Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fallon
“I have to admit, I’m a little surprised you said yes to my invitation.”
Tomás leans back on the sofa and runs his finger over the rim of a wineglass. Since I’m not sure exactly what to say in response, I take a sip of the full-bodied red. I prefer beer, but even I can tell this is good stuff.
In the interest of trying to fill the aching cavern that opened inside me when I walked out on PJ, I’ve been pounding the pricey red as if it’s water.
“Easy there.” Tomás touches my arm with one hand, gently prying the glass out of my fingers with the other.
I try to shrug off his touch. Not that he isn’t a perfectly nice guy, but he isn’t the one I want touching me.
In spite of my rant, in spite of PJ having more red flags than a wildfire area, I feel like I made a huge mistake.
My concerns were legitimate, but when I replay our conversation? I believe PJ was being sincere.
In some ways this is harder than Marina’s death. That, at least, was final. What I feel right now is more like I took my heart out, handed it to PJ, and left it there.
“It’s good wine.” To avoid Tomás’s curious expression, I study the glass intently. “Marina was the wine connoisseur, but I learned a few things. I can tell it’s expensive.”
I take another gulp, because I want to and because I can. Because Tomás is a nice guy, but I know he’s a strict Dom. I’ve seen him at Daniel’s club. I’m trying to think of a kind way to let him know subbing for him isn’t a role I want to fill.
At one time I might have considered it. Not now.
Tomás gives me a curious look and then clears his throat. “I’m glad you like it. I enjoy sharing my collection with people.” He extends a finger, smoothing it along my forearm. “You look a bit lost, Fallon.”
I’m not lost. I’m just not where I belong.
I lean back, sliding myself a few inches away. Less subtle this time, and this time he gets the hint. He drops his hand and picks up his own glass.
“You know, I don’t think I did a good enough job of hiding my crush on you, all those years you were with Marina. I even asked to play with you more than once, but she always said no.”
The information catches me mid-swallow, and I wind up sputtering probably fifty dollars’ worth of red wine out of my nose.
Tomás laughs as I grab a napkin. “I guess she didn’t tell you.”
“She did not.” More coughing. “Which is strange because she didn’t particularly have qualms about sharing me. As long as she could be there to watch.”
Honestly, I didn’t mind it at the time. It was hot, getting touched by so many hands at once that I didn’t know who was doing what. The way PJ growls at any mention of someone else touching me, though? Honestly even hotter.
It shouldn’t be. I know it shouldn’t be. I’m sure I could use some therapy. But having someone want me so badly all to themselves really does it for me.
So, here we are.
“She probably realized my intentions were less than honorable.” Tomás glances down, for once not exuding the air of confidence he always seems to have. “When I noticed the two of you were having trouble, I was tempted to try and step in.”
Shit. I nearly choke on my wine again. This is what I get for trying to fill my emptiness with wine and a man I don’t want.
“You knew we were having trouble?”
His smile isn’t unkind. “Everyone knew. You both did an admirable job of keeping it to yourselves, but our community in Belle Argo is a small one. If one person sneezes, the rest of us catch a cold.”
“Probably because of all the orgies,” I mumble around my wineglass. Which I now realize is empty. Dammit.
Tomás’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I always did enjoy your sense of humor. And your kindness. I’m not exaggerating when I say that hearing Marina had refused your wish to have children broke my heart. You’d make an amazing father, and it wasn’t fair to deny you that chance.”
Whether calculated or sincere, Tomás’s words punch me straight in the chest. My eyes burn.
“It would have been unfair to pressure Marina into having a child she didn’t want.
To her and to the child. Besides—” I nod to Bruiser, who is stretched out a few feet away from us on one of his beds.
He’s paused gnawing a chew treat to growl at the air around him.
Most likely someone walking their own dog past the house. “—I have Bruiser now.”
Perhaps the only productive thing I’ve done since leaving PJ was to text his friend who worked with the animal rescue to let him know that I would be keeping Bruiser.
After I found fault with each of the first few adoption applications the rescue forwarded my way, I made the decision that he was already home.
“Yes, I see,” Tomás agrees. “At any rate, it’s neither here nor there. I’m getting the distinct impression that the feeling isn’t mutual.”
It’s not a question, but I answer him. Or I want to. The second I picture the devastation on PJ’s face when we last spoke, my throat tries to close.
“I’m hung up on someone. His name is PJ,” I manage. “We’re not…we’re not exactly together right now. In spite of all the reasons why we don’t make sense, I can’t stop thinking about him. Or missing him.”
Needing him.
Tomás, God bless him, pours me another glass of wine. “I’m an excellent listener if you’d like to tell me more.”
And strangely, I do. Sitting there with my not nearly full enough, but I guess it will do, glass of wine, I spill everything.
All the people who blamed me when Marina died, because if I hadn’t brought up having children again, we wouldn’t have fought, and she wouldn’t have decided she needed a girls’ trip in Miami.
She wouldn’t have been in that hotel when it collapsed.
I confess to not wanting to run into Marina’s best friend, and how that led to me kissing PJ.
The way we owned each other so thoroughly.
The way he took care of me after. The way he got me Bruiser, to have a routine and someone to care for.
The fact that he was my student, and how that should’ve been the final straw, but it hadn’t been.
My family’s disapproval, especially Wes’s.
The fact that I’d realized I might be a switch, and how it had felt to top PJ the night we’d found out Marina’s brother was alive.
“Here’s the worst part.” I unbutton my shirt, showing off the temporary tattoo that says “Owned.” It’s a bit faded after wearing it for a week, but still there.
“He wanted me to wear it to class this past Monday, but on Sunday we broke up. I wore it anyway.” I poke at the itchy spot right over my heart.
“Shaved my chest hair and everything. I’m the one who said I didn’t want to see him anymore, so I don’t know why.
He hasn’t even shown up at class since then.
I thought trials made couples stronger, but in the end it was all for nothing. ”
Tomás smiles sadly. “Not nothing. I think you wore the tattoo because your heart has decided you belong to him, even if your brain is having some issues with the idea.”
“He lied to me. Submission requires trust.”
Tomás looks up to the ceiling. “Oh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I can genuinely see how he would have been in a very difficult position.
He knew your brother was the one to set up the date, and it sounds as if he also knew your social circle had become rather small after Marina’s passing.
It makes sense that he wouldn’t want to harm your relationship with your only sibling. ”
I groan, leaning my head back against the sofa. “I know. You’re right. He told me Wes asked him not to tell.”
“And have you broken up with your brother yet?” Tomás takes a sip of his wine, looking decidedly smug.
Fuck. “It all sounds perfectly logical when you put it that way. I don’t know why it didn’t before.”
“Because you’re hurt. Betrayed, even. Which is perfectly valid. I’m not saying PJ handled things the right way, but I also think with enough determination trust can be rebuilt, yes?”
“Maybe.”
Fuck maybe. My brain has already latched onto Tomás’s perfectly reasonable explanation and is running with it like a track star who’s been handed the baton. I’m so relieved to have a reason to forgive him; my head is swimming.
Actually, that could be the wine.
Tempted to text PJ some sort of begging apology, I pick up my phone from the table and put it down again. “You know, I think I should probably get some sleep.”
Maybe begging should wait until I’m sober.
Tomás nods. “I’ll see myself out.” He stands. “Thank you for coming to the gallery with me. As friends.”
“Yeah. Friends.” I almost manage to smile back at him.
On his way to the door, my new tipsy friend misjudges the location of the entryway table, banging his hip on the corner and causing an old glass sculpture of Marina’s to wobble.
“Maybe you should stay here. Sleep off the wine.” I point my thumb toward the stairs. “I’ve got a guest room. If you don’t mind the fact that I didn’t get around to changing the sheets after the last time Wes crashed here, you’re welcome to it.”
He hesitates. It’s probably weird to stay after telling me he’s had a thing for me since Marina was still alive.
“Better safe than sorry,” I add.
Tomás turns around. “Better safe than sorry. You’re right. Thank you.” There’s a single heated look, a quick up and down that I pretend I didn’t see. Friends.
Speaking of better safe than sorry, I move Marina’s sculpture over to the living room coffee table for the time being. It gives an impression of two people embracing, and was one of her favorites. At least this way if someone bumps it again, it doesn’t have far to fall.
“I’ll grab you a spare toothbrush,” I tell Tomás, scooping up Bruiser and heading for the stairs. He’s gotten much less wobbly as weeks have gone by, but I still worry about him on the stairs. Bruiser squirms as I make my way up, a strange whining noise coming out of his throat.
“Everything okay?” Tomás nods at the squirming bundle in my arms. “I’m not an expert on dogs, but he seems agitated.”
“He’s got a condition that makes him unsteady when he walks, so for safety I don’t let him go up and down the stairs. Lately he’s been trying to assert his independence, I think.”
I punctuate my explanation by giving Bruiser a firm “No” when he tries to squirm out of my
“Seems you do have a bit of dominant in you, don’t you?” Tomás takes the toothbrush I find for him. “Thanks for the place to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
We part ways, and after showering and dressing for bed, I’m not surprised to find myself still very much wide awake. Not surprised, but a bit disappointed. I’d hoped the wine would help.
After reading for a while, I give up and do the thing I know I’ve been wanting to do.
I pull out my phone and send PJ a message. Can we talk?
After a few minutes of staring at the unanswered text, hoping to see the three dots that tell me he’s answering, I give up and set my phone down. “Maybe he’s busy,” I tell Bruiser. Bruiser, who obviously doesn’t understand, comes over and puts his paws on the bed, asking to get up.
“I can’t let you sleep up here, buddy. It’s too easy for you to fall off. Wouldn’t be safe.”
Except I’m too weak tonight to say no to those puppy dog eyes. Against my better judgment, I pull him up, settling him against my side. It’s a big bed. I’ll just have to cuddle him close. He’s not PJ, but he loves me, and it’s better than being alone.
I’m about to switch off the bedside lamp when I hear a creak on the stairs. Did I hear a noise in the kitchen too?
It could be Tomás. Maybe he went downstairs for some water or a snack.
But the shivers on my neck tells me it isn’t. I’d have heard him moving across the hall, I think. Shuffling on the stairs.
Wes has a spare key. So does PJ.
My pulse kicks up. Could it be PJ?
Thinking of the time he sent a text telling me to answer the door, I can’t see PJ not announcing himself. I wake up my phone again, opening the security app Everett set up for me. Except when I click on every single camera image, I’m met with nothing but a blank screen.
Either there’s a glitch, or someone’s disabled all of the cameras. Better safe than sorry. I dial 911 and hit Send. The call doesn’t connect.
Someone might be in the house who shouldn’t be, and I can’t call for help.