4. Four
Four
Joe
Morning light spills through the curtains in my bedroom, the first sensation that envelops me is her warmth, a soft heat radiating from her body as I cradle her against me, inch by inch closer.
Her weight feels delicate yet reassuring in my arms, a reminder of last night as I carried her from the couch to my bed.
I don’t want to move. I pretend I’m still asleep to hold on to her.
I wouldn’t mind having her every day in my bed, in my life.
She calms the chaotic thoughts in my mind. With her close, the world outside fades, leaving only the intimacy of this moment and my silent promise to keep her safe.
When she shifts, her lips brush the top of my chest. She’s so fucking beautiful, with her long dark brown wavy hair cascading on the pillow, thick lashes kissing her high cheekbones, slightly parted luscious lips that make my brain crazy.
She’s a distraction lately, and I’m losing control.
I can be a gentleman, but I’m also a man, and I want to take all of her, put her broken pieces back together.
Be the only one for her. I thought waiting would be wise.
Maybe it would give her time to be certain it was me she wanted for her first time.
When I saw her that day with her bag on the floor on the pavement, the empty look in her eyes as if life had evaded her, the sadness etched in her face, I just wanted to become the light in her dark days.
I’ve seen her walk our street so many times. Our moms had chatted over the years when they crossed paths, and I had heard enough gossip about the horrible car accident her brother had been in.
Most people pitied her, but I knew that’s not what she needed.
I knew what grief felt like. Especially when my father died, though that grief belonged in the blessing catalog.
He was not a good man. Nonetheless, the pain of never making someone proud plagued me, and while I was fucking up every aspect of my life, I didn’t want to mess things up with her.
“Morning,” she whispers, shifting in my arms, bringing me back from my thoughts to her almond dark brown eyes. They’re much softer in the morning, loosened from the regular bullets she emits.
“Morning, beautiful.” I softly kiss her.
“We landed in your bed?” A smug smile tugs at her lips, looking around.
I press my next words into her ear. “Yes, where you belong.”
“Will you ever tire of this?” Her eyes twinkle.
“Fuck no,” I say, trailing kisses in the crook of her neck. Her little moan in my chest sends me into a spiral, and I need to get up before I devour her for breakfast. I feel her eyes on me as I get up and put on my shirt and sweatpants.
“Is Liam home?” she asks.
“Probably. Why?” I don’t want her to worry about my brother.
In her defense, he doesn’t like many people, so she shouldn’t take it personally.
Liam often causes me trouble, but he also supports me.
He particularly supported me when Dad died and Mom was devastated.
Though not likely from his death, but because she could finally live again without that piece of shit in her life.
“Just wondering, he’s been grumpy.” She bites her lip with a tremor of concern.
“Don’t worry about him. Pretend he’s not there.” I turn my head to look back at her. “I’m going to make us breakfast.”
Leaving her makes me feel empty as I head to the kitchen.
I pull out eggs, butter, and gruyere from the fridge and squeeze a few fresh oranges.
While my cooking skills aren’t exceptional, being French means I can manage in the kitchen.
Where food serves as a necessity to some, it’s a love language to me.
Liam doesn’t cook for shit, and that’s because that man is allergic to love — culturally, spiritually, humanly… The guy loves himself and me.
Actually, that’s still up for debate.
I cut a few pieces from a baguette I bought last night. I never come home without a baguette. My mom’s ritual, and I’ll never cease to stop by my favorite bakery on the corner of Louis Blanc. I put some butter on the freshly toasted bread and add gruyere on top of the scrambled eggs.
This stuff makes my heart sing. I’m a simple man, but unfortunately, I don’t have a simple life. Before I think about that detail too hard and give myself a headache, her hands come around me, spreading to my chest.
“Hi,” she whispers into me, and I lean back to see a half-smirk on her beautiful face buried in my shoulder. I gently pull her hips facing me, caging her against the kitchen island.
“Hi.” I chew slowly on a piece of bread. She presses her hand to my jaw, where it ticks against her fingers with every chew and bite, as I savor the moment with her eyes locked on me, hand-feeding her.
And now I’m hungry for a lot more than organic butter and baguette when her eyes look at me full of lust.
“I love it when you cook.” She smiles, and I take a fork to feed her a bite of the eggs, holding my hand under her chin.
“This is not cooking, and now I might never again.” I clean a little food off the corner of her mouth with my thumb and lick it off.
“You’re already canceling your boyfriend material subscription?” Her eyes smile with a hint of loss at the idea of me not cooking for her. I tsk, swiping my tongue over my teeth.
“No… better. Because you’re my favorite meal, Sara, and how do I top that?” Her smile at that is unforgivingly heart-hammering.
I’m falling. Hard.
My nose brushes her neck, and her skin prickles with goosebumps.
My head dips lower as I kiss her softly, all the way to her ear, then nibble my way to her jaw.
Her breath hitches in silent spasms, internal moans poised to escape as her gaze locks onto mine, a reaction I’d hoped for as I linger on the corner of her mouth.
It’s just a kiss, just a pause and tension towards a yearning for a simple crave of her lips against mine, but it’s so much more.
I’ve craved a few things in my life, and most were to numb, but she lights me up. I step closer, chest to chest, and before I know it, I lose myself in her, within all of her.
With a simple fucking kiss.
Her mouth falls open on a sigh, and I kiss her deeper, softly biting her lower lip, entertaining the idea of a future I want. I forget everything. I forget my circumstances, and before I get too wrapped up, she breaks the kiss, looking over at the oven.
“Shit, it’s almost eleven. My mom called ten times asking me to walk my dogs, and I have to meet the girls at the beach for brunch. Do you want to come?” she asks, and I tower over her, pulling her against me, my fingers digging into her hips.
She lets out a chuckle, probably seeing what I can’t hide when I look back at her; how much I want her, how much I’m actually ready. Damn.
“I have to get some work done with Liam, baby. But come over tonight?” I kiss her forehead.
“Yes, I’ll come over. Text me when you’re home?”
I nod and spank her ass, earning a squeal and a seductive roll of her hips as she walks over to my bedroom, and I can’t keep my eyes off her.
I’m back at the gym by the marina, skipping rope under a strip of purple neon lights. Everyone focused on their attempt to become a better version of themselves, while “Numb/Encore by Jay-Z and Linkin Park,” blasts through the gym.
Liam’s already at the far corner. His dark brown hair plastered to his forehead, sweat tracing the sharp line of his jaw, as his tattooed arms throw punches at the heavy bag.
He’s not subtle. He wants me to know how much stronger he is, how much harder he hits.
We’ve been doing this since we were eight, and every time I always fall short with him.
I catch my reflection staring back at me in the mirror.
I drag the back of my wrist across my eyes, blinking against the sting of sweat.
The fluorescent lights overhead catch the blue of my irises in the mirror, and for a moment they look almost electric, that iridescent quality that Liam and I inherited, but wear differently.
On me, it’s warm. Inviting. On him, it’s just another thing that makes people feel vulnerable.
He nods me over, and I ditch the rope, flexing my hands as I cross the gym. The other regulars pretend not to watch, but everyone here loves a show. The Laurent twins, always at it, always fighting for the same invisible crown.
Liam points to the medicine ball and says, “Twenty slams.”
I lift the ball, feeling the weight. I imagine anyone getting too close to Sara leaving me furious and uncontrolled. I slam it down hard, letting the echo fill the room. Liam’s lips curl with satisfaction.
“Are you going to spot, or just stand there looking dangerous?” I ask him.
Liam’s mouth twitches, the closest he gets to a smile. “If I wanted to look dangerous, I’d ride with your girlfriend to the Café de Paris and have you chase us or maybe throw her to the sharks.” He hammers out the last word, knowing it’ll sting.
“Liam, I suggest you stay the fuck away from her,” I say through my teeth.
He grabs and holds the boxing pads, smirking like the bastard he is.
He can see through me. We’re different but similar: same wrath, same goals, same threats to protect.
I know we can always count on each other, especially in our line of work.
A life he dragged me into, and one I've taken a step further.
The need to have the upper hand is visceral.
I go through our routine. The rhythm is always hypnotic, a trance that erases everything else through each punch. Except it doesn’t this time, It’s not enough. I find the edge, that razor place where the pain in my hands grows and I slip on the last combo, almost losing my balance.
Liam lowers the pads and tilts his head. “You're off your game,” he says, casual but with an edge.
I barely react, wiping sweat from my brow. “Didn’t sleep.”
“No shit?” He doesn’t have to say more.
“Drop it, man.” I drop the gloves and go for the ball, start another set.
Liam lets it sit for a minute, then walks over, towel around his neck.
“She’s not good for you, and no one ever got you on a technicality before.”
I toss the ball hard enough for him to exhale as he catches it.
“Why is she not good for me, Liam? It’s not illegal to care about someone.” I bark out a little more defensively than I mean to let out.
“It doesn’t have to be illegal to ruin your life. She’s broken,” Liam says, voice soft but hard-edged.
I feel the old fury rise. “Right, and what exactly are you, Liam? Running your mouth about her being broken. You’re thriving on scaring the shit out of people, walking around like a vulture. You think we’re not broken? Heck, you’re more broken and selfish than I am. Stop it.”
Liam looks like he wants to deck me, but I see something else in his eyes too, and it’s something close to fear, or maybe wanting the best for me, or both flicker. I know he cares, and I’ll always love the asshole for it.
“She’s not what you think,” I say, quieter now. “I wouldn’t pursue her if there weren’t something there.”
“Well, what is it?” He snickers.
“Beats me, but she’s got a hold on me I didn’t plan for.” I pause. “She’s never been with a guy before, and that complicates things.”
He lets out a devious laugh, enjoying this now more than he did months ago when Sara and I were just friends.
“Not on your bingo card, huh?” Liam lets the moment hang and sees I’m not in the mood for humor.
I nod, because no, it wasn’t on my bingo card to fall in love at this point in my life.
We finish the circuit, both of us blown out, sweat soaking our shirts. Liam’s eyes stay locked on mine, a mirror of my focus, as he throws another left hook that makes my shoulder sting like hell, but I don’t flinch.
He moves as he always does. He’s an efficient mean fuck, a predator in his brutality.
Sometimes I need to be reminded that I can’t ever be just like him, consumed by a storm wrecking him from the inside, taking down anyone in his path.
A vivid memory of Sara’s fingers come over me, lingering on my bruises, sadistically wanting to be ruined by new ones so I can feel her touch over them.
So, I let him punch me again and again.