Clean Start

by S. M. Shade

  She twists back and forth in the swing like a kid. “Is he gay?”

  “No!”

  “Are you gay?”

  “No!”

  “So, he’s into you, and you’re just clueless. Got it.”

  I glare at her for a moment, and we both break into laughter. “He’s not into me. We’re both on our own with a kid. We help each other out. That’s all.”

  “He’s looking at you like he’d like to help you out of your clothes.”

  Neal and Mitch, another neighbor who lives on the opposite end of the circle start toward us. “Hush. Here he comes,” I whisper.

  “Ladies,” Mitch says. I don’t know him well. The one bedroom apartments are on the opposite end of the circle, and it’s mostly older or disabled people who live in them. Mitch is around fifty-five if I had to venture a guess, but his eyes roam over me like a greedy teenage boy who just learned how to beat off. “We’re going to walk over to the gas station for some cigarettes. Thought you might want to accompany us.”

  “I’ll buy you a candy bar,” Neal teases, grinning at me.

  I grab my bottle from the ground and take the last few swallows of beer. “I’m not a child. I want a slushy, not candy.”

  Neal drains his beer, and everyone tosses them in the trash can as we pass. It’s not a dry county here anymore, but public drinking is still illegal. No matter how old you are, they can bust you for walking down the road with a beer. Technically, the keg and everything is illegal to be out here like this, but our cops are pretty cool. They know us, and as long as no one is starting trouble, they leave us alone.

  The wind picks up, and a shiver runs through me.

  Without a word, Neal pulls off his hoodie and hands it to me.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

  “And I’m hot. So be warned, it may be a little sweaty.”

  It’s not sweaty, but it smells like him and I hope he doesn’t think he’s ever getting it back.

  The gas station we’re heading to is a five minute walk away. For a split second, I look around for Aiden, then chuckle at myself. It doesn’t escape Neal’s notice, and he smiles at me. “It feels weird to just go…you know?”

  “Do you want me to whine that I can’t find my shoes first?”

  “Might be helpful. And I’ll try to keep you out of traffic.”

  Laughing, he grabs my hand. I’m twenty-three years old. A man holding my hand should not make me blush like a high schooler. It also shouldn’t make my heart speed up, or make me imagine his rough hands in other, far more sensitive places. But it does.

  He keeps his hand in mine as we play Frogger through the thin, nighttime traffic to cross the four lane street. Why isn’t he letting go? Why aren’t I letting go? Why am I making such a big deal over holding his damned hand?

  Maybe because it’s the most action I’ve had in five years.

  His eyes shine under the bright gas station lights, and the words tumble out of my mouth. “Are you drunk?”

  “I’ve had two beers, V,” he scoffs.

  “Good. I don’t want to take advantage. Of your slushy buying generosity, I mean.” Shut up, Veronica. For the love of dick and tater tots, shut up. Not every thought that goes through your head has to spill out your mouth.

  “I’m not drunk. I promise I’ll remember tonight.”

  Are those words as loaded as I hear them?

  “I’m buying you the slushy. It’s completely consensual.”

  “A consensual slushy.” I nod, fighting back a grin. “Sounds perfect.”

  “What the hell are you two going on about?” Mitch asks. “It feels like I’m watching my sister’s kids.”

  “Don’t get your Depends all twisted, Mitch. I’ll buy you a slushy too,” Neal says.

  Emily and I both crack up. I bump my shoulder into his. “Well, now I don’t feel special at all. If you’re buying for everyone.”

  “I’ll get you a large one.”

  “She needs a large one,” Emily announces as we make our way inside the gas station.

  Apparently, Mitch isn’t far off. Take away our kids for a night and we all turn into teenagers. It’s like we’re all just a bunch of children impersonating adults because that’s what’s expected of us.

  We all split up when we get inside as Mitch goes after his cigarettes, and I head to the slushy machine. One beer and I’m already done. Guess maybe I’m an adult after all. After agonizing over raspberry versus cherry, I make a half and half and hunt down Neal.

  “I’ll never understand how they get away with this shit,” he muses, staring at a display in the back.

  “Because none of it is technically illegal, and tweakers’ stolen money is as green as anyone else’s,” I reply dryly.

  Anyone who has grown up in a bad or poor area knows about this stuff. The glass tubes containing a fake rose and Chore Boy cleaning pads that are used to smoke crack and other drugs. The small cans of spray paint next to cheap, white cotton socks used to huff it. I remember wanting one of those little rose tubes when I was a kid, and Mom saying no. I didn’t understand what they were actually used for.

  A skinny woman edges past us to pick up a rose pipe, giving us a hectic, snaggle toothed grin as she walks away.

  We all meet back up in front of the station and start home.

  “That skinny girl was checking you out, Mitch,” Emily teases.

  Mitch shudders and shakes his head. “No thanks. She had summer teeth.”

  “What?”

  “Summer teeth. Some are in her mouth. Some are in her pocket.”

  “Don’t be mean!” Emily exclaims, through a mass of giggles.

  “Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s methamphetamine,” Neal adds.

  Emily and I walk side by side on the way back, chatting about nonsense until Neal says, “What the hell are they doing?”

  Yeah, remember the kiddie pool and pallets Dennis and Sammy were dragging out? The pool is now set up to the side of the basketball court. It’s filled with water, and a pallet is supporting a black, metal, burn barrel in the center.

  A burn barrel.

  Which contains fire.

  “Hey! Come on in!” Dennis shouts. “We made a hot tub!”

  “That is without a doubt the most redneck shit I’ve ever seen in my life,” I announce, as we join the crowd at the edge of the pool.

  “What the hell? Is your family tree a wreath?” Mitch asks.

  “I hate to say it, but it seems to work. You know the rule. It isn’t stupid if it works,” Neal points out.

  Trey and Kenny both kick off their shoes and step in, laughing at how the barrel sizzles every time the water washes up a little higher on it.

  Neal grins down at me. “What? You don’t want to get in?”

  “Nope, but knock yourself out.”

  A horrible retching sound comes from behind us and we turn to find Samantha puking into the bushes, her man for the night holding back her hair.

  I’ve had about enough of Violent Circle for the night and apparently, Neal has too.

  “Want to watch a movie?”

  “My place,” I agree.

  Chapter Six

  Neal

  Veronica sits back on her couch, sipping her slush. She was so adorable, all freaked out over leaving Aiden. I remember how that felt the first time Bailey slept over at a friend’s house, and couldn’t resist stepping in. Besides, there’s no one else I’d rather spend my childless night with.

  “How did Bailey’s recital go?” she asks.

  “She did fantastic. Never missed a note. Now, that is the last time we’re talking about the kids tonight. I’m instituting a rule.”

  She giggles and folds her legs beneath her. “Deal. I love Aiden to death, but pretending to be young again for a night would be nice.”

  “You’re twenty-three,” I point out, perusing her movie collection. “And you have a lot of stoner movies for someone who doesn’t smoke.”

  She shr
ugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I used to smoke, you know, before I got pregnant. It makes me stupid though, so I couldn’t do it and take care of Aiden.”

  “I don’t do it often, and only when Bailey isn’t around.” Grinning, I sit beside her and pull a joint from my pocket. “Kids aren’t here tonight, Ms. Senior Citizen.”

  Her plump lips stretch into a smile. “Says the man pushing forty.”

  “Thirty-three is not pushing forty.”

  She takes the joint and lighter from my hand and sparks it up. “Fine. Pick a movie. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when I lose a hundred IQ points.”

  There are times when I’m sure she knows exactly what that smile and laugh does to me, but the next second I’m convinced she’s completely naïve when it comes to how I see her. How I want her.

  I know the whole neighborhood thinks we have something going on, and it’s understandable because we spend so much time together, but I’ve never done more than give her a hug after a rough day. We help one another out, since each of us is missing a parent to our kids. It really helps for Bailey to have a woman to talk to, and I know she’s concerned about Aiden not having a male role model. We all have fun together, but we’ve left it at that.

  A little over two years ago, Bailey lost it when I took my wedding ring off. Her mother had been gone for three years by then, and I knew it was past time, but it still hurt her far worse than I anticipated. That’s the reason I don’t date. My daughter’s happiness comes first, and she needs to grow up a little before I can consider it.

  So as hard as it’s been, I’ve restrained myself every time I’ve wanted to grab Veronica and kiss her until we run out of air. Not to mention, she’s so much younger than me. I’m certain she’d rather find a guy her age.

  I open the window beside us a few inches to vent the smoke, and we settle on the couch to watch the movie. Silence engulfs the room as the weed takes effect.

  Her fiery hair hangs in waves around her heart shaped face, and her big blue eyes never leave the screen. She really does zone out. Out of nowhere, she bursts out laughing at something that happens in the movie. Maybe if I was watching it instead of staring at the light sprinkling of freckles trailing down her neck and disappearing under her collar, I’d know what it was. Damn, how long have I been staring at her? It feels like about fifteen minutes, but I know that can’t be true. This stuff is potent.

  When she stops laughing, she leans her head against my shoulder. “We’re not doing this right.”

  My struggling brain tries to read way too much into that statement before she adds, “We should’ve got some chips or ice cream or something.”

  “We could order a pizza.”

  She sits up with a grin. “Or I could make waffles! Don’t waffles sound amazing?”

  They do actually, but we’re stoned. You could give me a piece of bread and it would be the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

  I hit pause on the movie, get to my feet, and offer her my hand. “Let’s make waffles.”

  Her hand slides into mine, and she stands up. “I have batter already made in the fridge. So it’ll be easy.”

  You would think so.

  Cooking while high is never recommended.

  She plugs in the waffle iron, heats it, adds the batter, then sets a timer. “They take about four minutes each.”

  We talk and laugh while she makes the waffles, setting a timer each time until she’s down to the last one. I’m busy getting us something to drink when she says, “Shit. I forgot to set the timer. No idea how long the last one has been cooking. I’ll just say three minutes and hope it doesn’t burn.”

  “You wait until the last one to screw up?” I tease, and she throws a dish towel at me.

  “I didn’t screw up. It’ll be fine. I’m not even high anymore.”

  Those words become a lot funnier when the timer goes off, and she opens the waffle iron.

  It’s empty.

  I can’t help it. Laughter bursts from my chest.

  “Well, you didn’t burn anything. Maybe because the batter is still in the bowl.”

  I don’t know exactly what it is that erodes the last of my self-control. Maybe it’s the way her cheeks flush pink and she curls her lips inward, fighting a smile, or the words “Well, fuck,” coming from those lips. Dick sucking lips, we called them when I was young. Maybe the weed lowered my resistance, but either way, I can’t fight it.

  A soft gasp leaves her as I step into her space, and she steps back, her shoulders pressed against the wall. A hand lands on my chest, and her mouth opens to say something, but she doesn’t get the chance before I slip my hand behind her neck and finally get a taste of her lips.

  Her body melts into mine. There’s no hesitation on her part, like she’s been thinking about this as much as I have. I hope that’s true because I don’t plan on stopping at a kiss.

  Her hand wanders over my chest as her other glides down my back to grab my ass. Hard. Fuck, this girl is going to kill me. She comes off as innocent with those youthful looks and wide eyes, but I can feel the passion burning inside her now.

  A soft whimper when I slip my tongue between her lips makes my cock twitch, and I can’t wait to see the sounds she makes when she comes. She presses her hips forward, rubbing against my leg, and I can feel the heat of her through the leggings she wears.

  “Off,” she mumbles, grabbing the bottom of my shirt, and she doesn’t have to ask twice. Her lips move across my chest, and I pull her shirt over her head. I knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. I’ve never seen such beautiful tits, pearl white like the rest of her skin, with a dusting of tiny freckles. A small red birthmark rests on the side of her left nipple, and she takes a deep breath when I run my tongue over it before planting my mouth over her nipple.

  Her hands tug at my hair. “Neal,” she breathes.

  “Tell me to stop, V.”

  “I can’t.”

  More glorious words were never spoken, and I’m right there with her because I can’t stop either. “I might come just from you touching me,” she adds, as if it’s a warning.

  “Yeah? Let’s see about that.”

  I slip my hands down the front of her leggings and panties, and she isn’t kidding. She’s wet and ready, her hips bucking forward at the lightest touch. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and I have no intention of making her come with my hand.

  Kissing her neck, I slip my hands under the waistband of her panties and pull them off as I kneel in front of her. She groans at the soft kisses I place on her lower belly, and I steal a glance at her face before I move down. Her slightly parted lips are puffy and red, and her breasts rise and fall quickly with her fast breaths. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes plead with me not to stop.

  No worries there.

  I grab her ankle and scoot her feet apart as she watches, rapt.

  “Yes,” she moans, when my tongue finds its target.

  Her nails run gently over my scalp, and I grip her hips, holding her in place as I lick and suck at her. In less than a minute, I feel her getting close, and I slide a finger inside her. It catches her off guard, and she cries out, her body shaking inside and out. I need to feel that on my cock. Now.

  Her eyes are glassy, and I know it isn’t the weed. Fuck drunk looks good on her, and I can’t wait to get her to the bedroom.

  I stand and open my mouth to speak, but the strangest thing seems to come out. “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy. Mama. Mama.”

  Okay, I absolutely did not say that because how fucking creepy would that be? Besides, the voice is clearly Stewie from the Family Guy TV show.

  Her eyes meet mine and she dissolves into laughter, which was not at all how I saw this going. “It’s my phone. My ringtone. Aiden chose it.”

  I step back, and she heads to the living room to grab her phone. “Hello? Hey, buddy. Are you having fun?”

  Cocked blocked by the kid.

  I grab two bottles of water from her fri
dge and follow her, my hard-on leading the way.

  She’s sitting on the couch, naked, talking on the phone.

  “Okay, good night. Be good. I love you too.”

  She ends the call and looks up at me. “Sorry, he wouldn’t go to sleep without saying good night.”

  She reaches for a throw blanket, and I grab her hand before she can cover herself. “Do you want to call it a night?” I ask.

  Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and her gaze sweeps over my chest, down to the obvious bulge in my pants. “We should.” Her actions don’t match her words because her hand has found its way between my legs.

  “I disagree.”

  Swallowing hard, she says, “It doesn’t have to mean anything. One time, while our kids are gone.”

  “One night,” I correct, knowing damn well I’m lying through my teeth. “As many times as we want.”

  “Then we stay friends.”

  “Absolutely.” I’m not young or naïve enough to think this won’t change things. That ship sailed the second I kissed her. I have no idea what will happen tomorrow or the next day, but tonight, I’m going to watch her come beneath me.

  “I have a birth control implant and I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

  “Same here, minus the birth control implant.”

  She chuckles and shakes her head, then squeals when I scoop her up. “We have about fifteen hours until we have to get the kids. Let’s see how many orgasms we can fit in.”

  I place her on the bed, and she watches me remove my jeans and underwear.

  “Fuck.” The curse is soft, barely audible, but the way she’s looking at my cock isn’t subtle. She’s nervous. All men want to think they’ve got a giant anaconda even if they’re actually carrying around a pinworm, but I’ve always been happy with my size. Above average, but not a cervix crusher.

  Her gaze flits up to mine as I crawl over her. “It really has been a long time for me,” she whispers.

  “How long?”

  “Over five years.”

  I freeze, blinking a few times. I did not expect that. Her cheeks turn pink, and she shrugs. “Not since before I had Aiden. I haven’t had the time or opportunity to get close to anyone since.”