“But it’s a Sunday. You’re usually busy.”
“That’s true, but I don’t have to be busy every Sunday. Unless you don’t actually want me to go.”
“No, I do. I was trying to give you a way out if you wanted one. You don’t seem like much of a family man.”
“I adore my mother. I see her as often as I’m able. And India…she’s not blood, but she’s my chosen family. If you’re talking about kids, though, it’s true. I’m…” It’s not that I don’t like children. They seem well enough and certainly necessary for the perpetuation of the species, if you care for such a thing. So how to put this? “Inexperienced.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You can avoid them if you want.”
“And what about me? How are you planning to introduce me?”
He shrugs, an awkward motion that rubs the sheet over my legs. “As the man I’m seeing.”
“And?”
“And what? What else do people need to know?”
“They’ll likely ask me what I do for a living, and I don’t think you want me telling them what I actually do.”
He snorts a laugh and squirms. “No, I definitely do not. What do you usually tell people?”
“I’ve been all sorts of things. Life coach, attorney, film producer, journalist, personal assistant… I can impersonate all of those reasonably well. Just stay away from anything sports-related or telling anyone I’m a medical professional. Otherwise, have at it.”
I purposefully don’t mention the time I faked being a drug kingpin as I don’t think that would be appreciated in this company.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. It’s actually quite entertaining, dressing up for a day, pretending to be someone I’m not. However, you may want to consider exactly how long you expect this charade to last.”
As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I regret it.
“Hart, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine, I know what you meant.” I have no doubt he does, but I’m sorry nonetheless. “I think I’ll stick with life coach.”
“How we met is already meet-cute material so you needn’t worry about that.”
“True. Makes you look like a good guy, and they already know I’m hopeless at mixing drinks.”
“So it’s settled. Give me the details and I’ll make it happen.”
Before I can do anything else, Allie’s up on his hands and knees, stripping the sheet away from my body and leaning over my lap. As his tongue licks over the jut of my hipbone, I start to get hard, and he takes me in his mouth. Had I known he’d be so grateful I would’ve offered to meet the family a lot sooner.
*
Hart seems nervous as we pull up to his sister’s house. It’s one of those small California bungalows that sits close to its neighbors behind chain link fences. I can already hear the voices bubbling out from the backyard, and it sounds like everyone’s deep into their good time. And maybe some beer.
I’d asked Hart what I should bring to the party, and he’d looked at me sideways. “If you want to bring something, you have to make it yourself. I don’t want Matty making something out of Julia Child.”
“I’m insulted you think I can’t cook,” I’d sniffed, though he has no reason to know I’m actually quite handy in the kitchen. “Maybe a bottle of wine?”
“This is a beer crowd, Walter. None of those fancy-ass microbrews either. We like our beer to actually taste like beer.”
In the end, I couldn’t do it. So a carefully sealed container of sangria is sitting on the floor of the backseat. White wine, peaches, blueberries, Cointreau, and some lemon-lime soda. It’s not bad if I do say so myself, and Hart had grudgingly admitted it was good. After he’d also given reluctant approval to my outfit.
“There isn’t going to be a valet there or passed hors d’oeuvres. Jeans, okay? And those sneakers you wore when you showed up to watch the game. Scuff them up before because I know you haven’t worn them since, and they almost blinded me, dude.”
I’d huffed, but the truth is I hadn’t worn the sneakers since that memorable night. I’ve been wearing them around everywhere I can get away with for a week, much to Matthew’s amusement. Now they’re on my feet, with the requested jeans and a polo shirt.
Hart’s looking quite fine in a Raiders jersey and jeans, even if he’d seemed twitchy, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel of his truck as he drove and singing under his breath to songs I don’t recognize on a radio station I’ve never listened to.
We walk toward the house, and Hart doesn’t bother to knock, just walks right in and is soon accosted by two small people, a boy who looks so much like Allie and Kendra I can’t get even a hint of what his father must’ve looked like, and a girl who’s got their same smile, but different shaped eyes that I match to a man in some photographs hanging on the walls and sitting on a sideboard. I’ve thought before that must be Lamar, and now I have proof.
It’s a wonder Allie hasn’t toppled over from the children’s enthusiasm, but instead he scoops each of them under an arm and turns to me.
“This rascal is Marcus, and this little troublemaker is Imani. Guys, this is my friend Rey.”
A tiny chorus of “Hi, Rey!” makes me laugh and wave with my hand that’s not keeping the sangria safe. “Nice to meet you. Your uncle talks about you all the time. I hear you both play a mean game of Apples to Apples. Maybe you’d like to trounce me later?”
They cheer and then squirm until Allie puts them down, sending them racing off toward the backyard. I find a place to put the sangria down and then follow Allie through the house and out to the backyard. The game won’t start for a couple of hours so everyone’s out here, chatting and laughing and eating.
That’s what I’d also like to be doing to because the food smells amazing. Manners first, though. Hart introduces me around. I shake a lot of hands, smile at a lot of people, commit their names and faces to memory because that’s something I’m good at. Not like how I’ll be less than useless once the…puck drops? No, that’s hockey. First pitch is baseball, tip-off is basketball, but that sounds closer…kick-off. Yes. One less way for me to make an ass of myself.
Kendra greets me with a hug. After we say our hellos, she gives her brother a meaningful look that embarrasses him, and she shoves us in the direction of the food. I’m only too happy to oblige, picking up a bit of everything until my plate is beyond full.
“Dude, are you going to eat all that?”
“I am. Then I’m going to come back and get a bite of everything I missed.”
Hart’s eyebrows draw together, making that ever-present crease between them deepen, but the look on his face isn’t confusion or displeasure. It’s this incredibly sweet and earnest half-smile that burrows right into my heart and takes up yet another one of the empty chambers. By this one small act—and it’s not as if eating this incredible food is going to be a hardship on any level—I’ve made my Hart happy. Forget the blowjob I got when I agreed to come and the scene we’re going to have when we get home tonight, this look was worth the price of admission.
It makes me want to kiss him. Lean over our plates overflowing with home-cooked food to press our mouths together, briefly and almost chastely. Although I don’t know that that would be welcome here. Nor is that probably a good idea for my relationship with Allie.
When I’ve played boyfriends or fiancés, that’s been understood. It’s a game. Not for realsies, not for keeps. A charade for various reasons. This doesn’t feel so much like pretend, though, so I have to look away, grabbing another deviled egg to cover my discomfort.
*
Though I genuinely enjoyed watching the Sharks game with Allie, and I can appreciate some of the elements of football—bless those pants—I find myself not being all that engaged, not caring overmuch whether the Raiders win or…I don’t know, whoever the blue team they’re playing is.
So after helping myself to some dessert and a cup of bright red punch, I wander into the next
room where the kids are occupying themselves with toys and coloring. As soon as I step inside, they’re on me like a jungle gym.
“Want to play with us, Rey?”
“Please?”
“Uh, sure. What do you want to play?”
Board games I can do, and though I’m far from an artist, I can draw a decent stick figure. But no, the little monsters want to play tag. Since the room is small, it’s half hide-and-go-seek and half-tag. You’d think that would be awkward, but it works. After all, the real goal appears to be to tickle the stuffing out of the person you’ve tagged—which looks more like tackling, to be honest.
The thing is, though, when I tickle Imani, she immediately shrieks, “Stop!”
So I do.
Then she gives me that injured look only small children can give, as if you’ve wounded their very soul by refusing a request. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because you told me to?” That is what stop means, right? Not to brag, but I’m kind of an expert in consent and I’m pretty sure…
“I didn’t really want you to stop!”
Ah-ha. This, I understand. The question is how to put it in a way a kid will understand and won’t result in having her ask her mother some unfortunate questions and Allie never speaking to me again.
“How about we have a code then, so when you really want me to stop, I will, but when you don’t, you can yell all you want?”
She agrees, and I suggest “tickle stop.” Again with the not wanting weird questions to surface and Allie murdering me. Partly because, at this point, I’m pretty attached to being alive, partly because there are still far too many people I need to settle, and partly because I don’t think Allie would be subtle about it, which would result in him going to prison. So “tickle stop” it is.
Play is resumed, and our code works out rather well if I do say so myself. In the next round, I catch Imani again and tickle her mercilessly—her armpits, her neck. She kicks and squeals, shouting all the while: No! Stop! Don’t!
I don’t, though, not until she says the magic words.
“Tickle stop!”
So I do, help her off the floor so she can go tearing after Marcus, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans her head into the side of my hip and slips a hand to rest on the inside of my knee. That’s when I realize Allie is leaning up against the doorway, watching us.
“Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
I know I’m not used to spending time with children, but I didn’t think I’d misstepped in any serious way. Perhaps I’m being too familiar and I should dial it back. I do a quick glance at Kendra to see if she doesn’t approve of how I’m playing with her kids, but she’s smiling. Imani takes the opportunity to grab another cookie from the table.
“What is that? Baby’s first safeword?”
I’m thankful I haven’t taken another sip of punch, because it would be all over Allie, maybe all over the floor. Instead, I’ve basically choked on my own saliva. Then I laugh. Stridently, and all the heads in the next room turn toward me, because when I’m not prepared, my laugh is more of a guffaw.
It takes some clearing of my throat and pounding on my chest, but I get myself under control.
“Jesus, Hart. You’re going to kill me. Baby’s first safeword.” I shake my head and tone down my outburst into a chuckle. He’s grinning back at me.
“It’s funny, that’s all. It’s a weird way to bring your work home with you. Are you ever not like that?”
“Like what?”
“So…conscientious.”
I pick up the punch and take a sip, the bright red liquid feeling as vibrant on my tongue as it looks in the clear plastic cup. Slightly carbonated, it fizzes down my throat as I swallow. “Not if I can help it.”
There’s a look on Allie’s face I can’t quite read, but it looks a little like pity. I don’t like it, but I don’t have time to dwell because then Imani’s in my arms again, launching her body into me so hard it nearly knocks me on my ass.
“More tickles!” she demands, her smile sinking dimples into her cheeks. What can I do but oblige? I set her on the floor so she won’t fall in her squirming, and then I go for the sides of her ribs, making her squeal and wriggle under my hands. I look up at Hart, and he’s got this expression on his face, something I can’t quite figure out. Though the uncertainty makes me uneasy, I try to shrug it away. Easy when I’ve got this kid in the throes of euphoric giggle-fits.
She shrieks and squeals, her protests a little hysterical, and when she says, “Tickle stop,” I do. Baby’s first safeword indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‡
It’s a Tuesday night, and I’m back from a visit to DC. Hart was in Philadelphia this weekend, and I needed a distraction. I thought about going down to San Diego to see India, but she ended up going out to Kona. Not that I wasn’t welcome there as well, but she and Cris need some alone time. That’s why she went out there, after all. To see him. Not to see me.
DC was fun. I made my usual stops, got to see Spider do some exceptional ropework. He’s into minimalist stuff right now, and though it scares the living crap out of me, I suppose it gives his subjects quite the thrill and I know he’s safe about it. Outside of the Black House, I visited Slade and Pressly at their townhouse.
Their five-year-old is a handful—not that I’d expect anything less from the progeny of those two—but their two-year-old is strangely docile and sweet, as though he’s trying to make up for his hellcat of a sister. And Slade and Press—they’re doing well. They have a standing date to go to the club every Tuesday night, which had made me laugh.
Press had shrugged. “For old times’ sake. Besides, my Zumba class switched to Wednesdays.”
I’m setting down my messenger bag inside the door and surveying my domain—perfect, as expected, because Matthew is a professional—when there’s a knock at the door. My mouth curves slowly, reluctantly, but inexorably into a smile. I’d told Hart I’d be back around nine, and here he is. Nine sharp. Do you think he spent time in the military?
Turning to face the door, I try to shove down the palpable…what is that, relief…coursing through me? I’m happy he’s here. I enjoy a lot of people’s company, but I don’t tend to miss them when they’re away. India’s a notable exception to that rule, but even with her, it’s not this release. Not until I know she’s okay, anyway.
With Hart, though, he doesn’t expect me to be on all the time. Would prefer, perhaps, I not be. Right now, I want to put my arms around him, breathe in the scent of his skin and run my fingers over his scalp. Kiss him, rest my forehead against his. Tell him I missed him while I was away. What even is that? I can’t be projecting that expectation onto him.
I try to shake it from my head before I open the door, but I don’t bother to erase the smile I’ve got for him. He should know I’m pleased to see him. When I open the door, though, it’s not to a cocky, hornball Hart. It’s to a completely freaking out Allie. Eyes wide, chest heaving, hands clenching and releasing as if he doesn’t know what else to do with them.
That’s all it takes, the panic and the need on his face, for me to snap back on duty. Because that’s what I do.
“What’s the matter?”
“Kendra, she’s—”
“Do you want to come in and talk or should we be driving somewhere?”
“She’s at Bay Memorial?” It sounds like a question, and I hate that he’s so uncertain.
“Then let’s go and you can tell me on the way.” I grab my keys from the bowl I set them in a moment ago and a coat too, because hospitals tend to have completely whacked HVAC systems. It’s perfectly mild outside, but it could be an icebox inside and who knows how long we’ll be there.
My car isn’t far, and Allie slides inside the passenger seat easily, buckling up and staring straight ahead. I pull out of the tight space and set out. It’ll be about twenty minutes until we get there.
“What happened?”
“Fire at the
ir house. Kids are okay because Kendra got them out, but then she went back in to grab some of their things and—”
I stop breathing. Jesus. If something happens to Kendra, I don’t know what Allie would do. And poor Marcus and Imani—they must be so worried about their mom. They already lost one parent…
“—neighbors stopped her before the house got unstable and part of the roof collapsed, but she still got hurt. I don’t know exactly how bad. They’re checking her out now.”
Serious, obviously, if we’re headed to the hospital, but not like there’s a chance she won’t make it. “Is she conscious?”
“Yeah. She called me just before they were taking her to do some tests. She was in pain because she has some burns, but mostly she was freaking out because she’s not going to be able to work. She’s going to lose her job. If she loses her job…”
He stops talking, his hands curling into claws on his knees. If Kendra loses her job, she’s going to freak out, and stress exacerbates her lupus. She has a cushion to fall back on and decent healthcare, fortunately, but spending even a penny of that money is hard for her. Rent for a new place because it sounds as though their house is going to be a loss and insurance takes a while to come through to buy a new one; replacing what was lost; an entire fridge of groceries; and everything else is far more than a penny.
I’m guessing Allie feels doubly like shit. Not only is his sister injured and will likely lose her job and needs to find housing ASAP, but he’s in no position to help, especially with his new job. He can fill in for a night at the bar, but there’s no way he’d last much longer. He’s a terrible bartender.
And with the kids… I can understand why he’s freaking out too.
I could tell him everything’s going to be okay. That I won’t let anything happen to any one of them. I’ll find them a place to stay while they look for a new one. Hell, I’d be happy to buy them a place closer to me so Allie wouldn’t have to drive across the bay all the time. It would have enough room for him too. He won’t take it, though. I know he won’t, and I don’t want to start a fight right now. That’s the last thing he needs, to be getting irritated with his overbearing…whatever I am to him.
The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6) Page 22
