Chapter Six
‡
I expect Allie to be long gone in the morning, but when I make my way downstairs, he’s perched at the breakfast bar in a clean shirt and the same jeans from last night, chatting with Matthew.
They both turn when I walk in the room, and the sight makes me happy. Two of the most handsome men in the world are in my kitchen. Mine. Hart actually smiles at me, which is surprising, but in the best of ways. Makes my heart kick.
“Your assistant makes damn good pancakes.” He stops to shove another bite in his mouth, chewing with great gusto. I love how much he loves food. Makes me want to feed and nourish him.
“He makes damn good everything.” Except paella. It always comes out crunchy for some reason. I won’t mention that, though, because it would embarrass Matthew. Instead, there’s a faint blush of pleasure on his cheeks as he flips another pancake on the griddle.
I perch next to Hart on a stool and wonder what the hell to say.
“Did you sleep okay?”
He nods, his mouth full, and doesn’t speak until he swallows. “That’s a comfy bed you got there.”
“You’re welcome to it any time you like.”
His next bite hovers between the plate and his mouth, and he checks to see Matthew’s got his back to us.
“I don’t need your fucking charity.”
I want to snap back it’s not charity if he’s doing me a fucking favor. Because he would be. It would ease my mind to know he’s safe in the bed next door, or if I get very lucky, safe in mine. That is unlikely to be helpful, so I take a different tack.
“No, you don’t. You’re a competent, resourceful, responsible man.”
That clearly wasn’t what he was expecting me to say because he eyes me suspiciously as Matthew sets a plate in front of me.
I start to cut the pancakes into a neat grid because it will help me concentrate. It’s frustrating the hell out of me I don’t know Hart well enough to get him to do what I want. Is this what life is like for the general public? Because I’ve got to say, I’m not a fan.
“I’m glad you stayed for breakfast,” I offer, stabbing some banana and a small stack of fluffy pancake on my fork. Matthew really does make good pancakes. Never burnt on the outside or raw on the inside. Perfect. “When you’re ready to go, I’d be happy to drop you off somewhere or Matthew could take you.”
Sure, I’ve offered, but I don’t actually want him to choose Matthew over me. I would understand why he might, though. If he wants to go back to his truck, he can tell Matthew that’s what it is: his truck. Whereas with me, I know it’s more like his home and he hates that I know that.
I chew and swallow, the syrup sweet and sticky in my mouth, and wash it down with milk. Of course Matthew’s set my coffee down as well, but darling boy knows I like to cut my sweets with milk. We eat in silence for a while, and though it’s driving me absolutely crazy—talk to me already—I let Allie alone. I do know that much about him. Pushing won’t get me anywhere, and I know other people like that. Which reminds me, I need to call India today.
After about fifteen maddening minutes during which he eats more pancakes than I eat in a month, Allie pipes up. “My sister texted earlier. Asked me to come over for lunch and watch the kids this afternoon. I’ve got to grab my truck first, so if you don’t mind going to Oakland—”
“I don’t.” Yes, I have a shit ton of things to catch up on, but at this second, time with Hart seems priceless. Partly because I don’t know how much I’ll get of it. More of a chance to study him, figure him out before I completely blow this. Maybe get my own head in order. What exactly do I want from Hart? Besides everything?
“Okay. Then we probably need to leave around eleven-thirty. Is that okay?”
A quick glance at the clock and some mental math and… “Works for me.”
*
An hour and a couple of showers later, we’re driving across the long bridge into Oakland.
“So what do you do, anyway?”
This isn’t my favorite question, but it’s inevitable. I check my rearview mirror to switch into the left lane because the Hyundai in front of me is going so slow I’ll probably turn fifty before we get to the other side of the Bay.
I’m not ready to share the completely candid answer—I rarely am, except in certain company—so I go with something that’s the truth but won’t scare the ever-loving shit out of him.
“I’m a life coach.”
“Must be a pretty sweet gig.”
“I enjoy it.”
“What do you like about it? I mean, besides the serious bank you must be making?”
I have to laugh. “What makes you think life coaching is particularly lucrative?”
“Maybe it has something to do with the $90,000 car I’m riding in.”
“Touché. Well, yes, a lot of my clients pay me quite handsomely for services rendered, although I do have some who aren’t wealthy. However, if I only had that to rely on, I wouldn’t live the way I do. It’s family money.”
I dart a glance at him in time to see Hart pull a face, and I try not to take it personally. On the other hand, I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not. It tends to make people feel more insecure than they ought to, and if I admit I’m a trust-fund baby, it seems to set us on a more equal playing field. Like, yes, of course if you’d been handed a big old vat of cash, you too could live this way. Just stupid luck.
“So what do you do as a life coach?”
“Why? You think you might want to coach for a living?”
“No. Just curious.”
“Fair.” It’s challenging sometimes to figure out how to phrase these things. Tell the truth, but not make it sound insane. It’s my life and I’m not ashamed of it, not by a long shot, but I understand not everyone will be accepting of it. “Well, my first task is helping people figure out what they want. Some of them come to me with specific goals—” I want to learn how to use a singletail. I want to try pet play. “—some of them less so.” I’ve been fantasizing about being in a twenty-four/seven TPE relationship, but I’m not sure it’s right for me. I might be kinky, but I’m not sure. “Then we make a plan for them to get it.”
“Simple as that, huh?” Allie studies his fingers, which are woven together in his lap.
“Simple and as impossible as that. Sometimes people have a lot of underlying issues we have to deal with first before we can work on what they actually say they showed up for.” Honestly, more than half my job is comparable to being a therapist. Not that I mind—people’s psychology fascinates me—but you’d think a kink trainer’s life would look more glamorous. More orgasms and less talking about people’s day-to-day frustrations. Not true. And there’s way more paperwork than I’d expected.
Of course, when I’d started with a client here and there in between my classes at Princeton, there wasn’t so much, but now I’ve built my little empire, it requires more documentation. The IRS fucking loves paperwork, and auditing me has become a hobby of theirs.
“Occasionally I get to play matchmaker.” Though I don’t call it that naturally. Brokering an arrangement between mutually amenable parties. If I’ve done a passable job, it ends in some playdates, perhaps a new consistent partner. Sometimes I’m off the mark and they don’t mesh at all—though not often. And sometimes, when I get very lucky, it ends in a collar or a ring. Those are the ones I cherish, to the extent I keep a file of wedding and collaring invitations in a desk drawer. Hopeless, but I’ll take my pleasure where I can.
“You like that part, huh?”
“What’s not to like? You get to make two people happy at one time. It’s efficient.”
Allie rolls his eyes and then flashes a knowing grin. “Please. Like it’s the efficiency that appeals to you.”
I shrug. “Not entirely. I like to see people happy, that’s all. To the extent I’ve made it my life’s work.”
“What about you? Are you happy?”
The question catches me off-guard. I don’t remember the last time someone asked me that. Even my mother doesn’t. Add someone else to the call list. I’m falling apart right and left here.
“My job is gratifying and, as you pointed out, lucrative. I enjoy it. I’m in good health, and I have wonderful friends—” who I don’t get to see often enough “—and I have pretty much everything a person could ask for.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Observant asshole. Although that bodes well for me. Usually paying attention is something I’ve got to train into subs.
“It’s hard to say. I haven’t thought about it for a long time. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”
“What are you, looking for that someone special to make your life complete?”
His goo-goo eyes and kissy face make me laugh. It’s fun to see Hart loosen up. I’d like him that relaxed around me all the time. “Not looking. That’s not something I’ve ever expected.”
Not something I’ve ever permitted myself to want. I’ve got more important things to do. Obligations I need to fulfill. Helping people is the best and most important thing you can do. That kind of commitment requires sacrifice.
“More of a sailor-in-every-port type?”
“That’s a clever twist, Hart, but no. I just don’t date much.”
“But you do get blown in alleys?”
“All the time.”
It takes him a few seconds, but then he cracks up and I let myself smile.
“What about, uh, returning of the favor you promised me?”
“Happy to deliver on that sometime when you’re not three sheets to the wind. Call me when you’re sober and I’ll be at your disposal.”
An image of Hart—stretched out on a bed, hands gripping the headboard because I’d start him off easy, teasing him, torturing him, getting him so worked up he’d be begging me to come, and then the look of gratitude and adoration when I finally let him—slams into my brain at speed and nearly gives me whiplash.
“Why?”
It’s as good a question as any I suppose. “Why not?”
“You could have any guy you wanted—” Sweet, and probably true if I worked hard enough. “—why do you want me?”
“For one, I like you. You’re funny and loyal, and you’re not intimidated by me. For two, you’re an attractive man, Hart. You know that. You’ve got to work pretty hard at keeping yourself looking the way you do. As a bonus, I’ve seen the outline of your cock in your jeans. Can’t say I’d be sorry to get my hands and mouth on that.”
It’s not usual for me to lust after people. Appreciate their bodies, sure, but not the same level of attraction I have to Hart. It’s as if someone broke into my brain and used a 3D printer to fabricate my ideal man and then put him in my path. I don’t know whether to curse or thank them.
We’re approaching the street where his truck is parked, and I wish I weren’t dropping him here, but bringing him straight to his sister’s. Acquire another piece of the Hart puzzle. Even if he had me drop him off at Kendra’s, it wouldn’t be at her front door. She’d probably live a couple of blocks away, if not half a mile. I wouldn’t blame him. Some guy in a fancy car dropping him off late on a Saturday morning? Too many damn questions.
He looks out the window as I pull up to his truck, maybe surprised we’ve arrived, and it heartens me. He’s enjoyed my company.
“So what do you think?” I prod. “Tell me it’s tempting at least.”
“Very.”
Excellent.
“Then I’ll look forward to your call.”
He gives me a last look before pushing out the car door and stepping into the street, slinging his small bag over his shoulder.
“And I’ll look forward to calling. Will Matty make me pancakes again?”
Matty, huh? It’s not standard operating procedure for Matthew to introduce himself that way to strangers. It’s usually Matthew for a good long while, and he doesn’t take to strangers easily. Apparently, he likes Hart. Interesting. “I’m sure he would, but you should try his eggs Benedict sometime. It’s his specialty.”
“I don’t like runny eggs.”
“Sacrilege. Then I’d stick with the pancakes so he won’t ban you from his kitchen.”
Hart grins at me, that dazzling smile, and I’d give just about anything for him to change his mind. Say, “Hey, you know what? Come to Kendra’s for lunch.” He won’t, and I’ve just told him I’m not really boyfriend material, so he likely never will. That’s fine. I’ve made my choice. Doesn’t mean there’s not an itch of disappointment anyhow as he shuts the door and waves to me through the glass. Waits for me to put the car in drive and pull away before he climbs into his truck.