His Surrender

by Jaclyn Osborn

  I slid out of bed and went after him, entering the living room right as he reached the door. “If you walk out that door, don’t come back.” I stood just a few feet from him, not sure if I wanted to close that gap between us or make it wider. Not sure if I wanted to kiss him or slap him. “Because I can’t do this, Jay. You can’t tell me no and then keep stringing me along with the messages, phone calls, and showing up at my apartment. It’s not fair.”

  “I know it’s not. You said you needed a friend tonight, so I stayed. You’re the one who pushed for more.”

  “Okay. Blame it on me. I deserve it. But I didn’t force you to kiss me back.”

  When he finally looked at me, there were tears in his eyes. It took me off guard. “Don’t you see that I’m doin’ this for you? It would be all too easy to pick you up, toss you on that bed, and fuck you ’til you screamed my name. Keeping things strictly sexual is all I can give you, and you made it clear you aren’t into that. I thought we could be friends, but we want each other too much.”

  I didn’t know if I was more angry or upset. Mainly, I was frustrated at his stubbornness.

  “Why not try?” I stepped forward, making my choice. Choosing him despite all the warnings. No one had ever made me feel like he did, and I wasn’t ready to let him go. “We don’t have to put a label on it. Let’s hang out and see where it goes. If it doesn’t work out? Fine. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

  Please.

  He was quiet, the silence so loud it rang in my ears. When he did speak, it was barely above a whisper. “I have nothing to offer you, Remi. Nothing.”

  That wasn’t true. The memory of his lips on my temple and the feel of his arms around me as he murmured sweet words in my ear told me he had a lot to offer. The challenge was getting him to see that.

  “If you can stand there and honestly say you feel nothing for me, then leave.” With another step forward, I was directly in front of him. He breathed deep, glancing at my mouth. “But if you do feel something… come back to bed.”

  Another long pause. My heart was beating so hard I heard it in my ears.

  “I can’t,” he finally said before I saw the hint of a smile. “Come back to bed, I mean. I have a cat. A spoiled cat. And he demands cuddles at night.”

  I burst into laughter, and before I could respond, he took hold of my chin and brought our lips together. Stunned, I froze at the contact, but then I melted against him and returned his kiss once my brain caught up.

  “I do want to try,” he said, resting his forehead on mine. “I’m just afraid I’ll hurt you. I’m not good at this.”

  “Apparently I’m not good at it either.” I leaned into his touch. A trace of cigar smoke clung to his shirt from his time at the 906, mixed with his own minty, fresh scent. “I’ve been in a dozen or so relationships and all have failed epically.”

  “There’s no guarantee this one will be any better,” he said.

  “True. There’s a chance it could be a horrible fucking idea.” I laid my head on his chest. “I’ve had my heart broken too many times to count, and trusting people is hard for me now. But I’m willing to take that leap if you are.”

  He rested his cheek on the top of my head, holding me. “Trust is hard for me too.”

  Finally. We were making progress. His lack of trust in other people had to have been one of his reasons for not wanting to be in a relationship. By agreeing to try, we were both putting ourselves on the front line.

  I cupped his face and kissed him again, letting my lips linger on his a moment. “Just… think about what I said?”

  He nodded. “I will.”

  That’s all I could ask for.

  “Thank you for being here for me tonight.”

  Jay hugged me close. “Happy Birthday, Remi,” he whispered in my ear. “Do svidaniya.”

  “You said that to me on the phone earlier. What does it mean?”

  “It’s a way to say good night,” he answered, placing a hand on the doorknob. “The literal translation, though, is until we meet again.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  He said nothing, only smiled, before opening the door and stepping outside.

  I didn’t know where we stood, if anywhere at all, but I felt a shift between us. A change. One that had me smiling as I closed the door and leaned against it.

  ***

  Tuesday morning, I woke up bleary-eyed and hopped in the shower to help wake me up. I hadn’t seen Jay since Friday, but we’d messaged and talked on the phone a few times over the weekend and some the day before. We were taking things slow to—hopefully—build something solid.

  After showering, I was at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth and smiled around the toothbrush when my phone buzzed with a text. I had changed Jay’s name in my contacts, and the chosen name was all too fitting for him.

  Beautiful Bastard: Good morning.

  I rinsed out my mouth before typing a response.

  Me: Morning. Do you have court today?

  Jay had told me about the murder trial, and it amazed me how he could handle the stress of something like that. Of course, I’d seen it all over the news before he’d mentioned it, but talking to someone actually involved with it gave a whole new perspective because the media only covered a fraction of the truth.

  Beautiful Bastard: Not today. The trial will resume tomorrow. Will still be a long day though. I have other cases that also need attention.

  Me: You’re like Superman, aren’t you? No normal person could do what you do.

  Beautiful Bastard: Are you buttering me up, Mr. Barnett?

  I cracked a smile and walked to my bedroom to pick out clothes for the day. Once dressed, I texted him back.

  Me: Maybe. Is it working?

  Beautiful Bastard: Not at all.

  But then he sent a second message with a winking emoticon.

  I filled a travel mug with coffee and headed out the door. Humidity slammed into me once I was outside, and by the time I reached my car, a layer of stickiness covered my skin. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Great. It was going to storm. I just hoped I was able to make it to the school and go inside before the rain came down.

  Luck wasn’t on my side. The moment I pulled into the teacher parking lot, it began to piss pour, the rain hitting my windshield so hard and heavy that the wipers couldn’t keep up. I sat in my car for a few minutes, hoping it would die down, but it didn’t and I needed to get inside since I was one of the teachers on duty that morning.

  “This is bullshit,” I muttered, turning off my car and putting a hand on the door handle. I had no umbrella either.

  I made a mad dash toward the building, cursing under my breath as the cold rain hit me. I was a wet, dripping mess by the time I reached the door. When the weather was bad, the students waited inside by the cafeteria before school started, and as I walked toward them, a few giggled.

  “Good morning, Mr. Barnett!” Dillon greeted me. “Nothing like getting caught in the rain, huh?” Then he burst into a part of “Singin’ in the Rain,” doing a weird dance to go with it.

  “Keep that up and I’ll make you clean the band room.”

  He and his buddies laughed.

  “Got to love them, right?” Laura said once I’d reached her. She was the other teacher on duty. As the choir teacher, she and I often got grouped together. I didn’t mind. She was friendly and always had a smile, no matter how bad things seemed. She’d battled breast cancer two years before and kicked its ass.

  “I guess.”

  “You should really consider keeping an umbrella in your car.”

  “At least I saved my coffee,” I said, holding up the mug with the closed lid before popping it open and taking a drink.

  I nearly spit that drink when I looked up and saw Jay standing in front of me.

  “Not the greeting I was expecting,” he said cool as ever, looking way too gorgeous for his own good. His hair was a little damp from the rain, but not too bad. His gray suit hugged his broad shoulde
rs and clung to his toned body in all the right ways.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, after wiping my mouth.

  “Dropped Foss off and thought I’d come in and say hi,” he answered. Humor shone in his eyes. Then, he turned to Laura, as if not to seem rude by ignoring her. “I’m Jay Foley, an acquaintance of Mr. Barnett.”

  “An acquaintance, huh?” Laura smiled as she shook his hand. She seemed a bit flushed too, not that I could blame her. Jay had that effect on people. “I’m Laura Chavez, the choir teacher.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” he said to her before moving those stunning eyes back to me. “I see your morning is off to an interesting start.”

  “Even more interesting now.” There I was, surrounded by colleagues and students, and all I wanted to do was grab him by the tie and kiss him. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to a meeting or something? With you being a big-shot attorney and all.”

  Jay’s eyes crinkled with a smile, though none showed on his lips. “Big-shot attorney? You flatter me, Mr. Barnett.”

  “I take it you flatter easily, Mr. Foley.”

  “Depends on who I’m speaking to.”

  God. This feeling was intoxicating. I enjoyed the playful banter between us—enjoyed the low-key flirting and knowing glances. The nearly imperceptible smiles.

  Foster approached with two friends trailing behind him. They all wore gamer T-shirts.

  “Good luck today, kid,” Jay said, clapping Foster on the back. “Remember to take a deep breath before you start and clear your mind of everythin’ except for the notes you need to play. You can do this.”

  “Thanks for all your help over the weekend, Uncle Jay.” Foster hugged him. “I think I’m more confident now.”

  My heart melted a little. Jay had told me he’d had plans over the weekend—which was one reason why we hadn’t met up—but he never told me it was to help Foster on his audition for the solo piece. He had such a kind heart, whether he believed it or not.

  “I should be going.” Jay stuck out his hand to me. “It was nice seeing you.”

  I accepted his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Likewise.”

  He returned the squeeze, letting his hand linger in mine a moment, before pulling away. Our gazes remained locked for one heartbeat, two, and then the contact broke. I watched him meander through the crowd of students, noticing many of the girls nearly snapping their necks with how quickly they looked at him.

  I smiled to myself.

  “That’s a mighty fine acquaintance,” Laura muttered to me, out of earshot from the students. “Is his brother single?”

  “You’re married,” I responded, amused.

  “True, but my sister isn’t.”

  I laughed just as the first bell rang.

  Chapter 11

  Jay

  It was another tough day at trial, and things would only get worse as it dragged on—probably at least for another month or two.

  Emery had a strong defense. He portrayed Lindsey Wilson, the victim’s wife, as a victim herself. Ciara Parks, a close friend of the defendant, had been called to the stand as a witness, and she gave testimony that had painted an even clearer picture of Mrs. Wilson’s alleged abuse from her husband.

  “Sometimes I’d see her and she’d just have these bruises on her neck,” Ciara Parks said, after Emery asked her to describe an instance where she’d witnessed the abuse.

  “And did you ask Mrs. Wilson how she acquired these bruises?” Emery asked.

  I sat at the table on the prosecution’s side, one hand to my mouth, glancing from the witness to Emery. Much like me, he had a powerful presence in the courtroom. He had one in the bedroom too.

  “Y-yes,” the witness responded. “One time when she had a black eye, I asked about it, and she said she fell. But then when I saw the marks on her neck, she broke into tears and said that Terry did it to her. He was always so jealous every time she went out with her friends and would go into rages.”

  “How did Mr. Wilson feel about your friendship with the defendant?” Emery asked.

  “Objection,” I interjected.

  “On what grounds?” Judge Meyers asked.

  “She can’t speak on the victim’s personal views,” I responded. “She lacks personal knowledge of Terry Wilson’s state of mind.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Let me rephrase,” Emery said, pressing his lips into a line before continuing, “Did Mr. Wilson ever show any dislike toward you?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I went over to see Lindsey one Saturday evening, and Terry refused to let me in the house, saying I was a bad influence on his wife. He then called me a whore and slammed the door in my face.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” Emery looked over at me before sitting back down.

  “Does the prosecution have any questions for this witness?” Judge Meyers asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” I stood from the chair, smoothing the wrinkles from my suit, and focused on Ciara. “Ms. Parks. You state that the victim questioned your character and believed your friendship with Mrs. Wilson to have a negative influence on her. Would you say this was justified?”

  “Objection,” Emery said. “Relevance?”

  “It’s relevant to the witness’s testimony,” I countered.

  “Overruled.”

  I turned my attention back to the witness. “I repeat. Would you say this opinion of you was justified?”

  “N-no. I never did anything to Terry.”

  “Let me present Exhibit C to the court,” I said, pulling a document from my folder and stepping out from the table. “Text messages sent from Ms. Parks to the victim over the duration of five months containing nude photos of herself and messages asking to meet with him for sex.”

  “Objection!” Emery stood, his cheeks going red. “We received no discovery about this.”

  “These were only found by my team this week, after you gave us your witness list,” I explained.

  “I’ll allow it,” the judge said, before giving me permission to approach the bench.

  I stepped forward and handed him the document, which he proceeded to look over before handing it back to me. I then gave it to Ciara Parks.

  “Please read the first highlighted text for the court,” I said.

  She glared at me, the paper crinkling in her shaking hand. “It says, Lindsey won’t ever know. I can please you in ways she never could, baby.”

  “You bitch!” Lindsey exclaimed, jumping up from the table. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”

  Judge Meyers banged his gavel, demanding order in his courtroom. He then said if it happened again, the defendant would be escorted from the room.

  I then argued that Ms. Parks’ testimony of Terry Wilson treating her that way could have been a direct result of her pursuit of him and not an indication of his alleged abusive behavior. His responses had rejected her advances, and he specifically told her not to contact him again.

  And so, that concluded another day at trial.

  By the time I got home that evening—after staying late and eating dinner at the office—I was exhausted. I fed Sputnik before taking a long, hot shower. As the hot water came down on my back, I reached between my legs and gripped my semi-erect cock. I might’ve been tired, but I needed some kind of a release. It had been a week since I’d fucked Remi… and I hadn’t been with anyone for a few weeks before that either.

  I closed my eyes and groaned, moving my hand faster. I didn’t try to prolong it. I just needed a quick release to last me for the night because god knew I wasn’t going to get laid. Well, I could get laid—there were a lot of guys who’d jump at the chance to fuck me—but I didn’t want them.

  Not anymore.

  Sex used to be second nature to me, something I did no matter my mood. If I was mad, happy, depressed, it didn’t matter. I’d meet up with random guys, fuck their brains out, and then leave. But ever since Remi had become a bigger part of my life over the past month—takin
g over my thoughts—I hadn’t sought out anyone else.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Remi was what was wrong with me. His blue eyes with that one small speck of brown in his left iris, his soft lips, his adorable laugh, and the smell of his skin—all of it had taken me prisoner. Imagining myself sinking into his tight ass tossed me over the edge.

  “Mm, fuck.” I squeezed the head of my cock and massaged down my shaft as ribbons of cum shot from the tip. When I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, Sputnik was sitting by the open bathroom door staring at me. “Don’t look at me like that, Sput.” I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my hips. “You shouldn’t have interrupted Daddy during his private time.” He meowed and followed me to my room. “Hey, don’t back-talk me.”

  After drying off and pulling on a pair of PJ bottoms, I slid into bed and grabbed my phone. It was almost ten. My eyes were too heavy for me to text, so I called Remi instead.

  “Hello?”

  “Privyet,” I said, which meant hi.

  “Oh, sorry,” Remi responded. “You must have the wrong number. I don’t know anyone who speaks Russian.”

  “Like hell you don’t.”

  He chuckled. “How are you? I saw the evening news. The trial seemed to go well today.”

  “It did. For the most part.”

  “Good to hear.” Mumbling sounded in the background, followed by a familiar commercial jingle.

  “You watching TV in bed?” I asked.

  “Stalker. Yes, I’m watching Pawn Stars. What are you doing?”

  “I’d like to be doing you,” I said, gliding a hand down my bare chest.

  “Is that so?” His breathing shifted, and his voice turned husky. “If I was there… what would you do to me?”

  Hot damn. Even after jacking off in the shower, I was already getting hard again. I closed my eyes, my heart beating quicker. “I’d kiss your neck to start.”

  “Mm. I like neck kisses.”

  “I know you do.” I had never had phone sex before, so it was another first for me. New territory where I couldn’t rely on my body to do the talking. “As I kissed your neck, I’d glide my hand across your chest, tweaking your nipples.”