All of Me: Liam & Sophie
Page 3
“How’ve you been? I miss you. What are you doing tonight? Are you off work?” She asked a lot of questions. Thankfully, she didn’t wait for me to respond to any of them. She told me she was waiting tables at a clam shack on the East side of the island. I agreed I’d stop by tonight and say hello.
“I’m off at eleven!” she promised.
“Great.” I ended the call.
I swear I didn’t lead women on. I was always honest about my feelings or lack thereof. I wasn’t trying to be a player. I didn’t want to get serious with anyone and I’d be the first to admit it. But for some women that seemed to add fuel to the fire. I’d tell them I wasn’t interested and they’d double down, deciding they would be the one to teach me a lesson in love.
What they didn’t know was I already had fallen in love, once. It had sucked. It had felt like my insides had been scooped out with a melon baller. Sure, I’d spent a couple months high as a kite, whirling around in a heady rush unlike anything I’d ever felt before or since. But for every minute of high, I’d paid for it tenfold with hours of scrape-me-off-the-bottom-of-a-shoe low. It wasn’t worth it.
Another call came in, from a guy I worked with enjoying the same 48 hours off rotation.
“You in tonight? Keg by the breakers?”
“Sure,” I agreed. Sounded as good an option as any.
“Knew I could count on you.”
That was an easy call. I liked being that guy, the reliable, dependable, good-time guy people thought I was. I didn’t want the darkness I sometimes felt within. I didn’t want to be the guy chased by sadness, even despair over painful memories. Nor did I want to be a man who only felt truly alive in the midst of an intense Dom/sub session, wielding my power to force another, then another orgasm.
I wanted to be the guy with nothing much on his mind, no worries, just a quick, funny one-liner or an observation about the Red Sox. That was the kind of guy who would have a wife and kids someday, maybe even someday soon. I could picture it in the abstract. Maybe she’d be a nurse like my mom or a teacher. I’d coach little league and we’d have other families over on weekends.
I told myself I’d get there in time. With hard work, I could become an emotional lightweight, a shallow reflecting pool. Then I could chart a direct path right to the safe, if a little boring, harbor of domestic tranquility.
Finally at the mini market, I grabbed a basket and started the rounds. Even during peak tourist season when the crowds swelled, I couldn’t head anywhere without running into a bunch of people I knew.
“Liam! How’s it hanging?” Right off the bat, I saw a guy I’d met on a remodel project last year. He was an electrician and let me tell you, you could do worse than work as an electrician on an island of billionaires who had no idea how to take care of their homes. The guy cleaned up. We caught up quick and he mentioned another project he had going with a different contractor.
“Good guy, I’ll introduce you.” And just like that I got another contact. I could probably make enough money with just carpentry work if I devoted enough time to it. But I liked the adrenaline of being a firefighter, the guys at the station, the camaraderie. And, hell, the handful of times we actually got to rescue someone, that felt pretty damn good.
I grabbed a six-pack and some yellow onions. I had no idea what sage was but a cute girl working there had no difficulty showing me. She bit her lip as she looked up at me and batted her eyelashes. But she couldn’t be much more than 20. She’d probably want to Snapchat and take selfies every three seconds. I thanked her and went to grab myself some protein bars, then butter for my mom.
“Hey, how’s the baby?” I greeted the cashier up front, a girl I’d gone to high school with.
“You’ve got to catch up.” She laughed, patting her tummy. “Baby’s 18 months old and I’m pregnant again.”
“Really?” My eyebrows must have shot up, surprise registering all over my face because she cracked up again.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No, I just…” It seemed like she and Tom had only just gotten married. They’d both been a year ahead of me in school. But then she’d been pregnant already at the wedding. That had been a fun night. I shook my head. “Anyway, congratulations.”
“Yeah, thanks.” She brushed hair out of her eyes as she swiped bar codes, looking tired. “How’s life with you? Having fun?”
I could hear the edge to her voice, half mocking, half jealous. She was one of the smug, married parents of the world on one side of the fence with a proprietary lock on all that was meaningful in life. And yet at times I bet she still desperately wished she could hop on over where the grass was greener and party carefree and reckless. But life didn’t let you do both.
“Same old, same old,” I answered honestly, sliding my credit card and bagging the groceries myself. The store was busy and nothing drove me more crazy than the number of spoiled shoppers who stood there like their hands were tied behind their backs waiting until someone came and put their food into a bag for them.
“When are you going to settle down, Liam?” she asked, handing me my receipt. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m not 90 yet.” I winked at her and smiled before I turned to go. She’d have no way of knowing that her words hit home. I knew I was young and had plenty of years in front of me to spend any which way I wanted. But I could see change happening all around me.
Last year my buddy Chase had gotten married. That one had shaken me up more than I’d like to admit. He’d been on the boat with me that day everything had gone wrong. When you went through something like that as kids, you became like brothers. He and I had stayed close through the years, even when he’d moved to California and then Arizona to train for competitive swimming.
Then, just like that, he’d fallen in love with a physical therapist named Emma and gotten married. I’d met her and quickly seen why he’d done it. She was lovely and gorgeous and the two of them looked at each other like no one else was even in the room. But it still left me with a strange sense of…what just happened? Like I was at a party with my friends and we were all jamming to the same song, but then one silently slipped off into a new groove. It made me wonder who else would sneak out when I least expected it.
Little Miss Sage was there as I exited the store, trying to wrangle some stray carts. Grocery bag tucked under one arm, my firefighter brawn came to the rescue, taming the carts in no time flat.
“Thank you so much.” She looked up at me all rosy, flushed and appealing. “You’re my hero.”
“Nothin’ to it, ma’am.” I pretended to tip an imaginary cowboy hat and she giggled.
“Do I know you?” she asked, brimming with fresh, youthful eagerness. “You look familiar.”
“I live here.” I shrugged.
“Ooh, year round?” she asked, like it was glamorous.
“Yup, so I’ll likely see you sometime soon.” I headed off to my truck, knowing I’d passed up an opportunity. She might be as old as 22 or 23, on the island for the summer and ready for a good time, ripe for the picking with none of the messiness that could result from hooking up with a local. The island got real small off-season. Now was the time to take advantage of the carnival atmosphere of summer.
Problem was, that was exactly how my father would have thought. He took full advantage of his big, Irish, dashing good looks and made the most of seasonal opportunities. I had his blood running through my veins, but that didn’t mean I had to act the same way.
I revved up my truck, waited for a couple of ladies chatting to get out of the way, then waited for several more people with carts to clear out before I could merge into the line to leave the parking lot. Tomorrow I’d make my trip at six a.m. This was total bullshit.
Across the lot, I caught a glimpse of a woman getting into a car. There was something about the way she’d swept her hair up into a careless bun, tendrils escaping down the bare nape of her neck. And the way she moved, fluid, graceful, languid. It re
minded me of Sophie so hard I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.
But there was almost no chance it was actually her. Sophie hadn’t been back to Naugatuck at all in the past seven years, at least not to my knowledge. That had nearly driven me crazy the first summer without her, the thought that she might be on island and I just didn’t know. I’d hardly slept at night knowing she might only be a mere mile away. But as far as I knew she hadn’t come back, then or since.
The woman was inside her car now and the flow of traffic was moving so I could finally exit and, no, I was sure that couldn’t have actually been Sophie Douglas in the parking lot at the grocery store. But something about that woman made me think of her. It had been years, but I could still picture Sophie so clearly, laughing in the sunshine the way only I could make her laugh. Dancing in the waves like a water nymph come up to land for a brief, enchanted moment. Having an orgasm for the first time, blinking and looking at me like I was a god. And that was exactly how she’d made me feel.
I remembered the first time I’d seen her dance. It had been at the end of the summer before we’d gotten together, when she was 17 and I was 19. I’d known who she was through her brother Ian, but she’d always just been his younger sister, a cute and sweet little kid. But that all changed in an instant.
Some guy I’d known had asked me to lend a hand throwing together the set for a show. Sophie had been talked into doing a performance with a local youth dance group, even then like a star gracing the stage of armatures. I’d headed down to the local theater with my tool belt. When I’d walked in, she’d been up on stage rehearsing, so absorbed in dancing that she wasn’t aware I’d entered.
Without making a conscious decision, I’d slipped into a seat in the back row and watched her. I’d never seen anything like it. She moved with such fluidity and purpose, such clarity and yet subtle grace. It was like sunlight had touched down and taken shape as a girl. I’d known nothing about dance, and I still didn’t, but I knew magic when I saw it. There was something about her when she moved, something you couldn’t take your eyes off of. When she’d stopped, panting with effort and taking a long swig of water, I’d managed to slip out before she realized I was there.
She’d come back the following summer. I’d made sure our paths crossed straight away and we never looked back. Until she left at the end of that summer, never looking back at me to pursue her dance career. Which was wildly successful, so I’d heard. I made sure to never look her up. I didn’t want to see photos of her on the internet. That day I’d seen her dance, mesmerized as I’d been, I hadn’t even gone back later to watch the performance. I hadn’t wanted to share the experience of watching her with other people. I wanted it private, just between the two of us.
I could practically hear my father’s voice making fun of me. “She left your ass seven years ago.” He’d told me I’d been a fool to think of Sophie as more than a summer fling. Only he hadn’t minced words, he’d said summer fuck. If he were in my truck right now he’d knock me upside the head. The thought made me ball my hand into a fist.
A passing car beeped and waved. On autopilot once again, I smiled and waved back. I thought I recognized the girls in the car, but I couldn’t be sure.
It didn’t matter anyway. I turned the music up. Maybe I’d hit the gym, lift some weights before I headed out for the night. I had energy pumping through me and I needed release. Too bad I’d already gone for a run. That would hit the spot. Maybe I could go for a swim. That was something Chase and I had always had in common, relentless energy we channeled into physical exercise. I guess we still had it in common. Only he had another daily outlet now.
I didn’t actually feel jealous or envious of Chase for being married. I was happy for him and I enjoyed my single life. At 27 I was in prime health and got more female attention than any one man deserved. I lived oceanfront on an exclusive island. I worked with some of the best guys around, loved what I did, and still found time for a couple other side businesses, helping with town fire inspections and doing custom carpentry.
I liked being alone and routinely chose it over random hook ups back at my place. That feeling of waking up next to someone you barely knew and didn’t particularly want to see again? Not a good one. But lately I found myself wondering what it would be like to wake up next to someone I actually wanted to be with.
But how, exactly, would that work? This imaginary love of my life and future mother of my children would have to be a sweetheart, kind and considerate, someone I could trust and laugh with, sometimes talking, sometimes enjoying an easy silence as we sat together and watched the ocean. And she’d also need to enjoy getting spanked until her ass turned red and her moans shifted from pain to pleasure. Those two sides definitely existed within me. But how, exactly, was I supposed to go about finding the woman who fit the first half of that description, never mind the second? The combo seemed like a tall order, one I shouldn’t even bother wasting my time trying to find.
Arriving home, I could already sense a long night ahead of me. With my messed up sleep pattern, I might not fall asleep until close to dawn. I knew I’d manage to keep myself busy. I’d visit that waitress and head to the kegger. But it would all just be a diversion, a distraction, a way to pass time.
Nothing matched the high I got in my role as a dom. Focusing, devoting all of my attention and energy, narrowing everything down into laser-like precision, I could make a woman cum so hard she’d black out from her punishment. But it was more enjoyable to force her not to cum, to hold back, denying her release until, finally, under the palm of my hand I commanded her to let go.
But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. So I put on a clean shirt and a smile and headed out to keep myself busy. That way I wouldn’t waste any more time wondering if that actually had been Sophie Douglas I’d seen in that parking lot.
3
Sophie
“Teach me to dance!” Eloise called out, spinning and twirling along the sand. We’d been having a patch of perfect June weather, with bright blue skies and only a smattering of white cotton ball clouds scuttling past. Today I’d taken her down to the beach on our property.
“You’re doing a great job on your own,” I told her honestly. Though sadly I could still hear the harsh critique of my teachers like background noise in my head. One of her knees had a slight curve to it and her neck wasn’t quite long enough for perfectly classical lines. See how evil all those years of instruction could be, turning a child’s delight into shortcomings?
I shook off those critical thoughts honing in on our good time. Standing up, I dusted off my bum. “You want to know how to pirouette?”
“Yes!” She jumped up and down.
“Most people think it’s all about what’s happening down here.” I gestured below my waist. “With your legs and toes and all that. But the most important thing is to maintain a single point of focus.” She looked at me with confusion and I elaborated, pointing to a blade of grass in the dunes.
“There. I’m going to stare at that as I move.” I fixed my point, grounded myself in a balanced pose and began to spin, and spin, and spin again. Eloise clapped and cheered.
“Auntie Sophie! I love you!”
“I love you, too, bunny.” I stopped and gave her a hug. For a child who’d only been given sporadic love, she sure gave it with generosity.
“Do you think I could be a ballerina like you one day?” she asked, hopeful and expectant as she fell out of a clumsy twirl. “I want to be Clara in the Nutcracker just like you.”
I remembered the first time I’d performed as Clara at 12 years old. I’d sprained my wrist but kept on dancing, night after night. It was probably phantom pain, but my right wrist ached at the memory.
“I think you can do anything you set your mind to,” I answered her honestly and yet avoided the direct question. It wasn’t that I wanted to discourage her from dance all together. But I wouldn’t wish the joyless, relentless path of a professional ballerina on her.
I watched her weave in and out of the sand, chasing, twirling, then flinging herself down on the warm sand to lie on her back and watch the clouds. So carefree even though she’d already seen too much in her five years. She thought I should be her teacher, but the way I saw it I had a lot to learn from Eloise.
What had I been like at five years old on that same beach? Had I danced and flopped and watched clouds? Growing up, I’d never spent as much time on the island as my brother and sister. Even as a child my summers had been filled with competition, securing coveted slots in preparatory programs and academies. But whenever I’d been able to spend a couple of weeks on Naugatuck, I remembered them as heavenly.
I’d always loved the ocean, the quaint downtown and the slower pace of life. Then in my preteen years what I remembered most was being in absolute awe of my older brother and his group of friends on the island, Chase, Jax and Liam. They were all larger than life, handsome and funny, and I had to admit I’d followed them around like a puppy. It had always been Liam who took a minute to say hello to his friend’s younger sister. He didn’t tease me like Ian or Jax. He’d ask how my dancing was going and whether I was enjoying it. I remember that striking me, even at 12. No one else ever asked if I was enjoying ballet. That didn’t seem to factor into the equation. They cared about how far I was advancing with it, which roles I’d secured, whose notice I’d attracted.
It had been enough for a 12-year-old to develop a massive crush on a 14-year-old. But then the accident had happened. Ian had been rushed to an intensive burn care unit at a specialty hospital in Boston and I didn’t manage to head back to the island for years.
“I’m hungry, Auntie.” Eloise plopped her sandy self down next to me. “What do you have to eat?”