by Kim Karr
My phone rings and again I think it must be Caleb. I slide it out of my front pocket. The screen flashes Kimberly. Fuck me! A name I wasn’t expecting . . . my girlfriend from New York City, or maybe I should say my ex-girlfriend.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hey, Alex. Or should I say Ben?”
“Fuck, that’s harsh. I called you a few times. You never called me back.”
Her voice lowers but takes on a serious tone. “Yes, you did. Drunk every time.”
“You sound drunk yourself right now.”
“Well, I just might be. I wasn’t ready to talk to you then.”
“And you are now?”
“As a matter of fact I am.” Her words sound even more slurred than mine.
Silence occupies the line for a few moments too long, but I can hear her breathing. “I’ve been in LA for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“I actually got a job here.”
“That’s fucking fantastic news. What are you doing?”
“Managing Sound Music Magazine.”
I turn around on the stool and almost fall off. “Aerie Daniels’s job?”
“No, I work with her. I moved here in January to prep the new launch. I’ll be managing the entertainment news side. We publish our first edition this summer.”
“So why are you just getting around to calling me?”
“Shitty day. Was looking for someone to have a drink with me and your name popped into my mind.”
“Where are you staying?” I ask in a low whisper.
“I’m in Marina Del Ray at the Palazzo Apt 310.”
I clear my throat. “Can I come over?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounds familiar and wanting.
“I’ll be there soon.”
I head back to where I parked. The night air assaults me as I mount my bike and I feel instantly sobered. I eye the traffic ahead. Red taillights glow for miles. I turn onto Fairfax a little too sharply and almost lose my balance. Maybe I shouldn’t be driving? I keep the speed low throughout the short ten-mile ride making the ride easy and manageable. When I come to a screeching halt at a light, I think about Kimberly—how I felt about her. I really did have feelings for her, but I lost sight of them when I thought I’d have Dahl again. Yeah, it was shitty of me.
A sudden twinge of guilt floods me for all the women I’ve been with since I’ve seen her last. I swallow it down and try not to think about it as I enter the elevator of her swanky Mediterranean-style apartment building. But when I knock on the door the guilt returns. The moment she opens it, I forget about everything. She looks fucking beautiful. A slinky dress, no shoes, hair down—gorgeous.
I grin at her as I lean against the door.
She stares at me for a long while with a blank expression on her face and a glass of Sangria in her hand. I bow my head, wondering if she’s going to invite me in.
“Hi,” she says very softly.
My eyes snap to hers. “Hi, yourself. You look amazing.”
I take her hand and kiss it and her smile widens.
“Are you going to stand out there all night or do you want to come in?” she asks.
“I was just waiting to make sure I was welcome.”
She moves to the side and I figure out she’s not wearing a dress, but a silky nightgown. Her tits protrude against the tight fabric and I’m instantly aroused. I step in and when she crosses in front of me to close the door, I lean down and kiss her cheek. When I do I smell the lemon slice wedged on the side of her glass. She doesn’t pull away, so I slide my mouth to hers and lock our lips together. I taste the sweet flavor of sangria on her lips and I pull her closer to me. A sudden surge to devour her overtakes me. She feels so soft and tastes so good.
Lifting my head, I glance around. We’re standing in her living room and a large purple sofa is only a few feet away. Soft music and candles surround us as the feeling of seduction fills the air. With my hands on her hips, I walk her backward and her free hand tangles in my hair. We reach the sitting area, and with my eyes locked on hers, I can tell her pupils are dilated. I look around and see a bottle of wine, a plate of oranges and lemons, and a clear glass pitcher with a small amount of red liquid left inside it.
“Are you sure I should be here?”
“Yes.”
I grin at her and she smiles back. She circles her fingers around the rim of her glass and picks up the lemon wedge. She sucks on it and drops it inside. My dick throbs at the sight. I take the glass from her and set it down on the table. She watches me with labored breaths—her stare capturing mine. As I straighten, I notice her lips part and, unable to hold back, I seize her mouth so that I can taste her sweetness, practically wanting to devour her.
When I flop us down on the sofa she breaks free of my lips.
“You’ve been drinking,” she remarks, pulling away. But her tone is anything but accusatory.
“So have you.” I point to the bar.
She smirks. “I have. Do you want one?”
“No, I’ll just taste it from your lips,” I answer, and let my mouth find the sweet spots down her neck I remember she always liked me to kiss.
“I’m in a really bad place right now,” she breathes.
“That makes two of us.”
She dips her head back. “Then maybe we can help each other out.”
“Ummmhmm . . .”
“I know about everything that happened to you. Why didn’t you ever tell me about it?”
Her words are mumbled as we grope each other, but I understand them. I pull away and lift her drink from the table for a sip. But when the lemon hits my lips I hand it back to her. “Finish it.”
She downs the rest of the liquid and then stands. She tips her chin toward the bar and moves that way. Watching her, I can see through the thinness of the fabric covering her body that she’s naked underneath. A sparkling black counter separates the kitchen from the living room. Her apartment is entirely her—upscale and modern. Oak cabinets, granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and a fireplace now blazing with flames. I suspect there is even a private terrace but the blinds are closed and I can’t tell for sure.
“You live here alone?”
“No, with my sister. She moved to LA with me.”
I nod. “Is she here?”
“No, it’s just the two of us.”
“Make us both a drink and show me your bedroom.”
Her gaze takes me in and her eyes stop at the tent forming in my pants. The corners of her mouth tip up. “My, aren’t you bossy.”
She comes back into the living room and turns to make us both a drink. I move closer to her so I can swipe her hair to the side and kiss her neck. I breathe in deeply, smelling the lemon she’s squeezing into the sangria. When she rounds the glass with it, my teeth tug at the thin strap on her shoulder. “Take this off.”
Her breath catches as she sets the wine bottle down. She twists in my arms and does as instructed. I step back so I can watch her as she slips her negligee down her shoulder and lets it fall to the ground. She stands naked before me, and when she turns to hand me my drink, I cup her ass. We both gulp our drinks in silence until the desire for her overwhelms me. Setting my glass down, I take hers. She licks her lips and I can see the pulse in her neck throbbing. “Forget the bedroom.”
I slam my mouth to hers, then slide them down to her breast and suck on one of her nipples. She moans and her hands go to the fly of my pants. She unzips them. “Maybe we should talk first,” she moans.
But her hands are already stroking me—we’re way past the time for talking. I try to focus, but I’m seeing two of her and I don’t want to discuss anything right now. “Talk is for later, gorgeous.”
Her hands continue their magic and mine roam her body. My fingers travel down over her hips and to her clean-shaven pussy. I always loved that about her. I stroke my thumb back and forth over her clit and she purrs. I insert one finger inside her to find that she’s already soaking wet
. A moan escapes her lips and I know she’s ready. I dip my head to kiss her and the smell of the lemon intoxicates me. In that moment the dynamics between us shift.
“Turn around,” I order through gritted teeth.
She turns and braces her palms on the counter and I reach into my pocket for my wallet and pull out a condom. I roll it on quickly and just as hastily push into her. I watch myself in the reflection of the microwave door as I slam in and out. Blonde hair turns into red and I lose myself back in time in a moment—in a fantasy come alive that I’ve never been able to forget.
She moans out in pleasure and I come fast and hard, not waiting for her. I crave the release and I can’t hold on. And the words slip out without intention. “Fuck, S’belle, you feel so good.” An instant later she’s pushed away from me. I look at her and she has tears in her eyes. “Kimberly, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
She turns around, grabs her nightgown, and heads out of the room. She stops at the doorway leading to a hallway and looks at me. “I don’t know who S’belle is, but just so you know I was thinking about someone else too while you were fucking me. I just didn’t call you by his name.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Her hand swipes the room. “This wasn’t set up for you. So don’t worry about it.”
I ignore her jab and zip my pants up. The pain that never stays away for long comes rushing back worse than ever. Guilt assaults me. It was wrong of me to say someone else’s name with her. I respect this girl too much to be such a prick to her. It’s just everything that happened today has me all fucked up.
I follow the hallway and see a light on under a door. I knock lightly. “Kimberly, I’m sorry.”
With a small sobbing voice she says, “I go by Kay now. Kimberly is long gone.”
I rub my hands over my face and try to figure out what to say to make this better. Nothing sounds right in my head so I do what she asks and leave, knowing this is just another relationship I have managed to fuck up.
Chapter 11
Rock Bottom
I’m flying down the road, seeking quiet. I’m almost at my destination when flashing lights appear in my rearview mirror. I glance at my speedometer. Fifty-five. Fuck, what’s the speed limit? Thirty up here, maybe? Fuck, fuck, fuck. The police car catches up with me just as I pass the overlook and I pull to the side of the road. I kill the engine and remove my helmet. Cool air rushes over me, but sweat pours from my brow.
A flashlight beam hits my eyes as the officer stands at a safe distance.
“Dismount the vehicle,” he calls.
I toss my leg over the bike. “I was going too fast, wasn’t I?”
The officer approaches and shines the light in my face and just stares for a few short seconds. “Have you been drinking?”
I contemplate lying, but I’m pretty sure I was swerving a little too much. “Yes, I have.” When I say those words, all that runs through my head is how fucking stupid I am to have put myself in this situation.
“Stand with your heels together and raise your arms to your sides,” he says.
“Now raise your left leg six inches from the ground while counting out loud to ten,” he instructs me, and I try, but by the time I get to five, I have to hop to keep my balance and by the time I get to eight I have to set my foot down. Shit, I don’t even think I could do that sober.
He’s conducting a field sobriety test. I’ve seen them on TV a million times. I’ve also heard they do nothing in terms of affirming or disproving one’s state, but I do what he asks. I already admitted to drinking. What more does he want—a formal confirmation? Fine.
“Touch your finger to your nose,” he says next, not saying a word about my inability to stand on one leg.
I think I manage that, though I’m not sure.
He has me complete two other tests and I have no fucking idea whether I pass either one. All I can hear is the sound of his pen scratching the surface of his clipboard. He looks up at me to ask, “Will you agree to a Breathalyzer?”
“Yes.” I’m scared shitless at this point and just want this to end. I breathe in and then blow into the plastic tube. Fuck, the gauge indicates my blood alcohol level is 0.079. And with that final result, I’m promptly arrested, cuffed, and escorted into the back of the police car. I stay silent during the ride to the station. My pulse is pounding and my ears are ringing. Fuck, what have I done?
Once we arrive, I am formally charged with driving while intoxicated. My photo is snapped and I’m moved to sit at a chair near a desk. Within a few minutes my belongings are confiscated—they say they’ll be returned upon release. I’m shoved into a holding area with at least ten other drunk men—derelicts, winos, scum, bottom of the earth. Fuck—I’m not like them! I’m not! My nerves get the better of me and I sit on the wooden bench with my head hung low just wanting to get out of here.
Once I’m booked, I’m shoved into a cell with no one to call to get me out. Serena’s in Hawaii with Trent, Caleb is God knows where, and I’d call Beck or Ruby but I never got their numbers. Who the hell do I know who would fork out the one thousand dollars needed to post as bond to bail me out?
As I lay there in the tiny jail cell, suited up in an Orange County prison shirt, it occurs to me how far I am from the road I started on in life, far from where my mother would want me to be. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be chained up like a criminal. Fuck—I need to get out of here. Leaning my head against the bars, I know there’s only one person I can call—one person who possibly couldn’t think any worse of me than she already does.
Back at the desk, I squeeze my eyes shut as I dial the number and the phone rings. When she answers I’m both surprised and relieved. “It’s me, Ben. I need your help. I’ve been arrested.” It comes out on a rush full of shame and regret. My voice is low, maybe too low for her to hear because there’s no response. I repeat myself, this time louder.
“I’m here. I can hear you, Ben.”
Sometime later, in the early hours of the morning, I’m taken back to the booking area where I’m asked to sign a release form. What is this—my get out of jail free card? I still can’t believe I’m even here. The officer explains how lucky I am that my level wasn’t bumped up to .08. He says that I’m free to go. I glance above and silently say thank you. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m handed my clothes and the rest of my shit and directed toward the bathroom. When I come out, I hand back the orange shirt and I’m ushered through a door. Once I get through it, I’m on my own. It must be the central admittance area. It’s crowded. There are people everywhere. I look around and there she sits, on a black upholstered bench—Dahl.
My body starts to shake. I can’t believe she’s actually here for me. I cross the room, slowly; my walk is full of shame. She meets me halfway and when I lift my head, our faces are so close. I stare at her, the face of the girl I knew my whole life, and all I see, all I want from her is comfort and understanding—I want her to be my friend, I need her. Her eyes lock on mine. Her gaze is unyielding and I feel like she’s studying me. Nothing comes out of my mouth. I have no words.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
She leads and I follow, her converse sneakers squeaking against the shiny green floor. The exit doors slide open and she fumbles in her purse, pulling out her keys. Finally, I turn to look at her before she starts the car and swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you for bailing me out.”
“Ben,” she says. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.”
I shake my head. It wasn’t her job to be there for me.
Her fingers fly to her cheeks and she wipes away a few tears. “But, I am now. I want to help you.” Her hand finds mine in the early morning light and as she squeezes it, all I can think is—I am so thankful for her just being here.
She breaks our connection quickly and twists the key in the ignition. “I read the diary you gave me last year,” she says. “Before I came to get you, I read through
it. I’m just sorry I didn’t read it sooner. And I want to find a way for us to be in each other’s lives.”
My gaze travels over her face and once again her eyes meet mine. In this moment I know we’re both silently agreeing that we are friends, that’s all—and honestly, I accept it. I’m okay with it.
As she turns out of the parking lot, I watch the large three story building fade from my vision and thank God I’m out of there. I rest my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I pay no attention to where she’s taking me. Dahl turns the radio off and we drive in silence. When she gets off at an exit, I open my eyes. We pass so many familiar places in Laguna Beach and a rush of memories from days long gone flood me. This town is our old stomping ground and we spent so much time here. She pulls into the corner coffee shop that I know so well and turns to look at me. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She hops out of the car and I look around. I love this place. Why did I leave? This is where I belong. When she gets back in it’s with a tray of two coffees. The sun starts to rise as we sit in the parking lot and I tell her everything—everything that I hate in my life, everything I am, and everything that I don’t want to be. I even manage the excruciatingly embarrassing details. And most of all, I apologize. I apologize for the way I treated her when I first came back. I saw she had a new life and that she was happy, I should never have thought I could change that. I had to get it all out—to confess my sins, to cleanse my soul.
By the time we pull into my mother’s driveway I already feel a little more like myself. We get out of the car and she starts toward the old weathered plank bridge. I keep my distance, not wanting her to think anything other than how grateful I am for her help. She stops to wait for me before crossing and when I catch up, she grabs my hand and locks our thumbs, then leads me to the beach. This is the one place we always held hands. Every time we walked over this bridge our hands were connected, since we were five years old. But now, those fond memories are just that—memories. I look at the girl leading me and smile at the woman she has become.
