by AnonYMous
With other men—from Zack on—I’d always known what I was doing and why the men were doing it. But lust wasn’t half of what Brad and I had between us. This was like diving into murky water believing the sign saying it was deep enough so you wouldn’t break your neck.
I’d always had trust issues.
I watched him for several beats. There was no way to fast-forward. There were no shortcuts here.
So I put on my helmet and kicked my leg over my bike. I’d done it eight thousand seven hundred and two times in my life, but suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
Where did they go? What should I be doing? Check the mirrors. Right.
“Where do I hold on, Wren?” he repeated.
“My, uh, waist.”
He slid on behind me. His thighs rested against mine. Not pressed up against, but I could hear my jeans getting to know his chinos. His right hand cupped my waist followed by his left. He leaned forward to speak into my ear and our helmets thumped together.
“Like this?”
I grunted in affirmation and released the kickstand. I twisted the grip to crack the throttle and then I popped the clutch. We pulled out, spraying gravel in the parking lot before I turned onto the road.
Brad’s grip tightened on me; his body was now plastered against mine. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely worried or if he was just copping a feel. I didn’t care, honestly, because it felt damn good. He had big hands and long fingers. They felt strong even through the layers of my jacket.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, he flexed his hands around my rib cage. I’m going to take good care of you, the touch promised.
As I’d predicted, we didn’t see a single car in town. I turned onto Route 2 heading toward Malta. The land spread out on either side of us until it bumped the horizon, a nearly unbroken expanse of browns beneath the sky. I’d known this view my entire life. It was unforgiving, too hard to be beautiful but too spare to be ugly.
For a long time I put space between Masters and us. Telephone poles marked the miles. A hawk circled overhead. Paint chipped off a grain elevator.
I absorbed the warmth and certainty radiating off Brad. He was a wall between me and whatever was out there. I leaned against him and enjoyed the hum of the machine between my thighs and the pale spray of light.
After half an hour I turned at a gravel driveway and slowed but didn’t stop. I drove until the highway was a blurry line in the distance and then I parked and climbed off. I fumbled with the strap on my helmet.
He pulled off his helmet and looked around. His brow wrinkled. “Can we be here?”
“Yeah. Or at least no one is going to stop us. Absentee landlord. I come here sometimes to think.”
“It’s . . .” He didn’t seem certain what word he was looking for.
“The same as everywhere else around town?” I offered.
He laughed and I set my helmet on the ground next to his.
“What do you think about here?” he asked.
“Lately? Well, this morning Zack told me Lone Gun is into something that’s going to make tons of money.”
Brad nodded and leaned against the fence next to me. “What else are we looking for here? What else do you need to see?”
I answered honestly. “I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I looked out over the field. “What can I do? Call the police? That seems . . . dumb.”
“I’ve thought about that,” he said.
I looked at him. I was sad but unsurprised. I waited for him to tell me.
“The truth is they might not find anything. And us reporting might be bad for me, for my parents, if nothing happens. But it might be worse if I report it and they find something. We might be accessories to their crimes.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“Swear to God, Wren, I don’t know.”
A long patch of time passed. I listened to the wind, felt it cool my skin and then numb it. I should apologize for last night, for using him, for not sticking to the plan.
But I wasn’t sorry.
Finally, Brad spoke again. “What else do you think about?”
“Doing this.” I leaned forward and kissed him.
Chapter 6
Brad
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but when Wren Masters kissed me, she did it with every part of herself. Arms, hands, teeth, and tongue—it was a soaking wave. I let her wash over me, though I staggered against the fence for support.
I’d wanted to kiss her for years, ever since I’d known that this was what men and women did together. I knew this kiss was motivated by fear, confusion, and change, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to enjoy it.
She paused and drew back. She watched me, not questioning but gauging. I froze, not ready for the moment to be over but worried I might say the wrong thing. The wind whipped a chunk of her hair into her eyes. I pushed it back behind her ear, which was chilled. Then I ran my fingers down her neck to the base of her throat to that tiny perfect notch. I could feel her pulse, sharp and fast. Mine echoed it.
She made a hungry noise and kissed me again. She was on her toes then, stretched between the ground and me. She tugged on the zipper of my jacket until it fell open most of the way. Her hands stole inside, around my waist. The touch was over my sweater, but unmistakably intimate.
There’d been other women, of course, in high school and college. I hadn’t spent decades pining away for her to the exclusion of sex of any kind. But this kiss was the real thing, the original that made you realize how faded the copies were.
I curled the fingers of one hand into her loose ponytail. It stirred up the scent of her shampoo and made me dizzy. She, in contrast, was steady as the foundation of a house. My other hand pressed against her back. The rough canvas of her coat rasped against my palm as I stroked down, pulling her closer. Our clothes brushed and I shook. Anticipation roiled within me. My toes wanted her. My arms. My spleen. It was ridiculous.
Wren had my bottom lip between her teeth. She was rolling it back and forth while her tongue skittered over my mouth. It was playful and arousing, but coy. She thought she was tugging my strings. But I needed more than frisky right now.
I pulled away half an inch so I could kiss her slowly and with proper carnal intent. I grazed my tongue against hers on an inhale. The cold air burned my throat and I did it again. I dropped a series of opened-mouthed kisses along her neck, licking and nipping at every inch of skin I could find. There weren’t many—we were both bundled for Fallow in October—but I moved slowly.
When I started on her ear, she bent one of her knees, curled it near my hip, and levered up, hovering over my lap. I hissed out a curse and kissed her mouth. Her lips were swollen. I stroked my hips against her while I sucked lightly on her tongue. In response, she made a noise so explicit I thought I might come right then.
I wasn’t hiding a thing from her. I wanted to her to know I wasn’t her brother. She was free to use me as a front with Larry or as a plaything, but I wasn’t fifteen anymore. If she’d let me, I was going to lay her underneath me and grind against her until we were dizzy and sated. This might be . . . hell, I didn’t know what it was. But I was going to mark her like she had me. It was going to be mutual.
We kissed for a long time, the lapping of our mouths competing with the howl of the wind until I couldn’t hear anything else. Winter might have come and gone for all we’d have known. The world had shrunk until I didn’t care if Lone Gun wanted to sell drugs or stage a coup. All I wanted on earth was this woman.
Finally, she broke off and nestled her face against my neck. I held her and felt the ground under my feet, cold and firm. I waited for my breathing to return to normal. What I didn’t do was say anything. Neither did she. Maybe our bodies had communicated enough.
“It’s freakin’ windy.” Her voice was raw.
For ten seconds, I felt guilty. What was happening was shitty for me, frightening. B
ut it was orders of magnitude worse for her. I shouldn’t be doing this with her right now—but I didn’t want to stop.
“Do you want to go back?” I wasn’t even sure what I was asking.
She shook her head. “Not ready yet.” A long paused followed before she whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
“I can suggest a few things.” I rocked my hips, and my still-insistent erection, against her.
She snorted. “Men. You think that’s the solution for everything.”
“We’re not wrong.”
“Pssh.” Wow, she was distracted—by either Lone Gun’s antics or the kissing. The moment when Wren didn’t offer an obscenity was a bad one.
I resettled against the fence post. Tightened my arms around her.
She murmured gratefully. “You’re warm.”
“Not for long if this keeps up.”
“We should go.”
Neither of us moved. She stayed pressed against me, humming something I didn’t recognize. My mind was bounded up in trying to freeze the moment, to keep the details forever to take out when I needed them once this was over.
It was going to end. This was temporary. She wasn’t going to be my . . . whatever. I could almost feel something drop through my abdomen at the thought. But I’d long ago made peace with the fact I’d never get to have her the way I wanted her.
I didn’t feel jealous of the men, collectively, who’d been able to kiss her, but one infuriated me. It might have been because she kept going back to him and she probably would be his permanently, but given our new intimacy, I was going to ask.
“Wren, what was between you and Zack?”
She stiffened a bit. Then she relaxed. I could feel her shaking her head, dismissing me before she even answered. She kissed my neck, soothingly. “Sex and closeness.”
“What’s between us?”
She sat up a bit and released the bottom of my zipper from the pull-tab. My jacket yawned open. She looked me straight in the eye while her fingers grazed under my shirt. The muscles in my stomach juddered one after another.
“Trust.” She kissed the base of my neck.
My head fell back and I panted. We’d revved back up again.
“Tension.” She ran her teeth over my throat.
I tugged her against me until our torsos felt fused. My dick almost clapped with gratitude.
“Friendship.” She was on the underside of my chin.
I groaned. I couldn’t process this anymore. I was too aroused. It was too cold. It was all happening so fast.
She was over me, looking down into my face. I’d swear we weren’t breathing. Her green eyes were filled with tenderness. “Liking.” The kiss she gave me then was different. Hot and sweet at once. Sincere.
I pulled her into a big hug, buried myself in her and let the rest go. It was more than I’d ever thought to ask from her.
Chapter 7
Wren
It was a dumb thing really, but the stuff that changed your life often was. I was closing up the office when three fat raindrops hit me in the forehead plunk, plunk, plunk. I grimaced and examined the sky. Clouds stretched in every direction, the bottoms flat and black like tar spilled on the road. The radio had been making noises about rain all day, and it was like for once they hadn’t lied.
I reopened the door, fighting with the lock the whole time, and then wrenched open my desk drawers one after another. No umbrella. I checked Brad’s desk, but he didn’t have one either.
I hadn’t seen him since I’d dropped him back at the office after our kiss the day before. He’d taken off, and I’d been grateful to have some space. It had been one hell of a kiss, and I had wanted to climb him, but he made me feel giggly. I didn’t have time to be giggly, not now.
I locked the door again and weighed my options. It was still just spitting. I could run to my car and drive home. What if the sky opened on the way? I couldn’t get too soaked running up to the house.
Yeah . . . but I might as well look in the clubhouse first. There was no need to get wet if I didn’t have to.
It was deserted. Dad had gone to Uncle Paul’s for dinner and taken Zack and the rest of the guys with him. A few coats hung on the pegs by the door, but there were no umbrellas. I looked behind the bar and then opened the door to the storage closet.
Inside were several huge boxes. Jesus, the guys went through a lot of booze.
The tape on the tops had been cut, but someone had folded the cardboard together to keep the lid closed. I pried one corner from beneath another and opened it up. The bottles—whisky, tequila, vodka—were on their sides over a layer of nudie magazines. Jesus Christ, that was just cliché.
And they were into some tacky ass shit. I lifted one bottle up and moved the magazine beneath it to see what else might be in here. It was a big box. The magazines covered a layer of straw. I fished inside and when I felt something hard wrapped in plastic and duct tape, I pulled it out. It was the size of a book, and weighed about two pounds. It was filled with small crystals. I set it down quickly and muttered a curse under my breath.
I reached inside the box again and pulled out several more packages: another of crystals, one filled with small yellow pills, and another of white powder.
“Shit, shit, shit, motherfucker.”
I wanted it to be weed. Why couldn’t it be weed?
I stood there staring at the packages for a minute, but I wasn’t wearing gloves. I wiped them as best as I could with my shirt, shoved them back into the hay, slid the magazine back on top, and replaced the booze. But right as I was folding the box top together, I heard the one sound that would make this worse: the front door opening.
I bolted from the closet and pulled the door shut behind me to hide where I’d been.
Larry came around the corner, and I exhaled. Thank God it was him and not Dad or Zack. I might be able to get through this.
“You’re wet.” My voice was strained and breathy.
“It’s pouring.” Larry’s T-shirt was dotted with dark spots, and his hands were filled with plastic shopping bags. Rain dripped from them and Larry was eyeing the contents skeptically. He hadn’t even looked at me.
I pushed away from the closet door and began creeping into the room, hoping I could get out of there as soon as possible.
“Well, I better get home then. Have a good night.” I put one foot behind me, and then the next. In a couple steps, I’d turn and run. Just a few more—
“Wait, what were you doing in here?”
Fuck. “Looking for an umbrella. There wasn’t one in the office.”
Larry set down his bags and gave me a hard look. “Your boyfriend doesn’t have one?”
“Brad wasn’t here today.”
So far, I had managed to tell Larry mostly truths. When it came down to it, I wasn’t a good liar. Even now, I could feel my body flushing and my cheeks beginning to mottle from the stress. My discomfort—screaming rage, more like—was about to become obvious.
“I don’t like it,” Larry said. It took me a second to realize he was probably referring to Brad. With what I’d just found, he was most concerned about my love life?
Really? Because I don’t like the shit in the closet. “You don’t get a say.”
“Be careful.” But then he looked at the door of the closet, which was gaping open because I hadn’t latched it all the way.
“Did you go in there?” he demanded, and my spine went to ice.
I began backing away again, no longer worried about being inconspicuous about it. “I opened the door and glanced inside. No umbrellas though! There’s no use looking for one in there. Night.”
Larry stalked toward me. “Did you open the box?”
I wasn’t proud of what happened next, but when he shouted the question at me, I let go and started to cry. It was easier to fake the tears than to keep up the charade. And besides, I really did want to sob. Larry and the rest of them—through greed and idiocy—were ruining my life, were ruining everything.
>
“Larry,” I managed between gasps, “do you have a drug problem?”
Amazingly, at this question—the best distraction I could come up with at the moment—Larry’s face went from focused rage to amusement. “No.”
“Then why are you hiding some pills?”
What I had found was not some pills. There was no way that was a person’s individual stash. But he didn’t know what precisely I’d seen.
Larry licked his lips, looked down, and then back up at me. He was trying not to laugh. Good. That was good. I dug a tissue out of my purse and covered as much of face as possible while I kept up my only-a-little-bit-fake crying.
“Yes,” he finally said from between clenched teeth. “I’m taking some . . . some pills every now and again.”
“Wh-what are they?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I won’t tell your dad—this time—but I’m worried about you. That shit kills.”
Seriousness flashed on his face. “It does. Birdie, don’t tell anyone what you found. Do you understand me? No one. Particularly not the skinny accountant.”
I blew my nose loudly. “Yeah. I promise. But you have to get clean.”
For several seconds, we stared at each other. The rain was hammering down on the corrugated roof. It was like a drum roll underscoring the conversation. I kept wiping my face, trying to keep my mouth covered in case I cracked into a smile or a nervous laugh. Larry looked . . . hard. Dangerous.
But of course he wasn’t just a stupid boy turned into a stupider man. He was a drug dealer, with likely all the violence that came with it. I was pretending emotional innocence. He was pretending normalcy. Weren’t we a healthy American family?
I held his gaze until he seemed satisfied.
“You can go,” he said at last.
“Thanks, your majesty,” I snapped as I turned on my heel. And if Larry had known me half as well as I had him, he would have heard the bravado in my words. I had about forty more seconds of calm in me before I lost it.
