Perfectly Broken

by Prescott Lane

  Peyton was sure he’d kissed her on almost every street corner in the French Quarter. It was as if he needed to kiss her, needed to touch her, each time more sweet and tender than the last — with no rush, no hurry, just as he promised. She felt special, wanted, secure; he seemed to have no intention of making her the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, he shielded her from any potential danger, positioning himself between her and the occasional drunk or crazy stumbling near them.

  Suddenly her heart banged loudly when he stopped in front of the Cornstalk Hotel, a famous bed and breakfast known for its decorative iron fence. Peyton ran her hands over the cornstalks, pumpkins, vines, and a yellow butterfly. So this was part of Plan B. The man holding her hand was the real danger, not the drunks and crazies. She now feared he never had any intention of keeping his promise to go slowly.

  “The story goes that an early owner built the fence for his young wife,” Reed said, having stood in this spot countless times before, always alone, not quite sure what drew him back again and again, something about the fence elusive to him.

  Peyton squeezed his hand, relieved, realizing this was only part of the tour.

  “He thought it would help her be less homesick or something. She was from Iowa and missed her childhood home.”

  A rush of vanilla hit him as a breeze blew through the air. He took off his jacket and slid it around Peyton’s shoulders, his fingers grazing her neck when he moved her hair to the side. Her eyes locked on his, and he pulled on the jacket collar to bring Peyton close to him. He took his time, teasing her, his warm breath just barely brushing her lips. Her hands slid up the muscles of his back, pulling his lips even closer to hers, hoping he’d kiss her, ready to crawl up his body, begging, if he didn’t.

  Reed gave a sexy smile, eyeing her mouth, and took a step back. Peyton felt the muscles between her legs clench in disappointment, but she wasn’t about to show it, straightening her spine. “I thought you said our date would be ‘pretty damn hot’?”

  Reed laughed. He hadn’t laughed like this with a woman before. She was just so damn funny and cute, standing before him wearing his jacket. He didn’t mind her wearing oversized clothing if it was his. “Come here,” he said and pulled her back to him, lifting her in the air and kissing her firmly on the lips. He felt her smile behind their kiss and couldn’t help but smile himself. He put her down, and she leaned against his chest for a moment.

  * * *

  They left the Cornstalk Hotel and slipped into a bar to grab a drink. When Reed excused himself to the restroom, Peyton thought to call Quinn to tell her things were going well, that she didn’t need to worry. She began to dial when a loud, screeching voice began an awful version of “I Want to Sex You Up.” Her head darted up, half-expecting to see Reed doing his best Color Me Badd impersonation, but instead she found a fat guy thrusting his hips on stage, to the delight of some drunks egging him on.

  The fat guy lumbered around the stage, slobbering on the microphone, his sweat dripping with each step. He spotted a girl in an oversized jacket in the crowd and pointed a thick finger directly at her. “Come up here, and let me sex you up, girl!” The crowd roared in delight, encouraging Peyton to join the fat guy on stage, but she politely declined and stepped outside to wait for Reed and call Quinn.

  An old female creature with wiry black hair and metal bracelets quickly approached Peyton from behind, seizing her hand and forearm, a long red fingernail forcing up her jacket sleeve. “Read your palm, dear?” Peyton jerked her arm away, but the hag gripped even tighter, cackling, her nail digging against Peyton’s flesh. “Madame Mona can tell a lot by a person’s hands.” Peyton pulled away again but still couldn’t break free. “You got something to hide, dear?”

  She considered punching the woman in the face or calling out for help but decided that would be ridiculous and embarrassing on a first date. The woman continued to speak, a foul stench oozing from her mouth, but Peyton couldn’t follow what she was saying, too caught in the smell, the crazy, her own memories. Her palms began to sweat, and the street began to spin, slowly at first, then with more speed.

  Peyton darted her eyes back inside the bar but couldn’t see Reed. She clenched her fingers and then her eyes, willing away the lightning strikes she feared were closing fast — the surprise attack from behind, the thunderous screams, the dirty hand, the metal taste of blood. She gave another look for Reed then relented, hoping to avoid a full assault from her flashes, hoping the old woman would just say and do whatever garbage she needed to and then disappear forever.

  Peyton opened her hand, and the woman traced her red nail across it. “You have a very long lifeline.” Then her eyes grew wide, her face filled with excitement. “But what is this? What is this line?”

  Peyton rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “Very interesting.” She turned over Peyton’s hand. “Interesting, indeed.”

  “What is so interesting?”

  “It’s your heart line.” The old woman trembled, gazing up into Peyton’s concerned eyes, then released her tight grip. “Your heart line is broken.”

  “Get your fucking hands off her!” Reed pushed Madame Mona away, who quickly scurried down the street. “You better run, you freak!”

  “Be warned!” Madame Mona called back. “She’s a broken woman!”

  Reed made a move to follow her then heard Peyton release a deep breath. “Don’t,” she said. “She didn’t hurt me.” He looked Peyton up and down, and she assured him she was fine.

  But he wasn’t. He’d come out of the bathroom in the bar, found Peyton gone, searched around for her, questioned the fat ass singing and some other drunks — only to spot her outside with some street urchin’s hands all over her. “I don’t get those crazy people. Who in their right mind believes any of that nonsense?” Peyton shrugged her shoulders, as Reed huffed to himself. Broken? What a crock of shit.

  She nuzzled her head into his chest, thankful he hadn’t seen her on the brink of a flashback, thankful now to be in the safety of his arms.

  He held her for a minute or so, unsure if it was for his benefit or hers. After they were both settled, he led her back to his truck. “What do you have planned tomorrow?”

  Peyton wasn’t about to cap the evening with a mention of her weekly therapy appointment. “I usually run on Monday mornings, and then I’ll check on Gram. Nothing much. No work, which is nice.”

  “I wish I could take off and spend the day with you. Would you like to meet me for lunch?”

  Peyton smiled. “Sure.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “I promise it will be better than hot dogs. No palm readers, either.”

  “I’ve had a great time.”

  “It doesn’t have to end. My loft isn’t far from here,” Reed said, immediately regretting his words, feeling Peyton take a small step away. He knew she wasn’t one of his friends with benefits; she wasn’t just going to jump into bed with him after one date — or even five. “I just meant we could relax — maybe pick up some dessert.”

  “I would love to see where you live, but another time.”

  Reed forced a smile, eager to kick his own ass. “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  MONDAYS MEANT DR. Lorraine. They also meant red beans and rice. Peyton decided to throw a quick pot together before heading out for her session then a run in the park. Red beans and rice took several hours to make — usually the better part of one day — but it was a pretty easy dish, basically tossing into a cast iron pot some beans, ham, a variety of spices, and the trinity of bell peppers, onions, and celery. It made for an easy supper because Monday in the old South was laundry day. And no one had time to cook after that.

  Peyton got the pot on the stove and left the house, a delivery man holding a vase of yellow daffodils stopping her. How nice of Reed. She signed for the flowers and walked back inside. Obviously Reed had a good time last night. He told her he did, but self-doubt always made things hard to believe.

  She set the vase on h
er kitchen island and breathed in the sweet smell. She saw there was a card underneath a drooping daffodil. Enjoyed seeing you. Next time you owe me a House Hunting date! Griffin.

  * * *

  “So I had a date last night with this guy Reed.”

  “Praise the Lord!” Dr. Lorraine cried, throwing up her arms to the heavens. “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you for sending us your disciple, Reed! Oh praise Jesus for Reed!” Dr. Lorraine wiped her brow and tried to control her breathing. “Honey, you’ve got to tell me all about it.”

  “Well, the whole thing was,” Peyton said, pausing to search for the right word, “an explosion.”

  “Damn, girl, you had sex?”

  “No! But there was a lot — I mean, a lot — of kissing....”

  “Oral?”

  “No! Just mouths.”

  Dr. Lorraine winked at her. “That’s good, too.”

  “It was like he flicked on a light switch, and my entire body lit up.”

  “I imagine so. You’d shut down the sexual part of yourself. And it’s stayed asleep.”

  Peyton took a moment. “The whole thing was kind of scary, and....”

  “And?” Dr. Lorraine leaned forward in her chair.

  “And exciting, too!”

  “Damn right it was! It took Reed to wake you up. I’m so happy for you. I can see it in your face, your posture, your whole body really. You have to get to know the sexual part of yourself again, and you’re on your way now — to learn your likes and dislikes again and to feel comfortable enough to express them.”

  “But what if I freak out?”

  “That’s why you have to talk. If something feels wrong, you have to say so — before you freak out.”

  “Last night was great and sweet, but....” Peyton exhaled. “Reed is very experienced, very forward. What if I’m not enough? What if I can’t be fun sexually? What if I have a flashback? What if I....”

  “Whoa! Stop and take a breath, child!” Dr. Lorraine took a deep breath herself, moving her arm up and down, showing her young patient how to do it. “You’re not having sex with Reed today?”

  “No.”

  “And Reed is a smart man, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And determined?”

  “Yes.” Peyton smiled. “I actually turned him down for weeks before going to dinner.”

  “Maybe you need to trust him to decide what he can and can’t handle with you?” Peyton shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe he’d want to help you learn about your sexuality? Maybe you both can learn your body together?”

  “I’m sure he’d like that.”

  “But before you can do any of that,” Dr. Lorraine said, “I’d suggest you tell him about the rape.”

  Peyton shook her head firmly. “I don’t want to tell him that. No way.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want it to change things.”

  “How would things change?”

  “Everything would change. He looks at me with such desire now, like he wants to devour me. It’s scary like I said, but incredibly sexy, too. I don’t ever want him to stop looking at me that way. And if I tell him, he will. I know it. He’ll look at me with sadness and pity. I know he will!”

  Dr. Lorraine frowned. “Would you look at him differently if he were assaulted?”

  “Of course not, never.”

  “Well, maybe give him some credit. He did wait weeks just to take you to dinner. Don’t underestimate this guy. He just might have some staying power.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Studies show that women fall in love easier than men, but men fall harder.”

  “He’s not falling in love with me. I promise you that.”

  “Maybe not. But if he does, he deserves to know who he’s falling for.”

  * * *

  Reed called as Peyton was starting her run. He said there was no way he could be on time for their lunch reservation. He felt awful about it, especially after the hot dogs last night, but there was nothing he could do. Peyton didn’t mind and suggested something simple instead — lunch at her place, whenever he could breakaway. Reed jumped at the chance.

  She did an extra few miles knowing she had plenty of time before Reed showed up. On her way back, she caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. She was a hot mess, full of grime and sweat, and also worried the red beans weren’t close to being done. She pulled her Mini Cooper into her driveway, looking forward to a long shower and getting ready for Reed. When she closed her car door, she saw his Range Rover pull up behind her. Crap.

  Reed got out of his truck. “Sorry, I’m just getting home,” she said, quickly smoothing her hair in a ponytail. He walked towards her, a spring in his step, closing fast, his eager eyes sliding up and down her body. She feared her smell would kill him. “I had a crazy morning and lost track of time at the park and....”

  He placed his hand at the back of her neck, pulling her tightly to him, and crashed his mouth into hers. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed her. Then he let go slightly, finding the sun glistening off her sweat. He trailed kisses down her neck, his warm breath tingling her entire body. “Your sweat tastes sweet.”

  “Are you always going to greet me that way?” Peyton asked, leading him to the front door.

  Reed grinned. “Is there a better way?” Peyton shook her head at him and tossed her keys on the foyer table. “It smells great in here.”

  “I’ve got red beans cooking.”

  Peyton led him into a wide open space, a hearth room kitchen, with original thick-planked, tongue-and-groove pine flooring and antique white beams running along the ceiling. There was a chef’s kitchen on one side, teak blue cabinetry, stainless steel appliances, copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, a farmhouse sink. An island sat in the center surrounded by bar stools. A white slipcover sofa separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, featuring a large leather ottoman atop a fluffy white rug and a large flatscreen TV mounted over the fireplace.

  Reed captured her in his arms. “I think I lied when I said I wasn’t in a hurry.”

  She gave him a quick kiss. “Then we may have a problem.” She wiggled free and moved to the stove.

  “Deciding which hand to use will be my problem,” Reed mumbled.

  “Are you ambidextrous?” Peyton teased, stirring the red beans, then reaching for a timer next to the stove. She began to turn it when Reed came up behind and wrapped his arms around her again.

  “You have such a smart mouth,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “I love it.” She took her hand off the timer — unsure if she’d set it at all. He turned her towards him, pinning her against the counter, and ran his thumb across her bottom lip, her heart rate skyrocketing. “You have the most perfect mouth.” Peyton slowly slid her tongue across her lips. “Naughty girl,” he said, pressing himself against her, then just barely kissed her bottom lip.

  His warm breath made her dizzy. She couldn’t feel her legs except for the delicious ache building between them. He lifted her onto the granite countertop and pushed his hips into hers, her thin running shorts exposing the heat between her legs. She clenched the muscles in her thighs in an attempt to control herself. But Reed thrust again, harder this time, making control almost impossible. Her head tossed back, then Reed pulled at her shirt, trying to lift it over her head.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  Peyton jumped off the countertop and nearly out of her skin. She switched off the timer. “I think lunch is ready,” she said and straightened her shirt. Reed exhaled and gripped his hands to reel back his desires. “Was that you not in a hurry?”

  “It’s your fault,” Reed said, adjusting his pants. “If you weren’t so damn hot, this would be easier.”

  Peyton laughed. “I need a shower.”

  “Can I come?”

  Peyton bit her lip and shook her head. “Let’s just eat.” She stirred the red beans and asked Reed to put out napkins and spoons.

  But he pretended he couldn’t find t
hem, despite her clear instructions where they were, and instead used the time to stare at her ass.

  “You didn’t give me time to make any rice, so this will have to do.” She filled two bowls of red beans — making the sign of the cross over each, praying they were done — and poured two glasses of iced tea. She caught him staring at her, and after rolling her eyes, grabbed the napkins and spoons herself, setting everything out on the island.

  Reed pulled out her bar stool then took a seat across from her, the yellow daffodils directly between them. “Since you cooked me lunch, why don’t you come over tonight, and I’ll make you dinner?”

  “You cook?” Peyton asked, taking a spoonful.

  “I can make a few things,” Reed said, moving the daffodils to the side to better see her. “Are these your favorite?”

  “No, I actually prefer pink flowers.”

  “So why’d you get yellow?”

  “I didn’t.” Peyton looked down at her bowl, taking another bite. He eyed her curiously and then the daffodils, seeing a card under the vase. “They’re from Griffin.” He opened the card and grabbed the vase in his hand. “Reed, don’t!”

  He ignored her and walked to her trash bin, tossing the vase along with the card. “What the hell is going on?” he barked, returning to the island.

  “Nothing,” Peyton said quietly.

  “Don’t play games with me. You told me you were just friends.”

  “We are.”

  “Friends don’t send flowers and look at houses together.”

  Peyton narrowed her eyes. “Maybe not the kind of friends you have.”