by Jewel E. Ann
“Yes.” I give her a tight grin and resolute nod.
“It was a multiple choice question, not a yes or no question.”
“Thirteen days.”
She bites her lower lip, shaking her head a half dozen times while opening the door. Her thoughts—her motives—remain a mystery I have no business trying to solve.
“For the record…” she ducks her head back in the car “…I didn’t want you to stop.”
*
Ellen
I WILL NEVER take human touch for granted again.
A handshake.
A hug.
A pat on the shoulder.
One body connected to another in search of the most basic human pleasure.
I will not be ashamed of my needs.
“Should we talk?” Dr. Hamilton traps me in the lounge before I get a full cup of coffee filtering into my veins. “How’s the arm?”
“Fine. Sore. But fine.” I focus on the steam swirling from my favorite morning drug.
“So you’re having sex with your landlord. Surely that solves the eviction issue.” She leans her shoulder against the wall by the water cooler, cupping her coffee mug with both hands.
I chuckle, keeping my gaze on the fascinating coffee steam. “We didn’t get to the actual sex part. And while you’d think the events of last night might change my rental circumstances, they don’t. I’m down to twelve days.”
“How uh …” She drums her fingers on the outside of the mug. “How did ‘feel free to look around the house’ turn into sex in my neighbor’s greenhouse? I’m just trying to piece all of this together.”
I can’t help the grin that sneaks up my face as I look at her. “You know, just the usual banter, heated looks, inappropriate comments, and idle threats of dirtying up my shirt, all of which kinda, sorta led to a kiss, some quick ripping of clothes, and then an unexpected nothingness that left me physically off balance and dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes.”
“You said no?”
I shake my head. “He did. Actually, he didn’t say no. It was more like a carpenter holding a nail in one hand and the hammer in his other hand, and at the last second he stops the forward motion of the hammer and lets the nail slip through his fingers.”
“He was just about to nail you but stopped at the last second?”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“And then you cut your arm?”
“Well…” I shrug “…I was the board that fell because I didn’t get properly nailed.”
Dr. Hamilton grins before finishing the rest of her coffee. “Thank you, Elle. I haven’t had a conversation this entertaining in a long time.”
“Glad I could be of service this morning.” I grab my iPad and head toward the door. “See ya later.”
By the time I get to my office in the afternoon, my nerves won’t stop vibrating with equal parts fear and excitement.
Will he be in today?
Will he be a jerk?
Will Amanda sense something?
“Hey, Elle! Want some cake?” Amanda’s voice beckons me into Flint’s office space.
I peek around the door. Streamers and balloons line the entry to his office. “Birthday?”
“He’s thirty-five today. And I’ve already been fired for acknowledging it, so you might as well come have a piece of this fantastic birthday slash farewell party cake.”
Flint glances up from his desk, giving me an indiscernible expression.
I smile.
He looks back down at his computer.
“Wow. You’re getting the boot before me. Who will bring cake to my going-away party?”
“That’s why you’d better have a piece now. I fear there will be no party. But call me, I’ll meet you for drinks and help you find a new place.”
My gut draws tight. Amanda is serious, not about him firing her, but she’s serious about me. He’s made it clear that I’m out in twelve days.
Amanda doesn’t give me the you-two-almost-had-sex-yesterday look, so I assume it’s safe to act normal. Whatever our normal might be.
“Thank you.” I take the small plate of cake.
“It’s gluten and dairy free—for Harrison.”
I take a bite.
Flint gives me another quick glance.
“Harry has a lactose and gluten intolerance, huh?”
“Flint has him on a strict diet for his—”
“Amanda, I fired you. Why are you still here?”
She shakes her head and slings her purse over her shoulder.
My eyes widen. Holy shit. He really did fire her.
“I have a doctor’s appointment,” she whispers. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow. He wouldn’t function without me.”
I nod slowly. “Thanks for the cake.”
“Oh …” Her eyes affix to my arm where the bandages peek out at the cuff of my sleeve. “What happened?”
“I …”
Flint eyes me like pressing the tip of a sword to my carotid artery.
“Rough sex.” I grin at Amanda. “Roleplaying taken a little too far.”
Her face flushes around her cow eyes. “You’re joking,” she whispers.
I give her a noncommittal wink.
“Okay then … fantastic. I’ll see you later.”
After the door closes behind her, I set my cake on her desk and lean against the doorframe to his office. “Happy birthday.”
“We didn’t have sex.” He keeps his focus on the contents of the file folder in front of him, thumbing through the pages.
“We did. I finished out the scenario in my head when I got home last night. I was amazing. You were just okay. I have to say … you’re the first guy I’ve been with who cried during your orgasm. What you lacked in manliness, you made up for with complete tenderness. I will always remember the soft caress of your tears falling onto my cheeks.”
Flint eases his squinted gaze up so slowly it’s torturous. I nibble at the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. Dang! He looks so sexy with ruffled feathers.
“I don’t need this today.”
“Because it’s your birthday?”
Flint swallows hard as something unpleasant or painful ghosts across his face, disappearing in a blink. “It’s my fucking birthday all right,” he mumbles, returning his attention to his work.
“Had I known it was your birthday, I would have gotten you a gift or at least a card.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“I won’t.”
He looks up again, expelling a heavy sigh like he couldn’t possibly be more irritated with me.
I smile a toothy grin. “Consider stroking your dick yesterday your birthday gift from me. No need to send a thank you card. I’m sure you’d outsource it to Amanda and that would rob all sincerity.”
“Twelve days. Now go.”
He felt me up. Tasted every inch of my mouth. Let me stroke his dick. And yet … twelve days. “Abigail Hamilton said I should get an attorney to fight you on this. She said she knows a good one.” I bring my shoulders back, straightening my spine because two can play this game.
Even with his chin tipped down, I can see the twitch of a smirk flirting with his lips. “Does she now? I wonder who that attorney might be. Do you have any educated guesses, Ms. Rodgers?”
Of course. Dammit all to hell anyway. “You,” I whisper on a defeated sigh.
“To be honest, you had a case before you brought your rat to work.”
“I brought him because I thought Harry would like him.”
“Not a good defense, Ms. Rodgers.”
Ms. Rodgers. Ms. Rodgers. MS. RODGERS! Gah! He can’t address me like a school teacher after telling me—in the gruffest, sexiest voice ever—to move my panties out of the way.
I fish a pen out of my bag and pop all of his balloons.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Childish? Absolutely. Do I regret it? No way. “I have to go. My next appointment likes to use drums and cymbals for the
rapy. Enjoy!”
It’s not a lie. Landon finds loud beats therapeutic. He was abused by his father for years. Banging on a drum or clashing cymbals gives him a sense of power and control. In our hour session he goes from a timid child to a confident nine-year-old wearing a huge smile. My smile is for his progress and also because I know Flint is downstairs with his fingers in his ears, chanting, “Twelve days.”
*
“HEY, ELLE.”
“Harry, how was your day?” I ask, closing my computer and leaning back in my desk chair as he gets out his guitar. I’m not entirely sure how this happened, how offering to teach him a few chords has turned into a regular thing. I’m not a music teacher, but I can’t turn this kid away, even if his dad is the world’s biggest jerk. I’m certain I like Harrison more than Flint, but he’s also the reason I do like Flint. It’s complicated.
“There was a fire drill at school. I think the loud alarm punctured my eardrum.”
“Well, I hope not. Did you get a piece of your dad’s birthday cake?”
“Yeah, it was dry.”
It was. I smile.
“What are you going to do for his birthday tonight?”
“Same thing we do every year—watch videos of our family before my mom died.”
“Oh. That’s …” Depressing?
He sits on the floor and picks the strings a few times. “Yeah. She died on his birthday.”
The floor disappears beneath me as his words suck all the oxygen from the room. I’m a terrible person. How the hell can I make this right?
“You warm up. I’ll be right back.”
I take the stairs since my body won’t hold still long enough to ride the elevator to the first floor. Flint’s still at his desk. It’s hard to walk with my tail stuck so far between my legs. I cringe at the dead balloons.
He glances up as I slither my way into his office. I take calculated steps toward his desk, and his eyes narrow while mine hold his gaze the entire time. What do I say? What can I say? As I slide beside him with my butt rubbing the edge of his desk, he inches his chair back until I’m standing between his legs.
After a few more seconds of silence, he lifts his hand and takes my arm gently in it, ghosting his thumb over the bandaged cut. “He told you.”
I nod, grimacing. “I popped your balloons on the anniversary of your wife’s death. And I said stroking your dick was my present to you. I may be the worst person ever.”
He stares at my arm, brow drawn tightly, as his thumb continues to trace the path of my cut. “I’m the worst person ever, so you’re off the hook.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I want to hug him, kiss that frown from his face. Touch him in a way that takes away the pain. But … it’s not right. Not the circumstances. Not the place. Not the day. Everything’s off. So I let it go.
I ease my arm from his hold, feathering my fingers over his palm just before releasing my arm back to my side. “I’m truly sorry for what I said and for your grief.”
Flint nods once, gaze affixed to my arm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NEARLY TWO WEEKS drift by without any more mention of my eviction countdown. I’ve looked for new places, but I can’t find any that will work, so I’m grateful for each day that I squeak by without Flint saying anything. He’s been distant but polite. I’m not sure if it’s the anniversary of his wife’s death, my willingness to give Harry my time without asking for any compensation in return, or if he’s still thinking about what almost happened.
When we see each other in passing or he comes upstairs to get Harry, his gaze always goes straight to my arm. The stitches are out. The wound is healing nicely. He doesn’t need to hold such anguish in his expressions. But maybe it’s not the arm. Maybe it’s what the arm represents—what almost happened.
Today should be an anguish-free day since it’s the weekend—my favorite time to be at the office with no one else in the other offices, no guilt over the noise. By six thirty, I grab my bag and escort my last client out of the secured building.
“Elle!”
I look over my shoulder as Harry waves, jogging toward me with Flint a few steps behind him.
“See you next week,” I say to my client as she digs out her keys and heads toward her car.
“My grandparents are in the car. Can we play our song for them?” Harry asks.
“Harrison, can’t you see Ms. Rodgers is leaving for the night?” Flint puts on a fake smile.
“Please. It won’t take long.”
I look at Flint.
“We have dinner reservations. Maybe some other time. I just need to grab the files I left here. Get back to the car.”
Words linger on the tip of my tongue, uncertain if it’s okay for them to be heard. I don’t get the feeling Flint wants my opinion.
“I want to play it. There won’t be another time before they leave.”
“Harrison—”
“Dad! I want to play it.” He starts to lose his cool.
Flint stiffens, frustration lining his face.
“It won’t take more than five minutes to play.” I shrug. “If you have five minutes to spare?”
Flint frowns. “Go get set up and I’ll bring them up. But one song, Harrison. That’s it.”
He runs past me and tugs at the door to the building. “Dad, open the freaking door.”
I shove my keys in the lock and enter my code.
“I’m sorry—”
I shake off Flint’s attempt to apologize to me. “It’s fine. We’ll meet you upstairs. I can’t wait to meet your parents.” I bite my bottom lip to contain my smile.
Flint grimaces just before he turns back toward the parking lot. He doesn’t seem as excited about me meeting them.
We get out the guitars and warm up while waiting for Flint and his parents.
“Where do your grandparents live?”
“Colorado.”
“Where in Colorado?”
Harry focuses on his fingers strumming the guitar. “I don’t know.”
I grin. Of course he doesn’t know, not because he hasn’t been told; he just doesn’t deem that particular detail worthy of his memory.
“What took you so long?” Harry rolls his eyes as Flint and his parents come in the room. “One. Two. Ready. Go.” He doesn’t wait for introductions or so much as a quick hello. I follow his lead, making the occasional glance over at Flint and his parents, who are grinning in spite of the straight line affixed to Flint’s face.
When we finish, they clap, even Flint.
“That was amazing, Harrison!” His grandma gives him a hug which he stiffly accepts.
“Ellen, I’d like you to meet my parents, Gene and Camilla. This is Ellen Rodgers.”
They both shake my hand.
“Harrison has talked about you nonstop.” Camilla smiles.
“So this is the renter you said has nice…” Gene smirks at Flint for a brief moment like they have some inside joke “…teeth.”
Flint narrows his eyes at his dad. I’m not following.
I grin, showing them my teeth.
The older Hopkins men give each other another look. They weren’t talking about my teeth.
“Well, your five minutes are up, Harrison. We need to get to dinner.”
“I know, I know …” He puts the guitar back in its case. “We need to get to dinner so I can go home with Grandma and Grandpa while you go on a date.”
Flint’s back snaps ramrod straight, his gaze ping-ponging between his parents and Harrison.
Camilla gives him an impish grin. “It’s silly for you to sneak around. The last time we were here, I simply explained that you are an adult and you need—”
“Female companionship,” Harrison says flatly. “It’s fine. I get it. Let’s just go. Bye, Elle.”
“It was nice to meet you.” Gene and Camilla nod politely and follow Harrison to the elevator.
“I’ll be right down,” Flint calls to them, keeping his eyes on me.
&
nbsp; “Smart kid.” I bite my lips together, eyebrows raised a fraction.
“I don’t bring women to my house. I don’t know how to navigate this part of single parenting.”
“None of my business, Flint.” I slide my guitar in its case. “I think we’ve established the fact that you don’t owe me anything. Least of all any sort of explanation to the hows and whys of where you meet women and what you do with them.”
“Thanks for not saying anything to Harrison or my parents about …”
I cock my head, eyes wide. “About? My arm?” I hold it up. A grunted laugh escapes in a short burst of air though my nose. “It’s fine. I’m mature enough to keep a secret. I’m not twelve.”
“You popped my balloons on my birthday.” He gives me the closest thing to a grin that I’ve seen in weeks from him.
Yeah, there was that. “Don’t you have a reservation? A date? Female companionship awaiting you?”
“Ellen …”
Resting a hand on my hip, I stare at the floor, shaking my head. “I liked it.” I look up. “You touching me. Me touching you. I liked it. It meant something to me, but … not what you think. Not love. Not any sort of commitment. The physical experience mattered to me. I don’t want to taint it with words. When I leave, I don’t want to remember what I said to you or what you said to me. I only want to remember your touch in that moment.”
Yep. I’ve lost him. His eyebrows knit together.
I laugh. “Go. They’re waiting on you. Don’t read into anything. Don’t let what happened the other day deter you from your post-dinner plans. I’m good. There was never a hook to begin with, but if you felt there was, then rest assured you’re off it.”
He nods several times, his signature contemplative thought stuck to his face as he turns and walks toward the elevator. I shut off the lights and close the door behind me. Flint waits for me to step onto the elevator first. A few seconds later when we step off, I ease my hand around his wrist. He looks down at my hand and then at me.
I release him and straighten his tie. “I like this suit. Nothing beats classic black with a red silk tie.” My hand smooths his tie under his jacket.
“You’re humming.”
“Mmm …” Glancing up, I smile. “Go make some lucky lady’s day. Just don’t let her fall as hard as I did.” I turn and don’t look back.
