Still Surviving (11 page)

“Shit, he’s late as per usual. You guys want a drink while you wait?” She pulled her hair behind her ear with delicate grace as she let her gaze drop to the bar top. She smirked and bit her lip.

“Drinking before a job interview doesn’t sound like a smart plan to me.” I tried to infuse as much professionalism in my voice as possible, but the sarcasm won in the end… it always did. She glanced at me from under her lashes. My smile formed on its own, and I cursed silently in my head.

“Suit yourself.” She poured a shot of whiskey and swallowed it down. I watched the movement of her throat and felt my dick stir. Shit. “We drink on the job all the time.” She laughed at Todd’s stupefied expression, and it spread warmth through my limbs.

This girl was tiny. She had tattoos covering both her arms, ink played out the top of her shirt, and earrings shimmered down her ears. She looked tough, but there was a sense of helplessness in that smile — that fucking smile that was slaying me.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Todd asked and her smile died.

“Sweetheart? The name’s Tiffany, asshole, and I’m the assistant manager. If you want this job… I suggest you drop the pet names.”

“Sure thing.” Todd looked at me with humor in his eyes.

“Tiffany, this idiot over here is Todd, and my name is Seth. It’s nice to meet you.” My smile was real; it was nice to meet her. I didn’t do the girlfriend thing. My taste for love ran along the lines of fuck’em and leave them begging for more. I didn’t let myself get eaten alive by a cute smile and a bat of an eyelash. Women in general only wanted you after they knew what you were worth. But this Tiffany chick, she seemed different, she was something new and shiny, and I couldn’t wait to figure her out.

My brother’s house was usually a comfort to me when I was feeling low. Jeff was younger than me by three years. He knocked up his then girlfriend, now wife, Lacey, just out of high school. Lacey was Hispanic and one of the most loving females I’d ever met. Their little girl Maria Guadalupe Montgomery, we called her Jellie because when she was a baby she was so chubby that when she giggled her cheeks shook like Jell-O, was the best thing that could have happened to my little brother.

My mother’s absence wrecked him, too. Instead of being a man whore though, he clung to women like they were life rafts. It used to piss me off, and I blamed Lacey for a long time for my brother not going to college. My dad did too, still did. But Lacey was another girl on my “good list” now. She took care of my brother, and they loved each other in a way that made you want to always be around them… feeding off that mutual respect. Something I’d lost interest in a long time ago, but reveled in when I was with them.

Jellie laughed at the television. Sometimes I had to hand over my man card because she was just so fucking cute I couldn’t help but want to hug her and be the uncle she deserved. However, tonight Jellie was watching “Brave” for the nine hundredth time, and I wanted to hang myself. Tiffany was out with Scott, and I was stuck babysitting this pint-sized female Hispanic version of my brother. My mind running all sorts of horrid scenarios of how things were going to go down tonight for Tiff.

Scott didn’t fool me; he was all sex, control, and dominance. We were kindred spirits. I could sniff out my own kind any day. But his version was fake and much more calculated than mine. The women I got with knew what they were in for when I took them head down and hard against their sheets. I made no false promises. I was no knight in shining armor. Scott hid his appetites, whereas I wore mine on my sleeve. I was a one-night guy, and the need to control poured out of me with each climax I granted. But guys like Scott wanted a woman to govern, to bend to his oversized ego, to make him feel like the king he thought he was. It was all about the exploitation, the fuck, the ownership of another body. The thought that Tiffany would be the one to bow down to him made my head cloud with rage.

“Uncle Seth, it’s over.” Jellie smiled up at me from the floor. Her pink butterfly pjs too short for her legs.

My brother struggled for money and her clothes had to last a long time. My dad’s pride and anger about how Jeff lived his life needed to stop. I made a mental note to give my dad shit next time I saw him. Jeff’s kid deserved a grandfather that was worth a damn. Jeff’s choice to keep his baby, to not go to college, and to run a small mechanic shop never sat well with our dad. Our father had expected us boys to partner up with him at Montgomery and Simmons. So when Jeff didn’t fall into step with our father’s plan, he pulled away from Jeff and his family.

“You ready for bed, sweet thing?” I forced all the bullshit into the back of my head. I came here to spend time with my girl.

She nodded and bear hugged my leg. I walked with her dangling from my leg down the short hallway to her room. This was our little game. “Okay, sweet thing, bus ride is over.”

She giggled and ran to her bed. I tucked her in and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. “Uncle Seth?” Her dark brown eyes searched my face. “Are you sad?”

Her question caught me off guard. “No way, chick. Why would you ask that?”

“You make the car noises when we play bus stop, and tonight you didn’t.”

I chuckled. “Sorry, Jellie. Next time, I promise.” I shut off her light. “Go to sleep, midget.”

“Night, Uncle Seth.”

I was left to my own devices as I pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge. I popped the cap off and slugged down half the bottle. My brother would be home shortly, and then I could go home and sleep this shit night away. I tried not to think about Scott’s mouth on hers, the one girl I’d ever thought about kissing. My phone was weighing down my pocket like a boulder.
Don’t be a pussy.

I pulled my phone from jeans and pulled up Tiffany’s number.

Me:
I’m sorry.

Those words, those two damn words, broke every rule I had made for myself. I took a swig from my beer, silently berating myself for being weak when my phone vibrated in my hand.

Tiffany:
Thank you. Always your Angel~

My stomach felt light, and my ribcage felt full. I wasn’t nauseous; I didn’t feel sick at all. This sensation was new, and I didn’t know how to categorize it.
“Always your Angel~”
Tiffany was still mine. We had history, we had friendship… she’d given me a piece of her the other night and, fuck, if I wasn’t going to hold onto that like a damn
lif
e
raft
. Maybe Jeff had it right. Maybe he had it right all along.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tiffany

S
COTT’S STRONG HAND WAS
wrapped around my upper thigh as the loud bass drum beat heavy in my chest. The heat of his palm seared down my leg. His friend’s band was playing at Mace’s and they were pretty good. Dinner had been nice. Scott and I seemed to have a lot in common. He was a few years older than me, but we were both into all the same things. He loved art and was so talented at his job. He was one of the best tattoo artists at Magnolia Street. It felt good to be out, to be admired, and the way he took charge took away the burden I always felt to keep things in order. My phone vibrated against the table top, the screen lighting up.

Seth:
I’m sorry.

The thumping in my heart had nothing to do with the bass drum this time. Seth didn’t apologize. He didn’t make excuses. He owned who he was, and that was one of the things I loved about him. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Those two words shouldn’t cause such an emotional response. The tears threatened to spill, but I pulled in a deep breath before anyone would be the wiser.

Me:
Thank you. Always your Angel~

It was a peace offering… it was the truth. Seth was my best friend; he held the black portions of my heart in his hands and smiled down on them, giving them the light they so desperately needed. He got me and I got him… it was just our way. My lips spread into a broad smile.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you smile.” Scott’s sea blue eyes locked on my mouth. My breathing became rapid as he moved his right hand up my thigh, his left hand gripped the back of my neck and drew me in the last few inches to his lips. He didn’t ask for consent before he collided his lips with mine. His firm lips worked against my mouth, coaxing me open. He bit my upper lip and I groaned. He tasted like beer and a hint of tobacco. The palm of his right hand found my waist and he tugged me close to him in the booth. His strength no match to my small frame.

He abruptly pulled away from my lips leaving me hot, bothered, and bit restless. “Let’s go.” The authority in his voice made my cheeks heat and my stomach constrict with nerves.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re place or mine, I don’t care.” He took my hand in his as we stood and I hesitated. This was our first date.

“I don’t think so.” I smiled keeping it light and flirty. I liked Scott, but I wasn’t going to sleep with him right out of the gate.

His hold on my hand was firm as he pulled my body flush with his. He was so much bigger than me. He towered above me, his commanding arms draped around my waist as he whispered in my ear. “We’re not going to do anything that you don’t want to do, but I’m having you tonight one way or another. You can’t kiss me like that, have those fucking lips on mine, and not expect me to not want more.”

He nipped the tip of my earlobe, his breath sending shivers down my spine. My heart was telling me this was too much. He wasn’t what I should want, but my body, my mind, my wounded ego wanted to feel something other than sadness, ache, and need. My earlier thought of hesitation was melting away under his deep gaze.

“Make a decision.” He pulled away from me, and his smile was wicked, confident, and it turned me on.

“Not tonight,” my tone was misleading, instead of a statement it almost sounded like a question.

The blue in his eyes appeared darker in the low light of the club as they grazed over my face and fell to my mouth. He looked at me with desperation, like he couldn't want anything more than me in this moment, and it made me feel needed… special. "Don't overthink this." He murmured.

The feel of his lips against mine was a slow torture as he pulled me into an embrace.

"Your place," the words were whispered against his mouth. I spoke quietly in silent hope that my body would catch up with my heart and make a better choice. Tell him no, I’m not that girl. But tonight the ache between my legs was winning, tonight I felt like that girl and I needed to let go… just this once.

M
Y BACK ARCHED OFF
the mattress as my nails scratched and my fingers bunched the black sheets on Scott’s bed. My moan was loud and my body blushed as I came in his mouth. His fingers curled inside me, adding more pressure to the intense orgasm. My thighs were still shaking as he withdrew his fingers from my body and quickly turned me over onto my stomach. I heard the foil of a condom wrapper being opened, and my heart skipped.

Scott lifted my hips, and I felt the tip of him at my entrance. Being in this position had become a trigger for me. I knew it was now or never. If I really didn’t want it like this, I had to tell him.

Scott was aggressive, but there was something sweet about him at times and it felt so good to be desired. We’d only been together for just over a week, but things were going well. These past few days he’d been at the bar almost every shift I worked. This past Sunday, at the shop, he had helped me so much by showing me new techniques, and the new sketches he’d been working on were brilliant. We could work; this could work. Besides, he’d made it clear after the first date, the first night I’d stayed with him, the night I submitted and let myself be free for once — that I was his, that we were an item. I shouldn’t feel guilt for wanting him, wanting this.

The sharp pinch of his body aligning within mine made me gasp. I didn’t have time to adjust; Scott’s hard rhythm broke me in with each stroke. At first, my eyes started to water with the pain. The grip of his hand in my hair was fierce as he pulled my head back slightly, while his other hand grasped my body keeping me still, keeping me perfectly in place.
He’s not Colt.
I had to remind myself; I had to tamp down my panic.

“Holy shit, Tiff,” Scott’s voice rumbled as he pumped harder inside of my body than I thought possible. Just as I was about to say I couldn’t take this pace, this position, he lifted my hips a bit more and the hand that was holding me down skated down my back and slowly moved around my backside. He reached under my body and between my legs. His fingers brought me higher with each stroke against my sensitive skin. My body shook as I let go, and his moans spurred me on. I realized for the first time, I was the one in control; it was okay for me to feel good, to want to grind my hips harder, and it didn’t make me a whore.