by K B Cinder
He shot me a look, one that made me fear him for the first time ever, his eyes full of rage. “Did you tell someone about Clare and I?”
Clare and I.
Like they were some cute little couple.
Gag me.
I rolled my eyes. “Get real, Finger. You’re not worth that much.”
As great as it would have felt to spill the beans, it wouldn’t exactly help me in the long-run. Teachers ran in the same circles, even outside their respective districts. If someone picked up on our relationship, the news would reach every potential employer in a hundred-mile radius in a matter of days, if not hours.
His shoulders relaxed despite the insult, his eyes softening a touch. “There are whispers in the teacher’s lounge. If they reach Dr. Rosen…”
“You’re toast,” I finished, smoothing the skirt of my navy dress. “Maybe you shouldn’t suck face in the school parking lot. A little careless, no?”
He paled, averting his eyes. Despite everything that happened, a tiny part of me hurt to see him so squirmy. The part that still held a candle for the handsome man I saw myself marrying not so long before.
Too bad I needed to snuff it out.
“What happened to you?” I pushed, just as surprised as he was at the words as they tumbled out of my mouth.
He leaned forward on the desk, his powerful arms resting on the walnut. The same arms that had once held me.
“We’re one and the same, Juni. We both love making mistakes.” He cleared his throat as he looked me over, cheeks reddening. “I didn’t mean for Clare to happen, but a man has needs. She takes it in the ass, you know?”
I stiffened, and if it weren’t for the windows to the outside world, I would have tossed his coffee in his face. I might have even bonked him over the head with the stupid teacher-of-the-year mug his mother bought him.
“You’re a pig.” He was a thousand other words, too, but there weren’t enough hours in the day to fire them all off.
“You loved it before,” he teased, his tongue running along his lower lip. “Remember that time you blew me at the movies? We could still do that, baby. Clare wouldn’t mind.”
I was on my feet flipping his mug into his lap before he could say more.
He didn’t shout as one would expect. He didn’t even stand. He just looked at me with a smile, and that’s when I saw it.
A mammoth bulge at the front of his stupid, coffee-stained khakis. The asshole was getting off on pissing me off.
My lunch churned in my stomach, anger unleashing in a tidal wave through my body as I stood.
“I’m done, Brandon. Do not contact me again, or you’ll be in front of the board. I don’t give a shit anymore.”
9
Brandon didn’t bother me again.
Not the rest of that day.
Not the rest of that week.
It was as liberating as it was scary.
The sadness and anger vanished, no longer shielding the nothingness where he’d once stood.
I became acutely aware of my empty bed at night. How hollow I felt when I went to text Brandon a meme he’d love, only to remember I’d deleted his number.
But I was free.
Whenever the void announced itself with a thousand trumpets, I smiled wide. Freedom meant new experiences. Adventure. Fun.
I couldn’t wait.
I was still smiling as I walked into the grocery store after work that Friday, leisurely wandering the aisles because I could.
There was no one waiting impatiently with dinner plans. No one demanding attention like a baby bird. I’d dropkicked him right out of the nest and kept on trucking.
Karine was in Atlantic City for an adult expo, so I had the house to myself for the weekend. Every waking minute would be spent pampering myself, cleansing the old and ushering in the new.
I tossed coconut oil in the cart for my mani-pedi and hair mask before heading to produce, browsing sale items for anything remotely healthy as a precursor to a fabulously heavy pasta dinner. The pre-made stuffed manicotti up front had my name all over them.
Jumbo English cucumbers were on sale, so the decision was a no-brainer. I grabbed one from the display, checking it for imperfections.
I needed to eat at least one vegetable a day, dammit. I’d made good on last year’s resolution so far, and I wasn’t about to fail as I reached the homestretch.
“Hey, stranger.”
I flinched, almost dropping the vegetable, a perfect specimen.
My eyes fell on another a heartbeat away, Dash good enough to lick in his usual fire department tee and jeans.
“Hi,” I managed, every nervous butterfly for him I’d smashed rising from the dead in an angry swarm.
He smiled as he leaned back on his heels. His perfectly white teeth gleaned under the fluorescent lights, his lips as tempting as ever. “Fun weekend plans?”
Totally. I planned on slathering myself in every beauty balm known to man for 48 hours. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it wasn’t bad, either.
The only interesting part would be dog sitting Pierogi while my parents were in Miami for the weekend. I just had to pick him up on my way home, and we were set. His bags were already packed and his dinner and walk were taken care of by the dog walker. I was on easy street.
“Karine is out of town, and I’m watching Pierogi, so I’m staying in for some me-time.”
“I can tell,” he teased with a laugh, his eyes passing between the hulking cucumber in my hand and the tub of coconut oil. “Looks like you’re in for a challenge.”
My jaw dropped at his suggestion, making him laugh even harder. “These aren’t for that!”
The cucumber in my hand was at least a foot long and definitely not going anywhere near my nether regions. It wouldn’t fit in either hole with all the coconut oil as lube in the world, thank you very much.
His brows waggled. “Sure, Juni. Sure.”
My cheeks burned as I threw the cucumber in my cart, too flustered to think of anything close to a comeback.
“Was school out today?” He looked me over from head to toe, taking in my jeans and boots.
“No,” I mumbled, suddenly fascinated with the cracked plastic handle of my cart. I’d do anything to avoid eye contact with him after the cucumber comment. “Casual Friday.”
It was my favorite day of the week, allowing us teachers to dress down if we wanted, though that day I’d opted to cuddle up in a long cardigan instead of my usual t-shirt. My classroom was in the old wing of the building, and its charm came with drafts and a single vent that coughed out heat when it felt like it.
He smiled, his hazel eyes coaxing mine to meet them, and once he had them, I was trapped. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. You too.”
But he didn’t just look nice. He was yet again more than a snack. He was the entire buffet. Plus dessert.
Deep, dark, hopelessly tousled hair. A jaw cut from stone dusted with a five o’clock shadow. A strong, sinewy body. He was a six-foot scoop of yum.
I would take seconds and thirds of him.
He took a step closer to let a woman pass, his cologne reaching out to tickle my nose. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Life has been hectic.”
It was a flub answer, evading the truth. I did stay late at work all week but only to take down autumn decorations and replace them with winter ones. I also purposely avoided driving anywhere near the firehouse, and may or may not have changed his name in my phone to No.
“Mm, is that all?” he asked, his eyes dipping to my lips. “It almost seems like you’re hiding.”
I wanted to point out that I rarely, if ever, saw him before our run-ins during the long Thanksgiving weekend, but couldn’t find the words, too focused on the way he was staring at my mouth.
Not to mention he hadn’t reached out, either.
Not that I noticed, or checked my phone incessantly or anything.
He cocked his head as he studied me. “I hate to think tha
t you’re scared of me, Juni.”
I shrugged, attempting to play it cool. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
Except I was.
I was scared of Sage.
Of losing our bond.
I’d always been proud of our relationship, free of the usual sibling tit-for-tat once we were teenagers. As long as I stayed on my side of the line and didn’t show a lick of interest in his friends, that is.
I hadn’t, until Dash came rolling on in looking like Mr. Fantasy.
“Good to know,” he murmured, scanning our surroundings before leaning close, his lips inches from my ear. “But in case you were wondering, our little secret is safe with me, petite genévrier.”
Only he could make such an innocent nickname sound so filthy, his breath hot against my skin.
“Is it?” I croaked, a sudden shiver running down my spine.
He nuzzled my hair before pressing a devastating kiss behind my ear. “Absolutely.”
“It needs to stay that way,” I muttered, my knees embarrassingly jellylike from the contact.
“Our little secret,” he repeated, pulling away. I found myself leaning toward him, yearning for his touch. “I hear you’ll be at my holiday party next weekend?”
It was unnerving how calm he was, completely unaffected while I fell effortlessly under his spell.
“Your holiday party?”
The last I checked, the Banes weren’t exactly party-throwing social butterflies. Dash included.
He nodded, his eyes twinkling with promise. “At the firehouse.”
Crap. I forgot about volunteering for it.
Hopefully Stank Breath wouldn’t be there. I couldn’t handle another round of his perversion. Not after dealing with Brandon’s. I might get stabby with a key again. And I wouldn’t be as lucky a second time around.
I shook my head, clearing the clouds. “Oh, yeah, I’m going to be an elf.”
Dash’s eyes trailed over me one last time before he took a slow step backward to leave. “I’ll see you in the North Pole then, Juni.”
10
Self-care Saturday was a total bust.
I’d shattered my favorite unicorn mug, spilled an entire bottle of nail polish, and almost ripped off my upper lip with wax gone awry.
I was either a walking disaster, or Fate still had it out for me.
I leaned toward the latter. It was December. The hag still had something terrible to throw my way like a flaming softball of shit.
Karine, meanwhile, was having the time of her life at the adult expo, texting pictures of sexy men in between photos of one of her colossal purple dildos posed around the casino.
Cock at the check-in counter.
Cock in the elevator.
Cock at a slot machine.
A floppy dildo was living it up while I was nursing a sore upper lip and a headache.
I needed to reevaluate my life.
Refusing to let Fate have the last word, I grabbed a pint of cookie dough ice cream and flipped on sticky-sweet holiday movies, the month-long marathon swooping in to save the day.
With my fleece blanket fortress assembled, I sank into the plush chaise of the sectional. It was way too big for my tiny living room, but it was worth scooting around to get into the kitchen.
Pierogi was stretched out in all his glory on the other end of the couch, his toy monkey curled around him like a body pillow.
The film was easy to fall into despite catching it halfway through. It checked off every box of a feel-good holiday romance. Small town? Check. Relatable heroine? Check. Rustically handsome hero? Super sexy muscled check.
I could use a winter wonderland lumberjack like him in my life. Who knew flannel could be so flipping sexy?
I’d always dated the cleaned-up type. Men who wore a suit like it was their job but couldn’t work a hammer. Maybe that’s why my life was such a fixer-upper. I was doing all the damn work myself.
Relationships were all about teamwork. At least that’s what the books said.
I shoved another wad of cookie heaven in my mouth as they finally had their long-awaited kiss, though the scene sent my inner pessimist wild, beating on her miserable drum to ruin the slice of PG paradise.
How did they both look so perfect despite just coming inside from a snowstorm? Real people looked like the Heat Miser after one, not models.
And why was the heroine satisfied from a simple peck? There was no way Wholesome Holly was happy with that.
If Lars the Lumberjack gave me a kiss like that, I’d have lady blue balls for a week. Especially after the shower scene where we were gifted with a piece of television-friendly pecs and abs. I’d want to lick him from head to toe like a life-size candy cane.
When Wholesome Holly and her perfectly perky sweater tits said “thank you” to another peck, I rage-quit the movie, turning off the television to stomp into the kitchen. I shoved the remaining ice cream in the freezer, storming to the bathroom to draw a hot bath, stripping off clothing along the way.
Overly dramatic? Maybe. But I had the house to myself. I might as well take full advantage of it.
I shut the door to allow the room to fill with steam, scrolling through Insta on my phone as the water level ticked higher and higher.
There were miles of updates from Karine who was still conquering Atlantic City with her purple dildo, and some from Sage, a night out in Philly filling the feed with muscles and beer steins.
Every scroll brought more smiling faces. More lights. More partying.
I should have gone with Karine. Dildos or not, at least I would have been out and about rather than shut in like a damn hermit. I would have paid extra to take Pierogi, too. He would’ve liked a hotel room with an ocean view. He was a diva pooch, after all.
I begrudgingly set my phone on the tiled vanity rather than subject myself to more torture. There was no sense playing could-have-would-have-should-have.
There was always tomorrow. Maybe when she got home we’d head to the mall and get photos taken with Santa for shits and giggles.
The tub was almost full, but the water wasn’t sudsy.
Dammit.
The cherry vanilla bubble bath was still in the kitchen, sitting forgotten in a Target bag on the counter. Right where I’d left it the night before.
I crossed the narrow bathroom and turned the handle, only to find it was stuck.
I tried again, Still stuck.
And again, with a little shoulder shove? Stuck.
I took a deep breath and counted to five before trying one more time, heart sinking when it didn’t budge.
Okay. No need to panic.
Doorknobs got stuck all the time. Especially old ones. Like the rickety brass handles I was supposed to replace after moving in but kinda sorta forgot about.
Nice going, Juni.
I wiggled it again, but it didn’t move.
I studied the wooden door carefully for a way out but came up empty. There were no screws. No hinges.
Not that having either would help.
I was in a bathroom, not a garage. There were no tools or anything I could MacGyver into ones.
The only potential exit was a narrow window over the tub and my lack of clothes made it more than a non-option. It was freezing outside, for one, and two, the whole world didn’t need to see Junippers, as Karine called them.
Rather than having a meltdown, I opted to enjoy my non-bubbly bath while it was still hot. Who knows? Maybe the steam would loosen the handle, and it’d pop right open when I was done.
So I did.
I savored every drop of high-end shampoo and conditioner, my once-frizzy hair sucking it up and emerging smooth and silky. It was one of the few things I ever splurged on, though Black Friday sales helped me land a buy-one-get-one deal for the ages.
It filled the room with the scent of strawberries and cream, matching the body wash I slathered across my skin.
With every inch washed and soaked into sweet, relaxed oblivion, I emerged a changed woman
, securing my hair in a towel before wrapping one around my body.
Funny how a bath could make a poo-poo moment turn magical. It was a shame that I couldn’t take an extra long one to fix all my problems.
I left to exit, forgetting for a brief moment about the doorknob situation, only to be cruelly reminded as it refused to turn.
Fuck.
I grabbed my phone, thankful I at least had a line to the outside world. It was eleven o’clock, and Karine was almost an hour away. Sage wasn’t much better being drunk and in Philly. Besides, he might tell me to piss off.
My other girlfriends were settled down with kids and likely in bed, which left me embarrassingly short on options.
I could call Brandon and face that disaster head-on while half-naked, or I could call Dash.
I weighed the pros and cons for far too long before sucking it up and pressing call with No selected. Might as well go dashing through the no. It was fitting with it being December and all.
It rang three times, my future resting on him picking up.
Either he would save me, or the Honey Hills police department would have to dispatch some unlucky souls to save me.
Hopefully Pierogi wouldn’t screw up the house too much in the meantime. I did slip him way more treats than he was supposed to have after dinner. I’d deserve every turd if he let them rip while I was MIA.
“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Big Dick Dash, leave a message after the beep, unless you’re Juni Mullen.”
He had me fooled until he said my name.
Even the Big Dick Dash part.
“Very funny,” I breathed, trying to force the sudden visual out of my mind. “Are you busy?”
“I’m never too busy to chat, petite. Given the hour, I think you want to do more than chat, though.”
Did I ever, but I dropkicked the thought away. Not happening, Juni.
“Well, yeah. I’m locked in my bathroom and need rescuing.”
“Locked? Like with a key?”
“The doorknob won’t turn.” I didn’t have a technical term. I was a teacher, not a handywoman. All I knew was that knobs were supposed to turn and mine wasn’t.
