I found a slinky, skin tight dress as red as a hooker's lipstick, and since I'd bought it used at Goodwill, probably something that had actually been worn by a hooker, and paired that with some black pumps and a quick slash of eyeliner. I grinned at myself in the wavy mirror that hung crookedly on the back of my bedroom door. I was as hot as a book cover bimbo. Perfect. I fluffed my black bob, punctuated by neon streaks of pumpkin-bright orange, courtesy of Punky Colour, and sashayed into the bathroom. I was in a better mood than the day I'd bought my Rabbit Habit, though not by much.
The candles, once I'd taken them out of eight, stiff, plastic layers of protection and about a dozen twist ties, looked absolutely ridiculous arranged around the edge of the porcelain sink in my bathroom. They flickered weakly, the cheap lights inside dimming and brightening in a pathetic imitation of a true candle. I frowned at them as I opened the plastic top to the chicken hearts. They smelled gamey and a little bit like iron, leaving a heavy, metallic burn in the back of my throat.
“God,” I choked as I dipped two fingers into the cold, watery bird blood. My spine bucked involuntarily as I rubbed the runny ooze down the side of one candle, and then the next, and the next. Let's just say it didn't get any easier or any less disgusting.
After I was finished, I tossed the unused hearts into the bathroom garbage can and scraped anything resembling so much as a fingerprint off of my skin in an attempt at cleansing myself. Once I had decided that liquid soap, a squirt of shampoo, and half a travel sized bottle of Purell would just about do it, I was ready to begin.
I flicked the lights off and grabbed the newspaper scrap off its temporary home on the back of the toilet. I squinted at the words which were incredibly difficult to read in the flickering light and took a deep breath.
“Hell Incorporated,” I began, trying to pitch my voice low so that it came out as eery and mysterious as possible. “666 Gladiola Lane.” I set the newspaper down on the edge of the sink next to one of the plastic eggplant monstrosities and waited. And waited. And waited.
Nothing happened.
“Goddamn it,” I screeched at myself, fighting back tears and gripping the sides of the mirror with a frenzied fervor. “Why do I do this to myself?”
I had a tendency to get really, really involved in things that most people could tell weren't going to work out for the best. It was one of my special talents. I punched the mirror once, in a juvenile fight of rage, cracking the glass and cutting my hand open along with it. Tiny droplets of red dripped into the sink and swirled down the drain, turning the residual water a pinkish color and staining the edges of the white porcelain.
“Ah, hell,” I cursed, unaware of the swirling black vortex beneath my feet. “I'm going to need stitches.”
And then I was falling down a hole, screaming like a B-list actress in a horror movie, until I found myself landing face first onto some terribly itchy, navy carpeting. I pushed myself up quickly, tugging down my dress in the back in an attempt to cover my ass, before taking a look around.
My exploration ended before it even got started because the very first thing I saw was the demon.
And he was pissed.
Broken Pasts
"Until Nathaniel Sutherland was open and all his soul was bared for me to see, I wouldn't be satisfied."
Theresa McMaster does not have a good track record when it comes to men. Her first husband walked out on her after a terrible miscarriage left her unable to carry any children of her own, and her estranged second husband has revealed himself to be more than just an emotional danger – he's been stalking her.
Fearing for her own safety as well as that of her family, Theresa hires a private security service and meets Nathaniel, the man whose secrets and heartaches may just outnumber her own. Drawn into the arms of the sexy stranger, Theresa fears that both of their pasts may very well be the things that keep them apart.
Chapter One
“I swear to God, if you don't leave me alone, I'm going to file a restraining order against you,” I screamed in the middle of the grocery store. Faces turned to look at me, most of them lined with the telltale signs of age. Wrinkled mouths pursed angrily and older men in polo shirts snorted gruffly. I adjusted my stained tank top and tried to hide my flannel pajama pants behind my cart. “Stop calling me, Gary,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. Yelling wasn't helping; it had yet to get him off my case before. All I was doing was pissing off the other early morning shoppers. Normally I wouldn't have come out at this time, but I needed alcohol. Hard alcohol. I was thinking Jagermeister.
“But I love you,” he told me as I rolled my eyes and tried to keep to the edge of the cereal aisle. When we'd first broken up, all I'd wanted was for Gary to call. Now I couldn't get him to stop. “I want to be with you, Theresa. I'm sorry.” He paused and I could hear him breathing against the receiver. “Look, I didn't mean what I said, please. Let's just get back together.” I shook my head, not caring that he wasn't there to see me. If I never saw Gary's face again, that would be more than enough for me. The things he'd said, the things he'd threatened, I would never forget those. I had given him a second chance and that had been one too many.
“I'm hanging up now, Gary. Don't call me again.” I ended the call and threw the phone in my purse. It promptly started ringing again. I pulled it back out, turned it to silent and put it away. Thirty missed calls in two days. Incredible. I wrote it off as simple desperation. I knew what it was like to be lonely. It wasn't easy, especially not for someone as emotionally shallow as Gary Harper.
I grabbed a couple boxes of cereal without looking at them and tossed them into the cart. Purple, red, pink. As long as they were colorful, Rhea would eat them. I smiled. Rhea was like the wick that kept me burning. Without her, I would've gone out a long time ago. But you still need oil, I thought as I turned the corner and forced myself to go down the next aisle. I was not checking out at eight in the morning with a few boxes of cereal and a bottle of Jager. If I was going to keep my dignity in check, I was going to at least pretend I was just here to buy the week's groceries. Somehow I made it into the ice cream aisle without realizing it, and stood staring at the pints of chocolate. If I was going to spend New Year's Eve by myself, I might as well enjoy it. I opened the glass door to the freezer and pulled out several cartons, refusing to look at the calorie count on the back. It wasn't like it mattered anyway. I was thirty-two, single, and hopelessly alone.
With a sigh, I continued my shopping and was halfway across the parking lot, grocery bags in hand when I saw him. Gary was leaning against my car with his arms crossed over his chest. I paused near the cart return and debated turning around and heading back into the store when he saw me. He raced over and rescued one of the drooping bags from my tired arms.
“God, Theresa,” he said with a chuckle. “What have you got in there?” I walked quickly ahead of him and unlocked the trunk. I tossed my bag in first and whirled to face him.
“You can't keep doing this,” I said as I stared him down. He was still handsome, of course, but in a shallow way. I knew what kind of person lurked behind those warm, brown eyes, the rush of anger that had clenched that perfect, square jaw. I'd been afraid he was going to hit me, really afraid. That was something I was never going to go through again. I had the gun to prove it. It was stashed in a drawer at home, brand new and unused. I was going to learn how to use it someday soon, but I hadn't yet gotten around to it. Seeing him in the parking lot made me wish I'd already done that. “This is getting weird, Gary. How did you even know I was here?” He put the grocery bag in the trunk and stepped back, hands up like he was trying to prove his own innocence.
“I didn't know you were here,” he said with a shrug. “I just stopped in to pick up some things and saw your car, that's all. Come on, Theresa, what do you take for me?” He tried to reach out and touch me, but I pulled away.
“That's enough, Gary,” I said as I moved around to the driver's side of the Camry. “Just sign the divorce papers and let
's be done with this.” I didn't wait for him to answer, just climbed into the vehicle and started the car. With barely a glance in his direction, I pulled out of the space and left the parking lot. Five minutes later, when I checked my phone, I already had two missed calls. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I wondered as I saw that the most recent was from Gary. With a sigh, I skipped past it and returned the other call.
“Theresa, don't say a word,” Jamie said as a chorus of 'Mom!'s echoed in the background. “I've only got a minute. All of Joel's family is here for the barbeque.”
“I'm not intruding on your family time, Jamie,” I protested before she could ask again. She shushed me and shouted something about cupcakes to the assorted children that were no doubt driving her completely nuts.
“That's not what I'm calling for. It's like beating a dead horse trying to get you to come over here.” I heard quite a few ewws in response to her idiom. “Is Rhea with Glen tonight?” I wrinkled my face as I pulled into my driveway and turned off the car.
“Rhea is spending the week in Hawaii with Glen,” I said as I tried not to sound disappointed. Glen had three other daughters; I only had one. The least he could've done was let her spend the holiday with me. Sometimes, I had the feeling that Glen would be happy if something were to happen to me. I wasn't Rhea's biological mother after all. If I gave him the chance, he'd slap his new wife's name on the adoption papers before the ink was even dry on my death certificate. It was not a good feeling. I had one crazy ex-husband and one vindictive one.
“Great,” Jamie said as I climbed out of the car and opened the trunk. “Then you're free tonight?” I grunted noncommittally, unsure where this was going. “Then let me set you up. Joel's friend, Stuart, is in town and he's -” I groaned.
“Stop playing romantic comedy cliche roulette with my life,” I said as I tucked the phone against my shoulder and grabbed a bag in each hand. My big hips came in handy, working in unison with my elbows to create a shelf for the groceries as I struggled to shut the trunk. “You set me up with Gary and look where that went.
“Yeah,” Jamie said as she put something in her mouth and tried to talk around it. “It led to a marriage.”
“It lasted six months,” I said as I set the bags down on my front porch and tried to reason with Jamie. It wasn't easy: she was a prosecutor for a living. “And now he's calling me a hundred times a day and 'bumping',” I made little quotes with my fingers even though there was no one there to see. My neighbors probably thought I was crazy. “Into me at the grocery store.”
“So he's stalking you?” she asked, but she didn't sound concerned. It was the first time I had thought of Gary in that way. It would not be the last. “All the more reason to go out with Stuart tonight.”
“I already have a date with a pint of ice cream and a glass of Jager.”
“Now who's romantic comedy cliche?” she asked, pulling whatever it was she'd put in her mouth, out. It was probably a lollipop. Jamie had some oral fixation issues that were a frequented topic on girls' night and, according to her, the reason she had such a peaceful marriage. Long as he returns the favor, she'd always say.
“I'm not romantic comedy cliche,” I said as I finally got the door unlocked. “More like tearful drama cliche.” Jamie sighed and I could just visualize her, dark hair pulled back, eyes narrowed and rolling. “Besides, think about what you're saying. Stuart. Stuart. Think about calling that out in bed. I just can't imagine screaming Stuart in the throes of passion.” I slid the bags of groceries into the house and went inside, locking the door behind me.
“Then call him Stu,” she said as I heard Joel shouting behind her about Kool-Aid on the carpet. “Just say yes or I'm going to have to call him back and tell him not to pick you up at your place tonight at six.” I groaned and slid down the wood of the door, already fishing around in the grocery bag for my Jager. I was going to need it to get through another blind date. I twisted the top off, took a swig and sighed my deep, heavy, I give up sigh. “Perfect,” Jamie said as she kissed the receiver and put the lollipop back in her mouth. “Tall, dark, and handsome will see you at your door, dressed to kill.” She paused. “Goddamn it, boys, don't put cold meat on the grill.” I smiled as Jamie returned her attention back to me. “I gotta go. Men these days don't even know how to barbeque right. What's wrong with society today?” She ended the call on that note as I stood up and tried to convince myself that I was going to have a good night.
“I should've just gone to the damned barbeque,” I said to no one as I picked up the groceries and tried to figure out what the hell I was going to wear.
Tasting Never
“Never Ross wants to be loved. It's that simple, but it's not that easy.”
Never is a girl with a broken soul who doesn't date nice guys and can't seem to go to bed at night without crying herself to sleep. She doesn't need any complications in her life, especially not when they're attached to a man that could be her emotional twin.
Ty McCabe can't stand Never the first time he meets her. He's aware that the feeling's mutual and the two don't think they'll ever see each other again, but when fate takes a hand and puts them both in the wrong place at the wrong time, Ty and Never form a tentative friendship that opens the door on their dark sides and shows them what it's like to live in the light.
Sometimes, the only way to go forward, is to take a few, careful steps back.
1
Rick is a perfectly nice guy.
But not for me.
Rick is the kind of guy you can take home to your family, show off, and know that at the end of the day, he'll be there for you. I'm not into guys like Rick. I should be, but I'm not. I think there's something wrong with me. I need a guy like Rick to put me on the straight and narrow, to help me stop doing the things I shouldn't be doing and start doing the things I should.
Right now, my back is to a wall and I'm kissing the neck of a guy I don't know. My therapist says it's because I have 'daddy' issues. Like that's supposed to mean something to me. How can I have daddy issues when I barely knew the prick? He didn't walk out on me and mom like my therapist thinks. She thinks that because I've never told her the truth. My dad died right in front of my eyes, called out my name seconds before the light went out of his face and left him cold. That's all I remember about him. Other than that, my mind is a blank, a series of shadowy pictures without words. They don't make any fucking sense.
The guy I'm kissing unbuttons his pants. I think about telling him to use a condom, but I just don't feel like it. I'm on the pill anyway. He thrusts into me while I'm watching Rick through a crack in the door. He's drinking punch, not alcohol, and smiling with big, wide teeth in a face that's handsome, but not too handsome. Rick's the kind of guy that your friends compliment you on, tell you he's gorgeous, but they never try to sleep with him. The ones they really want, the dangerous ones, the ones with pasts that burn like fire and melt everything around them … Those are the guys that I always seem to fall for. The one I'm having sex with right now is one of those. I don't even know his name.
“I love you,” the guy says over and over, and I roll my eyes. I've heard it before, a hundred times, and I just don't want to hear it anymore. I pretend to have an orgasm, moaning and groaning and scratching his back, and all the while, I'm watching Rick. We have a date tomorrow night that I think I'm going to cancel. I thought maybe I'd take Rick out, see how chivalrous he really was, but tonight, he's wearing khaki pants and a red sweater. I don't date guys like Rick.
The guy I'm fucking finishes and tells me how great I am. Then he disappears and I don't see him again, not that night or any other. I light a cigarette and leave the room before any of the drunken idiots at the party stumble in and find me there with my panties around my ankles. I step out of them and stuff them in my pocket, aware that my skirt is too short and that my ass is hanging out. I just can't seem to find it in myself to care.
“Hey,” Rick says, intercepting me before I can reach the front door. �
��We still on for tomorrow night?” He looks me up and down, and I can see that he's curious about my disheveled appearance, my mussy hair and my swollen lips, but he doesn't ask about it. I don't think he even gives it a second thought. Rick doesn't know that girls like me exist. He's heard about them on TV, maybe even masturbates to them, but he doesn't really believe that they exist in this world or any other. I really should keep my date with Rick, go out with him, and grow up.
“I can't,” I say, biting my lip seductively and touching his cashmere sweater with a shaking hand. I don't know why it's shaking, but I don't like it, so I pull it back and let it fall to my side. I blow cigarette smoke in Rick's face which is rude, but that I do anyway. There's a monster inside of me, eating little bits of me everyday, and I can't seem to stop it. It makes me do things I don't want to do, say things I don't want to say. It makes me tell Rick that I've got to study for a test that he really believes I have.
I kiss him on the lips and leave an orange-red stain before I walk out the door and down the front steps. People wave at me as I go by and say they'll see me around, but I don't really know who any of them are, so I avoid their stares and their friendly smiles. It's all fake, just a big load of shit that I can't buy into or I'll die. If I ever believe in something again, and it turns out to be false, then not only will my body crumble beneath me, but so will my soul. I'll disintegrate, disappear into the wind and blow away. I'll be nothing. I'll blank out and the energy of who I was will just go away, melt into the ground and come back as something unimportant, like a dandelion or a caterpillar. I can't find it in my heart to care.
I walk back to the dorms because I don't have a car. My roommate isn't home which doesn't surprise me. She's in love with another girl, one that's straight as an arrow. They have sleepovers in her dorm room and 'practice' kissing one another like they're in high school or something. That's fine with me because it means I have the room all to myself, gives me a chance to be alone. I feel most comfortable that way. When you're alone, there's nobody there to hurt you or let you down. It feels too good to have that guarantee of solitude.
Fuck Valentine's Day Page 8
