“My parents would only agree to fund my study abroad if they had final approval of accommodation. I’m a grown man, but they still worry about me.”
“Fair enough.” His answers came off evasive, but who was I to judge not wanting to reveal all the ugly truths of what lurked behind my family background.
“And you? Tell me something about you? I only know you study hard and work at the bistro.”
Now I laughed. “Bistro. You mean coffee slop shop. Bistro is more high-end. We make breakfast and lunch sandwiches and serve simple coffee and tea drinks. There is nothing glamorous about what we do.” I sipped from my drink, stifling down the thought of a bistro.
“I suppose we need a dictionary to translate and make this easier.” He provided a wry smile, and something fluttered inside me. A genuineness in his ease to get to know me and not the guru of football around this town unsettled me.
“What do you want to know? There isn’t much beyond what you see.”
“I want to know how you became a mechanic?”
I placed my wine glass on the coffee table. “I’m not a mechanic. I work on my car and a few others.”
“Somebody must have shown you how to do it. I don’t have a clue about fixing things. You said you fixed a washer too?”
“My grandpa. He was a handyman. He taught me everything I know.”
Edward placed his glass next to mine and shifted closer to me on the couch. Seth and I often played shoulder to shoulder when we played video games. This closeness with Edward, though, sparked something else inside me entirely. I studied his defined cheekbones and strong jaw. Those crystal blue eyes sparkled with desire. One that confused me. I knew he played for the same team, so did Seth.
It never bothered me. Seth knew I loved the soft curves of a woman with the perfect heaviness of a size B to C cup and pert nipples that stiffened under my skilled tweaks, licks, and suction, driving them all mad. I loved how their waist thinned, but their hips widened. The enjoyment of tongue fucking them into climax, and then shoving my stiff cock into their slick holes while they continued to pulsate around me. Nothing compared in my life to that feeling, and Seth and I were open with one another about our experiences. He usually told me from his more passive perspective. I suppose if Seth had been female, we would have been married at eighteen and lived happily ever after knowing he enjoyed receiving, and I was a generous giver or so the females in my life gossiped about.
Edward licked his lips and pushed himself in my direction as the doorbell buzzed, breaking the moment. A moment that confused the shit out me. Why would Edward be any different from Seth?
“Pizza must be here. I hope you have a big appetite. I’m famished.” He tapped my knee as he brushed passed me. My cock woke up and ached against the buttons of my fly.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath. Why would my dick choose now to have a thirteen-year-old uncontrolled hard-on? Perhaps my harshness fell unwarranted on Scarlett the other night. I toyed with the thought of seeking her willing hole out after I left Edward’s tonight. My dry spell after Deborah must be getting to me.
“Can I interest you in more wine?” Edward stood in the kitchen with the pizza boxes.
I grabbed our glasses and moved his direction with a little wiggle of my hips, adjusting the relentless bulge in my jeans. Edward’s gaze shifted down my body as I approached, stopping at what we both knew hid behind my fly. Nothing worse than getting caught with the unwarranted hard-on.
He raised a brow but left the obvious alone.
“No. A glass of water would be great, though.”
“I ordered a meat feast pizza and the veggie option. What would you prefer?” I noticed the table set with silverware and cloth napkins. He held a plate in his hand next to the water glass he filled.
My mother’s words came back to me, “Mind your manners.”
“I’ll take a piece of each.” I moved toward the table and took the seat facing the kitchen. Watching Edward, it became clear. I debated how to finish our meal and leave. There was too much clouding my brain, and escaping became my primary goal. His gracious invite welcomed, but the situation became awkward because I obviously needed to lose myself in something I didn’t quite understand.
He brought our plates and made one trip back for the water and the open bottle of wine.
With the cloth napkin stretched and placed over his lap and silverware in hand, he started cutting his pizza. I mimicked his behavior. I’d never eaten pizza with a knife and fork. I also never treated it as an exquisite delicacy. I shuddered inside at our first experience at the diner. He must have thought me a pig. I inhaled my burger in two bites, never breathing or talking between bites.
I stared at Edward, fascinated as he twisted of his fork to keep the cheese wound around the fork's tines and his using the knife to help clean up each bite before it entered his mouth. Pizza was intended to be finger food, but I did my mother proud, following the manners of the house that welcomed me.
“What do you want to do after college?” If nothing else, Edward never danced behind his intentions. He said he wanted to get to know me, and his directness caught me off guard. Most folks assumed I’d follow in my dad’s footsteps and do something with workouts or football in nature. The expectations of being Clayton Wilcox’s son in a town that worshipped his practices for building all-star athletes led to many assumptions. Most of which led others to be characterized as the superficial assholes they were through and through. The idea of someone besides my mother being interested in my long-term dreams and desires kept me invested in developing a friendship with Edward.
“I plan to leave here and do something in business promotions. I also thought about law school, but I need to get some money rolling in and my student loans paid before I make that decision.” I wiped my hands on my napkin, took a sip of water, and stopped myself as my fingers found the edges of the second piece of pizza. Dropping it like hot lava, I corrected myself and gripped the utensils.
“You can eat with your hands if you want to. I don’t, out of habit.”
I ignored his allowance. “Who taught you? I thought eating pizza with your hands was part of the beauty of the dish?”
“Where I grew up is a lot different from Fort Worth.” He paused and wiped his mouth. With the sip of wine, his Adam’s apple moved in slow motion. As his last bite of pizza washed down, my brain short-circuited. The thought of how his Adam’s apple might shift with my cock shoved deep into the back of his throat played—in full-color big screen movie-style—before my eyes.
I blinked heavily, returning my attention back to his explanation. “My parents are highly regarded in the social scene.” He paused to take a sip of his wine and seemed to consider his words carefully. “My sister and I were placed in many adult social situations, so I learned manners at an early age. How to conduct oneself in public was an expectation without room for mistakes.”
“Yeah, I understand expectations without room for mistakes.”
“Do you?”
“My dad is pretty big around here. It’s not a great situation to be Clayton “Clay” Wilcox’s son.”
“Wilcox?”
“It’s a long story. One I’m not ready to share.” I wiped my hands one more time, leaving half the veggie pizza uneaten on my plate. “Let me help you do the dishes, and then I’ll get out of your hair. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“It’s nine-thirty on a Friday? What are you, a monk?”
I smirked, knowing I needed to go catch Scarlett to handle this problem in my pants. “Not a monk. Far from it.” I gathered my plate and made my way to the sink. Edward followed—so close that I felt the heat of his body at my back as I rinsed my plate. His presence sent my cock on full alert, and, without stopping the faucet, I turned like a lion and shoved him against the counter backing the family room. My lips a breath away from his as my hips pressed forward; our cocks separated by zippers and buttons but definitely fighting for the freedom to explore one another.
<
br /> I hissed out, “Thanks for the evening.” My tongue poked out and wet my lips. The widening of his pupils told me all I needed to know. My time was up with Edward. I thrust myself away from him, grabbed my jacket, and marched out of his door, confused as hell. What the fuck just happened?
The rumble of the engine didn’t drown out my mother’s words, “Manners.” Guilt swept over me as I threw Sadey into gear and wondered how this situation got out of hand so quickly.
Chapter Eight
Edward
In seconds, my galloping hormones came to a juddering halt. More buckaroo than tally-ho, I couldn’t help but take it personally. I was hurt, smarting, and bewildered all at once.
Mouth agape, nothing made sense. I rushed out of the ultra-modern kitchen, across the spacious sitting room, and to the window in time to witness Milo and his beloved Sadey take off at high speed along the road. He rounded the corner and vanished out of sight way faster than the speed limit in Kissing Hills allowed. I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and called him. “Fucking voicemail.”
I had no choice but to leave a message. Waiting for the beep, I took a deep breath then spoke at breakneck speed. Hardly the tone I aimed for. “Milo, I’m not sure what happened, but please come back, and we can talk about it. Call me anytime or drive by. I don’t mind what time.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Call me. Bye.”
Did I sound desperate? I thought so, but there is nothing I could do to correct the message now.
Tomorrow would almost certainly bring a citation and long lecture from Deidra Warren, the immaculately coiffed, stuck up, self-appointed guardian of morality and community at Kissing Hills. I would deal with her the same way I dealt with other busybodies who stuck their new noses into my business.
Discombobulated, I took a moment to steel myself.
What the hell just happened?
Milo Garcia momentarily lowered the veil and almost kissed me, almost. He wanted to but couldn’t allow himself to let go and embrace what I now believed as truth, that he desired me.
The longing I felt from him, for that brief moment in time, shook me to my core. Wanting and needing to give in to desires buried beneath the macho bravado. But why the hesitance? I was mature enough to hold my tongue. Trust was important in any relationship, and I would do nothing to turn his world upside down. I assumed he would know that. But why should he? Milo knew me as well as I knew him. On further reflection, what did I actually know about him?
Not much, as it happened.
Milo was a conscientious student, athletic, took care of himself physically, and despite his somewhat overly casual and pedestrian sense of style, made the most of what God blessed him with.
By his own admission, he was good with his hands, but what of his family? I suspected life was difficult at home, but the root of it was still a mystery. I did not ask because I knew he wouldn’t tell.
Milo Garcia sat shrouded in mystery, a puzzle I was desperate to solve. But with every small revelation, more questions arose.
The alarm on my iPhone shook me to life about an hour ago.
I had expected a missed call, a text, something from Milo. His silence deafened me, rendering my mood dark as night.
A knock on the door broke the silence. “Hellooo. Are you home?”
“Oh, Jesus, not her.” I rolled my eyes, not in the mood to deal with Deidra fucking Warren this morning, but still, she hammered on my door.
“Hellooo.”
Her bellows likened to the nails down a chalkboard. I’ll soon get rid of the yapping old bitch. Almost yanking the door off its hinges, she greeted me with a smile that put me in mind of a Great White Shark. The woman has far too many teeth in her head.
“What?” I barked.
“I was beginning to think you were not at home.”
“That was the idea, but knock, knock, knock, and here I am.”
She rubbed her pudgy hands together, and I caught sight of the ridiculous talons, painted a shocking pink colour with tiny butterfly transfers on them—very daring for the oldest spinster at Kissing Hills.
“I wanted a quiet word.”
“Only one word I hope.” It would be goodbye with a bit of luck. I couldn’t help thinking my mother would slap me silly for my appalling display of manners.
Through narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, she spoke. “Have I caught you at a bad time, Mr Tennant?”
“My name is Edward Baines-Tennant,” I snarled. “The hyphen sits right between Baines and Tennant.”
“Oh, yes, you are quite right, sorry.” A Texan drawl almost slipped past the hodgepodge of an accent she tried and failed to pass off as British.
“What is it you want, Deidre?” I knew full well what her name was but was in that frame of mind. She pissed me off banging on my door impatient as a debt collector, and I would gladly return the favour. She’d think twice about bothering me again by the time she left.
Her eyebrows met her hairline. Agitation sat behind the fake toothy smile. “I received numerous reports about a visitor to your property last night—a Latino gentleman, and we, well, I wondered if he might be the help?”
“The help?” Are you fucking kidding me? Had I slipped into a parallel universe, one where a person, not white-skinned, would only amount to slavery, or paid to do jobs that spoilt, pampered rich boys of my social status are too lazy to do themselves? I have many faults, but an accident at birth made me no better than any other. “The man you speak of is my friend, but also a highly intelligent student who attends the same college as I do.” Keep calm, Edward. “He is not, nor will he ever be the help.” I clenched my fists, tired of listening to the deranged old witch, but I hadn’t quite finished, yet. “For the record, Deidre, and feel free to relay this to the rest of your cronies who stalk this gated version of hell like demon hall monitors, I resent the slur and would remind you of a few facts you appear to have forgotten…”
She coughed, well, squeaked, unused to being put firmly in her place. “Go on…”
“I own this property, and every inch of land that surrounds it. There is no lease, no rental, but an out-right purchase, and neither I nor my property is subject to your community guidelines, do you understand?”
“I understand and beg your forgiveness. A simple mistake regarding your, err, Latino friend is all it was.”
For a moment, I thought myself too harsh, but I had the measure of Deidra Warren from day one, when she stood on my doorstep, a one-woman welcoming committee with her basket of jams and baked goods most likely procured from a snooty store with a strict entrance policy in town. “Does his heritage really matter or is there yet another rule that states only purebloods can enter this compound?” I was positive the Harry Potter reference would go right over her bottle-blonde hair. She trampled on my last nerve, and at any moment, the viper in me would strike, leaving no time for an antidote.
“No, not at all...”
“Then what is the problem? Make it fast because I have more to do than listen to whatever diatribe is coming my way.”
“I don’t think there is any call for rudeness, Mr Baines-Tennant.”
“Spit whatever it is you want to say out, then get off my doorstep.”
She took a lungful of air. I was certain she was choosing her words carefully. Her gargantuan milk monsters heaved up and down. “Upon leaving last night, your visitor, whoever he may be, broke the rules we have in place to combat speeding.”
“Is that it?” I would have put a lot of money on her turning up this morning. “My guest drove too fast along a deserted street.”
“Well, yes, dear, but we take violations of this nature seriously.”
“Did you bring a penalty notice with you?”
“No, not this time, I simply wanted to offer a friendly warning, with you being relatively new to our little slice of heaven here.”
“You are too kind.” I offered a small bow.
“Be sure it doesn’t happen again, or a penalty will be enforced.�
��
As she turned, I delivered the parting shot. “You know, Deidre…”
“My name is Deidra, with an a not an e.”
“Well, Deidra with an a…” I noted the arched eyebrow. “...let me tell you something that may surprise you.” I paused for a moment. “Fewer rules are handed out when visiting Buckingham Palace and dining with The Queen.”
She almost tripped over her tongue to speak. “W-w-what d-did you just say?”
Gotcha! “I have been fortunate enough to visit the palace on numerous occasions, what with my father being a Knight of the Realm, it’s a given…”
“Your daddy has been knighted…” She spoke in full on Texan twang now. “...by Her Maj-es-ty The Queen?”
“Oh, yes, a few years ago now, but what a wonderful occasion it was. Her Majesty is quite delightful.”
“You’ve actually met The Queen?” The emphasis was placed firmly on The.
“Many, many times, as well as other high-ranking members of the Royal Family such as…” I enjoyed this far too much, but she held a captive audience and salivated at my hobnobbing at the top table. Horrible, old trout. “...Prince Charles, Princes William and Harry, Catherine Middleton-our future Queen to be, of course, The Duchess of Cornwall and most recently, Meghan Markle, although I wasn’t overly impressed with her to be honest…” I lied. Meghan was perfectly delightful in a brash, scene-stealing kind of way, but I was positive Deidra would take offence.
“That poor girl,” she trilled. “Hung out to dry, and all because she’s American.”
Oh, no, Deidra wasn’t going to get away with pulling the race card and living to tell the tale. “Meghan’s nationality has nothing to do with her unpopularity, Deidre, more so her manners, or lack thereof.” I was ready to go in for the kill. “You see, the British have certain expectations and don’t take too well when told by others of lower social standing than us how to live our lives…” My words hung in the air like poisoned mist. “I am sure you understand the echelons of society, a lady of your good breeding.” Good breeding, my arse. Deidra wouldn’t know which fork to use at a truck stop, let alone a royal palace.
Shattered Beliefs Page 6