Page 11 of Married with Mayhem

10

MONTE

T he trouble starts in Kansas.

After a night of much needed rest, we’re back on the road before five a.m. Indiana is left behind and we’re on track to pass through Illinois and then Missouri. I’m hoping to make it through most of Kansas as well.

Sabrina is in good spirits today. She’s been following our progress online and sharing fun facts about whatever Midwestern enclave we happen to be passing through.

“It’s illegal to dry clothing on a line here,” Sabrina informs me at a gas station in Columbia, Missouri.

“Good thing I won’t be staying long enough for the need to dry clothes.” I keep my eyes fastened to the rolling digital numbers on the gas pump to avoid the sight of her lips casually sucking on a red lollipop.

She lowers the sucker. “If you need to take off your clothes, Monte, you can both wash and dry them. You just can’t hang them on a line.”

Then she smiles, knocking the wind out of me with a grin that seems designed to show off just how unreasonably sexy she is.

Today Sabrina is dressed in a black skirt stamped everywhere with the Batman logo. The pink face imprinted across her tits on a cropped black tee is some anime character I’ve never heard of. She also wears striped black and white knee socks and a pair of bright pink Converse. Funny how on anyone else, this getup would probably be ridiculous and I wouldn’t look twice. But her clothes suit her like customized armor and I can’t quit staring.

Spending all this time alone with Sabrina is fucking with my head in a serious way. On the one hand, I genuinely care about her and would be willing to lose a limb to keep her safe. But all my other thoughts are far more indecent.

And they are rapidly becoming unstoppable.

Last night I needed to call up an ungodly level of willpower to block my mouth from the urge to crash down on hers in that hotel room. It didn’t help that she was wearing my shirt like she fucking wants to belong to me.

Seriously, how much more of this torture can I take?

I’m fighting an inner war and I’m inching closer and closer to the breaking point. If this keeps up, I’ll lose the battle with my own damn needs very soon.

“What’s the matter?” she asks from the passenger seat an hour after we left the last rest stop. She closes her laptop, her expression shifting to worry.

For one thing, a throbbing erection that I can’t do anything about is destroying my concentration. For another, this morning Nico shared the unpleasant news that Lenny Lombardo has been howling that the next breath I draw within the New York City limits will be my last. Awesome.

As if that wasn’t enough, I now have a new problem to worry about.

“The car keeps getting more sluggish.” I frown at the instrument panel. The truth is that I’ve been ignoring the issue for hundreds of miles in the hopes that I could deal with it once I get Sabrina safely to Colorado.

While driving back from Florida last week I noticed an intermittent grinding noise and some sporadic acceleration issues. My plan was to bring the car into my buddy’s shop for repairs. However, between my surprise visitor and the way events have snowballed since then, there wasn’t time.

Leaving the Interstate at the next exit, I pull into the nearest gas station to take a look under the hood. I hope my suspicions are mistaken.

They are not.

I squat down to reach under the front end and feel for the drip before withdrawing my hand. Dark reddish liquid coats my fingers. Transmission fluid.

Sabrina is now out of the car and hunkering down beside me. “What is that?”

Her hips bumps into mine. There’s a tube of cherry Chapstick in her hand and she rolls it over her lips.

“We need to buy some transmission fluid.” I stand and automatically hold out a hand to help her up. “I don’t know the source of the leak so I’ll have to keep adding it for now.”

Her brow puckers as she slips her hand in mine and allows me to pull her to her feet. “How big of a problem is this?”

Somehow I’m still holding onto her hand. “I think we’ll be fine. We should make it to the other side of Kansas today and then we’ll stop for the night before the last leg of the trip.”

I drop her hand as casually as possible before I’m tempted to keep holding it for good. And I hope that I sound more convincing than I feel.

In the end, I’m not completely wrong.

We do make it almost all the way across Kansas. However, hopes and prayers don’t fix a faulty transmission. When the Impala finally takes a dump we’re right outside some town called Colby in the northwestern quadrant of the state.

A tow truck brings us to a local mechanic. The owner of the place is a classic car specialist and after some quick diagnostics he’s sure he can handle the job. I offer him double the rate if he’ll make it a priority and he nods his head. But still, he’s about to close up shop for the night and can’t promise the work will be finished until the day after tomorrow.

Not ideal but it could be worse.

Unfortunately, there’s a lack of motel rooms in town due to a quilting convention. The one place where there’s a vacancy has only one room available. The room has two queen-sized beds but still…

I’m facing two nights alone in a motel room with Sabrina. And I’m starting to think whoever pulls the strings in this universe has a really raunchy sense of humor plus a determination to drop this girl right into my lap.

Sabrina whips out her bank card and hands it over to the front desk before I can object. Apparently, while I was fretting about other things, the whole cyberattack problem was fixed. Planes are flying again. Sabrina’s bank is back online.

“And I’m paying for the car repairs,” she informs me. “No arguments.”

The hell she is. And no, there will be no arguments because she’s not paying for my car. End of story.

The sky is dark by now and there’s a Mexican food restaurant next to the motel where we can sit down to dinner. While we’re waiting for our food it occurs to me that this might be the longest stretch of time I’ve ever spent with a girl and failed to fuck her. The fact that this milestone has been achieved with the forbidden girl I’m becoming borderline obsessed with is kind of a weird irony.

Sabrina spends the dinner hour updating both of her sisters in great detail via text. I spend it drinking too many beers and picturing my dick in her mouth.

It’s only when the buzz starts to hit me after the fifth beer that I realize I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t a good night to dull my wits. After I take a trip to the restroom, I return to find that Sabrina has ordered a margarita.

Great. Let’s both get drunk and then go back to our motel room. What could go wrong?

She starts to smile when I reclaim my seat but it turns into a puzzled frown when she takes a look at my face. “Who pissed you off?” she says.

“I’m not pissed.” I hail the waitress for another beer. I know it’s a bad idea. I wonder what other bad ideas I’ll indulge in before the night is over.

Sabrina raises her eyebrows but makes no comment and sips her drink. My next beer arrives. I drain the whole thing in thirty seconds and order a whiskey shot, which I swallow before considering all the very good reasons why I shouldn’t.

The screens above the bar are showing a baseball game. The Royals versus the Yankees. I haven’t been paying attention this season and I have no idea what the standings are.

Sabrina orders a second margarita. If she wants to have a drinking contest, that’s a game she won’t win. Another inning starts and I mark it by ordering another beer.

“Monte?” Sabrina says, somewhat timidly. Her hand lands on my forearm. She keeps her pale pink painted nails short, probably because she spends so much time typing on her computer. Her hands are small and pretty. Everything about her is pretty.

I haven’t been truly drunk in ages and I’m no longer used to holding my liquor. The thoughts in my head run together like fresh paint in the rain.

But when I raise my eyes to meet hers, I have no trouble focusing, noticing every detail of her face. The touch of green in her hazel eyes. A faint splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She leans forward, observing me with obvious concern. A curtain of thick brown hair falls over her shoulder.

I want to touch her soft hair and then run my thumb over her full lower lip.

I want to finger her right here under the table and watch her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment and pleasure.

“You seem upset,” she says.

The chirpy waitress stops by to ask if we need anything else. Sabrina flashes the girl a quick smile and says we’re fine. Her hand remains on my arm.

Sabrina leans in even closer and keeps her voice low. “Did you hear some bad news from New York?”

New York. Where some batshit mobster is lying in wait to gun me down because I kicked his ass after he touched Sabrina.

Anni was right. I should have killed the bastard.

However, I honestly wasn’t thinking about Lenny Lombardo at all just now.

“No,” I say to Sabrina and pull my arm away. “I haven’t heard anything from New York.”

She’s worries at her lip as I lean back into the vinyl booth seat. My water glass is still full and I grab it, drinking every drop. Then I drink Sabrina’s water as well. I’m not completely drunk but the sooner I flush the alcohol out of my system the better.

Sabrina gives up attempting to make small talk while I try to sober up. She plays a game on her phone and orders a third margarita even though the last one is still half full. I’m treated to a glare of annoyance when she tries to pay for our dinner and I overrule her.

“I already owe you a ton of money,” she points out.

“No you don’t,” I reply.

She rolls her eyes and returns to her game.

We’re both silent on the short walk back to the motel. It’s a weeknight, there’s a lack of nearby night life and we have no car so there’s really nowhere else we can go. I wish there was. A restless feeling that’s been simmering for days is slowly rising to a boil and I don’t trust myself.

Our room is small with most of the square footage taken up by the two beds. We’ll be sharing a bathroom and sleeping five feet apart. There’s a significant buzz happening between my ears and I need to cure it.

I switch on the wall mounted television set and start scrolling through the channel selection. I’m not a big tv fan and nothing looks appealing. Finally, I settle on some random movie and turn the volume up.

Sabrina sits cross-legged on a bed and clacks away at her laptop. She pauses when I take a seat on the other bed. I’d rather sit in a chair but there are no chairs.

“Are you feeling sick or something?” she asks.

“Not at all.” I remove my sneakers and toss them in the general direction of my duffel bag. “Why?”

“Because you’re sitting here watching The Notebook .”

“Not that attached to it. Turn the damn channel if you want.”

She flips her laptop closed and sets it on the nightstand between the two beds. Her shoes are already off and she slowly rolls her knee socks down, one at a time, while my pulse kicks up and blood rushes to my cock.

Sabrina knots the socks into a ball and stretches her shapely bare legs out. “Think I’ll go take a shower. Do you need the bathroom first?”

“Nope.” I avert my eyes and turn the volume of The Notebook even higher.

She stares at me from the neighboring bed, waiting for me to say something else. A minute passes and she finally walks her cute ass to the bathroom. The urge to follow her is overwhelming.

I heave a sigh of relief to hear the door lock and the shower turn on. I’m still buzzed as shit.

Since Sabrina is out of the room, I might as well take the opportunity to change my clothes. I never sleep in a t-shirt but this feels like a fine time to make an exception. I know all too well that the sight of my chest always catches Sabrina’s attention and I’m in a hell of a mood. If I catch her giving me a hungry glance and then firing off some sassy, sexually charged remark that challenges me to act, then I will.

The shower is still going and she’s not known for taking short showers so I’ve got some time. Drunk or not, I owe my dad a phone call. First, I turn the television volume down.

He’s working the counter at Gino’s when he answers but he calls to Stevie that he’s taking a break and walks out the back door before resuming the conversation.

“It’s good to hear your voice, kid,” he says, although I can’t help but notice the weariness and worry in his tone.

“Good to hear yours too.” I clear my throat and attempt to sound sober. “Had some car trouble so we’ll be stuck here for an extra day but everything is cool.”

“Sabrina is all right?”

I glance at the closed bathroom door. “Yeah. She’s looking forward to seeing her sister.”

He pauses. “Silvio was over here earlier and we had a chat. He wants you to know that he’s got your back and he’s warned Lombardo to stand down.”

The doubt in my father’s voice reflects my own thoughts. The word of a lifelong mobster is about as trustworthy as a viper.

“I’ll deal with it,” I grumble. “One way or another.”

My dad is silent for a moment. “I never wanted this for you or your brother, you know.”

The sudden tightness in my throat is painful. The picture on the tv swims in front of my eyes. For a fleeting second I’m dizzy. “I know, Pop. I’m sorry.”

“It’s still my fault,” he sighs. “I made sure this shit was always all around you. As your father, I should have done better.”

“Hey,” I say to my dad. “Nothing is your fault. I’ve made my own choices and that’s that.”

He sighs again. “Take care, kid. Be good to that sweet girl.”

“Aren’t I always?”

He snorts out a laugh that makes me wonder just how much he knows about what goes on inside my head. Probably more than I’d be willing to admit out loud.

As I fumble with the phone charger, eventually managing to get it plugged in, I notice that the shower has stopped. I turn the volume of the television back up and I’m clumsily attempting to close my duffel bag when Sabrina steps out of the bathroom.

“Forgot a change of clothes,” she mutters and emerges in a towel (A TOWEL!) that barely covers everything important.

Her hair is wet. Her skin glistens. My dick throws a ticker tape parade.

It’s like this girl woke up this morning and asked herself, “How should I murder Monte today?” This might very well do the trick.

Sabrina kneels on the floor and hunts through her suitcase with no clue that I’m dying right behind her.

Okay, that’s probably not true.

On some level she has to know exactly what she’s doing. It’s a dare she thinks I’ll never take. A battle of wills. A game. A test. Like putting a grilled ribeye in front of a hungry dog and ordering him not to touch it. Then leaving the room to see if you’ve trained him well enough to obey.

I want to fail the test, rip that fucking towel away, seize her hair in my fist and bend her to my will.

Also, somehow I feel drunker than I did a few minutes ago.

She collects an armful of clothes. When she stands, the towel shifts and nearly falls.

As if to add to the tension, a sex scene breaks out onscreen. The scene is not that graphic, but there is a whole lot of panting and moaning now filling up the room.

Sabrina looks at the screen. Her eyes shift back to me. There’s a flare of surprise on her face. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting to confront my heated gaze. Her eyes drop and then slowly rise, lingering on my dick, which is pitching a tent inside these stupid shorts. Perfect. Now everyone in the room knows I’ve got a boner.

“I guess you’re enjoying the movie,” she says and retreats back to the bathroom. That freaking towel barely covers her ass.

Again and again I’ve resisted temptation, scolding my own cock for refusing to get the message that Sabrina isn’t fair game. I’ve endured the sight of her prancing around in a towel. I’ve done my best to stop staring at the way her incredible tits stretch the fabric of her tight t-shirts. I’ve ignored the sexy flush in her cheeks when she wakes from sleep with her hair messy and a lazy, secretive smile tugging the corners of her full lips.

I snatch the remote and shut the tv off. What I should do is put my shoes back on and go take a brisk walk until this half-drunk feeling disappears.

This idea is still wandering aimlessly around in my head when Sabrina returns with her damp hair neatly combed. And fuck me, she’s wearing my shirt again. I can’t tell if she has anything on underneath. The thing is basically a short nightgown on her.

She sits primly on the edge of her bed and crosses her legs at the ankle. “Did you get tired of The Notebook ?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s too bad.” She clucks her tongue. “Men ought to get in touch with their sensitive sides now and then.”

I walk over to the only window and push the curtains open. This room is too damn suffocating. On the other side of the window there’s nothing but dark sky and the parking lot lights below.

“As if you understand the first fucking thing about men.”

I don’t even realize I’ve spoken aloud until she gets angry.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she says.

I plant my palms on the window glass. I can see her reflection. She’s still sitting on the bed but now the mattress springs creak as she stands up.

“Monte,” she snaps.

“Stay there,” I whisper.

“What?” she marches right over and tugs on my arm. “Care to explain your comment?”

Nope, I don’t feel like explaining a fucking thing.

She exhales loudly and ducks under my arm, popping up between me and the window. There is now zero space between us. Her body brushes against mine. Air hisses through my clenched teeth.

Some kind of shrieky Jiminy Cricket voice screams from the depths of what remains of my conscience.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. DON’T YOU FUCKING DO IT!

This girl, the reedy little voice screeches, is Sabrina!

She’s too special, too important to me.

And I’m too fucking drunk for this to matter.

“What is it you think I fail to understand about men?” She’s angry now, with color in her cheeks and an adorable scowl twisting her mouth.

But she’s poking a beast. And she shouldn’t have.

I move my hands down until they are on either side of her shoulders. She’s backed up against the window, my captive. She’s going absolutely nowhere unless I let her.

This realization shows up on her face as frustration rather than fear. She hasn’t learned when to be afraid. That’s why she thinks nothing of sauntering into a basement to play card games with a pack of depraved men while wearing a smile and a miniskirt.

“You and your games, Sabrina.” I hardly recognize my own voice. I sound like a demon summoned from the pits of hell. “You have a bad habit of playing Russian Roulette because you’ve convinced yourself there are no bullets in the gun.”

“What are you talking about?” she says but there’s a breathless squeak on the last syllable as I push my knee between her legs.

She inhales sharply but doesn’t resist. She’s confused, staring up at me. She doesn’t know what this is, whether to be insulted or turned on.

I’m hard enough to explode and it’s driving me crazy. All I would need to do is shift my hips to let her feel the evidence.

I laugh at her and the sound is evil. “Sabrina Barone, you can’t imagine how much I’d love to tear that killer body up and turn you into my personal fuck toy. You like to win, huh? Congratulations, cupcake. You win the prize for being the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever jerked off to. But quit trying to tempt me every chance you get because we both know that I can’t be the guy to break you in and show you how to be a woman.”

The abrupt shift in her eyes is brutal. A flash of pain so intense that my very soul drops through the floor.

I’m already numb with horror as I lower my knee and drop my hands.

WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I JUST DONE?

We’ve argued plenty and I’m no stranger to Sabrina’s anger. This is different. I’d happily walk into a buzzsaw for the chance to take every word of that drunken tirade back.

“Fuck you,” she whispers.

“Brina.” I seize hold of her arms with my heart fragmenting into desperate pieces. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

She shoves my chest with both hands. “No. FUCK YOU, MONTE!” She’s shaking, breathing so hard she’s nearly gasping. She covers her mouth for a few seconds and struggles to speak. She gulps another breath and throws me a look of pure agony. “Turns out you’re not nearly as perceptive as you think. Guess what, you macho asshole? Someone else already broke me in and he wasn’t too nice about it. He’s actually even more of a prick than you are. Now stay the fuck back!”

Her final words, no matter how forceful, can’t mask the onslaught of tears. She hides her face and hurries away, nearly tripping as she sobs her way to the bathroom.

The door slams shut.

And I’m left out here with only the terrible echoes of my own words and actions.

I’ve been on the wrong side of the law for a while. It’s fair to say that my moral compass is cracked beyond repair. I’ve done things that would make normal people recoil in horror.

Yet none of those crimes is worse than this. I’ve hurt an innocent girl. It doesn’t matter that I’d gladly crush the skull of anyone else who threatens her. Just now she looked at me like I’m the real monster.

Because tonight that’s exactly what I am.

The remorse is crippling. I choke on it as I grab the room key and stumble outside. A shallow balcony runs the length of the second floor, overlooking the parking lot. A light rain is falling and cool drops slap my face when I lean on the sturdy railing.

Drunk or not, every word I said is carved into my memory forever. I’m sure it’s carved into hers too.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I stare into the night and wait for the haze of alcohol to fade before I can face Sabrina again. Each flashback to the betrayal and disbelief in her eyes is a fresh and justified wound.

She wasn’t simply angry over my callous insults, terrible as they were. I’d accidentally reminded her of something, some past painful experience that she never speaks of and wanted to forget.

My fists curl over the thin ledge of the wrought iron railing. The rain is falling harder now and the wind is blowing. I can hardly feel it when my shirt gets soaked but I can’t stay out here all night. Not unless Sabrina wants me to.

It’s not often that I get nervous but I feel sick with anxiety and dread when I return to that room.

Sabrina calmly sits on her bed. Her legs are under the covers and she’s propped up with pillows, her laptop open on her knees.

She stops typing and gives me a frank stare when I close the door behind me. She’s changed her clothes and wears a bright green hoodie while the Gino’s Pizzeria shirt, the one I gave her, is folded up on my bed.

No silence has ever been louder as I cross the room and drop to my knees at her bedside.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”

She sighs and closes her laptop, hugging it to her chest. Her eyes are red and her skin is blotchy. My heart lurches with sorrow.

Sabrina tucks her hair behind her ears and examines me. “You look terrible. You should go take a hot shower and change to something that’s not rain-soaked.”

At least she’s not crying anymore. She’s not cursing me out either, even though I deserve it.

Obeying her wishes, I grab my duffel bag and retreat to the bathroom. The water temperature is just this side of scalding and I remain beneath the shower blast until I feel somewhat clear-headed. Since I’m already in there, I drag a razor over my jaw to get rid of a few days of beard scruff.

By the time I’m toweled off, dressed in a hoodie and sweats with my teeth brushed, I feel close to normal.

I crack open the bathroom door slowly in case Sabrina is asleep. She isn’t. She’s still working on her laptop. When she sees the door open, she shuts the lid and moves the laptop to the nightstand to give me her full attention.

My joints feel stiff as I sink miserably down on the other bed. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already. Repeatedly.”

“Right.” I run a hand through my damp hair, trying to cobble together a better way to explain myself. Honesty is probably best. “But I do sincerely apologize. I was way out of line and I have no excuse. You are a very beautiful girl. And sometimes certain uh, thoughts cross my mind and then what happens is-”

“Oh my god, STOP, I beg you!” She briefly pulls the covers over her head and then throws them aside with a flushed glare. “I’m not an idiot, Monte. The last thing either of us needs is to suffer through your explanation about why dicks get hard. I get the picture.”

“Jesus,” I growl. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Well, however you were planning to enlighten me, just don’t. Everyone is traumatized enough for one night.”

“Fine. I’m definitely not trying to add to your trauma.” I swallow hard. “Do you hate me?”

She rolls her eyes. “You can be a major asshole.”

“I think we’ve established that.”

“And tonight you outdid yourself.”

“Last time I ever try to be an overachiever.”

She grabs a pillow and throws it at my head. “No, of course I don’t hate you. Jerk.”

I pick up the folded Gino’s Pizzeria shirt. “You can have this back. I gave it to you.”

She crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “You probably need it more than I do.”

If she doesn’t want my shirt, I won’t push her to take it. For now I throw it in the general direction of my duffel bag to get it out of sight.

“Is this painfully awkward conversation over now?” she asks.

“Not quite.” I set my elbows on my knees and lean forward. “I need to ask you what you meant.”

She winces. “I was hoping you were too drunk to remember that part.”

“Who hurt you, Sabrina?”

A wary shadow mingles with sadness. Maybe even shame. She hugs herself more tightly and won’t look me in the eye. “A couple of years ago I had a bad relationship. It kind of messed me up.”

“What does that mean? What the hell did he do to you?” A dozen terrible scenarios gallop through my head. All of them make me want to commit murder.

She’s already shaking her head with impatience. “Calm down. He didn’t hit me. And whatever we did was consensual so relax.”

No, I don’t think that I will relax. “What else?”

She shrugs. “He was just a manipulative bastard, that’s all. Had some really clever ways of making me feel worthless. Look, I really don’t want to talk about this, okay?”

I can’t make her confide in me. Besides, I’ve already done enough damage tonight.

“Okay.” I take the pillow she threw at my head and gently hand it back to her.

She fluffs the thing and tucks it underneath her head before lying on her side. “I really am tired.”

“Want me to turn off the light?”

“If you don’t mind.”

I walk over to flip the switch by the door. The only light left in the room is a faint glow from the bathroom. There’s a rustling of blankets as Sabrina gets comfortable.

“Hey, Monte Carlo?” she says.

Suddenly weary to the bone, I tug the comforter off the second bed. “Yeah?”

She burrows more deeply under the covers and flips over to face the other direction. “You’re a really shitty drunk.”

“Don’t I know it,” I mumble and crash down on the mattress.