Page 5 of Tested
“And now you’re going to tell me to keep cooking.” He shakes his head again, but this time he’s laughing.
I try and parse what he needs, a little surprised at myself for being so forthright. I don’t usually give in to impulses like that, especially since we started playing house with Connor. “I won’t lie. I liked having you all to myself.”
With a slow pirouette, he turns to face me and puts both hands on my chest. “I liked it, too, but…”
“But?”
“Next time Connor says, ‘We should talk,’ we really should.”
He’s grinning as he says it. I laugh, because every time Connor raises the subject of ground rules, one of us finds something else to be busy with. “Okay.”
“Now get away from me so I can calm down.” David adjusts his shorts around the bulge in his crotch. “Don’t you have end of month reports to run or something?”
Laughing, I brush a strand of hair away from his saucy grin. The blue of his eyes makes me think of the daylight sky, a sight I’ve been denied for one hundred and fifty years. That thought sobers me, because there are two ways I can think about it. I can dwell on the sadness of what I’ve lost.
Or I can be grateful to have the gift of this young were who stepped in and gave me a reason to see what the one hundred and fifty-first year will bring.
“Go cook.” I give him a gentle shove. “I’ll see about the September reports.”
I’d set up an office in a room on the main floor, one of the only places in the house without a view of the Pacific. David had been majoring in finance before the abrupt end of his college career, and I’m hoping he’ll express an interest in helping manage my business empire.
I settle myself at my desk and laugh. “Empire” implies something much bigger than my assortment of apartment complexes, shopping centers, and the Santa Monica condo I’m currently renting to one of Jacques’ minions.
I also own The Club, a vanity purchase I made so my friend Sheena had a safe place to practice her passion. She’s a Dominatrix, one of the best, and along with the club manager and the head bartender, she takes care of The Club’s day-to-day operations. My role is pretty much limited to opening my checkbook and the occasional scene when Sheena determines a client could benefit from fucking a vampire.
Might not be an empire, but it’s not bad for a man who got his start card sharking on a Mississippi paddle-wheeler.
I’m negotiating a truce between a lawyer with a lawsuit on his mind and the manager of one of my shopping centers who swears the floors were dry that day when I hear Connor come in. After sending a DM to the manager, basically sayingFix this, I leave the office to greet the other reason I’m still alive.
Connor MacPherson, the man who loved me and left me and returned from the dead.
Connor, whose suit coat is smudged with white powder and who’s got an arm around David as if he needs the support.
“What the hell happened? You look like you’ve been rode hard and left out in the desert.”
Connor’s smile has a false note. He doesn’t smile all that often, and the one unfortunate byproduct of our history is that I don’t always trust him as I should.
Especially when he smiles.
“Wrecked the Prius.” He says it apologetically. “My client was in the Laurel Canyon, and the roads up there are so dark, I almost missed a turn and spun out on some gravel.”
“Aw, dude.” David hugs him tighter. “You need a shower and a shot of scotch, and not necessarily in that order.”
Connor tips his head to brush a kiss on David’s hair. “Thanks,mo mhuirnin.I’ll take the scotch neat if you’re pouring.”
David gives him a squeeze and slips out from under his arm, leaving me staring at a weary Connor. “You sure you’re okay?” I manage words, the fear of losing him relaxing its grip enough for me to force them out.
“I’m sorry,mo shíorghrá.I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset me?” I huff a bitter laugh. “I’m not sure I should be your primary concern here. Do you need to get checked out? X-rays or something?”
“Nah.” His smile is back and it’s no less false. “Like David said, a shower and some scotch will fix what ails me.”
He heads for the stairs, moving as if his joints ache and he’s afraid of jarring something loose.
“I’m glad…”
He pauses on the bottom step, giving me a look that’s hard to interpret.
“I’m glad you weren’t badly hurt,amore mio,” I say. It’s not all I want to say, but it’s all I can manage.
I’m still standing in the foyer when David scoots past with a tumbler of clear bronze liquid. I want to ask him if he thinks we heard the whole story but fear still has its grip on my vocal cords.
Because I either trust Connor, or I don’t. When I made the choice to let him back in, I did so knowing I took a risk.
Maybe the three of us do need to have a conversation.
