by Adriana Law
“Why would you do that, Mya?” says a strained voice. “Couldn’t you tell I was trying to help you?” My chest rises and falls quickly. My eyes dart around the dark room as I fully come awake, realizing where I am and that it was all just a horrible mind-fuck nightmare.
Well, part of it was…the rest I believe really happened.
Sawyer lays crumpled up on the bed, bathed in moonlight, cradling his belly like a woman having severe labor pains. I can’t tell if he is attempting to get up, or lie down. Maybe both simultaneously. A sheen of sweat covers his face. His dark brown eyes run over me huddled against the headboard, his tone harsh, “How and when did you get my Taser? Dammit, answer me!” Then he stretches out an arm toward me, like a man drowning in icy water reaching toward the rocking boat for help. “Give it to me,” he demands.
He manages to at least somewhat push up onto his knees and hands.
I glance down, clutching the coldness of the Taser. Then I immediately toss it to him. Thankful to be rid of it now.
Staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind and frankly like he is a little afraid of me too, Sawyer quickly scoops the Taser up. “You are seriously messed up in the head.”
“I know.”
He slowly returns to his normal self and sits up. He lifts the fabric of his t-shirt and inspects the damage done to his side. Obviously, I got him good right along the ribcage. He rubs his fingertips over it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“How long have you had it?”
“Since I moved in.”
“Not moved it,” he corrects, dropping the shirt over his burn. “Since you came to stay for a few days, Mya”
I scoot down on my side and hug my pillow to me, facing the wall instead of Sawyer. “I noticed you had several Taser,” I explain, thankful he can’t see my face. “I figured you wouldn’t miss one. I hid it between the mattress and box springs.”
“Why?” He exhales. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you.”
“It’s not you that I am afraid off, Sawyer.”
“No one will touch you while I’m around.”
I believe him. “I know.”
“Good.” He buries his bare feet under the covers and lays down. “A person shouldn’t have to be afraid to go to sleep. Now that I think about it… I’m kind of afraid to shut my eyes for fear of what you might do to next.” His tone is not hateful and condemning. He is laughing. “I can’t believe you got me with my own Taser. That was a shocker.”
“It’s not funny,” I say, fighting really hard not to laugh. When I can finally contain it, I say, “You’ve been nothing but nice to me. I’m sorry that happened.”
“You didn’t mean it. You screamed. I tried to wake you. Made the error of trying to touch your face to wake you. It was my fault; I should’ve known better…eased into it.”
“You should have slapped me; that’s what you should’ve done.”
“You know what…” he says suddenly sitting up and digging through the covers. The Taser falls out, hidden in the midst of all the folds. “…why don’t we get rid of this? I’m cutting you off of everything that has voltage.” I hear the Taser clunk against the hardwood floor by the bed. An arm circles my waist and then I’m sliding over the mattress until my backside is fitted comfortably up against him. His legs brush mine beneath the sheets. His feet are icy cold next to mine.
My entire body tenses. “Saw—”
“Shh,” his breath tickles my ear. “You need peaceful sleep. Close your eyes. I’ll protect you from the monsters. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I swear.” The smell of him surrounds me as does his warmth.
I melt into his embrace. He holds me tight never once moving his hand from my belly. No one has ever held me like this—so completely without any expectations. It’s sweet and scary all wrapped in one. I listen to his breathing until it slows and I’m almost certain he’s asleep. I listen to the rain pinging against the window panes like tiny pebbles. I decide right then and there that Sawyer’s confidence is warranted, he does have special powers to keep the monsters at bay.
I feel safe.
Cared for.
Special.
Tears escape from the corner of my eyes wetting the pillow case. For the first time in my life I want, really want, to let my guard down and truly open myself to someone. But this is Sawyer we’re talking about—Sterling’s arrogant younger brother.
I love that he is willing to be my friend.
It’s a nice surprise.
***
I’m sitting on the floor in the kitchen when Sawyer gets home from work the next day. My back is to the cabinet. I can’t seem to make myself get up. I just sit here with my ankles crossed petting Slick. The apartment door opens. I should really get up. He has to be getting sick of my crazy-woman shit.
Sawyer comes around the counter and stares down at me for few moments before asking, “Why do you look like someone stole your best friend?”
Because they have. “I messed every batch up,” I tell him.
His gaze slides over the messy kitchen. “It’s ok,” he says. “Why don’t you take a break from the cookies—?”
“Candy. They’re not cookies.”
“Well, why don’t you take a break from the candy and give my kitchen a rest.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it? I wanted to get it right. Like the other day.”
“You will. Tomorrow.”
“Your dog ate raw egg off the floor. He liked it.”
“I’m sure.”
He holds down a hand to me, helps me up, and leads me over to the sofa, telling me to sit. “What happened,” he asks. “You were happy yesterday.”
“Every store says they’re not interested in my candy.”
“You’ll find one that is.”
“Why is life so difficult?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need this, Sawyer. I need to know I can do at least one thing right.”
“And you will. Tomorrow.”
I drop my head in my hands. “Ugh. I give up.”
Sawyer squats by my legs and lifts my chin. His brown eyes steady on mine. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person that gives up easily.” I consider what he has said. He goes on, “Listen, not every day is going to be your best.”
“I know.”
“If you want to do this…then put in the effort. Success doesn’t happen overnight, well not usually. It takes effort.”
“I am. Putting in the effort. Look at your kitchen! It will take hours to wash all those pans. Shit. Now I have to throw all those ingredients out—”
“We’ll buy more,” Sawyer says. “Start over.”
“Even if, and that’s a huge IF I’m lucky enough to get the recipe right, there’s still the problem of distribution,” I pause, coming up for air. “Why are you smiling?” I ask.
“This coming from a girl who has had to scratch and claw her way through life. Baby, this is a walk in the park compared to what you’ve already been through. Use some of that grit and stubbornness to get your distribution.”
I push up from the sofa and shuffle into the kitchen. “You make it sound so easy.”
Sawyer follows. “It’s not easy,” he says. “No one promised it would be. Anything worth having is never easy. It takes hard work and persistence.”
I hold out the pan of something that resembles what you might find inside a chimney; burnt nice and crispy. “Want a cookie?”
“Candy,” he corrects. He gives the pan a quick once over. “No, I think I’ll pass.”
Out of nowhere Sawyer smacks my ass. Hard. “Now, clean up my kitchen,” he orders. His lips twitch at the sight of my shocked expression. He tells me, “I’m going to take a shower. But first I have some paperwork to get caught up on.”
I look at my mess and my body goes limp with dread. My head lulls back as I focus on the ceiling with an irritated groan, my eyes then returning to Sawyer. I smile widely, “Sure you don’t want to help clean up?”
“Nope.” He is already walking away, peeling his shirt off as he passes through the double French doors that lead to the master suite. He snaps his fingers in my direction, “Chop, chop. Get to work.”
I glance down at Slick waiting at my feet, hoping I will accidently drop another egg. Speaking of eggs: the floor is littered with broken shells. Lowering, I begin to pick them up and lay them in my palm. Ugh. My mouth screws up in disgust at the slimy feel of the pieces. “I thought you cleaned it all up,” I tell Slick. The tip of his wet nose nudges my cheek. I laugh and lift a shoulder wiping his snot from my cheek with my shoulder.
Floor clean. Check.
Eggshell shards disposed of properly. Check.
I straighten by the sink only to go completely still at the sight of Sawyer through the French doors. Keeping my eyes on him I squirt soap detergent in the sink and turn on the water, pretending to be focused on washing dishes. Damn! The guy does have a sexy body. It’s a shame to cover it up under the uniform;, one look at those shoulders, those biceps, that ass…and every law-breaking son-of-a-bitch would know the guy means business.
No tattoos though, but watching as Sawyer sits down on the side of the bed and unzips the jeans, removing them one leg at a time I realize he doesn’t need tattoos; he is beautiful just the way he is.
He stands in nothing by a pair of tight black boxer briefs, gathering a folder and jotting notes in it. Paper work he’d said.
My flesh gets all hot at the clear view of his chest.
His skin is golden, taunt over rippling abs. His waist narrow. The boxers dip low over his hips. His thighs… I remember Mattie’s words: I would do him in a heartbeat.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I smack the handle of the faucet until the water shuts off realizing bubbles have risen until they’re about to slosh over onto the floor.
“Everything ok out there?” Sawyer calls.
I squeak out a “Yea, fine.”
Way to go, Mya! How would you explain running over the sink?
Keeping my eyes cut discreetly toward the master suite I reach for one of the pans and dump the screwed up candy in the trash, submerging the pan and pretending to slave away.
Sawyer drops the folder on the bed and heads my way. I nearly swallow my tongue, quickly averting my attention to cleaning.
“Is there any coffee?” Sawyer ask passing by me.
I tell him, “from this morning.” He takes a mug out of the overhead cabinet and pours. The coffee is extra black. “How can you drink coffee that’s been sitting for eight hours?” I wrinkle my nose.
The microwave door pops open.
Sawyer nukes the coffee for a minute. Takes the mug out and sips. “Mmm, tasty,” he says brushing by me. I hold my breath, feeling insanely guilty for ogling him without him knowing.
“You are gross,” I tell him.
He chuckles headed toward his room.
I hear the closet door open.
AND then he is back, walking past the counter.
“Would you put some clothes on?” I suddenly snap.
Sawyer freezes mid-step and points a finger in the direction of the laundry room, explaining, “There're no towels in the bathroom. I was going to go get one out of the dryer…is that ok with you?”
“Just get the damn towel and go take your shower.” My face burns with embarrassment. “Please!”
Irritation flickers through his eyes at my telling him how to dress and when to bathe in his place, but all that quickly turns into interest when he obviously figures out that I’m uncomfortable with seeing him in boxers.
Humor warms his brown eyes.
Sensing my weakness to him while he is barely clothed, he comes around to the sink and leans closer, his hands on the counter by my waist until I am caught between his chest and the sink. My backside is pressed against his front.
“Do you need my help?” he says.
“With what?” I choke out. I can feel my frantic heartbeat at the base of my throat as I attempt to swallow. Is he offering to help with cleaning? Or offering sexual gratification? We could do this. We’re single. Free. Young. Stupid. Friends. My body stiffens. Friends. And Sawyer even said it himself, the last thing I need to be right now is to be too damn impulsive by running straightway into the arms of the first guy I can find.
Sawyer lifts a hand and brushes my temple and cheek with a feather-light touch, his warm fingertips causing my heart to race. I shiver though I do my best to hide it. I squeeze my eyes shut. What is this feeling? I have never wished a man would prove me wrong so bad in my life.
He leans closer; his deep voice rumbling in my ear, his breath warming me from head to toe. “Do you need me to help you clean?” My skin tingles. I have to fight not reacting. “Mya,” his voice is lazy sounding now.
“No,” I tell him. “It’s all under control, see,” I demonstrate washing the pan. “Go get your shower.”
I exhale all the air from my lungs once he’s gone.
I’m beginning to think Sawyer is not that gross.
I'm beginning to think he is pretty damn awesome.
Problem is, he’s also the first guy to know me sober and he still chooses to be around me.
Sex. Bad, bad, bad! Sex does kooky things to friendships. Tangles the friendship into knots until both parties want nothing more than to escape and avoid each other. I get busy distracting myself from the sound of the shower running. I can’t afford to lose any more friends.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Color Your Life
He lets me chose the color of the walls. I pick a blue-grey. The color goes well with all the chocolate furniture. Sawyer doesn’t own decorations, so the color serves to add personality to the neglected apartment. It even compliments the pool table that is a dark, rich wood with a light beige top. I could have been cruel since he agreed to let me choose and picked a neon green. Although, neon green could’ve worked. I know him though. Sawyer is not flashy. He’s subtle.
Holding a roller attached to an extension, he says, “Ok, let’s do this before I change my mind.” It is early morning. He slipped on a pair of old jeans with no shirt. The jeans have holes in the knees and gives a tiny glimpse of the good stuff. Imagine that. I’m beginning to think he tempts me on purpose. He stands barefoot staring at the blank walls. His hair an early morning mess. Early morning stubble darkens his jawline. And then there are the glasses that I’ve noticed he only wears around me.
He shifts his brown eyes in my direction. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile and shake my head. Regardless of the fact that he promotes himself as this disciplined, I-got-my-shit-together guy…Sawyer Bentley loves not having to try so hard, he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Have you changed your mind already,” he asks. “You agree… the walls are fine the color they are?”
“No, Saw.” I direct his roller toward the pan, dipping it in the paint. “You need some color in your life. Take a deep breath. Next we’re going to unpack your boxes.” I laugh at the gather of his brows in a scowl. “It’s going to be ok,” I tell him. “I’ll help you.”
I turn up the music meant to inspire our happy mood and work. As I roll out the color onto the wall I get lost in the music, singing the words:
“…I think I’m falling for ya…You’re everything I…”
I pause when I notice Sawyer is staring. I could stop and shy away, but why? This is Sawyer. I slide over and playfully bump my hip into his, tipping my face up at him and singing rather loudly:
“…you’re everything I…you’re everything I ever wanted. You’re everything I need.”
Sawyer shakes his head and laughs. I shout over the music, “Come on. Don’t be bashful. Sing with me.”
“You are bat-shit crazy,” he says.
“Loosen up. You know you want to.”
He adamantly continues to shake his head, and I smile, returning to rolling while I sing.
We accomplish painting two walls before I’m bored. Staring at the rest o
f the white walls that need to be painted I get an idea. “Can I be finished now?” I ask Sawyer gesturing at the blue-grey Star I painted one of the white walls. I try to convince him, “Now you have your very own mural, painted by yours truly.”
“A mural, huh?” He comes up beside me and rubs his jaw, studying my artwork through the glasses “Looks like a pentagram to me.”
My shoulders slump, and I whine, “Please, don’t make me paint anymore. It’s too much like work. It’s not fun. I change my mind. Your walls are fine white. Think of these wall here,” I nod at the two blue-grey walls, “as accent walls. I suggest that you leave the rest white.”
“You just want to get out of painting them,” Sawyer says. He takes the paint brush out of my hands and scratches out the star, replacing it with huge sloppy letters that spell, “Mya”. He steps back. “That’s better,” he says. I can see the lift of the corner of his mouth.
“Let me see this,” I say, snatching my paint brush out of his hands. I pause as if I’m considering some change to his work. Instead, I dunk the tip of the brush in the paint and dab it on his cheek.
He refuses to acknowledge what I just did and continues to focus on the wall before us. So I do it again, only this time I make sure the lenses of his glass get some of the bristles.
I snort and wait.
The muscles in his jaw work under the surface.
“Come on,” I say. “You know you want to laugh.”
In one sudden swoop his arms circle my waist, and he lifts me. I squeal, squirming against his hold. My feet are up off the floor, but I’m not exactly thrown over his shoulder either; it’s more like I’m a wrestling opponent that he is fixing to…
He body slams me onto the floor. Not hard. He’s extra careful, making sure not to hurt me in the process, but my ass lands in the pan of paint. The butt of my jeans soaks up the wetness. My mouth falls open in surprise.
I try to get up, but Sawyer holds me down. Then he is smearing paint on my face. He’s just playing. I know this. But with his weight distributed over my body where I can’t get up, I panic and start to push against him. I hit him. Whatever it takes to get him off so I can breathe. My arms flail. I gasp.
