by Frank Zafiro
He chuckled, and set his glass on the bar. “Well, first off, it’s Bull. Not mister. Alright, Gus-Goose?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Good. And the bear? Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the old saying about how some days you eat the bear and some days—”
“—the bear eats you.” I finished, finally getting it.
He nodded. “Some days.”
I let out a low, weary chuckle. Then I raised my glass to him. “It’s been just that kind of day. To the bear.”
“To the fucking bear,” he replied.
We drank.
Over the next hour, we did a lot of that. Drinking. We talked some, too, though I was careful not to tell him anything about who I was or who Heather Williams was. He didn’t pry, and I returned the favor. Instead, we talked about stupid, inconsequential things, and then we made fun of them. The songs on the juke. Local politicians. Other patrons.
The most personal thing we touched on was high school. He asked if I went to school around here and I told him no. It was my first real lie of the night, not counting my name.
“There’s something to be said for that,” he said. “Not living your adult life around the same morons you went to high school with.”
I nodded noncommittally.
“You can’t help but run into them on occasion,” he continued. “And when you do, then it’s all about, ‘Do you remember that game against Shadle Park?’, or ‘Do you remember that big party after homecoming?’ That kind of shit, every time.”
“Some people live their whole life in the past,” I said.
“Damn straight. But it’s rude when they try to keep other people from moving into the future by bringing it up every chance they get.”
I gave him a sly smile. “Ah, come on. I’ll bet you don’t always mind it.”
“I do. Yesterday’s gone.”
“Sure, I heard that song, too. Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow, right?” I stirred my drink. “But a guy like you? I’m sure you were homecoming king or king of the prom or something.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, alright. You’ve got me. I did get elected prom king one year. Funny thing is, I almost didn’t go in the first place. That would’ve been awkward for the prom committee.”
I giggled.
I. Fucking. Giggled.
“But you went,” I said. “And had a good time.”
“It was all right. The party after was better.”
“It always is.”
He sipped his whisky, looking down into the glass. “That was my first time, believe it or not. Senior prom. I guess I was a late bloomer.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Ronda Hayford,” he said wistfully.
“Good that you remember her name,” I said.
He laughed. “That’s all I can remember. I can’t hardly picture her face anymore. And I don’t really remember the big moment, either. Isn’t that strange?”
“Not really.”
He fixed me with a stare, those pale blue eyes drilling into me. “You remember your first time?”
I took the final swallow of my lemon drop, my eyes glued to his. I wet my finger and scraped off some of the sugar on the rim of my empty glass and put it to my mouth. Finally, I said to him in my best Lana Turner voice, “Bull, I can’t remember my last time.”
“That’s a shame,” he said quietly, and signaled Richie for the check.
We burst through the door of the motel room like we were executing a search warrant. His mouth was on mine, fierce and hungry. He slammed the door behind us without looking back.
We didn’t bother with the lights.
His hands were all over my body, rubbing and squeezing everywhere they landed. He had a sure touch, a confident one.
My body was on fire, a hot ache. I pressed against him while we kissed, my breasts flattening against his middle. My hands found the tail of his shirt and untucked it with a quick pull. I kicked off my shoes. He lifted up my blouse and we broke away from kissing long enough for him to pull it over my head and throw it aside.
I stepped back from him, meeting his smoldering gaze. Neon light flashed in through the half-open window shades, throwing a pink and white hue across everything. My world was small now. Nothing in it except this room. Him. Me. This aching blaze enveloping me. Nothing else existed.
Or mattered.
I reached up and unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor.
He took a moment to admire my breasts, and then he was up against me again. His lips found mine and our tongues rolled around each other like fiery combatants. His strong hands squeezed my ass as he pushed me slowly back toward the bed.
When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, I broke away from kissing him and sat on the edge of the bed. He stood, staring down at me. His eyes were hungry. They were desperate.
It was like looking into a mirror.
I reached out and undid his belt, then unsnapped his jeans. I could see the bulge underneath, and I cupped it in my hand. The hardness sent another fiery thrill through my body. The aching sensation became a throbbing one.
I slid down his zipper and pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips. Without hesitating, I took his hardness into my mouth, stroking it with my hand where my mouth didn’t envelop it.
He let out a low, guttural moan. His fingers slid into my hair, where he gripped a handful. He didn’t direct me, though, just held on as I moved my head. My lips and tongue danced across his sex, and he moaned again.
Then, after only a few moments, he pulled up on my head. I let him slide out of my mouth and returned back to my feet. He kissed me again, even deeper this time. I moaned into his mouth. His fingers worked on my jeans, unsnapping them and pushing them down. His fingers found my wetness, stroking lightly, then pressing.
My head swam.
I pulled away and sat on the bed again, scooting backward. As I moved, I peeled my jeans and panties the rest of the way past my legs and ankles and threw them aside. He pulled off his boots, and slid off his clothing. Then he clambered onto the bed, toward me.
I didn’t wait. I met him halfway, throwing my legs around his hips and pulling him downward. He slid into me easily, pushing hard. I let out a small gasp. Pleasure radiated through my body like sound waves, a beautiful humming sensation.
He pulled back and pushed into me again.
Oh my God.
My hands dug into his lower back, pulling him deeper. I heard another moan, and realized it was my own.
“Fuck me,” I said.
He did.
His thrusts gained speed, and slowly the intensity of that hum mounted until it was a cry. I wasn’t moaning any more. I was screaming. I don’t even know what words came out of me. All I knew was his hardness pushing deep into me, his mouth and tongue and lips on my neck, then my nipples, then latching onto my own mouth. I grasped onto his ass, pulling him deeper, feeling it flex with each thrust.
I closed my eyes.
I came.
He didn’t stop.
Right at that moment, there was nothing else.
Not a single, ugly, disappointing thing.
FIFTEEN
Bull
We lay next to each other, spent on the rough sheets of the cheap motel. Our heavy breathing was out of sync with each other, but something felt unfinished. As if I hadn’t done everything with her that I wanted. Just thinking of her mouth on me stirred my loins with fresh life.
My caveman approach to taking Gus-Goose with complete lack of control shamed me. My ex-wife had said over and over that if the sex were enough to base a marriage on, we’d never leave the bedroom.
The woman with me said she couldn’t remember her last time, but by hell, she’d never forget the time with me.
I glanced at her, unable to hold back a smile as I took in the sexy disarray of her dark brown hair and kiss-reddened lips.
Husky, her voice stroked the inner workings of my nerves. “What?” She tugged at the sheet corner
, as if to cover herself in post-coital vulnerability.
I reached out and stayed her hand, the soft skin of her belly under our wrists. “Don’t. You’re perfect.” A surprised smile showed evenly spaced teeth and the small tip of a very talented tongue when she licked her bottom lip.
She lowered her arm, leaving the round globes of her breasts displayed for me to view – which I did with brazen appreciation.
I rolled up on my side, facing her. “Would you be up for a shower?” And then, in case my question had too much subtlety, I added, “With me?”
“I know what you meant, Bull.” She glanced at my body, and not for the first time was I grateful for my many hikes into the woods and other physical activities which kept my muscles tight and my form trim even while being muscular. I towered over her, the difference in size between me and her petiteness another turn on.
The moment her gaze dropped below my waist, a blush faintly tinged her cheeks. She peeked at me from under thick lashes, a lift to her eyebrow flirting with me. “Sure, we can soap each other’s backs.”
I laughed, reaching for her hand when I stood.
She led the way into the small bathroom, her curves firm but rounded in the perfect spots. We climbed into the tub and she bent over to turn on the water. The taper of her waist to her ass couldn’t be denied any longer.
I spanned the small of her back with my hands, their size and shape almost devouring the milky skin above the dent of her cheeks. She stilled, as if waiting for direction from me.
Rubbing my thumbs over her soft skin, I couldn’t help but whisper. “You’re so smooth.”
The pipes groaned when she pulled the shower diverter, spraying us in seconds with wet heat. She stood, but didn’t turn my way. I reached from behind her and cupped the fullness of her breast in my palm, pinching her nipple so softly and turning it in my fingers, flicking it and working at it. Taking the time to pay attention to things I didn’t want to miss the second go-round.
My hardness rubbed against her hip.
Gus-Goose moaned, tilting her head back and letting her wet head fall to my shoulder. I pulled her to me, reaching with my other hand and rubbing her clit with my thumb. In moments, she bucked softly against my fingers as I played with parts I wanted to glide over again and again. Slowing things down drew another moan from her and I closed my eyes while her wetness outmatched the hot water hissing over us.
While she softened into her orgasm I bent her over my arm and thrust up inside her from behind, the warmth of her deep and welcoming. And tight as she came. She growled, as if I had interrupted her enjoyment, but the growl morphed into a gasp and an “oh, shit.”
She braced her hands on the wall while I grabbed her hip and guided myself in and out and in and out until we both moaned in a rhythmless tune that crescendoed long and hard.
Finally, she turned to me, spent with heavy-lidded eyes and a satisfied curl to her lips.
I reached for the small bar of soap still wrapped on the shelf beside us. “Here.” I lathered up my hands and ran the suds from her neck to her back to her upper legs, gently massaging as I went, enjoying the aftereffects of fully-satisfying sex and letting myself just enjoy her without needing her… yet. I had a feeling I could spend many hours with her in multiple places and not grow bored.
Clearing my throat, I waited for her to look at me. “Would it be weird, if I asked you to stay tonight?” Her eyes widened, and for a second I worried I’d scared her off. I wasn’t asking her to be the next Mrs. Porter… hell, I wasn’t even asking her to screw me again. She just kept real life at bay and I didn’t want to return to the harsh reality waiting for me outside the walls of our room.
I needed some sleep and judging by the faint shadows under her eyes, it wouldn’t hurt her either.
Sleeping with a stranger could be the most fulfilling sleep because you weren’t alone but you had your privacy from someone who couldn’t know your expressions or the fact that you hid something.
And if we happened to screw again, I wouldn’t complain.
Opening my eyes, I wondered what woke me. I hadn’t slept so soundly. Glancing at the bright red digital numbers on the motel-provided clock, I blinked at the four-thirty display.
A shadow moved in the dim light from under the door. The slither of pants up skin screamed in the pre-dawn silence.
“You’re leaving?” I sounded like a pathetic teenager. Gus-Goose didn’t owe me anything. And there I was hoping she’d stay, have breakfast with me. Exchange numbers. I desperately wanted to see if there would be more, could be more… but the danger of time passing burned the edges of my peaceful night.
She cleared her throat, keeping her voice light but quiet. “Yeah, I have to be somewhere.”
At four-thirty in the morning? I didn’t push it, though. The appeal of a night like the one we’d shared was anchored mostly with the lack of committment. “Thank you… for…” My lame comments fell into the room. I couldn’t go after them to scrape them back into the bed with me. She’d hear hear my insecurities scurrying about, pleading for something from her that wouldn’t leave me feeling like I’d somehow done something wrong.
Her soft laugh helped me relax a bit into the pillow. “Don’t go turning into a chick on me, Bull. I would love to stay, but I have other responsibilities.” She walked to my side of the bed and squeezed my shoulder. “Thank you feels like it isn’t enough for what we did. But I’ll return it. Thank you. Have a great… life?” Her laugh at the end took the bitterness from the moment.
One night stands.
I’d never had one. I was a relationships kind of guy. Loved being a part of a couple. Odd, that I’d found a woman who did alone better than me.
Before my farewell could roll off my tongue, she’d slipped out the door into a world populated by the still-glowing street lights.
I stared into the dark room, counting to a hundred, hoping she’d knock to come back. But she didn’t.
Reaching for the remote to the television, I pushed up in the bed. Real life moved in and took the place Gus-Goose had occupied.
Well, I had to figure out where to go to find Anton. He couldn’t be far. I’d found the Impala guys fast enough. Anton had to be around somewhere.
I clicked on the news. A shot of the house I’d left yesterday flashed on the screen with a bar across the bottom declaring two murders with killer at large and considered dangerous.
Oh, shit.
I turned up the volume and listened carefully to the reporter. Despite all his fluff and presentation, that was all they had.
I let out a small sigh of relief.
I didn’t have long before something would give me away. They’d catch me. And then where would Taylor be?
SIXTEEN
Gus
The only time this part of town seemed clean was early in the morning. Pre-dawn. After all the drinkers, and hookers, and dopers were finished for the night but before the resilient regular folk that still lived and did business in the area took over again. It was in that brief hour or so, that quiet, dark hour, that a sense of cleanness existed. Or if not exactly clean, then at least…fresh.
Places can’t leave themselves. Places can only change. But people can do both. We can change in place, or we can change places. Move. Reinvent ourselves. That’s what I did when I became Heather Williams.
But who was I right now?
Who was it that just fucked a total stranger?
I’d like to think it was Heather. Or at least Heather’s fault. Either option was a pleasant fiction. Heather made a convenient scapegoat. What did she care, anyway? She was about to disappear in a couple of days and become nothing more than a footnote in Detective Fergus MacIntryre’s incident reports.
She could fuck whoever she wanted.
I drove out of that part of town. As much as I needed coffee, I didn’t stop until I was miles away.
I was waiting for Ryan Michaud at the door to the Crime Analysis shop when he showed up to work. In my hands
, I held two cups of coffee and a bag of Milligan’s Donuts. I didn’t know if Michaud had a thing for Milligan’s but pretty much everyone did, so I figured my odds were good.
He arrived with an insulated lunch bag in one hand and a silver thermos cup in the other.
I offered him a cheery good morning.
“Good morning,” he answered, a little wary.
I held up the bag of Milligan’s. “I see you already have coffee but you don’t already have these.”
He smiled tentatively. “Old fashioneds?”
“And some glazed.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Who do I have to kill?”
That made me smile. So he did have a thing for Milligan’s.
I held out the bag. “Tell you what. Fire up your computer, get munching, and we’ll talk.”
Michaud only hesitated for the barest of moments. Then he took the white bag from my hands, swiped his security badge at the door, and went inside.
I followed.
Michaud dropped off his things, turned on some equipment, including his computer, and sat down in his over-sized office chair. Massage beads draped over the top of the headrest.
He opened up the bag and peeked inside. Then he drew out an old fashioned donut and took a bite.
“Good?”
He nodded. “You kidding? Nothing beats Milligan’s.”
“So I hear.”
He held out the bag. “Sorry, that was rude of me. Have one.”
“Nope. I got them all for you.”
The computer beeped behind him. A password screen came up on the oversized LCD monitor. Michaud ignored it, watching me and chewing. Then he took a large gulp of coffee and held out his hand for the second cup in mine.
Wordlessly, I gave it to him.
He unscrewed his thermos cup and carefully poured in the coffee. Without looking up at me, he said, “So seriously…who do I have to kill?”
“Nothing so dramatic. I do need some help with something, though.”
“Duh.” He finished pouring and tossed the empty cup and lid into the trash. He looked up at me while he screwed the cap back on his thermos cup. “I didn’t think you wanted to date me.”
