Visions. Part 6

X.

Paige closed the lid with a smile. She simply couldn't give her readers any of her sheltered memories. Nor could she give her mystery woman a fat head.

Not this soon, anyway.

Mayson closed the business email and saved it as new before surfing through the rest of her inbox. She needed to get some work out of the way after being away for so long.

Oh, who was she kidding? She was waiting for another blog from X. Surely her cat wasn't all she wanted to talk about tonight. For heaven's sake, she'd practically melted into Mayson's kiss.

She'd wanted to read the quiver in her words, not the comical way she hated her d.a.m.n cat. She'd rattled the notorious X. She liked it more than she should. Now she deserved to read the confirmation. Her followers deserved to know. They were a loyal bunch, sympathizing with a woman they couldn't pick out of a crowd of two. But Mayson could. Now.

She was still stunned and confused by the outcome of her night. The outcome that the woman behind the computer screen, who hid her ident.i.ty from thousands of followers with a simple X, was the same woman teasing her audience with bits of flesh. She was gorgeous in every aspect of the word. She was surely the most breathtaking creature Mayson had ever had the pleasure of meeting, of kissing. Yet Fedora was looking for something that was readily available to her daily. So what was she looking for that wasn't at her fingertips?

Mayson could still hear the sound of her rushed sigh. Music. Sweet, pure melody.

How she wanted to hear it again. How she wanted to go further, to know what she sounded like when her body poured with release.

Mayson needed, yearned, to feel her soft flesh. She wanted to hear a gasp rush past those lips. She wanted to feel her insides clench around her fingers.

The inbox pinged.

She smiled with relief.

X was going to tell the world she'd been kissed. That it was the best kiss in the universe. That it made her wet enough to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e.

Her gut churned while she opened the link and began reading.

"That's it?" Mayson growled at the screen. "What the h.e.l.l?"

She closed the lid and leaned back in her chair. The flyer the bartender from the club gave her caught her attention. She snagged up the paper.

Please join the Visions crew, in conjunction with Past Time Charity, and neighboring businesses for a day of community cleanup.

Where: Humphries Park When: Sat.u.r.day Time: 10 a.m. until Would X be there? Could Mayson pa.s.s up the chance to see her face again? A chance to know the real X, without her stage name and dim lights? Without Mayson's mask? The thought stirred wet heat between her thighs.

"I'll give you something to blog about, Fedora."

She snagged up her cell phone and dialed Eric. He answered on the second ring.

"You free tomorrow?"

"Depends. Does it involve work?" Eric yawned.

"I'll pick you up at eight."

"Do I get a say-so?"

"Nope. Good night."

Mayson disconnected the call and stared at the flyer.

"What are you really looking for, Fedora?"

Chapter Five.

The following day, Mayson and Eric parked in the lot for the local park. The sky was clear and the weather warm. She spotted several people already working at the edge of the park and headed in their direction.

She anxiously searched the group for long auburn hair and lean legs, without success. X was nowhere to be seen.

Mayson couldn't wait to see her. To admire her out from under the strobe lights. Though she was hotter than the barrel on a squeeze machine gun beneath those arching lights.

"You owe me ice cream for this. Triple scoops. Do you know how much I pay for manicures?" Eric said.

Mayson c.o.c.ked a brow at him. "You're a serious closet case."

Eric snapped his fingers in a Z formation and put a sway in his walk. "You know you want this, girl. Trust me, I'm all lesbian. I could teach even you a thing or two."

Mayson chuckled. "You're scaring me."

A woman Mayson a.s.sumed to be the owner of Visions headed toward them with an outstretched hand, sweet smile, and a clipboard tucked against her chest. "Thank you so much for coming out today. It's great to meet you."

Mayson shook her hand. "Glad we could be of help. Where do you want us to work?"

The woman looked startled for a few seconds, then pointed them toward an overgrown section near the center of the park.

Two shovels later, Mayson and Eric started digging out the dead bushes and shrubbery. The nursery owner she'd called at seven that morning promised her order of trees, bushes, and flowers would arrive before ten.

What a shame the park had gotten so overgrown. Mayson was ashamed to admit she wouldn't normally be involved personally with a community event like this. Her full life left little time to devote to less-than-pressing matters, but the prospect of seeing X again climbed the rung of importance.

Several kids squealed in the distance as they played dodge ball. She watched them with admiration and recalled coming here as a child to play in the wading pools on hot days, running through the thick, soft gra.s.s with her bare feet.

Though one bad memory sprang to mind. The day she'd shoved the cute brunette into the water fountain on a dare from her friends. It had been a cruel thing to do, and the quiet girl hadn't deserved to be treated like that. Peer pressure had been the reason, a need to fit in, to not be different from them.

Fact was, she was exactly like them. Well, in one respect she was. They liked the girls. So did Mayson. They wanted to kiss the girls. So did Mayson. It would have been suicide to admit something so personal to them. Kids of their stature, with Baptist beliefs whispering in their ears, and parents who could whip up a storm of disapproval with dire consequences, would have made her life a living h.e.l.l with that kind of secret.

If only peer pressure hadn't made her act so stupid, so uncaring. It was a pathetic excuse, she knew. She'd never been one to succ.u.mb to what everyone else wanted her to be. If only she'd been mature enough, brave enough, to not give a s.h.i.+t what they thought of her. Much like the girl who never joined in their games, who seemed to be content curled up in the corner of the park to write in her worn journal, who hadn't cared that she was different from them. They were rich. According to the outfits she seemed to wear several times a week, she was far from wealthy.

Not that Mayson had cared about who had money or who didn't. But her friends had. They'd picked on the girl, attempting to pry the diary from her grasp.

Mayson had only stood back and watched in shocked confusion. If she interfered, they would know that she liked a girl. Liked this girl. Like, really, liked her. Her gut had screamed to stand up for her, to protect her. And just when she could take no more of their teasing torture, she stepped forward and was forced to make a decision she wasn't prepared to make.

To fight for the girl? Or keep her secret tucked away?

She'd never been faced with a more challenging decision since.

Now she ran a billion-dollar company that forced her to fly to countries all over the world. She ran a rescue mission to far-flung places that forced her to do the same. The unpredictability of natural disasters, like earthquakes and tsunamis and hurricanes, often meant her workload doubled within seconds. She had a whole team set up, ready and waiting to respond to any emergency, but she liked to oversee the process in person just as she did with her construction projects.

Yet no hurdle had ever compared to that very second in her life.

"Come on, guys. We have better things to do than mess around with this flake." Mayson had attempted to turn the attention from the girl. Instead, she could hear the hateful word ringing back on her ears. She'd never been a mean person. It wasn't who she was.

Fredrick turned a glare on her. "Take the journal from her."

Mayson felt like someone had kicked her in the gut. The spotlight was now on her. The moment of truth was upon her. She turned to the girl with pleading eyes. Today she wore blue jean knickers and a T-s.h.i.+rt two sizes too big. Her hair was short and pushed behind her ear. Her skin was so pale, unlike the rest of the kids from the park who were always tan from hours in the sun. But not this girl. She looked fragile. She looked lonely. But she didn't look afraid.

"Just give it to him," Mayson pleaded.

"Are you a chicken s.h.i.+t, Mayson?" Fredrick hissed from behind her. "Take it. Take the f.u.c.ker from her!"

Mayson had never hurt anyone before, definitely not without reason. This girl hadn't done anything to them. She didn't deserve their bullying simply because they came from money, simply because their parents hadn't taught them a d.a.m.n thing about respect. But her parents had. They would be furious if they could see the predicament she'd gotten herself in today.

When Mayson turned back to the girl, she was no longer in the corner of the concrete bench with her legs tucked beneath her. She was standing rigid straight, her chin lifted, her eyes narrowed and daring. Her hair had been stick-straight and oily brown.

To everyone else, she was ugly. For some reason, to Mayson, she was beautiful.

"Please. Just give it to them and they'll go away," Mayson said under her breath.

"No, they won't. You rich bullies are all the same. Expecting the world to give you whatever you want." The girl leaned toward Mayson and her jaw clenched. "If you want it so bad, take it. I dare you!"

The challenge suddenly s.h.i.+fted. The girl was no longer the focal point in this unfolding drama. Mayson was.

The guys joshed her and egged on the situation with their laughter and callous mockery.

Mayson stared at her, pleading with her eyes alone for the girl to comply with the situation so this would all end peacefully.

The longer Mayson willed her to understand, the louder Fredrick chanted. "Get her. Get her. Get her!"

Mayson reached out for the diary. The girl cupped it to her stomach.

"Come on. Give me the d.a.m.n book."

"Take it, b.i.t.c.h!"

This wasn't going to end well. Not for Mayson. Not for the girl.

She took a breath, gathered her bravery, and shoved the girl into the water fountain, diary and all.

The guys hooted and their laughter echoed around them while Mayson stared in shocked silence, already hating her actions.

How could she do that? That girl hadn't done a d.a.m.n thing to any of them.

An adult shouted from the far end of the park. Fredrick and his crew jumped on their bikes and raced away while Mayson stood stock-still.

The man yelled again, and Mayson jerked from her trance. She grabbed her bike, took one look back just as the girl clambered from the water, her clothes plastered to her body, her hair like a cloak around her face, then she pedaled like the hounds of h.e.l.l were after her.

None of them stopped until they were back safely in their gated community, in the sanctuary of the surrounding mansions. Her friends had laughed and playfully punched at her. "Mayson! That was the s.h.i.+t, man. That was the s.h.i.+t. Did you see the look on that freak's face?"

Yes, she had. And it tormented her. That look was what made her shove Fredrick Wilkins off his bike, what made her start punching his pathetic face until the rest of the guys pulled her off him.

"You're a sorry sick f.u.c.k, Fredrick. You made me do that!" Mayson had raced back to the park, willing to confront the girl, to say how sorry she was, to even allow the girl to shove Mayson into the fountain if she felt the need.

But she hadn't been there. Not then, nor the next day, or any other day for weeks, months, after. Mayson had never seen her face again, had wondered for years what happened to her. Nor had she ever spoken to Fredrick. Rumor said he'd gotten married and had three children. Facts proved he'd been arrested twice for domestic violence. He was still a bully. She was right to get the h.e.l.l away from his crowd.

That day had left her feeling hollow and ashamed. It was a punk act of unkindness. Mayson wasn't that person. Her parents had raised her to be better than that, to be better than a spoiled brat like Fredrick.

A shadow fell over Mayson and she was dragged out of her thoughts. She glanced sideways to find a pair of gray tennis shoes trimmed in pink, lean, tanned legs, and a tight a.s.s in Daisy Dukes. Her insides clenched as she let her gaze climb higher, to perfect handful-size b.r.e.a.s.t.s inside a baby pink wife-beater that slicked against her curves like baby oil, and a pair of dark sungla.s.ses perched over high cheekbones.

X. No mistaking the long auburn hair piled into a messy bun at the crown of her head.

Mayson tried not to react as her body temperature spiked.

Holy mother of all creatures. It was going to be a long, heated day.

Paige was thrilled to see at least half a dozen people had shown up to help. But what the h.e.l.l happened to the other 47,731 residents of Galveston? Didn't they realize that it took more than their donations to clean up a community?

Couldn't they give a good G.o.dd.a.m.n about this park and the children who played there? Especially the children. For some of them, this place was all they had outside their sad lives. Like it had been for Paige.

This place took her away from the fact that her mother was a s.l.u.t who had chosen drugs and d.i.c.ks over her only child. The fact that Paige had no idea who her sperm donor was.

This place had made her forget that she wasn't wanted, that she'd been dropped off on her grandmother's doorstep with nothing more than a grocery bag full of her clothing, or that her mother never came back for her.

Paige came to the park every day to write down her prayers. That was, until that rich sn.o.b Mayson Montgomery had shoved her into the fountain. Paige had never gone back. Her peaceful place in the world was tainted by bullies who had Mommy and Daddy in their back pockets. She loathed them. Especially Mayson. Girls didn't fight. Girls didn't hurt each other. Mayson had proven her wrong on both counts. As far as Paige was concerned, she was an evil specimen of greed.

Not that she would say that to anyone other than Samantha, who handled the business end of the community events. Mayson happened to be a major donor to Paige's charity. Every year she could count on those funds, and for that, she was thankful.

But would it be too much for a woman of her statute to show her face at a meeting? Even if it was only for Paige's satisfaction to look her in the eye after all these years, to see if she recognized the girl she'd shoved into a pool of water. She wanted Mayson to see that she was no longer that overly thin girl with stringy hair. She wanted her to see the woman Paige had become.

Not to mention she wanted to see what billions looked like on someone. Glamorous, she was sure. She hadn't seen Mayson's face since that dreadful day. Nor had she wanted to.

Samantha sidled up next to Paige, a clipboard snuggled to her chest. "Sucks to be wrong sometimes, doesn't it?" She nodded toward a couple digging out dead shrubbery, gave Paige a quick smirk, and then walked away.

Paige followed her gaze to a woman no one could mistake for butch. She had no idea what or how or why she was wrong, or what Samantha was talking about. What could possibly be wrong with this picture? Overly sun-kissed skin, tall with broad shoulders, Bermuda shorts, tight T-s.h.i.+rt, and that stylish unkempt hair that made Paige wet. The woman was a walking specimen of Paige's fantasy woman. Perfect in the most delicious ways.

Yet so was the s.e.x professor she'd snagged out of a grocery store.

A s.h.i.+ver ran along her spine, and she looked away.

Just because they looked like they could talk the talk, didn't mean they could walk the walk. Her experiences were living proof of that.