by Liora Blake
“Nothing. We were just talking about girl shit. You know, pillow fights and nail polish—the kind of crap we chicks can’t get enough of. Go. Your private plane awaits. Don’t forget to give Kate a lesson about not talking to anyone on a street corner in our old neighborhood. I’m guessing she wouldn’t know a dope dealer from a pharmacist.”
Trevor doubles over in laughter. It’s likely he’s picturing how the next few days will make Kate wonder, for the millionth time, what she married into. With most of her life experience in a town composed of more cattle than people, when she hits the streets of our old stomping ground, she is in for a real treat. From the boys wolf-whistling and air-kissing at her, to the strung-out girls working every corner, sweet Kate will realize we weren’t kidding even a little bit when we talked about how things are back there.
Even though Trevor is going back to watch them break ground on the new community center building he’s bankrolling, no matter how pure and noble all that sounds, he’s doing it because if he doesn’t, no one else will. Our neighborhood is, was, and always will be a dead end for ninety-nine percent of people who live there. The only reason I had a way out when I needed it is standing in his million-dollar kitchen right now, cracking up and telling his wife that he’s hoping to watch her to drink liquor out of paper bag while they’re there.
He adds to it by giggling out the name “St. Ides” and pointing in my direction because I’m the only one in the room who will get the joke, leaving poor Kate standing there looking slightly pissed off and demanding to know if this St. Ides is some sort of cheap wine. This leads to another round of the Jenkins siblings laughing at her, until she stalks out to the car, hollering for Trevor to get his ass in gear. Before he leaves, he wraps his arm around my shoulders, thanks me for house-sitting, and promises to bring photographic evidence of Kate doing something awkward in the wilds of the ghetto.
14
On Monday afternoon, I find myself doing Internet searches to see how long it takes to drive from Sausalito to here. Sitting on Trevor’s deck, staring out at the ocean and petting Dax’s head, I stare at my phone with the little map that said it should take six hours. All I want is to know is that Simon is nearby, but he hasn’t called today. There’s nothing. Radio silence, Captain.
The idea that, with a few days’ worth of space, he has realized all the reasons this could never work keeps drifting into my thoughts. The concept leaves a sting in my throat, and I can’t swallow the fear fast enough to make it disappear. Only when I have the time to squelch it and tamp down the realization of how much that would hurt, do I remember that I was just dandy before him. If he’s come to his senses, I will survive. Although it might take some time to find another nice guy who also happens to make every square inch of my skin hum at the prospect of his touch.
Fine, then. I’ll simply have to audition some contenders until I find one who makes me feel the way he does. In my head, I sweep away the minor detail that no one I have ever slept with in the last twelve years made me come so easily. He can’t be the only one. Simon does not have a monopoly on safecracking my orgasms. There must be at least one other man in the world who can do the same thing. I just need one other guy who has callused fingertips, some good ink, and a whip-smart mouth that compels me to shut him up with my own.
Pushing out a deep exhale from the left side of my mouth, I chuck my phone across the deck and it skitters away from my hand until it bounces against the leg of a deck chair. Dax lifts his head and cocks it in the direction of my phone, seeming to debate in his small canine brain if the moving object should be pounced on or chewed into oblivion. I consider encouraging him to do it, slathering the stupid thing in peanut butter so the dog can destroy it. Then I won’t be able to waste any more time in this pathetic demonstration of girly behavior.
Does any of that stop me from whipping around when it rings? No, it does not. I scramble over the dog and make an awkward dive to the ground, almost tipping over the chair in the process. Somehow, when I see his name on the display, it doesn’t matter anymore that I’ve apparently left my pride somewhere in his bedroom.
“Hello?”
“Sunshine.” His voice trickles through the line in the slowest, deepest, sexiest damn way I’ve ever heard. If he is trying to make my skin burn, then kudos, he’s done it. If he isn’t even trying, then he is more trouble than I’ve given him credit for. “I’m so glad you answered. I needed to hear you.”
“Lucky you, then.” Unintentionally, my voice is just a few octaves shy of how it sounds when I’m coming down off one of those wild peaks he’s always tumbling me over.
He gives a small, throaty chuckle. Either at the words or the fact that he knows the tenor of my voice means I’m thinking dirty things. “Are you home?”
“No.”
A tense weight settles on the line before he lets out a sigh. “Where are you? Please tell me it’s in LA County. I’m on my last fucking nerve in this traffic, and being able to touch you tonight is the only thing keeping me sane at this point. No joke, if I don’t get my hands on you soon, they’ll be showing my mug shot on the eleven-o’clock news.”
Hell, yes. Thank you to every pagan goddess there is. I didn’t really want to look for another guy anyway. I’ll take this one.
“I’m at Trevor’s. House- and dog-sitting until they get back tomorrow.”
“Even better, you’re an hour closer. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Open the gate for me, OK?”
“Trevor told me not to let anyone in. Stranger danger and all that.”
“Devon.”
I know shouldn’t screw with him, but he has my mushy insides all tied up in knots. There needs to be a little shift in the dynamics here.
“What?” I say innocently.
“Do not jack with me tonight. Open the gate when I get there. Otherwise, if you make me wait too long, I’ll have to teach you a very difficult lesson once I get inside. Is that what you want? Because I’m all for a rough lesson tonight. Your choice; I don’t give a shit either way.”
All I get out is the word “fine,” then he hangs up, leaving me standing on the deck, dizzy and disoriented.
Two long, torturous hours later, the intercom buzzes, and when I press the remote to open the gate, I hover next to the door waiting for him. If I were peeking out the sidelight window, I might have seen him run, because he is knocking in less than a minute. When I open the door, he’s standing there looking like the sexiest investment banker I’ve ever laid eyes on, in a three-piece dark blue Italian wool suit with a slate-gray shirt and tie. The fact I’m wearing my broken-in plaid shirt and some boy shorts leaves me feeling just a tad bit underdressed. The top button of his shirt is undone, with his tie loosened a bit around it, leaving him looking weary but still wicked.
No words come from his mouth, just a devious smile that melts into a leer as he shoves his body into the house and slams the door shut with his foot. When his hands grab my head, his fingers dig into my scalp as he lays his forehead against mine, a series of tense, tortured sounds leaving his mouth. All I can do is wait. Wait for him to decide what to do with me, because the smell of him and the way he looks in this suit is too overwhelming. I want to stare at him and tear into him at the same time.
“Normally, Devon, I would want to talk to you a little, because I love everything you say, but right now I just need to feel you, OK? No talking for a while.”
Nodding, I open my mouth a bit to speak, then pause, trying to decide if I want to say what I’m thinking.
Fuck it. He’s too damn tempting tonight.
“Can I just say one thing?”
“One thing.” His hands drop from my head and move down to my back, the ends of his fingers trailing down my spine until he slips them into the waist of my boy shorts.
“I missed you.”
There, I said it. I said exactly what I was thinking without worrying if it was too much. Not caring that it might sound needy or pathetic. Because I did. I missed him. I missed
his mouth and his Simon-ness. Every damn bit of it.
“God, I needed to hear that. I’ve had a complete mindfuck of a day, and missing you was making it better and worse. Say it again.”
“I missed you.”
With that, he shoves one hand down to my ass and uses his other to trap the back of my head where he wants it: against his lips, which are slanting over mine without pause. There is a wall a few feet behind the front door, and suddenly he has me there, using his body and his weight as leverage. When my back bumps the wall, he grabs underneath my ass, and my legs wrap around his waist immediately. I know that with his body pressed between my legs so forcefully, I might break apart if he moves his hips just right. Suddenly, with the scent of him surrounding me, the only thing I can think about is how I want to taste every bit of him, slowly, until I’ve traced every inch of his skin with my mouth.
When my lips land against his neck, though, everything starts to happen in a rush. We’re away from the wall and across the room, my body still wrapped around his until he collapses us onto the couch. His hands immediately begin working the buttons free on my shirt, and, discovering my bare breasts there, unhindered by a bra, a grumbled string of lusty gibberish leaves his lips as his hands slip gently over my skin, distracting me from, well, everything.
My hips start to grind against his lap, and his own respond with small upward thrusts. I shove my hands down and force my hips to stay put, just so I can get his belt and zipper undone. Between the haze of my own want and the sound of his deep groans as his hips continue to jerk forward into my core, we don’t recognize anything else beyond our intertwined bodies.
Which is why we don’t hear a bunch of really critical things. The sound of Dax letting out a whimper, for instance. The noise that two car doors make when they open and close. The muttering of voices in an adjacent room.
Most importantly, the noise of a door opening and two people carrying on a normal conversation before they stroll innocently into their own house. The house that probably currently looks like a porn set in the midst of shooting opening scenes for something called Naughty House Sitters. Because when Trevor and Kate walk in, Simon is absolutely devouring me, using one hand to shove my lower body forward, and the other to tug on a handful of my hair so my back arches exaggeratedly.
“Holy shit.”
Kate’s voice is a whispered atom bomb, one that hisses on approach, but the impact detonates into a bellowing explosion. My head whips forward without turning to look, because maybe if I don’t see them, this won’t be real. Once Simon fully grasps what’s happening, he quickly pulls my shirt closed and wraps his arms around my waist to pull me closer, shielding me somehow.
Trevor doesn’t say a word; he just walks off toward the bank of sliding doors that lead from his living room onto the deck. When he does, I swing my head that direction and I spot his hands doing that clenching thing, which is a very bad sign. His fingers fiddle with the lock on the sliding door, as if he can’t remember how to operate it and get out of the room fast enough. Finally, when the latch gives up, he throws the door back so hard it bounces against the end and slides back a few inches in the track. Once he is standing safely on the deck, he reaches back without looking and heaves it shut.
From where his head lies burrowed into my chest, Simon mutters and sighs. “Could this day get any shittier?”
I pull my hands up and weave my fingers into his hair, pulling him toward me a bit more to kiss the top of his head. Turning to see Kate, standing stiffly in the middle of the room with a dazed expression on her face, I shrug my shoulders at her, deciding to feign nonchalance to try and cover up the awkward tension in the room. I stand up and start to button my shirt.
“Why are you guys here? It’s still Monday, right?”
Kate lets her eyes dart to her husband, where the poor jerk stands hunched over the deck railing, then pass to Simon, who is slumped on the couch, before finally settling on me and speaking flatly. “We flew home early. Obviously. They’re expecting bad weather in Cleveland tomorrow, high winds or something. We called you but, clearly, you didn’t get the message.”
Simon stands up and stares straight ahead, the sound of his zipper and belt coming closed around his body. Once properly attired again, he steps forward and heads toward the sliding doors.
“I’ve got to talk to Trevor.”
Kate and I both start in at the same time, our words bouncing against each other. Bad idea, don’t even think about it, do you have a death wish, stop right there. My arm shoots in front of him in a soccer-mom save, barring him from moving any farther toward his own demise.
“Devon, you go talk to your brother. Simon, you should go home now.” Kate props her hands on her hips and then looks at the far side of the room. “Is this practice for parenting? Because I feel a little bit like my life just fast-forwarded fifteen years and we just caught our daughter on the couch with some tattooed hooligan. Except Trevor would have put that kid in a headlock by now.”
Simon’s hands reach out and nestle into my hair at the nape of my neck. “I’ll go with you out there. You shouldn’t have to explain this on your own.” Simon’s forehead is a mass of creases, his expression absolutely guilt-ridden. With a slight tilt of my head, I give it a quick shake and let my hand tuck into the waist of his pants just above his belt buckle.
“Simon. It’s fine. I can handle Trevor, trust me.”
“But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” His voice drops into a stage whisper. “It was my fucking mouth all over you. I deserve to take some of the heat on this.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I put a chaste kiss to his lips. “I got this. Don’t worry.”
When I let go of him, he tosses me another pained look, one that makes it obvious he feels some kind of chivalrous need to defend my honor, and I give a little shove on his chest with my palms to prompt him away. Avoiding Kate’s bemused expression, he slips past her and, once the front door shuts quietly, she takes a long look at me and starts to chuckle.
“Wow. I mean . . . wow.” She pulls her hands up, pressing her palms to her closed eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. I feel so dirty all of a sudden. Good luck out there—you’re probably going to need it—but I am so staying out of this if I can.”
Drawing in a stuttering breath, I make sure all the buttons on my shirt are secure, and pause just before opening the sliding door. Trevor has his forearms resting on the deck railing, gazing out at who knows what, given that it’s pitch-black outside. The moon is barely a sliver, and the few lights from the house don’t offer much illumination. The darkness helps a bit, though the only thing that might make this even better would be a confessional booth, so we couldn’t see each other at all.
“Hey.” My voice comes out deeper than I planned, but perhaps it’s best to sound as resolute as possible. I stand a few feet behind him and fold my arms over my chest.
Without even a responding opener, Trevor launches in. “Just spell it out so I understand what the hell is going on. Was this a random thing or what?”
“Not random.”
“Fucking unbelievable.” Trevor turns and faces me. “You two. Behind my back. How long has this shit been going on?”
Lowering my voice, I answer in a near mumble. “Awhile.”
“ ‘Awhile’ ’’? What the hell does that mean? Tell me exactly how long you two have been lying to me.”
Anger roars up inside me at the accusation we’ve been lying, rather than merely keeping our private business private. And Trevor fucking knows better than to call me a liar. Any deference I might have felt, given this is his house and he just caught us going to town on his couch, evaporates.
“Fuck you, Trevor. No one was lying; we just didn’t tell you.”
I can see Trevor’s hands clenching so intensely that his knuckles have gone white. “In this case, Dev? It’s the same. Damn. Thing.”
Maybe it is, I don’t know. Nor do I much care right now. All I can feel is the low hum of rage, be
cause this isn’t any of Trevor’s business. I’ve barely managed to get straight on how I feel about Simon, for Christ’s sake. What I absolutely don’t need, and can’t handle, is my brother thinking he’s entitled to comment on the issue. His opinion, for now, isn’t welcome.
“I’m a grown woman. I don’t have to clear my boyfriends with you. Who I choose to be with is my decision. Not yours.”
“Yeah. Because you’ve always had the best judgment when it comes to guys.” Trevor’s words are measured and his expression somehow hardens even more. “How about Kyle? There’s a winner.”
My head starts to swim a little on hearing the name. We’re on a roll now, because if Trevor is tossing Kyle in my face, that means the gloves are off.
“We saw him back home yesterday. He asked about you, wanted to know if you were still out here. I told him to go fuck himself. Maybe I shouldn’t have, since that’s probably your decision.”
Trevor has always played the part of my defender. Even more than Nic, Trevor was always the consummate big brother, from rattling a mean little girl with buckteeth who stole my only pair of gloves in the dead of winter when I was six, to knocking out the front teeth of my first real boyfriend at fourteen when he told everyone on the block I was easy.
In this case, Trevor doesn’t know how bad things got with Kyle. Trevor was already out here in LA, so when things got stupid and I took off from Cleveland, he didn’t need to know the exact details of why. If he had known, he would have gone completely outer limits and possibly done something that would have ruined his career. Or at least landed his ass in a jail cell for a good long while. Not telling him was better for everyone involved. Although, in the context of being called a liar five minutes ago, the weight of him not knowing feels overwhelming.
All I can do is suck in an unsteady breath. “Don’t do that. Not the same thing. Simon is—”
I can’t even finish the thought aloud. Simon is good. Good to me. Good in the world. My gaze drops to the ground and fixes there until I’m pretty sure I won’t cry. When I look up, Trevor sees everything, and from the way his face goes slack and his lips part without saying anything, he knows he’s toed over the line. He blinks and looks away just as I shove the sliding door open to make my escape.