Feral

by Teagan Kade

  “What? I can’t just be in a good mood?” I say, dodging the question.

  “No,” he answers bluntly. “So, who’d you fuck?”

  “I didn’t…” I start to say, defending myself from what is beginning to feel a lot like an attack.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” he says, cutting me off. “I logged into the email Ava sent, wanted to see what sort of feedback we’d gotten, how many tours we’re booking, that kind of shit. Well, your little fuckbuddy forgot to log out of the work email before she sent a message to some chick friend of hers, going on and on about the amazing mystery guy she’s screwing, how she didn’t know she could orgasm like that.”

  The ground should be falling out from beneath me, but I can’t help feeling a touch warm at hearing that Ava’s been bragging to her friend about our sexcapades.

  “O-kay, you want to tell me what that has to do with me?” I ask.

  “You mean other than the fact she says the mystery guy is someone she works with and the only guys there now are you and Deric? I think it has every fucking thing to do with you,” he snarls. “Congratulations on being God’s gift to the female orgasm, but excuse me if I don’t jump up and down in celebration with you.”

  I sigh.

  Shit.

  I knew it was a matter of time, this whole thing a ticking time bomb, but at least it’s only Dex.

  “I’ll take your angsty silence as confirmation. Shit,” Dex huffs. “Come on, man, what are you thinking?”

  “I don’t fucking know!” I snap, because I don’t. I don’t have any clue how I let it get to this point. I should have kept my distance, but I screw everything up, why not this too?

  “Well, whatever convinced you to start this shit up, drop it. This is a horrible fucking idea. You know she’s over the goddamned moon?”

  I know he’s probably right, but still I feel defensive. “And since when is that a bad thing?”

  “Since the guy she’s on cloud nine over is you,” he says, striking me as effectively as if he’d slammed a closed fist into my face. “Come on, Dean, we both know you’re not the kind of guy girls get a happily ever after with—neither of us. We’re the dirtbags they fuck before they meet Mr. Minivan. Yet you’ve got Ava practically swooning over you. What’s going to happen when this all goes to shit? Are you trying to destroy what we’ve got with the business? I get self-destruction, but that’s not what this is. This is self-annihilation, and you’re going to take us all down with you.”

  “Well, thanks for the heart to fucking heart,” I say flatly.

  He breathes loudly, sounding tired and frustrated, but I can’t manage to summon any sympathy just now.

  “Look, I’m not trying to rag on you, but we both know Deric is overbearing when it comes to his little sister. If he finds out you’re nailing Ava, this partnership is as good as over.” His voice seems to waver. He pauses. “Dean, this business is the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

  Damn it, why did he have to go and play that card.

  “Yeah, I got it,” I manage to reply.

  “Just… man, why Ava?”

  Good question. I laugh bitterly, humorless. “You think I plan my self-destruction?”

  “Do me a favor,” he says finally. “Find someone not related to one of us to stick your dick in before this all falls apart.” He hangs up and I throw the phone. Maybe it breaks, maybe it doesn’t. I don’t care right now.

  He’s right. I know it and I hate it.

  I’m circling disaster with Ava.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AVA

  ‘Everything is Awesooome!’ the Lego Movie soundtrack comes on and I look up surprised by the sudden shift in the music.

  Deric is packing up gear in the small front room for another multi-day climb. He’s put his iPod on the docking station.

  I laugh out loud. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of kids’ movie soundtracks.”

  He throws a haughty look at me. “The Lonely Island isn’t for kids, little Ava. Take a page from Wedding Crashers and put on some earmuffs or prepare to have your PG mind blown.” He grabs the iPod and shuffles songs. I tap my foot along. It’s pop-techno I can get into, and then the lyrics start.

  ‘And now I’m posed in an awkward stance, ’cause I jizzed in my pants…’

  “Nice, Deric, real nice…” I shake my head at the juvenile lyrics.

  He’s laughing, “This is ‘ahhhrt’, little sis. It speaks to me as a man on, like… an emotional level,” he says, hand to his heart in a mocking dramatic pose.

  ‘I jizz right in my pants every time you're next to me

  And when we're holding hands it's like having sex to me.’

  I roll my eyes. “I think I prefer kiddie music to your premature ejaculation ballad.”

  “Whoooa, there! Careful with the shade... I have never had a problem with that. In fact, it has been suggested I could break records…”

  “Oh god, spare me! Don’t worry, I’m not going to damage your man-whore rep,” I laugh, throwing my jacket at him.

  “Peace offering, then?” he says, and puts the Lego song back on. On it goes about how everyone is talking, how ‘everything is awesome’.

  I smile to myself. Yeah, it really kind of is. Weird as it sounds, I’m actually enjoying living at home again. For a long time, it was hard to visit at holidays, knowing Dad wouldn’t be there, but it feels like we’re doing okay again.

  Maybe I’m not using my degree just yet, but I’m not minding working with my brother and it’s nice actually, being out here. The woods still scare me, but I’m not shaking in my boots all the time.

  And I certainly don’t mind working with Dean... especially considering all the breaks I manage to sneak when we’re alone. I don’t know if I can call what’s going on between Dean and I the healthiest of relationships, mind. Is anything that has to be kept a secret ever destined to end well?

  Dean isn’t any less of a wild card, but for now it’s pretty damn awesome having the wild card in my hand for once.

  Deric’s group arrives. After going over waivers they all load up in their cars again to head out to the canyon where the beginner climbing routes are concentrated.

  I skirt around the building to the shed as the caravan pulls away to go take a break and maybe cop a feel while I’m at it.

  Dean’s got a big group ride today and he’ll be camping with them as well, so I’m eager to scratch a few itches before I’m stuck here at the Den alone for a few days.

  I hear something metal thud in the grass and see Dean standing over several bikes looking frustrated and edgier than I expected to find him.

  “Need help?” I offer, assuming he’s running behind on getting things ready for the group.

  He doesn’t look up at me, just keeps bolting panniers onto the mountain bike frames. Since they’re camping, everyone will have gear to haul.

  “It’s under control,” he grunts.

  I walk over to him and snake my hands up his chest from behind. “Then maybe it’s time to take a break.”

  He shrugs out of my arms. “No, it’s not, and you can’t keep coming out here distracting me. I have actual work to do and I assume you do as well.”

  That stings a little, but I try to overlook it. There’s obviously something else going on.

  “Right. So. Man-tantrum aside, wanna tell me what’s up?” I ask, crossing my arms and stepping back.

  “Actually, I want to do my work so that this business I’ve poured everything I fucking have into doesn’t fall apart.”

  “Oh, great, so we’re moving onto the part of things where you shut me out,” I snap back, losing my patience.

  He looks over his shoulder, his eyes stormy. “You only want the fun, right? Well, go inside and play with the website then, ’cause I’m not in the mood for fun and fucking.”

  It feels like a slap and it’s out of nowhere. My eyes prickle. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize I’m only good for fucking and bossing around.”


  “We both know you’re too scared of anything else,” he sneers.

  My face flushes hot and I want to throw something at him. There’s an inner tube next to me, so I take it and lob it at him. Clearly, I’m not good at this kind of theatrical scene, though, because he sees it coming and catches it without hesitation, tossing it aside with a mirthless laugh.

  “Nice try, but you can’t do drama any better than you can do daring.”

  “Bastard,” I bite off.

  He steps closer. “Better, but no cigar, baby.”

  “Right, because you’re the expert here on being a jerk,” I say.

  “That’s right, I’m the bad guy. Perfect Ava never does anything wrong, right? She never interjects herself where she doesn’t belong, never fucks anything up. Is that it?”

  He’s standing in front of me and I try to shove him, but he catches my hand and yanks me to him.

  “You want to hit me? Don’t pussy-foot this too. Do it right,” he says, closing my fist.

  “You’re acting like an asshole,” I say, yanking my hand away and searching the fiery green of his eyes.

  His face is a few inches from mine. “I’m not acting. This is who I am, Ava. I’m not a nice guy.”

  “You could be,” I say, shaking my head to argue.

  The air feels hot between us and the hurt and anger is mixing strangely inside me. I want to shove him away, but I also want to drag my nails down his back.

  His hands are on my upper arms. “No, I can’t. I’m a bad guy, Ava. Do you even get what that is? Or is everything in your good girl world just too glossy to understand that guys like me don’t just magically change? You wanted to have your fun with the fuck-up. Well, you got it, but it comes at a price.”

  “I get it. You’re an ass! You made your point!” I say, feeling my eyes water even when I’m impossibly fascinated by the strong, harsh line of his jaw.

  “Good,” he growls and then, in an instant, he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him back. It’s angry and it’s frenzied.

  We fall over each other, tumbling to the grass, ripping clothes off our bodies. The ground beneath us is hard and uneven and it’s just the right amount of pain to dull the venom, to take the edge off the anger.

  Dean’s hands find my center, slipping in and stoking the sensation inside me. My shirt is off, but my bra is still on and he’s biting at the fabric, pulling it down and setting his mouth to my breasts, dragging his teeth rough across my nipples. I let my nails sink into the tense flesh of his shoulders. We’re branding each other with our anger and lust.

  When he drives into me, my body clenches around him. I need him inside me, need to feel this connection of our bodies. I push off, rolling with him and landing on top, straddling him.

  “Maybe I’m not the good girl you think I am,” I murmur, mounting him.

  I want to be in control. If only in this, if only for right now, I’m going to lead, and he can come along for the ride.

  Dean’s beneath me, watching me with those wary eyes of his. I’m sure he thinks I’m going to ride him gently, be the nice-girl he pictures. I don’t want to see all the projections of who I should be, the forecast of expectations. I lift up and swing my legs, shifting one-eighty and straddling him again so I’m facing the tree line beneath the massive stretch of clear blue sky.

  He’s still inside me, thick and demanding, so I turn and look at him over my shoulder, placing a hand behind me onto his abs for support as I lift up and move. There is lusty surprise in his eyes and his hands move to my hips, his fingers gripping me so hard it might just bruise.

  Good. I want to be marked by him.

  I move, seeking the right rhythm and settle into a vigorous pattern. He’s groaning louder and more unbidden than ever before. I can tell he’s losing control. It’s heady and intoxicating, ravaging him, feeling this power.

  He sits up behind me, taking my breasts into his hands, his teeth at my neck, his chest pressed to my back. Dean’s hands are like fire on my skin, driving me towards the edge as he shifts, thrusting deeper, harder. Our voices mix in the open air and I almost laugh at the sheer, wild delight of it all.

  Except it doesn’t come out as a laugh, it comes out as a gasping moan as we find release with each other.

  We stay locked together like that until the tremble of pleasure has passed and our breaths have slowed. I sprawl out in the grass, soaking in the sunlight.

  I roll my head to the side and look over at him. I’m still mad, but at least we have this. At least I know there is something here.

  Minutes tick by, neither of us speaking until I finally get up and grab my clothes, exasperated.

  Frustrated, I turn to him. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  His eyes are clouded again. Gone is whatever connection that existed between our bodies.

  “Well, you weren’t wrong about being good for fucking,” he says, and disappears into the shed.

  I pick up a screwdriver and throw it at the damned little wooden building before stomping off towards the Den.

  Asshole.

  *

  It’s been a few hours and I’ve stayed inside, away from Dean. He wants to close himself off with his moody angst, fine.

  A series of cars start pulling up. I hear laughing voices. I look out the window. It’s Dean’s group. They appear to all be women in their mid-fifties or older. Several of them have purple beanies with large red flower embellishments.

  I vaguely remember Dean saying it was one of those Red Hat Society groups. I can see them circling Dean as he greets them. From his posture and the loud laughter, it seems like they’re getting a wee bit frisky.

  Dean separates from them and jogs over to the Den, opening the door and looking to me. “Hey, can you bring out seven or eight injury waivers for this group?”

  He pops back out and I gather the forms, coming out behind him a few minutes later.

  They’re looking over the bikes, finding the right sizes, and having him adjust the seat height and angle for them.

  One of the ladies comes over to me as I’m handing forms out. She’s got short, spiky hair, purple and blue eyeliner and big beaded earrings. With her loose, flowing batik printed top, she looks like someone I’d expect to meet at a nude hot spring.

  “You have a beautiful pink aura around you, my dear, but it looks like there is some red and black clinging to you too,” she says, taking my hand.

  “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” I say, smiling politely.

  “Well, if I had to guess, it means you’re a sensitive soul and you’re hurting,” she says, giving me a gentle expression. “I’m Pearl.”

  “Ava,” I say, taking her extended hand.

  “So, what’s troubling you, Ava?”

  “Man troubles. Has to be!” a wiry woman beside her with bright green frames on her Coke-bottle glasses observes. “I know that look. It’s the same one I had when husband number two took off with his secretary.”

  “Oh my!” exclaims one of the women craning their neck to watch Dean adjust her pedals. Her southern accent is full of delight. “Well, aren’t you just a tall glass of strapping!”

  “Shh, Margie, be gentle with the poor boy. We’re not out at one of your clubs looking for cougar bait,” she teases.

  Dean straightens and clears his throat, looking uncomfortable at the attention as they all smile somewhat suggestively at him.

  I smother a gleeful smile at Dean being ogled by these ballsy, older women. Turning back to answer Pearl, I notice her eyes look a little too knowing. “Nothing’s troubling me. I just want to make sure you ladies have everything you need for a great trip,” I lie.

  “Well, won’t you be with us?” she asks.

  I shake my head and start to answer, but Dean speaks behind me. “Ava’s not the risk-taking type.”

  Pearl’s eyes narrow. “So it’s just this young Adonis going with us? You mean we’ll have him all to ourselves?”

  If she meant
to strike fear in him, then going off his startled expression, she succeeded. I can’t help but laugh now, enjoying the satisfaction of watching Dean thrown off kilter by these spunky ladies.

  “To Jo!” one of the ladies announces, raising a mason jar with what looks to be iced tea.

  My confusion must show, and Pearl explains, “Jo was scheduled to join us for the trip. It’s her sixtieth birthday weekend, but there was an accident and she’s laid up in the hospital now.”

  “Oh no,” I hear myself saying.

  The wiry lady chuckles. “Had it coming, if you ask me, s’what you get for taking a pole-dancing class at her age.”

  “You’re one to talk!” another woman shouts.

  “Belly dancing is not the same thing!” she argues.

  Dean clears his throat and the ladies chuckle more, teasing one another and passing the mason jar around. Pearl finally takes it, swigging it back before offering it to me.

  “Oh no, thanks,” I say, smiling in awe at these incredible, bold ladies.

  “It’s bad luck for Jo if you refuse,” Pearl contends, one eyebrow raised.

  I relent and take a sip, only to find there is far more bourbon than anything else in this jar. The girlish giggling of the ladies is suddenly much more understandable.

  I laugh. “You ladies are trouble.”

  “You’ve no idea,” she says, turning to Dean. “Young man, you know I just don’t think I’m comfortable with only one guide for myself and my friends.”

  He looks caught off guard. “Well, ma’am, there’s really nothing I can…”

  She cuts him off. “Well, we’ve got an extra bike. right? Since Jo couldn’t come… we’ve already paid for that slot and I don’t expect a refund. Why don’t you join us, Ava?”

  Surprised, I start to answer, “Oh, I’m not sure about that…”

  Dean cuts in, “Like I said, Ava doesn’t like risks. She’d much prefer to stay here where she’s comfortable and safe.”

  Pearl looks to me and then back to him. “Well, I guess we won’t be going then. Ladies, pack up.”

  Dean tries to stop them, and Pearl turns back to me. “We’ll go if she comes, end of story.”