15

The Prick Next Door

I splash water on my face in the bathroom, then scrutinize my reflection in the mirror. Yup, I'm still there. Somehow.

A guitar riff splinters through my apartment from the heart of the living room. Bailey wanted to bring ‘a few friends’ over, and I'd known what that meant, so I'd shrugged and told him it was fine. Whatever. A party is kind of overdue anyway. It's been a mellow two months.

Twisting, I pull down the side of my jeans and check the status of the new tattoo inked on my hip. I run my thumb over the design and let the memories unfurl.

Someone bangs on the door. "Come out, Prick."

Dylan. I open the door and see him frowning. He's been doing that a lot—pretty much ever since he saw me get out of Cray's car the day we got back to the city. My aviators hid the redness of my eyes, but that was irrelevant. My brother has x-ray vision. What he saw behind the sunglasses had drained the relief from his face over having me back.

He checks me up and down. "Good. You're in one piece."

I smirk. "I was primping."

We chuckle. Despite my moodiness, we're both better now that Mom is out of the picture.

At first, we'd crammed into the one bedroom apartment above the café. But a month later, he bought a house with the money he'd been saving, and left me this place. We own the building, thanks to Dad, so I don't have to worry about rent. And I've been working at the café again. Things are sort of normal.

"You're not going to hide in here and make me deal with your bitch all night, are you?" Dylan asks.

I move past him and into the hall, asking over my shoulder, "Since when do I ever hide?"

Dylan doesn't respond.

The living room smells of jasmine perfume and beer breath. Graham and Sam are here, as well as some other people I don't know. Annie and Johanna are giving Bailey a show. They're grinding against one another to the music, swathed in tight denim and leopard print, while he reclines on the sofa and admires them.

I wrinkle my nose. Did this really used to be my antidote to rage?

The minute Annie and Johanna see me, their gyrations become more pronounced. Their breasts knock together as they stare right at me, but I don't take the bait.

It does fuck all for me.

Without looking away from them, Bailey reaches up and behind to grab my arm, stopping me from walking by. "Baby, you gotta watch this."

I can recall a time about six months ago, not too long before I was sent to Mr. Chaste, when Annie and Johanna went at it in front of me. With less clothes.

"I've seen it before," I remark.

Groaning, Bailey's head flops against the sofa. He's desperate to break me out of my sexual funk. I haven't been with anyone since Annabelle. I don’t want anyone else.

In the corner, I notice Glimmer flirting with Graham. She casts me a scorned look. I had to pry her hands off me pretty quickly after we saw each other again. She'd gotten the point, but she's still holding a grudge.

Sam is busy chatting up his date. He looks so preoccupied that I take advantage. I steal his shot glass and down the contents, then hand it back to him with a wink.

He laughs. "Having fun?"

"No," I answer and then leave the couple alone. I climb through the window and park my ass on the fire escape. My nose ices up quickly from the polar temperature. The stars are the same ones over the Chaste farm tonight. Maybe she's at the kitchen window watching them. Maybe she's plucking a bow and arrow.

"How romantic," Bailey chimes, climbing out and planting himself across from me. He pulls out a cigarette and lights up. Fire glints off the planes of his face.

"If you're not interested in one of the girls, I'm still here," he suggests. "I dream about kissing you."

"I know you do."

He kicks my foot. "Smart ass."

We stare at the empty street below. The wincing echo of a cricket strings through the air from an unknown location.

Bailey taps the cigarette against his knee. "Cass—"

"Shut up."

"Fine, but at least..." He jerks his thumb toward the apartment. "At least think about one of them going down on you. What about Glimmer?"

I glare. "Isn't there someone you can't forget? Someone you felt...that way...about?"

His eyes darken. I've never seen him this serious before.

He stares at me.

He stares.

At me.

Me.

Shit. I always thought he was just having fun making passes at me.

I wince, feeling guilty and blind as hell. "Bails—"

He waves me off, the orange butt of his cigarette slashing through the darkness. "Don't go there. It's weird. We didn't know each other when you were just a good little boy. It's weird if you suddenly turn all Sympathetic Cassius on me now."

We met while I was getting the dandelion tattoo. He saw me in the parlor with my shirt off and hit on me before the drill stopped buzzing. I wonder when his attempts to kiss me had ceased being a product of his libido and began to mean more. I wonder what all my indifferent rejections did to him.

I grimace at the iron bars marching across the fire escape. "How do you stand being my friend?"

"You ever see that Nick Cage movie, Adaptation?"

"No."

"So there's this scene where one of the twins that Cage is playing talks about the unrequited love of his life. This dream girl who ridiculed him in school. And he explains that he was happy still loving her—"

"Are you saying I've been purposefully treating you like crap?"

"Fuck, Cass. No. Don't take it so literally. Let me finish." He takes another drag. "So Cage's character says it's fine to still love that wench because those feelings belonged to him alone. The ability to feel that way was his. No one could take it away or ruin it. There's this line Cage says at the end of his speech. You ready?"

I wait, and Bailey quotes, "’We are what we love. Not what loves us.’" Then he pauses. "Don't get me wrong. It'd be a lot hotter if you felt the same, but I still get to love you anyway. The feeling is still mine. You know?"

I don't know. I wouldn't be okay wanting someone who didn't want me back, but the theory seems to help my friend. That's good enough for me.

He sighs. "Anyway, I know you miss that girl, Annabelle. But can you just start trying to be okay?"

I gaze at his hopeful face. I utter my next words mainly because Annabelle would want me to say them. And because it will reassure Bailey. Not because I really think it's going to be that easy.

"Yeah. I can try. But I'm doing it my way," I say, then nip my chin toward the party and the girls. "Not your way."

He salutes me. "You're the boss. I'm the bitch."

As I snigger, Dylan pops the top half of his body out the window. "Cassius—"

"This is a Couples Only zone," Bailey declares, circling his finger around the fire escape.

Dylan rubs his temples. His cheeks are red but not in a festive way. He seems anxious.

My chest constricts as a bizarre off-season current of warmth rustles my clothes. The atmosphere suddenly feels different.

I frown at him. "What's up?"

"You have a visitor downstairs. The Girl on the Wall."

I head down the steps. I turn the corner. Into the café. And stop.

Her braid hangs over her left shoulder. She'd been gazing around the place in wonder, but when she hears me, her beautiful profile twists in my direction.

We both step back. A helicopter chooses that moment to circle above the street and flash a beam through the closed blinds of the storefront. I rub my eyes, expecting her to disappear and take my heart with her again.

I open my eyes. She's still there. My pulse launches into warp speed.

"Annabelle..." I whisper. Her name tastes like salt and corn and fresh water.

She swallows as though she can taste it, too.

I smell the farm on her. The soil. The wheat field. It's beyond surreal. Her. Here.

My fingers curl. I want to grab her.

She points to the red-tiled wall where baskets are lined along shelves. The baskets are empty for the night, but mini chalkboards are propped in front of them, listing bread types and prices. "You should arrange the loaves in alphabetical order," she says. "And you're charging too much for the sourdough."

"Annabelle, what are you—"

"Do you offer half price for the older loaves? Because you should."

What the fuck?

"Is something wrong?" I ask. "Did something happen at home?"

She gazes at me with those familiar gray eyes that I've come to adore. Her headdress and apron are nowhere to be found. She wears the green cotton dress I remember. The one that always brings out the flush in her cheeks.

Her blush intensifies when I notice her overnight bag in the corner. I'm reeling. I'm delirious. I don't know what to expect. I don't know what to say. Or what part of her body I want to touch first.

"What are you doing here?" I manage.

She sucks in her lips and crushes them together. Commotion erupts from behind me. I wheel around to see Dylan and Sam herding my guests like cattle from the stairway, through the café, and toward the front door. Aside from the fire escape, this is the only way in and out of the building. As my brothers corral everyone to the exit, they both give me looks that say Annabelle and I can be alone now.

People pass by me, bumping their fists against my shoulder and saying goodnight. They cast curious glances at Annabelle. Especially the girls. She stiffens at the parade of Spandex and low-rise jeans that slink by. The purple shadow beneath Annie's raised brow. The click of Johanna's heels. The competitive pout on Glimmer's face.

And Annabelle. My Annabelle. She matches Glimmer's territorial glare with one of her own, jutting out her chin, turning slowly and following the girl's departure.

Bailey is the last to emerge. He halts when he sees Annabelle. I detect a flash of pain hidden behind his features, but he swiftly covers it up with a genuine smile. He shocks her by seizing her hand and kissing her knuckles. "Welcome to the city," he says, then swings his arm toward me. "He's all yours."

Pausing behind her, he points over her head and mouths to me, DO NOT let her go again, you Prick.

He struts out of the café. The door closes. The bell attached to the handle gives a fragile little ring. Then it's quiet again.

The possessive expression Annabelle aimed at Glimmer gives me hope. I step forward, but my smile dies when she nails me with her watery eyes. The confidence she mastered a second ago is gone. Her voice is feeble. "Who were those people?"

"My brother. And Bailey. And the rest were guests."

"Those girls, too?"

"Bailey brought them over."

"Have you been with them?"

I cringe. I wish I could, but I can't undo the parts of my life that happened before I met her. "No, but—"

Her chin quivers. I feel my eyes dilate to the size of dinner rolls. Dylan is right. I'm such a shithead. It's only now that I realize she wasn't asking me if I'd slept with them before I met her. She was asking if I've slept with them recently, since I left the farm.

She walks backward, holding up her hands. "I'm a stupid girl."

"Annabelle, no—"

"Clearly, I've interrupted something."

"No!"

She runs out of the building. I storm after her, shouting her name, but she's already made it to the end of the block. My arms pump hard, my feet slamming onto the sidewalk, the frigid temperature stinging my cheeks. My hand rips out and catches her by the elbow, jerking her to a standstill on the corner. We stumble for balance on the icy concrete. Tears smear her face as she grunts and tries to fight me off.

I steady her arms. "Annabelle, that's not what I meant. I didn't think you were asking about now. I had something with those girls a long time ago, but nothing's happened since I got home. Nothing. I don’t want them. They’re nothing but regrets to me."

Relief floods her face, but she still won't look my way. I can't stand it. "Hey, I told you not to break eye contact with me, remember?"

Her head snaps up. "Ididn'twantyoutogo."

"Huh?"

"I didn't want you to go," she cries. "I didn't want you to leave, but you had to. You asked me to come with you, but I said no. And I chose my family. And I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I love my brother. I get it."

"I'm sorry I came here without letting you know, but we couldn't contact each other, and I got the bow, and it's incredible, and I almost hit my target..."

She likes the bow I sent her. It took me all three months to save up for it. And she likes it.

"...I got too used to sitting by the fire alone, but then David forgave me, and we're friends. And my father understands now..."

I shake my head, wanting to stop her, but no words come out.

"...and he reminded me I’m a woman now, and that I should take a chance to be with you. I came for you. I had to see you..."

I never thought I'd see the day when Annabelle Chaste would refuse to shut up.

"... and then I'll have to decide, and I came here..."

I puzzle together most of her rambling, and it's the best thing I've ever heard.

"...and I'm sorry I didn't warn you, and I'm sorry I just ran off like that, but those girls wear far too much makeup, and I can leave if you want, but you have to know that I love you, I love you so much, I love you more than anything, and you should really change the price of your sourdough bread becau—"

My mouth swoops down and silences her. The response is instant. With a cry, she wrings her arms around my neck and thrusts her fingers through my hair. My tongue pries her lips open and flicks hotly against hers, and I groan into her mouth, tilting my head and stroking her lips with mine. We lose ourselves. I kiss her so roughly that I can hear the wheat fields shuddering in my ears.

A pair of shadows across the street whistles in our direction. "Hot!" they cheer while passing us.

Annabelle breaks away, her skin turning crimson as she remembers we're in public. I tell her to ignore the audience, and her answering smile is contagious. So I kiss her again until we're both breathless.

As we come up for air, she looks around. "This is a pretty place."

The café’s located in a good part of the city. A village-like area with a Euro flair. There are narrow tree-lined streets, squat buildings, and coffee houses. During the warm months, window boxes overflowing with flowers decorate the front of the building.

"Your place is much nicer than the café around the corner," she remarks.

I frown. "You mean Laroche’s?"

She clears her throat. "I may have gone inside for a while. To gather my bearings for this reunion."

"Annabelle...when did you get here?"

"Four hours ago."

"Four hours ago?" I demand. "You've been only a block away for the last four fucking hours? What were you doing?"

"Panicking," she answers. "Praying in secret. And eating three bowls of their lamb stew special. I was scared to find out whether I'd lost you. I didn't...I didn't know if things would be the same."

I brush my lips against hers. "And are they the same?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I mean, I think so. I hope so."

"Hmm." My fingers drop to the neckline of her blouse. "I think we need to find out." I pause until our gazes connect, then say, "Come back to me."

I discover that Annabelle has become an impatient girl. A loud, demanding girl. Her smoky moans pack the café. My name falls eagerly from her tongue, and it drives me wild. With the window blinds already closed, no one can see us as our bodies beat together in a frenzy.

I growl, my hips rocking into hers, which causes her body to jerk across the counter. She's intoxicating like this, naked and flush against the hard surface, thighs spread and clinging to my waist. Until her, I had no idea what it meant to really want someone.

We couldn't wait. We hadn't seen or touched each other in months. We'd stumbled into the café, tearing at each other's clothes. I'd barely managed to lock the door. It was clear we weren't making it upstairs.

My arm had lashed out and swiped the contents off the nearest counter. Flour canisters crashed to the floor. Coins from the tip jar rained across the linoleum. I'd picked her up and dropped her on ledge, wrenching her knees apart to stand between them, and our mouths found each other again.

That's when I remembered the condom. "Shit," I muttered.

Annabelle had laughed as I hauled my naked ass up the stairs to grab one. When I returned, there she was, nude except for the dark thigh-high stockings I'd purposefully left on her.

There she was. Waiting for me. Here for me.

I wasted no time. The tip of my erection sought out her moisture, and at the first contact, we whimpered. Our foreheads merged. I bit my lower lip to the point of pain and pulled back, then probed her again.

"Feel it?" I asked.

"Yes," she exhaled. "I feel it."

Her eyes pierced mine. The sight undid me. I'd grabbed the backs of her knees, lifted them, and slipped fully into her. Her body melted backward against the counter while I remained standing.

And now, I grind harder. She raises her hips to take me deeper, and I fill her to the brim. My shoulders are trembling. My back is beginning to sweat. I'm surprised the shaky sounds we're making aren't rattling the copper pots hanging above our heads.

Annabelle keens and reaches out for me, beckoning me closer. I bend and fall against her. I grasp the rim of the counter for leverage and use it to pound into her, my mouth falling open and a groan toppling out.

"Cassius," she gasps, each word accented by my movements. "Missed. You. Always."

I groan a second time from her words. And from her earlier rant. When she told me the bow was incredible. That she came here for me. That she loves me.

And I...I...I feel it in the spot where our hips are locked, my cock thrumming, her insides tensing. Her cries get louder, fiercer, greedier.

The instant she clenches around me, she throws her head back and shouts into the air. I let her ride it out, then pull her upright and kiss her. One more vicious thrust and I'm there with her. My length pulsates, my face presses into her neck, and my guttural moan hits her skin.

Together, we go limp. Her arms and legs fasten me to her while we struggle to catch our breaths. She knits her fingers into my hair. I rest my cheek on her shoulder. This has to be a fucking dream.

Playfully, I snap the top of her stockings against her thighs. "How many pairs of these did you bring?"

Her body shakes with a silent chuckle. "I learned that you're a painter. I learned that you're a baker. I learned you like rock music with a folk twist. I learned that you love your father and your brothers."

My eyes squeeze shut. Her speech takes me back to the hill, where I told her all those things I learned about her.

"I learned that you smack your lips when you sleep," Annabelle whispers. "I learned that you chew on your lower lip when you're surprised. I learned that you like fast vehicles and slow dancing. I learned that you're allergic to honey. I learned you have two tattoos—"

"Three."

"What?"

My head tips back. We were so worked up earlier that she must not have noticed, not even when she yanked down my pants. I twist, just enough to expose the tattoo on the inside of my hip. My eyes flit downward. She follows the movement and sees the green letters inked into the skin.

‘Duchess’.

She looks up at me, her eyes watery. I take her face in my hands. "I love you, Annabelle."

She chokes back a sob. "Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again."

I plaster kisses all over her face and neck, branding each spot with ‘I love you’s’ until she's giggling.

"Soooo," I begin, my fingers skimming her lower back. "Just to recap. You can spend every weekend here for the next two months."

"Mmm-hmm." She matches my touch by tracing the tattoo on my hip. "And then, I can choose whether to stay with my Order."

"Or?" I prompt.

"Or stay here. With you."

Mentally, I'm punching my fist into the air and whooping and clearing out half the closet for her. "So do we get married? What's the rule?"

She grins. "There is no rule after that. It's our choice. But I like the idea of waiting until we're ready. I'm okay with that. I just want to be with you. As long as you want me to be here, too."

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "What else do you want?"

Her features shrink. This isn't easy for her. Nevertheless, I'm grateful to Mr. Chaste. He still trusts me enough to take care of his daughter. I won't let him down.

She meets my eyes. "I want to get back on your bike. I want to go to that bookstore again. I want to go to that arcade with the archery booth. And you said there's a park. And you said there's a church."

Good enough. She has time. We have time.

"Anywhere you want. But first..." I raise a mischievous eyebrow. For what I have in mind, at least for this first weekend, she might not have the energy for sightseeing. "You're here until when?"

"I suppose I have until Sunday evening—"

Annabelle belts out a startled laugh when I haul her off the counter. She tightens her legs around my waist and holds onto me as I sprint us up the stairs, where we have another mind-blowing reunion in my bed.

And in my shower.

For some reason, this girl loves me in the shower.