“I’ve spent so much time zombieing my way through life,” I reply, trying to explain. I take a deep breath and hold it before letting it out. “And there are still times when I think I’m never going to be free of it. I’ll always be ‘that poor girl’, either because of losing my parents or because of how Reggie and I struggled. But I don’t want to live that way forever. I want to live again, to be bright and free. To feel like I did when you and I were in that clearing on the mountain.”
“You can do just that,” Gabe replies.
I duck my head, not able to meet his eyes for this part despite his assertion that I shouldn’t be ashamed. “It’s safer, easier to stay asleep at the wheel, to drudge through and follow the plan I set ages ago, with hopes that it’ll all be better one far-off, distant day in the future. To live big, to be able to actually see the top of the mountain . . . to do that now, I need a reason,” I admit.
It’s a big request of him, even though I’m being fairly vague in order to hedge my bets. “If I’m going to wake up, take that risk, I need a reason.”
Gabe reaches across the table, taking my hand. “I hear you, and I will happily help you up every step of the mountain. But I want to be clear on something. You are reason enough. You deserve to wake up and own every second of your life, enjoy them now, not just later when you feel like you’ve earned it. You’ve already earned it, Bella. But I would be thrilled to enjoy it along with you.”
His answer is somehow even more perfect, though I definitely notice he’s not making any undying professions of love, but it’s far too soon for that. “I’d like that,” I say, his words filling gaps in my spirit I didn’t know were there because I’ve been too busy filling the hole in my belly with the bank account leaking money like a sieve. “It might take a while, though.”
“I know.”
With a start, I remember my manners. “Thank you for the goodies last night. They were unexpected and wonderful. I definitely enjoyed every second of that bath.”
His grin goes lascivious, and his eyes dart downward to where I know I’m giving him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. “God, I’m picturing you naked in the tub, bubbles piled up over your nipples and curled tendrils escaping a bun to fall down to your neck, where I could nibble and taste the lavender. Tell me all about it.”
There’s a hint of cockiness to the order, not bossy but bold, and I’m more than happy to meet it with my own sassiness.
“Well, I got home and thought the bag was a bomb, or maybe a dog-shit surprise, but it was so much better, of course.” He laughs at my crazy ideas, urging me to continue with a squeeze of my hand. “It was wonderful. I filled the tub with water all the way to the top, as hot as I could get it, and soaked in the Epsom salts until I was a prune. And like some girl on tv, I ate chocolates and drank wine while I sat there, boiling like one of Henry’s potatoes.”
“I think my fantasy was of the sexier variety, but I’m so glad you enjoyed them.”
The waitress comes by, and I order two of the spicy chicken combo platters. “Ooh, big spender,” Gabe teases. “Can we get some of the almond cookies for dessert?”
“If you behave,” I tease. “Speaking of, I did the ‘tell me about yourself’ spiel, complete with tears and trotting out my trauma. You have yet to do yours, so tell me about yourself, Gabe.”
I know I sound a bit stiff, like this is a job interview, but if so, he’s already got the position. Any and all of them he wants.
“I’m not sure where to start,” he says, and I can read the tension around his eyes.
“Just start at the beginning, like ‘once upon a time, a beautiful baby boy was born.’ Or stick to the basics, like do you have parents? Siblings? Where are you from? What do you do?”
He nods, dropping his chin before answering, “Yes, I have parents, no springing forth, fully grown, from a plant pod. I had a brother, but he died.” He swallows. “Not a story I want to relive right now. Sorry.”
I bite my lip, sad to see his pain and feel his loss so sharply. “No worries. But I’m here if you change your mind and need someone to talk to.”
One side of his mouth lifts in that half-smile he has when he’s not sure. It makes him look like a sweet troublemaker.
“As for what I do, I guess you’d say I’m a consultant.”
“A consultant? Well, that just clears up everything,” I joke, his answer clear as mud. “What do you consult?”
“I’m a systems troubleshooter,” Gabe explains, though he again somehow clears nothing up. “Companies or people call me, and I come in and consult with them on solutions. Sometimes the problem’s easy, sometimes it’s hard. But it’s fun.”
“And you . . . I mean, where are you based out of?” I ask, and Gabe shrugs. “What’s that mean?”
“It means I have enough work that I usually live out of motel rooms. If I were hard-pressed, I’d say I’m a Red Roof guy. I mean, I did three months in Calgary once, nearly six months in New York, but then I’ve done jobs as quick as two or three days and I’m on the road again. When I don’t have work, I’ll sometimes use the gap time to relax, take a vacation or something, but other than a PO Box for the IRS, I don’t really have a place.”
“I can’t decide if that sounds lonely or adventurous,” I say honestly. “Having never been anywhere, the thought of constant travel is appealing, but not having a home base seems so nomadic. I’m literally fighting to keep the only roots I have, even when it’d be so much easier to let them go.”
His face falls, and he shakes his head. “You have the home you shared with your aunt to hold those memories, so you clutch to it, understandably. When my brother died, my family basically fell apart, and the memories I hold of home, history, family, they’re all in my mind, in my heart. So anywhere I go, they’re with me. He’s with me.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can tell he’s tortured by the ghosts haunting him right now. Curiosity has me wanting to ask a million more questions, but I can respect that he might not be in a place to share right now, so I redirect the conversation to lighter topics in the hope of lifting his spirits once again.
“So in your vast experience of traveling the world, can you use chopsticks? Because I’m seriously doubting my skills.”
His lips curl in slow-motion. “I can absolutely use chopsticks. I have all sorts of skills that’d surprise you.”
Something in his tone sounds like he truly believes that, which makes me all the more tingly to see him use each and every one of those skills.
Chapter 19
Gabriel
While I stop at one beer, Bella enjoys herself, which is just what I want. She deserves to relax, have some fun. There’s going to be too much bad shit coming, and maybe this fun night will help her through those times.
“You wanna know my personal record of how many shifts I’ve worked in a row?” she asks as she sips at her third Mai Tai. “Too many!” she laughs, but then her eyes narrow in thought. “Actually, I think twenty is my record. Can you imagine? Twenty days in a row, no time off at all, serving those big ass blue plate specials?”
“I bet you put some muscles on during that stretch.”
“Yeah, right.” She snorts but then says proudly, “That was a long stretch, but I made my tuition payment in cash one week before the semester started.”
“I have to ask, why stay there?” I ask as I sip at my green tea. “You work too many hours for too little pay. I’m sure you could find something better, even if it was only temporary.”
“Maybe I could, but I like it there. I love the people, and Martha works with me. That reminds me of a funny story, actually. Well, it’s funny now, looking back, but it definitely wasn’t at the time,” she says, not slurring her words but definitely getting giggly.
“What happened?”
“It was right after my aunt passed, and I’d been fired from my retail job because I took off two weeks to grieve and plan a funeral. I had no idea what I was going to do for money or even food
. I’d applied at a ton of places but just wasn’t getting any bites.”
Her eyes have gone hazy, her mind faraway in the past, so to bring her back, I tease lightly, “You’re right, this story sounds hilarious.”
It works as she rolls her eyes, a small smile curling her lips. “Anyway,” she draws out sassily, “I was at The Gravy Train and ordered a sausage biscuit breakfast, thought I had the five bucks on me. When I went to pay and looked in my wallet, what I thought was a five was a grocery list. I was dead-broke, literally with just a few cents to rub together, and my bank account was on zero. I was so embarrassed.”
“What’d they do?”
“They called the cops!”
My eyes go wide, thinking of sweet and protective Martha and her beleaguered husband calling the police on a poor, broken-down young woman. “No way.”
“Hell, yes, they did!” Bella laughs. “But while we were waiting, Henry started lecturing me on looking for handouts and being sneaky about stealing from good people. Somewhere in the middle of his Disappointed Dad routine, he threatened to call my parents, wagging finger and all.”
She mimes a stern face, pointed finger rant, then her face softens. “I told him I didn’t have any. That stopped him short and he got real quiet. His lecture turned into more questions, and I was too raw to hide anything about Reggie or my situation. By the time the cops got there, he said it was a misunderstanding and gave the cops a coffee each to go. I apologized for the mistake, promising that I’d pay him back as soon as I could, but he put me to work washing dishes that day. He sent me home with a to-go box . . . and ten bucks tucked inside the lid. Within a month, I was waiting tables. So they’ve always been good to me. They’re like family to me, and in a way, I feel like I owe them. They saved me when things were really dark and have had my back with schoolwork and schedules, cheering me on through every final and project.”
I nod, thinking about the mental debts we place on ourselves. “I’m glad you have them and they have you. It sounds like a match made in heaven.”
Bella inhales, confiding, “I like to think Reggie sent them to me, knowing I’d need someone. Martha and Henry are the closest thing I have to parents now.”
Her words pierce the air, and she looks down, clearing her throat. I reach across and take her hand. “It’s always good to have folks you can turn to. I wish I still did.”
“Your . . . your family’s gone too?” Bella asks.
“My parents are alive, out there somewhere.” I glance to the window, like my mom or dad might unexpectedly be standing there, but of course, they’re not. “But when my brother died, our family did too. We didn’t know how to love each other through it, and our grief took us further and further apart. I left as soon as I could, and my parents divorced shortly after that, both of them moving to the other side of the country to get away from the memories. I think seeing each other just reminded us of who was missing. Of the family we’d never have again. We kinda silently agreed to just let it all go to not hurt each other anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” she says simply. I’m glad she doesn’t give me shit for not seeking my parents out, especially considering her past.
It’s a complex thing, a parent-child relationship, and though it should have a foundation of love and be sprinkled through with happy memories and hopes for the future, sometimes, that’s just not possible.
“The last time I saw my mother, she accidentally called me Jeremy and we both froze,” I admit, a story I’ve never shared with anyone else. “I know she didn’t mean anything by it, certainly didn’t wish it’d been me and not him, but it was a dagger into both our hearts. I think not seeing me, with my similar appearance and my future he’ll never have, makes it easier to shove it all down and live on superficially without dwelling. At least that’s what I tell myself when I think about reaching out to them and need to talk myself out of it.”
Bella reaches out and places her hand on top of mine. “Thank you.”
We finish our meal, sharing mostly happier stories and learning about each other. I have to be careful to not divulge too much, which is surprisingly hard. I’m accustomed to lies and half-truths, diversions and distractions. But I find myself wanting to tell Bella everything, ugly truth and all, but that’s a danger neither of us can afford. So I stick to lighter times and she seems to follow suit.
By the time we finish, my belly hurts as much from the laughter as the overabundance of spicy glazed chicken and rice, and Bella’s cheeks are stained a soft pink.
As we walk out, Bella’s good humor and a bit of the alcohol sillies amps up. “I just had a date.” She does a cute wiggly-ass dance move that makes me think dirty thoughts about smacking that round globe before she teeters a little.
“Whoops!”
“Had? It’s not over yet, Princess,” I correct her, steadying her. “I didn’t know you were a lightweight with the Mai Tais.”
“I’m not a lightweight!” she protests, eventually standing steadily on her own. “I just haven’t had a real drink in like . . . months. But mostly, this is just me being . . . happy.” She smiles, looking clear-eyed, and I realize it’s true. She’s not tipsy, or at least not too tipsy.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t take you home, give you a polite kiss on the cheek at the door, and go back to my motel room?” I ask, smirking but serious. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”
Bella blanches and slaps my chest. “If you even think of doing that, I’m going to be so pissed at you I’ll sic Vash on you!”
“Ooh, not that! She’s a demon beast,” I deadpan. “Guess I’d better plan to stay a while, then?” It’s not until I say the words that I realize how much I truly want to stay with Bella, not just tonight, but for a lot longer.
A tiny whisper in my head says forever, but I quiet it with reminders that I’m not the type of man a woman like Bella needs. Scarred, monstrous, feared, with blood-covered hands and a sin-soaked soul is not the way to reach the mountaintop she wants.
I turn the radio on low as we drive back to Bella’s house. She’s changed the station, and while The Weeknd isn’t my normal cup of tea, the intense sexual beat of Call Out My Name supercharges the atmosphere inside my Range Rover. I look over at Bella, who’s smiling, biting her lip as she tugs at the hem of her dress, sliding it up her knee and making it hard to tell myself that she’s not mine, not for me, because fuck, do I want her, and she wants me in return.
“Gabe?”
“Yes?” I ask, but I see that she’s prompting me, my eyes darting back and forth from the road and her creamy thighs.
I clear my throat, reaching over and putting my hand over hers just before she can reach her panties. “If you don’t stop, I’m either getting in an accident or pulling over and taking you in the back of this vehicle.”
Bella chuckles and takes my hand, placing it very high on her left thigh. “I’m so tempted, but I’ll be good and wait.” I give us both a taste, a promise of what the night holds by drawing a small circle on her satin skin with my thumb.
When we get back to her place, Vash is waiting for us, yowling in protest when the door opens. “Oh, hush, you spoiled brat!” Bella tells her, feigning a scolding, but the love is apparent. “Go catch a mouse or something!”
I reach down to pet her, hoping the milk offering will have made her friendlier toward me, but she hunches her back and eyes me warily. No hisses at least, so maybe I’m making progress.
Before I can get Vash to come to me, Bella shuts the door and pulls me to her. Cat forgotten, I press Bella against the wall, kissing her deeply as I lift her leg, running my hand up her thigh and under the hem of her dress. Her skin’s electric, and as I reach higher, cupping her ass, she moans into my mouth.
“Knew I loved these heels,” she purrs as I massage her cheek, pressing her ass back into my hand. “Just the right height.”
I growl in her ear, my desire taking over. Last time, I held back, letting her have what she needed . . . but while I’ve op
ened up to her tonight, I haven’t told her everything.
And that everything is more than she can even guess. It’s what drives me, telling me that if I’m going to make this woman mine, then I’m going to make her mine.
It’s the only way we’ll survive.
“Bathroom,” she purrs, pushing my jacket off my shoulders to fall to the floor.
I pull her to me, kissing her hard as we stumble toward the bathroom, a trail of clothing in our wake. I’m dimly aware in the little corner of my mind that never turns off that the door to her ‘painting room’ is shut.
All questions about why are driven from my mind as we enter the bathroom, the tile cool on my bare feet. I step back, watching Isabella strip the rest of the way for me.
The shower head angles over an old-fashioned clawfoot tub, surrounded with a clear plastic curtain that she pushes out of the way. I watch Isabella reach over and turn on the water, and I can’t help but give her ass a good smack, making her gasp.
She leans over a little more, and her legs part invitingly, giving me a view of her pussy. “Stay there.”
I kneel and bury my tongue in her from behind, my hands pulling her to me. I’m rewarded with a deep moan as I bathe her pussy with a wide, flat tongue, feasting on her essence.
“Yes, Gabe, yes!” she cries softly as I slip inside her. She’s sweet and spicy, and I lick furiously, thirsty for her sweet slickness, desperate to drink her down.
Isabella pushes back into my face, her knees quaking when I find her clit with my thumb as my tongue thrusts inside her. Her head drops, a deep moan of pleasure tearing through her as her knees unlock. If it wasn’t for her hands supporting her on the high side of the tub, she’d collapse, but I don’t let up, wanting to wrench every bit of pleasure from her that I can.
“That’s it, Princess . . . give me your come,” I growl against her puffy, sopping-wet lips. The sounds coming from my mouth are deep, primal as I suck and lick, my tongue snaking as deep as I can inside while I consume her.
Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale Page 16
