Daring Dixie

by Tara Crescent

  I feel renewed. Reborn. I feel like a sexual being, in touch with my desires for the first time in my life.

  “If you want another round,” Hunter says, his voice lazy and sated. “You have to give me a few minutes.”

  “What he said.” Eric grins ruefully. “Ah, to be twenty again.” He rests his hand on my thigh, a light, gentle touch. “Holy fuck, that was hot. Thank you, Dixie.”

  “I should be thanking you,” I mutter.

  “Yes,” Hunter says dryly. “Let’s all congratulate ourselves for a job well done.”

  I giggle. The aftermath—I’d been prepared to feel awkward. I thought I’d feel like a slut. After senior prom, when William and I were caught by the park ranger, he’d made me feel like—

  I sit up abruptly. I’ve buried the memory, but it resurfaces now, sharp and vivid. “If Coach finds out, he’ll cut me from the team,” William had said, his voice nervous and resentful. “For fuck’s sake, Dixie. You’re a girl. You’re not supposed to lose your head.”

  Oh.

  William and I had been together for a year. I hadn’t rushed into sex. I had been a virgin, and I wanted to wait. To make sure he was the one.

  That night, after senior prom, I’d been determined that would be the night. Some of the guys were planning on getting hotel rooms, but my mother was strict with me; she’d have never allowed me to go to a boy’s hotel room.

  I thought we could find a deserted park instead. Sure, the back seat of the car wasn’t exactly romantic for my first time, but I was young, and I thought I was in love. William was all the romance I needed.

  Then the park ranger had caught us. He’d taken our names down, and he’d let us off with a stern warning. I’d been nervous he’d call my mother, but William’s reaction had been so much stronger. He’d been furious and almost panicked at the prospect of getting in trouble.

  He’d made me feel like a slut that night. He’d made me feel ashamed of my desire.

  Is that why I’m so rigid? Is that why I don’t allow myself pleasure?

  Some of what I’m going through must show on my face, because Eric stiffens, and Hunter gives me a concerned glance. “Dixie,” he asks softly. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” That’s why, after all these years, I still am so wary around men? Because of how William acted when I was seventeen? Good God, I feel like such a fool. We broke up almost fifteen years ago. Why have I let him have so much power over me?

  “Do you want to go home?” Eric asks carefully.

  It feels like a bomb has exploded inside me. I want to scream and break things, and above all, I want space to think. This is big. This is a revelation. I need my notepad to make sense of it all.

  I seize on the suggestion. “Yes, please.”

  “Okay.” Eric gets out of the car, his shoulders set tight. “Hunter will drive you home.” He retrieves my clothes from the top of the trunk and hands them to me. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay.” I get dressed mechanically, my thoughts still racing. Eric gets into his car; I barely register the noise of the engine starting. I move to the passenger seat on autopilot. Hunter starts his Lexus, giving me several concerned looks.

  We travel in silence, one I don’t have the wherewithal to break. Finally, Hunter pulls up in front of my apartment building. Eric’s car is already there, parked in a visitor spot, and he’s leaning against the door, an unreadable expression on his face.

  I get out. He takes a half-step toward me and then stops in his tracks. “I had a great time tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  He doesn’t look like he believes me, which I don’t understand. I came against his mouth, against his talented tongue. Did he not feel how hard I fell apart? I want to say that to him, but my mind isn’t on this conversation. It’s mired in the past.

  Eric runs his hands through his hair. “Dixie,” he says, his voice flat. “Listen, whatever you’re thinking right now, I want to assure you that I’m an adult. If you’re concerned that this will influence the way I see you at work, it won’t. I know words are cheap, and it’s easy for me to say that, but I promise you it’s true.”

  “That’s not it.” I wrap my arms around my chest, hugging myself tight. “That’s not it at all. There’s something…” My voice trails away. I can’t tell them about William. Tonight was supposed to be casual. They haven’t signed up to hear about my baggage. “I need time to process something.”

  On impulse, I stand on tiptoe and hug both of them. “Thank you.”

  Hunter brushes a kiss against my cheek. “You okay alone?”

  “Yes.” More than that, I need to be alone. I need to figure this out. I turn away before I can blurt out all my problems to them. They wait for me to get inside the outside door, and then they drive away.

  I make my way to my apartment and pour myself a tall glass of water. For heaven’s sake, is this why I’m so uptight? Is this the underlying reason for all my failed relationships? Because when I was seventeen, I asked for something, and it went wrong, and William blamed me for it? Is this why I’ve never felt comfortable telling a partner what I wanted in bed? Is this why I’ve restricted myself to, as Eric so astutely put it, missionary with the lights out?

  Hunter and Eric had been great. So great. They’d brought my fantasy to life, and never, not even for the space of a second, had they made me feel judged for my desires.

  I sit with my thoughts for almost an hour, doodling on my notepad. Over and over again, they keep circling back to Hunter and Eric. One moment, we were talking about the next round. The next minute, I wanted to go home. If I were in their shoes, I’d be wondering what the hell happened.

  They might not want my baggage, but I do owe them an explanation. It’s only fair.

  I glance at my phone. It’s midnight. Mrs. Grace would tell me it’s far too late for a telephone call.

  I dial Eric’s number anyway.

  19

  Hunter

  Eric and I end up at a college bar. There is a football game on TV, and the kids are out in force. It’s noisy and rowdy, and it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

  By unspoken agreement, we don’t discuss Dixie.

  Not that I’m not thinking about what just happened—my thoughts keep circling back to her, to how our evening had ended. She’d looked troubled. Did she regret telling us about her fantasy? Did she regret living it out?

  For Eric’s sake, I really hope not. He took a chance tonight. After what happened with his girlfriend Cecelia, I didn’t expect him to, and I was proud of him for letting go of the past. But if this experience turns out to be a repeat of the previous one—

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I didn’t hear the waitress walk up. I take a quick look at the menu. There’s a new brewery in Hagerstown, and this bar appears to carry a couple of their beers. I order a dark lager.

  Eric does the same. “Do you want to split a plate of nachos?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  She brings us our beer. When she’s gone, Eric looks up at me. “I was surprised Xavier managed to get you out yesterday,” he says. “And a little relieved. How have you been, Hunter?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. I saw you at the club last week, but you haven’t really been in touch. I left you a couple of voicemails, sent you an email—”

  I wince. “Sorry. I’m a little behind on my messages.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for an apology; that’s not why I’m bringing it up. You have friends, people that care about you. You don’t have to go through whatever you’re going through alone. I’m here for you.”

  It’s nice of him to say that, but the truth is, I feel very alone. My father was never in the picture. My mother was the only parent I had and losing her feels so very final. My life has been irrevocably altered, and I’m doing a terrible job coming to grips with it.

  “I should make more of an effort to reach
out,” I admit. “After all, I tell patients all the time—”

  “You know it’s different, right?” Eric interrupts. “Hunter, I’m not a therapist, and I don't have a lot of experience with death, but I'm pretty sure that you can't logic your way out of this.”

  “Maybe.” I take a sip of my beer. It’s pretty damn good. The beer selection at bars has greatly improved since my college days. “It feels self-indulgent to wallow in my grief. After all, I have so many patients that have been through so much worse. Refugees who’ve lost everything, people who have had to flee their homes with the clothes on their back and nothing else. Soldiers who watched their friends die in front of their eyes. Men and women who have been abused by their parents, trying desperately to break that cycle with their own children. My problems fade into nothing when compared to them.”

  “You lost your mother,” Eric says. “You loved her. Of course you’re going to be grief-stricken—how could you not? Psychiatrist or not, you’re human, Hunter.”

  I’m ready to change the subject. “Speaking of which, do you know a realtor in this neighborhood that you can recommend?”

  “A realtor?” He frowns. “You’re thinking of selling your mother’s home? Already?”

  I can tell he disapproves of the idea. “There’s this guy, Mitch Donahue. He offered me six million dollars.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “It’s worth that much?”

  “He seems to think so.”

  “Are you hard up for money?” he demands. “Because if you are—”

  “I’m not.” The waitress appears with a mammoth platter of nachos, and I’m grateful for the interruption. It gives me time to gather my thoughts. “My mother had her pet causes, non-profits she cared about deeply. I don’t need the money, but they do. Six million dollars would make a world of difference to them.”

  “It would be a good way to honor her memory,” Eric agrees, his expression serious. “Okay, you want a second opinion on the property’s value. Nobody jumps to mind, but I’ll ask around.”

  He dunks his chip in sour cream. “Can I offer an unsolicited opinion? It’s none of my business, and you’d be perfectly justified in telling me to butt out. But it’s only been a few weeks since your mother passed away. You’re still reeling. Don’t make any hasty decisions. Don’t do something you’ll end up regretting.”

  He looks so concerned for me. “I’m okay,” I tell him. “Really. I’m fine.”

  But I’m lying. I’m not okay. Grief swamps me at unexpected times, numbing and paralyzing. I went into Club M last week, desperately looking for a distraction. When I flirted with Dixie, my motives weren’t pure. Scening with her today kept the darkness at bay for a few short hours.

  You’re using her.

  Guilt lances through me at that unpleasant realization. She knows it’s casual, I try to reassure myself. That’s the way she wants it. A one-time thing. No emotions, no feelings, no commitment.

  “Where are you staying while you’re working at Xavier’s company?” I ask Eric. “Have you moved here?”

  “Sort of,” he replies. “Xavier threw in a room at the castle. I still have my place in the city. I’d planned on heading back home tonight, but…” His voice trails off.

  “You don’t have to keep me company, Eric. I’m fine by myself.” My mother’s house is empty, and it feels like a tomb, and I haven’t opened the door to her bedroom since finding her body, but everything is fine. Eric doesn't have to inconvenience himself by sticking around. I’ve never been a burden to my friends, and I’m not going to start now.

  “You think I’m sticking around because of you?” Eric barks a laugh. “I don’t want to be alone, Hunter. This is Cici all over again. I shouldn’t have done the scene. I knew what would happen, but I was thinking with my cock, and I did it anyway. And now I get to tell Xavier I fucked things up once again, and he’s going to do his goddamn best not to say ‘I told you so,’ but he’d be right.”

  We’re a pair of sorry losers, the two of us.

  On the table, Eric’s phone vibrates. “And that’s probably Xavier right now,” he says moodily. “I guess I should answer it.”

  But when he flips the phone over to glance at the display, it’s not Xavier on the other end.

  It’s Dixie.

  20

  Dixie

  The phone rings a couple of times. I’m about to hang up when Eric picks up. “Dixie,” he says cautiously.

  “Eric.” I sound so stilted. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened. Why I was distracted at the end.”

  “Okay.”

  I can’t do this on the phone. I need to this face-to-face. I want to see them. “Are you far away? Can we have this conversation in person?”

  “I’m at a bar on Hill Street,” he replies. “The Golden Fleece. Hunter’s here with me.”

  “Good, he was going to be my next phone call.” I look up the Golden Fleece on my laptop. I’ve never noticed it, but I’ve driven past it more than once on my way to my usual brunch place, Good Earth. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s pretty busy here.” Eric hesitates. “We can come to you.”

  “Yes, please. I’d like that.”

  I spend the next few minutes tidying up. I put the plate on my coffee table into the sink, fold up the throw on my couch, and stack up the books into a neat pile. My apartment isn’t messy, which is good because my attention isn’t on the clean-up. I’m going to reveal something about myself to Eric and Hunter. I’m going to make myself vulnerable. I’m nervous about that.

  You have no reason to be. You told them your fantasy, and they were so very respectful of your desire.

  That’s true. They hadn’t laughed at me. They hadn’t made me feel like a slut, and they hadn’t made me feel like a freak. They hadn’t smirked through the role play. I’d felt safe with them.

  My buzzer sounds. I press the button to let them in. In a minute, I hear their footsteps. My pulse races. I’m more nervous now than I was at the start of the evening.

  Before they can knock, I crack open the door, and they’re there. My heartbeat stutters. An hour ago, their fingers were in my pussy. Their mouths had made me come harder than I ever have. And now they’re here on the threshold of my apartment, two looming, larger-than-life presences.

  “Come on in.” I wipe my palms on my skirt. “I didn’t interrupt your plans when I called?”

  Eric smiles slightly. “It wasn’t much of one,” he says. “Just a plate of lukewarm nachos. The beer was decent.”

  “I’d offer you some, but I don’t have any; I haven’t had time to go shopping. I’m out of wine too. All I have is coffee and tea. Sorry.” I grimace. From somewhere beyond her grave, Mrs. Grace is clucking her tongue at me. “Would you like some?”

  “I’m good,” Eric replies. Hunter declines my offer of a beverage as well. He settles himself on my couch, and Eric takes the armchair across from him, which leaves me one of two options—the other armchair or the couch.

  I pick the couch.

  They’re both looking at me. I bite the inside of my cheek. “I owe you an explanation for the way things ended earlier.”

  “You don’t owe us anything,” Hunter corrects me. “You are not obligated to manage our emotions.”

  “Fair enough. I’d like to explain, if you don’t mind.” They nod, and I continue. “I wasn’t lying. I really did have a great time. You made my fantasy come true, and I never once felt judged for my desires.” I take a deep breath. “Hunter, I told you that after senior prom, I’d been making out with my boyfriend when a park ranger had caught us. It was mortifying when it happened, and I thought I’d forgotten all about it.”

  I falter, and Hunter gives me an encouraging smile. “I was seventeen, and I was a virgin, but William and I had been dating for a year, and I’d decided that senior prom was the night.” I laugh shortly. “Me and a million other young women, no doubt.” A thought occurs to me. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” I ask
Hunter. “I mean, you’re a psychiatrist. You have to listen to your patients’ problems all day. This is probably too much like work.”

  He gives me a startled laugh. “I assure you, this situation is nothing like work.”

  Oh, right. He wouldn’t have sex with his patients—that would be a pretty hard no-no. Great. Apart from everything else, I’m now insulting his professional ethics.

  “I told you the park ranger had caught us. Until tonight, I’d forgotten William’s reaction. I think I buried the memory. I was ashamed I’d been caught, afraid the ranger would tell my mother, but William didn’t even register my reaction. He was too busy accusing me of being reckless. He was terrified he’d lose his spot on the football team.” I take in a deep breath. “He made me ashamed of my desire. He implied I was a slut.”

  “He blamed you?” Eric sounds furious. Hunter looks outraged. A piece of the wall I’ve so carefully built around my heart crumbles away at their support.

  “In retrospect, he wasn’t the greatest boyfriend,” I say lightly. “I don’t know why I kept dating him all the way through college.” I wipe my palms on my skirt. “I didn’t realize I was doing it, but on some level, I’d been bracing myself for your judgment.” I look up at them. “And there was none. I was so giddy with relief, and then the dots connected.”

  Eric has the strangest look on his face. “What?” I ask him. “Why are you looking so weird?”

  “I thought you regretted telling us your fantasy.”

  “Why?”

  “Ex-girlfriend, remember?” His voice is casual, but his hands are clenched, and I know he’s not as unaffected by what happened as he’s pretending to be. “Cici acted like she had fun, but then she said she felt pressured into exploring kink with me. She told me she hated everything.” He sucks in a breath. “For years after we broke things off, I kept reliving our conversations, going over them in obsessive detail. She asked me what my fantasies were, and I told her. I didn’t think I was pressuring her, but maybe I was.”