Eye of the Tiger

by Melanie Greene

  He drizzled the herb-infused vinegar over at the kebabs and put the platter in the fridge to marinate. "I've been wondering--your mom doesn't care about you dating a Jewish guy?"

  She shrugged. "I'm sure she'd be delighted. Though that's one thing she never made a big fuss about. She's too relieved I have a man in her life. Religion's not part of her criteria."

  After wiping down the counter and washing his hands, Evan poured them each a glass of iced tea. "She knows you're a catch, right?"

  Natalie lifted her drink in a toast. "Thanks." She slipped off her heavy necklace and bracelets.

  "I mean it. I like your mom and all, but the way you talk, it sounds like she doesn't have faith you could get with any guy you want." He rounded the counter to sit on the stool next to hers.

  She didn't answer him. She didn't look at him, either. She was facing the back window, even though from where they sat, her fountain wasn't visible. He noticed how often she watched the water splashing against the shell-shaped bowl. Picking up his glass, he took her hand and led her to the patio.

  They settled into lounge chairs. It had been another scorching day, but the brick held only a gentle heat as the sun lowered on the other side of the house. "I know I'm just your temporary toy, but take it from me. You'll replace me in two seconds when we're done. Dudes will line up to date a sexy, smart, funny, sexy woman like you."

  Releasing her hair clip, she settled against the cushion. Her deep sigh moved her chest in cock-stirring ways. "You said sexy twice."

  He loved watching her relax in phases as she shed the accessories of her work day. Each small transition brought her closer and closer to the woman he would bed that night. They had fun fucking when Nat was fully clad in her armor, but knowing she was comfortable removing it in his presence was a turn-on. "If you come over here, I'll say it three times."

  She was wiggling her toes and he was wondering how visible they were from the houses to either side. "I'm not sure these chairs are up for that," she said, bouncing her ass like she was willing to delay his dinner.

  His edgy energy from earlier had returned with a bite. He hopped up and lit the barbecue. "That'll take a few minutes to heat up," he said, straddling her, tracing a finger along her clavicle, gut-punched by the look in her eyes as she unzipped his fly.

  "And I can't think of a thing to do to pass the time," she said.

  He was too aching and off-balance to answer. Her voice and her touch intensified his restless hunger. His dick was as hard as the brick of the patio, as hot as the flames of the grill. She guided him to her cool, sweet mouth. Evan gasped as she took him deep, and blessed the dusk and the noise of the fountain for adding a semblance of camouflage. He got her inside before he got inside her, perched her on the dining table and kissed her neck, her cheeks, each elegant ear.

  Later, as they sat at that same table eating their kebabs, her jokes about skewers and sizzling and spits grounded Evan. He might not have her zip code memorized, but each moment with her made it easier and easier for him to find himself in Natalie's house.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ridiculous. She'd survived days in Turkey wearing a combination of cheap tourist tees, too-tight loans from her mom, and a parrot-festooned shirt borrowed from Leo. Or Drew. They wore the things interchangeably; probably even they didn't know whose shirt it was. Point was, Marisa and Koray had seen her squeezed into Elaine's roomiest pants. At least they hadn't heard Mom saying she may as well keep them, since Nat's ass permanently destroyed the integrity of the fabric.

  So packing for two nights with the Lees shouldn't induce closet-based panic. Jeans, her cutest shorts, and a sundress that never let her down. But for the party? She had nothing. Everything was too buttoned up, screamed Young Professional. Why were none of her clothes fun but fancy?

  She phoned Serena, who offered a wrap skirt, giggling in a way that almost had Nat hanging up on her. Like Natalie wanted to bisect her waist with a print, even assuming the thing would fit without hugging her hips obscenely. Serena suggested Rachel, but Rachel was on her way to deal with Hannah's paternal grandmother. After her friend swore twice she could handle Depy without a babysitter, she left her to it. Gillian, who went on more dates than any of them, had an irritating habit of buying her clothes online and not caring if they were well-tailored to the occasion. Or if they were well-tailored at all. And more power to her, but it made her useless as a shopping buddy or fashion adviser.

  She called Leticia, who said, "Yes, let's shop. But listen up, you've got to trust me. I have ideas, and you can't go rejecting them out of hand."

  "You have ideas?" It sounded ominous. And disconcerting. They'd hung out enough for Leticia to know her usual style, and yes, it tended to be more classic than Leticia's modern look, but she was startled to think her new friend had been mentally revamping her wardrobe all along.

  "Relax. You're not going to hate it, and it's not an insult. Call it a hobby of mine; I love playing dress-up with my friends."

  "I'm not sure I'm comforted," Nat said, but jotted down the directions to a boutique Leticia recommended. Following Leticia's rules, she left there with not only a party dress far trendier than she'd anticipated, but also a jumpsuit she was astounded suited her figure, and a top with laser cutouts that looked kickass paired with her aubergine pinstriped skirt.

  She texted pictures of the dress to her gals. Serena replied she needed to see a selfie with Nat in the dress, but Nat wasn't sure she could capture the whole effect at arm's length. She ended up standing on a chair in her bathroom aiming the camera over her shoulder so she could show them the metallic straps crisscrossing her back. Rachel texted back a series of exclamation marks; Serena sent emojis of dancing women; Gillian called.

  "Does your dress have sequins?"

  "No. Don't be ridiculous." She'd left Leticia's three sequin-embellished picks on the rack. Moving out of her comfort zone was one thing; letting Evan's family draw parallels to Mardi Gras outfits was another. Leticia's picks hadn't been costumey; she simply didn't trust Chloe to avoid wisecracks.

  "Just asking. How about spandex?"

  "Latex, actually. Got to make sure my every curve is on display, it seems." She studied her reflection. "I've been buying tasteful suits for so long, even I wasn't aware how many curves I possessed."

  Gillian snorted.

  "What?"

  "I work out next to you three times a week, remember?"

  "Are you suggesting I jiggle?"

  "No, I'm suggesting if Evan compliments your figure, you can take him at his word. I'm always telling you you're hot, and too self-conscious. Not that you'd need to be self-conscious if you weren't hot. People are how they're made, and it's about time our gender stopped apologizing for not meeting the airbrushed version of perfection that's shoved in our gaze every day."

  "Did you accidentally watch celebrity gossip again?" Natalie agreed with Gill, just like she'd agreed the other six hundred times they'd vented about this.

  She admitted that self-acceptance and not comparing herself to an ideal woman was harder to practice than to vent about in the abstract. In the abstract, agreeing was no problem. It seemed like every inch she moved out of the comfort zone her mom delineated back when she was a teen, she discovered another way self-acceptance and not comparing herself to a physical ideal was as tough as a handful of ragged, unvarnished nails.

  Climbing into bed Thursday night, their bags packed and airport parking booked, Natalie said, "So, listen, I'm going to take advantage of my refundable fare."

  His body recoiled, which he converted into pillow-flopping. "What? Why? I thought everything was sorted."

  "I know. It was. It is, I mean. But it's ridiculous for me to go, isn't it? Your siblings are clear about not wanting me there. Tell everyone something came up for work. I'll cover with my mom so your folks won't find out."

  He knew he'd overshared about their dumb text battles. "Screw them."

  She shook her head. "I mean, sure, in theory. If this was
a real relationship, they should suck it up. We don't have that. Why aggravate ourselves to act the part, when it's not like we're striking a blow for our future as a couple? It doesn't make sense."

  Swallowing to moisten his tongue, he worked out the best approach to bring her around. "I thought you liked New Orleans?"

  "Course I do."

  "And you don't really have work?"

  "Nothing scheduled. I'm not backing out because a weekend in New Orleans is repugnant. Come on, Evan. Your siblings still tease you about baby Fiona. Do you really want to give them thirty years of jokes about my lion's mane and our matchmaking parents?"

  "We never tease Ben about it."

  She slid the last of her panoply of nightly lotions onto her bedside table and switched off the lamp. Curling on her side facing him, she asked, "Ben and Tara were a matchmaker marriage?"

  "So they claim. I don't remember how they got together. I was a teenager and he was out of grad school, so we didn't exactly gossip nightly, you know?" He shrugged. His mom could have introduced Tara to Ben; they always seemed to work with the same non-profits. Until the anniversary trip to Turkey, Evan discounted the story as exaggeration. After all, his paternal grandmother had tried to play matchmaker for his father, locating a friend of a friend's daughter, a Turkish-American woman open to getting hitched. Gran never would adopt modernity where she could opt for tradition, including the tradition of moms and aunts and other women in a young man's life going out and picking likely spouses. Koray would have none of it, not when he was busy winning the heart of the cute woman in his astronomy seminar. They constantly claimed their love was written in the stars.

  It was nice, having parents a little too crazy about each other.

  It would be nicer if, in marrying her Turkish-American man, Marisa hadn't picked up her husband's rejected matchmaker tradition for their children. She'd stuck him in this impasse.

  He toggled off his lamp and slid to intertwine their legs. Collecting his zip-zaging thoughts was easier in the dark. "Okay, I understand this is above and beyond the call of duty for you. Having to fake love around all of them. Having to meet them all in the first place. And we can get you out of it if that's what you really want."

  "There you go again, telling me I have permission to make up my own mind."

  He caught her hand as it traced his pecs, folding it against his heart. "Difficult woman. Never change. Don't attack me, but I think you're making up problems because you're insecure." He felt her flinch, imagined the narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Let the dark hide his slow smile. She was going to set him on fire.

  "I'm the insecure one? Me? When you're the one who jokes his way into my house? Who won't risk telling his brothers the truth about us? Or even Luke, because what if someone at work finds out you're not following a conventional path? You and your jillion ties and your herringbone suit. And I'm the insecure one."

  "Hey. Low blow. That suit is impeccable." He'd found a menswear store a couple of miles from Natalie's house and figured why not take advantage of the roomy closets in her spare bedroom.

  "Are you laughing at me?"

  He edged closer, wrapping his leg behind her and wedging her hip into the angle between his pelvis and thigh. "Nope. I'm taking your concerns seriously. The fact that I get a hard-on when you assassinate my character doesn't stop me from helping you get past your insecurities. Which you have. Unlike me."

  Her free hand slid between them. She grabbed his balls and squeezed. He almost came on the spot. "Jesus. Fine, I admit it. I'm insecure, too. Which is why I am begging you," he pistoned his hips and grabbed one of her tits, "pleading for you to come and shield me from my scary family."

  She shoved at his shoulder and pivoted to sit astride his thighs. He thrust a finger into her, drawing the moisture out and helping it spread across her labia while she jacked his cock. He was mesmerized by the way her breasts bounced as she worked him, her curves limned in the dim radiance from the moonlit window.

  Abruptly, she stilled her hands. There was nowhere near enough light to read her expression. "Nat?"

  "I won't cancel." Her voice was soft, but decided. It sent all his worries sweeping off to the sidelines of his life.

  He levered up to reach her lush lips. "Thank you."

  "But you'd better be prepared to take me on a streetcar."

  "As long as none of the kids are around to witness my indecent exposure, I'm prepared to take you," he sheathed himself inside her, "anywhere you want."

  They arrived as everyone was finishing dinner at Acme Oyster House, and it was to be expected that the nieces and nephews would dissolve Evan in their mob. Koray snagged a wood chair from a nearby table, squeezing it in between him and DJ. Nat was wiping crumbs off the red checkered oilcloth so she could lean across and shake hands with Alice before she even got a good look down the length of the table.

  Lee offspring, as she'd learned in Turkey during her first session of Marisa introducing her to everyone via her photo stream, had a certain sameness about them. They were all a mix of their parents, but each had Marisa's straight, thick, dark hair, and Koray's wing-spread eyebrows. Danny and Ben were more like each other than like Evan, but Danny's hair stood on end and Ben shared Evan and Koray's wide shoulders. Alice was a mini-Koray, and Chloe was a tall Marisa. She was the tallest of the family, except Danny. Or maybe it seemed that way because of how effectively she looked down her nose at Natalie, even from her seat near the opposite end of the table.

  Alice's entirely mild husband, Will, leaned around DJ to offer the uneaten half of his oyster po-boy. "Thanks, but no."

  "You want Chloe's? She got a half-and-half." Which meant at least half the filling was out for her. She shook her head.

  "Dibs," called Evan from the kid table behind her.

  "I'll take an order of red beans and rice, and a sweet tea," Nat told the waiter. "And get him some Andouille gumbo."

  "And fries," Evan added.

  "Regular fries for me, Boo fries for him."

  If she were Evan's real partner, she'd be offended by the way Chloe got her sandwich basket to Evan. She could have passed it across, or slid into the space behind Nat to get to her baby brother. Instead, she took the long way round, and Nat swallowed her amusement each time Chloe had to turn sideways and lean back to allow people to pass her in the crowded restaurant. It was, as usual, too loud for conversations down the distance between them, but she knew she and Chloe would have to talk eventually. Until then, she focused on DJ's stories about her four-year-olds and her recent house-hunting adventures. Koray swore Natalie could help DJ and Danny figure out how to afford a roomy house in a district with good schools in a city Nat had never visited. It was tricky, but at least she was having an inclusive conversation.

  Soon enough, they'd cleared out of there, and Evan slid his hand into hers. "I volunteered us to help my folks put the kids to bed. All the parents and Chloe are going to get started crawling up Bourbon Street."

  "Laissez les bons temps rouler," she murmured back.

  "Nah, it'll be fun. Well, it'll be easy. And your spine was getting stiffer and stiffer every time Will offered you another leftover."

  Here she thought she'd handled her dietary restrictions with aplomb. If she'd been prompted to name the worst place and most awkward company to explain she didn't eat shellfish, it would be an oyster house with his family. She didn't expect an interrogation, or even criticism, but she wouldn't put it past any one of them to make a Big Damn Deal about it, loud and attention-grabbing in the midst of the gumbo guzzlers and crab cake consumers.

  His voice dropped and he got cajoling. "All it'll take is a quick board game with the tween set while Mom and Dad make the twins stop jumping on the beds. Once they're semi-sedated, you and I can go back out on the town. If you don't want to catch up to the others, that's fine. I'll buy you a hurricane and we'll make our own game of wandering and evading them."

  She checked the time. "Actually, if we trounce the kids fast enough, we can cat
ch the last show at Preservation Hall. We can drink our hurricanes while we wait in line."

  They were passing under a streetlamp, which explained why his smile seemed a dozen degrees brighter than usual. Or maybe he was really excited about the rum in his immediate future. "Excellent. Yo, Marcus! Did you bring Sorry!? Because if you did, you are going to be so sorry. Natalie and I are taking you guys down."

  The nine-year-old turned around, walking backwards while making 'bring it' gestures at his uncle. Lizzy and Jane both scrambled up to hang on Evan's other side, trying to be the first to explain that Sorry! was only for four players. Evan shrugged and said he and Natalie would be a team, but she refused. "You pair up with someone else, so I can defeat you."

  "Planning on fighting dirty, are you?"

  She waggled her eyebrows at him. "You have no idea."

  In the end, Danny and Alice and their spouses met them in line for the ten p.m. show. Chloe squired Ben--and his wife, over her protests that the birthday twins should spend time with each other--to a tiny dive bar in the Warehouse District. The rest of them squeezed in along the side wall at Preservation Hall, with not much view of the piano or bass players, but great sight lines to the drummer and horns. DJ and Nat traded jokes, which soothed the edge he'd sensed between Nat and Alice. Altogether, his siblings were behaving like jackasses, far as he could tell. They'd pissed him off at dinner. Sure, they'd shown a certain level of civility that someone who hadn't known them for years might not have interpreted as judgmental reserve. But he'd grown up spying on those four people, and he knew every nuance of their behavior.

  He let his mind wander as deep notes moved across the floorboards. He stood behind Natalie, watching the musicians, running three fingers up her side. Dipping in and out, her hourglass shape echoed by the double bass.

  Danny nudged him. When he glanced over, his brother lifted a chin at his wife and Nat, swaying together to the music. He and D exchanged identical half-smiles, and Evan felt the downbeats thrum up his calves. He suspected he and Danny were doing the same head-bobbing motion, but no one was looking at them as the saxophonist took a solo.