Once Upon A Killing (A Gass County Novel Book 2) (11 page)

He let her body loose, rolled off her, and used his large hand to grope her butt cheek once more before slapping it with an arousing sound of flesh against flesh. Then he rolled over on his back, closed his eyes, and hummed a delightful tune and pointed his hand on his face. “Come and sit your pussy on my mouth. I need to taste you, again.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Holy Moses, this weekend, wow, that was really something… wasn’t it? If that thing in his pants is going in the back I better get that blue monster right now for some daily exercise.” Her black cat sat next to the full length mirror leaning against the wall, and uttered a “meow.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me, Samo, I’ve seen you out there in the alley, howling. You’re not any less innocent than I am. Give me a break. Things planned are going well, he might soon be eating out of my hand. Wouldn’t we love that, Samo, oh yes we would,” she cooed at the cat in her arms.

Monday mornings weren’t usually in high regard, or appreciated for that matter, but this weekend had been… phenomenal, apart from the ‘pencil’ girls hitting on the man she now considered hers, and throwing her purse in frustration, only to cry herself to sleep. But those things aside, the weekend had been more productive, sex wise, than ever before. Even during her marriage. The feeling made her stomach cringe and a flashing feeling of vomiting entered her throat whenever a thought of a man rose and it wasn’t about Will. But, Wayne had been… together they had been… no words could describe it, instead her underwear provided the correct answer, moistening under the memory of what their bodies had done together: bad things, naughty things, and some downright dirty. Things only a few people might endeavor; never to talk about, just hold in their mind and catch themselves wearing a glorious grin when the memory surfaced.

Her last customers at the bakery counter probably thought she had smoked a few joints as they’d had to repeat their order at least twice then given her and the other guests around them a very questioning, concerned gaze. She’d only smiled back, given them a grin that said, “if you only knew what I did last night
you’d
be the one in need of a cigarette,” then walked away to close the shop for her very first lunch delivery – to the station up the street.

Her blue heels sounded clickety-clack, clickety-clack as she rushed up the cobblestone street, finally reaching the door leading into the warmth of the stations garage. Clickety-clack, she continued over the cemented gray floor, walking between ambulances and rescue vehicles, the place where she’d first met Wayne, and then the door leading into the station’s heart.

“Hi,” her smile as wide as the tree crowns creating the nicely shaded alley outside the station. The small population of four in the break room fell into silence and stared at the cheerful woman standing at the door in tight denim jeans, a top that said ‘If you don’t love sugar, you’re not my sweetheart’, and cobalt heels, which made her tower at around 6 feet. “I’ve got each of your names signed on to the sandwiches, the sides, and your drinks,” she continued.

No one in the break room said a word as Christine started to unload the large wicker basket of deliciously smelling food onto the countertop of the station’s old, well-used kitchen.

“Bryce: tuna sandwich, potato salad, and green tea.” She pointed at the three different portions she had organized on the counter for them. “Jayce: chicken sandwich, crispy bacon and avocado. Macaroni salad on the side, and Coke for a drink.” She moved back a little to the last item on the menu for them. “Wayne: meatball sandwich, extra cheese, mac n’cheese on the side, a Coke as well. The exact same for you Sir.” She pointed at the fire chief standing up from resting a few minutes on the couch. “I hope that was correct?” She looked at them, and everyone looked around the group for some kind of response.

“Yep, just as I ordered. Thanks for bringing it. Perfect timing.”

“Alright, thanks for your orders. You are the first ones after all. Please enjoy!”

Wayne looked around at his teammates, biting his lower lip, then quickly down at his shoes. Three smug, smiling faces met his gaze while the bouncing of a chocolate brown ponytail was already out the door and gone with the wind.

“You’re so fucked, Wayne. But I do like a good lunch,” Jayce’s laugh shook deep in her lungs while she headed over to the counter. He wasted no time biting into the still scrumptiously warm sandwich; oozing with cheese, herbs, and spices from a faraway country in the Mediterranean.

“So, how much are you going back by doing this? What hold does she have on you?” Bryce laughed and shook his head in agreement with Jayce’s statement, that he was truly fucked, then folded up the sleeves on his deep blue shirt. “When will you guys send out the joined holiday cards and pick out the names of your babies?”

A cold arrow stabbed him in the back like a sharp icepick and he swallowed down the secret she’d told him over the weekend.

“Oh, shut it. This is nothing. I just thought we could all eat better around here. Am I right, Chief?” He turned, trying to find a confidante in the situation.

“Wayne,” the older man took a side step, grabbing Wayne hard by the shoulder. “She’s pretty, she cooks well, and she’s new in town. Don’t mess this up. I’d hate to lose a good bakery, and honestly, you may be doing yourself a favor by sticking with her.”

“I’m not… I just…”

“Let’s eat before the next alarm comes in.”

The Chief had spoken, the law had been set. Nothing else left but eating.

This was going too fast. Way too fast
. Wayne’s mind was stirring, as witches stirring their bubbling brew. Stirring and stirring, until the thoughts he’d collected throughout the day were a melted goo of nervousness, nausea, and panic.

Did he have a girlfriend now? Was that what he wanted? Why the hell had he asked her to give him a shot? He wasn’t sure he was ‘shot’ material. He knew nothing about relationships. Sure this weekend had been amazing. No scratch that, thunderbolt, lightning, wickedly hot. She was hot, what they had done made his balls tighten and an erection would begin to form inside his pants, and he wouldn’t mind repeating that night again. But, to settle down, trust someone, have someone trust him? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t even trust himself, so why should Christine?

He was a douche bag, he’d always been a man-whore, and ever since his first roll in the hay as a teenager he’d heard the same thing from fathers and brothers to daughter’s and sister’s he’d slept with.

Even his own dad had told him, beaten that into him. A bad grade in school – bam, a fist in the face. “You’re an idiot, do better!” Stealing a beer from the fridge before a night out with friends – bam, another fist in the face. “You’re a scumbag and thief, no one wants to be around you.” Caught in his childhood bedroom with a girl in the nude – bam, another fist in the face. “This is all you’re made for. You know nothing about women!”

But he was thirty-six now, not a young boy anymore. He didn’t have to fear a dad who’d beat the living daylights out of him any longer. He hadn’t been to see his dad for ages, didn’t even drive close to the town where his parents had moved after his mother got caught with a DUI, and an arrest. The shame had been too much for his perfect parents, and to let the outside world know that his mother had a drinking problem, mainly because of the terror at home, had been too much and they had ditched the small town for the larger city, three counties and numerous small towns away.

Once in a while a postcard would show up at the station, addressed in his name, put in his locker by the Chief, who’d nod in knowledge, and leave him alone to read it through.

Mom, it was always from mom. Sixteen years of not seeing his parents, but only ten postcards. Guess she didn’t miss him some years, or maybe the booze took over her mind and she forgot him. Either way, he had no desire to look them up, or even write her back.

Yet, the fights, the screams, and the words were very much still alive inside him, no matter how much he told himself they were untrue.

He had settled with being a woman hunter. Some nights and even some days when a naked woman would pant beside him, he’d show his usual hollow smile women fell for, but miss something. He wasn’t sure of what, but maybe with Christine he’d felt something, or maybe not. Or? His mind was driving him crazy, and he knew he was about to do something he might regret, just to have a chance to feel normal again and not deal with the demons that crept close under his skin, but which he fought to stay hidden.

He needed something, and he needed it soon.

Chapter Fourteen

The bar wasn’t completely empty despite it being a weeknight. A few faces could be seen in the dim light far away at the back wall by the pool tables. It was Monday night after all, and he was watching ESPN on the screen from his booth: secluded in the corner, away from people, away from judgment. Not even Rick, working hard filling shelves with new beer bottles noticed him. Or if he had, he didn’t care. Rick was good that way. Friendly but stayed out of everyone else’s business.

He’d made the phone call he wasn’t convinced was right, but here she came, and he then realized he wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing.

“So, glad you called hot stuff. Missed me?” The big-busted blond, at least a decade younger, slid across the table and pouted her glossy red lips at him. “Lonely, sweetie?”

He swallowed the beer that had lingered too long in his mouth and placed the glass on the table between them.

“You know, just wanted to see what you were doing. That’s all,” he answered, his voice low.

“Aha, sure. So, you wanna finish that beer and go back to your place?”

“In a minute. Can’t we just… talk a little. You know, for old times’ sake?”

A giggle of an immature teenager slipped out from between her slobbered lips and her head shook the blond strands of bleached hair to one side.

“What do you mean talk? I can ‘talk’ to you in many other ways, Wayne. Dirty, naughty ways. Just like you like it.” Her foot suddenly touched the inside of his leg and made him scoot further back into the seat. Too bad he couldn’t scoot out as if he’d been seated on a chair. Her naked toes found his crotch, and something inside him wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong what she was doing.

“You took your shoes off,” he stated.

“Aha,” she nodded, “there are more things I can take off if you’d just finish up that beer already and get going.”

He held his breath and moved her foot to the side.

“You know what,” he said. “This might have been a mistake. I’m sorry.” He took up his wallet and placed a few bills for beer and tip on the table.

“I’m a mistake? Jeez, thanks for the kind words, Wayne. Has it ever seemed like a mistake what we have done? I mean, it sure didn’t to me. I’d like to do it again.”

“I’m sorry. I should have thought it over more carefully before I called. Do you need me to drive you home?” The panic in his chest lit a fire again. This time it felt like a necktie around his throat, squeezing and squeezing, until his head got dizzy. And then he looked up, and suddenly he thought his lungs might have drawn their last breath.

“Hello, and how are you tonight?” Christine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Suddenly his brain knew no other words.
Fuckety-fuck-fuck.

“Um, can we help you, or something?” the blonde asked, pushing her boobs onto the tabletop like a dessert ready to be served.

Christine tried to focus on the blonde’s eyes, crow’s feet and black-painted lashes the thickness of a Black Widow’s legs. If she blinked any faster, those lashes might run away by themselves across the table, she thought, before answering the doll in a subdued voice.

“Oh, pardon me. I’m Christine, um, I just happened to walk by taking a cake order for the manager’s birthday party. You see, I own a bakery in town, and always work late…”

“Well, does it look like we are about to order a cake? Does it?” the blond sputtered and corrected her hair, pushing the bleached blond waves over her shoulders, continuously. “My boyfriend and I are actually in the middle of something here and if you’re done, we’d like some privacy. Bye bye, cake lady. Shoo.”

She was speechless; her lips couldn’t form a single word to answer the rudeness of the stripper. Yeah, a stripper was what she was. An evil, too young, stripper. A bitch.

Instead she turned her head to Wayne, who looked much more pale since she’d gotten there a few minutes ago. Apparently he was tongue-tied too and instead he found himself staring back at her, eyes the size of golf balls.

“Really?” she finally mustered, and nodded her head in the blonde’s direction, still not taking her eyes of Wayne.

“Uhm,” he coughed, and started babbling. “We… um ….this is a friend of mine, from the past.” He nodded across the table, and swallowed hard.

“A friend? That’s all I am to you? I’m not sure friends do what we have done, babe. Babe?” The blonde’s hand reached across the table trying to catch a disappearing hand on his end.