Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) (16 page)

I felt a familiar hurt coupled with rage begin to bubble.

“There’s definitely been a misunderstanding, but it’s not because of
something I did,” I explained. “If anyone should be calling anyone,
he
should be calling
me
. He took his shit and left, Roxanne.
And I’m supposed to call him? No fucking way.”

I heard her sigh deeply into the phone.

“And furthermore, whose house is staying at? Did he even tell you? Is he
staying with Candace?” I asked.

“He didn’t say,” she said defeatedly. “He just said it was someone from
work.”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry, Rox, but no way in hell am I
calling him. He’s gonna have to call me.”

“All right, I get it,” she said. “I thought it was worth a try.”

We bid each other good night, and I told her I’d see her Monday. After we
hung up, I sat for a while, staring at the wall. Chuck seemed miserable, yet
he’d cryptically told her he was staying with “someone” from work. I felt
utterly convinced that if it was with one of his male co-workers, he would have
said that. Chuck knew what I’d think of him staying at Candace’s house. She’d
been his number one fan for years, and now she had her big chance. Staying with
her would be a big mistake if he ever hoped to get back together with me. But,
maybe what he really wanted was to definitively end our relationship and move
on with Candace.

Saturday morning – the last day of my stay – Mom was awake
before I was, making noise in the kitchen. I put my robe on and approached her
with caution, peering into the kitchen to see what she was up to. To my
surprise, she appeared to be making breakfast for herself, heating butter in a
pan for scrambled eggs and walking to and from the refrigerator with nary a
limp from her “surgery.”

“Hi Mom,” I said.

She startled a bit but looked up from the eggs she was whisking in a bowl
and smiled.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully. “Scrambled eggs?”

This was a far cry from the woman who’d just spent six days in a Vicodin
coma. I furrowed my brow.

“Sure…” I said. “You seem to be feeling better.”

“Hmm?” she asked absently, walking to the fridge to return a carton of
eggs to its shelf. “Oh, yes, I feel fine.”

“All righty.”

She looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

I just shook my head. Leave it to my mother to decide overnight that
she’s no longer an invalid, and that not only did she no longer need help
getting around the house, she was walking as well as I was.

“Nothing,” I lied. “Glad you’re feeling good. I’ll get my stuff together
after breakfast.”

Mom smiled. “Jim’ll be home in a few hours.”

I nodded knowingly. Mom was ready to have Jim come home and lather
attention on her, so she’d gotten up, showered, and applied a full face of
makeup carefully. On one hand it was irritating knowing she was a big faker
when it came to her maimed toe, but on the other hand it was a little sweet
that she was looking forward to seeing Jim so much.

“Cool. Tell him I said ‘hi,’” I said.

After I’d showered and gathered my things together, Mom kissed me on the
cheek and hustled me out the door. As eager as she was to have me stay with
her, she was just as eager now to get rid of me. As I backed my car down her
driveway, I felt a momentary pang of regret to be leaving. As much as my mom
drives me crazy, it’d been nice to spend a week off work, relaxing and
exercising and lounging in the big bathtub. It’d been nice to be out of my
element, away from my empty home and the dark memories that lurked there. And,
it’d even been nice that my mom was there, tripped out on Vicodin though she
may have been. At least she’d been there, and I hadn’t been alone.

The sun was out and beaming through the windows of my car, which I kept
rolled up. I enjoyed the baked heat and drove slowly back home with the radio
off, savoring the silence of the moment before I would have to face reality
again.

But, eventually I was forced to turn slowly onto my street, and then
slowly into my driveway, with scrambled eggs tumbling nauseatingly in my
stomach. Chuck’s truck was not there.
Why
would it be?
I admonished myself.
He
doesn’t love you. He isn’t coming back.

I sat for a moment in the car, in the driveway, looking at the townhouse.
It looked dark and menacing to me for the first time. It had always seemed like
home to me, and now it was a place I dreaded being, seeing, smelling. It was so
empty.

Finally I climbed out of the car with my overnight bag and unlocked the
front door, walked in and shut it behind me. The air was chilled since the
townhouse had sat empty all week, without the heater on. It smelled musty and
unlived in. It was dark and echoing.

I started flipping light switches on, until almost every light in the
house was burning. I turned on the heater. I turned on the TV and turned up the
volume so I could hear it clearly from the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator
and pulled a trash can in front of it so I could pull out rotting vegetables
and throw them away. This felt a little better, a little brighter, a little
like I was doing something productive in a room that didn’t completely suck my
soul dry.

But there was no doubt about it – I had to move out of the
townhouse. I had to get rid of the stuff Chuck had left behind, and I had to
terminate our lease. The rent was too high for just me, anyway, and the
memories lurking behind every door were too crushing.

SEVEN

Because I was restless and depressed at home, I began taking every
opportunity to socialize elsewhere. Which is how I found myself seated at a bar
in a Mexican restaurant two weeks later. It was maybe a bit early for Saturday
evening shenanigans – it was only seven p.m. and I was three margaritas
in – but I was hanging out with Laurie, after all. My mommy friends
tended to need to eat dinner at five o’clock and be home to pay the sitter by
ten. Laurie was different in that she was a bit of a lush, and even more so now
that she’d kicked Frank to the curb. She and I needed very badly to drink our troubles
away.

This was a “cheat” evening in that I was going to drink and eat whatever
I wanted. So far, I was finding that I really wanted to drink a lot of
margaritas, and the chips and salsa weren’t bad, either. Paco’s Cantina was an
old haunt of mine and Laurie’s, a place we loved for its dim lighting, strong
drinks and even the kitschy décor – maracas and sombreros stuck to the
wall. You could always find a spot at the bar because not many people knew
about Paco’s – it was tucked back in a hidden corner of a strip mall. You
had to be in the know to know.

Laurie was in the middle of a story about Frank’s obsessive compulsive
sock-folding technique, and I was laughing so hard I was almost gasping for
air. Just then, a tall, broad-shouldered man walked in the bar and looked me
directly in the eyes. A wave of goose pimples swept across my entire body. I
was staring, and I knew it, but my eyes seemed frozen in their sockets. The man
stared back for a couple heartbeats, then smiled with the corner of his mouth
and turned away, walking toward another man – someone he looked to be
meeting for a drink.

Laurie noticed I’d suddenly been struck dumb and she followed my gaze
across the bar to the dude I was surprised to find myself almost drooling over.
She quickly turned back toward me.

“Like what you see, there?” she teased.

I was a little embarrassed. No way in hell was I over Chuck; it was just
that I hadn’t felt such a visceral animal attraction to a person in years.

“Yeah,” I said distractedly. “Sorry, just … that guy is like walking
sex.”

Laurie had a mischievous gleam in her eye as she looked at me from over
the rim of her margarita glass.

“Want me to introduce you?” she asked. “I happen to know him.”

My stomach lurched a little and I looked at her in surprise.

“He dated Melinda a while back,” she elaborated.

Melinda? Melinda was a teacher at Laurie’s school. They shared a love of
canning fruit and we occasionally all hung out together. The thing was that
Melinda was a polished blonde; leggy, peaches and cream complexion, thin. She
was a lot of things I was not.

Still, this guy was an irresistible sight.

He was tall, but not too tall – maybe six-two. He was tanned
bronze, like he worked outside or he’d just been vacationing on a sunny island
somewhere. His eyes were dark, glassy green and rimmed with long dark lashes.
He had a goatee – something I wasn’t normally fond of, but his framed a
pair of lips I could almost picture myself licking. He smiled widely to greet
his friend and two rows of perfect white teeth glowed against his skin.

He had short, dark, messy hair that looked like it had always and would
always be messy in a way that was utterly perfect.

I watched him unbutton and remove his suit jacket, which he folded in half
and placed on a nearby chair before casually settling into his own chair,
placing his ankle over his other leg and leaning back. Through the fabric of
his crisp white dress shirt I could tell he had lean, hard muscles.

“Your mouth is open,” Laurie chuckled. “Seriously. I can introduce you to
him. His name is Junior Callahan. His real name is Eamon, so he just goes by
Junior. Be forewarned – he’s one of those former high school and college
jocks.”

Of course he was. I rolled my eyes at Laurie. Football players don’t date
fat girls; they date cheerleaders. If there was one thing I’d certainly never
been, it was a cheerleader.

“I’ll spare myself the humiliation,” I answered, sucking the last of my
third margarita down and motioning the bartender for a refill.

“Whatever,” Laurie said with reproach. “Have you seen yourself lately?
You’re no slouch.”

Well. I had weighed myself that morning, of course, and I was down sixty-five
pounds. Which sounded weird. Sixty-five. In under three months. It seemed a bit
extreme, but extreme dieting and exercise is what I’d been doing, wasn’t it?
Nonetheless, I was still two hundred and five pounds – well over what
slender Melinda weighed, I was sure. Not to mention I was still an emotional
wreck.

“I’m not ready,” I told her.

“All right,” she said. “I’m not going to push you. It’s just that by the
way your mouth was hanging open …”

That gave me the giggles and I started laughing until tears were running
down my face, and then Laurie was laughing and we were slapping each other’s
arms and demanding, “Stop it!”, “
You
stop it!” Which is when Junior tapped Laurie on the arm and said, “Laurie? You
might not remember me… We met a while back at Melinda’s?”

And then he smiled one of his nuclear-blast blinding smiles and I was
done for.

Laurie was still giggling – we were very, very drunk – but
managed to answer: “Oh, hi! How are you?”

“Great,” he said. “Do you mind if my friend and I join you? You guys just
looked like you were having a lot more fun than we were, and I had to find out
what was so funny.”

I froze and widened my eyes at Laurie.

“Oh…” Laurie wiped at her eyes with a napkin. “Actually, I don’t even
remember!”

Junior reached his hand out toward me and offered, “Hi, I’m Junior.”

I accepted his large hand, which was warm and dry. I smiled shyly. “I’m
Nicole.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “That’s a beautiful necklace.”

His gaze drifted downward toward my cleavage, which was front and center
that evening in a low-cut pink jersey top. I’d worn an understated necklace
with a clover-shaped pendant that sat right above my breasts, almost like an
arrow pointing downward. A blush flooded into my cheeks as I realized Junior
might actually be saying,
Nice boobs
,
in addition to assessing them appreciatively.

We decided to seat ourselves at a round table, spaced boy-girl-boy-girl,
with Junior to my left and his friend, Rob, to Laurie’s left. Rob also wore a
crisp button-up shirt and tie but wasn’t nearly as good looking as Junior
– Rob stood probably a half foot shorter, had thinning, spiked hair and
unremarkable features.

Junior placed his hand lightly on my back and asked, “Can we buy you
ladies a drink?”

Maybe he wasn’t the brightest bulb. We had two full margaritas sitting in
front of us, which Laurie motioned toward with a smile.

“Next round, then.” His hand lingered on my back and a tingling sensation
spread from it and kicked off a throbbing in my midsection. Junior began
talking about his work as a real estate agent and some insane client he was
dealing with, but I just watched his mouth move, hypnotized. A couple times he
looked my way and the corner of his mouth would twitch. Once, I thought I saw
him wink.

Junior and Rob were drinking beer, which they finished quickly and then
ordered four shots of tequila. We licked our wrists, dashed salt on, licked
again, took the shots and sucked on lime wedges as the liquor burned its way
down our throats.

The conversation grew louder. We were laughing clamorously, growing
drunker and probably annoying everyone else in the bar. The guys ordered more
shots, twice. The last time, Junior grabbed my wrist and licked it, watching my
face with a playful expression. He salted it and licked it again before taking
his shot.

“Well, if that’s how we’re doing it now …” I said. He held out his wrist,
so I took his hand in mine lightly, carefully. I bent down to slowly lick the
smooth skin of his wrist, then looked up to assess his expression. He was
watching me closely with a small smile, and his breath had quickened. I salted
his wrist and took another lick, this time pressing my lips into his skin to
see if that would get a reaction. From the way his eyebrow was cocked up in
interest, I’d say it had worked.

I took the shot and sucked on my lime, turning away from Junior
momentarily to check on Laurie. She and Rob were in the middle of an intense
conversation, their heads close together. Rob reached over and stroked her
forearm slowly and she gave him a flirtatious smile. They seemed to be getting
along just fine.

I turned back toward Junior, whom I realized had been watching me. I’d
had too much alcohol and could sense, fuzzy-headed though I was, that I was at
least a couple of drinks past my ability to make good decisions. Junior brushed
my hair off my shoulder and asked, “So, Nicole. Are you single?”

My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t been single in so long, it felt wrong
to say what I must say. I hesitated and must have looked troubled when I said,
“Yes,” because Junior cocked his head to the side and asked, “Are you sure?”

I smiled sadly. “Yeah. Recent break up.”

“He must be crazy to let you go,” he said, placing his hand on my knee. I
looked down at his hand, and back up at him. He was watching me intently. I
stared at his eyes, hypnotized, and he leaned toward me with his lips parted
ever so slightly.

He’s going to kiss me
, I
realized with surprise. And he did, softly. He pressed his tongue firmly
against mine and I moaned unconsciously. Thankfully the bar was loud enough
that no one heard. His hand had slid up my thigh, and he squeezed my leg gently,
sending a shiver through my core.

Junior pulled away and ran his tongue over his top lip in a hungry way
that made me shiver. “Do you want to go back to my place?” he asked. All reason
had left me. I nodded mutely.

He slid off his seat and took my arm, steadying me as I stepped down.
Laurie looked up at me questioningly and I said to her, because there was no
better way to put it, “I’m going back to Junior’s place.”

Now, Laurie and I have a long-standing rule about bars and boys and what
happens when everyone’s had too much to drink and someone wants to go back to a
stranger’s house. The rule is it’s not allowed. No way, never going to happen.
I’d stopped her from doing it before, and she’d stopped me, and even though the
guys we’d wanted to go home with probably were not serial killers, it was
simply the safe and smart thing to do.

The difference this evening was that Laurie knew Junior. She was probably
fairly certain he was a safe dude to go home with. The other difference this
time around was that I was on the rebound, coming off of a long-term
relationship that had obliterated my heart. Besides, Laurie was half way to
hooking up with Rob, if my intuition was correct. She pursed her lips and
squinted her eyes, looked us up and down, glanced over at Rob – who
smiled wolfishly – and said, “OK. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I gave her a small wave and mumbled almost unintelligibly at Rob, “Nice
to meet you,” and with that, I was headed out the door with Junior’s arm around
my waist. We stepped into the cold dark of the parking lot, and Junior pulled
me toward his Jeep. I hesitated.

“Are you OK to drive?” I asked.

He looked at me, surprised. “I’m fine! Besides, I live literally two
minutes from here. I’m just around the corner.”

I was in no position to argue about sobriety. I climbed into the
passenger seat and seconds later, as he’d promised, we were parked in front of
his dingy apartment building, which I noted without interest had been tagged
with graffiti. He held my hand as we walked up the concrete steps to his door
on the second floor. Once inside he offered me a spot on the couch in the very
dim and sparsely furnished living room.

“Want a drink?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Sure!” I said. I’d already had too many to remember, what was another?

He brought out a couple of beers and turned his stereo on to a low
volume. He sat close to me, draping his arm around my shoulder and taking a
long drag off his beer. He leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes.

I was unsure of what to say or do. One-night stands really weren’t my
thing, but if there was one thing I was certain of at that moment, it was that
I needed to see this man out of his clothes. He was the sort of rare person who
oozes sexual electricity. He’d probably had dozens of girls back to this
apartment, this couch. Who could resist?

I leaned my head on his shoulder and ran my hand over his chest and up to
his opposite shoulder. He smiled but kept his eyes shut. I reached up and
kissed his cheek, then his neck. I trailed my tongue up toward his earlobe and
felt him shudder. He turned toward me with those lips, smiling that blinding,
knee-shaking smile, and kissed me hotly on the mouth. His kisses were expert,
spellbinding. His hand slid over my breast, his thumb circling my nipple. I was
a lost cause. Whatever this guy wanted, whoever he was, it didn’t matter.

Junior stood and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. He
pulled off his undershirt and it, too, fell to the ground. He was as tanned and
toned as I’d imagined. He kneeled in front of me, pulling me forward and
kissing me again, firmly now, then nibbling on my neck. His hands found the hem
of my shirt and the next second, it too was on the floor. A moment later, my
bra joined the growing heap of clothing. Junior stood.

“Take off your pants,” he requested.

So I did.

Hours later I threw back the covers and made my way to the bathroom in
the dark, nude. I fumbled around, first trying to find the doorway to the
bathroom, then the light switch. Finally, my hand connected with the switch and
the light flicked on, illuminating the room in a dusty yellow glow.