5. Marco
Marco
I take the stairs two at a time up to our apartment. Bea’s at work, since this is the Friday before Christmas, but she’s leaving tonight.
Brin’s home though, and when I walk through the apartment, the shower is running.
Last night we’d talked about her schedule and she’s babysitting this afternoon and working at the restaurant every night up to the twenty-third.
Not ideal for the scavenger hunt, but since we have no idea what the tasks are and I have my days free, we’ll do the best we can.
I stand in the kitchen, chugging water and cooling off. I sprinted home, so I’m breathing hard and pacing the apartment when I hear a moan through the wall.
Skidding to a stop, I listen. Was that like an oh this hot water feels so good moan, or was it—
I swallow thickly when she moans again. That was definitely a pending-orgasm moan.
Jesus.
In all our time living together, I’ve never heard her like this. My imagination is running wild right now.
Usually, I’m already running errands for William at this time or in morning meetings. Brin has the apartment to herself most days. But on this rare day off that I have, our schedule has collided in a way that’s going to fry my brain.
I’m hard and aching because it’s been at least a year since I’ve been with anyone—my last relationship was with a woman I’d met at one of William’s events and we were fuck buddies for a few months—and right now I have my extremely hot roommate pleasuring herself with one measly door between us.
Brin’s a great roommate. Neat and tidy, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen her dirty laundry, hang-drying lace underwear, or the vibrator she keeps in her nightstand.
FML.
I cannot make things weird for her. Any attraction I have has to be tamped down, because it’s never going to happen. The rent Brin pays me is way below market rate for a nice place like this, and I would never forgive myself if she felt like she moved out because I made her uncomfortable.
I force myself to focus on some of my finest moments as William’s personal assistant. Threatening litigation to an ungodly number of people. Giving an adorable puppy to a shelter because he peed on a painting William left on the floor. Getting numerous people fired.
Being William’s evil lackey is my superpower, and boy is it a boner-killer.
At least, until Brin’s moans get louder and come to a high-pitched crescendo before a guttural ending.
Fuck.
Sweet, naive Brin just had an orgasm in our shower.
The water turns off and I realize I need to not be standing in the living room like an idiot when she opens the door.
I need a few minutes to get myself under control so I can pretend like everything’s normal.
I escape out onto the streets and sprint a few more laps around the block.
When I get back from my second run, Brin has left to babysit so I have the place to myself. I shower, unable to resist jerking off in the same space Brin had just climaxed in, trying not to think of running my fingers through red hair and kissing freckles.
It doesn’t work.
After that, I put on a TV show and answer emails for William, even though I’m technically on vacation. Brin should be down any minute now so we can go to the hotel for the start of SHiNY, so I get dressed.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally Brin comes careening in. “Sorry, Andrea’s mother was running late to get home from the hospital.”
We rush out the door to make it in time to the ballroom.
There’s plenty of people milling around already.
I wonder how many teams will be participating in the scavenger hunt—there are seats for at least a hundred people.
The room is draped with red and gold, potted evergreens lining the walls, light sparkling off the baubles dangling from their branches.
Christmas music plays over the speakers, an upbeat “Deck the Halls” barely audible over the hum of voices.
It’s enough holiday cheer to make me roll my eyes. Is the whole event going to be like this? So much for ignoring Christmas this year.
Ever since Brin and I moved in together, I’ve had to shove my attraction to her away.
The last thing she needs is to be taken advantage of by anyone else—she’s had enough of that with past roommates and former bosses.
I know what a great deal I offered her when she moved in with me, and now that I know her better, I see how hard she works.
She reminds me of my brother. Too kind.
Like now, she tugs on my sleeve. “This is outrageous.” Her eyes are wide as she takes in the decorations and the attire in the room. “How is this event making any money? Who’s paying for these decorations? I have so many questions.”
“I don’t know. But rich people like to have money lavished on them first; they can’t just write a check and save everyone the trouble,” I mutter. I’ve seen William be courted for his money plenty.
“Marco!” A familiar voice shouts my name from my right and I look over.
My friend Greg is shuffling down the row as people make way for him, moving their knees to the side or outright standing up.
“Excuse me, excuse me, thanks, yeah, excuse me.” Finally Greg plops down next to Brin and gives me a grin. “Hey man.”
We shake hands over Brin, who leans back to give us space.
Greg is another personal assistant; his boss, Ishimoto Hikaru, is an artist who runs vaguely in the same social circles as William.
There is one of Ishimoto’s works in William’s house right now, actually, and several more in storage.
When our schedule allows, Greg and I get together to run or play basketball, though it doesn’t happen often.
“Ishimoto has you busy over the holidays too, huh?” I raise my chin to the stage, where it looks like things are about to get started.
Greg straightens his suit jacket. “You know it. All for a good cause, right?” Greg’s a good-looking guy—straight, unfortunately for me—and the life of the party. The few times we’ve gone out together we’ve ended our nights late and each of us found someone to take home for the night.
It’s been a while, though. Not since I moved in with Brin, I guess. If I’m out that late, I swing by Brin’s bar and hang out while she closes and then we walk home together. Greg always gives me shit for ditching him, but I like knowing Brin gets home safe.
And having a roommate—an actual roommate sharing one room—doesn’t give me a lot of privacy. There’s a difference between jerking off in the shower when Brin’s not home and bringing a random hookup to our shared bedroom.
Now, though, Greg turns to Brin and gives her a dazzling smile, holding out a hand and introducing himself.
Then he introduces us to his teammate, Luis, a younger guy with light brown skin, also wearing a suit.
Luis works at one of the art galleries in Chinatown.
I’m sure I’ve been there before but can’t remember meeting him.
Brin mumbles her name and sinks back down into her chair. Giving us room to talk in front of her, I guess, but Greg studies her for a moment. “Have we met?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” Brin says quickly, eyes on her coffee. I can’t catch her eye because she tilts the cup to down the last gulp and then the music fades and even though I stare at her face for a moment, Brin doesn’t look at me. She looks straight ahead as the presentation starts.
A Black woman is at the podium, holding her hands up for quiet. When the voices hush, she smiles.
“Welcome to SHiNY Season!”
There’s a round of applause, with Brin clapping enthusiastically next to me. Everyone is excited for the next few days, but I’m dreading it. I’ve been able to avoid the worst of holiday cheer for the past few years, but this time, I’m going to be drowning in it.
All this scavenger hunt is going to do is remind me of the worst two Christmases of my life.