Hawk

by Tiya Rayne

  I remember this day. We were out grocery shopping. We usually did it together. Albany had written out her list of needs, but we were aimlessly roaming around the grocery store.

  “Give me this.” I snatched the list out of her hand, tired of backtracking down aisles.

  “Must you do this with everything?” she teased.

  I grumbled as I stared down at the list. Using her pen, I put the items in order by aisle number.

  I tend to collect a lot of stuff. You can tell that by the hodgepodge of furniture and art in my house, but I also craved organization and order. Which is why my books are in alphabetical order and my makeup is in nice little cubbies in my drawers. Albany knew this.

  If she put the addresses on the same page, you would have categorized them from closest to furthest.

  The canvas dissolves and I pop my eyes open. Just like that, a light bulb goes off. My sister truly is speaking to me from the grave.

  She knew that if she had placed them all together, I would have focused more on proximity and grouping them together in some order. Placing them on separate pages means she wants me to visit the places in the order she wrote them.

  “All right, Albany, I’m listening,” I whisper as I tuck the little notepad back in my backpack.

  Walker finally joins me at the table I’ve been sitting at.

  “We can’t meet the twins until tomorrow.”

  “Good,” I say standing to my feet. “I think we should go to the first address in my sister’s book.”

  His eyes widen. “Are you sure that’s the one we should visit first?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I think Albany is actually leaving me breadcrumbs.” He smiles and stands to his feet.

  “All right then, so where to?”

  It takes me by surprise that he’s going to go along with it. He isn’t even going to question me or ask to see the notepad for himself. He’s trusting me to be right.

  I feel a small chip at the layer of the wall between us. Trust is a big deal for me, giving it and receiving it—apparently.

  I rattle off the address to him and he takes a moment before he grabs my hand and heads out the entrance of the bakery. I follow, preparing to take a left out the door because that’s the fastest route to get there from where we are. Instead, he goes right.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” I say, stopping him in his tracks. “We should go the other way.”

  “No, we will go this way.” He tries to tug my arm to continue walking, but I don’t budge.

  “Look, you may be in tip-top shape and shit, but I’m not. My feet are killing me. It’s faster if we go up Parkview and then go back down.”

  “I said no.” He raises his voice.

  I lean back, keeping my eyes on him, trying to see who the fuck he thinks he’s yelling at. This is the second time he has raised his voice at me. I snatch my arm from him and turn to head in the right direction. What he’s not going to do is yell at me like I’m a child.

  This time I actually hear his footsteps approaching. I prepare myself when he grabs my arm and whips me around. I raise my hand up to go across his face, but he catches it.

  “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He releases the hand I was about to smack him with and I place it back at my side. “I have this thing,” he says shyly. “I can only take routes that I know. Sometimes they’re the long way and sometimes they’re not. Can you please go my way?”

  I sigh. “Is this your thing?”

  His eyes narrow. “What thing?”

  “Your Church superpower. Do you have some weird OCD thing with street addresses?”

  If this is it, I’m not mad, because honestly, it could be worse. I could be talking to multiple versions of him or he could be one of those furry people. I will take his weird GPS OCD thing over any of those things.

  Walker chuckles. “No, this is not my thing. It’s just a thing.”

  “Okay,” I submit. I have no problem with doing it his way as long as he explains it. “We can take your way. I could use the exercise, I guess. Maybe I’ll lose some of this ass.” He pulls me into him, my chest brushing against his, those soul-searching eyes look down at me.

  “Don’t change anything. You’re perfect.”

  And cue the flutters. They aren’t so little anymore. These babies are waking up. I still don’t know how I feel about this. As much as I try to stuff him in that off-limits box, his ass keeps climbing out of it.

  I try to figure these feelings for him out as we make our way—the long way—to the first address. We finally stop in front of a high-end boutique. The kind my teacher salary has no business in. Looking through the frosted windows tells me that I can’t afford to even think about shopping in there.

  “Let’s go in,” he says, tugging my hand toward the entrance.

  “Do you see this place? We can’t go in there. These chicks are probably trained to smell the broke on people a mile away.”

  He chuckles before pushing me ahead of him. “Who says we’re broke?” He grabs the door out of my hand and lets me walk in first.

  “My bank account,” I quip.

  I’m caught off guard by the sterile white in this store. Everything is white. The tile floor, the walls, even the faceless mannequins are a pearly white.

  Small pops of color are in the teal and gold accents. Large extravagant chandeliers hang from the ceilings. Art deco style chairs and couches provide adequate seating.

  Wall to wall shelves house shoes in all styles and colors. The clothing racks are separated by colors and all the clothes hang on wooden hangers. I look down at my five-dollar sale rank T-shirt along with the ten-dollar leggings and feel absolutely out of place.

  “Hello again, Brooklyn.” A voice draws my attention from the right.

  Walker and I both turn around to find a very pretty brunette heading toward us. Her makeup reminds me of those women on YouTube who try to show you how easy their twenty-five-step makeup process is. She’s tall and the stiletto heels she’s wearing make her legs look amazing. Her facial features are very feminine and feline-like. She’s a gorgeous woman.

  “Ummm, hello. Do I know you?” I ask when she approaches me with a friendly smile.

  She giggles. “It would seem we both changed our hair since last time. It’s me, Chloe.”

  She holds out a well-manicured hand and I shake it while looking to Walker confused. I’ve never been in this store. I don’t even shop designer brands. I don’t know how this woman knows me, and I haven’t done anything different with my hair for two years.

  “You’re a little earlier than we expected,” Chloe says releasing my hand. “But not to worry. We’ll have all your things ready for you by the time your spa is done.”

  “Spa?”

  What the hell?

  “Yes, you ordered the full spa package last time you were here.”

  “Did I happen to pay for this package in advance?” Because if not, they’re about to be real damn disappointed.

  Another giggle from Chloe. “I swear you weren’t this funny the first time I met you.”

  If this heifer don’t answer me. I’m not trying to be funny. I don’t even have my debit card, not that it would matter because I can’t even afford whatever spa she’s talking about.

  “When she came in the store last time, how was her hair?” Walker says, drawing her attention to him.

  I immediately don’t like the way Chloe’s eyes spark when she looks at him. That stomach twisting starts again. I shake my head and tell myself it’s not my problem. Yet, I still take a step closer to him, making my shoulder touch his arm.

  “Oh.” Chloe seems to be confused by his question but answers anyway. “Straight with long layers. Remember I told you how beautiful it was.”

  I nod even though it wasn’t me. Walker and I turn to look at each other. Albany.

  My sister set all this up for me. Two things are made severely clear, I’m on the right track, and Albany knew she was goi
ng to die. That last one hits me like a sledgehammer.

  I thought the things hidden in the fish stick box were a precaution. We did that a lot. A ‘just in case things go wrong’ stash. We always had them growing up because we never knew when we would need to flee a house or find each other.

  However, this goes beyond that. This is pure foreshadowing. Not only did she know she was going to die, but I think she sent Walker to me, but why?

  “Let’s get you to the back so we can start your day of pampering,” Chloe says.

  I start to walk off, but Walker tugs my hand, pulling me into his chest. Those riveting amber eyes stare down at me. Just when I start to get a read on the way he is looking at me, he blinks and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

  “Go on. I’ll be here.” He finally lets my hand go, and I follow Chloe to the back of the expensive store on wobbly legs with a fluttering stomach.

  ***

  If it were Thanksgiving, I would swear I’m the turkey being served. I have been plucked, scrubbed and massaged within an inch of my life. I’m pretty damn sure they scrubbed at least three layers of skin off my body.

  And if my sister were here today, I would whoop her ass for that damn waxing. She has tried to get me to do it for forever and I’ve always told her hell no. My razor works just fine. Yet here I am today, and the only hair left on my body are on my eyebrows and head.

  I allowed the waxing for Albany’s sake, but I drew the line when Mrs. Linda tried to come at me with a flat iron. My hair has been heat free since high school. Whenever I wanted it changed, I’d buy a wig.

  Now, I’m pacing the floor of a private waiting room in a silk robe and eating skinny girl refreshments while I wait for them to bring the clothes I ordered on my last visit. Clothes I did not pick out and have no idea what they look like.

  “You’re nervous,” Walker says with his eyes closed and his head leaning back against the chair he’s sitting in. His black duffle sits in his lap along with my backpack. The man can make anything look sexy.

  “Aren’t you?” I ask stopping in front of him. “I mean, my sister set all this up for me before she died. It feels weird to be here getting pampered when we should be out there trying to figure out who killed her.”

  “Come here,” he says lifting his head to watch me. He places the bags in his lap down beside his chair.

  I step closer to him, but not close enough. He widens his legs and holds out his hand to take mine. Of course, I go to him. I’ve been doing it all this time, no need to stop now.

  The usual clamminess that plagues my hands whenever I try to get to know a man isn’t present around him. For someone that fears commitment and connections, I’m finding myself lacking those worries when I’m with him.

  That canvas pops up in my head again of my sister lying on my bed. I shake it away as I place my hand in Walker’s. The moment my hand is in his, he tugs me down into his lap.

  He tucks my back into the arm of the chair while I sit sideways on top of him. He runs his fingers over my thighs, causing a slow trail of goosebumps to rise up. Those flutters in my belly have turned to a swarm. I try to get up, but he tightens his hold on me.

  “We are here because Red wants us here. Just like everything else, there’s a reason for this.”

  “But do you realize what this means?” I whisper the words out to him as I lay my head on his shoulder, no longer fighting that the stroke of his fingers over my thigh is soothing. “She knew she was going to die.”

  “Yes, I realized that the first day. Which is how I know we are absolutely where we should be.”

  You ever get that feeling that someone is saying more than what’s coming out of their mouth? Underneath those simple words, I feel as if he is suggesting something else. Something that I’m not even going to think about right now. Something that canvas of my sister on my bed is trying to suggest. There’s just no way.

  I stay in his arms, allowing his gentle touch to relax me. I fight against that itch that wants me to jump up and put enough distance between us to fit a football field. Again, I don’t know why this man makes me go against my gut instinct. It isn’t until Chloe wheels in a rack of clothes that I actually stand to my feet.

  “When you first told me your measurements,” Chloe says stopping the rack in front of me. “I thought you were crazy, but looking at you now, these clothes should fit.”

  Yes, Chloe, I’m bigger than my sister. I’m about a cup and a half size larger than her in the boobs and two pants sizes bigger than her in the ass. Where my sister has always been built like a swimsuit model, I’ve always had ass and hips like a vixen.

  Chloe leans into me and lowers her voice. “Who did the work?”

  Walker guffaws in his seat. I narrow my eyes at him. No way he heard her whisper that.

  “Dr. Carbs was my doctor. He works alongside Mr. Genetics and Mr. Lack of Exercise.”

  Chloe stares bewildered for a moment while Walker is laughing his ass off. She eventually realizes I’m joking before laughing herself.

  “My God, Brooklyn, you are hilarious.” She pulls one of the clothing articles from the rack and hands it to me. “Try on the lingerie first,” she says still giggling.

  Walker immediately stops laughing and stares at me with so much intensity, I feel like a hole has opened up on my face.

  “Ummm, are you sure this is what I ordered last time?”

  She gives another laugh. “Yes, you ordered them specifically in red. That’s your favorite color, right?”

  “Well, yeah.” Fucking Albany.

  “Good. Do you need help trying them on?” My first thought is to tell her no but looking at the many different strings connected to the material, I may need to reconsider. However, my shyness wins out and I shake my head in response.

  “All right,” Chloe says, clapping her hands together. “Just come out and show us when you’re done.”

  “Out here?” I ask in shock.

  We’re in a private fitting room and the only people that can see me are Chloe and Walker. Chloe probably sees things like this all the time and has more than likely built an immunity to the sight of partially naked women like gynecologists to coochies. However, Walker hasn’t seen me undressed.

  I’m kind of sure he’s seen Albany naked. Yet still, my tits aren’t hers just because we’re twins. The thought of him seeing them has my heart racing and those damn stomach flutters acting up.

  “You don’t need to be shy with me. I’ve seen it all before,” Chloe says, ushering me into the dressing room and closing the curtain, completely oblivious to what’s going on in my head. “Take your time,” she sings.

  As if time is the problem. With a heavy exhale, I remove the robe and stare at my naked body in the mirror. I’ve never had body image issues. I didn’t have those kinds of worries growing up.

  Who the fuck cared about how their body looked when they were too busy trying to eat and not get the life knocked out of them, but as I stand in front of this mirror, I stop to think about what Walker will see when he looks at me.

  Even comparing myself to my sister I can see the differences. Stretch marks line my hips, making them look like tiger stripes. My breasts still sat up, but they are tear shaped. Not the round and perky melons of Albany, and lord knows I have nothing close to the six-pack my sister had. Her stomach was toned and tight.

  I have a little belly. I’m what people consider slim thick. And depending on the person, that isn’t an ideal body type.

  As I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, from my unruly curls that bounce around my shoulders, to my freshly red painted toes, I realize that I’m being crazy. Walker doesn’t give a shit how I look. I snort a laugh and turn to put on the first piece of lingerie.

  It’s a one-piece see-through bodysuit. The front is a deep cut lace with a flowery lace design over my nipples that barely hides the chocolate tips. The sides are strings that drop down to a plunging back that turns into a thong, my ass eats whole.

  �
��Seriously, Albany,” I mumble as I take in this dental floss I’m wearing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Are you ready in there?” Chloe calls out.

  I shrug and take a deep breath. “I’m going to trust you, sissy,” I say before stepping out.

  I don’t look at Walker. I keep my eyes on Chloe, who looks proud of her work.

  “Oh my god. It looks incredible on you. What do you think?” she directs her question to Walker. Finally, I allow my eyes to take him in.

  He’s staring at me, but his body is rigid. The way his eyes are fixed on my face and his brow are pinched, he looks angry.

  “You don’t like it?” I find myself asking.

  He doesn’t reply. Instead, he slowly climbs to his feet and walks up to me. I stare up into his eyes as he towers over me.

  I want to ask him what he’s doing but words won’t form. There’s a look on his face, I can’t explain it. It looks like he’s in pain or maybe desperate.

  I’ve never seen him look at me this way. He lifts his hand and places it gently on my shoulder. I can’t even turn to it because his eyes continue to hold me hostage.

  He runs the same hand over my shoulder lightly, dragging it against my skin in a soft touch. When he gets to the thin spaghetti strap of the lingerie, he fingers it before moving up to my neck. He wraps his hand around it, slightly squeezing as he pulls me closer to him.

  His breath mingles with my own. He releases my neck and follows the hollow of it down to my bare chest where the lace separates to cup my breasts. With the gentlest touch of his finger, he outlines the cut-out covering the area.

  Not once does he touch the puckered nipple that’s pressing against the lace of the negligee, but I swear it feels like he’s stroking it. He lays his hand flat against my belly, then lowers it down to the triangular strip of silk that covers my hairless lady parts. I hold my breath when his fingers brush against the area that’s throbbing between my legs.

  For a moment, I’m suspended in time as his padded digits lightly press my hardened clit. Was that a shiver? Did I fucking shiver?