by P. G. Forte
“Why didn’t you, then?” Considering the agitated state she’d already been in by the time he met up with her, back at the car, he’d been wondering about that himself.
Cara scowled. “Because I’d have gotten hell for losing you, wouldn’t I? And, because I can’t fucking win. Because I’m screwed either way.” She pounded one fist on the steering wheel; hammering his nerves as she vented her frustration. Shit! This is so not fair. I don’t deserve this.”
“Look, calm down, would you, please? I’ll take the blame, if that’s what this is about. All right? I’ll just tell Gregg it was my fault, and–” and, what? Get booted out of the church? No, he couldn’t do that. “Crap.”
“Right,” Cara jeered. “Cause that’ll work, too. Cause he’s really gonna listen to anything you have to say.” She shot him a furious glance, taking her eyes from the road for far too long. “Let me tell you something. Gregg is gonna blame whoever he damn well wants to blame. And, you know who that’ll probably end up being, don’t you? Me. And, you know why, right?”
“No,” he barked, pointing to the road in front of them. “I don’t. But, either you watch where you’re going, or pull over and let me drive.”
“Because that’s the way it always is, that’s why,” she said, reluctantly turning to gaze through the windshield once more. “Because I’m supposed to- to- to like it that way, for some stupid ass reason. And because I’m supposed to be in charge and you’re supposed to do what I say. And I told you that, too, damn it!” She smacked the steering wheel again. “I told you what time to meet me at the car and you just–”
“Okay, I got it,” Liam snapped, interrupting her, frowning in annoyance as he felt a little more of his hard-won peace slip away. “You’ve made your point.”
Damn it, he did not want to get upset again. Chenoa had worked for too long getting him calmed down, and he was damn well gonna stay that way. She’d worked on him for over an hour to get him back in balance, back to feeling semi-human once again. It was something he’d been in desperate need of. After his meeting with Nick, his nerves had been shot all to hell.
Chenoa had done a fantastic, amazing, incredible job, and yes, it had made him a little late getting back to the car, but so the fuck what?
Damn. Not calm. Not calm, at all.
He closed his eyes for a minute, willing himself to stay centered, to stay clear of the hostility Cara’s fury was churning up, to not fight, to not worry, to just Be...
Energy shimmered gently all around him. He could almost see it: like a gold-and-crystal, ectoplasmic Jell-O mold, it surrounded his aura, absorbing negativity, withstanding all the jolts and jars that otherwise would have stressed him to death, quivering with each impact, then settling peacefully into place once more. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
Chenoa was a Goddess. Brilliant, beautiful, sexy as hell, and he was so damn grateful, he wanted to drop to his knees and kiss her feet. Nothing was going to disturb the serenity she’d given him. Nothing.
He opened his eyes, shaking his head sadly as he took in the still-stormy look on Cara’s face. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I messed up.” He glanced at his watch. “But, you know, we’re really not all that late.”
Cara sighed. “Liam– Crap, you just don’t get it, do you? Not that late is like being not that dead. It doesn’t count for shit.” Her hands tightened on the wheel, she worried her lip with her teeth for a moment and then sighed again. “Oh, God, I’m so screwed. I can’t believe this is happening. Why does bad stuff always happen to me? Why? Can you tell me that?”
“No. I can’t.” He’d never been much good at why, or what if, or how come. But, he could tell her that she was overreacting. That it would all work out. That she could relax, and trust him to take care of things.
But, why bother saying anything at all, when it was clear she wouldn’t listen?
It wasn’t like he needed her problems added to his already too-full plate, either. But, if it would make her feel better then he’d do it. He’d do just about anything she needed him to; anything that didn’t involve getting himself kicked out of TLV – he couldn’t do that for her. Not yet, anyway.
“Right.” Cara shook her head. “Of course not.”
He just wished he could talk her into turning around. Into heading back into town, back to the bakery. Maybe he could get Chenoa to work on her chakras, too.
Why the hell not? They were already going to be late, so what harm would it do? She’d feel better. He’d feel better. But that was never going to happen, was it?
“Here, have a cookie,” he offered instead, reaching for the bag of pastries he’d picked up at the bakery, and almost forgotten about. Mexican wedding cookies. Double layers of sinfully rich shortbread, covered in powdered sugar, with a sweet caramel creme filling that had immediately reminded him of her.
“A cookie?” She eyed him suspiciously. “What am I, four? I don’t want any damn cookie. What good is that gonna do me, huh? How’s that gonna help?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’ll sweeten your mood.” He broke off a small piece, and leaned closer. “Here,” he repeated, lowering his voice to order playfully, “Open up.”
A shudder ran through her as the cookie brushed against her lips. Liam jerked backward in surprise as she uttered a little shriek and then went crazy; taking both hands from the wheel as she batted his hand away from her face. She grabbed the cookie and hurled it at the open window.
Liam lunged for the untended wheel, and then flinched as the cookie missed its target and exploded on the edge of the door frame. A spray of sugar stung his eyes, nearly blinding him. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I said, NO!” Cara screeched, so loudly, he feared for his hearing. She pushed him away, and took back the wheel, turning sharply to the left to dislodge his hold on it.
He had to grit his teeth to resist wrenching it away from her once more, and directing them back into their proper lane. Luckily the road was deserted, or he mightn’t have had a choice. Shit, as a driver, the girl was a fucking disaster. “Would you watch where you’re driving? How’d you ever manage to get a license, anyway?”
“Don’t worry about my driving,” she said, but she seemed flustered and shaken. She was blinking fast and breathing hard. “And stop making out like it’s my fault. I said I didn’t want your stupid cookie, didn’t I? God, I hate having things shoved in my mouth. It just– Unnh! Why can’t you listen?”
“Okay. Fine. I got it,” Liam snapped, as he settled back in his seat. His calm had been just about bashed to pieces by her rage, but at least any residual worries he had about whether she was simply too timid to set limits with Gregg, had been laid to rest. She must really be okay with things, after all, he decided. Because, if she didn’t want what Gregg was giving her, Liam was now positively certain that she’d have had no trouble making her position clear.
Well, at least that was one worry off his mind, he supposed. He still didn’t like it, of course, but it was no longer one of the things he was going to beat himself up about. The girl could clearly take care of herself, so he would just go ahead and let her.
We gazed at her wearily. She’d gone back to watching the road, so that was good. But she was still driving too fast, still clutching the wheel too tightly.
“You know, I thought of something earlier today,” he said, trying for a conversational tone, hoping to ease the tension that still snapped and crackled in the atmosphere, like an electrical storm. “I’ve been trying to decide who you reminded me of, and I finally got it.”
Cara shot him a none-too-friendly look. “I remind you of someone? Who?”
“Wendy,” he replied, smiling as he thought of it. The idea had first come to him while Chenoa had been doing her usual good work. It had come to him in a flash of insight, startling him to the point where he’d nearly laughed out loud.
Even now, it warmed his heart, it softened his temper. He basked in the feeling until Cara, sounding puzzled and distrac
ted and a little bit hurt said, “Wendy? You mean the cartoon? Wendy Witch? Oh, that’s nice. Thanks.”
“What?” He shook his head, annoyed with her for not getting it. “No, of course not. Wendy Darling. From Peter Pan? You know, because that’s why Peter takes her to Neverland,” he said, adding, when she continued to eye him doubtfully, “to be mother to The Lost Boys, even though she’s just a kid, and younger than most of them? Come on, you gotta admit it is kinda like what you’re doing.”
“I suppose.” She shrugged. She was quiet for a moment and then asked, “So what does that make Gregg? Peter Pan?”
“Well, I really hadn’t thought the whole thing through,” Liam answered, wondering where he’d left his brain today. Gregg as Peter? Not fucking likely. More like Hook. But he couldn’t say that, could he?
“And, so, who are you?” she asked, and then smiled, as she answered her own question. “No, wait, I know. The kid who messes up, right? The one who thinks Wendy’s a bird and shoots her down with his arrow? Who’s always breaking the rules. Who carves his tree on the D-L, so that Hook can get in to poison Peter? What was his name again?”
“I don’t know,” Liam said, as he felt his pleasure diminish. It had been a nice little fantasy – Cara as Wendy, high-necked nightgown and all, seated cross-legged on her bed, sweetly smiling as he traded her kisses for acorns – but, now she’d gone and ruined it.
“So, how’d the shopping go?” he asked, desperate for a change of topic.
“Fine,” she answered, still staring fixedly at the road in front of them.
“Yeah? What’d you end up buying?”
The space behind the seats was taken up with bags. He glanced at them curiously, and, when she didn’t answer right away, he snagged one and hauled it into his lap, to see for himself.
“Hey, stop!” she ordered, shooting a startled glance his way. “Don’t look in there!”
“Too late,” he murmured, already regretting his impulsiveness. The bag was filled with silky soft satin that begged to be touched, with lace and chiffon, with ribbons and ruffles; all in a rainbow of pretty pale colors. Rose and lavender. Aqua. Yellow. Peach. “Wow.” He held up one filmy scrap of next to nothing that he assumed was a nightgown – although nothing like Wendy would wear.
“I said, stop. What are you doing?” Cara groaned as her cheeks turned red.
Good question, he wasn’t sure about that himself. But, whatever it was, he couldn’t stop. He pulled out another. “Uh…these are really pretty.”
“I think so, too,” she agreed quietly, biting her lip, slanting him a curious glance, obviously waiting for him to say more.
Like what, he wondered. Like how pretty she’d look wearing them? Well, he was certain she would. She’d look good not wearing them, too. But he was not about to go there. Thoughts of how she’d look were already crowding his head – how she’d look, how she’d feel – and they’d better stop right damn now. ‘Cause that was not gonna happen. No way. He was never gonna get to see her wearing stuff like this. Never in a million years.
But Gregg will. Shit.
“So, what else ya got?” he asked, carelessly tossing the first bag back behind her seat, shrugging off the twisting in his gut, the feelings of anger and disgust, as he grabbed another bag.
“Hey!” she protested again, “would you quit that?” But he barely heard her, the pounding of blood in his ears, of lust in his veins, was entirely too strong.
There were things in this bag that no seventeen year old girl ought to know what to do with. Things that... well, damn... even he wasn’t entirely sure about some of them. But, oh, baby, would he ever love to have her show him.
And, oh, yeah, he thought, as he struggled for breath; that was just what he needed to think about now. Exactly what he should be doing, in fact – but only if his goal was to find out how excruciatingly hard he could make himself.
“Where the fuck did you get this stuff?” he demanded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, furious with himself, with the swelling of his cock – and with her, for being what he wanted, what he couldn’t have. What he had no business even thinking about. “Who in the hell is selling this kind of stuff to minors? Tell me now, so I can have them busted for–”
“To minors?” She flashed him a furious look of her own. “Are you for real? What are you, a cop?”
That brought him up short. Another good question. Yes? No? Sometimes? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re acting like a dick, that’s what it means. No one sold it to me genius, okay? Does that make you feel better? I took it. All right?”
“You shoplifted... all this stuff? The clothes, too?”
She huffed out an impatient sigh. “Shoplifting, Liam? Are you sure that’s the proper term? Sure you don’t want to call it larceny, or something official sounding like that? And... duh... last time I checked you don’t have to be eighteen to buy clothes, you know. Not even in a sex shop.”
“Does Gregg know about this?” Liam demanded. He was pretty sure he knew what the answer to that one had to be, but once again she surprised him.
Cara sighed. “Well, not unless he really is psychic. Which would kind of spoil the surprise, don’t you think?”
“You’re surprising him?” Is that why she was in such a hurry to get back? He closed his eyes as the memory of her, curled on Gregg’s lap, appeared in his mind. He wondered if Gregg would invite him to watch again? The thought made him both physically sick and incredibly turned on.
“Oh, you bet your ass, I’ll surprise him,” she said. Liam watched as a spiteful little smile curled her lips. “I bet ya Lauren’s not gonna think of anything like this, either, huh?”
Anger rocked his self control. Anger, fueled by guilt. Lauren. Right. More happy thoughts. “Why? You’re not gonna let her join you? What’s the matter, kid, not grown up enough for a three-way?”
“What?” She glanced at him, looking startled and clueless. Looking entirely too innocent for this conversation. Lies. All lies. “Join us? Why would I want that? I’m trying to prove something, here.”
“Yeah, I got that,” he snapped. “You risked going to jail today just so you could prove you’re a bigger slut than Lauren. Well, congratulations, I think you did it.”
“Hey!” She glared at him outraged. “That– that’s not true. Besides, you’ve got no business saying anything. You’re the one who messed me up, making me late like this. Now, I– I’ll be friggin’ lucky if Gregg even gives me a chance to... to... ” She broke off, her eyes troubled, her lips drawn thin. She looked so upset, so disappointed, that Liam wanted to shake her. Holy shit. That’s what she’d been freaking out about since they got in the car? Because he’d spoiled her plans for tonight’s little shagfest? Aww, wasn’t that too fucking bad?
No, it sure wasn’t. And, he wasn’t gonna lose any sleep over it, either. No, sir. If being late kept her out of Gregg’s bed for even one night, well, where was the bad in that, huh? In fact–
“Yeah, you’re right. Probably, you ought to forget even trying. He’s not gonna want to play if he’s pissed. Might as well put your toys away, save them for another night.”
“Oh, shut Up!” She gaped at him, appalled. “What’re you talking about? Are you fucking crazy?”
“Just a thought,” Liam mumbled, looking away, rubbing absently at the tightness in his chest. The thought that she could really be that into the guy was making it hard to breathe.
“He- he- he will too,” Cara insisted. And it sounded as if she couldn’t breathe right, either. “He’ll come around. It’s just, he gets in a bad mood sometimes and…and... ”
Liam shook his head, dismissively. “And you think you’re gonna sweeten his mood by acting like a hooker? I don’t know, cupcake, I guess it all depends on how bad his temper is. But, maybe you wanna rethink that three-way, ‘cause I’m not sure you’re gonna be enough all on your own.”
Her mouth dropped open. He felt her emotions spike, He closed
his eyes, and took deep breaths, desperately clinging to what was left of his precious tranquility. It wasn’t much.
“You’re an asshole. You know that?” Cara muttered, having finally gotten her mouth closed, he supposed. Her voice, low, trembling, furious, had the emotional impact of a kick in the nuts.
“Oh, great,” he snarled. “Look who’s back. It’s little Miss Sunshine. Is there any chance you might decide to channel the other Cara sometime soon?” He opened his eyes and glared. “Cause, I like her. She’s–” Oh, shit. It wasn’t fury that made her voice shake, it was tears. Tears that continued to course down her cheeks despite her efforts to wipe them away with shaky hands.
“Pull over,” he ordered, silently cursing himself for being an asshole—just like she’d said, furious with himself for making her cry.
She shook her head, pressed harder on the gas, her breath escaped on a ragged sob. “No.”
“Look,” he said, trying to be reasonable. “You can’t drive while you’re crying,”
But she wasn’t having any. She shook her head once more, and continued to cry, continued to drive. He laid a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it away. The car veered dangerously, traveling from one side of the road to the other, and then began back again. And that was the very last straw.
Ignoring Cara’s squawk of protest, Liam leaned his shoulder into hers and shoved her toward the door, turned the wheel to the right, kicked her foot off the gas and applied his own foot to the brake.
He had the engine off and the keys in his pocket within seconds of stopping.
“Look,” he began as he turned toward her, intending to apologize. But, she cut him off.
“What are you doing?” she screamed, releasing her seat belt and launching herself at him, scrambling for the keys. “Gimme those. I have to get back!”
“Forget it.” He held her off easily. Sighing in regret as her fury melted the last of his calm. “You’re not going anywhere like this. Now, calm down. I didn’t mean–”
