“Sleeping.”
His hand was cupped between her legs before she caught the glint in his eye. Her knees bowed awkwardly. It was like sitting on the flat end of a shovel.
“Buddy—”
His other hand clamped around her ass, trapping her between his bulging arms. “Look at how tiny you are. I could stick you in my pocket and nobody’d ever know you were there.”
She could taste cookies and Scotch and tobacco when his tongue slid into her mouth. Callie returned the kiss because pushing him away, bruising his ego, would take up so much time and end up with her back at the exact same damn place.
For all his sound and fury, Buddy was a pussy when it came to his feelings. He could beat a grown man to a pulp without blinking an eye, but with Callie, he was so raw sometimes that it made her skin crawl. She had spent hours reassuring him, coddling him, propping him up, listening to his insecurities roll in like an ocean wave scratching at the sand.
Why was she with him? She should find someone else. She was out of his league. Too pretty. Too young. Too smart. Too classy. Why did she give a stupid brute like him the time of day? What did she see in him—no, tell him in detail, right now, what exactly was it that she liked about him? Be specific.
He constantly told her she was beautiful. He took her to nice restaurants, upscale hotels. He bought her jewelry and expensive clothes and gave her mother cash when she was short. He would beat down any man who even thought about looking at her the wrong way. The outside world would probably think that Callie had landed like a pig in shit, but, inside, she wondered if she’d be better off if he was as cruel to her as he was to everyone else. At least then she’d have a reason to hate him. Something real that she could point to instead of his pathetic tears soaking her shirt or the sight of him on his knees begging for her forgiveness.
“Daddy?”
Callie shuddered at the sound of Trevor’s voice. He stood in the hallway clutching his blanket.
Buddy’s hands kept Callie locked in place. “Go back to bed, son.”
“I want Mommy.”
Callie closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Trevor’s face.
“Do as I say,” Buddy warned. “Now.”
She held her breath, only letting it go when she heard the slow pad of Trevor’s feet back down the hall. His bedroom door creaked on its hinges. She heard the latch click.
Callie pulled away. She walked behind the bar, started turning the labels on the bottles, wiping down the counter, pretending like she wasn’t trying to put an obstacle between them.
Buddy huffed a laugh, rubbing his arms like it wasn’t sweltering in this wretched house. “Why’s it so cold all a sudden?”
Callie said, “I should go check on him.”
“Nah.” Buddy came around the bar, blocking her exit. “Check on me first.”
Buddy guided her palm to the bulge in his pants. He moved her hand up and down, once, and she was reminded of watching him jerk the rope on the lawnmower to start the motor.
“Like that.” He repeated the motion.
Callie relented. She always relented.
“That’s good.”
Callie closed her eyes. She could smell the pinched-off tip of his cigarillo still smoldering in the ashtray. The aquarium gurgled from across the room. She tried to think of some good fish names for Trevor tomorrow.
James Pond. Darth Baiter. Tank Sinatra.
“Jesus, your hands are so small.” Buddy unzipped his pants. Pressed down on her shoulder. The carpet behind the bar felt wet. Her knees sucked into the shag. “You’re my little ballerina.”
Callie put her mouth on him.
“Christ.” Buddy’s grip was firm on her shoulder. “That’s good. Like that.”
Callie squeezed her eyes closed.
Tuna Turner. Leonardo DeCarpio. Mary Kate and Ashley Ocean.
Buddy patted her shoulder. “Come on, baby. Let’s finish on the couch.”
Callie didn’t want to go to the couch. She wanted to finish now. To go away. To be by herself. To take a breath and fill her lungs with anything but him.
“God dammit!”
Callie cringed.
He wasn’t yelling at her.
She could tell from the shift in the air that Trevor was back in the hallway. She tried to imagine what he’d seen. One of Buddy’s meaty hands gripping the counter, his hips thrusting at something underneath the bar.
“Daddy?” he asked. “Where did—”
“What did I tell you?” Buddy bellowed.
“I’m not sleepy.”