by Kara Hart
“A serial killer? So what. Sounds pretty kinky to me,” Julie says, laying on the bed.
“Like I said. You’re out of your damn mind.” I laugh, arching my butt in the mirror. “God, I can’t find anything that works today.”
“You need to lighten up. You know that, right?” she asks me, and I know she’s right, but I’m incapable of doing it.
I sigh loudly and go back to digging in my closet. Clothes are littered around me and I can’t find anything that looks good. “Ugh. I just don’t think I’m ready to find someone new. Not after what happened with Elijah. Men are completely disgusting. I just want to grow up to be an old spinster and own a thousand cats or something.”
She sits up on the bed and gives me this annoyed look. She says “Okay, now I’m thinking you’re out of your damn mind. Fuck Elijah. He’s a boring loser who likes to feel powerful because he’s an editor for the local paper. I mean, come on. He’s nothing. What you need is—” I hold up my hand and cut her off.
“I know. What I need is a big, fat meaty cock. I get it.”
“Well, you do,” she says, lying back down. “At least, I do. Those guys last night were hot as hell. Who cares what they did for a living? Did you really have to go in bitch mode and ask about the war? Who does that even?”
I roll my eyes and throw yet another dress on the floor. “I thought maybe he had a story for me.”
“Since when are you an opportunist?” she asks. She’s right. It’s not like me to go prodding like that. But I want to live out my dreams and become a muckraker, as they say in the business. A real journalist. Someone who stirs up the pot.
“Oh, I don’t know. Does this look good to you?” I press the red dress against the curves of my body and give a weird smile.
“Fabulous, darling.” She smiles.
“Fuck it. It’s what I’m wearing. I don't care if it makes my ass look fat,” I say, pursing my lips at the mirror.
“Fat asses are in, sis. You look hot. Like Nicki Minaj,” she says, jumping out of the bed. “Let's go already.”
“Alright, I'm ready. I'm just not looking forward to seeing Elijah today.” My stomach tightens at the thought of running into him. He is, after all, still my editor. Being with Julie wasn't making it any easier for me either.
“It'll be fine. Just ignore him. That always makes men go insane. They just have to have an audience at all times. Especially Elijah.”
“Do me a favor and don't talk about him like you know him. I was with the asshole for six months. I know what he's like.” I walk out the door and get into my car. My window is taped up from when I went… crazy.
After trying to start my engine over three times, it finally kicked into gear. “Thank God,” my sister whispers and I can't help but laugh when I give her a dirty look.
We get to the festival in less than ten minutes and it’s pretty clear tonight is going to banal and boring. “Remind me why we’re here again?” Julie asks.
“Because little Elijah put me on assignment today. Instead of writing about something important and ground breaking, he's making me do a write-up on the festivities of the night.” I make an annoyed noise and show my press badge at the front gate.
Suddenly, I feel a cold hand press against my shoulder and squeeze. “What did I do?” The tenor-pitched voice asked me.
“Elijah.” I nod and move away from his grasp, wiping my dress clean from his touch.
“Lena Skye. I have to admit, I'm surprised you even showed up tonight.” His face looks like a cross between a squirrel’s ass and a ferret’s vagina. He’s literally the last person I want to see here, but at least we were getting everything out of the way early.
I roll my eyes. “Surprised? It's my job, Elijah. I show up, write a story, and go home. Stop acting so coy, it's annoying.”
Julie smiles and wraps her arms around me. “Hey, Elijah,” she says.
He ignores her and I'm not even sure he remembers who she is. “Right. Your job. We’ll talk about all that later.”
My blood pressure rises. Should I slap him or spit on him? I decide to take a deep breath instead. “Excuse me?”
He gives an exaggerated laugh. “Do you really even have to ask why? First you kick me out on the side of the highway. Then, you threaten me with violence.”
I burst out in laughter. Julie, who's usually good at restraining herself in these types of situations also starts laughing and it's easy to see that we struck a nerve in Elijah. He leans forward and whispers, almost at a hiss “You left me naked on the side of the highway! Do you know how many people yelled profanity at me?”
“Look,” I try to cool down from laughing hysterically at him, “I came here to do my job. Now, if you'll let me, that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”
But he won't let us go. Instead, he grabs my arms and pulls me closer to him. “Ow! Hey, what the fuck?” I frown.
His face contorts with anger and embarrassment. “I will not let you humiliate me again. Do you hear me? You better watch your ass because if you don't I’ll—”
“You'll do what? Hit her?” A handsome, deep voice mutters. The kind of voice that grounds you, with a slight southern drawl that slithers off the tip of each sentence. Matthew McConaughey had nothing on that voice.
I turn around to see the man from the bar the other night. He's standing close to Elijah, practically touching, his chest up against him. He's so fucking tall that Elijah actually has to look up at him and he's damn near shivering with fear.
“My military hero,” I whisper, with a slight smile on my face.
He gives me a wink and says “I never got to introduce myself. The name’s Colt.” Like the gun. “Like the liquor.”
“Lena,” I say, nearly choking on my words. He's in his full Navy garb and I suddenly feel something inside me change.
“Nice to meet you again. Is this guy bothering you?” he asks me.
“It's nothing I can't handle,” I say. It's the truth. I’m tough enough. I don’t need a man to protect me.
“I believe it,” he laughs. “You going to leave the woman alone now, tough guy?” It's not long before all Colt’s Navy buddies are surrounding Elijah. He's choking with fear. I love every second of this. Julie, now sitting on one of the benches, is somehow talking to one of the Navy guys. Her hand is wrapped gently around his bicep as he flexes for her.
The color from Elijah’s face has disappeared completely. “Excuse me,” he says, trying to move out of the situation entirely. No matter where he moves, a man is standing to block him.
“Now apologize,” Colt says, smiling brightly.
Elijah turns around and looks at me, taking deep and hurried breaths. “Yeah, um. I'm sorry. Okay? You happy?” But Colt is standing there, shaking his head.
“Come on. You can do better than that,” he says. “Apologize.”
“I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything,” Elijah says, fear in his eyes. Colt steps aside, stroking his chin. He allows him to leave and one of his Navy buddies pushes him out of the circle. They all laugh.
“Get, boy!” one of them yells at him. As he's walking away, I see him look at me. He's got that glint in his eye that tells me this isn't over. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. Colt just looks me up and down and says “I liked your outfit better last night.”
“Are you kidding me?” I screech, feeling the blood rush to my face.
“I'm just a fan of the denim, baby,” he laughs.
“That's my editor!” I say. I'm holding back from yelling at him. It takes all my energy not to leave the festival. Around us, the sounds of children screaming waft with the clicks of the fair roller coaster.
“Wait, I'm confused. Shouldn't you be thanking me? He looked like he was about to hit you,” Colt says. His friends are sitting next to Julie now, passing around a flask. It ends up in her hands and she takes a swig.
“Thank you? You think you deserve thanks? I didn't ask you to step in,” I say. “And my sister has a condition. Please don't let your
ogre friends give her any booze.” There's fire in my voice and I'm shaking. I just want to leave, to get away from men altogether.
He ignores the last part completely and laughs. “I didn't expect any thanks. I know you enjoy getting trampled on. But if you're ever in need, I'll be there. Even if you do tell me to fuck off,” he laughs, walking forward until he’s practically touching me.
That's when I realize how tall he actually is. Fuck. He's really handsome, despite his stupid shaved head and military get up. Er, I mean Navy. Shit. I find myself staring at his wide chest, at the ripples in his shirt that press against his perfectly cut abs, and I'm practically drooling. All of a sudden I'm a young girl again and I feel my pelvis start to tingle. The feeling travels between my legs and I have to physically move back to stop myself from ogling the guy.
“Thanks, I guess,” I stutter, feeling my cheeks turn a rosy hue. I'm flustered and embarrassed, and all I want to do now is touch his chest. Oh Jesus, who am I?
“There it is! Finally, a thank you. You're welcome, doll,” he says. I see him eyeing the pattern on my dress. He's mesmerized and I'm slightly terrified to even guess what he's thinking about doing, only because I'm scared we’re thinking the exact same thing.
“Doll? Who are you and what time period did you come from?” I spit out. Any feeling I had between my legs has now dried up and disappeared. Well, I was right about one thing. Navy men are misogynists.
“I should be asking you the same thing, wearing that dress.” He says back.
“You know you're really good at ruining things, right?” The words just spill out of my mouth.
“Oh, I'm the best in the business when it comes to that.” He laughs and reaches into his back pocket. “Drink?” He offers me a flask and I grab it eagerly.
“Thanks. Guess I could use a drink or five,” I laugh.
“Yeah. You look kind of stressed. What're you doing at a white-trash event like this anyway?” he asks me. I take a swig and taste whisky. I feel it burn the back of my throat as it goes down. The alcohol is like a sudden eye opener for me. I realize that we’re sharing a moment and I sort of feel sick to my stomach, but it's a good kind of sick to my stomach.
I don't know whether to run away or keep talking, so I take another swig. I choke out the words, “Work. Remember? I'm a reporter.”
“I thought you were an investigative journalist,” he mocks me. I hand him the flask and shove him slightly. “Again with the pushing? You're a violent one, aren't you?” He laughs and puts his hand over mine, currently pressed against his chest. My skin prickles and there's that feeling between my legs again. Shit! The alcohol wasn't helping the situation either.
I pull my hand away from his body and take a step back. “I am an investigative journalist, thank you very much,” I say, sounding a little too defensive. “But today I'm a regular old reporter, writing on the Memorial Day festivities.”
“Well, I'm sorry to say that there's not much to report on tonight. Although, the fattest pig in the world is right around that corner.” He laughs and I see his eyes travel down to my thighs. He quickly looks away and makes eye contact with me again.
“The fattest pig in the world? Sounds great. I'll blow the case wide open.” I smile back and look at Julie. She’s left me to take a ride on the coaster with the rest of the guys, including that married man from last night.
“I bet you will.” He bites his lip. I can see him looking at my lips, although I doubt he’s trying to be secretive about it.
“I didn't mean I'll blow it... Er, I mean, nevermind.” I look away feeling even more embarrassed. He hands me the flask again.
“I'm just messing with you.” He reaches out and touches my shoulder. I look at his hand awkwardly and he pulls away from me. “So, want to walk with me?” he asks.
I look in the distance and see Julie getting on the roller coaster. She looks down at me and gives me a cheesy wave and then a thumbs-up. All of the Navy boys are drinking out of their flasks, screaming profanities, and acting wild. In small towns like ours, they can get away with anything.
“Sure,” I acquiesce. “What's the worst that can happen?”
He extends his arm out for me and I actually laugh at the gesture. “You really are from the 1950’s aren't you?”
“So much for being a gentleman,” he sighs.
We walk toward the lights, the smell of beer and deep-fried treats swirl around us. Carnies yell into the crowd of people, selling false hopes and cheap prizes. And still, I have nothing of importance to write about.
“Hey, you!” a man in overalls with a missing set of front teeth yells. I look up. “Yes! Why don't you have your boyfriend buy you a round of BB’s?” He’s wielding a BB gun and holding a cigarette in his right hand. “It's Memorial Day. Nothing better than honoring the troops than by shooting some guns, right?”
I look at Colt and he just shrugs. “Well, let's see what you got.” He smiles, handing the man a crisp five dollar bill.
“You sure you want to see this? I'm a pretty good aim.” I grab the gun from the carnie and hold it against my shoulder.
“I'd love to see you shoot a gun,” he says in a condescending tone.
I'm excited because my uncle used to take me shooting once a week. For not being a gun owner or supporter of guns, I’m actually a really good shot. I put my cheek against the metal and aim. “Oh boy! Here she goes! She's in it to win it.” The carnie worker yells into his megaphone. A crowd has gathered to see my shot.
I bend over and aim at the target. My dress is hiked up to the brim and I can just feel his gaze burning into my ass. “Why don't you take a picture. It'll last longer,” I say. And then I shoot at least 100 BB’s, right in the center of the target. The bell rings, the carnie screams “Yes! She did it! We have a winner!” and I grab a giant purple banana to take home.
“I didn't realize you're such a good shot,” Colt says. “You should've enlisted.”
“Not my thing,” I say, holding my new plush banana close to me.
“Me neither,” he jokes.
“Yeah, right. You're like the poster boy for the Navy SEALs,” I say. “Look at you, wearing your full garb and everything.”
“Yeah, well. It is Memorial Day. And I have to stand on stage and do a thing later.” He grabs a table and sits down.
“There's my story!” I say, holding my hand out. He grabs his flask and hands it to me. I take another swig, feeling my feet grow lighter underneath my body.
“What is? I'm lost.”
“You! I'll write about you. A feel good piece. Soldier comes home from the war, finds comfort in being back home.” I’m excited I found something semi-interesting to write about, but when he doesn’t smile back and he looks down, I realize maybe I've drank a bit too much. I put down the flask and whisper “Sorry.”
“Don't be. I'll get us some food.” He gives a half-smile and walks away from the table.
Why do you always have to open your big mouth, Lena? I ask myself, feeling pretty stupid and out of my element. Behind me, I hear a stampede of commotion. I turn around to find Julie in the arms of one of the guys, laughing hysterically.
“Lena!” she cries out. “Where the hell have you been? We've all had so much fun.”
“Just manning the fort,” I awkwardly mutter. The rest of the guys drunkenly join Colt in line. They’re acting like a pack of wild dogs, throwing their arms around each other and talking far too loudly. The rest of the crowd ignores them.
Julie looks like she has a secret she can't hold back and when I ask her what her little smile is about, she spills it. “See that guy over there? The one next to Bowen, the married guy from the other night?”
“The dark skinned one?” He's the only guy who’s not wasted beyond reason. He's leaning against the turkey stand, fiddling with his hat.
“Yeah that one. I totally gave him a handjob on that roller coaster!” She snorts and spills the beer in her hand.
“Julie! I cannot believe you!” I
actually can believe her because she has been doing stuff like this for years. I grab her beer and pour it out.
“Ugh. You're no fun.” She sighs loudly like a child put in time out.
“Be a good girl,” I caution her.
She ruffles her thick hair and laughs. “Same to you. I see the way you're looking at Colt.” I give her an annoyed look. “Hey, I don't blame you! He's hot as hell.”
“He's annoying,” I lie. “He's way too machismo for my taste.”
“Just because he served some overseas? You know, there are a lot of women who would kill to be in your shoes right now. What did he do to deserve the Lena punishment?” she asks me, rolling her eyes.
“He almost got into a fight with my editor, for one. Then he pulled this macho crap and bought me a chance to win a stuffed animal. Now he's buying me food as if I can't handle things myself.” Okay, that did not sound as bad as I thought.
“Wow. He sounds like a real monster.” She’s giving me a funny look, as if I'm out of my mind.
“I just don't like him, okay?” I blurt out.
Julie, instead of saying anything back, looks past me. I turn around and see him holding two giant turkey legs. He hands me one, but the smile he once had has now turned into a grimace.
“Colt, I didn't mean—” But the look in his eyes tells me the damage is done.
Shit, I really had a way with words.
99
Colt
I knew it. I knew she had a stick up her ass. I knew I shouldn't have stood up for her. A girl like her wants to fend for herself. She wants to get stepped on by bastards like that guy. It’s fine by me. It’s like I said at the bar last night. If she doesn’t want the chase, she can just tell me.
Instead, she just stands there with her head in her hands because she wants the man, but can’t deal with everything that comes with it. “I’ll talk to you later, Lena,” I say, tossing my turkey leg into the trash. Hell, I only bought the food so I could get closer to the edges of that red dress.
“Wait. Don’t go,” she says. I stop and turn around, but there’s no way I’m coming back. As much as I love pussy, I wasn’t about to embarrass myself further by sticking around. Plus, my buddies were good and wasted, and all I wanted to do was to get back home to my cabin and my work.
