Four - Goose
“No, Mike,” Goose muttered into the phone as he maneuvered a pan from stovetop to cabinet where he had a trivet waiting. “I do not see myself going back to the club any point in the near future.”
A loud sigh then Mike, a founding Dom at a fetish club north of Fort Wayne said, “These new entrants to the scene need a guiding hand, Kris.” Another sigh. “What about an ethics course? If you aren’t interested in scening with anyone as a demonstration, it could even be on an off night when the club is quiet. You’ve always done well with the newbies. It’s a chance for you to give back to the community.”
Glancing at the clock, Kris estimated the time he had remaining before Fran finished with her shower. He had wanted to have dinner ready for her, guessing that she hadn’t experienced having someone care for her in a long time. “Guilt trips, huh? Not working. I don’t have to pay dues to exist in the community, just to hit the club.” Hoping the expression on his face took any sting out of his words, he was smiling when he said, “Nice try, man.”
“I had to.” Sounds of an office on the other end of the call meant Mike was at work; he was a senior partner in a law firm. “You and Kevin dropping out of sight at the same time has all the idle tongues wagging.”
“Is that your transparent way of digging to see the why?” The microwave dinged, and Goose pulled the casserole dish out, transferring it to the top rack of the oven and cranking the temperature up, noting the time. “You asking if I found my permenant partner?” A sound from the hallway made Goose look in that direction, and he saw Fran walking from the bathroom to the door of her bedroom, body covered from armpit to hip with a towel, the curves of her delectable ass not quite hidden by the fabric. She disappeared from view and Goose shook himself, quickly checking the casserole. Musingly he told his friend, “Might have, man. Maybe what Kevin’s got is catching.”
“I hope so. That’s what we all want, right?” Mike’s tone turned wistful and he sighed again, this one soft, longing. “That kind of love and acceptance?”
“Told him, he had the Holy Grail in his arms. Meant it.” Goose pulled the dish from the oven, flipping switches to turn off the burners and light. “Good luck. I’ll let you know if I think I can do the class later on.”
Disconnecting the call, Goose surveyed the kitchen with a grin. Not certain what Fran might want for dinner, he’d made a little bit of a lot of things, hoping to happen on something that would suit. The trip from the diner to his apartment had been made in silence broken only by occasional sobs Fran tried to hide. Once inside, he’d shown her the room that would be hers for the forseeable future and suggested she shower, washing off the long day. Washing the stench of Worm from her body won’t hurt my feelings, either. He’d laid one of his T-shirts and a small pair of gym shorts on her bed, hoping she’d see them as a peace offering.
Arranging two plates at the kitchen island, he placed the various pots and pans within easy reach of where they’d be sitting. The soft sound of Fran’s door closing had him turning, and Goose’s breath stopped in his chest when he saw her walking up the hallway towards him. Fucking beautiful. The shirt and shorts were oversized for her frame, and the fabric swayed around her as she walked, accentuating the grace of every movement.
She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning one shoulder against the wall while her head tipped every so slightly to the side, like it always did when she was confused. “You cooked?”
Chin up, he pursed his lips and pretended to survey the dishes before looking at her with wide eyes. Just a little tease, he promised himself. “I think I did.” His mock surprise worked and she giggled, the first sound of levity from her since he’d found her at the diner. “My pleasure, Francine. Come.” He placed one hand on a stool, shifting it slightly back from the island while he held his other out in invitation. “Eat with me.”
Every morsel of food she placed in her mouth helped ease the spring of tension that had been wound tightly in his chest all day. Every quirk of her lips went some distance to salving his anger at Worm’s treatment of someone so sweetly giving. How in the fuck couldn’t the man see what he had? Every sound she uttered was music on the air, and well before the evening was over, with the two of them heading to their separate beds, Kris knew he was in trouble. Just my luck. First he’d met her and didn’t have a chance to pursue before she’d reacted to Worm’s play. Now, if they hooked up, she’d assume it was a rebound relationship and be moving on far too soon. Gonna have to work the long game here, if I can bear the wait.
It wasn’t until much later when he woke to the sound of her crying in her room that he understood just how much trouble that could be. He’d quickly crossed the hallway that separated them, calling her name from the doorway so he didn’t startle her.
Crawling into bed with her, he cradled Fran to his chest. Feeling how her shoulders heaved with grief over Worm’s treatment of her had him back on edge, wishing Worm was available so he could lash out at the man. Fuck. It took time, but finally Fran’s even breathing told him she’d gone to sleep, exhausted.
Kris lay like that for a long time, palm stroking over her shoulder and down her arm, fingers threading through and straightening each stand of hair until it lay smoothly across the pillow. I’ve got my own demons, he thought, wondering how this could work. Setting those doubts aside, he buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply of the scent of his shampoo, tinted with a smell that was entirely Fran. She shifted against him, each movement of her body bringing her into more contact, cuddling tightly. Cold day in hell when I give this up. He gave her a squeeze, laughing soundlessly when she gave a little squeak in response. Even if it takes months, I won’t settle for anything less than everything with her.
“Promise you, Francine.”