Only Trick (12 page)

O
ver the next
three weeks I spend every non-working moment with Trick. One piece at a time, he’s been shedding his emotional armor. He’s my friend, a real friend. It feels like we’ve known each other for much longer than a few weeks.

My giddiness to see him has me counting down the minutes until my shift is over—I’ve never done that before. I’ve been avoiding Steven to the point that he has to suspect I’m cheating on him, if you can call it that. We’ve never labeled our relationship. My dad’s campaign has been my excuse for my busyness, but after the election I’m going to have to figure out if Steven and I ever had a relationship, and if so if it’s worth trying to salvage.

Trick left for California two days ago to attend a new salon opening with Grady. He invited me to go with him, but I had to work and I knew he needed some private time with Grady. He says he’ll stop by to see me on his way home, but he has a late flight so I’m not counting on it. However, I don’t set the alarm and he knows my entry code … just in case.

I watch the late night show, the late late night show, and half of the who-the-hell-is-awake-at-this-time show before my body and mind fall victim to sleep.

“God, I missed you.” It takes me a moment to figure out that the deep, vibrating voice is not in my head. “I need my Darby fix.” I roll over and blink open my eyes to see him sitting on the edge of my bed. He brushes my hair away from my face.

“You’re back,” I whisper and grin so big he cannot refuse me the same grin in return. I sit up and throw my arms around his neck, pulling him down onto the pillow with me so we’re face to face. “I missed you too. How was LA?”

“Insane. You should have come with me.”

I nuzzle into his neck. “I’m not sure Grady would have loved you bringing a tagalong when he’s not seen you in months.”

He rests his palm on the back of my head and strokes my hair. “You haven’t met Grady yet, and when you do I’m certain he will love you.”

“Not if he thinks he has to share you with me. Does he know we’ve been sleeping together?” I chuckle because I’ve stayed over at Trick’s several times, and he’s stayed with me too since that first night. We sleep together in the most literal sense. At least our complicated situation isn’t hindering his ability to still have an intimate, sexual relationship with Grady; although, it’s completely snuffing out the flames between me and Steven.

“No, I didn’t mention it.”

“Would he be mad?”

“No.”

I lean back to see his eyes. “Are you sure?”

He smirks. “Positive. Now go back to sleep,” he says, pulling my head back into his neck.

“Will you stay?” I murmur in a sleepy voice.

He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stay.”

*

I wake early
to an empty spot beside me. It’s six o’clock and I have to be to work in two hours. Assuming Trick already left, I make my way to the bathroom but stop, hearing the shower and seeing the slit of light escape under the door. As I contemplate waiting for him to finish or going downstairs to make us eggs and jellied toast, I hear what sounds like a moan. My teeth clamp my bottom lips as I grab the handle to the large sliding door. Moving it barely an inch, I peek inside—heart thundering in my chest and pulsing in my throat.

Oh … my … God!

Through the steam-blurred glass shower door, I see Trick, tattoo-covered skin taut over tense muscles, head down, one hand against the wall and the other … wrapped around his cock.

My brain screams at me to shut the door. He’s human and humans masturbate. He’s a guy with a partner whom he goes months without seeing. It feels like I’m intruding on a private moment that’s certainly not meant for my eyes. Yet … I can’t look away. No matter how hard I try I just … can’t … look … away.

He’s
amazing
—a work of art. And I think I knew it weeks ago, but if not, I know it now. No man will ever compare to Trick. My husband, the father to my children, my earthly cliché of a soul mate will never live up to Trick. He’s perfection in my eyes.

I blink away my tears because every time I allow myself to think of him this way, all I feel is grief. It’s like I’m mourning the loss of something I never had.

“Fuck …” he groans as the hand against the wall curls into a fist and the hand holding his cock glides with quicker strokes along his hard length.

Saliva pools in my mouth, and I swallow again and again feeling my heart trying to break free from my chest. Slipping my hand under the waistband of my night shorts and panties, I touch myself, matching the rhythm of my hand to that of his. My fingers are his tongue along my clitoris. Then they become his cock as they slide into my wet channel. He’s less than ten feet away and I am desperate to remove my clothes and step into the shower with him. I want to taste him in my mouth and feel him buried inside of me, with nothing between us but wet, naked flesh.

He’s close …
oh God …
so am I. His hard glutes steel as he pulses into his hand.
Into me.
My fingers,
his cock
, thrusts inside me as I circle my thumb over my clit. He spills out onto the floor of the shower and I melt into my hand, both of us breathless. Closing the inch gap of the door, I lean against the wall next to it—flushed and ashamed.

This one’s all mine. I thought Nana and Trick were the perfect combination—what I couldn’t tell one I could tell the other. But this … it’s mine and as confusing and fucked up as it is, I just have to keep it to myself and hope it
never
happens again.

*

It happens again.
Four more times to be exact! Once more at my house and three times at his. The last being just ten minutes ago. I think he does it every time he showers. Who can blame him? If I had that body and that penis, I’d stroke it every day too. I’m such a perverted Peeping Tom. I’d slit my wrists if he ever found out that I spy on him in the shower and masturbate with him. We’re both indulging in pleasure, yet his is normal and mine is stalker psycho.

“Grady’s flying in this weekend,” Trick announces, walking into his kitchen in jeans, no shirt—just like I like him.

I slide his plate over to him: jellied toast, eggs
over easy
, and juice. “Is that your way of telling me to make myself scarce for a while?”

“Hardly.” He kisses the top of my head and sits next to me at the counter. “We’re going to a party Saturday night. You should come.”

I wipe my mouth and swallow. “I don’t think so.”

“You working?”

“No, I’m off this weekend, but I don’t think I’d fit in.”

“You’re wrong. It’s some exclusive party filled with rich people and celebrities. You’ll fit right in unless you threaten to have the escorts fired because they look at you the wrong way.”

With a sidelong glance, I glare at him. “Bite me!”

He leans over and bites my neck.

“Ouch!” I squeal and cringe.

His whole face beams with laughter that tapers off as his eyes drift down my face to my chest. A grimace morphs his face, eyes flitting back to mine. I glance down at my chest expecting to see a glob of red jelly on my white T-shirt.

“Oh shit!” I swivel my stool away from him and cup my breasts. I haven’t put a bra on yet this morning and my dark nipples came to life with his mouth on my neck. Unfortunately my thin, white shirt hides nothing.

“Sorry—” he starts to say with an apprehension that softens his voice.

“Uh … no … um, it’s not your fault. Um … it’s just a little chilly in here.” I hasten toward his dresser. “Mind if I borrow a sweatshirt or something?”

“Second drawer from the bottom.”

I grab a gray hoodie and slip it over my head.

“I didn’t mean to—” His forehead tenses.

I wave him off as I hop back up on the bar stool. “Stop, it’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have bit you.”

I shove a bite into my mouth. “It’s cold in here, that’s all,” I mumble over my food. “Stop thinking you turned me on or something ridiculous like that. You’re gay for heaven’s sake.”

He purses his lips to the side and nods once slowly. “But you’re not.”

There they are, the words that make me question this most incredible friendship. He’s just acknowledged the part of our relationship that I fear with such heart-wrenching intensity.

Taking in a shaking breath, I release it, feeling the tugging of that knot in my belly. “No … I’m not.” I look up at him, completely open and vulnerable, and I wait for him to tell me what this means—what we mean.

He gives me a half smile; it’s forced and I know it. “Come with us to the party this weekend and bring a date.”

“Like a double date?”

He nods, watching me with reservation in his eyes, like he’s watching for me to hesitate or give away something that might say what I’m sure he already suspects—my feelings for him are murky.

“Okay…” I feign confidence “…I’ll scrounge a date.”

He smiles. “You could always check with your father’s escort service.”

My face scrunches. “Hardy har har! I don’t have to hire a date; thank you very much for your confidence.”

Without a doubt I’m going to have to hire a date. Jeez, what is it with the Carmichael family?

*

“An escort?” Nana
gasps then falls into a fit of laughter.

The waiter at the Local Root, one of my favorite Chicago restaurants, refills our water glasses and simpers at my Nana failing to retain any sort of composure.

I give him a tightlipped apologetic grin.

“Do you have to announce it to everyone in here?” I say in a hushed voice.

“Oh dear! I never thought I’d see the day …”

“It’s not for sex and it’s not because I can’t find a date. It’s just short notice and I don’t know many guys that would understand my relationship with Trick.”
Hell, I don’t understand it!

“So you need a professional?” She takes a drink of her water with a grin still plastered to her face.

I sigh. “I need someone that … ugh! Yes, I need a professional.” Resting my elbows on the table, I drop my head into my hands. “How did I get to be so pathetic?”

“Don’t fret it, dear. I’ll find you someone.”

Great. My nana is hiring me a date. It’s like she’s a pimp or a madam.
No, that’s not right either.
This is all so very wrong.

“Is it going to be hard for you to see Trick with Grady?” Nana spears a cherry tomato with her fork and pops it in her mouth.

“Truthfully, yes, but what can I do about it? I have romantic feelings for a gay man, and I’m certain Trick is not gay by choice. I tell myself that if one day he woke up straight I’d be the love of his life.”

“Hmm, does that help?”

“No,” I mumble in a pouty voice after biting off a piece of warm ciabatta. “But he genuinely wants to be my friend and I his, so the problem is mine to figure out. I don’t think the answer is severing ties at this point.” I shrug. “I don’t know … maybe seeing him with Grady will bring me out of the infatuated funk I’m in right now.”

“Sure, two hot guys touching each other … that should do it.” She winks at me.

There must be a Betty White club Nana belongs to. If she doesn’t lose her mind first, I’m certain she will die with her last comment being completely snarky.