White Widow

by Kaitlyn Cross

  “Do you ever miss working with Jase?” I ask, thinking back to that first night I met Lincoln.

  “Oh yeah, he was awesome to work with, and Proof has a great menu as well.”

  “So…why did you leave?”

  He glances at me. “Money, and the challenge of Lou-Lou’s menu. He has the most complicated dishes in town.” He smiles at me, still holding onto my hand. “But mainly for the money.”

  I smile back, my hand warm in his. “If you had your own place,” I say, swinging one heel in front of the other, “what kind of menu would you serve?”

  I shriek when he shoves me into the recessed opening of a record store called, DeAngelo’s Saw Blades, and presses me up against the glass. Lincoln stares down at me. No, not down. Through me. Like he can see every dirty little secret haunting my past. “I love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine and kissing me as if I’m made of glass.

  Caught off guard, my resistance is futile and my heart jumps off the tracks. I can taste the beer on his lips and want to drink him in. No other kiss in the history of Sienna has set off the fireworks currently exploding behind my eyelids. Throwing my arms around his neck, I stand on my toes and pull him to me, kissing him long and hard. Our tongues brush together and, suddenly, I’m a teenager all over again. This kiss consumes me and when I open my eyes, white spots streak my field of vision like shooting stars.

  Licking me off his lips, Lincoln flashes his signature cocky grin. “You got a problem with that?”

  Chest rising and falling, I try to keep my knees from buckling. His touch is medicinal, leaving me breathless and confused at the same time. Now that we’re no longer connected at the lips, the smoke begins to clear inside my spinning head. “I’m not sure yet.”

  He steadies me on my feet and I can tell he’s happy with my reaction. His eyes rise over my shoulder and his grin slips. For a second, I think he regrets kissing me. That he’s had too many drinks and slowly realizing what he just did. Then his eyes narrow. I turn around to see what has him so spooked and wish I hadn’t. Staring through the glass into Mary’s horrified eyes, my gut twists into painful knots. She’s standing inside the record store, clutching some vinyl against a blue summer dress that shows off her rich, red hair. No matter how long I live, I’ll never forget the hurt look swirling in her eyes.

  And neither will she.

  Chapter Twelve

  After-Sex Voice

  Mary drops the records to the floor and bolts for the exit, bursting through the glass door and storming down the sidewalk. Lincoln looks at me and hangs his head, resting his forehead against mine. “Shit,” he whispers. “Come on.”

  The next thing I know, he’s taking my hand and towing me down the street after her. Horrible scenarios play out in my mind as we hurry to catch up. Mary will tell Minni and Tom and they will never forgive me. I’ll will be cast out of the McConnel kingdom and, in the blink of an eye, my fantasy family is gone. I’ve lost everything and out of all the guys in the world, I pick Lincoln to kiss. Even though, technically, he kissed me. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to fix it and, subsequently, I will definitely have to move from Cottage Grove and never return. There, now that that’s settled, I can finally relax.

  “Mary, wait!” Lincoln yells, pulling me faster.

  Stopping at Jack’s Corvette parked in the street, she ignores him and hurries to unlock the door.

  “Mary!” Grabbing her arm, he spins her around. She slaps him in the face, nearly knocking him into a passing cab, who lays on the horn. Fire burns in her eyes and she can barely look at me. Fuming is too soft a word.

  “This is what that package is about, isn’t it, Sienna? The one with the card – I know?” A lone tear streams down her cheek, leaving a track that glistens in the orange streetlight above. “How long?” Her heated glower jerks between us.

  “Mary…”

  “How long, Lincoln!”

  “It’s not what you think,” he replies, rubbing his cheek.

  Mary steps into his face and glares up at him. “No? Oh okay, so you weren’t just kissing your sister-in-law two weeks after her husband died? I didn’t just see that with my own two eyes?”

  “I…” He trails off, looking at me for help.

  “Mary,” I hear myself say in someone else’s voice. “It’s really not what you think. We were out drinking and it just…happened.”

  “Oh well, that explains it!” She yanks her piercing daggers back to her brother. “How long?”

  “How long? Here. Now. That’s how long!” he explains, throwing his hands out.

  Setting fists on the hips of her blue dress, Mary studies his face for signs of deceit. “You’re sick and you need help.”

  Her reply nearly makes him laugh, but, somehow, he holds it in. “Listen, we went to Jack’s office to look for a clue, okay?”

  Mary scrunches her nose up like something stinks to high heaven. “A clue?”

  “We didn’t find anything except some bad memories, so we went out and got shit-faced. It was an accident, okay?” he tells her, massaging his brow. “We’re both mourning and everything is just…off right now.”

  I raise my hand like a shy pupil who’s been working up the courage to add something to the class for the past fifteen minutes. “And he made me eat a pot sucker, so, technically, I’m not in a sound state of mind right now.”

  Pressing her lips into a thin, grim line, Mary swings her pointed glare to Lincoln. “Have you kissed her before, or was this really the first time?” He starts to say something and she sticks a finger in his face. “And don’t forget, Lincoln, I can tell when you’re lying. I can smell it on your breath.”

  His mouth gapes. The wind blows hair into my face and I scramble to remove it. “This is the first time,” he replies. “I swear.”

  Staring at him for a moment longer, Mary turns her scowl on me, making me shrink into my skin. “Is this how you get revenge on a dead man? Does this make you feel better about him cheating on you?” The questions cut deep, making me tremble with guilt and shame. “Well, two wrongs don’t make a right, Sienna,” she says, looking at me through pity-filled eyes. “I guess we all know now, don’t we?” Without waiting for a reply, Mary whips the car door back, nearly clipping Lincoln’s knee.

  “You better not wreck this car,” he yells over the revving engine, jumping back when she pulls away from the curb and barrels down the street. “And quit parking in the street!”

  I can’t bear to face Lincoln so I hide behind a hand. This was just plain sloppy and how could I let something like this happen? Two weeks after my husband’s death and out in public with his brother, no less! This town isn’t big and word travels fast. Jack and I weren’t meant to be but people don’t know that. They don’t know that sometimes he’d come home late and wake me up by shattering a glass against a wall because he wasn’t happy with what I left him in the fridge. They don’t know that what he really wasn’t happy with was coming home. I sigh into my hand, breath hot against my palm. Lincoln is now officially the worst brother in the world and I am the worst widow. Even through the dizzy haze clouding my judgement, a part of me tries convincing myself this isn’t my fault. But a bigger part sees through it.

  “Hey,” Lincoln says, tipping my chin up to meet his eyes. “I’ll take care of her; don’t let it get to you.”

  Gasping, I turn and storm back to Lincoln’s car even though I don’t even remember where it’s parked.

  “Sienna,” he says, jogging to catch up. “She had to find out sometime.”

  I stop abruptly on the sidewalk and he runs right into me. Shoving him in the chest, I jerk hair from my face. “Find out what, Lincoln?”

  Stepping closer, his cologne sends my insides into an unwanted frenzy. “Find out about us.”

  My heart skips a serious beat and I can only stare at him in disbelief. Words and air refuse to come. I understand me making a mistake because that’s protocol, but him? “There is no us,” I say through my teeth. “You
take that back.”

  “I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel for a long time and now I finally can.”

  “Why?” I shout. “Because your brother is dead and his sloppy seconds are up for grabs? Is that what you really believe?”

  His eyes drop to my purple shoes. “I want you to stay,” he says. “Here in Cottage Grove.”

  Laughing sharply, my heart pumps blood too fast through my veins. There are no words left in my tank, so I turn and walk away from the sonofabitch. He hurries to keep up, his silence indicative of the guilt I know he’s feeling. He shouldn’t have said that and we both know it. Two weeks ago, he was my brother-in-law! Now, he’s telling me he loves me? He doesn’t know what love is and neither do I so I walk faster. Then he’s pulling me into a parking lot and going to have the audacity to kiss me again. Stopping at a red Chevelle, he opens my door instead. At first, I just stare into the dimly lit leather seats, considering a taxi, or an Uber, or an Amish horse and buggy. Anything to avoid the unnerving drive back to my house. When I get inside, he shuts the door behind me and I curse myself as he walks around the front of the car.

  *****

  I was right about the drive. It was long, uncomfortable, and quiet as a strip club during Sunday brunch. Without thanking him for the unforgettable tacos, I get out and slam the door shut, pounding my heels up the driveway. Just when I think my life can’t get any more messed up, this happens. The worst part is the hurt look in Mary’s eyes. She’s become one of my closest friends and doesn’t deserve this. After all, she just lost her brother before catching me with Lincoln’s tongue down my throat. And did I push him away like a good little widow? No, I didn’t and she saw that too. Shit! When I hear Lincoln’s car door open and close behind me, I roll my eyes and walk faster. The fact that I haven’t turned and verbally told him to take a flying fucking leap does not go unnoticed in my spiraling thoughts. Unlocking the front door, I hurry inside and don’t bother shutting it because what’s the point? He has a key.

  I toss the keys on a sofa table in the foyer and click into the kitchen to cool my jets. Lincoln enters the room but doesn’t get too close. He knows he’s dealing with a wild animal. Leaning in the archway, he watches me kick out of my shoes and drop three inches to the cold, slate floor. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking we’ll straighten this out but I know it’s a lie. I know I’ll go my way and he’ll go his – and his wonderful family will, of course, go with him.

  Leaning against the sink, I stare out the darkened window for a moment before letting my head hang between my shoulders. Long, dark hair covers my face, turning my reflection into one of those creepy girls from a scary movie. “She’s probably telling your parents right now,” I whisper, keeping my back to him.

  “At this hour? They’re in bed.”

  Exchanging a sneer with the creepy girl in the window, I whirl on my heels. “Then she’s waking them up!”

  “She would never.”

  Huffing out a hot breath, I turn back to the darkness looming outside and almost smile. My anger runs down my face and pools around my bare feet. It’s over and there’s no use stewing about it. I was lucky to get away from Jack and I should be happy with that. Anything else is just plain greedy. Turning on the faucet, I cup water into my hands and splash my face. My body stiffens when Lincoln sets his hands on my hips. Surprised and unnerved, I turn off the water and barely turn my head. “Don’t.”

  But he doesn’t understand that word and slides his hands up my shirt, stealing my breath. He caresses my breasts and I want to elbow him away, but I don’t. Instead, I lean my head back against him and close my eyes. His lips track down my neck, leaving a trail of kisses to an earlobe, where he stops to nibble. Fingers circle my swollen nipples. Blatant lies whisper in my ear. He hasn’t wanted to do this for so long. Who does he think he’s kidding? He’s drunk! But I don’t give speech to my inner voice. Instead, I rub my ass against the bulge in his pants.

  His breath comes faster against my neck as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them over my rounded cheeks. Stepping out of them, I tremble from head to toe, unable to hide it. Watching our reflection, I can tell my obedience pleases him. He pulls on my hips and grinds against me, planting a wet kiss on my neck that touches me just right. I reach back and run my fingers through his hair, tugging when he brushes a finger against my slippery lips below. I’m so wet down there he can’t help but love it. I know him. Fighting a convulsion, I lean against the sink. Hair hangs in my face and I can feel him getting bigger in his jeans. He slides a fingertip inside, the soft intrusion tuning me to his wants and needs, opening me up like a flower. Overcome with feeling, my chest heaves. The hair goes up on my arms. Blood pounds thickly in my temples and the need in my gut moans with want. “Stop,” I plead, digging my fingers into the farm sink.

  I hear a zipper go down and, foolishly, I don’t make a run for it. I don’t mule kick or hip check him. Instead, I bend over the sink to give him better access. At first, he just rubs it against me. My toes curl against the kitchen mat and I should really stop him before this goes any further. But it’s too ingrained in me, as it is in everyone, that lustful desire for the forbidden. Rubbing up and down my screaming center, he teases me with the promise of more to come. Then, living up to his unspoken word, he eases inside. My muscles constrict around him, pulse thudding in the hollow of my throat.

  “Please,” I beg, arching my back when he reaches full penetration. My reflection grimaces at me while a destructive smile sweeps across his unshaven face. He pulls out and pushes back in. I gasp and begin to shake with his greedy thrusts. My body tingles all over and I’m not sure if my feet are touching the floor anymore or not. His fingers grip my waist and pull me against him. I cry out and give in to my hidden desire. Hair swings across my face as I watch him grit his teeth in the glass and pound harder. “Lincoln,” I mutter, absorbing his punishing blows like an air shock. One of his hands moves up to my breasts while the other reaches around me and rubs my clit. The room gets brighter. Hotter. Shallow breaths pump my chest and my feet are definitely not touching the floor.

  He nibbles at my neck and massages my clitoris, driving in and out of me with single-minded thrusts. A high-pitched shriek escapes my lips. My jaw tightens. Sensing my distress, Lincoln goes faster, filling me with generous inches before taking it all back again. My knuckles turn white with tension. The kitchen shakes around us. Grunting in my ear, Lincoln explodes his warm release inside me, pushing me over the edge. I cry out to our reflections, fingers tightening with a death grip on the sink as a white-hot wave crashes against my insides. Now I’m floating. I’m sure of it. Lincoln keeps hammering away, determined to give me every last drop, and I happily oblige, constricting my muscles around him as hard as I can. His body jerks with pulsating bursts while mine trembles like an autumn leaf. Time slows to a stop and the room gets so quiet, a far-off ringing starts up in my right ear. Breathing deeply, we slowly come back down to earth. I watch us chase our breath in the window, something wet running down the inside of my leg. Bending to kiss my neck, his cock throbs inside me. His lips are warm and wet, prickling my skin. Then he’s pulling out and zipping up while I collect my wits over the kitchen sink with hair hanging in my face and cum running down the inside of my leg. I stare at him in the glass and he stares back, his chest rising and falling beneath that aqua fucking blue t-shirt that shows off his rounded goddamn shoulders. Fuck that shirt!

  “Get out,” I barely say, jerking bangs from my eyes.

  “Sienna,” he whispers in that soft after-sex voice I cannot stand. “I’m sorry. This isn’t what I…”

  “Get out!” I can barely look at his reflection, let alone turn and face the real him. Shame clouds my thoughts and guilt curdles my blood. What have I done? Who have I become? What if that idiot blond guy is standing outside the window right now, filming everything we just did? Silence rings in my ears and I literally have no shame. I’m no better than Jack. Lincoln’s footsteps fade down the hallway and my
legs shake like they’re made of Jell-O. The front door opens and slams shut and I slide to the mat, curling into a ball of regret. Tears fall with excuses to the floor, and I don’t believe a word my inner self has to say because I know the truth. This is all my fault. I am a terrible person and nothing can make me feel better. Looking up, my watery eyes catch on an unopened bottle of cab.

  Well, almost nothing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chip and Joanna Gaines

  The doorbell bangs in my ears like a Mongolian gong, echoing off the bone white walls inside my skull. The horrifying sound tails off into a deathly silence. Peeling my eyelids apart, I squint against the sunlight pouring in through the living room windows. It’s way too bright for this time of the morning and… Wait, living room? Sitting up, I realize I’ve fallen asleep on the sectional and my stomach turns when I see the empty wine bottle resting on the coffee table. Pulling hair from my face, I check my cellphone and cringe. It’s already ten o’clock and I can barely see straight. Shame pushes past my hangover, making me cringe. I’m not a late sleeper and feel guilty if I sleep past nine, like I’ve wasted the entire day. Not to mention, I had hot sex with my brother-in law last night and loved every minute of it. Which, technically, makes me a freak. The doorbell rings again and I clap my hands over my ears a second too late, making a mental note to disconnect that motherfucker ASAP.

  Tossing a blanket back, I swing my feet to the floor and crookedly stagger toward the door. It feels like an angry ocean is swaying back and forth inside my head. Waves crash against my frontal lobe in deafening bursts before throwing themselves against the cerebellum hiding in back. Using the wall for support, I stop in the foyer and stare aghast at my disheveled self in the mirror hanging over the sofa table. I look like I was ridden hard and put away wet. And I was. My smeared mascara reminds me of the black eyes Jack gave me once upon a time, and the lipstick all over my face looks like blood. Somewhere along the line I switched into a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt of Pennywise the clown with No Lives Matter printed beneath his sinister grin.