She might not feel this, but I need her up and in her room. It’s safer for both of us. I mean, how fucked up could this situation get? Even thinking about it makes it stranger all the same. Who would have guessed how messed up twenty four hours could get?
“Hold my hand Waryn.” The heat in the car is almost fizzled out anyway.
“Uuuuh…I like where this is going Tatum.” She plays around with my fingers, sliding her palms all over my wrists and finally clasping my right hand, tightly.
Her face is contorted into what I am definitely sure is her “kiss me again” face. I lean in, carefully till I can smell the daiquiris on her lips again. So rich…so inviting…her lip is in between her teeth…
And my hand reaches for the door handle. It unlocks loudly.
“Hey!” she protests. “That was not supposed to end like that!”
“I know Waryn. I’m going upstairs. To your room.”
“Oh! Okay…let’s!” she springs. Her excitement is something I expect to be a forgotten shadow of a memory tomorrow. “But wait…how do you know where I stay?” she asks, squinting and smacking her lips together. “Have you been stalking me?” Waryn’s finger lazily fleets at me, but she stumbles and I catch her by her waist.
“Finally,” she sighs.
The neighborhood is nothing I haven’t seen before. The highway is dark and filled with chirping crickets. A lazy receptionist’s television set blinks from the distance, and the air stinks of fresh tomato sauce. I would say she has some taste in boarding, for the Snazzy Motel is the modest kind around these parts. At the very least decent hookers find some wages here. Not like Bull’s unholy side hustle.
The steps to the top floor are clean and stone. I don’t feel any eyes staring at us from the back of my mind as I carry her up. Hiccups and tiny sobs of laughter leave her mouth, and I would give anything to be by her side all night. The golden and fading number 6 on her red door is where she’s pointing at.
“Keys?”
“In my bag. Lemme just…” she begins and stumbles again. Lightweight.
“I’ll search for them.” In my right arm I hold her, and her head finds a home on my shoulder. My left fumbles through her lady things till the soft jingle abounds. I unlock the door and walk her through.
“So…” she says, fiddling her fingers and crossing her legs.
“I’ll see you in the morning Waryn.”
The words left my mouth before I could usher them through the coaxing filter. Then my feet follow. My entire body is down the stairs before she could even say something. I am at the foot of the stairs when I hear her door shut softly.
Fuck.
Why do I always have to be that guy? Right now I could be in her mouth and pussy pounding away at what’s left of her sanity and my clarity. She could be sober by the number of ear – splitting orgasms we would share, and in the morning I could make her some pancakes and tea in bed.
But here I am, walking past the loose gravel and cranking my ride up. It is cold in here. I hate it. Then I look up and see her curtain open. A shadow, hers, moves along it gingerly, and I give it some more time. She’s wondering why I’m not there either. The longing black by her curtain window spells it all. Then finally, with a slight touch in dejection and mild drunkenness, she moves to the right and the light goes off.
A steaming bowl of air thrives through my chest and out the flaring nostrils that light red. It is painful to clutch the steering wheel this long, but the white knuckles and paling arms are a delight to watch. Maybe I’ve been out of this game for too long. Or it’s a defect I have within my cells that blesses me with the gift of indifference.
All the women I have been with. Jody. Ashley. Michelle. June. Gladys. Aurora. Agnes. That one with the weird nose. The other one with the bomb pussy but a really nasty hatred for anyone non – racist. None of them compare to what I feel running through my veins.
None of them compare to what I just felt with Waryn Blair.
Her mysticism…the way she dances and makes jokes at the simplest of things, these things excite me beyond words or simple thought. Yet, if Eric were alive this would have never happened. Should I feel relieved that he is gine, and by my doing?
I resolve to get home. This is getting too much, even for my tainted and simple mind. The gear stick is easy to manipulate as I crank through the silent and unnerving streets. As I turn the corner, I flick the corner of my eye at the side mirror seeing her room window. The curtain shifts slightly. It stings.
My apartment is in one of the little suburbs in Little Mary. The entire area was once infested by rats and weird bugs, and no one could tell why – it was years ago and an age before I got here. It’s small enough for one, and I like the fact that I never have guests over. Except for Damon; he’s the exception to the rule. It’s obvious why anyway…
He made me who I am now. The muscle from the boxing ring helped a bit, but I digress. My demons carved out who I could be, but his and the guys…those are quite the ordeal. Damon Strepanowski is a man on the run, and whose legs have been doing the running for longer than I have. His childhood really scarred him, though I don’t know why he never talks about it. He keeps a picture of a little boy by his dresser and in his wallet, an old picture, almost browning. Whenever I ask him about it, he shrugs and smiles.
At least he taught me how to ride his bike with zero effort.
The door hinges open easily, and the alarm goes off. Not the techie kind of course, but a dove’s feather by the edge of the door. No one’s been here today. Good.
Yellow is the light that greets me. I like it. The bulb is large and bright, but not glaring. When I close my eyes, I can imagine it’s the sun bathing me, washing away all the things I deem as sins, and those that actually fit the bill and description. The couch, green and slightly moldy on the lower corners, is inviting and plushy. I heave down on it and my hand goes to the usual spot in such times of spinning thoughts and grumbling bellies. My forehead feels tight and clammy.
I should be with her tonight. The moment was there, and I passed it. Why? What possible reason could make a guy go stupidly into the sweet abyss in the life of coming back with something worth his while, only to leave it unattended and uncared for? What was the reason for the quest, if not that?
Eric…
So what? He couldn’t live without his three legs functioning and decided to take his own. I shouldn’t be blamed for what my heart feels right? I shouldn’t…should I?
I need to eat.
The kitchen walls pale in comparison to my skin. It’s almost white. I have no idea why I chose this design in the first place, or why I painted over the beige walls with a paler version one afternoon last summer. I click open the fridge and blink rapidly at the light from within. I’m grateful these guys don’t make lights for TV screens now.
A Bud, and a slice of leftover pizza. Or a salad. Damon’s got jokes. I go for the obvious.
I sit on the kitchen counter and sip through the cool flow of regret. Looking around, I’m glad I fought. I am glad I did what I wanted and got it done with. Even here, in this home that I bought for myself, I think my folks would be pretty happy with how I turned out. Not that I need anyone’s approval, but this is how I pictured it all.
The cool house. The cool gig. The epic car. A beard.
One thing missing from that entire lot is a friend. I’m not complaining. Damon, Nix and Holland are the best guys I will ever have. A bullet, a grenade or a sour tasting M&M, I could take them all for each one. At my funeral, we all agreed Damon would play the bagpipes with his former cellmate, and Nix would paint my coffin a dragon spitting fire. Holland would pay for the entire service and food. I guess that shows how much I care for each one of them. I wish Nix’s mom would show up though. I hear she’s lovely when it comes to parties and inspiration on her son.
The companion of a lifetime. She’s the one I never got around to getting at. A person who knows what underwear I love on which day, or which part of the chicken
drumstick I prefer. Someone I could watch a series together with, and never dare to watch a new episode without. A person who knew my nightmares and wrote about my dreams. That kind of companion.
And yeah, Damon’s mentioned I should get a dog. A dog does all that. I couldn’t agree more. But no, I want a her that can ogle and stare at me while a cook, and also say ‘thank you’ instead of licking it up on my face.
That wouldn’t be too bad either, come to think of it.
And I don’t know, but the way Waryn made fun of me earlier, the way she made simple jokes that made me see the world in a different color, the way she danced and sang and almost threw up in my face…these things almost make me want to think of her in a way no rationale should allow.
Beer ends surprisingly fast when you’re having shower thoughts in the kitchen. I should quit putting off the inevitable I suppose. It’s right there, all white in its glory and waiting for my fingers to pick up. I need to know what he was talking about, what he meant by those words.
It is a strange thing to live in the words of someone who has passed on to the next world. Maybe the scientists and astronomers who love the sky so much could explain it better. For me, I think it is like staring up at night, when the wind is still and fortune fair, and looking through time to the sands of all that has passed, and all that is meant to be. It is definitely that which clouds my eyes with each syllable, with each mention of a name, with every drop of a period. Eric Blair’s words make less sense the more I read into them.
This needs a stronger case of alcohol from the drawer. I swallow a lump, thick and crusty to my throat, down. If I do that, only my emotions will be numbed. And in the morning, I’ll be right where Waryn is.
The drawer can wait for celebration. Right now, clarity is what I need. Maybe I can have those shower thoughts where they should be had. I get up from the stool and switch off the lights. In the thick dark, I grab the letter and stuff it in the drawer next to the alcohol. Someday soon, I might need it.
Right now, cold waters and a warm endurance in bed is what my mind needs. Away from Waryn and that insanely sweet kiss.
Chapter 5 - Waryn
Why is it so fucking noisy outside?
My throat is scratchy and swallowing feels like a chore. Oh how Sarah would love to hear that. I try to lift my arm up to shield the light coming in through the window, but I can’t. It hurts from the tattoo. On looking under my neck, I see I had a rough time trying to get my bra off; it’s halfway off and halfway on my waist. Right now I don’t think is the time to think about how that happened.
How about that kiss last night?
Oh, fuck me. I kissed him didn’t I? I lift my belly off the bed and roll over, realizing the groaning voice in the room is mine. I might have just gone overboard with the whole ‘kiss and fuck me’ scenario.
No more mixed vodka in daiquiris for me.
The lights and sounds from the highway outside bang at the walls in my head in how I imagine mind-bending rough sex should be. Horns and screeching tires mar this screaming girl inside my head, and it’s a symphony of colors behind my eyes. I hate being hung-over, but nothing beats that more than unrequited passion. He could have been here, but he shut me down.
I remember him telling me about his past, and his friends. I totally recall how we laughed at the indiscretions of his mom and dad, and sighed at the silent treatment he’s giving his dad. What I vividly remember, despite the stinging feel of ozone at the cap of my nose, is the tale he gave me about his three friends…
Three knocks on the door. Who the fuck could that be at this time of the morning? I stumble and slide to the floor. Morning breath hits me in the face as I thud onto the shady carpet. Man I stink. Should I really answer that door, or ignore it till my life expires?
Three more knocks. They are heavy, and loud. It’s more of a man pounding on it. I think I cleared my bill for a couple of days, so it shouldn’t be the guy at the reception. Besides, he’s a small kinda guy.
Two knocks and a steely baritone follow. I know who he is. I don’t want to see him, but…one more knock, and my name.
“Waryn…it’s Tatum.”
My knees are on the floor. The bra is off my skin indefinitely, and I peel it off. I dash to the bathroom; maybe I could call it a half crawl and a half trot, for a bathrobe, or at least a towel to get decent.
“I know you’re in there. Please, open up.”
I stand by the door, blushing and half-seeing what a mess the place is. The only way he could have gotten me here was if he carried me. Meh, he must know the state of my affairs by now.
“I brought breakfast.”
“Hey Tatum – wow, is it fucking bright out here,” I call out while flinging the door open, feigning a smile for seeing him but blessing his soul for food. Boy, double trouble I see. Tatum does clean up pretty well. The leather jacket tightly grasps at his arms, leaving little room for his shirt, blue again. In his hands, he has a brown bag, which, from my experience, smells of a rich aroma of coffee and sugary donuts.
“Thanks.” His feet are by the bed and bum on the sheets by the moment he’s done giving gratitude.
“Sure…come in.” I hate it when dudes like him walk in uninvited. Can’t argue with the way he smells though – pine and ashen mahogany. It’s like he woke up and cut up some trees on the way here. In his palm is a white pill, and a smug look on his perfectly oiled face.
“It’s ibuprofen for your headache. I thought you might need it,” he says with a wink accompanied. The door clicks in place and I walk away from it and towards salvation in a fist. I grab the pill in a pinch and walk towards the small kitchenette for a glass of water. God it feels good to be hydrated.
“So.” I start, walking back to the main room that is actually the bedroom.
“So. Nice place you’ve got here. Towel warm enough though?” he asks, pointing at my state of dress. “It’s all I could come up with when you banged my door at – what time is it anyway?” I ask.
“It’s a little past 10 in the morning, just in case you’re still disoriented from last night,” he says. It’s been a while since I slept in this much. The last time The food is placed at the end of the dresser table. His bum is pressed on the side of the bed that I do not use. I fall back and sit on the opposite side.
“You can start eating by the way. I hope you like cream in your coffee.”
“Yes…yes I do,” I split, and tear open the bag. The creamy chocolate on the warm donut is simply hitting the right spot. The coffee…three sugars might be a little too much. But hey – it’s all free.
“Too much sugar?” he asks. I take it he’s seen my cringe at every sip.
“Mm–hmm,” I smile and point. My belly feels so good right now, I don’t even think I can worry about getting sick from this.
He sits in silence and observes the room while waiting to have me finish up. The echo as I munch away is awkwardly fulfilling. His gaze falls on the chair by the television. Oops.
My bra, and a spare bag of undies is open and ready for his foolish grin to salute at.
“I won’t mind it if you don’t by the way,” he promises. I laugh through the donut in gratitude. He breathes and silently stands up by the window outside. It’s not too sunny, slightly overcast if I predict correctly, and his face lights up by the fronds of sunlight that spin through the frame. I like how he affirms confidence in his smile. But we have unfinished business.
The caffeine is working, and I think we can have a straight conversation about last night.
“Tatum, we should talk.” I can’t believe I actually said those words. He turns and pats his thighs. “I know,” he softly says.
“Last night was a great time, and I really truly had immense fun.”
“But?”
“There are no buts in this Tatum. I loved it all. The cheeseburgers were epic man, and so were the drinks. Then the dance…”
“And the kiss…”
We soundlessly smile and look away. Fucking
feels like I’m thirteen again.
“It was beautiful.”
“It was sudden.” He says.
That takes me back.
“What?”
“Waryn…we only met last night.”
“And?”
“And…it was a sudden kiss. That’s not to mean that I did not love it for one moment our lips measured time.”
“Measured time?” I ape, frocking a smirk. “Is that what the kids call it these days?”
“Ha–ha, come on. No jokes for ten more minutes. Agreed?”
“Deal,” I cross my fingers.
“Okay. So, can we simply enjoy today?”
“I thought you said no jokes.” He’s gonna have to work for it.
“Waryn…”
“Your sense of humor still needs some growth old boy,’ I laugh off, standing and getting ready to hop into the bathtub. “I’m free today, and for a long time after.”
“Oh, sightseeing? Philly has lots to offer this time of year.”
“I don’t feel like a tourist at all…and there’s no one to offer a free service like that that I know of…unless you’re offering.”
“Not happening Waryn. I have to be at work shortly, but Holland’s opening today. No worries on that front.” He openly stares at me. Being in a towel after our evening tryst must be a weight on him. “You sure you won’t wanna see the Liberty Bell?”
“Not really. Maybe another time.”
“Is there something I should know? I’m getting a vibe here.”
“What kind of vibe?”
“The one where I feel like you’re holding stuff close to your chest.”
“We just met yesterday Tatum. How could you possibly think you know me so well?”
“Just a thing my mom made me pick up.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. So…”
He is not going to let any of this go.
“I took some time off work to mourn Eric, and to find you.”
“But…that was a while ago…and I have been off the grid for a good while too.” I can feel the warm tension build up again, and not in the sexual way this deserves.
Two Bad Groomsmen_An MFM Menage Romance Page 29
