Playing House

by Willsin Rowe

  Mark’s body, still tense with release, hovered over mine. Slowly he came back from wherever he was—the roof, the sky, the stars—and brought his eyes back to look straight into mine. For a moment he stared into me as if looking for something he’d lost. Whatever it was, it seemed he found it. He softened, falling again to my mouth to plant a lingering velvet kiss, before drifting lower to rest his head on my chest.

  He was normally so heavy, but at that moment he was soft and light and gentle. Or maybe I was just stronger than I thought. Running my fingers into his hair, I held him against me, idly searching for any reason to ever release him from my clutches. This moment was perfection, but so was the first time we’d made love. Despite that, it was still far too early to think about this being anything permanent. We’d only been living together for a month. And in this very moment we were still all sweaty and barely recovering from the mad throes of passion.

  And that was another strange part of this whole situation. The fact that every time I thought of what we were doing, I thought in terms of making love. Passion. Heat and want and desire. But never just sex. Or lust. Or fucking. It was such a new relationship—if it even was a relationship and not just dial-a-climax—there was a strong chance I was looking at it through rose-colored glasses. Building it up into something it clearly wasn’t and would never be. Mark had only just split from what’s-her-face, after all, and my track record with guys wasn’t the kind to give a girl a whole lot to be proud of. Not a single one of them had ever been good for me. Or to me. Hell, none of them had even made the effort to be good near me.

  This one, though. This man, and this situation… it all felt different. Deeper and more rounded. Perhaps it was because we began as strangers living in a house, rather than being a couple who moved in together. We hadn’t had to get around each other’s quirks, thankfully, because we weren’t together. I hadn’t really picked Mark so much as simply stood back and allowed his life to intersect with mine. I’d been so intensely determined not to let his body make that same move.

  “You’re not thinking too hard are you, Luce?” His voice was warm and tickly as it rumbled against my breasts.

  “Oh, of course I am, Mark. That’s what I do.”

  He lifted his head and rested it on one hand, his eyes sleepy and soft and rich like melted chocolate. “I was hoping I could silence that inner voice for a few minutes.”

  “I’m not a task for you to complete, Mark.” Even I could hear that tone coming back in and I winced at myself. As I caressed his lovely cheek I murmured to him. “I’m sorry. You did, Mark. You took away… well, everything. All of my thoughts as well as that voice of doubt. But it’s back now.”

  “You’re not tossing me in the same barrel as Cameron, are you?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you know about him?”

  His smile was warm enough but not his usual high-wattage one. “I actually know more than a little of your history.”

  “Damn Toni!”

  He ran his finger in a tiny circle between my eyebrows. “Please, Luce. Relax. If you’re going to damn anyone, let it be me. I was the one who had to drag the information kicking and screaming out of Toni.”

  “My Toni?” I shook my head. “Look, I love the girl like a sister, but I know she’d give up that kind of info in a heartbeat, and for nothing more than a long black and a biscotti.”

  “I thought she drank tea?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s bi.”

  He thrilled me with a hearty chuckle at that. “All right, you got me. It wasn’t that hard to get the info, but I know for a fact she wouldn’t spill it to just anyone.”

  I couldn’t argue that one. Toni was my fiercest defender every time I’d sunk myself body and soul into a relationship with a jerk and wound up drowning in him. The fact she’d so readily gush my business to Mark was unnerving on one level. On the other hand, though, it spoke volumes for the regard she held him in.

  Mark coughed lightly, which seemed to be one of his tells. A signal that whatever he said next would be important to him. “In fact, she only told me because…”

  “Yes? Because why?”

  This time he sighed, and rolled over to lie on his back beside me. “Because she could see how much it meant to me, okay? How much you mean to me.”

  I sat up and lifted my legs to cover my breasts, grasping for the sheet that was crumpled up beneath the immovable weight of Mark’s body. For some reason, it suddenly seemed as if covering myself was the exact right thing to do. And it occurred to me I had no idea how long ago any of those conversations happened. What if the only reason Mark moved in was because he was just like Patrick? He’d been stalking me through Toni. Was that even a possibility?

  “Don’t play games with me, Mark.”

  “I don’t play games, Lucy. I’m not sure how you could think that of me.”

  “How? How?” The tone was back, but it was sharper and shriller than before. Maybe without realizing it, maybe without even doing anything, Mark had suddenly pushed one very big hot-button with me. He’d given me reason to distrust him. “Because you’re saying all these amazing things that nobody has ever said to me, okay? Even when Cameron was lying through his teeth, he couldn’t spin silk like you’re doing right now.”

  “Oh, Luce. Was he so full of shit that he’s overflowed onto the rest of us?”

  “What?”

  “Is it us—all men—you can’t trust? Or have you lost faith in yourself? Don’t you believe me when I tell you you’re beautiful?”

  “Men say that to any woman who they think will—”

  “I beg you, Lucy, don’t finish that sentence. I’m not that guy. Please trust me here. Can’t you see it when you look in the mirror? How sexy you are? But more than that, how fucking worthy you are?”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, I won’t. Just what is it you think I’m doing here?”

  I couldn’t explain myself. Everything about him just seemed too earnest suddenly. He was too damn sure of his own intuition. The one time I’d listened to his words and allowed myself to believe he was right, was when he told me how to deal with men. And I’d ended up choked half to death. “You tell me, Mark, because I truly don’t know. Making the most of a convenient situation?”

  “Don’t do this, Luce. Please? Not again.”

  I rolled off his bed and picked up the shreds of my nightie. “I’m not doing anything, Mark. I’d better go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

  I closed his door gently behind me, worried that anything more than a tiny click would make it seem like I was angry. Which I was, of course, but I honestly couldn’t tell who I was angrier at. Cameron, for the way he’d damaged me? Mark, for calling me on it? Or myself. For being so damn weak.

  17

  As it did every day now, Mark’s alarm pulled me from sleep again. I would definitely need to put some sound-proofing in the walls at this rate. Of course, that would depend on where we were now, as a pair. Had I upset him enough that he’d move out? If he stayed, could we even consider being a couple? If we shared a room, and a bed, how would I ever escape that damn alarm?

  Lying there awake, over-thinking every single word and action that had led me to this point—even back to childhood—I toyed with the notion of doing something. Something odd and challenging, like getting out of bed. Instead, I simply laid there and listened as he pummeled my house into submission. While he prepared his breakfast, I huddled beneath my blanket, wishing like hell he’d come check on me, and supremely relieved when he didn’t.

  The previous night had been perfect. So wrong, and so right. All the way up until I decided to start thinking again. I needed to consider disconnecting my brain from my body. Or at least from my mouth. Not only had Mark done nothing wrong, the truth was he’d done everything right. And I meant everything.

  If we were going to stay living together, in
whatever fashion, I needed to be a big girl and go out and face him. Though of course I hadn’t heard him walking around, I also hadn’t heard him leave, so I crept out to the kitchen to find him sitting at the table, as handsome as ever. Fully dressed for work and cutting a fine figure. He glanced up from his book and shot me a watered-down smile.

  “You okay, Luce?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “A–are we okay?”

  “I think so.”

  The smile was a good sign, and the question even better. But he had to be feeling something beyond trepidation. No man sits back and listens that well, and takes the kind of flighty post-coital behavior I hit him with. Sure, he seemed quite taken with me, but I knew I wasn’t that much of a catch that he’d stick around time and again if I kept pushing him away. He’d get sensible. Maybe, in the greater scheme of things, that’s all Cameron and my other jerkwad exes had done.

  I flopped heavily into my chair opposite him and tried to act nonchalant, scratching at the spotless tabletop as if something had been spilled there and not cleaned up.

  “That’s good. You know, I only ask because…”

  That didn’t sound good. “Because…?”

  “Well, Farmer Giles called, and he needs to know if you’re coming in to work today. He said the crows are really bad.”

  I shot my hands up to my hair and tried to smooth it down, knowing there was no chance. Not with those thick red follicles. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why on earth would you be sorry?”

  “I’m a mess.”

  He placed his book face down on the table. Before I could protest about that, he reached across to me with both hands, palms up. It took no thought on my part to slip my hands into his and when he squeezed, it felt like he’d transferred his strength to me.

  “So let me get this straight. You’ll apologize for having bed hair, but tossing me aside for a second time is cool?”

  “Mark, please…”

  “I’m not bitching here, Luce. I’m just trying to get a little more understanding. You fascinate me with your contrasts and contradictions.”

  “Stop it. I’m not a science project.”

  He squeezed my hands again, but this time I tried to pull away. He had too strong a grip on me, though.

  “Look, I agree, Luce. You are a bit of a mess. Thing is, I’m not talking about your hair. That, I’m afraid, is adorable.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

  “Stop that.”

  The sharpness in his voice pulled me up short. Perhaps I’d found a nerve to push, after all. It hadn’t been my plan, but it was probably better to uncover his dark side now, while there was still a chance to flee. I stilled, waiting for him to continue.

  “Luce, how would you feel if I came into the kitchen one day and simply stated outright that you hate tea?”

  “But I don’t. You know that.”

  “Exactly. Personally, I can’t stand tea. But do you think, for one minute, that means you should hate it?”

  “I don’t get—”

  “Luce, it’s simple, and I’ll state it plainly. Do not presume to tell me what I like. Have I ever treated you like he did? Have I ever made you feel anything bad about yourself?”

  “Well… not exactly.”

  “Not exactly, huh?”

  I gave him a quick little nod. “I mean, no, you haven’t. But I’ve felt pretty damn stupid a lot of the time around you.”

  “Well, if I’ve made that happen then I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s all me, in this case. Like last night.”

  He turned his hands over, taking mine with them, and he ran his palms gently over the backs of my fingers.

  “Luce, you’re unfairly cute in all circumstances. It truly doesn’t matter whether you’ve got yourself all spruced up for work or if you’re a freshly awoken zombie, recovering from a rough night.”

  “Like now.”

  “Yes, like now. You’re lovely with your hair and make-up done, and in your fancy work duds. But here’s the thing… without all that, and in your skin-tight house clothes… you’re goddamn irresistible.”

  I tried to pull my hands back but he gripped them again and held on tightly.

  “Let me go.”

  “I don’t want to.” There was just a hint of petulant anger in his voice. “What did I just say? Didn’t you hear any of it?”

  “Of course I did, Mark. I just can’t risk believing you. Not so quickly.”

  He finally released my hands and stood straight up, blowing out a frustrated breath as he took his bowl to the sink. As he washed it out—with hot water and detergent, for once—he spoke in a voice made dark with annoyance. “Lucy. I do understand why you’re scared. But you are going to have to trust me some time.”

  “You have no idea what scares me, mister. You barely know me.”

  He slammed the bowl into the dish rack and wheeled around at me. “And whose fault’s that, huh?”

  Before I could even move he was at the table, leaning over it, his height and size accentuated by his work suit. Though I knew deep inside he would never hurt me, still his anger was so potent. I’d played all those little predator-and-prey games in my head ever since he moved in. For the first time, it actually felt real.

  The heat in his eyes sent signals every which way inside me. Fear and lust, anger and sorrow. With nowhere else to go, I pushed my chair back and stood, scuttling off to the shower in the hope I could escape the consequences of my own misgivings.

  Just before I closed the bathroom door, his voice came to me again. The anger was gone, but it was by no means a jaunty sound.“Lucy, I know you better than you think I do.”

  Those words still rang in my ears as I stripped off. Naked, I stared into the mirror, wondering what Mark could possibly see in me. Not just because of my thick flesh, but my thick head as well. My reflection glared back at me, all kinds of accusations in her eyes.

  For a moment I stood strong, then poked my tongue out at her and ducked into the shower. Maybe with enough hot water and hard scrubbing I could slough off enough of the old me that I’d be a whole new person when I emerged.

  Part way through the shower, it suddenly occurred to me that I’d done absolutely nothing to deal with the Patrick situation. I hadn’t called anyone, filed a report, made a complaint. Nothing. Hell, thanks to Mark and his consummate seduction skills I’d barely given any thought to the actual incident itself. My breath caught in my chest as I remembered Patrick’s grubby hand closing around my throat, and I put my own hand over the spot as if to protect it. What the hell would I do if the guy turned up today like nothing had happened? What if he was in a crazier mood than ever?

  Fear was a huge motivator. It was that which drove me to finish my shower as quickly as I could. With everything happening in my life, the last thing I needed was to get Patrick the whack-job all riled up by being late again. To my own business, where I set the working hours myself.

  Standing again before the mirror, doing my best to tame my fiery hair, a rush of frustration hit me. What the hell is the problem with men? Why on Earth did I seem to spend most of my waking life either molly-coddling their brittle egos, or contorting myself around their cumbersome shapes? They were all take and no give, unless sticking their bits inside you counted as giving. But even then, it was all about what they got from it.

  With a quick scurry, I made it from the bathroom to my bedroom without having to face Mark. If he was even still home. He was supposed to head off twenty minutes ago at the latest.

  Finally dried and dressed, and all gussied up, I crept back down the hall. Once again, putting myself in a position where I had to work around a boy. But it was for the best. If I saw Patrick today there would be a better than even chance of some kind of conflict. I sure didn’t need there to be any of it at home as well.
r />   18

  Because Mark had driven me home, my car was still at my bookstore. I had to do the unthinkable and take a horrible taxi ride, sitting on vinyl seats where maybe a hundred-thousand other bottoms had sat. Bottoms belonging to people with an unknown and unknowable sense of hygiene. Thank goodness I kept a pack of anti-bacterial wipes with me at all times.

  Other than the tension in my spine, caused by my attempts to avoid contact with the unclean surfaces of the public vehicle, the drive to my store was as uneventful as ever. When I arrived at The Lost Books’ Home the atmosphere felt somehow bizarre. Something was off about it all, and as I paid the driver, I fully expected to see Patrick standing at the front door waiting for me. Perhaps with a few of his mailman buddies, ready to gang-rape me or something. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen.

  Just to ease my mind, I walked down to the small car parking area behind my store to check on my car. Everything seemed fine. No key marks, no animal heads, no graffiti. I opened it up and sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, hugging myself.

  When I’d discovered Cameron’s affairs, it was as though my life had disintegrated. It had felt as if I had nothing, that I was nothing. I had Toni for support, of course, and by extension Rob. At that low point, though, The Lost Books’ Home had been the one thing I could count on that was still truly mine. The one achievement which told me I had a reason to continue. The store became everything to me. My baby, my distraction, my significant other.

  But as a direct result of Patrick’s violent brain-snap, even my store seemed somehow tainted. He might as well have run his sweaty palms over every single inch of the place and left behind the stink of entitlement.

  I locked my car and walked with caution up the alleyway to the street, half expecting Mister Grabby to be standing at the door, tapping his foot and pointing at his watch. Again, I found myself wondering why it was that the men in my life seemed to have all the power. Every one of them, all the way back to high school, seemed to find something I loved and proceed to bend it all out of shape. Maybe to see if they could. Maybe just to see what it did to me.