Bite & Release

by CORY CYR

  I killed off the rest of the glass and leaned into Trina, waving my cup by her face. I felt my cheeks warming and my body stirring as I began to feel the effects of the alcohol. Trina took my glass and went back into the kitchen to refill it. Once I had another one in my hand, I started scrutinizing Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable in the corner.

  “What are you staring at?” Trina asked me.

  “Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable,” I sighed. Without even looking at her, I just subtly tilted my head to point in his general direction.

  I heard her choke, then start to laugh, and I watched, dumbfounded, as she stalked in his direction. Confusion penetrated my alcohol buzz. Did Trina know him? Now that could work to my advantage; maybe I could at least get laid while I was stuck in fucking Alaska. As I sipped my drink, I watched with interest as Trina was talking to Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable. At one point, she smacked him on top of the head and grabbed his sunglasses off his face. I paused as he lifted his eyes to mine. The most intense pair of blue eyes blazed as they stared into my widening eyes. No one ever had eyes that blue except for . . .

  “FUCK ME.” I thought I had said it in my head, but in reality, it had rushed across the room like a Category 5 hurricane. Almost everyone looked at me with distaste, except him. His mouth turned upward into a sensual grin as he began walking towards me.

  Fuck . . . FUCK! All of a sudden I felt like my skin was too tight and I was a caged animal with no place to go, except maybe home—it was only up the street. Guilt and a dash of denial were swallowing me whole.

  I had just been eye-fucking the kid I used to babysit.

  “Ryan.” His voice was a mixture of sinful masculinity, deep and sexy. I looked up. Damn, he was definitely a tree . . . a very tall tree. Those blue eyes permeated mine and I saw him smirk. The bastard knew he threw me for a loop. I was praying he couldn’t see the panic in me right now.

  “Shea,” I answered, never taking my eyes off of him, yet still trying to act extremely disinterested.

  “Actually, I go by ‘Andrew’ now.” That smug smile of his was wreaking havoc on my senses.

  “Oh yeah, Trina told me. Oh well . . . forgot,” I replied and attempted to lace my voice with boredom. Shea just stood there, staring at me. It made me very uncomfortable—especially since I had referred to the kid I used to babysit as Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable. Oh God, I am so going to hell for this.

  “Wow, I always knew you’d turn out like this. Thirteen years later, you’re not only beautiful, but you’re also smoking hot.” His voice came across with a salacious tone. All I could do was shrug—frankly, I was so mentally disturbed, thinking that I had wanted to have sex with the kid I used to babysit, that I could hardly articulate a reply.

  Fighting my angst, I closed my eyes in frustration. “Go away, Shea,” I retorted, attempting to wish him away.

  “Andrew.” His tone was cocky but controlled.

  “Whatever. Andrew/Shea, go away . . . Damn, I think that rhymed,” I quipped. Shea bent down towards me.

  “Are you drunk?” Shea asked, as he started taking off his jacket. For a moment, I was wondering why he was taking off his jacket. Due to my slight buzz, I decided to just enjoy the show.

  I leaned forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. God, he smelled really good. I inhaled his scent and then closed my eyes. Between the booze and his glorious smell, I started feeling a warming sensation in my groin. I had the distinct desire to cross my legs due to the wetness beginning to pool there.

  “Just a tad,” I replied, giggling, as I tried to show him how small a tad was with my fingers.

  “I know you still have them, Ryan. I want to see them,” Shea said in a quiet voice, reaching out, trying to hold me steady.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I hedged, feigning ignorance. Oh, I knew exactly what he was talking about. I watched him as he rolled his sleeves up his arms. He had huge hands with long tapered fingers and his arms were toned and lightly tanned. He was definitely all male. I tried to look away but there was no denying that Shea the boy had grown into a sexy gorgeous man. His hand snaked out and grabbed the hem of my sleeve. I stood still but my heart hammered double-time as he pushed up my sleeve. He put his arm next to mine, and there they were. Two rows of bite marks.

  I spent many years trying to explain why I had teeth marks on my left arm. First I said vampire bite, then I said lover’s bite, but I finally gave up and started to buy products to cover them. Satan’s child had bitten me when he was eight. I mean he actually bit me, sunk his teeth into me, wouldn’t let go, and drew blood. I had known he had a biting issue, after he had basically been expelled from third grade because he bit the other kids, the teacher and the damn principal. The day he found out I was leaving, he freaked, the little psycho, and after he bit me, I returned the favor. I bit him back, hard, until he howled like a wounded animal. Unfortunately, it required a trip to the emergency room for both of us. They had cleaned and wrapped our injuries, but they said the bite marks would scar. Thirteen years later, we were standing in the Michaels’ home, both of us still marked by the bites from our youth. The air in the room suddenly felt suffocating, and my belly fluttered nervously. I had to leave. There wasn’t enough space in this room for Shea’s masculinity and my lust.

  I quickly pulled my sleeve down and shoved Shea back. He snickered and pushed his other sleeve up, undoing the top button of his shirt. His throat was thick and I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. This was not fair. The one really hot guy in this fucking place was the kid who marred me for life by biting me.

  “Can I take you to dinner while you’re here?” he asked.

  Was he serious?

  Demented much?

  There was no way I was going anywhere with him, ever. I looked over at him, just in time to watch him lick his lips, his eyes going half-lidded as he watched me. He was actually coming on to me, and I was horrified because my body was definitely responding to him. Just then, Trina and Quinn walked up, and I handed my glass to her.

  “Please thank your mom for me, Trina. I appreciate all of this, but I need to go home and get some sleep.” I tried not to look in Shea’s direction as I moved towards the front door. “I’m pretty sure the vodka did me in. Sorry.” I quickly turned to make my escape when I slammed directly into Shea’s tall frame, hard as granite. I just knew he was hiding a hot body beneath that suit, damn him. I sucked in my breath, but I refused to look up at him.

  “I have to go, Shea.” I managed to squeak out. He moved to one side, letting me pass. I caught the scent of his cologne again as I opened the door, inhaling it deeply as I walked outside. There was something seriously wrong with me—I was aroused by the kid I used to babysit.

  I needed sleep desperately. That should clear my fuzzy head . . . and my crazy thoughts.

  Chapter SIX

  The next day was better, even though I was nursing a hangover. I managed to tidy up a few rooms and find a gardener in the newspaper. He came over that afternoon, mowed the lawn, and pulled weeds. If I eventually planned to sell the house, I needed it to be inviting, not only on the inside but on the outside as well. Getting the house and yard in order was going to be a major deal.

  The house itself was in fairly good condition, but it could use some repairs on the outside, and even though the yard had been mowed and weeded, it would take weeks to get it in presentable shape. I powered on my laptop and searched for local real estate agencies. I chose three of them and made appointments for the end of the month. I wanted at least a couple of weeks to get the house in selling condition.

  Once I figured out how much to list the house for on the market, it should give me enough money to start a new life elsewhere. I would never go back to New York and I didn’t want to stay here, so eventually I would have to start exploring other places to live. I wiped the perspiration from my face with the hem of my shirt, wondering how much a divorce lawyer was going to cost. There was no way I could start over before I cut Garrison
loose; unfortunately, he wasn’t going to go quietly.

  I continued to work on the inside of the house. Before I knew it, the time had passed quickly—it was late and the daylight had vanished.. I realized that I needed food, among other things. I had neglected to go shopping and now I was hungry too. I went into the garage and there it was, my dad’s baby, a 1967- 427 Corvette. I looked inside and shook my head, knowing it was staring me right in the face and laughing.

  “FUCK!” I yelled. “Jesus, dad, mocking me from the fucking grave?” I stood, staring at the standard transmission between the bucket seats. I had never learned to drive a stick shift. I was pretty sure the reason my dad had put a three speed in the car was so I would never drive it. Well, this just sucked.

  I had money, a vehicle I couldn’t drive, I was starving, and on top of everything, it was too fucking far to walk any place. I grabbed a coat and jogged over to Mrs. Michaels’ only to find the house dark, so I decided to call Trina and beg her to please come and take me to a grocery store. I tried twice, getting her voice mail each time. I sat in the kitchen, thinking of what I could do. I supposed I could call Shea, but the idea made me feel unsettled. Just thinking about him as a man now started a very slow burn in my belly . . . then settled between my legs. Just having those thoughts made me feel sick to my stomach too. Fuck, I was a hot mess.

  I should not be wet dreaming about the kid I used to baby sit.

  I was hungry for a lot of things, but currently, food was the immediate choice. Well hell. I picked up my cell phone and called Shea.

  “Hello,” a feminine voice answered. For a moment, I was dumbfounded. Of course, a woman would have answered his phone. Shea was probably the most eligible guy in Fairbanks and women must flock to his bedside.

  “Um . . . is Shea . . . I mean, Andrew around?” I asked nervously. Jesus, I was only calling to ask for a ride, I admonished myself.

  I couldn’t hear anything but breathing, and it seemed to go on for minutes.

  “Andrew, it’s for you,” I could hear the sound of irritation grating her voice when she called out to him. The last thing I wanted to do was cause problems between Shea and his girlfriend. This had to be the blonde that had been mauling him at the wake.

  “Andrew speaking” His voice sounded deep, sleepy, and yummy. I just shook my head, rolling my eyes and chastising myself yet again. Yummy, really?

  “Shea . . . ah . . . Andrew?” I asked. As I said it, for some reason I felt a nervous flutter course through my body.

  “Ryan?” His voice sounded surprised. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine—it’s just that I need to go to a store. I hate to bother you. I guess I should have done this earlier, but I need food and supplies.” I paused. “I tried your mom and sister, but no one’s around.” I felt really stupid and needy at the moment.

  “Isn’t your dad’s car in the garage?” he asked.

  “Yeah, well . . .” I exhaled deeply with embarrassment. I actually felt my cheeks burn red on my face.

  Shea started laughing. “You’re not serious—after thirteen years?”

  “Whatever, never mind. Fuck,” I spit out, exasperated “I’ll just go tomorrow. Sorry I bothered you.” His voice stopped me before I disconnected the call.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes . . . just let me throw on some clothes.”

  Just the thought of him answering the phone sans clothes set my nipples on high alert. Seriously, as soon as I get food, I needed to go to a bar, pick up some random hot guy and have wild meaningless sex. Then I could stop looking at Shea as Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable. My eyes traveled down to my stained sweats and ratty sweatshirt. Some exotic beauty I was—wow, if New York saw me now . . . I had been cleaning all day and I was not only filthy but also smelly. I took a five-minute shower and threw on a very dated but extremely warm sweater dress. I wasn’t out to impress this “kid.”

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that . . . while you’re touching up with mascara and lip-gloss.

  As I brushed my long wavy dark hair, I began to take stock of my age and my looks. I guess I had been lucky and had taken after my mom. She had exotic looks and a true natural beauty from the photographs I had seen. I’d gotten her coloring and her eyes, but I figured that the rest of me belonged to my dad. I had been born with everything on my face and body—Garrison had wanted me to get breast enlargements, but a C cup was plenty big for my five foot four frame. I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking I looked pretty good for thirty-four. I turned off my bathroom light and headed downstairs.

  As I grabbed my coat, I saw headlights come up the drive. I felt butterflies in my stomach—really? I was being absolutely ridiculous. I cracked the front door and watched as Shea got out of his car, a late model Ford Bronco. He was wearing faded jeans with a dark blue sweater, stretched over his broad chest, with a dark knit cap pulled over his head. As he got closer, I felt my breath hitch. His eyes were even bluer at night, with thick dark eyelashes highlighting them, his dark stubble still prevalent on his chin. No matter what my brain was screaming right now, my eyes appreciated feasting on the view.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said sheepishly, watching him getting closer.

  He chuckled as he came to the front door. “No problem, Ryan. Maybe it’s time you learn to drive a stick.”

  “I live in New York—we use taxis,” I snickered, as I grabbed my purse. The air was chilly, and even though night had fallen, there was still a sliver of light on the horizon that cast an array of colors, cascading across a breath-taking sky. Shea opened the passenger door for me. Not only hot, but also a gentleman. I wasn’t even sure what we would talk about. As he got in, his proximity to me was unnerving. On the drive downtown, I would catch him looking at me when I would steal a glance at him. Jesus Christ, this was so wrong. This man-child made me nervous and frustrated all at the same time.

  “So how long have you and your girlfriend been together?” I asked, trying to remind myself that this young man had an even younger girlfriend.

  “Carrie? Oh, she’s not a girlfriend, per se. We aren’t in an exclusive relationship,” he said as he gripped the steering wheel, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

  I snickered. “Have you told her? Because the way she was hanging off of you at my dad’s wake says something different.”

  Shea turned his head to look at me, his lips curled into a delicious grin. “Jealous?”

  “Hardly,” I replied, rolling my eyes as I twisted the handle of my purse. I couldn’t wait to get to a store so I could put some space between us. When we finally got to the store, I hurriedly jumped out of Shea’s Bronco. I let him know that I would be quick and he needn’t bother coming in with me. Not giving him a chance to respond, I darted into the store and filled a grocery cart with the necessary food staples and cleaning supplies. I also added a pint of Jack Daniels, because God knows I needed it right now.

  My nerves were frayed, and I swear my underwear felt damp. I was just horny, right now, for anyone . . . hell, I could probably get this obese, bearded counter guy to get me off. Now I am losing my mind, because I’m staring at the obese-bearded-counter-guy, and using my peripheral vision to watch Shea through the store window. Obese-bearded-counter-guy blatantly checked me out as he bagged my groceries, as if I were his future happy meal. I couldn’t decide which was more distasteful—the thought of this guy making me come, or seducing the eight year-old I used to babysit. Arg! I tossed the bags into the cart and rolled it out to Shea’s car.

  Shea got out of the Bronco, opened the back hatch and loaded the bags in. Our hands touched each other as we passed the bags between us, and it felt like electricity prickled its way through my body. I could tell he felt it too. He opened the passenger door then hurried to the driver’s side. As I climbed in, I noticed he had taken off his hat and had it lying across his lap. His hair was flattened on top because of his cap, but the ends were curled upwards, which made him look ten different kinds of sexy. I pulled the
pint of Jack Daniels out of my purse and uncapped it, taking a drink. Shea stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Want some? You’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?” I drawled.

  “Twenty-one, but that’s beside the point. Ryan, I can’t have an open container in my car.” His tone was very serious and direct. I recapped the bottle and tossed it back into my purse.

  “Then take me somewhere,” I said in a hesitant voice. Shea looked over at me, acting as if he wasn’t sure if he heard correctly. “Anywhere . . . I just don’t want to go back to the house yet. There are too many memories back there and I don’t want to be alone.” My voice became a mere whisper and trailed off at the end of the sentence as I stared out of the passenger window. I knew what this was—loneliness. Being alone in my old house was a constant reminder of what I hadn’t achieved and how I had let my dad down. But I knew that going anywhere with Shea would be dangerous because he was bringing out desires in me I had never felt before.

  Shea started up the car and we drove for about thirty minutes. He finally stopped the car at one of Fairbanks’ scenic routes.

  “Now, will you take a swig?” I asked, producing the bottle again out of my purse. Shea took the bottle, taking a sip. My pulse spiked at seeing his lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle. He handed it back and I took another sip, closing my eyes. I swear I could taste him on the bottle. I swear I moaned. When I looked at Shea, he didn’t look surprised, but rather amused.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, taking another sip.

  “Are you trying to get intoxicated, so if anything happens you don’t have to be responsible?” His tone was husky. I didn’t want to acknowledge what he just implied, because it actually bordered on some truth. I opened the passenger door and poured out the remaining booze. Slamming the door, I glared at him.