by Xavier Neal
She leans forward onto her arms, but remains silent.
“Plus, it would be great if we didn’t have to have the same fucking conversation every time Calen and I are on an overnight trip somewhere. Despite what the fucking media likes to claim, I’ve never given Wes a reason to think I’m trying to put extra cream in my coffee. It would be nice to have a little more fucking trust.”
Her head falls to the side. “You’ve always had an odd way with words.”
I playfully smile.
“These are all just growing pains, Brynley. Every couple hits them. Just…try to talk to him calmly about what’s bothering you, and I’m sure you’ll eventually reach a point where he worries less and smiles more.” My mouth drops to argue when she cuts me off. “Ten years, honey. Wes kept himself from real situations…real connections for ten years. You’re not the only one who’s going to need a little more understanding.”
Finding her point valid screws my lips shut.
This is the longest relationship either of us has had. It started completely unorthodox and has continued that way. Maybe it’s just his lack of being able to control the media attention that forces the need to clamp down on the control he feels he has outside of it. And as much as I enjoy going with the flow and redirecting his boat when he gets too comfortable behind the wheel just to keep him on his toes, I’m starting to learn when he truly needs that ability to dominate. Hopefully we both learn to adjust long before children are even on the table for consideration. The last thing we need is any more unexpected changes.
I click the middle option under the picture and then return to scrolling.
The actions spur Brynley to huff, “Are we registering for wedding gifts or taking a fucking pop quiz?”
Instantly a lopsided grin appears on my face.
“Pick that one!” Brynley demands, finger leaving a smudge behind.
“Don’t…touch the screen,” I fuss and grab the cloth to clean it.
“It’s a touch screen, Wes. It’s what it’s fucking for.”
After buffing the spot, I give her a look of disapproval. “Not with chocolate or peanut butter or whatever that sticky shit is currently on your hands.”
She glares but bites her tongue.
Very unlike her. Now that I think about it she’s been acting a little off this week. Ever since she had lunch with her mother on Sunday, there’s been something slightly different. She’s been moodier yet stifling the urge to argue. Almost like she’s afraid to upset me, which is something in the entire time I’ve known her she’s never given a shit about. That thought has been keeping me up at night and gnawing at me in the back of my mind. Is she keeping something from me? Is she suddenly convinced I’m a monster with an uncontrollable temper who won’t understand whatever it is she secretly wants to discuss?
“Are these gifts even really for us or are they for Lucky?” Brynley promptly returns to complaining. “I mean when’s the last time I really had to cook? What the fuck do I need with a Martha Stewart Copper plated baking set? I don’t even bake!”
I shift in the kitchen chair that’s beside hers and playfully poke, “Maybe being married will change that.”
She gives me sarcastic sneer. “Maybe being married will change how often I let you fuck me in the kitchen.”
The bite back receives a chuckle as well as provides me with minor relief.
Brynley has never coddled my ego before. The last thing I need in a world where everyone is waiting for me to make a mistake, then anxious to see if it’ll destroy me or if I’ll recover, is a significant other who feels she has to nurse my emotions because she believes they are too fragile. I relish in her lack of pulling punches. And love the way her eyes glisten when she playfully glares.
“Should we check out cleaning and organizing materials?”
My eyes meet her irritated ones.
“Recreational sports equipment?”
She counters with a smirk. “Recreational sex equipment?”
I can feel my face flush without my consent.
“Set of vibrators for my-”
“We are not registering for sex toys.” The moment I turn back to face the screen, Brynley’s body bumps mine out of the way to type. Seeing the first word, has me grumbling, “What did I just say?”
“First of all, you don’t get to make all the fucking rules,” she snips with a scowl. “Second of all, lube technically isn’t a sex toy. It’s used with sex toys.”
“We’re not registering for fucking lube.”
“Lube is used for fucking. Yes.”
“Brynley.”
Her head slowly angles my direction while her finger violently hits in the enter key.
The defiance and disregard for my decision does as I’m sure she intended. Swiftly, I crash my lips against hers, shove the lap top out of her reach, and wrap my fingers around the nape of her neck. She snickers triumphantly and slides into my lap. Her tongue lightly touches mine, goading me to let go of the last inkling of control I’m holding onto. On a low groan, I tighten my grip and allow my tongue to deliver the dark prelude of what’s to come.
Suddenly, there’s a harsh throat clearing that pulls our attention over my shoulder.
Brynley lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re like an ancient Kung Fu Master in the art of cock blocking, you know that?”
“This from the woman who insults every potential love interest I’ve come across in the past six months.”
My fiancée hums her disagreement. “Love interest? No. Pussy interest? Yes.”
J.T.’s complexion tries to avoid embarrassment.
“Be thankful I saved your dick and bank account from getting the wrong kind of clap.”
“I always use a Trojan!”
His blurted defense cherries his face.
Brynley immediately tosses her head back on a giggle.
I give a swift swat to her ass. “Behave.”
She snickers at the same time our eyes meet. “That’s not at all how you make that happen. Actually…that’s how you-”
“Please don’t finish that sentence,” J.T. whines loudly.
After another laugh, she questions, “You two probably have work to discuss, huh?”
Still smiling widely, I reply, “We do.”
“Does that mean I’m off the hook for finishing the test?”
I roll my eyes. “We were shopping.”
“Maybe you were.” She climbs off my lap. “I was busy wondering why I didn’t stay up late studying last night.” The joke causes me to frown, which is when she leans her face closer to mine. “Oh that’s right…I did. Just a different subject. You know…I do love your anatomy….”
My groan is equal parts hungry and frustrated with her keen ability to fluster me.
“Why were you taking a test?” J.T. invades the conversation.
Instead of answering him, I tip my lips up to hers. Our meeting is brief and ends with a playful bite to my bottom lip.
Brynley stands all the way back up and announces, “I’m gonna head to the institute and finalize everything for the trip this weekend.”
I force a smile onto my face, trying to mask the hatred I have for her spending so much time with another man. “I love you.”
She returns the smile except hers is filled with mischief. “And I expect you to show me just how much when I get home and Puppet Boy is gone.”
“Later AquaWoman.”
Together we watch her saunter through the living room, grab her wallet, keys, and exit promptly.
My eye lift to J.T.’s who repeats his previous question. “What test?”
With the shake of my head, I stand and sigh, “There was no test. We were trying to register for wedding gifts.”
“Did you guys request one of those Star Trek pizza cutters?” The excitement in his voice reminds me of Bryn’s.
If it were up to her the list would look like something that belongs to a college freshman, virgin instead of a well-established in life couple. As much a
s J.T. and Bryn’s friendship sometimes bothers me, it pales in comparison to the one she has with Calen. Not only do they work together, travel together, and hang out together when I’ve been pulled away on business, they seem to have a closeness I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable with. At times it’s as if he’s her work husband and I’m her at home one. The bond they share simmers a steady restlessness right below the surface, but I know it’s what’s needed to get their job done. They have to trust one another when out in the ocean or near the tanks. They have to be able to rely on each other to save animals and relocate them to the best care. They have to agree on the best decisions for creatures that are incapable of voicing their opinions, all while maintaining the integrity of the institute. I understand. I really do. Still fucking hate it.
The two of us abandon the kitchen for my office.
I take a seat in the black leather chair behind the glass desk while J.T. drops into the black lounge chair closer to the large glass window.
He props his legs on the stool. “I had breakfast with Evie this morning.”
“Professional or personal?”
“Professional. She’s not my type.”
“Not nerdy enough?”
My teasing is met with a glower. “Beginning to wonder if I missed this side of you as much as I thought….”
I lightly laugh.
“She expressed how pleased she is with our personal presence as well as the company’s. Our general public opinion is high and well received.”
The emphasis on the specific word isn’t lost upon me. “General.”
He tries not to grimace. “Wes, we aren’t going to please everyone-”
“Who doesn’t like us now?”
“It’s not just now….They’ve never really liked us. Well, not us, so much as you.”
My glower is instant. “Global Laundry.”
He reluctantly nods. “They seem determined to make a mockery of you, which Evie says we should ignore.”
Easy for her to declare. She isn’t the one who is constantly being accused of being callous, cold, and calculating. Each week the online stories twist whatever it is they possibly can. Brynely’s trip to California was her weekend away with her lover. Our romantic dinner out in which I reserved all the tables on the back patio of a bistro, so we could have privacy, so we could enjoy a meal without people staring at my hideous mug, was altered to claim I was attempting to deny them business for a hostile takeover of the restaurant’s space for one of my pending purchases. It’s ludicrous. It’s also the reason I’ve had to bump up security efforts, especially for when Brynley is out of town. Another argument that ensued because of Global fucking Laundry.
“She believes we should continue to keep the focus on the great things you’ve been doing. The charitable causes you’re helping. The random commendable things as well. Like the way you helped that homeless Vet to the shelter then stuck around to have conversations with him and the others. That was golden.”
I was leaving the office for the day. I had had enough of everything and everyone in the building. Just needed some air. On the corner, there was a disheveled, homeless Vet, begging for change. I got ready to slip cash in his cup and keep walking when I began to wonder when the last time someone spoke to him like a human being. We started talking and eventually, I gave him the cash as well as convinced him to let me buy him a meal. Leading him to the shelter wasn’t the original intention, but I’m glad I did. He might get the help he needs there. It also allowed me to see how there are many more men and women like him who could use some additional help as well as support. After listening to stories, I stopped by and made a sizeable donation. Once I got home I arranged for it to be recurring. Myra began babbling about all the qualifications the shelter lacked for her donating criteria, and I simply ended it with a firm reminder she works for me.
Rarely do I actually play that card.
“I didn’t do it for the press, J.T.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” my voice growls. “Because lately it seems your concerns with my appearance go hand in hand with Evie’s.”
He lowers his eyebrows and leans forward. “My concerns are you and Wilcox Enterprise, Wes. The last thing I want is for people to think you’re just another run of the mill asshole with too much money and no ties to keep him grounded. All I want is for the world to know the man who stood by me at my mother’s grave. The man who helped put me through college. The man who would give me his fucking kidney if it were a match or call in every favor he’s ever been owed to get me one that does.”
The tightness in his tone matches the one in my chest. Realizing I may have overreacted, I try to soothe the situation. “I don’t know about every favor….Definitely one or two.”
J.T. rolls his eyes, but lets the building tension die. “My point was Evie wants us to give Global Laundry’s cries for attention the least amount of press as possible. She wants the media concerned with how the company stocks are rising, the high sales from the Morgan brand merger, and what we’re doing to celebrate the 4th of the July, on both a professional and personal level.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “What the hell does it matter what we’re doing?”
“Holidays are a great time to contribute to a positive focus and relate to the masses.”
It’s infuriating how much he does sound like our publicist. She’s basically forcing him to live up to the nickname Brynley lovingly bestowed upon him.
“I’m thinking we should go to the annual Highland festival. It’s fun. It’s got a great crowd. Plus, you’ve been expressing the desire to build up local businesses in the city. This is a great place to find those opportunities.” He receives a slow nod, which prompts him to continue, “I actually think we should make it an annual attendance for us. It’s a great way to be in the community. It’s a great way for you to mingle in a more comfortable setting.” Another nod is given and he adds, “And it’s a great place for Bryn to cuss like a sailor without needing to be reprimanded.”
My small chortle is cut short by the ringing of my cellphone.
He motions for me to take it, pulling out his own device as well.
I answer while turning on my desktop to proceed with the work day.
J.T. has a valid point about the annual festival. Being there will allow me not only the chance to see where I can boost other businesses, but allow me to observe where it is I can really do some good in the city. Where I can potentially help more people without all the bells and whistles. I don’t need the press’ permission to make a difference. I just need my own.
Wes lifts his coffee mug to his lips, eyes planted on the horizon where the sun is anxiously trying to erase the night sky. I lean against the glass patio door with a small smirk on my face.
He does this every time I have to go out of town overnight. He’s given us our own little fucked up goodbye routine I absolutely adore. The night before I leave we have an easy meal, just the two of us. Then we come until I can’t remember my own name. That’s his not so subtle way of making sure I’m satisfied during my stretch out of our bed. Afterwards Wes hardly sleeps more than an hour, dicks around in his office for two, and then arranges us a romantic breakfast on the patio. It’s nothing more than his nerves rattled, which, unless I am doing in a fun way, I actually hate.
I quietly stroll over and run my hands down the front of his chest, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Morning.”
His entire body seems to relax from my touch. “Morning, baby.”
Once I’ve settled in the patio chair beside him, I reach for a bright red strawberry from the bowl on the table.
“Sleep well?”
Crossing my legs shifts my short silk robe open. “Would’ve been better if you were next to me.”
His eyes briefly drop down to the sight of my exposed thigh. “You wouldn’t have been sleeping.…”
I hum my agreement.
“Coffee?” Wes’ eyes link with mine. “Orange juice?”<
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Quickly, I shake my head. “Eating light. We’re basically going straight to the water when we arrive.”
“What for?”
“Releasing the offspring of some stingrays. They’ve reached maturation and it’s time to release them to make room for more.”
The protected breeding program K&T has is equal parts extensive and exquisite. Their dedicated efforts to not only keep a species from experiencing further decline, but to release them into protected waters that are constantly patrolled is admirable. If it weren’t for Wes, I would work on a transfer to their institute. That would be a great direction for my future to take aside from the whole having to give up the love of my life part.