The Opportunist
Page 28
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Laura remembered being kept in a basement of some sort, for a time she couldn’t determine, because she had been sedated. The man, who she described as “shy,” used her for sex and company. Then one day, for no good reason, kissed her on the cheek and dropped her off at the airport. She told police his name was Devon. Laura Hilberson had been missing for six months.
While Laura was lying in a hospital bed being questioned by police, Caleb and I were at a charity auction that most seniors in his fraternity were required to attend. It was one of those fluffy affairs where everyone dresses up in expensive suits and dresses, with waiters circle the room with flutes of champagne. He spotted a group of people who were huddled together in a tight pack.
“I went to high school with them,” he said casually, sliding an olive off of a toothpick with his mouth.
“How many of those girls did you date?” I said eyeing the group. Nearly all of the girls were beautiful enough to be on the cover of a magazine and several of them had greeted Caleb with a sensual familiarity that made my green monster crack his knuckles.
“Why is that important?” he asked and I could see the amusement in his eyes.
“Because, if I made a statement like that you would want to know who I’d been kissing,” I snapped impatiently.
He smiled and obliged, bending his neck to speak softly into my ear.
“Adriana Parsevo,” his voice was so low I had to strain to hear him. I repositioned my ear closer to his lips and shivered when I felt them against my lobe. “She’s in the little silver dress,” I directed my gaze towards a striking girl whose dress didn’t manage to cover even a tenth of her never ending legs. What was it with Caleb and the legs?
“We dated for a while, She was very…experimental,” that last word and the texture of his voice hinted at so much, I felt a surge of jealousy crush my windpipe. Caleb, seemingly enjoying my reaction, continued.
“The girl she’s speaking to, the one drinking the mimosa, is named Kirsten if I recall correctly. She has a birthmark that resembles Africa on the inside of her thigh.”
I blew air hard through my nose and glared at him. He laughed—the type of naughty, sexy, chuckle that stirred the sleeping butterflies in my belly.
“You asked Duchess…”
I pictured him kissing those girls. His fingers tracing their birthmarks and my breath caught in my throat. I hated them and I hated him for liking them.
“Would you like to hear more?” he asked, lips grazing the top of my ear.
“No,” I said surly and I meant it. Asking was a big mistake.
As soon as we got in his car, I pounced on him. I kissed him hard—jumping across the seat and climbing into his lap. He laughed into my mouth knowing that his game had struck a chord and he cupped his hands around my bu**ocks. I ignored him and kept working intent on proving myself seductive.
Caleb’s mood changed quickly and soon all smiles were gone as we were tangled together in a kiss so intense we were both panting. I thought I was going to die when his fingers lowered the straps of my dress and I felt air on my br**sts. Then there was more than air. His hands and his mouth found me and I wondered why I had never done this before. I said something. I don’t know what it was, but my voice seemed to snap him back to reality, because he tore away from me the moment he heard it and held me at arm’s length. I had never done anything as wanton, as daring, and what was kept safely beneath my bra and he had never had to stop at such an early point in foreplay.
“Why—? I was breathless and still clutching at his shirt. He kissed me softly on the lips. All sexual charge was gone. He turned on the ignition.
I climbed back to my side of the car and slumped down in my seat. It was because he didn’t want to go halfway. There was no “messing around” with Caleb. Most guys were happy to cop as many feels as they could get. With Caleb, it was different. You either went all the way, or you stayed in the shallow waters of kissing. He wouldn’t sleaze his way into sex, by pulling me further and further away from my chastity by giving me pieces of what I was missing. I sat back in my seat and contemplated throwing all of my inhibitions to the wind. What were they anyway? I could barely remember when I thought of his hands and the way they knew exactly where to touch.
I wondered what my mother would say. She would be happy that I found a guy like Caleb, but she would still be wary of him. My father had gifted us both with a package of suspicion that sat like a teeth baring watchdog in our minds. “Guard your heart, so it doesn’t get broken like mine,” my mother would say as often as twice a week.
Sheri, my mother’s best friend, brought Oliver Kaspen’s life to an abrupt end one Fourth of July after I turned eleven. She used his own 22 gauge shotgun to do the deed, plastering his grey matter all over her pink flamingo shower curtain. Unbeknownst to my mother, Sheri was one of the many women my father used for sex and money. She reminded me of a watery eyed cocker spaniel with a personality as slimey as a raw egg. Before my mother found out about his affair with Sheri, I knew. On the afternoons that my mom worked late and my father picked me up from school, we would go visit his ‘friends.’ These friends all happened to be women, and either had access to money, drugs or both.
“Don’t you go telling your ma about these little visits you’ve been making over here with your dad,” Sheri said wagging a finger at me. “She’s got enough on her plate as is, and your dad just needs a friend to talk to.”
They talked for hours in Sheri’s bedroom, sometimes with the radio playing oldies and cigarette smoke seeping from the crack under the door. My dad would be real nice to me after he came out of the bedroom. We always stopped for gelato on the way home. I didn’t miss him when he was gone. He was just some guy who walked me home from school and bribed me with ice-cream. At the time of his death, it had been ten months since I’d last seen him, and he hadn’t even called for my birthday. Oliver Kaspen, my namesake, died leaving me with a flurry of bad memories and a deadbolt on my heart that only he had the key to. I had daddy issues that doomed Caleb from the get go.
Chapter Ten
The Present
Sunday morning I wake in my bed, my hair reeking of sweat and cigarettes. I groan, roll over, and vomit into my trashcan. My trashcan? I didn’t remember putting it there. Then I hear the toilet flush.
My God-Caleb!
I collapse against my pillow and put my hand over my eyes.
While Laura was lying in a hospital bed being questioned by police, Caleb and I were at a charity auction that most seniors in his fraternity were required to attend. It was one of those fluffy affairs where everyone dresses up in expensive suits and dresses, with waiters circle the room with flutes of champagne. He spotted a group of people who were huddled together in a tight pack.
“I went to high school with them,” he said casually, sliding an olive off of a toothpick with his mouth.
“How many of those girls did you date?” I said eyeing the group. Nearly all of the girls were beautiful enough to be on the cover of a magazine and several of them had greeted Caleb with a sensual familiarity that made my green monster crack his knuckles.
“Why is that important?” he asked and I could see the amusement in his eyes.
“Because, if I made a statement like that you would want to know who I’d been kissing,” I snapped impatiently.
He smiled and obliged, bending his neck to speak softly into my ear.
“Adriana Parsevo,” his voice was so low I had to strain to hear him. I repositioned my ear closer to his lips and shivered when I felt them against my lobe. “She’s in the little silver dress,” I directed my gaze towards a striking girl whose dress didn’t manage to cover even a tenth of her never ending legs. What was it with Caleb and the legs?
“We dated for a while, She was very…experimental,” that last word and the texture of his voice hinted at so much, I felt a surge of jealousy crush my windpipe. Caleb, seemingly enjoying my reaction, continued.
“The girl she’s speaking to, the one drinking the mimosa, is named Kirsten if I recall correctly. She has a birthmark that resembles Africa on the inside of her thigh.”
I blew air hard through my nose and glared at him. He laughed—the type of naughty, sexy, chuckle that stirred the sleeping butterflies in my belly.
“You asked Duchess…”
I pictured him kissing those girls. His fingers tracing their birthmarks and my breath caught in my throat. I hated them and I hated him for liking them.
“Would you like to hear more?” he asked, lips grazing the top of my ear.
“No,” I said surly and I meant it. Asking was a big mistake.
As soon as we got in his car, I pounced on him. I kissed him hard—jumping across the seat and climbing into his lap. He laughed into my mouth knowing that his game had struck a chord and he cupped his hands around my bu**ocks. I ignored him and kept working intent on proving myself seductive.
Caleb’s mood changed quickly and soon all smiles were gone as we were tangled together in a kiss so intense we were both panting. I thought I was going to die when his fingers lowered the straps of my dress and I felt air on my br**sts. Then there was more than air. His hands and his mouth found me and I wondered why I had never done this before. I said something. I don’t know what it was, but my voice seemed to snap him back to reality, because he tore away from me the moment he heard it and held me at arm’s length. I had never done anything as wanton, as daring, and what was kept safely beneath my bra and he had never had to stop at such an early point in foreplay.
“Why—? I was breathless and still clutching at his shirt. He kissed me softly on the lips. All sexual charge was gone. He turned on the ignition.
I climbed back to my side of the car and slumped down in my seat. It was because he didn’t want to go halfway. There was no “messing around” with Caleb. Most guys were happy to cop as many feels as they could get. With Caleb, it was different. You either went all the way, or you stayed in the shallow waters of kissing. He wouldn’t sleaze his way into sex, by pulling me further and further away from my chastity by giving me pieces of what I was missing. I sat back in my seat and contemplated throwing all of my inhibitions to the wind. What were they anyway? I could barely remember when I thought of his hands and the way they knew exactly where to touch.
I wondered what my mother would say. She would be happy that I found a guy like Caleb, but she would still be wary of him. My father had gifted us both with a package of suspicion that sat like a teeth baring watchdog in our minds. “Guard your heart, so it doesn’t get broken like mine,” my mother would say as often as twice a week.
Sheri, my mother’s best friend, brought Oliver Kaspen’s life to an abrupt end one Fourth of July after I turned eleven. She used his own 22 gauge shotgun to do the deed, plastering his grey matter all over her pink flamingo shower curtain. Unbeknownst to my mother, Sheri was one of the many women my father used for sex and money. She reminded me of a watery eyed cocker spaniel with a personality as slimey as a raw egg. Before my mother found out about his affair with Sheri, I knew. On the afternoons that my mom worked late and my father picked me up from school, we would go visit his ‘friends.’ These friends all happened to be women, and either had access to money, drugs or both.
“Don’t you go telling your ma about these little visits you’ve been making over here with your dad,” Sheri said wagging a finger at me. “She’s got enough on her plate as is, and your dad just needs a friend to talk to.”
They talked for hours in Sheri’s bedroom, sometimes with the radio playing oldies and cigarette smoke seeping from the crack under the door. My dad would be real nice to me after he came out of the bedroom. We always stopped for gelato on the way home. I didn’t miss him when he was gone. He was just some guy who walked me home from school and bribed me with ice-cream. At the time of his death, it had been ten months since I’d last seen him, and he hadn’t even called for my birthday. Oliver Kaspen, my namesake, died leaving me with a flurry of bad memories and a deadbolt on my heart that only he had the key to. I had daddy issues that doomed Caleb from the get go.
Chapter Ten
The Present
Sunday morning I wake in my bed, my hair reeking of sweat and cigarettes. I groan, roll over, and vomit into my trashcan. My trashcan? I didn’t remember putting it there. Then I hear the toilet flush.
My God-Caleb!
I collapse against my pillow and put my hand over my eyes.
