His words hit a little too close to the mark. His words hurt and I don’t need anymore pain right now. I’m done. I just want him gone from my apartment, my life.
“Mateo, you can’t fix me. I’m not your goddam Boy Scout project and I just want to you to go. Delete my number. Don't call me. Just go.”
He stares at me for what seems like and hour, his jaw tight and blue eyes blazing. He opens his mouth to say one more thing and Livvy interrupts, her tone soft in the midst of all this anger.
“Just go, Mateo. Please.”
He transfers his gaze to her and something in her expression deflates him. He nods, never looking at me as he brushes past and leaves my room.
I stand there until I hear him close the front door and then I turn, ready to vent to Livvy about what a judgmental asshole he is. She’s standing in the doorway, the look on her face something I can’t place. Diappointment? Anger? Hesitation?
“What?” You can’t think he was right to say all that shit to me?”
“I think he meant well because he’s a nice guy and cares about you but I don’t think it was his place.” I breathe out a sigh of relief and open my mouth to start the Mateo roast but she keeps talking. “But, I don’t think what he said was wrong.” She holds up a hand when I rush to argue. “I’m leaving you here and it scares the shit out of me that your normal reaction to any kind of situation is to get high. You had a panic attack and you didn’t even try any of the exercises Dr. Shrieve taught you.”
“You never said anything before,” I say and I am unable to keep the betrayal out of my voice.
“I just did.” She steps forward and pulls me into a hug, her body shaking with her emotion. “I know what your plans are and I’ll support you with whatever you plan to do in the end. But I love you and I want you to stick around. I’m with Mateo, I don’t want to turn on the news anytime soon and I find that I can’t call my best friend anymore.”
I’m stunned. Speechless, which is a rare situation for me, and with the pills I just took, I’m not reacting as quickly as I want and she’s pulling away before I can stop her.
For the second time in less than ten minutes, a person walks out of my room without looking back.
Chapter Eight
Carlisle
The usual crowd is at Mateo and Zane’s house.
It isn’t a full blown party but there always seems to be a crowd hanging out on the back deck or in the living room playing music or watching a game. This time I find Zane sitting on the patio outside, drinking a beer and strumming guitars with three other guys while a half dozen girls watch them and try to be the one who gets to go home with the musician. I recognize some of them from class but none of their smiles are friendly. I’m the perceived competition and I am the enemy until I am eliminated. Dating these days isn't that different from professional sports.
“Hey Ariel,” Zane nods at me as I approach, his smirk knowing and his words coated with “I-knew-this-would-happen” gloating. “You here to patch things up with our boy?”
I’m not getting into my business in front of all these strangers but I nod. “Is he here?”
“In his room,” he says and opens his mouth as if he had more to say but then shut it, jerking his chin in the direction of the house.
I walk inside the house and up the stairs, bypassing the people playing Playstation on the couch for Mateo’s room. For once in a very long time, I don’t regret the fact that my taking them two-at-a-time-days are over. I’ve got some apologizing to do and like anyone with a healthy ego, it’s not a skill set I like using very often. But I was wrong and I need to own up to it.
I knock on his door and wait for the inevitable “fuck off” and I’m not disappointed. His voice is rough, harsh and unwelcoming. Well, this girl is not scared by the Big Bad Wolf routine. It takes more than a grumpy man to send me running…metaphorically, of course.
I turn the doorknob and it slides open and I stick my head in. Mateo is lying on his bed surrounded by a large manila envelope and papers, a beer in one hand and the other tucked behind his head. He’s wearing a pair of old camo print shorts and nothing else and I can’t help the way my eyes take off on their own journey and travel over the broad width of his chest and the sculpted perfection of his abs. His skin is dark from the early summer sun but I can see the place where his tan line ends peeking out from the open “v” of his unbuttoned shorts.
The dark happy trail entices me to follow its lead and I’m rewarded by the sight of his long expanse of skin broken only by the dusting of dark hair on his pecs and the silken swirl in his armpits. Stubble on his face just elevates his classification from hot to molten and I have to grip the doorknob a little harder to resist the urge to jump his bones.
Instead, I decided to dazzle him with my incredible conversation skills.
“Hey,” I say and I have serious doubts about how this is going to end if I can’t do any better than that.
He twists his head to the side and gives me the once over before turning back to his original position. “Hey.”
“Can I come in?
“If my telling you to fuck off didn't stop you, I don't know if anything else will work,” he grumbles before taking a sip of his beer.
I take that as the only invitation I’m going to get and move fully inside the room, closing the door behind me with a click. The noises from the rest of the house die down to a low rumble and the almost silence in his room is intimidating when I realize that this entire exercise is going to require me to fill it with words. Real words. Not the bullshit you spout at parties or the small talk you make Aunt Irma at Christmas. Real. Fucking. Words.
“Are you going to stand there and ogle me or are you here for a reason?” he asks, his voice muffled by the forearm he now has draped across his face so he can block me out. Nice try. I am completely unembarrassed by the fact that I was ogling him not five seconds ago. I bet money he ogles himself too when he looks in a mirror.
I take the four steps it takes to reach his bed, kick off my sandals and climb in next to him. I settle in beside him, lying on my back, so I can look him in the eye if he ever decides to stop hiding.
“You’re on my bed.”
“I am.”
He sighs. “Why are you on my bed?”
“I’m fulfilling one of your deepest fantasies.”
That gets his attention and he lowers his arm, his blue eyes narrowed and full of questions. He doesn't look as mad as he was yesterday and I breathe out my own relief.
“I’m admitting I was wrong. I’m sorry,” I say.
“You think that’s my deepest fantasy?” he asks.
“I thought it was every man’s fantasy to have a woman admit she was wrong,” I say, venturing out with a light smile when he huffs out a tiny laugh and relaxes a little bit. “I’m really sorry. I’m not saying I agree with everything you said but I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. You saw me at my worst, I hope.”
He contemplates me for a few seconds, his brain obviously churning with the decision of whether to forgive me or not. I add something hoping to tip him into the “yes” column.
“I’m drug-free today. I had to dodge a few reporters outside my building to come here and I did it buzz-free.”
“Really?” He shifts his head on the bed to align better with my line of sight, his eyes searching, examining my face. I try to meet him head-on, to let him see whatever it is he’s looking for. Down deep I’m hoping he sees me and it’s enough. “Thank you.” He pauses before continuing. “You are a lot of fucking trouble Carlisle Queen.”
His words make me sad, more than a twinge of regret making me squirm. I settle back against the bed and look at the ceiling. I can feel his gaze still on me, like a touch on my cheek and I can almost hear the questions rolling around in his head. He deserves them, he’s helped me out more than anyone lately and I’m ready to share if only to show him that I’m worth all the trouble.
“I was conscious immediately after the b
omb went off.” I begin in a voice that hurts it is so full of gravel. “I don’t remember it going off or throwing me through the air but I remember lying there with pain so bad I threw up.” I swallow and feel his fingers lace with my own as he lends me his strength. I soak it in. I need it. “I was walking with Aaron and other athletes, we were going to have dinner. Afterwards, I couldn't find Aaron at first, the smoke was thick and my eyes watered from the chemicals. I was in a lot of pain but I started crawling to find him.”
I blink as the ceiling goes blurry and I realize I’m crying, not heavy tears but a steady stream of liquid regret and pain and loss flowing out of me. I don’t bother to try and brush them away.
“I found him and I tried to see if he was okay. He wasn’t. When I got up close... half his face was missing. His brain... ” I suck in a deep breath and force the image out of my head. I couldn't help it if it showed up in my dreams but I didn’t have to force it on myself when I was awake. “I draped my body over his and waited to join him. I didn’t want him to be alone. The reports from the paramedics and the police said they found me that way. Barely alive myself but protecting him from any other harm.”
“You guys took care of each other a lot I guess,” he says, tracing a pattern on the back on my palm. It soothes me, grounds me, and I allow myself to accept the comfort. “Two kids so young in such a competitive situation.”
“We did. Or at least Aaron tried.” I sneak a glance at Mateo, the burn of embarrassment heating my cheeks. “As you know, I’m not good with letting people help me.”
“Understatement of the century.”
I sigh and squeeze his hand. “I’m working on it.”
“Apology accepted. Don’t beat yourself up too much about it.”
Mateo places his beer on the side table and moves back to me, gathering me in his arms and holding me close as I let the last of the tears flow. His chest is warm and solid and that precious thud of his heartbeat under his skin comforts me. He sifts his fingers through the length of my hair, playing with the strands as he lets me collect myself.
“You are very strong to survive that, Carlisle. I know you don't feel like it all of the time but you are.”
I laugh against the wall of muscle beneath me, soaking in his scent and wrapping my arms around him. “I take the drugs to get the shit out of my head that comes rushing back when it all gets to ne too much. If I could erase those images, I wouldn’t take anything stronger than the prescriptions I have for pain. Being high turns the movie in my head off for a little while. I’m not sure how strong that is.”
“I think it’s goddam strong,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I never met Aaron but I think he would agree with me.”
I smile at that. These two men couldn't look more different but there is a common core that they share.
“Aaron was strong but it was a quiet power. He wasn’t flashy or a trash talker but he gave one-hundred percent everyday and took care of other people. It was a gift and people flocked to it. They trusted him.” I peek up at Mateo and catch his gaze to watch his reaction to my words. “You two have that in common.”
He rolls his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “Don’t put me on that pedestal. I’ll fall off. I promise.”
“I doubt that but I’m not trying to put you up that high. It’s not your style, at all.”
“You think so?”
I shake my head. “You don't strike me as a glory hound guy.”
We lie their quiet for a few moments, the sounds of the party below drifting up to us. People are laughing and I can hear Zane and his guitar on the deck.
“You’re probably right. Zane’s the one who has to have the spotlight to survive. Not that it’s a bad thing, just listen to him.”
“He seems to have his future all planned out. Fame. Fortune,” I say.
“A growing collection of women’s underwear thrown at him on stage,” Mateo says and I when I look at him to see if he’s telling the truth, he nods. “Yeah. He gets panties, thongs, room keys. The worst was a set of dentures with the woman’s phone number on them written in Sharpie.”
“I think I want to barf.”
“It was really gross but Zane said it was good to know that his demographic is cross generational.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“He’s a half-full kind of guy.”
“Mateo, you can't act like you don't have anything special planned. You’ll be off at medical school soon.” I smack head with the back of my hand, remembering belatedly what happened yesterday. I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “Happy graduation. I’m embarrassed to say that I don't have a present.”
He hugs me close and kisses the end of my nose. “Thanks but this is present enough for me.”
“Nice try but I’m getting you a gift. Maybe a stethoscope or a lab coat. Don't you need those things to be a doctor?”
He tenses beside me and I wonder what I’ve said wrong. I look up him at him but he’s staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight and stiff.
“Did I say something wrong?” The silence stretches for a while longer and I decide he’s not going to answer me. I’ve obviously stepped into something major for him. “I’m sorry if I did.”
“You didn’t say anything wrong, I just don't have any answer for you. I’m not sure I’m even going to medical school. That was a dream I had with my sister Mari and now I don't know if it was ever my dream or if I want it without her.”
I think I know the answer but I have to ask. “What happened to Mari?”
“She died. Eighteen months ago,” he answers. Six months after I lost Aaron. Rough times all around. “It was a brain tumor. Inoperable. It took her six months from the day she was diagnosed.”
He sucks in a wet breath and I keep my eyes down, wanting to give him some privacy to deal with his grief. I understand the need to cry in private.
“I am so sorry. You two were obviously very close.”
“We were only eleven months apart and she was my first friend. My best friend. I loved her more than anyone in the world. She was a force of nature.” He chuckles and I feel his lips against my temple. “I’m not sure how well you two would have gotten along. Two strong women who are used to getting their way.”
“She sounds like she was my kind of girl.” I say and I mean it. I’ve never had any patience for a wilting wallflower. Give me a chick with some thorns any day.
“We were supposed to open a practice together and work with patients one-on-one. The Butler family practice.”
“And now you don’t know if you want to do it by yourself?”
“Yep.” He gestures down to the papers lying beside him on the bed. “This is the paperwork from the school, textbook lists, supplies. I need to make a decision.”
“Not that you’re asking but I think you should try it out and see if the white lab coat fits before bowing out. You might not actually know until you try it.” I think back to my time as a new athlete and the decisions I had to make on the sport I wanted to pursue. “I thought I wanted to be a high diver instead of a swimmer when I began competing.”
“What?”
“Yep.” I lean up on my elbow and look down on him, smiling at his surprise. “I went to a few coaches to see if I had any talent for it and they all said no after it became clear that I couldn't do anything more than belly flop.”
“So what happened?”
The last coach in Baltimore watched me swim laps one morning. I was on a neighborhood swim team and I was practicing. He said my breaststroke was the best he’d ever seen and that I was like a bullet in the water. I moved from Texas to Baltimore a few months later and the rest was history.”
“And twelve medals later... ” He pauses and I know what he’s going to ask. They all want to know. “Where do you keep your medals?”
“Would you believe that I keep them in my underwear drawer?”
“Is that true?”
I just smile.
>
Chapter Nine
Mateo
I wake up in fucking heaven.
Carlisle is curled up against me as the little spoon and my dick is rock hard and nestled into the cleft of her ass. Her hair, silky and scented like gardenias is pillowed against my face, surrounding me with a smell I will always associate with Carlisle. I lean up a little bit on my elbow to look down on her and watch her sleep.
I’ve never seen her so still, so beautiful. Her pale skin has this pinkish glow from the warmth created by our bodies tucked here together in our private cave. I should let her sleep but I can’t, I am dying to taste her first thing in the morning, to feel her surrender before she has the chance to put on her armor. I need the real Carlisle and after our talk yesterday, I might have a chance of having her in the early morning light.
My right hand is resting on her hip and I raise it up, lifting her hair away from her neck and giving me access to the smooth column of warm flesh. I start slow, soft. Barely there kisses that she’ll feel in her dreams, wonder if they are real, and wake to find her good dreams are just as powerful as her nightmares.
She tastes good, like salt and crème, a sexy woman flavor that gets me even harder. I drift my hand down farther, skating over the curve of her breast underneath her tank top, teasing her nipple through the fabric, It peaks and I groan a little, my mouth watering to get a taste, to feel it roll against my tongue.
I lean over her and ease one strap of her top down over a creamy shoulder and indulge. Reaching out with my tongue, I lick the pebbled flesh watching her fingers curl involuntarily into the sheets below us. The fabric twists between her digits, punctuating the moan that escapes her as I suck her entire nipple into my hot, wet mouth. Suddenly her fingers are digging into my scalp, pressing my face down and encouraging me to continue what I’m doing.
I need no further invitation to nudge her over and off her side until her back is flat against the bed. I stretch out beside her and lean over to suck her other nipple through the flimsy fabric of her top. Carlisle arches up into my touch, begging me with her body and the sounds of want and need pouring out of her to keep going.
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