29. Hailey
“No more questions,” Astor says, holding up her hand in the elevator of my building, or what used to be my building. “Spill it.”
I haven’t been here in weeks. Most of my things are at Arlo’s house, including my evening wear.
No. Our house.
Warmth suffuses my chest.
“You’ll love this dress.” I beam, hedging her once again. “Nat wore it on the catwalk in Paris Fashion Week twenty years ago. The thing still looks brand new.”
“As does your aunt.” Astor crosses her arms. “We couldn’t talk at the dinner because of my dad.”
“He’s looking so hot, by the way.” I grin and hop off the elevator the moment the doors open.
“Don’t start.” Her pretty amber eyes roll. “As I recall, you have enough D in your life.”
“They don’t tell you that D stands for drama.” I shake my head and unlock the door.
“That’s why you pelted me with questions about my life on the car ride over.” Her arms cross over her chest.
“You’re going to your first event at Crave.” I squeal and open the door. “I needed details.”
“Oh my gooo…” Astor pushes past me and into what used to be my condo. “It’s Fashion Week in your condo.”
“More like a fashion life.” I follow her in and close the door behind us.
“Dior. Chanel.” She thumbs through the racks lining my entryway and corridor. Her gaze snags on one of the red dresses from an iconic show in Rome, circa 1999. “Valentino.”
“The one we’re looking for is in the guest room, I think.” I chew on my lip.
“Don’t rush me.” She waves me off, gliding her fingertip over the array of fabrics. “I’m a kid in a candy shop.”
“A diabetic in a candy shop, more like it.”
“Shush. I haven’t bought a new outfit in four months, thank you.”
“How many have you made?”
Her onyx jaw snaps in my direction and she furls her brow at me. “Just a few.”
“I want to see them next time I’m over.”
“Only if you tell me what’s up with your triad.” Her brow waggles.
Of course I’d told her about my night at Crave with Hota and my feeling about him. That was the easy stuff. I word vomit while she listens and browses. By the time I’ve finished, we’ve made it to the guest room, and I’m lying across the bed staring at the intricately carved ceiling.
“Why is introspection so fucking impossible? Why can we see what others need or the steps they must take to achieve their goals, but be oblivious to our own? How can brilliant people be so goddamn obtuse?” My flailing arms finally hit the bed.
“Humanity,” Astor says, dancing with a Dior number that graced the front of Vogue .
“Tell me you have more insight than that?” I flip onto my belly and pillow my head in my hands.
Astor’s lips quirk, and she sighs.
“Oh dear.” I groan.
“You’re not going to like it.”
She pulls the chair out from the small vanity and sits across from me.
I blubber my lips. “Hit me with it.”
My friend folds her hands over her lap, hugging the dress to her belly. Her eyes are so kind. I know it’s going to be bad. “There’s nothing you can do.”
I let my face fall into the duvet. I knew this, of course. Hearing it, though, is something else altogether.
“Arlo must make his wishes clear to Hota. Hota must accept that they’re real and true. Only then can they face their demons together.”
“I know,” I mumble into the bed.
“What was that?” She holds her hand up to her ear.
My head flops to the side. “You’re right. As always.”
“Not always.” Astor sighs, lowering her hand. “You taught me that.” She shrugs. “You can share your feelings, yourself plainly, and be there for them, but they have to take those final steps on their own. Otherwise, it won’t work.”
Astor’s words stay with me as I pack some of my things from Arlo’s house, our house, including Plinko and his cat things, and move into Hota’s condo.
He hadn’t confessed what tore at him so deeply yesterday. Not being able to help him hurt worse than watching him fall apart. I’d wanted to rip my shirt off and show him how I feel, but it wouldn’t have helped. I fear it would have made him question everything more.
I place Plink’s stuff in the guest room but put my things in Hota’s closet and bathroom next to the things Arlo moved this morning before work.
My fingers toy with one of his suits, and I let my hand roam over one of Hota’s. I pull them to my nose and bury my face in the fabric. The combination is lethal. If this doesn’t work, I’ll never recover.
None of us will.
Emotion constricts my throat. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with their scents.
A faint voice filters into the closet. It’s pleading and high-pitched.
I straighten and hurry out the closet and down the hallway. The closer I get, the higher the voice pitches.
“No, it’s okay, buddy. Just please, back up, okay?”
When I round the corner, I find Hota with both palms out toward Plink. He’s backing toward the coffee table and warding off my gray cat like he’s a hobgoblin. I mean, he does look like the world chewed him up and spat him out.
Plink meows and advances his fluffy self as though he has an open invitation to spread his cat hair absolutely everywhere he pleases. At my condo and at Arlo’s house, he does.
Hota climbs onto the low coffee table. Like that’ll help.
I bite my smile and stifle the laugh bubbling up in my throat.
“You have pretty eyes, like your mommy.” He croons as he shimmies across the stone table.
He’s right. I’ve never really put two and two together. We both have green eyes. But that’s not what hits me square in the chest. Nope. Not at all.
“Where is she?” he practically whines. “Should we call her? You want to call your mommy?”
Mommy. Fuck!
I can imagine him having this conversation with a little one, our little one, someday. Hopefully, there’s less fear on his part. From the fear and hope in his eyes the other day, I think there will be nothing but love and devotion.
He fumbles with his phone, keeping an eye on the ever-advancing Plink.
Before he falls off the table and breaks something, I round the wall and saunter over. “Mommy’s right here.”
I give him a weighty wink, then lean over and scoop up my lump of fur.
“Hey. Hi.” He shoves a hand through his hair, causing part of it to fall from the neat bun. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“My purse and phone on the entryway table didn’t give it away?” I can’t hide my grin any longer.
“I was distracted.” He points at the cat in my arms.
“Hotaru, this is Plinko or Plink, if you’d like.” I was sure he’d seen Plink at Arlo’s, but the little guy has a way of making himself scarce when people arrive.
“Charmed.” He waves from the tabletop.
“You can come down now.” I offer him my free hand.
“Don’t cats eat your ankles?” He ignores my hand, probably because it’s close to Plink, and steps down from the coffee table. “I mean, I never had a pet growing up. I don’t know, but I’ve heard stories.”
“When I first got him, he was a terror, but he’s come a long way. Worked through his hang-ups.”
“Of course he did.” He steps a little closer. “He’s your cat.”
“What does that mean?” I grin.
“You have a way of exorcising demons.”
That smile falters. I wish I could exorcise the last of his, but I can’t. Instead, I do what I can. I move closer, keeping Plink as far away from Hota as possible and stretch up onto my toes. “Kiss me.”
He cradles my face with one hand and presses his lips to mine. One. Two. Three. Chaste kisses warm my mouth before he straightens. His gaze flits cautiously to Plink and back to me a few times. “Can I touch him?”
“Judging by the way he was cornering you, I’d say yes, he’d love for you to pet him.” I scruff the darker, almost black fur under his chin and around under his ears. “Anywhere in here is good. He loves a butt scratch, yet always puts his teeth on the hand that’s doing the scratching. It never hurts, but you might want to avoid it for now.”
“Kinky cat.” Hota’s dark eyes sparkle. He shoves his phone in his pocket.
“Like his mommy.” My voice is suddenly raspier than normal.
Hota steps impossibly close, pressing his belly against the top of mine and brushing my nipples. “I want to fill you up.”
Just like that, I’m burning, yearning, ready for anything. And I’m afraid I do mean anything . “I want you to fill me up.”
Plink expels the loudest, most offended meow I’ve ever heard him roar.
Hota leaps back.
My laugh is full and immediate. It fills my belly and overflows my mouth. “For being my panther, you sure are afraid of a little pussy.”
He stalks forward, scoops Plink to his chest, grabs me with his other hand, and devours my lips. In less than three seconds, I’m moaning into his mouth, begging him to fuck me. Not that he can discern my words muffled against his tongue.
“I want to come home to this every night.” Arlo’s voice startles me. I hadn’t heard him come in, but Hota seems none too concerned about the sudden presence. His grip on me tightens, and his kiss deepens even more.
I swear I can feel him hit my tonsils, and I’m not mad about it. Plink, on the other hand, lets out an obnoxious sound.
Hota groans and pulls back. His full lips are wet and red, and his expression is feral.
Should make for an interesting flight. If the plane’s a rockin’, it’s not turbulence.
Plink skitters down from Hota’s arms and runs for Arlo, who swoops him into a big hug and nuzzle.
“Pussies love him,” Hota grumbles.
“I know a dick pretty fond of me too.” Arlo flashes Hota a smirk.
Before they can start, I jump up and down, shouting, “I got us jerseys for the game!”
Both my men indulge me with smiles, though I’m sure they’d rather wear their regular clothes.
“I want to wear the hottest player’s number,” Hota decrees.
“You can’t.” Arlo sets down Plink, who shoots out of the room like a bullet. “I won’t be on the ice.”
I laugh so hard I snort, which draws a guffaw from Hota. We’re both losing our shit when my feet leave the floor, and I’m hoisted bridal style into Arlo’s arms.
“I’ll have you know I played hockey and was excellent at it.” He grins, and we both pause our laughter. “Best on my rec league,” he continues.
“How old were you?” I eye him.
“Six? Maybe seven.” He blows me a kiss.
I lean up, wrap my arms around his neck, and plaster my lips to his in a quick kiss. “I bet you were the cutest on the team, but best is pushing it. Remember we saw you skate not too long ago.”
“I’m out of practice.” He inhales to continue when my bat-phone, as we call it, rings at top volume.
“Oh no.” I groan.
Arlo sets me on my feet. I run to the entryway table and snatch my cell. Sure enough, it’s the hospital.
“What’s that?” Hota’s voice is laced with concern.
“It’s my ring for the hospital.” I turn to him with apologies on my tongue.
“Hey.” He holds up his hand. “It’s okay. There are plenty of other games. Don’t think you’re getting out of it for long.”
I beam at him, and Arlo does too. He doesn’t quite make eye contact with Arlo, though.
“I’ll be just a minute.” I excuse myself down the hallway, hoping they figure things out while I’m gone, if not during the call, then while I’m dealing with my patient.
I’m on the phone for close to fifteen minutes, confirming medical information, scheduling evaluations, and organizing an examination room for my visit.
When I get back to the living room, Arlo is sitting on the sofa reclined back, but not in peace. No, he looks like someone stole his soul. Hota is nowhere in sight.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He jerks upright as though he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. I sit on his lap and pull him in for a long hug.
“Do you have to go in?” Arlo’s voice sounds thinner than usual.
My heart twists, not only for my patient who’s having a crisis but also for my men. “Afraid so.”
He nods. “Hota said he was going to catch up on work if you were going into the hospital. I thought we could drop you off and go on a date, but…”
“Did you ask him to go on a date with you?” I nudge.
“I was about to, but he didn’t give me a chance.” He sighs. “The second you were headed down the hall, he said he had to make a call and started heading toward his home office. Before he was completely out of the room, he added the work stuff and then vanished.”
“I think you should come clean with him. Tell him about the house, your dreams. You know what happened when I tried to surprise him with my newest tattoo.” One he hasn’t seen yet. “Maybe he’s not into surprises. Maybe he doesn’t need grand gestures.” I twine my fingers with his, hating that I have to leave.
“What if he says no?” Arlo’s voice is barely audible.
“Has he ever told you no?”
He stares at me in answer, looking lost.
“Go talk to him.” I kiss his lips, then his forehead. “I’m so sorry I have to leave.”
“Don’t be.” His lips graze my knuckles. “I’m a big boy. I can handle one night without you.”
“Can you now?” I smirk.
“Only if I have to.” He smiles and waves me off, but the grin doesn’t reach his eyes.