12. Aubree
12
AUbrEE
NO MORE SAUSAGE
“ I s my bum supposed to pop this much?” I turn my backside to the mirror and twist my neck to get a better view. My brother is fabulously gay, yet he chose bridesmaid dresses that appeal to a heterosexual man’s eye.
Like… really appeals.
“You can almost see my butt crack.”
“You have the perfect figure for that dress.”
I jump and spin, squeaking and choking on my spit, but then my surprise turns to a growl when I find Tim leaning against the doorframe, his hands behind his back. He wears a baseball cap tonight, despite the lack of sunlight outside, and his lips, so friggin’ supple, quirk into a smile handed down from the devil himself.
“That gown was made for women with a tiny waist and a round ass. I like it.”
“You’re objectifying me without my permission.”
“Yeah?”
The seamstress, Sharna, excuses herself and dashes into the next room. God forbid she stick around for a domestic disturbance coated in sexual tension. And, of course, her absence only makes Tim more smug.
“So when you stare at my forearms?” he questions, glancing down and bringing his arms around to his front. “You think I don’t feel objectified when you ogle my juicy veins and the luscious muscles I have? ”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the mirror to ignore him. Sort of. “You’re so full of yourself.” No, he’s not. I stare at his arms all the damn time! “Seems you’re quite fond of your forearms, though. I’m happy you’re happy.”
He pushes away from the wall with a soft, infuriating chuckle. “Does your mother know you have that sneaky tattoo back there?”
Curious, I stretch around and attempt to study the ink on the small of my back.
“If she’s unaware, I feel Eli may be intentionally doxing you, Aubree Grace. He likes to fuck with you.”
“Despite my aversion to agreeing with you on any matter, I feel like that may be true, considering the cut of this dress. What is he thinking?”
“That his sisters are babes and he doesn’t mind showing them off.” He shrugs and steps up behind me, the warmth of his chest beating against my spine. “I can’t relate, since I don’t have sisters. But my sisters-in-law are hot. I’d wrap them in pretty dresses at my wedding, too. Makes for better photos on the mantel.”
I want to stab him and hug him at the same time. How does he elicit such intense feelings every time we’re near each other?
“I’m thrilled to know what you think of Minka and Christabelle.” I straighten out and stare down at the front of my gown. “And Tiia, too, I suppose. Since Micah seems fairly serious about her.”
“And Tiia too.” He holds my eyes in the mirror. “Very pretty.”
“All three of whom are brunettes with olive skin. Seems your family’s type is in your genes.”
Bravely, he drags his hand from his pocket and slowly walks the tips of his fingers up my arm until goosebumps sprint along my flesh and dip in to tickle my stomach. “None of them are you. So it seems my type is blonde, bright, and really fucking opinionated.” He licks his lips and knows, somehow, that my heart cartwheels with nerves. “This gown looks amazing. You shouldn’t worry about your ass.”
“It looks massive. The slit that exposes my back accentuates my curves in an entirely unflattering?—”
“Delicious, not unflattering.” He brings his hand up and squeezes the top of my shoulder. Massaging, almost. “I’ve kept my words to myself, mostly. I’ve swallowed down every objectifying, sexualized, and slightly scandalous thought I’ve ever had about you.”
“Not great for my ego.”
He chuckles. “But that dress makes it impossible for me to shut my mouth. I assure you; your ass looks fantastic. And your back. And your shoulders.” He trails his fingertips higher. “Your neck, too. Will you wear a necklace?”
“I-I…” I’ve formed a stutter, because my mind wants to focus on this. Now. Him . “I’m not sure. Eli didn’t mention if we should.”
He practically follows his fingers with the tip of his nose, destroying my sanity and, perhaps, a little of my common sense. “Will you wear your hair up or down?”
“Um… Up, I believe. I think we’re all getting an updo.”
“Perfect to show off your neck.” He brings his palm around, feathering over my chest but not grabbing on. He doesn’t cop a feel when he hasn’t been invited to. But he wraps his fingers around and slowly turns me. “You look pretty, even after a big day at work.” He grins when my tongue darts out to wet my lips. Then he folds his wrist and forces my head back until I look up into his eyes. “Have you eaten?”
“I was going to get something on the way home. I came straight here from work.”
“I know.”
“You…” I frown. “You know? You’ve been following me?”
His smile is addictive. A gift so rarely shared with others. “Not today. But you have that lingering smell of death in your pores. I long ago got used to it. And I think you did, too. But there’s a reason no one except Mayet sits next to you at the bar. And that reason isn’t always because I tell them to fuck off.”
“You call me smelly and expect me to think it’s cute?”
He lowers and rests his forehead on mine. God, I hate it when he does this. Not . “Get dinner with me? Your choice where we go. You choose what we eat.”
“Tim—”
“We can go out someplace nice, or we can grab something and take it back to one of our apartments. I don’t give a shit. I just want to spend my evening with you.”
“All night?” I swallow the lump of nerves in my throat and simultaneously wish for freedom and a pair of handcuffs. Both. At the same time. “Again?”
“Preferably. I’ve proven it, haven’t I, that overnights mean nothing more than just that. Two souls sleeping in one place. That’s not a relationship. No sex. No drama.”
“That’s… surprising.” I pull back far enough to watch the temper spark in his eyes. But not once, ever, do I stand in fear when he’s in front of me. “It ’s no secret Malone men require certain physical outlets when they’re stressed. Yet, I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve shared a bed and you’ve remained entirely honorable.”
“Nine times.” He slides his hand up and pinches my chin between his fingers. “We’ve spent nine nights together. I remember every single one. Every single minute.”
“Because not having sex makes time drag on torturously slow for you?”
He scoffs, soft and sweet, so his breath touches my chin. “Because being with you is the only time I actually feel something other than hate. Or rage. Or pain. The world sucks.” His lashes come down to kiss his cheeks when he blinks. “Everyone in it sucks. Humans are nasty, greedy, self-serving assholes. Including me. But then there’s you.” He licks his lips and almost, almost licks mine too. “You heal me of abuses you never committed. You’re happy inside a world wrapped in sadness. You’re color in the darkness, and you help dead people, so the patients you serve can’t even say thank you. You’re selfless and perfect, and I can’t feel the pulse in my chest unless you’re standing right here in front of me. So if you’re offering to scratch my hair and let me be with you while we sleep, then I’m gonna take that opportunity every single fucking time.”
I drop my head back and groan, squeezing my eyes shut and counting the stars on the backs of my eyelids.
“What’s wrong?” He strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb and leans over me so I taste his breath on my lips. “Why are you sad?”
“Because you have this ability to tempt me to give you anything you want. But sometimes what you want isn’t the same as what I want.” My heart skips when I open my eyes and fall prisoner to his emerald stare. “Sometimes, you don’t want me at all. And that pain is unbearable. But sometimes you do want me, except, the timing isn’t right. Or the circumstances. Or most often, I still feel the lingering devastation from your last rejection, and my self-preservation says I can’t love a man who can make me feel like death is better than not being with you at all.”
“Aubree—”
“I get it. I’ve heard it all. You do the things you do to protect me. Despite all my shouting, I do actually listen when you speak. But now you’re in an I want Aubree phase, which is cool and all. But what happens when you change your mind again next week? Or next month?”
“I won’t?—”
“You have! In the past. You’ve been hot and cold for so long, I don’t even know which way is up anymore. And I know , as soon as you perceive a threat, you’ll toss me aside and give me whiplash. Again. This week, you’re all about flattering me. You wanna touch and tease and blur those lines and remind me that my heart beats for you. That pulse you feel in your chest? That’s me. That’s what I feel for you. It could all be so wonderful, and I could even fool myself into thinking everything would be smooth for us. But in a week, or a month, or however long, when someone comes along and reminds you that you’re Timothy Malone the Third, you’re gonna do you again. You’ll set me back on the shelf and you won’t even feel bad about it. Because you’d rather I was safe and miserable, than dead and just… dead.”
“I’m trying,” he groans. “I swear, I’m putting things in place that I know will protect you. So we can have what you want, and I don’t have to worry.”
“The shelf is a lonely place to be,” I whisper. Because if I speak louder, my voice might break and betray me. “I don’t want to be up there anymore.”
“Can we start small?” His eyes jump between mine. Perfect green emeralds exponentially more special to me than the hair clip he once gifted with a lie. “I’ll stop telling people we’re engaged?—”
I choke out a tear-filled laugh. “Handy, considering we’re not .”
“And you’ll come to dinner with me. We don’t have to make it public. And you don’t have to accept my proposal yet.”
“Tim!”
He slides his free arm down to hook my lower back and hold my weight. “Dinner. And I won’t even go to work tonight. Daisy’s got the bar, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you. We’ll head upstairs and turn the TV on. We’ll fall asleep watching whatever show you want. Your choice.”
“Fall asleep?” I question warily. “What if I fall in love again?”
“Silly girl.” He tucks a dangling lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re already in love. You’d have knocked my nuts into my throat by now if you weren’t considering our future children.”
“Ugh.” I drop my gaze and shake my head. He’s infuriating. “You’re always pushing. Always frustrating me!” I slip out of his arms and move toward the changing rooms. “We were having a pleasant moment, and then you mention kids.”
“I wasn’t kidding.” He follows me to the door, but I step in, place my hand on his face, and shove him back so I can close it between us. “This is where it’s at for me, Aubree. And I know you’re gonna want eleven hundred kids. We have to save my balls for game day.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Three kids. One of each. ”
I firm my lips and reach up to slide the strap of my gown off my shoulders. “And the third?”
“Dealer’s choice. You have the vagina; you get to choose.”
“Literally not how reproduction works, dummy. But since we’re over-sharing and discussing our future, which would imply a certain level of honesty and loyalty, you should know I saw another man’s penis today.”
He yanks the door open with a heavy-handed tug that has the wind whipping through my space. Panicked, I snap my arm down and furiously hold on to the front of my gown before I’m exposed. “Dude! Close the damn door!”
“Whose dick did you see? I need a name. You won’t need to worry about him anymore.”
I roll my eyes and bend to grab my jeans. Seems I’m dressing much like I did last time I was in a gown in front of this man. “I see penises every single day, just so you know. I’ve seen a thousand at this point, though at least half of them belonged to little old men heading toward eighty years old. I’ve seen them in every shape. Every size. Every color. I’ve even seen one that was flayed. The one today, though, was extra special.” I shuck my jeans on, bouncing to get the denim up, but extra careful not to lose my top and give the man a show.
He hasn’t earned it yet.
“This guy was in a motor vehicle accident. Shattered his face, pierced his brain with the jagged tip of his nasal bone. Oddly, that wasn’t what killed him.”
Playing along now—way more fun than the squeamish Archer Malone—he steps into the changing room and closes the door to give me privacy.
Magnanimous of him.
“How’d he die?”
“Internal decapitation. Click, click.” I tilt my head left, then right, as though to illustrate my point. “Momentum of the crash had his body going one way, his head the other. Then his seatbelt snapped, his face slammed against the windshield, nose stabbed his brain, face hit the brick wall for good measure, he felt no more pain. But!” I snag my shirt and carefully shrug into the soft cotton, dragging it down to cover the bust of my gown, knowing I’m skipping the putting a bra on portion of my re-dress, fully aware I can’t do so without partially exposing myself to the man who so badly wants to see.
“Have you ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder?”
His eyes spring wide. “Come again? ”
“Steel bars pierced through a man’s penis.” I glance down at my crotch, which is an oddly inaccurate way of illustrating what I mean. “He had eight of them stacked along his shaft.” I snicker and continue to dress and undress at the same time. It’s a system. It works. “He wasn’t a particularly handsome or athletic man. He was on the shorter side. Low muscle tone. His job had him sitting eight hours a day, and the indent of his wedding ring meant he probably wasn’t showing his wang off to random ladies.”
Tim’s lips firm into straight, unimpressed lines. “Wang?”
“Yes, his external male sex organ. This organ serves to excrete urine and ejaculation of?—”
“I know what a fucking wang is, Aubree!”
“So why’d you ask?” I turn from him, if only to hide my smile and let the man suffer a little longer. “Though, if I’m being completely honest, I was concerned that you didn’t know. Like, how can you be you , at your age, from your world, and not know what a penis is? So strange.”
“Aubree Grace…”
“Oh good. I’ve annoyed you. Now we’re even. What do you want to eat for dinner?” I peek over my shoulder and press a palm to my belly. “Anything but sausage, please. I’ve seen enough today.”