by JA Huss
But that’s not how it happened at all.
At least not with him.
Because I spent that afternoon playing out my own, much dirtier fantasy, with Oliver Shrike.
Chapter Nine - OLIVER
Ariel’s massive Victorian house used to belong to my mother’s family. They owned it jointly for like a hundred years or something. Ever since my gramps won it in a card game sometime last century. It’s on Mountain Avenue, the most desirable downtown neighborhood in Fort Collins, and it’s huge, so it’s worth a crap ton.
But Ariel bought it about three years ago after my Uncle Vic had been using it as a seasonal haunted house every Halloween for more than a decade. It looked like a haunted house. Straight-up Munsters, or Amityville Horror, or any of the other insert-iconic-creepy-place-here houses.
Unfortunately for my Uncle, and Ariel too, the house is part of the Fort Collins historical record and could not be renovated without approval. Which is why Vic had a hard time convincing buyers that the million-dollar price tag, as well as the million-dollar renovation, was going to be worth it.
It just so happened that Ariel and I were flush with money that year from the website and she needed a tax writeoff quick.
Eighteen months of missed deadlines and a blown budget later she was ready to move in.
Four months after that the local kids forgot it wasn’t a haunted house anymore and trashed it on Halloween when she was out of town.
Yes, long story short… Ariel lives in a huge six-thousand-square-foot money pit with six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and it still looks creepy as hell, even though she painted the whole thing pink and white.
The Munsters in Pink. And. White.
It looks like a strawberry milkshake.
Only one of my princess sisters would paint a haunted house pink.
Ariel lives on the other side of College Avenue from me, so I don’t go over that way much. I stick to the office, Shrike Bikes, the tattoo shop, the theater, and my house when I’m in downtown.
So color me surprised when I pull up in front of the Milkshake Mansion and see a twelve-foot-tall inflatable Santa Claus waving at me from the front yard and holding a digital sign that is counting down the days to Christmas.
We get off the bike and take our helmets off.
I give her a look.
She shrugs. “What? These fucking kids around here. I just got one last week asking when we were gonna have a real ax murderer again. Can they not see the bazillion signs all over town telling them the FoCo Theater is the new haunted house? I’m skipping Halloween and going straight to Christmas.”
I shake my head, but she’s already walking up her front sidewalk.
Those kids are probably gonna trash it anyway because an ax murderer is a bazillion times cooler than a strawberry milkshake Santa. But I don’t say that. I just follow her inside.
The aroma of something delicious permeates the air, and since Ariel was in the mood for gutting the entire downstairs when she renovated, you can see the kitchen from the front door, and it’s filled with women.
Victoria and Ellie are doing something at the stove and sipping drinks while they do it. Cindy is sitting at the breakfast bar slurping down what might be a strawberry margarita, and when Ariel approaches, she stands up and hands her one too.
West, Mac, and Pax are sitting at the real bar on the other side of the massive main floor, looking up at a Bronco game with a bottle of Stoli in front of them.
Good to know we’re all gonna be liquored up for this conversation. Because obviously this is a Mister meeting. The only problem is that we’re missing a Mister.
I walk over and take off my leather jacket, draping it over the back of a barstool, and then point to the bottle. “Since when do you drink vodka?”
I’m looking at Pax, since he’s the drinker—which kinda pisses me off, since the last thing I need is his drunk ass as my potential brother-in-law.
But West is the one who answers. “It was a gift,” he says.
“From who?” It’s not her, I tell myself. It’s not her, it’s not her. Every one of these college kids in this town probably drinks Stoli…
“It was in the apartment.”
“My dad’s place?” Hmmm.
“Yup. What’s that condo for, anyway?” Pax asks. “Just a crash pad so he doesn’t have to drive home late at night?”
“Yeah,” I say, still thinking about that bottle. “He’s had it longer than I’ve been alive. Usually he rents it to students but he kicked the last tenants out for partying too much and hasn’t bothered to put it on the market again.”
“Fucking college kids,” Mac says, still looking up at the TV.
“So,” West says.
“So,” the rest of us say back.
“Where the hell is Five?” Pax asks.
“Why would he be here?” I say, pouring myself a drink.
“Um,” Mac says. “Why wouldn’t he be here? I mean, he shows up every other time we seem to have a meeting.”
“Yeah, and we’re in his town,” West says. “So we figured he’d be around.”
“His town?” I laugh into my glass as I drink. “He doesn’t live here.”
“What do you mean?” Mac asks. “Sure he does.”
I squint my eyes at Mac. “Did he tell you that?”
“No. But… you guys are family, right?”
“He’s ten years older than me, man. He doesn’t hang out with me. It’s just business.”
“He doesn’t live here?” Pax asks, going all serious on me. “Where the fuck does he live?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “He lives all over, I guess. He’s got a house in Vail, I know that. Some place in London, I’m pretty sure.”
“How could you not know where your… fucking… whatever he is, lives?” Pax asks.
“He’s, like, barely a cousin. Our parents are friends. And like I said, he’s ten years older than me. We’ve never been, like… buddies. We don’t hang out, for fuck’s sake. I call him when I need him. And up until this past year, that wasn’t very often.”
“Hmmm,” they all say together.
“That’s weird,” Mac says.
“Whatever,” I say, already bored with this shit. All I want to do is go back to my office and watch that video of Katya over and over and over again. Plan my next move. What will I say? Should I make another video? Find her phone number? Should I go up to that apartment two buildings over and knock on the door?
“Oliver?” Pax is saying.
“What?”
“Jesus Christ, are we boring you? Can’t keep up with the conversation?”
“Just zoning out. What do you want from me?”
“So nothing weird going on here?” West says, taking over.
“Nope. Just the same old small-town bullshit as usual. Work is the same, home is the same. Everything is the same.”
“Well, that’s good news,” West says.
“Makes me nervous,” Mac replies.
“Yeah,” Pax adds. “Like we’re missing something.”
I try to concentrate on the football game. Katya isn’t unusual. Yeah, she’s a girl who came back from my past, but this is Katya. I know her better than she knows herself. I don’t care how long she’s been away, I know her deeply. I know her inside. I know her heart. And every bit of it is good. Not one ounce of her is manipulative or evil. Not one ounce.
If she wanted to fuck me over, she could’ve done it many, many times.
She is clean, she is good, and most of all, she is loyal in the only way that counts. She loves me, I know it. And I love her, she knows it. We’re gonna work out this bullshit that’s happening and come out the other side just fine.
Nothing to worry about here. Nothing to see at all.
“Dinner’s ready!” Ellie calls from the kitchen.
We all get up, hungry and wanting to put the Mister shit behind us. But Pax grabs me by the arm as Mac and West walk off.
“Hey,” he says, leaning
into me a little. “We need to talk without the girls after dinner. You got a place we can do that?”
“Well, we can’t leave together from here if you want it to be secret. They’ll follow. Ariel for sure. Victoria probably.”
“So where?” He’s looking at me like this is urgent. “I don’t want Ellie to find out until I tell Mac.”
“Find out what?”
“Where can we talk that won’t make them suspicious?”
I look around the main floor and my eyes stop on the door to Ariel’s office. “In there, I guess. I’ll tell Ariel I need to make a phone call, then you guys follow me in there. I bet they don’t even notice.”
Chapter Ten - KATYA – FOUR YEARS AGO
“Excuse me?”
I cancel my provocative body language and stand up to see what’s happening. A man is walking across the street. A very… good-looking man. Tall, light brown hair, maybe blond in the sun, his arms covered in tattoos and his jeans spotted with rips and tears.
My client startles, redirects his attention from me to the stranger interrupting our business. “Can I help you?” he asks, with that air of superiority some men seem to wear like a coat.
“Do you know this guy?” the stranger asks, having reached the car. He peers over the roof at me.
“Do you mind?” my client says.
“I actually do mind. You see, that’s my house over there and I don’t think it’s appropriate for perverts to pick up schoolgirls at the bus stop while I’m watching.”
My client looks at me. I expect him to explain our story. I’m his daughter’s friend. He’s offering me a ride home.
But he just steps on the gas and leaves.
“That’s right, asshole,” the stranger says, watching the black Mercedes turn the corner a block down until it disappears. “Was he coming on to you?”
“What?” I am so shocked at what just happened, I don’t know how to answer that.
“Did you know that guy? Or was he trying to pick you up?”
“Um…”
“Look, I get it. You probably think you’re old enough to be in control of that situation, but you’re not, OK? He was wearing a wedding ring. Don’t get involved with men like that. Bad news, take it from me.”
“I… I think he was only going to offer me a ride home.”
“That’s what they all say, kid. Trust me.”
“But—”
“No, seriously. It’s just an opening. A way to get you alone. Make you vulnerable. And then after that they want…” He smiles at me, almost embarrassed. “You know.”
“Sex,” I offer, taking advantage of his reluctance to say the word. “I know him. He’s my best friend’s father.”
“Jesus Christ,” the guy says, swiping a hand across his brow.
“My dad’s on a business trip until Sunday night and I’m home alone.” What am I doing? “I don’t like to stay home alone. So I was hoping he’d invite me over for dinner. Or let me stay the night. But my friend, she’s out of town for the weekend with her mom. A fashion show down in Denver. So I knew there was no chance of that. I’m… Katya, by the way.”
And I just gave him my real name.
“Oliver,” he says, crossing the distance between us to offer his hand.
I shake it. Hold on to it a little longer than necessary. He’s warm and his grip tightens on my hand just a little more than it should.
“Do you have a phone I can use?” I ask, eyeing the building across the street he said was his house. “Maybe I can call another friend. Find somewhere else to stay this weekend.”
“Uh,” Oliver says, looking over his shoulder at his place. “Sure. Follow me.”
I watch his ass, and the muscles in his back that I can see, even through his thermal shirt. And listen to the way his boots thud on the street as we walk towards the building. “What kind of house is this?”
“Oh,” he says, opening a glass-front door and holding it for me. “It’s an old mechanic’s garage. I bought it a couple months ago. Still doing the residential conversion.”
Inside it’s all industrial. Concrete and metal and one of those pits in the floor that mechanics have for oil changes.
“What are you going to do with that?” I ask, pointing to the pit.
He looks at where I’m pointing. Silent for a few seconds. “I’m gonna plant a buckeye tree.”
I’m not sure if I should laugh or ask for details.
“Yeah, fill it with dirt, plant a little buckeye. See how long it takes to reach the ceiling. Then tear the whole place down when it gets too big.”
I look up at the ceiling. It’s high. Maybe twenty feet? Then look back at Oliver, his blue-gray eyes dancing along with his mischievous smile. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugs. “Family tradition.” And then he points to a large potted tree in the corner, up against the folding glass doors that are big enough to drive a car through. “That came from our farm out in Bellevue. It’s doing OK in the pot for now, but I gotta get it transplanted pretty soon.”
“Huh.” I take a second to appreciate how much better my day just got. No weird fantasy with an older man. No creeping around pretending to be his daughter’s friend. No groping or kissing.
At least not with him.
But this guy? Mr. Buckeye? Now this is a man I might be interested in.
“I know that guy was picking you up.”
I look over at Oliver and wait to see what he says next.
“I went to Catholic school. Just down the street at St. Joseph’s, in fact. And I dated my share of Parson girls when I was a kid. Your uniform is not even close to standard. That blue blazer only goes with the solid blue skirt. The Parson girls don’t even have tartan. You’re wearing a St. Joseph’s skirt with a Parson blazer.”
Shit.
“I know my way around a schoolgirl costume. And fuck that guy anyway. I’ve had my eye on you since you sat down on the bench. If you were waiting there for fifteen minutes, he was probably late.”
I have nothing to say to that.
“Am I wrong?” Oliver asks, taking two steps closer to me. He flashes me the most charming grin. “Just say so and I’ll apologize.”
I weigh my options. I can pretend to be offended and stalk off, keeping my ruse intact. My secrets safe. But then I’ll probably never see him again. And maybe this is just some rush of teenage hormones, but I might regret it for the rest of my life if this guy was interested in me and I blew him off.
“No,” I say, blowing out a breath. “You’re not wrong. He’s a client. He has a daughter’s best friend fantasy.”
“And you’re her?”
I shrug. “For this afternoon I am. Was. Going to be.”
Oliver walks off towards what might be the kitchen of this place, opens the door of a grease-stained fridge looking like it’s been in this garage for fifty years, and grabs two beers. “Want one?” he asks, popping the top off the bottle using the counter. “It’s local.”
“I’m not old enough to drink.”
“For real?” he says. “You’re a kid? Or you just look young and so you use that to play your little game with the perverts?”
“He’s not a pervert, by the way. I checked him out pretty thoroughly. And I’m not a kid. I’m seventeen. Barely underage.”
“Uh-huh,” Oliver says. “Do you want the beer or not?”
I take it, muttering, “Thank you.” Sip it while he pops the top off his too. “So you’re not against contributing to my delinquency?”
He takes a gulp of his beer, then leans back against the counter. Fucking smile. “Who did you hire to run the background check on that perv?”
I roll my eyes at his name-calling. “I did it myself. A website I found.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I got his credit-card number. And his place of employment. I even called there to make sure it was for real. And I got his wife’s name. Just in case.”
“That it, Sherlock? That all you got?”
>
“No,” I say, lifting my blazer up to show him my gun. “I came packing heat too.”
His guffaw echoes loudly in the high ceiling. “Ho-lee shit. Katya. You’re my dream girl.”
I smile at his pleasure and take another sip of beer, backing up to lean on the counter opposite him. “Maybe I am.”
He takes a step forward.
If I could back up I would. But I can’t. The counter presses firmly into my back.
He takes another step. “You’re one of those girls, huh?”
I bite my lip and nod. Unable to take my eyes off him. Unsure of which kind of girl he’s referring to, but still very sure I’m definitely that kind.
One more step and he’s so close to me I have to tip my head up to keep his gaze. “Is your father really out of town?”
“He’s far enough away that he won’t be missing me tonight.”
The back of his hand brushes against my cheek, then drops down to my neck. My head follows the motion because his touch… his touch…
He leans into my ear and whispers, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Chapter Eleven - OLIVER
Dinner is good. Better than good, it’s great. I have to admit, fucking Victoria can cook. There is absolutely no Mister talk at the table. In fact, everyone is in a pretty great mood. The girls are drinking martinis and us guys are still finishing off that bottle of Stoli, so by the time we’re done eating, we are all good and buzzed and business is behind us.
That is until Pax kicks me under the table and nods towards Ariel’s office while no one is looking.
Right.
“Hey, Ariel,” I say, interrupting the conversation. “I need a landline. Mind if I use your office phone?”
“Sure,” she says, barely looking at me. “Just make sure it’s legal.”
I wince, looking around at my friends to see if they heard that slip-up. They did. Because they are all looking back at me with little squinty eyes. And then Ariel catches her mistake and laughs it off. “Kidding, little brother. Whatever.”
