Triangle

by Sara L Daigle

  “Hey, Tam-ala. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m almost done. Maybe another twenty minutes.”

  “Good. I have a surprise for you.”

  Tamara’s stomach clenched. “A surprise?” She didn’t do well with surprises.

  There was laughter in his voice as he replied, having either picked up on her emotions or the tone of her voice. “I’m fairly confident you’ll like this one. See you soon.”

  “Bye.” She hung up her phone. Alarin’s little announcement meant that she had absolutely no concentration left, so she wrapped up her studying five minutes later. Closing down her room, she paused, both hearing and sensing a group of students chattering and talking as they came through the fire door from the outer hallway into the more intimate space of the lounge area, their thoughts loud and rather boisterous. Sometimes it was hard to live in the middle of so much mental chaos. She thickened her shields, suddenly grateful for the haven that Alarin’s shielded apartment provided. She could have shielded her room, but she’d decided not to bother, since they were so rarely there. Picking up her book bag, and using her psi to help steady it on her shoulder, she pulled open her door.

  One of the students, whom she knew only because she’d had him in a couple of classes, waved to her as she passed, and she waved back as she headed out the door of the dorm, not giving him the opportunity to say anything to her. She walked across the block to the nearby twelve-story public apartment complex and made her way upstairs to Alarin’s apartment.

  The smell of food wafted out from underneath the door, and she frowned slightly. Was that coming from their place? If so, it was unusual; the kitchen rarely got used, and Alarin hadn’t revealed any ability to cook in the time she’d known the Azellians. As a matter of fact, given that Merran’s kitchen was only used for tea once in a while, she’d almost thought Azellian men didn’t perform kitchen tasks. Rather than use her psi, she put her key in the lock and unlocked it manually.

  She pushed open the door and entered the foyer, dropping her book bag on the floor by the door. She couldn’t quite see the kitchen from here, but those smells were strong, and she could hear the sound of Alarin humming.

  “Hello?” she called, although she expected that Alarin knew very well she’d come in, particularly once she’d passed through the shields. With a virtuoso ability she both admired and envied, he monitored the status of the shielding around the apartment with a part of the mind she hadn’t used yet. She’d explored his mind thoroughly enough to know that he had access to levels she’d never dreamed existed. Both he and Greg had tried to get her to access those levels, too, but it was hard, painstaking work, and Greg … well, Greg would be gone for quite some time, so she expected the lessons would be on hold until he returned from Ather.

  She pushed the worry for Greg to the back of her mind as she felt the familiar warmth of Alarin’s mind entwine itself around hers. “Hello,” he said, coming around the corner, wearing nothing but an apron and holding a wooden spoon stained with brown. Incongruously, the apron said, “Mother’s Kitchen” in bold black letters. Tied over his naked body, it looked silly and sexy at the same time.

  Tamara’s eyebrow shot up. “My my. What have you been up to?” She glanced at the spoon in his hand. “What’s that?”

  “A spoon. I thought I’d cook dinner tonight. And provide … entertainment.”

  Tamara giggled. “You’re doing that,” she said, coming forward to wrap her arms around him. Although most of him was exposed, he felt warm, his free arm sliding around her body as he pulled her closer to him. “What’s with the outfit?”

  “You don’t like it?” he asked, rubbing against her.

  “Uh, it’s interesting,” she said as she scratched her fingers lightly down his back, “but it’s not designed to allow you to complete dinner or prevent us from getting rather thoroughly distracted.” She sniffed. “What’s cooking?”

  “Ah,” Alarin replied, tapping her nose lightly with the spoon, leaving a smear of whatever it was on the tip. “A very special human recipe, which I discovered, after much digging and searching, is your favorite. It’s called, I believe, Swedish Meatballs. I’ve also cooked mashed potatoes, and a vegetable, which I am also assured is your favorite, broccoli. For dessert, I went a bit Azellian, though, and made some pyrit.”

  Tamara hastily blinked away sudden hot tears, overwhelmed and touched that he’d made her favorite comfort foods.

  Alarin leaned forward and kissed the smear off her nose. “I take it from the tone of your reaction that you’re happy?”

  “Happy? You could say that. I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I was our family cook’s favorite because I liked to putter in the kitchen with him. I haven’t had much opportunity since we arrived on Earth. I know you’ve been a bit depressed these past few weeks because of Greg’s leaving and—” He stopped. “For other reasons. I thought you might need a little cheering up. The apron was to add a little spice, and because it’s been ages since I’ve been able to go around like this. The dorm wasn’t exactly a place I could spend time without clothes on.” He hugged her tightly. For all his state of undress and her closeness, his body wasn’t nearly as excited as it usually was in these situations, and she knew that he was worried about her reaction.

  Tamara held him tighter, suddenly awash in emotion and unable to speak. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him ferociously—passionately. He made a sound, low in his throat, and kissed her back, responding to her hunger. By the time they pulled apart, he was as thoroughly excited as he’d ever been, wearing the cocky, self-assured grin she hadn’t seen in months. She’d realized recently that Alarin had struggled a lot more than she’d imagined since starting to date her. And she knew, for the first time on a deep level, that despite the hurt it had caused her, Merran had been right. She’d made the decision, albeit subconsciously, but it had taken Merran to actually say it out loud. She probably would have dragged it on and caused more damage. “You’re going to burn the food,” she said breathlessly, after another long, passionate embrace.

  “I don’t care,” he replied, breathing hard, his eyes unfocused. He leaned his head forward to kiss Tamara’s neck.

  “I do. My taste buds,” she squirmed as he hit a particularly sensitive area, “my taste buds … are all happy for what I’m smelling.” She gasped as he slid his hands around her back. “At least turn it down? Alari. Please?”

  He stopped and lifted his head, grinning impishly. “All right.”

  She shivered as he stepped away from her, turning toward the kitchen and the dinner. She trailed him into the kitchen, giving herself plenty of room to watch him walk in front of her—she had to admit, it was a very nice view—then slid her arms around his waist as he stirred the meatballs and turned them down to a low setting. The mashed potatoes were put to the back of the stove to keep them warm, and he stuck the broccoli in the microwave. Alarin turned to her after he was done and lowered his head to kiss her again. “I like it,” he said, after they came up for air.

  “Like what?”

  “You don’t call me Alari very often.” He brushed her hair off her shoulders. “I like it.”

  Tamara pulled his head down to hers. “I’ll call you whatever you want, Alari, if it will get you to kiss me.”

  He grinned and kissed her again.

  The dinner didn’t quite burn—but the whole interlude was rather more rushed than normal, because Tamara’s stomach growled insistently at several key moments, sending them both into peals of laughter and disrupting the mood. Afterwards, they served up dinner and ate, Tamara, much to Alarin’s amusement, putting on a robe and primly spreading towels on the chairs before they sat down.

  “I can’t eat dinner naked,” she protested his teasing as she laid the towels on the chairs, “and we don’t need to get our butts all over the chairs. For one thing they’re not our chairs, and for another, it’s just disgusting.”

  Alarin laughed. “You’re adorable.”
He straightened the apron that had gotten rather twisted during their earlier activities. “And I hope you enjoy the food.”

  “I still want to know,” she said, after she took a bite and found the meatballs to be absolutely perfect, the mashed potatoes exactly as creamy as they should be, and the broccoli as crisp as she liked it, despite the delay in service, “how you found out that this is my favorite meal. Did you call my dad?”

  “Your sister actually.”

  “My sister … Andreya? You actually talked to Andreya?”

  “I did. She gave me the recipes and told me how you liked everything.” He looked at her steadily. There wasn’t quite a challenge in his eyes, but it was close. A challenge of what, though?

  “She actually told you? That’s a surprise. Hell, I’m surprised she bothered to figure out my favorite meal. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you to cook things I can’t stand. Like oysters. Or raw fish. That’s her usual speed, Ms. Competitive. We might have reached some level of communication between us, but not that much.”

  Alarin shrugged. “I think because you told her about your Azellian background during your vacation, it made a difference. She was certainly chatty enough with me, and I was listening for rancor, believe me. Just so you know, I wouldn’t have made oysters or raw fish. Besides the fact that I’m not too fond of them myself, I can usually tell when someone’s lying to me.”

  Tamara made a vaguely noncommittal sound, although he was probably right. She had finally come clean with Andreya during their vacation, admitting to her that they were only half-sisters, that the woman they both called mother hadn’t been hers, and that she was in love with Alarin—although she hadn’t gone so far as to share about her relationship with Merran. Come to think of it, Andreya had seemed much less touchy during the vacation, and except for Tamara’s misery that Alarin wasn’t around, their time together had passed rather pleasantly, at least between her and Andreya.

  She shook her head, pushing the memories away. “Maybe. The vacation went better than I expected between her and me. Maybe it’s because Dad and I are having a rough time. Andreya doesn’t feel like the child who was left out anymore.”

  “Oh? You didn’t tell me he was giving you a hard time.”

  How could she tell him that her father was against her relationship with him? She shrugged. “Dad’s just worried about me. That I’ll end up the way he did. It’s more about his family’s prejudices and his experiences than it is about me.” She finished the last of her meal and sat back, rubbing her stomach. “Hmmm, that was really good. Really, really good.” She looked up at him and grinned. “I think I’ll keep you. Fantastic cook, fantastic lover … what more could one ask for?”

  He opened his mind to her, inviting her in. “Meld with me.”

  She hesitated only for a moment, then let her shields thin so that she could wind her mind around his. The familiar sensation, fast becoming something she craved, spread through her body. She let the rhythms of their connection take her deep, as deep as they’d ever gone, before spiraling out into an ecstasy that consumed her and left her pleasantly exhausted. She was only vaguely aware that Alarin had gotten them to the bed, but as she curled around him and drifted off to sleep, and as she sank deep into his embrace, she was perfectly content and happy with her world.

  The ringing of her cell phone jerked her out of a sound sleep the next morning. Scrambling over a startled Alarin, she grabbed for it. “Hello?” she said, trying not to sound sleepy but knowing she’d failed.

  “Tammy?” It was her father’s familiar voice. “Did I wake you?”

  “Dad?” She stretched. “No, that’s all right. It’s …” she looked at the glowing digital clock by the bed. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to work this morning anyway … in two hours. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to double check and see if you were going to be coming home for dinner tonight. Your Uncle Jim and Aunt Nancy are in town.”

  Tamara glanced at Alarin, who grinned at her from his position sprawled on the bed. He sat up and reached for her, pulling her quite firmly into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. “Of course,” she said into the phone, as Alarin kissed her shoulder, pressing himself against her with increasing intensity. It was hard to concentrate with him doing that, but she forced herself to pay attention. “What time’s dinner? I work until three.”

  “That’s fine. You can come by when you’re done with work. Oh, and Jim and Nancy told me quite firmly to invite your boyfriend too. Apparently, Andreya has been telling them you are involved with someone and they want to meet him.” Peter’s voice was deceptively casual. In the months since she’d become involved with the Azellians, he’d met Alarin, of course, including right after the first time she and Alarin had slept together, but since she’d started dating Alarin openly, he hadn’t been particularly welcoming. He’d probably explode if he knew they were effectively living together.

  “I’ll ask Alarin if he wants to join us for dinner,” Tamara replied, trying not to catch her breath as Alarin escalated his attempts to distract her. Mention of his name made him stop momentarily, though, and he looked at her with a question in his eyes. “I’ll call you later today and let you know what he says. Are you going into work this morning?”

  “No, your aunt and uncle are arriving in town at noon, so I’m going to work from home this morning. All right, honey, give me a call later,” Peter said, sounding distracted. “I have another call coming in. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

  “Bye, Dad,” Tamara said and hung up the phone. She leaned over to put the phone on the bedside table. Alarin caressed her as she came back into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She shifted so her legs wrapped around his waist. “Do you really want to come to this dinner thing tonight? In the middle of my half-crazy family?”

  “Of course.” He kissed her nose lightly. She rested her head against his shoulder and he pulled her tighter, opening his shields simultaneously and inviting her to read the truth in him. “It’s your family, Tam-ala. As much as they frustrate you, I can accept them. I can even understand your father’s barely restrained hostility.”

  She lifted her head. “You know about that? I mean, he’s not precisely hostile, just worried about me.”

  Alarin snorted. “You’re not on the receiving end, akila. He’s being polite, but he would be quite content if I went away forever. Of course I know he’s not at all happy that we’re together. But it doesn’t matter in the long run. It’s not his choice to make.”

  She put her head back down and nuzzled her nose against his neck, breathing in the warm, slightly spicy scent that was Alarin. “That’s true,” she murmured, distracting him by kissing the side of his neck. Although she would perhaps have rather just cuddled, he responded quite enthusiastically. It wasn’t until she was alone in the shower, letting the hot water hit her head and shoulders, that she had a chance to think about how things were going. Alarin had most definitely changed since Merran ended their relationship. Just before he left, Greg had told her he’d managed to block Merran’s presence. It looked like it had worked—and was holding. Even though Alarin had always thrown himself passionately into their lovemaking sessions, this past week he’d been downright demanding, taking every chance he could to drag her off alone, seeming to take intense sensual delight in simply touching her.

  Had Merran’s presence made him that uncomfortable and put such a huge damper on him? What she had come to expect as a once- or maybe twice-a-week frequency had almost quadrupled, even quintupled, this past week, and Tamara wasn’t sure she was comfortable with the change. Her frequency with Merran had never been all that great to begin with; Merran had too much on his mind and was too buried in work to have much energy left for anything else, but she’d considered that she and Alarin were well matched. This week, however, his stamina was leaving her in the dust. She sighed
and turned off the water. Maybe things would calm down once he’d reassured himself that she was here, with him, and wasn’t going anywhere.

  Her cell phone rang from the other room. As she dried herself off, she heard Alarin answer it. “Just a minute, Kari, let me get her,” he responded. Oddly enough, he didn’t tease her in his usual fashion.

  He knocked on the bathroom door, and Tamara opened it, a puff of steam tumbling out as she did. “Kari?”

  He nodded and handed her the phone. He ignored her state of undress, as though they were both fully clothed, even though he wore nothing either. It was odd but not odd at the same time. Alarin had an ability to shift from noticing nudity to ignoring it completely with an ease she sometimes envied, because she was always aware when she had no clothes on. He turned back to the kitchen where he continued to clean up from last night’s dinner.

  “Kari. Hey. What’s up?”

  “Just checking to see if you have to work today.” She sounded odd, almost choked up.

  “Yeah, I do, but what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing big.” She was silent for a few moments, as if struggling to gain control over tears. “It can wait.”

  “What happened?” Tamara asked, straining to pick up something from the tone in Kari’s voice and the connection between them through the phone. Merran was good enough to read someone over the phone, but Tamara hadn’t quite gotten the hang of that yet. She chased down a possibility. “Did something happen between you and Damiar?”

  Kari’s breath caught. “Yes and no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When do you have to go to work?” She sniffed again. “I don’t want to start the story, then get interrupted.” She was most definitely crying.

  “About an hour. I can call work and see if I can come in late, though.” Tamara offered. “Things are pretty relaxed over there on Saturdays.”