HER: A Psychological Thriller

by Britney King

  He shrugs and drops his sack lunch. “You’re the boss.”

  I was afraid he might tell me no. I was afraid he might tell me that I had been right the night before, that this wasn’t a good idea. But he doesn't. He simply lays his tools down and gets down to business.

  Chet’s a good lover, as I knew he would be. He takes his time, working me meticulously and thoroughly, the same way he works on my house. He seems genuinely interested in what turns me on, which isn’t even a requirement for what we’re doing. He’s eager and enthusiastic—a deadly combination when you know something is short lived.

  He makes me crave him in a way he doesn’t yet realize is dangerous. Beginnings are usually like that.

  But this is different.

  This isn’t a beginning. Not really.

  I know because afterward, he says, “I hope this doesn’t change things between us.”

  “Why would it?” I ask.

  He answers with a shrug. But it turns out, neither one of us are very good liars. It changes everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SADIE

  “You’re a godsend, Sadie. A true godsend. Lord knows you can’t get much out of teenagers these days.” Ann has asked me to help her set up for her New Year’s Eve party. How she is managing to host not one, but two big parties in the span of a week is beyond everyone. It’s all anyone on Penny Lane and everyone on our neighborhood app can talk about. Ann, and her parties. Ann, and how amazing she is.

  Little do they know, she has a secret weapon to do most of the work: me. I don’t mind. In a different life, with a different upbringing, and someone to bankroll my dreams, I would have started my own catering company. I chose the safe route and went with accounting instead. Ann says it’s never too late. Here, in her lovely kitchen, I can see what she means. It makes me think of the renovations Chet is doing to mine, and I realize all hope is not lost. False starts are a part of life.

  Meanwhile, she wastes no time kicking off her heels, asking me to do the same, moving into full-on work mode. She’s throwing orders left and right and I can’t seem to get a word in edgewise. It’s too bad because a part of me wants to tell her all about Chet. I want her to notice how good sex looks on me. I want her to notice that I’m different. I’m desirable.

  But apparently there isn’t time for that. Apparently, everything is about her list of preparations that is miles long.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. The neighbors are right. Ann takes entertaining to another level. Everything she does is on another level and as much as I hate to admit it, I can appreciate that. They say you rise or fall to the level of those around you. I believe it.

  In any case, at least the busy work helps to take my mind off of the things I’d rather not think about. It helps me avoid the impending disaster in my own home, and I mean that literally and figuratively.

  I like my handyman well enough. He fucks me good. And I won't lie. There’s a part of me that revels in the fact that my husband is essentially paying him by the hour to do it.

  But it would be unwise not to give things room to breathe.

  “Thank you for this,” Ann tells me earnestly. “I’m so grateful you could help.”

  “It’s no problem,” I tell her. “That’s what friends do.”

  “You’re sure?” she asks, fishing. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she is more perceptive than I thought.

  “I’m sure,” I say, because she doesn’t know how good I, too, can be at withholding. My dream of being an event planner, avoiding Chet, and my goodwill are not the only reasons I agreed. I’ve started to notice that the other women in the neighborhood are dropping by Ann’s place with greater frequency. It stings just a little to see another car in her drive or someone else sitting on her front porch. It’s crazy. I know it’s crazy. But how are you meant to concentrate on fixing all of your problems? How are you meant to live your life with this sort of shit going down?

  I have no idea. I only know that every time I see her with someone else, I can’t help but wish it were me.

  “We have one goal tonight,” she tells me as she lays out more cocktail napkins and lines them up with surgical precision. Once. Twice. Three times, she checks her accuracy. “We need to make sure everyone drinks up.”

  “I don’t foresee that being a problem,” I say watching her as she makes her way around the kitchen. There’s something in the way she moves. She moves with the kind of grace and confidence I wish I had, almost like she was given the extra dose the rest of the world was shorted. When Ann is satisfied with the placement of her monogrammed napkins, she moves on. But not before turning toward me to give me the once-over. I smile. You’re right, Ann. Something is different. “What’s up with you today?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her face falls. She’s disappointed by my lies. “This is serious, Sadie. I want everyone happy tonight—everyone needs to have a good time.”

  “I understand.”

  This time it isn't just her expression that changes, her entire demeanor shifts. She doesn’t like it that she can’t figure me out, that she can’t pin me down. She turns away again. But she’s not fooling me. She’s going to come at me from another angle. “Paul’s home, and I want to make tonight good for him. Darcy will be here too. There’s a lot riding on this party. ”

  My bottom lip juts out. Not that she’s looking. How sweet that her words carry daggers. It’s almost like she’s trying to make me jealous. It works.

  “Anyway—there’s more champagne out in the garage. Just make sure we don’t run out and keep everyone’s glasses filled. God knows they need it.”

  I don’t offer a response. I’m too busy filling champagne flute after champagne flute in preparation for her guests’ arrival. Any moment now, I think, checking the time on my phone. I’m secretly hoping to see a text from Ethan. But I suppose Chet would be a halfway decent substitute.

  “Do your arms hurt?” Ann asks watching me put the phone away and then stretch my triceps. Always one to look on the bright side, she’s reminding me in her subtle way that not only am I kissing someone’s ass, I’m getting a workout in at the same time. “Here,” she says. “Let me.”

  She runs her hands down the length of my arms and back up. It doesn’t go unnoticed when I get the chills. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have a drink. It’ll help warm you.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Well, I am. Have you seen the people in this town lately?” she asks. “They’re like zombies. They could stand to loosen up a little.”

  I don’t know what she’s getting at. I can’t help but take it personally. “Who specifically?”

  Ann cocks her head. “Do I really need to answer that?”

  I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. I shake my head. I know better than to say what’s on my mind.

  “God,” she says. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. But I am. I just want everyone to be happy, you know. It’s the holidays.”

  I recall my husband’s favorite words. They work on anybody. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, even though I don’t really know what exactly it is.

  “You promise?”

  “I promise,” I say, making a mental note to stay away from the champagne. Then, when Ann is once again preoccupied with her list, I pop an Ativan for good measure. It should help with my clammy palms and the flip-flop feeling in my stomach.

  “So….” Ann says, handing me veggies to chop. I brace myself for what comes next. I can tell by her inquisitive tone that she knows. I’m pretty sure she can smell sex and happiness on me. She clears her throat. “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

  I pretend to mull her question over as I slice cucumbers and then arrange them on a tray. The chopping goes on and on, and it never ends. I have no idea how many people the Bankses are expecting, but apparently it is a lot. Finally, I tell her, “I don’t do New Year’s resolutions.”

  “What a shame.”


  Once I’ve finished arranging the last of the vegetables on the tray, I move to the other side of the kitchen where I can stare down the lane toward home. It feels like waking up after a long slumber. Ann asks who I’m looking for. What I’m looking for. This is her way. As much as I enjoy her company, she has a way of going too deep, too fast. I think that’s what Ethan liked so much about her. You should check out her podcast. She’s real. She doesn’t hide behind things. She tells it like it is. I think she could help you…

  Ann picks up the knife I used for chopping and tosses it in the sink. “I feel like you’re missing a major opportunity for hope—for growth.”

  “Probably.”

  She walks over to where I’m standing. She twirls me around, forcing me to face her. “I know the holidays are hard. God, do I know. But you can’t lose focus, Sadie. You can’t. And it would serve you immensely not to be so cold.”

  “I’m not.”

  She gives me that “atta girl” look, the one we all crave. “Fine then. What’s the one thing—out of anything—that if you could have it—you’d want?”

  “I—”

  “Let that be your resolution.”

  Obviously, Ethan comes to mind. “People always want what they can’t have.”

  “No,” she tells me. “People always want what they think they can’t have. It’s about what you want to believe, Sadie.” She says it so flippantly, like she doesn’t know the pain of rejection, of losing something she really loved. “Now, what is it that you really want?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  She looks me up and down. “I think you do.”

  “My husband,” I confess. “I’d like to have Ethan back.” I’m not expecting to blurt it out the way I do. It’s been ages since I’ve said his name out loud. So long, in fact, that it feels foreign and forbidden on my tongue.

  “Ethan,” she repeats, searching my eyes.

  “Yes, Ethan.” His name comes out like a thought that has been stuck way down deep inside that has somehow been dislodged. I can see that she doesn’t believe me. I can also see that she’s confused. I can see that she was expecting something different. She doesn’t want to let her disappointment show.

  “And you’re prepared to do whatever it takes?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then you shall have him.” The way she speaks with such ease, it gets me. It’s so easy for her, too, the way she works me over. It surprises even me that at the slightest hint of another person’s touch, I give in, offering up my secrets like a gift.

  Suddenly, Ann swallows hard. Something in her expression shifts, and a decision is made. “I wish I could tell you how many things I almost let myself believe impossible before they were done. Turns out, few things really are.”

  “Like what?”

  Unfortunately, she chooses not to elaborate. “Getting what you want is not rocket science, Sadie. Just a set of very specific measures one has to take.”

  With a slight shake of my head, I agree to something unspoken. It isn’t hard to do. I don’t think another person has or will ever look at me as intensely as she is right here and now. Her conviction makes me want to believe. Somehow, she has enough for the both of us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SADIE

  “I’m glad we could get away for a moment,” she says as we schlep champagne bottles between the detached garage and the house. “There’s something I need your assistance with…”

  Ann speaks in code, so it’s hard to ever know what she really means, even when you think you do. “What?”

  Once we’ve dropped the bottles off in the kitchen, she takes my hand and leads me back to the garage. She closes the door behind her, but this time she doesn’t flip on the light. Moonlight floods in via the skylight, and slowly, as my eyes adjust, I can see that she is patting one of the built-in countertops. “Can you hop up here for me? I have a surprise for you.”

  Following a shrug, I hoist myself onto the counter. Ann leans forward, trapping me, resting the weight of her body on her hands. “I realize,” she says with a touch of sorrow, “That this is very, very inappropriate.”

  “Ann—” I make a move to get back on solid footing.

  “Shhh.” She parts my legs with one hand, and holds me in place with the other. When she thinks she has me where she wants me, her fingers find their way up my dress. “I love this on you,” she says and suddenly, the dress that was meant to be returned to the store has become my most valuable possession. “Do you like me, Sadie?”

  I shrug in the darkness. “Sure.”

  “No, I mean do you really like me?” she asks, her fingernails sliding so slowly upward and then back down again. The truth is, I haven’t made up my mind. I think I like her. I’m just not sure I like her in the way she means at this very moment. I’ve never been into women. To be honest, I’ve never really been into anyone other than Ethan. Aside from Chet that is—and him—I’m just using to fill the void my husband left. But I don’t say any of this, of course. “Yes.”

  “Good. I want you to be happy, Sadie.”

  My throat is tight; I can’t breathe. My body responds to her touch, even if my mind isn’t sure. Something deep in the pit of my stomach aches, leaving little doubt that I’m in deep. “I am happy,” I lie. I lie because you can’t feel this many feelings about a person and be happy, really. If I know anything, I know that falling in love is perplexing and lovely and confusing and captivating. It’s the most marvelous thing that can happen in life. And also, the worst.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells me, burying her face in my lap, the warmth of her breath heavy against my thighs. “But sometimes…I meet someone…and sometimes I can’t help myself. This is one of those times.”

  Her words make me feel weightless. They’re breathtaking and wonderful and hard to believe. It’s astonishing that someone like Ann Banks could want someone like me. It’s flattering, to say the least. So much so, that I forget to ask myself what my motivations are. I’m too filled with bewilderment. She looks up and takes notice. Ann is careful, controlled, and quite possibly everything I’ve ever wanted to be myself.

  “If what you want is your husband back, I have a little secret to let you in on…”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to make him jealous. Like I said, men are very simple. They want to conquer. You have to show them you’re something worth conquering.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “You’re doing just fine I’d say.”

  “Ann—”

  She searches my eyes and gives me a wry smile. “Here, let me show you.”

  “Ann—”

  She presses her hand over my mouth. She shushes me and then she wastes no time. She goes straight for my panties—she slips one finger through them, she goes for the kill.

  My heart races so I know I’m not dead. I could be close. Ann says you should always begin with the end in mind, and that’s where mine goes. But I do not ask her to stop. “Oh good,” she says, her eyes flicking upward toward mine. “Just what I was hoping for. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just…I can’t help myself.”

  She slides one finger inside me and then another, until I realize she’s wrong. She is helping herself, and me too. My head lulls backward, and I’m staring at the ceiling, but I see nothing. Nothing at all. Ann works her magic, and before I know it I’m coming; this is so wrong, but nothing has ever felt more right.

  Just when I think she’s never going to stop and that I might never ask her to, she does. She removes her fingers and I watch as she pops them in her mouth. “For so long, Sadie,” she says, “I’ve been waiting to taste you.”

  “You’ve only known me for a few weeks.”

  “And I’ve shown incredible restraint waiting that long.”

  She perches on her tippy toes and kisses the corner of my mouth. She tastes like me. “And that Sadie is how you seduce a person. You just take what you want. You render them defenseless, just as I
’ve done here.”

  I exhale long and slow.

  “Oh, and before I forget,” she says matter-of-factly then kissing me full on. She bites my lip softly, and this makes absolutely no sense, but I hope there’s more where that came from. Her expression turns serious. “I need the scoop on Luke White…anything you know…anything you can offer. I mean, I realize teachers hear things…”

  With the tilt of my head I ask, “Darcy’s son, Luke?”

  She nods. “That’s the one.”

  “I’m just a sub…and I haven’t even been there much lately.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Why?”

  “Ugh. I don’t know what to do—but it has to be something. The little bastard is teasing Neil.”

  “Neil?”

  “Yeah—in the locker room—last week—Luke took his shoes and put them in the toilet—then he hid his clothes so he had to wear his sweaty gym uniform the rest of the day.”

  “Jesus,” I say. “Kids these days…”

  She takes my hand and helps me off the counter. “Yeah. And I’ve tried to talk to Darcy about it.”

  “How’d that go?”

  She gives me a look. “About like you can imagine. Can you believe she just turned it all back on Neil? Suggested he must have done something to deserve it?”

  I actually can believe it, but I don’t say this.

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Ann smiles. “Thanks, Sadie. I’d really owe you one.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SADIE

  The night rolls on, and I do my best to put what happened in the garage out of my mind. It isn’t easy. I’m distracted. It doesn’t help that Ann avoids me. Whatever bliss I felt earlier turns first to unease and then quickly to regret. Ann is a good friend. Now is not the time to ruin that—or to make things awkward. By the same token, she is also not the kind of woman one rejects and lives to tell about it.

  “I want you to pass these out,” Ann says, sneaking up behind me. “To the women.”