Cocktales
Page 62
“We’re okay,” he reassures me. “Hey, look at me.”
When I do, I see the open honesty in his face.
“We’re okay, but I’m gonna make sure we stay that way. I don’t want to drift, Bris. This business breaks marriages. You know that. I’m protecting us. I’ve pulled out of the campus tour. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I nod, stepping away to grab my purse and my iPad from the bedside table where I left them.
“Frieda’s here for the kids,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Oh, I’ll send her home.”
“Send her home?” I stop and turn. “I thought you had a meeting this morning?”
“I told them I’d call in.” He shrugs and offers a rueful grin. “I’ve been gone too much.”
I nod, wondering if maybe I’ve been gone too much, too.
Three
Bristol
“Your brother’s gonna kill you.” Kai laughs when we reach our cars in the parking lot. “He loves me too much, and we have sex a lot, so I’m safe. But you? You, he’s gonna kill.”
I chuckle, clicking my car unlocked and propping my hip against the hood.
“Hey, you just scored a role in one of the biggest movies of the year,” I say. “Rhyson will be proud and happy for you.”
Fingers crossed.
“He will be.” Kai nods, her dark hair blowing across her face. “You got them down to partial nudity, which is more of a concession than I expected.”
“Well, the director really wants you for this role.” A cynical grin tweaks my lips. “And he doesn’t want to alienate one of the most powerful men in this town, your husband.”
Kai smiles and rolls her eyes.
“Well, Rhyson will be happy for me,” she says. “That’s part of loving someone, right? Wanting to see their dreams realized. I want everything for him, and he wants everything for me, as long as there is no full-frontal involved.”
It occurs to me that Rhyson and Kai are two high-powered entertainers making their family and their careers work. Maybe she has some insight.
“Kai, can I ask your advice on something?”
She looks at me curiously. I’m not really one to seek advice from people. I’m usually barking orders and telling everyone else what they should do. Know-it-all is a prominent strand in my DNA.
“Sure,” she says, an eager note in her voice. “What’s up?”
“You had a hit album and were doing Broadway shows, and Rhyson had so much going on with his career. Did you ever feel like you were . . . I don’t know. Missing each other?”
Her eyes narrow at the corners, but her lips twitch.
“Yeah. I thought I had it all under control. The baby was taken care of. I never missed a rehearsal. Knew my lines cold. Executed all my numbers flawlessly.” A husky laugh shakes her shoulders. “But, apparently, I didn’t have Rhyson under control. We had, what we in the South like to call, a come to Jesus meeting.”
“Yeah, I think Grip and I just had one of those this morning,” I say wryly. “He wants us, the kids and me, to go on tour with him.”
“Wow.” Surprise widens her dark eyes. “That would be hard for you, huh?”
“Very.” I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “I was going to focus on the New York office while he was on tour. I knew we were missing each other, but I just thought it was a season. I just don’t want to let anyone down, especially not Grip.”
“You’re helping run one of the fastest-growing record labels in the country and managing some of the biggest stars on the scene,” Kai says gently. “You have a two-year-old and an infant who’s still breastfeeding and not quite sleeping through the night. Cut yourself some slack.”
After I had Nina, I had so much to do at Prodigy that I threw myself into work. Then I got pregnant with Martin and ran myself ragged preparing for maternity leave. I cut leave short to get back and make up for lost time.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I smile weakly. “I just thought everything was running smoothly. For Grip to feel that we’re drifting . . .”
I link my fingers in front of me and shake my head helplessly.
“Bris, we’re married to brilliant men. They’re possessive, intense, demanding. They want everything.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
Kai’s smile is wistful.
“But they give everything, too,” she says. “There isn’t anything Rhyson wouldn’t do for me. Nothing he wouldn’t give up for me. Loving him, living with him, is like standing in a storm sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Our guys are rare. I hit the lottery when I met your brother, and I don’t mean because of his money. I wouldn’t trade him for all the movie roles in Hollywood. I’m a lucky woman.”
Her phone rings from her purse, and she reaches for it, but holds our stare.
“And so are you,” she finishes, glancing at the screen. “Speak of the devil.”
“Rhyson?” I ask with a smile, because he’s probably waiting at home with a ruler to measure how much skin they’re allowed to show in this movie.
“You guessed it.” She puts the phone to her ear and grins. “Hey, you.”
“I’m gonna go,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
She nods and waves.
“Yeah, we insisted on the no nipple clause you wanted,” she says, rolling her eyes at me.
Demanding. Intense. Possessive.
That’s Grip, but Kai’s right. I wouldn’t have him any other way. I have big decisions ahead of me. I can’t lose him, but I can’t lose myself either. I don’t want to resent him down the road because I feel like I missed out on something. I do have two young children. I am running a booming record label.
And I can’t remember the last time I gave Grip a blow job.
That’s kind of my thing. I’m really good at it.
But I also can’t remember the last time we watched television together or discussed politics or something he’s written. I’m driving home and combing my thoughts for those missed moments when the phone rings.
“Mrs. O’Malley,” I say, using the car’s phone connection so I can remain focused on the road. “How are you?”
It’s been months since I spoke with the woman who sold us our place in New York, but I’m always glad to hear from her.
“I’m not . . .” Her voice breaks. “Bristol, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to get into the apartment.”
I frown and get off on the exit that takes me home.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You sound upset.”
“There’s a letter,” she says, tears soaking the words. “From Patrick.”
My heart stumbles in my chest at the name of her husband who lost a prolonged battle with Alzheimer’s a few months ago.
“Where?” I ask, feeling her urgency reach me across the phone and across the country. “What letter?”
“The home he lived in at the end, the staff found some of his things that had been left in another room. Before he . . .”
She breaks off again and her small sob tears at my heart.
“Go on, Mrs. O’Malley, please.”
“At the end, he lost speech and wasn’t even connected to this world, but he must have had a flash of memory before he died,” she continues with difficulty. “He wrote a note telling me there was one letter I never found. We used to leave letters for each other all over the house, and there’s one I never found.”
“We’ve done significant renovations, Mrs. O’Malley.” I rack my brain for anything we could have unwittingly discarded. “I haven’t seen anything. I’m not sure if it would still be there.”
“Is the tree still in the greenhouse?” she asks, hope pinned to every word. “On the roof?”
“Yes! We haven’t touched the tree.”
“Good,” she breathes. “When I was working on a difficult design, I would go out there to plant flowers. Dig around until things made sense. There was a bed of roses at the base of that tree.”
“There s
till is,” I assure her.
“He buried it there,” she says tearfully. “It may only say don’t forget the wine for dinner. I don’t care. Any word from him, anything. I’ll take anyth—”
Her words are lost in tears. I allow her space, not knowing where to begin comforting her. I’ve only had a few years married to Grip and I would be inconsolable if he died. She and Patrick were married fifty years.
“I’ll call and let building security know you’re coming,” I say after a few moments. “They have all our codes on file and can get you in.”
“Thank you, Bristol,” she whispers. “Give Grip and the kids my love.”
Grip and the kids.
“I sure will,” I promise with a tearful smile.
Four
Grip
I hear the garage door open and close, followed by the chime of the security system when someone enters the house.
Bristol’s home.
I glance at my watch, noting how late it is. She’s been gone all day. Other than a text telling me she had something come up, I haven’t heard a thing from her. After our conversation this morning, that doesn’t bode well.
I pull the cover over Nina’s narrow shoulders before turning out the “big light” as she calls it. I poke my head into the nursery to make sure Martin is still asleep. He’ll be up for a feeding in a few hours.
A few hours. With my wife, who I hope didn’t bring any work home. I canceled tonight’s studio session so we could have some time together. I don’t want to come off as the guy who expects his wife to set aside her ambitions to follow me. It isn’t that. It’s just not the right time for us to be apart. And if we can arrange it so she and the kids can come with me . . .
Of course, we can. I have lots of money and so does Bris. Prodigy is her brother’s label. If there was ever a recipe for flexibility, we’ve got it. It’s a matter of priority. I know what my priorities are. Will ours align?
When I enter the kitchen, she’s transferring food from take-out containers to plates. She looks up with a wary smile when I enter.
“Hey,” she says softly, pulling silverware from the drawer. “Did you get my text that I was picking up dinner?”
“Yeah, sorry I forgot to reply. I was giving Nina her bath.”
She sets the plates onto the marble countertop and perches on one of the bistro stools, nodding to the seat beside her.
“Sit? Eat?” she asks and pulls out a bottle of wine, pouring herself a glass. “Wine?”
I don’t answer but I take the other stool and pick up a fork. I don’t realize how hungry I am until I have my first bite.
“Hmmm.” I chew the succulent chicken and the fresh vegetables. “That new place up the street?”
“Yup.” She takes a sip of wine and says, almost defensively. “Just a little wine won’t hurt. It’s been a long day. I have some milk I pumped if Martin wakes up.”
“It’s fine, Bris.” I take a sip of my wine and shrug. “I trust you to have it all worked out.”
Her smile comes after a few seconds of silence, and then she resumes eating. I don’t know what this silence is about. After spending all day with Martin and Nina, I’m so bone tired I don’t have much to say. I don’t know how Bris does so much for them and still manages to be a boss at work. Every time I step into her shoes, even if it’s only for a little while, I gain respect for how amazing she is.
“Mrs. O’Malley called today,” she says when we’re done with our food.
“Yeah?” I bend an inquiring look on her. “What’s up?”
We make our way to the living room while she tells me about this letter Patrick buried in the garden. Possibly the last thing he ever wrote to his wife before he lost his grasp on reality and time.
“God, Grip, if you could have heard her,” Bristol says, sinking into the overstuffed cushions of the sectional and tipping her head back to stare up at the ceiling. “She was crying, and she sounded so . . . lost. So lonely.”
“Well, it hasn’t even been a year since he passed.” I settle beside her, deciding to ignore any awkwardness and squeezing in as close as I can. “They were together fifty years. I can’t imagine.”
I’ll never forget Mrs. O’Malley calling to tell me her husband had died. She sounded lost and lonely that day, too. I guess it takes time. I glance at my beautiful wife, eyes closed and long lashes fanning over the shadows under her eyes that bother me so much. I wouldn’t ever recover if I lost Bristol. Not really. I could probably pick myself up and go on. But “going on” is not the same as what I have now, which is living. Absorbing every experience with her at my side. Understanding that everything is sweeter, richer, brighter when she’s with me. Even so, maybe I pushed her too far when I asked to bring the family on tour.
“We’ll come,” she says softly, eyes still closed.
“Huh?” My head swings around to study her delicate profile and stubborn jaw. “Come where?”
She turns her head and meets my eyes. Her hand covers the few inches separating us and tangles our fingers.
“On tour,” she says, biting her lip and smiling. “The kids and I will come on tour with you.”
“Seriously?” I bark a surprised laugh. “What . . . for real?”
“Yes, for real.” She scoots a little closer and drops her head to my shoulder. “That’s where I was all day. Sarah and I had an emergency meeting to see how we can make it work. What we need to do and shift and adjust.”
“Can you?” I rub my cheek into the silkiness of her hair. “Make it work, I mean?”
“I think we can.” She nods and angles her head so our eyes meet. “We will because we have to.”
“Have to?” I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees and look back at her still pressed into the cushions. “Babe, if I pressured you—”
“Of course, you pressured me,” she says with a laugh. “You pressured me for years to be with you. You pressured me to move to New York when you went to NYU. You pressure me every time you think you know what’s right for us.”
Put like that, I sound like a domineering prick.
“And you know what?” She leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, mirroring my posture so our lips are mere inches and a breath apart. “You’re right.”
“I am?” I can’t resist. I close the space and kiss her, reaching up to gather her hair into my fist while I trace her lips, slip inside and suck her tongue.
“Hmmmm.” She moans into our kiss. “You are.”
She slides off the couch to the floor and scoots between my knees. Her fingers nimbly undo my belt buckle and unfasten my jeans, brushing my cock as she goes.
Okay. I’m intrigued.
“Mrs. O’Malley’s call persuaded me, and a conversation I had with Kai today helped, too,” she says huskily, her eyes blazing into mine. “But you know what really convinced me we aren’t spending enough time together?”
In an economy of words, I lift my brows since obviously her question is rhetorical and the sooner she tells me, the sooner we’ll fuck.
“I couldn’t remember the last time I sucked your dick.”
Said dick goes steely in my pants.
“That is a sad state of affairs,” I agree, helping her out by shucking my jeans and briefs off and spreading my legs to make it easy for her to reach my dick.
“I’m about to rectify that,” she says, lowering her head and taking me into the hot wet heaven of her mouth.
“Damn it,” I hiss, my hand palming her head and shoving my fingers through her hair. “You give good head, Bris.”
“Hmmmm,” she hums, sending a vibration from one head to the other until I think my brain may explode from pleasure.
I sit up and take control, holding her still and thrusting in, fucking her face until I’m just shy of coming in her mouth. Oh, no. I have better plans for this load. I pull out, swiping my thumb across her swollen shiny lips and joining her on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly.
I bend her over and suck the curve of one round cheek into my mouth, working it until I know it’s marked.
“Jesus, this ass, Bristol,” I say against the reddened skin. “I love your body so much. I love you so much.”
“I know, baby,” she breathes out.
I turn her so her elbows are on the couch and settle behind her to take long swipes of her pussy with my tongue.
“Oh, my God, Grip.” She clenches and a shudder rocks her body. “Again.”
I love it when she thinks she can tell me what to do. I widen her legs and take to her pussy again, licking and biting and sucking until her juices run down the inside of her thighs. That’s what I wanted. I sit up on my knees, running my cock through her wetness and dipping my thumb in, smearing it on her asshole. She knows what that means.
“Yes,” she pants, reaching back to spread her cheeks, “In the ass, Grip.”
We’ve come so far.
“You want it in the ass, Bris?” I ease my thumb in her ass and pass my other hand over her breasts, pinching her nipples. “I’ve only got two hands here. Division of labor. Can you touch your clit for me?”
“Yes,” she chokes, reaching between her legs to touch herself.
“Finger it for me, Bris.”
Her breath is ragged, and I hear the wet sounds of her finger passing through the creaminess between her legs.
“That’s my girl.” I line my dick, shiny with her juices, up with the hole I’ve owned so many times now. I plunge in and almost blow it at the first stroke. I stop and hold, giving myself time to pull it together.
“Grip, move. Fuck me.” Bris grabs a cheek in each hand, spreading her ass for me, thrusting back. “I need it hard.”
I think that’s the only way I can give it at this point. I grab her hip and thrust forward again and again, over and over until I’m lost in a fury of pounding and grunting. I pull her up so her back is to my chest and keep working her ass and pinching her nipples. Bristol’s fingers stroke frantically over her clit, and she keeps thrusting back to meet every aggressive stroke. Her moans dissolve into sobs and she shakes with an orgasm as I empty myself inside her, burying my face in her hair to muffle a roar.