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“I’m in no hurry.” He tugs my dress over my breasts. The sex buzz fades, and my eyelids grow heavy.
“Good,” is the last word I say. I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m vaguely aware of him leaving the couch, sliding a pillow under my head, and walking around my apartment. If only I had the strength to open my eyes to ask him to stay.
But I don’t. Not when the soft flutter of a thin blanket covers me. Not when I hear my door open and close.
Chapter 17
Barrett
The second cup of coffee didn’t help with the writing. Neither is the third.
I push off my couch and stomp into the kitchen to dump the brew down the drain. If anything, the extra caffeine has made it more difficult to concentrate. What’s with writers and coffee? How do they sit still?
I drink a glass of water, and then tip my neck to the ceiling. It cracks in protest. Sitting on the couch with my head bent at an awkward angle is not exactly a chiropractor-recommended posture. My brain rewinds to last night, to a different couch. Catarina’s pert nipples tasted like candy. The sounds she makes when she’s coming still echoes in my ears.
She was begging me to go to bed with her and I told her no. That wasn’t like me. I frown as I refill my glass. When a girl wants it, I give it to her. Period. End of statement. Anytime Beth and I were “off” or “on a break” and I met a girl who wanted a quickie, I could have my pants around my ankles in record time.
So what’s up with Catarina wanting it and me telling her no? It wasn’t a power play. I lean a hip on the countertop and stare blankly at my sparkling tile floors while I think. Definitely not that. I don’t get off turning her on and walking away. I nearly got off on turning her on and snuggling next to her on the couch. I could’ve drilled a hole in the drywall with the hard-on I had last night.
I meant it when I said I didn’t have time to do what I wanted to do with her. There are curves that need exploring. Knees that deserve my undivided attention. Her brown eyes went as black as ink when my fingertips grazed her inner knee. There’s no way I’ll skip over that part next time.
My cellphone lets out the jangling ringtone I assigned the front desk specifically. I press the screen and answer, “Barrett Fox.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fox. I have an Aaron Fox requesting to come up.”
My brother. If he didn’t call that means he wants something and doesn’t want to be told no. It’s usually money, which means I can transfer some to his account and have him out of here in five minutes. Sometimes though, like the time he dove into a bottle of Jack Daniels after finding out his girlfriend was pregnant, the visits are longer.
“And Mattie!” comes a little boy’s shout and my heart pinches. That girlfriend who was pregnant gave birth to a red-haired kid I fell in love with in the maternity ward of the hospital four years ago.
“Send them up.”
“Will do, sir. By the way, the elevator is now in working order, so you will be able to meet them in your entryway.”
I thank the security guy and pocket my phone, waiting the few minutes it takes for the elevator to ding on my private floor. When the doors slide open, my heart melts.
Matrix Barrett Fox is a tornado. He crashes into my legs, craning his neck to send me a huge smile.
“Mattie!” I bellow, bending to thump his back and hug him in return. “What is up, my man?” We cover a lot of ground in the conversation that follows. The zoo. The arcade. Swimming at Grandma’s pool. Spider-Man. McDonald’s. I can barely keep up.
“Jenni dropped him off because she has a job interview today.” Aaron slouches his way into my apartment. “Fuck, your place is nice. I can’t get over it.”
“Aaron.” I gesture to my nephew who’s already found my laptop. “Language in front of the kid?”
He grunts.
I swipe the laptop out of Mattie’s hands and swap it for the iPad standing on a nearby counter. The last thing I need is the kid erasing three hundred words I absolutely bled for today.
“What are you two troublemakers up to?” I ask, my voice in Mattie-tone. “Picking up girls?”
I nudge his arms and he predictably responds with “Yuck!”
Mattie was born right before I left for Miami. It killed me to leave. In just under a year Jenni was threatening to never let Aaron see Mattie again, and every last phone conversation with my mother at that time was an exhausting replay of what “that bitch, Jenni” did or said. Since then, Aaron and Jenni have had a rocky relationship, but one that permits him to see Mattie more often if he wants. In typical Aaron fashion, he doesn’t keep a regular schedule.
“What’s up?” I ask my brother, my tone grave. He has to have a reason to show up without calling.
“Need you to watch him for a few hours.”
“Why?”
