Bound

by Piper Malone

  Because you are a chick who likes booze and boys and has never been invited to a tea party because it’s just a little too civilized.

  A defeated groan falls from my mouth before I flop over on my desk. A vision of my beautiful house floats in my mind. It’s so gorgeous. The paint on the walls is rich and vibrant, accenting my style while incorporating rustic pieces to symbolize Blake and our union.

  Union? I jerk up, back ramrod straight. Who said that? Why is Blake always in my fantasy house?

  It would make a beautiful starter home for a young family…

  Since it’s not the time or the place to think deep thoughts about Blake, I try to distract myself with erratic typing. I search for any organization in Boston that will trip my trigger enough to want to launch a killer marketing campaign. I’ll know when it’s right. The feeling of connection will take over as soon as I meet the right client and the wheels will come off. It will be nothing but creative fire. The spark is out there somewhere. I settle in, coffee in hand, determined to find it.

  “Miss Boytsov?” The voice is kind enough, but the sound makes me shriek, almost jumping out of my chair.

  “Oh my,” Mr. Achenbach chuckles, his cheeks red with amused embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  His fatherly presence chases away any irritation from being scared shitless. I’ve always liked him. He’s a good man and an awesome boss. “Mr. Achenbach, you were almost down an employee.” I pat my chest. “You’re lucky I’m good with surprises. Come in and please, call me Kat.”

  “Very well, Kat.” Mr. Achenbach walks into my office, taking a seat in one of the open chairs in front of my desk. “If we are on a first-name basis, you can call me Stacy,” a mischievous smirk makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Tell me, Kat, why are you here on a Sunday morning?”

  “Well,” I pause, locking back all the witty quips I want to launch: my boyfriend is at work and being in bed alone is boring. I might catch fire if I went to church. The liquor store is closed. There is nothing good on television. “I’m working on my pitch for the contest.”

  Stacy’s eyes light up. “Oh! Wonderful!” He leans back in the chair, passing a glance into the empty office. “Can I hear some of what you are working on?” When I hesitate, he presses. “I’m so glad you are going to submit to this project. I’ve been very impressed with your work from the first day you came on. I’m not a judge, and it’s totally up to you, but I’m very excited to see what you’re thinking about.”

  His excitement is heartwarming and gut wrenching. “I would love to share what I have, but I’m stuck.” Mr. Achenbach’s forehead wrinkles with confusion. “I’ve been trying to think about what I want to do, how I want to really make a statement, and everything fizzles out. I’m used to getting into a project and running wild. I feel like someone tied my shoelaces together.”

  His strokes his chin as he thinks about what I just said. The silence is strange and I worry I’ve disappointed him. I’m always afraid people are going to see that I’m nothing but smoke and mirrors, a woman who looks like everything is in place but is really just an average Jane who got lucky.

  “Kat,” Mr. Achenbach says into the unbearable quiet, “you should get out of here.” With his decree, he stands and starts for the door.

  My worst fear has come true. I bolt up from my chair, following him to the door. “But, Mr. Achenbach, I can do this. I know I will develop a stellar pitch. I just need to—”

  He turns to look at me, his caring eyes calming the wild fear charging through my body. “Of course you will, Kat. I have faith in you and your abilities. If the timing isn’t right, you can’t force it.” He glances around the office. “I like to think I know my employees pretty well. You are passionate, Kat. You love life. You aren’t going to be inspired to do good things when you are chained to a desk.” Mr. Achenbach’s beefy hand pats me on the shoulder. “Go and explore. Fall in love with the city again. Feel the passion I know you have.” He gives me a knowing wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And, remember, it’s Stacy.”

  My boss leaves me standing in my office dumbfounded. How a man who barely sees me but knows my work can peg me is earth shattering. I hate sitting at a desk. I am passionate. I love this city, but we’ve been lovers for a long time and sometimes that dulls your emotion.

  I grab my coat and decide to visit one of the old neighborhoods I used to frequent when I lived in my first apartment. It was a rattrap, but it was mine.

  “Making a quick getaway after your rendezvous, kitty kat?”

  Her voice never loses that edge. I think if she had the power to morph into an animal, she’d be a jackal. “Hi, Serena.” I do my best to stay focused on closing up shop and pay no mind to her suggestion. “When did you get here?” Her coat is still buttoned up; she must have crossed paths with Stacy on his way out.

  “A few minutes ago,” she says lightly, prowling into my office with calculated steps. “It’s odd that you and Mr. Achenbach are here. Together.” She steps closer to my desk, her manicured talon tracing the edge of the deep Cherry wood. “Alone…”

  I flick the monitor off and make for the door. “Serena, I came here to work on my pitch. Stacy was here—”

  “Stacy?” her eyes light up with evil intent. “I didn’t know you were on a first-name basis.”

  “He was here and we started talking.” I am not indulging her reality television bullshit. “That’s what professionals do, Serena.”

  “There are lots of things professionals can do once they start talking, kitty kat.”

  “Serena, your insinuation is as classless as your knockoff Michael Kors bag, neither of which is a surprise coming from you. Now, I’m leaving. Please remove yourself from my office; this is a designated anti-mean-girls zone.”

  Serena turns on her heel; an exaggerated huff accompanies her best boo-boo face. I’m sure that look has worked on many a stupid dude who didn’t want to see her pretty widdle face all scrunched up. However, this is the house of Kat. We don’t give a shit about your pout.

  “You won’t win, Kat,” she calls over her shoulder as she saunters down the hall, “I’m the best and we both know it.”

  Thank goodness she doesn’t see my eyes roll. I can’t give her fodder for her rumor mill. It’s bad enough she suggested I did something with Stacy. He’s a good man, but I’m not into Daddy’s little girl. Gross.

  The man I am all about these days seems to be on the same wavelength as me. Blake’s text is perfect:

  Tacos?

  How did I get lucky enough to land a guy who loves food as much as I do? Stacy’s pep talk has eased my mind enough to grab a bite to eat. I can do this, I just need some inspiration.

  Papagayo on Summer. See you in 15.

  I dash out the door, excited to show off my old neighborhood to my new boyfriend.

  Chapter 18

  Kat

  “It’s cool your boss is down with you pitching whatever you want,” Blake says through a mouth of beef lo mein.

  I nod, savoring the soft steamed dumpling I just popped in my mouth. It’s been two days since my conversation with Stacy and I’m still stuck. “I know,” I mumble. Dinner has become one of my favorite meals. It’s usually Blake and me and a carpet picnic of our favorite takeout. We sit on the floor, leaning up against the couch, listening to the local blues station and each other. “I just wish I could come up with something. I went for a run after work today to see if I could shake anything loose.”

  “And,” he asks, adorable brows brushing his thick, black hairline.

  I shake my head. “Nada,” I huff. I was able to burn off some of the energy. Mostly I think I was running from the idea of my uncle Yuri and his son, Artur, being close enough to make contact with me. As a preemptive measure, I blocked Mika from my social media accounts. It’s a flimsy action, but in my mind, blocking Mika might make it more difficult to find me since there’s no longer a direct connection.

  I’m still trying to find the word
s to explain my family to Blake.

  “Hmm.” He lifts his hand, rubbing the back of his neck in deep contemplation. His heavy biceps bulges, stretching the seams of his white T-shirt. He looks so good in white, his olive skin glowing next to the bright fabric. His tummy is exposed ever so slightly from his raised arm. My boyfriend is yummy. Almost as yummy as the last dumpling.

  “What about kids?”

  The pork and dough almost lodge in my throat. “Excuse me?” The fantasies of the house I shouldn’t have are evolving. At first, it was just me. Then it was Blake and me christening every inch of the house. Then, today when I was running, the house fantasy had Blake coming home with a little girl on his hip that looked surprisingly like me. When I stumbled over a stick in the road, I decided to think about other things.

  I don’t know that I could admit to Blake that I’m afraid to have a child. I’ve always prided myself on being a little dead on the inside. What if I don’t have enough love to give a little person? What if I screw it all up? I’m sure I would be the mom who forgot to make brownies for the bake sale. Unfortunately, my truly shameful worry is how wrecked my body will be once there is a life-form growing inside it. Plus, there’s all that…liquid. I wonder if I’ll slosh like an aquarium.

  The bitch bell rings in my head…again. How can I be so put off by a role that my body was designed to handle? Moreover, why the fuck do I constantly keep having deep thoughts? I don’t know what the deal is, but since Blake showed up, I’m suddenly questioning everything.

  Maybe that’s a good thing.

  “What if you did something with one of the children’s organizations in the area?” he asks, picking through his noodles, adorably unaware of my self-flagellation.

  “Well, I have thought about it, but I just don’t feel it.”

  He looks at me with a questioning glance. “What don’t you feel, doll?”

  Guilt washes over me, my lovely dumpling feeling like a rock in my stomach. Is now the time to tell him I think I’m a pod person incapable of spawning? “Blake, have you ever met children?”

  He considers the question before answering. “I’ve seen them in passing.”

  “Yeah, that’s enough for me too.”

  “Caleb and Reagan are going to have kids, you know.” He hides his little laugh, as if he knows the plan is to knock up Reagan before she returns to the States.

  “Right and I’m going to have fun loading them up on doughnuts and Mountain Dew before I send them home.”

  “That kid is going to love Aunt Kat.” He high-fives me as we share a laugh. “Okay, no children. How about animals. People love their pets.”

  “Yes, and they, just like children, have the propensity to defecate wherever they see fit. Pass.”

  “Yikes, tough crowd tonight, Kat,” he muses. “How about this; what do you like?”

  “What do I like?” A silence falls between us because I can’t bear to verbalize all the hellacious things I adore. Vodka. Food. Sex. Blake. I do not think Mr. Achenbach would appreciate a booze-laden food-fest where I fuck my boyfriend on my desk. Although, we might get some money for it. Oh! Porn. I like porn, too.

  Blake sniffs the air. “Do you smell something burning?” he asks, more to himself than me. He snickers at my sour face before lacing his fingers behind his head and tossing me a half smile as he leans back against the sofa. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m a heathen,” I reply, checking out the deep valley of his cut arms, fully on display.

  “Okay?”

  “All the stuff I like is bad,” I whine. “I’m an awful human being, Blake.”

  “You like drowning puppies?”

  I gasp, slapping his leg. “That’s horrible! You don’t say things like that!”

  “But I thought you hated animals,” he hoots with laughter as he rubs his offended thigh.

  “I don’t love them but I don’t want to wear them as a hat.”

  “Okay, sorry.” Blake tries to calm himself through his deep laughs. “What else is out there? Literacy groups. Women’s organizations. Food pantries.” Blake rattles off the list while loading a fork with food. As he pulls it to his mouth, a large dollop of sauce falls on his shirt. “Dammit!” he hollers through a mouthful of noodles as he reaches for the napkins.

  “Well, that stinks. Here, give it to me.” I gesture for him to take off the soiled garment. “I can soak it.”

  “Thanks,” he says as he deftly exposes the chest that I’ve come to call my own. He really is a vision. “Take a picture, Kat,” he jabs.

  “I like the picture I have of you on my phone, thank you very much.” He told me if I ever shared the cock shot he sent me, he’d ruin me. I believe him. He has my V pic. It’s our collective blackmail.

  In the laundry room, I push aside the pile of shirts I still need to fold and start running cold water over the stain. I giggle about our photos, his unabashed desire to make me laugh, and his inability to keep his clothing clean.

  I lay the offended shirt out to dry and pilfer through the clean clothing despite the desire to make him go shirtless for the rest of the night. I decide to hand over his well-worn station shirt for one night. I usually sleep in it when he’s not here.

  Walking back into the living room, I catch Blake crouched down, checking out the books on my shelf. His back is ribbed with sleek, well-defined slabs of muscle. His rear-end is beautifully sculpted. When he stands at full height, he takes my breath away. Damn, this man is hot. And he’s mine.

  “Ah,” he says with a smile, “I wondered where that went.” He gestures to the shirt. “If you take any more from me, I’ll have none. We haven’t been able to order more since the budget was cut.” He pulls on the shirt, lifting the fabric to his nose before inhaling deeply. “Your detergent smells so—”

  “That’s it!” I shriek, his words triggering a lightning storm of images. “Are all the guys at the station as hot as you?”

  “Um,” he hesitates, backing up slightly, “I don’t know how to answer that, doll.”

  “A bunch of the guys you work with all workout together, right?”

  “Yeah…” He looks at me like I’m crazy.

  The ideas pummel my brain at warp speed. “Oh, yes!” I bounce around the living room. “I’ll pitch what I love—looking at hot guys! I’ll do a calendar that benefits the station and the community service projects you do. We can call it The Daily Five Alarm! Do you think the guys would go for it?”

  He laughs. “If you think I’m the only one who doesn’t hesitate to take my clothes off in that place, you’re in for a big surprise.”

  Chapter 19

  Blake

  Once Kat’s inspiration hit, her energy was uncontrollable for the rest of the evening. She took pictures of me, mapped out her plan of attack, built a demo for the layout, all the while texting Greg as she figured out her plan. She has less than a week to pull it off, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind she can do it. For hours, she ruled the world. She was in her creative zone, giddy from the high of ideas falling into place. The adrenaline rush was contagious.

  Midway through the night, we celebrated with a photo shoot that went rogue after she asked me to show her my big hose.

  Kat was a powerful, sensual force. It was as if her creative energy fueled her, driving her to achieve the goal. I’m not sure if it was because her idea stemmed from me, which does nothing but stroke my ego, but her command of the project was inspiring. Kat took control of the problem she’s been worried about for weeks and molded it into a real, tangible thing. I couldn’t do anything but give her everything she wanted to help her put all the pieces together. The passion we share has always been explosive, but after last night, it felt different. The edgy sensuality I feel with Kat was deeper, more connected than I’ve ever felt with anyone.

  Right now, that connection feels ripped to shreds.

  “Can you explain this?” A tone of disgust bleeds into my voice. It’s difficult for me to hold her phone with the cra
zy urge to smash it coursing through my veins.

  When are you coming back to see me?

  She reads the text lighting up the locked screen, her mouth dropping open, fingers twisting in a nest of anxious fidgeting. She shifts her weight back and forth, the hem of my T-shirt brushing the tops of her thighs. If she didn’t look so sensually disheveled from last night, my possessiveness would reach an all-time high. She looks like that because of me.

  So why the fuck is she getting texts from Ax and why is her answer taking so long?

  “Where are you meeting him and why are you seeing him again?” I demand.

  “Um…” Kat’s cheeks turn a bright pink color. “I may have run into him while I was out and we started talking.”

  “And you two hit it off?” I ask, the irritation in my voice pushing through.

  “No, I ran into him and mentioned that I needed to get into Reign. He said he could let me in—”

  Bullshit. “So can I, Kat!” I yell, slamming the phone on the counter.

  I cringe when she flinches at the sound and takes a protective step back. She only bobbles for a second before I see her eyes narrow, signaling that she’s not backing down.

  “Look,” she jabs a finger at me, “I didn’t know your work schedule. It was a benign conversation. What’s the issue? I can’t talk to another guy when I’m with you? Do you talk to other women when I’m not around?”

  I know exactly where she’s going on this trip and it’s a field land mines. “No,” I try to harness some level of civility, “I never said that. But when a man texts my girlfriend about when they are meeting up again and I have no clue they are even talking, that makes me a little suspicious.”

  “I have done nothing for you to be concerned about. I talked to him in public. The waitress at the restaurant wants to rub her polyester-clad ass all over him. This is a nonissue,” she states before turning on her heel and storming down the hall.

  Her words create a chaotic fireworks display in my head, loud and jarringly bright. “You went out to dinner with him!” I holler, following her.