by SE Hall
Livid, unable to ever remember being so insulted, I get up and set our plates in the sink, taking a minute to breathe deep, filling my lungs with calm. I turn on the light and lumber around the place, blowing out each candle and turning the music off.
He’s still not back inside, so I stomp down the hall, changing from the uncomfortable fucking outfit he’d insisted I be wearing tonight, yet hadn’t so much as commented on, into pajama shorts and a t-shirt.
In the bathroom, I’m viciously scrubbing the enamel off my teeth when a shamed, deep voice startles me.
“Hey.”
Rinsing, I turn and cross my arms over my chest. “Hey.”
“What do you want me to say?” The lines of stress around his eyes, slump to his frame and solemn undertone to his voice wrench at my heartstrings, but I’m determined to change what I allow in my life, not giving in too quick.
“The truth... whatever you need to... I don’t know. Certainly not just what you think I want to hear,” I answer firm, but not harsh. “Bryce, what’s wrong? You’re, something’s off.”
He blows out an exasperated, juddered breath, leaning against the door frame. “The call was my mom, family stuff. And I was late,” he gazes into me, “well, I can’t tell you why, yet. But I will, soon, and I pray to God you believe me, trust me.”
He steps forward, trapping me in with both hands braced on the counter beside my hips. “Jocelyn, I didn’t plan for you, and I plan for everything. I hate that other shit’s getting in the way, but it’s important, very. All I can tell you right now is, it’s probably the only thing important enough, to keep me from you in any way. One day you’ll understand, I hope.”
Our foreheads rest together, the burdensome weight he carries fusing into me, and all I want to do is ease it. Unsure of exactly which moment, which words, the exact touch or kiss—he burrowed his way in and I’m sure he’s sincere, trustworthy, kind, noble... and I’m no longer as angry, reaffirmed in how fast and hard I’m falling for him.
Call it fickle, moody, whatever the hell you want—I want Bryce and he wants me…and his struggle with whatever’s keeping him from acting on that fully; he’ll tell me, the truth, when I need to know.
“Did you at least like the food?” I jest, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Delicious,” he manages a soft chuckle, “and your outfit,” a growl works up and out, “you’re so goddamn sexy. This is so hard J,” his hot exhale, strained, blows across my skin, “that’s how I know it’s worth it.”
“Come on,” I take his hand and lead him to my bedroom. The second I grab the hem of his shirt, those brawny arms go up, and I slide it up and off him. “Lie down on your stomach.”
I turn the bedside lamp on and the overhead light off, climbing up to sit on his butt, knees straddling his waist. “I missed you,” I whisper, grazing my hands up his beautiful back, kneading his shoulders in a massage.
“Me too, babe, me too. That feels so good,” he moans, relaxing beneath my touch. “I swear to you, I know how much you deserve, and the minute I’m able, I’ll give it to you, and then some. I don’t think showing up late, or taking calls when you worked your ass off on a meal is okay. This isn’t my norm. Please don’t give up on me, J.”
“Shh,” I kiss up his spine, the back of his neck, continuing to work the kinks out of his impossibly rigid shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve seen the real you, I know something’s off, and I’ll be right here when you’ve fixed it.”
“Mhmm,” his rumble vibrates through me, “did you go to masseuse school?”
“No, I went to Villanova, Business Marketing,” I grumble.
“Don’t sound so happy about it,” he laughs.
“I wanted to go to Law School, but my father ‘didn’t like that plan.’”
“Uh huh,” he coaxes.
“And so, I changed plans. My father is very...”
“Controlling?”
“In part, but so many other things,” I sigh.
“Are you afraid of him? Was he cruel, spanked you all the time or—”
“No, no he’s never laid a hand on me. It’s just easier to cooperate, put it that way.”
“Why?” He yawns, stretching his arms out above his head, readjusting the massive body under me, splintering my train of thought for a moment. “Babe?”
“Yeah, sorry. Um,” I stall, seeking words that make sense, and might help him understand. “I guess I’ve just always figured, why rock the boat when there’s nowhere better to swim to?”
“Gotcha. Sad, makes me angry for you, but got it. Tell me something happy, gorgeous.” He digs his head deeper in the pillow.
I conjure up a great memory, and begin telling him about my wins at prep school, queen of the debate team, rambling on enthusiastically... until a snore cuts me short.
With a snicker, I climb off him gently, removing his shoes, pulling the covers over him, and kissing him first on the head, then stealing another one, soft and easy, from his lips. I set the alarm, flick off the lamp, and snuggle in beside his large, comforting, sleeping body.
NOTHING IN THIS WORLD TOPS waking up next to Jocelyn. Three out of the last five mornings I’ve had the pleasure of doing just that— first in the hammock, then at the cabin, and now in her bedroom. I see a trend beginning to form here and I can’t complain one bit.
Persuaded by our limbs entwined, her head using my chest as a pillow and her supple body flush against mine, I close my eyes and ignore the numbers displayed on the alarm clock. Surely they’re wrong... it feels like I just laid down for her incredibly relaxing massage a few minutes ago.
“You know we’ve gotta get up, Darth Vader,” she mumbles, nuzzling her face into my pecs, her voice drowsy but playful.
“Darth Vader?” I laugh, rolling her off of me, flat on her back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Uncontrollable giggles erupt from her until she’s laughing so hard she’s holding her side and gasping for air. “You—you sound...” Tears of amusement begin to stream down her cheeks.
“What?” I ask again, finding myself smiling along with her, even though I’ve got no idea why. Straddling her hips, my fingers slide up the side of her t-shirt, lightly tracing her ribs. “Last chance before I give you a reason to laugh like that.”
Her amber eyes widen as she fails epically to make a serious face, inhaling and exhaling deeply, biting her bottom lip. “I just thought you sounded a bit like Darth Vader…when you were snoring last night,” her smile splits her face again.
“Snoring? I don’t snore,” I scoff, my light strokes changing to tickling in the blink of an eye. “You little liar.”
Wiggling, squirming, and bucking, Jocelyn does everything she can to escape my assault on her midriff. “Mercy! Mercy! Okay, you don’t snore!” She can barely breathe much less talk, and I know her confession is only lip service to get me to quit. So I tickle harder and faster. “Please, Bryce, please!”
The buzzing of the alarm is her only saving grace. After thirty seconds of listening to the annoying noise, I finally free her, swatting her ass as she crawls across the bed to turn it off. Smartly, she slides her feet down to the floor before I can grab hold of her again and further convince her that I don’t snore.
She prances across the room, an impish grin and wicked gleam in her eye, and stops right before disappearing out the door. “Take a shower with me; it’ll save time and water.”
“Sounds like a plan. I guess it’s a good thing I brought a change of work clothes,” I reply, untangling my legs from the sheets.
“Yes, now come follow me to the dark side. Bring your light saber,” she rumbles in a scratchy Darth Vader-esqe voice, then cracks up as she takes off running down the hall.
“Oh, you want me to fulfill a Daddy fetish, Princess Leia?” I jest back, following close on her heels all the way until we’re together under the hot spray of water.
Coincidentally, Jocelyn and I pull in the office parking lot at the exact same time,
both running a little later than normal. The first open spot I find is close to the back of the lot, which I’m silently thankful for; knowing she’s parked front row, it’ll give her a few minutes to enter the building before me, avoiding any possible suspicion.
Slowly, I make my way to the entrance, taking note of the two cars on either side of Jocelyn’s sporty ride—the two cars I successfully managed to place GPS trackers on yesterday at lunch. A carefully planned “misfortune,” I accidentally dropped a file folder from my bag, scattering the stack of papers all over the ground, directly behind their cars. As I crawled around on my hands and knees, cleaning up my mess, the devices were attached with a rapid slip of my hand underneath, and just like that, I had eyes on where they were at all times.
Installing my ears, proved to be a little more difficult. Once they finally left for the day, it was well past six, and all of the elevators were locked, restricting me access to the top floor. However, I wasn’t above using my most charming smile and flirtatious wink, along with my company ID badge, to convince the cleaning lady I needed to grab a file I’d left up on the executive floor. In less than a minute, both Mr. Craig and Hunter’s offices were tapped for audio surveillance, the data directly uploading onto a secure website I could access through my blue laptop.
Blue is for business, and I’m about to get down to it.
I haven’t been at my desk for more than ten minutes when I get a text from Jocelyn, a text that instantly causes an issue, of the ‘I can’t stand up and walk around for a while’ variety.
Jocelyn: Still soaked for you.
It’s not only the four words taunting me from the screen that’s the problem. No, even though getting a message like that is hot as hell, it’s the photo up her skirt while sitting at her desk, proving to me that she is indeed as wet as she claims, attached to the message that’s provoked the instant hard-on I’m now sporting.
Me: Lunch. My truck 12:00. Don’t let anyone see you.
That woman is going to be the end of me. I know we’re playing a dangerous game, meeting up during the day, but how the hell am I supposed to resist a blatant offer like that?
Jocelyn: See you then. I’ll be sneaky like a Jedi.
I laugh. Hard. She is truly something else.
The remainder of the morning surprises me with how quick it seems to pass; the growing amount of work on my desk helps keep my mind from wandering to visions of see-through white panties with matching garter belts. Garter belts?!? Fuck, are you kidding me?!? I’m still not sure when she put those on this morning without me seeing them, the little minx, but I fully plan on helping her take them off.
However, one unexpected phone call a little after eleven, instantly changes my schedule for the rest of the day—including my plans to eat lunch at Buffet Jocelyn.
“Hey, what’s up?” I pick up after the first ring, seeing Reagan’s symbol-of course not her name—flash on the screen.
“Gr—Bryce, it’s me. I gotta problem.” The fear in her voice is unmistakable, and immediately I’m on high alert.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I uh, I think I’m being followed,” she whispers.
“Where are you? Followed where?” I demand.
She breathes heavily into the phone. “I just left the clinic. I worked the morning shift, and I’m heading home—”
“Don’t go home!” I shout, louder than I intend.
“Where do I go then?” She screeches back, panic the only thing I hear now. “This guy, sitting in the parking lot, same yesterday when I left too. He pulled out behind me, and he’s been behind me since. I’m driving in circles, and he’s staying right with me,” she groans.
“Don’t freak out on Champ, listen,” I’m already walking toward the elevators. “I’m leaving the office now. Just keep driving and stay on the phone with me until I get in my truck, okay?”
“Okay,” she squeaks.
Once I’m out the front doors, I sprint to the safety of my truck, where I hook the call up to speaker phone, hands free and phone able to be used for other purposes at the same time.
“I’m in my truck now; I can talk,” I inform her, pulling out of the lot. “Drive towards Flyer’s Deli on Washington, I’ll meet you there in ten. I do know, it’s not Hunter or Old Man Craig, both of their cars are still in the office parking lot, and I tagged ‘em with GPS trackers yesterday. They weren’t near the clinic.”
“You did what?”
“Yeah, bugged their offices last night too. Now, they so much as fart, I’ll know where they did it and what it sounded like. She snorts, laughing, and I’ve done my job, for now…eased her mind a bit until I can get to her.
“You’ve been a busy boy. And here I thought you were over at your girlfriend’s all night, screwing her senseless.”
“That came later,” I tease, turning my truck in front of the sandwich shop. “Don’t underestimate me, Reagan Pennington. And I wouldn’t spend the night away from the apartment with you in it if I didn’t have eyes and ears on your safety. Speaking of which, I’m here.”
“Less than a block away and my company is still with me. Be ready; I’ve got no idea who the fuck this is.”
Moments later, I see her car pull in, as does the black sedan behind her, and she drives over to where I’m standing outside my truck and parks; thankfully, she’s got the where-with-all to stay in her car. Stalking over to the tail behind her, I knock on the passenger’s side window, hastily scanning the interior of the car for weapons.
The driver is a young guy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, and based on the way he nearly jumps out of his skin at my rap on the glass, I don’t think we have anything to be afraid of... but you can never be too careful.
He rolls the window down and looks at me, clearly confused. “Is there a good reason you’ve been following this car here?” I ask, pointing over to Reagan’s bright blue Volkswagen bug. Between her hair and the car, she’s no doubt a fashion statement.
“Ye—yeah, I uh,” he stammers, looking back and forth between her car and me.
“Spit it out. What’re you doing?”
“My name’s Jonah, my friend Dan told me she,” he tilts his head in the direction of Reagan’s car, “came to talk to him the other day about a trial thing we did together and I wanted to tell her about the same things happening to me. That’s all, I promise.”
I stare the kid down; not pleased with his approach, but silently thankful; another one. Motioning for Reagan to get out of her car, she complies and joins me, where I explain who he is and why he was following her. She exhales a huge sigh of relief, and we all decide to go inside to talk while we grab a bite to eat.
Remembering I need to text Jocelyn, I tell the two of them I’ll join them at the table in a minute, and linger outside, eyes locked on Reagan the whole time. Cringing, I know with my flakiness over the last couple of days, this isn’t going to go over well, but I don’t have a choice in the matter.
Me: Hey babe, I’m going to have to reschedule lunch. Something came up and had to leave the office. Family thing.
Much as I expected, the incoming response is frigid.
Jocelyn: That’s fine.
Me: I’m really sorry. Please don’t be mad, I’ll make it up to you. Tonight?
Jocelyn: I’ve got plans.
Now I’m getting a little irritated. Just last night she said she would be patient and understanding, not give up on me, but her actions aren’t backing up her words, and everyone knows which speak louder.
Me: K.
I leave it at that; not wanting to do this over text messages or say something I’ll regret later because I’m frustrated. I shove my phone back in my pocket and march inside, rubbing my arm, invisible tat, and reminding myself—I am my brother’s keeper. Finding out the truth about Devon’s death is more than worth pissing off the woman I’m… in love with. Damn, there it is, one startling truth in all its glory.
She’ll understand one day.
She has t
o.
INFURIATED, INCENSED, AND PROBABLY a little irrational too, I stomp out of my office, directly up to Alyssa’s desk and mandate, “We’re going out tonight. I don’t care where. I want to drink, dance, and drink some more.”
She raises her pull-me-in eyes up to meet my impassioned glower, and like the great friend she is, doesn’t ask why or what happened, just a simple nod of the head. “I’ve got just the place, pick you up at 9:30.”
An equally dramatic trek back into my office, I slam the door harder than I plan, and spend the rest of the afternoon pounding the keyboard rather than typing, lips pursed so tight they may bleed soon. But—I am productive, making huge, anger-fueled strides in my tasks.
At quitting time, I watch out my window as the majority of the employees hurry to their cars, anxious to leave another day of work behind them. I tell myself I’m not looking for Bryce, that I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s hurt my feelings, but as I stand at the glass pane, staring down at the parking lot, I notice him the exact second he comes into view and all else fades out.
Unable to pull my eyes away, my gaze follows him all the way to his truck, and when he pauses just before climbing in and looks up at my office window, I suck in a deep breath of air. He’s unable to see me due to the mirrored glass, but I’ve got an eerie feeling he knows I’m watching. And that pisses me off even more; he knows he’s got me.
I don’t know how to balance making sure I’m never a doormat again with the fact that I know he’d never use me as a doormat…totally winging it and pretty sure I’m getting it as wrong as one can. He’s right, this is so hard.
And right again—if it wasn’t worth it, I wouldn’t care, which I do, so much so I’m about to blow my lid one second and long to hold him the next.
Grabbing my purse, phone, and keys, I leave my office in a mess, not caring the least bit. As soon as I’m in my car, I turn my iPod to some Thirty Seconds to Mars—Jared Leto’s voice can cure most anything—and sing along the entire way home. I’ve got two options right now: be hurt or be pissed, and I’m opting for the latter.