Frayed Rope (10 page)

I’m not typically a judgmental bitch, but when I encounter a woman who’s half-filled with plastic and wears that ‘I’m better than you’ attitude, I can’t help but want to ‘one up’ them in honor of the wholesome women in the world.

I can feel my old self bubbling to the surface, the sass along with a bit of the wit. Harley Green would have walked away by now, not looking for any form of confrontation or attention. Jayne O’Connor would have ignored her. She’d have grabbed her food and hit the boardwalk, never looking back because bitches like this weren’t worth her breath. 

But I’m not Jayne anymore, am I?

Nor am I Harley Green.

I’m Elle fucking Davidson, and I feel the need to introduce her.

‘Who am I,’
she asks.

She’s about to find out.

I force my bright greens onto her dark blues, and plaster on a smile before I reply.

“Who am I?”

I shake my head and let out a small, very fake little chuckle before continuing.

“Sweetheart, don’t beat around the bush. You don’t want to know who I am, or what my name is. What you’re really dying to know and trying to figure out is if I’ve sucked his dick or fucked him yet? ”

The shock slowly registers on her face and I don't let her respond before I continue. Nor do I acknowledge Ryder’s sharp intake of breath.

“The answer is no. Now if you’ll excuse me my dinner’s getting cold.”

I’m sure she’ll still spend the evening wondering if I’m her competition, and I’ll sleep well knowing it felt damn good to put the hooker in her place.

I look over my shoulder as I retreat toward the parking lot.

“Enjoy your evening!” I say with a genuine smile on my face. Her shock is priceless and if I’m not mistaken Ryder looks like he’s trying very hard to keep the laughter in, but his shaking shoulders give it away.

“How could you let that witch speak to me like that Ryder?” she whines.

I don't hear his answer because I’m halfway down the boardwalk with a dopey smile stuck on my face.

I smiled.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

Chapter Ten

I’m curled up in the lounge on my deck and just opened my second bottle of wine. The first went down with my delicious dinner and now the dog is making due with the leftover lobster tail treat. She begins to wag her tail and look in the direction of Ryder’s house. I heard his truck pull in a few moments ago and wonder if his date got cut short, or maybe he brought her back to his house.

I’ve noticed he stays out late sometimes and because of this I assume he goes to their house since I have yet to witness him bring a woman home for the evening. Not that I sit here and monitor his home but it’s pretty hard not to notice since he’s practically my only neighbor.

If the dog’s tail doesn’t wag when I hear footsteps, I would reach under my blanket for the gun I keep there. But the moment I hear the sound of earth crunching underneath heavy boots I know who it is.

His face holds a bit of humor as he makes his way onto my porch and leans against the railing, crossing his arms across his chest. He hasn’t changed his clothing and he still looks fucking fantastic. Not that I’m going to tell him that. I can smell his cologne being brought in with the breeze off the river, but this time it’s mixed with a certain
eau de hooker
that almost takes my breath away, it’s that repulsive.

It’s like that cheap overpowering perfume mixed with roses the old birds used to sell out of magazines.

I fucking hate roses after seeing them on my porch everyday.

“You ruined my date,” he says fighting a smile.

I’m now fighting my own too.

“Handsome, you and I both know that hooker would have sucked your dick in the parking lot with, or without the dinner. So if your date was ruined, it was by your lack of attempt to console the girl after I did nothing other than state the fact we haven’t shared a bed together.”

He cocks his head to the side contemplating his next words.

“So, since my bed is now cold for the night are you offering to keep it warm?” he asks, a smirk ever present on his face.

“You had a warm and willing body at the restaurant Ryder, you should have kept it. However, the scent of her cheap perfume coming off your clothing is enough to make even me want to shower, so I would suggest if you warm a bed with that woman, let it be hers so you don't need to replace your sheets and air out your household after she leaves. I have disinfectant in my cupboard that smells more pleasing than that.”

He’s quick to come back at me.

“I wasn’t with her for the perfume, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

His black eyes bore into mine, he’s trying to see if this conversation will make me jealous, but it’s not. If anything I feel more empowered that Ginger didn’t get invited back to his house for the night. Then again, I have yet to see him bring a woman home for the night but he has spent a few out late.

I’ve begun to know him better since we started hanging out, not that I really know him. But I know enough to turn the tables around after he pegged my demeanor that day weeks ago on my couch about my inability to trust people.

“You don’t bring them back to your house though, do you Ryder? You like your space, you like your privacy, and as much as you enjoy a night of mindless fucking, you’re not willing to be the bad guy that kicks them out of your bed at night. You’d rather be the one to leave, less trouble that way.”

I know I’m right, and I half expect him to deny it. To my surprise he doesn’t.

“You’re right. But the only reason you’re right is because you see in me a part of yourself, which tells me you do the exact same thing. Don’t you Elle?”

He asks it like a question but he already knows the answer. I suppose we’re on a roll with this conversation so fuck it, I’ll indulge.

“I’ve never been booted from a bed and I’ve never been left. I do the leaving, Ryder, and I also do the choosing. However, I never shit where I eat. That helps me avoid situations like what happened at the restaurant tonight. I don't do the catty bitch routine, and as you noticed I don't fight over men. So, I suggest in the future you take my advice and find your pussy in the next town over, otherwise poor Ginger might get the wrong idea when you run into your neighbors.”

I shoot him a wink.

My tone is playful, as is his when he speaks again.

“That’s where your wrong, vixen. The ‘Gingers’ of the world don't give a fuck where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. Until it’s their turn, all they care about is that I’m there one hundred percent until they get what I can give them and then get the fuck out. I don't cuddle, and I don't stick around to whisper sweet nothings in their ear or drink their coffee in the morning. I make that clear from the get go. But I’m not a total prick and a man’s gotta eat, hence the trip to the restaurant beforehand.”

Wow.

I’d like to say I believe him but his attentive behavior toward me and my bum leg this week proves otherwise. The man has a kind heart; he just chooses who he shares it with. Although I’m not going to mention that to him right now, I’ll table it and analyze the way he behaves differently with me as oppose to other women much later.

In private.

Maybe with a vibrator.

“I never pegged you for prince charming, handsome, but if you think a woman like her is going to let it go you’re sadly mistaken. I’m betting at least twice on the drive to her home she showed some sort of remorse for her tone earlier in the evening and still asked you to come in for after dinner drinks.”

I see the shock in his eyes before it quickly disappears. I know I’m right. I know how those bitches work. She can ramble all day about how it’s just a quick fuck, but that doesn’t mean when she’s alone she’s not wishing for more and wondering what their offspring would look like.

“Just because she asked me in for a drink doesn't mean she wants more from me than fucking. Elle, as I said I’m clear with them from the get go,” he says with a firm tone.

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself Ryder? You know what, don't answer that,” I say on a sigh.

We’re getting too involved in this conversation and I feel like I’ve reached my weekly quota for speaking. I’ll blame it on the wine. He’s silent for a few moments and the only sound is the low blues music coming from inside my house.

He slowly moves off his perch at the railing and makes his way toward the back door.

“What are you doing?”

I ask as he opens my screen door to head into the house. He turns around and points a finger at me while speaking.

“My night was cut short, and as much as I would rather have my dick buried down the back of someone's throat right now, which I’m sure you’re not volunteering to do, I’m going to raid your fridge of beer since I still believe that it’s mostly your fault,” he says, turning around to head inside.

“What the fuck neighbor?”

I screech from the lounge. He breezes back out the door as quickly as he went in and with more than one beer in his hand. He moves around to the other side of the lounge, takes a seat and removes his boots before reclining back beside me and bringing an opened beer to his mouth.

“I don't recall inviting you for drinks, and there’s a perfectly good table over there for you to park your ass at,” I tell him with less bite in my tone than I hoped for.

This double-wide lounge always seemed huge to me. Now that he’s sprawled out on it less than a foot from me it seems very small. I’m thankful I left the back in a sitting position and not reclined down like I do when I take my naps out here.

“You know, as much as you can be a bitch Elle, I’m not afraid to admit that your company is more refreshing than Tina’s.”

I’m taken aback by his compliment but focus on something else.

“Who the hell is Tina?” I ask. Not in a jealous way, but in a way to remind him that I don’t know anyone here.

He chuckles deeply, vibrating the lounge we’re resting on.

“Tina is ‘Ginger’, vixen,” he says around a smile.

“HA! Of course her name is Tina. And my company is more refreshing because I’m not falling all over your dick to make up for my lack of brain cells or inability to carry on a decent conversation.”

I shake my head in disgust. Brainless women ruin it for the smarter ones such as myself. Mind you, if they have a mouth like a vacuum cleaner I suppose IQ doesn't really matter. He confirms this on his reply.

“She has other talents,” he tries to say in a serious tone.

“Yup, and I’m sure Hoover is contacting her about said talents in regards to their next prototype.”

This earns me a full belly laugh and it’s so goddamn beautiful I can’t help but stare at him and fuse this moment to memory. It’s a snapshot moment I not only find myself taking a mental picture of, but I’m also analyzing the irregular palpitation that just zapped through my stone cold heart.

The lounge is shaking and his eyes are shining from unshed tears. I don't know when he stops laughing but he’s staring at me now, probably wondering why I’ve been staring at him so long. He looks like he wants to ask me something important and I rack my brain to try and find something to say that will make light of the situation.

He beats me to it.

“Can I have a smoke?”

It won’t be the first time I’ve seen him indulge but it’s not often.

“I don’t know, I remember a certain surgeon general warning me of the side effects from smoking, most importantly death. You sure about that?”

He leans over and reaches across me to the pack on the table. Not breaking eye contact. His arm brushes my chest when his hand reaches for a smoke on the table and he begins to pull back. Eyes still on mine, he’s so close I can smell the beer on his breath. I can also smell Ginger’s perfume and it’s about to make me gag.

“Help yourself to the smokes. But if you’re staying you need to take off the shirt.”

Heat blooms in his eyes and I cut him off before he can lose himself to that train of thought.

“It stinks, like cheap perfume. If you want to stay here and drink with me you lose the button down. Or I may just lose my stomach contents onto it.”

Black eyes study me before he lights up his smoke. He sits up and begins unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. I don't watch, or at least I pretend I don't. His beautiful long fingers make quick work of the buttons. His hair is messy in a just fucked sort of way, but obviously he hasn’t been fucked so he must have run his hands through it or drove here with all the windows in his truck down.

Dammit, I need to stop.

“I’m going to grab another bottle of wine.”

I say as I throw off the blanket and move to get off the lounger. I weave a bit realizing I’ve drank almost two bottles but then come to my regular conclusion which is I don't give a fuck what other people think of me.

I hit the ladies room then choose my favorite Pinot Grigio and head back out to the porch. Ryder is leaning back, relaxed, smoke in one hand—and my gun in the other.

Fuck.

He holds it up in question as I make my way onto the lounge. I don't turn to face him, I refill my glass and reach over to remove the gun from his hand. He doesn’t let go right away so I look at him. His eyes are roaming over my face and I know he’s trying to form the proper words to ask me why I sit alone on my lounge at night with a gun hidden under the blanket.

“It’s not my business,” he says.

I cut him off.