Protecting Maya

by Nicole Casey

  “I’m an investment banker,” he told me suddenly and it immediately made sense. His almost palpable stress levels, his rigid structure.

  I bet he hasn’t slept a full night in ten years.

  I nodded understandingly.

  “You’re used to seeing greed in all walks of life,” I declared. “Trophy wives, cutthroat execs, the works?”

  He nodded vehemently, his eyes brightening.

  “That’s exactly what I meant,” he exhaled with relief. “It wasn’t some misogynistic dig, I promise.”

  I laughed and shrugged.

  “Some people fall into the right stereotypes but that doesn’t mean all stereotypes are right, right?”

  He laughed and raised a glass in silent toast.

  “I can’t believe how easy you are to talk to,” Slade said, and I lowered my eyes. It was something I heard often from people.

  I chalked it up to being comfortable in my own skin and having empathy for others. It was amazing to me how many people can’t walk a mile in someone else’s shoes.

  People lived to hear themselves speak, to be right, to be heard. It wasn’t often that someone feels they are speaking, getting a point across or being heard.

  Interestingly, I found Slade equally charming in conversation.

  It was not one sided in the least despite my sly attempts to subtly wrangle information out of him.

  “Do you like your job?” I asked him and instantly the light disappeared from his eyes.

  I’ll take that as a “no.”

  “It’s allows me certain freedoms I wouldn’t have in another situation,” he replied evasively, and I laughed aloud.

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded but I could see he knew what I was thinking.

  “I’m not one of your one percent friends,” I told him teasingly. “You can answer me honestly. I can see how much stress you carry on your shoulders. I told you that this morning before I knew anything about you. How is your headache by the way?”

  Slade sighed and shook his head.

  “It’s perpetual,” he replied quietly. “It never really goes away.”

  “Do you think that’s from your job?” I asked, wondering if he had another misguided excuse for his stress-related pain.

  “Oh most definitely. I never had a headache in my life before I started at Charter-Abrams.”

  I laughed at his frankness, but I was still curious.

  “Then why do you do it? Are you really that money driven?”

  I expected him to grow defensive by the question, but he surprised me.

  “What else is there?” he remarked with an almost wistful nonchalance. It was if he hoped there was a better answer, but he had never learned it.

  The answer made me sad and I could see my initial assessment of him had been accurate.

  He was lonely. He needed someone to talk to, someone to hear him.

  My sympathies were back, and I found myself leaning forward to take his hand this time.

  “There’s you. There’s art and music. There’s sunsets and snowfalls. There’s love,” I rhymed off. “There is much more to life than just working to pay bills and dropping dead after retirement.”

  Slade chuckled mirthlessly.

  “If that’s true, I have yet to find the beauty in any of it.”

  It was as if he had said magic words.

  He needed a spiritual guide, a mentor to see life more clearly and with fresh eyes.

  “I have an idea,” I told him, hoping to wipe the melancholic expression from his face.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Why don’t we finish our amazing dinner and then go back to your place?”

  His eyes seemed like hot coals burning into me.

  “Oh yeah?” he asked, trying to hide the leer in his words.

  “Easy there, tiger,” I laughed. “I will give you an amazing massage. I am willing to bet that you have a dozen knots in your back and shoulders.”

  He peered at me skeptically, studying my face for sincerity.

  “Why would you do that for me?” he asked, and I was taken aback by the response.

  “Most men would not look a gift horse in the mouth,” I told him.

  “Most men don’t know that the adage ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ is based on the Trojan horse. I never understood why no one would want to check out that big ass horse before bringing it behind the gates.”

  I began to chuckle and suddenly I knew that I liked Slade.

  It was more than sympathy or a desire to make him see light and beauty.

  I sincerely liked him from somewhere in my core.

  He’s a little dark and his priorities are a little screwy but he’s a good guy. I should give him a chance.

  The idea unnerved me slightly and I couldn’t say why precisely.

  “You are easily amused, aren’t you?” he asked, and I shook my medium length waves, biting on my lower lip.

  “Not really,” I demurred.

  “Then why are you always smiling?” he countered, a beam touching his own lips as he waited for the answer with anticipation.

  “I like you,” I told him sincerely. There was no point in lying to him

  I enjoyed his company and as the night progressed, I was beginning to feel that prosaic sensation under my skin when a great attraction unfolds inside me.

  I barely remember finishing the meal, but we seemed to be back at his townhouse through the pounding rain in a trance-like state.

  Rocco remembered me instantly, ignoring his master and jumping up to lick my face fully as we entered the house.

  “Wow,” Slade snickered. “How’s that for loyalty? You see? Even my mutt doesn’t care if I’m home. That is why I do it.”

  There was no malice or anger in his tone. Just the matter-of-factness of the statement which made my heart sink slightly.

  The pang of compassion returned, and I gently laid the canine onto the floor, slipping off my runners to follow Slade into the house.

  “Drink?” he asked, and I shook my head.

  “No,” I replied. “I already had more than my limit.”

  He paused to smile at me.

  “Maybe that was my intention – get you drunk and lower your inhibitions a bit.”

  I guffawed.

  “You obviously don’t know me very well if you think I have inhibitions,” I informed him. “But I have to work in the morning, remember?”

  “Ah yes!” he chirped. “You’re working for me. How could I forget?”

  “Rocco is one of several furry friends who I have the pleasure of walking tomorrow morning.”

  In the kitchen, he turned, leaning his back against the counter.

  “So when you said you don’t date, what does that mean?” he asked quizzically, and I tensed.

  Why did he have to ruin a perfectly lovely evening with semantics?

  “Just what I said,” I said shortly. “I don’t do long term relationships.”

  “Never?” he challenged, and I tried not to grit my teeth as I shook my head.

  “Your bedroom is upstairs?” I asked abruptly, determined to change the subject before he began delving into the psychology behind my behavior.

  He nodded, cerulean eyes blazing with interest.

  “But sex isn’t off the table.”

  For the first time, I allowed a scowl to penetrate my face.

  He was ruining a perfectly lovely evening with his testosterone.

  “You talk too much,” I snapped. “I told you I was going to give you a massage. I would like to set it up properly before you come up.”

  He seemed to realize his mistake immediately, a look of contrition falling upon his face.

  “Of course,” he replied quickly. “I’m sorry. I was just playing. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date…or a non-date…or whatever this is.”

  I was making him nervous and that made me feel slightly better.

  The control was back on my side.

&n
bsp; “Upstairs and the last door on the left. There’s an ensuite bathroom too.”

  I don’t know if he added that to be boastful or out of nervousness, but I didn’t comment as I spun to follow his directions.

  Rocco remained on my heels as I knew he would.

  Animals liked me, probably more than people if that was possible.

  I had always had a kinship with the four-legged beasts, hence my career choice as a dog walker.

  As Rocco sat by protectively and watched me scrounge for massage materials, I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my head.

  “A dog walker, Maya? Really? That’s something high school students do for extra prom money.”

  But I wasn’t like my mom or Vyolet or Yvette. I couldn’t imagine working a nine to five job, cleaning up other people’s messy lives, straightening out their children and being made to endure the thankless day after day.

  Vyolet had followed in my mom’s footsteps, becoming a school teacher and Yvette was a highly stressed divorce attorney.

  I couldn’t help but thinking that Yvette and Slade might hit it off – both too overworked without any outlets to enjoy life.

  I would never get out of bed in the morning if I had chosen either of those jobs.

  Yvette would benefit from a massage too, I thought wryly.

  I forced my sister out of my head and focused on what I was doing.

  “No,” I told Rocco, smoothing out a top sheet over the bed. “I would rather clean up dog poop than be hit by other people’s children no matter what mom says.”

  “That’s a charming thought,” Slade said from the doorway. “Can I come in now?”

  I smirked and nodded.

  “I can’t find a single candle in this room, but I guess I should have expected that.”

  He shrugged and ventured toward me, looking like a virgin in a brothel.

  “It needs a woman’s touch in here,” he agreed. “Can we still move forward with the project?”

  I laughed.

  “I love the way your pillow talk sounds like a board meeting,” I joked. “You have to take your clothes off.”

  His brows shot up as I perched on the edge of his California king bed, waiting patiently.

  “How about you?” he asked, and I shook my head.

  “It’s not that kind of massage,” I replied sweetly, noting the disappointment on his face. “But if you want to work on me afterward, we can discuss that…”

  I still wasn’t sure if I was going to sleep with him and I could tell he had no idea how to read me.

  I rather enjoyed the tension I was causing between us.

  “Suit yourself,” he said lightly but I could read the nervousness on his face. “Full frontal?”

  I swallowed a snort.

  “You can leave your boxers on,” I relented.

  Slowly, he slipped out of his clothes, his back slightly to me and I licked my lips subconsciously as I took in the rippling muscles of his back and pecs.

  He finds time to work out. That’s a good outlet.

  It also meant that he would have more prowess sexually.

  But I was getting ahead of myself.

  “Now what?” he asked standing before me awkwardly and I stared at him.

  “You’ve never had a massage before?”

  He shrugged and shook his head.

  “No,” he replied. “Never really thought about it.”

  This guy is going to an early grave if he keeps this up, I thought, sighing.

  “Lay down on your stomach,” I instructed, and he immediately leapt onto the bed like a little boy vying for the top bunk.

  “This will have to suffice because we don’t have a proper massage table,” I continued, straddling his buttocks as he lay starfish below me.

  I had located a bottle of baby oil in the bathroom and I delicately poured some into his hands, spreading it along his spine and kneading it in upward.

  Slade groaned aloud.

  “Oh my God! That feels so good!” he moaned.

  “I haven’t even started yet,” I giggled but as I said it, I began to apply pressure to the tissue below his defined scapula, using my knuckles to work out the knots I knew I would find imbedded in his muscles.

  He released myriad noises and at first, I thought he was hamming it up for my benefit, but I soon realized that he was in a state of pain filled pleasure as I worked.

  My movements grew harder as I moved along his neck, twisting out the incredible amount of tension I was feeling but as I worked, I could feel his body relaxing beneath me.

  A gush of wetness flushed between my thighs and I trailed my hands down toward his lower back, sliding my palms outward as my body fell lower for traction.

  “You’re amazing,” he mumbled into the pillow.

  I didn’t respond, only digging my fingers deeper and debating my next move.

  A part of me wanted to slip my hands beneath his boxers and feel what he hid behind the cloth but a stronger side of me held back.

  Subtly, I rubbed my now throbbing crotch against his thigh, pressing my button to him.

  I had the urge to release but I wasn’t sure if I should.

  Something was telling me no.

  My body was almost against his now and I allowed my breath to tease the smooth skin of his back, but he did not respond.

  Suddenly I realized he had not made a sound in several minutes.

  “Slade?” I murmured. “Are you all right?”

  There was no response.

  “Slade?”

  A little louder this time but he did not move.

  I fell to the side to stare at his face and I chuckled, shaking my head as I studied his handsome profile.

  He had fallen asleep beneath me.

  There would be no release that night.

  At least not with Slade.

  5

  Malcolm

  I stared at Maya for a long moment as she slept at my side, her chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths.

  She seemed peaceful, almost childlike in the pale light of the moon streaming through the window of my bedroom.

  She was a work of elusive art, Maya, indescribable in words but the feeling I got when I merely looked at her was almost spiritual.

  There are some people like that in the world; they simply draw you in and make you want to be near them and Maya had always been one of those people.

  I would be naïve to think I was the only one who had fallen under her spell. It was clear that she drew in strangers without effort but coupled with her sweetness and adorable appearance, I was sometimes stunned there was not a lineup outside the farmhouse door.

  She had been living in our makeshift commune for two years, just after she had come to work at the yoga studio.

  It had seemed like a natural next step asking her to move in since she spent so much time amongst us anyway and she had fallen into the sharing life quite easily.

  Our affair was open and accepted but like Maya, I was not the monogamous type.

  I had been married once upon a time and that relationship had scared me off to even contemplating the idea of staying with one woman ever again.

  But on nights like those, I caught myself looking at the slumbering angel in my bed and wonder if Maya couldn’t change that for me.

  Of course, the thought was fleeting, and I never pursued it but deep down, I considered myself Maya’s protector.

  We had a special bond, one I hadn’t found with any other and I believe she felt the same way about me.

  Gently, I brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face cautiously as not to wake her before slipping out of the double bed and making my way into the hallway.

  I could hear voices downstairs and I wondered who was up so late.

  It was almost two o’clock in the morning and while it wasn’t unusual for someone to be burning the midnight oil, it was odd to have a group up at that hour.

  Descending the steps, I could make out the half-drunken voi
ces of Luke and Sterling intermingled with other unfamiliar tones, chuckling amongst themselves.

  “There he is!” Sterling cheered, holding up her bottle of craft beer as I entered. “I didn’t think you were home.”

  I offered her a tight smile and gazed at the other people in my home.

  At first glance, they appeared to be strangers and I cast the engaged couple a reproving look.

  Generally I had a strict rule about who was allowed inside the common areas but as my eyes adjusted, there was something familiar about the other two people with my housemates and my mind raced trying to place them.

  I was half-asleep after all.

  “Malcolm, right?” the chubby girl asked, grinning up at me and I nodded.

  “You teach my spinning class on Tuesdays,” she provided. “I’m Cara.”

  Instantly a flash of recognition and annoyance filled me simultaneously and I turned to stare at Sterling and Luke accusingly.

  They should know better than to invite clients to the house, I thought with anger, but the couple was far too inebriated to heed my silent warning.

  As usual, they were lost in each other’s eyes as if hypnotized by the other’s face.

  It was nauseating, and I wanted to slap sense into both of them.

  “Come and have a beer,” Cara called as if I wasn’t in my own living room and perfectly capable of going anywhere I damn well pleased.

  I smiled tersely, about to shake my head as my eyes fell on the smiling but quiet stranger among the foursome.

  An uncomfortable lurch tickled my stomach.

  “You’re Troy, aren’t you?” I asked, the hairs on my neck rising inexplicably.

  He nodded eagerly.

  “You remembered,” he said with too much enthusiasm.

  I did remember him, but I didn’t want to say why.

  The last time I had seen him in the studio, he had given me a bad feeling.

  It was not just that he was openly gaping at Maya. There was something else about him, something…creepy?

  And he was sitting on the floor of my house like he belonged there.

  “Maybe I will have a beer,” I decided, plopping onto the floor, unceremoniously close to Troy, studying his face with too much interest.

  I could smell fear on anyone and Troy reeked of something I did not like.