The storm took a break and the early evening sun is out again, but another wave looks like it’s headed our way. High bright funnels of clouds surrounded by blue sky are interspersed with ominous dark beasts of clouds with tiny white flashes visible. A steamy mist rises all around us from the recently deluged asphalt.
“Get whatever you want,” he says as the cool of the air conditioning hits us at the entrance.
We go in, I pick out a handful of basics and drop them into a basket.
At the checkout, an elderly employee wearing a vest with the supermarket logo is arguing with the cashier, whose nametag says Steve Bestman - Manager. He looks about thirty, brown hair with a receding hairline.
“I work here so I should get the full employee discount!” she says.
“Hello,” says the cashier to us with a smile and a tone loaded with apology. “Wanda, we’ve been over this. You got your discount. It’s at the bottom of the receipt.”
“That’s not the discount I was promised when I was hired. I’m going to go to the labor board about this. In fact, I’m going to mention this at the next city council meeting.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says to us with an even bigger smile that subtly communicates please shoot me. “That’ll be twenty-eight thirty-two.”
Trevor takes out his wallet, but I’m prepared. I yank out the debit card. Yeah, that one. Zander’s card.
Swipe!
“Too late,” I say to Trevor with a girly giggle. “Old man, you’re getting a little rusty there. Gotta work on those wrist muscles.”
“I want to talk to the manager,” says Wanda.
“I am the manager, Wanda! You know that. You work here!” He turns to us and smiles. “I’m so sorry about this. Would you like cash back?”
Oh what the hell. “Yes,” I say. I type in $100.
“Have a nice night,” says Steve Bestman - Manager.
“You too,” I say with a smile that I hope tells him good fucking luck.
“So what card was that?” Trevor says as we reach the limo.
I throw him a how-dare-you-ask look with the accompanying gasp.
He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
We get back to the limo, then head to the Redmond Apts on James Avenue. Trevor parks in a valet lot.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” says the valet after Trevor hands him a hundred-dollar bill.
“Shit,” I say, “you’re somewhat fucking unbelievable yourself there, Captain Cash. I didn’t know you had Benjamins like that to throw around.”
“Like I said, your dad pays me well.”
With grocery bags in hand, we walk across the street and soon we’re back inside Unit One of the Redmond Apts.
This is weird. It feels boyfriend-girlfriend. With a hint of protector-witness. And a dash of… no, I’m not going to go there. But I think you know what I mean.
“Okay,” says Trevor. “I think that’s it. You’re all set.”
I decide to make a bold move. “Why don’t you spend the night with me?”
He laughs. “Seriously, Smudge, you’re going to be fine here. I . . . uh . . . know the owner of this building.”
“Really? And why don’t I know this?” I move up to him and straighten his tie, flattening it out against his taut chest. My fingers decide to squeeze a little.
Oh!
I’m not surprised at the impure ache firing up down below.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Smudge.” He takes my hand and removes it from his chest. “Best maybe to leave that in the past.”
“That’s the worst Humphrey Bogart impression ever.”
“I wasn’t doing any impression.” He squints and smiles. “Humphrey Bogart? I look nothing like Humphrey Bogart.”
“No, but you’re acting like Rick from Casablanca. All sacrifice for the greater good. Insisting I stay here to find myself, instead of begging me to come back . . .” I touch his arm. “With you.”
He removes his arm from me with a snap. “Smudge, it’s because I know it’s not what you need right now. After the whole Zander thing, you’re better off staying away from your mom and your sisters for a few weeks. Personally . . . and this is just me . . . and I’m not saying this because I don’t want you around me, near me, close to me . . . I think you’re better off here.”
“See, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what again?”
I muffle my voice and put my hands in pretend raincoat pockets. “The problems of two little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.”
He laughs. “Three.”
“Huh?”
“The problems of three little people, not two. Didn’t you pay attention at all to the movie that night I showed it to you?”
I step closer to him again. The strong line of his lips is inches from mine over that powerful chin. “Yes, but we’re lucky. We have no Victor Laszlo standing in our way.”
He laughs again, meeting my eyes for another split second. God, I miss that laugh. “You know, you’re clever. Or at least you think you are by trying to use my favorite movie against me. But I need to go. You’re safe here.” He takes out a card from his pocket and writes a name and a number on it.
Rodrigo
(305) 555- 9021
“Call Rodrigo if you ever get into trouble. He’s the property manager.”
I switch gears and try a different tack, propelled to convince him to stay. “You’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you? You spoke flawless Spanish to him. You hugged him. Guys don’t hug guys unless they’ve known each other a long time, at least not straight ones. And I know you’re straight as a gun barrel.”
“Yeah, well–”
Before he has a chance to throw me another line of bullshit, I launch myself onto his lips.
Can’t help it. Those lips were begging for it. I heard them.
His tongue meets mine. He melts. I feel it. I know it when a man melts, losing himself in me. We stand there for a very long sustained union, our tongues swirling in a rough urgency fueled by years of pent-up longing and desire.
His hands travel all over my back, down to my sides, and around my ass, where he squeezes. To kick my seduction up a notch, I lift my right leg and wrap it around his left, rubbing my foot on the inside of his thick and hard calf muscle.
Then, he pushes me away.
“Smudge!” He steps back about a foot, running his hands through his hair. “We can’t do this. We can’t.”
“Oh, stop being so fucking noble! You’re not working for my family right now!”
“That’s not it, Smudge. That has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what is it?”
He meets my gaze again. I feel so connected to him right now, more than ever before. There’s always been a wall between us, though. Something intangible. A barrier he would never cross.
Until maybe now.
“It’s . . .” C’mon, Trevor! Open up! It’s me! “Smudge, let’s . . .”
The pauses are killing me.
“Let’s what?” I say, stepping forward to grind my hips into him. Oooh, he’s hard. Yep. His rigidness presses against me through the thin fabric of his black pants and my shorts.
I get a flash of that other cock inside those black jeans, the one that I apparently can’t seem to have. It was so close to me earlier today . . . and yet so unattainable.
Fuck, that burns me up! The asshole Lukas Thorn smacks me to orgasm, then vanishes and kicks me out of his academy.
Fucking scumbag!
I press harder against Trevor, clawing at his shoulders now.
Oh yeah, Lukas? Watch this, motherfucker! I don’t need you! I have my Trevor! My guardian! My protector! He’s always been there for me, in ways you’d never understand, you cold-hearted freak!