Taming Cross (Love Inc.) (23 page)

I stand there, breathing hard and staring at it, and Merri's soft footsteps whisper across the stone floor. I don't want to see her but she stands in front of me. She has her arms folded over her stomach and her pretty little bow of a mouth is pinched into a sour face.

“You know, you asked.”

“I nod.” I do know that. I just didn't plan to feel so fracking jealous. I pop my jaw, and Meredith's eyes widen. She takes the beer from me and twists the top off. She takes a long swig and hands it back to me.

Her eyes, when she looks at me, are hard. She bites her lip, and her face softens. Her words are soft, too. “I didn't think that you would act this way.”

What? Jealous?
I frown. “What way?”

“So...disgusted.”

My eyes widen. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Isn't it?”

I tighten my grip on the beer bottle, tilting my head back to get a swallow—and break eye contact. The liquid burns my throat and pretty soon I have no choice but to look at her again. This time, her eyes and face are sad. Because I made her feel judged. Which is really unforgivable.

“Hey...I'd never judge you. And I'm not disgusted.” I bump her shoulder awkwardly with mine, and she steps quickly away. She leans against the counter, putting some space between us, then turns sideways so she's facing me.

“It's not something that I'm proud of. The man was married, and what I did was wrong. I could tell you that I did it for money, because I did, but that wouldn't make it right. The affair didn't last long, and the two of us were never emotionally involved. He didn't want to get to know me on more than just a superficial level.

“If I could go back, I would find another way to make money. Even prostitution would have been morally better than that. At least I think so.”

I nod, trying my damndest to act casual, but my throat is so tight I can't speak.

“I'm sorry.” Her lips twist into a frown as she notices my clam up. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

I take another swig of the beer and lie my ass off. “Hell no. Sex?”

“Well, it wasn't actually sex.”

“Even if it was. I'm fine with it.” I shrug, and she gives me a doubting look.

“You don’t have to worry about my feelings.”

“My feelings are that you were young and desperate. Isn't that what you said?”

“I had no money, and the job is what got me through, but it's also what got me here.”

“How?”

She shakes her head and walks back to the couch. I follow, moving the popcorn onto a table so there's nothing in between us. Merri's got her arms around herself. I put my hand on her forearm, and her eyebrows scrunch low in confusion. It looks like she thinks I've lost my mind, except I can see her cheeks getting pinker. I can see the way her eyes fill up with tears. So I take her hand.

“Look, Merri...I swear I wasn't judging you. You want the truth? It makes me fu— it pisses me off.”

She shakes her head. “But...I don't get it. Are your reasons like, religious? Or moral? It just pisses you off that people do what I did at all?”

I squeeze her hand and look down at it, so I don't have to look into her eyes.

“That's not it.” Against my will, my gaze finds hers. The words get hung up in my throat. I swallow. “I just don't think he was worthy of you.”

I'm not sure I heard him right. “Worthy of me?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounds low. “When married men take advantage of young girls in compromised circumstances, that makes them sick fucks.”

I flinch a little at the term, and he frowns. “Sorry. Fracks.” He lets go of my hand and stands up, wiping his right palm on his ridiculous cut-off shorts. “Sex or not,” he says, “it’s wrong. Wrong of him. And then what happened next. How the fu— How did that happen, Merri? I want to know.”

I stand up, too. If I'm going to tell him—and I'm not sure that I am—I'll need to put some distance between us. With a sideways glance at him, I walk to the refrigerator and grab another beer, downing half of it before I turn back toward Evan. He's still standing in front of the couch. He looks intense. Upset.

Why does he care so much? “How do you know he wasn’t worthy of me?” The words are soft, pulled from my throat. His blue eyes are on me and I want to run and hide. Instead I step a little closer to the living area. “It's true that I was innocent, but what if at some point I wasn't anymore? You don't
know
I wasn't.”

My ears are ringing. I can't take my eyes off his face. I watch as his expression goes from staunch to passionate.

“Yes I do.” He says it so vehemently.

I shake my head. I'm surprised to feel my eyes fill up with tears. “You don't know anything about me, Evan.”

I stand there, shaking slightly, thinking of the things I'll never tell him, as Evan walks slowly to me. With his eyes on mine, he gently takes my hands and clasps his right one over both of them.

“Listen to me, Merri. I know we haven't known each other long, but it doesn't take long to see that you're a good person. A person who takes care of other people and tries her best to make things right.”

For the longest time, his eyes pierce mine. I feel like he is looking down into my soul. It's all I can do not to shrink away. And then, in the span of one of my racing heartbeats, his lips are on my lips. The sensation of his mouth fluttering over mine sets a fire inside my chest. My stomach clenches in a knot as he gently touches his tongue to the corner of my mouth, like he wants to come inside but doesn’t dare; I feel the warmth of his breath on my throat as he moves his mouth off mine. A squeeze of his hand around my shoulder, then he pulls away.

My heart is beating so fast I think I might be sick.

Evan is standing there wide-eyed, like something catastrophic has just happened.

“Meredith.” It’s whispered. He whirls around and I hear him mutter a curse word.

I shut my eyes. I don’t want to see regret on his face if he turns back around. I don’t want to know what happens next.

My eyes are still shut when his hand clasps mine again, and when I open them, his face is serious. Contrite.

“Come with me.” He gently tugs me toward the couch. I follow his lead, sinking down into the leather though it feels like I am floating halfway to the ceiling. I’m feeling too exposed to look at him, so I train my eyes on a spot on the wall.

He lets go of my hand, and I look over at him just in time to see the caution on his face as his right hand reaches for my knee. His fingers touch down on my skin and the sensation is delicious. I get hot all over; hotter, still, when he brushes his thumb over my knee.

“We haven't known each other long, but we've been through some shit, and I can see you, okay? I've known a lot of women, and I know how to spot an asshole when I see one.”

I shake my head. Clearly he doesn't. Only an asshole leaves her family without a word and goes and messes around with some other woman's husband. Tears blur my view of the room, and I look at the floor. “I think the female version of asshole is bitch.”

“Who told you you're a bitch?”

I scoot a tiny bit away from him, forcing his hand off my leg, because I just can’t stand it there right now. “Nobody did. Nobody had to. I'm not saying that it's all my fault, but I made some bad decisions. Now they're mine to bear. I can't blame anybody else for that.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see him lean over, resting his elbows on his knees. “So tell me what happened. What kind of bad decision is punishable by what happened to you?”

It's weird when he says it that way. It almost makes me feel like he's right—like I
am
a victim. I swallow hard, chasing the feeling away, and feel my guilt wrap its fingers around me again. “I'll tell you. Just please don't expect to have the same opinion of me when I'm done.”

He’s leaning over his knees more now, and I'm glad of that, because I don't think I could tell this story if his eyes were on me. As it is, I’ll leave a big part of it out: what happened right before I left Jesus. I put a pillow in my lap and angle it between us, giving myself the barest semblance of privacy. Then I turn my gaze to the muted TV, where a Mexican soap opera is playing.

How very fitting.

“I'll never forget that night.” I pick a spot on the wall to stare at and try to forget that Evan is beside me.

“I'd been seeing my client for a couple of months. Most of Vegas knew I was his mistress. He wasn't in the city all the time, just sometimes for business, or I guess when he wanted to have fun. He was kind of a guy's guy. He liked to gamble and go to pool halls with his man friends, and maybe they would see some strippers there. He didn't always have to be with me. I liked that,” I confess. “It gave me more freedom.

“I was getting by because he paid me by the month. He paid me the same thing every month so I would have stability. And he paid for my room at the brothel.” I sigh at the memories, which are so sad now. “It was kind of like living in a hotel...or a dorm. Lots of other women. It was fun I guess. The sorority I never had.” I snicker humorlessly. “And just like sorority bitches, there were lots of jealous women. People who wanted this man.” I pause, linking my fingers together, as I try to remember the way Drake Carlson looked. The way he smelled. The way he held me. “He was a nice enough man. He looked nice. But there was never any chemistry, at least on my end. Maybe it's because he paid me. That has a way of taking chemistry away. But I think it was because of his age.”

“He was older?” Evan rasps.

I turn my eyes to him and find him clenching his right fist atop his knee.

“Yes, he was an older man. Old enough to be my dad, I guess.” That thought is creepy. “Women of different ages wanted him. He was kind of...well-known, I guess you would say. One of the women who wanted him was a porn star.”

I get a funny feeling in my stomach so I look over at Evan. Suddenly I wish that he would take my hand. I've never told this story to anyone before, and now that I'm upon it, I feel...damaged. Like something inside of me is bleeding.

I link my hands together tightly and look out at a vase beside the massive, mahogany entertainment center, but I can't find the words I need. I look back at Evan. He's got his elbows on his knees, but he’s shifted back a little, so his back is against the couch and I can see his face; I can see he looks like he's awaiting his own death sentence.

“Evan...are you sure you want to hear this? I don't have to share it.”

He nods once. “Yes, I'm sure. Go on.” His body looks stiff enough that I could break him with a tap.

I swallow hard, wishing I'd never started down this path.

“There was a porn star who I had heard had a big thing for my client. She didn't understand why he was paying me to be his escort and his mistress when he could have her. She was older.” I exhale, seeing Priscilla's made-up face inside my mind. She had veneers and they always kind of scared me. They were too white. Almost like a vampire's teeth. I rub my eyes, feeling a lot older than my years. “She was pretty in that porn-star way and lots of men in Vegas wanted her. I guess lots of men everywhere wanted her.” I shrug. “My client had met her once before, but he didn't hit it off with her. He thought she came on too strong, and she made a derogatory comment about his wife. That had made him mad.”

I hear Evan swallow and I look over to find him looking slightly gray. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Should I stop?”

I don't really understand why he’s acting this way, and maybe it's not my business anyway. Then suddenly I think get it: It’s the wife thing. He’s probably appalled to hear the details of my ‘affair’. I bite my lip. I can’t really blame him.

I take a deep breath and I can feel his eyes on me.

“Go on.”

I need a minute to collect myself, so I ask him, “Do you know of Jim Gunn? He’s done this more than once. Sold women, I mean.” There was another one: Ginny something, I think. She was a little while before me, and one time Guapo told me she was sold in France. I’m sure there might have been more before her, and some after me as well.

I glance at Evan, and he looks distracted—or maybe upset. I just want to bring things back to Earth a little before I drop anymore sordid details on him, so I ask, “What about Priscilla Heat? Have you ever seen her movies?”

Evan’s brows knit together and his mouth twists, like he's confused. “Do I know of her?” He shakes his head almost violently, like he's trying to get a bee out of his hair. Without really looking at me, he rubs a hand over his face. “No, I haven’t seen her movies.”

“Oh. I guess I thought...” I shake my head. “She’s kind of big time.”

He clenches his jaw and moves his head just a little, like he wants to shake it but his neck hurts.

When he says nothing more, I continue hesitantly. “My client didn't like her, and she didn't like me. She knew I wasn't really...in the industry. I think that made her mad. Some women reacted that way when they heard about me. I was a kept girl at a brothel, but I'd never prostituted myself. People used to joke about how I couldn't satisfy my client. How could I when I didn't have any experience?”

“How could you?” Evan growls. He looks infuriated, and seeing his face like this makes my throat close off. I swallow hard, feeling stripped. Feeling ugly.