‘Why d’you say that?’
‘He’s letting you pick his clothes and order him around, that’s why. How’s that for evidence? Hell, Eli loves me and there is no way he would let me get away with showing out the way you did today.’
Though she didn’t show it, Ivy’s comment stung a little. Ryann did order Spencer around and act a little bratty toward him sometimes. And when she did, instead of responding, he generally just let his head fall back, as though looking for the answer to her irrationality on the ceiling. Then his shoulders would heave in a silent sigh, he would chew on the corner of his full, lower lip and say, ‘you done?’
She hated when he did that.
And she loved when he did that.
He was in her house, her space, her bed, and on her mind too often lately.
“Ryann. Come over here a sec.” Tone was beckoning her to join him and Greg, and when she had, he slipped an arm about her waist. “Me and Greg just had the most incredible idea. What if I did …” he paused for effect. “A documentary about this place? I mean look at this guy.” He indicated Greg’s smiling face. “Isn’t he made for the screen? And Spencer?” Tone made a pshh sound. “Overnight sensation. The donors will be lining up to support the work.”
Ryann kept her expression cool. “Well, I like that you’re thinking big, Tone. But I think we need to make some decisions about this current ask first, don’t you? Before we start making movies?”
“It’d be a doc, not a movie,” Tone corrected. “Different things.”
Forcing herself not to roll her eyes, Ryann instead nodded. “Of course. So, should we all sit down and talk about the proposal, or …?”
Tone waved a hand impatiently, his other still holding her by the waist. “What are you talking about?” he said, looking pained. “Of course, I’m donating. We’ve moved beyond that, Ryann.” He gave her a glance that implied she was painfully slow. “Now we’re looking at the future. I wonder if you can get us permission to film in the prison tomorrow.”
“Actually, BCDC is a jail.”
Spencer had joined them, with Sharma in tow.
Tone shrugged.
“Jail is for pretrial detainees and people convicted of misdemeanors,” Spencer explained. “Prison is for folks with felony convictions.”
Tone shrugged again. “See, this is why I need you guys. Maybe you can be consultants on the film.”
“We won’t be able to get permission to film for tomorrow,” Spencer said shaking his head. “Not enough lead time. But if you want us to work on that, we can. Tomorrow, why don’t you just get the lay of the land?”
Tone was nodding emphatically. “Yeah. Yeah. Good idea. We’ll take some notes, think about how we’d set up some shots.”
He was a fidgety sort of guy; skinny, with dark-framed glasses and a messy, unkempt mass of hair that he obviously only intermittently attended to. Good-looking in a geeky, counter-culture kind of way, Ryann would bet her bottom dollar he got lots of play out there in L.A., and not just because of his acclaimed film, either.
She had visited the city many times for work and it was one of a handful of places where it wasn’t uncommon to see stunningly beautiful women flock to men who were average-looking at best. Men who, to the naked eye, brought little to the table, but just beneath the surface were the kinds who “made things happen.”
In L.A., those “things” would be deals in the movie business, or parties at the right places, with the right people. In New York, it would be the right address, access to the right shows and restaurants, and soirees with the right people. In DC, it was entrée into the halls of power, and the parlors of the people who held it.
Moving out of Tone’s grasp, Ryann turned to look at him. “Since it sounds like you’ve made a decision, maybe we can talk timelines …”
Grinning at her, Tone pulled her back into his arms. “She’s such a suit, isn’t she? All this talk about contracts, timelines … It’s like a wet towel in the face.” He looked at Greg and Spencer for agreement. “I say we go out to lunch and get wasted to seal the deal.”
“Lunch, I can do,” Ryann said. “Wasted, I cannot.”
Tone laughed. “Fair enough. What’s good around here? Let’s go!”
Spencer leaned back into his chair and downed the last of his second beer.
Across the table, Tone was on what had to be his fifth. From the second he met him, Spencer had him pegged—upper-middle class kid from the suburbs of Atlanta, two-parent household, Ivy League college, and a smooth ride through life. Once upon a time, Spencer could have been Tone. But he’d taken a different path.
All that separated them was a few bad choices. And now, Tone was sitting across the table from Spencer in an Ed Hardy t-shirt, Vans and a pair of ripped jeans, rich as all get-out but looking like a bum. While Spencer was dressed-up like a banker to impress him. He knew it was a necessary part of the game, but still he resented it. And he especially resented that while he was sitting here, trying to be chill, Tone was over there with his hands all over Ryann.
Okay, so maybe that was exaggerating a little. He wasn’t all over her. But he was leaning in a little too close, touching her a little too often, and not respecting her personal space as much as a more sober person might. Hell, even sober, Tone tended towards the touchy side. He’d clapped Spencer on his shoulder, shook his hand, and hugged him when they met.
“What’s there to do around here at night?”
Spencer turned to look at Sharma. She was a pretty woman, with a cocoa-brown complexion and some of the longest eyelashes Spencer had ever seen, rimming dark eyes. Wearing skin-tight black jeans and a simple white V-neck t-shirt, she was just as casually-dressed as Tone, but somehow looked more pulled-together. Another time and place and he might have cracked on her. But there were a million reasons not to do so now.
For one thing, he didn’t know her deal with Tone, nor how her boss felt about her. His instincts told him that the relationship was now, or had been, more than professional. And besides, lately he’d been a little apathetic about chasing tail. Perfectly nice-looking women—like Sharma—would walk by and give him The Look and he would have almost no reaction whatsoever beyond mild curiosity. The sense of challenge, the thrill of the chase seemed to have dimmed. But he wasn’t kidding himself. He knew precisely why.
“Same thing there is to do in every city,” he said in response to Sharma’s question. “But in DC they tend to shut down a little earlier than most places.”
“How dull,” Sharma drawled. “Then I guess people move on to private parties, huh?”
Spencer met her gaze, wondering if he was reading her right. “Yeah. Sometimes,” he said.
“Good. Because I’m a night-owl,” Sharma said, flipping her curtain of black hair over her shoulder. “What do you recommend?”
Spencer shrugged. “Pay-per-view?” And then he grinned at her, to take the sting from the rejection. The last thing he wanted was to make an enemy out of this woman.
Sharma gave him a slow, easy smile. “I see,” she said, glancing in Ryann’s direction.
Giving a slight shrug, Sharma smiled again and then turned to say something to Greg who was sitting on the other side of her.
When Spencer looked up, he met Ryann’s gaze. Their eyes held and he saw in hers that she was as weary of Tone’s attention as he had been of Sharma’s. An entire conversation passed between them in that long gaze.
‘I’m ready to go, are you?’ his eyes asked.
‘I’ve been ready,’ hers responded.
‘We meeting up or what?’
‘Of course.’
Looking away from her and down at the table to hide his grin, he reached for and opened a small cellophane pack that held two toothpicks, taking one out and chewing on it.
“Yo, Tone,” he said aloud. “Ryann tells me you’ve never been to the new African American Museum.”
“No. Been meaning to get down there. I heard it’s dope.”
“You should go.
We send some of the guys down there once in a while. Gives ‘em a sense of history.”
Tone looked thoughtful. “Yeah. I could see how that might be transformative.” He scratched his chin.
“We get timed-entry passes almost every day,” Spencer said. “If you’re into it, I could see if Gladys has anything for this afternoon. You and Sharma could go take a look around.”
“Cool, man. Yeah. Let’s do that. Sharm, Ryann, you into it?”
“I’m definitely into it,” Ryann said. “But unfortunately I have more of those contracts and timelines to go work on. You know. The kinds of things we ‘suits’ have to do.”
Tone laughed. “Fine. Be like that. Sharma?”
“I’m in,” Sharma said. “Especially since later, all I have to look forward to is room service and pay-per-view.”
Greg laughed. “I’m sure we can find something else for you to get into besides that,” he said.
“Really?” Sharma said, airily. “Spencer seems to think not.”
At that Greg picked up his beer and took a swig, quickly figuring out that there was something he hadn’t been privy to, and didn’t want to get in the middle of.
“I’m texting Gladys about those tickets right now,” Spencer said, filling the silence.
Across the table, he saw Ryann mask her smile by dabbing her lips with her napkin.
“You feel bad about ditching the biggest donor you ever had?”
Spencer was backing Ryann into her bedroom as she spoke, peeling her jacket over her shoulders as he did. He’d shed his at the foot of her stairs before following her up. Now, he toed off his shoes and kicked them aside, lowering his head to kiss her now-exposed neck.
“Nah. Not even a little bit. I’d had enough of them …” he said between kisses. “All I could think about was having some of you.”
“Spencer?”
“Yeah?” he reached behind her and unfastened her skirt, unzipping and shoving it down over her hips.
“We did it.” Her hands came up and cupped his face, so he lifted his head to look at her.
“Yeah,” he said. “You did.”
“We did,” she corrected.
She was smiling at him in a way she seldom did. No guardedness, no hardness in sight. This was Ryann at her sexiest. When she let the walls down, there was nothing and no one like her.
“I do this work,” she said, her voice halting. “And sometimes it’s completely without passion for me, y’know what I mean? Without … conviction. This project, working with you … it was more than fun. It reminded me that my work can mean something. That it should mean something. Y’know?”
“Yeah. I know.” But he was only half listening.
Spencer kissed her, no longer able to stand not kissing her. Ryann’s arms came up and around his neck and she kissed him back with just as much hunger. He walked her further backward, their lips still connected, until she collided with the bed.
Ryann released her hold about his neck and Spencer felt her working on her bra. It fell between them and he dragged his lips free of hers, looking down at, and then bowing toward her breasts. Cradling their weight, he played with her nipples, kissing and sucking one and then the other. Ryann’s hand rested lightly on the top of his head. He’d been with her countless times now, dozens over the last few weeks, certainly. But this felt different. Her touch was gentle, and so his became that as well.
Ryann exhaled when he pushed her back onto the bed and lifted her hips to allow him to remove her underwear. She was completely hairless. Spencer smiled. It had become a game between them. She liked to change things up—starting with a shape reminiscent of a heart, she had progressed to a thin line of hair like a landing strip, and now, nothing at all. He wondered where she found the time for all those professional wax jobs, but he appreciated the effort, and the humor.
“One day I’ll just quit the maintenance altogether and roll up in here like a seventies porn star,” she said, noticing his smile. “Au naturale.”
Shaking his head, Spencer laughed. “Hell nah. Don’t do that.”
“That’s the only way I know to keep you off me,” she said.
“You want to keep me off you?” he asked, discarding his shirt, pants and boxers in quick succession.
“A girl has to sleep sometime.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care what you do. It won’t work. I’ll just bring a weed-whacker up in this piece.”
Ryann giggled. A sound Spencer wasn’t sure he had ever heard from her before, but one he liked very much.
Grabbing her by the calves he dragged her to the edge of the bed, then lowering himself atop her, kissed her again, on her eyelids, cheeks, lips, jaw and neck. Ryann made soft cooing noises, beginning to move her hips a little so they were sliding against each other, softening, and warming.
Spencer filled his hands with her full hips and ass, squeezing as he tongued her neck.
“Spencer,” Ryann moaned. “Now … c’mon …”
He pulled back, prepared to enter her, but she grabbed his sides, stilling him.
“Wait. But you don’t have …”
“I don’t want one,” he breathed.
“But we …”
“I don’t want one,” he said again.
Ryann’s eyes widened.
He knew what he was saying. And he knew exactly what it meant.
“No, Spencer …” Ryann shoved at his chest. “You don’t …”
“I do. I mean it. I don’t want to use anything, and I know…”
“Stop!” Ryann said more forcefully. “Stop … get off …” She was pulling back, and away from him, her hands shoving even more forcefully, against his shoulders and chest. “Get off!”
~12~
“You can’t just say shit like that!”
Ryann reached for something, anything to cover herself and the only thing within reach was Spencer’s dress shirt, so she held that in front of her, even though it was ridiculous under the circumstances, to worry about modesty.
Spencer was looking at her with steady eyes. He nodded. “I can say shit like that, and yes, I know what it could mean.”
“Are you drunk?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Just crazy then.”
At that he smiled, then he shook his head again. “No. Not crazy either.”
He still had an erection! How could he still have an erection? She was practically yelling and he was completely unfazed.
“Then what’s your … what’re you saying?”
He shrugged. “You want a baby, so let’s make one.”
Ryann felt her heart wrench in her chest and then begin to gallop. For a moment, she feared she might start hyperventilating.
“That easy, huh? Spencer, you don’t … we aren’t even … We’re not together. We …”
“I don’t even know what ‘together’ means. I’m here three nights a week, I’m your lover, and your friend … I’m thirty-six and I don’t see myself getting married. No time soon, and hell, maybe never. I wouldn’t mind having a kid …”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Ryann snapped. “Well I wouldn’t mind having a puppy. But this isn’t the same thing. You don’t just lightly decide to make a baby.”
“When it almost happened by accident you were less panicky than you are right now,” Spencer pointed out. “Why is that?”
Because it wasn’t completely an accident. Because she’d felt in control of that in a strange way—it was the consequence of a choice she made, solely for herself and by herself. This was different. She had no clue what his motives were and why a handsome, single and eligible man would decide to make a woman he wasn’t committed to, his baby’s momma.
“It was just … different,” she said.
“Because you weren’t even going to tell me,” he said, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Right?”
“I might have. I probably would have. But in my own …”
“You would have had that baby tho
ugh.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I would have.”
He shrugged. “So this is the same.”
“No, Spencer. It’s not. I don’t get why you would … Most men run from situations like this. Avoid them like the plague. Why would you decide to …?”
Ryann saw something flit across his features. There was an answer, a very specific answer to that question that had immediately come to the forefront of his mind. And she also saw when he made a conscious decision to conceal it.
“I’m not running,” he said. “That’s all I can tell you. If you want a baby, I want to have one. With you.”
“And then what?”
“Then we raise it together.”
“Together as in …?” She squinted.
“Co-parents. Lovers. Friends. Whatever you want.”
“What if I want nothing?” she asked. “What if I just want a sperm donor?”
“I wouldn’t be into that.”
Studying him for a few moments, Ryann pulled his shirt closer about her. She could smell his cologne on it. It smelled amazing. And Spencer, sitting naked on the edge of her bed looked amazing. He would make beautiful babies. They would.
“What if you did get married?” Ryann asked. “What if you did meet someone and want to marry her?”
“In the next nine months to a year?” He looked skeptical.
“It could happen.”
He seemed to be thinking about the question. “It won’t,” he said with finality.
“It could.”
“It won’t.”
“It could. And then how would you feel about this kid you decided to have with me, just because? How would the woman in your life feel?”
“I wouldn’t feel any differently, because it would always be my kid. And anyway, I’m not meeting anyone and getting married … That’s just …” He shook his head in exasperation. “And I’m not deciding to have a kid with you ‘just because’. I want to have a kid with you. I think we could do this.”
The Lover Page 11