by Lane Hart
It immediately hits me that I must have wandered into and passed out in the wrong apartment last night. There’s a girl in the kitchen surrounded by dark smoke struggling to push up the small window over the sink. Things get stranger as I glance around the living room. The furniture is the same as mine, but there’s no trash or old beer bottles strewn all over the tables, counters or piled up on the floor like I left mine yesterday.
Hoping I can slip out of the apartment without the girl seeing me, I pad barefoot quietly across the floor to the door. My hand has just wrapped around the knob when she exclaims, “Hey! You’re awake!” at a volume that should never be used unless someone’s being murdered.
Without turning around, I mutter, “Sorry I crashed in your bed.” I’ve got the door open and I’m halfway out when a small hand grabs my elbow to stop me.
“Wait! Where are you going? I’m making you breakfast. I promise not all of it’s burnt!”
Good god, she’s even louder standing right behind me. I turn around to ask what kind of twilight zone I fell into, but then I get a good look at her. She’s almost short enough to be classified as a midget and is so lean she probably doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her sandy blonde hair is pulled back, leaving only a row of thick bangs across her forehead. Her triangular face is either small or just looks tiny thanks to all the bangs and a large pair of black-rimmed glasses that take up more than half of it. The ocean blue eyes looking up at me from behind the glass look huge and also familiar, along with the smell of fruit and flowers…
“I’m Lucy, your…” Her button nose wrinkles, and then she suddenly staggers backward several steps in her bright pink flip flops that match her oversized shirt with a giant smiling cupcake on the center of it. “Whoa, buddy. Ever heard of deodorant?”
I not so subtly sniff my underarms and find out she’s right. I fucking reek like month old gym socks. Before I can respond to her insult, the pixie-sized girl dashes away, only to return with a bottle of what I assume is air freshener. She sprays me down with the shit until I taste the ‘clean linen’ scent on my tongue.
“What the fuck?” I shout at her as I try and wave the smell away from my face.
“You smell like garbage, dude! I thought it was all the trash you kept scattered about the apartment, but now I know it was you.”
“This is my apartment?” I ask in surprise.
“Ah, yeah.”
“You cleaned it?”
“Yep. Took all morning and four garbage bags, but I did it,” she says with a big smile, her hands braced proudly on her hips as she surveys the living room and kitchen where smoke is still lingering around a pan of what looks like used to be biscuits.
“And who the fuck are you? A trash fairy sent to break in and clean my shit?”
“Ha! You’re funny! I’m Lucy, your neighbor from downstairs!”
People who talk in all exclamation points should be required to also have a mute button.
“Then why are you in my apartment?” I ask.
“Oh, well, long story short, that guy Malcolm asked me to clean up your place and try to get something other than alcohol in your stomach. No, really, he didn’t actually ask me. It was more like he coerced with threats…”
Oh right. This must be the little bitch from the roof. Lucy.
“Serves you fucking right for running your big mouth to him,” I tell her just as my stomach growls loud enough for the entire building to hear it.
“Hungry? There’s eggs, bacon and I substituted toast since the biscuits turned out a little black.”
For a moment, I weigh the pros and cons of enduring a hot meal with the last surviving member of the Lollipop Guild, but my hunger, unfortunately, wins out.
“Ah, yeah, I guess I could eat something,” I agree. Honestly, I can’t remember the last meal I had. Two days ago? Or has it been three since I ate the last of the peanut butter straight out of the jar?
“Great!” she says with an excited, rapid clap of her hands. I keep waiting for it, but surprisingly, she doesn’t spontaneously erupt in a shower of magical glitter all over my carpet. “You go get a quick shower, and then we can eat without me puking from your horrid stench!”
“Now that’s just fucking rude,” I tell her when her comment contradicts her pixie-like, goody two-shoes appearance.
Ignoring me, she heads into my bedroom saying, “I should probably throw your sheets in the wash too now that you’re up! Are there any cumsocks or cumrags in your bed I need to know about? If so, they will definitely make me barf.”
My jaw drops at her incredibly blunt words about such a personal act as I follow her into my room. I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is talking to. I’m the goddamn VP of the Dirty Aces, not some teenage boy who can’t stop playing with my dick. A tiny part of me wants to throw her in my bed and shut her up by fucking her disrespectful mouth.
Jesus. I don’t know where that perverted shit came from. I haven’t thought about being with a woman other than Ellie that way in years. It must just be the fact that she’s the first one I’ve had in my bedroom since my wife left me. Ex-wife.
“Well?” Lucy asks when she grabs one of my pillows and holds it away from her as far as possible to remove the case.
“Jerking off is the last thing I’ve had on my mind lately,” I admit to her, pretty sure it makes me sound pathetic.
“Doesn’t look like getting it up is a problem,” she mutters under her breath.
“Of course I can get it up,” I say as I reach for my dick and realize…it’s hard. Fuck. When the hell did that happen?
At thirty, I’m damn good at controlling myself. Hell, I rarely even get morning wood anymore thanks to all of the alcohol in my system.
“Do what you want with my sheets, I’m heading to the shower,” I grumble before I take off to the master bathroom to hide my erection. Although, it’s a little too late for that since she’s already seen it.
Lucy
* * *
Nash Kincaid’s body is fine as hell. He’s tall and sinewy, so it looks like each of his muscles have been carved from stone, and there are tons of them, from the rounded shoulders and biceps to the eight pack of abs that end just before the hip indentions pointing the way to what’s below the waistband of his boxer briefs. And whoa, buddy, is he very endowed in the area that was bulging!
But best of all is his handsome face that’s long and lean, covered in thick, dark brown scruff along his sculpted jaw models would kill for and eyes the color of warm, golden honey. Before today, I hadn’t gotten a good look at him up close since moving in or on the roof the other night when it was dark. It is a crying shame that he would even consider harming a single hair on his perfect body.
Just goes to show you how love can make you stupid. It doesn’t take a detective to figure out that the divorce papers scattered across the dining table and dated two weeks ago probably have something to do with his dark thoughts. I know from experience how much it hurts when the person you love doesn’t love you back. Only a dumb bitch would give up a man like Nash, who is not only gorgeous but incredibly loyal according to his friend, Malcolm.
While Nash takes a shower, one more item to check off my list of requirements from his friend, I throw his sheets in the washing machine in the hall closet with a boatload of bleach and then gather up all the dirty clothes in the bedroom for the next load, noticing several cardboard boxes of girly things on one side of the closet – candles, lingerie, hair care products and lotions that must be the remnants of the woman who broke his heart. I close the closet door, feeling like I’ve invaded his privacy.
Not that I haven’t been doing that for hours now thanks to Malcolm’s requirements.
Cleaning the apartment took less time than I expected. When I first walked in and saw the damage, I was certain it would take weeks to find the floor and furniture again, but I was thankfully wrong. The place just needed to be picked up and dusted to look like new again.
Now, if I
can get some food in Nash and make sure he’s in a good mental state, then my job today will be done. Which actually makes me worry, after some reflection. What excuse will I have to see him tomorrow?
Ah, well, I’ll figure out something.
For now, I load up two plates with breakfast fixings and then take them to the table, placing one on either side of the now neatly stacked divorce papers with forks and napkins since I have questions for Nash about that topic.
By the time I pour us both a glass of the orange juice I bought this morning with the other groceries before coming over, Nash is back. His dark hair is damp and slicked back, and sadly he’s put on clothes – a black, faded Metallica t-shirt and worn blue jeans with no shoes or socks on his bare feet. It doesn’t look like he touched his beard, which makes him maintain the grumpy bear image.
“Have a seat and let’s dig in!” I suggest.
“Are you always like this?” he mutters while pulling out his chair as I take mine across the table.
“Like what?”
“Happy and loud?”
“Most of the time,” I agree since there’s no point wasting time sulking.
Nash picks up his fork and then freezes before digging in, his gaze fixed on the paperwork underneath the plate. Since now is as good a time as any to bring it up, I say, “So you’re recently divorced, huh?”
“Yeah,” he agrees with his jaw ticking before attacking his eggs, shoveling in a forkful.
“Do you miss her?”
Apparently, this question catches him off guard, because he chokes on his eggs. Tossing his fork down on the plate, he grabs his juice and chugs it.
I quietly nibble on my toast while I wait for his response.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say quietly to myself as I chew that information over.
“You can take it any way you want because it’s none of your fucking business!” he exclaims.
“So, you still love her too. Interesting,” I remark before I take a sip of my juice.
“Why would I still love someone I haven’t seen or heard from in three goddamn years until I got served with divorce papers from her attorney out of the blue?” Nash snaps at me before he finally starts eating.
“No clue. That’s a really shitty thing to do.”
“Fuck yes, it is!” he agrees before picking up his toast and taking an angry chomp out of it. “I should’ve known it would never work. She grew up rich, and I didn’t have shit back then.”
“Did she know that before she married you?”
“Hell yes,” he answers.
“So why would she up and marry you if money was so important to her?”
“I thought it was because she loved me. Guess I was wrong,” he says. “I don’t miss her,” Nash adds, even though we both know he’s full of shit. “I just think I deserved a reason, some closure after waiting so long, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s not much to ask. And you haven’t been with anyone since her?” I ask to see what he says, since Malcolm doesn’t think he has.
“The thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he admits, which is both incredibly sweet and sad.
“You think it’s too late to try and reconcile?”
“The divorce is finalized. We’re done.”
“Yeah, on paper the marriage is done,” I remark. “But maybe there’s still a chance…”
“No fucking way,” he grumbles, then crunches his way through a slice of bacon. “I’m done wasting my time on her. That’s five years of my life I won’t ever get back.”
“So you were separated longer than you were together?”
“We were. Crazy, right?”
“Yeah, crazy,” I agree. We eat in silence for several minutes before I finally have to ask the question I’ve been wondering. “Is she the reason why you were on the roof the other night?”
“No,” Nash replies without hesitation as he finishes off his eggs. “I was in a shitty place already before I got the paperwork. Didn’t think I could feel even shittier, but I guess I could.”
“Are you still feeling…shitty?” I ask. “Like in the drunk and walking on a roof with a gun kind of way?”
“No,” he says again, this time meeting my eyes across the table. “I wasn’t going to kill myself. Jumping to feel the pain was just a stupid, fleeting thought when I wasn’t thinking straight. I hadn’t slept or ate in days. I was numb to everything and needed to feel something, even pain. There was more alcohol in my system than good sense. Honestly, I didn’t even realize how idiotic what I was doing was until you scared the shit out of me and I nearly fell.”
I actually believe him. Which is why I tell him, “Sorry. I had no idea…” I trail off rather than lie. I went up there looking for him, but I didn’t know what he was doing.
“I don’t miss her,” he adds. “I think I just miss the thought of her. She was supposed to be my wife, through thick and thin, no matter what. I guess I convinced myself that, if I kept our vows, then eventually she would realize we belong together and come back to me, however long it took. Should’ve known love at first sight was bullshit.”
Wow. I have to blink away the tears before I can speak again after hearing that brutal honesty.
“Do you think she’s moved on, you know, with someone else?”
“Probably,” Nash replies with a shrug of his shoulders. “That seems like the most logical reason for why she finally filed for divorce. She’s met someone and wants to spend her life with him instead of me.”
“I bet he’s a total twat and not even half as hot as you are,” I tell him honestly, which has his lips lifting in an almost smile.
“I bet he’s rich,” Nash replies. “Which is apparently more important to her than looks or personality.”
“And he’s probably convinced himself that she loves him, even though she doesn’t, not really. She’s just using him,” I mutter to myself.
“Poor fool.”
“Don’t feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve it,” I say.
“So, you think he knew she was married when they started seeing each other?”
“Absolutely. Fuck them both.”
“Fuck them both,” Nash agrees, holding out his nearly empty glass for me to clink with mine.
For a moment, I think we’re actually making progress, becoming friends and helping him get over his ex. But then Nash gets up from the table, takes his glass to the sink and then pulls out a bottle of Heineken from the fridge even though it’s not even noon.
Standing up to gather up our plates to clear the table, I sigh heavily and tell him, “Nothing good ever comes to alcoholics.”
“I’m okay with that,” he replies before he heads for the sofa and plops down on it like he’s not planning to leave anytime soon.
Chapter Six
Nash
* * *
After a distraught Tinker Bell finally leaves my apartment, looking like a sad puppy dog because I’m drinking before lunchtime, I grab my phone and call Malcolm.
“Yeah,” he answers.
“You could’ve warned me that you recruited my high-strung neighbor to annoy me before I woke up and found her about to burn down the building. I’m guessing you gave her my key.”
“I did,” Malcolm agrees. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, I guess. She cleaned my apartment and made me shower before I could eat. Then, we had breakfast together, and she somehow got me talking about my feelings.”
“No shit?” he replies with a bark of laughter.
“It’s not funny!”
“Sure, it is. And don’t act like you don’t appreciate the company. I would be there giving you hell if I didn’t have an MC and businesses to run because my right-hand man is fucking MIA.”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I just needed a break from everything.”
“I get it,” Malcolm says. “Just don’t take too long.”
“I won’t,” I promise h
im.
“And be nice to Lucy. The girl hasn’t had it easy.”
“How would you know?” I ask him.
“I just do,” he replies. “Which is why I have to say it – don’t even think about fucking her.”
That comment catches me off-guard since Malcolm would usually encourage me to screw anything that walks if it means ending my three years of celibacy. In fact, I assumed that was what he had in mind by hiring her after he mentioned having her come up to my apartment and blow me.
“I’m not thinking about that,” I reply, and it’s mostly the truth. There were just a few seconds this morning when I imagined fucking her mouth to shut her up. That doesn’t really count, though. “She’s not my type. You know I’ve never been into obnoxious, pocket-size girls.”
“Good. I’m paying her to cook and clean, not to be your blow-up doll.”
“I find it hard to believe that you’re paying her for anything, you cheap bastard.”
“Hell, me too,” he agrees. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. Take care of yourself, and keep your dick out of Lucy!”
“Fuck, I will!” I agree before we both end the call, not knowing what the hell that was about.
Unless…Malcolm is trying to use some form of reverse psychology on me. Does he really think that telling me not to sleep with a girl will make me want to sleep with her?
He’s out of his mind if so, because I will never see Lucy like that. She’s just too innocent looking for me to even consider getting naked with her. And while her shirt was too baggy over her leggings to see much of her body, I’m guessing it’s just as girly as the rest of her, probably with no rack and not the slightest jiggle in her ass. My type has always been tall, pretty blondes who are stacked, not skinny little girls with no meat on their bones, so delicate you could accidentally snap them like a twig if the fucking gets too rough. And honestly, the only kind of fucking that’s good is the one that breaks furniture or leaves holes in the wall.
It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten how fun and destructive sex could be.
