Pieces For You

by Rulon, Genna

  “I can handle those assignments.”

  “Oh, one more—eat! The Italian in me is dying to shove heaping piles of carbohydrates into that scrawny little body of yours.”

  I laughed at her exclamation; it was clear she wasn’t exaggerating for effect.

  “Will do, Chef Boyardee,” I teased, glad to be ending on a positive note and with several manageable tasks to focus on. “It’s been…strange, but good…I think.”

  “Excellent. You handled me better than most do on their first visit.”

  I didn’t think she was kidding, which gave me an odd sort of pride at the unexpected accomplishment. As I departed, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had just found a guide through the minefield of recovery or if I was being “Punk’d” by Ashton Kutcher—if it was the latter, this would have made for some great TV programming. I glanced around to make sure there were no cameramen hiding in the bushes. Nope. Thia was a therapist unlike any I had encountered thus far. I resolved to follow her directives and get a jump on my homework assignments.

  After a stop at New York Sports Club (NYSC), I was officially a card-carrying gym member and planned to institute my workout schedule beginning tomorrow. I had been to the gym at Hensley with Ev before, but all we ever attempted was the treadmill, elliptical, stair-climber, and stationary bike—the rest was a complete mystery to me. Most of the equipment in the gym looked like it belonged in Christian’s “Red Room of Pain.” I didn’t think NYSC was a front for a BDSM club, so there must be another purpose behind the various contraptions; I was just clueless as to what that purpose was. While there, I was tempted to explore some of the machinery, but felt uneasy with the vast number of shirtless men, all grunting and sweaty. I didn’t know these men and felt unprepared to put myself within arm’s reach.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself and tried to survey the room with Old Sam’s eyes. The selection of man-candy was spectacular. I was mentally stripping off a wide array of tank tops and exercise shorts—from a distance. A glimmer of hope shined, despite my initial panic, and there was the slightest stirring, a twinge really, which registered in my neglected lady bits. Hell yeah, it may only be a twinge, but it was the first sign of life from her royal highness in five months.

  As I left the gym, I pondered my response—was there hope? I feared my goodies had dried up, petrified from lack of use. My relief at the possibility of reanimation was palpable. I indulged in a brief parking lot happy dance, only to find a snickering couple approaching me.

  “What? You’d dance too if you just realized your years of kegels weren’t wasted.”

  I left them in open-mouthed shock, a smile painted on my face and extra bounce in my step.

  My added confidence spurred me to bite the bullet and call my parents. Elsa, their housekeeper, advised me that they were not available, so I left a message confirming my presence at the family dinner the following week. Homework item number two completed.

  I needed time to consider employment prospects where I would feel secure and enjoy the work—well, if not enjoy, then at least not despise.

  I stopped at Chipotle for a spicy chicken burrito—food consumption. Homework item number four accomplished. Then I headed to the mall to acquire new gear for my athletic intents. I had no problem working out and sweating, but you can be damn sure I was going to look my best doing it. I struck gold with a selection of outfits from Heidi Klum’s workout line. One of the pieces was even featured on “Project Runway,” a show my DVR was programmed to always record and never delete without my prior authorization.

  When I was satisfied I had appropriately rewarded my homework initiative, I finally headed home. Ev arrived shortly after and rushed to the bathroom to shower before Hunter arrived for dinner.

  "I make mistakes, I'm out of control, and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." -Marilyn Monroe

  I was organizing my new purchases in the appropriate dresser drawers when the doorbell rang. I could hear the shower running, leaving me to answer. Hunter had a key to our apartment, but he usually rang the bell so I was forewarned of his entry, a lesson learned the first time he walked in on me fixing a cup of coffee dressed only in my bra and panties. I’ve never seen Hunter about-face with such speed; he nearly vaulted over the dining table to close himself in Ev’s bedroom. I was fairly certain I caught the hint of a blush before he bolted. Ah, good times.

  I raised up on my tippy-toes to peer through the peephole in the door, a recent addition courtesy of Hunter, and saw nothing but a wall of black. I paused for a moment, wondering if the person on the other side placed their thumb over the glass, but dismissed the idea when I noticed the contours of the black abyss before me. I verified that the security chain was engaged before unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door.

  Jiminy Crickets! The black void was a shirt, specifically a t-shirt undergoing durability testing as it strained to contain a scandalously muscled chest and shoulders most NFL linebackers would envy. I found myself confronted with a decision that no woman should ever have to make; do I look upward to assess the face attached to the scrumptious MMA pecs or go downward to find what other gifts God had bestowed on this specimen. Who was I kidding; there was only one right answer. As my gaze headed south, I was greeted by a mid-section that was clearly well tended and hard as stone. Despite his sinfully tight shirt, I couldn’t make out his abs, but I suspected the shirt was covering a defined six-pack. Would it be rude to ask him to remove his shirt before inviting him in? Continuing my exploration, I discovered distressed denim, bulging in all the right places, draped over long, thick legs. Hot damn! Hunter was finally paying off with the hot guy friends. I knew this day would come, it was inevitable, but I was still overwhelmed with gratitude—Ev would be getting an extra nice Christmas present this year.

  I slowly raised my gaze, verifying that the sight I beheld was not a mirage, and it happened…finally. There was no tingle or twinge, not a whisper of desire or hint of arousal—no, the floodgates of my previously dormant libido opened and a tsunami of lust swept through me. My breath caught and I was forced to grip the doorframe to prevent melting into a puddle on the floor or climbing this tree of man-flesh like the primate I had been reduced to. I gathered the remnants of my cognitive function—the miniscule part of my brain not dedicated to making an erotic laundry list of the many naughty activities I wanted to enlist this man’s help with—to prepare for the possible disappointment, should the face accompanying this god-like body be one that sent children shrieking in horror. On the other hand, guys had practiced the “bag over her head” technique for years. I needed to do it, rip the Band-Aid off and accept the possible disillusionment. I reinforced myself, inhaled deeply, and raised my eyes. You’ve got to be kidding me!

  “Griffin?” I accused more than asked.

  “Hello Sam, good to see you too,” he returned wryly. “Shall I turn so you can get the 360-degree show?”

  I reached up to unlatch the security chain, allowing the door to swing open.

  “Since I’ve been busted eye-fondling you already, I don’t see the harm,” I called his bluff.

  Surprise registered on his face before he slowly turned, stopping when his ass was perfectly presented, going so far as to put his hands on his hips, emphasizing his biceps and back too. I suspected he may have even clenched his glutes for maximum impact. Never one to look a gift-butt in the mouth, I took my time perusing every inch of him. Once again wildfire devoured my previously dormant netherworld, scorching me with need. What the hell had happened to him over the past five months? Griffin had always been hot, six feet four inches of toned muscle, with a halo of light blonde hair and pale grey eyes—but this man would inspire legends. Women would whisper his name reverently for decades, never exaggerating because the reality needed no embellishment. And here he was, standing in my doorway, wreaking havoc on my body. Damn, damn, damn—he could not be the man to light me up. He was my friend a
nd a very, very close friend to Ev and Hunter. Why was I even considering the possibility? I wasn’t ready to ride the bucking bronco just yet.

  I heard the slightest chuckle and watched massive shoulders shake. Instinctively, I swatted his butt in retaliation. Rock. Freakin’. Solid.

  “Get in here, you Neanderthal.”

  “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, as he turned to face me once again. He stepped forward then hesitated, clearly analyzing his method of approach. Sometimes I felt like a skittish mare everyone was afraid to spook by approaching too quickly or touching too soon. I hated that those who knew what had happened treated me differently, as if I was fragile and damaged. As if he could read my mind, he leaned down and swept me into a hug that engulfed my whole being. My feet were dangling at least a foot off the ground, and I could have very easily felt like a ragdoll flailing in a child’s arms, but Griffin cradled me carefully, bracing an arm across my lower back for support and cupping the back of my head in his enormous palm. He squeezed me tightly for several seconds as if reassuring himself I was real, before returning me to the ground. His tenderness and concern surprised me. I knew he cared about me, we were friends after all and he was one of the good ones, but we had never had a “touchy-feely” friendship. I knew he had been spending time with Ev and Hunter outside of the apartment, but they had kept most of our friends away since I returned, giving me time to adjust and settle in.

  “Some things never change—but some do. Have you been eating your Wheaties while I was gone? Geeze dude, are you planning to dress up as Thor for Halloween?”

  “I’ve been working out more frequently. It helps to relieve stress and frustration. You can mock to your heart’s content, but don’t forget I was there a few minutes ago when you were appreciating my efforts. Not my original goal, but a very welcome by-product,” he said with a smirk.

  I slapped his chest in punishment for speaking the truth, but his warm hand trapped mine against his rock hard body.

  “I’m glad you’re back, Sam. I missed you,” he ended the unexpected confession with an equally unexpected kiss on the top of my head.

  After he freed me, he entered the apartment and shut the door. We stared at each other and I tried to puzzle out what was different. I was on the verge of placing the missing piece when Ev exited her bedroom and another knock sounded on the front door.

  “That has to be Hunter with the food. Griff, can you get the door? Sam, can you get drinks while I set the table?” Ev directed without waiting for acknowledgement. The girl was a force to be reckoned with.

  “Griff, good to see you, man,” Hunter greeted while giving a one-armed man-hug complete with the required back slap.

  Hunter walked by and ruffled my hair with a smile, “Good day?”

  “Yes, productive.”

  He nodded his approval before continuing into the kitchen to slip behind Ev, wrapping one arm around her waist and using his other hand to turn her head until he gained access to her mouth, which he proceeded to kiss as if he was a soldier returning from war. Ev was helpless to resist, hands loaded with dishes and silverware; not that she would have put up a fight. She was content to play her role as the long-separated newlywed elated by her hero’s return. When she placed the tableware on the counter and spun in Hunter’s arms to face him, I took my cue to avert my eyes.

  “You’ll have to forgive them. Months of pent-up orgasms before they got their shit sorted out really did a number on them. It’s like living with rabbits…or teenagers,” I offered the obligatory apology to Griffin that Hunter and Ev’s mouths were too occupied to supply.

  “If you knew the effort I invested in forcing those two to acknowledge their feelings, you’d understand how happy this peep-show makes me. Besides, I’ve been around them enough that I don’t even notice anymore.”

  “That’s right; I forgot you and Hunter have reached BFF status in my absence. If they keep turning me into an unwilling voyeur, I’m afraid I may actually become one. Do you think they will learn any impulse control in the near future?”

  “Doubtful,” he said. “How are you, girl? I wanted to come by as soon as you got home, but knew you needed space. Hunter finally gave me the ‘okay’ this week to come for Thursday night dinners again.”

  “I’m doing really well, happy to be home where I belong,” I answered, my standard response to anyone other than Ev, Hunter, or my therapist.

  Griffin grunted, a short quick dismissal. “I don’t believe a single word that just left your pretty little mouth, but I’ll leave it be…for now.”

  “Is that a threat?” I joked, slightly off-balance by his ability to see through the image I projected.

  “No, just a statement of fact. I’ve been accused of not letting a matter rest until I am satisfied I have the truth—or my desired outcome.” He nodded toward the kitchen, letting me know exactly who had made the accusation.

  “Funny enough, I recall hearing that about you. Ev calls you Mr. Neosporin behind your back because you are always picking at her scabs.”

  “If you don’t flush the wound thoroughly, it’ll become infected and the scab will only serve to trap the infection and prevent healing.”

  “Aren’t you a well of wisdom? Have you considered writing fortune cookies for extra spending money?”

  “Nah, those little slips of paper are too small to fit my wealth of wisdom. Besides, the pressure to make sure each insight could have ‘in bed’ added to the end and still make sense would drive me insane.”

  I laughed at his unexpected joke. I had never seen this funny side of Griffin before. I liked it.

  “Okay Hugh Hefner and Bunny #1,378, get in here before I throw cold water at you and break up your fun,” I warned, not at all kidding.

  Hunter and Ev groaned in unison, displeased with my interruption and the reminder of their audience.

  “Come on, lovebirds—” Griffin began, but I cut him off.

  “I think you mean horn toads.”

  “The pretty lady has a point. Come on, horn toads. I’m hungry.”

  They finally peeled apart and joined us at the dining table. Griff and I sat on one side, while Ev sat across from me and Hunter across from Griffin.

  “What did you get tonight, Hunter?” I asked.

  “Sushi,” he replied, and all three broke out into fits of laughter.

  Sushi was not innately funny; clearly there was a backstory I hadn’t heard yet. They exchanged a few more barbs, which made no sense to me, before dissolving into hysterics. It was obvious that Griffin had officially become a member of our clan. I embraced the addition, but I wished I wasn’t left on the outside of their inside joke—I had missed so much while I was gone.

  Griffin looked at me and quickly composed himself. He leaned in close, closer than I had been to any man other than Hunter since the attack. I tensed momentarily but relaxed as he whispered into my ear.

  “I hate fish, completely and totally despise it. I usually bring the take-out to our Thursday night dinners, but one week Hunter did the honors and brought sushi. I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass, so I tried to eat around the fish…but it was freaking sushi. I spent the meal picking rice off the inside-out rolls with chopsticks—I am useless with those things, so I ended up stabbing more than anything else—and guzzling miso soup. When Ev and Hunter noticed my pile of naked seaweed-wrapped fish, they blew a gasket. I received a ten-minute lecture on the sanctity of Osh Sushi and how my waste was an abomination. Ev stormed into the kitchen and threw a frozen pizza at me before announcing that it was more than I deserved. After the two devoured my massacred sushi, they forgave me, but they still love to torture me about it.”

  I could picture the whole scene perfectly, the tiny wooden sticks in Griff’s hands as he abused Ev and Hunter’s favorite food. Ev verbally spanking Griff for said abuse. Her subsequent pizza Frisbee. I am sorry I missed it, but at least now I felt like I was there and was in on the joke. Griffin smiled down at me and I knew he understood. He
had recognized my moment of loneliness and reached out to pull me into the circle. I leaned my head into him, taking the comfort he offered until silence registered.

  Griff and I broke from our private moment and were trapped by Huntleigh’s (yes, I gave them a cheesy couple name in my mind) astute gaze. Not interested in being the Petri dish sample under their microscope, I took evasive action to distract them.

  “I had my first session with Dr. Veritus today,” I cast my bait, knowing Huntleigh would bite.

  “How’d it go?” they asked in stereo.

  It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

  “Good…I think. She was different than any of the therapists at The Phoenix Centre, almost rude.”

  “She was rude to you?” Ev demanded, ready to head into battle for me.

  “Rude isn’t the right word. She was sarcastic and dismissive, but not in a bad way.”

  Ev looked at me skeptically, not ready to lay down her sword.

  “For example, she didn’t want to talk about the attack or my mini-breakdown afterward. When I told her about my parents she listened and then didn’t explore it further. It was just…different,” I said weakly, aware my explanation did little to clarify my point, but how could I explain what I didn’t understand?

  “That sounds completely unprofessional. When I spoke to her on the phone after your attack, she was so nice and dedicated. She even recommended TPC, which was incredibly helpful,” Ev said.

  “That’s what you needed, Ev. Sam’s needs may require a different approach. Treating her as if she is fragile could be more harm than help,” Griffin said, shocking Ev and I both. “Think of it as triage; she needs to address the most pressing issues that are still open sores and hindering her ability to heal. The portions that are already scarred over may not be pretty, but they are not a danger to her. At some point she may want to revisit those scars, see what can be done to remove them or reduce their impact, but they are not the primary concern.”