“Ahh… my dad. He walked in on me and Nick the summer after our freshman year. We were… you know? And I was under him, and dad… My dad, he just… he totally freaked out. Nick’s dad’s a doctor and so is mine – there had been some kind of an issue since my mother died that nobody’s allowed to talk about. My dad had always blamed Nick’s dad for my mother’s death and Nick wasn’t welcome at our house at all. I lost my family that day. By the end of the week I moved in with Nick. The family feud didn’t go well…Claire cried, thinking she’s losing both of us, so we…we invited her to move in with us and it was good until we graduated. Then Claire got pregnant and Nick proposed, so…”
“So you moved out,” Rafael whispered.
“Yeah.”
“And you lost your family again.”
Tears threatened my eyes and I fought hard to push them back.
“Have you dated much, since?” he prompted me.
“I tried…”
“And?”
I rolled to my side and raised myself on my shoulder, meeting Rafael’s searching gaze as squarely as I could bear it.
“In the last two years, you’re the first one ever I asked to actually stay over. You’re the first one to… to make me feel like that.” I paused, watching my words soak in and make their impact. The serious look from his eyes didn’t dissipate.
“You’re a mess, Eve,” he said, rolling on his back again.
“I know.” I stayed where I was. “Is that… is that a big problem?”
“I dunno,” he said. His fingers fidgeted, searching for something to do and as soon as I put my hand over them, he forced himself to still and took several deep breaths.
“I used to smoke,” he said in a wry voice. “This is just one of those times when I wish for the distraction of a cigarette, you know?”
“No. I’ve never smoked,” I said. “That’s not how I release stress anyhow.”
“You break into people’s houses,” he said, frowning. “How does that tie to your stress, anyway?” He turned to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “What are you looking for when you do that?”
The question was fair. He’d let me learn that he had been a smoker; I felt I owed him at least some information, so I forced my thoughts to still and think for a bit.
“I love finding out how others live. I get a real kick out of finding out that the couple has kids, or is divorced but living together, or that they had roast beef the night before. There are family pictures around, usually, and when they’re not around that’s indicative of something, too. Like, this person doesn’t have anyone – why is that?”
“And you take their stuff?”
“Not always,” I said, defensive. “Only if they have a lot and won’t miss it, or if they’re mean, or something like that.”
“And then you give it to the poor,” Raf said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“Sometimes I do,” I said. “Not enough, I guess, and I don’t pretend that it justifies what I’m doing. It’s just like… I’m looking for something and I can’t stop.”
I turned toward him and our eyes met. “This is a problem, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
I sighed and forced myself to meet his eyes, unwavering. “Is it a deal breaker?”
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I don’t like thinking in absolute terms like that,” he prevaricated. “Besides, reprogramming often takes many, many tries, you know.”
I released the breath I didn’t know I held as a wave of relief washed over me.
“So… so you’ll… you won’t…?”
“You may have to pursue me some more, convince me that you really, truly want me, Evelyn,” he said, his voice teasing. “Now I’m hungry, though. What are our options?”
“Cereal. Grapefruit. Coffee.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve a hankering for pancakes. My treat?”
I nodded, burrowing my face into his shoulder. Pancakes would be swell.
OUR APPETITES were sated, both carnal and gustatory. Now we sat on the black leather sofa at Rafael’s place, eyeing the looming pile of cardboard boxes. They all held Celia’s stuff. She had inherited the estates of two of their aunties, who were big-time “collectors”.
“They were crazy old bats, those two,” Raf said of his aunts with a certain trace of fondness. “They’d give us the craziest shit for gifts. One year, Celia got a little cigar box full of buttons for Christmas. Just, old buttons, you know? They were kind of interesting, in a quaint sort of way, and she just let them sit around, not knowing what to do with them, until she found out that they were a trendy collectible. She sold that box of antique buttons for almost two grand.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, so I didn’t want to call one of those junk dealers – I don’t even know what’s in here. I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff.”
“I do.”
“You do? Really?”
“Sure. I have a fence…” I froze and he froze, and I tried again. “I know of a reputable antiques dealer who’ll give you a good price. My question is, where do you want to start?”
Raf thought about that for a bit. His hand wandered up my shoulder and to the nape of my neck, his fingers twirling my hair in absent play.
“I’d love to empty that second bedroom.”
“Even if it takes over your living room?”
He nodded. “The climbing gear’s likely to be buried in there somewhere, you know.”
CHAPTER 9
I sneezed again. It’s amazing how much dust can accumulate on the top of the boxes in a period of only nine months, and I’d said as much.
“This dust’s older than that,” Raf said, pressing his finger under his nose, bringing his reaction under control. “These boxes sat at Auntie Xenia’s house.”
“How long has it been?” The room was now halfway empty.
“Oh, I dunno. Years? Decades?” Raf straightened his back, another box in his arms. I got out of his way and grabbed the next one, following him to the living room. It looked like a disaster area.
“Shit, Pearson. However are we gonna sort this out?”
Pearson, huh?
“Rafael, unless you want me to come up with some offensive, inane nickname for you, you’ll refrain from calling me Pearson.”
There.
That was direct, yet non-confrontational. Just stating a fact.
He turned to look at me. “Just ‘cause you and your dad aren’t on speaking terms doesn’t mean the name’s bad.”
“Says you.”
“Says I.”
We stood there, staring at one another like two stubborn mules. Two hours of sweaty work had made me grumpy and my nose itched and my parts were tender from last night and this morning and dammit, I was in a foul mood all of a sudden.
“Look. Just make a suggestion, okay? I have no fucking idea how to sort all this shit.” Well then. Mr. Rinaldi was all sunshine, just like me.
I leaned against the white wall, thinking.
“You got any beer?”
“That your suggestion?” Incredulous eyebrows shot way up, crinkles giving his forehead what women called “character lines” when they bitched about the unfairness of life.
I nodded. He disappeared into the kitchen, coming out with two cans of Miller Light.
Now it was my turn to sigh. I had asked for beer, not piss-water. However, it was cold and was a fitting substitute for real beer and I made a note to start educating Rafael on the fine points of microbrews.
“Thanks,” I sighed, popped the tab, and lifted the can in a silent salute. Then I’d done something I never thought I’d ever do – I actually drank some. It was akin to being stuck out in the back of beyond with just a dagger and three matches, eating grubs and earthworms for subsistence.
Raf seemed entirely pleased with his can of light, tasteless, over-chilled beer and that old grin reappeared on his face. It was infectious and I saw no reason to spoil his good mood – I g
rinned back.
“Okay then. We need to open the boxes. You’ll need a garbage bag for garbage, a box for donations, a box for the stuff you want to keep personally, and a box for stuff you’d like to sell.”
“Yeah? Okay!” He opened a sturdy box and dug through it, then he poured it out in the middle of the Copenhagen Blue carpet. A partially knit afghan slithered out, followed by a merry chase of bright-colored balls of yarn. Then there was a tablecloth and a bunch of place mats and stuff, and a white, embroidered cooking apron.
“Girl stuff,” he grimaced. “Let me get the garbage bags.” He disappeared into the kitchen again. I was drawn to that apron, though. I picked it up, fingering the fine cotton, examining the careful, geometric cross-stitched patterns, the filigree open work. It didn’t look too fluffy – no flowers or birds – yet it was delicate and expertly made. A good antique store could sell it for fifty bucks easy. Not having much patience of my own, I’ve always been drawn to needlework. Not that I’d use it, but my sister DeeDee would go absolutely gaga over it. She is only three inches shorter than I; wanting to know if it would even fit, I slipped the apron over my neck and tied the ties behind my back in a bow. A bit short on me, but possibly a perfect for DeeDee.
“We’re keeping the apron,” a husky voice drawled behind me.
I spun around. “I was just checking the size,” I said, but my tone of voice was somewhat defensive.
“Sure you were.” Rafael, his predatory eye sizing me up in the delicate, embroidered garment. “My grandma made it for Auntie Xenia ages ago, but Auntie never wore it. It was too nice to get dirty, she’d said. It just sat there in a drawer until it was transferred to this box.” He paused, his eyes suddenly thoughtful. “What do you think of it?”
“I think you could get ten or twenty bucks for it and a store could sell it for fifty or more.”
“That’s peanuts,” he scoffed.
“Sure, but you have lots of peanuts in here. It all adds up. Besides… if you want to throw it out, can I have it?”
I felt uncertain asking – I’d never asked Raf for anything. His look grew calculating and the silence stretched like a tight string, off-key and filled with apprehension.
“If you wear it for me tonight, you can have it or sell it or do whatever you want to do with it.”
I groaned. “Rafael! First of all not tonight, and second, I don’t do lacy embroidery. I do black leather.”
He was on top of me in a flash, pressing me into the white wall. The dust that I had picked up on my hoodie smeared against it, decorating its white surface in abstract patterns. “But you look so tasty in that apron, Goldilocks!” I felt him press his body against mine, trying to pin my hands to the wall.
I rolled my eyes. “Aww, cut it out, Raf.”
“Raf? I have a nickname now?”
He didn’t cut it out, so I dropped my weight and slithered under him and out like a snake. He might have been bigger and stronger, but I was still the one who was faster and sneakier.
I took the apron off and set it aside. “I’ll think on that, but unless you want to put me in some severe discomfort, Loverboy, you’ll keep your hands to yourself for now.”
His heavy gaze softened – it was as though he pulled his presence back into himself - and he nodded. “Alright. Hey…you okay? I didn’t realize… you know.”
“It’s been two years and one month, Rafael.”
“Two years and one month since your Nick, and counting.”
I felt his eyes harden and his back stiffen as he picked up the oversize tablecloth, looking at it. “So what’s this, then? Garbage, sell, or give-away?”
TWO HOURS and six beers later, we sorted through eight boxes and we were down for the count.
“This shit’s tedious,” he said, collapsing onto the sofa with a blank stare. “I’d done three boxes on my own and it took me weeks. The worst part is deciding what to do with something. If I’ve seen it before, it makes me think of the old days, and if I’ve never seen it before, I wonder if it has value of its own.”
I nodded, settling next to him, my head against his shoulder.
“How about we go for a run, get some lunch on the way back, and do some more later?”
He looked at me. “You run?”
“Yeah. You gotta run if you’re a burglar, in case they’re chasing you.”
He gave me a grin, probably thinking that I was kidding. “I used to do twenty miles a week and then all this landed in my lap. I guess it’s my turn to throw up on you.”
I sprang up, excited. “Loan me some shorts and a t-shirt, will you?” He did, and even clean they still held just that light, indefinable scent I associated with Rafael, Their fabric felt like a caress against my skin. Just this once, I counted my blessings for having a modestly-sized chest; at least I was comfortable running in a regular bra.
He was ready before I was, tying on a pair of ratty sneakers.
“Okay, Goldilocks. Let’s do it!”
BY THE TIME we did our three miles, Raf had lost his appetite entirely and it took forever to cool down and stretch. We staggered out of his elevator and he just leaned there, propped against his door, staring at me.
“Just open the damn door.”
“I don’t have a key.”
“You, of all people, don’t need a fucking key.”
“I don’t have my tools on me. What, you think I carry those around? If I get busted with those tools on me I’m toast.”
“Awww, she’s human after all. No superpowers.” He tossed me his keys and I sifted through them, taking my time before I unlocked all three locks.
“Sorry to disappoint. My superpowers don’t extend past the bedroom door.”
We showered our sweat off, only to change into our old, dusty clothing.
“So what do you want on your pizza, pepperoni or sausage?”
My eyes slid up and over from the box of salt and pepper-shakers I was sorting in my search for precious antiques. “Are those the only choices available?”
He shrugged and let a moment pass. “That’s all Vito’s has to offer.”
I rose to my full height and faced him dead on. “Vito’s? That little place in the mall?”
“Yeah. I never get any other pizza. Why?”
“I always get Tambellini’s. Tambellini is made all from scratch, and you can get Pizza Hawaiian.”
Blue eyes viewed me with unveiled suspicion. “What’s Hawaiian?”
“Ahh…” I felt my tone mellow out as my taste buds recalled the fine mélange of synchronous flavors. “Onion and ham and green peppers… and pineapple!”
“Pineapple!” He spat. “That’s one of those ‘kitchen sink’ pizzas. Whoever taught you to eat weird combinations like that?”
“Claire.” The word just slipped out, asked-for and delivered. He sighed and fell on his back on the sofa, feet up on the armrest. There was no response, so I felt a need to elaborate.
“My former girlfriend, who is now the wife of my former boyfriend,” and I stressed the words ‘former’, “She loves to cook. For better or worse, since she’s highly adventurous and combines the oddest flavors. She can serve you a peanut butter and pickle sandwich on the theory that pickle offsets the flavor and texture of peanut butter, except it’s savory instead of sweet. She got this idea from a cool book about a girl bounty hunter she’d been reading.”
“Gross.”
“That’s what I thought until I tasted it. It’s quite refreshing in the summer, although I draw the line at peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches.”
He turned his head and looked at my slumped figure. I was sitting, propped against his formerly white wall, my butt on the floor.
“C’m ere.” That was a command, not a request.
“Pardon me?” I didn’t take commands easily; never have.
“I’m trying to get my latest fling over here for a hug, so c’m ere.”
I slid up the wall, and stretched, taking my dusty hoodie off. Then I sprawled on
top of Rafael, letting his large hands pull me in and stroke me up and down my back.
“Thanks for helping.”
“It’s nice to spend time with you,” I smiled, enjoying his touch.
“Tell you what. We can order from Tambellini’s, but we get a pizza that’s half Hawaiian, half pepperoni.”
“Okay.” I edged higher up his chest and let my lips brush his, sharing his breath, breathing his scent. I felt myself press my chest into his, reacting to his proximity.
“Evelyn.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you trying to start something?”
A faint blush threatened my cheeks as I shifted my hips, eliminating the contact between us. “No. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” His lips reached up and captured my earlobe. I whined as he sucked on it and then let it go.
“Pizza,” he said, his voice strong and determined. “We were negotiating pizza. I’ll work on your reprogramming later.”
NINE-THIRTY rolled around and I felt a sudden need to be in my own space. We had sorted a good third of all the crap in Rafael’s spare bedroom, and there was even some furniture, which now occupied most of his living room. His clean, civilized area was diminished to half the blue carpet and his expression was pained as he surveyed the scene.
“This is a clusterfuck, Pearson. Just a clusterfuck. What am I gonna do with all this?”
I chose to overlook his use of my last name. “Don’t you have any storage space in the building?”
“Yeah, but I have my own stuff in there. And it’s tidy. If I jam all these things in there I’ll never find anything.”
I surveyed the scene, tapping my tired brain for all those little tricks DeeDee tried to drill into us during spring cleaning.
Oh, right.
“Well, that whole side is garbage so we can take that downstairs right now.”
Without a word, Raf grabbed two bags in each hand and headed out the door; I grabbed the other three and followed in his wake. We squished into the small, antiquated elevator. He didn’t say a thing until the bags were in the dumpster outside the basement door. Then he looked at me, and said, “Now what?”
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 20
