Christopher

 

Something about this girl doesn’t add up. She’s been agitated, almost hostile, on and off all day. One minute she’s fine, we’re joking about something. The next she’s cold, short, jumping to the wrong conclusion every time I so much as open my mouth. I can’t win.

 

I know what happened in the kitchen earlier in the day is getting to her. Hell, it’s getting to me, too. From the minute I woke up this morning, I told myself there was nothing between us, and there could be only nothing. I had to stay away from her. I jerked off to the thought of her last night, but that was it. No more. Nothing in real life.

 

So why did I practically dry hump her to completion right there on the kitchen counter? Why are my balls aching now when I remember what happened? I know she wants to forget about it; but while I don’t disagree, I can’t help feeling a little irked. Like she’s so shocked at herself for being attracted to the Big Bad Wolf. I was stupid to think she was different from the other women I’ve known. All she’s done is confirm a secret I’ve learned over the years: all women want the Big Bad Wolf whether they admit it to themselves or not. No matter how dangerous he might be.

 

And I am dangerous. There’s no doubt about it. I’d tell her to ask Michelle, but, of course, she can’t. Michelle isn’t talking anymore. Because of me.

 

Amanda needs to get used to me, though, at least to get us both through the night. If the news is telling the truth, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t be, she’s not going anywhere until at least tomorrow—and even then, there is no guarantee when the road will be cleared.

 

“You okay?” I ask for the hundredth time. I’m sitting by the fire in the kitchen, reading a book while she fixes dinner. She insisted, and I was too happy to accept. What she’s made so far has been nothing less than spectacular. I feel bad now for giving her shit over the soufflé this afternoon, especially since it was so good. I just can’t seem to stop picking at her. It’s too much fun to watch her explode.

 

Especially since that explosion led to what it led to on the counter. I lick my lips at the memory.

 

“I’m fine, just busy,” she says, her back to me.

 

I hear tension in her voice. I think I also hear a buzzing sound coming from her back pocket. That’s another thing. Her phone has been going all day, from the time it interrupted us through now. It’s been five hours since that happened and it sounds like there’s a hive of bees in here from all the buzzing. I wonder if she has a boyfriend she doesn’t want to tell me about. Maybe that’s why she stopped earlier. He called and reminded her she’s not single.

 

The more I think about it, the more I decide that must be it. She’s not being honest with me. God knows I’m used to women being dishonest by now. It’s nothing new.

 

“What smells so good?” I try to keep things light and easy, even though I know she’s lying to me.

 

“Chicken and dumplings,” she says, her back still to me. I see her using a can to roll out what looks like dough on the counter.

 

“Can I help you with something?” Even as I say the words, I wonder what the hell has come over me. Since when do I ask if a woman needs help in the kitchen?

 

This gets a reaction from her at least, as she turns to me with one eyebrow cocked. “You? Working in the kitchen?”

 

Instead of irritating me, her reaction makes me want to prove myself. “Yeah. I’m not totally helpless.” I get up, crossing the room to stand beside her. “I can do this, I bet.”

 

“You’re right. It’s pretty basic. Even you could handle it.” At least she’s joking with me again. She shows me how to roll out the dough and cut it into squares. I make a mess of my hands and get flour everywhere, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“Did you ever see yourself helping in the kitchen like this?” she teases.

 

“Honestly? No.”

 

She laughs at this, and I’m glad to hear the sound. Then there’s that buzzing noise again, and she stops abruptly. She gets quiet, withdrawing into herself. I’ll hold my tongue for now, but I know I’m going to have to ask about it before the night’s over if it doesn’t stop.

 

An hour later we’re sitting together at the kitchen table, Scout on the floor between us. Her instincts were on the money; this is the perfect dinner for a day like today.

 

“When did you start cooking?” I ask, going back to the stove for seconds.

 

“I really don’t know. It feels like I’ve always been doing it. I used to watch my mom as she prepared meals. Even the most basic things. Meatballs, meatloaf, chicken, spaghetti, steak. I’d watch and ask questions. Why was she drying off the chicken before she put salt and pepper on it? Why did she add this or that to the recipe? What was the difference in taste? Eventually it got to the point where I was making suggestions. Maybe some grated cheese in the meatballs, a little garlic in the jarred pasta sauce. Then I took over. Baking has always been my real passion, though.”

 

“So it’s not like you had to do it.”

 

“No, I wanted to. It was a natural interest of mine. I think every person is born with a natural interest, you know? Only some of us get lucky enough to pursue it, though.”

 

“Not that I think you need the help, but why not look into culinary school? Even though you already have the coffee shop. If it’s what you really love to do?”

 

Her face gets stony. I hit a nerve. What is it about her? Why do I even care? And what the hell is she hiding from me? All I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and take her to bed with me, which is the most bizarre reaction to have at the moment but it’s how I feel. I want to take her, make her forget everything for a little while. Maybe I can forget, too.

 

Then there goes that damned phone again. Finally, I have to ask, putting down my fork and looking her straight in the eye. “Do you wanna tell me who the fuck has been messaging you all day? Not once have I seen you take the phone from your pocket, even though it’s been buzzing literally all afternoon. What’s going on? Are you hiding from somebody?”

 

She’s silent, staring down at her bowl. “Please let it go,” she murmurs. I think I hear a tremble in her voice. Now I know something’s wrong.

 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Is it really that bad? Listen, I know we don’t know each other well, but I can tell it’s bothering you. I just wanna help, if I can.”

 

“You can’t help.” There’s finality in her voice. Like she’s living with a death sentence. “Besides, it’s really not a big deal. If I ignore him, he’ll go away.”

 

“Him?”

 

She’s painting a pretty vivid picture for me without meaning to. Is she running away from some asshole? There’s only one reason why she would. She’s not dishonest. I don’t see her stealing from a man or cheating. She’s not a coward. She’s stood up to me a bunch of times already. She’s scared to death of this guy, though.

 

“Let me see the phone,” I say as quietly as I possibly can. Already my blood’s boiling and I haven’t seen what he sent yet.

 

“No.” A violent shake of the head.

 

This only spurs me on. “Show me. Please.” Again, a shake. I decide to take it, my hand darting out to swipe it from her pocket before she can stop me. She’s leaning forward, making it easy to grab.

 

I heard her crying out, trying to stop me, cursing at me. But her words aren’t registering because the blood is rushing through my ears as I read the sick shit this guy has been texting her. I hold up a hand, signaling her to stop talking. I hear what sounds like a whimper coming out of her as she puts her face in her hands.

 

“Who is this guy? A boyfriend?” I look at the name. Lucas.

 

“Ex. I left him.”

 

“I don’t think I have to ask why after reading this.” My voice is tight. I’m barely keeping my rage under control. Scrolling up, I see things started innocently enough this afternoon. Begging her to please at least let him know she’s alive by replying to him. Begging her to take him back. Give him one more chance. He’ll make it up to her. They can be happy again. Why doesn’t she want to be happy with him anymore? He knows there’s somebody else. Why is she doing this to him? How could she have cheated on him? How can she be such a bitch? He’ll make her see how much she’s hurt him. She’s a stupid cunt. He’ll make her pay for this. He’ll make her wish she’d never made a fool out of him. She’ll be sorry when he finds her.

 

And she’s crazy if she thinks he won’t find her. She can’t hide from him.

 

I look up at her but all I can see is red. I have to kill this son of a bitch. “I’m guessing you didn’t leave him because he’s such an awesome guy,” I say.

 

“Please let it go,” she pleads. But I can’t. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s violence against women. It doesn’t help that I happen to like this woman in particular.

 

“Just tell me what happened. Why did you leave him? Did this just start after you left?”

 

A sad head shake. “He…hit me. Lots of times. I was a stupid bitch, a cunt, worthless. I finally got the nerve to leave, but he just started sending me these messages not long ago. A few weeks. I don’t even know how he got my new cell number, unless he called my mom and tricked her into giving it to him. I never told them…you know. How bad it was. I was too ashamed. They didn’t know any better.”

 

I need to kill him. Or at least beat him within an inch of his life.

 

“Look, I’m going to block his number.” She holds her hand out now, wanting the phone.

 

I hand it over, my mind racing with plans for how I intend to find this son of a bitch and beat the shit out of him. I watch as she does just like she said she would.

 

“I should have blocked him right away, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess I was just afraid of how much angrier he’d be if I never responded to him.” She looks at me, and she doesn’t have to finish her thought because I can see what she’s trying to say. She feels safe with me. Like I’ll protect her. And the thing is I want to protect her. I want to be sure this guy doesn’t hurt her.

 

At the same time, I almost feel sorry for her, for being so naïve as to think I’m her safe bet. But between me and the asshole sending those texts, I guess I am.

 

He’s not safe, though. Because I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna make him hurt.