Dirty Little Secrets (16 page)

“Did you not expect to hear from me either?” he asked pointedly. “If you want to end it, don’t be a coward, say it to my face. I’m a big boy, love. I can handle it, just don’t dick me about.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I can’t tell you are lying. Do us both a favour and just admit you are too fucked up to manage any meaningful human interaction. Christ, woman, I thought I was messed up, but at least I could make it through the night without freaking out.”

Megan was glad he could not see her. His words were too close to the bone. He didn’t know her well enough to call her on her issues. He was right. She couldn’t make it through the night. She had tried to go back to sleep, to enjoy the closeness, but the room felt like it was closing in on her. The hands that she had wanted all over her during sex were too much when one was draped over her hip as she tried to sleep. She couldn’t admit that she found it easier to have sex with a stranger she hated than sleep beside a man whose company she was starting to enjoy. It was fucked up, she knew that, but it was none of his business. “I was going to call you,” she said at last. That much wasn’t a lie. She just needed to put some time between them. This was a casual thing, they did not need to phone each other and plan dates.

“Really? Because you haven’t answered any of my calls.” James winced again as another wave of pain washed over him.

“Yes, I was going to call you today.”

“And say what? Sorry I couldn’t manage to say goodbye before I left? Sorry I didn’t return any of your calls?” James folded over again “Fuck, this is sore. I would take a broken hand over this any day.”

“No, I was actually going to ask if you were free tonight.”

“Seriously?! You avoid my calls all week and you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t you believe it, it’s the truth. I was hoping we could meet tonight. Ben has plans so I need to be out of the house anyway.”

“Unbelievable.”

Megan narrowed her eyes. What was wrong with him, other than being in agony? This was their arrangement. This is what he signed on for, casual sex when they both had the time and inclination. “Look, I’m sorry I sprayed you but I’m not going to apologise for not calling you. We are fuck buddies. I didn’t call because I didn’t have time for sex this week. I’ve had a lot on.”

“Christ, you’re difficult.” James sunk to his haunches and breathed in slow ragged breaths.

“You already said that.”

James coughed then gave his head a terse shake. “Well, it fucking bears repeating. And I wasn’t too busy this week for sex. It’s not all about you, sweetheart.”

She took a deep breath.

He was right.

She had not considered his feelings on the situation. She had never needed to care about someone else’s viewpoint where sex was concerned. It had always been about taking whatever was on offer. Considering someone else was new to her and it was more than a little uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure where to start. “You’re right. I should have returned your calls. I’m sorry.”

James shook his head. “Now I really wish I could see. Did the ice queen just admit she was wrong?”

“Yes. It probably won’t ever happen again so enjoy it, man-whore.”

Through the stream of tears, a smirk formed on James’ full mouth. “The ice queen and the man-whore: aren’t we the pair to draw to?”

Despite herself she smiled too. What was it about him? She had not smiled this much in years, hell, in her life maybe. Why did he have to be such a great guy? She liked it better when he was just a stranger she was fucking. It was easier that way.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

James shook his head. “I don’t need a hospital. I just need to drink a shit load of alcohol and sleep it off.”

“Alcohol is your go-to for a lot of things.” Megan reached for his hand and helped him up.

James righted himself but he did not let go of her arm. His body was hot against hers. “At least I can have sex without it.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I told you that. I tell you things I shouldn’t even though I know you’re just going to use it against me later.”

“Because I’m a journalist?” James asked.

They began walking along the worn trail with Megan leading. Her hand was wrapped tightly around his cast, leading him. Even blinded, and in a helpless state, she had never experienced a presence as powerful or as masculine.

“Because you’re a man. But the journalist part means you can screw me over in a public way.”

“Why would I screw you over?”

Megan shook her head. Why did anyone do anything? It just was what it was: people used people. She didn’t question it any more than she would question why a predator stalked its prey.

“So it’s not just journalists you hate? It’s anyone with a penis. Lucky both things apply to me,” James pressed when she did not respond.

“I don’t hate men,”Megan said.

“Really? Just me then?”

“I don’t hate you. I wish I hated you. That would make things more straightforward. I like you. I think you are one of the few nice men I have met. It might all be an act, but…I don’t feel unsafe with you even though I should.” She closed her mouth before she could say any more. He was doing it again, getting her to talk about things she shouldn’t.

“Oh Megan. You’re even more fucked up than me. I don’t want to screw you over. I want to screw you, hence my numerous phone calls, but I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not my style. What you see is what you get. I’m a simple man that way.”

They continued walking as she let his words wash over her. There was something about his voice, a sincerity she rarely heard, that made her want to believe him. He was probably just better at bullshitting than most men, but for right now she was going to pretend because she needed to think there were kind men in the world.

“Were you a cynic before you moved to New York?” James asked.

His question caught her off guard. Her official bio had her birth place as Brooklyn. “I am a New Yorker born and bred.”

“You’re not from New York. We both know that. You let it slip the first night before you called me a paedophile. You said something about your Southern manners. And then when you were drunk your accent slipped. I’m guessing Louisiana.”

Megan stopped dead in her tracks. An icy cold descended on her. What else had she accidently told him? “Now I do kind of hate you. I can’t believe I told you I was from the South.”

“So I am right? Louisiana?”

“Close enough. Are we off the record? Just one fuck buddy to another?” Megan asked.

James nodded.

“I’m from Mississippi. Tell anyone and I will spray you again.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Megan drove James back to his house. She parked her car in the garage so it would not be spotted in his driveway. James had a shower and then took a sleeping pill and went to bed. She wanted to take him to the hospital but he insisted he just needed to shower and sleep.

Megan should have gone to work at that point, but guilt and concern kept her put. She phoned her office and said she had a family emergency. She had never missed a day of work in her life. Once, she had managed to get through opening arguments with a migraine. And she had won the case.

But this was different. There were few things she would tolerate missing work for, and dealing with the aftermath of inadvertently trying to blind someone, was one of those things she would give herself a pass for.

Megan opened her laptop and got stuck into researching pepper spray, something she really should have done before she unleashed it on the unsuspecting public. Poor James. She shook her head at herself.

It took her less than thirty seconds to figure out the wi-fi password. When James woke up she was going to inform him that 1234 was not a secure password. She typed in “pepper spray after care” into the search engine and cringed when the first item that popped up was an article about the fatalities associated with pepper spray. Her eyes widened as she read through the paper. Her muscles relaxed as she reached the end. Apparently pepper spray was only lethal for people with an allergy or asthma.

As far as she knew James did not have either condition but she would feel much better if she checked on him. She slid off her running shoes and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. She waited at the door, not wanting to disturb him if he had not yet fallen asleep. She opened the door as quietly as she could. James was fast asleep, wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. The sheets and duvet were pushed to the bottom of the bed. She stood for a moment, transfixed by an emotion she could not understand, something deep inside propelling her to look after him. She had not felt the need in a long time. There was Ben, she took care of him, but this felt different and new but familiar. Carefully she pulled the sheet up until it came to just below his broad shoulders.

She returned downstairs and continued reading every article the search engine proffered up until she reached a forum devoted to survivalists ranting about how the government wanted to rape them of their liberties and how automatic weapons were their only defence, by which point she could safely call herself a pepper spray expert. Hell, she might even call herself as an expert witness at some point. Megan continued reading the forum as she waited for the printer to finish printing out the list of herbs she needed to buy. She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the posts. She was all for defending the Constitution, but not with outrageous arguments. “The government has aircraft carriers and nuclear bombs. You are going to need more than an automatic weapon to take down Uncle Sam, boy,” she said to an empty room.

She gathered up her impromptu research and headed for the health food store to stock James up with every herb and tincture recommended for minimising the effects of pepper spray exposure. An hour later she returned with two overflowing bags. She had made the mistake of asking the sales assistant his opinion on nettle versus milk thistle. After an explanation that would be suitable for any dissertation, she decided to buy one of everything they sold in the nettle and thistle family and let James decide which he preferred.

Megan’s stomach growled to alert her that she had forgotten to eat lunch. She glanced down at her watch; it was nearly time for dinner. Apparently time flies when you are researching the potentially lethal effects of pepper spray. She went to James’ kitchen, set down the bags and searched through his refrigerator before she remembered she couldn’t cook. She should have picked up something at the health food store. On second thought, James had already had a hard day, he deserved something more than kale and alfalfa sprouts for his dinner.

She ordered a pizza and salad. She would leave it for James to find when he woke up. It was the least she could do. According to the internet James should avoid alcohol and fatty foods for the time being to give his liver time to heal, but she knew that she personally could not endure a faceful of pepper spray without at least a little comfort food to get her through.

She thought about staying until he woke up to make sure he was OK but she realised waiting would mean actually having to speak to him and she didn’t know what to say. He would do his whole nice-guy thing and she would open up to him without meaning to and then overcorrect by being horrible. And he didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve to be subjected to her.

Things would be easier if he had turned out to be the asshole she thought he was. She had had sex with lots of assholes. They were sort of her type. She liked knowing from the get go that a guy was a jerk so she was never stupid enough to expect anything different.

James was right; she really was a mess when it came to interpersonal relationships. On the surface, she had lots of relationships that could pass as friendships, but they were all superficial. No one really knew her. And she liked it that way. That was the way she intended to keep it.

Megan had the cash ready when the doorbell rang.

“Keep the change,” she said as she handed the delivery driver two bills.

“Thanks.” The kid nodded and handed her her order.

Megan sat the food on the kitchen counter before she shut down her computer and packed up her stuff. She left the research she had done along with the food and groceries in the kitchen. She would text James later to make sure he knew how to use the arsenal of products she had purchased.

“Something smells good.” James’ deep voice called from the stairs. “What did you make?”

Megan’s head shot up. “Nothing. I don’t cook; I order. There’s pizza and a salad in the kitchen.” She finished putting her last file in her bag before she stood up.

“You don’t cook. You insult people at every opportunity and you have the temperament of a rabid dog. Remind me again why no straight man has snapped you up.” A smile tugged at his lips. He looked like he had been through the wars. His eyes were bloodshot and the short hair at the back of his head was standing on end but he was till the sexiest thing on two legs. He was well within his rights to scream at her, really let her have it, but he was teasing her like there was nothing wrong.

She shook her head. She would never understand him but she had to ask. “Why are you so nice?”

He ran a hand over the dark stubble that was beginning to appear along his jaw. “Trust me, I’m not.”

“You are. I don’t get it. Even after I insulted you repeatedly and unabashedly, and then tried to blind you, you never lashed out. Not once. It’s not normal.” She had never met anyone like him. He belonged in a museum, so women could come and ogle the mythological “nice guy”.

“Woman, how is it that you can make even a compliment sound like an insult? I’m not as nice as you seem to think, but I will never lash out at you, or any woman for that matter. You have set the bar pretty fucking low if all it takes to be considered a nice guy is not hitting you. What kind of dicks did you hang out with before you met me? Who hurt you, Megan?” James stood on the bottom stair which made his considerable height even more apparent; she barely reached his waist.

He was so large and powerful but she knew that he would never pose a physical threat to her. The sensation of feeling secure was foreign to her, somewhat unsettling. She shrugged off his question; his observations were too close to the mark. She needed to end this. She couldn’t handle him getting any closer, learning any more. “It’s just my job, too much time with bottom feeders. I’ve left you some herbs in the kitchen with instructions on how to use them to help your liver process the pepper spray. You need to drink at least two litres of water a day and avoid alcohol. I also bought some liquid antacids. Apparently if you mix it with water it makes a decent antidote. You know, in case another crazy bitch sprays you. Is there anything else you need before I go?”