Then she rolled the thin latex down my shaft . . . and burst out laughing.
My dick was lit up like a fucking neon sign, glowing a ghoulish yellow, the kind of thing you’d find in the Ghost Train ride at the carnival.
“Jeez, TC, you can’t laugh at him—he’s sensitive like that.”
“I can’t help it,” she wheezed, “he looks so cute in his little jacket. Like a miniature Homer Simpson.”
“Yeah? Well, Homey is looking for his Marge—come here, sugar,” and I grabbed my glowing dick with one hand and guided her hips down with the other, at severe risk of passing out from the pain in my shoulder. It was the only thing that kept me from coming on the spot.
Breath hissed out of her in a long, sexy growl, and she arched her back, taking me in deeper. Then she grabbed her tits and started massaging them, and suddenly I was starring in my favorite porn movie—except that I wasn’t going to get a strange girl deciding to sit on my face later. But hell, reality was better than any two-dimensional digital chick.
She kneaded those amazing tits together, working the nipples, her body writhing from side to side and up and down, drawing my dick in circles. I had to close my eyes and focus on my throbbing shoulder or I would have shot my bolt there and then.
But when her breathing started to quicken, I spread my hand over her belly and used my thumb against her clit.
She screamed out my name, my name, and tightened around me, drawing a powerful orgasm up my shaft that left me gasping beneath her.
Tera fell forward onto my chest as my body continued to pulse inside her, and soft arms fastened around my neck, her breathing harsh in my ear.
An intense wave of emotion rushed through me. How could I ever be enough for a woman like this? Beautiful, smart, funny, kind—and rich. I couldn’t forget that. What chance in hell did I have to make a woman like this stay? She’d run from me. She should run from me. I had nothing to offer—less than nothing.
But for the first time in a long time, I wanted a woman to need me, to hold onto me and never let go. If only I could be the man worthy of her. But I wasn’t.
And I had to accept that all I’d ever have would be this.
I had to live for the moment—whether I wanted to or not.
I’d nearly blown it by boning her without a rubber.
After the shitstorm with Renee and learning about Scotty, the thought of doing that to Tera was horrifying. I knew she was on the pill, but I couldn’t risk fucking her without protection for her sake. Yeah, I’d always wrapped it, but some of the skanks I’d been with . . . not something I felt too proud of right about now.
I decided I’d make an appointment at the local clinic when I was up in Arcata and get tested for everything. It was the least I could do. The very least.
I lay on my good side in TC’s enormous as fuck bed, sweaty from some really amazing sex. My shoulder hurt like hell, but she didn’t need to know that and besides, it was so worth it.
Curled up beside me, she trailed her fingers over the top of the tattoo that started on my shoulder, her expression thoughtful.
“Are you ever going to tell me about the tattoos? Please, I’d like to know. You tell me what you think I should hear, but I want to know you.”
I frowned. “It’s not a pretty story, TC.”
“None of them are,” she said sadly, “but tell me anyway.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. Even then I could feel her patient gaze as we laid facing each other. We’d been naked together for hours, but speaking these words stripped me bare. I had no defenses left with Tera.
I took a deep breath.
“After I’d seen Renee with Randolph . . . with my stepfather . . . I had to leave. I couldn’t handle thinking about her like that. So I threw some shit in a bag and headed out on the I-40. I rode all night, only stopping when I needed to fill up the gas tank. I just kept going until my eyes were closing and I damn near drove off of the road.”
I felt her drop a soft kiss on my shoulder and paused as she stroked the small of my back.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
“You sure you want to hear this?”
“I want to know you, so yes; the answer is yes.”
I sighed and rested my head on my hand before continuing.
“I didn’t even know the name of the town or which state I was in. But I found myself downtown, drinking in a real sleaze pit. I had fake ID, but no one cared enough to even look at it. I bought a bottle of tequila . . . and that was the last thing I remembered.”
Tera pushed a lock of sweaty hair from my face, concern shining in her crystal blue eyes.
I craned my neck to kiss her lips lightly and she smiled.
“The tattoos?”
“I don’t remember, and that’s the truth. But I woke up with my sleeping bag glued to my back and the skin was sore and throbbing. Although to be fair, my whole body was throbbing in time with the mofo of all hangovers.”
Tera laughed lightly.
“Exactly how much had I drunk the night before? I had no idea.”
I rubbed a finger across my eyebrow, remembering.
But here’s the thing that I’ve learned about drinking: it only numbs the pain, it doesn’t kill it. And with the sun searing my eyeballs, every gut-wrenching memory poured back in technicolor.
“Well, I managed to roll onto my side before I puked, so the day didn’t start completely shit.” I glanced at Tera but my lame joke seemed lost on her. “I squinted up at the sun, then immediately shut my eyes again, rolling onto my back. But the second I did, a bolt of pain shot up my side. That’s when I looked over my shoulder.”
I mimed the whole what the fuck? look that I must have had on my face, and this time Tera laughed.
“Jeez! Just when exactly did I get a freakin’ tattoo? Man, that is ugly!”
Gingerly I rolled onto my front so Tera could more easily trace over the four stars spilling down my back, outlined with thick black ink.
“Why stars?” she asked.
I had no idea why I chose stars. Maybe because they seemed so distant, glittering, peaceful compared to how I was feeling.
I felt disgust and hatred toward Randolph, but it was Renee who’d damn near broke my heart.
I turned my head to Tera and gave her a small smile.
“Well, I was too drunk to remember talking about it with the tattoo artist, but thinking about it later, maybe I thought that if Fate or life or my own damn family was going to shit on me, I’d smile at them all. I’d keep smiling till my lips cracked, and I’d never let them know that they’d beaten me.”
“I can understand that,” she said softly. “The first time I saw you, standing by that bonfire, you were laughing. Wherever you go, people smile. I remember thinking, Oh, that’s him—that’s Tucker—Smiling Tucker McCoy.” She paused. “You don’t have to smile for me, Tucker, not unless you want to.”
I held her small hand in mine and kissed her smooth skin.
“It wasn’t all bad, sugar, because that’s the day I joined the carnival.”
I remember someone shouted at me in guttural Spanish. A short fat guy with thick black hair was standing over me.
When he saw my confused frown, he spoke in heavily-accented English.
“Hey, gringo! You can’t sleep here.”
I staggered to my feet, staring around me.
“Where am I?”
“A bad place, kid,” he said, shaking his head. “You should leave. And get yourself an AIDS test after getting marked in a shithole like that—people piss in the alley where you were sleeping, and that bastardo uses dirty needles.”
He threw me a sympathetic look as I gagged, my empty stomach spilling out what was left of the tequila I’d drunk the night before.
The tattoo parlor had a broken neon sign advertising its services, and was next to a toilet. I heaved again, then forced a smile.
“If I die young, at least I’ll leave a good-lookin’ corpse.”
The man
rolled his eyes and wandered away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.
I looked around me again. There was nothing that gave a clue as to where I was.
I stood up, reeling slightly as I tried to get my balance. Je-zus! What loony juice did I drink last night?
I patted my pants pocket, relieved to find my wallet and cell phone. But the battery was dead and I’d forgotten my charger when I’d slung a few clothes in my backpack and left Tennessee for good.
Maybe I could sell the phone because there was no one I wanted to call. I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should try to message Brandon, but then I shrugged off the idea. He’d always talked about going away to college, so he was leaving Tennessee anyway. He’d understand, I hoped.
When I checked inside my wallet, my smile slipped for a moment—twenty bucks wasn’t going to get me far. I had $237 in my checking account, but I’d have to be careful until I could get a job, because there was no way in hell I was going to turn tail and go back. I’d rather starve.
But first of all I needed water—a lot of it, and some greasy food to stick to the sides of my stomach. If I could force it down long enough to do some good.
My bike was in the alleyway where I’d left it, but it stunk of piss and I guessed that some asshole had drained the pipe without caring what he was doing. Hell, for all I knew, it could have been me. I smiled at the idea of marking my territory with my own piss.
Yep, I’d smile till my teeth fell out. Nothing would stop me smiling.
Talking to some locals, I learned that I hadn’t wandered across the Mexican border in the dark. I was in Leary, Texas . . . wherever the hell that was. I must have crossed the State line during the night.
Hot, yellow dust and jewel-blue skies; men with leathery skin and wide-brimmed Stetsons strolled in high-heeled cowboy boots. Where I came from it was more truckers’ caps and work boots.
I pushed my bike to save gas until I could find an ATM. I found a cheap tapas bar first, and bought a tortilla filled with chili, while the cute Latina waitress brought me a jug of water and a clean glass. I smiled at her and winked, grinning to myself when she blushed.
Then the image of Renee came into my mind, and the smile almost choked me.
By midmorning, I’d pushed that damn bike across half the town and still couldn’t find an ATM that would take my card. I was beginning to feel desperate when I heard the sound of tinny music.
I glanced up, wiping the sweat from my face with my arm, and saw the towering skeleton of a Ferris wheel with bright red and yellow buckets turning slowly through the scorching air.
Maybe I should just run away and join the circus. Well, I’d already done the running away bit. I could ask around if they had work.
An older woman with brassy blonde hair was sitting by the entrance selling tickets.
She looked me up and down, her hard eyes seeing right through me. Her eyeballs crawled along the bare skin of my arms, a feeling like ants were swarming all over. I had to stop myself from scratching.
“You can’t take that motorcycle inside, kid.”
“No, ma’am. I was wondering, you got any work? I’ll do pretty much anything.”
She squinted at me.
“Law after you?”
“No, ma’am,” I answered, trying to look trustworthy.
“Family?”
“No one who’d care,” I replied truthfully.
“Hmm . . .”
Her eyes skated over me again, making me shiver.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” I lied.
“Kind of scrawny for 18,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“Must be ‘cause I’m a hard worker,” I smiled at her. “Just all gristle and muscle.”
She laughed, showing a gap where her front teeth should be.
“I like you, kid. Go see Landon. He might have something for you.”
Walking through the archway into the fairground, the door to my old life slammed shut behind me. I’d found a new way to live.
I glanced at Tera who was listening intently, her face screwed up in a cute little frown.
“Is that where you met Kestrel?”
“Nah, I didn’t meet him till much later. I spent six years as a roustabout, then mixed that up with a little stunt riding, Wall of Death, you know?”
Tera smiled. “I do now, although I’m finding it’s a learning curve.”
“Yeah, you gotta learn the lingo, sugar. So I did that for a while and then I met Kes.”
She sighed. “You’ve known him longer than I have and he’s my brother!”
I could hear the frustration in her voice.
“Don’t think of it that way,” I said gently. “It’s not the length of time you’ve known someone that matters. I’ve known my stepbrothers since I was in first grade: they were shitty then, and they’re fat and shitty now. But Kes is solid: you’re his family and he’ll do anything for you.”
She nodded slowly. “The carnies are his real family though—you and Zef, Zachary, Luke, Ollo. And Aimee,” she added with a smile. “She’s a carnie now, too.”
We stared at each other, each acknowledging the truth the other told. Family: that was a loaded word.
“So where does that leave us?” she asked, her voice quiet, hesitant.
My reply was reluctant. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.
Tucker
I woke when an alarm started ringing in my ear.
“Urgh, what?”
“Shh,” said Tera. “I have to get up for work, but it’s early, go back to sleep,” and she silenced me with the briefest of kisses.
I was vaguely aware of the shower running in the bathroom as I dozed through a haze of meds and too little sleep.
When she came back into the bedroom and dressed, I woke up enough to enjoy the show, and my dick definitely wasn’t behaving like a gentleman either.
Tera laughed when her eyes dropped to the sheets below my waist.
“Hold that thought; some of us have to go to work,” and she sighed. “I’ll try and get out early and be back by five. I’ve left a spare key on the breakfast bar and there are coffee beans in the fridge.” Then she paused. “I will see you later, won’t I? You’re not going to run out on me?”
I shook my head and grinned at her.
“Nope. The lady offered me a ride—and I don’t get an offer like that every day.”
Tera smirked. “I bet you do, but never mind. I’ll see you later.”
“Hey,” I called after her. “Don’t I get some sugar before you go?”
She laughed and walked back to the bed, her tight skirt sculpting her ass, as she kissed me quickly.
“Get some rest!” she ordered, skipping away from my roving hands.
“Yes, ma’am,” I sighed, happily sinking back into sheets that smelled like her.
I was surprised when less than an hour later, Tera returned.
I’d taken her advice and gone back to sleep, enjoying the wide, comfortable bed and soft clean sheets.
Her bedroom door opened and I sat up sleepily.
“Hey, sugar, you forget someth . . . ?” and then I froze.
An older woman with silvery-blonde hair was staring at me, appalled shock written across her face, both hands clutching the string of pearls around her neck.
“Who . . . ?” Then she collected herself and stood up straighter. “Good morning. You must be a friend of Tera’s. I’m her mother, Catherine Beaumont Hawkins.”
I felt my cheeks heat, reddening uncharacteristically. I suddenly felt very naked lounging in Tera’s bed, as if she was some sugar mommy and I was a guy she paid by the hour to warm her sheets while she went to work.
“Tucker McCoy,” I managed, my voice sounded like I was ten years old before my balls dropped.
Tera’s mother took a step closer, extending her right hand, then glancing at the sheet that had slipped below my navel, and thinking better
of it.
“Perhaps we can continue this conversation in the living room,” she said calmly, backing away and closing the door behind her.
I flopped back on the pillows, trying to convince myself that the last 30 seconds hadn’t happened, that my first introduction to Tera’s mother wasn’t when I was naked and, oh shit, sporting a raging boner because I’d been dreaming about her daughter.
But then I heard the coffee machine in the kitchen and knew I definitely hadn’t imagined anything.
I rolled out of bed, cursing my useless arm and weighed up how disrespectful it would look if I made her wait while I took a quick shower.
Nah, the minute it would take to get clean would be well spent—much better than drinking coffee with Tera’s mother while I reeked of sex from the night before.
Showering in record time under a spray of cold water, I pulled on my jeans then searched through my backpack for something to wear. I had clean t-shirts, but I couldn’t get them on, and my button-up shirt was somewhere in Tera’s living room.
In the end I decided that Mrs. Hawkins had probably seen a man’s bare chest before—maybe even the Senator’s—and mine would be mostly covered up by my sling anyway. A quick check in the mirror told me that the bruises had faded, but were still obvious. Then I reasoned that it was her chickenshit husband who’d had his goons put them there—she could damn well look at them.
I felt her cool eyes assessing me as I walked out of the bedroom. I tried to look casual as I glanced around the living room, wondering if my shirt would materialize before her gaze froze me to the spot.
“Are you looking for your shirt?” she asked politely. “I hung it over the back of the chair—I do so hate wrinkled clothes.”
Was she for real? Was I supposed to thank her?
I muttered something indistinct and shrugged my left hand into it, fighting with my sling as I struggled with the other arm.
“That looks awkward,” she said. “Let me help you with that.”
Her pale hands were gently easing the material over my shoulder before I knew what she was doing. It felt . . . uncomfortable.
Roustabout Page 18
