The Man Next Door

by Mia Madison

  “We’ve been having a lot of fun,” she said, her voice soft and her words sounding as if they were being chosen carefully. I got the impression of her tiptoeing through a mine field. “But I’m hoping that we can be more than just fun.”

  Her eyes were on mine, studying me and watching for my reaction. Meet the dad. I blew out a breath, and then fixed my gaze on her and let a slow smile pull at my lips. “If I can take a railroad spike through my foot, I can meet your father.”

  She squealed in delight and threw her arms around my neck, pulling me over on top of her. The things I wanted to do… I resisted sliding my hand up her thigh just so I could watch her come apart to the strokes of my hand.

  She kissed me, then said, “You got to make a great impression with my Dad, soften him up, make him like you before he finds out that we’re, you know…” She blushed. “…Together.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re my girl?” I ran my hand down over the curve of her hip, her body warm and supple, but instead of leaning in more, I propped my head on my hand so that I could see her. Her answer mattered, it mattered so much that waiting for it made my heart ache.

  Slowly, she nodded her head. “If you’ll have me.”

  “Baby, haven’t you figured it out? You’ve captured me. I’m your prisoner. Your. Very. Old. Prisoner.” I arched my brows for emphasis, and she gasped, hitting me in the arm.

  “You’re not that old,” she declared.

  “I am almost twice your age.”

  “Oh yeah, give me some time and you’ll only be a third older than me,” she shot back.

  I couldn’t fault her logic. She was right, and I hadn’t thought of it that way before. “I’m falling for you,” I whispered then, causing her eyes to go wide, but then everything about her softened as she pulled me down onto her.

  “You better be,” she murmured back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Constance

  “Ug! I’m running late!” I said as I rummaged around my room limping with one high heel shoe on while I searched under my bed for the other one. The shoes were black stiletto’s, and I’d have my neck broken before he night was done.

  “Want me to come in?” Ander asked over the speaker setting of my phone.

  “No. Stay out!” I was harsh, but thankfully I heard Ander chuckle.

  “Breathe, babe. It’s going to be okay. The gallery’s not going anywhere. And by getting there a little late, you’ll be able to make a grand entrance.”

  On my hands and knees with my head craned to look under my bed, I screamed in triumph when I spotted my other shoe. Plopping down flat on the floor, I stretched my arm until I thought it would pop out of its shoulder socket, but the tips of my fingers reached its tiny straps and I jerked it out from its hiding place. A second later and I was sitting on the bed, affixing the insidious torture device to my foot. Whoever had invented high heels had been a damn sadist.

  “I’ll be out in just a few more minutes, honey. I promise,” I called out loud enough for my phone to pick up my voice from where it sat on the other side of my bed. “If you came in, it would just slow me down.”

  I got up and staggered over to stand in front of my full-length mirror, then hissed. I had my hair pulled back in a messy up-do with one—count them, one—dangly earring. “Where is that thing!” With my arms stretched out a little, I turned in a circle just like a neurotic dog. “Where. Where. Where,” I chanted, as my gaze shifted and fell on a hundred different place. “The bathroom!”

  I can’t say that I ran to the bathroom, but I can’t say that I walked, either. If I’d been drunk, that could have explained my staggering, bouncing off walls rush down the hall, yet I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the bathroom and found my other gold hoop next to the sink. I put it on with shaky hands, and then forced myself to stand still while I accessed the finished product.

  I was ready. I had to be ready. There wasn’t any more time. Forty-five minutes across town, my paintings were placed on walls with artfully positioned lighting. If I was very, very lucky, people were already there, strolling from one piece to the next with a thoughtful look on their faces. And, if I was extremely lucky, the Chicago Tribune art critic would be there, too, before the night was over. But, everything that could be done had been done. Ander was right. All that was left was to get me there, too, so that I could watch my opportunities grow or spiral down in a pit of flames.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled, forcing away the cold sweat that prickled my brow. All I could say was thank God Ander was driving, because the drinking was going to start early tonight. My nerves couldn’t stand one minute more of wondering if my artist’s vision would be warmly accepted or trashed as a has-been that never-was.

  I grabbed my phone and clutch from the bedroom and then teetered my way down the stairs. Opening the front door, I stepped out just in time for Ander to turn around and see me for the first time that evening.

  “That’s uh… That’s uh… Where’s the rest of your dress?” The little black number I was wearing reached a third of the way down my thighs, and the scooped neck showed off just about as much chest as it covered.

  I glared at him, and he held up his hands in supplication. “I mean you look gorgeous. Amazing!”

  Placated, I stepped forward and accepted his hand. He escorted me to his Dodge Charger and helped me into the passenger side before jogging around to the other.

  The drive to the gallery felt long, and I did my best to take the opportunity to rest. I closed my eyes and let the road lull me until Ander’s gentle touch brought me back to full awareness. “We’re here,” he said.

  “We’re here?” My heart skipped a beat as panic flooded it.

  “We’re here.” He squeezed my hand.

  A moment later and he was helping me out of the car, and I was walking into the gallery on his arm. But, as soon as I was spotted and a wave of clapping grew as face after face turned to me, Ander’s arm slipped away from me and I felt him leave my side as I walked forward into a chorused sea of accolades.

  As people, I didn’t know hugged and congratulated me, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Ander was still there, and as soon as I saw the way he was looking at me, with pride and happiness in his eyes as he clapped along with all the others, I knew that I was okay. Some men can’t handle a woman being the center of other people’s world, but I should have known. Ander was Ander. He was not other people.

  I blew him a kiss and then stopped fighting the pull of hands and encouraging voices that swept me away into a future that was suddenly looking very brighter.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ander

  Standing in the corner out of the way of the little groups of people migrating from one painting to another, I enjoyed capturing little snippets of their conversations.

  “She should have called this one tripod,” A girl giggled as she looked at the painting of a man sporting an erection while in a downward dog yoga pose. Some of the comments he overheard were like hers while others stood and stared at this or that painting for a half an hour, doing their best to absorb what it was that each of Constance’s brush strokes was saying. And I knew the feeling. I couldn’t count how many hours I spent staring at her various paintings. That, and I never imagined erotic art had such a following. Once you saw past the initial shock of what it was that she was painting, the paintings’ depth snuck up on you, shocking you… or at least that’s how it was for me. Now when I looked at her paintings, I barely noticed their sexual nature. Instead, I sought out the soul and essence I knew to be contained within the swirls of color she’d managed to turn into a living, breathing work of art, ready to step off the canvas.

  I was staring at a man that I was sure had discovered the quiet depths of Constance’s art when I felt a presence settle into position next to me. I glanced over and smiled at a man about my age, and then looked away again. But, a memory nudged me, waving its arms inside my head and I looked back at the ma
n once more. He was a couple of inches shorter than me, and his face was a little thinner than the memory that was struggling to gain my attention, but when I saw recognition light in his eyes as well, I knew that I was on to something.

  I stared a moment longer. “Jack?” I had known him back in our college days. We’d been best friends. Inseparable. But the years, chasing life and the distance had left us falling out of touch.

  The man’s brows pulled together and then his eyes widened. “Ander!”

  I reached out a hand, and Jack took it in a hearty shake before letting go and clapping me on the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here, man?” he asked. “Your old lady drag you out for a night of culture?” Then he tilted his head to the side. “Wait, shouldn’t you be in New York?”

  “Jack! How you been?” The words came out of my mouth before I’d put any real thought behind them. I winced, but Jack didn’t miss a beat. He’d heard that Jack had been sick, real sick. Hearing about how bad he’d gotten was what had made me reassess my life. It’s what had triggered me to sell the business and move back home. Living the life I had been wasn’t getting me the life I wanted, so I’d done something about it.

  “I’ve been good,” Jack said. “Really good. I don’t know if you know, but I had a health scare.”

  “Shit, man, I heard you had more than a scare.” Having a doctor say the C word to you was right up there with Jack the Ripper chasing you down a dark and deserted alley as far as I was concerned.

  “I did,” Jack nodded. “But I’m better now, better than I’ve been in years. And, I know what matters now.” His eyes shifted to stare across the room where Constance was surrounded by a group of well-dressed ladies.”

  “Oh yeah, one of those beauties yours?” I asked, eager to hear about his wife and the life he’d made for himself. As far as I was concerned the man was light years ahead of me about getting his shit together. He had life figured out, and I was still at the starting line, a total straggler while my peer group was so far ahead that I couldn’t even relate to them anymore. But, being able to relate to them or not, I was envious as hell.

  “I sure do. That beauty right in the middle,” Jack answered, a big, proud smile on his face.

  “Huh?” I looked back at the group of women again, and sure enough, Constance was still standing in the middle of it.

  “That’s my baby,” Jack said, not seeming to notice my sudden panic. “She did all this.” He waved his hand to indicate the entire gallery. “My little girl.”

  His little girl… My brain screeched to a halt except for two little words that echoed off the insides of my cavernous skull.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Constance

  Every step was like walking on pins and needles, and I was desperate to take my shoes off. For a girl who spends most days—all day—in my pajamas, I was feeling pretty good about how well I managed to clean up. The people who had attended my gallery show ran the gambit between struggling art student and rich socialite, but my simple little black dress had fit in with them all. It managed to be both hip and elegant without diving off the deep end into trashy. The dress was a definite keeper, but the shoes, I was going to burn them as soon as I got home.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Ander’s deep voice soothed into my ear as his large, warm hands slid over my shoulders and squeezed.

  “Oh my God,” I moaned, closing my eyes and leaning into his chest. His hands were magic. My tense muscles hurt as he massaged them, but every roll of his thumb left pleasure in its wake. “That feels amazing.” My eyes popped open, and I turned around to face him. “I saw you talking with my dad!”

  “Yeah, about that—”

  “I knew you two would get along,” I gushed. Ander still looked uncertain, but I wasn’t. I’d seen how long they’d talked over in the corner before my dad had finally broken away to come kiss me on the cheek and tell me he was proud of me before heading home. I’d seen how their shoulders were relaxed and how easy they’d laughed and smiled with each other.

  “Have you ever heard of the bro code?” Ander asked with worry pinching his brows together as he rubbed his hand up and down my arm. I felt as though I was being consoled for a death, and I frowned up at him.

  “The what?”

  “The friend code… that code that says that a man can’t date another guy’s girl. That includes ex-girlfriends and daughters.”

  “Okay…” I drawled the word out, filling it with all the confusion I was feeling.

  Ander took a deep breath as if fortifying himself for what he had to say, but I beat him to the punch.

  “Are you dating some other guy’s girl? Is this what this is about? You got an ex out there who doesn’t know she’s your ex?” I wasn’t sure, but I thought that steam might have been coming out of my ears and there was a chance that my eyes were glowing red. I’d never gone from being so over-the-top happy to out-of-controlled enraged so fast in my life. My gaze darted around the gallery, trying to spot some woman lurking in the shadows, watching us with some pensive longing for what was mine.

  I heard Ander suck in a breath, and I trained my daggered gaze on him again.

  “No!” He shook his head adamantly, his eyes wide. “That’s not what I was—”

  Ander’s voice stopped cold, but it wasn’t because of another voice cutting him off. He stopped talking when the scratchy cheek of another man slid its way over mine and long arms slipped easily around my waist in an intimate hug. “Your show’s amazing,” the tenor voice murmured near my ear.

  Brandon! I spun my way out of my ex-boyfriend’s embrace and stepped away from him. “Brandon, what are you doing here?” We’d been on again, off again for three straight years until I called it off cold turkey six months ago. I’d grown tired of the yo-yo act we repeatedly worked on each other, pulling and pushing each other away. Even though he’d been in my life for a long time, I hadn’t invited him to this event. I’d moved on, but I’d heard from my best friend Nina that it wasn’t the same for Brandon. Every time she’d talk to him, Brandon would always ask about me and he make references insinuating that he saw me as the end game. We’d go our own way, have our fun, sow our oats, and then settle down so that I could play wifey to his over inflated ego. And there was a time in my life when that idea had worked for me, but then I’d met Ander and my perspective about what it meant to have a good man in my life clarified. Even if Ander got his by a bus tomorrow, me and Brandon were done.

  “Baby, I just came out to show some love to my best gal. This”—he twirled a finger in the air to indicate the whole gallery— “is fucking amazing, babe. You did it. Just like you always said you would. I’m so proud of you.” He reached a hand out to brush a way a lose tendril of my hair from my cheek. It was an intimate touch. It wasn’t the way you touched someone you didn’t still want to take to bed, and he was doing it right in front of Ander. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. His already large muscles seemed to have bulked up another six inches in every direction. His shirt sleeves were straining against his biceps, and I seriously thought that the fabric might tear.

  “Brandon,” I said, stepping forward as I kept my voice low and reassuring, “I’m glad you came.” It was a lie. If I hadn’t seen him for another five years, that would have been just fine with me. And if he had been married with four kids when I saw him again, that would have been all the better. My breath felt stuck in my diaphragm, but I forced my next words out regardless of the fear of how Brandon would react. “Have you met my date?” I motioned toward Ander.

  Brandon glanced toward Ander dismissively and then did a double take. “Your date? I thought this was your uncle or something!”

  It was my turn to do a double take. “My uncle? Why would you think that?” Ire replaced the fear that had replaced the anger that I’d originally felt at Ander when I’d thought he had a girl on a side—a question that would be explored more thoroughly as soon as the current situation was dealt with.

/>   “Why the fuck do you think?” Brandon’s voice was raised, and I noticed a couple of people look our way out of the corner of my eye, despite that, my gaze darted to Ander.

  I stared for half a second and then shook my head. No, Brandon was talking out his ass as usual. My dad was older, and Ander was… well, he was Ander, not my dad! They were nothing like each other.

  I sucked in a breath and refocused on Brandon, ready to let him have it. The way his nostrils were flared and his laser gaze was locked on me, I knew that his slightly raised voice was only the beginning. We were getting ready to lay it all out with some top of the lungs yelling.

  “Hey, hey…” Ander said. I saw him put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder before he stepped between us, blocking my view. Brandon backed up a step and Ander went with him. I shifted to the side so that I could see as well as hear the exchange. “Sounds like you really care for Constance.”

  “Yeah, I do!” Brandon said, his answer carrying the residual heat of his and my argument.

  “Well this gallery event, it’s a big deal to Constance, and not just for tonight, it’s a big deal to her whole career. This is her launching party.”

  “I get that,” Brandon said. His expression was still etched with anger, but his voice was calm now, and the anger I’d seen in his eyes was gone. Even though I’d introduced Ander as my date, Brandon wasn’t hating him. Ander was that good.

  “So maybe you and me, we should let her have that, you know? Let her have her moment without any of our stuff getting in her way.”

  “Yeah, yeah… I get that.” Brandon said, nodding. Then he looked over at me. “You did good, Connie,” he said, using his nickname for me. “Just wanted you to know that. You did it all just like you said you were. I really am proud.”