Cuffed

by K. Bromberg

“I can’t go out to eat with you guys,” I say, “but I’ll be geared up at the plane at seven.”

  “Cool. It’s been a long time since we just jumped for the hell of it.”

  “Amen.”

  Leo leaves me be, but I can still hear him rattling around and gathering his things in the office before the bells on the door ring as he shuts it behind him.

  I’m not sure how much time passes before the bells on the door go off again.

  “Sorry, we’re closed,” I call out to the front of the shop and mentally chastise myself for not taking the time to lock the door.

  Then the thought hits that it’s Chris coming back while I’m here alone.

  “We’re closed,” I call again just as I turn the corner to the front office and run smack dab into someone.

  “Whoa! Where’s the fire?” Grant’s hands are on my shoulders, holding me steady as I look up at him. I hate that I sigh in relief that he isn’t Chris.

  “No fire,” I say as I catch my breath. “We’re just closed.”

  “So you said.” Grant’s eyes narrow as he studies me, and I know he sees fluster. “Everything okay, Em?” Concern laces his tone, and the sound of it makes me step back quickly.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Why am I suddenly so nervous?

  “Em?”

  “It’s nothing, Grant. The loan guy was here earlier, and he was just . . .”

  “He was just what?” The muscle in his jaw pulses as he clenches his teeth.

  “I told you, I’m a big—”

  “Girl who can take care of herself. Yeah, yeah. That doesn’t mean that prick has the right to treat you how he does. Who is he, Em? I can take a quick stop by his house and—”

  “No. You’re not doing anything.”

  “All it would take is some asking around, a little detective work,” he says, flashing me a smirk as he points to his shiny badge pinned over his heart, “and I could fix the fucker.”

  “Thank you for the chivalry. I really appreciate your willingness to be my knight in shining armor, but I’m a big—I have it handled.”

  He stares at me for a beat, our eyes warring over his hero complex and my independence. On any other day, I’d smile at the trait and think it was cute . . . but not right now. Not with my loan at stake.

  “This is off your beat, isn’t it, Officer Malone?” I ask with a smile and try to switch gears.

  “You keep ignoring me.” There is just a bit too much accusation there for his statement to be casual.

  “No, I don’t,” I lie. “I’ve just been super busy.”

  “Too busy to return a text or answer a call?” He angles his head to the side, and his brown eyes pin me motionless as they try to read my body language and unspoken words.

  “Just busy. I have a lot going on.” A lot as in I’m trying not to want to talk to you as much as I’ve wanted to. I take another step back but bump into the wall behind me. “Did you need something?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  I’ve never known just how fine a line there is between want and need until this moment.

  “That wasn’t the deal, Grant.” I reject his words immediately because they hit too close to home.

  I wanted to see him, too.

  “What deal?”

  “The deal we made the other night.”

  “Oh, you mean your rules?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to believe any promises spoken when in the heat of passion?”

  Heat of passion.

  I level him with a glare. “Haven’t you realized yet I’m not your normal woman?”

  “If by ‘normal’ you mean the type of woman who jumps out of airplanes, loves to eat food without shame, gives as good as she gets, and has no problem wanting sex for sex. Then, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice.” His face is stoic, but his eyes hold the humor and sarcasm his voice is lacking.

  “Funny.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s true.”

  “The other night was a mistake.” Lie. Lie. Lie. I’m just so unnerved that he sees me so well when most days I can’t see myself.

  “Nice try, but I call bullshit.”

  “You can call it whatever you want, Malone, but it isn’t going to happen again.”

  The corner of his lips curl as he shakes his head. “I’m glad you have this all figured out.”

  “He chased you.”

  Desi’s words come back and hit my ears as I stare at him and realize that he has the patience of a saint and she was right—he did chase me. He’s still chasing me.

  So, why am I pushing him away again?

  Because rules are rules. Now, I just need to stick to my guns.

  “Look, I’m far from typical. Anything you might need to do out of obligation after sleeping with someone is not needed when it comes to me.”

  “Like?” he asks as he folds his arms across his chest, leans a shoulder against the wall, and tucks his tongue in his cheek to fight from smiling.

  “Like I don’t require the phone call afterward to make sure we’re both okay with the one-night stand thing. I don’t need flowers or apologies when you move on to the next woman. I don’t need empty promises or whatever else it is you guys do to soothe your egos. It’s all crap.”

  “Every woman likes those things.”

  “I’m not every woman.”

  “So we’ve established.” He holds his hand up when I start to protest. “But no worries, I don’t do that. Just don’t tell my mom.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Is there a reason for so much hostility, Em? I’m sensing you’re mad at me, but if these are your rules, then how can you be?”

  Silence falls in the small space as my tongue-tied thoughts spin and shift the conversation. “Look, we’re attracted to each other. There’s nothing wrong with that. We wanted out of each other’s systems. We screwed. We’re good.”

  “So eloquent.” He lifts his eyebrows as his smile spreads.

  “I’m serious. I barely have time to breathe most days, never mind have the time to deal with this kind of shit.”

  “Wow. Way to knock a man’s ego—and dick—in the dirt.”

  I growl in frustration when I realize how he took my comment. “We’re not talking about the sex part.” I backpedal. “That was top notch. It’s just . . . you’re Phony Maloney. And I’m Emmy Reeves . . . don’t you think we should let the past be the past and just be happy with knowing we turned out okay? With accepting our chemistry is great but that it will never work between us.”

  “What wouldn’t work? The screwing part?” he asks, eyes narrowing as he mimics the way I said the word.

  “Yes. That.”

  “But we already did that part, and what were your words? Top notch? So, I believe that did work.” He knows he’s irritating me and is enjoying every second of doing it.

  “What about this?” I motion to the space in between us. “Isn’t this weird?”

  “It didn’t feel weird the other night. In fact, it felt pretty damn amazing, so lay your next excuse on me. Why can’t you pick up the phone and take my call, Emerson? I’m not buying whatever logic you’re trying to sell. And frankly you’re making absolutely zero sense, but please, continue. I’m enjoying this immensely.”

  “You’re exhausting.” I sigh.

  “And you’re infuriating, but we already knew that twenty years ago . . . so what’s your excuse going to be now, huh?”

  “I don’t trust you.” I know my comment is a low blow before it even comes out of my mouth, but I can’t stop it any more than I can stop the sun from setting.

  He staggers back as if I’ve physically assaulted him, and I can see hints of our past flicker through the anger sparking in his eyes.

  Regret is immediate. How do I tell him not to think of the past when I just threw it in his face? I’m a goddamn mess. He doesn’t deserve this. He
has to know that much at least.

  “You fooled me the other night,” I say with a smirk, trying to make amends for the lingering effects of my childhood grudge.

  Way to get my head straight. Tell him there was nothing to the other night and then admit to him that I’m thinking of it.

  “Why ever would you think that?” He feigns innocence, but a smile plays on his lips.

  “The agreeing to my rules but then turning around and saying I shouldn’t believe anything said in the heat of passion. That type of thing.”

  He shrugs. “I agreed to your rules. We had sex. We got each other out of our systems,” he says, but the way his eyes run up and down the length of my body has me shifting my feet to abate the ache the hunger in his look causes. It’s like he’s remembering every line and curve and flavor. “And now I’m here because I wanted to see you.”

  “But why? I’ve been nothing but bitchy to you.”

  He shrugs again. “Your words, not mine.”

  “I know, but they’re true. We squabble like brother and sister and—”

  “Not exactly like brother and sister, or else that would make the other night a little more awkward than you’re already making it.”

  “You’re a bucket full of laughs today, aren’t you?”

  “Always.” And there goes the panty-dropping smile of his that makes me weak in the knees when I don’t get weak in the knees. “I’m sorry. You were saying? Brother and sister . . .”

  My concentration is lost amid his interruptions, leaving me to fumble with where I was going with my point. “Just why? That’s all. Why would you want to come see me if I’ve been nothing but rude to you?”

  “Because despite it all—or maybe because of it—I like you. And seeing as we got each other out of our systems, maybe I want to be friends.”

  “Friends with benefits,” I retort.

  “Not gonna deny the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” His eyes lock with mine, those gold flecks dancing as my thoughts swirl, whirl, and tumble out of control.

  “You’re serious.”

  God, please let him be serious.

  “As a heart attack.”

  Thoughts of us in the dim light fill my mind. The warmth. The pleasure. The comfort. The praise.

  The breaking of rules.

  “C’mon, Em. You know it’s a good idea. We’ll both be the beneficiaries of good sex—sex we’ve already proven to be top notch—and we don’t have to deal with the complications of afterward. The clingy one who suddenly wants more. The frantic phone calls to make sure we’re thinking about them. The randomly showing up where we like to hang out to make sure we didn’t forget them.”

  I chuckle because it’s as if he’s repeating every scenario for why I’ve deleted names from my phone.

  “See? You know what I’m talking about. You know that’s all a pain in the ass.”

  “Kind of like you?”

  “Yeah, but I’m a cute pain in the ass.”

  I can’t stifle my laugh because he’s wearing me down, not that I’ve put up much resistance.

  “I have to think about this . . . without you in my face, badgering me like a little kid.” Because I know he’s playing me right now, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t a pretty brilliant play.

  His laugh fills the room, and I know he knows he has me.

  “Meet me here tomorrow after work. Like seven-ish. We can talk then.”

  “Deal.” His grin is back and as disarming as ever.

  And when he turns to go out the door, I hate that every part of me is relieved that I have an excuse to get to see him again. Whether I agree to his plan or not, at least I know he’ll be here tomorrow. I spent the last week avoiding him, and I would never admit it aloud, but I’d missed him.

  Friends with benefits.

  Humph.

  Way to stick to your guns, Reeves.

  Step.

  There it is again.

  Step.

  I dig my fingers into my stuffed bunny.

  Step. The jingle of Rex’s collar.

  Don’t make a sound.

  Step.

  Don’t move.

  Step.

  My tummy hurts. I want to throw up.

  Step.

  Mommy. Come home. Please.

  Step.

  I can hear him breathing. I know if I open my eyes he will be standing there with his shoulder against the wall, watching me. Waiting.

  I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter.

  Please, God. If you make him go away, I promise to be a good girl from now on.

  Step.

  I promise not to sneak the M&M’s hidden in the back of the pantry.

  Step.

  I swear I won’t talk back and will make my bed every day.

  Step.

  Pretty please, God. I mean it this time.

  The bed dips beneath me. His breath hits my face. The cold metal brushes against my arm.

  I know what comes next.

  “Emmy.”

  I want to throw up.

  He moves my hair from my face.

  “Emmy.”

  Runs his hand over my shoulder. Down my arm.

  The sheets become wet as I go potty.

  “Emmy.” Angrier. Upset. Disappointed.

  I’ve been a bad girl.

  I know what comes next . . .

  I jolt up out of bed, the sound of my voice filling the room. I’m disoriented and petrified. Confused. Sick to my stomach.

  My heart is racing, and my pulse is pounding in my ears. There are tears on my cheeks, and my hands are shaking.

  I don’t remember anything about the dream.

  Not a single thing.

  Except the fear. I can still taste it on my tongue. I can still smell it clinging to my skin.

  I know it has to do with him. I may not remember a damn thing from the dream, but I know this feeling. I’ve lived this feeling.

  But it’s been forever since I’ve felt this way.

  Clutching the comforter tighter around me with one hand, I reach over and turn on the light on my nightstand. I don’t like the dark.

  The boogey man lives in the dark.

  So does my dad.

  Trying to settle the anxiety rattling around inside me as sure as the blood flowing through my veins, I stare out the window to the airfield beyond. To the yellow and red and green lights and pretend they are the lights on a Christmas tree. Something. Anything.

  My fingertips run absently over the scars on the inside of my upper arms.

  Over.

  And.

  Over.

  And.

  Over.

  It’s the only thing I can do to process the dream I can’t remember and the nightmare I lived through.

  Staring at the box cutter in my hand, I ignore the contents of the open box in front of me. Its weight is as comforting as it is torturous.

  My sleep-deprived mind drifts off and begs me to give into a need I haven’t had in years.

  Cut.

  Feel the pain my mind has closed out.

  Cut.

  Take the blame I don’t deserve.

  The blade calls to me.

  My skin begs to be scored.

  To bleed out the guilt.

  Cut.

  My fingers itch to do it.

  “You have a visitor, Em,” Leo calls from the front of the office, making me drop the knife from trembling fingers. A quick glance at the clock tells me I’ve been standing here in La-la Land for way longer than I should have been.

  “Okay,” I say, but before the word is even out, Grant is standing in the doorway, looking like my own personal Heaven and Hell—a reprieve from the thoughts that have stolen my focus all day and the reason I think I had those thoughts. His smile is genuine, and I hate that every part of me craves to walk straight up to him and wrap my arms around him.

  Comfort.

  Distraction.

  The need to feel anything other than what I’m feeling right now.r />
  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi.” I infuse confidence into my voice when really I’m scared shitless over these emotions I’m not used to having.

  “I’m early.” He shrugs, his smile turning sheepish. “Can you blame me?”

  My brow pinches, and I stare at him for a moment before what he’s talking about dawns on me. The time and place I set. The offer he made that has, unbeknownst to him, been overshadowed by my issues he has no clue about.

  “No. Um, no.” It’s his turn to study me, his eyes looking closer than I want him to. “I, uh, I have to bring a team up first. You’re going with us,” I ad-hoc. Dodge and weave.

  “Like hell I am.” He laughs and takes a few steps closer.

  “Yeah, I think you need to cash in that voucher. I’m not tandem jumping with anyone, so I can strap you on.” The words are out before I realize what they sound like, and the full-bodied laugh that falls from his mouth and echoes around the room is worth every ounce of blush that creeps into my cheeks.

  “Thanks, Em, but strap-ons aren’t my thing, and if they were, it wouldn’t be you wearing one.”

  “I hear pegging is all the rage these days.”

  The look he gives me says he’s having none of this conversation. “It’ll be a cold day in hell, my dear.”

  Oddly enough, all it takes is talking to Grant about strap-ons to put me at ease for the first time all day. My smile feels real instead of forced and brittle. The ache in my shoulders eases some. The box cutter becomes less enticing. The weight of the unremembered dream fades.

  “If that’s your biggest fear, then jumping out of a plane should be a piece of cake.”

  “I didn’t say it was my biggest fear—jumping out of a plane is. Heights and I don’t get along.”

  “Still traumatized after going on the Ferris wheel, I see,” I say, suddenly remembering him screaming to get down and trying not to cry as he clung to his mom sitting between us. The sour look on his face says he isn’t thrilled I remember.

  “Nice try, but I’m not biting. I hate the feeling of falling, and let’s not forget the whole possibility of dying aspect.”

  “See? That’s a huge misconception. There is no feeling of falling when you jump. Not one bit.” I offer a huge grin.

  “Not buying it.”

  “Don’t you trust me, Malone?” I stand there with my hands on my hips, my head angled to the side, and my eyes issuing a challenge to that manly ego of his.