Only Trick

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Your nana didn’t get demoted to the back,” Trick whispers in my ear as he seats me in my chair.

  “That would never happen. As long as she’s alive, she’ll always have the best seat in the house.”

  Trick places his cloth napkin in his lap. “Why is that?”

  I take a sip from my—fourth?—glass of champagne. Must be why I’m a little loose-lipped right now. “My father thinks Nana controls the purse strings.”

  Trick gives a polite nod to the bimbo that takes a seat next to him. Then he puts his arm around the back of my chair and leans in closer until his sexy cologne makes my already dizzy head spin on its side. “Purse strings?”

  I giggle. “Yes, purse strings. Charles McDermot, my grandfather who died when my mom was sixteen, was quite wealthy. My mom was an only child and was going to inherit a fortune one day. Daddy Dearest was an attorney rotating through the same three cheap suits when he met my mom. My father doesn’t need the money as long as he has Rachel, but I think we all know that won’t last forever, so he assumes when Nana dies I will inherit the McDermot fortune and of course feel obligated to share it with him.” I take another sip of champagne. “So as long as he thinks that, Nana gets rock star treatment. He knows she’s my weak spot and I care more about how he treats her than how he treats me.”

  “Thinks? I take it you don’t plan on sharing it with him?”

  “No, that’s not it. After I graduated from college I told Nana I didn’t want the money so she donated most of it to various charities. Nana has some money, but she’s no longer sitting on the fortune my father thinks she is.”

  I hiccup in a very unladylike fashion, eliciting snooty looks from the golden pussies seated around us. I can’t help the giggle that escapes, so I bury my face into the crook of Trick’s neck. “They’re ashamed to sit with me too,” I say in a voice that’s a little louder than a whisper. I inhale his scent. “God, you smell good.”

  “I think you’ve had your limit.” He grabs my ponytail and gives it a gentle tug.

  Whoa! Why did that feel so … hot?

  I sit up and squirm in my seat. Visions of him yanking on my ponytail in a more intimate setting drive my train of thought. Our dinner plates are placed in front of us, and I waste no time digging into the artistic concoction that one of the bimbos across the table is taking a picture of with her phone. Real classy.

  I think they eat three of the julienned carrots, combined, then scowl at me in disgust as I finish my entire meal. “Stop staring. Your now bony asses are going to look like Mac trucks someday when your anorexic deprivation turns into a binge fest. So I hope you have a plan B beyond five-hundred-dollar-an-hour blow jobs.”

  Trick coughs, maybe masking his laugh, as I’m met with wide eyes and Botox-lipped O’s. “Let’s go.” He wipes his mouth and scoots back in his chair, then helps me out of mine.

  “But dessert hasn’t been served yet,” I whine.

  “We’ll stop for ice cream on the way home.”

  “Really?” I perk up.

  He doesn’t answer as we make a hurried exit. I stumble over my own heavy feet as he pulls me out the door.

  “Ms. Carmichael’s car, please,” he says to the attendant.

  I collapse into his chest, feeling a sudden wave of tiredness wash over my numb body. “You got me drunk, Mr. Roth.” I giggle. “Now what are you going to do with me?” I nuzzle my nose into his neck again.

  “Take you home.”

  “Boring,” I mumble against his skin as my hands slide down his back. I slip them into his back pockets, and he doesn’t stop me. “You’re my very … best … friend … ever.” I sigh, closing my eyes and smiling with warm contentment.

  His hands go from static at his sides to resting one on my lower back and the other cupping the back of my head. I’m not certain, but as my car’s pulled up I think I feel his lips press to the top of my head.

  *

  I surrender to my heavy eyes within seconds of leaving my father’s. Every bump, twist, and turn on our way back to Lincoln Park goes unnoticed by my warm, numb body.

  “We’re here,” a soothing voice whispers in my ear.

  “Mmm …” I smile, peeling my leaden eyelids open. “Say that again.”

  Trick unfastens my seat belt. “Why?”

  “Because I like the sound of your voice.” I giggle. “Is that weird?”

  “Yes.” Trick scoops me up and carries me inside. I yelp as he plops me on my bed. “You’re right … You are not a gentleman.”

  “Can you manage on your own now?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at me.

  Sighing a sleepy yawn, I let my eyes close again. “You could take off my boots.”

  He unzips them then pulls them off, peeling my socks off too. “Good?”

  “My jeans too.” I rub my eyes.

  After a few moments, I fight to open my eyes again. An intense stare, that’s all I get. I fumble with my button and zipper. “What’s your deal? You don’t have to like my body, but you also don’t have to be frightened or disgusted by it.”

  He wets his lips, eyes moving down my body. “I’m not disgusted by your body.” He shoos my hands away and takes off my pants. “Now are you good?”

  “Will you stay?”

  “What?”

  I roll toward him, grabbing his hand. “Just stay and hold me. Please.”

  He looks at the ceiling, shaking his head. “You’re needy.”

  I giggle, tugging on his hand. “Only when I drink, and you’re the one who got me drunk so you owe me.”

  “Fine,” he grumbles, removing his shirt and pants then slipping under the sheets.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he wads up my throw blanket and wedges it between us from our waists down.

  “Protecting myself.”

  “From what? Me?” I chuckle. “You think I’m going to molest you during the night?”

  Lying on his back, he rests his arms at his sides like a cadaver. “You might.”

  I lift his arm and hug his chest with my nose nuzzled into his neck. His body goes rigid for a moment then melts back into a semi-relaxed state. I sigh against his neck. “Night, BFF.”

  Chapter Eight

  She’s breaking me down. I need to stay strong. She doesn’t know me, I don’t know me. Grady will take care of me. I can’t complicate things, and she’s the ultimate complication.

  Chapter Nine

  Over the next three weeks I spend every non-working moment with Trick. One piece at a time, he’s been shedding his emotional armor. He’s my friend, a real friend. It feels like we’ve known each other for much longer than a few weeks.

  My giddiness to see him has me counting down the minutes until my shift is over—I’ve never done that before. I’ve been avoiding Steven to the point that he has to suspect I’m cheating on him, if you can call it that. We’ve never labeled our relationship. My dad’s campaign has been my excuse for my busyness, but after the election I’m going to have to figure out if Steven and I ever had a relationship, and if so if it’s worth trying to salvage.

  Trick left for California two days ago to attend a new salon opening with Grady. He invited me to go with him, but I had to work and I knew he needed some private time with Grady. He says he’ll stop by to see me on his way home, but he has a late flight so I’m not counting on it. However, I don’t set the alarm and he knows my entry code … just in case.

  I watch the late night show, the late late night show, and half of the who-the-hell-is-awake-at-this-time show before my body and mind fall victim to sleep.

  “God, I missed you.” It takes me a moment to figure out that the deep, vibrating voice is not in my head. “I need my Darby fix.” I roll over and blink open my eyes to see him sitting on the edge of my bed. He brushes my hair away from my face.

  “You’re back,” I whisper and grin so big he cannot refuse me the same grin in return. I sit up and throw my arms around his neck, pulling him down onto the pillow with
me so we’re face to face. “I missed you too. How was LA?”

  “Insane. You should have come with me.”

  I nuzzle into his neck. “I’m not sure Grady would have loved you bringing a tagalong when he’s not seen you in months.”

  He rests his palm on the back of my head and strokes my hair. “You haven’t met Grady yet, and when you do I’m certain he will love you.”

  “Not if he thinks he has to share you with me. Does he know we’ve been sleeping together?” I chuckle because I’ve stayed over at Trick’s several times, and he’s stayed with me too since that first night. We sleep together in the most literal sense. At least our complicated situation isn’t hindering his ability to still have an intimate, sexual relationship with Grady; although, it’s completely snuffing out the flames between me and Steven.

  “No, I didn’t mention it.”

  “Would he be mad?”

  “No.”

  I lean back to see his eyes. “Are you sure?”

  He smirks. “Positive. Now go back to sleep,” he says, pulling my head back into his neck.

  “Will you stay?” I murmur in a sleepy voice.

  He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stay.”

  *

  I wake early to an empty spot beside me. It’s six o’clock and I have to be to work in two hours. Assuming Trick already left, I make my way to the bathroom but stop, hearing the shower and seeing the slit of light escape under the door. As I contemplate waiting for him to finish or going downstairs to make us eggs and jellied toast, I hear what sounds like a moan. My teeth clamp my bottom lips as I grab the handle to the large sliding door. Moving it barely an inch, I peek inside—heart thundering in my chest and pulsing in my throat.

  Oh … my … God!

  Through the steam-blurred glass shower door, I see Trick, tattoo-covered skin taut over tense muscles, head down, one hand against the wall and the other … wrapped around his cock.

  My brain screams at me to shut the door. He’s human and humans masturbate. He’s a guy with a partner whom he goes months without seeing. It feels like I’m intruding on a private moment that’s certainly not meant for my eyes. Yet … I can’t look away. No matter how hard I try I just … can’t … look … away.

  He’s amazing—a work of art. And I think I knew it weeks ago, but if not, I know it now. No man will ever compare to Trick. My husband, the father to my children, my earthly cliché of a soul mate will never live up to Trick. He’s perfection in my eyes.

  I blink away my tears because every time I allow myself to think of him this way, all I feel is grief. It’s like I’m mourning the loss of something I never had.

  “Fuck …” he groans as the hand against the wall curls into a fist and the hand holding his cock glides with quicker strokes along his hard length.

  Saliva pools in my mouth, and I swallow again and again feeling my heart trying to break free from my chest. Slipping my hand under the waistband of my night shorts and panties, I touch myself, matching the rhythm of my hand to that of his. My fingers are his tongue along my clitoris. Then they become his cock as they slide into my wet channel. He’s less than ten feet away and I am desperate to remove my clothes and step into the shower with him. I want to taste him in my mouth and feel him buried inside of me, with nothing between us but wet, naked flesh.

  He’s close … oh God … so am I. His hard glutes steel as he pulses into his hand. Into me. My fingers, his cock, thrusts inside me as I circle my thumb over my clit. He spills out onto the floor of the shower and I melt into my hand, both of us breathless. Closing the inch gap of the door, I lean against the wall next to it—flushed and ashamed.

  This one’s all mine. I thought Nana and Trick were the perfect combination—what I couldn’t tell one I could tell the other. But this … it’s mine and as confusing and fucked up as it is, I just have to keep it to myself and hope it never happens again.

  *

  It happens again. Four more times to be exact! Once more at my house and three times at his. The last being just ten minutes ago. I think he does it every time he showers. Who can blame him? If I had that body and that penis, I’d stroke it every day too. I’m such a perverted Peeping Tom. I’d slit my wrists if he ever found out that I spy on him in the shower and masturbate with him. We’re both indulging in pleasure, yet his is normal and mine is stalker psycho.

  “Grady’s flying in this weekend,” Trick announces, walking into his kitchen in jeans, no shirt—just like I like him.

  I slide his plate over to him: jellied toast, eggs over easy, and juice. “Is that your way of telling me to make myself scarce for a while?”

  “Hardly.” He kisses the top of my head and sits next to me at the counter. “We’re going to a party Saturday night. You should come.”

  I wipe my mouth and swallow. “I don’t think so.”

  “You working?”

  “No, I’m off this weekend, but I don’t think I’d fit in.”

  “You’re wrong. It’s some exclusive party filled with rich people and celebrities. You’ll fit right in unless you threaten to have the escorts fired because they look at you the wrong way.”

  With a sidelong glance, I glare at him. “Bite me!”

  He leans over and bites my neck.

  “Ouch!” I squeal and cringe.

  His whole face beams with laughter that tapers off as his eyes drift down my face to my chest. A grimace morphs his face, eyes flitting back to mine. I glance down at my chest expecting to see a glob of red jelly on my white T-shirt.

  “Oh shit!” I swivel my stool away from him and cup my breasts. I haven’t put a bra on yet this morning and my dark nipples came to life with his mouth on my neck. Unfortunately my thin, white shirt hides nothing.

  “Sorry—” he starts to say with an apprehension that softens his voice.

  “Uh … no … um, it’s not your fault. Um … it’s just a little chilly in here.” I hasten toward his dresser. “Mind if I borrow a sweatshirt or something?”

  “Second drawer from the bottom.”

  I grab a gray hoodie and slip it over my head.

  “I didn’t mean to—” His forehead tenses.

  I wave him off as I hop back up on the bar stool. “Stop, it’s not your fault.”

  “I shouldn’t have bit you.”

  I shove a bite into my mouth. “It’s cold in here, that’s all,” I mumble over my food. “Stop thinking you turned me on or something ridiculous like that. You’re gay for heaven’s sake.”

  He purses his lips to the side and nods once slowly. “But you’re not.”

  There they are, the words that make me question this most incredible friendship. He’s just acknowledged the part of our relationship that I fear with such heart-wrenching intensity.

  Taking in a shaking breath, I release it, feeling the tugging of that knot in my belly. “No … I’m not.” I look up at him, completely open and vulnerable, and I wait for him to tell me what this means—what we mean.

  He gives me a half smile; it’s forced and I know it. “Come with us to the party this weekend and bring a date.”

  “Like a double date?”

  He nods, watching me with reservation in his eyes, like he’s watching for me to hesitate or give away something that might say what I’m sure he already suspects—my feelings for him are murky.

  “Okay…” I feign confidence “…I’ll scrounge a date.”

  He smiles. “You could always check with your father’s escort service.”

  My face scrunches. “Hardy har har! I don’t have to hire a date; thank you very much for your confidence.”

  Without a doubt I’m going to have to hire a date. Jeez, what is it with the Carmichael family?

  *

  “An escort?” Nana gasps then falls into a fit of laughter.

  The waiter at the Local Root, one of my favorite Chicago restaurants, refills our water glasses and simpers at my Nana failing to retain any sort of composure.

  I give him
a tightlipped apologetic grin.

  “Do you have to announce it to everyone in here?” I say in a hushed voice.

  “Oh dear! I never thought I’d see the day …”

  “It’s not for sex and it’s not because I can’t find a date. It’s just short notice and I don’t know many guys that would understand my relationship with Trick.” Hell, I don’t understand it!

  “So you need a professional?” She takes a drink of her water with a grin still plastered to her face.

  I sigh. “I need someone that … ugh! Yes, I need a professional.” Resting my elbows on the table, I drop my head into my hands. “How did I get to be so pathetic?”

  “Don’t fret it, dear. I’ll find you someone.”

  Great. My nana is hiring me a date. It’s like she’s a pimp or a madam. No, that’s not right either. This is all so very wrong.

  “Is it going to be hard for you to see Trick with Grady?” Nana spears a cherry tomato with her fork and pops it in her mouth.

  “Truthfully, yes, but what can I do about it? I have romantic feelings for a gay man, and I’m certain Trick is not gay by choice. I tell myself that if one day he woke up straight I’d be the love of his life.”

  “Hmm, does that help?”

  “No,” I mumble in a pouty voice after biting off a piece of warm ciabatta. “But he genuinely wants to be my friend and I his, so the problem is mine to figure out. I don’t think the answer is severing ties at this point.” I shrug. “I don’t know … maybe seeing him with Grady will bring me out of the infatuated funk I’m in right now.”

  “Sure, two hot guys touching each other … that should do it.” She winks at me.