Let It Burn (2 page)

“Freckles was new,” I explained loudly as I stepped out on my deck, Mr. Belvedere following, “or I never would have talked to her last night. Seemed shy at first and I thought it was cute. Before I knew it, her hands were down my pants and she was stroking my cock beneath the table.” I often shared my dirt with Mr. Belvedere, almost like I was at confessional and he could absolve me of my sins somehow.

Now all I got was a furrowed brow, some wide eyes and a meow of discontent. No absolving today, apparently. It was early but beneath me the city was alive. Commuters headed to work, cabs flooded the dirty streets and the air smelled like exhaust, trash and oil. I loved Chicago. Emptying the last of the orange juice, I made myself a vow I had made several times before. No more easy chicks that left me with regret and nothing else.

I wasn’t that guy. I hated that guy. Besides if I was being honest with myself, I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. To ease the loneliness, to forget the hurt from old rejections; mostly because it was expected. Certainly not because I wanted to notch my bed post up. No, despite what the O’Malley’s crowd thought, I got no real pleasure out of banging random chicks. In fact, the last few had been with a purpose. They just had no idea it had started out as something different.

With Mr. Belvedere padding happily behind me, I headed back inside. My apartment was one of four in a brownstone and I liked my neighbors. Two younger couples below me and my best friend Finn was just across the hall. Finn and I got on great with the other two couples and sometimes even shared dinners on the back patio the wives had set up.

I had chosen this place not just for the porn star shower. The two couples I’d met had helped make up my mind. By then I'd already had my run in with Ariel and I was afraid of becoming the guy I was struggling not to be now. I thought 1A, Harper and Diego Rodriguez and 1B, Davis and Stella Hill might help remind me of my goals.

Goals that meant the last few women, Freckles include, had started out differently. I had known soon enough they were really no different and had fucked them anyway. With parents nearing forty-five years of marriage, one older sister blissfully married with the other having just announced her own engagement, I firmly believed in lasting, worthwhile relationships.

Before unceremoniously dumping me, I thought maybe Krista was that for me. Now, even though the memory of her rejection still stung, I was thankful. I was stupid over Krista but for all the wrong reasons. Just the way I had been so taken by Ariel so quickly. There were things about them that made me believe they had what I was looking for. Now I knew better.

“Bel I think Harper and Stella were right last weekend. I won’t find her if I keep looking.” Mr. Belvedere gave me a look of resignation and bowed his head a little.

There was a
her
. I didn’t know what she looked like or who she was, but I knew it deep. Somewhere no one else had bothered to find in me. She would be for me what my mother had been for my father; my sisters for their husbands. A woman who would complete all the little things that were missing about me. Who would know I could do the same for her. I let myself be distracted by easy pussy that didn’t matter. That would never find me her. The girl who would be my forty-five-year partner.

That’s what I wanted, what I had always wanted. More than a nice set of tits and a mouth that could suck my stress away. I wanted way more than that and I was done settling for anything less. I knew without a doubt I felt lonely and like something was missing because
she
was missing. I had always believed that and frankly, I was ashamed I let the easy women and long nights distract me so long. That was over. I had a woman to find.

Now I just had to figure out where the hell to find her.

“Could you...Excuse me sir.... Um...Miss? Jesus Christ. It’s called manners, folks!” The last part was hissed under my breath because, unlike the assholes passing me by, I had them in spades.

Where I came from you said hello to people and excused yourself if you bumped into them. You smiled at people. If someone looked troubled, you helped them. I was fast learning none of that was the case here in Chicago. I had been in the city for four days and this was my second venture into the chaotic streets. I was lucky to share the sidewalk with five people in my home town.

Pretty sure I had been cursed at for getting in that many people’s path in the last ten minutes alone. Couldn’t help it though; I was lost. I had a massive map open, clutching it to my chest to keep the throng of people from ripping it from my hands. Somehow I had to get to the L train and downtown in the next twenty-five minutes. My uneducated guess was the L was at least twenty minutes from where I stood, pleading for help. To no avail.

Also where I came from, you got into it, you figured a way out of it. Those words were stitched into a decades old wall hanging somewhere back home, I just knew it. Folding the map up and stuffing it into my messenger bag, I squared my shoulders. Smoothing my hands down the front of my nicest skirt and jacket, I focused on a way through the crowd.

I had an interview at the Washington branch of the public library. If I didn’t have the interview lined up weeks ago, I might not be standing on a crowded city street. All the noise and confusion had me flustered but I could do this. I swallowed my hesitance, along with a heavy dose of the dirty air. It smelled of trash and urine and hot dogs from the vendor shouting on the corner. This was what I wanted though. To blend in with the crowd with not a single person taking notice of me.

There was zero chance of blending in anywhere back home. For a moment, I stood still, watching the congested streets, the littered and crowded sidewalks and smelling the filthy air. I smiled as I saw a path breaking through the crowd in the direction I needed to head. I had an interview to get to and I was going to get to it. I wanted this fresh start, this new chance at a new life. Being lost and anxious wasn’t going to stop me.

I followed a few street signs, checked my map a few more times, and wasted no more time on pleasantries as I cut through the crowd. I reached the L sooner than I expected and found the right exchange I would need. Dropping a few tokens in as I passed through, I felt accomplished for the first time in days. Even if I was late to the interview, which judging by my watch I would be, I would get myself there.

Less than a week earlier with all my possessions packed into the back of my Ford F150, I made my hometown a dot in my rear view. I had no intentions of going back any time soon. Even if I failed here. However, failing was not something I did, so that was neither here nor there. I was an excellent student and had aspirations of studying English in college. I never got that far because life got in the way.

I was still young, just twenty-two, so I still had time. Right now though, my goal was to get my feet under me and make a life for myself. On my own terms, in my own way. With no one knowing who I was here, I had little chance of someone talking me out of it. No chance of someone getting in the way of what I wanted. Which is exactly how I liked it.

Nobody would judge me or expect more. Ask questions or pry when I didn’t have a single thing to say. It was up to me now and I was going to make the most of this chance I had taken. My mother didn’t raise me to let other people dictate how I lived my life. I had spent the last five years allowing just that though. Oh, I told myself it was what I wanted too.

No career or school for me. That was out of the question. I had a soon-to-be husband who wanted a wife at home when he got there. Making him dinner, fixing his house up, tending to his kids. That was the life I had agreed to when I let Tucker Sawyer put a ring on my finger the night we graduated. He had fumbled his proposal twice, and I had been embarrassed he did it in front of everyone. Of course, I said yes.

Everyone had always expected me to marry Tucker. Our families were close friends, sharing holidays and special occasions together. I don’t really remember when we started dating, actually. It just happened. Tucker was exactly what everyone expected him to be. Hometown hero as the quarterback of our state championship football team. Class president with good enough grades and a future on his daddy’s farm, if he didn’t want to go off to college.

Just hours after promising our futures to each other in front of the entire town, Tucker changed it for us both. I was less than twenty-four hours engaged and my fiancé announced he was shipping off to boot camp.

Apparently it had been his plan all along. Tucker proposed when he did hoping I would rush into marrying him. Then he could move me with him after boot camp. What he had not expected was for my family to insist we wait for his return. Do it proper, my Daddy said. None of us expected Tucker to be shipped to Afghanistan so quickly. I had no way of knowing my mother was dying right before my eyes. Cancer.

No one knew my daddy had known for years and had begun building a new life for himself in another city. Apparently, a betrothed daughter with no future, his sons fighting in Afghanistan alongside Tucker a dying wife was too much for him.

Before she was even in the ground, he was married and moving to Florida. Within a matter of months, I had buried my mother, my father had abandoned us and the only people I had left were thousands of miles away.

For a while I pretended I was fine with being thrust into the role of family matriarch. I took care of my family’s affairs and ran my mother’s shop. My mother was the best baker in two counties. Her cakes and pies were at every table for special occasions and won every badge at the county fair. Her bakery was her pride and joy so I tried to keep it alive for a while. Always planning a wedding that we never set a date for.

My brothers had taken the same route Tucker had, but they were quicker to the punch and had wives waiting at home for them. Which meant they got the perks of being army wives. Soon after Cash and Colton shipped off, their wives were able to move into base housing at the nearest base. While I paid all our families bills and picked up the pieces left behind, they got to start a life they actually got to choose.

“They’re family now, Charli,” My oldest brother Cash said after they had tied the knot without telling a soul other than me, “Please take care of them.” Of course it became my job to take care of them while no one worried about me.

“We want you to get to know them. They want to know you.” This had been Colton’s line; he had always been the smoother talker of the two boys.

The girls had invited me time and again to their new places as they built homes for themselves and my brothers. At first I refused; I was bitter and angry for all the wrong reasons. Also, the girls they married, Maisie and Sadie Sawyer, twins no less, were the epitome of everything I didn’t want to be. They were homecoming queens and cheerleaders and everything a small town girl was meant to be.

We knew each other all our lives, but never ran in the same circles. I thought little of them, to be honest. But I loved my brothers and so after enough pestering, I did what my mother would have expected. I took them both pies and cakes and gave them a chance.

Reaching my stop with time to spare, I felt a tug of homesickness. But there was nothing left for me there. Not anymore. Shuffling carefully through the crowded train car, apologizing quickly if I bumped someone, I found an empty seat. Glancing at my ancient gold faced watch, my throat catching with memories of my mom it wearing it, I realized I just might make it in time. I was not nervous and I wondered if that was a good sign. I wanted this; there was no doubt about that.

I had talked with the director of the library several times before making the trip. I was almost certain I had the position. The interview seemed like a formality. Still anything could happen so I was praying I said the right things. Looked like a librarian. Again my hands smoothed over the faded navy of my skirt. I brushed away imaginary lint and took a shallow breath. I could do this; I knew I could. I had to because if not, I had to start all over again.

My mother’s shop, Charlene’s Confectionery, was still back home if I couldn’t make do here. That was plan B. Or maybe even plan D or F. I didn’t want to have to turn back. Go back home with my failures offering more fodder for the town. They already had plenty to fuel the fires.

Dead mamma, lousy no good daddy, two hometown hero brothers and a husband that never was. My brothers had talked to me for weeks once I had announced my plans. Had done all they could to convince me to stay. It wasn’t them or their wives. I loved my brothers and now had grown close to Maisie and Sadie, despite the foolish jealousy and resentment I’d felt at first.

Despite that, I had nothing of my own there and I could no longer bear the weight of empathy heaped on me by the entire town. I had tired long ago of being the girl they all felt sorry for. They had plenty of reasons for it, but I didn’t want pity. I was exhausted by the pitiful looks and apologies and their hushed talk as I walked past.

One day I had closed the shop after a long session of Mrs. Rawlins and her BFF Widow Jenkins showering me with pity. I had kicked them out in fact, much to their astonishment. It had been all I could take to sit and listen to them tell me how sorry they were. For all I had to endure. All I had to put up with and go through. None of them really cared. It was like entertainment for the town to have a source of so much misery to talk about and fawn over.

That’s all my life had become. Entertainment. That day they had gone on and on about how wonderful my mother was. We all knew Widow Jenkins loathed my mother because of all her county fair blue ribbons. Swore my mother stole her recipe for peach cobbler. Joke had always been that Widow Jenkins was a widow because of her peach cobbler, in fact. Then they started talking about Tucker and I shoved them out of the store, closed it up and never opened it again.

Two days later I had found the listing for a librarian position. I had some experience during high school at our tiny library, so I applied. Either I had someone watching over me or I had padded my resume just right because here I was. I stood, with four minutes to spare, staring up at the massive Washington Branch of the Chicago Public Library.

I began to feel something that might be nerves. The sidewalks were busy but not like they had been back by my hotel. There was a nice courtyard with a few benches. Some were occupied and I imagined maybe they were students; or a book lover on her lunch break from work. Taking a few moments to get lost in a novel. I was smiling because I couldn’t count the times I’d done just that back home. With pies or cakes baking in the oven and my face was crammed in a book.

“You’re like beauty,” My brother Cash used to joke, “You would marry a beast if he gave you a library.” We had laughed but it was kind of true, actually.

That was one of my quirks, as the folks back home would call it. I spent more time in that library than the librarian, according to her. With my future chosen for me without much say on my part, and little chance of escape from my little town, I found it elsewhere. I could read about places I doubted I would ever see and people I could never be like. Brave, bold women who did what they wanted, and often,
who
they wanted.

A dirty secret of mine was although I felt most fulfilled reading the classics or dark, fantasy themed novels, I enjoyed my fluff too. In fact, in my bag right now were two books battling for my attention. One was a many times read copy of The Hobbit, by J.R. Tolkien. The other was Hollywood Dirt by Alessandra Torre, a fluff romance novel hot enough to burn my Hobbit copy to ash.

Both were so different and yet, I found something in each wildly different world that I longed for. Adventure and travels to places I could only learn about in books. Characters and lifestyles that were interesting and full of depth and quirkiness. Need and passion. Good old fashioned lust and pleasure.

All things I had very little experience with. Or none at all, maybe? Right, that’s more accurate. None at all. Which was why packing up my truck, hauling my ass to Chicago and never looking back seemed like the real dream. Getting a job at a library where I could feed my addiction was just icing on the cake.

As I squared my shoulders and ran unsteady hands down my skirt once more, I decided that sounded perfect. Sweet, frothy icing on a cake made up of me carving my own way in life. Hopefully while no one paid me any mind. That sounded like the best just deserts I could possibly imagine.

“Ms. Dixon, welcome aboard. Would you like a tour, now?” Less than thirty minutes later I had the job, and all appropriate paperwork had been taken care of

Sara Meyer was the branch Director, a sweet and plump woman who was charming and loved books as much as I did. It was a dream interview. We had laughed and talked about books more than the job itself. Maybe it helped that she was from Ireland with a heavy, lilting brogue, and looked the part with bright red hair and lively green eyes.

We had talked through emails and even Skyped a few times. She was warmer and fouler mouthed than I expected. I liked her within seconds of taking a seat across from her. Liked her even more when she came away from her desk moments later. Rounding it, she sat beside me and offered me tea and crumpets like it was high noon in England.