STRAYS, page 7
“Sure, man,” Shane replies. Lana tilts her head and a small smile curves her lips as she observes the way Rafe cradles Oliver with care, the way one would carry a tiny baby. Rafe and I likely won’t be great friends but he can’t be completely awful. If he mouths off again I’m more than capable of firing back. He says not a word to me before disappearing with Oliver.
The night descends rapidly but I don’t especially want to go inside. Lana and Shane are couples goals. I enjoy being in their company. Also, I have little desire to confront the overwhelming chore of unpacking all those boxes and suitcases. But eventually the long day catches up to me and I stifle a yawn. There’s still some pizza left and I push the leftovers on Lana and Shane. I’m also still wearing Lana’s towel and I insist on washing the thing before returning it.
“You’re stubborn,” she laughs. “I like it.”
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Is it okay if I go in through your place? I don’t know if the side door is unlocked.”
“Sure.” Lana snuggles in her boyfriend’s lap and her eyes are closed. “Good night, Izzy.”
Before I twist the knob of the door that connects the two housing units together I listen for a moment. I’m hoping Rafe decided to turn in early. I’m too tired to deal with him. I crack open the door slowly, trying not to make any noise. I ease my head through the opening and take a look.
Rafe waves from the sofa. “What’s up?”
I hope I keep my face from grimacing and step all the way in, closing the door behind me. “I thought you might be asleep.”
“You mean you were hoping I would be asleep.”
No point in lying. “Yes.”
He thinks this is funny. I notice now that there’s a blanket thrown across the sofa. And I also notice that Rafe is not wearing a shirt. Earlier today I wondered if he had ink on his chest. I don’t need to wonder anymore. I’d have to get closer to see details but he has multiple chest tattoos and they are mismatched, all certainly drawn by different artists at different times. And Holy Toledo, the guy is ripped. Beyond ripped. Shredded. I’ll give him that. His body should be enshrined in marble. Still, shredded marble or not, I’d rather not have a conversation with him right now.
Rafe stands and crosses his arms. “I want to talk to you.”
I try not to sigh. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”
“Too exhausted to spare a minute?”
“I can spare a minute.” I lean against the counter. Someone, probably Rafe, has placed one of my boxes on the counter, the one I cleverly labeled ‘Kitchen Crap’. Perhaps he’s trying to atone for his earlier bad attitude.
He stays where he is by the sofa but he’s frowning. “It’s about what your friend said in there.”
“You mean Lana?”
“Yeah, her. She said I was dangerous. I don’t know what she’s heard from Caris and Jay but it sounds like she knows that I have a record.”
“I see.” So Rafe has a criminal record. I’m not exactly shocked. “What did you do?”
“Nothing lately. But I’ve been convicted of some small time shit. Drug deals, club fights. I meant it when I said I don’t ever hurt women. I don’t. You have nothing to fear from me but feel free to run a background check if you want details on my rap sheet. My last name is Hempstead and I’ve lived in Texas all my life.”
It’s an unexpected moment of candor. “Thanks for telling me. I might conduct that background check. But you don’t scare me, Rafe.”
He chuckles. “No?”
My eyes, traitors that they are, wander over his muscled arms. “No.”
He cocks his head. “You don’t scare me either.”
“I’m glad we are mutually unafraid. Is Oliver asleep?”
“Yeah, he never woke up. I just let him stay in his clothes.”
I point to the couch. “What’s with the blanket?”
He glances behind him and then turns back to me. “I thought the kid should have his own room.”
“So you’re going to sleep on the couch?”
“Unless you have a problem with that.”
“And if I do?”
“Tough shit.”
I snort out a laugh. And I manage to lose my grip on the towel. It falls to my waist and gives Rafe a view of my polka dot bikini top. He doesn’t stare. He doesn’t have any reaction at all. He starts moving the sofa cushions to fold out the bed feature. I start walking to my room and I look once over my shoulder, wondering if I should say good night or something equally friendly. Rafe is already reaching for the light. A second later the room plunges into darkness.
I’m really not afraid of Rafe. He’s gruff and irritating but I like to think I can read people pretty well and I don’t get any frightening feedback from him.
However, after thinking about it for a minute, I decide to press the lock on my bedroom door.
Just in case.
8
Rafe
My face dives between soft thighs just after I’m offered a giant plate of bacon.
There’s nothing weird about the scene because it’s a dream. A female voice clearly says, “Now how does that taste?”
I open my eyes and instantly realize there’s a boner the size of North America in my shorts. I sit up on the couch and cover my face with my hands for a few seconds in the hopes of scrubbing the images from my head. I don’t know what time it is but it’s early and I’m still not caught up on my sleep.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Izzy calls from the kitchen, which is mere steps away. Her hair is coiled on top of her head and she wears this silky looking robe thing that’s patterned with pink flowers. After only three days of sharing an apartment with Isabella Gentry I’ve discovered two things:
She talks constantly.
She’s a morning person in the most annoying way.
Oh, and there’s a third thing I’ve discovered too.
I can make myself come really fucking hard when I imagine plowing her tight body while I beat off in the shower.
I’m doing my best to get cured of this new habit.
Izzy would be a prime piece of ass for sure but she’s my roommate and so she’s off limits. I think I even made a promise to that effect, something about swearing I’d never touch one hair on her virginal little head. She got mad when I said that. Screamed to the whole room that she’s not a virgin. As if that matters. Just because she’s been fucked before doesn’t mean she’s been fucked right. I snort out some laughter when I imagine the look on her face if she could read my thoughts right now.
“What are you laughing at?” she asks.
She’s staring at me. So is Oliver. He’s sitting at the table and chewing with his mouth open.
“Funny dream,” I grumble, although I have a small problem. Scratch that; it’s actually a big problem. So big it’ll be waving hello with a will of its own if I stand up. With effort I clear my mind. I think of prison; the never ending noise and the stench of shit mixed with bleach. That flattens my hard on in seconds.
My sweat pants are draped over the back of the sofa and I discreetly yank them on over my boxers before standing.
“There’s extra bacon,” Izzy says. She’s sitting down and scrolling through a tablet now. “It’s over by the microwave.”
That explains why the apartment smells like a sausage factory.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say and search around the immediate area for a shirt. I could have sworn that I left one lying around before I turned in last night.
I can’t find it now so I just fold the bed back up and figure Izzy will have to suffer through the sight of my bare chest.
“Oliver says he’s never had bacon before.” Izzy uses her thumb to swipe at her screen and then flashes a smile at my son, who’s happily invested in his breakfast of cereal with a side of bacon.
“Is that right?” I feel as if I’m intruding on their cozy little breakfast scene. It’s weird sharing a place with a girl. But that pales in comparison to getting adapted to fatherhood.
Things have been a little bit better since our arrival in Hutton. Oliver and I haven’t had a real breakthrough yet but he doesn’t glare at me as much and hasn’t kicked me in forty-eight hours so that’s something. As for my brother, I don’t have any issues with thinking of Jonathan as Jay. He and Caris have been over here a lot. Caris is terrific. She tries to be a buffer between Jay and me, like some kindly adult who wants two warring neighborhood kids to be friends. I’m willing, even if I’m no good at being the friendly type. I just really don’t know what to say to him. If I thought it would do any good, I’d start every day with an apology for being a shitty brother when we were kids. I am honestly grateful for all the help he’s given us. And he clearly has a soft spot for Oliver. He brings a little present for the kid every time he shows up.
Then there’s Izzy. She’s all right. Oliver loves her and she’s great with him. I just hope I have enough willpower to resist temptation. Even when it’s sitting right in front of me, bare legs crossed, robe slipping from one shoulder, hair in a sexy heap that’s dying to be grabbed by my fist and pulled.
STOP!
I don’t want my dick to get hard again right now. Because then I’ll have to think about prison once more in order to tame the beast and that’s not the way I want to start the day.
Instead of picturing Izzy naked, I decide to make some coffee and try to engage my son in a conversation.
“What have you got there, Oliver?”
He stuffs another piece of bacon in his mouth. “Food.”
“No, I was talking about the book.”
He touches the colorful illustrated children’s book that sits on the table in front of him. “Yeah, it’s a book.”
“Want me to read it to you?”
This time a heaping spoonful of cereal disappears into his mouth and he chews a whole bunch before answering.
“I can read it myself.”
I sigh and wish for the coffee to finish brewing more quickly. The coffee maker is Izzy’s, one of those fancy machines with a bunch of buttons and seventeen gourmet settings. She takes pity on my struggle.
“Press the button on the left,” she says.
I do as she says. The machine makes a weird noise.
“No.” She sets her tablet down and stands up. She’s over here in two steps because the kitchen area is tiny. “The other button on the left.”
Apparently I’m not quick enough to suit her because she sighs and reaches over to press it herself. The machine immediately beings to purr again.
“See?” She grins and crosses her arms. “Easy.”
The hell it is. I used to have my own coffee maker. It had a single on/off button and no one needed to take a freaking class in order to operate it. The glass pitcher broke somewhere during the move and I haven’t had a chance to buy a replacement yet.
Izzy is still looking at me. She’s standing close, close enough to see the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her cute nose and smell her shampoo.
“Lana had an idea,” she says. “She suggested that she and I could take Oliver to the mall for some back to school shopping since he starts kindergarten tomorrow. Maybe it would give you a chance to get a few things done. Like unpacking.” She surveys the scattered boxes and bags and wrinkles her nose. “The living room is practically a fire hazard.”
My brain cells are not alert enough to handle this flood of information. But I look around and notice that all the boxes of random shit and garbage bags filled with clothes belong to me. In my defense, I’m always messy. Usually there’s not anyone around to care. And since I got here I’ve been spending all my time just keeping up with Oliver. Caris helped me get him registered for school and it’s true that his first day of kindergarten is tomorrow. The idea that he’d need school supplies had not yet occurred to me.
While these thoughts tumble through my head, Izzy continues to talk. “Do you know what size shoe he is? I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’ll have him measured at the store. And he says he wants a backpack with cats on it. We can get him lunch too since we’ll probably be gone for a while. Oliver doesn’t have any food allergies, does he?”
“Food allergies?” I scratch my head. I look at the kid, who chews on another bacon slice and turns the pages of his book with greasy fingers. “Not that I know of.”
She pours a mug of coffee. It’s hers, a hot pink giant of a thing that’s almost wide enough to be a soup bowl and has the word ‘SASSY’ painted on the front. She hands it to me, which is nice because I don’t know where the hell my own simple black coffee mug is. I just hope that drinking from this one doesn’t make me grow a vagina.
There’s a slight frown on her face now and her hands land on her hips. “So it’s fine if we take Oliver to the mall?”
Oliver is listening to the conversation more than he appears to be. “I wanna go to the mall.”
The coffee is hot enough to burn my throat but I swallow a few big mouthfuls anyway. There are only two chairs at the table and Izzy had been sitting in the second one before I interrupted their breakfast by waking up. I don’t want to take her spot so I just lean against the counter.
“I can take you to the mall, buddy,” I offer. I’m trying to sound all chipper but my voice comes out like ragged gravel.
His lower lip juts out. “I wanna go with Izzy.”
I shouldn’t feel hurt by that. He and Izzy have definitely bonded these last few days, which is cool but also makes me feel guilty. I never had any plans to turn her into a live in babysitter.
“Oliver,” she says with sweetness. “Remember we talked about table manners. Now use your napkin.”
He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin and throws an angelic smile in her direction. Who am I to deny the kid a fun trip with his new favorite person? Sure, I could insist on taking him myself but it’s a safe bet he’d fight me every step of the way and then no one would have a good time. Besides, I should figure out how to store my crap so that no one breaks their neck walking to the kitchen.
I locate my wallet where I left it on an end table and pull out a wad of cash. I drop it next to Izzy’s plate.
“That should cover whatever he needs.”
She peers at the cash with a dainty frown. “Rafe, I really have more than enough to pay for everything. Oliver’s trip to the mall is my treat. Besides, I know you don’t have a lot of resources and I’m sure you could use the money to pay for other things.”
She says this so grandly, like a queen giving out favors to her subjects. I don’t know what her deal is or how she has money to burn. She’s a full time student, just moved here from Arizona, and has said nothing about getting a job. Yet she drives an Escalade and owns a ton of designer accessories that even my uneducated eye can see cost a pretty penny. She reminds me of the rich girls who go slumming for cheap thrills and dirty fucks in places like Spit, the downbeat bar where I met Dana Walsh.
But my son adores her and I really do owe her for all the time she’s been spending with him. I’ll bite my tongue this time.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to let the money comment go by. I may not be bathing in riches but I have enough to pay for my own kid’s backpack and shoes. Plus, there’s only so much I’m willing to be indebted to Izzy Gentry.
“Use the money,” I tell her in a tone that warns the issue is settled.
We lock eyes. Seconds pass.
“I’ll bring back your change,” she says, lifting her chin so she can keep staring me down.
But I have a gift for staying focused without a single blink and I can outlast her.
Izzy breaks eye contact first. I’m not sure but I think she’s blushing. She puts her dishes in the dishwasher and leaves the room. A few seconds later I hear the shower switch on.
Oliver continues to page through his book.
I gulp my coffee and set the SASSY mug down. “Oliver, would you read a few pages to me?”
He closes the back cover. “I just finished.”
Now that Izzy is gone I figure there’s no reason why I can’t take her chair. She’s left her tablet on the table and it’s open to the last thing she was looking at. She was reading one of those digital books and the title is listed on the top of the screen.
In The Duke’s Bed (A Naughty Nobility Story)
That’s funny. In her spare time Izzy likes to imagine fucking a duke. Somehow I’m not surprised.
Oliver is in the process of crushing the remnants in his cereal bowl with the back of his spoon.
I forget about Izzy’s duke and spend a minute struggling with the task of finding something to say to my own kid. I wish there was a book I could buy, something with a catchy title like ‘How To Speak To Children’. I also wish I hadn’t missed every important moment in his first five years.
I clear my throat. “So you’re off to kindergarten tomorrow.”
He quits smashing his cereal and his eyes lift. “Do I have to go?”
I don’t know. Does he? I think so. Kids are supposed to go to school.
“It’ll be fun,” I assure him. I try to recall my own kindergarten days and draw a blank.
He makes a face and slumps in his chair. My new job begins tomorrow and luckily the school offers before and after school daycare. I feel bad that he’ll need to be there for so many hours but I spoke to the teacher who runs the daycare program and she made it sound like a ton of fun. They have snacks and they watch movies and they run around on the playground. That all sounds better for the kid than hanging around the apartment.
“Oliver.” I reach out and touch his arm. It’s so small, like the rest of him. “You know if there’s ever anything you want to talk about, you can talk to me, right?”
He frowns. “Like what?”
I search for the right words. I ought to spend some time writing out a script so I’ll have some handy sentences to spit out. “Just any feelings you might be having. Or if you have any questions about me.” I hesitate to say the last sentence but I know it should be said. “You can also talk about your mom if you want.”
