by Kira Blakely
She was in such a good mood earlier, smiling and humming along to the elevator music. Now, she seems the complete opposite.
“Hey.” I take my hand out of my coat pocket, reaching across the backseat to place it on her thigh. “You’re still not upset about what happened at breakfast, are you?”
She doesn’t answer or look at me.
I slide across the seat so I end up right next to her. “Janine, you can’t let Marissa ruin this for us,” I tell her, holding her hand. “That’s exactly what she’d want.”
She looks at me. “You seem to know very well what she wants.”
I exhale. “She and I are over. We’ve long been over.” “Really?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Really. Why would I lie to you? We’re already lying to everyone else. Why would I keep a secret from you?”
“I didn’t even know you and Marissa were a thing. I didn’t even know she existed.”
“Fine.” I rub her hand. “I’ll tell you everything about her.”
She shifts her body so that she’s facing me, suddenly interested.
“We spent a few weeks together when I was in Virginia, taking a break.”
“A few weeks?” Her eyes narrow.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Then I had to leave again and I left.
That’s all there is to it.”
She rolls her eyes. “When was this?”
“Three years back, four maybe. I don’t really remember.” “But she clearly remembers you,” she points out, wrenching her hand away and folding her arms over her chest again. “Very poignantly, actually. She even remembers that camisole you got her.”
I lift my hands. “I don’t even remember that.”
“Well, do you remember breaking up with her?” Janine turns her head to look at me. “Because she seems to think the two of you still have something going on.”
I place my hands on my thighs, shrugging. “She has a husband, baby. She knows we’re not together anymore.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
I straighten up with a scowl. “You told me not to call you sugartits, or something like that. I was inside you last night, but I can’t call you baby?”
Her hands fall to her sides. “I just want to know why you didn’t stand up for me to that horrible woman.”
“We are still talking about Marissa, right? The girl from the hotel restaurant?”
“Yes!”
“Janine… I hardly even noticed she was there. I didn’t even remember that we hooked up until she mentioned the camisole.”
She sighs, looking out the window.
I reach for her hand. “Don’t let that rich bitch get to you,” I plead softly. “She doesn’t mean anything.”
She looks at me. “Tell her that.” “I will,” I assure her.
She looks surprised.
I bring her hand to my lips. “You’re my wife, Janine. Business deal or not, I won’t cheat on you. I will never humiliate you like that.”
She blinks at me and tilts her head gently to one side. “Really?”
I frown, wounded by her lack of faith. I’ll just have to win it.
I get off the chair and on the floor, kneeling in front of her.
Janine’s eyes grow wide. “What are you doing?” “Proving that you’re all I want.”
I lift the hem of her loose skirt and slip under it, pushing her thighs apart.
“Dash,” she hisses, fear and excitement in her voice. “We’re in the limo right now.”
“No one will see us,” I tell her, kissing the front of her pink panties.
She grabs my arm. “But the driver will hear us.” “He’s well-paid.”
Frankly, I don’t care.
I part her thighs wider, licking the cotton.
She clutches my arm but this time, she’s not pulling, not urging for me to let go. She’s just holding on.
Grinning, I keep licking, the cotton getting damp with something other than the saliva from my tongue. I can taste her juice on the edges of her panties, sweet and salty. I lick harder. Janine grips me tighter.
I stop abruptly, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She lets me go, lifting her hips so that I can pull the piece of clothing off, pulling it all the way down to her ankles and off one foot, which I take out of her shoe. Then I go back to my task, parting her thighs even wider and pressing my tongue against her clit.
I hear her back hit the leather, her fingers raking across it as she lets out a gasp.
I continue swiping the tip of my tongue against that nub, my hands gripping her quivering thighs. Then I move lower, moving her hips forward so that I can trace her wet folds with my tongue before delving between them, my nose buried in her curls, drowning in the scent of soap, sweat, and her sex.
She bucks, a sound between a gasp and a whimper escaping her lips.
How I wish I can see Janine right now, doing her best not to make a sound as I eat her up, but I save that wish for some other time, moving my tongue faster and ignoring the pulsing of my cock inside my pants.
She grips my hair through the fabric of her dress, her knees shaking.
Then her hips push forward, her knees lifting as she pushes my head down, trembling all around me as her sex weeps, the smell of her more intense.
I close my eyes to savor it as she goes still. Then she relaxes, her hands leaving my head, her thighs parting, her knees limp.
I come out from under the tent of her skirt, seeing her still gasping for air through parted lips, her cheeks flushed and her eyes teary.
The sight of it is enough to send my cock straining against the layers of cotton and denim.
I ignore it, taking a deep breath and licking my lips before helping her put her panties back on and returning to my seat.
“Convinced now?” I ask her, straightening my coat as I lean back. “Because if you’re not, I swear I’ll do that again on the plane.”
“I am,” Janine answers quickly, holding my hand. Slowly, the corners of her lips turn up into a smile. Finally.
“Good.” I entwine my fingers with hers as I wipe the sweat off my brow with my other hand, returning her smile. “Good.”
* * *
“I’ll be right there,” Janine shrills into her cell phone as we charge out of the airport terminal just as quickly as we came in. I’m not sure what is going on in that phone call, and she explains it to me at a sprint while I keep pace with her: a neighbor had stopped by to check on Janine’s mom and found her collapsed on the floor of the living room. We immediately change paths toward the hospital.
I don’t mind. I know Janine’s mother matters more to her than anyone. Without her, Janine would never have agreed to this arrangement.
I can feel her anguish at not having been there to prevent this incident from happening.
I completely understand. I just wish she’d slow down. “Janine.” I reach for her hand. “It’s alright. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“She’s not,” she answers without stopping or looking at me. “I should have been there. Why wasn’t I there? She only has months to live, weeks! What was I doing, rushing off somewhere far from her?”
I say nothing, knowing I have no right answers for her. I can only hope her mother is alright.
“Dash?” Marissa’s voice floats to me from the security checkpoint we just passed. I try to ignore her but she runs over to me, grabbing my arm. “You’ve got to meet my husband. He’s heard so much about you.”
“Not now, Marissa.” I shrug her hand off and continue walking.
“Wait. Where are you going? Are you leaving?” She comes up behind me and actually grabs my coat. “But I got you something,” she breathes.
Janine whirls on Marissa, looking like a different Janine than I’ve ever seen her. The Janine I remember is sweet. She’s strong, but also timid. This Janine—the Janine who is focused on her mother and trying to get the hell out of this airport—is bone-white with eyes full of wrath. In short, she looks lik
e she could choke a bitch with no problems.
“Back off, Barbie,” she barks at Marissa.
“You’re not going to let her talk to me like that,” Marissa whimpers as Janine and I resume our pace.
“Now’s not the time,” I call over my shoulder. “My wife needs to go to the hospital.” I wrap my arm around Janine and usher her toward the terminal exit.
“Dash!” Marissa calls after me, desperation in her voice. I keep going, past the sliding doors and back to the ticketing area, making a bee line for the nearest counter. I need to get to Woonsocket, Rhode Island ASAP.
10
Janine
“Mom!”
I rush into my mother’s hospital room and to her bedside, my heart drumming against my chest like a ticking time bomb.
She turns her head towards me, smiling that smile I know so well and just like that, I feel the bomb diffuse.
I throw my arms around her. “Mom!”
“Janine,” she says my name, her hand on my hair. “I thought you were on your honeymoon.”
“We were about to leave,” I confess, holding her hand as I grab the stool so I can sit on it. “But how can I leave after knowing you collapsed?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She places her hand over mine. “Nothing?” I stare at her bandaged elbow and look at her with wide eyes. “Mom, you passed out. What if… if…” “Hello, Dash,” my mother interrupts, her gaze beyond me.
I glance back, seeing Dash standing there with his coat draped over his arm, the purse that I have left behind in my haste hanging from his hand.
“Hi, Mom,” he greets, waving at her. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” she answers. “You didn’t have to come here. I’m sorry I ruined your honeymoon.”
“Mom.” I narrow my eyes at her.
“Please don’t say that.” Dash approaches the bed. “It’s all good. We can go some other time.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll just get coffee. Do you want one?”
“No.” Not now.
“Okay.” He puts my purse and his coat down on the empty armchair against the wall. “I’ll leave these here.”
“Okay.”
He leaves the room and I turn back to my mother, grip- ping her hand.
“Mom, this isn’t nothing,” I pick up the conversation to where it was left hanging after Dash came in. “I’m worried this kind of thing might happen again.”
“People fall all the time.”
Unbelievable. “You didn’t fall. You lost consciousness.
You almost broke your arm.”
“It’s just a sprain.” She shrugs, glancing at her bandaged elbow. “It’ll heal.”
I frown. “Well, you were lucky it was just a sprain, Mom.” My eyes crowd with hot tears. “You’re so fragile right now. We both know it could have been worse.”
“Janine.”
“You’re too sick, Mom,” I blurt out, unable to contain myself any longer. “It could have been much worse and I can’t stand to see you suffering more than you already are.”
She says nothing.
Just then, the door opens and a man in his forties wearing eyeglasses and a white coat comes in, a nurse pushing a wheelchair behind him.
“Hello.” He approaches me. “I’m Dr. Stevens. I’m the endocrinologist here.”
“Janine Davidson.”
I stand up to introduce myself, shaking his hand. “You’re Olivia’s daughter?”
“Yes,” I answer, nodding.
“I just need to take her for some tests,” Dr. Steven tells me.
“Tests?” My eyebrows furrow. “I thought she already had her X-ray and stuff.”
“She did but given her condition, she needs more,” he says, glancing at her. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” I step back.
I watch as the nurse carefully transfers my mother into the chair then wheels her off. Dr. Stevens gives me a nod then follows them out of the room.
Exhaling, I sit on the armchair but stand up as soon as I realize my purse and Dash’s coat are on it. I pick them both and something falls.
A picture lies face down on the floor.
Then I remember. Back at the airport, Marissa slipped something into his pocket. It was just for a second and I wasn’t sure I even really saw it. I wasn’t thinking clearly and I was in too much of a hurry to stop and confirm.
Confirmed.
I bend my knees and pick up the picture. There’s some- thing written at the back in blue ink.
Dash, I’m forever yours – Marissa
Yup. This confirms it.
I turn the picture over, ignoring the voice in my head telling me not to.
Marissa wears panties and a large military jacket emblazoned by the surname Siegel, nothing else. She’s blowing a kiss at the camera. Dash must have been the one holding it.
How dare she? Right in front of me?
My first impulse is to tear the picture to pieces, my fingers already gripping its sides.
Then I breathe. My shoulders relax. And I slip it into my purse.
Destroying it won’t accomplish anything and this isn’t the right time to question Dash. But I’m holding on to it.
Mom used to tell me not to throw anything away in case I might need it later.
Mom’s a bit of a hoarder. She has boxes full of receipts, used gift wrapping, old shirts, toys, candles, jars, pressed flowers, everything you can imagine.
What will I do with all those boxes when she’s gone?
I sit on the armchair, a hand clasped over my mouth as I try not to think of that scenario.
I can’t. I just can’t.
I could have lost her this time.
What if her fall had been worse? What if she was too weak to stand and just ended lying there with no one to help her? What if this is only the beginning? What if it gets worse and she’s all alone?
I shake my head, pushing those unbearable images aside but not before they can cause tears to trickle down my cheeks.
I should have been there.
A buzzing sound disrupts my thoughts.
As the sound goes on, I realize it’s Dash’s phone. He left it in another pocket of his coat.
Should I answer it?
What if it’s Marissa? Or what if it’s an important phone call?
I wipe my tears and stand up, grabbing Dash’s coat and my purse. I’ll just go look for Dash and tell him about it. I don’t care who’s calling him. It’s not like he’s my real husband, anyway. Right?
After a few minutes, I find Dash sitting alone on a bench on the hospital grounds, his elbows on his knees and his coffee cup in both his hands. I sit next to him.
He looks at me. “Janine. What are you doing here?” “Someone was calling you.” I hand him his coat.
He takes it and checks his phone. “It’s not important.”
He puts it back in the coat pocket. “How’s your mother?”
“They took her for some tests,” I reply, letting out a deep breath as I place my purse on my lap. “I’m just glad she’s… alive.”
“I know.” Dash places his hand on my thigh.
“I still think I could have prevented this from happening, though. I don’t want to see her get hurt anymore.”
For a moment, Dash falls silent, his hand still on my thigh. Then he slowly retracts his arm, both hands around his cup once more.
“You know, I’ve been thinking…”
I look at him expectantly, clutching the straps of my purse. “Yes?”
He strokes his cup. “What if we put your Mom in a facility? You know, one of those facilities for terminally ill patients where—”
I stand up with my mouth open, my purse falling off my lap.
Dash sets down the coffee cup beside him and picks up my purse. “It’s just a suggestion, Janine. You—”
“How can you suggest such a thing?” I ask him, breathing heavily as my chest grows tight. “Do you honestly think bein
g surrounded by dying people and strangers is what’s best for her?”
He puts my purse on the bench. “It’s better than being alone. That way, if anything happens to her, someone will always be there to take care of her and—”
“I’m her daughter.” I place a hand on my aching chest. “I’m the one who’s going to take care of her.”
“But you’re an accountant, not a nurse,” he points out, standing. “What if you get pregnant and have a baby? Will you be able to take care of her then?”
My hand falls from my chest as my gaze falls on my feet, my mind unable to come up with anything to say.
“Besides, we both know she doesn’t want you to see her suffering. It makes her suffer more.”
“What do you know?” I lift my palms in exasperation, clenching them and then letting them fall at my sides. “She’s not your mother. You don’t love her. You don’t understand her. Hell, you barely know her.”
I feel my tears spill out along with my emotions – my frustration, my pain.
I place a hand on my hip as I look away, trying to calm myself down. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t,” Dash admits, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Maybe that’s why I can think clearly. I’m not clouded with emotions.”
I shake my head.
He places his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I’m not the enemy here, Janine. I’m just trying to help you do what’s best for your mother.”
“Why do you care so much, huh?” I snap at him as I turn around, pushing him away.
“Because you obviously do, and–”
“I signed your stupid contract. No matter what happens to her, you’ll still get your baby.”
He sighs. “Janine…”
“You don’t get to have a say in this, Dash. I’m her daughter.” I point a finger at my chest. “And you…” I poke my finger at his chest. “You’re just a stranger passing by.”
With that, I grab my purse and go back inside the hospital, wiping my tears.
* * *
“I don’t know why Dash would say that,” I confide between sniffles, crying on Mom’s arm as she lies on the hospital bed. I wasn’t going to tell her about the fight. I was going to hold back my tears and hide my emotions but she saw how upset I was and when she held my hand, everything just broke loose.