by Ellie Danes
I had late last night done the lookout job that Tommy had drafted me into. Luckily for me and my peace of mind, no one had died. I knew I was living on borrowed time in that regard, as others that were part of the group had itchy fingers and a need for proving their dominance in the most inopportune ways possible. You put that many ex-cons in one place, and it was bound to have harsh results. Fortunately for me, I was only called on in a pinch these days and so my exposure to these things was not as frequent. Putting those thoughts out of my mind, I grabbed a bucket full of plumbing supplies and headed down the stairs.
Halfway to my apartment, I was checking my phone as I walked. Suddenly, I tripped and flew forward.
“Umph,” I heard a second before I flung the materials out in front of me to ensure no one got hurt. I landed headlong sprawled lengthwise in the open space.
“Oh good,” Brittany said.
I’d landed with my arm over her, and she was on her back.
She looked up at me sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I just bent down to find my key in my bag.”
Her eyes collided with mine as we both lay tangled with each other in the hall. I immediately felt the impact of my arm lying over her breasts and her lying there breathing hard, gazing at me. In a heartbeat her angry, startled eyes widened and the heaving of her chest moved from pain to something else. I knew I should stand up and move away from her, but not a single bone or muscle in my body was willing to act on that message. After a moment, the tension encircling us was so thick you could cut through it, and she flicked her tongue over her lips. I focused in on that tiny movement as my baser regions stirred and then tightened.
I moved my head the short distance it took to put me within three inches from her face. Then I waited. I gave enough of a hesitation to provide her the chance to turn me down flat. Nothing but an inhalation of her breath. Laying my lips firmly on hers, I felt the sweet kiss curl the insides of my stomach. She arched her head to the side, allowing our lips to move against each other impossibly tighter, and returned the kiss with a fervor I would not have guessed her capable of.
I was a goner. I moved forward slightly and unzipped her lips with the tip of my tongue and went in for the kill.
Someone cleared their throat close to us, and immediately I rolled off of Brittany and sat up. When I looked up into the curious and slightly agitated face of Mrs. Zewkowski from 4B upstairs, I immediately realized we were blocking the path to the elevator and stairs.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Mrs. Zewkowski said, with a bright reddish tinge on her cheeks.
I jumped up, and extended a hand down to Brittany, who scrambled upright, ignoring my gesture. She grabbed her bag and escaped down the hallway without a backward glance.
“I think your friend is a little shy,” Mrs. Zewkowski said, chuckling as I finished walking to the elevator.
I looked down the hallway toward Brittany’s apartment. I felt as I should go after her, and excuse myself for the complete lack of self-control. Problem was, I probably wouldn’t come off as very penitent because I had thoroughly enjoyed that hot kiss. Turning toward my own apartment, I finished picking up the tools strewn down the expanse of the hall. After a few minutes, I had everything in order and back in the closet in the apartment. My mind continued to race over the events that had just transpired. I replayed that kiss over and over in my head.
Brittany was fast becoming a distraction in my world, one that had no possibility of working out in the end. I had met numerous women over the time here that were traditionally more beautiful. Several of them had even propositioned me, and yet I had never found myself in any situation nearly as damning as the one I had just left. Brittany was the daughter of a friend of my father’s, someone who had the ability to rock my circumstances if she complained to the right people.
Given my current lifestyle, we had nothing in common, either. Brittany was a student at a prestigious school, and the apple of her wealthy father’s eye. I was a lowly apartment manager and handyman. The list continued in my head, as I mentally catalogued all the reasons that this was a situation I needed to put an end to, and fast. Overstepping with her was a complicated and slippery slope that could have negative and far-reaching ramifications.
As I double-checked my inbox messages and reviewed all my task lists set out for the day, I could not come up with one more work-related thing to keep myself busy. Maybe I should go out and blow off some steam. Luckily, I knew exactly where to go to do that.
Washing up, I changed my shirt and was out the door within ten minutes. I decided to walk the city, as I was wont to do when I needed to think. I loved the vibrancy of the noises, people, and general hustle and bustle of the metropolitan area. As I walked, my restless spirit started to settle inside. By the time I made it to the harbor, I was feeling resolved and more myself. I stopped at a little store front. A few artists sat outside the space, easels set out in the fresh air as they took in the city skyline. This entire area of the city was an artist’s haven, where musicians, street artists, painters, and those who exhibited their gifts in a host of other manners always crowded the open areas.
The set-up made me think of Brittany, and I found myself stepping inside. There were a few others inside working on pieces, and original artwork hung along the walls. It was a cool, artistic, and cozy space. As I looked around for someone in charge, a man who was throwing paint at a wall canvas to the left glanced over his shoulder at me. “I think you might be in the wrong place,” he quipped with a look up and down my person.
“I was just curious about this space,” I said, not having any idea what I was thinking to do with the information other than maybe find Brittany a place to exercise her creative side.
“Sure, give me a second to finish and I’ll be right with you,” the guy said, throwing some yellow onto the huge canvas.
I shook my head, not certain what I was hoping to do. As Brittany’s face came into my mind, I had to chuckle. Even though I had left the apartment to clear her from my brain, I’d ended up full-circle with her still on my mind.
She was definitely becoming a problem, but even more troublesome than that was my indecision on how best to handle it. Normally, I would be putting up roadblocks and ensuring the woman was crystal clear about my interest and intentions. In this case, the trouble was I couldn’t get my heart, mind, and libido to agree on a course of action. When all three did work together it was normally to take me down a path that could end nowhere but in heartache and misery.
As the artist turned to provide me his full attention, I had a momentary blip where I almost told the man to forget it. Unfortunately, my mind returned to that moment in the coffee shop when Brittany had told me about her desire to do art, rather than bind herself in some non-fulfilling career her father deemed appropriate. Any thought of going the opposite direction fled, as I extended my hand to the guy in front of me and started gathering information about the local artist scene.
Chapter 8
Brittany
As I walked into the coffee shop, I realized there was no way I’d be able to focus in class today. I set my textbook and notes on the table in front of me. I’d snuck quickly out of my apartment, making sure Dalton and that neighbor were gone before running down the hallway. I didn’t want to walk by them after what happened, and I was afraid Dalton’s door would swing open as I scurried past it. What scared me the most was that I actually hoped that it would swing open, and Dalton would emerge, exclaiming, “I don’t care who knows, let Mrs. Zewkowski watch,” then grab me and pull me into his room.
“Double dirty chai, miss.” With a jolt, I was yanked from my fantasy when the barista brought my coffee over to my table.
“Thanks.” I had taken a bus to the harbor for this little coffee shop, one of the few who knew to spell my name with two t’s on the cup. Local artwork adorned the walls, some boasting barnacle-like appendages and a thickness that reached off the canvas. I went to study here before class instead of the place closer to home because
I didn’t want to run into Dalton again. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I passed him in the hallway, or needed something fixed in my apartment. I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, his weight pressing down on top of me, holding me in place. I couldn’t move, and I hadn’t wanted to, either. His skin had smelled slightly of metal and something resembling pine needles.
When that neighbor had interrupted us, an irrational voice had screamed inside me telling me that my father had caught us. When that thought had crossed my mind, I wanted Dalton to dig his tongue deeper into me, pressing all of him against me as my father disapproved and as I waved my middle finger in the air at him. I laughed at the insane thought, thinking that this would have been something Talia would have enjoyed.
“Stop thinking about him,” I ordered myself, taking a chug of the hot espresso-laced tea and forcing my attention back to my studies. I didn’t so much as hear the chime of the new customer entering the coffee shop as I did smell the breeze carry in the scent of metal and pine. There was Dalton, once again darkening my view with his thick arms under which he had tucked an abstract painting with no frame, appearing in the coffee shop I had chosen specifically to avoid running into him. Some of the paint seemed fresh, and his hands had speckles of dry paint on the knuckles as if some of the painting had rubbed off on him on his way here. The barista greeted him, but before he could order, he spotted me. His eyes caught mine, which had been staring at his bicep pressing against the new paint on the canvas and wondering if it was leaving its mark on him over his tattoos. I blushed and threw my eyes down to my textbook.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked with a chuckle, coming over to my table and leaning over with his free arm on the chair across from me.
“Seriously, I was about to ask you the same question.” I closed my textbook with a loud thump. “Why are you here, did you follow me?”
“Whoa, you don’t own the city. Calm down, Princess.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry.” Dalton immediately looked regretful. “No, I’m not following you.”
“It feels like you’re following me.”
“I just came out this way to buy something for the first-floor hallway, and I needed some coffee for the trip back. We must just be like magnets or something. Smart people thinking the same, you know?” Dalton motioned to the painting. “I’d been meaning to pick this up for a while, and you reminded me about it.” He took a breath and removed a toothpick he’d had hidden behind his ear and put it in his mouth, rolling it around under his tongue before biting it hard between his teeth. He seemed nervous, something that looked unnatural to him. “Also, sorry about earlier, I mean in the hallway with Mrs. Zewkowski. I normally pride myself on my professionalism and I let myself get carried away.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had been afraid of this moment because I knew I would freeze up. I was worried he’d try to kiss me again, I was worried he wouldn’t try to kiss me again, but I hadn’t expected him to apologize about his professionalism. “You’re sorry?”
“Yeah, it won’t happen—”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry.” It just spilled out of me. I could feel myself smiling, my heart fluttering around and my mouth moving on its own.
Dalton looked confused at first, and then smirked. “Then I’m not sorry, either.”
“Good.” I watched him, waiting to see what he would do next.
He set the painting down next to the chair across from me. “Mind if I join you for a little bit?”
As if I would have been able to study anyway, now that he had appeared in my secret coffee shop. My father would have killed me on the spot if he knew that my textbook had been closed so that the tattooed man who fixed my apartment for me, could sit across from me in a secluded coffee shop.
“For a little bit. I have class soon.” I kept my textbook closed, and watched Dalton walk back to the barista to put in his order. He slid his paint speckled hands into the back pockets of his work pants, his thick, calloused fingers tightening the fabric around his backside leaving very little for me to imagine on my own. I checked my phone for the current time, trying to distract myself and focus. Quickly, before Dalton could come back, I programmed an alarm to go off on my phone so that I could use it as an excuse to leave for class. If I hadn’t set it, I would have been worried I’d play hooky and sit with Dalton straight through the time I needed to have my butt in the classroom.
He came back with a tall cup of plain drip coffee, nothing else added to the dark liquid.
“A boring cup of joe for my boring apartment manager,” I teased him, watching him bend over to move the painting he’d deposited next to the table in order and sit down.
The muscle on his right arm rippled underneath his tight shirt, a streak of orange paint slicing through a tattoo of a snake. It was quite a snake, too, emerging anew from out of an old skin that an inked hawk was ripping off of its back. It seemed too grotesque for this man repositioning a piece of abstract art he’d just bought before finding his way into an artist’s coffee shop. The snake was hiding behind twisting lines forming no definite shape covering most of the rest of his upper arm, peeking out from beneath the short sleeve. I wondered how far the tattoos crawled over his skin, if they reached down his protruding collarbone to his chest where only small wisps of hair revealed themselves from his neckline.
“It is pretty boring, isn’t it? I got used to drinking my coffee like this back when,” Dalton hesitated, staring down at his coffee, then shook his head, “back in another life. I once lived somewhere that I could only get my hands on cheap coffee powder. You get used to things like that in life.” His phone began buzzing in his pocket, but he silenced it without looking at it.
“How long did you live there for?”
“Six months, but that was a long time ago, a different life.”
“Before Daddy set you up as handyman and errand boy for his building, going out to buy his décor for him?” I meant to tease him lightly again, but my words came out harsher than I intended.
“He doesn’t know about the painting; it was my idea. I paid for it with my hard-earned money. My ‘daddy’” he said the word ‘daddy’ with contempt, “may be helping me right now, but I won’t take any handouts from anybody. I make my own with my own hands.”
“That’s something she would have said.” I felt the subconscious catch in my throat, that unwillingness to mention her name ever since that day at home when I had said it in front of mother, as if speaking it out loud would shatter her memory and prove with finality that Talia no longer existed.
“Something your sister would have said?”
I wished I hadn’t brought it up, I didn’t know why the words had escaped from my mouth. “Stubborn, pushing anyone’s help away because she could do anything herself.” Anger started to bubble up inside me, and I wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from or what to do with it. I took a swig of my tea to stifle the feeling, and when I set my cup down Dalton extended his hand to touch mine where it sat holding my cup in the middle of our table. The grooves of his rough fingers brushed along my fingers, and I froze up at first but then loosened my grip from the cup as massaged the tips of my fingers with his own. “I know I sound angry at her, but I’m not. It was one of her best traits. I’m just angry. I don’t know why.”
“You’re angry because she didn’t have to die.” Dalton began applying firm pressure where he held my hand, and I looked up to see him clenching his jaw and staring down at his own coffee. “It was too soon, aggravatingly so.”
I didn’t want him to let go of my hand because he was absorbing my searing hot anger, almost removing it somehow from my fingertips with his solid grip. I wanted him to suck all the heat out of me until nothing remained. I felt as if a skillet had been placed directly on my chest, my bellybutton and down in between my thighs. Dalton looked up and seized my eyes with his. I couldn’t swallow. I wanted him to jump over the table and silence my racing mind
while leaning into me, running his hand up my arm until he was firmly holding me down by the shoulders, stopping me from talking anymore as he leaned in the rest of the way to lock my lips in his.
I felt ready to pop, as if Talia were here, egging me on. Thinking about her hurt too much, and I knew I shouldn’t, but I enjoyed that Dalton had yet to remove his hand from mine. Finally, I managed to clear the frog in my throat and say, “Can we not talk about this?”
Suddenly, my phone alarm buzzed on the table where I’d set it down. Dalton quickly removed his hand, and checked his watch. “Time to turn into a pumpkin?”
“Yeah, I have to get to class.” I started to reluctantly pack up my books.
“I have to get going too, got a lot on my to-do list for the rest of the day.” Dalton abruptly stood, almost knocking over the painting at his feet. He deftly caught it before it fell completely over, and hefted it under his arm. The paint still seemed to brush off against his skin, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t mind at all. He was a man who was not afraid to get dirty.
I watched him pick up his coffee cup and hesitate for a moment, hovering over the table with his wide shoulders and blocking the light from the windows behind him.
“I know you’re pretty busy following the good ol’ college path for ‘daddy’ and looking for that father-approved suitor,” Dalton teased, “but if you’ve got any time this week, I know this cool art spot nearby that I know you’d like if you’d care to join me? You know, to see if maybe you can revive that artistic part of you?”