“It’s a wonder all right.” Too bad my panties couldn’t be as dry as my tone. “I’ll stop. I’ll think about other things when I look at you. Unsexy things. Like sinus infections and period panties.”
He makes a face. “Period panties?”
“All girls have them.”
He shifts in his seat, straightening his bulging erection with one hand on the steering wheel. “I usually skip that week.”
“Dylan loved it.”
“What?” He laughs loudly. “No.”
“Mhm.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
He laughs so hard I can’t help joining in. “I knew Dylan was a freak, but damn … ”
“What kind of freak?”
“You ever give your pussy a rest?” He peeks at me, holding it in. I can tell. “And your mouth?”
It takes me a moment to get it. I run my body parts through my head. That left … “No way! He tried to get me to do it a couple times, but I thought he was just kidding. Have you ever done it?”
He gives me a dark look. “Have you ever not been a Square? No thanks, babe. I draw the line in the sand when it comes to anal. Why, you want to?”
I shrug and he raises his eyebrow. “I think I’d try anything with you.” I wink. I can’t tell if I’m kidding. Part of me knows I am, but the other part squirms at the idea of Bach doing whatever he wanted to my body.
He runs a hand down his face to dispel his smile. “Poor thing. You really are horny.”
It’s easy for him when he’s had nothing but release since he discovered his penis. Ever since him I crave it. “You know, it’s weird. Sex with Dylan was so tame. He’s turning out to be this completely other person.”
“No. You’re just realizing the person he said he was didn’t exist.”
“It must have a little bit. I’m not an idiot. I would have picked up on something if it was there.”
“Maybe he was who he wanted to be around you? Like those married men who pay women to live out their dark sexual fantasies. They don’t really want to be those people. They only want to be them sometimes.”
“Great. I’m even boring in his fantasies.”
“You’re not in mine.”
I reach over and touch his thigh, sliding my hand between his legs. I can’t help myself anymore. “Tell me one of your fantasies.”
“Are you going to tell me one of yours?” He grabs my hand and shows me his penis is on the other side. “Right there. Will you?”
“I’ll show them to you. How about that?”
He considers it, and then considers it some more. “What if it’s lame and I have to pretend to like it? You’d better tell me.”
“Yours first.”
He stares straight ahead. “I want you to leave more than a scratch under my eye and a cut on my lip.”
I dig my nails into his inner thigh. His intake of breath does it again. He keeps doing it. Keeps lighting this fire inside of me I didn’t even know wanted to burn. I’m starting to lose focus on a situation I don’t think contains an ounce of proper insight to begin with. I can’t remember why I’m here with Bach, other than the fact that I am. I am here with Bach and he’s sucking me in.
“Rope and whips?”
He shakes his head. “Tell me yours.”
“Oh shucks. This is our exit.” I give him a pouty face and fold my hands on my lap. “Bummer.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll remember that, Square.”
As we approach the long dirt road that leads to Mom’s house, I start to get nervous. Dylan left me here with his promises. Why do I have to break them for him? He’s a lying, cheating bastard. He took the man next to me and made him who he really was. I probably should’ve given Bach a try a long time ago, but I’d listened to Dylan’s lies and my own judgmental perceptions. I feel guilty for that now. I was starting to learn there’s nothing wrong with a person who is who he is, but everything wrong with someone who pretends to be who they aren’t.
Bach whistles. “You didn’t tell me your mom lived in a mansion.”
I stare up at the huge white “family home.” That’s what Mom called it when she bought it. It hadn’t always been like this. It used to be an old condemned plantation house on fifteen acres of land. After showing my mother fifty other houses, the realtor thought she’d show her this. Mom fell in love with it instantly, said it had potential. Dad could never say no to Mom anyway. He also thought it would keep her busy while he was deployed. It took her five years to finish renovating it. Now it was a ten bedroom fifteen thousand square feet sparkling white “family home.”
“It is pretty isn’t it? Too bad Dad didn’t get to see it done. He would have been proud of her. Mom took pictures of every room for him. She hung them in his office.”
Bach grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Tell me the truth? Would he cut my balls off and hang them over the mantel?”
“We don’t have a mantel. We have a fireplace. Four actually. Does that count?” I laugh, looking out the window toward the sky. “Tell him, Daddy. He’s not so bad. He’s actually kind of nice, if you can get past the manwhore-ish behavior.”
“Manwhore,” he scoffs. “Don’t tell him that.” He leans over me and looks out my window, too, staring at the sky with me. “You think he can see us together?”
I look down at our hands. “I think all he really sees is this.”
“I hope so, Harley.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I’m so startled I don’t even react. “Because if I was him I’d be doing everything in my power to keep you away from me.”
I turn my face just in time to brush my lips against his. “Maybe he brought us together?”
“If he did it wasn’t for you. And since I don’t deserve such graciousness that can’t be true.” Sadness enters his eyes. “I don’t think I should be here. I’ll come back and get you.”
“Come on, Bach. It’ll be fine. I promise.” I kiss the tip of his nose. “Let’s go give my grams a hot flash.”
He grumbles something under his breath that sounds like pussy before getting out of his Corvette. Together we walk up the stone driveway, past the parked cars and brightly colored flowers that defy the summer sun. Bach takes it all in with wide eyes and a turned down mouth.
“Why are there so many cars?” he wonders, eyeing Froy’s Mercedes SUV and Mom’s cute little yellow Porsche 911 appreciatively.
“My cousin Carolyn’s here with her six kids and husband. Grams and Grandpa live here, too.”
“Big family,” he notes, sweating. He wipes his brow off, staring down at his wrinkled clothes. “I look like shit, Harley.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“No I’m not.” He’s getting ready to run. He looks over his shoulder at his Corvette pleadingly. “I can’t meet them like this.”
“Like what?” I grab his hand and pull him up the stairs after me. Our feet pound against the wooden porch. “It’s all in your head. Plus they’re not even like that. They don’t care what you wear, how you look, or that you’re a man slut.” I wink at him. They probably care more about his lifestyle, but that doesn’t have to be broached here. “I’m the judgmental one.”
“You’re not judgmental. You’re smart.”
“Relax.”
“You relax,” he grumbles.
I open the door and step into what Mom calls the gentlemen callers room. She says back in the day this is where a gentleman would wait for his date. They’d take a stroll through the fields and whisper promises to the moon. My mom’s a huge romantic. I kick off my sandals near the front door and lead Bach through the front room, past the sitting room, the living room, and the piano room. His hand shakes slightly. I don’t understand what he’s so afraid of. They don’t know anything. They don’t know that I can’t keep my hands off my ex-boyfriend’s best friend, or that he can’t keep his hands off of me. I can hear them all in the kitchen.
Before I push through the door, Bach pulls me back. He looks green. “Did Dylan really do this?”<
br />
“Dylan was lying when he came here. You’re not. So no. He didn’t. He looked at the people I love most in this world and lied right to their faces. You’re not going to do that. Just be yourself, Bach. You’ll do great.”
He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. Then he lets it go, shaking out his shoulders. “If you say so.”
I push the swinging kitchen doors open and enter into the best room in the house other than Dad’s office. White custom quartz countertops gleam throughout the space. The dark cherry wooden floors, hand lain and hand cut, are an uninterrupted sea of rich mahogany. The overhead lights gleam, casting a golden glow over the entire space and making the rustic brown cabinets hug the entire kitchen. The appliances are stainless steel and offset by the depression themed décor. Colored glass, antique knickknacks, and refurbished sugar bowls. My family hovers around the island and bar as Mom’s cook Betty fries pork chops.
Beside me, Bach’s hand is squeezing mine so hard I’m losing feeling in it. No one sees me at first. I’m already smiling. The first person to notice me is Grams. She’s entertaining Carolyn’s one and only daughter, Stacey, with a game of Marco Polo. She pauses mid, “Marco,” and puts her hand over her mouth. She doesn’t look frail to me. In fact, she looks damn good for eighty.
“Harley!” she shouts, causing the entire room to look at me. She runs over and I let Bach go to wrap my arms around her. “Oh my,” she says, squeezing me with her supposed frail arms. “You’re here. I missed you, baby.”
“I missed you too, Grams.” She smells like she always does. Like honey and lavender. Grandpa’s been buying her the same perfume for sixty years.
“Finally,” Mom gripes, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “I was just about to call you.”
They sandwich me for a long time. By the time I pull away I smell like lavender and I’m six again. I have skinned knees and Popsicle stains around my lips. Dad’s working in his garage while Mom takes time to play piano.
“Who’s this?” Gram’s asks, her light brown eyes sliding appreciatively over Bach. “Hmm?”
I grin wide. “That’s Bach, Grams. He’s my friend.”
“Friend?” Mom joins in, eyeing him shrewdly. “Where did you say Dylan was again?”
“Vacation.” I grab Bach’s hand and bring him closer. “Bach, this is my mom Nena and my grams Iris. Guys, this is Bach.”
“She has your eyes,” Bach says, grinning at Grams. He holds his hand out. Grams takes it greedily, holding on to his hand and wrist with both of her wrinkled, kind hands.
“They didn’t make friends like this when I was a girl.” She winks at him, still frisky after all these years.
“That’s because I was around. With my rifle,” Grandpa teases. He doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. He knows Grams is his and never questions it. He wraps his arm around me and grins, his beard gray and his dark blue eyes kind yet fierce. “How was your exams, Sweet Pea?”
“Where on vacation?” Mom pesters. She’s got her eagle eye trained on me. “He always comes down with you.” She looks Bach over, taking in his darkness, his sexiness, his breathtaking-ness.
“It’s only been a year, Mom. I’ve been coming here alone a lot longer,” I point out stiffly. “They were good, Grandpa. I promise.”
“Come sit with me,” I hear Grams say. She leads Bach away from me.
“Give her a break would you, Nena? She’s had exams to deal with. Come on, Sweet Pea. Lunch is almost ready.”
As Grandpa leads me away from her, Mom stares at my hand, like she can tell it was wrapped around Bach’s all day and not Dylan’s.
Then she looks into my eyes. “Don’t you need a vacation?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m leaving tomorrow.” I force a grin at her and allow Grandpa to take me over to the huge oak family table.
Grams insists that Bach sit right next to her. Carolyn eyes him the way she does everything I own. She wants him now that she knows he’s mine. Her wavy blond hair is styled beautifully, her bright green eyes twinkle, and her surgically altered nose is as perfect as she could afford. She’s Dad’s brother’s daughter. Dad always had a soft spot in his heart for her because she was his niece. But she and I have never gotten along. She spits on me when I fall and I have to wipe it off every time. I glance at her husband, Froy, and wonder if he knows whether his wife is a bitch. He doesn’t of course. Froy’s a handsome idiot.
He smiles sweetly at me when I sit down across from him and next to Grandpa. “How’ve you been? How’s college?” he asks. Carolyn’s eyes flash to me.
“I’m great, thanks, Froy. And college is college. How’s the dealership?”
“Good.”
I see, I want to say, thinking of his Mercedes parked out front.
Dad left Carolyn a lot of money in his will. She used it to start a car dealership in Houston. The only good thing she did was give Mom a share in the company. “And how are all my cousins?” I stare down the table at all six of them. All blond, all green eyed, all monsters except Stacey. All five boys look at me and glare. They listen to their mother. Stacey was born with a mind of her own. “Great to hear.”
Carolyn takes a sip of her sweet tea. “How’s my beautiful cousin?” she sneers with a grin.
I smile back just as nicely. “How’s mine?”
“Oh, you know, married and happy.” She stabs me with her eyes. Stab stab stab stab.
Grandpa touches my knee under the table, talking me down. “I’m happy for you.”
My family converges at the table. Stacey gets to sit next to Bach. Mom sits on my other side. I’m surrounded. I take a long drink of my ice water, watching the way everyone keeps looking at me and then at Bach. They don’t even know they’re doing it. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. The only one being nice is Grams. But that’s no surprise. She always is.
“Thank you, Betty.” She smiles in appreciation as she sets down a delicious looking plate of food in front of me. Fried pork chops, sautéed green beans, and a dollop of mashed potatoes and scratch gravy. Thankfully Betty’s a new addition to the Evans home. Her rich southern cooking would have me in busting out of my size four’s in no time if I lived here.
“So,” Mom announces. She takes a bite of her pork chop. “Did we decide on horseback riding after lunch or swimming?”
“Swimming!” the five little monsters squeal.
“I’d like to go horseback riding,” Stacey speaks up, looking just like her mother. Except Stacey’s beautiful. Her mom could be if she wasn’t such a cunt.
“What do you think … ? Bach was it?”
“Yes,” he says, looking up from Grams. “I don’t mind. I didn’t really bring anything to swim in though.”
“That’s all right,” Grams tells him, patting his arm like he told her he had a secret. “I’m sure we can find something for you to wear. I pick swimming.”
I cover my hand with my mouth and shake my head.
Bach grins at her. “I bet you have a great breaststroke.”
She tosses her head back and laughs like a southern belle. “Synchronized swimming in college. I can hold my breath for a long time.”
“Iris,” Mom hisses. “Must you always be so … ”
“Horny?” Grandpa supplies. “Too bad Brad wasn’t still here to tell you. Poor thing caught us in bed so many times it’s a wonder he was able to still find sex attractive.”
My cheeks heat up. The idea of my father catching his mom and dad in bed makes it really hard to maintain an appetite. I shudder.
“Let’s talk about other things.” Mom smooth’s her dark brown hair down as if doing so will smooth out the wrinkles of this conversation. “The older they get the worse they get. Bach? What do you do to fill your time? Do you work, go to school? How did you and Harley meet?”
And just like that I wish we were still talking about Grams and Grandpa’s sex life.
The table quiets. Everyone’s waiting for his answer. He clears his throat and looks down at his
plate. A part of me goes to him in that moment forever. Bach just ducks his head. He’s never done that before, at least not around me.
“He’s a party planner,” I speak up for him. From what little I’ve gathered that is technically what he does.
“What kind of parties?” Mom looks at him, and only him, making her point. She isn’t talking to me.
“The kind with music and people.” I’m talking to her. “What’s with the third degree?” I hiss, even though everyone can hear me.
She smiles in a way that makes me sure she knows. She knows I want to take Bach and runaway forever. “I’m just asking questions, honey.”
Carolyn smiles at her green beans. Bitch.
“I don’t technically have a regular paying job,” Bach interjects, cool as he always is. “I do throw parties for money and make a lot doing so.”
Grandpa nods. “An entrepreneur. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. A man’s got to make a living somehow. I’m sure the IRS wouldn’t like it, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
Bach chuckles with force. Sweat trails down the side of his face and his back is ramrod straight. “I figure I make up for it every time I buy a bottle of overpriced scotch.”
“Scotch?” Grandpa glances at him. “I love a good scotch.”
“Where’d you two meet?” Mom continues.
Honestly … “He’s Dylan’s friend,” I tell her, looking her right in the eye. She’ll figure it out eventually.
She blows her breath out through her nose. “That’s interesting.”
“Not really.” I stab at my pork chop.
“Mommy, this is kind of gross.” One of the little five monsters spits his food out of his mouth. “I want pizza.”
Carolyn doesn’t even acknowledge him. She’s too busy watching me implode.
“Eat your food,” Froy orders, the good little husband.
“How long have you and Dylan known each other?”
Bach chews what’s in his mouth and then wipes his mouth off on his cloth napkin. “Since we were three.”
Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) Page 18
