DontCallHerAngel

by Cara McKenna

  He looked to the clock on his screen. Two hours until their guest was due to arrive. The thought filled him with a mix of emotions…dread and excitement, insecurity and superiority. This was the man his wife had deemed worthy of playing tourist in their bed.

  From the moment she came into the world with no father to hold her, Emily had been learning that men took what they wanted. Rasul would reverse some of those lessons tonight. Two men. One invited, offering the excitement of his body and attention, the other giving her the most selfless gift a husband could, stepping back and allowing her to explore the things she craved. Until he’d met her, Rasul had never known this trait even existed inside him, this ability and desire to give. With her it had grown from a trickling tap to a river, and sometimes it felt as though it might burst through his skin if he didn’t create outlets with his words and actions.

  Dear God, what had she done to him?

  She’d made him a man. That was precisely what she’d done.

  * * * * *

  At five o’clock, the maqluba prepped and layered and ready to cook, Emily headed upstairs to get ready for the strangest dinner party of her life.

  She scooped out the contents of her underwear drawer and dumped it on the bed, standing naked before the pile, uncertain. Tonight was her fantasy. Going over the top with her lingerie selection might make this too much about Jeremy…but it was about him, as well as her. Still, she didn’t want Rasul to feel she’d made more effort for a stranger than she did for him. Her shoulders slumped at the dilemma. She padded to the top of the stairs.

  “Baby?”

  His shout came from the den. “Yes?”

  “Need your help up here, if you have a second.”

  She went back to staring at her underthings and he joined her shortly.

  “I haven’t got the faintest clue how sexy I’m supposed to look tonight.”

  “Look however you like.”

  She pursed her lips and looked up at his impassive face. “I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m trying harder for him, you know?”

  He cracked a faint smile. “He’s our guest. Go ahead and spoil him, if that’s what you want.”

  She picked through a rainbow of panties. “Maybe.”

  “He’s not here to fix the plumbing. You treat him like what he is—a very lucky man. You deemed him worthy of this, and I’m behind you. So wear whatever you like.”

  She nodded, an idea clicking into place. All the contrast of her and Rasul…she should drive that home. “Thank you, sir. You’re dismissed.”

  He patted her arm and let her be. Rasul was the scary one, so she’d be the sweet one. Not creepy, little-girl-innocence sweet. Womanly sweet. She selected a pair of silk, red-and-pink plaid bikini briefs and dug the matching bra out of its tangled drawer. She studied herself in the mirror and thought that was about right. Like Valentine’s Day. A gift and a seduction. She pulled a garnet jersey dress over her head then headed to the bathroom to sit on the rim of the tub and paint her toenails to match.

  At twenty to six she headed downstairs and found Rasul crouched before the fridge, stocking the crisper with cans of Guinness.

  “Aren’t you a thoughtful host? Though I bet we’ll all need a sip of something stronger to make this evening happen.”

  He stood and surveyed her body in its clingy sheath. “Well.”

  “You’ve seen this before.”

  He moved closer and pulled her to him by the waist, speaking against her temple. “Forgive me if you seem a bit…different tonight.”

  “Am I acting different?”

  “No. You’re shockingly calm, in fact. But I’m seeing you differently. I feel like I’m seeing you through his eyes, maybe.”

  The thought warmed her. “How’s your breakdown?” she asked, meaning the mix of scared and excited they’d each been feeling and monitoring since Jeremy accepted her invitation. “Fifty-fifty?”

  “I’m barely nervous at all,” he said, and stepped back to shut the crisper and fridge.

  “Really?”

  He offered her a rare grin. “Really. I’m excited for you. It feels like your birthday, and I’ve bought you the best present you could ask for.”

  “Well, don’t you sound just a teensy bit smug?”

  His smile deepened. “Better smug than insecure.”

  “Very true.” She brought the maqluba to a boil then reduced it to simmering. Just as she set the lid on the saucepan, the doorbell sounded. “Oh my. He’s very punctual.”

  One glance at Rasul and he left to greet their guest. Just to appear busy, she grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard, watching the front door as Rasul opened it. The men exchanged a neutral greeting and Emily abandoned her hostess charade and nerves to cross the den.

  “Hey, you,” she said.

  Jeremy smiled, looking just as handsome in her threshold as he did on a barstool. “Hey.”

  “Come on in.” She beckoned him inside and took his jacket, hanging it in the closet. She turned to show him exactly how she was feeling, letting a goofy, grateful grin spread across her face. “Golly, we’ve never even hugged, have we?”

  Jeremy opened his arms and she gave him a brief squeeze, enjoying how different he felt from Rasul, taller and leaner, an alternative flavor of man.

  “That’s better,” she said, stepping back. “Glad you beat the rain.”

  “Yeah, but not by much.” They both glanced out the picture window at the gray sky, dark from heavy clouds and impending dusk.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Rasul asked Jeremy. “Beer, wine, scotch?”

  Emily glowed, so grateful for all of this.

  “Sure. A beer—but only if you guys are having something.”

  Emily laughed. “Oh, you better believe it.”

  “We’ve got cold pilsner or warm stout,” Rasul said, heading for the fridge.

  “Cold is good.”

  Rasul grabbed two bottles while Emily poured herself half a glass of chardonnay. “Cheers,” she said, and the three toasted, no one ballsy enough to proclaim what the occasion was.

  “Dinner will be another hour or so.” Holy shit, what were they going to find to talk about for that long? Still, she shouldn’t panic. This was just like having any other friend over…until the plates were deposited in the dishwasher and they all headed upstairs together.

  “Here, let’s get comfy.” She led the men to the den, where she and Rasul sat on the couch, their guest on the love seat.

  “Your home’s really nice,” Jeremy said, looking around. He bore the tight posture of a man sitting in a parlor with his date’s overbearing father. “You just moved in, right?”

  She nodded. “Two months ago. I still need to buy half the furniture. It’s overwhelming. I know it’s modest for this area, but compared to the shoebox I grew up in… I’ve got no idea how to decorate a place this big. What brought you to Reston, anyway?”

  Jeremy sipped his drink. “Well, I went to college on a soccer scholarship—”

  “A soccer scholarship? From Texas?”

  He grinned. “I know. I was too small for football when everybody else was getting in to it. Late bloomer.”

  She smiled at that, the idea that her acquaintance had ever been anything other than tall and athletic.

  “Anyhow, a friend of mine from college started a kids’ training camp here a few years ago and invited me to coach. So I did that for a summer then I switched to personal training. The money was good and I ended up meeting a lot of cool new people, then I blink and it’s almost five years later. What about you guys?” He finally made eye contact with Rasul.

  Emily knew her husband would prefer she answered for him, but she kept her mouth shut and forced him to engage.

  “I came here for my job,” he said simply.

  Jeremy nodded and turned his attention to Emily.

  “Well, when I was little, one of my best friends was a girl from Illinois who came to our town every summer to stay with her grandparents. We kept in to
uch, and when she moved here for grad school, she called me out of the blue and asked if I’d like to be her roommate. All I ever talked about when I was growing up was how I was going to get out of my hometown, and have an apartment, and do this and that. So I finally just went for it. Worked as cashier for about six months before I realized I couldn’t pay my rent and eat. Been at the bar ever since.”

  “Wow.”

  She shrugged and took a drink of her wine, feeling her cheeks heat. Odd to be flanked on either side by a successful man, each of them attracted to her, invested deeply enough in her pleasure to be in this room together, inventing a strange new breed of diplomacy. “I wouldn’t give it a ‘wow’, but thanks. Anyhow, can’t believe I’m here.” She nodded to indicate the room, this beautiful house and town, but to herself she meant here between these men, in this situation.

  Jeremy turned to Rasul again. “So, if I can ask, were you recruited for your job?”

  He nodded curtly.

  Jeremy looked stymied.

  “Rasul’s useless at talking about himself,” Emily supplied, patting her husband’s shoulder. “But let’s see. He’s thirty-four, he grew up outside Jerusalem, served in the army for ten years and got recruited by the UN as a translator. He took his current job so he could send money home to his family.” She looked him over. “That’s about all I’ve ever gotten out of him,” she said, smiling at Jeremy.

  Rasul finally warmed up. He kept his eyes on the carpet as he said, “And when I moved here I swore I would never marry an American woman and settle in.”

  Jeremy laughed. “Where’d you two meet?”

  “Same as you,” Rasul said. He pointed his bottle at Emily. “She served me my very first beer, ever in my life.”

  “No way.”

  Rasul nodded. “Partly cultural. Plus I’m very…particular about certain things. About controlling things.” He cleared his throat and a fever settled over Emily’s skin, making her glow with appreciation for how out of character it was for him to share such thoughts.

  “Before I came here,” he said, “I loathed the idea of alcohol, and drunkenness. I thought it did nothing but make people lose their sense and self-control. Then I saw this woman, and she asked me what I’d like to drink.”

  Emily jumped in. “And he said, ‘I don’t know.’ And I said, ‘A beer?’ And he nodded so I said, ‘Okay, what kind?’ and oh my goodness, the look on his face.”

  Rasul smiled, eyes still aimed at the floor. “I was practically drunk already, from her.”

  Emily flushed with pride at that. As poetic as her husband ever got.

  “So she chose for me, and I changed my tune.”

  “He said if it wasn’t for beer, he’d never have found the balls to ask me out.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Liquid courage.”

  “I, um…I have a lot going on, up here.” Rasul waved a hand to mean his brain. “Not a lot of brilliant thoughts, though. A lot of noise. A drink helps turn the volume down, I found.” His head finally rose, and he looked to Jeremy as he sipped his beer.

  “I bet there are a million couples out there who’d never have gotten together if not for alcohol,” Jeremy said.

  “And probably a million more who shouldn’t have got together,” Emily teased. “I see them leave the bar together every week.”

  “Can I ask what you guys did on your first date?”

  She smiled at the memory. “Rasul told me right off the bat, he had no clue what American women enjoyed except shopping. But I suspected I liked him so I grabbed those reins and said, you’re gonna pick me up at this time, at this place, and we’re eating lunch at such-and-such restaurant and if that goes well, we’re going on a walk in the park. And that’s what we did.”

  “Guess you’re not controlling about dates then,” Jeremy said.

  Rasul took a drink and considered it. “I am not very controlling about anything she wants.” He gave her a fond glance. “Maybe that’s why I like her so much. She’s the only thing I know that’s perfect, just how it is.”

  Emily rolled her eyes but her burning complexion was surely giving away her pleasure. “You just know I’d never stand for gettin’ bossed around.” She paused a second before the wine led her to add, “At least not in most situations.” She held her breath, wondering if that innuendo would cool the men’s rapport.

  Jeremy drained his bottle. “So you said.”

  “What else has she told you?” Rasul asked him. He knew perfectly well from Emily everything they’d talked about, but clearly wanted to get a handle on Jeremy’s perception of the situation. Emily rose to check on dinner, listening raptly and watching from the corner of her eye.

  “She said… Lots of stuff, really. But nothing explicit. She said she likes how you are, you know. In bed. ‘Bossy’, I think was the word she used.”

  Rasul nodded.

  “And she said that tonight, you guys inviting me and everything, that I’d pretty much be doing whatever you tell me to.”

  Emily refreshed her glass and brought two more beers back to the den, thinking they’d need them before long.

  Rasul accepted his, attention glued to Jeremy. “Did she say it could get rough?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  Rasul nodded again, his face turning thoughtful. Emily didn’t think she’d ever seen him look this way in front of a fellow male. “My wife,” he began, and trailed off for a moment. “She has given me more pleasure than I knew was possible. In life, I mean, not sexually. I’m not good at a lot of things…being emotional or interpreting her emotions. But for all the ways I fail as a husband—”

  Emily began to protest but he held up a hand to silence her.

  “For all those ways I’m not so perfect,” he corrected, still addressing Jeremy, “I want her to feel like I can give her anything she asks for. And you’re one of those things. She wants you. She does not need you, but she does desire you. Another man, who she trusts and is fond of, alongside me. In bed,” he tacked on, voice turning blunt once more.

  Jeremy’s face was hard to read. “To say I’m flattered is the biggest understatement ever.”

  “And I think you like my wife,” Rasul said. “As a person.”

  “I do. I think she may be the sweetest person on the planet.”

  Rasul’s lips twitched, expression softening. “Yes, she is.” He held his bottle out and Jeremy realized after a second it was an invitation to toast. The bottles clinked and both men turned to her.

  “Golly, if I wasn’t blushing already, I am now.”

  “Before whatever happens tonight,” Rasul said to Jeremy. “I have something else to demand of you.”

  Emily’s eyebrows rose along with their guest’s.

  “Okay,” Jeremy said.

  “She and I are letting you inside our marriage,” Rasul said.

  Jeremy nodded.

  “I trust you can appreciate how immense an invitation that is. And an honor.” He shot Emily a look of aggressive, blinding pride.

  “Of course,” Jeremy said.

  “I never would have guessed I’d ever let such a thing happen, but here I am. And I need something from you in exchange. Your word.”

  “My word about…?”

  “I want your word that for the time you and Emily have left as friends, before you move away, that you will look out for her at the bar for me.”

  Jeremy’s posture relaxed. “Of course. I’d like to think I do that already.”

  “I also want you to promise me that if anything happens to me, you’ll be there for her.”

  He tensed again. “How do you mean?”

  “If you are away, you will come back and help her in whatever way she needs.”

  Emily looked to her husband. “Baby, my family can do that.”

  He returned her glance with a telling one, reminding her that no, her family probably wasn’t capable of supporting her all that well, in any sense of the word.

  “He’s just our guest,” she said.

 
; “It’s okay,” Jeremy said, catching her eye. “I’d be honored to do that. I’m sure it won’t ever come up, but if you ever need me for something, I’ll always make sure you’ve got my number or my e-mail.”

  Emily nibbled her lip, thrown by the serious edge the discussion had taken on. But that was Rasul’s way. Or his price. A pittance to her, considering the gift he was offering, and apparently a price also reasonable to Jeremy.

  Jeremy reached out a hand and Rasul shook it, his face looking grim once more, but calm. Such a fascinating, perplexing man, her husband. Such a charming enigma, her friend from the bar.

  They chatted about less heavy topics for another twenty or thirty minutes, until the smell of dinner pulled Emily out of the conversation.

  She stood. “You two stay where you are.” She’d given this some thought and had decided to go casual—everyone eating off their laps in the den. The thought of them sitting down to a formal meal at the table felt awkward and stodgy, a mood-killer, she was positive. As the dish cooled she fetched water glasses and napkins and freshened drinks. She flipped the maqluba upside-down onto a plate and doled out three helpings, delivering them then settling back on the couch, cross-legged. “Dig in.”

  Forks squeaked on plates and compliments were offered and accepted, but Emily was too distracted to really take in what either man was saying. These two bodies were hers to enjoy tonight. Decadent, she thought. Spoiled. Outrageously spoiled, but it would be a colossal waste of all their time if she allowed herself any second thoughts or guilt or hesitance about the evening. Her duty was to give herself up and wallow in this indulgence. This was a party, she realized.

  “So Jeremy,” she said between bites. “Do y’all have like, client confidentiality, or can you tell us about some of the most over-the-top women you work with?”

  He laughed and wiped his mouth. “Sure…there’s a lot to choose from though. The worst are the ones who treat me like some coin-operated machine. The ones who’ll take every single call or text that comes in during a session, like they aren’t paying me a ridiculous amount of money to be there with them. Makes me feel like a workout DVD they put on pause.”