by Megan Hart
“You wouldn’t think it was weird if I went out with one of them after you did?” Dee asked.
Effie shrugged. “Would you?”
“Yeah. Maybe. What if I meet someone amazing and we fall in love and get married and then you’re my maid of honor and you’d already slept with my future husband?”
For a second, Effie started to protest that she hadn’t slept with any of the guys from the site, before she saw Dee’s grin. “You’d never make me your maid of honor.”
“You never know.” Dee waggled her eyebrows and turned back to the computer. “So, should I send a message to any of them, or should I wait for them to... Holy shit. I just got...one, two...four messages in my inbox?”
Dee looked stunned. Effie laughed. “Yeah, get ready. It is a little bit like tossing chum in the water. The sharks come out right away. Remember what I said. You don’t have to answer everyone.”
Dee scrolled through her inbox and clicked on a profile picture. “What about this guy? He sent me a nudge.”
“That means he’s interested, and if you are, you nudge back, and then eventually one of you gets the balls to send an actual email.” Effie laughed and took a seat on the lumpy futon in Dee’s office.
Dee moved her mouse over the list of suggestions, pausing at one. “Oh, my God. Jon Pinciotti.”
Effie remembered him. She’d had a crush on him in the seventh grade. He was a soccer player.
“He was my first kiss. My first everything, really,” Dee said and spun in her computer chair to look at her. “Holy shit, he’s on LuvFinder.”
“Send him a message!”
“No. No way.” Dee shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not? You could just say hello.” Effie leaned forward to try to get a glimpse of Jon’s profile.
“Sure. To my high school boyfriend. My first love. Right. That’s going to work out so great.”
“You never know until you try,” Effie said.
Dee took a deep breath and put her hands on the keyboard. “Okay. Fine. I’m going to do it.”
A half minute later, she let out a low hoot of triumph and spun her chair entirely around a few times before stopping herself abruptly to give Effie a scandalized look. “I can’t believe I did that. What if he doesn’t answer me? Oh, shit. What if he does?”
“One step at a time,” Effie said with a laugh.
Dee groaned, then giggled, her cheeks flushed. “Thanks, Effie. None of my other friends have done this.”
“No? That’s crazy. It’s the age of internet dating.”
“I should know,” Dee said, the gleam of giddiness in her eyes fading. “It’s where my ex met his new wife.”
Effie frowned. “Sorry.”
“Nah. It’s fine. He’s better with her than he ever was with me, and she can deal with all his shit now. I don’t have to. I just wish that Meredith had handled it better. He swore he wasn’t going to let his new family interfere with his relationship with her, but I guess his stepkids that actually live with him take up a lot of his time.” Dee’s voice rasped.
“Sorry,” Effie said again, softer this time. “That sucks.”
Dee wiped away the brightness in her eyes and gave Effie a sad smile. “How did you help Polly deal with it? Not having a dad, I mean.”
“I guess I never had to, really. She’s always had Heath. We’ve been up front that he’s not her father, but...yeah. He’s always been there.” Effie’s smile felt sad, too.
Dee spun her chair in a circle with her head back. “He’s very good-looking.”
“Yeah.” Effie laughed lightly. “He is.”
“You’ve been with him a long time,” Dee said.
Effie nodded. “I’ve known him since I was thirteen.”
“He was your high school boyfriend, then,” Dee said and looked stricken. “Shit, Effie, I’m sorry, that was a really stupid thing to say.”
“No. It’s okay. It actually means you forgot about...it. The thing.” Effie made air quotes around the last word. “And you’re right. He was my high school boyfriend, if anyone was. He was my first kiss, and my first everything, too.”
Dee looked solemn. “Kind of hard to get over it, huh?”
“Not really,” Effie said lightly, the lie coating her tongue with the taste of copper and smoke. “Nothing’s that hard to get over, if you try hard enough.”
chapter sixteen
Effie had mapped Bill’s body over and over again. She knew every scar, and he had quite a few. There was the one running up the back of his calf from when he’d burned himself on a motorcycle pipe. There was a dimpled button in his lower right side from a stab wound. Not a knife, a fountain pen. Bill liked to joke he’d bled ink for weeks. He was always making jokes about the scars, as though they made him feel self-conscious but proud at the same time.
This wound on his arm was new. She stroked her fingers along it gently, barely touching the angry black stitches around the red, sliced flesh. Dog bite, he’d told her. He had to take antibiotics and get a rabies treatment.
“Seven shots in the belly,” he told her with barely a wince. “Fucking people who shouldn’t fucking own fucking dogs. I had to put it down. Right in front of...”
Bill’s voice broke. He covered his eyes with one big hand. His shoulders shook.
Effie pressed her mouth to his bare shoulder. She took his other hand. When he curved his fingers into hers, she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the back.
There were few times when she’d ever been the one to offer him this kind of comfort. She felt ill-suited to it. For anyone, really, other than her kid. Effie had not often sought the solace of an embrace. A hard cock inside her? Oh, sure. But this softness, this consideration, was not as natural.
“Right in front of the kid.” Bill swiped at his eyes and gave her an angry stare. He shrugged out of her grip and went to the small sideboard he used as a liquor cabinet. He poured himself a healthy slug of whiskey and tossed it back. Then poured another. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and contemplated the amber liquid in the glass. He shook his head. “Four, maybe five years old. The dog came after me. Bit the fuck out of my arm. I kicked it, and it went for the kid. I had to shoot it, Effie. It was going to maul that baby.”
She got up and took the shot glass from his hand to drink it herself. She set down the empty glass and put her hand over it when he lifted the bottle. The last thing Bill needed right now was to get hammered. He was already taking painkillers, which, more than anything else, told her how bad he hurt. Bill had broken his ankle once and walked on it for two days before seeking treatment.
“You did what you had to do,” she told him.
After dropping off Polly with her mother, Effie had planned to spend the night working—she had to finish up one commission and had a new project that had been circling her mind, gnawing at it, for a week now. Ever since she’d had coffee with Dee. The idea had come to her as they usually did, in the faint light of morning when she’d woken but wished she were still unconscious. Instead of dancing sugarplums, Effie dreamed of a dark room lit by faint orange light and the lengths of shadows. In the light of day, the normal light of day instead of eye-searing brightness used to diminish and control them, Effie was almost always able to put aside the dreams, but sometimes they lingered long enough to become inspiration.
It wouldn’t sell, of course. What she thought of as her “real” art never did. But she would paint it anyway, because if she couldn’t do something for herself once in a while, she’d lose her fucking mind.
Bill’s text had come in when she was at the art supply store buying some new brushes and paints. The message had surprised her. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks. Like the painkillers, his text meant he was really hurting.
Since seeing Mitchell online a
t LuvFinder, she hadn’t heard from him, not even once. She hadn’t texted him, either. The thought that he might not answer her because his interest had been taken up by someone else...it didn’t hurt, exactly, but it sure as hell smarted.
Effie held out her hand. “Come to bed.”
“I didn’t ask you to come over here to fuck me.”
Effie laughed. “Yes, you did. And that’s why I came over. So come on. Unless you want to do it right here.”
She hadn’t exactly dressed for seduction, but that had never much mattered to Bill. The first time they’d ever fucked, she’d been wearing a pair of ratty sweatpants and a stained T-shirt. She’d been soaking wet from running in the rain. He’d pulled up beside her in his car and offered to take her home. Instead, he’d taken her to his place.
Bill nudged her hand aside and poured himself another shot. Then one for her, and what the hell. She wasn’t leaving anytime soon. The painting could wait a few hours. Who knows, maybe it would be better if she was a little toasted when she did it, anyway. Maybe she’d be able to let herself go without that inner critic warning her she was fucking it all up.
Bill licked his lips. Without a word he pushed past her and went down the hall and into the bedroom. After a few seconds, Effie followed. She found him in bed, already naked, but not hard.
She eyed him. “Hey.”
“Come suck my cock,” Bill said as if he was offering her a gift.
Effie tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Oh, that’s how it’s going to be?”
“Like you don’t like it that way?” Bill didn’t even crack a smile.
She did like it that way, of course. A lot, as a matter of fact. It wasn’t as if she could be offended. With a shrug, she tugged her shirt and sweater off over her head and folded them neatly to put on the chair, then unbuttoned her jeans and did the same. In her bra, panties and a pair of knee socks, she cocked a hip and watched his crotch for any signs of life.
Bill crossed his arms behind his head, watching her. Slowly, Effie went to the bed and knelt on it next to him. She ran a hand up his thigh, scratching lightly with her fingernails. She dipped her head to stroke her tongue along the path of her fingers. At the sound of Bill’s soft sigh, she smiled.
She took him in her mouth, his cock still mostly soft, but not for long. All the way in, until her lips brushed his belly. Then out. By the time she’d done that a couple times, he was thick and pulsing on her tongue. She cupped his balls, stroking downward with her thumb along the seam between sac and ass.
After that, she lost herself in the delight of sucking his cock. There was no complication in it. He didn’t need any special tricks to get him off. She sucked. Bill came. He flooded her mouth with salty heat and she swallowed, then sat back to wipe the corners of her mouth.
Bill had closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell in the aftermath of the pleasure. He hadn’t touched her at all.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Effie said quietly when he didn’t move. “You’re good at your job, Bill. You did what you had to do.”
He put a hand over his eyes and swiped over his face, then looked at her. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” Effie shrugged.
“Come here. Let me do you.”
She glanced at the clock. The whiskey had warmed her but was now wearing off. She wasn’t usually one to turn down a ride on Bill’s tongue, but the painting picked and poked at her brain, more intriguing than an orgasm. “I have to get home. I have work to do.”
Bill sat up. “Right, I forgot. You only stop by for this.”
“Don’t start,” Effie warned. “Next time, I won’t come at all.”
“You didn’t come this time,” Bill pointed out. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
Effie didn’t roll her eyes, but she didn’t move to kiss him or anything, either. They stared at each other until Bill sighed. He gestured toward the door.
“Go on, then. If you want to. Or you could stay and eat with me. I’m starving.”
Wrapped up in her latest project that she’d promised to ship off a week ago, Effie had skipped lunch. She put a hand on her stomach, empty and complaining. Polly wasn’t home, so there’d be no reason for her to cook a dinner only she would eat. And, while she could take or leave the orgasm, food wasn’t quite as negotiable.
“Sure,” she said. “I can stay for a bit.”
Bill gave her a slow, grudging smile. “Wow. Should I be honored?”
“Always,” she told him with a grin and got off the bed to put her clothes back on.
In his kitchen, she watched him putter with pasta and olive oil. He put together a simple salad. Toasted some bread. It was totally a bachelor’s meal, but it smelled delicious. Tasted good, too, she discovered when she took a tentative bite.
She’d watched him slice the garlic cloves in front of her, seen him choose the spices from his cupboard. She had no reason to believe Bill was trying to poison her or make her sick, especially since he was eating out of the same pot from which he’d served her. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from using her fork to separate the strands of pasta and poke away some stray bits of oregano.
“What?” she said when she looked up to see him staring at her.
Bill gave her a neutral look. “Is it okay? Everything good?”
“Yeah. Great. Delish.” She forked a bite of pasta and tucked it into her mouth to chew elaborately. Making a show.
Bill shook his head. “Maybe I should get you one of those plates with the dividers, so you can make sure nothing touches anything else.”
“Huh?” Effie paused at this, fork halfway to her mouth. Once she’d started eating, it was hard to keep herself from gobbling.
Bill gestured at her plate. “Like a kid’s plate. My sister’s kid, he screams if anything touches the other things. So she got him these plates with dividers so he can have his meat loaf not touching the peas and not touching the mashed potatoes. I think it’s stupid to cater to a kid like that, but what do I know. I don’t have any kids.”
“Yeah,” Effie said after a second in which she forced herself to swallow the pasta suddenly threatening to stick in her throat. “What do you know about it?”
Her eating habits were fuckery. Pathological. She knew it. The annoying thing was, Bill should’ve known she couldn’t help it. Now instead of hungry, she felt self-conscious. Embarrassed.
“Hey,” he said when she put her fork down and wiped her mouth with the napkin. “Eat up. I was just yanking your chain.”
“I’m full.”
“Bullshit. You ate, like, two bites.” Bill leaned to pick up the fork and hand it to her. “C’mon. You have to eat.”
“Now you sound like my mother.” Effie rolled her eyes but took another bite.
Bill grinned. “Ah. Good old Stacey. How is she, anyway?”
“Fine.” Effie pointed her fork at him. “And you don’t get to call her that. To you, she’s Mrs. Linton.”
“Right,” Bill said. “Because she has no idea I’ve been fucking her daughter.”
Effie frowned. “You’re not my boyfriend, Bill. We’ve been over this. What, you want me to take you home, show you around? Introduce you to my family as my, what, boyfriend?”
“Would that be such a terrible thing?”
“I think we both know why it wouldn’t go over that well,” Effie said.
Bill dragged a piece of bread through the garlicky olive oil and took a huge bite. Oil dripped down his chin, glistening in the cleft. He chewed loudly.
“It shouldn’t matter anymore,” he said when it was clear Effie had finished speaking.
“It still would to my mother, and you know it, Officer Schmidt. Anyway, you told me yourself, you don’t want to get tied down. You like the bachelor life. Go where you want, when you want. Fuck
who you want,” Effie said flatly, her expression matching her tone. “You don’t have a nine-to-five life, that’s what you’ve always said. Maybe I’m just trying to respect that.”
Bill snorted laughter. “Nah. You’re trying to convince yourself of that, maybe, but we both know the truth. You don’t want a boyfriend or a husband any more than I want to be one.”
“You have no idea what I want.” Annoyed, Effie took her plate to the garbage pail and scraped it empty before putting it in the dishwasher. She turned to look at him staring at her. “But even if that were true, why is it that when a guy wants that, he’s a player, but when a woman wants it, she’s a whore?”
“I didn’t say that. Jesus, Effie, you put words in my mouth.” Bill got up and advanced on her fast enough to keep her from being able to get away. His hands anchored on her hips. She turned her head when he tried to kiss her with that garlic-tasting mouth. Thwarted, he pressed his lips to her ear. “But you like it when I call you a whore, sometimes. Don’t you?”
It was as true as when he’d told her she liked blowing him. Still, annoying. Effie pushed him so she could get past him.
“Not if you mean it,” she said.
Bill looked surprised. “I would never mean it.”
“No?” Effie paused to look him over. “You see a girl on the street in a short dress, you call her a slut. You head over to a domestic violence call, you say later that if any woman talked to you the way that one did to her husband, you’d probably want to slap her around, too.”
“Shit. I said that one time.” Bill’s jaw dropped.
“But you said it.”
He shook his head. “I would never hit a woman without provocation, Effie, and you fucking know that. But I don’t think a set of tits and a vagina get you off the hook for bad behavior. If you want to dish it out, you should be ready to take it back. That call you’re talking about? The woman had been needling that guy for days, and when he wouldn’t rise to her taunts, she slapped him in the face. Four times before he finally hauled off and punched her, and she called us.”
