Only Trick (17 page)

Forty-five minutes
later—I’m still in the supply closet. Why? I haven’t yet gathered the courage to show my face. His receptionist and everyone within a mile radius heard me; I just know it. As good as … well … whatever that was, it doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s out there with another client and ignoring me stuck in here, paralyzed with humiliation. Kudos to him for walking out like he just came in here to grab a tube of lipstick, but some of us don’t have the special ability to hide all emotion.

Damn! I have to pee.

Surely he will be done soon and come rescue me.

Twenty minutes later …

Eye balls floating.

Thirty minutes later …

Time’s up!

I have to make a choice: wet my pants or face his perfectly put together receptionist. The fact that I’m even contemplating this decision is a real testament to what my BFF does to me.
I’m going to kill him!

With a slow turn of the knob, I open the door. The sun has set and it’s dark outside and in here too.

What the hell?

No one’s at the reception area. I shut the door and grab the key from my pocket to lock it, but there’s not a lock on the door.

Seriously … What. The. HELL?

Tiptoeing forward I peek around the corner. The place is empty. My anger heats to a fiery red that matches my hair. I stomp back to the bathroom that I passed and relieve my bladder. I’m so pissed, in the literal and proverbial sense. After I wash my hands, my phone rings. It’s
him!

“Yes?” I snap.

“Hey, where are you? I figured you’d wait for me at my place.”

“I
am
at your place.”

“Really? Um … are you hiding? Because I don’t see you.”

“Very funny, but guess what? I’m not laughing.”

“O-kay … Am I missing something?”

“You left me in the storage closet!”

“Darby, I had to go. I only had ten minutes to get to my next client. I assumed you needed a few minutes to …
get it together
.”

“What do you mean get to your next client?”

“It was an on-location job in Streeterville.”

“What about your receptionist?”

“My reception—oh, she came with me.”

I stare at the key then open the front door and stick it into the lock.
It fits.

“You’re not still in the closet are you?” He laughs and I can tell he’s joking because really … what idiot would still be in the closet?

“Uh … no, of course not.” I lock the door and hustle around the corner to his place.

“I just saw your car still parked on the street and you said you’re at my place, so if you’re not here then—”

I hear the buzz of his door over the phone as I push the button. “It’s me. No more questions. Got it?” I press
End
and proceed inside to the elevator. He opens the gate when I reach the top, sporting the rare million-dollar-white-teeth smile.

“Not another word,” I warn.

“Hey, Darby!”

I look past Trick to see his receptionist walking down the stairs in the far corner.

“Sorry I didn’t realize who you were when you came in earlier.” She has the most angelic smile.

My cheeks flush. So much for avoiding the embarrassing situation. I offer my hand as she approaches, but she goes straight for the hug. Now would be the appropriate time to play a quick game of twenty questions. Starting with
Who are you?

“Darby, this is Tamsen.”

My eyes light up with recognition, then I squint with a bit of confusion. “Grady’s sister?”

She laughs. “Same father, different mothers.”

I nod. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Bye, babe.” She leans up and kisses Trick on the cheek.

“It was nice to meet you, Darby.” She moves past us to the elevator.

My brain tells me I should be jealous now that I know Patrick Roth is
not
gay. But she has this positive vibe that makes it hard to not like her, and Trick said she’s like family.
Like a goddess for a sister.

“Bye,” I say with a few second delay and a kind smile in return.

“Ready?” He pulls on his leather jacket and hands me one too.

I slip my arms through and hold them up, taking notice that it fits me. “Whose jacket is this?”

“Yours.”

“What do you mean?”

He flips the lever for the elevator to come back up. “I mean it’s yours.”

“You bought it for me?” I follow him onto the elevator.

“I did.”

“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him for the jacket. As for the storage room incident, that I’m still pissed about. Unfortunately, I can’t express all of my anger without confessing the true amount of time I spent in it.

His eyes search my face for a moment. “You’re welcome.”

As the large garage door opens, he twists my hair and pulls on a helmet. It too fits perfectly. Two Goldie Locks moments in one night. I stare at him, not even trying to hide my adoration. He will be the hardest puzzle I’ve ever tried to figure out.

“You’re welcome.” He grins before bringing his own helmet down over his head.

Two questions dance in my head: What am I doing with this mysterious guy that is curiously unpredictable and completely lovable, and what is he doing with me?

S
ometimes knowledge sucks,
like now, when all I want is to enjoy the ride but images of gurneys with limp bodies being rushed into the ER after motorcycle-car accidents play in my head. As we weave through traffic, I melt into Trick’s body allowing a small and irrational part of myself to feel safe. Surrendering to my vulnerability, I let him control my fate.

Trick pulls up along the street by Cantina Laredo. After removing his helmet, he takes mine off and I finger through my hair.

“What?” I question because of his signature stoic expression. “I know, I am a mess with my helmet hair and naked face.”

His hands slide up my neck and into my hair, pulling me to him. “You’re a beautiful mess.” He brushes his lips against mine; it’s a mere whisper of a kiss from the docile side of Trick Roth that must have been gagged and tied up by the dominant ego that had his way with me just hours earlier.

On the outside he’s a deep canyon with jagged edges, but I’ve just started to get a glimpse of what most people don’t see past the surface … and it’s stunning.

“Come.” He grabs my hand and leads me to the restaurant.

“You could say please.” I double the speed of my steps to keep up.

“You could say no.” He opens the door and like the true gentleman I don’t think he really is, he lets me enter first.

“What would you do if I said no?”

“Get a table by the window, order an appetizer, and watch you stand on the sidewalk basking in your independence.”

We’re seated by a window, ironically. “Someone sure did a number on you.” I shake my head.

“Sorry.” He looks over the menu. “I’m in uncharted territory with you.
Thank you
for accompanying me into the restaurant.” His sly smile steals all sincerity from his words.

Screw it. Trick will be my unsolvable puzzle, and I’ve just decided I wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s a take-me-as-I-am-I-don’t-give-a-shit guy, stopping on the confidence scale a hair shy of arrogant—aka make-you-beg-for-it sexy. I’ve met my match.
It’s possible I’m actually way out of my league.
No worries, I shall rise to the challenge.

“You’re welcome.” I roll back my shoulders and smile with confidence, looking at my menu. “Thank you for the mind-blowing orgasm in the supply closet.”

“Ah-hem.” Our waitress clears her throat.

Great, how’d I miss her sneaking up on us? I retain my cool smile in spite of the hot flash of embarrassment that races along my skin. Trick doesn’t flinch, with the exception of his lip twitch.
Cocky bastard!
I’m sure he’s thinking,
“That’s right … I’m just that good.”
I’m sure she’s thinking,
“Could you demonstrate on me?”
Her skin matches mine, so that’s exactly what she’s thinking.

“It was my pleasure.” He smirks, staring at his menu.

Oh hell! Kill me now!

I cannot believe he just said that in front of her.

“We’ll have the Top Shelf Guacamole, Camarones Escondidos, and Pescado Del Día. Thank you.” I grab Trick’s menu and shove it along with mine at our unsuspecting and completely flustered waitress.

She stumbles off. I’ll be amazed if she remembers our order.

“You ordered for me?” He leans forward with wide-eyed disbelief.

“Well, she wanted to take our order, but you were too busy flaunting your afternoon conquest so I ordered for the both of us.”

He leans back with a wry grin. “I was simply being polite and engaging in the conversation
you
started.”

“What happened to your face?”

“So we’re done talking about—”

“Yes, we are.” I sip my water. “Why did Grady beat the shit out of you?”

Trick smirks, staring at his silverware he’s adjusting. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“About?”

“He found something.” His eyes look up to meet mine, as if he’s daring me to go any further.

Drumming my fingers on the table, I sigh. “What did he find?”

His gaze falters in chagrin. “A couple grams of coke under a Buddha statue of mine.”

Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react. Oh shit, he’s still doing drugs!

“And?” I question in a neutral voice with just a hint of nervous tremble.

“And what?” He shrugs.

I could scream; he’s baiting me, waiting for my reaction as if there’s a right one versus a wrong one. I’m too old to play games, and I’m too young to get involved in this messed up shit. “
And
nothing, Trick. If you’re using again and want help, I’ll help you. If you don’t want help then I’m out of here. If you have an explanation outside of those two scenarios then now would be the right time to share it. If this is some test of my trust for you, then here’s the deal: I’ll trust you until you give me a reason not to.”

His head moves; it’s slight but I see him nod. “I’ve had it since I stopped going to NA. It’s just a reminder.” His lips twist into a smirk and then he lets out a small laugh. “I’ve had it for eight years and have never once been tempted to use it.”

“So Grady thought you were going to use it?”

He points to his now yellowish-brown bruises on his face. “I think the answer to that is yes.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him that you’ve had it all this time?”

“He knows.”

I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “Then why did he think you were going to use it?”

He averts his eyes, scanning the restaurant as if he’s looking for the answer. “Because I had the bag on the counter just … staring at it when he came home.”

A pang of guilt mixed with pain hits me. “When?”

“When what?”

“When did this happen?”

“The morning after the party.” His eyes make a slow shift to mine.

I suck in my lips to contain the anger. “You mean the morning after we had sex for the first time—the morning you left me.” I laugh, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “Unbelievable. You considered reverting back to a life-threatening addiction after one night with me. God! That makes me feel …” I shrug my shoulders and blink back the tears.

“Special.” He reaches across the table, taking both of my hands.

“Yeah, Trick. That’s some real
special
stuff!”

“I was getting rid of it.”

I try to pull away. “Sure, up your fucking nose because of your
aversion
to women.”

He grips me tighter, not caring if anyone around us is watching. “No!” He grits his teeth. “Because I no longer need a reminder of where I’ve been … I have
you
to remind me of where I’m going, and when I’m with you I don’t ever want to look back.”

I glare at him, feeling overwhelmed by his confession and still a little pissed off about
something
. “Then why did you let him make such a mess of your face?”

Trick releases my hands and sits back with an indifferent grin smeared across his face. “I felt like shit for the lie I let you believe and for leaving you that morning while I sorted myself out. So I figured I deserved it, even if not for the drugs.”

Our waitress brings our food; kudos to her, everything’s right. I place my napkin on my lap and look at Trick with my face scrunched in disbelief. “That’s so messed up. You should have told him.”

Trick cuts into his food. “No need to make him feel bad.”

We eat our dinner, exchanging very few words. My mind reels trying to process Trick’s feelings for me and his unusual sense of self-worth. One minute he’s emotionally closed off as if he’s protecting himself, and the next he’s letting Grady beat the crap out of him because he feels deserving of it. There’s such an ambiguity about his actions that leaves me feeling perplexed.

*