Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
LABELS
Three Months Later
Jules
“We’re so close.” He points at the countertop where the two slabs of sample stone quartz we’ve narrowed it down to sit. Finally. We’ve spent almost two hours in the countertop showroom. “They’re both beautiful.”
“They are. You can’t go wrong with either.”
“I want you to choose,” he says.
I balk. “That’s too much pressure. This is your kitchen countertops. And you have a lot of countertop to cover. Are you sure?”
“I love both of these, and I trust your eye. So yes. I’m sure.”
“Fine, but if you hate it, you don’t get to blame me.”
“I won’t hate it. Now, please hurry so we can get the fuck out of here.” He puts his hands together as if in prayer.
I laugh at his melodrama and run my hand over the cool smooth surface of the first stone. It’s white with light gold marbling. The other one is white too but with prominent threads of silver and cool gray running through it. “I like this one.” I drum my fingers on the white and gold.
“It’s too plain. I think this one’s better.” He taps the other one and grabs a piece of paper from a stack on the table and writes down the number of the one I didn’t choose.
I glare at him. “I don’t know why you even asked me. You always know what you want.”
He flashes a sly grins and tucks the paper into his pocket. “I couldn’t know for sure until I faced the prospect of losing one of them. Thanks for your help.”
“You’re weird.” I bump his hip.
“So are you.” He drapes his right arm around my waist. “Let’s go place this order and go home.”
“Gladly.” We’ve been out all day, and I’m exhausted. But I’m not complaining. Work is busy but going very well. I’m almost certain I’m in the running for a tenancy at the end of my pupilage. And at night, I’m at the mercy of a sex god. I can’t get enough of him. But I show restraint when we’re in public. Omar, not so much.
We haven’t taken two steps when his hand starts to travel down my hip. I dance away from him. “No way, baby. I don’t know the laws in America, but here you get arrested for public sex. We got lucky we didn’t get caught earlier.”
“I was just fingering you, which doesn’t count as sex. And I was trying to finish what you started before we left.”
I blush. “You heard me?” I shove at his chest. I was in the bathroom with my favorite vibrator when he announced himself.
He presses his ear to my lips. “Didn’t you want me to? Isn’t that why you were moaning my name so loud?”
I bite my lip and flush that he heard me. But not from embarrassment. “Why didn’t you come join me?”
“I did join you. On the other side of the door. It was hot as hell, but I was just getting started when your phone rang and interrupted us both.”
The visual that conjures up of him stroking himself while he listened to me get off makes my mouth water.
We join the queue at the order desk, and he maneuvers me to stand right in front of him. I anticipate the press of his body into mine, but it still makes my heart skip a beat when that warm, muscular chest touches my back. It’s been three months since our first time, we’ve had sex every day.
On the day Aunt Flo makes her appearance, he fucks the valley between my breasts, and two weeks ago he introduced me to the mind-blowing pleasure of anal sex. He runs his hands down my arms, and they erupt in gooseflesh. He leans down to nuzzle my neck with his nose. I reach between us and cup my hand over his growing erection and give it a discreet stroke. “Is that a rocket in your pants or are you happy to see me?”
He hisses. “You’re asking for trouble.”
“Only the good kind, I promise.”
It’s our turn at the counter, and I step to the side so he can focus on paying.
“Mr. Solomon. Nice to see you again,” the man behind the counter says, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose as he scans the screen of his computer. “Ah, yes. Here are your measurements. This is for your kitchen, correct?”
“Correct, and here’s the stone I’ve chosen.” He slides the paper he wrote it on across the counter. The man types the number into the computer and smiles in approval. “Very nice. And does Mrs. Solomon approve?” he asks me with an expectant smile.
“I do like it. But I’m not his wife,“ I correct him.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Omar says and bumps my hip. I smile at him and the man, but I’m taken aback.
I like the way that label sounds, but we’ve never talked about it. I know he’s not sleeping with anyone else, and I know he cares about me, but I’m not holding my breath. And I don’t want to read more into it than he means.
We walk out to the car and are back on the road toward home when I finally ask.
“So I’m your girlfriend?”
“Sorry, would you prefer partner?”
“Either would be fine, but I didn’t think we were labeling this.”
He glances at me, and the corner of his mouth turns down. “Okay, how would you define us then?”
I return his sideways look. “As lovers. And friends . ”
“Who don’t spend a single night apart. Who are inseparable. Who are exclusive?” he retorts.
“So there’s no one else you’re even interested in?”
“Fuck no.” He turns his head to glare at me for a second before he looks back to the road. “You?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Better fucking not. You’re my girl, Jules. I didn’t say it because I didn’t think I had to.”
His possessiveness is such a turn-on. But I want to be clear before we move on. So I keep my knees together and press him. “Well, I don’t take hints and never get innuendo. It’s just not how my brain works. So if you’re saying all of those things add up to mean I’m your girlfriend, then that’s cool. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend. But I know people who have something like this with multiple people.”
He scoffs, and his lips quirk in a dismissive smirk. “Then they’re not doing the same things we do. Because if they did, they wouldn’t be with multiple people because they wouldn’t even see anyone but each other, right?”
“Right.” My heart expands in my chest. I don’t expect him to be here forever, but while he is, I want him all to myself. “So girlfriend?”
“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as, to you, it means we’re together.”
“I like that.” A little too much for comfort.
“I like you .” He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes.
My smile has a life of its own. It’s not what I planned, but after years of planning and strategizing every decision, I’m happy to go with the flow. Especially when the flow feels so good. And has an expiration date.
His kitchen is the last major space that we’ll need contractors for. The rest is just decorating, and he’s let me help him with all of it. He’s supposed to be on a leave of absence from work, but his time is almost up.
Despite the marvels of modern technology, he can’t run his business from here. Time zone differences, poor connections, and all the other issues that come with trying to work remotely have been hampers on his productivity.
No, when it’s done, he’ll put the house on the market and go back home.
I have this fantasy that he’ll come back from time to time. But the prospect of him staying and finding out who I am and what I’ve done is unthinkable. His leaving is the best ending I can hope for.
“Oh, speaking of, Architectural Digest has been in touch about the house.”
“About what? They want to buy it?”
He casts me a sidelong glance. “No, babe, they want to photograph it.”
“How do they know about the house?”
“They’ve been following my renovation account. Apparently this house has a history as interesting as its appearance. They want to write a feature on it and me.”
“Wow, how great.”
“There’ll be a photoshoot, and I’d love for you to join us.”
“Uh, me? Why?”
“Are you kidding? You’ve decorated the entire house. I only had the bones of it together when we met.”
“I don’t want to be in a magazine. Especially not one highlighting where I live. The house isn’t behind a gate, anyone can walk up to it. I work in criminal law. It could be dangerous.” My voice grows more vehement with every sentence.
He holds his hands up. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Forget that idea. I’ll just give you credit.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t want to be mentioned by name. The public eye isn’t for me.”
“Understood. You don’t need to say another word. Thank you for being so up front about it. I’m glad you know you can be with me.”
I sag with relief and smile at him. “I’m so glad you understand. So thank you , Break.”
He scoffs. “What does that mean?”
“It was what my dad used to call anything that was exceptional. I don’t know why, but it stuck and I use it, too.”
His expression is dubious, but he smiles. “Exceptional, huh? I guess I can deal with that.”
“It’s a great nickname.”
He cuts me a sidelong look. “You’re really going to call me that?”
“Yes. Forever .” I rub my hands together in wicked glee.
He smirks. “Then I’m going call you Beat.”
“What does that mean?”
“That you’re the only music I want to dance to.”
“Break and Beat.” I test the names out.
“I think they’re perfect together,” he says.
“Me too.”