by Adair Rymer
I loved it.
“Yeah,” I lied. He saw that I needed some time to organize my thoughts before I could talk to anyone about them. Maynard wordlessly threw it in drive and started taking us toward downtown Chicago.
A few days after he clumsily asked me out, Maynard offered to pay any bills I had. He even joked that he'd buy the college just to erase my debt if I kept telling him no. The ironic thing was that all the money he raised at his Christmas party wouldn't be available for students until the September semester, and by then I'd have already graduated, hopefully!
I wouldn't ask him. I couldn't. I knew it didn't matter to Maynard but it made me so uncomfortable. We'd only been dating for a few weeks, I'd be no better than Chance if I asked for money.
There had to be another way.
“I am so sorry about them.” I touched his shoulder. Even through the thick fabric I could feel his muscles flexing as he worked the shifter. It was like corded steel sliding under silicone. My mind and eyes started drifting to the rest of his body before I was able to regain myself and finish the thought. “They make me so fucking crazy sometimes.”
“They're just looking out for your well-being,” he said, speeding up. The car's engine purred down the long winding road, its headlights carved a path through the dark canopy of sloping trees. That's what his car reminded me of; some big sexy cat chasing prey through the forest.
Of course Maynard would drive something that make me think of sex.
Maynard glanced over at me, his eyes twinkling in the dim interior lights. “Hell, I don't even trust myself around you.”
His hand slid off the shifter and grabbed my knee. I wish I'd worn one of my dresses instead of the thick beige dress pants I'd decided on. I hated winter, it put too many layers of clothing between us.
“I am not your gear stick,” I squealed as his fingertips crept up my thigh. “Eyes on the road!”
Without looking at me Maynard deftly unhooked my pants fastener and slid his hand down my lower stomach, his knuckles unzipping me along the way. The thin cotton blend of my panties did nothing to dull the chill of his fingertips or the pulses that shot up my mound.
“I've committed every inch of you to memory.” Maynard smiled, both ignoring and heeding my warning. He didn't need to look at me to know exactly how to make me squirm.
Oncoming headlights blurred past us. Maynard banked around a curve that slid me just close enough to him for his fingers to slide over my clit. I closed my eyes and let him touch me.
“Especially...” He purred, pushing down into my slit. My wet panties were plastered against my lower lips. He moved in small circles, sending electricity through my sensitive nub. “My favorite parts.”
Maynard stepped on the gas harder, pushing us up to nearly twice the speed limit. I’d have been terrified if it had been anyone else driving. But not Maynard; he lived and breathed extreme sports. Maynard was in complete control of the road, the car and my pussy.
I bit my lip and slid my pants down to give him better access. He had to pull away a few times to change gears but once he got us on the highway he took his time with me. He weaved between cars as he explored me, then put on another burst of speed as two of his fingers pushed inside.
“God, yes...” I moaned. All the muscles in my legs began tensing as he edged me ever closer to orgasm.
“It's just my hand and that tight pussy of yours, Beautiful. God's too bashful to watch the things I do to you.” The vibration of the road was almost as paralyzing as the curling motions of his touch.
“Are you crazy?” I asked, meekly. The scared part of me that wanted him to slow down was buried under how turned on I was.
I strummed my clit as he pulsed inside of me. Time fled by with the green Exit signs as we barreled down the highway. I couldn't bear the thought of reaching downtown Chicago without getting off.
“Do you trust me?” His voice and the question was so intense that it made me quiver. One more exit before he'd have to pull out and downshift.
“Yes,” I nearly whispered the word as he worked my cunt with surgical precision. I thrummed faster, pushing harder. I desperately wanted to come with his fingers inside me. My heart and breath raced the jet-like engine as we roared past the final Exit Only sign.
We barreled toward the off-ramp going way too fast. That final thrill throwing me way over the edge of a mind-bending orgasm.
“Fuck!” I screamed and whimpered, my pussy flexed hard from the kinky pleasure and tried to crush his escaping fingers as they slid out.
I came hard to the sound and inertia of Maynard playing his car like a musical instrument. He braked, downshifted then whipped us around another car to catch the off-ramp at the last possible moment. Maynard smiled at the symphony of screeching tires and angry honking behind us. That smile only deepened as he heard my own ragged, climaxing grunts and moans.
The building we were going to was right off the highway. I was still panting and cupping my pussy when we pulled in behind another obscenely expensive car in valet parking. Fortunately Maynard's windows were tinted so the man patiently waiting outside couldn't see me clean myself with napkins and slide my pants back up.
Super classy, I thought, bunching up the soiled napkins and stuffing them in my jacket pocket.
“That was insane.” I exhaled, trying to catch my breath. I felt frazzled, emotionally, and physically exhausted from the adrenaline rush. “How do I look?”
Maynard pulled me in for a long kiss, then locked eyes with me while he licked his fingers clean. Scolding heat spread across my body like wildfire. I wanted nothing more than to jump him and return the favor.
“Delicious,” he replied to both the verbal, and the unspoken question, then casually opened the door and greeted the valet.
A short time later we arrived at the top floor of Milspoor International. It was well after the end of the office work day and the whole floor seemed to be empty with the exception of one tired, bored-looking secretary.
The bleached-blond girl tapped mindlessly at her phone, oblivious to us stepping off the elevator. I was put off at how young she looked. She could've been easily mistaken for a high school senior.
“Oh, hi! I'm Marcy.” The girl's dull expression became bright and breezy when Maynard cleared his throat, alerting her of our presence.
“Mr. Cooper?” she asked. Maynard nodded. “Anth—Mr. Milspoor will see you in his office.”
“What does your friend Anthony do?” I asked once we were out of earshot of the receptionist. I was a little weirded out that someone so young was allowed to work after hours with just the CEO.
“Ant does a lot of things.” Maynard exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He placed a hand on the opaque glass door to his friend's office. “He was also one of the few guys that could keep up with me when I really went off the rails. Ant is a fun guy for the most part.”
“For the most part?” I asked, raising one eyebrow. That sounded ominous. “What's the but? He's not a serial killer is he?”
“Not that I know of,” Maynard winked, pushing open the door. “Don't worry, I'll protect you.”
Wonderful. I could only imagine the kind of man that could keep up with Maynard at his most debaucherous. I zipped my coat up the last few inches and checked my pants again for any wet spots. I didn't want any extra attention from a guy like that.
Anthony's office was actually two levels. The bottom level had an informal meeting table with chairs and a few couches that lined the wall. In the middle of the room was an ornate glass staircase that went up to his true office.
Anthony's dark wooden desk was massive enough to house over twenty awards and plaques while still offering a large area for his computer. I'm sure the display was meant to be impressive, but it came off as gaudy and juvenile to me.
I was greeted with an icy gust of wind when we reached the top of Anthony's stairs that made me genuinely glad I hadn't taken off my jacket yet. Anthony had the balcony doors wide open and was hitting
golf balls indiscriminately down onto the city.
“Mayday!” Anthony howled, casually tossing the golf club dangerously close to the balcony.
The whole thing turned my stomach with dread.
“Fire Ant,” Maynard replied, with hesitation in his voice. He was obviously uncomfortable that his friend was potentially injuring people. “How have you not been arrested for shit like that?”
“C'mon, this town fucking loves me! Besides at night no one can prove where they're coming from. Can't arrest what you can't see.” Anthony hugged Maynard who had stiffened up during the embrace. Anthony stepped back and regarded him curiously. “You're not going soft on me, are you, old man?”
I thought of our ride over here, soft was not a word I would ever use to describe any part of Maynard. He definitely still had a wild streak in him, but it seemed less malevolent than whatever was in Ant.
“In your dreams. All the times we competed—races, women, gambling—I can't remember a time you've ever beaten me. Not to mention you physically being older than me.” Maynard diffused the mounting tension between them with ease. Anthony only looked a few years older than Maynard. Maynard cocked his head back toward the receptionist. “When did you open a daycare center?”
“The girl? If there's grass on the field, you know I play ball.” Ant laughed, then stopped when he realized Maynard wasn't joining in. “Fuck, man. I haven't seen you in a year and you went and turned prude on me. I'm just helping her out. When Mary starts college next year she'll already have an internship under her belt.” Ant leaned in and slapped Maynard on the chest playfully. “Well technically it'll be under my belt, but to-may-to, to-mah-to.”
“Marcy.” I interrupted drawing both sets of eyes toward me. I didn't mind swearing but I wasn't a fan of people being objectified. He was talking about getting blown by a high school girl. That was not OK. “Her name was Marcy, not Mary.”
I was beginning to really dislike Maynard's friend. It was hard to imagine that Maynard had ever once been like Anthony. If he was, he wasn't like that now. Had Maynard changed that much since the last time they'd seen each other?
Something else bothered me about Anthony that I was having trouble placing. I'd seen him before somewhere. But where?
“Shit. Where are my manners?” Maynard shook his head as if coming out of a fog. “This is Claire, my girlfriend.”
“Claire,” Ant eyed me for moment as something came to him. “A pleasure.”
He did recognize me, but from where? Where the hell would I have been that I could possibly forget a man like him? Ant smiled, gently shaking my hand. It was a wicked, filthy grin that showed far too much teeth.
Oh, God, no...The smile. I remembered that smile.
All the blood drained from my face. My whole body tensed. My past indiscretions had finally caught up with me. I slipped away from Ant's grip which sent the feeling of slimy spiders crawling up my arms. I knew exactly where I last saw that disgusting monster of a man.
And he knew it too.
How the hell was I going to tell Maynard?
Chapter 13
Maynard
“Why'd you ask me to come by?” I stepped between Ant and Claire and tried to move the conversation along. Something weird just happened.
“I'm going to find a bathroom,” Claire squeezed my hand and started toward the stairs back down. She was obviously uncomfortable; I started to feel bad for bringing her with me.
Claire was becoming my new normal and I was surprisingly alright with that, but it wasn't long ago that I'd been a totally different person. This past year had changed me so much, even before I met Claire, but especially afterward. For some reason I figured the same was true for Ant.
“Quite the off-key piece of ass you have there.” Ant smiled stuffing his hands into his pockets.
I was wrong.
“Don't call her that.” My eyes narrowed. I had become overly protective of Claire in such a short period of time. She wasn't the kind of girl that wanted me to be her buffer against the world, but that made me want to take care of her even more. It was a new feeling for me that I hadn't figured out yet.
“Don't get your panties in a twist.” Ant seemed taken aback at my sensitivity.
I shrugged off the comment. I couldn't relate to his brashness anymore but I could still understand where he was coming from. The last time he saw me I was three girls deep at any one time so it was a fair assumption to assume that I hadn't changed much.
“Have you two met before?” There was a nagging pang in my gut at Ant and Claire's unspoken exchange. I'd have to ask her about that later.
“Hell if I know. I'd have to get a close look at the back of her head to be sure. I've met a lot of women.” Ant shrugged, laughing. He then shot me a bitter half-smile. “Not nearly as many as you, of course.”
“That's not my thing anymore.” Throughout our entire friendship there has always been this undertone of competition. We used to thrive on it.
“Do you remember where we first met?” Ant frowned, changing the subject. He took a few thoughtful steps toward his liquor cabinet.
“That charity gala ten years ago?” The early days all blended together to me.
“We were both there but we didn't actually meet till we got thrown in the same Cook County holding cell.”
“That's right. They had to pull you off the roof. You were so fucked up you tried to convince the cops that you were actually two little people in a trench coat.” I chuckled to myself, remembering. Nostalgia always had a way of lightening the mood. “You weren't even wearing a trench coat that night.”
Ant had an abrasive and overwhelming personality back when I knew him. He was a loose cannon, you never knew what to expect while he was around. I didn't mind it then. Shit, I'd be lying if I said we didn’t have a lot of fun together.
I always got along with extreme personality types because it allowed me to step out of the spotlight occasionally. I loved making waves in the media and having people fawn all over me but after a while it was fucking exhausting. Sometimes I needed a break and that's where Ant came in.
“And you were caught fucking the mayor's hot young wife in front of everyone,” he slyly shot back.
“That ballroom was literally surrounded in curtains, I didn't know we were behind the one set of curtains that would be raised to show off the auction items.” My chuckle turned into a laugh. “Wild times, Fire Ant.”
Fire Ant. It was easy to slip into the old nicknames when reminiscing. I thought way back before Claire, and before I became bored by all the shit I used to revel in. They might've been crazy, but they weren’t bad times. It was like watching an action porno movie; fun to think about but I wouldn't want to relive it.
“Before they dragged me off that building I saw how beautiful my city really was for the first time.” Ant's gaze into the middle distance intensified as he dropped the ice into each glass, then poured the dark liquor.
“I came back a week ago from almost a solid year of traveling to all the best cities in the world. You know what I've come to realize? Chicago, my home, is a joke. All these low-income tenements are a breeding ground for crime and these small mom-and-pop shops everywhere are leftovers from an old system that is grossly inefficient. Most of them are still cash only. Can you believe that shit?” He paused, slowly shaking his head. “It's really throwing a wrench in the gears of progress.”
“You're talking about cultural identity, Ant.” I narrowed my eyes, not liking where this conversation was headed. “We have areas like that back home too but some of the best music and food come out of those boroughs. Manhattan might be the face of NYC but its soul is in Brooklyn, Bronx and Queens. You have to take the good with the bad, that's just how it is.”
“It doesn't have to be.” Ant smiled, handing me a rocks glass of bourbon.
Ant was always second best to me when it came to athletics and women but he was dangerously smart. He liked to push things to their limit—drugs, women, even the
police sometimes. That's what got his rocks off. He was mostly harmless but he did have a cruel streak in him.
“What are you talking about?” I took the glass. That was another reason I used to hang out with him. I was no saint, but I was always able to talk him down and keep him from crossing the line.
“Your family still owns a lot of property in my city, I want to buy it from you.”
“I'm just doing my hotel. Real estate is Bianca's thing. You have to talk to her.” What did we have in Chicago? I never managed our holdings so I didn't pay attention to what they were. I knew we had a few hospitals, community outreach buildings, at least one homeless shelter and few other nonprofit companies in the area.
“She wouldn't sell. I was hoping you could talk to her for me, maybe get her to budge a little. I'm going to clean things up here and bring in more commerce, the nicest condos and the finest restaurants. Start fresh and all that.”
“Start fresh, huh? You're going to make it too expensive for the people who already live here to stay here. Sounds a lot like gentrification to me.”
“So?” Ant shrugged, unconcerned. “This is my home, I'll drag Chicago to the world stage kicking and screaming if I have to.”
I brought the glass to my lips and tapped it with my finger thoughtfully. Even I knew it was wrong to displace people just because of their economic station. That was exactly the kind of thing my family was trying to fight when they originally bought real estate here.
“And what if the mom-and-pop stores won't sell?” I was thinking about Hal's woodworking shop.
“C'mon, Mayday. We both know that everyone has a price.” Ant let the statement linger unfinished.
Even if that price wasn't money, he used to say.
Blackmail, murder, arson, I would always call his bluff with that stuff when we were younger. I knew he was full of shit back then, but now I wasn't so sure. Had that cruel streak of his actually developed into something else entirely?
“That shouldn't be the decision of just one man. You're not the only one that lives here.” I decided against having that drink after all and placed the unsipped glass on an end table. This was a lot darker of a conversation than I was expecting. “It's been fun, but I'm going to show myself out.”
