Page 29 of Piggy

Charlotte

Holden chuckles. “Charlotte. Don’t listen to this clown. I have to work with him all day. Trust me.”

The man pauses, then extends his large hand across the table with a friendly grin, shrugging off Holden’s jab. “I’m Riser. Charlotte’s a beautiful name. Suits you.”

His voice is kind. Polite. But there’s something extra in the way he looks at me. Too much, maybe?

Keysha playfully slaps the table. “She’s taken, Chad .”

His hand stays outstretched anyway, steady. So I shake it reluctantly. His palm is warm and a little rough. I pull away swiftly. That was long enough.

He flicks a glance at Keysha, still smiling. “Just making new friends is all.”

His tone is light, his grin calm. Still, I shift in my seat. He does seem sort of flirty. Maybe I should get ahead of this.

“Yeah. I have a boyfriend,” I say, clutching my beer like it might shield me. But the words come out sharper than I mean them to and I wince. It’s like I’m rejecting him in front of everyone. I never like hurting people.

Riser nods, though, his gaze the same. “Cool. Me, too.”

I blink. “Wait. You’re gay?”

His eyes widen, just a beat too long, like I caught him off guard. But then he chuckles, cheeks tinting pink.

“Sorry!” I blurt. “That was super blunt.”

He shrugs, smirking now, his voice smaller. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.” An awkward pause, then, “And yeah. I am... into guys.”

I feel so awful, but Keysha squints. It’s obvious she’s suspicious. Such a good friend. She says with a challenging tone, “Don’t look gay.”

He blushes, now grinning widely, a little more comfortable now.

Holden laughs under his breath. “Yeah, he is.”

Riser shrugs, looking bashful, and lifts his beer. “Told ya.”

The tension bleeds from my shoulders. I blush, embarrassed, guilty, but mostly relieved. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No worries,” he assures, still watching me.

For such a big guy, there’s something shy about him. Like he’s used to being misunderstood. It’s kinda cute.

I let myself exhale, the pressure melting. No flirting. No drama. Just a guy trying to be part of the group.

And I’d totally overthought it.

Hours pass and the drinks pour .

It’s such a good vibe. I am having the best time!

We laugh until we cry. The guys tell us stories about shrimping. Storms, jellyfish, near-death moments. And though I can’t imagine doing that job, I hang on every word. Definitely not for me. Too dirty, too dangerous.

Grayson never tells me about work stuff. But... I guess I never really ask. He always wants to know about my day, and I just ramble and—

“Okay, I am done!” Keysha slurs, flopped in Holden’s lap, giggling. “Take me home. I live in South Bay.”

He chuckles. “Sure, baby.”

“Good. I’m too tipsy to drive,” she says, pressing a lipstick smeared kiss to his cheek. “We gotta drop off Charlotte first. She lives on Sea Crest and Hills.”

Riser’s voice cuts in. “That’s near my place. I can take her home.”

“What?” I blink, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

His green eyes are soft under the bar’s low light. He shrugs. “It’s no trouble. Keysha lives in the opposite direction, anyway.”

That’s true...

Oh God, did I just offend him again?

He’s been nothing but sweet all night. A gentleman. One who likes guys .

“Actually, yeah. That works,” I say quickly. “You’re right. That way Holden doesn’t have to zigzag across the whole county. ”

We settle up. I hug Keysha tight, and thank her for dragging me out. My whole body buzzes from laughter, beer, and relief. No school, no bills, no stress. Just a good night.

I practically skip out to the parking lot.

Riser’s van is old and loud when it rumbles to life. I climb in and shut the door, but my foot catches on something.

I glance down.

A thin, knotted coil of rope is tucked under my seat.

I lean down and grab the end of it, curious. “What’s this?”

Riser backs out of the space. Then, a beat too late, he grins. “Helped a friend move last week. Used it to tie stuff down.”

“Oh,” I say, and gently slide it back under with my foot.

Totally normal.

Probably.

The drive is slow. The winding roads seem endless. Moonlight flickers on the dashboard. The sea air floats in from the A/C vents. It feels nice.

We talk more, about fishing, and school, and how Keysha is clearly in love already.

He’s so easy to talk to. Soft-spoken. A little awkward. His voice isn’t flirty now. Just casual. Friendly.

“You’re really good at this,” I say out of nowhere. “Like, making people feel comfortable. I was a little nervous driving back with you.”

He glances at me, a surprised smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got it flipped, Charlotte. You’re the one who makes people relax. You carry the conversation well, too. ”

I tilt my head. “Me?”

“Yeah. You’ve got... that thing. Like, people want to tell you stuff.”

I laugh. “I doubt that.”

He shrugs. “Well. I told you, didn’t I?”

A weird little flutter dances in my chest. Not a crush. Just warmth. Like I’m socially accepted. I have friends now.

“Hey, got any gum?” I ask, lips dry from beer and nerves and... maybe too much smiling.

“Glovebox.”

I pop it open.

Dig around.

Silver catches the light.

My fingers wrap around cool metal. I pull.

Clink.

Handcuffs.

They dangle from one finger as I lift them into the light.

“And these?” I ask, half-laughing. “Are you, uh... kinky with your boyfriend? In this van?”

He barks a laugh, those stupid dimples cratering. “Nah. Trick cuffs.”

Then, quieter, like a secret he didn’t mean to share, he adds, “Don’t tell Holden or I’ll never hear the end of it... but I do magic on the side.”

He rubs the back of his neck. If it weren’t so dark in here, I swear he’d be bright red.

I grin. “A shrimp boat magician, huh?”

“Yep.” He smirks, his bright blond hair casting a halo in the dim cab. “Corporate events. Birthday parties. I’m not bad.”

I laugh, leaning back into the seat. The beer still warms my blood, making everything feel just a little slower. Funnier.

“So how do these work?” I ask, rattling the cuffs.

“I pretend I’m stuck,” he explains. “But if you twist your wrists right, they pop open.”

He flashes me a look.

“Wanna see?”

My smile falters. “Uh...”

Riser’s already pulling over. The van drifts to the shoulder with a gravel crunch.

“It’s easy,” he says, voice low. “An old trick.”

I hesitate.

But he’s smiling. Warm. Sweet.

Gay.

“...Okay,” I murmur.

I hold out my hands.

Snap.

The metal clinks shut around one wrist. Then the other.

He gives the chain a sharp tug.

I jerk forward.

It’s not hard or painful. Just sudden.

He chuckles at my reaction. “Damn. You’re jumpy.”

I laugh, but it’s thin.

He holds my hands in his and runs a thumb along the side as he studies it.

“Wow. You’ve got tiny wrists,” he murmurs.

“Um... thanks.” I shift in my seat, clearing my throat. “Okay. How do I take them off?”

I try twisting.

They seem heavy. Too heavy... like they’re real handcuffs.

I twist harder, clinking the metal.

They don’t unsnap, so I hold them up and repeat, “How do I do it?”

I try to sound breezy. Normal.

Not scared.

But, my pulse is inching higher.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just watches me. But... his eyes aren’t as warm.

They’re not shy, not sweet.

They’re...

Not blinking.

I glance around.

Empty road. No headlights. No people. Just darkness and wind sweeping through the thick brush along the roadside.

What have I done?

Slowly, he leans across the console, causing me to recoil, my shoulder pressed to the cool window. He asks, his voice suddenly deep and gravelly:

“Ever been titty-fucked?”

I suck in a sharp breath.

“What?”

That’s all I can manage .

My wrists twist in the cuffs harder, body trembling, my panic clawing at my chest. The metal doesn’t give.

He tilts his head. “Wanna see a real trick?” His eyes remain fixed on me as he reaches down, retrieving...

The rope.

I go still.