Zip, Zero, Zilch

by Tammy Falkner

  “Twenty-seven?”

  We’re all startled. Pete usually brings us juveniles he wants us to big-brother. Not adults.

  “He’ll do anything,” Pete rushes to say. “He just needs a chance. And he’s an amazing artist.”

  “So have him bring some art samples in,” Paul says.

  “He’s out in my car, and he has samples with him. Sort of.”

  Paul’s eyes narrow. “So bring him in.”

  We all go back out to the main area and Pete walks outside. Then the door jingles a few minutes later when he comes back in. I’ve seen Pete with some shady-looking characters, but I’ve never seen anyone like this guy. He has a tattoo on the side of his face. It’s a cluster of teardrops. In our neighborhood, tattoos like that are usually gang-related and it means he’s killed someone. He has more than one teardrop.

  But what’s even more surprising is that he’s on wheels.

  Paul walks up to him and sticks out his hand. “Paul Reed,” he says. He introduces us all.

  “Nice to meet you,” the man says. “My name is Joshua. Friends just call me Josh.” He shakes hands with each of us.

  “Pete said you had some art samples,” Paul says.

  “Oh yeah,” he says quickly, and he reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head the way guys do.

  The guy is covered in ink. But when you look closely, you can tell it wasn’t done by traditional machines. It’s prison ink. But it’s fucking beautiful.

  “Nice,” I say. I look at my brothers. I shrug. I’m impressed. I can’t help it.

  He pulls his shirt back on. “I lost the use of my legs, and with my felony record, it’s not easy to find a job. Pete said you might need some help.”

  “I can’t put you doing tats,” Paul says.

  “Oh, I understand,” Joshua rushes to say. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Give us a minute to talk it over,” Paul says, and we all follow him back to the office.

  “He just needs a chance,” Pete says.

  “Will anyone be coming for him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Paul nods. “Show of hands? Yes?”

  None of us raise a hand.

  “He needs to be somewhere that no one will see the chair,” Pete says. “He needs to learn it doesn’t define him.”

  “Is he always nice?” Matt asks.

  “No,” Pete says. “Sometimes he’s normal.” He laughs. “Just give him a chance. If you want, you can set it up so that he’s only here when I’m here.”

  “You’re in charge of him,” Paul says.

  “Okay.” Pete takes a breath. “So you’ll give him a shot?”

  “Only when you’re here,” Paul says. “Where’s he living?”

  “Transitional housing.”

  I snort. I figured he would have been staying with Pete.

  “I couldn’t take Josh home to Reagan. She’d beat the shit out of him if he flinches. He’s not like the kids I take home. He’s a man. A man who needs a second chance.” Pete looks hopeful.

  Paul blows out a breath and walks back out to the front of the shop. “Josh, get with Pete about a schedule. If you want to stay today, you can start by sweeping, taking the trash out, and you can clean out the fridge.”

  Josh looks wary, instead of joyful like I would have expected. “Yes, sir,” he says.

  “Don’t call me sir,” Paul says. “Just Paul will do.”

  “Where can I find cleaning supplies?” Josh asks.

  Pete walks him back to the supply closet, chattering like he’s a tour director.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” I ask Paul.

  “No.” He slams the cabinet door where he’s pulled out a bottle of ink.

  “You can put him on when I’m here, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  Paul is being short, which means he’s thinking.

  “You going to get Friday to find out his story?” Friday can pull information from just about anybody.

  Just then, the door jingles and Friday walks into the room. “What’s wrong?” she asks. She’s dressed in her retro gear with bright red lipstick and heels.

  “We just hired one of Pete’s foundlings to tidy up the place,” I tell her.

  She presses up onto her tiptoes so she can see him better and whistles. “Oh, he’s handsome.” Then she notices the wheelchair. “What’s his story?”

  “We don’t know,” Paul says. “And you are not to get involved.”

  She snorts. “Yeah, right.” But she’s already walking toward Josh.

  I know why Pete brought him here. It’s because we don’t see disabilities. We never have. Living with a brother who’s deaf has taught us all to look beneath the surface. The wheelchair this guy is in doesn’t bother me at all, although I’d love to know what happened. But not nearly as much as I want to know why he got that tattoo on his cheek.

  “I’m going to spank her ass when I get her home,” Paul mutters.

  “Dude,” I say, pretending to gag, “I do not need that much information.”

  Some military men come in and they’re waiting in the lobby area. “I’ll take one of them,” I say.

  Paul nods, and he goes back to stand beside Friday. He puts his hands all over her, almost like he’s peeing a virtual circle around her. Finally, she takes his hand and drags him into his office, shutting the door behind them.

  Matt goes and bangs on the door. “No getting lucky in the office!” he calls out. He bangs again and again until the door opens and Friday comes out. She’s fixing her makeup because Paul has apparently kissed it all off. Paul is wiping his smile as he comes out behind her. “You could have given us a minute,” I hear him say to Matt.

  “That’s just gross, Paul,” Matt scolds.

  “As gross as it was when you did it with Sky last week?” Paul chuckles. He points to the cameras. “They catch everything, man.” He claps Matt on the shoulder.

  I want what my brothers have. I’m dying for it. I just wonder if I’ve found it in Peck. I think so.

  I set up my station and start doing tats. It’s getting late when I realize that Peck might be at home. At my house. Waiting for me.

  I try not to rush my last tat, but it’s fucking hard. I still need to run by the store to get ingredients for dinner. But it’s all worth it, because I get to see Peck at the end of the day.

  Peck

  It’s late when I get back to Sam’s. It’s almost midnight, and I’m worried that I’ll wake him up. I turn the key and tiptoe into the room. I’m startled when I see that Sam is asleep on the couch. He lifts his head when he hears me moving around.

  “Peck?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering. It just seems like the thing to do. “Why are you s-still up? It’s l-late.”

  “I was worried about you.” He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. Then he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubs.

  “I’m s-sorry I w-woke you.”

  “What took so long?”

  I shrug. “It’s always a long d-day when we’re recording.”

  He gets up and I see that he’s walking. He shuffles over to me and pulls me against his chest, then kisses my forehead. I wrap my arms around his waist, because this feels so right. I take a deep breath as he drags his fingertips up and down my back.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” he says.

  “I’m sorry. I should I have c-called.”

  “Have you eaten?” He sets me back a little from him and I miss the heat of him immediately.

  “We ordered a pizza around five. Why? Did you cook?”

  He takes a plate out of the oven and uncovers it. Now I feel bad. He went to a lot of trouble to cook for me.

  He sets the plate on the table and gets me a bottle of water. He holds a chair out. “Sit. I’ll keep you company.”

  “Have you eaten?” I ask him. “We can share.”

  He props his chin in his hand. “How was
recording?”

  I groan. “Grueling. We spent hours recording and re-recording.” I point to his foot. “You got your walking boot.”

  He smiles. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice not being on crutches.”

  “How was your meeting this morning?”

  He tells me all about what happened, and I’m so glad for him that it wasn’t worse.

  I look down and see that my plate is almost empty. Crap. I wish I could keep from scarfing down food in front of him, but it’s just so good.

  “You like the chicken?” he asks.

  “It was like having sex.”

  He jerks. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Awesome. Breathtaking. Surprising. Comforting.” I grin as he shifts in the chair.

  “You’re comparing my food to sex?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  “Cupcake, I can guarantee you sex with me will be a lot better than some chicken dinner.”

  I lay my fork down. I might as well. My plate is empty. “Prove it,” I say.

  Silence falls over the room like a heavy blanket. “If I thought you were ready for what I want, I would.”

  He gets up and washes my plate. “How do you know what I’m ready for?” I walk up behind him and pull his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants. I slide my hands around his naked stomach, and lay the side of my face on his shoulder. He goes stiff in my arms.

  “I’ll give you ten minutes to knock that shit off,” he says. He chuckles, and I can feel his belly moving under my fingers. I dip my fingers into his waistband and his hand comes up to cover mine. “You ready to go to bed?” he asks, turning his head to kiss me over his shoulder.

  “I need a shower. The sound guy was smoking and I’m afraid I have it in my hair.”

  He lifts a lock up to his nose and grimaces. “You do.”

  “Ugh,” I grunt.

  “Use my bathroom,” he says.

  The bathroom where he was masturbating to thoughts of me this morning? “Okay.”

  I grab my things and go into his bathroom. I shower really quickly and brush my teeth.

  When I go back into the room, Sam has taken his contacts out and he’s wearing glasses in bed, reading a book. “I didn’t know you wear glasses,” I tell him. I saw him wearing them last night for the first time, but I never would have known otherwise.

  “I don’t.” He takes them off and sets them to the side.

  “You do,” I tease.

  His gaze takes a lingering path up and down my body. I’m wearing a long T-shirt that goes down to my knees and I’m not wearing a bra. His perusal shoots straight to my center.

  “I feel bad that you stayed up waiting for me,” I tell him. He grabs me and pulls me onto his chest, and I lay my face on the light dusting of hair that graces his body.

  “I like waiting for you,” he tells me. He lifts his head and kisses my forehead. He reaches over and turns out the light. I can feel him all around me, but I can’t see him. “So I was wondering…”

  “Ask. Just ask.” But I stiffen because I’m not sure I’m going to like whatever he’s going to ask me about.

  “This thing we’re doing. What would you call it?”

  I lift my head. “You mean sex?”

  He grumbles. “No, this is not sex. If you think this is sex, your previous partners were really bad at it.” He laughs, his chest shaking beneath me. “No, this…relationship.” He jostles me in his arms. “This is a relationship, right?”

  “I guess so,” I say quietly.

  “You guess?”

  “I mean, yeah, I think it’s a relationship.” I draw a circle on his chest. “Do you want it to be a relationship?” I hold my breath.

  “Hell yeah, I want it to be a relationship.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if it was sex, too,” I whisper. I kiss the center of his chest, and his belly clenches under my hand.

  “Would you be mad if I said I’m not ready for sex yet?” He strokes a hand down the length of my hair.

  I scramble away from him, but he wraps me up tightly in his strong arms.

  “Don’t go,” he says. “I don’t think you took that the way I meant it.”

  “How did you mean it?”

  “I mean that I really, really like you and I want to see where this thing is going.”

  “Okay…”

  “And I know that once I get to be inside you, I’m never going to want to let you go, so I want to be sure this is permanent.”

  “Permanent.” God, I probably sound like a parrot.

  “Permanent.”

  “So…no sex.”

  “You okay with that?”

  “Well, I was kind of hoping to try out that piercing.”

  He growls and pulls my earlobe into his mouth to bite it gently. He rolls me onto my back and covers me. His lips touch mine, and his tongue slides into my mouth. When he lifts his head, I’ve lost all my wits. I can’t put two thoughts together.

  “You can try out my piercing after you fall in love with me, okay?”

  “What?”

  “I kind of need for you to love me, Peck.” He’s quiet but fierce. “You’re not in love with me yet, are you?”

  “Um…” I don’t know how to answer him.

  “It’s okay. Don’t rush it. I can wait.”

  I can feel his dick pressing against my thigh, and I reach out to touch it. He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. His breath is hot against my fingers, and his lips tickle.

  “But this morning—” I protest.

  “This morning was me being greedy. I’m sorry about that.”

  But I came! And he didn’t. There’s no greed in that. “Huh,” I grunt. “I was the only one who got off. I can’t figure how you were being greedy.”

  He chuckles. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you, do you? To smell you and feel you and touch you? To feel you come apart all around my fingers?”

  “Jesus,” I whisper.

  “It’s all I thought about all day.” He chuckles. “I’m going to have to go and take a cold shower if we keep this up.”

  “I could…” I reach for him again, but he pulls his hips back.

  “No. Not yet.” He rolls me so that I’m facing away from him, and pulls me into the spoon of his hips. His dick is pressing hard against my bottom. “He’ll give up in a minute. Go to sleep.”

  His hand slips beneath my shirt and lifts to cup my breast. Thank God! But his hand doesn’t keep moving. It stops. I lie there, rigid, waiting for him to make a move. But he goes soft behind me and his breaths fall long and even by my ear, and I realize he’s asleep.

  He falls asleep cupping my breast, holding me like I’m something precious. I just wish I was.

  Sam

  She has been here for eleven nights. Eleven nights of holding her while she sleeps. Eleven mornings of waking up with her wrapped around me. Eleven showers where I jack off to thoughts of her, because I’m so fucking horny that I can’t even walk. I’m going nuts.

  She goes to work every day and so do I. I work out every morning with weights with my trainer, trying to stay in shape so that when it’s time to go back to playing, I won’t die of exhaustion when I run onto the field. I think the workouts are the only things that keep me from losing my mind. Well, that and masturbation.

  She smells so fucking good.

  I wrap my arms around her at night, with her bottom nestled in my crotch, and my dick reaching toward her. She wiggles her plump little ass against me and I have to bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper so that I won’t sink inside her. I want to be inside her. More than anything. More than I want to eat. More than I want to cook. More than I want to breathe.

  Speaking of breathing…she smells like sunshine and heat. And I get hard again thinking about her.

  She’s in the shower, and she’s been there for a while.

  I hear her call to me. Good God, if she calls me in there with her right now, I’ll have no choice but to take back my vow to not
sleep with her until she falls in love with me.

  “Sam,” I hear from behind me.

  I was pretending to watch a cooking show, but I was really just thinking about her being naked and pretending that my hands were water sliding all over her body. I jam a pillow into my lap.

  “Sam,” she says again.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to get something out of my purse. Can you close your eyes?”

  “Why?” I turn to look. She’s peeping out from my room, wearing nothing but a towel. I can see the freckled skin of her shoulders, and she has the end of the towel shoved down between her breasts, making plump pillows that billow over the top. God, she’s going to kill me. Death by desire? Is that possible? I adjust my junk.

  “Sam, I need my phone. Can you close your eyes? Please?” Her voice is quiet. I look at her again and her cheeks are all rosy.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” She waits a beat. “Can you close your eyes?”

  “Fine,” I bite out.

  “Don’t look.”

  “Okay.” I heave a sigh. I can hear her naked feet slap against the hardwood floor. Then her footsteps get faster and I imagine she’s grabbed her phone and darted back to my bedroom. I look back and see her streak around the corner. The end of the towel barely covers her ass. And what a fine ass it is. It’s plump and round and perfect and oh my God those thighs. I want to chase behind her, and I get up to do just that. But she closes my bedroom door with a soft snick.

  What the fuck?

  I press my ear to the door, and I hear her murmuring something. Is she on her phone? I knock lightly on the door. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing?” I turn the knob, but the door is locked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then why is the door locked?”

  “Um… Because I wanted to keep you out?” Her voice is soft and it’s right by the door.

  I test the lock again. “But it’s my room.” And you’re naked inside. Or almost naked. Hell, you’re just in it. I don’t give a fuck what you’re wearing. You could have on a suit of armor and I’d still want to be in there with you. That would sound stupid if I said it out loud. So I’m glad I only said it in my head.