Promises cb-1

by Marie Sexton

  “No. It’s not like that at all.” I tried to sound nonchalant but failed. Instead, it came out resigned and bitter.

  He relaxed. “But you want it to be?” There was no jealousy. Our relationship was casual enough to avoid that kind of snag. He was just asking.

  “I do.”

  “So what’s the problem? He’s not interested?”

  “Let’s just say his closet door is shut tight. And deadbolted.”

  “Ah. The power of denial. Well, then, I don’t feel bad about last night. Do you?”

  I smiled at him and leaned in to kiss his jaw. “Not a bit.” It was mostly true. “I probably should take you out for breakfast.”

  “You should, but you won’t. I know you. God forbid anybody in this town find out that you actually get laid once in a while.”

  It was an old argument and one that we never pursued far. “Cole—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll wait here while you run to the store and get something. And don’t even think about bringing me a donut. I want a—”

  “A cinnamon bagel with low-fat cream cheese and a vanilla latte. I know.” I kissed him again. “Just give me five minutes to shower first.”

  Just as I was stepping out of the shower, I heard a knock on the door, and my heart sank. I knew it was Matt—anybody else would use the doorbell—and I was struggling to get my sweats back on and get out there, although I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation when I did.

  I heard the door open and heard Cole say, “Well, hello, officer! If I had known we had company coming, I wouldn’t have gotten dressed so fast.” Oh shit.

  I made it into the living room, pants on but with my hair dripping wet, just in time to hear Matt say, “So. You must be Cole.”

  “Well.” Cole threw a wink over his shoulder at me. “I’m flattered. And you are…?”

  Matt just stood there. He was in his uniform, and I had never seen him look so angry. He was looking at Cole like he was some kind of bug and he couldn’t decide whether to put him outside or just step on him. But Cole is not the type to be intimidated. If anything, he uses his flamboyance as a type of shield, a way to thumb his nose at people who look down on him. I watched him do it now. He put his hand on his hip, cocked it out a bit, looked flirtingly up at Matt through his bangs, and even batted his eyes a little. “Is there a problem, officer?”

  Matt’s cheeks started to flush, but I didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger. He was completely still and silent. When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to answer Cole, I spoke up.

  “Cole, this is Matt.”

  Cole’s eyes went a little wide, and then he was instantly in motion. “Okay, Sweets, it’s obviously time for me to be on my way. Give me one second.” Matt and I stood there, arms crossed, watching each other warily while Cole bustled around gathering up his jacket and keys. Then he stepped up next to me and put an arm around my waist. He leaned in to nuzzle my neck, and I tilted my head a little to give him better access. Matt went stone cold rigid. I was still mad enough over the tutoring incident to take a little bit of pleasure in making him uncomfortable.

  “An absolute pleasure, as always, Sweets. I’ll give you a call next time I’m in the area.” He intentionally said it loud enough for Matt to hear but then whispered in my ear, “Go get him, Jared,” before kissing me on the cheek and heading for the door.

  Matt and I stood there a little longer after he was gone, waiting to see who would speak first. It turned out to be him.

  “I didn’t expect you to have company.”

  “Obviously.” All those weeks that I had been hoping to see him, hoping he would call, hoping he would knock on my door just like he had this morning, and yet now that he was here, all I could see was the judgment in his eyes. I turned away from him, went around the counter into the kitchen, and started making coffee.

  “What is it, Matt? Did you come here to talk or to tell me how disgusted you are by my lifestyle? Or maybe to make sure I’m not tutoring kids in my bedroom?”

  “Not that. I wanted to see you. But, I didn’t expect—” He stopped and seemed to be struggling to find the right words, struggling to get his rage back under control. “I didn’t expect him. I didn’t expect to find you with somebody else!”

  “Why not, Matt? Why shouldn’t I be with somebody else?”

  “Do you love him?”

  That surprised me, but I didn’t answer him. Instead I asked, “Do you love Cherie?”

  “No.”

  A flat, honest answer. I was trying to hang on to my anger, because I knew if it left, I would only feel dirty and depressed. “No. I don’t love Cole. You know that.” I looked over at him. “If I had things my way, it would have been you in my bed last night. Last night and every night. But you have made it quite clear that you want nothing to do with me.”

  He was staring at the wall about a foot above my head, and I knew he was struggling.

  He was angry and hurt and embarrassed, and I was pretty sure he was at least a little bit jealous too.

  “I love only you. But if you expect me to apologize for going on with my life after you walked out of it without a backward glance, you can go to hell.”

  He stood there another minute, still not looking at me. Finally, he said, “I think I should go.”

  “I think you should too.”

  THE next evening, he was back. I heard him knock, and when I opened door, he was there. He was leaning against the doorframe with a six pack in one hand. He looked haggard, and embarrassed, and scared to death.

  “You look like hell.”

  A hint of smile flickered on his face and was gone.

  “Are you alone?” I was glad to hear that there was no judgment in his voice. He was simply trying to let me establish a boundary if I wanted to.

  “I am.”

  He sighed and then said softly, “Can we try this again, please? Last time didn’t really go the way I planned.”

  And any anger or resentment I still had over those last unfortunate visits vanished. I was just glad he had come back. “Of course.”

  “I heard about the baby,” he told me as he came in. “I guess you’re Uncle Jarhead now?”

  I laughed, probably louder than I should have.

  He went in the kitchen to put the beer away, came back out with two open ones and handed one to me. And then there was a moment when we both just stood there.

  For my part, I couldn’t get enough of looking at him, and it was all I could do not to throw my arms around him and hug him. It wasn’t a romantic urge. Sure, I was crazy about him, but we hadn’t been lovers. We had been friends. And it was losing that which had hurt the most. Just having him walk back through my door—without the thunder clouds raging in his eyes, like last time—made me feel like I could breathe for the first time in weeks.

  For his part, he still looked scared out of his wits, and he was looking everywhere but at me. I think he was waiting for me to say something or to yell at him, but he finally glanced at me, and I was still just standing there grinning at him like a damn fool. His eyebrows went up a little in surprise, and I managed to say, “It’s really good to see you.”

  He looked relieved and clapped me on the back so hard that I staggered a little bit. “Let’s go sit down.”

  So we sat down in our usual spots, side by side on the couch like we had a million times before. It felt so familiar. He leaned back with a sigh and sat there with his head back and his eyes closed. I could tell he was still wound up tight, but I could also see that he was glad to be here.

  “So how did you hear about the baby?”

  He sat up and started fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle—another gesture that was achingly familiar. “Cherie told me.”

  I felt jealousy, hot and angry in my chest, and tried to force it down. But my voice was sharper than I intended when I asked, “How is Cherie?”

  “How is she?” He made an angry laugh. “Christ, Jared, she’s awful. She’s bori
ng. She wears too much perfume. She hates being outside and hates the mountains. She babbles through the football games. She doesn’t even know what a first down is. And she only talks about two things: how much she hates her job and how much she hates her piece of shit exhusband.”

  “Um….” I was fighting to keep the smile off of my face.

  He was quiet for a minute but then said, “The worst part is I knew all of that going into it.” He glanced over at me. “Aren’t you going to tell me what a fucking idiot I am?”

  “Would that make you feel better?”

  He laughed without much humor and went back to picking at the label. “These last few weeks have been miserable.”

  That hit me. I was quiet for a minute, but then I managed to say quietly, “They’ve been miserable for me too.”

  “I’ve missed you.” It was barely a whisper. But when I started to reach across to him, he said, “Don’t.”

  I pulled back, feeling stricken.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed and leaned back again. “I just… I’m not ready for that yet. I just need—” He stopped, bit his lower lip, and stared at the ceiling. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but can I just stay here for a bit? I just….” He took a shaking breath, “I just want to be here. Please?”

  “Anything.”

  So I turned on the TV, and we nursed our beers. We mostly talked football and easily fell back into our old banter—a little more awkward than before, but it still felt great. And I watched him slowly relax, layers of tension and sadness falling away, and he even smiled once, if only for a second. Eventually, he leaned back, and within minutes, he was asleep.

  When I got up in the morning, he was gone.

  THE next day, Ringo came into the back of the shop to get me.

  “Jared, Mrs. Rochester is here to see you.” I knew by his voice he was concerned about it.

  It took me a minute to place the name. “You mean, Alice Rochester?”

  “I don’t know her first name.”

  “The high school principal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.” After the incident with the police, all but two of my students had returned with permission slips. But it seemed that wasn’t enough. Some parent had obviously called the school to complain. “Tell her I’ll be right out.” And then I spent a few seconds composing myself, getting ready for what I was sure was going to be an ugly confrontation.

  Mrs. Rochester was in her forties. She was in good shape and had on a navy blue skirt and matching jacket. “Mr. Thomas!” She was smiling when she shook my hand. She had teeth so white and perfect she could have been in toothpaste commercials. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met before.”

  “Call me Jared.”

  “Jared. You can call me Alice.” She was still smiling. “You may not realize what a buzz you’ve created at our school.”

  I was annoyed at her cheerfulness but said, “I’m really sorry about that. I was just trying to help.”

  She looked a little confused. “Why are you sorry?”

  “You’re talking about the tutoring, right?”

  “Of course. I know this is unexpected, but I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to meet with me and a couple of the teachers, just for a few minutes?”

  “Shit.” Had I said that out loud?

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” I took a deep breath and made an effort to smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll come if you think it’s important.”

  “Oh good,” she said with obvious relief. The toothpaste smile was back. “This close to Thanksgiving is crazy for everybody. How about the first Monday in December? Could you come to the school at three thirty?”

  “Sure.”

  When she was gone, Ringo asked, “What was that all about?”

  “That was probably the end of our tutoring sessions.”

  CHAPTER 20

  TWO nights later, Matt was pounding on my front door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

  “I broke up with Cherie,” he said as soon as he walked in.

  “Oh.” I hoped the joy those words awoke in me wasn’t too evident in my voice. “Why?”

  He glanced sideways at me, and there was anger in his eyes.

  “Don’t! Don’t do that. You know why.”

  “Matt—”

  “No!”

  I went silent, my heart in my throat. He was pacing back and forth, looking angrier with every pass. I was pretty sure anything I said would be the wrong thing, so I just waited. Suddenly he turned and drove his fist into the wall.

  “Feel better now?” I asked.

  “No.” He leaned against the wall with his head in his hands. There was blood on the paint, and the drywall was going to need to be patched.

  Finally he spoke. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” It sounded like he might break into tears at any moment. “I’m so fucking tired. And I’m so confused. Part of me wants to kiss you, and part of me wants to just beat the hell out of you.”

  I have to admit I was a little bit alarmed by that. “Do I get a vote? Because I definitely prefer one over the other.” He didn’t laugh.

  “I wish I could stop thinking about you. I wish I didn’t miss you so much.”

  “I miss you, too, Matt,” I said honestly. “I’d give anything for us to just be friends again.”

  He didn’t answer for a moment but then said without looking at me, “You could be happy with just being friends?”

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but yes, if that’s what you want.” It was the truth. Better that than to be alone again.

  Another short silence, and then, quietly, he said, “I don’t know if I can do it, Jared. I wish I could. But I don’t think I can go back to that.” He took a deep, shaking breath and finally looked at me. “I miss you so much, but I wish I didn’t want you the way I do.”

  “Why do you have to fight it, Matt? Why can’t you just accept that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you?” It was the wrong thing to say.

  He grabbed my arms and slammed me against the wall. “You think it’s so easy! I’ve spent my whole life denying these feelings. I don’t know if I can accept them now. I don’t know if I want to accept them!” His face was only a foot away from mine. The look in his eyes was torture. It was pain, and fear, and loathing, and desire, all fighting for dominance. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see it.

  But when I dropped my gaze, I stopped short. In looking down, away from his face, my gaze had inadvertently landed on his crotch. And I was surprised to see that he was fully erect. I could see the telling bulge inside his jeans. Knowing I was possibly making a huge mistake, hands shaking in both fear and anticipation, I reached out—he still had my arms pinned to the wall, and I could barely reach—and started to unbutton his pants.

  He went completely still. I don’t think he was even breathing. Then, “What are you doing?” I didn’t look at his face. His hands were still on my biceps. He could easily stop me if he chose to.

  “Taking a chance.” My hands were shaking a little less now, but I was waiting for him to step away, to yell, maybe even to punch me. The last buttons came undone and his erection, covered in the smooth black of his briefs, was pushing through the flaps of denim.

  “I don’t think you should be doing that.” But his voice had gone low and husky.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I replied, and I brushed my fingertips lightly over the fabric that still covered him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t move. I flattened my hand against him, felt the whole length of him against my palm, and squeezed a little. He gasped a little, then gave a small sigh of surrender, and took a last tiny step towards me, his forehead hitting the wall above my shoulder. His hands slid down from my arms to rest on my waistband. I rubbed him harder, pushing my fingers down inside of his jeans. I could tell by his breathing that he was becoming more aroused. Was he even leaning into my hand, or was that my imagin
ation? I didn’t want to push him too far, and yet, maybe….

  I stopped, wondering what exactly I was expecting. And then, barely a whisper, I heard in my ear: “Jared, please don’t stop.”

  I didn’t hesitate. With one hand, I pulled the waistband of his briefs down out of the way. When my right hand closed around him, he groaned low in his throat. I started to stroke him, softly at first but then harder as his breathing quickened. His fingers were gripping my sides so hard I was sure I would have bruises. His head was resting against the wall next to mine, his face in my hair. Soft lips and sandpaper stubble both brushed my skin. He wasn’t kissing me. He wasn’t even moving, but I could feel his breath hot against my neck, and it felt wonderful.

  I grabbed his shirt with my free hand, turned, and pushed him against the wall. I dropped to my knees in front of him and took him into my mouth, as deep as I could. He actually stopped breathing, held his breath for a few seconds, and I thought he was going to stop me. But then it all came out in a low moan, and he relaxed against the wall behind him.

  I had my hand around the base of his cock, and I worked my mouth up and down, trailing my tongue in a circle around his head every time I reached the top. I couldn’t remember ever being more turned on in my life. I was dying to kiss him and pull all his clothes off him and fuck him—or have him fuck me, I didn’t care which. But he certainly wasn’t ready for that yet. So I just kept sucking and licking and pumping a little on the bottom of his shaft with my fist. He was definitely responding, pushing into me and moaning. I noticed that his hands kept reaching for me, but then he would pull them back and clench them at his sides again. Finally one landed on my shoulder and touched my hair a little. I remembered my birthday, the way he had held me against the counter with both of his hands in my hair, and I knew what he wanted.

  I stopped just long enough to say, “You can grab. Just don’t push,” before returning to sucking him.

  He actually gasped out, “Oh Jesus, thank you,” and his hands both gripped tight into my hair. He didn’t push. Actually, he didn’t have time. As soon as he grabbed me like that, he groaned, and he started to come. Despite being caught off guard, I managed to swallow fast without choking and kept sucking until the tremors had stopped.