Waking the Lion

by Lacee Hightower

  “Kass, I need to talk to you … now.” Darci’s face is stern, and the normal sparkle in her eyes is missing as she holds the bathroom door open.

  “Okay,” I say. “You look upset. Is it Mom or Dad?” As an only child, I’ve always felt more like a burden to both my parents than anything else. With Dad always traveling and my mother’s main concern her church family, we rarely speak, much less see each other. But still … they’re my parents.

  When Darci leans against the door and folds her arms across her chest with a long breath, I know something is very wrong. Her eyes are unmistakable.

  “It’s not your parents, sugar.” Another long breath, she looks down for guidance for a quick second that seems like an hour.

  “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

  “Sweetie, how much do you know about Rhett? Do you know about his past?”

  “No. Not really,” I respond. “I was going to Google him, nose around a little, but I haven’t yet. Why?”

  “Shit, Kass. Rhett was married. He lost his wife in a tragic accident less than a year ago.”

  My heart doubles up, and I stare down at my lipstick container dropping into the sink, streaking the white porcelain with neutral waxy tint. My stomach rises into my throat. This explains a lot.

  The anger etched deep in his face.

  The bags under his eyes.

  The female touches throughout his house.

  Darci’s voice goes soft. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re excited about him sending you tickets to the game, but I just want you to be aware of his situation.”

  “His situation?” I whisper with a laugh not intended to be funny as I fight back rising tears and a defensive comeback, which I don’t have.

  “There’s pictures of his wife and him all over the web.”

  “Knock, knock.” Leah opens the door, peeking around the corner. “Ms. Barker is here, Darci.”

  “Okay. Help her get on a smock and tell her I’ll be right there.”

  Darci comes forward and reaches for my shoulder that suddenly won’t stop shaking, offering her comfort and moral support. I lift my hands urging her away.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Her lips form a thin-lipped smile as I suddenly want her to tell me what to do. How to forget something that won’t ever begin. But she does neither. Because there’s nothing to tell me. Nothing to hope for. There never was. I take a step back, shuddering.

  “Sweetheart, you listen to me.” Darci’s eyes go wide. “You’re a beautiful, smart, desirable woman with a heart of gold. And you’re way too kind and giving to be alone. Rhett may not be the one, but your perfect soulmate isn’t far away. I feel it. Please, don’t ever let a man steal your thunder, Kass.”

  Regret hitting me hard, I answer with a “maybe”, not believing a word of her so-called intuition. In seconds, I’m holding back gut-wrenching sobs that come out of nowhere as Darci reaches for me a second time. I’ve never had any kind of a real conversation with this man. He hasn’t given me a single reason to believe he’s the least bit interested in me. So why do I feel like a hot poker is slowly stabbing my heart?

  “It’s okay,” I persuade Darci. “I’ll be fine. Go take care of Ms. Barker. I’ll be out in just a second.” She turns to leave, and five minutes later, my stomach aching, my heart still pounding, I dry off my face and reach for the ruined lipstick, tossing it in the trash.

  “Gotta get out of here.” With no further explanation, I barrel through the front door and go to my car, squeezing back tears. I barely know Rhett Gentry, but for some reason, I feel connected to him. He feels like someone important. I thought there may be a chance of a friendship. Now I know, it was only in my head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kass

  Two Months Later

  “How bad is it?”

  Darci redirects her attention to my freshly cut hand, my wrist covered in a Band-Aid with a set of plump red lips across the top. Cuts being a reasonably normal occurrence around a hair salon, for some reason, designer Band-Aids have become a big deal to Leah, who insists on specialty varieties from Amazon. Today, I had a choice of either juicy red lips or tiny ninjas.

  “Just stings a little. I can’t believe I cut myself. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

  Her gaze darts over my hand again, and I almost smile. “Happens to the best of us I’m afraid.”

  Darci offers me a freshly-baked sourdough roll, which I accept, forcing another smile while trying to remind myself that things are good. I have a great job that I enjoy when many people don’t have that luxury, an aunt that treats me like the mother I’m not at all close to, good friends, and a nice, warm place to live. Basically, I have everything I need for a fulfilling lifestyle.

  Still, something’s had me a little down and out. Though I’m not really sure what’s got me feeling so blue other than the upcoming holidays that always get me a little bummed, it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Darci. According to my aunt, everything is better when food is involved, so we’re at Luigi’s for dinner, indulging on buttery rolls and bazillion-calorie, tomato-induced cream sauce over luscious lobster-filled pasta. High prices don’t keep us from splurging once every few weeks at the upscale eatery. Every dish is delicious, but the lobster ravioli deserves an Oscar. The sauce is good enough to bathe in.

  “Have you gone out at all lately?” she asks. “I worry about you, Kass. A woman needs something besides work in her life. Presumably a man. Companionship. A little horizontal hula from time to time,” she whispers. “You’ll burn out if you don’t start having some fun.”

  I dip bread into sinful gobs of pasta sauce, choking back a laugh.

  “I’m not touching the comment about sex … or the horizontal hula,” I add, “but I’ve been out.”

  “I don’t mean with Kim,” Darci argues with a serious expression. “I mean have you gone out with anyone of the male persuasion? As in a date? With someone sporting a penis?”

  I tinker with a piece of bread. “I’ve been out, Darci. Nothing worth mentioning, though.”

  “My treat,” she says, pulling out her credit card at the same time I reach for mine, the discussion of my sex life leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

  “Jesus, I feel like a harpooned whale.” Darci loads up a takeout container full of uneaten ravioli and rolls while I push mine aside and dab on Tarte peach-flavored lip gloss before reaching for a wintergreen Tic Tac. The familiar sound of a deep, gravelly voice robs my breath. The hair on my neck curls.

  It’s him.

  Rhett Gentry is standing only feet away from our table in the front of the restaurant with two other attractive gentlemen, requesting a table for three. Wearing a navy suit that fits him to perfection, he’s shaved his beard with only a panty-melting shadow of facial hair covering his jaw. He looks younger. And beautiful as sin. His hair is still fairly long, but he has gel worked through the top to keep it in place and has it neatly brushed into a sexy, fashionable style. He’s staring down at something on his phone as the wide-eyed hostess leads the group of men to their table—two tables across from ours.

  Shit! Shit! Double Shit!

  With a quick slip of his phone in his shirt pocket, Rhett and the other two men sit down at their table, the aroma of spicy male cologne wafting through the air as I hear something being spoken in a foreign language by one of the men, which the other two seem to ignore. The entire room of diners look toward the three testosterone-powered skaters, more than one pulling out their phone for an instant photo.

  Just looking at him makes me think of sex. Hot, dirty, phenomenal, toe-curling passion. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to a gawking Darci as she slides her credit card back inside her wallet. “Stat.”

  “Damn, girl. Are you sure?” she asks teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows. “I’m told they have a fantastic bread pudding here.”

  I’m too distracted to make light of a moment Darci and I will laugh at later, and my stomach turns to knots as we stand and I avoid looking t
oward his table, knowing damn well he’s seen me. Everything in my head a swirling chaos, I give my best shot at acting normal as I struggle to shake off the bitterness … and lust that I feel toward this man I have no right to feel a damn thing for. Shit, it’s been two months, maybe longer.

  A large family is blocking the exit as we try making a beeline to the door so I can get my breath back and my hands to stop shaking.

  Move your ass!

  “Kass?”

  The sensual, deep voice startles me as I spin around and look into piercing, soft blue eyes and six-foot and some odd inches of all man. Shit, he’s more handsome than ever, and I can’t help it—I’m aroused, a quick streak of warmth pulsing through my veins.

  “Rhett. Hi,” I whisper.

  “I thought that was you,” he says, dipping his hands into his pockets. “How are you? You look absolutely beautiful.” His heart-stopping gaze appears mellow and sensual, instead of angry and subdued. He stares fixedly at my lips for a few beats, and I feel pink tinting my cheeks.

  Our eyes stay glued, neither of us able to break the stare. “I’m doing well,” I respond, compelling myself to smile.

  “Look, Kass. I owe you an apology. I should have called or something. I was a first-rate dick.” He takes a step closer as Darci mouths, “I’ll be in the car.” My pulse races as I get a quick whiff of his cologne and its terrifyingly addictive scent.

  “No need. Really. You don’t owe me anything, Rhett. Honestly, I was only trying to earn the five hundred dollars your brother insisted I keep.” My heart beats out of my chest as I fight for words, staring into his intense blue eyes as his brows draw together in a frown.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus. I didn’t realize he paid that much to get me a haircut. I guess I really looked like hell.”

  Hardly!

  I counter with, “Maybe he just cares about you, Rhett.” As much as I want to tell him he looked anything similar to hell, I keep my response short.

  “Right,” he says, his expression strangely earnest. “That, or he’s just a pushy asshole.”

  We both smile and grow uncomfortably quiet for a few seconds. His lips spark a cutting stab of need in all the wrong places, and I’m suddenly flushed. My God, even after all this time, we still can’t have a short conversation without the air turning thick. I wonder if he feels it, or if it’s just me and my hopelessly romantic imagination.

  “My aunt’s waiting. I’ll see you around, Rhett.” I nod, watching him reach for his shadowed jaw and scratching.

  “Again, I was a dick, Kass,” he adds, his voice low, regretful. “And … I love the Band-Aid.”

  I glance down at my hand and force another smile, and he does the same. Slowly, he steps closer, our bodies a footstep apart as I breathe in his scent and wish I had a second bandage to cover my heart with.

  “My mistake. I could have at least thanked you for the cookies, which were absolutely awesome by the way.” He shoves his hands through his wavy hair again, blowing air out his mouth like he wants to say something else. But he doesn’t. Instead, he flashes another smile, and my mind reverts right back to where it was when I first saw him. Visualizing my tongue running over his thick lips before lavishing them in long minutes of deep, wet, sheet-clawing kissing and sex.

  Quick seconds pass as I try processing his words of apology that seem heart-filled, realizing I really don’t know how I want to respond. Or if I should. I opt to believe he’s honestly remorseful and leave it at that. “You’ll get no argument from me,” I respond with a hint of a smile as he stares down into my eyes with an expression that sucks the air from my lungs.

  “You’ll make some man a happy bastard one day, doll.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rhett

  Human nature involves many cravings we can’t always have.

  Twelve pounds down since the accident, I’ve increased my protein and carbohydrate intake through more pasta and fruit to get the weight back on. My weigh-in this morning showed I’m back to normal. Now if everything else could just be the same. After an ass-kicking brutal workout and a quick stop by Luigi’s for grilled chicken and zucchini on top of whole wheat pasta, the last thing I’d expected was running into Kass.

  Fuck, she hates my ever-loving guts. And I can’t really blame her.

  Two hours later, I’m back at home. Fighting guilt for more reasons than one. Lost in memories. Sexual frustration barrels through my veins as I work another stiff erection between my hand in the shower, trying to push Kassidy Johnson out of my thoughts. My balls are tight, my dick aching for release, every muscle in my lower gut clenching. I thrust toward the shower wall once. Twice. My hand, clutching my full shaft, moves up and down incessantly, my balls tightening with each drive of my fist. As much as I try shaking off the thought, I want this woman. Need this woman. Her taste is right on the edge of my lips. Another hard pump and threads of ejaculate shoot out in short spurts against the tiled wall while I bask in the ride of my emptying dick.

  “Get a fucking grip, man,” I say to myself as this savage need continues to ache deep in my chest. My head is still foggy, and my dick starts to soften as my chest riddles with self-reproach.

  Was it something I said?

  Something I did?

  I step onto the bathmat and dry off. Inwardly, I’m trying to sort through the fucked-up array of idiocy I can’t shake off no matter how hard I try. Christ, I want to ask this girl over. Have a conversation. Find out if she likes to dance. What she watches on television at night. What her delicate hand might feel like touching me.

  Yet, another part of me hopes to never see her face again.

  Nothing about this is rocket science. Really, it’s simple. My emphasis being on Kass means one thing … staying away. A girl like her deserves the very best. A nice banker or accountant to shower her with flowers and sweet words of praise. Someone to sweep her off her feet. Fuck her properly. Make long love to that beautiful body morning and night and everywhere in between. I’m anywhere but in the right place for female companionship.

  And it’s all so goddamned hard.

  Heart-shattering in ways I can’t even begin to explain.

  ****

  The metallic stench of blood is strong. I’m drowning. My legs won’t move. My arms are numb. Only feet away, I can’t get to her. Two men are behind the car, approaching quickly. Both are armed.

  She can’t see them. Can’t hear me scream.

  I have to get out of here. There’s nobody else to save her.

  In seconds, I’m retching up everything in my stomach, the smell of blood nauseating.

  Kicking the hell out of my feet, I try to feel any sort of sensation in my arms. Yet, they only get heavier. There’s no feeling at all now.

  She’s looking at me, her hands on her hips. Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear a damn thing. Gold flashes in front of me. I can’t tell what it is. It’s blinding.

  They’re right behind her now. I can’t make my way to save her.

  All the blood. It’s getting deeper. The smell stronger.

  It’s too late now. She falls to her knees, her eyes wide as she stares at me, the wound in her neck bleeding out.

  She tries to smile. Attempts to speak. Reaches for me.

  Her eyes are empty.

  Somebody screams my name, and I bolt straight up and out of the patio chase lounge, taking the chair with me and slamming it to the ground as I heave up chicken and asparagus from earlier.

  “Holy fucking Christ, Rhett.”

  Reese is standing beside me as I puke until I’m dry-heaving, my body slick with sweat as I struggle to get my breath back. The same nightmare as always… It still haunts me. Always the same. Faces that I can’t make out. Voices. Blood. Red. Flashes of gold.

  So much red.

  My chest aches as another wave of queasiness in my gut brings on a second unnatural muscle movement, forcing what liquid is left to come up. I stare at the pot of blooming hydrangeas covered in puke. Fill
ed with piss and spit from days on end. Gloom simmers in the pit of my stomach, biting my throat with more burning acid.

  Will this miserable, fucking shit show ever end?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rhett

  Jealousy is a strong combination of fondness and hostility.

  Monday again, I set my empty breakfast plate in the sink when my phone buzzes.

  “Reese,” I answer. “I’m just heading to the rink.”

  “Son of a bitch, bro, how can you motherfucking skate after hurling up your entire nervous system forty-eight hours ago? Let’s get you to a doctor, Rhett. Get you some anxiety meds or nausea medication. Christ,” he mumbles, as I wonder if he’s told our parents any of this while he spends a couple of days in Canada to celebrate Thanksgiving.

  “I’m fine, Reese,” I respond crisply.

  I’m far from fine.

  A few seconds of silence, he finally says, “Well, you didn’t look fine, man. You looked like utter shit. Thus, the reason for my phone call.”

  “Fuck you, too, asswipe. You know I’ve always had the prettier mug. The better ass. Bigger dick.”

  “Good to see your charming personality hasn’t changed any … and your false delusions,” Reese counters.

  “Learned it from the best.” My answer is short and choppy. My brother has been around me enough to know when I don’t want to talk anymore, so instead of getting me riled up with more comments that will only irritate me, for seconds we’re both silent while I gather my wallet and slide it in my pants pocket.

  “Hey, before I let you go, Mom and Dad send their love … and you’ll be glad to know I’ve decided to ask the hot little piece of ass from the hair salon I tried sending your way, out to dinner. She gets cuter every damn time I go in for a haircut. I’m feeling a good deep fuck in my future.”

  Do the motherfucking what?

  Jaw clenching, I pull my phone back, three seconds from crushing it between my hands that have somehow began shaking.

  No, goddammit!