Free Me

by Laurelin Paige

  He raised his arm and looked at the black etched compass, as if he’d forgotten what it looked like. “Don’t you think it’s cool?”

  “Actually, it’s rather hot.” I’d never known I liked tattooed men until I’d seen JC strip, but now I realized that inked men hit my buttons.

  Or maybe just JC hit my buttons.

  He returned his arm to my back and smirked. “I can live with hot.”

  I wouldn’t doubt that he’d earned the attention of plenty of women with both the positioning and choice of image. Yet, I doubted that he’d gotten it in hopes of hooking up. He didn’t need skin art for that.

  I tapped his chest playfully. “But does it mean something? Why did you get it?”

  He groaned as if he didn’t want to tell me. After scrubbing his hand over his face, he said, “Honestly? I don’t know. I was drunk.”

  “You drunk-tattooed?”

  “It’s why I don’t drink anymore. I do crazy things and have no recollection. Once when I was drinking, I remember wanting street tacos. Next thing I know, I was waking up in a cantina in Mexico.”

  His eyes sparkled when he talked, and I bet that mine sparkled with his. “You woke up with a compass tattoo?”

  “The compass was another drunken event.” His tone said he was still embarrassed about it. “I’d never even considered a compass before it showed up on my arm.”

  “At least you didn’t pick a flower or a MOM tattoo. Drunk JC has good taste.”

  “I can’t even think about what I could have gotten. Like I said, no more alcohol for me.”

  “You don’t drink?” I was asking so many questions. Too many probably, but it felt so liberating to finally get them past my lips. And his answers…I drank them up like they were the only water on a deserted island.

  “I’ll have an occasional glass of wine, but nothing harder unless I want to lose several hours of my life and end up as the real life study for the next Hangover movie.”

  “Hey, those are good movies.” I ran my fingers across the grid of letters on his forearm. Four rows that spelled out a date—December seventeenth. Had he flinched as I touched it? Or was that just my imagination? This was the tattoo that interested me the most. The one that I was sure shed the most light on the man I’d unexpectedly fallen for. “Is this one also the result of overindulging?”

  “No. That one’s not.” He brushed against a spot on my back. “What’s this from?”

  “What?” I looked over my shoulder, but I already knew what he was talking about. I hadn’t thought about it in a while, and since it was under my blade, I didn’t see it all the time to remind me of its existence.

  “This mark.” He leaned up so he could see it better. “Is it a scar?”

  “Yeah, it is.” But I wanted to know more about his tattoo. “So what’s important about December seventeenth?” He’d said his birthday was in July, so it wasn’t that. What kind of a date would a man mark on his skin? Someone else’s birthday. An anniversary. A date that he fell in love. Like I could so easily have today’s date tattooed on my body. It would already forever be tattooed on my heart.

  I couldn’t help but think his date had to do with a woman.

  But maybe that was only because I was a woman and because my imagination was limited. Or I was looking for a reason to be jealous.

  JC completely ignored my question, which only made me more convinced it was about a woman, and asked his own. “How did you get your scar?”

  I wondered if we were playing a game of bluff. Who would tell the story they didn’t want to tell first? Except he’d already told me the story behind two of his tattoos. It was probably my turn. Quid pro quo and all.

  I bit my lip then said, “I did something stupid.”

  “What was that?”

  “Made my dad mad.” I’d been wearing a bikini to sun in the yard. I’d known he wouldn’t like me doing it, but I’d done it anyway, hoping he wouldn’t catch me. But he did. I was twelve and he’d accused me of dressing like a prostitute. He’d picked up a loose board from the fence, not realizing there was a nail in it. Or maybe not caring. When he smacked it across my back, the nail caught in my bare skin and pulled a deep gash. It should have had stitches, hence why it had scarred so badly. I’d been lucky to not get tetanus, because he never took me in to have it looked at.

  It wasn’t something I told people. I didn’t like the pitying looks I got when they found out my father beat his kids. Worse was when they could no longer look at me at all. It’s surprising how many folks can’t deal with other people’s tragedy. Like it’s contagious or something.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to JC to know either. But he’d asked, and I wanted to be honest with him more than I wanted to hide the ugly parts of me. Wanted to show him that he could be honest with me.

  “Your dad did this?”

  I tilted my head up to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” I prepared myself to answer more.

  But JC surprised me. Putting two fingers under my chin, he leaned up and kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that said what words couldn’t say. It said I’m sorry this happened to you, but it didn’t come off patronizing. It said Let me make it better, while doing exactly that.

  It was the best balance of compassion and understanding that I’d ever received in regards to my past abuse.

  I was so grateful and moved by it that I quickly let it grow. I slipped my tongue deep into his mouth and shifted my body on top of his. His gentle caresses turned rougher, more desperate, as he sucked and nipped at my lips. His cock stiffened under my belly, and without breaking our kiss, I drew my knees up to straddle him. Still wet from earlier, I slid down, sheathing him easily.

  I pulled away from his kiss, sitting back to ride him, my palms flat on his chest. This position was outside my comfort zone, and it took a few minutes for me to establish any sort of a rhythm. JC had been right when he’d guessed that I liked to hand over the control in the bedroom. But maybe he needed that from me sometimes too. Even if he didn’t need it, I wanted to show him that I could be versatile. For him. That I could give as well as take.

  It was different being in charge. I had to shift a few times before I found the angle that hit where I liked when JC usually found it immediately. With me on top, he could touch me in ways he normally couldn’t. As soon as his thumb landed on my clit, the pressure began to build, low and warm. Spreading over me and through me, gathering momentum until it felt like I could soar.

  Suddenly he sat up, burying his face between my breasts. “Oh, Gwen…”

  I slowed as he kissed around one of my nipples. Then his eyes fastened to mine, and he said, “I can’t decide if you came along at the best time or the worst.”

  He tugged my knees higher, forcing my ass to sit back so I sat more firmly on his cock. Gripping my hips, he took over, knocking my clit just right as he rocked me against him. “Right now, I’m just glad that you came along.”

  His words were all I needed to spur my climax. It hit me, bowling me over, as though it hadn’t given me any warning, despite the fact that it really had. Much the way falling in love with JC had hit me. All the signs had been there. Still, I’d refused to see it coming on.

  And what could I do about it now? Nothing except ride the wave the same way that I was riding the crest of my orgasm. It shattered through me. It wracked me and wrecked me. Yet in the end, as I dug my fingers into JC’s shoulders and felt him pound through my resistance, I was better for it. I was calmed and pieced together. I was made new. I was made whole.

  ***

  We slept after.

  We dozed away the afternoon, wrapped around each other.

  When I woke up, the room was dim and JC wasn’t in the bed next to me. I sat up and felt better as soon as I found him in the armchair, fully dressed, watching me. He sat with his legs outstretched, ankles crossed, like when I first met him. Yet his back was straight and his shoulders tight.

  Before any words were spoken, I could tell things were different.
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  “What time is it?” I asked, hoping my half-asleep state was causing me to misread.

  He smiled, and while it was sincere, it was weak. “Almost eight,” he said. “I was just going to wake you.”

  “Yeah. I need to get home and get ready for work.” I’d have just enough time if I didn’t have too much trouble getting a cab. Focus on that, I told myself. On the responsibilities I had. I didn’t have time to dissect what was going on here.

  “I called a taxi for you.” How he could always read my mind, I’d never know.

  It struck me that if he had called for a ride before waking me that he’d either wanted to make sure I got as much sleep as possible or he’d wanted as little time with me as possible. I hoped it was the former. But, from the awkward distance between us, I feared it was the latter.

  “All your things are there.” He nodded to the bottom of the bed where he’d laid out my clothes. Was the gathering of my things a kind gesture or a hint? “I’ll let you get dressed.” He stood and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  I dressed quickly, knowing if I slowed down I’d have time to analyze, and I was afraid I’d be emotional and jump to conclusions. Just because he seemed distant now didn’t mean I’d imagined how things were earlier. And it didn’t mean he regretted it either. It could simply mean he knew I needed to leave. Knew that he’d be a distraction if he didn’t give me space.

  Still, shutting the door seemed like such a blatant statement. Impudent, even. Separating me from him. Shutting himself off. Shutting himself down. It stung, and my eyes blurred with tears.

  Say ouch.

  I blinked them away.

  When I came out of the bedroom, JC was leaning against the back of the couch. Waiting for me, it seemed. Waiting for me to leave maybe. I spotted his suitcase by the door. “Are you still going to L.A. tonight?”

  He gave a short nod. “My car will be here soon. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “We could share an elevator.”

  “I’ll catch the next one.”

  So his bags were packed and his ride was coming, and yet he wasn’t going to ride down to the lobby with me. Had I done something so wrong that he couldn’t even spend another few minutes with me? If he had something to do without me around, he could just tell me. This distinct coldness was brutal.

  At least he saw me to the door. I paused, my fingers wrapped around the handle, to search his face. So badly I wanted to see the man I’d spent the day with. When I really studied his eyes, I thought maybe I saw him.

  Maybe.

  He sighed. And when he did, he softened. Then for sure I glimpsed the guy I’d made love to all afternoon. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the closet. “We broke a lot of rules today, Gwen.”

  It occurred to me that maybe he didn’t realize I was okay with the change. “Rules were made to be broken.” I winked, trying to adopt the lighter character that usually belonged to him.

  He smiled weakly. “Some of them.”

  My chest sank and I wasn’t able to hide the disappointment from my face.

  He rushed at me, cradling my face in his hands. “Don’t, Gwen. We’ll sort things out next time, okay?”

  I leaned into his touch, and all doubts quieted when he brushed his lips against mine. We didn’t usually part with a kiss. It was a sign. Things were okay. All was well.

  He was probably just overwhelmed. Like I was overwhelmed. We didn’t have a chance to figure out what should happen between us next. What did I expect? That he’d fall at my feet and profess his love in the fifteen minutes we had before I needed to leave? I certainly wasn’t about to.

  So.

  Like he’d said, we’d sort it out next time. Right now he was still trying to get a handle on the concept of us. Whether love fit into our carefully constructed non-attached worlds. Whether we’d met at the best or the worst time.

  To be fair, I was still trying to get a handle on it as well.

  Best or worst time. For me, it would always be the worst time. But did it even matter? Somehow it seemed to matter very much. To JC. Mattered that it wasn’t the best time. That it wasn’t an ideal time.

  So despite how upbeat I tried to be, when I walked out of the hotel room, alone, I couldn’t help but wonder if it might be the last time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Interesting thing about being in love—it brightens a dimly lit world and puts a pleasant pink hue on everything. Which was probably why I woke up the next day feeling more optimistic about JC and me. Because I was head over heels. I was as sure of it as I had been sure it wasn’t what I wanted. And welcomed or not, whether it changed anything between us or not, whether he felt the same or not, I was pretty certain it was an emotion that was sticking around.

  Thankfully, the club had been busy. It kept me emotionally and mentally occupied through my shift. When I’d gotten home in the morning, I’d made the birthday breakfast for Norma, which had gone well despite the bubble of distraction in my chest. We made plans to meet at her office at seven so we could have dinner and I could give her the La Perla gift certificate before I had to be to work at ten. Then she was off. By the time I’d cleaned up breakfast, I was exhausted. I collapsed into bed and fell asleep with only a minimal amount of fixating on JC.

  Since I’d gone to sleep much earlier than usual, I woke up much earlier. After getting a solid eight hours, I was wide-eyed by a little after four in the afternoon and in a fairly good mood. An excellent mood, actually, even before coffee. I felt like Cinderella the day after the ball—filled with hope instead of the gloom that she could so easily have adopted about her impossible situation.

  That was how the story of Cinderella went, wasn’t it? I was so out of touch with fairytales.

  The text I found on my phone from Eric only made the day better: Ben can call you at three our time to wish Norma Happy Birthday. Does that work?

  Three his time was six our time. Thank God that my schedule was screwed, or I would have slept through the whole thing. I responded with a yes, feeling as much like the fairy godmother as I did Cinderella. I was about to make someone else’s wish come true. I practically sang as I got ready to surprise my sister with the gift I knew she wanted most.

  I was almost out the door when it occurred to me that Norma might have meetings. I’d been just planning to show up early and surprise her with Ben’s call, but occasionally she was tied up right until the end of the day—even on Fridays. I checked the clock. It was five. Maybe I could catch her assistant before he left for the weekend.

  I practically squealed when he answered. “Boyd! I caught you. It’s Gwen.”

  “Good evening, Gwen. I haven’t talked to you in awhile. Nice to hear your voice.”

  Boyd was younger than I was—twenty-five, if I remembered correctly. I’d been a little stunned when Norma hired him more than a year before. Sure, he’d had an adequate resume, but he was fresh from college and young. Really young.

  And Boyd was good-looking.

  Not in the sharp, confident way that JC was good-looking. Not even in the brooding, classy way that her boss, Hudson Pierce, was good-looking.

  No, Boyd was a different type of good-looking. The boyish, nerdy type. His hair was floppy and he wore dark-rimmed glasses that didn’t do much to hide his large chocolate brown eyes. He was nice. Sweet. An all-around decent guy. Honestly, if I hadn’t been the type to not date, I might have tried to get his phone number. Except that might have been weird considering his superior was my sister.

  Besides, I wasn’t really that attracted to him. It was more like he was the type of guy I should be attracted to and just never was.

  Plus, I had a feeling he was probably gay. No man kept his hands that well-manicured without being rich or homosexual.

  And I didn’t date. So there was that.

  But now that I was humming with feelings of love, the idea of dating wasn’t all that awful. In fact, going out sounded quite lovely—as long as I was going
out with JC. For the first time in our arrangement, I wished for more than our one night a week. I wished he wasn’t across the country. Wished he were joining me for Norma’s dinner. Wished he were with me for everything.

  Boyd’s questioning tone drew me back to the present conversation that I’d somehow managed to forget I was having. “What was that?” I asked, forcing myself to focus.

  “Norma’s on the other line. Do you want me to leave her a message?”

  “Actually, no. You were who I wanted to talk to. I’m meeting her for dinner at seven. Does she have anything scheduled right before that?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.

  “No. She’s done with her appointments for the day. Do you need me to schedule something?”

  I didn’t want Norma to have any hint of the surprise, so I said, “No. Just wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be running from somewhere to our dinner reservation.”

  “Got it.” After I thanked him, he added, “It really was nice hearing from you, Gwen. Don’t be such a stranger next time.”

  Huh. Was Boyd flirting with me? Or was he simply trying to be an involved assistant? He had become Norma’s right-hand man, so he possibly thought connecting with her sister was part of his job.

  Yeah, I was going with that.

  I was running late when I got to Pierce Industries. Traffic had been a bitch and I cursed myself for thinking a cab would get me there at this hour of the day in any reasonable amount of time. Then again, there wasn’t a straight shot of the subway from our place to Norma’s office, so I was pretty much screwed no matter what.

  I was checking my watch as I got off the elevator onto Norma’s floor—it was a quarter to six—so I didn’t see Hudson Pierce in front of me and bumped into him. We’d never met, but I knew who he was. It was the first time I’d seen him up close. He certainly was attractive, and I could see why my sister had fallen for him.

  But his eyes—they were so empty. As though they were missing something. As though he were missing something. Something vital. That nothingness made him seem eerily cold, despite his polite smile as I delivered my apology and headed toward my sister’s office.