Chapter 15
Joe and I were quiet as we pulled out of the alley. I had no doubt I was throwing off weird energy and that he was feeling it just as heavily as I was. I just couldn’t wrap my head around what happened.
Lucifer had teased me before. He’d tempted my desire with his devilish words, made me eat cherries he offered with his own hand and touched me with those icy phantom hands in sensual, teasing ways that left my head spinning.
Never, though, had he touched me.
Lucifer had been the source of my pleasure, the finger that pulled the trigger and blasted me into an oblivion that I didn’t know what to come back from.
You’re not going to come for him. You’re going to come for me, dearest Dany.
Then there was Joe. Devil fucking dammit, Joe. It was supposed to be us together. The first decent man I’d ever met wanted to fuck me without paying me and instead I’d fallen for sin.
“Dany?”
Joe’s voice pulled me from the clusterfuck blooming inside my mind.
“Hmm?”
“Are we… was that okay?” The tightness in his jaw was hard to read, especially through the blurred lens I couldn’t swipe from my eyes.
Was he asking if he’d had my consent? Or if he’d been too rough?
It hit me then just how rough he’d been.
I was so consumed with Lucifer’s appearance that the belt around my wrists and face shoved against the hood felt like a distant experience, like it was another Dany who’d lived it while I was with Luci.
I shivered and tried not to compare it with the night I died, but it was hard to stop some of the flashbacks.
I took a breath and shoved that shit down as best I could. Joe was not Callen. If he liked rough sex, it wasn’t because he got off on throwing me around against my will.
I hadn’t said no.
I cleared my throat and dragged the deflective Dany to the front. “You mean the way you tied me up, slammed me against the hood of your car and then fucked me raw?”
“Uhh, I mean– ”
“Yeah, Joe. It was okay.” I gave him my best smile before quirking the corner for a smirk. “A few adjustments next time and it may even be good.”
The tension in his shoulders lessened. “I look forward to the post-coital survey.” I let loose with an ugly snort laugh that he seemed to appreciate. “Are you still hungry?”
“Is that question number one of the survey? Because the answer is always fuck yes. I put in a lot of work back there!” I gestured wildly behind us for effect. “Always feed a girl after sex. Write that down.”
“Alright, alright! I got it.” Joe’s grin was wide, emphasized by the shadows cast by city lights. Judas Priest this guy was perfect.
Too perfect? My traitorous brain whispered.
“Correct me if I’m getting the wrong impression about this thing between us…” he started shyly.” Would you like to come over to my place tonight? We can order in whatever you’d like.”
My heart stopped. As long as my feet have walked upon this Satan forsaken rock, I’d never been asked over to a man’s house.
Lured? Yes.
Forced? Without a doubt.
Never, ever asked.
“It’s okay if it’s too soon. I can loop back around to your–”
“I’d like that,” I answered, the words rushing out before my rational thinking could catch up. Why the fuck did I say that?
I didn’t look toward Joe, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. I didn’t want him to see whatever desperation this was that likely blushed my cheeks and widened my eyes.
“Good.” He didn’t speak for a few beats as if he were taking a moment to let my answer sink in. Eventually, he shook it off and asked, “Wanna listen to some music?”
Thankful for the reprieve, I said, “Joe, I always want to listen to some music.”
“Always, huh?”
“Yes! And this will be the first true test of our mutual fuckery.”
“Mutual fuckery?” He asked with a chuckle. “I’ll bite. True test how?”
“There’s only one acceptable genre with very few exceptions. If you turn on anything else, I’ll know we weren’t meant to be, and then I’ll kill you and take your ride.”
“Goodness, okay. High stakes.”
“Goodness,” I mocked. “Please. I’ve heard what filth comes out of your mouth. We are all past goodness.”
“Fair enough,” he sighed and reached for the touch screen control panel of the SUV. “Here goes nothing.”
I was on the edge of my seat, ears straining in anticipation of what could possibly stream from the speakers. When the first few notes of the synth cords floated toward my ears…
I damn near fell in love.
Bass guitar strummed a familiar tune before the rest of the band joined in and then, one of the few things God got right, sang through the cabin.
Bon Fucking Jovi.
“Tommy used to work on the docks,” Joe and I screamed in unison.
“Does this mean I pass?” He yelled over the music.
I didn’t stop singing to answer. Instead, I flipped the switch to release the sun roof window, pulled myself up through the opening, and threw my hands into the air while belting out a classic.
I thought that the responsible part of Joe would pull me back down. Maybe even close the sunroof and scold me. He surprised me, though.
“Ohhhhhh!” He sang loud enough to reach my ears. “We’re halfway there!”
“Whoa!” I shouted toward the sky. “Living’ on a prayer!”
The laughter rolling in my belly was a magnificent feeling, only bested by the magnanimous joy I felt in this exact moment with Joe. Suddenly, that white picket life didn’t seem so unattainable.
***
Joe parked in the attached two car garage of his home and cut the engine.
We’d left the multi-story apartment district behind, the buildings shrinking with every mile traveled.
Single family homes, all with similar colors and builds, were tucked side-by-side in a vast neighborhood.
I wasn’t surprised when Joe had turned onto one of the many cul-de-sacs.
Of course he lived here.
“It’s not the Wayne family home, but I think you’ll find it a lot more cozy than my parentless mansion.”
“I thought the family home was like a third date thing,” I answered.
Fuck. Maybe I couldn’t do this. I was soaking wet in ripped up clothes, freshly fucked like an animal, and a murdering mistress of Satan. My chest tightened, the shallow breaths causing sweat to slick my spine and dampen my palms. I didn’t belong here–
Joe broke through the turmoil whirling in my mind. “It’s not too late to turn around.”
I could feel his eyes on me. Trapped. I was trapped, searching for a plan and needed to get out of the car. Maybe I could get some dry clothes and call an Uber?
Yeah, that sounded like the beginnings of a plan at the very least.
Rather than reassure him with a look, I opened the car door and said, “Are you kidding me? You have privileged white man booze in there.” I tried to shut the door softly to avoid the sound of a slam.
Maybe if the sound didn’t ring out into the abyss, no one in the neighborhood would know I was among them.
Did it work? Fuck no.
Joe chuckled and said, “I did just go to Costco and re-stock.”
“Jezebel and Jesus, you are privileged.”
I followed him through the door, trying not to drown in the inadequacy I felt at first glance followed by wondering if the floor would rot under my dirty feet. No lights were on, yet its glossy sheen was awe-inspiring.
“Is your floor made of fucking diamonds? What is this stuff?”
“Ha! No. It’s resin flooring. If you couldn’t tell,” Joe gestured around after setting his keys and wallet on the kitchen island. “I’m a stickler for hygiene and order.”
“Yeeeeeah. I’m so shocked.”
Joe flipped on light switches and I had a hard time stepping out of the shadowy entry way.
The garage door we’d entered through was tucked away in a short hallway at the back of the house.
Though I hadn’t gotten an official tour yet, it seemed like the rest of the house was forward.
Unless I escaped back out into the garage, there was no avoiding what came next.
I took a deep breath, donning my favorite ‘fuck it’ attitude, and walked into the kitchen.
Joe was preoccupied with gathering booze and, hopefully, late night snacks. Or at least, so I’d thought until I heard him on the phone.
“Hi, yes, I’d like to place an order for delivery please.”
“Even better,” I murmured.
While Joe ordered every type of ramen under Lucifer’s burning sun, I explored.
Perfectly hung frames of beach scenes lined the modern gray walls. After a paranoid glance over my shoulder, I ran my finger along the top of a frame to see if there was any dust.
To my utter non-surprise, not even a fleck existed.
There were no pictures of people. I guess that was to be expected. Sadness gripped my heart as I recalled Joe’s quiet admissions on the bridge that night. More than sadness, I felt a guilty pull of warmth. Joy, even.
Joy that I wasn’t alone. We were both orphaned. Both left to figure out a cruel world on our own. He’d obviously been better at it.
I died, and Joe was very much alive.
“I’ll place a hefty tip for priority delivery. Sounds good? Alright. Thanks.”
I’d ventured all the way over to the living room that was, oddly enough, a step down area.
Three shallow steps and I was in the most cozy room so far.
Two fluffy couches, one recliner beside a standing lamp, and a massive T.V.
mounted on a floor-to-ceiling, bricked fireplace.
There was even a fuzzy rug to keep my tosies warm.
“I didn’t know what kind of ramen you liked–”
“So you ordered them all?”
“Well, a few of them anyway.”
I lingered around the couch, not quite sure if I was fit to sit on it in my horrendous trash panda state.
“Would you like some dry clothes?” Joe offered. “I don’t have anything to fit you, obviously. I do have some sweats and comfy tees.”
“You?” I feigned shock, still procrastinating looking in his direction. “Sweat pants? I would have never guessed you the type, Mr. Wayne.”
“I keep them so I don’t have to give stray women my silk pajamas.”
He earned himself an unexpected snort that I had trouble reeling in.
“Fair enough. If you wouldn’t mind, dry clothes sound phenomenal.”