Quirks & Kinks (27 page)

I barked a laugh. “I seriously doubt it.”

“Wait . . . how do you know how well Channing gyrates?”

“His skill level was implied by your question,” I covered.

“Yeah, right. You’re a secret Tatum Totter aren’t you?”

I shook my head in confusion. “A what?”

“A Tatumite. A Channleader.”

Perplexed, I just stared. She slapped my thigh with her free hand.

“A super fan!”

“Like a Belieber?” I asked and then immediately regretted it. God, did I regret it.

She was incredulous. “Channing you have no idea, but Justin Bieber you’re in the know?”

Cue backtracking damage control. “I’m not in the know.”

“You so are!” she yelled, jumping up to stand on the bars of the stool. I reached out to steady her, and for the first time in our relationship, had to look up to meet her eyes. “You’re a Belieber.”

“No,” I denied, shaking my head and waving my hand—basically using any body part available to dispute her claim.

“Ah,” she breathed. “The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.”

I shook my head in wonder, squeezing her hips and lifting her down from her precarious perch to the safety of the ground. “I’m kind of appalled that you just used Shakespeare to argue a point about Justin Bieber.”

“Really?” she laughed, her face absolutely beaming. But beyond that, it was breathtaking. “I kind of think it’s awesome.”

So did I.
So did I.

Once Easie fell asleep, I unwrapped my limbs from hers, climbed slowly and carefully out of the bed, pulled on shorts, and crept on silent feet down the hall to the living room.

Taking a deep breath when the cabinet came into view, I didn’t waste time getting over to it, opening the door, and pulling out my most familiar envelope.

For the first time ever, I wasn’t completely happy with my decision to get out of bed and spend some time with Evan. Warm rather than cold, my sheets were occupied, scented with the rich, welcoming aroma of Easie’s sweet skin.

Shaking out the envelope onto the table, the papers scattered. Usually handled with the utmost of care, that had never happened before, and I found myself cursing my hastiness while scooping up my mess and putting it on the table in front of me.

“Shit,” I mumbled as I sorted, cringing at the sight of my carefully cared for treasures askew, rumpled, and out of order.

Once I had them back as they should be, arranged correctly and carefully placed, it was easy to find the one I wanted. I’d spent so many years reading them, that I knew exactly how many there were and the precise order in which I’d received them.

Instead of dwelling on the others, I focused on those specific words. Each one talked me off the ledge and prepared me for the trip to Las Vegas. Evan would have wanted me to go, to take a break from all of the other things. He would have loved to have gotten to the point where he had an opportunity for this level of success.

Tracing his signature, I kept telling myself that.

“I hoped so much that I wouldn’t find you out here tonight,” Tammy said quietly, startling me despite the gentle delivery. I wasn’t expecting her, and that was enough.

“Don’t start,” I warned, but she ignored me.

“She’s going to get tired of being with someone who doesn’t have any time for her.”

I rolled my eyes even though the darkness hid them from her view. “You’re starting to sound a lot like a broken record.”

“If the song still rings true . . .”

“She’s been doing stuff with me,” I defended.

“You are completely missing the point.” Two steps forward creaked through the old, worn boards of our floor. “I don’t mean time with her. I mean time
for
her. For her needs, her wants. There’s a difference between letting someone spend time in your life and making them become a part of it.”

I wasn’t missing the point, but I
was
finding it extremely annoying that Tammy was so good at making it. I just . . .”I’m not ready to let it go.”

I wasn’t ready to let
him
go. And I didn’t know what, if anything, would eventually make it so I could.

She sighed deep and long before walking the few steps that separated us and putting a friendly hand to my shoulder. I thought she would lecture me, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave me some of the best advice she’d ever given.

“Go to bed, Andy. Deal with the rest tomorrow.”

I clenched my jaw but nodded, and as if her permission held authority, pure air rushed into my lungs as the ever present weight lifted off of my chest.

She gave one quick pat before turning and heading back to her room, and I made sure to work quickly in her leave.

Folding the letters back into themselves, I scraped the contents from the top of the table up and dumped them back into the envelope. Sealing it as I walked, I worked to get back to Easie faster, sliding it into its place in the cabinet and closing the door.

Soft carpet smushed and swirled under the balls of my feet as I walked between the coffee table and the TV, and the hum of the air conditioning blew a steady stream of hair-raising chilled air across my bare skin. I hadn’t bothered with a shirt when I’d left the bed, and with the promise of Easie’s naked body calling to me from just beyond my door, I wished I hadn’t put on anything.

I suddenly couldn’t stand the fact that I’d left in the first place, so I moved even faster, shucking my shorts and opening the door at the same time. As soon as I cleared the threshold, my shorts were gone, and two quick jumps and a skip had me diving into the bed and pulling the covers down just enough to climb in.

Easie didn’t budge despite my intrusion, and knowing her tendency to sleep deep, I didn’t measure my movements.

Wrapping my arms around Easie’s tiny body and pulling her close, I absorbed her warmth and scent, feeling for the first time in a long time like everything I needed was right there in within reach.

I knew it might not last, but for then, it was perfect.

She was perfect.

We
were perfect.

“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.”

~ Jim Morrison

FLUTTERING EYES PULLED THEIR
way out of a deep sleep, taking in my surroundings in beats and flashes. White linens lined the pillow at my ear, and the warm, tan flesh of my huge male counterpart glowed in the early morning sunlight.

Anderson.

His back was to me, and the sheet sat precariously at the very top of his tight, muscled ass. I’d had it in my hands the night before as he sank inside of me repeatedly—something I’d not only gotten used to, but feared I’d no longer be able to live without. He made me feel alive and active, and I was healthier than I’d been in years.

Quitting smoking had taken a ton of will and ambition, and to this day, Anderson still hadn’t mentioned it. I saw him watching me though, so I chocked his silence up to an effort to keep the peace. No matter the circumstances, smoking always seemed to turn into a festering sore spot with pus, and infection, and undeniably hurt feelings.

Ultimately, I’d decided he was important enough to me that smoking wasn’t anymore. And with how active he had me, I hardly needed it as the main staple of my diet plan.

Stretching and yawning, I tested my sore limbs, lifting myself up to sitting and shaking the bed a little in the process. Anderson was obviously tired, lying there undisturbed despite my motion.

An idea took hold, and I jumped from the bed to take advantage. I wasn’t normally awake before Anderson. In fact, I didn’t think I ever had been.

But I knew he had food in the refrigerator and a showing of breakfast in bed could never be a bad thing.

Pulling his discarded t-shirt over my head, I walked quietly on careful feet out his door, clicking it shut behind me in order to keep from waking him.

The coffee maker blinked with its automated setting, and a brew started up just as I entered the main living room. I loved a man with a programmable coffee machine.

Wait. I mean, I loved anyone who had a programmable coffee machine. That’s what I meant.

Right?

Shaking my head, I put it out of my mind and skated on shuffling feet toward the kitchen. Unfortunately, I missed the transition to the rug, tripping and slipping and just barely stopping myself before falling to my knees.

There on the floor, an upside down picture sat out of place, obviously dropped in transit by Anderson or Tammy.

Too curious to leave it be and not wanting it to get damaged—yeah, right—I picked it up and flipped it over with a burgeoning smile on my face.

Like the fiery meeting of two speeding cars on the freeway, my smile died an instant but painful death.

Glassy green eyes stared deep into mine, a younger, completely different Anderson lazily smiling with an arm around Tommy. They were obviously young and celebrating, the waylay of a college party swirling in the background.

And in the fingers of Anderson’s ringless hand sat the straw that would ultimately break the camel’s back.