Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1)

by L. M. Carr

  Remy bends at the waist and scratches her ankle once again. Her eyes dance with humor when she tells me that despite facing the world’s worst ant invasion, she had a really great time. I try to convince her that if she needs help applying cortisone to all those “hard to reach places,” I’m the right man for the job. She lifts one of my hands and places it against hers, palm to palm. She stares at our joined hands, appraising the difference in sizes.

  “I wonder what else these hands can do.” She smirks, shooting me a suggestive look which causes a painful ache in my stiffness. Never in my life have a woman’s mere words done this to me. I think I’d explode immediately if she unzips my pants and slides her hand down my shaft.

  With a knowing smile, she remarks that it’s late and that she’s got a lot of homework to do for class. It was her subtle way of telling me that I wouldn’t be seeing her tomorrow.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks for dinner and the flowers.”

  “Good night, Remy.” I growl, after kissing her slowly.

  She moans in response and then smiles. “Good night, Shane Thomas.”

  She laughs and turns abruptly to board the Red Line.

  Laughter erupts and then halts. “Stalker!” I call out, realizing she’s done some extensive “research” to know my middle name.

  “Research,” she mouths as the sliding doors close. She bites her bottom lip to prevent a smile.

  I walk to catch the train bound for my side of the city. Onlookers stare at me as I pass by. The ridiculous grin on my face won’t relent. I’m sure I look like a deranged person, smiling to himself. Little do they know the reason for my happiness is a petite blonde whose name is Remington Scott.

  “Research,” the little voice in my head justifies.

  I’m lying awake in bed, still thinking about her after having just finished jerking off for the second time, when I hear Collin stroll in well after two. He curses at the coffee table for being in his way. His muffled laughter is joined by a woman’s. Her laugh is annoying; it’s high pitched and forced. It’s nothing like Remy’s.

  Within minutes, I’m forced to dig out my headphones and place them over my ears, cranking up Crawling by Linkin Park just to drown out the sound of my buddy and some girl having sex twenty feet away in my living room.

  The next day, after making the hour and a half trip home to see my sister and driving then hitting traffic on the way back, Collin and I are ready for a couple of beers and a round or two of darts. But when Jenna texts him, he ditches me.

  With a heavy pat to his back, I ask, “What happened to bros before hos?”

  His quick response of “With all due respect, I can’t exactly fuck you, Sir” makes me laugh hard.

  “Whatever, man. You go have fun.” I head down to a sports bar near Fenway to catch the last half of the game.

  Remy

  “DAVID, IT WAS bad! She was crying and screaming all night. I didn’t know what to do.” I stare at my cup of green tea and shake my head, dispelling the images of my mother battered and bruised. “I tried to call the cops, but she slapped the phone out of my hand, leaving this scratch on my face.” My fingertips graze my cheek lightly. I hope the thick layer of concealer I applied earlier does its job.

  “Remy, you are the child. She’s the parent, albeit an irresponsible and reckless one, but a parent nonetheless. You know you can’t control her any more than you can control the weather.” He takes my hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly while rubbing his thumbs across my knuckles. I smile my appreciation at the kind gesture but pull away and wrap my hands around the hot paper cup.

  “I’m worried about her. I wish I could make her go to rehab or somewhere far away from all of this crap.”

  “She’d never go. She needs help, but unless she’s willing to help herself, things will never change. The choice has to be hers.” David’s voice fills with strong conviction, no doubt a result of the years he spent as a counselor.

  “I know,” I agree. “I’m just wishful thinking.”

  Long fingers tap on the table creating a rhythmic sound. “So have you looked into those internships I recommended?”

  “Not yet,” I exhale an exasperated breath.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asks sternly with a glare. “They’re filling up quickly. There may not be any positions available.” My advisor can’t hide the annoyance in his voice. I know he’s pulled some strings and made phone calls to help me out, but the internship isn’t exactly at the top of my list of priorities. He doesn’t need to know that a certain gorgeous, extremely sexy man has recently taken up residence in my brain. But more importantly, my heart. Even when I’m spending hours and hours reading case studies, I think of Shane. Shane Thomas Davis. I even like his freaking name.

  I turn the table on him. “So have you looked into online dating like I recommended?”I’m tempted to come right out and ask about the nature of his relationship with Chanel, but I don’t.

  He snickers quietly. “Nice try,” he says, seeing right through my attempt at diversion.

  “C’mon. When was the last time you went on a date?”

  I love the way his hazel eyes narrow behind his glasses when he smiles. He looks attractive, young and, for a brief moment, happy.

  David looks out the window sadly before turning his gaze downward into his coffee cup. “Remy, no one will ever replace her.” I can hear the heart break which still lingers heavily in his quiet voice.

  “She’ll always be a part of you.” Images of the four of us together flood my mind, causing me to smile in remembrance. “She’ll always be a part of us.”

  My attempt to divert the conversation away from my life ends in awkward silence as we sit there, each drinking the last of our hot beverages.

  Sorrowful eyes search my face. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks. For the first time since I’ve known him, David sounds unsure, lacking the self-confidence he’s always had. The uncertainty and possible doubt of whether or not I can pull myself up and make it to the other side makes my heart hurt a little. Oh God, please don’t let David lose faith in me. He’s always been my rock.

  “Yeah, I will be. I have to be. ” I reassure him as I stand. Turning the ringer back on my phone, I glance at it, wondering if I missed any calls or texts from Shane. My heart sinks a little because the screen is blank. Quietly, I tuck the phone into my back pocket.

  I lean in, offering a quick kiss on my mentor’s cheek and pat his shoulder as I pass by, walking toward the door. Just before I push the door open, I turn back to find him looking at me with sympathetic eyes. I smile weakly and mouth, “Thank you.”

  He simply nods and watches me leave.

  I walk aimlessly around downtown Boston. I don’t want to go home to the train wreck that is my mother. I don’t to walk in to see yet another man fucking her because “she owes him.” I don’t want to be reminded of the life she chose or think about how it’s affecting me. Nature vs. nurture, remember?

  I think about texting Shane to see what he’s doing and maybe invite him out for a late lunch. A fluorescent green flier tapped to the streetlight catches my attention. I read it while I wait for the light to change. It says there’s a concert in the park. A silly grin stretches across my face as I think about the ant invasion which began on my ankles and ended on my ass. Shane’s offer to rub cortisone on me was hard to resist. God only knows how much I want his touch. I want to feel his lips again. I want to touch his body everywhere. I sigh heavily as I join the crowd and cross the street.

  Finding that I’m actually enjoying this unusual venture out on a Sunday afternoon in this part of Boston, I continue walking until a figure catches my attention. A red-haired mechanical mannequin, dressed in black leather, holds a whip in the air and wields it proudly in the window of the shop. I stop to admire her long, thin legs and envy her small boobs. I break out into a fit of giggles when I realize what I must look like. Someone would think that I’m checking out the outfit, maybe hoping to wear it
for my lover. I’m all set. Domination and pain and whatever else goes along with that lifestyle aren’t for me.

  Sex shouldn’t be used as a method of payment like cash or a debit card. It should be filled with soft words and tender caresses; making love shouldn’t be demeaning while your face is shoved down onto the dirty floor with some disgusting, smelly old man driving violently into you from behind. I blink away the memory when the vibration of my phone startles me. A man with long shaggy hair who smells like weed smiles knowingly at me. I rolls my eyes and cover my flushed cheeks for having just been caught staring at the femme fatale.

  Jenna’s name appears on the screen.

  “Hey, you. What’s up?” I ask as I walk away from the hippy looking guy.

  “Nothing,” she sings. I know that tone. It’s her “I’m in love with a guy already” tone.

  “Where are you?”

  “At Shane’s place.”

  Shane’s? Why would she be there? I wrack my brain until I come up with the only logical conclusion. Collin.

  “Is Shane there?” I hold my breath for the answer. I’d love to see where Mr. Abercrombie lives. God knows he’ll never see where I live.

  “No. He went out a little while ago.”

  “Oh,” is the single word that falls from my lips and I exhale deeply. I feel disappointed for some strange reason. It would’ve been nice knowing he’s there, maybe thinking about me.I really shouldn’t get my hopes up. Even though our physical attraction is crystal clear, we’re not exactly compatible. He’s got a firm grip on his life and I’m barely holding on by my fingertips.

  “So how was your date last night?” Jenna asks.

  Surprisingly wonderful. I loved spending every minute with Shane. I loved holding his hand. I loved touching his arms. I loved kissing his lips. Jenna and I fall into an easy conversation about my date, the ant invasion and the kiss until I hear Collin take the phone and laugh, telling me that he’s sorry but Jenna can’t talk anymore. Oh, my sweet friend is falling fast and hard for that boy.

  My open-toe ballet flats get caught in a gutter and I nearly fall on my face. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I could use a little dose of reality right about now. Shane Davis is proving to be a huge distraction. I should be at the library researching but instead I’m wandering the streets of Boston, wondering what he’s doing. I can’t become the girl who goes a little too crazy over a guy. Or the one who becomes so obsessed that she can’t sleep, eat or even think straight. I can’t become Jenna. Diverting from the plan isn’t an option for me. I have a one way ticket with no stops or detours along the way.

  The Sox are playing tonight and although I can’t see the park, I can hear the cheering that bellows out from all the sports bars. I startle when a group of guys yell, shouting wildly about how the catcher never tagged the runner. I shake my head at their passionate display for a baseball game. My eyes fall to the side of the group and meet familiar blue eyes staring at me.

  Shane tips back his beer as a woman leans over to whisper in his ear. He doesn’t turn away nor does he acknowledge her. He just stares at me. I don’t like the look on his face. The blue in his eyes seems darker than normal, almost the color of murky ocean water. He doesn’t look mad or happy; he’s …indifferent, as if I’m a stranger to him or as if he doesn’t care about me. He seems to have forgotten how he knocked me off my feet last night when we kissed.

  A cold chill runs through me when I feel another pair of eyes on me. I turn to see the rear window on the dark sedan lower to reveal his beady eyes. When a red light forces the car to stop, the door opens and he steps out. Panic runs rampant through my body as he takes steps toward me. My eyes dart around, looking for someone to help me. I want to scream for Shane, but I can see the woman leaning into him. I swallow hard and think about what to do. I bolt like lightning in the opposite direction, letting my legs carry me as fast as possible. I slip into a small boutique and hide behind the shelf of handmade turquoise and silver jewelry, ignoring the gasps and glares from the eccentric older lady who owns the place.

  A chirp alerts me of an incoming text. I expect to read an explanation from Shane, but it’s not from him. It’s from him. The debt collector.

  “Don’t run from me.” To someone else, it would be an innocent, but I understand the meaning.

  When I’m sure he’s gone, I utter a quick apology to the shop owner. If I had extra cash, I would buy something for troubling her. I walk toward the Red Line but change my mind as the idea of being trapped underground with strangers or him terrifies me. I grab my phone and press the second name listed under “Favorites.”

  “Hey, it’s me. I need a favor. Can you pick me up?” I rattle off my location and wait. My eyes wander from left to right, looking and searching, until I hear the roar of a motorcycle fly down the street. I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you!” I kiss Simon’s cheek as I mount the back of the black Suzuki. I wrap my arms around his waist, hold on for dear life, and screw my eyes shut. I want to block out the cars that seem to be standing still as we whiz past. I want to block out the image of Shane with that woman.

  “You sure you don’t want me to come up?” Simon asks with a hint of sympathy. He knows what might be there when I unlock the door to our tiny, two bedroom apartment. He’s been there before to drag me away while my mother shot herself up with heroin. He’s been there to drag men away before.

  I drop my eyes and look at my toes and wonder what color I could paint them now. I think about anything and everything except what I’m sure to face. “No, thanks. I’ll be okay,” I whisper, finally sneaking a peek at him. I brush the longer hair away from his face and run my hand along the jagged scar that follows his strong jaw line. “You go. You’ve done enough for me.”

  His hand covers mine and his turns to kiss my palm. “Call me if you need me. I’ll do anything for you. You know that.”

  The smile that’s meant to make me feel better only makes me sadder. There’s so much truth in his words; his scar is a daily reminder of it.

  He mounts his bike and starts the engine, revving it loudly for the whole neighborhood to hear.

  “Hey,” I call to him over the loud roar. “Magda’s right. You are an asshole!”

  “But you love me!”

  “That I do.” I blow him a kiss before he glances over his shoulder and maneuvers into the light traffic.

  I sigh heavily as I climb the broken concrete steps that lead me into the world of misery and despair. The light in the narrow hallway is out again and I have to remember to call the building manager about the deadbolt that doesn’t work. As I pass by each door, I listen to the multitude of sounds that come from behind them. Voices yelling. Babies crying. Television blarings. Bob Marley singing.

  The apartment is quiet when I step through the door. I call my mother’s name, but there’s no response so I assume that she’s either passed out or not home. Pushing her bedroom door open, I scan the unkempt room and close the door when I find nothing out of its usual messy, disorganized place.

  Not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the rust-stained tub, I shower quickly and let the hot water pelt my face. It takes me no time at all to wash my hair. I guess that’s one of the benefits to having hair like a guy’s. I do miss my long hair sometimes. I wonder if Shane likes long hair. I wonder if Shane would run his fingers through it. What am I saying? I’m standing naked in the shower, lathering soap all over my body and I’m thinking about him. The jerk didn’t give me the time of day today when I saw him. Maybe he’s not the nice guy I thought he was. I wonder if that kiss sent a mixed message. Too bad! I told him I didn’t put out on the first date.

  I dry myself off with a towel embroidered with an H, rolling my eyes and wondering which Boston hotel is missing one plush towel thanks to my mother’s sticky fingers. I hear the door open and slam shut. Wrapping the huge towel around me, I open the bathroom door and call out again to see who’s here. Nothing. Then my mother’
s laughter and moans seem to fill every crack and crevice, scaring the rodents back into their holes. I tiptoe to my room and lock the door, securing my wooden chair under the doorknob. With earbuds pushed deep in my ears, I blast Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major to drown out the sounds coming through the thin walls.

  Like clockwork, I jolt awake before the sun rises and I look around. I notice the chair is where I’ve left it wedged under the door handle and my body is still wrapped in the plush towel. I let my eyes drift as I remember the dream. I was on a rollercoaster with Shane. The car clicked its way up the track, excited people screamed all around me. I laughed with nervous anticipation, but Shane’s handsome face was serious. Suddenly, his hands were on me and I tried so hard to free myself from the restraints that held me in place. His hands slipped in between my legs and brushed my throbbing flesh. As we reached the top, his fingers plunged deeply, violently in my core. I threw my hands up in the air, howling as I climaxed through our sharp descent before we zipped around to the right and then to the left.

  I close my eyes and sigh. I shake my head in disbelief when I reach between my legs and find myself warm and wet. Oh Shane Davis, what am I going to do about you?

  That’s the question I think about after I check in on my mother and pedal across town to the diner. I remember Shane told me the kids would be starting the new school year soon, but I can’t remember if today is the first day of school or not.