by Lake, C. J.
It only took a few seconds for Tragan to set down his beer and stand up. “All right,” he said, gesturing for his friends to do the same, “let’s go.”
“Go?” Bardo questioned, even though he stood up to follow. “Where?”
“We’ll go to Matt’s,” Tragan said. “Is that cool?”
“Sure, okay,” Matt said at the same time that Pellican said, “No.” Tragan glared at Pellican, who went on, “Tray, why do we have to leave? We’re right in the middle of a game!”
“You heard. Andy’s got a headache.”
“So what? That’s my problem now?”
“So let’s just go, so we’re not keeping her up.”
“But she just said we weren’t bothering her,” Pellican argued. “And, you know, we’re in the middle here.”
“Well, Matt’s not,” Bardo pointed out. “He’s dead.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Matt remarked, coming to his feet. “Last time I checked, your man was cowering behind some barrels.”
“It’s called: waiting for the gunfire to stop,” Bardo explained as though it should be obvious, then pointed to the other guys in an educational way. “See, now that’s a strategy.”
Meanwhile, although Tragan felt impatient, he wanted to appear casual. “What the hell’s the big deal, all right? Let’s just go to Matt’s.”
Reluctantly, Pellican filed out behind his friends, but not before complaining again. “What, just because she’s got a headache we have to leave? If this were a guy, you wouldn’t give a shit about his headache.”
“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Tragan snapped.
“Right,” Pellican muttered, glowering as he grabbed his hoodie off the back of the couch. “Just like you made us put our beer on coasters. I suppose she’s got nothing to do with that either?” Tragan didn’t bother answering that, because Pellican was sort of right about the coasters. When Tragan had found them waiting in a neat stack on the coffee table yesterday, he figured: if Andy had bothered to buy them, he should at least try to use them.
Impatiently now, he looked over his shoulder to make sure Andy’s door was still closed. Then he dropped his voice. “Look. She’s sick, okay? She’s got…a condition.”
At that, Pellican froze, appearing suddenly dumbstruck. “Sick?” he began, flustered. “With what?”
Dismissively, Tragan whispered, “I don’t know, some shit, whatever. The point is, if she doesn’t feel well, let’s just go to Matt’s.” He wasn’t about to get into more details, but he did want his friend to shut up and get over his bullshit.
It seemed to work. Uncomfortably, Pellican swallowed. “Fine, I didn’t know that,” he said defensively. “You know, I didn’t realize she was sick or whatever. I was just saying, you know, I was about to do a strategic maneuver.”
Matt barked a laugh at that. “C’mon, I thought we already established: your strategy is crap.”
“Hey now--don’t hate on a man’s ‘thumb pressure,’” Bardo joked, as he, Pellican, and Matt followed Tragan out the door.
~
Tragan awoke at three a.m. Too many beers. Half asleep, he went to take a leak. Only as he left the bathroom, did he see the light coming from the television, casting a glow on the living room. Clearing his vision, he blinked and noticed Andy sitting on the sofa, her knees to her chin.
“Hey,” he said gruffly, absently scratching his jaw. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
As he came closer, he found the real answer. With her eyes still fixed on the TV screen, she gripped the Wii controller with both hands. “Oh, I see what’s going on here. Couldn’t sleep, sure. More like jonesing hard for those gold coins.”
For a bashful, guilty second, she buried her face in her knees. “I can’t help it! This game is so addictive! Sorry--did I wake you?”
“No. Want any help while I’m here?” he offered and sat down next to her.
“Really? You’re not too tired?”
“I can stay a minute. How long have you been up?”
“Mmm, since about 1:30.”
“Wow,” he said with a slow nod. “And only on World 3, huh?”
“Okay, nobody needs your pity,” she told him impatiently and he chuckled. As she played, Tragan noticed her chewing on her lower lip and white-knuckling the controller. “Oh, no!” she whispered, frustrated. “Wait--no!”
“You gotta swim faster than that,” he told her.
“How?”
“Here--” He leaned over to take the controller, but she didn’t automatically release it, so he ended up covering her hands with his as he showed her how to maneuver the thing better. As far as skin-on-skin contact went, it was G-rated--but the feel of her soft feminine hands still registered with him and sent a signal straight to his cock.
“Thanks,” she said when he let go, and focused on the game. The bluish glow from the TV screen now washed over her face and made her already-blue eyes look almost electric. Tragan couldn’t help being physically aware of her and how close her body was to his. Only an inch apart. Maybe he should shift over so they were touching--test it out--but something told him not to. It would be different if she were his girl. Then he could run his hand up her leg and keep going. He would be sliding his fingers up the inside of her thigh, stroking her through her panties to get her excited, and then shifting the fabric over so he could really touch her. He’d kiss her mouth and tongue her neck as he drove his fingers deep inside her.
If he did that to Andy, would she let her head fall back and move against his hand… would she want it faster or slower…would she want him just to pull her underneath him, strip off her panties and take her hard right here on this couch--
“Am I doing this right?’
“Huh…?” It took a second for Tragan to clear his lustful stream of thoughts and answer her. “No wait, here’s a bunch of gold coins hidden in those blocks,” he pointed out.
Fuck. He should just go back to his room and stop torturing himself. His cock was beginning to throb, and obviously it wasn’t going to get any relief out here. But for some reason, he couldn’t make himself leave yet.
Time passed as Andy played and Tragan sat beside her, occasionally giving her tips, cheats, or helping her learn the nuances of the controller. As she fell into a rhythm with the game, Tragan’s eyelids began to fall. He leaned deeper and lower into the cushion and sighed. Really, the heavier the weight of tiredness, the more reason he had to pull himself off the sofa and go flop in his bed.
Apparently he waited too long, though. Sitting next to Andy, he eventually fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Andy blinked awake, confused.
It was morning.
She wasn’t in her room.
And she was lying against Tragan with her cheek pressed into his shoulder.
Panicked, she nearly jumped off him. Then thought better of it, because she didn’t want him to wake and realize she’d been laying her hand on his chest, even curling her fingers into his tee shirt. Falling asleep against him was one thing. Snuggling up to him and practically clutching him was another.
Beams of sunlight from the kitchen window shone into the living room in two fat stripes. The television was still on, but the game was idling on the home screen. Even as Andy extricated her body from Tragan’s, the feel of his strong, solid body lingered in her mind, as did the clean, masculine scent of him, which she’d spent the last several hours breathing in (and sleeping blissfully--coincidence?).
Now Tragan began to stir. Abruptly, Andy sat up straighter. As he woke up, he turned his face toward hers, blinking a few times. “Hey…” he rasped.
“We fell asleep here last night,” she explained quickly--and quite unnecessarily.
“Yeah…I remember now…” Tragan added vaguely. Then leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees as he shoved his fingers into his short dark hair. When he rolled his shoulders in a stretch, it drew Andy’s attention to the muscled strength of his bac
k.
She inhaled sharply, slightly annoyed with herself. If she allowed herself to dwell on the rough-around-the-edges sex appeal of her roommate, where would that get her? So she hopped up from the couch and pushed her hair away from her face, figuring it must be a tangled mess.
“I need coffee,” Tragan mumbled, his voice still thick from sleep. Come to think of it, she’d never seen him first thing in the morning; for some reason the moment felt almost intimate.
“Me, too,” she agreed. “I’ll go make some.”
“No, let’s go out.”
She turned back to find him looking at her, rising from the couch. His jaw was unshaven, his hair was messy, and his dark gaze was intense.
“Go out?” she repeated.
“Yeah,” he told her. “There’s a breakfast place just down our street. Let’s grab coffee and breakfast there.”
“Um…okay,” she replied with a hesitant nod. “I guess so.”
If he sensed her awkwardness he didn’t let on. He just said, “Cool. I’m gonna change, I’ll meet you over there in five minutes,” he finished pointing toward the front door.
Once she’d brushed her teeth, run a brush through her hair, jumped into jeans and a sweater, she met Tragan, who was waiting for her. He pulled the door open for her; they jogged down the stairs in silence, neither mentioning anything about the night before.
This is ridiculous, Andy thought. Nothing even happened, what’s there to mention? Why did she feel guilty or something as if this was a date? It was a casual impromptu breakfast with her roommate, not a big deal.
Finally when they stepped outside, Tragan broke the silence by mentioning, “I have to work later. Sucks.”
She looked up at him as they walked. “But it’s Saturday.”
“I know, but we have a new client who asked that we come in this afternoon to get started. Weekends are better for his wife, I guess.”
“What’s the job?”
“We’re building an addition on a house in South Boston.”
“Do you like your job?” she asked curiously.
Tragan nodded. “For the most part. Obviously it’s very physical, but I’m used to it. I kind of fell into it, though. I was taking classes at community college a few years ago when I started working part-time for my friend’s dad. Matt--you met him--his dad owns a construction company. My plan was to get my associate’s degree, but then there were more and more projects I got put on, and the money was really good.”
“So you never finished school?”
An unmistakable cloud of regret passed over Tragan’s face. He shook his head. “Nah. I screwed up. But at the time I didn’t see the big picture. Like I said, the money was really good and I got sucked in by that. Here we are,” he said, motioning to the awning above their heads with the cheery red logo that read: Carl’s Kitchen.
Immediately, Tragan grabbed the door handle. “You know, it’s not too late to finish,” Andy pointed out gently, walking through first as Tragan held the door open for her. “Just saying. If it’s a regret, that’s an easy one to fix.”
He nodded right away. “Yeah, it’s something I’ve been thinking about. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job pretty much. But I hate that if I wanted to do something else, I really couldn’t do much without a degree. Let’s sit here,” he said, pointing to a table by the window.
“This place is cute,” Andy remarked, noticing the quaint wooden tables, the pin-striped wallpaper, and the flourish of leafy green plants everywhere. “I’ve never been here before.”
Tragan remained standing. “What do you want? I’ll get it.”
“Um…” After she read the menu board, she told him, “Breakfast sandwich #2 and a large coffee.” At that, Tragan’s mouth crooked into a smile. “What?”
“Nothing, just that that’s exactly what I was getting, too.”
When they were seated together with steaming coffee in front of them, he said, “Hey, Andy? Can I ask you a question? Stop me if it’s too personal.”
“Okay.”
“How--”
“Stop.” Tragan eyed her askance. “Just practicing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What is it?” she said, biting into her sandwich, grateful to have her appetite today and be able to savor a fresh hot croissant with bacon, egg and cheese and rich, dark coffee. Food was really such a gift; she hated when her body rejected it in a way, telling her that nothing held appeal, when she knew that wasn’t true.
Now Tragan asked his question. It was personal and she wasn’t quite prepared for it.
“How come you never stay over at Brad’s place?”
Andy hesitated. Was she going to tell him the truth? That she sometimes had bad anxiety, which kept her up, and that Brad wasn’t able to make her feel better when it happened? It honestly wasn’t his fault. He was a doctor and he needed his sleep. She couldn’t bring herself to trouble him with all her fears and worries in the middle of the night. Not to mention, he might not even be there. As a resident, Brad seemed to spend more time in the hospital than out of it. If he was on call, Andy would likely end up in his sleek, coldly decorated high-rise apartment, alone and awake.
The final deterrent of course was their stalled sex life, which was all her fault and also a confusing mess. Obviously Brad was a great looking guy; not only was he handsome, but he was committed to the gym so he had a fit, chiseled body. Who in their right mind wouldn’t feel attracted and in the mood? Brad seemed to think it was just the Bronsteg messing with her sex drive--and all the more reason for her to continue the drug trial, he’d pointed out. While Andy suspected the Bronsteg, too, she secretly feared that it was only half the story. That maybe Brad wasn’t really the right guy for her. Yet did she even know what that meant?
She couldn’t exactly say all that to Tragan. He’s asked a casual question, and dumping all that on him seemed too heavy. Instead, she replied glibly, “How do you know I don’t?”
“I…” He seemed at a loss for the correct answer.
“Just because my bedroom door is closed doesn’t always mean I’m home,” she pointed out. “How do you know I don’t spend the night at Brad’s, and then when he gets up to go to the gym at five in the morning, he drops me back off at home, and you’re still asleep?”
“You’re right. I guess I didn’t think of that,” Tragan admitted, twisting his cup restlessly on the table. Andy thought a quick look passed over his face, one of maybe disappointment? Had he been looking for a different answer?
“I’m teasing you,” she told him with a smile. “You were right the first time. I haven’t stayed over Brad’s.”
“Ever?” Tragan blurted. “I mean, not that it matters…”
“No, no,” Andy stammered, “I didn’t mean never--but just not in a long time.”
Tragan paused for a moment. “How come?”
She was kind of surprised at how he was pressing her on this. “Um…I don’t know,” she lied. Then offered a shrug. “It’s just not fun over there.”
With that, she put her sandwich to her mouth. He sensed she was done talking about this. As Tragan sat across from her, watching her eat her breakfast sandwich--in that neat, girlish way that females had--he just couldn’t make sense of her answer. There was obviously something she wasn’t saying. Why wouldn’t it be “fun” if you were into someone? And wouldn’t Brad make any adjustments he had to so that his girl would want to stay with him every night--especially if his girl was Andy?
To Tragan’s knowledge, Brad hadn’t stayed over their place, either. Why not? Didn’t he crave sleeping next to Andy, of rolling over onto her side of the bed…wait, forget that train of thought. Tragan really didn’t want to picture Brad in Andy’s bed, or any other guy rubbing up on her, for that matter.
For now, he let the subject drop. Because he had to--because technically it was none of his damn business. Still…
There was something wrong in this whole thing with Brad. Something off. Was she into him or not? And if
not…why were they still together?
What kind of hold did “Dr. Brad Trewell” as he insisted on introducing himself, have over Andy?
Chapter Fourteen
“Oh, damn,” Tragan muttered to himself as he walked into the kitchen the following evening.
“What’s wrong?” Andy asked, emerging from the alcove in the corner that housed the washer and dryer. She was carrying a dainty-looking circular basket stacked with white clothes, already folded. The sight reminded Tragan that it was past time to do his own laundry, which had been gathering in two piles, one on his bedroom floor and one on the floor beside the dryer.
“It’s my parents,” he explained now, glancing at his phone before shoving it in his pocket. “They just called. They’re outside and want to come up.”
“Oh. What, you weren’t expecting them?”
“No, apparently they spent the day in the city and just decided to stop by. They live in Rockland,” he mentioned, referring to a town about half an hour outside of Boston. “I guess I haven’t been to visit in a few weeks.”
“Oh, they missed you.”
He blew out a sigh. “Yeah, but I don’t know what to do with them. So I’m just gonna take them to TJ’s down the street.”
“That cramped little deli?” Andy said, grimacing. “Wouldn’t they rather relax here?”
“Well, if it’s so great here, why don’t you stay and hang out with them, too?”
“I don’t even know them!”
“Like I do?”
She slanted her pretty blue eyes at him. “That doesn’t even make sense.” He had to grin at that. “But I respect your tactics. Fine, I’ll hang out.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure, why not? I like people--unlike you. Oh, if they’re hungry, we’ll put the Spanakopita out.”
“What’s that?”
“A Greek version of spinach pie, basically. I got the recipe from one of my cookbooks. Anyway, it should be done by now,” she said, crossing to the stove and bending over to peek in the oven.
Naturally he dropped a glance to her ass. When she turned back around, he said, “Andy, really? You’ll stay? I mean--you know, for their sake--to keep the conversation going?”