Eighteen
Dear Calla, I’m 16 years old and my father is pissed that I don’t know what I want to major in at college. Every dinner conversation is this battleground where he asks the same damn question, like his incessant drilling is going to all of a sudden spark an epiphany. I’m 16 years old. I still sleep with a lovy, for god’s sake! I eat Frosted Mini Wheats every morning and snack on Pop Tarts in my locker between class. How the hell am I supposed to make the biggest decision of my life? How do I explain that to my dad?~Losing Grip
Ash reacts as if he just found out that I’m not wearing anything under the dress. His entire face lights up and I swear he looks on the verge of clapping. Instead, he holds up his glass as if to cheer with my glass and takes a long sip with his eyes locked on mine.
“My turn!” Cole yells, and Ash and I both jump in our seats.
The only thing that pulls me away from Ash’s direct stare is when Cole lands on one of my properties. I shriek like a freaking idiot and rub my hands together like I’ve been waiting for this moment all night. Truthfully, I would have rather Ash landed on my square, but I’ve become quite interested in the Sanders brothers. Neither one looks up at me, but they both have matching detached expressions. Again, this strange uncertainty exists like they hate being put on the spot. How could they live in the bright spotlight of society but be so uncomfortable in the hot seat?
Questions swirl inside my mind, but every thought would unsettle the levity of the conversation. From some far away thought, I remember Mila telling me about their careers. Without even meaning to, I ask, “Do you or your brother run a respectable escort business?”
I tilt back, shocked that I asked such a stupid question. Cole and Ash look just as surprised when their heads both snap up with matching relieved smiles. Shaking my head quickly, I lean forward. “No, no, this is a two part question. If the answer is no, then you have to tell me what you do for a living.”
“And if the answer is yes?”
I can’t tell whether Ash is messing with me, so I just narrow my eyes. “Then a simple yes will suffice.”
Ash smiles, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead he drops his gaze back to his wine glass, and his eyebrows rise like he’s having a conversation in his head. He picks up the wine and stares into the bottle.
Cole nods with a forced smile on his lips. “We invest in high risk ventures to the displeasure of pretty much everyone around us. It doesn’t matter that our money could help dozens of people, most people don’t see why we ‘throw it away’ on people they think don’t deserve it.” He looks at me and tightens his lips. “Some people who eat with silver spoons don’t really understand what it feels like not to have anything in their stomachs.”
Ash takes in a deep breath and then lets out a sigh. “Which leads to our strongest opponent.”
“Daddy dearest,” Cole mumbles under his breath.
Ash takes a long sip from his glass. His eyes have gone hazy as if he’s staring off into a memory. “The man with a silver spoon up his ass.”
Cole pushes his chair out and puts the bottle down. Folding his arms, he leans back like he’s getting comfortable. Looking over at Ash, he tips one corner of his lips up. “I bet the officer who has to do his cavity search will go home one spoon richer.”
Ash must notice my expression because he softens some of his frown and offers an apologetic smile. “Our dad’s not the most moral man you’ll ever meet.”
Cole shrugs. “Not very ethical either.”
Ash doesn’t move his eyes off of me. “Likes to think he’s above the law too. So far he’s been able to buy his way out of most everything.
“So we get an allowance. Man wants us to have a certain image, so he gives us the money to secure that image. Never told us what to spend it on so we do what we think our mother would want us to do. Figure we’ll try to counteract all the shit our father is doing to our name.”
The silence ticks on while I stare at them, trying to find the right words to say. How different their public life is from their personal—how they can stand tall in a crowd while being haunted by their legacy. While I don’t have the respect or the love of either parent, I can’t imagine a world where I didn’t have a “tomorrow” to make it right between us.
Ash is the first one to look away from his wine glass. At first I think he’s going to laugh it off, try to smooth the friction from their confession, but he doesn’t. He looks at me, revealing everything in his expression and holding nothing back.
Cole fractures the silence with a long sigh, followed by an even longer, “Anywayyyyyy. Now you know.” He looks up from the table, the smiling mask back on his face. “Now you know why I usually don’t drink. I get like a weepy toddler who lost his lovey. Probably why we surround ourselves with selfish bastards. No one likes to listen to our sob story.”
Ash shrugs, rolling the die under his palm. “What’re you talking about? Rethers’ loves our sob stories.”
I swear I see something pass just underneath Cole’s mask before he’s able to slide it back into place. Instead of agreeing, his eyebrows shrug. His act is so unconvincing that even Ash stares him down like he’s debating whether to dig further.
Finally, Cole shakes his head and holds his palms out. “The fuck we talking about this for? Whose turn?”
It takes Ash a second to return to the game, his expression still confused. “Mine,” he says slowly like his turn might offend Cole in some way.
Rolling the die, he moves his necessary spots and lands on his own property. Cole and I both groan knowing that Ash can now put either of us in the hot seat. Like a kid not wanting the teacher to call on him, I shrink down and stare down at the Monopoly board, hoping he doesn’t see me.
It didn’t work in elementary school. It doesn’t work now.
“Calla?” Ask asks, his tone seductive and obnoxious.
“Ash?” My voice is a great deal less sexy and sounds a lot more desperate.
Even though I refuse to look up at him, I can still feel the heat from his stare. His long pause and steady tapping on the tabletop is like a maddening cuckoo clock that doesn’t shut up no matter how many things you throw at it. I try not to react, but I know a blush licks at my cheeks and rats me out. I’ve got a few other spots burning up too.
“What’s your number?”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Your magic number.”
My brain furiously pours through the list of numbers he’s referring to, ruling out all of the obvious answers. Ash is all about challenging people’s comfort zones, so chances are good his idea of a magic number is something that will deepen my blush.
I know he’s sitting there waiting for me to ask for clarification. I also know he expects me to just hand over one of my properties to get out of answering the question. But more than anything I know he’s trying to move on from their confession. By the way he’s looking at Cole out of the corner of his eye, I know he’s trying to protect his brother from whatever inner battle he’s battling. For some odd reason, I don’t want to let him down.
He’s a master hypnotist.
Sitting straighter in my seat, I lean back so that the front two legs of the chair come off the ground and stare up at the dust-free chandelier above the table.
Cole interrupts with a tone an entire octave higher. “He probably should’ve prefaced his question by explaining that a magic number is how many times you’ve orgasmed during one session. My brother is a little jealous that girls can go so many times.”
Heat simmers just below my skin as I try to brush off my humiliation. Needing to save face, I wave my hand in the air. “Oh that. That’s easy. Five.”
Like a bucket of cold water, Ash’s expression slips through a series of emotions, ranging from shock all the way to excitement. With the jumpy movement in his eyes, I can tell he’s determined to try for six times. Strangely, his commitment to service lowers the wattage of my embarrassment.
An hour into the game, Ash owns seventy-five percent of the board. After his second bottle of wine, Cole is asleep on the floor by our feet with his knees curled into his chest. Every time it’s his turn, one of us kicks him, and he participates in the turn. Ash has told him to go to bed repeatedly, but I think Cole enjoys being the obstacle lying between us. By the hard set of Ash’s jaw and the way my eyes keep finding their way to Ash’s lips, I think Cole is the only one enjoying himself.
My lust problem has not gone away. Every answer Ash gives makes the symptoms that much more fierce. Everything from the way he reverently talked about the first girl he had sex with to the charities he’s involved with. He paints a picture of himself that is almost too delicious to sit across from without pockets of drool landing on the table.
Or maybe I just need to get laid.
We’ve both stopped drinking after our second glass. Me, because I have the perfect blend of buzz and sobriety going on. He, because I think he’s forgotten the glass is next to him. His eyes have been so intensely glued to mine that I can’t remember the last time he blinked.
I move my piece and chuckle menacingly when I somehow land on my last and only property. Ash smiles and shakes his head as a devilish grin slips across my face in victory. His brows rise in a challenge, and he wets the corner of his lips with his tongue. I have no doubt the tongue slip was on purpose.
I tilt my head and squint like I’m debating my choice. “My question is for…hmmm…let’s go with Ash.”
He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the back of his chair. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”
“Let’s see. Let’s see.” I tap the card against my lips, drawing his eyes to my opened mouth. “What haven’t we discussed?”
“Is that your question?”
“Nice try. Oh. I know. Ash?” I draw his name out over an entire octave and smile sweetly up at him. “Exactly how many ports do you have women waiting for you?”
He takes in a long breath and licks his lips a second time. “That your final question?”
“Sure.”
I thought Ash was giving me bedroom eyes for the past hour, but now I realize I haven’t seen anything yet. His chin dips down inch by inch while his lips drift up into a small, cagey smile. Although I’m trying to keep a calm façade, I’ve yet to exhale. I feel like I’ve lost partial control of my body, like Ash is pulling me into him by some strange, invisible force. Every part of me is aware of his mouth, watching as his tongue slips in and out of view behind his teeth.
When he leans in, I hinge forward at the waist closing the distance between us. I struggle to take in a breath when his eyes drop down to my lips. My whole body screams with a maddening kind of urgency, waiting for something, but loving the anticipation of what that something might be.
Whether it’s wishful thinking or distorted sight, Ash seems to feel just as affected by the space between us. His gaze skims over my face, down my throat, and stalls around my breasts, almost like he can see how heavy they feel in the corseted gown. But when his gaze slips back up to my face, something slips into his expression—a calm sort of softening to his features as he draws in his breath and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
“I may have slid into one or two ports in my life, Calla. But I think my sailing days might be behind me.”
There’s a question in his tone, almost like he’s asking for my opinion.
Staring across at Ash, his eyes bright and hopeful, I realize that he may be the first man I’ll miss the minute I walk away from him.
Cole makes a strange snoring sound from underneath the table, and I jump clear out of my reverie.
Ash must notice the swift change in my expression because he crosses his arms and leans back, letting all emotion slip from his face. “You don’t think I could be monogamous?”
“I would be more likely to believe you took a vow of silence as a Tibetan monk.”
He pats his chest as if staving off a heart attack. “I do not double dip between women, Calla Kennedy. If I’m inside one, I don’t jump inside another. In spite of what you might think, I have morals.”
I mentally shriek at the image playing for my mind’s eye. “On what planet could you possibly stick your thing into two people at the same exact time?”
He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His gaze flicks up to the ceiling, like he’s searching for a teleprompter on the crystal chandelier. Pursing his lips, he tips his head back and forth and leans forward to straighten out his chair. “I can officially say we’re on the same page now. I can confirm as of just three minutes ago, I only have the one-eyed monster. I don’t want you going down there thinking I have a two-headed guy ready to please both entrances. I’m not entirely sure how you feel about anal, but…”
My hand flies across the table and smacks him hard on the shoulder. “Who the hell says I’m going down there? And ewwww!”
I can’t even say the word anal without imagining my gynecologist’s visits, and he’s talking about sticking his thing up there.
He nods and picks up his glass. He’s about to take a sip and then reconsiders, “I have now confirmed how you feel about anal.” He takes a sip of his wine and leaves his lips on the rim of his glass when he says, “We can work up to that.”
Jumping out of my seat, I put my hands on my satiny ass like I have to protect myself from his advances. “There is no working up to anything. I have one entrance, possibly two if you shower, but every other orifice is off limits to you, buddy.”
My offer comes out at such a swift pace, I stumble over my speech. Unfortunately, my mind replays each word in slow motion so that I can hear every syllable return to me with painstaking clarity.
I just offered to blow Ash.
Seeing no way out of my own humiliation, I spin around and decide to search out the catacombs. Skeletons aren’t known for their arrogance or egos. Their hearing isn’t the best either.
“Calla.”
I feel Ash’s breath on my naked shoulder and stop just shy of the hallway. Instinctively, I put my hand on the molding to stop myself from taking another step. A tingling begins in the pit of my stomach and travels up to my breasts and down past my thighs. I can no longer feel the sting of shame that had me running away from Ash. Instead I feel that dizzying current between us pulling me back to him. My mind empties of excuses and doubt as I close my eyes and focus on the soft feel of his breath on my skin.
When his lips press into the bend between my neck and shoulder, my nails dig into the wall, needing to relieve the tension building inside of me. Every one of my senses is heightened as I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his tongue as it slips out between his lips. His lips press in against my skin, like he’s tempted to bite, and when he pulls his tongue back inside of his mouth, one of us moans. He closes his lips slowly and then moves up my neck at a painstaking pace.
The distant ticking of a clock and the whispered sound his lips make when they open and close is almost hypnotic. Inch by inch his lips climb the length of my neck. Inch by inch I lean back, my body begging him to keep going.
My own control is a thin wisp of nothingness as my pulse thumps between my legs. My breasts are hyper aware of the feel of the ball gown as my chest expands with every harsh breath that I’m barely breathing in and out.
By the time his lips reach the curve of my jaw, I’m trembling. He presses into me from behind. Every inch of his body feels hard and strong, while every part of my body feels soft and weak. This time the groan slips from his mouth, and I relish the slight vibration of his lips against my skin. The heat of his breath mixed with his confession is my entire undoing. My eyes fly open, and I spin around, grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him into me.
Our first kiss isn’t pretty.
There’s drool and panting and more tongue than there are lips, but what we lack in form, we make up for in craze. His tongue delves into my mouth like he’s desperate to explore every dip and crevasse open to him, while my tongue seems to want to be his eager tour guide. His hands have all but pulled every strand of hair out of the nape of my neck, and I’m pretty sure he’ll have scarring from how deep my nails dig into his back. The only parts of us that seem to know what the hell they’re doing are the parts between our legs. Our waists cling so tight together I doubt you could get a Monopoly card between our bodies.
I grip the hem of his jersey, wanting to tear the thing off. Instead of taking the hint, he picks me up by my ass, forcing me to wrap my legs around him. The slit on both sides of the dress are high enough that he can press himself tighter against me, and we both break the silence with a mutual groan that echoes back to us from the cathedral ceiling.
Had we been in our right minds without lust and hunger clouding our senses, we might’ve noticed that the bear once snoring under the table is now silent. We also would’ve seen the grizzly now standing with his fists on his waist as if livid that we interrupted his hibernation. We also probably would’ve heard him clear his throat a few dozen times.
Only when Cole yells the word “Dude” do we realize we’ve gained an audience. While I immediately pull away from the kiss, my legs continue to cling to Ash’s body. Ash dips his head down so that he’s resting his forehead on my shoulder. His heavy breaths blow across my cleavage.
“Did you need something, dude?” The fiery tone of Ash’s voice seems to speak directly to my stomach as it spasms against his. He must feel the pulsing in other parts of his body because he leans in closer to me.
Cole’s eyes look crystal clear as he stares at the back of Ash’s head, and his voice is without slur or hesitation when he says, “Think it’s about time we head to bed. Reconsider things in the morning.”
Ash seems to become one with the bear when he lifts his head, looks over his shoulder, and growls, “You’re cute, but you’re not my type.”
Ash whips his head back to me when I slide down the front of his body. “Hell no. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Ash,” I whisper, hiding from Cole’s view.
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. “I never pegged you as a quitter.”
I gnaw on the inside of my lip, and immediately hate myself for looking so pathetic. “I’m not, which is why I shouldn’t have started something I’ll have to quit by morning.”
Ash pulls back and drops his arms. He looks genuinely confused. “Who says you’ll have to quit by morning?”
I doubt there are many things Ash has had to give up without his say so. I can’t imagine any woman in their right mind denying him their body or their heart. He’s a man a woman like me could grow addicted to. He may not always say or do the right thing, but everything about him pulls me in. His confidence, his trust, his faith in everyone around him. Nothing could go wrong because Ash wouldn’t let it. In spite of losing his mother, or maybe because of the loss, he exudes this willingness to live—to just throw himself into any situation and fuck the consequences.
Three years ago, I would’ve taken him in the back of his Maserati the night after the gala. I wouldn’t have worried about him not calling because I wouldn’t have given him my number. Three years ago, I would’ve taken what he was offering and loved every inch of it (and from what I could tell through his sweat pants, Ash has a lot of inches to love).
But I’m not that girl. I doubt I’ll ever be her again.
Ash’s eyes search mine like he’s trying to read between the lines of my pupils. He must see the changing of the tides because he pulls back even further, deepening the lines of his confused expression. By the time we both take a step away from each other, he looks like a little kid who’s seeing the world for the first time. No matter how ridiculous it is for an adult to be so blind, I strangely hate being his reality check.
I whisper “Goodnight” and turn away from him, hating to feel the tears already starting to form in the back of my eyes. Not just because another night has been stolen from me, but because of all the moments I’ll never have with people I’m afraid I won’t forget.
“Goodnight,” Cole says in a soft apology.
Ash says nothing.
The hallway is barely fifteen feet long, but every step feels like those nightmares where the last room gets further and further away. By the time I reach the guest room door, tears slip down my cheeks. I don’t dare wipe them away. I know I still have Ash’s attention. I know he still watches me like he’s making sure I get to my door okay. It’s what Ash does. It’s who Ash is.
Opening the door, I hesitate for half of a second, the pull between us stronger than ever. Resisting the urge to look up, I step into the room just as I hear Ash whisper down the hall, “Goodnight.”
***
I finally got my note.
In many of my biker fantasies, I imagined a hastily-written “See ya” on the back of a used napkin. I’d smile at the stale-beer-smelling kiss-off, feeling both satisfied and relieved to have gotten thoroughly screwed by a man who had expected nothing more than what I was offernig him.
I never once expected to feel such a powerful sense of loss.
I spent last night drowning in a mixed cocktail of doubt and lust. I felt like I was waging war with myself, and, at two in the morning, decided that men aren’t the only ones who have two brains. Maybe a woman’s second brain is what some call their G-spot. Hard to locate but, once stimulated, impossible to ignore.
The melodic sound of someone’s snoring must’ve given me enough background noise to quiet both minds and finally fall asleep.
Now all that’s left is a note, my car keys, and an envelope filled with cash.
Calla:
Ooooh, you’re pissed about the money. Imagine how pissed you’d be if Cole hadn’t come to bring you your car? Imagine how many times you would’ve cum? I spent last night thinking about nothing else but had to stop counting after your ninth orgasm because Cole threatened to castrate me if I didn’t shut up. Since I’ve grown attached to that particular part of my body, I had to mentally finish you off hard and strong. Hope you felt it from the other room. That was some of my best work.
The money is yours with only one string attached. Stop running. Stop hiding. Use the money to build stronger walls around yourself. I’d recommend brick. No wolf can blow that fucker down. If you want to have a little girly fire and burn every single bill, go for it. If it keeps you warm, do it. If you want to take out a full page ad telling the world that I’m a total dick, the Baltimore Sun is running a really good deal this week.
Do whatever it takes to feel mighty. Take back your life from the assholes that hide behind keyboards and stop letting them win. Fight back and fight dirty if the mood strikes you. Do whatever the hell it takes to set your life right again.
Once you build that life—once you find whatever it is you feel like you need to find— come find me. I’ll be the one with the shit-eating grin on my face who will just happen to be deep inside you.
Ash
P.S. Simba’s been fed and Cole says he’s sorry for being a douche wagon (my words not his).There’s enough food and privacy for an entire month. I know you have your laptop but my computer is also yours to use, and it has more firewalls than the Pentagon. Take your time, Calla. If not for me, then for Simba and those beautiful breasts of yours.
P.S.S. The 16 digit code for the alarm is behind the television. Once you arm the alarm, you have three minutes to get to the car. My advice? Don’t dawdle ☺
I stare down at the thick white paper, reading Ash’s handwritten words over and over. At first, I decide to set the note on fire, letting the church burn in the process. A few minutes later, I settle down and realize I don’t have arsonist tendencies. I then imagine creative ways to kill the condescending son of a bitch. Once again, without a homicidal drive, I have to cross that off my list of things to do today.
Turning the note over, I run my fingers down the blank side of the paper. For the first time in a long time, I don’t have a To Do list. I have a blank slate staring up at me, daring me to live the words on the other side. I’ve spent so much time hiding that I forgot to build a life. I played the victim part so well that I forgot that there could be another way.
My fingers close around the note, crumbling the paper in the palm of my hand. My fingernails dig into my skin when I stare up at the armed security system blinking back at me. Sixteen digits separate me from the blank slate of my future. What am I going to write on the canvas?