Crushed Ice (11 page)

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Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Crushed Ice
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Chapter 20
Sophia's bag rested at the door where I left it. A black wheeled reminder that her time here was fleeting. I led her to my sofa, skipping the guided tour. The place was sparsely furnished anyway. Minimalist contemporary allowed me to pack up and go at a moment's notice, without fear of someone going through my shit. Most of my secrets dwelled in my head and on my laptop that I'd placed on the small table in front of my window view.
As I got her a glass of water from the kitchen, I could hear it: A faint seductive melody, barely noticeable as it called to me. But it was there if you knew to listen for it. I told myself it was just the pussy and not the person.
“This is a nice place,” she proclaimed as I turned on the tap.
“Thanks,” I replied as I stuck my finger into the cool running water, splitting the stream. When she thought no one was looking, my mother would wash her hands constantly, some attempt on a deeper level to rid herself of whatever stained her so.
Out, damned spot
, indeed. Some real Macbeth shit.
It was said in ancient times that the gods spoke to mere mortals through running water, rivers and such. I listened for similar guidance, courtesy of the DWU, Dallas Water Utilities.
When I returned with the glass of cold water, her legs were apart, waiting for me to bridge the gap. Perhaps the water was meant to douse the burning flame that existed there. She drank it instead. In her other hand, she held open my copy of Sun Tzu's
The Art of War
. She'd snuck over to my bookshelf that quick.
“Figured you'd have something like this for reading material,” she scoffed. “But what's up with the mythology stuff? The Iliad? The Odyssey?”
“You'd be surprised at what you learn. Both real and imagined,” I answered. I appreciated that she hadn't chose to examine those particular books more closely. I sat in the chair, across the coffee table from her. A safe zone.
“Is everything about war or a struggle of some sort?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you felt about me and Natalia back in Vegas? Like you're competing with her for me on some level?”
I chuckled. The woman was trying to psychoanalyze a psycho. Kudos to her. “Maybe,” I answered.
“Want to compete with her?” she asked as she placed her empty glass on the coffee table. She wiped the excess water from the edge of her sexy mouth. “You can start here.”
The whispers became screams as she spread her legs further.
I stepped over the table. Got down on my knees and placed my head under her dress, ignoring any reason and wisdom I'd learned from the water gods of the kitchen sink.
I began at her knees, lathering the insides of her powerful thighs with tiny wet kisses. The closer I got to her gooey center, the more labored her breathing became. I nuzzled my tongue against her clit, savoring her damp, deep heat. She moaned sweetly. Perfectly. She was already so wet. I went deeper, in search of more. Eating, tasting, and partaking of her power.
Determined to break her bewitching spell over me by breaking her instead.
To her, I probably appeared weak.
Good.
Appear strong when you are weak. Weak when you are strong.
Sun Tzu.
“Mmm. That's it. Eat it, Truth. Eat that pussy right,” she urged, giddy with pleasure as she rocked back and forth on the sofa. Her legs opened and closed around my head like a taco shell.
Instincts guided me, even as I did something against the better of them. I paused from my feast, needing to clear my head for a sec.
“What? What's wrong?” she murmured.
I didn't answer. Just ripped her dress off instead, eliciting gasps with each harsh yank. She lay bare before me as I stood up. She was so beautiful. An angel with wings made of lies.
She smirked, toying with her hair as she invited me to do more than just gaze.
Beautiful and devious.
I scooped her up and carried her to my bedroom. She bit on my neck again as I held her in my arms, cradling her warm body next to me.
“You're going to make me drop you,” I teased as she sucked harder, determined to leave a mark.
“You wouldn't dare,” she said as she paused from my neck.
I startled her by relinquishing my hold. Rather than hitting the floor, as she'd anticipated, she landed softly atop my mattress.
“Oops.”
“You asshole,” she joked as I undressed. When I was done, I watched her watching me. Her eyes narrowed on my dick. “Mmm. I've wanted some more of that since we were on the plane.”
I joined her on the bed, inching closer. As our bodies began to touch, she stuck up her hand to stop me.
“Truth or dare?” she asked, delicately this time. Seemed almost fragile.
“Truth.”
“Are you going to fuck me or make love to me?”
“Make love to you,” I replied as I looked into her eyes.
In my bed, which I shared with no one, I fucked her.
 
 
A rattle in my apartment woke me. I'd forgotten Sophia was still there. Looking around my room, I saw the wrinkled sheets gathered by my feet. Condom wrappers lay discarded across the bed and on the floor. Amidst the latex, essence of our union still permeated the atmosphere. While exhaustion was to be expected, the pounding headache that accompanied it wasn't. I looked at the clock.
Five hours I'd been asleep.
That many hours at one time was a rarity for me. Rare enough that it raised concerns. The glass of water that Sophia had gotten me in the middle of our session was gone from the nightstand. I rubbed my eyes then quietly forced myself out of bed, restraining a grunt as I stood.
Other than debris from the damage we wrought, the bedroom looked the same. She hadn't stolen my wallet, thank God. I walked to my closet, checking the variety of clothes, accessories, and disguises I used before removing the air vent to retrieve something.
“Thought you'd never wake up,” Sophia said when I staggered out of the bedroom. She had changed into something from her suitcase. Unlike me, she looked fit, as if ready for one of her jogs. She sat near my laptop, but it was still shut. She'd resumed her reading of
The Art of War
, but had turned on the TV, keeping the volume low. “I just can't get enough of those two,” she joked.
On the fifty-two-inch screen, CNN was covering the music awards that would be airing that night from Las Vegas. Penny Antnee and Natalia were having a major PDA for the media, deciding to fully acknowledge their relationship, as well a possible reality show in the works. The reporter was asking them something during the pre-show, while Natalia cut sweet eyes at her boo. I didn't waste much time on the scripted fantasy, as I was too busy looking for something awry in my place.
“Nothing to say after last night, lover?”
“Just that my head is killing me,” I replied. “What'd you do with my glass of water I had at bedside?”
“I spilled the rest when I got up, so I put it in the dishwasher. Want me to make you some breakfast?” she asked as she sprang up from the chair, offering no hint as to whether she'd drugged me. “I have to warn you, I'm not the best cook.”
I interrupted her, placing the bundle of rubber band–bound cash in her hand instead.
“You said ten K for Vegas. What's the extra loot for? I hope you don't think—”
“No, I don't think,” I replied, referring to what had gone down between us. “I just need you to go.”
“Need some time to yourself?”
“No. I need you to leave town. Tell Collette whatever you think she'll believe. That money there should get you established and back on your feet . . . wherever you choose to go.”
“Uh-huh,” she hissed. “As long as it's not around here.”
Sophia slapped me. Leveled a strike that watered my eyes and added to the intense pounding in my skull. For someone as light as she was, she had a lot of power behind her open hand.
“Knew you were smart,” I said, turning my back to shuffle off to my bedroom without acknowledging the internal hurt she felt, nor the hurt my face felt.
“You're in love.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not with me though. Unh-uh. I'm not good enough for you,” she said, scowl evident. “It's Collette. You want her all to yourself.”
“No, but she needs protecting. You're bad for her.”
“And you're so good? You are a twisted motherfucker, Truth.”
“Don't call me that. Ever again.”
“I don't appreciate being threatened.”
“You're not. You've been paid. Well. Do you have a problem with my money?”
Sophia ran her thumb over the edges of the bills. “No,” she mumbled, defeated. “No problem.”
“Then see yourself out.”
“Even bad people who do evil things need love,
Chris.
Mark my words: You'll come to realize that one day,” she spat just before wheeling her suitcase out the door.
People also need trust, something I could never have with Sophia. Depending on one's perspective, she was either too good, or too bad, to keep around.
I reached for my phone, taking it with me as I went to my bookshelf. I selected an old book on Greek mythology, cracking the weathered cover for the first time in months. Had to be sure it was still there. While I was sleeping, Sophia could've rifled through everything.
“Yes, this is Mr. Davis. I'd like to switch units. Preferably on another floor,” I said to the building manager when she answered. As she attempted to fathom my request, I reread the clipping stowed in my book. It was from the
Times Picayune
back in New Orleans. Something I held onto. The article told the flowery tragic tale of a failed soap star who hurled herself off the Mississippi River Bridge one day. It claimed the depressed suicidal woman had no children, and nobody left behind, other than her estranged brother. A lawyer. Jason had told me something about my not having a birth certificate, having never attended school, and the issue of not knowing my father might complicate things. I was just a complication to him. A complication and a tool.
Outside my apartment window, it was a perfect day.
“Why?” I asked, echoing the manager's inquiry. “Because I'm not pleased with the view.”
Chapter 21
I entered the bookstore, playing the role of the happy sap; pretending as if none of the past week had occurred between Sophia and me.
I skipped the hated coffee blend this time, naturally anxious and excited to see her. She sat in what was my regular spot for these meetings, unnerving me. Facing me, as if she were on the lookout for my arrival.
But that was impossible.
“Hey,” I said, ignoring her change of seats as I planted a friendly kiss on her cheek. It wasn't something I would normally do, but I was genuinely pleased that she was here.
“Somebody's in a good mood,” she responded, a rare funkiness evident in her tone. “Skipped the coffee?”
“Yeah . . . how did—” I gasped before realizing the obvious. Those damn senses of hers. “You did too?” I asked, noticing her missing cup, but with the more traditional sense.
“Yes. I wasn't in the mood for a pick-me-up.”
“Somebody's in a bad mood,” I quipped as I claimed the seat she normally held.
“So observant,” she taunted. “I guess that's why you're a writer. Speaking of that, how's the story coming along?
“Good. Completed a bunch of chapters this weekend. Guess I've been inspired.
“And yet you still refuse to read one to me. A shame.”
“Something on your mind, Collette?” I asked, leaning toward her.
“My cousin Sophia left.”
“Oh?”
“I kind of enjoyed the company, to tell you the truth. She was a trip.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Saw that much when you introduced us. Where'd she go?”
“Don't know.” She sighed. “She went out of town for an interview or something, came back and grabbed her stuff. For someone with a new job, she was pretty salty. Wouldn't even tell me what kind of job or where she was heading. Figured she owed me at least that. When I asked her to check the attitude at the door, we got into it.”
“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Don't be,” she said with a smile briefly returning to her delicate features. “You didn't have anything to do with it. I don't like to speak ill of family, but Sophia is a devious person. I'm just one of the rare relatives that indulge her.”
“I had no idea.”
“You wouldn't. She can be a charmer.”
“Not that it's any of my business,” I prefaced, “but do you think she's involved in something shady?”
“I hope not,” she replied with a sigh at the end. “But I don't want to talk about that anymore. I've missed you, Chris.”
Now I smiled. Felt genuine warmth. I stood up, came over. Allowed her to touch my hand. “Ditto. Want me to get our usual?”
“I think I'd like that now,” Collette replied.
I held up my hand to signal our usual orders to the barista, but suddenly put it down.
“How about something different for a change?” I asked, turning my attention back to Collette.
“What do you suggest?”
“Bread Winners Café,” I replied. “A good meal, good company, and a couple of glasses of wine?”
“What if I'm not hungry?” she posed.
“Drink the wine.”
She smiled, more broadly this time.

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