Chapter 4
Chapter Four
DOTTIE
H ow could I be so fucking stupid?
I stand in the doorway of his apartment well after closing time with my bags hanging from my hands, hesitating at the threshold of his place.
His place.
It’s just as I remembered. Immaculate. Clean. Masculine. And it still smells like him. Inhaling a shuddering breath, the hint of his cologne lingers in the air, and I force my legs to cross over into Damon’s apartment.
The floorboards creak beneath my feet as if in objection. Like they sense I’m not him. Shaking the silly thought from my mind, I move toward Arrie’s bedroom. There is no fucking way I can sleep in his room.
But when I move past his bedroom, the door’s slightly ajar, my steps falter, and I can’t stop myself from peering through the crack. I glance over my shoulder as if expecting him to jump out from behind the black leather couch with that stupid, handsome smirk on his face .
Telling me he caught me looking in his room without permission.
Caught me spying.
My pussy clenches at the thought.
Stupid traitorous whore.
Shaking my head, I kick my ass into gear and force myself to keep walking toward Arrie’s room.
It’s a struggle, but I manage. Just.
Opening her bedroom door, I’m met with a pink-and-purple clusterfuck. How Damon agreed and allowed her to make this room whatever the fuck it is, I will never understand.
Throwing my bags on the floor, I kick my shoes off and launch myself onto her single pink bed.
On her nightstand is a picture of her and Uncle Damon laughing, and one of me and her sitting on his Harley with a sidecar at the front of Bondi Beach.
I didn’t have many good memories growing up, but the ones I have with Arrie are so special to me.
If I didn’t have Arrie and this space, this sanctuary away from the cesspool of a house I grew up in, I don’t know where I would be now. Releasing a deep sigh, I move and link my hands under my head.
I know I have to see my parents eventually, and I’m not looking forward to it, but for now, in this moment, I allow myself to feel. The hurt, rejection, pain and abandonment are deep seated, and I wonder if I will ever allow myself to be vulnerable with anyone again.
I swore to myself all those years ago, that I wouldn’t ever put myself in a position where I wasn’t in control again, but where has that landed me? Alone. Lying on my cousin’s bed in her childhood bedroom, pondering my life choices and trauma.
Sitting up, I push my purple hair behind my ears that’s fallen from my messy bun and fix the paintbrush I keep there. My fingertips itch with the need to paint; the urge to bury myself in my art so I can shuck the responsibilities and the reason I am here again.
Barrenridge.
I’ve wanted out of here since I could remember, yet here I fucking am. My parents aren’t going to welcome me with open arms, and I sure as shit aren’t expecting much of anything from them.
There is no love lost between us. I made sure of that.
But the little girl inside of me ─ the people-pleaser, the quiet one who only ever wanted to be loved—bangs on the inside of my chest. I need to remind myself that girl died a long fucking time ago, and in her wake, a hard edged, outspoken and creative being was born.
Me.
My body feels hot, and my stomach roils while my heart beats frantically. I’m on the verge of a panic attack, I can feel it, but I won’t allow that weakness to swallow me.
Breathing in a deep breath, I exhale slowly, repeating the motion. With each inhale and exhale, Damon’s scent envelops me to the point of asphyxiation. How did I think I could stay here?
I need to get out of here.
But just as I stand up and my feet dig into the fluffy pink rug, my phone vibrates. Closing my eyes, I count to ten and pull it from my pocket.
Tin Man.
Are you still angry with me, Blossom?
The perfect distraction.
Closing out of the message, I run myself a bath and search the apartment for a nightcap. I’m going to need the Dutch courage if I’m to let my walls tumble down and allow the Tin Man to wrangle my thoughts and make me forget. Even if it’s superficial and meaningless, for tonight it will have to do.
He said I make him feel selfish, well, it seems he does the same to me.
After finding some essential oils, candles and bubble bath under the basin, not wanting to read too much into why he has them, I search Uncle Damon’s small bar and find a bottle of whiskey.
Pouring myself a few fingers, I throw some ice in it without a mixer, because he doesn’t have any, and walk to the bath, naked, with my drink in one hand and my phone in the other.
Placing the glass and phone on the small table beside the bath, I step into the scorching hot water and hiss from the heat. It’s exactly how I like it, and I know it will be a slow process, but once I sink into the bubbly depths, my bones and body will thank me for it.
Sweat drips from my brow, and I grab my drink and have a sip. The liquor singes my throat, but I welcome it. Placing it back, I grab my phone and open the message.
I sit there staring at it for way too long, and when I finally finish my drink, the giddiness inside of me rising, I start typing. After a few tries, I’m finally happy with it and press send.
How could I be angry, when I’m soaking in this hot bubble bath with a glass of whiskey?
I’m playing with fire, but I don’t give a flying fuck, and when those three dots appear, my body heats, and it’s not from the hot water.
I stare at my phone and wait for the reply, and after what feels like a couple of minutes, he sends me two words.
Show me .
I smirk, loving that I’m getting to him, and although I normally wouldn’t be so forward in my messages, I snap a picture with my hand over my tit, my nipple ring glinting between my fingers in the candlelight.
Changing the image to black and white like I always do, I press send and quickly exit out of the message before he has a chance to reply.
As soon as I put it down, it starts vibrating.
I ignore it and submerge myself under the water and count to thirty before resurfacing.
My phone buzzes. I want so badly to pick it up and read the messages, but I don’t want him to see I’ve read them. I want him to think I’m doing… something else.
It won’t be long until I do exactly what I hope he’s thinking I’m doing. With my head resting on the lip of the bath, unable to stop myself, I slide my hand down my body and cup my needy pussy.
Gripping my breast with my other hand, I squeeze it, before inserting two fingers inside. My cunt swallows them, pulsating around them and wishing for more. My phone vibrates again, and I pump my fingers in and out a couple of times, bringing them out to massage my clit.
My breath hitches, my back bowing with the increased pressure, and when my phone vibrates again, I glance over to see it’s an incoming call from him.
He’s never called me before, and the mere thought that he’s losing handle on his control has my fingers circling my clit faster and harder.
With each vibration of my phone, I draw closer and closer to my orgasm, and when my phone stops only to start up again, I pinch my nipple hard, my eyes cinching tightly closed as I let out a strangled moan.
My breath catches in my throat as my climax robs me of air, and I curse out a string of fucks.
Once I come back down to earth, and my phone has stopped vibrating, my head lolls to the side, a crooked smile on my lips. Removing my hand from my clit, I shake the excess water from my fingertips and pat dry them on the towel I left beside the bath.
Reaching for my phone, I find four missed calls and three messages.
Pick up the phone, Blossom.
Now.
You are in so much fucking trouble when we finally meet.
Smiling, I type out a quick message. I bring my fingers to my lips, rest them on my tongue, and snap a photo.
Maybe one day, you’ll be able follow me down the yellow brick road, but for tonight you’ll have to visit Oz on your own. Sweet dreams, Tin Man.
After pressing send, I turn my phone off. He may have broken his rules tonight, but so did I. And for tonight, that’s enough.
Opening my eyes, I’m assaulted by pink and purple flowers. Fucking Arrie.
“Uh-uh. Wakey wakey, whore. You’ve got shit to do.”
“Who let you in here?”
“I have a set of keys, remember? ”
“You’re insufferable, Arrie. Why don’t you paint this damn room?”
She jumps on me and starts smacking my ass while laughing and grinding down on me. “Giddy up!”
“Get off me, asshole.” I chuckle, trying to bat her off.
Her weight leaves me, and I turn to face her. Arrie stands there in a pink jumpsuit with a shit-eating grin on her too-cheery face.
“Are you sure you’re not a witch or some shit? It’s too early to smile like that. And shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Shasta is managing for the next few days, so we can fuck around here and work on this… mess.” She grouses, looking around her old bedroom.
“Does that mean you’re going to paint this atrocity?”
“Hell fucking no. I love this room.”
“Arrie…”
“Shut the fuck up.” She jests, smirking at me.
“Fine. Gimme five to wake up, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Like hell. I know what you’re like. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in five with a coffee in hand.”
I groan and she laughs, sauntering out and slamming the door.
“Why did I let her talk me into this shit?” I say to the empty room before hauling ass and getting ready for the day.
After a much-needed coffee, Arrie and I make our way downstairs to the shop. Tools clamour; curses are thrown, while heavy metal music thumps in the back. I find myself bobbing my head to Bury Tomorrow screaming through the speakers.
We arrive at the front desk to find a young secretary with bleach blonde hair and enough makeup that a paint scraper would struggle to remove it .
“Selina.”
She glares at Arrie, her face a picture of hatred. I’m about to step forward when I feel my cousin’s arm stop me. “You’re fired.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are your ears painted on like your face?”
I fight to keep the chuckle down.
“How dare you!”
“You’re fired. Grab your shit and fuck off.”
She stands up, her tall willowy body and fake tits almost toppling out to shape up to Arrie, but even my 5’5 towers over her false bravado.
“You heard her. Grab your shit and fuck off.”
“And who the fuck are you?” she hisses.
I step forward, the anger percolating beneath surface. I stand inches away from her, my eyes finding hers as I utter low and dangerous,
“Your worst fucking nightmare.”
Her eyes bug comically wide before she looks around the office and into the workshop where the mechanics have smirks on their too-handsome faces, watching the spectacle.
She screeches, stomps her foot, and grabs her shit before rushing out of the office in her too high heels and pride scraping along the floor behind her. When the door closes, I let out a huffed laugh, and Arrie knocks her shoulder into mine.
“I forgot how badass you can be. Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for as long as I can remember.”
Turning my eyes from the men still looking in, I catch one of them winking at me before I face Arrie.
“What’s the go with you two?”
“She fucked my dad, and ever since, she’s been acting like she owns the place… and him. ”
Iciness runs through my veins, jealousy singing it shortly after, a possessiveness I wasn’t aware of taking root.
What the actual fuck?
“He stuck his dick in that? ”
“Looks like he has a type.”
I try not to read too much into her comment, but it’s hard not to with the way my stomach twists. Selina was a younger, carbon-copy of my aunt. Fucking gross.
“Let’s get started.”
After Arrie clued me into what needed to be done, she set to hiring another secretary that she might like, while I filled the position in the meantime.
The phone rang incessantly for the first half of the day, and then the next half was boring as fuck. I sat there flicking through Pinterest for hours, researching what I wanted to do with my piece at home, but also looking at ideas with what I could do to the workshop to brighten it up.
Lost in thought, I don’t hear one of the mechanics approaching.
“Dorothy, right?”
I jolt and screw up at my face simultaneously at my full name, locking eyes with a handsome, grease-covered mechanic who can’t be older than twenty-five. He has messy dark hair that he’s clearly been running his hands through, a crooked smile, and bright blue eyes.
He chuckles and cups his hand on the back of his neck.
“Don’t like Dorothy?”
“Hate it. Call me Dottie.”
“Dottie it is. Sooooo.”
I raise an eyebrow and lean back in the office chair.
“It was really awesome watching you hand Selina her ass.”
I crack a smile.
“Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Harry. ”
Leaning forward, I reach my hand out to shake his. He glances down at his dirty hands, and I chuckle.
“It’s alright, Harry, I’m not afraid to get a little dirty.”
His mouth falls open, and I inwardly cringe at the double meaning. Picking his jaw up, he reaches out and we clasp hands. He holds my hand longer than appropriate, and his eyes smoulder.
A throat clears and he withdraws his hand quickly. Glancing at the doorway, I find Arrie leaning on it with a knowing smirk on her face. She winks at me, and I shake my head at her with a smile on my face.
“Isn’t it time for you to clock out, Harry?”
“Yeah, shit, sorry, Arrie. I was just coming to say hi to Dottie.”
“You done?”
He nods his head once at her, looks back at me, and smiles.
“See you around, Dottie.”
“You will.”
With that, he ducks out the door sideways so as not to bump into Arrie. As soon as he’s out of earshot, we burst into laughter.
“Get your shit. We’re going out.”