by ANDREA SMITH
“That is so awesome!” I said. “Why didn’t I know about this?”
“I think you might have been otherwise occupied,” he said, winking.
“So, tell me about her.”
“Her name is Clare. She works at the Sanctuary on weekends. She goes to school at the University of Georgia in Athens. She is studying veterinary medicine.”
“Clint, that is so perfect for you. What about the distance? That’s going to be a drag, isn’t it?”
“We’re not engaged yet, Tylar,” he laughed, ruffling my hair. “You’re silly.”
“Hey, maybe if you drive down there to see her some weekend, I can tag along and visit Gina?”
“Or maybe I can tag along with you in your new Mercedes?” he asked.
“Oh, you heard, huh?”
“No, I saw you pull out earlier. Mighty fine ride, ma’am.”
“It was a birthday present . . . from Trey.”
“Some birthday present.”
Now I was starting to get irritated with Clint. If he had something to say about it, he just needed to say it.
“Do you have a problem with Trey?” I asked.
“Not at all, Tylar, just be careful,” he warned.
“Why do you say that?”
“Look,” he said, “I can tell that you care for the guy, okay? All I’m saying is don’t get too emotionally invested in him.”
It was too late for that.
“When his parents get back from Europe, I doubt if he’ll be back here until next year when they go again. That’s just how it’s always been with him, you know?”
“So you don’t think that he cares for me?”
“I think he cares for you, Tylar, as much as he cares for any of his possessions. I’m sorry; I call it like I see it.”
“What would you say if I told you I know for a fact he cares for me, perhaps even loves me?”
I didn’t want to get into the details of my knowing Italian and hearing the exchanges between Trey and Carmelita.
“I would say that I hope it is the kind of love and caring that makes a person thrive; and not the toxic kind that makes a person owned.”
Before I had a chance to respond my cell phone rang.
“Booty check,” Clint said smiling.
I threw a couch pillow at him as I grabbed my phone off of the counter. Called ID: Trey;-)
“Hey,” I answered, dodging the pillow that Clint threw back at me.
“What are you up to?” smooth and silky’s voice asked.
“Just hanging out with Clint,” I said.
This was met with silence.
“Hello?”
“Yes, I’m here. Tylar, I thought that we had an agreement?”
“What are you talking about?”
I was totally caught off-guard with that one.
“I’m talking about the fact that you and I discussed this less than a week ago and I made it perfectly clear what my expectations were concerning you and other men.”
I walked into the bedroom with my phone, trying to keep the conversation as private as possible.
“I’m not fucking him, Trey. He’s a friend. You didn’t say anything about me not being able to have friends.”
“Tylar, I don’t want to argue the fine points of our agreement. Suffice it to say, that you are free to hang out with friends, as long as the friends are of the female persuasion.”
"I don't believe this," my voice was rising. "I do not intend to abide by any agreement as asinine as the one you are apparently proposing. That was not my understanding at all.”
“So what are you saying, Tylar?”
His voice was like steel.
“I guess what I am saying, Trey, is that I’m exercising my right to opt out.”
I pushed the end button, realizing the irony of it just then. I returned to the living room where Clint was politely appearing to be engrossed on whatever was on the television.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Maybe you’re right, Clint. Trey seems to have a problem with my having friends of the opposite sex.”
“I should probably leave, Tylar.”
“No, Clint, please don’t. I already told his majesty that I don’t roll that way. Unless you think he will retaliate against you with your job or something.”
“I’m not worried about it,” he replied, pulling me down next to him on the couch.
“C’mon, I want to see those dressage videos of yours. Let’s have a good laugh.”
I gave him a playful punch on the arm. We watched the videos. Clint was extremely complimentary on my progress; I wasn’t sure if it was sincerity or if he felt bad for my situation with Trey.
Clint left around ten o’clock. I wasn’t ready for bed yet so I phoned Gina.
“What’s up girlfriend?” she answered.
“Just wanted to hear your voice,” I answered.
“What’s wrong?” As much as I had not wanted to divulge ‘the agreement’ to Gina, I needed my friend’s perspective on it.
“Are you shitting me?” she asked, indignant.
“I mean it’s not like I want to be with anyone else but Trey,” I said. “I simply have a problem with him dictating the gender of my friends. I don’t think he’s being reasonable.”
“Listen, Ty. I warned you about him, didn’t I? Sexual exclusivity is one thing; I mean it’s a good thing and a reasonable expectation. But what Trey is expecting goes way beyond that and you know it without me having to tell you. He wants to control every facet of your life it seems. God, what did his mother do to him?”
“I know very little about his past. He’s an expert on mine,” I replied, wryly.
“Take my advice, Ty. Let things cool between you and Trey for awhile. You need to get some perspective on this. I know that he was your first and everything, but you need to put a little distance between yourselves so that you can get perspective. I don’t want to come back to find you’ve turned into some Stepford bitch, ya know?”
I had to chuckle at that. Gina was right though, I couldn’t become some replicant. She promised to call me the following week to check up.
The next few days passed in a blurry haze. I was doing all of the things that I was supposed to be doing, but it seemed as if I was watching myself do them. I had fallen into a funk. The dressage training was going well. On Friday, Mark did a mock testing of our routine. He felt we would pass the FEI test for five year olds with no problem. We still had three weeks to go. As we were winding down that afternoon, Mark walked with me to the stables.
“Are you okay, Tylar?” he asked, showing some concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
“You just seem a little down this week, that’s all. Anything you want to talk about? I’m a good listener.”
“I don’t want to bore you with my problems, Mark.”
“I wouldn’t be bored, I promise. You wanna grab a beer somewhere?”
I thought about it for less than five seconds.
“Sure, why not?”
“Great, meet you at the main drive about six?”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
I got Derringer back to the stables and situated for the night.
“Derringer, I hope I’m doing the right thing here, boy. I wish you could help. You know him better than I do. Wish me luck,” I said, giving him a kiss on his face.
I hurried to my cottage, wanting to get a bubble bath today instead of a shower. I hadn’t indulged in a nice long bubble bath for awhile. I luxuriated in the vanilla scented bubbles, taking my time washing and relaxing.
I decided to wear a khaki colored pair of capri pants with a black cotton camisole. I wore my black wedge sandals. I put my toe ring on. I had painted my fingernails and toe nails a dusty pink. Too much time on my hands these days I thought to myself. Gina would call it minimal maintenance.
Mark was on schedule when I met him up at the main drive at six. He had been staying at a cottage over at ‘the Belle�
��. He had an awesome pick-up truck, a red dually. It was every bit as shiny as my new car. The car that I was uncomfortable driving I thought. He opened the passenger door, lifting me up. I was glad I hadn’t gone with wearing one of my short jean skirts.
Mark looked nice in his blue jeans and white polo shirt. He was tanned from being out so much. He had sort of a rugged look about him. He fired up the diesel engine and we pulled out of the drive onto the highway.
“Ever been to ‘Bunkers’?” he asked.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s kind of an after-five dive,” he admitted, “But the beer is cold, they have great barbecue sandwiches, good selection on the juke box, and pool tables if you play.”
“Haven’t played for awhile,” I said, “But it might be nice to shoot some pool.”
The truth was I would welcome any distraction from my current funk and thoughts of Trey. I had heard no more from him since I had opted out of our arrangement. I drove
myself crazy wondering what he was doing; who he was with. I was every bit as possessive as him. 'Hypocrite' I thought.
Bunker's was packed. Mark and I found a table in a corner that was a bit quieter than the bar. He ordered a draft beer; I ordered vodka sonic.
“So, how’d you find this place?” I asked, wanting to make conversation.
“I came here one evening with Jenna, she knew about it before me.”
Oh God, that’s all I needed, was to piss Jenna off. It wasn’t as if she didn’t already hate me for reasons unknown to me. Being out with Mark would give her some real ammo. Mark noticed my discomfort.
“Tylar, Jenna and I aren’t a couple or anything. We’re friends that’s all.”
“Are you certain that Jenna sees it that way?”
Mark laughed, “I can’t pretend to know how Jenna sees it. I can tell you this. I’ve made it abundantly clear to her that I want no romantic ties, at least to her.”
I caught the last part of his sentence, glancing up at him but he was gazing around the room. Perhaps he hadn’t meant it to sound the way it did.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, looking over at me now.
“I could eat.”
When the waitress brought our drinks, Mark ordered two barbecue sandwiches with fries.
"C'mon, let's dance," he said, pulling me up from the chair.
There was a wooden dance floor over near the jukebox where several couples were dancing to an old Anne Murray song. Mark pulled me close as we slow danced, the lyrics flooding my mind with thoughts of Trey.
Mark rubbed my back with his hands as we moved to the slow tempo. I wanted to dance to this song. The problem was I wanted to be dancing to it with someone else.
It seemed like the song went on forever. Finally, it was over. I thanked Mark and headed back to our table.
We drank our drinks; Mark ordered another round when our food came. Mark was right. The barbecue pulled pork was delicious. I ate every last bite of my sandwich. We were on our third round of drinks, and definitely things were loosening up when Mark asked me.
“So, you want to tell me why such a pretty girl has been so blue all week?”
“It’s complicated, Mark.”
“You know, Tylar, I’m not blind. I see the way that Trey is with you. Always watching you; treating you like his prized possession.”
There was that fucking word again, ‘possession’ as in ‘possessiveness’, ‘possessively’, or how about just ‘possessed’. That was exactly how I was starting to feel "possessed" as in by a demon.
“That is not what love is supposed to be,” he continued.
“Wait a minute, Mark,” I interrupted. “Trey has never committed his love to me, nor mine to him. We haven’t known each other all that long.”
“You know as well as I do, love is not a product of time, and it doesn’t have to be professed in order to exist between two people. All that I am saying is that loving someone is not a license to own them.”
“With all due respect, Mark, you’ve only been at Sinclair’s for a very short time. I doubt that your observations to date could be so conclusive relative to Trey.”
“It’s not just Trey,” he replied, “It’s you as well. You ask to be treated that way; everything about you begs to be dominated by him.”
“What?” I practically screamed, thankful that the din of noise served to filter my voice as it got louder.
“I’m not judging you, Tylar. I just know that what I see is someone trying their best to please a man that might just prefer his woman not change into something she is not. Doesn’t mean it won’t be a rocky road; but it will be one traveled together.”
I knew he had a point, yet I was having a problem in seeing exactly how it related to me in this situation. What should I have done differently? I didn’t tolerate Trey’s assertion that I could only have female friends; being out tonight with Mark proved that. I had the ‘opt out’ clause inserted into the pre-coital agreement, hadn’t I?
Then I realized the bigger picture in all of this. Why would I have tolerated the pre-coital agreement to begin with? In essence, it was a declaration that we would be fuck buddies exclusively, no attachments, and the rest of the rules seemed to develop along the way with Trey calling the shots.
“Mark, how about we shoot some pool,” I suggested.
Two rounds later, Mark and I had three games of pool under our belts. Mark had destroyed me each and every time. I begged for mercy so we sat back down at our table.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun getting my ass kicked at something,” I said, laughing.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Mark assured me. “You just need a little coaching, that’s all.”
“Yeah, but when I scratched the eight ball and it landed two tables over, I thought that guy was going to kick your ass.”
I was remembering the look on Mark’s face and it started me in another round of laughter. He joined in.
“That was a bit scary, I admit.”
“But you handled it very well, Mark. Pointing to me and saying, ‘she did it.’ Glad you had my back.”
By this time we were both rolling. The waitress came over to see if we wanted another round. We’d both had enough and knew it. Mark paid the tab.
I told him next time it would be my treat. I kind of liked this place. We headed back to the manor. I was thankful it was fairly close as Mark was feeling no pain.
He parked his truck next to the stables.
“I am walking you up to your cottage, Tylar.”
“That’s not necessary really.”
“No I won’t hear of it. I will see that you are safely inside.”
We walked up the path toward the cottages. Ray’s was dark since he had moved in with Denise. Charlie’s had lights on inside, I could see his television on. As we passed Jenna’s I noted that her Friday night lingerie had been taken in. Her lights were on and I thought I saw someone peeping out of the side window as we passed.
“Here we are,” I said, getting my keys out of my purse.
I unlocked the door and turned to say good-night to Mark but he was right there in front of me, just inches away. Before I knew what to think, he pulled me toward him, gently lifting my chin so that our lips met. His kiss was soft and warm, his lips moved against my mouth earnestly, trying to draw me into a deeper and more passionate kiss. I finally put my hands against his chest, gently pushing back from him.
“Mark, I’m sorry, I can’t, I can’t . . .”
“Don’t worry about it Tylar. I’m the one that is sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you for a kiss like that. I know you are vulnerable at the moment, forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I answered. “I had a wonderful evening with you tonight, Mark. I really would like to do it again, okay? But for now, we need to keep it as a friendship. I’m not equipped for anything more at the moment.”
“I understand,” he replied, softly. “You get inside and I want to hear th
at door lock behind you, got it?”
“Good night, Mark.”
“Good night, Tylar.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I was never so anxious for Monday to roll around. The weekend just seemed to drag and as busy as I tried to keep myself, there was only so much laundry and cleaning I could do in the small cottage of mine. I had only taken my car out once and that was to get some groceries.
On Sunday, I lounged by the pool, catching up on some reading, and I called Denise. I avoided any 'Trey' topics during the conversation, but it wasn’t easy. She still wanted to have us over.
Monday morning started out fairly gloomy. It was overcast, and the weather report indicated that a line of heavy storms was moving in later in the day. I wanted to get some training in; it was therapeutic for me. I knew that I would feel a little weird around Mark after the botched kiss situation from Friday night, but I had no choice but to get past it.
I went to the stables and got Derringer’s tack in place. We headed over to the arena. I saw Jenna as I was walking Derringer up to the entrance gate. She had a sourer look on her face than usual. I generally tried to ignore Jenna, but this morning, she was on a mission.
“Well, if it isn’t the Slut of Sinclair Manor,” she hissed. I looked around to be sure that she had actually been addressing me.
“What’s your problem now, Jenna?”
“Is there no one you won’t fuck to get ahead?”
“I think you are confusing me with you,” I retorted, appearing unaffected by her nasty accusation.
“You bitch,” she sneered. “You knew damn well that I have been seeing Mark. As soon as your main fuck leaves town, you hit on mine!”
By this time, passers-by were turning their heads to observe the woman dressed in 1845 period clothing, hair tightly pulled up in a bun, prim and proper cursing at me using language that would make a drunken sailor blush.
Mark had apparently heard the exchange from where he was inside the gate of the arena; he quickly stepped outside, opening the gate so that I could take Derringer inside.
“Mark,” I said, “I think Jenna would like to talk to you.”