’s not a gentle man and he’s definitely no gentleman, but the marriage vows have to count for something, right?

  I groan as thoughts ping-pong around my head as I cling tightly to Storm. I have no idea where we’re going exactly. He mentioned something about a hookah place, so I’m assuming he’s taking me to a bar? But then again, what kind of bar serves tea. Right now, my head is so crowded with discombobulated thoughts that I need something to help sort them out. That deliciously sinful cake that Storm ordered isn’t helping matters either because it’s like an enormous wad of guilt sitting heavy in my stomach.

  I should have just given Brad a few minutes to calm down, then gone home with him. He’s never hit me before, so I probably overreacted in the restaurant when he raised his hand. Well, there was that one time when we were newlyweds, but that was an accident and he apologized.

  Silently cursing myself, I lean back from Storm slightly, just enough that I no longer feel secure against him. There’s air whipping between our bodies, making his already-loose tank top flap in the breeze. My eyes are drawn to the tight lines and sharp angles of his back as his muscles bunch and relax with his
movements as he guides the motorcycle along the road. I know I’m practically holding my breath as I cling to his broad body while the breeze bites at my face.

  A breeze that is invitingly liberating. I keep my hands pressed firmly against his stomach and dig my knees into his muscular thighs, but I let my center of gravity shift back so that the wind lashes at my body as we speed down some back alley thoroughfare.

  The speed limits should probably be thirty down a road like this, but Storm seems nonplussed as we fly down the pavement with little regard for anything around us. Or maybe it just feels like we’re flying. Maybe I’m just craving the freedom of flight. The freedom from a life spent as a caged bird, too afraid to sing and to too afraid to escape, even when my owner leaves the door wide open.

  I’m still swimming through my thoughts, trying to keep my head afloat inside my head when I feel the bike slow to a stop. The hard wall of muscles underneath my hands shifts and before I can comprehend what’s going on, I feel Storm step off the bike, then reach back and gently lift me off the back, setting me down on my feet. He pulls his helmet off and unties the rubber band from his hair, shaking it out. It’s amusing to watch this behemoth of a man shaking out his hair like he’s in a Pantene commercial. And dang, what a commercial that would be…

  I snap my attention to Storm as he clears his throat, a smile blooming across his face. “You okay, there? You seemed to get a little lost in that head of yours for a minute…”

  My face flames with embarrassment, but Storm shakes his head at me and pats me on the shoulder. He points at the flashing neon sign in front of the place where he’s parked his bike. The colors flash between red, pink, and white and scrawled across the middle, in all caps, in the name of the place - The ‘Shroom. “I’m gonna go on in. If you need a minute or two, take it. In fact, take all the time you need. The night is young and so are we. But don’t blush or be embarrassed. Everybody in here has made decisions they want to forget. Nobody is gonna judge you.”

  I nod slowly as he steps up to the glass door and pushes it open. Before he steps inside, he looks back at me, his honey-colored irises reflecting the neon lights so that he almost looks like he has red eyes. He smiles, a big smile that shows all of his teeth, glowing brightly in the bath of light from the neon sign. “Just ask for Cat when you get inside. She’ll know where to find me. And Poppy?”

  Swallowing hard, I acknowledge him, “Yeah?”

  He shakes his shoulders like he’s loosening up all of his muscles. “Relax. That jerk has no idea where you are, who you’re with, or what you’re doing. Despite being your husband, he doesn’t own you. We’re just a couple friends out for a good time and to find some solace from a world that likes to kick us when we’re down. And you’re not doing anything wrong…”

  I watch him as he steps inside the building, the glass door swinging closed with a tinkle of bells. He’s right. I’m not doing anything wrong, but then, why do I feel so guilty following him into a hole-in-the-wall like The ‘Shroom? Then again, my husband just dragged me across a table in a busy restaurant full of kids, then acted like he was a saint proclaiming the Word to the masses. So whose moral compass is really broken here?

  It’s high time I did something for myself anyway. Happiness is not something that’s handed to you on a silver platter. I may have had one dream snatched away from me, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be more. I just have to put one foot in front of the other and be willing to let doors close, even it means they slam in my face. Besides, as I pull the glass door that Storm disappeared through open, I’m reminded that there will be other doors. I just have to be willing to take a chance and walk through them.

  As I do, I inhale sharply and instantly regret it. Heavy smoke fills my lungs and I double-over as I feel the breath leave me. I cough and sputter, struggling to pull in a decent breath. Strong arms wrap around me and I feel like I’m floating through the air as everything shifts around me. When the smoke clears and I can open my eyes without feeling like they’re being assaulted, I see Storm standing there, looking at me with a sheepish smile on his face.

  “Shoulda warned you not to breathe when you first came in. Forgot you didn’t grow up in the city. Girl, in Jersey, if you’re walking into a building, you don’t ever take a massive inhale like you did when you walked in. This was just hookah, but some of these places, you just don’t know what you’re opening yourself up to… come on, I had Cat brew you up some calming tea and she’s blending us some hookah that I think you’ll like. Cherry vanilla sound good?”

  I nod as I thump my fist against my chest, trying to get the burning sensation out of my lungs. I follow along behind him, my feet trudging along. “Is it gonna burn like this, too?”

  Storm glances over his shoulder at me and shakes his head. “Nah, maybe a little the first time if you’ve never done it, but it goes in smooth. That mess you got a gulping breath of in the entrance is all kinds of flavors mixed together with people’s nasty breath.” He chuckles and slides one arm across my lower back protectively, weaving me through the crowd until we come to a quaint area nestled in what appears to be the back of the building. I can’t help but laugh when I see that the bar itself is round and looks like it’s surrounding a huge tree trunk. Positioned at varying points around the bar and various bar stools shaped like mushrooms.

  I point at the stool that Storm leads me to and ask, “Is this why it’s called The ‘Shroom?”

  Storm nods and he slides up onto the stool beside me, then looks expectantly at mine. “One of the reasons, yeah, but I’m sure Cat had some others, isn’t that right Cat?”

  I glance behind the bar and see a spry woman walking in my direction. She’s pixie-like in appearance with pinched features and a close-cropped head full of hot pink hair with gray roots. There’s a hoop hanging out of the middle of her nose, a bar stuck through her eyebrow, and dozens of tattoos running up and down the lengths of her arms.

  Despite her older appearance, she moves with a grace that even I can’t claim as she sets a steaming mug of an amber-colored liquid in front of me. Her voice is gravelly, but soothing as she murmurs, “Storm here says you’ve had a rough night. And that’s saying something since he took a kick to the head that knocked him out cold, ain’t that right Stormy?”

  Storm grumbles, but nods. “Yeah, yeah, Cat… announce it to the world why doncha? Braxton Storm is slipping…”

  Cat slings her hand around in the air as she turns her back to me, then turns back around and sets a mug of identical tea in front of Storm. “Oh, pish posh, boy. You stop with all that self-deprecation talk. You know I don’t allow that kind of shit in my bar. This… is a happy place. Besides, you cannot live your life to please others! Now drink up, be merry, get lost in the possibilities of freedom. From what’s expected of you. From what you cannot escape…”

  She turns to me and narrows her eyes as she plops a saucer with sugar cubes on it between Storm and I. She lifts a small tube from under the bar and places it in her mouth, inhaling deeply, then blowing out the smoke in puffs and finally, a small circle that encloses one of the clouds. “You may be big, you may be small. You may be important, or not at all. But nobody can define you without truly getting to know you. So I ask you, Miss…?”

  I shudder as she turns her eyes on me, probing for me to answer her question. I clear my throat and take the tube that holds out to me, inhaling deeply on it. I hold my breath as the smoke infiltrates my lungs, trying not to cough. I attempt to copy her moves of blowing out smalls puffs of smoke, but by the end of it, I’m coughing all the same. She smiles and gives me a small nod, then hands the tube off to Storm, who is watching me with piqued interest.

  Once I finally stop coughing, I spit out my name, “Poppy. I’m Poppy…”

  Cat nods thoughtfully, then muses, “Well, Miss Poppy… you are who you are. You cannot be something you don’t aspire to be, so do not let the mundane atrocities of your life define your self-worth. You’re either happy… or you’re not. An
d if you’re not… the only way to change that, is to become whoever will make you happy. So, I ask you… Miss Poppy… whooo… are you?”

  EIGHT

  Storm

  Watching Poppy meld in nearly seamlessly with my people is eye-opening. Sure, I figured she’d probably come into the bar and let loose a little. It’s nearly impossible to be around this brand of folk without loosening up a bit, but she is flourishing. When I leaned over to tell her after she tried her fifth flavor combination of hookah that I figured it’d be impossible for her to enjoy herself this much, she responded, quite simply, “Well, sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

  That retort left me slack-jawed and silent for several minutes until Poppy excused herself to go to the bathroom and Cat wandered over to me, her features the picture of calm. “What are you doing, boy?”