Freedom

by S. A. Wolfe

  I will not be that guy, though. I will not fuck her like we are teenagers doing it for the first time in the back of a car. I will not be the old Dylan that could meet a woman at a bar, and within a half hour, have her spread against a back alley wall while I impale her with my eager appendage.

  Our kiss ends slowly as I take one last tug at her lower lip.

  “You’re always nicer when you kiss,” she muses.

  “That’s because I like kissing you, and it stops you from saying anything irritating.” I think of my golden ticket from Dr. Wang.

  “Me, irritating?” she scoffs, and I reluctantly let her go so she can smooth out her skirt and top.

  “You drive me crazy with your secretive family connections and those legs. Jesus, why can’t you wear jeans like everyone else around here? But, yeah, I like you, and it’s a little annoying when I see Cooper coming on to you.”

  “My family’s so-called secrets are a giant ball of grungy wax you don’t want to get involved with, and Cooper has never hit on me. You’re imagining things. Besides, you can’t complain about secrets when you haven’t exactly divulged much about yourself. In fact, you never even told me where you went this morning.”

  “I was at the doctor.” I have never talked to anyone about my visits with Dr. Wang except Carson.

  “Are you sick?” Emma asks, her playful sarcasm turns to concern as she touches my forehead.

  “No, not that kind of doctor. I saw my shrink.”

  Well, that embarrassing cat is out of the bag. She already knows about my screwed up bipolar past, however talking about seeing a shrink on a regular basis is pretty emasculating for me. I like being the strong guy who can do heavy work with my hands, and seeing Dr. Wang and talking about my feelings doesn’t really fit that image.

  “Oh,” she says, sounding intrigued. “How did it go?”

  “Good.”

  Shit, I don’t want her to look at me as some weak, little boy now, but I had to tell her. What I want from her—or hope to have—has to start out on the right foot. She has to know about my doctor and what I am dealing with at some point, though there is a fine line between revealing something important about yourself and saddling someone with your daily struggles; the shit you want to hide from everyone.

  “May I ask what you talked about? I know it’s personal, but… did you mention me?” Her smile is adorable and sexy, and my brain screams, You’ve got a winner; don’t screw this up.

  “Yeah,” I mumble sheepishly. “I mentioned you.”

  Her big brown eyes pin me down with their delight and wonder. You’re a goner, I tell myself.

  “I can tell you more about him if you want, but there’s really nothing interesting to tell. We just talk.” I cast my eyes down, worried I am saying too much by unlocking the boogeyman.

  “I think it’s good,” she responds, trying to catch my wandering gaze. “Really.”

  “How about I make dinner tonight and we can talk then if you want?”

  Her sharp laugh startles me. “Oh, Dylan, you make dinner for me every night. We’re not going to have more of those lousy TV-watching nights while I knit the never-ending blanket, are we?”

  “No. I can’t take any more of that, either. Come on, I’ll take you to lunch and keep that pesky Cooper away from you.”

  “Good, because if you hadn’t just kissed me, I was ready to invite Cooper up for a quickie at the Red Roof Inn.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.” I take her arm and escort her out of the office.

  Before we reach the diner, a cell phone goes off in her purse.

  “Oh, darn.” She fumbles through her bag, and I notice that there are several more burner phones tangled in the contents.

  “Don’t tell me this is one of your Bat phone lines to Gotham. This is getting ridiculous.”

  “Shhh,” she hisses at me while answering the offending phone.

  “Hello...? Robert?” she asks, looking away from me.

  “You’re shitting me,” I mumble.

  Twelve

  Emma

  “I can’t talk now. I’ll call you this weekend and we can set up a time to get together.” While I talk, I meet Dylan’s angry glare as he leans against a mailbox waiting for me.

  “I know it’s important to you, but I’m at work and I have things going on…” My voice trails off, listening to Robert’s insistent tone.

  I used to fall for this; for Robert, for the drama, the excitement he provided, and the relationship I thought it was seductive and loving. I glance up at Dylan’s scowl that evokes something much more appealing than anything Robert could offer. If telling Robert to never call me again would be effective, this wouldn’t be a problem. He’d be out of my life. I tried that last summer, though. I was foolish enough to think we were done and I could move on, get a job and have a healthy relationship with a regular guy.

  Obviously, however, Robert still gets to disrupt my life whenever he wants to. He could easily replace me with another woman, yet he’s holding on to me because I’m a familiar person from his past—one of the few he trusts. I don’t want to be that woman anymore, and I may have to call in reinforcements to end this twisted Romeo and Juliet scenario that’s never quite played out the way I fantasized about when I was a teenager and had a major crush on Robert from a distance.

  When I finish the call, Dylan is silent as he studies me thoroughly.

  “Where is he? Where did he call from?” Dylan asks skeptically.

  “I don’t know. I assume his house in Jersey.”

  “He is one of those things we need to discuss, Emma. Sooner, rather than later.”

  “Tonight,” I reply. I am not confident that I can talk about everything—not when it comes to Robert—but I am more than willing to try to win over Dylan’s trust and possibly more.

  If I tell him about what went down over the last ten years of my life—growing up in and around the world my father’s business got us sucked into—I don’t think he would take it easily. No kidding, he’s pissed; the veins in Dylan’s neck are popping from just the idea of Robert. So how do I explain my relationship with a man I defend as good at heart despite my own questionable testimonies and the inherent violence of that life I’ve belonged to?

  It’s a completely different kind of baggage than what Dylan brings to the table. A guy who has a history of mental illness and sees a shrink? Big fucking deal; I can handle that, especially since I am already falling for the other sides of Dylan that are everything I was hoping to get from Robert but never did. Me, on the other hand… What guy wants a woman who comes with ties to a disgusting world of organized crime and an ex-boyfriend who is like a chronic illness she can’t shake? No shrink can get me out of the Robert situation. It’s all on me, and I am afraid Dylan will walk away from this along with the potential of what could be something nice between us.

  “Don’t play games with me. This guy is not something you can stay secretive about.”

  “I’m not playing games. I am trying to resolve this.”

  “You’re not doing a very good job. Maybe you really don’t want to end it with him.”

  That sends a little pang of hurt through me. Dylan’s jaw is clenched and his crossed arms show how much he is closing himself off from me at this moment. I understand that. He has been through enough and has to protect himself.

  “No, I’m definitely done with him,” I reply, looking around to make sure no one is on the sidewalk and can hear us. In a lower voice, I tell him, “I wouldn’t be in your home, doing those things with you if I still had feelings for Robert. That’s not who I am.”

  “Let’s eat lunch and then we have the conference call this afternoon. After that, we’re going home.” He puts his hand firmly on my back and guides me into the diner.

  “What about the gym? Aren’t you going to meet Carson after work?”

  “I’ll work out at home—with you,” he says quietly so the diner patrons do
n’t hear.

  “Is that the excuse you’ll use with Carson?”

  “I don’t have to say anything to Carson. He’s got me all figured out.”

  ***

  We are going home. I am thrilled with the way it sounds as if we are a couple. We have managed to stay off everyone’s radar at work. After a couple of weeks, they are used to seeing us drive in to work together and the little showdown debates we have over clients in our office, yet they seem oblivious to our mutual attraction.

  As I pull my Honda out of the lot with Dylan laughing at my cautious, repetitive looks to the right and left—as if this country road is the same as entering onto the highly competitive on-ramp of the 495 deathtrap in Jersey—Cooper zooms in front of us on his Harley, smiling as he guns it and roars down the road.

  “Ass.” Dylan shakes his head.

  “Oh, stop. He’s nice.”

  I drive us home at a leisurely speed.

  “I’m going to take a nap. Let me know when we get there,” Dylan says, feigning sleep. “Maybe it’s about time we start taking my bike into work.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I say sarcastically. “People might think we’re a couple if we show up with me holding on to you for dear life. You wouldn’t want that.”

  “Says who?”

  “Right.” I look back at the road. “I think you just want to out run Cooper on your big, bad bike. You guys like things between your legs, and you’ll look cooler with a girl hanging on to you, especially if it’s me.” I smirk.

  “Damn straight.” He laughs.

  “Are we moving into new territory? Out of the friends who kiss zone?” I ask as I park in front of the house.

  “I don’t think we were ever in the friend zone; do you?” Dylan retorts as if I’ve said the worst thing possible to him. I know that, if he said that to me, it would be a slam against my ego and ever-growing feelings for him.

  “No, we weren’t friends. Remember, I thought you were kind of a wise-ass jerk.”

  Dylan chuckles. “I kind of was, although I did reign in my attitude with a little heroic action on your clown car.”

  “And my unscrupulous visitor,” I add.

  “We still have to talk about him, Emma,” Dylan responds, getting out of the car.

  “Dylan, you’re repeating yourself. Go make me dinner. I’m going to change.”

  My demand evokes a deep, sexy chuckle from him. I don’t think he has any idea what he does to me. His voice, his body, his steely blue eyes. He is more charming and sexy than any man I have ever known. I want to curl up naked with him and do things that make me blush. How can he not see that? Watching him cook even turns me on, and I never get that from watching any of the celebrity chefs on the cooking channel.

  Before I turn myself into a horny mess, I bolt for the house. I quickly clomp up the wooden porch steps before Dylan whirls me around for a damaging kiss. He heats me up in every crevice, and my nipples harden and strain against my bra while I unabashedly grind myself against the bulge in his jeans. I am so aroused, completely ready to skip over any foreplay and let him screw me here on the porch. His hand slides under my skirt and down my panties where he grabs my bare butt cheek.

  Holding onto him, I wrench away from his kiss. “Is this dinner?”

  “No.” His voice is raspy and there’s an extra beat where he considers this.

  Say yes, hot stuff.

  “No,” he reaffirms, and I’m wondering if a good, hard slap across the face will shake him out of this frigging Prince Valor mode.

  “Fine,” I say, slouching against his chest. “Then your dinner better be out of this fucking world because I’m tired of you getting me all worked up and then dousing the flames.”

  “Then we’re even. I have to look at your naked legs all day long, crossing and uncrossing them at work. You have no idea what’s going through my mind when I see that, or when you talk to clients on the phone and you play with the top button of your shirt. Unbutton, button, unbutton, button. Jesus, I can’t believe Carson put us in the same office. I feel like he’s testing me.”

  “Really?” I ask, laughing. “I didn’t realize I was exposing myself at work. You think Carson is testing you?”

  “No, he wouldn’t do that.” Dylan’s mouth curves and he leans down for a warm peck on my cheek. “But sometimes I do catch glimpses of your bra and what’s underneath.”

  “I’ll be more careful.”

  “Don’t,” he says in a sexy, deep voice. “I’m enjoying it.”

  “God. Stop it. I’m going to go change.” I charge through the front door. “And you better make something spectacular for all this sex talk you keep using. My head is spinning.”

  I hear Dylan’s baritone laugh all the way up the stairs as I race off to my room for a reprieve.

  Thirteen

  Dylan

  That was a close call. I was ready to drag her into the hallway caveman style and have at her in a quick and thankless fashion. Something she would find completely forgettable.

  She comes back downstairs in a clingy, short, black t-shirt dress thing, something that shows me more leg and scoops down to expose some cleavage. Clever woman. She is barefoot with her long, dark hair flowing all over the place like an exotic gypsy.

  I try to continue with cooking the meal, however she keeps dancing around, taunting me with the sexual tension we’ve built up to epic proportions.

  “Would you set the table, please?” I ask with a tight voice, acutely aware that I’m thinking about my constrained dick that is begging for something else.

  She starts humming as she twirls around the kitchen collecting utensils.

  “Have a seat, Tinkerbell.” I place a salad and grilled mushroom sandwiches on the table.

  “Yum,” she says, sitting down.

  “I kind of miss steak,” I say out of the blue, not because I am thinking about steak but because she is so damn distracting.

  “Like you miss sex?” She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews slowly, staring at me.

  “Excuse me?” Of course I am thinking about sex.

  “Lauren told me. You’ve chilled on women, or rather sex, drinking, and socializing all together. I bet you miss sex.”

  “You think?”

  “Dylan, she told me everything.”

  “Huh. Right. Lauren.”

  Lauren told her everything and she still wants to be here with me?

  “Is that why you’re interested in me? It’s been awhile, and geographically speaking, I’m the nearest available female.”

  I drop my sandwich and stare in disbelief.

  “Does that seem plausible to you?” I am a little ticked off she would believe that. “You think that, with all this time we’ve spent together, I can’t tell the difference between someone I like being with and someone who I just want to screw?”

  “Sorry. No, I don’t think that. I’m trying to get some confirmation of what this is for myself,” she replies.

  Her tone is sincere, and I guess I have to be impressed that she doesn’t back down from my harsh question. Not many people would go there, most people are afraid of the truth.

  “I thought I was doing it right for a change, taking it slow and not starting something with you based on sex as the opening act.”

  “Dylan,” she takes my hand, “it is right. Do you think, if Cooper or someone else offered me a place to stay, that I would be so quick to move in with them? You don’t have to try so hard to win me over. You’ve won. I’m here because of you. I haven’t been shy about that.”

  “Then let’s have dessert now,” I respond.

  She looks confused. “Oh, sure. What did you make?”

  “Nothing. I’m tired of holding out.”

  I quickly stand up and grab her waist then easily hoist her over my shoulder. She lets out a sharp gasp and then a laugh as I carry her in a fireman hold through the living room. As I make it to the staircase, someo
ne begins pounding on the front door.

  “Oh, no,” Emma says, hanging from my shoulder. She gives my ass a slap.

  “This is unreal,” I bark. “Why do I think this has something to do with you?”

  I set Emma down and she brushes her hair back with her fingers. “I’ll get the door,” she says in disappointment.

  “No. I’ll handle this. It could be your stalker,” I say angrily.

  I swing the door open to find a huge guy about to bash his meaty fist on the door again. We quickly scrutinize each other. He is my height but built like a tank. Judging from how he fills out his suit and the earpiece he is wearing, I would say he’s someone who knows Emma. He looks like a secret service agent and ex-military bodyguard all rolled into one. He is at least thirty with a buzzed scalp—practically bald—and underneath his shirt collar and sleeves, he has a myriad of tats; symbols, foreign words and images I can’t make out.

  “Sean!” Emma squeals and pushes past me to hug the guy.

  “Hey, girl,” he says, grinning as he sweeps her off her feet into a big bear hug.

  Fuck. This is so not going well for me. I am falling for this woman, and I was about to take her upstairs to bed before this tattooed refrigerator showed up at the door.

  “Sean, this is Dylan,” Emma states, pulling him inside and closing the door.

  “Hello, Dylan,” Sean replies with a slight Irish accent. He gives me a bone-crunching handshake. “Good name. I have a younger brother named Dylan.”

  I nod apprehensively. His timing sucks—I am not in the mood to entertain a strange guy, especially one that Emma adores.

  “How did you find me?” Emma asks. “My parents haven’t even been out here.”

  Sean tilts his head and chuckles. “Em, come on.”

  “Yeah, right,” she mutters. “No one can ever really disappear.”

  I feel like they are part of a secret club, and I am completely in the dark. “What’s going on?” I ask Sean.

  “Come and sit down, Sean,” Emma demands, leading him into the living room.