An Illicit Pursuit

~~~

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by Liv Bennett

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Image by conrado/ shutterstock

An Illicit Pursuit is the prequel to The
Pursuit of Passion (Taylor & Adam), but each book can be read
as a standalone with no cliffhangers.

***

Due to strong language and descriptive sex
scenes, this book is not intended for readers under the age of
18.

Two weeks into the fall quarter of my senior
year, I manage to squeeze a lunch between classes with my best
friend Jack at the In-N-Out. His father passed away shortly after
having a heart attack in the early spring, and his mother is still
deeply grieving. As a way to lift up her spirit, Jack is taking her
on a one-week trip to Italy. I wish I could join them and ditch my
girlfriend and maybe enjoy some beautiful, Italian ladies.

“Naomi is acting very weird lately,” I say
and take a bite from my cheeseburger, cautiously scanning the
tables around us for eavesdroppers or onlookers. “She’s scaring
me.” The irony of my words hasn’t escaped me. I’m six feet three,
muscled, and strong. And Naomi, my girlfriend, who very soon will
be an ex, is fragile both physically and mentally. Just a few wrong
words are enough to set her off crying for hours, and she looks
like a little push could send her to the hospital because she’s so
fucking skinny.

“You need to give her one last chance. She
loves you, man. Otherwise, she wouldn’t act that way. Every girl
has a little bit of craziness in her,” Jack says, ever the
good-hearted. My best friend for life. I’m starting to think he’s
the reason I had four sisters and no brothers, so I’m able to value
his friendship better. But, even if I had half-a-dozen brothers,
he’d still come first because he donated, without asking for
anything in return, a part of his lung to my mother when she had no
chance to survive without his generosity.

“I don’t feel generous enough to give her
another chance. I’m tired of dealing with her issues without
getting any attention in return.” I lean in and lower my voice.
“She hasn’t let me touch her for three months. Three fucking
months.”

Jack bursts into a tear-producing laugh. Easy
for him to be entertained like this. He’s patient like a fucking
monk, as if he has no sex drive at all. Or at least he doesn’t show
it. I’m not like him. I have to have the full advantage of having a
girlfriend. Otherwise what’s the point of dealing with all their
craziness?

I wait until his laughter subsides. “I don’t
love her, anyway.”

“Now, that’s a valid point. No need to twist
your arm into something you’re not happy about.”

“Yeah. I still want another girl, though.
Someone drama-free, sexy, who will tend to my needs, and make me
the center of her world...”

“Hey, that’s my line.” He drops his hamburger
on the tray and jokingly punches me in the shoulder.

“Your line was a drama-free, sexy brunette
who’ll tend your needs,” I correct him. “I don’t care whether she’s
blonde or brunette. A sexy girl who loves sex and food is all I
need.”

“How about her?” Jack points toward a girl
with wavy blonde hair with plump chest and mini skirt. She may have
other qualities, but those three are the first ones I spot during
my one-second glimpse at her before she raises her head to glance
at our direction.

I turn my head down to my tray of food
reflexively and then look back at her, though this time casually.
Yes, she definitely has more qualities to her, like curvy hips,
smooth skin, pink, glowing cheeks, as if she’s just had an orgasm,
and twinkling blue eyes. The guitar case lying on the chair beside
her puzzles me. Can she play it and maybe sing, too? That’s
absolutely my dream-girl quality. I find myself already envisioning
her totally naked on my bed, except for the guitar in her lap, and
singing songs as beautiful as her face, just for my own
pleasure.

“She’s cute,” I say.
More than
cute.

“Stop staring at her. You’ll scare her away.”
Jack nudges me. “Just go and ask for her number.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t broken up with Naomi
yet.”

“Ask for her number now; you can call her
after you’re done talking to Naomi.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna do that.” I start to get up,
but the girl is already on her feet, walking toward the counter in
the opposite direction from me. Before I can decide how to proceed,
she grabs a paper bag with her order and heads toward the exit.

“What now? Shall I run after her?”

“I would if I were you.”

I consider for a while and hurry outside. I
turn left, where she’s walked, and see two Asian girls, a
middle-aged couple with a stroller, and a man, but not her. A black
Toyota parked beside the sidewalk pulls away to join the main
street, and I spot a curly, blonde head in it.

Shit, she’s escaped as quickly as she
appeared.

I’m driving around the tiny parking lot of
Trader Joe’s, trying to find a slot, and am momentarily stopped by
a lady with a full shopping cart, crossing in front of me. Drumming
my fingers on the steering wheel, I whistle to tune out my sisters,
Nikki and Brendie. How they can find so much nonsense to talk about
is beyond me. I’m fine as long as they don’t pull me into their
infinite discussions, though.

“You promised you’d drive us to the beauty
salon tomorrow,” Brendie squeaks.

“Huh, what’d you say?” I’ve heard what she’s
said, but I’m totally annoyed by the woman in front of us, walking
at the speed of a turtle.

“The beauty salon. Tomorrow. You’re driving
us there,” Brendie points out again.

“Weren’t you already at one last week?”

“That was for a haircut. Tomorrow’s
appointment is for waxing.” Nikki joins in.

“What waxing?” I skim Brendie up and down.
She’s wearing shorts a little above her knees and a t-shirt. She’s
not hairy enough to need waxing. Neither is Nikki, who’s her
identical twin. Besides, they’re only thirteen.

“Our legs and arms need to be waxed. Look at
the length of the hair.” Brendie lifts her arm up to my face to
prove her point, but all I see is silky hair that’s barely visible,
even at close range.

“You are most definitely not getting waxed
anywhere on your body. Not until you’re twenty one. Who gets their
arms waxed anyway? Where do you get these ideas? It’s plain stupid
and total waste of money.”

“Who gets their arms waxed? Like, everyone,”
Nikki says followed by a laugh.

“Name one person and I’ll consider it.” I
won’t consider anything, but no need to sound like a caveman.

“Naomi, duh,” Brendie says.

I freeze, although the woman with the full
shopping cart has already crossed, and a car is waiting right
behind us. Naomi is the one who put that bullshit into my sisters’
mind? Brendie’s unusual request for having a treadmill in her
bedroom as her birthday present right after talking to Naomi about
how a girl should be slim at all times was already annoying enough.
My mother agreed to buy it only because she could get some
exercise, too.

That’s it with Naomi. If I had any reserves
about not breaking up with her, they’ve totally vanished now. I’ll
break up with her the first thing tomorrow.

I press lightly on the gas pedal, turn left
to a free spot, and kill the engine. “I’ve thought about it. Your
arms and legs are just fine as they are. You’re not getting any
waxing.”

“You’re not our father,” both girls scream,
which is my nightmare come true. It’s worse than having to listen
to their nonsense talk. Their pitchy voices grate on my ears, so I
climb out hastily to escape the torture.

Right then, I catch a glimpse of some lovely,
blonde curls flying with the wind, and I immediately recognize her.
The girl from the café yesterday. She’s talking cheerily to a
homeless man on the sidewalk, her eyes radiating rays of happiness
onto everything they grace with their attention. And I find myself
begging that she’d look at me too, infusing me with a piece of that
happiness.

A hope pops up inside me. She may be the one.
The girl I’ve been looking for. The sexy girl who’ll tend to my
needs. At this point, my only need is to be happy. Happy in her
arms, having those beautiful eyes only for me. Not to forget those
enormous breasts, too.

“Thank you so much, God be with you,” I hear
the homeless man saying and then see her walk away.

Homeless people normally don’t grab my
attention. They’re like part of the sidewalk to me, just like
trees. I don’t look at the trees, either. Even if a homeless person
does manage to grab my attention, more often than not, I choose to
keep on ignoring them. Now, seeing her bring a wide smile to that
poor man’s face, with just a little money and some cheerful words,
makes me feel like the ultimate asshole. Grabbing my wallet, I pull
out a twenty, drop it into the cup in the man’s hand, and stride
behind the blonde girl, who managed to soften my selfish heart.

Before I can catch her, she climbs into the
same black Toyota and flees from me.

Again!

“Adam!” A loud shriek snaps me back to
reality, and I turn to see my now-angry sisters staring at me with
curious eyes. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Mom will
freak out if we get home late.”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” I move back and
grab a shopping cart on my way to the market. In a matter of
minutes, we fill it with gallons of milk, cartons of eggs, wedges
of cheese, and loaves of bread, which will probably last us only
three days, four tops, since we’re a huge family of nine, ages from
two to fifty-nine, all living under the same roof.

I unload the items into the back of the car,
while the girls examine each other’s arms. What’s this new
obsession with hair? Who cares about some invisible hair on the
arms, anyway?

“Knock it off. You’re annoying the hell out
of me,” I yell at them, as I round the car and climb in.

“All the more reason to do it,” Nikki says
and outstretches her arm in front of me, blocking my view. When did
they stop being cute and start being irritating?

As soon as we get home, I look for my mother
to tell her about the waxing plans of the twins. She’s sometimes
too easygoing with them. I have to make sure that she won’t fall
for their tricks this time. She’s taking a bath, so I leave her
alone and start carrying the paper bags into the kitchen.

Eleanor, my other sister, who’s three years
my junior, is chatting with a classmate of hers in the living room.
I fail to remember her name, although she frequents our home every
Friday and sometimes Saturday, too.

“Say ‘hi’ to Jules,” Eleanor shouts at me
from the living room, knowing all too well my weak memory as far as
her friends concerned.