Dispatched Confessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 2)

by Talia Maxwell

  He’d always just been the person who wanted to find his love and stop looking.

  He saw himself with Holly. He’d been seeing himself with Holly for ages and this was no exception. Now more than ever he understood that she was not some fleeting crush from his high school days; he’d known something and seen something in her. They’d played coy as long as they could and tomorrow he was going to love on Holly in every way she asked him to and in every way he knew how. He hoped that by the time he left the house the next morning, he hoped, she would realize what life could look like.

  She’d earned the world.

  He wanted to give it to her.

  He’d listened to her request. It was his only drug-store purchase (didn’t even try to add miscellaneous items to buffer out the attention), and he’d slapped cash down for it without a hint of embarrassment.

  He rang Holly’s doorbell with the largest box of condoms he could find with a giant bow on it.

  She swung the door wide, saw the box, and the bow, and threw her head back in pure mirth, covering her mouth with her hand and taking a deep, open-mouthed breath.

  Joel had dressed to be undressed. He wore a white shirt already unbuttoned down to his mid-chest and a black jacket, pants without a belt. Loafers, no socks. Everything that happened after was a mixture of slow-methodic pleasure and the fastest introduction to sex he’d ever had. Joel had to take a step back and she stepped up into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him, pushing her body into his and squishing the cardboard box between their bodies.

  “Hello,” she said. She tugged on his lower lip and he put his hands on her waist, dropping the box of condoms on the floor, leaning in after her. She let go and growled low and deep. Then she staggered backward and tugged him inside, shutting the door with her foot.

  “Hello,” he answered.

  Holly reached down and picked up the condoms and ran her finger under the lid. She pulled one out, unwrapped it. He watched and shook his head.

  “I didn’t know the timing…” he stammered as she moved into him, the thin circle between her fingers, a smile on her lips.

  “…of when I’d want you versus when the appetizers will be ready?” Holly finished for him.

  “Something like that,” he said as she ran a finger along his waistband, right above his pubic bone and he started to grow harder, unable to hide his desire She felt him, took the condom in her left hand and stroked him over his pants with her right and as she did he moved with her, keeping his eyes on hers, she gulped.

  “I’m like a horny teen,” she confessed. “I’m calling it sexual neediness.”

  “I thought about you. Then, I meant,” he said and he immediately worried that it sounded gross and perverse. His teenage-self thought of her then when he first fell in love with her while his adult-self needed the adult Holly’s body like humans needed oxygen. He pushed his dick into her hand harder, out of primal response, begging for her to pull down his pants and relieve him from the building pressure.

  Keep your mind focused, he told himself.

  She was still fully clothed. Or so he thought. But as he started to run his hand up the side of her dress, he realized she was going commando. No underwear. His hand hit bare ass and she made a small giggle and moved in closer as if he’d discovered her secret.

  “I didn’t think boys like you slept with girls like me,” she said. She pulled the waistband down slowly, inch by inch, grabbing his boxer briefs with them.

  He had no idea what she meant by that, but he filed it away to discuss later…he was too focus on the sex to unpack the insecurity in the moment. Back to you later.

  They were still standing in the middle of her foyer. The giant staircase upstairs called to him or the couch to his right. But Holly was in control and so he let her drop his pants and stroke the condom into place quickly. He kissed her, open-mouthed and firm. Their clothed chests pushed together; his dick began to hunt for her—almost like it had a mind of his own, not unlike teenagers, he supposed.

  Joel kicked off his shoes and used his toes to shimmy out of his socks.

  He picked her up and carried her to the stairs. She laid down against the wood, arched her back and then said, “Oh, no. Hell no. Uncomfortable. No.” She pushed herself up and shook her head. “I’m too old for whatever that is.”

  “Youthful hormones without youthful bodies,” Joel said, but he didn’t want to waste time talking about how their joints hurt now without cause and how hangovers lasted days. They kissed, she held against the banister, rubbing against him. He kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his pants, and Holly un-did the top buttons of her navy blue dress and shimmied and the whole dress fell down around her ankles, leaving her naked.

  And stunning.

  Her waist created a tiny shelf before her hips started, thick and powerful. He noticed the tiny rivers of stretch-marks against her stomach and the single fold of tummy. Joel put his hand against her skin and it was silky smooth to the touch. He rubbed his hands across the softness of her hips and bent to kiss her stomach.

  She tried to push him away, but he didn’t let her.

  “Oh, you’re amazing,” he said. “Your body.”

  “Is a mess,” she groaned.

  “Is a fucking palace,” he breathed. They were both naked now and he picked her up. She didn’t try to fight him off as their skin molded to each other and he took her from the foyer to her living room. “Here?” he asked.

  She kissed his shoulders. She kissed his chest. She kissed the tip of his nose. He’d stayed hard the entire time and didn’t need a condom replacement, which had worried him at first as he imagined injuring Holly on the steps his first go-around.

  “I want you,” she said as she put herself down on the couch, legs spread.

  “You’re making this a habit. Knowing what you want,” he replied. He lowered himself, she arched her back again, and he entered her. He was inside her and the moment was as glorious as he imagined. She gripped him by the bicep, holding on tighter than he’d expected, her eyes focused on his, as he continued to make love to her. The connection to Holly meant everything—her confidence and knowledge of herself—she was uninhibited and it attracted him more.

  “I haven’t had sex in ten years, five months, and fourteen days,” she gasped.

  It shocked him, her honesty, told while they were intimate.

  He kissed her forehead. Then he scooted her upward, still conjoined, put his hands on her lower back, and reversed their positions. When he slid downward, she was on top, and he had the perfect view—her red hair cascading, her face light and bright and skin glistening and glowing from hard work and desire.

  “Then you need to use me to come better than you ever have,” he said.

  He jerked upward and she moaned and made a mousy little noise he hoped was pleasurable.

  “Tell me how to fuck you, Holly,” he said.

  Tell me how to make your whole body shake and tremble while you say my name.

  She began to rock.

  At first, she was inconsistent, finding the right spot to put her hands, aligning her hips. He let her wiggle and readjust. But he knew immediately when she hit a rhythm. His cock hit in just the right spot, up and out again, and she rubbed her clit against his pelvis.

  He let her take control.

  And soon his mind was back to his eighteen-year-old-self at outdoor school. He stumbled into a cabin and there was Holly, as she was now—her body, an hourglass, nude before him. And in his quasi-daydream, Joel and Holly couldn’t wait until their mid-30s to experience each other’s blissful gasps of pleasure and delight. That was the delight—in seeing what pleased her.

  There they were; there they always were.

  That was where they had always meant to connect—that was where the story could’ve started. But he was stupid and he was young, and he let the girl with the voice and the body and the mouth walk right out of his life. But now he was inside her and he opened his eyes, unable to sto
p.

  He came with a guttural groan of extreme pleasure as she shuddered against him, putting a finger to his lips, commanding his silence even though there was no one else in the house, until she’d spent every bit of energy in her body.

  “I came,” she gasped. A bead of sweat dripped down her neck and her chest. “God, I totally came,” she repeated with a triumphant and wide-eyed joy. A second passed and then her eyes went wide. “And fuck, I have to get the mushroom tarts out of the oven but then…god…did that just happen?” She didn’t seem in a hurry to get to the mushroom tarts.

  “I think it did,” Joel replied beaming. He tucked his arms up behind his head and watched as she snuggled down into his armpit and then turned herself to stare at the ceiling with him—breathing deeply and laughing, tapping his chest with a drum of her fingers.

  “That was…amazing. And how is this even possible?”

  “A series of random events,” he suggested.

  “Maybe you’re my gift,” she said and leaned up to kiss his cheek, her breasts brushing against his chest.

  “Hey, now,” he said and shook his head. “Use me all you want for most things, but don’t oversell my qualities.”

  “Shit. Left em as long as I could,” she groaned and rolled off of him. She slinked off, her ass moving to an internal beat. “Mushroom tarts!”

  It was quick, never perfunctory, amazing and a whirlwind. Mushroom tarts, naked, wine. Then they fooled around some more, kissing and teasing, flirting, but not spoiling their appetites too much before dinner. And when dinner was ready, Joel was amazed. She’d shimmied back into her blue dress and he’d shoved himself back into his shirt and boxers, and there they sat—half-naked, putting all of their good qualities front and center. She’d started a fire.

  It was almost fall. Oregon autumns moved easily between warm and cool, and the fire was nice.

  “You have gone all out,” Joel said, bringing his wine up to toast.

  “No,” Holly reciprocated the toast with a smile. “Just a dinner. And time to be with me—”

  Joel held his fork mid-bite and watched as Holly pulled out all the stops—the candlelight, the opera music in the background, the pasta with the fresh seafood. He didn’t know what was on her mind, other than him. He watched her smile dance a bit in the light, her mind off somewhere.

  “Penny for your—”

  “I hate that phrase,” Holly said and she cringed. She put her fork down—she wasn’t upset—only immediately dismissive. She put her elbows on the table and folded her hands in front of her. “I’m glad you came.”

  He dipped his head and took a bite and when Holly realized the entendre, she blushed and took a large swig of wine.

  “Pun not intended, but…” she took another sip and smiled.

  “I’ve thought about you for a long time,” he said.

  “Was it what you imagined when you watched me through the craft window?” she said with mock-seduction.

  “Certainly better.”

  Holly made a cute face and pretended to curtsy. “Thanks, but I think we both know you weren’t looking at me in high school…” she rolled her eyes.

  “You put yourself down a lot,” Joel said. He’d meant to comment on it earlier, but he knew he wasn’t the best counselor mid-fuck. “And you’re wrong to do that.” He took a bite of Holly’s pasta and savored the rich sauce, the chewy pieces of squid mixed with tender lobster. He wasn’t a lobster connoisseur but he felt like he could become one. Usually, he was the one spoiling his dates, admittedly there weren’t many—the online dating matched him quickly with people who were never his type—but when he did date, he liked knowing he could make the evening special.

  “I’m wrong?” Holly said. She tilted her head and her eyes scanned the wall, thinking. “No…I don’t put myself down a lot…I just know my place and my limitations.”

  “Know your place?” Joel made a face. “You should be more confident.”

  “You should know when to stop talking,” Holly added. She reached over and picked up the bottle of wine and poured him a new glass, filling it to the brim. He leaned over and took a sip off the top before picking it up. “I mean that kindly.”

  “I’m not easily offended or moved by much,” Joel admitted and it was true. He considered himself a sort of emotional savant. He empathized with people, but he never took on their pain in a physical manner. Joel was a magnificent compartmentalizer and there he was putting Holly in a box already. If the relationship with Holly wouldn’t work, if she didn’t like him back, the way he hoped, then he reasoned that it was okay if she was an important and metaphoric hook-up instead. She was the girl who gave him a second chance; who drifted back into history and taught him a lot about himself. Or something like that.

  Even a failed dream, a second time around, teaches a lesson. Or at least that was the bullshit he’d say to a teenage boy or girl crying in his office.

  And yet.

  He’d be hurt.

  If she didn’t like him back? He was heartbroken at the thought. He wondered if she knew that her cheekbones caught the light perfectly and her green eyes shone with bright, engaging wonder. He wondered if she was aware of how perfectly shaped her body was and how he’d actually dreamed of it since he was eighteen and listening to them both that night at the beach, singing a duet, making music together. The performer and the jock, getting a moment again to see what could have been, if only their eyes had been open then.

  It was a moment he wanted to hold on to for as long as he could.

  Holly looked off at the corner and Joel followed her gaze to a picture of her son. It was an artist rendering, perhaps watercolor, from when he was a child. Joel realized immediately that Holly didn’t have many pictures of Alex as a teen, but there were pictures of him as a baby, toddler, preschooler hung everywhere in the small nook in the kitchen.

  “Have you heard from him?” Joel asked.

  She looked at him and then realized he meant her son.

  She picked at her own seafood pasta and tried to push down the growing emotions all playing out on her face. He knew she wanted to talk about it and yet he knew the topic was tough. He waited, silent, drinking wine, until she worked it through.

  “They called two days ago. I gave permission to leave the state finally. He’s in Mexico. Where they have family.”

  “Sounds exciting for a kid.”

  “He seemed in good spirits.”

  “Well, no doubt because his mom let him relax in Mexico without demanding answers,” he said and she shot him a scathing look that told him he needed to mind his business. He about to apologize, but she softened and nodded.

  “It’s hard to explain the dynamic to those on the outside,” she said with such sadness that Joel wanted to reach out and cradle her. “That child was never fully mine, you know. You might think I’m totally crazy for putting it like this…but if I hadn’t had Alex, there’d be no me and Francisco. It was like that grandchild was going to be the only thing salvaged from the wreckage of our relationship, no matter what. I was only a vessel to her. Xiomara was loitering in the hospital waiting room for hours so she could rush in right after I delivered to hold him. She held him before me, you know.”

  Joel didn’t know how to respond. So, he ate. And he let her talk and explain the close tie she couldn’t sever between grandson and grandma—a strange connection that was blood and her tears—spurred on by the lack of Francisco and her desperate need for a break. It helped that MiMi owned an international multi-million-dollar make-up company and could afford to provide the break on her own dime, too. Holly was willing to accommodate some indoctrination for a few weeks of rest. Did that make her an awful mom? Holly was certain she could undo the outdated opinions and religious requests, but she wouldn’t be able to find someone to take her child for a few weeks on a vacation for free.

  So, Xiomara was both a horrible person and a lifesaver and Holly didn’t know how to reconcile those two parts of her ex-mother-in-law. Mayb
e she should have thought of it as shitty person – okay grandma.

  She was certain Xiomara would approve of something like that on her tombstone—the woman gave no fucks about how she was viewed, somewhat to Holly’s chagrin who wished she had a bit more decorum. It didn’t help that Francisco’s mom was, perhaps, the exact opposite of Holly, who cared a great deal about being perceived as both competent and kind, and wanted people to like her.

  It was becoming a problem.

  “How are you dealing with…the…harsher scrutiny?” Joel asked. He realized he was done with dinner. He leaned back—she’d cooked a killer meal. Picking up the wine, he let his mind latch on to the music and he was drawn away into a world where people declared love and embraced death in grand gestures. In the entirety of his day, Joel rarely felt like an adult. He was beholden to arbitrary rules set into place by people higher up the pay scale, but he rebelled in any way he could.

  Holly was rebellion.

  He knew it was.

  “Alex isn’t home yet,” Holly said. “That’s the reality. When he’s home, ask me again.”

  “How many emails? How many calls?”

  “You’re asking like you know already it’s a lot.”

  Joel had been through this a few times—kids in the news—but when it came to murder, the news teams ate up any details they could. Knowing Alex was under the radar was already bad. They were lucky the news teams knew he wasn’t home and hadn’t set up camp outside her home.

  “Ballpark?”

  “I don’t even know. A nice reporter for this news magazine called me. Benson-something. Tried to pitch me on the idea of a spotlight on Alex…a picture of him as we know him.”

  “Chomping at the bit,” Joel replied with a shake of his head.

  “Police have been by a few times.”

  “Searched his room?”

  “No warrant. I’m unrelenting. Guilty or not, they can’t take advantage of me.”

  “They probably hate that you lawyered up.”

  “Only because they think my kid is guilty of something and they aren’t looking into anyone else.”