Just Breathe Series (Trilogy Box Set)

by Martha Sweeney

  Walking back towards my purse, I check the time on the stove clock; it’s almost four-thirty. Fighting the urge to be affected by Joe’s disappointment, I choose to take back more control over the situation. It’s time to feed Sadie. I take out the last full food containers out of the cooler. Spooning the contents into her bowl, I monitor to see where Joe is standing. He hasn’t moved as far as I can see. As Sadie chows down, I inspect my purse to make sure I have everything I need. I have trouble properly keeping track of my inventory as my attention repeatedly bounces to Joe, making sure he hasn’t moved. I take extra precaution and quadruple check my bag to ease my distracted mind. Sadie finishes eating and I wash her bowl.

  To play Joe at his own game, the temptation to delay further greets me. Unfortunately, the thought that Joe would take more opportunity to search my apartment for clues about me enters my mind, immediately dispelling the notion.

  Riding the elevator down, Joe attempts to hold my hand several times. I jerk my hand away in protest. As much as I enjoy his touch, I want him to know I was serious about being just friends. He ushers Sadie and me out first with his hand on the small of my back. I do my best not to notice. Aware that he’s baiting me now, I can tell he’s enjoying himself. After giving Sadie some time at the park, I start walking back to my apartment.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To drop Sadie off,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have her vest,” I answer.

  It’s not the complete answer. As much as I love having Sadie along, it’s not fair to expect her to just go where ever we go for dinner, especially if it draws too much attention. Plus, I don’t want to drag her into the middle of whatever this is between Joe and me.

  Joe studies me for a moment, not sure what to make of my statement. “Okay,” he cautiously agrees.

  After dropping Sadie off, my mood changes as we enter the elevator. Did I make the right choice taking Sadie home? Should I have grabbed her vest and brought her along? Arguing with myself causes me not to notice when Joe takes my hand until the elevator door rings open and I quickly pull away.

  Stopping just outside the gate, Joe turns to me and sweetly offers, “We don’t have to go to dinner. It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s okay,” I return with unconvincing lightheartedness.

  “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He tries to hide a pained expression, but his voices carries it.

  “It’s okay. Really. I’m sorry,” I confess.

  “Why are you apologizing? I shouldn’t have pushed.”

  Joe’s clearly confused by my reaction.

  “It’s not you . . . It’s just . . .” I begin to explain.

  Hearing the tension in my voice he replies, “You don’t have to explain and you certainly don’t have to have dinner with me, Emma.”

  “Yes I do,” I honestly contend.

  “No, you don’t,” he urges.

  “It’s just that I’m still off from this weekend . . . I mean . . .” my voice trails as I look away.

  My brain and heart are still caught up and confused by the dream, the change in the dream and the intensity of it; not to mention our interactions. Our first kiss and our almost several other kisses. Our sharing the same bed again — me being able to share a bed with him a second time — having the best night’s sleep when I’m with him — that my mixed emotions are getting the better of me and I don’t know what to make of them let alone what do. When I’m around him, I don’t feel like myself and need to get away, but the minute I’m not with him, I want him near.

  A second later, Joe has me circled in his arms. I burry my face into his neck to combat the tears that are threatening my eyes. The last thing I want is to cry in front of Joe, so I work hard to control myself. Joe gently stokes one hand repeatedly over my head as he squeezes me as tight as he can. I’m able to fight off the sobs, but a few tears find their way onto my cheeks. When Joe takes my face in his hands, he kindly wipes the tears before kissing me on my forehead.

  When I realize that we are back at my door, I inquire, “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you home. You need to rest,” he announces.

  “Why? I owe you dinner,” I object.

  “You don’t owe me anything. If anything I owe you. Three answers to three questions to be exact,” he reminds.

  His admittance gets a chuckle from me which in turn gets him to smile. Joe’s kindness does not go unnoticed, but I do question if his actions are prompted by pity.

  “I am hungry,” I express as my stomach grumbles more at the thought of food.

  “It’s up to you. Whatever you want to do?”

  I stare at him not sure what to decide as I fidget with my keys. I want both, but I can’t have both. I want to move on and have dinner with him, but I also want to go inside and hide from the world, conflicted by wanting him to come inside the apartment with me and sending him home at the same time.

  I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, but Joe suggests, “We’ll do dinner another time.”

  “You sure?” I say heart-broken.

  The thought that he’s avoiding me now because I’m upset concerns me.

  “Yes,” he states firmly as he leans and presses his lips to my forehead. His lips linger before his forehead touches mine and he gently rubs his nose with mine. Moaning I shake my head, not because I’m expecting a kiss, but for chastising myself for wanting one.

  Joe moves like he’s about to take my mouth with his, but then he suddenly stops. He kisses my cheek instead. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

  Pausing to feel his embrace a little longer, I keep my hands on his arms. “Goodnight, Joe.”

  Twenty

  There’s nothing like waking up in the morning after a night of snack indulging, sappy romance movie watching and lengthy, intense self-satisfaction to soothe an aching girl’s soul. The funk has dissolved, my mood has greatly improved, however, I am just as horny as I was last night.

  After taking care of Sadie, I pleasure myself again before continuing the rest of my regular daily routine. The morning flies by rapidly with a lot of work tasks and texts or phone calls with Jared and Maggie. Most of our conversations are about business, but they still manage to slip in a question or two making sure I’m doing good. After lunch, I resolve to have another self-indulging, sensual break. By two o’clock, after Sadie’s and my afternoon frolic in the park, I’m on the couch working on the programing for Raven 1.0.

  Being well engrossed in computer coding for who knows how long, I hear a knock at the door. I never get a knock at my door unless it’s from someone I just buzzed up, and Jared and Maggie have their own keys. Looking through the peep hole, I’m surprised to see Anna standing outside. What the heck is she doing here?

  As soon as I open the door, Anna offers me a friendly smile. “Hello, Ms. Emma.”

  “Hi, Anna. What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Joseph asked me to deliver something to you,” she says.

  My eyes drift down to the large, white box with a red ribbon that she’s holding. What the hell is that? What would he be sending me? Why would he be sending me anything? Did I leave something over at his house? Did I leave panties there and this is his discrete way of returning them? I quickly do a mental check. No, I didn’t leave anything behind.

  Almost forgetting my manners, I offer, “Come in, please.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Emma.”

  “How did you get in at the gate?” I curiously question, leading her over to my couch.

  “I flirted with one of the men taking care of the plants,” she admits, placing the box on my coffee table.

  “Smooth,” I praise.

  Delighted, she replies, “Thank you.”

  “If I left something at Joe’s, I could have come to get it,” I pry, wanting to know more about what is in the box without opening it.

  “Mr. Joseph didn’t say that it was something that you left when he instructed me to
drop it off while I was running errands,” she offers.

  Good. Embarrassing moment averted.

  Trying not to get caught up with what is in the box I ask, “Would you like something to drink or eat?”

  “Yes, please, Ms. Emma. Do you have tea?”

  “Of course,” I reply getting up and heading for the kitchen. “I have jasmine, green tea, yerba mate, chamomile, chai or rooibos.”

  “The green tea would be terrific. Thank you, Ms. Emma.”

  Anna sits quietly as I prepare her drink. She glances around the room like she’s taking notes, either for herself or Joe. “I like your home, Ms. Emma. It’s nice and small. Not big like Mr. Joseph’s,” she comments earnestly.

  “Thank you,” I gratefully accept her praise. “I bet it takes a while to clean his place.”

  “A little. Mr. Joseph is not a messy man, thankfully, which makes everything else I need to do easier. Mr. James, on the other hand, is messy,” she answers, petting Sadie. “And, it’s not as big as the Covelli home in New York.”

  Joe said he doesn’t have anything to hide, but to find out things I wouldn’t normally ask him directly through Anna would definitely be helpful. I don’t want to use Anna, I think she’s a sweet person and I don’t want to put her in a compromising position, but any additional insight to Joe or Henry that I would feel weird asking them about is a definite bonus.

  “Have you worked with Joe’s family for a long time?” I keep the conversation going, waiting for the water to boil.

  “Oh yes. Since just before Mr. Joseph was born,” she openly reveals.

  “Wow, that’s a long time,” I comment.

  “Lots of stuff I know,” she replies with a telling look.

  If I’m reading her right, Anna seems to be willing to share some information. What exactly and how do I ask her?

  Can I ask you something, Anna,” I inquire, setting down the serving tray on the coffee table.

  “Sure,” Anna encourages adding some honey to her tea.

  “Why do you Call him Mr. Joseph?”

  Seeming puzzled by my question, she asks, “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t call him Joe, Joseph, Mr. Covelli or Sir,” I explain.

  “It’s always been like that. All the staff call all the children mister followed by their first name. Mr. and Mrs. Covelli are Mr. and Mrs. Covelli,” Anna clarifies, taking a sip.

  “All the staff?”

  I wonder how many staff members the Covelli family has.

  “Yes,” she asserts, but doesn’t give more details.

  Excited and nervous, I breech the elephant in the room and inquire, “Do you know what is in the box?”

  “No,” she simply states. “But, I think you should open it.”

  Is she suggesting that I open it now? Is she curious too? Even if Anna was Jared or Maggie, I wouldn’t open it now.

  She sees my hesitation and offers, “Or, when you feel it’s best.”

  “Thanks,” I return sheepishly.

  We both stare at the box for a few minutes sipping our tea, like if we keep looking at the beautifully decorated box, it will open itself.

  Redirecting our attention, I ask, “Do you have many more errands today?”

  “No. You were the last one on the list,” she reports.

  A list? She was given a list?! I was on the list?!

  “He told you to wait and see if I opened it, didn’t he?” I press, knowing enough about Joe that he would.

  Anna doesn’t have to say anything, the look on her face says it all, especially her suddenly rosy cheeks.

  “I won’t say anything if you won’t, Anna,” I voice with confidence.

  She proudly nods in agreement before saying, “I like you, Ms. Emma.”

  With a genuine smile, I share, “I like you too, Anna.”

  A thought pops into my head and I can’t help but to blurt it out, “Why didn’t Joe just deliver this himself? Did he think that I wouldn’t accept it if he came?”

  Anna’s eyes promptly dart to me before I’m finished with my questions. The expression on her face suggests that she may have asked Joe the very same thing or Joe had commented the very idea when he asked Anna to deliver it. Anna opens her mouth briefly as if to respond, but then takes another sip of tea instead. Her omission of a verbal response answers my inquiry. Joe was afraid that I would refuse the gift. But why? Not wanting to continue the awkward silence between us, I change the topic our conversation in the hopes to get to know Anna better — where she grew up, when she moved to the States, if she has any family.

  Anna and I chat for a few more minutes before she needs to leave. I mention that she is welcome anytime, whether she is sent by Joe or comes of her on accord. She comments that she would like to see me more as well, especially at Mr. Joseph’s. Her words captures my attention immediately. Does she know something I don’t?

  I can feel the box watching me as if it has eyes. No matter what room I am in, I can feel its hot, laser beam burning a hole into my brain while it repeats, open me. The thought that Joe might have placed a recording device in or on it to spy on me comes to mind. I wouldn’t put it past him. Anxiety about the possibility becomes grueling enough that I gently lift the box to inspect it. Surprisingly, the box is not very heavy. Thorough inspection reveals that there is definitely nothing on the outside. The inside is another question since I still won’t open it. I elect to shake it, but that doesn’t expose any clues.

  By the time I take Sadie out for her after dinner ritual, I still haven’t opened the box. I can feel it watching me like a hawk even as we are out at the park. Jared texts about Hawaii and I refrain from mentioning the gift. There’s no hint in his words that he even knows I have it which is comforting.

  Back in my apartment, I jump on the rebounder again to try to reduce the stress about Joe’s gift. Thirty minutes later, I am only slightly drained and starving. I make myself a salad with some soup, and eat at the breakfast bar while glaring at the box from across the room. After two scoops of salted caramel ice cream, I opt to take a lavender and tea tree oil Epson salt bath.

  Toying with the idea to just open the box, ripping it off like a bandaid, I carry it into the bedroom and place it on the edge of my bed. Once the bathtub is ready, I undress, light some candles, and put on some meditation music before slipping into the sensuous water — so much for ripping off the bandaid. The bath helps to calm me, but not as fast as I’d like. I masturbate until I have two toe curling orgasms which seem to have a marginal affect since I was thinking of Joe the whole time.

  Just as my breathing normalizes, the music temporarily cuts off; I’m getting a call. Not looking at who it could be, and assuming it is either Maggie, Jared or Nathan, I immediately answer, pressing the button on the headset. “Hello,” I cheerfully greet.

  “Hello, beautiful,” the voice rings on the other end.

  Crap. It’s Joe.

  “Hey,” I say with a shaky tone.

  “You weren’t expecting it to be me, were you?”

  I can hear the smile in his words.

  “Yeah,” I meekly reply.

  “Were you expecting me to be someone else and that’s why you didn’t check?”

  How did he know I didn’t check? It is true, but still.

  “Yeah,” I sheepishly agree. Getting my gumption I tease, “I was expecting some other hot, rich guy to call.”

  “So you do think I’m hot?” he enthusiastically confirms.

  Deciding to go with it, I reply, “You aren’t that bad on the eyes.”

  A deep, hearty laugh from him immediately follows. Two seconds later, I hear a faint voice in the background saying what sounds like Who thinks you’re hot?.

  “None of your business,” Joe declares to the other person.

  “Who was that?”

  “Jimmy,” he informs.

  A nervous laugh escapes my lips. Not sure how to bounce back, I stay quiet, waiting for him to talk.

  “How are you feeling?
”

  “Good,” I truthfully answer.

  “You sound better.”

  “I feel better.”

  “So . . .” Joe begins. “I take it you haven’t opened your gift yet?” he questions.

  “What makes you say that?” I contend.

  Maybe his response will give me an idea of what’s in it.

  “The way you’re talking to me and haven’t said anything yet,” he states, sure of his speculation.

  “Maybe I have,” I dispute.

  Laughing, he mutters, “You haven’t.”

  Neither one of us say anything for a few beats. I’m guessing he’s waiting for me, but I refuse to give in.

  Finally, he starts, “So, why haven’t you opened it?”

  “Don’t know,” I say trying to brush it off. “Did you buy me something?”

  “Maybe I did. Guess you’ll see when you open it,” he taunts.

  Joe’s clearly not going to give me any clues.

  “Why don’t you open it now?” he presses.

  “Because I’m busy,” I reply, trying to dissuade any notion that I’m that curious.

  “Doing what? You’re not too busy to be talking to me,” he challenges.

  “Just busy,” I maintain, trying to keep my cool.

  He chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” he expresses, followed by more laughter.

  “What?” I argue. I’m not sure what I said that was at all funny.

  “I just had a few possibilities of what you could be doing pop into my head,” he mischievously announces.

  What could he think that I am doing? My dirty mind wakes up.

  “No! God, no! I’ve been busy since Anna dropped it off,” I sternly protest while trying to cover for the fact that I have masturbated three times today, and the last time was literally just before he called.

  “Then, what?” he searches. “What are you doing right now that you’re too busy to open it but not too busy to talk to me?”

  Choosing to lie, I reply, “Reading.”