“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, looking up. “We can run the test today, but there are some things that won’t show up as positive if you have it until three to six months later, so I’d recommend you get retested then and use protection until you can get a correct result.”
“I will.” This is if I’m ever having sex again. Becker’s definitely not getting any from me anymore. “Let’s test for everything we can at this point.” I’m disappointed I won’t be getting a definite yes or no today, but I’ll take whatever consolation I’ll get.
She walks me down the hall to the bathroom and hands me a cup, instructing me to pee in it and then place it into a small cabinet when done. “When that’s ready, I’ll run the tests and the doctor will be in with you shortly.”
“Thanks.”
I do as she advised and rush back to the exam room. I lay back on the bed, crunching the paper under my weight and look up at the tiled ceiling.
“It’ll be okay,” Ava tells me.
I nod because I don’t believe it.
“They’ll all come back negative, and your heart will heal.”
I blink. I don’t think so. I’ve seen the fallout of a broken heart. I don’t think it ever does heal.
Ava scrapes the chair across the linoleum floor to sit next to me. She rubs my arm.
I didn’t realize how cold it is in here until the heat from her hand touches me. Chills break out on my arms.
“It’ll be okay,” she repeats.
I swallow.
She leans over and puts her arm across my stomach and rests her head by my waist. Words don’t help. Nothing does.
What I’m realizing is that a broken heart isn’t a solitary event. There is the initial shatter, but then there are repeat breaks, creating more and more shards. A word that reminds you of what you used to have, a smell that reminds you of your dreams, a flashed memory in your mind’s eye that reminds you of the betrayal. Each time it’s a new injury. Each broken piece takes me further away from ever being whole again.
I count the ceiling tiles and when I’m done and the doctor still hasn’t come in, I count the small holes in the tiles.
The door finally opens and Ava sits up. I do the same. An older man walks in and introduces himself. “Hi, Carmyn. I’m Dr. Martinez. I have some results here for you.”
I nod my head. I can’t speak. A lump of nerves forms in my throat.
“The good news is that all the tests came back negative.”
“See?” Ava says excitedly. “I told you.” I’m somewhat relieved, but it does little to cheer me up. It’s all just shitty.
“The bad news,” Dr. Martinez continues, “is that some of these tests aren’t accurate until more than three months after the last incident of unprotected sex.”
“I understand. I’ll get tested again then.”
He marks something off on the paper in front of him. “Any questions or anything else we can do for you today?”
“No. Thank you.”
He stands and opens the door.
We follow him out as he goes to the front and hands my papers to the receptionist.
Seventy dollars is a small price to pay for peace of mind, but I’m still pissed I even have to do this. Becker left his iPod in our room the last time he was over. I’m so pawning it. And anything else of his I might find.
Ava and I rush back out to the car in fear of being spotted. “Want some ice cream?”
“Nah, I still don’t feel like eating.”
She looks at me with concerned eyes. “I really think you’ll be fine. I mean, even though Becker doesn’t like using condoms, I doubt he’d risk you getting some weird fungus and finding out he’s been sleeping around.”
“Thanks, Ava. I really don’t feel like eating anything now.”
“Sorry, but you know what I mean.”
“You’re probably right. But I have no way of knowing. Any trust I had in what he would or wouldn’t do has been obliterated. Thanks for taking me, though.”
We park in the student lot and head back up to our room. We take the stairs, which is bat-shit crazy in this heat, but I want to avoid anyone who we might run into on the elevator.
Ava opens the door to our room and I’m engulfed in a rush of blessed cool air. I take off my boots and crawl back onto my bed. This is where I plan to stay until classes start on Monday. And that’s as far as I can plan my crumbling life right now.
NO matter how hard I try, I can’t get over how devastated I am. Over the betrayal of the promises Becker made to me, that I was the only woman for him, that he never loved anyone like he did me. The plans we laid out, that we’d get married after we graduate, that we’d buy our first home, that we’d have our first two kids before I made CFO somewhere. All of it gone for some stinky, grimy sex.
The life we could’ve built—that we were building—together. Gone. I started my freshman year thinking I would go into teaching, but when I found Becker and knew he was the man I wanted to marry, I changed my major. He was studying to be an engineer, and here I was going to have only a schoolteacher’s salary. Which isn’t terrible, but I wanted to avoid any imbalance over money that might come up later. I wanted my earnings to be closer to what he would make. So I chose accounting.
Ava’s been trying to cheer me up all morning. She’s probably getting sick of seeing me like this. “I know it hurts. But, girl, right now you need to see how much better you can do than Becker with a small pecker.”
I crack and can’t hold back the tiny smile. “He does have a small wiener.”
“See? And you would’ve been stuck with that for the rest of your life! There are so many better guys out there. Guys who come packing.” She raises her eyebrow at me. She’d know more than I would. Not that she’s a slut, but my college sexual experience consists of only Becker. I had two partners in high school, but Becker and I got together early our freshman year. And I was loyal to him. The bastard.
“I was certain, certain he would never cheat on me. He was everything I thought I wanted in a husband.” I thought we had the same values and wanted the same things. And I never caught Becker in a lie. Ever. Well, that was before I caught him with that whore, Amber. And I made sure that if he wanted something sexually that I at least tried it once.
One of the worst parts is feeling like I can’t even trust myself anymore. How can I have planned everything to avoid this, and it happens anyway? I just don’t get it. I must’ve been off somewhere.
Ava leans over and hugs me again. “I know. But if he’s gonna be a cheating asshole, wouldn’t you rather find out about it now? Instead of later when you’re married, when you have kids to deal with.”
“Of course,” I say adamantly. But it all feels so close. It brings back up all the horrors from my childhood. I came to college thinking I could start over, that I could leave that past behind me. The only people I told here was Ava and Becker, which makes his betrayal that much worse.
I shake my head. “I just can’t believe he did this. I didn’t see it coming at all.” Almost every way I live my life has been a step toward avoiding this.
“I bet most people think the same thing, honey.” Ava’s never really liked Becker. She’s reminded me of this on a number of occasions. I should have listened to her.
But Becker from freshman year was perfect. He was everything I wanted in a husband: from a well-to-do family with excellent values and worthy goals. He fit my mold exactly for what I envisioned for a faithful, happy husband. Nothing at all like the men Mom was attracted to who gave her the drugs she so desperately needed. “What a waste.”
“Well, what would you like to do different going forward?”
I consider her question. I’m so stuck on the idea of the life I had planned—the wedding, the careers, the gorgeous children we’d have—that I have a hard time seeing anything else. It’s depressing. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. If I were a crier, tears would be marching along my cheeks. I should be crying. At least should be shedding one tear
over all this. There has to be something wrong with me.
“Come on. There’s something you’ve always wished you could do, but felt it didn’t fit with your OCD plan. What is that?”
I’m sure there are lots of things. But only a feeling comes to mind. I can’t believe I’m about to admit this. It’s so unlike me. “I want to be free. I want to be able to let go and not think about my actions and just act.” This terrifies me because it’s exactly what Mom did after the divorce.
“Good!” Ava says, clapping her hands. “Then that’s what you’re gonna do. Tonight.” I look at her with wide, terrified eyes, but she continues. “There’s a welcome-back party at the Fiji frat house tonight. We’re going to get drunk, and you’re going to let loose. We’ll dance. Hell, if you wanna sing, my ugly-ass voice will sing right along with you. And on the way back, if you feel like swimming in the fountain in the quad, we’ll jump in!”
I chuckle. Despite the dark sludge in the chambers of my heart, I have to. She’s always wanted to jump into the fountain and the look on her face is so hopeful. “We’ll see.” Somehow she’s made me feel like I can do anything I want. At least for tonight. Like we own the night. I already feel better. Even if only slightly, at least she’ll get me out of this damn room.
Ava looks at me, her grin devious—she’s already planning on us jumping in—and hops off the bed. “Yes, we will. Now get your moping ass up and get dressed. We have important shit to do!”
“I love you, hooker.” I crawl off the bed and reach out to hug her.
“You’re my favorite slut, you know that?” She squeezes me tight, popping my back.
I smile as she lets go. It’s the first time I’ve smiled since Becker … showed his true colors. “I better be because you’re mine.” Ava successfully channeled my sorrow into anger toward that sick, pathetic, Small-Pecker Becker. And now I’m channeling that into some kind of fierce womanpower.
I’m going to wear my favorite ass-hugging jeans and Ava’s fuck-me heels. Tonight we’re going to have fun and be free, and I’m going to forget all about Becker McNally.
“Never bet anything you’re unwilling to give up.”
–Dallas Brown
I’VE always had a thing for Carmyn Rafferty. She carries herself as a reserved and proper woman, but I see a tension in her. A slight glitch in some of her movements lets me know she’s aching to be liberated. She wants to let go. In a way she never has. A way she’s afraid to get too close to. Her boyfriend’s obviously never been able to take her there.
I could, though.
Maybe that’s what has always kept me drawn to her. She wouldn’t just be another lay to me. I’d be breaking her in, kind of like taming a horse, but I’d be setting her free.
Plus, she has exotic coloring and is the closest thing I’ve seen in real life to a Victoria’s Secret model.
She’s dancing in the center of the room, where I usually find her at these things. Her dark rum-colored eyes glisten in the single light coursing through the space. Her midnight locks fall over her shoulder and shadow her delicate jawline, tempting me. I know not to touch, though—I never bed a woman who belongs to someone else.
Wait … Where is her boyfriend? Her cute little friend is here, shaking her ass alongside Carmyn, but not her boyfriend. I’ve never seen her at a party without him.
I nudge Randall with my elbow. “Where’s Becker?”
“They broke up.”
“No shit?” My lucky night. She’s someone else’s girl no more.
I grin and pass Randall my cup before dancing my way next to Carmyn and her friend. “Yeah, buddy,” Randall growls, holding up our cups.
Carmyn looks up at me through her dark lashes, and I match my rhythm and the angle of my body to hers. I go lower than her in challenge. She might not go for it, but if my assumption of her is correct, she will.
Her eyes widen and her mouth opens in a big, sassy “O,” accepting the challenge.
Hot. As. Hell.
Her friend and a few others crowding us move off to the sides near the couches pushed up against the walls.
Carmyn turns her ass to me, grazing it down my body as she drops it to her ankles, bounces, then pops back up.
“Ohhhh!” guys in the crowd cheer. We’ve never seen her do that one before.
I grin at her as we move in tandem with our upper bodies. “What’s your ethnic background?” I’ve always wondered what mixed together to create the cream skin with the dark hair and eyes.
“My mom is from Brazil—Portuguese, and my dad is French-Irish. But me,” she runs her finger down my chest. “I’m Texan.”
I’m so enraptured by this woman, I spin so I’m behind her, grabbing her wrist and wrapping her arm around my neck.
She rolls her body and lifts her other arm to wrap around my neck. I grab her hip with one hand and follow the length of her bare arm with the other.
She breaks out in chills but grabs my hand before I get to the swell of her breast. She holds it while she twirls to face me again and doesn’t release it as her body pushes and grinds against mine.
Her gaze drops to my chest, focusing on the script tattoo peeking out from my V-neck T-shirt. She stares at it until I say, “Quod me alit, me extinguit.”
She drops my hand and meets my eyes, questioning what it means, but she doesn’t ask.
I won’t give it to her unless she asks.
She breaks eye contact and spins away from me. She arches her back, dips down to the right and then pops up, sliding her hand up her thigh and looking over her shoulder at me seductively.
My eyes are locked on the arch of her back and the curve of that ass as she repeats it on the other side.
The song mixes into a new one, and Carmyn’s friend, Ava, comes back over. “Looks like you’re sweet on my girl here, Dallas.”
I chuckle. “Did you not see the way she was booty-dropping? Looks more like she’s sweet on me.” Carmyn looks at me with wide eyes, not happy when we’re both guilty but now the accusations are pointed at only her. It’s adorable. I swipe my thumb along my bottom lip. Carmyn watches it before casting her eyes away.
We’re not finished here, but I walk past her over to Randall to pick up my half-empty rum and Coke. “That was fucking amazing!” he says and puts his fisted hand over his mouth to muffle some of his drunken excitement. I’m feeling the same way, but I can hold my alcohol and cool better than he can. “I can’t believe she let you dance with her like that.”
I glance back at Carmyn and her friend. She’s never let anyone dance with her like she did me, save for her boy—ex-boyfriend. She’s moving to the music again, but it isn’t nearly as dirty as she was with me. She’s still hot as fuck, though.
“You gonna tap that?”
“I’d be an idiot not to if she’ll let me.” I’m going to do a lot more than tell her yes, though. I’m going to make her want me.
I lead Randall into the kitchen and top off my drink. Once this is gone, I’ll be good for a while. I drink to laugh a little easier. To take some of the edge off. But I never drink enough to lose my shit. You won’t see me puking in the bathroom or pissing in a potted plant.
A hot blond saunters into the kitchen as I’m tossing my paper towel. Once I get a better look, I realize it’s Vicky. Shit.
“Dallas,” she purrs and trails her fingers down my dragon sleeve tattoo before grabbing a Solo cup.
“Hey, Vick.” I take a sip as I move to leave the kitchen, trying to avoid any more back and forth. Conversation with her sometimes leads to fucking.
I’ve got other plans tonight. I don’t look back to see if she’ll follow me.
Randall pulls up beside me. “Vick’s gonna try to mess up whatever you have stirring with Carmyn.”
I swig more of my drink. She might. Carmyn’s multiple degrees hotter than Vick.
I stay clear of both of them and meet up with the guys playing darts. They’re probably all drunk enough now for me to take their money. Not that I need
them drunk; my shot is spot on, but they tend to bet a little higher and looser with some Jim Beam on board. Hey, don’t judge me. Not my fault they want to be dumb-asses.
I shoot some darts with the guys, losing some, but mostly winning.
Carmyn looks over a few times, always glancing away when our eyes meet. She’s watched most of this last game, so I grab the darts out of the board and walk over to her. “Play me.”
She tries to hold back her smile. “I don’t have any cash on me.”
“Then if I win, you kiss me.”
She looks me up and down. “What the hell.” She shrugs. “And if I win …” She studies me as if she’s not sure what’s worth my price. “You have to teach me how to drive your motorcycle.”
The crowd roars with a loud, “Ooooohhhh!”
She grins like a goddamn magician. That’s a good one. She’s gotta know I don’t let anyone drive my bike but me. Everyone knows it. It’s my baby. But I’m confident I’ll win. She’s dancing tonight like she’s reached a perfect buzz—drunk enough to let loose, but not too drunk to fall ass over face. And on the point-zero-five percent chance that I do lose, it’ll get her on my bike, spreading her legs to straddle the leather and steel. No matter how much I’ve stuck to my self-imposed rule of “no chicks on the bike,” that alone might be worth the small risk.
But shit. To let her drive it. I don’t know. That’s a lot. “You know I don’t let anyone drive it, right? Hell, I don’t even let the ladies on for a ride.”
She grins, again challenge accepted. “Well, you know I don’t go around betting to let just anyone kiss me, right? And I doubt this is anything less than a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
My bike only has a single seat, so I won’t be able to be on there with her to help her drive it. I specifically asked for the single 1939 Harley Davidson seat during the build. Every detail of this bike was thought through.
Vick’s glaring at me from the sidelines. She’s tried on numerous occasions to talk me into taking her for a ride. Even going so far as to offer sexual favors, “incentives” as she calls them. Which, of course, I could never accept. She’s gonna be pissed.
Wicked Thing Page 3
