Page 12

JULIA

The rest of my first day on Catalina Island is pretty uneventful. There’s enough sloppiness to keep me occupied, but not enough to overwhelm me.

Having spent my entire life in cities, being in the middle of nowhere has a kind of touristy appeal.

It’s new. It’s different. It’s so strange I can convince myself it’d be easy to get used to traffic-free roads, the sounds of birds instead of police sirens, and talking to the same twenty people about the weather every day.

I’d never talk Tonya into it. She’d say the client base is too small, and she’d be right.

The little house has no sharp knives, so I slice an apple with my chisel. The ramen was so salty I’m pretty sure I’ll need the entire bushel I bought from the market to clear out my mouth.

That Dan guy was pretty cute. Nice build. Mop of dark hair. Blue eyes. I’m sure he’s charmed every fertile woman on the island right onto her back.

“If he hasn’t laid pipe from sea to shining sea, I’ll eat my shoe,” I say as I toss the apple core into the compost. After I wash my chisel, I tighten the base of the old faucet and get into the shower.

Carol said there’s a party Saturday and I’m supposed to have most of this done by then? With Tonya not coming until that morning? The punchlist seemed manageable in the day. With the lights off, it seems as long as Santa’s naughty list.

And why was the Duke name on the helicopter?

Carol would have told me if this was his place.

Right?

We really need a new truck. If we want to grow, we need to expand the map of service. Hire more regular workers. Maybe get some on W2s.

I crawl into bed and pull the blanket over my head. My usual YouTube guy is making all the right noises, but I can’t relax.

We need money.

No. I need to forget money and think about sex if I want to sleep.

What a dream in the helicopter though. That guy with the screwdriver dick put Dan to shame.

Please don’t, please don’t…forget me .

It’s enough to turn a girl’s attention to hand tools, because now I’m horny as fuck and I didn’t bring my Lily-triple-action.

The toolbox is handy though. I could get right out of bed, walk to the kitchen, reach in, and… words into action, I’m at the counter right now with my screwdriver in my hand. I spin it on my thumb and grab the handle to stop it. Slim, for sure, but the ridges could really be a thing.

I put the entire toolbox on the night table and wash off my tool of choice. There are some infections I don’t want to explain in the ER.

Back in bed, I hold up the screwdriver in the moonlight. That dream really turned me on, but I’m a little blocked here. I’ve only ever fucked toys that are made to be fucked. This thing was made to screw, but semantics aside, this seems weird.

“You wanna fuck?” I ask it. It doesn’t answer. I lay it in front of me. “Stay absolutely still once for yes and twice for no.” It doesn’t move. “I take that as a yes.”

I pull up my T-shirt and open my legs, leaving my underwear on for now.

I press the handle against the cotton, brushing it back and forth.

The grip ridges send tiny shockwaves through me.

Taking the metal shaft between my palms, I roll it back and forth, spinning the handle against my clit.

Now the ridges are really giving one hundred percent.

All my pumping and jerking is making it hard to aim and spin at the same time.

“I won’t forget you, baby,” I say to it, then put the handle in my mouth. I probably don’t need to lubricate it, but I slather it with spit anyway as I wiggle out of my underpants.

Running my tongue along the plastic ridges is hotter than I thought it would be. Dream-me really should have sucked that thing. He would have loved it.

When I take it out of my mouth, it’s so wet, a line of spit connects it to my lips.

“You ready to fuck, loverboy?” I put it between my legs. “Oh, you wanna play a little more?”

I spin it against my bare clit. The slippery ridges are pah-pah-pah clockwise and bam-bam-bam the other way. I can come right now, but I want to try these grooves spinning inside me first.

“You want to fuck my pussy?” I groan while the tip is at the front door. “I want you to fuck it hard, baby.”

It feels better than the biggest toy. I turn it so the ridges rattle against my pussy and push it to rub my G-spot. I pull my knees all the way up so I can get the angle just right. The accuracy is amazing. Shit. The way the base of the handle pops in and out with a rough little shock.

“Fuck, fuck.”

I push and jerk and jolt. My Lily would have finished me already. Because it’s not the perfect tool for this job, it’s taking longer. I want it harder. I need more. I’m so fucking wet and swollen, it feels as if the screwdriver has gotten thicker.

Screwdriver man. What did he want?

Don’t forget me .

“Never forget you, baby.” I’m so close. My eyes squeeze shut. “I’ll never forget this cock.”

I clutch the bedspread with both hands, lifting my hips into him so he can bury himself so deep his balls slap against me.

Wait.

What?

I’m having a full-body, soul-erasing, near-blackout orgasm, so a scream is the answer to the question. But once that’s done, I scream again and open my eyes.

It’s screwdriver man. Dream beach man. Naked and fucking. Coming inside me with a real groan.

“What the?” I kick his shoulder with my right heel.

It lands, but it’s not enough to get him off me. I swing at his face, but he catches my wrist halfway there and holds it against the bed. He’s staring at me with eyes as big as doorknobs.

“Julia?” He’s as shocked as I am.

“Get. The fuck. Off. Me.”

After a quick shake to clear his head, he leaps onto the floor as if the bed is on fire, looking down at his body the way he did on the dream beach.

That wasn’t real. Unless dreams smell like raw sex and sweet patchouli. Unless they make your pussy sore and drip down your leg. This isn’t a dream.

I’m going to jail for murder. I know this. I accept it. I grab for the screwdriver, which is getting put directly into his eye socket and out the back of his head.

But there’s no screwdriver. I flip the covers. Where the fuck?—

“It’s not there,” he says. His blue eyes are wide open and his brows are arched in a totally non-threatening way. “Listen to me.”

He holds out his hands. Fuck this guy.

“No!” I reach into my toolbox. The first thing I find is the hammer.

I’m never going to get into a position where I can get a clean shot, so I throw it. Dead center to his face. My aim is flawless, but so is his dodge.

“Please!” he growls.

“Please what?” Another tool. The chisel. Fine. “Let you get away with literally raping me?”

“What? No! You said you wanted me to!”

“You fuckers are all alike.” I throw it. Grab the next thing. The level? Fuck it. If the glass tubes break I’ll buy a new one.

“I was in your dream!” he says.

I freeze. “What did you say?”

“Can you put the tools away?”

“No. Talk. What dream?”

“Just don’t throw them. Don’t break them. Please.”

“The tools?”

“Yes. Listen. I’m as confused as you are. But you had a dream on the helicopter. I was standing on the beach. In the sand. And then I looked like this and I was surprised so I said ‘Holy shit,’ and then you said. ‘Holy shit is right.’ Remember? I was talking to a crab.”

“What did the crab say?”

“He told me that I had to show you what to do.”

“I know how to fuck.”

“I’m aware. It’s just… can you put down the level?”

“No. Tell me about the dream.”

“You said ‘Hello, what’s your name?’”

“I must have been talking in my sleep.” Generally I don’t talk in my sleep, but I also generally don’t trust rapists.

Yet here I am, asking questions instead of impaling him.

And I’m sure my headset was on mute. Also, he wasn’t on the helicopter.

I’ve never seen him outside my own head.

This is all wrong. “One of the pilots told you what I said.”

“I told you that you were perfect.” He’s standing straight now, as if he knows he doesn’t need to stay in a defensive crouch. Damn he is a fine specimen. “I begged you not to forget me.”

There was this girl I fucked for awhile who talked in her sleep. It was all one-sided nonsense conversation. If I was talking in my sleep, the pilots would have heard my words, but wouldn’t have heard him tell me not to forget him.

“How?”

“You’re going to have to sit down for me to explain.” He indicated an upholstered chair by the window.

“No.” I’m tight again. “I don’t know how you know what I dreamed. Why would you say not to forget you? Huh?”

“Because you left me at Jaeger Duke’s house. You forgot me.”

“I left my…”

Screwdriver. Which was stuck in the sand when the dream opened. It was what the dream man fucked me with. Which isn’t on the bed any more.

“Yes,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I don’t know what I expected would happen. I should have asked about the timing. I didn’t think I’d get my legs back in the middle of fucking you.”

“You’re my…?

“Which was incredible, by the way.”

“You’re my screwdriver ?”

“I am. And you’re using one of my friends as a weapon.”

I drop the level on the bed as if it’s infectious.

It’s true. The proof is scanty. If I were in a movie right now, the internet would say I was TSTL—too stupid to live. Implausible. Unrealistic. The plot point where I believed would be the eye-roller that got people laughing by the water-cooler.

Maybe I’m an idiot, but I’m sure he is my screwdriver. It’s all true. I know it in my gut.

The room gets gray at the corners.

I fall back into a faint.