Punk and Zen (23 page)

I meant it, every word of it, but far from upsetting
him, my words had seemed to excite him more, and he visibly shuddered. Good. If
I had to watch, then he had to witness.

“Shh, Van,” Simone warned, and she swayed a bit
against the constant play of my fingers, her knees giving momentarily before
she righted herself.

“Good,” I’d smiled sweetly, “we have an
understanding.” I took a moment’s pity on him. “Here,” I told him, grabbing one
of his hands that had clutched the bench, “hold this.” I took his hand and put
it on Simone’s skirt, lifting it to her waist. He got the idea and did the same
with his other free hand. She was naked from the waist down, and I was right—she
was shaved, except for a small tuft at the top.

Simone caught my eye and I watched her, still teasing,
until we both looked down to see what my fingers had found—a small barbell
above the base of her clit. I couldn’t let that go.

“What do we have here,” I commented as I knelt between
her legs. Her shorn pussy looked vulnerable, even more so with the metal
running through it. I glanced up to see Van’s fingers had gone almost white
with the strength of his hold and control.

I flicked the barbell with my tongue and Simone moaned
heartily, tossing her head back onto Van’s shoulder. He leaned back for better
ABC balance and pulled her with him. His hard cock now pressed up
between her ass cheeks.

I trailed my tongue along her length a few times, from
her opening to her clit. She tasted like pineapple, I thought, as I slid my
tongue inside her. Her hips jumped, and I could swear I could hear her mutter
“Oh yeah,” as she fucked my face.

I gently pressed against Van’s balls, rubbing lightly
with my thumb along the denim as it got damp from Simone’s pussy. Then I placed
the very edges of two fingers against her opening, slick with invitation, and
played my tongue rapidly against her clit.

Two things went through my head, not necessarily at
the same time: I could have done anything I wanted, anything, to Van. He had
given me complete control, and I liked that a lot, too much. The other was God,
but she was ready, more than ready, and as I teased a third finger there, I
stood and replaced my tongue with my thumb.

Van had burrowed his face into her neck, and with the
same hand that had gently stroked his balls, I took his cheek in my palm and
pushed his head firmly back against the wall as I leaned in to replace him.
Pressing my thumb firmly on Simone’s beautifully hard clit, I slid my fingers
ever so slightly inside her. Her cunt was hot.

Simone rubbed her cheek against my neck, then blindly
lifted her lips to mine. I kissed her fully, deeply, and let her savor the
taste of her wanting cunt in my mouth.

Raising my lips to her ear, I raked it lightly with my
teeth. “Are you ready?” I whispered.

“God…yes,” she groaned, her hips moving in synch with
my thumb.

“Are you sure?” I teased mildly, but sincerely. She
could have backed out if she’d wanted, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

“Yes,” she hissed at me, breathless, and I slowly
thrust all three fingers into her waiting hole, then just as slowly eased out
again, letting her pussy adjust, feeling the length of it.

“Oh…” she sighed as I pushed slowly within her, a
smooth back and forth. Two fingers would have been okay, but three meant she
was tight around me—and I wanted her to really enjoy this, and I wanted Van to
know just how much. I could feel him grit his teeth under my hand, and his body
gave a slight jerk, which shoved her pussy firmly on my fingers.

I finally released Van’s head and buried my fingers in
her hair, drawing her face again to mine to kiss her once more before I fucked
her earnestly, her cunt sucking on my fingers as I moved inside her, her hips
adding to the motion. She tucked her face into my neck again, and I held her
firmly as her pussy drew me into her again and again.

Finally, she tensed and bit my shoulder as she came, a
soft sound ABC issuing from her throat. I let her relax against me as I
carefully withdrew, then stroked her head where she rested it on my shoulder.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay,” I whispered into her ear,
and she sighed.

I finally looked at Van. His head lay against the
wall, his eyes closed. His face seemed soft and vulnerable, and I noticed a
dark stain on his lips. I realized he must have bitten them until they’d bled
to keep quiet.

Fuck the points. I’d sunk his battleship and burned
his board.

“Good boy.” I smiled at him, but I didn’t mean it. Why
did he do that? Why give anyone so much power over you? Nothing could possibly
be worth that, could it? And I’d enjoyed it, all of it, not only my own
violence, but most especially Van’s complete submission, which frankly left me
pretty disgusted with myself. I’d felt like the biggest piece of shit.

“I’m not worried about points,” I told Jen, because I
meant it. I’d done enough of that, had enough of that. It was probably up there
on the list of stupidest things I’ve done. Jen’s eyebrows fused—dammit—as she
focused on me. “I’m not worried about being alone either.” I smiled at her,
picked up my drink, and stood.

“There’s someone for me, or there’s not. Either way,”
I saluted her with my glass, “I like my own company.” I finished my drink with
a little flourish and put the glass back down on the bar. Jen got up too, and
we walked over to the locked door where a woman knocked. Probably here to meet
someone, I thought, or a very last-minute drink.

“Besides, between work and the band, I’ve got a lot on
my plate,” I added. “I don’t have time to get involved in that romantic crap.”

“Kid, you’re wrong,” Jen stated flatly as she put her
hand on the lock. “All that one-person shit is just that—shit. You’re gonna
waste your looks, you’re gonna waste your energy, and you’re gonna waste
time—time that could be spent having fun—and then, you’ll get screwed over. Ya
gotta make hay while the sun shines and all that,” she warned.

“C’mon, Jen,” I smiled as her hand twisted on the key,
“you’ve gotta have a little faith.”

I stepped in front of her before she opened the door.
That was our custom. I’d greet and speak, and if I needed backup, Jen was a
breath behind me. The door swung open, and I began to say the usual.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” I recited, not really looking
at the woman who stood before me.

“Nina? Nina Boyd?” she asked, and now I
looked—closely.

“Fran? Francesca DiTomassa?” I asked as I recognized
an old friend from ABC high school. The honey blond curls spilling over
her coat past her shoulders and almond-shaped brown eyes were enough to tell
me, but if they weren’t, there was her picture-perfect smile, just as I
remembered it. “Oh my God!” And ignoring the glare I was sure was aimed at my
back, I let her in.

“God, Fran, it’s been ages!” I exclaimed as we
embraced.

“Nina, I knew it! I just knew it!”

She leaned back to scrutinize me and cupped my face in
her hands, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’m really looking at you.”
Fran’s warm brown eyes twinkled. “I knew in my heart it wasn’t true!” She gave
my cheek a solid smooch for good measure, and I heartily hugged her back.

“What wasn’t true?” I asked, puzzled. That was a
pretty strange way to say hello, wasn’t it?

She shook her head, unable to answer while she played
with my hair and patted my shoulder as if checking to make sure I was solid.

“Friend of yours?” Jen asked dryly as she locked the
door behind us.

“Oh yeah,” I enthused. “Hey, Jen, this is
Francesca…Fran,” I introduced, then corrected at the raised eyebrow she gave
me. “Fran? Jen.”

They shook hands as they repeated the polite social
formulas.

“Like a drink?” I asked, walking behind the bar. I
ignored the glare coming from Jen. I was allowed buy-backs and hadn’t used a
single one since I’d started working there. The one whatever it was Fran wanted
certainly wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Sure,” she agreed, settling into a stool in front of
me, “that’s what I was stopping in for. Guinness, if you’ve got it.”

Jen checked the door again and came over to the bar,
grabbing a seat close to Fran.

“Guinness from the gun,” I agreed, and got a mug.
“Want one?” I asked Jen as she settled in.

“Yeah, why not?” she answered with a tired smile. Huh.
She could smile. Well and good, then. I grabbed two frosted mugs from the
stainless-steel freezer, then opened the tap. As the beer flowed, I watched to
make sure it came out right, because there’s nothing better than a good head—if
you’re into that sort of thing.

“Here,” I presented the beer with a napkin to each of
them, “enjoy.” Fran smiled at me and hefted the frosted glass, and Jen wrapped
her hands around hers. Satisfied that they were well served, I drew myself one,
too. What the hell. It was only one beer, and it was Guinness, after all.

“To your health,” Fran toasted and smiled, then took a
hearty swig.

“Yeah, your health,” Jen agreed with a twist to her
lips that I assumed was a grin.

“Thanks,” I returned, with a sip of my own. Grace came
ambling out of the back room as I put my mug down. She had three nicely thick
envelopes—seemed like we’d had a good night. The tips bulging in my back pocket
agreed.

Mutely, I held up a mug and offered her a beer, and
she grinned and nodded. She sat on the other side of Jen, and as she passed us
our envelopes, I handed her the beer. I didn’t even look in mine, just tucked
it into my waistband.

Now that everyone was settled and watered, so to
speak, I figured I could have a conversation with my old friend.

“I just can’t believe it, this is totally fucking
unreal,” Fran said, leaning her head against her hand to stare at me.

For whatever reason, I was starting to get a little
anxious.

To avoid more of that uncertain feeling, I lifted my
glass and took a hearty swallow. Eesh. I’d forgotten how bitter it was.

Fran took a sip and put her mug down, then reached
across the bar for my hand. I would have moved it away, but her expression, a
combination of wonder and sorrow, stopped me as she traced her fingertips over
my knuckles and veins with a touch so light, I would hardly have known she was
there if I hadn’t been looking. I definitely felt the tear that hit my skin,
though.

“Fran…what’s the matter?”

It’s funny, isn’t it, how sometimes between people the
years and the distance don’t matter; once you reconnect, it’s as if you’d never
parted? That’s how I felt seeing her, well, after the initial shock had worn
off. I was back to swimming pools and driving lessons, pre-meet pasta dinners
and post-race bullshit, shared lockers, shared clothes, shared friends.
Samantha. That made me stop cold—maybe something had happened to her, maybe
something terrible.

I rubbed Fran’s hand.

“Kitt, what’s wrong?” I asked gently, using her old
nickname. “Can I do something?”

Fran exhaled and squeezed my hand, lifting her filled
eyes to mine.

“You’re not going to believe this.” She tried to smile
and gave a little laugh through her tears.

I needed to get around to the other side of the bar; I
had to sit next to her. I glanced over at Grace and Jen.

Grace gave Fran a sympathetic glance, then reached
over the bar and grabbed a tissue, placing it next to our conjoined hands
before she excused herself.

Fran took the tissue, and although she remained
silent, she buried her face in her hand, and her shoulders shook as she began
to cry in earnest.

I stole a glance at Jen, who looked back at me with
alarm in her eyes, and I mutely asked her with a lift of my chin if I could
have a private moment.

Jen instantly understood and nodded in agreement as
she hastily got up. I guess she’d felt awkward about just leaving someone to
sit at the bar and cry.

I bent my head closer to Fran’s. “Hey, give me a sec,
okay?” I said softly. “I’m just coming around.”

She squeezed my hand, then let go. “’S all right, I’m
okay,” she sniffed, and grinned at me.

“Okay,” I agreed with a small smile of my own to make
her feel better, but I moved quickly so she wouldn’t feel alone.

Once there, I took one of her hands, and as she
swiveled to face me, I gently cupped her shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Fran?” I repeated, searching her
overfull, shiny eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She increased the pressure on my hand and tentatively
reached for my face. I let her fingers touch me, and she lightly rubbed her
thumb along my cheek.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered, an
awestruck look on her face.

Did she just say what I thought she’d said? I sat up
straight and gave her shoulder another reassuring rub. I could feel my eyebrows
doing a great imitation of Jen’s. “Did you say…?” I trailed off as she nodded.

I leaned back in my seat, shocked. “What…how?”

Fran took my hand back in both of hers and leaned in
so closely that I could count the tears in her lashes.