Against the Wall (24 page)

She shudders visibly. “Good thing you were there.”

I'm on the fence about it. I feel sort of responsible for her accident, but maybe I averted something worse.

“So what's new with Eric?”

“We hooked up again.”

“Details,” she demands.

I tell her all about the mural and our tawdry outdoor encounter, sans protection.

“Why didn't you stop him?”

“I don't know. I didn't want him to stop.”

“Was it better that way? Like, dirtier?”

I stretch out on my back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe. It was really fast, and hot.”

Kelsea groans at this description. Then I give her the scoop on the morning-after pill and the morning-after rumble. She listens with interest. “I can't believe your brother went off on him. Were they shirtless?”

I roll my eyes at her question. “No.”

“Where's Eric going to live?”

“I'm not sure.”

“You have to find him before he does something crazy.”

“You think he will?”

“What does he have to lose?”

Disturbed by the thought, I scoot off the bed and study my reflection in the wall mirror. I'm wearing a short flower-print dress with a belt and sandals. There are circles under my eyes and I look washed out, so I dab on some of Kelsea's lip color.

“I'll come over tomorrow and help you shower,” I say.

“Okay, lesbian. Just don't fall in love.”

“Do you want me to pick up some stuff from your dorm?”

“I guess. I can't imagine going back there.”

“You don't have to go back.”

She sighs, touching the staples on her head. There's a little strip of bare skin where they shaved away the hair. “I won't feel safe on campus until he's caught.”

I fall silent, anxious for her. Noah already told me that the first forty-eight hours are crucial. After that timeframe, the likelihood of an arrest reduces drastically. The surveillance cameras didn't catch the vandalism or Kelsea's fall. There's some footage of a man in a hooded sweatshirt walking away from the scene, but no witnesses, other than me.

Police consider the case a low priority because the vandal didn't destroy any property this time. He didn't even touch Kelsea. His identity could remain a mystery forever.

“Be careful,” she says.

“With Eric, you mean?”

“With everything.”

After I leave Club Suave, I walk three blocks to the sporting goods store.

There's a vendor on the way serving street tacos
al pastor
. My stomach growls and I sit down for a plate. This type of taco isn't easy to find north of the border. The pork is cooked on a stand-up rotisserie and carved off in thin slices. It's served on corn tortillas with onion, cilantro, salsa, and grilled pineapple.

I wolf down three in about three minutes. Then I order three more.

When I've had my fill, I continue to the sporting goods store. I realize that I'm going to have to be a lot more conservative about spending my money. After careful deliberation, I select a basic red sleeping bag and a flashlight that looks like a lantern. I also check out the camp stoves and cooking supplies. There are packages of freeze-dried meals that require boiling water. If I can't get the electricity going in the trailer, I'll have another option.

The bikes are too expensive for my shoestring budget. I might be able to find a decent ten-speed at a thrift shop. Although my car is almost finished, I can't drive her without attracting attention. Word will get out to Omar and he'll come to collect. It's a catch-22. I've spent weeks on the repairs. I can't wait to hear the engine purr again. But why bother with the final touches, just to hand her over?

By the time I reach the junkyard, it's almost dark. Scrappy's gone. There's a note stuck to the front gate:

I crush the paper into a ball and shove it in my pocket. I have a brief, Christine-inspired fantasy about my Chevelle running down a group of Eastside members on the street.
Barrio
Christine
. Then I take out the keys and unlock the gate, my pulse pounding. Fuck Omar and his bullshit summons. I'll be there, but I won't give him my car. I've thought of a backup plan—and I doubt he'll like it.

Too fucking bad.

I'm about to relock the gate when Meghan's compact car rounds the corner. My heart leaps at the sight, pumping hard in my chest. She pulls up to the entrance and lets the engine idle. I know I should send her away. Until I take care of this issue with Omar, everyone around me is in danger. But I don't want to send her away. I can't bring myself to reject her again. I need her.

If that makes me weak…fuck it. I'm weak.

I wave her through and secure the gate behind her. Then I get in the passenger seat. “How's April?”

“She's fine.”

I clear my throat, uncomfortable. “And the baby?”

“The baby is surrounded by amniotic fluid and completely unaffected by a minor fall. April rested for ten minutes and got up.”

I'm relieved by this common sense explanation, but still ashamed of my behavior. I wasn't thinking this morning when I decided to throw down with her brother. I wasn't thinking when I ravaged Meghan like a beast on the hood of her car, either. I have to do a better job of staying in control.

“How's your face?”

I touch my eyebrow, which still feels tender. Then I drop my hand, shrugging.

“Are you going camping?”

“Sort of.”

“Where at?”

I point her toward the trailer I claimed. She parks next to it and we get out. She's wearing a dark blue dress that looks sort of quirky and old-fashioned, if not for the abbreviated length. My eyes travel up her long, smooth legs as she climbs into the trailer. I fumble with my flashlight and follow her inside. At least it's clean.

“Is this your new place?”

“For now.”

“Where will you sleep?”

I gesture to the sleeping nook in the back. Then I give her the flashlight and drag in the mattress, which is still a bit damp. I shove it into place on the wooden platform and open up my sleeping bag, laying it nylon-side down. The other side is a cozy flannel plaid. I don't have any pillows, but I don't mind. I'm used to going without.

“I talked to Noah.”

I lean against the counter, uneasy. I care what Noah thinks of me. I care because he's her brother and April's husband.

He's…family.

“What did he say?”

“Just that he knows you're in trouble, and he's worried I'll get hurt.”

I look away, feeling sucker-punched.

“I told him about Chip, too.”

“You did?”

She nods. “He was upset, but I'm glad we talked about it.”

I study her face again, struck by a wave of intense longing. Not just for her, but for the bond she has with her brother. I miss my brother and my dad. Even though they were both losers, I loved them.

“Kelsea got released from the hospital this morning.”

“How is she?”

“Much better. She's not the best patient, though. She doesn't like resting.”

I picture her jumping up and down at Fine Ink, squealing over my posters. Then I remember her lively hands on me when I was dancing with Meghan. The memory makes me feel guilty and excited at the same time.

There's something wrong with me, some hitch in my wiring. I can go straight and stay clean, but I can't be soft. I can't be normal. I can't stop getting turned on by risk and danger. I like being bad, especially in bed.

Why else would I fuck Meghan in a semi-public place, without a condom? Why would I enjoy dominating her and wrestling with her and holding her down? I want all of that again. I want her mouth on my cock and my fist in her hair. I want to do a lot of dirty things to her.

In some corner of my mind, I'm aware that being aggressive with her isn't just a natural instinct. It's a defense mechanism. If I'm tough and hard…well, I like that, and so does she. But maybe I'm afraid to be tender. I'm afraid to open up to her and show her how I feel. I can't tell her the truth—that I love her, and I always have.

The only thing I can do is fuck her.

“Did you see Matthew?” I ask, trying to refocus.

“Yes.”

“Do you think he'll fire me?”

“For fighting? I didn't tell him.”

He'll know when I show my face at work tomorrow. Then I'll have to cut out early to meet Omar. I can't tell Matthew why I have to leave or where I'm going. Chances are good I won't have a job at Fine Ink when the dust settles.

“Noah's sorry he hit you.”

“Right,” I scoff, fingering the bandage on my eyebrow again. He's sorry he didn't knock my ass out.

“April was upset, and you know he'll do anything for her.”

I can't argue that. I admire him for it, actually. Back in the day I used to make fun of guys who got hung up on their girlfriends. I thought they were suckers, handing over their balls. Now I realize that I was the stupid one. There's nothing unmanly about wanting to keep your woman happy. It's a strength, not a weakness.

I wish I could have that kind of relationship with Meghan. I'd stare at her in public and not give a damn if I looked whipped. I'd make sure she was well satisfied and well protected. I'd never disrespect her in front of my friends.

And I wouldn't hide the fact that I'm crazy in love with her.

She closes the distance between us, twining her arms around my neck. I like the way she fits against me. I can't imagine why she wants to be here, but it feels good. It feels right. “There's a bright side to you getting kicked out,” she says.

“What's that?”

“We don't have to sneak around anymore.”

I dip my head to nuzzle her ear, murmuring my agreement. She smells nice, like apple-scented shampoo.

“What are you going to do about your car?”

Damn. I thought we were done talking. I slide my hands underneath her skirt in an attempt to distract her. She's wearing regular cotton panties. Good-girl panties. I inhale a sharp breath, struck by a fantasy I didn't know I had.

“Is it finished?” she says, bracing her palms on my chest.

“Almost.”

“Can I see it?”

“Why, do you want me to fuck you on it?”

Her eyes flash with hurt. “Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Act so hard.”

I capture one of her hands and bring it to my fly. My flesh leaps at her touch, throbbing with heat and life. “I thought you liked me hard.”

She doesn't pull away or gasp in outrage. She just nibbles on her lower lip and molds her fingers around me. “I like that. I won't pretend I don't.” Her other hand flattens over my heart. “But this is what I love.”

Damn her.

Now she's playing dirty. I feel utterly defenseless, assaulted by emotions. And I'm still aroused, despite my trepidation. I'm pretty sure I can shut her up with a good fuck, maybe even a light spanking. My blood roars at the thought of pulling down her sweet little panties and punishing her a little. For challenging me. For seeing through my bullshit. For driving me crazy.

But instead of tossing her on the bed, I gather my self-control and move her hands away. She thinks she's in love with me. I
know
I'm in love with her. Before I touch her again, I have to be honest about what she's getting into.

“I can't change who I am,” I say.

“I'm not asking you to.”

“You've always seen someone better. Someone special. That's the person you expect me to be.”

She smooths the bandage on my brow, her face troubled. “I see you, Eric. Just you.”

I put distance between us, frustrated by my inability to explain. She doesn't get it, because she hasn't walked in my shoes. She hasn't sold drugs to kids or lived in a prison cell. No one's ever put a gun to her head. “You don't see the worst in me. You see the artist, not the criminal.”

“Isn't that who you want to be?”

“Yes, but it's not a matter of choice. They're both me. One doesn't exist without the other.”

Her lips twist with emotion. “You can choose not to live in the past.”

“I have a felony record. If you think that's never going to be an issue in the future, you're kidding yourself.”

“I can't be optimistic?”

“Just be realistic. I know what I can give you and what I can't. If you're looking for a hot time in bed, okay. If you're looking for a steady boyfriend you can take home to Grover's Corners—”

“Cedar Glen,” she corrects.

“Whatever. I'm not that guy. I can't offer you stability or security or anything else. I'm never going to be someone your family approves of.”

“April and Jenny are my family, and they approve of you.”

“They're biased.”

“You're making excuses.”

“I'm telling it like it is!”

“Actually, you're avoiding the fucking question. What are you going to do with the car? Can you sell it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I rub a hand over my mouth, deliberating. “I have another plan.”

She makes an impatient gesture. “Which is?”

“I can't give you the details.”

“Because it's illegal? Dangerous? Stupid?”

I shrug, noncommittal.

“Ugh,” she says, her fists clenched. “You're so aggravating! We could just go to my brother and ask him for help.”

That's the last thing I want to do. I'd rather give up my Chevelle without a compromise than involve the cops. The number one rule on the street is to keep your mouth shut. Number two is to handle your own problems. “I have to do it my way.”

“Does that mean violence?”

“No,” I say honestly. “I don't want to fight anyone ever again. If I can't make a deal, I'll walk away.”

I'll
try
to walk away.

“What about us?” she asks.

I'm afraid to jinx myself by getting my hopes up and imagining us together. She said she loved me three years ago, right before I went to prison and broke her heart. The noble thing to do now would be to set my feelings aside and leave her alone.

But I won't do that, because I'm not noble. I'm nowhere near as good as she thinks I am. I can't let her go without taking her again. I might not allow myself to accept her love, but everything else is mine. Her body is mine. Her mouth is mine. Everything I can touch, every part of her I can claim, every inch of her skin…mine.

“I told you what I could give you.”

“That's not enough.”

“No?”

“You say you have two sides, so show me both. I want all of you. Even if it's just for tonight.”

Her request is confusing and arousing. I don't know how to be an artist in bed. Although I'm not sure I can deliver, I can't bring myself to turn her down, either. The thought of fucking her both ways appeals to me. Fast and rough, then slow and tender. Or maybe the reverse. Whatever. As long as I make her come, she won't complain.

I lift my hand to her face, rubbing my thumb over her lips. She parts them sweetly, her eyes half-lidded. I smother a groan as she closes her mouth around me. I slide my thumb in and out, imagining it's my cock. Then I remove it and trace the wet seam of her lips. When she moans, I bury my hand in her hair and follow the same path with my tongue, giving her a shallow, open-mouthed kiss. I want to eat her pussy this way, in teasing tastes.

“Take off your panties,” I say, biting her lip.

Her gaze darkens at my order. But she reaches underneath her skirt to remove her demure white panties. Then I take her mouth again, cupping her naked ass. She kisses me back eagerly, on board with whatever I want to do to her.

Jesus.

The urge to unbutton my pants and rail her against the countertop is almost overwhelming, but I know I'll come in two minutes, like last time. The feel of her slick heat around my bare cock undid me.

I have to slow down. Get her off first.

Breaking the kiss, I inch her dress up her thighs and pull it over her head. Then I fumble with her bra, which is black lace and doesn't match those schoolgirl panties at all. I like that. The delicious mix of innocence and experience.