Page 114 of Geordie

My hair is wild with the effort, some of it covering my face, the weight of pink diamonds on my sweat-slick skin, and in my mind, I can picture it all. The hot guy who's fucking me into oblivion in the chair, the blue-collar hottie watching, probably about to pull out his junk to join in, and me, their only focus, as I sparkle like a jewel. That's what I needed. I throw my head back and howl as I crash into my release, certain that it's heard throughout the house.

Geordie tightens his grip on my ass, nearly lifting me off the chair, grunting as he thrusts upward again. His body tightens as he gives in, and I welcome his warm fluid filling me.

I close the shades when Geordie trails off to the shower. There's no one standing outside our window and no lumber to be found. I chalk it up to a vivid imagination. My phone zips with a text. I swipe the cell off the table as Geordie screams for me to join him.

“In a minute, I've got to take off my jewelry,” I yell back. The text is from STD. He hated that when I placed his information under his initials in the phone. I sit on the bed.

Stephen:I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. This will be the first time in six years that we haven't been together on this day.

I shouldn't reply. Everything in me says this will end in tears, but I do.

Me:Thank you for the birthday wishes.

The dots are shaking.

Stephen:I heard you were having a party. My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail...kidding.

Me:You started a tradition. I thought it would be fun to have another without the drama.

Stephen:I hope you have a wonderful time.

Me:I will.

Stephen:One more thing. Will you meet me?

I stare at the phone. Then the vibrating dots appear.

Stephen:Twenty minutes at the most. I'm not far from you. I just want to see you on your birthday and I have a present.

Me:I don't think it's a good idea.

Stephen:Then I'll come to the party to deliver it.

Me:Give me the address.

***

We're in the massive walk-in closet off the bath spa. My hair is still damp from the shower. I secure my hair into a high ponytail, pull on a sweater and jeans, and lace my chucks while Geordie rummages in a drawer.

“I got a call when you were in the shower from the restaurant. Harv has left Tony in charge, but he's having a problem with the freezer. I'm going to Dalliance to check on him.”

He finds a badly faded T-shirt and pulls it over his head. “Why can't Harv go? We've got to manage the decorating company for the party.”

I don't like to lie, but if I meet Stephen, accept whatever grand gesture he's trying to make, then I can avoid a confrontation between Geordie and Stephen, which would ruin my party.

I pull my car into a shopping center about a mile from my house. I find Stephen's black-on-black Mansory Vivre Bugatti, which has always screamed Batmobile to me, parked in the far corner of the lot. He leans over to push the passenger door open and I slide in.

His hair, streaked with blond, is a little shorter, and the healthy glow of a tan makes his eyes more interesting. If I had to guess, he's been sun-kissed from a few weeks of surfing in the crystal-blue waters of Bora Bora, one of his favorite places to visit this time of year.

His suit is Armani, I think. He also favors Brioni. Stephen's flawless attire gives weight to his threat that he was prepared to deliver my present to the house if I said no to this meeting.

He turns on the engine and pulls out of the space. “I thought we were going to talk here?” pulling the seat belt in place.

He flashes a smile at me before turning his attention to the road. “I'm in the mood for a drive. Did you let your roommate know why you had to leave before your party had started?”

A flush of irritation surfaces that he won't refer to Geordie by his name. I push the button to call up music from his playlist. Brandon Boyd singingDrivefills the car; it’s a song about letting fear drive your life. I made this playlist for him a few years ago, and he's still listening to the songs.

Stephen swings his gaze to me, probably checking if I heard his question.

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