by Xavier Neal
“Child.” She chomps down on the bacon.
With a shake of my head, I turn my attention back to my food at the same time Diane says, “You know, Mandy doesn't ever bring men around, so you can imagine how surprised we were when she said she had a boyfriend, not to mention the fact you were coming over. However, I think it's safe to say, you have been a pleasant surprise.”
“Pleasant in deed.” Her father tips his glass at me before having a sip.
I politely thank them with a nod in return, “It's my pleasure to be here and to be around Mandy every chance I get is a gift I'm most thankful for.” Both of her parents look pleased, which is when I turn to Mandy with a shit eating grin. Sure, the relationship is pretend, but the feelings aren't. I'm falling in love with their daughter and the fact that the first time they meet me, they love me, has me radiating pride. They accept me at face value. They accept that I am an appropriate match for one of their most treasured things. That I'm good enough for someone as breathtaking as her. I let the smile fade, the realization this victory will be short lived. Once he starts digging into my past, which is what people with this much money do, I'm sure he'll deem me unworthy of his wine princess, the same way she's marked me unworthy to be more than a friend. One more member on the jury to vote what a fuck up of a person I am. One more member to vote I don't deserve the space God managed to give me.
53 Days Til the Wedding
“You've seen Scarface too many times.” Lordy shakes his head lifting weights at the gym we use away from our regional HORN headquarters.
“That's just it.” I lean against the pillar. “I've seen Scarface too many times to deny the facts. Pretty sure he could be involved in illegal activity.”
“You do know if he was Jazz would've told you by now right?” Grim stops his sit-ups to give me a disapproving look. “That's her job. To keep us away from shit like that.”
“Point.” Lordy points at Grim.
“That's not her job.”
He gives me a hard look.
“Okay that's not her only job.” When he doesn't change his expression I toss my hands in the air. “Fine! But when my body ends up floating down a river somewhere because I touched his daughter inappropriately, just know I'm coming back from the grave to haunt you both.”
“You haunt me in the living. Isn't that enough?” Grim sighs.
With a wink I insist, “You'd miss me if I was gone.”
“Don't fucking wink at me.”
Lordy starts chuckling. “Okay, but seriously man. How is this gonna end well?”
“Why do you think it's gonna end so bad?” I counter.
“Aside from the fact you're in love with her?” Lordy tosses out casually. Shoving my hands in my pockets I shrug. “This kind of shit never goes well. You've seen enough movies to know that.”
“Not chick flicks.”
“I haven't even seen that many chick flicks and know this is gonna end up shitty,” Grim adds in.
Desperate to change the subject I poke the bear I know could end me with one fierce attack. “You've seen chick flicks?”
“That's all you heard?” Grim rises to his feet wiping his face with his shirt.
“I heard what matters.”
Clearly becoming frustrated with me, he grits teeth and doesn't respond.
“I think you both have your panties in a twist. It's cool. We're friends. I'm just helping a friend out. No big deal,” I try to reassure them both.
“Yup.” Grim nods. “Keep telling yourself that bullshit.”
“I agree with Grim,” Lordy sighs as we head towards the doors to exit the building.
“Oh...no...don't say that,” I grouse. “Anything but that. You know how much I hate that.”
“Take the hint,” Grim stops on the other side of the doors, the warm air hitting us immediately. “Back out of this situation now. Tell Mandy, you'll go as her date to the event--”
“Wedding,” I correct him.
“Same bullshit.” He shakes it off. “Tell her that's it. Nothing else. No in between dates. None of this making your dinner--”
“Not necessarily dinner. Could be breakfast or lun--”
“Glove,” he sternly states looking me square in the eyes. “I know how you feel about her from just fucking looking at you. I've had my heart on the ground in pieces. So has Lordy. Don't let yours end up there. Save yourself while you can.”
Both of them have dealt with heartaches that require a level of commitment I've never been offered nor offered to anyone. That's the thing about fucking away your problems. You don't get tangled up with things like feelings. You only get tangled up in the sheets. The emotions you may or may not feel during sex, temporary. You just ride the wave of endorphins until it crashes and you can hit the redo button. Love is a subject I don't have to worry about. I chose wisely. A woman who will never fall for me prevents me from letting my heart hit the ground since she won't even touch it.
“Save your breath Grim,” Lordy insists tossing an arm around my shoulder. “We're too late. He's gonna be tattooing her name on his arm just like you did before we know it.”
Grim tosses us his middle finger before walking away to his car the sound of our laughter following behind. Looking over at Lordy I shake my head. “I'd never get a chick's name tattooed on me. That's like a death sentence.”
Lordy chuckles and shakes his head. “I gotta head in to work.”
“Were we called in?”
“We weren't,” he emphasizes. After a fist bump he heads towards the direction his car is parked.
After a quick drive home, I walk through the front door surprised by the display dancing around in our tiny apartment kitchen. With a pleased smirk, I drop my keys on the table and approach the bar area where I continue to watch Mandy pop her hips around to the rap music blaring from her phone. My eyes have no trouble traveling to her jean skirt that is seducing me with the illusion that if she moves just the right way I will get a peak of that bare ass I want so badly in my hands.
Mandy turns around and gasps slightly, at the sight of me. “Jesus! Don't you knock!”
“I live here,” I remind her gently.
“Still.”
“You do know that copy of our key is for emergencies or house sitting while we're away right?”
“And now, it's for keeping up my end of the deal and making you a meal,” she smirks sarcastically and turns back around killing the music.
Curious I try to peak over the edge surprised she cleaned the kitchen. I expected her to come in, clean the space she needed, and that's all, but all the dirty dishes and half empty food containers have disappeared. I can actually see our counters. Fuck. They're even shiny. “What are you making?”
“Breakfast.”
“It's 11:30.”
“And? You don't eat breakfast after 9? Please...don't make me count the number of times we've gone for breakfast after being hung over from having too many beers while watching a football game.”
I smirk at the simple memory. When Grim was away at Scout Sniper training, I was assigned a couple weeks at a time for combat training while Lordy was shipped away to work on linguistics. It left open amounts of time I could spend alone or with Mandy who sometime after Grim left for his first training started talking to me more in hopes I would talk to him about Haven. Her need to mettle in their relationship lead to us becoming friends. Good friends. Not just the kind of friend you grab a few beers with while watching the football game, but that kind of friend you could spend the rest of your life talking to. There's a small tug in my chest from the impossible idea. Maybe that's heartburn.
“You drink like a professional sorority girl,” I comment, watching her flip pancakes onto a plate.
“You drink like a third year frat boy,” she counters. “But neither of us were those things.”
“No...but I've crashed a few in my life.”
“And I've danced on tables at a few,” her confession is followed by her bringing full plates ou
t of the kitchen towards the dining room table I didn't even notice she had set up with juice, napkins, and silverware. This table is usually covered in beer bottles and pizza boxes or gym bags and beer bottles. Never was in a frat house but have had our apartment look like it multiple times.
“Sorority not your style? I mean, you know you're pretty enough.”
She sneers, “Thanks.” Flopping into the seat across from me she takes a bite of bacon. “But no. First off chef schools don't have sororities and second of all, I don't like to be told what to do or when to do it outside of the kitchen.”
“Or the bedroom,” my words cause her to kick me under the table.
“Ou...”
“Like I said outside of the kitchen.”
“You could always disprove the bedroom theory to me. It's right around the corner.”
“How many times a day do you think about getting me into bed?” She chomps on the bacon loudly.
“About the same amount you think of me.”
“So never?”
“If that's the lie you're going with.” I wink and she turns away to hide the slight flush on her face.
Even if she says I'm not her type or the type of man she could ever see herself with, I know well enough now that she is attracted to me. If that's where her interest has to stop then so be it. But at least that much is there. That kiss put the permanent nail in that theory, turning it into a non-debatable fact.
“Your sis was a sorority girl right?”
“What gave it away?”
I smirk, “What'd she go to school for? I can't imagine sleeping with doctors is a skill they teach you in college.”
“Sure it is. You start with your TA and work your way up to the dean.” My jaw slides open and she nods. “Twice.” Unsure of what to say in response I close my mouth around a forkful of the best over easy eggs I've had in my life. “She went for business administration so some day she can take over mom's hobby.”
“Didn't you tell me your mom's boutique racks in millions every year?”
“Yeah,” she twirls her pancakes around in the syrup. “But that doesn't matter. Being a good wife does. Being at his beck and call is all that's important to her. What my father says goes. His word is God.” I raise my eyebrows. “I hate that.”
She licks the syrup off her pouty lips and the only thing I can think about is getting my dick between them. My cock knocks against my shorts. Motherfucker I wish that was an invitation.
“Is that why you became a chef?” I pull my attention back to my meal knowing if I keep staring at her, my will power that stops me from throwing her on the table will waiver. “Because he told you not to?”
Mandy slows her chewing down and leans forward to rest an arm on the table, “That's part of it. He stopped telling me not to do that after I promised not to easy bake any more of his mail.”
I stifle a laugh. “What's the other part?”
“My sister is perfect. The perfect planned child. The perfect blend of their genetics. Proper. Well behaved while they're watching. A groomed trophy wife just waiting to sit on the shelf. Obedient. My father wanted her with her nose in the air and my mother wanted her ready to please a man so she would never want for anything in her life. The one thing she can't do? Cook.” Mandy let's a bitchy smile spread on her sassy face before sucking syrup off a finger. “Miss Pretty and Perfect can't cook to save her life. And it eats at her that I can.”
“So you became a chef out of spite.” I state.
“Better than being a stripper.”
“True.”
“Besides that, I really do like cooking. It's fun and an art form ya know? When I get in the kitchen the rest of the bullshit in life fades away and it's just...me and the food. I like that. Fuck, I love that.”
In a whisper I say, “I love that you love that.” Shit. I shouldn't have said that. That wasn't for me to say. I should've just kept that one to myself.
“Thanks,” she softly replies, her foot lightly grazing my calf underneath the table. The movement has my body stiffening. This is the first time she's ever touched me in a way that resembles something outside of our playful flirtation. This feels genuine. Soft. Vulnerable. Things neither of us are. The minute her toes run down my calf, I feel my eyes threatening to drift closed. How the fuck can one touch feel like I could come in my shorts? “What about you? You never told me why you joined the Marines.”
“Marines or prison seemed like the only two choices for a foster kid fuck up like myself, so I chose the one less likely to end with ass rape.”
She chuckles and her foot strokes me again, this time I put my fork down knowing I can't eat and enjoy the intimate feeling of her contact. My cock bumps against my shorts needing her touch. Fuck. As wound up as I am, my own would do. “Really?”
“Yeah. I grew up in foster care. Kicked from household to household. Most of the time I was the oldest kid and the least wanted. So I stirred up trouble, figuring fuck it why not? Eventually it was clear that that was gonna be the most I got out of life unless I did something to change it. So I signed up for the Marines right after I graduated. Reluctantly my last set of foster parents let me stay until that point. I turned 18 just a couple weeks before graduation. So basically I'm your typical bullshit troublemaker story,” I answer with a shrug taking a drink from my glass.
“You Michael...are anything but typical,” she assures, the gentle movement she was making before now directly on top of my bare foot, mine taking the risk of rubbing against hers. Instead of stomping on it or pulling away, I see her own eyes briefly close lost in the returned affection. A small shiver runs through her body. Arousal? “So you don't know anything about your birth parents?”
Hearing the question has me leaning back in my wooden seat. “No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“No.”
“Not even if they're alive?”
“No.”
“Don't you wanna know?”
“No.”
“But--”
“Drop it.” I state coldly.
Her dark eyes meet mine and I see a look I know well enough. It's one where she's ready to push. The one that hates being instructed to do anything. The one that tempts her into doing things like tongue kiss the girl at the bar because the bartender didn't believe she would. It's a look that in any other situation would light up my fucking world. But not in this situation. Not this time. The shit storm of my past isn't one that needs brightening, even if anyone could do it it would be her. It's her fearless look that makes her stand out in a sea of faces like the red dress in a room of white. It's her fearless attitude that makes her needing me in this situation she's in more significant.
Instead of opening her mouth for another word like I thought she would, she opens it, snatches a piece of bacon off my plate, and takes a viscous bite.
With a crooked smirk I shake my head, “Brat.”
Chewing she mumbles through bites, foot still softly stroking mine. “Child.”
After a brief moment the corner of her mouth turns upward, I feel air return to my lungs. As much as I love the other boundaries we flirt with, the ones our fingers tug, the ones our toes touch tempting to step over to the other side, there are some lines I can't cross not only because I don't want to, but because I have no fucking clue what's really on the other side.
51 Days til the Wedding
Sneaking into my bedroom window is easier when I'm not this drunk. It's obvious the guy who invented windows had never been drunk before. Fumbling with the fucking thing for the fourth time I realize that the only logical reason it won't open must be because it's locked. Fuck. I stumble further down the side of the house, tripping over a bike in the process, face planting into the ground. The sting plays a great role in my sobriety as I peal myself off the ground. At the window that's home to the other three foster kids in the house, I slip my fingers underneath and lift meeting no resistance. Ugh. I'm gonna chew Khloe out for locking that fucking window. I told her ther
e was no such things as fucking monsters and if there were they wouldn't use the goddamn window.
My foot gets caught on a teddy bear and I nearly fall again. The floor of the younger kids’ room is like a minefield, one wrong move and I'm either eating stained carpet or will have a hot wheels car in my ass. Tiptoeing the best I can around their toys, I sneak out not waking up the three, four, or five year old. Quietly I stagger a few feet down the hall and open the door to the room me and Khloe share.
To my surprise I see Jerry, our foster father, with his hands on Khloe's bunk. The sound of her whimpers forces me to shake my head in hopes of clearing the alcohol haze.
“Khlo'?”
Startled by my presence Jerry pulls his hands from under her sheets and turns around, sweat streaked across his forehead.
“What's wrong with her?” I try to look around him and she rolls over, the sound of her crying muffled.
“Nightmare. I just...I came to tuck her back in.” Puzzled I raise my eyebrows and he folds his arms across his chest. “And where were you?”
“Drinking,” I shrug, the buzz of alcohol quickly fading as well as the sex high.
“We don't condone that.”
“Which is why I did it out of the house.”
With a firm finger he points. “My wife may like you, but I don't. You're lucky you're leaving in two weeks otherwise we would kick you out.”
“That's luck?” I mutter.
“What'd you say?”
“Goodnight.” My head nods to the door for him to exit.
He grunts and grumbles something as he shuts the door. Quickly, at least for my inebriated state, I move my body back to the door and push my ear against it listening to his footsteps take him back to his room. The second I hear his door close, I grab the chair from the desk, and wedge it under the handle. Fucking house doesn't believe in locks. Dumbest thing I've ever heard.
“Khlo'?” I call out and the sound of crying increases in volume. “Khloe are you okay?” In a swift motion, I'm relocated and standing on the bottom bunk peering down over her. “Khloe...talk to me.”
