The Devil Eats Here (Multi-Author Short Story Collection) (10 page)

“Because…” Oh, shoot, she’d never find the words. Or if she did, she’d never force them out of her mouth. If he was truly a man, as he kept insisting he was, he’d have to see that no guy in the world would want to make love to her except out of desperation. A few guys had, but they hadn’t stuck around afterwards, despite implied promises that they cared for her. She’d gotten used to knowing that she wasn’t much to look at. She and her vibrator got along just fine, thank you. Now, Sam had complicated things. In a minute, he’d make her believe she really was beautiful, and how would she get back to reality then?

“Because why?” he prompted.

“Because no man who looks like you has ever wanted me, that’s why.”

“Then, they were stupid and blind.” He set the rose aside and reached to the robe of the peignoir set. He pushed that off her shoulders, and she shrugged out of it. Finally, he helped her out of the gown, lifted it over her head, and tossed it aside.

His eyes widened, and his nostrils did their little flare as he sucked in a breath. “Cynthia, you’re luscious.”

She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun on her skin. “Do you really mean that?”

He trailed his fingers over her shoulder and down to the side of her breast. “You’re rounded and lush, and your skin puts the petals of my rose to shame.”

“I know I’m soft.” That was an understatement.

He leaned toward her, and stroked the outside of her thighs with his palms. “Heaven. I wish I could use these as a pillow for the rest of eternity.”

“They’re soft, too.”

“What magnificent curves,” he said. “You’re all woman and all for me.”

“You wouldn’t rather have someone thinner?” There, she’d said it.

“Making love to a skinny woman is like snuggling up to kindling. No thanks.”

She laughed in delight. He’d seen her – all of her – and he not only found her acceptable, he looked as if he wanted to devour her.

“I’d like to look at you, too,” she said.

His blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Why not undress me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She undid the belt of his robe and pushed it over his shoulders and down his arms. The buttons on his pajama top took a bit of doing, but eventually, she had him out of that, too. Dark, curling hairs covered his finely muscled chest.

“You’re amazing, Sam,” she whispered.

He lowered himself into the water. She joined him and walked into his embrace.

“I don’t approve of selling souls,” he said. “But I'm glad you offered yours.”

“Me, too.” She floated in his arms, feeling light, connected, happy.

Chapter Four

Cyn felt Sam come into the room before she heard him. The feeling was a tickle at the back of her neck, like a breeze or a brush of lips. She sat perfectly still, staring at the computer screen in front of her.

He cleared his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind that I looked into your computer,” she said. “I figured you owed me some explanation. Heck, I don’t even know where I am.”

“You couldn’t have gotten in here if I didn’t want you to.”

“I figured that, too.” She swiveled in the chair. “You meant for me to see all this, didn’t you?”

“Did you learn anything?”

“I’ve never read scientific journals before. I didn’t understand it all.”

“But you got the gist,” he said. “Tell me what they said.”

“The main finding seemed to be that our bodies know what size they want to be and fighting our bodies is an uphill battle.”

He smiled. “You understood. Good.”

“And it’s as difficult for a thin person to get big as it is for a big person to get thin,” she said. “Isn’t that a kick in the head?”

“But everyone loves thin, so no one tries to get big,” he answered. “What else?”

“Exercise is good to raise your metabolism, but it’s good for you in general.”

“You will exercise again.”

Something in his voice sounded final on that last. He didn’t say “we will,” or “I’ll show you the exercise room.” It sounded as if she’d be doing her exercise on her own again – soon. The expression on his face got wistful, too. He seemed to be looking off into the distance and not entirely liking what he was seeing.

For four days, they had laughed together and made love as if they could go on forever.

She turned back to the computer and closed the file. The wallpaper came back up – a picture of her in the black peignoir.

She pointed at the picture. “How long have you had this on your computer?”

“A while.” He didn’t say anything else for a moment. “I’ve grown very attached to you, Cynthia.”

“You’re making that sound pretty past tense, Sam.”

“Present perfect, actually.”

“Don’t get pedantic with me. What’s up?”

He didn't meet her gaze, but held out his hand. “Let me show you something.”

He led her out into the corridor, along the carpet and past all those vases of flowers. Sam opened a wooden door she’d never noticed before and motioned her inside.

A bedroom, ordinary but gorgeous, with French doors that went from floor to ceiling looked out over a private balcony and to the gardens in the distance, lace curtains fluttering in the breeze, a graceful bureau, a roll-top desk, a settee and a four-poster with a canopy of eyelet lace and more lace curtains hanging at the corners.

She lifted the lace in her fingers. The thread felt as fine as spider webs. “What is this place?”

“My bedroom. My own personal space.”

“And no one else has seen it but me?”

“Only you.”

“A lot of lace for a guy.”

He smiled shyly. “I made a few modifications with you in mind.”

A huge quilt in a starburst pattern covered the bed, and on the table near one pillow was a picture in a gilt frame. A picture of her. Just a head shot with flowers in the background.

“What’s going on, Sam? Why did you bring me here? Why do you have my pictures everywhere?

“Let’s make love first and talk later.”

“Who’s using sex to avoid intimacy now?”

He walked to her and pulled her into his arms. “You know me too well.”

Right about now it would be good to know him a little less well. The way he stood, the way he held onto her as if he didn’t dare let go, had a “good bye” quality, and she wasn't ready to end what they had.

She leaned into his chest and hugged him. If this was the last time they made love, she would not spoil it by weeping.

Afterwards, as they lay side by side, she trailed her fingertips down the crease at the center of his back. “Talk to me.”

“We’ve – you’ve – accomplished what you came here to do.”

“Which was?” she prompted.

“To learn to love yourself.”

“I’ve fallen in love with you, I know that,” she said.

“Loving yourself is more important.”

“I love you, Sam, and I think you love me, too.”

He tipped his head up and bit his lip.

“Don’t you?” she said.

“I care about you, more than I’m supposed to.”

“Love, Sam. Say it.”

“I love you, Cynthia,” he said. “And it’s time for you to go back.”

She clenched her jaw until it hurt. She would not cry. But, oh…he was sending her away.

“I have no choice,” he said.

“You can come with me.”

“No, I can’t. I don’t belong in that world.”

“Why not?” she asked. “What are you?”

“You don’t have a word for what I am. I’m sort of a cross between a fairy godmother and a guardian angel.”

“I don’t want to lose my guardian angel.” The sob she was trying to hold in escaped, and tears stung her eyes.

His eyes were moist, too. “You’ll always have me. I’ll be inside you.”

“Sam!” she cried. “That's not what I want!”

“Trust me on this, Cynthia, or nothing we’ve done here matters.”

“If you're a fairy godmother or a guardian angel, you can make things happen. Come with me.”

He stared at her, his face a mask of pain. “It’s time for you to go back.”

She let the tears come then.

Everything around her darkened – starting at the edges of her vision and working inward. The posts of the bed, the lace of the curtains, Sam’s shoulders, and then his face. Only the blue glow of his eyes lingered until everything had gone black.

*

“Cyn.” Jenny’s voice. “Cyn, what’s wrong with you?”

“Huh?”

“You zoned out on me, and now you’re crying.”

Sure enough, her cheeks were wet. She brushed away the tears with both hands. What in hell had made her start bawling? Something sad, for sure. Something heartbreaking, as if someone had cut a hole in her chest. But who or what? Could losing a promotion have made her that miserable?

“What is it, hon?” Jenny asked. She looked frantic with worry.

“I don’t know.” Something inside her knew, though. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a link to something. Or someone. If only she could find that link.

“You can’t let Stewart get to you like this,” her friend said.

“Stew the Poo?” Cyn answered. “Screw him. He’s an insignificant worm. He’s a parasite in the gut of an insignificant worm.”

“He had you upset enough to consider this.” Jenny lifted the crumpled mess of a brochure. The one from the weight loss surgery clinic.

“Screw them, too,” Cyn said. “I’m not going under the knife just to make other people like the way I look.”

“Well, thank heaven for that.”

“I don’t know what even made me consider it.”

“Losing the promotion?” Jenny asked.

“Screw the promotion. Screw the company. Screw everything.” She’d lost something more important than any of that, if only she could remember what.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Never better.” To prove it, Cyn stabbed her fork into her enchilada and took a huge bite. Boy, did that taste good.

“All right.” Jenny tossed the wadded brochure over her shoulder. It landed on an empty table behind them, luckily, and not into someone's frijoles refritos. "After this, the ice cream's on me."

“When I'm through demolishing this lunch, I won't have room for ice cream. Let's get a newspaper, instead, so that I can look at the help wanted ads."

Jenny raised her hands in the air. “Glory, halleluia!”

“Amen, sister! Stew the Poo has taken advantage of me for the last time.”

That caused a bit of a murmur as other customers glanced over to see what the celebration was about. Including one very interesting and attractive man sitting all alone at a table in the corner. His blue gaze focused on hers for a moment, and he smiled.

She smiled back. Why not? A little flirting never hurt anyone.

He lifted his water glass in a toast. The eyes under the bushy brows sparkled, and his nostrils flared.

Actual male interest. What had gotten into her? She never flirted.

Cyn blushed and looked back at Jenny. “Maybe we should celebrate a little more quietly.”

“Let the whole world stare,” Jenny said. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to come to your senses.”

“I guess I finally have. I’m going to find a better job for more money so I can buy a house.”

“I want to help you shop.”

“And I’m never taking crap from anyone again. Especially about my weight.”

“I don’t know what Romero put in the salsa today, but he ought to bottle it and sell it.”

“It’s called self-love,” Cyn said. “Powerful stuff.”

“Oh, hon, I’m so happy for you.”

And Cyn was happy, too. For the first time in years – maybe ever – she didn’t give a fig what anyone else thought about her. Talk about freedom. No one would ever bring her down again, because they wouldn’t have the power to.

“Chow down,” Cyn said. “I want to go out and get a copy of the Tribune.”

“That may not be necessary.” A male voice, deep and warm. Cyn glanced up to see the man who’d smiled at her from his table a few minutes ago. Her flirt. Her wickedly handsome flirt.

“Oh, hey,” she said. “I hope we didn’t disrupt your lunch.”

He laughed, and his blue eyes sparkled. The color was so striking, surrounded as it was by his dark skin and black hair. High cheekbones and bushy eyebrows. He ought not to be handsome with those features, but he managed nicely.

“Not at all,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been eavesdropping.”

“As loud as we were, you’d have a hard time not listening.”

Jenny looked from Cyn to the man and then back and gave Cyn a wise-assed grin.

The man reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a business card. “I’ve just opened a professional employment agency. It sounds as if you’re looking for a job.”

“That I am. My area is customer accounts management.”

He handed her the card. It read, “Devlin Recruiting: Samuel Devlin, CEO.”

“Drop by my office this afternoon. I’m sure I can find something you’ll love.”

“Thanks, Mr. Devlin. I think I will.”

“Call me Sam.”

She stuck out her hand for a shake. “Thanks, Sam. I think you’re going to be my guardian angel.”

This story has been previously published in
Paranaughty
(Draumr Publishing).

DEVIL TAKE IT

by Douglas Kolacki

San Diego, California to Washington, DC is a lot of distance for things to go wrong--missed connections, drivers doping off somewhere while you're sitting on the stationary bus with the arctic-gale air conditioning numbing your skin. (I love how the drivers ask you to come up and see them if you'd like the A/C adjusted, and then when you take them up on it, tell you there's nothing they can do). Buses breaking down after a layover so that a new driver, whose one asset seems to be an exceptionally screechy voice, shouts at you and everyone to scramble on board a rattletrap that smells of dirt and old upholstery with no water in its back restroom, with no explanation about what happened to the old driver who was a nice old man and never shouted. Every five-minute stop stretches into twenty minutes, every twenty-minute stop into an hour, the bus always lags an hour or more behind. Then the driver announces--nervously, as if bracing himself for a passenger revolt--that a tail light is out and he'll have to return to the city you just left to get it fixed.