Subsequential

Friday night. Carra usually got off early, still mid-afternoon. She swung by the cemetery, more out of habit than intention. It aggravated her like all hell, but for some reason today she’d had the wrong man on her mind.

Leon had been her friend. The kind you sit around watching movies with, or playing games with, or learning something new with. He’d been fun and supportive, caring and… boring. She hated using that word, but it was true. Not meant as an insult, but indisputable as well. He hadn’t pushed her buttons just to rile her, and in fact had rarely made her angry at all. He’d been a companion, one that she’d had a very satisfying sex life with.

Looking back, with the recent encounter with Dominic still on her mind, she could easily see what might have been missing. Excitement, and maybe even passion. She and Leon had been content, satisfied with their routine and each other, and never rubbing each other the wrong way.

Carra stopped to pick up a few groceries. The housekeeper did most of the shopping, but on occasion she preferred something different. Tonight she went way out and got beer and the makings for nachos. She had to shrug to her self as she placed the items in the cart. It sounded good.

Still light when she pulled into the garage. Martin, her driver opened her door for her, smiling a greeting. “Early day?” Martin was an older man, in his fifties. He’d worked for her parents and then decided to come with her when she moved to California. She never questioned it, but she figured there had been tensions between him and her parents, plus he’d probably ended up with the better deal. She required very little of him.

She rolled her eyes, “They like to spoil me. I think they let me out early on Friday so I can’t throw a fit if they decide to call me in Saturday.”

“You shouldn’t let them yank you around like that,” he scolded, moving to the trunk when she released it. “Feelin’ like some snacks.”

She smiled, almost embarrassed to be caught with her unusual purchases. “I just had a craving.”

He held the bags up, letting them spin to inspect what was inside. “Looks tasty. Send over any leftovers.”

Carra grinned, “You would like such things. Don’t like seafood, but want my nachos.”

He shrugged, leading the way up to the house. “Critters from the ocean should stay put. Grind me some corn and tomatoes any day.”

She chuckled, closing the door behind them. “Hey, Marg.”

Marg was also older, but her own hire. Both servants lived on the property, and were otherwise given the freedom of the house. Both had been known to soak in the hot tub, sometimes together. Carra could care less, and actually thought it was sweet. As long as the house was taken care of she didn’t care what they did.

Off to her room, Carra showered and dressed for a lazy evening, comfortable jeans and tank top with her swimming suit beneath just in case. She wasn’t allowed the freedom of going bra-free or anything even more comfortable. Servants in the house, and she was used to drop-in visits.

Marg was organizing the groceries when she came back out. Mostly she was setting the things she had no idea what to do with together on the counter.

“Thanks, Marg. You can take off if you want.”

Marg smiled and immediately started removing the apron she wore. “Miss Carra, did you hire a mechanic?”

Way out in left field. “A mechanic? No. Why?”

The woman frowned and looked past her. “The man out by the pool?”

Carra felt like she’d been hit. “What?! He’s still here?”

Marg looked uncertain, possibly afraid that the unexpected and rarely seen anger would spell bad for her. “He said he came with you. I had no reason to doubt him, but I did keep an eye on him. Doesn’t look the sort to be trusted.” She gave a knowing look here as if it was obvious what she’d suspected the man of.

This aggravated Carra more than Dom’s presence. She found herself snapping at the woman, unanticipated. “Making generalizations about people isn’t like you. No one fits any stereotype, and nearly accusing him of something without cause is wrong.”

“But, Ma’am.”

Carra shook her head, “Never mind. Just go. You're taking two days, yes?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the older woman nearly whispered.

“Then have a good weekend and I’ll see you Monday.” A second’s pause, “But, Marg, I never want to hear such incriminating conjecture about one of my guests.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” She nearly ran out of the room, taking the back steps.

Carra moved to the counter and roughly shoved several of the jars out of the way to get to the bag of chips. Dammit! She didn’t know who she was more aggravated with. Marg for being so narrow-minded, Dominic for still being there, or herself for letting any of it get to her.

She ripped at the bag, trying to open it, but not having any progress. With a sigh she set the bag down and just leaned both hands on the counter.

“Need some help?”

Eyes still closed. That voice both grated on her nerves and soothed her in some unexplainable way. How could one person hold such a paradox? Was he an egotistical asshole or something both more and less complicated? And the bigger question: Did she care to find out which?

A deep breath as she decided how she was going to react. “Hungry?”

He made a sound that meant ‘duh’. Of course, he was a guy. Weren’t they always hungry, or was it more that they were just always willing to eat?

She looked up finally and felt herself freeze for one awkward moment. He’d changed. There were lockers in the dressing room by the pool. People would sometimes visit without proper swimming apparel, so she kept suits and trunks along with towels in each locker.

Dominic barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only a baggy pair of swim trunks. It would seem ridiculous, he didn’t look the type to be dressed so, but his easy movement and obvious comfort made a lie of that. And what else would he wear to swim, she thought. The quick answer that came back was ‘nothing’.

So in the seconds it took Dominic to pass from the sunlit hallway to the shadowy interior of the kitchen Carra had lost her breath, reasoned out her feelings, and then gone to blushing at her own depraved thoughts.

“Just nachos?”

Carra didn’t need further information. He wanted more. So… The coolness of the refrigerator at least worked to take some of the color out of her cheeks.

“There are a few chicken breasts in here,” she told him, studying the contents of the huge fridge. “I can call Marg back to grill them for us.”

No answer so she looked back at him, to find him staring at her with a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You can’t cook?”

She let the fridge close. “Yes, I can cook.”

He didn’t look convinced and even smiled a little as he leaned one hip against the opposite side of the counter from her.

She made a mental note that she was pleased that he wasn’t attempting to get closer. Just having him here was strange. This meaningless banter was even stranger. She couldn’t handle any more advances like this morning.

“What can you cook?” he asked her.

Now she smiled as well, knowing he’d frown on her inadequacy, or ridicule her. Not that there was a damn thing she could do about it. “I can make those instant rice packets, and grilled cheese sandwiches.” She didn’t mention that the rice was usually sticky and the sandwiches were always on the dark side of well done.

Arms crossed slowly over that remarkable chest, biceps flexing from the movement, drawing her eye for a quick glance. “That’s impressive.”

She shrugged, “I’m accident prone. It’s a disability or something.” His slow smile had her smile widening. “It’s true. I burn everything or just cut myself.” Still that assessing look, like he wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or exaggerating the entire business. So she continued, “I once cut myself on lettuce. I didn’t know that was possible. No knife, just cut myself right on the lettuce.”

“That why you have servants?”

It wasn’t an insulting question, but his tone made it so. He made it sound like it was a weakness to have someone do things for her. “I guess it’s part of it. I could just eat out all the time. But I don’t like cleaning either, and I refuse to cut grass or things outside.” She shrugged, “With my schedule and the size of this house it’s just easier to have someone else do the stuff.”

He looked around the kitchen, “What chores? You live alone. What messes could you make if you’re never here?”

Carra frowned, “I don’t know why I should have to defend my lifestyle to you.”

Dom dropped his stance and turned away from her. Across the kitchen to the windows, he looked out for long seconds.

As aggravated as she was Carra couldn’t help admiring his retreating back.

Finally he spoke, his voice low but still able to carry in the quiet kitchen. “You don’t. I just don’t understand all this.”

Carra let it go. He was right. There was no way that he could understand. She’d grown up never doing anything for herself, while he’d had to do even the most menial tasks. A certain amount of resentment was to be expected, and she’d seen the same thing in Leon, almost. Leon had been more accepting, and rather than resenting her having luxuries that he didn’t, he’d been impressed and happy for her.

“So do you want me to call Marg back?”

Dom turned to look at her. She chewed her lip and raised both brows during his slow perusal.

“Mind if I do it?”

That surprised her. “You want to cook?”