Her eyes are rounder. She’s tongue-tied. Her arms fall to her sides, then she turns to pick up the first-aid kit, inching toward the door. “You think you know me well…huh?” She’s mimicking me, looking me right in the eyes.
“Not at all.” I walk to my truck, still peering over my shoulder. “But with time, I’m sure I’ll figure you out.”
She huffs a laugh and grabs the doorknob, pushing the front door open. “You’re so full of it, Mr. Ward!”
“Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Miss Gabby!” She doesn’t look back, but by the way her shoulders shake, I can tell she’s laughing.
When her door is shut, I hop into my truck, start the engine, and leave her driveway, but during my ride to the liquor store, I can’t get our conversation or that altercation with the first-aid kit out of my head.
Her hands were on me—not once, but twice today. I can tell she’s just being nice—trying to fulfill her Samaritan role in life—but the girl doesn’t know a damn thing about personal space.
Maybe it’s the way she grew up. I can tell she and I are complete opposites. I’m not the one to reveal how I feel. I repress my emotions, yet she lays it all on the table and doesn’t care how awkward it might make one feel. Hearing her talk about her family was strange, but in a way, I couldn’t stop listening, because at least she has a family to talk about.
TEN
Marcel
All you fuckin’ do is judge me and complain about me being around!
Memories are the best and the worst sometimes. Memories serve as a means for comfort, or worse, your own demise. There are days when I only remember the good, and I smile.
My heart feels full when I think of Momma and Shay in the kitchen making french toast and eggs and singing to hits by Queen. For a moment, those memories make my life seem somewhat complete. And then there are the days when the bad memories come tunneling in. No matter how hard I try to avoid them, they pop up, and they are relentless.
So, I drink, hoping it will block it out. Sometimes it helps. Tonight, it doesn’t.
I have a bottle of bourbon clutched in hand. I refill my empty glass and down it, then fill it halfway again. One thing that’s worse than the memories? The regrets. There’s so much I wish I could change. If only I could go back to that one night when I lost Shay…
Maybe if I hadn’t been so angry, things would have tuned out differently. If I’d known it would be my last night around my baby sister, I would have told her I loved her. I wouldn’t have been so damn mad at her for making a mistake.
“Fuck,” I grumble. I top my glass off one more time, chug it down, and then push off the sofa, stumbling toward my table. I slam the bottle and empty tumbler down on the flat piece of wood, then drag my weight to my room, flopping face-down on my bed.
I roll over a little, looking to my left. Lucy is taking her usual nap before she leaves, her skin pale from the slits of moonlight spilling through my blinds. I use her, too, when I need a distraction.
I roll onto my back and tip my head up so my chin is pointed at the ceiling. I can see the moon from here, full and round, standing out in the blank, midnight blue sky. Wisps of clouds slowly roll past it.
I close my eyes and hear my pulse in my ears, and for a second, I drown in that sound—drown in the way my heart races due to the alcohol I drank. Blood rushes to my head, and there’s nothing but the thudding of my heart, the swoosh of blood.
“You okay, baby?” Lucy’s voice causes me to pop my eyes open. Her hand is on my chest, her eyes lazily peeled open.
“You need to go,” I mumble, pushing her hand away and sitting up.
“You look like something’s botherin’ you. Sure you don’t want another round? You have me all night.” She climbs on top of me. I move my arms behind me, planting my palms on the bed. “Whatever’s bothering you, I’ll take it away,” she whispers on my mouth.
“I don’t know what I want.” My words slur, and she sighs.
“Oh, baby,” she croons, then she kisses the bend of my neck. I close my eyes and picture dark, curly hair in place of Lucy’s blonde. Her lips trail down my chest and then she climbs off my lap, continuing down until I feel her mouth on my pelvis. “After I take care of you, I’ll let you sleep.”
A ragged breath escapes me. This is why I have Lucy around. She doesn’t ask many questions unless I allow it. She knows I have issues, but she absorbs them and morphs all of my worries into pleasure. Don’t ask me how she does it—I don’t know—but it works, and I don’t complain, especially on nights like this.
But as she drops her head, taking my erect cock into her mouth, it’s not her I’m imagining down there while I have my eyes closed. I imagine dark-brown hair. Pouty pink lips. Light-brown skin sprinkled with freckles, and perky tits in a damn long-sleeved shirt. Unlike Lucy, this face is bare—no makeup, not even mascara around those olive eyes. She doesn’t need it. Her natural lashes are long enough. She looks good every time I see her. It’s a damn shame she’s married.
“Gabby,” I pant as Lucy runs her tongue over my balls. Fuck. Gabby? Why the fuck am I saying her name? Why the hell am I even thinking about her?
I open my eyes and look down at Lucy, trying to focus on her blonde head and the smeared red lips around my cock.
I’m so fucking hard. I palm the back of her head, forcing myself deeper down her throat, but not without noticing the bandage on my arm. The bandage Gabby placed there while squatting in front of me.
Lucy takes me all in, gagging around me. I don’t let up. I close my eyes and thrust upward, fucking her throat, pretending she’s someone I know I shouldn’t even be wasting my time fantasizing about. I pump quickly and Lucy moans loudly, until a deep growl rips out of me and I spill all I have down her throat.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan as she swallows every single drop of my cum, the same way she always does, never letting any of it go to waste. My eyes slowly peel open again, and Lucy is licking dribbles of cum off the head of my cock before standing up straight.
This is Lucy. Fucking Lucy, not my client. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“This Gabby chick must have made you upset. You’ve never been that rough before,” she says, running her fingers through her hair. She’s smiling. She clearly liked the roughness.
I don’t say anything.
She walks away, picking her clothes up and getting dressed while I fall on my back, throwing an arm over my forehead. When she’s fully dressed, she leans over and kisses my cheek. “You clearly don’t want to talk about it, so text me when you need me again,” she whispers, and then she’s walking out of the room. I hear the front door of my house close, and I know she’s gone.
My eyelids grow heavy. If I weren’t drunk, I’d be embarrassed, but Lucy doesn’t know who Gabby is, and Gabby doesn’t know shit about me.
I fantasize a lot…but not about my clients. Thinking about Gabby, even for that small moment, made me forget about the troubles. It made some of the pain go away…
Well, that’s what I think, until I hear the screams.
The bad memories resurface again.
“Marcel, look out!”
“No,” I groan, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes.
I feel the familiar stab beneath my rib, like I’m reliving that night all over again, then turn on my stomach to suck in a breath.
I wish I would have died that night. It would have made things a hell of a lot easier.
I have no one.
No family.
No friends.
I’m alone…and it’s all my fucking fault.
ELEVEN
Marcel
I’m having second thoughts about doing this backyard for Gabby.
For one, she looks at me too closely. Most of my clients usually ignore me—pretend I don’t even exist—but she’s not like them, and I knew that from the moment I set eyes on her.
Also, she’s the youngest client I’ve had. Doesn’t take a genius to see it. Not only that, but she likes to
pry. I can tell she’s only making conversation—and that she’s clearly bored out of her mind at home—but when she asked about Momma yesterday, it rubbed me the wrong way, and it made me think about my family way too much afterward. Thinking about Momma always leads me to thinking about Shay and even my father. It’s a given.
Working helps me avoid thinking about family. I don’t need Gabby fishing around, asking about them…because I’m not talking about it. Not only that, but after remembering what I did to Lucy because I was thinking about Gabby has me feeling a little jolted. I can’t stop stealing glances of her, just to make sure the vision I had in my head matches what I see now.
Dark and curly hair. Pouty, rosy lips. A full rack and hips that I see clearly due to the fact she’s wearing a yellow tank top today. Her ass is round and plump enough to grab and squeeze with both of my hands. She’s exactly what I envisioned last night—if not better. I’m so glad she can’t read my mind right now.
“So, I think I finally figured out what kind of flowers I want planted,” Gabby announces as she walks my way with her phone in hand.
I stand up straight after dropping my shovel. “Yeah? What kind?”
She practically shoves her phone in my face. My eyebrows rise as I take a step back, fighting a smile. I take the phone from her, studying the picture on the screen.
“Ah. Begonias. That’s a good choice.”
“Yeah? You think so?”
“Yeah. One of my favorite flowers to order and plant. Mainly ’cause they’re low maintenance, take well to shaded areas, and can pretty much grow anywhere. Good for people who live in neighborhoods like these, who don’t have much time to tend to their flowers, too. If they don’t have the time, I usually come back or send someone to come and tend to the yard.”
“Oh good!” She looks at her phone again. “I was thinking begonias and dahlias. Is that a weird combination?”
“Hmm…no. But you’re the first client who has wanted dahlias. They’re beautiful flowers, but also kind of expensive.”
“I know, but I’m sure they’ll be worth the money. I want them so I can think about home whenever I see them.” She shuts the screen of her phone off and tucks it into the back pocket of her jean shorts. “My mom used to buy dahlias from her favorite flower shop. Granted, they never lasted for long, with our crazy weather, but they always soothed me when she bought them. She puts them in vases around the house. She would put some in a square vase on top of my dresser every week. Seeing them always put a smile on my face, especially in the mornings.”
“Your mother sounds like a real nice woman.”
“She is. She loves flowers. I have a love for them, too.”
“Well, if those are a must-have for you, I’ll be sure to order some of the best and have them planted when it’s time. Dahlias take a few weeks to bloom. I believe eight weeks or so. Should be enough time before your housewarmin’, though, if I get the order in now.”
“Well good. That’s perfect.”
I pick up my clipboard and write the dahlias and begonias down on the sheet. She turns to look at the ocean in the distance, where it’s slightly hidden behind green shrubbery and trunks of the palm trees. I look her up and down sideways, even though I’ve told myself a thousand times to stop fucking looking.
She’s barefoot on the plush, green grass. Her legs are toned and bronze, like she’s tanned and also like she enjoys doing squats.
She’s definitely unlike my other clients, who always wear dresses or suits. Her hair is damp and curlier than usual, like she’s showered recently. She folds her arms over her chest, pushing her tits together, which isn’t helping me one damn bit.
After what happened last night, my only wish is for her to go away so I can work in silence and without a distraction. I’m not really in the mood for much conversation today, but when she shifts on her feet and looks at me, almost like she’s expecting me to carry on the conversation, I can’t help it.
There is something about a bored, rich housewife. They’re lonely creatures. All they want to do is talk and feel human, since their life partner is never fucking home, and if their partner is home, they’re probably making any excuse to go out and sleep around. Why not indulge her?
“So,” I start, placing my clipboard down, “other than that housewarming’ you’re hostin’, what is it about the backyard you’re most lookin’ forward to?”
Her eyes light up as soon as I ask my question, and her arms fall rapidly, a simple gesture that means she’s eager to chat and express herself.
“Oh—a lot of things.” She sighs, taking a look around with wide eyes. “I’ve always wanted a space where I can go out and have a cup of coffee in the backyard before the sun rises, you know? Just seems so peaceful and a great way to wake up and kickstart the day.” She drops her head and laughs.
“What?” I ask, laughing with her.
“Nothing. It’s just…before you asked me that, I was thinking about this thing me and my brother used to do the first day of summer with my mom. She’d make me and my brother a big pitcher of lemonade, turn on the sprinklers for us in the backyard, and we’d play for hours. I always wanted one of those big pools, but knew my parents couldn’t really afford it. My mom was always upset that she couldn’t get it, so on my tenth birthday, when my dad got a promotion and a good bonus, they surprised me and my brother with one. I was happy, swam in it all summer long. Never got tired of it.”
“Sounds like a good childhood. Lovin’ parents.”
“They are very loving. Very good people.”
“They live close?” I squint my eyes a little when I look up at her, the sun nearly blinding me.
She shakes her head, and I watch her eyes sadden. “No, but I wish they did. Would make some of my days a lot more fun.”
“You miss ’em so much, why don’t you go and visit?”
“I don’t know. Feels too soon for a visit after our recent move, you know? They’ll be here for the housewarming, I’m sure. I can wait for that.”
“Well, it’s never too soon to see a loved one, Miss Gabby.” I grab the garden fork from the corner and walk a few steps away from her, pitching it into the ground. I’m trying to bite my tongue but it’s damn near impossible. This girl is definitely lonely. “How long have you and your husband been together? If you don’t mind me askin’…”
“No, I don’t mind. We’ve been together for two years. Married for three months now.”
“Three months is still fresh. It’s March now, so when did it happen—back in December?”
“Yep. We had a Christmas Eve wedding,” she states proudly.
I almost start to say he shouldn’t be able to stay away from her for so long, but who am I to say it? Also, a Christmas wedding? What a cop-out, picking a date that’s easy to remember. “Well, congrats on gettin’ married. I’m sure he’s a great guy. Lucky to have you, definitely.”
I don’t know if it’s just me, but it’s almost like she hesitates before saying, “Yeah, he is a great guy.”
She steps away, looking toward the double doors of the kitchen. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, but can I get you anything? I can make a snack or whatever to get you through the day? I have lots of veggies and peanut butter.”
“Sure. Make whatever you want. I don’t turn down food.” I don’t usually eat while I work, either, but like I said before, I grew up with manners grounded into me by my mother and father, and it’s common courtesy for us to accept what’s offered…unless it’s from strangers or people who can’t cook, of course.
“Okay. I’ll see what I can whip up for you.” She rushes back into her house, and I get back to work. I can’t help thinking how she should be making snacks for her husband, who should be at home with her, not for me, but I won’t complain.
It appears she needs something to do—that she wants to be useful to someone. I won’t deny her hospitality, but it does concern me that a girl like her—so friendly and vulnerable—is in this brand-new home and alone f
or days, especially with random men working right at her back door.
Sooner or later, a quiet home starts to drive people up a wall. And trust me, I know all about that from experience.
* * *
“Hey, Ward—Miguel just texted me. Said he’ll be here Monday with the stones and paver sand,” Jacob informs me as he walks around the corner with an extra gardening hoe. It’s almost time for my crew to wrap up, and I’m ready. I could use a hot shower and a good meal right now.
“Good. That means we need to have the base done and get ready to put the frame around the perimeter today. Won’t be workin’ this weekend. Got meetings.”
“Got you.” Jacob uses the hoe to remove more of the grass and weeds from the soon-to-be patio area.
“Hey, not even kidding though, the girl we’re working for is fucking hot,” Alex says, smirking at me as he saws a piece of wood for the frame. “I see you flirting with her too, boss.”
“No one’s flirtin’,” I mutter.
“Yeah right,” Jacob laughs. “She’s got her eyes all over you!”
“She’s married,” I inform them.
“So what!” Jacob laughs. “Women who live in houses like these are always looking for their next lawn boy to bone. Shit, if you don’t do it, I will.”
I put the clipboard down and head to the patio area, grabbing the mallet and stakes. I hammer one of the stakes into the grass before looking up at him and raising a stern brow.
“I’m just saying,” he laughs, throwing his hands in the air. “She’s bringing us snacks and drinks. She wants us to see her.”
“She’s bein’ nice. Leave her alone.” I move over, pounding the next stake into the ground.
Jacob and Alex look at each other and then snicker. I ignore them both. They’re my youngest employees, but good at what they do. I’d much rather work with Mauricio and Rob, though. Less goofing off with those two.
The Man I Can't Have Page 7
