by Olivia Chase
“Sweetheart. No one talks to Smith.” Tawny lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic squeeze. “The Beckett boys are good for one thing. Fucking. Okay, two things—fucking and fighting. But they don’t date anyone, and they sure as hell don’t talk.”
It’s not true, though I don’t bother to correct the women. Smith and I have talked. I’m the new girl, though, so I know I’ll just hear how I don’t know enough yet. It’s like the script writes itself—I can almost predict it.
Tawny sighs and picks up a magazine near her. “I sure wish I could find out how well they are in bed. I’m far too old for them though. I don’t think they’re into cougars.”
Felicia laughs. “Please. I saw the way that guy at Foley’s was hitting on you. Remember him? The black-haired one who barely had enough facial hair to indicate he was out of puberty?”
They both cackle and talk about him, the Beckett Boys forgotten. But my stomach is unsettled now, uneasy. Am I really naïve as to think that maybe what Smith and I are doing is different? Or is this just me being blind?
Sometimes I can see every emotion on his face. Other times, I can’t tell a damn thing he’s thinking. Hot and cold.
The rest of my shift crawls by. I’m plagued by doubts, feeling a little silly, yet also trying to convince myself that I know what I know. I’m not just a booty call to Smith. There’s more between us than that. What that “more” is, I don’t know. But it’s there. Either that, or he’s the world’s greatest actor. Because the emotion in our last kiss was so strong it almost blew me over.
At seven, I wrap up my shift, tired down to my bones, and get in my car. The morning sun is peeking over the horizon, and the trees are awash in a golden glow. There aren’t a lot of cars on the road, just tree-lined avenues and quiet houses waking for the day. Rock Bridge is a lovely town, and for the first time, I let myself really start to observe it for what it is.
Really, does it matter what Smith and I are right now? We’ve only known each other a few weeks. I should stop hyper focusing, overanalyzing, and just let it be what it is. Enjoy his company, his kisses, the way I feel when I’m with him.
Smith isn’t perfect—he’s surly and abrasive at times, hard to read, and his temper is quite strong. But he’s also got this vulnerability underneath all of that. His kisses make me feel alive. And God, do I crave him again, despite my best efforts not to. I want him inside me so badly I could scream.
He’s spent the last few days showing me who he is. Slowly dropping his guard, giving me a hint or two about his life, his stresses. What he wants. And every bit of information I get is like a drop of rain on the desert. I soak it up and instantly want more.
I weave my way to my apartment, getting a string of green lights.
I’m in a good place right now. I need to stop being so on edge. Rock Bridge is turning into home for me.
I pull into my parking lot and kill the engine. Lock my car door and head to my apartment. There’s a folded-over note for me taped on my door with no text on the outside. Maybe Smith thanking me for bringing him dinner?
I rip it off and flip it open.
The words are stark and accusing.
I FOUND YOU
I can’t believe that he’s been here.
Roger.
Just thinking his name, just seeing his handwriting, makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.
My hands shake so badly that I drop the note, and it flutters quietly to the ground in front of my feet. Oh God, oh God. I spin around and eye the hallway around me. Empty. My entire body is trembling, and it takes all my effort to bend over and retrieve the note, cramming it into my purse, then walk back to my car.
Every nerve ending has roared to the surface of my skin. I’m just waiting for Roger to jump out and grab me any second. The walk to my car takes a year, and it doesn’t help that I’m feeling lightheaded. It takes me far too long to get the key in my lock, but I finally do and dive into the driver’s seat, locking the car doors and gasping for air.
I’m on autopilot as I pull away from the parking lot. I drive in random patterns for a good half hour, looking to see if anyone is behind me every thirty seconds. I don’t think I’m being tailed, but I’m so scared that I can’t be sure.
Roger is out there somewhere. He knows where I live. He’s found me, and I’m in real danger now, because me running away like that surely angered him beyond reason. I know him—he’s going to make sure I am fully aware of how he feels.
When I’m pretty certain that I’m not being followed, I use GPS to navigate me to Outlaws. I park two blocks down the street on a residential road, then practically run the whole way to Smith’s entrance.
I bang on the door, praying he’s here, glancing around me.
I hear thudding as someone walks down the stairs. The door open, and Smith stands in front of me, looking sleepy and disheveled, his hair mussed on top. He blinks when he sees me. “Hey, what’s—” He stops talking and jerks to full attention, staring at my face. “What’s wrong, Aubrey?”
The knot that has been slowly building in my chest gets so big it’s unbearable, and I feel myself unravel. Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes, slide down my cheeks. “I…I’m scared, and I didn’t know where to go—”
That’s all I get out before Smith jerks me inside the doorway and locks the door behind me. He has my hand in a death grip and tugs me up the narrow stairwell to his apartment. I follow him, my palms clammy, clenching his hand so hard I’m almost afraid I might break his fingers off.
He sets me on the couch then takes a seat between my legs on the coffee table. Grips my shoulders and makes me look at him. “Aubrey. What. The fuck. Is going on. I need you to tell me everything.”
I sniffle and feel another sob erupt from my chest. I try to suck it back. “I…” I shudder and swipe my hands across my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” Deep breath, Aubrey. “I’m scared. I didn’t know where else to go.” I sob again, and again, and then I can’t stop crying.
With a move that happens so fast I can barely blink, Smith scoops me into his arms like I’m a doll and shifts us so he’s sitting on the couch, me on his lap. I wrap my arms around him and breathe in his scent, let the feel of his strong arms around me comfort me. My tears come, hot and heavy, and we sit there as he lets me cry for a few minutes. He says nothing, just silently stroking my hair, my back.
I accept his comfort and nuzzle into his neck. I know I’m getting him wet from my tears, but I try not to be self-conscious about it. Finally the tension in my lungs releases, and I can breathe again. I find myself drawing in a slow gulp of air, then releasing it.
Smith kisses my brow, and the tender gesture eases the pain in my heart. “Sweetheart, let me help you. Please. I’m worried.”
I swallow and sit back, looking him in the face. I swipe my eyes again to clear the tears. When I go to move off his lap and give him room, he frowns and clenches my hips to lock me into place.
I give a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m…really tired. And I came home to find a note from my ex-boyfriend on the door saying he’s found me.”
“I’m guessing that’s a bad thing,” he says quietly. “I need you to tell me why.”
I squirm a little, discomfort blooming in my lower belly. I bite my lower lip and look away. I don’t want to look at him while I tell what happened. “Roger and I met at a party. He was really sweet and attentive at first. Totally into me. He told me he felt connected and vulnerable in a way he never had, and I was drawn to it. I’d…” I clear my throat. “I’d only ever been with one man before him, and he was an emotional dud. So I found Roger’s focus flattering and compelling.”
Smith doesn’t say anything, just lets me continue. His hand rubs soft circles on my back, soothing me in a silent gesture. I close my eyes and let the sensation give me strength to confess.
“Things moved fast. Roger thought we should move in together a month after we dated, but I managed to hold him off another couple of months. I
skipped out on my lease and moved in with him, because his place was bigger and he felt it was a good start for us to grow. That eventually we’d find a home together.” Images of those early times flash through my mind. Roger’s gentle coercion to get his way. How he made me feel that what he wanted was best for both of us.
“Roger grew more…controlling as time went on. It started with him chastising me about how I spent my money and spare time. He tried to make it sound reasonable at first, like he was just giving me advice and I was overreacting for getting upset. But then it became that he wanted to mesh our bank accounts together. Which I stupidly did.” I can feel the old, familiar sickness over my stupidity swirling in my gut.
“Go on,” Smith urges me. I can’t tell what he’s feeling right now; his voice is even and quiet. I’m kind of afraid he’s probably questioning the wisdom of being with someone like me, but I make myself continue.
“Having access to my spending gave him more control over me. He was constantly harping on how much money I blew. If I drew cash out, he wanted to know what I was spending it on. I had to start keeping receipts to prove it.” I duck my head in shame and stare at my lap, fiddling with my fingertips. “A big source of contention for us was that I didn’t want to quit my job. He wanted me home, taking care of our place, but everything I did was wrong. I folded towels wrong. I didn’t buy the brand of toilet paper he wanted. One time I forgot to check the pantry and brought home duplicates of things we already had. I came home from work that night to find all the duplicates lined up on the dining room table. It was his way of shaming me. Making sure I know the he knew I fucked up.”
As I confess all of this, I find my old anger at Roger surging up in me again. My breathing gets quicker, and the blood pounds in my veins. “I wanted out, but I felt stuck. Our lives were intertwined. I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he controlled everything. He’d taken over paying all the bills, including mine, so I had no idea where it all was. He’d even started doling out cash to me for spending money to ensure I didn’t go crazy. I told my friend this at work one night and she said he was abusive and I needed to get the hell out of it.” I swallow, thankful once more for Michaela. She helped me understand just how bad our relationship was. “She pushed me into getting my independence for a couple of months, and I quietly started searching for another job, casting my nets out of state, even.”
I pause. Smith is stiff, not saying a word. I wish I could read him. I turn to look into his eyes and he stares hard at me. A long moment passes.
It’s difficult, but I make myself keep looking at him as I reveal what happened that night. “When I had a lead on a position in a different state, one that seemed promising, I finally gathered my courage and told Roger that I was done. That I don’t love him and I want us to break up and separate all our entanglements. Upon retrospect, telling him when he was drinking wasn’t my best idea. He got super angry with me, called me a whore, asked me again and again if I was cheating on him and leaving him for another man. Said he’d followed me at work and had seen me talking to men when I was there, or running errands. I…was shocked.” All the tension from learning about that reveal came back into me, and I started to shake again. “He’d put keystroke detection on my laptop and was monitoring everything I was saying. All this time, Roger had been watching me. Checking my text messages on my cell phone when I wasn’t looking, seeing who I was talking to, reading my emails.”
I close my eyes. “He grabbed me hard and shook me. I tried to get away from him but he wouldn’t let go. I got scared and shoved at his chest, and he screamed at me to stop fighting him, that I was making a mistake leaving him. That he’d make me sorry if I thought I could walk away like this. That he had a say in our relationship and he wasn’t done yet.” I press trembling fingers to my stomach and make myself breathe. The horror of that night, the overwhelming fear I felt, shudders through me. “So I stayed, because I was petrified. I stayed for another couple of weeks. During that time, Roger was his usual self—and why wouldn’t he be? He got his way. I was still there. Until one day, my cell phone rang and I got the job offer from here. I accepted on the spot. Then the next day, I waited until he was at work and I packed everything I owned and left. I drove to the bank and took out enough money for me to live on. When I made it to a friend’s house, I contacted my bills. Turns out Roger hadn’t paid any of them. He was hoarding my money and keeping me indebted to him. I worked out a payment plan to get me back on track.”
Shame burns me all over. I get up and move from his lap, and he doesn’t stop me. The rawness I’m feeling hurts so badly. Telling him that story, confessing it all, makes me realize what an utter fool I was with Roger. How did I let him control me like that? What is wrong with me?
I go to a window and press my forehead to it, looking down. I don’t see anyone out there who looks like Roger. No cars parked nearby. I finally let my guard down and Roger came back into my life, destroying everything again. And now that I’ve finally found someone I connect with, someone who excites me and stimulates me, he ruins it all.
I hate him. So deeply.
And I kind of hate myself for being stupid and weak.
Soft hands touch my upper arms, then wrap around me, and Smith tugs me to his chest. He’s holding me tightly, pressing small kisses to the side of my brow, then he turns me in his arms and grips me.
I can feel his body is so tense he seems like a live wire, and it makes me pause.
“If this fucker ever tries to harm you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” he says in such a cold, furious tone, it takes me aback. “I will protect you from him, I swear it. You will never have to be afraid of him or anyone else.” His words are breathed against my forehead, rustling the small hairs there. “I will find him and make sure he knows he will leave you alone for good.”
Listening to Smith, I’m convinced he means it. Some of the fear dissipates from my body, and I sag against him. He grabs me and scoops me into his arms again, carrying me down a dark hallway, kicking open a door. Then I’m delicately laid on a bed, and he’s curled up behind me, cupping me. My back is warm against his chest.
“Sleep, baby,” he tells me in a gentle tone. His hand rubs my hair, my back. “Trust me. I’ll protect you. Sleep.”
I didn’t think I could, but I find my eyelids drifting closed. I’m so tired, and crying made me even more fatigued. Between the low hum of the fan above us and Smith’s steady warmth, I find myself drifting into a dreamless sleep.
10
Smith
I’m not sure what time it is when I awaken, but I realize there’s a curvy form arched against me in my bed, and my cock is aching so hard I could hammer nails. Everything surges back to me—Aubrey’s horrifying story, how her insane ex tracked her down.
There’s no fucking way I’m letting that man anywhere near her. He has no idea who he’s dealing with now, but he’ll find out very soon if he pushes his luck.
When she gives a small groan in her sleep, I realize I’m gripping her hip and relax my fingers. I look down at her sleepy form, the dark lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, her pink lips relaxed as she dozes. This girl is insanely gorgeous and sweet, and that asshole took advantage of her goodness.
I might not be perfect, and I might be the worst kind of man slut, but I would never want to treat her that way. I know that much for certain. My hunger comes from wanting to please her, give her the kind of pain she’d crave, not fear.
Consensual.
I would cut myself before I made her afraid of me. Before I shamed her or guilted her or abused her. For once, I’m glad I know enough questionable people. I have friends who will keep an eye out for this dick…
Aubrey deserves that.
I stretch out against her, willing myself to calm down. This is not the time to be horny for her. But it’s hard to help it when she’s so soft and pliant right now. And having her trust me after what she went through… I won’t fuck that up no matter what it means I have to do.
<
br /> I make myself get out of bed, despite every cell in my body screaming at me for it, and pad to the kitchen to make coffee. She’ll want some when she wakes up, I’m sure. Seems like every nurse I ever met lives on the shit. Maybe some breakfast too. I dig through my fridge. Fuck, I need to go shopping. I do see lunchmeat and cheese—a quick sniff confirms they’re still okay. I have bread on the countertop too.
Small hands touch me from behind, setting my skin on fire. I turn to face the sleepy eyes of Aubrey, peering up at me, wearing only her scrub top and panties. Her legs are bare, and my cock throbs painfully at the sight. Holy fucking God, this woman is so beautiful.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks in a sleep-thick tone. “You left the bed. I wasn’t sure where you were.”
I draw her close to me and kiss her brow. “I didn’t leave.”
I hear her chuckle. “I can see that, goof. Just…well, we really didn’t talk much about what you felt about what I said, and…”
“Sweetheart.” I tug her head back so she’s looking up at me. The way she’s so open and lets me see everything just makes me want to kiss her endlessly, to plunge deep inside her. But this is so not the time for that. Not when she’s afraid. “It’s fine. I was just getting you some food and coffee. Figured you’d be ready for it.”
“Oh.” She tugs her lip between her teeth and worries it. “But…” Her shrug is light, and she glances away. “I dunno, I thought that maybe since…” Her cheeks go bright pink, and she peers up at me, and I see her eyelids go heavy.
Fuck. She wants to have sex. It’s all over her face, in her body language, the way her nipples hardening under her shirt as she’s talking. Aubrey wants me.
And I’m trying so fucking hard to be noble that I want to kill myself. The irony is bitter.
“I…” I cough. “Look, this probably isn’t the best time for us to do anything.”
She quirks a brow, feigning casualness even though the redness burns down her throat now to disappear into her shirt. “Oh? Are you on your period or something? I know cramps totally kill the mood.”
