by Robin Hill
Liar.
“You sure about that?” Darian says, repeating my words from last night as he thrusts a finger inside of me so suddenly that I gasp. His deep chuckle vibrates between my legs. “You just relax and let me have my way with this pretty little pussy of yours. Then you can sleep as long as you want.”
I snort a laugh. “Wait…did you just say pussy?”
“What’s wrong with pussy?”
My face twists in a grimace. “It sounds so…not you.”
“Would you prefer pink taco?” he asks as a second finger joins the first. “Hot pocket?” His warm breath on my pussy sends a pleasant shiver up my spine.
I narrow my eyes at him, trying hard to ignore the sensation. “Hot pocket?”
He gives me a heated look. “What about cu—?”
That one gets him a kick in the ribs. “I think maybe you should stop talking,” I say, though I’m smiling when I say it.
And I keep smiling because he does exactly that. He stops talking and uses his mouth for other things—better things that have me squirming on the mattress, arching off of it. Coming undone in the sleepy haze of morning.
“Now you can sleep,” Darian says, dragging his gloriously naked body from the bed. “I expect a slow day today. Want me to bring home dinner?”
I lift up on my elbows to get a better view. “Or I could cook something. Craving anything in particular?”
“Other than you?” The corny line is delivered with a wink, right before his eyes light up. “Oh God, will you make…”
“Will I make what?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing…I mean, never mind. I was going to say chicken fried steak, but that’s way too much work for a Friday night. Surprise me. Something simple.”
“After what you just did? I’d make you beef Wellington, naked in stripper heels.”
His brows shoot up. “Well, since you’re offering…”
“Next time.” I roll onto my side, hiding my triumphant smirk in my pillow. “Chicken fried steak. Take it or leave it.”
“Take it,” he says as his laugh echoes behind me. “Have a good day.”
“You too.”
The bathroom door closes, and I lie there with my back to it, wearing a small smile that stretches to a wide grin when I hear Darian singing. Straining my ears to listen, I can barely make out the words to “Love Her Madly.” The sheer happiness in his voice wraps around me like a warm blanket, and I nestle into it as it lulls me to sleep.
It isn’t until I wake up hours later that I remember…
Oh fuck. It’s today.
The Unknown Soldier
Darian
I woke up the happiest I’ve been in ten years…on the anniversary of the worst day of my life.
And it has everything to do with the woman asleep in my bed. The woman who loves me despite the cargo hold’s worth of baggage I carry. The woman who refuses to give up on me.
The woman I’m going to marry.
I study her as I quietly strap on my watch. Always smiling, even in her sleep—her lips curled up ever so slightly. And when I turn to check myself in the mirror, I realize I’m smiling too. It’s fucking infectious.
“Sweet dreams, Sleeping Beauty,” I whisper as I steal a final glance. My gaze rolls over her delicate form hidden beneath the thin white sheet and I have to fight the urge to yank it off and kiss her awake.
Tonight, though…
In the kitchen, I find Gloria sitting at the island sipping her coffee.
“Morning, Glory,” I say, smiling tightly as I grab my laptop bag off the counter. “Wasn’t expecting you today.”
Although I probably should have been.
“I was in the neighborhood.” The look she gives me is both sad yet hopeful and causes my throat to constrict. She pats the barstool beside her. “Come sit with me.”
“I’m already late.”
“No, you’re not,” she says, giving the barstool another pat. “Come on, mijo. Mind your elders.”
I set down my laptop and do as she says. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Better than fine, actually.”
Her gaze darts from my face to the ceiling and back again. “Does your newfound happiness have anything to do with that girl up there?”
“Maybe…”
“Uh huh.” She watches me for a long moment, then nods and tips back the last of her coffee. “It’s good to see you happy.”
“It’s good to be happy,” I admit. “It’s been a while.”
“Ten years,” she says, staring at her empty mug. “You know I love you like my own. Have since you were a baby. If you ever need…” A slow swallow rolls down her throat. “If you ever…”
“Gloria…”
Her teary gaze lifts to mine, causing my eyes to sting. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, mijo. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“I’m going to get out of your hair.” She grabs her purse and fishes out her keys. “Give Miss Frankie my love.”
“I will,” I say, offering my hand as she slides off the barstool. I bend to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Always.” She pats my shoulder. “You be good.”
I cross the lobby to my office as I do every morning, with my head down, scanning email via my cell. Aside from Leslie, my receptionist, the lobby’s usually vacant. I run a small company, and the few employees I have are far too busy to loiter.
But today, it seems, every fucking person on my payroll is loitering. Maybe they’re not as assiduous as I thought. Is this what happens when they assume I’m not coming in?
I lift my gaze from my phone and it’s met with a dozen concerned faces. Nope. This is what happens when they assume I am.
I’m fine, I want to say. Get your asses back to work.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say instead.
Leslie stands up from behind her desk—all four feet, ten inches of her. If her hair were blond instead of jet black, she’d be the spitting image of Tinker Bell.
“Morning, Leslie.”
“Morning, Mr. Fox,” she says with a shy smile. Amanda says I intimidate her, which is comical coming from Amanda. “You have several messages. Ms. March has called three times already.”
Evelyn. I expected as much. My cell’s been going off all morning. “And Drew?”
“Mr. Hart’s only called once.”
I nod. “Ms. Harris in yet?”
Leslie’s shy smile slips. “She’s on a call with legal.”
“Send her in when she’s done?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And route all non-emergency calls to my voice mail,” I tell her as I turn toward my office.
Her small, elfin voice stops me. “Ms. March…”
A frown creases my forehead. “Isn’t an emergency, despite what she says. Neither is Mr. Hart.” I reach for my door, my hand stalling on the knob. “Actually, send any emergencies to Ms. Harris.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” she says, almost casually, then, “I mean, I’ll take care of it. Sir.”
Her added sir makes me chuckle. “Have a good day, Leslie.”
“You too, sir.”
I step inside my office and close the door behind me. Once seated at my desk, I scroll through the morning’s texts, beginning with Drew’s, which started pinging my phone at the ass crack of dawn.
Drew: Just checking in. Call me.
Drew: You know how this works. I bug the shit out of you until you call.
Drew: And I know you won’t turn off your phone. All that vibrating’s bound to drive you nuts. Too bad you’re not a chick. ;-)
Evelyn: Are you working today?
Evelyn: I’d like to see you. Are you free for lunch?
Evelyn: You know where I’ll be.
&
nbsp; Evelyn: Love you.
Amanda: Here if you need me.
I probably should have given her a heads-up about coming in, but my head’s been all over the place lately. One minute, it’s locked in the past and the next, it’s up in the clouds. Right now, it’s the latter, which feels really fucking strange. And being at work—today of all days—feels really fucking strange too.
Traditionally, I spend the day in bed, getting up only to eat and piss. But things have changed. I’m happy. I no longer need to sleep the day away to get through it.
And the woman responsible for said happiness is lying naked in said bed.
What the hell was I thinking coming to work?
I pull my laptop out of my bag and power it on. But instead of opening the contract I need to review for next week’s meeting, I open Chrome and google chicken fried steak wine pairings.
Because that’s productive…
Amanda knocks twice before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Hey, I thought—oh no,” she says, catching sight of my grin. “Not this again…”
“Good morning, Ms. Harris.” I lean back in my chair, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Or should I say, Ms. Kangaroo?”
“Shut up,” she says, failing to suppress her smile. “I love this suit!”
In her defense it is a nice suit. It just happens to be bright red. With white trim. Like Captain Kangaroo’s.
“And I keep telling you his pants were black, not red,” she says, shrugging out of the jacket. She drapes it over the arm of the sofa and takes a seat, casually crossing her long, red legs. “I didn’t think you were coming in this morning, obviously. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I say, wondering how many times I’ll be asked that question today. “How’d it go with Cline?”
“Exactly the way I told you it would. Cross to Bear is officially in breach of contract. I need to know how you want to proceed.”
“I’m not ready to sue Cade, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Perfect red nails rap against the cream-colored cushion. “Darian, it’s not Cade. It’s Cross, and this is a business.”
“A small business. That I run.” I pull a pen from its holder and spin it on the desk. “They owe us an album. They’ll get us an album. You know as well as I do that forced hands yield shit follow-ups.”
Amanda laughs. “You come up with that yourself?”
I waggle my brows. “It’s good, right?” The pen falls to the floor and I bend to pick it up. “Look, I’m in constant contact with the band and they assure me it’s coming.”
“The band?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “Not Cade?”
My chest tightens. “I haven’t been able to reach him. But I will.” I lean forward and fold my hands on the desk. “I’m more concerned about World Music. Still nothing from them?”
“Yeah, about that, Leslie’s been fielding calls from gossip rags.”
“And you’re just now telling me this?”
“I just found out.”
“Shit.” I push out of my chair and turn around to face the window. “How much does she know?”
“The Examiner called to get dirt on her boss, the ex-rock star with a tragic past who’s about to be the subject of a nationally broadcast television documentary. She’s twenty-three. What she didn’t learn from them, I assure you she learned online.” Amanda joins me at the window. “Don’t worry about her. She signed an NDA.”
My empty stomach protests. “It’s only a matter of time before the paps pounce. We need to check with HR and make sure everyone has.”
“I already did.”
I press my palms to the glass and stare at the city below. “Why now? Today is the anniversary. At the rate they’re going, it’ll be months before it airs. What’s the fucking point?”
“November sweeps,” she says matter-of-factly, and I turn sideways to face her. “The truth is, that crash put your band on the map. It’s a human-interest story that appeals to both fans and non-fans alike. They’re a young network. This is the kind of thing that will put them on the map.”
“Not if I can stop it.”
She crosses her arms. “Do you really think you can?
“It’s my life, Amanda. The worst part of it, and they want to exploit it. I have to stop it.”
“Cline’s on it,” she says, “but…” She purses her lips. “Have you considered just…letting them?”
My hands clench into fists. “You want me to let them?”
“I know the lengths you’ll go to fight this, and Darian…I don’t think you’ll win.” She sighs. “What does Frankie think about it?”
Not a goddamn thing because I haven’t told her.
“I appreciate your concern, but I have to win. I will win.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, shoulders curling forward over my chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I’m frustrated, and until about thirty minutes ago, I was having a surprisingly good day.”
“You’re right,” she says. “We don’t need to do this now.” Her eyes soften. “So things weren’t weird this morning…with Frankie?”
“Things were fine. I mean, it didn’t come up.”
She makes a face. “Wait. What do you mean ‘it didn’t come up’? Today’s kind of a big day, Darian. And you’re telling me she didn’t even mention it?”
“Down, Simba. It wasn’t like that. We were—she was…distracted,” I say, tripping over my fucking tongue.
Hey, dumbass, maybe next time go with: No, Amanda. Things were wonderful.
“How was she distrac—ohh…” she says, an amused smirk curling her lips. “You mean you distracted her.”
“Please drop it, Amanda. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You know I can’t go there with you.”
She scoffs. “But you can with Drew?”
I throw my head back.
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll drop it, but for the record, it sucks that we can’t be friends anymore because I have breasts.”
“I never said we can’t be friends, but talking about…this…crosses a line.” I give her a pointed look. “And, for the record, it’s not because you have breasts. It’s because I’ve seen them,” I say, sidestepping her for my chair. I sit down and tap the touchpad on my laptop, lighting up the screen. “Also, for the record, you are my friend. You’ve been a very good friend to me.”
“But things are different now,” she says. “I get it. I’m used to giving you shit and not having to watch what I say. I don’t mean anything by it.”
“I know you don’t.” I turn to look at her. “And you don’t have to watch what you say to me, except when it comes to Francesca and…distractions.”
“All right,” she says, twirling a chunk of her long, dark hair around her finger. “No distractions.” Her faint smile stretches to a grin as her gaze slides past me. “Champagne’s your best bet.”
“Champagne?”
“For chicken fried steak,” she says, pointing to my laptop. “But beer would probably be better.”
“Huh…” I turn back to the screen and scroll through this morning’s search results, and sure enough, she’s right. “I don’t want beer, but champagne is oddly perfect.”
She moves closer, flattening her palm on the surface of my desk as she leans against it. “Are you…celebrating something?”
“Yes.” Unfamiliar hope swells in my chest. “Getting through this day unscathed.”
“Wow. Look who finally decided to pick up,” Drew says, feigning irritation, but I know from experience it’s to mask his concern. “I’ve only been calling all fucking day.”
You and everyone else.
“Sorry, man. I’ve been working.”
Or trying to…
“You’re working today?”
“Was. Now I’m driving.” I put on my blinker and veer into the turn lane. “I’m fine, by the way.”
“You know I have to check.”
> “Yeah, I know.” The light changes and I hook a left into the grocery store parking lot. “You got a full schedule today?”
“Nah, it’s pretty light. I can knock off early if you want to grab a few beers.”
I park in the first empty space I come to and unhook my seatbelt. “No can do, my friend. I just pulled into Publix for a bottle of champagne and then I’m headed home to have dinner with my girl.”
“Champagne? Oh shit. Did you get the ring back? Are you proposing tonight?”
“Dude, slow down,” I say, grabbing my wallet from the console. “No, I’m not proposing tonight. Francesca’s making chicken fried steak. Seriously, you gotta try it sometime. Shit’s amazing.”
“Goddammit, Dare. You scared the fuck out of me.” Drew’s laugh is strained. “What does champagne have to do with chicken fried steak?”
“Apparently they go together. Did you know in Texas there’s a restaurant chain that specializes in pairing fried chicken with champagne? Crazy, right? Francesca must know about this. It’s totally something she’d—”
“You do realize you’re babbling?”
I open the door and swing my legs around. The air is dense and damp with humidity and hints of rain. “I’m not babbling. I’m…”
Antsy.
Drew groans. “While I’m fascinated by your knowledge of fried food and wine pairings, I’m much more interested in the ring. Any idea how long?”
A smile pulls at my lips. “I got it back last week.”
“And?”
“And I haven’t figured it out yet. I don’t want to plan some lame-ass proposal. I’d rather wait for the right moment and just…ask her.”
To marry me. To be my wife.
The title fits in a way that girlfriend doesn’t. In a way that friend never did. The thought sets my pulse racing.
“I’m happy for you, Dare. Frankie’s the real deal. And for some crazy reason, she thinks you are too.” He’s quiet for a moment—too quiet—and I can feel the balloon of euphoria I’m carrying begin to deflate. “You are fine, though? Right? I mean, you obviously sound fine.”
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” I say, my voice light despite the heft of my words. Drew’s done nothing but worry about me for ten years.