Some readers may have already seen this hit, as it was previously seen on the fabulous Boys in our Books blog, along with an author interview you can read here.
Frank
slammed the door, which was a far cry from his usual ‘honey, I’m home’ and an
even further one from ‘rise from your slumber, my beloved, it’s time for me to
fuck you and feed you lunch simultaneously.’
“How’s
Charlie?” I yawned, rolling over and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
He
threw the envelope in the trashcan and sat on the bed with a huff. He hadn’t brought lunch.
I
draped myself across his back and put my arms around him. “That good, huh?”
“Why
are you still in bed?” he said accusingly.
Normally he wouldn’t care what I did while he was out with Charlie, but
he was obviously looking to take his bad mood out on somebody and I was the
only one around.
“Back in bed. I took a bath, got some breakfast, and
cleaned the guns. What have you done today?”
He
flung me to the mattress, raising his hand to me but pausing before following
through. I hadn’t seen him this livid in
some time, but a hint of light found his eyes when I smiled and tilted my cheek
toward him, chewing on my lip. He
granted me my slap, then aggressively kissed his handprint to apologize. I set my hand on the back of his head,
turning my face away and urging him lower.
If he was going to be pissed off, he may as well channel his anger into
something constructive. Like bite marks.
When
he stopped to kiss my scar, I realized what all the fuss must be about. “Charlie mentioned me?”
Frank
rested his cheek against my side, his face scratchy with stubble. “He said the mark looks like you.”
“What?” I sat up, flinging him onto my hip. “I wanna see!”
“He doesn’t look like you. He’s just blond and…pretty.”
I
pouted. “You think he’s pretty?”
“I
didn’t mean it that way. He has an
attractive face. If that’s what you’re
attracted to.”
I
held out my hand. “Gimme.”
Frank
rolled his eyes and slinked off the bed, retrieving the envelope from the
trash. I tore it open with a glare. The mark looked like he was in his early
twenties but I imagined he was older, definitely blond, with good bone
structure and a thousand watt smile. He
looked cocky, which probably helped what little resemblance there was. “Do you think he looks like me?”
He
lit a cigarette. I could see that his
pack was nearly empty. “I already said I
didn’t.”
“Charlie
obviously has a vision problem if he thinks we look alike, which means you
never had to cut my fucking hair!”
He
flung me to the bed again. This time he was the first to smile.
“So
what did he say about me?”
For
a moment Frank didn’t speak, just staring at me like he was searching for
something. “He said that he hoped I shot
you in the face because that was the cause of all your problems.”
I’m
sure he saw me flinch at the cruelty of Charlie’s words, but lying there beside
him I felt completely secure, unable to even think that it could’ve come to
that in other circumstances. “If that
were the case you would’ve done just as well shooting me in the ass. I get plenty of attention there too.”
He
cracked a smile and leaned down to kiss me.
“Now that would be criminal.”
“What
did you tell him?”
“I didn’t. I left.”
Without even knowing I was alive, Charlie really knew how to press
Frank’s buttons.
“Is
that what we’re doing to our mark?
Shooting him in the face?”
“Yes.”
“Do
you want me to do it?”
He
traced his fingers over my face, his eyes tracking the movement of his
hands. He smoothed his thumbs over my
eyelids. I could feel him studying me,
knowing what he must’ve been imagining while my eyes were closed. He quietly said, “Yes.”
“I’m
okay, Frank. Charlie was just trying to
get a rise out of you. Which is my job, by the way.” I squirmed beneath him until I heard him
laugh.
He
took his hands off my face and I opened my eyes. I had a feeling he'd be watching me sleep
tonight. “You look nothing alike.”
“But
you do think he’s pretty.”
“He’s
aesthetically pleasing.” Frank put his
arms around me, hugging my body to his.
“You’re heartbreaking.”
“What
would you do if he came on to you?”
“He
isn’t gay.”
I
rolled my eyes. “Hypothetically.”
“Shoot
him in the face.”
“That
would be personal.”
He
held up our money. “I got paid for it.”
“Still hypothetically. If you didn’t know me, and he came on to
you.”
“Run
away. Or pretend I didn’t speak
English.”
“Frank!”
“I
would.”
“Have
you been hit on by a guy before?”
He
blushed. “Yes. One of Charlie’s clients actually.”
If
he hadn’t been on top of me I would’ve sat up, eager for information. “Really?
I thought you never met the clients.”
“I
was young and foolish. And curious. I went to talk to him. He’s an English fop, old enough to be my
grandfather.”
“And
you didn’t kill him for seeing you? I
mean, if he was Charlie’s client then he knows what you do…”
“The
situation was a bit…different. But no, I
had no reason to kill him. Have no reason.”
“I have a reason.”
He
smacked me. “You absolutely do not. I told you, there could never be anyone but
you. There’s no reason to be
jealous. And honestly I didn’t even
realize he was flirting with me until
I met him again a few years ago.”
That
wasn’t surprising. Frank had barely
realized that I was flirting with
him, and I spent most of my time naked in his presence even before he started
fucking me. “I bet it’s happened more
than you realize.”
“I
no speak the English,” he said with a pronounced accent.
I
laughed. “You didn’t speak at all when we met.”
“Well
I was mad at Charlie. Now I’m mad at him
again. And we have no time with this job.
It’s to happen this weekend.”
“Good. I wanna shoot that motherfucker in the face.”
Frank
held my face in his hands, proudly admiring me.
“I love you.”
“Show
me.”
He rolled
his eyes. “You mean 'blow me.'”
“Oh,
babe. You know me so well!” He would also blow me so well.
I
rummaged under the bathroom sink of Mr.
Perfect-hair-soon-to-be-dead-stupid-asshole as carefully as I could,
desperately trying to prove a point and reassure myself that he didn't have
better hair than me. “It's not natural.”
“He
has no styling products in his bathroom.”
“It can't
be natural.”
Frank
shrugged, then turned at the sound of the front door. “Keep looking, I got him.”
I
nodded and slid aside some Comet, hoping to find the holy grail of hair gel
hidden behind it. No such luck. “Son of a bitch.” I glared at his blow dryer and got to my
feet, angrily pulling out my gun as I headed after Frank. “Tell me what you use on your hair!” I demanded
to the terrified and not unattractive blond sitting on the living room floor.
He
glanced nervously to Frank, then recited, “Nothing. I just, uh, shaved it once. When I was a teenager?”
I
put my hands on my hips. “That isn't
funny, Frank.”
“Worth
a try. He said it was natural.”
“You
asked him?” I pouted, taking Frank's inquiry as evidence of whose hair
he preferred.
“I
look more threatening than you. I
thought he'd be more inclined to tell the truth.” He stroked my cheek. “I was just trying to help, baby.” I closed my eyes and leaned against his hand,
feeling Frank sweep my far superior hair off my forehead with his fingertips.
“Uh,
guys?” our mark asked from the floor.
My
eyes snapped open and I shot him in the face.
“Uh, don't be rude, we were having a moment.”
Frank
sighed and shook his head. “I knew we
should've used the hollow points.”
“So
what if it takes a little more effort to achieve the right look?” I shot him until it looked like we had
used them. Or replaced his face with
steak tartar. “Tell me I'm pretty.”
“His
hair wasn't even that great,” he said, knowing what I was really
demanding. “And yes, you're pretty.”