by B. N. Toler
“Morning,” I croaked as I moved my body closer to hers, finding her skin warm and soft. When she turned to me, she smiled, but there was something sad in it. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“A dangerous pastime,” I joked before kissing her shoulder.
Her eyes fixed on her finger as she traced it over the curve of my shoulder and down my arm. She blinked a few times as she smiled subtly. “He was a beautiful man, there was no denying it,” she said softly. “Her finger caressed his firm body, but what she wished for, more than anything, was to caress his thoughts—to know his mind as intimately as she knew his body.” Glancing up at me, she jerked her gaze away quickly, taking her hand with it.
I narrowed my eyes at her in humored confusion. “Were you writing your thoughts about me out loud?”
“Maybe.” Her tone held no apology. “Writing is kind of what I do.”
I nodded a few times, not sure what to say. Was she just thinking out loud, or had she meant she wished she could know me better? Her words had had…feelings. I wasn’t good with those. As I contemplated all this, I guess she took my lack of response as she’d made herself seem weird and she felt embarrassed. She attempted to roll away from me, but I pulled her back.
“Where are you going, crazy girl? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She rolled her body to her side so she could face me. “My book. The characters.”
“Oh yeah? What’s this one going to be about?”
Casting her gaze down for a moment, she brought it back up and met my stare. “A writer. And…a sexy alpha man.”
Smirking, I asked, “Are these characters inspired by anyone you know?”
Her features slacked. “Would it make me insane, or freak you out, if I said I modeled them after us?”
Pushing some hair from her face and behind her ear, I said, “It’s not something you hear every day, that’s for sure.”
“They aren’t us…us. I mean…modeled after us. Like…inspired by us. My story would have far more drama and craziness.”
“More crazy than…” I cut her a look and she rolled her eyes.
“Yes…more,” she chuckled.
“So the guy that’s modeled after me…I’m guessing he’s just one hundred percent stud and completely freaking amazing in every way.”
“And modest like you, too,” she added dryly.
I laughed. “Just as I thought. He sounds pretty awesome.”
Her gaze fixed on mine, her smile fading as she seemed to study me, looking inside of me. “He is,” she said quietly, reaching her hand up and stroking my face. “You are,” she added.
Sometimes, a moment just sneaks up and grabs you. It’s unexpected and for a guy…probably a little unwanted. Being vulnerable isn’t what we do. But sometimes it happens, that moment comes up and hooks you, and you’re powerless against it. This was one of those moments. Hannah hadn’t said but a few words—simple words—but they hit me hard. I felt her meaning, her thoughts, her feelings in those short words. There was a genuineness there. And damn if she wasn’t really crazy, and I know women hate to be called crazy, but the reality was she was a bit all over the place. But here or there, wherever that over-functioning brain of hers led her, she was real. I could tell in the brief time we’d known each other, she was scared to death of herself, of men, and of most things, but no matter what, I knew deep down being real was like breathing to her. Being real means being honest and having integrity. Two things that are damn near impossible for a person to do. But she was those things, even if it meant exposing her ugly parts; the parts she didn’t want the people close to her to see.
I took her mouth, kissing her hard, this feeling of wanting to worship her, but somehow wanting to punish her for it consuming me. Damn her making me feel this. Moving to my knees, I pulled her hips and laid her on her back, ripping away the sheet that was twisted around her, revealing this tiny woman with curves staring up at me, her eyes riddled with hunger and want.
“What are you doing to me?” I asked her, our eyes locked.
Her chest rose and fell. Her lips parted slightly as if she might answer, but she stopped herself. Laying my body over hers, I rested my weight on my forearms, never letting my stare leave hers. I wanted her to see just what she did to me. To bring me out of hiding. Reaching between us, she sheathed me inside her and let out a moan of surrender and relief.
As I moved over her, thrusting inside her, I asked the question again, though this time more to myself than her. “What are you doing to me?” And I kept repeating it till I came deep in her.
When I left for work that morning, Hannah left when I did. I told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but she insisted she needed to get home and run some errands. I hated to admit I was bummed. I would’ve liked to have come home to her that night. But that was selfish. She had a life and things to do. I respected that. So after a long kiss goodbye, she went her way, and I went mine.
When I entered the break room that morning, Kegs and Duke were standing with three other instructors, staring at the bulletin board—no doubt checking the schedule that was posted on the first of every month. Everyone in the room glanced back at me, then at each other. Moving my eyes to Kegs, I asked a silent ‘what?’ with a slight shrug of my shoulders.
“Bro, you’re not going to like this.” What was it now?
Dropping my gym bag, I went to the board and scanned the schedule. I blinked a few times and looked again. No, I’d seen it right. My name wasn’t there. I wasn’t on the schedule. Henry had taken me off for the entire month.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, still staring at the schedule, hoping I was seeing it wrong. Anger pulsed through me. Turning, I stopped, my fists clenched at my sides as I tried to calm myself down. “He took me off for an entire freaking month.”
“He’s a dick,” Kegs mumbled, his expression grim. He understood not only was this a shit move on Henry’s part, but it was also a huge hit financially. I had savings, I could pay my bills, but losing an entire month of income was a significant hit.
This shit was personal. And Henry was being an asshole.
As we grow older, we learn things about ourselves…or rather we come to understand ourselves better. We accept our flaws…laid down with our imperfections. This didn’t always equate to settling—not striving to do better or be better—but rather we step out of the phase of denial, and move into the hey, this is something about me I need to work on, but at least now I own it. Anger, for me, was one of those things. I had a short fuse and had been this way for some time. Couple that with a lack of patience, and it was never a good combination. It was a flaw I was now conscious of. Anger is the most twisted of emotions. It can catapult you into behaviors or actions that are beyond rational comprehension. At that moment, all I wanted, more than anything, was to find Henry and beat the living shit out of him. But what would that do? It might make me feel immensely better, but then I’d never get scheduled again, and I definitely wouldn’t like that. This was a direct assault on me; him using his position superior to mine to punish me because on a personal level, he was intimidated by me and/or didn’t like me. I’d challenged him, and instead of handling it like a man, he pulled some shitty backdoor bullshit to take me down. I was split between giving into my flaw and acting on the emotion, or recognizing it and finding my rationality.
All the guys were watching me, their expressions stoic, waiting for me to react or say something. That pissed me off, too. And a part of me wondered if that’s what Henry was betting on—that I’d react with anger and hostility and do something rash, therefore screwing myself by doing so. Then he’d have me fired for sure. And that thought made me angrier. What a dick.
Before I knew it, I was charging into Henry’s office. He jumped when the door swung and hit the wall from me opening it with such force, but quickly settled when he realized it was me. Apparently, he’d anticipated me showing up. Settling back at his desk, he held
his pen over the paper he was examining, seemingly not fazed by me. Ever since he’d tattled to Van, he felt brave.
“What can I do for you, Marner?”
Keep your shit together, Wren, I told myself. Don’t give him what he wants. “I just took a look at the schedule.”
“Is that so?” he mumbled still staring at his paperwork, his glasses slid halfway down the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve contracted here for years, and I’ve never been taken off the schedule,” I fumed. “Any reason why that’s changed, Henry?”
Dropping his pen, he shot his eyes in my direction as he tugged off his glasses and tossed them on the desk. “I don’t know that I see you here, Marner,” he started. “Not sure if you…fit.”
I let out a condescending laugh. I couldn’t help it. I was here long before he was, but now I didn’t fit? What the fuck? “And why is it all of a sudden, after years, that I don’t fit, Henry-boy?” His lips dropped into a flat line.
“I think you’re just a little too…salt and vinegar for what we’re trying for here.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I snapped.
“You seem to struggle with authority, bud.”
“No, I struggle with you,” I clarified. “You micromanage and use your position to settle personal scores. Don’t you find that to be a bit of a bitch move? You think everyone doesn’t know you don’t like me? Cool. I’m fine with that. Well guess what, I don’t like you either. But I show up, and I do a good job. I don’t let personal bullshit stop me from working.”
“Listen, Marner, I just see you as more of a security overseas type, or somewhere downrange.”
I bobbed my head a few times. “Got it. Well, I’ll discuss this with Van, but you and I both know this is bullshit.” With that, I barged out of his office. I had three days of work until the first, so I couldn’t leave even though I wanted to. I’d have to suck it up. That’s what real men did.
“Writing is cutting into your own soul and bleeding
out all the things that consume you. If it keeps you
up at night and/or infuriates you, it’ll probably
make a wonderful book.”
-Seth King
He’d been quiet for two days now. No calls and we’d barely texted. I thought we’d moved past these silent breaks. I was trying to play it cool, but I was freaking out a little. Okay, this was me we were talking about. I was freaking out a lot. Our last morning together had been amazing, so why was he going quiet on me now? Had I missed something? Was I not paying attention?
And these were the questions that led to a million other questions. I loathed myself sometimes. I did not want to think like this, playing every word spoken at our last encounter over and over in my head trying to understand.
What’s it like to live inside your head?
Well, it’s part paradise, but mostly hell. However hindering my anxiety and imagination could be, it was the foundation for my writing. Not so great for real life. I could not create without it. It’s not always a bad thing, but most of the time it was. Living inside your head—it’s a place where you could either ruin a moment by overthinking it, overanalyzing it to death; or go the opposite direction and completely romanticize it, making it more than it was. It’s where there’s either too much, or not enough. And what makes it really fun is you’re aware of it, of this thing that is wrong with you, but you can never seem to find that in between where all the normal people seem to function and exist. There was no in between for people like me.
Looking at my palm, I could just make out the faint lettering of my last inspirational reminder. Black Sharpie always lasted through a few hand washes.
Patience is a virtue.
I was trying to patient and not overthink it, but two days? Really?
Opening my cell, I checked it once more.
No messages.
Just text him, Hannah, I told myself. I had this conversation with myself often. But that’s when I’d remind myself that I couldn’t lose for trying.
Hope everything is okay. You’ve been quiet.
I hit send and cringed as I read the message to myself again. Did it sound like I was just trying to be caring, or did I sound insecure? Maybe both. Could our brief romantic encounter be fizzling out already? That ate at me for several reasons. For starters, I liked him. I knew I wasn’t supposed to, and I’d told myself it was all business, but I liked him anyway. I just refused to hope for anything. Secondly, he was my muse. I needed him. After days of nothing but a few-word texts, my optimism was dwindling. And because of that, I hadn’t written all day.
When my phone vibrated, my heart jumped. I thought he’d text me back. But he hadn’t. It was Brigham. He’d sent a photo of him with a beautiful Latino woman probably half his age and text:
My date.
Shaking my head, I closed out of my messages. Why send that to me? He was so weird.
“You okay, hooker?” Kate asked as she approached the counter where I was standing. Hooker was one of her more endearing pet names for me. Her hair was braided down her shoulder and she looked like she was sixteen. I hated her. Not really. But kind of. We were at Deanna’s, and I’d come in the kitchen to refill my wine glass. Deanna was on the phone with Allen, and Courtney was on her way over.
“Thinking about my book,” I fibbed.
“You said you’d be back tomorrow,” Deanna griped on the phone. Kate and I glanced at each other, but quieted down. We didn’t want to eavesdrop, but we also didn’t want to talk and interrupt either.
“You’ve been gone twenty out of the last thirty days, Allen,” she went on as she walked into the living room.
“They okay?” I whispered.
“I think so. He’s just been gone so much this entire pregnancy, and I think she’s just lonely. Sucks being preggers and by yourself all the time.”
“I’m here, bitches,” Courtney hollered as she strolled in the kitchen with two bottles of wine. She’d just had her hair colored purple and it looked amazing.
Kate and I put our fingers to our lips so she’d know to quiet down then laughed as we both hugged her.
Deanna entered the kitchen again, tossing the phone on the table with a huff. “You okay?” Kate asked her.
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “Just want to strangle my husband.”
“Been there,” Courtney piped in.
“Do ex-husbands count?” I queried. “Because if so, I have one I’d like to strangle.”
“They do.” Courtney bobbed her head with a serious expression.
“He’s just so damn frustrating. He wants this promotion so bad…we don’t need the money.”
“So why is he going for it?” Kate asked.
“Money,” Deanna snickered. Pulling a chair out, she plopped down in it. “I’m sorry. You guys know Allen is the best…we’re just in a funk. He wants to supply the baby with a college fund all before the baby is born.”
“We know that,” Courtney assured her as she went to her and kissed the top of her head. “You know, ladies, I think Deanna is having a rough day. The three of us need to do our due diligence as her best friends and drink heavily tonight on her behalf.”
“Done.” I shook my fist in the air.
“I’m always here for you, Deanna.” Kate raised her glass in toast.
Deanna grinned. “Aww, you guys would really get shit-faced while I was forced to watch stone-cold sober just to make me feel better?”
We all laughed.
“That’s what real friends do,” Courtney told her.
“Gee, you guys are the best,” she said dryly. “Don’t choke on your drinks.”
And then she laughed at her joke, and we drank all the wine while Deanna watched, stone-cold sober.
Apologies
I reeled in my fishing line, frustrated I hadn’t caught anything. It was my first day of a month off, and I was trying my damnedest to find my happy place; my Zen. I wasn’t an avid fisherman—amateur at best—but I liked it and having a p
lace to do it within walking distance was all the more reason for me to partake.
I’d just cast my line in the water again when I heard Kegs shout for me. He was walking up the pier toward me, dressed in his usual work attire—fitted black T-shirt and cargo pants. I looked like a bum wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts with holes in them. I hadn’t really been that concerned with my looks the past few days. “You caught anything, bro?”
“Not a damn thing,” I grumbled.
When he reached me, he gave me his usual hard slap on the back. “Just got off. Thought I’d come by and check on ya. I wasn’t sure if you’d be home, or with Hannah.”
I grimaced. I’d put Hannah off for a couple of days now, and I knew I was an ass for it. “Haven’t seen her in a few days.”
Kegs crossed his arms as we stared at my line in the water. “You guys break up or something?”
“No. Just in a shitty frame of mind and don’t want to subject her to it.” I didn’t want to hurt her, but I was the kind of man that dealt with problems on my own. I didn’t want to purge on her. I’d thought keeping some distance from her would give me a chance to calm down about my own personal problems, but it hadn’t. In fact, it had made it worse because not only was I missing work…I was missing her, too.
Shaking his head, he let out an audible sigh.
“What?”
“You do realize she’s a woman?”
I smirked as I cut a sideways glance at him. “She has all the right parts.”
