Chapter 21
“Sheets are in the closet on the top shelf,” I said when El started poking around in my dresser drawers.
“Ahh, perfect,” she flashed a smile over her bare shoulder, and I debated pinching myself to make sure this wasn’t some elaborate dream. Pix in my shirt was more delicious than she had any right to be. But Pix in nothing but the delicate gold chain around her neck, with a satisfied smile on her face, prancing around my room like her nick-namesake?
There weren’t words. My face ached from smiling as I rounded the corner into the hallway to toss the sheets into the wash. Because I’m a man of my word, and did, in fact, make her come so hard she soaked the bed.
That moment would inevitably play on loop in my mind from now until the end of eternity.
I’d just pumped the detergent and was about to close the washer lid when a thought occurred, and my gut dropped like it did when I was about to be forced on stage as a kid. An unexpected vulnerability washed over me, and I swore under my breath as I rounded the corner.
“El! Baby, I’ll get the sheets down,” I called back to her right as I heard a crash and a ‘whoops’. Clenching my jaw, knowing exactly what the whoops had been, I rounded the corner. Elora—back in my Tom Petty shirt—was kneeling in my closet behind the sheets, which were now halfheartedly tossed onto the end of the bed. One hand pressed to her lips as the other held out a postcard. She flipped it over, her brows pinching as a slight tremor rattled the cardstock.
“Brod, what is this? What are these?”
I leaned into the door, just wearing the towel I’d tied around my waist after our post-sex shower that also featured some indulgent enjoyment of each other’s bodies.
“What do they look like, baby?”
She scrambled to right the shoe box that had evidently come soaring out of the closet when she yanked the sheets down. I should’ve thought it through from the start, but honestly couldn’t even bring myself to feel embarrassed. She knew what she meant to me now. This wasn’t news anymore.
El’s throat worked as she ran her fingers across the mess of postcards and she settled down on her bare ass, crossing her legs. Chuckling, I snatched up the blanket that lived at the foot of my bed and crossed the space. Kneeling beside her, I gingerly wrapped her up in it. She didn’t say a thing, just pinched it in her fingers around her throat, the furrow in her brow not giving way as she scoured through one after the other, gently setting them back in the shoe box.
“You…you kept my letters.”
“Yeah,” I grunted, the word heavier than it ought to be in my mouth. Like a stone where water should be. The next one was fresh—unbent, the ink not yet faded—and I knew what she’d see when she turned it over in her fingers. The Bellagio looked back at her, and when she turned to me with parted lips, her eyes were more than a little glossy. “You kept all my postcards.”
“Even our new one. Well, except for the Leaning Tower of Pizza, but that’s because your brother spilled a beer on it, and I couldn’t exactly salvage it at that point.”
She giggled, shaking her head as she added, “I still say a stack of pizzas is way cooler than a crumbling ode to ancient architecture.”
“I guess if I had to lose that one, I’m glad it was from Chicago.”
“Dear Broderick,” she cleared her throat, eyes flicking to me expectantly before continuing to read. “We’re in Austin this week. It’s hotter than Hades’ seventh circle, but the street tacos are decent, and we’re hitting the downtown music circuit, so that should be fun. Wish you were here.” She arched a speculative brow. “Not exactly something to write home about. Dear Broderick, turns out Manhattan isn’t really any better than any other overcrowded, overpriced, over-hyped city. But the plays are wonderful, and the food is spectacular. Met a musician that would put Miles Davis to shame, and I know you’d never admit that to me, so I won’t ask you to, but go give him a listen. And your secret is safe with me. He’s better, isn’t he?” Smirking, she looked up to me like I owed her an answer.
I leaned back into the bed, studying her, studying me. “He was good, but no Miles.”
“Bullshit.”
“Nah. You oversold him. Or maybe it was the live performance.”
“God, the food there was impeccable.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Even your snobby ass would be impressed.”
“I thought you liked my ass.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t bite-able. Just a lil’ pretentious.”
“Come here, you have something on your face,” I teased, lunging forward as I licked my thumb. She squealed and rolled backward, but I pursued, settling my body over hers and planting an obnoxious, over the top kiss on her cheek. Laughing as she dramatically wiped at her face, I kissed the tip of her nose. “Oh hey, I remember that one.” I snagged one stray that had gone flying away from the pile. “Dear Broderick?—”
She snatched it from my fingers, holding it up above her face, revealing an idyllic tropical beach with a lawn chair on the front. Frankly, good for her, because now I could return my attention to kissing down her jaw and neck.
“Dear Broderick, it finally happened. I found the man of my dreams—oh my gosh, I remember this. I was so sloshed that night—Never mind that he’s seventy-three and happily married to his high school sweetheart, Ronald makes the best jerk chicken in the Caribbean and can recite the entire rugby team roster. His wife, Ester, is also very kind, but her jerk chicken just didn’t kidnap my heart like Ronald’s did. Wish you were here.”
“That one made me laugh. You would pick a man based on culinary prowess.”
“Yes, well, food is my love language.” She shook her head, looking down at the stack of images and faded written notes. “I cannot believe you kept all these.”
“Yes, you can,” I countered flatly. “It was always gonna end up being me and you, El.”
Those gray-blues looked like I’d just ignited them. Like a molten core churned beneath the steely surface as she studied me. “Why did it take you so long, then?”
“You know why,” I choked out, throat thick. Guilt had consumed so much of my life. Guilt for wanting her when I shouldn’t. For harboring that truth away from her brothers. Guilt for being entirely uninterested in all of my mother’s blind dates, despite knowing Sarah wasn’t a healthy alternative. Hell, even now, finally having what I always wanted, guilt was my companion for not immediately telling Rhy and James the truth of it.
“And why is this different?”
“Because some losses are survivable. Others are not. Watching you drift away was the slowest kind of death. But seeing you slip through my fingers in Vegas, when I had you right there… that was an accelerant.”
Pensive, Elora studied me, and it took every ounce of my spine to hold her inquisitive gaze. “Are you saying I moved into the latter category?”
“Yes,” I breathed back, even as that invisible elephant popped a squat on the center of my chest. Shaking my shoulders out, as if there was any hope of dispelling some of that energy, I finally said, “Tell me I’m not alone in this, Pix.”
“It was never my feelings that were in question.”
Fuck, that hurt. I hated myself for the echo of rejection in that molten gray fire. Hated that I put it there. “No, it wasn’t,” I agreed. I moved for the bed, pulling her with me as I leaned my back against the frame, feeling like we were treading on conversations that deserved vulnerability which would be hard to achieve with my body draped over hers. Instead, I opted to pull her against my side.
Voice as raw as my mind, I said, “Tell me I’m not the only one that pictured you all these years. Tell me you imagined it was my hand you were riding when those jackoffs made you come like that.”
“Nobody made me come like that,” she countered, voice still soft. Of course, she’d look out for my feelings, even when I was painting the painful picture of our wasted years.
“Way to let me down easy,” I breathed. “Stroking my ego, El?”
Her brows winged up, and she repeated, “Nobody made me come like that.”
I studied her for a beat, some purely male piece of me basking in her words before I muttered, “Idiots.”
The snort my comment earned was entirely unladylike. I loved it. Loved that she didn’t have to be the polished version of herself that she offered the rest of the world when it was just the two of us.
“You’re not wrong.”
“Thought I was going to hell.”
“What?” she breathed back, brows pinching.
“For wanting you like this. For picturing you when they were on their knees for me. For wishing it were your hands on me all these years.” She stiffened against me, and I rotated so I could have a clearer view of her face, which had pinched in something between anger and frustration.
“I don’t want you thinking about them when you’re sitting here with me.”
The urge to smile tugged at my mouth. “Jealous, El?”
“That they know what your cum tastes like? Or that I imagined your hands on my skin as you bottomed out in me a million times before I felt it? Yeah. I’m fucking jealous. Jealous that bitch got your twenties when I would’ve killed for them. And I hate that feeling. Why are you smiling?” she demanded, and I just tugged her tighter against my side.
“I like you jealous,” I admitted. “It’s kinda cute.”
“Not an emotion I’m acquainted with or one I intend to feel again, so you better fuck it out of me before I change my mind about this whole damn thing.”
I reached up to snag her wrists as she shoved against me, like she’d pry herself free. Looping them between my fingers, I held her in place, the hand around her shoulders sliding up to grip her neck, pulling her forehead to mine before claiming her mouth. She nipped at my lip with more force than usual, and I chuckled against her lips.
“Me either, Pix. But goddamn, if seeing Pierce panting after you didn’t shred me to pieces.”
“Pierce?!” she questioned, smirking like I was an absolute idiot.
“Six-foot-two, blonde, winner of the competition,” I listed off.
A muscle in her cheek twitched as she supplied, “Gayer than Maxamillion?”
I blinked down at her as she grinned back at me, looking way too smug for my liking.
“Are you telling me I thought about ripping him apart the entire week in Vegas and he wasn’t even after you?”
“So violent,” she said with mock disapproval.
“You lied to me?!”
“Excuse me?” she barked, laughing in a way that brought her sanity into question as a hand settled on her chest. I was too irritated to buy the innocent act, especially as she countered, “I never lied to you.”
“We had it out in the elevator about his ulterior motives.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Allen. I never said he was interested in me or that I was interested in him. I said he was a solid prospect and was about to tell you I got his number for Max, but you went all pissed-off neanderthal on me.”
“Thought you were being na?ve. He was so damn touchy feely. Fuck, El, I spent the entire week hating him for putting his hands on you so freely.”
She giggled then, equal parts mischief and smug victory. “And you did all of that to yourself, big guy. Could’ve spent one evening with us and put all that angst to bed.”
“Well, fuck me,” I groaned, leaning back into the mattress as she laughed skyward.
“Again? Christ, you’re relentless.”
“Har-har.”
“What do they say about making assumptions, Professor?”
Shaking my head, I bent down and nipped at her neck. “Took two years off my life and you were setting Max up.”
“Yep.”
“I feel like a dumbass.”
“That’s a warranted emotion.”
“You’re evil,” I teased, tickling her side and grinning as she squeaked and tried to squirm away.
Still giggling, she nipped back, “Remind me how evil I am when I’m swallowing your cock later.”
Elora
Never in mylife had I been banged into a sex aversion, but the decadent ache between my legs was a promise for absolute devastation if we didn’t figure out how to keep our hands to ourselves this week.
Thanksgiving was freakishly quiet. As a matter of fact, I didn’t think I’d ever seen a family gathering so small. Was this what normal families felt like during the holidays? No chaotic chatter or a dozen voices vying to hold the conversation at the same time? No competing for the last roll or theatrical game of charades after dinner? It was… disconcerting, to say the least. I was missing the chaos of a full house, while simultaneously soaking up the calmer, quiet tempo of an intimate group. Noel prepped half the dinner herself, and James popped over to Broderick’s around ten am to put the tiny turkey in the oven. The guys sat down to watch football, Axel joining in around noon. We had a video chat with Broderick’s parents, Rob and Marley, before dropping food off to his grandfather. Our cousins, Jake and Charlie, and Charlie’s kids, showed up not long after. We’d all laughed and played cards while the games rolled across the television, eaten and served up pie and ice cream in an oddly comforting routine. Is this what it would feel like if Brod and I decided this was our new normal? The two of us entertaining the family, making the kids giggle with traces of pumpkin on happy cheeks?
I’d always loved watching Brod with kids around the island, but somehow, seeing him with little Sterling hit so much harder now. Harder because, God, I wanted that. At the base of all of this yearning and pining sat a deeply rooted need to have the entire picture. I just wasn’t sure what that looked like.
“Wait, wait, show me again!” Sterling demanded, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Broderick laughed. At seven years old, there was absolutely nothing Charlie’s youngest loved as much as sleight of hand magic tricks. My multi-talented lover had been entertaining both kids for the better half of dessert.
Our not-so-little Junebug turned eleven this fall and was attempting to appear indifferent as she peered over the rim of her novel, watching with enough focus that I assumed she was trying to catch the science behind the magic.
“Pay attention, now,” Broderick said, holding up a too-shiny quarter. I wondered if he got it fresh from the bank for just this purpose. He held it up to the left, and bright Rhodes’ blues followed the motion. The kids both shared Charlie’s warm olive complexion but got their late mama’s dark jet-black hair. “Don’t lose track,” Broderick encouraged, shifting the coin from one hand to the other. That tiny dimple popped up in Sterling’s cheek as he followed the motion. Meanwhile, June’s eyes narrowed, like she could focus her way past the illusion as Broderick moved it again. “If you blink, you’re bound to miss it,” he added and with a flick of his wrist, the coin vanished.
“How do you do that!?” Sterling demanded, both his volume and enthusiasm at their max.
“It’s just a trick,” June said dismissively, lifting her chin and dropping her eyes to her book all in one movement. I smirked as Broderick did the same thing, but he kept his eyes on the still mesmerized Sterling.
“I’ll teach you some day, but you have to follow the magician’s code.”
“The magician’s code?” Sterling demanded, grabbing Broderick’s hand and peeling it open, only to scowl at his empty palm.
“Everyone knows the magician’s code,” Broderick said sagely. Sterling’s silver eyes snapped to me, looking for confirmation.
“It’s true,” I said, nodding. “Everyone knows the magician’s code.”
“What is it?” he asked eagerly, peeling open Broderick’s button up sleeve as he searched for the quarter. Grinning, Broderick held up one finger with a flourish.
“One—you can tell no one how you did it unless they’ve sworn the oath. Two—” a second digit joined the first. “You can never perform the trick without practicing it until you’ve mastered it.” Another finger went up. “Third, you have to escape the Monster of Mayhem!”
Before Sterling could ask about said monster, Broderick’s eyes went wide, his hands snapped up like T-Rex claws, and he growled, lunging for Sterling, who yelped and bolted away. I realized I was grinning like an idiot when I caught June’s smile directed at her pages. Eleven going on thirty, evidently. Something cold nudged my elbow, and I turned to find a beaming Noel offering me a glass of red.
“Something about a good man who’s good with kids,” she said, shaking her head adoringly as she handed over the wine. “Just makes my ovaries explode, you know?”
“He’ll be a wonderful dad someday, won’t he?”
“One of the best. James loving on those two was the end for me, I swear.”
“They’ve both always had a soft spot for Charlie’s kids,” I supplied, feigning indifference with no more finesse than Junebug as I attempted not to watch every move of their theatrical game.
“You guys talking about kids?”
I nearly choked on my wine before my brows winged up. “Excuse me?”
“You were just here helping prep this morning?” she said dryly, laying the skepticism on thick. If by ‘prep’ she meant fucking each other’s brains out so our lust wouldn’t infect the whole gathering, then yes, we were prepping.
“Yeah,” I said, voice tighter than it could be if it needed to convince anyone.
“Prep what?” She laughed. “Slicing canned cranberry sauce?”
“That stuff is shit. We made ours fresh,” I bit back, smirking.
“Sure,” she said, arching a brow, but then beaming as a tiny voice bellowed for Jameson.
“Unca James!!! Help!” Sterling squealed as he bolted around the long dining table, still covered in dessert and abandoned plates and drinks.
Jameson’s head snapped up from his conversation with Charlie, and he threw Noel a wink before taking a nearly identical dinosaur stance to Broderick’s and bellowing a, “Raaawr!”
“Don’t wait too long, El. Good men only come around once or twice in a lifetime.”
Blinking, I turned to my friend who knew that reality more than any woman ever should. For the first time, the truth tiptoed down the length of my tongue before I beat it back. “Yeah, I just gotta find one.”
The lie tasted sour. Because we both knew the man tickling the dickens out of my cousin’s ridiculously cute kid was the best of the best.
It was as Broderick’s elated brown eyes found mine that my stomach twisted. Leaving on Monday was going to be the most acute kind of torture.