Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I never should have got his number.

  He hurt me once long ago, and I cannot risk that kind of pain again. I don’t think I will ever recover from losing him. I’ve avoided relationships for the past fifteen years, fearing the outcome. I have a couple friends I fuck like Sal, but intimacy has remained elusive for so long, it is better if I just ignore it.

  I am better if I ignore it – I tell myself. It’s a lie. There is no ignoring a man like Dale Archer. He’s a confident brazen force touched with southern gentlemanly candor. And just when I think I can escape with my heart intact, he’ll do something to pull me in deeper like the first night we spent together.

  * * * *

  He drove us out to the woods, parking in a small clearing where you could see the stars. Spreading a blanket in the back of the truck, he helped me up and popped me a beer.

  “You know I am eighteen?”

  “Do I look like I care?” He scoffed,“Drink the fuckin beer, girl. I am certain it ain’t the first time.”

  Slipping off my sandals, I laughed, “Very presumptuous of you, not knowing anything about me.”

  Taking a swig of his beer, he handed me a one side-eyed glance as he kicked off his shoes. “So tell me. Tell me all about yourself.”

  “You know your pretty nice for a guy who makes porn,” I sassed.

  He chuckled loud. “You make it sound like all I do is fuck, doll. The truth is that just pays the bills and buys me toys like this truck.”

  We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a good ten minutes. My eyes drifted to the stars, shining like little spotlights on us. I was bewildered by the beauty. I had seen plenty of stars before, but under that sky with that man sitting beside me, the brightness consumed my soul. Wrapped within the protection of the celestial, I reflected on this moment. He was special. He was different. And I knew it.

  “So, what do you do in your spare time, Cy?”

  “I build race cars with a buddy of mine.”

  “You race?”

  “Nah, we sell the cars, do mods for friends of ours, that type of thing.”

  Sipping the beer, I tried to act cool. He wanted to believe I am the same kind of girl he typically encountered, who was I to tell him otherwise? I would’ve rather proven it to him. “I was born in 1983 in the backwoods of Arkansas as Amber Leigh Rosen.”

  “Leigh?” He chuckled with a snort. “Really?”

  Befuddled by his reaction, I smiled sweet.

  “So what brings you here schoolgirl? Don’t want to end up like your mom and sister?”

  “Pretty much. My best friend is doing movies in Hollywood, making good money. She talked to some people she knows and here I am. She even sent me the money for the bus ticket to Atlanta.”

  “Sounds like a nice girl,” he said.

  “Percy is a nice girl,” I hesitated, “But she’s also getting involved in some of the shadier sides of this business.”

  He tossed a scrutinizing gaze my way. “Drugs?”

  I nodded.

  “They are everywhere,” he said, cracking his knuckles and leaning back against the cab of the truck. “A young girl like yourself needs to be careful. The wolves will eat you if they think they can.”

  I pulled off my sandals and scooted back next to him. His handsome angles called to me, but in the moonlight his hair sparkled like gold, making him look even more untouchably divine. His blue eyes sparkled at me as he kicked his beer back in one gulp.

  “Give it to me,” he muttered.

  I was struck by his sudden aggression as my mouth mumbled, “Hmm?”

  “Your beer—I can tell by the first sip, you haven’t ever tasted suds.”

  I giggled and blushed, handing it over to him. His fingers brushed against my own sending a spark of electricity through me. I didn’t want to like him, but his charm and smile made him near impossible to ignore.

  “Look, I know I can’t change your past, but I can fix your future if you will let me help you.”

  His offer sounded so good, placing little colored dots of hallucinations on my tongue out of the back of his ice cream truck. He wanted to be my dealer, and I needed to be his junkie. He was—Cyclone Blonde—and never in a million years had I dreamed I’d be sitting in the woods on the back of his muddy truck.

  “I think I’d like that,” I whispered, biting my lip.

  And I thought I really wanted him to be a part of me.

  DALE

  I WAKE UP long before Mae-Mae. I had a cup of coffee with my mom and went for a run. Knowing I had shit to straighten out in my head, she would never complain about a few extra minutes with her granddaughter.

  I love running when I am at my parents place, the rolling hills and farmlands let me think like nothing else. No treadmill can compare to this terrain of green grass misted in dew and covered by a clear blue sky.

  I have more on my mind than just Amber.

  Once again, Oliver offered me a permanent position at his private security firm last night at dinner. My mother thinks I need stability and working at the family business could provide that. The truth is I never suffered for a lack of clients on my own, and I knew the potential risk working at the Archer Agency could bring.

  They may have had the store front residential security installations, but that was never where the money was. The money loaded in with security hacks, breeching other companies systems, and private specialized contracts. Oliver wanted to make me the new lead, the go-to guy to make life-and-death decisions.

  I didn’t want to do it, especially with Mae, but he requested I join him at the office for lunch. He will make his sales pitch at me in a feeble attempt to change my mind. I am honored. He thought enough of me to offer the position as my parents and I hadn’t always gotten along. Mom hated the idea of her ex-war vet being involved in the porn industry. Fortunately for her, she didn’t know I still was. Though no longer directly involved, I still control fifty-one percent of Cyclone Indies, the number one porn video download site in the world. And I wasn’t about to sell off my daughter’s inheritance any time soon.

  Mae-Mae Archer will be a billionaire by the day she turns eighteen due to my business acumen and investments. No one knew I had that kind of money—not my parents or even my private investigator sister-in-law. I layered my name in the paperwork, keeping it hidden. So, to say I didn’t need his job running interference between pissed off employees and their bosses was an understatement.

  The dangerous work and Amber Rosen pushes my stride further as sweat drips from my body. I can’t get the damn girl and the memories of us out of my head.

  She looked so innocent that first night in the back of my truck, tasting beer for the first time. I leaned closer and touched her cheek, wishing I could protect her from the seedy industry she was about to get involved in. But what could I do—sending her back home wasn’t a solution, but a punishment in a prison she didn’t deserve. She would end up knocked up in a trailer with nothing but a pile of lost dreams and three screaming children.

  I decided that night to give her hope and a chance of at least believing she chose. She didn’t choose anything, I did. I already owned Gina’s and a handful of other decent-sized bars in the South. And that giant paycheck she got for dancing at the bar, I did that, too. And the sweet little place she had in the French Quarter that Amber thought she bought cheap, I paid for most of it.

  And she had no clue.

  Hell, she didn’t even remember me.

  As I ran past the fields of grazing cattle, one resounding point came echoing through my mind—she was alone. In New Orleans, I hired people to keep an eye on her, but since she up and moved—all on her own – how dare she do something so bold—I lost my control. I can’t keep her safe anymore.

  Immediately, I regret not going to the gym and bruising my knuckles on the punching bag. I stop running to call Rachel.

  She grumbles, “Jackson.”

  Breathing heavily on my phone, I say, “I need you to go out there.”

 
; “Where?”

  “West Texas.”

  “Really Archer, I have clients,” Rachel replies. “You think I can just pick up and run off to check on your ex from fifteen years ago?”

  Her question would seem permissible if I were a sane man, but I’m not. “I am willing to pay you ten times your normal rate if you will get on a plane today.”

  “Why are you so worried about her?”

  “Because she moved out there less than a month ago. I had ground troops watching her in Nola.”

  She laughs, “Ground troops?”

  “You know what I mean,” I say, not in the mood for her argument. “I’ve had two to four guys watching her for years.”

  “What exactly is she doing in the middle of nowhere?”

  “That’s not the point; the point is what someone else might,” I growl, pacing. “Just give me seventy-two hours to pull some shit together, I get some guys on the ground.”

  “You know, it would be easier for us both for you to just say—I love you.”

  “I don’t have time to go over my deranged psyche with you,” I scold, a little too harshly into the phone. “Are you in or out?”

  “I’m in, Boss. Give me a half hour.”

  The dangerous reality causes my body to tremble as I sprint home. When I get there, mom is feeding Mae her bottle. I head to the shower where thoughts of Amber pelt me like shards of razor sharp ice, cutting my heart into a million pieces.

  * * * *

  “Did you always want to do porn?” she asked as we played footsies in the back of my truck.

  “Nah. I served for five years in the army and graduated with honors—business degree,” I revealed, pulling the label off my bottle of beer. “I met a man my freshman year in college that suggested I do some modeling, and one thing led to another. That was over five years ago.”

  Amber mumbled, “You probably just did it for the hook up…”

  “Ha! You are the first girl I’ve spent time with after hours.”

  “Seriously?” Amber nudged me, teasing, “It was probably just my skimpy blue jean shorts.”

  “Yeah, that was it exactly,” I smirked, rolling my eyes.

  A few moments passed as she fumbled with her fingers, fidgeting aimlessly nervous. She whispered,“You want me to take them off?”

  “You need me to make love to you?” I questioned, touching her hand. “Because I don’t think I can just fuck you.”

  “You are asking a ridiculous question. I am sitting under the stars with the reigning king of sex, what do you think?”

  Although it might’ve come as a surprise to Amber, my professional acting career never came into play in my real world. I wasn’t a manwhore, though the plays would come far too often. I went into the industry as a business decision. I wanted to be a multi-millionaire by thirty.

  Before I could stop her, Amber lunged across the truck bed, straddling my lap and begging for me to catapult her into the heavens. Her naive youth rushed her pace as she went from kissing my lips to unbuckling my pants in five-seconds. I grabbed her wrists to keep her from going any further. If I could’ve duct-taped her mouth closed and blindfold her fluttering doe eyes, I would’ve—as everything about Amber disturbed my senses.

  Taking her cues, I went further, forcing my tongue in between her lips and taking what I wanted. Within my grasp, she wiggled, fighting for more.

  “Why do you want this?” I groaned, letting my hands become savage and primal instruments on her flesh.

  Amber stopped kissing me and blinked her deep blue eyes at me several times, when she started to cry. “My step dad tried to rape me when I was fourteen, but my sister walked in and stopped him. I swore to myself if I managed to live through that hell and I met a nice guy, I would try and let him have my V-card so it would be a good experience.”

  “Oh Jesus…” I couldn’t believe what she asked me to do. More importantly I felt like this girl’s entire future hinged on my actions this one night.

  Little did I understand at the time, they had.

  AMBER

  MUSIC PLAYS THROUGH the house as I unpack my things and drink a glass of white wine. Pulling out the clothes I wore on our date, I take a deep whiff of the scent of him still lingering on my dress. I eye his jacket draped over the chair in my room. Slipping off my clothes, I let the dress fall against my skin. My hands grip fistfuls of the skirt he manhandled, taking me on a seductive memorable journey. I fall prey to the thoughts of his hands on me, sliding his warm coaxing fingers over my legs and finding the dampness between my thighs.

  I sigh.

  Tossing my clothes on the bed and slamming the suitcase, I march to the kitchen to try and alleviate the memory. I turn the kettle on and rustle through the pantry to find a tea bag—orange ginger. Not my favorite, but it will do in a pinch. I need a cup of chamomile or a good strong drink to forget the flashback of his piercing blue eyes and shadowed smile covered by his reddish goatee.

  I mettle about the kitchen in search of something to do. Opening the dishwasher, I put the cups and plates away. They are clean only because of Colette. She is my assistant, doing everything from trivial housekeeping to mailing packages and booking flight reservations. The maid comes once a week on Fridays, but without Colette’s help I’d never have a clean cup, or clean panties, or sharpened pencils, or gas in my car.

  I am supposed to take tomorrow – Monday – off; Colette will return to work on Tuesday. I hired her before Stanis. She walked into Gina’s at nineteen looking for a job. I told Gina to hire her cause she had honest eyes. Turns out, I was right. She ended up waitressing and making sure my dressing room was in order. In truth, Colette has been working for me the last ten years.

  The kettle whistles, erupting with spew of steam. I pour the water over the bag as a shockwave hits my mind. His large, calloused hands wrapped around his drink in the bar, skimmed over my skin, or gripped in my own. I close my eyes, trying to will him away as I wonder what he is doing right now. Is he thinking of me? Was I just another jolly hop in the night?

  Again, I sigh.

  Walking through the house, I set the alarm and check the locks. My dogs Bruno and Chelsea are sleeping soundly on the floor giving me some measure of reassurance. I close my bedroom door, set the tea down, and stare longingly at the jacket—I should move it to the other room, or the closet, or even better set it aflame in the yard tomorrow. Crazy writer lady doing psychotic shit in the yard to make the neighbors talk. If they only knew what my internet searches contained.

  I can’t take it anymore as I rush to the chair and press the leather jacket to my nose. The faint smell of Dale Archer rushes to my heart as I feel the uprising of tears. God dammit. I want him. And he is a bastard for knocking me off my game. If I never saw him at the book signing everything would have been fine, but no. He has to go pushing, prodding, pummeling down my defenses like he owns me.

  Fuck him.

  … I wish I was.

  I break from my wishful crush when my phone rings. I throw the jacket haphazardly into the chair and run to pick it up. Ya, I am hoping it is him because I am a sick fuck. Fortunately, it is not.

  “Yes, love?”

  Raniero banters, “How are ya?”

  “I am home,” I say, sitting on the bed and stirring my tea.

  “That is not what I am asking you,” Sal growls, “—Lady Mae.”

  Pausing, I take a few deep breaths and remove the tea bag. “I have not heard from Chenille or Mr. Archer, if that is what you are asking.”

  “Damn,” he says. “I will harass his ass tomorrow…”

  I interrupt, “Sal, don’t… Just let it go. We were a thing once before, but that’s the past. We’ve both moved on.”

  “Really?” he argues.

  I can tell by the tone he is about to give me lip that I don’t need or want to hear. “It’s over. We are over. Give him my best, but don’t push him to do something he doesn’t really want.”

  “Heh,” he dismisses. “Whatevs. I
have witnessed otherwise.”

  I segue, “Where are you?”

  “At the farmhouse in bed. You want to know what I am wearing, too?” Before I can answer, he says, “Nothing.”

  “Are you making the rounds?”

  “Just lonely I guess. The damsel is locked away in the dungeon at the castle for six months.”

  “Fuck…” After taking a sip of the tea, I ask, “She took that long of a contract?”

  “Ya,” he grumbles.

  “How much longer?”

  “Three more long months.”

  I almost choke on my second sip. “Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sal laughs and groans. “When exactly would you have liked me to tell you I was dancing with a broken heart?”

  “Before now you crazy man!” I giggle, realizing how hard this is on him. “I am going to go fall asleep in a hot bath.”

  “Ok babe, call me in a few.”

  “Will do,” I say. “Call me if you need me. Love you!”

  “Back at ya, beautiful.”

  I click my phone off and slam the rest of the tea. God, I need something stronger. Stripping off the dress, I throw it on the jacket—the perfect miserable pair—and head to the tub. The water is hot and the tears sting as I close my eyes.

  * * * *

  I couldn’t believe I asked a perfect stranger to take my V-card. His expression soaked in a solid, stoic gaze. I couldn’t read his thoughts if I tried. My embarrassment flushed on my cheeks as I looked away, searching for sanctuary in the trees, moon, and stars.

  “He tried to steal something that wasn’t his,” he accused, crossing his arms.

  “It’s irrelevant,” I said, maintaining my closed demeanor.

  “Bullshit,” he declared. “It’s not. Your step fucker tried to rape you.”