CHAPTER THREE
CORA SMIRKED AS she dumped off her bag and coat before coming through to the kitchen where Maybe was.
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let her tell me about the brunch. What if something of a sexual nature had taken place?” she said, pointing at Maybe.
Maybe said, “If something of a sexual nature happened she’d have made me come to the shop this afternoon. Or she’d have called you to meet her at Whiskey Sharp before she was due in. Crybaby. Pizza should be here in like ten minutes. I called when I got home.”
Cora hugged Maybe quickly before she got them all glasses, filling them with ice for the root beer she’d brought along.
“What are we watching tonight?” Rachel asked as she got plates down from the cabinet.
Maybe took one of her hands and tugged her to the couch, where she sat, Cora across from them perched in the big chair. “While we wait for pizza you need to tell us what happened with Vic.”
“Well, he texted me. I told you both about that. And then he waltzes in and smells all good, like bread. Seriously, it should be a cologne, right? Anyway, then he kissed me! And gave me flowers.” Rachel indicated the overflowing vase on the table. “And he cooked. Not just toast or an Eggo. An omelet!”
“Back to the kissing,” Maybe said. “We really don’t care about eggs.”
“He’s a really good kisser as you might have imagined. He tastes good. The beard is soft and smells nice. Self-assured. Confident. All signs point to really knowing his way around a lady’s best parts.”
Maybe clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes comically wide. Cora stomped her feet as she whooped and Rachel just shook her head at the two of them.
“And I’m pretty sure he was happy to see me, if you get my meaning, and I know you do because you are both women of loose morals.”
Cora wiped a sarcastic tear from the corner of her eye and then flipped Rachel off.
“So, was he like really happy to see you? Like big guns happy?” Maybe asked.
“Proves my point. Floozies, the two of you. I assume you’re inquiring about the size of his equipment?” Rachel asked, faux pearl-clutching.
“Of course we are. So? Is his dick big or will he try really hard to make up for it in other ways?” Maybe snickered.
“He won’t need to make up for anything. I mean, it was like laundry day or something because he felt like he had a few rolls of quarters in his pocket.”
The three of them dissolved into laughter for a little while.
“Anyway. Like I said, he’s a very good kisser. He’s got a great body. He’s smart and funny and I don’t know, it’s easy to be around him. He’s our carb connection and your boyfriend’s bestie so there’s that risk if things go south. But he makes me feel all this really wonderful stuff. You know?”
The pizza arrived so they filled their plates and settled in on the couch to continue the conversation.
“I do know and I’m in total support of it.” Maybe shrugged. “It’s good to see you taking this step. Letting yourself have some romance.”
“It’s not like I’ve been a nun since Brad and I broke up,” Rachel told her sister.
Cora said, “No. But that wasn’t romance. That was casual—but prudent—sex. You had these long-term fuck friends but none of that was about anything more than sex. Which was all you wanted and so yay for you because fuck pretending a lady doesn’t need some sex to clear out the cobwebs and be living our best lives and stuff.”
“You’ve always been happier in a relationship. Even back in high school,” Maybe said. “You just never had the right guy. Vic though? He’s another level. He’s the kind of person you deserve. Who’ll give you the energy and focus you deserve. And he’s a grown man. He doesn’t need saving or taking care of. If things don’t work out, it’s not going to be weird.”
Cora said, pointing at Maybe, “Yes to all that. He’s gorgeous. He clearly knows how to kiss and he’s got a big dick. This is all very good. He brings you flowers and bread. He’s definitely worth a second date. Now, not to be a buzzkill or anything, but what’s up with the situation with your parents? Maybe said you two are seeing someone about it?”
“We’re meeting with an attorney tomorrow,” Rachel said. “We’ll file for a protection order against Mom and Dad both. Keep them away from Ink Sisters and Whiskey Sharp as well as the house. He needs to have it underlined that we don’t want anything to do with him and that we won’t tolerate any more of this threatening crap.”
No one was going to cage her ever again.
* * *
WHICH IS WHAT she said to her attorney as she and Maybe sat in front of her the following day.
Sarah, their lawyer, nodded. “First let’s talk about the conservatorship. His chances are pretty dismal. You’re gainfully employed. You’re physically healthy and working on your mental health. We’ll get your therapists here and back east to file evaluations. I’ll do it up front so we can be ready when the requests for them come.
“At this point, given your stability, there’s no reason to assume you can’t handle the day-to-day decisions in your life. I know it’s easier said than done, but I want you to try and remain calm about this. I can handle most of it without either of you needing to be there. That’ll save a lot of time and he can’t use the system to force you to see him. Sometimes that’s enough. Once that avenue is closed, a lot of jerkoffs will lose interest.”
“I hate that he’s just doing this to try to control me and harass Maybe,” Rachel said.
“It’s not an unusual thing for an abuser to do. It’s a classic move.” Their attorney shrugged. “I don’t much like bullies so I’m going to have a delightful time thwarting him.” She put aside one folder and opened another. “As for the protection order, I don’t think you’ve got the grounds with your mother so I’d suggest holding off. With your father, we might be able to get some leverage with feeling threatened. He’s big, he’s come to your home uninvited. He’s threatening your independence. It’s enough we can at least get a temporary order. Some guys back off and don’t contest the order after the temporary expires after two weeks.”
“He’ll contest it. He’s very into authority. The court is an authority. If the court tells him not to do something he feels entitled to do, he’ll contest it because he won’t want a judge to feel he’s an abusive guy. And he’ll contest it because he won’t see himself as harassing anyone, merely being a good parent,” Rachel said.
Their attorney tapped her pen against the pad on her desk. “That could very well be. I just wanted you to go into the process understanding it and what your chances might be.”
They moved to outlining some next steps and an hour and a half later, she felt a little bit better about her future and her ability to protect it. She’d taken some of her lost control back, steadied herself with it and now she’d keep enjoying her life because she’d earned every day.
* * *
HE TRIED NOT to rush, but it was hard because now that he’d allowed himself to openly want her, it was like he couldn’t hold it back.
“Slow it down, dude,” Evie bitched at him. “You go showing up over there an hour early and she’s going to think you’re a creeper.”
“I have things to do before I go pick her up. It’s rush hour anyway and I don’t want to be late or have to hurry.”
Generally, he tended to be really mellow about most things. It took a lot to get him riled up. But he hated to be late. Probably because his family was always so big and had so many moving parts that they tended to have been late for everything.
But his mother had volunteered him—without even asking him first—to go with Evie down to Pike Place Market to pick up fruit for the bakery. And naturally his sister had wanted to stop at Beecher’s for cheese and then she’d hauled him across the street, pointing at the florist’s shop. “Give her flowers.”
“I was going to,” he muttered. But this place did have really nice bouquets, especially for the season.
“Where are you taking her?” she asked.
“Le Pichet,” he said, grabbing a huge bouquet full of color. The pick-me-up, especially as it had been a dark, wet and cold winter, would be a good thing. And it enabled him to spoil her more.
Evie nodded, clearly impressed with his choice. He had a feeling there was a hedonist inside Rachel and he wanted to lure her out. Good food, good wine, flowers, pastries, Vic wanted to fill her life with treats and delights of all kinds.
“Excellent choice, especially for an early date. She’s going to know you won’t be taking her to gross chain places where everything has a punny name.”
He withheld a curled lip because that was what she was trying to get from him. Little sisters.
Back at the bakery, his mother made him have a cup of tea with her as Evie packaged up the heart-shaped vatrushka he’d promised to bring Rachel the day before.
“I don’t need to tell you to be nice to her. You have wonderful manners,” his mother told him. “I don’t need to tell you anything because you’re a grown person, a man who is kind and will do the right things.”
She nearly always knew the exactly perfect thing to say. A lot of people—himself included—bitched about their mothers, but his was pretty wonderful. And supportive.
* * *
THE SHOP HUMMED with talking and the buzz of the tattoo machines as clients got their ink done. Rachel’s neck was a little sore as she’d spent several hours on a half sleeve, bent at an awkward angle to get the lines laid just right.
But the work had been really good and she was proud of it, so the sore neck was worth it. Finley, her boss, Cora’s big sister and the owner/operator of Ink Sisters, plopped down in Rachel’s chair.
“When is the hot Russian coming to get you?”
“In about twenty minutes. I really could have gone home and met him there.” She shook her head with one of those what can you do movements.
“Sure you could have. He knows that too. But he wanted to drive you. That’s nice. It’s not like he’s unaware that you can handle yourself and your commute. He wants to take care of you.”
He did. That’s really what it was. So sweet and sexy. “I bought a new sweater today. I’m so stupid.”
“Why? Because you want your tits to look nice on your date? Girl, stop. Of course you do. There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop looking for problems.”
True. She had enough as it was.
Finley continued, “He’s cute. He’s nice. He has good manners, a job, a house. And he likes you. For you. This is all good. And, by the way, you did amazing work today.”
“Yeah?” Rachel asked, grinning. She admired Finley’s talent so much, and that she’d been such a wonderful mentor and so supportive had been one of the major reasons she’d been able to make a real go at tattooing.
It hadn’t been easy. Rachel was good with paper and pen. Or pencils, chalk, paint, whatever. She was artistic. Not something she’d really pursued earlier in her life, but in this new chapter, it had been part and parcel of every day.
But paper wasn’t skin. And at first it’d been a challenge getting past the fact that she was permanently changing someone’s body and the cost of a mistake was huge. She hated making mistakes.
Finley had repeated that some artists took longer than others to hit their stride, but that once Rachel trusted herself to do ink, she’d be headed that way. Fear was holding her back from her real potential.
It had taken a while. Trust, especially of herself, hadn’t been easy. But once she’d taken the leap it had made all the difference. Trust in herself had unlocked something, had enabled Rachel to connect with the work she did on a whole new level.
“It’ll definitely go up on the wall with your other birds.” The best of the shop’s tattoos were placed on the wall in the small waiting area as examples of the kind of work they did. It would give her some extra attention, which meant more clients.
“Excellent,” Rachel said, not bothering to hide how proud she was. Pride in yourself when you did your best was a good thing. That was one of her mantras and one day she might actually believe it.
* * *
SHE MADE IT a point to be outside at the curb right at seven. Over the years, Rachel had taken note of how punctual he was. Generally amiable, he got agitated when everyone lagged or made him wait.
He pulled around the corner and frowned when he saw her. It didn’t stop him from double parking to let her in, though.
“I said I’d come in and get you,” he told her once they were headed home.
Though Rachel knew what he meant—that he wanted her to wait inside so he could come to the door—she couldn’t seem to stop herself from acting like she didn’t. Just to get a rise out of him. “You did come and get me. That’s how I came to be in your car at this very moment.”
“You should have waited for me to come in and get you,” he said in a grumbly tone.
“Well, that’s silly when I can just take a few steps out the front door so you don’t have to try to find a place to park. We’re not teenagers on a first date and you parked at the curb and honked your horn.”
“Sometimes I think you argue because it pleases you,” he said and it made her laugh.
“I think you’re too used to how easy your life is. You’re pretty and charming so everyone just gives you what you want. You don’t know what to do when anyone won’t go along.”
“If everyone did that, life would be better. It’s not too much to expect,” he told her, the laughter in his tone obvious.
That was the difference between his sort of bossy and what her parents were trying to do. It was why he was charming and they were being abusive.
Funny how she knew that and yet it still caught her up.
It puzzled her but she put it away as Vic pulled up at her place.
The lights were on inside so Maybe and Alexsei were already home. Rachel had thought it was nice to have her sister’s boyfriend around. Maybe had brightened even more since they’d become an item. She was more confident—if that was possible—and steadier. Love suited Maybe.
If for no other reason than the fact that he made Maybe happy, Rachel would have liked Alexsei. But he’d become an awful lot like a brother since he’d moved in. And it meant Vic was at their house a lot more too.
“I’ll be back to get you in half an hour. We have dinner reservations,” he told her before he drove the half block to his driveway.
“Okay then,” she muttered to herself as she let herself into the house.
Jesus, hot Russians everywhere. Alexsei stood in the kitchen with Maybe and one of the various cousins, Gregori, who was a fancy-pants megastar artist. His girlfriend, Wren, also an artist, sat at the table with a glass of wine.
They all greeted her with smiles and hellos when she moved through the room on her way to her side of the house. “Hi, all!” she said as she kept going. “Gotta run!”
Maybe was at her door two minutes later. “What are you going to wear?”
“Sweater, trousers, boots. It’s fucking freezing out there.” Rachel tossed off the layers of T-shirts and tanks and swapped out for the beautiful smoky gray cashmere sweater she’d splurged on after they’d left the attorney’s office earlier that day.
“But cute underwear, right? I mean what if something happens and you two want to throw off some clothes and you’re wearing something old and gross?” Maybe said as she dug through a nearby drawer.
“I don’t wear old and gross panties!”
“Okay, but you’ve got like, underpants to be viewed by the outside world and then those you save for your period.”
“I promise not to wear my period panties on my date, Maybe.”
Her sister tossed a hot-pink bra and panty set her way and then shook her head. “Never mind, not those. The color is too bright and you’ll be able to see through the sweater. Hmm.” Maybe pawed through her stuff some more before finding a similar set in an icy blue with a triumphant hoot.
Rachel knew her sister well enough to just put on the things she’d procured. The bra was one of those extra perky ones so it mounded up all that lady-flesh nicely at the neckline of the sweater.
“Go eat dinner with your boyfriend for god’s sake and stop pestering me,” Rachel said, batting Maybe away from her hair.
“Just let me get to the back. It’s sticking up.”
Finally she just let her sister fuss as she managed to reapply her lipstick after brushing her teeth.
“I want to know every detail,” Maybe said in a stage whisper as they heard the noise downstairs that indicated Vic had arrived.
“So everyone keeps telling me. This is dumb though. He’s your boyfriend’s BFF!”
“Shut up and go break off some of that. I’ll be waiting up and don’t argue because it won’t matter.” Maybe pushed her down the hall.
“Bossy bitch.”
“You got that right.”