Happy New You

by St John Brown, Brenda

  He sucks in another breath as my thumb slides over the slick tip of his cock. His hips jerk a little, like a reflex he can’t control.

  My insides clench in anticipation as I succumb to the compulsion to replace my hands with my mouth.

  “You don’t have to—yes!” His hands fall heavily on my shoulders as I taste him. He isn’t trying to guide me or coerce me; he’s just losing control of his motor functions. “Just like that, baby.”

  As my head moves up and down on him, he wraps a hand around my hair like a ponytail holder. I should find it demeaning when his fist around my hair tugs me back and forth, but instead it makes me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  Suddenly he yanks my head back. “No more,” he pants. “Get naked. Now.”

  He lets go of me so he can push his jeans down and kick them off, while I sit back on the bed to peel off my leggings and panties. We pull our shirts off at the same time, and when we come together on the bed it is so synchronous that it feels almost orchestrated. Fated. Perfectly timed and aligned.

  But there’s no grace in the way he moves over my body, no elegance in the way he reaches down to test my readiness before driving into me with a relieved sigh.

  It is pure need.

  I feel it too, this frantic desire. It frightens me, to be honest. It’s out of my control, unpredictable and ever-expanding. I didn’t realize how empty I was until he filled me.

  My thoughts are broken as we rock together. At first his face is buried in the curve of my neck, then he rears up to meet my gaze. There must be a million emotions swirling in his eyes, pinning me down. “Al, I need to—”

  “Later,” I tell him, my fingers digging into his ass. Then I swallow his half-formed words with deep, almost drunken kisses.

  And hold on tight.

  * * *

  Later, he is asleep in my bed.

  Lying on his belly, his arms are raised and bent, his hands wedged under the pillow. In this position, his golden back looks even more muscular, his shoulders broader. With his head turned to the side, a smile toys with the corners of his mouth as he sleeps.

  He is beautiful. Motionless and warm. Silently inviting. There would be nothing better than spending the rest of the night next to him.

  But because I’m me, I slip away instead.

  I retrieve his T-shirt from the floor before returning to the living room couch. I am so engrossed in my work that I nearly drop my laptop on the floor when I hear his voice. How long was I working?

  “Come back to bed, Al.”

  “Shit!” I scramble to avoid a collision between the computer and a glass of water on the coffee table. My heart is pounding when the laptop is back on my thighs and secured beneath my hands.

  He gives me a look. You know, that look. No, the other one.

  “I can’t,” I tell him, “I have too much work to do.”

  He leans against the wall, his arms crossed. His casual nudity makes my mouth dry. This Matty is a million miles away from high school Matty, I think to myself. Right now he’s a million miles away from me, as well.

  “If you wanted me to leave, you should have said so,” he says. His tone is a little snippy.

  I shake my head. “No, you can stay. I just—”

  “Need to work,” he finishes for me.

  “I’m behind. I’ve been spending too much time with you.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them.

  He makes a low sound in the back of his throat as he pushes himself off the wall. Straightens up and goes rigid. Well, most of him goes rigid, anyhow—not the good parts.

  “I see. Well, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, then.”

  Shit. “That’s not what I meant!”

  I’m just trying hard to balance everything without tipping over and falling on my face. Mateo Ramirez is very…distracting. But I’m under the gun at work and try as I might, I can’t fit everything together. It makes me feel inadequate somehow, and that’s the very opposite of my goals for this year.

  As all these thoughts race through my mind, I don’t notice that he’s disappeared back into the bedroom until he comes back wearing his jeans and a stern expression.

  “Stand up,” he commands.

  With great care, I put the laptop aside and stand up from the couch. I feel like a teenager who has been caught with contraband, which makes my defenses go up. My resolutions were things like working out more and learning how to flirt—not slacking off at work.

  I am irrationally irritated that Matty’s acting like I owe him a night in his arms instead of meeting my professional obligations. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t have these kinds of responsibilities.

  “Get naked.” His tone is brusque.

  “Um…” I raise my knee to the couch, not sure that I am really in the mood.

  “I need my shirt back.”

  Oh.

  Apparently he’s not in the mood, either. He moves toward the front door and shoves his feet in his shoes. There is disappointment in his eyes when he walks over to me and holds out his hand for the shirt I’m still wearing.

  His expression softens a little as his gaze runs up and down my body. “Don’t get me wrong, Al. You look hot as fuck in my shirt and…” He tilts his head as he examines the hemline and my bare, parted thighs beneath.

  “And?” I ask.

  “And nothing else.” His voice is icy, but his gaze is hot. I swallow and lower my leg to the floor, squeezing my knees together. “But if you don’t want me here, then I need my shirt back.”

  When I don’t move, he reaches for me.

  Strips me.

  The shirt he pulls on over his head is probably still warm from my body. Yet I am standing in my living room, trembling and naked, with my arms awkwardly crossed over my chest.

  I’ve never felt more exposed and vulnerable.

  “I’ll let you get back to work,” he says gruffly. He grabs a throw off my couch and wraps it around me like a shawl. “I know it’s important to you.”

  The understanding in his voice is like a poisoned arrow in my chest. He means it. Somehow that makes me feel worse.

  “I, uh…” Don’t know what to say.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late; you need to get enough sleep.” He leans forward to kiss me softly. I am frozen and speechless as he leaves my apartment.

  Mateo Ramirez would do anything for me—including leaving.

  The click of the door jolts me out of my stupor. What the fuck am I doing? I run after him.

  “Wait! Wait!”

  He whirls around in the hallway on my floor, his eyes wide. “Jesus, Al! What are you doing?” As he rushes back to me, he tugs his shirt over his head. Then he shoves it down over mine to cover me up.

  I’m shivering, but I’m not sure if it’s from cold or from the prospect of him leaving like this. Talk about spontaneous—I never would have run out in the hall bare-ass naked a year ago! I throw my arms around him, plant my feet on the scarred hardwood and prepare for battle.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a jerk.” His skin is hot and soft under my hands, and I tilt my head back to meet his wary gaze. “Don’t go, okay? No more work tonight, I promise.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t want to take you away from something that’s important.”

  I hug him. “You’re important. I’ve just been stressed about work, and I… Well, I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  It’s the story of my life—being unable to separate my work life from my personal life. Well, until this year I didn’t have much of a personal life.

  His hands rise to cup my jaw. “I get it, you know. This is you. It’s part of what I lo—” He breaks off and blinks at me. “I understand, Al. I’m just trying to figure out where I fit in.” His voice is low and sad, and it breaks my heart that he is feeling this way.

  You fit in me. You fit in my life. You fit in my heart. I want to say all these things, but I’m afraid. I
’m afraid that love is a square peg and I have a round hole.

  Okay, that came out wrong, but it makes sense in my head.

  All these resolutions have been about pushing me out of my comfort zone. It’s scary and exciting but I can’t imagine it without Mateo at my side. Or my back, or in front of me. He’s all around me, squeezing into the spaces of my life that work has yet to take over.

  “Please, come back to bed with me. I want to wake up in your arms tomorrow.” Then I recall the time. “I mean, later today.”

  He searches me, his lips pressing together tightly. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Work can wait.” I hope.

  “Okay,” he sighs. I sag against him with relief. “Get your gorgeous ass back inside before somebody calls the cops on us.”

  I look up and down the hallway. They should be so lucky. I’m lucky, I realize as Mateo pats me on the butt and ushers me back to my door. Without his arms around me, I begin to shiver again.

  “W-we can k-kugel,” I joke, trying to stop my teeth from chattering. I’m torn between trying to pull the hem of his shirt lower around my thighs or jumping up and down on the worn floor. Thankfully, he wraps his arms around me, his chest warming my back as I stand in front of my door.

  “Let’s just go back to bed, okay?”

  Yes. Mr. Pritchett can wait—at least for five hours.

  25

  Mateo

  September

  “Now don’t be disappointed when you see the space,” Dakota says. She inserts the key into the lock and curls her fingers around the metal handle to the door. We’re standing in front of a building in Queens. From the outside, it looks promising. There are businesses on the street level and apartments above. This location has a side entrance in an apartment building. “I haven’t seen pictures of the location, and when that happens, it usually means it needs work. One time, I put the key in, and the whole door fell over.”

  Her laugh isn’t helping to ease my nerves.

  This whole day has been one disappointment after another. It seems funding my gym idea is the easy part but finding a space is proving impossible. The more prospective spots we tour, the harder it is to feel right about this.

  Each of the three locations we’ve seen so far is more than just unsuitable. They’re a horror movie brought to life. Not a good horror movie, either. Cheap, B-level cinema that seems like something my neighbor in 5C put together.

  All three sites made my skin crawl. I might have fleas from the feral cats living in the second location. That must have been what the realtor meant when she said, “tenant occupied.”

  The first one Dakota and I went to visit was in the basement of a building infested with roaches the size of small rodents. The second place, with the cats, was in a third-floor apartment the size of a broom closet. Then, the third one would work perfectly, except it won’t be ready to use for another seven years. The building has yet to be built. We got to tour a construction pit filled with more of those rodent-roach hybrids.

  This morning I woke with excitement coursing through my veins. I groan at how naive I’d been, thinking it’d be easy to find the perfect place to bring my vision to life.

  The worst part of the day isn’t the disgusting locations we have seen. It’s Allison standing me up. When we talked last night, she promised she’d be here.

  I was honestly surprised when she swore that, “Even if something comes up at work, Matty, I will tell them that I made a promise to an important person today and I can’t get out of it.”

  Here I stand, two and a half hours after our nine o’clock meeting time, without a response to my phone calls or texts.

  “Maybe if I jiggle it.”

  I try not to laugh as Dakota, with a slim gray skirt and silky cream blouse perfect for a walk-through in a penthouse and not a Jackson Heights apartment building, shimmies like she’s competing on So You Think You Can Dance.

  “Is it jammed?” I lean closer to discover the key isn’t moving.

  “The key won’t work. I wonder if the doorman gave me the wrong one. I’ll be right back.”

  After a few tugs, she gets the key out of the door handle and struts off, her red heels clicking on the sidewalk. I pull my phone out from my back pocket and sigh when I see Allison still hasn’t replied.

  I bring up her number and try to call her yet again. When it goes directly to voicemail, anger evaporates what little hope I had left. She must’ve purposely shut it off.

  “I think I must have given you the wrong key, madam. Sorry about that. I’m new and still learning which key goes to which room.” A tall, thin man with a worn face trails behind Dakota.

  “No problem. Hoping to get the walk-through over soon. We want to get something to eat since it’s almost lunchtime.” Dakota comes to stand by the door with an understanding but tired grin.

  Right on cue, my stomach rumbles.

  “I think it’s this one right here.” The doorman twitches his hand, causing the keys to rattle. “Maybe not. Oh, I know. It must be this one.”

  With each twist of his hand and jingle of the keys, his words sound less and less sure, until he isn’t saying anything. After several minutes I give up hope.

  “Let me go call maintenance, madam. I know he’s in the building working on 4L’s sink. Hopefully, he can help with the door.”

  He scurries off. Maybe it’s a sign that no matter what is behind the door, I should consider giving up on my gym. Maybe this isn’t meant to be. I have a good thing going with my clients and my social media following. It’s not as if I’m not successful in the career I love.

  Then why does that thought of failure make me want to rip the door off with my bare hands?

  “We’re in luck. Tom, the maintenance guy, just finished up. He’ll be here in just a minute,” the doorman calls out to us as he makes his way back to my nemesis, the unmovable door.

  We make small talk about the break in the heat of summer now that fall has arrived. It doesn’t take long for Tom to show.

  “Looks like I’m going to have to remove the door from its hinges.” Tom steps back and studies the door.

  Dakota and I glance at each other. She isn’t even attempting to hide the disappointment and displeasure on her face anymore.

  “How long will that take? Maybe we should get food and come back,” I say as my stomach wins the battle of wills.

  “Only a few minutes. But, I can’t leave it off while you two are gone. And I have to get to 3H to install a new toilet in about fifteen minutes.”

  Dakota shrugs, “I guess we’ll wait to find out what’s behind this mysterious door.”

  “At this rate, it better be the answer to my prayers.”

  It’s moments like this that I wish Allison came today. I stretch my fingers but refuse to check my phone. I know there is no response from her. I needed her support today, and she won’t answer her phone. As disappointing as that is, I can’t say I’m surprised.

  “Got it. Stand back, everyone.” Tom braces the door as it tips back. I come up beside him and assist in easing it away. But before I can do much, a large cardboard box falls on me. And another. Finally, two more boxes knock me down.

  “What the hell?” While I am in shock from the tumble, I’m more baffled by what falls out of the boxes.

  “Is that a naked woman?” Dakota says as she comes down to help me up, grabbing a magazine in the process.

  When I stand, I glance at the mess around me. “There must be hundreds of nudie magazines. And by the looks of them,” I reach down, picking one up, “they look like they’re from the eighties.”

  Dakota frowns, instantly dropping the publication. “Ugh. Why would someone have boxes of these?”

  I glance into the room now that there’s no door and find another wall of boxes. More nudie magazines, no doubt.

  “I know the building manager has been using this space as storage.” The doorman chuckles. “I’ll have to ask him about it when I see him tomorrow.”

&
nbsp; With the growing smile on the older man’s face, I suspect he’s eager for that conversation.

  “Your manager should move his property out of this room, considering it’s up for rent,” Dakota mentions with a critical tone.

  The doorman nods.

  “You’re right, madam. I’ll make sure to tell him of your concern. I’ll help you remove some boxes so you can get inside, but then I have to get back to my post.”

  With everyone pitching in, it takes no time for most of the boxes to be removed. I push the ones that are left to the center of the room.

  “Now that most of the boxes are gone, this isn’t a bad space. I believe it’s the best one we’ve seen yet. What do you think, Mateo?”

  There’s hope in her voice, but before I can respond, I notice something in the corner.

  “This looks like water damage. That can be costly, and there might be mold.” I point to the corner but gaze over at Dakota.

  “I think Tom is still out there. Let me see if I can grab him.”

  She rushes off, and I’m thankful to be left with my thoughts for a moment. I want to be optimistic, but with disappointment after disappointment, I hold back.

  “Where is the damage?” Tom strolls in, and both Dakota and I point to the front corner.

  I fold my arms over my chest, trying to remain still as my heart beats wildly. Dakota, despite all the walking, riding in taxis, and touring places that need to be condemned, has a smile on her face and hope in her eyes.

  A part of me envies her. She has a successful career that’s fulfilling. A gorgeous wife whom she loves. And despite our crazy morning, she can still smile.

  “Looks recent,” Tom says on bent knee in front of the damage.

  “Is that good or bad?” I cross both fingers like a kid about to see his report card.

  He stands, brushing his hands together to remove dirt. “It’s good. It’s also dry, another good sign. I’ll contact the manager about it, but I think it’s a small leak that must have been from the floor above. I think it was recently fixed. Replacing the drywall won’t cost much. You’ll still need to test for mold, but I’m sure they won’t find anything.”