That's when I hear a door down the hall click open and closed. The shower starts running.
My coffee mug rests in my left hand, and my right hand wanders down to my jeans. I rub my hard cock through the denim, imagining the water cascading down Tess's naked body. I wonder what she'd think if she knew I was sitting here pleasuring myself to the thought of her washing herself.
I smirk. I hope she's doing the exact same thing in the shower.
A few minutes later, the shower turns off and Tess comes out, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy pink towel. Holy fucking shit.
"Look at you," I say with a wink. Her hair is glistening, and it wraps around her neck to her chest, tucked into the towel covering her breasts. My eyes follow her gorgeous auburn locks, and I take in the sight of her figure. "I could get used to waking up to this."
She blushes. "It's not much to look at. But don't get used to it. You're here for three weeks, right?"
"Thereabouts," I say. "And you're absolutely fucking gorgeous."
Her gaze falls, and her face reddens further. She changes the topic. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"Pay off a few debts. Tie up loose ends."
"Whoever you owe money to probably needs it. The economy here isn't exactly booming."
"Yeah," I say. "I noticed when I rode in last night. The old Woolworth's is a call center now. Shitty."
"Yep. The population is shrinking, ever since they built the new highway out to Springville."
I nod. That's the way of things these days. Big towns get bigger, and small towns get smaller.
"In ten years, there might not even be a Maple Ridge anymore," says Tess. She wrings out her hair, and water drips down onto the towel covering her body. I bite the corner of my lip, then take a swig of coffee to try to act normal. When I'm not six drinks deep, I at least try to keep it classy.
I never felt a real sense of attachment to this place, probably because all my childhood memories are of my mom running around with a bunch of loser boyfriends and my dad being deployed abroad. But it's still my hometown, after all. "Shame," I say. "Maybe something'll come through and turn it around."
Tess shrugs. "I wouldn't count on it."
"Yeah," I say. "Guess not."
She goes back into the bedroom to get dressed, and I watch her ass under that towel as she walks down the hall. I just want to pin her against the wall, press her chest flat against the hallway, and yank that towel up so I can slide my aching hard cock between her legs. I fucking know she'd be wet for me.
I pour another cup of coffee and open the blinds completely, letting sunlight flow in and freshen the place up. I can tell this apartment hasn't gotten much sun since Tess moved in.
When Tess comes back, she's wearing a v-neck t-shirt over casual bright blue shorts that hug her curves just right. "I have to head down to Wal-Mart," she says. "I need packing supplies."
I take a look around the apartment. Brown cardboard boxes everywhere, blocks of wax, blocks of glycerin, molds with all kinds of shapes. I give Tess a hard stare. "What the hell are you doing with your life?" I ask, leaning against the entrance to the kitchenette. "Seriously. This isn't what you should be doing."
She turns pink and frowns. "Thanks for the news. I'm so glad you're here to tell me that."
"That doesn't mean I'm wrong."
"Maybe it's hard for you to understand, but sometimes life happens. I'm thinking about getting into the restaurant business. But it's a big deal. And I've got bills to pay."
"I just remember how bad you wanted it before."
"You know," she snaps, "it's really none of your business."
"All I'm saying is I've seen a lot of shit in the last eight years. Life is too short to fuck around doing anything except what you love."
"Is that right? Is that what you're doing?"
"Yes, actually. Getting the fuck out of here and going up to Alaska. You should figure your shit out, too. I say that as a friend. Tough love."
"Damnit, Hunter," she says, and her face gets rosy pink. She looks so damn dainty and cute when she's mad, and I can just picture those lips wrapped around my cock. "As if you know anything about love."
I shrug and down the rest of my second coffee.
For the next few days, me and Tess are constantly at each other's throats. About everything. The stupidest shit imaginable. She wants to order in pizza, I want to go out for Chinese. She wants the heat on, I want the A/C. She wakes up early, I sleep in late. It wasn't ever like this when we dated in high school, but shit, we were completely different people back then.
It's not like I pride myself in being a prick to her. But the girl has so much damn potential, and it's so obvious she's not happy doing what she's doing. She was always in her true element while concocting new creations in the kitchen, planning out how she'd manage her own place, dreaming of opening a cozy little cottage restaurant right here in Maple Ridge. She always loved this town more than I did. But shit. I guess with the town slowly evaporating, even that's a pipe dream these days.
One afternoon, three or four days after our argument, she catches me when I'm out in the apartment complex's parking lot, working on my bike and getting it ready for my upcoming cross-country trip. It's a sunny but cool day, the oaks and shrubs around the complex blocking out the sun and keeping it comfortable. The kids are out of school for the summer, and they're the only critters making any sounds. Everyone who walks past is friendly as can be. It's a picture-perfect, lazy small-town day.
"Hey," she says, and I look up from where I'm kneeling.
"How can I help you?" I ask. I'm shirtless, and I can't help noticing her eyes wander down my grease-streaked abs. Yeah. I look good. I know it, and she knows it, whether she likes it or not.
"There's a town hall meeting tomorrow," she says. "Wanted to see if you want to come."
"What's the topic?"
"Small business initiatives."
I smirk. "So you decided to listen to me."
She rolls her eyes. "No, it's a thing I've been thinking about for a while. They're bringing in some investor types. A few aspiring small business owners are going to give pitches, and they're supposed to pick one to fund. I signed up to present."
"Oh yeah? What about going to fancy-ass culinary school?"
She folds her arms. "You just want me to say that you were right."
I laugh and she looks offended. "The hell do you mean?"
"I mean, I thought about what you said. People like my cooking. Maybe that's good enough."
"Damn right," I say. "You don't need a fucking graduate degree to cook some shit at a goddamn restaurant. Especially in Maple Ridge."
"You have a filthy mouth."
"Girl, you don't know how filthy it gets."
She jams her arms down at her sides. "I regret even telling you about this."
"Okay, okay," I say. "Relax. If this is important to you, I'll be there."
"You will?" She seems genuinely surprised.
"Let you be my arm candy? Yeah."
She sneers but I think I detect a faint hint of humor in her expression. "You just have to go and ruin everything. I'm not your 'arm candy.' This is a professional town hall meeting, and you'd be there as my friend and supporter. Nothing more."
"Alright," I say. "I was joking, sourpuss. I'm in."
"Okay," she says, and the sun rises on her face.
She looks good when she smiles, and I grin back at her. "But this means we're ordering Chinese tonight."
The next afternoon, I'm walking on Rock Creek Trail before the town hall meeting. It's a dirt footpath that runs along the base of the ridge where Tess and I spent our last night together eight years ago. Real close to the town's hot springs. The houses along this path are all identical, as if someone stamped them out with the same cookie cutter. But they've got a charm. The government put them up during the war, and walking by them really takes you back to simpler times.
My first stop is the gas station in Maple Ridge's main strip mall, rig
ht next to Eddie Valenzuela's Chinese restaurant. Back when I was a stupid kid in high school, I stole a bunch of six-packs from the gas station. Never sat right with me, so today I'm making things right.
I enter the gas station through the front door, and the bells hanging off the door jingle as I walk through. It's a tiny little convenience store attached to a tiny gas station—only 2 pumps for the entire town.
Old man Ricky Marnes stands behind the counter, framed with a diverse palette of chips, cookies, and candy. He looks the exact same age he did the last time I set foot in this gas station eight years ago: old as fuck.
I walk up to the counter and drop a heavy fist on it. "Marnes."
"Thorne," he replies, looking me up and down. He prides himself on his stoicism, but I can tell he's surprised to see how much I've changed.
"You old codger."
"Fucking upstart kid."
"Marnes," I say, grabbing my wallet from my back pocket, "I got a confession for you. I ripped your old ass off dozens of times back in high school. If not hundreds."
He nods. "If you thought you were pulling one over on me, Thorne, you're damn wrong."
"You knew?" I ask, surprised.
"Of fucking course I did. Think you can smuggle a six-pack of Budweiser out from under me practically every fucking week without me noticing?"
"Why didn't you call the cops on me then, you old fuck?"
He shrugs. "You weren't worth the jail cell they'd put you in, shithead." He tries to sound tough, but I can tell his voice goes soft at the end.
"Near as I can figure, I owe you about six-fifty," I say. "Add interest, seven." I take out seven hundred-dollar bills from my wallet, and slap them on the counter. "Don't spend it all at once."
Old man Marnes looks down at the bills, moving nothing but his eyes. Then he scoops them up, pings the register drawer open, and puts them underneath the cash tray. "Right, son. Now get the hell out of here before I kick your ass."
I grin. "See you later, you old fossil."
"Until next time. Bitch."
I exit the store laughing to myself, the bells on the door jingling behind me.
Next stop, Maple Ridge Credit Union.
In the MRCU office, I meet with one of the managers I vaguely remember from when I was a kid. An older guy, who's nowhere near as old as Marnes. His pressed black suit and sharp swept-back salt-and-pepper hair complement the classy dark earth and wood tones of his office.
We sit down opposite one another at his desk. He introduces himself as Clint Roberts and gives me a hard stare. "How can I help you?" he asks.
"I'm here to pay off a delinquent debt."
He sticks out his lower lip and nods slowly. "Fantastic. I think I know the one."
That surprises me. "You do?"
He nods. "It's a small town, Mr. Thorne. People remember things." He gets up from his desk, without shaking the computer mouse to wake his PC. Instead, he opens a tall filing cabinet in the corner. "This debt got archived and sent to collections a while back. Give me a second."
"You didn't think I'd come back to pay it off."
"Good guess," he says over his shoulder, riffling through file folders. Finally he finds what he's looking for and sits back down behind his desk. He puts on a pair of reading glasses and peers down his nose. "An amount of $4,000, for a motorcycle with VIN number ending in 4YW3."
"Sounds right."
"Says here that attempted recovery of the property failed." He looks up at me. "That means a repossessor tried to find it but they couldn't. Do you know where the vehicle is now?"
I clear my throat. "At the bottom of Ridge Lake." Then I add, "Probably."
He looks like he's about to say something, but then he shakes his head. "I'm not even going to ask."
"For the best." The truth is, me and a couple friends were trying to jump the bike over some logs on the shore, and, well… we fucked up. So I sort of stopped making payments on the bike.
What can I say, I was an idiot.
"Right," he says. "Well, with interest and fees, the outstanding balance comes out to $5142.62. But because the debt went into collections, I can accept an amount equal to the original principal to clear the debt. Four thousand even."
I give him my bank account number and he schedules a transfer. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" he asks.
"That's I all got."
We stand up and shake hands. He looks uncomfortable as we do, and he withdraws his hand quickly. "I admire your decision to come back and pay this off," he says, turning around. "Most people wouldn't." He reaches over to his desk and pulls a bottle of hand sanitizer out of a desk drawer. He squirts five or six pumps on his hands and rubs them together.
"No praise needed for doing the right thing," I say, raising an eyebrow. I look down at his hands. "I didn't piss on my hands before our meeting, you know."
He looks down at his hands and looks sheepish. "Sorry. It's not personal."
"Alright then."
He nods and puts the hand sanitizer back in his desk drawer. "You should submit a receipt to the three big credit bureaus, you should be able to get this black mark removed from your credit report."
"Thanks."
He shows me to the door of his office. "Let me know if I can be of further service," he says.
"Thanks," I say, and I extend my hand for another handshake without thinking about it. We both look down at my hand and then I jam it in my pocket. We exchange nods instead.
Interesting guy, that Mr. Roberts.
About four-thirty in the afternoon, my phone buzzes with a text message.
I fish my phone out of my jeans pocket, expecting another pushy message from Tasha, the chick I met back in Berlin when I was shipping back to the States last month. She was good for a fuck, but now she's fixated on the idea I'm coming back, which is total bullshit. And she won't stop blowing up my phone with texts and nude selfies. They look like shit on my old-ass flip phone, so I just delete them anyway.
It's bullshit, because first of all, I'm taking my stressed-out ass to Alaska just as soon as I can. And second of all, because I haven't been able to think of any woman except Tess since I laid eyes on her again.
I think back on my memories of Maple Ridge. Playing cops and robbers in the woods when Eddie and I were little kids. Later, in high school, Friday nights picking up shakes and fries from Po'Folks restaurant, and eating in the car while watching old horror movies at Hop's drive-in theater. Swimming in Lake Sapphire on hot summer afternoons when school was out. And hanging out with Tess on school nights up on the top of Maple Ridge, our favorite place together. Always knowing that she made me feel something special, with those soft-looking pink lips, that lightly freckled skin that always begged me to touch it.
The girl just drives me crazy. And if nothing happens between us before I leave town, it'll go down as one of my biggest all-time regrets.
When I check my phone, the sun seems to burst through the shade of the tree canopy. It's not that bimbo Tasha, it's Tess.
Hey, do you still want to come to the town hall meeting tonight?
Yes. I'll be there, I text back.
Okay. Church basement at 6:30, comes her reply.
5
Tess
Okay. Church basement at 6:30, I type out on my cell phone. My heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing Hunter in just under an hour. Even though he's barely been here for a week, every minute we're not together seems like an eternity.
I shouldn't be thinking about him at all, but here I am, getting butterflies in my stomach just because I haven't seen him since this morning. Something must be really wrong with me. Literally everything else in my life should be a higher priority right now.
My best friend Meg sits at her kitchen table, tapping away on a shiny new MacBook Pro laptop. I stand barefoot at her counter, the wide, cool marble tile feeling luxurious under my feet. The high, white ceilings, tall windows, and modern stainless steel appliances make me feel like I'm on vaca
tion from my regular life. Her home is one of the newest and most beautiful in this town.
Sometimes I get jealous of everything Meg has. A beautiful house, knockout looks, and a rich, smart husband who would never, ever cheat on her.
I dump ingredients into the plastic tumbler of her NutriBullet blender one by one. Bananas, ice, soy milk, cinnamon powder. A dash of nutmeg. It's my famous banana nut smoothie that Meg always asks me to make when I come over. We usually split it, but today it's all for her because the town hall meeting is a potluck, and I don't want to ruin my appetite. I'm bringing a big batch of hot wings that I fried up.
"Oh shit," I mutter. "I forgot to tell Hunter about the potluck." I text him again.
Forgot to tell you, it's a potluck. Try to bring something if you can.
His reply comes just a minute later.
Thanks, great advance notice.
I reply.
You're a SEAL, right? Improvise.
Meg finally stops typing. "Sorry, babe," she says, her voice perky as always. "Had to put out that dumpster fire." Meg works as an assistant to her husband, helping to wrangle clients and do the people work. She's a people person. Her husband, on the other hand… he's a watchmaker. And he's about as interested in managing customers as he is being shot in the face. He's the kind of guy who'd always rather be in his workshop, tinkering with machines. And that's where he probably is right now, down in the basement.
I laugh. "I didn't know there were emergencies in the watch business. I don't know what Trevor would do without you."
Meg rolls her eyes. "These rich customers, a lot of them have nothing better to do than sit and refresh their package tracking all day. I think they go a little stir-crazy."
"Oh my god," I say. "I am so totally guilty of that." I have to admit, there's nothing better than the feeling of a package delivery. Especially those Amazon Prime deliveries on Sundays. Of course, I wouldn't know anything about waiting for a ten-thousand-dollar watch.
I flip the plastic NutriBullet cup over, press it down onto the base, and the motor kicks in. It purees the ingredients, and I pour the creamy banana smoothie into a crystal milkshake-style glass with a blue and yellow striped straw. If there's one thing I've learned over the years about cooking, it's that the presentation matters just as much as the taste.
Prince's Secret Baby Page 19
