#Barbara lives in the tunnels at the bottom of the lake and has not been seen for possibly centuries

[crayonurchin]

Anyone who’s lived in the town long enough remembers a woman named Valerie. She was a small little thing, straw coloured hair pulled tight in a bun, a straw hat with hand sewn bows and flowers decorating it, and modest dresses with charming flowery designs.

She took ownership of a small building and set up a fish mongers operation. Without ice it was only ever open for a few hours at the crack of dawn before the heat beat down, but there was always enough fish for people that were buying. And that was her secret she never shared- how such a tiny scrap of a person could catch so much fish by herself. She had no family, no partner, nothing.

Then one day she opened shop with her daughter. She was only 6, but already a good 5ft tall- strong and hearty. She had thick, wiry hair pulled into tight plaits, wore a frock that would be a size too big one week then a size too small the next, with a scarf wrapped up to her face. Valerie introduced her daughter as Pisca.

Pisca was a good kid, delighted to talk to anyone who came to buy. She also had the strength of an ox, more than once lifting massive loads of fish where groups of men struggled. She loved to show off her pretty dressed mama sewed, was always excited to talk, and was forever being yelled after by her mother to stay close and keep your scarf on.

This arrangement continued for 14 years, day in day out. They’d come to town with fish, sell out by 10am, then either leave or, if Valerie needed to shop, give Pisca time to run about and socialise. By now the young woman was at least 8 ft tall- it was obvious she wasn’t entirely human, but the topic never came up and was never mentioned. Valerie had always been incredibly private, for all she was friendly, and it was understood that if she didn’t want a subject spoken about, then it was not spoken about.

The one day there was no fish. None the next either. No Valerie, no Pisca. The shop doors stayed closed for a month.

When the shop opened, there was only Pisca. Her colourful dress had dulled, her hair pulled into plaits that were now a little less neat, her cheery expression sullen.

“My mother is very sick. I have to provide so we may find medicine or a cure.”

It’s been 10 years, and the town lost a little bit of light. The shop still opens early every day, still with fish to sell- but the joy the little mongers brought died. Pisca, now 31, is a quiet, dark person, who hardly says a word. She still wears her scarf- no matter the heat, covering the lower half of her face. Sometimes she buys strange things- sometimes she asks strange questions 

“have the new men spoken of mutterings in the mines?” “what time of day are the vultures now flying?” “Who last saw the dandelions?” There’s a few people she’ll speak to. Her mothers’ friend the barkeep at the Two Horn Inn, or the local cryptid elf- though those meetings are scarce seen.

Should you follow her out of town (and believe me, she’s hard to follow) You’d find her not returning to a home, but to the lake. There, she removed the once vibrant dress, folds int carefully and hands it tenderly in an old, low tree alongside many other articles of clothing- some her size, some the size of a petite woman, before diving below the waters.

You will not see her resurface until the next day.

And if you were stupid enough to get close enough to look, then you’d watch this huge woman transform into a bull shark. One who swims down, down, down to the bottom of the lake, then disappears through a cave entrance.

Anyone with the power to breathe underwater and a serious death wish would see inside, the lost woman named Valerie. She’s alive, but very much sick, and encased in an enchanted air bubble. Blue skin lines her lips, a dark colour pulsing in her veins. She is always asleep. Once in the bubble, Pisca is once again human- and without her scarf you see her rows and rows of shark teeth. She tries mixing elixirs, potions, anything- but nothing seems to be working.

When the bubble begins to shrink, a tentacle as long as a train carriage emerges from the lightless depth and replenishes it.

If you were close enough to see all of this, you’d never see who that colossal tentacle belongs to. Because if Pisca hasn’t killed you by now, then her second mother has.

@askmerriauthor

@techmomma

[anavoliselenu]

Complete me chapter 7

“Maybe not.” But I can tell that he doesn’t believe it.

“What will you do?”

“I’m still thinking about that,” he says, and there is a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Will you tell me when you decide?”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Yes,” he says. “I promise.”

I breathe in deep, wishing I could somehow make everything better for him, but knowing that’s just not possible. “How much longer before we get home?” Part of me wants the plane to land right now. Part of me wishes we could stay in flight forever.

“A few more hours,” he says, idly stroking my bare arm, the touch feather-soft and sweetly enticing. “But we’re not going home. Not right away.”

“We’re not? Where are we going?”

“One of my favorite places,” he says, brushing a kiss across my hair. “I think you’ll like it.”

Chapter Eleven

The narrow mountain road twists and turns so much that I am beginning to feel a bit nauseated. It’s late, but the full moon casts a glow over the towering pines that grow so thick along the side of the road that it seems as though we are traveling through a tunnel. We are in a Jeep Grand Cherokee that someone from Justin’s staff left for him at the Ontario airport just outside of San Bernadino. It’s the least sporty car I have ever seen Justin drive, but he looks perfectly at home. In fact, I can’t remember a time when Justin has ever looked out of place. It’s that cool confidence that lets him slide into any situation, and I amuse myself by thinking of him going from a high-powered board meeting to a survivalist weekend retreat.

“You’re grinning,” he says.

“I’m picturing you in a loincloth holding an atlatl,” I admit. “Justin Stark, the leader of the tribe.”

“Please tell me this isn’t a retreat you’re planning for us,” he says. “Not unless it involves you in a Raquel Welch style fur miniskirt for a weekend.”

“Even then you wouldn’t like it,” I tease. “I believe the women were in charge of the cooking back in the caveman days.”

“Good point,” he says with a wicked grin. I don’t bother to take offense. We both know that my cooking skills take a nosedive once you get past “peel back plastic cover and set microwave for five minutes.”

“Are we getting close?” He has told me only that he wants to take me someplace before we head back to LA. Beyond that, he is giving me no clues.

“Just around this bend.” As the Jeep curves to the right, the trees break for a moment and I see the water of Lake Arrowhead sparkling like a diamond in the moonlight. I’ve only been up in the San Bernadino Mountains once, and that was when I came to visit Jamie one Christmas. Snow had come early that year, and we rented a car with snow tires and made the slow trudge up the mountain to Big Bear. In the end, neither of us had actually put on skis, but we’d had a fabulous time sitting in the lodge, sipping Irish coffee by the fire, and watching all the guys in tight snow pants.

A few more curves, and the view of the lake disappears. I’m totally turned around, but it’s obvious that Justin knows exactly where he’s going. He hasn’t told me a thing, though. So although I’ve clued in to the general concept of a mountain retreat, I don’t know if we’re going to a resort, a hotel, a friend’s house, or yet another property that Justin owns.

The beam of the headlights glance over a wooden sign indicating a private drive, and Justin turns onto it, then follows an even steeper, even more narrow road. The trees are closer on both sides of the Jeep, and in the dark I’m actually starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. Then we are cresting the rise, and all I see is an Alpine chateau looming in front of us, nestled among the towering pines. It is a stunning property, with wooden shingles and stone chimneys, and the kinds of angles and turrets that give the impression that we haven’t left Bavaria. Or perhaps that we made a wrong turn on the way home and ended up in Switzerland.

Justin slows the car at an intricate iron gate, then rolls down his window and punches in a code, thereby destroying all illusions that this extravagant place is either a hotel or a bed-and-breakfast or a mountain spa resort.

“You own this?”

He eases the Jeep through the slowly widening gap in the gate. “I wanted a weekend getaway. Something I could drive to at the last minute. Something out of the way.”

“Palm Springs not appealing? Your Santa Barbara hotel too long a drive?”

“The condo in Palm Springs is on the golf course,” he says, “and since I’m not much of a golfer I let my staff reserve time as a perk. As for Santa Barbara, it’s an exceptional property, but sometimes a man just wants to be alone. Or not alone,” he says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

I squeeze back, amused. “You know those computer apps where you can put a little flag on a map for every town you’ve lived in or where all your Facebook friends are from, or whatever?”

“Sure.”

“We need to get one of those for all your properties.”

His answering grin is smug. “I’ll get right on that. And then we can start working our way through them, one by one. Only a few of my properties have been properly christened.”

“Is that so? Well, then. Maybe we should start with your Arrowhead property,” I say. “Maybe we should start tonight.”

“I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening. Or the morning. Or the afternoon.”

I grin as I take another look at the massive structure. “This place is huge. I say we christen these rooms first and then we can move on to other locations. That will take us, what? A year?”

“It’s not that big,” he says. “Only nine thousand square feet.”

“Practically an efficiency apartment,” I say, deadpan.

“Eleven thousand if you count the guest house,” he says, pointing to the smaller building that is connected to the main house by a covered walkway. “The caretaker and his wife live there. I told them this was a relaxing and informal week and to leave us to fend for ourselves.”

“Sounds good. I’m all about relaxing.”

“The property has a pool, a hot tub, an outdoor grill, and access to some of the county-maintained hiking trails. It also,” he adds, with a devious grin, “has a number of very comfortable beds. Depending on the kind of relaxing you’d like to do.”

“I’m big on variety,” I say. “A bed . . . a hot tub . . . so long as I’m not relaxing by myself, I’ll be a very happy girl.”

“I do love the way you think.” He kills the engine on the Jeep and turns in his seat to face me. “That’s not the only reason we’re here,” he says seriously. “I thought about what you said. About reality catching us off guard. And I thought that it might be good for both of us to ease slowly back into the real world.”

“We can go as slow as you want,” I say. “You won’t get any complaints from me.” Then I remember my plans, and grimace. “Except that I have to be back in LA by ten Friday morning. That’s when Lisa is going to show me the sublet.”

“Fair enough. Friday marks our return to reality. A sad, mournful day.”

“Don’t even,” I say. “You’re going to fire up that Bluetooth headset and start cooking up some deal before we even get through that door, and you know it.”

“I won’t,” he says with a familiar gleam in his eye. “I have plans for when we walk through that door.”

“Do you? I bet I can guess what.” And I have to confess that I’m looking forward to it. Where Justin is concerned, I’m always looking forward to it.

We get out of the car and walk over the wide wooden bridge to the massive front door. I hang back as Justin opens it, but the second I step over the threshold, I’m accosted by a very loud, very familiar scream—Jamie.

Behind her, a wide white banner hangs across the entrance hall and dozens of helium-filled balloons float and bump up at the ceiling. My eyes meet Justin’s, and I realize that he is as surprised as I am.

“You didn’t know?” I ask, as Jamie launches herself at me and wraps me up in a tight hug.

“About Jamie, yes,” Justin says as Jamie shifts her hug from me to him. “I couldn’t think of a better way to ease you back into reality than to bring Jamie out here. She’s about as real as it gets.”

I can’t help but laugh in agreement, especially when Jamie sticks her tongue out at him.

“But the decorations? I didn’t have a clue.”

“Oh, please,” Jamie says. “It’s a celebration. Banners, balloons, food, drink.” She turns her focus to me, her eyes as wide as if she’d just stepped into heaven. “This place is so well-stocked you wouldn’t believe.”

I cock my head toward Justin and grin wickedly. “It’s Justin,” I say. “Excess is an art form.”

“Watch it,” he says, then lightly smacks my bottom before hooking an arm around my waist and planting a bone-melting kiss on me right there in front of my best friend. “Fuck reality,” he whispers when he releases me. “I want to stay in our bubble as long as we can.”

Yes, I think as I press my back to his chest and hold on tight to the arms he has wrapped around me. So do I.

“And where exactly are we going?” Justin asks from the Jeep’s passenger seat.

“It’s a surprise,” I say. “Now shut up before I kill us.” I’m not used to driving so big a car, especially on narrow, winding roads, but the surprise Jamie and I cooked up would be much less of a surprise if we told Justin where we are going.

He eyes me suspiciously. “The good kind of surprise where I get to slowly strip you naked? Or a bad kind of surprise?”

“Oh. My. God,” Jamie says from the backseat. “I’m going to just melt back here.”

I bite back a grin and focus on Justin. “Does any surprise that doesn’t end with me naked fall within your definition of bad?”

“Pretty much,” he says, and in the rearview mirror, I see Jamie clamp her hands over her ears.

I laugh. “Then I guess we’re deep in the land of horrible.”

He leans back in the seat at an angle so that he can stretch his legs out and examine me. He twines his fingers behind his head. He looks relaxed as sin and sexy as hell. “All right,” he says slowly. “Tell me.”

“You tell him,” I say to Jamie. “It was your idea.”

“We found a bar in Crestline that has a karaoke night,” she says.

“Did you?” he asks blandly.

Actually, Jamie found it, but I enthusiastically agreed to this night out. After the news he got on the plane, I am operating on the theory that the more fun the better. Or I was. Now, I’m not so sure. Because despite everything I have learned about Justin Stark, I cannot read his expression.

“Are you going to serenade me?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Are you going to serenade Jamie?”

“Double nope.”

“I see,” he says.

My grin falters a bit. Jamie and Ollie and I used to get a huge kick out of karaoke bars, and they were always a cure for a bad week. But Justin is not Jamie or Ollie or me, and considering his current stony expression, it’s more than possible that I misjudged the appeal of this evening’s entertainment.

I meet Jamie’s eyes in the mirror and see her tiny shrug.

I am just about to announce that I was joking and that we are really on our way to a five-star restaurant where we’ll discuss business theory and stock prices, when his mouth twitches and his eyes begin to light with his slowly growing smile. “And here I thought you loved me,” he says.

I force myself not to sag with relief. “I do.”

“And you thought that singing bad seventies songs in public would be a good way to show it?”

I pause at a stop sign, and take the opportunity to glare at him. “Are you mocking me, Mr. Stark?”

“Never,” he says, but his eyes are dancing.

“Mmm. I was actually thinking along the lines of the Rat Pack oeuvre, but I’ll go with bad seventies if that’s what you want. I’m more than willing to compromise.”

His expression is pure sin. “I’m very glad to hear it, Ms. Fairchild.”

“There it is,” Jamie says from the backseat. She is pointing to a brightly lit building just up the block. “That’s it, and thank God. It’s getting just a little too warm in here.”

I bite back a retort. As far as I’m concerned, with Justin, it can never be too hot.

Whatever heat there might be in the Jeep, however, has nothing on the interior of the bar. It’s cramped and smoky and so warm it feels sticky. And, frankly, that’s part of its charm. I can see from Justin’s approving expression as we walk through the wooden double doors and into the dark interior that he agrees.

“It’s definitely got atmosphere,” he says, his hand pressed lightly to my back as he scans the room.

“What about that table?” Jamie asks, and Justin and I follow her across the room to a four top near the stage. “Order me something fun,” Jamie says, then disappears toward the ladies’ room.

Karaoke night is already going strong, and as we get settled, a teddy bear of a man with a lumberjack beard belts out Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” with at least as much energy as Gloria herself ever put into it.

I slump a bit in my chair and press my hand over my mouth in sympathetic embarrassment.

Justin notices and laughs. “Not planning to jump up and burst out into song yourself?”

“No,” I admit. “At the moment, I don’t need the pain.”

I can tell that Justin knows I’m teasing, but he still cocks his head and studies my face. I roll my eyes and take his hand, squeezing tight. “Sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I don’t mind the jokes,” he says, “so long as you don’t mind me second-guessing them to make sure there’s no hidden agenda.”

I turn my head away so that I do not have to meet his eyes. I can’t help but think how close I came on the plane to breaking that damn glass and dragging the raw edge of the shard into the flesh of my thigh.

I didn’t, though. And it is the fact that we are both aware of my victory that gives me the strength to turn and look back into his eyes, expecting to see reproach on his face. But all I see is love.

“I will always worry,” he says gently. “There is no off switch, no pause button. You are the thing in this world that means the most to me, but we both know that I have come close to breaking you more than once. So get mad at me if you want, but don’t tell me to stop being concerned or second-guessing you. I won’t. I can’t.”

Slowly, I smile. “It’s not about my pain,” I say lightly, intent on refocusing our evening to its proper perspective. “It’s about the pain of all these people were I to get up on this stage.”

“Oh, but you’re going to,” he says, grinning wickedly.

“Um, no. No way.”

“Mmm.” He stands and eyes me for a moment, then nods. “All right,” he says. “You don’t have to get up on the stage.”

I exhale in relief even as he bends to kiss my cheek, but then he walks away toward the guy who is emceeing this evening. A little finger of dread shoots up my spine as I see the emcee’s eyes widen in recognition. Then he nods and starts to type something into his machine as Justin takes the stage. My chest tightens, and suddenly I’m having a little trouble breathing. Justin, however, doesn’t look nervous at all. He’s standing there in front of the screen upon which some lyrics will begin to flash, the lights from above shining down on him. He’s wearing jeans and a casual linen shirt, and I can’t help but think that he’s the sexiest man in this bar. And he’s all mine.

He taps the mic, and a soft pop reverberates through the room, making me jump. I shift in my seat and see Jamie hurrying over, her eyes as wide as mine feel.

On stage, Justin focuses on the crowd, looking as cool and confident as if he were in his own office about to give a presentation to a client. “I’d planned on doing Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” but I’m having a little trouble working out the logistics of a duet.” I feel the eyes of the pub’s patrons as they turn to look at me. I’m not hard to find, especially considering Jamie’s hoot of laughter and then her fingers aimed shotgun-style in my direction. I cup my hand over my forehead and duck my head to hide my blush, not certain if I’m amused at Justin or desperately pissed off.

Then again, I got myself into this mess. It may have been Jamie’s idea to start out with, but I adopted it fully. I should have known he’d find a way to turn it around to his full advantage.

I draw in a breath, drop my hand, and lean back in my chair as Justin continues speaking.

“So I’m going to go with a serenade.” He looks right at me. “For you, baby.”

I brush away the tears that have welled and give him a shaky, happy smile. The music starts, and I’m enough of a fan of big band music and the Rat Pack that I recognize the song right away. The tears that I’d brushed away return immediately as Justin begins to croon the lyrics to Dean Martin’s “You’re Nobody Until Somebody Loves You”. It’s not a perfect voice, but it’s strong and on-key, and he has captured the audience.

Then he’s stepping off the stage, the mic in hand, and coming to our table, his voice filling the place, even rising above the claps and catcalls from the patrons who are loving every second of this spectacle. Half of them are holding up smartphones, and I’m certain that this will be all over the Internet by tomorrow, but when Justin reaches his hand out for me, I suddenly don’t care. I take it, the world falling away. He’s casting a spell over me, and for a brief, wild second, I think that Sinatra’s “Witchcraft” would be more appropriate, because I am completely enchanted.

I’m not sure how it happens, but suddenly I’m standing up, and Justin’s eyes are fixed upon mine, and everyone else in this pub has been swept away. It is only Justin and the music and me. He’s singing as if he means it, and as the famous lyrics come out of his mouth, I melt.

Then it’s over and I’m crying and the crowd is applauding. Justin’s arms close around me and I’m vaguely aware of the applause and the camera flashes and the cheering. None of that matters, though. All that matters is Justin.

Beside us, I see Jamie smiling tremulously, her eyes wistful but happy. He’s a keeper, she mouths.

I nod in reply and cling tight to Justin. I know, I think. I know.

Chapter Twelve

It’s late when we get back from the bar, but the cool night air and Justin’s terraced stone patio are too enticing to resist. It looks out over a manicured lawn leading down to a private dock and the smooth surface of the lake. The sky is clear and the moon is full. It reflects off the sails and hulls of the various boats dotting the shore, adding a wash of muted color to what would otherwise be a gray tableau.

Jamie immediately flops down on the huge daybed. The waitress had suggested flavored vodka in response to Jamie’s query as to what would be fun, and now she is in a whipped cream vodka induced fog. I glance at Justin, then head into the house to get sparkling waters for all of us. When I return, Jamie’s humming “Come Josephine, In My Flying Machine” and staring up at the stars as Justin looks on, bemused, from where he sits on the nearby love seat.

I meet Justin’s eyes. “She loves Titanic,” I say, by way of explanation.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re drowning,” he says to Jamie.

She just smiles and slowly shakes her head back and forth. “No, I’m in a happy place. This is so nice. Y’all are so nice.” She pushes herself up on her elbows. “Maybe we should go clubbing.”

“Great idea,” Justin says, as I gape. “But I’ve got a better one. How about we stay in?”

She cocks a finger at him. “Yes. Yes.” She looks at me. “He’s so smart. And gorgeous, too,” she adds in the world’s loudest stage whisper.

“I know,” I say, half-embarrassed for my friend and half-amused by her.

She squints at Justin. “I bet I can totally whoop your ass at poker,” she says.

Justin grins at me. “Who am I to decline a challenge like that?”

“She’s good,” I warn. She and Ollie and I spent a lot of long nights playing poker. “Of course she’s better when she’s sober.”

Jamie’s grin is lopsided. “Maybe I am sober. Maybe this is all just one big bluff.”

After four hands of five card draw, it’s starting to look like maybe Jamie really is sober. I’m losing spectacularly, Justin isn’t doing much better, and Jamie has a huge pile of chips in front of her.

“You should know that all of my illusions are shattered,” I tell him. “I don’t know if I can stay with a man who loses at poker.”

“But I do it with such charm,” he says.

Jamie lifts her hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. “I’m just that awesome,” she says. “Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

Justin leans back on the small love seat that he and I are sharing, his feet kicked out in front of him and his cards face down on the small glass table. “You both do realize that poker is a game that develops over time. It’s not about just a few hands.”

Jamie and I exchange glances before she looks back at Justin. “In other words, you’re sizing me up.”

I raise my brows. “He better not be,” I say archly.

We all laugh, but Jamie tosses down her cards, then flops backward onto the chaise. “Yeah, well, then the joke’s on you, because I think I have to pass out now.”

I wait, expecting her to say something else, but all I hear is a soft snore.

“Jamie?” I say stupidly.

“She’s out,” Justin says.

“It’s the whipped cream vodka,” I say. “That stuff’s dangerous.”

“Shall I move her inside?”

I consider getting a blanket and letting her sleep outside, but decide she’ll be better off with a mattress and real sheets and no sun blasting on her face first thing in the morning. “Can you lift her?”

“She’s tiny,” he says. “I think I can manage.” He picks her up easily, and she tilts toward him, curled up like a little girl against his chest. I hold the door open for him, and she wakes up just long enough to smile sleepily at him. I expect her to say something flirtatious and trademark Jamie. Instead, my heart squeezes when I hear her soft, “You’re so good for her. You know that, right?”

“She’s good for me,” Justin replies, squeezing my heart a little bit more.

“That’s what I mean,” Jamie says—and then she’s out again. Lost in her whipped cream haze.

I pause in the doorway before shutting her door, looking back fondly. As much of a wreck as Jamie can be, she’s still my best friend, and it’s times like this that I remember why.

“So tell me, Ms. Fairchild,” Justin says as I follow him to the master suite. “How much whipped cream vodka did you have?”

“Too sweet for me,” I admit. “But I ordered quite a few shots of Macallan.”

“Did you? That can increase a bar tab pretty quickly.”

I step close to him, relishing the way the air thickens with our proximity. “Well, maybe you can win it back at poker.”

“That’s an interesting wager,” he says. “I propose a small amendment.”

I cock my head. “Negotiating, Mr. Stark?”

“Always.” He takes another step toward me. He’s right there, so close that my breasts will brush against his chest if I do nothing more than take a deep breath. He leans forward until his lips are near my ear. We still do not touch, but his breath when he speaks sends shivers down my spine. “Strip poker, Ms. Fairchild.”

The heat in his voice matches the fire in his eyes, and I start to melt a bit.  But this opportunity is too delicious to squander and I match his gaze inch for inch, my lips curving into a smile when I see the bulge of his erection beneath his jeans. I lift my eyes slowly to meet his and find them smoldering. He cocks his head as if to say, oh, yes.

I swallow. “All right, Mr. Stark,” I say, then turn and head toward our bedroom. I pause in the doorway and smile. “Prepare to get naked.”

My threat, however, turns out to be hollow, and twenty minutes later I have lost my flip-flops, the light sweater I was wearing to ward off the chill from the lake, and my T-shirt. I’m left wearing a short pink skirt, a pale purple thong, and a matching demi-cup bra that is cut so low that my very erect nipples are straining against the decorative lace that lines the top of each minuscule cup.

Justin is still fully dressed.

“Are you sure you don’t cheat?” I ask.

“As a rule, no. In order to see you naked, I would be sorely tempted.”

“Aha!” I aim a stern finger at him.

He laughs. “Fortunately, your massive consumption of Scotch saved me the trouble. You’re not playing your best, Ms. Fairchild.”

I raise my brows. “Have you considered that I’m just setting you up?”

“Are you? Well, that’s interesting information.” He nods at the cards I hold in my hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I lay my cards down, feeling smug. “A pair of kings, ace high.”

“Not bad,” he says. “Too bad I have the other three aces.”

“You do not,” I say, but he lays the cards down and, sure enough, two red and one back ace wink up at me.

“Off with it,” he says.

I reach for the clasp at the front of my bra.

“Oh, no,” he says, then makes a twirling motion with his finger. “The skirt. I’ll get the zipper for you.”

I scowl, but comply, turning around to give him access. He presses his palm against my skin, his hand curved to cup my waist. With the other hand, he slowly tugs down the zipper. “Up,” he says, and I rise to my knees, then close my eyes and try not to tremble as his slowly eases the skirt down, his fingers grazing oh so softly on each bit of bare skin that he reveals during the process. “There you go,” he says, as I twist around to sit back down, pulling my legs free from the skirt as I do.

I’m dressed now only in the tiny bra and even tinier panties. It’s cool in the room—we’ve opened the door to the private patio—but my skin is burning. “Deal,” I say, trying to control my breathing, because with each breath my breasts rise and fall, and with each motion my nipples brush the lace. The sensation is driving me crazy. It’s rough and teasing and I can’t help but imagine the light nip of Justin’s teeth, the soft pressure of his mouth as he suckles me, the warmth of his hands as he cups my breasts. And the insistent press of his cock as he presses his body full against mine.

“Selena.”

“What?” I jerk my head up, reality returning. Considering the way Justin is looking at me, I think he knows exactly what I was thinking.

“Your cards.”

I glance down and realize he’s already dealt. “Oh. Right.” I see the corner of his mouth twitch. “What?” I demand.

“I didn’t say a thing,” he says. “But if I had, I probably would have told you to move.”

I tilt my head. “To move?” I’m sitting on my heels, my knees and thighs together.

“On your bottom,” he says. “Your legs crossed.”

“I—why?”

“Because I want to see you,” he says.

I raise my brows. “Is that part of the game, Mr. Stark?”

“It is now. I want to see how wet you are. I want to know how much it turns you on sitting here across from me, slowly losing bits of your clothing, becoming more and more open to me. And all the while knowing that soon—very soon—I’m going to bury myself in you.”

“Oh.” My heart stutters in my chest, and I’m certain he can see the beat of my pulse in my neck.

“Now, Selena,” he says. “You know the rules.”

“Is that a command, Mr. Stark?” My sex feels swollen and I am desperately wet. He must know it, but soon he will also see it.

“It most definitely is.”

“So if I don’t, I’ll be punished?”

His lips twitch. “I don’t think you’ll like the punishment I’d render tonight.”

“No? Why? What would you do?” I can imagine the sting of his hand upon my ass. The thrill of a cat-o’-nine-tails upon my sex. I try to imagine what naughty treat he could have in mind, but my mind isn’t working particularly well at the moment. I am needy and hot, and not just because of the Scotch or because I’m half naked. It’s because of Justin. Because he does this to me. Because I want him right now. “What would you do?” I repeat.

“It’s what I wouldn’t do,” he says, and that’s when I get it. Disobey, and he won’t touch me at all.

“That punishes us both,” I say.

“Rules are rules,” he says. “And I can be very strong when I want to. But if you think I’m bluffing . . . ” he adds, glancing at the cards as if in illustration.

I get the message. I’ve been losing at poker all night. Do I really want to lose at this, too?

I don’t. I shift my position so that my legs are in front of me. Slowly, I draw in my feet and spread my legs until I’m sitting cross-legged in front of him, my sex wide open. I can hide nothing now, and the truth is that I don’t want to.

I follow the line of Justin’s gaze to the damp spot on my thong. The telltale sign of just how wet—just how incredibly soaked with desire—that I am for him. Slowly, I lift my eyes to his. I see the heat, and feel a corresponding power. He may be the one making the rules, but I’m the one making him a little crazy.

I arch back a bit, my hands behind me for support.

“I like the view,” Justin says. “I like seeing how much you want me. How wet you are for me.”

“Am I?” I say innocently. I shift my weight to one arm, then lift my other hand. I trail my fingers up my own thigh, then trace it lightly over the silk of the thong.

“Jesus, Selena,” Justin says, his voice ragged. But I show no pity. I run my fingertip along the side of the thong. I tilt my head up and meet Justin’s eyes. And then, slowly and deliberately, I slide my finger under the scrap of material and into my very wet, very swollen cunt. I gasp from the rush of pleasure as a shudder runs through my body, as if it’s a preview of an explosion to come.

And then, with Justin’s eyes still on me, I draw my finger up to my mouth and taste my own arousal. “Yes,” I murmur. “You’re right. I’m very, very wet for you.”

“Fuck poker,” Justin growls, sweeping his arm over the bedclothes and knocking the cards to the ground even as he grabs my thighs and tugs me toward him. The motion counterbalances me, and I fall backward so that I end up flat on my back, my legs spread, and Justin between them.

“Are you conceding the game, Mr. Stark?” I ask, my voice full of laughter.

“I am,” he says.

I raise myself upon my elbows. “I guess that means you lose.”

“No,” he says as he eases himself up over my body, then uses two fingers to flip open the clasp of my bra. “I assure you it means that I win.”

His mouth closes over my breast even as his hand slides down to stroke my clit through the soaking wet silk. The sensations coursing through me are incredible, a flurry of sparks originating from his hand and from his mouth, and I arch up, lost in the violent storm that Justin is creating inside me.

“You’re wrong, Mr. Stark,” I say, struggling to form words while I still have the power. “Tonight, we both win.”

I wake to a perfect morning. The man beside me. The sunshine streaming through the open door that leads to the master bedroom’s private patio. The light breeze blowing in from over the lake. The smell of pine and—

I frown and draw in another deep breath. The smell of what?

“Justin, wake up.” I shake his shoulder. “Either we really set the sheets on fire, or something out there is burning.”

He is up immediately, grabbing a pair of jeans off the floor and heading toward the door. I pull on a robe and follow him so closely that I almost slam into him when he stops in the now-open doorway. “It’s not a fire,” he says. Now that I can smell it better, I agree. It’s an almost sickly sweet smell, like Christmas fudge that has burned to the bottom of the pan.

“I think I know what it is,” I say, then lead the way to the kitchen, where Jamie is frantically flipping pancakes on a griddle. She looks up at us, her expression a little bit wild, a little bit contrite.

“Sorry! I thought I’d make breakfast, but—” She indicates the stove and nearby counter as if that’s all she needs to say.

I force myself not to laugh. “I don’t think that pancakes are supposed to be served blackened,” I say, deadpan.

She tosses a dish towel at me. “I had a little trouble incorporating the chocolate chips.”

Justin pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter. “As they say, it’s the thought that counts. So I hope you don’t mind if I just think about eating those.”

Jamie smirks and looks between the two of us. “Great. I’m trapped in the mountains with a couple of comedians.”

“Your choice,” Justin says in his corporate-problem-solving voice. “We either clean up and start over, or I’ll take you ladies out to breakfast.”

“You’re out of chocolate chips,” Jamie says. She grabs up the plate of burnt discs that bear no resemblance to pancakes and tosses them in the trash. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and change.”

It actually takes us thirty to get out the door, because Justin makes the mistake of telling us that the restaurant not only makes fabulous waffles, but is also located in Arrowhead Village, an outdoor shopping center with both regular stores and high end outlets. And, obviously, neither Jamie nor I can properly shop if we’re not properly dressed.

Justin, of course, is ready in five minutes, decked out in faded jeans and a short-sleeved linen shirt over a plain cotton tee. His hair is vaguely mussed, as if he’s been standing in the wind. He looks sexy as hell—like a guy who just stepped off the pages of an ad for men’s cologne.

“He cleans up well,” Jamie says, with a deliberately lascivious gleam in her eye.

“He does,” I say, moving between them and hooking my arms through theirs. “And he’s mine.”

As the crow flies, it isn’t far to the village. Since we are not crows, however, we have to deal with the twisty, turny, tiny streets, and it takes about half an hour. I don’t mind. The area is charming, filled with A-frame houses tucked into the mountainside and spectacular views that take your breath away. The village is located on the lake, so technically we could have taken one of the boats moored at Justin’s dock. The restaurant itself—The Belgian Waffle Works—sits right on the water, with a huge patio of outdoor seating. I catch a whiff of batter cooked to a crispy golden brown as we approach, and breathe in deep.

“That’s more what I was going for,” Jamie admits. “But, hey, you can still thank me. If I hadn’t completely trashed breakfast, we wouldn’t have a shopping morning.”

“We’re deeply grateful,” Justin says, sliding his arm around my waist.

Thirty minutes later, I’m even more grateful, because we’re not only seated on the patio with a view of the water, but we each have a plate overflowing with a giant waffle, eggs, and enough bacon to feed a small army.

“I’m going to fall into a food coma,” I protest.

“We’ll work it off by walking the shops,” Jamie announces. She turns to Justin, her smile wide. “You really are awesome, you know. Thanks for inviting me. I was having a shit week.”

“Anytime,” he says, then leans over to give her a light kiss on her cheek.

She fans her face, making me laugh.

“Hang on, you two.” I pull out my iPhone and motion for them to scoot their chairs closer together, then take a couple of snaps. “I’d take some of the view, too, but the phone won’t do it justice.”

“I think I can assure you we’ll be back,” Justin says.

“Or you can just buy a new camera,” Jamie says. “For that matter, get one for each of his houses. That should ensure that Leica never goes out of business, right?”

“Not a bad idea,” Justin says, with a playful gleam in his eye. “I like the idea of spreading you around all my properties. Hell, I like the idea of you naked in all my properties.”

My face heats, and I widen my eyes and shoot a glance at Jamie, who has leaned back in her chair with a whoop.

“Don’t you guys ever give it a rest?” she asks.

“Not really,” Justin says, surprising me by pulling me to him and planting a bone-melting kiss.

“God,” Jamie says. “I am so freaking jealous. Do you have a brother?”

“Afraid not.”

“Figures,” Jamie says as Justin slides his chair closer to mine and hooks his arm around me. I lean against him, wishing things could always be this calm, this happy.

“It sounds sappy as shit, but you two know how lucky you are, right?”

“Yes,” Justin says sincerely. “We know.”

“Good,” she says, then sighs deeply. “Damn, but I needed this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about getting fired from the commercial?” I ask.

She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “You were a little preoccupied, and it’s not like there was anything you could do, especially not from Germany.” Jamie had recently been cast in a national commercial, but before shooting began she started dating her co-star, an up-and-comer named Bryan Raine. When that ended badly, Raine apparently decided that Jamie’s commercial career needed to, as well.

“There’s something I can do,” Justin says.

She shakes her head firmly. “No, you helped me get the job in the first place. That was more than enough. They paid me for the gig anyway—they had to the way the contract was written—so I’m good. I just need to think about how I’m going to get my shit together.”

“You will,” Justin says.

Jamie reaches across the table and takes both our hands. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “And you know I love you, right?”

��I�Vx

[shutter16]

New Video: @SWMRS SHARE NEW MUSIC VIDEO FOR "DRIVE NORTH"

NORTH AMERICAN CO-HEADLINE TOUR WITH THE INTERRUPTERS KICKS OFF NEXT MONTH

OAKLAND, CA - September 15, 2017 - Bay Area rock band SWMRS has released a new music video for track "Drive North" off their their critically acclaimed debut album Drive North. "We wanted to critique Los Angeles with the same kind of holier-than-thou contempt that Anthony Fantano approaches his subjects with. It's cheeky and in good fun, but maybe it points out a few glaring issues with that city," offered singer/guitarist Cole Becker on the inspiration for the clip.The video, which was directed by Ryan Baxley (FIDLAR, The Front Bottoms, Bleached), can be seen HERE.

In conjunction with the video's release, the band has also shared an interactive map for "The Pin Drop". Fans can upload a photo via instagram using geo/location tags and the hashtag #DriveNorth to drop their pins on the SWMRS Drive North map. The map can be seen HERE. 

Last night, SWMRS kicked off a tour of Europe and the UK with support from The Regrettes. Next month the band will embark on a North American co-headline tour with Los Angeles ska-punk band The Interrupters that will kick off on October 13 in Seattle, WA and wrap on December 17th in Denver, CO. Sharp Shock will provide support on the West coast leg of the tour, and The Regrettes will provide support on the tour's East coast leg. Next February, SWMRS will support Rise Against on a tour of Australia and New Zealand. A complete list of upcoming live dates and ticket information is available HERE. 

Upcoming SWMRS Live Dates Europe and United Kingdom Headline Tour September 16, 2017 - Aarau, Switzerland - Kiff September 17, 2017 - Milano, Italy - Tunnel Club September 19, 2017 - München, Germany - Kranhalle September 20, 2017 - Frankfurt, Germany - Nachtleben September 21, 2017 - Hamburg, Germany - REEPERBAHN September 22, 2017 - Cologne, Germany - MTC September 24, 2017 - Brussels, Belgium - AB September 26, 2017 - Paris, France - Supersonic September 29, 2017 - Southampton, United Kingdom - Joiners September 30, 2017 - Leeds, United Kingdom - Key Club October 01, 2017 - Glasgow, United Kingdom - Stereo October 02, 2017 - Nottingham, United Kingdom - Bodega October 04, 2017 - Manchester, United Kingdom - Academy 3 October 05, 2017 - Birmingham, United Kingdom - Mama Roux's October 06, 2017 - London, United Kingdom - O2 Academy Islington October 08, 2017 - Liverpool, United Kingdom - Buyers Club October 09, 2017 - Dublin, Ireland - Fibber Magees North American Co-Headline Tour with The Interrupters October 13, 2017 - Seattle, WA - El Corazon October 14, 2017 - Portland, OR - Analog October 15, 2017 - Boise, ID - Knitting Factory October 16, 2017 - Salt Lake City, UT - The Complex October 18, 2017 - Las Vegas, NV - Club Vinyl October 19, 2017 - Mesa, AZ - Nile Theatre October 21, 2017 - Santa Barbara, CA - Velvet Jones October 22, 2017 - Anaheim, CA - Observatory October 24, 2017 - Fresno, CA - Strummers October 25, 2017 - Sacramento, CA - Holy Diver October 26, 2017- Santa Cruz, CA - The Catalyst October 27, 2017 - Los Angeles, CA - The Fonda October 28, 2017 - Berkeley, CA - UC Theatre October 29, 2017 - San Diego, CA - House of Blues November 30, 2017 - Chicago, IL - House of Blues December 1, 2017 - Detroit, MI - Magic Stick December 2, 2017 - Toronto, ONT - Opera House December 3, 2017 - Montreal QUE - Club Soda December 5, 2017 - Rochester, NY - Montage Music Hall December 7, 2017 - Boston, MA - Paradise December 8, 2017 - Washington, DC - Black Cat December 9, 2017 - New York, NY - Irving Plaza December 10, 2017 - Philadelphia, PA - TLA December 12, 2017 - Pittsburgh, PA - The Rex December 13, 2017 - Cleveland, OH - Agora Ballroom December 15, 2017 - St. Louis, MO - Delmar Hall December 16, 2017 - Lawrence, KS - The Bottleneck December 17, 2017 - Denver, CO - The Summit Australia and New Zealand  Tour supporting Rise Against February 7, 2018 - Mount Claremont, Australia - HBF Stadium February 9, 2018 - Adelaide, Australia - Thebarton Theatre February 10, 2018 - Melbourne, Australia - Margaret Court Arena February 13, 2018 - Moore Park, Australia - Hordern Pavilion February 14, 2018 - Brisbane, Australia - Riverstage February 17, 2018 - Christchurch, New Zealand - Horncastle Arena February 19, 2018 - Auckland, New Zealand - Logan Campbell Centre Praised for "defining the sound of now" in Rolling Stone's Best New Artists 2016 feature, SWMRS originally released Drive North in February via their own Uncool Records. Noisey announced the release and premiered the album's lead single "Figuring It Out" praising the track as a "poppy foot-tapper filled with skate-gang vocals."Nylon premiered the band's video for the track, which was directed by fellow Bay Area artist Kreayshawn. Watch it HERE. SWMRS made their network television debut, performing the song on CBS's The Late Late Show with James Corden. Produced by FIDLAR frontman Zac Carper, Drive North also features the band's debut single "Miley" which i-D Magazine premiered last fall, hailing the song as "the most punk tribute to Miley Cyrus ever." The band's DIY music video for the track can be seen HERE. Album opener, "Harry Dean" is an abridged version of a previously 17-minute epic the band originally recorded to soundtrack Saint Laurent Paris's Spring/Summer 2016 presentation, earning them praise from fashion publications like WWD and Interview Magazine. Photo credit: Alice BaxleyAbout SWMRSThere's never been a punk band like SWMRS, the Oakland quartet that combines the caustic broadsides of The Clash, the amphetamine bubblegum of the Ramones, and the searing lyrics, propulsive energy, and raw honesty of Public Enemy, Frank Ocean, A Tribe Called Quest and Kurt Cobain. Formed after the dissolution of their previous band, Emily's Army, the childhood friends (Cole Becker, lead vocals, rhythm guitar; Max Becker, lead vocals, lead guitar; Joey Armstrong, drums, backing vocals; and Sebastian Mueller, bass, backing vocals) showcase telepathic chemistry on their formal debut, "Drive North." Produced by Zac Carper of FIDLAR, it's suffused with coming of age jams, subversive anthems to Miley Cyrus, and a sense of freedom forged out of modern-day confusion. The guitars draw blood, the drums detonate, the voice is unique-the sound is timeless. Originally released on the band's own Uncool Records, Drive North was re-released by Fueled By Ramen in October 2016.