Chapter 11
Shaking her head in a vain effort to jar the two halves into a cohesive whole, Claudia crested the landing. We decided to just be friends, she reminded herself. Friends have been known to successfully just sleep together, some other part of her brain responded. A tiny pain knifed through her neck, a physical reminder of how uncomfortable the couch downstairs was. She could make him sleep on it, in his current state comfort didn’t appear to be much of an issue. But that would be mean. They could share her bed. He would pass out the second his head hit the pillow anyway. He’d keep his hands to himself. Question is, can you?
Before her debate was over, she blinked and realized she was standing in the middle of her bedroom. He was only a step behind her, looking around him with mild curiosity. When he caught her eye, he smirked at her.
Now see what you’ve done? He’s assuming….no. Platonic, you only want to be friends remember, she reminded herself again. But that other part responded with, do I? Shaking her head and willing away the dirty thoughts that welled up and threatened to flood her reason she sought escape. Nearly sprinting to a door she pushed it open saying, “The bathroom is through here, towels are in the cabinet by the shower. Toss your clothes on the floor. I’ll go dig around for something dry.”
He nodded and pulled his wet shirt over his head as he moved toward the door and Claudia felt her jaw drop. It had always been patently obvious that he was well built, but even her imagination had not prepared her for how beautiful a body he’d sculpted. Blushing, she put her head down hoping he wouldn’t see. He paused at the door and she was within inches of his bare skin, eyes level with his chest. She noticed that the chill of the air against damp flesh had caused his nipples to harden.
He stood silently beside her, his head down and his eyes on her. She knew this because she could feel his warm breath blow through her hair. His presence was overwhelming, intoxicating. She’d felt it in the car when they kissed, but it was much, much more intense now. If she didn’t put some space between them she ran the risk of crossing the line they’d drawn that evening in the car.
Fighting the conflicting urges to tackle him and dart away like a shy school girl she pushed off the wall and started past him intent on finding him clothes that would limit the distraction caused by all those bare muscles.
She was almost out the door when he said, “Hey, Claudia?” She turned to look at him and was rewarded with a smile, it was a weak one, but still a smile. Tossing his shirt at her he said, “Thanks.”
Catching the shirt as a reflex, she spun and fled her bedroom at breakneck speed running down the hall to her father’s room. Stumbling though a maze of paint cans and ladders, she made a beeline for the closet and flung open the door, the clean scent of cedar filling her nostrils and clearing her head.
My God, get a grip. Cover all that up and this will be a lot easier. She turned in a circle letting her eyes pass over row after row of neatly shelved and hung clothing. Dom was a little taller than her father and definitely proportioned differently. Her father outweighed him by at least 40lbs. And his taste was terrible. By day, he lived for the navy blue suit and white shirts made famous by IBM executives. For the evenings, he had an entire wall of smoking jackets and silk pajamas, some of the gaudiest, most tasteless trash imaginable. There were no workout clothes to choose from since her father believed the exercise craze to be some sort of terrorist plot designed to rid the world of rich white men.
That left her with his night clothes. It was with a great deal of glee that she browsed through them, selecting something she assumed would fit. Might even be worthy of a laugh or two.
Clothing in hand, she slipped back into her bedroom, thankful that the water was still running.
She needed to get changed herself. Pretending it was just because her clothes were wet, when the real reason was that they were ugly, the pajama equivalent of granny panties, she scoured her closet for something appropriate. Selecting simple navy and green plaid flannels and a sports bra type tank she was satisfied herself that she looked better than she had when she opened the front door. Also convinced she didn’t look so good she might be tempting she went to face her own temptation.
Exiting her closet she looked for his clothes expecting them to be in a pile outside the bathroom door. They were not. “You little devil,” she muttered as she crept up to the door and pushed it open a crack.
They were piled on the countertop by the shower stall but she hardly noticed. Her eyes passed right over them to the semi visible shape of Dom in the shower. The frosted glass made it impossible to discern distinct shapes - not that she didn’t try. Her eyes lingered a little too long, because his voice suddenly filled the small space, “I could open the door for you if you want. Glass kinda blocks the view, huh?”
She gasped. “Oh my God, I…I was just, um, getting your wet things. I am soooooo sorry.” Lunging forward, she scooped up the pile and almost knocked herself over in her haste to get out.
Once in the laundry room, she collapsed against the drier and took a long shuddering breath willing her face to return to its correct shade. Okay, not the end of the world. He knows he’s hot. I cannot imagine that he is terribly shy, so, you probably embarrassed yourself far more than you did him. Get a grip and just relax.
It was easier said than done. She hadn’t left him with anything to wear, the clothes she’d intended to give him still clutched in her hands. She had to go back. Getting to the top of the stairs was easy. Opening the door to her room was not. The water wasn’t running anymore and she wasn’t sure where he was.
From behind the door she heard him start to speak, the words slightly slurred. “You know, I was sitting here wondering how long it takes rich girls to get over embarrassing the crap outta themselves. Then I was wondering if this was just your excuse to get a better look…”
As he spoke she tried to think up a brilliant comeback, but her brain staunchly refused to cooperate. Before he finished his thought, she cracked open the door and thrust the hand with the clothes through. “Here.”
“Shit, who the hell do these belong to anyway?”
Her embarrassment began to fade a little in the face of the embarrassment she was sure he was feeling. Leaning against the doorjamb she smiled. “They don’t fit?”
“No, they fit alright.” She heard the door handle and stepped back to lean against the railing certain that he was about to have an awkward moment of his own.
He stepped out and she brought a hand to her face to make sure her jaw stayed closed. Rather than looking foolish, like her father always did, Dominic looked positively edible. The vibrant blue of crushed velvet that had looked so obnoxious on the hanger had somehow been muted, becoming dark and lustrous against the golden hue of his skin. The shirt was unbuttoned hanging loose off his shoulders, a silver crucifix dangling between sculpted pecs. The pants hung low on his hips, the v of his torso tantalizingly cut off just above the point of no return.
He looked amazing.
Dragging her gaze upward, she met his eyes, chagrined by the arrogance in them. He knew. The blush that crept up her cheeks was beyond her control but she refused to give him the additional satisfaction of looking away. Unable to think of a single witty thing to say she grabbed the hem of the open shirt and asked, “You like them?”
“What’s it matter if I like ‘em? You obviously do.” He looked down and ran a hand over his bare stomach. He glanced back up at her, got the even darker blush that she was sure he wanted, and smiled. “I feel like a fucking peacock. I don’t even want to know where you got this shit.”
“Good, because I really don’t want to explain.” And that was true. The last thing she wanted to do was explain her dad’s strange habits.
He nodded and rubbed at the scruff on his chin. The playful light left his eyes and she noticed again the dark circles underscoring them. The expression began to drain from his face and he asked, “You got any more of that scotch?”
“Yes, but are you sure you actually require more scotch? You look like you could use some sleep to me.”
“Maybe so, but I want scotch,” he said through a yawn.
“Yes, yes, you’re very convincing. Come on, turn around and go back where you came. You’re sleeping in there.” Catching him unaware she was able to spin him around easily, the trouble came when she tried to push him into the room.
He put his arms out catching the doorframe and stopped her in her tracks with what appeared to be minimal effort. “Shit, ain’t drunk enough to sleep in the tub, Claudia.”
“Don’t be an ass. You think I would do that to you?” She pushed harder at his back, marveling at the feel of the velvet sliding against muscle.
He let go of the doorframe and took a step into her room turning around as he did so. The opportunity was too good to pass up and she let herself fall forward and into his arms. As assumed he caught her easily. As hoped, and not hoped, he didn’t let go. Instead, he bent down, his voice an almost unintelligible rumble in her ear, “So what exactly are you offering, Claudia?”
Pushing away from him, just like the sensible half of her demanded, she pointed a finger at the bed and snapped, “I am offering you the left side of that bed.”
He looked unimpressed, letting his eyes trail her arm to the bed and then back to her face. Had it not been for the deep circles, his black eyes at half-mast would have been positively sultry. She watched him pull absently at the waistband of his pants like he was thinking about removing them all together and against her will her eyes followed his hand. He let the fabric fall and brought his hand up to his face tapping one long finger against his lips for a second. His amusement was obvious, humor dancing in tired eyes. “What if I like the right side though?”
Okay buddy, don’t you dare do this to me. I will make you sleep in the tub, she thought only to contradict herself with the next thought. Oh, sure you will, who do you think you’re kidding? Still, it couldn’t be helped. She stepped back from him again, the backs of her legs coming onto contact with the fluffy down comforter on her bed. He took a step forward. Oh my God. Her resolve weakened, but the arrogant self assurance in his gaze killed the mood. Planting a hand on his chest and pushing, she admonished him. “Be happy you’re even getting a side. I could make you sleep on the couch…or the tub.”
He just looked at her for a long moment, black eyes searing into her, through her, and she felt totally exposed. Every fear, every hesitation, every desire laid bare in front of him. She was absolutely powerless.
When he moved it startled her, as if a statue came to life. A smile spread across his lips and he shrugged. “Point taken.” He stepped away from her and around to the left side she had insisted upon. Pushing back the covers and climbing in he smiled and shook his head. “Get in, lay down, shut up. Is that it?”
He is actually in my bed. I actually intend to get in with him…and sleep. I must be mad. What happened to school, car and nothing else? Unable to remember what he had just said but certain it had been a question due to the pitch at the end, she groped for something intelligent to say as she climbed in beside him. Coming up empty all she said was, “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Guess not.” He said as she turned out the light and all went black.
It was terrible. Absolutely terrible. She was curled up in a tight ball on her side of the bed and could tell that he was flat on his back and wide awake on the other. She was convinced she could hear him blinking and she knew from personal experience that her ceiling was far from interesting.
“Dom?”
~~~~~
“Fuck!”
Slamming though Vince’s bedroom door,
partly because he was in an angry hurry and partly because he fell into it,
“Vince! V, man, get up.”
“Mia’s
in trouble,”
“She okay?” Jesse asked, leaning hard against the wall, standing on one leg and trying to tie the laces on a boot.
“She’s pretty freaked out and very
drunk but she’s okay. She’s got herself locked in the bathroom at a frat house
at UCLA.”
Vince slammed out of his room and stormed past them both, headed for the door. Over his shoulder he growled, “Get movin’. I dwive.”
Were the situation less dire,
“What did she tell you, Leon?” Jesse asked once they were on the freeway screaming toward UCLA.
“Anyone know dis addhole?” Vince growled, the Maxima accelerating under his lead foot.
“He know about this?” Jesse asked, fumbling for his phone obviously planning to try to reach Dom again.
“She
tried to call him but he wasn’t picking up,”
“Fucking addhole!” Vince shouted as if his curse needed to carry throughout a stadium rather than the interior of his car. “Fuckin’ dat lil’ scank stead a takin’ care a hid God damn sithder. Modder fucker need some fuckin’ priorities.”
“If he knew, you know he’d be there.
You fucking know it.”
Jess folded his phone closed, his
expression dejected. “He still isn’t answering,
“So we take care of this ourselves.”
“Yeah, lookin’ forward to whuppin’ spoiled rich boy ass.” Vince’s black and blue knuckles were almost white, gripping the steering wheel like a vise.
“Yeah, three against 40, sounds like a blast to me,” Jesse, the ignored voice of reason, muttered from the backseat.
~~~~~
Dom felt her roll over, knew she was looking at him, the touch of her gaze running over his skin leaving goose flesh in its wake. She said his name and it sounded far away, muted under the beating rush of his blood. He turned to look at her, rolling to his side to mask the telltale sign he should not be in her bed.
She looked amazing. Her hair shined in the dim light and he could see the flash of her eyes. He heard the embarrassment in her voice when she spoke. “You want that scotch after all? I could use some.”
He smiled, pleased to discover she was no more comfortable than he. Unable to keep the amusement from his voice he asked, “Making you nervous?”
Even from that distance he could feel the heat of her blush. “It’s not you…”
“Like hell it isn’t,” He cut her off, not in the mood to be placated. He was also not in the mood to lay there like a lump getting blue balls from a sudden and uncharacteristic bout with self-restraint. If this was going to work, he needed to drink himself into a coma. “Scotch sounds great.”
She sprang out of bed and turned on a light momentarily blinding him. He threw a hand over his eyes and waited for the red behind his eyelids to become tolerable before opening them.
She was standing in the doorway, her eyes not on his face. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on the crucifix on his chest. He sat in her bed for a second longer, willing his dick into submission before throwing his legs over the edge and standing.
He heard rather than saw her run out the door and sprint down the stairs.
Alone in her room, he stretched his arms over his head and looked around again. Her room was much like she was. The colors were muted, the furniture understated and elegant. A vast collection of books littered the shelves. She read a lot of fiction he saw. Liked the classics. There was a laptop on her desk surrounded by a pile of textbooks and notes. For all its richness the room felt lived in, comfortable and inviting, totally unlike the rest of the house.
Her voice drifted up to him asking if he was ever planning to come down.
He tried again to button the shirt closed and failed. It was too tight across the chest although there was ample fabric at the waist, looked like a maternity shirt almost. Custom made pjs. Had to be her dad’s, he thought as he descended the staircase deciding he didn’t want to pursue that thought process any further. He was in enough trouble already without thoughts of Playboy and Hustler coming into play.
She was not in the library and he followed the sound of music into another room. The first thing that greeted him as he walked in was a huge, nearly theater sized, television surrounded by floor to ceiling stacks of videos and dvds. A hidden stereo played Enya in the background. Meant to put them to sleep he assumed. A pool table sat in the middle of the room and he made a mental note to challenge Claudia to a game or two. Turning around to look behind him he saw her standing at a giant carved oak bar. In shelves behind it stood hundreds of bottles. She had a rocks glass sitting in front of her half full of amber fluid and a glass of red wine in her hand. It was nearly empty.
He sat on one of the wrought iron bar stools, nodded his thanks to her and slammed back the scotch.
She polished off her wine and refilled the glass. She reached for his glass and poured another shot for him. As she handed it to him she said, “I figured as exhausted as you are you would fall asleep immediately. Or do you really hate the left side of the bed that much?”
He chuckled, “Yeah, remember the princess and the pea? Left side’s kinda like that. Seriously though, I’m just not much of a sleeper,” he admitted. Feeling the burn of the last drink, he sipped at the current one and watched her watch him. Her eyes had drifted from his face again. As she had before, she was staring at his chest. Shaking his head and flexing the muscles she was so intently watching he asked, “Wanna know how I got like this?”
She blushed and pulled her eyes back up to his. Shrugging, she stated the obvious. “You lifted a lot of weights?”
Duh. Still, for some reason he was compelled to explain it to her anyway. “Yeah, in the middle of the night at the 24 hour gym five miles from my house. I practically live there.”
She’d finished off her glass again. He was still working on his. After refilling her wine, she ran a hand back through her hair, smiled at him and changed the subject. “Alright. Here are your choices. Pool, PS2 or we can shoot hoops out back.”
Hold on, wait a minute, his brain said, did Claudia just say that? He looked her over again, seeing her in a new light. “Wouldn’t you rather play chess or tennis or some shit?”
She laid a hand over his and bestowed him with a huge playful smile. “Never judge a book by its cover, Dominic Toretto. I am a terrible chess player and I never liked tennis. Pool, PS2 or hoops? Gentleman’s choice.”
He pulled back from her touch, his body’s reaction to it nearly uncontrollable, his internal reprimand forgotten. To mask his discomfort he quipped, “Drunk as I am I can still kick your ass. You pick.”
She looked upset by his physical retreat, taking a long sip of her wine before her expression changed, a wicked smirk causing gold sparks in her eyes. Drowning in her steady gaze he didn’t hear a word as she said, “you will live to regret that. Why not a round robin for the all important right side of the bed, huh? One game of each, best of three wins.”
“You’re on, shorty.” He finished his scotch, slammed the glass on the table and tried to stand up. He almost didn’t make it and that should have been his first clue that he was in over his head.
It was a blood bath. They played horse and she beat him soundly, 10-6. They played Grand Theft Auto and she beat the crap out of him. He almost beat her at nine-ball. In fact, he beat himself, scratching on the eight-ball letting her win by default. He was not a graceful loser.
Two shots of scotch later he sat silently licking his wounded pride while she studiously ignored him. Setting his empty glass down, he watched her reach for it. When she leaned forward he could see her cleavage. Soft, pale skin constrained by a sports bra he wanted badly to remove. He stared hard at the bar top, unwilling to look at her as she pushed a full tumbler back to him because the lust in them would be unmistakable. She is not that kind of girl. Taking a sip he finally spoke into the uncomfortable silence. “I am really drunk.”
She glanced at him sharply and it occurred to him that it sounded like an excuse for losing. It sort of was, and it didn’t look like she was going to be doing any ego boosting for him. She’d won fair and square and he was discounting it. Shit. “Hell, I admit it. You beat me. No excuses. Tonight was your night…but I demand a rematch someday.”
She was quiet for a moment, eyes downcast like she was thinking hard. When she looked up at him she wore a smile. If he hadn’t known better he wouldn’t have thought it was forced. He took another gulp of scotch trying not to care that he’d disappointed her.
“Slow down or you won’t get back up the stairs and into the left side of that bed. Let me tell you, the couch down here isn’t terribly comfortable.” She laughed at him and he again caught himself staring at the rise and fall of her breasts. Stop it!
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He slammed back the rest of the shot trying to wrestle his gaze away from her chest and failing.
~~~~~
“Mia, come outta there.” Trevor’s voice sounded calm and polite if a little slurred. Mia wondered at herself for a second. Maybe she was over reacting. He called to her again, “I’ll take you home if you want. Just come out.”
But something about it felt wrong. Sitting on the bathroom floor with her back against the door and her stomach churning she mumbled, “Go away, Trevor.”
He was right outside the door. “I thought you wanted to go home though. Can’t get there if you never leave the bathroom. Lemme drive you home.”
“You’re drunk, Trevor.” She wouldn’t even get in the car with Dom when he’d been drinking and he was the best driver she’d ever met, sober or otherwise.
Thinking of Dom made her heart ache, which seemed the perfect compliment to the elephant stomping around in her head and the monkeys dancing in her stomach. He hadn’t answered the phone. She’d called him five times and got his voice mail every time. Now more than ever she wished they weren’t fighting. She wished Trevor had endured Dom’s interrogation. There was no way she’d be where she was if he had. Dom never would have let her go, not to a frat party, not as a first date. He was a better judge of character than she was.
Without another option, she’d called
Trevor cut into her worries whining, “Then take my car. Just come outta there. C’mon, Mia.”
“I’m drunk too. Leave me alone.” He tried the lock again and she wedged her feet against the toilet, pushing her back into the door as hard as she could. Please God make him go away, she begged. Her stomach was in knots as he rattled the knob some more. She could feel his weight against the other side of the door.
“Get your ass out of that bathroom!” His body slammed against the door and it would have broken open had she not wedged herself against it. She cried out at the impact and braced herself of the next one.
“Go away Trevor!” She yelled through the door as he slammed against it again, this time with more force. “Someone’s coming to get me. Just go sleep it off, okay!”
She heard him walk away and breathed a sigh of relief.
Then she heard his feet pounding on the floor getting closer and closer and slam into the door at full running force. The impact on her back was painful and she crawled away from it terrified and sobbing, “Please, Trevor. Please, leave me alone.”
Without her body impeding his progress Trevor barged through the door. He stood triumphantly over her for a second before grabbing her by the hair and dragging her to her feet and out into the bedroom. His voice was a low, slurred growl, “To hell with that, you little bitch. You knew what this was about. Get your ass out here.”
~~~~~
Claudia pulled the empty glass out of his hand and slapped it. “Okay, you are officially cut off. Let’s get you into the left side of the bed while you can still get there. You are way too big for me to carry.”
“Shit, what’s the point? Won’t sleep when I get there and you ain’t gonna…” It took a moment for his mind to catch up with his mouth. As soon as it did he stopped talking, watching for her reaction to the obvious conclusion to his sentence.
“You are correct about that. I am not going to…” she trailed off, her face going red.
He couldn’t help himself. The opening was too easy and he was too drunk. He leaned across the bar and let his fingers drift along her forearm. “To what? What won’t you do?”
“You know,” she mumbled watching him draw circles on her skin.
Something about the exchange reminded him of high school, of shy encounters rife with inexperienced desire. Even through the beer goggles he knew he was wearing he could see the awkward desire, the nervous hope and fear. He wondered at her inability or unwillingness to vocalize her limits knowing better than to make assumptions. “No, I don’t know. You have to tell me. What aren’t you willing to do, Claudia?”
She pulled her arm away from his touch and averted her eyes. “I…”
“Forget it. Just messing with you.” Pushed too hard, you fucking dick, he told himself leaning back in his seat and almost falling out of it.
She also leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. Her words had taken on a slight slur. “He speaks the truth and yet it’s a lie. Interesting how that happens isn’t it? You’re messing with me but it isn’t harmless jest. You were very serious but because I didn’t react the way you thought I should you tried to play it off. Were you saving me from the embarrassment or were you just saving yourself?”
Dom’s alcohol addled brain struggled to form a rebuttal. He felt about as transparent as glass and didn’t like it. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh please. You were seeing how far I’d go, testing the waters. Sorry I disappointed you, Dom.” She moved out from behind the bar without looking at him.
“Claudia, I’m not disappointed. I’m tired. I’m drunk and I think I’m getting sick. I just wanna try to go to sleep.” It didn’t feel like a lie. She said no. He was man enough to honor that, no matter how rebellious his body became. He stood up, holding onto the chair back for balance. “So what’ll it be Claudia, the tub, the couch or the bed?”
~~~~~
Last ~ Next ~ Back to Fiction Page