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"A thong will keep your frank and beans tucked away and still keep your cheeks freely exposed in the back," Quinn says casually, and all eyes fall on him. "What?" He glances around the room. "They make them for guys and they are no different from a jockstrap." He shrugs, downing his drink.
"Jesus," Gabriel grumbles, and Alba giggles beside him. Across the table, Sam can't control his laughter and Sofia is blushing.
"Hey, big guy, don't knock it till you try it. How about I buy you a pair?" Quinn can't help but poke the bear.
"How bout I shove my size thirteen foot up your ass," Gabriel growls.
Before Quinn can continue to goad Gabriel further, Alba turns and whispers something in her man's ear. Gabriel quickly gets to his feet, holding tight to his woman. "Takin' my woman home."
The room fills with laughter.
Alba waves goodbye as she and Gabriel retreat, heading home.
"We're done for the night, too." Sam stands, and Sofia joins him. "We'll catch y'all tomorrow."
A couple of hours later, everyone else is on their way home, while those of us remaining clean the place up before locking it down and heading to bed.
After a quick shower, I lie in bed for the longest time, staring out the window and watching another storm roll in. Lightning illuminates the night, followed by thunder rattling the windowpane.
Ember playing the cello echoes through the clubhouse. Like a moth to a flame, I climb out of bed, drawn to her. I follow the music, stopping outside her door. Like a hundred times before, I try to talk myself out of going inside. The battle lost, I slowly turn the handle and walk inside, looking for my next fix. Ember's eyes stay closed as she runs the bow over the strings, but her lips lift in a smile when they open and connect with mine.
I'm addicted, and my drug of choice is her.
2
EMBER
It's the same song and dance between Blake and me every night. The sad part is I allow it to keep happening, even though I wake up to an empty bed each morning. And each morning, the loss of his presence causes another piece of my heart to shatter. The really fucked up part about all this is I will continue allowing him in my bed and my heart, because I'm in love with him. I'm in love with a man who isn't capable of loving me back. I see it in his eyes each time he looks at me. His unhappiness imprisons him. Blake's past has a chokehold on his future, as if the Devil himself has a fist around his neck. I don't know the entirety of Blake's story, but the bits and pieces that have slipped over the past couple of years are enough for me to understand why he is the way he is. And what makes our relationship work is that I accept the small pieces of himself he shares, and I don't demand more than he's capable of giving.
Regarding Blake's and my relationship, there are no expectations or rules. He is who he is, and I am who I am. I know what everyone else thinks when it comes to Blake and me. I see the sly looks from the women and knowing grins from the men. There have even been playful comments about Blake sneaking in and out of my room at night. Nevertheless, he never bothers correcting them, and neither do I. I'd like to think what Blake and I have is unique.
With the moonlight casting a glow on the bed where Blake lies, head propped up on my pillow, hands resting on his stomach, and eyes on me, I play “Yesterday” by The Beatles.My body is hyper-aware of his gaze as each note dances off my fingertips. Some nights he falls asleep in minutes, and others, he will watch me for hours. I don't dare stop playing until his body gives up the fight. Whether I play for ten minutes or two hours, I only notice him at peace.
Reaching the last note, I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes. A calmness blankets the room, and I notice Blake sleeping peacefully. I sit a moment and take in all that he is. Blake's large, six-foot-two body looks enormous in my queen-sized bed. His dark brown hair is cropped close on the sides but is longer on top. Most of the time, it's a mess, like he's constantly running his hand through it. Blake doesn't grow a beard like most of the guys in the club. Instead, he often has a few days-worth of stubble.
Standing, I set my cello in its stand and pad over to my side of the bed. Lifting the sheet, I settle in beside him. With my cheek resting on the palm of my hand, I study his face like I do every night and gently brush back the lock of dark hair that has fallen over his forehead. This is where Blake and I differ. While he chases sleep, I fight it. Because I know that come morning, he will be gone.
* * *
The following day, I know I'm alone before opening my eyes. I ignore the ache in my chest as I roll over and look at the time. It's nearly dawn, and the sun is starting to peek through the curtains. I reach across the bed and touch the spot where Blake slept to find the sheets still warm. Though the bed is warm, losing his presence chills me.
Not wanting to put a damper on my day, I push thoughts of Blake aside and climb out of bed. Today is Sunday, which means everyone will be rolling in shortly. No matter how busy life gets, Sundays are reserved for family brunch. That means I need to get a move on and help Lisa in the kitchen.
"Morning, Ember." Lisa greets me with pep as she whips up pancake batter.
"Morning." I smile.
"I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Why don't you grab a cup?"
"You're the best." I kiss her cheek. "I'll start the eggs and sausage."
"Thanks, doll."
While I gulp down my coffee, I get started on the eggs. "Where's Raine?" I ask.
Lisa glances back over her shoulder. "We were running low on bread and juice, so she went on a store run."
"Is that cinnamon I smell?" Quinn comes barging into the kitchen, rubbing his stomach. Emerson and their little girl Lydia are trailing behind him. Emerson rolls her eyes. "Quinn, you ate three donuts on the way over and half of Lydia's banana that fell on the car floor." Emerson scrunches her face.
