6. Indecent Proposal
My lower back stings with pain as I twist on my stool. There’s an even worse pressure on my neck as I crane it upward, toward the TV hanging above my head. All around me are other men, townies, who troop in here every afternoon to watch soccer day in and day out. There’s a lot of drinking and jeering, particularly after a goal has been scored.
In the past, Shane’s bar was my go-to spot when I was holed up in the cabin for a while and was starting to miss human interaction. It’s a dingy, lousy place that serves nothing stronger than beer and wine, but it does its work nicely.
Until now.
I turn toward Shane, a sixty-something year old genial man who has worked the bar all his life and always managed to look content while at it. “Ever think of getting some of those fancy chairs to replace these bar stools? My back is going to give if I keep sitting on them.”
Shane looks up from his book and grins, exposing a set of yellow teeth. “Son, you’ve been coming here for years, and you’ve never had a complaint about my seats.”
“Things change.”
Especially when you have a disconcertingly attractive popstar stashed in your abode. One that you’re dying to get the hell away from.
If Faye wasn’t in my home now, I would probably be lounging on the chair in front of the lake behind the house, with no care in the world whatsoever. The lake is my favorite part of my cabin, the happy coincidence that came along with buying it. It’s also the one place I haven’t been able to enjoy since Faye stumbled into my life.
Shane’s smile turns curious. “Come to think of it, you’ve been in here four days in a row, hours on end. I’ve never known you to show up quite so much.”
“Your TV is much better quality than mine,” I fib, throwing my head back for a swig of beer. “I’ll stop coming once the soccer season ends.”
Or as soon as I find it in me to stop getting tormented by Faye Strummer.
Shane returns to his book, and I look up at the screen. As much as I try to focus on the players or even the arguments between the other men, I can’t.
I can’t think of fucking anything.
The first night with Faye was the worst. Hell, it was most likely the hardest night I’ve ever had in my life.
The bedroom in my cabin is tiny, and the bed is narrower than a queen. For a six-foot-three man, there isn’t enough space, and I often sleep sprawled over it diagonally.
Still, that hadn’t mattered much to me. Until Faye Strummer walked into my life.
She wore that ridiculous corset to bed, complete with the lacy panties that cruelly accentuated her ass cheeks. Every time I turned, I brushed against some part of her porcelain skin; her arms, her back, her knees. And who made those perfect breasts, just the right size to fit into my palm?
Thirty minutes in, all of the blood in my body was pumping into my dick, and I was slowly going crazy. Somehow, Faye had slept through it all, but I spent the entire night staring at her ass, trying to convince myself that it was a monumentally bad idea to wake her up, rip the excuse of underwear off her and have my way with her.
What made it even harder to not pull her toward me was the knowledge that she was into me. I saw it from the moment I carried her up to my cabin.Not entirely surprising, because I’ve had girls throwing themselves at me ever since I became a hockey player.
The problem here is me. I have never had to fight this hard to maintain control, sometimes not even when the woman was completely naked.
And then, because of the sexiest piece of lingerie known to human existence, I spent seven long hours wondering how Faye would respond if I pushed her legs apart and allowed myself to taste her while she was still half asleep. Maybe once she woke she’d moan for me, and I’d oblige her, turn her around, lift her hips and slide into her, filling her to the hilt. Imagining her ass bouncing to my thrusts had almost caused me to come right next to her.
I woke up early the next morning and went to the nearest clothes store I could find. I skipped over skirts and dresses, settling for the bulkiest, most unattractive sweatshirts I could find. I also got her roomy jeans, some sweats, and a couple of pajamas, because seeing her in regular nightgowns would have been the end of me.
Nothing changed, though. Even if Faye moped around the house wearing bulky clothes, my hard on refused to back down. It came up at odd times, watching her walk across the cabin, reading one of my old Pablo Neruda volumes or falling asleep at night.
Every damn thing she did aroused me.
So, I did the gentlemanly thing and got the hell out of there. For the past four days, I spent more time in Shane’s bar than I have in my own home. It does piss me off, but I prefer this over the alternative.
Plus, Faye has been in a dark mood and now barely says a word to me, so it’s not exactly a horrible choice. I come back at night with new books and supplies, spend the next few hours rolling in bed and forbidding myself from touching her, and then skip off back to town as soon as I can.
It’s agonizing. But there’s also a sickly sweetness in that, something exciting I can’t place. Every time I brush against her fully clothed body, all my nerve endings feel like they are on fire.
She makes me feel more alive than I have in a long time.
There’s a sudden uproar in the bar that shakes me out of my thoughts. I look up, realizing someone just scored. Slightly bored and even more buzzed, I decide I’ve had enough. It’s much too early to go home, but I’m certain I can find other ways to distract myself.
“Can I borrow your cell?” I ask Shane.
Outside the bar, on a stretch of a dusty road, I dial my friend Alex. We met playing for the Philly Titans more than half a decade ago, but he retired a couple of years back.
After he fell in love with my sister and decided that from then on, he only wanted to play exhibition games.
My grip on the phone tightens.
Exactly my point. Love, or people’s messed up concept of it, managed to ruin a lot of things around me, including my friendships. And it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
He picks up on the first ring. “Hey!” I can hear other voices in the background, and it sounds like he’s hanging out with the guys. “We expected to see you yesterday.”
Before I can formulate a reply, I hear Reggie, another friend of mine. “Is that Blake? Let me guess, he’s going to say he got held up at his cabin. Sooner or later, Blake, we’re going to start thinking you’ve got a girl stashed up there.”
Oh, you’ve got no idea.
“Shut your damn mouth,” Alex says with a chuckle. “Ignore him, Blake. He just finds it odd you like to spend most of your free time alone reading books.”
Hypocritical, since Reggie was about the biggest loner in the league. Neither of them seems to realize how twisted it is that he has the guts to lecture me on keeping to myself.
“How’s it going over there?” I ask.
Alex hums. “You missed yesterday’s exhibition game, and you were supposed to make it over here for todays, but I guess that’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah,” I start, wondering what explanation could possibly make up for that. “I?—”
Alex cuts me short. “It’s fine, you know. I was busy too. James got some weird rash on his butt, and Brit wanted us to get it checked out.”
My grip tightens even more. Two years ago, Alex was the worst playboy the league had ever seen. He was so notorious that his exes often trashed him on X, tagging him as a toxic piece of shit. It almost cost him his career more than once.
And then, the next thing I know, he’s getting his head out of the game and falling in love. Now, my formerly timid, overly-protected-by-our-father sister is happily married with a kid.
That’s one of the reasons I got this cabin. Because while the world is changing rapidly around me, I could go to a place where I could be by myself and be reminded of normalcy. Not that I have any other option nowadays, what with the fact that my friends now spend their weekends with their new families.
I hear shuffling feet from the other end of the line, and then another voice pops up. “Is that Blake? Tell him to go fuck himself for missing yesterday.”
I feel my stiff lip draw into a smile as I hear Ken, who, thank God, is still completely attached to the single life. Being around him has gone unchanged, at least.
“You didn’t miss anything, though.” It’s Reggie speaking now. “Just a lot of gossip about that singer you despise.”
The smile drops off my lips. The last four days have been horrible, but given that Faye has been in a somewhat better mood today, I assume that she has followed my suggestion to not watch TV. Letting my friends tell me the current news about her does not bode well.
“Then I really didn’t miss anything,” I say. “How’s Brit doing?” Even after a couple of years, it still feels weird to ask about my sister’s wellbeing from Alex.
Alex lets out a chuckle. “Wow, you really dislike her.”
I clamp my lips together before a growl of frustration spills out. I want to punch myself for all of the times I went on a rampage about Faye Strummer for no damn reason in front of these men, the guys who were now determined to remind me of it. Like she doesn’t occupy every damn waking moment of my thoughts already.
On the other hand, I couldn’t blame them. Not one part of me would have ever imagined that I’d be attracted to her. If I had her stashed in my house and felt nothing for her, allowing them to talk about her wouldn’t cause me the slightest hint of discomfort.
Right now, though . . .
“We keep wondering where she is,” I hear Ken say. “Like her dad has been on TV and YouTube and podcasts every other second talking shit about her. You’ve got to wonder why she’s just sitting down, letting it happen.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
“Her dad,” Ken says. I hear some rustling that means he’s coming closer to the phone. “He’s been on the news every single day, talking smack about Faye, going off about how her fiancé is desperate for wedding planning to resume, all that stuff. And she’s saying nada. You’ve got to wonder how much control her dad has over her, cause she’s just letting this happen.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alex. I understand why. What Ken is saying hits too close to home, particularly in relation to how my own father controlled Brit before she broke free and fell in love with Alex.
He’s still not over that. Neither am I, if I’m being completely honest.
Still, I focus my attention on Faye. What Ken said is horrible news. I assumed Dave’s smear campaign would last twenty-four hours before he redirected his time and energy to finding his daughter. But he’s apparently still on full throttle.
Perhaps it was a bad idea to suggest Faye not watch the news. I don’t know how long she’s planning on hiding out, but I do know her fallout will be more horrible than either of us could have ever imagined if she remains in the dark.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Really, bro?” Alex asks. “That was like two minutes. What the hell are you doing over there?”
You wouldn’t believe it.
“I’ve got to go,” I repeat. “Send my regards to Britney.”
I hang up the call before he can protest more. Handing Shane’s cell over to him, I head back to my G-Wagon. It’s time to go back to my cabin and ask Faye if the fact that her dad is still causing a stink on social media changes her plans in any way. A part of me does feel joy at the prospect that the news could cause her to leave here soon. Then I could actually relax and get my life back.
On the other hand, thinking of sleeping in my bed knowing that I would never run the chance of brushing against her porcelain skin again carries its own kind of pain.
Who hurt you?
Her words come to me as I turn on the ignition and ease the car out onto the main road. My grip on the wheel tightens for a second the moment I recall them.
Can’t say she was totally out of line, asking me that. All my friends would agree with her. As Cupid’s arrow shot them one by one and they disappeared into the confusing abyss they call a happily married life, I remained stuck on the wall we had all been hanging onto together.
I still view love the way we all used to, and they have the gall to be surprised by it.
Even if I hate it, I kind of get why they were so quick to shift gears. Reggie, for all his bravado, had been alone all his life and welcomed the opportunity to finally have someone to love. Alex’s playboy era had been unfulfilling, and he had ultimately found satisfaction in his wife.
On the other hand, though, I have no deep unresolved family trauma, and I’m fine by myself. My father’s overprotectiveness did border on being abusive, but it was always directed toward Brit, never me. And now she is fine, happily married with a kid. Over it, hopefully.
The thought that my disgust toward the concept of love means I’ve been hurt is laughable. Worse than laughable, really.
I ease my car onto the sloping lane that leads to my cabin. I haven’t been back this early in four days, and I have no idea what Faye is up to while I’m gone. I half expect to see her right in front of the cabin, maybe setting fire to her wedding gown.
But she’s not there, and the shutters on the windows are closed with no sounds of movement whatsoever.
Which means she’s probably in bed. Maybe sleeping.
The thought of being in the room with her sends blood flowing south so quickly that I feel lightheaded.
Parking the car, I swing my legs out and storm toward the cabin, going around it and heading for the lake. She’s going to be asleep for a couple of hours, I guess. I could use that time to relax the way I’ve been craving for ages. Grab a Stephen King novel and get lost in his twisted world. Maybe being in my favorite spot will burn off all the illicit thoughts I have of her.
Maybe.
The lake is right in the center of a grove of trees. It’s a V-shaped pool that’s cool in the winter and a bit warmer over the summer. I would like nothing more than to take a swim, but I can’t do that now, not when . . .
I stop in my tracks at the same moment that my thoughts come crashing to a halt.
Nothing has changed in my backyard. The grove of trees looks the same as when I was here last. The lake is still gazing up at me. Even my folding chair is still out there.
Nothing has changed, except the woman standing by the pool of water, running her fingers through her auburn hair. She’s wearing a yellow two-piece bathing suit that clings to her wet body like a second skin.
Fire spills from my gut, drenching my entire body in flames. I let her hold my gaze—how could I not? She’s glorious, even more perfect than my imagination could have dreamed. She has her back half-turned to me, and I sigh as I note her smooth, unblemished skin, the soft flare of her hips and her perky ass cheeks. She’s soaking wet, and I follow a rivulet of water as it glides past her clavicle and down the space between her boobs.
Where the fuck did she get that bikini?
I’m inches from crashing to my knees in pure worship of her. Every single thought I have ever had flees in that moment, replaced by a singular one.
I must claim her.
Now.
Images are running past in my head, ones where I push her back into the lake, follow her in, and make her mine. Or I lay her down on the grass and take her that way. Or I sit down on the folding chair, free myself from my pants, and push her head over my dick so I can watch her luscious lips close around it.
At this point, I would do anything to be close to her. Even if all I got to do was touch her without being inside her.
Just then, she turns her head. Her green eyes constrict as she takes me in. I’m aware of how much of a creep I seem right now, with my mouth hanging open and my dick obviously stretched to its full length in my pants.
I expect Faye to jump in surprise or cover herself with a towel.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she just looks at me. Boldly. As though it’s the most normal thing in the world to stand half naked in front of a guy she barely knows.
As though she anticipated—maybe even planned—this encounter.
But then again, what did I expect? She’s a performer, used to people gawking at her.
“Care to join me?” she asks coolly.