15. What The…?
Ihear Stuart’s voice outside the open door of my office where I just finished some audiobook editing. It sounds like he’s talking to someone.
“Thanks so much. I look forward to working with you.” Aside from his podcast, it’s the most professional I’ve ever heard him. Curious, I poke my head out of my door and catch a glimpse of him standing at the top of the stairs, shoving his phone into his back pocket, staring at the ground with his mouth hanging open.
“Stuart?” I have no idea what’s going on but he’s starting to freak me out.
Seeming to snap out of his trance, the widest, shiniest, sparkliest smile breaks across his face as he takes three long strides towards me. I brace, but I don’t know what for.
“What’s going…?” Before I can finish my question his hands are on my cheeks and he lays a kiss on me that could register high on the Richter scale. I feel it in my toes, my knees, along my skin, between my legs. As I’m about to come up for air he breaks the kiss, squeezes me in a tight hug that has me gasping, then steps back.
Then he dances. All the dances.
He throws his arms up in the air, spins in a series of drunken circles, then runs up and down the hallway whooping at the top of his lungs. His smile never leaves his face. There’s no amount of armor I can put on to protect myself from this level of joy. I don’t even know what’s going on but I’m so fucking happy for him.
Stuart finally calms down, but his body still vibrates with energy. “We did it, Mugs. We fucking did it.” He presses me up against the hallway wall and buries his face in my neck. I could slide down this wall into a puddle and I’d thank him for it.
“We did what?” My voice is thick with emotion. It’s hard to be wrapped in this much happiness without cracking a little.
“Our first sponsor. I just got off the phone with a meal prep company and they’re going to sponsor Runt of the Litter for the whole season.” His voice is hoarse, its deep timbre even lower than usual. I squeeze him tight, absorbing the happiness that comes off of him in waves.
“I knew you could do it. I knew people would hear your show and fall in love with it. You deserve this, Stuart.” I pull back because I have to see his face. I need to swim in his smile.
His eyes gleam as he stares down at my lips, his hands now running through the hair on the back of my head. Goosebumps erupt all over my body. “We should celebrate,” he says just before he kisses me again.
“Smart boy.” I start to tug him into the studio, but he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway towards an empty conference room.
“I need a little more space to do the things I want to do to you.” My breath hitches at the thought of what’s coming for me.
He shuts the door behind us, locking it before he hoists me up onto the table. And then we celebrate.
Stuart’s been recordinghis podcast like a pro. In the past few weeks he’s shed his nervousness, recording some of the smoothest audio I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to. And it’s not simply his deep velvet voice, it’s how he talks to the listener and his guests, like they’re the most interesting people, and he wants to know them better.
Yesterday I did some paperwork with the sound of Stuart in my ears. His deep honey voice saying, “This is Stuart Smyth, and I’m the Runt of the Litter,” had me rubbing my thighs together until I nearly wore a hole in my jeans. Over the course of my schooling and career I’ve had the pleasure of working with some great voices, but Stuart’s hits a certain magic button in my brain. And my body.
I’ve met three of his siblings so far, all of them interesting in their own way. I see aspects of Stuart in all of them. Greta and Michelle, the twins, have been my favorite, but Greta is the most outgoing. Stuart’s oldest brother, Wesley, was polite if a little standoffish when we met. But Stuart was able to pry some of the deepest conversation out of him about what it’s like to be the oldest in the family of so many siblings, if he remembers being an only child, and if he still feels responsible for his younger siblings.
When their recording session wrapped up and before I took my own headphones off, I heard Wesley say, “I’m proud of you, Stuart. This is quite the thing you’re doing.” A lump formed in my throat, but I managed to swallow it down. Through the window of the booth I saw Stuart’s shoulders straighten before he gave his brother a solemn nod. I don’t know if I’d ever seen him that serious.
This evening his third-oldest brother, Mason, is coming in, and Stuart’s been a nervous wreck all day. I can’t figure out why Mason’s session is making him so jumpy, and the quick hand job I gave Stuart in the backseat of my car after lunch doesn’t seem to have calmed him down much. I heat at the memory of Stuart’s hand wrapped around mine as he guided it up and down his dick. I almost came when he begged me to grab his balls. I take a sip of room-temperature coffee, trying to banish the memory.
The door to the studio opens, and Stuart walks in with a man who has at least six inches on him and is about twice as wide. But that doesn’t matter because I’ve never seen Stuart look so tense. He meets my eyes but glances away quickly, and now my claws are primed.
“Meredith, this is my brother Mason. Mason, this is Meredith. She’ll be helping us out this evening.” This is Meredith, my regular hook-up. My lover. My...girlfriend? Whichever it really is, I don’t like the cold nugget that settles in my chest when he introduces me to Mason.
For his part, Mason holds his hand out. “You get hazard pay for having to work with this one?” He motions to Stuart with his thumb and lets out a good ol’ boy laugh that sets my teeth on edge.
I try to meet Stuart’s eyes, but he’s looking at his shoes. “Your brother’s a great podcaster. It’s a pleasure to work with him.” Mason’s eyebrows raise but then his face quickly settles into a smirk. I hate smirks, unless they come from Stuart.
“Sure.” Mason shrugs, and now I feel the need for a crowbar.
“Mason, why don’t you head into the booth and put the headphones on. I’m going to talk to Stuart for a second.” I use the same voice I use with my five-year-old niece.
When Mason’s inside the booth with the door shut, I step up close to Stuart. “You okay?” He finally—finally—looks me in the eye.
“Yeah, totally fine.” He’s not fine. I don’t know what his relationship with Mason is like, but I’m on high alert. Nobody fucks with Stuart except me. I don’t say anything when I lay my hand on his forearm. He glances between my hand and my face. “Don’t worry, Mugs. I got this.” His usually sweet smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and I hate it.
He joins his brother in the booth and puts his headphones on. He looks like a professional, like he’s been doing this for years. I give him a thumbs up when I sit at my desk that faces into the booth.
Their recording session starts off smoothly. Stuart gets Mason talking about what it’s like being a middle child, if he ever resented the twins for stealing his youngest child thunder.
Stuart asks, “What’s your favorite memory involving your siblings.” Mason glances between Stuart and me, and I don’t like the look on his face.
“Stewie, you remember that time Clay and I locked you in grandma’s bathroom and you freaked out so hard at the sight of her dentures that you peed your pants? You were, what, seven?”
“Eight.” Stuart’s shoulders have curled in again, and he glances my way without meeting my eyes.
I open my mic. “Try again,” I say into Mason’s headset.
“What? It was hysterical.”
“I said, pick another story.”
“Meredith, it’s fine,” Stuart says. He’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother him, but it’s so obvious to me that it does. His arms are crossed tightly across his chest, and his shoulders are up around his headphones.
Mason is smirking again, so I turn a few knobs, crank the volume and let a blast of high-pitched feedback hit his headphones. I’m not above being petty, and nobody gets to make Stuart look like a kicked puppy.
He grabs the cans off his head and squeals like any other bully that’s gotten a dose of his own medicine. I enjoy the little ripple of fear I see in his eyes.
“Ready to stop being an asshole?” I ask into the mic once he reluctantly puts the headphones back on.
I can see that he wants to say something, but he decides against it. Stuart stares at me with wide eyes, and I give him a wink. Mason sits back down and turns away from me. They resume the recording session, and I make a note to edit out Mason’s story.
“Do you have a favorite story from childhood that doesn’t involve torturing me?” Stuart gives Mason a cocked eyebrow, but his body language has opened up. He’s dropped his arms. I notice a piece of his hair sticking up just where the headphones rest on top of his head. It’s his signature podcast cowlick. Every time I see it, I want to run my hands through his hair.
Mason takes a deep breath and glances at me with a hint of fear. “Do you remember when Wes had to get his appendix out and we were all really scared because we didn’t understand what was happening? Mom was freaking out, Dad had gone more silent than usual, and Wes was in a shit-ton of pain.”
“I barely remember. He was a teenager, right?”
“Right. This is going to sound weird, but I remember how even as the youngest you did your best to keep us calm. Mom and Dad took Wes to the hospital and our old neighbor, Mrs. Carpenter, stayed with us. You asked us all to play Chutes and Ladders, you wanted to roast marshmallows and bake a cake, and you handed each of us our favorite stuffed animal. You were trying your hardest to make sure we were all okay and weren’t thinking about Wes in the hospital.
“It might not be my favorite memory...it’s definitely not the happiest, but it’s one of the clearest I have of you. You saw that each of us needed something, and you stepped in, and you weren’t even five years old. That kind of became your role in the family...the little court jester whose job it was to keep us entertained and happy.”
Stuart blinks at him. “I honestly don’t remember doing any of that. Thanks for that story.”
“I’d still like to tell the pee-your-pants story, but I’m afraid of your girlfriend.” Mason glances at me, but I ignore him because Stuart doesn’t correct him.
And neither do I.
As soon as Mason leaves,giving me a tiny wave instead of a handshake, and skirting around me like I’ll bite him, Stuart grabs my hand and pulls me into the sound booth. My heart kicks, and I can’t stop the quiver in my stomach. The small two-person sound booth has become one of my favorite places on the planet.
Stuart lays a kiss on me that sets my blood on fire. Soft and gentle at first, then when I hook my hands in his suspenders, he deepens the kiss. Insistent and bossy, his firm lips begging mine to open up. I let him in, and the collective groan could probably be heard from outside the booth.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my lips.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You stood up for me, and I want to show you how much I appreciate it.” He slides down the front of my body, settling on his knees. And then he shows me with his tongue on my clit and his hands gripping my ass like it’s a flotation device and he’s a drowning man.
“You didn’t correct him.” I run my fingers through Stuart’s hair and tug him away from this task. His lips glisten with my arousal, and his eyes are glazed, like he’s in a trance from getting too close to my pussy. I press my thumb to the furrow between his brows. “When he called me your girlfriend, you didn’t correct him.”
“Because I didn’t want to.” He says it like it’s the obvious answer, then goes back to fluttering his tongue over my clit. I tug on his hair again, and he sits back on his heels with an annoyed huff.
“So I’m your girlfriend because your idiot brother says I am?” I honestly don’t know why I’m arguing with him. I’ve wanted to be with Stuart since before our first time in the sound booth.
“Mugs, that’s how I think of you already. I know you don’t want to name what we have, but my brain fired up the label maker a long time ago.” His eyes hold mine while I process this. “While you think about it, do you mind if I finish up here?” He motions to my cunt like I’ve interrupted his dinner. I nod, speechless and breathless.
He hums, lighting up every nerve ending that meets in my clit. “Mmm, like a fine aged wine.” His shoulders shake with poorly-contained laughter. I flick his forehead with my finger.
“Listen, someone’s not getting a gold star if someone doesn’t make someone else come in the next thirty seconds. You may be my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off.” I can’t maintain my mean face and start to crack when his eyes light up.
“Damn straight I’m your boyfriend.” Then he dives back in, this time without interruptions.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the acoustic tile. The words boyfriend and girlfriend run through my head on repeat. They feel inadequate. Oh fuck, his tongue is talented. I lose my concentration and ride the vibrations his humming sends through my lower body.
We’re laying on the carpeted floor of the sound booth, wrapped up in each other. I’m still riding the high of eating and fucking Meredith until she screamed my name. I try to shove the relationship conversation away so I can savor this moment. She’s warm and pliant, pressed into my side and lightly playing with my suspenders. I have no idea where my glasses are.
“You’re sure?” She looks at me. “That you want to do this with me?” I ask. I can feel her eyes on me, so I pull mine away from the acoustic tiles on the ceiling and focus on her when she doesn’t answer.
“Yeah, I think I do.” My heart rockets up to my throat and back into my chest then thuds against my ribs. She gives me a long, lingering kiss then snaps my suspenders. “I really, really do.”
“Wow, my first real girlfriend,” I say with a dramatic sigh. Her eyes go scary wide.
“Wait, what?”
“Kidding. I was not born with this kind of talent.” I waggle my tongue at her. She sags with relief.
“Oh thank fuck. I could not handle being your first girlfriend. I already feel like I’m a cougar corrupting a beloved Muppet.”
I laugh. “Okay, Betty White. You’re only four years older than me. If our ages were reversed, would you bat an eye? Don’t let some bullshit societal construct dictate who you fall in love with.” She sucks in a breath—I’ve gone too far. I must have, because she looks like a goth deer caught in the headlights. “Don’t freak out on me. I didn’t mean?—”
She clamps her hand over my mouth. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility.” She removes her hand and gives me a lingering kiss that has me ready for round two.
“That is a ringing declaration if I ever heard one.”