Wrecked (The Blackened Window) (13 page)

“Bedtime in forty-five minutes. Get moving.” I turned her and smacked her ass as I pushed her through the door. She giggled and jogged up the steps. She was so
good.

When I got home, there was a note that I had a package waiting for me, that Chen had signed for it. I got down there, just before they were closing the kitchen. We exchanged pleasantries and he gave me a letter-sized package that was sent registered mail. The return address was to Rodriguez at his offices in DC.

Up in my apartment, I sat on the edge of the bed, pausing before opening the Threat Assessment. I knew it wouldn’t really matter what it said, that I was already hooked, to the point of being reckless. I opened it and was instantly pissed. There was a cover page with a determination of a negative threat risk, but then there was a folder with her entire security background check. Once I had it, I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself from reading it. That was why I hadn’t wanted it. It felt like cheating at the game of getting to know her. It felt dishonest—because it was. I opened it anyway and started reading.

I called Jason an hour later, guilt twisting my stomach. “The threat assessment was negative. Minimal risk, but…”

“But, what?”

“Rodriguez still sent the entire background check, even though I asked him not to.” I couldn’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

“So what? None of what actually matters would be in there anyway. Just don’t read it.”

“I already did.” The was a pause before he answered.

“Why?”

“Because it was there. I don’t know. I just did.”

“That’s not you, dude. Your whole thing is impulse control. Ever since the shit with Stacy.” He sounded worried.

“That’s what I’m fucking saying. She fucks me up. I don’t feel like I have the best control with her. I mean, I know I’m not gonna lose control if we play together. My head is totally present, attuned to her with that shit. It’s just everything else. I was thinking about living with her the other day!” He knew I was talking about Leda and not Stacy.

He blew out a breath. “Shit. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

He changed the subject, and I knew he was trying to distract me from the thing that was stressing me out most. “So, anything interesting in her background check?”

“Not really. Her family lives in the suburbs of Chicago. Mom’s a nurse who retired early. Dad’s a urologist. Older brother and sister, both in medicine. Both married with kids. They live in the Chicago area, too. Wisconsin for college. Good grades. Long-term boyfriend while she was there, but they broke up before med school. Her parents are centrist democrats and donate a small amount of money to various liberal campaigns and causes. And, well, she’s twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two. Damn. You better raise her right then, Daddy.” He laughed, but immediately got serious again. “So, she’s young. You gonna stop seeing her?”

“Hell, no,” I answered, surprised.

“Then it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Chapter Twelve

Leda

Lenka,
Trouble is a Friend

The next morning I woke up with the walk of shame in my brain. As much as I got a thrill out of him, I wondered if it was too fast. I called one of my friends from college during my lunch break at school.

“Heeeeeyyyyyyyy, guuuuurrrllll!” she answered.

“Tiffany…don’t you have a job? How is that how you answer your phone?” I asked, laughing.

“Oh, fuck off. I’m a nobody in a cube at an ad agency that promotes cigarettes, booze and porno. No one gives a shit what I say on the phone.”

“Fair enough. How’s shit? You like this job or what?”

“Yeah. It’s good. Milwaukee’s fun. Whatevs. How’s med school, brainiac?”

Tiffany was
that
friend. That wild one. The one that makes you spend too much money or drink too much or whatever—the girl that says what she thinks and doesn’t give a shit if she offends anyone. Every girl should have a friend like her.

I smiled into the phone as I half laughed and answered, “It sucks. It’s hard as hell.”

“Then why you calling me? Get yo ass in the ‘brary!”

“Well…that’s the thing…” I trailed off.

“Ooooohhhh! Does he have a big dick?” I heard her put her hand over the phone and say something to someone at her office. “Everyone here wants to know. I’m putting you on speaker. Raul, Jaleesa and Marni are here to help, mama. What’s up?”

“Tiffany! Jesus Christ. Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“No, honey,” an affected male voice answered.

I yelped. “Tiffany, I’m not discussing this with your whole office.”

“So it is a dude!” she yelled.

I heard her coworkers murmuring. One of the women asked, “Is he more McDreamy or Doogie?”

That caught me in my tracks. “Doogie?”

There was a litany of swearing, then she spoke again, “How about you try to make me feel old? Doogie Howser. Google it. Damn.”

“Seriously, Tiff. Come on.”

She was sighing as she took me off speaker. “Fine. You know I’m going to tell them anyway though, right?”

It was futile to resist her. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so what is it? What happened? You met a guy and…?”

“He’s my tutor. And, I don’t know. He’s totally hot. I mean gorgeous. And I don’t know.”

“So what’s the problem, ho?”

“He’s…into some shit.”

“Like drugs?” She actually sounded worried.

“No! Kinky shit.”

“Whoa. Leda, you’ve been down there for less than a month. What have you done with my little innocent girl? And does he have a brother in the upper Midwest?” She laughed again. “Seriously,
what
is the problem?”

I leaned the seat back in my car and just let it out. “He thinks I’m submissive and he wants to control me. And it sounds crazy when I say it, but I liked it. It was just a little bit. Just some making out. But, it’s like I can’t breathe around him. Like he’s so overwhelming.”

“So, I reiterate.
What is the problem?
He gives you feels in your feelie parts. That sounds great.”

“It’s just fast. I met him on Thursday. And he’s already taken care of me when I got sick, come over and brought dinner and we worked out together last night. I mean… Am I a whore?”

“First of all, I resemble and resent that term. But secondly, none of that sounds all that sexual.”

“Yeah… Well, there was some sexual shit too.” When she didn’t speak, I continued, “He came over and basically dry humped me till I came. Like on day number three of knowing each other.” I blew out my breath.

When she responded, her voice was more serious. “What’s a slut, Leda? A lady that likes the way she feels when she feels good? That shit doesn’t even make sense. Fuck that. The question should be, do you like who you are around him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really hung out with him that much, I guess.”

“So, hang out with him some more. See what happens. If you don’t feel good about yourself
because of him
—not because of the Catholic school guilt you still have—then that’s something to pay attention to. But if it’s just Sister Mary what’s-her-fuck that you hear in your mind, tell that bitch to fuck off.”

I smiled at the thought. I was Catholic, but hadn’t gone to Catholic school. There was no Sister Mary what’s-her-fuck in my memories. But I still had a zing of recognition at the truth of her words.

“All right, Beelzebub. You’re going to hell, you know.”

“Am I? I feeeeeeeellll like I’ve been there. Yep—it was our shitty dorm freshman year, with the fucked up heater in the frozen tundra of Madison. Never been colder in my life.”

“All right. I gotta go back to classes. Talk this weekend?”

“Fine. Go be all smart and shit.” Her tone got serious again. “But, Leda, really. Just…send me a picture of his cock. I can let you know if he’s worth all this angst.”

We were both laughing as we hung up. I loved that girl. The best. I was smiling as I walked back into the school and felt more relaxed, less self-judgmental.

* * * *

Thursday after school, I had another tutoring session and with it another wave a shame-laced shock that so much had happened with Xander in one week. In the tutoring session, I tried to keep it cool, but felt sure that everyone else could tell there was some sort of tension between me and Xander—like a glowing, throbbing neon light pulsed above me, shouting
Skank! Whore! Skank!
But no one said anything or even cast a speculative gaze over me and him.

About twenty minutes before the session ended, Xander got a call and excused himself. As he walked away, he said, “Hi, Mom, I’m still tutoring right now. Let me call you back.” That must not have worked because he didn’t come back for a few minutes and when he did, he looked annoyed. The group wrapped things up, but I delayed some, intending to check on him.

Before I could ask if he was okay, he picked up my bag, “Come on, baby girl. I saw you rode your bike again. I’m driving you home.” He was distant, but a thrill ran through me just the same that he noticed I rode and that he very publically just called me a pet name. So, I just followed him, not even trying to answer.

But once we were in his car, I did ask, “Is everything okay? You seem upset.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Everything’s fine. You know how parents can be. There’s this fundraiser back in DC that my parents want me to go to, but I just really don’t want to do it. I left DC for a reason. Anyway, I don’t think it would help with anything anyway.” He muttered the last bit.

“What kind of fundraiser is it?”

“A campaign fundraiser. I just hate them. They just seem like total circle jerks and most of the people there annoy the shit out of me.”

Apparently, he went to political fundraisers often enough to be jaded about them. I just stayed quiet and waited for him to tell me more.

“My dad is the chief of staff for a senator, and I’m the son with the military service, so it looks good for me to be there, getting pimped out some,” he explained, but then carried on, more to himself than to me. “Never mind that I never re-upped my commitment, but left the military for the Bureau for a few years before coming here. And
really
never mind how I left the Bureau then all of Washington to come to med school.”

It was more than he had shared about himself before, despite all the time we had been spending together. I had so many questions, but the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “How old
are
you?”

Shit.
I was mortified the moment the question passed my lips.
What is wrong with me?
But it snapped him out of his grim thoughts and he laughed for a good twenty seconds, before he glanced back at me.

“I’m thirty-four,
baby
girl. How old are you?”

Oh shit, he was in Junior High when I was born.

“I’m twenty-two,” I answered quietly. Trying to move on gracefully and quickly, I added, “A fundraiser sounds fun. And I’d love to hear about your military and Bureau experiences. Is that Bureau as in Federal Bureau of Investigation?”

“Twenty-fucking-two? Jesus. Christ.” His expression was hard to read, but he looked a little taken aback. He added, distractedly, “And yes, FBI. Army, then FBI.”

The thought of him in fatigues or military dress uniform made my insides quiver a little. He seemed about to say something, but I cut him off, feeling like he was distracted so I could be a little more assertive, up front. I didn’t know the word for it, just less submissive.

“How about this? Can I take
you
out this weekend? Whatever night is good for you?” I asked him, smiling. Of course, I didn’t know where anything was or anything fun to do here, but I would figure that out later.

He pulled up to my building and turned to me with a smile on his face, “What’s this, baby girl? Trying to take charge?” I felt my face betray me for a second and knew that I looked momentarily petrified, because he added, “I’m intrigued. Tomorrow night. What time should I pick you up?”

“No, what time should I pick
you
up? And where do you live?” I asked with a laugh. He gave me his address and we agreed that I’d pick him up at seven. That would give us both a few hours between school and our date to unwind and refresh—or, in my case, scramble to actually get a date together.

Before I got out of the car, I said, “Now, don’t worry, you still get to be the Boss and I’m still the baby girl, even though I’m in charge tomorrow night.”

He looked at me, smiling wryly, and shook his head. “Honey, you aren’t in charge. Ever. But it’s cute that you think that.” He walked me to the building, pushing through the entrance with me and we made out for a few minutes in front of my door.

He pulled away with a groan and grimace, but before he could say anything, I stepped up, brushed a kiss on his cheek and said, “Okay, go home. It’s my bedtime and my Boss gets upset if I stay up too late. Besides, I have plans to put into action for tomorrow night.”

He just had a wide happy grin at that response, said goodnight and jogged down the stairs.

I watched him leave and freaked out a bit, because I really had no idea what to plan and I had less than twenty-four hours. In a stroke of inspiration, I got on the computer and found the website for Jason’s bar. I called the next day during lunch. Frank answered and we chatted briefly, but he was busy. He gave me Jason’s cell phone number and I called him, explaining my situation and asking if he could help me or give me Christy’s number so she could help.

Jason conferenced Christy in and I explained the situation again. They both seemed a little giddy at the prospect of me planning a date and I wondered if Xander never dated or if it was really about his control issues. We ultimately decided on early drinks at Jason’s bar, dinner at a sushi place they knew Xander loved and we could go from there.

I thanked them for being total lifesavers and asked, for the fourth time, if they wanted to come with. Jason responded, with laughter in his voice, “God, as much as I would love,
love
, to see Xander struggle with giving up some control, I think it would be intrusive for us to be there again. Spend a little time alone and have fun.”