Minutes passed and he refused to meet her eye, no matter how blatantly she stared at him. He knew she was there, she was sure of it, but he wasn’t going to come over. Why? Was he too shy? Did he think she and Owen were on a date? How had he found her anyway?
Autumn considered the possibility that his presence was a coincidence, then dismissed it. This was a city of millions of people. Only an idiot would take this as coincidence. She remembered Owen posting the photo of the two of them on Facebook and smirked. That had to be it. Blake might not have social media, but he was definitely stalking her on it.
Stalking…
Her belly drew tight. Of course. He wasn’t here to talk to her, he was here on a mission. He wanted to fulfill her fantasy, just as he had the night before. He was here to watch. To stalk.
Her body’s reaction to that idea was instantaneous, her pussy clenched and her nipples pricked with arousal. Blake was stalking her, watching, maybe even taking pictures.
“…and that’s when we all found out he was on one of those penis websites, like where girls send unsolicited dick-pics to get critiqued by an artist!”
“Seriously?” Autumn said, knowing it would fill the space nicely.
“God yeah, apparently he’d been dick-bombing girls all over Brooklyn and…”
For the next twenty minutes Autumn tried to pay attention. She sipped her tea with shaking hands, and though she liked Owen, she barely heard anything he said. All of her attention was focused on the man sitting adjacent from her, reading the paper and occasionally pulling out his phone and fooling around on it.
Please be taking photos of me, she thought. Please be taking pictures to look at later when you’re lying in bed wishing I was with you…
She wanted to stay sitting where she was forever, but her tiny bladder, and massive liquid consumption, had other ideas. “Just going to the bathroom,” she told Owen. “Be back in a sec.”
“Sure.” Owen was already on his phone. “God, everyone thinks we look beautiful. And they couldn’t be more right.”
She smiled, but her attention was fixed on Blake. Was he watching her move? She was sure he was, but knew if she looked over, he would glance away. He was very good at this. As she walked toward the bathroom, she swore she saw Blake’s phone flash in the corner of her eye. She smiled to herself.
The café bathroom was in the back of the building and required you to walk down a long, narrow corridor. Autumn used the tiny women’s toilet, noting it was immaculately clean. That was another thing Americans did well, the accessibility and cleanliness of public bathrooms. She washed her hands, noting that her eyes were over-bright and her pupils huge. She looked horny, horny and extra alive because of it.
“He’s only watching you,” she told her reflection. “Don’t be desperate, you weirdo.”
But that wouldn’t erase the brightness from her eyes, nor the knowing curl of her lip. She dried her hands and exited. The hallway was dark—someone had turned off the lights that led back to the café. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw that the person who’d done it was still there. Watching her. She could hear him breathing, slow and deep.
“H-hello,” she whispered, fear mixing with her arousal like ripple through ice cream. “The men’s is down there.”
She pointed as though that wasn’t an utterly ridiculous to do in the dark.
The enormous shape in front of her said nothing. He unfolded his arms and took one step, two. Then he was right in front of her. She knew it was Blake but it was still a relief to smell his cologne and the warmth of whatever washing detergent he used.
Murderers use washing detergent too, she told herself. But she knew it was Blake, she could feel it in her bones.
“What are you doing?” she said, sounding exactly as turned on as she was.
He didn’t reply. Instead he bent down and inhaled along her neck. All the hairs on Autumn’s arms lifted and her knees shook so violently she thought she might fall. Looking down the dark hallway, she could see customers milling around, hear the indie folk playing on the speakers. No one knew she was alone with Blake, no one knew he was not quite touching her. He kissed her neck, raising goosebumps on her skin. His breathing was deep and harsh now, and she knew if she reached out and touched him, he would be rock hard beneath his jeans.
“Is it time?” she whispered.
He said nothing and her heart sank. This wasn’t time, she understood, this was foreplay. He was toying with her. She’d gone as far as wondering what his end game was when his hands closed around her wrists, pinning her to the cool, exposed brick.
“Blake?”
She felt him shake his head. Not Blake then, a stranger. A man who watched and followed when the moment was right. Autumn felt more blood flow into her erogenous zones until it felt like all she was, was tingling skin and spiked nipples and a hot, eager pussy. Blake lifted her then, pressed her up so that his hips were pressed into hers. He was every bit as hard as she thought he’d been. A gentle hand covered her mouth and then he began to rock and thrust. To grind. She moaned as the swell of denim between his legs rubbed against her. She was wearing willow-patterned leggings and she could feel every inch of him.
He did it harder and shoved his fingers into her mouth, apparently determined to gag her. It was just as well. If she’d been able to speak, she’d have begged. It just felt too good. The space, his silence, that he was simulating sex on her, as though she were just his little doll. As though he were promising the both of them that he’d soon be back for more. His powerful hips continued to flex against hers as his hand reached down her top and began to tug on her nipples. Pleasure sparked through her, the fluid heat that preceded orgasm. She tilted her head back and the stranger Blake was playing took the message at once, kissing and nipping at her skin so that she whimpered around his fingers. The stars were gathering, her orgasm—as crazy as it sounded—was building. The stranger sank his teeth into her shoulder, his cock stroking firm against her aching cunt.
Come, he seemed to be saying. Come and then you’ll belong to me.
She was seconds—milliseconds away—when a dark shape appeared in the hallway, blotting the light. Another customer, probably looking to use the bathroom. Blake responded instantly, releasing her onto her feet, turning away from her and striding toward the light as though the entire thing had been staged.
It hadn’t though, judging from the hard look the man using the bathroom gave her, but Autumn didn’t give even the first fuck about that. She slumped against the wall. “Oh my fucking God…”
That had been…incredible. The entire experience beyond anything she’d ever hoped to explore. She was frustrated, her whole lower half was throbbing with want, but she was kind of happy the stranger had left her wanting. She suspected, wherever he was, Blake felt the same way. She hugged herself in the dark, feeling warm and open and…some other word, she couldn’t think of it, but it made her feel as though she’d been washed with gold.
She went back into the women’s bathroom and splashed water on her face, needing a few more moments alone with the feeling and then returned to the café.
“You look…flushed,” Owen said as she sat down.
Autumn pressed a hand to her cheeks and forehead and felt her damp skin. “No, I don’t.”
“And you were gone for ages.”
“Yeah well…coffee, you know?”
Owen have her a look so penetrating it could have cut steel. “Quick question, did you know that a hulking beast of a man was sitting three tables away from us while we drank our tea?”
“Um…”
“And that he got up when you left for the bathroom, paid for his coffee and then disappeared down that hallway? Turning the lights off after him?”
“R-really?”
“Yes, and right before you came out, he left these premises looking like his whole world had been turned upside down.”
Autumn couldn’t keep her smile from spreading across her face.
Owen
cleared his throat. “Okay, I think it’s time for you to tell me about this Landlord of yours missy, but first we pay up and leave, the waitress keeps giving me dirty looks.”
“Sure,” Autumn said, unable to stop smiling. She and Owen stood, pulling their wallets from their bags and as they made their way to the counter she remembered the name for the washed gold feeling she’d experienced in the hallway.
Cherished. She’d felt cherished.
CHAPTER 8
People look straight at one another during the day. Blake had forgotten about that.
At night, people scurried past him on the city sidewalks with their heads down, at most they sent him a side eye to assess if he was a threat. Someone who might follow them home or wrestle their purse off their body. What did it say about him that he didn’t know which he preferred? Being largely ignored or openly acknowledged in the brittle afternoon light. That’s where he was for the second time this week. Bathed in the light. The first time, he’d gone out with the intention of stalking Autumn. And now, he was moved by the ridiculous urge to procure a present for her.
If that didn’t prove he hadn’t a fucking clue how to impress a female, nothing would.
Self-derision curled Blake’s lip as he turned off the avenue, moving down the side street toward home, fast as he could manage with his bad leg. Two kids sharing a set of headphones broke their wire connection to get out of his way. He was surprised to find himself glancing back at them, wishing he’d gone around instead. Damn Autumn and this effect she was having on him. Making him question his usual behavior, ask himself how she would judge it.
As soon as she went back to Melbourne, he’d go back to normal.
When someone walking toward him on the sidewalk changed directions to cross the street, Blake realized he was scowling. Even worse than usual.
It didn’t take a genius to deduce what his bad mood stemmed from. He hadn’t spoken to Autumn since the coffee shop. Hadn’t spoken to her in the coffee shop, either. Granted, it had only been twenty-four hours, but there were things he needed to know for peace of mind. Had he taken it far enough? Too far? Did the coffee shop count as their second date, or did they still have two more to go?
Why the hell was he putting himself out there like this in the first place?
Memories of soft skin and clutching thighs caused a hitch in his step. Lord, he’d almost fucked her in a hallway. And before that, watching her alternately smile at her friend and frown at her coffee…another eight hours of it still wouldn’t have contended him. He’d marveled over how she could hate a drink with such passion and still hide her wince every time she took a sip. The amusement she’d inspired, followed by the heat in the hallway had done the impossible of making him forget he was outside during the day time. The whole coffee shop orbited around the sunshine of her and the girl couldn’t be more oblivious about it.
Yeah. It wasn’t such a mystery why Blake was putting himself out there, was it?
Autumn could make things a lot easier on his sanity by coming home at an appropriate time. Last night, he’d ordered himself to focus on the Bible project. Done pull-ups until his shoulders burned. Beat off twice remembering how he’d palmed her tits in the coffee shop hallway, the little sounds she made in his ear. By the time she’d glided past his peep hole, he’d still been drawn tight as a bow, positive she’d be with the ex, even as common sense loudly disagreed. There was no room for common sense in his jealousy, though. No, it was hot and concentrated. New, too. He’d never felt jealousy in his single past relationship. Only shock. Disbelief. Jealousy appeared to be the less controllable of the two. By a long shot.
He wasn’t sure how he’d react to seeing Ian, but the acidic burn in his sternum that kicked up every time he thought of the other man told Blake it would be ugly.
Nearing the building, Blake switched the package to the opposite arm, reaching down to massage his sore leg. He did his usual scan of the property, searching for cracks in the sidewalk that someone could potentially trip over and sue him for. Or missing metal guards—required by the city—on any of the windows facing the street. Everything appeared the same as usual. Mrs. Zhu was watering her plants in the fourth floor window. Ross leaned out the window smoking a joint, but he promptly hid it upon seeing Blake, coughing a cloud of smoke into his fist. Blake shook his head and kept going, not in the mood to field questions about where things stood with Autumn. Ross looked disappointed, but eyed the package under Blake’s arm with an air of unmistakable smugness.
With an annoyed grunt, Blake took out his keys and started to open the main door when a group of pigeons caught his eye. He hesitated. Were any of them Autumn’s? Probably not. There were billions of these gray and black scourges cluttering up the city. Still, he couldn’t help but remember the ridiculous way they’d marched back and forth in Autumn’s bathtub, as if they were guarding her. She’d needed guarding that weekend, hadn’t she? Maybe they’d even brought her some comfort, nasty as they were.
“Jesus Christ.” After checking to make sure no one was watching, Blake took a half-eaten oatmeal bar from his pocket, crumbling it up and dropping it on the ground for the flying rats to feast on. And they did, some silent alarm going out to all the neighborhood fringe pigeons who swarmed in for a nibble. “Disgusting. All of you. This is the first and last time I do this.”
“Talking to pigeons now, man?” A hand clapped down on Blake’s shoulder. “Do they ever talk back?”
Cold slid down Blake’s back, his muscles turning to stone. Without having turned around, everything about the man’s voice and the hand on his shoulder was familiar. People who’d met him in the last decade didn’t touch him, let alone slap him on the back. No, it was only the people who used to know him who didn’t think twice about it.
Keeping his features neutral, Blake turned to find Kevin Donahue smiling up at him. His face had aged. A lot. Youth had fled, leaving tracks behind, along with gray hair and heavy cheeks. Not that Blake had any room to judge someone’s appearance—not with the pissed off Yeti aesthetic he had going on—but remembering the young guy who’d always looked slightly dopey from a beer buzz, the new mask Kevin wore was a shock. “What do you want?”
“Shit.” Kevin staggered back a little, hand to his chest like he’d been wounded. “It’s been a long, frigging time. How about a hello? Or a how are the kids?”
“Kids?” Blake repeated, cursing himself for stopping to feed the stupid pigeons, or going out during the day at all. “You?”
Kevin held up four fingers. “All girls. I’m paying for my sins, B-Money. Haven’t had a free weekend in years. It’s all dance classes and fights over hair accessories.” His sigh was long and miserable. “I know way too much about French braids, man.”
Silence hung in the air. Blake realized he was supposed to fill it. Ask about Kevin’s wife, Elaine, who they’d both grown up with in Rockaway Beach. God, everyone grew up together in Rockaway, it was so close knit. A strip of Queens with ocean on one side, bay on the other. Summers were spent on the boardwalk, riding bikes in the street with a friend perched on the handlebars, scrounging cash to buy slices from Ciro’s on 116th Street. A cop or fireman lived in every other house. If you didn’t join one of the two lines of duty, you were the member of another union—like Blake’s father.
Before he’d retired and whisked Blake’s mother away to Florida’s world of gated communities, Michael Munroe had been a miner. A sandhog—the nickname given to the men who built tunnels below the city. A dirty, dangerous job, but it paid well. Blake would know, he’d been one himself before the accident.
Obviously Blake had let the conversation lull too long, because Kevin jumped in to break it, gesturing up at the building. “So, uh…this is it, huh? You own this place?”
Blake nodded once.
Ruddy color appeared on Kevin’s cheeks. “I’ve been past it before, but wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.” His eyebrows drew together. “Looks like I was right.”
“Looks l
ike it.”
Kevin let out a harsh punch of laughter. “Still a blunt motherfucker. You haven’t changed.”
Impatience prodded Blake. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”
“Elaine took the girls to see a show. Lion King. I didn’t want to shell out for the extra ticket when I’m just going to snore through the damn thing.”
A flash of Kevin in his twenties dozing on the sand after too many wine coolers caught Blake off guard. He didn’t like the memory. Didn’t like anything that made him feel nostalgic for that time. So much of it had proved to be a lie.
“So I took a walk, got a beer. Ended up here,” Kevin finished, looking as though he was at a loss. “We still talk about you, sometimes. Wonder if things could have turned out different, you know? All of us have our shit, man. I’m kind of a drunk. Elaine can’t keep a secret. Tommy’s a womanizer with, like, a pin prick of morality. You only open your mouth to make everyone feel like idiots. But we were friends—thick and thin—and the rest of us still are.”
Blake sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Fuck you, Munroe. Make time.”
Fully intending to enter the building and leave Kevin on the sidewalk, Blake found himself stopping with the key halfway in the lock. “I didn’t hear you mention Jodie,” he said, turning back around with his head cocked. “Why?”
Kevin shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “This reunion isn’t going all that well, if you hadn’t noticed. Didn’t want to throw that into the mix when I know it’s a sore spot for you.”
“Actually, it’s not,” Blake enunciated. Already, Kevin was beginning to look defeated and Blake slapped away the guilt it caused. Kevin’s expression was one he knew well. ‘Here comes Blake to shut us all down. Shut us out.’
“It happened another lifetime ago. And it gave me an excuse to leave you all behind.”
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