Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski
ChapterThree
The consequences of having sex with the handsome stranger among the trees behind the Wake stayed with Julia. She was positive she would have collapsed had he not been holding her. She had trouble concentrating and sleeping soundly. And her body … It was a thrumming, aching vessel, craving the feel and power of him moving inside of her again.
The man without a name—why hadn’t she asked and why hadn’t he told her? —filled her nightly dreams, which only grew more graphic as the weeks wore on. In the two-plus weeks since she had been with him, he conquered more and more parcels of real estate in her mind during waking hours, rendering her a foggy, daydreaming mess. Julia’s fuse grew short with coworkers and friends and avoided her dysfunctional family, easier to do since her father and uncle were away on business. She preferred to be left with her mystery man.
She needed to return to the Wake. To Mr. Nameless. Have another session of mind-blowing sex and then end it, whatever it was. If it was simply sex, why was she feeling like this?
Because her dreams included that mischievous, knowing smile, sparkling eyes, and deep voice. And the way he looked at and touched her, set her blood on fire.
Early this morning, her dream went on for what seemed hours—gazing into each other’s eyes, kissing, and tracing the ink covering his sculpted muscles. The gentle prolonged foreplay was enough that she exploded when he plunged into her a second time. He came right after her.
Julia woke—hips pumping, heart racing, and chest heaving. She had reached for him. Shocked to find the bed empty, she glanced around her bedroom, confident he was there. A quick walk through her house confirmed the dream had been just that, one hell of a mindfuck. Even though it was two in the morning, there was no going back to sleep.
She started a pot of coffee and took the coldest shower she could handle, then sat on her front porch swing in the sultry June air with her favorite mug, sipping the caramel macchiato-laced brew and mulling over her predicament. They hadn’t kissed, but she was sure he was exceptional, if how he had touched and explored her with his mouth and hands were any indication.
Could she satisfy his needs? She wanted to.
Did he have any expectations? Yes. He had promised to get her off, and he did. He had given her the most explosive orgasm of her life and minutes of pleasurable aftershocks. He played her like a fiddle, and she had allowed him to. She wanted him to play with her again and again.
Julia was exhausted from active dreams and interrupted sleep. A visit to the Wake might give her answers. She drove herself there after her lunch meeting.
* * *
While the Wake looked more suspect in daytime, it was obvious that efforts had been made to improve it. Things she hadn’t noticed the other night: the steps leading up to the porch and the porch itself, had new planking. An updated, sturdier railing was in process. Fresh evergreen-colored paint coated the door. Relieved of dirt, the windowpanes reflected the sunlight.
Julia inhaled deeply, then blew out her breath slowly and reached for the door handle. Why was she so nervous? Because there was a chance that she might see him, and he would see her. There was no cloak of darkness in which to hide.
Ceiling fans whispered above her, occasionally clicking, making it cool inside. She slipped off her sunglasses. It was as dingy as she remembered. Two men sat at a table in the corner. They nodded and raised their beers. Behind the bar, the older white-haired woman—Sammi, if she recalled—who had made Julia, Haven, Poppy, Eddie, and Tilly drinks.
Julia waited patiently, not wanting to interrupt her while she was taking inventory.
Sammi looked up from writing on a clipboard. “Hi, honey. You lost?”
“No, ma'am. I was here with my recently.”
“The name is Sammi. I remember. Two French 75s and three margaritas.”
“Wow.”
Sammi pointed to her head and grinned. “Despite the white my mind is like a steel trap. Didn’t think I’d see you or your gal-pals here again. What can I do you for?” She leaned forward, and rested her elbows on the wood counter, the deep brown eyes engaging Julia. “You want a drink? The air is thick out there today.”
“It is stifling. A great day for cool water and cold drinks, but I’m good, thank you.” Julia stammered under the frank inspection. “Uh … well … I’m looking for someone. Tall, late-thirties to early-forties, salt and pepper hair, scruffy face. Tats, a lot of muscle.” She bit her bottom lip to stop from adding ‘a great ass.’
“That so? Describes more than half the men that come in here.”
Julia sensed Sammi was stonewalling.
“He was bartending.”
“I was bartending.” Sammi stated evenly, cocking her head, eyes narrowing.
“Right. I meant the outdoor bar. I didn’t catch his name.”
The older woman firmly shook her head. “I can’t help you honey. And if I could, I’d need permission to share his name with you. You’re not the first Cliff Bunny to come looking for some excitement in the Narrows.”
“I’m not a Cliff Bunny. And I’m not looking for excitement. Just him.”
“If you say so. I still can’t help you.” There was finality in her tone.
Julia looked down at her feet, covered in expensive flats, her face heating with embarrassment and tears of frustration pricking her eyelids. What was she thinking, wearing a sleeved linen dress purchased in Paris? She hadn’t even considered dressing down. Christ. How stupid.
She cleared her throat and said with as much grace as she could, “Thank you. Have a good day, Sammi.”
Julia felt the weight of the older woman’s stare on her back as she exited. She slipped her shades back on and held her head high, making the best of the walk of shame to her convertible.
* * *
The following day Julia lunched with her friends. She folded a paper placemat and picked at the damp sleeveless cotton blouse, seeking relief from the perspiration trekking in itchy rivulets over her skin.
“Christ, it’s hot.” She muttered while wiping the moisture with the back of her hand. She dried it on her skirt before directing the makeshift fan to her nape, face, throat, and cleavage.
It was oppressive, despite the deep shade of the veranda and the fans cranking overhead. Worse than the day before when she made a fool of herself at the Wake.
Early June emulated what was typically August weather—blistering temperatures and sauna-like humidity that just about took a person’s breath away. It began a few days ago. They weren’t due for a reprieve until tonight, when the storms blew through ushering in cooler temps and less humidity.
The more she thought about being uncomfortable, the more intolerable it became. She needed to stop and refocused on the conversation.
Five minutes passed. Mind over matter was not working. She squirmed in her seat, unsticking the backs of her thighs from the seat. Good God. Why the hell had they decided to eat outside? This was a day that begged for air conditioning.
She blamed Haven, who was currently yammering on and on about the man she had just met. This was her doing, all because she hoped to run into Gael Carter, who now owned the Overlook, which was where they were having lunch. A recent transplant to Torch River, Gael had grabbed Haven’s attention at the club the other day. He was from somewhere in the Northeast. Fresh meat and handsome, if you preferred blonds and men close to your own age, which Julia did not.
She craved different, and that’s exactly who was filling her head—moments with her stranger from the Wake. Expressive hazel eyes. That wicked smile. Rough bark biting her back and not caring as he pumped into her. She needed to clear her mind.
Social and business were deeply intertwined in Torch River. How on earth was Julia going to attain balance and portray a semblance of happiness and peace given the insurmountable expectations from family and friends? She was suffocating, and it wasn’t simply the moisture-laden air. She wanted to run away. Escape. And she had, if only for thirty minutes in the arms of a stranger.
Years in Europe, working side-by-side with the top people who managed and directed enormous, diverse portfolios similar to that of Hayes, Inc. and away from Torch River had been the best possible break, a cleansing of sorts. But she had returned, ordered by her father to do so, dragging her feet, and miserably fulfilling the commitment to the Hayes empire.
Julia had been back for less than a month, but it seemed like years. Thank God she had purchased her own place ahead of coming back; the cozy bungalow was as far as she could get from her parents, aunt, uncle, and cousins and their families, and as far as she could distance herself from the dysfunction and haunting memories and sadness. She still had boxes in storage to go through, having been thrown into work almost immediately after arriving.
Haven’s request to eat at the Overlook had been more of a pouting demand and all of them—Poppy, Tilly, Edie, and herself—acquiesced, like a bunch of sheep. Julia had no use for sheep, but here she was, admittedly one of them today. It served her right. She had not said anything until after they were seated on the Overlook’s veranda and the stifling day swooped in and enveloped them. Yes, the view was spectacular, but the uncomfortable factor was escalating to she-was-going-to-have-to-leave-pronto. When inquiring about moving inside, the women were told that the restaurant was full the rest of the day. Of course it was.
Anywhere the women would want to lunch would be full. Julia considered heading back to the office, but the thought of doing so practically made her sick. It wasn't the building itself—a historical beauty, but its occupants who exuded negative energy, similar to her parents' house and her aunt and uncle's, too. Regardless of her final lunch decision, she was not returning to work today.
While waiting for a refill on ice water, she texted her father with an excuse: “feeling under the weather.” Sure enough, he immediately blasted back with all caps and a voicemail, which she was sure would be full of expletives and burn her ears, as usual. She would delete it without listening and wander back into the office tomorrow, or later in the week, when she had the stamina to deal with his shit or during after-hours. That was the best time. Just her, some takeout, and files or records and documents to familiarize herself with.
She gazed at her friends. They appeared happy. Seemed to be navigating the weather with minimal discomfort. No sweating. Not even a light sheen.
“Make the best of it, Sugar.” Haven glanced briefly at her and smiled before resuming her watch for Gael.
Sugar, my ass. You have no idea,but Julia swallowed the sharp retort and half of the ice water, then stood. “I’m going to go find some relief.”
She strolled to the far corner and took the U-shaped stairs to the lower level of the two-level deck. The large platform and its dedicated bar were empty. Extending out over the river, it was several stories lower than the Overlook but still offered another great view. A large tree provided generous shade and, there it was—a current of continuous air. Maybe it was due to the bend in the river or the fact that the Jut had not been bathed in sunlight yet. Whatever, it was cooler and welcoming.
She wrested the lightweight blouse from the equally-damp skirt, then unbuttoned it. Free and open, it fluttered gently in the light breeze as she faced the western portion of the city on the other side of the river. Julia lost herself in watching the river.