Page 79 of Love Lessons
Wait. What? “Theycan’ttrade you away.” My head spins. He can’t just leave Brooklyn. “You just bought a building!”
“I know, right?” His laugh sounds a little hysterical. “Do you have any interest in becoming the superintendent of a small apartment building? I might have to hire someone, starting a couple weeks from now.”
I taste acid. I might even be sick. “They candothat?”
“They can,” he says miserably. “It’s one of the wild things about my job. The pay is good, and you don’t have to sit at a desk. But they can ship your ass anywhere they want with no notice.”
Shocked, I lie back on the bed beside him. I stare up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. If Ian gets traded, I’d be the one to blame. Hecan’tget traded. “How will you find out?”
His hand closes over mine. It feels so good, but I don’t deserve it. “The GM will call me with my agent on the line. O’Doul doesn’t think I’ll be traded. He’s got a theory that they’re trading someone else. I won’t relax until they announce the deal, though. I know I must be on their list of consideration.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Might not happen. And it’s not your fault.”
Except maybe it is.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Olive Oil and Ice Cream
IAN
Veraand I take a spontaneous nap on my bed.
That ought to be nice, except I have a fucking bad dream in the middle of it. After I punch him, the rookie from Boston looks up at me and says, “Now you’re going to be traded.”
I wake up sweaty and miserable.
At least I don’t wake up Vera. She’s curled on her side, looking sweet and peaceful. I get up and tiptoe to the shower to try to feel human again.
* * *
That night after dinner,I start a ridiculous argument with Vera. I argue against olive oil as an ice cream flavor. (But can you blame me?) I argue about fashion.
I think I do this to convince myself we’re not really a couple. If we’re arguing, I won’t miss her after I get traded to Vegas or where-the-fuck-ever.
The argument is so unimportant that I actually lose my train of thought in the middle of it. We’re standing in the living room, just the two of us. And my stressed-out mind can’t take even another minute of pretense. Instead of finishing my thought, I pull Vera to me and kiss her hungrily.
She doesn’t even seem surprised. Her eager fingers thread through my hair, and she kisses me back with passion and focus.
I need her. Badly. And I can’t even be bothered to be subtle about it. After a couple of minutes of hardcore making out, I pick her up and carry her up the stairs.
She doesn’t argue this time. Not even when I drop her on the bed and announce, “Take off your dress. I want to tie your wrists to the bedpost and then lick you all over.”
“Why? Is that a thing I need to learn?” she asks, pulling her dress over her head.
“Fuck no.” My voice is gruff. “It’s just a thing I want to do.”
“Oh,” she murmurs. For a second, I think she’ll argue with me. We’re so good at arguing. Just like we’re good at making each other moan.
But she doesn’t. She lies back on the bed in a silky camisole and tiny panties. My mouth is watering, and I already know I’m going to make this a night to remember. You have to use the skills God gives you, even if they’re not the ones the rest of the world wants.
I need something to tie her hands, and I don’t have a lot of options. “Did you buy me any new ties on your shopping spree?” I ask.
She lifts her head off the pillow. “Ian Joseph Crikey! If you make knots in that new Valentino tie I bought, before you even wear it, I will not be responsible for my actions. Look in the top drawer of my dresser. There are some cotton scarves.”
It only takes me a second to find them, thank God. A moment later I’m straddling her body, tying her wrists loosely together, and then tying the ends of the scarf to the bedpost.
