Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel (10 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

That night, I laid up in my bed with a irremovable smirk on my face. After I finished wiping him down, I pulled up his boxers, said goodnight, and walked out.

For once, he said not a damned thing. It was glorious.

The truth was I had no plans. I didn't know what to make of it just as much I assume Heath did. That's why I said nothing and walked out--on the exterior it seemed like some sort of long term calculation, but really I was buying time.

I cannot tell you the thrill it gave me at that moment, holding the cock of the man whose face adorns billboards 50 feet tall. He's the guy you dream of when you masturbate, not the guy you actually masturbate! Watching him succumb to my hand and his subsequent flustered reaction was such a turn-on. Heath liked to make me nervous, he liked to see me squirm under the weight of his sexual energy, but now I was the one making him shift in his seat anxiously and I understood why he liked it:
it was a lot of fucking fun (pun intended).
So yeah, that night I played with myself, reliving the moment in my head, remembering how his lips curved when he tilted his head back as he came.
Yum.

That next morning, I had to put the mask on again. I had no idea what would transpire when I saw him, but I realized I would have to wing it. Heath's total and utter confusion was my best offense. I upped the ante further with some visual cues that would send some implicit signals: instead of my t-shirt or tank and jeans, I put on a pair of spandex bootie shorts with a lower than usual cut tank top (and no bra of course!).
I know, I know. I'm such a tease!

Oh god did my heart pound so fast before I opened the door to his bedroom. He sat there, wide awake as if he had been doing that all night, waiting for me to come back through that door.

"Good morning! Ready for breakfast?"
Yup, let's totally ignore the fact my nipple was on your dickhole last night.

"Yeah...?" He wanted me to acknowledge what happened, but he would have to move his piece first.

"Alright then, let's get you in your chair!"
Now I was just being obnoxious. I am never this cheerful. I am simply rubbing it in his face.

"Why don't you save yourself the trouble? Bring it up here. Let's do the balcony again."

"Well okay then!" I said, like Mrs. Cleaver.

So there we were, a half an hour later or so, on his balcony, just like the night I slept in his bed with him.

"It's gorgeous today. We should get you outside again. Maybe another walk?"

Heath shifted as best he could in his wheelchair and sighed. "Alright, maybe I am imagining all this. Maybe it was a dream from the painkillers. The way you're acting is making me think I hallucinated. But I could have sworn my penis was in your hand last night."

I strategically shoved a spoon of yogurt in my mouth.

"I should clarify, not like '
oh here let me clean that for you.
' It was more along the lines of: you jerked me off, pulled out your tits, made me come. That happened right?"

"Yes," I said in monotone.
I am a regular fucking wordsmith.

"Well, thank you?"

"You're welcome?"

"Sadie, throw me a bone here."

"What?"

"Okay you are officially there weirdest woman I have ever met. First you hate me, then you kiss me, then you want to be just friends or my nurse, then you sleep in my bed with me but don't do anything, and then you jerk me off while bathing me and then pretend like nothing happened. What in the actual fuck?"

I honestly didn't know how to reply. Then I blurted out. "Well when you say it like
that...
"

"There's no
like that
. I am telling you exactly what transpired."

"Well, like I said, to answer your question, you didn't dream it."

"Thanks for the confirmation...So...is this a thing?"

"A thing?"

"Was it a full moon last night or will there be more where that came from?"

"Do I look like Illy to you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why are you being so defensive?"

"I am not being defensive. Can we just enjoy breakfast and not have to talk about everything? Can we just let things be?"

"Okay, okay," he said pensively. Then he started to laugh to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's just that I deal with this all the time. Girls who I hook up with who want answers, who want to talk about it when I'm already done with it. And here I am. I never thought I would be that person. You are turning me into a groupie because seriously I cannot fucking figure you out."

"Well, maybe you've met your match."

He snickered. "I enjoyed it very much. Just putting that out there, into the ether."

"I'm glad you did," I said, offering him a bite of his breakfast.

"Okay, so for the record, the ball is in your court. I'm not gonna nag you, I'm not gonna ask questions. I am just going to be here whenever you need me." He winked and smirked.
Now that's the Heath I know.
"Wait, I lied. There is one more thing I have to say. I appreciate the gesture yesterday, but it's not my style to receive without giving back. So if you truly are selfless, you'll give me a chance to reciprocate in some way. Otherwise, I'll feel terrible, and you wouldn't want that. Would you? Okay. Now I'm done."

"I'll keep that in mind."

As I was cleaning up lunch, I noticed Heath's phone buzzing. He was still out on the balcony, oblivious of the call. To my chagrin, it was Illy. I wanted to smack that bitch so badly. As far as I knew, this was the first time she was reaching out to Heath. How fucking
convenient
for her to check in, weeks after the accident. There was something else, of course. Over the past few weeks, Heath and I created our own special bubble. We were connecting in a way that I could only assume would not be possible with his normal crew of friends. I saw Illy's call as a massive intrusion. If I let her back in, I would lose the Heath I was beginning to connect with. Part of it was for Heath's wellbeing too (I swear it!), finally he found someone in me who forced him to be a better version of himself. Illy would just bring him down with her stupid, vapid ways.

So confession: I deleted it aaaaand I blocked her phone number. It's something Heath wouldn't notice unless he dug into his contacts list and it gave me an instant sense of relief. I didn't know what my plans were with him, but I did know I wanted to find out without
Gross
coming back into the picture.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next couple of days, after the happy-ending bath, were filled with doctor appointments and more Heath-and-Sadie time. He wanted to get out more and showed a greater interest in his recovery so we took long walks around the property. He was coming out of his funk and we settled nicely into our new relationship, not just as caretaker and "patient," but as something else: Friends? Roommates? I wasn't sure what to call it.

The one thing that was annoying (and I know what you are going to say: that I am an annoying bitch who doesn't know what she wants) was that Heath kept his word. He didn't go for any cheap feels (not that he was dexterous enough to do so) and he stayed away from his usually pervy innuendo. On one hand, I craved feeling desired by this gorgeous man, but on the other hand, it made me feel trusting enough in his presence to open up more. And so, I would often spend time chilling in bed with him at night. We would just talk, about nothing really, just while the hours away laughing and creating inside jokes.

I liked looking at him. He thought I was just watching him speak, but really I would just drink him up, and I hoped that might be enough. It's kind of like how you crave a giant, delicious piece of gooey chocolate cake, but then feel satisfied after a bite because it's so decadent. Except we all know the truth: only skinny bitches like Illy or people on television who never have time to eat are satisfied after one bite. No, what happens to actual humans is you fight the temptation, you hold out on touching the cake, until all you can think about is the fucking cake, and then you tell yourself "just one bite" and then you take one bite, and then you wake up four hours later: in a back alley, 1000 calories fatter, with a chocolate mustache and an empty plate resting on your breasts.

Heath is chocolate cake. Staring at him did not squelch my cravings, they made me want to devour him.

So a few nights after the whole hand-to-dick incident, Heath and I were sitting in his bed. It was about eight or so, and his shoulder was starting to feel decent enough that he could let it rest outside of his sling.

"So, what would you be doing right now if you were at home in the city?" He asked, fiddling the very end of a long black lock of hair with his thumb and forefinger.

"You don't want to know the answer to that."

"Yes I do."

"It involves licking the bottom of a bowl of Velveeta."

"Jesus, something tells me it's been a long time since you've been laid."

"What makes you say that?"

"For one, the answer to your question. Two, you are a little tense, pretty much always."

"Well, that's none of your business."

"Tell me...how long has it been? Three months?" I kept a straight face. "Oh my god. Six?" I pursed my lips and looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. "Dear lord. Longer than that?"

"I'm not talking about this. Okay? I was in a relationship for a while and I took some time off from dating."

"I knew it! It must have been bad just as I thought."

"A nightmare. Now can me move on?"

Heath shrugged and then perked up. "Wait a minute, the healthy chef eats Velveeta?"

"That's exactly what she does. And I don't need to feel shittier about that than I already do."

"Well aren't you glad that instead of doing that, you get to sit here in bed with a modern day King Tut?"

I laughed from my belly. "You might be more famous than King Tut. He didn't have a billboard in Times Square. You should do some avant-garde photo shoot in your casts like they do on America's Top Model."

"That show is so ridiculous." He feminized his voice: "Today you are going to dress up as garbage men, but you better sell the shit out of it. I want to see the stench of filth in your smizing eyes!"

"So you do watch it! I always wondered if models watched that!"

"I think you're my best friend."

"What?" Heath had a habit of steering conversations with the finesse of a one-eyed, 80-year old woman. He would sometimes blurt out words or phrases that were completely incongruent with what we were discussing or use pronouns to refer to things we spoke about hours ago.

"You heard what I said."

"Well, yeah. You just caught me off guard. Do you really think that?"

"Why, you don't?"

"I didn't say that. I just...that's very sweet of you. I like you a lot too."
Did I just say that out loud?

"Why does this kind of feel like when you tell someone you love them and then they say 'thank you' back?"

I rolled over onto my stomach. "
Oh, what do you want me to say Heathy?
" I said in a baby-voice getting close up to his face. "
I think you're my best fwiend too!"

"You are such an ass. And no one has ever called me Heathy. Ever," he said, playfully mushing my forehead with his less busted arm, which I swatted away. "Ahhhh!" he exclaimed.

"Oh no, did I hurt your arm?" I asked leaning in. His facial expression quickly changed to a smile as he pulled me in, and when our laughter settled, it started to happen: that stupid pull, that irresistible draw. Like when magnets pass that threshold from a mild attraction to forceful slamming. I looked into those endless eyes, and I knew I was fucked, but I was resisting with any sense I had left.

Then the stupid whore of a doorbell rang. It's funny that I would call it that, because the queen of stupid whores herself, Illy, was on the other side.

"May I help you?" I asked, peeking my face out, making sure to keep the door only slightly ajar.

"I vant to see Heath."

No
hi, how are you on this pleasant evening?
No
please
. No
thank you
.

"Sorry, he's sleeping right now. He's very tired recovering from the accident. Maybe you should visit at a more reasonable hour."

"I have been trying to call him, but he vill not answer."

"Well, then maybe he doesn't want to see you."

"He always vants to see me."
Well when you introduce yourself pussy first, what guy wouldn't?

"I'll let him know you came and if he wants, he'll call."

"Maybe you should tell him now."

"No, like I said he's asleep and recovering. You can't just drop by like this."

"I did not know housekeeper made the rules."
Stupidbitchwhorecunt.
Visions of triple roundhouses to her face played in my head.

"I'm not the maid. If you'll excuse me..." I motioned to close the door, then she stuck her size 15 between the door and the frame.

"Fine. I'll be back. I hope you don't think he likes you. You're cute--for average citizen--but, his tastes run very high." You would think someone who makes a living off of her looks wouldn't be such an insecure asshat.

"Wow. You are such a grade-A bitch. Good luck seeing Heath. Now go look for someone's else dick to suck on while I ride his."
Slam!
God, she had that coming and it felt so satisfying to finally tell that snotty trashy hellbeast off.

She didn't even know it, but she lit the match and put it to the gasoline, which ended up setting off a chain of events. Maybe if she hadn't said what she said, it wouldn't have stirred up my emotions, overcoming the last bit of rationality I had left when it came to Heath Hillabrand.