by A. C. Bextor
“Travis?” I asked gently while searching his angered face.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Lacey,” I answered with hesitance.
“You have the wrong apartment.” He looked me up and down and gave a small smirk. “You’re looking for Travis McCabe. He’s apartment 201.” He pointed to the number on his door, “Not number 126. He’s on the second floor to the right.”
As I found out later, Travis McCabe was an annoying college kid who lived on the floor above Trav’s and held parties often for his college friends and their women. Travis mistook me for their evening’s entertainment.
I started to speak again, trying to convey our connection. “I’m Lacey . . . I can explain more . . .”
He cut me off without delay. “You said your name already and I told you, party is upstairs. You can use the . . .”
My blood started to boil. The man was infuriating me and after the evening I’d had, I wasn’t in the mood. “Would you just fucking listen to me?” I exclaimed and watched his face get red, the vein in his temple pulsed, indicating I didn’t have much time before he sent me on my way. I was desperate. I couldn’t go back home. “Travis, I’m your little sister.”
He paused and for the first time since laying eyes on each other, he looked at me with recognition. “My sister?”
“Yes!” I raised my voice louder than needed and watched his eyes narrow as a result. “Your sister! If you’d let me come in and talk . . .”
Before I had a chance to finish my sentence, the door started to close in my face. To avoid this, I put my foot inside his apartment and unfortunately heard the crunch of his toe under it. If he was already pissed, I knew he was about to go ballistic.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” I said with sincerity. The initial introductions weren’t going well. “I drove a long way tonight, and I can’t go back where I came from.” Watching his face settle from the pain, he grabbed his thigh as though that would soothe his ache. “Our mother just told me about you recently and tonight I left her with good reason. I can’t go back.”
*****
After he let me in, I offered as much proof as I could that we were related. Telling my life’s story in vague detail, and learning of his the same way, we talked until dawn when he told me he wanted me to meet his friends.
I found our four-year age gap didn’t make a difference to either of us. We both agreed that age was a number and after sharing some life experiences, we came to the understanding that although we grew up apart, our lives weren’t so different.
Travis told me about his band. His father had put him in guitar lessons when he was five. He did this with the intention of giving Travis something to focus on. From what I understand, and from what was evident during our initial introduction, Travis is moody and likely keeps to himself. I think I understand his dad. Although never meeting him, his plan was to give Travis an instrument and watch as he started to trust it to communicate for him, so to speak.
With Trav’s quiet disposition, it was a challenge drawing him out to talk about his friends. He cares for them and is protective of them in the same manner. Namely Raegan. She didn’t come into his life until recently, but when he spoke of her his voice gentled.
We spent the next day going through old pictures of him when he was younger. Obviously, I hadn’t thought to bring the few I had of me along; my hasty exit didn’t allow for forethought. I’m unsure I have much to brag about anyway.
It’s been nice spending time with him.
So, now I’m here and I’m about to meet the rest of those Travis calls his family.
CHAPTER TWO
Hayden
IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT and, just the same as any other night, I’m about to do what I do.
Fuck hard to forget who I am and what I mean to others.
The chosen woman of the evening—Casey, a brunette with smooth legs, a big chest, and an ass that begs to be taken hard and fast.
The object of tonight’s affection invites me in and lets me know we’re clear for play. “My roommate’s not due back until morning. We have all night.”
No, we don’t. I’ll be gone in an hour.
“Take your clothes off,” I demand, eager to start.
Walking into her kitchen, she turns around slightly with an invitation to delay the only reason I’m with her. “You don’t want a drink first? We could talk.”
“That’s not what you brought me here for, is it?” I answer, brushing my cock against her ass and pushing the front of her body into the kitchen counter as she clutches the glass in response to my rough whisper.
We’ve reached the final act of the evening. The action.
Earlier tonight, Casey was standing along the back wall by the bar and I could tell she was mentally undressing me without shame. Her friends were laughing and talking, but her disinterest in their conversation was what made her an easy target. She was admiring me. This happens on a good night and when it does, if I find the woman acceptable, I’ll actively put my routine into play.
Act one: Show interest. Get her attention then shower her with affection to the point that all other men in the room don’t matter, making them invisible. Create a ruse that makes her feel like she’s the one destined to be mine; my one and only.
Act two: Buy her a drink and offer my company for the evening. Get her comfortable with my hands on her in public. On her face, in her hair, and up her skirt if accessible. The order doesn’t matter. I just cover the bases the best I can; providing her enough mental snapshots of what could come for her later if she’s willing to commit.
Act three: Invite myself to her place for the night. Whether she believes I’ll stay the night and wake up for coffee and breakfast in the morning doesn’t matter. It never happens. I just need to get in her front door then take her to the bedroom where she’ll submit without hesitation.
The final act: Where we stand now—be ready. Ensure the condom is in place; always in my wallet beckoning to be used. Check out the location and time frame to avoid the uncomfortable situation of getting caught in the middle of taking her.
“You’ve done this before,” she says smugly, looking back at me from her shoulder.
Ignoring her comment, I pull up the back of her tight skirt and find her wearing nothing underneath. I was rushed tonight and wasn’t able to find this out at The Ward. It’s a miss on my part being as I had her on my lap just an hour ago.
Opportunity lost.
“So have you.” Holding her skirt up with one hand, I slide my finger inside her with the other. She’s not as tight as I’d like, but a woman’s body varies in size, shape, and texture.
The process of fucking is always the same. Foreplay, dirty talk . . . purchase. Tonight, I’ll mix things up before we start since I’m in the mood. “Get on your knees, Casey.”
She turns around in the small space I’ve granted and immediately does what I tell her. Shifting through the buttons on my jeans, she looks up at me with a desire-filled stare. She licks her red lips and my cock jumps in her hand before she takes me in her mouth and sucks hard . . . harder . . . harder. I gasp for breath and brace my hands against the counter behind her.
Women don’t love me. They don’t even like me; they aren’t supposed to. They use me. This is my way of returning their sentimental gesture.
“Fuck, that feels good. Take it all,” I gasp, grabbing her hair and forcefully pushing myself into her. She whimpers slightly but doesn’t slow her mouth’s movement.
I bend my head to watch her taking me in and out of her mouth with generous enthusiasm. At this point, I know I’m ready and by the sounds of her moaning against my cock, she is, too.
“Enough,” I clip. “Stand up. Where’s your bed?” I ask, helping her from the floor. It’s the least gentlemanly gesture I can offer before I dirty her bed and leave her alone in it after I’ve finished.
“Follow me.” Her seductive tone is lost on me as I watch her as
s sway down the hall.
Once we’re in her room, the practiced chorus continues. Lights stay off, we undress each other quickly, and finally I lay her out on the bed, clearly exposed and ready for me.
Then we fuck.
Her pants are heavy and the sheen of sweat along my back offers proof that this is what I’ve been after since meeting her only hours before. Her nails scrape down my back as she finds her climax from beneath me.
I’m a user, but not an asshole. If I do anything for women, it’s to ensure they get theirs before I greedily take mine.
Working my mouth on her chest, she takes the opportunity to bend to my ear and bite hard, spiraling me into my own release. I go as long as I can until finally I’ve finished.
Rolling off her, I briefly wait for her response. A woman’s reaction varies, obviously depending on the girl. Some offer to help me dress to speed my exit, some ask if I’d like to go again. Others don’t get out of bed, but say goodbye and ask me to lock up on the way out. Those are the one-night women I appreciate.
However, there are those who want to cuddle. No. I’m not a sweet and sappy cuddler.
There are some who want to talk. No. Once we’ve finished, there’s no need to get to know each other on a personal level. I’ll never see them again.
Casey, though, is what I fear the most. A galactic mistake.
“What side do you take?” she asks, still panting as she scoots over to find her spot on the bed. She assumes I’m staying the night.
Understanding her intention, I advise with a stern tone that offers a passive dismissal, “I’m not staying tonight, babe. I have to get up early and head to work.”
I lie. I don’t work. My dad’s sickness, since I graduated from college seven years ago, has always caused an interruption in my life. I’ve been asked to pick him up from high-class restaurants, sports bar, and a few times, a woman’s house where he had pissed her off by passing out before their fun started. My name in his phone was changed to ‘Hayden’s Cabs’ for quick reference. It’s worked all these years and throughout this time, I’ve been less and less angry in having to play that role. Because of all this, my concentration on my own life has always been cast aside.
“Where do you work?”
Getting off the bed and finding my clothes on the floor, I dismiss her. “Doesn’t matter. I gotta go.”
“You’re one of those,” she tells me. I think to myself quietly that if she had called me an asshole it would’ve felt less offensive.
“And you’re just like me,” I respond, walking out of her bedroom and aiming myself toward the front door.
“Asshole,” I hear her spit before I close it behind me.
I may be that, but I’m also a person who’s trying to find his way just like everyone else.
On the way home, I start to think the same way we all do in the darkness. Sadness, despair, loneliness, and resenting thoughts make their way to the surface, and in my own company, I’ve no way to guard against them. When I was young, I had always thought about what my life would be like at the age I am now. I had envisioned a wife, two kids, and a steady job. Throughout life, things happen and circumstances change a person, making them a shadow of who they once thought they’d be.
I don’t have those same visions anymore. Deep down, I’m a user. Users don’t get families, jobs, and a future with someone who loves them without conditions.
My phone rings beside me and when I check the clock for the first time this evening, I notice it’s only ten. It’s still early.
“Ace, buddy. What’s up?” I fake the same ‘satisfied with my life’ tone I always do in front of my friends. They don’t need to be burdened in knowing how I really feel about my life.
Ace never bothers with a greeting. “Trav’s ready for everyone to meet Lacey.”
“Finally,” I exhale sharply, relieved things with Travis and Lacey are progressing.
Lacey Wells is a little sister Travis didn’t know he had until she showed up at his apartment a couple of weeks ago. From what I understand of what Ace initially told me, is that they share the same mother. Ace was apprehensive in regards to her arrival, as he is with everything until he has further understanding. But once he got more of her story, he agreed, for Travis, to get to know her first before rendering any kind of judgment.
Travis has been holding Lacey apart from the rest of us, except Ace and Rae. Ace got to meet her because Travis needed Raegan’s opinion. The two of them are close, and Ace was only invited by default. He knows this about her and Trav. He doesn’t like it, but he’s learned to accept it.
“Yeah. She’s been here two weeks; I had started to doubt he’d ever let her out of his sight. You know how he is.”
I laugh, “Like you, you mean?”
“Fuck off, dick.”
I give Ace a lot of shit for his ridiculously protective demeanor when it comes to the women in his life. His little sister, Sarah, can’t breathe wrong without being corrected. His girlfriend, Raegan, has it worse. His attempts to tell her where to go, how to get there, and what to wear causes friction between them, but they’ve been together almost two years and it’s working. Ace is happy and because of that, I’m happy for him. I like Raegan because she’s good for him. She and her young son, Decklan, have settled Ace down in a way I never thought I’d witness.
I’m happy for him. I wouldn’t ever want to be him, though.
“How’s Travis hanging in with all this change?”
Ace answers with hesitance. “He’s okay, I think. He likes her. They get along well, and I think he’s happy he has someone other than us.”
Travis’s mom left him and his dad when he was three. Something happened, something not good, and it caused her to walk away and leave Travis with only his dad to raise him. His father was murdered while pumping gas after work one evening a few years back. Trav and his dad were extremely close and this fueled Trav’s already temperamental anger to epic proportions. In essence, it broke him almost completely.
“Toby and Marlee meeting her, too, I assume?”
“Yeah. Everyone.”
Trav, Ace, Toby, and I have been friends for years. Together we play in a band, Devil’s Despair. It’s just a local gig a couple of nights a week, but we all enjoy it because it gives us time away from the monotony of our day-to-day lives. Travis plays the keyboard and acoustic guitar. Toby plays the drums. I sing and play bass on occasion. Ace manages the group but has a voice that belongs behind a microphone. He refuses to acknowledge or accept this, except on occasion, and usually only through the request of Rae.
“Where’s he having everyone meet her?”
“His place, tomorrow night. Be there about seven or so. He got her an interview for a waitressing job at The Ward. She hasn’t heard back yet, but both Trav and I put in a good word with Mel.”
The Ward is the venue for our band. On occasion, it can be a rough place for anyone, especially the women who work there. Men are often thrown out for grabbing, touching, and pawing the female staff and other patrons.
“Shit. Is that a good idea?” I ask with mild anxiety. I can’t imagine Travis, of all people, allowing someone he cares about to be pawed at and hit on by those hungry men.
“Meet her before you decide. She seems familiar with how bars run and she also seems the type who can hold her own in just about any situation.”
“She hot?” I halt his words. He doesn’t look at women anymore. Ever. It’s annoying.
“I don’t have an opinion on that.”
“Ace, you’re no longer available, but this doesn’t mean you’re immune to the hot ass of a woman. I asked if she was hot. I didn’t ask if you’d fuck her.”
“You’ll like her,” he continues, “but she’s Trav’s sister. Remember that.”
“Got it.” It goes without saying that I’m not what Trav would want for anyone he cared about. That’s how much they think of my unwillingness to commit. My own friends don’t trust me.
There was on
e instance, fucking years ago, which led my friends to outcast me as the whore I’ve been labeled. Ace was dating a slut, a true whore. Her name was Kenna and one night after a gig, I was left without a distraction when the woman I had planned to be with got herself sick from overdrinking prior to leaving. I ended up sleeping with Kenna and got caught.
I fucked up and I own that, but even though Ace wasn’t serious about her and even though I’ve apologized for this and have done everything I can to win back the respect of my friends, I haven’t. I don’t think I ever will. I’ll always be the man-whore, the player, and the one person in our group who can’t be trusted.
“I hope you do. Now, meet us at Trav’s tomorrow tonight.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good, now go do whatever it is you do at this hour.”
“Already did.” I make a quick return in reference to Casey.
I hear him hiss like a bitch on the other end, but he says nothing before he disconnects.
That’s right, Ace. Be jealous.
CHAPTER THREE
Lacey
“ARE YOU READY for this?” Trav asks me as he finishes dinner and places it in the oven.
I’m about to meet his friends tonight. All of them. Those I’ve met so far have, for the most part, been nice and inviting. The others, though, I’m unsure about.
“I think so. They’re your friends so I won’t be nervous.”
“You shouldn’t be. You’ll be okay.”
“I wish your friend Mel would call back. I’d feel like less of a leech if I had a job.”
Travis pours me another glass of wine and brings it to where I’m sitting at the table. “They’ll call, and if not, there are a lot of places around here looking for extra help.”
Sitting in silence for a few minutes, Travis starts to fidget. “What’s wrong?” I ask with hesitation.
“Do you think our mom knows you’re here?”
“Do you care?”
“No. Not really, but I’d like to think you have someone who would come looking for you.”
Travis doesn’t understand my relationship with her, even after all I’ve told him. “She won’t.”
