by Kara Hart
“What’re you having?” an old waitress stands above me, holding a pen and notepad, waiting to hear my order.
“Traditional Breakfast. Over easy eggs, and burnt bacon,” I say. “Oh! And a coffee with two creams.”
“Got it,” she says. Then, she looks up and puts her notepad down. She smiles a little and says, “Say, you’re that girl from yesterday, aren’t you?”
“From yesterday?” I ask, bewildered.
“The girl outside, talkin’ to that big burly guy,” she says. “Come on, now. I know it was you talkin’ to him.”
“Yeah, that was me. So what?” I ask.
“You know that man? Or are you just an acquaintance?” she asks.
“I just met him the other day,” I tell her, getting annoyed. Why is this woman prying into my business? “So what? Why are you watching me?”
“There’s no need to get angry, now. I just thought it was curious. We all know the Payne family. Who are you? His new girlfriend?”
“Um, what? Girlfriend? No,” I laugh.
“Well, it’s curious that he’s back. I swear, that family vowed never to come back after their falling out,” she says, walking away.
Falling out? I start to wonder to myself, who exactly this man is and how did I fall into his inner circle so fast?
When my eggs come to the table, my curiosity is sparked. I look up at the waitress and ask, “What do you mean by falling out?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
The door swings open and he’s walks in. “Mary, are you spewing lies about me again?” He nods in my direction. “Hey, Emma.”
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Didn’t expect to find you in here,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone. I’m not following you or nothing.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. Is a member of a gang? Is he in the mob? Just who is this man?
He sits in a booth opposite of mine, but we’re within eye contact of each other. It’s hard not to look up. “So, I feel a little better now,” he says. “Sorry about all that. Had a bit of a rough night.”
“It was scary at first,” I tell him. “It’s kinda funny now, I guess.”
“Figure out your transient problem?” he asks, changing the subject. But before I can answer, he turns to Mary, the waitress. “Yeah, I’ll take a steak and eggs. Coffee too.”
“No,” I say. “To be honest, I’m not really sure there’s anything to figure out. The publishing company gave me a house in a bad area is all.”
“First of all, I resent that. It’s a beautiful area. Plenty of nature to keep you occupied,” he says. “Second, what publishing company. You an author or something?”
“I didn’t mean any offense. I just mean that it’s a bit out of the way,” I say. “I’d like to be an author someday, but I’m not very good at writing stories. For now, I just edit them.”
“Who said you were bad at writing?” he asks me. “I bet you’re as good as the rest of them. Who’s your favorite author?”
“Is that a compliment?” I laugh.
“Take it however you like, sweetie-pie,” he says, winking.
“Lots of questions. Um, I really like Gwen Talbathon, but I doubt you’ve heard of her. No one has heard of her.”
“Never heard of her,” he says. “So, you going to keep me over at this table forever, or are you going to invite me over?”
“Does this count as our dinner?” I ask him, feeling my heart beat a little bit faster.
He checks his watch and squints his eyes. “Well, it looks like it’s only one pm. Not exactly dinner, but it works, I suppose.”
He slides over the table and sits in my booth. He sits right next to me, rather than in front of me. I immediately feel awkward, but it’s also kind of exciting to feel like I’m breaking the rules, even if it is my own made-up rules. Rule one: never sit next to a stranger, no matter how hot he is.
He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes. “Thanks,” he says. “I could use some company.” Rule two: never let that hot stranger grope your thigh. And what’s rule three? Don’t let yourself get too wet that you soak your panties. Well, I think I’ve broken all my rules.
“No problem,” I mutter. “I guess I could use some company too. I don’t really know anyone out here.”
“It’s an easy-going place,” he nods. “Beautiful too. The people are friendly. I honestly don’t know why I ever left here.”
“Where’d you go to?” I ask him.
“Buffalo. It was a big change of pace, but I fell into good things there,” he says. “At least, I did for a while.”
“What happened that brought you back here?” I ask him, glancing down at his body. His undershirt clings to his tight muscles. He sits with a calm demeanor, but it’s like he’s made out of hard stone.
“Let’s change the subject,” he says. “We don’t need to talk about the past.”
“Okay,” I mutter. Weird.
I guess I should have known that there’s some baggage attached to this guy. Looking at him, it was obvious enough. I should be wary, but at this point, I feel comfortable talking to him. Not to mention, I’m starting to imagine what this guy is really like. Has he been with many women? Probably. Guys like him are always with women. What does he fuck like? Hard? Deep? Does he wrap his hands around a woman’s neck and show her who’s boss?
Okay, I need to chill. I need to just take a few deep breaths and think about nice things, like going back home and visiting my mom, or starting my new job. Unfortunately, the truth is, I haven’t gotten laid in at least a year. With finishing school and graduation, alongside getting this job in order, I haven’t had any time to talk to guys. Nor did I want to.
Did I think about it? Fuck yes, I did. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I like a good fuck. So what? In between the studying sessions, I imagined my professors trying to bribe a good grade for me, as long as I complied with their orders. I don’t know, it’s a bit cliché, but in the darkened library, I couldn’t help but sneak into the bathroom and touch myself.
A year before that found me in one of the longest relationships I’ve ever been in. Two years. That’s two years of getting laid, and feeling intense love. That is, until that all fizzled out. That was followed by what I call my “great depression.” It’s not something I ever want to relive again, which is sort of the reason why I keep my distance from guys in the first place.
Now I’m here. Denver, Colorado. And I don’t know anyone. What am I going to do? Not talk to this guy? When he sits next to me, I feel a great fear, as well as a great ease. It’s in this juxtaposition that I can really be myself. I can be testy, cute, and I can walk away at any time. At least, that’s how it feels to me.
Mary comes back with the coffee we ordered and I drink it eagerly. I don’t know, maybe it’s something in the grounds. Or maybe it’s that I’m truly starting to experience and demand things out of life. But I’m starting to feel like I can do anything. Soren has really brought the danger out in me, I guess.
“Why’re you shaking your head?” he laughs a little. “What are you thinking about?”
“Do you really think I’m a hot piece of ass?” I laugh and shake my head.
“What’re you talking about, woman?” he eyes me carefully.
“Earlier,” I say. “You called me a hot piece of ass. Do you really think that about me?”
“I think a lot of things about a lot of people,” he says.
“Yeah, okay. But you’re avoiding the question,” I say. I scoot my back against the wall on the side of me, and feel my butt press against the booth seat. He doesn’t waste time in looking.
“You don’t tell the truth much. Do you?” I ask him.
He scoffs at me and take a sip of his coffee. “Fine. You want to hear it?” he asks. I nod with a big smile on my face. “You’re a hot piece of ass and I kind of like your green eyes, but that doesn’t mean you ain’t a total…” he stops himself and
shakes his head.
“Come on,” I urge him. “Go on. Finish that sentence.”
“I’m good,” he says, cooling off. This guy is harmless, I reason. He’s a prick, but I can be just as feisty. Talking to him is probably the most interesting thing I’ve done in years.
Mary comes by with our food and I dig in like a wild animal. It’s totally off putting to watch, I’m sure, as Soren is just staring at me, watching.
“Bitch,” I say with my mouth full of food.
“Did you just call me a bitch?” he asks me, looking offended.
I nod my head. “Maybe I did,” I giggle. “I mean, it’s what you think of me, right?”
“I never said that,” he says, turning back to his food.
“I can only imagine the things you think about,” I say, squinting my eyes. How far can this conversation go? Do I really want to open up this box?
“The mind is a complex thing,” he says.
I go on. “All the things that piss you off about me… I’m from the city. I still get help from my mom. I’m pretty.” I say the word pretty slowly and the “P” pops against my lips.
He stands up and smiles. “It’s been a nice brunch,” he says, “but I gotta get out of here and get some shit done. I’ll be seeing you around.” He throws a twenty down on the table.
“Seriously?” I ask, surprised by his leave. “I’m sorry I said anything, okay?” I was just having a little fun. Deep down, I kind of wanted to see what might happen, but I’m glad it didn’t go too far. Sometimes I act impulsivly and I regret the things I do in those moments. This is definitely one of those times.
“Goodbye, Emma,” he says, walking away. But as soon as he gets to the door, he turns and marches right back up to my table.
“Just so you know,” he says. “If I had the chance, I’d leave you soaking wet on your kitchen counter. I’d tear your ass apart. By the time I was done with you, you’d be twitching and begging for more.”
With that statement, he walks out of the diner. My face is hot and clammy. I look down and the front of my jeans are wet. Fuck me.
Soren
That carefree woman is going to be the death of me. That’s a fucking fact. She’s got my mind all twisted and my cock rising to no end. Normally, I can be crude to women. But even though she can get all full-blooded and lively, she’s got an air of innocence to her.
I have to admit, it turns me on. The problem is that it brings out the worst in me. Just when I’m supposed to be hiding, I’m out looking for that curvy body of hers. I’m prowling the area, just to get one glimpse of her again. She’s got those perfect lips and beautiful voice, the smile of a fucking angel, and the body of a goddess.
I just want to experience all of her. I want to feel her warmth and wetness. I want to feel her tits smash into my face. My god, I just want to dive into her. It’s fucked up. This feeling of need and lust, is not exactly something I want to be ruled by. I just want to go about my day, but I’m forced to dream about her constantly.
I’m so fucking revved up, I could fuck all day.
There’s a knock on my door. The knock turns to pounding. The pounding turns to kicking. I grab a bat from my closet and I hold it in front of me, ready to knock the person on the other side’s head right off.
“I’ve got a gun pointed right at your chest,” I lie. “State your name.”
“If I tell you, you’ll just pull the trigger,” he says.
“Gabe?” I set the bat down and open the door. “Fuck me.”
“I had a feeling that would be your response,” he says. “Heard you were in town. What’re you doing back here?”
“Just came back to check on some things,” I lie again. Gabe doesn’t need to know jack shit about my life. I swore I’d never talk to the bastard again, years ago.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“No one’s stoppin’ you,” I mutter gruffly, and walk inside the kitchen. I grab that same bottle of whiskey and I pour myself a glass with three ice cubes. I sit down and eye him carefully.
“Mary tell you I was back?” I ask him, patiently.
“Of course she did,” he laughs a little and rubs his chin. “You know how that woman is. She’s always living in the past. Just wants to bring the family back together.”
“That’ll never happen,” I tell him. “Anyone know where Jim is these days?”
“Dad? Shit, man. He’s probably in some Casino in New Mexico or something. That, or he’s dead,” he says. “I could care less about that asshole.”
“Well, there’s something we can agree on,” I say, holding the glass up.
“You got something for me?” he asks. I groan and pour him a glass, leaving the ice out. He doesn’t seem to mind.
“You came here for the money I gave you, didn’t you?” he asks after some minutes pass.
“Fuck no,” I say, feeling ashamed. Fuck yeah, I took the money. Of course, I did. I’m in dire straits right now. I’ve got nothing going for me. I’m being hunted.
“Bullshit,” he says. “I saw that beat up, old truck down at the repair shop on Brookshire. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. That money is for you. It’s been a while. I didn’t think you’d ever grab it.”
“Someone will, someday,” I say, looking away.
“Sure. Whatever,” he says. “Look man, I’m sorr—” Whatever it is he has to say, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not in a place to forgive. Forgiveness is God’s duty, not mine. I’m just someone who’s trying to make a life for himself. I’m just trying to get by.
“Save it,” I tell him. “I don’t care.”
“Alright, brother,” he says. He walks into the hallway and looks at all the pictures, still hanging on the wall. “Why did Dad keep all these up?” he laughs. “Man, we look goofy.”
“Jim probably just got lazy. I don’t think he gave it a thought in the world,” I tell him.
I watch as he downs his whiskey and nods. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he says. “Well, I guess I should be going.”
“Yeah, I guess you should,” I say.
He laughs angrily and walks to the door. “You know, I’m getting pretty sick of this petty shit,” he says. “You can do whatever you want, man. You can run off to Buffalo. You can scorn my name. You can fight me again and again, but it’s not going to change anything. I’ll still be your brother. I’ll still be here.”
“Great,” I say. I just want him to get out of my face, before I punch it in. He knows what he did. He knows how much he wrecked my life.
“Someday you’ll have to forgive me,” he says, swinging the door open. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be alone forever.”
He slams the door shut and I’m left in the darkness of my house, holding my nearly-finished glass of whiskey. “Fuck it all,” I whisper.
There’s nothing left for me in this world. That’s the sentiment I had coming into this town. That’s the same sentiment I feel today. Nothing, except for Emma’s smile and round, luscious ass. Those two things, I swear, are the only things keeping me going these days.
Emma
All of tonight is spent thinking about the what-if’s in my life. I normally don’t think in such a rhetorical fashion, but being on my own for the first time in my life, I’ve sort of had to face some uncertainty. What if this job doesn’t work out? What if I’m not cut out for it, or if I don’t fit in?
What if I just reached out and grabbed Soren’s cock? Okay, maybe that’s going a little too far, but it’s on my mind. It’s also late at night and I have no one to talk to and nothing I can really do. The fact is, I’m lonely and the only person I really know is just a few blocks away.
He’s wild. He’s living through some extremes, that’s for sure. From the forest to the big city of Buffalo? Oh god, he’s probably dangerous. He probably has ties to some weird shit, or he’s hiding a lot. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me curious.
And yet, somehow, I can block it out. When I talk to him, I think about his
big hands around my waist, or running up my thigh, right up to my core. He gives me these glimpses that should make me frightened, but instead make me shiver with excitement.
When I step out of my place, I’m not all that surprised by myself. I’ve always been a little impulsive and I guess that has gotten me into some trouble, but I’m here and I want to have some fun. I walk to his house, holding my phone’s flashlight out in front of me.
“This is so stupid,” I tell myself. “What are you doing, Emma? You’re a good girl. You’re the sweet, little Gallaway girl, at the end of the cul-de-sac. Remember?”
But that’s not me anymore. I have to understand that. My interests are changing. I want to make something of myself, but I also want to fall into temptation. That’s part of being a woman, right? Sometimes you just have to experience what you want and assess the situation later.
I knock three times and I hear some shifting inside. “Gabe? I thought I told you to leave,” I hear him yell, angrily.
Shit, maybe this was a bad idea. He’s clearly in a weird mood. “Um, no,” I squeak, feeling two feet tall. “It’s Emma.”
“Oh, uh,” he stumbles around and I hear a belt buckle jingle across the floor. “One second. Shit.”
He finally opens the door and peeks out. “What’re you doing here? It’s eleven at night,” he says.
I shrug and show myself in. “How old are you? Eighty?” I laugh. “Are you asleep or something?”
“Hell no,” he says. “I was just readin’.”
“You read?” I raise my eyebrow.
“I read some true crime stuff,” he says, as if it’s a secret. “I don’t really have a TV here, so I make do with what I have.”
“You want to do something?” I ask him, looking around his place. It’s fairly clean and there’s pictures of his family nailed to the walls. It has a real comfortable feeling to it.
“Like what?” he eyes me carefully.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’m bored. Let’s play a drinking game.”
