"That doesn't mean he's a good match for Tabby," I countered, seeing where he was leading, but wanting Mark to say it himself.
"I know. I'm just saying, we both see how they feel about each other. I personally think that their bond, it's strong enough to not even be deflected by this information about Pressman. If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong. I know Patrick won't betray us, and I'm willing to move on from that. If he's not the right person for Tabby, then we'll be there for her until the right person comes along."
"But you think he might be?"
Mark shrugged. "I have hope. Isn't that enough, right now?"
We waited, with Mark spoiling me via sublime massage, a little bit of chocolate, and a thousand little other things that made me feel beautiful and desired. Most of all it was his eyes, and what was contained within them.
I was just considering the idea of having him take off those sweatpants when the front door of Mount Zion opened and closed again. Mark, who was just wiping his hands clean from the oil he'd been using to massage my skin, paused. "They're home."
We heard two sets of footsteps on the entryway tile, which I took as a good thing. However, what I didn't hear were the giggles or other sounds that told me they were engaged in foreplay or other amorous activities. I sat up and looked around for my panties before I realized that I had left all my clothes inside the bathroom. I guess I could have blamed Mark, but that was beside the point.
Getting up, I quickly pulled on a fresh pair of clothes from my dresser and pulled them on. "What are you doing?" Mark whispered, curious.
"I'm going to see what's going on," I replied. “I'm confused."
Mark looked like he was about to object when he caught the look in my eyes, and nodded. Reaching into his drawer, he grabbed an old workout t-shirt and yanked it over his head. "They'll have to forgive the lack of underpants and socks," he muttered to himself. "And I was having so much fun, too."
"That might not be over yet, stud," I teased him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I was just about to ask you to make love with me again when they came in."
Mark's expression changed, brightening up, and he nodded. "Okay, I might just hold you to that."
"Oh, you want to tie me up now?" I teased. It was a credit to Mark, how we could tease each other about things like that, even after his intervention with Mistress Blood.
"Not tonight, but we can definitely do sometime.”
We left our bedroom, and made our way silently towards the kitchen and dining area.
I was surprised by what I found. Tabby and Patrick were sitting in side by side chairs, holding hands and just whispering to each other. It didn't look like anything like I'd expected. If I had to compare it to anything, it looked like something from a sitcom from the nineteen fifties, where two teenagers considered it risqué if they actually kissed anywhere within yelling distance of their homes, and the epitome of a hot date was going to the drive-in after the sock hop. "Guys?"
Tabby looked up, smiling. "Hi Sophie. Hi Mark. Come on in, you're not interrupting anything."
The two of us came in, perplexed. Looking from Patrick to Tabby, I was absolutely confused. What the hell was going on? "Uhm, who are you, and what did you do with my Tabby?" I asked, a nervous smile on my face. "I expected passion, I expected tears, I expected tears and passion at the same time. What I didn't expect was this pod person act."
Patrick looked at Tabby, who looked back at him. "We've had that already," Tabby said, and I realized her tone of voice.
She was over the moon happy. I'd heard it before, but never to such a degree. You see, when Tabby gets truly, absolutely happy, she gets this strange calmness to her voice and body that it almost never, ever shows otherwise. In fact, in all the years I'd known her, the only other people who could get her in such a mood were Mark and I. "And?"
"We've got big news for you guys," Patrick said. "We had our date, and I told Tabby about my history with Scott Pressman."
"Which was the tears," Tabby interjected, "and a few slaps, which you'll be happy to know Mark, your student here took quite well."
Mark flashed a quick smile before tilting his head again. "Okay.... continue, before I blow a few brain cells thinking too hard."
Tabby laughed, a light sort of twitter that I confirmed my suspicions. I still wanted her to say it though, I had to hear the words.
"After I told Tabby, we sat and talked," Patrick continued for us, "in fact, we never even went to the restaurant. We just sat in my apartment, talking about things. A lot of it was about my personal history, and how it might affect our relationship. In the end though, it came down to my ink."
Tabby saw my confused expression. Actually, looking over, Mark was also confused, and I was beginning to wonder if Tabby and Patrick had taken something mind altering. Tabby chuckled and reached over to Patrick, taking his hand. "I think we're being a bit too obtuse. How about we show them."
Patrick smiled and let go of Tabby's hand. He reached for the top button of his shirt and began opening his shirt. He reached his belly and opened his shirt, showing the gryphon on his chest. "Do you guys know about gryphons?"
"Just that they’re on a lot of churches and they are on a lot of old European flags," I replied. "Why?"
"There's a lot of mythical things about gryphons," Patrick replied, "but the reason I have it is because there is something about them that was common regardless of their cultural background. They mate for life."
Mark blinked, then shook his head before putting it in his hands. "I needed to read more classical mythology or something, because I'm getting lost."
"What it means is that Patrick and I have talked, and we've decided to move deeper in terms of our relationship," Tabby said.
"As in?" I asked.
"As in I asked Tabby to marry me, and she said yes," Patrick said.
I've been in a car crash once. I was nine years old, and riding in the back seat of the car while my dad drove me to piano practice when he was sideswiped by a guy who ran a red light in a pickup truck. I wasn't injured, but it did jar the hell out of me.
Patrick's words shocked me just as much. I looked from him to her, then to Mark, then back, my head moving in a sort of weird triangle. "Engaged?"
"Now, don't worry, we're not running off to Vegas like you two," Tabby said, reaching over and taking my hands. "We want to take our time. We haven’t even talked about a date yet. It’s more of just a declaration of us wanting to spend the rest of our lives together. We know its fast, and we know that it sounds strange."
Mark shook his head, and walked over to Tabby. She stood up from her chair, looking up into his eyes. They had bonded nearly as close as Tabby and I had, and they looked at each other for a long time before Mark opened his arms and wrapped her up in a hug. "Okay," he said, her head tucked under his chin like he was protecting his little sister, or his child. In fact, the mother growing inside me could see him doing that with our own daughter some day. "Okay. I love you, and I trust you. Congratulations."
He let go of Tabby, who turned to me while Mark turned to Patrick. "You know this doesn't mean I'm backing off on your training. If anything, I'm going to push you harder."
"Damn right you are," Patrick said. "I've got something more to come home to than just a couch and two goldfish now."
Tabby watched the two men shake hands, then looked at me. "Are you okay with this?" she asked me.
I pulled her into a hug, the woman that was most important in my life. “You’ve never been one to waste time when you want something. The real question is, are you happy?" I whispered in her ear.
"Yes," Tabby said, squeezing me tight. "Maybe I'm greedy or needy or whatever. But I need all three of you in my life."
"Then we'll be there," I said, squeezing tighter. "I love you, Tabby."
"I love you too, Sophie."
Chapter 9
Tabby
I know what Mark and Sophie expected of me and Patrick after we declared that we were engaged. After all, I'm
supposed to be the hypersexual redhead, the girl that can't wait to get her itch scratched. And considering that I'd already gone over a month since Patrick and I had last had sex, I guess that assumption was a safe one.
But part of what Patrick and I had talked about, the thing that it took a couple of days for us to get used to and talk about, was that Patrick and I discussed the fact that, at least for the first part of our engagement, we wanted to actively avoid sex. It wasn't that we were in a total no-touch scenario, but rather that we were just not actively seeking physical intimacy.
It was the emotional depth we were looking for. It had come to me after Patrick told me about his past with Scott Pressman. I realized that, despite the wonderful side effects of sex, and however much I love it, the two people I was closest to in my life, I'd never had sex with. Sophie was closer to me than anyone else in the world, the yin to my yang, the woman who held more real estate in my heart and soul than I had even known I had. I would die for Sophie, but even more importantly, I lived for her too.
Then there was Mark. If Sophie was my match, Mark was just as much hers. It sounds so fucking weird, but it was true, and there was never any feeling of being shortchanged or jealousy in any of it. Mark was my brother, my mentor, my guide and my advisor. If Sophie was my heart, Mark was my strength. And it was the same with Mark and I. He'd come to me so many times for guidance, second only to Sophie herself. If I was the third wheel of the relationship, I certainly didn't feel like it.
So that was why Patrick and I made a conscious choice, not to have sex for at least a little while. We knew we were a match sexually, we’d already proved that. Nobody had ever satisfied me as much as Patrick had, even though it had been only one night. We'd found something there that was precious, and I wanted it again and again, I knew. But I also wanted more than that, and Patrick agreed with me.
"Tabby, the thing that was most painful to me was that I'd caused you pain," he had said to me while we sat in his apartment. He was about ten minutes from asking me to marry him, and we'd just finished the fighting.
"You didn't do anything intentionally," I said. "Although not telling me about Pressman is your fault."
"For which I’m very sorry," Patrick said, rubbing his jaw.
I smirked and reached over, patting his knee. We were sitting on the poor excuse for his couch, which from what I could tell tripled as his dining room and sometimes bed too. A true bachelor pad. Most people didn't keep a pillow for a couch cushion at least. "I understand, though. But it can't happen again."
"I know. Tabby, my life's an open book to you now. I promise, no more secrets. I'm not saying something might not come up and bite me in the ass, I have a lot of crap in my past, but I promise, no more hiding anything."
Later, we formed our plan. Part of it was to move in together. It sounded weird, sharing a house but not a bed, considering we were engaged.
Mark and Sophie hadn't blinked when I told them, however. Instead, they merely shifted their office into their bedroom, leaving Patrick with a small but adequate place to sleep temporarily. I could’ve just stayed at Patrick’s place until we found our own, but I think we both silently agreed that Zion was leaps and bounds better. “Hey, it's bigger than my living room already," he said when Mark showed him the empty space. "I'm just glad you didn't stick me in the bell tower."
"Can't yet," Mark replied. "Don't trust you with the automatic weapons yet."
Patrick looked sideways at Mark, then just shook his head. It was the sort of thing you got used to around here. Instead, he merely used the paycheck that he wasn't spending from the city to buy a simple twin sized mattress and set it up on the floor. It wasn't much, but it sent the right message. He was willing to wait a long time if need be, but he didn't want to wait forever to be invited to my bed again.
The whirlwind nature, at least to the public, of me and Patrick was probably the biggest side effect we hadn't counted on. I knew I'd gotten in the newspaper a few times. Sure, there were the occasional comments, but I mean, I wasn't a celebrity or anything. I didn't go to red carpet events, I didn't try to get on TV or anything like that.
Still, somehow Patrick and I ended up on the front page of the society page and the local politics page more than once over the ensuing months. When we went to a Spartans home game again, there we were, in full color. When Mayor Joe had a fundraising event for one of his favorite charities, Patrick and I had attended not to gain attention, but because I actually liked Joe and his cause was worthwhile. The pledge was because I agreed with him. Yet somehow, it ended up getting more press than Joe's actual speech.
One morning, as the first light snows swirled around the trees that lined the driveway up to Mount Zion, I got in my car to drive to work, and Patrick tapped on my window. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to remind you I'm going to be late tonight," Patrick replied. "Council meeting. I probably won't be home until ten at least."
"I remember. I'll miss having you for dinner," I said. Patrick smiled, and leaned into the car, kissing me quickly. Now, you'd think that two people who had said they weren't going to have sex wouldn't be affectionate at all. Instead, we were more affectionate than ever. We kissed almost constantly, to the point that Sophie had instituted a rule with me that when Patrick and I used the gym at the same time, I had to remain on the other side of the room from him at all times.
After our kiss ended, I smiled up at him. "I look forward to dessert," I told him, rolling up the window and putting my car into gear.
I knew I was distracted as I drove into the city, but when the police flashing lights came on behind me, I was absolutely shocked. I'd never gotten a ticket, and a quick check of my speedometer told me that I was still two miles under the limit. Pulling over, I turned off my engine and waited for the officer.
The guy who came up was your typical police officer, white, clean cut if a bit militaristic in his grooming, and carrying about fifteen to twenty extra pounds under his body armor. "Good morning officer, how can I help you?"
"License, registration and proof of insurance please," the cop stonily replied.
"Of course," I said, "it's in my purse, is that okay?" I was worried he was going to think I had a gun in there or something, even though it was a small purse.
He nodded, and I took out my license and car insurance card. The registration was in a little document holder clipped to my sun shade, so I got that out too. "Here you are."
He leaned in, and sniffed the air. "Ma'am, I'm detecting the smell of alcohol in your vehicle. Have you been drinking?"
So it was going to be like that then. "No, officer. It's not even nine in the morning. I'll be happy to take a breath test if you like."
What proceeded was perhaps the biggest jerk off job I've ever seen. His device, which curiously powered up just fine, didn't get a reading at all, and kept giving him an error message. When I offered to do a field sobriety test, in full view of his dash cam of course, he stated that the conditions were unsafe for doing so, as apparently a tenth of an inch of snow gusting around by the wind was too dangerous to let me walk in a straight line. I wasn't even wearing high heels, those being in the passenger seat of my car. I drove in running shoes.
I knew better than to reach for my phone to call anyone, or to try and make a scene. I might have been a local media attraction, and I might have been dating the best looking member of the City Council, but that didn't mean I couldn't catch an old fashioned police beatdown if the cop wanted to. Instead I waited the extra forty five minutes while another cruiser was brought in, and a police Sergeant got out. He had his dog with him, and I inwardly groaned.
Of course, as you'd expect, Rover started barking like hell and nearly pissing himself as soon as he got within sniffing distance of my car. "Open the trunk, ma'am," Sergeant Super-Cop said. "This is not a request."
"I understand," I said, keeping my temper in check as I shivered in the cold. I hadn't worn a jacket, and I was damn near freezing. "Just, do you mind if I call
my house? I'm really cold, and they can bring me a jacket or something."
"Sorry, no phone calls," the first cop said. At least he said sorry.
My trunk was empty except for some dry cleaning that I didn't get out of the trunk the day before. Still, it was nearly another hour before the two cops decided that they'd hassled me enough. The first cop wrote out a warning for, quote, 'not approaching a red light at an acceptable level of caution' and let me on my way. As soon as I was in the office, Vanessa looked at me questioningly. "I was beginning to wonder if something happened to you, Tabby."
She'd gotten a lot better at calling me Tabby in the past few months. "Yeah, something did. Two of our local cops decided it was time to play screw around with the local supposedly anti-Union business leader," I grumbled. "Tell me, what am I late for?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Vanessa replied. "The general contractor dropped off a cost update of next month's renovations on the first center, and wanted the check for him to distribute out. I cut him a check, sorry I had to use your autopen."
"No problem, I trust you," I said, distracted. Vanessa did have access to one of the public MJT checking accounts for specifically purposes like this, where she could make online payments for different things. She rarely used it since we kept the level relatively low, mainly for accounting purposes. "Anything else?"
"Gene from the Spartans called, but he said he'll be out of the office for the rest of the day. They're in the playoff hunt you know, and I think he wanted to offer you and Patrick first dibs on playoff tickets if they get a home game."
"Okay, thanks. I'll try and reply. If I can get a box, you want to go? You know you and your... Vanessa, I have to apologize," I said in wonderment as the fact hit me. "I don't know what your social life is like at all."
Ambition 2: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven) Page 8