12
Cormac returns to his cold seat after being gone for ten minutes. I kept my head down the entire time, avoiding eye contact and conversation with everyone around me. Luckily, the food was too enticing; otherwise, I would’ve left him in the dust after taking so long.
“Sorry about that,” he says, placing his phone on the table and picking up a fork.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, dumbfounded that he wasn’t more convincing with his apology, but he seems quite distant, so it must be a rather significant problem.
“Yeah, it’s just my dad,” he tells me, and my heart flutters a little, remembering that bear hug he gave me. I felt so warm and safe, cocooned in his embrace, that I could’ve easily gone to sleep.
“Is he okay?” I ask, eager for information, although Cormac keeps avoiding my eye, so I suspect it isn’t his father at all.
“Yeah, that”s good. How’s the meal?” I note a quick subject change. It”s very annoying.
“Fine, but I was considering leaving because you were taking so long,” I growl, dissatisfied with his explanation.
“Sorry, Rae, my dad likes to talk a lot,” he says, then takes a sip of his Coke.
“About what?” I ask, trying to catch him out on a lie. Was it his father he was speaking to or Black/Blake?
He shrugs those broad shoulders as his chocolate eyebrows drop low over his eyes. He’s already a serial frowner with a vibe that makes him older than his nineteen or twenty years, helped by that frown set hard on his face. “I’ll tell you later.”
And that’s it. The conversation ends, and I dive back into my meal, stabbing a fleeting look at Lyons to see if he’s forgotten about me. Only to find that he’s forgotten about his wife again. She’s sitting there alone but not alone, head down, with no interest in her food, while he’s speaking to one of the other men at the table.
In my colorful imagination, I walk up to her and tell her all her grievances will be over in three, two…I raise the handgun and point it at his head…one Boom.
There once was a girl called Rae,
who became The Four’s prey
She slipped on lie,
poked him in the eye
To never be seen again
Smile, Rae, smile.
Fuck off.
I bet Mrs. Lyons knows what he gets up to when she’s not around. I bet her nostrils flare when she catches the scent of other women…girls on him. Late-night training. Early morning starts. Strawberry lip gloss on his collar, sudden interest in his fitness and wearing cologne, shiny stains on his shorts, loss in sexual appetite.
I wrap my hand around my glass and hold it up in a toast. Here’s to you, Mrs. Lyons. Here’s to the forgotten wives of the men who rape. Speak now or forever; hold your peace.
I sip my Sprite on behalf of Mrs. Lyons, wishing it was something harder, but I’m under 21, so Sprite it is. Lucy catches my eye again. She’s watching me closely, possibly because I just made an invisible toast to an invisible person. Yeah, I probably look like I’m losing my mind, seeing ghosts.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I tell Cormac as the sudden urge becomes apparent.
“Sure,” he says cautiously and then drops his fork. “You’ll come back, right?”
As I stand over him, I gaze into his green eyes and find another fleck of a revelation that there’s more to this man than meets the eye. Perhaps he’s concerned that I’ll make him look like a dick if I don’t return. The thought had crossed my mind, but I didn’t hate the man enough to humiliate him. I don’t hate him at all.
“Of course,” I answer reassuringly and smile warmly.
As I walk away from him, his voice follows me as I weave around the table: “I’ll come after you if you don’t.”
My body tenses at the grave tone of his voice, which has an edge of danger to it, as if he’s threatening me. I glanced back at him to read his face, expecting a fun smile, but something else was hidden behind those eyes. I can’t lie; Cormac’s insightfulness intrigues me, and this new added spice to his personality makes him more appealing. A new layer beneath the skin to explore on another day when I’m brave enough. Perhaps he’s a man I could wrestle under the sheets with when I’m ready to open up to him.
I whip my orange skirt up, slide my panties down, and sigh when I land on the toilet seat, pleased to have a moment alone. Images of handguns dance across the cubicle door as I urinate into the bowl, and weirdly, I’m starting to become accustomed to the very weapon that I was too afraid to touch not that long ago. Perhaps getting used to the gun in my hand is wise, like a second skin. After all, there are four men that I must shoot, but it’s Lyons that I’ll cut my teeth on. The first kill must be the hardest; after that, it’ll be like second nature. Animals kill for need in the wild all the time. I’m just another animal.
I hear the bathroom door pushed open and high heels tapping on the tiles, and I wait for them to step into a cubicle before I flush and leave. Silence follows, and I can’t sense where they’ve gone or what they’re doing. I don’t usually listen to other people in the bathroom, but it seems weird that I can’t hear them peeing.
Stepping out of the cubicle, I stumble to find someone standing at the mirror touching up their blood-red lipstick, and her eyes flick to me.
“Hi,” I flick Mrs. Lyons a small wave, hoping she has a bad memory and forgot that I pretended to shoot her husband in the head.
She graces me with a forced smile, then snaps the lid on her lipstick and tosses it in her handbag. Mrs. Lyons is from an old-style class, and I wonder why she married that creep.
Walking past her, I approach the basin and turn the faucet on. I expect her to leave at this point because she doesn’t seem to want to use the toilet, and her make-up is perfect. So, what other purpose is there for her to be here?
“Are you in the swim team?” she asks in an unfriendly posh accent, sweeping back her hair.
“No,” I crack a smile to lighten the intense atmosphere. “I’m the date of a member of the swim team.”
“Ah,” she flares her nostrils, looking me over in the mirror for several beats before asking. “What were you doing before?”
“I’m sorry?” I’m acting dumb for the slightest chance that she didn’t see my performance.
She purses her lips, then runs a little finger across her bottom lip, still looking in the mirror and reminding me of Elizabeth Taylor. “You were staring at my husband,” she says, shooting poisonous darts from her eyeballs. Some wives will fight for their husbands, even when they majorly stuff and humiliate them. Even though I admire her steadfast loyalty, he’s not the man she thinks he is.
“Um, no,” I answer vaguely, avoiding her eye in case she could read my mind. “I don’t know your husband.”
She turns around and leans against the bench to look at me in real-time, not via the mirror. “You were staring at my husband while holding your fingers to your head like this,” she states, copying what I did.
“Oh, that had nothing to do with your husband. I was mucking around with guys on my table,” I explain.
She grunts unconvinced, turns on her red heels, and swiftly leaves the bathroom.
“Jeez, that was intense,” I mutter as I pat cold water on my hot cheeks. Imagine living your life that way, where every time your husband leaves the house, you suspect him of cheating. But when it comes to her husband, the chances of him trying to cheat are probably high, but it’s the least of her problems. Raping girls is a different story altogether.
I swing the bathroom door open and startle at the sight of Cormac leaning against the opposite corridor wall, arms folded across his chest.
“Did you think I was going to escape out the window?” I exclaim as my heart starts to cool, yet suspicion rises. I’ve never been a fan of obsessive, controlling men, even the men who look like they just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine.
That severity behind his eyes burns across my skin, my instincts informing me that things are not what they seem. He glances down the corridor toward the bright lights of the dining hall, and when he looks back at me, the darkness has gone, replaced by smiling eyes even though his mouth remains tight. “Payback,” he answers simply.
“Payback?” I enquire, “for what?”
“Since I took so long on my phone call, I thought you might take revenge on me by deliberately taking your time,” he explains evenly.
I can’t help but smile. “Oh yes, the womanly way, but I’m not naturally revengeful.” This is true. I’m not naturally vindictive, so I must sweep aside my ‘old’ personality to make way for the new.
“Aren’t you?” he asks, stepping towards me and running his hand down my tanned, bare arm. I stifle my instincts to recoil from his touch, not because I hate it but because a single touch can lead me somewhere I’m not ready to go yet. But he won’t understand this, nor will he care.
“Are you calling me a liar?” I ask playfully as he moves in closer again, and I swallow over a lump in my throat.
His large hand found my cheek and ran the back of his fist down my skin, stopping at a golden ringlet that he took between his fingers. As he twirls that golden ringlet around his finger, those sky blues run all over my lips, eyes, nose, and forehead.
I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me, but fear is a driving divider here.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he breathes close to my face, releasing my hair from his finger. “Avoiding my head from being bitten off is paramount.” He’s referring to the female mantis who bites off her mate’s head as they’re mating, so does that mean he’s hoping we’ll mate, too?
“Sure, I guess you can’t swim without a head,” I swallow back my fear. He smells so good, and the heat rolling off that towering body stirs my desires as my upper thighs quiver. That feeling of fullness and elation when a man is inside me is something I’ve missed. Warm hands caressing my naked body, moist, wet tongue traveling over my skin, burning me, yet images invade my mind, taking me back to the day The Four held me captive for hours. Everything returns to that day. Even now, images shuffle behind my eyes, and a battle takes place inside me. The hunger to sink into the bliss of this man before me versus the fear of ‘what if it hurts?’ What if it hurts so bad I never want to go near another man again?
Those sky blues of his watch me closely as he leans forward and is about to press his lips against mine when a phone rings, and I startle, propelling backward away from him.
Cormac looked bewildered, wondering why my reaction was so exaggerated, before he took the phone from his pocket and answered it.
He turns away from me as he grunts a couple of words down the line before swiping off. “I have to go,” he says, disappointed.
“Really? You invited me here, and now you will abandon me?” I’m shocked and relieved that this night has been cut short because I can now escape to my tiny apartment with my tomato plant, pineapple experiment, and spider to watch mindless Netflix garbage.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Rae,” he states with genuine anguish as if he’s hoping he has ruined it between us. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“No,” I answer sharply, “I’m traveling out of town to visit my parents. What’s your emergency anyway that you have to leave?”
“Something went down with my father,” he shrugs those broad shoulders. “Family stuff. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, sure, I do,” I say, unconvinced by his excuse, although I feel an ounce of sympathy for him as he shuffles on those large feet. He needs to go versus wants to stay. It looks like he’s a duty-bound man who will choose his family over his golden-haired date.
“Anyway,” he leans forward quickly before I have a chance to react and kisses my cheek. As he lifts his eyes, he holds his stare, penetrating my soul, and leans in again to plant those lips against mine. It”s the first kiss in two years, and it feels…right…nice. Very nice. I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands run smoothly around my waist, and he tilts his head to the side and slips his warm tongue inside my mouth.
A soft moan escapes my mouth as his tongue dances with mine in a tango, then a waltz as his crotch rams hard against me. So far, so good.
He makes an anguished grunt and breaks the kiss, but still holding me close. “I’m so sorry, Rae, I have to go,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I nod in understanding.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers, assuming I will leave too.
“Um, I’m going to stay to finish my meal,” I tell him, and disappointment washes across his face.
“Sure,” he says, releasing his grip on me. “Ask security to walk you to your car when you’re ready to leave.”
“Okay, I will,” I smile, touching my swollen lips from where his mouth was a few seconds ago.
His lips find my mouth again before he turns and walks away from me, and I notice a change in him as he walks away. Something about Cormac Bernardi – Irish mother, Italian father- is intriguing. A mystery within a mystery. Because right before my eyes, he transformed from a twenty-year-old swim jock eager to get his tongue down my throat to a mature, taunted man with secrets.
With my tingling lips, I start walking towards the dining hall, squirming at the wetness between my legs, which has made my panties completely sodden. Yep, it’s been a long time since a man got me wet just from a single kiss.
I plant my backside down at the table, imagining my juice escaping onto the seat, and lift my bottom to check. Phew! It’s clear.
“Are you okay?” Lucy asks, wearing an amused expression.
I chuckle, embarrassed as if I’ve been caught doing something naughty. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, glancing at the Lyons’ table to find that Mr. and Mrs. Lyons are observing me. It isn’t until Mrs. Lyons fires an almighty glare at Mr. Lyons that he pulls his eyes away from me.
Creep.
Anyway, I have a plate of food and will not leave until I finish. After all, the mother bird feeds herself first before tending to the chicks, or she’ll lose her strength.