“Yes, we have proof. We do travel, and we did get married. Wife,” he added, giving me a look of love and devotion that melted my knees. He caught me before I fell, and turned the stove off behind me. He turned us both around, and lifted me up on the countertop between the kitchen and dining room. Kissing quickly turned into fondling, and I soon was fumbling to unzip his pants.
“We're good?” He asked, his hands pausing at my waistband.
“Yeah, not fertile.” I leaned on his shoulders as he removed my pj bottoms. My legs wasted no time in locking around him, drawing him into my waiting heat. I tightened up as he entered, and he shuddered with pleasure at the tightness. Our hips met as he thrust in and out, and I clutched his buttocks, trying to thrust him in further. The tank top went to join the pants, and Eddie rubbed rough fingers across the hard nipples.
“Eddie,” I moaned as he came in me, his pleasure causing me to join him in orgasm.
Eddie moved my hair, still damp from the shower, off of my face, and kissed me. “I love you.”
“I love you too, husband.” The air conditioning turned on, blowing right down on my exposed breasts. I hugged him close, stealing his warmth. “Can you help me down?”
“No.” He grinned, and opened drawers until he found the dish towels. He quickly cleaned us off, then lifted me down, making sure my legs were securely under me before letting go. I gathered my clothes from the floor and gave Eddie another kiss on the cheek before heading into the dining room.
“Sorry, I gotta sit down before I collapse.”
“No problem.” He dropped the towel off at the washer, then heated the stove back up. “We'll get some food in you in a few.”
“Thank you for the marriage record. I don't think I said that yet.”
“I'll forgive you. You showed me your thanks.” He winked at me as he opened a bottle of red wine and placed it on the table. I shakily poured myself a glass and downed it. “Whoa, easy there. Here, eat some bread with that.” A loaf of asiago bread came flying at me, and I snatched it out of the air and grabbed a slice. He brought over a tall glass of ice water before the pasta.
“So, we were going to talk about Roger.”
I looked at the dinner in front of me, suddenly not hungry any more. I pushed the plate away, and Eddie pushed it right back. “If we talked about him after dinner, would you throw it up?” He asked quietly.
I considered, then shook my head, and started nibbling on the pasta. We avoided deeper conversation, and chatted about the neighbors that I had finally met.
“I really like Liz, she's a lot of fun. She owns a bakery up the road, and makes the most amazing pastries. This bread is from there, and there's some cookies on the counter for later. I got oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, and sugar – I didn't know what type you liked.”
“Mmm, any of those work. Sugar is probably my favorite, but it has to be a good one. My grandma made the best ones I ever had.” He smiled, remembering.
“Is she still around? My grandparents have all passed away.”
He shook his head. “Nah, she died when I was in high school. Mom still has the recipe, and makes them for me when I come home. I'll have you sick of them by the time you leave.”
This was the opening I had been waiting for. “Do you still want me to meet them? You haven't said anything about us going up there. It is up there, right? Connecticut?”
He looked surprised. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to not talk about them. Of course I want you to meet my folks. They are great, you'll like them. And yes, they are in Connecticut. My brother Tony and his family live just down the street. I've told them all about you, and they can't wait to meet you.”
I drank a swallow of my wine, ignoring the frown he gave me. “You like to not tell me these things.”
“Do you really want to get into the 'not telling the other person things' discussion now, or wait until after you have your first meal of the day?” He pointedly did not mention Alan's name, but I got the picture.
“So, you were in Chicago. How 'bout them Bears?”
After dinner we put on a hockey playoff game and cuddled on the couch. By the second intermission, my stomach had settled enough where I was ready to talk.
“Roger is the son of my mom's college roommate.” Eddie turned down the television so he could hear me. “He lived here in Dallas, so mom thought it would be a good idea to set us up on a date. The problem with dating relatives of friends is that you can't get out of it without breaking friendships.”
“Your mom and her roommate are no longer friends?”
“Yeah. Me having Roger arrested for assault kinda ruined their friendship.” His arms tightened around me, and he kissed my head where it lay on his chest.
“What happened?”
“We went on the first date, which was a disaster. He's shorter than me, and made me change shoes – I was wearing my heels. He didn't want to go out with someone taller than him.” I played with the fringe on a throw pillow. “Roger was controlling. His dinner had to be just so, and he sent my meal back even though I was fine with it. I took my shoes off in the car on the way home – my flats were cute, but they pinched the toes--, and he about lost it. I didn't intend to ever see him again, but apparently he told his mom he had a good time, and so I had to do a second date.”
“That doesn't sound so bad yet. How long did you date?”
“Three months of living hell before I broke up with him. If there was anything wrong with his meal when we went out and I picked the restaurant, it was my fault. If I was five minutes late because I had to answer a page, it was my fault. My hair was much longer then – if it touched him when he didn't want it to, he'd get pissed.”
“He abused you?” Eddie was having a hard time keeping his voice level, but I appreciated the attempt.
“Not at that point. It was just yelling and belittling.”
“Abuse,” he spat in disgust. “Emotional is just as bad as physical.”
“But harder to prove.” A patch of thread came loose, and I balled it by rubbing it between my fingers, and threw it towards the coffee table. I started picking at a different section of fringe. “He didn't believe me when I broke up with him. Told his mom we were still together, so my mom would still ask me about him. I tried telling her we broke up, and she told me no.”
“What?”
“She wants grandkids. She wants me to be married. She doesn't care who the guy is, even if he's a weirdo accountant that was anal about hygiene. Didn't want to kiss me unless I had just brushed my teeth. Needless to say, I got lots of garlic and chose food that would stick between my teeth whenever we went out.”
Eddie gently grabbed my head and kissed me soundly, proving he had no such hangups.
“Um, where was I?”
“Mom wanted you together.”
“Yeah. Roger would call her to find out things that I like. Unfortunately for him, my tastes have changed since I lived under their roof. He would send me gifts, and I'd send them back. He started showing up at my doorstep, and I told him to get lost. When he visited me at the office, I filed a restraining order.”
Eddie stroked my hair. “I'm sorry, baby.”
“Nothing for you to apologize for. That's why I don't want to get a restraining order against Alan – they don't work. Having one didn't make Roger think twice about hitting me. If someone is going to commit a crime anyway, they are not going to care about breaking a restraining order. His mom and mine wanted me to drop the charges, but there was no way.”
“He go to jail?”
I snorted. “You kidding? Community service. But, it did manage to get on the books as a sexual assault, so he gets to be listed as a registered sexual offender for the rest of his life. Serves him right.”
Eddie shifted me in his arms, holding me close. “Good for you for standing up for yourself. I'm proud of you.”
I realized that was the first time someone complimented me on dealing with Roger; even the cops looked down on me for being in the
situation in the first place. “Thank you. That's why I haven't dated in so long.”
“When was this?”
“Um, four years ago? It wasn't too long after I started at IDI. Alan came on board right about when I broke up with Roger.”
“So you traded one abusive relationship for another.”
“Eddie--”
“Schroeder, Alan was verbally abusive of you. I witnessed that myself. A boss is not supposed to call his employee a bitch – that is crossing the line. He's always been that way, hasn't he?”
“It hasn't always been like that. He's ... well, he's gotten worse over the years. I like my job, so I've just ignored it.”
“You've taken it, not ignored it.”
I shook my head vehemently. “No, it's not like that. I haven't taken the abuse. I don't like it.”
“I didn't say you liked it, I said you took it. If you would have stood up for yourself in the past, he would have stopped.”
“I stand up for myself!” I shouted, and struggled to get out of his arms. He didn't let me. “I can handle my own life, damn it. I didn't make waves earlier because I didn't. want. to. lose. my. job.”
“Ah, yes, this again.” I couldn't believe he was baiting me like this. I struggled to get an arm where I could hit him, but he captured both arms in his secure grip. He didn't get my legs, though, so I kicked him in the shin. “Damn it, stop that.” Eddie trapped both my legs underneath his. “Why do you think you'd be fired?”
“I hate you.”
“No you don't. Answer the question. Why do you think you'd be fired?”
“Because I'd be making waves.”
“Not good enough. Try again.”
“Because I'd upset people.”
“Swing and a miss.”
“Because you shouldn't make people mad.”
“Strike two. Also, deja vu.”
“Because I shouldn't have the job anyway,” I said quietly.
“Now we're getting somewhere.” He shifted his grip so I could be more comfortable. “Why do you think you shouldn't have the job?”
“Because I wasn't their top choice. Their number one choice turned it down. So did number two.”
“Third time's the charm,” he said lightly.
“Strike three, you're out,” I countered. “I'm also a woman, in a highly male dominated industry. You know that. It was beaten into me in college, where I was the only girl in a classroom with twenty guys. If I was truly lucky, there was one other girl in there. If you look at my wardrobe, I have both skirts and jeans, and depending on if I want to ruffle any feathers, I wear the skirt. Otherwise, they prefer to see me as one of the guys.”
“So you think they are just looking for an excuse to fire you because you're female?”
“They didn't want me in the first place,” I repeated. “They made that very clear to me. Same with m--”
His voice chilled to ice. “Schroeder. Same with what?”
I didn't answer, and tucked my head under his chin. He shook me gently. “I was born six months after my parents got married, okay?”
“Oh baby, your parents love you very much.”
I hugged him back, tears streaming down my face. “Loving someone and telling them they were unwanted are not mutually exclusive. They never put it in that few of words, but that doesn't mean they don't feel that way. For crying out loud, when we were there my mom basically said not to get married to you if I was pregnant, because that was a stupid reason to marry someone. I can read between the lines quite fine.”
“You never have to see or talk to them again if you don't want to. That would be perfectly fine with me. More than fine,” he growled.
“No, I could never do that,” I protested. “That's not what you do. It's not polite.”
“My God, the fact that you have any ego at all is impressive.”
“Not much, I don't think,” I admitted. He kissed away my tears. “I'm fine.”
“You're not fine now, but you will be.”
“Because I have you now? Edward Valenti-Kirby is going to make everything better?” While my tone was slightly teasing, it was a bit more on the bitter side.
“No, because you're learning to stand on your own two feet. You came to New York by yourself to meet with a consultant, going over stuff that was really over your head. Don't look at me like that – it was above your titled position in the company. You should be the Director of IT, not Alan, or whomever they get to replace him. You have the knowledge of the company, the code, and the business practices. You need to realize that, and I think you are starting to.” I shrugged, and he continued. “You stood up to Joseph about Alan, which was very brave. Granted, you could have confronted Alan directly, but based on what we've surmised since then, it was probably a good idea to not.”
I shuddered to think of what he would have done. Not good, whatever it would have been.
“And, I'll be egotistical here – you made the choice to marry me. You told me yourself you were being spontaneous, and going with your gut. The shy, reserved, cautious, fearful girl you are at IDI, and with your parents, is not the same woman you are in New York, while traveling, or with me. You're letting all their expectations for you,” he waved a hand in the air to demonstrate that he meant the world at large, “choose who you are, not letting Schroeder choose who you are. And when you let Schroeder out? That's the woman I fell in love with, am in love with, and want to world to get to know.”
I wiped my nose on my sleeve, wishing I had bought tissues. “I don't know how to let her out.”
“Just be you, babe, just be you.” He kissed my forehead, and I brought my head up and tentatively kissed him on the lips. He responded by gently increasing the passion of the kiss, and rubbed his hands up and down my back.
I broke off the kiss. “And you love me? You want to be with me?”
“Yes, Schroeder. And you need to boost your ego by knowing that you have made one of the most eligible bachelors in New York City fall hopelessly in love with you and want to be with you every second of the day.”
I giggled through the tears. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”
“I haven't; I've been back in New York,” he said ruefully. I had a passing thought that that might be the source of the problems, not Alan, and made a mental note to talk about it with him later. Right now, I wanted to do what husbands and wives did. When I reached a hand down between us, I found that he wanted to do that as well.
The lovemaking was just as cathartic as the talk, and I lay comfortably nude on Eddie on the couch. “I don't think I can move. Ever.”
“No kidding, babe, you wore me out.”
“Okay, seriously, can you pick one?”
“Huh?”
“The nicknames. I'm starting to feel schizophrenic. You use different ones at different times, and I'm spending more time trying to figure out why you're using each at that particular time than I am actually paying attention to your words.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't notice.”
“See? You did it again.” I pounded his chest lightly and found the energy to get up, remembering there was ice cream in the freezer. I left him reaching his outstretched arms after me; he didn't have any strength left. He didn't know the power of brownie batter ice cream. I grabbed the box of cookies on the way back, and tossed them on his bare chest. “Sit up, otherwise you're going to get crumbs all over you.”
“Nicknames,” he reminded me, trying a sugar cookie.
“Mmmm,” I moaned in pleasure, the coolness of the ice cream cooling my body down after the strenuous exercise.
“Don't do that unless you want to go again,” he warned. I looked at him oddly, but went on.
“The nicknames you use have their own personalities. When you're being normal and conversationally, you'll call me sweetheart. When you're emotional – concerned, worried, that kind of thing – you'll call me baby. When you're aroused or coming down, it's babe. I still haven't f
igured out hon and honey yet. And Schroeder you save for when you want to get my attention.”
“I use that many?” He stole the spoon from me and took a bite.
“Yep. Stop, please.” I grinned to take the sting out.
“But I like them. Otherwise I wouldn't use them,” he protested.
“Cut two,” I compromised. “Get rid of hon and honey. You don't use them much, anyway.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I didn't think you were all that sweet anyway.”
“Thanks, hon.” I gave him a loud smack on the cheek.
“Hey!”
“I just said you can't use them. Not that I can't.” The ice cream container sat on the coffeetable and melted while Eddie took his revenge on my body. I didn't protest.
"What did Roger do?" Eddie asked some time later.
Politely but firmly, I told him it was none of his business.
"It is, baby. I need to know."
I shifted on the couch so I was on my side between his legs, both leaning against the arm of the couch, so I could look at him. "No, you don't. There's no good reason for you to have to know."
Eddie stroked my face. "I don't want to inadvertently do the same thing. If he touched you a certain way, I don't want to touch you that way and trigger a panic attack or anything. If I don't know, I can't plan for it. We were going to avoid the bombshells, remember? This is a timebomb just waiting to go off."
I flopped back over on my back so I wouldn't have to look at his face and see his reaction. "I was coming home from work. Roger was waiting for me around the corner of my apartment, and startled me when I was opening my door. I had left my laundry basket right inside the door from doing it the night before, and tripped right over it. Hit my head on the floor, and when I woke up he had pulled my underwear off and my skirt up. I punched him in the nuts and screamed bloody murder, and luckily enough the apartment manager was showing an apartment nearby, and came running. Roger tried to claim that my skirt had rode up when I fell, and he was trying to wake me up, and I had just gone commando that day. The pile of obviously clean laundry disproved that. He didn't actually do anything, so there's nothing you need to be wary of."
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