His Rules Page 7

  “What do you believe the people from my Whole Foods story feel?”

  “I think they’re like the girl from China or whatever that was forced to marry the guy from another culture. Eventually, they’re in love with each other. Until that time comes, they’re riding a wave of lust.”

  I let out a laugh. “A wave of lust?”

  “Yep.” She nodded. “I think they fell in lust in the store while they were squeezing the no chemicals added avocadoes. Then, later, while they were buying the free-range chicken salad at the deli counter, he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra when she put the little container in her cart. Then, she noticed a bulge in his cargo shorts when he was putting his chicken salad in his little basket. They shared an awkward glance. After they paid for their preservative-free selections, as fate would have it, they find that they were parked side by side in the parking lot. Boom. It was meant to be. They probably made a date for later that night, and from there, they rode the wave of lust until they eventually fell in love.”

  She clapped her hands together, and then raised them high in the air. “How’s that?”

  I smiled. “Pretty entertaining. I have a question. Why did she have a cart and he had a basket?”

  “She’s divorced. Has kids at home with her sister because she can’t afford a sitter. He’s single, so he can fit all his shit in one of those little baskets.”

  I found her theories not only entertaining, but interesting. “Why can’t she afford a sitter?”

  “Because she shops at Whole Foods, duh.”

  “So, in summary, soul mates don’t exist?”

  She wiped the condensation from the cup with the web of her hand. “They do if you want them to.”

  “Love is something you tell yourself you’ve found when you’re finally ready to settle. Is that you’re belief?”

  “Yeah. I think that’s pretty much it.” She looked at me. “What do you believe?”

  “I believe there has to be an attraction at first. It could be based solely on looks, or it might be personality based. It could even be sexually based. Say, from what was expected to be a one night stand. But there must be an attraction. If there is, it can develop into a loving relationship if both parties are interested, and if they allow it to.”

  “It’s that easy?” she asked.

  I extended my index finger. “To survive, a relationship requires sacrifice from both sides. In the absence of sacrifice, the relationship will be sacrificed.”

  “Here you go,” the waitress said, interrupting our conversation. “Rockefeller, and on the half shell.”

  She placed two platters on the table. “I’ll bring some wet-naps back.”

  “Thank you.”

  Taryn looked at the oysters on the half shell, and then at the oysters Rockefeller. After a quick study, she looked at me.

  “The little guys without the spinach.” She wagged her finger toward the oyster-filled platter. “What’s on them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Just oyster matter?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Matter?”

  “Just all the slimy stuff that comes with an oyster? No other stuff?”

  I chuckled. “No other stuff. Why?”

  “I’m not a big spinach person.”

  “I doubt you’d even realize it was spinach. They’re quite tasty.”

  “I’m sure they are. I think I’m going for the plain ole oyster.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that they’re raw?”

  Her face paled. “Huh?”

  “They’re raw.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re uncooked.”

  She looked at the platter and then swallowed heavily. “They just busted ‘em open and tossed the little guys on the plate?”

  “I sure hope so,” I said.

  “Were they. Were they alive?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “They have to be alive, or they’re not safe to eat. If the shells are closed tight, they’re alive. They take a special knife, insert it between the shells, and break the muscle that attaches the shells. At that moment, the oyster is killed. They need to be eaten immediately if they’re not cooked.”

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You better hurry. We need to eat these before they spoil.”

  She stood. “I’d sure hate for that to happen. I’ll make it quick.”

  In no time, she returned. The pleasant scent of her perfume filled the air as she sat down. “Thorry, that coffee ith going right through me.”

  I cocked my head and gave her a look. It seemed that she’d somehow developed a lisp while she was away.

  “That’s quite alright,” I said. “We’re all sitting here patiently.”

  She looked at the oysters. “Tho how doth one properly eat an oythter?”

  I nodded toward the tray. “Pretty simple,” I said. “Pick it up and slurp it off the shell.”

  She reached for an oyster, raised it in toast, and slurped it from the shell. After swallowing it, she took a drink of water, and reached for another. I did the same, and we each held them in a mock toast.

  After eating it, much to my surprise, she picked up the third. “If were tharing, we’re tharing.”

  “What happened to your tongue?” I asked.

  “I bit in the bathroom by mithtake.”

  “Oh.”

  We ate the third oysters and shared a look. “Good, huh?” I asked.

  “Probably an acquired tathte.”

  “Rockefeller?” I asked.

  “Thure,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Scoop them out or pierce them with your fork.”

  We shared the platter of oysters, and upon swallowing the last one, our food arrived.

  “Perfect timing,” I said to the waitress.

  She removed the empty platters and replaced them with our meals. “Anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  Taryn shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Enjoy.”

  Taryn situated her plate, and then looked up. “What you thaid earlier, about thacrifithe?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “We’re on the thame page.” She smiled, scooped up a piece of her fish, and paused. “Thacrifithe ith what iths all about.”

  Chapter 11

  Taryn – Day ten

  With each passing day, Marc allowed me to see a little more of who he was. In my opinion, he was an interesting man with an oddly keen moral compass. I maintained an expectation of him eventually doing or saying something I disagreed with. So far, however, he’d exposed no major faults.

  I’d been ten days without so much as a single drink of alcohol. Although I didn’t consider myself an alcoholic, I viewed the accomplishment as being more than noteworthy. Sitting with Stefanie in the very bar that I met Marc in was testing my ability to abstain, though.

  “You what? Not a drink?” Stefanie asked.

  “Not one.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that I am?”

  “Nope.”

  Her face contorted. “Did he ask you to stop?”

  “No. I decided not to drink on my own. You know how I am when I’m drunk. I want to get to know him without any influence from alcohol. This way, I get a clear picture.”

  “I think that’s kind of awesome. Really.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “So, what’s new with him? Anything? Did you do anything on Saturday night?”

  It was Monday, and as I hadn’t seen her since Saturday at noon. I considered telling her about the coffee I’d attempted to drink. Instead, I chose to tell her about the great oyster feed. “No, not really. We went to some nice restaurant, and I ate oysters. That was weird.”

  “You ate an oyster?”

  I held six fingers in the air. “Six of them.”

  She raised
her clenched fist to her mouth. “Oh. My God.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “How can you say that? They’re alive. You know that, right?”

  “No. They bust ‘em open with a knife, and it kills them. But they’re dangerously close to alive. Freshly slaughtered.”

  She heaved into her hand, acting like she was barfing. After a moment, she lowered her fist and shot me a look of disgust. “Cum is the grossest thing in the whole world. I don’t care what anyone says, nobody likes cum in their mouth. Nobody. We do it because guys think it’s cool. I’ll let a guy come in my mouth, but I’d die before I eat an oyster. An oyster is like a little sack of baked cum.”

  “Raw oysters are nastier than cum. Times ten. Oysters Rockefeller are better.”

  With her mouth partially open, she stared back at me, blinking.

  “Actually,” I said. “They’re a lot better. I’d eat them again.”

  “What? Did you guys have an oyster sampler platter? Seriously, if you did, I don’t want to hear about it.”

  “No. Just two. Raw, and Rockefeller.”

  She covered her mouth with her palm. “What’s a Rockefeller?”

  “Cooked oysters with spinach and cheese. It was pretty good as far as I could tell. Hard to say for sure with my tongue all jacked up.”

  “What was wrong with your tongue?”

  “It had perfume on it.”

  She lowered her hand. Her forehead creased slightly. “How did that happen? You’re not supposed to spray it on your face, dork.”

  “We just had this long discussion about relationships in Pakistan. He was telling me about twelve-year-old girls getting swapped for debt, and--”

  “Wait. What? Twelve years old? Oh my God, he’s a disgusting creep--”

  “Seriously? He is not.” I shot her a shitty glare. “And, you didn’t let me finish.”

  “If he was talking about--”

  “Let. Me. Finish.”

  Her eyebrows raised comically. “Finish.”

  “We were talking about arranged marriages in different countries. He wanted to know whether I thought they could actually be in love, or if they just cohabitated, living angry but doing it out of respect for tradition and family.”

  “You mean like when the parents pick your husband for you? Bring some dude to the house and say, here’s your husband?”

  “That’s it.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Tell me what you think,” I responded. “Then I’ll tell you what I said.”

  “I think they can fall in love. If they have to be together, they probably decide falling in love is what’s best, so they do it.”

  Her belief was interesting. It was similar to mine, and I wondered how many other people felt the same way.

  “So, you think it’s something you just decide to do? I’m going to love this guy?”

  She gave a half-assed shrug. “I think it can be.”

  “That’s kind of what I said. Okay, so we had that discussion, and he ends it by saying, to survive, a relationship requires sacrifice from both sides. In the absence of sacrifice, ‘the relationship’ will be sacrificed. I was digesting what he said, and these freaking oysters showed up. So, I decided it was time for me to make a sacrifice.”

  “That doesn’t tell me how you got perfume in your mouth.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I giggled. “When the oysters showed up, I went to the bathroom and sprayed my tongue like ten times with Bombshell. That way I wouldn’t be able to taste them.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Did it work?”

  “My tongue was burning, my mouth tasted like perfume, and for some reason, it made me really dizzy. But, other than the raw ones being gross, they didn’t taste like anything.”

  “That’s insane. I’m surprised you didn’t get sick.”

  “I did. Kind of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I crapped like ten times after we left. I’m guessing from the perfume. I was up all night. It was terrible.”

  She laughed. “Probably those raw oysters.”

  “I doubt anyone would eat them if they made you crap like a goose every time you ate them. He said he loves the things. I’m guessing he’s not the type that likes to stay up crapping all night.”

  “Was he sick, too?”

  “Didn’t seem like it.”

  “Was he running to the bathroom?”

  “I only stayed at his house for a short time, But, he wasn’t when I was there.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t poop at someone else’s house.”

  “I can’t really, either.”

  “You did at his place, though.”

  “No. I waited.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I waited. Until I got home.”

  “If you could wait, it wasn’t the oysters. It was the perfume. Bad oysters wouldn’t let you wait. You would have pooped in the car on the way home. I ate bad sushi once when I was dating Jerry, and I pooped a little bit while we were driving home.”

  “Oh, my God,” I gasped. “That’s gross.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah, it was.”

  The waitress handed Stefanie her beer. “One Corona with lime. Anything else?”

  She looked up, scrunching her nose in the process. “I don’t think so.”

  I shook my head. “I’m good.”

  She took a sip of her beer. “What are you going to do when the thirty days are up, and he says it just didn’t work out?”

  “It is working out.”

  “You think it is. You never know with those guys. They’re weird, and they do shady shit.”

  “He’s not one of those guys. He’s not a Dom, I asked.”

  “Kate said he was.”

  “Kate was wrong,” I said. “He’s sexually demanding, not a Dom.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. That’s just what he said.”

  “I’m happy for you. Really. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “How am I going to get hurt? He’s the first guy I’ve ever met that is interested in something other than just having sex with me. I was just thinking how nice that was when we were sitting down.”

  “I’m just saying.” She took a drink of beer. “How’d he afford that huge house? Did he tell you that?”

  “He was in the military, and he stayed in Iraq as a private contractor. He said it paid well.”

  “Jerry was in the Marines, remember? Do you know what a contractor is?”

  “I don’t know. Builds stuff? Rebuilds the country?”

  She spit out a laugh. “Contractors are paid by their contracts. They’re hit men. Mercenaries. They kill people for a living.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  She took a drink of beer with her eyebrows raised, looking right at me the entire time. As she lowered the bottle, she coughed. “Ask him.”

  “I will.”

  “Where does he work now?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. I had no idea. I felt like making something up, but didn’t dare. Her mouth twisted into a shitty little smirk.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  She must have sensed my uncertainty.

  I let out a sigh. “No.”

  “Bet it’s shady.”

  “It’s not shady,” I said adamantly. “And, he’s not shady.”

  Despite my claim, my stomach began to feel like I’d just eaten oysters.

  Or swallowed perfume.

  Either way, I didn’t like it.

  Chapter 12

  Marc – Day ten

  Light bled through the perimeter of one window at the rear of the small ranch home. Apart from that lone spot, the residence was completely dark. The panes of glass had been covered with something on the inside that not only eliminated the transmission of light, but prevented me – or anyone else – from peering in
side.

  I checked the laces of my boots.

  Secured.

  My pockets.

  Empty.

  I pulled the magazine from my pistol.

  Full.

  I carefully pulled the slide back and glanced at the weapon’s breech.

  Loaded.

  Spare magazine number one.

  Secure.

  Spare magazine number two.

  Secure.

  I exited the vehicle. In a crouched position, I crept through the neighbor’s yard, behind Linda’s sparse landscaping, and onto her front porch. Dressed in a black long-sleeved Under Armour shirt, black utility pants, and wearing a black spandex headcover, being seen – or identified – was near impossible.

  The most critical element of the night’s equation was that she never learn who I truly was. Failure to protect my identity, entirely, would end in certain death.

  I drew a shallow breath, placed my index finger against the weapon’s trigger guard, and lowered my head.

  Please, Lord. Don’t make me kill another.

  I leaned back, raised my right foot, and slammed it against the edge of the door. The frame shattered into a mass of splinters.

  The door flew open, hitting the adjacent wall with a bang!

  High on adrenaline and filled with hope, I rushed through the poorly lit home and toward the back room, praying the entire time that Linda was alone.

  Chapter 13

  Taryn – Day eleven

  I pressed the doorbell button. The muffled ding-dong from the chime was barely audible from the porch. I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet as I gazed blankly at the well-manicured lawn and perfectly-pruned landscaping. I wondered if he did it himself or hired it done, and then decided he did it himself out of fear that no one else could do it to his liking.

  Growing up in Oklahoma didn’t provide me opportunities to see homes such as Marc’s. It seemed Southern California was filled with contemporary mansions similar to his, many of which overlooked the beach. I hadn’t become immune to seeing them, but completely understanding the wealth that was required to own and maintain such a piece of property wasn’t something that was easy for me to do.

  His voice came from a small speaker beneath the alarm pad. “Come in.”

  I stepped inside, peered into the empty living room, and paused.