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“Half now, half after you give me something concrete.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’ll send the funds. Keep working. Don’t sleep if you can help it. If you need manpower, day or night, you call me.”
“Something tells me you’re not afraid of a fight, Mr. Jacobson.”
It’s worse than that, I almost tell him. I’mwaitingfor one.
After hanging up, James quietly says, “I hope they find him, Dad.”
I reach over, wondering if this is what regular fathers do, those without emotional holes in their chests. I touch his shoulder. “If they’d taken you, I wouldn’t stop,” I tell him. “I’d turn this city over. I’d kill an entire army. Remember that.”
It’s all true. Despite a man’s personal feelings, it’s his duty to protect his family. I’d do it for James just as I would for my and Samantha’s children.
CHAPTERFIVE
Samantha
I don’t have to wonder if I’m asexual anymore. As I drive home, my body is sizzling. My core burns hotly to the point I want to press my legs together tightly, my sex aching, my belly warm and tingly. When Fletcher walked quickly across the lot, my entire life changed configuration.
The constellation ofmewould never be the same again. His hair glistened as he approached. He was wearing a T-shirt and faded blue jeans; the clothes hung off his huge build. His piercing blue eyes stared deeply and protectively into me when he grabbed James and spun him around.
It was true, what I told Fletcher. I saidno,and James had begun to back off with genuine concern in his eyes, but Fletcher didn’t see that or care. When he spun his son around, he looked shocked for a moment. Did he think it was somebody else? Was he that keen to protect me?
I try to tell myself it had nothing to do with me specifically. He would’ve helped any woman he thought was in danger. The conversation after, even if we didn’t really say anything, had a glow of intimacy my conversations rarely do. No,neverdo.
Maybe it’s all one-sided, but as I drive toward the suburbs, my clit feels crazy sensitive. It rubs hotly against my panties. I don’t masturbate much. Now and then, I will, mainly to see if I can enjoy it, but I never think about anybody specific, just vague, faceless steaminess.
Now, my fantasies spiral with a specific face in mind. I imagine Fletcher grabbing my hips and pushing me against the car. I imagine him driving his lips against mine, moaning huskily as he presses his manhood against my body. I imagine the feel of his lust, how hard he’d be for me, just for me. I can’t think about another woman touching him.
Jeez, am I going nuts? As I get closer to my house, I try to push away these silly thoughts. I try to remind myself that I no longer exist, as far as Fletcher is concerned. I was a bad date for his son. That’s all.
Mom’s waiting for me in the living room when I open the door. I stop quickly. I was heading for the stairs with a vengeance, desire bubbling through me. My hand is desperate to slide down between my legs, rub slowly at first, then faster, as I sink into the steamy fantasy, the impossible dream.
Mom smiles when she sees me. She already has the Scrabble board set out. In the light of the lamps, her wrinkles stand out more. She’s recently had a bad bout with the flu. She’s never been the healthiest person. Her smile fades a moment later. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you forget?” She’s already leaning forward, ready to clear away the board.
“What?” I say, trying to laugh it off. “No, obviously not. I’ve been looking forward to this all night.”
I join her at the table. Usually, I do pretty well against Mom, but tonight, she schools me. I don’t stand a chance. If I had the letters, every one of my words would be the same—Fletcher.
* * *
I sit at the edge of the gym, stroking my brush across the canvas as Lexi hits the heavy bag. She’s on the taller side, built athletically. We became friends during our still-life course last year. I still think it’s funny she took that course because Lexi is rarely still.
I’m trying to catch the frenzy of her workout on the canvas, the play of the sunlight slanting into the gym. This is the same gym James goes to, but I’ve never seen him here or his dad. I would’ve remembered that.
It’s difficult to focus on my work, Lexi’s dyed purple hair bobbing behind her in a ponytail. Last night, after Scrabble, I did it. I locked my bedroom door, closed my eyes, and disappeared into dreams of Fletcher. By the end, I was rubbing between my legs so hard it felt like I would create sparks. Then, after, it felt so hollow. Sonot-him. I want the real thing.
“Was the datethatbad?” Lexi says, wandering over when the round buzzer goes off. We’ve been talking between bouts, picking up where we left off each round.
“Worse,” I say, smiling.
“You don’t seem too upset.” Lexi wipes herself down with a towel. “I’m sorry, though. I knew James could be a douche, but I didn’t think he’d bethatrude.”
I wonder if I should tell her what he said about her fighting training, but that would create needless drama.
“Maybe he was just nervous,” I say.
