by Trixie More
He’d been looking into her eyes and she’d felt that pull, that desire. This wasn’t some dropout from the neighborhood. She was very, very good at telling all the boys no. This was a man. He had a good job; he had his own place to live; he worked every day; she knew it. He made money, good money. When he leaned over to kiss her, her heart had soared. They kissed from Battery Park to Flatbush Avenue, and when the bus stopped, he got off with her.
“It’s not far to my house,” she’d said. “My mother is there.” She’d been a bit ashamed to admit she lived with her mother. Anyway, he didn’t say anything about that.
“I’m not ready to say good night,” he said. “Are you?”
She’d shook her head. No. Instead, he’d pulled her down the street to the park and they’d strolled through it, talking about people they knew, what they wanted for themselves. They stopped and kissed, laughed, and held hands. The night was balmy and wonderful, and his hand on her bare shoulder made her wild. Sometimes, he would slide it down her arm and she wished then that she was at his place and she could be the one asking to come up.
After they walked back to the Prospect Park entrance, they still didn’t want to part, so they sat on the bench and he carved the heart, and then her initials, while they talked and kissed and ran their hands everywhere.
When he looked at his watch, they were shocked. The sun would be up soon and they were outside, cold now with the air turning damp. He put his arms around her to keep her warm, and they walked to the little apartment above the store that never did well. He kissed her in the doorway and walked her inside. They kept kissing, and he ran his hands over her breasts, pulling down the front of her dress, kissing her neck, slipping to her breast as she stood on the step above him. The feeling was like nothing she’d felt. Other boys had pawed at her and she’d slapped them away, but this time, it felt so good. Her entire focus was on her own nipple and the flicking of his tongue against it. When he sucked it, so hard, an ache started between her legs and she clutched his head to her. Then, he slid to the other nipple, leaving the first one puckered and damp, protruding from her breast, out where any passing neighbor could see it. She didn’t care. All her attention was now on the other one, already pointed and begging for him. By the time he tugged up her dress to cover her again, she could hardly think of anything but the sparkling throbbing between her thighs.
Then they were at the apartment door, putting their fingers on each other’s lips, their eyes wide, and warning each other to be quiet. When she’d crept into the apartment, her mother’s door was shut tight. He was right behind her, his erection solid against her buttocks. When she stepped forward, he did too, keeping himself pressed against her.
There was no stopping them, they were lost to the feelings and the magic of kissing for hours, talking for hours, finding themselves so perfectly meant for each other. He sat on the couch and pulled her on top of him, undoing his pants, sliding her panties aside. She’d been so ready, he’d slipped into her like he was part of her. Marley had ridden him, slow and long, looking down at his face, his forehead creased with a frown.
She’d never felt this, this connection, this oneness. Then he showed her something else she’d never felt, moving his fingers across her body, slick with her wetness, playing with her in a way she’d never experienced. Oh, she’d had boys touch her there, a light caress that felt good, but not this assault, not this never stopping until finally, her body had clenched and her mind went blank, only to be followed by the most blissful light feeling she’d ever known. Without question, she knew this was what an orgasm was. She finally understood.
Marley had no idea when he came, before, during, after? Who could tell. All she knew was she was clutching at his head, pressing him to her chest like she was trying to pull him all the way into her.
Afterward, he’d tugged up the front of her sundress, all wrinkled now, and straightened himself up. His face was flushed, as if he was embarrassed. In the quiet of the apartment with her mother just behind the door, they couldn’t talk, she couldn’t ask him what had happened. Instead, he backed out the door kissing her all the way, and before he left, he said—
“Good morning, Marley.”
Marley startled and gave a small shriek. Oh. It was the baker’s man. Here on the street, so many years later, he said exactly what that other man had. The only difference was, the baker’s man, who was tucked into the doorway of the bakery, unlocking it so he could go inside and start the day’s bread, would wish her good morning again sometime. The man of her dreams—would not.
A new woman had begun visiting Doug in his dreams.
He’d had kitchen duty today, slicing vegetables, washing pots, mopping the floor. He stepped into the utility room to dump the mop water and stopped when he heard a noise. Setting the large bucket down softly, he fisted his hands around the mop handle before he turned, holding the wooden stick at the ready.
There were four of them. A mixed bag of inner-city gang bangers. The guy in front was Jose Luck. Tall Pete was beside him. The group spread out around him.
“How you doin’ today?” Jose Luck winked at him.
When they were done, Doug had puked into the mop sink until his guts were dry.
Now, he was asleep, and she was coming. Doug walked into the visiting room, listening to the murmur of the cons around him. Rock music, raunchy and suggestive, was blaring through the speakers. The guards were leaning along the walls, talking to each other. Nobody was looking at him. Nobody was looking at her, either, and that was one amazing thing. He, well, he was a plug-ugly bull of a man, broad and bandy legged. All he had going for himself was a swagger. His face wasn’t the smooth round boyish thing it had been. Too many days of being a punching bag, of standing with his head lowered, fists clenched, feeling the blows land, refusing to fall, refusing to fight back, doing his penance. Too many of those days had hardened him, damaged him, cleaned him. Still not enough mortification to make him worthy of her.
In his dream, Doug kept his chin high, clenched his molars together, his blood pounding as he crossed to where she stood by the plastic chairs. Sometimes she stayed, and sometimes she fled. He ached for her, regardless.
Willing her to stay, he approached cautiously. Her hair hung down in a glossy curtain. She didn’t see him and he couldn’t see her face. His stomach twisted. If she looked up and turned out to be Janice, he might rip one of these plastic benches free of its bolts and smash it through a window. His hands folded into fists. Three feet away now, he took a step, reached out and started to sweep her hair back from her face.
Thank God. Not Janice. It was her. His cock jerked, his blood pounding. She turned to him fully, and he gently set his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes, tipping his head. She was stronger than anyone here knew. He could see the sharp intelligence in her. His heart sang, rejecting the God of his father and rejoicing in those other gods, the pantheon of immortals who ruled the world before Christianity. Rejoicing in her, his goddess.
Her dark coffee eyes held his gaze as he sunk to his knees, sliding his hands along her arms, over her hips, coming to settle, fingers behind her bare knees. What did she see in his eyes? He closed his fingers around the warm, olive flesh of her knees, felt his thumb slide over the bone of her kneecap. He gave a tug. It wasn’t gentle, but still, she parted her legs. Around him, the voices rose and fell, the murmur of the convicts and their visitors a sea of sound, rising and falling, washing over him. Did anyone notice them? He turned slightly to check if they were being watched, and her cool hands found the top of his shaved head, sliding over the bristles, making him shiver. Electricity sung in his veins. She spread her legs farther, bracing herself like a cop. He slid his hands up the inside of her legs without looking at her. He didn’t need to see her. All he needed was to know her. She was a palpable presence even when he was looking away. His hands explored her body while his eyes kept a vigil, creating a veil of anonymity around them as the guards and the cons alike dropped their gazes w
hen his eyes passed over them. Alone. Invisible and yet right here, in public. His cock hardened in his loose prison garb. He turned his head back to her, lifting her skirt, pulling her sweet, damp panties to the side, using his thumbs to spread her wide. Inhaling deeply, he surged upward, flattening his tongue and swiping at her.
“Ahh!” He jerked awake, clutching at the sides of his bunk.
“Shut up, Lloyd.” Something landed on his bunk. Doug punched his pillow and turned on his side. So fucking like his life, to wake up during a dream about her. Two more days, and he’d be out. But for today, if they came for him in the janitorial room, he’d fight like a fiend. She did that for him.
Manhattan, New York
The gym on this street was never crowded. It was always fully staffed, had the newest equipment and the cleanest locker rooms with the thickest towels. It was also as empty as a tomb.
Tommy Kretlow’s shoes made a racket on the natural stone floor as he headed past the concierge to get changed. The day had been an absolute beast. Since they’d locked Doug up, Tommy’s life had become a lot more stressful. A whole lot more stressful. Like, incredible stress. So much that one day he’d actually broken down and phoned his damn mother. He pushed through the door into the cozy anteroom. Who the hell needed stuffed chairs and floor lamps inside the john?
Beyond this was another room, with teak benches and beautiful cabinetry that was basically a bunch of gym lockers. Tommy found Doug’s locker and opened the padlock. Since the membership was paid in advance, someone ought to use it.
He wondered if Doug had any idea how hard it was to visit him. Not emotionally hard, although that was also true. Just how logistically tricky. The long bus ride, the waiting lines, the flat-out horrible treatment and searches he’d endured waiting to be cleared for entry. When they refused him, Tommy told Doug he hadn’t gone. He worried that Doug might say the wrong thing, might be hurt defending him.
Fat chance, he thought. Tommy wadded up his shirt and chucked it onto the bench. Better that he just focused on the business. The way to win Doug’s heart wasn’t by losing the company, but the stress...it was killing him.
As he changed, he looked for something better to think about. He was here because of his mother’s advice, straight from a woman’s magazine he was sure she’d picked up in the grocery store. He smiled. One thing he did have was good parents. His mother said exercising was a great way to relieve stress, so here he was. If only stock certificates would fly out of his ass as he ran, he’d be all set. His stress had a direct correlation to how much Lloyd’s holdings lost on any given day.
Tommy nodded at a man who’d just entered. He was maybe six two, round faced with wavy hair, short on the sides. What was most striking about him were the small, brilliant blue eyes that were looking directly at Tommy.
“Hey,” Tommy offered.
“Who’re you?”
The guy’s accent was New Jersey through and through. He didn’t act like the kind of person who could afford this place. Then again, Doug was in jail, so maybe, actually, he did. Tommy cleared his throat. “Tom Kretlow,” he said. “I run Lloyd Holdings.” These days, it wasn’t the badge of honor that it used to be.
“That so?” The man dropped his gym bag onto a bench with a thunk and pulled off his polo shirt.
Tommy didn’t ask for his name, but the guy offered it anyway.
“Marco Camisa. My company does cyber investments.” Marco shucked his jeans and Tommy looked away, studiously packing his street clothes into the locker. “Seems like you and I have something in common.”
Tommy lifted a shoulder. He didn’t agree, but he wasn’t going to say that. “We do eco-friendly investing,” he offered.
Marco looked up from tying his kicks but didn’t say anything. Those sharp eyes seemed too perceptive, and Tommy was glad to exit the room.
“Good workout,” he said as he left.
The air outside the locker room was fresh. Tommy headed across the matted floor toward the wall of treadmills that faced tall windows. Each machine had its own little monitor, alleviating the need for wall-mounted screens. He put in his buds and started up his playlist, jumped on the deck and started his workout. Always, the first five minutes were hell. His mind rejected the idea that this was necessary and his brain was a play-loop of thoughts basically telling him that he oughta get the fuck off this machine, back into his clothes and get back to the office. There was so much to do and nobody but him to do it. Doug was counting on him and they would lose everything. Tommy was a failure, worse than that, he’d betrayed the man he loved by letting all that money slip through his fingers. Mentally, Tommy fought back against his own thoughts. As he moved into a steady run, he countered his own negative thinking. This break was necessary for him to stay healthy. He could still recoup the losses if he found the one right investment. As the pace on the treadmill picked up, Tommy had to focus on breathing, relaxed and deep rather than the gasping his body wanted, and then, all the thoughts were gone and it was just him, his body, and the deep, consistent breathing. Sweating, running, feet thundering on the deck, music resonating in his ears, Tommy outran his self-doubt. In thirty short minutes, he felt—better.
Thank you, Mom, he thought. The treadmill slowed, and then, he shut it off.
Glass pitchers of water with colorful citrus slices and crushed ice sat on tables around the gym. Tommy filled his water bottle from one and grabbed a fluffy hand towel, swabbing at his face, the back of his neck and shoulders before tossing it in a covered bin. Tommy moved on to the weight room and there he found Marco, dead lifting with a look of pained determination. Tommy grabbed a set of dumbbells and started on his curl, lift, press combo and tried not to compare himself to either the imaginary gym rats in his mind or the man next to him. This was his workout. Anything else was none of his business. The music kept his mind from moving back to the office before he was ready; the exertion demanded his focus. Squats, lifts, a couple of machines, some of the damn fire hoses and he was almost done. He moved off to a row of mats to stretch.
“I never bother with that shit.”
Tommy looked over his shoulder, he had his toe to the wall and was stretching out his hamstrings in a lunge. Marco was standing behind him, mopping a gallon of sweat from his face.
Tommy grunted and switched legs. For real?
“Yeah, I figure I oughta use every minute for the legit stuff.”
“And this matters to me...why?” said Tommy. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but the guy gave him one anyway.
“I googled your company.”
Shithead, Tommy thought.
“You’re not doing too good.”
“Tell me something I don’t know or go back to shitting a brick while you lift,” Tommy snarled. To his surprise, Marco laughed.
“Fine. I think I can help you.” The intense blue eyes were drilling into him now as Marco moved around to lean against the wall and watch Tommy stretch. Tommy turned his back on Marco and started to stretch out his arms, crossing one in front and pressing with his free hand.
“Lloyd’s doing a deuce and you’re in charge, but it’s not working out that well. He’ll be out soon and you want to hand him back his business with all the stuff in the right places.” Marco said it like he was Tommy’s oldest friend. Tommy turned around.
The blue eyes peered out from their tiny sockets, the round cheeks lifted and then Marco smiled. It was all wrong, but there was definitely humor in those eyes. Tommy just didn’t think it was friendly.
“What do you care?” he asked.
“I care because I’m about to get ahold of some serious bitcoin and I thought you might want to get in on it.”
Tommy snorted. “Look, I don’t need some high risk investment scam to finish off the ‘bizness’ we built. Thanks anyway.” Tommy started walking out but Marco followed him. So much for the gym relieving stress. Tomorrow he’d just run around his apartment.
“No, the money’s not in the investment. The investment is
just to get us into the house.”
“House?”
“Yeah. I need Colton Gerrimon in order to pull off this big idea of mine but, sadly, the guy doesn’t like me.” Tommy couldn’t imagine why. Marco kept right on rolling. “You, however, have the perfect résumé to get in with him. If you put in the cash, then the guy will meet with you. If you meet with him, you can bring me along. Then I’ll have an introduction. After that, you can pull back out—nothing lost. Plus, I’ll give you two million cold as a finder’s fee.”
Tommy stopped with his hand on the door to the locker room and looked at Marco. Marco, however, was looking at the door. The blue eyes turned to him, quite serious now, and he gave his head a little shake. Tommy pushed through.
“Why...”
Marco laid his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and gave a negative shake again and Tommy felt a quick frisson of fear. He shrugged off the hand but he also shut up. There was no more talk until Marco was sure they were alone.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Marco said.
“Look, nothing good ever came from a locker room deal with a stranger,” Tommy said. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Marco laughed. “Fool, that’s the only thing that anything ever came from. Maybe that’s why Lloyd had the touch and you don’t.” Marco pulled his sweat soaked shirt off revealing a flabby bleached white torso. “No worries though,” Marco pressed on. He reached in his gym bag and for a wild moment, Tommy imagined that he would be looking down the barrel of a gun, probably with a silencer. Instead, Marco’s hand came out with the next closest thing—a business card.
Tommy stared at it and turned back to his locker. Marco laughed again and, stepping closer, flicked it into the locker where it came to rest against in the back corner.
“Thanks,” Tommy said. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Marco shook his head. This time, his smile was real. “I don’t think I’ll have to. It’s a no-lose deal. I just want to go in as your associate so the man will work with me.”
