“Sorry, Cupcake. We aren’t open for business.”
Cupcake because her ass looks made to bite into.
Something so sweet, so tempting, doesn’t need someone bitter like me.
If I had a nickel for every time a man sees me and thinks I’ve arrived for something other than work, I wouldn’t even need to work.
I’d be the richest woman alive.
Granted, my dad called me to stop by this place when I was on the way back from the grocery store. I need to be heading home. I don’t want to get in trouble with my husband.
I spin around ready to mouth off to this guy for assuming that I’m here for a damn beer when my tongue gets tied.
There is no way that he is real. He’s everything I’d ever wanted.
If I were allowed to want. Maybe in another life where I’m not unhappily married, I’d be able to dream about being with a man like the one in front of me. He is tall with a wide chest, obviously in shape, dark hair, dark eyes, with trouble written all over him.
People would say that is a bad thing, but I married a man who was picture perfect. No tattoos, money, good job, wears khakis, polos, and has a smile that could tame a cobra.
And he is the wickedest man I’ve ever come across. Not always. He had to win me over somehow but once he did, the mask came off.
I’ve been trapped ever since.
Just over four years and counting.
“I’m not here for a drink…” my eyes fall to the name patch on his cut, “Whistler.” Interesting name for an interesting man.
His eyes turn stormy and narrow when he sees the scarf I have tied around my neck. I rub it subconsciously. It can’t be that noticeable. Everyone wears a scarf.
“Pretty hot for a scarf,” he comments, leaning his shoulder against the truck.
I put on a smile, something I’ve mastered over the years. “Not really. It’s just to add to the outfit,” I say. “It’s thin. Anyway, I’m here to speak with Mercy?”
His smile falls. “Are you his daughter too?”
“Uh, no. My father is Fredrick Fletcher of Fletcher’s Construction. I’m Charlie.” I hold out my hand, and he stares at it as if he’s been stunned with a taser.
“You’re Charlie? You,” he points to me, “are Charlie?”
“Last time I checked,” I say, a bit confused at his surprise.
“Of course, you are.”
“Don’t act so excited.”
“No, gosh. No. I’m sorry. I was expecting—”
“—A man,” I finish for him, giving him a smile reassuring him it’s okay.
He reaches behind his back and scratches his neck. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m Charlie because my parents thought they were having a boy and then bam, I showed up and they already had everything engraved and stitched with the name. So—” I wave my hands up and down my body. “Here I am.”
“Here you are,” he states, but how he says it and the way he looks at me… he almost sounds… thankful.
That’s impossible. No one is ever thankful for me.
“So, I’m supposed to take a walk through?” I reach into the truck to grab the clipboard. I have to lean forward, stand on my tiptoes and stretch. I can feel his eyes on me, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything other than fear when a man looks at me.
Once I have the paperwork, I fall back onto my feet and forget I’m wearing wedges. I hate heels but Kenneth, my husband, prefers them. My ankle twists and I yelp as I begin to fall, but Whistler is there to catch me.
I feel like I’m in some sort of movie. That’s the only place where things like this happen. His arm wraps around me and his palms stretch in the middle of my back. His eyes dart over my face and he stares at my lips as I lick them.
“I got you.” The baritone of his voice vibrates against my chest and swims through my entire body.
“You can let me go now,” I whisper, afraid that if he doesn’t, I might give in to the first thing that’s made me feel good in years.
“Hmm,” he hums and shakes his head. “Shame that I have to.” He straightens and sits me back on my feet.
I blush, not knowing what to say or do. I haven’t been held by someone that has wanted to hold me in… I don’t know how long.
“You aren’t dressed for work, Charlie. You’re going to break your leg wearing those things in there. It’s a mess.”
I clear my throat and rub my hand down my dress. “I’ll be alright. I usually don’t wear outfits like this to work but Dad called me on my day off and asked me to stop by on my way home.”
“Where you live with your husband?” he asks, glancing at the ring on my finger.
For the first time, I’m disappointed he knows I’m married. I didn’t want him to know. I wanted to keep feeling wanted and good, which is wrong, I know. I’m a horrible person.
“Yes,” I answer, short and clipped.
“He’s a lucky man to have a woman like you at home,” Whistler says, having me enter through the doorway first by spreading his arm out to guide me on my way.
Yeah, he doesn’t think so.
I give him a tight smile, not wanting to thank him for the compliment, but acknowledging it, nonetheless. Too bad he doesn’t know me well enough to know I’m screaming at him with my eyes to save me from my nightmare; that’s the scariest part of being trapped and alone.
No one can hear me scream. I’m crying on the inside. I’m begging for the pain to stop, for someone to see the screams instead of hearing them.
My soul is getting tired of slamming against my bones to be set free.
“Hi, I’m Mercy.” A very handsome older man reaches for my hand in introduction, breaking whatever moment Whistler and I were having.
A moment that should have never happened.
Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my end.
“Charlie,” I introduce myself. “I’m sorry I’m overdressed. My Dad called me in the middle of something,” I explain.
“I don’t care. I was expecting—”
“—A man. I know.” I try not to sound annoyed from hearing it.
“Yeah Prez, we have had this conversation already.” Whistler clears his throat and stands so close to me, I can feel the breath leaving his mouth against the side of my neck.
My skin reacts, hell my entire body reacts, and I shiver, taking a large step to left. I pretend to move because I need to look around when in reality, I just need to get away from him.
“Sorry, anyway, as you can see, I’ve already done some work.”
“Oh. It wasn’t like this before?”
“Ha! Told you. It looks worse than before, Prez,” an unfamiliar voice echoes throughout the empty space.
“Shut it, One. No one asked you. Let the lady make her decision.” Mercy crosses his arms and stares at me long and hard.
I swallow. I don’t like this attention. “I’m just going to do a small walk through, okay? Before I start, can you tell me everything you’re wanting so I can tell my dad?”
“Cupcake, he needs everything replaced. You’re being sweet saying you’re going to look around, but you already know, don’t you? He also needs to expand, and in the next lot, there needs to be a house attached that can sleep up to 50 people.”