Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A few nights later, I clomp back down that same hallway, barely bothering to acknowledge Stan at his post. I’m too irritated by the intense smell wafting through the corridor. It isn’t a bad smell—in fact, it’s a really, really good smell—but I wish people would have the decency to keep their cooking to themselves, or at least to crack a window if they’re going to be using garlic.
It’s been a day. Nothing especially bad happened, but it’s just been long and unrelenting. I forgot to set my alarm for this morning, so since I’d been up late texting with Kimo, I slept in way too late and missed an all-staff meeting. In my haste to get ready, I forgot that my black sandals cut into my feet the last time I wore them, and son of a bitch, those monsters did the same thing to me today. The AC at the office was on the fritz by the end of the day, and my deodorant did its best, but I’m still pretty confident I smell somewhere between stinky cheese and old socks. Oh, and despite the broken AC, I still had to stay late to make up for some stuff I missed in the morning, and then I realized I had to stay on even later because I’d done some things wrong when I got to the office in a panic at sleeping in. Suffice it to say, I missed picking up Nalani and Makoa, missed hanging out while Kimo cooks, missed dinner. Oh, and missed lunch, too, come to think of it. And breakfast. No wonder I feel like I might murder someone for a baguette.
To top it all off, I’m feeling extra irritable because...maybe it’s stupid, but I kind of thought I wouldn’t be like this anymore now that I’ve found Kimo. You know, Grouchy Matilda—or, let’s be honest with the name: Bitchy Matilda. I thought that maybe, I don’t know, I’d been cured by love or whatever. (Hey, don’t judge me—this is all new to me!) Turns out the potential for mega-bitch still lurks under my skin, just waiting for its chance to be freed from its ancient curse and wreak havoc on the city.
I pause when I reach my door, frowning as I see it’s ajar. I’m not frowning out of concern for my safety, because I just saw Stan keeping his usual careful but distant surveillance outside, and I can hear Journey floating out into the corridor, so I know it isn’t an intruder. Well, it is an intruder, but it’s my intruder.
Kimo. And whatever that delicious smell is, it’s coming from inside my apartment.
No, I’m frowning because I know what I get like when I’m in one of these moods. I need to burrow under a blanket and put Full House on a loop and eat an entire box of cereal. I need space to turn into that feral creature for a while so I can emerge again on the other side like a normal human being. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pull things together for Kimo, and he’s going to get a glimpse of that side of me that seems to repel everyone else.
If I had anywhere else to go, somewhere I could just be on my own, I probably would retreat. Instead I sigh and push open the door.
Kimo’s used what looks like every single pot and pan in the kitchen. “Open Arms” is playing at an ungodly volume, and he’s singing along, eyes closed, his messy bun bobbing precariously on the top of his head.
Under normal circumstances, I’d find this spectacle pretty adorable. Now, though, all I can think about is how long it’s going to take to clean my kitchen.
Somehow he senses my approach, even with his eyes closed and the music blaring. “Hey, baby!” He sounds so genuinely excited to see me that it should soften me a little. Instead, I feel myself going rigid. He comes forward to hug me but draws himself up short. “Whoa. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”
I guess it’s less convincing when you say it through gritted teeth, because Kimo arches some major eyebrow at me. “You sure?”
Do not shout, Matilda. Don’t be a bitch. Don’t scare him off . “Yes, fine,” I say again. I tell myself to try to smile, but my face is incapable of the lie at the moment.
Kimo gauges me, then claps his hands together. “Right. Sit down. Eat. I’ll get you your food then draw up a bath for you...”
A second later, I’m alone at the table with a heaping bowl of spaghetti bolognese in front of me. True to his word, Kimo is in the other room, running a bath, though I can still hear him singing off-key to himself. The song is so badly butchered I can’t make heads or tails of what it’s supposed to be.
Even though I didn’t want Kimo here, I’m also kind of irritated that he left me alone at the table. “Whatever,” I mutter out loud to myself, heaping a healthy helping of spaghetti onto my fork.
This is the best goddam thing I’ve ever tasted. All those flavors I’d been smelling in the hallway have blended together perfectly. I let out a moan that is, frankly, indecent, then shovel the entire bowl into my mouth faster than is safe or sane. When I see there’s also garlic bread on the table, I don’t miss a beat; snatching for it, I inhale half the loaf in just under a minute.
Belly full, I feel some of the earlier rage subsiding. Now the bone-deep weariness is beginning to set in. As if on cue, Kimo appears. “Bath’s ready.” He eyes the table quickly, and if he thinks it’s bizarre how much I’ve managed to eat in such a short amount of time, he wisely doesn’t say anything.
In the bathroom, I tense again, expecting him to try to make this a sexy moment somehow—to offer to soap up my boobs or some other asinine thing that might actually make me bite off his head right now. Instead he disappears then reappears a moment later with a glass of wine. “Enjoy. Take your time, okay? There’s no rush.”
Then, he’s gone.
I’m surprised, but also relieved. I need some time to just unwind. When I slip into the bath, I find he’s left it at just the perfect temperature, and the first sip of wine helps me feel more centered and calm. This is nice. This is...really nice.
For just a moment, I let myself imagine this is a normal weekday night. I’m tired from work, but I get to come home to Kimo, and he takes care of me when I’m having a rough day. No one’s ever looked after me this way. Maybe it could always be like this between us—not that I’d be in a bad mood every night, but when I am, Kimo would step up to make sure I’m okay, and I’d do the same for him when he needed me. We could take care of each other.
But it would all fade over time, wouldn’t it? I remember how my mother’s boyfriends were in the beginning—flowers and romance and compliments—and just how quickly all of that wore off. Not that I’m likely to find out one way or another with Kimo. He’ll probably be gone long before the shine begins to dim.
Almost an hour later, when I finally emerge from the bathroom in my robe, I’m surprised to find the entire kitchen is spotless—maybe even cleaner than it was before he started cooking. Kimo’s hanging out on the couch, wearing sweatpants and a tank top and watching something on TV. When he sees me approach, he turns it off. “Hey. Wanna watch Full House ?”
This man has pulled out all the stops. I want to just enjoy it—I tell myself, Just enjoy it, you idiot! —but a part of me is still waiting for him to disappoint me. I hone in on the sight of him so dressed down. “Are you staying the night?”
I actually don’t know what I want the answer to be. If he says yes, he’s presumptuous; if he says no, he’s abandoning me. Even recognizing it, I can’t shake the weird, cagey tension I’m feeling.
“I don’t have to,” he reassures me quickly. “But Nalani’s spending the night at a friend’s, and Māmā says she’s fine with Makoa on her own. So I can stay, if you want.”
I can tell he’s trying to sound light about the whole thing, like it doesn’t really matter either way, like there’s no pressure. After a moment’s reflection, I shrug. “Stay. But maybe let’s keep it low-key tonight, okay?”
“Sure thing. Come here, baby...”
I get into my usual position as little spoon, engulfed in the safe warmth of his big body. Kimo starts up where we left off last time, and for a while, we just watch together in silence, except for when he laughs at something happening onscreen. I’ve seen the show too many times to still find any of the bits genuinely funny, but I delight in his amusement and enjoyment at the characters’ antics.
After a couple episodes, I feel something nudging against my lower back. Of course , I think to myself with a good-natured roll of my eyes, but then I realize it’s his knuckles. “You want a massage? I can feel your shoulders are still all tense.”
Okay. Come on, now. I might be new to this whole relationship thing, but even my fuck buddies would play this game sometimes. “Right,” I drawl sarcastically. “A massage. We both know what that’s code for.”
Kimo scoffs behind me as if genuinely offended. “Hey, I take my massages seriously. No funny business. And that goes both ways. Don’t start begging me for sex in a few minutes once you start feeling all loose and good.”
Despite myself, I huff out a laugh.
I raise my eyebrows knowingly as Kimo tugs my robe open and down over my shoulders, exposing the naked expanse of my back to him. True to his word, though, Kimo really does just focus on the massage. He’s really good at it, seeming to intuit where I need him to be and just how hard to make the pressure.
And sure enough...after my back and shoulders start to feel all loose and good, other parts of my anatomy start to want the same treatment. Dammit. I know that was his plan all along, but God help me, it’s working.
I start to move my bottom back and forth, deliberately rubbing it up against his groin. Kimo pauses his ministrations on my back. When he speaks, his voice is stern. “Excuse me, ma’am. That’s against our policy here at this parlor.”
Fighting a laugh, I adopt the same overly officious tone. “Apologies. I didn’t realize I was rubbing my ass against your cock. It won’t happen again.”
“Make sure it doesn’t.”
He begins to massage me again. I wait for just the perfect moment before I let out a deep moan of pleasure.
“Ma’am. Come on, now. That’s very inappropriate.”
“Sorry,” I play along, rubbing myself back against him once again. “It just felt so good.”
To my surprise, he sits up and away from me. For one startled second, I think he’s really going to leave—until I glance over and see he’s taking off his clothes. Yep, briefs, everything. He’s completely naked now.
I burst out laughing. Kimo fixes me with a faux-stern look. “Come on, lady. Keep it professional.”
“You’re the one taking off your clothes!” I protest.
“I’m just trying a new massage method. To show you the benefits of skin-to-skin. Stop being so inappropriate, or I’m going to have to punish you.”
Whoa. Now that shoots my slow-warming lust straight up to sizzling. “Punish me how?”
Kimo moves to lie back down again behind me, but pauses so he can whisper in my ear. “I’m taking away your loyalty card.”
Giggling again, I allow him to pull me back down so I’m lying in front of him. The massage continues just like before, only now I’m keenly aware of him being naked behind me. And also keenly aware that I need him to notch those G-rated touches up pretty quickly, now that my libido’s been fully awakened.
But Kimo seems committed to playing his role, and he stays strictly out of my bathing suit zone. Damn him! He’s really trying to make me beg for it. Which I’m not against in principle, but since I just know he’s waiting for me to give in, I need to make him be the one to give in. I know, it doesn’t make much sense, but that’s my brain, folks. After a moment of scheming, I start wriggling around to get his attention.
His hands, which have been massaging my upper arms, still. “Ma’am? You aren’t getting frisky on me again, are you? Because then I might have to call in my manager.”
“I was just thinking...for skin-to-skin to work, wouldn’t I also have to be naked?”
Kimo ponders this a moment. “All right,” he says finally. “But no funny business.”
I sit up, eagerly shucking off the rest of my robe so I’m naked as a jaybird. When I lie down again, I move back until my bare skin is in contact with Kimo’s, feeling a shiver run through me.
“You feeling those benefits yet?” he murmurs in my ear.
His hands finally move down from my shoulders, and he begins applying the same firm but gentle pressure to my lower back, then down to my buttocks. He gives a low grumble of appreciation, rubbing me, smoothing his hands over my curves.
I don’t hold back my sigh of pleasure. “I’m not sure,” I say after a moment. “What are the benefits of skin-to-skin supposed to be?”
There’s a long enough stall that I realize Kimo doesn’t actually know. I stifle a laugh. “Well...uh, it’s meant to relax you. Make you feel safe. Make you feel taken care of.”
I’m pretty sure we’re not talking about skin-to-skin anymore. I bite back my smile, pretending to consider it. “I am feeling those things. I think it’s working.”
“Good, good. Because there’s another experimental treatment I’d like to try on you.”
My heart rate spikes in anticipation. “Oh? Will it cost extra, because I’m kind of on a budget?”
“Don’t worry, ma’am. This one’s on the house. It’s called advanced tongue therapy.”
I don’t quite catch the giggle before it escapes my throat. “Ooh. Sounds French.”
A moment later, I feel him sitting up, angling me so I’m on my back and facing him. At the sight of his gentle, handsome face, I forget the game for a moment and reach up to touch his cheek.
“Ma’am,” he tells me faux-sternly. “That’s the kind of unseemly behavior that’s going to get you kicked out of this place.”
I laugh. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way–-happy and safe and giddy, but also so, so turned on. I thought those different emotions always had to come separately, and that one would always be off-limits to me. I am so, so happy I was wrong.
“Sorry,” I tell him, giving him my best innocent eyes. “I’ll be good.”
“Good. Now lie back so I can try out this advanced tongue therapy on your boobs. Don’t get any ideas. This is strictly professional.”
Grinning, I do as he orders. My mirth shifts quickly into something far more intense as his mouth closes over my left breast, his tongue swirling over my nipple until I’m crying out, back arching off the sofa. He moves to the next breast and does the same, until I’m a whimpering, keening mess.
He grins at me, shamelessly pleased with himself. “What do you think of the new technique? It’s supposed to make you feel super horny.”
I huff out a laugh. “That’s not very professional.”
“It’s still being workshopped.”
“Hmm.” I spread my legs wide, an invitation. “Well, it worked. I feel super horny.”
Kimo keeps a straight face, though his eyes flick down. “Interesting. I’ll have to give my feedback to corporate...”
He really isn’t going to give up this game, is he? It’s time to expedite this process a bit. “You’d better lodge a complaint with headquarters, while you’re at it. I think it’s negligent to get a client all hot and bothered and not finish the job.”
Kimo pretends to consider this. “So you’re saying...you want a deep, deep tissue massage.”
“I’m saying you better fuck me senseless, or I’m taking this whole parlor down.”
He shakes his head, as if deeply put out. “Anything for the company...”
And, after grabbing a condom from the small tin by the couch (hey, this isn’t our first time winding up here), he makes good on his promise.