Piper
Maddox Blake is sitting next to me, and his hand is on my leg.
Holy dragons.
I’m in for it now.
I don’t do serious and I don’t do relationships. Not after Tad. Not ever again.
Still, there’s something about Maddox Blake that draws me to him and I’m just not sure what to do next. His hand is on my leg, and if he slides it up just a little bit more, he’ll find that I’m not wearing panties.
He’ll find more than that.
He’ll find that I’m wet, that my thighs are slick with my arousal, that I’m so close to coming just from his hand being on me.
Maddox Blake is the man of my fantasies, but I can’t let him in. I can’t let anyone in, not again. I can’t risk getting hurt. I can’t risk Tad finding out and hurting them.
“Piper,” he says my name again, and I look up at Maddox. I know he’s been watching me. I know he sees more than he lets on. Oh, he acts like he’s some silly playboy, some dumb jerk who doesn’t know HTML from Java, but that’s not Maddox.
He’s smart, and he’s calculating.
I’d bet anything that he’s a cop, or that he used to be.
Now, as he looks at me, he waits patiently. I know exactly what he’s asking me for. He’s asking me to trust him. He’s asking me to believe in him. He’s asking me to please, just please, take a chance on him.
“Maddox,” I repeat his name, and his hand slides just a little bit higher. He’s so close. Just one little move of his fingers and he’ll be stroking my clit, bringing me promises of pleasure. Just a little bit more.
“Hey Charmer, you’re in my seat,” I hear Odessa’s voice, and I break free from my lust-filled haze. Suddenly, I seem to remember where I am, who I am, what I am. I know one thing for certain: I’m not free. I’m not available. I’m not in any position to get to know Maddox Blake in any way that’s not professional, and I carefully push his hand away.
Maddox Blake, ever the gentleman, lets me go.
“Goodnight, Maddox,” I say to him.
“Goodnight, Piper,” his voice sounds sad. He moves and Odessa takes her seat.
“Call me later,” she says, catching my gaze, and I nod. She knows I’ll check in with her. We talk to each other regularly.
And then I leave.
I walk out of Anchored and call a ride using an app on my phone. I’ve been drinking, so I won’t drive. My car will be here tomorrow when I come back, and a ride to my place will be pretty inexpensive. If it wasn’t drizzling out, I would just walk, but it’s too wet for that.
I can’t believe what happened tonight with Maddox. Was he really coming onto me? Was he really making his move? And did I really shoot him down?
I’m an idiot.
That much is for certain.
The old Piper wouldn’t have behaved that way. The old Piper wouldn’t have been scared or afraid or shy. The old Piper would have been fierce and determined. She would have been brave.
She would have taken one look at Maddox Blake and then crawled into his bed.
She would have worshipped him.
She would have adored him.
Well, that Piper is dead, and new Piper is one careful bitch.
She has to be.
I have to be.
My ride shows up and I climb in. After the obligatory good evening has been said, I close my eyes, lean my head back against the seat, and just think about what I’m going to do. The truth is that even after a night of drinking at Anchored, I’m just not sure what my next move should be.
I can’t go to the police. They can’t help me. I already have a restraining order against Tad, but let’s be honest: we all know that doesn’t mean a darn thing. I have a gun, I have self-defense training, and I have an incredible alarm system for my house, but none of that matters because Tad is determined.
He’s determined to hurt me.
Well, I’m not going to get hurt again.
We pull up to a random house a block over from mine, and I thank the driver and climb out of the car. I wait for him to pull away, and then I start walking down the sidewalk toward my actual house.
Call me paranoid.
Call me crazy.
Cal me anything you want, but I don’t put my real address on anything. I live in a quiet, modest house purchased under the name of a small business I opened solely for the purpose of owning my house. My mail goes to a post office box. I use burner phones. I don’t take the same route home from work each day. I leave the office at different times.
And I never let a taxi-app driver know which house is mine.
I walk quietly to my house, trying to ignore the other houses I pass on the way. They all have toys in the yards. A couple of them even have bikes left in the driveways, and for a second, I wonder if I’m ever going to have that.
Will I ever get the white picket fence?
Will I ever get the wedding bells?
Will I ever get the happily-ever-after?
I shake my head as I reach my house and pull out my keys. Nope, that’s not the life for me, but that’s okay. I step into the empty house and close the door behind myself before I collapse in the middle of the entryway.
This is fine.
I am okay.
I’m going to be all right.
I keep telling myself over and over and over again that everything happens for a reason, that maybe I just can’t see the forest through the trees. I keep promising myself that somehow, I’m going to be all right.
But then the tears come harder, faster, and I know that none of it’s true.
It’s not going to be all right.
None of it’s going to be all right.
And I am alone.