by Unknown
Snickering, my dad says, “By God, Sloan, think of the one-legged ducks across the world that could use something like this.”
I pull the scones out and place each one on a cooling rack, enjoying their sweet scent wafting up my nose.
“Funny, Daddy.” I look down at him sitting on the floor, enamored with my duckling, and roll my eyes. “Be careful or I won’t make one for you someday when you can no longer walk.”
“That a shoe?” He chuckles, tilting his head to study the apparatus.
“Yeah, a toddler shoe. I hot-glued the wheels on, then made that harness from some cat collars. Kind of wonky, but School Bus is going to outgrow it in a week. I figured I could start here and work up to something more impressive. Maybe I’ll find better supplies in LA.”
“I like the practicality,” Daddy says as School Bus stops to nibble on the seam of his jeans. “The duck shit stays in the shoe as that thing rolls around looking proud as a peacock.”
“Guess it gives ‘honey wagon’ a new meaning,” Oma says, grinning.
After refilling my coffee, I press a hand to my churning stomach as I observe them obsessing over my duckling, thinking about how it would have been had they known my son. I snap out of it as quickly, realizing they will never know some things about him or me. Things that would humiliate me if I ever did tell them.
“I’m all about new meanings these days,” I say under my breath.
Mama nestles at my side to top up her coffee, though it hardly needs any. I scratch the head of the tiny, black lamb in her arms then let it suck my finger.
“Speaking of, how’d you and Hawke do this weekend? Some ups, some downs?” she asks.
“Something like that.” I’m surprised it took them this long to ask. I was quite pleased that my relationship status hasn’t been our main topic.
“How much does he know?” she says, handing me a blueberry scone.
The three of them look up at me with raised brows.
“That I had a baby,” I say, buttering my scone, avoiding their nosy gazes.
“Nothing else?” Daddy says, as his eyes narrow on me.
I let out a massive sigh and say, “It wasn’t the right time, don’t start riding me now. I’m going to sit down with him this week. We’re in a good place after some bumps.”
“That boy loves you, honey. Don’t you doubt a thing about him. Take all the time you need,” Oma says, giving my folks a frowned shush-up. “He’s going nowhere, regardless of your worries. He holds all the love in the world for you—still.”
“I know that. And I do for him.”
In the afternoon, Mama, Oma, and I gather two bushels of clementines from the orchard and spend a couple of hours in the kitchen making a batch of marmalade. Oma mostly watches while proceeding to ask us three times to spike it as she sips a snifter of bourbon. After they disappear to read and nap, I head down to my lakeside cabin with School Bus. She seems quite happy tucked in the wicker basket of my old, pale-blue beach cruiser bike as we bump along the dusty road.
“How about we go for a little swim?” I unfasten the tiny harness and set my ball of fuzz in the water. Then strip down and flop on my belly, half on the sand half in the water. The duckling swims close by as I bake in the sun. Not ten minutes later, I see a truck I don’t recognize coming toward the lake. I swim out, away from the beach, so that whoever it is doesn’t see me naked.
You have got to be kidding. Mick? Wasn’t seeing him at the wedding enough? Great.
“Sloan McQueen.” The slimy smile on his face is wide and hungry. “Your mom told me you were down this way, but I didn’t expect to see you like this.”
“What do you want, Mick?”
“I was just picking up the folding chairs your mom borrowed from my aunt and thought I’d stop down for a friendly hello.”
“Okay. Hello. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get out of the water.”
“Be my guest.” He sinks his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head.
“Mick, not in a million years am I giving you a show. Now get going.”
“I hear you like giving shows.” He snickers as he saunters to the water.
My guts bottom out. “Well then, you have been misinformed.”
“I don’t think so, princess.” His eyes are unblinking and intense as he stares at me.
My throat flutters with a forceful pulse. Impossible—this is impossible.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“My uncle was recently telling me about a sweet someone he was camming with years back.” He chuckles then bites his thumbnail. After chewing it off, he spits it in the water. “Funny thing is, her name didn’t match yours, but my God, when he showed me who she was, her pretty face sure did.”
School Bus paddles toward Mick as he squats and swishes his hand in the water. As soon as he can, he scoops my baby up. My guts twist and I propel toward shore.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Put my duckling down.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you do, Soul Sister Eighteen.” His lips twist into a cynical smile. Then he holds the duckling upside down by her one foot in front of his face as she peeps in rapid fire. “This thing is useless—one leg and not enough meat to please my dog. I have a slingshot in my truck. I’ll go get it.” He pivots, then snakes away with School Bus dangling from his knuckle.
Blood rises in a wave of heat through my body. “Get the fuck off this property.” I scramble out of the water and grab the duckling from his hand. Then I snatch up my sundress and pin it over my body. “Now!”
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me,” he says in a drawl while dragging his eyes up and down my body. “I got my eyeful, and thank you for that.”
“Leave now, or so help me God…”
“So help you God?” He approaches me and stops inches away. “Let me tell you something about God. He wouldn’t approve of you or your boyfriend. Sinners, the both of you. Or the filthy things either of you has been up to. Using your bodies the way you have. Disgusting. God didn’t give you what you have to use it like some whore. So you’ll what, princess? What’ll you do?” He curls his upper lip and wipes the beads of sweat off it with his sleeve. “Ppfft. I thought so.”
“Mick…now!” I growl.
He shuffles one foot through the sand then walks toward the cabins. “I’m going, I’m going. Relax. By the way,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “I hear you’re moving to Silver Lake. That’s supposed to be quite nice. Enjoy the neighborhood.”
Following a long cuddle with School Bus to calm both of us down, I pour a mug of eggnog and spike it with the whiskey Hawke left. I have no one I can call about this. His uncle? Lord help me. Sure, I could call my therapist, but that doesn’t sound comforting. Plus, I already know exactly what she’ll say. I can replay those sessions if I want—hell, I have three years of taped sessions with various therapists. Hawke’s the only one I can talk to about this, yet I can’t even talk to him until I come clean.
Seven years of hell. I thought I was free. Not of my memories, but of him. Finally of him. And what could he want from me now, after all this time. Why didn’t he come for me earlier? I’ve spent years shifting my emotions away from him. So how is it I feel like he’s with me again?
Thursday arrives, and along with it comes a crew of six guys and Hawke, who help move me into my home in a few short hours.
My place in Silver Lake is modern but comfortable, snow white inside and out with clean lines and an abundance of natural light. “Bright, modern, chic,” is what I told the Realtor. And she delivered. It sports an enormous rooftop deck with views of downtown LA and beyond. Not to mention the fact that it’s walking distance to Hawke’s house, according to him.
“Are you planning on housing a portion of the Angels baseball team? This place is huge. Aren’t you going to be lonely here?” Hawke chugs a liter of water. Drips river down his bare chest, joining the rest of his sweat as he wipes the back of his hand across his
mouth. He works the word sweaty as if it’s the only synonym for sexy.
I’m digging through boxes, unpacking the kitchen, opening newly bought glassware and dinnerware and loading the dishwasher while we talk. “I was trying to think long term.” I chuckle, as his body presses against my back.
“As in, you want five kids?” he says softly into my ear. “We’d better get busy, Cricket.”
Brushing the kid comment off, I position two glasses in the dishwasher’s top rack then turn to him. “Is your place small?”
“No. It’s big. I was trying to think long term about the five kids I’m hoping to have.”
I do another gut check as nerves work to surface—I’m getting good at pasting bogus smiles on. Maybe I need to splurge on a little more self-forgiveness.
My finger lands in the sweaty, dark curls on his chest. Then it follows the trail down until it rests at the top edge of his jeans. “Hope you find her,” I say as I toy with the idea of undressing him.
“Hope you find him.” He licks his top lip.
I don’t know why, but that singular action takes my eyes back down to his jeans, where his arousal is making an appearance. It’s hard to miss.
He adjusts himself. “Can I help you move furniture around? I’m good spatially. Or help you out with that new king-size bed? You know, make sure it’s hard enough?” His eyes are saying filthy things as his lips curve into a smile.
I’m certain his sweat is laced with some sort of aphrodisiac that makes my knees go elastic. Why is it I feel as though I’m about to be taken down by the hand of God to kneel before Hawke and unzip his pants?
I touch him—how can I not? He groans at my contact.
“I’m not concerned about my bed being hard enough,” I whisper. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
“Get over here. We need to christen this place.” He pulls my hips against his.
I relish the feel of him through my shorts. “You suddenly find religion?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna worship you in the bedroom, and then you’re gonna bless me on that rooftop deck.” He chuckles. “I’d like to blow my wad all over your tits with the backdrop of LA in front of us.” He grabs the back of my neck and kisses my mouth hard as one hand floats across my breasts.
Arching into his touch, I say, “You looking for new film opportunities on my deck?”
“No,” he says as his fingers linger at my waist, just under my shirt, leaving me wondering: Will he slide them under my bra or into my shorts? Every time I’m sure he’s about to do one thing, he does the other.
“Because you look like you need a good kissing. One that’ll startle you,” he says softly, walking us backward with his hands planted on my ass.
“I’ve been moving boxes all morning. You really don’t want to get near me.”
“Oh, but I do. I can’t be reading you wrong, darlin’.”
“I’m sweaty.”
Hawke stops us from walking and cracks up at my comment, shaking his head. After nudging my legs apart with his knee, he looks me in the eye with a devil-may-care gaze. My stomach flip- flops as he fingers that bare skin on my inner thigh. He groans as he slides his hand along the edge of my panties.
“I was counting on that.” He smiles, damn him.
“You want me now?”
“Sloan,” he says, stroking the wet lace between my legs.
My name sounds dirty and sexy the way he stretches it out, making it seem as though he were already sliding himself into me. I catch myself hanging on to that hiss with my mouth agape.
“I should shower if you really want to—”
“That’s out of the question, because in the next minute, you’re going to be begging me for my tongue. Then my cock. My kiss is going to turn you inside out, and then we’ll have a dirty, little romp.” He’s obscene, wanting me the way he does. He wants dirty and raw. His eyes and body language leave nothing to the imagination. Roving and hungry.
“You think so?” I ask. “You think one kiss’ll do all that? Is that a threat, then?”
“No,” he says, flashing a cocky smirk as we enter my bedroom. “I don’t need to threaten you. I need to show you. Get on the bed.” He tilts his head. “Sit at the edge,” he instructs, studying me, a grin plastered on his face.
Oh, that grin. He doesn’t just wear a sexy I’m-gonna-fuck-you-until-you-forget-your-own-name grin. He possesses it in a way that oozes straight out of him. Seems impossible that one man could eat up that much handsome, but then again, Hawke’s not just any man. I’d call him black market if he weren’t making himself so damn available to me.
“Remember what you said to me when we were on the raft about getting off?” He kneels in front of me then pulls my tennis shoes off before tossing them in the corner.
Every ounce of my libido handsprings inside me, listening to the low tone of his voice, wondering what he’s going to say next.
“Yeah, I remember.” I nod. His fingers tiptoe up my legs as goose bumps scatter over my skin.
“I want to see that,” he says, looking marinated in desire as he licks his lips.
“See me get off?” My voice rises as my heart drums against my ribs. “I thought you wanted to—”
“Oh, I’ll be fucking you.” Every word drips with desire through his husky-with-need voice. “This is going to be a congrats-on-your-new-home fuck. That’s an epic fuck right there. But not yet.”
He slides his hands up and down my legs then squeezes my hips for a beat until he grabs the band of my shorts and glides them down my legs. I’ve never gotten off on my own in front of him. I’ve imagined it multiple times. But can I do this? Now? It’s so many memories tied to too many things he won’t understand.
“Um, so just… I mean, you want me to…” I’m not new to pleasuring myself in front of someone, but he’s not someone. It shouldn’t make me uneasy—not at all. I grumble a few swear words under my breath to calm my nerves.
“God, you’re adorable. This makes you nervous, doesn’t it?” he asks with his head cocked to the side as he pulls my T-shirt up my stomach.
I lift my arms, and he drags it over my head then throws it behind me on the bed.
“Cricket, it’s just me. Have you ever done something like this in front of anyone?”
“No,” I lie. Because I’m not ready to disclose that part of me yet. One step at a time.
“You want to film it?”
“No,” I mutter under my breath.
“Why not? You’re so vulnerable right now, it’s gorgeous. Let’s film it. Where’s Soul Sister?” He brushes the sensitive swell of my breasts, stealing a few fingers inside my bra.
“Hawke.”
“I want to see you want me. Tell me where she is,” he says, canvassing the room until his eyes lock onto my laptop.
“Wait. Hawke—”
He shushes me, pressing a finger to my lips. Our eyes meet and we both crack up. My laugh is shy and nervous. As he saunters back over after getting the laptop he winks at me, and in him, I see the confident man he’s become. A man who wears his good looks and charisma as if they were a second skin. A man who’s familiar to all of my senses. A man who’s just now discovering the woman I’ve become. Everything and nothing has changed in ten years.
After opening Soul Sister and positioning her on the dresser, he turns to face me. His emotion-filled voice is naked.
“You know you make me crazier now than you did when you were a girl. I want you to do this for both of us, okay?”
I smile and breathe in deeply as he edges his fingers into the elastic band on my underwear then pulls them down my legs. Inwardly, I cringe as he fists them in his hand then inhales them.
“Are you rolling your eyes because I’m smelling you?” He chuckles as he shoves one hand through his hair. “Does it bother you that I like the way you smell, that I crave your scent?” He leans against the dresser, positioning himself for optimal viewing.
“I should have showered.”
He
laughs again. It’s wrapped in a smug we’re-doing-this-my-way smirk. “You knew that was never going to happen.” His gaze falls all over me, then lands between my legs, which are at the moment pinned together. “Spread your legs for me,” he says, and nods, motioning them apart. I spread them, but I’m still not sure I can do this. How can I feel okay doing this? But it’s Hawke. Try.
“Wait,” I say, covering my face with both hands.
“You wet already? Does that embarrass you?” His voice is low, achy, and honeyed with desire. I peek through my fingers. His lashes are at half-mast as he looks me over. His elbows rest behind him, forcing out a bulge of muscles on his arms.
I glance at his hands, which are gripping the dresser top, white-knuckled, waiting for a show. He pops the button at the top of his jeans. Then he unzips them and slides his hand into his briefs on what is noticeably a very alert and ready erection. He’s starting without me.
I let out a long, slow sigh as my hand slips between my legs. I can do this. I close my eyes for a second to relax then open them. Hawke’s eyes are dancing over my whole body with a bright and curious look of appreciation.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this, touching yourself for me.”
He’s stroking himself in his briefs. It’s ridiculously sexy the way his hand moves up and down, twisting over his length, as his eyes examine my body, settling between my legs every few seconds. He’s the distraction I need to do this. He loves me. Let it go. I lick my lips and close my eyes for a few seconds. And when I open them a smile flickers across his face, warming my insides. I trust him.
“Does it feel good? You like that I’m watching?”
I say nothing, as I force my memories into a locked vault. Do this for him. Do it for you. Hawke pushes off the dresser then kneels in front of me. He presses his palms onto my inner thighs and spreads me open farther. Then he pushes me back so that I’m lying down.
