by Cat Porter
“Me?” I banged on the remote to mute the volume. “I-I’m good.” I pulled on the wet cotton fabric, flapping it against my chest.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.” His voice was soft but intent without a trace of awkwardness. Blunt sincerity.
I closed my eyes and let his words, the supple tone of his voice, sink in, and they did. They penetrated like a wave of sound through every layer of skin, muscle, and bone and settled in my thumping heart.
“Me either.” I folded my legs under me.
Moments lapsed in charged silence.
He blew out a breath. “Shit, did I wake you up? I just noticed the time.”
“No, no, you didn’t wake me up. I’m in bed, flipping channels on the television. What are you doing? Are you at the club?”
The thought of him taking the time to call me, only to go jump Mindy or some club skank once we got off the phone, made my stomach harden. I was his old lady, but come on.
“No, I’m home.”
My chest relaxed, as if a thousand needles that had threatened to jab me suddenly disappeared.
“I just finished working out,” he continued. “But I couldn’t concentrate. Had to talk to you.”
“Why couldn’t you concentrate?”
“I still feel you on me.”
My eyes sank shut, a breath shooting out of me.
“Jillee?”
“Yeah?” I managed.
“Did you like it? Feeling me on you?”
Heat flooded my chest. “Very much. Very, very much.”
“I didn’t expect it,” he said.
“What didn’t you expect?”
“Feeling connected to you.”
My chest tightened. Me, too.
“You reminded me that there’s still magic,” he whispered roughly. “That there are things of wonder still left to experience.”
The air knocked out of me at his confession.
“I’m guessing you liked feeling connected to me?”
A low chuckle erupted over the phone. “I liked it, Firefly. A lot. A hell of a lot.”
“What did you call me?”
“You’re like a firefly, Jill. You glow bright in my night.”
“You go chasing them regularly?”
“No. Not at all.” He took in a long breath. “Just once, when I was little. One summer, my mom and I stayed out in the mountains for a week. It was the first time I’d seen fireflies. I would stay up every night and watch them, dance around the field, trying to catch them. My mom got me this huge jar, and we managed to catch a lot of them. It was magic. The best magic ever.”
My heart hammered in my chest. There was plenty of magic between us. Fairy-tale firefly-in-the-night magic. Magic I had hoped for but hadn’t expected. Yet here it was, buzzing and glowing between us.
“But when we had to leave and go home, I had to let the fireflies go free,” he said. “I was really upset, but my mother told me it wasn’t right. They had to be free in the wild or maybe they would stop glowing. I wanted to keep them forever, hoard their magic for myself. But some things, really beautiful things, you can’t hold on to forever, can you?”
An ache twisted inside me at the resigned tone of his quiet voice.
“I wish you were here with me right now, holding me,” I whispered.
“Want to hold on to you, Firefly. Keep you just for me.”
I swallowed hard past the lump of yearning lodged in my throat. “I’m right here.” A compulsion to keep him on the phone and listen to his voice grabbed ahold of me. “Talk to me. Tell me anything.”
“What do you want to hear?” He let out a soft laugh. “About the rebuild I worked on today? What I had for dinner?”
I giggled. “Yes. Yes, all of it.”
He told me about the bike he was fixing for a new client, how the rust had made it so difficult, and how the parts had been taking forever to be shipped because it was a foreign “pretentious piece of shit.” How he had been teaching Sy how to use a knife. How he hated the beef burritos Dawes ate almost every day for lunch because they smelled so greasy.
I tugged on my wet camisole. “Hold on a sec,” I mumbled into the phone.
“Why?”
“I have to take off my top.”
“You have to, what?” his voice sprang over the line.
“I spilled water on it before, and it’s more wet than I thought. It’s bugging me so—”
“What are you gonna change into?”
“A red lace nightie with a high slit up the sides,” I replied.
He made a growly noise in the back of his throat. “What are you wearing, Jill?”
“Tsk. How could you tell I was fibbing?”
He chuckled. “Red lace sounded a bit extreme.”
“Extreme for me? Great.”
“Firefly, tell me what you’re wearing.”
“A blue cotton camisole with matching shorts.” I let out a sigh. “How exciting.”
“How soft, you mean. Wet cotton plastered over your tits? The best. Panties underneath?”
“No, I never go to sleep with underwear on.”
“Me neither.”
“Really?”
“Gotta let your privates breathe. Shouldn’t keep ’em covered up all the time. Isn’t natural.”
“Exactly. Although—”
“What?”
“I bet you go commando all the time.”
He only laughed.
“You do, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I most certainly would.
“What are you wearing now?” I asked.
“I’m in a pair of sweaty shorts. Nothin’ else.”
“Sweaty, huh? From working out or thinking about me?”
“Both. You were ruining my session.”
“And what kind of session was that exactly?”
“Meditation and then tai chi. Then, I said fuck it and hit the punching bag. Better but still no use.”
My eyes closed, picturing him in still poses, totally focused in careful concentration, and then later exploding in rapid-fire movements against a bag.
Yes, perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
“Then, it’s my obligation to help you get over it,” I said. “Make up for the disturbance I caused you tonight.”
“Disturbance is the word, Firefly.”
My stomach dipped at the sound of his low voice almost sighing out his nickname for me.
“If you were here with me, I’d lick that sweat right off your chest,” I said.
A groan.
I leaned back onto my mattress. “I’d lick you all the way down to your navel and then tug those very, very sweaty shorts down those hips and—”
“Jill—”
“I’d rub my face in you.”
“Ah, fuck.” He let out a muffled groan. “Did you take off your shirt yet?”
“No.”
“Do it.” Exasperation, urgency laced his voice and made me drop my phone.
I tugged off my camisole and fell back on the bed, picking up the phone again. “I did it.”
“Are your nipples hard?”
“Very hard. Hard—as in, I’m listening to your voice, to the sound of your breath, and it’s making me crazy hard.”
“Squeeze your tits for me.”
I squeezed a breast and let out a soft moan at the sensation, at the sensation of him waiting and listening. “How do you want me to touch you, Bone? Tell me what you like.”
Another groan.
“Tell me,” I repeated, his heavy silence driving me insane with anticipation, with need.
“Your hand on my balls first, then rubbing all the way up my cock.”
I clenched my legs together. “I’d rub you gently then hard.”
“Yeah.” His breathing grew heavier over the phone.
“I’d kiss the top of your cock long and slow. Then, I’d suck once, twice—”
“You fucking tease.”
/> I licked my lips. “Hmm. Then, I’d—”
“Dip into that beautiful pussy for me,” he said on a hiss.
I did as he said and let out a soft moan as my clit pulsed underneath my swirling fingers.
“You wet, Firefly?”
“Very wet.” My breathing grew sharp.
“Wet for me?”
“Only for you.”
“I want to kiss you on the inside of your thighs. Up one and then down the other. Lay a trail with my tongue on your white skin. Make you dirty for me.”
I let out a moan. “I want to be your dirty girl.”
I gripped the phone, my head grinding back into my pillow, my hips circling as he told me how he wanted me to touch myself. I let his deep voice wash over me as I imagined his piercing green eyes beaming their approval, making my insides flutter, singeing my skin with their fierce heat. My breasts ached for his attention. I closed my eyes and stopped thinking. I only listened to him and did as he’d told me.
I felt the kiss of his magnificent hair splayed over my abdomen like heavy satin ribbons. I tugged on that thick hair, held on to it, as his long skillful tongue flicked over my flesh. His words were raw, his voice rough. I stroked myself faster. I came hard, muffling my sharp cries into the phone.
“Damn it, Jill—fuck.” He muttered a string of curses, grunting as he came.
My legs strangled a pillow, my body doubled over another one. “Could we make this a regular nightly thing? I’ll give up watching Jimmy Fallon. That’s huge for me. I get insomnia now all the time, you know. It’d be really helpful.”
His low chuckle settled inside me. He left me with a raspy whisper, “Get some sleep, Firefly.”
I HATED LOOSE ENDS.
I parked my bike in the back of the Tingle. I had to get this done.
“Hey, Cassandra.” I greeted the manager of the strip club.
An attractive African American woman, Cassandra had had the job for years now, taking over where Jump’s old lady, Alicia, had left off, managing the girls and running the place under the Jacks’s supervision.
Under Cassandra’s precise direction, the Tingle had undergone an overhaul—a renovation of the building and the decor and across-the-board firing and hiring of staff and dancers. The investment had been big, but the payoff had been bigger. The club attracted men from all backgrounds and social strata and plenty of women, too. There’d been talk of putting together a ladies’ night with male strippers at some point. That would be fucking popular, for sure. Business was good.
“Hey, you.” Cassandra slanted her head at me, a tablet in her hands. She gestured down the hall. “Kicker’s in his office, if you’re looking for him.”
“I’m looking for Mindy. Saw her car in the lot.”
“She’s out front, working with the new girl.”
“Thanks.”
I headed down the hall, toward the main room of the club. Under the glare of the bright house lights, there was no mystery, no drama, no sensation, no theater. The rows of empty tables and chairs were stark against the black floor and walls, like layers of lifeless bugs. The lighting fixtures seemed excessive and awkward, the stage a narrow glamour-less runway fitted with poles. All of it seemed ordinary. Or maybe I was just too used to it, desensitized.
All this ordinary would transform once the place opened tonight, the specially designed colored lights creating their finely-tuned magic along with the pounding music and the throb of sexual anticipation. A mesmerizing playground of greed, indulgence, and lies.
Mindy was sitting on a table, her feet planted on a chair, watching Shelley Anne perform her routine to some pop tune. She glanced at me, her eyebrows shooting up.
“Got something to say.”
Her attention returned to Shelley Anne. “I’m busy.”
“Just for a minute.”
“That’s what I’m worth to you, huh? A minute of your time. Such a prick.”
I leaned back against the table, and we both watched her new protégé twist around the pole on lethal heels.
“I have an old lady.”
“Yeah, it’s fascinating how that happened. No one else seemed to know about her before. And her? Jesus.”
“Watch it.”
She glared at me. “We’ve been screwing for over a month now—”
“I haven’t been marking my calendar.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“We both knew what we were doing, Mindy, what it was about.”
Her back straightened. “I got that you saw other women. I’m not stupid. I was seeing other guys, too.”
“So, what’s the problem? Why you got a stick up your ass?”
“I guess none of it counted for anything, huh?”
“Like what?”
She let out a dark laugh. “Should I be impressed that you came here to explain?”
I pushed up from the table. “I didn’t come here to explain nothing. I came here so that you’re clear on what’s going on and what isn’t.”
“Yes, sir, I’m clear.” Mindy ran a hand through her long ponytail and returned her attention to Shelley Anne, who was crawling on all fours on the floor of the stage, trying to imitate a cat in heat. “I’m very clear.”
PIPES ROARED BEHIND ME. I looked over my shoulder as I strapped Becca into her car seat. Boner, on his bike with those purplish shades, pulled in right next to me on Clay Street in the center of Meager. A little sting went through me at the sight of his dark splendor on his vintage Harley, at the memory of his voice in my ear last night.
“Make you dirty for me.”
“Bo!” Becca clapped. “Mommy, Bo!”
I grinned at him. “Hey, Bo.”
He grinned back. Wicked, knowing, pleased.
“Rae told me where I’d find you,” he said, shutting off his engine.
“You called Rae?”
“Yeah, I wanted to surprise you for lunch. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No, but I made a tuna salad for us at home before I left.”
“No tuna. Buffalo.”
“Buffalo salad?”
“Buffalo burger, hon.” He laughed. “Bacon-double-cheeseburger kind of buffalo.”
My eyes popped open.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You said you’ve never had one, right? This one is top of the line.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t kid about burgers. It’s one of my essential food groups. Can’t have you missing out, especially when it’s a local specialty.”
Sexy times and good food. Who would have thought a fake relationship would be such a pleasure?
“Follow me.”
“I should check on Rae first.”
“Rae’s digging into that tuna salad and French bread with Martha, as we speak.”
“She told you about the French bread?”
“And the Greek olives.”
“And Martha came over?”
“The lady from next door, yeah.”
“Oh, geez. You got it all covered.”
“On most days, I do. Get in your car, key in the ignition, and follow me.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Double-check Becs. Make sure she’s strapped in tight and put your own seat belt on.”
“Unbe-freaking-lievable.”
Boner shot me a you’re-loving-this-as-much-as-I-am grin.
He willed his engine to make that insane uproar once again. I stood there, motionless, mesmerized by the sight of him in a very worn-out leather jacket, a blinding white V-neck T-shirt with a silver chain with a snake charm hanging from it, and dark blue jeans that must have been new because there were no rips in them. His silver rings glinted in the sunlight.
“Jill. Car.”
“You don’t like me gawking at you?”
I was openly gawking. What did it matter?
After the mall, the kitchen counter—episodes one and two—his room at the club, and last night’s little phone sexscapade, and not to men
tion, now that we had official Old Man/Old Lady status, I could do it openly for a change, couldn’t I?
“Oh, I like it, Firefly, but I’m a man on an empty stomach. I might bite.”
Promises, promises.
“Jill, you going to eat it or just keep staring at it?”
“I don’t know how or where to begin. It’s huge.”
“At least Becs knows how to eat. You like it, Becs?”
Becca grinned with a mouthful of buffalo burger, clutching a thick sweet potato fry.
I stroked her tiny hand. “Slowly, honey, okay?”
She nodded as she chewed.
I raised my knife. “I’m going to have to cut this in half.”
“Aw, Jill. For shame,” he said, laughing as I cut the massive burger in two.
“And now I’m going to eat it all.” I took a shameless huge bite of the juicy beast in my hands. The smoky rich flavor of the grilled meat, the luscious combination of the cheese, the bacon, the—
“Oh my God,” I managed between chews.
Both Boner and Becca stared at me.
I swallowed. “This is a religious experience.”
Boner grinned at me as he took a swig from a bottle of local craft beer, and Becca chomped on another fry.
My phone buzzed in my bag. I wiped my hands and fished it out.
Catch.
Ugh. Great timing. It was tempting to ignore his call, but he’d only keep trying and accuse me of avoiding him.
“Hello?”
“You think I’m going to let this go, you are dead wrong,” Catch snarled over the phone.
I wiped my hands on my napkin, avoiding Boner’s laser gaze. “What’s up?”
“They tried to humiliate me.”
“What did you think was going to happen?”
“I knew you and Boner had been hanging out, but his old lady? What did you go and do that for? You need committed dick in you?”
I shot up from the table, and Boner’s eyes narrowed at me.
“Be right back. Got to take this.” I charged toward the restrooms in the back of the restaurant. “You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah, we know I’m disgusting. But you? How long is it gonna take till you drive the man insane with your bullshit?”
“Shut up, Catch. What do you care?”
“We were good for a while there, but you’re the one who fucked it up.”
