Not For Sale

by Tasha Fawkes

“Thanks, Mom,” I mutter, feeling petulant and childish, but unable to help myself. I love my mom, but she checked out of this world a couple years ago, overtaken by bouts of depression so deep she’s been hospitalized several times. I have great sympathy for her illness, but sometimes, I just need my mother to answer the phone. I miss talking to her and asking things as simple as when my last vaccinations were.

  Guilt immediately follows these negative thoughts, and I cross the street, heading to the nursing home located down the block. Outside its doors, I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face.

  “Hi, Judy,” I say to the receptionist as I sign in.

  The older lady gives me a motherly grin. “Hi, Daniela. You’re here awfully early today.”

  I hold up my bandaged hand, and her smile fades away. “It’s no big deal. Just got me out of work earlier than usual.”

  She gives me the same watch out for infection lecture I’d just endured, then buzzes me through the security door. I walk the familiar hallway, then bounce up the stairs until I’m on the third-floor residence hall. Here, the living accommodations are more like apartments and couples can live together in the space with minimal assistance from the staff. When we moved to Chicago a couple years ago, finding this place was like a miracle for both of my parents.

  Outside of their room, I take another deep breath and gently push open the door. Mom is lying on her bed, curled up in a tight ball while Dad watches TV from his, the dialysis machine churning its blood cleansing wheels beside him.

  “Hey, Dani-bean,” Dad calls out when he sees me. I frown at how pale he is. I plaster on the smile again and walk over to his bed. He clicks off the television and pats the mattress for me to take a seat next to him. I do and am soon enfolded next to his warmth – the safest place I’ve ever known.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask him after a few minutes, but already know what his answer will be.

  “Fine and dandy,” we say together and laugh. It’s the same response I get every day.

  Diagnosed as a teenager with what was then called juvenile diabetes, his disease has been progressively working on his kidneys until it became clear that a transplant was his only option. I hug him tighter, willing his name to miraculously jump up higher on the donor list before his body is too weak for the operation. Normal wait time is four to six years, and he’s already been on the list for nearly three.

  I stay until he grows tired, then kiss him on the forehead and say my goodbyes. I step over to Mom’s bed and give her a kiss too, wishing there was an operation that could fix the progressive deterioration of her mind and spirit.

  Minutes later, I’m sitting in a cab on the way back to my apartment. Well, our apartment – it still feels weird to think of it that way. Pete and I have been dating almost two years and have lived together for one. We met at a club where he was DJing. I was tending the bar and we bumped into each other when we both headed outside for a break. The rest is history.

  Before we met, I was living in a cramped apartment with three roommates, so moving in with him saved my sanity. I look at my watch and smile. Pete should still be home, and I could use a little sanity saving right now.

  Pete is a self-diagnosed sex addict, and he never stops going at it. If I just hint that I’m in the mood, he’ll be rubbing up on me in a nanosecond. Even though he’s twenty-four now, he still has the libido of a fifteen-year-old who’s just seen his first pair of tits.

  I squirm in my seat just thinking about being with him. He’s by far the hottest guy I’ve ever slept with, although that’s not saying much. There wasn’t exactly a wide choice of sex gods back in my little hometown of Pella, Iowa. So when Pete entered my life, all muscles and cropped hair and cheekbones, I felt as though I’d hit some crazy lottery. Yeah, he’s not the smartest, and he flirts too much with other women, but hey, with that body and face, I can’t complain.

  I’m ready for something wild…maybe anal? Pete always asks, but we’ve never actually done it because I’m nervous it might hurt. But today, a little pain, followed by a delightful orgasm, might just be what the doctor ordered to make me forget this entire day. I run my fingers through my hair and pull out my phone, inspecting myself using the selfie camera. I look a mess, but a dab of makeup will cover up the worst.

  I pay the driver and hop out of the cab, fumbling awkwardly with my opposite hand in my pocket to find my keys. I unlock the door and sashay my way up the stairs, doing my best to feel sexy as I open the door to the apartment. That’s when I hear it.

  The unmistakable sound of sex coming from our bedroom.

  Bedsprings are creaking rhythmically, and Pete’s small moans of pleasure echo throughout the house. I close the door quietly, not sure how to react, and make my way across the hall. I press my ear to the bedroom door, and I could swear that…

  Before I can finish my thought, the door flies open, and I tumble into the room. I gape at the display before me. Pete is standing in front of me, stark naked, and in our bed is a…guy. The covers are pulled haphazardly around him so I can’t see if he’s naked too, but I’m not stupid enough to place money against that one.

  My face feels numb as all the blood drains into my toes. I open my mouth to say something–

  “I’m sorry,” he blurts out before I can utter a sound. “I thought you were at work.”

  “S-so?” I manage to say, clutching my hand, which has started to emit a low dull throbbing in rhythm to my pounding heart.

  “So…” He gestures to the guy behind him. “I know I should have told you sooner–”

  I begin to snap back into reality. “Wait, how long has this been going on?”

  “Uh, a couple weeks?” Pete flashes me a smile as if I’m just going to roll over and take this.

  “And is he the first…?” I trail off, not sure whether I should specify gender. I’m too shell-shocked to really know what I need to find out.

  “Uh, yeah,” Pete runs a hand through his hair, and I can see that he’s lying.

  “Hey, you want to join us or not?” The guy in the bed props up on his elbows and raises his eyebrows at me.

  My mouth opens in disbelief, but nothing comes out. Again, I’m speechless.

  Pete scratches the stubble on his chin. “Could be fun.”

  “Fuck you!” I snap, finding my anger at last. “I’m leaving.”

  “When will you be back?” Pete asks casually as if this is nothing more than a mild disagreement.

  “I won’t,” I snarl. “We’re done.”

  “Dani, wait!” he calls as I storm out of the room. I ignore him and slam the door so hard I hear the bed shake. I’ll come back later to pick up my stuff, but right now, I need to get the hell away from here.

  I make it down to the street before it hits me. Just like that, I’m single again. And homeless. I don’t cry, which surprises me. After my last breakup, I bawled my eyes out for a full week, and we’d only been together six months. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I always suspected that Pete wasn’t entirely faithful, but his bisexuality, well, that was a surprise.

  It’s a hot and humid Chicago day, and the sweat is pouring off me as I walk fast, barely noticing my surroundings. I’m trying to put as much space as I possibly can between my cheating ex-boyfriend and me.

  I look up and realize that I’m outside of work. The faded Trinity Bar sign sits a few feet over my head, and I sigh when I think about what this says about me. My safe place is my job? That’s shitty. Since I’m here, I might as well find out if I can make up the hours I missed earlier. My hand feels better, and I could sure use the extra tips.

  Inside, it’s even more humid than on the streets. The crowds are gathering for the Friday night drinking marathon. I squeeze through the reams of people, exchanging a few loaded looks with a couple of cute guys who give me the up and down. I can’t imagine I’m looking my best, but I appreciate the attention.

  Dennis has left, replaced by Sheila, the night manager. Everyone prefers her to the
asshole because she’s a lot easier to get along with.

  “Hey, Sheila.” I stick my head into her office, and she jolts slightly at my appearance.

  “Surprised to see you here,” she says and leans back in her seat. “Dennis told me you had a pretty nasty accident earlier today. He sent you to the ER, right?”

  “Yeah.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the mere mention of Dennis’s name. “But I’m all put together again, and I’ve got the evening off, so I thought–?”

  “If you think I’m going to let you out there on a Friday night with your hand sliced and diced, you’ve got another thing coming.” Sheila gets to her feet and steps toward me. “Come on. Go home, get some rest. Get that cute and sexy boyfriend of yours to look after you.”

  I try to hide the look of disappointment on my face. “Sure,” I mumble, not ready to share the news of our break-up with anyone. I sidle back into the bar, scanning the place. Time to change my luck. I’ve had a creep coming on to me, an accident that sent me to the emergency room, and a break-up with my boyfriend of two years, all in one day. As my old daddy always says – when life hands you lemons, make whiskey sour.

  I push my way through to the bar and lean on the counter, catching Tina’s eye. She quickly heads my way and deftly pours a shot into a small glass, shoving it toward me.

  “This will help. How’s your hand?” She frowns sympathetically.

  “They just dumped some of that glue stuff in it. It’s nothing, really.” I offer her my best fake smile and reach for the drink with my bad hand – wincing. I withdraw it and use the other to toss back the shot.

  “Be careful. You’ll tear it open. I’ve got to serve that group over there,” Tina nods to a table at the other side of the bar, “but I’ll catch you soon, yeah?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I watch her leave and fight the urge to reach over the bar and pour myself another shot. One thing is certain, after this long fucked-upped day, all I want to do is get wasted.

  “Are you okay?”

  I jump as a soft hand lands on my shoulder. I turn and see the woman who defended me earlier. I give her a smile. “Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate you stepping up for me.”

  She holds out a hand. “I’m Aria,” she says as she takes a seat beside me.

  I’m grateful that my wound is on my left hand as we shake. “Daniela.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay,” she asks, eyeing me closely. “You seem…upset.”

  I’m not sure why, but I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. I blink hard, willing them away.

  Aria squeezes my fingers. “Oh, honey, want to talk about it?”

  I look into her eyes and realize I do. Maybe talking to a stranger will be easier than with a friend.

  As I spill my story, Aria orders us both a straight whiskey.

  “I didn’t even know he was bi,” I complain and take a sip.

  She winks at me. “Nothing wrong with that,” she says with a laugh.

  I laugh too and the stress of the day seems to float away. Maybe it’s the effects of the whiskey, but I think it’s more that I’m able to get all this burden off my chest.

  “Thanks for listening to all that,” I tell her and raise my glass in a silent toast.

  She clinks her glass to mine. “Anytime. And speaking of anytime, how about this weekend?”

  I look at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

  She leans closer. “My aunt has this amazing house down in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I’m heading down there this weekend for a party but I hate traveling alone. You should come with me. Plenty of hot and sexy guys. Nothing like getting your mind off a guy than a quick fling with another guy.”

  I smile. “That sounds incredible, but right now, I can’t even afford a McDonalds happy meal, much less a plane ticket.”

  “Oh, honey.” Aria laughs. “You’ll be so glad you met me. I’ve got like two million flying miles saved up. We’ll get you a ticket.”

  I look up from the amber liquid I’d been staring at and meet Aria’s eyes. “Seriously?”

  Aria nods. “Seriously.”

  It’s tempting. Florida does sound better than Chicago any day of the week.

  “Come on,” Aria says as I hesitate. “The ocean. Hot guys. Free getaway with a new friend. How can you say no to all that?”

  How indeed?

  ***

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  About the Author

  Tasha Fawkes

  I’m originally from a small southern town where everyone knew everyone and their business. I was so happy to leave and move to California for college where I was originally going to be a veterinarian. Well, I met a guy (yeah it’s that kind of story) and dropped out of school to have my oldest daughter. We soon divorced, and as therapy, I started to write.

  I never did go back to college, and have been writing ever since. I love to write about sex. Lots of sex. Taboo sex, kinky sex, anything but missionary sex (unless the heroine is tied up tight!) It’s probably something to do with my southern upbringing.

  I hope you enjoy my stories and if you have any kinky stories, I’d love to hear about them.

  XXX,

  Tasha

  Please visit me at:

  http://tashafawkes.com/

  Copyright

  © 2017 Tasha Fawkes

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Safira Publishing

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.