sixteen
rutledge
I glanced around the bar; for a Wednesday night, it was still pretty fucking packed. It wasn’t the same crowd as Friday night, but the change felt needed.
“So yeah,” Max started after I asked him about his daughter. “I’m still working with my lawyer to get me…”
I stopped listening to what he was saying as my mind wandered. It was close to two weeks and so fucking much in my life had changed. The biggest change had been Peyton Morgan walking into it. Getting under my skin. In my head. Fuck, she was now the staring female in my jacking off scenes. But I also had the weight of selling the company sitting on my shoulders too. Before I let all the shit cloud my head, I swept it away and focused on spending it with the guys. But I’d only told my fucking self that so I didn’t look like the pussy whipped fuck I was turning into. I wanted the night to end so I could go the fuck home and call Peyton. Ha! Fucking pussy whipped and I hadn’t even had a damn taste yet. Yeah, I was fucking sick.
Jesus, maybe I was fucking dying.
“Hey,” Max shouted my way, breaking me from my thoughts.
I looked over at him, his head tilted, and his brows drawn.
“What?” I bit out a little harshly.
He put his beer bottle on the table and glared. “What the fuck is up with you lately?”
“I think I’m fucking dying,” I muttered before tossing some beer back.
“What?” Max shouted, concern etched across his solid features.
“No.” I held a hand up. “Chill out. I’m not really fucking dying.”
“Jesus,” he muttered and sucked back the rest of his beer before slamming the bottle on the table. “Don’t fucking do that, you prick.”
Ignoring him, I took a deep breath and let my eyes roam the bar, looking for potential pussy for the night.
“Rut,” he called again, loudly.
“What?” Again, my eyes came to him.
“You gonna answer me this time with no fucking jokes?” His tone was calmer.
I took a swig of my beer, put the sweating bottle to the table, and twirled it around, watching the wet ring forming on the wood. “Just this house shit.”
Fuck, it was so much more than the ‘house shit.’ I didn’t have the damn balls to tell him. My eyes were still on the damp ring when he spoke.
“Rut, man, you run a huge fucking auto parts distribution center, and when you got shit going down there, it doesn’t faze you.” I looked to him, about to say something but he continued. “But you selling your grandmother’s house has got your fucking panties in a goddamn bunch. Now, what the fuck is going on?”
He was right. And maybe it was time to let someone in. Maybe I’d stop jerking off so goddamn much if I spilled that I found a chick I couldn’t get off my fucking mind. I let the bottle go, put my elbows to the table, and told him, “There’s this chick—”
He cut me off. “Holy fuck...” He drawled on a disbelieving whisper and smacked his hand on the table.
“What?” I asked with my brows drawn together. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Rutledge Raines has his eyes on a chick?”
“I always have my eyes on chicks,” I countered.
“No.” He shook his head. “You know exactly what the fuck I mean. I just never thought I’d be alive to see the fucking day.” He laughed before taking a swig of his beer.
“Fuck you,” I shot back then scanned the bar again.
My eyes landed on a woman. Long brown waves fell down her back, her ass encased in jeans that sat on the stool looked very similar to Peyton’s. Maybe not as full.
“Tell me about her?” Max said, and with my attention still on the woman’s ass at the bar, I answered.
“She’s got a great ass,” I uttered.
“That chick over there,” I heard Max mutter and agree, “She does.”
My attention turned to him. “No.” I shook my head and told him. “The chick you asked me about.”
“Oh,” he drawled, slowly shaking his head. “You’re so fucking gone, buddy.”
I threw my head back and busted out laughing. “I am not.”
He was so fucking right. I was.
I was totally fucking gone.
Maxwell Cohen was a great guy. He and I had been friends for about five years, meeting when his family’s body shop, Cohen and Sons, started ordering parts from Raines Auto Parts Distribution. He was two years younger than me, thirty-five, single and just living his life day to day. Similar to me. He, just like I, had no problems scoring pussy. But again, like me, he didn’t want to be attached. I knew at one time he was, but being so fucking screwed over as he’d been, I didn’t blame him for not wanting to be tied down. So I never pressed him about it. Just like he never pressured me to talk about my past. He knew, and maybe that’s why we had this unspoken bond.
“You fuck her yet?”
Draining the last of my beer, I regretfully answered, “Nope.”
“Jesus,” he mumbled.
“Yep,” I agreed.
Max signaled to Rob, the bartender, for two more beers. “Then that’s what you gotta do,” he said after Rob gave him a thumbs up.
“What’s that?”
“Fuck her out of your head.”
I began to look around the bar again, letting his words roll around in my brain. Maybe he was right. I needed to fuck Peyton Morgan. Then maybe, the want and need would fade the fuck away.
“Yeah,” I uttered, rising from the stool. “I think you’re right.”
I walked over to the bar, because Rob was taking too damn long. Snaking my way between the brown-haired girl and her friend, I signaled Rob. He nodded holding two fingers up.
“Excuse me?” The brown-haired girl’s friend spoke to me.
“Yes?”
“I was talking to my friend.” She leaned forward and gestured to the woman on the other side of me. “And you rudely interrupted us.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
“Uhh, you’re in our way,” she muttered with raised brows.
“What’s your friend’s name?” I asked her.
The woman huffed and answered, “Beth.”
I turned and looked at Beth. Damn. She didn’t have green eyes. They were brown, but they’d do.
“Wanna take a ride, Beth?”
She slowly smiled, looked from my eyes down to my crotch and nodded.
Jesus, this was getting too fucking easy.
I turned back to her friend. “See that guy over there?” I pointed to Max who was looking our way when he tossed his hand up. “He’ll keep you company.”
Turning back to face Beth, I asked, “You ready?”
She nodded again with a huge smile on her face, her soft brown eyes lit up like fucking Christmas lights. I moved back a step, held my hand out, and she took it. The first thing I noticed was it felt nothing like Peyton’s. Peyton’s was smaller, seemed more fragile, and wasn’t fucking sweaty like Beth’s. I looked at her, and she just smiled. Was this chick gonna fucking say anything? By now, Peyton would have been talking up a damn storm. Fuck, I would’ve heard about what she ate that day in the time it took me to walk us outside. Jesus, here I fucking was holding another woman’s hand in mine, getting ready to fuck her, and Peyton was right there. Front and fucking center.
With Beth in tow, I headed outside and went toward my truck, the only woman in my life who I could trust and confide in. It hit me then, that I hadn’t fucked a girl in my truck. And Beth and I were heading that way. Shit. I didn’t want to fuck her in my truck. It was like my sacred place.
I glanced around for another option. I didn’t see many. And there was no fucking way I was getting a room. You did that shit, and the chick expected you to hang around until the morning, and I was not that kind of guy. Quickly, I changed direction and directed her toward the side of the bar. The adjacent lot was wooded, so the privacy was mint.
“This is exciting.” Beth finally spoke, and it came out a little too giddy for my liking. But talking wasn’t something I planned on doing with her.
But I bit and answered, “Yeah.”
Jesus, Rut, what the fuck are you doing?
Once we were in a spot we couldn’t be seen by patrons coming and going, I pulled her closer and backed her against the brick wall. My mouth moved to hers.
I backed away, ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. Looking at Beth in the low light, she was cute. But she wasn’t Peyton cute. And not as close to Peyton gorgeous.
Fuck.
“What’s wrong?” Beth asked in a small voice.
Jesus, what did I say? I never had to deal with this shit? Fuck! Did I tell her I forgot I left the coffee pot on? Didn’t feed my cat? Had an appointment? That I needed to get home and call this chick that’s been in my head for weeks? Not to mention, I hadn’t even had her yet. No, I didn’t think the latter would be a good idea.
So, I forged on with, “You know what.” I grabbed her still sweaty hand, and started back toward the bar’s front. “How about we get a drink, get to know one another first?”
Those words had never left my mouth when dealing with a woman.
“I’d like that,” she said, lifting her shoulders up, huge smile on her face. “I really like your tattoos.”
I ignored her. I was a dick. A huge fucking dick. But the only thoughts I had was get her inside and fucking run.
***
As soon as I dumped Beth at the table with her friend and Max, I told them I had to run. See? A dick.
Max eyed me, but when his signature smirk twisted his lips, he knew what the fuck happened, and having been hung up on a chick a while back, he understood. I also ignored the multiple texts he sent me five minutes after I left telling me I fucking owed him.
So as I lay in bed, cell in my hand, I stared at her name on the screen. I wondered if she was mad at me for hanging up on her. My guess, she might be a little peeved, but that was okay with me, because I liked a pissed off Peyton. It brought out this fire in her eyes, a spark, ready to pounce. And it made me wonder if she had that same fire in her eyes when she let loose for a guy.
She hadn’t texted or called. Then I wondered if maybe she was too involved watching The Great Martin to give me any thought. Then I realized I was being a damn fucking pussy. Two fucking dinners, coffee and scones, a day of showing her around, one of working together, a fucking dance. Multiple texts that spanned not quite two weeks. A few phone calls. And it was like she was holding my cock in a vise, with only her at the controls.
I caved and texted her.
Me: You ready for Friday?
Just as I laid the cell on the bed next to me and reached for the remote, it vibrated.
Peyton: Hey. Yeah, I’m ready. You still picking me up?
I grinned reading her text and replied.
Me: Like you have to ask.
After I hit send, I walked to the kitchen. Standing in the small area, I eyed the bottle of Jack on the counter. Staring at me, luring me in with its warm amber liquid. Seeing my cell light up on the other side of the vast room, I moved to it.
Peyton: I wasn’t sure with how we left things. I’m sorry. I should have known you were looking out for me.
Her words hit me. I should have reeled it the fuck in the last time I spoke to her. But she had my balls in her fucking hand and she had not one damn clue she did.
Me: Didn’t I say you could trust me, Peyton?
I threw the phone to the bed and again walked to the kitchen. Passing by the bottle, I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. But I could have sworn as I passed by the whiskey it fucking laughed at me.
Peyton: I do trust you. Doesn’t mean you don’t confuse me sometimes. You are not an easy man to read.
If anyone knew I was not an easy man to read, it was me. These past few weeks I hadn’t even known my fucking self.
Me: Then when I ask you to do something, it’s for a fucking reason.
I looked at the words I’d typed, and my fingers moved along the small keyboard, typing words to a woman I never thought I would.
Me: But I’ll try better for you to understand me. But you have to trust me, Peyton.
Before I could even stop myself, I hit send and sat at on the edge of the bed.
Peyton: And I’ll try to not jump to conclusions since with you I tend to be wrong, but it goes both ways. You need to trust me too.
I rolled my shoulders, reading her words again for the fourth time. I needed to trust her. I wasn’t sure I could. When I thought I could trust the one person who I should have been able to, my father, with my secret, he took it and threw it in the goddamn trash, along with my trust. Should I lie to her, tell her I could trust her too? Should I ignore the fucking text? Fuck, this was all becoming too damn hard. I tapped the screen and held the cell to my ear, listening to it ring.
“Hey.”
Jesus. Her voice was soft and fuck me, so welcoming.
“Hey,” I replied back on a whisper and paused not knowing what to say next. It was now or never, I had to try and that’s what I did. “I’ll do my best to trust you, Peyton, but it’s not as easy as you think from my side.”
A soft exhale before she said, “I don’t pretend to know what it has been like for you, I have my suspicions, but if trust doesn’t come easily for you...I understand. Maybe you’ll come to realize you can trust me. Until then, I’ll do what I can to show you that you can.”
I put an elbow to my knee and lay my forehead in my open hand. I took a deep breath and answered quietly, “I’m sure your suspicions are so totally fucking wrong, sweetheart.”
“Can I ask you something? And if I’m stepping over the line just say.”
“Always,” I whispered, my voice coming out rough.
“I’ve spent enough time with you to know you take great care to avoid being in town. Why is that?”
Her words twisted my gut. A chill ran down my spine. My palms became damp with sweat. My lungs felt as if they were being strangled. I hadn’t known if it was because I never let a woman stay around long enough to question certain things in my life, or if it was because there was something about her that wanted me to share things in my life with her. But I knew if she knew the deep dark secrets of my past, she wouldn’t stay.
“It’s complicated,” I let out quietly, the tone of my voice sounding grated.
“Life often is, but I saw that look in your eyes, one I haven’t been able to get out of my head. Witnessed your father. Maybe it isn’t so much a matter of trusting as it is having the right person to share the ugly with. I’d like to be that person for you.”
I lay back in bed, closed my eyes, and threw an arm over them, just listening to her breathing. Matching my own with hers; in and out, in and out. And I wanted that. I wanted to share shit with her.
I said the words out loud that were swimming in my head. “If I told you, you wouldn’t stay.”
Her voice grew soft when she replied, “Considering I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, demanding and bossy as you are, I know that’s not true. How could I not stay, when you’re the only place I want to be?”
I thought her words earlier hit me in the gut. These punched me in the fucking heart, making my chest feel tight. The words ringing in my head, ‘You’re the only place I want to be’. I wanted to ask her to repeat them. But I knew the sweetness and softness of Peyton Morgan couldn’t handle the disgusting secrets that lay beneath all the muscles in my body.
“You’d run, Peyton, believe me, you would fucking run.” I whispered the words because I never voiced them out loud to anyone. I never let these kinds of emotions run, not even in all the years of therapy. I still held a veil over them.
A soft exhale before her next words sliced through me. “I’ve seen many sides of you in the time we’ve known each other, so though I may not know what haunts you, I know whatever it is has to be truly horrific. I won’t pry because it is your secret to tell, but I’m here if you ever want to unburden it.” Another hesitation before she whispered, “I visited the graveyard in Ogg’s Point. I saw the headstones for your grandmother and I’m guessing your mom. You lost them both. I’m sorry for that, Rutledge. They would have listened; they would have understood whatever lurks inside you. I’m not them, I never could be, but I’m a great listener and I suspect you could use that. As far as running. The only running I want to do is toward you.”
I let out a shaky breath. The sweetness was crawling through my veins. I felt it like an ache in my tooth from sugar. I squeezed my eyes harder, let my muscles tense, let the demons back in before I let all of her dive deep inside. But it didn’t work this time. I couldn’t hold back the feeling that was creeping into me. So fucking foreign, but God it felt so fucking good. She may not understand now but she would understand why I did what I did next.
“I gotta run,” I rushed out and hung up on her, again.
But this time.
I rapidly threw clothes into my bag, tossing my toiletries beside them. I didn’t wait around to see if there was anything else I needed. After I locked my place up, I took the stairs two at a time and jogged to my truck.
This time I was running to her.