“Want to tell me what happened?”
“It was stupid of me. I got sweet-talked into a date by the boss’s nephew at my old job, and it wasn’t bad. It went on for a few weeks before it was clear he and I were not that compatible. When I ended things, there wasn’t any obvious retaliation from my boss for breaking up with his precious nephew. He started to get extremely finicky, though. I was a delivery driver for his small, gluten-free food company to get his products to grocery stores and farmer’s markets. He started nitpicking things he never used to, like all of the sudden having a very specific way he wanted my delivery reports filled out and a new, super particular method for stocking the truck. Finally he called me in and said my performance was not up to standards, showed the documentation of things he had issues with, and I was let go. They were things he never cared about before, and I corrected them as soon as he brought it up, but it was obvious why I really got fired. There were whispers about me too, that I was only dating Scott to stay in his uncle’s good graces and move up. It was a good paying, solid job that I really liked, with a boss who treated me well until I broke up with his nephew. It sucked how it all went down. I don’t want it to happen again. I’ve always loved the freedom of driving, I went and got my class B license and everything. I need this job.”
His jaw is grinding, fists balled like he wants to fight both my former boss and his nephew, before I see him take a breath to release the tension.
“I hate that you went through that, men who abuse their power are the absolute worst. You know it wouldn’t be the same in our situation, right? There’s no power imbalance, I’m not the boss’s nephew and we are on thesame level. I would never in a million years hurt you, Tania. At least not on purpose or for revenge. Until you trust me, I know they’re just words, but I mean them.” His hand comes to my cheek, and once again I find my eyes fluttering shut, nuzzling into his palm on instinct. It feels so nice to simply be touched by him. His palm is warm and slightly calloused, the roughness waking up all of my nerve endings.
“I know you’re right. It’s not the same situation. Maybe I just need some time to build that trust, ok? We’ll keep getting to know each other and spend time together,” I murmur. I open my eyes and lift my gaze to his, and his face is alight with the most dazzling, happy smile. My heart is testing the limits of my ribs as it beats a furious rhythm.
“I can be patient, sweetheart. You’re more than worth it.” Then his grin goes back into his standard, teasing, lopsided smirk. “I’ll go put a shirt on, I forgot after my shower. Sorry if it’s inappropriate, but I’m also not that sorry based on how it made you look at me.”
I lift my chin in challenge. “How was I looking at you?” That makes his grin go completely shit eating. He leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. Every sense of mine goes haywire with his proximity. I can smell the heady spice of his body wash and shampoo, feel the heat of him permeating my every pore. When his husky voice flows into my ear like sweet honey, I have to bite back a moan.
“Like a starved woman looking at a feast. I love knowing you’re just as affected by me as I am by you. I’ve wanted you for over a damn year, Tania, so it’s on now that I know you feel the same. I’m just as starving as you. Since you seem to like my nipple piercing so much, you might like that I have another part pierced, too,” he whispers, his voice turning to pure gravel at the end, the warmth of his breath and lips across my ear making me shudder. As hewalks away, he looks at me over his shoulder. “Turn the movie off and put on whatever you want, ok?” He just tosses that out so casually, like he didn’t inform me he has a pierced dick in his previous sentence.
With that, he leaves me practically panting as he goes into his room.
Chapter 8
CARLO
A muffled sob wakes me in the middle of the night through the thin walls. It almost makes me shoot out of bed, but I’m held in place by something warm and furry. Morticia is on my legs. I can tell it’s her because she has more white to her markings. Gomez also has a white muzzle with a slash of black in the middle on each side to make it look like he actually has the Gomez mustache, which is part of how he got his name according to Tania. Tish grumbles as I carefully pick her up off me and place her next to me on the bed so I can get up. Throwing on shorts over my boxer briefs, I pad out of the room and stop in front of Tania’s door. Whimpers are coming from her room, and they don’t sound like whimpers of pleasure. At least not hers. Those very different whimpers came through the wall two nights ago after she openly gawked at me and confessed that she liked me. I hadn’t played quite fair maybe, but knowing there is hope with her means all bets are off. I am determined to win her trust and get to a place where we can date.
I heard her that night, as quiet as she tried to be about it. It also wasn’t a huge secret since she kicked the cats out and fully shut her door for once. I’m sure she heard my groans during my second shower of the evening after I walked away from her. Surprisingly, things haven’t been awkward at all since then. We came to an understanding on where we stood with each other, both got the tension out of our systems as best we could, and it was freeing instead of making things weird. We were almost playful in the morning, more at ease without the things we’d left unsaid and tension between us. That night, she made the most incredible garlic shrimp with flavorful rice for dinner that she said was a specialty of both her grandma and her parents. We had the best time sitting and eating together while talking about our days. She claims she’s not a great cook, but I would happily eat that dish at least twice a week for the rest of my life. Tonight she was back at the tattoo shop, so she didn’t get in until slightly late. It made me realize how much I miss her when she’s not around now.
I nudge the slightly ajar door more open, and can make out her shadow in the sliver of moonlight creeping in from the crack in the drawn curtains. As my eyes adjust, I can see more clearly that she’s sleeping, but thrashing a little as she cries. It takes me a moment in my sleepy haze to realize she’s having a nightmare. She says, “mom,” in such a broken, aching whisper that I feel my heart crack. Gomez is above her head on her pillow, trying to catch her hair as she moves around. The blankets are a mess around her legs, and she’s in a little sleep set that has me making a superhuman effort to keep my eyes on her face instead of the miles of luminous skin in front of me. I go to the side of her bed and perch there, smoothing her hair in an effort to soothe her as Gomez comes over to headbutt me. Hesteps on her chest as he does, and I see her wake up. A few tears run down her cheeks, and she’s breathing hard. I continue to stroke her hair while she gets her bearings. Her beautiful eyes blink rapidly as they bring me into focus, and then she averts them to pick at a thread in the covers.
“I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” Her voice is throttled and tight
“I’m a very light sleeper, don’t worry about it.” While my one hand stays on her hair, my other comes to her face, wiping the tears from her eyes with my thumb. A sheen of sweat dots her forehead and cheeks as she untangles herself from her blankets to sit up. My hands fall away, not knowing whether she wants me to keep touching her. Every instinct in me hates not holding her right now. She grimaces like she’s embarrassed.
“Thanks for checking on me. I’ll be ok, I just have nightmares sometimes. I’m really sorry again for waking you up.”
“It might help to talk about it. I’m happy to listen.”
“You really don’t want to hear about my nightmares. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Go back to bed, you need sleep,” she insists.
“Not going to be able to sleep if you don’t tell me what your nightmare was about. We said we’re going to open up to each other and get to know one another, right?” She searches my face as if she’s assessing whether I genuinely want to hear about whatever this pain in her is, but then huffs out a breath that I interpret as agreement.
“We did say that, I just didn’t think we’d be diving into the deep end like this tonight.” She seems to gather herself before she begins. “I have nightmares about my parents sometimes. They died in a car crash when I was 5. We were hit by a drunk driver on our way home from a friend’s pool party.” I feel the blood drain from my face.
“You were in the car when it happened?”
“We all had our seatbelts on, being in the backseat booster helped save me I guess. I had a nasty gash on my forehead, a broken arm, and plenty of bruising. My dad died on the scene since he took the brunt of the impact. My mom passed from her injuries a couple of days later.” Tears are in her eyes again, she’s trembling, and her voice is small. I can’t help it anymore, I move closer and wrap my arms around her.
“My nightmare tonight was my grandma telling me my mom had passed and that I’d be coming to live with her. Everything that happened and changed that week was a lot for a 5 year old, so it’s always stayed with me. There’s a big side of survivor’s guilt, too.” She shudders as I hold her tighter, and she buries her head into my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Tania. It’s a weak excuse of a response for what you’ve been through, but stronger words are failing me right now,” I murmur into her hair. A shuddering breath wracks her as she goes on, the words now coming out of her like she can’t stop them.
“I shouldn’t have gone to the party, I begged them to go. I was whining when the accident happened. I had chocolate cake at the party but I wanted ice cream. We passed our usual place on our way home and I whined that I wanted it. That was the last thing I said to my parents, Carlo. The last thing they heard from me. I keep playing it over and over, there’s no forgetting how selfish I was. Maybe if I wasn’t whining my dad would have seen the other car sooner. I’ll never be able to make that right.” She’s really trying to fight the tears but her chest is heaving and her voice is so shattered that I’m shattering right with her. I raise her chin to look at her right in her eyes.
“Tania, you were 5. That’s what 5 year olds do, they go to birthday parties and beg for ice cream. Nothing aboutwhat happened was your fault, you hear me?” Her eyes bore into mine, and as we stare at each other, her breathing eases. She slumps a little and nods.
“Rationally I know that. These nightmares make me keep thinking that I did something to cause it. All of my survivor’s guilt is manifested in them and they’re inescapable.” She shudders and snuggles more against me.
I pause, trying to figure out how to phrase my next question delicately.
“Have you ever talked to anyone about how you feel? Like therapy or anything?” She nods against my chest.
