CHAPTER SEVEN

 

DANNY

“Work,” I mumble between kisses. My back is pressed against the wall next to the door to Ronnie’s apartment while she attempts to climb me like a jungle gym. Her leg is twined around my calf; one hand is down my pants while the other is scratching up and down my back. I should mention we’ve only come down from the last set of orgasms maybe twenty minutes ago. And I’m about to be late for my next assignment.

“One of the things she noted on the client dossier is her obsession with punctuality,” I remind my partner, who, for the last fifty-six hours, give or take, has been my lover almost nonstop.

We haven’t left her apartment since the evening of Paynter and Chloe’s gathering. Since Abby caught me chasing a spider up Ronnie’s leg. After blueberry pancakes and sex that broke the chair we were sitting on, we retired to that outrageously soft carpet in her living room, snuggling and searching for porn on the television. Okay, maybe that was just me teasing her about checking out a porn flick, but either way, we didn’t even get to that part before we christened the rug.

After a nap, we moved to the shower then ordered pizza. We sat on the balcony and split a bottle of red while devouring Chicago deep dish. I think Ronnie ate two-thirds of it. Apparently multiple orgasms make a girl hungry.

Copy. Repeat. And again.

Now it’s Saturday, and if we want to ensure Ronnie can afford to pay next month’s rent, I have to go to work.

“Why don’t you go through the emails that have been piling up,” I suggest, untwining her leg and slipping out from between her and the wall. “Schedule my next two weeks. And don’t get dressed. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. We’ll do something crazy, like have sex again.”

She giggles. Unabashed bliss looks good on her. After our last shower, I finger combed her hair, leaving it 100 percent bedhead styled, and then we banged, mussing it even further, to the point that if anyone, no matter who they were, saw her right now, they’d say, “You just got laid.”

Her eyes are bright, sparkly—all that sappy, fuzzy shit people think about someone else’s eyes when they enjoy looking into them, relishing it as the pupils dilate while they thrum said person’s clit, commanding her to keep them open so he can watch as the climax overcomes her.

Her lips are swollen, red, and maybe a little chapped. Who knew exchanging so much bodily fluid would dry them out like this? “Chapstick,” I say, touching that fat lower one. She darts out her tongue to touch the tip of my finger then sucks it into her mouth, vividly reminding me how good that mouth felt wrapped around my favorite joystick.

Maybe Karen can wait.

“Go,” Ronnie says, pulling my digit out of her mouth and turning me toward the door. She slaps my ass and twists the knob. “Don’t do anything I would disapprove of.”

“You mean like date other women?”

She smirks. “Right.”

I wander down the hall and out onto the street, hanging a right and heading toward the restaurant where I’m supposed to meet Karen, who is renting my time to save face while she lunches with her mother and aunt, who apparently take issue with her status as a single woman. They both live out of town, so she figures she can convince them we’re dating, and as they’re both heading home to Florida tomorrow, this will buy her time before the next visit. And maybe by then she’ll have found love and everybody will be happy.

I shove my hands into my pockets and whistle while I walk, undoubtedly looking cheerful, but inside I’m conflicted. This thing between Ronnie and me, it’s the definition of complicated. First, her family. Yes, they love me—most of them—but that’s the Erin’s best friend me. Will they feel the same now that I’m Ronnie’s lover? I’ve adopted these people, I genuinely love the Frost family and their entourage of pets, and I can’t even think about the possibility that I might be cut from this clan if I do their daughter wrong.

Which means I need to do this right, except I don’t know what this is. We didn’t get much talking done in the last few days. No conversation like, “Hey, so are we dating now?” Although I think it’s safe to assume that, in her mind, we are simply fucking. This is nothing more than a mutual physical attraction, and we will ride it out until one or the other gets bored or, God forbid, meets Mr. Right.

And by one or the other, I mean her. Clearly, I’m not interested in Mr. Right, and I’m not good enough for Mrs. Right, so when that time comes, it will most certainly be Ronnie who ends up with her happily ever after.

What’s working in my favor is her belief that she doesn’t want to find love. That means she won’t actively look for it, so this fuck fest could potentially last for quite some time.

Cool with me.

The restaurant is a small Italian place with floor-to-ceiling windows that open onto the street during the warm summer months. It’s loud, smells a bit like exhaust, but when you live in a cold climate, you take every outdoor minute you can.

As I step into the lobby, I spot Karen, who sent a picture of herself with her dossier. Her dark hair is streaked with bright red, and there’s a tiny silver ring in her nose. She’s pear shaped and wearing a pair of painted on jeans that hug her ass.

“Hey, baby,” I say, jumping into character and sidling up to her, slipping my arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.

“Danny?”

I freeze, my arm still in place, my lips puckered. That’s not Karen’s voice. I know this because I recognize that voice.

Sliding my gaze to the side, I see Mama Frost seated at a table next to the windows. Across from her is a woman who looks to be her age, and between them is a bottle of red and two wineglasses, along with a platter of picked over appetizers. Cynthia says something to her companion and then stands, dropping her cloth napkin on the chair before heading my way.

I swing my gaze to my client, who narrows her eyes and says, “Do not break character. That’s my mom and my aunt, about to step into this restaurant right now.”

Shit.

Karen clamps her hand on my arm as I try to tug it away from her waist. Mama Frost furrows her brow, purses her lips as she takes in the scene. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“Karen,” an older version of my date—sans the red streaks, nose ring, and painted on pants—calls out, breezing through the door and heading our way with her arms open wide, like she’s about to embrace both of us. Which she does, since my arm is still hooked around her daughter’s waist. “Is this the Danny you’ve been going on and on about? I’m so excited to finally meet him.”

Another woman steps into the restaurant behind her. They could be twins given how similar their facial features are. I’m guessing this is the aunt.

“You are?” Cynthia says, staring down her nose at the other matriarch.

“Mama Frost, what a pleasant surprise,” I say, still fighting to extract my arm from my date’s grip. “Didn’t expect to run into you on this side of town.”

“I’m having my monthly lunch date with Hazel. I think I’ve told you about her. We’ve been friends since second grade. Can you believe we still keep in touch like this?”

“Well, it’s only been twenty years, so sure,” I quip. Predictably, she chortles and swats my arm.

Karen’s mother and aunt are watching our back and forth with far too much interest. “Is this your mother?” the aunt asks me.

“Not yet,” Cynthia says with a chuckle and mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh?” Karen’s mother says, looking from me to her daughter while the wheels clearly churn in her head. Karen is staring at me like I’m going to single-handedly be able to get us out of this mess. And I have no clue what to do.

“Mama Frost, can I speak to you for a minute? Over by the bar?” I suggest, finally shaking off my date and reaching for her arm.

“Karen, I’m sorry, but I can’t take it anymore.”

We all turn in the direction of the new voice; a woman with a dark complexion and goddess braids in her hair strides toward us from another section of the restaurant. Her lips are painted a deep burgundy. She’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and there’s a silver chain hanging from her belt loops.

Uh-oh. I don’t recall reading about a lover on Karen’s dossier. Specifically not a female one. I glance at Karen to confirm my suspicion. She’s staring at the woman heading our way with a combination of fear and longing on her face.

Forgetting Cynthia for a moment, I step forward to waylay the intruder. “Hey. I’m Danny. Can I buy you a drink at the bar?”

I reach for her, and she snatches her arm away like I’m about to light it on fire. “Do I look like I swing your way, pretty boy?”

“Nope, not in the least. Clearly, you don’t like guys who wear khakis.”

“I don’t like guys at all.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that, how about I buy you a drink?”

“What do you not understand? I didn’t come over here to talk to you. I came to—”

I clap my hand over her mouth and push her backward toward the bar. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly why you came over here, which is why we’re going over there.” I point over her shoulder with my other hand.

She slaps my hand away, hard enough that I shake it a couple of times to relieve the sting. Damn.

“I know what you’re doing, and it’s bullshit,” she says once we’re cozied up to the bar, out of sight and earshot from the rest of the group. God knows what Mama Frost is telling Karen and her mother and aunt right now, but I can’t think about that. I gotta fix this first.

“I agree,” I say and then ask, “What’s your poison?”

She glances at the bar and rolls her eyes. “What a stupid way to say, ‘What do you want to drink?’”

“Damn, bust my balls over the way I offer you a drink.”

“Fine. Goose Island IPA.”

“Excellent choice,” I say and then lift two fingers to the bartender. “By the way, these are going on your girlfriend’s tab. She is your girlfriend, right?”

Her eyes widen and then she nods. The tender places two chilled bottles before us, and I clink the neck of mine on hers and say, “To fucked up love.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” She takes a long drink, swipes her hand across her mouth, and says, “I’m Tiesha, by the way. I’m guessing you’re Rent-A-Danny.”

“Yep. Nice to meet you, Tiesha.”

“As much as it pisses me off, I admit, this gig you’ve got going is pretty genius. Karen’s been stressing about her mom coming into town for a month now. It’s really affected our relationship.”

“And you decided to make it a hundred times worse by barging in on this fake date and making Karen confront her worst fears?”

Tiesha glances down at the bottle in her hand. “Well, it’s stupid. My parents know I’m a lesbian. And they’re cool with it. They love Karen. I don’t get why she can’t tell hers about us.”

“I’m not supposed to divulge this because of confidentiality laws and some shit, so don’t tell her I told you, but Karen didn’t even tell me she’s gay. And the rules of this game are, make sure there aren’t any surprises. Surprises muck it up for everybody.”

Tiesha doesn’t say anything, just takes another pull from the bottle.

“Since I don’t know the history, I’m going to speculate based on what I see here right now. And I’m going to guess Karen has a deep-seated fear of telling her mother about her sexual preferences. Or is it the fact that you’re black?”

Tiesha slumps onto the nearest barstool. “Hell, it could be both. I’m about as minority as you can get.”

I grimace. “This won’t be easy. You’re going to have to cut her a lot of slack. If you’re willing to see this thing through, you need to understand that it’s going to be tough going for a while.”

“I’m an openly gay black woman. I have a pretty good idea of what tough going is like. But I do love her, so I’m willing to do what we need to do.”

I drain my beer and place the empty bottle on the bar. “Okay, good. Stay here. You’ll get a text from Karen when it’s time to join us.”

Her eyes are wide, hesitant, but she nods and stays put while I step away. “Thanks,” she calls after me.

Time to figure out how to keep Cynthia from believing I’m out on a date with another woman when, in fact, I’m out on a date with another woman.

I round the corner; Cynthia, Karen, her mother and aunt are all still loitering in the lobby. And then the door opens and Erin steps through.

What the hell are the odds?

She has Abby’s little hand tucked into hers, and as soon as the little girl sees her grandmother, she pulls away and rushes over. Cynthia accepts the bear hug and gives her smoochies all over her face, making her giggle.

With a swift glance in my direction, Cynthia points at the table where she’s left her friend. “Let’s go over there and say hi to Hazel.” She hurries away, but Erin hovers near my latest assignment, whose gaze is darting around like a wasp trapped in a room full of closed windows.

“What are you doing here?” I ask my best friend.

She shrugs, probably trying for nonchalance, but she’s a lousy actress. Always has been. “They serve a great rosé here.”

“Bullshit,” I say. It’s official. I’m tapped out. I have no earthly idea how the hell to get out of this predicament. Ronnie’s going to kill me for telling Erin about our business, which I’m going to have to do now. Mama Frost is going to disown me. And Garrett’s probably going to use my balls for golf practice. Using his largest driver.

And let’s not forget, Karen is paying me a lot of money to ensure her mother and aunt are happy by the time they leave Chicago. And I’m assuming she also wants to preserve her relationship with Tiesha, without actually letting anyone in her family know about her sexual preferences.

Well, I’m not sure I can promise that part.

“I told you, Erin, I don’t swing that way. No matter how many times you flash your boobs, they just don’t do it for me. Now, if you had a dick and flashed it, well, I’d be down on my knees in a hot second,” I say, pretend-glaring at my best friend, who is staring back like the circus has come to town and I’m the main act.

Everyone else in the little group has the same look on their faces.

“Wait, I’m confused,” the aunt pipes up, her gaze shifting from me to Karen and back again. “I thought you were Karen’s boyfriend?”

The glare on Karen’s face says, “Yeah, me too, asshole.”

“I am,” I say. “Her gay boyfriend. Look, here’s the deal. That woman over there”— I point at the table where Abby is entertaining Mama Frost and Hazel—“desperately wants me to find a good girl and get married and have pretty little babies. Your daughter here has been graciously helping me in that respect by acting as my beard. Or is it me acting like the beard? That phrase is so confusing sometimes.” I shake my head in seeming bemusement.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Karen’s aunt says, patting my arm. “You are quite attractive, so I can see why this other woman over here would keep hitting on you.” She nods at Erin, who is now trying to keep from snickering. “But listen, you need to come clean to your family. Trust me, it’s the wisest choice. Everybody will be happier if you’re honest with them. When I told my sister I was gay, it took her a little while to accept it, but she got over it, eventually. Right, Georgia?”

“Sure,” Karen’s mother says. “It’s really no big deal.”

“It isn’t?” Karen says, followed by, “Wait, Aunt Bernie, you’re gay?”

“As a three-dollar bill,” the older woman says proudly.

“I think that’s supposed to be ‘queer,’” I point out.

“How did I not know this?” Karen asks.

Bernie shrugs. “I mean, do you broadcast that you’re straight?”

“Well, no. But that’s because I’m not.”

Bernie smacks her sister’s arm. “Told you. Didn’t I call it, Georgia? Didn’t I? I knew the girl was living in denial. Good for you, Karen, for finally taking that first step. I’m proud of you.”

Karen pulls her phone out of her purse. “Well, if you’re proud of that, let me introduce you to my girlfriend.”

“Ladies,” I say, hooking my arm through Erin’s, “we’re going to leave you to it. Good luck, Karen.” I give her a wink. “You got this.”

Before I can leave, she grabs me, pulls me into her arms. and squeezes with more force than I would expect. “Thank you,” she whispers before turning to greet Tiesha, who has tentatively stepped into the lobby.

Erin and I head over to Mama Frost’s table. “Do you want us to take Abby?” I ask. I’m not ready to explain the situation to her yet. I need to get it out to Erin first.

She shoos us away. “I suspect you two need to talk. I’ll drop her at home when we’re done here.”

Erin drops a kiss on the little girl’s hair and then we slip outside onto the sidewalk. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you showing up here wasn’t a crazy coincidence,” I say as we head down the street.

“Mama Frost texted me. Something about you and another woman and what about Ronnie and to get my ass over here to make sure you don’t do something drastic and possibly quite stupid.”

I don’t say anything in response. After a few minutes of silence, Erin says, “I’m waiting.”

“You’re going to think it’s crazy.”

“Try me.”

“I’m an escort. A very well paid one, actually.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you and Ronnie…?”

“Sleeping together? Yes.”

“I knew it wasn’t a damn spider crawling under her skirt. Wait, just sleeping together?”

“Yes.” I think.

“So how’s the whole escort thing work? Does she know?”

“She’s my manager, actually. She created our website, vets the clients, schedules my appointments, pretty much handles all the admin stuff. We’re doing really well. So far.”

“So Ronnie is your pimp? You’re sleeping with your pimp?”

“It’s not that kind of escort, dipshit. It’s like…almost like a dating service. Most of the time, I help my clients figure out that they are in love with someone else.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.”

“So, you’re sleeping with Ronnie.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s what you’re hung up on?”

“Hell yeah, it is. That’s way more of a big deal than starting your own dating service. Okay, that’s a pretty big deal, too, given your insistence on pretending you don’t care about how you’re going to get along in the world. But I always knew you would figure it out someday, whenever you decided to stop letting your dad’s opinions rule your life. And frankly, a dating service is right up your alley. Like a calling or something.”

I swipe my hand over my face. “If my dad ever found out, he’d disown me for real. None of this just not-speaking bullshit. I can’t think of many other career choices he’d hate worse. Hell, he’d prefer it if I were sleeping with my dates, rather than helping them come to terms with their love for another person.”

“Well, considering you two haven’t spoken in literally years, I don’t think we have to worry about that. So let’s get back to you and Ronnie.”

“Hey, look,” I say, desperate for a distraction. “This is that pet store with the parrot that likes to say fuck. Come on.” I drag her through the door.

There are rows and rows of shelves filled with supplies for pets ranging from cats and dogs to snakes and chinchillas to stingrays and sharks. Glass enclosures line one wall, each little prison containing some exotic animal or another. Wooden cages hang from the ceiling, and birds in myriad colors call out, beckoning us to take them home. I mean, not literally, but they still chirp or caw at us, and I assume that’s what they’re saying.

“Where’s the parrot?” I ask after scanning the various cages.

A man with a head of thick, white hair and a nametag affixed to his white button-down shirt steps out from a back room. “Hello there. What can I help you with today?”

“The parrot,” I say, pointing at one of the cages. “The cussing parrot. Where is it? Did someone buy him?”

The man shakes his head and frowns. “Actually, he’s in the back. Animal control is on their way to come get him. I can’t have him in the store; he’s too vulgar. And no one will purchase a swearing parrot.”

“I would totally purchase a swearing parrot.” Wait, did those words come out of my mouth? I glance around, like maybe someone else said that. Because I don’t want a pet. I’m perfectly happy watching the goat, the duck, and the cat from afar, knowing someone else is responsible for taking care of them. I can barely take care of myself at this point in my life. I don’t…

“Really?” The man’s entire demeanor brightens. “Because I’m pretty sure they’re just going to put him down. And if you get past the swearing, he’s really a great bird. I’ll even give him to you. And I’ll throw in the cage. Just buy his food and whatever toys you think he might want. He’s yours.”

The pet store employee, who I assume is the owner if he’s able to give away one of the birds, hurries away and disappears into the backroom again. I glance at Erin, who’s laughing so hard there are tears in her eyes.

“Shit. I think I just adopted a cussing bird.”