Chapter 23

Van

I lean against the bathroom doorjamb with my arms across my chest, one leg crossed over the other. Just casually watching Simone put on some mascara.

It’s amazing what women do to make themselves pretty. Or prettier I should say in Simone’s case, since she’s pretty much stunning when she rolls out of bed, even with her hair all tangled up and sleep gunk in her eyes.

But over the last several days, I’ve noticed more and more about her routines. I’ve never lived with a woman before other than Etta, but there was a boundary there. I never hung out in the bathroom and watched her get ready.

I have that luxury with Simone, though, and since looking at her is a better pastime than pretty much anything else, I’ve taken to hanging around like this. She doesn’t seem to mind and we always have easy banter going. Lately we’d been arguing over classic literature. I was a huge reader in high school, and still try to read at least one book a month when I have some downtime.

Simone is a math and science geek, though, so she pretty much hated anything to do with literature. I tried to have a discussion with her about Beowulf, which I had reread about a year ago, and all I got from her was that she hated the movie.

I hadn’t even known there was a movie.

Fuck, Etta’s going to love her. In fact, Etta’s probably conspiring now to pick out our china pattern, a thought that causes some minor chest palpitations.

I told Etta about Simone and me the day after Lucas busted us, and then pretty much forced Simone to bring me to a family get-together. I figured the least I could do was let Etta know about Simone, since it’s like her dying wish to see me in a relationship.

And I did it for Simone too.

I knew it would mean something to Simone to have me open up my life a little bit more to her.

Etta had called while I had been folding some laundry at the kitchen table and watching some game film on my laptop. Simone was flipping through a magazine on the couch, chewing on a piece of bubble gum and blowing huge bubbles with it that made me have very dirty thoughts about the power of her mouth.

I knew Simone would be listening in, and I kept my eyes pinned on her the entire time. After I got through catching up with Etta, she asked the invariable “Are you seeing anyone?” question, and this time, I was able to say, “Why, yes, I am.”

Etta shrieked, but Simone didn’t give any indication she was listening. That statement in and of itself was benign. But pursuant to Etta’s demand for details, Simone’s eyes came to me while blowing a bubble when she heard me say, “Her name’s Simone and she’s an annoying little brat, but good thing she’s sexy as hell, or I would have kicked her to the curb a long time ago.”

Simone just rolled her eyes, sucked the gum back into her mouth, and went back to reading the magazine. But she had a smile on her face, and it stayed there the entire conversation as I answered all of Etta’s questions about my girl.

When I hung up, Simone attacked me and we had sex on top of the kitchen table. I took that to mean she was insanely happy I told Etta about her. I had met her parents as well as her brother Malik when they came for games one and two, and they were as cool as I’d imagined they would be. Everything with that family is low drama and pressure, and it made for an easier transition for me into this whole relationship thing.

Since that phone call, Etta has probably sent me three dozen texts about Simone. I’ve been driving her batty by giving her short answers or not responding at all, but fuck, I’m in the play-offs here and I don’t have time to be gossiping with my meddling aunt.

Luckily I’m hooking them up for game three tomorrow in Vancouver. I talked Simone into going to the game. Well, I went ahead and bought her a first-class ticket so she couldn’t refuse. Luckily she’s got some cool coworkers and a cool boss who are letting her switch some shifts so she can go to the all the games. After all, it’s not often a girl has two brothers and a boyfriend in the Stanley Cup competition.

And yes, the word boyfriend comes easy to me. I may not have ever used it in the context of myself before, but I do know the definition, and well, fuck…I fit it now.

So Etta will make the short flight to Vancouver from San Francisco. She’s going to stay at the team hotel, and while I’m at practice, she and Simone are going to hang out.

Simone actually flies out this evening, while I’m leaving in about three hours. I hate that she just got all fresh and shit from a shower, because she has to know I’m going to mess her up again.

If she forgot, I better clue her in.

Stepping into the bathroom that smells of fruity shampoo and hot-as-fuck woman, I step up behind Simone, putting my hands on her waist. She’s wearing nothing but a simple gray cotton bra and matching panties. Some of her most conservative lingerie and it still gets me hard every single time.

I press my cock into her ass and she smirks at me in the mirror as she closes up the mascara tube. Her voice is dry when she says, “You’re not getting any, Mr. Turner. I just got out of the shower.”

“Then you’ll have to take another one,” I tell her with such conviction that I’m going to get laid that of course I smirk back at her. Simone has never said no to me before, but to ensure her cooperation, I slip my right hand down the front of her panties. My middle finger pushes through the lips of her pussy, dips into her, and then drags back up over her clit. I do this a few times and she’s leaning back against me, moaning and hips rotating.

“Just a little quickie, right here,” I murmur into her ear. “Bend you right over that sink.”

“I like that idea,” she breathes out in a raspy voice. “Hard and fast too.”

“Christ, you’re the perfect woman,” I mutter, but just as I move to drag her panties down, I can hear my phone ringing with Etta’s ring tone in the bedroom.

Grabbing Simone’s hand, I bring it right to the front of her panties and guide her fingers inside the waistband. “Play with yourself while I go answer that. Want to make sure nothing’s wrong with her flight today.”

Her response is a moan, and my dick thumps when I see her hand go to work under the gray cotton material.

“Fuck,” I curse as I adjust my erection, stomping across the hall to my bedroom.

I nab the phone off the bed and turn slightly to see Simone across the hall, one hand locked down hard onto the vanity to support herself, the other working between her legs. It must feel good, because her hips are flexing and her head is hanging low as if she can’t even support its weight on her shoulders.

Christ.

Clearing my throat so I don’t sound like Etta just interrupted me getting ready to fuck Simone—but not taking my eyes off the sight across the hall—I answer, “Hey.”

“Van,” she says and just the absolute fear I hear in her voice has my erection deflating.

“What’s wrong?” I practically bark into the phone.

Simone’s head rears up as she turns to look at me with wide eyes, the tone of my voice reflecting back some panic at Etta’s fear. Her hand comes out of her panties and she’s walking across the hall into my bedroom, her eyebrows pulled inward with worry. She comes to a stop right in front of me, resting a hand on my hip for support.

“I just got off the phone with a freelance reporter,” she says and I realize she’s crying. “I didn’t tell him anything but I think he knows.”

“Calm down,” I tell her softly, trying to sound in control of my emotions. “Deep breath and tell me what happened.”

My head practically spins at the implications of just those few words she’s said to me, but I need to know what I’m facing.

I hear Etta suck in a massive amount of air, and she blows it right out into the phone. Her voice is quivery but stronger when she says, “This man called…identified himself as a reporter and doing a story about Arco.”

This was not anything new. Over the years his case would get dredged up in the media for certain events like the ten- and twenty-year anniversaries of some of the murders, and things like that. Etta always got a call. She never talked.

“Apparently word got leaked that he’s terminal and not doing well at all,” she went on. “At least that’s how he initiated the conversation.”

“But you doubt that’s why he called?” I ask her.

“I told him I wasn’t going to comment about it, and the minute I said that, he started asking about you. I told him I wasn’t at liberty to discuss. But he kept pushing with more questions like if I knew how you felt about Arco dying and where you were now. I didn’t want to hang up because I didn’t want to arouse any further interest, so I just kept telling him that you’ve never wanted to discuss this and I was going to honor your request.”

“Okay,” I say, because this also doesn’t sound too bad.

“Then he asked where you were living,” Etta went on. “And by that time, I’d about had it with him. I told him I was going to hang up. And just as I was getting ready to, he told me that the story would be running soon and it was your last chance to make sure all the facts were right.”

“Fuck,” I mutter into the phone. “Did he say where it was running?”

“No, and I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t think to ask,” she says apologetically. I know my eyes are hard and calculating as I look down at Simone and I try to give her a reassuring smile, but I’m failing miserably. “I sort of thought maybe he was bluffing about that, trying to induce you to call him or something.”

“But he said it was my last chance to get the facts right?” I ask her.

“Yes,” she says in a small voice.

“He knows,” I say confidently.

“I’m so sorry, Van,” Etta starts crying again. “I should have done a better job—”

“Hey,” I cut in on her harshly, and then soften my tone when she goes quiet. “You did everything perfectly. Best mom/aunt/friend in the entire world. Don’t ever let me hear apologies out of your mouth again.”

“Okay,” she says quietly, but at least more calmly.

“Now…everything good for your flight to Vancouver?” I ask her to get her further refocused.

“Yes, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m meeting Simone tomorrow for breakfast while you are at team skate.”

“Then all three of us will do lunch together,” I remind her, trying to sound as if life is still just going along merrily despite this fucktacular news.

“Yes, I can’t wait,” she says, and then tacks on, “But Van…what are you going to do?”

I look at Simone’s concerned expression and tell Etta, “I’m not sure. But I need to think about it for a little bit. I’ll let you know, but in the meantime, text me the reporter’s contact info.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

“Love you back,” I tell her, and then I hang up.

My gaze focuses on Simone’s worried expression. “You get the gist of that?”

She nods hesitantly. “An article is coming out about your identity?”

Letting out a gust of frustrated air, I sit down on the edge of my bed and rub my face with my hands. When I look back to Simone, I shrug. “I don’t know. It was a reporter asking about me and said there’s an article going to run soon. That’s all she knew.”

An alert chime sounds from my phone, and I look down to see Etta sent me the reporter’s name: Jack Vernicki.

I don’t recognize him as a sports writer, but that doesn’t mean anything. As of this moment, I don’t have a fucking clue about how to handle this.

“What do you think I should do?” I ask Simone.

She comes to the bed and sits down beside me. Hooking one arm across her stomach, she stretches her legs out and crosses one ankle over the other. Her other hand goes to her mouth, where she nibbles on her fingernail while she thinks.

Twisting her neck, she looks at me and asks, “We don’t know for sure the reporter knows your true identity, right?”

I shake my head. “But he told Etta it was my chance to get the facts straight.”

“Maybe that was just language they use to get people to talk to them,” she suggests. “Like sort of a threat. I might write bad or untrue things if you don’t talk to me.”

“Maybe,” I hedge, but I don’t think so. It’s been bothering me since my trip to the prison. “Arco knows who I am. He’s dying. Maybe he leaked it for some notoriety.”

Simone shifts on the bed to face me. “Would he do that?”

I shrug. I don’t know a damn thing about my father other than he’s certifiable. “I remember during and after the trial, he loved the headlines. Would taunt the police and press with revealing other murders, but then after he went to prison, he was quiet as a mouse. Nothing from him in the media.”

Pushing up off the bed, I start to pace while I think. I could call the warden to see if he would tell me whether or not Arco had any visitors, but I’m thinking that information may be protected.

A sense of panic hits me as I realize I know nothing. I don’t have an ounce of control in this situation.

“I should call the reporter,” I say out loud as I turn to Simone. “Don’t you think?”

She stands up to face me. “Van…I don’t know what to tell you. And I know this is scary as hell and you don’t need this right now, but it could be nothing at all. It could be a reporter just taking a stab in the dark. But if you reach out, he’s going to know you’re worried about something. You’ve never given an interview before, and the minute you call him, he’s going to figure you’re hiding something.”

Goddammit. That makes total sense and totally hamstrings me.

“And there may not even be an article at all,” she continues. “It could be some hack who wants to try to pitch this to a newspaper or something, but he needs you to make it fresh or different from other media articles about your dad. It could be he has nothing unless you respond.”

“It would sure help if I knew whether or not Arco talked with anyone,” I mutter as I take two steps to come toe to toe with Simone. She steps into me, knowing that all I want is to hug her right now.

“Call the warden then,” she suggests “But past that, try not to let it worry you. You need to focus on the game tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” I say with a sigh before pressing my lips to the top of her head.

I think she’s definitely right. I just need to let it go and hope for the best.