by R. C. Martin
“Dios, no sabes lo difícil que es para mi decirte que no? Y aún así me pides hacer lo imposible?”
“Baby, I don’t know what you’re saying. Is that a yes?” I pant.
He spins me around, grabbing hold of the back of my thighs as he lifts me off of my feet. I wrap my legs around his hips as he presses my back against the door, groaning when I feel the bulge of his erection align perfectly at my center.
“No, angel. I can’t. I’m sorry. I literally only have five minutes. I went home to shower and change, and now I’m headed into the office.”
“Dammit,” I whine before kissing him desperately.
“Friday,” he mutters into my mouth.
I nod, not separating my lips from his, and he indulges me for a moment longer. When at last his self-discipline bests my attempts to kiss him until I can no longer feel my lips, I try not to pout. I know I don’t do very well when he sets me back on my feet and smirks at me while running his thumb across my lips.
“Friday. I’ll be here no later than six to pick you up.”
My eyes grow wide in surprise, and my slight frown disappears completely as I smile up at him. “We get to ride together, too?”
Chuckling, he slips his hand around the back of my neck, gently drawing me close. After kissing the tip of my nose, he tells me, “There’ll be plenty of riding on our agenda—and we’ll do all of it together.”
“God, get out of here,” I say on a laugh, pushing him away from me. “I won’t be held accountable for my actions if you don’t.”
His sexy grin firmly in place, he travels the short distance to the door before opening it and stepping across the threshold. Winking back at me, he murmurs, “Goodbye, Blaine.”
“See you soon.”
He closes me inside of my apartment, leaving me all alone, and my mind immediately replays the last few minutes. I’m standing in the spot he left me, my fingertips barely grazing my lips in awe, when my phone chimes from within my pocket. After opening my latest message from Michael, I remember that we were in the middle of a conversation when he arrived. His response to my last text makes my heart swell, and I promise myself—one more time—I’m getting Friday off if it’s the last thing I do.
Kidding! Though…I could proposition you, if you’d like…
That won’t be necessary. I’ll simply tie you up and take what I wish until you’ve come so many times you’re begging me to stop.
Blaine
TURNS OUT, IT wasn’t that hard to get someone to cover my Friday night shift. Apparently, Dodger had the night off, and he was looking to pick up a few extra hours. He not only agreed to take my place, but he also told me that any time I needed to give up hours that he wasn’t already working, he should be my first call. He was so nonchalant about it, and I was so relieved and thrilled that I’d managed to clear up my Friday night, that I didn’t put too much thought into it. Now, as I’m finishing up my hair and makeup, I can’t help but wonder what it is he’s saving for.
I’m distracted from my thoughts when my phone vibrates across my small bathroom counter. I grin when I see it’s Michael trying to reach me, and I don’t hesitate to answer.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, angel. Slight change of plans.”
“Oh…” I mutter, feeling instantly deflated. I know how it is with us. It’s the nature of our relationship—our plans always get dropped first. “Are you canceling?”
“No. Absolutely not. I’m leaving now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Traffic looks to be a nightmare, and I don’t want to delay our departure anymore than we have to. Can you be ready when I arrive?”
Glancing up at my reflection, my grin returns as I assure him, “Yes. I’ll be ready.”
“Good. I’ll see you in a few.”
Setting my phone aside, I take one last look at myself in the mirror. While Michael has never said it out loud, I get the impression that he likes it better when my hair is down—so I curled it and left it loose, making my wavy locks look fuller. Given the color of my dress, I kept my makeup fairly neutral, applying the full works. Eye shadow, a hint of blush, and pale pink lip gloss. However, keeping in mind that it’s my first Friday night out with my man, I made sure to add a generous amount of dark eyeliner, along with a double coat of mascara to give my eyes that extra pop.
Satisfied with my handiwork, I hurry to my closet to finish getting dressed. I know that I promised Michael a little black dress tonight, but when I unearthed my choice—buried in the back of my dress stash—I changed my mind. After discarding my bra onto the floor, I reach for the strapless, dusty-rose, bodycon dress I’m hoping Michael will appreciate. The bustier cut on top is accented with a subtle scalloped edge around the neckline, which matches the cut of the hem, falling halfway down my thigh. I manage to get the zipper up with little trouble, and then I smooth my hands over my stomach, feeling suddenly nervous.
Ignoring my anxious butterflies, I grab the shoes set aside for tonight. I hope, wherever we’re going, I don’t have to do a lot of walking, because these things were meant to be admired and not much else. My gold cage stilettos have a closed back and a peep toe. Across the top of the shoe, the straps make it look exactly like the name implies—a cage, which goes all the way up to my ankles. I bring in a little more gold with my dangling earrings, leaving my neck and shoulders bare, and my outfit is complete.
Once I’m dressed, I snatch my teal clutch from off of my top shelf before returning to the bathroom to get my phone. I drop it inside and then search for my bag. It takes me a second to dig out my keys, ID and debit card, but I manage to find them by the time a knock sounds at the door. The butterflies in my stomach remind me that they are there as I twist my head to look at the barrier that stands between me and my date. It’s in this moment that I understand why I’m nervous.
It’s true that I didn’t know who the governor of our state was until Michael introduced himself as such, but Dodger knew him—Dodger! I’m sure there are plenty of people who pay attention to what’s happening in our government, on every level, including Michael’s, which means he’s not exactly an unknown around here. While I trust that Michael wouldn’t put his reputation in jeopardy, I still worry about the possibility of us getting caught tonight.
Maybe I shouldn’t have worn a pink dress, after all.
Michael knocks again, and I shake my head clear before crossing the room. As soon as I see him standing in the hallway, all my nerves and worry vanish. He doesn’t look a whole lot different than he usually does, but that doesn’t stop me from drinking him in hungrily. He’s dressed in a pair of charcoal gray suit pants with a matching vest over his lavender button-up. He’s not wearing a tie, his collar is undone, and he’s got his sleeves cuffed up to his elbows. The beginning stages of his five o’clock shadow is evident along his jaw, and just looking at him makes me feel like the luckiest girl I know.
Except, when I take in the frustrated expression tugging at his brow, I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. I look down at myself and then up at him before I softly acknowledge, “I know I said I’d wear black, but then I remembered the first time we made plans to go out. I was wearing a little black dress. I didn’t want to jinx tonight, so I—I changed my mind. Is this okay?” I ask, peering down at myself one more time.
He chokes out a strangled laugh before he grunts, “Do you want to know what I’m thinking about right now?”
Peeking at him from beneath my lashes, I whisper, “What?”
“I’m thinking about the criminal who was sentenced with twenty years that I’ve been asked to pardon this week. I’m thinking about the new bill that I vetoed yesterday morning. I’m thinking of my intern, Larry, who needs to seriously reconsider his personal hygiene practices—angel, I’m thinking of anything that’ll prevent my dick from making me extremely uncomfortable in these tailored pants. Blaine, your dress is a lot better than okay.”
I try really hard to stifle my giggle, but it bubbles out of me anyway. As I take a
step toward him, I ask softly, “Does that mean I shouldn’t kiss you hello?”
Chuckling, he leans down and presses his lips against my temple before he mumbles, “Kiss me now and we might not make it out of this apartment.”
“No kisses then. Got it.”
Taking a step back, he clears his throat and offers me his elbow. “Lock up. Let’s get out of here.”
Smiling in utter excitement, I do as he says, dropping my keys in my clutch before slipping my hand into the crook of his arm. As he escorts me down the stairs for the first time, I know already that this is going to be the best date ever.
How could it not be? I’m learning that Michael—he’s all I’ve ever wanted, and all I didn’t know I wanted, too.
Michael
IT TAKES US over an hour and a half to reach our destination; but if it weren’t for my watch, I wouldn’t know it. Blaine sat in the middle seat, her fingers laced with mine and her shoulder pressed against my shoulder the entire way. She spoke in a hushed voice, obviously wishing to prevent Clay from picking up most of our conversation. While I found it unnecessary, as Clay is far from ignorant about our relationship, my hushed responses made for an intimate exchange that I rather enjoyed. With our heads close and our eyes focused on one another, talking about the ordinary seemed to become extraordinary. It also made it easy for me to deliver more than a few chaste kisses, all of which made her smile at me sweetly.
I’m in love with her smile.
When we finally come to a stop in front of the Motif Jazz Café, Blaine squeezes my hand and whispers, “What if someone recognizes you?”
With my free hand, I trace the back of my knuckles over the apple of her cheek and remind her, “We’re outside of my usual, every day territory.”
“I think you underestimate yourself. You’re not just the youngest governor in the country, you’re also the hottest. And that’s not me being biased—I looked them all up. It’s definitely a fact.”
I smirk at her before tipping her chin and touching my lips to hers. I tease us both when I sneak my tongue out for a taste, and she moans so softly I’m not sure I was meant to hear it. As I pull away, I assure her, “I picked this place for a reason. It has an intimate setting that would make it hard for anyone to spot me in the crowd, even if they thought they recognized me. To be on the safe side, we won’t touch.”
“Okay.” She nods and then reaches for one more kiss—hanging on a moment longer than before. When she pulls away, she unlaces our fingers and frees herself from the confines of her seatbelt. I do the same, and then we exit the car and make our way inside, careful not to touch one another.
In spite of being a few minutes late for the reservation I made earlier in the week, we’re seated right away. Our table for two is located on the periphery of the room, to the left of the stage. Just as I had seen in the pictures online, the lighting of the room is dim, the focal point and spotlight cast on the stage. There’s nobody playing right now, but the piano, the upright bass, the drum set and the abandoned saxophone imply that the band is here. When our waitress arrives to take our drink order, she informs us that the music will begin in fifteen minutes.
By the time my order of bourbon and Blaine’s Cosmo has been delivered, we’ve decided on the tapas that we’d like to share. With our decisions made, our orders taken, and a true moment alone, I prop myself against my forearms on the table, gazing at the gorgeous woman across from me. It feels good, being out with her. In this setting, what we have feels like less of a secret, and I pride myself on giving her an evening that she deserves.
“I didn’t know you liked jazz,” she says before sipping at her drink.
“I do. Or, I should say, I appreciate it for what it is. I don’t normally go out of my way to listen to it, but it seemed like a romantic idea.”
Setting her drink down, she sucks in a breath through her teeth before mumbling, “This is awkward. I mean, you’d be right…if I liked jazz.”
My stomach drops as I tug my eyebrows together, instantly regretting having not asked her if she’d be interested in a place like this.
Before I can apologize, she laughs, leaning against the table as she says, “Baby, I’m kidding!” I let out a sigh of relief, and she sobers up a bit before she admits, “Michael, you could have brought me anywhere tonight and I would have loved it.”
Quirking an eyebrow at her, I challenge, “McDonald’s?”
“As long as you bought me French fries and ice cream, I wouldn’t care. I’d just be happy to be out with you.”
I fight the urge to reach for her hand or her face. Knowing that we’ll have plenty of time to appreciate each other’s bodies later, I simply reply, “For the record, I care for you and your digestive system far too much to ever take you to McDonald’s.”
“I appreciate that,” she says with a giggle.
We’re finished with our first round of drinks by the time our tapas have arrived, and we order more as the band takes the stage. Everything is great—the music, the food, the drinks, and especially my company. Her chair is situated so that she has to turn in order to see the band. She’s twisted around so often, captivated by the musicians, that I suggest we switch places. She agrees only after I insist, and then it is I who is captivated, admiring her in this setting.
After her third Cosmo, she slips her phone out of her small purse and types out a message. When my phone vibrates in my pocket, I smile at her before taking it out to see what she’s up to.
I’m drunk. You’re really, really sexy. If you don’t take me home soon, you won’t have time to fuck me before you have to go to the mansion—and I’ll die.
Laughing under my breath, I’m quick to reply.
I’m not going home tonight, angel. It’s just you and me all night.
I know when she reads my text when she gasps, looks at me with wide eyes, and then taps her thumbs on the screen excitedly.
Holy shit!!!!! You just made my nipples hard. Can we go?!?!?
The thought of her hard nipples makes my cock stir. I clear my throat, trying to distract myself as I slip my phone into my pocket and stand. Leaning down to whisper in her ear, I mutter, “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Anxious to close our tab, I flag our waitress down as she fills drink orders at the bar. I hand her my card with instructions to return it with the check to our table. She nods her understanding, and I step outside to make a phone call. It’s a little after nine o’clock here, which makes it eight o’clock in California. I know that Veronica is likely to call at some point before she goes to bed, as she always does when she’s out of town, so I decide to take the initiative. I’m certain that as soon as I leave with Blaine, she’ll be the only woman I’ll be able to think about.
When I get dropped into Veronica’s voicemail, I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. As I listen to her recording, I try and think of something convincing to say.
“Hey, babe. I thought maybe I could catch you, but I guess not. Um, I’m turning in early tonight, so if I miss your call, I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow. Hope you get some sleep. Talk to you soon.”
I hang up and then stare down at my phone, taking a moment to contemplate how easy it was to lie to her—how easy it’s been for weeks. Each lie I tell is like chipping away at who I thought I was. Honest Abe is full of lies; and yet, thinking about the woman I’ve left inside, the woman who yearns for me as I yearn for her, I know that I’ve never felt more alive. Perhaps I am not Honest Abe. Or maybe I am, professionally speaking, at least. Maybe the Michael I’ve come to know over the last decade is just a cover.
Covering up the pain of regret.
Covering up the ache of disappointment.
Covering up the numbness of routine.
With Blaine, there’s so much more. I’ve told her before that Veronica is not her competition; that there isn’t a lack I’m trying to account for with her body or her mind. Rather, I simply understand that they are different—unique to the time i
n which they exist. Lately, Veronica feels like nothing more than my past; a piece of my present identity that is slipping out of my grasp. But Blaine…
The spark that I felt between us in the beginning, it’s grown into a blazing inferno. I thought that I couldn’t deny myself this angel before—and now, just the thought of losing what we have seems like a tragedy; like without her, my future would be cold and barren. This evening, there is no room for guilt, shame, or condemnation. There is the truth, the truth that what we have was birthed in immorality. Yet, what we share, it’s genuine. It’s real. Furthermore, it comes with a passion that is all consuming.
I reenter the club and search the bar for Clay. He’s sitting at the end, closest to the door, and notices me as I approach. These last several weeks, he’s earned more than his keep. As always, his sense of duty to maintain his professionalism is paramount, and he has respected my privacy probably more than I deserve. I haven’t been able to get a read on him to understand how he feels about my actions—if he has any feelings at all on the matter—but that is, of course, beside the point. Nevertheless, I will be forever grateful for his discretion, for his courtesy, and for his respect.
“We’ll be leaving in a moment,” I tell him. Keeping my voice low, I instruct, “You’ll drop me off and return to the house. I insist. I won’t have you sleeping in the car. Show up at her building at the crack of dawn for all I care, but I won’t accept you waiting on me. I’ll call you should something arise, which is not likely.”
He studies me a moment, as if he’s going to argue against my wishes, but then jerks his chin in an affirmative nod. Pulling the car keys from his pocket, he holds them up as a silent signal, then leaves the establishment to pull the vehicle around front. I don’t waste any more time getting back to Blaine. When she sees me approach, her eyes light up and my chest swells. I spot my credit card on the table, and I’m quick to sign the receipt before returning the card to my wallet. I don’t bother sitting, and with a wink and a head nod, Blaine knows it’s time for us to leave.
