by M. C. Cerny
Looking around, I find the upstairs is an open loft with metal railings that overlook the center of Roman’s space. Windows are on all sides of the building. I see a boat in the center of what he considers his workshop downstairs. Natural light shines on the pale honey wood, and touches of applied varnish give it a sleek appearance. I can tell the craftsmanship is a work of love, and crave to explore it more fully.
But first, I step into the bathroom to I freshen up. It’s another sleekly designed room; the space is optimized. Silver metals and gray and brown stone fill the room. None of my things are in here, so I figure our stuff must still be in the truck. Not wanting to hunt around the unfamiliar space too much uninvited, I use my finger to brush my teeth and wash my face taking the towel from the bar. I feel more awake as I step out.
Along the wall, I see photographs in black and white of Roman and his parents. And boats. Lots of boats. Big, beautiful ones, but also small handmade ones where he’s standing off to the side or on them with sanding and what looks like painting equipment for the hull. Now I understand how he stays so fit. It all looks awkward trying to get around the boats out of the water and It must take an incredible amount of strength to maneuver around boats as large as these and elbow grease to keep them going. It’s his face in the pictures that captivates me.
One of the photos is of Roman and his parents around a small boat. He looks proud and his parents flank him on either side, their arms embrace a young man full of smiles. I can feel the love coming through the picture, radiating from their happy faces. I want to touch it to see if one can capture that feeling, maybe bottle it up and save it, but I find myself holding back and longing for a fraction of what Roman enjoyed growing up with. He was obviously well loves.
With a deep sigh, I find my purse, which Roman left for me on a table in the open room. I reach in to check my phone. Three missed calls. Lucas, Leah, and my dad all in that dismal order. I decide to ignore Lucas. After all, we’re not a couple anymore and he’s a cheater with no remorse. I ignore my sister, Leah, because she’s just being a bitch after having stolen my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I’m entitled to be angry, and I don’t want her to make this all about her and how she did me some kind of favor. We’re not fucking twelve and this isn’t junior high. I finally decide to call my dad since he is technically my boss.
My fingers slide across the phone screen and hit his contact number. My stomach bubbles with anxiety as the phone rings several times. “Hi Dad” Swallowing, I focus on not stuttering when he picks up his phone.
“Abigail, where are you?” He is not one to be subtle and the tone of his voice hints he’s restraining his anger for the moment.
“In S-Seattle.” Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m an adult and my dad continues to freeze any intelligent thoughts transmitting from my brain to my mouth. He sighs through the phone like he’s placating me.
A moment passes before he begins again. “Abigail, darling, when are you coming back to work?” He sounds polite like his secretary might be in his office with him or Everest perhaps. What he really means is, ‘Abigail, when are you going to grow the fuck up?’ There is no ‘Hey, how are you?’ or ‘What happened between you, Lucas, and Leah?’ Empathy is something that must have skipped my dad genetically.
“Dad, I’m taking a break. We discussed this. I left you a five page brief outlining my summer plans and how my remaining work load would be divvied up.” Yeah a brief, because my dad doesn’t function with face-to-face communication or his children being assertive and living independently from under his thumb. It doesn’t matter I actually had finished all my pending cases and have no discernable work load to divvy up.
“Sweetheart, we’d all love to take a break—” and here is where my dad starts to tighten the noose around my neck with guilt “—but paying my dues is how I got to where I am, just so you and Leah could have everything.” Yup, cue the guilt. I know my dad is right, but after busting my hump for three years, basically more than that, and now breaking up with Lucas, my mind is more than fried.
“I just can’t. Not right now.” Selfish. I know I’m being selfish, but the hell with it.
“Abigail, a break is two weeks at the most. I’ve given you a month to sort yourself out...emotionally. I need you back in the office taking some of these cases.” Dad’s tone changes and I know it’s either give in or get out. Being emotional, as he sees it, is weak and unacceptable for a cut-throat lawyer attached to his prestigious practice.
Pacing Roman’s place, a wave of anxious vertigo swims around the edges of my brain as I force the words out. “I… I’m not sure I want to be a lawyer, Dad. I know I’m good but I’m not sure my heart is really in it.” I feel my skin going from blissfully warm in Roman’s arms this morning to clammy and cool under the pressure of displeasing my dad.
“You’re heart’s not in it?” Each word is sharp and cutting. My own father has no clue what is going on in my life. We’ve learned to function as strangers. The thought tugs my heart like sad guitar strings playing a disjointed tune.
“Leah and Lucas…” It’s in my pause that Dad shows no quarter.
“You girls are adults, figure it out, Abigail. I don’t care who has done what. We have a business to run.”
“But—” Typical, my dad doesn’t hear anything I even attempted to say.
“But, nothing. I’ve entertained your tantrum long enough.”
Huffing, I feel my eyes rolling and my attitude going to shit with sarcasm. “I don’t know if I can come back.” The only times I feel small in my life are when I’m forced to interact with my dad this way.
“Well, I’m not sure I can a hold a job here for you, unless you come back.” Dad’s really good with ultimatums, and usually I cave before we even get to this point, but I need this time to regroup and figure everything out.
I don’t know how to respond besides chickening out. “Dad, my phone reception is cutting out. What’s that?”
“Abigail! You better get your ass back to this office before Labor Day or else!” Dad yells into the phone. I pretend to not hear him. I don’t want to hear the ‘or else.’
“Huh? I better go! Crssssshhhhh!” I make a loud noise and hang up on my dad. All I can do is stare at the screen before dropping it back inside my purse. I know it’s lame, irresponsible, and childish, but it was seriously the best I could do. I need to think about this. Do I want to go back and work under duress or lose everything I’ve worked for so far? I wasn’t happy in LA, and I’m just starting to learn what happy looks and feels like with Roman.
* * * * *
There is so much baggage back home in LA. It’s too much to think about, so I do what I’m good at and push it away deep down to where I don’t have to deal with it right now. I take the stairs down, slowly pausing on each step, and stand before the boat. Roman’s beautiful boat. Pride beams deep in my chest for him. This one is wood and sanded so fine it feels like silk when I run my fingers over the grain of the boards. No danger of getting a splinter here. Roman’s work is flawless. He’s worked the wood so fine it’s like an extension of Roman and all things good. The bottom hull of the watercraft is painted bright blue with a white stripe at the top.
I imagine Roman spending countless hours sanding and smoothing the boat to the perfect shape before applying the paint and glossy varnish lovingly. I admire how he’s created something so unbelievably picture-perfect with his own hands. Closing my eyes, I lose myself, visualizing the future waves the small vessel will skiff once she’s in the water under the command of the man who touched me gently an hour earlier. I wonder what kind of day he will launch the boat on and if I will see it happen.
“Abby, I’m back.” Roman shouts from upstairs and my mind clears back to a blank slate. “Are you hiding on me, Hollywood?” He must have taken the elevator all the way up to the bedroom level, thinking I would stay up there.
“I’m down here, sailor,” I call back, hearing him skip down the stairs. The aroma of strong coffee follows him,
permeating the air.
“Coffee for my beautiful girl.” Roman puts one thickly banded arm around me as one hand holds the coffee under my nose. Spicy scents are nothing compared to the man in front of me.
“Mmm… Thank you.” I look down at his project, needing to tell him how much I respect what he’s created with his own hands. “Roman, this boat… she is magnificent.” His arm squeezes me tight, and after the conversation with my dad, I know without a doubt Roman is my safe place in the storm.
ROMAN
I slip outside after tucking Abby back into bed. My bed. She looked so delicious and sleepy, but a man has to eat if he’s going to satisfy his woman. So here I am outside my building, thanking whatever higher power convinced Abigail Holliday to take a chance on me as I skip, yes, fucking skip to the nearest Starbucks. I place an order for two coffees and some pastries to go. My stomach grumbles, rolling with need, and I’m pretty sure nothing could ruin my day today.
I’m hungry so I sneak a bite of one of the glazed items, letting the sugar rush power my brain in a surge of happiness. It’s nothing like home in Gold Beach, but it does the trick in a pinch. As I turn around, my mouth full of sweetness, I nearly bump into someone, barely holding on to my coffees and the bag. “Whoa, sorry about that.” I muffle through crumbs and sugar, not looking up because I’m in a hurry to get back.
“No worries, Win. I wondered if I would see you in town.” My heart freezes when I hear that voice. Swallowing the rest of my snack, which now resembles chalk in my mouth, I turn back and look up this time.
“Sasha…” I don’t know what to say. Sasha Ackerman was one of the few women I dated somewhat seriously, though I never took her to my place. I certainly spent enough time at hers right up until she gave me the ‘relationship ultimatum’ every guy hates. I didn’t love her and I couldn’t commit, so I did right thing by letting her go. I had a feeling she wasn’t in accord with my decision.
“Oh, I know it’s been awhile. I took that job in Chicago with my bank, but I decided to transfer back. I never did like the windy city. Seattle will always be my home, you know.” Sasha smiles and I wonder if she thinks I’m still up for getting together. Awkward really when I think about it.
“Listen, I uh… I’ve got to go, but it was nice seeing you. Welcome back.” I casually let the sentiment linger and pray she doesn’t want to catch up.
“Yeah, you too. I’ll give you a call sometime.” Sasha backpedals out of Starbucks with her own coffee and makes her way down the opposite block of mine. I watch her leave, hoping when she disappears around the corner it will be the last time I run into her. Ah shit. The last thing I want or need is Sasha Ackerman sniffing around my place while I pursue Abigail.
* * * * *
Leaving Starbucks, I walk back as fast as I can with two hot coffees radiating my hands through the paper wrap and a bag of sweet goodies. Next time, I’ll just man up and ask for the stupid paper carton so I’m not burning my fingerprint identity off my fingers. The encounter with Sasha has unnerved me a little because I realize how much a man’s past can fuck up his future if he’s isn’t careful. I get inside my apartment and call out for Abby. “Abby, I’m back. Are you hiding on me, Hollywood?”
“Down here, sailor.” I love this new nickname she’s coined me already. She’s not in the bedroom, but I spy her downstairs next to my boat, my other pretty girl, and head toward them both.
“Coffee for my beautiful girl.” My chest eases when I put my arm around her. I don’t care if it’s too soon. You try having a several weeks’ long banter with a beautiful girl who won’t give you the time of day to only find heaven once you finally coax her to play nice under the sheets.
“Mmm… Thank you. Roman, this boat… she is magnificent.” Can I totally keep this girl? Would it be creepy to just keep her here and not let her get away? We could ignore the outside world for the rest of our natural born days. The thoughts mull in my mind. Yeah, it would be a little creepy and take the fun out of our chase, but the way she touches my boat, my pride and joy, just does something to me with her unsolicited admiration.
It’s completely possible that while we can bring the worst out in each other at times, we also seem to fulfill a need we can’t verbalize, at least for me. Abby is oozing herself into the fissures of my mind and gluing the broken shit back together in a mosaic that makes sense only to me. Her presence makes me wish my dad was here to explain this shit between men and women, even though I’m a grown-ass man. It hurts to still need my parents like this at times and know they are both forever gone.
“I think you’re magnificent. By the way, who gave you permission to borrow clothes?” Smirking, I pluck the shoulder of my T-shirt. Abby looks at me strangely, and immediately, I want to shove a post-run gym sock down my throat. Abby is sensitive and I’m being a verbal asshole. “Kidding, Hollywood. So kidding. Anything in my dresser, closet, floor, or whatever is fair game.”
Her face scrunches and creases around her eyes with a smile. “Even your umbrellas?” She returns the playfulness. Relieved, I make her wait a second. Looking up at the ceiling, I pretend to think about it. “I do have like thirty of them stashed in a closet…I suppose I could part with one or two for this girl I’m seriously into.” Sharp pain interrupts my musing and my punishment is apparently her tweaking my nipple. I’m still holding the coffees so I’m screwed while I dance away, wincing from the pain as I keep them up from spilling on us both.
“Argh. Seriously? Nipple twisting your coffee knight in shining armor? Not cool, Hollywood. I thought we had an understanding.” Setting our drinks on a work bench, I turn with my hands on my hips as I stalk back to her, forcing her body flush against my boat.
“Not for all the umbrellas in this apartment, huh?” She turns toward the staircase to begin a game of chase, giving me a delightful view of her rounded backside. Twin pale globes peek from under the hem of cotton. Perfect.
“Nope. Not after this, brat.” She attempts to get away, but I grab her around her waist. She’s got a hold on the railing and I turn her in my arms, limbs flailing pathetically. Abby isn’t really fighting me, which I’m grateful for.
“So what punishment is my coffee baring, umbrella wielding knight going to dish out, eh?” Giggling, the smile creases her cheeks into happy moons.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so cavalier, Hollywood. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” I gently push her down to sit on the step, boxing her in, and she backward crawls up one to get away. I hold her one ankle, praying she isn’t a kicker.
“I’m not impressed,” she goads me. This woman has some sass and audacity.
“Oh, you will be.” I push her shoulder with my other hand and she’s sitting back down on the staircase bare-bottomed. I know this because I hid her underwear in my drawer last night for fun and no lacy edges peeked out from my T-shirt, just pale skin. I like how she’s bare under my T-shirt. I position myself between her legs and let my hand fall from her shoulder, down her chest, and onto her knee. I squeezed enough so she parts her legs ever so slightly as I lean in.
She’s looking down coyly, avoiding eye contact. “The coffee will get cold.” She whimpers as I bite her bottom lip, tugging it into mine.
“That’s what the microwave is for,” I tell, her sliding my hand from her knee to her thigh slowly. Gently pushing the T-shirt up and out of my way, I trace a pattern to her exposed center in swirls like the ocean swells that would crash along the surf in Gold Beach. Her lips part and her mouth forms an O, begging to be kissed.
“Ro-Roman.” Abby’s eyes shut her in a flutter, squeezing closed as she pants her next breath.
“Yes?” I don’t know if she’s asking a question or getting ready to yell my name. God, I hope it’s the later. I kiss her open mouth again, slipping my tongue inside, sliding deeper into wet heat. She closes her lips over mine and sucks my tongue. Hard, slick strokes play back and forth.
“Cheater, you ate something sweet,” she whines, and my cock strains against m
y pants as she sucks my tongue again, swirling and tasting. I’d love to have her sweet mouth on my cock. Thinking about her silky tongue tracing me root to tip has me rock hard and anchor heavy. All in good time.
“But not nearly as sweet as you.” I let my fingers inch closer to the lips between her soft legs and play on the outside, parting them. I feel Abby scoot her bottom closer to me and I can’t help but chuckle. Clever girl. “Trying to tell me something, Hollywood?” My finger taps her slippery button, rolling around the sensitive bud, eliciting a groan from her.
“Tease,” she pants breathlessly, trying to meet my fingers with the lift of her hips.
“Eager?” I ask as I push her to lean back against the stairs, propping her up on her elbows. The position can’t possibly be all that comfortable, but here we are in the moment. A fucking incredible one at that. She does something unexpected and hooks her left leg up on my shoulder, opening her dripping honey well to me.
“You don’t know how eager, sailor.” Abby’s voice gets all sexy in the way only a girl who is primed on the edge can get.
“I aim to please, Hollywood.” I lay her back as far as she can go, and without further preamble, I hook two fingers inside her slick walls, pumping her quickly, rubbing a third finger over her sensitive, swollen clit. Poor girl will have bruises from the stairs, but desire clouds our judgement.
“Uhh, uh, Ro—” is all she can get out before I cutoff any further dialogue by kissing her hungrily and thrusting my tongue and fingers in rhythm. Screw the pastries, fuck coffee; this energizes me more than anything this sorry planet has to offer me, and my need to make her come undone overrules reason.
“Come on, princess. I’m waiting.” I suck her neck as she moans greedy sounds for my fingers. I quicken the pace, thrusting. Her walls milk my fingers and her leg grips me closer, hooking painfully into my backside. I use my hand and arm to brace her back against the stair as best I can, holding her head and neck in my palm gently while I thrust her core, coaxing a pulsing sensation from her tight pussy.