Dirty Sex (9 page)

“I’ll get it.” Reese came up behind me. “I’m getting one anyway.”

“I got it.” Damned if I was going to let her be nice to me.

“Don’t worry about it.” She nudged me out of the way and pulled

out a stack of plates.

“Thanks.” I tried to grab one.

“You’re pushy this morning. Go sit down. I’ll bring you some

food.” Clearly, Reese was determined to make me feel guilty.

“I got it.” She was still in the way so I reached around her to take

a plate. Bad idea. Instead of moving like I thought she would, she just

turned around to face me.

“What is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice.” The length

of her body pressed against mine. Her hip pressed between my legs

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applying just short of lethal pressure. I looked down into her eyes and

almost came. Instead, I gulped hard and loud and blinked my eyes until

my head felt clearer. It didn’t help.

“Sorry. I’m kinda blue ballin’ this morning and you’re really

not helping.” My solitary vow to never speak about the night before

crumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She wasn’t ignorant, just

confused how she was contributing to my condition. Also a little

irritated.

“It means that last night you and Kerry were loud enough to get

me going, but I just couldn’t finish jacking off after you said her name.”

I played it all nonchalant like I always jacked off while listening to my

friends getting laid. “You killed my mood. But Kerry seems satisfied.” I

took Reese’s hand and pressed it against my crotch. “Maybe you could

ease my pain.”

Reese moved so fast I didn’t have time to stop her. I didn’t even

have time to turn my head to absorb the blow. The slap reverberated

across our campsite, silencing every other sound. Reese and I stared at

each other hard. Her hand still hung in the air and my cheek stung like

a bitch. I could feel all of our friends watching us, but I didn’t dare turn

away. Suddenly, Reese pushed past me. She stopped in front of Ryan,

demanded his keys, and jumped in his car. I thought she was going to

sit in there forever with her arms braced on the steering wheel and her

face hidden in them. After about five minutes, during which everyone

glanced secretively between me and the 4Runner, she started it up and

gunned it out of there.

I had no clue what the hell to do. Kerry looked like she might kill

me. Ryan was resigned. As usual, he would listen to both sides of the

story and decide which of us to be mad at. The rest of the guys were just

shocked. Reese and I fought all the time, but neither of us had ever hit

the other. I stayed motionless, just looking at the spot where the SUV

had been parked, willing her to come back. No luck.

I went back into my tent and changed out of the clothes I’d slept

in. When I emerged from the tent again, everyone was trying really

hard to act normal. Ryan was studying his breakfast so hard I thought it

might ignite. I reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out

his cigarette case. He let me. One joint went behind my ear, the other

between my lips. I put the case back in his pocket. Then I walked away.

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As I strolled, I lit the joint, sucking on it hard. I didn’t get far before I

heard footsteps. Ryan.

“Hey, wait up.”

“Leave it alone,” I warned him.

“I’m not really sure what to do.” He took the joint I held out. “I’m

mad at her for slapping you. But damn, dude. She looked mad. You

must have done something.”

“Honestly, Ryan.” He looked at me, all ears. “I deserved worse.”

I’m not sure if he was more shocked by my admission of guilt or

the fact that I’d clearly done something messed up.

“Well, what was it?”

“I really, really can’t tell you.” A mirthless laugh pushed its way

out of my chest.

“Oh, come on, nothing is that bad.”

“It is. I’m not sure if it’s worse for me or her. Probably her.” I

thought about that for a while. Was it worse being totally violated or

realizing you really are a twisted asshole? “I don’t know. Just let me

walk, okay?”

Ryan let me go.

❖

Summer continued in the usual vein. Reese and I conducted a

silent war. Most of our skirmishes revolved around pizza toppings.

Reese would order pizzas and accidentally request stuff I hated on each

one. There would be one with anchovies, one with ham, another with

bell peppers. My attacks were equally subtle, drinking her favorite juice

in the fridge, leaving the bathroom counter covered in hair product,

taking naps in her bed with my shoes on. The games hadn’t changed a

whole lot since we were kids. By the middle of June, we hadn’t spoken

directly to each other in weeks.

I was almost living at their house. When Christopher would come

home, Ryan would stay at my place, but when he was gone, we partied

it up. When I let myself in one afternoon, I couldn’t find Ryan. Instead,

I found Reese sprawled on the couch watching soap operas in Spanish.

A glass of wine dangled from her limp hand. The bottle on the table

next to her was empty.

“What is this?”

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“A telenovela.”

“Can you understand it?” I dropped over the back of the couch so

I was upside down.

“Most of it.”

“I can’t.” Sure, we both took four years of Spanish in high school.

That didn’t mean I remembered it.

“I took Spanish in college too. Not just high school,” Reese told

me. I wondered if she could read my mind or something.

“They’re talking really fast.”

“You’re just slow at listening.” There wasn’t any malice in her

voice. It seemed like we were actually having a conversation. Big step.

“So why are you watching a telenovela?”

“It’s more educational than the soap operas in English?” Reese

offered in place of an actual reason. “You want some wine?” Her tone

was really flat. Actually, everything she was saying was kind of lacking

emotion. “We can open another bottle.”

Was this some sort of an olive branch?

“Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”

“I’m fine.” She drained the remaining wine in her glass and set it

on the table.

I studied her from my upside down position. Her eyes were a little

red and puffy and she was frowning at the TV. She didn’t seem stoned,

but it was that or crying.

“Are you stoned?”

“No.”

“Then why were you crying?”

A self-deprecating smirk grew across those full lips. “I hate how

you know me.” I waited for an answer. “Kerry broke up with me.”

“What?” I pushed myself upright. “Why? What’s wrong with her?

She doesn’t like sexy, smart chicks?” Reese and I might have hated

each other, but that didn’t mean other people could be mean to her.

“Thanks.”

“You know what? We need a real drink. I’m breaking into

Christopher’s liquor cabinet. And then, peanut butter, you can tell me

all the disgusting, invasive, embarrassing details.”

Reese flashed a real smile, only for a second. “I’ll have—”

“Scotch. Neat. Give me a little credit.” I went downstairs and

returned five minutes later with an unopened bottle and two heavy

crystal glasses.

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AShley BArtlett

“He’s going to kill you if you open that,” Reese said.

“I know.” I studied the bottle. “Damn, it’s like older than me.” With

that, I opened it. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew that Christopher was

going to be livid and I also knew he would get over it. Most importantly

though, I knew I was a bit of a snob. It was the result of only drinking

Christopher’s liquor growing up. He shouldn’t have kept such a nice

supply if he didn’t want us to consume it.

“I’m blaming that on you.”

“Blame it on Kerry.” I poured the deep gold liquid and handed

Reese hers.

“Fuck Kerry.”

“Charming, darlin’. You want to tell me what happened?” I settled

across from her on the arm of the couch.

“No, I want to get drunk and watch telenovelas.”

“Good. Constructive.”

“Don’t start. It’s your fault anyway.” Reese took a healthy

swig. The glare she shot across the glass had just the right amount of

authenticity.

“That’s a damn good single malt. Please don’t chug it.” More

glaring. “How could Kerry dumping your ass be my fault?”

“She thought we were hooking up.” Distractedly, she pointed back

and forth between us.

I nearly spit a mouthful of booze. “Huh?”

“I wouldn’t tell her why I smacked you. Somehow that equated

to…” Reese waved her hand in the air vaguely.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s her problem. If she trusted me, it wouldn’t have mattered. No,

if I trusted her enough to tell her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Anyway,

it’s over.”

“I’m sorry about what I said. And did.” It took balls for me to say

that, so when it came out, my voice was barely a whisper.

“How much of what you said was true?” There was an attempt at

her previous nonchalance that just came off harsh and cold.

We both should have had a lot more booze. I tried to answer, but I

blushed instead. That was a first.

“I thought you were screwing with me.” There was something

resigned in her eyes that made my clit shrink and my stomach turn.

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Dirty Sex

“Oh come on, Reese. You’re fucking beautiful.” As if hormones

could explain my behavior.

“It was dark. You couldn’t see shit.” Damn, she had a point. Still,

I was surprised when she set down her glass and went for the stairs.

“Whoa, hey.” I ditched my scotch and rushed to block her way.

“Where you going?”

“Somewhere else.”

“How long are you going to be mad at me?”

“It’s you, so I’ll probably hold the grudge for life,” she said like

she wasn’t kidding.

“Fine. I can’t change that.” I couldn’t very well argue with her.

So I decided to move on. “Will you watch crappy TV with me now?”

Reese glared at me as she considered. “Okay, but stay on your side

of the couch.”

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Dirty Sex

The next morning, I woke up to screaming. There was one voice

that didn’t fit. Fuckin’ Christopher. As quickly as possible, I

pulled on some clothes and brushed my teeth. The hair could wait. On

my way downstairs, I distinctly heard the word scotch. For the last few

steps, I slowed. Feigning ignorance, I strolled into the kitchen yawning

and rubbing my eyes.

“Hey, Christopher. Good to see you back,” I said like I meant it.

He was in the middle of the kitchen with his back to me. The twins were

on the other side looking scornful.

“Hello, Vivian,” he turned and greeted me cordially. Christopher

Lagorio, douche bag extraordinaire.

“How was the trip?” I sauntered to the fridge, which brought me

even closer to him. A position I didn’t exactly relish. I would rather

swim in sewage than touch Christopher. He gave off bad fucking vibes.

“It went well,” Christopher replied noncommittally. He was decked

out in the usual weekday splendor. Perfectly cut suit, shirt, and tie that

cost more than my tuition, shoes shined until they were mirrors. Every

hair was combed into place, and he was cultivating a close cut beard.

His eyes were particularly bright and clear that morning. Glittering like

sapphires. If he were anyone else, he would have been unbelievably

handsome. Since he was Christopher, my hands were shaking and my

stomach hurt.

“Great, great.” I gave up on the fridge.

“How is your summer going?” He clapped a hand on my shoulder

and squeezed. It brought me just a little closer to him. Why did he

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have to be so much taller than me? “Do you have anything exciting

planned?”

“Not really.” I blew him off. “So I was just wondering if we were

still going to get breakfast. Sorry, if I interrupted you guys.” I looked at

the twins like it was our plan all along.

“No, no. Not at all. The kids and I were just talking.” Christopher

seemed to think I would buy that. He didn’t like to expose family

matters. As if Ryan didn’t tell me everything. Christopher also had

grudging respect for me. None of us were sure why, but I sure as hell

didn’t question it.

“Yeah,” Ryan piped up. “Are we going to Old Folsom?” That was

our breakfast place. The mugs were all mismatched and the gravy was

made with chicken sausage so Ryan and I could get biscuits and gravy.

Reese called it Grandma’s Kitchen, but no one knew the actual name

of the restaurant.

“I figured.” The three of us started to leave the kitchen.

“We need to finish our discussion when you two return,”

Christopher ordered like he was talking to twelve-year-olds.

“Oh, hey.” I turned back. The twins were headed for the nearest

exit. “I opened that bottle of scotch you had. Hope it’s no big.”

The muscles under his stubble clenched. “That was you.” It wasn’t

a question. “That was a thirty-year-old bottle.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize.” Yeah, yeah I did. Take that,