I grabbed her finger and held her hand in mine. Her other hand gripped and clawed at my hand as she tried to free herself. “Let go.” She pried my finger back, but I held fast.
“Stop hitting me.”
“Let go,” she whined.
“Are you going to stop acting like some crazed she-devil?”
“I can’t make any promises.” Scowling, she tugged her arm.
I shouldn’t have done it, but the big brother in me saw the opportunity and took it. When she pulled far enough to be off balance, I let go of her hand, and she fell in a lump on the threshold in front of me.
“Damn you.” She cursed out a string of expletives.
I laughed, closing my eyes. Next thing I knew, I was falling ass-over-elbows, tumbling on top of her, and landing with my head between her thighs, my weight on my forearms. I’d missed her foot coming up to swipe my legs out from under me.
“Get up!” She batted my head.
I smiled and bit her inner thigh through her jeans. Suddenly, this was the most ridiculous thing to happen to me in a long time.
“Ow!” Her thighs clamped tightly around my head, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. I used my knees and weight to shift forward to freedom and found myself eye level with her heaving boobs.
Angry or not, she was fucking hot. I hadn’t had sex in a month. Hell, more than a month. Not since before Pops died.
“Remember the last time we were in here?” I let my mouth hover over her nipple, but raised my eyes to meet hers.
Her face was flushed. Behind her eyes a battle between lust and anger raged. The two emotions elicited similar physical responses, so I knew I was walking a thin line between sex and a knee to the balls. It was a risk I was willing to take. I held down her hands near her shoulders.
Giving into desire, I bit her breast through the thin material of her shirt and bra. It wasn’t a gentle nip. I wanted to mark her, to inflict a moment of pain. I needed to see some evidence I affected her.
“Ahh,” she whimpered, her hands struggling for freedom.
I released one of her hands, and she clawed at my bicep, her short nails digging into my skin. It hurt enough to make me pause, but not stop. I let my hand trail a path down her buttons until I reached the exposed skin above her pants while my nose skimmed her cleavage.
She held her breath, but didn’t shove me away. I took that as enough encouragement and kissed her nipple with open lips. It rose to salute the familiarity of my mouth. Smiling, I bit it again, gently this time.
Her hands found their way into my hair and she pulled my face to hers. Our mouths clashed together in a collision of tongues and teeth, lips and breath. She bit my lip and tugged . . . hard. I expected to taste blood. Instead, she softly sucked away the pain.
She yanked my shirt over my head and then pushed off her jeans. I sat back to unbutton mine. My jeans ended up being shoved out of the way, but never taken off completely.
On the cold, concrete floor, covered in wood-chips and sawdust, I fought the demons of gossip and reputation the best way I knew how. My body silenced her arguments and anger. My tongue trailed over her skin, leaving behind desire. I worshipped her. She clawed, scraped, and dug into my skin, using my body to release weeks of frustration and shame. We weren’t kind. This wasn’t making love. This was claiming and owning one another on a purely physical level. This was passion. I held on as she thrashed and clenched, and then with a low moan, came inside her.
It was only after the haze of lust and orgasm faded did I remember the condom.
Shit.
I rolled off of her and sat up without a word.
“What?” She lay naked on the floor, where our bodies had created a bare spot in the sawdust, resembling a snow angel.
“Are you on the pill?” I tugged up my jeans, but didn’t zip. I shot her a serious look.
“Why?” She sat up and rebuttoned her shirt, covering the mark of my teeth on her breast.
“Answer the question.” What if she’s pregnant?
“Thanks. That was great for me, I hope it was great for you, too.” She stood and brushed wood-chips off her jeans. “Yes, I’m on the pill and have been since I was seventeen. Read into it what you want.” Sawdust fell from her hair when she shook her head in disgust. She’d never looked more sexy to me. Or beautiful.
“Okay, good,” I mumbled, distracted by the panic crushing my chest.
“Really? You honestly think I’d come over here and have unprotected sex with you? For what? Why? To get pregnant?” Hurt edged her words.
I shrugged. Coming from her mouth, I was instantly aware how wrong my words sounded. “Sorry.” I was an arrogant prick to think she would try to trap me.
“Do I need to get tested?” She slid on her underwear.
It was my turn to be indignant. “Why?”
“No condom, remember?”
I muttered a string of expletives. “No. I always wear one and get tested. I’m not that big of a dipshit.” I watched denim cover the legs which had taken over my fantasies.
“Good. Great.” She stared at the floor as she ran her fingers through her hair.
“You started this.” I gestured between us.
“Then I guess I’m finishing it, too. There’s nothing to finish.” She mimicked my gesture. “Listen, this has always been a casual thing. I knew from the first night what I was getting myself into. It’s my own fault I didn’t stop it before . . . when my feelings became involved,” she whispered the last words. “But I didn’t and that’s on me.”
I stood still, trying to absorb her words.
“Okay, then.” She turned to go.
“Hey.” I reached for her arm, but she moved it out of the way. “None of that came out the way I meant it to. I . . . freaked out.” I studied her face.
“I . . .” Her words bounced around in my head, crowding out my own thoughts.
“I . . .” I started again, but whatever words I tried to find to express what was happening in my gut and how my chest hurt, not from panic, but from the idea of her leaving with hurt in her eyes, escaped me.
She exhaled, her cheeks pink from the cold and my beard, her hair still tangled and matted with wood shavings. “I need to go.”
“Don’t.” My hand brushed her back as she walked away from me. Everything coming out of my mouth was wrong.
“I—” I didn’t know what to say.
I tried again. “Don’t go,” I said with my eyes closed.
The slam of her car door answered me.
“Stay,” I whispered to no one.
“Fuck!” I snarled, picking up the half-finished otter, and chucking it out into the yard. The soft bounce across the muddy grass didn’t feel satisfying, so I swept all of the tools off my workbench. I kicked the saw across the shop, the blade scraping roughly across the cement. Nothing helped. I stormed out of the shop, then picked up the otter, and threw it into the woods.
TAILLIGHTS GUIDED ME north to Oak Harbor. If I focused on the car ahead of me, the rain and slick road faded away with the image of Hailey’s sad face last week in the barn. I’d fucked up things with her and I didn’t know how to fix it. At this point, I’d usually walk away and move on to the next woman. Yet lately I had zero desire to flirt or pursue anyone, and it freaked me out.
My wipers beat a loud swoosh-click-swoosh against the fogged windshield. I cracked my window to let in some fresh air, both to dissipate the mugginess and keep me alert. My wheels hit a deep puddle of water and the truck hydroplaned for a few feet before I felt the tires grip the road again. I exhaled. Being out on a night like this was crazy. Nothing good could come from hanging out in Oak Harbor tonight.
The streets of downtown were empty except for the parking spots in front of The Harbor Bar down near the water. Neon beer signs lit up the small windows of the nondescript corner building. A few men huddled under an awning, smoke creating clouds above their heads. This tavern wasn’t a place I’d ever take a woman, but sometimes on dark, cold ni
ghts like tonight when I didn’t want to be alone, I’d come here and have a drink, play pull-tabs, listen to Navy guys pick up local girls, and play old songs on the ancient jukebox in the corner. Dim lighting, a pool table, and three pinball machines completed the dive bar vibe. Best part was no one knew me here. South islanders typically didn’t make the drive up here, and definitely not during a storm.
Ruby, the bartender, winked at me in acknowledgement. She chatted me up, but never asked questions. My guess was she had to be in her fifties, maybe sixties. I think she owned the place.
“What’ll it be, sugar?” she asked, clearing some dirty glasses from the bar in the corner near the Keno machine.
“Something on tap. Surprise me.”
She grabbed a pint glass and filled it with Kokanee. At least it wasn’t a light beer.
“Thanks.” I reached for my wallet in my jacket pocket.
“You want to open a tab?”
“Sure. And give me ten dollars in pull-tabs.” I listed the games I wanted and put the bill on the bar.
She returned with a small pile of paper cards and wished me luck.
I removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeves. With a sip of the almost flat beer, I pulled the strips of paper with more force than needed to expose the combinations of symbols. Pull-tabs were the paper equivalent of a slot machine.
Rip.
Loser.
Rip.
Loser.
Rip.
Loser.
I drank more beer.
Rip.
Loser.
Rip.
Loser.
Apparently the universe agreed.
Loser.
The song Brandy came on the jukebox. The old guy a few empty stools down from me dedicated it to our bartender. She gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his arm where a blurry, blue-black tattoo vaguely resembling an anchor could be seen.
I let my eyes scan the bar and deduced most of the guys in here were Navy. The women wore clothes too small to be anything other than costumes used to seduce sailors. Lots of hair and lots of makeup mixed with a low level of desperation. Sex for companionship, a few hours of entertainment and a few free rounds of drinks. Some of the locals saw a military man as a means to get off this rock and see the world. Same story in every town near a military base.
A woman in a short skirt barely covering her ass slowly danced in front of the jukebox. With her arms over her head, she shimmied down and bent forward to shake her ass. All she needed was a pole. The nearby table of buzz-cut men whooped and cheered her on. She tossed her hair and wiggled on one of their laps. After seeing her face, I wondered if she was over twenty-one. She had the attitude of a teenager who’d snuck out on a school night.
None of my business, but I kept an eye on her.
I ordered another pint.
Rip.
Loser.
What was I doing here?
Trolling for a girl willing to sleep with a guy for a chance at a better life?
No way.
Being here didn’t make me feel less alone. If anything, this place and these people reminded me of everything I didn’t have because I didn’t want it. Or told myself I didn’t need.
I pulled another tab and smiled.
Winner.
I set it aside and drank my beer.
Loud male voices and the men they belonged to crashed through the door with a few curses and whoops. I glanced over at them as they took over a table. It was impossible to ignore them, and I suspected they demanded this kind of attention wherever they went.
I returned to my tabs and beer, attempting to tune out their sexist jokes about the bartender and other women in the place.
“How do you put up with all these men?” I asked Ruby.
“Oh, you get used to them. Sometimes I have to enlist Babe Ruth over there.” She pointed above the bar where a baseball bat hung. “But the regulars keep an eye out for me. Have for thirty years.” She smiled and pointed at my winning game. “Hey, you’re a winner!”
She took the paper and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “Things are looking up for you.”
How wrong she was.
“Hey, I know you,” a drunk voice slurred from the table of obnoxious guys. I didn’t turn around because he couldn’t have meant me, but the voice sounded familiar.
“Hey!” the voice called out again. “I’m talking to you.”
Curiosity got the better of me and I spun around on my stool.
Kurt stood half out of his chair pointing at me.
Great. Exactly what this night needed—more asshole.
I gave him a head nod and turned away. I signaled for my tab and pulled my coat off of my chair to pay. The last thing I needed tonight would be talking to some asshat. Not with the mood I was in, and not with what I knew about him.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” He blinked at me and frowned while he wove his way over to me.
“Hey, Kurt. How’s it going?”
“You’re an asshole.” His stale beer and whiskey breath blew over my face from where he leaned on the back of the stool next to mine.
I jerked my head to escape his foul breath. I tried to stop the smile tugging at my lips.
“What are you smiling about?” He sneered at me and poked my shoulder.
“Nothing, man.”
“You ain’t nothing but a piece of island trash. You think you’re the shit because you never left the island. Bunch of inbred stupid hicks with no sense, that’s what your family is. You can’t hold on to the land. Estate taxes are going to kill you. Your family really fucked up, my friend. And when you and your stupid family come begging me to buy it from you, I’m going to love paying you half the original offer.”
It was the “my friend” part of his rant that raised my hackles. No way were we friends. I inhaled and counted: ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .
“And don’t think I don’t know you’re fucking Hailey. Hope you’re enjoying my sloppy seconds. I swear she might’ve been a lesbian, so thanks for clarifying.”
I faltered at five. “Listen, friend,” I spat out the word, “you need to step back.”
“Or what? You going to punch me? I’ve got five witnesses and two of them are lawyers.”
I gave Ruby an apologetic smile, then stood up. I towered over him and he prattled on about “trying something.” He blocked my way and puffed out his chest like the little rooster man he was.
The jukebox switched over to Honky Tonk Women and suddenly this whole scenario became an out of body experience. He took a swing with his right hand and attempted to grab my shirt with his left. I easily dodged both his hands. He came at me again and made contact with my arm.
“You hit like a little kid.” I would have said like a girl, but I grew up with sisters, and they hit a lot harder than Kurt did. Laughing, I punched him in the nose. He didn’t duck.
Chairs clattered to the floor and there was a rush of bodies in our direction. Kurt plowed into my stomach with his head and held me while he tried to hit my sides and back. I would’ve been fine had his friend not grabbed me around the neck. Two against one wasn’t fair. I kneed Kurt and head butted his friend. A few stools went tumbling to the floor along with Kurt. The guys at the pool table stopped playing and watched. Buzzcuts in the corner yelled “fight” and some of them joined the brawl. I think a few were on my side.
Ruby blew a whistle. A wood bat thunked against the bar. “Not in my bar,” she yelled. “Take it outside or I’m calling the cops.”
Fists continued to fly and at one point I found myself up against a pinball machine. The guy had a scar above his eyebrow. I didn’t recognize him from Kurt’s group.
“Listen, the cops will be here any minute. I’m trying to save your ass. I saw him throw the first punch. I’ve got your back.” He smiled and revealed a cut lip.
“Hey, thanks, but I’m good.”
“You can head out the backdoor—”
“Okay, gentlemen. Let�
��s break it up,” a young cop shouted near the front.
I glanced around and saw men freeze. Most were standing around and watching the fight, but Kurt stood up from the floor, his nose bleeding and his shirt torn. He pointed at me and said, “He started it.”
What an asswipe.
“You,” the cop addressed me, “over here.”
My new friend followed and tried to interrupt the cop, but the officer was having none of it. “Let’s take a ride to the station and sort things out. Now apologize to Ruby for messing up her bar.”
I gave Ruby an embarrassed look. She shook her head, but returned my smile.
“Can I get my coat?” I pointed to the floor by the bar. I pulled out my wallet and left her a fifty-dollar tip. The least I could do for brawling in her place.
Kurt and I sat in silence in the back of the patrol car during the ride to the police station. Another cruiser followed with three other guys who had been throwing punches. At the station, a list of charges were rattled off for fighting and busting up Ruby’s place: drunk and disorderly conduct, public intoxication, property damage, and assault. After being processed, I was told to call someone to arrange bail and a ride home.
“My truck’s at Ruby’s. I only had two beers and can drive myself home. Ask Ruby herself,” I argued.
Officer Olsen shook his head. “Buddy, your truck is spending the night in Oak Harbor whether you do or not. What part of drunk don’t you understand?” His voice lost its friendly tone the longer he spoke.
I used my phone call to call John and got his voicemail.
“I’m in the Oak Harbor jail. Kurt started a fight,” I said as explanation.
That was it. I knew he’d be here as soon as he could.
Nothing to do but wait. At least Officer Olsen put us in separate holding cells. If I had to hear one more time how Kurt was going to sue me, I’d probably end up punching him again.
Time crawled by as I lay on the metal bench staring at the ceiling. My knuckles had dried blood on them and I didn’t know if it was mine, Kurt’s, or someone else’s. I gently poked around my right eye, which was swelling closed. Taking inventory of the rest of my body, I decide the extent of my injuries included some tenderness along my side. Not too bad.
Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat Page 16
