by N. M. Silber
CHAPTER SIX
The next day when Braden called he told me that he was running late and he asked me to come by at about six-thirty. Since we were just hanging out at his place I dressed casually in cut-offs and my “Brainy Is the New Sexy” tee-shirt.
“You’re sure you want to go drink beer and eat pizza with Adam and Mark?”
“I’m sure that I want to go and do anything with Braden.”
“Do you even know how to play baseball?”
“Basically. You hit the ball and run around the bases and the other team tries to stop you. How hard can it be? I don’t completely understand football either and I watch the Harvard-Yale game.”
“You really have it bad for this guy. I can’t imagine you doing this for anyone else.”
“I have court early tomorrow and so I probably won’t be home late.”
He greeted me at his apartment door, looking very cute in faded jeans, an old gray tee-shirt with Phillies written on it and bare feet. His hair looked slightly damp. He smiled when he saw my shirt and then his eyes traveled down my legs.
“Come in and make yourself comfortable. You’re welcome to take off your shoes, or any article of clothing that you like, for that matter.” He gave me a smile that made my tummy feel all fluttery. I slipped off my shoes and left them by the door. His apartment had an open layout with beautiful dark hardwood floors. Straight in front of me there were floor to ceiling windows along one exterior wall that presented a spectacular view of the Square and the buildings beyond. To my left was a modern kitchen and dining area and to my right a large flat screen TV was mounted on the interior wall and surrounded by an arrangement of a black leather sofa and matching loveseats. There were also lots of books and bookshelves everywhere. I loved books. I also loved people who loved books. This too, was a very good sign.
“This is really nice, Braden. I like the way that it’s so open but it still feels cozy.”
“Thanks.” He looked genuinely pleased with the compliment.
“So I guess Adam and Mark aren’t here yet?” I wandered over to the window to check out the view and I imagined how the buildings in the distance looked lit up after dark. It must be beautiful. I was a city girl.
“They usually come at about seven,” he said walking up behind me. “I wanted to have a chance to spend at least a little time with you alone. This was the best I could do. I didn’t get home until six myself and I wanted to at least shower.”
I turned around and put my arms around his hips. “I don’t know. I think I might like you a little sweaty,” I teased. It’s amazing how brave six months of celibacy and a very sexy guy could make me.
“Well, I’m looking forward to getting sweaty with you.”
I started feeling warm and my skin felt tingly. I bit down on my bottom lip and his eyes seemed drawn to it. He traced it with the pad of his thumb and then he bent his head down and kissed me, biting it himself and tugging it into his mouth. He sucked on it lightly before deepening the kiss and slowly rubbing his tongue up against mine. I began to shiver a little and when he moved away from my mouth and started trailing kisses down my neck my legs got shaky.
“Uh, Braden,” I said a little breathlessly.
“Mm?” he replied, tugging my earlobe into his mouth and sucking on it. Jesus that felt good!
“I think I may need to sit down.”
“Sure,” he said, looking a bit concerned. I’m sure my eyes were probably glazed over and my face was flushed. I probably looked drugged. He took my hand and led me over to the sofa where I plunked myself down less than gracefully.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“More than okay — I was feeling so good that I was afraid I might hit the floor,” I said throatily, and a big beautiful grin slowly took the place of the worried look. He sat down beside me and picked right up where he had left off, returning his attention to my very lucky earlobe. I ran my fingers through his hair enjoying how warm and soft it felt even slightly damp. Actually, he was warm all over, but his hair was probably the only soft part of him. I ran my other hand over his back, and lordy, those muscles were tight. I breathed in his spicy scent and I felt drugged too to be honest. I was high on Braden.
My hands weren’t the only ones that were busy. His had started out on my back but then one hand had worked its way to my front and up under my tee-shirt. He reached into my bra this time, cupped my breast and circled my very attentive nipple with his thumb. I whimpered a little and arched my back, pushing against him hard. He stopped kissing me for a moment and gave me that blue flame look.
“They’re going to be here soon.” His voice was a little husky. “We don’t have a lot of time and I don’t want to drive both of us crazy, but, you know the other night when you took your jacket off at the pub?” I nodded. “I couldn’t help but notice you have really gorgeous ti… uh, breasts. Could I, um? Could I maybe just…” He had a sexy, almost boyish, smile on his face. I nodded again and I noticed that he was breathing quickly and looking just a little flushed himself. He held my gaze but reached behind me and unhooked my bra. Then he gently eased my shirt up. I realized at that moment that there was a fairly good chance that Braden was a boob man. His gaze dropped and he let out a low groan. Yep – boob man.
“Beautiful.” And then a slightly shaky breath. “Must touch.” He swallowed hard and reached out to cup and caress my breasts, lightly pinching my nipples and making me moan and push myself against him some more. Christ, I was totally shameless with him! “Perfect,” he said in a low thick voice almost to himself. Oh my God. I was so turned on that I was starting to tremble. He gently pushed me down onto my back, leaned over me and lowered his head. I felt his tongue graze one very hard nipple…
… When Adam and Mark rang up from the lobby. That had to have been the quickest half hour of my entire life. I let my head fall back against a pillow, stared at the ceiling for a second and, I’ll admit it, I said a really bad word. Inner-Gabrielle also kicked the wall a few times. I looked back at him and despite startled amusement at my colorful choice of expletive (recall that I spend my days interviewing guys in jail), I could see from the expression on his face his self-control was getting a work-out. I wasn’t the only one in the room craving some hot sweaty monkey sex.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded apologetic and looked frustrated.
“It’s okay.” I sat up and fixed my clothes while he had them buzzed in. When he was done I looked at him and smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll have the opportunity to get seriously freaky soon.” I know — I’m just so wonderfully warm and romantic sometimes. A sweet talker like me should write for Hallmark.
“I’ll make sure it was worth waiting for,” he said, giving me a slightly wicked look and went off to splash cold water on his face. I could have benefitted from being hosed down.
* * *
Not long after, Mark and Adam were at the door and Braden invited them in. They obviously didn’t see me standing off to the side behind them. Ask me how I figured that out.
“Braden looks happy.” Mark smiled. “Everybody’ll be getting deals tomorrow. Stole a car and committed sixty-three moving violations during a high speed chase? No problem. Just don't do it again.”
“So did Harvard take Yale or did Harvard go down?” Adam asked.
“More importantly did Yale go down? We want to hear how you handled her tongue,” Mark said lasciviously. I suppose that I could have gotten all offended by this but, come on, it wasn’t like Jess and I didn’t dish details too, and I mentioned that I spend time with guys in jail, right? I just rolled my eyes.
“Don’t you think you should at least say hi to her first?” Braden asked.
“Oh fuck!” Mark spun around. “Hi, Gabrielle! How are you doing?” Adam just cracked up.
We were waiting for the pizza and sitting in front of the TV drinking beer while some kind of pregame show was on when Mark brought up a different subject.
“So how about that article in the Times tod
ay that mentioned Gabrielle's dad?”
“I didn’t read the Times today. Just the Inquirer,” I said.
“I was busy moving Drew all day. I didn’t get a chance to read anything,” Braden added.
“Does your father know that you're dating Gabrielle?” Adam asked and I immediately started to get worried. Braden looked at him warily.
“I told my parents that I just started dating somebody and that I was bringing her to the fundraiser, that’s all.”
“My dad’s not in jail or anything?” Images of Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken floated through my head and I started to panic.
“Nothing like that!” Mark assured me. “You have the Times?” he asked Braden. Braden got up and brought it in, handing it over to him. He paged through until he found what he was looking for. “It's called The New Kingmakers and it's a piece about a small group of CEOs who aren’t really well known but who supposedly have a lot of influence. The article said that these guys all have been showing interest in supporting centrist politicians – almost like they had a plan. We just thought you’d be interested since Gab’s dad is one of the CEOs mentioned and your dad is, you know, a centrist politician?”
“My dad lives in New York. Why would he get involved in a Pennsylvania Senatorial election?”
“The article was hinting about their ability to put somebody in the White House,” Adam replied. Great. This was starting to sound like some weird conspiracy theory.
“And they have a “plan.” Isn’t that special? You know, I have some footage of an alien autopsy you guys should check out,” I said sarcastically, and Braden snorted with amusement.
“Switching sides already.” Adam shook his head.
“Hey, it's the New York Times, not the National Enquirer,” Mark shot back. “I just figured that Senator Pierce might be interested in knowing that his son is dating the Kingmaker’s daughter.”
“My dad does things strictly by the book,” I said. “He wouldn’t make a bed without asking three people to advise him, two people to draft proposals and someone to provide catering. He’s not sitting in some smoky back room plotting the future of the country.”
“Can I see the article?” Braden asked. Mark passed it over and Braden took a few minutes to read it.
“My dad would probably just find it an amusing coincidence. For the record, he’s not the pawn of any secret cadre of businessmen with moderate political views.” He winked at me and my tummy fluttered again. Ha! I was on the teasing end for a change and Braden was on my side! I loved it!
“I think you guys should take a road trip to Roswell,” I joked.
“Maybe you can prove that Elvis is still alive and break the Da Vinci Code on the way,” he added and I giggled. Mark and Adam gave each other a look.
“I think it’s just the two of us now, Adam,” Mark said.
“Want to lay some cash on how long he has?” Adam asked.
“Six months,” Mark answered.
“Until engagement or actual marriage?”
“Just until engagement. You’ve got to give him some time to get past denial and make it to acceptance.”
“Nah. What are you, blind? This is only their second date and he may not even have banged her yet. He’s going down like the Hindenburg this time, man. I say engaged in three, married in six.” Adam smiled and sipped his beer “It was a good run though, Brade.” He lifted his beer in a toast.
“You’re nuts!” Mark replied. “I say, you’ve got to give him some time to get her under control. I think she’s more dangerous than people realize. Engaged in six, married in twelve.”
“You’re on. I’ll take that action for a Benjamin,” Adam said and wrote something down on a scrap of paper and stuck it in his wallet.
“Isn’t betting illegal in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania outside of licensed venues?” I asked Braden with a smile.
“We might have to make a citizen’s arrest,” he smiled back.
The pizza arrived and I have to admit that watching the game was actually kind of interesting. I wanted to demonstrate that I was interested in learning more about the things Braden liked, so I asked questions and made a few observations – although admittedly, some of them may have been a little… odd. I even found myself cheering at various times. Once it was at the wrong time, but Braden cleared that up. Several times I caught him watching me and smiling as I stared at the screen, my brows furrowed in concentration. I definitely amused him.
When the game was over, I helped him to clean up and he seemed to like watching me do that too. In fact, he seemed almost fascinated by watching me do the dishes and put them away for some reason. I had a feeling that my shorts were probably riding up every time I reached for the top cupboards. Mark offered to walk me two blocks back to my building before driving home. Before I left Braden gave me a sweet goodbye kiss which, of course, led Adam and Mark to both tell us how disturbingly cute we were and led Adam to inform Mark that he should be prepared to pay up.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS OF PHILADELPHIA COUNTY,
PENNSYLVANIA
Monday
Commonwealth v. Sanchez
Braden was questioning the witness, Mr. Lao, owner of a corner market that my client had held up. I won’t even say “allegedly” held up because I was quickly discovering that there was pretty much no doubt whatsoever that my client was guilty. Mr. Lao was a small, highly agitated man who spoke with a heavy accent and gestured a lot with his hands. His message, nevertheless, was coming across loud and clear. We were screwed.
“So Mr. Lao, it’s your testimony that the defendant, Mr. Sanchez, held you up at gunpoint and asked you to open your cash drawer. What happened then?” (My client claimed that this was all a big misunderstanding, incidentally.)
“He say ‘not enough money’ and he look mad. Then he tie me up with tape and I sit behind counter.” Yeah, kind of hard to see how this could have been a misunderstanding.
“And what did Mr. Sanchez do then?”
“He work register. Wait on customer. Take money.” I forced myself not to roll my eyes. Inner-Gabrielle was slapping my client upside the head.
“Wait a minute!” Judge Channing cut in incredulously. “Did you just say that he worked the register?!” I sighed. Why did I always get these cases?
“Yes. He wait on customer. Make change,” Mr. Lao answered.
“How long did he do this?” Braden asked, glancing at me. Here it comes. Are you ready for it?
“Eight hour.” Cue confetti!
“He worked a full shift?!” Judge Channing cut in again. I saw Braden cover his mouth and turn toward the prosecution table to fumble with some paper. Yeah, laugh it up, pretty boy.
“Yes. He good worker.” Braden coughed.
“No further questions Your Honor.”
“Ms. Ginsberg!” Judge Channing looked at me dubiously.
“Mr. Lao,” I said rising to my feet. “English is not your first language, is it?”
“No.”
“And Mr. Sanchez spoke with an accent. True?” (Not like tying him up hadn’t given him a hint to my client’s intentions.)
“Yes. He have accent.”
“Thank you. No more questions.” I sat down.
“Any redirect?”
“Just one question, Your Honor,” Braden replied. “Mr. Lao, did you understand everything that Mr. Sanchez said to you?”
“He say give me all your money or I shoot you. You see when you look at security camera video.” Yep. We were screwed. Inner-Gabrielle started filing her nails. This one was over.
“No further questions.”
“I’m assuming there’s no argument, Ms. Ginsberg?” Judge Channing asked, giving me a look that clearly said that there had damned well better not be any. I tapped my pen against my legal pad as if I were actually giving it careful consideration and making a strategic decision to hold off. I wasn’t fooling anyone. I had nothing.
“No, Your Honor, however,
we hope to discuss the possibility of a plea bargain with the Commonwealth.”
“Obviously. All charges held for trial. Schedule it.” He banged his gavel. That, thankfully, was the last case of the day. Braden brought me the order and Mr. Sanchez, the industrious armed robber, was led away.
“No deal.”
“What? What do you mean no deal?”
“Gabrielle, the man worked the counter for eight hours with the owner tied up behind him. It’s all on video. I would have to try really hard to lose this case at trial.”
“You want to waste your time trying this? What is it you think I would say to the twelve jurors who gave up their day for that great example of the criminal justice system in action?”
“Maybe you could put on your ‘everybody has a right to a trial’ defense.”
“You know, I’m going to win with that one someday, baby. You had just better watch out.”
“Look, I won’t object to him pleading guilty.”
“With no agreement? How kind of you! Well, at least people won’t question whether I’m trading sexual favors for deals.”
“Wait a minute! You never said that was on the table!” he joked.
“I may have no other choice. He worked the freaking cash register for eight hours to get more money! On camera! C’mon, big boy. I’ll let you cuff me for plea to unlawful restraint with a two year cap.” I winked.
“Pack up your stuff and come with me,” he said, shaking his head and packing up his own files. I packed up all of my files and followed him out of the courtroom. I saw that we were headed toward the onsite DA’s offices where prosecutors prepared witnesses and negotiated plea bargains. We went in and he led me to an open interview room, shutting the door behind us. I figured that he had taken pity on me and would throw some kind of bone.
“So, you want to discuss a deal after all?” I asked seriously.
“I’ll think about it, but don’t expect it to be generous, and I won’t offer anything if the victim objects.”