by Xavier Neal
There’s no reluctance to inquire more details. “What happened next?”
“She did this move where her bike was up on one wheel and her legs were spread out wide into a V. Would’ve been impressive and sexy had she not landed poorly back on her seat.”
My hands fly to my mouth.
“It was all…very graphic from that point forward. The crack of…something…was so loud I thought I was gonna puke. The paramedics had to be called, and she was rushed to the nearest hospital. I thought about bailing and letting her friends, the people who actually fucking knew her, be the ones to wait for results, but didn’t wanna look like an uncaring asshole, so after much too much deliberation, I decided it was best to wait with them.” He swipes his beer to take a well-deserved gulp. “I’m not sure on her condition other than she’s alive. That’s all they would give to those of us not family. I took that as my cue to leave and did.”
“This definitely tops the worst date list…”
“Definitely tops the most traumatic list.”
I reach for my beer bottle and apologize, “Sorry.”
He offers me a kind smile.
For the second time against my better judgment, I poke around where I probably shouldn’t. “Do you think…if you would’ve actually made it to dinner that…you two would’ve been a good fit?”
Gideon grabs his taco to return to devouring. “Probably not.”
“Why?”
“Are you asking so dates six and seven can be altered to have a better chance at succeeding?”
“Yes.”
“Thought you were good at this shit,” he playfully taunts between bites, “thought you knew me and could ‘find me a match’ with no problem?”
“I didn’t factor in you would be the problem.”
“How am I the problem?!”
“Your shitty attitude!”
Lettuce falls from the taco as he tosses it back on top of the foil. “How the fuck do I have a shitty attitude? Am I or am I not showing up to these despite the fact I clearly have no interest in doing so?”
“They’re probably picking up on that!”
“They’re not.”
“How do you know? How do you know that’s not what you’re projecting with your body language or snarky tone?”
He angles his body towards mine. “First off, I know what I’m throwing out there because I’m consciously giving this shit the best I’ve got out of respect for you. Do I have any fucking interest in being set up or listening to people ramble on about themselves without pausing to really listen to what I have to say? Not really. But I know you went through a helluva lot of effort to only pick the best matches you thought were worth risking your career for.”
My lips press tightly together.
“Second of all, no matter how boring or annoying or painstakingly stupid I may find some of these women I have to engage in conversation with, I’d never let them know that because when you’re on a date, those are the last emotions you want to feel. And if you went through the effort of putting yourself out there, those are damn sure the last emotions I wanna make you feel.”
The sentiment is just as surprising as the ass-chewing he’s skillfully executing.
“Lastly, has it occurred to you yet that maybe you’re not good at matching people just because your strength lies within helping them maintain the matches they’ve already made?”
“Yes.”
Gideon’s body is blown backwards by my confession.
“And it’s part of the reason I applied for a job as a relationship therapist this week.”
Small part. The larger part, of course, being I would love to counsel people on better terms than my current office gig.
“You did?”
“Yeah. I actually have a phone interview on Tuesday.”
“Why are you just now telling me this?” Consternation floods his expression. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why wasn’t I the first person you told?”
“You’ve been busy!”
My response receives a hard glare.
“Between the whole thing with BJ and not really knowing if I was going to go through with sending my resume, it just didn’t seem like something worth bringing up.”
All of a sudden, Gideon does something unexpected. He leans in my direction, places his hands on my hips, and tugs me over until I’m straddling his suit-covered lap. I gasp at the change of position, yet he shifts backwards, eyes holding mine hostage.
“Lenny, your life…and what happens or what’s happening with you, is just as important as mine.” His thumbs gently stroke my hips. “Maybe I haven’t always been the best at expressing that, but it is. And I give a fuck about what’s going on with you even in the middle of an insane work schedule. So, I’m asking you to please stop acting like one of us is an NBA star and the other a college freshman.”
I can’t stop the smile that sprouts.
“Are you hoping you get this job?”
“Kind of?” My shrug is innocent. “It would allow me to counsel full time, which I absolutely fucking miss.”
“Why’d you really quit your job?”
The question sends my attention elsewhere.
His finger swiftly locates to my chin to force my stare back to his. “I know you. And you do most shit on a whim, like getting my Escalade washed or bringing in doughnut holes for the whole office, but that’s not what that was. You quit for a reason. I wanna finally hear it. All of it.”
After a long, deep exhale, I cave to his request. “I wasn’t happy.”
“Why?”
“They had me treating patients like numbers instead of people. It wasn’t about how they were doing or adjusting or making progress. It was about how quickly can you get them on the schedule again and bring us in more money. It was a heartless operation based on exploiting the wealthy couple’s desire to have at least one healthy aspect of their life.” My stomach tightens as I add the final lines. “I also didn’t like being sexually harassed. Mervin, the man whose practice it was, crossed a line the day I quit.”
Gideon’s entire body tenses underneath me.
“He came into my office to ‘celebrate’ the full roster of clients I had. Brought champagne. Spilled some on ‘accident’ on my shirt and offered to take it off for me to help it dry. When I said no and asked him to leave, he tried to unbutton it anyway. I may or may not have grabbed a pair of scissors from my office cup and threatened a testicle removal.” A proud smile appears on my face. “He got the hint. Tried to give me a ‘leaving bonus’ as hush money for the incident. I took it and donated the cash to the clinic. Thought it would be nice for some good to come out of the bad.”
“I think it’s amazing how you’re always concerned about others.” His hands link at the small of my back. “But sometimes, Lenny, it’s okay for others to be concerned about you.”
“I didn’t want you to worry. I mean, obviously, I’m fine.”
“But I wanna worry,” he firmly argues. “And I wanna be angry when someone disrespects you. And I wanna comfort you. I wanna do all these things that a…” the pause in his speech has me angling forward in hopefulness, “person you…trust does.”
Ugh. Nice way of avoiding the boyfriend label.
“No more of that shit, okay? From this point forward, you talk to me about everything, the same way I talk to you about it. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
With, of course, the tiny exception of my undying love for you.
“Oh, and what was the guy’s last name you used to work for? I think him and I need to have a little chat.”
“No-huh.” I quickly shake my head and wind my arms around the back of his neck. “You’re not going to jail over some old asshole whose la esposa is sleeping with the pool boy, so he feels compelled to get even in his own work space.”
He flips us around so that I’m on my back. “Fine, but I am going to voice my grievance about this shit.”
“What else is new?”
&
nbsp; Gideon momentarily glares before his hands inch up the edge of my t-shirt. “How I do it.”
Intrigue has my heart beginning to race.
“Gonna eat this pussy until I feel better.”
His fingers anchor onto the sides of my boy short underwear and start to tug them down. Once they’re slipped past my ankles, he throws them over his shoulder and submerges himself between my thighs. The first lick of my pussy is agonizingly slow. My hands curl into fists at my side in objection. Gideon cocks a crooked grin, hooks his arms around my legs, and laps up the sticky sensation that’s already leaking free. He maintains the leisurely speed. Whirls his tongue back and forth as if time is of the essence, and my orgasm of no importance. My muscles clench in anticipation of being touched, yet he avoids pleasing them by barely grazing his tongue around the entrance. Dissatisfaction effortlessly builds, and the evidence of it is grumble after grumble left to fester in my throat.
The moment he uses the tip of his tongue to lightly tease my clit, I can’t restrain my complaints any longer. “Deja de atormentarme, papi…”
He rolls the tip of his nose against the area he’s toying with before diverting his gaze up to me. “What’s wrong, baby? Frustrated?”
I let my hooded stare narrow at him.
“Feeling…powerless?” His tongue steals another slow lick. “Like you know exactly what will make you feel better, yet can’t make it happen because someone is in your way?”
“You’re trying to teach me a lesson?”
“I’m successfully teaching you a lesson.”
My pout is washed away by his lips delivering a deliciously hard suck to my clit. I whimper, dig my fingers into his hair, and concede, “I get it. I get it…”
He hums against the sensitive nub prior to shooting me another glance. “Do you?”
“You wanna protect me, and I haven’t been letting you.”
“I wanna care for you in ways you haven’t been letting me.”
The words leave my lips without consent. “Then do it, Gideon. Care for me.”
He lets his eyes fall shut while his mouth lands back on my pussy. This time there’s no soft touches or slow movements. His tongue dips deep inside. Repeatedly rolls upward. Strokes with voraciousness. Ravenous moans are released from both of us. Gideon’s grip borderlines bruising, and I roughly grab a fist full of his hair to ride the tasty turbulence. Oscillating yanks are exchanged between desperate gasps for air. My thighs tremble in his clutches as my back bows off the couch, determined to not let us separate from one another until he’s given the penance for his pain he deserves. An increase in his tongue’s frenzy has my moans transforming into pants. I mumble out words in two different languages, eventually reaching a point of pleasure where I’m unable to create competent phrases at all. My nails scrape his scalp, a primal need to come clawing its way out of my system. He responds by grazing his teeth against my clit. The action is almost like a mirrored display of the pain to pleasure ratio I’m most likely distributing to him. His audacious tongue abruptly presses flat against the aching area and applies so much pressure I have no choice but to detonate. Breathless screams spring from my throat as my entire body uncontrollably shakes. The loud, pleased growl ripped from Gideon’s chest is followed by him laving his face in the orgasmic deluge.
I come and cry out in gratification.
I come and call out his name in content.
I come and capitulate to the request to care for me in previously unproclaimed ways.
He asked for all of me, and that’s what I’m going to give him, even if it only ends up being temporary.
Chapter Nine
Gideon
Lenny props her elbow onto the aquamarine tablecloth and plops her face into her open palm. “Can’t believe Christian’s married now.” Her eyes peel away from where he’s greeting guests at the reception and pin themselves back onto me. “Married, OG.”
“Married,” I playfully echo behind my glass of whiskey.
“We’re talking mar-ried.”
“You say that like there’s another type of married.”
“There are several types of ‘married’, but that discussion is neither here nor there.”
“Shouldn’t it exactly be here since we’re at a reception where you keep repeating the word married like you don’t understand its meaning.”
One of her free fingers runs around the rim of her cocktail glass. “He’s married.”
“Yes…We were side by side trying not to laugh as they exchanged trite beach metaphors.”
Which was fucking difficult. I’m not cynical, cold-hearted, or even opposed to you expressing how much your spouse-in-the-making means to you, however, when your vows sound like something out of a beach bum’s guide to living the pothead life on the ocean’s edge, I can only hold back my judgments for so long. I’m sure our wedding will have sports metaphors. Damn sure refuse to have vows that come out like taco recipes.
“You’re not listening, OG.” She drops her hand and slightly angles her body towards me. “Christian ‘Can Barely Tie His Own Shoe’ Cole is now married.”
“Mmhm.”
“To another living, breathing person.”
“Who can also barely tie her own shoe.”
Lenny lets the corners of her lips curl upward. “True…But come on, OG. This is the same guy we once saw drink beer out of an actual bottle while wearing nothing but a diaper that barely covered his crooked dick.”
Jealousy gets the better of me. “How do you know his dick is crooked?”
“How do you not know?” She instantly counters. “Diaper disaster aside, he wasn’t exactly cloak and dagger about his cock. You could pretty much just say the word, and it would appear like some unwanted genie there to curse you rather than make your dreams come true.”
The walk down memory lane erases a portion of the possessiveness.
Previously, I never had the right to be this intolerant of hearing past romps or near romps or dick-related anything from her, but now that it’s my cock actively in her life, I can righteously protest and then resolve my displeasure by providing her with some. Just because we don’t have labels and haven’t sat down to make everything official doesn’t mean it’s not.
Okay.
That’s exactly what it means, but I’m working on it.
All I have to do is get through two more fucking dates. And the only reason I don’t just call it all off is because she insists I finish our agreement. Fighting on the subject only stresses her out and fucks up her focus, which is the last thing she needs with a pending face-to-face interview this coming week. I can do this whole not really dating other people for two more rounds. I’ve got it all planned out. I’ll meet them, apologize for putting them in the position they’re in, and tell them the truth.
I’m in love with my best friend.
I’m going to ask her to marry me.
I’m sorry she put me on this dating site during one of our more irresponsible standoffs.
In an effort to wrap this shit up, I pushed Lenny to get them to me so I can wrap up this unusual period of time in our lives. Both dates had to be scheduled for the end of the coming week. I even took the initiative to use the email account she created to make contact, so she could focus on prepping for her interview. Originally, I was going to set up date six, who is only willing to sign her emails “L”, on Monday since I’ll be out of town Tuesday and Wednesday, but she said she already has solid plans for us on Thursday. Date seven, Natalie, is traveling until early Friday morning, so she suggested popping by my place to make me brunch once she lands. Perfect timing if you ask me. Lenny’s interview is Friday morning, around the same time as my last moment in this dating faux pas, leaving Friday night to celebrate her new job and propose.
