Jagged Love

by Nicole Simone

  “Ok, but I’m sorry for snooping. It wasn’t right of me.” My eyes glanced at the paint can. “Should I dare ask?”

  “It’s bright pink fuchsia. You told me that the only time you felt true happiness was when you painted your bedroom pink. I want you to feel that everyday, even if that means my house will end up looking like Barbie’s Dream World.”

  Mallory was at the dining room table scribbling on a notepad when I walked back into the room. She glanced up and shyly tucked her hair behind her ear at the sight of Andrew. Aware of the effect he had on Mallory, he showed off his knee-weakening dimples. She practically swooned.

  “Hey, change of plans. I’m going to stay at Andrew’s,” I said.

  “I figured. Do you want any hot chocolate for the road?”

  Andrew answered for me. “Yes, she does.”

  Mallory and I laughed at his boyish enthusiasm. Getting up from the table, she poured hot chocolate into a thermos. Ever the gentleman, he thanked her and professed it as the best hot chocolate he had ever tasted. I had to agree, it was amazing.

  Andrew set the paint can on the floor and dug into his front pocket. “If you don’t have plans tonight, I would love it if you and whoever else came to my art show tonight.

  Due to the tumultuous twenty-four hours, I had completely forgotten about Andrew’s art show. I felt like a rotten human being. This was an incredibly important event in his life.

  Mallory took the invitation with the utmost care. “I’ll check with my fiancé but I think we are free. What’s your medium?”

  “Oils. Do you paint?”

  “I do charcoal sketches and have recently started to sell them online since my schedule has freed up.”

  “Can I see them?”

  She lit up at his offer. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I always love to see what my peers are doing in the art world.”

  “My notebook is on the table.”

  Andrew opened the notebook she had been scribbling in when we walked into the kitchen. He flipped through the pages. “Haven, why didn’t you tell me your friend was incredibly talented?”

  “Because she never told me.”

  Uncomfortable at the amount of attention on herself, Mallory waved away our praises. “It was a hobby I did in my free time until Clint encouraged me to sell them. I still have a lot to learn.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” Andrew stopped on a particular page. “I love this one. What is it called?” He flashed the notebook toward Mallory and me.

  Fluid lines smudged in a configuration of light and dark to create an outline of man was sketched on the white paper. It was good—really good. Hanging around Andrew, I was starting to realize everybody had a hidden talent like Matthew and his photography or Mallory and her charcoal drawings. I wonder what mine was. Grilled cheese artist?

  “It’s called Man in Shadows,” Mallory said.

  “I like that,” Andrew murmured.

  She blushed crimson from head to toe. Finishing his assessment, Mallory wilted with relief.

  “If you come tonight, I can introduce you to some people. They might be able to help organize a showing for your artwork,” Andrew generously offered. “I think you have a lot of raw untouched talent.”

  I figured since Mallory’s personality border lined on shy, she would rather crawl into a hole then to let that happen, but once again she surprised me.

  “Thank you so much. I would love that.”

  “Great, then it’s settled. I’ll see you there.”

  We said our goodbyes and Andrew and I exited into the bitter autumn air. He swung his arm over my shoulders, tucking my body against his.

  “I’m glad you’re coming home with me. It was lonely there without you,” he said against my hair.

  “I was gone for less than four hours.”

  “Longest four hours of my life.”

  Tipping my chin up, I met his eyes and grinned. “You are such a cheese ball.”

  “You love it.”

  I did love it more than I would have liked to admit. Andrew had the rare quality of wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Sometimes they weren’t ideal but you could always tell where you stood. Compared to the other guys I dated who’d played mind games, it was a breath of fresh air.

  Andrew opened the car door. “After you, my lady.”

  Climbing into the buttery leather seats, a sense of belonging washed over me. I belonged in this car with Andrew, heading home. Home. That was what Andrew’s loft was. The thought was paralyzing. What had happened to the barbed wire wrapped around my heart? It was supposed to be indestructible, yet Andrew had torn it down within three days. Before I could tip into a panic, the car roared to life.

  “Do you have a dress for tonight?” Andrew wondered.

  “I have a dress—whether it is appropriate is the real question.”

  “What does it look like?”

  My mind searched for the right description. “It looks like Minnie Mouse got into a catfight with a hooker.”

  “Ha! I would love to see what that looks like.”

  “I can model it for you when we get home.”

  Andrew’s heated glance said he would like that very much. My inner thighs twitched in anticipation. Tonight my two-year dry spell would end and my orgasm reclaimed. Hallelujah. I grabbed my bag between my legs to search for a breath mint.

  “Why did you have bruise marks?”

  My eyes fell to the exposed skin on my right wrist where my jacket sleeve had ridden up. Big Ted had left behind faded black and blue impressions of his fingertips from our confrontation. Lying wasn’t an option—not with Andrew—not anymore.

  “I had a run in with Big Ted the other day,” I said.

  Contained anger crept into his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I guess because it would make it real. He has shed his skin and showed the monster hidden beneath. That monster wasn’t there when I was kid. Then again, it could have been and I had no idea.”

  “He’s a drug dealer, Haven. He was never a saint.”

  “Duh! But he shed light on things my mother did that I never thought she would.”

  Andrew looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Like what?”

  Fiddling with the tassel on my purse, embarrassment coursed through me. Being seen as a drug addict’s daughter was shameful enough. Andrew waited patiently for me to speak.

  “My mom used her body to pay for drugs when she didn’t have money,” I said quietly. “Nothing mattered more than that sweet high.” My voice cracked. “I didn’t matter.”

  Andrew flipped on the turn signal and coasted to the side of the road. I looked around, confused at what he was up to. He turned off the engine, unbuckled his seat belt and did the same for me.

  “Get out,” Andrew ordered.

  “Why?”

  He ignored my questioning gaze and stepped out onto the busy highway. Cars zoomed past at dizzying speeds. A shallow river next to the guardrail stretched into a wide-open piece of land. An abounded house sat on the property, windows broken and the roof half collapsed. Andrew knocked on the passenger window then pointed to the house. He jumped over the guardrail like a gazelle, leaving me no other choice than to follow.

  Andrew stood waiting for me at what used to be the front door, now a splintered board covered in moss. Old houses and their untold stories gave me the creeps.

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around my waist. “What are we doing here?”

  “This was my fort when I was a child. I lived a half a mile from here in the Pinecone development.”

  The Pinecone development, known for its lavish houses, bright green lawns and large gold fountain at the entrance, screamed wealth. One year Monica, Sumiko, and I tainted the water of the fountain bright purple as a metaphorical middle finger.

  “My fort when I was a child was a cardboard box until Billy, the homeless man claimed it as his. I couldn’t blame him. It was a really sweet box.” I said.

  And
rew lips quivered as he held back a laugh. “You are so weird.”

  “Weird is just another term for awesome, as Monica says.”

  “She is onto something there. Do you want to see the rest of the house?”

  I glanced at the dilapidated structure. It looked like a one room shack from the outside unless a basement was hidden below. Andrew shoved the door open and dust particles floated in the air. Coughing, my feet refused to budge from the tall grass. This was how every horror movie started out. Stupid girl walks into abounded house, finds a dead body, screams, and subsequently runs into serial killer who murders her with a butcher knife.

  “You are crazy if you think I’m going to go in there with you.” I arched an eyebrow. “Is this like a metaphor for with ugliness blooms beauty?”

  “Nope, I just wanted to show you a sliver of my childhood.” Off my befuddlement, Andrew explained further. “Since we met, there’s been more drama in my life than my twenty-five years of being alive.”

  “Hey! You always had the choice to leave, still do.”

  He stepped into my personal bubble, placing his hands on my hips. I sucked in a breath as he looked at me with unconcealed affection. “That’s the thing—I don’t want to leave. Me and you, baby, are in this together until the bloody end.”

  Andrew’s use of the word baby made me giggle. “Did you just call me baby?”

  “You hate nicknames, don’t you?”

  I inched my pointer finger and thumb together. “Just a little bit.”

  “Figured. What I was trying to say was that I just need a break from the drama. Not being able to help you is driving me insane, Haven. If I had it my way, Big Ted would be behind bars and your stepsister in rehab.” He tightened his hold. “Can we just pretend for an hour that we are on our first date? You laugh at my jokes, we flirt, and maybe at the end we share a goodnight kiss.”

  His dark eyes flickered with hope, igniting a sense of bravery inside me.

  I moved his hands to cup the round curve of his ass. “I think we have moved past first base Andrew and are running toward home.”

  He grinned wickedly. “Are you coming onto me, Haven McClain?”

  “I don’t know? Am I, Andrew Foster?”

  “Mmm,” he dipped his head and whispered in my ear. “I like when you say my full name. It sounds sexy coming from your lips.”

  My heart rate tripled as his minty fresh breath sent shivers down my spine. “Is that so?”

  “That is definitely so.”

  Andrew slid his hands up underneath the back of my shirt, racking his short-cut fingernails against my skin. Pleasure heated my bloodstream. The sound of a truck barreling past reminded me we were in plain sight, yet I couldn’t care less. I had waited long enough. My sexual dry spell ended now. Tipping my chin upwards, my mouth found his. Andrew growled, losing the control he so desperately held onto and kissed me like a man starved of oxygen. His fingers tangled into my hair while he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth. I moaned and pulled Andrew closer until we were one and the same. Dizzy with desire, the world around us faded. A whimper of protest left the back of my throat when we separated, breaths ragged.

  “If you keep it up, I won’t be able to wait until we get home,” Andrew said.

  “Why wait?” My gaze flickered to the abounded house. “We can act out your teenage fantasies in your childhood fort.”

  “I knew there was a vixen inside you yet.”

  He swung me off my feet and into his arms. Kicking the splintered door open, I breathed in a lungful of damp earth. Wooden boards nailed on the windows blocked out the sunlight. The small one room shack knocked up to a ten on the creep factor. I began to regret my decision. Sensing my discomfort, Andrew put me down and clicked his cell phone on. While meager, it provided enough light to better see our surrounding.

  “There might be a few candlesticks and matches,” Andrew mused. “Let me check.”

  He raided the set of chest of drawers next to a shell of a bedframe missing its mattress. I hugged my arms around my waist and pretended not to notice the structure’s dilapidated state. Otherwise, my dry spell would stay intact for another day.

  “Ha! I knew they were in here,” Andrew struck a match and begun to place the candlesticks around the room. A faint glow flickered against the walls. “I could also start a fire too, if you’re cold.”

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  Recognizing the unease in my voice, Andrew strode to where I was and flashed a heart-stopping grin. “We are perfectly safe. Relax.”

  “This is how every horror movie starts.”

  His eyes darkened. “Then let’s rewrite history.” Taking off his jacket, he laid it on the scratched hardwood floor like a makeshift blanket.

  “Romance at its finest,” I mumbled.

  Andrew laughed softly while our gazes locked. My doubts were forgotten as I tumbled into his arresting eyes. Location didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the feel of him inside me. We began right where we’d left off, lips locked, bodies pressed together, and our moans of pleasure shattering the dusty silence. He guided me down onto the jacket. Grabbing the hem of my t-shirt, reluctance churned in my stomach. The last time Andrew saw my scars was in the middle of our first and last argument. He hadn’t uttered a word about them since.

  As if he felt my body stiffen, he lifted his mouth from mine. Concern creased his eyebrows together. “If you don’t want to do this, say the word and we will stop.”

  “No! It’s just….” I hesitated. “Usually it’s darker.”

  Awareness dawned in his eyes. “You are completely and utterly beautiful. Do not hide from me, Haven. I want you, all of you.”

  The plea in his voice untied the knots in my stomach. Andrew didn’t fall in the same league as the other men I had been with. He saw beyond my body to the fragile soul underneath. This time when Andrew inched my t-shirt over my head, I didn’t stop him. Resisting the urge to cover myself with my hands, they curled into fist at my sides.

  Andrew drank in my half naked torso and sighed. “God, how did I get so lucky?”

  A rush of affection spilt me into two and the unspoken question—How did I?—rang in my head.

  He pressed a kiss against the saw-toothed scar above my bellybutton and spoke. “These scars are simply a part of you, but they do not define you.”

  As the night proceeded, Andrew showed me exactly what he meant with every caress on my heated skin, each thrust between my legs, and every lick of his tongue until my scars no longer held the meaning they once did.

  I knew I’d spend the next day walking around bowlegged due to the events of that afternoon, but I couldn’t complain. Andrew had ended my two-year dry spell with multiple orgasms. He’d put my needs before his and didn’t give it a second thought. Not to mention, controlling in a sexy way that had me bending over backwards to please him (pun intended). A goofy grin had been plastered on my face since we’d left the abandoned house and wouldn’t disappear. It only grew bigger as flashes of our tryst popped into my head. I couldn’t believe we had sex in an abounded house. Anybody could have found us, yet the forbidden factor raked up the hotness scale. Spank my fanny and call me Mary, an exhibitionist resided in my yet. Never thought I would say that. Although my inner slut raged hard in high school, my sex life wasn’t very dirty. I didn’t have sex in closets, in the backseat of cars, or anywhere besides where a bed was present. Andrew’s intoxicating presence made me forget the outside world and solely on the lust raging through my veins.

  Dumping my suitcase on his bed, I searched for a dressy casual outfit to wear tonight. Since I had no idea what that term meant, my options were overwhelming. A black wrap cardigan got discarded into the yes pile along with black slacks. So far the pile looked like a whole lot of black and nothing else. However if my memory served me correctly, Andrew’s friends at the strip club had a fondness for the midnight shade. My phone beeped on my nightstand and I pulled up a text message from Monica.

  Kic
k ass tonight and be the sexy bitch I know you are.

  I smiled at the screen and wished Monica could have come to the art show. I needed the self-confidence boost of my best friend by my side. Glancing at my lackluster options, my fingers slid open Andrew’s closet doors. A dress stood out amongst the black and gray suites. It shimmered in the light, changing from gray to a light blue, reminding me of a waterfall. A simple note with my name was tacked to the bodice. A squeal bounced off the walls when I realized Andrew had bought the dress for me.

  Changing out of my street clothes, I took the dress off the hanger and slipped it over my head. The gown skimmed my curves, landing above my knees. I swished back and forth, overcome with gratitude. Andrew should be renamed Prince Charming. The beauty of the dress blinded me to the shoes on the closet floor. They were white, strappy, and had a six-inch heel. Tonight Andrew and I would be ideal kissing height. Sliding my feet into the stilettos, I did a practice run around his bedroom. At first my legs wobbled but they eventually got the hang of it.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

  Spinning around, Andrew leaned against the doorframe. He wore an old band t-shirt with a black slim cut jacket. Day old stubble dotted his cheeks. His brown eyes were almost black against his tan complexion and framed by a pair of rim horned glasses. It was a sin how gorgeous Andrew looked.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself. How does the man of the hour feel?”

  “I feel like I want to throw up, run away, and jump your bones in the same breath.”

  Teetering to where he stood, my palm rested against his cheek. “Your artwork is amazing. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Except for the fact I trashed five of my paintings and went on a creative bender that produced artwork way out of my comfort zone.”

  “It will be fine. You will be fine.”

  He rested his forehead against mine as his fingers slid up my bare thigh. I shivered in pleasure. “How bout I cancel and we stay in bed all night instead?” Andrew’s gaze darkened when he realized I wasn’t wearing panties. His thumb brushed my throbbing sex. “Yes I definitely vote to stay in.”