by Teagan Kade
I hang up, tapping my fist against the wall.
Fucking Dad. Unless he suddenly changes his name to Google, he should stop acting like he knows everything, knows what’s best for me. I don’t work for him. I don’t have to fall into line.
Until he pulls the trust fund.
But he wouldn’t. Mom’s always seen the better side of me, actually congratulated me when I told her what I was doing here. Her eyes narrowed in that probing way only psychologists can manage. “You do what makes you happy, Payton,” she told me, “but remember, don’t plan to be anything less than you are capable of being.”
No, if I was shooting up at a crack house, then Dad would cut ties, but not now, not when I’m still in formal education.
As for the rest, my brothers can brown-nose all they want for a share of the Cox fortune. Me? I’m going to make a damn difference in the world.
Dad can’t say that. Sure, he’s rich, but he ain’t Bill Gates or Bezos. His philanthropy extends as far as the front door.
Once again, I neglect study to hit up Dante’s, though even the smell of the place threatens to send me back through the door. Britney the bartender smiles when she sees me. “Well, well, if it isn’t ol’ thimble guts.”
I take a seat. The place is empty—no Lacey, no classmates, no Ryan, just a woman down the far end of the bar who’s throwing some serious eye-sex my way. Given the fact she’s on the bad side of sixty, I’m not game. GILFs are not my jam. I’ve only got eyes for Lacey.
“You made your money,” I tell the bartender. “Say, where do people go for fun around here?”
She stops cleaning down the bar. “Besides the strip club three doors down? Beats me. This isn’t Time Square, I’m afraid.”
“There must be somewhere interesting close by, somewhere the kids go to… you know.”
She looks up, squinting at me. “To philosophize and debate quantum mechanics, you mean?”
“I’m not looking for the library. Come on. Give me something.” I take out my wallet and slap down a ten.
She swipes it away and leans over the bar. “Alright.” She points left. “You head down the road here for seven miles until you hit the old Arby’s sign. Take a right there and drive another six to the natural springs.”
“Natural springs?”
“Warm all year ’round. Barely anyone goes down there. If that doesn’t get you laid, I don’t know what will.”
“What about somewhere to eat, preferably somewhere we won’t catch salmonella?”
She stretches her hands out on the bar. “Now that is a pickle.”
*
I have a drink—singular—and head back to the dorm. I simply couldn’t stomach another drop. Hard to believe it, but I think my showdown with Lacey has put me off liquor for life.
The dorm’s just as quiet. It’s late and I can’t blame most for hitting the hay. The Captain seems intent on breaking us down physically and mentally. We’ve already lost one—a cheery local who probably thought this was going to be a walk in the park… not American Ninja.
Fine by me, though I admit the thing with Lacey and the Maze has me concerned. Assholey as he was about it, the Captain had a point. Either she gets used to it or she’s out. It’s part of the job.
But I’m not going to let her fail. No. Fucking. Way. She’s got all the elements of a great firefighter. Something as simple as fear shouldn’t hold her back.
Fear, yes. So simple, Payton.
Shut up, Head.
I push the books to the side again and stare at the wall wondering what she’s doing next door. I close my eyes and picture her reclined there, her panties tight around her thighs, her hand covering her crotch and a single finger lost inside her wetness. She’s whispering my name, her back arching off the bed.
My eyes snap open and it’s the wall again.
The wall and your hand, big boy.
“Fuck this.”
I stand and head out into the hallway. I look left and right before I raise my hand to knock on her door.
I stop. You really going to do this? There’s no way she’s going to go for a late-night booty call.
I never hesitate. It’s a strange sensation, but the stakes are high here. I don’t want to fuck this up. She’s becoming more than a lay, another notch in the belt.
Only because she’s playing hard to get.
But that’s not it. There’s more there—a spark, the start of a deeper connection.
Enough, Dr. Phil. Knock on the damn door.
I knock, the door unlatching and swinging open.
“Lacey,” I say in a low voice, looking into the shadows. “You there?”
Of course she’s fucking there, and you probably just woke her up.
I peer inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, but her bed’s empty.
The fuck?
She’s probably gone to the bathroom, I think.
I stand there in my boxers in the hallway waiting for her to come back—five minutes, ten. Either she’s sleeping in the damn bathroom or she’s somewhere else.
With someone else.
I clamp that voice right down. No. There is no way she’d hook up with someone else.
Not even Fielding?
The thought sickens me, that slimy fucker with his hands on her.
Nope. No way.
I give up, closing her door and heading back into my room. I leave my door slightly open to hear her come back, only my hand around my cock to lull me to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LACEY
The Captain pauses in front of me while I yawn. “My, my, aren’t you a bright beaver this morning?”
He continues down the line.
He’s not wrong. I’m exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.
“You okay?” asks Payton.
I cover my mouth as another yawn overwhelms me. “Just tired.”
“Why?”
I give him a puzzled look. Like it’s any of his business. I gesture to the gym instead. “Um, hello? Are we in the same world here?”
“Right, right,” he says, looking down at his feet.
We’re back outside the burn room, geared up with charged lines laid along the floor. These things can weigh well over two-hundred pounds.
The Captain shouts over the noise of the pumps. “This is a live exercise, recruits. You will work in teams to extinguish the blaze inside. If you’ve been paying attention, this should be a cakewalk. If you haven’t, expect for that pressure to blow you right back through those doors.”
I notice Ryan checking me out as I gear up. The guy gives me the creeps.
Payton pulls his bunker jacket on, a whoosh in the background as the fire springs to life in the burn room.
“Where was your father stationed?” he asks.
I lift up my BA gear and sling my arms through the straps. It’s feeling lighter every day, which is to say close to back-breaking. “New Jersey.”
Payton seems surprised. “My family’s got property in New York. Well, we’ve got property everywhere, but New York’s a great place—Jersey, too.”
I give a short laugh. “You clearly haven’t lived there.”
“What does he do now, your dad?”
I swallow. I figured this question would arise sooner or later. I don’t know how much I should tell Payton.
What’s he going to do? Go blabbing to the entire class?
I check to make sure no one else is listening in. “He died on 9/11.”
Payton’s freezes. “The 9/11?”
I nod.
Payton straightens up, shaking his head. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
I force a smile. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I hardly knew him.”
“He’s a hero.”
“Something like that,” I reply.
The Captain’s over by the burn room. “Cox, Nelson. You want me to arrange a couple of coffees to go along with your chit-chat?”
“Sorry, Captain,” we call together.
“Your dad would be proud,” Payton says, and it’s completely genuine. There’s no innuendo or motive. It’s a statement, pure and simple.
“He’d probably pull me the hell out of this place if he was around, but thanks.”
I don’t want to cry, so I start to rhyme words in my head, get the logic side of my head pumping to push out the emotion.
Shock.
Sock.
Clock.
Coc—”
I stop.
You’re losing it, girl.
It’s true I can’t seem to get Payton out of my head. Falling for him would be unwise, I know that, but he’s proven over these last few days he’s more than a big penis… not that it’s an undesirable attribute.
A flicker pulses through my stomach of the thought of laying beneath him, his hand guiding his cock into place, the other on my thigh.
Enough, Lace.
I straighten up and take a breath.
The burn room is uncomfortable, the charged line heavy, but Payton and I manage to get the blaze extinguished in record time. Even Fielding makes it through today, his previous aversion to the room gone.
The Captain is impressed with us, but not impressed enough, it seems, to forget our meeting at the quad later.
Payton points out the window of the gym at the end of the day. “But it’s pouring out there, Captain?” he protests.
It is. Rain’s been hammering against the windows in a percussive slurry for almost an hour now.
The Captain simply stands there smiling with his legs apart. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. “
It’s hard not to, silvery sheets of water lashing the campus outside.
“Well,” says the Captain, “what are you two waiting for? Get out there.”
I look to Payton, who subtlety tilts his head and rubs his middle finger behind his ear, directed at the Captain.
My thoughts exactly.
We follow the Captain out into the quad while the rest of the class heads off to dinner. I’m quietly excited at the prospect of our date later tonight, the opportunity to sample food that hasn’t been deep-fried or served out of a bucket. And there may be other areas of said excitement, more sensual areas if I’m honest with myself.
I take in Payton’s imposing build as he walks behind the captain, his shirt and gym pants already soaked through, my own personal wet T-shirt contest in full swing.
Thank god for bras.
It’s freaking freezing out on the quad, though, the water running into my eyes.
“Attention!” shouts the captain once we’ve reached the middle of the quad.
Payton and I stand there in the din with our hands behind our backs and our legs apart. I notice there are two dummies waiting on the ground.
Safely under an umbrella, the Captain shouts to be heard over the rain. “Pick a dummy and throw it over your shoulders. Get used to the feeling, because you’ve going to have a whole hour out here getting to know them.”
Payton’s the first to speak up. “You want us to stand here in the rain lifting a hundred and sixty-pound dummy?”
“Precisely, Mr. Cox,” the Captain smiles. He turns and nods to the corner of the quad. “When your time’s up, I’ll ring that bell, but if I see your knees buckle or that dummy drop, it’ll be another hour, understood?”
“Yes, Captain,” we reply in unison.
Payton and I each take a dummy, hoisting it onto our shoulders.
We watch the Captain vanish back inside, the rain increasing in intensity. Even though I’m wearing a bra, my nipples have turned into tight arrowheads, clearly visible. I know Payton can see them. His eyes lift to my face. “What are you going to name him, your dummy?”
“Who said it’s a ‘he?” I shout in reply, water running into my mouth. “You?”
He looks over his shoulder to the blank face of the dummy. “I was thinking Monty.”
“Like the Simpsons character?”
“Ah, so you’re not completely inhuman,” he laughs.
I straighten and adjust to the weight. “Let me guess. You only enjoy watching the Lingerie Football League and WWE.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a man of many facets, television viewing inclusive.”
“What’s your favorite show then?” I ask.
“Fargo, actually.”
The dummy’s heavy on my shoulders. I make my voice loud to be heard over the rain. “Really?”
“Really, and it sure as hell feels like the middle of Minnesota out here now. I’m fucking freezing. Looks like you are, too,” he notes, eyes darting to my icicle nips.
I blush up a storm while we continue to stand there running through likes and dislikes.
True to his word, he’s deeper than I initially gave him credit for, right down to reading McCarthy and Steinbeck. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the jock thing is an act.
We’re both standing there shaking, my arms burning from the effort. The hour’s already up, but there’s been no sign of the Captain or the blissful sound of that bell ringing.
“How’s long has it been?” I ask Payton, my teeth chattering hard, noting he’s wearing the same Rolex my father did. “An hour and a half.”
He lets the dummy down.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m going,” he says. “The Captain said an hour. It’s been an hour.”
“But—”
“Cox, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” shouts the Captain, suddenly materializing from the edge of the quad.
“You said an hour,” Payton shouts back, standing with his chest out, his pecs and chiseled abs on full display.
The Captain comes right up to him, still shouting. “Did I say you could drop the fucking dummy, dummy?”
Payton points to me. “She’s going to contract hypothermia out here.”
The Captain looks to me before turning back to Payton, shaking his finger. “Showers. Both of you, and not another damn word.”
We watch the Captain storm off. I’m not exactly happy with Payton’s outburst either.
As soon as we place the dummies away from the quad, I head for the main building.
“Hey!” Payton calls, running to keep up with me. “What’s going on?”
“Figure it out,” I snap back, moving down the hall to my room.
I unlock the door and come in, swiping my towel off the hook. “Can you just leave me alone?”
I’m almost at the girls’ bathroom when he steps in front of me. “Seriously, what the hell did I do?”
I lean against the wall and exhale. “I can fight my own damn battles, you know. I’m not some poor damsel who has to be rescued all the time.”
He presses his hand against the wall next to my head, breathing deeply and doing his best not to stare at my chest and my diamond nipples. “Look, I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”
I remain firm. “I know, and I’m telling you I can handle it. I don’t need anyone stepping in for me.”
He puts his hands out. “Absolutely. Understood. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
“Good.” He pauses there. “Are we still okay for the date?”
I can’t believe this guy. “You’re pushing your luck.”
He gets down on his knees, his hands pressed together and water continuing to drip from his chin. “I’ve never begged for anything in my life, but here I am, on my knees.”
I laugh. “I kind of like you there,” I say, suddenly realizing how sexually charged that sounds.
I know he senses it because he smiles, keeping the puppy-dog pout going. “P-p-please,” he begs. His eyes light up when he stands. “I’ll help you get over this claustrophobia thing. I swear to god. Mom’s a psychologist. I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”
“Did you just?” I reply, deliberately heavy on the sarcasm, but he’s weakening me. I have to give him points for persistence, and I do need help with this thing. If I can’t make it through the Maze and who k
nows what challenges are coming next, I’m done.
“Fine,” I relent, rolling my eyes. “One date. That is it. One date and you help me get over this thing.”
He stands smiling, his amber eyes hypnotic. “Agreed.”
I step away from the wall, pointing to the bathroom doorway. “Can I take a shower now?”
“Do you want some company?”
I shake my head walking through the doorway. “Now you’re really pushing it, partner.”
He backs away. “I jest.”
Fifteen minutes later and freshly showered, I dress and knock on his door.
He seems surprised to see me. “I thought we weren’t heading out for another half hour.”
“I thought you said you were going to help me get over my fear.”
“Now?”
I raise an eyebrow, shifting my weight onto one leg. “You’ve got something better to do?”
He opens the door wider. “In that case, come on in.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
PAYTON
One minute—that’s all Lacey can stand the closet for at first. It’s a small, tight space, even without clothes. Still, she goes in again and again, extending the time to one-and-half minutes, and then three.
I call an end to the session after fifteen minutes, careful not to overwhelm her or push her too hard. The exposure must be built up over time, otherwise you risk the phobia taking an even greater grip on the patient.
Lacey goes back to her room and I can’t believe I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes locking her in the closet, but I’m a man of my word if nothing else. I want to see her succeed. I want to see her stick it to the Captain.
Five minutes later, dressed, I’m knocking on her door.
My cock almost explodes when Lacey opens it. She’s wearing a peach drop-waist dress showing off the perfect amount of cleavage, pale legs on show rising into Nirvana. A braid runs across her forehead. I don’t think she’s wearing makeup, but she doesn’t need it. She glows.
She’s perfect.
She takes in my leather jacket, collared shirt and jeans. “Well, well, don’t you scrub up nicely? No backwards cap or popped collar?”
I brush down my jacket. “My frat house days are behind me.”
She laughs, taking hold of a small purse. “Sure didn’t seem that way when you thrust your junk in my face on day one.”
