Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1)

by Whitney Barbetti

  “Do you think it will rain?” Six asked.

  With the glass at my lips, I cocked my head to the side. Who cares?

  Six's eyes darted to his left, toward my three-o-clock. As casually as possible, I looked toward the window, in the direction of the woman in the emerald green dress. Black hair hung in ringlets over her shoulders, kissing tan skin. She had one elbow propped up on the table, her chin resting on her fist, as she stared adoringly at her dinner companion. I'd guessed she was a few years older than me and had spent more money on her manicure than I had in my bank account after paying rent.

  “The sky is too dark to tell,” I said, turning back to Six. I could do this, easily.

  “I was thinking we'd go for a walk after dinner.”

  I knew it was part of the mask, so I hummed agreeably, finishing my first glass of wine.

  By the time appetizers were done, I'd finished my second glass of wine and had a pleasant little tingle. I was ready to get this woman to spill her guts. Six and I engaged in light conversation to pass the time, but we were both tightly coiled, waiting for the woman to use the restroom.

  When I finally sensed her movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned to Six. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said calmly, a moment after I saw her walk behind him toward the restrooms.

  I started to go to the restroom, only to be halted by Six's hand on my waist. He squeezed and I leaned toward him. He tugged my hair, bringing my face close to his. “Don't scare her away,” he murmured, loosening his hold.

  I nodded and winked before pulling away.

  Upon entering, I looked at the only stall with the door closed.

  I walked up to the right side of the sink and placed my clutch on the counter. I stared at my reflection, at my wild mane of black and purple curls. I'd smudged black eyeshadow on my eyelid and used concealer below my eyes, but otherwise I was free of makeup. Peering into the clutch, I saw brand new bottles of makeup meant to disguise the silver-gray recorder. I turned it on while coughing, hoping it didn't beep. I grabbed a brightly colored tube of mascara and applied it to my lashes in haste, purposefully smearing a chunk on my eyelid.

  There was a bottle of perfume in the clutch, and I pulled it out, dousing myself in – judging by the label – a very expensive scent. I pinched my cheeks to add color and was running my fingers through my shoulder-length hair when the stall opened.

  Emerald Dress paused upon seeing me. Her arresting blue eyes caused me to pause too, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror. She smiled a soft, polite smile and approached the sink.

  As she washed her hands, I leaned over the sink, bringing me just inches from the mirror. “Oh no,” I murmured, bringing a finger to my face.

  The woman looked up at me, and I reached in my clutch and made rustling movements, as if I was searching for something. I looked over at the woman. “Do you mind helping me? I seem to have smeared mascara all over my eyelid—I'm afraid I'm no good at makeup and just keep making it worse.” It was pathetic, but I wasn't sure how else to keep her in the bathroom long enough to get some conversation from her. My voice was calculated to sound as if this was a terrible tragedy, in the hopes that I'd garner some sympathy from Miss fancy dress.

  “Oh, you did.” She faced me full on and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she perused my shoddy makeup job. “You just need to wipe it; a wet paper towel will do.”

  Shit. I couldn't have her leave just yet. “I hate to trouble you, but would you mind helping me?” I thought of one of my former dealers who had the shakes and blamed them on his asthma meds, but we all knew he was getting a little sour in the head. “I have asthma and my medication makes me tremble. I'll just make a mess of it.”

  I watched her struggle with a thought for a moment before her eyes lit up. “Okay, sure.” Her smile was hesitant at first before it spread with wild abandon. “I'm a makeup artist, actually.”

  Of course she was. I nodded encouragingly and waited as she looked at the mascara tube I handed her. “I can show you how to apply this to give you more length.”

  Of course she would. I yanked a few paper towels from the holder and wet them before pressing them to my eye and rubbing, smearing the makeup everywhere. It hadn't been my intention to do it, but judging by the look on Emerald Dress's face, she wanted to coddle me a little.

  “Here, let me.” She grabbed paper towels and wet them with warm water. “Tip your head back just slightly.” She moved into my space as I waited, dabbing the paper towel around the smudges.

  “You're a lifesaver. What perfume are you wearing?” Was that appropriate to ask someone? I wasn't sure. But I needed to get her talking.

  “Oh.” She pulled her arm away from my face, and I opened my eyes, watching her sniff her wrist delicately. “It's Calvin Klein. Not sure which one. My boyfriend got it for me.”

  Bingo. “Well, he has good taste.”

  She smiled, bringing the towel back to my face. “He must; he picked this place for dinner.”

  The wine was loosening my lips. Six hadn’t given me much direction on getting her to talk, or what to talk about specifically, but I felt like I needed emerald dress to say his name, needed it to be recorded. “Oh, Jonathan, my boyfriend, says they have great seafood.”

  “They do,” she agreed, pulling away from my face. “Let's apply that makeup again.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  She hummed for a minute as she wiped up the last bits of smeared mascara. “I am. I work about a mile away.”

  “I'm new here myself.” The lie slipped from my lips easily, so easily I nearly believed it myself.

  She held up my mascara wand and removed the excess by scraping it across the top.

  Nerves were starting to break through the wine high. “Do you know any nearby hotels? I should have booked a reservation, but this was kind of an impulse trip.”

  “Oh.” She pressed her thumb to my brow as she applied the mascara with the wand placed vertically. “My boyfriend stays at one by the water. Now if you apply the mascara this way, you get more fullness out of it.”

  I wanted to nod impatiently, but because she had a wand right next to my eyeball, I didn’t. “I know which one you're talking about.” I made a slight nodding motion with my head and she placed her fingers on my temples and held me still. “Does it have a decent bar? Jonathan is pretty discerning about hotel bars.”

  She laughed and pulled away, tilting her head from side to side as she looked at my eyes. “So is Clay. I assume if it's good enough for him, it's good enough for the President. He's very particular about his Old Fashioneds,” she confided, winking one heavily mascaraed eye at me.

  “Clay?” I asked.

  “Mhm. I'll have to apply more to this eye, even them out a bit.”

  Whatever, Emerald Dress. Just keep talking. “I'm Diana, by the way.”

  “Claire,” she returned, sliding the mascara over my lashes.

  “Claire and Clay. Has a nice ring to it.”

  She held up her left hand with a frown. “No ring yet. Clay isn't ready.”

  “Not ready? For you? Come on.” Tone it down, Mira, I chided. “He's not getting any younger.” I hadn't actually gotten a look at him when I'd left the table, but I hoped I'd be able to glean more information from Claire this way.

  She sighed. “I know. He'll be fifty in December.”

  It was a good thing I didn't have any food or drink in my mouth because I would have choked. This woman looked less than thirty and much too young to be the play-thing of a nearly fifty-year-old suspected adulterer. “What's holding him back?”

  “Close your eyes about halfway,” she instructed, bringing the wand close to my face. “And I don't know. He's really busy. He doesn't live here, which poses many problems.”

  “Where does he live?” I opened the one eye she wasn't working on.

  “Seattle. He comes here for business.” She pouted. “I only see him once or twice a month.”

  My eyelashes tickled as
she dragged the mascara across them. “Surely he can work anywhere. What kind of business?” I hoped I was getting enough information for Six to confirm to his client that this was her cheating dickwad of a husband.

  Claire was silent for a second, wiping a glob of mascara off the end of the wand. Her thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

  “Claire?” I asked.

  She blinked quickly and stared at me. “He's a pilot.” Her forehead creased as if the thought troubled her. “He could live anywhere,” she agreed. “But he loves Seattle.” She leaned in with the glob-free wand and gestured for me to close my eyes. She applied the last of the mascara. “He has a house boat.”

  “So go to Seattle.” I opened my eyes and looked square at Claire. “All men eventually get tired of the chase. You could check out his house boat!” And his wife! I added to myself.

  She stepped back a foot and looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, you're right.” Happiness bloomed over her face. “I just might!” She looked positively giddy. I felt a twinge of guilt then. She didn't seem to know that her precious boyfriend was two-timing his wife to be with her, 'once or twice a month.' But I shut it down the moment it flitted through my brain.

  I didn't think I was qualified to give advice about breathing, forget dating. I nearly laughed as she twisted the wand back into the tube of mascara.

  I turned to face the mirror. Good God, she'd gone heavy. Well, anything was heavy on my normally makeup-free face. “You're a lifesaver.”

  I stayed behind for a couple minutes after she had left and turned off the recorder. I wiped off what I could of the mascara, but not too much in case Claire saw us sitting nearby and noticed.

  When I walked back to the table, Six was drumming his fingers on the white tablecloth. His eyes were hard, his jaw set. I slid into my seat and looked at him with a question in my eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  Whoa. I looked around, trying to keep my eyes from straying to Claire's table. I shrugged. “I got some info.”

  He worked his jaw around for a minute before he leaned forward. “What, specifically, did you say? They left as soon as she returned to the table.”

  My eyes whipped to the right, as if I believed he was lying to me. Sure enough, Claire's table was empty, and a busboy was clearing dishes.

  “We had a nice chat. Chill.”

  Oh, his eyes sure chilled at that remark.

  His mask is gone, a voice in my head whispered.

  But I held my own. “What happened to the mask?”

  He blinked. “Mask?”

  I bit my lip. I'd forgotten that despite the volume of the voices in my head, only I could hear them speak. “You were so careful to act perfect; you were wearing a mask when we got here.” I shrugged. “Now it's gone.”

  He dropped his napkin on the table. “It's no longer needed. They're gone.” He held a hand out. “Give me your clutch.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I got what you need.” Reaching for the glass of wine, I looked him straight in the eye. “She gave me his name, his age, his occupation, his hotel, and his drink.”

  “And you recorded it all?” He held the recorder up to his ear and leaned into it.

  Six softened a little.

  I’d braced myself for him to tell me I’d screwed up somehow. I mean, he hadn’t given me any real direction, but fuckups were as much my nature as breathing. “I didn’t fuck up?”

  He sighed. “No, Mira. You did well.”

  It was as if he’d told me I’d conquered Mount Everest, for as surprised and delighted as I was.

  “I didn’t fuck up,” I said to myself, surprise lacing my words. “Holy shit.”

  Six made eye contact with the waiter. “Where's his hotel?”

  I frowned. “I'm hungry.”

  When the waiter hurried over, Six presented a handful of twenties. “We have an emergency,” he told him as he reached for my hand.

  I followed him reluctantly, not even attempting to match his pace out the door. Once we were on the sidewalk, I yanked away. “I'm hungry, damn it.”

  Six sighed and glared at me. “I'll buy you something later.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up the street to where his car was parked.

  After he pulled the door open, I finally spoke again. “I want bacon and eggs.”

  He looked back over his shoulder. “Motherfucking bacon and eggs, coming up.”

  5

  Even though I wasn't expecting him, I knew the knock on the door a week later was Six. Line of coke, some vodka and, when fresh air was required, a run—on repeat—was how I’d spent my time since I’d last seen him. Thanks for the paycheck, Six.

  I opened the door without asking who it was first, walking away from the doorway and waiting to see what sort of things he had planned for me now.

  His hands were empty this time. No disguise, no food. Just empty hands and hard eyes.

  Just Six.

  “What do you want?”

  He stood in the doorway, almost as if he was unsure of the answer to such a basic question. His breath made fog as the cool outside air mixed with the warmth of my apartment. He stared at me.

  I knew that this image of Six would be seared into my memory. His chest heaving, his lips parted, his bright green eyes searching me for an answer to a question he kept silent.

  He kicked the door shut behind him, hard enough to shake it in its frame. And, as he stalked toward me, his entire body coiled and ready, my breath caught in my chest.

  I imagined myself on train tracks, waiting for Six to collide and destroy me as his steps ate up the ground that separated us. I stood still even in his path, and when his body collided with mine, his arms sweeping around me and his hands diving into my hair, I gave him everything. His lips met mine and the taste was a shock to my system. This wasn't want, it was need.

  He backed me up against the wall, his hands sliding to cup my ass, pulling my center to his waist band. His lips were frenzied on mine, impatient, demanding. I was still a question in his mind, and his lips were intent on finding the answer as they left mine and bruised tiny nips down my jawline and over my collarbone, teeth grazing bone. My head fell back on a moan before his lips sucked the rest of the sound into his mouth. His hunger fed mine, but it wasn't enough. I wanted more, more, more.

  His mouth pulled away and his hand wrapped around my hair, roughly yanking my head back. “Look at me,” he demanded on a growl.

  I couldn't open my eyes, my hands clamped on his shoulders tightly, nails biting into muscle.

  I want you.

  I want you.

  I want you.

  It was all I could think.

  “Open them,” he said again, louder this time. He twisted my hair and a shudder moved through me.

  I shook my head, refusing to let him see into my eyes then. My high was fading, but he'd still see it, he'd still know. And he'd stop what was between us. I squeezed my hands tighter, my nails pressing so hard into his skin that I waited for them to break. “Kiss me, Six.” I bucked my hips against him, pressing our bodies firmly to one another when he didn't kiss me. “Kiss me, damn it,” I snarled, snapping my head forward, feeling his hands loosen on my hair.

  I wrapped my arms around him, tighter and tighter, hands moving up to his face. With my hands on his jaw, I squeezed before I leaned forward and captured his bottom lip between my teeth. His lips tensed briefly, and I felt him withdrawing slowly from me. Desperate, I moved my mouth along his jaw to his ear, biting hard on his lobe, hard enough to cause his arms to tighten around me. His blood was boiling just under his skin, under my lips, so I nipped along his jawline and grazed my teeth down his neck until he gripped me harder, thrusting me against the wall.

  We said nothing while we ripped the shirts off of one another, tumbling onto the warm wood floor beneath our feet. His eyes never left mine, not even as he licked the line down my chest, unhooking my bra and unbuttoning my jeans with each hand. He yanked my jeans down, ripping them from my legs, and my enti
re body quaked at the need I felt in his hands.

  Six's hands were ravenous, gripping my thighs and spreading them apart.

  Six's hands were full, as they rode up my ribcage to cup my breasts.

  Six's hands all over my skin made my heartbeat kick higher, higher than the lull of drugs had. The high dissipated completely when his large and strong hands cradled my face, bringing his own above mine. His legs were between mine, the muscles of his thighs clenching against my own. He pulled back just long enough to grab a condom, not once letting go of me with his other hand.

  I lifted my hips, hoping to make contact, to bring him inside of me. But his forearms were pressing into mine, his eyes solid on mine as he waited, searching my eyes. I knew what he was doing: he was seeking to find that I was free of any influence, drugs or alcohol.

  And only when he saw what he wanted in my eyes did he take from me, sliding inside me deep enough to cause a moan to rip from my throat.

  I met him, thrust for thrust as we rode out the desire that had been simmering the whole time. The desire I knew, as his body hammered into mine, was only in its infancy. This joining of flesh wasn't a meaningless thing for me. It was the flame to the end of a rope coated in propellant. I didn't know how long the rope was, how far we'd travel it together, or what waited for us at the end. But I knew that it wouldn't be easily snuffed out.

  The euphoria my body was riding was not thanks to cocaine, to alcohol, to anything I'd consumed. No. The euphoria was thanks to Six.

  Just. Six.

  The smell of coffee woke me up in the morning. It was so foreign that when I first opened my eyes, I didn’t think I was at home. But after staring at the water-stained ceiling a moment, I realized I was.

  I pushed myself to sitting and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I was naked, the sheets bunched up at the foot of the bed. I yawned and searched the room. Six was gone from my bed, but from the sounds coming from the kitchen, he hadn’t left.

  I grabbed a t-shirt from my laundry basket and yanked it over my head. I picked at the flaking screen on the front of the shirt, peeling away the face of some unknown band. Most of my clothes were acquired from thrift stores or from exes who left their shit at my house after realizing my particular brand of crazy wasn’t something they could deal with.