Chapter 24
24
[Ruthie]
R omero’s words could have rolled off my back, but then I remind myself that it’s not acceptable to make uncomfortable or unwarranted—and highly suggestive—comments to a complete stranger. Or even someone you know. A shiver ripples down my back when I recall the way he looked at me. His eyes scanning my body like he could see all my assets, like I wasn’t wearing clothing. It wasn’t like he was going to throw me down on the asphalt and hump me, but I had an eerie sense that dragging me off behind the nearest tree wasn’t out of the question. I was just about to walk away from him when Bolan stepped up to us.
The energy coming off my husband was enough to settle the nerves caused by Romero, but a new wave of anxiety crested because of Bolan. He looked like he wanted to strangle Romero. Instead, he blocked Romero from my view and shooed him off like an insect .
And now, I need to reveal a sordid moment from my past.
As I don’t feel like cooking, I’m relieved when Bolan offers a chicken dinner take out. Despite little ears at the dining room table, he digs into the topic we put on hold earlier.
“Tell me what happened.”
With a heavy sigh, I set down my fork and lean back in my chair. Bolan’s foot slips around my ankle beneath the table as we sit across from one another. The gesture is comforting. An anchor to steady my rising anxiety as I reveal this part of my past.
“Jared hired me after graduation. Like I told you, the idea was Clifton’s.” I take another deep breath. “I’d gone to school to be a teacher, but I hadn’t found a job, and Clifton wanted me available to follow him everywhere.”
I hate how it sounds and, in hindsight, hate how much of myself I gave up for him. But teaching wasn’t an option because it meant I couldn’t travel with Cliff. At first, he wanted his wife at every game. Quickly, he decided a wife stifled his ability to bond with his team, thus going out, meeting other women.
“Anyway, my first, and only agent assignment was for an up-and-coming fighter named Abel Callahan.”
Bolan lifts his head at the mention of the prizefighter who left the ring a few years ago.
“I didn’t need to do much for him. Just schedule interviews and keep him in line. More assistant than agent, really.” My gaze flicks to Bolan. My current assignment through Imperial Sports Management is no different.
But Bolan and I feel like so much more than a job, and it’s getting complicated.
“Abel wasn’t any trouble. He didn’t even want an assistant.” He might have acted like he was coming onto me once, but I recognized the cockiness. The assuredness of a rising star. Cliff behaved the same way .
Abel had a girlfriend, now his wife, Elma. She was the light in his eyes, and he didn’t want to lose her. He’d even teased me that he’d fire me if she was ever jealous.
He didn’t need to let me go.
“One night after a fight in a hotel in Vegas, I was wearing this professional, feminine suit that Nylah picked out for me. And a new pair of glasses. High heels that pinched my toes. My hair was brown at the time.” I gave the appearance of a serious, studious assistant. I also stood out like a sore thumb in that Vegas night club.
“Blonde isn’t your natural hair color?” Bolan eyes my hair before lifting his water for a sip.
“That’s all you’re taking from this story?” I chide playfully, pouting my lips. But his question has lessened the tension growing in me. “ Anyway . I tried to play the tough assistant with the club manager. Really give the guy an evil glare and a dressing down.”
I narrow my eyes to slits and try to hold my mouth in a straight line.
Bolan chuckles at my face and smiles crookedly. “Really scary.”
“Yeah, well, he took it as an invitation.”
Bolan falls back in his chair, watching me from across the table. “He what?”
“Didn’t like being put in his place. He followed me out of the club. Cornered me. Told me he wanted to wipe the smirk off my face and paint my lips with his . . . you know.” I circle a finger in the air toward Bolan.
“Are you fucking serious?” Bolan leans forward, bracing his thick forearms on the tabletop. “Where the fuck was Clifton?”
I shrug, twisting my lips before answering. “Off playing football.”
“What happened with that guy? What happened to you?” Bolan stares at me, both anger on my behalf and concern warring in his eyes.
“I shoved him as hard as I could and ran. I told Nylah the next day. She’d told me these things can happen, but it wasn’t like she was telling me to accept it. She sensed that I couldn’t handle that kind of attention, those kinds of situations, and she demanded Jared remove me as Abel’s assistant.”
Bolan continues to stare at me, like he’s lost for words.
“When I finally told Clifton, he said I was too pretty for my own good. Thus, the suits and glasses. I needed to tone down the cuteness and up my fierceness.” Thumb down for one; thumb up for the other. Then I wave around my face. “And it’s just not a look I can pull off.”
Bolan closes his eyes and his fingers curl into fists. He mutters under his breath, “Motherfucker.”
I glance at Tulane, hoping she doesn’t pick up such a word in her growing vocabulary.
Bolan shakes his head and reaches across the table for my hand. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, flower. Sorry Clifton wasn’t supportive. Wasn’t loyal. Wouldn’t let you be who you want to be.”
I simply shrug.
“I’m no better,” he whispers, lowering his gaze and squeezing my hand before releasing it. Instantly, I miss his touch and the comfort it offered. “You’re trapped with me now, aren’t you?”
He lifts his gaze. “When you go to California, you should ask Jared to break the contract.”
“What?” I sit up straighter.
“Tell him you want out.” Bolan swallows hard. “I’ll give you a divorce right now and set you free.”
“No, that’s not what I—” My throat closes. “I mean, if that’s what you want.”
Bolan sits forward once more and reaches for my hand again. “It’s not what I want. But I want you to have what you want. I want you to feel free to make the right choices for you. Not me. Not Tulane.”
My gaze drifts from Bolan to Tulane and back. I have what I want. Him. Her. And when we move to Chicago, I’ll be truly free. I love Nylah and Jared, but we are too close in proximity, and I need space. A new location. A fresh start.
“Bolan, you’re my ticket out.” I stare at him, hating how harsh that might sound but being with him is my excuse to leave. “No more California. No more ISM.”
He lets go of my hand again and slips back in his chair. “The job.” He pauses a second. “Right.”
Slowly, he stands and takes his plate with him when I haven’t even started eating. Suddenly, I’m not hungry as he looks so hurt for some reason.
“Just so you know,” he pauses, standing beside the table. “If you ever gave me that look, I’d be frightened of you. I’d be very afraid.” He softly winks but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
In the time it’s taken for me to explain my story, Tulane has finished eating, and Bolan takes her from the booster seat on a chair.
“I’ll give you some time to finish your dinner in peace.”
With that, Bolan takes Tulane toward her bedroom when being alone is the last thing I want to be.
The evening passes slowly, but finally Tulane is in bed and Bolan has taken up his nightly position on the recliner.
“Mind if I sit?” I point toward the couch. Earlier he said he was giving me space but maybe he needed the distance. Bolan and I keep having these mishaps as we navigate who we are, what we are .
Am I the nanny? The stepmom? Definitely not Tulane’s mother.
Is he a project or a person? The answer is easy. He’s someone I could really fall for when I’m scared of falling.
Bolan pops the chair into a seated position from the reclined one, and then reaches out for my hips, tugging me into his lap. Then he kicks back the chair, and I fall against his chest. His arms loosely wrap around me, and he kisses the side of my head, lingering there.
“I don’t want you to ever think you are too beautiful for your own good. You’re beautiful. Period. Is that a good thing? Sure is. I like to look at you, flower. But you’re also radiant on the inside. So sweet. So kind. Being beautiful is who you are. For you. Not for some asshole to take advantage of in a club. Or your fucking husband to downplay.” He sighs and his chest heaves beneath my side. “I’m so fucking angry.”
I rub my hand over his chest and tip back my head. “Thank you.”
“I don’t like you going to California alone. I can’t protect you if I’m not there.”
I chuckle softly. “You don’t need to protect me.”
“But I want to.” His voice lowers. “I’m here for you.” He shifts so he can better see my face. “And not because some contract says so. We’re married , Ruthie. You’re my wife. I want you to be happy.”
He sounds so sincere. Like he’s really taking the position of marriage to heart and he’s protective of me as his life-partner. He genuinely sounds like he wants me to be happy with him but more importantly, with myself. What I want to do with my life. Where I work. How I look. All decisions I need to make for me first.
I feel like a lighthouse coming to life after a long blackout. A brightness inside my chest illuminating and seeping through my pores. I need to shine in whatever capacity that might be .
“I am happy,” I admit, a smile breaking out across my lips. “I love spending time with you and Tulane. I like playing your wife.”
Although playing may not be the correct word. I’m not acting. I don’t need to pretend. I truly enjoy hanging out with Tulane and treasure the time I have with Bolan. The way I feel safe with him. The way I can be open with him. The way he listens to me.
His eyes turn serious. “I don’t want you to play. This isn’t a game for me.”
“It’s not a game to me, either.”
There’s no score or tally or collection of points to be won. Bolan is the prize and I’m grateful for this time with him. More grateful than he’ll ever know. He’s exactly what I needed when I didn’t think I needed anyone else but myself.
“Fuck. I want to kiss you. I want to show you how special you are, but after what you just told me, I don’t know that you want me to ever touch you.”
I’m already in his lap, but I don’t point that out. Instead, I say, “Kissing sounds good.”
Right now, I just want his mouth on mine, erasing the bad memories and making good ones.
His lips against mine are soft at first, taking his time to kiss the corners before sucking tenderly at the delicate skin. Slowly, we move from light kisses to heavier ones. Ones that involve more of our lips. Our tongues tracing. Even teeth tugging.
Not breaking the connection between us, I shift on his lap. The movement isn’t graceful, but Bolan guides my hips as I straddle his thighs. My hands come to his shoulders.
“This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” he says against my lips as I settle over him. The thick bulge in his athletic shorts against the achy center between my spread thighs. “It feels dangerous.”
“Reckless?” I arch a brow while still kissing him .
“Everything with you feels reckless, baby.” The sparkle in his eyes says it’s not a bad thing. Maybe dangerous for our hearts but not our bodies.
And I need him. I need the rush he gives me when he kisses me. And the compassion in his heart when he listens to me.
With the slightest dip of my hips, I brush against his stiff length, the sensation delicious.
Bolan hisses.
“Want me to stop?” I murmur against his mouth.
“Never,” he growls. “But we also only go as far as you want. No pressure for more.”
I nod, before running my cheek against his. The stubble on his jaw is prickly but exciting.
“You like that.” He chuckles. “Liked it between your thighs, didn’t you?”
His question makes my hips thrust forward, dragging my hot center over him again.
He grunts. “Fuck.”
I hum and repeat the motion again and again, as his hard cock stimulates my sweet spot. With my hands on his shoulders, I glance down at where my center rocks over him. My hips rolling forward and back. I close my eyes and tuck my head.
“Gonna come like this, flower? Gonna bloom for me?”
“Oh God,” I whimper, as my body suddenly spirals out of my control. Sensation takes over. The feel of him between my legs. His hard to my soft. I grind harder, move faster.
“Bolan,” I whisper, knowing I’m close. “Please,” I beg, clinging to his shoulders.
“Not gonna move, baby,” he admits, holding onto my hips as I rock over him, taking from him, needing him.
Until I’m a burst of energy. A seed bursting into a bud, breaking through the earth. I dig my nails into his shoulders and still, letting the rush take over. I come unraveled, like something inside me snapped, shredded, drifted away. I lunge forward, cup his cheeks and kiss him with everything I have. Telling him without words how I’m right where I want to be. With him. With Tulane.
Then, there’s a sharp ping, like a spring popped somewhere and I pull back just as the chair collapses on one side. Bolan wraps his arms around my lower back, and we awkwardly fall back with the release of the recliner. He does a clumsy roll and I’m on my back against the armrest. Then he flips us, so he’s on his back and I’m over him again.
“What the . . .” Bolan lifts only his head, cocking it to the side to look at the broken recliner.
“Oh my God.” I chuckle. Then I outright laugh, dipping my forehead to his shoulder as my body lays over his.
“Well, that was a mood killer.” He presses on my hips, and I sit upright, straddling him again. I rock once, hoping to restore what we just lost. But Bolan jackknives upward, wincing and reaching for his lower back.
“Shit. Are you hurt?” I scramble off him, worried I’ve unintentionally injured him. Kneeling beside him, I wave my hands around his body, afraid to touch him.
“I will be.” He winces again. Placing a hand on the broken armrest, he gingerly lifts himself. Only when he stands, he remains bent forward, holding onto his lower back.
“You know guys always say they could die buried deep in their woman.”
“Bolan,” I snap.
“But no one is going to believe I hurt my back making out with my wife.”
I chuckle before realizing this could be serious. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. That was one of the best moments of my life.”
“Falling out of a chair while making out?” I counter, crossing my arms and glaring at him.
“Kissing my wife until she came. ”
“You’re ridiculous,” I joke, placing my hand over his on his back.
“That’s why you love me.”
He has no idea, I’m almost there.