Fix It Up: Torus Intercession Book Three, page 9
My tone wasn’t helping. I was using my Bob Ross voice, which tended to drive people right up the wall. “What if this whoever has drugs at their place?” I asked calmly.
“So what, I’m not going to do any!”
Slow nod then, like I completely understood, being both placating and patronizing at the same time.
He shouted, and it was loud in the small space of my bathroom. “How about a little fucking faith for once?” he railed, balling his fists up and stalking to the door and back.
“I have faith in you,” I assured him. “But what if he roofies you?”
“I don’t have friends who—”
“Oh, this imaginary person is a friend, then?”
“No, not like—God!”
“I don’t understand why this hypothetical whoever can’t just come over here.”
“Because you’ll probably strip search them!”
“No. I would never do that,” I assured him. “I’d have one of the guys do it like I did the last time. And we didn’t strip him down, we just made him turn all his pockets inside out.”
“You––”
“I didn’t even get out my glove.”
He threw up his hands as I chuckled.
“You’re a giant cockblock!”
I nodded, rolling up my sleeves and fixing my collar. The pale blue shirt and gray pants, along with the gray loafers, looked better than I thought they would.
“And I don’t want random hookups in my home.”
I turned to face him, leaning on the counter, crossing my arms and scowling at him. “That’s very telling, don’t you think?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I dunno,” I said, rolling my eyes, walking by him, out into my bedroom and over to the chest of drawers. Grabbing my wallet, I crossed to the doorway and turned off the light on my way out.
“I just don’t want people thinking that I live with my uncle or something,” he snapped, jogging to catch up with me as I headed down the hall.
I snorted. “I don’t know that we look that much alike,” I replied casually.
“We don’t look a—do you even get when you’re being insulted?”
“Apparently not,” I goaded him, making the left to the kitchen to grab my phone, that I’d left there earlier when I was talking to my mother.
“Could those pants be any tighter?” he remarked, leaning on the counter, resembling a pissed-off fourth grader.
I laughed at him and then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left.
Four days later, getting ready to attend an event at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History, I walked out into the living room in a lightweight black turtleneck, black dress pants, and cordovan wingtips. My date, there waiting for me, caught his breath.
Nick laughed. “It’s still summer! You’re gonna get heatstroke in that.”
“No,” Danny Tucker, a cardiovascular surgeon, told him. “It’s always freezing in the museum at night, and he can take it off later,” he offered, his smirk more than a little lewd, “if he gets too hot. But it’s supposed to be in the sixties tonight anyway.”
I grinned at Danny.
“I’ve never met anyone with black eyes before,” Danny murmured, staring at me.
Going to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, I was surprised when I turned and nearly plowed into Nick, who took several steps back.
“You look like a gigolo or something, all in black like a cat burglar.”
“Make up your mind,” I said, crowding him, moving in close so he had to tip his head up to hold my stare. “Do I look like a thief or a hustler? Which one?”
“You look old,” he choked out. “Like you’re going through some midlife crisis and the turtleneck is hiding gross wrinkles.”
I shrugged. “Good to know,” I replied smoothly, stepping around him and leaving with Danny, who had his hand on the small of my back as he led me out the front door.
“Where are you going now?” Nick asked irritably the night after that, sitting on my bed, watching as I leaned over to lace up the Converse sneakers I was wearing with khaki shorts and a black T-shirt.
“Danny invited me to grab dinner at a food truck and listen to jazz in the park,” I answered, turning to look at him. “You wanna come with me?”
“Why on earth would I—”
“Nope, you’re right,” I said quickly. “Forget I asked.”
But when I reached the door, he asked when I was going to be home. It was interesting that he hadn’t moved from my bed.
“Why? You want dessert or something?” Last weekend in August and suddenly, out of the blue, there was a thaw like on the night at Stig’s house. Since I wanted that, wanted to help him, wanted him to let me, and not keep up the constant battle, I made the overture, inwardly girding for whatever horrible thing he was going to come back at me with.
“If you think of it,” he said haughtily, getting up and walking out on my balcony.
Danny had friends join us, three other couples, and it was nice and fun, good food, wine that everyone brought, and engaging conversation.
When I got home, having brought Nick a slice of Dobash cake from the Hawaiian food truck, he turned up his nose at it, so I snatched it back, walking to the kitchen.
“Wait,” he called out, rushing across the room and grabbing it out of my hands, putting it down on the counter. “I thought it was just plain old cake, but—this might be what I had when I was there a couple years ago.”
“In Hawai’i you mean?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, taking the fork I offered him.
When he took a bite, the smile, in spite of himself, was radiant. And yes, lately I’d realized what the big deal was about Nick Madison. Between the thick chestnut-brown hair, the full lips, deep dimples, and miles of sleek, tanned skin, he was gorgeous. When those honey-brown eyes, framed in long lashes, were fixed on me, I understood that being seduced by Nick Madison could be quite the temptation.
“Thank you,” he murmured, licking the tines of the fork.
“You need milk,” I said quickly, moving to pour him a glass.
“Did you have fun?” he asked, and when I looked over at him, I found him watching me.
“Yeah, it was nice. Danny has great friends.”
He nodded as I put the glass down beside the plate and passed him a paper towel.
“Two dates in a row, plus the others you’ve been on with him,” he said, taking small bites of the cake. “That’s getting serious, huh?”
“He’s a very nice man,” was all I said. I was not about to tell him that Danny had basically pleaded with me to go home with him, but that I had used Nick to get out of going. Because yes, a sweet man who did nothing for me at all. I needed the promise of power, of demands, of being given orders that I would follow without question. Sometimes, the quietest of men, the most contained, became, behind closed doors, precisely what I needed. Danny, I knew, wanted to experience what he felt would be true passion. That included being held down and made to comply. What he didn’t understand was that I hungered for that just as badly.
“Nice man?” Nick said, bringing me back to the conversation. “That’s all you have to say about the good doctor?”
“How did you know he was a doctor?”
“Because he mentioned it, like, nine times in five minutes so I’d get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why he was better than me.”
“What?”
“Just…never mind,” he murmured, smiling as he ate his cake. “Nice man,” he repeated. “That’s the kiss of death right there.”
I wasn’t about to discuss my personal life with him. “You know,” I threw out casually, “maybe you could give a free concert in the park sometime. That’d be a nice thing for the community you live in, don’t you think? Invite Stig and some of the others.”
“It would,” he agreed, staring at me.
I tipped my head at him. “So I heard you have plans for tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“Plans,” I reminded him. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I saw on your schedule that you have a fundraiser in LA to attend.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a charity event benefitting the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.”
“Is there a theme, like at the Met Gala?”
“I went to that last year.”
“I know,” I said, leaning on the kitchen counter across from him. “I saw that outfit.”
His grin fired his eyes, making them shine, and the ease on his face, in his features, in his shoulders, his whole demeanor, was something I wanted to see become a permanent thing. When he leaned over, mirroring me, resting his chin on his hand, I almost sighed, but I swallowed it down. I had never wanted to connect with anyone more in my life. I wanted a permanent truce already; I was exhausted with fighting with him. I could finally understand how annoying I’d been to be around.
“There was a cape. Did you see the cape?” he asked me.
“I did see the cape,” I said, chuckling. “I don’t know that Big Bird yellow is your color.”
“Right? This was my contention as well.”
“So this thing in LA, is it like that?”
“It’s nowhere near that upscale, but I will not be in a suit.”
“A dress?”
“Somewhere in between, I suspect.”
“A kilt?”
“That would be too easy.”
“Okay,” I said, straightening up, not wanting to push my luck. “I am looking forward to seeing whatever this entails.”
“Well, you’re going to meet some new people tomorrow.”
“I look forward to that too,” I said, levering off the counter. Before I left the room, I turned and looked back at him. “Sleep well.”
“You too,” he said, sipping the milk as he finished his cake.
Turning the corner, I had to brace my hand on the wall. Amazing that right before you completely called it quits, suddenly, right before your eyes, there was growth and change, winter giving way to spring. I so hoped it would stick this time.
Right around noon, the following day, I was watching Brent welcome Nick’s publicist and stylist to the house, along with the fleet of people that needed to dress him, do his hair, and pick out the perfect jewelry, when it struck me what I could do as an offer of good faith. It was fun to watch the whole spectacle of getting ready for an event, but more than that, I enjoyed hearing everyone gush over how good Nick looked and what amazing shape he was in.
“When did you have these highlights done?” his publicist, Cissy Markum, asked him.
“It’s just from being outside in the sun all the time,” he told her.
“Well, your hair is gorgeous,” she assured him. “It’s so thick and healthy, and your skin—Jesus, Nicky, you’re supposed to share when you find a new product.”
It was called water.
He drank so much water, and Marisol had cut all red meat from his diet, as well as pork. There was only chicken and fish for him, and vegetables, and refined sugars were few and far between, unless the person who was supposed to be looking out for you brought it back from a food truck. I realized I was not part of the solution. Between Marisol, Callie, and Felix, just shy of twelve weeks had made a huge difference in him. He’d been lucky he didn’t need to shed pounds but, instead, put them on, so that now he was basically glowing with renewed vitality.
“I do feel different,” he confessed.
“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” she told him, eyes wide. “I had no idea you had those abs, honey. We’re going to make sure everybody notices how good you look, and maybe get you some modeling work on top of everything else. I bet GQ or Maxim might want to do a story on you. With how great the grounds look now; they could shoot the spread right here.”
“But this is my home and––”
“Ohmygod, maybe we could get Architectural Digest out here!” she squealed excitedly.
“I don’t think––”
“Has this place always been all hidden oasis?” she asked him. “Because I don’t remember it being so beautiful.”
“Loc made some––”
“And now I kinda want to move in here. I bet everyone’s dying to come spend time with you in your creative retreat.”
He looked over at me, and I knew he was looking for a lifeline, but I also knew that it was time for him to swim alone. If I always stepped in between him and the world, he’d never learn to find his own ports when the waves got high.
“Maybe when you’re in LA you can invite some of your friends up,” I suggested.
“Yeah,” he agreed, quieter, more restrained than he’d been the night before.
I knew it would be hard to explain to a lot of them that there were no drugs or alcohol allowed in his home. It would be interesting to see how he fared with the temptations out in the real world now that his body was clean and he didn’t crave what he’d been forced to give up.
“What’re you doing?” Nick asked his stylist, Phaeton Dove, who was standing close, studying me with his magenta-lined eyes.
“I’m deciding what I want him to wear to the after-party,” he apprised Nick. “I can call ahead and get him a tuxedo, but I need to take his measurements.”
“I’m not going,” I told Phaeton, and I wondered if he knew that his parents named him after a carriage. I didn’t want to ask in case it was a sore spot.
“What?” Nick asked, sounding surprised and almost angry.
“You’ll have Isai there to protect you, and Brent for support and to be your runner, of course. He is supposed to be your assistant, after all.”
Nick got up from the chair and walked over, stepping in close to me. “What’s going on?” He was staring, not scowling, not quite, but it was a close thing.
“I’m rewarding you for all the great strides you’ve made,” I answered, lifting my hand to take hold of his shoulder but thinking better of it and letting it drop back to my side.
“Rewarding me?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at him. “Me not going, that’s my gift to you.”
“But that’s––”
“I have faith in you,” I interrupted, hoping he heard how proud I was of the changes he’d made in his life, from getting clean to eating right. I felt as though, suddenly, we had a new understanding of one another. I could see he was trying; he could see that I was there to help. “And I hope you don’t think that sounds like I’m being sentimental or overdramatic.”
“No,” he whispered, his gaze holding mine. “I know how you meant it.”
He did? Holy shit. I couldn’t help smiling at him, and I heard his breath catch. “I’m glad.”
“But I’m not sure you staying home is a good idea.”
“What?” I teased him. “We both know you don’t want an old man cramping your style.”
“I—we should talk about a lot of the things I’ve––”
“No, it’s true,” I soothed him, unable to stop the second time, reaching out to cup his chin and use my thumb to wipe some excess powder off his cheek. “You are young, but not a kid. I feel like we called a truce last night, and I’d like to keep it going.”
“Me…too,” he said haltingly, gaze unwavering on mine.
“I don’t know that we can be friends, but I really do so wanna help you,” I rumbled out.
“Yes. I know,” he agreed hoarsely. “But––”
“So yeah, Brent can go in my place, and you’ll be more at ease, more yourself. It won’t feel like your jailer is your wingman,” I said, waggling my eyebrows playfully.
“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice going thready for a moment.
“Will you be gone overnight?”
“No,” Nick stressed, stepping in close, taking a breath. “We’ll be back later.”
“He will not,” Cissy chimed in. “The parties aren’t even in full swing until midnight, so don’t wait up for him.”
“Okay, then.”
“If he’s back before Monday afternoon, I’ll be––”
“I might not stay for everything,” Nick told me. “So make sure the gate can still be opened if I get back late.”
“Don’t hurry back, all right? Really. I mean it. I want you to have fun,” I said adamantly, and then leaned in, whispering, “I do trust you.”
“Yeah, I know you do, but––”
“You have great lines,” Phaeton told me, tipping his head sideways. “You should come down to LA with him anyway. You can be my date. I bet I could get you some print work. What do you think, Cis?”
“Without question,” she agreed. “Why don’t you model now?”
“You’re very kind,” I told her. “But while you guys are all gone for a couple of days, I’m gonna camp out here.”
“But not by yourself,” Phaeton said, lifting one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Am I right, Daddy, or am I right?”
“You are very right,” I assured him with a grin, because yes, enough was enough. Months after the last time with Brann, and just a couple days shy of three more here in California, I was done flirting. Since I couldn’t have what I really wanted, I would take the next best thing, which meant I was ready to pound the next person who asked, right through the floor. I was thinking it would be Zach, as he was due back soon, but this weekend it was whoever crossed my path. Even Danny. I could put him over the kitchen table and get enough of what I needed to be sated, and he would be thrilled. And I wasn’t being conceited. He’d confessed it to me on several occasions.
“Well, maybe Brent and I will stay in LA until Monday morning so you can have a whole debauchery-filled weekend,” Nick muttered, his voice hoarse.
“Sounds like a plan to me. You have my permission,” I apprised him, leaving his bedroom to head for the kitchen. “You don’t have to be good, just careful,” I called from the hall.
Seconds later he charged around in front of me, making sure I couldn’t get by him. “What the hell does that mean?” he growled, fists clenched, glowering at me. “You can fuck whoever you want, but I––”
“No, not at all. I was just trying to be funny,” I said softly, soothingly. “All I meant was that you should have fun, go get laid, do whatever you want, just keep the other temptations in check so I don’t have to drive down there and haul your ass out of some cheap hotel room in the middle of the day with your ass hangin’ out for the whole world to see.”
