Chapter 10: Nine

Confession #8: Sometimes, I actually stood up for myself…kind of.

I scrambled off the bed so fast I made myself dizzy. Clambering through the black spots that blurred my vision, I discarded the condom in record time and searched the floor for my jockey shorts, horrified when I found them halfway across the room.

I never scattered my shit around like that, was always careful to leave every article of clothing I removed in a neat, quickly accessible pile. But I’d been so overcome…

Jesus, could this moment get any more mortifying?

The woman on the bed was not getting dressed. No way could I look at her, but neither could I ignore what I noticed from my peripheral vision. And she was not moving, ergo she was most likely sitting there, bare-assed naked, watching my fingers fumble as I rushed to snap the waistband of my underwear into place. My skin crawled, knowing she was staring. Could I not even get a speck of privacy in my dress of shame?

Khakis jerked up, polo shirt yanked down, feet in shoes, and I was patting my hip pockets, making sure my keys and wallet were there, even as I scanned the floor to ensure I wasn’t leaving anything behind.

“I’m going to go,” I said, still not looking her way. I never did that; I always lingered in case they wanted something else or to set up another round. The client decided when I was done with my services, not me. But I couldn’t do that this time.

I turned toward the door without another word, beyond ready to escape. But behind me, a very amused voice sing-songed, “Oh, Mason.”

Dammit. So close. I slowed to a stop and waited until I was sure I was done grimacing and mouthing a few select curse words before I glanced back. My heart pounded the entire time. For some reason, I feared she was going to psychoanalyze me, get into my head again and tear out parts of me that seemed vital to my survival.

I swear, she’d already made a good start of doing just that, making me actually enjoy what I’d done with her, to fucking feel like I’d wanted to be there, even though it was all a lie. After accomplishing all that, it would be nothing for her to finish the job, and destroy me completely.

I tried to mask my wariness as I met her gaze and lifted a single, bored eyebrow.

When she held out a roll of cash and sent me a mocking smile, I nearly closed my eyes and shook my head over my own stupidity, because what the hell. I’d never totally forgotten to collect my money before. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, either.

Fuck.

“Oops,” I murmured as playfully as I could, moving back toward her. “Looks like someone was so good she made me forget my payment.”

The words tasted like ash in my mouth because of the true parts of my statement, but I said it anyway, using it as a diversion, playing on all that arrogance I could sense in her. And it worked.

Lips smirking into a cocky grin, she chuckled. “Aww. What a sweet, sweet boy you are.”

When I reached for the money, however, she laughed again and pulled it back, just out of my reach. Whatever pleasant expression I’d been able to fake dropped flat. I was not in the mood for this kind of game.

But the client must’ve thought she was so clever. She laughed at her tactics and reached for the belt loop of my khakis. After hooking a finger through, she jerked me closer.

I sniffed out an amused smile, though I’m sure if she really looked into my eyes, she would’ve seen the unease and irritation. But she was too busy tucking the money into my pocket to care how I really felt.

“God, you are so young,” she said in awe, running her hand up my hip bone and then over the firmness of my abs.

I’m not sure why so many loved to comment about that fact. Because my body was so much more fit than what they usually got? Because it made them feel powerful to land a younger man? Or maybe it made them feel old.

Whatever the case, I resented it every time. It felt as if they were pointing out my own personal flaw, and that bugged me. Because I ~was~ young, just a dumbass kid and not mature enough to know how to really handle the situations they put me in. It was still ingrained in my system to respect my elders and do what I was told. But if I could just grow the fuck up already, I had this feeling I’d know how to get out of this, that I wouldn’t feel stuck, that I could take care of my family without so much fear and uncertainty, and I wouldn’t need my clients any longer.

But, no. They just had to keep reminding me how young and clueless I was and how I couldn’t seem to just learn my lesson already.

“Despite your little name fuckup,” my client said as her fingers coasted up my rib cage and smoothed over my pecs, “your performance was still quite impressive. You gave me exactly what I wanted. And mmm, ~God~. This body. It’s been a long time since I got to clutch flesh this firm and supple. My husband’s fifteen years older than me.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to invite her to continue. I just stood there, antsy as hell, waiting for her to finish, even as I glanced longingly toward the door.

“So, next Thursday,” she went on, drawing her hands lower until she’d curled all ten fingers around the waistband of my khakis. I looked down just as she looked up. “My husband’s out of town again. Why don’t you come back, then? We could try this one more time, ~without~ you calling out someone else’s name.”

Since she was watching me as she asked, I wasn’t able to mask my initial response. But ~seriously~? She wanted a repeat? After I’d just botched this job worse than I’d ever botched any job before? After I’d groaned another name while my cock was jetting inside her? ~Really~?

Wow, some people I would never understand.

Reading my incredulous expression, she only chuckled. “What? I believe in second chances.” She let go of my waistband to run her index finger through the grooves in my abdomen. “Besides, that might’ve been the best I ever came… Before you said her name, anyway.”

God, could she please stop mentioning that part?

One thing was certain, I never wanted inside this woman again. She’d messed with my head enough already to last me a lifetime.

“Sorry,” I murmured on a regretful wince. “But I don’t have an opening next Thursday.”

The disbelief on her face was classic. A rush of adrenaline—fear mixed with liberation—roared through me. Aside from Patricia, I hadn’t dared to turn anyone down for a year now.

Thrilling power flooded my veins. But it was chased by worry, because who knew what she might do in retaliation. If she went after Sarah or my mom, I’d regret saying no, big-time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she demanded, balling a fistful of my shirt into her fingers as if that would actually keep me where she wanted me.

“I really am sorry,” I said, gently taking her hand and removing it from my person, only to kiss her knuckles to soften the blow and then let go of her before backing out of her reach. Then I mumbled, “I’ll see you around,” as I turned away.

“Hey,” she growled. I kept walking, so she said my name. “~Mason~.” I cleared the doorway and entered the hallway. “I’m not done with you yet.”

But I was more than done with ~her~.

As I jogged down the steps, I could see the shadow of her silhouette loom over me on the wall above the stairwell as she came to the opening of her bedroom door and stopped. “You’ll regret walking away from me like this.”

I already did. My mind was spinning with the worst repercussions possible. So I stopped at the foot of the steps and looked up.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

Since she was nothing but a dark, naked outline at the top of the stairwell, I couldn’t see her expression, but I could fucking well ~feel~ it. She smiled as if she’d already won.

“I want more,” she said simply.

But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to fucking control me. To dehumanize me. To break me.

I shook my head. “No,” I said, and I turned to leave.

My hands were shaking by the time I reached my Jeep. Sweat coated my brow. If I’d just put a target on my family’s back because of this, I was screwed. What the hell would it have hurt to walk back up those stairs and screw her again like she wanted? It wasn’t as if I had any self-respect left. Any pride. Anything of any kind of worth.

But I guess something was still rattling around inside me, because I’d been more afraid of her taking whatever remained in me than I had been of my own family’s safety.

Ashamed of myself, I drove home slowly. I remained rattled as I pulled into my driveway, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. And to top it off, I could see the glowing orange cherry of a lit cigarette, coming from the edge of my neighbor’s yard to the right.

God dammit, not this too.

I killed the engine and debated on whether I should just sit here and wait until she was gone or start the Jeep up again and back out of my driveway, fleeing for my sanity. One thing was sure, I couldn’t handle a confrontation with Patricia right now. But my hesitation was only showing her how much of a coward I was.

Cursing under my breath, I pushed open my door and stepped into the warm, stifling night.

“Good evening, Mason,” her voice came through the dark from the direction of that glowing cigarette. “Coming in kind of late, aren’t you? The Country Club closed nearly two hours ago.”

There was a teasing quality in her voice.

“Fuck you,” I said mildly, keeping a steady pace toward my back door and not even bothering to glance her way. Nothing ~she~ said could rattle me anymore.

That was, until she laughed and said, “What? Are you still upset over crying out the wrong name when you were with Monica tonight?”

I didn’t mean to miss a step but I totally stumbled over my own fucking clumsy feet.

And Patricia saw it all.

Dammit, I should’ve known the client tonight—Monica, or whatever her name was—would’ve already contacted Patricia and told her everything… Petty, vindictive Patricia who liked to gather information about me like weapons so she could find some way to hurt me with them.

Knowing I was already fucked and that she’d already seen my stumbling reaction and knew how bothered I was, I straightened myself and kept walking as if she hadn’t just shoved my entire world on its axis.

Patricia’s laugh followed me through the dark. “You know I’m going to find out who Reese is, don’t you, baby? You can’t hide a girlfriend from me forever.”

I was tempted to hiss, “Good luck with that,” but responding to her could only make things worse. It would probably present her with a challenge, feed her power trip, make her think Reese was important to me, and most likely land Reese in hot water right alongside me. So I kept my trap shut and continued inside at a normal pace so she couldn’t perceive any other reaction from me. But fuck, fuck, ~fuck~. I had a bad feeling I’d already buried my sister’s new babysitter in a whole world of problems anyway.

I wished I had never learned her name. If I hadn’t learned it, I wouldn’t have been able to say it at the worst possible moment ever, and she never would’ve been placed on Patricia Garrison’s radar. This was my fault.

I went straight to the back bathroom and stripped, needing these clothes off me as soon as possible. Stepping into the shower, I turned the water to scorching hot and scalded my guilt and shame off my flesh with as much heat and soap as I could stand.

By the time I shut off the water, there was a good chance I had first-degree burns, but my nerves had calmed enough that I could convince myself I was probably just being paranoid and overreacting. Just because I’d said one single name and turned down one single client didn’t mean it was the end of the world. My family was still safe. Hell, the babysitter was probably still safe. It would take the two rich, powerful, vindictive hags I’d crossed tonight too much energy to mess with them. This would blow over. Everything would be okay. I was worrying for nothing.

Except, as I opened the shower door and reached for a towel to wrap around my waist, I still felt jittery. Tonight had sucked in more ways than one. I wanted to know how Monica—or whatever her name was—had so easily drawn me into her play world. Why had I let the offer to pretend she was Reese tempt me so thoroughly? So instantly?

I’d had exactly four encounters with Glowing Girl—three that she even knew of—and all of them probably lasted less than five minutes put together. I knew nothing about her, except that she apologized to inanimate objects, defended strangers when they were teased, and ran into a shit load of things. That might tell me a couple things, but it certainly shouldn’t have pulled me into the role-play it had tonight.

God. Was I just that desperate for something different and fresh and new that I’d thrown all caution to the wind and attached my interest to some girl I knew shit about?

That was just pathetic.

~I~ was pathetic.

I looked at myself, and all my pathetic-ness gazed back, trying to apologize to me with a sorry, regretful gaze. No longer able to face myself, I bowed my head, gripped the edges of the sink, and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to God I hadn’t fucked up some poor, completely innocent girl’s life as much as I’d already fucked up my own by merely saying her name.

When a gasp came from behind me, I jerked my head up, not expecting anyone to be awake. For some reason, the only person I thought it could be was my mom. Sarah usually had too much trouble transferring herself from her bed to her chair by herself to get up in the middle of the night and wander around, so I naturally assumed ~Mom~. But when I met neither the gaze of my sister ~nor~ my mother in the mirror’s reflection, I yelped, “Shit!” and whirled around.

Reese, the glowing girl babysitter, leaped a step back, gaping at me from huge blue eyes as her gaze darted and skipped, taking in everything she saw…which was me wearing nothing but a towel around my waist. And most bizarre of all, she was holding a freaking doll.

Why the hell was she holding a limp doll?

She looked so young and innocent and shocked. It was the opposite of what I’d come to know and loathe from my clients. So it appealed to me on every level. My body instantly reacted, heating and hardening.

In an attempt to hide my reaction and the possibility of anything poking from the front of my towel, I grabbed the waistline and bunched the terry cloth within my fist, so the rest would ripple and help conceal any other possible lumps that might want to protrude.

Then I instinctively grabbed the door that was hanging half open, cursing myself for never having fixed the damn latch.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded before I even knew what I was going to say.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Mom should’ve gotten home hours ago. Plus, I already felt shitty enough about possibly dragging her into my problems with my landlady; seeing her only ratcheted the guilt up more.

Being half naked in front of her didn’t exactly make me all that comfortable either. I was used to playing a role when my clothes were off, acting out the part. I had no clue how to be real—how to be ~me~—at a time like this.

“I…I’m babysitting,” she answered in a small voice as if she were afraid I was going to cuss her out, making me realize I hadn’t been very gentle with my question. Shit, I was really raking in the mistakes tonight, wasn’t I?

Suddenly, she straightened her shoulders and set her hands on her hips before scowling. “What the hell are you doing, taking a shower with the door ~wide open~ while I’m babysitting?”

I don’t know why that irritated me. I should’ve just fucking apologized. But I was in a crappy mood so I spit back, “I didn’t know you were ~here~. And the latch doesn’t work. I shut it as best as I could, but it still floats open when the exhaust fan is on.”

Her shoulders instantly fell and the defiant narrowing of her eyes softened, making my crappy mood worsen and the guilt thicken.

I cleared my throat, disgusted with myself. “Isn’t my mom home yet?”

She sniffed and rolled her eyes. “Apparently not.” She motioned behind her. “I fell asleep on the couch after putting Sarah to bed, and no one woke me. Wouldn’t she have woken me if she’d come home?”

Dammit. Mom better be behaving. “She must be working overtime for someone, then.” Closing my eyes, I hissed a curse in my head, realizing my first thought was not for her safety but to worry that she was getting into something she shouldn’t be. I ran a hand through my hair. “Well, I didn’t know you were here, okay.” God, I sounded like a douche. Why couldn’t I stop sounding like a douche?

“And I didn’t know you were here either,” she snipped back. “You scared the crap out of me. When I woke up and heard something back here, I thought a burglar had broken in.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “You thought someone broke in…to use the shower?”

Huffing out a sound, she scowled at me. “I didn’t hear the ~water~ running. Jeez. I only heard doors, or drawers, or something opening and shutting. I didn’t know what was going on.” She moved her hands again, bringing my attention back to the doll she was holding.

Realizing she hadn’t been holding it like a comfort blanket but more like someone about to swing a baseball bat, I bit the inside of my lip to hide my amusement.

“Well, swell,” I said, nodding. “I suppose I should feel so much better now, knowing Sarah is safe in your hands. If someone breaks in, you can just wield your doll there and play tea party with them to death.”

She gasped in outrage. “Hey! I’ll have you know the plastic head on this doll is ~pretty~ hard. Trust me. Your sister caught me in the noggin with it earlier.” Wincing, she rubbed her head.

Remembering she’d been babysitting my sister all night and this had been her first encounter with anyone with CP, and also remembering how freaked out she’d looked when I’d left the house earlier, I stepped forward, worry lacing my veins. “She ~hit~ you?”

That didn’t sound like Sarah. My sister would never intentionally hurt someone. A person would really have to be going after her for her to even try to defend herself.

But Reese shook her head. “Oh, not on purpose, no. It’s nothing. No big whoop. We were having a good time. She was excited. Arms started flailing a little too wildly. I mean, how could they not when I’d been wailing, ~‘Give me back my golden arm’~? But it’s all good. Don’t worry about it.”

I blinked at her.

Because had she just said she and Sarah had had a ~good~ time? After seeing her expression when I’d left earlier in the evening, I never in a million years would’ve thought she’d ever say, ~We were having a good time~.

The glowing girl who’d put hope in my heart had given my sister a good time?

Oh, Jesus. An ache bloomed in my chest. My throat went dry. My eyes started to fucking burn. But if she’d really showed Sarah a good time, this innocent blue-eyed girl would be my new hero.

I stared at her, and suddenly, all I could think was ~I fucked you tonight~. ~While my eyes were closed and I was inside another woman, I imagined it was you, and it was the best sex of my life~.

My next thought was: ~God, she’s so young~.

It didn’t matter that we were basically the same age. She just seemed so innocent and untouched by the evils of the world.

And suddenly I understood why my clients always said that about ~me~. Reese possessed this aura around her, this ~glow~. To me, it was fresh and pure and beautiful. I wanted to experience it with her. So maybe to all those calculating, deceitful cougars who employed me, ~I ~seemed pure and fresh and appealing.

Realizing I was just staring at her, I shook my head, forcing myself back to the present. “I guess I should pay you. My mom said eight dollars an hour, right?”

Twisting around, I bent to fetch my pants so I could search my pockets for money. It felt weird giving her the very money I’d gotten while pretending I’d been with her, but then again, it only seemed fair too. I’d earned it because of her.

“Umm…” she said. “D-don’t worry about it. I’ll just square it up with Dawn later.”

I glanced at her just as I got a handful of the cash and pulled it free. “Trust me,” I said, showing her the money. “You’re going to get paid from these exact bills right here. Does it really matter whether I give them to you now or if I pass them along to my mother, who probably won’t remember to give them to you until next week…if not later?”

Her face went a little green and her throat worked as she swallowed. There was no doubt in my mind she knew exactly how I had procured the money. Shame blanketed me; I damn near tucked the wad behind my back out of sight.

But then I thought, fuck it. I needed to stop thinking so highly of this girl. I didn’t know her. She didn’t know me. And the quickest way to scare her off would be to go ahead and let her see what I really was. As soon as her face filled with horror and disgust, boom, I’d get disappointed and lose my little fascination, and whatever it was I was feeling for her would finally vanish. Problem solved.

So I watched her carefully as I separated four twenties from the lump and held them out her way. “Keep the change.”

“Well…” She stared at my dirty money as if it were a contagious disease. But then she cleared her throat and straightened her back. “When you put it that way… Thanks.”

She snagged the cash and started to pull her hand back only to wrinkle her nose and sniff the air before holding the money to her nose. When she caught me watching, she flushed and pulled the cash away. “Sorry. I just… They smell like… Is that…Chanel No. 5?”

God. Is that what the name of the perfume was? Now I knew what to stay away from forever. Most of my clients wore that very same scent, which was basically the only reason I despised it. It brought on too many bad memories and added another reason to why I liked Reese’s fresher, happier, more innocent scent.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said as stoically as I could manage. “I don’t ask.”