by Portia Moore
“He’s dead.”
I see him visibly swallow.
“Or might as well be.” I shrug one shoulder, looking intently at my pancakes. “It’s no big deal.”
“But that is a big deal,” he says quietly, almost stunned. Did he not expect something so tragic?
“Look,” I say, sighing with frustration as I look up at him with narrowed eyes and a blunt gaze. “You want my story? Here it is. I spent most of my life knocking around foster families, jumping from home to home, bad parent after bad parent…black eyes and busted lips and forty-year-old hands on my ass.” I stare at him. “That’s me. That’s my past.”
“Jesus.” He runs his hands through his hair again, looking stunned and unsure of what to say. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
All I can do is laugh, trying to catch my breath between bursts. He looks shocked, but I don’t care. Sorry? He’s sorry? What a thing to say, as if he’s had anything to do with any of it. As if an apology can fix so many years of abuse and neglect and fear and hunger and deprivation—of basic needs, of love, of hope. There’s absolute silence between us for a moment, and I look at him. “All you need to know is that I’ve had to fight really fucking hard to even be here right now.” I wave my hand, indicating the diner around us. He doesn’t have even the slightest concept of what I mean, of just how hard.
“I’ve literally given everything I’ve got to survive,” I continue. “Done things I don’t believe in. Fallen in with people I can’t even think about. I didn’t want to be this person, but unfortunately, that’s the goddamn hand that the universe decided to deal me, and you—I don’t know where you fit in all of this, but you’ve interrupted some plans, let’s just say that.”
“I’m sorry to be an inconvenience,” he says, his tone light and playful, and I can tell he doesn’t mean it even a little bit. It should make me angry, feel placated and ignored, that I’ve told him all of this and he makes a joke. But I like it, somehow. I like that even faced with all of that misery and drama, he can still find something funny in it.
“On a lighter note,” I say softly, looking into his eyes, “I’m obsessed with music. I can listen to it all day. I love fruit and chocolate…and I apparently have a thing for hot guys that like to pry more than they should.” I smile at him as I say the last part, and he chuckles. Just like that, the mood lightens between us.
“Well, I’ll make you a deal,” he says, and I raise my eyebrows warily.
“I won’t ask you anything else about your past if you eat some of your food.”
I can’t help but smile at that. As I start to eat, the rain begins to come down outside, softly at first and then harder, and I see Ian look out of the window, watching the storm thoughtfully. I know what he’s thinking, because it’s the same thing I am—that there’s a storm here, in me and between us, and there’s no telling what will happen when it blows itself out.
He looks at me as I finish the last of my pancakes, smiling. “What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously at him. “Have I got something on my face?”
His hand covers mine. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Right here.” And then, before I can stop him, he leans over and kisses me, right on the mouth.
On my next day off, I wind up spending the afternoon at Blue’s apartment. I hadn’t thought that I’d see him again after the job, but he called shortly after giving me the flash drive to ask if the information on it had been what I needed. I’d thought for sure it was a ploy to get me to go out on a date with him or into bed. I’d asked if he could get me more information if I needed it, and he’d said yes…for a price. The price, as it turns out, was going to a movie, some futuristic sci-fi thing.
“I want to be very clear,” he’d said over the phone, his voice jovial, “this is a friends-only kind of thing. I just think you’re interesting, and weirdly fun to be around, despite your clear lack of respect for your own safety.”
I hadn’t believed him even a little bit, but I’d been bored enough to accept. And wonder of wonders—he’d really meant it. He hadn’t so much as moved to take my hand or put his arm around me during the movie, and he didn’t look below my chin even once. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d mentioned a girl, I would’ve thought for sure he was gay. He really did just want to be friends.
And to my surprise, so did I. I’d never been the type to make friends, but Blue checked both of the boxes that I’d have if I did want to make them—he could be useful if I needed it, and he didn’t ask a lot of me. He doesn’t pry about my past or ask weird questions—which I only seem to be okay with when it comes to Ian.
We wind up in his bed with a pizza and a cheap six-pack, bad 80s action movies on his large flat-screen television. With anyone else I’d be waiting for them to make a move—hell, who am I kidding? If I were doing this in bed with anyone else, I’d be drugging them and taking photos to finish a job. But there’s no sexual tension with Blue, just a friendly, relaxed afternoon. In fact, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time, not with anyone…
Except Ian.
“So who’s this girl you met?” I ask playfully as I crack open another beer. There’s a car chase with too many badly filmed explosions happening on the television. I grab the remote and turn it down a notch.
Blue shrugs. “Her name’s Katie. Sweet. Little, petite, and blonde. But I don’t know if it’s going anywhere.”
“Why not?” I ask curiously.
“Eh, she comes from a good family. Money, has a charity foundation, grew up with every comfort in the world. Travels, designer clothes, all of that.”
“Sounds awful.” I wrinkle my nose as I take a sip of my beer.
“No, she’s not like that. She’s different,” he insists. “Not snobby at all. And I think she actually likes me. But come on. Her family is going to shit if they see me.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you aren’t exactly the Leave it to Beaver type.”
“What about you?” Blue retorts. “Anyone crazy enough to hang around you for long?”
“You’re still here,” I say, laughing.
“Well, clearly I’m insane. You’ve got that look, though. Spill.”
I don’t bother asking what look. I know exactly what he’s talking about, and I hate it. I never thought I could get this way over a guy. Ian’s done something to me, left a mark on me, and it makes me nervous and excited and worried all at once. “I did meet someone,” I admit.
“And? How far did it go?”
“Pretty far.”
“Alright!” Blue high-fives me. “Was it good?”
“Yeah…it really was.” I leave out the part about it being my first time.
“So? Are you going to see him again?”
I sigh. “I like him. And he likes me a lot, I think.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I snort. “You’ve seen me, how I am. I can’t fall in be with anyone. It’s ridiculous to even consider it.”
Blue shrugs, opening a new beer of his own. “It doesn’t matter how fucked up your past is, Aly. Anyone can love someone if it’s the right person.”
“How idealistic of you.” I drain the rest of the beer, rolling my eyes. “My situation is a little different, though.”
“Come on, it can’t be worse than mine. My parents couldn’t handle having a kid, spent more time getting fucked up than watching me. I wound up with relatives, and when they couldn’t handle it I’d get handed over to the state, spent some time in foster care, and then some relative would feel guilty and take me back for a little while. And on and on it went. I still think love is possible though. And family. Just takes a certain kind of person. Maybe I find them, maybe I don’t. But it’s not impossible.”
I look at him, momentarily stunned. Maybe that’s why I like him, I think. He’s not so different from me, after all. Well, there’s a few key differences, but he understands some of what I’ve had to go through. “Foster care for me, too,” I say quietly. “Since I was four.”
“Well, ther
e you go.” Blue reaches out and fist-bumps me playfully. “Homeless kids club for life.”
I roll my eyes. “You seem to have made it out better than I did. I’m pretty fucked up.” I pause. “The information I asked for? It’s because I’m pretty sure that Crestfield dude is my brother. He claimed to be, anyway. But I wanted to find out more before I talk to him. If I talk to him.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to be part of a rich family? You could stop pretend-fucking rich guys and screwing them over for money. Probably extend your lifespan.”
“Or not,” I retort. “There’s always a trade-off, always an ulterior motive. Someone probably needs a kidney or something. Maybe both kidneys. Probably him, honestly.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m not going to get wrapped up in it. Nothing good is going to come of it.”
Blue is silent after that. We move closer to each other on the bed, more out of a desire for comfort than anything else. The beer and carbs have made me sleepy, coupled with the rain that’s starting outside. Before I know it I’ve fallen asleep next to him.
I wake a few hours later, Blue still snoring next to me, and I’m shocked to realize that he hasn’t tried anything. He hasn’t given me any reason to think that he would…but some part of me was still on edge, waiting for it. Waiting for that other shoe to drop, for him to be the kind of guy they always turn out to be, eventually.
But now, I think I really have made a friend. One I can trust, one who will be there for me.
Yet another first.
10
Kam
It’s my six-month anniversary with Megan, and I have a surprise for her that I know is going to blow her away. I touch the small envelope in my pocket, imagining her face when I give it to her. I’m slightly nervous that she might say no, but at this point, I’m almost certain that that won’t be the case. We’ve spent almost every waking moment that we can together anyway for the last six months—and I wouldn’t change any of it. All I want is more of the same with her. Every day that we spend together is better than the last.
When Megan opens the door, my mouth drops. I’ve seen her dressed up, but never like this. She’s wearing a tight, strappy black bandage dress that accentuate her breasts, pushing them up into perfect cleavage that makes my mouth water to look at it. It’s short, tight, and makes her look sexier than I could have ever dreamed, so hot that I’m hard right there, looking at her. She’s wearing high black pumps, dramatic makeup that only highlights her beautiful features, and instead of her usual thick curls, her hair is straightened in a dark curtain that I want to run my fingers through all night.
If her goal was to make me want to rip her dress off the moment I saw her, she’s succeeded. I would have thought she’d be too reserved to wear something like this, but she meets my gaze with a flirtatious expression that says she’s completely at home in it. I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life.
“You look…” I can’t find words to adequately describe it. I’m hard as a rock, looking down at her with so much lust that I think I might explode from it. I step inside, closing the door behind me, and she smiles knowingly. It only makes me want her more, that she’s doing this on purpose, that she knows what she does to me and wants it. “Is Gabriella home?” I ask, my voice deep and husky, thick with desire. I look around, trying to see if anyone else is here besides us.
“She left for work an hour ago,” Megan says, her lashes fluttering as she looks up at me, her skin flushing that shade of pink that it always does when she’s aroused. I know these things about her now, all of her tells, the little things that she’s never shown anyone else. I step forward and grasp her waist, one hand sliding around to squeeze her ass in the skin-tight dress, my hands roving over her body as I pull her closer to me, letting her feel how hard I am, how badly I want her.
“We can’t,” she protests weakly as I back her up, towards the nearest wall. I can’t wait. Just the thought of sitting through dinner and the rest of our date night thinking about fucking her, the desire and anticipation, would drive me mad. I need her now. I slide my hand up under the dress and pull her panties down, tossing them aside as I unzip my suit pants, and she gasps as she feels me pressed between her legs.
“I’ll be quick,” I whisper, and grasp her hip. With one smooth thrust I’m inside of her, and I groan aloud at the sensation of it. She’s so wet, turned on just by those few minutes, and the thought of it alone is enough to make my dick throb inside of her, the sensation of her, tight and welcoming around me, enough to drive me insane. I kiss her hard as she holds onto my neck, and I grab her ass, picking her up to wrap her legs around my waist as I pin her to the wall, my tongue plunging into her mouth to taste her as I thrust faster and harder, as deep as I can into her. I slide my hands over her, letting her see the hunger in my eyes. I cup her breasts, slide my thumbs over her hard nipples beneath the tight fabric, run my hands down over her hips and thighs, holding her to me as I thrust my cock as deeply into her as I can, wanting to bury myself inside of her.
“Oh god,” she moans, and my hands tighten around her waist. I can feel myself go solid, my dick throbbing as I hover on the verge of orgasm, and I feel her thighs quiver, the telltale sign that she’s about to come too. She’s panting, and I groan aloud.
“I’m about to come,” I warn, moaning again as she clenches around me, and I shudder as I feel her climax wash over her. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do to pull out of her with that fluttering heat all around me, dragging me more deeply into her, but I do, moaning as I watch her shudder against the wall, her orgasm rippling through her as I set her down panting. I lean forward and kiss her, long and deep, and she laughs softly.
“I wanted you to rip my clothes off, but not before dinner,” she says playfully, and I laugh in response, helping her tug down the edge of her dress. She goes to grab me a towel to clean up, and once she comes back and we’re presentable again, I reach out and pull her to me, kissing her softly, slowly, as if we have all the time in the world. Because I hope that we do.
“I wanted to give you this at dinner,” I say softly. “But I can’t wait.” I reach into my suit jacket and pull out the thin black envelope, handing it to her. She raises her eyebrows but rips it open, her fingers flying as she eagerly looks to see what it is. I can see her hand shaking a little as she pulls out the two silver keys I slid into it earlier.
“I want you to move in with me,” I tell her, looking down into her shocked green eyes.
She’s silent for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to say no. And then she blinks up at me, her face stunned. “I…I don’t know what to say,” she stutters, and l lean down again, gently cupping her face in my hands as I kiss her. I put everything I can into that kiss, every hope and desire that I have, every bit of love and affection that I possess for her. I try to tell her, with that kiss, exactly what she means to me.
“Okay,” she whispers. And I’ve never been so happy in my life.
I can tell that it’s all she’s thinking about at dinner. I’ve taken her to one of my favorite five-star restaurants. For a lot of our dates, I’ve tried to keep things low-key, because I haven’t wanted to overwhelm her. But it’s our six-month anniversary, and I’ve just asked her to move in. I want to start showing her some of the things that I can give her. The things I want to give her, to spoil her with, to make up for all the bad that’s happened. I trail my fingers up her thigh and down again, thinking of what we might do when we get back to the apartment tonight—what will soon be our apartment—and how badly I want it, even though I just had her.
She cuts into the slice of chocolate ganache cake the waitress brings us and brings a bite up to my lips as my fingers slide up her thigh again. I let her slide it into my mouth just as I dip my fingers below the edge of her panties, one finger sliding inside as she gasps, and I swallow the cake.
I lick my lips, looking into her eyes without missing a beat, and she flushes again. I know exactly what she’s thinking about, and I int
end to do that and more to her tonight. I think of her moans earlier, and how I can make her do that again, and I feel my dick twitch in my pants, well on its way to being uncomfortably erect.
“Kameron.” A man’s voice cuts through my fantasy, and all possibility of an erection fades. All of the lust I felt a minute ago is replaced with surprise and irritation. I look up to see Uncle George and Aunt Marilyn standing in front of the table, Aunt Marilyn’s face in a tight, uncomfortable smile.
“We didn’t interrupt, did we?” George asks, and I quickly slide my hand out from under Megan’s dress. She looks away, clearly embarrassed, and I try to salvage the moment as best as I can.
“Megan, this is my Aunt Marilyn,” I say, standing up to step around the table and greet them. Megan does the same, but I can feel the tension in her. Surprisingly, Marilyn leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek, but I’m immediately irritated again when George goes in for a hug and presses himself as closely to Megan as he can. She stiffens all over, looking upset and uncomfortable, and I hate him for intruding on our special night.
“It’s so good to see you again, Megan,” he says smugly. The knowing look he gives us tells me that he saw exactly what I was doing under the table. Megan realizes it too, and I can see that it makes her want to disappear into the floor. I want nothing more than for him to go away.
“We’re celebrating our anniversary,” I say pointedly, hoping that he’ll get the hint and leave.
“It hasn’t been a year, has it?”
“Six months,” I say flatly, daring him to make fun of us for it.
“How wonderful,” Marilyn cuts in, smiling, and I appreciate the effort, at least.
“Yes, very cute,” George says, and he couldn’t be any smugger or condescending if he tried. I reach for Megan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, but I’m not sure if it’s helping.