by Ashley Logan
“His name is Damon?”
I nod. “And his kiss was so nice I forgot what day it was. I forgot where I was. Who I was,” I add sadly. “By the time I remembered, I was freaking myself out so much that I blew him off.”
“You what? He sounds amazing!”
“Too amazing! He went and got his jacket for me to wear, because he knew I’d given mine away. He said he’d like to see me again, but gave me all the power to pursue that, instead of telling me what I’d be doing. Then he thanked me for ‘brightening his day’. Who does that? How can you be an alpha male and relinquish your power enough to be so sweet?”
“Maybe he’s not an alpha,” Kat says with a shrug. “Maybe he just looked like one. Or maybe he’s a nice one - they do exist too, I believe. So, why did you blow him off?” she asks, leaning in. “I’m still not sure I understand. He looks good, smells good and kisses so well he makes you lose track of both time and space.”
“Well what do I do with that?” I ask, just as confused.
“Marry it?” she says, laughing.
“What? Ever since Scarlett and Bruno got engaged, you’ve all had marriage on the brain! I am a twenty-two year old stripper, struggling to pass my High School Equivalency while I balance helping the homeless and my dear, sick friend. I can barely manage casual sex, which I only enjoy on quite specific terms. I have a whole host of issues that no sane man would want to enter into, and I wouldn’t expect them too until I’ve at least mostly sorted it out myself. I’m a total catch - Kat, I know that’s what you’ll say. But I hate the word boyfriend, let alone what having one means to me. I’m not ready for anything with commitment or grown-up feelings.”
“And that’s what this Damon guy gives you? Grown-up feelings?” she asks with a cheeky grin and a waggle of her eyebrows.
“Definite adults-only rating there,” I confirm.
“Maybe he’d be interested in casual?” she suggests. “It seems a shame to waste his talents.”
Considering briefly, I shake my head. “Too confusing for me. I’m so confused when it comes to sex, I don’t even know where the line I crossed today was. He made me hot and my mouth watered for him, so I sucked his face.”
A shiver runs through me. Every time I think of his kiss, it blows my mind. I’ve never felt anything like that before and it scares the hell out of me.
“So you’ll just give the jacket back and be done with him?”
I shrug. “He said I could keep it. I think he said that because he thought I wouldn’t try to find him.”
“How would you find him if you wanted to?” Kat asks, nodding at the jacket I can’t seem to take off. “Anything in the pockets?”
I shake my head. “I’ve already searched every pocket.”
Kat perks up. “You did?”
“Out of curiosity, not to find a number,” I explain, watching her shoulders droop a little. “There was nothing in any of them, but he goes to the fighting gym down by Madame Jermaine’s. I could ask there if I wanted, but I’m scared of what I might do if I saw him again. Probably screw him till he’s happy then lie in the mud so he can walk all over me. That’s my usual method,” I say quietly, looking into my tea.
“I don’t know,” Kat says lightly. “I think you’ve become pretty good at taking care of yourself and keeping guys at a distance.”
“The problem is that I don’t think I could keep my distance from this one, Kat. Apparently I’m so weak-willed I can’t even take off his jacket.” Looking down at it, the thought angers me. Setting down my tea, I shrug out of it and toss it on the floor.
Kat leans over to pick it up, searching each pocket and then the tag inside the collar.
“It’s been easy to keep things distant with the last few guys, because they’ve been safety-approved by you guys and I’ve only thought about them as practice tools.”
Kat giggles a little at my phrasing and I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. They’ve had predictable endings, because there’s only so long they can stand to live by my rules, and I don’t want more than that. But what would I do with a guy that I feel like I need to have more of? Where do I draw the line then?”
Frowning, Kat scans the inner lining and smiles. “He gave you his number.”
Peering over her hand at the numbers clearly written in black permanent marker, I stare at the name above them. Damon S. S? Why is his jacket labeled like a kid who’s gone to camp? A camp that had enough Damons to warrant the need to distinguish himself with an S?
“So?” I ask, slumping back into the cushions. “I can’t see him, Kat. What if he’s perfect and then I scare him off with all my baggage?”
“What if baggage doesn’t scare him? What if he has baggage? What if he is perfect? What if he’s an ass?” she says weighing each idea in her palms and coming out even. “How will you know unless you call? What’s the worst that can happen? We’re all here to protect you now,” she says, gently nudging my knee with her elbow. “You can be brave if we’re all standing behind you. You could bring him around here and we can all assess his worthiness.”
“I don’t normally bring guys back here,” I say softly, looking up at my dolls.
“Well maybe don’t bring him in here,” Kat says as she glances up at the dolls too. “You want to size him up, not freak him out. Though if you do want to try to have a healthy relationship, it might include the guy knowing about your hobbies and interests,” she adds with a shrug. “If they don’t bother him, he might be a very special person.”
“They’re not that creepy!” I cry, pulling Charlotte - my oldest friend, into my arms and stroking her matted hair as she looks up at me with one friendly blue eye and one empty socket.
“They really are, Lex. And that new picture is the creepiest of all,” she says with a smile, so that I know she still likes me, even though I have a ‘creepy’ collection.
“Next to Charlotte, that picture is my favorite.”
“It’s a broken baby head!”
“Baby doll head; it’s not a real baby. And he’s hurting, look at him. He’s much better off in here with me than on some gallery wall where people just think he’s creepy,” I tease. “I love him. And you. Thanks for talking with me.”
“You going to call him?”
“Maybe.”
“Alexa.”
“Fine, I’ll call him. But only to tell him I’m too damaged to take it any further. That way he’ll understand that he is actually very, very, extremely tasty and his feelings won’t be hurt. And I won’t have to see his gorgeous face when I tell him, because I just know if I see him again I’ll rub myself all over him uncontrollably and ruin everything.”
Kat giggles. “Ooh you’ve got it bad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”
“Did you smell the jacket?” I ask, eying her as if she’s crazy. “It smells of serious trouble. Intoxication style.”
Kat lifts the jacket to her nose and smiles. “Whatever you’re smelling isn’t even registering a tingle on the old Katarina sniff-o-meter. I can barely smell anything. Except cookies. They’ll be cool enough to put in the tin now, so I’ll catch up with you later?” Pausing at the door, she studies me a moment. “My guess is, you’ll be on stage last tonight, Alexa Carrington. You’ve got sex vibes rising off you like there’s no tomorrow and none of us will be able to out-perform you. This Damon guy has got you all hot and twisted. Maybe you shouldn’t dismiss him so quickly. Think on it a while.”
Taking a deep breath, I try not to think about those sex vibes she’s talking about. I can feel them. Every time I think about Damon, or catch a whiff of his scent I feel them intensify. Nodding, I lean Charlotte back against my pillows and get out my math books. “Thanks Kat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
DAMON
“What’s up with you?” Bruno asks as he stands next to my painting chair. The man is six foot five and built like a tank with a standard army buzz-cut to boot. Growing a beard and letting my hair grow was the first thing I di
d when I was medically discharged. I’d like to think it was rebellion against the agency responsible for destroying my hands, but really it’s just more convenient for me not to shave. Bruno on the other hand, is so orderly by nature, he probably had the buzz-cut before he joined up; and although he’s always been big, it wasn’t until he completed rehab from his spinal injury that he got to work on becoming the muscled unit he is now. I’m a comparable six three - though not quite so built, and when I’m sitting down, his presence is difficult to dismiss.
“You haven’t said shit all morning. Jenkins says you’ve got your period,” he adds, half serious, half light.
Turning away from my canvas I see both Bruno Jackson and Brad Jenkins staring at me with concerned faces. I’m sure it was only a few weeks ago that I was looking at both of them with a similar expression as they went through simultaneous life crises. Swings and roundabouts, I guess.
“Well your mom came over last night Jenkins, but it definitely wasn’t for anything to do with my pussy. Fuck off back to your own spaces. I’m busy.”
Adjusting myself in the reclining seat I use for painting, I dip my brush into the orange, only to get more paint on my toes than my brush. Sighing I look back at them and point a stump at my painting foot. “See? You’re putting me off. I can’t concentrate while you guys are looking at me like I’m dying inside. I’m not.”
“What are you painting?” Jenkins asks, tilting his head sideways as he wheels his chair closer.
If I tell him, I’ll open myself up for teasing every time we talk about painting. Considering we paint together every weekend and sometimes during the week when I help them with brainstorming and designing the murals they’ve been painting downtown, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. So I lie.
“An abstract. I’m practicing my short strokes, so it’s just color and technique.”
“Looks like fireworks,” Bruno says with a raised eyebrow.
Staring at the canvas, I pretend I haven’t seen the connection. “Yeah, it does a bit. What are you fuck-turds painting?”
“We both painted Brad’s mom,” Bruno says, holding up two voluptuous nudes before jumping out of the way of Jenkins’ leg-killing punches. Dancing away out of reach, he taunts Brad by flicking his tongue out at Brad’s painting’s nipples.
“I’m gonna tell Blondie you’re cheating on her!” Jenkins threatens with a grin.
Since Bruno finally got together with his dream girl Scarlett, we’ve been doing our level best to mess with him, but he’s so happy and in love he barely notices.
“Scar loves it when I paint nudes. It gets me in the mood.”
“Dude. Too much information,” I cry, holding my stumps to my ears. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want us knowing your girlfriend loves frequent cock.”
“Fiancée,” he says, correcting me.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever! Do you want me to bring this dodgy information up in the wedding toast?”
Bruno’s eyes grow round. “What? No! You wouldn’t!”
“Well I can’t talk about what I don’t know, so keep your dirty sex life in your filthy bedroom.”
“Da-ay-mon,” Bruno teases quietly, leaning in too close. “Don’t be jelly!” he says over and over, while he tickles me so ruthlessly that I fall out of my chair.
Recovering myself, I leave his ass covered in painted footprints from kicking him. I also kick Jenkins in his strapped, numb shins because even though he played no part in the incident, he’s laughing even harder than Bruno.
Father Franco, our post-Sunday Service art teacher makes an appearance, tuts and shakes his head, but walks away smiling.
“I can’t believe you just used my one weakness against me like that,” I say, shaking my head in disappointment.
“Pfft. One weakness,” Jenkins says, laughing again. “You suck at thumb wrestling.”
Laughing with him, I knock Brad’s brakes off and push him out the door behind him so he starts rolling down the ramp backwards. The look on his face is priceless until he manages to slow himself to a stop halfway down the ramp. Bruno and I laugh as we watch him blow on his hands to cool them down.
Looking around, I notice the eyes of others - some amused, some not so much - as they watch the trio of weirdos acting like children. Clearing my throat, I bow to Bruno, give him a wink and assume a solemn expression as I head back to my station to start tidying up for the end of class.
Once outside we see Brad’s Mom waiting for him in the parking lot.
“Dude, does your mom wipe your ass too? When are you getting a car?”
“When I can afford one, bitch. And I don’t even want to think about how you wipe your ass, ya handless punk.”
“My shit gets licked off by a squadron of specially trained kittens. It’s quite a pleasant experience. You should try it.”
Laughing as he rolls down the ramp, Jenkins shakes his head. “Sounds like something else I can’t afford, bro. Later!”
Once my special painting chair is loaded in the back, Bruno opens my door and I jump into my Audi A4 station wagon and pull my hooks from my shoulder bag. Slipping into the figure eight harness, I lock them into place at the end of my arms and the burning begins. The burning sensation is so much worse than the regular ache, because it’s raw and instantly present. Wincing, I start the car, because the sooner I start driving, the sooner my phantom fingers will feel itchy instead.
Sighing in relief as I reverse out of the space and take us out to the street, I flick on the radio. Bruno flicks it off.
“So what’s up?”
I raise a hook at him. “The middle finger.”
Batting it away, he gives me a hard look. “Stop being a tool. What’s wrong with you? Are you in pain?”
“I’m always in pain.”
“Yeah, but you’re especially short today. Did you sleep on them funny again?” he asks, his face contorting as he imagines what I go through.
“No. I don’t know. Shut up.”
Bruno turns in his seat to face me more. “Problems with the new apartment?”
“No. Everything seems to be going fine. Should be ready in about two weeks if everything goes to schedule.”
“That sounds like good news,” Bruno says, sounding confused. “So it’s something else.”
“Fuck off. I’m fine. And stop staring at me like that. It feels like you’re undressing me with your eyes, you sleazy bastard.”
Gasping excitedly as if he’s found the cure for cancer, Bruno gives the armrest a high five. “You met a girl.”
“I meet lots of girls,” I say, keeping my tone flat.
“Yeah, but you’ve met one you like,” he says with such a grin that I feel like smacking it from his face. “And you blew it. When was it? Recent. Don’t tell me. It was Halloween. She didn’t like it when you asked her to sit on your stump and be your ventriloquist’s dummy.”
Laughing a little, I shake my head. “I met her yesterday in the street. She’s beautiful and kind and when I kissed her it was so amazing that my hands sparkled.”
“You kissed her? Alright! Then what?”
“Then nothing. She hasn’t called me.”
“Oh,” he says, frowning in disappointment. “Did she not like the kiss?”
I shrug. “She said she did.”
“Was it the hands?” he asks, almost fearfully.
I shake my head. “I was wearing gloves, so it didn’t come up. Something spooked her, but I can’t blame the hands this time.”
Which means it’s just me. Sighing, I hit the indicator and rotate the wheel with the special ring attachment.
“I’m just bummed she hasn’t called. It’s fine. I just really wanted to see her again is all.”
“Then you should have got her number,” Bruno says, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well I didn’t, ass-hat. I gave her mine and that’s just how it went. Can we talk about something else?”
“You wanna come up and meet some of the guys?” he asks, without missin
g a beat. Bruno is a good friend, but he keeps pushing me to meet all his stripper friends. Knowing Bruno, and having met Scarlett, I can only assume that me and my stumps will feel quite uncomfortable in the company of a dozen immaculate human specimens. It scares the shit out of me.
“Maybe next time.”
“Dude, you say that every time! Stop being such a pussy. They won’t bite you, and they won’t judge you either. We’ve all got our own problems. Just come upstairs!”
“If I say I’ll go next time will you drop it?”
“Will you mean it?”
I’ve never meant it before. Meeting new people is painful and I’m avoiding his friends as I would a rectal exam. Bruno stares at me, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
Sighing, I watch the road. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. If you promise to come upstairs and hang out next week, I’ll drop it.”
“Fine. I promise to grow some testicles by next week.”
Bruno sits back with a satisfied smile and again adopts a new line of conversation with ease. “You going to your parent’s for Thanksgiving?”
“Probably. Wanna come?”
“I think we’re going to Scarlett’s folk’s. I’m a little worried about the sister being there though. I may have told her she was unpleasant.”
Laughing, I pull up to the curb down the street from his apartment. “Why would you tell her that?”
“Because she is!” he says, defending the move. “I won’t go into it, but she is probably one of the worst human beings I’ve ever met.”
“Sounds like a fun time ahead then. My sisters aren’t awful, if you change your mind. Though one tends to talk about her love life too much for my liking. I mean, Harriet’s only seventeen and she says some seriously outlandish shit, bro. I’m glad I don’t live close enough to hear about it too often, because I’m pretty sure I would have beaten up the lead singer of her band, and half of the football team by now.”
Bruno laughs.
“I’m serious. You’re lucky you’re an only child! I changed that kid’s diapers and fed her mush.” Being ten years older, I helped out with her a lot. Mainly because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get my allowance, but still; she became pretty precious to me. “Seventeen, man. And half the football team. I don’t even want to think about what Lara’s doing at College, but she made a good choice moving to the other side of the country to keep it from me.”
