Page 64 of Taking Turns

“Did you ever just want love, Chella?”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Did you ever just want a guy to love you for you, Chella? And not your body? Did you ever want him to just hold you, and kiss you, give you all the attention you crave, with zero expectations?”

I let out a small laugh. “Those guys don’t exist.”

“I’m that guy,” he says. “As Number Three, I’m that guy.” His hand finds its way under my dress and he softly caresses my leg. His other hand is on my breast, squeezing lightly. “I will kiss you, and touch you, and talk to you. And at the end of the night I have no expectations for sex. Didn’t you ever want a guy to give you all those things and not want something in return?”

God. That’s the dream right there. Unconditional love.

“If you stay and say no to the ménage, that’s what you’ll have with me. I will shower you with gifts, and affection, and attention. I will buy you anything you want. I will take you places and give you new friends. A new life. I’ll make your dream come true, Chella. Whatever that dream might be. And I’ll still be able to lick your pussy,” he says, kissing my mouth again. “And you can still suck my cock if you want. You don’t have to go to bed filled with longing. There are so many ways to make our time fun without fucking.”

“But I can’t ever have more, can I?”

“You can with Quin,” he says. “He can give you what I can’t. And more. He can be your boyfriend, if you want. Two days out of the week you can have the closest thing to perfect. He’s got no real rules other than to know you. Intimately. And Smith, just forget about him. Almost everyone does. He doesn’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want. Just cut him out. Tell me no and it’s done. He’ll never be anything more than somebody in the shadows. You can have everything you need in a relationship, Chella. And you can have it right now, for as long as you want.”

“But I only get it one piece at a time, is that it?”

Bric gives me a sad smile. “You don’t have to think of it that way. Did it ever occur to you that there’s no such thing as the perfect man? Woman? Relationship? That it’s an illusion? People go looking for it like it’s a thing. It’s not, Chella. Love is not a thing, it’s a state of being. And it’s so unrealistic to expect one person to be love.”

“Is this why you guys do this? Because you know you’ll never find the perfect woman?”

My question makes him chuckle softly. “We do it because we’re men. And we want things we can’t have. Doesn’t everyone want things they can’t have?”

“Yes,” I agree reluctantly. “I want so many things I can’t have.”

“Just think it over. And take your time. We’re not in a rush.”

He holds my hand after that. He talks about the snow. Why we’re getting much of it. He talks about tonight’s party with people he knows from work. I want to ask about work because I have no idea what any of them do. But he’s busy talking about tomorrow’s party too. Then other things. His day tomorrow. The dress he wants me to wear.

And when we get to the party down in the Tech Center, I feel… normal again. The dark is back where it belongs. Tucked neatly away in that place I put it years ago.

Chapter Seventeen - Bric

“I could care less about the parties, or the people, or the holidays, for that matter,” I say as I dance with Chella.

“Then why do you come?” She laughs. It’s a slow song and we are facing each other. Close, so her words and her breath heat up my chest because she’s resting her head there. Our feet move in slow circles around the dance floor, just one couple among dozens.

I don’t know what she’s thinking right now. I certainly gave her a lot to think about. Not to mention all the things that were said—and left unsaid—at the Club meeting. But she seems to be taking it well. She’s smiling, and being friendly with the many, many, many people who feel the need to come up to me tonight and thank me for Club contributions over the years.

“To dance. Slowly,” I say. “Just like this.”

“It’s nice,” Chella says. “What’s this party for again?”

“Cancer research fundraiser. The Club gives a lot of money to this organization.”

“Oh,” she says, pulling back a little. “Is the Club your job?”

“Kind of. I run it, and we use the dues to donate. Plus Smith’s money. Most of what I hand out is Smith’s money.”

“Where does he get his money? Does he have a job? I’ve looked him up on the internet and there’s really nothing there aside from—well, things like this. Charities and foundations.”

“He doesn’t get money. Or make money. He just has money.”

“It has to come from somewhere.”

“It comes from his trust. If you had to give his job a label, then I guess you’d call him a philanthropist.”