Lana
“Thank you for escorting me home after a wonderful evening,” I hiccup at Martha as she steadies me on the makeshift porch of the trailer that sits next to hers.
“You’re welcome, Baker’s Delight.”
“Ew. Don’t call me that. You make it sound like I’m an edible treat for my stepdad.”
We both collapse in a heap of giggles, but we eventually get inside.
“Sorry that I didn’t get around to stocking up your place, but I did air it out and bring some fresh bedding over. If you need anything, just holler at me across the path or help yourself to my shit. My door’s always open.”
“Thank you. Ooh — my bags. I can finally take off this pretty dress with its pretty man cooties and put on some very sensible clothing that will earn my father’s respect and love.”
Martha’s laughter dies down. “What?”
“Nothing. I said nothing. My father loves me, and I didn’t let a pretty man dress me this morning.”
“Big-dick guy was pretty?”
“So pretty,” I confirm as I turn on the shower and test the water. “Mmm. Hot.”
Martha tests the temperature herself and then flicks the water from her hand in my face. “It’s fine. Do you actually need a shower?”
“Yes, desperately. My last one was very dirty. There was a man in it,” I inform her with a grin before cupping my hand to my mouth and whispering. “He did things to me.”
She laughs so hard she snorts, and that makes us both laugh even harder. When I start stripping, she rushes forward to give me a hug before I can get completely nude.
“I’m very glad you’re here. We’re going to think of a better nickname than Buttercup or Baker’s Delight, and this’ll be the best season ever.
Have your shower, get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.
And be careful. You’re not allowed to slip on the soap.
And don’t fall asleep in there and freeze to death either. It’s fucking cold out.”
“Yes, dear,” I reply with a grin. “Despite your best efforts, I’m still quite coherent.
Look, I can even read this note from Dad that says: Welcome home.
Sounds like you and Martha are having fun, and I know you won’t want me to crash the party.
Sorry I’m an asshat. I’ll do better. See you in the morning. Love, Dad.”
Martha snatches the paper from my hand. “Jeez, I can barely read his writing when I’m sober,” she says, moving the paper back and forth as she squints at it. “He actually wrote asshat.”
“Unusually insightful,” I agree as I shuck my dress to my ankles and step into the shower.
“We’ll check him for a brain injury in the morning, but if he’s making sense like that, I don’t think we should rush it.
” I look around the empty cubicle and could kick myself.
“I forgot to get soap. And a fucking towel. I’m having a crisis.
It’s a disorganized shower — that never happens.
You did give me enough tequila,” I say, splashing water at her.
“Can you please grab me the caddy from my blue pack? There should be a towel in there, too.”
Martha reappears with my toiletries and towel, and an odd expression on her face. “Your bags scare me.”
“Why? Was it the efficient use of space, the systematic layers dependent on purpose and potential urgency of use, or the straight lines?” I study her face.
“It’s all of the above, isn’t it? I know.
I just like knowing where everything is.
Like Bates. Where’s he at? He wasn’t on my list, Martha.
He wasn’t even on the list. Do you know how inconvenient that is?
I have been studying staff dossiers, methods, and layouts for weeks — but not his, Martha.
Not his. Now there’s a big fucking spanner in the works.
A big, tattooed, delicious-looking spanner. ”
Martha snorts and throws my loofah at me. “You like Bates Kelly?”
I cover my mouth, knowing I probably should have kept that information to myself. “Is that bad?”
She laughs harder. “I don’t know. You like big dicks, and his is probably massive.
” She tilts her head and becomes thoughtful.
“He’s okay, but he’s kind of become Dad’s bestie since Dave died, so there’s that.
And I think he’s in a relationship already, but mainly the Dad thing. Wait. Are you trying to piss Dad off?”
“What? No. I just think Bates is really pretty and nice.”
Martha cracks up again. “Pretty? Okay. You’re definitely drunk, bitch. Rinse off and get out, so I can put you to bed and not worry about you crawling into Kelly’s place to slither all over him in a drunken soapy mess.”
“I wouldn’t,” I cry defensively. “I don’t even know which trailer is his.”
That sets Martha off laughing again as she’s hunting for my pajamas. “Man, I hope I remember this tomorrow. I am going to tease you so fucking hard. Are these what you brought for sleepwear?” She holds up my slinky, lace-trimmed cami and shorts.
“Yes. I think they’re pretty.”
“Like Bates Kelly?” she teases with a grin.
“Yes.”
She snorts again, shakes her head, and goes back to digging through my bag. “You can’t wear these,” she informs me with the kind of authority a big sister knows how to wield. “You’ll die of hypothermia. Here… yes. This is more like it.”
She returns with sweats and a thermal long-sleeve made of merino wool and puts them on the cabinet by the bathroom sink. “Wear these.” She shuts the shower off and thrusts my towel at me.
“But I want the sexy ones,” I whine. “They’re cute.”
Martha sets the slinky set back on top. “Fine. But you have to settle for wearing them underneath wool until it’s actually summer. So basically, you can only wear sexy and cute things for the last week in July.”
“What? No.”
“Yup. Fraid so. Else you’ll freeze your glorious tits right off.
Damn your mother’s ample-bosomed DNA. I’ve been trying not to stare at your chest all night,” she says, laughing at her candor.
“That dress Harper talked you into is fucking dynamite, and I’m jealous as hell at how you fill it out.
I’m not surprised a man would dress you in something that displays those puppies so damn well.
What the fuck are those things? Double Ds? ”
“Triple,” I mumble as I pull on the clothes and wrap my hair in the towel. “That’s an F — and you don’t want them. They’re heavy, and when I talk, guys get so distracted by them that they forget basically everything I say. Well, the straight ones, anyway,” I clarify.
“I’ll bet,” Martha says with a chuckle as she’s making up my bed for me. “You’re going to have fun trying to teach the guys out here, then.”
“It’ll be okay. I have other ways of being memorable. Thanks for helping me get settled.” I tackle her onto the bed with a hug and then yawn like someone who stayed up all night losing her virginity. “I miss you between Christmases.”
“Yeah, well, you’re all grown up and done with school now. You’re a free agent, so there’s nothing to stop us from seeing each other more. You got everything you need? Want a bucket in case you hurl?”
“Mm. Maybe. Luck favors the prepared, and it’ll save me cleanup time if I have one. Yes. Good idea.” I yawn again, and Martha soon returns with a big bowl from under the sink.
“It’s right next to the bed,” she says before kissing my forehead and tucking me in. “Don’t miss it.”
“Roger that.”
“Sleep tight, bedbug.”
“You too.”
The door clicks shut, and I can feel myself drifting off, but I wake straight back up when the door opens again.
I push myself into a sitting position and rub at my gritty-feeling eyes. “What’s up? You leave behind something important?”
“You could say that,” Bates replies in a low rumble that sets my body on high alert.