Chapter Eight

 

Carrie brought me donuts after I called to tell her about my fight with Carter. “Are you sure that Greg wouldn’t do anything like that?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“Carrie, a cop’s truck?” I asked, surprised she would even ask.

She knew Greg. She knew he could be a real prick, but he wasn’t stupid. Not stupid enough to do something like that.

“Why just his truck, though?” she asked.

Anger started boiling in my veins, and I wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t about Greg, or defending him; I knew that. “I don’t know. Maybe one of his idiot friends did it, thinking they were doing him a favor,” I said quickly.

I made it obvious I wasn’t willing to discuss the possibility of Greg having any part of Carter’s vandalized truck. I didn’t want to admit that someone I’d been with, started a business with, and loved, could be that person. The fight, I could write that off as jealousy, hurt, and anger, a bad day. It was an act of passion, but Carter’s truck, that took planning, or a dumb punk kid with a spray can and a ball bat bored on a Saturday night.

“Are you going to see him again?” Carrie asked, her eyes wide and filled with confusion.

“I’ll call him when he’s had time to cool off,” I said, taking a bite of my donut.

When he cooled off, he’d see it wasn’t Greg who done that to his truck. He’d see I was right.

Carrie left for an appointment, leaving me to sulk about the fight. I knew Carter usually spent mornings with his mother on Sundays, but with the officer’s ceremony being held that afternoon, I doubted he’d planned on making it. Why hadn’t he wanted to go in the first place? Why take me to breakfast? Oh God, was he planning on taking me to his mother’s for breakfast before all this happened?

The entire day, I thought about Carter and what he must be going through. I hated for him to be alone, and wanted desperately to be by his side.

At four o’clock, I called his phone, figuring he’d had enough time to finish the private services at the station.

“Hello,” he answered, his tone cold and different than it’d ever been.

“I wanted to apologize to you, and make sure you were doing okay,” I said softly.

“Thank you. I’m doing fine. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that,” his tone softened as he spoke.

“Did you file a report?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s being handled,” he said quickly.

“How was the service?” I asked.

“Rough. It is just a reminder to all of us about what can happen each day,” he said.

“Would you like some company?” I asked.

“I’m heading to the bar with the guys. I don’t know how late we’ll be, or what shape I’ll be in afterward,” he said quickly. “I’ll talk to you later,” he added, and then hung up.

Maybe it was too soon. I was just glad I got to hear his voice and find out he wouldn’t be alone tonight.

The news plastered the story about the fallen officer all day long, announcing the services being held in just a couple days. All the officers from nearby counties would be in attendance, and a twenty-one gun salute would honor the man who had given his life for those hostages that day. My heart ached, wanting to hold Carter’s hand on that solemn day, but it didn’t sound like he was going to be ready for me by then, possibly not ever.

I never received a call from Carter on Sunday night, so I assumed he’d stayed out late and passed out drunk after being out with the guys. Monday, I sent a text wishing him a good morning and didn’t get anything back until that afternoon, and that was just an apology for not seeing the text.

Tuesday Carter called that morning, but only to tell me the details about the funeral service. He never asked me to go with him, and I didn’t ask. I wanted to call him that evening, but decided to leave him alone.

Wednesday, I called Carter, tired of the cold shoulder. “Can we talk?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said.

“I mean, in person.”

“Okay. I’m pretty swamped at work; how about after work on Friday?” he asked.

“You coming to me, or am I coming to you?” I asked.

“I’ll come to you. Around five-thirty,” he said, and then hung up.

His tone was not as angry, but it was still cold. It was all I was going to get, so at that point, I had to accept it. We’d talk Friday. Seeing him in person would be easier, and I’d know if he still had feelings for me or not.

Friday rolled around, and about five forty-five, I received a text from Carter.

Carter: Caught up at work; reschedule?

Me: Okay, call me when you get off, maybe we can meet up for a drink…

Nothing from Carter after that.

“Naomi, let’s go get a drink,” Carrie whined as she flopped on my couch.

“I was supposed to see Carter later, maybe,” I replied.

“It’s almost eight o’clock. He’s not gonna call. You have to quit sulking around this house,” she insisted.

“You’re right,” I said, feeling a sudden surge of strength and independence.

Carrie lit up, jumping to her feet, and pulling me into my bedroom to find a cute outfit. She knew of a new club, she always did, and we were gonna take it by storm, or so she promised.

An hour later, we were pulling up to the valet parking to the newest, hottest club in L.A. Carrie’s hair flowed down the backless red dress she’d found buried in my closet, and she walked with a confidence I envied.

I followed closely behind her as we entered the crowded club, wearing my favorite cobalt-blue cocktail dress with matching high heels. My hair was curled and bouncing from my shoulders as we pushed through to find a couple seats at the bar.

It didn’t take long for Carrie to spot a handsome man in a designer suit a couple seats down and start flirting with him with her smile, and her bedroom eyes.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” he asked, moving to the empty seat next to Carrie. She giggled, flipped her hair, and thanked him as he tore her attention away from me. After the first drink, she gripped my arm, excusing us to the ladies room, and pulled me towards the back of the club.

“You need to have some fun,” she urged.

“I’m just not in the mood. I thought I could be, but I miss Carter,” I pouted.

“Do you want to go?” she asked.

“No. Your guy seems nice. Have fun. I’ll be fine,” I promised.

She gave me a glare, but she knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t budge. I wanted her to enjoy herself, and at least I was out of the house. Baby steps.

I stared at my phone, pondering whether or not to call Carter while sipping on my third drink. Carrie was enthralled in whatever her suit was saying, and he seemed more than happy to be talking. An egomaniac, he’ll be good for one night of fun. Poor Carrie; why can’t she see these idiots for what they are?

Before my brain could rationalize all the reasons not to text Carter, I’d already created it and hit send.

Me: I niss you, I need yoo! Can I come ovr and smuggle into your wart chess?

Shit! I was trying to text without Carrie catching me, and of course alcohol didn’t help my typing skills. It was a mess. He’d probably look at it and delete my number, block me from his life for good.

Carter: Where are you?

My heart raced when he responded so quickly.

Me: Patio

My phone started ringing with Carter’s face on the screen. I slid my thumb to answer, and then yelled ‘hold on’ into the phone as I made my way outside and away from the loud music.

“Who are you out with?” he asked.

“Carrie,” I replied. “Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

“I was working late,” he said.

He sounded sleepy. I looked at the clock; it was already midnight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late,” I apologized.

“No. I was just thinking about you, actually,” he said sweetly, the tone I’d been missing for so long. “I don’t want you driving. I’ll send a car,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

He told me he’d call an Uber and send me the details about the car and driver through text. I rushed back into the club, pulled Carrie away from her man long enough to tell her I was leaving to go see Carter, and then hugged her goodbye.

The black Kia Forte with a driver named Dave showed up just as Carter promised.

Carter was standing on his front porch when the driver pulled into his drive. I got out, walked towards him, and instantly fell into his arms.

“I’ve missed you,” I said, leaning up to kiss his sweet, delicious lips.

The same spark ignited, sending us into a passionate embrace while the driver pulled away.

Carter scooped me up into his arms, carried me into the house, and kicked his door shut. My body exploded with thunderous sexual arousal, ready for anything and everything he was about to give me.

He carried me into the living room and gently tossed me onto his oversized sofa. I squealed when I landed, bouncing from the cushion and feeling lightheaded from my buzz. “I’ve missed you like crazy,” he said, leaning into me, kissing me with more passion than the last.

I gripped my arms around his neck and pulled him to the side of me. I leaped onto him, straddling his already-hard cock with my blue dress pulled to my hips so my legs would spread.

My hands worked the waistline of his sleep pants, sliding them down with his help as our mouths locked together, hungry for one another’s flavor.

I pushed him back into the couch once his cock was unleashed, and then slowly slid down his body until my knees were on the floor. My mouth teased him, gently blowing hot air on his tip, and then licking around the rim like he was my favorite ice cream cone.

His gasps and groans worked me up, making me want to please him more than ever. I worked up saliva in my mouth, and then slowly pushed my mouth down onto him.

My hand rolled his balls in its palm, feeling the warmth of his sex as the flavor of his manhood filled my mouth and throat. His balls tightened in my hand, and I knew he was getting close. As much as I wanted to taste his salty-sweet cum slide down my throat, I couldn’t deny the ache between my legs.

“Do you have a condom?” I asked, lifting up and letting my tongue flick at the head of his hard cock.

He leaned over, slid one from the pocket of his sleep pants that were on the sofa next to him in a wad, and handed it to me.

I slid the rubber from the package, and then placed it on the tip of his cock. Instead of using my fingers to roll it down the shaft, I pushed it down with my mouth, making him moan and twitch.

I slid my panties off, teasing him with a little peek of my bare pussy under my dress before straddling him.

His hands pulled at my dress, tugging the front down enough that my breasts fell out and became fair game for his mouth and tongue.

The aching between my legs brought me to a new place, a new sense of passion and sexuality that I’d never experienced. I wanted control. I wanted to fuck him.

I pushed him back onto the sofa, taking my breasts from his reach. My hand slid between my legs, rubbing my swollen clit for a quick relief before gripping his cock and guiding it into my wet cunt.

My body throbbed as I lowered onto him, my weight pushing him deep inside of my body. He growled, gripping my hips tight, letting his fingers dig into my soft flesh as I rocked towards him, then away, then back again.

The pace was mine to control: slow, fast, hard, and gentle. I loved making him sigh, making his eyes roll back in his head, and most of all, I loved making him smile at me with those eyes.

My body lifted from him, leaving just the tip of his cock inside me. I situated my feet on either side of him in a squatting position and then lifted my dress over my head, tossing it onto the floor.

I spread my pussy open with two fingers, giving him a clear view of his manhood gliding inside the tight, glistening pink hole between my legs as I lowered onto him.

His eyes lingered on our sex, watching in amazement, a view I wasn’t sure he’d ever had before. When he lifted his eyes from between my legs and let them lock onto mine, we both began to throb, coming together in perfect harmony.

It was a lot of work being the one to fuck someone. My breathing was rapid, my heartbeat wild, and my body felt as though it was made of Jell-O.

I lifted from him, my legs wobbly and trembling as I stood in the high heels. His eyes took me in, his lips curled into a smile, and in that moment, it felt like ‘us’ again.

“I like it when you’re drinking,” he chuckled.

I walked towards the kitchen, wearing nothing but my blue heels, and grabbed two beers from the fridge. “Then let’s continue,” I smirked, handing one to Carter.

It was warm snuggled up beside him, and the beer helped soothe my throat from all the moaning. “I don’t want to stay away from you again,” I admitted.

“Me either,” he agreed, pulling me in close.

“I’m really sorry about your truck,” I said, understanding that seeing it in that shape was devastating, and of course he’d be irrational.

“It’s okay. It’s been fingerprinted, and they’ll be pulling Greg in for questioning Monday morning when I start my shift,” he said calmly.

“What?” I said, lifting my head, and suddenly not so comfortable.

“Yeah. We just need his fingerprints. Since he was never booked, or charged in your case, there’s nothing on record,” he said, sipping his beer, and then smiling in my direction.

“So, you don’t know that it’s him? You just still think so, and you’re gonna pull him in, fingerprint him, and then what?” I asked, my anger boiling deep in the pit of my stomach.

“Arrest him, I imagine,” he chuckled.

“And if he didn’t do it?” I snapped.

“That’s a very slim chance,” he smirked.

I stood up, grabbed my dress, and slid it back onto my body. “I told you, I didn’t think he would do something like that. I told you, I knew he wouldn’t do something like that,” I yelled, gripping my phone and opening my Uber app.

“Where are you going?” Carter asked.

I ordered a ride and headed for the door.

“I thought you said you were sorry,” he said, following me as he slid on his sleep pants.

“I was sorry, for getting so upset, but I didn’t think you’d still do something I asked you not to, just on a hunch,” I hissed.

“A hunch? It’s my job to have a hunch, and be right,” he said loudly.

“Just because you grew up with an abuser doesn’t mean you can spot one a mile away,” I said.

“Yes, it does,” he snapped.

“Oh, yeah? Then why did you haul me in, and not Greg?” I asked, smirking in his face.

“I was doing my job. Domestic violence cases are never truthful, at least not a hundred percent, on either side. We follow protocol to protect women, but when we show up to a witness and a bleeding man, what are we supposed to do?” he snapped.

I was so glad to see the silver Camry pull into the drive. There was nothing left to talk about, or yell about. He was hauling Greg in, he would be proven innocent, and then he’d come after Carter, and most likely me. So much for my peaceful life.