Monster Love

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Us?” I shrugged out of my jean jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She flinched at first then relaxed when I made no move to touch her again.

  “Me and my sister Lanie.” She pointed to a young redhead a few yards away, chatting to a group of freshman boys. Aside from similar delicate features, the girls could have been strangers. Lanie was taller and thinner and outwardly vivacious while Stella melted into the shadows.

  “What happened to your parents? You don’t have to answer that,” I added, realizing my insatiable curiosity had overwhelmed my good manners.

  “It’s okay.” She dug in the depths of her coat pocket. The black polish on her fingertips had chips around the edges, like maybe she was a nail biter. She withdrew a cigarette, placed it between her lips, and lit it with an expert flick of a cheap plastic lighter. “My mom’s a crack addict. I have no idea where she’s at.” Her matter-of-fact tone caught me by surprise. A wreath of smoke encircled her head. “I never met my dad. He left before I was born. Mom always said he was a hit-and-run driver.”

  The boldness of her stare might have driven off another guy, but not me. I was mesmerized. She was unlike anyone I’d ever met. I took a step closer, warily, not wanting to scare her away. Up close, she smelled like lavender soap and shampoo and leather.

  “My parents are fucked up too.” I leaned against the boulder on her left side. The brush of her arm along mine sent tingles down my legs. My cock, which had been on lockdown for the last month, stirred to life. Laughter and music drowned out the rush of water beneath the bridge. Flickering flames of the bonfire cast dancing shadows on the underbrush and added an air of mystery to the moonless night. “My dad’s not exactly popular around here.”

  “Really? Why’s that?” The stud in her left eyebrow lifted higher. “Did he rob a bank or something?”

  “Not that I know of.” Her comment had come painfully close to the truth. She studied me with renewed interest. I tried not to watch the way her pert tits rose and fell with each drag on the cigarette. Since that day in the hallway, her boobs had consumed way too much of my seventeen-year-old brain power. “But it’s not out of the question.”

  “Ah. I get it.” With the filter of the cigarette pinched between her thumb and forefinger, she drew a wavy line through the air between us. “So, what’s your deal? You’re the captain of the football team. Shouldn’t you be hitting on Suzie Cheerleader over there?” She nodded toward Suzie, my ex-girlfriend, who was glaring at us from the opposite side of the fire. We’d been on-again-off-again since eighth grade, and I was way over her clinging neediness.

  “Suzie’s a nice girl, but the only thing she wants is to get married, have babies, and spend the rest of her life in Corbett.” The thought of life in this one-horse town soured my stomach. Once I graduated from high school, I was never coming back to this place.

  “And you don’t?” That lovely violet gaze roved my face, staring much too deeply into my eyes. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away. She had secrets, and I wanted to know them all.

  “I’ve got a full-ride football scholarship, and it’s going to be my one-way ticket out of here. I want to travel the world and see everything.”

  “Me too.” With an expert flick of her thumb, she launched the cigarette butt into the river.

  “I see your black eye is gone.” In response, her eyebrow lifted, daring me to continue. Word of her one-day suspension for fighting had swept our tiny high school in a matter of hours. “Why did you hit that guy?”

  “He was picking on Lanie.” Her gaze snagged on her little sister, who was cozied up to Chris. She scowled. “Lanie. Let’s go.”

  Lanie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to.”

  “It’s late. Come on.”

  “No.” The younger girl’s features turned down in a pout. “You go ahead. Chris will take me home. Won’t you, Chris?”

  I didn’t like the way he smirked or the tightness of his arm around Lanie’s waist. He liked to brag about his sexual conquests at inappropriate times and had a thing for underage girls. The last thing I wanted was to see him take advantage of another unsuspecting girl.

  Stella charged toward the couple. “You know she’s only fourteen, right?”

  Chris backed away from Lanie, both hands held high in surrender. I followed Stella, steeling myself for a fight. Chris had an explosive temper and often came apart over the smallest things. He spoke to me, as if I’d defend him and not the girls. “She said she was seventeen, man. What’s a guy to do?”

  “Well, she lied.” Stella grabbed Lanie’s arm and dragged her toward the road. “Time to go, Lanie.”

  “Oh my God. This is so embarrassing.” The younger girl squirmed in her sister’s grasp. “Let go. You can’t treat me like this.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I shoved Chris’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be such a whiner.” He shoved me back. His fingers curled into the leather of my jacket. “You’re just jealous.”

  We glared at each other. More than once, we’d tumbled in the dirt. Most of the time, I walked away to keep the family peace, because Chris would fight until one or both of us died, even when he knew he was wrong.

  “Let go before I break your nose.” By now, we’d attracted the attention of quite a few kids. I lowered my voice. Despite his quick temper, Chris harbored a healthy fear of me because I had, in fact, broken his nose for hiding his marijuana in my backpack.

  “So sensitive.” The tension on my jacket eased. He pretended to swipe lint from my shoulder. “Keep your panties on. We’re all good.”

  When I turned around, Stella and Lanie had gone. They were halfway up the embankment to the road before my mouth caught up to my brain. “Hey, wait up. I’ll walk you home.”

  “Suit yourself,” Stella said without stopping. I jogged to her side. “Lanie, this is Owen. Owen, this is Lanie.”

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “Hey.” Lanie glanced in my direction then rolled her eyes at her sister. “You always ruin my fun.”

  “You don’t need to be hanging out with seniors,” Stella said, her tone mild but firm.

  “You’re not my mom.”

  “No, thank goodness.” She tugged her sister into her side and kissed the top of her head. “If you hadn’t sneaked out of the house tonight, I wouldn’t have had to come after you and drag you home.”

  “Who cares? Stan’s drunk off his ass, and Marianne took a bunch of sleeping pills,” Lanie said, shrugging away from Stella. “They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

  “I don’t care. You promised to behave.”

  “I’m so bored. I hate this place,” Lanie huffed.

  “If you’re not careful, the Hudgens are going to send us back. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut up and keep walking.”

  The smell of damp earth and spring grass filled the air. Our footsteps crunched on the gravel road. I shortened my stride to keep pace with Stella while Lanie streaked ahead. We walked in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t far to the Hudgens’s house, and nothing but empty farm fields stretched between the bridge and their home.

  “She seems like a handful,” I said to break the silence.

  “Yeah. She’s fourteen going on forty,” Stella replied. “Every time we change homes, she gets worse.” Her sigh sounded more like a mature adult than a rebellious teenager. “When I turn eighteen, I’m going to get a place of my own, so she can live with me. That’s just a year away. Until then, I’m trying to keep her out of trouble the best that I can.”

  Guilt washed through me. It was a lot of responsibility for a kid to take on. My biggest problems were how to avoid my drunken mother’s guilt trips, Chris, and my dad’s bad temper. Compared to Stella’s life, I had it easy.

  “I don’t know why I told you that.” Stella stopped at the end of her driveway. “I don’t usually spill my secrets.”

  I smiled at her, flattered by her confidence. “
I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  Our hair ruffled in the light breeze. The focus of her gaze dipped to my lips and back to my eyes. A different kind of desire swept through me, its intensity frightening but welcome. She shifted toward me. “Well, nice to meet you, Owen.”

  I intended to shake her hand, but she ignored my offer. Rising on tiptoe, she cupped my face between her palms and kissed me. The press of her warm, soft lips against my mouth sent a jolt of attraction straight to my groin. I let her take the lead, but when her tongue touched mine, I lost control. I backed her up against the nearest tree and molded my body against hers. She moaned, setting a match to my desire.

  A growl tickled my throat. Her fingers curled into my hair and tugged. I wanted to pull her closer, to do hot, dirty things to her body. Teenage lust coursed through my veins. I’d been with Suzie and a few other girls, but none of them knew how to kiss like Stella.

  “Owen, take your tongue out of that girl’s mouth and get in the car. Time to come home.” My father’s voice hit me like a bucket of ice water, chilling my desire. I’d been so intent on working up the courage to stick my hand under Stella’s shirt that I’d entirely missed the Lincoln Continental on the road behind us. He had an eerie way of never being around when I needed him, but always showing up at the most inopportune times. Chris sat in the passenger seat, an amused smirk on his face.

  Stella stiffened and pulled back. Cool air rushed between us. She wiped a hand over her mouth. In the darkness, her eyes glittered. The black of her pupils overtook the pale hue of her irises.

  I thrust a hand through my hair. “I need to go. See you around?”

  “Sure.” She walked up the driveway, looking small and alone beneath the murky sky. After a few paces, she turned and waved, flashing a brief but welcome smile. I watched until she disappeared behind the house.

  “Owen. Car. Now.” Dad growled, his fragile patience growing thinner by the second. The smirk fell from Chris’s face. No doubt, one of us would pay for his irritation later.

  I got in the car and closed the door. On the drive home, Dad rambled on about how disappointing we were, and why couldn’t we be more like my him? I blocked out his words, choosing instead to focus on my stinging lips and Stella’s intoxicating eyes.

  3

  Stella

  Present day…

  I stepped away from the window but kept my focus on Owen. He continued his conversation with Dad, listening to the older man intently between bouts of hand gestures. Eventually, he slung the tool belt around his narrow hips, shoved the car keys into his pocket, and disappeared around the backside of the house.

  Once again, I debated the wisdom of moving here. With the proceeds from my last photo assignment dwindling, this house had seemed like a godsend. My original plan was to renovate and sell when the market rebounded from its current slump. In the meantime, the rolling cornfields and lush forests would provide plenty of inspiration for my art. None of these plans had included a convict with muscles for days and dreamboat eyes. Just thinking about his full lips made my belly somersault.

  Michael yelled from the kitchen. “Stella? I’ve got to get going.”

  “Coming.” I grabbed my camera and barreled down the stairs.

  “Give me a quick tour, and then I’m out of here.”

  I snapped a photo of his handsome face then slipped a hand through his and led him through the house—five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a full basement. His discerning gaze took in every detail as I chatted about my plans to restore the crown moldings, the leaded glass transoms, and the hardwood floors. We circled the entire interior and ended in the kitchen.

  “It’s a lot of work,” he said at the end of the tour, his voice quiet. Lines of concern etched his forehead. “Not to mention the amount of money.”

  “I know.” The negativity in his tone dampened my enthusiasm.

  “I don’t think you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His hand rubbed my back, patronizingly, like a disapproving parent.

  I stiffened and lifted my chin. “You don’t think I can do this.”

  “You can do anything you set your mind to. I just don’t understand why.”

  Why? I’d asked myself the same thing a million times since accepting the property. Maybe it was for Stan. Despite his drinking, he’d been the one positive influence in my life. The only person besides Owen who ever thought I had potential. Or maybe I was doing it for myself because I was tired of living out of a suitcase, wandering the world, and watching my life speed past in a blur of strange hotels and airports.

  “I have my reasons.” I could tell by the narrowing of his eyes that my evasive answer annoyed him. To avoid more questions, I retreated toward the living room. As I rounded the corner, I ran into a hard wall of muscle. Owen’s warm hands wrapped around my biceps to keep us both from toppling. The scent of soap, leather, and musky male enveloped me. I’d read a National Geographic article about the relation of smells and memories, how a particular odor could evoke recollections. One deep inhalation proved the theory. I recalled everything about the way we’d been together—his gentle kisses, the callouses on his fingertips, the way his breath hitched whenever I touched him.

  “Sorry.” A frisson of fear and attraction traveled up my spine. We sprang apart. Owen’s hands fell to his sides. My gaze met his soft hazel eyes, their hue more green than gray and flecked with brown. I glanced to the side before he could see all the truths I’d carefully tucked away for so many years. My blood felt too hot for my veins as it raced through my body.

  “Stell.” The nickname whispered from his lips, soft and intimate, for my ears alone. He’d been the only person to call me that, and the notion shattered my composure.

  I gripped the strap of my camera bag to hide the trembling of my hands. “Owen. How are you?” The question sounded inadequate, almost insulting, given the way we’d left things eighteen years ago. Anger followed swiftly on the heels of guilt and remorse and hurt. A dozen lies and misunderstandings formed a barrier between us. I shifted my focus to the floor. Silver duct tape circled the toe of his boot. The sight brought a lump to my throat.

  “Can’t complain.” His voice had always been deep, but maturity had given it a richness that made my knees weak. “Dad sent me in here to look at your water heater.”

  “You two know each other?” Michael’s question burst the bubble of nostalgia. Standing beside Owen, he peered at us over the rim of his Styrofoam coffee cup.

  “No.” Owen and I replied in tandem.

  Their proximity exaggerated the differences between the two men. I didn’t want to make comparisons but found it impossible to stop. My past and my future had collided in the most unwelcome way. Owen tugged on the waistband of his over-washed jeans, a predatory glint in his eyes as he took in my sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really boyfriend. Michael returned his stare and adjusted the knot of his designer tie. The crisp lines of his Hugo Boss suit enhanced his gym-trained physique. But Owen didn’t need padding or custom tailoring. Beneath his white cotton T-shirt, his shoulders were as broad as the door, each muscle taut and lean and visible through the tight fabric.

  The three of us stared at each other in awkward silence. A dull sheen slid over Owen’s eyes, shielding his thoughts. His jaw tensed, proud and defiant. Despite his efforts to hide his feelings, I felt his hurt and hated myself all over again. I cleared my throat to answer Michael’s inquiry. “Yes, I mean, sort of.”

  “We went to the same high school.” Owen’s fingers clenched at his side then slowly relaxed. He shifted to the left, and my body shifted with him, mirroring the motion, still drawn to him after all these years by an invisible magnetic attraction

  “Really? That’s interesting.” Michael set his coffee on the counter and cocked his head to one side. By the pinched corners of his mouth, he didn’t approve of Owen. I could see the wheels turning inside his inquisitive mind and braced for a litany of questions.

  “Our paths crossed a few times.
It’s a small town.” I met and held Michael’s gaze, silently willing him to stop the inquisition. “We shared an English class, I think.”

  “Calculus,” Owen interjected, although I knew damn good and well it had been English. We’d walked to class together every day, had sat next to each other, his long legs stretching beneath my desk, him toying with a lock of my hair until the teacher reprimanded us.

  “I thought you didn’t know anyone from here.” Michael lowered his coffee cup and studied me, more intently this time.

  “Did I say that?” I shrugged to minimize the deception. “Not anymore. I was only here for a few months. You lived down the street, didn’t you, Evan?” Damn, I was a smooth liar. Years of practice had helped perfect the skill. Whenever someone asked about my childhood, I deflected their attention because I hated the look of pity on their faces when they learned the truth.

  “It’s Owen.” A tiny flicker of amusement twitched the corner of his mouth. “Della, right?”

  “Stella. Stella Valentine.” This cocky, smart-ass attitude belonged to the boy I’d loved and rocked my poise. Part of me wanted to run to him, throw my arms around his neck, and thank him for everything he’d done to save me. The other part, the wounded, heartbroken teenager, wanted to slap him across the face. And a third, smaller part feared the way years of incarceration had changed him. Instead, I forced a fake smile.

  Michael’s phone beeped. Internally, I heaved a sigh of relief to be free from his scrutiny. He scrolled through his text messages and frowned. “I hate to break up your reunion, but I’ve got to get on the road.” In a split second, he snapped into business mode. “Walk me to the car, Stella.”

  Owen stepped aside, allowing us to pass. I caught a glimpse of his strong, square jaw and the stubble covering it. In high school, he’d had to shave twice a day. The random thought brought a blush to my cheeks. Michael gave him a dismissive nod. I steeled my nerves as I passed Owen’s broad chest, catching a whiff of his clean soap-and-water scent, thinking my knees might give out. One of my feet had crossed the threshold when he spoke again.