I can hear Bucky pawing the backdoor. He’s all over me as soon as I open it for him. His paws rest on my shoulders as everything south of his neck wiggles around wildly.
“Down, Bucky!” I get down with him and cuddle him. We’ve never spent the night apart. I kiss him. He clearly missed me, and I him. We run upstairs together, his paws slipping and sliding on the way up. His excitement that I’m home is incredibly heartwarming.
I strip down in a flash and run a bath. I am beyond exhausted. I close my eyes and listen to my breath rise and fall. Bucky lies down next to the tub, I reach down, my hand strokes his head rhythmically. I can hear my Pink Floyd album playing faintly from my bedroom. It must have been playing all night. I don’t remember turning it off. What a day I’ve had...what a week in fact! I hope Jordan and I make up soon, I want someone to talk to. I want to tell him about Vincent and ask him for advice.
I must drift to sleep after a minute or two. Bucky gets up and runs toward my bedroom door. I don’t bother opening my eyes. I slip right back to sleep. It’s not until I hear footsteps that I open my eyes again. There he is, with an enormous smile on his face. My bubbles are almost all gone. I sit up and cover my breasts with my arm. Shit, I forgot he was coming!
“I’ll be right out,” I smile shyly and rub my eyes with the back of my hand.
“I’d join you, but that tub seems too small.”
I grin and bite my lip.
“Need some coffee, sleepy-head?”
“Ha, no I’m fine. I just needed to close my eyes for a moment.”
He steps out and leaves me. I grab my robe and dry off. After I run a comb through my hair, I step into my closet and throw on a black slip. When I join him, he is seated on the couch in my tiny living area with Bucky across his lap.
“Hey, hey! None of that! Off the couch, Bucky!” I shake my head and clap my hands at my dog. “You know better.”
He reluctantly gets off and pads to his dog bed, pouting. I turn off Pink Floyd, unexpectedly feeling self-conscious. He’s in my house, in my room. It isn’t half as nice as his loft. I glance around, wishing I had cleaned up before he got here.
Vincent hands me a note.
“It was taped to your door,” the look on his face tells me he read it.
I take it from him and read it.
I’m sorry
That’s all it says. It must be from Jordan. I smile and crumble it up I toss it into my trashcan. He should be sorry.
I take a seat next to Vincent, why must I feel so bashful with him? I’m in my own home, and I feel so discombobulated. I wish I had his confidence and self-ease. He leans down and pulls out a six-pack of Red Stripe from a paper bag I hadn’t noticed.
“I thought this was appropriate after I saw the selections you made at Amoeba.” He smiles and cracks one open, he hands it to me with a sexy, lopsided smile. I actually do like this beer. I grab it and take a long drink. He pops the top off of another for himself. We clink bottles and drink in silence. I look to the door and see a pile of...stuff.
“Thank you. What’s all that?” I ask him, pointing with my chin. Does he think he’s moving in?
“Oh right, sorry. When I got home I checked my messages, someone called from the Uptown University. I have an interview tomorrow morning. Do you mind if I go straight from here?”
It makes sense, so why not. A swarm of butterflies swirl inside of me. He’s spending the night! I nod my approval as I take another drink trying to act nonchalant when I really want to do a happy dance. I swallow hastily as his words sink in.
“Wow, congratulations! That’s great, an interview!” We clink bottles a second time. “Cheers to you!”
I don’t know why exactly, but I’m excited for him. I’m also excited for me. That means he’ll be spending more time in Uptown! I flush, my thoughts drift in many directions. Also, I kind of like that he’s one step closer to his dream job and further pissing off his stuffy ass parents. I know I don’t know them, but he’s an adult and should be able to do what he wants, unhindered. I think being a music professor is a wonderful thing and not something his family disapproves of.
“Thank you,” now it’s his turn to blush, “but I don’t have the job yet.”
I shrug and take another drink. He has a smoldering look on his face, and his hair is all mussed up. He looks edible.
I remember his remark about meeting with a realtor...could he be seriously considering moving to Uptown? I bite my lip.
“You’re one step closer than you were yesterday,” I grin at him, my thoughts straying to various scenarios, all of them devious. I blush; distracted by how his arms look in his snug white t-shirt. “What’s that other thing?” I say nodding to the black case near the door, Bach written in gold. I know exactly what it is, but I’m trying to come back to the present, shake of my anomalous ruminating.
“My trumpet. For some reason they asked me to bring it along. I guess they plan on making a spectacle of me. I put it in my resume just to stand out…I guess it worked. I didn’t want to leave it in the car.” I look at him and nod again. This beer is working quickly. I already feel light headed. My exhaustion probably has something to do with it.
“Well, you’ll have to play for me.”
His mouth opens and closes silently.
“That’s the fee for spending the night at my house,” I add.
“No. I’d probably scare Bucky,” he bites back a smile.
Bucky’s ears perk up at the sound of his name.
“Okay, how about this. We finish another beer, I put on Alton Ellis, we relax with a joint and then you play?” I grin deviously.
I just remembered Jordan left a joint on my vanity the last time he was here. I don’t normally smoke, but after my encounter with Jordan, I could really use it. I need to relax, and having Vincent here in my tiny apartment is making me nervous. Vincent’s eyes widen.
“You smoke? Wow, are you Rasta now?” He says in a fake Jamaican accent and laughs. I pout.
“No! I actually don’t smoke, but it might be fun. Jordan left it here the last time he came over.” I get up to retrieve it from my vanity. I stuff the joint into the stem Jordan was goofing off with last week, and grab a lighter. Vincent sits up, clearly intrigued.
I set it down on the coffee table in front of us, and quickly unwrap the plastic from my Alton Ellis CD and pop it into my rinky-dink player. I bought it at a yard sale. I probably should invest in a decent piece of technology, for no other reason than to play music. I sashay over to him, dancing to the rhythm of Live and Learn. I feel less shy as I soak up the music, and the alcohol.
I sink back into the couch and polish off the last of my beer. He cracks open another. A minute later his head is bobbing to the music. I bring my knees up to my chest and drink him in. My stranger…he has rhythm, he has soul.
“He’s good right? His voice is soulful and smooth.” I sway in my seat to the rhythm of the song. I love Rock Steady. He smiles at me, clearly entertained by my couch performance. I think the beer is affecting us both.
“He’s very good. I’ve never heard a voice like his,” he murmurs in agreement.
I grab the stem with the joint stuffed at the end and place it in my mouth. I arch an eyebrow exaggeratedly, and light up. Drawing in my breath, I take a big hit. I allow the smoke to fill my lungs, and hold it in for a few moments, the way Jordan says you’re supposed to. I pull the stem away between my two fingers and blow the smoke out just like a Hollywood starlet. I smile and pass it to him. He grins wickedly.
“You are a pleasure to behold, Lenore.”
I narrow my eyes at him and wait for him to take the stem from me. He takes it, plucks the joint out of the stem and pinches it between his fingers, and takes a big drag. The end brightens up as he inhales. We pass it back and forth again. It doesn’t take long for us to have droopy, heavy eyes.
I stand with the joint in my mouth and start swaying around to the music, allowing it to take complete possession of me. I take a long
drag and make my way over to Vincent. He shakes his head no when I gesture to pass it to him again. I put it out with a pinch and place it back on the table.
Still holding the smoke in my mouth, I lean over him and take his chin in my hand, tilting his face upwards. My mouth covers his, and once his lips part, I release the smoke ever so slowly into his mouth. He inhales the coils of smoke and soon a sexy veil of smoke surrounds us. He closes his eyes and releases the smoke from his nose. He looks wicked. I know it’s unhealthy, but he looks damn good.
My room is cloudy. It looks magical, mystical even.
I reach behind us and tug the cords of the lamp, turning the red bulb on, and the white bulb off. I sit next to him again. We’re both silent as we listen to the music and watch the puffs of smoke move around the room. Bucky is fast asleep.
Once the song playing is finished, I get up and turn the music off.
“A deal’s a deal,” I whisper.
He looks adorable, completely blown on my couch, barely able to keep his eyes open. We both start laughing, hysterically, for no reason, just because. Both of us grip our stomachs as we try to catch out breath. After our fit of laughter has subsided, which is minutes later, I get up and go use the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. I have bedroom eyes thanks to the smoke. I look sultry and provocative.
I put on a dab of lipstick, and shake my—almost dry—hair loose. I go to my closet and I hear Vincent fiddling with his trumpet case.
Searching through my closet, I find a hair clip with a birdcage veil. I slip it on and adjust the veil over my right eye. I head back out to my makeshift living room just in time to see Vincent put the trumpet to his lips. He’s seated on a small stool I have in case I need to reach something up high.
He’s grown serious. I stand in the small doorway and watch him. The soft red light illuminates him perfectly. He starts a slow intoxicating note, long and drawn out. I can feel that it is going to be a melancholy song just by that first, single note. His posture shifts; one leg up on the bar of the stool and the other flat on the ground, his back slightly slouched, eyes closed, arms locked in an embrace with the golden instrument. He’s so beautiful, this man, he fills me with wonder. Bucky doesn’t even lift his head as Vincent dives into the song. Poor dog, he’s out like a light.
On pointe, I slip into the room and move slowly, with finesse and control, to his song. I can feel how far off he is, lost in the music. I’m transported along with him.
He has a mute placed inside of his horn, and it creates a rich and soulful sound. His music fills the room. I roll my head around, feeling the music wrap itself around me. I feel entranced by him, by his sound, by everything pouring out of him. With easy grace, I move around the room, twirling around him at a leisure pace. I stand behind him and slide my hands over his shoulders, arms and back. My breath kisses his neck. He continues to play his melancholy song all the while.
When he finishes, he looks depleted, lost and vacant. I stand between his legs and take his face in my hands, and run my fingers across his cheeks, brows, nose, and lips. I run my teeth along his jaw.
Mmm. Stubble.
His eyes slowly come to life. Those mesmerizing blue eyes register me. I know I sometimes get lost in my own world of hurt, I sometimes forget that there are others treading rough waters, just like me. I can see that my cool, calm, confident Vincent is treading, too. Trying to stay afloat. He just has a better way of hiding it.
“That was terrible,” I breathe into his ear. I can feel his smile as my hands cup his face. “The whole time, I just kept thinking, ‘that’s just noise, when will he stop!’”
He hoists me up and we both laugh. I wrap my legs around him. I don’t need to tell him he plays well. He plays beautifully. He can absorb all the energy in the room. That was a fantastic piece he just played, a bluesy, sexy tune. He kisses me and heat courses through us, making my blood run faster.
“We have until tomorrow—and then we can figure things out between us, and you can do with me what you please. Let me have you tonight, however I want,” he groans into my ear.
I can hear his plea. I know what he wants. I want him too. I feel small and fragile in his arms. His embrace is strong as I stare into his unfathomable blue eyes.
How can I say no to that? His voice is so full of need. I can feel it. It is a need for me. He needs comfort. I don’t know why, but I agree without hesitation. After all, he comforts me without even trying. I give into him without a doubt, without question.
A small nod from me is all he needs. He carries me to my bed, my legs wrap tightly around him, and we sink in. Sink into the bed, into each other, into a night of slow, exhilarating, deep sex, followed by a coma-like sleep.
Chapter 12
I wake before Vincent. It’s nearly 7 o’clock. His interview isn’t until 9, so I let him sleep. I admire him from the foot of my bed. He’s sprawled out on his stomach. His face is completely unguarded and relaxed. His lashes are fanned out, softly touching his cheeks. It’s a cold morning, so I pull up my comforter and cover his naked back. I have to force my eyes away from him as I make my way out of my room.
I take Bucky out and drink two glasses of water down straightaway. So thirsty! Must be an after effect of the smoking, or the smoking hot sex. I grin to myself.
I start on the coffee. Searching through my kitchen, I find a loaf of rustic bread and quickly slice it up, smear butter on it, and stick into my oven to toast. I head out back and turn my sprinkler on, and check on all of my plants. I pluck some oranges and head inside to cut them up. Other than this, I have nothing else to offer in terms of breakfast. I guess I should go shopping soon.
I unlock my shop doors to leave the spare key where I always have it, tucked away in a little magnetic box that I then shove inside of my rain gutter.
I hear Vincent coming down just as the coffee is ready to pour.
“I can smell the coffee,” he mutters trotting down the stairs, his voice is hoarse. He swings open one of the saloon door that lead into my kitchen and takes a seat at my small table. I smile. He looks beautiful even when he’s rumpled and sleepy. I put a cup in front of him and pull out my toast, place it on a dish and set it on the table, doing the same with the oranges before I take a seat and sip my coffee.
“This is really good coffee. What is it?”
I reply without looking at him. “Cafe con leche, it’s Cuban.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever had Cuban coffee. By the way, you pronounced that very well. Cafe con letche?” he butchers it a bit. I glance up at him and shrug. Don’t give yourself away, Lenore! Nobody, aside from Maggie, knows that I speak Spanish fluently. I learned it before English, though no one would ever guess by looking at me.
Just then, I hear the sound of a bolt unlatching and my shop doors slide open. Jordan strides in, I know it’s him before I see him. He’s the only person who barges in like that. Sure enough the doors to my kitchen fling wide. I’m half expecting him to draw a gun, the way he has just tossed them open. He clearly still wants to have words with me.
He freezes when he realizes we’re not alone. Here I am, sitting at my table in my black slip, my hair all over the place, coffee in hand as my sexy stranger sits across from me wearing only his briefs and a tight white t-shirt. I glare at Jordan. Vincent’s eyes go glacial. I haven’t seen that look since he took me to the Book Bar.
Jordan looks from me to Vincent. I don’t like where this is going.
“Okay, I can see why you haven’t called me...” his eyes prod and question me. I arch a brow and shrug, take another sip of coffee and look back at Vincent. I haven’t forgiven my friend, and I’m not about to without a serious discussion, which will have to happen at a better time.
“Why don’t you come back around lunch time, we can talk then,” I say sharply without looking at him. I can see his posture shift. He looks defeated. He turns around, glares at Vincent with distaste and pushes the doors hard as he makes his exit. I release my breath and laugh
.
“Drama queen.”
Vincent shakes his head in disapproval, but wisely holds his tongue.
I’m relieved when he doesn’t ask what that was all about, I don’t want to explain to him that my best pal doesn’t approve of what I’m doing with him. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if I approve either. I frown internally. I really need to figure this shit out already.
I dip some bread into my coffee and take a bite.
“What time is this dinner thing, and what should I wear?” I’m eager to change the subject and shake Jordan’s lingering hostility from the room. Vincent sits up and copies me. He grabs a piece of bread and dunks it into his coffee and takes a bite. He nods in approval and I smile. He’s in a great mood this morning.
“Um, what time do you close up? 6?”
I nod, and take another sip of coffee.
“I’ll pick you up at 6:30, and don’t worry about what to wear. I’ll take care of that.”
What? I look up at him, shocked and irate.
“You’re not dressing me,” I snap. Is he ashamed of my wardrobe? He rolls his eyes at my tone.
“My grandmother says we have to come dressed 1920’s style. I was just going to get something for you because I didn’t want to trouble you at the last minute.” He sounds defensive, and I instantly feel like a bitch. He was only trying to be considerate.
This dinner just got interesting. I love to play dress up! I grin.
“Oh, I have formal 1920’s dinner-wear. I’ll be ready.” I smile. I’m looking forward to this dinner now. Not to meeting his parents, but dressing up and meeting the grandmother, now that sounds interesting.
“Suit yourself.” He finishes his coffee and another toast. “I’m going to shower and dress, do you mind?”
“No, go right ahead.” He makes his way upstairs and I clean up the kitchen. A moment later, I follow after him. I pause at my bathroom door. I can hear him humming in the shower. I’m tempted to invade, but I don’t want to make him late. Also, I think my womanly parts need a few hours to mend. I’m still pretty sore.
Black Burlesque Page 19