17. Chapter 17
Mal
“W ell, well, well.”
I pause mid-stride at the accusatory tone that greets my ears, and the door to the break room practically slaps my ass as it closes behind me.
“Alex,” I say, huffing out a laugh. “It’s only been a couple weeks.”
Alex’s shoulders sag, that blaze in his eyes lessening as he gives me a tiny shove. “I know , but where have you been, Curly Fry? You’ve skipped out on Sublime night twice in a row now. Twice . I was starting to get worried.”
I shrug, slipping past Alex to grab a tea. I unscrew the cap before I can think better of it. Seeing as I don’t technically work here at the moment, I probably shouldn’t be taking advantage of the complimentary refreshments.
But as I ponder that, tea poised in my hand, Alex says, “Oh, go ahead. Jerome won’t give a damn. Why are you here, boo? Are you done with your sugga pop?”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of my drink before heading for a table. Alex tags along. “No, I just wanted to visit. Like you said, I haven’t seen you guys in a while.”
Well, I saw Niko a little over a week ago, but I haven’t stopped by Elite 8 since I started my new gig at Henrik’s. That was twenty days ago now.
“And why is that?” Alex asks, raising a brow.
“I guess I got caught up in…things.”
Not a lie, but a flimsy excuse at best. The truth is time got away from me.
It really has felt like a different world up in Henrik’s ivory tower.
It’s been all too easy to coast along, enjoying the cushy perks of being a sugar baby-slash-escort and not having to worry about everything else for a while.
Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’ve still worried plenty. About my finances. My mental health. And, of course, the past keeps calling—quite literally.
But at least I’ve had Henrik to help calm me.
That’s been…nice. More than nice. Spending time with him.
Enjoying the feel of his fingers carding through my hair and letting myself be grounded by the soothing touch.
Listening to the low near-grumble of his voice as he fills in the crossword with me at the end of the day.
I’ve never been in a relationship, but I imagine this is what one might feel like. Living together, eating together, taking care of one another. Enjoying the quiet moments.
I probably shouldn’t get attached to the feeling, but for now, I’m choosing to live in the fairytale. I’m embracing the luxury of my arrangement with Henrik. The luxury of the man himself.
I’ll deal with the harshness of reality when the time comes.
“Malibu. Earth to my best bud,” Alex says, his waving hand brushing my nose.
“Sorry,” I mumble, not even bothering to comment on Alex’s best bud claim. I’m pretty sure every friend of Alex’s is his best bud. The man is more of a people person than I’ll ever be.
“I asked what could possibly be more important than spending time with your favorite coworkers, but I get it now,” he says, nodding his head with pursed lips. “The guy must have a magic dick.”
“Alex,” I say, shaking my head with a smile. More like magic hands.
And it’s not just the way Henrik touches me during sex. At least the two times we’ve had it. Don’t get me wrong—his hands truly do work magic when they’re mapping all over my bare skin, taking me apart, making me wild with pleasure.
But it’s more than that. It’s the way Henrik can’t seem to help but touch me whenever he’s around, which has been more lately, as if something shifted that night he held me after Great Oak called—when I all but broke down.
Over the past week, Henrik has been home in time to cook dinner every night, not staying late at the office once. And instead of retreating to his own solitude inside his study, he’s sat with me on the couch, talking or doing the crossword, always connected in some way.
I don’t know what inspired the change, compared to the week prior when I almost wondered if he was avoiding me, but I’m not complaining.
“Are you denying it?” Alex asks of his magic dick claim, drawing my mind to the present.
When I don’t answer—because, well, even though we only had anal once, his dick was divine—Alex titters.
“Exactly. No worries, boo. I get it. If there’s one valid excuse for blowing off your friends, it’s magic dick. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say, twisting the tea cap between my fingers, feeling guilty that I haven’t been as good of a friend to Alex and the others as they’ve been to me.
“Hey, none of that,” he says, reaching forward and squeezing my arm. “It wasn’t a criticism. I’m just glad to see you, Curls. You’ve been okay?”
I think about all the extra times I’ve stopped into Catty Commotions—not because of my anxiety, but because my time has been free without three jobs to hustle to—and I smile.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
He nods slowly. “You know, if you ever want to talk—”
“Well, well, well,” Dixon interrupts, narrowing his eyes as he walks through the door. He comes to stop before Alex and me and crosses his arms.
Dixon presents a tough-looking exterior, but I’ve known the guy for long enough to recognize his grumpy act for what it is. It’s his way of appearing aloof and detached, even as he cares, because Heaven forbid somebody cares back. I get that.
Alex snorts. “That’s what I said.”
Dixon raises a brow, grabbing a seat at our table and plopping down. “Was about ready to send out a search party.”
I shake my head, a little smile on my lips. “You’re both being ridiculous. I’ve been texting,” I remind them, pulling out my new phone as evidence. “Look, here’s our most recent thread from last night.”
Alex swipes my phone, nodding as he goes through our conversation. A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Yeah, speaking of magic dick. You should’ve seen the curve on that guy.”
“I know,” I reply blandly, grabbing my phone to read from the screen. “You told us. And I quote, ‘It felt like he was mining for my kidney,’ eggplant emoji, peach emoji, water emoji, screaming ghost emoji? End quote.”
Alex cackles. “So true.”
“And as I told you ”—I waggle my phone before setting it aside—“that was way more information than I needed to know about your conquests, babe.”
He scoffs, ignoring me. “In all fairness, it could’ve been your captor replying to our texts,” Alex points out.
I huff a laugh. “I’ve been perfectly fine . I can leave the penthouse anytime I want.” Alex opens his mouth, but I cut in. “No permission slip needed.”
Alex snickers. “That’d be teacher, not Daddy.”
“My God, he’s neither.”
“Whatever you say, sugar boo.” Without preamble, Alex starts singing the chorus to “Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down,” and I groan, dropping my forehead against the table.
“This again?” I mumble.
“Can we meet this guy?” Dixon interjects, all business.
I look over at him, recognizing the slant of his mouth as worry. I’ve seen plenty of it these past few months.
Dixon noticed before anyone else that something was wrong in my life.
I still don’t know how he picked up on it when he did, seeing as I kept a tight lid on my problems, but he was the first person to try and lend a hand when I was spiraling.
When the bills became too much, the eviction was hanging over my head, and my emotions were all over the place, bleeding into my work life in particular.
When I let a guy choke me for money. When I tried to get drunk enough to forget.
I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d accepted his help earlier. Or Alex and Niko’s. If I hadn’t let it get to the point where my landlord kicked me to the curb, hardly any possessions to my name because I’d sold them all for a little cash.
Cash that was never enough to cover the debt I started accruing when my mom became too unstable to care for herself.
When I signed the agreement with Great Oak Home Living to pay for her palliative care back in my home state.
When the woman who disapproved of me enough to have me dragged off and converted —an endeavor that, as far as she knew, was successful—managed to shove one last final fuck you in my face with her parting years.
It seems cruel that her dementia has allowed her to forget, when I’ll never be able to.
That woman killed off the boy I once was.
That young, innocent kid who was optimistic about life.
The one who, with a single chaste kiss against the brick wall at school, suddenly believed in magic.
I was sixteen then, but I can still remember my schoolmate’s face and his lacrosse number—fourteen.
I can recall that soaring feeling inside as I thought, “ I’m gay. ”
And I can recall, with perfect clarity, my mother’s face as she sent me off to camp .
I couldn’t even tell her it was for nothing. When I got home, I couldn’t say a word because I didn’t dare do a thing that might land me back in that place. From that day forward, I became a different person. I started hiding.
And I never really stopped.
I realize, as my mind returns to the present, that I’m clutching the tea cap so tightly in my fist that the rough edges are cutting into my skin.
I loosen my grip, but the damage is done.
Little pinpricks lie in a circle, bright red amidst my flesh.
I try to take a deep breath, to soothe my tight throat, but I can’t pull in enough oxygen, and my pulse is racing like a greyhound around a track.
“Mal?” Alex asks in concern, reaching for my arm.
I push out of my seat, my chair wobbling precariously before it drops back on all fours. I manage a quick “Excuse me” before rushing from the break room. No one stops me in the hall, and for that, I’m grateful.
I’ve only had a handful of panic attacks at work over the years, but each time, I’ve been able to get out of sight before they escalated. I head for my usual hideaway now, a shower stall in the locker room.