Hook-Ups and Hang-Ups: A Swamp Bottom Novella Page 8

  “It wasn’t always so bad.”

  He reared back, regarding me with the same pitied look as before. “Addie…”

  Hiding my pathetic joke of a marriage had always been a defense mechanism to save face. And where did that get me? Ten years of dinners alone and falling asleep to infomercials while Roland worked in his office or hung out with his snotty-ass friends.

  Why the hell am I still protecting him?

  “Okay, it was,” I admitted, covering my face. “It was always bad. It was miserable and empty, and I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Pulling my hand away from my cheeks, he studied me before giving my hand an intimate squeeze. “You’re who you’ve always been.”

  A doormat.

  “That’s the problem, Zep.”

  I barely recognized the drastic change in his demeanor as he set the bourbon bottle aside and shifted closer. “You’re still the girl in that pink dress who walked into study hall and almost passed out when she realized I was the jock she had to tutor. You’re still the girl who brought me a chocolate cupcake and hummed Pomp and Circumstance when I passed my final exams.” Running a hand through his hair, he lowered it and stared at his open palm. “And you’re the girl who ruined me for any fucking other woman the rest of my life. Because if I couldn’t have you, Addie, no one else mattered.”

  Reeling from his admission, I leaned into him, only to pull back at the last minute. Where was the man from the office? Where was the cocky son of a bitch who threw Josie Gereaux in my face, not giving a damn that my world was imploding around me?

  When his name fell from my lips with a moan, I knew I had to get away from him. The moment I twisted to unlatch the door handle, every emotion possible ran through me. I was tired of being on the outside looking in, wondering when it would be my time to be happy. The door handle clicked, and I stood at a crossroads, straddling either side of a double yellow line.

  Pick a lane, Addie.

  Turning around, I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him into me. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I had no intentions of stopping.

  “Addie, wait,” Zep said, forcing an assurance I knew he didn’t mean.

  “I’m tired of waiting.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I pressed my lips against him hard. Startled, he pulled back, staring at me as if I were a creature he’d didn’t recognize. When he opened his mouth to shut me down again, I took the upper hand and attacked his lips, sliding my tongue between them.

  We tangled with heavy breaths and impatience, fighting for dominance, each one with something to prove. I needed to show myself that I could break the pattern that I continually found myself repeating, and Zep apparently needed to prove to himself I was still the girl who brought him chocolate cupcakes.

  Pulling back once more, he pinned me with a heated stare laced with a question.

  Am I sure…

  A surge of independence rolled through me, and I kissed him again, longing twisting in my stomach. I swear I heard his resistance snap as he crushed me in his arms and dove his hand into my hair, deepening the kiss.

  Light-headed, I weakened in his arms. “Zep…”

  As he licked the seam of my mouth, his beard scraped across my chin, sending my desire into overdrive. The sensible, responsible Addie that I desperately clung to flew out the window, and I cradled his face, “Please.”

  His eyes flickered with the strain of a man pushed to his breaking point. “Damn it, Addie.” He fisted my hair tighter, and his eyes dropped to the open neck of my dress. “Just goddamn it, Addie. You make me crazy.”

  Jerking the truck door open, Zep slid his hands down the length of my back and dug his fingers into the flesh of ass. Without a word, he lifted me and tossed me none too gently across the seat. Crawling over me, he slammed his body against me, knocking the breath out of me. Before I had a chance to react, he braced his feet braced on the running board and dragged his tongue up my neck, stopping to lick at my jawline before taking my mouth in a dizzying kiss.

  Holy hell, I lost my mind.

  He kissed me like I’d never been kissed before. Long, deep, hard, and with a need that had become a living, breathing thing between us. Even through his jeans, I felt his hardened erection and scattered memories from our drunken night together reminded me exactly what he could do with it. All I could think about was how bad I wanted it.

  Like really, really, really bad.

  Zep LeBlanc was unlike Roland in every way possible. Roland’s motto was ‘Never let them see you sweat,’ while Zep subscribed more to the ‘Satan sucks my dick” school of thought.

  My ex-husband never made me crave him—salivate for the taste of him. The one on top of me drenched my panties with a look.

  “God, Addie, I want you so fucking bad.” I vaguely registered his hand running up the inside of my thigh, chasing my dress as it slid up and bunched around my waist.

  “Yes.” It was all I could say, and all my pride would allow.

  Dragging his thumb across my lip, he curled the rest of his fingers under my chin and forced my eyes on him. “I need you to touch me first.”

  Not an unreasonable request.

  However, as I reached for the button on his jeans, my hand shook. My fingertips numbed and weakened as they grazed the metal barrier.

  I didn’t want to ask for it. I didn’t want to admit to needing validation. Jesus, why the hell couldn’t he just take control like a man, stop being a pussy, and fuck the pain away? Was that too much to ask?

  I didn’t know I was crying until I tasted the tear. Salty and single…just like me.

  Mumbling a curse under his breath, Zep pulled away. Groaning as he slid off me, he winced, adjusting himself as he handed me the strap of the seat belt. “Here. Put this on.”

  Something in his eyes made me suck in a sharp breath. “What? Why? I thought you said you wanted me?”

  “I do,” he said, his eyes dulling. “But I want you to be with me because you want me too…not to punish your ex-husband.”

  Every ounce of warmth in my body chilled. “You’re wrong,” I argued, refusing to believe I’d sunk so low. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  Wrapping the seat belt around my fingers, Zep stroked his beard and sighed. “I’ve lived without you for thirteen years, Addie. I won’t settle for less than everything. It’s all of you or nothing.”

  With a slam of the door, duck number twenty-seven took her rightful place in the back of the stage.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

  What had I done?

  The ride home was uncomfortable and silent. After collecting my purse and phone from the truck bed, Zep climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door with a finality that made me wince. For half an hour, I sat with my hands folded in my lap while he choked the life out of the steering wheel and hid behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

  I tried to push it all down. I really tried, but all it managed to do was churn the already festering ulcer brewing since I left Sugarbirch. Unable to stand it anymore, I threw my hands in the air and groaned. “The silent treatment? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Did that asshole call the cops?”

  Not what I expected.

  “Huh?”

  Pulling into my driveway, Zep tugged off his sunglasses and pointed in front of us. “The cops, Addie. NOLAPD is sitting in your driveway.” Shaking his head, he threw his glasses on the dashboard. “Look, I know some of the guys on the force. Find out what they want and whatever your dick of an ex is accusing you of, I’ll—”

  Squinting my eyes across the lawn, I recognized the lone figure sitting on the top step of my front porch. He had his head buried in his hands, and his shoulders hung with the weight of the world. “That’s no cop. That’s Pope.”

  Clearing the distance from the driveway to the steps, I rested my hands on my hips and tilted my head curiously. “Pope? Is everything all right?”

  A dejected, sad look crossed his face as he lifte
d his bowed head. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, ravaged from the pain hidden behind them. “Savannah’s gone.”

  6

  A Dubois Love Orgy

  Savannah

  Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana

  Céline Dion's All By Myself came on the radio just as I pulled off Highway 90 toward my hometown. I blindly punched at buttons until the damn song stopped playing. I loved me some Céline, but damn, that song threw the remaining pieces of my heart in a blender to make a lonely dinner of depression for one.

  I bumped along the gravel road leading to Babs’ house serenaded only by the sound of Kevin's snores. I hadn't called to let her know I was coming, but as I pulled up, I spotted her on the front porch sitting in her rocking chair. She held a bottle of vodka in her hand like she'd been expecting me.

  No words were spoken as I jumped out of the truck, leaving Kevin snoozing in his little nest and made my way up the porch steps. She handed me the bottle without a word.

  After a few hearty slugs, Babs snapped her fingers at me. “No camping.”

  I reluctantly took one last swig and passed the bottle back to her.

  She closed her bad eye, sizing me up with the foggy, but less cataract one. “You going to tell me why you show up here in middle of night?”

  Letting my head fall back against the dilapidated porch railing, I gazed up at the clear swamp sky. This far out in the sticks, away from the lights and noises of the city, you could actually see the stars and hear the songs of the creatures who called the swamp home. It was beautiful, and as much as I loved living in the city, I missed home.

  “I was hoping I didn't have to.”

  “Come now, tell Babs problem.”

  I groaned and scrubbed the tears from my cheeks. “It's Pope.”

  She clucked her tongue at me, shaking her head. “Always problems with dick.”

  “Ya Ya!” I yelled, snatching the bottle out of her hand and taking another swig. “Fuck men and their stupid lies. Let's get drunk!”

  Babs gave me a gummy grin. She must've already taken her teeth out for the night. “Vodka fix everything.”

  I snorted. Vodka was the Dubois cure-all for everything that ailed you. We passed the bottle back-and-forth as I listen to Babs rattle on about the assholes in the town. The Sheriff had come down last week to warn her that shooting another alligator without a permit would force him to arrest her. Naturally, she’d told him to go fuck himself and she’d continue to do whatever she damn well pleased.

  Like Sheriff Tucker would really haul off an eighty-five-year old woman to jail. It’d be the talk of the town.

  “I almost forget!” Babs yelled, jumping up out of her chair. The little doll she’d been whittling fell to the ground with a clatter. “I be right back.” She speed-waddled into the house, crop dusting me on the way. I stared wearily at the wooden doll on the ground, uncertain and slightly terrified that she’d been making a miniature Pope voodoo doll.

  Babs pushed open the screen door and peeked her head out. “Ready?”

  I was about seven sheets to the wind, so I just gave her a sloppy smile and nodded. Squinting through the vodka haze and the dim glow of the porch light, I finally focused enough to see that she held a leash.

  What the hell?

  I followed the line of the black leash down, down, down, until…

  Oh, dear God!

  I crab-walked backward as fast as I could, clamoring onto the railing. “What the fuck, Babs? Have you finally lost your fatherfucking mind?”

  Oh, man, I was so not looking forward to having to commit her.

  “What? You have pet pig; I have pet gator. His name, Fluffy.”

  “There are so many things wrong with that damn sentence. You keep a man-eating animal inside your house?”

  Babs just rolled her eyes. “Only nighttime. Don't want him hurt.”

  She’d finally done it. She’d taken it too far, and there was no coming back. “You don't want the vicious modern-day dinosaur to get hurt? You've got to be fucking kidding me. I swear, I'm in the Twilight Zone.”

  “When Pappy die, and my girls leave again, I have no one. Pisshole sheriff say I can't shoot gators, so I got one for pet that keep me company.”

  I instantly felt the lead weight of guilt settle in my stomach. “Aw, Babs, if you're lonely then call me. Addie and I can drive down for the weekend.”

  “No, my girls don't have time to waste with sad, old lady. You have bearded clam digger and officer McFuckNut.”

  Shame washed over me. We’d come back only to move away again, leaving our poor grandmother all by herself.

  God, we were assholes.

  I prepared to beat myself up when I caught the twinkle in Babs’ good eye, right before she let out what could only be described as a warrior cry. I had to get her to stop watching Xena, Warrior Princess.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “A little guilt good for you. Is fine. I got my vodka, and now I have Fluffy,” she said simply as if she were talking about a companion dog instead of a swamp monster.

  “Dear God, will you put that thing away so I can get off the damn railing? I'm about to jump out of my skin.”

  “Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Babs grumbled, turning to head back inside.

  As soon as the beast’s tail cleared the front door, I jumped back down, fully intent on continuing my pity party. I wasn't sure if there was enough booze in the world to drown out the memory of seeing my grandmother with an alligator on a leash, but I sure as hell intended to try.

  The smell of frying bacon pulled me from my comatose state. I shifted and groaned at the creaking beneath me as I lay on Babs’ couch. The protective plastic sheeting that covered the 80’s abomination had caused my face to feel like it had melted into the plastic overnight. Slowly, I peeled my cheek off it, the devil plastic taking at least three layers of my skin hostage in the process. As I stretched, I made the mistake of rolling, completely misjudging the width of the couch and dumping my ass unceremoniously on the floor.

  I landed with a thud and groaned. My head pounded harder than a forty-year-old virgin with a hooker, and my mouth tasted like roadkill. It was the perfect beginning to what was sure to be an amazingly shitty day.

  “Oh, good you're up,” my mother’s chipper voice sounded from above me.

  Am I still asleep? What the hell is Mama doing here?

  I cracked one mascara-crusted eye open and peered at the blurry figure hovering above the couch where I’d been sleeping moments earlier.

  “Mom?” I croaked, sounding like my voice box had been thrown into a wood chipper. “What are you doing here? Did I go to your house? Where am I?”

  I felt her give me the disappointed mom face. “Glad to see you didn't die of alcohol poisoning.”

  My stomach flipped and somersaulted down a rabbit hole at the mention of alcohol.

  Oh, God, make it stop.

  “Mama, please don't.” I gagged but forced myself to reel it in. On top of everything, I wouldn’t disappoint Babs by being the pussy who blew chunks the next morning after making it through a whole night of drinking. I was better than that.

  “Oh dear, are you going to be sick? Let me get a bowl.”

  I waved a hand at her in protest. “I'm fine.”

  She twisted the dish towel in her hands nervously. My mother had Addie’s caretaking tendencies times a hundred. If she wasn’t fretting over someone, she was cleaning or fixing something in the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Door number three it is with a healthy dash of door number one.

  “Yes, please, you sweet, sweet woman.”

  “Do you want decaf?”

  What in the actual fuck? I’m hungover, and it’s God knows fuck o’clock. This is not the time for decaf, woman.

  The sound of Babs’ snort, followed by her spitting in disgust, came from somewhere beyond the living room. “Drinking decaf is like going to hooker for pull job.”

  Good ol’ Babs. I can always count o
n you to have my back.

  I hooked a thumb in the general vicinity of Babs’ hacking cough-laugh. “What she said.”

  My mother tsked in disapproval and scurried off to the kitchen; God bless her soul. My mother was the quintessential Southern housewife. She went to church twice a week, volunteered for charity events, and made sure that my father had three home-cooked meals a day. She was practically Betty fucking Crocker. How she managed to deal with having Babs as a mother-in-law without stroking out before she turned forty, I'd never know.

  She came back bearing a steaming mug of coffee that smelled like heaven.

  “Thanks, Mama.” I scooted over to make room for her on the couch, but instead of sitting down, she started to fold the blankets I’d used the night before. My mother never could relax if there were things that needed tidying.

  I took a sip and almost orgasmed. Liquid gold, with the perfect amount of cream sugar, just like I liked it. “Goddamn, woman! You know how to make a cup of coffee.”

  She scowled at me. “Savannah Dubois, what have I told you about taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

  Has the poor woman learned nothing?

  I wagged a finger in her direction. “Ah, ah, not so fast. This is Babs’ house, and she doesn’t have those rules.”

  “Oh, heavens me!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, stopping for only a second before diving back into the mountain of blankets. “What am I gonna do with you?”

  “I don't know. I guess the same thing that you've been doing with me for the past twenty-five years; hope and pray that I’ll finally turn out to be the proper lady you always wanted me to be and then deal with the crippling disappointment when I don't meet your expectations?”

  She froze mid-fold with her mouth hanging open and sat down next to me. “Baby girl, is that really what you think?”

  No, no, no! It’s too early for a heart to heart.

  “Is what, what I think?”

  Smooth, Sav, she’ll never decode that one.

  My evil powers of diversion had failed me in my time of need. It was official; vodka was my kryptonite.