Poker Face

by Law, Adriana

  She shot a ‘do you even need to ask’ back at him. “I’m not having sex with you.”

  “Why not, you know you want me to fuck you. I saw the way you looked at me earlier today. You were wishing you were her. Admit it…” was whispered into her ear.

  “Oh my God, you have got such a huge head! You made out with your girlfriend with me standing there. It was rude. Awkward. If I was “looking” at you in any way; it was because I was on the verge of puking from disgust.”

  He rose up on an elbow. “How do you know how big my head is, unless you let me show you? And she’s not my girlfriend… just somebody I have sex with.”

  Rolling to her back she stared up at him, her gaze tightening. Was he serious? The moon’s rays lit the room enough for her to gage the play of emotion on his face, or lack of. How can someone, so caring one minute, be so vulgar the next? “Do you hear yourself? How big of an ass you sound like?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s what I’ve been around my whole life. My father’s on wife number seven, because of his inability to keep his dick in his pants. It runs in the family. What did you expect? A fucking boy scout? I don’t do the talking thing well, but where I lack in communication skills, I make up for in other areas. It’s not something you can explain, I’ll have to show you.”

  Without warning, his lips came down over hers. Megan’s palms went to his chest in an attempt to push him off of her. It was a weak futile effort. She was starting to wonder if she wanted him off her. Less than a week, and she’d already been attacked by two different guys. “Mauled” her mother had called it. A girl had needs too, there was a warm, sexy-as-hell guy in her bed, willing, and kissing her like he wanted to consume her before she melted away.

  Megan had had sex only twice in her life: once with a guy friend that was no longer a friend… a mistake, one that caused her dearly. And the other time was with a guy that was known for his inability to maintain a relationship with one girl at a time, much like Drew. Plenty other guys had tried, in fact Megan hadn’t met one yet that hadn’t, but that didn’t mean she had to say yes.

  “Stop, Drew,” she begged tight lipped. “Isn’t one girl a night enough?”

  “She was the appetizer. I have a feeling fucking you will be more like desert.” His hands were everywhere: hitching her leg up on his hip, up her shirt, on her round bottom… Megan lay rigid, unresponsive, while he attempted something similar to a kiss. His erection pressed against her center, rubbing the exact spot that just did it for her.

  Four days ago she would have never believed she’d be in this bed. His bed. Drew was like nothing that she wanted, yet if she allowed herself to admit it; he was all she wanted at the present moment. Her mind became cloudy with need, her resolve softening. The more he touched her, the more she began to feel.

  When his teeth caught her bottom lip… Megan was done for, shivering from the inside out giving in with a moan. Her head rose up off the pillow as she chased his lips wanting more of him. He tasted so incredible a taste she was afraid would haunt her long after this night: like hot smoldering lava, and that’s what he made her feel like, hot liquid melting in his hands, as their tongue’s feverishly explored each other’s mouths. Greedy. Hungry. His kisses were anything, but “neat”. He teased her with his mouth until she called out his name. Her legs hooked around his waist of their own accord, her hips rising and meeting his every slow grind against her center. Her body arched, her eye’s going closed.

  Good Lord, had she ever felt this way before? No, if she had, she would have become a sexual deviant, instead of someone just mildly interested. He was taking her to new levels of desire and she knew it with every fiber of her being. Clothes. Clothes needed to come off, and fast!

  “Get these off. I want to touch you, all of you,” she groaned pawing at his tented boxer. She expected him to happily obey, hopefully helping tear her clothes off as well. What drunk guy wouldn’t? Possess. Take. Claim. He was so hot. How had she not seen it that very first day when he stood half naked before her slick with sweat?

  “Hurry Drew, I’ve got to have you inside me...” she couldn’t believe she’d said it, but all the same it was the truth and it was out there.

  He froze over her, and his hooded eyes landed on hers, filled with agony and desire. Desire she understood, because she felt it too. The agony part was what was confusing.

  *****

  Megan’s blue eyes stared up at him with intense longing. Shit, she was beautiful making this so much more difficult. Her bottom lip stuck out making him wish he could have one more quick taste, before she went back to hating him. She frowned turning her beautiful mouth down. “What is it? Why did you suddenly go cold?” Her hands went up to his arms, which were covered in goose bumps and bracing him up. “Drew, you’re trembling. Is it the alcohol? Are you sick?”

  Yeah, he was sick alright.

  He bet against you screwing her—his father’s hateful words.

  Drew sighed, his head coming down to rest on her chest. He could feel and hear her heart beat slowing from the near miss. He expected to be slapped, cussed, knee’d in the groin, bit, clawed… but never, in not one of the possible outcomes of this night had he expected her to turn into a sex craved temptress under him: arching, whimpering, moaning, begging… and kissing. What the hell? She’d kissed him like she actually… liked him. His head was a jumbled mess. One thing was certain, he needed to get away from her, out of the bed, before he did something they’d both regret in the morning. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It was supposed to be easy and entertaining. Where was her anger? Her disgust. Oh God, he was losing all self-control.

  “Drew, talk to me!” she demanded grabbing a hand full of his dark hair to lift his head up off her chest.

  “What is your fascination with hair?” he growled in pain. She sought out his eyes, hers full of questions and hurt. They held gazes. “I told you I don’t do the whole talking thing.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You just screw whoever’s handy. If that’s the case, then why did you stop?”

  He winced at her words camouflaging his shock with a smirk. “The real question is why didn’t you stop me? Looks like you don’t have a problem accepting charity.”

  She went still under him. “Is that what you were doing… being charitable?”

  “I don’t know. I did feel sorry for you earlier… being left out.” He brightened from a sudden thought. “Bailey might be interested in a threesome, if you’re interested, it would definitely sweeten the deal….maybe make me more interested if she’s involved.”

  He couldn’t help smiling when her eyes darkened with unleashed anger. Bingo. He had managed to officially piss her off, again, a skill he was honing in on the more he was around her, the only thing he could predict at this point. One minute he was on top of her savoring her warmth, the next minute he was flat on his back on the hard, cold floor, clutching his side as his laughter filled the bedroom.

  She had a temper, one that pretty much kept everyone at a safe distance. Oddly, it only made him desire her all that much more. Was it possible to go insane from wanting? He was in the middle of hell, close to heaven, but unable to go there. What he needed was an ice cold shower, and a lumpy couch to sober up on.

  A pillow struck his face, then a heavy blanket hit his gut, the weight of it didn’t amount to much, but the surprise caused him to suck in a strangled breath.

  “If you try to get back in this bed, I swear… I’ll… I’ll make you regret it.”

  Day Five

  “I’m thinking you’re wasting your time with that one,” Megan said peering under the popped hood of the ugliest cream colored car she’d ever seen. All she saw was a black charred motor, lots of little parts, weeds poking up from underneath and one greasy old man wearing a pair of dingy coveralls.

  Tink gritted his teeth stretching his arm as far as it would go in what she assumed was the bowels of the broken down car. “Hold up… bout got it. Ah, that’a girl.” He came back
up smiling. A wrench clanked in the toolbox at her feet. “How about handing me that rag? Thanks beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “A 1962 Chevy Nova…. they don’t make ‘em like her anymore.”

  “There’s probably a reason. Why don’t you let “her” die in peace?”

  Megan leaned against the side wrinkling her nose at the rust staining her hand. A frown came to the old man’s face as he blotted the sweat from his brow. “Some things are just worth the effort, Meg. With a little work, this car can be made into a keeper… noticed Drew was back on the couch this morning?”

  So they were talking about Drew? “Yep,” she answered rubbing a dull spot in the paint with her thumb, mostly to avoid elaborating on the details, painful embarrassing details. Drew was already gone when she woke up, thankfully she hadn’t had to face him.

  Tink went back to tinkering with his car. Ha, the nickname suited him. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Nope,” again, avoidance of eye contact.

  “How ‘bout handing me a 5/8 socket?”

  She picked through the assortment in the box. Metal clanked. “This one?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” grunts, tightening of lugs. Somehow it quickly turned into her passing him tools as he requested them. Megan gathered her thick hair back in a ponytail and peered under the hood assessing the work being done as if she understood what was going on. No one had ever asked her to help fix up an old car, afraid she’d whine over getting filthy, perhaps. Megan found out she enjoyed being useful and it kept her mind off other things, mostly things she couldn’t take back. Tink treated her like one of the guys. He talked to her as if she had a brain. He made no sexual comments other than calling her beautiful, which she found made her smile endlessly.

  “We’re going to have to get you a pair of coveralls,” he teased nodding at the black oil on the belly of her gray shirt.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got three more identical to it.”

  A bushy brow shot up. “Really? You bought four of the same shirt?”

  “Gray’s my favorite color.”

  “Do you smoke?” Tink asked after a while.

  Odd question out of nowhere, one that caused her to cringe for a moment. “No, do you?”

  “Tried it a couple of times when I was younger…didn’t care for it much. Do either of your parents smoke?”

  “My mom and step father don’t, my father was a smoker.”

  “Was?” Tink inquired.

  “He died when I was six…lung cancer.”

  He shot her one of those pity looks she used to get right after it happened. “Ah shit, I’m so sorry beautiful…I didn’t know.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s okay. I guess that’s why I never tried it… smoking. He was pretty miserable in the end, kind of turned me off watching all he went through because of it.”

  “Completely understandable, it seems kids who grow up watching their parent’s smoke, either follow in their parent’s footsteps becoming smokers too or hate it so much, they avoid it all together. Have you ever met Drew’s father?”

  She’d almost forgotten about him. Her stomach flipped flopped with dread over what she’d have to face eventually. Drew would be his usual obnoxious self, assuming he’d shot her down cold. Someone who didn’t have a problem having sex with just about anyone couldn’t muster up enough interest to have sex with her unless another girl was present to make it more interesting. She pressed a palm to where her stomach where it hurt. Why, oh why, did she even consider having sex with him? Loneliness? Desperation? Her skin heated from the memory of how he’d made her feel. Tink was waiting for her response. Right….Drew’s father. “I’ve met him a couple of times. It was awkward. He…” her words trailed off as she realized it wasn’t nice to talk ugly about the man when he wasn’t there to defend himself. Drew was wrong, she did have a filter.

  Tink’s laughter caused her to blush. “Awkward, what a nice way of explaining what it’s like to be in the presence of the biggest jackass I know. Go on… finish what you were about to say.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “What did he do? Pinch your ass? Fondle your breast? Proposition you for sex?” he spit on the ground, rubbed his greasy hands over his round belly. “Don’t look so shocked….I know Jonathan Mackenzie really well, too well, the son-of-a-bitch. He’s known for the outlandish remarks he makes to women.”

  “Well, it wasn’t anything he said or done, more the way he looked at me.” Mackenzie’s creepy gaze had slowly raked over every inch of her as if he was somehow… familiar with her. No sexual context had been implied. She had felt completely unsettled without him even laying a finger on her.

  “You got out light compared to most. I’m afraid it’s not only women Mackenzie terrorizes, his son’s been the target of his fucked up way of thinking until it has left a lasting mark. Griff…..” the old man stopped and shook his head. “Forget it. I’m just rambling.”

  Megan was sure it was a mistake, an innocent drop of the wrong name. What would Griffin have to do with any of this?

  “You meant Drew?”

  Of course he did. Yes, she couldn’t imagine both womanizer’s under the same roof. The house had to have overflown with an abundance of male testosterone, filthy words and inflated egos.

  Megan heard the crunch of footsteps and she held her breath at the thought of who it most likely was and braced herself for the worse. What was the worst? Drew could mention what had happened in front of Tink, embarrass her miserably. No. He wouldn’t dare. It would only serve to expose him for the heartless bastard he truly was in front of one of the few people who still thought he was decent. Although, Tink was probably well aware of the real Drew, and pitied him for being born into it, isn’t that what they were discussing only minutes earlier. She felt her temper rising. Pity him? Why? Every person decided their own path in life, and from what she’d seen his was lined with money, women, and free rides. Ew, she guessed women could fall under the “free rides” category.

  Tink leaned to see who was approaching, and his eyes lit with humor, “Speak of the devil…”

  “You two look awful chummy,” Drew commented offering Tink a genuine smile. His intense brown eyes settled on Megan and the smile faded instantly. She blushed under his heavy scrutiny. Oh no, here we go. “I didn’t realize you’re a mechanic?” was all he said.

  “It’s not polite to tease a lady,” Tink scolded.

  “It’s okay Tink, you can’t teach it manners.” She glared at Drew as a warning to keep the details of last night to himself. He held his relaxed, in- control composure completely unfazed by Megan or any of her little quips.

  “So now I’m an ‘it’?” He was barefoot wearing worn tattered jeans that hung low on his hips and no shirt, as usual. His chest was distracting. Her fingers had been on that chest, felt its warmth, and the light dusting of hair there. Well, that thought only caused her gaze to drop to his narrow waist, to the sexy trail of hair that disappeared under the waist of those jeans, jeans that appeared extra soft to the touch. She imagined hooking her fingers through the loops while she kissed him until he learned some proper manners. Oh no, that thought only made her think of his scorching hot kisses. Her cheeks heated, her eyes coming up to meet his again, which were crinkled at the sides.

  Oh no… he knew the direction of her thoughts. Not only did he, more or less, say he wasn’t interested last night, now he also knew she was still affected by him. “I thought you had already left for the day?” she snapped annoyed he made her feel so deeply.

  “Sorry to disappoint you but I just went to feed the horses.” Yes, the all-important horses, the only thing that seemed to hold his attention. How pathetic, Megan, you’re jealous of a freaking horse. He went on, “Birdie says lunch is on the table… if either of you are interested.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tink said closing the tool box lid. Drew came over and leaned, “Here, let me carry that,” he said taking the heavy box
from the old man’s crippled hands.

  Megan closed her eyes for a brief moment an inhaled a shaky breath.

  Contradiction was his middle name.

  *****

  Paul Stratford was a persistent man. He was not one to welcome defeat easily. It was that insatiable drive that had him at the kitchen table in his two million dollar home making a list of prospects.

  First and foremost, they had to be well off financially.

  Second, they had to be fairly handsome, not that he was an excellent judge of a man’s appearance, but he had some idea what women found appealing: tall, dark, and handsome—wasn’t that the majority?

  Third they would need a sense of humor.

  Fourth, charm wouldn’t hurt.

  Fifth, they would need to be able to think fast in a desperate situation.

  Sixth, understand women… yeah, right.