by L. D. Fox
Definitely not now.
Despite how carefully he moved, his feet still crunched on leaves and dirt as he made his way to the side of the house.
There were more steps here, heading down to the lake. Beside him, log turned to brick. And in that brick wall, a door. He glanced up, squinting up at the kitchen window more than six feet above him. It was closed. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
His cabin cruiser was as still as the surface of the lake. Even when a breeze ruffled the surface of the water a few seconds later, it barely lifted the hull. He let himself into the boathouse and went around to the lockers at the back. He opened the doors and inhaled a long, slow breath.
Good… his house sitter had followed his instructions as meticulously as he’d hoped.
Drew flipped on the light switch. It shone a sickly white glow over everything, turning the oxygen tanks into hulking shapes that gleamed as ominously as the medical equipment in a hospital.
When his cellphone rang, he almost dropped the cylinder he’d been carrying toward the boat on his foot.
“Jesus,” he muttered, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. He glared at the screen and answered with a gruff, “Yes?”
“Drew? Drew, it’s me, Claire. Listen, I can’t begin to apologize enough for—”
“No, you can’t.” He put the phone down and carried the cylinder aboard.
Claire phoned back as he set foot back on the jetty.
“What?” he barked.
“Drew, I sent them an email to cancel. All of them. I have no idea why they still came through. I mean, I told everyone the house was off the market. I did. I wouldn’t intentionally ruin your—”
“Forget it, Claire. What’s done is done. It fucked up a perfectly good morning, but I guess I’ll just have to hire a different realtor the next time I need to sell a house.”
The woman was still whining about something when he put the phone down on her. He waited for a few seconds, heart hammering in his throat and a frown etched deep between his brows, staring at the phone’s dead screen.
But she didn’t phone back.
He turned, put his back to the wall beside the boat house’s door, and slid into a crouch. Yanking his cigarettes from his pocket, he stared out at the lake as he lit his cigarette.
She’d emailed all of them? Told everyone it wasn’t for sale anymore?
What if more people came? People like Greta and her husband, who’d somehow not gotten Claire’s email. Who’d driven five, six, seven hours to get here and would be willing to poke their heads inside even if they didn’t see a for sale sign on the drive next to Kelly’s car?
Plus, with so many cars in the drive, wouldn’t that be a signal to anyone looking that other people were already here? That more prospective buyers were already congregating on this lakehouse like vultures, and they’d be missing out if they turned tail and went back home?
He phoned Claire back with no more than half an inch of his cigarette left.
“Drew?”
“Listen to me carefully, Claire.” He tugged at his cigarette, speaking through the smoke. “You’re going to phone every single one of those idiots you told about the open house today, and you’re going to make damn sure they’re not on their way here. Got it?”
“Y-yes. Of course. I was just doing—”
“And then you’re going to find out if they told anyone else about the house. If they invited friends, or colleagues, or the homeless woman down the street to join them. Because if one more person arrives here today looking to buy this place—”
“I’m on it, Mr. Sugar. Please, just… just let me make the calls. I’ll call you back as soon—”
His laugh cut her off. “I’m trying to have a romantic fucking weekend with my fiancé, Claire. Having complete strangers rocking up here, having to speak to my realtor… it’s not exactly giving me a rise.”
There was a shocked, indrawn breath, and then Claire blurted out, “I’m so sorry, Drew. Really, I didn’t—”
He ended the call with a vicious stab and again had to restrain himself from throwing the device as far into the lake as he could manage without putting out his shoulder.
Facing the lockers, he squared his shoulders and let out a long, calming breath.
Then he slipped his phone back into his pocket, grabbed another cylinder, and hoisted it onto the back of the boat. They weren’t all that heavy, but there were plenty of them. Every time his back twinged as he tossed them over the side of the boat, he pictured Bryce’s face. That smug, crooked grin on his face.
Amazing, how effective that kind of motivation could be.
46
Fuck Me
‘Ride’ had been an understatement. This was an exhilarating, terrifying, roller coaster. The one where you felt like you’re going to die, and then couldn’t believe your luck when you were still alive ten minutes later. Except, it took more than ten minutes to get to the end of this ride.
“Is she freaking out? I don’t want her freaking out, Bry.”
“It’s Bryce, and she’s not freaking out. Of course, if you’re going to keep asking her that, then you’re probably going to make her freak out.”
“Shit, you’re right. Shit, I’m sorry, Kay.”
“Is ‘kay,” she managed, through a jaw too tight for much more. “Feel weird.”
“That’s the point,” Bryce said. His voice sounded like it came from far away — further than there was space in the room. And, with her eyes closed, it was too easy to imagine that the room had dissolved and that there was nothing except their bed on a vast plane of unending nothingness.
Infinity, and beyond.
“Can I touch you?” Bryce asked.
She wanted to reply, but it seemed like too much effort, especially when thoughts of nothingness and infinity were so very burdensome on her fragile mind.
When he touched her, she shuddered hard.
“Angel, go get some lotion.”
There was movement; furious, harried. The sound of Angel’s voice, muttering about lotion and how nice that would be when she found it. What it would smell like. If that would be nice, too. A sincere hope that she didn’t see chamomile anything because she fucking hated chamomile.
“Can you open your eyes, Kelly?”
The sound of him saying her name shot something delicious and electric through her. She levered open lids that felt too heavy to be natural and tried focusing on his face. It kept blurring until he took her face in his hands and held on tight.
“There we go. Sure Angel only gave you half?”
She gave a small nod. Then a shake of her head. A brief memory — Angel’s palm and the tiny white pill on it — formed before vanishing. That happened so long ago, she could hardly remember.
“Hey, you’re going to get through this. Just focus on me or Angel. Actually, just me — she’s a bit strung out right now. Can you do that?”
She nodded again.
“Music too loud?”
She shook her head. It was more background noise, up here. But the thought of going downstairs made her shiver — that would probably burst her eardrums.
Bryce smiled.
It was phenomenal, that smile. God, but he was so damn good looking. Now that she was focusing on him, it seemed impossible to stop. She searched his face, taking in every pore, every crease, every glossy strand of dark hair that made up his eyebrows. The smile faded as he searched her face too. When his gaze touched her mouth, every inch of her skin — even the bit between her damn toes — began tingling in response.
She let out a long, stuttering breath when he found her hand and twined his fingers through hers. And when his eyes crinkled, his face on the edge of a smile that never came, she lost all rigidity in her bones and muscles. She slumped, almost falling over the side of the bed.
“Whoa! Hey, easy there.” Hands caught her, wrestled her back on the bed. “Yeah, I see what’s going on here. Hang on, I’m coming round.”
> The room winked out of existence, replaced with that black nothing behind her eyes. Except it pulsed now. Colors sprang up, dashing fireworks over her vision. Brighter the longer she looked. More spectacular with every iteration. Her eyes flickered from left to right, trying to follow. Failing.
“Have some.” The voice was in her ear.
Weed stank up the air an instant later, and she recoiled, her eyes flashing open. Bryce crouched beside the bed, looking like a complete stranger in a white robe, hair mussed, barely a strip of iris encircling his dilated pupils. When had he had time to roll a joint?
“No.”
“It’ll bring you down.”
“Down?”
“You don’t sound like you’re enjoying up much. So down it is.”
“Down.” She tried to grab the joint but kept missing it.
“Don’t stress; depth perception’s a little fucked, is all. Here.”
The joint blurred when he brought it closer to her mouth. The filter poked between her lips, dry and rough, and she tugged warily at it. The smoke was thick. Warm. Acrid. But smooth, so unbelievably soft. It sank into her stomach and coiled there like a hot snake.
“And out again?” Bryce prompted.
She exhaled enough smoke to blur the air around her.
“Another.”
The second hit tasted of potpourri. But she gulped greedily at it, loving the silky feel of that potent smoke filling her lungs.
“And out, remember?”
It was everywhere now. Bryce rose into a cloud of smoke, disappearing like a phantom. When he reappeared, it was without his robe. There was the suggestion of dark fabric — briefs or boxers — before he lifted the side of the blanket and slid in behind her on the bed.
A pair of bare legs wrapped around her, then arms encircled her. She sank back against him, sighing at the warmth and wave of comfort the solidity of his body brought with it.
“Better now?”
She arched her back, relishing in the feel of his body against hers. “Better.”
“Hey, relax.”
Hands trailed down her face, her neck, her shoulders. Her eyes had fused shut, so she had only sound to go on. That and physical sensation. Which was still in abundance; as if every nerve ending on her skin had been switched to high gear, but with the weed, it was as if they were vibrating at a lower frequency now.
“You find it?” Bryce’s chest rumbled against her back when he spoke. “Great. Over here. What, this it?”
A clank, something plastic tapping against something else.
“There’s more. Should I bring it? This one smells like strawberries. Love strawberries. But there’s others. She’s got, too. Should I bring those instead? Would she like hers?”
Kelly shivered at Angel’s voice — it was so much higher, far more abrasive than Bryce’s.
“Can you be quiet?”
“What? Of course. Sure I can.”
“Shush would you?”
“What? Why?”
“Someone’s trying to zone out here, and you’re not helping.”
“Can I help?”
“Shutting up’s helping.”
“Okay,” Angel whispered.
The bed sank down as the girl climbed on. Cool air slithered in under the blanket, and then more warm flesh encircled her legs. Someone moved them into a cross-legged position — judging from the coolness of the hands, it had to be Angel. Also, Bryce’s hands were still on her shoulders, just holding her.
They were his, right?
The thought brought a shiver.
“Hey, can I take this off?” Something tugged at her shirt. “The fabric—” he cut off, tugged again.
“It’s fine,” Angel said. “She’s fine.”
“Let her answer, baby girl.”
“Mmm…” Angel murmured. Hands began stroking her thighs, hard and slow. “I like it when you call me that.”
“Hey, keep it PG, would you? This one’s still coming round.”
“Say it again.”
“Angel…” Bryce’s chest rumbled a low warning behind her.
“Fine.” The rubbing on her legs slowed even more, became lighter.
Her eyes flickered, opened to a slit. She could see Angel through her lashes. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her jaw moved in a slow, bovine-like chewing motion. She wore a robe too, but the streak of pale flesh down the center meant that was probably all she wore. It looked so soft, that skin. Flawless.
When last had her skin looked like that? Flawless. So beautiful. Life bursting from every pore. Glowing with radiance and health and the sheer zest of being alive?
Probably back in her twenties.
She let out a low laugh.
“What’s so funny, peaches?” Bryce tugged at her shirt again. “And can I have an answer on this clothing situation? Else I’m going to have to rub Angel — she doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t,” Angel said. “Do me instead.”
“Is fine,” she said, her words thick and slow. She managed, with colossal effort, to sit forward. The heat from Bryce’s body vanished in an instant.
“Lift your arms.”
She did, clumsily. Why were they so heavy? She draped them over the top of her head, digging her fingertips into the side of her head.
Her shirt came off. Hands touched her ribs, slid around to the back of her bra.
“Hey, stop that,” Bryce said.
“Don’t you know anything?” Angel snapped open her bra, and she let out a long, heavy exhale at the glorious release that brought. “Bras suck donkey balls.”
“Jesus,” Bryce murmured, running his hands down either side of her back and making her shiver violently. “It hurts?”
“Yeah it does.” Angel ran her thumbs hard over the skin where her bra straps had been pressing into her shoulders and chest. “And for her, with a pair of cahoonas like these, it’s even worse.”
“Serious?”
“As cancer.”
“Don’t say that.” Then, to her, “This is going to be cold. And, apparently, strawberryish. Ready?”
Her eyes flickered open again when a few drops of ice-cold lotion splashed on her skin. Angel was studying her with an intensity she’d never seen on the girl’s face before. It made her reel back into Bryce. He complained loudly about smelling like goddamn strawberries and how cold the shit was before pushing her forward again.
“You angry at me?” Angel asked, dipping her head a little.
The girl was still massaging her legs — she’d moved onto her calf muscles, and it was as delicious as her thighs had been — but her attention was fixed solely on her face.
“What?” Her own voice sounded so strange, so foreign in her ears. “Angry.”
“Yeah. For—” Angel shrugged her ear against her shoulder as if it was itching, “—for last night.”
Last night.
The thought triggered something primal. Something so deep it was almost undetectable. A tremor.
She squirmed, drew a breath that felt like cold silk, and grabbed Angel’s hands.
“Yes.” Then, almost on top of that, “No.”
“Which?” Angel ducked her head a little. “Yes? No?”
“No. Drew.” She nodded decisively, blinking rapidly when that did all sorts of interesting things to her perception of reality. “Mad at him.”
“Yeah,” Angel murmured. The girl laced their fingers together and slowly pulled them apart with blatant satisfaction. “Yeah, he’s a real piece of work.”
“Glad we all agree,” Bryce said. His hands touched her, sending a ripple of bliss through her body when he began working the lotion into her skin.
“Married me, you know,” Angel said quietly. “Married me and then took it back like it was nothing.”
Bryce let out a short, splutter of a laugh. “What? Jesus, you thinking of buying a house there in Lala land or what?”
“Married me and just took it away,” Angel murmured sadly. She brought Kelly’s hand to
her head, laying her palm on her hair. “Would you plait it?”
“Sure, honey,” Kelly sat forward, pausing when this made Bryce’s hands slide lower down her back. She let out an involuntary moan.
Angel laughed. “You’re gonna make her cum, Bryce.”
“Probably,” the man agreed quietly. “Then again, you keep moaning like that, peaches; might be another story altogether.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Sorry. Feels so good. So, so good.”
“Does, doesn’t it?” He exhaled a warm breath onto her back. “Jesus, it does. Hey, baby girl, bring me a hit ‘fore you get your pigtails done, would you?”
“Why you wanna come down?” The girl’s voice was practically a whine.
“’Cos peaches here is making it look so damn enticing, is why. Plus, you’ve never been around my brother when you were high — he’s a buzz kill. And he ain’t gonna be busy much longer.”
“This is bullshit,” Angel muttered as her heat disappeared from the bed. “Fucking retard.”
“Hey, easy, would you? Now you’re turning into a buzz kill.”
“Here.”
Pungent smoke made her eyes open. Angel held out a joint in Bryce’s direction. He let go of one of her shoulders, keeping a hand gently resting on the crook of her neck as he took the dog end from Angel.
She lifted her hand, palm up.
Bryce laughed. “You want a blister on that pretty hand of yours?”
“Ooh, Bryce, give it.”
“Yes, please.” He handed it back to Angel. “You turn that dial of yours all the way down.”
“Fuck you,” she murmured, but the joint was already at her mouth. Her cheeks sunk in how she drew at it, and then she was leaning forward to Kelly.
Her blue eyes were wide, becoming hooded as her lips parted. She nodded once, and slowly came closer, bending at the waist.
“Angel—” Bryce began, voice low in warning.
Angel’s hand came up, cutting off whatever he was going to say. Bending over like that, her robe had fallen open and was exposing everything up to her flat belly.
