by L. M. Carr
***
BRADY CIRCLES AROUND until he finds a spot under a tall pine tree to begin his break. Leaning back to rest on my palms, I whisper, “Hi, Daddy.” A small smile creeps across my face as I picture his dark hair covering his dark eyes and handsome rugged face. In my mind, he always has on his grey New England Patriots sweatshirt. It was what he was wearing the last time I ever saw him. “I’ve missed you.”
Quiet words flow from my mouth as I tell my dad all that has transpired over the last six weeks—well, most of it anyway. I don’t think my dad wants to hear about his daughter getting it on in the back of an SUV. Talking to my dad was as natural for me as breathing. He was always there with me, even if it’s just in spirit. I was his little girl and he was my beloved daddy.
The midmorning sun is getting hotter, the humidity in the air rising. My ponytail will soon look more like a squirrel’s tail. Knowing that I have a long list of things to do, I pull my knees in one at a time to retie my laces for our run back down. It’s the sound of breaking twigs behind me that distracts my closing thoughts, causing me to pause in my one-sided conversation.
Expecting to see someone familiar from town, I glance over my shoulder, turning my head to the unwelcomed guest who interrupted my private time with my father. Standing there, wordlessly, a man comes to an abrupt halt a few feet behind me. I freeze immediately. I don’t recognize this person and my instincts tell me to run. Run far away from him because staring at me is this incredibly and impossibly beautiful, tall, tanned man with the most gorgeous dark chocolate eyes I’ve ever seen. My eyes roam over his body and I notice he’s only wearing pair of running shorts and his t-shirt is draped around his neck. On my way back up his body, I notice there’s a bottle of water in one hand. A flawless face boasts features that are perfectly proportionate except for his nose which appears to have been broken at some point and is slightly crooked. Covering his chiseled jaw is probably a few days’ worth of sexy scruff. This nearly naked man tilts his head to the side, looks at me darkly and then smirks.
“Whew! What a view.” I hear him pant; his voice is deep and sexy. Maybe he’s waiting for a response, but I don’t give him one. I seem to have lost the ability to speak. “Um…is there someone here? Were you just talking to someone?” He looks around probably wondering who I am talking to because clearly I’m alone. Had I really been talking out loud? Could he have heard the conversation I was having with my father? He places his hands on his knees and leans over, breathing deeply, trying to catch his breath. His head hangs low, but his dark eyes drag lazily up and meet mine. There’s intensity in his stare. He looks like a predator about to eat his prey.
I swallow nervously when I realize that I’m staring so I turn back and lower my gaze to secure the lace on my other sneaker. I can hear him taking ragged breaths and I blush instantly, wondering if that’s what he sounds like after he comes. Adrenaline causes my heart to beat a little faster and louder; the sound of it rings in my ears.
When I look back at him, his breathing is almost under control and his eyes watch me carefully. Brady’s eyes open and his ears perk up when it finally registers that the voice he heard wasn’t mine. I inhale sharply as I stand up and prepare to leave. He’s just a man. So what if he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. So what if he has a perfect smile with a killer body, he’s probably dangerous or an asshole or maybe he’s both. A dangerous asshole. This time I will follow my instincts.
I use my hands to wipe off the back of my shorts and then walk over to give Brady a few rubs on his sleepy head, telling him that it’s time to go. My eyes involuntarily look at the man close to me. His muscular legs support his body as he bends over. Finally, he stands upright to his full height, which has to be over six feet, and he wipes sweat from his dark brow with his t-shirt, exhaling a loud sigh.
I feel like a voyeur as I watch those dark eyes of his close before his head tips back and he pours a full bottle of water directly over it covering his wavy, dark hair. He rakes his hand through his hair, the water flowing south. I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through that hair. He opens his eyes slowly. Almost as if to torture me, he pours water into his cupped hand and brings it to his face, scrubbing his eyebrows and jaw, and then spreads water across his chest which is sprinkled lightly with dark, curly hair. Holy shit! That’s freaking hot. I think my sweat drenched t-shirt isn’t the only wet thing that is in need of a changing.
My eyes close briefly as I silently bid my father farewell. Again, the voyeur in me is back. I honestly can’t help but watch as his eyes close again before he pours the last of the water over his head. It flows, mixing with his sweat as it travels down over his chiseled, hard chest onto his washboard abs, following the V trail into his black running shorts. I think “V’ has just become my favorite letter of the alphabet. Talk about sex on legs! Embarrassment floods me when I realize that my traitorous tongue slipped out, and I’ve just licked my lips.
“Ahhh…that feels much better.” He opens his eyes, runs his hand through his hair and smirks. Brady, now fully awake and up from his power nap, is ready to play again. He bounds over and rubs himself up against the man’s long legs. I want to step forward and scold him for being a bad dog, but my feet are planted in cement, keeping me still.
“Hey, boy. Come here, buddy.” He squats down to rub Brady’s head and ears. Oh no! Brady has made an instant friend for life. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he laughs, talking to my crazy sidekick of a dog. “Are you a good boy? Or are you a naughty boy who likes to get into all sorts of trouble?” His dark eyes look up and pierce mine as he grins roguishly.
Oh, so this is how this is going to go down. Got it! I dramatically roll my eyes, purse my lips, and let out a disbelieving chuckle with little humor, knowing full well we aren’t talking about my dog anymore. Are you freaking kidding me? What a jerk! Who does he think he is? Who cares if he is absolutely perfect and has an amazing body and is looking at me like he wants to eat me alive? Who does he think he is invading my quiet time, making comments like that? I don’t think so. And that, my friend, is my cue. Time to go.
“C’mere, boy. Time to go, Brady,” I command.
“Hey. I’m Adam.”
I watch him cautiously as he stands up and reaches forward, extending his long, damp hand, humor displayed on his face. Does he really think that I’m going to shake his hand? God only knows where that hand has been! I’m not a rude person by nature, but something about this guy rubs me the wrong way. Hah! Who am I kidding? I’d love for him to rub the buzzing flesh between my legs.
I just stand there and stare at it like it repulses me. After what seems like minutes, hours or days, his eyebrows rise and he asks expectantly with a charming smile, “And you are?”
I swallow hard, but my words refuse to come. I won’t answer him. He’s probably just another good looking, okay gorgeous guy, looking for a piece of ass. NOT interested. Thanks, but no thanks.
Looking straight into those dark eyes, I finally find the right words to answer him. “I…” I say shyly at first and then with a stern look and an edge to my voice continue, “am leaving.” The utter look of disbelief on his face is priceless. Take that, jerk!
“Let’s go. Come on, boy.” With Brady’s leash in my hand, I walk confidently around his gorgeous body and his stunned face and race down the trail away from the man. Finally, I listen to my instincts which tell me to run. Run far away.
STILL REELING FROM the events of the morning, from seeing Shane and then meeting that sexy man, Adam, who had my heart beating faster and the lower half of my body clenching tightly, I decide that I need a shower and to get on with my day. A sense of pride overcomes me for not giving in to the temptation to relieve myself of the pent up pressure while in the shower. Oh, hell! I’m such a liar! I totally got it on with my showerhead.
Honeydew melon scent fills the room as I lather my neck, my arms, my shoulders, my long legs and everywhere in between with lotion. My eyes instinctivel
y close as I imagine Max’s hands, then Shane’s hands, then Adam’s hands touching me, caressing me, holding me. Brady’s bark jolts me out of my erotic daydream. What the hell? Damn, even in my mind, I’m a slut! I shake off the dirty scenarios and walk over to the old, duct-taped suitcases that have been abandoned in the corner of my room since my return and I pull out a bra, a thong, a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a white tank top. Not really wanting to do much with my long, wavy hair, I throw on my old tattered New England Patriots ball cap again and head out to my Jeep.
It’s a beautiful day so I decide to take advantage of it and leave the soft cover top off exposing the dark leather seats covered with discarded cups of coffee and bottled water. The music on the radio blasts with me singing along about it being the best day of my life even though it really isn’t. I decide then that I really need to pick up the garbage before it flies out as I drive. The stupid latch on the seat is stuck again so I have to climb up the runner to reach into the back leaving my ass up in the air to fend for itself. Muttering profanities at myself for the condition of my vehicle, I suddenly have the sense that I’m not alone.
I look around over the hood of the truck thinking it’s either Brady or maybe Mrs. Longo, who often comes over unannounced or uninvited. There’s no one in front of me, so I turn back. But a movement at the end of the long, asphalt driveway catches my attention. A blurry figure runs past and is gone. I shrug my shoulders at my paranoia as I continue to pick up empty coffee cups, water bottles and candy wrappers. Suddenly, I have that feeling of being watched again. I raise the curled brim of my hat which has fallen over my eyes and look back to the end of the driveway.
Adam, the beautiful, arrogant man, stands there looking me. Our eyes lock instantaneously, but he isn’t smiling that perfect, cocky smile, instead, an intense look, possibly one of annoyance or anger, is etched across his face. He isn’t just looking at me or watching me; it feels primal and possessive like he’s staring, trying to reach down into my depths of my soul. It’s kind of scary, yet hot at the same time. Oh, crap! What the hell is he doing here? In all of my life, I have never felt that magnetic pull that I’ve always read about—but I feel it now. His chest, now covered with his damp, grey t-shirt, rises and falls as if he’s trying to control his breathing. Adrenaline courses through my body, my core tightens instantly. I’m sure I’m going to have to change my underwear again.
I want to look away, but I can’t—he’s mesmerizing, bewitching me with his eyes. I force myself to break our connection and look away from him, blinking rapidly as if I’ve been awakened from a dream. I quickly step down from the Jeep and look back, but he’s no longer standing there. My driveway is completely empty. My eyes scan the long driveway and around the backyard with no sign of Adam anywhere. A part of me wants to sprint to the end of the driveway to see if he’s still there to confront him, but the sensible side tells me to keep still. I’m left standing there beside my burgundy Jeep, holding a bag of garbage, with nothing but a million questions. Where the hell did he come from? Why was he standing there? What was with that look? Who is this Adam guy?
The look on his face was so intense; it felt like he was trying to convey some secret message that was only meant for me. Listen to me! Secret message? Magnetic pulls? Oh, please! Guys that look like that aren’t interested in girls like me. He’s probably pissed off because I brushed him off at the park. What did he expect me to do? Fall at his feet and worship the ground he walks on? Yeah, that’s probably it. I doubt a man who looks like an Armani underwear model gets the brush off often especially by a lowly, small town, school teacher such as myself. I can only imagine the bruising his ego took. I wonder briefly if he could be like Ted Bundy; a handsome, charming serial killer who moves from town to town evading capture. Maybe I should be afraid because he knows where I live. Maybe I should call Shane and have him come over for a while. No, I’m not ready to see him yet. Maybe I should call Pete, but he wouldn’t be any help; he’d just lick the man to death. Or maybe I should stop by Smith’s Firearm Supply and load up on a few extra rounds of ammo.
By the time I finally head out to run my errands, it’s late in the afternoon and the August heat packs a punch. I have my list and I’m determined to get back home so I can open a bottle of wine, grab my Kindle and relax. Bank. Post office. Grocery store. Liquor store. Pet store. Having been gone almost six weeks, I have to pick up my mail that was on hold at the post office.
I drive through town, smiling at all the familiar places and faces, beeping my horn at people I know. The Killers keep me company during my afternoon drive through town. Waiting at one of the few traffic lights, I bop my head, tap the steering wheel and sing off key about Mr. Brightside, when to my left, I see blonde hair blowing in my peripheral vision and I feel the weight of a stare. No, not a stare. An “I fucking hate you. I wish you were dead” glare. Seriously? I haven’t been home for three days and this shit starts again. Ignore it. Ignore her. You’re better than this, I remind myself. I wish I could just ignore it, but I can’t. So I do what my mom taught me to do, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” With the most indifferent look I can muster, zero expression on my face, I turn my head to face Gina and stare at her. I want her to know I’m bored with her and her games. It’s time to grow the fuck up and behave like an adult not a spoiled brat. I have no doubt that if she were able to shoot beams, she’d zap me into oblivion. The hateful rays from her blue eyes could just quite possibly melt the lens on her fancy Prada sunglasses as she glares at me.
She says nothing to me. She doesn’t have to. I know perfectly well how she feels about me. Funny thing is I feel the same exact way about her.
“Mia, you said you liked the dress. You didn’t say you were definitely getting it.” Gina looked at me in the mirror as she applied more lip gloss.
“Oh my God! You knew I had it on hold because I had to wait for my dad to get paid.” I shook my head and crossed my arms. “Why would you do that?”
“Give it a rest, Mia. It’s not the end of the world.” Gina pulled the door open and brushed past my boyfriend who was standing there wearing a black tux, waiting for me.
“Looking good, Dylan.” She patted his cheek as she passed by.
Dylan’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “What’s up with her?”
“I don’t know. She’s been a real bitch lately.” I grabbed his hand and headed off to the dance floor.
A quick beep of a car’s horn snaps me out of the reverie.
“Mom, the arrow is green,” a small voice pipes up. “Go, Mom, go!”
My eyes move to the back of her shiny, silver Mercedes convertible and notice sitting there are two little girls. One I recognize immediately as her blonde haired, green eyed daughter who looks exactly like her father, but the other, a dark-haired girl, I don’t recognize at all. Without a word of acknowledgement to her daughter, Gina’s sleek car lurches forward, taking a sharp left towards the outskirts of town. Well, that was fun! Always a pleasure to see you, too. NOT!
I can’t change the past. It is what it is. I’ve decided not to dwell on it any longer; I’m going to have a fresh start. I was beyond thrilled when our small town got the board’s approval to build a new elementary school, combining all Kindergarten through fifth grades. The only drawback is that now I’m going to run into Gina more than I’d like to since her daughter, Sophie, is in second grade.
Running errands seems to take longer than usual because I run into everyone and their mother in town. I promise Miss Jones that I will visit after church. She was my nana’s oldest and dearest friend who loved me like a granddaughter. It’s kind of sad that she never married or had children of her own. She was so good with kids. I wonder if that’s what people will say about me when I’m old. Poor Mia Delaney, never married, never had any children. She lived and died a spinster. What the hell do they know anyway? Truthfully though, the thought does make me a little sad.
As I checkout, placing my items on the conveyer belt, the sound of deep
laughter draws my attention to the front of the store. Curiously, I set the pint of chocolate ice cream down and look up from my carriage full of food and freeze when I see that sexy man from the park. Adam looks freshly showered, wearing khaki board shorts, a white t-shirt and a Yankees cap. He pushes a carriage with a young boy, wearing a similar blue cap holding on to the front of the carriage. Again? He must have moved here over the summer because I’m pretty sure I know everyone in this small town and I definitely do not know these two.
Wanting to hide myself, I pull my cap down low over my head, needing a reason to look down and avoid eye contact at any and all costs, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and send a text to Shelby.
Me: Hey, lush. Still drunk?
An immediate response pings.
Shelby: No way! Sex is an amazing way to sober up!
Me: Lucky bitch!
Shelby: I know, right!
Me: Come over tonight? Can you bring me a hot guy? I’m dying here! LOL
I knew her answer would be no. She’s married now and can’t come hang out with me whenever she wants to.
Shelby: Can’t tonight, babe. Mike sends his love. ☺ But I hear there’s fresh meat in town.
Fresh meat? What is she talking about now? I swear she’s such a drama queen.
“Damn, he’s fine. Mmmmm…mmmm.” My head snaps up. I look at Angie, the sixty-something year old part-time cashier, who has suddenly stopped bagging my food and is looking out into the store towards the produce section. My eyes follow the direction of hers, and I realize then that she’s referring to Adam, whose hand is wrapped around a massive cantaloupe, squeezing it gently, sniffing it to check for ripeness. Oh Lord! Those hands! I can only imagine how that would feel to have his hands on me or that nose skimming over me, down my neck, over my…
“Girl, look at that ass! I bet the rest of him looks that good, too.” Angie’s southern drawl in full effect. I shake my head and laugh under my breath, embarrassed by my dirty thoughts. I turn to face her, hand over some cash, and whisper, “Angie Jackson! What’s the matter with you? Aren’t you happily married? Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise at the Jackson home, is there?” I mimic her southern drawl perfectly. The dark brown skin around her eyes crinkles as she purses her lips and smirks because we both know that she and her husband, Clayton, who owns an auto repair shop in town, are head over heels in love with each other. “Mia, girl.” She snaps her teeth. “You know better than that! Honey, just cuz’ I can’t touch, don’t mean I can’t look! But, you...you can touch, girl.”
