by W. H. Vega
Without saying a word, Trace steps toward me and closes the space between us. He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my chin, bringing my mouth to his. That simple kiss, so full of grateful understanding and endless compassion, is truly the best birthday present I ever could have hoped for.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Trace leads me outside and hails a cab at once. We fly through the city of Chicago together, hands clasped chastely. My thoughts, however, are about as far from chaste as can be. Those kisses, first yesterday, now today, have stirred something inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time. I want his man. And I want him as soon as I can have him.
As we wind through less picturesque parts of town, I feel unease roiling inside me. The only time I’m ever in these parts of Chicago these days is for field research. I like to stay as far away from my childhood haunts as possible, when I can. No use revisiting those old memories that give me nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.
But we clear the worst of the streets soon, and pull to a stop in front of a modest but clean apartment building. Trace pays the cabbie and escorts me to the front door. I can’t help but smile at his gentlemanly gestures, the seriousness of his demeanor. He just wants me to have a nice time for my birthday, and he’s doing well to ensure that I do. In previous years, I would have headed out to some swanky bar or club to celebrate my special day. But somehow, this feels more right than any of that ever did.
We pad down the hall toward Trace’s apartment, and he swings the door open for me. A soft glow emanates from within, and I go at once to investigate.
“Oh, Trace...” I murmur.
All around the small space, strings lights enliven the darkness. Strands and strands hang along the ceiling, as if we were on some Tuscan patio, rather than in a rented Chicago apartment. The air is spiced with garlic and herbs, and my mouth waters imagining what Trace has made for us to share.
“Since when do you cook?” I ask, stepping into the apartment. “That was always my thing, when we were kids.”
“I guess you inspired me,” he smiles, closing the door behind us. “And besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nadia Faber. Now, would you like white or red?”
Pinot Noir in hand, I settle myself at the kitchen table. Trace’s abode is modest, to be sure. But the dimmed lights almost hide the unfurnished corners of the room. The table is set with a pair of white ceramic plates and a bouquet of baby’s breath and wild carrot. Not too shabby, for someone who’s spent the past couple of years in the desert.
Trace reappears from the kitchen, laded with serving dishes. My jaw drops open as I see what he’s prepared for us. Tomato and basil glazed salmon, a kale salad with hazelnuts and parmesan, and a huge loaf of warm crusty bread comprise my birthday meal.
“Good lord, O’Conner,” I breathe.
“What did you expect, fruit by the foot?” he laughs.
“Kind of,” I admit, sipping my wine.
We lapse into a short silence and Trace doles out the delicious fare. This is the most alone we’ve been since he showed up on my doorstep a couple of days ago. Has it really only been a couple of days? I suppose it was more than easy, picking up exactly where I left off with Trace. If only I knew what his life has been like in the meantime.
“Seriously,” I say, scooping a bunch of greens and cheese onto my fork, “Where the hell did you learn to cook like this?”
“I worked at a restaurant, for a minute,” he replies, “After I got out of juvie.”
“How respectable,” I say, lifting my fork to my mouth. The perfectly complementary tastes are impeccable and savory.
“Did you figure that I’d be doing something less respectable instead?” Trace asks.
“Honestly? Yeah,” I tell him. “I didn’t imagine there were many career opportunities for kids just out of juvie.”
“You’re right about that,” he admits, “I can’t say that my path has been spotless. But I think I’ve managed to do alright.”
“What kind of spots have you earned yourself?” I ask. There’s no use trying to be coy with Trace. We’re far past that, the two of us.
“You’d be disappointed if I told you,” he says, pushing his food around his plate.
“Don’t be silly,” I tell him, “It’s me, Trace.”
“Well. Uh. I suppose, I fell into dealing here and there, once I was out,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table.
“Oh,” I say, my heart breaking for eighteen-year-old Trace. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m actually just now working on a case involving this drug ring that specifically goes after young men and women.”
“That so?”
“Yeah. These guys are ruthless. And once they get their claws in those kids, they never let them go. I’m just happy that you shook them at all.”
“Huh,” Trace says, pouring himself a deep glass of wine, “You know who these fuckers are that you’re dealing with?”
“Not yet. But I’ll find them.”
“Well. Cheers then,” Trace says, raising his glass to mine, “To your birthday, and your work, and...you.”
“Cheers,” I smile, clinking his glass. “And thank you.”
“For what?” he asks.
“For coming to find me, not knowing what it was you were going to find,” I tell him, “I mean, you didn’t know what I was like now, or if I was married, or seeing someone—”
“I knew you weren’t,” he says resolutely.
“How?” I ask.
“I could just tell,” Trace says, his eyes locked on mine, “I could tell that...it was time for us to be together again. Even if only for a couple of days.”
“I...feel the same way,” I tell him.
And those, it would seem, are the magic words. Trace sets down his wine glass and lowers his hand to my knee. My back arches at this slightest touch, and I feel my breath pick up as his fingers trail further up my sensitive inner thigh. After all this time, he remembers exactly how to touch me.
I lean into him, resting my cheek on his shoulder, as he lets his hands explore my body. They run down my sides, along the dip of my waist, wherever they please. Tenderly, I bring my lips to his throat and kiss him. A deep moan rises from this throat as I plant kiss after kiss on his suntanned skin. A profound, insatiable need begins to pulse inside of me. However sudden or reckless this might seem, I know what I want. And what I want is him.
A gasp escapes my throat as he pushes up the hem of my skirt. Locking my gaze upon his, I lift myself up off my chair and swing my leg over him. I lower myself down onto his lap, the thin cotton of my underwear all that separates us there. Trace slides his hands down over my ass and pulls me against him. My mouth meets his, moving hungrily. Our tongues meet and tangle as I feel that certain pressure pulsing inside his perfectly-fitted slacks. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for since I was seventeen years old.
I can’t keep my hips from gyrating and Trace lowers his mouth to my chest. As he kisses me there, he slips my sleeves down off my arms. I feel him harden beneath me as he sees that I’ve gone without a bra tonight. His eyes rest reverently on my bare breasts, and he slowly lowers his lips to them. My eyes flutter closed as he closes his lips around my erect nipple. I don’t know how much longer I can last without charging ahead, letting him take me however he pleases.
“Bring me to your bedroom,” I say, breathlessly.
Trace doesn’t need any more urging than that. With my legs wrapped firmly around his hips, he carries me in a few long paces across the apartment. Sinking onto his knees, he lays me out across his soft comforter. I let my knees fall open before him in the low light.
But instead of crawling on top of me, Trace stays right there between my legs. My eyes widen as he bring his lips to my right knee, then further and further up my leg toward that pulsing place between my legs.
“Trace...” I say, my voice soft but urgent.
/> “Let me, Nadia,” he pleads, his mouth inches away from my sex, “Let me make up for lost time. I’m begging you.”
Well, who am I to deny such an ardent man his wish? I lay back on Trace’s bed and hold my breath as he slides my panties down over my legs.
Happy birthday to me, indeed.
Chapter Eleven
Trace
Like a Dream
I’m convinced, for the first second after I open my eyes, that I must still be dreaming. Nadia’s long blonde hair is splayed out across the pillow beside me, her long lashes fanned out above her cheeks. In sleep, she looks so much like the girl I once knew. In the dreamy peace of slumber, she looks carefree, unburdened.
Of course, no one who’s lived a life like ours finds peace that easily upon waking. My heart aches knowing that, in a few minutes, that calmness will be dispelled by the pressures and challenges of living day-to-day. But for now, I decide to let her rest a moment longer.
As carefully as I can, I extract myself from the covers. It’s like a delicate surgical procedure, trying to stand without stirring my own personal sleeping beauty. The hardwood floor is chilly as I set my feet on it, and I hurry to throw on some clothes. Waking up naked next to the woman I’ve been missing for nearly ten years...
The unwelcome thought rises into my mind that I might just not. What if I’m really not good enough for Nadia, but she just hasn’t wised up yet? Not that I think she’s some naive little thing that I need to protect from the world. But what if...she needs to be protected from me?
“Ease up,” I mutter to myself, making my way to the kitchen. In the morning light, my apartment is not nearly as picturesque as I managed to make it last night. Most of our dinner sits uneaten on the kitchen table, and the string lights are dull in the daylight.
I smile to myself as I gather the dishes in my hands, remembering the way any thought of food was forgotten in the heat of our long-awaited moment. The events of last night have blurred together into a marathon of pleasure and passion. Snapshots keep cropping up in my brain as I clean up the apartment, causing me to catch my breath again and again.
I’ve never been a selfish man in bed, but last night was something entirely new for me. I was so unconcerned with getting pleasure from Nadia, wholeheartedly content to shower her with kiss after stroke after embrace. And she was just as adamant about giving back to me. I’ve never had sex like that before, sex that felt like a collaboration. A conversation.
With all the other women I’ve slept with, it’s always felt as though we were playing parts. Going through the motions. But not with Nadia. Together, we were utterly ourselves. I’m not surprised that it happened that way, but the difference from the rest of my experience definitely took me off guard. I should have known that it would be this way. I suppose some part of me always did.
As I unload an armful of dishes into the sink, I hear a soft buzzing somewhere in the apartment. Not wanting Nadia to be roused from sleep by the insistent sound, I hurry back along the trajectory of our trip to the bedroom last night. Our clothes are scattered all along the way, but I finally locate my jeans and snatch up my cell phone from the back pocket.
Garrick’s name blinks across the screen of my phone. He’s probably checking up to see how the date went, the perv. I slip out the front door and into the hallway.
“You’re not getting any details,” I begin with a smile, “So don’t—”
“Trace, I’m on my way to your place,” Garrick cuts me off. He sounds panicked. The tone of his voice sets my own nerves on a razor’s edge.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, “Are you OK?”
“I’ll tell you everything when I get there,” he says hurriedly, “I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
“Jesus, what—?”
But the line goes dead. I stare blankly at my cellphone, mind racing. What the hell could possibly be going down that has Garrick in such a frenzy? This is a man who’s galloped into the crossfire of a dozen different firefights. He’s not exactly a guy who scares easy. Whatever’s going down, it’s not going to be good for anyone.
I’ve got to get Nadia out of here before Garrick shows up. Whatever he’s got to tell me, I’m not sure I want her to overhear. The guilt of omission turns my stomach, but I’m just not ready to come clean about the seedier aspects of my post-foster care life. She might already be on the way to deciding that I’m not up to snuff, I don’t want to speed up that conclusion.
I slip back into the house and poke my head into the bedroom. Nadia’s rolled over onto her back, the covers rising and falling along with her steady breath. Suddenly, I see her in the context of this crummy apartment and feel like a dirty crook. What right do I have to drag her to this shitty place, into my directionless life? She’s done so brilliantly well for herself in the years since I’ve known her. She put herself through undergrad and grad school, started an amazing career, and found an amazing place to live. What have I done?
Before I dare to own up to that question, I see Nadia stretch luxuriously against her pillow. Her big brown eyes flutter open and lock with mine across the room. A sleepy smile spreads across her face and tears a good-sized gash into my heart. I perch myself on the edge of the bed and lay a hand on her side.
“Hey you,” she murmurs, resting her hand on mine.
“Good morning,” I reply, sounding strangely formal.
“What time is it?” she asks, looking around for her clothes.
“About nine,” I tell her.
The words have barely cleared my lips when her eyes bulge open. “Nine?!” she cries, leaping up from bed. “Fucking shit! No, no, no...”
“Nadia, what’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed at her sudden shift.
“I can’t believe I forgot to set an alarm,” she moans, throwing her clothes on in a whirlwind of limbs. “I’m going to be so late.”
It occurs to me, finally, that it’s Monday morning. Respectable people like Nadia have to be at work. The realization only makes me feel shittier. Here Nadia’s heading off to her important, meaningful job, and what am I going to get up to today? Nothing good, that’s for sure.
“I’m so sorry to rush out on you,” she says, grabbing a comb from my dresser and running it through her locks, “Jesus. I must look like a train wreck.”
“Of course you don’t,” I tell her honestly. Her makeup may be a little smudged from last night’s carousal, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“I really had an amazing time,” she tells me. “Oh god, that sounds so cliché. But really, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better birthday. Thank you so much, Trace.”
“Yeah...No worries,” I say, smiling despite my guilty conscience. I’m actually kind of relieved that she’s running late to work. I didn’t have a good idea about getting her out of the apartment before Garrick’s arrival anyway. If she does make tracks, they won’t run into each other at all.
Nadia calls herself a cab as she finishes getting ready, multitasking like a master. At least she won’t be walking through this neighborhood alone. She gathers up her things and smiles at me, breathless and anxious all at once.
“How’s my sex hair?” she laughs.
“Sexy,” I reply.
She rolls her eyes and punches me playfully on the shoulder. “So, when am I going to see you again?”
“When you see me. Come on, you should get a move on.”
Her brow furrows ever-so-slightly at my ambiguity. “You trying to get rid of me, O’Conner?” she asks.
“What? Of course not! Why would you—?”
“Someone doth protest too much,” she says, arching her eyebrow at me. “Is something going on, Trace? I thought last night was—”
“It was. Amazing,” I say urgently, taking her hands up in mine, “I’m sorry. It’s just...something’s sort of come up, and it might be sort a big deal.”
“Is everything OK?” she asks, looking intently into my eyes, “You’re not in trouble or anyt
hing, are you?”
“What? I’m...no. Why did your mind jump to that?”
“I know the look of a man in trouble. I pretty much deal with them exclusively as a profession, Trace.”
“I’m really not sure yet what the situation is,” I tell her.
“Will you tell me when you do?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say, without pausing to think about it, “But right now you should really get going, OK?”
“Yeah,” she says, shouldering her purse. “Sure.”
I walk her over to the door, hating myself for acting this way. As my hand closes around the doorknob, a thundering knock pounds out through the door.
“Christ!” Nadia gasps, “What—?”
“Trace!” I hear Garrick shout from the hallway, “Open the fucking door!”
“Shit,” I mutter, looking helplessly at Nadia.
“Is that...Garrick?” she asks excitedly.
“Wait—” I begin.
But she swings the door open, and Garrick tumbles over the threshold. He straightens up and catches sight of Nadia standing there before him. His jaw all but unhinges in surprise.
“Nadia?” he breathes, “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” she grins, taking a step toward him.
“Well damn,” he says, “You’re a babe now.”
“I was always a babe,” she laughs, “You were just too stoned to ever notice when we were kids.”
“Get the hell over here, girl!” he cackles.
Nadia runs into Garrick’s arms, and he lifts her right up off the ground. Though part of me is thrilled to see my best friend and the love of my life so happy in each other’s company, there are more pressing matters at hand.
“Nadia was just heading off to work,” I cut in, making a point.
“Oh yeah,” she says, smoothing down her hair. “I’m kind of in the middle of something huge right now. Gotta go home and grab all my reports before I—”
“Fancy as shit,” Garrick whistles, “You’re a lawyer now, right?”
“Yep,” Nadia says proudly, “Just finished up the Bud McNally case. Put that asshole away for a good long time.”
