“All set,” she said brightly when he stood once again to greet her. Dropping the keys into his large callused palm, she smiled, and then gave him directions to her customary parking garage.
“I’ll have it back for you in a few hours,” Louis promised. “Looking, and running good as new.”
“Thank you,” Ryann said. “I appreciate it. And sorry about the mix-up before. It was just … yes, anyway. We’re all good. And … thank you.”
When Louis was gone, Ryann turned to find Brittainy studying her, an impassive expression on her face.
“What?”
It felt like a new car. It smelled like a new car.
Ryann took the long way home, enjoying the sheen on the console and the fresh leather scent that surrounded her. Even the music sounded crisper, coming out of the speakers, though she knew that was probably just a matter of perception. Smiling, she tapped on her phone and called up Spencer’s number. It rang enough times for her to expect the prompt to leave a message, but then she heard his voice, rich and deep, all around her.
“Spencer?” she said.
“Yeah,” he returned. “You’re welcome.”
Ryann laughed. “Okay, so you were right. My car was in need of a little help. So, thank you. Next time, maybe a little heads-up?”
“I’ll try,” he said after a moment. “But you have to promise me somethin’ as well, though.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’ll trust me to recognize what needs to be done, and to do it. And that you’ll know that I won’t always ask your permission first.”
Ryann rolled her eyes. Whatever that meant. “Sure,” she said airily, and then in a voice much more sultry, “so … what’re you up to right now?”
At the other end of the line, Spencer laughed. “Lemme find out that’s all it takes to get into the panties … a tune-up, and some detailing.”
“Shut up. And I don’t recall ever denying you access to the panties, so the tune-up and detailing don’t have anything to do with it. Otherwise I’d be calling Louis right now.”
“Only if you want him to get hurt. And put him out of a job.”
“Come to think of it, he was kind of attractive. In a Mandingo sort of way,” Ryann teased, playing along. “What was he in for anyway?”
“How you know he was in for something?”
“I can always tell.”
“You weren’t able to tell with me,” Spencer pointed out.
“True,” she said, thoughtfully. “You have an edge, but not that kind of edge. So … what was Louis’ charge?”
“Was he polite?”
“Yes.”
“Professional?”
“Yeah …”
“Respectful?”
“Very.”
“Then it doesn’t matter what his charge was.”
“I guess not. I was just curious,” Ryann said, losing interest in talking about Louis.
What she wanted, was to know where Spencer was, and how long it would take him to get to her. Hearing his disembodied voice like this was strangely erotic. He had the perfect voice for phone sex. And if she wasn’t driving, she would have suggested it.
“Are you coming over?” she asked, when after a moment he said nothing more.
“Why? You want to see me?”
She was getting wet. Just from the deep timbre of his voice. It rumbled in her chest and abdomen, calling to her. Ryann had always liked listening to him speak. And occasionally, during those interminable board meetings, before they had first slept together, she fantasized a little about hearing him say dirty things to her. Now the fantasy was reality, and she could have him when she wanted him. She got wetter still.
“That’s why I’m asking. Yes, I want to see you.”
“How far away from your house are you?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes. On Landover Road.”
“Go past your turn off and come to Seat Pleasant.”
“Seat Pleasant?” Ryann grimaced, thinking of the nearby working-class neighborhood that was in some places passable, but in others, downright shabby.
“Yeah. Here’s the address. Meet me …”
The house was a small, modest bungalow on a quiet street with similarly modest but well-tended homes. Ryann parked her freshly-detailed Mercedes in the driveway behind Spencer’s SUV and got out, looking around. There were signs that someone had been working on the house, including an industrial dumpster that had been parked on the curb, full of construction debris, and bushes that had been trampled underfoot.
It was dark, and Ryann was wary of walking up to the door. She only did so because the street lighting was bright, and the houses on either side were well-lit, indicating that the neighbors were already home. Knocking on the door as instructed, she only had to wait a few seconds before it opened, and Spencer filled the doorway.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, leaning one arm against the doorjamb.
That voice again.
“I don’t know. I heard this was the place to go if I needed someone to lay some pipe?”
Spencer gave her a wide grin with those perfect teeth of his, then bit down on his full lower lip, eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a slow drawl. “We might be able to help you out with that.”
Then he looped an arm about her waist and pulled her inside, shutting the door. Ryann only had a moment to take in the blanket laid out in the center of the empty living room, the battery-powered lanterns on either side of it, and the takeout containers, with a bottle of wine next to them.
The light was a dim, yellow glow, but just enough for her to see his face, and for him to see her.
“You work fast,” she observed.
Spencer didn’t respond, but instead walked into her, so their chests almost collided. Reaching up, he slid her pocketbook off her shoulder, then did the same with her suit jacket. Underneath, she was wearing a sleeveless blouse. Spencer bowed his head and kissed her exposed shoulder, his hands working at her waist to release the blouse from the waistband of her skirt.
She liked it like this sometimes—no preliminaries, just right down to business. Today was one of those times, and Spencer seemed to know it.
Ryann’s chest heaved, and she reached for his belt, unfastening it, and then his button-fly. Spencer moaned against her neck when her hand finally found and gripped him, and Ryann felt him pulse and jerk at her touch. He was hard and smooth, and she couldn’t help but stroke him. Feeling him grow and change in shape and size made her yearn to see him as well, and to fall to her knees and take him in her mouth.
But Spencer wasn’t having that. He turned her face almost roughly toward his, and kissed her, his lips forcing hers open, and his tongue pushing aggressively into her mouth. He walked her backward until Ryann’s back struck the edge of a hard surface. Before she could process what it might be, Spencer had spun her to face it. It was the edge of the pass-through between the kitchen and living room, topped in grey granite. Lifting her arms, Spencer placed them on the edge and then Ryann felt her skirt shoved up to her waist, and her underwear pulled down to her knees.
“Spencer …” she began.
She didn’t know what she was planning to say. Was she about to ask him what he was doing? Beg him to do it?
There was no time to decide. The next thing Ryann knew, his mouth was hot at her nape, one hand was cupping her breasts, still encased in her bra, squeezing them together, and the other was fumbling between them. Two fingers entered her, from behind, and she arched her back, pushing her ass toward him. But he wasn’t planning to let her enjoy that for too long. Instead, he squatted a little and with one solid upward thrust, buried himself inside her.
Gasping, Ryann gripped the edge of the granite countertop and held on tight as Spencer moved behind her, alternately pulling back to shove deep and hard; and then grinding against her.
“Spencer,” she said over and over. “Spencer …”
“What?” he breathed against her neck. �
�Too much for you?”
“No,” she said between labored and uneven breaths. “More … more …”
“So this is one of your houses?” Ryann asked, looking around fully for the first time.
She was sitting in the center of the blanket, wearing only Spencer’s slightly musky work-shirt, draped over her shoulders. Nearby, he was lying on his back, naked as a jaybird, looking at the ceiling. They had eaten the takeout—Jamaican food—and drank half the bottle of wine before making love again.
Outside, it was fully dark now, and they would soon have to think about going home before one or the other of them fell asleep. Ryann already felt a little fuzzy-headed from the wine, the sex, and the warmth of the house.
“Yup. Just finished it up today. Bought it for one-ten. Probably sell it for somewhere around twice that.”
“That’s a decent profit,” Ryann said, impressed.
“It’s not all profit. Labor and materials will be about forty-five, fifty grand. I’ll clear somewhere around that amount in profit as well.”
“That’s still pretty amazing. How’d you get into this work?” Ryann lay partly across his chest, propped up on an elbow so she could see his face.
“I worked on a few sites when I got out. Paid attention, learned some things. Then I got certified after a couple years … borrowed some money from my sisters and my Mom to flip my first house; then took it from there.”
“And now you make a good living. A really good living.”
“Good enough to support a kid.”
He sounded a little defensive.
“That’s not what I was getting at,” Ryann said.
“But you would have a right to ask. We never talked about that part. The money part. How we’d do that.”
She shrugged and sat up. “I’m not going to ask you for anything,” she said.
“No?”
“No.”
“That’s stupid. Or is it that you think I wouldn’t want to pay my fair share?”
Looking at him for a moment, she realized she had offended him again, just as she had the first time this baby business had come up, when they thought she had “accidentally” become pregnant.
“I don’t think … anything. Just … I wanted you to know I’m not going to be one of those women who try to get in your pockets or anything like that. This baby is my choice, so …”
Spencer sat up. “And mine too. When are you goin’ to get it in your head that I’m in this too? And that I want to be in it.”
Ryann swallowed. “I didn’t mean …”
Shaking his head, Spencer exhaled a sharp breath. “Let’s get going before it gets too late,” he said.
He stood, and Ryann watched as he walked, naked over to the kitchen where he retrieved her bra, underpants, skirt and blouse. Handing them all to her, he reached for his shirt. They dressed in silence, and she tried to find something to say that would tell him she was sorry for the assumptions she’d made.
“Spencer,” she said finally.
“What?” He was sitting on the blanket again, pulling on his work-boots, and did not look up at her.
“I never had a father. Yours left, but mine was never there. So it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t trust … fatherhood. Because I’ve never seen it. Not up close and personal. It’s hard to believe in something you’ve never seen.”
Spencer said nothing. He finished putting on his boots and stood, helping Ryann shrug on her jacket, and picking up her pocketbook, placing it on her shoulder for her. In silence, they exited the house, Spencer carrying the refuse from their meal, and the blanket, rolled up under his arm. He tossed the remains of the food into the dumpster, then waited until Ryann got in her car, and motioned for her to roll the window down.
“Car looks good,” he said, leaning against the open window. His tone had lightened again.
“Yes. It does. You’ll have to thank Louis again for me,” she said, still reading his eyes, hoping their little tiff had truly passed.
“You okay to drive? You sucked down half that bottle of chardonnay back in there.”
Ryann nodded. “I think I’ll be fine.” She wanted to ask him to come home with her, because suddenly, their parting felt premature.
“All the same, lemme follow you and make sure.”
“Okay.” She nodded again and gave him a small smile.
Spencer made as though to stand upright, then paused and leaned in closer. Lifting her chin, Ryann received the kiss, and the brief nuzzle as he brushed his nose against hers.
“Ryann,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know how to help you trust ‘fatherhood’, but you can trust me.” And then he patted the side of her car, and went to get in his own.
When she pulled out of the driveway and down the street, Ryann looked back only once. And after that, not for the entire drive home. Because she knew without looking that Spencer was there.
Spencer took a long, hot shower when he got home, and grabbed a beer from his fridge, planning to fall asleep in front of the television while taking in some basketball. But it was still early, and though it had been a long day of hard, manual labor—capped off by putting in some more work with Ryann—he wasn’t tired. His mind was racing with thoughts that were still, for the moment, not completely coherent.
What he did know was that it was barely nine p.m., he had just left Ryann less than an hour earlier, and yet he wanted to see her again. After the sex, he didn’t want her to disappear. Wasn’t that some shit?
Reaching for his phone he hit her number before he had a chance to talk himself out of it.
“Hey.”
First looking at the phone in surprise at how quickly she’d answered, Spencer put it back up to his ear. “What’re you doin’?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.
Ryann laughed. “Why do you ask?”
“You answered too quick.”
“Maybe I was waiting for your call,” she said.
“Were you?” he asked, lowering his voice.
There was a pause. “No,” she admitted. “I was waiting for Ivy’s call.”
“You about to talk about me?”
“Funnily enough, Ivy and I have lots of things to talk about besides you, Spencer.”
Ryann with her smart mouth.
“Okay, so what then? What do you and Ivy talk about?”
“Why would you want to know?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Women’s stuff,” Ryann said. “Girl talk.”
“Shopping, and hair …”
Ryann laughed again and Spencer heard her moving around. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly muffled as though she might be lying down. “Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “That’s what women talk about: men, and shopping and hair.”
“Seriously,” Spencer said. He stretched out himself, putting his legs up on the sofa and lying back against the cushions.
“Why you so curious about what me and Ivy talk about? I promise you, if we talk about you at all, it’s only in passing.”
“One, you know that’s a lie. And two …” He took a swig of his beer. “I want to know what you talk about because I can tell you and Ivy are real close, and … I’m hoping that one day you’ll talk to me about the same things.”
The silence stretched out for a long time.
“Ryann? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she said. Her voice was quieter, and more solemn.
“Where’d you go to school?” he asked.
“Where’d I …?” She sounded confused.
“Go to school. Yeah.”
“In the DC Public School System.” Still confused.
“What was that like?”
Spencer heard her sigh. Not as though exasperated, but like she was relaxing. He thought she might, if he introduced a topic of conversation that seemed neutral.
“It was like most public schools I guess. Sometimes good, and sometimes
not so good. And my mother was a teacher, so …”
“I didn’t know that. What’d she teach?”
“English and General Studies.”
“Were you ever in her class?”
Ryann barked out a laugh. “God no. Thank God, no.”
“So tell me about your other teachers. And about your best friends.”
“My teachers all blended for me, but in seventh grade I had a friend named Leigh. And when I met her, I thought she was the flyest chick I’d ever known ….”
Spencer smiled, and settled in further, listening to her talk.
They talked well into the night, until Ryann’s voice dulled around the edges, and Spencer’s mind did the same. He listened to the words, but heard more than that. Even while growing up, Ryann had spent much of her time alone. She probably didn’t even realize it, but she described a pattern since she was a teenager—of having one friendship at a time. Only one. One close friend to whom she told everything; who she relied on to be her everything. And because one person could never be everything to another, she was disappointed, time and time again. Though he recognized the pattern, Spencer said nothing about it. He just listened.
And when he knew he was on the verge of sleep, he still listened, and waited until Ryann told him she had to get some rest. Because even in this small way, he needed her to understand that he would not leave her. Not until and unless she wanted him to go.
~15~
“Remember the time those guys from down the block opened the hydrant, and then the fire department came and couldn’t close it again? And we were all in the street and cheering, and getting wet while they worked their asses off trying to tighten that sucker? And then Mrs. Porter came out and …”
“I don’t think about shit like that,” Rick said. “What good would it do me to think about shit like that in here?”
Ryann said nothing. From the moment the line connected, she heard in his voice that Rick was in a mood, but she was used to it now. Sometimes, his determined cheerfulness failed him, and he fell into a funk.
The Lover Page 14