Mateo . . .
As I closed the closet doors, I caught a glimpse of my black duffel bag. On the closet floor, it looked benign enough, though in truth it was anything but. It was my getaway bag, complete with passport, cash, essentials, and a burner phone—and it also contained an illegal 9mm handgun. I hoped to never use it, but I knew that if, at any time, I was cutting it close enough to need to use my stashed bag that Mateo would be right on my heels. If I needed to buy myself time―or save my own life―I would shoot him with no hesitation.
I don’t know how long I had been standing there staring at the bag, but an abrupt knock on the door startled me back to attention. My heart leapt into my throat when I glanced over to the clock: 5:14 p.m. Robbie wasn’t due over for another forty-five minutes. I never had visitors stop by randomly. Never.
My eyes looked back down to the bag, my palms sweating. I bent down and reached into the duffel, sliding the weapon out and tucking it into the back of my pants. With a deep inhalation and a racing heart, I slowly made my way to the front door of my apartment. The knocking became louder just as I neared it. My breathing stopped entirely. I leaned in to look through the peephole, my right hand gripping the 9mm all the while.
“Don’t play hard to get, Cris,” Robbie called out playfully. “I’ll keep knocking until you go insane or your neighbors complain. Either way, you’re not likely to get rid of me anytime soon.”
“Christ,” I exhaled, sweat breaking out across my whole body. The sweater suddenly seemed to be overkill, even for me. I quickly tucked the gun back into my waistband and covered it with my sweater before I fumbled with the locks on the door. I’d had a couple extras installed when I moved in, for the obvious reason. When I swung the door open, Robbie stood there with a smile on his face and a bottle of red wine in his hand.
“Hi,” he said cheerfully.
“You just scared the shit out of me!” I replied, looking like someone who’d just seen a ghost.
He eyed me strangely for a second before responding.
“I apparently did.” He couldn’t keep the look of concern from his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I didn’t know that being early was that frightening . . . ”
“Why are you so early?” I asked, blocking the entrance to my apartment, loaded weapon still held in place against my back by the waist of my pants.
“Well, I was thinking that it wasn’t entirely fair for you to have to make me dinner after working all day, even though you do owe me one,” he explained with a wry expression. “So, I thought I would come over early and make dinner for us.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Listen,” he continued. “My mama raised me right. I never come to a party empty handed.” He raised the bottle to show he’d met that requirement. “But, she also taught me to be independent. I can cook. In fact, I’ve always been the best chef on the ship. So, if you play your cards right, I’ll not only get you drunk but I’ll make you dinner as well . . . that is, if you let me in.”
I hesitated for a second, then regained some measure of composure.
“Yes, sorry . . . of course, you can come in.”
He strode into my home like he belonged there, heading straight for the kitchen that opened into the living room, separated only by an island with seating for two. His confidence was remarkable, and mildly unnerving, though in an attractive way. For the briefest moment, I watched him like he did belong in my home. In my life.
And then I moved slightly, the gun at my back shifting in my pants just enough to remind me that he didn’t. Nobody did.
“I’ll be right back,” I called, heading to my room. I quickly put the 9mm back where it belonged and closed the closet door. When I returned, he’d already started rummaging through my fridge to see what he had to work with.
“You haven’t left me with a ton of options here, Cris,” he said, his body bent over to allow him to look deep within my fridge, which left his ass to stick out past the fridge door as he spoke.
“You know that nobody else calls me that, right?” I asked, taking a seat at the island as I continued to watch him. He popped his head out of the fridge just long enough to flash me a mischievous grin before diving back in to find the ingredients he was after. “And I can see that you don’t care.”
“It can be our thing,” he said in earnest, emerging from behind the door with an armful of food.
“Or not,” I quipped.
“Whatever you say, Cris.”
I sighed heavily, reaching for the bottle of wine.
“I think I may need to get started with this. It makes your boyish charm so much more palatable.” My dry response garnered me a serious glance over his shoulder. For a minute, he looked affronted until he remembered that I was the queen of all things sarcastic.
“In that case, I’ll pour you an extra large glass. You’ll think I’m the ultimate catch by the time you’re done.”
“Or I’ll be passed out on the couch.”
He shrugged in response before pulling two wine glasses from the hanging rack beneath the cupboard
“There’s always next time, Cris. I’m a patient man.”
“I can see that. You waited a whole two days to hunt me down and embarrass me into accepting this date. Patient indeed.”
“You forced my hand. I had no choice but to play dirty. And, with Pam on my side, I knew you weren’t going to be able to wriggle your way out—not that you really wanted to.”
“Is that so?” I asked, taking the glass of wine he’d poured for me.
“It is.”
“And you know this how?”
“I told you,” he replied, turning back toward the stove. “I can read people. But what I can’t do is figure out where you’ve stashed your pots and pans.”
“Lower cabinet, to your left,” I instructed, still marveling at his hubris.
I continued to marvel at it for the next forty-five minutes or so while he cooked, chatted, and flirted. His easy nature made it impossible not to join in. Flirting was dangerous, dangerous territory, but I ventured there anyway. Fueled by a massive glass of red wine and an empty stomach, I soon found myself ensnared in his web of charm.
“Tell me about your family,” I implored, taking a bite of the salmon he’d expertly prepared and served.
“That’s a short story. I have no siblings. My dad died when I was in high school. Mom passed away just over a year ago.” His eyes were again distant for a moment, just as they had been on our first date when he thought about his father. Recovering quickly, he continued. “Life on the Bering Sea is hard on everyone, both fishermen and their families. My parents got divorced when I was little, and mom never quite bounced back. She was a great mom, don’t get me wrong, but she took it hard when I said I wanted to join the fleet. She had already lost one man she loved to the sea, figuratively at first, then literally. I think she was afraid she’d lose another. In fairness, this did nearly happen on multiple occasions.”
“It’s amazing to me that you put yourself in harm’s way like that just for your career,” I replied, thinking I’d spent the past five years trying to escape harm.
“It’s the life I love,” he said softly. “I accept the dangers that accompany life on the Bering Sea so I can enjoy it.”
Standing on the other side of the island from me, he stared at me cautiously as he gently put his fork down beside his plate.
“What about you? Do you have family?” he asked, gazing at me intently as he reached for his glass of wine.
“My family situation is complicated,” I said evasively. I don’t really like to talk about it.
“Is that what you’re running from?” he asked without pause.
“I’m not running anywhere. I’ve been here for almost a year now.”
“I don’t buy it,” he said, pressing lightly. “There’s a wildness in your eyes. I’ve seen it when you get uncomfortable or things get too personal. It’s there now. You don’t have that for no reas
on. Something puts it there.”
“Anyway,” I started, trying to change the subject. The night had been so strangely enjoyable that I couldn’t understand why he wanted to try and sift through my past again. What could he have possibly hoped to find there?
“See? You’re doing it now.”
“Doing what?”
“Running—in a sense.”
“Or I’m sitting, eating dinner.”
“You know what I mean,” he replied with a sigh, picking his fork up again to take another bite of his meal.
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You don’t want to tell me because you’ve convinced yourself over time that you can’t trust anyone. That’s why you didn’t want to go out with me in the first place,” he stated as a smile overtook his face. “I mean, come on, who can say no to all of this?” He used his hand to highlight himself in true game show fashion.
I laughed despite my best efforts not to.
“Obviously nobody, because you con your way into getting what you want. If a girl slams the door on you, you just find a window to climb in.”
“Now you’re catching on. But back to my point, all I’m trying to say is that you can’t get through life on your own, Cris. Eventually you’re going to need to lean on someone. Trust someone.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just fine on my own.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or maybe you’re lonely as hell and desperate for some security.”
Security, I thought to myself. What a pipe dream that is.
After an awkward silence, he changed the subject to lighter, more entertaining things. He regaled me with stories from the sea, all of which left me laughing uncontrollably. He was a storyteller, to be sure, but the animation with which he told his tales captivated my imagination. I couldn’t have told him to stop even if I’d wanted to.
With every minute that ticked by, I saw him in a different light. Behind all that joviality and charm was a truly extraordinary human being. The kind a person could trust.
As the wine in the bottle lessened, so did the thickness of my emotional armor. I needed to reinforce it quickly, but I couldn’t, and worse yet I didn’t seem to want to. The longer the evening dragged on, the less resistance I had to his charms. The very thing I had denied earlier that night was the very truth that found itself nearing the tip of my tongue. When he finally noticed that I seemed to be struggling with something, he stopped his endearing antics and led me into the living room, sitting down next to me on the couch. His expression was one of pure concern. I silently battled with my need to keep myself and those around me safe. My desire to remove the burden that had weighed on me so heavily for the past five years was overtaking my resolve, even if I consciously knew talking about Mateo was a bad idea.
There were things that I had never told another soul. Things about my time with Mateo. Things so foul and damaging that I knew they would change how people looked at me―how Robbie looked at me―and I didn’t really want that.
I didn’t want to tell him.
I didn’t want to tell him about the beatings and the bruises, the burns and broken bones. I didn’t want to tell him about the threats and the I’m sorries, the please don’t leave mes and the I’ll kill you if you dos. I didn’t want him to know about my scars and my brand—the claim that Mateo had permanently etched into my body. I didn’t want to, but I did. Staring into Robbie’s sorrow-filled eyes, I recounted every sordid detail of my life with Mateo.
Robbie never flinched.
He sat by stoically while I told him that Mateo would stop at nothing to find me, that not even my alleged abduction by a rival gang and presumed murder had been enough to end his search. Somehow Mateo had known the abduction was a ruse—how he had known was still a mystery to me. Maybe it was that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw my rotting corpse in a morgue. Only then would he truly believe that the seemingly inevitable had happened to me―that I had been killed as retribution for one of his many affronts. That had been the basis of my plan all along: to make him think his enemies had kidnapped and killed me as payback. And it had taken months of painstaking preparation in an attempt to do just that..
Faking my death proved no easy task.
Robbie sat for God only knows how long while I relayed the details of my abduction, how I was stolen out from under Mateo’s nose in public―as far as he had known, I went into a bathroom and never came out. That had been the plan, and it went off without a hitch, except for the part about Mateo buying it.
I spoke of my new identity, and how I had thought things would be far easier than they turned out to be. How Mateo nearly found me in Buffalo, where I had initially run to after the staged abduction. I explained that I still didn’t know how he was able to track me, but that his connections were deep and his fixation unending. I stressed that Robbie choosing to be with me would likely prove to be anything but safe for him. Once I felt I had beaten that final point to death, I stopped talking. I sat there silently, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. I couldn’t believe what I’d done―it was something I’d never done before. For the first time since I’d escaped Mateo and abandoned my family, I’d unburdened my heart and mind by trusting someone with the very secrets that had kept both me and anyone close to me alive.
He should have been scared. He should have been furious with me for endangering his life. He should have gotten up and walked out of my apartment without so much as a glance in my direction. He should have been a lot of things.
But he wasn’t any of them.
The only thing I saw when I looked at him was concern. Not pity. Not fear. He wasn’t worried about himself and the danger I’d put him in. He was worried about me.
That truth nearly broke me.
I crawled across the couch toward him, stopping just short of him, my face leaning in toward his. I wanted to touch it―to touch him. There was something infinitely sexy about him in that moment. I knew then that he was man enough to handle not only what I’d told him but also what it could mean for his future.
I never thought in a million years that I would find someone willing to accept the things that I struggled with daily, so I had never tried. I had thought it would be selfish to bring someone else into the mess I’d made of my life, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was human.
His hand tentatively reached for my face, lightly tracing the edge of it with the back of his hand. The second it made contact, I felt the tear escape. It was followed by others.
I felt him pull me gently toward him, enveloping me in his strong arms. His fingers wove expertly through my curls, calming me with every pass. The sensation was foreign to me but amazing.
I sat up to face him, not knowing what to say, but that didn’t seem to matter. What else needed to be said? I had thrown every skeleton I had in my closet at him, and he stepped over the pile like he barely even noticed it. There are no words for such an act.
But there were actions.
I leaned in and brushed my lips to his, an invitation he could either accept or reject. His last chance to walk away from the chaos that was my life. But he didn’t. Instead, he met my gesture head on, capturing my mouth with his. The tension and pressure that had built up in the room while I shared my harrowing past with him had come to a head. What should have been a slow and steady burn of passion between us soon erupted into a frenzy of kissing and stripping; our clothes couldn’t be removed quickly enough.
Soon enough, I was on my back, naked from the waist up with Robbie’s weight pressing down against me. It was everything I had never known I’d wanted. Frantically, I pulled him tightly against me. The security I felt in return was undeniable.
I didn’t want to let him go. Ever.
“You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered in my ear as he unzipped my jeans. “There is so much fight and fire in you.”
Soon he had my pants tossed across the room, taking a moment to stare down at me before he removed his own.
“C
ommando . . . I should have figured that.”
“I am but a simple man,” he mocked, laying his body firmly back on top of mine. “But I know what I want.” His voice was low and serious. “And I know what I need.”
As he returned his lips to mine, the heat between us grew further. He again pressed himself against me, his hands sliding down to the small of my back to pull me closer still. I bit my lip in response.
“And what exactly is it that you need?” I whispered, the breathy nature of my words only spurring him on.
“A strong woman,” he replied, his voice muffled as he kissed his way down my neck. “One with enough fire in her that even the Bering Sea can’t extinguish it.”
He paused long enough in his descent down my chest to stare up at me intently. I wasn’t the only one with fire inside me—his gaze proved that to me.
I knew he wanted me physically, but there was more to it than that. He wanted to know me in a way that nobody ever had. How we had gone from our cat and mouse game to this so quickly was beyond comprehension. And, yet, there we were. I knew I would be more than a one night stand to him.
I feared that he would prove to be more than that for me as well.
But there was also a comfort in that notion, which was seductive indeed.
Within seconds, what little fabric still covered me was off and we were no longer dancing around what we both wanted. Pressing deep inside me, he let out the sweetest sigh, pausing to enjoy that moment before withdrawing just enough to make me chase after him. I could see that he didn’t want to rush things, the strain in his expression obvious, but I didn’t make it easy for him. Fear, exhilaration, and want—each drove me—and I forced his pace, grinding against him until he had no more willpower left. On the couch in my living room, we had sex with an abandon that I never imagined possible.
Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction Page 50