Salvage Her Heart

by Shelly Pratt

  I ask the taxi driver to take me to a delicatessen in Hawthorne that I am familiar with. It is little acts of familiarity like this that give me hope for one day being in a place where I might have friends and a social life that comes with normalcy. Despite living my life, I know it is far from normal. For the moment, I forget who I am, and why I am here. I’m just a young woman out for the morning, shopping without a care in the world.

  When I enter the little shop, the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans confronts me. It is a heavenly smell that insists customers try a drop before leaving the store. Not one to ever say no to such demands, I decide to have a late breakfast before filling the list of ingredients I have in my hand.

  As I approach the countertop, I almost stop in my tracks. Despite there being several customers and staff bustling about in the store, I suddenly feel like I am the only one in there. Well, besides the ridiculously handsome man behind the coffee machine. Nobody has the right to look that … hot, and capable, and strong. For some reason, protective springs to mind.

  I chastise myself for not only gawking stupidly at him, but for even giving him a second glance when I know that so many impossibilities would never even see the light of day. He’s moving fluidly with music coming from a little radio on the bench behind him, making it look like pulling coffees was the most enjoyable thing in the world.

  He’s in his own world, grooving along while not seeing anyone else around him. It frustrates me a little, although it shouldn’t, because I want him to notice me too. Which is dangerous, to say the least. If Alex were a fly on the wall right now, I may as well hold the gun to my head myself. But he’s not here, which makes me a little brave.

  ‘Evie?’ My trance is broken by the kindly old woman, Jean, who is calling me by name. I’ve been in the store enough times for us to be on a first name basis. She’s a lovely woman who opened the deli up after her husband died. She has the most amazing face of wrinkles I’ve ever seen, which for some reason makes me think she’s really wise. Sometimes I want to spill my guts to her, have her comfort me. But I know that is just a desperate fantasy that a lonely person has. No one can save me, not even me.

  ‘Sorry, Jean, I was off with the fairies. Can I have a croissant and a latte please? I’ll fill my list when I’m done.’

  ‘Sure thing, honey. Why don’t you give me your list and I’ll start getting your other bits together while you sit down and enjoy your breakfast.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s very kind.’ I hesitate, wanting just one extra minute at the counter, hoping that the man would notice me. Jean smiles, sensing my innate need for any kind human contact.

  ‘Can you please make Evie’s latte straight away please?’ She looks expectantly at the man over her spectacles which are balanced precariously on the end of her nose. He nods while he continues to work, not looking up as he loads the groups with freshly ground coffee. Jean, seemingly wanting his attention just as much as I do, holds out the docket with my order on it until he looks up from what he’s doing. Out of the corner of his eye, he senses her, and looks up to take the order from her.

  ‘Thanks, I …’ His eyes fall on me, the slight intake of breath undeniable as they roam over my face. My lips part and I involuntarily lick my lips, waiting to see if a simple look from him can floor me. It doesn’t, of course, but my heart is certainly galloping in my chest. He absently takes the docket from Jean, disregarding her now as his eyes flutter to my order.

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s me,’ I say, suddenly embarrassed at the way he’s intensely focused on me.

  ‘Fucking gorgeous, more like it, he mumbles as he slips the docket in front of the others on the counter.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I’m shocked he just dropped the F-bomb for sure, but even more so that he just openly called me gorgeous. I’m sure my cheeks are several shades of pink right now, but I don’t care enough to walk away. He clears his throat, as if suddenly remembering he’s got an audience.

  ‘Erm, one latte, coming up, Evie.’ My name rolls off his tongue like a purr. I like the sound of it very much. Damn, I really must be deprived of love and affection if one hot male can make me weak by the sound of his voice. I shake my head slightly to snap myself out of it, leaving him alone with the coffee machine while I find a table in the corner.

  I get quite the spot, because his muscled arms in his tee are clearly visible from where I’m sitting. It’s just a plain black tee but, if I were honest with myself, I have never seen a shirt look that good on anyone. He wears it with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders so it looks more like a tank top. His tanned, well-defined arms speak volumes about how he likes to spend his spare time. Outdoors, probably, and doing something physical… Good Lord, I’m just about panting at the thought of him doing something sweaty. My mind wanders to all kinds of intimate thoughts as he approaches with my hot coffee in his hand.

  ‘Latte,’ he says as he places it on the table in front of me.

  ‘Thank you.’ I try not to look at him as I stir in a sugar.

  ‘I haven’t worked here for a while.’ The corner of my mouth twitches ever so slightly.

  ‘I noticed,’ I offer, still not looking at him.

  ‘I’m here most days.’ He grins when my eyes finally find his. Absently he runs his hands through his too-long, tousled brown hair. I notice he has a tattoo on his wrist, although I’m unable to see it properly.

  ‘Not for much longer if you don’t get your butt back to that coffee machine,’ grumbles Jean as she places my croissant on the table before swatting the man on the arse with a tea towel. He winks at me, before following Jean back towards the counter.

  ‘Hey, I could sue for sexual harassment, you know,’ he jokes with her.

  ‘Darling, you have to let this old duck have some fun, you know?’ she cackles loudly as she heads off into the kitchen to finish packing up the goods on my list. The man goes back to making coffee while stealing glances at me over the machine. I try to ignore him. What’s the use in entertaining a fantasy that would never, and could never, come true.

  I’m almost finished my latte, but take my time nibbling on my food. Suddenly, I’m in no hurry to go anywhere. While other patrons come and go, I while away the morning in the deli, thoroughly enjoying the escapism of my life.

  I glance at my watch, startled to realise that more time has passed than I intended. Panic fills me as I quickly make a mental note of how much time I have to prepare Alex’s birthday meal before he’s due home. If I hurry, I might just make it. Actually, there is no alternative. I have to have dinner ready on time or… else.

  Jean notices I’m getting up to leave and meets me at the cash register to ring up my purchases. She notices I’m suddenly flustered.

  ‘You okay, honey?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine, but would you mind to call me a taxi? I think I left my phone at home and I’m running a bit late.’

  ‘Of course I can,’ says Jean, reaching for the phone.

  ‘I can give her a lift.’ It’s him, and he’s offering to give me a ride?

  ‘Um, no thanks. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t even know your name,’ I say, looking to make sure Jean is still calling the taxi. She waves the phone at me, checking I want her to make the call. I nod, yes.

  ‘Grayson. My name’s Grayson Glines.’

  ‘Sorry Grayson, but I’m married.’

  ‘What does being married have to do with accepting a lift?’ He looks confused, as though there couldn’t be any correlation between the two. Truth be told, in normal peoples’ lives, it would be perfectly acceptable to accept such an offer. But in my world, things like this are forbidden. Things like this could get a person like Grayson killed.

  ‘Everything; it has everything to do with it.’ I grab my box of goodies and head out of the store to wait for my taxi, leaving behind me the first person in years who has given me hope that there might, just might, be a better life for me out there somewhere.

  Two

>   GRAYSON

  Evie, Evie, Evie. Her name makes me think of green grass fields full of wildflowers with white petals, and making love while listening to a Jack Johnson song. She’s got long blonde hair and brilliant green eyes, kind of like moss but slightly lighter in colour. That woman is every bit of F-I-N-E, and I wouldn’t be embarrassed to tell her so.

  But despite my obvious gaga reaction to her, she’s not like other women. I’m not saying the ladies fall at my feet, but I’m not hard on the eye, either. Most women I’ve flirted with would at least have given me a little bit back. Not her, though. She’s different. Complex for sure, but… hesitant, guarded and seemingly conscious of everything she says or does.

  When she left the shop with her parting words, she seemed so vulnerable and damaged. Not weak, though, please don’t mistake the two. There’s fight in her eyes, but do you know what they said more than anything else? Set me free. I wonder just what she needs saving from. From the look of desperation in her eyes, I’d say it’s something serious.

  It’s funny that her words can push you away, yet her eyes suck you straight back in. I’m already lost in them. While she sat, carefully sipping coffee and eating delicate bites of pastry, all I wanted to do was hold her face and gaze into her eyes a little longer. Too stalkerish, you reckon? I don’t fucking care—about how much I instantly like this woman, or the fact that she’s married. No, I’m not a home wrecker. But I honestly believe there is just one person who we fall in love with in this world. Right now I think she may just be the one for me. Why else would I have such a strong pull to her if she’s just a passing face in a sea of many?

  After an early shift, I’m ready to just grab a beer and soak in the spa on the back deck, but by the looks of things, that’s not about to happen. Pulling into the driveway of where I live, it’s clear that I have company, and it’s neither of my flatmates that I rent with. Instead, I’m confronted by Chantelle—a long-standing fuck-buddy who doesn’t know the meaning of the word no, and is slightly neurotic to boot. In the loosest sense of the word, we’ve been seeing each other for the last year. Even I’m amazed that it has lasted this long. I think it comes down to the fact that I haven’t had any other options, and she’s happy with me treating her like dirt. It’s not that I intend to be intentionally cruel; in fact, I have been completely up-front with my lack of interest in her. I just refuse to open up my heart and get it broken again.

  Chantelle is the kind of person whose perception on things differs greatly from that of reality. This is why she goes around telling everybody I’m about to propose to her, when in fact things couldn’t be further from the truth.

  For a second I contemplate just backing out of the driveway and coming back later when she’s taken the hint or gone home. Knowing Chantelle the way I do, I know she doesn’t give up that easily. She’d either just wait around or come back later—probably when I’m fast asleep and unable to send her away because of my sleep-induced haze. Usually that is where she catches me unawares. She knows I have zero willpower when it comes to refusing a hot, naked body suddenly rubbing up against me while I’m half asleep. Hey, find me a man who would!

  It’s not that Chantelle isn’t good looking, because she is. There’s just something missing. Something on a deeper level that I need from another individual that would make me want to keep them around for a long time. Deciding I’d best get this over with, I turn off the engine and step out of the car.

  ‘Hey there, Grayson. I’ve been waiting a while. Did you just get off your shift?’

  ‘Yeah. What can I do for you, Chantelle?’ She smiles wickedly at me, stuffing her hands in her denim shorts so that they ride a little lower and reveal a little more of her tanned stomach.

  ‘More like what I can do for you.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s been a long day. I’m just gonna have a shower and then catch some shut-eye before the guys get home for dinner.’ Without waiting for her reply, I head to the front door with my keys ready. She’s hot on my heels. Remember? She doesn’t understand the word no.

  ‘Well, you just go right ahead; I’ll give you a hand washing that back of yours.’

  ‘That’s really not necessary.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. You used to be fun.’

  ‘That was before I was working two jobs,’ I say, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘Why don’t you quit the coffee gig and just do your artwork full time?’

  ‘Because the art doesn’t make enough to live off, is why.’

  She doesn’t say any more, because my tone is clearly fed up with the conversation. Instead, she flicks her shoulder-length chestnut hair off her face and secures it with a hair tie. Chantelle has very tanned skin, but it suits her. If Scarlett Johansson had a fake tan, she would remind me a little of her, although not as curvaceous.

  She follows me into the bathroom and watches as I strip off my jeans and tee. I’ve never been embarrassed about being naked, and since she’s seen it more than once, there is nothing left to be modest about.

  I climb into the shower stall and start to shampoo my hair. She gazes at me seductively while she strips off her own clothes. Surprisingly, her nakedness doesn’t have much effect on me. She’s going to have to do a little more than get naked if she wants to spark my interest.

  My dick is hanging at half-mast when she grabs it with soapy hands. It lifts a little, interested in the attention that it is suddenly being given. The strangest thing in being with Chantelle, is that there is no other connection with her. My heart and soul remain isolated, withdrawn from her attempts to fracture my armour.

  Water droplets cover her naked flesh, heading south so it flattens the hair between her legs. Despite my lack of affection for the woman, my appendage always remembers what it has been like to be inside of someone.

  All thoughts of washing my hair have gone out the window. Despite my earlier protests to her company, my dick now says otherwise. I’m horny, and I’m not particularly fussy as to whether my hand or Chantelle does the job. Since she’s eager, I let her at it.

  Using her hands, she massages the shaft of my cock until it is rock-hard and ready to take her in one swift movement. There is no protest as I lift her off the tiles and press her backside against the shower stall. She wraps her arms around my neck, grappling for purchase while I hold her steady, arse cupped in the palm of my hands. Her lips seek out mine, right before I plunge deep inside of her. She moans softly, desperate for any kind of approval from me. I ignore the kiss she’s trying to deepen as I start to rock back and forth.

  Her pussy is so warm and wet, engulfing my shaft completely. All the sensation in the tip of my cock radiates down the shaft as I fuck her like a teenager—quick and hard.

  It’s not romantic, it’s not love. All it is, is two people getting their rocks off and blowing off a bit of steam. When I come, she stills as I hold her in place.

  ‘That was amazing, Grayson,’ she gasps, gently sliding off me so she’s back on solid ground. I know my performance was anything but, however my male ego still likes to hear it. I’m panting hard, water spraying my back while I catch my breath. I start to soap myself down, passing the bar of soap to Chantelle when I’ve finished so she can wash away the mess I’ve left behind. The benefit of being with someone familiar is you know their sexual history. As far as I know, she isn’t banging anyone else and she’s on the pill—a double tick in my book.

  When we finally emerge into the living room, Lucas and Rob are sitting on the sofa, sculling beer and watching sport. They both eye us suspiciously, but say nothing embarrassing—yet. I know I will cop an ear-full when Chantelle eventually leaves. Right now, I’m not in the mood for a ribbing from my mates, so I do the only thing to prevent that. I invite her to stay for dinner. She’s pleased to say the least.

  We leave my flatmates watching television while we head out the back to grill steaks. Chantelle fills the void by chatting about every single thing that comes to her mind. That woman does not have
a filter. For once, I don’t mind. It kind of distracts me from a pang of guilt I have creeping into my gut.

  For one, I hate that things between us are still in play. I need to end it nicely, and for good, when things aren’t all hot and steamy. Chantelle certainly has a knack for keeping the ball rolling and it’s got to stop.

  Besides, I’m shocked to realise I’m feeling a tad guilty over someone else. The slender face of Evie fills my mind. She’s cute and sexy, the slight smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose making me believe she’d enjoy an endless summer with me given the chance. That’s just the problem, though. Evie is very much attached, so why should I feel guilty over screwing someone else?

  Because you like her, you idiot!

  The most disheartening aspect of that thought is that there isn’t a single thing I can do about it. She’s probably gone home to her husband and hasn’t even given me a second thought. I look at Chantelle as she dishes up salad on everyone’s plates. For the first time, I kind of get what unrequited love is like.

  Three

  EVIE

  To say I’m panicked beyond belief is an understatement. My attempts at indulging in a carefree life this morning has impacted on the time I have left to prepare for Alex’s arrival. That little fact has hit home the minute I arrive at our apartment to find Lurch guarding the front door and making furtive glances at his watch. When he notices my approach, he taps the watch face, a subtle reminder I’m running late.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ I know I sound petulant. Perhaps a little bitchy, but when you can never snap back at the person you really want to, you tend to take your moods out on other people. Sometimes, I don’t even know who I am anymore.