Men of Mayhem (53 page)

He asks me the typical questions, like what I’ve had to eat, am I nauseous now, how long has it been going on. I answer out of courtesy. Alex took the trouble to carry me here and the doctor took the time to examine me.

Alex leaves the room, and the doctor looks at me.

“Would it be okay with you if I took a blood sample? It’s just a precaution. I don’t think you have anything serious.”

“Sure. But I’ve been to a psychiatrist for the recent loss of my husband and she told me that things like ulcers, nausea, headaches, and all other sorts of ailments are normal after going through a traumatic situation.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” The doctor feels around my neck while he’s talking.

“Heart attack. No warning. One day he was alive. The next day he was dead.” A singe of pain rockets to my chest at my words.

“I would say that’s very traumatic,” he comments and reaches into his bag for a syringe and two vials to draw my blood. This isn’t normal; we’re not at a hospital or blood center, and that worries me.

When he’s done, he puts my blood sample into his bag and pulls out a notepad and starts writing. “How long has it been?”

“Just about two months. I have only lived here a couple weeks.” He’s jotting notes down while I’m talking. “It hurt too much to stay where I was, so I left.”

Alex returns carrying a blanket. He steps in front of the doctor and places the blue blanket over me. “I’m not cold,” I tell him. While Doc Howie packs up his things, Alex goes to the sink and returns with a glass of water. I accept it because I am thirsty.

The doctor addresses Alex. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. I’ll check on her again in the morning.”

“Morning?” I ask, shocked. “I’d like to go home.”

“You are going to stay here for the night,” Alex orders. He doesn’t ask or sugarcoat his request.

“I am perfectly capable of getting into the elevator, walking to the front entrance, and hailing a cab.” I hope he can hear that I am peeved because I am. I sit up, tossing the blanket off me.

Doc Howie heads for the door. “Good night,” he says in a neutral tone, and the door to Alex’s apartment shuts. The air in the room is tight with a cluster of tension, agitation, and I would say a sensual tightness.

Alex’s resolve softens and he comes to sit beside me on the couch.

“Please stay. I would like the doc to check you out in the morning,” he requests gently. Then the one thing that does me in is his smile. It lights up his whole face like his mom said his best friend could sleep over.

“Fine. But there is nothing wrong with me. Except one thing,” I tell him, feigning trouble. “I’m hungry and I could use a toothbrush.”

“I can take care of that right now.”

A knock on the door stops Alex from going to the kitchen. Instead, he answers the door. A familiar person is there holding the strap of my purse up in the air. Alex snaps it out of the guy’s hand.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No,” he snaps.

I stand up and walk toward the door.

“Hi, I’m Meryl.”

I extend my hand.

“Carlo.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He sounds like he knows something I don’t or there is a private joke going on that I am not privy to.

“I’m sure you have a lot to do. See ya,” Alex says as he closes the door. I wave goodbye before the door completely shuts. I step away.

“The bathroom is through my bedroom. You’ll find toothbrushes in the bottom drawer.”

“Brushes? You must have a lot of company,” I tease.

“No, I don’t,” he says seriously. “The housekeeper stocks the bathrooms on the family floors.”

“Oh.” That is odd.

I go through the door and see his bed is made. Offhandedly, I think about how clean his room is for a bachelor. I see an open door across from his bed and use my hand to open it farther—the bathroom. I find the switch and flip on the light. I twist the sink knob and splash cold water over my face. An action I have been doing way too much lately. I suppose it is because nothing comforts me.

I scrounge around in the bottom drawer and sure enough there is a stack of hotel-quality toothbrushes piled in a corner. I grab one and pluck the toothpaste off the sink counter. When I’m done, I go back into the main apartment area that houses his kitchen and living room. On the table is a spread of cheese and crackers, lunch meat, and hard rolls.

“Am I being held captive?” I ask, batting my eyelashes. Alex walks toward me around the table. Actually it is more like a stalk. He comes to me and wraps his arms around my waist. I lean back and my heart races.

“I wouldn’t think of it as being held captive.” A small grin touches his face and my breathing becomes labored being so close to him. I move away.

“I have work in the morning.” I fling my hands out and look down at my clothes. “I’m not really dressed for work.”

“We can figure it out in the morning.”

Alex approaches me again.

I back up. He is coming for me and the problem is that I don’t know if I can resist.

I look up at him through my lashes because he is so close now. He has closed in and the wall to his apartment is sneaking up on me. It’s here. My behind has hit a beige wall.

It’s a horrible thing to think, but I don’t want to love anyone again. It hurts. But seeing Alex approaching makes me think about it.

You don’t know what could happen, because it could lead you back to the same place you started—alone. Who wants all that heartbreak? I didn’t ask for it.

I wish I could say I was ninety years old and sitting by Jim’s bedside as he fades away gently into the afterlife or whatever is waiting for us on the other side. It didn’t happen that way. It was a violent tearing apart of two people who genuinely loved each other. How could I go through that again? Would I want to go through that again? No, I can say with an open heart that I would not. Jim’s death wasn’t in the plan.

Alex leans down and kisses me with a light touch to my lips. I meet it, shoving down my logic and thoughts on opening up to someone again. My arms stretch out before me, sealing themselves around his neck. It happens fast. He scoops me up and carries me to the couch, laying me down. His forcefulness is a release, and I let Alex take over. I need him to take over, make a decision. I am so tired of decisions, of loneliness, of abandonment, that it is rooted in my soul.

I run my hands up his shirt, feeling his hard abs under my fingers. It is glorious, the contact, the warmth of his skin. It allows a solace to fill me that I haven’t had in a while. He is above me now, stripping his shirt off, letting me have more.

For one second, a spasm of guilt strikes me, walloping me, but it fades as fast as it comes. There is something in Alex’s eyes other than want or passion. I can’t put my finger on it, but it is there, solid. Dealing with all that goes along with a loved one’s death—arranging a funeral, executing the will, going to probate, having to do everything I wasn’t prepared to do—it is mentally and physically exhausting and it doesn’t go away overnight. It stays grinding at your insides until it wears you down. A sexy man is taking care of me in this second, and it feels good. This isn’t about love; it’s about me letting something happen that doesn’t involve all of the deep-seated heartache that has plagued me these past few months.

For a sizzling moment, time stands still and I squirm, letting my body’s needs take over, and my blouse makes its way to the floor. Alex’s chocolate-brown eyes enthrall me and then he leans down, ravishing me. All of our clothes come off—his jeans, my skirt, until he is completely naked above me. Nothing runs through my mind but keeping this going. I don’t want it to stop, I want to let go, even if it is only for tonight. He pulls the cup back on my bra, freeing my breast, sucking it into his mouth.

His hardness rubs against my bare leg. He keeps his weight from crushing me, using his finger to move my lace thong aside. He gives me a look that is asking, almost pleading with me to let him in. I nod infinitesimally, and he takes his time, tapping the surface of me, using his hand to guide himself inside me. Little starbursts ignite behind my eyelids and I am in ecstasy. He pumps and I meet every thrust. Shorts pants flow through my chest as I get closer. The feeling of falling down into a beautiful abyss is coming. My eyes are closed but I know his gaze is on me, watching every tiny movement. I meet his eyes and together we climax, creeping over the precipice and falling as one.

He is lying on top of me, our bare chests connected, a comfortable contentment as we wait for our breathing to slow. It happened so fast but was so perfect. We have a connection. I could get used to having Alex around. I haven’t known him long, but right now it feels like I have known him forever.

His head peeks up and he catches my attention while our faces are inches apart. He buries his head into the crook of my neck and I put my hand to it, keeping it there. I don’t want him to move. At some point we fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s naked bodies. The couch our bed.

Sunbeams turn the dark room to light through the curtain-less windows, and it wakes me. I scrub my hand over my eyes, wiping the contented sleep away. A small part of me thinks that this may be part of my grieving, the vulnerable part. Letting a man in to ease away some of the loneliness and grief, but deep down, I don’t think that is what it is. There is something real between us and he seemed to know it before me.

If I told this to a friend or Mariah, they would call it a fling. A hot steamy night with a cute guy. One of my friends from Colorado would call me a cougar—having sex on a first real date with a guy ten years younger than me. I guess that would make me a cougar.

His arm is snug around my middle and it tightens.

“I don’t want you to go to work today,” he whispers in my ear.

“I have to.” I turn my head to get a view of him. “I have a big project I am working on for my boss. And I think you have work too.”

“I’ll take the day off,” he quips.

Knock, knock.

Alex’s head falls into mine. I laugh. “I don’t think you’re taking the day off,” I tell him.

“No.” He sighs. He shifts out from behind me and I admire the view while he finds his pants on the floor. He slips them on and goes to the door half naked. I jump up, scrambling to put my clothes back on before he can get the door open.

It’s Carlo on the other side of the door.

“We’ve got business,” he says in a low, ominous voice.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Alex says to me and steps out into the hall, shutting the door. There is definitely something going on. I am not sure what makes me do it, but I tiptoe to the door and put my ear to it, listening.

“Those guys we fucked up. They went to the cops. You are going to have to go there and pay off Mike to make this go away.” Carlo is telling this to Alex. My mind whirls with questions.

“I told them if I had to beat the shit out of them again, there are no more chances,” Alex replies, sounding enraged. It scares me.

“Those losers aren’t fucking worth it,” Carlo responds.

“Okay, whatever.” Alex is not pleased. “Send someone up here with some clothes for Meryl for work.”

Another voice interrupts in the hallway.

“Alex.” It sounds like Doc Howie from yesterday.

“What’s up?”

“Is Meryl still here?” he asks.

“Yeah, she’s inside.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Doc, what’s wrong?” Alex’s voice rises with concern.

“Nothing is wrong. I would like to speak with her.”

“You are a terrible liar,” Alex comments.

“Nothing is wrong, seriously.”

The door opens and I bolt away from it toward the kitchen like I am attempting to find stuff to make coffee.

“Meryl? The doc is here.”

“Hello.” I keep my voice even, still soaking in the exchange between Carlo and Alex—beating people up, police, the words “take care” of things somersaulting in my head. Fear creeps up the back of my neck. What is going on here?

The doctor gets close, and he smells newly shaven. He takes out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He takes a final look at the door, confirming that it’s closed. I glance at the paper, which looks like a medical report for blood work.

“I wanted you to know…” He changes his approach. “It’s my duty to tell you that…” The door opens and Alex enters. “You are fine.” He takes the folded paper and puts it in my hand. I hold it in my fingers, staring down at its folded edges. I tuck it into my palm.

“Thank you.”

Doc Howie nods at me and I excuse myself.

“I’m going to use the restroom.” I see the door to Alex’s room leading to the bathroom and head for it.

A flash of the past evening rockets to the surface of my thoughts. Last night was amazing. Even with all of my baggage and remorse, Alex was consoling in a way I never thought possible. I like him, but I touch my belly and it’s too much. I have to get away.

Knock, knock.

“Hey, are you okay in there?”

“Yes,” I call back, perky and unaffected, and it is a lie.