Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, dad. What are you doing?”

  “Shoppin’,” he grunts.

  I smirk, amused at how well I know my old man. “Don’t go crazy, all right?”

  “It’s a holiday, Lulu. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “Yeah, okay.”

  “You didn’t call me to give me grief about my snacks, did you?”

  “No. I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be out of town this weekend. I won’t be back until Monday night, but I’ll try to stop by and see you Tuesday before I head into work.”

  “Oh. Right. This that guy that’s stringin’ my baby girl along?”

  “He’s not stringing me along, dad,” I laugh. “But yes. It’s him. Mike,” I murmur, offering his name for the first time, much like I did with Simone.

  “Mike, huh? When do I get to meet this Mike?”

  For a second, I get nervous even thinking about introducing them. I still haven’t forgotten the look on my dad’s face when I first alluded to Michael. I know that he doesn’t condone cheating. In many ways, I don’t either, so I can’t blame him. That said, I still want him to approve of my choice. Not my choice to lie and covet and steal—but my choice to love and adore and commit to the man I never saw coming.

  In the end, it’s my feelings for Michael that give me the courage to answer, “Soon. I promise.”

  “You’ll let me know when you get to where you’re goin’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And when you get back?”

  “I promise.”

  “All right, baby girl. Hope you have a good time.”

  “Thanks, dad. You, too. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Love you, Lulu.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I end the call and check the time, feeling instantly impatient when I see that it’s barely past one-thirty. Trying to kill time, I triple check my bag to make sure I have everything, and then I go mess with my hair. I end up braiding the front in a short French braid, then piling the rest on the crown of my head in a little messy bun. I pull a few tendrils loose to dangle from above my ears, and then I check the time again. When I see that I’ve killed all of eleven minutes, I decide to pace while I scroll through my social media platforms. Not two minutes later, and I’m struck with a realization I hadn’t thought of before.

  Michael and I have not one picture together.

  While it’s quite obvious that I couldn’t share photo proof of our time together and our happy memories, that doesn’t mean we can’t have them or that I shouldn’t capture them from time to time. I’ve never been someone who feels like it’s necessary to take a picture of everything, but I’d be a hell of a lot less stalker-like if I had my own images of Michael to scroll through, instead of whatever I can find on Google.

  When a knock sounds at the door, I gasp excitedly, noting that it’s ten minutes to two. Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I hurry to answer, grinning wildly at the sight of Michael standing just beyond the threshold. He looks delicious in a blue and white checkered button-up, undone enough for me to get a peek at his chest hairs, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He’s in a pair of navy khaki shorts, and he’s got flip-flops on, a sight I’ve never seen before—a sight that speaks of his intentions to enjoy a relaxing weekend with me.

  “You’re early,” I say in greeting, playfully pretending I wasn’t ready for him to be here an hour ago.

  “I didn’t get my cuddles this morning,” he teases, stepping toward me and caging me in his arms. I reach up to hold the sides of his face, covered in his light beard, the why I like it best. Leaning toward me, he murmurs, “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “Good. I was dying,” I whisper. Pressing up on my tiptoes, I bring my lips to his.

  He keeps our kiss short, and a little better than sweet, before he pulls away. “I like your shirt,” he tells me, speaking through a smirk.

  “I thought you might,” I giggle.

  He smiles, kisses the tip of my nose, and then asks, “You ready to go?”

  “So ready.”

  “Let’s get out of here, then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Michael

  I DON’T REMEMBER much of our ride into the mountains. As soon as Clay merged onto the interstate, Blaine and I somehow got lost in one another. We made-out like a couple of teenagers almost the whole trip.

  Before Blaine, I’m not sure that I even remember the last time I enjoyed the simple act of kissing so much. I’m certain there was a point in my adolescence where all I could think about was kissing Veronica, but that era has long since passed. I’m not naïve. I’m sure that as the newness of my relationship with Blaine begins to shift into something else, something more, that we won’t always be this love struck. However, the mere fact that just her kiss could leave me with such a heady feeling even now, being the grown man that I am, it takes me back. Back to that ball field, when my lips first met hers. I knew then that her kiss would change me forever. Now I’m without a doubt that I’ll never be the same.

  Hers is a kiss I can’t live without. Hers is a kiss I won’t live without. And this afternoon, hers is a kiss I won’t deny. This weekend is ours, and I plan on savoring every moment of it.

  When I feel the car come to a stop, I caress the side of Blaine’s neck and pull my lips away from hers. She tugs her bottom one between her teeth, her gaze lowered and glued to my mouth. I smile at her, the sight of her swollen pink lips and her greedy stare reminding me that I’ve found in her something I thought I’d never have. Sexually speaking, I’ve not known better. Granted, before her, I’d only ever been with my wife—and I won’t claim to never have enjoyed her, as that would be a cruel lie. Nevertheless, I didn’t know how strong a pull you could have toward someone who not only understands your sexual desires but appreciates them. It only intensifies my craving.

  “Don’t worry, angel. There’s more where that came from,” I assure her, my voice soft and low so as not to shatter the charged atmosphere in which we’re still wrapped.

  The hand she’s got resting at my side grips my shirt as she leans into me a bit more. Slowly lifting her eyes to meet mine, she murmurs, “You make me so happy.”

  “As do you.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head, giggling quietly as she hides her face in my neck. “Are we there yet?”

  I draw in a deep breath, finally taking a look out of the window as we continue to move. Noticing that we’ve made it to town, I reach for the button to roll down the partition between us and Clay.

  Before I get the chance to ask, Clay informs us, “We should arrive in less than five minutes.”

  “Thank you,” I reply with a nod.

  “Five minutes?” Blaine questions, looking over her shoulder through the window on the opposite side of the car. “I thought you said this guy lived in a secluded area. We can’t really be five minutes away, can we?”

  “No. Not quite. We have to make a stop first.”

  “Oh. Where?” she asks, returning her attention toward me.

  Smirking, I answer, “The grocery store. I thought maybe I’d buy us some food before we locked ourselves in.”

  “Mmm, sustenance. Good idea,” she hums.

  Just as Clay predicted, we arrive at the local grocery store five minutes later. We all exit the car together, and I grab my ball cap out of the trunk. While I don’t anticipate running into anyone I may know, I’m smart enough to take the precaution and slide the hat down low in disguise. I then take Blaine’s hand and escort her inside, winking down at her when she laces her fingers between mine.

  “I’ll push, you load?” I ask as I reach for a cart. She answers with a nod and a sweet smile, dropping my hand before resting hers in the crook of my arm. “I thought I’d teach you how to make empanadas tonight.”

  “Really?”

  If her tone wasn’t enough to give away her excitement, the way she tightens her grip around m
y arm certainly tells me she likes my idea.

  “Yeah. Outside of that and pancakes, I hadn’t really planned much of a menu. If you see something you want, toss it in the basket.”

  “Anything?” she inquires teasingly, quirking an eyebrow up at me.

  “It’s your weekend, baby. Anything you want.”

  She grins at me and then pulls her phone from her purse before she announces, “This requires a quick look at my Pinterest. Oh, and we should probably make a stop at the liquor store. There’s this recipe I’ve been wanting to try, and it calls for wine. Wait, do you want to do chicken or beef?” she asks, her focus still directed at her phone as she scrolls through what looks like dozens of recipes.

  Her feet slowing us down as her mind works, I admire her for a second, acknowledging how much I like her like this. We’ve never done something as simple as go to the grocery store together, or plan our meals for the next few days. To most people, this might be a trivial moment, but it’s not. It’s something I’ve robbed us of, something that obviously makes her happy, and something that she deserves. She deserves all the small things. She’s worth all the big things.

  “Baby?” she asks, looking up at me when I don’t answer her.

  No longer remembering her question, I lean down and press a kiss to her temple as I mumble, “Repeat the question?”

  “Chicken or beef?”

  This time, I don’t hesitate to reply, “Why choose? We’ve got all weekend.”

  “We do, don’t we?” Squeezing my arm once more, she hides her smile as she returns her attention to her phone before she says, “Chicken and beef it is.”

  Blaine

  WE’RE IN THE grocery store for nearly an hour, and I love every minute of it. It’s a mundane task, shopping for food, but getting to wander up and down every aisle on Michael’s arm feels more like a date than a chore. To top things off, when we pass the floral section, he won’t let us leave before I pick out an arrangement I want—just because.

  My love—so sweet.

  I almost forget that Clay came into the store with us, until I spot him checking out at the same time as we are. Michael told me a couple of days ago that Clay will be staying down the road from us, in a rented condo. I think about all the time that Michael has spent with me over the last couple of months, and I suddenly feel kind of bad for Clay. I know it’s his job to watch over Michael, but I’m sure it must get boring sometimes—especially when Michael’s at the loft with me. I decide to buy him a bottle of wine and a six pack of beer when we stop at the liquor store, hoping he’ll appreciate the gesture. It’s not enough, but it’s the least I can do.

  Luckily, the liquor store is only right next door. Unlike in the grocery store, Michael doesn’t want me to go inside with him. I don’t understand, until I remember that he’ll have to show his ID at the register, so I don’t protest. Instead, I give him my list, whispering to him that I want Clay to have what he wants, and he nods and winks at me before they leave me in the car.

  Fifteen minutes later, our errands complete, we’re back on the road. It takes us another twenty minutes to reach our destination. When we pull into the driveway, I can’t keep my jaw from falling open. The house is gorgeous. It’s also at least three times the size of dad’s house.

  “When you said house in the mountains…” My voice trails off as I gape at Michael.

  “Wait until you see the inside.”

  “You’ve stayed here before?” I ask, wondering if he’s ever brought Veronica, and wishing the thought never crossed my mind.

  “No,” he insists, resting a hand on my leg. “I’ve been here before. Day trip. Lawrence likes to play golf. He invited me up back when I first decided I wanted to run for governor.”

  “Oh.” I nod, feeling relieved. As selfish as it might be, I want everything about this weekend to be ours—just mine and Michael’s.

  “Come on, angel. Let’s get inside and put these groceries away. If we don’t start the dough for the empanadas soon, we’ll never eat.”

  While his words imply that I’ll be carrying something inside, all I end up taking are my flowers and my purse. Clay and Michael bring in everything else, leaving me to stand in awe of this place. The main level is basically one huge space. With the light of the evening sun shining through the wall-to-wall windows that make up the back of the house, I can see why the architect didn’t want to divide the room with any type of barrier. The only thing breaking up the space is a stone faced fire place between the living room and the dining room, as well as the kitchen cabinetry, which actually sits right up against the stairwell that leads to the second level.

  The view is outrageous, making the deck just outside the dining room and living room space incredibly inviting. Even with so much exposure, there’s no need for fear of privacy. The backyard, if you could even call it that, looks to be acres of wood and trees—some of which are already starting to turn with the colors of autumn.

  All of the furniture—from the living space, to the dining room, and into the kitchen—is very modern mountain lodge chic, with lots of muted, neutral colors and warm, dark accents; yet, there’s a touch of comfort in the details, causing me to assume that a man didn’t decorate this place on his own.

  “There’s a hot tub out back,” Michael mumbles into my ear as he comes up behind me, surprising me when he slips his arms around my waist.

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t bring a suit.”

  He chuckles softly, his grip tightening as he replies, “Neither did I.”

  Smiling, I tilt my head so that I can see him. He waggles his eyebrows at me, making me laugh before he kisses me.

  “It’s just us now. What do you say to cracking open a couple beers and getting started on that cooking lesson?”

  “I say: yes, please!”

  After I set my bag down, we search the kitchen for something in which to store my flowers. While I arrange them in a glass pitcher, Michael finds everything we’ll need to fix dinner. After we make the dough and set it aside to let it rest, we prepare the filling. I must admit, as much as I love watching Michael cook for me, cooking with him is probably equally as awesome. Even though the kitchen is industrial size in comparison to mine, we do everything side by side, flirting and laughing the entire time.

  We’re both on our second beer when we’ve got all the empanadas filled and ready to fry. I let Michael handle that part while I follow his directions with the avocado sauce. After the sauce is ready, I go about cleaning up a little, so we won’t have much to do when we’re done with dinner. Once that’s finished, I hop up onto the counter top to watch him fry the last batch.

  “Oh!” I cry, immediately hopping down and hurrying to my bag.

  “Everything okay?” he calls out after me.

  “Mmmhmm,” I hum excitedly as I retrieve my phone. Returning to the kitchen, I resume my perch on the counter and open up my camera app. Pointing the lens at him, I explain, “I’m documenting our weekend. I don’t have any pictures of you, and that’s not allowed.”

  “Not allowed?” he asks with a smirk, glancing over at me.

  I snap a quick shot, but it comes out blurry and I have to delete it. “Yeah. Since I love you and all, it’s like a requirement that I have pictures of you on my phone, at the very least. Smile!”

  He makes a goofy face, causing me to laugh, and I capture the image.

  “Now I need a real one.”

  “How about…” He abandons his station at the stove and comes to stand in front of me. After pecking my lips with his own, he says, “How about we do this right?” He then spreads my knees apart, making room for himself. Turning around, he leans back a little, and I don’t even try to contain my grin as I prop my chin on his shoulder. With my arms extended around him, I hold up my phone and take our very first picture together. Before he can move, I press my lips to his scruffy cheek and snap one more.

  “Thanks, baby,” I whisper into his ear, setting aside the device.

  He kisses m
e in response and then goes back to attending to our dinner. It’s not long before I’m searching cabinets and drawers for plates and silverware so that I can set the table. When Michael brings the food, asking me if I want another beer while we eat, I grin, knowing I’m already halfway drunk, but not caring in the slightest. We both open another, polishing off our six-pack as we sit down to enjoy our meal.

  “So—is it me, is it the beer, or is it just fact that this is so freaking good? Like, way better with the homemade dough?” I mutter around my mouthful.

  “Fact,” he states with a wink. He takes a bite of his own, chewing before he repeats, “Definitely fact.”

  I reach over and rest my hand on his wrist, giving him the most serious face I can muster in my intoxicated state as I tell him, “If we ever get into a really big fight, like—really big, and it sucks, and we’re both super upset—when we’re ready to make-up, promise we’ll do it with empanadas and lots of sex.”

  He stares at me for a moment, amusement dancing in his eyes before he turns his wrist and takes my hand in his. “First—” He pauses and kisses the back of my hand before he goes on to say, “Let’s try and avoid as many really big fights as we can manage. I don’t like fighting with you. Not even a little bit.”

  “Me neither,” I whisper, appreciating that he would say such a thing, setting a precedent here and now.

  “Second,” he continues, “We don’t have to fight to have empanadas and lots of sex.” Speaking through a crooked smile, he lowers his voice and mumbles, “We’re not fighting now.”

  “Governor Cavanaugh,” I murmur coyly. “Are you implying something?”

  “Not implying. Promising.”

  My breath hitches in my throat, and I give my hand a tug before I ask, “In that case, can I have my hand back?”