out that you'd almost torn your balls off, not for a minute." She was gritting her teeth.
"And how big a task do you think you took on? It's not like you were corrupting me or anything. I've been on the other end of the game for years. I know you, Beth. I am you."
"You don't know anything." She was visibly trying not to scream, but Tuck could see the blood rising in her face.
He pushed on. "Freud says I'm this way because I was never hugged as a child. What's your excuse?"
"Don't be smug. I could have you right now if I wanted." As if to prove her point, she placed her feet at either end of the coffee table and began to pull up her dress. She wore white stockings and nothing else underneath.
"Not interested," Tuck said. "Been there, done that."
"You're so transparent," she said. She crawled over the table and did a languid cat stretch as she ran her hands up the inside of his thighs. By the time her hands got to his belt buckle, she was face-to-face with him, almost touching noses. Tuck could smell the alcohol on her breath. She flicked her tongue on his lips. He just looked in her eyes, as cold and blue as crystal, like his own. She wasn't fooling anyone, and in realizing that, Tuck realized that he also had never fooled anybody. Every Mary Jean lady, every bar bimbo, every secretary, flight attendant, or girl at the grocery store had seen him coming and let him come.
Beth unzipped his pants and took him in her hand, her face still only a millimeter from his, their eyes locked. "Your armor seems to have a weak spot, tough guy."
"Nope," Tuck said.
She slid down to the floor and took him into her mouth. Tuck suppressed a gasp. He watched her head moving on him. To keep himself from touching her he grabbed the arms of the chair and the wicker creaked as if it was being punished.
"That's a pretty convincing argument," said the male voice. Tuck looked up to see Vincent sitting on the couch where Beth had been a minute ago.
"Jesus!" Tuck said. Beth let out a muffled moan and dug her nails into his ass.
"Wrong!" Vincent said. "But never play cards with that guy." The flyer was smoking a cigarette, but Tuck couldn't smell it. "Oh, don't worry. She can't hear me. Can't see me either, not that she's looking or anything."
Tuck just shook his head and pushed up on the arms of the chair. Beth took his movement for enthusiasm and paused to look up at him. Tuck met her gaze with eyes the size of golf balls. She smiled, her lipstick a bit worse for the wear, a string of saliva trailed from her lips. "Just enjoy. You lost. Losers flourish here." She licked her lips and returned to her task.
"Dame makes a point," Vincent said. "I give you three to one she brings you around to her way of thinking. Whatta ya say?"
"No." Tuck waved the flyer off and shut his eyes.
"Oh, yes," Beth said, as if speaking into the microphone.
Vincent flicked his cigarette butt out the window. "I'm not distracting you, am I? I just dropped in to take up on the dame's side, as she is unable to speak for herself at present."
Tuck was experiencing the worst case of bed spins he'd ever had - in a chair. Sexual vertigo.
"Of course," Vincent continued, "this is kinda turning into a religious experience for you, ain't it? Go with what you know, right? You let her run the show, you got no decisions to make and no worries ever after. Not a worry in the world. You got my word on that. Although, if it was me, I'd check out her story just to be safe. Look in the doc's computer maybe."
Beth was working her mouth and hands like she was pumping water on an inner fire that was consuming her with each second that passed. Tuck heard his own breath rise to a pant and the wicker chair crackle and creak and skid on the wooden floor. He was helping her now, wanting her to quench that flame and that was all there was.
"You think about it," Vincent said. "You'll do the right thing. You owe me, remember." He faded and disappeared.
"What does that mean?" Tuck said, then he moaned, arched his back, and came so hard he thought he would pass out, but she kept