Author's Note: I wanted to thank everyone who has been kind enough to review the chapters. Your support really bolsters my confidence, which encourages me to be bold and continue the adventure.
It's been awhile since I've posted. Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness have been all consuming. I hope you and yours are well and are prospering.
This chapter was very difficult to write. The logistics of plot, character dynamics, and my own inexperience as a writer were particularly challenging. Jo and Eric are very bold characters, they definitely push the envelope. I hope you enjoy it. (Be gentle in your review - ha, ha!)
Thanks again for reading my story.
7-31-10: I want to thank bajan-martini, my new beta for reviewing this chapter and making a better reading experience for all. Thanks so much, b-m!
Chapter 12: Quid Pro Quo – Exchange of Favors
For a few seconds, I was temporarily blinded by the blur of colors. The rain, grease, and grim on my windshield distorted the shine of the headlights from the passing car. I should have felt disoriented from the effect, but instead, it helped me focus my mind.
It was eight-forty-five PM, Monday night and I was speeding to Fangtasia - I was late for my eight o'clock appointment with Eric. I had called several times and left messages on the bar's answering machine, stating that I was running late. I was worried because I didn't know if he got my messages. I'm sure the roar of the crowd and music blocked the sound of a ringing phone.
I was nervous, anticipating the impending coffee clutch with Eric, but not overly. I was too distracted by facts, questions, and pain. The last seventy-hours had been intense; bodies had been discovered in the Boggs Swamp, which is north of Bon Temps. On top of all the excitement and confusion, I was battling my own private war with pain management. Every surgically mended bone, ligament, and muscle ached. It seemed as if the embedded metal plates and screws were receptors for the cold. I was practically overdosing on Advil during the day and then would go home and knock myself out at night with the stronger, prescription stuff.
The bodies were proving to be quite a challenging riddle. Bon Temps' coroner, with the help of Dr. Liam (Yummy) McTavish, had done a complete autopsy and made some very startling discoveries. The bodies and evidence were still in Bon Temps and I was told that we were to keep them secured and sequestered away from the public and media. No one was to know anything about them. While we waited in limbo for some impressive government agency to show up and conduct their unimpressive investigation, I decided to do some investigating on my own, and all compasses pointed to Eric.
Something was wrong. When I entered Fangtasia's parking lot, I was shocked. There weren't any cars. I drove around the building and saw Eric's red Corvette. Well, he's here. Did he cancel? I checked my phone but didn't find any messages.
I parked next to his car, grabbed my folder, Blackberry, and the little hospitality gift for Eric. Tradition dictates that when making the first unofficial call on another sheriff's department, you bring a gift befitting the somber, meaningful moment – a good bottle of whiskey always does the trick. Since vampires don't drink, I had a tough time trying to find something appropriate and acceptable. I wasn't overly enthusiastic with my final decision, but it's the thought that counts, right?
When I got to the front door, I knocked and then waited. I didn't hear anything, so I pounded on the door and waited. No sound came from the inside, just dead silence. I saw a call box and pushed the call button, "Eric? Hello Eric? It's Jo Lautner." The box sputtered out static. I waited for a response, but nothing came. After about twenty seconds, I reached to push the button again, but stopped when I heard the door's bolt bar being pulled back and watched as the door opened.
AHHHH - COME ON! This isn't FAIR! Son-of-a-bitch! DAMMIT. I CAN'T believe you would do this! AAAAAhhhhhh!
I did not say any of this aloud, nor did I make any movement. I think my eyes may have bulged a little. I was faking calm so well that I amazed myself; I think the pain in my leg was distracting me. What I did do was give him a gracious smile.
There he stood, gleaming and creamy white. Blonde hair, darkened by hair product and slicked back. He was wearing – deep breathe, Jo - a black, wife-beater tee shirt.
Incredible…his shirt looked like it had been poured on him and dried in place. It outlined every ripple and dip of his muscles and his exquisite muscles were accentuated by the sheen of the spandex-type material. The shirt reached all the way down to his hips.
His well defined shoulders and chest muscles rose out of the shirt like mountains on a range. His arm muscles rippled with every movement. He was magnificent and sexy, and ever so slightly threatening. He was drool-producing, sweat on the upper-lid, HOT.
Fleeting, disturbing thoughts flashed through my mind. I wondered how many hearts had crashed and shattered on that broad, muscular chest. How many women had grabbed those upper arms as they reached a cosmic orgasm - actually, I don't want to know.
"Jo, you finally made it."
"Eric…I'm really sorry, I called and left messages-"
"Not a problem, please come in." He stepped back to allow me to enter, which I did. He closed and locked the door and turned and started walking towards the back of the bar. He waved me to follow him; I guess he was leading me back to his office. I was mesmerized by his every movement and only vaguely aware that he was talking. He was saying something about being closed for inventory and repairs. I just smiled and bobbed my head when it seemed appropriate.
Following behind him was a religious experience…I mentally uttered every biblical name I could think of, in praise of the view…so awe inspiring…his pants…
The pants…. Mama! They were black and looked like lounging pants. They were made of soft, jersey cotton and road low on his hips, very low. His shirt tail barely skimmed the top of the waist band. I became fixated, trying to catch each beautiful flash of flesh that appeared every time his shirt tail and pants waist band separated from each other.
His panther-like walk allowed the pants to do their magic. He really should wear those pants, always. Really. The pants flowed with his every move, hugging his hips, draping around his muscled thighs, and defining his firm – very firm –buttocks. In the front, the material rose over and cascaded down around what seemed to be a very impressive man package.
Nice feet – he was wearing leather flip-flops. He had on some interesting jewelry, leather bracelets and a leather rope around his neck with some sort of charm on it. No watch. The cop inside of me made a complete and thorough mental report while the civilian enjoyed gawking.
I realized that we had reached the end of our journey and were now entering his office. The room looked the same, no changes since the last time I had been there with Roman. We were now standing and staring at each other, I was feeling somewhat ill at ease. I realized that it was the first time I had ever been alone with him.
His eyes were beautiful - medium blue, and warm and appealing. His mouth actually had some color to it, a blush of red and it wore a casual smile.
I was so captivated by his appearance, that I felt like I was in a dream state. I could almost hear him asking, 'how would you like your sex.' Oh wait, he's actually asking me something.
"How do you like your coffee – strong or mild?"
One false move, buddy, and I'll know if you've been circumcised or not…Probably not.
"Strong, but –"
"Good." He turned to a trolley cart that had been set with a coffee maker and accessories.
Men that dress like that are just asking for it…
The smell of the coffee was wonderful and familiar. It brought me out of my lust stupor. It was Sumatra blend, it had to be - my favorite - I stock piled it at home. I asked if I was correct.
He became a veritable Chatty Cathy doll, confirming that it was Sumatra, which he remembered that I was buying at the Piggly Wiggly. Blah, blah, blah. I took two Splendas and cream with my coffee, right? (I nodded 'yes.') Blah, blah, blah. He hoped I didn't mind drinking from a mug instead of a cup and saucer. Blah, blah, blah, he just rambled on; I didn't mind, though I was a little surprised by it.
But then…deep breath, Jo…then…he bent forward…all the way down… not squatting but bending at the waist, to get something off the bottom shelf of the trolley.
Good Lord, please don't blind me now.
His pants seemed to turn into shrink-wrap and mold to his body, clearly outlining and defining his legs, bum, and the underside of his manhood.
I bet wealthy women pay big bucks for this kind of show.
I had to bite both lips to stifle a laugh. I rubbed my eyes and looked around the office. I was so proud of myself. I was holding up well. Just relaxing and enjoying the view, some suffering, but cool and collected.…
"Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?" He was acting the part of the consummate host.
"Okay, thanks." He didn't have any visitor chairs placed in front of his desk; they were against the wall, so I walked over to grab one.
"No, don't sit in that chair. It's broken. So, is the other one. Try the couch, it's very comfortable."
"Eric – you didn't! I think it's time for an intervention." I deadpanned. I felt like seeing how good of a mood he was in. He looked at me quizzically.
"Chairs. Violence against chairs, what's going to be next – lamps, tables, bookshelves?" I smiled and he 'got it,' and smiled back.
"Freud would say I was suppressing strong sexual desires." His smile was sensuous and knee weakening.
I don't think that applies to you, buddy. I just chuckled and made myself comfortable, as instructed. I placed the case file containing the pictures of the Bon Temps victims, and the mini gift bag on the coffee table.
He walked over to me and handed me my coffee and then sat down on the left side of the couch, towards the middle. I moved over, all the way to the right arm of the couch to give him plenty of space. He just spread wider and his body claimed most of the remaining space on the couch.
"Oh, I got something for you. I hope you don't mind…I just wanted to say 'thank you." I leaned over and picked up the black, glossy mini bag and handed it to him.
He looked puzzled. "I don't understand. What are you thanking me for?"
"Just for…the effort…in the spirit of our…working relationship."
For some reason, he didn't look pleased. He took the bag by the handles and held it up in front of him – like it was a rodent. He looked at me and curled his upper lip.
"Oh, well thank you." He placed it back on the coffee table and seemed completely relieved that he didn't have to touch it again.
I kept my cool. "Open it, please."
He looked at me, he didn't look happy. He reached over and grabbed the bag in a hostile manner. He tore the bag to remove the wrapped CD. He looked at the wrapped disk and then released a very loud sigh. Since he didn't breathe, I know the sigh was a dramatic statement of his displeasure.
He tore off the wrapping and glanced at the CD. Then he really looked at it. It was a collection of ancient Swedish folk songs. Hey, I took a shot – it was the only thing that even remotely reminded me of Eric.
"Where did you get this?" He was now reading the backside of the CD; there was no visible improvement in his attitude.
"On-line. I wasn't sure what your tastes are so… Listen, if you don't like it, not a problem. Just chuck it when I leave." I forced out a chuckle, and adjusted my body to relieve pockets of tension and ease the pain in my leg. "I'm not offended."
"Hmmm, these songs are familiar to me. They aren't as ancient as the back of the CD states. I'll have to listen to it. Thank you."
He tossed the CD onto the coffee table without any sense of care and leaned into the back rest of the couch, while laying his legs up on the coffee table. He took his time adjusting himself until he was comfortable. Then, he spread out his arms on the back of the couch. His arms were so long that they almost completely covered the entire couch's back hump. He was now just about sitting in the middle of the couch and I was jammed into the side arm. I did not feel comfortable.
"Ah, Eric. Ah, if you don't mind – personal space. I need room to stretch my legs."
"Take off your holster, you'll be more comfortable. " He looked at me, but his face was stoic, lacking any discernible emotion. "You should have changed before you came. Your uniform doesn't look very comfortable. Do you want to change? I have some clothes that might fit you."
This is weird, but he's weird. He seemed to be making an effort to be friendly, but in a very odd and inappropriate way.
"I'm good, I just wanted to stretch my legs and have some more room on the couch."
He nodded and then moved away from me; I would say the length of his adjustment was five inches. I instantly claimed the space. We smiled at each other.
Damn, he is just a control freak. He's just lucky that he's gorgeous – I bet he's used his looks to his advantage for centuries.
"What's in the folder?" He kicked the case folder that I placed on the coffee table.
Do you have to act like such an arrogant asshole? Of course, I didn't say that aloud. "It's what I want to talk to you about. Last week, we discovered-"
He interrupted me, "Bodies tied together, young males, and stuffed into a medical waste barrel. The barrel was found in the Boggs Swamp, half submerged in the water." He spoke as if he was reading from an imaginary page being held in the air. His tone of voice sounded drool and sarcastic; his face wore a look of boredom with a touch of disdain mixed in.
"How did you know that? This information has not been released anywhere. No one-"
"Oh please, the American federal government couldn't keep a secret if the world's survival depended on it." He stretched and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I hoped that maybe you could look at the photos and give me your opinion. Any thoughts that you may have would be appreciated."
He stretched out his right hand and then wiggled his fingers – this was his command to me to hand him the file. I reached over his legs; grabbed the folder and then handed it to him. God forbid that he should have gotten it himself.
He ruffled through the file, pulled out some photos and looked at them, and then unceremoniously flipped the folder onto the coffee table. "Here are my thoughts, someone is sloppy or is being intentional."
"Intentional?"
"They may have wanted the bodies found. The little bit of rain and wind that we've had lately would not have drudged up a heavy barrel stuffed full of bodies."
"Oh. I did not think…of that. That hasn't come up at all. But, actually, it does sound like a possibility. Did you notice anything else about the victims. Anything unusual?"
"No. Drink your coffee before it gets cold."
"Really…huh… Oh, right, thanks."
He got up from the couch and went to a mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of True Blood, which he then nuked in a microwave. He seemed to be deep in thought and it looked like his friendly attitude had left him.
I could sense the change in him, and tension climbed up my spinal cord. "Eric, the victims – ah…thanks for your help. I really appreciate you meeting with me. I hope that this wasn't too much of an inconvenience?"
He didn't look at me and actually, I wasn't sure if he had heard me. The microwave beeped that the drink was ready. He retrieved it and then slammed the oven's door shut. He came back to the couch, assuming the same position that he was in before. He never looked at me during all of this activity.
He stared across the room; focusing on the door. He was still deep in thought.
"Now, then - Josephina, what will you do for me in return?" He took a long swig of his drink and kept staring at the door.
Ah, 'quid pro quo' time, he wants his pay off, even though he hasn't really given me much. I don't know why, but my stomach started to slowly twist and I started to feel chilled.
"Um, well…what do you want? Whaddah…what do you have in mind?"
He slowly turned to look at me. "Surprise me."
I look around the room to see if I could get a clue, any clue, of what was going on in his head.
"Where I come from, people say 'thank you' with a fine bottle of scotch or tickets to a football game. And I can do that." He chuckled and shook his head.
"Well, that won't work for me. What else do you have to offer?"
Our little 'quid pro quo' exchange seems to be taking an unusual turn.
"Do you want to know about…any information that I could share?"
He scowled and in a board, dramatic gesture, tapped his chin. "Hmmmm, let me think. Nooo. Nope. I can't think of anything. What else do you have to offer?"
I felt an odd blend of lust and anger surging through me. It seemed as if he was implying a sexual favor. Though I knew better than that, but for shits-n-grins, I decided to play his bluff.
"Are you asking me to perform a sex act on you?" I chuckled in an exaggerated fashion, trying to de-sensitize the question.
He froze, but then he slowly sat up straight, putting his feet on the ground. "Jo, are you propositioning me?" He looked at me with a very shocked expression on his face. "You're not really doing that, are you?"
My stomach dropped to the ground and I could feel a blush starting up my neck. The moment had turned against me and now I was feeling embarrassed, and extremely uncomfortable. I looked at the door. Maybe it's time to leave.
I looked at Eric and was about to say 'I need to leave,' when I noticed a slight curling up of the sides of his mouth. I looked at his eyes and saw humor hiding in them. He was laughing at me.
You really like to play games, don't you big boy? Unfortunately for you, I'm not in the mood. Okay?
"Listen, princess, when you decide which 'My Little Pony' you want mama to buy you, let me know. Okay?" I reached over and patted him on his leg. I started to stand up.
The next second found me lying on my back, across Eric's lap.
"Eric, you're starting to act weird. More than normal. I'm worried for you." I started to get up but he pushed me down and then grabbed the back of my neck, holding me in place.
"How many guns are you wearing? Huh?" He grabbed my holster belt and before I could grab his hands, he had unbuckled it and sent it flying across the room.
"Eric. STOP IT! NOW!" I was trying to get up but his hand on the back of my neck held me in place. The more I twisted and turned trying to escape, the more he tightened his grip. It was starting to hurt. I could feel the fear growing in me.
"That was one. Is there another? There's got to be another one." He then reached down to my left calf and ran his hand over the shape of my backup pistol. "Ah, here's number two." He reached up inside my pants leg and pulled out the gun and threw it across the room.
"Are there any more?" He started to frisk me, up and down my legs, my bum, sides, and then grabbed my crotch. I reached up and slapped him while yelling, "You son-of-a-bitch, get your hands off of me!"
Damn, that really hurt my hand. Good thing I didn't punch you.
"How about up here?" He reached up and fondled my breasts. It seemed debatable to me if he was searching or fondling. I tried in vain to push his hands away, while yelling every insult I could remember.
When he stopped, he pulled me back up into a sitting position on his lap and then lifted me and not-so-gently dropped me back into my original seating place.
He leaned into my face and whispered, "The next time I tell you to take off your holster – when you are not on duty and are standing in my bar, you will do it. And NEVER come into my bar with a concealed gun – especially when you are not on duty."
He leaned back into the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. "Are all of your bullets silver tipped?"
"Yes."
"Trust is an important thing in a relationship. A relationship of any kind. It has to be earned. You're not winning any badges of merit from me. None."
"Eric -"
"No man or male would do what you did tonight, unless he meant to use those guns."
Bullshit. Gotta play the big, bad alpha male card, huh? You never would have done that to a man. NEVER! Fucking asshole.
I adjusted my clothing, drank a big swig of my now tepid coffee, and tried to get control of my temper. I've had the alpha male routine pulled on me before, many times, but not in such a rough and dramatic manner. Normally, I would back down and play the game - hey, I'm a team player. BUT, he had really, REALLY pissed me off.
You know what, Jo? It seems to me… that all men are the same - dead or alive. The male ego… is a male ego…Eric, game on and no more practice rounds.
I leaned towards him and got very close to him, but made sure I wasn't touching him. I whispered in a low, seductive voice, "Eric, I'm sorry. I just don't know how we got to this point…you're so different from anyone I've ever know, and you don't come with an instruction manual. (I laughed, and inflecting a touch of sexual innuendo.) I don't…I'm sorry. I really wish that this meeting had gone…gone a lot better. I'll just go. Thanks for your time."
I started to get up. If I'm right, and I know I am, he will try…
Eric reached out and grabbed my wrist.
…to stop me.
"Sit." Upon his gently uttered command, I sat.
Okay, now I have to make sure I can leave after I kick his balls up his ass. That is one good thing about Roman, he knew better than to screw with me, especially in a battle of wits.
"Do you want some more coffee?" Mr. Testosterone's demeanor had now changed and he was back to being the cordial and attentive host.
"No, I'm fine. Thanks, though." Our faces had been almost a foot apart, but through skillful maneuvering on his part, we were now just inches away from each other. I assumed a submissive posture and didn't look into his face. I could feel his eyes on me.
I scanned my thoughts, trying to determine my next move. It's all about control with you, isn't it Eric? Humans are only underlings or opponents. Sex is the vampire's skeleton key, opening all doors of resistance… I doubt that you have any true intention of pursuing sex with me, you're just on a fact-finding mission…You know, this special time tonight has been the best thing that could have happened to me; because right now, I truly find you repulsive.
He started to lean into me. The little bastard was going in for a kiss!
I pulled away before he could make contact. "Oh, Eric - you really don't want to do that. You need to rethink that."
"Ah, what?" A confused scowl smeared across his face. He chuckled, shook his head, and then re-arranged himself so that his head was resting on the back of the couch. He looked at the ceiling and laughed out loud. "Really? Why?"
The players have now ascended to the next level. Goody.
I leaned back against the couch so that I was parallel with him. I kept my voice low and quiet. I tried to convey concern and sincerity. Trust me; I can fake both really well. "Eric, if you want a woman to respect you and trust you…you need to start treating yourself with respect and trust. You don't have to prostitute yourself – like a cheap whore - to achieve your goals. Don't do this to yourself. And honestly… I won't – can't respect you if you continue like this."
He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, one that he didn't know and didn't like. He actually shook his head as if to clear it.
"Eric. I have a thing. It's weird, but…"
He was now staring at me with a tad of trepidation, fearing what next would come spewing out of my mouth.
"I like to make the first move when I'm with a man. That's how he gains my trust and respect. If not, men seem pathetic and desperate to me – no matter how many mind fuck games they try to play. But of course, you are not really attracted to me, and I know and respect that. Because if you were, you would never have treated me like you've been treating me."
Yeah, I just called you a whore and told you that I didn't respect you. How does feel, grating against that male ego?
He looked at me through narrow eyes. He straightened up and smiled slightly. "Jo-"
I started mimicking him, "Eric-"
"I'm not-" he continued.
I continued to mimic him, "I'm not-"
He was catching on and the tone of his voice turned flat and deep and his mouth had twisted into a sneer. "Interested-"
My turn, "Interested-"
"In playing this game, any more." He now sounded truly disgusted. His eyes were now dark blue glimmering sapphires.
I smiled, and did an insipid little head tilt with matching sickening sweet beauty queen smile, and finished the round - "Game over…" I shrugged my shoulders, emphasizing that the whole last half an hour hold no significance for me.
"Well done, Jo."
I did a mock bow, "Noooo, thankyou!"
He started to laugh, "You win this round."
"Thank you, again. And I'm proud of you for not trying to glamor me – this time."
"I have never tried to glamor – "
"Bullshit."
He smiled. I smiled back.
He swiftly leaned over and captured my mouth with his.
I did not see that coming… I'm kissing a cadaver.
I started to pull away until I felt his tongue run over my lips, asking for permission to enter.
Oh no. That's not good…
I gave it.
I started to kiss him back – and he tasted good - so very good. He tasted like vanilla and cinnamon. Though his mouth was cold, it didn't bother me. The heat from my mouth brought us to a nice neutral temperature.
Ahhh, what a relief. He smelt so good! The exotic and erotic aromas of his cologne, soap, and hair product blended together and were intoxicating, pulling me into a cloud of sensuality. So glad you don't smell like rotting flesh.
He placed his hand on the side of my face and massaged my temple. It instantly relaxed me and I moaned a little. I mentally chuckled to myself, How cliché, I just moaned!
I slowly stopped kissing him; I needed to take a moment to let it all sink in. I'm kissing Eric!... God, he is so beautiful. His mouth was slightly agape, awaiting my return…his mouth…MOUTH…
Oh, my God. I'm so stupid! DAMMIT! I jerked myself out of his arms, placed both hands on his chest and I shoved him away from me.