To: Ace
From: Rylee Thomas
Subject: Cat Got Your Tongue?
_______________________
Ace—
Demanding, aren’t we?
You never addressed your subject line. Should I worry about how many other emails you sent out with the same title to your other conquests from Saturday night trying to get a follow-up date?
-Ryl-E-E
I smile as I hit send, picturing his face in my mind. His smile. His emerald eyes. The devastation he had over my control. It’s only been two days since the auction, and yet I wonder if my memory is making Donavan out to be more than he really is. Making his transgressions seem less offensive than they really were. Before I can ponder it further, my inbox alerts me.
To: Rylee Thomas
From: Ace
Subject: Chivalry isn’t dead
_______________________
Ryl-E-E—
A gentleman never kisses and tells, Ryles. You should know that.
When you think about me, make sure to note that my demands will only result in your pleasure.
And you never answered my question. A bet’s a bet. Time to pay up, sweetheart.
—Ace
I laugh out loud to his response. Maybe if I ignore his question, he’ll just go away. Good luck with that! Despite detesting the game he’s playing, I find myself smiling as I type my reply. I’m a challenge to him, plain and simple. If I’d acquiesced to his request for a date, or maybe even if I had continued kissing him in the hallway without backing away, he’d have never given me a second thought. He would have had his wicked way with me and walked away without a backwards glance.
To: Ace
From: Rylee Thomas
Subject: Fat ladies and yellow birds
_________________________
Ace—
I read somewhere that a boy needs the adulation from many girls to be satisfied whereas a gentleman needs just the adoration from just one woman to be fulfilled. By that definition alone, you are definitely not a gentleman. That means you should be singing like a canary, then.
Besides, a date is WAY ABOVE my pay grade.
—Rylee
P.S. Oh, and don’t worry, I don’t think of you. At all.
Take that! I think, proud of myself for my wit despite the blatant lie in the last comment. I stand and pack up my stuff, straightening my desk. As I reach to turn my computer off, my inbox alerts me again.
To: Rylee Thomas
From: Ace
Subject: You need a raise
_________________________
Rylee—
I may be a man, but I’m nowhere near gentle. In fact, I think you’re a little curious just how I like it. Step over the edge with me, Ryles—I’ll hold your hand and revel in making you lose that self-control you pride yourself on. I’ll be anything and everything but gentle.
I promise. You’ll never know your limits until you push yourself to them.
If you refuse to give me availability, I may have to take matters in my own hands. Maybe someone taking control is exactly what you want? What you need?
—Ace
“Egotistical asshole,” I mutter as I switch off my computer, refusing to respond. Like he knows what I want or need. But despite my anger, his words reverberate through me more than they should.
***
My phone rings as I drive to The House. I’m in a foul mood for some reason and I can only blame it on Donavan and his damn emails. Damn him for filling me with wants and need and desire again. I glance at the screen on my phone and groan out loud.
It’s Haddie, my best friend and roommate. I’ve successfully avoided her and one of her notorious inquisitions since the event on Saturday night. Luckily she’d had plans that kept her out of the house because one round of her questions and she would’ve known something had happened.
“Hey, Had!”
“Ry! Where’ve you been? You’re avoiding me!” she reprimands.
Geesh, five words into the conversation, and she’s already starting in one me. “No, I’m not. We’ve just both been busy with—”
“Bullshit,” she argues, “I talked to Dane and know the story! Why didn’t you wake me up and tell me when you got home?”
I blanch wondering what Dane had told her, and then I realize that she is probably talking about the auction. “Because nothing happened but absolute humiliation. It was awful.”
“Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad!” she says sarcastically. “At least you got a hot date out of it. Who is he?”
I roll my eyes at her as I turn my car into the driveway of The House. “Some guy—”
“Well, obviously. I’m glad it wasn’t some girl because that would put a whole different spin on this.” She laughs at her joke, and I can’t help but smile at my dear friend. “So spill it, sister!”
“Really, Haddie, there’s nothing to tell.” I can her hear guffaw on the other side of the connection. “Oh, will you look at that? I just pulled up to The House. I gotta go.”
“Likely story, Ry. Don’t worry, I’ll get the scoop out of you when you get home tomorrow from work.” I cringe at the Haddie Montgomery promise to dig deeper. She never forgets.
“Look, I don’t know the guy,” I relent, hoping if I give her some information she’ll be satisfied and not pry any further. “Teddy introduced me to him before I was pulled into being a contestant. His name is Donavan something, and he’s the son of one of the chairpersons. That’s all I know.” I cringe at my blatant omission to my best friend.
I hear her hum of approval on the end of the line and know the exact expression that is on her flawless face. Her button nose is scrunched up in disbelief while her heart-shaped lips purse as she tries to figure out if I’m telling the truth. “I really am at work now, Had. I have to go. Love ya, bye.” I say, our usual parting words.
“Love ya, bye.”
***
There is chaos in The House as usual when I walk in the door. I step over six book bags that lay haphazardly in the entryway. I can hear Top 40 music coming from one bedroom and the beginning of an argument coming from another as I pass the hallway on my way to the core of the house.
I hear the pop of a baseball mitt coming through the open windows at the rear of the house, and I know that Kyle and Ricky are in the midst of their usual bout of catch. Any minute, one of them will be complaining that the other one has horrible aim. They’ll argue and then move to the next activity, playing with their Bakugan or competing at baseball on the Wii.
I walk into the great room to hear Scooter giggling as he sits next to my fellow counselor, Jackson, on the couch, arguing the merits of Spiderman versus Batman.
The great room is a common area of the house, combining the kitchen with a large open living area. Large windows open up to the backyard where I can see the boys playing catch. The room has couches on one end that form a U-shape around a small media center while the other end houses a big wooden table, currently covered with what appears to be incomplete homework. The earth-tone furniture is neither new nor shabby but rather gently worn and well used.
“Hey, guys,” I say as I place my bag on the kitchen island, appraising the state of dinner that appears to be in two large crock-pots on the counter.