“Yeah, I just, I need a minute.” I climbed off the mattress and headed straight for the bathroom, locking the door.
Bright lights blinded me, making dots dance across my field of vision. The cold tile floor and cool air-conditioning made my skin goose-pimple, my nipples harden even more. Hell, the girl in the mirror looked like shit. I mean, well fucked, but still. Swollen lips and messy hair, red marks from his fingers everywhere. It was the look in her eyes, though, that tipped me too far and I burst into tears.
* * *
Polite knocking came not too long after.
“Alex, you okay?” he asked, voice subdued.
“Yes,” I lied, turning on the cold tap and splashing my blotchy hot face. Ugh, my eyes were a mess, all red and puffy. Charming. I’d totally do me again if I were Joe.
“So that wasn’t you who ran from the bed and locked herself in the bathroom to cry?”
Smartass. I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I brushed out my hair and took a few good deep breaths. Put on the hotel robe hanging on the back of the door and tried to pull my shit together. It helped a little. But I still really didn’t want to go out there and face him. Maybe I could give myself a facial, it would burn some time. Eventually, the man would have to get bored and leave. Surely. Then this whole embarrassing episode could be dealt with another day. Or never. Never would be fine.
“Way I see it, you have two choices,” he said, obviously standing close to the door. “One. You can come out here and talk to me. Or two. I can go down to the truck, grab my tools, and break the lock or just break this whole damn door. Your call.”
“Asshole,” I whispered.
“I can hear you.”
With a sigh, I gave in and opened the door.
The condom was gone, but otherwise he remained unchanged. Damn, he looked good.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Did I hurt you?” Concern creased his brow.
“No. No, you didn’t. Nothing like that. I like rough, I just…” Shit. I had no words. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes women cry after sex. It’s not a big deal. Just a release of stress or something.”
Hmm. Maybe.
Gently, he reached out, taking my hand. Behind him the bed was trashed, blankets and sheets a mess. Also, the room smelled of sex. Typical me to turn something so good into a big heap of bad.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, slowly swinging our hands between us like we were children.
“That I have this talent for ruining things.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” He shook his head. “Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. But you didn’t ruin anything.”
“Oh good. That’s good.” I should probably go easy on the sarcasm. Someday. “I don’t normally cry. That doesn’t usually happen.”
His gaze softened. “What normally happens?”
“I get dressed, say ‘it was nice to meet you,’ and leave.”
Joe just looked at me.
It was the truth. I wouldn’t lie to him or try to make excuses. Because the same as any man, women were entitled to a fuss-free sex life should they so choose. And it didn’t make us sluts, or whores, or any of the other nasty, misogynistic, double-standard bullshit that got thrown a woman’s way when she didn’t fit with the traditional ideals of who and what a female should be.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“No.” My fingers immediately tightened around his. Which pissed me off even more. “All of the emotional stuff needs to stop, though.”
“It does, huh? So what, you want mindless fucking?”
“Yes, absolutely. And lots of it.”
His tongue played behind his cheek while his wonderfully proportioned dick stirred with interest. “O-kay.”
“I don’t mean to be critical but, last time you did it wrong,” I said.
“I did it wrong?” Brows arched high in surprise. “Shit. Here I was worried I’d gotten too rough with you.”
“No, no. Hard and fast is great. But what was with all of that eye-gazing stuff?”
Lips drawn wide in disbelief, he tilted his head, staring at me. Again.
“It was totally unnecessary, Joe. How am I supposed to relax when you’re doing that?”
The man scratched his head. It killed the remains of his ponytail, making all that blond hair fall around his face, down to his broad shoulders. “So me watching, to make sure I was doing right by you, ruined everything?”
“Yes.”
“I made you cry?”
I shrugged. Surely the evidence was clear enough.
“Tell me, Little Miss. Did I also make you come?”
“Yes. You know you did. It was good, great, even. But…”
“But it got too personal.” Hands on hips, he stood, unmoving. “Me fucking you and watching you like that.”
“I guess so.” Though I would have put it in different terms.
“You’d prefer if I fucked you like I hated you, wouldn’t you?”
I shrugged. “Well, yeah?”
He said nothing.
“Joe?” Cautiously I stepped toward him, zeroing in on the hard planes of his pecs, the gentler curve of his stomach. Nice to see he wasn’t all ripped perfection. The man was intimidating enough.
“Mm?”
Lightly, I slid my fingers through his chest hair, resting my cheek over his heart. It beat away beneath me, strong and steady. His rib cage gently rose and fell on each breath. Bit by bit, my breathing slowed, calmed. His body was warm, even welcoming after a minute or two. Hands smoothed over my back, pulling gently at the fluffy robe until it started slipping off my shoulders.
“Okay,” he said, baring me to the waist. Big hands covered my breasts, thumbs stroking my nipples. His eyes were calm, serene, even. “Since I clearly don’t know what I’m doing in the sack with you, I guess you better show me. For friendship’s sake.”
“Sure. I could do that.”
Calloused fingers slid down to my waist, pushing the robe off me completely. Next to him, the cool air-conditioning didn’t seem so bad. He kept me warm.
“I, um, I prefer to be on top,” I said.
He gave me a quick smile. A flash of sharp teeth. “Of course you do.”
And without another word, he picked me up and carried me back to the bed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Message sent three weeks ago:
Eric,
Help! Have you ever owned a cat? My neighbors asked me to watch their cat for the weekend while they went away. His name is Misty. Why you’d name a boy cat Misty I have no idea, but whatever. All the poor animal has done since arriving is hide under my bed and yowl. I’ve tried everything I can think of to lure him out. Biscuits, canned salmon, and calmly explaining that Greta (my neighbor) will be back for him Sunday night. I even tried tough love, telling him firmly that he was being a bad baby and demanding he come out. The little jerk scratched my hand when I reached for him, then went back to ignoring me. I don’t know what to do and Google is being no help at all. What if he chokes on a dust bunny and dies under there?? Greta will never forgive me. You know, a plant I could have probably managed, but leaving me in charge of a sentient life force isn’t a good idea. I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready for motherhood.
Message received:
Alex, calm down. The cat is not going to die. Leave him alone and he’ll come out when he’s ready. I promise.
Message sent:
I left him alone and he came out. He’s now on the couch watching an Animal Planet special on humpback whales. Apologies for freaking out slightly and thanks for the advice.
Message received:
Anytime. I’m sure one day, when you’re ready, you’ll make a great mother.
“Can I get you a cushion?”
“No, thank you.” I gave Joe a nice calm, bland smile and turned back to his mother. “This meatloaf is wonderful, Audrey. Best I’ve ever tasted.”
“You know, you strike me as the kind of girl who’d really be into meatloaf,” said Joe. “I don’t know why, you just do.”
I ignored him.
“It’s Eric’s favorite,” Audrey told me.
“I can see why.”
The birthday boy put down his fork and lifted his bottle of beer in a toast to his mother. Happily, he said nothing. With a mouth full of food, saying nothing was always best. Eric looked part squirrel with his cheeks so full of birthday lunch.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins lived in a nice bungalow a few blocks back from Sanders Beach. A nice part of town. Joe told me how it’d become popular with the moneyed up in the last ten or so years. Some of the houses on the lakefront were amazing. Outside, massive old pine trees kept the house in almost perpetual shade. Inside the Collins abode were comfy couches and pastel walls covered in pictures of the boys. It was nice, homey and relaxed.
Unlike me at that particular point in time.
Unfortunately, Joe wasn’t finished with his teasing yet. Sliding his arm over my stiff shoulders, he leaned in and not quite whispered, “Are you sure? The chairs are bare wood. I really don’t mind fetching you a cushion to sit on.”
“I’m sure.”
“But—”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Concern filled his mother’s hazel eyes. “Is something wrong, Alex?”
“No.”
Brows pinched, she turned to her eldest son.