by Brisa Starr
I enjoy watching her expertly cleave the steaks, and it dawns on me that I’ve never seen a female butcher in my life. I admire this woman for blazing her own trail.
“Yeah, so Adron’s an interesting one,” she continues. “He’s had his fair share of partying. And he’s no stranger to the ladies. I’ve heard some spicy tales, but not from him. Nary a peep ever comes from him, even when he’s out on the town.” She gives me a playful smile and continues, “Mind you, I’ve never experienced him myself. He’s not my type. No, thank you. Too dark and moody for my taste.”
I smile, intrigued with this intel on my new neighbor. Sounds like he might be fling material indeed. Besides, what else is there to do in this small town?
She brings the steaks over and says, “I’ll put the steaks and pet food on his tab. I expect I’ll see you every few days for the pets.” She hands me the white paper-wrapped steaks across the counter and adds, “Hey, here’s my card, too! It’s got my cell. Let’s go out one of these nights, I’ll show you around town.”
“Great, I’d love that!” I say, excited about making a new friend. I beam and take the meat. Sammy seems like fun, and I don’t have a lot of close friends. Adron wasn’t wrong when he said my lifestyle sounds lonely… it’s the one thing missing from my life. Well, I have my best friend, Billy, from high school, but I don’t see him often. “Thanks for the scoop on Adron. I’ll text you later.”
Sammy looks at me kind of funny, her lips sharing a secret smile I find unnerving… like she knows something I don’t. “Uh, huh. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Hmmm. Was that a warning?
I leave the store excited about my hot sauce and Adron, and I drive back to the house. I pull up the long driveway and see the windows to the casita are open. “He has the windows open? Crazy. It’s too hot,” I mutter under my breath.
I get out of the car and head to the front door, when I hear music coming from the casita and I stop. He’s playing the piano, something somber and soulful. I’m not surprised, it fits his energy. It’s beautiful, too, and I stand there for a moment, entranced. I didn’t know he was so talented. This intrigues me even more.
I smirk to myself. I’ll definitely consider him a contender for fun this summer. As I head inside the house to put the meat into the refrigerator, I purse my lips in concentration and calculate my next move.
3
Adron
“Jesus fuck! What is that awful sound?” I roll over in bed, groggy, and then sit up. I finally fell asleep just a short while ago after working all night. I amble to the window and crack the blinds to see what the horrible noise is outside. That’s what I get for sleeping with the windows open at night.
I snort. It’s her.
She’s walking the dogs. Early. Good girl. Her back is to me, and she stops at a bush while the dogs relieve themselves. I see she’s wearing earbuds tethered to the phone in her back pocket, listening to god knows what. I can’t tell because her singing is so bad; she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life.
An unexpected smile turns up on my lips. I can’t even help myself, and I continue observing her. I enjoy the show, knowing that she doesn’t know I’m watching.
Did she just shake her butt?
Why, yes, she did.
I know because my cock told me. It’s a fine ass, heart-shaped and sweet, like her face. Well, she can dance at least, and I stare after her, mesmerized by her seductively swaying hips. The siren calling me in. I glance at the artful bottle of tequila on the counter – Mermaid of Desire – it’s meaning not lost on me.
I close the window and shutters and turn back to bed. She’s already taken up too much of my mind since we met. A waste of time and mental energy. Besides, Alyson can’t be the one. She’s not even from around here. Hell, she’s not from anywhere.
But she has those defiant eyes that flirt with my soul. And I know I frustrate her in return, but I’m not willing to give her any more of me at the moment. I’d need to know her story first. No woman wants to travel the world alone, at least not for long. There’s something else going on there, something she hasn’t shared.
Didn’t curiosity kill the cat?
Hm. Whatever.
I have to get back to sleep first. It was another late night working in the studio, and I’m stuck on one part of a song, trying to come up with just the right bridge in a major key to balance the darker verse and refrain. I don’t do “happy” well, and it’s pissing me off. I think I’ll open that fine bottle of tequila Auntie generously bought me and sip on that while working tonight.
I’ll think more about Alyson later.
There’s a knock at the door, “Hey! Adron!” Knock knock knock.
“Christ, what time is it now?” Knock knock knock. As I roll over to grab my phone, I bump my black tourmaline off the nightstand and if falls to the floor. Shit. “Hold on!” I yell as I reach under the bed, searching for the stone with my hand. Knock knock knock! “Fuck! Wait a minute!” I find the stone and put it back on the nightstand.
I throw the sheets off and pound my steps to the door, yanking it open. “What?” I snarl.
She stands there, and her mouth opens as she locks eyes with me for a brief, fiery moment, before she lets them work their way down my body. They stop at my chest, before going down to my abs, down to my underwear, which bulges from my cock that’s stirring without permission. Afternoon wood. Down boy. Her eyes flick back to mine.
“What?” I snap again, unhappy at being awakened.
She swallows hard and smiles slightly, apparently not at all intimidated by my beastly behavior. She whispers slowly, like it’s a secret, “You’re in your underwear.”
Like I didn’t know. Sorta. “What do you need?” I ask again, not letting her comment reveal that I hadn’t actually intended to answer the door in my underwear. With 40% of a boner. But here we are, sweetheart.
She shifts a little and licks her full, pouty, ruby lips. My cock stirs again. She’s wearing a dark purple tank top and short black jean shorts. Her eyes drop to my waist, slower this time, making sure I notice, deliberately flirting with me. Oh, this one’s a little temptress.
She knows my lower half is waking up, but this time she finally blushes and slides her eyes back up to mine. I inhale and narrow my eyes at her, letting her sweat a bit, but her scent of roses and vanilla sweetness hits my nostrils unexpectedly, and I look away. I want to lean in for another hit when she interrupts me.
“The Internet,” she says, her tone business-like, pretending not to be interested in my physique anymore.
“Yes?” I look pointedly at her. “What about it?”
“It doesn’t work, and I have a class to teach. Can you please help me?” She answers rapidly, irritated, or maybe nervous. I run my hand through my hair and shut the door in her face. I look for my shorts.
“Hello?” She yells from outside the door, exasperation in her powerful little voice. “Are you going to help me or what?”
I let her sweat for a moment while I make myself an espresso – I’ve stocked the casita and I no longer need to go into the house to get my heart started. I’m sure she can hear the beans grinding from outside. It’s the least I can do, seeing as she woke me up twice now. Knock knock knock!
“My class starts in an hour!”
I saunter over to the door, and just as I open it, I hear her mutter, “What an asshole.”
Busted. Her cheeks flame with heat, but her dark brown eyes stay pointed on me, filled with frosty defiance. Damn, she is a firecracker.
I look at her and swig my espresso. Leaving the door open, I turn around and set the cup on the counter. I walk out of the casita, right past her, forcing myself to ignore the sizzling electrical charge I feel as I walk by her hot little body. I head to the house, and she follows on my heels.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, your highness,” she snaps.
I stop so abruptly that she crashes into my backside. A surge of desire blazes through me as I sense her
righting herself behind me. She’s too close.
I look over my shoulder and snap back, “I work late, and I sleep late.”
I whip my head back and walk inside the main house. She follows me like a hawk, and we head into Auntie’s office where the router is.
“See this little button here?” I say with my finger on it, as condescendingly as I can. “If this should happen again, push it. Wait ten seconds. Push. It. Again. Voilà.”
She stands defiantly on the other side of the room, arms across her chest.
“Can you handle that?” I ask.
“Yes,” she seethes, her pretty lips tightened. An image of them wrapped around my cock flashes into my mind involuntarily. I tilt my head to one side and crack my neck, relieving tension. It worked, the image of her sucking me is gone.
We embark on another one of our staring contests. It’s fucking amusing, again. Who is this chick?
Clearly annoyed, she asks, “What you do anyway? And don’t give me some stupid ‘whatever I want’ dickhead answer like you gave yesterday. I mean, you do something, right? You know, for a living?” She mocks my deep voice when she says whatever I want, and she sounds like a cartoon bear. It’s cute, and I probably smile a little.
OK, I’ll enlighten her. She’s earned it. “I’m an analyst. I mine data for pharmaceutical companies around the world. OK?”
“Fine,” she says quietly. She turns her face away and looks to the side.
I believe she just dismissed me.
I take the moment while she isn’t looking at me, and I admire her feisty personality. She’s saucy as hell, spicy like her hot sauce she loves so much. I wonder how the sauce between her legs tastes. I wonder if it’s as spicy as her attitude. I’d like to lick her, taste her pussy, and show her what I could do to her. For her.
“Did you find your hot sauce yesterday?” I ask.
She startles a bit at my question. “Yes. And Sammy sent me back here with a bunch of steaks for you. They’re in the fridge.”
“Cool. Thanks.” I walk past her and into the kitchen. I catch another hit of her vanilla rose essence, and I close my eyes as it feeds me.
She follows, again.
I’m pleased, again.
She sits her sweet little ass on the bar stool at the counter, and the sunlight comes through the window, highlighting her face and hair. Damn, she’s cute as hell. I wonder what the summer could be like with her here. She gets on my nerves with her frankness and blunt probing, but there’s a provocative rebellion in her attitude that makes my cock eager to probe her right back.
“What’s the story with the tattoo?” she asks.
Case in point.
“I got it with my Auntie one night. If you couldn’t tell, she’s a bit woo-woo.” I look at her, raising one eyebrow.
“Woo-woo?” she asks, and a smile shows on her delicious-looking ruby lips. The earlier tension between us diffuses an iota.
“Auntie prefers ‘intuitive’ or ‘psychic.’ If the crystals around this house didn’t give it away, a five-minute conversation with her will let you know that she knows you, in and out, even if you don’t want her to.”
Alyson grimaces, her neck muscles strained, and she chews on that for a moment, realizing that Auntie might know more about her than she thought. I expect so, and I expect my Auntie is up to no good with respect to this whole situation.
She leans toward me, elbows on the counter, and I enjoy a glimpse of her cleavage. Perky little breasts I want to sink my teeth into. I look back in her eyes and continue, “Anyway, she says my spirit animal is a spider, and I’d have to agree.”
She narrows her dark chocolate-colored eyes, and I find her more beautiful than ever when she’s skeptical, like she’s challenging me, but too indifferent to say it outright.
“If we’re done here, I’m going back to bed,” I say and look at her a moment too long. She says nothing, just looks at me. I turn on my heel and leave the house. As I head back to the casita, I’m overwhelmed with weird feelings of desire and intrigue.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts with a text message. As I walk to My Cave, I see it’s my mom. Fucking great.
I enter the casita, and, sitting on my bed, I rub my hand over my face and look back down at my phone. Shit.
What the hell does she want?
I know better.
I know what she wants.
I read the text message.
Mom: Have you contacted one of the girls yet?
Me: No
Mom: What are you waiting for?
Me: True Love
Heh. That’ll piss her off.
Mom: Adron, get real. There’s no time for that. Text one of them or I will for you. Tick Tock.
Me: Fine. I’ll do it.
Mom: Today. Stop messing around with your music and take this seriously.
Me: I said I’ll do it.
Mom: Trust me, this will work, and then we can all go on with our lives again.
Me: I need their info again.
The contact details come through, and I toss my phone onto the bed.
I rake my hands through my hair and shake my head. I’m in a ridiculous and frustrating position. I can’t believe my grandfather attached these stringent rules to his inheritance. Rules requiring that I get married to a woman without a prenup, and become a father, before either I or my parents can access the money in the trust.
He was a crazy son-of-a-bitch. But he was a smart bastard, too. He knew that, by requiring no prenuptial agreement, I couldn’t just marry anybody in a sham marriage without risking a lot of money. He wanted to ensure that I fall in love with someone and start a family, to continue the legacy.
I won’t say I don’t appreciate the wealth, because I do. I just don’t obsess about it. My parents are right, it has given me a privileged life, and I don’t take it for granted. I like quality in everything I touch, which is why I’m having such a hard time finding a wife. The women I meet are all either empty or shallow, or look at me with dollar signs in their eyes. I refuse to settle for someone who doesn’t understand me. I want someone I can respect and who respects me.
My parents think if I find somebody who comes from money, even if we’re not in love, that we don’t have to worry about her taking off with half of it because she’ll have her own money.
That said, where I come from, there aren’t many families with that kind of wealth. In the 1970s, my grandfather dug a trench with his own hands and laid a fiber optic cable so his town that sat in a valley, in the shadow of the radio antennas, could receive network television. The FCC took him to court, and he won. His little venture sparked the beginning of cable television, and twenty years later, he sold his nationwide cable company to a multinational conglomerate for billions in today’s dollars.
My grandfather always hoped I’d follow in his footsteps in business, but music is my passion, so I’ve let him down not only in my inability to produce an heir, but in that regard, too.
He passed away when I was 15 years old, so he never knew that music would be my calling. When I was eighteen, I learned about the restrictions on the inheritance. I remember it like it was yesterday… a courier arrived at my door and handed me a letter from his lawyer saying I would receive a check for two million dollars on my 23rd birthday. The letter stipulated that, to unlock the rest of my multi-billion-dollar inheritance, I had to be married and with a baby, by said wife, by the time I turned 30. If I didn’t, then the inheritance, both my portion and my parents’, would get donated to my grandfather’s charitable foundation.
At the time, I didn’t think one way or the other about it — I was young and immature, just a kid, really. I went to college on my parent’s dime, did my share of partying, fucking around, figuring I had all the time in the world to fall in love and start a family. When I turned 23, I got my promised two million dollars. I spent some of it, my car for example. I invested some, I donated some, and lived off the rest since then, though I make decent coin nowad
ays as a freelance data scientist.
To my parent’s dismay, I believe in love, which would make my grandfather proud. I don’t know many musicians who don’t believe in love – it’s the basis of the best songs. Trouble was, over the years, I found it increasingly difficult to find anybody I wanted to spend more than an hour in my bed with.
My parents are right about one thing though. They gave me a pleasant life, a good education, and I never wanted for anything. Well, maybe more of their attention, but whatever. That was when I was a kid.
But this fucking snag in the inheritance – that my parents don’t get their portion unless I fulfill the requirements – has put an insane amount of pressure on me and nearly destroyed our relationship… it’s all they ever talk about. That said, even though my parents might annoy the hell out of me, they’re still my parents, and they’re not total douchebags. At least not most of the time.
I feel a heavy responsibility to ensure they get their money, even if they do live beyond their means. They fully expected me to hold up my end of the bargain and get them their share, so they can live the rest of their lives in the style to which they’ve become accustomed.
Shaking my head, I give it a go, and I consider the first girl whose information my mom gave me. What was her name? Stephanie? Oh yes, blond and big tits.
I suddenly think of Alyson.
Where did that come from? I’d like to think it came from my cock, but I know better now, having interacted with her more than once and feeling the same attraction to her every damn time.
But, well, fuck. She’s out of the question.
Isn’t she?
To begin, my parents would never approve of her middle-class status. And I wouldn’t give a shit about that, but I have to be mindful about the requirements laid on my shoulders. I can’t take any chances that somebody would marry me for the money and then leave with half of it.
