by Emilia Finn
I gargle, I swish – since I’m doing it, I may as well wash away the taste of crab – and then I spit it all back into the cup with a grimace.
When I look back up, my heart sitting in my throat, he pushes me against the door and slams his lips to mine with a groan. Possession, passion, demand. He slides his tongue into my mouth – and I let him! – and pulls away only to set the mouthwash paraphernalia on the floor.
Once his hands are free, they dive into my hair and control me. He turns my face the way he wants it, makes love to my mouth with his tongue, bites my lips with sharp nips, and turns my face the other way so he can do the same on the other side. His bare chest crushes mine, his hands dwarf my face and make me feel small. The calluses on his palms scratch against my skin. And then his penis grows, it presses against my stomach, and my breath comes out on a cry.
Too much. Too fast. But I wrap my arms around his neck anyway, and swallow his possessive grunt when he slides his hands along my body and back up beneath my skirt.
“Two hours,” he growls. “Two fucking hours. I lost a bet with myself.”
“You were naked in my hall. I felt bad.”
“You looked at my cock.” He nips at my chin. “I saw you look.”
“Tucker, I…”
“Too fast.” Nodding, he pulls back, but only by an inch or so. His chest still presses to mine. His pelvis. His breath feathers against the loose strands of my hair, and sends tingles right down my spine. “I almost tore my fucking door off the wall when he kissed you.”
“You have no claim,” I pant. I pant! “You’re my mechanic, and I’m not interested in dating my neighbor.”
“So, casual fucking, then?”
Yes! “No. And you’re still crude.”
“Will you trust me for a minute?” he whispers. “Come into my apartment for just a minute? I promise not to hurt you, nor will I drag you to the floor and have my way with you. I just wanna show you something.”
“That’s what you said last time.” Was that only last night? “You just wanted to show me something.”
“And it worked out, didn’t it? We watched a movie, ate pizza, and you went home to your bed just fine.”
“I had nightmares,” I whimper. “Really bad nightmares, because you forced me out of my comfort zone and screwed with my subconscious.”
“I’m sorry for that.” He presses another kiss to my lips. Another. Another. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just wanna spend time with you.”
“I told you about my sister.”
He swallows. “Yes, you did. And I told you about mine. Not even Mac knows that story.”
Pulling back, I frown. “Really?”
“Ang knows, and Scotch knows, since they were involved with my foster case. They know my family died, but that’s because they saw the reports.” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “No one knows about the fuckwit prom date. No one knows about my mom and dad whispering to each other. No one knows that I walked all the way here to work through my trauma. They only know what’s in the reports.”
“You told me your secrets?” My heart slams in fast, heady patterns. “You told me your deepest secrets?”
He grins. “Guess so. Come on.” He takes my hand and slowly pulls me away from my door. “Galileo, come.”
He turns, and waves to the cameras I never told him existed. They’re tiny, hidden, and still, he waves a peace symbol at the camera. “Stand down, soldiers. I won’t hurt her.”
“Tucker…”
He snorts. “You’re under Bishop protection, which means there are cameras all over this building. I don’t have to see them to believe.” Then he snickers. “Like Santa.”
“What’s in your apartment?” I could just wait a second and see for myself, but surprises scare me, and the hand wrapped around mine steals my control. “Tucker?”
“Hush.”
He leads me through his door and takes my purse as we pass through his kitchen. He tosses it on the counter, and flicks another stick of jerky to Galileo. Then he leads me to the living room, and waves a hand at a blanket fort.
Dining chairs are lined up two by two in front of the couch, and over them lays a heavy blanket. My breath catches as he pulls me down to the ‘doorway,’ and he grins as my eyes go to the interior.
Blankets, pillows, bags of chips, a bowl of M&Ms, a bottle of white wine. Christmas lights flicker, and the other end of the fort opens to the TV. It’s like a mini cinema, and the screen shows Message in a Bottle paused at the opening credits.
“Tucker…”
With gentle hands, he pushes me to my butt, then he works on the straps of my heels. With quick, competent movements, he undoes one shoe, and slides it off. Then the second, and grins as he not so sneakily slides a hand over my calf while he works.
“These are sexy, by the way. I was thinking about them after you left.” He places the second heel with its mate, then extends a hand toward the fort. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable. The show is set to start ninety fuckin’ minutes ago when you should have been back from your date.”
Snickering, I crawl into the space with my heart in my throat and my pulse dancing.
I’m hardly dressed to be crawling around on the floor, but I do it anyway. Then I lay on the soft blankets and rest my head on a pillow, on Tucker’s pillow, and sigh when he crawls in behind me.
“I underestimated you,” I admit.
He pulls the fort ‘door’ closed to lock us in the cinema, and scoffs as he opens the bottle of wine. “Women often do. Damn grease monkey. Probably still drags his knuckles on the ground while he walks.” He sets the bottle cap on my thigh with a playful grin, and begins pouring a glass. “I’ve evolved beyond the ape, ya know? I have finesse. I can be refined and shit. Here.” He offers me the first serving. “Enjoy.”
“Oh… um…” I accept the glass and study the stem.
He watches me with a gentle frown. “Something wrong? You don’t like white?”
I shake my head. “I… uh… I’ve never had wine before.”
“Oh, try it. It’s sweet, you’ll like it.” He pours a second glass and recaps the bottle. “But if you prefer beer, I can get you one from the fridge. I was just trying to be snobby like you.” He smiles.
“Uh… no. I don’t know… um… I haven’t had alcohol before..” I scrunch my nose. “Not my thing.”
“Never?”
I sniff the wine, then shake my head. “Never. My life got kind of messy right around the time I would have been venturing toward alcohol.”
“You live alone, you’re twenty… what, five?”
“Twenty-seven.”
He nods. “You’re plenty old enough. You’re telling me you’ve never sat in your apartment after a long-ass day, and had a drink?”
I shake my head. “Alcohol slows reflexes. It confuses people. It makes things dizzy and unclear.”
“You don’t like the loss of control,” he guesses. “You refuse to allow yourself to not be on guard.”
I swallow. “Right.”
“Have that one glass.” He looks to my hand, and nods as though to encourage me. “It’s only one glass, it won’t get you messy. And I won’t let anyone near you until you feel a hundred percent perfect and sharp again. You have my word.”
“But… you’re near me,” I rasp. “You’re the one I should fear while drinking.”
“No,” he declares in a firm tone. “You need never fear me. Ever. I’m not going to hurt you, Nora. I’m not going to take advantage. I’m not going to make you regret trusting me. But,” he sighs and takes the glass, “if you’d rather not, that’s okay too.” He sets the glass on the floor, and brings back the bowl of candy instead. “Eat. Get hyped on sugar, and watch this movie with me.”
“Give me the drink.” Swallowing my nerves, I reach over him and take it for myself, then settle back on my side of the fort – though ‘my side’ and ‘his side’ is largely up for debate, considering the way our legs twine to
gether, and his hand goes to my hip. “One glass,” I murmur. “Because we’re in a pillow fort, and you have a Nicholas Sparks movie on the TV.”
“Do you know how it ends?” he questions quietly. “Do you want spoilers?”
“Shush. No spoilers. And yes, I know how it ends. Why you’d choose this movie is beyond me, but I guess you’re gonna see me cry tonight.”
Laughing, he settles back so he reclines against the couch, then he pulls me down so my cheek rests on his chest, and my leg comes over his thigh.
Goddammit.
“I’ve never done this before,” I say quietly.
“No?” He sips his wine and breathes into my hair. “Built a pillow fort?”
I snicker. “Well, that either. I haven’t laid with a man and watched a movie. I haven’t laid with a man and hugged, at all. The dates I go on are very… two-dimensional, ya know? It’s like a job interview; are we compatible, do we get along, are we kind to each other?”
“I’m not kind to you,” he chuckles. “We don’t get along, I like annoying you, and I’m pretty sure we’re water and oil.”
“I know,” I sigh. I push up to sip my wine – fruity, sweet, and cold as ice – then I lay back on his chest and snuggle in. “Either I’ve been interviewing for all the wrong qualities, or you and I are going to explode.”
“But not all explosions are bad,” he counters. “Not all fires have to be devastating.”
“I’m not gonna have sex with you tonight.”
He snorts. “Good, I didn’t want to anyway.”
I push up with a hand on his chest and study his eyes. “Liar. You’re just scared you won’t last more than a minute.”
“I’m a little insecure,” he quips. “But I think it’ll be okay.” Pushing up, he presses a breathy kiss to my lips and swallows my sigh. “Lay back down and enjoy this movie. Afterwards, you can go home an unspoiled woman, and tomorrow, I can steal your newspaper to get you to talk to me again.”
“You’re not as slick as you think you are.” I settle back down and wrap my arm over his bare chest.
I have no clue how we’ve ended up here. From hatred, arguing, meanness, to a therapist’s office, to a wrecking yard, lunch, a date with a different man, and now here.
“I’m feeling vulnerable,” I admit in a shaky voice. “And vulnerability scares me.”
“You’re vulnerable because you can’t control everything.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “You’re gonna have to trust that, although I’m not controllable, I won’t do anything that will hurt you. If all I get out of this is to be friends with you, then that’s fine. At least I can smile knowing you have another one you can trust. If I get to take you to bed, then awesome. I’ll try my best to blow your mind in three minutes or less.”
I burst out in laughter and wrap my leg in his. “So crude.”
“You look so beautiful tonight. I waited all afternoon for you to come out of your apartment in a dress.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Rest now. Watch this chick movie with me, and sigh at all the sappy bits.”
“You’re a romantic, you know that? You pretend to be ridiculous, but you’re romantic as hell.”
“Probably because my mom and daddy were unashamedly in love.”
He sets his wine down, takes mine and sets it beside his. Then he wraps both arms around my shoulders, and hugs me so tight that I wonder how I could ever have been afraid in the past.
Chuck
Careful Now
Sunlight streams through my open windows and creates a fire-like light through the blanket covering our fort. Galileo snuck his way in somewhere around two, and though he takes up half the space, I can’t find it in my heart to get mad, especially since he forced Nora closer to me.
She was supposed to go home. She was supposed to go back to her safe space. Instead, she fell asleep in my arms, snored a little bit, making my heart skip, and when I rolled away to go take a piss, she whined in her sleep until I came back.
Sometimes dogs have dreams, like they’re thinking of running through a field of flowers, and their legs twitch in response.
Well, Nora does the same, but her dreams are dark and mean. Her frown mars her face, her lips flatten and turn down, her hands flex and grope, and her breath comes out on fretful whimpers.
I considered waking her up. I considered sending her home, because maybe sleeping somewhere strange is what was subconsciously upsetting her. But I’m only a man. A weak man with wants, desires, feelings. So I crawled back into our make-shift bed, I pulled her against my chest, and suddenly… her whimpers eased. Her brow flattened, and her lips curled up again until her cries turned to gentle snores.
Fuck what’s right. And fuck what she tells herself about not getting close to a man. I made her feel safe in her nightmare. I made her comfortable, even in an uncomfortable situation.
Galileo still snores by our feet, and Nora’s soft breaths fan over the line of dribble she’s left on my chest. It should be kind of gross, especially for the guy who has never had a sleepover with a woman before. I’m the eternal bachelor, the player my friends wouldn’t trust around their sisters. But here I am, and mostly, I find Nora’s dribble adorable, her snoring fodder for teasing later when she wakes and cloaks herself in her snobby armor.
She will, I’m certain of it. Because she’ll feel vulnerable. She’ll be horrified that she stayed, and to combat that loss of control, she’ll take it out on me.
Game on.
It’s Sunday morning. I’ve missed an entire weekend of racing; ten thousand dollars at least, forfeited. I have nowhere to be today, and I have a woman sleeping on my chest.
Not only did I not have sex with her, but I’m not freaking out about how to send her home without hurt feelings.
I never intentionally break hearts. But many women have left with pouty lips and their shoes in their hands, because they want more, and I’m unwilling to give them roses and promises when I don’t mean it. I might not have a sister or a mother anymore, but I remember them, I remember how I would feel if either of them were led on by a man who didn’t actually care about them. So I spend time with women, mutually pleasurable time, but I don’t bullshit my way into their pants. I don’t give them lies about forevers.
Here I am anyway, not sleeping with a woman, but willing to run out to buy flowers if I could know for sure that it would make her smile.
I let time wander as I lay in our little cocoon. The blankets beneath us long ago stopped feeling like clouds, and instead like concrete. My feet are so dead beneath Galileo’s weight, I worry I won’t ever walk again. My bladder feels like it might burst, and the Christmas lights had me worrying all night that we might die in a fire before the sun came up. But I lay here anyway, I hold Nora close and let her sleep, because I doubt she gets as much as she’d have people believe. I smell her hair, and smile as she wraps her arm over my chest and under my opposite arm. She doesn’t only want to drape herself over me, she wants the hug that comes with it.
Her phone has vibrated against my kitchen counter every five minutes for the last hour, which means SWAT is coming soon. But still, I don’t hurry her out of her sleep. It’s Sunday, and the Bishops can sit the fuck down and wait.
Reaching out for my phone as it lay somewhere in the covers and snacks, I bring it up so I can see the screen, and do my best not to jostle Nora awake. I shake my head at the missed calls, grin at the deluge of texts, then I open my messenger app and join the group chat between a half a dozen men.
Kane: We saw her go into your apartment, motherfucker!
Jay: You’re alive because Angelo vouches, but you’re close to death, asshole.
Spence: I’m on site. Ready to go in.
Riley: Hold the line. It’s still early.
Sophia: They’re fine. I see them.
My eyes flare wide as I hurriedly type: You see us?
Kane: There you are! You’re dead, motherfucker. Do you know how it feels to die? Because I’m about to show you.
/>
Me: You see us???
Jay: I don’t see shit! Where is she?
Sophia: I see them. They slept on the living room floor all night.
Me: Woman! You see us? You have cameras inside my apartment?
Sophia: I have no clue what you’re talking about.
Kane: Show us she’s safe!
Jay: If her cheeks are splotchy like you made her cry, you’re about to become the hunted.
Rolling my eyes, I bring the phone back just a little, flip to the camera, and take a snap of her closed eyes. I don’t show her entire body. I don’t even show her entire face. Just her cheeks, her fluttering lashes, her pouty, sleepy smile. I hit send, and add: She’s fine. She’s sleeping. Call off the coast guard.
Jay: Oh look, Kane! She’s sleeping.
Me: That’s what I just said!
Jay: She’s so cute when she’s sleeping.
Me: She’s not a puppy, ya know?
Kane: She looks… rested.
Me: That’s because she fell asleep before ten, and has been out since. Going on nine hours. So you fuckers need to back off before you wake her.
Me: She’s mine now. Dibs. So you can back the fuck up.
Jay: She will never not be ours. We forged a bond in the fire. You will always get leftovers.
Kane: What do you know?
I probably shouldn’t speak about her behind her back. I shouldn’t be speaking to these guys at all, but still, my heart races just thinking about the story she told me yesterday.
Me: I know that you’re her fears and her hero in one. I know that she was inside Infernos club, and her sister died.
Jay: We couldn’t stop it.
He pauses for a long minute. The dots show up, to say he’s typing, but then they stop. They start, then stop. Finally, his name pops up again.
Jay: We couldn’t stop it, and she’s had to live with that ever since.
Angelo: Why is there a picture of Nora sleeping… and why is she sleeping under Chuck’s blankets?
Kane: Our girl had a sleepover. I feel like I should be mad, like big-brother Hulk-smash mad, but check that photo again. She’s sleeping… and she’s happy.
