by Megan Hart
sex. I don't smile, don't lift a brow, just keep my face
stony. Austin pushes my hair off my shoulders.
"That's al I meant. That nobody…that you're so great."
"Great at sucking cock?" I frown, even though I'm glad to
know he thinks so.
know he thinks so.
"And other things." He teases me back toward the bed
and I let him until we're both lying on top of the quilt my
grandma made me.
Austin strokes down my body and kisses me. When his
hand finds my pussy again, I know I'm wet from earlier.
His fingers slide against me. His breath is hot on my neck
as he pants. His thumb presses my clit and his fingers
move inside, then out. Against my thigh, his cock presses
hot and hard. He moves his mouth to my nipple and sucks
gently, and though I came just a little while ago, desire
gathers in my bely again.
"I missed you," he says again.
"Did you?"
Austin nods against my neck. It seems stupid to be angry
with him now, or to worry about if he cheated on me while
he was gone. I know he did, once or twice, when we were
in high school. Hel. I cheated on him, too, if you want to
count the times he thought we were on and I thought we
were off and vice versa. But not since graduating, not since
we both got ful-time jobs and a ful-time relationship.
we both got ful-time jobs and a ful-time relationship.
He fumbles for the rubbers I keep in the box in my
nightstand and puts one on. I could help him, but I'd rather
watch just now. He rols it on over his cock, his teeth
clamped onto his lower lip in concentration. Then he
moves up my body and centers himself before pushing
inside me.
I groan; I can't help it. I fucking love this, the sex. His
weight. His prick so hard and thick and long inside me,
so long it hurts sometimes when he fucks me, but I like
that, too. He's got muscles in his arms from all the
heavy lifting and I grab one as he thrusts inside me.
I lift my hips to meet him and his bely presses my clit
every time we move together. Orgasm doesn't build, it
tears me down. I'm coming again when he starts to move
harder and faster, and I know Austin's coming, too.
It doesn't always happen that way, that we finish
together, so it's sort of magical and leaves me sleepy
and contented and cuddly, after. He loops an arm
around me when he's thrown away the condom. We lay
on my bed, spooning, and his breath ruffles my hair.
"Paige," Austin says. "I want to ask you something
important."
And then we're on the ocean, in a boat that's going
down.
As the cold, dark sea closed over my head, the sound of
the alarm bels ripped into my ears. I took a deep breath,
even though I was underwater. I kicked, the tight clutch of
the waves around my ankles becoming the tangled grasp
of sheets around my feet as I opened my eyes and
fumbled, without seeing, for the phone.
"What?" At this hour I couldn't be expected to be polite,
could I?
"Paige?"
I blinked, not wanting to look at my bedside clock's
numbers. It was way too fucking early to be up. "Arty.
What's the matter? Where's Mama?"
"Mama's stil sleeping. And Leo's at work," he added,
though I hadn't asked. "I'm hungry."
"Make yourself some cereal." I stifled a yawn and
"Make yourself some cereal." I stifled a yawn and
pondered giving in to a hangover that wouldn't have
bothered me with just a few more hours' sleep.
"There isn't any."
"No Cheerios? No Raisin Bran?"
My little brother, the only other sibling I'd ever actualy
lived with, made a familiar noise of disgust. "I don't like
those kind."
"Then I guess you must not be that hungry." I was hungry,
but didn't feel like getting out of bed at the butt-crack of
dawn to fix toast. "Arty, it's too early to cal me. What did
I tel you about that?"
"Can't you come over and make me some pancakes?" His
little-boy voice sounded very far away. I pictured him in
his Spider-Man pajamas, bare feet swinging because his
legs weren't long enough to reach the floor. "Please?"
Maybe if I kept my eyes closed I'd fal back to sleep. I
snuggled deeper under my soft blankets. "Buddy, I don't
live there anymore. I told you that. I told you I couldn't just
come over whenever you caled."
Silence.
"But I miss you," Arthur said in a tiny voice.
I sighed. "I miss you, too, buddy. How about I come
down and take you to the movies sometime soon?"
"When?" At nearly seven, the kid had been reading since
he was four and could tel time on an analogue clock, a
skil that sometimes stumped me. There wasn't much that
slipped past him. "Today?"
"Not today, no. Maybe later this week."
"When? When?"
I couldn't think straight and just tossed out a day.
"Wednesday?"
"Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday.
That's a week!"
He sounded so dismayed I hated to laugh. Laughing, in
fact, hurt my head. "Not quite. Five days."
"That's too long!" Arthur's voice pitched high enough to
"That's too long!" Arthur's voice pitched high enough to
dril my tender ears.
"You've got gymnastics on Tuesday, and Monday I've got
an appointment in the evening. Sorry, buddy. You have to
wait until Wednesday. Besides," I said, offering an
incentive against despair, "the new Power Heroes movie
comes out on Wednesday. How about that?"
"Okay." He didn't sound convinced, only resigned. "But I'm hungry now, Paige."
"Cereal. Or have a snack from the drawer."
"Mama says no snacks from the drawer until after
breakfast."
"Aren't there any cereal bars in the drawer?" I bit back
another yawn. If I didn't get back to sleep in the next ten
minutes I was not going to be a happy camper.
"Yesss…" Even Arthur knew where I was going with this,
but he sounded like it might be too good to be true.
"Have one of those. They're cereal, right?"
"Can I tel Mama you said it was okay?"
"Can I tel Mama you said it was okay?"
"Sure." It wouldn't be the first time she'd holer at me for giving the kid permission to do something she'd have
refused. On the other hand, this was the woman who'd
alowed me to go to school in a pair of hand-me-down,
slip-on Candie's shoes in the sixth grade and bought me
my first package of rubbers in the tenth. She was a
different sort of mother to Arthur than she'd been to me.
"Now let me go back to sleep, okay?"
"Okay. Bye, Paige."
"Bye."
"I love you," my little brother said before I could hang up.
It wasn't the first time he'd ever said it, but suddenly the
memory of how he'd smeled as a baby washed over me
with enough force to push my eyelids open like snapped-
open blinds. How his hair had been
so soft against my lips
when I kissed his little baby head, and how the heavy
weight of him had filed my arms and lap. How I used to
hold him while I watched hour after hour of bad TV, just
because he was so smal and sweet. Just because he loved
me.
me.
"I love you, too, buddy. I'l see you on Wednesday."
He had a seven-year-old's social graces and didn't say
goodbye again, just hung up. I put the phone back in the
cradle of its receiver and my head back in the cradle of my
pilow, but sleep had vanished and there was no getting it
back.
With a groan, I looked at the clock. Almost eight. And I'd
gone to sleep, what, just before six this morning? God. I
was so going to pay that kid back one day, maybe when
he was a teenager and prone to sleeping as late as he
could…yeah. I'd wake him up.
Unfortunately, my revenge was far-flung and I was stil
awake. I stretched and sat up, waiting for the rush and boil
of acid stomach or the pound of a headache, but aside
from a gnawing hunger, I felt al right. At least until I heard
the muted beep from my cel phone, which I'd left
abandoned in my sparkly purse under the pile of my
discarded clothes. I had to dig past my Steve Madden
pumps to reach it.
Five missed cals.
Five? Crap. I thumbed the keypad to check out the
numbers. I had voice mails, too, though without dialing in I
couldn't tel how many. Kira had caled me around 4:00
a.m. but hadn't left a message. That could be good or bad,
depending. One was an old cal from my mother I hadn't
deleted. The other three were from Austin.
Triple crap.
The voice mails were from him, too, half an hour apart.
The first two were brief "when are you going to get here?"
messages. The last one had come in around six-fifteen,
after I'd already gone to bed. It turned the corners of my
mouth down.
"Look, I know I've been an asshole to you in the past."
Then fifteen seconds of awkward silence, punctuated only
by the soft in-out of his breathing. "I'm sorry. I just…I was
a fuckwad, and I'm sorry. Cal me, okay? Please."
A few more seconds of silence and he added, "Please."
Is there anything more simultaneously pathetic and
arousing than a pleading man?
I couldn't bring myself to delete that message. I thought I
might want to listen to it a couple-twenty more times. I
thought I might want to get that statement, "Sorry, I'm a
fuckwad.—Austin Miller" embroidered on a tea towel
and wipe my hands with it.
It was the only time Austin had ever apologized to me for
anything he'd ever done. I wasn't sure it meant anything
now. Not after al this time had passed.
I didn't delete the message, but I didn't cal him back,
either. Instead, I hauled my sorry ass out of bed and
stumbled to the bathroom where I peed for what felt like
an hour and brushed my teeth and puled my hair on top of
my head in a messy ponytail.
I wanted to go back to sleep, but I knew better than to
expect to be able to. I was up for the day now. My
stomach rumbled and I took my last two slices of wheat
bread from the fridge, where I kept it to prevent mold, and
popped them into my toaster oven. I needed to hit the
grocery store in the worst way, though the state of my
finances meant it would be another week of on-sale tuna
and ramen noodles rather than steak and lobster. Ah, wel.
There was nothing new about that. I'd grown up thinking
There was nothing new about that. I'd grown up thinking
Kraft shels and cheese was gourmet fare.
While my toast browned, I sifted through the pile of junk
mail I'd brought in the night before. I tossed aside a few
catalogs addressed to the former tenant. I thought of the
note I'd had yesterday, the beautiful paper and the words
written in that fine hand. What had it said to do? Make a
list of flaws and strengths? I thought of it as I ate my toast
dry because I had no butter or jam.
You wil write a list of ten. Five flaws. Five strengths.
Deliver them promptly…
From the junk drawer next to my fridge I puled a yelow
legal pad and a stub of a pencil with a point rubbed to
softness by the creation of many lists. Chore lists, mostly,
or grocery. I'd never used it to detail my flaws and
strengths.
I tapped the pencil against my lips as I thought.
Proud
Stubborn
Independent
Independent
Smart
Curious
Determined
Conscientious
That was it. As far as lists went, it didn't feel complete, but
I couldn't think of more than that. So much for the ten, I
thought as I put away the pen and paper.
And the real question was, which had I written? Flaws or
strengths? Couldn't they sometimes be both?
I looked again at the tablet on the table. It had made me
think hard about myself, though it hadn't been meant for
me. I hoped the person it was meant for had better luck.
Chapter 06
I finished my shopping just before noon. I had only two
smal bags of groceries, the bare minimum to get me
through until payday. I'd left a few bucks in my walet on
purpose, though, for one reason. I didn't need a large
coffee with extra cream and a gooey cinnamon bun, but I
wanted them.
Located in the building adjoining Riverview Manor, the
Morningstar Mocha teemed with people out for a caffeine
fix. A few joggers, bundled against the cold, filed travel
mugs at the smal stand in the corner holding the sweetener
packets and jugs of milk and bins of creamer containers.
And in the corner, my corner, the seat I took because it
was in the smalest table and I was usualy alone, sat my
elevator eye-fucking buddy, Mr. Mystery.
Was it synchronicity? Or serendipity? His wasn't the only
familiar face there. I spied a few people from my building,
one or two I recognized as Mocha regulars, and of course
I knew the girl behind the counter. Her name was Brandy,
and you couldn't miss her. She chewed gum like cud.
I deliberately tried not to stare at him while I ordered my
I deliberately tried not to stare at him while I ordered my
coffee and bun, but he was stil there by the time they
arrived. Stil there when I'd dumped my mug ful of sugar
and cream. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt beneath a
black concert T-shirt and worn jeans that suited him
nicely. His hair looked as if he'd run a hand through it a
few times or just roled out of bed. He had a large mug in
front of him, stil steaming, and a plate with the remains of
a bagel slathered with cream cheese and lox. He was
staring out the glass onto the street, empty but for the
occasional weekend-traffic car cruising slowly past. In
front of him sat a pad of legal-size paper, white not yelow,
&
nbsp; and in his left hand he held a thick-barreled pen. A worn
leather bag rested at his feet as faithful as a hound.
The lighting inside the Mocha was golden and indirect, but
late-winter bright sunshine shafted through the plate-glass
window and across his face. I wanted to stare and drink in
the fine-featured grace of him. The casual beauty. The
crooked twist of his mouth as he bit down on his lip in
concentration, the furrow of his brow. The way his hand
curled around the pen caressing the paper.
Fortunately for me, he was stil staring out the window,
absently doodling, when two people in matching tracksuits
slammed into me and knocked my coffee and cinnamon
slammed into me and knocked my coffee and cinnamon
bun al over a couple, who looked as if they hadn't yet
gone to bed, sitting at the table in front of me.
The fitness twins were very kind. They bought me new
coffee and pastry and replaced the party-kids' bagels,
soaked through by my spiled drink. They did it al with a
fanfare that smacked a bit of "look at me, what a good
person I am," but they did it. I didn't dare look at the man
by the window until al the fuss and feathers had died
down. When I did, finaly, my fresh mug was burning my
palm and my eyes had blurred from the dip in my blood
sugar. I didn't want to shove the entire bun into my mouth,
but a dainty nibble wasn't going to get the goods down my
throat and into my stomach fast enough.
He glanced over at me as I was licking icing off my mouth.
He smiled. I paused, coffee halfway to my mouth, and
smiled back.
I thought for sure he'd say helo, but maybe without the
alure of my fuck-me pumps al he could manage was the
grin. Maybe he didn't recognize me as the woman from the
elevator. Or more likely, he didn't care.
He got up, papers and pen already tucked away in his
He got up, papers and pen already tucked away in his
bag, garbage cleared from the table. He slung his arms into
a plaid flannel shirt I hadn't noticed hanging on the back of
his chair and eased the strap of his leather bag over one
shoulder. He left the Morningstar Mocha without a
backward glance, which alowed me to stare after him
without fear of being caught.
He'd left a crumpled discard to the window side of his
chair, on the floor. With a quick glance around the now-
empty coffee shop to see if anyone would notice me being
a total snoop, I vacated my seat and took the one he'd just
