Page 23 of Hero Hair

Chapter Eight

Macs

Now that my hard-on is gone for the moment, I make my way to sweet-talk her bitch ass friends. They’re ruining everything. Despite what Teala says, wewouldbe fucking in the sand, at this playground, right at this moment, if they hadn’t interrupted. The physical connection between us is palpable. It breathes on its own. It has a life force neither of us can deny. I’m unsure if it’s because of the woman, or the situation. I’ve never held back before or not given in to my desires.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get rid of the cunt clan. I tell them she’s in non-promiscuous hands and that after dinner my only intention is to walk her to her car and bid a goodnight with a harmless and rule-permitted kiss. They blush. They fall all over themselves. I flex my muscles and flash themthe smile.It works because it always works. They disappear into the darkness of the parking lot amidst laughter and high-pitched squeals. I turn, hands on my hips to face Teala. Her anger permeates the air surrounding us.

“Your friends are sort of special, aren’t they?” I ask.

She folds in on herself and sits on the grass in a small, tight mound. “They have the best intentions. I promise they aren’t always so immature and annoying,” she says, voice gruff, tired.

She seems oblivious to the fact that her friends are filled with sheer and violent envy. Not because of me, either. They want her life. Their looks poised and controlled, their words of encouragement laced with undercurrents of jealousy. And why wouldn’t they? She has what most only dream about. Freedom and options unrestricted by a set of moral, outdated rules. For the first time, I view Teala as an equal. She defends her friends once more by telling me a story about how they saved her from a disastrous date. They came barreling in, kind of how they did tonight, but were so annoying they literally deterred her man-child of a date from getting a word in edge wise. He eventually apologized, because that’s what most people do, and walked out of the restaurant with promises to call Teala later. He never called, but he did follow her back to her apartment and tried some ballsy, drunk bullshit. My skin prickles the moment she says it. People like that get punished. According to Teala, Jasmine’s presence was the only thing that kept it from spiraling into something more distasteful.

I sit next to Teala, shuddering against the chill in the air now that sweat has dried on my bare chest. “You don’t seem convinced of that,” I admit, sighing. “Maybe they’re just...jealous?”

She shakes her head. “I have to believe they have good intentions. It’s the only logical reason people would act so illogically. I have major issues with commitment. It’s not a secret. In that regard, they’re accurate.” Valid point. “Can we pretend to bemorefor a second?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “More what?” My pulse skitters in anticipation. Fight or flight response at the most base level. I’m not used to base level. It’s odd that it feels the same as when I’m making life or death decisions.

I watch her neck work as she swallows. My gaze flits to her lips and mouth.

“You know, like people who care what the other person has to say? They take their words to heart and give advice.”

I almost don’t catch what she says because I’m envisioning my dick where her words are exiting.

Sighing. “I care what you have to say.” Not really. Unless it involves words ordering me to take my pants off, or to switch it up to reverse cowgirl. “By the same token, I’m not sure I’m the best person to issue advice. Especially to you. I can listen.” I lean over and nudge her with a huge shoulder. Teala almost falls to the side.

With a smile, she nods, but still avoids eye contact. “I don’t think I’ll ever want a relationship, and I know how bad that is. Even playing along this charade with you only makes me want you,” she says, pausing. Finally, her gaze meets mine. “Makes me want you…chemically. Not forever. I don’t think.”

Pressing my lips together, I formulate the right words to respond with. Too brash, and I’ll scare her away and getting into her pants won’t be an option. Too sentimental, and I’ll give her the wrong idea about my own feelings on the subject. I scratch the side of my head and wrap my free arm around her. She’s warm to my cool touch. I decide on the truth. “I’ll never want a relationship either. There’s nothing wrong with that. Or you. If there is, then I can give you a list of hundreds of women who suffer the same affliction,” I reply.

Her eyes widen. “Hundreds? You’ve been with hundreds of women?” An unpleasant noise rolls up from her throat.

I laugh. Giving up the notches in my bedpost isn’t something I’ll readily agree to. “Give or take.” I tilt my head left and right, subtly, and then smile.

“That’s more than me,” she whispers, eyes unblinking.

It’s reassuring to hear. No man wants to throw his hot dog down a bowling lane. “Everyone places values on different things. I place the higher tags on my career and bettering myself in that regard. Others value a family and their home lives,” I explain.

She agrees. Something funny happens next—I begin telling her about my house and all of the projects I have going on. I tell her about the molding and how time-consuming everything ends up. How contractors are unreliable pieces of shit. She asks me if I’m perfectionist. I admit that I am. I give her a weakness. I hand it to her so easily. It’s something that can be taken and used against me like a weapon.

We make our way over to the picnic table, and I serve her food. She hands me a drink. The uneasiness I feel abates. The casual conversation continues, but it’s still full of things I don’t usually offer. Facts. Truths about me and my life, and she speaks her truths about life and business. When I stop analyzing the situation, I find myself relaxed in her company.

I watch her take sips of her drink. I trace her profile as she glances toward a stray noise from the street next to us. Her face is perfectly proportioned. It matches her personality. Unlike some women I’ve been with, who despite their best attempts can’t seem to line up whom they are inside and outside. From the little I know about Teala, I have determined despite what she says, she does, in fact, want a relationship even though she doesn’t need one. Guilt is an emotion I don’t feel readily, or frequently, but something similar settles in the pit of my stomach. She won’t find it as long as I’m dallying with her with our sex games.

I’ll have to be careful. “So, we need to do a spitfire round. You give me lots of facts so we can fool our parents and your friends,” I say.

She turns, a huge smile pulling her lips open. I lick my lips. Every woman has a scent—an indescribable aroma apart from perfume and the flowery shit they coat themselves with. Teala’s is sweet. I can tell from the small kiss I placed by her mouth. I swallow down a mouthful of saliva.

“We’re boyfriend and girlfriend. We know things about each other. What would most people know after forty-eight hours?” My cell phone is in my car. The emptiness its absence causes makes me jumpy. I wanted this to seem like a proper date, but knowing this date will end without me getting it in, forces me to twitch with need.

“I told you too many things on our horrible date. Remember?” Remembering it now makes it seem that much more awkward.

Nodding. “Other than being a Mr. Fix-it and a SEAL there isn’t much else. I don’t have a favorite color. Or food. I like anything that tastes good. I broke my ankle when I was ten. I’m an only child. I never let women in my house.”

“You told me about your house!” she exclaims.

My heart hammers.

---