ake

 

 

 

 

After our shift, James asks me if I want to grab a bite to eat.

“Where?” I ask. “The shitty diner?”

“Nah. Let’s hit the Baker’s Square on 51.”

“It’s fucking far, man.” There’s nothing decent in or near Bells Park.

“It’s only a fuckin’ twenty-minute drive. What else you gonna do tonight?”

That’s a good question. The only thing I’d do is sit around and think about Melanie. My night would consist of drinking one too many beers and seeing how long I could hold off watching shit television before I had to get in the shower and jack off to the memory of how good her pussy tasted.

And then I’d feel guilty because even though she’s hot as fuck, she makes me sadder than I’ve ever been before. Her life. Her situation. Her Converse sneakers and her sad eyes and the fact that she’s almost—not quite but almost—given up.

“Yeah,” I tell James. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The Baker’s Square is packed. It’s Friday night, and I guess there’s not a whole lot to do around here. We wait at the front by the glass display showcasing the pies, and James checks them all out.

“I’m taking one of these home,” he says.

“Dude, you need to lay off the pie and work out with me instead,” I joke.

“What. You think I’m too big to get a girl?” He glances around the restaurant. “Too bad this isn’t a bar. I’d show you how easy it is for me to get laid.”

“Oh yeah?” I laugh.

“Yeah. I mean, maybe not as easy as you. Fucking hotshot from Chicago.”

The host, a pretty blonde, with milky skin and pink cheeks and that all-American girl next door look calls us. “Table for two?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says James. “But, uh, we’re not together. You know what I mean?”

She looks blankly at him. “So you want to sit at different tables?”

“No. I mean, we’re together. But not, you know, together.”

She shakes her head and frowns, still not understanding what he’s getting at.

I sigh. “He wants your number,” I say with a grin at him.

“Dude,” James hisses at me.

The girl pretends she doesn’t hear us and slaps the menus on the table before stalking off.

“What the fuck you doing?” asks James, but he’s smiling. “I could’ve had that.”

“You think so? You really think she’d have given you her number?”

“Yeah.” He opens his menu.

“Maybe she’d have given you a number. But not hers.” I scan the menu before closing it and deciding on a burger.

We order beers and our dinner, James trying to catch the server’s eye, but she’s having none of it. Just to fuck with him, I consider flirting with her, because I’m pretty sure she’d respond to me. But I’m not a dick.

“So how long you planning to stay anyway?” James takes a huge gulp of his beer, then sets the pint glass down on the cardboard coaster.

“Not sure. There wasn’t really an end-date figured out. My uncle just said he needed to borrow me until he could build up the force. We’ve got two new recruits starting next week, so I’ll have to meet with him and see how much longer you guys need me here.”

“And your job back in Chicago is still waiting?”

“Yeah. They love me there.” I know I sound cocky, but it’s true. My uncle is my actual family, but my precinct back in Chicago feels like family too. It’s where my dad and uncle started out, and I’ve known some of the guys my entire life. Still, the thought of going back there, of how different the station felt without my dad around, of seeing my mom, hurts my heart. I want to change the fucking subject.

“We’ll miss you. It’s been nice having you around.”

I sip the beer, cold and crisp, and nod. “Yeah. It’s not as bad here as I thought at first.” I wink at James. “I mean, the town’s shitty. But the people are nice.”

“And you don’t mind getting stuck with the crap job teaching that stupid drug class?” James loves teasing me about that. “Speaking of which…” His voice trails off and he stares at something behind me.

“What?” But my heart, stupid fucking thing, has already kicked up a notch, as if I know exactly what he’s going to say next.

“Isn’t that the Cannon girl? From the class?”

Fuck. Me. I turn around and there she is, glammed up like the first night I met her. Fucked her. Her long black hair is straight and shimmery, hanging in two long sheets on either side of her face. Her lips are dark red, her skin pale, her eyes outlined in dark black that gives her a half sexy and half haunted look. She’s got on a low-cut black v-neck shirt, tight jeans, and those same fucking tall black boots. Christ. It’s hot as hell, but I also know it’s the look she has when she’s desperate. Scared. Looking for a way to forget.

“Her date looks like a douche,” says James.

But I’ve already noticed that. He’s a pretty college kid, wearing a goddamn polo shirt with khakis. He looks friendly and nice but I know what he’s after. Probably going back to school after spring break, so he doesn’t want a relationship. He wants Melanie, for one night, or maybe a few. And it fucking kills me to think about that.

“You OK, man?” James eyes me carefully.

“Yeah.” I chug my beer, practically finishing it in one swallow. I try not to watch as the host walks Melanie and that little asshole down another aisle—at least they don’t walk right past us—and seats them in a booth near the window. Right the fuck in my line of sight.

When the waitress comes with our food, I’ve lost my appetite, but I order another beer right away. James is so into his food that he doesn’t notice I’m barely eating. I hate that I’m so messed up about seeing her here with someone else. But every cell in my body wants to go over there, pull him up by his shirt so he’s standing, and punch his stupid fucking face.

I mean, it’s not like I’m the right guy for her. But that fucker isn’t either.

“You gonna eat those?” James points at my fries, and when I shake my head, he grabs some and stuffs them in his mouth.

I push my plate closer to him and watch as Melanie gets up, leans down to say something to the dude she’s with, and heads down the aisle. She must be going to the bathroom. And, against my better judgment, I get up too.

“Be back,” I say.

“Yup.” James keeps eating.

I walk past tables filled with cheerful people, families and kids, until I get to the small hallway where the restrooms are. Melanie’s already disappeared into the women’s room, so I stand against the wall and wait for her to come out.

I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. No idea what I’m doing. And when she finally does emerge from the bathroom, looking startled to see me, I still don’t know.

“Hi.” She pushes the hair on the right side of her face behind her ear, and her hazel eyes open wide. For a second she smiles, but then her brow wrinkles. “What are you doing here? You didn’t follow me, did you?” A slight tinge of anger coats her words.

“No. I didn’t follow you. I’m here having dinner with a buddy from the station.”

“Okaaaay.” She draws out the word. “Cause this feels really stalkerish. Bells Park is small, so running into each other there makes sense. But here?”

“Stalkerish? You’re the one who broke into my apartment.”

“It was unlocked. I didn’t have to break in.”

“It was still trespassing.” I don’t know why I’m arguing about this with her, but I can’t leave. I’m frozen, locked in place by her eyes, so deep and sexy and tender and vulnerable all at once.

“Is there a line for the bathroom?” She points to the men’s room.

“No. I just, uh…” My voice trails off. Unsure what to say, I run my hand through my hair, then rub the back of my neck.

“You what?”

“Melanie, look. I happened to be eating here when you walked in with your… date. And I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

I feel fucking stupid. I don’t have anything specific to say. So I go with the thing currently on my mind, even if it makes me sound like a jealous asshole. “Who’s the guy?”

She shrugs. “None of your business.”

“You’re too good for him.”

She shakes her head and purses her lips. “He goes to Notre Dame, for your information. He’s not some stupid loser. So no, I wouldn’t say I’m too good for him. Maybe the other way around.”

I grab her shoulder, not hard, but I need to get her attention. “No. You’re wrong. You have no idea what you’re worth, Melanie. No idea how fucking spectacular you are.”

“Spectacular?” She lifts my hand off her shoulder, letting it drop down to my side. “If I’m so fucking spectacular, then why do you run all freaking hot and cold with me? One minute we’re, you know, and the next you won’t even look at me. There’s nothing spectacular about that.”

“Jesus,” I hiss. “It’s because of the situation. Because you’re barely legal. And you’re still in high school, for god’s sake. And I’m the teacher of a class you’re taking so you don’t get a criminal record. There’s so much wrong about it. About us. But I still hate seeing you with some asshole who only wants one thing.”

“And why are you so sure he only wants one thing?” Her words are angry.

I know I’ve said something wrong, but I’m not exactly sure what. “Because that’s what all guys want.” It’s the only answer I can come up with.

“Or is it because you know I’m a loser. I’m a druggie. I’m a pathetic girl who lost her scholarship and isn’t going anywhere. Ever. So of course he’d only be interested in having sex with me. I’m not, I don’t know, polished and perfect.”

“Polished and perfect is overrated. You’re just… rough around the edges. But inside you’re pretty fucking amazing, Melanie.” My words sound urgent.

 “You really think that.” Her voice is mocking, defiant, but I hear a thin reed of hope.

“I know that.” My tone is rough, but my hands on her shoulders are soft. I lower my voice. “And don’t you fucking forget it, for one single second, okay?”

She looks at me for a long time, and her eyes well up. I think she’s about to speak, when two women come out of the ladies’ room, brushing past us and leaving a cloud of their too-strong perfume.

“I have to leave,” she says, but her voice is soft. She touches my arm once, and then she’s gone.

“God fucking dammit,” I whisper. Then I take a deep breath and head back to my table, where James has finished my dinner.

~~~~

After dropping James off, I drive aimlessly through Bells Park. It’s even more dead after dark than during the day, and sadness settles over me. I hate this fucking town. I end up parked across the street and down a few houses from Melanie’s, behind an overflowing dumpster, the kind that are supposed to sit somewhere for the duration of a project and then get removed, but this one looks like a permanent fixture.

The houses on the block are all small, with tiny front yards that are really just patches of mud, and front porches that are so old and rickety a single chair would fall right through. On some, splintered banisters hang like broken limbs. You can’t see it at night, but the sidewalk buckles and splits, and I imagine that during the summer weeds fill in the cracks and grow tall and proud in neglect.

I don’t know what I’m doing here. I tell myself I just want to make sure Melanie’s all right, but I can’t help feeling like a fucking dirty stalker, sitting outside her house and waiting for her to get back from a date. With a useless little shit.

I hit the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. Fucker, I mutter.

Headlights appear in my rearview window as a car slows down and stops in front of Melanie’s house. It sits there for a few minutes, and I’m glad I can’t see what the people are doing, because if it’s Melanie and that kid making out, I’m not sure I could sit here without dragging him out of the driver’s seat.

And I’m not a violent person. So feeling like this is disconcerting. But I can’t fucking help the surge of anger—and jealousy—that fills my chest when I think about it.

Finally I see the passenger side door open, and Melanie gets out. She turns and waves to the car, but it’s already pulling away, rushing past me with a screech and leaving her standing there all alone. He didn’t even wait to make sure she got inside safely.

She starts for the front stairs, but then she freezes. When she moves again, it’s back onto the sidewalk where she begins to walk toward town.

Where the fuck is she going? A glance at the dashboard clock lets me know it’s eleven p.m., way too late for her to be up to anything safe. Nothing happens in Bells Park this late, except trouble.

She’s not wearing a jacket—why does this girl never fucking dress warm enough?—and she looks cold as she hurries down the street. I tail her in my car, staying far enough behind so she doesn’t know she’s being followed. I have to be careful because she’s smart, though walking around at late in this crappy neighborhood is pretty fucking stupid. From time to time she darts her eyes around, checking the empty sidewalks, and inserts her hand into her pocket, and I’m pretty sure she’s got a fucking knife. I chuckle to myself, even as I shake my head. Jesus.

On Main Street she slows down, like she’s lost some steam or is having second thoughts. And then she turns the corner, walks halfway down the block, and stops. In front of the three-flat where I live, the sole renter in the building.

Holy shit. My heart beats like a fucking teenager’s at the realization that she’s here to see me.

She puts her hand up to knock, then stops herself. She backs up against the door and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, struggling with her lighter in the wind for a few moments before getting one lit. In the wan light from the moon and the few streetlights that aren’t burnt out, her milky breasts rise just above the v of her black shirt. She bends one knee, still leaning against the door and placing the sole of her boot against it too. She could be a model. Or a movie star. Instead she’s this poor kid in a crappy town.

I get out of my car. “Melanie.”

She startles at my voice. “Oh. What are you doing here?” Her eyes are big, her face surprised.

“I live here.”

“Yeah, of course. Right.” She laughs and takes another drag from the cigarette.

“What are you doing here?” I walk toward her so I’m standing in front of her. Close but not touching.

She turns her head and blows out smoke. “I wanted to see you.” She rubs the lit end of the cigarette against the brick wall next to the doorway.

“Yeah?” I want to kiss her. I want to taste her, smoky breath and all. But I hold back.

“Yeah.” Most of her lipstick rubbed off on the cigarette, or maybe just wore off over the course of the night since I saw her at Baker’s Square. But her lips are still so perfect.

“What happened to your date?”

She shrugs. “He dropped me off.”

“And didn’t even wait to make sure you got inside.” I realize too late I’ve given myself away, but I don’t really care.

“How do you know that? Were you following me?” She frowns, but her eyes light up, like this makes her happy, or maybe relieved.

“This time, I was. I didn’t like that kid. He’s an asshole.”

“Geez.” She rolls her eyes. “You just can’t stop, can you?”

“I can’t, Melanie. I know I should, but I can’t.” I reach out and touch her bottom lip, tracing it softly with my finger. “And besides, if you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Her lips open slightly, not as if she’s about to say something but as if she wants me to kiss her.

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask.

“Yes.”

~~~~

Her mouth tastes like cigarettes and cinnamon—I wonder if she had pie for dessert. For days I’ve wanted to run my hands through her long black hair, and now I can. I do, the softness almost unbearably erotic between my fingers. My body struggles between rushing this—it’s practically impossible to hold back—and taking my time, because I want every single second to last an eternity. I want to be here forever with Melanie, touching her, kissing her, making her understand how fucking beautiful she really is.

For a long time we just kiss, and holding back makes me lightheaded. The living room is dark, and from the kitchen the refrigerator hums. A car drives past outside, its engine getting louder as it approaches, then quieter and quieter until it’s gone once more.

When I can no longer stand it, can no longer stop my hands, I run my fingers up her side, from the top of her jeans to the bottom of her right breast. I touch the sleek fabric of her shirt, imagining how this same move would feel on her bare skin and knowing I’ll find out in just a few minutes.

Her nipple is hard—I can feel it even through her shirt and bra—and the way she moans slightly into my lips makes my cock throb.

“Jesus, Melanie,” I whisper as my hand travels up under her shirt, the lace of her bra rough against my fingers. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

“Jake.” My name is just a whisper on her lips, and she doesn’t say anything else. Yet it’s one of the most erotic things I’ve ever heard.

Her fingers flit against my stomach, lightly through my shirt, and I breathe in hard. It’s such a simple touch, but the way it makes me feel is anything but simple. I knew she turned me on. I knew that from the first second I saw her.

But what I didn’t expect was to feel so much emotion too. I don’t know how to deal with that, and now isn’t the time to think about it, especially as her hand moves under my shirt, exploring my stomach and my chest.

When her fingers run along the waistband of my jeans, I grab her shirt by the bottom hem and pull it up. Her arms lift so I can get it all the way off, and I do, dropping it on the floor next to us.

Like an inexperienced kid I fumble with her bra clasp for a few seconds before it finally gives away. She slips her arms out and it, too, ends up on the floor.

I stare into her eyes as I reach out, touching one nipple with my thumb, rubbing it and watching her eyes widen, her lips open slightly. I like knowing I can take her breath away. I like knowing I can make her feel so much, feel everything.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” My voice is low, raspy.

She nods. “Yes. I want this. You. I want you, Jake.” She moves up against me, writhing slightly, and again we kiss, desperate and hungry.

I pull my shirt off, then put my arms around her, urging her closer, so I can feel her skin against mine.

“You know this is wrong, don’t you?” I ask. I’m not sure why I need to say this, need to make sure she knows what she’s signing up for.

“It’s not wrong. It’s what we both want. How can that be wrong?”

How the fuck indeed.

Her hand is small as she grasps mine, pulling me toward the bedroom. There’s no mistaking her desire.

“I want to take these off,” she whispers as we stand next to the bed, running her hand along my crotch. Her hands move to my belt, and it seems to take her forever to undo the buckle and unzip my jeans. She kisses my neck, then my chest, then my stomach, and before I know it she’s kneeling in front of me, pushing my jeans and underwear down.

My cock is rock fucking hard when she releases it. I stare down at her on her knees in front of me, grasping me in her hand. When her head moves forward and her tongue darts out, licking the tip, I groan.

“Jesus, Melanie.”

Her tongue swirls around the tip, and then she licks my balls, sucking at them gently before running her tongue all the way back up to the head once more.

“Take me to bed,” she says, standing up in front of me.

She doesn’t need to ask twice, but first I kiss her wildly, unable to get enough as I undo the button and zipper of her jeans. I peel them off her skin as quickly as I can, and it’s only more difficult because they’re tight, hugging her body. She wriggles her hips as I tug the jeans down and off, kneeling in front of her as she steps out of them. Her underwear comes down next, the silky fabric damp where it was nestled between her legs.

Still on the floor in front of her, I kiss her stomach, caressing her ass and feeling intoxicated from her smell.