That, and kicking myself for even including this stupid story in my selection of lies.
“Clarabelle’s drunk too, and before I can even say ‘No, I’m not kissing Clarabelle, not now, not ever, not even if you feed me pot’—which I don’t do, by the way—‘and I’m so high I can take a bite out of the sky, I am not kissing Clarabelle’, Clarabelle plants one on me the minute I open my mouth to protest.”
Mark is now full out laughing in a way I haven’t seen before and wouldn’t mind seeing again. He’s laughing so hard, tears are coming out of his eyes.
“Who the hell names their kid Clarabelle anyway? Such a stupid name,” I gripe, still upset at having to retell a story that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
His laughter, which had started to die down, starts all over again. I shoot him a disgruntled look even though I can feel my own reluctant smile coming on. I poke him in the shoulder. Hard. “Your turn buddy.”
“Wait, I have a question before I start.” I gesture for him to continue, regretting it when he looks at me wickedly. “Do I have a chance of seeing you make-out with Clarabelle again?”
To hell with it.
He yelps when I pinch him. “If you put that out in the universe, I swear, my legs are closed to you until long after I’m dead. Until they bury me and I disintegrate into dust hundreds of years later. And not even then,” I add mutinously before adding, “Your turn!”
He looks like he wants to say something but he’s also fighting to keep a straight face. I’m impressed when he composes himself within mere seconds but I suppose it must be due to his time in the military.
“Okay,” I begin demurely, “it is your turn. You must arrange stories at your choosing in whichever order to present to me. I will have the task of sussing out which one is the truth. You may begin,” I say imperiously. Like he’s a guard to my lady of the castle except he’s fully butt naked. Despite the bullshit that spews out of my mouth, he’s got me under control. I’m sure he’s jumping for joy right now.
“All right Princess. Number one: my favorite subject in school was math, number two: I worked in the circus, number three: I’m a cat person, number four: you didn’t know I was coming over for dinner last night.”
I focus on him, intent on looking for any classic tells like eye or mouth twitches, nose or forehead movements, touching of the ears or any other place on his body and…nothing. Even his damned feet are perfectly still.
This is what I get for sleeping with a military man turned cop.
Jeez.
He looks amused while I try to go through my process of deliberation. “Okay,” I start tapping my finger on his chin. “The truth is…. math is your favorite subject!” I smile triumphantly.
He shakes his head, grinning down at me.
Huh?
“But nothing else makes sense,” I protest, having gone from tapping his jaw to tracing imaginary lines across the strong planes of his face. “You are so totally not a circus man, that was your obvious lie, and I’m pretty sure you’re a dog person. You don’t strike me as liking any cat other than the cartoons that were on my underwear last night. And…” I trail off, not liking were this is headed.
“And number four is totally a lie because you didn’t pick it as a truth,” he murmurs softly.
Trapped. Fuck!
I glare at him. “That was low, Daniels. No Jedi mind tricks while we’re in bed. Jedi body tricks are more than welcome, but mind tricks—not cool.”
“You’re just upset that you didn’t think of it first.”
I must admit I’m impressed. I totally walked into that. He looks too self-satisfied so I decide it’s time for a subject change.
“Okay, so which one is the truth? You love cats? Jesus.”
“Circus.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me.”
“You were in the circus?” I’m scandalized. I would have believed him more if he told me he was a super secret CIA agent and was part of a secret plot to annex Canada and Mexico to the United States.
He settles his body against mine so that our legs are still twined together, but we’re spooning too.
It feels nice.
“When I was overseas,” he explains. “We were on a search and rescue mission for some embassy workers when we found it.” He pauses and the atmosphere has changed. We go from playful to heavy in t-minus two seconds.
“It?” I ask quietly.
“The children’s hospital.” Even though he’s saying the words, I can tell he’s someplace else, reliving another moment in his life. I give him his space and wait for him to continue. He sighs and takes a deep breath. “They were low on supplies. Two days before, the village had been hit by air strikes, and it was mostly abandoned. A few of the hospital workers stayed back, but there were some children who couldn’t be moved because they didn’t have the resources or places to put them, so they were left behind. There were only one or two staff workers that hadn’t fled or been killed.”
His expression is somber. Something sharp twists inside at the thought of all the things he must have seen. It feels strange, this desire to want to make something go away for someone else who’s not a friend or family. Unbidden, my hand rises up to brush a lock of dark hair that’s fallen over his forehead. I guess he takes it as my cue to continue because he starts talking again.
“I’ve never seen children that young look so desolate. Lifeless. I’d seen some pretty fucked up shit before that day and since then too, but I’ll never forget the looks on their faces…like they were just waiting to die. I was with six other guys from my unit, and we all had that same reaction. One guy, he was still a rookie, married at nineteen because they had a baby on the way and the baby was born while he was deployed. It nearly destroyed him, but then one of the guys, Trent, starts balancing an empty cup on his nose, trying to be funny. I guess one of the kids knew some English, knew what a circus was and started clapping and saying ‘seal’ and ‘circus’. When I was a kid, I’d picked up juggling and we had some apples with us, so I started to juggle. Between the six of us, we put on a show…a ‘circus’. Turns out we each had some weird skill that made us each different. We looked like fools, and when our commanding officer found out, he had a couple of choice words to say, but it was fucking worth it. The looks on their faces…I’ll never forget. One of the best days in my life.”
By the time he’s done talking, his voice is a little hoarse, and I’m a hot mess. Warm tears have streaked from the corners of my eyes into my hair and onto the pillowcase. I was also in desperate need of a tissue too so I could stop sniffling.
Fucking mess.
“Hey, hey,” he says gently, turning my face so that both of our noses touch one another at the tip. “I didn’t tell you that to make you sad, Princess. It’s a good memory for me. That’s what life’s about. Not money, not things, just knowing when you close your eyes for the last time, you brought a little bit of goodness to this earth.”
And now I know who Mark Daniels is.
He’s a man who will fight for what he believes in, who’ll fight for what he wants, and he’ll hold his ground, and he won’t waver.
Now I’m sobbing outright. I swat at him to get him to move his arm so I can reach over to the tissues on the nightstand situated on his side of the bed. “Stop it! Stop talking like that! See, this is why I can never date you,” I cry, hoping I’m not making my ugly cry face. “You’ll have me in a blubbery mess constantly. Stop being sweet and all deep and philosophical. I don’t like it.” I blow my nose and glare at him, but my body is still a little off kilter because he hasn’t let me fully return to my side of the bed. Instead, I’m draped over half of his amazing body, likely with puffy eyes and a red nose.
His lips are still twitching.
“What’s so funny, you ass?”
His amber eyes start to glow, and I become a little uneasy. When he rolls me underneath him, he catches me off guard and I squeal loudly. His expression is hot and
tender and I feel my frown fading. I part my lips expectantly, waiting for his kiss.
But he makes me wait a little longer.
Just when his lips brush mine, he whispers against them, “It occurs to me there’s a very easy way to help you stop blubbering and turn one of your lies into a truth.”
Then his head descends, and he turns me into a blubbering mess in a very different way.
A way I don’t mind one bit.
When he finally lets me rest an hour later, he smirks at me. “Guess you can’t ever say you were never motor-boated anymore, huh?”
Liz
”You've been walking around in a ridiculously good mood these past few weeks," Sophie says to me as we stroll the aisles of the pharmacy.
I'm humming under my breath to the song playing over the PA system when what she says to me sinks in. I beam at her and toss an economy-sized box of condoms into our joint shopping cart. "And don't I know it,” I leer.
She wrinkles her nose at me, and I wink.
"I just never figured sex would have this sort of impact on you, that's all," she mutters as she walks a few steps away from me to pick up aspirin.
I've always thought it hysterical that they have pain relievers in the same aisles as prophylactics and pregnancy tests.
Oh the irony.
My thoughts swing back to what Sophie's just said and the fact that she's right.
Well, she’s only half-right because my insanely good mood is not completely because I’ve joined the ranks of the sexually active…I knew screwing any old schmuck wasn't going to be for me which was why I’d waited...
But now I'm thinking that was a huge mistake because after this is over, how the hell am I supposed find another sexual god with his level of prowess?
It's not like I'm losing sleep over it or anything because the man wears me out every waking minute we're together. Between my shifts at Jilly’s, girl time with Soph, daughter time with my parents, my other extracurricular actives, and sexy times with Daniels, I’m just plumb tuckered out.
But at least I'm falling asleep with a smile on my face. The thought makes me smirk.
Missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggie stake, upside down, right side down—the man should have been named Kama Sutra.
And this has turned out to be another reason I’m glad I demanded physical monogamy.
Now that I know the full functionality that accompanies one Officer Mark Daniels, I've become possessive. If other women discover what he's capable of, I'm going to be beating them off with a league-certified steel bat.
The rumor that he's my boyfriend is still circulating hot and heavy through town. I actually don't mind because it makes things easier for both of us. No one questions my car parked on his side of the complex (except for Bertha) and vice versa (although my dad did make a few snide comments during our last Sunday brunch). Having everyone think that I’m his girlfriend is a really handy way for me to say "hands off bitches" to other females on the prowl without actually having to verbalize it.
I’ve noticed on more than a few occasions, it’s proven useful for Mark too. Just a few nights ago, he took me to a bar in downtown Greenwich known for their seasonal beers. He discovered I loved their Raspberry Wheat, and it was on their monthly rotation. Even though we’d been at a bar, he’d insisted on us sitting at a booth, so they shoved us into one of the smaller ones. Mark had gotten up to use the restroom when a guy sauntered over, sat in his seat, and proceeded to hit on me.
I’d just opened my mouth to question his sanity because he’d have to have seen that I was sitting across from a guy. Even if he had any doubt, the huge pint of beer, double stacked burger, and orders of fries and onion rings should have clued him in to the fact that not only was I with a male companion, he was a motherfucking huge ass male companion. When Mark returned from the bathroom, one look at his glowering face had me shrinking back.
Big Balls or Little Brain (I hadn’t decided which one he was yet) had just asked me for my phone number when a booming “leave, now” thundered over the table.
Big Balls/Little Brain jumped up in his seat and stared dumbly at a menacing Mark.
“Excuse me?”
I guessed he didn’t think I was worth it because all Mark had to do was raise an eyebrow, and he took off.
“Motherfucker, so disrespectful,” Mark had muttered under his breath. “Can’t he see you’re mine?”
His possessive words had evoked anger but also a funny tightness in my chest. Because I couldn’t figure out how I felt about it, I’d chosen not to take issue with it.
Then I had to convince myself not to take issue with the fact that I hadn’t taken issue.
Besides, he already knew the deal. We’d discussed it the first night we’d done the deed.
And in the end, even if I had been angry, it would have been eradicated the moment we stepped into his apartment, because the instant the door shut behind me, he flipped me around, pushed my skirt up and panties down, and he was inside me before I could draw my next breath.
I’d guessed he was still mildly peeved about Big Balls/Little Brain, but I didn’t mind at all because up-against-the-door sex was even more spectacular than I’d imagined, and what I’d imagined was pretty damn good.
It’s been days since this has happened, and my stupid brain is still floating in the happy, blissful fog of sexual memories when I spot the object of my lust standing over in the snack aisle. He’s turned halfway, so I can see his side profile and his perfect ass is perfectly encased in his dark uniform blues.
I sigh, and my mouth starts to water.
And then my heart implodes in my chest when my eyes absorb the full context of the scene unfolding in front of me.
He’s laughing in the way he does when he teases me, holding up a bag of pretzels in one hand and potato chips in the other. Ordinarily, I would be standing there enjoying the sight of him except this scene makes my blood run hot with anger and then icy with fear. My feet are like cinderblocks, stubbornly weighed down on the floor as I watch the petite blonde with her hand on Mark’s forearm flip her luscious mane of hair over her shoulder as she laughs at something Mark is saying to her.
What the hell?
My heart’s turned into glass, and he just took a giant fucking hammer to it.
I want to run over there and pull them apart.
I want to tear her hair out.
I want to scream.
But I do none of that.
Instead, I watch as he pulls the woman close and settles his arm around her shoulders. He dangles the bag of chips over one shoulder so she can easily grab it. She beams at him, and he sets the bag of pretzels back, right exactly where they belong.
Motherfucker. Of course he does.
I, however, hold no such compunction right now. I have to turn away because I can’t look anymore. I set my basket down in the aisle and dumbly stare at the contents.
Chocolate chips, because I was planning on baking cookies as a bribe to force him to watch a new chick flick with me. Condoms, because I’d planned on continuing down the path of long, sweaty sessions with him between the sheets. A magazine, a lip gloss I’d wanted in the hopes of making my lips appear plumper, and two fucking toothbrushes.
Two toothbrushes so when he spent the night, he could use it in the morning and vice versa for me.
I feel like a thousand tiny needles are piercing through my stomach, and I want to vomit. Instead I walk away from my basket and go to find Sophie.
Time to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Mark
I check the time on my phone again.
She’s twenty minutes late, which means that the previews are already over, and the movie’s started. I dial her num
ber again and bring the phone up to my ear.
It rings three times before I get her voicemail.
Again.
For the tenth time.
“Princess, I’m at the movie theater and you’re still not here. I’m on my way to your place to check on you, so if by some chance you’re on your way to the theater, turn around so we don’t miss each other.” I end the call, having just left my sixth voicemail for her, and my blood runs cold at the thought something might have happened to her.
I try to shake it off as I start up my truck and exit the parking lot. After seven weeks of crazy hot sex and a good amount of time spent together not boning, she still refuses to say we’re together or even that we’re dating. She laughs and gets a kick out of how everyone thinks I’m her boyfriend. I haven’t broached the subject of labeling what we have because quite frankly, it’s not important. She’s beautiful, crazy, fiercely loyal, so fucking brilliant, and she’s mine.
She’s a lot of things, but the one thing she’s not is a flake.
Then a possibility crosses my mind that chills me to the bone.
I’m close to figuring out who the mole is in the department, and I know once everything’s exposed, there are going to be a lot of pissed off, dangerous people. If anyone even suspects what I’m up to, that I’m not just a dumb jock cop, before I close this thing out, then not only am I in danger, so are the people in my life.
And Liz is definitely part of my life. I’ve dated here and there, but none of those girls ever made me want to brand them. None of them ever made me want to drag them off to my imaginary cave the minute another guy looked at them. If something were to happen to her, I don’t even want to think about what I’d do…
Minutes later, I’m pounding on her door. I’m not sure what to expect, but when Sophie opens the door after several minutes of pounding and glares at me, I’m taken aback.