Page 26 of Desert King

“Probably. Anyway, can you show me how to apply all this stuff?”

Ten minutes and two-hundred-dollars later, I’m out the door. A light wind blows back my new hair. I find Tommy’s Tacos, placing an order to go. The bag swings from my hands as I navigate the streets back to my rental.

The complex is eerily quiet. Not that I’ve really bothered to make friends or meet people. But it’s just past dusk and there’s no lights on. Only a few cars sit, parked around the back of the building.

Clutching my takeout bag to my chest, I insert the key into the lock. My boxes and bags are creepy lumps sitting in the dark.

Instinctively, I flip the light switch. But something’s off. There’s an oppressive silence. The same silence that greeted me before I even stepped foot in here. Someone’s been here. My things are tossed about. Bags I never opened are untied, their contents in piles.

But my door was locked? I grab a candlestick, clutching it tight. With my back to the wall, I inch around the corner, trying to peer into the small bedroom.

“What the fuck?” I hiss. I should be afraid, instead I’m enraged. I charge forward, raising my weapon. She spins, holding a small gun. She’s in my bed with her boots on. A glass of my wine sits on the nightstand with the stain of her deep pink lips around the rim.

“You interrupted. I was just getting to the good part where you had crazy sex dreams about your male nurse in Tampa.”

My cheeks heat. “That’s private!”

“Not anymore. You’re a damn good writer. Your talents are wasted in your diary.”

She’s crazy.

A crazy, beautiful woman. She lights a blunt, bringing it to her lips. Each of her fingers are covered in stacked rings. Beaded and leather bracelets cuff both her wrists.

“What do you want?”

“You gone.”

“And he sent you to make me?” I roll my eyes. The woman is almost as tiny as me.

“Can we talk about this?”

“No.” She exhales, flipping the page of my purple book of secrets. She lays her blunt down on the small table next to the bed.

“Are you really going to shoot me?”

“Maybe.”

“Bullshit.” I lunge, catapulting myself on the bed. We fight over my book. She drops her gun in an effort to grab it with her other hand. We roll and roll, kicking, panting, punching.

She lands on top of me. Grabs my wrists and pins them above my head. Her knee presses down on me. I bite my lip. The pressure feels good.

“You like that?”

“No.” I swallow hard, feeling my nipples straining. She bends down, sniffing my neck.

“You smell like desperation.”

I buck, trying to get her off me, but I have nothing. I need to start weight training.

She moves her mouth to my lips. “If you tell, anyone about this, I will kill you.”

Her soft lips land on mine. She moves, grinding her mound against my jeans. I’m not into women but just being touched and seduced feels so damn good. The feel of a warm hand and a mouth on me has me craving for sex, affection, and intimacy.

It’s over just as abruptly as it started. “I’m not into women either.”

“Then what the hell was that?” I wipe her kiss off my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I’m high. You look sexy as fuck and the man I want is still in love with a dead girl.”

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