Salt and Vinegar
My morning had started off fantastic. There’s nothing like waking up next to a beautiful woman after an incredible night. When I cracked my eyes open, Hannah was awake and lying on her back, her head turned toward the balcony doors. She was watching the water. Always watching the water. I liked the peace it seemed to give her. I didn’t know all of the intricacies of Hannah just yet—Lord only knew it might take three lifetimes to learn them all—but I knew her mind seemed to never stop. With two exceptions. When she was staring at the river, and when she was making love. When I took her, I knew I had her…all of her. But the water…I wasn’t sure where she went then. All I knew was I could feel her calm, and that’s all that mattered.
“Morning,” I croaked as I moved my body closer to hers, finding her skin warm and soft. When she turned to me, she smiled, but there was something sad in it. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“A dangerous pastime,” I joked before kissing her shoulder.
Her eyes fixed on her finger as she traced it over the curve of my shoulder and down my arm. She blinked a few times as she smiled subtly. “He was a beautiful man, there was no denying it,” she said softly. “Her finger caressed his firm body, but what she wished for, more than anything, was to caress his thoughts—to know his mind as intimately as she knew his body.” Glancing up at me, she jerked her gaze away quickly, taking her hand with it.
I narrowed my eyes at her in humored confusion. “Were you writing your thoughts about me out loud?”
“Maybe.” Her tone held no apology. “Writing is kind of what I do.”
I nodded a few times, not sure what to say. Was she just thinking out loud, or had she meant she wished she could know me better? Her words had had…feelings. I wasn’t good with those. As I contemplated all this, I guess she took my lack of response as she’d made herself seem weird and she felt embarrassed. She attempted to roll away from me, but I pulled her back.
“Where are you going, crazy girl? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She rolled her body to her side so she could face me. “My book. The characters.”
“Oh yeah? What’s this one going to be about?”
Casting her gaze down for a moment, she brought it back up and met my stare. “A writer. And…a sexy alpha man.”
Smirking, I asked, “Are these characters inspired by anyone you know?”
Her features slacked. “Would it make me insane, or freak you out, if I said I modeled them after us?”
Pushing some hair from her face and behind her ear, I said, “It’s not something you hear every day, that’s for sure.”
“They aren’t us…us. I mean…modeled after us. Like…inspired by us. My story would have far more drama and craziness.”
“More crazy than…” I cut her a look and she rolled her eyes.
“Yes…more,” she chuckled.
“So the guy that’s modeled after me…I’m guessing he’s just one hundred percent stud and completely freaking amazing in every way.”
“And modest like you, too,” she added dryly.
I laughed. “Just as I thought. He sounds pretty awesome.”
Her gaze fixed on mine, her smile fading as she seemed to study me, looking inside of me. “He is,” she said quietly, reaching her hand up and stroking my face. “You are,” she added.
Sometimes, a moment just sneaks up and grabs you. It’s unexpected and for a guy…probably a little unwanted. Being vulnerable isn’t what we do. But sometimes it happens, that moment comes up and hooks you, and you’re powerless against it. This was one of those moments. Hannah hadn’t said but a few words—simple words—but they hit me hard. I felt her meaning, her thoughts, her feelings in those short words. There was a genuineness there. And damn if she wasn’t really crazy, and I know women hate to be called crazy, but the reality was she was a bit all over the place. But here or there, wherever that over-functioning brain of hers led her, she was real. I could tell in the brief time we’d known each other, she was scared to death of herself, of men, and of most things, but no matter what, I knew deep down being real was like breathing to her. Being real means being honest and having integrity. Two things that are damn near impossible for a person to do. But she was those things, even if it meant exposing her ugly parts; the parts she didn’t want the people close to her to see.
I took her mouth, kissing her hard, this feeling of wanting to worship her, but somehow wanting to punish her for it consuming me. Damn her making me feel this. Moving to my knees, I pulled her hips and laid her on her back, ripping away the sheet that was twisted around her, revealing this tiny woman with curves staring up at me, her eyes riddled with hunger and want.
“What are you doing to me?” I asked her, our eyes locked.
Her chest rose and fell. Her lips parted slightly as if she might answer, but she stopped herself. Laying my body over hers, I rested my weight on my forearms, never letting my stare leave hers. I wanted her to see just what she did to me. To bring me out of hiding. Reaching between us, she sheathed me inside her and let out a moan of surrender and relief.
As I moved over her, thrusting inside her, I asked the question again, though this time more to myself than her. “What are you doing to me?” And I kept repeating it till I came deep in her.
When I left for work that morning, Hannah left when I did. I told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but she insisted she needed to get home and run some errands. I hated to admit I was bummed. I would’ve liked to have come home to her that night. But that was selfish. She had a life and things to do. I respected that. So after a long kiss goodbye, she went her way, and I went mine.
When I entered the break room that morning, Kegs and Duke were standing with three other instructors, staring at the bulletin board—no doubt checking the schedule that was posted on the first of every month. Everyone in the room glanced back at me, then at each other. Moving my eyes to Kegs, I asked a silent ‘what?’ with a slight shrug of my shoulders.
“Bro, you’re not going to like this.” What was it now?
Dropping my gym bag, I went to the board and scanned the schedule. I blinked a few times and looked again. No, I’d seen it right. My name wasn’t there. I wasn’t on the schedule. Henry had taken me off for the entire month.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, still staring at the schedule, hoping I was seeing it wrong. Anger pulsed through me. Turning, I stopped, my fists clenched at my sides as I tried to calm myself down. “He took me off for an entire freaking month.”
“He’s a dick,” Kegs mumbled, his expression grim. He understood not only was this a shit move on Henry’s part, but it was also a huge hit financially. I had savings, I could pay my bills, but losing an entire month of income was a significant hit.
This shit was personal. And Henry was being an asshole.
As we grow older, we learn things about ourselves…or rather we come to understand ourselves better. We accept our flaws…laid down with our imperfections. This didn’t always equate to settling—not striving to do better or be better—but rather we step out of the phase of denial, and move into the hey, this is something about me I need to work on, but at least now I own it. Anger, for me, was one of those things. I had a short fuse and had been this way for some time. Couple that with a lack of patience, and it was never a good combination. It was a flaw I was now conscious of. Anger is the most twisted of emotions. It can catapult you into behaviors or actions that are beyond rational comprehension. At that moment, all I wanted, more than anything, was to find Henry and beat the living shit out of him. But what would that do? It might make me feel immensely better, but then I’d never get scheduled again, and I definitely wouldn’t like that. This was a direct assault on me; him using his position superior to mine to punish me because on a personal level, he was intimidated by me and/or didn’t like me. I’d challenged him, and instead of handling it like a man, he pulled some shitty backdoor bullshit to take me down. I was split between giving into my flaw and acting on the emotion, or recognizing it and finding my rationality.
All the guys were watching me, their expressions stoic, waiting for me to react or say something. That pissed me off, too. And a part of me wondered if that’s what Henry was betting on—that I’d react with anger and hostility and do something rash, therefore screwing myself by doing so. Then he’d have me fired for sure. And that thought made me angrier. What a dick.
Before I knew it, I was charging into Henry’s office. He jumped when the door swung and hit the wall from me opening it with such force, but quickly settled when he realized it was me. Apparently, he’d anticipated me showing up. Settling back at his desk, he held his pen over the paper he was examining, seemingly not fazed by me. Ever since he’d tattled to Van, he felt brave.
“What can I do for you, Marner?”
Keep your shit together, Wren, I told myself. Don’t give him what he wants. “I just took a look at the schedule.”
“Is that so?” he mumbled still staring at his paperwork, his glasses slid halfway down the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve contracted here for years, and I’ve never been taken off the schedule,” I fumed. “Any reason why that’s changed, Henry?”
Dropping his pen, he shot his eyes in my direction as he tugged off his glasses and tossed them on the desk. “I don’t know that I see you here, Marner,” he started. “Not sure if you…fit.”
I let out a condescending laugh. I couldn’t help it. I was here long before he was, but now I didn’t fit? What the fuck? “And why is it all of a sudden, after years, that I don’t fit, Henry-boy?” His lips dropped into a flat line.
“I think you’re just a little too…salt and vinegar for what we’re trying for here.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I snapped.
“You seem to struggle with authority, bud.”
“No, I struggle with you,” I clarified. “You micromanage and use your position to settle personal scores. Don’t you find that to be a bit of a bitch move? You think everyone doesn’t know you don’t like me? Cool. I’m fine with that. Well guess what, I don’t like you either. But I show up, and I do a good job. I don’t let personal bullshit stop me from working.”
“Listen, Marner, I just see you as more of a security overseas type, or somewhere downrange.”
I bobbed my head a few times. “Got it. Well, I’ll discuss this with Van, but you and I both know this is bullshit.” With that, I barged out of his office. I had three days of work until the first, so I couldn’t leave even though I wanted to. I’d have to suck it up. That’s what real men did.