Broken Beast Read online

  Jay finally stands and approaches us. He was a big guy back when we were fifteen, already over six feet tall and broad enough for the football coach to urge him to try out for the team. He liked to hold my hand, just because of how teeny it was compared to his. Even so, teenaged-Jay’s size doesn’t even come close to his size now. He’s a freaking giant, over a foot taller than me even in my heeled boots. His body is all filled out, his arms and thighs corded with muscle. The way his T-shirt stretches across his chest only intensifies the dull ache spreading from my nipples to my clit. I want to see his ass. There’s no way thighs that good would be without a matching butt.

  Is my mouth hanging open? I swallow to regain control of my face. Jay looks at me with the gorgeous, grey eyes that I wrote mortifying poems about in my LiveJournal, which is hopefully lost to the depths of the internet forever. He knows my face, clearly, but can’t place me. The last time he saw me was right before we broke up at the beginning of the summer before junior year and he moved, and I looked way different, at least on the outside. I’m still the same height as I was back then, but that’s about it. Thankfully, I'm more secure in my body, and my makeup game is much more subtle and natural.

  “Simone?” he finally manages, slowly, like he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating.

  “Hey,” I say, suddenly feeling shy, like I’ve never talked to a man in my life. This is so not what I need when I’m trying to pull my shit together. I can’t trust myself to make good decisions about men, which is half the reason I fled upstate.

  “Do you two know each other?” Holly asks, looking back and forth between us.

  Jay smiles, and it makes me weak in the knees the way it used to.

  “Oh yeah, we go way back,” he says. “Nice to see you.”

  Chapter Two

  Jay

  The only thoughts going through my head right now are what the hell is Simone doing here? And Fuck, she’s still hot. My attraction to her turns right back on where I’d left it, like I’m fifteen again. I hardly notice Andrew, Holly, Baby Justin, or even the Led Zeppelin song blasting through my speakers anymore. All I can take in are Simone’s delicate features. She's still so fucking pretty, it hurts, and her graceful curves are even more pronounced in the snug turtleneck sweater dress she has on. Goddamn.

  My teenage self, had his mind blown from seeing her breasts, the first ones I’d ever seen in the flesh. My thirty-year-old self is fit to explode looking at her without seeing her actual skin besides her face and hands. God, it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid. I see a nice set of tits under a sweater and I get half a chub? I’m a fucking disaster.

  The second thing I notice about her is that she’s incredibly composed, and far more sophisticated and expensive-looking than I ever would have guessed. Back in our sophomore year, both of us wore a lot of black band shirts, and we didn’t give a shit about looking put together in a traditional sense. She used to take any fabric she could get her hands on and do some creative shit to it, like turning a tote bag into a crop-top or making patches to go on her leather jacket, whatever. She was great at it, no matter what it was.

  The only similarity between then and now is the color of her dress — black. It doesn’t even look like she’s wearing makeup, in contrast to all that eyeliner she would put on sometimes. What did I expect her to look like anyway? I always kind of thought she’d look a little more punk, but I guess I was wrong.

  I think about her more than I should, probably. Like what would have happened if my parents hadn’t forced us to move to Manhattan, basically just to be around more rich people who’d kiss their asses? How long would we have dated?

  I never had girlfriends in high school after her, probably because I was so torn up over my massively stupid decision to break up with her. I still might regret it to this day. By the time I got over my stupid pride after I got out of juvenile hall and looked her up, she already had another boyfriend. Or at least that’s what the guy looked like, according to her Facebook. So I gave up, and now she’s here in front of me. Is it a stroke of luck?

  I don’t often have strokes of luck.

  Who knows if she’s even close to the same person she was back then... What if she’s become the very person I left the city to avoid?

  There’s a reason why I love this little town. People are actually decent, and not just when something’s going wrong. The air is crisp and clear, and the views can’t be beat. It’s not stuck in the old times either, but it hasn’t become some chain restaurant-filled shit show. There’s all the stuff I need. I can be a craftsman without anyone breathing down my neck to make the business big or whatever, even if my client is in the city. I can live my life the way I want to live it, and no one cares where I’ve been.

  The song changes to something by Cream. I put something by them on one of the CDs I burned for Simone, no doubt. My music taste hasn’t changed much since high school, but thankfully my taste isn’t terrible.

  “Jay?” Andrew catches my attention again. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” I pull myself back together and hit pause on my speakers. How long had he been talking? “I didn’t, sorry. Music’s loud.”

  “So, you know how I mentioned that we listed our little guest house on Airbnb to bring in a little more money?” Holly asks, looking slightly nervous. “The pipes kind of exploded and it’s totally not at all ready for any type of visitors.”

  “You need me to get in there and fix something?” I ask, cracking the knuckles on each thumb. But then why’s Simone here, if they just need some handiwork?

  “No, it’s not that. We already got a plumber since it’s a really big job.” Holly swallows, letting Justin smack her face with his little palm. She hardly flinches and guides his hand away. “It’s going to take a while, and Simone rented it for the six months she’s going to be here. Can she possibly stay in your guest house for now?”

  “Oh.” I lean against one of my worktables, crossing my arms. It’s not really a guest house — it’s just an extra building on the property that I use to store projects and have a little extra room to think if I need it when my warehouse is too cluttered.

  I can’t flat out say no to them. Andrew and Holly are my only actual friends, mostly because it’s hard for even my anti-social ass not to like them. When my generator went out in the dead of winter nearly five years ago, they let me stay with them until it was fixed. In that short amount of time, they made me feel right at home, and ever since then, they’re the only people who I really let into my life. And even they don’t know the details of my criminal record or the shit I’ve done. Not that it’s any of their business. It happened ten years ago, and I haven’t done anything truly bad since.

  Well, nothing I’ve been caught doing.

  “I know this is a lot, but we feel terrible.” Andrew glances at Simone. “We’re working out the logistics with Airbnb in terms of how much she’s paid.”

  I fiddle with a stray piece of wood on the table I’m leaning against. Yeah, I’m fine with Andrew and Holly living nearby, but being in close quarters with Simone? I don’t know how that’s going to be. I’ve never had a roommate, unless it was by force, like in actual prison. Or even had anyone stay on my property for more than an afternoon. That’s another reason why it’s great up here. I’m not caged in by skyscrapers, and Holly and Andrew, my closest neighbors, are far enough away to hardly see me most of the time.

  I look over Simone again. She’s calm, her fingers laced together in front of her body. I force myself to look at her shoulder, so I don’t ogle her, but that only makes me think about how pretty her hair is. It’s a natural dark brown, no hot pink highlights or anything, falling past her shoulders in shiny, bouncy waves.

  Having Simone share at least part of my home is like playing a video game I’ve never played on hard mode. I have to deal with the fact that my space is being invaded, on top of the fact that I want to fuck her senseless and she’s only been back in my life for less than five minutes. In hig
h school, we probably spent half of the time we were alone making out and dry humping like the world was about to end. I’m guessing that sort of sexual chemistry doesn’t just disappear, even if it’s been fifteen or so years. I’d have to test that theory.

  I need to slow the fuck down. I don’t even know if she has a boyfriend or not. I might be setting myself up for months of sadly jacking it whenever I have a second of privacy in my own damn house.

  And putting the attraction aside, what if she’s a shitty tenant? Who knows… She might be a kleptomaniac who blasts music all the time or she might be messy beyond reason. The old Simone I knew was sassy, but a good girl overall. The only things she consistently did to get in trouble were wearing clothing that was a little too revealing (or not revealing enough, if you asked teen-me), getting caught staying out past curfew, or dabbling in weed and booze. Her parents thought that I’d drag her into a life of sin with me, even though those things were also the extent of my rebellion when I was that age, too.

  But not even a year and a half later, I’d landed in juvie for fighting while drunk off my ass, so I guess their instincts were right.

  “I don’t want to intrude, but I’m kind of out of options.” Simone finally speaks up, pulling me from my memories. “I’m on a sabbatical from work, so I’ve sublet my apartment back in the city. I just need a space where I can decompress and have space to work.”

  I let out a long breath. Her green eyes betray a flicker of hope behind her composed façade. God, how can those eyes still get me after all these fucking years?

  I run my hand over my face, trying not to sigh. I owe Andrew and Holly for their kindness years ago, and I’m not the kind of guy who forgets that. Even though I’m massively uncomfortable with this, I can suck it up and not be a dick by turning her away if it helps out the few people I give a shit about. It’s going to be two months tops until their cabin is fixed, probably, and Simone only needs access to my kitchen and bathroom. I’m out here in my workspace most of the time anyway, so we probably won’t even see each other much.

  “Fine. You want to see it before you make a final decision?” I ask.

  Simone sags with relief. I hadn’t even noticed any tension in her body. “That would be great.”

  “C’mon. I’ll show you what you’re getting into.” I lead the way out to the side house.

  I haven’t been inside the house for a little bit, since it’s been a while since I’ve finished something that hasn’t sold. It’s small, but more than enough space for one person. One side has shelves and shelves of my work, from small wood carvings to swords sheathed in leather that I’d tanned myself. There are a few long tables on the adjacent wall, where I sometimes package things and mail them to my customers. A sleeper sofa is on the other side, which folds out, alongside some storage bins. It would look like a garage if it didn’t have the wood floors and drywall. I never thought I’d need a guest house, even though that’s what the previous owners used this space for.

  “There’s no bathroom, obviously, and no kitchen. You can use those inside the house.” With me and Simone, plus Andrew, Holly, and Justin, the space feels cramped. Simone is standing really close to me, and it’s making my hands sweat.

  “This is absolutely perfect.” She looks up at me, grinning, the tiniest gap between her two front teeth despite having had braces. I remember how much she hated her retainer, so she never wore it. It makes my heart flip over in my chest, and her full lips send blood rushing toward my cock. “Thank you, Jay.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “So, we’re set?”

  “Yes, we are. Thank you so, so much,” Holly says, coming in for a one-armed hug. Justin squirms, his tiny face scrunching up as he tries to free himself from her grasp.

  “We owe you one,” Andrew says, taking Justin from Holly’s arms so he won’t go diving head-first onto the floor.

  “Seriously, it’s fine.” I let go of Holly. She’s so small that it’s a miracle that she carried Justin to term. Andrew is a tall guy. Regular person tall, like a little over six feet, not borderline giant like me. Justin’s already big, according to Holly. I don’t know shit about babies, so I’ve taken her word for it.

  “I’m going to grab my stuff,” Simone says.

  “I’ll help.”

  “You don’t need to. I’ve got it.” She steps outside gingerly, like she’s scared of getting her shoes dirty on the damp ground. She’s going to have to get used to wearing boots that actually function if she’s going to live around here.

  “Not to intrude, but I think you’ll definitely need some help,” Holly offers. “Your little car is stuffed to the brim. We can help.”

  Simone’s mouth tightens ever so slightly, a flash of displeasure gone as quickly as it came. “I guess you’re right. I do need help.”

  “Go get your car. Seriously, I don’t mind helping.” I nod my head toward Andrew and Holly. “And I’ve got it under control. You guys have other things to worry about.”

  Andrew sighs as the weight suddenly falls back onto his shoulders. Justin starts squirming again. “True. I should do some stuff about the guest house.”

  “And it looks like Justin needs a nap anyway.” Holly takes the baby back. “We’ll drive you guys back to our place.”

  We pile into their SUV, with me in the front next to Andrew. In a short moment, we’re back at their place. The car Simone drove up here really is stuffed to the brim. I’m surprised she could see out of the rearview mirror on her drive up, especially since things are a little haphazardly thrown in.

  “Wow, Holly wasn’t lying,” I remark, opening passenger side door. “You’ve got a lot of shit.”

  Simone digs for her keys in her black leather bag. “I’m going to be here for six months, so I figured I should be thorough.”

  I don’t even try to wedge into the front seat at first — I push the seat all the way back. Whatever’s back there squishes easily.

  “Your stuff’s fine, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it’s probably just clothing.” She slides into the driver’s seat and turns the car on. She pulls out of the driveway and turns to go toward my house.

  “Nice to see you finally passed your driver’s test,” I say absently.

  “It took a few tries,” she replies, smiling a little.

  We fall into silence again. I have so many questions I want to ask her, but I don’t know where to start. At least it doesn’t seem like she hates my guts. Not that she should. It’s been fifteen years, and if she held a grudge for that long over a high school relationship, I wouldn’t want to talk to her anyway. Time should heal all wounds, or whatever the fuck the saying is.

  Though, if it did, I probably wouldn’t be as flustered as I am now. She was my first girlfriend, yeah, and my track record with girlfriends between now and then has been really fucking dicey. I’m not sure if it’s weirdly sweet or just embarrassing that she’s still the best relationship I’ve ever had.

  Yeah, you know what? On second thought, it’s embarrassing, for both me and every grown-ass woman I’ve dated. How could a fifteen-year-old be a better boyfriend than a twenty-something-year-old? I think I was a better person at fifteen, which is even sadder to admit. I was angry at the world in the way teenagers who have hardly seen any of it are, but I was less jaded and wary of others.

  She parks in front of the little house and kills the ignition. Before I can even get out, she’s popped the trunk and attempting to drag a suitcase just as big as she is out of the car. Once I get to her, I grab it and pick it up with no problem.

  “I put it in, so I can pull it out,” Simone mutters, her eyes flicking up to mine for a moment, like she’s too embarrassed to look me in the eye.

  “It’s basically your size. Let me get the big stuff and you can get the small stuff. We’ll be done in less time.” I grab another big bag and take it inside before she can complain. She gives me a stubborn stink eye. The little ass.

  I’m right —
it doesn’t take us long to get all of her stuff in. A lot of it is in trash bags, like she’d hastily thrown things in and left town, which is a little strange. She has a startling number of duffel bags, and a big box that I have to handle because it’s so heavy. Once everything’s in, and I’ve folded out the sofa bed, there’s not a ton of space for her to move around.

  “I’ll unpack a lot of this onto the tables, so it’ll be a lot less cramped,” she says, looking around with her hands on her hips. “This is a great space. Is all of that yours on that wall?”

  “Yeah, it’s all stuff I’ve made.” I follow her eyes to the floating shelves. I need to organize the space. I'll do it after she leaves, I guess. Everything’s on there in no particular order, woodwork mixed with metalwork mixed with all the other shit I’ve tried over the years.

  “Wow.” She goes over to the wall. “Can I touch?”

  “Yeah, go crazy.” With her back turned, I let my eyes roam over her. She’s probably the same height as she was in high school, but she’s filled out, especially in the hips and ass. I like that even though she’s smaller than me, she doesn’t look like I’ll break her if I touch her — she has some substance to her, but not so much that it takes away from her natural grace.

  “Is… Is this a sword?” she asks, turning around. My eyes snap back up from her ass. She’s holding one of the first katanas I ever made. It’s not good by any means, but I finished it.

  “A katana, yeah.”

  “Dang.” She looks it over, turning it in her hands. “It can cut people?”

  “No, it’s a sword that doesn’t work,” I remark, deadpan. My hands start to sweat. Does she like my sword? Can she still take a joke? “Of course, it can cut people. What? Do you want to go all samurai on me?”

  She playfully rolls her eyes and puts the sword back. “No, I feel like I’d hurt myself by accident before I hurt anyone else. Where’d you learn to do all this stuff?” she asks.