Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “Come back here and change out of those clothes. We have an extra bedroom you can use,” I say, waving for her to come to the back of the bus. She walks warily toward me, her eyes shifting left and right, looking for God only knows what.

  “Come on. We’re not going to kidnap or murder you. I promise. We’re just on a vacation, going across the country to see the sights. We mean no harm.”

  I slide the door back into the pocket wall and flip on the light to the room. She finally arrives, craning her neck around the corner to look into the empty room. Her gaze takes in a loft bunk with a built-in desk underneath it, a chest of drawers, and a mirror.

  “It’s pretty sparse, but you can unpack your things and make yourself at home. Luke stayed in here. The sheets were washed yesterday, after we left him at the Hermitage Hotel.”

  “I don’t have much. Richie burned most of my stuff when he kicked me out. This is all I’ve got.”

  I toss her bag on the bunk. She takes the towel from my hand, patting her hair and dress. Then she kicks her boots off, the carpet soaking up the rain that spills from them.

  I stare, mesmerized as perfectly, pedicured purple toes wiggle into the gray carpet. I’ve never had a foot fetish, but I may have one now. My dick tightens in my pants, and I turn away. My hand finds the door pull.

  “I’ll leave you to change and dry off. There’s a washer/dryer combo in the bathroom if you need them. Bathroom is right across the hall here.” I flip that light on, so she knows I’m not lying. Her neck stretches and looks over my shoulder until she sees the shower reflected in the mirror.

  A small “thanks” escapes her lips as she grabs for the door and tugs it closed. I wait to hear the lock grip the wall latch before stepping away.

  I stride back to the front of the bus and take a seat next to Derek, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. Not that I’ve known her for weeks, but for some reason, all my focus goes to her, making my own problems seem less. She’s here, and she’s okay. That’s all I need to know. For now.

  Derek studies the weather map. “This rain is coming in from the north. Do you want to head west through Texas or make our way up north to Route 66? Either is fine with me.”

  He hands me his phone, and I enlarge and decrease the map, moving it around on the screen, weighing my options. “Let’s head towards New Orleans. I’ve never been there, believe it or not. I’d like to experience Bourbon Street.”

  “NOLA, get ready, ‘cause here we come,” Derek high-fives me for my spectacular decision-making skills, and plugs our new route into the GPS. He flips the blinker and guides us back onto the road. When movement comes from the back of the bus, he looks over at me. “New person, new adventure?”

  “God, I hope so.” I settle into the massive captain’s chair, kick my feet up onto the dashboard, and enjoy the big picture view as we leave Church Street and head onto I-40.

  The soft swaying of the bus lulls me to sleep within a few minutes.

  “Carter, wake up.” Derek taps my shoulder softly. I open my eyes and see nothing but fenced in hanging flowers and an expanse of bright red geraniums with bumble bees buzzing. This can’t be New Orleans. It’s supposed to be swampy and muggy. Although, I can feel the heat coming through the windows.

  “Where are we?” I sit up straight in the chair and rub the sleep from my eyes.

  We’re in some kind of parking lot. I lower my legs from the dashboard, and that pins-and-needles feeling shoots through them to my feet.

  “Ouch, damn it.” I shake my legs, trying to get the blood to flow to them faster. Why in the hell did I think falling asleep like that would be comfortable?

  “We’re hungry, and we’re out of snacks. And there’s a bonus because we’re at your favorite shopping place… Walmart Supercenter.”

  I groan, not knowing how one trip constitutes it being my favorite place.

  He bends low and whispers into my ear, “Plus, it’s time to take your meds, or you’re going to be miserable later. C’mon, go take your meds, then we’ll run inside to get some food. We’ll be outside waiting for you.”

  We? Who the fuck is we?

  I stand up and bounce on the balls of my feet, testing them to make sure they’re going to hold me when I look up to see the other half of the ‘we’ Derek is talking about. She’s sitting in the living area, petting Molly. Teddy. She wasn’t a figment of my imagination. She really got on the bus.

  I straighten my shirt and run my fingers through my hair, pushing down on its long length to flatten it. I blow my own breath into the palm of my hand and smell it while she isn’t looking. Great. I need to brush my teeth too.

  I fill a cup of water and take it back to my room, swallowing down my pills as fast as I can. One of the caps gets stuck. I twist and turn it without much success, until I finally twist it so hard, I force it back into the right grooves. But now I have an indentation of the cap in my palm. Jesus Christ. Why do they make these things so hard for sick people?

  After hiding my pills away, I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth quickly, while checking out my hair in the mirror. Yep, it’s time for a haircut too. Maybe in NOLA, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a new look for Carter 2.0. The possibilities are endless it seems.

  I swing the door open to a partly cloudy day, and Molly runs out. Shit. She’s not on her leash, and I freak the fuck out, running after her and hollering her name, “Molly. Molly!”

  Derek starts chasing after her too, running in circles between the parked cars. She’s fucking with him, thinking he’s playing, and I burst out laughing.

  Of this funny little side-show we have going on, the only sensible one is Teddy. She goes back inside the RV and grabs Molly’s obscenely large chew bone and leash. She stands on the top step like the Queen Dogmaster she truly is and whistles one of those high-decibel ear-piercing screeches that makes me want to cover my ears. I swear, everyone in the whole parking lot stops whatever they’re doing and looks at her. She hoists the dog bone high in the air and waves it like a flag while hollering in the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard, “Molly. C’mere pretty girl. Molly, I’ve got your bone. C’mon, Molly.” She wiggles her ass, doing a little dance with the bone, slaps her thighs with her hands then claps them to gain her attention while repeating her name over and over.

  I almost wish my name was Molly, because I’d run toward that booty shake too.

  And I’ll be damned. Molly finally spots her bone in the air and runs full throttle at Teddy to get to it. Teddy throws the bone inside the RV just as Molly reaches her, and quickly slams the door shut. Whew! Crisis averted.

  Teddy starts strutting toward us, brushing the bone dust from her hands with a smug smile on her face.

  My God, she’s gorgeous. The wind whips her hair up and off her slender shoulders, while the sun shines brightly on her green eyes, making them sparkle. She’s proud of herself, and I think I just fell in love. My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute, and it has nothing to do with the dog chase. The sweet vixen walking in slow motion toward me just stole my heart.

  I look over at Derek, and his mouth is open as he takes in the same view. I lean over and whisper into his ear, “Dibs.”

  “Aww, fuuuck,” is all he says before turning and grabbing a cart from the corral.

  10

  Teddy

  I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into with these lunatics. They can’t even control their own dog. The art of distraction is like Doggy 101, so why don’t they know this rule?

  They seem nice, but then again my character judging skills have declined since I moved to Nashville.

  I remember when I thought Richie was a nice guy too. Asshole.

  Manipulative, abusive asshole, if I’m being accurate.

  Derek, the driver, seems quiet and defers to Carter a lot. Derek keeps checking his watch. He must be the organized one of the two, and it’s Derek’s responsibility to make sure they stick to their destination schedule.

  Which makes me think
Carter isn’t organized, or he isn’t great with responsibility. Either way, they’re both pretty smokin’ hot, and I’ve won the lottery for great views to look at on this trip.

  They both throw food into the cart like money is no object. Name brand this, name brand that. Had I known I’d be grocery shopping today, I would’ve packed my coupons.

  “You know, the Great Value corn chips taste the same as name brand and cost a $1.49 less,” I say, fighting the urge to replace them. I lift up the aisle tag hanging under the chips and look at the SALE going on. “Or even better, you can get two of the Great Value bags for only ten cents more than one of these.” I pick up the bag of chips from the cart and shake it, enticing them with the offer of a better deal.

  Carter takes it from my hand, stuffing it back into its spot on the shelf, and tosses two Great Value corn chips bags into the cart, before zooming down the rest of the aisle popping wheelies with the cart. He hands the cart off to Derek to take his turn.

  Boys. Show-offs…if only I had my own cart.

  “Damn, I could use you in the boardroom when I have a deal going on,” Carter says smiling as he casually walks back toward me. “Feel free to add some food into the cart for yourself.”

  “I don’t think they have price tags or buy two for the price of one deals in a boardroom. I wouldn’t know the first thing about that kind of negotiation. What do you do in a boardroom?” I glance at him.

  He walks beside me, matching his steps to mine. We turn down the next long row filled with baking items and other sweet products. His arm swings up to point at something and accidentally grazes mine. One brief touch sends a thousand-watt spark through me, heating me.

  “Wow. Have you ever seen a can of pudding that big? That would feed a small army of children,” he says, extending his hand to turn the can so he can read the nutrition label. “Yep, twenty-four servings. Just imagine the sugar high you’d get from that.”

  “I think it’s meant to make pudding pies. See?” I point to the pie crusts sitting next to the large can on the shelf. “That’s why they’re together in this aisle.”

  His plump lips mouth the word ‘oh’.

  “You’re the practical type. You stay in the middle lane, don’t you?” One dark brow rises up in question.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I walk over to the bags of nuts hanging on pegs and grab a few packs of natural almonds.

  “You know, you play it safe, staying in the middle of the road in case you need to go left or right to get to where you want to go.”

  His intensely white smile is making my stomach do flip flops, so I walk in front of him. He walks closely behind, breathing in my ear. “The slow lane is boring and frustrating. There life just hums along at the same speed, but the fast lane is scary and dangerous, causing anxiety over whether or not you made the right decision. So you stay in the middle where it’s practical and safe, going the right speed for any and all of life’s decisions,” he continues with his analysis of my life.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the middle road.” I turn and bump into his chest, splaying my fingers across the hard cage of his ribs. “I think most people stay in the middle, to use your analogy.” I pull my hands off him with the quickness of being burned.

  “I disagree. I think most people change lanes according to what they’re willing to risk for whatever it is they want.”

  “Is there a point to this conversation?” I turn and continue walking, gripping my bags of almonds. If I budget them correctly, I can snack on them for a few days and not spend too much of my money. Derek comes around the corner with the cart and stops next to me. He’s piled it high with bread, pasta, dairy products, and manly, fresh meat…otherwise known as ribs and steak.

  “No, no point. Just trying to get to know the stranger sleeping in my RV.” He walks back to the massive cans of pudding and grabs one, while extending an arm out and picking up a pie crust to go with it. He adds it to the top of the cart. “I need to make sure you aren’t going to kill us while we sleep.” He and Derek both look at me questioningly.

  “I haven’t decided about that yet,” I say matter-of-factly, sauntering between them and moving into the next aisle. I stand there at the entrance for a moment, giggling out of sight, waiting for them to either follow me or bail on me. Nothing would surprise me at this point. All of a sudden, I hear laughing, so I peek around the corner. They’re smelling big bags of different flavored marshmallows and passing them back and forth to each other. Boys.

  They are juvenile boys—boys with men’s firm asses that round out their jeans. That’s the view I’m facing when I stroll back up to them. If we were close friends, I’d swat them both on their perfection and cause a stinger to burn.

  Carter holds the toasted coconut marshmallow bag up to my nose and shakes it teasingly, so I lean in and inhale. “Mmmm. That actually smells good.” With my endorsement, he dumps it into the cart. I have no idea what we’ll eat them with, but I guess we’ll improvise.

  “C’mon. Let’s hit the produce department and call it a day,” Derek announces, and turns the cart in that direction.

  “Teddy,” Carter says, his hand sweeping over the cart. “Please put some food in the cart for yourself to eat. It’s on me.” He reaches forward and takes the tiny bags of almonds from my tight hold and adds them to the growing mass.

  We settle back into the RV and store the groceries away. Derek and Carter work efficiently together, moving and dodging around each other while I keep Molly out of the way. I mentally note where things go so I don’t piss off my hosts and get kicked to the curb. I’m determined to not ever let that happen again.

  I have no idea what I was thinking when I agreed to move in with Richie. He’s a smooth talker and paints a beautiful picture of how fabulous country music stardom can be. I was all too eager to step onto his cloud nine and float along in the dream, until I realized it’s always been just that—all talk and a painted picture from a dream. Stupid me. Naïve me.

  Never again.

  My father would be majorly disappointed in the life I’m living right now. I can hear him now, “I told you to say in medical school.” It’s a good thing he’s not taking my calls. I’ve been ex-communicated, cut-off, disinherited…officially ousted from the Bruce family.

  “Teddy. Hello, are you there?” Derek snaps his fingers and waves his hands in front of my eyes to gain my attention.

  “Yeah, sorry. What’s up?”

  “Would you like to join us at the table for a little scheduling pow-wow?”

  I look over at the table, and Carter has a whiteboard and marker laid out in front of him. He’s busy erasing something on it with a clean cloth.

  “Umm, sure.”

  I slide into the far side of the bench seat on the opposite side of Carter. Derek boxes me in.

  “Here, Derek,” Carter says, pushing the board toward Derek and handing him the marker. “You write neater than my chicken scratch. Add Teddy’s name to it. Then we’ll hash out meals and laundry.”

  “You can cook and do laundry, can’t you?” They both look up at me, waiting. Derek’s face is passive while Carter beams a welcoming smile.

  “Yes, I-I can cook. Am I…” I swallow down the knot that’s suddenly tightening my throat. “Am I expected to wash your laundry and you w-wash mine?” My words tumble and trip out of my mouth like a dog in skates. Jesus, I sound like an idiot.

  “Oh, God no.” Carter’s eye crinkle in amusement and wink at me when my shoulders relax. “We do our own laundry, but we schedule the day, so we aren’t wasting precious water and waiting on someone else’s clothes to wash or be folded. It helps since Derek spends most of his time driving and can’t change his loads out.”

  “So, at least one day of the week, we don’t travel. Sometimes it’s more than that, like in Nashville, but we’re winging it on this vacation and seeing how it goes. So far, it’s worked out well,” Derek advises, shrugging his shoulders like the concept amazes him.

  He s
ets the whiteboard down on the table, and I see my name neatly written in the previously-empty bracket. Derek has school teacher writing. I wonder if that’s his profession. The top columns are labeled with the days of the week, and then it’s split into two sections, also neatly labeled Cooking and Laundry. A listing of our names separates each section. Yep, organized and partitioned just like a school teacher divvying out classroom chores.

  “I don’t care how we do it, but I don’t want Friday.” Carter picks up the pen and puts a big X on Tuesday for laundry and cooking. “I had that last go ‘round, and it sucked. I don’t want to be starting my weekend off with laundry and chores.”

  He passes the marker to me, and I stare at the board blankly. I’ve never had to do this…not even in the sorority house in college. “Umm, I’ll take Friday. I like doing laundry.” I pass the marker to Derek, but he passes it to Carter instead. “Why don’t you get a turn?” I hold up my hand, confused.

  “My days alternate with both of yours. I take whatever is left over, and those are usually our non-travel days,” he explains. “But I also get to switch off with one of you if we need to in case our travel schedule needs adjusting.”

  “All right. Here comes the hard part—cooking. Are you allergic to anything? Have a special diet? Tell us what you can and can’t do in the kitchen.”

  “Can’t we just cook our own food?” Four large, round eyes blink rapidly back at me at my suggestion. I guess I hit them where it hurts, their stomachs.

  “I make a tasty Linguine with Shrimp Scampi. You don’t wanna miss it. You know what I mean?” he teases in his best Godfather impersonation and pinches his thumb and two fingers together kissing them, letting the kiss go out into the air between us.

  “I’m trying to eat healthier. You know, more vegetables, less carbs. You may not like the things I cook. Richie never did, so I ate alone most of the time.”