Blind Side (19 page)

“I’ll think about it,” he huffs and crosses his arms.

“That would mean the world to me.”

“I have conditions.” He looks away and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe he’s even considering this. “My assistant, Eve, left school last month with no explanation—“

Oh, shit.
Eve was Brick’s last conquest. The girl he seduced and destroyed before he ever set his sights on Tyra Young. This is the very fucking definition of coming full-circle.

“You’re not qualified to be a teacher’s assistant, but you could help me grade papers and report attendance. Stuff like that. We’ll work around your schedule.” He exhales and cracks a wide smile, showcasing sparkling white teeth that would give Brick a run for his money. “A blowjob or two wouldn’t hurt either.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “So much easier—“

“I’m kidding,” he snarls and shakes his head again. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this.”

That’s for fucking certain.

F
reshman year seems like yesterday
. I was still a girl afraid of my own shadow, terrified to let anyone in. Who could blame me? I tried to put prom night—and Mason—behind me, but that wasn’t as easy as it should have been.

Mason was wrong. Our lives weren’t heading in such different directions. Imagine my shock and horror to discover he was in my Intro to Psych class. Thankfully, that was a class in a lecture hall with a few hundred other students. I hid away from him in that gargantuan room, preferring to hug the back wall.

Each day, after class, I would become one with the herd of students and bolt from class. One day, during a particularly speedy retreat I ran straight into a man. He was unaffected by the mass of my body colliding with his, but in the most cliché way possible, my books went flying across the floor.

He had a wicked, but charming smile as he bent down to help me assemble my pile of books. When the job was done, and all my textbooks were assembled in a transportable stack, he looked deep into my eyes and extended his hand.

“I’m Brick,” he said.

I smiled like a damn idiotic fool. “I—I’m Apple.” I reached forward expecting a handshake, but instead he pulled me to my feet like a true gentlemen.

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

“Sure,” I said with an uneven shrug.

“Good for them.” He nodded, never letting his gaze wander away from mine. “Do you want to get coffee or something?”

* * *

I
knew better
. I really did. There’s no way I could have went through what I did with Mason and not have learned my lesson. But the thing about lessons, especially the ones you learn in high school, is that with time and age, they all begin to fade away.

I was blinded by his hospitality. I was blinded by his promising eyes. I was blinded in the way he made promises without uttering anything that resembled the word.

There was a table between us, stacked with coffee and textbooks.

He had a suaveness to him, like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was an admirable quality, and one that I was jealous of. My life was full of worry. Between the anxiety of exams, and the anxiety of always wondering if the guy beside me was secretly judging me, I was always on edge.

I wasn’t on edge with him. I should have known better. I guess I did. It didn’t matter, though, because Brick was more than some random stranger. He was a thing of wonder, so full of something I couldn’t describe or succinctly put into words.

He had to feel the same way about me, as well. Otherwise, I would have been nothing more than one of his victims scribbled away in a long-kept journal.

“Can I be honest?” he asked with a furrowed brow, the kind of inquisition that seemed to come from the heart. He didn’t wait for me to respond. “I’m not a good guy.”

“Sure you are,” I said in the most naïve of tones. I was enamored and beholden by a man I had built up in my mind.

“No,” he said grimly, “I’m not.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Running into you was no accident. The entire thing was planned.”

“Planned?”

“Like the best magic tricks” He leaned across the table and started to whisper, “The plan was to make you fall in love with me and then I would rip your heart out.”

I was taken aback, and shook my head in disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the truth is freeing, and after knowing you for less than an hour, I see something in you.”

“You’re an asshole.” I scooped my books off the table and into the pit of my arm. “But you already know that.” I thought it was fate that I had ran into him, and it was destiny as I turned to flee, pushing through the glass doors of the campus café.

“You’re damaged goods,” he said as he followed me out the doors and onto the busy sidewalk. “Anyone can see that.”

“Oh, thank you,” I screamed as I turned to face him. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

“It’s not about what you want.” He stepped toward me and gestured with his hands. “It’s about what you need.”

“And what do I need?”

“Someone to watch over you. Someone to guide you.”

I scoffed incredulously. “I think I’ll have to take a pass.” And with that, I found myself fleeing again, walking as fast as I could back toward the dorms.

But he followed me, staying the course right beside my side. “You’ve been hurt by some guy.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“I haven’t.” He laughed, but I didn’t return the laughter at his lame joke. “Let me in, and I promise you will never have your heart broken by a man again.”

“My Spidey-sense is tingling and you’re a creep.”

“There’s a fire to you, Apple.” He seemed so sure of himself, like a pastor preaching to his disciples. “It’s beautiful and it burns hotter than revenge. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Please,” I shouted and came to a halt at a busy crosswalk. “Please, continue telling me more about me. You don’t know me.”

“I do, though. More than you could ever know yourself.”

“And the award for the most clichéd goes to Brick Valmont.”

“Men are monsters, sweetheart.” He shook his head in affirmation. “You know what they say about fighting fire with fire? Well, you fight monsters with monsters.”

“I’m listening, but only because I don’t have a choice.”

“I mean…” He pointed to the line of cars cruising through the intersection. “You could always walk out into traffic.”

“You have until that light turns red.”

He took a deep, hard breath before he pressed on. I prepared myself to ignore everything he said. “I’m a user and an abuser. I get what I want, when I want it. I will
never
be a victim to anyone in this world again.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and I found myself drawn into what he was saying. “I think that speaks to you, and I think you’re understanding me.”

I knew I had to resist his indescribable charms, but I also knew it would be more difficult than it had seemed. The devil could sell you a nightmare and you’d think it was a dream. I was torn between utter night terrors and the promise of pearly gates. “Are you in love with me or something?” That’s all I could think to ask. Nothing made sense, even if the wheels of my mind—and my heart—were turning with his apparent false promises.

“No.” He smiled just like the devil. “I’m in love with who you’re going to be.”

“And tell me, who am I going to be?”

He leaned in close and whispered, “Let me show you.”

“No.” I shook my head and took a long step back, almost pushing myself against the flow of traffic. “I don’t think so.”

He just stared at me. It’s almost as if he knew I would change my mind—but fuck, he seemed to know everything else. “The light’s red now.”

“And?”

“You’re still standing here.”

L
ike a queen on her throne
, I sit comfortably perched in the valley of an antique chair. It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon and I’m lost in a daze, staring at the space between the front door and I. I’m planning my next move, and the move after that. If I’m going to beat Brick at his own game, I have to always be thinking ten steps ahead.

“Where is your sweet roommate?” Bricks voice cuts through the silence as he closes the front door behind him.

“You can find her in the library when she’s not in class.” I push myself back against the chair and throw on my game face. “Thank God.”

He cuts into the living room and drops down onto the couch opposite of me. He kicks his feet out onto the fabric of the couch without taking his shoes off. “She’s a good girl, Apple.”

I reach down, remove my shoe and throw it at him. He dodges out of the way, and spins his feet onto the floor. “That’s the fucking problem. If I wanted to be a nanny, I’d don the nicest sundress I own and be a fucking nanny.”

“You don’t own any sundresses,” he says with a sly nod of his head.

“Touche.” I rise to my feet and slip off my other shoe. “Speaking of sundresses and imbeciles, are you making any progress with Tyra?”

“I met her for lunch today.” He smirks and crosses his right leg over his knee. “Well, I ran into her during lunch.”

“How did that go?” I move to a tall table lobbied in the corner of the room, and twist the cap off a bottle of expensive vodka. “Was she on her knees begging to suck your cock in the Domino’s bathroom?”

“Funny, but no. Quite the opposite.”

“Don’t leave me hanging.” I pour two drinks—one for him and one for me. “Get to the fucking climax of the story.”

“To be sure, there was no climax.”

I give him a look of pity, followed by one of exhaustion. “You wear me out.”

“I know.” He bites into his lip and begins to undress me with his eyes. “I remember.”

I had every intention of handing him this drink, but I’m gifted with satisfaction when I pour the drink onto his freshly-ironed button-up. “Oops,” I say through a thin pout and then take a gulp.

In typical Brick fashion, he ignores my liquid assault. “If you must know… She slapped me.”

I’m not quick enough to cover my mouth before I’m spitting out vodka through a fit of laughter. “That is the greatest thing I have heard since I first heard Josh Groban on the radio.”

“It was a traumatic experience.”

“Yeah?” I pout again and caress the side of his face. “Your poor wounded ego.”

“Again, you’re close but no cigar.” He pushes me away and moves past me. “I had a few too many drinks.”

“Before noon? Typical.”

“Says the girl who wakes up to mimosas.” He’s got a point there. “Anyway, I approached her and told her she was beautiful, but unfortunately I don’t fuck before noon.”

“You idiot.” The look painted across my face is a beautiful, abstract collage of equal parts amusement and shame.

“And then, I checked my watch and it was a minute after twelve.” He smiles wide, a little too proud of himself.

“Did you really think that shit-fucked pick up line was going to work?”

“I pity you, Apple.” He places a hand on each of my shoulders. I pull away ever so slightly, but not far enough so I escape his grasp. “It worked exactly as planned.”

“Oh please, enlighten me, your majesty.”

“I’m addicted to the booze.” He moves closer and this time, I don’t resist. “My life has become a wreck.” His palm trails down my side and against my stomach. “I’m spiraling out of control and the only thing that’s going to save me is the love of God.” He breathes a deliberate symphony of breaths against my skin before grabbing the glass out of my hand, and pulling away. “Or maybe, an innocent girl to guide me through the darkness.”

“It’s never going to work. She’s too smart.” I turn around to face him.

He finishes off the glass of my very expensive vodka. “All girls want a fairytale and none quite have the emotional punch as the one where the princess saves the bad boy.”

“That’s funny.” I rip the glass back out of his hands. “I never read that in the book of Grimm.”

“That’s because it’s a modern-day fantasy. I’ll autograph your very own personal copy when my legacy is unleashed upon this world in print.”

“You’re a dreamer. I’ll give you that,” I say as I find myself pouring my fourth glass of Vodka I have poured since returning home from True Love Revolution. Suddenly, I’m regretting wasting an entire glass on Brick. “But if that should ever come to pass, it’ll be me writing the forward.
Signed, the girl who beat him at his own fucking game.
Your delusions of grandeur are amazingly entertaining.”

“You are so bitter.” He laughs, because it’s either a joke to him, or most likely because he’s prepared to revel in my misery.

“You’re wrong, but lets pretend you’re right. Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? If you win, it’s not because you’re better than me. It’s because society gave you a hugely unfair head start. Men are expected to fuck everyone and everything. It’s the cool thing to do. If I should ever do the same—“

“You do,” he points out.

“
When
I do the same thing, I’m a Goddamn whore. The whole city is ready to gather in town square to stone me to death. I was branded a slut long before I ever sucked a dick.”

“I’ll counter your point.” He reaches for my glass again, but I’m too quick for him this time. “It’s easier to lure a man into bed than a woman. Men are sleazebags—“

“Agree.”

“They’re horny and ready at any given moment. Women, however, take careful and intricate patience.”

“Why do you hate women?” I ask with an undercurrent of a serious inquiry and slide back into my throne, leveling my drink on the arm of the chair.

“That’s the most idiotic thing I have ever heard. I love women. You, of all people, should know that.”

“There’s a difference between loving to fuck women, and loving them.”

“Like you have room to talk.”

“I have to get to work, so you’re going to have to leave.” I take a sip of my vodka and relish it, moaning in voyeuristic delight as he watches me. “Really, though. I have to get to work.”

* * *

B
rick left the house
, at my command, about thirty minutes ago. In that short span of time, I have readied myself for work. I’m low maintenance like that.

Kidding.

I’m slouched in my throne, wearing nothing but a matching pair of white panties and a bra. My feet curl around opposite sides of a jumbo dildo, a dildo that could pass for the real thing if it were strapped onto a pelvis. The skin is smooth, with painted dark veins spread across the shaft.

In front of the monstrous dildo, is my computer—my workstation. The camera is on, and on the other end of the world and the other side of the internet connection is a sad, old man who wants nothing more than to fuck a freshly washed pair of toes.

I’m as close to that fantasy as he’s ever going to get, and I crave my alone time. If not for the money, then because like everything else that has the power to make me feel alive, it’s all about the power. I have something he wants, something he yearns for.

That’s power.

I have it.

He doesn’t.

My mind wanders into an alternate reality. A reality where Lydia tires of the library on a chilly Sunday night, and stumbles into our shared house to receive the shock of her life. Poor girl would have a fucking heart attack, and I’d be left with the difficult decision of whether or not to call the ambulance.

Okay, I’m not that fucked up. I’d call for help.

There’s something about stroking a fake cock with my toes that brings out the Plato in me. I’m lost in the emotionless act, and cling to something to dream about—something, at least, to think about.

I raise my head and take a quick glance at the screen of my computer to make sure the volume is on mute. When I’m certain that it is, I pick my phone up from the arm of the chair and dial Cece’s number.

Before I logged into work, I engaged in a little Facebook espionage. I was prepared to walk away from the computer empty-handed—of information, not money—so it was a pleasant surprise to find this imbecile had her phone number splashed across her home page.

“Cece?” I ask when the ringing comes to a clipped stop, and I can hear someone on the other end.

“Yeah… who is this?”

“It’s Apple. We met at True Love Revolution earlier today.”

“Oh, hey,” she squeals, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear. “How did you get my number?”

“You have it listed on Facebook.”

“What?” she asks in her most panicked tone. “I thought that was private.”

What I want to say:
Then why the fuck did you put it on there? Do you need to be reminded of your own phone number?

What I actually say: “Do you want to hang out sometime?”

“Sure!”

This is entirely too easy. “Why don’t you meet me at Gatsby’s tomorrow night?”

“Isn’t that a bar?”

“Not only is it a bar, but it’s the best bar in the entire damn city.”

“I don’t know…” her voice trails off as I catch a notification on my screen. It seems Mr. Footie wants sound. I’ll need to wrap up this conversation real quick, or risk losing a loyal customer.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” I reach my foot out and point my toes along the top of my keyboard, searching for the mute button to turn the sound back on.

“I’m not twenty-one.”

“It’s fine. I know the bouncer.” I finally manage to click the button with my toe and hang up the phone, throwing my head back and moaning in the process. “Yes, fuck my toes. Fuck them!”

Since the majority of my body—and my face—is out of frame, I continue to carry on with the vocal cries of ecstasy as I shoot Cece a quick text:
Sorry. Lost service. Meet me at nine tomorrow night.