by Ana Novak
“Yes.” He bit my ear roughly, dragging another moan from me. “I’m clean.”
I scrambled in total futility to collect my thoughts. “Me, too. And I’m on birth control that will last another two years,” I said, my words jumbling together in my rush to explain. “I trust you if you trust me.”
He paused, looking down at me with an expression on his face that I couldn’t quite identify. “I trust you,” he said, and his voice was gentle, its usual gruffness softened with emotion.
I reached down between our bodies and grasped his erection, lining him up so that he could push inside me. When he did, we both gasped, struck by the harmony of our bodies finally connecting without barriers.
“See? Perfect,” I said, beaming up at him.
He returned the smile. “You are.”
He began to thrust, and I met his every movement, throwing my head back and rolling my hips.
“Goddamn, girl,” he growled, his breath warm against my ear. “So fucking tight.”
Hearing him talk dirty was such a turn-on that I couldn’t form the words to respond. “Mmm.” My hands clasped his biceps, feeling the play of the muscle beneath my fingers.
“I bet you like this, huh?” He thrust into me again.
“Yes.”
He began moving faster, hammering into me, touching me in places I hadn’t known existed. He grabbed my hand, yanking it off his shoulder and pushing it between us. “I want to see you get yourself off. You like my cock inside you?”
It felt so good I had to squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stave off my orgasm. “Yes!”
“So.” He pounded into me, harder and harder. “Fucking.” Again. “Good.” And again. “Shit, Taylor. You’re so fucking hot. Gonna fuck that sweet pussy until you drain me dry.”
I pulled his head up and kissed him, closer to my climax with every movement. When he bit my lip, that pushed me over the edge and I came, clenching down on him with my inner walls, doing exactly what he’d wanted me to do. A moment later, he came with me, groaning as he buried his face in my hair and thrust one last time, then held me close, his arms shaking around me.
I listened to the sound of his breathing as it evened out, felt the hammering of his pulse against my chest as it began to slow. This was the second time he hadn’t let me be in control, and somehow I felt…vulnerable. The butterflies were back in my stomach, but this time, they were fluttering nervously instead of rioting with desire.
“I guess you’re not always a gentleman,” I said, once again trying to keep my tone light. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, forcing cheerfulness to hide my emotions.
He laughed hoarsely into my hair. “I’m no gentleman. Only around you, and only sometimes,” he answered. “You bring that out in me.”
I ran my fingers through his hair, rubbing my cheek against the rough stubble on his jaw. I never wanted to let him go, and that scared me.
“I need to shower,” I said. “Omelettes might be a little late.”
There was a pause, and then he rolled off the couch, standing up and pulling up his jeans in one smooth movement. “Let’s go shopping for Thanksgiving dinner, and I’ll buy you breakfast,” he said. “You cook for me every time I’m here. I feel like I owe you a breakfast you didn’t have to make yourself.”
I thought about going out in public with him, and how inevitably there would be pictures posted somewhere on the internet of us going to the grocery store together. I could already imagine the headlines. MERRICK AND KRUGER LIVING TOGETHER? WRITER AND ROCKSTAR FLAUNT THEIR DOMESTIC BLISS AT WILLIAMSBURG GROCERY STORE.
“You’ll have to take all the groceries back to your house,” I said. “Unless we plan on cooking here.”
“I don’t mind taking it back with me. So do you wanna go?”
“Sure,” I replied. I’d told Dave I didn’t care what other people thought. I’d have to prove myself right. “I need to clean up, though.”
“Shower’s all yours,” he said, walking into the bedroom. “Just let me grab my shirt.”
I rushed through the motions of showering and smoothed my hair into a messy bun at the nape of my neck. I pulled on a slouch beanie and dressed in jeans and boots, layering a flannel shirt and a vest under my coat. The winter chill was already setting in, and I didn’t want to catch a cold right before the holidays.
Shane was tying his boots when I stepped out of the bedroom. When he saw me, he stood up, a faint smile curving one corner of his lips. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I grabbed my grocery bags, noting in passing that he’d cleaned up the kitchen for me already, and we left, locking the door behind us.
“There’s that farmer’s market down the block,” Shane said. “It’s closer than the store.”
“It’d save us an Uber trip, but we’d have to walk all the way back.”
“We’re only buying for two. It won’t be that much.”
The idea of sharing Thanksgiving dinner with Shane, even though he’d already reassured me that we were doing it strictly as friends, was still disconcerting to me. I’d shared too many Thanksgiving dinners with Dave and Van not to recognize the holiday as something that should be shared with loved ones. But I seemed to be the only one affected. Shane was his usual self, ambling comfortably beside me as we walked, apparently lacking my compulsion to label whatever it was that was going on between us.
At the farmer’s market, we found a booth with plastic tables and chairs selling pastries and fresh fruit. I chose a fruit bowl, mentally reprimanding myself for not watching my calorie intake more closely as of late. I’d worked so hard to take the weight off, and I didn’t want it creeping back on.
I watched Shane tear into a blueberry muffin, ripping off pieces with his fingers so that he could sit back and eat while looking around the market. He was easily the best-looking man there, his rugged masculinity a welcome contrast to the bespectacled hipsters roaming the booths.
He’d been married before, I remembered. The tabloids had gone into excruciating detail about his wife, the daughter of a well-known professional athlete, and how their short-lived romance had once been a picture-perfect love story.
He caught me staring at him and raised an eyebrow. “See something you like?”
“I do,” I said, blushing as I averted my gaze. “I was just wondering how your wife could have been crazy enough to let you go.”
He chuckled and broke his muffin in half, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully before he answered. “It wasn’t some tragic tale, sweetheart.”
“You seem to have emerged unscathed,” I said.
“Mostly.” He looked out across the market, staged on an empty lot that often hosted pop-ups and various events. “She didn’t love me anymore,” he said finally. “Just came to me one day and said she didn’t love me. It wasn’t anything I did, or so she said. It was over, and that was it.”
My throat tightened. “Didn’t you…didn’t you ask why? Did you try to convince her to stay?”
He gave me a wry look. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions.”
“Ha. Yeah.” I shook my head and speared a melon ball. “Well, you know everything about me. I guess I just want to know more about you. Figure out your flaws. I haven’t seen any yet.”
“I’ve got plenty, sweetheart.” He crumpled up his cupcake wrapper and tossed it into the trash can beyond the next table, the ball of wax paper sailing in a perfect arc through the air and into the bin.
I leaned back in my chair, studying him intently. “Can you cook?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in monogamy?”
“I do.” He spoke without hesitation, and although I had asked the question thoughtlessly, my cheeks heated as I realized its implication.
“You don’t leave the toilet seat up.” I tapped a finger on my chin, pretending to consider. “Nope, still can’t figure it out. What’s wrong with you?”
Shane appeared distinctly uncomfortable, but he met my gaze and shrugged, trying to play it off. “Wome
n want men who treat them like shit. I’m not into that. And I’m not into the women who like it.”
“That does narrow your prospects,” I agreed. “So you’re a nice guy? That’s your flaw?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He crossed one leg over the other, hitching the boot of his right foot up onto the opposite knee. “I’m just not interested in a woman who wants me all up in her shit. They all want to be rescued, or they want you to tell them what to do with their lives. My ex. She was used to guys chasing her and getting jealous of all the other jackasses who did the same. I don’t chase. I don’t get jealous. She liked it at first, but it got old after a few years.”
“You would have rescued me today if I’d asked you to,” I said. “I could see it in your expression. You looked like you were ready to kill Dave.”
“I was. But you didn’t ask me to, and I respect that.” He held his water bottle out to me for a toast. “That’s what I like about you, Taylor. Besides being hot as hell, you don’t need me to save you.”
“I like that you would if I asked you to,” I said. “It’s reassuring. But thanks for letting me save myself this morning. It felt good to finally give Dave a piece of my mind.”
“Anytime.”
I finished my fruit bowl and got up to throw away the empty container in the recycle bin. Shane followed me, resting an arm casually across my shoulders as we made our way back out into the row of booths.
Something hadn’t sounded quite right with his explanation, and I pondered it as we approached a vegetable stand. I picked up a sweet potato and ran my thumb over its rough exterior. I’d planned on making either sweet potato pie or sweet potato casserole, but I hadn’t asked Shane which one he’d prefer.
“You chase me,” I said suddenly.
Shane was on the opposite side of the cart, examining the corn. His expression was confused. “What?”
I looked at him curiously, squinting in the bright morning sunshine. “You chase me. You chased after me outside the hotel, and outside the cafe. But you said you don’t chase women, and that’s always been your problem.”
I could see that he was processing the contradiction at the same time that I was, and for several seconds he seemed to be considering it. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I guess you’re different.”
“Or maybe you’re changing.”
“That must be it,” he agreed. “Getting desperate in my old age.”
I giggled and started putting sweet potatoes into my bag.
“Taylor!”
I heard my name and turned, using one hand to shade my eyes so I could see who had called me. “Axel,” I said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
He was clean shaven, and the hunter scarf looped around his neck brought out the green shades in his dark eyes. He looked younger than the last time I’d seen him, fresh-faced and happy, and the smile on his face when he grinned at me was genuine.
He gave me a quick one-armed hug, shifting his shopping bags to one hand to do so. “Same as you. Buying food.” He jerked his thumb up toward the tall apartment building in the next lot. “I live here. For the next couple of weeks, anyway.”
I remembered belatedly that he had said he lived close by. “Oh, right, I forgot. I’ll make sure to call you next time I need a jar opened.”
“You know it.”
I felt more than saw Shane step up beside me. “Axel, Shane. Shane, this is Axel Palafox. He directed the video for Mel’s PSA. We met the other night at dinner. I mean, after dinner.”
“You’re a lucky man, Shane,” Axel said, shaking Shane’s hand and offering a broad smile. “She’s a real catch.”
Silence followed his remark, and I glanced up at Shane, wondering why he wasn’t correcting Axel’s assumption. “Shane and I are spending Thanksgiving together,” I said brightly, trying to ignore the awkwardness.
“You’re not spending it with Mel?”
“I usually do, but this year I’m going to try something a little different.”
Shane hadn’t said a word, but I could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Not the jealous type, eh? "It’s good to see you,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “We’ll have to get together sometime.”
“Stop by anytime,” Shane said, speaking to Axel for the first time. “We’d love to hang out.”
“I’ll do that.” Axel raised an eyebrow at me as he shook Shane’s hand firmly, clearly not intimidated but conscious of Shane’s attitude all the same.
I waited until Axel was out of earshot before I spoke. “You don’t get jealous, huh?” I said with annoyance, glaring up at Shane.
Shane had the grace to look chagrined. He shook his head, running a hand over his hair. “Looks like there’s a first for everything.”
Chapter 16
On Thanksgiving morning, I woke to the sound of water running in my kitchen.
At first, I thought maybe Shane had stopped by and was cooking, but then I remembered that I was supposed to be meeting him at his apartment at ten o’clock. A quick glance at my alarm clock told me it was just after six AM.
I climbed out of bed and padded into the kitchen. There was a pool of water in the middle of the tile floor. As I moved closer, stepping reluctantly into the puddle to get a better look, I realized the sound was coming from the cabinet underneath the sink. I knelt down and opened the cabinet, and a rush of water poured out, drenching my legs. I yelped and jumped back, landing on my butt with a splash.
A pipe below my sink was gushing like a waterfall.
“Why today?” I yelled, slapping my hand against the floor and drenching myself even further. “Think, Taylor, think…turn off the water first. Where’s the shutoff valve?” Getting up on my hands and knees, I crawled into the cabinet, then lowered myself to try to see a little more closely. My elbows were immediately saturated. I saw two valves, one leading to the dishwasher and one leading up to the sink. I reached in, trying to ignore the splatter of water on my face, and twisted the sink shutoff valve to the right. The water didn’t stop, so I turned off the one leading to the dishwasher as well, but the water kept pouring out.
Frustrated now, I looked more closely at the broken pipe, which came out of the wall behind the cabinet. As I peered at it, I realized that the pipe wasn’t actually broken at all. There was literally an open pipe inside a circular hole in the wall that was pouring water. I glanced down and saw another shutoff valve, this one disconnected and lying at the base of the cabinet. I grabbed it and tried to force it back into the pipe. A sharp edge cut into my hand, and I swore, dropping the valve again.
I looked at the pipe, struggling to discern what was water and what was metal. From what I could tell, the pipe looked okay, but the valve itself had broken off jaggedly.
A drop of blood welled up on the heel of my hand, and I glared at the valve before backing out from under the cabinet. I squished my way through the bedroom into the bathroom, grabbed an armload of towels, dumped the entire lot of them on the kitchen floor, and started moving them around with my feet while dialing the building super on my cell phone.
Lil Wayne’s 6 Foot 7 Foot blared through my phone as a ringback tone, and I groaned, smacking a hand to my forehead. I was in no mood for Lil Wayne at the moment. I waited, growing more impatient by the moment, until the phone finally clicked over to voicemail.
“Yo, this is Ronny,” the super’s voice said, much deeper than I would have expected for the scrawny white kid that I’d seen fixing things around the building. “Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
I left my apartment number and phone number, explaining the situation as simply as I could, then left my phone number again just in case he missed it the first time around. Dropping my phone on the counter, I looked down at the mound of towels at my feet. Most of them were already soaked through.
I picked up my phone again and called Shane. His phone was blissfully free of ringback tones, but he didn’t answer, either.
“Shane, it’s me,”
I said after the voicemail beep. “The shutoff valve under my sink broke off and my kitchen is flooded right now. The super’s not answering his phone, and I can’t get the water to turn off. Can you help? Call me back, please.”
My next and most reluctant call was to Van, but his phone was turned off. I didn’t bother leaving a voicemail, and thought about calling Mel or my dad, but the last thing I wanted was to catch hell for not attending Thanksgiving dinner with the family.
I moved the towels around with my feet again, trying to catch as much water as possible. When a few minutes passed without a call back from either Shane or Ronny, I got down on my knees again and tried to see if there was anything else I could do. Unsurprisingly, water was still pouring out of the broken pipe. I wadded up a hand towel and shoved it into the exposed pipe, which slowed the flow, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.
I’d just about exhausted my options. I knew next to nothing about plumbing, and I had no idea if my apartment had some kind of shutoff switch for the water. I looked up a plumber on Angie’s List and dialed the number. Of course there was no answer, which didn’t surprise me. No one was going to come out to my apartment on Thanksgiving, anyway, no matter how much money I offered them.
I went back to the bathroom for more towels, carrying my phone with me. As I stood on the toilet seat lid to reach my emergency towels, I suddenly remembered Axel. What were the odds that he’d be home before seven AM on Thanksgiving? Probably pretty good, if he hadn’t already gone back to Texas. I dialed his phone number, praying he would pick up. My feminist ideals had flown out the window about twenty minutes ago. I wanted nothing more than to find a man to fix this issue for me.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Oh my god, Axel, I’m so glad you answered,” I blurted out. “Are you still in Brooklyn?”
“Taylor? Is everything okay?”
I was ready to burst into tears, but I swallowed hard and kept my voice steady. “It’s so stupid. The shutoff valve under my kitchen sink broke off and part of it is still stuck on the pipe and there’s water everywhere. I can’t get ahold of anyone, and I don’t even know any place that would be open today so I can buy a replacement, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to install it.”