Free Agent

by Catherine Gayle

  As soon as he resettled on the bed, he wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged me up against him, my totally bare flesh to his essentially-bare flesh. But now my nerves were going haywire. I was naked. He might as well be, because his shirt wasn’t doing much to cover him.

  “Show me what you want,” I said.

  “You don’t have to do any—”

  “I want to,” I cut in. “I want this. But I need you to show me. Take my hand and show me.”

  I was sure he was going to get frustrated by my inexperience and roll away from me or something, but he surprised me by taking my hand in his and guiding it to his erection. He closed my fingers around his length. The heat and smoothness of his skin surprised me.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Squeeze me a little—not too hard.”

  “Like this?” I added a bit of pressure.

  He groaned. “A little more. And then stroke me up and down.”

  His skin moved like hot, satiny velvet beneath my touch, gliding over the firmness beneath the surface. I still wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting him to feel like, but this definitely wasn’t it. This was…nice.

  “Tell me if I hurt you,” I said.

  “Baby, you’re hurting me, but it’s the best kind of pain. You can always hurt me like this. Anytime you want to.”

  For some reason, that sent a tingle of excitement up my spine. I stroked his length a few times, my boldness growing every time he made a sound. And there were so many sounds—sharp intakes of breath, unintelligible moans, guttural requests for me to stroke him faster. Within a couple of minutes, there was a sheen of sweat covering him, and his hips were rocking up into my hand.

  His hand locked into a knot of my thick curls, he kissed me hard; I tasted my own musk on his tongue.

  “Faster,” he murmured against my lips, so I stroked him faster. He dove into my hair with both hands, holding my head captive as he kissed me like no man had ever kissed me before. “You’re driving me crazy in the best possible way.” And then he let out a muffled shout and went still.

  Warm, sticky fluid coated my palm.

  “Sorry,” he said after a moment. “I should’ve warned you I was coming. Should’ve gotten a tissue or something.”

  But I shook my head and disengaged from him, getting up from the bed. “It’s all right. I just need to…” The thought trailed off, but he didn’t need me to finish it. Did he? But whether he did or not, I couldn’t speak anymore. The simple act of finding my voice would require more dignity than I had left.

  After gathering up my clothes, I headed into the bathroom. I shut the door behind me before turning on the lights, because I didn’t want to risk him seeing any part of my naked body. After rinsing my hand in the sink, I turned on the shower, cranking it up almost as hot as it would go, as if the heat could wash away all the crap going on in my head.

  One thing no one ever told me was how messy sex was. And this wasn’t even true sex—just a hand job and some oral.

  But the physical mess was nothing compared to the chaos taking place in my mind.

  I’d let him touch me. I’d allowed him to feel all my loose skin, the permanent, sagging, disgusting reminder of how huge and repulsive I’d once been.

  And at least in my own mind, the way I looked without my clothes on now was even more hideous than the way I’d looked at my heaviest. I was like a bald cat—ugly and creepy, but no one would ever be able to look away due to sheer fascination about how skin could droop and hang like that. Their curiosity about the folds and wrinkles and whatnot would eventually outweigh their disgust, and they’d stare.

  He would stare.

  Never again would I be able to sense his eyes on me and believe he was looking for any reason other than disgust, or maybe some sick sense of fascination. But certainly never with any semblance of desire.

  I stood beneath the hot spray of water, my eyes closed, allowing it to wash away the tears I’d been holding in.

  How would I ever look him in the eye again now that he knew and it wasn’t just something he kind of understood but not really? The state of my body wasn’t the sort of thing anyone could grasp until they’d witnessed it with their own eyes or touched it with their own hands.

  Now he knew.

  But I probably didn’t need to worry about facing him, because I doubted he’d even attempt to look in my eyes again. Even now, he was probably packing away my things and calling down to the front desk to arrange for another room for me.

  If Dani ever found out about any part of this whole debacle, she’d be saying “I told you so,” for years.

  Nothing to worry about, Dani, I thought to myself as the water did what little it could to cleanse the awful thoughts from my mind. He won’t have a chance to hurt me. I’ll take care of that well enough on my own.

  I always did, after all.

  I’D GONE AND fucked up again, and I didn’t have the first clue what I’d done wrong this time. Bea had been almost in tears when she’d scurried off to the bathroom—I could sense her distress in the air between us even if I couldn’t see the shimmering evidence of it for myself.

  The temptation to follow her into the bathroom and refuse to leave until she filled me in as to how I’d screwed myself over nearly overwhelmed me, but I forced myself to give her some privacy. I owed her that much and so, so much more.

  I flipped on the lights, dragged on a pair of shorts, and tried to tidy up the room a bit while she was in the bathroom, attempting to distract myself by keeping busy. It didn’t take me very long to clean up the random pieces of clothing we’d tossed, though, and soon I was wishing I had something to do with myself again—maybe one of the coloring books or some crocheting—something. But all I had was my phone.

  I’d left the coloring books I’d brought with on the road trip in Grandma’s room in the hospital, thinking they’d be of more use to me there while I sat by her bed and she slept. Should’ve brought them with me, even though I hadn’t realized it at the time.

  Just served as further proof that I was an idiot. Not that there’d been any lack of evidence on that score.

  Taking out my phone, I pulled up a mind-numbing game app to try to waste some time and entertain myself for a bit, but it didn’t help much. None of these games required enough thought to be a true distraction. I closed that first one down and opened up a nine-by-nine Sudoku puzzle, hoping that would do the trick until Bea returned and I could apologize for being an ass.

  She was in the bathroom for a long time—well after the water had shut off and I’d completed probably twenty or more Sudoku puzzles, because they didn’t present enough of a challenge to me anymore. I had to fight off the urge to barge into the bathroom and demand answers, but obviously acting on my impulses was a bad idea, especially when it came to this relationship.

  I only ended up getting myself into trouble when I did things like that.

  When she finally came out again, I tossed my phone on the bed and tried to prepare myself for the tongue-lashing I’d earned.

  But she didn’t give me one.

  “You should shower and get dressed so we can get you something to eat,” she said without bothering to look at me. She started folding up the clothes I’d set on the foot of the bed, tidying things up beyond what I’d already done while she showered. “And then tomorrow we can go back to the hospital to see your grandmother again. Unless you want to go back tonight? What time are visitation hours over? I’m sure she’d like that, now that you’ve gotten a bit of rest. Does this hotel have a restaurant downstairs, or—”

  “Bea,” I cut in. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say—just that I needed to say something to dig myself out of the hole I’d apparently buried myself in.

  “Hmm?” She folded my shirt into a tidy square and fastidiously set it on top of my already folded jeans, studiously avoiding my gaze.

  “Do I need to apologize?” I asked. “Because it definitely feels that way.”

  “You don�
��t need to apologize.”

  I only wished I could believe her.

  The hollow tone she’d used and the fact that she still wouldn’t look at me, though? Between those two things, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d believe her words.

  Especially not once she turned away from the bed and started packing up the clothes she’d been wearing earlier, stowing them in her suitcase when she ought to be emptying its contents into the drawers.

  My stomach jumped into my throat. “Are you leaving?” I croaked.

  “I’m going down to the front desk to see if I can get another room.”

  “What? No.” I jumped off the bed but didn’t know what I intended to do with myself now that I was up.

  In lieu of answering, she slipped her laptop into a sleeve and tucked it into the protective pocket of her carry-on bag.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because I think it’s better this way.”

  “Better for who? Because it won’t be better for me.” Which could only mean it was better for her. I’d fucked up well beyond anything I could have imagined if she was refusing to stay here with me.

  She didn’t respond to this. A couple more items got placed into her bag, and then she zipped it up and headed for the door, slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

  I jumped into action without thinking, darting past her and blocking her exit.

  Bea’s glare did a number on my nerves, but I refused to budge. If she wanted to get past me, she was going to have to move me out of her way.

  “Tell me what I did wrong,” I demanded. “Did you not want…?” The thought that I’d pushed her into anything she wasn’t ready for made me sick to my stomach. I mean, I wanted to get laid as much as the next guy, but Grandma had instilled in me a healthy respect for boundaries. Over the years, I’d happily fucked plenty of women who’d offered themselves up for the taking, but they’d always been the ones to initiate, not me.

  And when it came to the women who had a permanent position in my life, those boundaries were even more important. Granted, until recently, Grandma had been the only woman I’d consider to be in my life and not just on the outskirts of it, but that was neither here nor there.

  But Bea wouldn’t answer me.

  Hell, she wouldn’t even look at me.

  After prying her bag from her hands and setting it next to the door, I reached over and tipped her chin, hating myself for the tears glistening in her eyes. She shook her head, dislodging my hand, and tried to sidestep me.

  “What?” I repeated, refusing to let her past me just yet. “I thought we agreed that you’d explain shit to me when I don’t understand something.”

  Her eyes closed, as if she couldn’t bear to even look at me while we spoke. Her voice cracked as she said, “I just thought that you’d want to rethink things. You know, now that you know.”

  No wonder so many marriages failed if people were always talking in riddles to each other. “Now that I know what?”

  “What I’m like,” she whispered.

  “I already know what you’re like. You’re funny as shit, and you’re not afraid to bust my balls—”

  “Underneath my clothes,” she cut in, trying to back away from me.

  I reached for her wrist and locked my hand around it, preventing her from going too far. A risk, sure—she might not take too kindly to my interference, but I had to do something. “The only thing I’m rethinking,” I said cautiously, “is that I should’ve made sure I had condoms on hand for whenever you were ready.”

  She shook her head, like she was refusing to believe me.

  “Bea,” I said, but she tried to tug her wrist free. She was surprisingly strong, but I was stronger. I tightened my grip, being careful not to hurt her. But then I waited until she glanced up and met my eyes again. “I want you more than I know how to handle,” I admitted, because the truth seemed to be called for. “Touching you earlier—getting a taste of you—that only made my want for you even stronger than it already was.”

  “But…” And for once, she didn’t seem to have a ready comeback waiting to bust my balls.

  “Come with me,” I said, and I tugged her into the bathroom. She stumbled slightly, thrown off by the shift in gears, but she followed without putting up a fight. I flipped on the light and faced the mirror, standing her in front of me. “Tell me what you see.”

  She rolled her eyes, so I pinched her upper arm lightly before settling both of my hands on her shoulders, anchoring her in place.

  “You really don’t want me to tell you,” she muttered.

  “Do it. What do you see?”

  “Too much of me and not enough of you.”

  Yeah, so maybe she was right. I definitely did not like hearing that shit.

  “Know what I see?”

  “Are we playing Twenty Questions or something?”

  “I see a gorgeous woman who’s scared to look at herself, so she won’t let anyone else look at her.”

  “I can’t stop you from looking.”

  “Bullshit. You won’t let me have the lights on. You won’t let me see you.”

  She scowled, shrugging my hands off her shoulders, and then left the bathroom. “We should get going,” she said with finality, effectively putting an end to the conversation. “Get showered, Blake.”

  “Are you going to take your things and get another room as soon as I get undressed and can’t chase you out in the hall?”

  She didn’t answer me with words, but eventually she gave me the tiniest shake of her head.

  It might take me a while, but eventually, I did learn from my mistakes. So instead of arguing with her further, I did what she’d asked—I got into the shower, hoping that she would still be in my room when I was done and not down at the front desk or already established in some other room without me.

  “SHOULDN’T YOU BE getting back to your team soon?” Lillian demanded in lieu of a traditional greeting when the two of us returned to her hospital room the next morning.

  “They know why I’m here. They know this is more important.”

  “Watching an old lady die is more important than living your life, hmm?” But despite her barking at him, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the bouquet of tulips he’d brought in. “Where’d you find tulips like that at this time of year?”

  He handed them off to me, and I arranged them in a vase I’d found down in the gift shop, filling it with water before positioning each stem carefully.

  “You can buy flowers of all sorts at any time of year these days,” Blake said. “I’d think you’d remember that from the last time you had cancer.”

  “I’m an old lady. I don’t remember shit I don’t want to remember. And that is definitely something I’d rather forget.”

  “You don’t want to remember flowers?” he shot back.

  “I want to forget being sick before. Hell, I want to forget being sick now. You should help me out with that.”

  I snorted but tried to cover my laugh with a fake cough.

  When I surreptitiously glanced over, I found Lillian eyeing me, but Blake didn’t seem to notice. He was scanning the dry erase board on the wall where the nurses noted items about his grandmother’s care. He was studying it so intently that it seemed he was trying to memorize every detail or detect if she’d been neglected in some way while we were gone.

  I kept myself busy on the other side of the room, fussing with the flowers even though they already looked perfect other than being slightly droopy—but they’d perk up soon, now that they were in water.

  “Blake, I need you to go hunt down that male nurse for me,” his grandmother said.

  “I can do that for you,” I volunteered.

  “I want Blake to do it,” she bit off, not even looking in my direction.

  “Can’t you just press your call button?” he asked.

  “I can but they keep sending Nurse Ratched. I want Brett.”

  “There isn’t a Nurse Ratched on your team,
” he said, scanning the board once more. “Looks like you’ve got Emily and Samantha today.”

  “Emily is Nurse Ratched. Hell, so is Samantha.”

  “They’ve both got the same name?”

  “I want Brett.”

  I snickered.

  He grumbled a few things about her getting sued for molestation or harassment, but he left the room.

  “He doesn’t take hints well,” Lillian said to me.

  “He also doesn’t appear to be familiar with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

  “No one’s perfect.”

  “You should’ve just told him you wanted a word with me.”

  “I could’ve. But then he would have wanted to know what it was about, and I thought this should be just between the two of us.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “I don’t have time to be anything less than serious, so if you don’t get that impression, we have problems. And I don’t want to have problems with you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Have you thought any more about what we talked about before?” she demanded. “About whether you can let him love you?”

  After everything that had happened between us at the hotel, I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. And even though my skin wasn’t prone to revealing a blush, I felt my cheeks heat.

  “You have thought about it,” she said definitively.

  “I haven’t— There’s just—” I cut myself off, stumbling over my own words.

  “He’s not always thoughtful.”

  “That’s not the problem, Lil. I am.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t even know. I just— I can’t let him see me.”

  “He already sees you,” she barked. “He’s not blind.”

  “I think you know what I mean.” Having finished arranging the tulips in the vase, I placed it on a table near the window so the sun would hit them.

  “I do. And I also know it’s horseshit.” She scowled so fiercely I felt it in my toes. Her expression made me think of Blake, to be honest. “He knows you used to be fat, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, he’s not an idiot. Might not always seem that way, but he’s got a hell of a brain on him. You got stretch marks and shit you think he won’t like—”