Tossing It Read online

  Chapter Three

  Leif

  When I told Malena I would have turned around instead of following her to her house, I wasn’t being completely honest. I would have loved nothing more than to see that woman naked and writhing underneath me, but I have unfinished business at the office. I have to keep my priorities straight, even if sex is on the menu and I haven’t had a cheeseburger that juicy in a long ass time. Even now, while I’m sitting at work reading through the reports, trying to pick apart what went wrong, where the weak points reside, and how I can catch the bastard next time; half of my brain is still back at the beach with that woman.

  I shake my head. “Task at hand. Task at hand,” I mutter, no one to hear me in the dark, empty building. He’s on the east coast, in my territory. Or that’s what Intel is pegging, and I want him for myself. I start making mental bets with myself. If I get the motherfucker this time, then I get Malena. Something to work toward. A goal. A prize no one will know about except me. I hate that my next thought is whether my sisters would approve of her. Probably not. It would be too easy if they did. Focus is what I need if I’m going to be successful with the mission this time around. So much focus there won’t be room for anything or anyone else.

  I stay at my desk longer than I planned and it’s well past midnight when I creep across the porches to reach my house. I grin when the faint hint of cigarette smoke hits the wind right as I pass my neighbor’s residence. Upon entering my house, the acrid smell is erased by the delicious meals Eva cooked earlier. Stacked in my fridge and labeled, are my dinners for the week. There’s a note on the counter in Eva’s scrawl saying I’m in charge of securing a location for Mom’s birthday party and she’ll call me tomorrow. “Great,” I say, sighing. Popping the top off a beer with my forearm, I meander toward the front door and out to the dock. Leaning over, I brace myself with one arm and listen to the noises of the ocean. It’s calming. After hours of wracking my brain, it’s imperative I empty it.

  Sleep doesn’t come easy for me. It never has. On my light complexion, the heavy, deep bags under my eyes are a signature trait. It has less to do with me being tired, because there have been times I’m nothing except exhausted, it’s because my mind won’t stop. Alcohol helps a bit. Sex, too. But nothing is a consistent trigger for a restful sleep. The Team doctors poke us and prod us. They wire us up, study our blood, our body composition, our minds, organs, and sleep patterns. Most of us have problems sleeping to some degree. We can’t take any sort of sleeping pills because that’s not a healthy dependency when we’re awoken in the middle of the night to head on a spur of the moment mission. We need clear, fogless minds and accurate trigger fingers. I drain the rest of my beer and toss it in the mini trash can Eva put out here for exactly this reason. She was tired of seeing empties lined up on the wooden railing.

  Showering is the first step to sleep, even if I’ve already showered multiple times during the day after workouts or diving, it gives me the best chance of decent shut-eye. Unwinding happens slowly. I think of Malena instead of missions and bad guys. I think of her deep brown eyes and the way her eyes crinkled at the corner when she smiled wide. Just once, though. She doesn’t smile that big for no good reason. There was definitely something about her that I connected with on a base level. Maybe it was her mother, her family, affecting her life to such a degree that it dictates her time without permission. I know how that feels.

  As I stumble through my bedtime routine, I let my mind wander to past relationships. While fleeting, they all did have something in common. Nothing. I didn’t have anything in common with those women. Sometimes it’s the opposites-attract type of chemistry, and now I have to believe maybe that’s why I haven’t been successful in finding someone to stick around. I need someone who has monsters that play well with my own. The same breed.

  Ironically, thinking about this kind of coincidence thwarts my mind from spinning too precariously and when my head hits the pillow, I fall blissfully asleep, my dreams lighter than they’ve ever been.

  ______________

  I wasn’t planning on calling Malena Winterset the morning after officially meeting her. That’s not my style, especially after how much I’ve been thinking about her, but I have to. She’s the only person who plans parties in Bronze Bay. Her contact list will be exactly what I need when it comes to selecting a location for my mom’s birthday. I dial the number displayed on my laptop screen, beneath a dated, fuzzy photo of Malena. She looks like a kid.

  She picks up on the third ring, breathing heavily. “Hello, Malena here, can I help you?”

  I swallow hard. Cool. Calm. Collected. My heart hammers away after she’s spoken one word of her standard greeting. “Word on the street is you’re the woman I need to talk to. I need to plan a party,” I say.

  She breathes heavy a couple more times before saying, “Yes. That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  She has no clue who I am. “Are you busy right now?” It sounds like she’s wrestling an anaconda by the way her pants ricochet through the receiver. “I can call back.” And maybe you’ll recognize my voice, my wounded pride sneers.

  “Uh, no. Sorry. Hold on for one second, please.”

  “Sure,” I return.

  I hear her in the background talking to someone, her voice soothing. The kind of tone that would calm a young child. I’d tune it out if I could, because it’s too personal, but I press the phone to my ear even farther to hear her clearer. My hearing isn’t what it used to be after years of blasts, gunfire, and explosions. Mostly I don’t notice it, but when I do, it’s frustrating. Malena says, “Sit right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? Not yet.” It’s all I can make out in between a mumbling, one-sided conversation.

  There is a scratchy noise on her end of the receiver. “I’m sorry. This is so unprofessional of me. What can I help you with, sir?”

  Sir. I’m a sir. Ouch. I decide against telling her who I am and give her the details. “I need a location on the water to host a birthday party. I’m sure we’ll need food and tables and stuff too, but right now I just would like to see options for locations.” I give her the date of the party and she asks a few other pertinent questions, and then after taking down my phone number and email address we hang up. She’ll have to reach out again. I make a promise to myself that I won’t contact her again until she gets back to me about locations for the party and not a moment sooner. Even if I have a full afternoon with fuck all planned, and a raging hard-on when I think about the shape of her ass.

  I dial up Sutter and ask if he wants to meet me at the beach. He’s always down for beers and the beach on our days off. After he agrees to meet me there in an hour, I offer to pick up beer and supplies if he brings the company. Not the specific company I want, but that’s the only way he’ll agree to show up. Hanging up, I pocket both of my cell phones and grab a cooler from the bottom shelf in my pantry. I toss in a bag of almonds, because even if it’s a day off of work and the gym, we aren’t eating shit. Staying in high performance form requires sacrifice on our off days, too. Beer doesn’t count. That’s like water.

  Mr. Olsen isn’t around when the wave of humidity overtakes me as I step outside. His door is closed and his chair is back up close to his door, where he drags it every night before he goes in for the night. I make a mental note to pick up a bag of dried figs while I’m at the store. He loves them more than anything. He told me they’re one of the only things he loves that he can still eat without vomiting. Getting old and sick looks like my worst nightmare. As my friendship with my sickly neighbor grew, I became acutely aware of how I don’t want to end up. If I don’t go out with a blaze of gunfire raining above my head, I don’t want to die lonely, withering away each day with nothing more than a sunset to look forward to every evening.

  My moped winces as I sit down and turn the ignition. There’s a compartment in the back for my cooler and a clamp that items can be strapped to. When I moved here, I sold everything I’d worked for my entire life— a fancy spo
rts car, a bachelor pad decorated to the nines, and most of its contents. As a single man without any dependents, my disposable income is something most will only ever dream of. Every five years or so they offer hefty reenlistment bonuses. Those go into an account that sit and make me richer with interest. I’m fortunate in that money is something I’ll never have to worry about.

  I can live in a tiny apartment and drive a scooter fitting a college kid just as easily as living in a penthouse with a garage kept C6. It makes little difference to me as long as I have my career—my reason for living and breathing. The tiny engine that sounds like a go-kart splutters as I turn into the dusty parking lot of the General Store. I park right by the front door and slide my helmet onto the seat. This is the kind of store that has everything. The Bronze Bay General Store is a drugstore, department store, grocery store, and a gas station all wrapped up in a white-washed façade.

  Waving to the cashier, I veer left to the refrigerated section of the store. Beer and sandwiches first. There are little black baskets on the corner of an aisle and I pick one up just as an employee arrives with a stack of them so high they’re covering her face. “Let me help you with those,” I say, taking the stack from the bottom, placing mine in the top.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  As quickly as lightning striking a brand-new television in the state of Florida, my dick hardens. Her voice. Setting the baskets down, I turn my face to her. “Malena?”

  Her eyebrows rise in confusion. “You,” she says, swallowing hard. “What are you doing here?”

  Smiling, I stand, and subtly jiggle my leg to readjust. “Buying groceries,” I say, eyeing her apron. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but something tells me you’re working.”

  Malena shakes her head. “Yes. Working.”

  “You didn’t tell me you worked here,” I say, trying to recall seeing her here before. This is one of the few places I frequent on a regular basis. The General Store and the diner.

  Her face turns down as shame washes over her features. “Yeah, I pick up shifts from time to time to make things easier at home.” Her answer makes me uncomfortable even though she’s merely speaking the truth.

  Party planning in a small town must not be lucrative. I instantly want to help her in whatever way I can. I’ll make it my mission. Her big brown eyes fringed with thick lashes slide up to meet mine. Her face is beautiful. She’s wearing less makeup today than she was last night. Surprisingly, she’s more appealing this way. “I, ah,” I stutter, hiking my thumb over my shoulder. “Beer and sandwiches,” I manage, like an idiotic Neanderthal.

  She blushes. “I’m sure you know where to find those,” she replies without missing a beat. “But let me know if you need help finding anything else,” she supplies, a sunny smile taking the place of the deep frown. She turns to leave, her tight ass encased in a pair of black pants. Closing my eyes, I silently let a string of curse words flit through my mind.

  My face heats. “Malena,” I call.

  She stops in her tracks and turns her face to the side. “Yeah?”

  “When are we getting lunch?” So much for waiting for her to get back to me about the locations. So much for a lot of things. Apparently, her face and ass dictate I make rash decisions, something I am not used to doing. “You were busy today. What about tomorrow? It’s Sunday. Are you off?”

  Malena opens her mouth to shoot me down. I can tell by the set in her shoulders. I’ve approached her in a place she isn’t comfortable in. “The diner?” I supply, when her reply isn’t immediate. “Or we can grab Chinese at the spot in the next town over? It’s worth the drive. I’ve been there a handful of times since I moved here.”

  She shakes her head, her long brown ponytail brushing the collar of her shirt. “I can’t tomorrow. I have some work to do from home and I need to be there for my mom.”

  Rash decisions, right. “I’ll bring over lunch. Can I? For your mom, too?”

  That gets her attention. She turns all the way around to face me, peering over my shoulder at the girl at the register. I’m sure she’s glaring at her coworker. “Come help me find the beer while you think about it,” I say, nodding my head to the side. “I need your help.” I say it loud enough to be heard by all. Smirking, she nods.

  “Was that a yes, I can bring over lunch?”

  Malena is much shorter than I am, so I have to look down at her and lean away a bit to see her face as she says, “I’m still thinking about it. People don’t come to my house,” she explains, meeting my eyes. “Not that I don’t want you to, you understand?”

  “You’re not comfortable having me there?” I ask.

  “A little of that,” she says. “Leave me your number and I’ll get back to you after my shift is over.”

  She slides her cell phone out of the apron pocket and looks confused as she enters in my phone number. “I haven’t switched to a Florida area code yet,” I respond. “The last piece of California that I am hanging on to is my number.”

  My other cell chimes in my pocket. I’m sure it’s Sutter wondering where I am. He never distinguishes between which phone he’s calling. He doesn’t care. Pulling it out, I glance at a text message from my friend. It’s a photo of three blonde chicks in barely-there bikinis. According to the words below the photo, he’s waiting for me.

  Even though I shouldn’t care, I try to click off the message quickly before Malena sees. Her face tells me I wasn’t successful. She sighs as I pick up a case of beer and two sandwiches from the premade section. “Need any more help, sir?”

  I don’t need help from her, but I do need a few other things. I shake my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”

  “I’ll text you,” she fires back, mouth hanging open. “It’s probably a no.”

  Sighing, I narrow my eyes at her. “You can text me what you want for lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Malena smirks. “You’re so rude.” I have her. I have her. When my head is clear, I can spit the game she wants to hear. It’s when I’m all hard dicked for her that I’m fucking shit up. She folds her arms across her chest, a glint of challenge in her eye.

  I grab the end of the ponytail laying down one shoulder. “And you’re fucking beautiful,” I reply.

  She looks away, then remembers where we are and takes a step away from me. “See you tomorrow Ms. Winterset,” I tell her, reminding her of the end of last night’s conversation.

  Chapter Four

  Malena

  My shift crawls as I stock shelves in the canned goods aisle, the dreaded task no one wants that I always get because I’m not a full-time employee. The other women have worked here for decades. Those old bats probably worked here while they attended Bronze Bay High School and decided they liked it so much they never wanted anything more. Could I do this forever? I’d like to think no, but I could if I had to. My dream to be a full-time event planner isn’t something that seems out of reach, but it’s hard to do anything while my mom needs my help. The guilt rears anytime I align my goals aside her needs, and I squash my desires to instead meet her needs.

  With my familiar guilt, I’m reminded of the handsome shadow wafting around in my world. Leif is pursuing me and he’s making it blatantly evident. It’s something to ponder during the mundane hours of minimum wage tasks and menial customer conversation. Why is he trying so hard? Why me? Wouldn’t a hookup squelch the inevitable, and save us both time? Leif must think I want to be courted, wooed, and primed for bedroom action like the typical woman my age. I don’t want what the typical woman my age wants, though. Rather, I can’t have it because of my living situation so I try to avoid it if I can help it.

  When I asked him at the beach what he would say if I asked him to come home with me, I thought I was making my intentions clear, that I don’t have patience for the subtleties of casual dating, nor the time to date. Shirley gave me the full lowdown on Leif Andersson when I called her late last night. She’s seen his sisters around town and knows he lives down by the water n
ext door to Mr. Olsen. I know where that’s at because the sunsets along that road are the best. We’d ride our bikes out there on weekend nights as children just to see the watercolor splashes in the sky. There are fiery oranges and reds that overtake the bright blue. Right before the sun dips behind the ocean, the horizon looks like the world has tipped upside down. I’d stand on my head and get my hair all sandy watching that moment, trying to dissect it—trying to make sense of it.

  My brown card slides into the slot, and I bring down the handle on the machine to punch my hours for the day. Stepping away from the time clock so the woman behind me can clock out, I take off my apron and straighten my hair in an antique mirror that has hung here so long, the glass is aged, all speckled black in places around the frame. Leaning in, I wipe under my tired eyes. “You doing anything fun?” Marian asks from behind me, catching my eyes in the mirror.

  “Nah. Heading home,” I reply. “What about you?”

  She sighs. “Youth is wasted on the young and you don’t even use it.” Marian reaches behind her ample body and unties her own apron. “Live your life.”

  Not too much though. Just enough to give them something fun to gossip about. If you live too much, they’ll cast you to the sharks. “I may head to the beach. Itching to see the sunset. Been in this fluorescent light all day. Makes me a little crazy.”

  Marian looks as if I’ve offended her by stating facts. The lighting is indeed fluorescent and fake. “Good. Get on out of here. Tell your mama, I said—” Marian halts her sentence, cheeks flushed when she realizes her blunder. “Bye now, Malena.” Marian tugs at the bottom of her shirt, and sniffles several times.

  “It’s not your job to remember every person’s ailments. She’s doing okay. I’ll mention you said hi,” I say, trying to comfort my mother’s old friend even if she doesn’t deserve it. “She still has flashes.” The moments of clarity are few and far between, but when they happen, it’s like having snippets of my mom back instead of the slack-jawed, wide-eyed zombie that has taken her place.