by Ashley Logan
Brad: Hope you made it past the watchdog. Thanks for a wonderful evening - I look forward to sneaking around with you again. I have this weird hankering for some ice-cream, and I blame you.
Brad: Also, is it just me, or do you get turned on by clandestine activity? You always seem more joyful when executing one of your sneaky plans.
Smiling to myself, I lean against the door to seal it shut as I reply.
Me: Made it to my room with zero casualties, but I'd consider breaking laws for a vanilla cone. Maybe I find joy in both covert operations and you. A partner in crime can be very appealing when he's very appealing.
His response comes quickly.
Brad: I'm curious as to how this came about... were you running secret missions before you were free, just for kicks? What kind of things did a younger Stacey get up to before she celebrated with ice-cream? A little graffiti? Petty theft? Stealing kisses?
Me: What kind of history are you fishing for here? Criminal or romantic?
Setting the phone aside, I get undressed, think about a shower, then decide against it, because I can smell Brad on my skin and it makes me tingle. Snatching up the phone, I jump into bed and hide under the covers with it.
Brad: You have a kid, so I'm guessing I wasn't your first, sweetheart. Plus - you really seem to know what you're doing. Also, you don't strike me as a girl with an actual criminal record. I doubt the nursing profession would be very accepting of that. I guess I'm searching for general history? It seems wrong to have been inside you and not fully understand why it was so fucking good.
The mere mention of him having been inside me makes me close my eyes and clamp my thighs together. It had felt fucking good. Hot, and steamy, and so, so naughty. Him fingering me while I was on break had been exhilarating, but the satisfaction of riding away the ache he induces in me was something else altogether. It was as if he'd brought me back to life.
The wild streak I have spent the last five years keeping under control, got to break out with Brad as if I'd locked it away, and he'd found the key. I don't think I've ever come that fast or hard for anyone. Granted, I could be so damn deprived of sexual contact that anyone could do that to me, but I doubt it.
In the rehab center, I'd often been tasked with doing remedial chores in his room as a way of keeping an eye on him. His depression would hit him in waves, changing him from a joker to a sullen recluse; silenced by his internal fury. I'd often find myself stopping work just to watch him as he'd polish the tools in his toolbox over and over again without a word. There was something hypnotic about the activity that went beyond the repetition of it. It was the look on his face, or the flex of his muscles as he did it. It was almost erotic.
He cleaned those tools with such dedication and attention, I'd often found myself wishing I was a wrench. I'd imagined him greasing me up and rubbing me down with the same level of care on several occasions, and now I can say that he has. And I loved it.
Me: Maybe it was so fucking good because I've been wanting to do it for the last six years.
In answer to the general history question, I guess it probably relates to my father walking out on us when I was seven. His mom and my mom didn't get on so well, but Gran offered mom assistance with childcare so she could continue working. (Sound familiar?) Anyway, when I was older, her assistance wasn't required and Mom cut Gran out of our lives. I took it pretty hard, considering that Gran was actually a nice person, and more of a loving parent than my mother has ever been. I took to sneaking over to her house to spend time with her. It was the most enjoyable part of my young life, and knowing it was a secret from my mother made it all the more powerful. Visiting Gran made living with Mom bearable. When she died, I was sixteen and couldn't take Mom's shit anymore so I left home. Gran and I also ate a lot of ice-cream as she taught me how to be a caring human.
Brad: I'm sorry I'll never be able to meet her. She raised a beautiful girl.
Me: Quit making me blush.
Brad: Never. It's late. Go to sleep.
Me: Trying to get rid of me?
Brad: Nah. Just inspired and keen to dream about the day when I'll get to take my time with you. When is a good time to come and have a look at Alfred?
Sighing, I roll over and look at the ceiling. How will I explain that one to Mom?
Me: Give me some time to think about pulling that off.
Brad: I'll make it look super official. I have some painting to catch up on before the end of the week, but how about this weekend? Would it help if I brought Shermansky and Jackson and we wore coveralls with the same logo? One of Jackson's friend's works at a garage and we're allowed to hang out there sometimes. I was serious about making it look legit. - I'll probably have to haul your car in to sort out the converter anyway, but I was planning on giving it a thorough assessment. You too, if you don't mind me tampering with your parts.
Me: You're terrible. And I think we both know that I like it when you tamper with my parts. Unfortunately for us, both my mother and my son will be home, and if you bring your friends, it will only be assumed that I'm fucking you all.
Brad: I do not like that idea. At all. Nobody but me will be touching your parts. Tell your mom it's community service or something.
Me: Painting you as a criminal will get a less favorable response.
Brad: Hospital outreach program helping veterans recover by offering paid occupational therapy.
My mother would know whether that was a real hospital initiative. Wracking my brain for something else, I gasp and send Brad another message.
Me: Have you ever considered being in a 'Big Brother' program?
Brad: Those televised houses that you share with like twenty other assholes while the nation watches to see who the biggest asshole is?
Me: Haha, no. Like the mentoring kind for boys without male role models.
Brad: You are a cunning minx. I doubt I'd qualify for one given my history, but I'd be willing to lie about it if it meant seeing you this weekend.
Me: I'd do the lying. You'd just fix the car while Ry hangs around. Try not to look too fucking hot while you're doing it though, or I'll gross out my son and raise my mother's suspicions by being out offering you lemonade at every conceivable opportunity. And I don't mean lemonade in the conventional sense.
Brad: I do like lemonade, but I can forget about being thirsty while I teach Ry some things about cars, and try my luck at charming your dragon-lady mother.
Me: You'll need more than luck I'm afraid, but if you're feeling thirsty tomorrow, you could drive me home again? We could get ice-cream x
Brad: I'll be there with bells on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRAD
Big Boss-man Stone - as I like to call the multi-millionaire that hired Bruno and I to paint pretty pictures all over the inside of his building, walks out of the elevator and stops when he sees me. Looking at my plastered, pinned and braced leg, he frowns slightly before addressing me.
"Sure you should be back at work Mr. Jenkins?"
Lifting my brush from the wall, I lean back in my chair.
"Good morning Mr. Stone. I appreciate your concern, but as I'm a grown-ass man that paints with his hands, I figured I would work today."
My chair shakes as Bruno 'accidentally' kicks it and clears his throat. "Morning, Sir. Busy day ahead?"
I could swear the boss-man is trying to hide a smile as he strokes his jaw.
"As always Jackson, yes." Taking a look at what we've done on this section so far, he nods. "Keep up the good work."
Walking away towards the glass doors that lead to more of his offices, Jeremiah Stone pauses in his Italian leather shoes and turns slowly back around. Taking one step closer, he meets Bruno's eyes.
"Is Ms. Kamran well?"
Taking a deep breath, Bruno rubs the back of his neck and looks to me, unable to hide his discomfort.
"Ah, she seems fine. I guess," he says with a shrug. "I'm not sure I can pass on more information than that without being kicked in the bal
ls, Sir. Sorry."
Stone laughs quietly. "I can imagine. Thank you." He turns to leave, when I call him back.
"If you like Ireeni so much, why don't you ask her how she is? She might appreciate it."
"I'm afraid she's made it quite clear that she wouldn't appreciate it, actually." He looks to Bruno and raises one shoulder. "And I too am rather fond of my balls. Good day, gentlemen."
Once he disappears through to his office, I shake my head. "You think Reeni's going to end his suffering anytime soon?"
"I doubt it," Bruno replies, wiping extra paint off his brush before turning back to the wall. "She's complicated. And stubborn to boot. I doubt she'll even admit to herself that she likes the guy."
Grunting, I turn back to the wall where I'm blending greens and browns near the edge of the river scene we've created. "Kind of sad, really."
"You know what else is sad?" Bruno asks, not looking up from the line he's painting. "The fact that we've been painting for an hour already and you haven't said shit about anything. Did you drive Stacey home like you wanted, or not?"
"I did."
Bruno stops painting and looks at me. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?" Shaking his head, he moves to our paint cans and tops up his palette. "When I was starting my relationship with Scarlett, you and Shermansky hassled me constantly."
"You needed guidance. I am entirely capable of seducing my naughty nurse."
"Oh, you've seduced her now? When did that happen? Between surgery and discharge?"
"Yes, actually."
Watching me a moment, Bruno swears under his breath. "So she really is a naughty nurse."
"Yes, but she's not my actual nurse, so it's entirely ethical. Can you please pass me some more white? The water over these rocks hasn't got enough lighting to make it look real."
Adding some white to my palette, Bruno returns to his spot and continues to paint the upper half of the scene.
"It's very unlike you to say please when you ask me to do something for you," Bruno says, smiling to himself. "Whatever she's doing, tell her not to stop."
As if I'd tell her to stop!
"Uh huh."
"Uh huh? Seriously? That's all you're giving me?"
I shrug. "A gentleman never kisses and tells, fuckface."
"You're no gentleman."
"I can be. Your Mom seems to like me."
"My mom has a certifiable mental condition. Her brain is literally shrinking. I don't think she's the best judge of character," he says, sounding pissed off that he had to explain it, but in a light-hearted way that makes me smile. A few months ago, he was crushed by the weight of his mom's dementia, but I guess he's en route to accepting it these days.
"Stone called me a gentleman earlier," I argue, still not giving him any juicy details of my love life.
"He called us gentlemen," Bruno corrects me. "I am a true gentleman, whereas you were only referred to as one by way of association. Also, Stone is in love with a stripper that lures him in to fleece money from his pockets most nights. Sure, she's a great girl and donates it all to obscure charities that he'd probably never associate with, but still. I wouldn't expect the best character appraisal from him either. I stand by my earlier statement. You are no gentleman."
"Fine. I'm not. I falsified a statement." Shaking my head, I grin at the river-stone I'm highlighting. "Sorry man. I didn't realize things between you and Scarlett had fizzled so quickly that you'd need to feast off my sexual adventures."
"Fuck you. We're hotter than ever."
"Oh yeah? Give me an example."
"Get fucked, perv. Like I'd tell you shit about being with the woman I love."
"Precisely my point."
Bruno drops his brush and scrambles to pick it up, grabbing his rag to wipe paint from the shiny tiled floor. "You're in love?"
"Head over fucking wheels."
Considering me a moment, he nods his approval. "Congratulations. Does she know?"
"She knows."
"Does she feel the same way?"
"I don't know. It's complicated. I'm kind of her dirty little secret." Holding up my hand as he's about to speak, I shake my head. "Before you ask, I'm enjoying being her dirty little secret. It's perfect right now. I'll make it more official eventually, but at the moment I'm good with it."
"Is it because she has a kid?"
"Sort of. Not exactly. I don't want to go into it. The only downside is not seeing her as much as I'd like to, but soon I'll be able to see her a whole lot more. I'm thinking of finding a place on my own."
"So you should. Your mom's such a cock-blocker."
"She's not that bad. Mom just likes to be hospitable the next morning, when I'd prefer to see the back of whichever busty dullard decided to throw me a pity fuck, and said girl usually prefers to see the back of me. Stace isn't like that. She's special. Anyway, I'd still like the independence and privacy a place of my own would give me. I was thinking of maybe getting a two-bed place so there'd be room if Stace and Ry wanted to stay over some time. Would that be weird do you think? To bang a kid's mom in the room next door to where he's asleep?"
"Fathers do it," Bruno replies nonchalantly before lowering his brush. "Are you trying to be the kid's dad?"
"No. But I can't very well take one and not the other, and he's a cute kid." Frowning, I continue with my painting. "He could definitely be worse. Could be some little fucker that lights puppies on fire or some shit. I probably wouldn't have him over if that was the case."
Bruno laughs. "Probably?"
"Well I do really like his mom," I say with a smile.
"When are you seeing her next?"
"Driving her home after work again tonight. It'll only be a short trip, possibly involving ice-cream, but the thing about nurses, is that they're quite efficient with their time. They can do in half an hour, what some chicks take all night to get done."
"Should I be putting my fingers in my ears right now?" Bruno asks, wary. "I want to be able to look the girl in the eye if I ever get to meet her."
"I didn't say anything suggestive, you dodgy prick. And you might be able to meet her this weekend, but I need to give Benji a call first. You think he'd let me use the workshop to do some work on her car? I'll walk you through it so you can learn about catalyst converters and it'll be one less thing for him and Caleb to show you."
"I'm sure they'd be fine with it," Bruno says, stumbling over his words a little. Scratching his brow, he tries to hide his curious expression. "You're fixing her car?"
Raising one shoulder, I lean back to review the finished effect that I've painted around the river stones. "She needs it done. I have the skills. Seemed like something I could do for her." Leaning in again, I touch the smallest fleck of white to the area and lean back again; satisfied.
"Yeah, but... you only just started opening your toolbox again a few months ago," he says, coming closer to look at my work and nodding in approval. "You've only been dismantling shit in the corner. Are you sure you're ready for a big project?"
"Don't fuck with me when I'm feeling motivated, Jackson. Just be happy for me. Happy and supportive," I add with a pleading smile. "I'll need your help to tow it around there if Benji gives us the okay."
"I'm supportive," he says, squinting at me before flicking me in the ear. "Whatever you need." Painting quietly a while, he eventually turns to me.
"I've got to say, Jenkins... you've been making some big changes lately - growing, and shit. Moving forward. With goals. If this naughty nurse is what's driving you, I'm real glad you found her."
"Me too."
ROLLING QUIETLY INTO an out of the way position next to a fake tree, I watch Stace as she simultaneously writes her notes, takes the piss out of Marty, and directs one of the other nurses to where they can find a 'sphyg'. Pushing her glasses up onto her head, she rubs one eye and drops them back into place as she laughs and shakes her head at something the nurse behind her says.
Checking her watch, she scribbles faster, th
en punctuates the page with an audible period. Flipping the folder shut, she stacks it on the pile next to her as she stands. Her eyes find me as she looks up and her face breaks into a warm smile that would melt any man's heart.
"Hey you. How long have you been lurking in the bushes?"
"Long enough to enjoy the view. You done?"
Looking down at the folders in her arms, she nods. "I'll just put these in the office and grab my bag."
Marty throws me a wave as he continues writing, but one of the other nurses comes over and stands in front of me with folded arms.
"I'm Rochelle and you'd best take care of our Stacey."
Stace comes up behind her, laughing as she bumps her aside. "'Chelles, he takes real good care of me, don't you worry."
Running her hand through my hair, she kisses me on the forehead, enabling me to peek down her shirt. Intentionally, I believe, because she positions her arms to squeeze her tits together. They plump up and so does my dick. "Shall we?" she asks in a rough whisper.
"Bye Rochelle." I wave over my shoulder as I pat Stacey's ass to send her on her way. "Good luck tonight Marty! Just be yourself!"
"If only it were that easy!" Marty calls after us. "You two have fun!"
Oh I plan to.
Stace hits the call button for the elevator and adjusts her bag as she shifts restlessly on her feet.
"Everything okay?" I ask, following her aboard and pushing the button for the ground floor before parking right next to her.
"Mmhmm."
Smiling to myself, I keep my arms glued to their rests, but let my fingers brush against her leg. "You sure? You seem a little quiet and kind of like you're fighting the urge to sit on my lap."
Clearing her throat, Stace tosses her dark braid over her shoulder as a blush creeps into her cheeks.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just being professional. I am definitely not thinking about visiting any churches to inspect their parking facilities."
"Hmm. That's what I thought." My fingers run across the back of her leg and curl around her thigh. "Me neither. And I definitely do not have a major bone from us not thinking about it."
