by W Winters
For the longest time, Grandmom was the only one I talked to. I’d work at the bakery, take care of Grandmom and then go home to sleep. It kept me busy and somehow my grandmother rubbed off on me. Over time, it became easier to refuse to let anyone in.
Maybe it’s because she’s a hard woman too. Or was. And she knew how hard it was to give even a little piece to anyone. Opening up a little inevitably means breaking down.
She was a hard woman and showed me how to survive being this way.
But now she’s gone and I’m here all alone.
The click of the air conditioner is met with the curtains swaying. They’re bright white with bluebirds scattered across them. This is the only area in the entire house that’s decorated; it’s kind of the dining room, but the table is strangely small for such a large room. And I don’t have any desire to put in any effort anywhere else. I can’t stand to be here any longer than I need to be.
At that thought, I head to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
The electric kettle is Grandmom’s too. Another reminder.
The plants, the tea... well, maybe that’s it.
Standing at the linoleum counter, I look around the mostly empty kitchen. I don’t even have cutlery. But that’s okay, I don’t think I’ll be staying here long. “I brought your plants though,” I say out loud like a fucking lunatic. Does it make it any better if I know I’m unwell?
The kettle beeps and the light goes off, so I go about my business. Tea and then research. I pause after pouring the hot water into the porcelain cup, remembering Dean.
He’s definitely a man who leaves an impression. I smile into the tea, drinking it unsweetened and loving the warmth as it flows through my chest. And Dean’s also a wanted distraction.
“You’d hate him, Grandmom,” I say with my eyes closed. “Or, maybe not,” I shrug and remember how she gave me the advice to get over one man by getting under another. It was only a joke to her, but hey, I think she was onto something.
With each sip of the tea, I think about Dean. His large, strong hands. The way he likes to pretend he’s not wound tightly when it’s obvious that he is. The hot tea is a soothing balm, but Dean needs more than a mere hot drink. I should know.
Just as I’m starting to relax, just as I feel a bit sane, my phone rings in the barren living room. My pace is slow, and all the good feelings are replaced by ice.
There’s only one person who calls me and I don’t want to talk to her. I will, but all she’ll get are the pieces of me that remain. The remnants of who I used to be. She made her choice, and now we both have to deal with it.
I take my time tossing the used tea bag into the trash, where it hits the empty box of hair dye. I absently twist the brunette curl dangling in my face around my finger as I walk to my phone to answer it. I don’t want to look like the girl I once was. I don’t want to be her anymore. Dyeing my hair helps.
“Hello,” I answer the phone, setting the cup down on the floor and sitting cross-legged to look out of the back sliding doors.
“You answered.” My mother sounds surprised, and maybe she should be. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard her voice.
“What’s going on, Mom?” I ask her, feeling a sense of loneliness, I haven’t felt in a while. Maybe it’s not the anger that keeps me at a distance from her. Maybe it’s just because she’s a reminder of what happened.
“I wanted to let you know I bought you a sofa.” Her voice has a feigned sense of happiness to it. Like she can pretend we’re okay and one day we’ll be back to normal. “I need your address, so I can send it. And a TV stand too. And if you need anything else… “
“Mom, you didn’t have to do that,” I tell her simply.
“I wanted to, and I know that you quit when… she passed away four months ago, so money must be tight. If you need any,” my mother stumbles over her words, “I don’t know what you have saved, but I can send you--”
“I’m fine.” I hated that job at the bakery anyway. It was just filling the time and numbing the truth of what I needed to do. It’s not like I was going anywhere running the register.
“Will you let me send them to you?” she asks me and it’s the hurt in her voice that makes me cave.
It’s not that I want to hurt my mother. I know she’s in pain like I am. I just don’t want to be around her. I don’t want to forgive her because then it’s as if what happened was okay.
And it never will be. Never.
“Sure, I’ll text it to you,” I answer her out of guilt.
“Thank you,” she says, and I think she’s crying on the other end of the phone.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“I just miss you; I miss your grandmother too.”
“I miss her too,” I say. “She’s in a better place now,” I say the words, but I don’t mean them. They’re only for my mother’s benefit. If it wasn’t for my grandmother’s death, I’m not sure my mother and I would even have a relationship. It’s been five years of hardly saying a word to each other. And for most of them, I lived under her roof. Both of us keeping ourselves busy and ignoring each other.
I remember when I started sneaking out how she pretended I wasn’t.
I kept pushing and she let me get away with murder. She didn’t want to fight me. She didn’t want a reason for us to argue. It’s the guilt that does that. Either that or the shame.
“I have to go, Mom,” I tell her as I watch the leaves on the trees behind my house move. It wasn’t until I moved in with my grandmother that my mom admitted our relationship was strained. She likes to pretend, but I don’t have the strength for that. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
“Well, call me,” she tells me hurriedly before I can hang up. “If you need anything.”
“I will,” I answer, although that’s not going to happen. I already know that and I’m sure she does too. “Thank you for the furniture,” I add. “I really appreciate it.”
“You don’t already have anything, do you?” she asks me. “It didn’t seem like you packed much.”
“No, I didn’t. Thank you.”
I end the call as fast as I can. I know Mom wants to talk. But she’s saying all the wrong things.
Then again, I am too.
I’m holding back; I know that much is true.
I know what I need to do, but it hurts to think about it. It’s going to change everything, and I don’t know who I’ll be after it happens.
And that’s what scares me the most.
Chapter 10
Dean
* * *
Foam spills over the edge of the red Solo cup as I fill it. It falls into the bucket with the rest of the spilled beer.
The last time I had a drink from a keg was at a party for my uncle’s company. He’s in construction and so was I, until I got set up with Jack Henderson, Kev’s father, and my uncle’s friend. That beer was in celebration of hard work. This beer is just because we can drink all night and not give a shit.
And it’s the first of many to come.
I down the cold beer and put my cup back under the spigot to fill it up again.
A pretty little thing sidles up next to me, letting out a small laugh when she bumps her ass on my thigh. Like it was an accident and she was just reaching for the corkscrew on the countertop in front of us.
“My bad,” she says with a smile and throws her hair over her shoulder as she grabs the corkscrew. She looks back at me one more time as she walks away in her tight faded jeans and tank top that rides up and shows off the tramp stamp on the small of her back. It’s a tribal design around a rosebud. Probably something she picked off of the wall of the tattoo shop.
“No problem,” I tell her and take another sip as she walks off. She’s cute, but the one girl I want to see hasn’t come through the front door. I’ve been sitting here all night long, the music thrumming through my veins and the beer right next to me. My back’s against the counter as I face the front door watching everyone shuffle in and out,
with the night sky getting darker, the music louder and everyone in here drinking more and more.
James’s family house is the perfect location for these parties. Right off campus and it’s within walking distance to the dorms but also the frat and sorority housing. All you have to do is follow the train tracks up the block and it leads you right there. Walking on the railroad tracks isn’t the best thing to do when you’re drunk, but at least you can’t take a turn down the wrong street.
Just as I down the rest of the beer and think about heading to the pool room in the back, the front door opens and in walks Allison. Her pouty lips are pulled into a curious smile as she tucks her clutch under her arm and closes the door. I like how she leans against the door, taking in the place before pushing off and heading this way.
My eyes follow her, waiting for the moment when she sees me. Her hips sway in the most tempting rhythm as she peeks over her shoulder, moving the hair behind her ear and exposing more of her neck. With her black dress and red lips, she’s classically beautiful, but it’s tainted.
By the way she walks.
By the expression on her face.
By the way she halts, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and looking me up and down. I smirk as she lets her eyes roam and then stalks toward me.
“You’re late,” I tell her and that only makes her laugh.
“I come when I’m ready,” she says in a sultry voice. She eyes the keg and then where I’m standing, which is right in the fucking way.
I watch as she takes a Solo cup off the counter and then slips between me and the keg, settling her ass right against my dick. She takes her time, bending over as much as she can and filling her cup.
My dick stiffens and the second it does, she peeks over her shoulder at me as she fills her cup.
Taking a sip of beer, she scoots out from between me and the keg and then turns to face me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d walked right out of the kitchen, leaving me hanging again.
“Oh, and I always come first too,” she says, holding up the beer cup and arching her brow. “That’s one of my rules.”
“You’re a tease,” I tell her as my pulse quickens. She holds my gaze and those pale green eyes flicker with heat.
More people filter into the room, a horde of girls all stumbling in their heels and spilling their drinks, laughing as they crowd the kitchen.
Allison doesn’t object when I grab her hand and pull her ass out of there, heading to the living room on the right.
“It’s loud,” she raises her voice and tugs on my hand, stopping me from taking her to the back.
“There’s a rec room this way,” I tell her and move my hand around her waist to keep her moving. I love how she doesn’t protest.
She walks with me through the living room, past the iPod stand and speakers, through the back hall and straight out to the pool room. There are a few arcade games too in the back and there are more people waiting around them than there are playing pool.
I tilt my chin up at Daniel as he stands up, holding the pool stick in his hands and watching the six ball sink straight into a back pocket. He’s an alright guy. Out of all the guys, he’s the one I’ve clicked with most since I moved here. He’s an outsider in a lot of ways. Like me.
The second he sees my Allie Cat, he smiles wider. It’s a triumphant grin and it matches the one on my face when he gives me a nod.
“Aw,” Allison says as she walks toward the side wall where the barstools are set up, “I thought it was going to be empty.” She smirks after saying it and her eyes light up with mischief.
“Like I said, you’re a fucking tease.”
“And you like it,” she says back and then lifts the cup to her lips. She doesn’t take her eyes off me though.
I have to readjust my dick in my pants before I can sit down and watch the pool game.
“Admit it,” she says, her voice a bit stronger than I expected.
“Admit what?” I ask her.
“That you like it.”
“Yeah, so what?” I tell her with confidence. “You already know that.”
“I just like hearing you say it,” she says and shrugs her small shoulders, making the dip in her collarbone that much more pronounced. The second she turns away from me, her cheeks color a beautiful shade and her legs sway. Like she’s shy all of a sudden, just hearing that I like her. I’ll keep that in mind, how easy it is to make her look like that. I like seeing this look on her.
“What else do you like to hear?” I ask her, and she just smiles slightly into her cup, tilting it back and taking a larger drink. “I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
“Is this the room?” she asks me curiously and tilts her head.
“The room?” I ask her to clarify and she slips her hand up my shirt. Her fingers tickle along my skin as she leans forward. “You know,” she licks her lower lip and adds, “the room where everything happens. Or is there an empty bedroom?” As she leans back, she takes her touch with her, leaving me wanting more and wishing there was a room to take her fine ass.
“I’m in the dorms, I don’t stay at the frat.” She seems surprised by that, so I fill her in. “Kev’s dad is paying my ride here to keep me out of trouble and Kev thought I’d make a good addition, but this isn’t really my style.”
“Then what is your style, Dean Warren?”
“Doing whatever I have to, so I can hear you say my name just how I’ve been dreaming.”
Her delicate simper widens, and I take a chance, setting my hand on her thigh.
“Oh, the first move has been made,” Allison says sarcastically but leaves my hand right where it is. She shifts on the barstool and it makes the thin fabric on her already short dress ride a little higher. My fingers are so fucking close to the hem, and just beneath that, her pussy.
“You like it,” I tell her and then pinch the hem of her dress and pull it down as much as I can before taking the cup from her hand.
“Hey, I wasn’t done,” she sulks but I ignore her, walking to the bar and grabbing the vodka and a can of Sprite. I hold it up for her to see and her eyes light up.
“I guess that’ll do,” she says with a devilish glint in her eyes and then mouths the words, “Thank you.”
I grab the whiskey for me and pour my own drink in a glass.
“No ice?” she asks when I hand her the drink I’ve fixed her and stand in front of her, effectively caging her in.
“You want ice in yours?” I ask her.
“I mean in yours,” she says softly, her voice a bit huskier than it was a moment ago. She says the words quickly as well. Like she’s afraid I’d mistake her questioning my drink for being unhappy with her own.
“No ice in mine. You like it?” I ask her, nodding to the drink in her hand and she nods back, biting down on her lip.
“Good.”
I watch as her breathing comes in heavier. I let my left hand fall to her thigh and then slip slowly down, trailing my fingers across her soft skin before gripping the edge of the barstool she’s sitting on. Even with her up this high, I still tower over her. She’s a short little thing.
“You come on strong,” she says, peeking up at me through her thick lashes. “Do you know that?”
I nod my head once and search her face for her reaction. “I don’t do small talk,” I tell her, thinking that’s what she wants to hear.
“What if I want small talk?” she asks me without any trace of humor in her voice.
I take a look out the back window and tell her with a smile, “The weather’s nice tonight.”
She laughs at my stupid rebuttal and the tension eases. Taking a step back, I pull the barstool next to her out further and take a seat.
“It’s hard to get a read on you,” I tell her and take another sip of the whiskey. It warms my chest as it goes down. It’s the good stuff, not that cheap shit I have back at my place.
“Mm, I’m such a puzzle,” she says flatly although I think it’s meant to be taken wit
h humor. There’s something else there, some hint of truth that keeps me from laughing.
“Where are you from?” I ask her, keeping that small talk suggestion of hers in mind. I thought she’d be a bit easier than this. I know she wants it. And she knows I want it too.
“Brunswick,” she says, holding my gaze.
“Small world; I’ve got family in Brunswick,” I tell her and start to think about my mother and the last time I was there. Thank fuck, she changes the subject.
“So, whose place is this?” she asks me, and I tilt my head in James’s direction, back by the arcade games. “His father’s.” Spoiled rich kid is a term I’d use to describe James. I don’t really like him. But then again, I don’t much like anyone.
“Lot of alumni here,” she says beneath her breath.
“Your family go here?” I ask her, and she shakes her head. The only people I know who are here because it’s their family’s college are Kev and James. My family sure as shit didn’t go to college.
“You’re good at small talk,” she says sweetly. “Maybe you should lead with that next time.”
“Next time?” I ask her, cocking a brow and leaning forward.
“Yeah, next time,” she says, and her legs swing slightly from side to side like she’s getting a kick out of teasing me.
“You should know better than that,” I tell her.
“Oh? Is this your last time?” She leans forward slightly. “You’re done with your old ways and I’m the only one for you?” she mocks me.
“As in, you should know better than to think I’m giving up on chasing you until I get what I want,” I correct her and hold her gaze. She breaks it though, easing back against the wall and crossing her ankles as she watches the pool game. The sound of the hard balls crashing against one another and the crowd’s reaction when one sinks makes me turn around for a moment.
