13

AFTER THE PURGATORY

DOC

AS SOON AS WE leave the salon and try to decide on where to eat, the games are on.

Nora “accidentally” brushes her hips against my crotch I don’t know how many times while we stand outside discussing lunch options. She also manages to make biting her fingernail hot. Probably has something to do with her pink tongue darting out once and again.

At first, I’m at a loss as to how to retaliate. Then I smirk at one of her suggestions and continue to hold her eyes. She loses her train of thought, and I laugh.

“You know what?” she says, obviously irritated. “We’re going to Fresh Catch.”

“That new place on the beach? But that’s in Bodhi Canyon.”

“So?”

“Wasn’t the road leading in closed from a rock slide?”

“Just for a week,” she says with a triumphant expression. “So we’re fine. Unless you’re afraid?”

“Get off,” I say. “Or don’t, as the case may be.”

My Beauty grumbles and hisses a retort that she thinks is under her breath. “Such a fucking asshole.”

Just before we get to the restaurant, I notice the new Danger: rocks falling signs they’ve put up post cleanup. Nora tells me she saw pictures of one of the boulders that fell.

“It was huge, but cracked in half when it landed. There was a bunch of debris on the roof of the restaurant, but luckily no real damage,” she says.

As she talks, her hand “absentmindedly” runs up my thigh, where she leaves it to drum lightly, inches from the perfect spot to wrap those fingers around.

“Let’s go in.”

I take a deep breath and realize how long a meal this will probably be.

I’m not far off, as Nora spends half the meal playing footsies or whatever the fuck you call it when she slides her newly painted toes up my leg, stopping just shy of my dick. I can barely eat at first, what with the wood I’m sporting.

“I think that’s crossing over the initiation line,” I say, citing the main rule.

“Me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She shrugs, amused.

The rest of our time there I eat my food in the dirtiest possible way—lots of tongue, slow-sucking and the like.

As a braised octopus’s tentacle hangs out of my mouth, she hisses at me, calling me a cheater.

“Cheater?” I laugh at that, but bite it off. “I’m just eating. You actually touched me with your foot, all enticing-like. If anyone’s cheating here, it’s you.”

“You’re playing with your food.”

I chuckle and nearly choke, so I swallow before I continue. “I’m enjoying my food. The only other thing I’d play with right now isn’t an option.”

“Of course it is,” she says, pausing between mouthfuls of spicy coconut scallops. “You’d just lose.”

I grin. “No, I wouldn’t. Though I might be arrested.” I make a jerk-off motion with my hand. “But you’d bail me out, wouldn’t you?”

“If you become a sex offender? No,” she says with a straight face. “No, I absolutely would not. I would claim I’d never met you before.”

“You forget I have evidence that you have.” I pick up my phone and wave it around a little. “You’ve sent me a few pieces of that evidence.

“Not of my face,” she says, her cheeks reddening. “Was there?”

She’s unsure, and that makes this even more enjoyable—not as enjoyable as calling off this bet and having sex, but the teasing is going to make the next time we do have sex feel nuclear.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. Constantly.

In the end, I consider letting her off the hook, but then she grabs for my phone. I snatch it away and shove it in the back pocket of my pants.

“Ah-ah-ah,” I tell her, shaking my head. “No deleting shit. You sent them; I have every right to keep them.”

She eyeballs me. “If I sent them, they’ll still be on my phone.”

“You already deleted them,” I remind her. That’s a lie because I have no idea if she deleted them or not. And actually, there weren’t any that included her face. Only her lips, though those are pretty identifiable. At least in my mind. “And anyway, I’d never use those against you.”

Nora’s eyes narrow. “Damn you.”

“Not ‘fuck you,’ though?”

She picks up a piece of sautéed habanero pepper and flings it at me. I bat it away with the back of my hand, laughing as it lands on the table.

“Maybe never again,” she says. “Keep playing the way you do.”

“I’m kidding, love.” I grin, trying not to laugh too much. “You get evil when you’re not winning.”

Scoffing, she pretends to ignore me. Her eyes flick to the window, watching the surf and the people outside. Then they move inside the restaurant and back to her food. It goes like this for a few minutes before I break the silence.

“Honestly, Nora? Ignoring me?”

She continues like this as she eats. I begin to think she’s truly mad at me, until I catch her pulling at her blouse to fan herself. This reveals the lacy edge of her black bra. I look up to her eyes as they flicker over me. When she meets my gaze, she looks away. She’s trying to use my plays now. I go back to my pornographic eating techniques. Twenty minutes later, we’re asked to leave the restaurant after a family with small children complained about the noises we were making in tandem with the gestures and licking.

When our server tells us this, Nora runs out of the restaurant, completely shame-faced. I grab some bills from my wallet and toss them on the table. After I get up to leave, I laugh my way out the door at the pair of go-to-hell stares the parents are aiming at me. When I get to the car, Nora is thankfully cracking up, her face now red from laughing so hard.

“We’re so bad,” she tells me.

I’ve never wanted to kiss her so much. I think she can tell.

“Do you work tonight?” I ask, and her amusement grows.

“I do. You want me to come over after?”

She’s just teasing me now. “You’re welcome to come over and crawl into bed with me,” I tell her. “I sleep naked whether or not you’re with me, so feel free to wake me up however you’d like.”

The quick downturn of her lips forces another laugh out of me.

“I’ll probably be too tired to come over. I’ll just go home.”

Liar.

“You’re right,” I say. “It is closer to come to my house.”

The conversation—or combat of words, rather—continues like this until I drop her off at her apartment. The rest of the afternoon I get random texts with various and often out-of-focus pictures of body parts. Some of them are just her mouth, pouty and perfect.

So. Not only do I have purple sparkles on my fucking toes, I’m also suddenly celibate. Tell me again why I thought egging her on into a bet where we aren’t having sex was a good idea? Because six hours after agreeing to it, I feel like I have indigo balls.

***

The next morning, I know Nora will be sleeping in late after a long night at the bar, so I call Fox to see if he wants to hit the water. He does.

“Hey, bitch,” he says when I walk into the open garage. “Lolls and Henry crashed after the early morning boobing, so this is the perfect time to get out there.”

“Boobing?” I look at him like he’s lost it.

He laughs. “Breastfeeding.”

“Oh, classy of you to change it up.” He ignores me. “Does she get on your case for surfing and not helping with the kid?” I ask.

“Naw.” He shakes his head. “I just like to be around if he’s awake.”

I blink my eyes hard. “Who the fuck are you, dude? What happened? I mean, I love Sophie an’ all—”

“Mine.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re not still sore about that flirting thing forever ago, are you?”

For a beat, I think he isn’t, but I can’t recall if we ever specifically talked about that. I know I apologized to Sophie, but not him.

Fox grins, knowing he had me concerned for a split-second. “No, I’m just ribbing ya.”

“All right, dickhead. Then answer my question.”

He stands up straight, chunk of board wax still in his hand. “What question?”

I roll my eyes and walk to the rack against the wall with our wetsuits. It’s a tiny bit chilly today, so we might as well suit up. “Who you are. I mean, when did you turn into such a responsible, doting, asshole father type, Mr. Monkhouse?”

The asshole laughs. “When I fell in love with my Lollipop,” he answers simply.

“Yeah, that sounds like a capable adult.”

Fox erupts into broad, open laughter. “No, man,” he says. The wax in his hand is good enough for one more use, so he tosses it to me. “I just… After we got together—legit, like not just the knock ’er up plan—something felt different. I wanted all the things she wanted. The relationship, the kid. I want to have another, but she won’t talk about it yet without threatening my junk. Too soon, I guess.”

I think I’m starting to understand what he means—about how the way you feel changes.

“So you’re saying the daddy shit suits you?” I revert to teasing.

“Fuckin’ nasty,” he grumbles. “Keep your kink to yourself.”

I make a noise of discomfort. “No, no way. Not my gig. To each their own, but for me? All adult, all the time, thanks.”

“Anyway, you sick fucker,” he says as he steps into his suit, “how about you and Nora? That was a surprise to see you two so into it at the baptism. Are you going to be in our presence again as a couple? Or are you too busy fucking constantly when she’s not working?”

“Close, but no,” I say.

“She doesn’t want to be seen with you in public?”

“Fuck you.”

“That is not one of the options.”

“You know what, ya cock? Let’s just surf, okay?” I pick up my board and walk out.

“Wow,” he says as he follows me around to the beach with his board. “She on her period or something? You know—”

“Why don’t you cork it, Monkhouse?”

His laughter sticks with us all the way out to our first set of waves. After we both catch a ride, we paddle slow back toward more. We sit up on our boards and wait, smaller waves undulating beneath us.

“We made a bet,” I say finally.

“For what?”

“Who caves first.”

“Caves for what?”

I glare at him, even popping my eyes open wider to will him to get the gist.

“Are you nuts? How the fuck does that even work?” He looks a little green at the thought.

“Yes, I am apparently,” I say with a groan. “Well, the first person to initiate sex loses.”

“What constitutes initiation?”

“Any kind of kiss or touch that would be inappropriate to anyone else,” I say, feeling even stupider hearing the words out loud.

Fox flattens out on his stomach, and I realize he’s spotted another wave. “Well, that makes you a massive fucking moron, my friend.”

I watch him paddle forward and sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Me and my balls are aware.”

When I leave a few hours later, I’m haunted by a particularly unnecessary make-out session between him and his future wife. And judging by the surprise on Sophie’s face and the fact that my best friend is a dick, I’m positive he did it on purpose. Like I don’t already know this bet is stupid. It doesn’t get me any closer to what I really want, which is all of Nora—including her heart, not just her body. I decide to double my efforts to break Nora, but not solely with innuendos and the like. Maybe I can tempt her with something more.

The first thing that comes to mind is flowers, but I want it to be deeper. I stop at a flower shop, and the florist helps me put together a bouquet of purple roses and white lilacs to send over right away. Supposedly this combination is what you send someone you’re “enchanted” with, or fell for at first sight.

Well, it wasn’t exactly that, but it’s pretty damn close.

The next couple of days, I keep myself busy with errands and spend a couple hours at the gym. Whenever I have a moment, I send my Beauty a text detailing what I’m going to do to her when I win. Sometimes it involves being in public, sometimes it involves silk scarves and bedposts. In between, I tell her what I admire about her. Her tenacity, her strengths. I try to make it eloquent, but I’m no poet.

In retaliation, she sends me a picture of her hand down her panties. Fuck me. I’m forced to end with one set on the shoulder machine, because I have to go take a shower. Waiting until I get home to rub one out is not an option. This is not the last set of sext-sparring we do as we continually try to wear the other down.

***

Come Friday, I know she’s on again at the bar. I consider going to have a few drinks and do what I can to weaken her game. Then I get a text with a question.

Think this outfit is OK for work?

The picture attached tells me I should not go to the bar tonight to see her. The only game that would be weakened is mine. Also, I might be arrested for taking her, bent over the bar. I wouldn’t even have to take her skirt off, it’s so short.

No. But you’re welcome to come over here and wear that.

I wish I could. Mama got bills, baby. ;)

Are you really wearing that tonight?

Hahaha… did you even look at the shoes? I can’t wear those.

I look back and notice they’re platform stilettos.

What does it say that I didn’t even see the shoes?

That I’ve practically won the bet already.

I’ll see you later.

What? Are you coming to The Fly Trap?

Several more questions ping my phone via text, but I don’t answer. Knowing it’ll drive her crazy just makes my day. Am I going? Maybe. Okay, probably. Forget it, I’m absolutely going.

It’s after ten thirty by the time I pull into the parking lot. Part of me hopes she’s still wearing that outfit, but most of me doesn’t. Zeke and Samson are meeting up at The Post tonight, so I’m not going to hang out too long to torture her.

When I get inside, Nora is serving a score of drinks, all lined up on the bar in front of her. I pause near the door to watch her move with dance-like precision. It makes me smile. I know she doesn’t love this job, but at least she’s good enough at it that it’ll give her a proper good padding for paying off debts. She laughs at something a customer says, and I soak in the look of her. She’s got shorts on instead of the criminally short skirt, but the top is the same. Even in something as casual as this, she stuns.

I wander to the other end of the bar, order a drink from the other bartender, and grab a cherry from the container on bar. After eating the cherry, I twist the stem around in my mouth. It takes a few minutes to do what I want to do, but when I finish, Nora finally notices me.

I can’t help but smirk when she startles, however minutely. I pull the cherry stem out of my mouth, inspect it quickly, then cover it in my hands. She moves the line of drinks she’s made to the bar top in front of their respective owners, spins around to log them into the computer, and then walks toward me. My eyes automatically watch her long legs swish, brushing against each other until her feet—comfortably housed in sensible Converse—halt in position with one knee bent. I follow the curves of her body with my gaze, willing her to feel it as I do.

When I reach her face, one of her eyebrows has snagged upward, accenting the “what the fuck?” look on her face. My smirk turns to a full-blown grin.

“Evening, Beauty.”

“You think it’s funny ignoring all my texts?” she asks, fiery.

I love it.

“Not funny, no,” I say. “Strategic, more like.”

“Fucker.” The slight curve of her lips reveals more than her intention.

I laugh at that, and she moves her fists from her hips to cross her arms over her cleavage. At that moment, her manager stalks up behind her. “Nora, why are you being so confrontational with a customer?”

Nora’s face flattens, and she rolls her eyes before turning. “Teresa, I know this guy,” she says, as if that should be reason enough.

“I don’t care,” Teresa says. Damn, she’s far too uptight for this job. “A customer is a customer.”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

If I could describe what is happening in my chest and veins at this precise moment, I might win the Nobel prize for literature or poetry, however that works. My lips pulse with the desire to kiss her, slowly and with serious intent. However, the look on her face when she catches my gaze tells me the words slipped out. And she might wish they hadn’t.

For some reason, this shocks Teresa, who shifts her focus to me. “Oh, well… still. Presentation, Bennett. Remember?”

“Gotcha,” Nora says, back in control but still a little spooked.

It’s not clear whether Teresa picks up on the sarcasm or not, but she walks away seeming satisfied that she’s put Nora “The Troublemaker” Bennett back in her place.

Said troublemaker turns back to me and leans on the bar with her hands. “I swear to Christ, that woman needs to get laid so bad, I’m about to pay someone to do it.”

I chuckle, leaning toward her. “I could help you out with that, if you like.”

I’m such an asshole, I don’t even hear what I said. In my mind, I’m thinking of one of my friends to sic on her. It takes the look of blazing death on Nora’s face for me to realize what it sounded like.

“No!” I hiss. “I meant like Zeke or Samson. Not your boyfriend.”

The flames die down in her eyes, and she looks embarrassed. She leans in farther, her fingers tearing a napkin into tiny pieces.

“I… I hope that’s okay. I mean, I figured it was because I did agree to date you and all that business.” Her eyes dart up to mine.

Her fidgeting and discomfort is endearing, but it baffles me. I chuckle. “My girlfriend is incredible.” I shake my head slowly, maintaining eye contact with her. “What on Earth would make you think I’d mind?”

If the lights were better in here, I’d be able to see the blush I imagine painting her cheeks right now as she ducks her head. “Nothing. I don’t know.” She lifts her chin again, her lip between her teeth.

I’m about to say something, try to tell her how good it felt to hear it when she pulls back, standing straight. The raw, exposed Nora is all covered up again.

“I might take you up on that offer then, considering you’re not offering to unleash the Beast on her.”

I laugh out loud. It honestly does sound ridiculous. “Fuck, I wish I hadn’t told you that.”

Nora giggles, and she looks so beautiful, her humor lighting up the angles of her cheeks and lips with some kind of otherworldly glow.

Fuck me, I am well and truly lost to this woman.

“Too late,” she says. “I’ve already started a social media account for him.”

I shake my head and stare at my shoes. When I look up, she’s holding back laughter.

“Maybe you can rename him for me?” I suggest.

“I don’t know,” she says, distracted by a customer down the bar. “Just a sec,” she tells him. To me, she offers, “I may kind of like it” and walks over to do her job.

When she returns from serving, I lean over the bar to peck her lips. “Call me when you’re leaving, Beauty.”

She looks at me strangely, her expression asking the question. In response, I set the cherry stem on her side of the bar next to my now-empty drink. As I fall back on my heels and turn to leave, I run my tongue along my upper lip. She narrows her eyes but smirks as she goes to pick up my glass.

Walking away, I find myself a bit turned on, plenty amazed, and incredibly intent on ending this bet as soon as possible. Even if I lose, I win.