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“Why are you picking on Trawley?”
He sounds on edge, and I feel bad because he had been more relaxed a few minutes ago.
“Sorry,” I say. “I just wish they could find who did it. It would provide closure.”
Darren shifts as if uncomfortable before saying, “It’s like lightning, unlikely to strike the same place twice.”
“But what if it wasn’t random?”
“It was a random shooting,” he replies emphatically.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Who would want any of us dead?”
“I thought Trawley mentioned a possible case of mistaken identity?”
“Then it’s not likely the perps will make the same mistake twice, but Trawley checked with the division that handles gangs. JD and I don’t look like anyone they know.”
I drop any further questions because Darren seems to be getting on edge the more we talk about it. But I make one last attempt regarding mental health. “Will you at least keep an open mind about therapy?”
“No,” he answers flatly. He turns to me. “I’d rather fuck your brains out.”
“I don’t think sex is an adequate substitute for therapy,” I respond, a little nervous at the look he’s directing at me. “In fact, it can be an addiction, like drugs or smoking—”
Next thing I know I’m on my back on the sofa, and Darren’s mouth smothers mine.
“Seriously,” I mumble against his crushing lips, “I wonder if we’re…”
“Having too much sex?” he fills in. “If that’s the way you feel, then you’re with the wrong guy.”
I can’t imagine being with anyone else. My body responds like Pavlov’s dog to his kisses and caresses. Just feeling the weight of him on me drives me crazy. And that’s why I wonder if I’m addicted. But I’m not going to worry about it for now. If it helps Darren cope in any way, then I’m for it. And it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it.
He pauses from kissing me and stares into my eyes. “I am the wrong guy, you know.”
Why did he say that? I wonder. Is he being facetious or is his statement a prelude to breaking up? It’s got to be the former.
“Yeah, you are the wrong guy,” I say. “I don’t know why I’m with you.”
His hand is at my crotch, rubbing me. “That’s easy. Because I can make you come like no one else.”
“So you say, but I haven’t been with enough guys to form a statistically significant sample.”
He raises his brow. With one hand, he fists my hair and pulls my head back while he fondles me harder with the other. “You think you can do better with some other guy?”
I was just messing around with my words, but I can sense that he might make me pay regardless.
“No, sir,” I whisper.
His mouth descends on my throat. My back arches as I surrender my body to him. I can’t get enough of him, and yet he’s too much for me at the same time. As if to prove the point that I can’t do better, he makes me come three times. Once by rubbing his cock against my clit, then in missionary, then finally with me bent face down over the arm of the sofa, bracing myself with my hands against the floor.
Afterward, we fall asleep on the sofa. In the morning, I help him change his bandages before I get ready to head over to Berkeley. Darren seems to be in a better place, and I tell myself it’s normal to have highs and lows. I’m just glad I’m able to be with him to help see him through it. I realize there’s nothing I’d rather be doing and nowhere else I’d rather be than at his side.
* * *
It’sthe first night the club has been open since the shooting. As I sit with Darren on the second-floor balcony, watching the patrons filter in, everything looks normal, just like any other night at The Lotus.
I turn to Darren. “Would it be okay if Amy came over?”
