Kat
My sheets smell like cotton and Cool Water. Why do my sheets smell like cotton and Cool Water?
My head feels like it’s been beaten by a rock. Why did I drink so much? That Jose Cuervo is a stealthy motherfucker. By night, he whispers sweet nothings in my ear, but when the morning comes, he mocks my pain with his vicious assault. This is usually the part where I bargain with God to make me feel better in exchange for walking the straight and narrow. But let’s face it, like a battered wife, I’ll only run back to him. Jose and his band of beguiling brethren: Jack, Jameson, and that diabolic bastard, Captain Morgan.
Prying my lashes apart after a night of binge drinking is no easy feat. With my thumb and forefinger, I grasp the tiny hairs next to my eye and pull. The glue gives way, making my heavy eyelids so much lighter. They greet the day with a blinding headache stabbing the backs of each pupil. It doesn’t help that I’m drooling on Beavis and Butt-Head either.
Wait a second.
I sit up in bed, the thick comforter falling from my chest. I’m still in the clothes I wore last night, so it’s safe to say, I didn’t have sex. Where the fuck am I?
The Bride of Frankenstein stares back from the mirror hanging above the large dresser across from me. “Ugh,” I cringe, averting my gaze from my own hideous morning reflection. A quick scan of the room gives me zero clues. Blazing sunlight filters in through the oversized windows surrounding the bed. The space is sparse and clean. The nightstand is the same Ikea special as the dresser. That weird particleboard crap pressed together by two pieces of woodgrain laminate. A sealed bottle of water is the only thing on top of it besides a beat-up self-help manual, face down and spread-eagle across the smooth surface. It jogs my memory just enough.
I’m at Chase’s house.
And he has Beavis and Butt-Head sheets.
A hint of red catches my eye. My boots and bag are set next to the sliding closet door in a neat little row. I slide from the bed to grab my things, but the room spins in a full circle the minute my feet touch the floor. Nausea swirls a nasty cyclone in my gut.
I’m going to hurl. And it’s not going to be pretty.
Panic surges through me as I feel the last legs of my nightly bender start rising up my gullet. An en suite bathroom beckons from the corner. Before I can toss my cookies on the ugliest area rug I’ve ever seen, I run to the toilet. It’s gross, but it happens. Vomit is a small price to pay to the party gods.
Quiet footsteps pad across the floor. Behind me, a presence fills the bathroom doorway. “I brought you some ibuprofen.”
I grunt some kind of thank you and reach for the toilet paper. As my head begins to clear, snapshot images of last night’s argument emerge through the fog. I feel his judgmental stare boring a hole in my back. Mr. Holier-Than-Thou definitely doesn’t approve. Whatever. He has no idea what I’ve been through. If he did, he’d be a lot less sanctimonious about the whole thing. I’m just having a little fun. What’s the harm in that?
Round two works its way out of my mouth like a geyser. Chase squats next to me, holding my hair in his gentle hands. “Get it all up. You’ll feel better.”
“I think I’m done now,” I warble. He rises to his feet, wets a washcloth, and then presses it to my forehead. The coolness eases the riot hurling bricks through my brain. “Thank you for not being a dick.”
Sunlight through the tiny window above reflects off his lip ring when he smiles. “I think the hangover is punishment enough.”
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“Don’t apologize. It happened, and it’s over. Let’s just forget it.” He wraps his arm around my back and pulls me to the floor. Cool Water. His tee is slightly damp. There is very little I find sexier than a freshly showered man. Sandwiched between his wiry arm and his hard chest, the smooth, tantalizing scent of him sends the pounding trickling from my head to about three feet lower. My palm lays flat against his chest, and it takes all my willpower not to slide it across his body and feel what he has hidden under all this heavyweight cotton.
A bare strip of skin is exposed at the small of my back. When his fingers graze past it, all the hairs on my neck jump to attention. I feel like a piece of gum on the bottom of God’s shoe yet still can’t seem to control the slow burn beginning to throb between my thighs. Sick, annoyed, and aroused is a shitshow of feelings to be had.
There’s the bed, dude. Throw me on it like a Viking.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns on the sink faucet and jogs from the bathroom. I take that as a sign. Warm water splashes on my face and drips down my neck as I wash away the remnants of my nightly bender and gargle with mouthwash. Brand new and ready to face the day, I turn to find him coming back.
The plastic of the unopened water bottle crinkles in his clenched fist. He cracks the seal and holds it out for me to take. “You gonna make it?”
I breeze by him, sucking back nearly half of it before coming up for air. “Yeah. I think I’ll live to tell the tale.”
“You might wanna keep this particular tale a secret. It doesn’t really turn out in your favor.”
“Seriously? The guy with the Beavis and Butt-Head sheets has room to talk?”
Aqua eyes shift from my face to the head-banging morons gracing his bedding. “They were on sale.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re as bad as my mother is.”
With a silly smirk, he turns toward the dresser and pulls out a pair of socks. I lie back on his bed, stretching out like a cat in the sun. “I think I need some food. Let’s get breakfast.”
“I have to work—” He stops short when he turns his back to the dresser. I feel each slow movement of his aqua eyes as they roll up my body before looking away. “But I’ll drop you wherever you have to go.”
“Call in sick and play with me instead.” The ring disappears between his lips then pops back out again. I see the minute twitch in the corner of his mouth, the curt quirk of his eyebrow. He wants to say yes. “Come on,” I prod. “My first client isn’t until two. Let’s go make some trouble.”
“Trouble is exactly what I’m afraid of.” The edge of the mattress slopes under his weight. I roll to my knees and crawl up behind him, unconsciously letting the tip of my nose graze the bones on the back of his neck. “Are you . . . smelling me?”
A sheepish grin grows on my face. Oops! “Is that a problem?”
Laughter rumbles in his chest. “Whatever gets you through the day.”
“You really gonna tell me no?”
He turns toward me, bending his knee onto the surface of the bed. “How about we do something tonight instead?”
“Can’t. I have plans tonight.”
A crease forms between his brows. “What are you doing?”
“Meeting a friend.”
“Guy or girl?”
“What does it matter? You jealous?”
“Worried.”
All my warm and fuzzies begin to dance. “You like me,” I say with a shit-eating grin.
With blue eyes twinkling, he lifts his thumb and forefinger an inch or so apart. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” I look at the letters C, O, M, and E permanently inked on each finger as he offers me his hand.
“Kat, wait.” Colorful fingers splay against the door as I go to open it, these graced with the letters O, V, E, and R. “When we get out there, I need you to be cool, okay?”
I take a subconscious step back. “Why?” The word slips off my tongue with a tentative edge. Hello, Mr. Cryptic Warning. Nice to see you.
“I live with someone. She’s not used to me having girls around. Promise me you aren’t going to spaz out when you see her?”
All my internal circuits enter overdrive. Oh my God, he has a kid! Things are starting to add up. Of course! No wonder he gave me that huge speech about respecting myself and all that junk. He’s a single dad raising a daughter.
“Okay.”
With a nervous sigh, he opens the door. A long hallway holds three other closed doors, his at the far end. Red booties dangle from the tips of my two curved fingers. Why am I nervous? I’m great with kids! Don’t want any myself, but my nieces and nephews love me.
All geared up and ready to come face to face with a blue-eyed little nugget, I’m shocked when I come upon a blue-haired old lady.
Wait . . . what?
“Gram. This is my friend Kat. Can you say hi?” His usually quiet baritone turns way up to eleven as he takes a knee next to the woman in the Barcalounger. Tickers scroll along the bottom of the Fox News channel, seemingly holding the woman’s attention. She turns her head in my direction and lifts an arthritic hand.
“For a second, I thought you'd finally gotten rid of the jackass,” she mumbles.
I wave back, a smile taking over my shocked expression. He lives with his grandma? Before I have time to make a sound, the front door opens. In walks a tall, mocha-skinned woman wearing a hideous dye job and baby pink scrubs. “Good morning, Chase family!”
Grandma grunts and swats the air, scrunching her wrinkled face. “Be nice,” Chase scolds then rises to his feet. “Hey, Maggie. Can I talk to you for a sec?” Chase and Dye Job move away from Grandma, their hushed voices nothing but huddled whispers.
He doesn’t just live with his grandma; he cares for her.
Chase is a hard guy to figure out. He’s heavily tattooed and totally pierced, but his badass persona doesn’t match the pussycat living inside it. Where does a guy like this even come from? At some point, this good-guy act is going to run its course, and his true colors will show through. It has to. No one is this nice without an angle.
And if he has this much on his plate, what does he want with me?
Chase’s house is a little ranch surrounded by a picket fence meant to keep the dog in. How do I know this? The damn thing tackled me on my way down the walkway. Feet over my head, ass on the pavement, the whole nine yards.
“Zeus!” Chase grasps the dog’s collar and pulls him away before he licks the remaining makeup completely off my face.
“Sweet dog,” I mutter, wiping the slobber off my cheek.
“He doesn’t mean any harm.” Chase playfully tugs on the pit bull’s ears. “Zeusy just doesn’t realize how big he is; do ya, boy?” Chase’s baby talk when addressing his dog hits me in the sub cockles and trickles down to my erogenous zones. Oh my gosh, talk about an adorable pile of goo. When he actually does have a baby, ovaries are going to explode everywhere he goes. “Go find your house, Zeus!” The dog obediently trots off and disappears behind the red brick façade.
“You okay?”
“Other than being mauled by King Kong, I’m fine. Did I rip my pants?”
With his pierced brow raised, he peeks behind me. “Looks good to me.”
His voice comes out husky and thick. Do I detect a hint of arousal in that usually smooth baritone? “You sure?” I give my ass a little shake. “Wanna look closer?”
That tongue slips out to tease that damn ring again. I wonder if he knows how much that tiny gesture gets to me. My thighs press together, attempting to smolder the sparks popping between them before they burn a hole clear through my panties. To-do list addition: find a cock to ride, pronto.
He tears his gaze from the back of me and propels himself forward. Somehow, I became trapped in the friend zone, but if nothing else, the man likes my ass. That’s cool. I can work with that.
Turns out, Chase doesn’t live that far away from me. Can’t say I’m surprised. Most of New Jersey is just a web of tiny towns strung together to form one large stinky craphole. I guess that’s not fair to say. Some of it’s nice. The ‘burbs are pretty. It’s close to the ocean and even closer to New York City. All that is great, but as a whole, it’s just middle-slash-high-class towns surrounded by ghettos and trash-lined highways. Even the beaches are kind of dirty. Speaking of dirty, I have a mountain of laundry to wash. I wonder if I can get my mom to wash it for me . . .
My mind wanders from topic to topic as we pull in front of my house. This isn’t something new. Sometimes, my thoughts move so fast it’s hard to keep up. Other times, I’ll fixate on one thing and let it gnaw until I’m ready to unscrew the top of my head and hurl my brain at the wall.
That one thing is about to happen in three . . . two . . . one . . .