The Story of Lansing Lotte (34 page)

I was dripping with desire and I craved his touch. He hadn’t touched me, not really. It was only his nose and his breath, but I was ready for him. My head hit the table as I lost concentration again. I had to stop thinking of Lansing Lotte. He was in love with a woman he could never have. I was a woman he would never want. I had Fleur. He had his own child coming next spring.

What was his word?
A distraction
.

“You okay?”

My head sprung up at the sound of his voice.

Had I fallen asleep? I felt a bit dazed.

Lansing was sitting behind me, his legs on either side of my body as I sat cross-legged on the floor. I hadn’t turned to look at him, I simply felt his presence surrounding me. Two hands covered my shoulders and began to rub. I tensed and Lansing kept working me.

“Relax,” he said soothingly, his warm breath caressed my neck.

I didn’t respond. Eventually, my body betrayed me again, as my back melted under his touch and my shoulders fell to his massaging fingers. My head lulled forward as Lansing worked his magic up my neck for several minutes. I might have moaned loudly.

“You like that?” he said, again in that soothing voice and I recalled his words the other night.

We were friends.

We could be a distraction
.

I sat upright and shrugged a little to warn him off. I couldn’t give in to him. I didn’t want to be a distraction to Lansing Lotte. I still had secrets that would destroy our friendship.

His hands stilled and he spoke again.

“I have something for you.”

I thought he was flirting with me, like he used to do before I moved in.

“I bet you do,” I mumbled.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he laughed behind me.

I turned slowly to see a box sitting next to him. It was wrapped in an old-fashion manner with brown paper. I shifted between his open legs to get a better look at the package.

He handed it to me, and I looked up at his face confused.

“It’s a bit of an apology.”

“Why?”

“The other night…,”

“It’s fine,” I lied as I cut him off.

He paused for a moment, searching my face. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for and he finally said, “Open it.”

“I don’t think you really have to give me an apology gift. It feels like a bribe.”

“I am bribing you. To forgive me.” He smiled slowly and his dimples peeked out.

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends,” he paused, “And I don’t have many at the moment.”

That wasn’t true. He still had the band members, although I wasn’t sure they were keeping up with each other. I knew that Kaye Sirs, their manager called, but Lansing ignored him.

“Friends? Right,” I said a bit too bitterly, but I caught a look on his face. It appeared best not to deny him the gift. I hastily unwrapped the box, balancing it awkwardly between his legs.

“It’s a camera?”

I glanced up into blue eyes that suddenly looked concerned.

“You still need a new one, right?”

“Yes, but it’s a Nikon D 4.”

“Isn’t that the one you wanted?” His voice was nervous. Suddenly I was in his lap. I don’t know what prompted me, other than my excitement.

He was giving me a new camera.
A new camera.
I wouldn’t have to borrow others anymore and do all that fiddling with erasing memory off them.

“Whoa. If I had known you would get so excited about
un
wrapping something, I could think of a few other things to wrap up for you.”

I didn’t want to play along. I was too excited about the gift. I had only one corner of the brown paper off the package when I recognized the logo. I ripped the remaining paper with force. I stared at the generous gift for a moment before setting it to the side. I was straddling his thighs, pushing him back into the couch with my arms wrapped around his neck. My cheek rested against his ear.

“Why?” I said softly.

“I said, I’m sorry.”

I squeezed him tightly.

“I shouldn’t do it, but apology accepted.” I was still holding onto him.

He gently pushed me back as I slipped forward on his lap with the resisting force. Our centers met. He was hard in his jeans, and instantly I was wet and warm in my thin leggings.

“You shouldn’t accept my apology?” he asked confused, as he shifted and it only brushed him against me. My body reacted and I clenched in response. He let out a stifled, “umpf.”

“I do accept your apology. I shouldn’t accept the gift.”

“Why not?” he questioned, holding himself very still under me. I needed to get off him. I was sitting in the most compromising of positions and I could feel the full length of him under me.

“It’s too much. You’ve already done so much for me,” I said quietly, my voice matching my shaking legs. I was trying to hold perfectly still, as well.

“But thank you,” I whispered. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me for a long time.

His hands slipped to my hips, like they had when we danced in the kitchen. His fingers squeezed tenderly, but it felt possessive. He was holding me still, then he adjusted his own hips and it drove him into me. The core of my pleasure spot pressed into him. I groaned with almost a snort. It caught me off guard, despite our position and I let my head fall back a bit in a second of ecstasy. I snapped it forward, opening my eyes to meet a mischievous twinkle of blue that froze me. He was firm and long under me. I couldn’t help myself; I squeezed my thighs forcing myself against him. He shifted under me. My body was a constant traitor. I responded by grinding against him. My hands slid from his neck to grip his shoulders. We were completely silent, but our eyes were locked as we pressed into one another. I rocked into him as he applied further pressure on my hipbones. My body wanted him, while my heart didn’t want to give in.

“Lila?” he said softly, and I pressed against him one more time. I was about to close my eyes with the overwhelming pleasure of grinding against him when something in my peripheral vision distracted me. Fleur was standing at the end of the couch.

I didn’t want to curse a child, but I was completely frustrated when Fleur appeared at the end of the couch. What did she see exactly, though? We weren’t kissing. We were grinding. And I prayed that Fleur didn’t understand what that was, and that she wouldn’t question me if she did. Lila jumped off of me so quickly she almost fell into the table behind her, which was covered with her school books. I reached to right her and she was suddenly plastered against me again as we stood chest to chest. She patted me like she was placating a child suddenly and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Fleur, honey, want a snack?” She brushed past me, smoothing down her leggings, which were skintight and crinkled. They were so thin I could feel everything through them, almost. It wasn’t enough. I didn’t want
almost
with Lila, I wanted to feel it all.

I heard Lila rustling around in the kitchen, mumbling things to Fleur, and I fell back down on the couch. I ran my hands through my hair, holding them in place as my head rested on the back of the couch. I needed to calm down. I tried to think of anything that might lessen the pain that was going to result from feeling Lila on my lap. Of course, trying to rid my mind only kept me solid. I realized we hadn’t even kissed. I suddenly imagined if we did, it would melt metal and ignite fire. I wanted her more than I wanted anyone, even Guinie.

I sat forward to cover myself as I heard Fleur’s sweet voice round out of the kitchen and head toward me. As I balanced my elbows on my knees, I glanced up at Lila’s computer which showed a collage of images with numbers underneath. My eyes narrowed as I tried to get a better look.

Image_1. A.K. on bike. Looking forward

Image_2. A.K. on bike. Looking to side.

Image_3. A.K. on bike. Looking over shoulder.

Image_4. A.K. on bike. Looking back at camera.

Image_5. A.K. on bike. Slightly ahead.

Marked in Lila’s private files, the proofs were photographs of Arturo King. He was hunched over my bike, racing through the streets of New York City. Next, he was looking to the left as if ahead of the person beside him. Another showed him glancing over his shoulder as if someone was chasing him. In one, he looked directly at the camera, the photographer, but the visor on his helmet shielded his face. Knowing Arturo, he might have been laughing at the chase because the final image was him racing ahead.

I stared in disbelief. I hadn’t seen the images on her screen before.

We already knew that a motorcycle clipped the back of the bike. The investigation proved the bike must have flipped to its side after Arturo lost control. At some point, the detective believed the bike must have hit Arturo and dragged his body. It was undetermined were the blood came from, which part of Arturo, as there was no body, but there was blood and lots of it. The red stream came to a stop at one point, feet away from the bike that, without seeing any further images, was unrecognizably smashed into the cement wall.

A shaky finger pointed forward and hit the scroll button. A new set of images rolled onto the screen and my entire body began to shake with horror.

There were pictures of the wreckage and the blood. Only one thing was definitely missing suddenly from the snapshots. Arturo King.

There was a sudden tension in the room as I re-entered with a soda in my hand. Something was wrong.
Very wrong.

“Lansing, do you wan…”

I immediately noticed Lansing’s hunched position over the coffee table, staring at my computer. Images were pulled up. As I approached the back of the couch, I saw what he was looking at. Before him were the horrific after shots taken of the accident of Arturo King. Lansing seemed entranced by what flashed in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice that Fleur had curled up next to him on the couch and had her little hand on his back.

“Fleur, go to our room,” I said, sounding authoritative and mother-like.

“I just got up,” she whined.

I noticed Lansing’s hand shaking as he reached upward to push back some of his hair. I could almost feel the heat of anger coming off of him.

“Fleur. Now,” I said, with a touch of fear in my voice. She looked at me quickly over her shoulder, then ran to our room.

In my heart, I knew I had only seconds to explain.

“It isn’t what you think.”

“What I think?” Lansing said, his voice unrecognizable to me. “You have no idea what I think.”

He still hadn’t turned to look at me. His body language completely opposite from what it had been, only moments ago, on that very couch. He was curled forward, his back to me, aggressively posed over my computer. The only way to break his spell was to come around the couch and close the laptop. As I cornered the couch and reached for the top of the screen, his hand shot up faster than anything I’d ever seen and grabbed my wrist. Hard.

“Explain,” he growled.

“I didn’t take those shots.”

“I don’t believe you.” There was a finality in his tone. He did not believe me. I had a sinking feeling he wasn’t about to believe anything else I said next.

“Those are after shots.” He still wasn’t looking at me.

My voice came out weak as I tried to explain.

“The first shots were taken before. They are from a different photographer. Arturo looks playful, like he’s having fun and enjoying the ride. Enjoying the chase.”

Lansing still clasped my wrist as his eyes met mine. And his eyes had icy flames of hatred in them.

“The second shots are…”

“How could you?” he snarled.

“I didn’t…”

“Stop. Just stop. Get out. Get the fuck out.”

“Lansing,” my voice squeaked. “Let me explain.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“You haven’t…”

“I said. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now.” His voice was rising to almost yelling.

As if on queue, his front door opened and in walked a jovial Will Galehaut, until he saw Lansing holding my wrist. As much as he was yelling for me to get out, he hadn’t let go of my arm. I was bent over as he had tugged me forward in his emphasis.