The Renegades

by P. R. Paige

  "I just felt like she was getting a little too chunky," Storm says.

  "I told you Doggie doesn't like that healthy stuff," India says to Storm. "She has made it abundantly clear that she likes to eat what she likes to eat."

  "Okay, I get it," Storm says. "I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

  "Officer Kit," India says, "Do you think you or one of your detectives could get word to her that if she comes back home, she would not have to eat healthy dog food anymore?"

  "I'll see what I can do," Officer Kit says, easing out of the chair, "but I can't make any promises."

  "And one more thing," India adds. "Will you tell her that things will be different around here from now on if she comes back?"

  "Will do," the officer says.

  Rome escorts Officer Kit out and though I want to see the car that he came in, I stay back until I know he's gone. As soon as I hear the front door close, I rush to the front room and peek out the window. Totally unprepared for what I am to see, I gasp when I see Officer Kit's tiny helmet and tiny bicycle, seeming designed just for his little body. If I weren't seeing it with my own eyes, I would not believe any of this.

  We have all just finished brunch when I empty the remnants on my plate into the trash. I then place everyone's dishes into the dishwasher and wipe down the table and kitchen counters.

  "You guys want to come with me to Puppy Lane to look for Doggie?" India asks us.

  "I would love to," I say to her, "but I'm already late for work."

  "I'll go with you," Storm says.

  "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office reading until my eyeballs pop out," Rome says before heading into another room.

  Storm and India are on their way out when I head upstairs to dress for work. It's already one in the afternoon, and with so much planned for me at work, my boss would rather I come in late rather than not at all.

  Dressed in my navy blue leggings, flip flops and a long white shirt, I grab my clutch purse and head out. Once I reach the outside and open my car door, I stop myself. It dawns on me that with Storm and India having gone searching for Doggie, Rome is alone in the house.

  I am already a million hours late for work, but I can't help spying on Rome before I go. This is a rare moment as Storm and India are always around.

  Buzzing with curiosity and anticipation, I make a U-turn back into the house. With a smile on my face, I tip toe towards his office. His office door is open and his back is to me. He faces the window, sitting in his emperor-like chair, reading.

  For two minutes, I stand in the doorway, watching him with an eye of adoration. My heart swells with a nervous elation. I'm breathing him, drinking him and consuming him. My want for this man seizes every ounce of my pride, shallowing my breath. Absorbing more of him, I massage my temples and slowly move my head from left to right. I'm wasted, wasted with lust. Then, I realize something. I'm jealous. I want him to target me the same way that he focuses on the script before him, but that's not likely to happen.

  Having enjoyed the view long enough, I am about to head out to work.

  "I hear you breathing back that there, Thursday," Rome says to me.

  When I hear these words come from Rome's mouth, I gasp and almost pee in my panties.

  My breathing couldn't possibly be that loud. Or could it?

  And if so, how did he know that it was me and not anyone else?

  Seeing that I have been found out, I step into his office. Rome swivels his chair around towards me. "You know stalking is illegal."

  "I wasn't stalking you," I say, knowing full well that is exactly what I was doing.

  "What's your term for it?" he asks me.

  "I was just checking you out."

  My head must be harder than a brick because even after Rome denied me sex not more than 48 hours ago, I'm seriously considering asking him away.

  Am I nuts?

  Can I not take a hint or what?

  I hoist myself up on the edge of his desk, cross my legs and allow my flip flops to fall to the floor. "So, what are you reading?" I ask him. My voice is innocent and light.

  "A story about a personal assistant who instead of going to work, decides to stalk this movie producer."

  "I was not stalking you," I say with a chuckle, hoping he might believe me though I know that he won't.

  "You believe what you want to believe," Rome says, "And I'll believe what is true."

  Rome smiles at me, and I'm bombarded with so much want that I might pass out. In this unofficial drunken state, I cannot resist the urge to be rejected one more time. "You want to go upstairs?" I ask him, my eyes glancing upwards.

  "Upstairs?" he questions me as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

  "Yeah," I say, uncrossing my legs. "Don't you want to take me upstairs and… put me in a coma?"

  "Is that what you want?" he asks me, skeptical.

  "Yeah. That's what I want."

  At this moment, I want Rome to set his script down and escort me upstairs, but he says nothing. He strokes his chin. He is deep in thought.

  "What do you think?" I ask him, hoping with everything in me that he might say yes. "Do you want to?"

  "Yes, I want to," he says easing back into this chair, "but I'm not going to."

  My mouth falls open in a frozen state.

  Is he rejecting me again?

  I slide off his desk, my eyes darting at him, mouth twisted. "Why do you have to be such a hard ass?" I say right before I storm out of his office.

  This is it.

  How dare he refuse me sex?

  Who does he think he is anyway?

  I have had it with this lifestyle, and I have had it with Rome. I yank my tote bag from the closet and snatch my clothes from the hangers and toss them into the bag. I consider waiting to say goodbye to the girls, but I fear that if I don't leave now, I might change my mind. I'm sure of it.

  Not only will Rome never be totally mine, but he won't even award me the one thing he can offer me.

  I simply cannot win with this man.

  I have grown to really love living here with Rome and girls, but my time here has simply run its course.

  An hour later, after informing Perrin that I would not be in to work after all, I reach my apartment and unpack my things. Having changed into a pair of shorts and a V-neck t-shirt, I lounge in front of the television, watching reruns of Will & Grace while I sip on a glass of lemonade. I would rather drink something stronger, say a bottle of wine, but there is none.

  My eyes are glued to the television, but my mind is somewhere else. Memories of Rome rejecting me for the second time replay over and over in my head.

  How can he reject me so easily without some much as batting an eye?

  How does he do it?

  How can he be so sexy, kind, smart, witty, so phenomenal in bed, and at the same time, be such an asshole?

  I mute the television, exhale a deep breath, lie back on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. Just when things were going so well for me in the House of Rome, everything comes to a complete stop and I leave.

  And why?

  Because Rome is such a hard ass.

  In the midst of reliving the awful events of the day, there is a knock on my door. I lunge up from the sofa, oozing anticipation. I scurry towards the front door in my bare feet. It can only be one person: Rome.

  I swing the door open and sure enough, it is him. He wears jeans, tennis shoes and, of course, his Fedora hat.

  "What? You don't say goodbye," Rome asks me. "You just up and leave?"

  "I was going to call you," I tell him. I'm aware that my behavior is impulsive, but I am upset and hurt.

  "No, you weren't," he says to me, studying me with his dangerous brown eyes. "May I come in?"

  I step aside so that he can enter. I am now angry and flattered. Angry that he will not give me what I want, but flattered that he came to see me.

  I return to my comfortable position on the sofa in front of the television. Rome follows behind, s
teps in front of the television and shuts it off.

  He then surprises me when he removes his shoes, his socks, his t-shirt, and his jeans. His magnificent brown eyes do not leave me. With butterflies rumbling in my stomach, my mouth hangs open and I breathe a sigh of relief. Yes, I'm still angry with him for rejecting me, but I am unbelievably grateful that he is giving in to me now. Still the same, I don't dare let him know that. As far as he's concerned, I'm not that easy.

  Wearing only his black boxer shorts, he stretches out his hand to me and moves towards me.

  Looming before me, he is quite a remarkable vision.

  He slithers his way on top of me, nudging me down into a horizontal position, pressing me into the sofa cushion. With my eyes closed, he brushes his fingers across my neck and then behind my ears. I treasure his touch.

  He then kisses me… kisses me… rough, hard and long.

  "Did you really think I was going to let you get away from me that easily?" he asks me.

  I don't answer him. I simply cannot resist this man.

  I open my mouth to speak but before I can, his mouth is on mine, kissing me… kissing me.

  I am so turned on by his scent, his touch, the weight of his body and his voice.

  Paralyzed by the lips, I breathe in deeply, wanting him more and more. He slides my shorts and panties aside and sinks in two fingers, and it drives me crazy. His fingers circle deep inside me, easing out, then easing in and out slowly and then he slams into me.

  "Is this what you wanted?" he asks me.

  Again and again, he assaults me with his fingers, and I want to scream in elation. I forge full-speed ahead and accept his love that I need so desperately.

  In a place of perfect peace, I'm wrapped around a naked Rome Nicki. He holds me close. Rome and I lay cuddled on my sofa, both of us very much awake.

  A long gaping breath escapes from my mouth and I smile. I can see again.

  Rome has delivered to me exactly what I wanted.

  I slink my way out from between his arms and head into the bathroom. Upon my return, Rome is sprawled out on his back.

  "Hey, you," I say to him, before resuming my snug position next to him. I'm soaring in a ray of sparkling light as Rome has dazzled my spirits.

  He gifts my hand with a kiss. "I want you to come back home."

  At this moment, I feel desired and loved, and I must ask myself:

  Am I really prepared to continue on with this man after everything he puts me through? I mean, he's so complicated, but then again, what other choice do I have?

  Am I really going to sever all ties with him because I can't have him all to myself?

  I don't think so, at least not today and definitely not tomorrow either.

  Not wanting to appear overly eager to return home so easily, I don't answer Rome's question right away. After a short silence, he asks again. "Will you come back home?"

  I have already made up my mind to return, having decided the minute he showed up at my door, but I don't want him to know that.

  I turn and shift my body towards him. "Give me one good reason why I should," I say with a spoonful of enthusiasm.

  "Because I want you to," he says, stroking his nose against mine.

  "That's good enough for me."

  In my Volkswagen Beetle, Rome trails behind me in his Jeep Renegade as we enter the Eisenhower Expressway. The sun beams through the windshield, and the AC is going full blast. With my eyes focused on the road in front of me, it occurs to me that I have officially joined Rome's harem.

  I sleep in bed with him and his two ladyloves, even though it was supposed to be a one-night only event.

  I shower with all of them, even though I said it was too kinky for my taste.

  And, I have sex with him, even though I said I would never share a man.

  What else is there?

  The secret is out.

  I am an official member of Rome's team.

  Back at the House of Rome, Team Nicki prepares homemade pizza. Rome and I create the pizza dough, while Storm whips up a dinner salad.

  India sits atop of the dining room table, reading a book: "Everyone has known a nice girl. She is the woman who will overcompensate, gives everything to a man she barely knows, without him having to invest much in the relationship."

  Storm and I exchange a what-the-heck-is-she-reading look, and India continues. "She's the woman who gives blindly because she wants so much for her attention to be reciprocated."

  "India, what are you reading?" Rome asks her.

  "Why Bitches Will One Day Rule the World," India says.

  "And the next question is," Rome says, "Why are you reading this?"

  India closes the book, then slides off the dining room table. She approaches Rome with her hand on her hip and her head held high. "This book is a wakeup call for me. As of today, I am no longer going to make myself so accessible to you. Not anymore. I'm going to be what some call unavailable."

  Storm wipes her hands on the dish towel. "Okay, at the risk of asking a question that makes sense, why?"

  "Because. I think I might be one of those too nice girls."

  "You," I ask India, laughing.

  "Yes, me," India states with conviction.

  India's eyes cycle to Rome. "Do you think I'm too nice?"

  "Do you want the long answer or the short answer?" Rome asks her.

  "I want the long answer."

  "No," Rome says. "No. You are not too nice."

  "How is that the long answer?" India asks Rome.

  "The short answer would have been to not answer the question at all," Rome says.

  I laugh because it's intimate moments like this one, when we reveal our true thoughts and feelings that make living in the House of Rome such an unforgettable experience.

  "I don't care what any of you think," India says. "I'm going to be one of those women who is hard to get. It's going to be a stretch for me, but it will be worth it."

  I rinse my hands in the sink, dry them with the towel, then stretch out my hand to India. "May I see that book?"

  "No."

  "At the risk of asking another question that makes sense," Storm says. "Just how do you propose to become one of those unavailable women as you so eloquently put it?"

  "I'd like to hear this myself," Rome adds.

  "You'll find out," India says, hoisting herself up on the kitchen counter. "All of you."

  "Could you tell us now?" Storm asks her. "I don't know if I'll be able to wait."

  "I'm with Storm," I say. "We can't afford to be in the dark about this." It's curiosity more than anything else that's driving me to know what India's future plans are.

  "I'm not exactly sure just yet," India says.

  Rome steps around the counter and stands before India. "Does this mean that you're forfeiting your place in bed, too," Rome asks India.

  "That's a good question," India says, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the answer. "I have not made up my mind just yet."

  I can't imagine how this narrative of India's will play out, and, most of all, how it will affect us all.

  It's time for bed and, as usual, I am odd-woman out. Storm and India both secure their place on opposite sides of Rome as India chooses not to forfeit her space in bed, not that I had expected her to anyway. Unless something out of the ordinary happens, our sleeping arrangements are likely to remain this way for some time.

  With our eyes focused on the pornographic cable movie channel before us, we all congregate with our backs against the headboard. This unusual moment of four adults sitting in bed watching porn exemplifies why I love it here in the House of Rome.

  It's different.

  It's fun.

  And more importantly, it's incredibly entertaining.

  Fifteen minutes into the movie, India erupts out of bed and shuts off the TV.

  "It was just getting to the good part," Storm says.

  "I don't think it's a good idea for us to watch porn anymore," India says, her arm
s folded, her lips pouting.

  "And that would be why?" Storm asks her.

  "Do you have to ask?" India asks Storm. "Think about it. What does porn really do for you?"

  "It makes me feel pretty good," Rome says.

  "Me too," I say.

  "Me three," Storm agrees.

  "And what else?" India asks.

  "Isn't that enough?" Storm says to India. "India, I'm not trying to be funny or anything, but are you still taking your Paxil?"

  "No. I never took it to begin with," India says.

  "I see," Storm says, glancing over at me as if to say that explains a lot.

  "India," Rome says, stretching out his hand to her. "Why don't you come back to bed, and tell us what's bothering you?"

  "No!"

  "No?" Rome questions her.

  "This lifestyle of ours is just weird," India says. "Why are four grown people in the bed watching porn? Doesn't that seem odd to any of you?"

  "Sounds very normal to me," I say.

  "I wouldn't call it weird so much as it is different and different is good," Rome says. "We love different around here. Look at Storm's hair."

  Storm shifts her head, proud to show off her ocean blue hair.

  "Do any of you ladies remember this old, old movie, The Little Girl Down the Lane starring Jodie Foster?" Rome asks us.

  "Yeah," India says. "I remember that bitch."

  "Who are you calling the bitch?" Storm asks, "Jodie Foster or the little girl down the lane?"

  "The little girl down the lane," India answers. "She didn't work and sat around all day drinking."

  "But, India," Storm says. "That's the same thing you do every day yourself."

  "Not really," India says in her defense.

  "Yes, really," Storm says.

  India drops down at the foot of the bed, her arms still folded, and her lips still pouting. "I don't want to be easy anymore."

  "Here we go again with that," Rome says.

  "Yes, our lifestyle is unique, but at the end of the day, it's a lot better than what some people have," I say.

  "She's right, India," Storm says.

  It occurs to me that I never understood why Rome asked us about the movie, The Little Girl Down the Lane. "Why were you asking us about that Jodie Foster movie?"