Losers: Part I

Being back in my hometown was strange, especially considering I never thought I’d live here again. Wickeston billed itself as “a charming slice of Western Tennessee,” but as I drove through downtown, it was hard to see the charm. A few cute historical buildings and 1950s-themed cafes didn’t change the fact that this place was dull.

We had a few big box stores and chain restaurants, nothing like the plethora of options I’d had while living in Nashville the past couple years. Most people were so damn bored that they entertained themselves by getting into everyone else’s business.

Like my mother, for example. I’d only been in town for a week and she had honed in on my love life with single-minded focus. Why the hell was I still single? Forget work, forget unpacking, don’t even think about taking a breath after moving halfway across the state. I needed to get back out there and meet a potential husband, regardless of how many volunteer events she had to foist on me to make it happen.

It was like high school all over again. Mom was right back to putting my entire life on her precisely timed schedule, and according to her, I was running late. I’d wasted all my time getting an education when I should have been pursuing my true calling of becoming a trophy wife and grandbaby-producer as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t like I could tell Mom no. Her house, her rules.

It was a sweltering, humid day as I pulled into the parking lot at her church. I hadn’t attended a service in nearly twelve years, but that was irrelevant to her. Her worship group was hosting a car wash fundraiser for the upcoming 4th of July Festival, and there was already a line of cars forming when I arrived.

God, this was going to give me horrible tan lines. Mom had insisted I dress “modestly” — most specifically, “no little booby tops and hussy shorts.”

Well, that was exactly what I was wearing. A low-cut top and cute frayed denim shorts. To be fair, they were the longest shorts I owned and did cover my entire ass. Barely. Honestly, Mom should have been grateful I’d put on a white t-shirt instead of only wearing the bikini top I had on underneath.

Unfortunately, she looked anything but grateful as I walked up to meet her, under the canopy sheltering volunteers from the sun.

“I should send you home,” she muttered, tugging at the hem of my shorts. Her long hair was teased up into a big pile of wavy blonde locks, perfect as always despite the humidity. But she used enough hairspray to withstand a tornado. “And you’re late. I told you to be here at ten.”

“I was working, Mom.” I sighed, taking a water bottle out of the cooler and running it over my neck. She waved her hand dismissively.

“That little internship is taking up so much of your time,” she said. “And they’re hardly paying you. You’re getting so pale being inside all day.”

I resisted the urge to cover my face with my hands and scream. My “little internship” was with the Smith-Davies Architectural Design Firm, one of the best on the east coast. I spent my mornings in the gym before I came home and got to work, filling out spreadsheets and answering my boss’s emails. It was all remote work and it didn’t pay much, but at least it was getting my foot in the door. If I could nail my six-month review, there was a good chance I could turn this part-time internship into a full-time career.

I had to do something to get myself back out of Wickeston. Smith-Davies’ main office was in New York City, and if I was brought on full time, I’d move there in a heartbeat.

Trying to tell Mom this went in one ear and out the other. She spotted someone across the parking lot and waved, leaning close to me to say far too loudly, “Oh, look! That’s Julie’s oldest son. You remember him, don’t you? Robert?”

“I literally haven’t seen him since first grade,” I said, staring at the tall, vaguely familiar guy helping direct the younger kids working the car wash line. “He threw up at my birthday party because he ate his cake too fast.”

Mom made a disgusted face. “Mm, that’s right. I forgot about that. Well, he has a younger brother. Joshua, I think. Oh, there’s Julie. She and her husband are talking about getting a divorce again, bless her heart. Hi, Julie! Honey, so good to see you! How’s the family?” And just like that, Mom was away, off to play matchmaker while I very alluringly washed cars.

I couldn’t explain to her the real reason I was so disinterested in dating. But the bar had been set for me in the worst way possible, and now I didn’t feel satisfied with anything less.

If a guy couldn’t play with my masochism as enthusiastically as he played with my pleasure, then I didn’t want it. There simply wasn’t a nice way to tell your mother that you wanted a guy who could spank you as well as he could fuck. A man who was as comfortable with whips and chains as he was at candlelit dinners. Someone who wasn’t afraid to take control but wasn’t going to make the relationship feel like a cage.

Was I asking for too much? Probably. But I’d been demanding too much for my whole life and I wasn’t going to stop now.

Problematically, I’d already found people who met those qualifications. Four of them, actually, and they were all still here in Wickeston.

If explaining my kinky desires to my mom was bad, then broaching the subject of these four men would probably get me disowned. Tattooed guys with bad reputations and some slight criminal history would not be good enough for her little girl.

It didn’t matter anyway. I hadn’t spoken to any of them since the day after that Halloween party.

I glanced back under the canopy where Mom was talking loudly on her cell phone, a list in one hand and her iced latte in the other, her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder.

“I already told Annamae that Red, White, and Blueberries was the theme year before last,” she said. “Bless her unimaginative little heart, but we’re not repeating a theme.”

I’d had enough of roasting in the sun. I stripped off my t-shirt and tossed it over one of the plastic folding chairs nearby. All these nice church ladies were going to have to live with some titties if they wanted me to keep scrubbing. I paused for a water break, guzzling down half a cold bottle and pouring the rest over my arms and shoulders.

Another car pulled up, a blue Subaru WRX with a large wing on the back. The engine purred, and the windows were tinted so dark I could barely see inside.

It was a familiar vehicle, but I couldn’t place my finger on why until I rapped my knuckles on the driver’s window to collect their money.

The window rolled down, and I froze. My breath stilled and my heart hammered, a tight feeling swelling in my chest until it stoppered my throat.

Vincent sat in the driver’s seat, holding a ten-dollar bill folded between his fingers. He looked as surprised as I was, his dark green eyes wide as he looked up at me.

“Jessica?” Jason stared at me from the passenger seat, his shaggy blue hair curling around his face in soft waves. His eyes were the same color, preternaturally bright.

My mouth gaped open and closed before I managed to choke out, “Hi.”

Hi. That was it; that was all I was capable of. Damn, real smooth there, Jessica.

But my greeting got a smile out of Vincent. His long brown hair was tied back into a messy bun, his bare arms covered in tattoos. He smelled like summer; like citrus, weed, and very bad decisions.

I was instantly aware of every inch of my flesh they could see, my skin heating even more.

The last time I’d seen them, I’d been on my knees giving the most terrifyingly erotic blow jobs of my life. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe this roiling feeling inside me that was half panic and half excitement. Excitement for what, exactly, I didn’t know.

“Back in town for a visit?” Vincent said. He was still holding out the money, but I hadn’t taken it.

“Yeah. I mean, no, not exactly. I’m here temporarily.” The two of them exchanged a look as I stammered. Good God, girl, get it together. “I’m not visiting. I moved back home. Temporarily.”

Saying it felt like admitting defeat. I’d dreamed of getting a job straight out of college, starting my life somewhere new. Instead, I was right back where I started.

“Damn, back home with Mom and Dad,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Must be weird for you.”

“Weird is putting it mildly,” I said softly. I hated feeling like I’d been caught unprepared. My nerves shot into overdrive, and when I got nervous, I got mean. It was often a struggle to try to control my tongue.

“Uh, Miss Martin?” one of the youth group boys called to me, looking at the car with uncertainty. “Should we start washing, or…?”

I still hadn’t taken Vincent’s money. I reached for it, but he pulled it back slightly, and in a lowered voice said, “You know, I’m kind of particular about my car. Maybe let the kids do the next one and you take care of us yourself?”

Jason smirked, pretending he was focused on his phone. He didn’t even have an app open; he was just randomly clicking around his screen. I plucked Vincent’s money out of his hand, tucking it into my bikini top.

“Turn the car off,” I said. “And roll your windows up, unless you want to get wet.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting wet.”

I ignored him, grabbing the bucket of soapy water and sloshing it over the car. He still managed to get his window up in time, but I could see him grinning at me through the windshield. Jason wasn’t pretending to look at his phone anymore as I leaned over the hood, scrubbing a sponge over the bright blue paint.

“You guys get the next one,” I said, shooing the kids away. They could deal with the minivan that was next in line instead.

The WRX was mine.

Jason and Vincent both stared as I reached as high as I could on the hood, my chest brushing against the wet metal. I was thorough, but I tried to move quickly, because the last thing I wanted was for my mom to get off the phone and start scolding me for not having a shirt on. As I moved around to the passenger side, Jason rolled down his window slightly and said, “Don’t forget the wheels. They’re pretty dirty.”

I grit my teeth as I knelt, scrubbing the black rims. Once I’d finished, I stretched up on my tiptoes to get the roof. It put me right in front of Jason’s window, and I knew he was staring, but I didn’t mind putting on a little show. Pressed so close against the glass, I could see Vincent reach over and lay his hand on Jason’s obvious bulge, squeezing.

It was unbearably hot and I was sweating like a sinner in church. It was a disturbingly accurate allegory, considering my present circumstances.

Right as I was finishing up, I caught my mom’s furious gaze. Oh, she was pissed and ready to be petty, especially as I’d pulled a total Paris Hilton — all I was missing was the messy burger. I hurriedly rinsed the car and gave the window a knock when I was done.

Vincent was smirking as he rolled it down.

“World class service,” he said, handing me another ten-dollar bill. “I usually avoid giving to the church, but you might make a believer out of me.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not here for the church,” I said, tucking his very generous donation into my bikini beside the other bill.

Jason’s eyes widened in mocking shock. “No? Really? I never would have guessed.”

That bulge in his pants was catastrophically distracting.

I stepped back as Vincent started the car; the engine coming to life with such a roar that several of the women under the canopy began to complain. The way Vincent looked at me, eyes lingering at all the right places, made me feel like he was stripping my clothes off without even touching me.

“We’ll see ya’ around, Jess,” he said, his tone making my stomach do a ridiculous little flip. His engine popped with a backfire as he pulled onto the road, a brief flash of flames bursting from his tailpipe as he sped away.