by Selena Kitt
The alpha male in me picked up from there. "We're going to fill that script first and then I'll get you home, but I'm most certainly not leaving you alone. So unless you are calling someone who can come stay with you for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, I'm sticking around." I didn't look her way, either. It wasn't debatable. I knew I was more stubborn than her little self ever thought of being.
"I still don't even know who the hell you are! You aren't staying in my house." She crossed her arms over her chest and I almost laughed. Classic spoiled girl attitude. It actually stirred my cock, tightening my jeans, and I had to ask myself how I could be attracted to her, or even think about her sexually, knowing what she'd been through in the last eighteen hours.
Instead, I handed her my cell phone. I was a master at calling someone's bluff. I do have three sisters and a punk little brother—and I'm the oldest. "Then call someone to come stay with you. I'm not leaving you alone. We have a lot to discuss and it looks like we will have plenty of time to talk. Do we need to stop for dinner as well, or do you have something at your place?"
Her arms were locked tightly over her chest, her chin held high. She was not used to someone standing up to her. "I have plenty of food at my apartment."
* * *
When we arrived at the apartment and she was settled on the sofa with her laptop and a book, I foraged through her refrigerator for dinner. I wasn't putting it off on purpose, but was hesitant to talk to her about her husband, or what was really bothering me now—why she'd been pregnant. What the hell? Where was the guy who had knocked her up? How could she already be involved with someone when Blair had only been dead six months? All of a sudden, a wave of nausea rolled over me. I thought of her pallor, her broken spirit, her frailty, and the answer came to me—she had been raped. Was that how she had become pregnant after her husband had died? So she hadn't already fallen in love with someone else. Anger flooded my veins, raising the temperature in the room fast. I wanted to kill him—whoever he was.
I thought of Frankie in that hospital bed looking so faded and broken. Who could do such a thing? I wanted to drop the salad I'd been mixing and rush out to her, scoop her up, and hold her close again. She was my responsibility now. I'd never let her be hurt again. It was clearly not a coincidence that Blair had been in the room next to me while he was dying. I was meant to overhear so that I could be there for Frankie. Okay, maybe I was getting a little carried away. I mean, I'd known the lady for all of what, eighteen hours?
* * *
Frankie
I wished I could pretend to be outraged that he had taken over my kitchen, my home. I should be upset, or at least a little apprehensive. I could only attribute my lack of common concern at his dominating presence to his army uniform. Okay, he had changed into dark denims and a plain black tee, but it was his uniform that initially comforted me into believing he was a man of honor. I had to assume he had been a friend of Damien's. He would probably tell me why he had come at some point. I wasn't overly worried about it. If he were one of Damien's soldiers, it was probably hard for him to talk about it. Damien had received a Bronze Star, and it made me wonder if he'd died saving Tony.
I'm not proud to admit I fell asleep. The man was slaving away in the kitchen and it smelled wonderful, but I awoke to the sound of a movie on TV and the treadmill, the belt sliding in circles over the track. I couldn't remember the last time I heard someone else on it. I almost didn't bring it with me when I moved. It wasn't as if I'd ever used it in the past, but for some reason, I brought it anyway. Not a normal keepsake from your dead husband, but I'm not a normal kind of girl and he wasn't a normal kind of guy. Perhaps I kept it because I didn't have any normal romantic gifts or mementos from Damien. It wasn't that Damien was an ass, but that it never occurred to him to buy me gifts or trinkets. We were never really romantically or hopelessly in love. I did have pictures, though.
"Hey, you're awake. Are you hungry?" Tony had snuck up on me when I'd been deep in thought. "Sorry, I made myself at home." He nodded toward the guest bedroom where the treadmill was stationed.
"Yeah, it's fine." I waved off the comment about the treadmill. "I should eat. Give me a minute," I said, ignoring the fact that food was the last thing I wanted. I didn't want to hurt his feelings when he'd gone to the trouble.
"Don't get up. I'll bring it." He headed to the kitchen.
I ignored him again and got up anyway, but I did not follow him to the kitchen. I had to go to the bathroom. Maybe I was just delaying, but I didn't know how or if I even want to talk to the man. It was probably necessary and I didn't know why I was putting it off. Perhaps because I was sure that if we did talk, he'd end up leaving—or worse, I'd end up discussing the pregnancy.
I didn't talk to many people about it, but of the three people I did discuss it with, two had been completely against it—my mother and Theresa. Theresa was one of my neighbors on post. To give them both credit, they were only against it because Damien had been. Dianna, my closest girlfriend on post, had been for it the first time around. The first implantation had been while Damien was still on post. He refused to have any part of it, although he wasn't completely against it. For him, me getting pregnant without him was an affront to his manhood. He didn't mind me being pregnant, he just wasn't going in to be tested. When my testing came back cleared of medical issues that might make me infertile, he refused to go in for treatment to see if he was the problem. It was during the process of deciding to try in vitro without him that we finally agreed we should consider a divorce. Neither of us could think of a reason to stay together. Having a baby was one of the reasons I'd first decided to marry him. It was all I ever wanted.
We had been friends forever, but being married had ruined our friendship. Our marriage had always been superficial, that was what had finally moved me to in vitro fertilization without him. If I hadn't been married to him, I'd never have delayed to begin with. I'd only married him so that I could have a family.
"Are you okay in there?" Tony's voice carried his concern through the bathroom door. How long I'd been in there, I couldn't recall.
"Yes, I'm fine," I called out as I turned on the water in the sink and washed my hands. "Just shaving my legs." It was ridiculous—but I am ridiculous. I opened the door to a look of complete and utter confusion on the man's face. I should have felt bad but I didn't.
He collected himself quickly, it seemed. "I made a plate for you. It's in the living room."
"Who are you, Florence Nightingale?"
He followed me to the living room and as soon as I had sat down again, he placed a tray on my lap. "I just wanted to help. It's funny, though, my mother's name is Florence so she was always teased in school. She became a nurse because of it."
It smelled wonderful and I realized I hadn't eaten really eaten in well over twenty-four hours. As I picked up my fork and tasted the pineapple fried rice, tears flooded my eyes. The bite lodged in my throat, and swallowing was near impossible. I'm not religious, but I knew without a doubt the man sitting across from me was an angel sent by God to take care of me.
Then it hit me that I was wrong. Whatever this guy's reason for being there, it wasn't from God because, if anything, I was probably being punished by God for my disloyalty. How could I dishonor my husband by trying to get pregnant without him? I didn't deserve a baby.
"Hey, hey, hey. None of that." Tony took the tray, set it aside and sat down next to me. "My cooking has never brought someone to tears before. I could order takeout instead."
He pulled me under his arm and held me close. And I had no shame. I clung to him, crying a river that soaked his shirt, crying for Damien, crying for the loss of the baby, and crying for the loss of hope I had for a little family of my own. Tony held me, smoothing my hair back and gently rubbing my back while offering soft encouraging words until I finally moved away on my own. I grabbed the napkin off my tray and tried to pat my face but realized it would take a car wash to make myself presentable again. I settled for a
washcloth in the bathroom sink and a change of clothes. Neither of which made me feel better.
When I came back again, he had donned a clean shirt and held out a cup of tea for me. "I have an idea. I may regret it, but I think you could benefit from the people of Walmart." He cocked his head to the side and from the way his eyebrow arched, I wasn't sure if he was asking me a question. It was rather like a joke—but I didn't get it.
"Walmart? How are the people at Walmart going to help me have a baby?" I tried not to sound irritable since he'd been trying so hard to take care of me. But I was suddenly very tired of having company. I didn't want to try to keep it together so that I wouldn't embarrass myself again. I really did want to lie down and cry my eyes out for as long as I wanted to. Maybe forever. Maybe I'd never get up again. He already had me comfortable in the corner of the sofa, with my feet tucked under me and the cup of tea in hand, or I might have considered leading him to the door.
"I know you are skeptical and you have every reason to be." He'd stood as he was talking and moved to his laptop, which was on the table behind the sofa. "Bear with me," he said as he opened the screen and typed something into the browser.
There was a bottle of Jack Daniels in the cupboard beside the sink and it was all I could think about. It had been Damien's, and I didn't know why it even made it through the move. I had ignored it previously because I was trying to get pregnant, but now… now I wanted to get drunk. Before I could decide whether or not to imbibe, he'd found what he was looking for and slid closer, settling his laptop so I could see the screen as well. "Brace yourself—and your tea," he warned me as I leaned in.
My contacts were a little blurry from not changing them the previous night, as well as the whole waterfest I'd been supplying. Images filled the screen.
"Oh my God. Please tell me that isn't—" Words failed me as I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe.
"Yes, it is a butt-naked dude, bent over, drying his ass crack with the hand dryer in the restroom," he clarified, just in case I really didn't know.
"It's a hand dryer! Not an ass dryer!" I snorted, sloshing my tea.
"What about this one? Have you ever been so in love you don't care if everyone at Walmart sees your guy get elbow-deep in your shorts at the meat counter?" He took the mug of tea from me and set it safely aside before continuing to scroll. "Then what about this. First day as a Walmart employee and you see her. What do you say? 'Ma'am, could you please get your wallet out of your ass crack?'"
"No, wait. What the hell is that? What is that in her pants?" I pointed at the screen, nearly hyperventilating. "I don't even know if it's the front of the back!" The site continued showing people: half-dressed, tits or ass hanging out—or both—in costumes, in thongs, three adults in one shopping cart, a woman with a tail hanging below her skirt, and more people with stains in the back of their pants than you could count. I snorted, I laughed and I cried. Most of all, Tony's narration of the photos was often funnier than the image. When we'd had enough of Walmart, we moved on to the world's funniest pets.
I woke up sometime later in the middle of the night with my head on his chest. I was quite comfortable tucked up against his side, but there was no way he could be. While I was totally on the sofa, he was just slouched way down, his feet resting on the coffee table. I was sad to leave the warmth he provided but moved to my bed anyway, but not before spreading the blanket I'd had over him.
In bed, sleep took a while to come back to me. I'd never felt the same way about someone before, so connected. Damien had been… different. He was my friend. We'd parted ways when he'd gone into the service and I'd gone to Duke. After college, I had been depressed. I hadn't wanted to go on. I had never needed to work because I had the trust my grandmother had set up for me. College was something I did, and I hadn't taken it seriously. When Damien and I started talking on Facebook more, we just fell back into it. He was comfortable and a means to an end. I wanted a family and all that went along with it—birthday parties, PTA, and trick-or-treating. I never remembered being starry-eyed or in love with Damien. I don't know if that depressed me more or if it made me pity him more. He got the short end of the deal. He deserved better.
Chapter Four
Tony
I didn't know what the day would bring. I knew I should tell her why I was there to begin with, but I didn't want to add to her pain. I didn't know if telling her what Blair had said while he was dying would be good for her or if it would make it worse. I did wonder why she hadn't asked why I was there again. After debating for hours, it seemed, I finally decided to wait before making up my mind. See where things went. If a good time to talk came up, I'd say what I'd come to say.
Since I didn't know what else to do, I cleaned up the kitchen and made breakfast. I heard her before I saw her. While she was showering, I made us veggie omelets and toast. I hadn't seen her eat more than a few bites since I'd met her, and who knew how long prior to that she'd gone without eating. Funnily enough, that was the first thing she said when she came into the room.
"Oh, you didn't have to do that—although it smells wonderful. I don't remember when I ate last. I could probably eat a whole pig—if I ate meat, that is." I was pleased to note her cheeks had more color than the day before. She smiled and it helped me to relax, and not worry so much.
"That explains why I couldn't find any meat in your freezer." I watched her as she took a big bite of her omelet. "I'm happy to see you eat. I was planning to bust your ass if you didn't." The words came out casually, but I think they affected her the same way they did me. I saw the way her eyes darted to mine before she pretended it didn't faze her. Just saying it put a very vivid image in my head of her squirming over my lap while my hand stung from slapping her bare ass.
I liked to smack a girl's ass while I was buried balls-deep in her, but I'd never spanked a woman for something she'd done before—I'd surely never threatened to spank someone, either. The idea—just the thought of spanking her—made my cock hard, uncomfortably so, since we were sitting at the table, eating a normal meal. I tried to focus above the table instead. Either she was terribly hungry, or she was still thinking about my warning and trying to ignore me, because she ate heartily. Her next comment floored me.
"Damien always gave me a hard time about it, insisting that I needed it—but I am healthy just the same without it," she said as she took another small bite.
It took me a minute to sort her words. My train of thought had derailed so I was still spanking her in my head. I thought for a moment that she meant… "Damian insisted you needed to be spanked?" I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips when she blushed crimson.
"No," she sputtered, her eyes everywhere but meeting mine. "Damien never… did that." As if I needed clarification, she explained, "Damien insisted I needed to eat meat." Even the tips of her ears were red.
"Oh, okay," I said, drawing it out. "Well, that sucks, I was thinking maybe if you needed it, I could help, since he's not here." It was meant as a joke, but the moment my words left my mouth, I became uncomfortable with the thought that he was gone. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about him… being gone, I mean."
She bit her lip. Not like she was being coy, but like she wanted to say something and tempered her words. "It's fine. I understand. We weren't very close for a long time. I mean, he was always gone."
"I understand," I lied. I knew what it was like to be gone from my family, but I couldn't even fathom my girl not being upset by my absence.
* * *
Frankie
I couldn't help but feel that his presence was useless. I didn't need a babysitter. I was fine. And Tony probably had much more important things to do. I also couldn't help but feel dangerously attracted to him. He'd candidly mentioned spanking me, and although it had always been a fantasy of mine, I'd never ever seen or heard anything that led me to believe other people were interested in the same thing.
I couldn't think of anything other than being over his lap, squirming and beggin
g him to stop. His deep voice would be stern and commanding as he told me to calm down and take what I had coming. I deserved to be punished for my bad behavior. I was a bad girl.
My tummy tightened in anticipation. Never, no never, had I ever felt the same rush, the same draw toward Damien as I felt toward Tony just then. Guilt squeezed my heart. Perhaps Tony felt the same way, because he apologized. I got up and went to the sink and cleared my plate, scraping the remains into the garbage disposal, then rinsing it. He followed me with his own. He touched my arm, but I didn't look his way.
"Frankie, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have thought what I was thinking, let alone said it out loud. I can't imagine what you are feeling… what you've been going through." He rested his hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head from side to side. "No, it's not a big deal. Honest." I couldn't make eye contact. "I… I always do things backwards. But I should probably be thinking, acting—behaving different, I mean, better." I couldn't make my words make sense so I focused on stacking the dishes in the dishwasher and turned around for more.
"Stop it. Give yourself a break." He must have realized that I'd decided to tune him out because he collected the other dishes and cleaned up the kitchen with me, in silence.
After we were done, it was painfully obvious that neither one of us knew what to do with ourselves. We both sort of wandered, trying to distract ourselves from each other. I went to my bedroom and closed the door, telling myself that I didn't care what he did. But all I did was pace back and forth. I finally decided it was time to simply send him on. This couldn't go anywhere. My hormones were crazy out of whack, and I couldn't trust my feelings. I couldn't believe the things I was thinking. I was at my lowest point, both physically and emotionally, and I wanted to molest the man, ravage him.
