KOA
I WOKE THIS MORNING WITH my hard dick pressed between Little Ms Essex ass cheeks and nearly hit the roof when I realised this fact.
Mortified, I slid out from behind her, climbed over the back of the couch, covered her with the blanket and made my way to my bathroom.
Standing in my shower a few moments later, I recalled how she held me last night while I lost my fucking mind.
I can’t believe I cried like that. In front of her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I don’t know her. She’s not a friend. She just blew in from London, crashlanded in my front yard and my life, and there I was, spilling my life story like I’d known her since the beginning of time.
Two days. Two fucking days was all it had taken for her, her pink and purple hair, and her funny accent to get to me. I’d cried while telling her about one of the most painful experiences of my damn life.
And then I fell asleep while she held me.
Fuck me.
I don’t sleep with the women I have sex with, and there I was, holding onto her like my life depended on it without so much as a kiss.
Not that it is what I am looking for from her, not from anyone. I am done with relationships, have been for a while. Uncomplicated sex is all that I require now and for the rest of my days.
Still, memories of Gracie Elliott’s body pressed into mine wouldn’t stop trampling over every cohesive thought I have.
How she feels—soft. Curvy.
How she smells—fucking delicious. It’s light, fresh and citrusy. Nothing heavy, sickly and overpowering like a lot of women. Most women in fact.
These memories all march straight to my dick again.
When I woke, I knew I was gonna have to deal with the way it was standing and winking at me before I could face her again. It took less than five minutes for me to jerk off and then shower. I was still left feeling pissed though. Pissed and vulnerable. Not a feeling I liked.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and I knew that I had to get out of the cabin and do something. We’d finished the last of the bourbon last night, and I was down to my last few beers.
I’d bought a few things from Dempsey’s grocery store in town when I arrived a week ago, but that was mostly gone. Plus, I needed toiletries—condoms—maybe.
I shook that thought from my head—both heads, got dressed, and then made my way outside to take care of the snow that had built up on the veranda and driveway. Thinking, manual labour would also burn off some energy and my bad mood.
A couple of hours later she appeared. Leaning on the fence that wraps around the veranda watching me.
I finished clearing the snow from the driveway and made my way back to the house. I wanted to be pissed with her. I was angry at her and her questions and the way she’d gotten me to open up and tell her all about Kalea, my daughter.
I climbed out of my truck, opened my mouth, and then took her in. A ridiculous pair of furry lace-up snow boots with jeans that looked like they’d been sprayed on, a puffy snow jacket that matched her boots perfectly, her silvery hair was once again braided, and I had no clue why but those pink and purple strands just did something to me. Her head was covered with a beanie with a furry pom-pom on top that was about the size of her head. Her face was—fuck—her face was beautiful. It looked free of any makeup, her cheeks glowing pink because of the cold, her eyes, which are the colour of a hawk’s, sparkling in the winter sunlight. Her lips had a soft sheen of pink covering them, and I again wondered if the myth was true, did the colour of her lips match her nipples?
My dick twitched in my jeans, and I moved around the front of my truck to remove the plough. When she followed me, I just didn’t have it in me to be mean. She just looked too fucking cute to pick a fight with, so I invited her to join me in town instead.
I feel strangely nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve walked the streets of my hometown, and I wonder what the locals are going to think about seeing Koa Carmichael, one of Addison's favourite sons, in town with a stranger. A gorgeous stranger with a weird sense of style and a funny way of talking. This should set the tongues wagging, but right at this moment, I can’t find a single fuck to give.
I walk around to the passenger side of my truck and undo the door.
“Need a hand, Essex?”
Gracie reaches out with her left hand, but fuck that. I put my hands on her hips, spin her around in her seat and slid her down my body to the ground. I make sure that she feels every single inch of me.
I shouldn’t have done it. I just couldn’t help myself.
We remain stationary for a few seconds, me pressed against her as she leans back inside the passenger side of the truck. Despite the door still being open, she really has nowhere to go.
“The wrist doing okay?” We both look at her hand that’s resting on my shoulder as I ask.
“It’s all right. Swelling’s going down, but I had to take the bandage off when I showered, and I’ve not put it back on.”
“Let’s go eat and then head to the drugstore. We’ll get you a compression bandage that’s easier to get on and off.”
Reluctantly, I step aside so that she can move and I can close the door.
“This way.” I motion with my head to the left of the parking lot and fight the urge to take hold of her hand. Today’s the first day in weeks that I haven’t had bourbon for breakfast, and it’s making me think all kinds of strange thoughts.
I bury my hands in my pockets and lead the way to the diner. It’s almost eleven thirty on a Saturday morning, and I just know the place is gonna be packed. There are a lot of folks from this town that I still consider acquaintances. I smile and nod when their faces light up with recognition as we walk through town. There’s a couple I even stop and chat with, introducing Gracie as a friend from England when I do.
There are a few who have claimed to know me over the years just so they have a story to tell. They look, they recognise me, and then put their heads down, knowing full well that those stories were lies I knew they spread. I’ve learned to let it go. As the band made it big, the odd person has crawled out of the woodwork, or the gutter, with a fabricated story to tell, but Addison is a town mostly made up of honest, hardworking people.
Gracie stops outside a gift store. Judging by the window display, it’s already geared up for the tourists. Overpriced, locally made soaps, candles, and Afghan rugs line the shelves, and I turn to Gracie.
“You good with interior design, as well as fashion?”
When she looks up at me, I feel a strange tightness in my chest and clear my throat for no reason other than to attempt to dislodge it.
“I can pull a room together. I think if you have an eye for style, it can generally be applied across the board. Homewares is something we’ve talked about branching out into, but when you’ve got the likes of Primark producing and retailing goods at such low prices, it really is almost impossible to compete.”
“Primark?”
“It’s like your Kmart or Target. Mass produced with a quick turnaround. That’s not really how we operate. Our lines are limited, keeping them that way makes sure that they’re always in demand. We offer online exclusives, which are only available directly from us, and others we make available to certain stores. It’s all about supply and demand, believe it or not, for a small business like ours, lower supply has meant a greater demand. People wanna be seen in an item from Gracie Baby’s latest collection. What can I say, Cowboy, my stuff is popular.”
I was mesmerised. Trans-fucking-fixed. Listening to Gracie talk like that, it was evident that she knew her shit, and I was suddenly filled with all kinds of admiration for her. She had it rough as a kid, raised by a single mom with the help of her grandparents, but she’d lost them all by the age of eighteen. She quite literally had no one. But instead of falling apart, she kept going. Dropped out of college and made her way in the world.
I had no clue about the fashion industry or designer labels. I like what I like whether it’s from Costco or Chanel, it matters not a fuck to me what the label is. Sure, I have the money these days to surround myself with beautiful things, but I wouldn’t pay good cash for something just because it is made or designed by someone the rest of the world considers the in thing. I buy it because it suits me and my needs.
AS WE ENTER THE DINER, a deep yearning for my youth and a life so much simpler hits me right in the solar plexus. The mundane sound of crockery and cutlery clattering together, the coffee machine and milkshake spinner churning, the smell of grease and something sweet all combine to almost overwhelm me with their familiarity.
Then I notice the hum of conversation quieten as all heads turn our way.
We come to a stop in front of the host stand, and I have my hand resting on the small of Gracie’s back. She’s relaxed, and I’m grateful that she has no fucking clue what a momentous occasion this is. It’s been years since I stood in this spot. A whole other life ago.
When the band first made it big, we came back when we could, but eventually, between touring, recording, and life, we just didn’t have any need to return.
I came back occasionally to visit with Aunt Emily, and of course, I came for her funeral, but I didn’t visit the diner or come into town at all on either of those occasions.
Now, I look around at the sea of faces. A lot of them would be too young to remember me from when I lived here, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have heard of me and know what I look like.
I watch the nudges and the whispers. There’s nothing malicious, and the reaction is kind of amusing. If it weren’t for my ability to play the guitar and sing, I’d be living a life much like theirs. If Danielle hadn’t done what she did, I might be standing with her in this diner instead of Gracie. Right now, I could have been enjoying breakfast with our son and daughter, who might have been back from college for a weekend visit.
“As I live and breathe. Koa Carmichael, is that you? Get yo’ ass over here and give me some sugar.”
Martha Lang, one of my mom’s oldest and closest friends, and also the owner of the diner comes walking towards me. She flips a dishcloth over her shoulder and wipes her hands down her apron before holding out her arms.
“Excuse me,” I whisper into Gracie’s ear. She grins up at me, and I can’t help but return her infectious smile.
“Hey, Martha.” I wrap my arms around the woman that I have known my entire life. She’s put Band-Aids on my scraped knees, fed me when I’ve been hungry, and stepped up to look after both my son and me when shit went down with Danielle.
“How you doing, boy? Heard you were starting renovations on Emily’s old place and staying there while the work gets done.”
“Well, if that’s what you heard, then it must be true. Gossip’s rarely wrong around here.”
“Pshhh. I don’t listen to none of that shit. I heard it from your momma while on the phone with her just two days ago before she left for her cruise. She also told me Kai’s coming home for the holiday.”
She steps back and looks up at me, and I swear this woman has shrunk since I last saw her at Emily’s funeral.
“Then she told you right. I’m picking him up from the airport the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.”
“Well, you be sure to stop by for a visit. It’s been too long since I saw either of you handsome Carmichael boys.”
“I’ll be sure an’ do that, Martha.”
She looks up at me with her pale blue eyes and a soft smile on her lips.
“It’s really good to see you, son, really good.”
I pull her in for a hug, rather than let her witness the emotion I know is on my face. Because she will see it. Martha never misses a thing.
“Who’s the hottie waiting at the podium, boy, she with you?” Like I said, Martha misses nothing.
“That’s Gracie. There was a mix-up with a booking for Emily’s cabin, so she’s staying there.”
Both her eyes and her mouth open wide.
“She’s staying there with you?”
“She arrived late Wednesday night in the middle of a blizzard. I couldn’t exactly send her packing, now could I? Do you have a table or a booth free for us? I need to eat before you stop serving breakfast.”
If Martha were to find out what happened at the cabin when Gracie arrived, I’d probably get an earful of abuse and an ass kicking, so best to shut that conversation down.
“Watch your manners. You might be grown, but I can still stand on a chair to kick your ass. Now, act like the gentleman I know your momma raised and introduce me to the girl, would ya?”
I turn around to find Gracie watching us with a small smile on her face, her dimple barely there. I gesture with my head for her to join us, and her smile gets bigger as she moves in our direction.
“Gracie, this is Martha. She’s been like a second mom to me my entire life and is best friends with my real mom.”
“Hey, Martha, you all right?” Gracie’s English accent is so very prominent as she speaks.
I watch as her cheeks turn pink, but Martha just tilts her head and smiles, taking in everything about Gracie while they shake hands.
“Oh, my word would you just listen to that accent. Where did you blow in from, darling?”
Gracie gives her a megawatt grin, dimple now fully on display.
“I’m from England.”
“Well, that accent is just precious. Let’s get you seated so you can order.”
Martha leads the way, and again I place my hand on the small of Gracie’s back as we follow her towards a booth right by the window in the back of the dining area.
There are four menus and place settings, but Martha removes one from each side as we slide in.
“Can I getchya a coffee?”
“Oh, could I have tea please?” Gracie asks.
“Sure thing. I’m assuming you mean hot tea and not iced?”
“Oh, definitely hot. Green, if you’ve got it, with a slice of lemon.”
Martha’s eyes cut to me and then back to Gracie. “Darling, I can fetch you coffee and tea, iced or hot. We have four or five kinds of soda. I can offer chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla shakes, bottled or tap water, but that’s about it.”
Gracie has taken her jacket off and is unwinding her scarf as Martha speaks, and her neck and cheeks have grown pinker as she does.
“What kind of tea is it?”
“Lipton’s.”
“English Breakfast?”
“Just tea.”
“I’ll have water please.”
“Bottled or tap.”
“Bottled, thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Martha looks to me with a don’t-you-dare-fuck-with-me glare in her eyes, so I simply say, “Coffee please, Martha.”
“Thank you, Koa. I’ll send someone right over with your drinks and to take your food order.”
We both watch her walk away.
“I think I pissed her off,” Gracie says quietly.
“I believe that you’d know it if you pissed Martha off. She’s probably back there adding green and English breakfast tea to her list for the next time she goes to Costco.”
I watch as she swipes one thumb over the nail of the other, but before I get a chance to reassure her not to worry, someone moving our way catches my attention. Two someones in fact.
“Shit.”
“What?” Gracie asks, craning her neck around the booth to watch Misty and Curtis Walker approach.
Misty falters very slightly in her step when Gracie looks at her but then continues her advance.
She stops right in front of our table, arms folded across her bony chest. Despite the temperature outside, she has on jeans that are so low and a top so short that her skin is on display from beneath her artificially inflated rack all the way down to her protruding hipbones.
Sure, she and I may have hooked up more than once, both before and after Danielle, but that was then, and this is now, and a lot seems to have changed. Misty never did carry much weight, but she looks gaunt, almost emaciated now. Her once fair hair is dark, greying at the roots, and I almost wanted to ask her if she was still as close to Danielle as she used to be. Seems to me they were both running headlong down the same path.
The years haven’t been kind to Misty Walker.
“Heard you were back in town. Didn’t think the mighty Koa Carmichael would actually grace us with his presence, though.”
“Decided you all could do with a treat, seeing as the weather’s been so bad.”
“Still got that high opinion of yourself then.”
“Apparently. But seeing how you came over here and not the other way around, why don’t you get to the point. What do you want, Misty?”
I watch as Curtis, her brother, buries his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels, looking anywhere but at me.
“Just to warn you to stay the fuck away from Danielle. She’s happy and in love, probably getting married soon to my brother. She don’t need you turning up and causing problems.”
“Thank you, Misty. I’ll do my absolute best to stay out of Danielle’s way, she is the very last person on this earth that I would want to see, so that really won’t be a problem. Now, if you don’t mind, please fuck off. I’d like to order my food.”
She looks at me like I’m a piece of shit before turning her gaze to Gracie, looking at her in much the same way. I’m ready to get up from the booth and physically restrain Misty if she makes a move towards Gracie. Knowing her from way back, I’m only too aware of what a vicious bitch she can be.
“Who’s your new friend? I heard the last one took your kid and ran. Just can’t hang on to a woman can you, Carmichael?”
“Listen, love, don’t know who you are . . .” Gracie pauses for effect, looks Misty up and down before continuing, “But judging by what you’re wearing and the state of your regrowth, I would assume you’re one of the town’s homeless, or maybe just the local whore who’s hit on hard times. Can’t be easy, turning tricks in this weather. I’m sure even the grubbiest of clients don’t want their dicks to drop off. Although…”
My head tilts to the side. I watch with wide eyes as Gracie gives it to Misty, and I have to swallow back my grin.
“If they’re clients of yours, there’s every chance their dick’s dropped off from a dose of the clap, long, long ago. Anyway, assuming you’re not deaf as well as a skank, you heard what the man said. He’s starving. I’m starving. So, fuck off and let us order our food.”
The whole place is silent. Misty lunges for Gracie, but she anticipates her move and slides back in the booth out of reach. At the same time, I stand to block anymore attempts she might make to get at Gracie while Curtis grabs Misty by the waist from behind.
“Put me the fuck down, Curtis put me down.” Misty kicks her legs out in front of her as her brother carries her towards the door.
“This ain’t over, Carmichael. You and that little bitch need to watch your backs.”
“Yeah, and you need to consult with a stylist at the local salon and get them roots fixed, sweetheart,” Gracie, who is now up on her knees and peering over the top of the booth, calls out.
“Get her out of here, Curtis. And watch your mouth, Misty.” I hear Martha shout from behind the counter.
I look around the room at everyone staring our way, some actually have their cell phones out and are blatantly recording the whole shit show. I take my time glaring at them all, and the buzz of conversation slowly starts again.