King Size

by Lexi Whitlow

  She was lashing out even more than usual. Why?

  It all hinges on her mother’s TV appearance. She had every reason to be upset about that, but my gut tells me that something else is going on.

  I ignore the aching feeling in my core, the rock-hard length of my cock demanding attention. Instead of gratifying myself, I take an ice-cold shower. Then I dress and head out to the coffee shop below my apartment, watching the door to her apartment building.

  I pat a new pack of cigarettes in my pocket. Since seeing Avery, I’ve been tempted to smoke again. And drink. I even have a half-baked craving for strawberry Boone’s Farm.

  “Stay on mission,” I say to myself, sipping coffee. I take two bites of an over-priced croissant that tastes like it’s a day or two beyond expiration. Instead of flaky perfection punched with fruity sweetness, it tastes like fermented something wrapped in cardboard, with a decided metallic aftertaste. At least it’s better than MREs.

  I close my eyes for a moment and think back to the Avery I knew before. She always teased and taunted me, but she was friendly. Kind. She always asked after my family.

  When she was getting ready to do something impulsive, she was snappy and half-crazed — just like she was last night. She’s planning something.

  When I open my eyes, Avery is seated across from me, facing me. My surprise – shock – at her suddenly materializing in front of me amuses her. She grins, and her eyes dance.

  "And you keep telling me to eat a healthy breakfast.” She lifts my almond croissant from the plate and takes a bite. Her amused expression rapidly descends into genuine disgust. “This is shitty. Really shitty.”

  “Yeah. It’s not great.” I stare at her for a moment, as if willing her to talk about what happened last night. “Look, Avery—”

  “Okay, here’s the thing,” she interrupts. “You’re super hot, Maddox. And I had two—no, maybe three—mojitos while I was watching my mother nonchalantly say she might run for president. Which means she will. And if she has anything to do with it, she’ll take it all the way to the end. I was emotionally vulnerable.”

  I wondered how she would address this delicate topic. Of course, she just drives straight in.

  I shrug like it’s no big deal. I think fleetingly of what it would feel like to wake up with Avery Thomas beside me. My cock throbs in response. There’s a naked, needy pit inside of me, but the military trained me to push those things down deep. So here I am, chatting with the prettiest girl in California, like nothing happened at all.

  “Lines get blurred,” I say. It’s all I can think of, and it seems to fit.

  “Yes,” she says, looking down. “Lines get blurred. But we have a business relationship now. No matter what we were back when I was in high school. I guess we weren’t anything, even then.”

  I pause. I believe we were more. But she’s right, there was never anything official. No conversation to define what we were. Then her father had me shipped away for basic training, and I was sent to Afghanistan after that. Then Iraq. Then back to Afghanistan.

  There’s a whole mountain of time and life experience between us. Maybe we just slipped up for a second, but it doesn’t feel like that.

  She nods. "I've got some errands to run. I'm doing them on my own. Don't argue. Please.”

  "I still have to come with you and you know it." I say.

  "You're not coming."

  I lift an eyebrow. "I am."

  "Then you'll have to catch me."

  As she gets up I grab her arm. The feel of her silken skin against my fingers recalls memories of last night’s kiss, but I shove them back down in that black pit in my soul.

  "Let me go,” she says. “I just need to do a few things, and you’ll be free to do whatever boring thing you want. A day off.”

  I ignore her. “Where are we going?" If this is a battle of wills, I know I’m going to win. I made it through basic training, through Fallujah, and the through latrine duty inside the Green Zone. She has no clue about the shit I have – quite literally – endured.

  "We are not going anywhere, Maddox. Please.”

  "I'll drive you." I still haven’t let go of her wrist. It’s got to be starting to sting by now. For some inexplicable reason, holding her like this turns me on. Just a little bit.

  "Let me go and I'll tell you,” she says, keeping her voice steady.

  I let her go, and she snaps away, marching off with purpose. It takes me about thirty seconds to catch her. I take her by both arms, and without thinking, I pull her in close to my body. It’s not strictly a regulation move, but it doesn’t break any rules. Not exactly.

  "How did you think that was going to end?" I lean into her and whisper.

  She stares at me, her eyes angry and somehow sad. “With you acting like a normal person with human emotions and letting me go pick up a few things from the store.”

  "What do I have to do to make you follow the rules?"

  She gives me an arrogant, humorless smile. "A lot of people have asked that. So far, none of them have found satisfaction. That’s why my parents gave up on giving me a bodyguard.”

  “I’m a nontraditional bodyguard, Avery. I can make you follow the rules.” I don’t know where this is coming from, but the words rise from me like a tidal wave. Unstoppable, a force of nature. I pull her in tighter.

  She gasps. “Let me go, Maddox,” she stammers. “If this is about the kiss —”

  “Is it, or is it not? You tell me what this is about.” With her standing this close to me, I can’t help thinking of how soft her lips felt, or the ginger-scented warmth of her skin. What would it be like to tame this woman — show her what she needs?

  “The kiss — that was nothing. A mistake, like I said. I just want to go to UPS. And Target. Pick up a few things and feel normal again.” There’s a tiny hint of sadness at the last part of that statement, and I ease up my grip.

  “Fine. I’ll take you. I’ll stay back a hundred feet. You won’t know I’m there.”

  “No,” she says.

  “I’m nontraditional, Avery. And I’m making sure you follow the rules from now on.” I lean into her again and whisper, my voice low. “Or you’ll get a spanking. I’m not lying. Girls like you need a little reminder from time to time.”

  “You wouldn’t. I’ll tell my parents what you’re saying to me.” She could easily slip away, but I note that she doesn’t. Instead, she stays exactly where she is, panting softly, her breasts heaving.

  "Try me,” I say. I give her a half-grin.

  No, the military didn’t teach me this. And I’m fairly certain her parents wouldn’t approve of this method of intimidation.

  But Avery turns beet-red, biting her lip. She’s frozen, like she wants to make a move — but she’s far too sober to do it.

  “If you’re that determined to follow me on my boring errands,” she breathes, “then have at it, Maddox.”

  I smirk.

  I walk her out to my car, and ten minutes later, we’re in the parking lot of the UPS store. I can’t get the idea of spanking her out of my head now that it’s come up. It’s a good thing she doesn’t know what’s in my head.

  "What the hell do you need at UPS?” I ask, my finger on the car door lock. She tries to open the door, but I won’t let her. Something still tells me she’s up to no good.

  "Not that it's any of your business, but Ella and I are planning a trip next year and my passport needs renewing. I need a new picture."

  "Where are you going on your grand adventure with Ella?”

  "Anywhere you're not." She’s staring out of the window. Looking at anything except me.

  I laugh and shake my head. Ella and Avery going away together for a holiday is perfectly plausible. But I know Ella Hughes, or I remember her well enough to know she wouldn’t plan anything a year ahead. Avery might. Ella would have a panic attack if she had to plan something a week in advance.

  I let Avery open the door, and she moves to get out. Before she does, she turns to
me.

  "We were friends once, weren't we?" she asks. “I didn’t just imagine that?”

  She smiles the purest smile I've seen from her in all the time I've been her bodyguard.

  "Yeah. Yeah we were.” I say. “More than that some days.”

  “What went wrong?” she asks, then holds her hand up, looking away. “Actually don't answer, I don't want to know. I’m sure it has something to do with my parents, and money, and not wanting to be around someone like me.” I see her eyes go a little misty.

  "Shit just happens, Avery. Shit happens." That’s the worst fucking excuse I’ve ever heard, but it’s all I’ve got. If I told her what really happened, I don’t know who she’d kill first, me or her father.

  She nods, swallowing hard. "Even if shit hadn’t happened – as you so eloquently put it – I guess we wouldn't still be running around the garden chasing butterflies."

  "Jarheads who do that get sent in for psych eval,” I reply, lamely trying to lighten the pallor that has descended on this conversation.

  "Everybody has to grow up." Avery glances at me. "Although you haven't changed that much."

  She’s obviously not a keen observer of details. I've changed enormously. For starters, I’m not a skinny teenager anymore. I’m confident now. I know my strengths and my weakness, and have a very clear understanding of my limitations – which are legion.

  Maybe I've changed so much I don't fully recognize the girl I once knew, even though she's right here in front of me. Maybe I’m too afraid to look beneath her armored veneer to see the Avery I fell in love with, sitting on the roof all those years ago. When I was nineteen I thought she hung the moon and the stars. If I let myself see her that way again, I fear I’m done for, and I can’t let that happen.

  I shuffle in my seat uncomfortably.

  “Well, the subject is closed,” I say. “I’m not your type, I’m sure.”

  “I guess not,” she says.

  I’m praying – and I’m not a praying sort of man – that the subject is closed, permanently.

  "I assume you'd like me to wait out here?" I ask.

  "And I assume you're going to insist on coming in?"

  I shrug. "You’re an adult. You want your folks to stop treating you like a kid. I trust you to behave yourself and not try to get me in trouble."

  "Would I ever try to get you in trouble?" She asks, smiling at me sadly.

  She trips off towards the building. I stare after her then force myself to look away. It's hard to even look at her without thinking about feeling her in my arms, recalling the taste of those sweet, full lips. It is always hard to look at her without my mind slipping into objectification; admiring how beautiful she is, how incredibly smooth her milky skin feels, wondering at the gossamer sheen of her red hair. Last night's unexpected kiss has given those thoughts some definite focus. I'm not remembering the kiss as it happened. I'm remembering it the way I wanted it to happen — more intimate, heated, long-lasting – and naked.

  I start upright in my seat, feeling flushed with an uncomfortable tightness crushing against my jeans.

  I spend a little while thinking about what other jobs I might be able to get — anything that would allow my mother to stay in her independent living community after the trial is over. It's not a long list. Body-guarding is a good gig for a guy with few skills, fresh out of the service. But if I quit my first job then that's going to make getting a second one difficult. I need to stick it out and do a good job of saving Avery's ass rather than staring at it; which is a hell of a lot more complicated than it sounds.

  I glance over towards the UPS Store. She's taking way too long.

  I get out of the car and hurry into the store. There is no sign of Avery.

  Chapter 8

  Avery

  I need to get the fuck out of here, Maddox or no Maddox.

  We kissed, I remind myself. That’s all. You do not owe him anything. You just need to get out of dodge before you have to hit the campaign trail with Mother.

  Maddox was the one who disappeared after all that talk about running away together, abandoning me into the claws of my self-serving, narcissistic parents who believe they brought me into this world to serve their purposes exclusively. He didn’t ever call, or write, or provide any sort of explanation.

  Just ‘Shit happens,’ after turning up here after so many years and turning my head inside out?

  I’ll show his uptight, well-regulated, rule-following ass what ‘Shit happens’ actually feels like.

  I have the fleeting image of him spanking me, and I suppress a shiver. He wasn’t serious. And if he was — well things like that are short-lived, especially in my life. After all that’s happened between us, he doesn’t deserve the chance.

  I go into the UPS Store and sit for the photo, pay, and then slip the little envelope with my photo strips into my purse. Instead of heading out the front entrance, I go out the back, dodging through the employee parking lot, then heading north on College Avenue. Whatever ‘shit’ happened to make me so easily forgettable – especially after all that ‘sun rose and set’ bullshit – must have been a pretty big deal. Whatever I was to him then, it wasn’t enough to make him stick around or even think enough of me to send a postcard. And now I can see it in his eyes every time he looks at me what an epic failure and a disappointment I am to him.

  Who's the failure now, Maddox? Me, or the bodyguard who can't even keep his principal in sight?

  After walking for an hour – long enough that the straps on my sandals wear raw spots on my heels promising to become blisters – I decide that since I've made my point already, the best thing I can do is head home.

  Settling in on the stone landscaping at Willard Park, I book a Lyft for the short ride home. Once there, I settle down to enjoy the rare treat of not being watched like a cell on a slide under a microscope. I know it won’t be too long before Maddox figures out where I am.

  Sure enough, twenty minutes after I settle in to my easy chair with a good book, the intercom sounds. I don't even worry about who it is, I just buzz them into the building. A few minutes later there's a knock at my door. There’s a tightening in my core, and a small flame of excitement starts in the very pit of my gut.

  Maddox.

  I walk over to the door, trying to prepare my words.

  I had to get away. I had to be alone. Just give me this one thing—

  I open the door.

  Instead of the towering monolith of muscle that is Maddox, I’m greeted by a five-foot-five ice queen who’s recently frosted her reddish-gray hair blond. For her constituents, no doubt.

  “Mother,” I say. “How great to see you.”

  My voice falls, and I realize how much I wanted it to be Maddox.

  "I hope you don't usually just buzz people into the building without checking who they are. What does Maddox say about that?"

  Standing outside the door are my parents.

  "For goodness sake, Avery, close your mouth. You’ll catch flies."

  "I was... I was expecting someone else,” I stammer, breathless.

  I can't help but notice the slight rise of my mother's eyebrows. "Were you?" she asks pointedly.

  "Ella," I clarify, my mood plummeting beneath the floorboards. "Why do you always think the worst of me?"

  "Past experience,” she replies, her tone as dry as chalk. “May we come in?"

  My mind races. Maddox is going to be here any second – probably in a pissy huff. “It’s not really a good...” I start to say, but my answer doesn’t matter. It never matters. My mother pushes straight past me without waiting to be asked, followed by my father, who smiles almost apologetically.

  "Did you want something?" I ask, closing the door behind them.

  Mother is looking around the room frowning. I assume initially she's disappointed to find nothing she can criticize, but it's something else.

  "Where's Maddox?” she asks. “He should be here." She strides to the window and stares out across the street to
his apartment."He's not there either. He hasn't got eyes on you at all? Where is the man? What the hell am I paying for? For all he knows, you’re out drinking with inappropriate men again.”

  "Or getting killed," I observe.

  Mother has the decency to look a little embarrassed by the slip. "Well that goes without saying. The point is — why isn't he here?"

  There it is. The opportunity I've been waiting for. All I have to do now is tell them that this is pretty typical behavior, that Maddox usually pops out for a few hours during the day.

  I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. I could easily convince them that Maddox hasn’t been doing his job, that he’s been slacking off and ignoring me. It would be easy, and it would solve my bodyguard problem, at least for a little while.

  "How long has he been gone?" my father asks while I'm still thinking.

  "And what have you been doing in his absence?" Mother wants to know.

  You've got to admire her consistency in mistrusting me. She just assumes that as soon as my bodyguard is out of the picture, I throw caution to the wind. She must think that I keep an on-call supply of 'inappropriate' men on speed dial for just such an opportunity.

  "What do you think I've been doing?" I ask, crossing my arms across my chest. I glance down at the book I was very intently reading when they arrived. It’s McBriar’s Fabian Socialism & English Politics, 1884 – 1918, from Cambridge University Press. Great light reading if you’re into that sort of thing, which I am.

  "I'm sure I wouldn't know," says Evelyn, primly unapologetic.

  "Would you like to search the apartment? Check under my bed?"

  "We just want to keep you safe,” my father says.

  "And you have to understand how important this election is," Mother adds, emphasizing the most important aspect of this whole exercise.

  "Oh, I understand how important it is," I say sharply, feeling my ears fire like hot coals. "I saw you on the news."

  It would be nice if she looked a bit shame-faced now, like she has been caught in something and knows she should have talked to me before making certain career decisions, but she has no such scruples.