Man Handler

by Shari J. Ryan

  I take my drink and guzzle it down like he is, but I let him finish first, so he can take that bit of pride home with him. As soon as he places his empty glass down, he waves Jack over. “Put it on my tab.”

  “No problem, bro. Enjoy your evening, ya crazy kids.”

  We leave the bar, and I’m drunk. Like, I shouldn’t have had the second shot kind of drunk. I’m not a big person, and I don’t have a high alcohol tolerance. I’m usually able to hide it well, except I didn’t down any water in between my fun tonight.

  Austin seems unaffected by the alcohol since he’s walking in a straight line and all, which means it won’t be long until he figures out my state of mind. “You—” he says.

  “I’ve been called worse,” I reply.

  “You’re fucking hot as hell.” I wasn’t expecting that. “No chick has ever out drunk me like that.”

  “That’s sexist,” I tell him.

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve met a lot of the ladies down here. They’re all sweet like delicate flowers.”

  “That’s why I like you,” he says.

  “You like me, huh?”

  “I like you a lot.”

  “Good,” I reply.

  “That’s all you’re going to say? Good?”

  “Tell me what you’d rather I say?” I counter.

  We’re coming to the end of a block where a small alley leads off to the left, or we can continue in the same direction to where everyone in the town lives. I’m not sure where Austin lives, but he pulls me onto the dark street. With a hand on my good arm, he shockingly pulls me into him, lifting me up so my legs tangle around his waist. “I’ve never needed anything so badly in my life,” he says with a guttural rasp.

  “That’s what you’d rather I say?” I ask in a hushed whisper.

  His lips are on mine, and I taste the tartness of his drink, the bite of the tequila, and the fresh scent of his skin. He’s holding me so tightly, I feel like I’ve molded to his body. His breaths are erratic, completely out of control, and I give in. I don’t think I can be any other way but weak within his hold. I like him. I realllly like him. The way he kisses is like the way I’d imagine he’d lick whipped cream off a strawberry—craving the sweet before the tart; the sensation that makes a mouth beg for more. Everything outside of our kisses is gentle, but this is far from being careful. This is a matter of feeding hunger. His hand caressingly slides up the back of my shirt, and the heat from his hand sends shivers through every sparked nerve ending in my body.

  He parts his lips from mine with a look of aggression dancing through his eyes. “You think everyone is slow moving down here, don’t you?”

  “A little,” I tell him.

  He carefully tosses me over his side and onto his back, making sure my arm is protected from the movement. “There’s no way in the world you’d move fast enough for me right now, and if you tried, you’d probably fall into a hole or something, so we’ll go back to my house my way,” he says.

  “Horseback?”

  “Shush your mouth, smarty pants.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Austin

  “It’s so dark down here. Don’t you leave any lights on?” Scarlett asks. If the thought of going home with a stranger didn’t scare her earlier, maybe it should right now. I wasn’t thinking the night would end up like this, or I would have left the lights on.

  “Nah, the moon shows me the way home,” I tell her.

  “Well, it’s cloudy out tonight,” she informs me.

  “I guess I’ll never find my home tonight then,” I sigh. Scarlett groans then laughs quietly as she keeps up next to me. I carried her half the way home, but the bouncing motion was stirring up the tequila, and with another minute or so of that, things might not have ended well tonight. “Are you still feeling buzzed?”

  “A bit,” she says. “So, is it the tequila, or do I see a small glowing light at the end of this path?”

  “If it’s from the tequila, I’m more buzzed than I thought too.” I do see a small light.

  “That makes no sense, Austin. Nothing in the tequila would cause a glowing light,” she says. Oh boy. Yeah, she’s buzzed.

  “I was kidding,” I tell her.

  “But there is a light,” she confirms.

  We’re walking up the path to my front steps and I’m pretty sure we’re looking at the glow from a cell phone. “Who’s up there?” I shout.

  “Just me,” I hear. Shit. Why does she have to keep doing this? I have told her a million times to call if she needs something. There is no reason to show up and wait for me on the front steps like some psychopath. At least she isn’t inside tonight—so there’s that.

  “Who is it?” Scarlett asks.

  “No one,” I tell her. “No one who should be sitting on my front steps right now.”

  “Aww, you finally brought your new friend home with you. I was beginning to wonder if those rumors were true or not,” she says.

  Scarlett seems hesitant to walk any further, so I run ahead past dumbass, open my front door, and flip the porch lights on.

  “Laurie-Cate?” Scarlett questions.

  “Hi, sweet-pea,” she says, cheerfully. Sweet-pea? She’s trying to smooth Scarlett over like butter, and it ain’t happening. “Austin, we need to talk.” Laurie-Cate stands up and clasps her hands in front of her waist.

  “Uh, do you want me to leave? I don’t want to be in the way,” Scarlett offers.

  “No, don’t go anywhere,” Austin says.

  “Maybe she should go,” Laurie-Cate says.

  Scarlett, being one of the least passive women I have met in my lifetime, meets up with us on the front porch. “Okay, so is there something going on here that I should know about? I’m not the type to get in the middle … if you know what I mean.”

  I don’t know where Scarlett was going with that or if she knows how it sounded, but part of me wants to laugh because I know the tequila and rum are still impacting her thought processes.

  “Say what you have to say, and get on your way, Laurie-Cate,” I tell her, ignoring Scarlett’s question.

  “It’s a family matter that I don’t believe she needs to be a part of,” Laurie-Cate replies.

  “I don’t give a damn what it’s about,” I argue.

  “Seriously, are you two an item or something?” Scarlett asks. “Or were you?”

  “Yes,” Laurie-Cate responds before I do.

  “What?” I snap. “Cut the shit, Laurie-Cate.”

  “Austin, tell me the truth,” Scarlett raises her voice. She sounds pissed, and I know I have about five-seconds to resolve this situation before Scarlett disappears into the darkness my dirt path leads into.

  “Laurie-Cate is my step-sister. We’re obviously not together, nor have we ever been. She’s out of her damn mind.”

  “That’s not exactly true, Austin,” Laurie-Cate says with a giggle. The sound of her laugh is like a nail going through my head, and I wish this town were just a little bigger so I could avoid her, but there is no avoiding anything or anyone here.

  “You’re kidding me,” Scarlett says. “Look, I know things are different down here, but if it’s even remotely true—you two being an item at any point—I can’t—nope, not my thing.”

  “Scarlett, will you just wait a minute, please,” I beg her. I can’t hide the irritation in my voice, but it’s not directed at Scarlett.

  “Scarlett, sweetie, our parents have had this planned for years. Austin and I are going to get married and live here on his family’s farm.”

  “Go!” I yell at Laurie-Cate. “Get the hell off my property.” I don’t know the last time I’ve yelled that loud, but if that doesn’t scare Scarlett away, I might be in the clear.

  “I think I’m going to get going,” Scarlett says. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t think I should be involved.”

  A gust of wind blows by me and the door slams shut. I only see Waldo’s tail before he disappears
into the corn stalks. “Waldo!”

  “Oh no,” Laurie-Cate says. “Waldo, come here boy!”

  “Laurie-Cate, leave … now!” I yell at her while I’m chasing after Waldo.

  “No, I need to talk to you about something,” she shouts after me. Doesn’t she get a damn hint? It’s not even a hint. I told her to go. It wasn’t just a suggestion. I hear her following in my footsteps and I’m about to lose my shit.

  “Where are you, Waldo? Come here, boy. I’ll give you a treat,” I plead, trying to focus on him rather than the drama behind me.

  * * *

  An hour has come and gone and I’m sitting in the middle of a cornfield with my phone in flashlight mode. Waldo doesn’t usually get out at night, but then again, there aren’t usually two women standing on my front porch at the same time either—must have been too much estrogen for him too.

  Laurie-Cate gave up the chase about a half mile back and I’m guessing Scarlett left too. “Waldo!” I shout again, feeling and hearing my voice grow hoarse from calling.

  I can’t just leave him out here. The coyotes will get him. I need a better flashlight, though, because this thing isn’t doing much, and my battery is getting low.

  The walk back to my house is slow and full of wound up thoughts. I can’t stand anything about Laurie-Cate, yet somewhere in that brain of hers, she thinks she’ll be able to change my mind and turn me into a believer of incest—fucking crazy. Just like all the other women around here, though, they think they can make a man change, so they date one for a few months and convince the moron to propose. Then they get married, pop out a kid or two, and that’s where the real fun begins. The women finally realize their man isn’t going to change his ways, so she starts forcefully using control until everything is destroyed, except divorce in this town is a sin, so people live in misery until death. It’s morbid and disgusting … and sad. I’m not interested in the whole charade.

  I reach the front porch, thanking the high heavens I don’t see any signs of Laurie-Cate. Scarlett’s gone too, though, and that part sucks.

  I fling the screen door open and hear a panting sound coming from around the corner. What the hell?

  Scarlett is on the floor with my big, dumb yellow lab, who’s lying peacefully between her legs.

  “Well, at least someone’s getting some action tonight,” I say.

  “What happened to you?” she asks. “I didn’t want to go chasing after you through that field. Those weeds are all over my head, so I figured I wouldn’t be much help anyway.”

  “It’s corn, not weeds,” I correct her.

  “I figured you’d come back if you couldn’t find him.”

  “You waited for me?” I ask her, needing confirmation that I’m not seeing things.

  “I had a hunch you weren’t sleeping with your stepsister. That’s seriously gross, and you’re in healthcare, so I just—she’s probably just pissed off that your parents got married and screwed up those chances for you two, I assume.”

  “This is why I like you, Scarlett. Despite your commitment to torturing me, you’re intelligent and you get me, somehow.”

  “I’m not sure I get you, Austin. I feel like there’s a lot I need to learn.” I take a seat in front of her, staring at the content look on Waldo’s face. “I gave him some water when he came back.”

  “When did Laurie-Cate leave?” I ask.

  “She came back with a look of disgust after dirtying up her pretty dress. She wanted me to leave, threatened my job a couple of times … blah blah blah. Then Waldo came running out of nowhere with dirt-covered paws and jumped on her, knocked her down and literally walked all over her before I pulled him off. While it was a sight I won’t forget, Waldo might have gotten into something rotten because he smelled like manure, so I hosed him off outside before we came in. Laurie-Cate, who also smelled like manure, ran off screaming.”

  “No shit,” I say, laughing at the thought of her being covered in cow shit. The neighbors have cows and Waldo likes to tease them. I should have thought to look there first.

  “Oh no, there was definitely shit everywhere,” Scarlett says.

  “Let me get this straight … you can walk in four-inch heels as long as there are no ditches, you break your arm and don’t shed a tear, you ask your nurse if he’s your ‘luvah’ while recovering from surgery, you’ll eat a grasshopper and the hottest peppers in the South, you drink tequila like a champ, and you’ll clean a dog who’s covered in shit? Have I died and gone to heaven?”

  “Wait, when did I ask you if you were my lover?” Yeah, I meant to leave that part out.

  “It’s ‘luvah’” I repeat the word exactly as she said it. “You were out of it, so don’t worry.” I might be saying don’t worry, but my smirk is making her squirm.

  “I don’t know why I would have asked you that,” she says, looking down at Waldo while scratching behind his ear.

  “You were probably just feeling the loneliness of a new town setting in, and you were loopy from the anesthesia. I thought it was cute and didn’t think much else of it. Don’t worry,” I assure her.

  “What’s your story, Austin?”

  I hate that question. I avoid that question. I’ve walked out of a room when I’ve been asked, in order to avoid answering. My story sucks, and I don’t think it’s worth making anyone feel sorry for me. “This is my story,” I tell her, hoping she’ll take my house, dog, barn, and career as a simple form of an explanation.

  “No,” she says. “I wasn’t snooping, but I needed to clean my hands up after washing Waldo. I couldn’t help but notice the pictures lining your hallway.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell her.

  “Then you should definitely talk about it.”

  I pick up a crumb from one of Waldo’s dog bones and place it on the coffee table next to us. I wouldn’t even know where to start. “This isn’t how I wanted the night to go,” I tell her.

  “I know, you wanted to get laid, but first … talk. Then we’ll see where things go from there.” She’s over there smiling like she owns me, knowing just the way to sweet talk a man.

  I’m more about figuring out how to keep her in my life at this point than getting in her pants, but if I ever have to watch her do another blowjob shot like again, it’s going to be a dirty scene in that bar. “Are you bribing me with sex?” I ask.

  “I’m asking you to tell me your story,” she says.

  “And if I tell you my story, we’ll have sex?”

  She laughs at me and twirls her hair behind her ear. “Austin, you need to work on your moves. That wasn’t very smooth.”

  She’s making my heart beat a mile a minute, and I can’t take it much longer. “Fine. Here’s my story, but I have one rule you have to follow.”

  “What’s the rule?” She looks up at me, and I think I see a bit of fear in her eyes.

  “You’re not allowed to cry or say you’re sorry.”

  “I don’t cry very often,” she tells me. “I was raised by brainwashed woman, and a man whose heart is made of stone. I’ll be okay.” Who couldn’t love her? “And I know that ‘sorry’ won’t fix anything, so you’re in the clear.”

  Maybe she will understand. It doesn’t sound like her life has been a whole lot better than mine. “Well, my parents had a shitty relationship for as long as I can remember. It was more of my ma not giving two shits about my pop, though. She was too busy with her girlfriends being a lady of leisure. My pop ran the farm all day and came home to a messy house and two kids who needed to be fed, bathed, and put to bed. She wanted a nice lifestyle without putting a drop of sweat into it.”

  “It sounds like they should never have been married,” she says. I’ve been over that thought a million times, only to draw the conclusion that I would never have been born if they didn’t get married.

  “It’s true. Anyway, for whatever reason, my pop loved her more than I can ever understand. He’d take a bullet for her. He’d give her everything he had if it meant
she’d stay with him. Even as a teenager, I didn’t understand why, but who am I to question love, ya know?”

  “Your poor dad,” she says. “He sounds like a good man.”

  “He was.” That damn word in the past tense always causes my throat to constrict and my stomach to hurt.

  “Oh,” Scarlett says as she looks down at Waldo and scratches behind his ear again.

  “One day, my pop was dealing with a delayed delivery he was picking up, so he got home an hour or so late. My ma got so mad at him for messing up her plans that she told him she was leaving him for good.” Retelling this story is like reopening the wound I thought would never heal. It’s healed enough that day to day I can pretend it’s not there, but it hurts to bring it back up.

  “If this is too much, I understand,” Scarlett says. I’m sure she didn’t realize what she was asking for when she requested my story.

  “The story isn’t much longer,” I assure her. “My pop was heartbroken. I saw his world crumbling just by looking in his eyes that night. My ma left with her car and my pop paced the house for about five minutes before he decided to go after her.” He made it clear to me from a young age that if a man loves a woman, he shouldn’t let her go, not without puttin’ up a fight for her. He’d tell me that a woman tends to say she doesn’t want to be chased, but when she runs away and the man doesn’t follow her, she’ll just hold it against him later. His advice confused me a lot, but I understand where he was coming from now. I’m just not sure I agree with it.

  Scarlett is covering her mouth in preparation for what I’m about to say. It’s as if she already knows where I’m going with this. “Oh no,” she says.

  “I told him not to go. I begged him not to go after her. He was upset and exhausted, but when your heart is hurting, there’s no way to think straight, no matter what anyone says. He walked up to me and said, ‘I love that woman, son. As stubborn and thick-headed as she is, I can’t let her go without a fight.’ I wanted to tell him she wasn’t worth it. It’s a real shit thing to think about my own mother, but I was right to think that way.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it would have made a difference if you had said that. Love will make a person jump through hoops of fire, or so I’ve seen.”