Chapter 5 Piper
PIPER
I lock myself away in the guest room, and take out my phone, hoping that Mr. Anonymous has responded.
Nope.
I don’t normally double-text. Men don’t deserve that kind of satisfaction.
But I’m on the brink of shooting over a second text message, since an anonymous man is the only source of escapism I have currently.
It’s late, and the chirping crickets calm me for a while…
Until I’m reminded of Ellie. She’s a sweet girl who has obviously been lacking maternal care, the same way Sonny hasn’t had a father. But she’s nine. Caleb had a whole-ass daughter when he came to Maple Crossing and didn’t think to tell me.
Why? Because he thought it would put me off?
Because he had a fucked-up past that he was embarrassed about?
I could’ve handled it at the time. But now, after six months of lies that culminated in a nine-year disappearance, I can’t forgive this.
I collapse onto the mattress and release all of the air out of my body. At the bottom of my lungs is a scratching that won’t go away, like a reminder that I have too much on my plate to breathe peacefully.
Living under Caleb’s roof.
A burned-down house…
From a fire that I secretly started.
I’ll make a start on the admin tomorrow morning, like I promised myself. Tonight—I just have to focus on clearing my head. And what better way to do that than to double-text a man who probably doesn’t deserve the attention?
Me: Playing shy now, are you?
His reply comes through much quicker than I anticipate.
Anonymous: No. Just waiting for a reason to get it back up again.
Me: What if I’m thinking about fucking you right this second?
Anonymous: Then I’ll have to come over and taste the wetness between your legs myself, princess. Come on. Send through a picture to get me started.
Fire ignites between my thighs. I’ve had enough of that stuff for one day, but it’s been a while since I detached from motherhood and had some playtime of my own.
I break my golden rule by opening up the camera app on my phone.
Piper Hart doesn’t send nudes. She leads men on. Teases. Makes them work for it. But as of yesterday, I am not Piper Hart. I’m a befuddled version of her who chose to set fire to her kitchen. Piper Hart doesn’t risk her own child’s safety. She doesn’t get involved with men.
So I may as well roll with the punches, and keep being this befuddled version of myself to get it out of my system.
Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow, I’ll switch back to rational thinking and come up with an action plan on how Sonny and I are gonna get our asses out of here.
Safely locked into Caleb’s guest room, I roll down my sweatpants and insert the phone between my legs to snap a teasing photo of what Mr. Anonymous has now on multiple occasions asked to see.
It’s not the full thing, of course—there would be no fun in that.
Anonymous: Beautiful. But it is missing something.
Me: Oh yeah? What’s that?
Anonymous: My tongue.
Forget my burning house. This right here is something that could not be put out—a strange thing to admit as a woman who rarely manages to get her rocks off these days.
But like we have already established, I’m not quite myself, so I keep up the message thread with Mr. Anonymous and end a very chaotic day by pumping two fingers in and out of myself.
Anonymous: You’re touching yourself, aren’t you?
Me: Caught red-handed. And what about you?
Anonymous: Wouldn’t you like to know?
Me: Yes. I would.
A nude comes through a minute later—one that pushes me closer to orgasm.
I can only imagine how this looks, me on my back, legs spread with two desperate fingers inside of myself. A locked door won’t stop Caleb from getting in if he really needs to…
That thought turns my blood even thicker.
I look at the nude and let it ground me back to reality.
Now that is a force that can’t—and shouldn’t—be reckoned with. I’m half-tempted to ask him to capture a photo of that thing beside a ruler, but it would require too much texting and I can’t remove these fingers from myself until my climax is over and done with.
His weapon is big in all aspects.
I haven’t seen a dick like that since—
I swallow the thought and get two-timer Caleb out of my head.
Mr. Anonymous must live in a neighboring town. There’s no way men around here are walking around sporting priceless gold like that in their pants. I quickly run through the list of possible options and shake off each one.
Anonymous: Perhaps I could come around to yours. We can finish what we have going on here.
Me: Can’t. Sorry, it’s late.
Not to mention that I’m not in my own house. Or head.
Anonymous: It’s a shame. I would like to meet you.
Me: I know. U keep sayin
I type quickly in response and maximize the image he just sent through. He purposely left out the tip of his dick, giving me only a teaser—probably incentive to get me to meet him.
He could be a fucking serial killer.
I focus on the image, finger myself to orgasm, and shut my eyes in ecstasy as the pleasure bleeds momentarily into my veins.
I see Caleb behind my eyes. His dark features. The dash of silver in his hair. The fine lines on his face as he comes down from his own orgasm…
The one he probably gets from another woman.
I wanted dissociation tonight. Not association.
I toss my phone aside, slip under covers that faintly smell of him, and drift in and out of light sleep for a hazy amount of hours until daylight starts to bleed through the curtains.
I shoot out of bed with abnormally high cortisol levels and watch the sun rise from the window. The window looks out onto the yard. Right at the back of it is a stream that leads into a dense forest.
Holy shit.
Why did he choose to buy a house right on the edge of town?
The location of the property is only now occurring to me. I wasn’t in a clear frame of mind yesterday to properly observe my surroundings.
With the whole day ahead of me, I dress in donated clothes from Jess and head out of the house to make my first phone call of the day. Nerves crunch my stomach as I spill out onto the porch, phone in hand with the stove company number ready.
“Hey,” I start as soon as they pick up, heading out into the lawn to ensure this conversation isn’t being picked up by other pairs of ears. “Your stove burned my house to the ground yesterday. I believe there was a fault, and I’m looking to see where we can go…from here.”
Great start, Piper.
Next comes a series of questions. Who was the appliance purchased by? Its age. Has it undergone any modifications or previous repairs?
“We may need to arrange for the appliance to be inspected before we can confirm compensation,” replies the person on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry that this happened to you and your son.”
“I’d love that,” I stutter. “Only that won’t be possible. I’m afraid the fire got a little out of hand.”
“Do you have any photographs of the damage?”
“No.”
“Were Fire and Rescue called?”
“Yes,” I reply, biting my nail to contain the anxiety.
“We’ll request their report, but please be aware we cannot confirm liability or compensation at this stage.
We can open a claim in the meantime and pass it over to our assessment team.
I’m glad to hear that you and your son are safe, Ms. Hart, and I apologize for the damage this has caused. Please take care.”
Assessment team?
What does the free-of-charge online insurance consultant get out of this, other than a barrel of laughs and five minutes of wasted time?
Jesus Christ.
It’s a good thing those flames obliterated my house and burned away all evidence.
I next dial my home insurance company, but hesitate over the call button. They are no doubt gonna be asking the same things.
“How did the fire start?”
“We’ll send someone over to inspect the damage.”
Insurance advisors, I’m sure, are taught human psychology as part of their training programs, to distinguish between truth tellers and liars.
I stuff my phone back into the pocket of my sweatpants. It sounds like I already have one legal team on my case. Better not make that two.
“What are you doing out here?” Caleb calls, his voice still etched with sleep.
“Making a few phone calls.”
“And? Any luck?”
I see one of six abs peaking out from under his T-shirt and forget all about the conversation I had only moments ago on the phone.
Caleb follows my eyes and brings down the rest of his T-shirt.
Damn. Abs so defined the shirt gets stuck between the grooves of each one.
It’s so not fair that he gets to be this attractive, meanwhile I’ve given birth to his baby and gone up three sizes.
Working for fire and rescue has its physical perks. Saving people from fires doesn’t exactly make you put on weight. It takes a lot of strength.
And courage.
“Piper?”
“Not really. They can’t compensate at this time.”
“Compensate?” Caleb squints through the sun…or my bullshit. “I thought you were filing a home insurance claim.”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
Awkward tension floats between us.
My eyes drift up and down his body on their own accord, admiring undulations of muscle that are visible even through his shirt.
Caleb is the kind of guy you’d find posed in those raunchy firefighting calendars. If he ever decided to model for one, I’d keep it on the same month all year round.
“I made coffee.” He raises a giant hand, shielding his eyes from the morning sun. “I normally drink it out on the porch and watch the sunrise.”
Wholesome.
“Um,” I stutter. “No, thanks. I’m good for…coffee.”
Bullshit and he knows it.
“Hart.” He drops the act for a moment and encourages me to do the same. “You admitted there were no feelings, so let’s try and not make this weird. Please.”
“Fine,” I huff, retreating to the porch to have coffee with the man of my dreams.
Although, perhaps that’s no longer the case. After getting off to a total stranger last night—minus the slight mental intrusion from Caleb—times might be changing.
I’m moving on.