We left at five-thirty the next morning on a plane that Brandon had opted to charter so that we could both work (and talk) on the way back to Boston. Maurice and Janette weren't joining us, having decided to go to Martha's Vineyard for the rest of the week to visit some friends from New York.
Brandon looked visibly relieved at their decision. We had all been exhausted after the fireworks, and he'd refused to tell me anything while the Jadots were possibly within earshot. Once we were on the plane en route to Boston, he finally told me why they had missed dinner the night before.
"They kept me cornered in my office until close to ten, giving me the hard sell on why Ventures should sell out to BNP." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "They had contracts and everything. It made no sense, especially with the two of them there. I mean, he has to know I'm in no position right now to be making those kinds of deals. It's basically an open secret that I'm thinking of selling off."
It wasn't easy for Brandon to admit that out loud. But it was looking more and more like full divestiture from his companies would be the price of both his divorce and his entry into politics.
"Do you think he was trying to get in on the ground floor?" I wondered. "Capture some of Ventures' best investments before anyone else does?"
Brandon shrugged. "Maybe. But I would have expected a lot more subtlety about it. You know, I think he's really in some deep shit at BNP. I've never had someone and his wife sell me together on a deal before. And definitely not for three hours. Christ, I was a prisoner in my own house."
He gave me a crooked smile and kicked his feet up on the chair facing him. One hand dropped to my thigh and squeezed lightly.
I frowned, considering. "Well, according to the kids, they had to move out of their house in Paris. I don't think they are going back anytime soon."
Brandon's brows raised, causing his forehead to wrinkle slightly. "Jesus. No wonder they seemed to desperate. Shit, think about all that time they were alone in my office!" He pulled open his laptop. "I'll get Margie on it."
"Brandon," I said, interrupting his typing.
He looked up, big eyes full of concentration, but also compassion. "What, Red?"
"You don't have to do this," I said. I knew he wouldn't stop, but I needed him to know anyway. "Whatever is going on with them, you don't need to rescue Janette and Maurice. She's...they're...it's not like Bubbe and my dad, okay? They're not our responsibility."
"Oh, I know," Brandon said grimly. "I've seen them with you. And their own kids." His eyes flashed at the mention of Annabelle and Christoph.
The truth of what was really happening hit me: that once again, Janette had duped me into believing that she had something to offer besides her true colors. Her sudden appearance and generosity after nearly ten years of sporadic-at-best communication should have been more suspect. If they were truly in financial dire straits, then the lavish gifts of the piano and clothing were even more manipulative than I'd thought. I wasn't the target: Brandon was. I could only hope they had other options and would be able to take his rebuke at face value.
"We will make sure those kids are taken care of, though," Brandon said.
I couldn't help but smile. Brandon had fallen in love with my little brother and sister just as much as I had. I couldn't help but wonder how much of his protectiveness was linked to the way he had not been able to escape his own parents when he was the same age. His experiences as a young child fed his tendency to go a little overboard trying to please the people he loved.
"So this week." Brandon flipped through his jam-packed calendar on his phone. "Dinner on Wednesday? Otherwise I probably won't be available until Sunday." He twisted his lips ruefully. "Consequences of taking four days off."
I leaned my head happily on his broad shoulder. Things really were back to normal again––back to the place where he couldn't bear to wait a week to see me. I was thrilled; I felt the same.
"Just a quick one," I said. "But FYI, I'm probably going to go back to New York next weekend to check on Dad."
I could feel Brandon's frown.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," he said.
"Brandon, I can't just leave him down there. He's an addict in recovery, not to mention he's dealing with the stress of healing, unemployment, and being the potential target of a mobster."
I toyed with the pages of my book; when I said everything out loud, it made me even guiltier that I hadn't stayed in New York to begin with. Everything seemed to be calm and casual in Brooklyn, but that hadn't stopped me from checking on my dad on a daily basis since my last visit. The security team Brandon had installed was getting thoroughly annoyed with my constant requests for updates. But even though there had been no word from either Katie Corleone or Victor Messina, that didn't mean they weren't still circling. It just meant they were planning their next move.
"I still think we should keep trying to convince them to relocate," Brandon said as he picked up my fidgeting hand and started to massage my fingers. The calming effect was instantaneous.
I sighed. "I keep trying. But they are both so crazy stubborn."
"How many more times does Danny have to be messed with before he realizes he needs to get out of Brooklyn?" Brandon asked irritably, his Boston accent seeping through. "Is your family so attached to New York that they are willing to risk their safety? Is your dad's life worth a band he can't play in or your grandmother's card games?"
I didn't answer. These were questions I had asked several times, and every time had them swatted away like flies. I was asking them both to give up their lives, they'd said. Hadn't they lost enough? Was it right to let Messina kick them out of their home?
"I'll keep working on it," was all I could say. "But in the meantime, I'm not going to abandon my family. If they won't come to me, I need to keep going to them." I pressed a kiss to Brandon's jaw line. He'd shaved for the first time all weekend this morning, and his skin was smooth and soft. "And don't forget: I still have the bar exam in less than three weeks. I think a weekend away from you might be a good thing. You're too much of a distraction."
"I'm a distraction, am I?"
He looked down with a devilish grin, then slyly picked the book off my lap and tossed it onto the chair across from me. I followed the book, then watched as he unbuckled my seatbelt as well. I couldn't stifle my smile, but I tried to give him my best "I told you so" look.
"You're not really fighting that reputation right now," I said as his hand slipped inside my shirt and floated over my breasts, causing my nipples to stand erect through the loose fabric.
"I wasn't arguing with it, Red," Brandon said as he leaned down to nuzzle my neck. "Why don't I show you just how distracting I can be?"
~
The rest of the plane ride to Boston was basically extended foreplay, and we landed on the small runway at Logan panting like a pair of horny teenagers. Instead of going our separate ways, Brandon ended up taking me home in the back of his Mercedes and walking me up to my apartment, which took about twice as long as it should have because we kept stopping on the stairs to make out.
"I feel like I've barely been alone with you all weekend," he murmured into my neck while he ground his hips into mine beside my door.
"It's not like we didn't...you know...most of the weekend," I said, although the twist of his tongue at my neck made me lose my breath.
Brandon laughed, low and sexy, against my shoulder. He pulled back with a grin, then gave me another thorough kiss.
"You're funny," he said against my lips. "I'm the uptight New Englander, but you're the one who can't bring yourself to say that we fucked whenever we could."
I opened my mouth with a comeback, but was captured again with a kiss that took my breath away.
"I just want to be able to take my time about it again," Brandon said when he finally released me.
His hands reached down to my ass and lifted, and I moaned when his hips ground me against the wall so that my feet no longer touched the ground. His fingers tickled my most sensitive spot though the fabric of my capris. I moaned.
"What do you say?" he rumbled. "Can you come by tonight? I don't want to wait until tomorrow."
Brandon kissed me again before I could respond, and this time, I wrapped him equally up in me, grabbing greedily at the hair at the nape of his neck and biting lightly on his lower lip while my legs wound around his waist and squeezed. It didn't matter that we had just spent an entire long weekend together. I needed him just as badly.
"Tonight?" he asked again as his fingers played with my waistband, sliding under it, then back out with a regretful grunt.
"Tonight," I concurred against his soft lips.
He dropped me to the floor and adjusted the obvious bulge in his pants.
"Tonight," he repeated with a rakish grin, and left.
With a smile still on my face, I walked into the apartment. It was wiped completely away when I found Eric on the couch, completely naked and panting loudly.
"Oh! Christ!" I yelped, whirling around even as I shielded my eyes like I'd been blinded. I basically was. I'd never get the view of my roommate's jerking hips out of my head. "I so did not need to see your ass this early in the morning, Eric!"
"Shit!"
Behind me, I heard the telltale scrambling of limbs and shuffling of blankets and random items of clothing.
"Fuck! Where the fuck are my glasses?"
"I don't know! You're the one who threw them across the room before you pounced on me."
"Jesus, you really are only good for one thing, aren't you?"
The familiar back-and-forth had me standing ramrod straight, although I kept my face pointed firmly at the closed door, my hands plastered over my eyes.
"Jane?" I asked.
Behind me, Eric chuckled, and there was a long, loud sigh.
"Yeah, it's me," said my best friend. "You can turn around now. No more of Ken Doll's skinny ass to see."
"Ken Doll?" Eric asked. "Seriously? He's basically a eunuch."
Slowly, I turned around, still wary of what I might see. Eric had shoved his boxers back on, while Jane just sat on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket.
"Keep your pants on, Eric," Jane retorted. "Once, you know, you actually get them on. I wasn't talking about your junk. Just your boyish, Aryan looks."
"Whatever," Eric said with a roll of his eyes. "Hey, Crosby. Sorry. We weren't expecting you back until later."
I glanced between the two of them. Jane had the decency to avoid my gaze, but Eric just looked at me directly while wearing nothing but his boxers, oblivious to the fact that half of his hair was standing up or that he had splotches on his neck and a set of angry red scratch marks on his pale chest that looked remarkably like fingernail tracks.
"What happened to no fucking on the couch?" I demanded, trying my best not to crack a smile. My lips twitched, but that was it.
"Seriously?" Eric asked. "Like I haven't had to come home to you sucking my boss's face at least five times?"
I shrugged. "Clothes on, my friend. There were no bare asses anywhere near that couch. Speaking of which––" I looked back at Jane, who was sitting with her hand shoved into her bedraggled bob. "I'll expect you to take care of cleaning that blanket when you're...done with it."
She nodded and made a muffled "of course, Sky." Eric blinked, still unabashed, then stretched his long arms up toward the ceiling.
"All right," he said. "Since we won't be finishing what we started, unless, Jane..." He nodded at his bedroom, and Jane gave him a look like he was actually insane. "Right, then," he said. "Shower for me."
It wasn't until he disappeared into the bathroom and the water started running that Jane finally looked directly at me. She found her glasses and shoved them over her face.
"That's better," she muttered. "I'd like to be able to see your condescension with crystal clarity."
I smirked and went to sit on the couch next to her, then thought better of it and took the opposite chair instead.
"Hey, I'm not judging," I said, holding my hands up innocently. "You're the one who calls him 'Petri Dish'."
Jane leaned back into the couch and pulled the blanket up her bare form to cover her shoulders completely, so that now all I saw of her was a rumpled head with glasses.
"He's...yeah. Maybe not so much that anymore."
I raised a brow. "So, are you guys dating?"
She shot me a wide look. "Um, no. It's still just fucking, Sky. That's it."
"Isn't flying in for the weekend from Chicago three weeks before the bar exam a little bit more than 'just fucking'?" I asked. "And, since you're still here, presumably skipping a day of prep class? Does Eric know it's 'just fucking'?"
"Oh, like he'd want more," Jane said, not quite able to hide the bitterness in her voice. "I know the score, and he does too. You think I don't know where that thing goes when I'm not around? Trust me, I'm making him double-bag it."
I glanced back at the bathroom, where steam was starting to filter out through the bottom of the door.
"I don't know about that," I said. "I happen to know that Eric doesn't bring women home. And unless he's sneaking in quickies at the grocery store, I don't think he's meeting them anywhere else, either. All I've seen him do for the last month is eat, sleep, and study."
"Well, then it's only a matter of time. He's not going to commit to a skinny Korean girl with weird hair who lives a thousand miles away." Jane bit her lip while she stared down at the folds of the blanket.
"Janey. Since when do you talk about yourself like you're nothing?" I reached over the coffee table and gave my friend a pat on the knee. "You're the shit, and you know it."
The shower stopped. Jane tensed.
"It's just sex," she repeated, this time louder and with more surety than before. She popped an arm out of the blanket and held it wrapped around her lean form. "I'm going to shower and get dressed, and then you and I are going to a late lunch after your class, before my flight tonight. No walking dildos allowed." She looked to the still-closed bathroom door. "You got that, Mr. Clean?" she called.
The door opened, and Eric walked out in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, his long muscles somehow more on display despite the fact that his boxers had actually covered less of him.
"Loud and clear," he said with a grim look, and disappeared into his room.
Jane followed his form, then closed her eyes tight when the door slammed shut with a loud bang. Then, with a heavy sigh, she stood up.
"It's just sex," she said like a mantra as she walked to the bathroom. "Just sex."
~