Chapter Ten
Remy
Agreeing to take Raven tonight goes against my better judgment.
But from the second she said the weekly event was important to her, I knew I’d give in.
Which explains why I’m now in a way-too-crowded coffee shop, listening to people read their personal words.
Some are poems, others are short stories.
Most sound somewhat autobiographical, even if the meaning is hidden beneath lyrical prose.
Raven omitted how busy this place would be tonight, no doubt because if she told me, I never would have let her come. Keeping her close isn’t easy considering how many people she knows that want to corner her and have a word.
For a woman who talks a good game about keeping people at a distance, there’s a part of her who likes making friends and discussing things they have in common.
When others finish their performance, she claps and whistles, whether she knows them or not, and makes it a point to give them validation during the break.
Despite my unease about her brother stalking her, I enjoy watching Raven in her element and wonder if she knows how easily she fits in.
How much the individuals in this eclectic group like her and value her opinion.
Seeing this side of her as opposed to the stiff, keep-to-herself woman at work, is a revelation and shows me who she could be, if only Lance wasn’t around to terrorize her.
“Our next presenter is Raven Walsh,” Dennis, the manager of the shop, says into the mike.
The Raven who walks up to the makeshift stage isn’t the same woman I employ.
At work, she’s a no-nonsense bar manager who wears tight jeans and The Back Door T-shirt uniform, hair up in a ponytail.
I’ve seen her do elegant at Zach and Hadley’s wedding.
And when she dressed tonight, I heard her squeal with excitement from where I was watching television in the den.
When I popped my head into the bedroom and asked what was up, she shooed me away.
A few minutes later, she strode out of the room wearing a peach chiffon skirt that was vintage Fallon, a pair of black leggings beneath it, and matching ballet slippers on her feet.
A light gray asymmetric sweater fell off one shoulder and hung long over the skirt.
She’d woven a thin, patterned scarf through her hair that she wore loose, and hung down past her shoulders.
Gorgeous and free, that’s how I’d describe her.
“When your sister told me about the clothing she’d brought, I was just grateful to have something to wear but she’s amazing!” Raven twirled so the skirt floated in the air, then wrapped gently over the leggings.
I chuckled at her enthusiasm but my dick was hard at the thought of lifting that skirt and taking her against the glass window overlooking the city.
I cleared my throat. “I had no idea you shared my sister’s taste in clothing.”
“I didn’t either, but oh my gosh! I’m buying myself fun things first chance I get!” she said.
Now we’re at the coffee bar, and she’s standing on the stage, brave, with no uncertainty in sight. This is the woman she’ll be once out of Lance’s shadow and I have every intention of making sure she has that chance.
Even better, the poem she reads is about me.
Stunned, I listen to poetry I didn’t know she could write, more of haiku-type style than anything else. Short bursts of sentences about a man she never expected to meet. One out of her league. Out of reach for more reasons than wealth. She speaks about high walls that nobody can breach.
But he’s not just anyone.
That’s when I know. I am breaking through her walls by small degrees and it gives me a spark of hope. True optimism fills me. Then, I lean back, arms still folded over my chest, and let myself enjoy.
* * *
Raven
Back at Remy’s place, I keep busy. I don’t want to allow him time to question me about my poem, not only because my work is deeply personal, but because it was clearly about him. I didn’t consider the need for him to go with me when I wrote the words.
I expected him to question me on the way home but because parking was scarce at the coffee shop, we took an Uber there and then back, and the driver was chatty.
Once we arrive at Remy’s apartment, I go directly to the bathroom and close the door, washing off my heavier makeup, undressing, and carefully folding the clothing to deal with tomorrow.
Fallon’s boho style appeals to me for the times I’m not wearing my standard jeans and T-shirt ensemble.
Maybe I can ask Remy’s sister to go shopping.
I look in the mirror, seeing my reflection.
Flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and the most surprising part, the excited rush of adrenaline flowing through me.
Who is this Raven Walsh? And that’s when I realize I’m changing, trusting Remy, caring for him and his sister, but with Lance out and stalking me, that can’t happen.
Tears fill my eyes, taking me off guard, but I understand what’s causing them.
This happiness isn’t mine. I can’t own it because to do so would be to risk the people around me.
There will be no shopping with Fallon because…
Emily. No way will I allow what happened to my one-time best friend to happen to the bubbly, happy Fallon.
Not only would Lance violate her body and hurt her, he’d destroy her spirit.
With the reminder of why I can’t have the life I dream of, I suck in a long breath, push all those hopes and dreams down deep, and close the imaginary box the way I’ve learned to compartmentalize.
After I finish in the bathroom, once more dressed in one of Remy’s soft T-shirts, I steel myself and walk into the bedroom.
He’s used the guestroom bathroom and is waiting for me in bed. I’m prepared for him to want to have sex, especially after that poem in which I bled my feelings all over the coffee shop, and now, I cringe at the memory. All those beautiful feelings? They also have to be stuffed down.
Friends with benefits. Sex. That’s all I have to offer and I hope I can manage it without falling harder.
I crawl into the bed and he reaches over by his bedside and shuts the lamp, plunging us into darkness. His scent envelopes me even before he reaches out an arm and pulls me into his embrace. But instead of rolling me over and kissing me as I anticipated, he tucks me into him and holds me.
“You did wonderful tonight,” he says in a gruff voice that awakens all my senses.
“Thank you.”
He clears his throat. “Surprised me, too. I didn’t realize you were a poet.”
“Mmm. After Lance began terrorizing me in subtle ways, as I grew up, the poems and poets we were learning in school appealed to me. I started to try and emulate them. Hence my love of Poe and others. Soon I had an entire notebook of dark stuff.”
A few minutes of quiet follow in which he trails his rough fingers over my bare arm. I breathe in, closing my eyes and letting his musky scent fill me along with allowing the warmth of his body to coat me in safety.
“Tonight’s work wasn’t dark,” he points out.
I stiffen, afraid he’ll want to dissect my feelings.
“I liked it,” he says, his tone still sexy and rough, but filled with appreciation.
I feel his lips against my hair and then he kisses my neck. My skin tingles and my sex grows full, my body primed for his. All he has to do is hold me and I become aroused, but right now, my feelings, both physical and emotional, are so much stronger.
Smiling because he can’t see my expression, I murmur another thank you.
More silence passes and I wait for him to move, act, initiate… something. But he doesn’t and soon I’m groggy and falling into a deep sleep.
He chooses that moment to speak again, this time in a whisper. “Thank you for the poem and for trusting me with your feelings. I’ll do my best not to abuse the privilege.”
The next morning, certain I imagined those words, I focus on the day ahead. We go into work early so Remy can go over the books and work on some phone calls for his PI job. I always have things to keep me busy at the bar.
Stevie arrives shortly after, and we begin discussing my friend’s nonexistent love life and Stevie bemoans the lack of good guys out there in the world.
“Ones like your man are certainly few and far between,” Stevie says.
I shake my head, immediately going into denial mode. “Remy’s not my man.”
Stevie raises what can only be described as a cynical eyebrow. “I caught you two in a clinch in the hallway on Saturday. Are you really trying to lie to me? I’m hurt, Raven.”
Normally, I’d brush off my friend’s words as a joke but the depth of feeling in her tone tells me that Stevie isn’t kidding.
I turn to face my friend. And that’s what Stevie is, I realize, despite all attempts to keep her at arm’s length. Getting dressed together for Zach and Hadley’s wedding, helping one another with our makeup, being there for one another. Isn’t that what girlfriends do?
I sigh. “I’m sorry.” In need of something to do, I pick up a rag and begin to wipe down the bar.
“I have reasons for pushing people away. Serious reasons but—” And this next part is hard because I’m not used to letting people in.
“I promise to share them with you one day, okay? Just not right now. And not here, while we’re at work. ”
Stevie’s pout and hurt expression ease a bit. “We all have our issues but I hope you know you can share yours with me. We’re friends.”
“I know.” I force a smile. “Maybe you can come by one night and I’ll explain.
” I immediately realize that I’m staying with Remy and I’ll have to confide in Stevie about that, too.
I decide I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Especially since Stevie’s eyes light up with gratitude and I can’t bring myself to dull it by nixing the idea altogether.
Staying and sleeping with the boss. Stevie would just love that information, I muse.