by CORY CYR
“We’ll take care of me, when we get back,” he beamed, as he carefully adjusted himself in his pants.
“We’re going someplace?” I asked him, clutching one of the sofa throw pillows. I desperately wanted my pants back. Even as free of a spirit as I was, sitting around buck-naked during the day was a new experience for me.
“Let’s get some food, then a surprise.”
“Surprise?” I questioned him suspiciously. He tipped his forehead towards mine and brushed his lips over mine. No longer did he taste like peppermint and coffee, just me. Shea got up, picked up my jeans, and handed them to me. As he went into the bathroom, I slipped my jeans on, grateful for the barrier. Once he got out of the bathroom, I went to throw on some make-up and brush my hair. I also put on some panties and fresh jeans. I wished I had time to take a shower because I smelled like fresh climax, at least to me. Once I was dressed, I met Shea in the living room. He too had changed from his dress pants to jeans. We bundled ourselves up in coats, scarves and gloves. The snow had stopped but had carpeted Fairbanks from one end to the other. Even though it looked postcard perfect, the wind chill was brutal.
We ended up at a family diner a few miles away. I didn’t recognize it, but Shea said the food was good, and if nothing else, it was warm inside. The restaurant was fairly full for such bad weather but we managed to get a booth in the corner by a window. He unwrapped my scarf, took off my gloves and undid my jacket before squeezing himself into my side of the booth, our knees touching as he sat. He ordered a burger and I went with a Cobb salad and hot coffee. Our waitress quickly brought us our coffee, and I took a gratifying sip as I looked around the restaurant. The place was really festive with holiday decorations as Christmas music played in the background.
“I guess I’m just curious,” I said in a hushed voice, looking around afraid of being overheard, “but . . . um . . .” Shea just looked at me with those baby blues, and I knew I sounded stupid or speechless. “You seem to be getting more sexually ambitious lately . . . not that I’m complaining, mind you,” I said, as I chuckled while sipping my coffee.
Shea’s eyebrows arched upward as a cockeyed grin spread across his face. “I don’t know what you mean. Are you talking about when I told you that you have a pretty pussy?”
I almost choked on my coffee. I smacked his thigh as I peered around the room to check if anyone had heard. “Jesus, Shea,” I admonished as I cringed. He grabbed my hands and kissed my bite mark.
“Can’t tell a lie—those lips are quite pretty,” Shea said, winking. This man was bold—no doubt about it.
“I’m just curious if it’s just me or if you’ve always—” I cut myself off because I realized that what I was asking sounded not only stupid, but I also didn’t really want to know about his other women. Shea squeezed my hand as he pinned me with a look that would have brought me to my knees.
“Are you asking me how many women I’ve been with?” he inquired, raising his eyebrows.
“Never mind, it’s none of my business what you did prior to me. I’m just being silly,” I said, knotting my hair up into a messy bun.
“I won’t lie to you, Ryan. I’ve fucked a lot of women—too many, but I’ve only ever made love to you, I swear.” He leaned closer into me. “I’ve always had varied tastes when it comes to sex, and I’ll try anything once . . . a few times if I like it,” he smirked. “But truthfully, I want to make sure you’re satisfied. You’re older and I’m sure you’ve had quite a few lovers—”
I stopped him by grabbing his jaw and glaring at him. “What the hell, does everyone think I am some whore?”
“Wait a minute, I never said or thought you were a whore. Who in the hell called you a whore?” He sounded angry.
“Your sister . . . damn Trina thought I had banged my way through high school and continued the merriment in New York,” I said, shaking my head. “Shea, my sexual history is this. I have had seven lovers, including you.”
Shea put one arm around me, pressed a kiss to the inside of my left wrist, and then in a breathy voice spoke into my ear. “I’m your last, and I’m not your lover—I’m your life.”
My bottom lip began to quiver as my eyes welled up with tears.
“Jesus, baby, don’t cry. What’s wrong? If I said anything . . .” Shea tucked my head into the crook of his arm, kissing my hair. “Tell me what I did or said so I can fix it,” he whispered.
“It’s nothing, I just feel emotional. It’s a female thing,” I groused, looking up at him. I could tell by the dumbfounded look on his face that he was processing what I had just told him, and he thought I was getting my period. I’d rather him think that than know that every time he professed his love for me, or murmured any of the other sweet declarations, it made me feel horrible in my heart. Every word out of his mouth made me aware of what I could lose.
The waitress came back with our food, and as Shea bit into his burger, I basically played with my Cobb salad. My appetite was gone and left in its place was a dark pit in my stomach. I managed to eat some of my meal because I didn’t feel like being questioned by Shea. Once we finished, he paid the bill and we left.
“Now for the surprise,” he said, grinning as he opened the car door for me.
“How about a hint?” I asked, flashing a flirty smile as Shea clicked my seat belt together.
“Nope,” he said, as he jumped into the driver’s side, turning on the engine and the heat. He leaned over the back of my seat and pulled out the fleece blanket he always kept in the car. As the car warmed up, he covered me with the blanket, tucking in the sides around me. These very simple acts made my heart swell. I was so in love with this man, I didn’t know if I could contain all of it inside of me. I leaned over to him and pressed my lips to his cheek.
“I had no idea how much I could love someone until you,” I murmured, as my hand lingered on his cheek.
“And fifty years from now, I’ll still want to hear you say it,” Shea replied, as he backed out. Ten minutes later, we were heading out of town. Even with the darkness, I saw that the skies were clear and the snow looked beautiful and still. The tree branches were dipped in white as they lined the road. Shea drove a while before he pulled off to the side.
“We’re here,” he said, opening his door. A blast of cold air slapped me in the face as I unbuckled my seat belt. I noticed hundreds of twinkling lights dancing ahead. As he opened my door for me, I got out cautiously, not knowing where here was. Shea took my gloved hand in his and we walked a few yards.
“A Christmas tree lot . . . you brought me to a Christmas tree farm?” I whispered, trying not to sound too disappointed because I knew it meant something to him. He squeezed my hand tighter.
“We need a special tree for our first Christmas together.” I could hear the excitement in his voice. I had never been a Christmas person. Even growing up I wasn’t that excited by the holidays. Sure, when I was a kid, it was great, but when I got into my teens, I basically thought it was commercialized bullshit.
I had always heard that being alone at Christmas was depressing, with a high suicide rate that time of year. Before I met Garrison, I was virtually alone in New York but for the few friends I had met along the way. I never felt close enough to them to include myself into their holidays. I got used to not really caring about the holidays, and Garrison and I usually had gone to Hawaii or some other tropical place for Christmas—anywhere that was warm. I could tell that Shea wanted this. He wanted a Christmas fit for a couple.
Shea pulled me into him as we began walking to the aisles of Christmas trees. I did have to admit, I loved the way they smelled, and everywhere around me, the air was saturated with the scent of heavy pine. My eyes went wide when I saw trees that towered upwards at least seven or eight feet. Surely, he didn’t want one of those, and I was leaning towards something smaller, less conspicuous. The tree farm had been recently plowed, so even though there was snow on the ground it was firmly packed. As we trudged along the path, I felt Shea squeeze my hand
as his eyes centered on one tree. It was a bit shorter than the others were, but it was full and had simplicity to it.
“That’s the one,” he stated, his eyes glittering like blue gemstones.
I chuckled. “How do you know that’s the one?” I asked, looking up. He let go of my hand and moved towards the tree. One of the workers came over and cut the ties surrounding the tree. It really was full and quite stout. I was quietly amused, watching as Shea asked the worker to spin the tree from right to left, front to back. It was like watching someone model clothes. I had to bite back a laugh. I went to him, pressing my hand across his back.
“I guess this really is the one,” I confirmed, grinning.
“Don’t laugh at me—I have holiday routines, and you’re just not familiar with them yet,” he said with a smirk. He looked at the worker. “I think we’ll take that one, man—thanks.”
The worker picked up the tree and dragged it towards the front. After he took off the stand and cut the trunk, he helped Shea bungee cord it to the roof of the bronco. I watched him as he tied down the tree, whistling. Another thing I truly loved about him, such small insignificant moments made him happy. Shea paid for the tree and we were once again on the road and heading home.
“Do we put it in your house or my apartment?” he asked. I knew he would rather have it at my house. This man wanted our first Christmas together to mean something, and maybe I did too.
“Whatever you want, baby,” I said. I wanted to give this man everything.
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
I was right. Once I told Shea it was his choice where to put the tree, he got excited with the prospect of it being in my house. The next few days were filled with trips back and forth to holiday stores, purchasing Christmas ornaments. The tree sat in my living room, beautifully decorated, brimming with lights. I’m sure if he’d had his way he would have put lights on the outside of the house, but I had drawn the line at that. There was only so much festive joy I could take.
“Did you know my family spent Christmas a few times right here with your dad?” Shea asked, as he put the last of the tinsel on the tree.
Trina and Shea had celebrated Christmas here with my dad? I wasn’t sure how I should store that bit of information. Things had really changed while I was gone. From everything I was hearing, my dad had been a good friend to the entire Michaels’ family after their bastard father had died, and somehow my dad had become a better person after I left. I’m not saying he was a bad person before, just indifferent when it came to me. I’m not sure why it bothered me that he had rescued my best friend and the man I loved.
“No, I had no idea. How’d that happen?” I asked him, while bagging up the leftover ornaments and garland.
“You know . . . well, after the shit with my father, I started hanging out here more,” he recounted, as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Your dad and I were always kind of close; I can’t even count the number of times he saved me from my dad when he was drinking. Then after everything went down, he just seemed to be there, all the time. I never really paid attention to it, but when your dad was around, my mom seemed better. We all were.
“I know you and your dad had issues. And I’m sorry, baby, but truthfully, he was like a father to me. I’m sure it makes you uncomfortable or even jealous hearing all this, but I need to be honest with you. I’ll never hold back, not anything.”
I suddenly felt uneasy because he was promising me total honesty, but there was no way I could give him full disclosure, not without losing him. I only prayed that loving him would be enough for him to forgive me.
“It’s not jealousy, Shea—it’s confusion. It appeared he treated your family better than he treated his own. And honestly, it does kind of piss me off. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he was available to you guys because you needed him, but it just makes me wonder why he was so emotionally non-existent for me. I guess it would have been better if I had been a boy.”
“Not for me, baby,” he cringed comically, teasing me with a slanted smile. “I don’t know why your dad was so hard on you—I know he loved you and was proud of you.”
Hearing that took me by surprise. Of course, I had seen the photos he kept of the limited commercial work I had done in New York, but proud? If he had been proud of me, I wish he hadn’t kept it a secret, but then again he hadn’t . . . he had told the Michaels’ family. I gathered up the remaining decorations and tied up the bags, and Shea’s arms wrapped around my waist as he pressed a kiss to my neck.
“Your dad loved you, Ryan, and so do I. He must have had his reasons for being hard on you; maybe he saw your potential and wanted you to reach higher than you thought you could go. No matter what, you’ll never have to prove anything to me or be something you don’t want to be because my love is unconditional,” he promised, softly nudging my ear with his words. I leaned back into him, sighing, as strong as I had always been, between my history with my dad and my present history with Shea, there was so much uncertainty. I prayed in my mind that Shea really did love me enough because the next few months might be rocky as hell.
*****
After two weeks of continual shopping, I was done. I mean, put-a-fork-in-me done. Because Garrison and I went away during Christmas, I never had to really shop. I would buy some gifts wherever we chose to holiday and bring them back to give to our few assorted friends. I had girlfriends but, really, they could buy and sell me a hundred times over, so what could I buy them?
I could have sworn that Trina had taken me to every single version of a mall in Fairbanks, and then some. We even visited smaller locally owned shops. It would have been so much less stressful shopping on line, but Trina wouldn’t go for that, and now it was too late for that. I was tired of Santa, Christmas music, screaming children and their irate mothers. I had absolutely no idea what to get Shea, and Trina wasn’t helping. I had looked at clothing, music, and hundreds of bottles of cologne. Not only did I have to find a Christmas gift for him, but it was his birthday on Christmas Eve too. I suddenly came up with an idea, something that would be special.
“Hey, would you happen to remember who did Shea’s tattoos?” I asked Trina as we sat on a bench in the middle of the mall. Trina dropped her bags next to the bench.
“It’s been a few years, but Andrew got all his work done by a friend of a friend named Rory. As far as I know, he works at Flesh Art. Why, what are you thinking?” Trina looked at me, already knowing the answer to that question.
“No way, you’re not thinking of a tattoo, are you?” I could hear the disapproval in Trina’s voice.
“Honestly, it just came to me. I can’t think of anything to buy him that would be good enough. I think I want to do this, or at least check it out,” I said, standing up. “Will you take me, so I can at talk to this Rory, if he even still works there? I watched as Trina stood up ever so reluctantly.
“I can’t believe you’d be willing to mar your skin—for my brother,” she said in mock disbelief, shaking her head and gathering up her bags. “You know it’s permanent,” Trina warned me as we started walking towards the exit.
“So are your brother and I,” I vowed, as we left and hustled to her car.
We arrived ten minutes later at a storefront that looked a little worse for wear. The snow had been shoveled off of the walkway and piled on both sides of the front door. The windows were covered with dark material, keeping prying eyes from seeing in. It looked old and dilapidated. I began having second thoughts, considering I was going to have someone poking me with a needle. I started to get nervous and was almost sure Trina could see my heart pounding from underneath my coat.
Once we got inside it was a different story, and not at all what I expected. Modern, professional looking, so clean it appeared sterile. The guy at the counter had so many piercings in his face that my anxiety began all over again.
“And how can I help you . . . piercing or tattoo?” His eyes slid up and down both of us, settling on Trina.
“Hey, I know
you, don’t I?” he asked. Trina looked at me and I just shrugged. Trina moved in, trying to get a closer look at piercing boy.
“Rory?” Trina asked. Piercing boy just laughed, waving his hands in front of him.
“No man, that’s not me . . . he’s in the back. I’ll get him,” he said as he picked up the phone.
“Hey Rory, some ladies up here asking for you . . . come quickly,” he requested teasingly.
A minute later Rory showed up. He was almost as tall as Shea but rail thin. He was heavily tattooed and had piercings in his eyebrows, nose and lip. He looked young but his eyes told a story of someone who had lived a hard life.
“Trina, it’s been a while. How’s Andrew?” he spoke directly to her, his eyes avoiding mine.
“He’s good,” she said, as she paused to look at me. “Um, actually, this is Andrew’s girlfriend, and she might want a tattoo.” Trina said, frowning. I stepped in front of her.
“So you’re her,” Rory said, his eyes probing me from top to bottom.
Jesus, did everyone in this fucking place know about me? Gee, what had Shea been saying for the least thirteen years?
“I’m Ryan, and I guess I’m her. Can we talk—do you do consultations? I asked nervously, biting my bottom lip as I looked around at all the pictures on the walls.
“Yeah, I do those. Want one now?”
“Yes, please.” I looked at Trina. “Can you come back later, maybe five or six o’clock?”
Trina just shook her head. “If you need me to, then sure, but try not to make it too late because Quinn’s usually home by six o’clock,” she replied.
“Not to worry ladies, if need be I can take her home,” Rory said. I looked over at Trina, letting her know it was NOT okay with me if Rory took me home. Trina made her exit, leaving me behind with Rory. He motioned me to the back. We ended up in a room that vaguely reminded me of a doctor’s office. Everything was white, stainless, and sterile.
