She nods, keeping her eyes on the road. I study her profile, her button nose, her pixie bob hugging the sides of her head. She looks so much like Mom, like the photos I’ve studied over and over again through the years, wishing I could reach aside and feel the warmth of her, just once, the reality of her.
“Are you excited to go out on the yacht?” I ask.
“The yacht,” she repeats, with a wry grin. “This all seems so unbelievable.”
“I know,” I say, unable to stop a glowing smile from spreading across my face. “But it’s real. It’s happening. He wants me and I want him. I hope you can support me in this, Jacks. I promise it won’t affect your art career.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she says, reaching over and softly shoving my shoulder. Tinkerbell gives an accompanying yap. “Just worry about yourself. Worry about what you have—what your building. I won’t lie to you and say this is in any way normal. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. As long as this is real, then I’m on board.”
As long as this is real.
The phrase bounces painfully around in my mind.
She’s voicing the same fears that gripped me last night when I told Kris about Aaron Fitzgerald, the preppy douche-king who pretended to invite me to prom. Just for a joke, a twisted cruel joke.
I was so tempted to blurt his name out when I saw the fury that flooded Kristian’s eyes. My mind blazed with what my man would do to that asshole, but ultimately it’s for the best that I kept his name to myself.
Who knows how far Kris would go?
Jackie turns on the radio and together we sing along to one of our favorite pop songs, getting silly and dancing around. Our eyes meet at the red light, giggling as we sing. Tinkerbell hops from Jackie’s lap to mine, leaping up to my chest as though she wants to get involved. I laugh and lift her, helping her to dance as the light turns green and we continue on our journey.
When we pull up outside our apartment building, our landlord is just leaving.
Mr. Jenkins is an elderly man with a sharp face and an even sharper tongue. We always do our best to avoid him, especially when we have Tinkerbell in tow.
“Hide her under your shirt,” Jackie says out of the corner of her mouth. “Ah, fuck. Quick, Kimmy. He’s coming over here.”
I see that she’s right. Mr. Jenkins is walking down the street, lifting his hand in what would be a friendly wave if it was coming from anybody else.
We’ve never had a positive interaction with him.
We had to badger him for a week once when we weren’t getting any hot water.
“Sorry, Tinks,” I murmur, lifting my shirt a little and making to move her under.
But this little warrior princess is having none of it. She yaps and squirms away, glaring up at me with her angry quintessential Chihuahua expression.
Then it’s too late.
Mr. Jenkins is standing over my window. I see his neat shirt, tucked into his khaki pants, not a crease out of place.
“Shit,” Jackie murmurs.
Shit is right.
He knocks on the window, leaning down to peer inside.
Tinkerbell yaps at this new face.
This isn’t going to be good.
“Might as well roll it down,” I sigh. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
Jackie rolls down the window, letting in the surprisingly warm winter air. It really is a perfect day to go out on a yacht, even if that sentence makes me question if I’m asleep or awake.
All of this is so much like a dream.
“Hello, ladies,” Mr. Jenkins says in the most cheerful voice I’ve ever heard him use.
Usually, his voice is harsh, one-hundred percent that of the grumpiest folks in this city. Now he beams.
“And who’s this little lady? Hi there.”
Tinkerbell growls as though asking a question.
I glance at Jackie, but she looks as lost as I am.
“Well, I won’t take up much of your time,” Mr. Jenkins says, seeming awkward in the silence. “I just wanted to say that it’s very appreciated. And if you ever need any help, just let me know, okay? You two are my most valued tenants, but don’t tell the others.”
He chuckles at this, and I find myself laughing because really I don’t know what else to do.
“Sorry, Mr. Jenkins,” Jackie says. “But what’s very appreciated?”
He narrows his eyes as though Jackie has just asked if the sky is blue.
“The advance payments, of course,” he says. “Four months’ rent, out of the blue. It’s very generous. But I suppose some people just like to get everything in order, don’t they?” He grins down at Tinkerbell. “What a sweet looking dog. Anyway, like I said, won’t take up too much of your time.”
With that, he stands and trots away.
“Is he whistling?” Jackie murmurs.
I lean closer to the window, listening.
Yes, he is.
Mr. Jenkins is whistling.
“Kris,” I murmur. “He said we wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. He did this. Oh my God, Jackie, this must be proof that this is real. Don’t you think?”
“I think it’s proof you’re smitten,” she teases.
I giggle, moving as if I’m going to smack her. She laughs and raises her hands in a gesture of defense.
I can see how relieved she is, though, in the way her eyes shimmer.
Growing up with my big sister functioning as my parent, I became acutely attuned to her different moods and facial expressions. When I was very young – still in the orphanage – I used to keep a journal called All The Faces of Jacks. She laughed like crazy when she found it, but then hugged me closely when I thought she was mocking me.
“I love it,” she whispered, smoothing her hand through my hair. “And I love you.”
We get out of the car and head for the apartment building, walking through the lobby and then into the elevator. Tinkerbell squirms and whines from Jackie’s arms as we ride the elevator, making cute-as-heck yipping noises.
“I know, girl,” Jackie murmurs, stroking her hand over her ears.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. “She’s usually fine with the elevator.”
“Things are changing,” Jackie says. “I think she can sense it.”
I want to tell her things are changing for the better, but the words die on my lips.
Suddenly, an uncertain sensations start dancing inside my belly, twisting and teasing me.
I want to scream that things are only going to go up from here. Things are only going to shine brighter, blare warmer.
Is Jackie worried about Kris taking me away from her?
Am I worried about that?
“Thanks for agreeing to come on the yacht today,” I murmur, as we glide up toward our floor.
“Of course,” Jackie says, aiming a genuine seeming smile at me. “I’ll always support you, sis. You know that. The same way you support me.”
I reach over and give her shoulder a squeeze.
“Just remember me when you’re a famous artist,” I say. “By the way, I sent some photos of your art to that blog. They’re super-popular. It could be some awesome exposure.”
She grins but then narrows her eyes.
“You don’t remember me telling you about the blog,” I laugh.
“Guilty,” she smiles, as the elevator doors slide open.
We walk together down the hallway. It feels good not to have to hide Tinkerbell for once. Part of me almost wants one of our grumpy neighbors to throw their door open and threaten to call Mr. Jenkins just so we can rub it in their faces.
“See, this is why you need me,” I say. “I’ll have more time to help you with stuff like this going forward, Jacks. You can focus one hundred percent on your art.”
We stop at our apartment, the conversation trailing off as we take in the cardboard box sitting out front of our door. I walk over and pull the lid open, looking down as a smile spreads inexorably and sun-bright across my face.<
br />
Two life jackets sit inside and then, I notice with a mounting sense of glee, I spot a third life jacket.
A tiny one, looking as though it was built especially for Chihuahuas.
A note sits on the top, written in elegant calligraphy. I find it hard to imagine my Kris holding a pen so delicately, but he’s a gentleman just as much as he’s a beast.
I’ll send a car at noon, the note reads. I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been aching for you, Kimberly. Yours, always, Kristian X
I cradle the note to my chest, feeling how frantically and happily my heart is beating.
This is happening.
This is real.
It’s time I started to accept that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kristian
Mom stands on the dock in her faux-fur jacket, somehow making sipping from a paper cup of hot cocoa look elegant. The day is warm and bright, but the heat of the cocoa causes her breath to fog in the air.
“This is so exciting, Kris,” she declares, wheeling on me with a bright ear to ear smile. “A girl. You’ve really found a girl. I should be angry at you, though. Why in the devil did you have to wait until I’m so old?”
“Ah, calm down,” I chuckle. “You’ve got plenty of life left in you, Ma. Just wait. Becoming a grandmother will give you another burst of energy. And with all that yoga and all those health fads you’re into, hell, you’ll probably outlive me.”
She laughs, wagging her finger at me.
“They are not fads,” she says.
“What, even eating only seaweed and kale?”
“Okay, yes, fine. I’ll give you that one. But the rest are legitimate diet techniques.”
I roll my eyes, grinning.
It’s just Ma being Ma.
“I hope you get along,” I mutter, my hands in my pockets, fighting the urge to fidget.
I’ve ached to see Kimberly since I left her yesterday, but I had a meeting with several Union bosses I couldn’t miss. It’s the way of the life.
But I’ve cleared my schedule so I can spend the afternoon with the two most important ladies in my life.
Kimberly and my mother.
“Stop fussing,” Mom says, shooting me one of her looks.
For a moment, I remember the way I found her after she was assaulted. She was in the hospital, staring dead-eyed at the wall. It was a few weeks after my father’s death and the power games had spun out of control in the city.
After defeating Maury and becoming the Don of the Family, the Cartel tried to make a play.
Assault was one of their tactics.
I made that bastard pay. I drove the Cartel from the city.
She’s come a long way since then, going to therapy and coming to terms with what happened to her.
Perhaps having the bastard in the dirt helps.
I force the image away. I don’t let myself stew on it much. It must be because I spoke to Kimberly about it last night.
“I’m not fussing,” I smirk. “I’m strategizing on the best way to make you two get along.”
“Don’t you know anything about women?” she says grandiosely. “We always get along perfectly until men get involved.”
I chuckle and pace up and down the dock.
The Wanderer waits for us to board, a sleek large yacht, shiny in the afternoon sun. We’re getting lucky with the weather today, and yet some crazed part of me doesn’t believe that it’s luck. Some part of me thinks somebody, or something, arranged for the sun to shine down on us so brightly, as though somebody knows that I’m taking my lady out on the water today.
“Ah, here they are,” Ma says, commanding my attention.
I return to her side, standing up a little straighter now that I know my queen is almost with me.
A different feeling moves over me, not the same as last night. It’s warmer, fuzzy almost.
At first, I’m shocked.
I never felt this way.
But I can’t let my lust take control of me when my mother is standing right next to me, conscious of any change in my mood or demeanor.
Today has to be about romance, not the beast inside of me, the beast that’s battering its claws against my self-restraint, trying to break free and turn me feral.
Vinnie brings the jet-black car to the end of the dock and parks.
I feel my heartbeat pick up as my gaze comes to rest on her. She’s wearing the black winter coat I included in the box with the life jackets, the hood covered in frilly faux-fur. Beneath the coat – despite how thick and warm it is – my eyes automatically pick out the shape of her body, the heaving motion of her breasts.
I bite down and flit my gaze to her sister, instead, to stop the lust from erupting inside of me.
Her sister is shorter then Kimberly, with short hair and a thin build. She holds Tinkerbell in her arms, already wearing the life jacket Mother had made for the pup when I told her about the little Chihuahua.
We walk forward and meet them in the middle of the dock.
Kimberly’s eyes flit here and there as we approach, never quite settling.
She’s nervous, I guess, about me meeting her sister. Or about meeting my mother.
I stroll over to her and lean down, kissing her respectably on the cheek. I make sure to make it a quick kiss. Otherwise, I know something will erupt inside of me and make it impossible to hold myself back.
I stand up, the taste of her cool skin on my lips.
“Kimberly, Jackie, this is my mother, Carmela Cameno,” I say, waving a hand.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Mother says, stepping forward and embracing them both in turn, with kisses on both cheeks for good measure. “And this little darling must be Tinkerbell. Hello, girl.”
“Careful,” Jackie says. “She doesn’t like—oh.”
Jackie trails off when Tinkerbell tips her head back, grinning as Mother tickles her behind the ear.
“She’s never done that with a stranger before,” Jackie murmurs.
“That’s because she knows we’re not going to be strangers for long,” Mother thrills.
“Jackie,” Kimberly says. “This is Kristian. My …”
“I’m her boyfriend,” I say.
The word doesn’t do it justice, not even close.
Still, conventionalities come in use sometimes.
My heart – dormant for years – flares to life when Kimberly smiles at my words. It’s a bright smile, a new-star smile, and I find myself almost smiling like a fresh-faced boy in return. It clearly means a lot to her, and that makes it mean a lot to me.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Jackie says. “And thank you.”
I incline my head. She’s talking about the rent, I presume.
“There are no thanks required,” I tell her. “Shall we board?”
“What do you think, little lady, hmm?” Mother says, still doting on Tinkerbell. “Would you like to get on the water?”
The little white dog whines and moans, squirming in Jackie’s arms.
“What is it, girl?” Jackie says. “You want to go with Carmela?”
“Oh, please,” Mother laughs delightedly. “If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Jackie says, handing Tinkerbell over.
Tinkerbell curls up in Mother’s arms, rubbing against her jacket.
“Look, Kris,” she gushes. “Doesn’t she just remind you of Rusty?”
“Who’s Rusty?” Kimberly asks as the four of us move toward the yacht.
“Rusty,” I say, reaching down and taking her hand, our touch causing my skin to tingle, “was a Great Dane the size of a vending machine. I fail to see the comparison, Ma.”
“It’s in the eyes,” she declares. “When you’re dealing with dogs and people, you must always judge by the eyes.”
I share a look with Kimberly, and she smiles, letting me know she’s having a good time. So far, I’d say, this is going pretty well.
“You didn’t tell me it was going to be boiling hot,” Kimberly sm
iles, shrugging off her coat.
I almost roar when I see what she’s wearing underneath. It’s a gray hoodie, which perhaps shouldn’t send me into a near-frenzied compulsion. The fabric is thin, though, so thin that it outlines her build perfectly.
I turn my gaze away from her, gazing from the heated enclosure in which we sit out on the water. I stare across the sun-dappled sky to the iron-gray city, small and seemingly insignificant in the distance.
Or maybe it’s not the distance.
Maybe it’s just that everything seems insignificant when compared to my woman.
The enclosure is built of utterly transparent glass so that it’s as if we’re sitting on the deck. We get all the view without the biting coastal wind. The heat comes up from the floor, shimmering in the air, turning Kimberly’s cheeks a spank-me shade of red.
Fuck, I need to get my thoughts under control.
“Ah, dammit,” I smirk. “I’ve failed at honesty—always, haven’t I?”
Kimberly glows. I love making her look that way, all fluttering eyelashes, and quirking lips.
I’ve alive to every tic of her expression, every motion.
“What’s that?” her sister asks, sitting beside her.
“Just this thing we say,” Kimberly murmurs, her words shimmering as her smile distorts them. “It means we’re always going to tell each other the truth.”
“Always,” I affirm.
Jackie nods slowly and then takes a sip from her sofa.
“I like that,” she says after a pause. “I’ve been with some real dickheads in my time, and now that I think about it, it always came back to deceit. Honesty—always. Yeah, I really like that.”
I almost let out a sigh of relief. I know how important Jackie is to Kimberly, which makes it important for us to get along.
“So, Jackie,” Mother says, leaning forward. She’s sitting next to me, with Tinkerbell nestled comfortably in her lap. “My son tells me you’re an artist.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Because you wanted to know every last thing there was to know about them.”
Mother giggles, waving a hand. “Men will never understand how insatiably curious we are about people. What sort of things do you paint?”
Claiming His Forever: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 8