Last Call (19 page)

I really liked living with her, but she was a major smoker. Six months after I came to live in her home, she had a massive heart attack and died shortly after. From then on out, I was shuffled between homes. When I hit my teens, I took my anger out on the idiots I went to school with. For the next eighteen months, I lived in what felt like a cage. I got my ass in order and kept to myself. I finished my last year as a minor in an asshole’s house, but managed to finish high school. Then, shortly after, I was gone.

“Are you sure it’s okay Glenn wants to take my car home?” Mariah asks, breaking up my thoughts. “I can call my friends for a ride. It’s really no trouble.” I look over to her kind, thoughtful eyes looking back at me. She is so very different from the woman I’ve thought she was. Today, after seeing her with Royce, I can see there is a soft side to her. A side to her she doesn’t reserve for me.

“Yes, that is what I pay him for.” It’s all I can say to her. I’m feeling a little off from being lost in my past for a moment.

I leave Mariah in the kitchen and walk into my TV room to find Royce passed out on the couch. His body is contorted with his ass up, one leg hanging off the cushion, and his mouth is wide open. I can’t help smiling at this little guy. The day at the beach was a blast, so much so that he fell asleep before finishing his superhero movie.

When I bend down and lift his limp body from the couch, Royce mumbles something incoherent then lays his head down on my shoulder. Once I know he’s settled, I walk back to Mariah. She is standing next to the kitchen counter and looks to be in pain. She appears to have tensed up and her eyes are glossed over as she stands on one foot.

I look at her questioningly when I close the gap between us. I don’t want to wake Royce; therefore, I get fairly close to her then whisper, “Are you okay?”

She simply stands there and stares at me, like she wants to tell me something, but can’t form a single sentence. Maybe she’s in pain. I knew I shouldn’t have let her walk up from the beach, yet the woman is so damn insistent. Now she’s probably fucked it up more than it already has been. I know she’s used to doing everything on her own, but dammit, when your ankle is as round as an orange, you should probably take it easy.

“Mariah, are you in pain?” I ask her then glare at her, knowing she’s not okay at all. “I told you not to walk on your foot. Do you want me to get Jim up here again? Maybe he has some stronger pain meds.”

She shakes her head then the bewildered-slash-painful look is gone. “No, I’m fine. I’ve just never seen anyone carry him since he was a baby, well, other than my dad.”

“I’m not going to drop him.” Wow, she must be a very overprotective mother. I feel a little insulted considering he doesn’t weight that much.

“I know that. It just took me off guard for a second, sorry. Let’s… go.” She limps her way over to the front door and pushes the button to retrieve the elevator.

We stand outside it, waiting for it to arrive, and I get a feeling I’m being watched. I turn my head to find Mariah staring at me. Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous.

I turn my body to her and respond to her overbearing, motherly behavior. “I know I have zero experience with a kid, but I’m quite capable of carrying him to my car. So you can stop with the scolding looks.”

“It’s not that,” she whispers then turns her attention to the elevator door. “It’s just been a really long time since…”

The door opens, killing the conversation.

After we step on, I wait for her to finish her statement, but she doesn’t. She fixes the bun on top of her head and looks ahead. I want to ask her what is on her mind, but then I fall back into my old ways. I can’t afford to get even closer to her. She is wedging her way into my life, and if I ask her what she was trying to say, then it would appear that I am interested in what she has to say. I have to convince myself I’m not. I don’t need to know what she’s thinking. I only need to get her home and break away from this girl before she winds up destroying every wall I have in place.

M
ariah

When Jason had Royce snuggled up in his arms, the very sight of it had me falling even more for him. I was ill prepared to see him with my son in his arms. It was just another reminder to me of how much I want it to be the three of us, and an even bigger reminder it will never happen.

Royce is not overly comfortable with new people, but he never seemed to have that problem when he met Jason. He assessed him then realized he is a good man and was comfortable with him. The smile on his face when they were swimming in the ocean was priceless, and the beautiful sound of my son’s laughter was even better. He bonded immediately with Jason.

The thought of Royce being that comfortable is a bad sign. It means he will get attached to him, and quickly. I couldn’t bear watching my son’s heart break if I were to expose my heart to Jason.

It’s got to be today. I need to tell him I cannot spend time with him anymore. Our once physical relationship has began to become something more to me, and I don’t want to get further involved with him. It would only make it harder to leave, and eventually, I’d lose myself along the way.

When Jason pulls into my parking lot, I have a sudden moment of panic. With my distracted thoughts, I completely forgot he’s going to be coming into my apartment. I cannot carry Royce up the flight of stairs, and I’m pretty sure the condition of my house is a nightmare compared to his. There wasn’t a speck of dust on a single surface. Trust me, I looked. Nothing.

I start mentally doing a checklist in my brain, trying to remember how messy my house was when we left. In the living room, Royce left a huge stack of Legos on the coffee table, but that’s excusable since he’s a kid and was creating things. There may be a basket of laundry sitting by the couch, although I can’t remember for sure. Mentally, I move to the next room; my fucking kitchen, I know, is a disaster. I failed to clean up after I made our picnic stuff; as a result, there’s dirty dishes in the sink and crumbs on the counter. I will make sure Jason is nowhere near the kitchen. Bathroom, that’s good. I rarely let my bathroom get messy or dirty. It’s the only room I clean on a daily basis. Royce’s room was pretty clean last I checked. However, my room is a mess. I’ve got bras hanging on the doorknob and a huge pile of dirty clothes stacked in the corner.

Shit, I really hope I don’t have dirty panties lying all over the place. It’s not like Jason hasn’t seen my underwear, but there’s something about dirty underwear on the floor that can be gross. And the panties I sleep in when I know I won’t have a man in my bed are my unattractive granny panties. Last night, after my shower, I know I wore those very unsexy bastards.

Every woman has them. They are the panties we reserve for our time of the month or when we’ve eaten way too much salty food and are bloated up like a walrus. They are the panties women probably wear after they’ve had all their babies and couldn’t care less what their fucking underwear looks like because sleep is way more important.

Yep, those are my sleep panties. Every night after I wash the fried bar food stench off me, I put on an oversized T-shirt, my big ole granny panties, and yoga pants. Besides, I haven’t had a man in my bed in over seven years, so I’ve never had to be concerned about my underwear and their stylish condition.

Over the course of my dry spell, I’ve grown quite a collection, too. I know they could stand to be thrown in the garbage because they’re really broken in, but I hate to part with them because they are so comfortable. Shit, where the fuck did I leave those panties? If he even walks into to my room, I will not allow him to go to the opposite side where a week’s worth of granny panties have accumulated in my dirty laundry pile.

“Do you want me to help you up the stairs?” Jason asks, breaking my thoughts of dirty panties completely. “I can carry him up and then come back down to get you.”

“No, I will be fine.” We both exit the car, and I hobble my way to the staircase.

Slowly, I hold both handrails and hop my way up each step. My leg starts to burn by the time I make it up the sixteen steps, but I manage without falling forward and busting out my front teeth. Yeah, that would be real sexy. I’d have no problem breaking it off with Jason then, because he’d hit the floor running like he was being attacked by killer bees.

I put the key in the lock and turn on the light, quickly scanning my house. I spot a pair of Royce’s dirty underwear lying next to the couch. My son has this thing about dressing in the living room. Even though I’ve told him many times he needs to use the bathroom or his bedroom, he always manages to find himself in the living room.

While I quickly kick his underwear out of the way, trying not to scream out in pain because I used the wrong foot, Jason makes it to the door and stands right behind me.

“You can lay him in his room. He will be out for the night.” Flipping on the hall light, I walk down the small hallway then into Royce’s room where I pull back the covers on his bed.

Jason slowly walks in and then bends down, laying my son’s sleeping body on the mattress. I walk over to cover Royce with a blanket, but Jason does it. He covers him up then brushes the hair off his forehead. He then stands there for a moment, simply looking at my child. I wish I could see his face. I want to know what thoughts are going through his mind.

There it is again, the feeling of happiness mingling with the sadness that will follow the moment Jason leaves my place. I can feel the tears well up again, and I want cry. Actually, I want to scream, kick, and fight myself from breaking it off with Jason. It has been my plan all along and has to be done; yet the overwhelming feelings are killing me. I give myself until the end of the weekend, but it should just be now. I need to get this over with.

After Jason moves away from my son, I bend down and kiss his forehead. Then I walk from the room, shutting his door behind me, and walk to find Jason.

When I hobble to the living room, he’s not there, nor is he in the kitchen. My apartment isn’t that big, so he’s either in the bathroom or… Shit! He’s in my bedroom.

I meander back to my room to find Jason looking around. His back is to me, and I take the moment to scan the floor of my room for the ugly grandma panties I like to sleep in. My eyes run across the carpet and I find the bastards poking their way out from under my bed. However, I can’t just kick them out of the way because Jason’s sandal-covered foot is right next to them. I really hope he doesn’t notice them.

As casually as I can, I slink closer to Jason and with my bandaged foot I attempt to brush them under the bed completely. Slowly, I move my foot through the carpet, feeling the soft fibers under my toes, trying with all my might not to put weight on my sore foot. I lift my arms up to balance myself from teetering over, but it’s a big fat fail. All the weight in my body seems to move forward, causing me to fall into Jason’s back. He is rocked forward and begins to fall down toward the bed. I can’t help from pressing my foot down completely and instantly feel the searing pain up the side of my ankle.

“Fuck!” I shout, and soon, I’m falling onto the mattress.

Jason somehow manages to turn around and sweep me up so I am lying under his body. All thoughts of my pained ankle are forgotten when I realize how we are laying. His forearms are pressed into the bed, resting on either side of my head. I can feel the weight of his body on mine and it feels nice. In fact, it feels perfect. We’ve never been in this position.

Whenever we have sex, it’s standing, me straddling him, or Jason bending me over something. Nothing we’ve done has ever been normal or traditional, and in this moment, I am craving it.

Our foreheads are very close to touching. I can feel his minty breath against my mouth, making me glance down at his full, soft lips before trailing my gaze back to his eyes. I want to kiss him. I want to lie underneath him and feel his lips pressed to mine. I want to have the kiss we almost had in his kitchen earlier today. When I study Jason, I can tell he wants to have that kiss, too. The look in his eyes is the same, yearning for more.

Please,
Jason. Please, kiss me. Please, see you can have more with me, with us,
I beg inside my head, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Jason pushes himself up on his arms and then stands, leaving my body feeling lost as his weight departs mine. He moves from my bed and starts walking to the door. Before he exits, he turns and looks at me. His eyes are beautiful and black yet lack the fiery gleam he usually has when we are together. They reflect something different, and it’s then I realize his eyes are mirroring mine.

Before I can speak a single word, Jason leaves my room, the sound of the front door shutting following closely behind. I climb deeper in bed and wrap myself in my blankets just as the first tear drips from my eye.