My Daughter's Boyfriend (15 page)

“Aw hell,” he said, and flopped on one of the beds so hard the springs squeaked.

“Aaron, come on. Don’t be mad. Everything doesn’t have to center around S-E-X.”

“Damn, you’re spelling the word now? I feel like I’m with some middle-school kid or something.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I don’t know . . .”

“You do know, you’re just not telling me.” He got up and snatched the comb from my hand. Squeezed my chin between his fingers like it was a soft rubber ball.

“Look at me and tell me what’s on your mind,” he commanded.

I looked at Aaron from his brown eyes to his thick lips. Opened my mouth and licked my bottom lip real slow. He moved his lips near mine, getting closer and closer.

I jerked my head.

“Oh, hell no.
Hell
no.”

“Aaron.” I winced. “Please.”

“Please nothing, Tracey. What kind of game you trying to pull?” he asked, getting all up in my face.

I clenched my teeth, then blew a shot of breath. “No game. No game. Just need to talk.”

“Ahhh,” he moaned, and slapped his hand against his thigh. “Here it comes. The eternal need of woman to let stuff off her chest.”

Aaron crashed back on the bed, laid his head on the pillow, and placed one fist on his forehead.

“Okay, let me have it. No, on second thought, I’ll do the honors. ‘Do you only want me for sex?’ ” he asked in this whiny, soft voice. “Or ‘I think we’re rushing and should slow down.’ ”

He said all this with his eyes closed, moving his head back and forth, snapping his little neck around.

I sat next to him, smiling but wanting to wring his fine-ass neck.

“Aw, baby,” I said in a gruff voice. “You know I don’t want you just for your body. But your tight booty and luscious tits are a big part of it.”

His eyes sprang open. He sat up and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me down next to him. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad we had this little talk. Now I
feeeeelllll
so much better (sniff, sniff). Finally, a man who has a heart, a man who understands my
feeeliinnngss.
”

“Awwww, Aaron. You’re a mess.”

“You’re the mess. Playing those teenaged games. I thought you were a real woman.”

I didn’t answer that. Didn’t know the answer.

He sighed and sat up. “Seriously, Tracey. What’s on your mind? If you want to talk, we can talk. The least I can do is hear you out.”

“Okay,” I told him. “To be honest, I . . . Let’s get to know each other even better. There’s still a whole lot I don’t really know about you.”

He scratched the inside of his ear. “Whatcha wanna know?”

“What was your childhood like?” I said in a soft voice.

“Get the fug outta here.”

“I’m serious, Aaron. I want you to answer whatever questions I ask.”

“This is some fool-ass—”

“Just answer.”

He groaned real loud but managed to say, “Okay, one score and one year ago, Aaron Khristian Oliver was born to one Lendan and Nethora Oliver . . .”

My eyes twinkled. He looked so cute sitting up there, trying his best to do what I asked.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. My folks waited a while before having me. They were in their forties. Dad was busy hoofing it up making money with his business, an auto-repair shop, and Mom was an educator.”

“You’re an only child right?” I asked him.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“So you’re studying . . . ?”

“Yeah, this semester I’m attending UH in Fort Bend and—”

“As what? Are you a junior?”

“Nope, a sophomore. Got started late.”

“And you work at the main campus?”

“Yeah, part-time job as a CAD intern.”

“Oh,” I said, and picked at my cuticles, which were really looking yucky, and hurt whenever I . . .

“See what I’m saying, Tracey? We’re talking, but you still don’t look very satisfied. Why do women insist on talking like it’s going to make some kind of difference as far as where a relationship goes?”

I averted my eyes.

“I thought so.”

“No, Aaron, see, you’re contradicting yourself. Way back when, you told me you had a lot of experience with women and that you know what they want to hear and all that. Now you’re acting like what I’m doing is so foreign.”

“Look, it’s not like I don’t know what you’re doing. But there’s a big difference between knowing what you’re doing and me being in the mood to put up with it.”

“What?”

“Ooooh, wait a sec, this is all wrong. We came here to be together. I feel you’re trying to play some kind of game, some emotional tug-of-war, and I’m destined to lose. I want to hold you in my arms, Tracey, and I thought you wanted me to. Surely we don’t have to fork over cash to the Marriott just to talk, do we?”

I stared into space, feeling like a telemarketer trying to sell funeral plots. It was like I wanted to be with him, yet I tried to do what I could to justify what I thought we had. Talk, bond, do
anything
as long as the emphasis didn’t focus on the lovemaking. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was more than adequate, but I guess I wanted to balance our relationship even if I didn’t have firm plans to make him a serious boyfriend. Wasn’t sure that I could maintain Aaron as a serious boyfriend.

“Hey, y-you got a problem being with me, Tracey?”

He had such a serious, concerned look on his face. My heart softened and I held him and closed my eyes. He grabbed me around my waist and pressed his face against my hair, caressing and rubbing it, stroking the top of my head.

“God, I wish you didn’t act so crazy,” he told me in a husky voice.

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be me, now would I?”

“True, but your moods can take a toll on a brother. Why you so damn moody?”

We sat on the floor, me between his legs, him holding me around my waist. I opened my eyes, leaned against his chest, pulled his hands in front of me, and played with his fingers.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid.”

“Of?”

“I like what we have, and I want it to last for a long, long time.”

“Do you?” he asked, and I heard the smile in his voice. I turned my head so that my lips met his, and gave him a clumsy yet warm kiss.

“Yes, I do. Being with you feels so good, yet so bizarre. But sometimes I wonder if I’m better off yearning for Steve . . . he called me a little while ago. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“How would I know that, through osmosis?”

“Well, I’m telling you now.”

He let go of my fingers and pressed his cheek against my cheek.

“What he say?”

I moved my head away. “It was so odd. He told me . . . never mind.”

“Uh-uh. Nope, tell me,” he insisted, sticking his neck out until I had a side view of his face.

“I’m sorry, Aaron. I never should have brought that man’s name up in the first place. I know you probably don’t want to hear about Steve, and I don’t blame you. There shouldn’t be any competition between you and another man. There
is
no competition.”

“Hey, when it comes to men, there’s always competition, even when there isn’t any competition.”

“That right?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Still nestled between his legs, I grabbed his fingers and grazed them across my cheek, staring into space.

“Aaron? You feel the same about me as I feel about you?”

“I’ll let you decide.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Would you please tell me so I’ll
know
that I know.”

“Well,” he said, and moved his hands from my face to my nipples, “you know I love being with you, love touching you, love making love to you, if you’d only let me.”

I laughed and struggled to close my eyes. His magical hands squeezing and rubbing my breasts made me one breath away from a faint.

“Mmmm, I love doing it to you, too,” I told him. His hands felt so good on my nipples, I had no doubt that my body’s milk factory was in production. I squirmed and pressed my legs together.

“I wish I could see you all the time. And I think I might have to do something about that,” he said.

“Something like what?”

“I don’t think I should date Lauren anymore,” is what it sounded like he said.

I opened my eyes. “Oh yeah?”

He was silent.

“What are you going to do, Aaron?”

“I may have a talk with her and break things off.”

“When?”

“That’s the problem. Christmas is this Saturday. For some reason people always break up right before Christmas. I’d hate to do that to her, though. Already got her a present,” he said, and I felt him release my breasts.

I sighed and said tersely. “You never told me what you got her.”

“Does it matter at this point?”

“If you still plan on giving it to her, it does,” I said, staring straight ahead, knowing that he was near, yet he seemed so far.

He came and slid next to me on the floor, studying my expression for a moment. “D-do you mind if I give Lauren a present?”

“Hell,” I said, and jerked to the side, “I don’t know. It’s too close to Christmas to take back the gift . . . so maybe you should give it to her. That would only be right.”

“Okay, cool.”

“What did you get her, Aaron?” I said, and bumped my shoulder against his.

“I-I got her a quartz watch with a black leather band.”

“Oh, really? That sounds good,” I said, and looked at my wrist.

“You mad?”

“Why would I be mad, Aaron?” I replied, and forced a smile.

“Just checking.”

“Well, you don’t need to check. I know that at the time you got her a present, you two were on different terms.”

“But things have changed since then, right?” he said, and raised his eyebrows.

“Most definitely.” I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“Well, I think it’s very considerate of you to let me give her the gift. I think we’ll do the Christmas thing and I’ll tell her that we gotta break things off. Think that would be okay?”

“I don’t want to be in on the decision of when and how you break up with my daughter. Already feels strange as it is.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You are okay with this, aren’t you?” he said, and grabbed my hand.

“Aaron, it doesn’t matter how I feel, it’s your relationship. Do what you think is best,” I said, hoping my words would convince him in a way my heart couldn’t.

“I think being with the one I’d rather be with is best,” he said, squeezing my hand with a finality I couldn’t ignore.

I turned my head, my lips, toward him. We kissed hungrily, tongues raking across one another, exchanging sensual juices and reckless love.

“Mmmmm,” I groaned after grabbing his head between my hands, sucking his tongue for a few minutes, and feeling instantly overheated. “I have a suggestion.”

“What’s that?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

“Whatever you plan to do with Lauren, however you plan to break it off, it’s better that you don’t tell me.”

“Why?” he asked, kissing me once more.

“Mmmm, yummy, thanks. If you don’t tell me, I’ll be genuinely surprised when she lets me in on what’s going on,” I told him, and raked my hands through my hair. “She’s probably going to come to me, and I have to be able to play things off, so it’s better if I don’t know anything, even if I know something.”

“Gotcha.”

“Hey,” I said, patting his leg and rising to my feet. “Let’s go downstairs and find something to get into.”

“Sure. I’m with you.”

We went to the first level, walked around in the hallway for a while, and then made a stop in the quaint gift shop. Dozens of souvenirs were arranged on various shelves: coffee mugs, shot glasses, oversized Texas T-shirts, and postcards were marked up at such high prices that the average shopper probably wouldn’t want the merchandise even if he could afford it. Walking through the store, I noticed quite a few hotel guests who wore badges that said RETAILING IN THE YEAR 2000. At first I didn’t think too much about it. But minutes later the hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I saw Derrick’s unmistakable side view. He was standing in the hallway, holding a conversation with one of his supposed colleagues.

“Damn,” I muttered when I saw him turn and walk toward me.

“Tracey Lorraine Davenport, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Hi, Derrick. I’m—I’m just, uh, looking at the gift shop items. They are so ni—”

“You’re here at a conference?” Derrick glancing at his watch made me glance at mine. It was six-thirty-five.

“Uh, not really.”

“Hmmm! Why else would you be hanging out at the Marriott on a Sunday night?” He raised his eyebrows and had the nerve to grin. Our eyes connected, and I was afraid to try to look anywhere else. The palms of my hands felt hot and sweaty, yet the tips of my fingers were cold.

I was cheesing so hard it felt like my face was about to explode. “Well, you know, I’m just—”

“She’s with me, Mr. Hayes. How are you doing?” Aaron extended his hand, but Derrick simply stared distastefully, as if Aaron had just handed him a glass of fresh urine.

“Hey, Aaron?” He looked from me to Aaron with narrowed eyes. “What—what the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing,” I blurted.

Derrick placed both hands on his hips and looked at Aaron and me like we were hoodlums who’d just run over his favorite dog with an eighteen-wheeler.

“Well, sir,” Aaron told him, “I needed to talk to Tracey about something, and that’s why we’re here.”

Derrick spread out his arms and looked around the gift shop. “Couldn’t you have talked somewhere else besides a hotel? This doesn’t look too favorable,” he said, his big nostrils flaring big-time.

“You know, being that we bumped into you, I can only guess that your mind is taking you places that it shouldn’t go. But let me assure you— things are cool. We won’t be here long.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me . . . son,” he said, and stabbed me with his eyes before he walked away.

My legs felt like tires wedged in thick mud after a torrential rain, and I stayed in that position until Aaron tapped me on the arm a few minutes later. We walked without talking. He had self-assurance in his step. His head was upright, but my head felt like it was cemented to my chest, like it was weighed down as low as the surface of the earth.