by R. C. Martin
“Oh,” I whisper, my cheeks heating in embarrassment. I hadn’t thought of that.
He leans over to kiss me before he mutters, “I’ll be right back.”
True to his word, he’s only gone long enough to go to the bathroom and come straight back. My eyes connect with his as soon as he reaches the loft, and he smiles at me before he returns to the bed. While he was gone, I draped the lightweight blanket at the foot of the mattress over my nakedness, but he’s quick to discard it as he gathers me in his arms. Giggling, I don’t protest, but snuggle up against his chest.
His smile transforming into a smirk, he tucks a fallen strand of hair behind my ear and tells me, “I love the sound of your laugh.”
My stomach clenches and I try to press against him even closer. Grazing my fingers through the fine, dark hairs that cover his pecs, I murmur, “I love this.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he chuckles, dipping his head to touch his lips to mine.
When he pulls away, his smile falls as his eyes dance around my face in that way that is characteristically Michael. I absentmindedly bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for him to speak, somehow knowing that he’s going to.
“I want you to understand that this is not just about sex. I don’t want you to ever feel as though I’m using you. I’ll never get myself off and then leave—that’s not what this is.”
“I understand,” I assure him with a nod. His words bring me comfort, filling me with the confidence to ask, “When will I see you again?”
“Soon, I hope. I don’t know, though. It’s Fourth of July weekend. I have a couple of events that I must attend—work and family. It’s not ideal. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get away.”
I try to hide the fact that I’m disappointed with his answer. The rational part of me knows that it’s not fair to ask him to make concessions for me; but I won’t deny that there’s a selfish part of me that simply wants to be in his company sooner rather than later.
“I’ll call you. We’ll work something out.” I nod my reply, and he presses a kiss against my lips before touching his forehead to mine. “I feel like a bastard for asking but…”
“But what?” I prompt.
“Would it be all right with you if I took a shower before I left?”
“Oh,” I sigh, taken aback by his request. I don’t know why I am. He certainly can’t go home smelling like me. Gently easing my way out of his arms and sitting up, I start to climb out of bed as I tell him, “Yeah. That’s fine. Let me get you a towel.”
I slip back into my underwear and throw my t-shirt over my head before making my way down the stairs. Michael’s not long behind me, his belongings gathered in his arms as he follows after me to the bathroom. When he closes himself inside, I stand in the middle of my apartment, momentarily at a loss. Spotting our forgotten wine on the coffee table, I decide that I could use a drink right about now.
I sit on the couch with my legs curled up beneath me, sipping at the dry red liquid as I come to terms with my situation. Up until now—the end of our night—the reality that he’s not mine felt distant; so distant, in fact, that I could almost pretend that he was mine. Now that our time together is drawing to a close, one word seems to be circling my brain around and around and around again.
Affair.
He’s having an affair. We are having an affair.
While I’m no longer lying to my boyfriend, that doesn’t make this anymore right than it was before. His wife is still a factor in all of this. She’s why he’s in the shower, rinsing off all evidence of me while I try not to be disappointed that he has to go. Yet, while my brain knows the score, my feelings for him are already stronger than my desire to do what’s right. What’s right would be to tell him to not come back, and I can’t do that. I can’t. So while it sucks that I don’t know when I’ll see him again, and while I hate that when I climb into bed tonight, I’ll smell him but he won’t be there to hold me, I’ll find a way to endure. For now, it’s the best either of us can do, and I know that.
When he emerges from the bathroom, he looks almost as crisp as he did when he arrived. I stand to meet him halfway, setting aside my now empty wine glass on the breakfast bar as I pass. He takes my hand when I’m in reaching distance, and we walk the couple steps it takes to reach my front door. I know that it’s nearly eleven, and our borrowed time is up, so I do my best not to pout.
“Thank you for dinner. It was perfect,” he says, pulling me into his arms.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I’ll be back.” He seals his promise with a kiss, and I press up onto my tiptoes, returning his affection.
He lingers for a little while, and I follow his lead when he pulls away. Taking a step back, I whisper, “You better go.”
“I’ll call you,” he tells me once more, his tone adamant and sure.
“I look forward to it, Governor.”
His gaze trained on my lips, he reaches up and gently grazes the back of his knuckles against my cheek as he murmurs, “Michael.”
I give him a smile, leaning into his touch before I reply, “Goodnight, Michael.”
“Goodnight, Blaine.”
After pressing one last soft kiss to my lips, he opens the door and steps into the hallway. Ridiculous as it might be, I miss him almost immediately. He’s barely even made it to the stairwell before my chest starts to ache with a dull sense of restless anticipation—all the while, the soreness between my legs that he’s caused makes my core yearn for the next time I get to be with him.
“Michael,” I call out in a mock whisper, peeking my head into the hallway.
He stops his decent, looking up at me from where he stands on the stairs.
There’s a tingling at my wrists as I remember the way he held them while he fucked me with all the power and strength I’d practically begged him for. Now, I bite my lip coyly, hoping that what I’m about to say leaves him as impatient for another round as I feel.
“You’re welcome to bind me any time. Just make sure you BYOR.”
A smile plays at his lips as confusion tugs at his eyebrows.
Laughing softly, I whisper, “Bring your own rope,” and then I shut the door closed, locking it behind me.
Michael
I CAN’T WIPE the grin off of my face as I hurry down the stairs, her words on repeat in my head. The fact that she even suggested such a thing only confirms what I felt before—it’s as if she was made for me.
I have sexual desires that have never been satisfied in my marriage bed. I didn’t always struggle with a need for such dominant control; but over the years, my tastes have changed, becoming more wild in nature. The things I said to Blaine are true. What’s happening between us, it’s not about sex. However, the fact that after one night in her bed, she was able to tap into a fantasy I’ve often ignored for the sake of Veronica’s preferences—it makes my sated dick jerk.
Running a hand down my face as I approach the waiting town car, I breathe in a deep breath as I literally attempt to wipe away my smile. When I climb into the vehicle, I slouch into my seat, propping my head against the seat rest as I let out a heavy sigh.
“God—what am I doing?” I mumble.
“Was that a rhetorical question, sir?” Clay asks as he starts the engine.
I bark out a dry laugh, certain that the truth is the furthest thing from what I want to hear right now. I don’t want anything to spoil the memory of this night.
“Yes. Don’t answer that, I beg of you. Let’s just go home.”
Michael
MUCH LIKE LAST year, the holiday celebrations kicked off on the third of July. Thursday evening, Veronica, my parents and I made our way down to Civic Center Park for the Independence Eve Fireworks show. Then this morning, the whole family geared up for the Liberty Run and Firecracker Kids Fun Run. Decked out in our patriotic gear, dad, Gabe, Graham, Tamara, Clay and I hit Washington Park for the four-mile distance trek—the proceeds of which benefited our veterans. After our run, we j
oined the others and walked with the kids for their firecracker festivities.
The location of the event made it nearly impossible for me to keep my thoughts from drifting toward Blaine every two minutes. Being only a few blocks away from her place left me at odds with my conscience. Two days without her and the reality of my responsibilities as a husband, as a son, as a brother, even as a governor left me wishing that I could shed it all off of me so that I could indulge in my responsibilities as a lover—Blaine’s lover.
I was a kid when I met Veronica. Twenty-one years ago, the excitement that comes with any new romantic relationship felt a lot different. While I’d be stupid to discard the truth that the forbidden nature of my feelings for Blaine play into my temptations and my desire to be with her, it would be equally unfair and outright dishonest to say that there isn’t something about her—just her—that makes my chest swell with emotions I had forgotten existed.
Everything is new with her, and I don’t simply mean that in the sense that she is new to me. The whole world seems different now. Every day, as I walk through my routines and live my life, there’s a new filter in my thoughts. When I pick out my tie in the morning, I wonder if Blaine would like it. When I’m on my morning run, I wonder if Blaine enjoys the outdoors. Just yesterday, a new bill crossed my desk, and I wondered what her opinion might be on the matter. I asked myself if the topic would be something she even cared to discuss, and if I cared if it didn’t interest her at all.
Now, as I stand beside my brother in his backyard, watching as he rotates hotdogs and flips burgers on the grill, I can’t stop myself from picturing the look on Blaine’s face when she sat next to me at Coors Field, asking me why she was only given one hotdog. There was a twinkle in her hazel eyes that night, one that I’m already quite fond of. I can’t say for certain when I’ll get to see her again, but after the last two days, I know that I don’t want to wait much longer.
The thought crosses my mind to sneak away and give her a call, if for no other reason than to hear her voice, but then Gabriel’s voice pulls me back to the here and now.
“You’re still seeing her.”
I look behind me, beyond the deck and out into the grass, holding my tongue until I see Veronica. She’s sitting on a blanket, spread out on the lawn. My mother is with her, holding Isabella in her lap as she blows bubbles with Josiah.
“It’s just you and me up here, Mikey,” says Gabe, nudging me with his elbow.
I clear my throat, sliding my hands into the pockets of my khaki shorts as I finally speak. “Yes,” I answer simply.
“And?”
I study his profile, his attention still focused on the grill, and sense only curiosity in his inquiry. Nevertheless, what Blaine and I now share is far more intimate than it was the last time I confided in my brother, and I don’t intend on laying out all the details.
“And what?”
He twists his neck to look over at me and lifts his eyebrows as he replies in a hushed voice, “And what’s going on? What’s going through your head? Give me something, man. I’m worried about you.”
I free a sigh, mentally kicking myself for treating my brother—my only confidant—like he’s some sort of gossip when I know that he’s not. I offer him a shrug, shaking my head as I try and think of what to say.
“I like her.”
“Yeah. I got that much.”
“No, I mean—” I reach up and grip the back of my neck, thinking about the other night. It was so easy being in her space. It felt natural. It felt good. Then we got caught up in the moment, and it got better. “Gabe, I could fall for this girl.”
“What are you going to do then, huh?” he asks, turning to address me directly.
“I don’t know.”
“I told you to be smart. How long have you known this girl? A few weeks? And you’re over here talking about falling for her?”
I take a step toward him, feeling suddenly defensive. I lower my voice as I hiss, “You think I’m doing this for kicks? You think this is easy for me? It’s not. I’m somebody’s husband. I’ve been somebody’s husband for so long, it’s a part of my identity. And while my wife, the woman I’ve loved in one way or another for more than half of my life is sitting across the yard, my head is across the city, in an apartment—in the home of a woman who can make me smile like some dopey teenager when she’s not even here. I don’t know what to do with that, Gabriel. I don’t. I have no answers, okay? Not yet.”
He stares at me for a long time, his jaw locked shut as he keeps his thoughts to himself. Finally, he draws in a deep breath, shaking his head at me as he turns back to man the grill. I think he’s silently dropped the subject all together, but then he asks, “She knows you’re married?”
“Of course.”
“She in as deep as you?”
“Pretty sure.”
“I don’t envy you, brother. I do not envy you.”
Blaine
I’M FRESH FROM a shower, a towel wrapped around my naked body, and my damp hair dripping onto my shoulders as I emerge from the steam-filled bathroom. Glancing at the clock across the room on my stove, I note that it’s just after two o’clock, which means I need to move my ass if I plan on being to dad’s house by three. I’ll only get to hang out with him for a couple of hours before I have to head into work, but I don’t want to miss out on seeing him on a holiday.
I step one foot over the threshold of my closet when my phone starts to ring, and I freeze immediately. I haven’t heard from Michael since he left my apartment the night before last. It’s entirely possible that it’s not him trying to reach me right now, but just the thought that it could be has me racing toward the stairs. I curse myself for leaving my phone on my nightstand, then curse again when I slip and bang my knee. I hobble as quickly as I can up the rest of the steps, throwing myself across my bed as I lunge for the still ringing device. My towel comes undone in the process, but I don’t even care—not when I see The Governor lit up across the screen.
I make a mental note to change that, knowing he prefers I not call him by his stately title, and slide my finger across the screen to pick up the call.
“Hello?” I answer breathlessly.
“Blaine?” he asks, his voice barely above a hush. “Are you all right? You sound—”
“Like I ran across the apartment, and then tripped up the stairs, and then lost my towel, leaving me naked, all because I thought it might be you trying to reach me? Because that’s about right.” Sucking in a deep breath, I curl onto my side. I stare through the railing of my bedroom loft, not actually seeing the rest of my apartment, too excited to hear his voice. “Hi,” I sigh wistfully.
He’s silent for a moment before I hear the quiet rumble of his low chuckle. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I am now.”
“Are you really naked?”
I laugh, glancing down at myself before I murmur, “Yes. I was just getting out of the shower when you called.”
“Are you cold?”
“No.” I utter the word with a smile playing at my lips, irrationally happy that he thought to ask, and amused that he thinks I could be anything but warm with his voice in my ear.
“Stay naked. That is, if you have a minute to talk.”
Did I say warm? I meant hot.
“I do, and I will,” I concede bashfully.
He blows out a slow sigh and then confesses, “I miss you, angel.”
My stomach clenches, and I curl into myself even more, a zing racing down my spine at his words. It feels good, knowing that no matter how difficult and complicated our situation might be, I’m not in this alone.
“I miss you, too.”
“I don’t have a lot of time, but I needed to hear your voice. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call.”
“I know you’re busy.”
We both pause, as if each of us is coming to terms with the consequences of sneaking around. Before either of us gets too lost in our thoughts, he breaks the
silence and asks, “How are you celebrating today?”
“Oh, nothing crazy. I’m going to hang out with my dad and then I’ve got work.”
“No fireworks?”
“Dodge and I snuck out back to watch the fireworks at Civic Center Park last night. We had a pretty good view from behind the Lounge. That’s good enough for me.”
“I guess we were watching together, then.”
“You were there?”
“Yeah. We went with my parents.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, and then think about what he means when he says we. Another round of silence is exchanged between us, and I gnaw on my bottom lip. It only takes me a few seconds to remind myself that as much as it sucks that I found this great guy who is part of a we, his marital status is part of our deal. For now, this is our plight, and I won’t hold it against him—it’s not fair of me. Furthermore, the last thing I want to do is kill any chance we have of getting to know each other by acting standoffish when he’s just calling to chat.
“So,” I say, interrupting our silence, “What about you? What are you doing to celebrate?”
While I listen to him tell me about his morning, I let the sound of his voice soothe the ache I’ve felt over the last couple of days, not knowing when I’d see or hear from him again. I also can’t deny that it’s sweet, hearing how much time he’s spent with his family for the holiday. I’m learning how important his family is to him, and it’s just another detail that I appreciate. While my family isn’t nearly as large as his, I love my people, and it’s something we have in common.
“I should probably go. I’ll be missed, soon,” he tells me.
“Yeah. I need to get going, too,” I mutter, thinking that I’m definitely going to be late to dad’s now.
“I won’t be able to get away to see you this weekend. There’s too much going on; plus, it’s a holiday. I can’t use the excuse of work.”
“Next week, then?”
“Monday. I don’t think I can wait longer than that.”
