Wicked Me

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  PAIGE’S FRUIT BASKET didn’t taste like a mistake.

  When she vanished to her room after its delivery, I taste-tested the oranges, pears, and grapes for her protection. It couldn’t be from a guy, because what guy sends a fruit basket to someone like Paige? So who, then? And why hadn’t she seemed very happy about it?

  Later, I found her cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by open suitcases and books. Her shorts rode up high on her thighs, exposing the curve of her ass and a hint of black lace. I swallowed on a groan and stuffed a hand in my pocket to adjust my twitching dick behind the cover of the doorframe.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice raspier than normal.

  She pushed her geeky but totally hot glasses up her nose and smiled apologetically. “I’m making a mess.”

  “I see that.”

  “I’m so excited about tomorrow, I figure I’ll organize everything tonight because I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep.” She blushed and looked away.

  I could guess at what she was thinking. I’d planted that seed during my drunken haze after all, the one about there being a lot more fun things to do than sleeping, the one I’d love to see take root on the bed behind her and involved no sleeping whatsoever.

  “Good idea.” I cleared my throat and held her paperback out to her. “You can have this back since I stole it from you.”

  She shook her head, the ends of her dark hair swaying against her chest. “What kind of librarian would I be if I demanded you gave it back to me before you finished it?”

  “You’d be like every other librarian I’ve ever known.”

  She laughed, and God help me, I could listen to that sound forever.

  “Finish it,” she said. “You’re past me anyway.”

  “Cool. Thanks.” I held her warm, brown gaze until she blushed again and smiled at a spot on the carpet.

  Was she thinking about me? About all the things I would do to her right there on her pile of books? My jeans were stretching past the point of uncomfortable, so I took my hand from my pocket but it didn’t help. With her here, I walked around with a constant hard-on.

  “In case I finish it, do you have another one? One kind of like this one?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  I must have hit the librarian switch inside her because she moved through her piles with ninja precision and stood to hand me three books within seconds.

  “These all have male cops as main characters, and I have more on my e-reader if you want them. Consider me your own personal librarian.”

  Sweet Jesus. Done.

  The shadows in the hallway darkened her honey-colored arm as she handed the books to me, but not enough to hide the goose bumps there. I dug my fingers into the doorframe to keep from reaching out and smoothing them over her silky skin to warm her.

  “You really like it? Even the sex parts?” she asked.

  “Yeah. It’s not bad.” The truth was I hadn’t picked up a book I didn’t have to since reading Lord of the Flies in high school. Her book was definitely written with women in mind, but it held my attention, gave me an excuse to see her eyes light up. Win-win. I took the three books from her, making sure I brushed her fingers with mine just to see her shiver. Her nipples pushed into the fabric of her thin T-shirt before she crossed her arms over her chest. What I wouldn’t give to run my tongue over those nipples and pull them into tighter buds with my teeth. “So, you have an e-reader, too?”

  “For backup. I prefer paperbacks because of the smell of the pages and the ink. It’s intoxicating,” she said, shrugging.

  Just like she was. “You do remember there’s a public library within walking distance, right?”

  “That’s backup for my backup.”

  “And you’re going to be interning at a library.”

  “Backup for my backup’s backup,” she said and laughed. “Hi, my name is Paige, and I have a book problem.”

  I chuckled. “Right. Well, I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  She shrugged. “You’re staying up to read. I think I might be turning you into a book whore.”

  “You might be right.” I saluted her with my three books. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “You too,” she said, and as I turned away, I swore I could feel her gaze sliding over my ass. My own personal naughty librarian.

  Three hours later, I was officially a book whore and completely okay with it. So what if I was reading chick books? This author seemed to know her shit on police procedural stuff. That was the part that sucked me in. I laid the finished book on the coffee table with Paige’s bookmark securely in place and took one of the three unread ones up the stairs. On normal nights, even on Sundays when the bars weren’t open, I’d come home at three or four o’clock in the morning completely wasted. At least book whores didn’t show up to work the next day suffering from a hangover.

  Paige’s door was shut, so I crept across the hall to my room, but a faint buzzing noise stopped me in my tracks. What was that? I tipped my head to better gauge where it was coming from. Not my room. Not downstairs. I stepped toward Paige’s door, and the sound grew louder. What was she...?

  Oooooh. I smiled even as the bulge in my jeans throbbed against the zipper. I’d told her there were much better things to do than sleep, but that was one thing I hadn’t even considered. When we’d sat on the couch earlier together with bullets and brains flying left and right on the TV, the need in her eyes when she looked at me had fired me up to the point where I thought I’d lose control and take her, all of her, right then and there. But I couldn’t do that or I might push her away for good. Too risky. If she was jilling off, though, chances were fairly good she was thinking about me. And that made all the blood in my body rush south.

  I bit down on my fist to keep from groaning, but the roar of everything inside me made it hard to hear. I stepped closer, hands shaking with the need to yank at the doorknob and replace her fantasy with reality. But again—too risky.

  Wait. Was that a whimper? I swallowed hard. My hand flew to my crotch involuntarily. My stomach spasmed as I stroked the swell in my jeans while I imagined her gasping on the bed, sweat rolling between her tits while she worked herself closer to orgasm.

  Only a door separated us, only a door and my tight-ass jeans. With trembling hands, I undid my button and unzipped them. When I gripped my dick in my hand, she let out a little moan. My knees weakened. I gasped and posted my hand on the wall so I wouldn’t fall over. She was close. Had to be. So was I.

  Beads of pre-come lubed my hand. I began to pump, my hips grinding my fist with every thrust. I wanted to be inside of her, but I’d take this, too, this coming together on both sides of a closed door. I gnashed my teeth together to keep from groaning while I imagined her through the doors writhing, panting, fucking herself. If only I had x-ray vision and could see through walls... Sweet. Jesus.

  My balls tightened. My fingers scratched down the wall and balled into a fist. So fucking close. Paige gasped inside her room, and a rush of energy surged through my dick. My mouth opened on a roar, but I closed it to contain the noise.

  At the same time, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. It scared the shit out of me, and between it and my extreme ongoing orgasm, I lost my balance. Still coming into my hand, I fell into my bedroom onto my back.

  Aftershocks shook through me even as the air left my lungs. Holy shit. When I could breathe again, I laughed as quietly as I could. That was quite an orgasm. I’d jacked it plenty of times to memories of Paige, but it was never anything like this. And if I’d actually been inside her? I’d probably pass out and die, and I’d be okay with that.

  I guessed Paige had come, too, but inside my bedroom, I couldn’t hear anything. I tucked everything back into my jeans, swiped my hand down my stomach, stuck my head out in the hallway. Silence. Good.

  My phone vibrated again, and I took it from my back pocket. The first message
was from Tony.

  Next time I pick the party.

  I would have texted him back to tell him no fucking problem if not for the second text from Hill.

  Corner of 131st & Chestnut

  2 am sharp

  Do I need to remind you what happens if you’re late again?

  It was 1:24 now.

  I grabbed my leather jacket from its spot on the floor and glanced at Paige’s door. No. No, he didn’t need to remind me.

  8

  Sam

  PRETTY SURE THE LADY—MAN?—I stood next to on the corner of 131st and Chestnut at two in the morning was a prostitute, but who the hell knew these days? I just hoped I wouldn’t have to introduce myself to the ladyman’s pimp and fill out a job application as continued punishment for my non-arrival at the warehouse fuck-up with Hill.

  I arrived at the corner at exactly one fifty, had even allowed myself enough time to circle the neighborhood and figure out the best exit strategy if it came to that like it had at the yellow house. I debated taking the crowbar from my car with me in case someone started up another fireworks show, complete with rat poison and fat Texan men with seventeen chins, but decided not to. It wouldn’t fit under my hoodie and jacket anyway.

  The streetlight buzzed and flickered over our heads, and mosquitos swarmed it every single time it brightened. When the light blinked out, the mosquitoes dove down to the hooker who clapped them between her/his black-gloved hands. They left me alone, probably because I hadn’t doused myself in what stunk like a cocktail of cotton candy and maple syrup.

  I narrowed my eyes at every car that passed, which was a surprising amount for an early Monday morning. Some of their drivers could’ve been just as shady as me, on their way to a crooked business deal or a top-secret two in the morning fuck. Most of them were probably headed home from work or someplace innocent like that, though, which was exactly what I wanted to be doing. Going home to Paige.

  “You got a ciggy, sugar?”

  Those were the first words spoken to me by my late-night partner under the streetlight. Even from that voice, I couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or woman. It was both feminine and deep, female and male, just like her/his 1980s blond hair metal band curls that never budged.

  “Uh.” I patted my jacket even though I knew I didn’t have any. “No. Sorry.”

  “S’okay. We been standing here a while, huh?”

  “Yeah.” It was two fifteen last time I looked. Hill had sent me here so I could hurry up and wait, which should reserve him a special place in hell. I hated waiting.

  “I’ve been here so long that I took a break and went to that donut shop around the block,” she/he said. “You know which one I’m talking about?”

  I shook my head, wondering why the potential hooker had chosen now to strike up a conversation. Was she/he the one I was supposed to meet here? Hill hadn’t exactly spelled out for me what I should be doing or who I was to do it with. Or maybe the ladyman had decided I could be trusted with donut talk after the fifteen-minute silence test.

  “Best Dressed Donuts, that’s what it’s called. They have donuts with little mustaches and pin-striped suits made out of frosting and ones with little tiaras, real tiaras made out of candy...”

  “Sounds amazing. I love donuts.” And I did but I had no fucking idea what a tiara was.

  The ladyman fished out a rolled-up white paper bag from a red backpack on the ground and held it out to me. “I couldn’t eat both of them, so take it.”

  A car slowed at our intersection. At first I thought it would stop, but it just touched its brakes before turning.

  Was it really a donut in the bag or was this what Hill wanted me to take as part of his master plan for me tonight?

  “Go on, take it.”

  Giving someone, especially a stranger, their uneaten donut was outside my realm of expectation. Especially tonight, or any night I was fetched to do something for Hill. If it really was a donut, no way would I pass that up because I had never met a donut I didn’t like. Unless the ladyman had her/his grubby, unwashed, STD’d hands all over it.

  I took the paper bag, slowly in case the ladyman changed his/her mind, and tested its weight. Felt like a donut, smelled like a donut, must’ve been a donut. Didn’t mean I would eat it, though.

  “Thank you...?”

  “Alex.”

  The gender-neutral name fit perfectly. “Thanks, Alex.”

  Alex nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  A dark suburban swerved to the curb and idled there, thumping a type of music out its open windows I had never heard before. Something like two harps smashing together mixed with whales and a mess of drumbeats behind it. The white guy behind the wheel sat facing forward, an unlit cigar plugged into his mouth, his entire face droopy with what was probably boredom, complete disinterest, or both.

  With a heavy sigh, Alex picked up the backpack and moved toward the passenger door. “Don’t you be waiting too much longer.”

  For some reason, I almost said, “You too.” I didn’t like the looks of that guy or the sound of his music. It didn’t go unnoticed that Alex had given me the donut and not him. Once Alex folded into the passenger seat, the suburban squealed its tires to get out of there fast.

  A strange quiet settled over the corner of 131st and Chestnut once the car disappeared down the street. With Alex gone, the mosquitos swarmed me. With all my swatting, I worked up a sweat underneath my hoodie and jacket. It would be better if I took at least one of them off, but the hood covered most of my face in case there were cameras around and the jacket added bulk. Good old Dad’s political dreams would be smashed into a pile of dick-knuckle if I was recognized.

  In a lot of ways, Alex’s life probably wasn’t all that different from mine. Trapped, desperate to change things, to make things right. It was all a long, hard road filled with a ton of waiting on someone else’s schedule. There had to be a better way, but I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find it.

  Curious, I opened the paper bag to find a donut with pink frosting and a jeweled-crown-like thing sitting on top. Ah, so that was a tiara. I didn’t feel any smarter knowing that.

  A black sedan with tinted windows and a massive silver grill on its front turned the corner from a block away. It veered to the right and stopped. The window rolled down, and a small, graceful hand wiggled a finger at me.

  Was this some kind of proposition? I clicked the buttons on my jacket sleeves, a nervous habit, while my stomach turned in on itself. Good thing I didn’t eat that donut.

  The inside of the car was dim, made even darker by the black, very expensive-looking dress worn by the woman in the passenger seat. The thick-necked driver had his head turned so I couldn’t see his face. The woman’s blood-red lips tipped into a smile as she handed me a small brown paper bag without a word.

  I took it, the second paper bag handed to me in one night, though this one was much heavier than the first. She must’ve known to hand it to me and not some undercover cop who could be lurking somewhere, which made me think I was being watched. And I probably was, by Hill or someone else to make sure I didn’t fuck up again.

  The woman pressed the button for the window, and the car sped away.

  Okay. Well, now what? A donut in that bag and in this one... Money, loads and loads of money, filled the bag almost to the top in perfectly stacked bundles. So, was I supposed to take it, give it to Hill? I stepped closer to the streetlight as if it would help me weigh my options. Sweat leaked down my sides, which drove the mosquitoes even crazier.

  Not fifteen seconds after the car left, another eerily similar one pulled in to take its place. The window rolled down, and a pale, muscular arm shot out to grip the side of the car.

  I stood there melting while mosquitoes dive-bombed me and the donut bag because I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Was this guy here to pick up the money? Or was this a really popular curb to pull up against for no reason?

  The hand outside the car flipped over, palm up, li
ke it was waiting for something to be put on it, confirming that, yes, yes I was a jackass.

  I stepped to the car, and almost, almost, put the bag with the donut in his hand. Wouldn’t that have been fucking hilarious? No. No, it wouldn’t. I didn’t have a death wish. Sweat poured off me so fast I thought I might pass out. I wasn’t thinking all that clearly, but somehow the right bag wound up in the guy’s hand.

  He immediately dumped the money in his lap and started counting. Really, dude? Here? I wanted to tell him that but instead swatted at the swarm of mosquitos that splashed in the pools of sweat on my neck.

  He glanced at me and wiped his startlingly red hair off his forehead. “Ya’ made me lose count. Stop moving.”

  His luck o’ the Irish accent nearly made me crack a grin, but I remembered I wasn’t in a Lucky Charms commercial. Damn Irish and their awesome accents.

  He counted, the driver flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, likely looking for cops, and I stood there while I was eaten alive and trying to stay upright. I guessed I would be dismissed after he was finished counting like the lowly dog I was.

  A squeal from down the block kicked my heartbeat into overdrive. Not tires, but human. The Irishman and the driver must’ve not heard it over the idling engine, but it came again, closer this time. A red blur of movement shot down the sidewalk in our direction, along with hysterical laughter and a steady squeaking noise.

  What the hell? I couldn’t look directly at whatever it was for fear I would be seen, so I didn’t know if I should take cover from a charging madman or just stand my ground.

  The Irishman didn’t seem to care what was happening anywhere other than his lap or directly out his window, but the driver narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror.

  “We’re about to have company,” he said.

  I ducked my head deeper into my hood, clicked the buttons on my jacket sleeves, and backed up a step toward my getaway route so I wouldn’t freak the fuck out. Mosquitoes suffocated me while the insane laughter and the squeaks grew louder.

  The driver drew a gun from under his seat and set it on his lap.