The Animal Girl Read Online Free Page A

she had given up, he smiled at her and said, “Are you fucking my dad yet?”
    â€œI’m not going to answer that question.”
    â€œNone of my business, right?” he said. “You’ve probably already seen that he’s a wimp. He lets people do whatever they want to him. He just takes it.”
    â€œI’m not that kind of person,” Kate said.
    Ryan nodded. “Sure you’re not.”
    Whenever Ryan missed his target that afternoon, he cringed and swore, sometimes under his breath, though more often out loud. “Fuck me,” he half shouted once, to which Charles merely responded with a warning glance. Kate would have sent him to the car at the very least. Ryan had certainly been right about his father: He did seem willing to take just about anything.
    Kate was relieved when they dropped Ryan at home later and went out to a pleasant dinner with wine. When late in the meal Charles sighed and said, “I’m too easy on Ryan. I let him get away with everything,” Kate lied.
    â€œI’m not so sure that’s wrong,” she said. “Every kid needs a different approach.”
    He shook his head. “My motives aren’t that noble. I just want him to like me again.”
    They joined hands across the table now. Kate felt terrible for this worried father, this man who just wanted to be liked, and her pity quickly transformed into attraction. She knew already that she wanted to sleep with him that night. She was blushing when she stammered out an invitation. “You can say no,” she added.
    But he didn’t say no. Kate hardly knew how she’d imagined herself behaving then, though she hoped that passion and desire would take over, that she’d know what to do. Instead, she and Charles waited for the bill in utter silence, which persisted as they drove toward Kate’s place, the black trees and the proper Victorian homes rising on either side of them in the dark. “Let’s talk,” Kate said.
    â€œOK,” Charles said. But they didn’t say another word until they stood facing each other across Kate’s bed. For a change, Kate was relieved that Melissa had once again defied her and was out that night. “We don’t have to do this,” she said.
    â€œI want to,” he said, though he didn’t sound as if he did.
    When she came out of the bathroom wearing a man’s white T-shirt that fell to her thighs, she didn’t feel at all attractive. Charles sat on the edge of the bed in his tank top and boxer shorts, his legs skinnier, paler, more covered in thick, dark hair than she’d imagined. His arms were crossed, as if protecting himself from her. “I don’t care about your scar,” he said.
    Kate knew he’d meant to say something that would sound nicer, more romantic. “I want to keep this on,” she said, pointing to her shirt.
    In the dark, everything became a little easier. He began to kiss her—her face, her neck, her arms—all the while carefully avoiding the place of her absent breast. His mustache tickled. She found his erection without meaning to. It was just suddenly there in her hand, and she couldn’t help but think of the shotgun she’d been handling earlier that day. Guns and penises. She let out a silly, adolescent laugh. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    â€œI haven’t done this in so long.” Now that she held him, she didn’t quite know what to do with him. She tried the very act she’d seen her daughter perform only weeks before, but she was indelicate and Charles let out a whelp of pain and then began to laugh.
    â€œIs this all right?” he asked when he finally mounted her.
    Her left thigh began cramping, but she nodded as the pain gathered into a dense ball. “It’s all right,” she said. His caution, his concern moved her. If not passionate, it was deeply tender, just as he had promised, and she lifted