Quirks & Kinks (14 page)

Naturally, she blamed me.

Shooting poison-laced daggers through my head, she denied, “I’m not with Larry.”

I raised a skeptical brow, and she got a defiantly challenging look in her eye.

“I’m not with Larry, just like you and Anderson aren’t together.”

“We
aren’t
together,” I reiterated, glancing at the man in question as he looked on, intrigued.

Her smile only grew. “Exactly.”

“You guys are incredible,” Anderson murmured in awe. “I’d stay here all night to watch the show if I didn’t have other people to serve.”

“The show’s over,” I assured him.

He bit his bottom lip and leaned closer to me, smiling in a way that made my womb contract.

“Shame.”

My restless hands clenched into fists under the table while my eyes sought out his features as a balm to the absence of his physical touch.

“You guys know what you want to eat, or do you need me to come back?”

“Tacos,” we both said in unison, finding common ground for the first time that evening.

All three of us smiled. Anderson because he was amused, and Ashley and I because we were remembering why we spent so much time together.

As much as we teased and prodded at one another, there truly wasn’t any other person I’d rather be around. After all, there had to be reason we both chose to live and work together in our adulthood, barely scraping by, making just enough to survive.

We
liked
each other. And neither one of us would ever find a bigger supporter.

“And to drink?” Anderson asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Lemonade,” we answered as one again.

“Okay,” he laughed. “This is getting a little freaky.”

Tiny wrinkles formed around his eyes, pointing to their minty green flecks and making it nearly impossible to look anywhere else. He wired my emotions at the same time that he settled them. Nothing other than smoking had ever been able to focus my self-acceptance so well before.

As we sat there in silence, awareness bounced between us like a spider, weaving and webbing our feelings into a delicate, untouched connection.

I hated my growing need to touch him, the way it pulled at my brain and threatened to make me do it without my permission.

Apparently, Ashley hated it more.

“Okay, seriously, guys. I want some freaking tacos.”

Anderson looked away first, laughing and knocking just one knuckle on the hard surface of our table. “Okay, Ash. Tacos coming up.”

He looked back at me once but turned to leave before I could make eye contact again.

His back swayed with his steps, the muscles bunching and pulling under his perfectly tight shirt.

“Chips wouldn’t go unappreciated either!” Ashley called before he got too far away, eliciting an acknowledging wave over his shoulder.

Studiously avoiding her eyes, I waited patiently until Anderson brought our lemonades over and set them on the table in front of us. Treating unnecessary eye contact like an eclipse, neither of us looked directly at one another.

When he walked away again, Ashley piped up.

“We’re not coming here again until you guys bang.”

Fresh lemonade just beginning to quench my dry mouth, I spewed, spraying her with its fruity contents and making her laugh uncontrollably.

“What?!”

“I just want to eat my damn tacos in peace, and I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen until you guys bump uglies a few thousand times to take the edge off,” she said as she wiped at her sticky face with a napkin.

“What are you talking about? He’s getting your tacos right now! We aren’t impeding your ability to eat them.”

“Yeah, see, no. He’s getting my tacos, but there’s this . . .” She paused and twirled her finger in the air, searching for the explanation she wanted. “ . . .
Cloud
of pent up sexual frustration enveloping this entire area, and the freaking smell is pungent. Pretty sure it’s gonna affect the taste.”

“We need to stop spending so much time together. You’re becoming too much of a smart-ass.”

“I’ve always been a smart-ass. It was just overshadowed by you being
more
of a smart-ass.”

“Yeah, well, I need you to be the yang to my ying. That’s what makes us dynamic.”

“No,” she denied. “That’s what gives you the freedom to be a bitch. I’m there to smooth it over.” She said the word ‘freedom,’ but I heard the word ‘security.’ I could hide behind the mean mask because my sister was there to weight the other, nicer side of the scale.

The realization of her feelings felt like a sharp knife in my gut, and the sudden intrusion of it made me sit up straighter.

“Ashley . . . do you . . . is that how you really—”

“No, Easie.” Her voice was soft. Gentle.
Wise.
“I don’t really feel like that. You have always given me the freedom to be who I want. I’m just pointing out, that no matter
how
we act, you and I will always be dynamic. Because we’re sisters, and I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she stressed. “Just be who you want. Don’t worry about what people expect from you and what they don’t. They’ll adjust.” She smiled. “You’re too funny for someone to really hate you.”

I wiggled my head with fake laughter and scrunched up my face. “Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime,” she offered with a wink, taking a swig of her lemonade and leaning further back in the booth.

I looked up just in time to see Anderson take his last few steps on his approach to our table.

“Chips,” he said with a flourish, setting down the basket and waving his hand gallantly.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Ashley teased, inclining her head in turn.

“It was my utmost pleasure, fair lady.”

Enthralled, I watched as they interacted with rapt attention. It was fun and honest and surprisingly
not
flirtatious. He saved all of those looks for me.

Jesus. Did he really save all of those looks for me?

“Earth to Easie,” Anderson said, leaning down to smile right in my face.

“You were right,” Ashley remarked to herself. “The weirdness remains.”

“Hey,” Anderson said with a smile when my eyes met his, one gentle hand reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear.

He was always doing that.

“You’re always doing that.”

“What?” he asked, surprised by the sudden intrusion of my foot into my mouth.

It was too late to take it back though. “Tucking my hair behind my ear. Why?”

Squatting down beside me, he shrugged. “I guess I want to see your face.”

Arching my brows and scrunching my nose, I stuck my tongue between my teeth and attempted an ugly smile.

He laughed, shook his head, and then winked. “Well, maybe not that one.”

My chest swelled and heaved, the feel of his smile getting sucked straight into the depths of my body. I was two seconds from getting swept completely away when a swift kick landed on my shin.

“Ow!”

My startled, accusatory eyes jumped to my sister. “We’re not coming back,” she mouthed, pretending to swim through her imaginary cloud of sexual tension.

Anderson was understandably confused, standing up again and stepping back from the table just in time to see another patron trying to grab his attention.

“Oops,” he muttered. “Gotta go.” His eyes met mine once more. “It probably wasn’t a good idea to invite you here while I’m working. Too much of a distraction.” Grabbing my hand laying on the table, he gave it a squeeze and then left.

Ashley clucked over her victory.

Meanwhile, I was still trying to pick my jaw up off of the table. It’d probably help if I could get my hand to stop tingling.

“Better make it an even ten thousand.”

“What?”

“The amount of sexual encounters it’s going to take to burn off the fog of this cloud.”

Half of me hoped she was right while the other hoped she wasn’t. The whole damn thing hoped I got the chance to find out.

“
IS THIS A JOKE
?” I asked Larry as Anderson looked on from the doorway. “Tell me it’s a joke.”

Five whole days had passed since I’d left El Loco that night, and Anderson and I hadn’t spoken to each other on even one of them.

I’d worried a little that it would be awkward when I got to work today, but by all accounts, everything seemed to be normal. From the list of things he’d told me he’d done since I’d last seen him, I was really starting to believe that he had, in fact, just been busy.

“It’s not a joke,” Larry replied.

“It has to be a joke,” I repeated, turning to face Anderson again.

“It’s not a joke,” he confirmed. “I met Devon and Shavon.”

“How are you so calm about this?!” I questioned, throwing my panicked hands in the air.

“What do you want me to be?” His head tilted inquisitively to the side.

“I don’t know! Freaked out, like me.”

“And why are you freaked out?” he asked, using an annoying therapist-like voice.

“Because this is sick!” I nearly shrieked. “It’s some sick, weird-ass fucking shit!”

“It’s not sick. It’s just different,” he argued calmly, walking into the room to stand directly in front of me. Larry traded positions, slipping out the door and away from the psychopath (me) while he had the chance.

“And sick!”

“It’s only sick to you because it’s not your kink. To them—those super nice, normal people out there—it’s what feels right. Can you honestly tell me you want someone telling you not to do what makes you feel right?”

“No,” I admitted begrudgingly.

“Exactly.”

I narrowed my eyes at the know-it-all. When he was schooling me like this, I couldn’t remember why he made me feel all mushy the rest of the time.

“What Devon and Shavon find acceptable is up to the two of them. They’re both consenting. That’s all that matters.”

“But it’s icky.”

“To
you,
” he emphasized.

“Why on earth would this show be the one Larry chose?” I whined as I leaned my head back to look at the ceiling.

“Because,” he called, reaching up and tipping my chin back down with his thumb and forefinger. “Believe it or not, the statistics on the number of people who feel persecuted or disassociated because of sexual preferences they have no control over—that bring harm to no other people—are unbelievably vast. That’s why. This show, whether you realized it or not, is going to help people.”

“A show about menstrual sex on Quirks and Kinks is going to help people?” I scoffed.

His answering nod was crisp. Resolute. “Yep.”

“Alright. Alright,” I repeated, trying to wrap my head around it. All the focus in the world couldn’t have stopped me from struggling.

“I just . . . I’m not judging.”

He raised a thick brow.

“No, really,” I promised, my nose only growing minimally with the small fib. “I’m just having a hard time figuring out the appeal.”

“Devon likes the taste and feel of it, and Shavon is secure enough in herself to enjoy the heightened sensitivity,” he explained easily, not even blinking an eye at the abnormality of it all.

“I’m not secure enough,” I admitted.

“No,” he laughed. “I think I got that. And menstrual sex might never be your thing. But something is, and if you’re with someone who’s open to helping you embrace it, you’ll find it.”

Good God. This guy was so . . .
accepting.

Was menstrual sex
his
thing? Oh, chicken biscuits.
Was he a Blood Hound?

Ew.
What a horrible thought.

I spent a lot of time fantasizing about Anderson, and I really didn’t want to have to take my daydreaming in this direction. I mean, it wasn’t so much the actual intercourse I really struggled with as it was the idea of him not only going down on me during my period but downright craving it. According to the script, Devon literally had to fight the urge to sniff Shavon’s used pads and tampons. He enjoyed it
that
much. I mean . . .
no
. . . I couldn’t even think about it anymore.

“Alright. I’m obviously going to give it my best effort here. I’m just not sure—”

“I’ll help you however I can.”

“You better,” I threatened and poked him roughly in the chest.

“Come on. Let’s go get our makeup done.”

“Great idea,
Andrea.
”

“Hey now! You know I don’t have a choice about the makeup.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what they all say.”

“Come on,” he said, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me in and out of his side. “I think you should have a talk with Shavon before we start shooting too.”

Normally, I didn’t have a problem talking to the real people behind the show. But, this time, I was afraid I’d say something that sounded disparaging. “Are you sure that’s a good—”

“Oh yeah. Definitely. You might learn something.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Shit.
I knew it. He was into period sex. He had to be.

Sliding his hand from my shoulder down my arm, he grabbed my hand and clasped it, linking our fingers as we made our way down the hall.

Sweet baby purple unicorns.

He was holding my hand.
And apparently I was in third grade again, making that a big deal.