by K Larsen
“No prob. Listen, I'm meeting Kylie for dinner but I’ll be home tonight so you can fill me in on all the awesomeness that was your trip,” he says. I snort in mock disgust at him. I hate Kylie. All right, I don't hate her, but she's annoying and all wrong for Sawyer. For the past two years they’ve had on-again off-again dating bouts. I’m a little disappointed that he’s heading out after I just got home.
“Have fun with Kyyyyylie,” I say with sarcasm. He raises his brows at me but wisely chooses to say nothing about my juvenile remark. He kisses Allie on the head, then me, and takes off, the rumble of his bike echoing down the street. “Well, Alliecat, looks like it’s just us for dinner, what should we have?” I ask as we make our way into the kitchen. I love this house. Sawyer and I bought it three years ago. The first floor is an open concept with a large kitchen, and the three bedrooms upstairs are large and all have great views of the rolling hills surrounding the house. It’s perfect for the three of us.
Initially I’d had a heart attack when Sawyer surprised me by bringing me to see the house and suggesting we buy it. I don't buy houses. I rent. Renting lets you pick up and take off if the mood hits, houses don't. Allie and I had moved around so much the first four years of her life that I wasn’t sure she knew what home was. After Sawyer, though, Allie was hooked on him and we’d quickly settled down together. Moving only twice in the first year we were friends, I’d found a vacant shop in Blacksburg and Sawyer and I were following our dreams and opening a tattoo parlor, Bloodlines.
He quickly convinced me that Allie needed a real home and this was it: close to our shop, good schools, and the right size. It didn't take long to cave to Sawyer’s wishes. Six months later we were home owners and I never looked back. Sure, sometimes when the breeze blew I had the sudden urge to pack up and go, but Sawyer had the uncanny ability to make my restlessness dissipate and I’ve been happily playing house with him for the last three years. We have an understanding and we both love each other deeply...we're just not, you know, in love .
“Mac and cheese,” Allie grins, holding a box of Velveeta to me, knowing I’ll cringe. I’m not Mom of the Year by any means but I loathe feeding my kid boxed macaroni and cheese.
“Fine. You get the music, I’ll make the dinner,” I concede, loving the ear-to-ear smile she throws at me. Allie fires up the docked iPod and the house fills with Stars. “Can we see them someday, Mom?” she asks.
“Yeah, sure. They put on a really great show.” I wink and put the pot of water on the stove, turn up the heat and wait for it to boil. By the time Allie has showered, done her homework, and is asleep for the night, Sawyer’s bike rumbles into the driveway. I’m in my favorite t-shirt of his and yoga pants, curled up on the couch watching An Idiot Abroad. I love Karl.
“Hey, muffin,” Sawyer says, plopping down next to me and swinging my legs over his lap. “Tell me about this trip,” he says, starting to massage my foot. I moan from the sheer pleasure it brings me. The man really knows all my weaknesses. I pause the TV and dive in. “Well, Amanda and Marg are doing awesome. It was so good to see them. I really should have made it happen sooner,” I start. “We went out to Hurricane Friday night and I was mauled by a wealthy mogul that apparently is a big deal...”
“Are you all right?” he interrupts my story.
“Yeah, yeah. Well...kinda, let me finish. His name's Dominic Napoli...”
“NAPOLI?! Like the hotel and club-owning millionaire?” Again, really?
“Sawyer. Can I talk or are you going to interrupt me every step of the way?” I bark and he smacks his lips together. “Right, so yes, that guy, and no, I told him off. He is a huge jerk.” I wave my hands around, dismissing the idea of Dominic. “So we left the club and went to our old haunt The Harp. It was awesome. I was having so much fun...well, okay, maybe a little too much,” I amend. Sawyer winks knowingly. “When he showed up and told me it was time to go home. I mean seriously...I was irked. I totally said some ridiculous stuff to him in true Clara form and ran out of the bar. Then I got sick. Well the spins and you know, the constant battle to keep everything contained,” I add. He chuckles and moves on to my other foot. “So Marg goes home, and Amanda lets that idiot's driver take her home and leaves me with him. After that, all I remember is being carried to a car and waking up at his place the next morning with only his tee on.” I pause to suck in a deep breath but Sawyer’s eyes have clouded over and look frosty.
“Clara...” he groans, upset, dragging a hand down his face.
“No, no.” I stop his train of thought. “Nothing happened...I think. I mean he stripped me and put a tee on me but I slept alone. I totally berated him and made a hasty exit,” I correct.
“Why the hell would he strip an unconscious drunk women?” he barks.
“That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” I ask, trying to lighten his mood. He’s so protective of me sometimes.
“I really don't like this story,” he says through clenched teeth. I sit up, change positions, and snuggle into his chest. He wraps an arm around me gently.
“Well, that’s the end of it. Amanda and I spent Saturday shopping, saw a movie, and then met Marg for a low-key dinner,” I quickly finish. His fingers trail lightly up and down my arm and I can feel him relaxing a little. Phew. Crisis averted. “Wanna finish watching An Idiot Abroad with me?” I offer, snaking my arm around his waist and squeezing. The stiffness melts from his body and he swings us around so we’re spooning on the couch together.
“Sure, love,” he says softly. I tag the remote and play the show.
Dreams & Lies
His fingers dig into my shoulders, no doubt leaving bruises, before he starts violently shaking me. “You HOCKED IT? YOU HOCKED THE FAMILY RING?” he screams, shaking me more. I snap my eyes closed and pretend I’m anywhere else. His hands release my shoulders abruptly and as my eyes snap open I feel myself lose my balance. Stumbling to find my footing I miss the next step and tumble. His hate-filled eyes watch every hit to the stairs that my body takes before I crumple at the bottom in a pile of skin and bones.
I jackknife up, struggling to catch my breath. I feel like I’m being strangled. Pulling my knees into my chest I lay my head on them and fight to control the sobs racking my body. It was just a nightmare, I remind myself. When I’ve gathered myself enough to stop crying, I tiptoe--careful not to wake anyone--to Sawyer's room and crawl into bed with him slowly, hoping I won't wake him.
“Nightmare, love?” he asks. His voice is heavy with sleep.
“Sorry,” I say softly as his arms wrap around me and pull me into him.
“No need love, I’m right here. You’re safe. Allie’s safe. Let’s sleep.” He kisses my head and I breathe a sigh of relief as the safety of Sawyer’s arms washes over me. He knows all but one of my secrets. Hell, he’s really the only person out there that even knows me anymore.
“Love you, Sawyer,” I mumble and scoot my butt back into his crotch, getting as close as possible to him. His sigh lets me know that he heard me before we drift off to sleep together.
* * * * *
“How much longer?” he grimaces.
“Do you need a break, pansy?” I chuckle at my client as the buzz of the gun drones on.
“Yeah,” he clips. I stop what I’m doing, wipe his skin clean, and let him sit up.
“Ten,” I tell him. Sawyer and I have a full schedule today, which is great. The college kid, grumbling as he stands and stretches before me, is getting the most boring tribal design ever across his shoulders. These generic tattoos are the bane of my existence. I prefer art for individuals over tramp stamps for the masses but money’s money and the kid wants what he wants. I strut over to Sawyer’s station shaking my head in amusement as I catch the kid staring at my ass.
“Nice,” I coo, looking at the owl of death he’s currently working on. He’s amazing with colors. I should know, he did my masterpiece. When we first opened the shop Sawyer had started my tattoo and over the course of a year finally finishe
d it. It’s a giant intricate gothic-meets-tribal-meets-classic, Swallowtail black and white butterfly that spans my entire side, rib cage to my hipbone. It’s about six inches wide. From the blurred tips of the wings a thousand small butterflies in brilliant blues, purples, and greens burst out, trailing down my hip and up my shoulder blade. It’s literally the length of my torso with half appearing on my back wrapping around just barely to my front. It’s my only one and I adore it. The way the large black and white butterfly bursts into a hundred brilliantly-colored smaller ones of varying sizes always brings a smile to my face. Some of the smaller ones have words worked into the lines of the wings: devoted, Allie, Sawyer, love, truth, heart. The words are scattered here and there throughout the hundred smaller butterflies and you really have to inspect the tattoo to find them. It’s pure artwork.
“Thanks, muffin.” He grins and wipes the skin in front of him clear. “I’ll get Alliecat after school. I should be done in twenty.”
“Great. I have about half an hour left on this one before my next appointment at three. Should only take about an hour though. Pizza tonight?” I ask, arching my back and smiling at the dude on Sawyer’s table.
“Sounds good,” he says distractedly as he focuses on his work. Strutting back to my station above the hum of the needle I hear his client tell him he’s damn lucky to have a fine piece of ass to go home with. I hear Sawyer snort and agree, not bothering to enlighten him on our relationship. It’s good, actually: the more people that think I’m taken the better. Being in the line of work I’ve chosen and looking like I do makes me a prime target for being hit on relentlessly and I really don’t like having to constantly defend myself from perverts. Plus, I’m terrible at relationships. I definitely am not looking for anything. My life is easy, safe, and content, and I prefer to keep it that way.
At three thirty, Allie and Sawyer return. As usual, Allie sits at the front desk and does her homework while taking calls and instructing waiting wannabes what to do. The kid’s a natural and our shop is her second home. Nothing phases her and I adore that about her. She does exceedingly well in school, plays soccer, sings in the chorus, and pretty much runs the front of the shop and she’s eight. The kid is bound for greatness and it makes my heart swell with pride. She pops over to give me a kiss before settling in up front. “How was school today, babe?” I ask.
“Good. Connor tried to kiss me on the playground.” She makes a sour face as I bristle.
“What did you do?”
“I punched him in the face!” she squeals and I roll my eyes. The kid is a little too much like me. “What?!” I squawk before calming myself slightly. Yelling at her has never worked. “Allie...” I start.
“I know, Mom, no hitting, but I said no and he didn't listen!” she whines.
“Did you get in trouble?” I ask, happy that she at least defended herself after using words.
“A little. Mrs. Gronk said I had to be on clean-up duty the whole week but Connor had to go to the principal's office for not listening when a girl says no,” she explains.
“Well,” I sigh. “Please use your words, then tell a teacher. If none of that works, you can punch,” I offer.
“Yes ma’am,” she pouts. Her shoulders slump a little with guilt.
“Go do your homework. I should be done in thirty,” I chuckle. Sawyer shoots me a look from his station and I shake my head in frustration. “What are we going to do with her?”
“She’s fine just the way she is,” he says and laughs before sitting his next client down.
We finish out the day at four thirty and since Mondays and Fridays we’re appointment only, we close up shop, swing by the pizza place to pick up our order, and head home. I love June in Blacksburg: mid-seventies every day and everything is a luscious green. Allie takes our pizza to the back deck as Sawyer and I grab beers and water for Allie and we sit on the deck together chatting about our days, eating our pizza and drinking our drinks like any normal family would. After dinner is finished Allie clears our plates and heads to the living room for her allotted TV time for the evening. Sawyer and I stretch on our Zero Gravity Lounge Chairs, joking about this and that and watching the sunset in comfortable silence.
“It’s been a while,” he says nonchalantly.
“What has?” I mumble, lost in my own thoughts.
“Uh, you know.” He quirks an eyebrow and stares at me lustfully.
“Ohhh. That,” I tease. “What about Kylie?” I joke.
“We’re off again. She was pissed that I ditched her for Allie all weekend. Something about she’s not my kid and I shouldn't be playing parent.” He shrugs.
“Well that was quick, only lasted a week this time,” I point out.
“Yeah, well...” he trails off.
Sawyer and I, although occasionally dating, have managed to maintain the physical portion of our relationship every once in a while. It’s not often, maybe four times a year, but hell, everyone needs to get some. We both know what the other likes, and it’s convenient. I reach out and trail a finger up his arm lightly. He loves that. “I suppose I could be accommodating,” I purr and instantly he rolls out of his chair and pounces on me. Laughing, I push on his chest. “Hey there cowboy, there’s a small child inside...Mr. Pokey has to wait till bedtime.”
He buries his face in my neck, nipping and sucking and heat shoots between my legs as I squeal.
“Mr. Pokey doesn't like to wait, Clara,” he chuckles. “But he understands.” He scooches off me, adjusts his evident arousal, and heads inside. What is wrong with me? I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here and I can’t commit. I huff out a breath before following Sawyer into the house to get Allie ready for bed. Two hours later after reading three books to Allie and finally getting her to fall asleep, Sawyer and I lay on the living room floor lazily touching and teasing each other. I love the way his fingers feel on my skin and he knows it. Drawing out my bottom lip before kissing me, breathlessly he whispers into my mouth, “We’re good together, Clara.” I stiffen at his words, knowing he wants more, but that’s as far as he’ll push it.
Instead of tender and romantic, I opt to be wild and rough. That mood is less likely to be misconstrued as anything other than hot sex. I wiggle out from under him, place a foot on his chest, and tease him with a slow strip. Every time he tries to make a move I push my foot down firmly keeping him on the floor until I’m ready. I watch his eyes change from tender to lustful and know he understands my mood change.
He grabs my ankle and yanks it so I slide down, straddling him. I frantically work to rid him of his clothes as his tongue trails various paths all over my body. Finally giving up on his boots, I shove his pants and boxers down around his ankles, grab his hands, and forcefully wrap his arms around me as I bend over the couch and open for him. His fingers dig into my hips as he slams into me, making me cry out his name as he fills me up. His thrusts are rough and fast and quickly bring me to the edge of never. My legs shake as he pounds into me, unable to sustain my weight anymore. Screaming out his name I come apart around him and three pumps later he grunts, “Clara,” and finishes with a deep thrust, collapsing us both onto the couch and panting as he nibbles my neck and back. The cleanup is awkward, not because we don’t know each other intimately but because there are invisible boundaries I’ve created that neither one of us is willing to cross. It could shatter the perfect world we’ve created.
“I’m going to bed, love,” he calls over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom. “Thanks.”
I pull up my pants and hold back the tears that threaten to spill. I know I hurt him and I don't want to, but I can’t seem to help it and one of these days everything is going to blow up in our faces unless I get my shit together. I blow out a breath that sends the hair around my face flying, shut off the TV and lights, and head to the bathroom to wash up before hitting the sack.
I plug my phone into the charger and scroll through my e-mails and texts to make sure I didn't miss any. Nothing of importance. I final
ly unzip my carry-on and empty the contents onto the bed to unpack. Dominic’s sweatshirt and pants fall out into the pile of clothes. Picking up the sweatshirt, I sniff it. That's right, I sniff it. There’s still a hint of him lingering in the fabric and it makes me wonder what he’s doing right now. Feeling ridiculous, I toss all the clothing into the hamper, check the pockets of the bag, find them empty, and put the carry-on back on its shelf in my closet. I swear the spot where Dominic's lips brushed me feel warm, like it just happened, and a tiny shiver runs down my spine remembering the way his hands felt on me. Shut it down, Clara, he is exactly everything you don't want and can't have, I remind myself. Crawling into bed, I fall into a fitful sleep.
June passes quickly as Sawyer, Allie, and I fall back into our normal routine. I teach chorus at Allie’s school and tonight’s the Summer Farewell Concert before school lets out next week. Allie couldn’t be happier that summer’s upon us. She has a full two months of soccer and singing camp. As for me, I can’t seem to get Dominic Napoli out of my head. The more he crosses my thoughts the more frequent my nightmares are. Sawyer even asked what was going on with me because I’d spent the better part of most nights curled up in his bed with him. I’d tried to shrug it off but he knows me better than I give him credit for.
The third graders line up in front of the fourth and fifth graders on the risers as parents settle into their seats. The principal lowers the lights to signal the start of the concert and a hush falls over the room. Stepping forward, Allie and Riley prepare for their solo intro to “Lisztomania.” I start the piano and Allie and Riley's voices ring out beautifully.
“So sentimental, not sentimental no. Romantic not disgusting yet. Darling, I'm down and lonely when with the fortunate only I've been looking for something else. Do let, do let, do let, jugulate, do let, do let, do.” A short pause and the rest of the kids join in as Allie and Riley move back onto the risers. The song comes to a close and the parents go nuts as I direct the kids into our rendition of “Viva la Vida” by Coldplay and so on until finally finishing the concert with “Forever Young.” The kids are beaming with accomplishment and my chest swells with pride for them. I’m bummed that I won't see their happy little faces until September. Parents compliment me on my musical choices and arrangements of the songs. I thank them and smile shyly. I never was good at accepting a compliment.
