His For Keeps: (50 Loving States, Tennessee)

by Theodora Taylor

  One of them I even get flushed out into a full version. I’m about to start working on a second song, but my stomach starts cramping. Not an early period, which I don’t really have anymore anyway since my “lady doctor” put me on birth control to regulate them. No, it’s hunger, I realize when I look up from my journal and see it’s almost dark outside my attic window. I haven’t eaten since the early breakfast I made for Josie and Beau before I drove them to the airport.

  I should eat, I think. But the first thing I do is check my phone. There’s no missed call message on the front screen. Not even a text.

  Colin still hasn’t called.

  I set the phone down. Tell myself I’m stupid for this. Stupid for the sharp pain inside my chest. Stupid for caring. I remind myself why I called Colin in the first place. I remind myself it’s not supposed to be like that between him and me. He’s a kiss I had no business having at the age of fifteen. He’s a job I’ve taken on at Josie’s request. A client—he just doesn’t know it.

  I remind myself that I’m hungry and not thinking straight, and that I should eat. Really, that’s all I should be thinking about now. Eating…

  Then I grab my keys.

  A LITTLE OVER THREE HOURS LATER, I’m fairly sure my car’s old navigation system has gotten me in trouble again. I figured when the city name of Marrington came up after I put in the address and zip code, I’d end up in another tony Nashville suburb. But my 90s era nav system is now taking me down the main road of what looks like one of those white-only, small Tennessee towns that my Paw Paw used to warn me to never stop in, even if I needed gas.

  Which I do. I only have about a quarter tank left and no idea how far away it is to the next decent-sized, race-tolerant city.

  “Turn right at the next road,” the nav system tells me in a posh British accent.

  I do what it says, but know it must truly be taking me some place I don’t want to go when I find myself on a long, unlit access road, blanketed by ominous dark woods on either side. Unfortunately, the road is too narrow to turn around on, so I keep going, hoping I’ll eventually find a space wide enough to make a U-turn.

  “You have reached your destination,” the nav system informs me when I pull into a circular clearing with a log cabin that’s even smaller than the one I share with my grandma in West Tennessee.

  “You must have lost your damn mind,” I say to the nav system, because there’s no way this cabin is where Colin asked me to meet him. The surrounding woods would probably provide plenty of game if you had a mind to hunt, which Colin told me once he likes to do in his off time. But the cabin itself looks like it’s one surprise county inspection away from being condemned, with a rusty tin roof and rotting wood planks lining both the porch and the house itself. It’s too ugly and tiny to be Colin’s house, even if he is only using it as a vacation home for hunting trips, like I’ve heard a lot of country stars do.

  I sit there, staring at the house, feeling like an idiot. I’d been in such a rush to get out of Beau and Josie’s house before I changed my mind, that I’d left my phone charger behind, which means I either have to take my chances that whoever lives here is willing to point me toward a gas station at—I glance at the car’s clock radio—at almost nine o’clock at night, or I have to find a gas station on my own, which might leave me stranded without a phone.

  Two choices. Neither of them very good.

  And then the sky cracks open and starts pouring down rain.

  I cuss and kill the engine, figuring that knocking on this cabin door and finding some backwoods hillbilly inside is a better option than stranding myself on the side of some unknown road without a phone in pouring rain. Maybe. Possibly.

  I get out of the car, wishing I’d taken Josie up on that offer to take a self-defense class at Ruth’s House.

  “Please don’t be a racist backwoods killer. Please don’t be a racist backwoods killer,” I whisper-chant as I run through the cold September rain toward the cabin’s front door.

  To my surprise, the door opens before my feet even touch the stairs leading up to the front porch. A tall figure fills up its frame.

  I stop, eyes popping wide when I see who it is.

  “Hell, Purple, I was beginning to think you weren’t ever going to come.” Colin says. It’s only been a few months since I saw him in person, but he seems even taller than I remembered. More rugged, too, with a few days worth of beard growth. He holds out a large hand to me.

  “Come on in here now, and get out that rain.”

  17

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in front of a roaring fire watching Colin make me a dinner of steak and eggs in a kitchen that’s not so much another room in the small cabin, but an old gas stove and a few cabinets in one area of it.

  The cabin is not much better on the inside than it is on the out, and from what I can tell, it only has one other room. A bathroom, so dated, I’d been relieved to find out the toilet actually flushed when I used it a few minutes ago.

  There’s a full-sized bed on the other side of the main room, with a brass rail frame and what looks like a well-made quilt lying on top of it. The quilt’s the only pretty thing I’ve seen so far in the entire cabin.

  And, the only other positive thing I can find to say about this place is it’s very clean, with no obvious dust on any of the surfaces and a fresh woodsy smell about it, like maybe it was aired out for a good long while before I got here. Somebody also must have bothered to clean the windows, because I can clearly see the rain pounding against them on the other side.

  The sizzling sound of the steak Colin’s making for me interrupts the rain’s steady patter, and I look up from the couch to watch him move around the kitchen area. His long body stretches underneath the varsity Charlie Daniel’s t-shirt he’s wearing, and I see a flash of his hard abs as he reaches to get a plate out of the cabinet. He’s not as cute as Beau, I think. Not so outrageously handsome.

  But he’s got an air about him that Beau doesn’t. A confidence Beau could never have, because he knows how to do for himself in a way Beau just doesn’t. I say this, not because Beau is blind now, but because of the way I know he grew up. He went straight from a genteel Southern household to a career as a starting quarterback. I don’t think Beau’s ever even made himself a bowl of ramen. And I know, blind or not, he’d never be able to cook anything for Josie that smelled even near as wonderful as the plate of steak and eggs Colin sets down on a small wooden table in the kitchen area.

  “You want to get changed out of those wet clothes before you eat?” he asks me.

  “I’m fine,” I answer, getting off the couch and coming over to the table.

  I haven’t quite figured out how to tell him I didn’t bring an overnight bag with me, because even as I was driving here, I still wasn’t 100 percent sure I was going to stay.

  It’s cold away from the fire, and the wet thin sweater I’m wearing makes me feel like I’m covered in damp green moss. But instead of following the urge to strip it off, I focus on my manners.

  “Thank you,” I say, and dig right in.

  Colin’s a good cook. At least he’s got meat and eggs down. Despite my general level of discomfort, I eat every single bite.

  “You were hungry,” he says, after I’m finished cleaning my plate.

  “I got caught up, working on music,” I answer. “Forgot to eat.”

  “Yeah,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ve been there. Not for a while now. But back before my mom had her first stroke.”

  Before I can offer any sympathy for what he went through with his mom, he turns his blue gaze on me, lazy but somehow sharp as the knife he gave me to cut my steak.

  “Is that why you’re so late? Because you were working on music?”

  I put my fork down, unable to think of a good answer for that. Talking to him on the phone was definitely much easier. Now that my hunger’s not there to distract me, actually sitting face to face across from him has a whole box of Mexic
an jumping beans going off in my stomach.

  And it doesn’t help that he won’t stop staring at me lazily across the table. Like a long and lean coyote, taking his sweet time, deciding just when to pounce.

  “So…” I say, looking around. “This isn’t exactly what I expected.”

  “No, I guess it wouldn’t be,” he answers, lazy coyote stare still in full effect. “It’s my dad’s old place, and his dad’s before that. The state passed it on to me after he died. At least they did after I paid all the back property taxes on it.”

  The cabin is very simple. One room. One bathroom. That’s it. But being here with Colin doesn’t feel simple. Colin looks out of place here. And I feel out of place here.

  So out of place that I just have to ask, “So is this where you bring all your subs?”

  I expect at least a chuckle, but instead Colin’s eyes come off their lazy coyote setting and he sits up, suddenly all business. “So we’re having this conversation now?”

  I look from side to side and then shrug. “Yes, I’m here. So I guess we’re having this conversation.”

  He nods, like we’ve just agreed on something important, and picks up my plate. I watch him set it down in the kitchen area, and then pick up a document, which I hadn’t noticed lying at the far end of the counter. He comes back to the table with it and sets it in front of me.

  I recognize the legal language immediately.

  “You want me to sign a confidentiality agreement? But I already signed one.”

  “That was for Alabama,” he answers, dropping back into the seat across from me. “This is for here and now.”

  “Okay…” I sign the agreement. Mostly because I still don’t understand fully what “here and now” means, and I know signing this document is the only way I’ll find out.

  I slide it back to him, but he merely glances at it before asking, “Anyone know where you’re at, Purple?”

  I try to keep my face neutral as I answer, “Yes, I texted Bernice before I came up here. Told her the address and exactly who I was meeting. Why? Is that in violation of the confidentiality agreement?”

  I remember what Ginny told me about him being fiercely private.

  “No, that’s fine,” Colin says.

  I wait for him to say something else about it, and when he doesn’t, I say, “Okay, well, I guess it’s time to have that conversation you mentioned…”

  “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, tapping a finger against our confidentiality agreement. “All we need now is a safe word.”

  “A safe word,” I repeat. “We need a safe word just to have a conversation about what we might or might not be doing?”

  “Yep,” he answers, like we’re talking about some mundane detail: the amount of rain Tennessee’s likely to get in September or something along those lines. “I suggest you pick a word that doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re about to talk about. So nobody gets confused.”

  “How about ‘property taxes’?” I answer dryly.

  “Alright, that’s two words, but I can work with that. The safe word is ‘property taxes.’”

  It’s such a silly agreement. Really a silly conversation. But a chill runs up my back. Like Colin’s just taken off his black cowboy hat again and shown me his horns.

  He folds his hands in front of him. “So you said this wasn’t what you were expecting. Wanna tell me what you were expecting?”

  “I’m—I’m not sure,” I answer. “I’m still not sure why I came here… or if I should be here at all. Like I said, I’m not any kind of sub material. Like the whole keeping my mouth closed thing and happily doing whatever you say—I’m pretty sure I don’t have that in me.”

  I can sense a smile lurking behind his lips, but it never arrives. “I know you don’t, Purple. Now what was that safe word you picked again?”

  His question confuses me.

  “What? Why do you need the safe word again?”

  “Because I do,” he answers.

  His non-answer annoys me, makes me dig in my heels. “Listen, you don’t need a safe word from me to have a conversation about a situation that may or may not happen.”

  “There you go again, Purple, with your smart mouth,” he drawls. “You say I don’t need to hear you say the safe word. I’m telling you I do. Because I need to know you remember it, before we do this.”

  “But—”

  He doesn’t even let me finish my sentence about how we haven’t actually agreed to do anything yet, especially not “this.”

  “Safe word,” he says again, in a tone so firm I can tell this isn’t the kind of road block you can just swerve your car around. I either say the safe word, or the conversation is finished.

  And I guess I’m not quite ready for it to be finished, because I find myself mumbling, “Property taxes,” figuring it’s better to just give him the damn words if that will move the conversation forward.

  But I don’t give him the chance to gloat about it.

  “So you invited me out here? Why?” I demand. “To see if I’d come?”

  He shakes his head, a slow, lazy back-and-forth waggle that makes me feel like he’s laughing at me, even though his face is completely straight. “Because I wanted you to come.”

  “Even though I’m not your type.”

  “Because you’re not my type.”

  “I’m confused,” I admit. Because I am. Because I don’t know how else to respond to what he’s just said.

  Colin leans forward over his folded hands. “Then let me make myself clear. I don’t want you be a sub this weekend. I want to make you my sub.”

  My heart gets lost somewhere inside my body, and I can’t feel it beating anymore.

  “So what are you saying?” I ask, with what feels like a limited air supply. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  His blue predatory gaze stays on me, keeps me pinned to my seat. “What I want is you, Purple. Exactly as you are.”

  “But you said I had a smart mouth.”

  His mouth tilts upwards on one side. “I also said I want to shut it.”

  I narrow my eyes. It feels like he’s toying with me. Like I’m caught up in some kind of game and only he knows the rules.

  “Shut it how?” I ask, looking for clues about game play.

  “For somebody who likes sci-fi so much, you’re mighty interested in spoilers.”

  I swallow, “That’s because I have no idea what I’m getting into with you.”

  Colin sighs, and sits back. It’s nowhere near as intimidating as him leaning across the table, but it’s not exactly comforting either. This new position gives me an unsettled feeling. I’m reminded of my Paw Paw’s nature shows, the ones that featured predators who sometimes play like they’re asleep in order to get their prey to drop their guard.

  “I’m going to need that safe word one more time, Purple.”

  His stare is so lazy on me now, it somehow feels hard. And I know not to even bother trying to reason with him, because he’s not talking until I give him what he wants to hear.

  “Property taxes,” I say a third time, feeling like an idiot and seriously wondering what possessed me to come here.

  Colin doesn’t move, but something shifts in the air between us, and I feel like he’s finally leveling with me when he says, “Listen, a lot people overcomplicate this, but I do complicated shit for a living so I’m going to keep this simple. I want to fuck you. I want to say all the ugly, dirty shit I’ve been forcing myself not to say to you on the phone over the last four months, and I don’t want you to just lie there and take it. I want you to fight back.”

  Now, I know where my heart got off to, because I suddenly feel it beating inside my stomach.

  “And what happens when I fight back?” I ask him, careful as a bomb squad detonator.

  A beat passes during which Colin takes the time to lock his gaze onto mine, so I know he isn’t even remotely kidding when he says the next four words.

  “I fuck you anyway.”


  Listen, I’m not the gasping type. I’m a home health aide. I’ve seen stuff that would completely put one of those Forest Brook ladies on the floor. Seen it and not even blinked.

  But I gasp then, the air rushing back in my throat, like it’s running away. Running away from Colin.

  “Okay, well…”

  “You’re blushing again,” he informs me.

  It’s not a blush, though. Not like before. This is something else, a full body flush that makes me feel hot and cold at the same time. Everything is going crazy inside of me. I can’t figure out what to say. Or what to do.

  “Do me a favor, Purple,” I hear him say, somewhere far away.

  I don’t want to look at him, but my eyes come back to meet his blue gaze like they’re magnetized.

  “Don’t use the safe word.”

  18

  “Don’t use the safe word.”

  Those words finally jog me out of my paralysis. Bring my common sense back on line as I fully assess my current situation.

  I’m in some strange backwoods cabin with a man I’ve talked to a bunch on the phone but who, let’s face it, I don’t really know. Only Bernice knows where I am—and she’s probably not remotely worried about me, since me and Colin have been talking on the phone for months...

  And Colin just said in very graphic detail what he wants to do to me out here in this strange backwoods cabin that nobody can see from the main road.

  I run. Of course I run. Only a total idiot would not leap up from the table and make a break for the front door after hearing that.

  He catches me embarrassingly fast. Horror movie fast. I don’t even make it to the couch before he takes me down in a jumble of strong grips, sweeping legs, and superior muscle. Before I know it, my stomach and the side of my face are pressed into the carpet, and I’m forced to stare at the bright orange fire as Colin manacles both my arms above my head, his heavy body pinning me to the floor.