Mine (9 page)

“Well, you look amazing, and those are hot.” I smiled at him, getting up. “But I’m beat and starving, and since you’re not ready to go, I’m thinking pot roast isn’t happening, right?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, so I’m gonna head out and you come home when you’re done, okay? I’m just gonna grab a sandwich at Antonia’s and—”

“Fine, I don’t need the play by play.”

“Okay,” I said, leaning sideways, smiling at the girls. “I’ll see you guys.”

I opened the door more slowly than I normally did, giving him ample time to stop me, giving him his out, making it easy for him to ask to speak to me outside without losing face in front of his staff. I knew his pride was important to him, mine not as much. But he didn’t stop me, didn’t call out, instead letting me leave. At the curb, I flagged down a cab and was gone seconds later.

My phone rang and I let it go to voicemail, which was childish, when I saw it was him. I was tired, though, and a little hurt that he had considered me so very little. When I saw a new number, I picked up.

“Hello?”

“Uhm, Trev?”

“Chantal,” I replied with a smile while the driver took a left where I had told him.

“Landry’s kind of upset.”

“Well then Landry shouldn’t be such a prick after the day I had.”

“Okay.”

I let out a deep, weary sigh. “I’m sorry. Is he there?”

“No, he just left, and he said he was going out to get laid.”

I grunted.

“You’re not—”

“He told you to call me.”

“Yes, he did.”

I shook my head. It was so like him, this drama. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it, okay? He’ll be in tomorrow morning. Don’t forget to set the alarm.”

“Sure, but… can I ask you something?”

“G’head.”

“I only deal with his shit at the most seven hours a day. You deal with it every day all the time… how do you do it?”

The man was more high maintenance than she knew, but that was between him and me. Those were secrets never to be shared. “The business is a big deal for him, that’s why he’s intense when he’s there. He just wants everything to be perfect, that’s all.”

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“What do you mean?” I played dumb.

“Okay, Trevan, you’re a really good guy. You don’t even dish the dirt when you totally could. It’s impressive. I hope I find one just like you.”

“Awww, thanks, Chan,” I teased her.

“Goodbye.” She chuckled and hung up.

The cab driver let me out at the corner across the street from Antonia’s Italian Bistro, a place I loved. I darted across the street in the now-driving rain, and when I walked in with a jingle of bells, I was greeted warmly, as I was every time I stopped to get food.

“Food or sandwiches?” Mrs. Mancini called out to me from behind the deli counter.

“Sandwiches.”

“Two or one, Trev?”

“Two,” I answered her, smiling big. “And his cannoli, two cream sodas, and my tiramisu, okay?”

“’Course.” She beamed at me before turning and yelling the order back as I paid her daughter, Angela.

My phone rang as I waited, and I saw my friend Tommy’s number. “Hey.” I smiled into my phone, yawning at the same time.

“Hey, where the fuck are you?”

“Why?”

“Well, Landry just walked in here, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s wearing, but he’s, like, eight feet tall, and he’s sittin’ at the bar lettin’ some dickwad buy him a drink.”

I snorted out a laugh, because how transparent could the man get? If he wanted to get a drink and get laid and cheat on me, why go to where he knew my friend Tommy tended bar and not any of the other places closer to his gallery?

“You guys fighting?”

“He’s fighting alone.” I sighed. “I think he’s mad because he thinks I didn’t need him earlier today, which isn’t the case, but you know.”

“No, I don’t know, and I don’t wanna know ’cause it’s none of my fuckin’ business. But what I do want is for him not to get drunk at my goddamn bar. And I can’t watch him all night so—oh, never mind.”

“What?”

“I see Skyler and Nate; they’ll babysit him.”

“Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Water down his drinks, okay?”

“Will do. See ya.”

Normally I would go to wherever he was, take a seat on the other side of the bar from him, and keep an eye out, making sure that everyone understood that if they touched him, got too close, or even breathed on him, I’d remove their lungs. It was one of his favorite games, and my friends asked me how come I never went, sat across from him, and flirted with other people. Why didn’t I ever give him a dose of what he gave me? Turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it? Why not let some guy, or some girl, put their hands all over me?

The answer was simple: it would kill him, and I liked him alive and breathing. If the man ever saw me allowing someone else to touch me, it would break his fragile heart into a million, trillion pieces. We existed on the premise that he was the only one for me; he could never be shown any different.

After I got my order, tied up in a plastic bag to keep it dry, I walked home as fast as I could. I was still drenched by the time I got to our building and went up the stoop and through the outer door, where I stopped to check the mail before continuing through the inner door toward the elevator. It was a converted freight elevator, but I liked it.

Once inside the apartment, I checked the radiator, realized it hadn’t kicked on yet, dumped the food in the kitchen, and went to stash the gun and take a shower. I was starting a fire when the front door flew open with a bang, slammed closed just as loudly, and Landry stormed in, boots loud and clomping on the varnished wood floor.

“I just came home to change,” he announced haughtily.

“Sure,” I said softly, returning to the task at hand.

He disappeared into the bedroom through the double French doors.

I got the fire crackling nicely as I turned on the stereo and got Melody Gardot, one of my favorites, crooning softly in the background. I sat at the small butcher block kitchen table, unwrapped his meatball sub and the horrible deep-fried pickles he liked, and poured his cream soda. He came out a few minutes later, all in black, the boots still on, jeans and a turtleneck sweater now making up the outfit. I was struck by how beautiful he looked, but I swallowed down the compliment as I ate my food.

“What is that?”

“You should eat,” I told him, my voice husky and soft. “Don’t wanna drink on an empty stomach.”

“I’ve already been drinking.”

“Dancing, then.”

“I guess,” he snapped at me.

He took his usual seat beside me instead of across from me, which was more telling than he realized even though we ate in silence. When I was done, I got up and went to the refrigerator to get my tiramisu but then thought better of it. My plan was simply to pass out; I’d save it until I could enjoy it.

“Your cannoli’s in here,” I told him. “You want it now or later?”

“Later,” he said, and I saw the muscles in his jaw clenching, the way he was chewing on his bottom lip, and how crumpled his napkin was from being crushed in his hand.

I cleared the table and wiped it, and still he sat there.

“Thank you for remembering the pickle chips,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome.”

I did the dishes, the two plates and two glasses, and put them in the dish rack to air dry.

“Where ya gonna go?” I asked, leaving the light on above the sink but flipping the kitchen one off, only the fireplace illuminating the apartment.

“To Spin, I think.”

“Okay.” I yawned and stretched, yanking my T-shirt off over my head and flipping it over my shoulder as I crossed back to where he was and leaned on the chair. “I just wanna tell you that talking to you earlier helped me a lot. Just knowing that you’re here every night to come home to, it’s a big deal.”

He nodded fast.

“Oh, and I had to drop off money to my mom today, and she said that when she gets back from visiting my Aunt Janet, she’ll teach you how to make the bouillabaisse.”

“Good.”

“All right, then, make sure you take your key.” I smiled at him, then turned around, heading for the bedroom.

“I might not come home.”

“Whatever you think is best,” I said from the entrance to our room, opening one side of the French doors.

“You don’t care if I don’t come home?”

I turned and looked back at him, and he was still at the table, his eyes welling with tears that I ignored. “I just want you to be happy.”

He sucked in a breath.

“Are you happy?”

His brows furrowed.

“’Cause you don’t look happy,” I growled at him. “Beautiful, but not happy.”

His eyes went to the fire, the couch, the kitchen sink, and back on his restless hands. He was trying so hard not to look at me. “I’m sorry about the boots. I was upset.”

“Sure.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“It’s okay, I know you won’t.”

“And I used the last of my tax money to get my hair done; I didn’t touch our checking account.”

“Again, it’s fine.”

His eyes were landing everywhere but on me.

“You didn’t answer… are you happy?”

Finally, the blue-green pools came to rest, meeting mine. “Are you?”

“I would be happy if you came to bed with me, but it’s too early, and you have dancing and drinking to do. I don’t wanna make you just lie there and watch TV while I go comatose next to you.”

He was trembling, and I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him.

“Those boots make your legs look amazing… and your ass.”

He was biting the inside of his cheek, I could tell. “You like the ankle boots?”

“Love them.”

He sucked in his breath. “I thought you didn’t need me.”

“I always need you, but your routine is very important, and when I upset that, you don’t do well. So it was better for you to go to work and stay there and for me to just handle my day, deal with having a gun—”

“A gun?”

I grunted. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you, so I have to be ready. You’re my baby; I have to protect you.”

He rose then and walked to the front door, locked it and the deadbolt, and turned and looked at me. “I thought you could handle things on your own, that I wasn’t important.”

“But you know better than that,” I muttered, turning and walking away.

“What?” he called after me. “I didn’t hear you.”

I knew he hadn’t, and I walked deeper into our bedroom and climbed into bed. I didn’t stretch out, though, didn’t sink down into the pillow. He needed me; I couldn’t sleep yet.

“What did you say?” I heard his voice following behind me.

I rolled over on my back and looked at him, my eyes tracing over the lines of him, his flushed skin, wet lips, long eyelashes, and legs that went on forever.

“Come here for a second before you go,” I said, pretending that I had not seen him lock us in for the night.

He walked to the side of the bed.

I reached under the elastic waistband of my sweats and stroked my cock, feeling it harden with anticipation, the slither of arousal moving through me.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to take off all your clothes and get in bed with me.”

He gasped. “I thought you liked the boots.”

I grinned at him. Only Landry would get hung up on that. “Baby, I love the boots and I can’t wait to lick them some night when I’m remotely coherent, but right now I would give anything for a kiss.”

“You would?”

“I would.”

He stripped fast, pulling, yanking, and then he was straddling my thighs, knees on either side of my waist.

His shaft was hard, bumping against mine as I reached up with both hands for his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, the tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m such an idiot and you must hate me and—”

“Never hate you.”

“Forgive me.”

“Forgiven,” I promised, easing him down, my lips parting to receive him.

He twitched and jolted like he did sometimes when he was really wound up, and slanted his mouth down roughly over mine, bumping me with his teeth, in a hurry, grinding into me. That fast there was blood, his teeth cutting my lip.

“Oh God, I’m—”

“It’s okay, baby,” I sighed, my voice sultry, his shallow breaths letting me know the effect I was having on him. “Just slow down and come here.”

The kiss I gave him was languid, drugging and deep. His lips fit mine perfectly, and when he moaned softly, hoarse and needy, I rolled him gently to his back, parted his legs, and slid my freed cock against his.

“Here.” He was breathless as he slipped the lube he had pulled from beneath his pillow into my hand.

I flipped the cap open, dribbled some on the ends of my fingers, and tenderly began making small circles at his entrance as I continued to make love to his mouth.

“Trevan,” he breathed out, bending his knees, giving me better access as I slowly breached him, my fingers pushing inside the tight ring of muscle, pressing, sliding. I was careful not to plunge them deep until I knew he was ready. He was always so tight, which was a continual source of pleasure for me.

When he lifted his hips, I added two fingers, three now plunging steadily inside, massaging, opening him up and making him slick, relaxed.

“Please.”

I folded his legs in half so his thighs were pressed to his chest as I slid the head of my cock inside of him, moving so slowly, stretching him, filling him, letting him feel every inch of me.

“You’re so hard.” He sucked in his breath.

“And you’re so hot,” I growled, pushing deeper, my hips snapping forward, plunging in to the hilt, needing to be fully sheathed.

His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and as I shifted my angle, driving forward, hammering inside of him, he begged me.

“No,” I said flatly, stopping, rolling over at the same time, bringing him with me, my hands digging into his thighs to keep his ass plastered to my groin, our new position impaling him on my shaft.

He gasped, hands on my chest, levering up only to sink back down seconds later. As he lifted again, I fisted his cock, milking it slowly as his inner walls rippled around me, the spasms of heat and pressure making me spear up into him even as he pushed down.