Code Name: Rook

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Are you in an orgasmic coma?” I tease, taking her chin in between my thumb and forefinger and giving her a little shake.

  She grins, stretches again. “Sorry… it’s just… I think you broke me a little just now. But I mean that in the best of ways.”

  “We can fuck like that any time you want,” I promise as I release her chin. Curling my arm under my head, I ask again, “So how was work yesterday?”

  Jaime’s expression clouds, her mouth turning downward. “Not the greatest.”

  “What happened?” My hand immediately goes to her waist to pull her in a little closer, enough so my hand can rest on her lower back. I glide my fingers there in a comforting measure.

  “A woman I helped place in a shelter last week left, presumably going back to her abuser.”

  One thing I notice about Jaime is she never refers to the men from whom she helps to keep women safe as a “husband” or a “boyfriend.” She only calls them abusers, meaning she doesn’t give them any human credence at all.

  “And?” I prompt, knowing this story won’t have a happy ending.

  “She’s in the hospital,” she whispers, eyes misting up a bit. I’ve never seen her cry. I mean, we’ve only been dating a week, but she’s such a happy optimist. There’s never been a situation where I would have seen tears.

  I’m now seeing the ugly side of her work.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “He beat her with a bat.” Jaime grimaces. “She has a brain bleed. She’s in pretty bad shape.”

  “Has he been arrested?”

  She nods. “Small consolation, right?”

  I use my arm to pull her all the way into me, my other hand going to the back of her head to tuck her against my shoulder so I can hold her tightly. My lips go to her head. “I’m sorry. You must be heartbroken.”

  She pulls back quickly, chin contracting inward to look at me. “I’m not heartbroken,” she says, eyes still with a wet sheen. “I’m pissed.”

  I blink in surprise at the vehemence in her voice.

  “I’m pissed at her for going back to him. She knew this would happen again, but she loves him. But that’s not love, you know what I mean? A man cannot love a woman and hurt her like that. It shows an absolute disrespect, which I loathe. But more than anything, I’m pissed at her for going back when we had her safe and cared for.”

  I draw in a slow breath. “I imagine it’s difficult for some women to break that tie. Afraid they can’t make it. Or that the abuse is better than being alone.”

  “Yes,” she growls, huffing out a breath of frustration. “I get all that. I understand the victim psychology. It’s my specialty. But I still get pissed.”

  “Because you want every woman you help to have a success story.”

  “Exactly,” she murmurs, then moves into me to snuggle tight. She mutters against the skin of my chest. “Didn’t mean to unload like that.”

  “You unload anytime you want,” I assure her, but I feel that small twinge of guilt. Will I always be here to lean on in times like these? And it struck a chord when she talked about disrespect. I’m not abusing Jaime, but I am disrespecting her by continuing my lie.

  Christ, part of me feels I should confess right now, but there’s something inside me sounding an alarm bell. She’d be hurt by it, yes. But I suspect she’d be pissed, and I’m not quite ready to let this thing—whatever it is—be over yet.

  God, I’m a selfish son of a bitch.

  And I reason that this is just a casual, easy relationship. We’ve not talked about commitment or monogamy, although I’d go ape shit if she wanted to see someone else. We’re having fun. A good time. Nothing to indicate this is more than just two people who enjoy each other’s company and are extremely compatible in bed.

  Except… I felt her pain just moments ago when she was telling me about the woman who went back to her abuser. I wanted to comfort her and make it better.

  And fuck… I sent her flowers this week at work. For no reason. My card read, “Just because I wanted to,” because I was sure she’d be asking herself why in the world I’d do that. She loved them so much, calling me up immediately to gush about them.

  Jesus… I don’t know what the hell this is. Until I do, I’m not inclined to make a move to reveal my true self. I feel like it’s just self-preservation controlling my actions right now.

  Jaime’s phone rings on the nightstand beside her. She pulls away from me, reaches an arm way back, and feels around for it. When she nabs it, she glances at the screen briefly before answering, “Hey, Brian… what’s up?”

  Her brother. I haven’t met him the way I did Laney at the football game a week ago, but I’ve learned a little bit about him through Jaime. She loves him dearly, but he’s a source of frustration to her as well. I’ve not offered opinions one way or the other, because she hasn’t told me much and it’s just not my place.

  Jaime listens to her brother, the smile she just had on her face as she answered the phone slipping away. Her mouth presses tight, and her brows draw inward.

  “Seriously, Brian?” she asks, clearly incredulous over whatever he just said.

  She listens some more before sighing. “When can you come by?”

  Whatever he replies causes her to sit up straight in bed. “Okay… just stay put. I’ll be right there.”

  Jaime disconnects the phone, tosses it on the nightstand, and rolls out of bed. I watch as she nabs her robe and slips into it. Turning to me, she explains. “My brother Brian is here. In the hallway. I’ll be right back.”

  Not much information, but I get her message loud and clear. She wants me to stay here, and I’ll abide by it.

  She slips out of the room, then closes the door behind her. I resist the urge to get out of bed and creep to the door to listen. I hear some muffled sounds, both talking in low voices, but Jaime sounds angry.

  The conversation is short. Within just a few minutes, she’s slipping back into her bedroom.

  While I wish it were otherwise, she doesn’t remove her robe, merely comes to the edge of the bed and sits on it, angling to face me. Her expression says all I need to know. She’s bothered by her brother’s visit.

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask hesitantly.

  She sighs. “My brother needed money. It’s not the first time, and I’m frustrated with his inability to take care of himself.”

  I know he lives with her parents, but not much more. “Doesn’t he work?”

  Jaime shakes her head, muttering. “Not at anything for long.”

  “And why does he need money?”

  “I don’t know,” she grumbles, flopping down on the bed beside me. She rolls to her back, laces her hands over her stomach, and stares at the ceiling. “I asked him point-blank if it was drugs, but he swore it wasn’t. It was just a cash-flow problem on a job he finished recently.”

  “What job?”

  Jaime rolls her head to look at me, her cheeks slightly pink. “I don’t ask for details. Is it bad I don’t want to know?”

  “No,” I say with a smile. “You don’t want to know if it’s bad.”

  I resist the urge to offer to check him out. It’s something I could easily do through Jameson, but I’m not ready to blow my fake job cover, and I don’t want to have to explain how I would be able to check him out.

  Instead, I merely say, “You could always say no to his requests.”

  “I know, I know,” she mutters with a sour expression. “I tell my parents all the time that they’re enabling him by letting him live at their house without requiring him to contribute. I’m doing the same damn thing.”

  “Why are you doing it?”

  Her expression turns to worry. “Because I’m afraid if I don’t, something bad will happen to him.”

  Without a doubt, I know in my gut he’s into something bad. If Jaime is feeling that way, I will trust her judgment. I decide to text Bodie to ask him to run a background check on her brother. I’d do it myself, but I have no intention
of leaving Jaime for the rest of the weekend. We’ve made plans to spend it together, and there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jaime

  The weekend has gone by too fast in my opinion. Before meeting Cage, I actually looked forward to Mondays because my job is important to me. I love it so much that it is not a chore to head into the office to start a week that will be filled with as much strife and heartache as it will victories and rewards.

  But after spending this entire weekend with Cage, I don’t want tomorrow to come. I want one more day because it’s been perfect in every way.

  He brought a weekend bag with him on Friday night as we planned. Or rather, he had planned it. Saturday morning, we had a late brunch out at a popular restaurant. We went to the Warhol museum, then for fun, we hit River’s Casino. I’m not much of a gambler, and I’d only been one other time. Neither is Cage, but he had never been.

  We cooked dinner together at my apartment Saturday night. Laughs and silliness, bolstered with a bottle of wine we drank while we cooked a decent chicken Parmesan and made a terrible attempt at cannolis.

  “I suppose this is a result of you being of Irish heritage and me being a southern boy,” Cage said with a grimace when he tasted the first cannoli. The filling was bland and runny while the shell was semi burnt.

  So we bundled up in coats and walked two blocks down the street to a donut shop for dessert.

  That night was another magical, crazy, and wild romp of pleasure with Cage in my bed. Nothing is ever the same with him. I love that he’s inventive and filthy, but can be sweet and tender at other times. He’s the only man I’ve been with—which there haven’t been that many in my twenty-six years—that makes it his sole purpose to make sure I come first when we fuck, and then a second time before or at the same time he finishes. He’s every woman’s dream in bed.

  Sunday was a day of relaxation. We cooked breakfast together, watched the Steelers on TV, and then ordered a pizza for dinner. In between all of that, there was a lot of fooling around, which naturally led to a lot of sex.

  And now we’re winding our weekend down with another outdoor excursion. It’s a dark starry night, but in the city, the glow coming from the buildings can often hide such beauty. Cage suggested we ride the Duquesne Incline up to the top of Mount Washington, another Pittsburgh attraction he has yet to see.

  We bundle up, and I can smell snow in the air. I bet if I checked my weather app, it will be coming in sometime tonight. I made a big thermos of hot cocoa and spiked it with Baileys for us to drink at the top. We stand in the cable car, a mode of transportation opened in 1877, and make the slow ride to the top with our arms around each other.

  It feels… romantic and special. It’s far removed from the rowdy sex we’d had just a few hours before. It feels meaningful that we were doing this late on a Sunday night as an end cap to the weekend before Cage will head home to his apartment to finish some laundry and get ready for the start of his workweek.

  The cable car only moves at six miles per hour, and it can be a little scary for those afraid of heights, but the evening view of Pittsburgh and its three rivers is beyond compare in my opinion. The city is so beautiful—who cares about the stars in the sky?

  At the top, we exit the car and head to the observation deck. At this time of night, there are only a handful of people riding with us.

  We take a few moments at the railing to gaze out at the glory of the lit-up city casting smears of reflective light on the smooth river waters.

  “Now that’s magnificent,” Cage murmurs in appreciation.

  “I’ve been up this incline dozens of times over my life, and it never fails to amaze me,” I reply.

  His arm comes around my shoulder, and he pulls me in tight. It feels so natural to lean my head on his shoulder as we just stand there quietly, neither of us feeling a need to say anything.

  More people come to stand around us. We move over to a bench, and I open the thermos of cocoa. After I fill the cup up, we pass it back and forth, sipping on it and chatting. Cage is a newcomer to Pittsburgh, so he asks a lot of questions. He’s fascinated by the steel industry and the fact my father still works in a plant. He’s pretty up to speed on the history of our sports since he’s a man who loves all sports, and we have a heated debate about hockey.

  He’s a Carolina Cold Fury fan being from North Carolina, and I obviously root for the Pittsburgh Titans. We make loose plans to check the upcoming schedule to see when the Cold Fury might be coming to Pittsburgh next, agreeing we’ll try to get tickets to go. Despite how well we’ve clicked over the past days, it’s still a bit surprising we’re making “plans” that could be weeks into the future. I have yet to get any sense from Cage that this is anything but something fun for the time being.

  Cage gives a shiver as he hands the cup of cocoa back. “Tell me… at some point, do you just get used to the cold? You don’t seem uncomfortable at all.”

  Laughing, I pour some more cocoa. “Twenty-six years here, you’d be used to it. Have you never lived anywhere cold?”

  Cage’s face clouds over just a bit as he looks out over the city. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and I haven’t pushed. Some people just aren’t open that way, and it hasn’t bothered me.

  Much.

  “I lived in Vegas before Pittsburgh,” he finally says, offering nothing more.

  “What did you do there?”

  “Same thing I’m doing now,” he replies with a smile.

  I sip at my cocoa, mulling over his job. I know little about it other than he works at a dealership in McKeesport, just south of Pittsburgh. He told me he doesn’t necessarily like the work, and I haven’t pushed. We’ve had so many other things to talk about in the short time we’ve been seeing each other.

  Still, I can’t help but ask, “Why do you sell cars if you’re not passionate about it?”

  Cage’s gaze is focused on the cityscape as he ponders my question. When he turns, I can tell by his expression he doesn’t have a clear answer. “Not everyone is as fortunate as you to have something they feel strongly about as their profession. In fact, I’d say that applies to the vast majority.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to stay somewhere you don’t like,” I press.

  “And I don’t intend to,” he replies, taking the cup of cocoa from me. “This is just temporary until I can get my footing.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you get your footing?”

  I had not meant to say that. It’s something someone would offer to a person they were extremely serious about, and I’m not that serious about Cage.

  Not really.

  I mean… I like him.

  More than I can recall ever liking a man I’ve dated before. I know this because I get a thrill every time he smiles at me, or my belly gets flutters when he touches me in affection. I get lost talking to him because everything he says is interesting and meaningful, and he really listens when I talk.

  He makes me laugh.

  He makes my body do things I never knew it could do.

  It’s only been ten days, but I have to admit, I’m hoping this could be more.

  We share another cup of hot chocolate. The silence isn’t awkward. Instead, we let ourselves be captivated by the gorgeous scenery and because it’s cold, we snuggle together.

  “This is easy,” Cage says, breaking the silence.

  I have to lean slightly away from him, tip my face to give him my attention. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, being with you is easy.”

  Hmmm. Not sure how to take that. He must see my confusion because he laughs, leaning in to give me a kiss.

  When he pulls away, he assures me. “That’s a compliment. I always sort of thought dating was a burden, and with you, it’s anything but.”

  I frown slightly, wondering how we’ve never really talked about this. “Have you not dated before?”

  Which is ridiculous. He’s two years older tha
n me. At twenty-eight, surely he’s had relationships.

  “Not really,” he admits.

  “Aaahhh,” I drawl in understanding, smirking. “You’re a playboy.”

  He doesn’t smile back, but rather tips his head to the side. “Would it turn you off to know that about me? That I’ve never, ever wanted to devote my time to one woman before? Or that I prefer one-night stands?”

  “Then why are you doing exactly the opposite of what you’re comfortable with?” I ask, my heart sinking a bit. I feel like this is the inevitable start of the end between us.

  Cage shrugs, his gloved hand coming to the nape of my neck. He squeezes slightly, a silent command to keep my attention on him. “I have no clue,” he admits. “I just know that being with you is so effortless I have no interest in the former way I approached how I spent my free time with women.”

  “Does it help to know I feel the same way about you?” I whisper, afraid that might scare him a bit. Clearly, he’s out of his element, trying to forge a relationship when he’s never done it before.

  “A little,” he replies somberly. “And it also scares the shit out of me. I’ve never been beholden to a woman before. It’s a huge responsibility, and I don’t want to fuck it up or hurt you. I can’t say I won’t get freaked or spooked at some point. Because while this is effortless, there’s a part that seems like a burden, too.”

  Ouch.

  That hurts.

  But, at this moment, I know Cage is being one-hundred percent honest with me. Rather than scare me in return, it actually makes me feel safe. He’s clearly laid out there’s a risk if we continue forward, but that what we have is also good to us both.

  He’s definitely a gamble.

  I hold my gloved hand out, palm up. Cage doesn’t hesitate, moving his from my neck down to take mine. Our fingers wrap around each other. “Let’s just keep going as we are,” I suggest. “No pressure. Enjoy what we have. If you get spooked, I might try to talk you off the ledge. If I can’t do that, then I will just have to chalk it up to having a great experience with a great guy.”