Indecent Cravings: Part Three Page 3

  I turn to look at him. “A boy my own age? A boy my own fucking age? Fuck you! I’m a grown woman, asshole! It’s not like I’m the little girl whose face you wiped paint off.”

  “I’m fifty, Smudge.”

  A lead weight drops on my head, or at least that’s what it feels like. “No, you’re not. You’re thirty-five. Forty, tops.”

  “Smudge, do the fucking math! When your dad hired me to rescue Addison, I was thirty-two. You were three. That was eighteen years ago. Numbers don’t fucking lie.”

  “But you can’t be fifty!”

  “I tell myself that every morning when I look in the mirror, but facts are facts. It wouldn’t, it couldn’t, ever work with you and me and you know it. I would be in a position where I would be a source of hurt to you eventually. And if there’s one promise I made to myself, it’s that I would protect you from any hurt . . . including my own goddamned self.”

  I rock on the edge of the bed for a while. “But I do love you, Trevor.”

  “Not like I love you, Smudge. I know Chad or Todd . . . or who-the-fuck-ever . . . isn’t the guy for you, but I also know you don’t love me the same way I love you. I’m your childhood fantasy, your father figure.”

  “Fuck you! You are not some childhood fantasy! And I have a father!”

  Trevor laughs, then drops his voice down low. “Yeah, okay.”

  We stay quiet for a very long while, not saying anything. The wind kicks up again outside, and the rain pours down. There is thunder and some flashes of lightning.

  Eventually, we both realize we have nothing else to say. What else can be said?

  We’re two people stuck in two different times who love each other, and yet what he said makes sense. I can’t lose him. He means too much to me. He’s Trevor, not my sexy lover, even if he is and always has been super-sexy.

  Maybe some things are better left to fantasy.

  I finally break the silence. “You make too much goddamned sense, Trevor.”

  “I do. It’s what keeps me going. I was trained to make sense of everything. But, Smudge . . . ” He takes my hand. “. . . just knowing there is one person in this world that I’m connected to like no other.” He places my hand on his chest. “Someone to care for and love with every fiber of my being. It’s worth so much more than fucking.”

  I sense wetness on my cheeks. I get up onto the bed and touch the right side of his face, his rough stubble burning my hand.

  “One favor,” I say.

  “Anything.”

  “Hold me.”

  “That I can do.”

  My protector and guardian wraps his arms around me as I cuddle into him.

  Soon, I’m asleep.

  Chapter 4

  The smell of coffee wakes me up.

  Where am I?

  Oh yeah, right. The Redmond Apts.

  I swing off the bed and walk across the creaky floor to the kitchen. As I pass the bathroom, I notice it’s been used.

  Trevor is in the kitchen, showered and shaved and ready for the day, cleaning the Keurig.

  “This doesn’t belong here,” he says. “Ruins the feel of the place, don’t you think? Should be an old-fashioned percolator instead.”

  “Good morning,” I say.

  He doesn’t look at me. “Good morning. So, look, Smudge, I’ve got some shit to do. Your dad spent the night at the Radisson¸ and I’m going to meet him later.”

  “Can’t you stay and have breakfast? I bought Hungry Jack pancakes.”

  “No, but you’re safe. Stay here for as long as you want. You won’t be charged.”

  “Yeah, I was meaning to ask you about that.”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  “But how can you just–”

  “I said, don’t. Look, I’ve got to run. I just need to take care of something I’ve been meaning to take care of for years. Now that I’m here, I need to do it. Especially now that I’ve played a card with Rodrigo. I just announced to someone that I’m here. I need to go see . . . this particular someone. It will get my mind off this.

  “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

  He takes a sip of his coffee and meets my eyes for a tenth of a second, then looks away again with a little smile. “Couple times.”

  “You know, it’s strange. We know nothing about your life before Dad hired you to rescue Addison.”

  He gulps down his coffee and rinses the mug in the sink. “And I want to keep it that way.”

  He’s about to walk past me toward the door, but he stops and pauses. Then he turns and looks into my eyes.

  He steps forward and hugs me.

  “Love you, Smudge.”

  “Love you too, Trevor.”

  Then he’s out the door. I grab a tissue from the box on the table and wipe my eyes.

  Chapter 5

  I’m barely functioning at the restaurant. I’ve already delivered the wrong food to table ten, now I forgot table twelve’s Perrier. Everyone is shooting me dirty looks and leaving tiny tips. So not me.

  “Are you okay?” says Javier next to me at the coffee station. “I haven’t known you that long, but you’re off today. Way off.”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “Well, your old bat is here. She’s requesting you.”

  “Oh shit no. Can you take it?”

  “No, I’m outta here.”

  Dammit. I don’t have time for Lorena. The place is too busy. Plus, I hate her. No, that’s wrong. I don’t. I’m just so torn up over Lukas Thorn, and she’s so a part of Lukas Thorn that I just . . . well, okay, I know it doesn’t make any sense.

  “Hi, Lorena,” I say as I put a menu down in front of her. “Would you like to hear about today’s specials.”

  “You haven’t answered my calls, Jayd.”

  “Tonight we have a lobster flambé with orzo in a port wine reduction with mint and olives. We also have a–”

  “Is it because of Addison?”

  I freeze. “Addison?”

  “Or is it Ashley? Did one of your sisters call you? You told me their names, remember? Addison and Ashley.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, even though I don’t remember telling her about either of them. Guess I must have at her party that night. “Why do you ask?”

  Her eyes squint. “No reason. I had a hunch; that’s all.”

  “Look, Lorena, I can’t talk about this. In fact, I can’t do the things we talked about before. Let’s just go back to I’m your waitress, and you’re here for dinner. Now–”

  “I’m not here for dinner, Jayd. I’m here to retrieve you.”

  “Retrieve me? What does that mean?”

  “Jayd, I have a problem that only you can solve.”

  I roll my eyes. “Lorena, it’s busy. I can’t talk.”

  “Lukas Thorn has quit.”

  That makes me pause. “Quit?”

  “Yes, he ran out on my school and left Miami. I need him back, Jayd. It doesn’t work without him.”

  “I’m sorry, Lorena, but that is not my problem. Now, I need to go get table nine’s order. I’ll bring your usual drink.”

  “Do you know why you were rejected, dear?”

  “I told you, I’ve got to go!”

  “Because you got to him. Do you know what it takes to get to Lukas Thorn, dear? A million women have tried. You succeeded.”

  I feel like my head is about to explode. I run to table nine, take their order, then to the kitchen where table eleven’s plates are up.

  “Eleven is ready!” says Fernando. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Hustle, chica, hustle!”

  “I know, I know. Sorry.”

  I try to get my groove back by ignoring Lorena. In effect, that reduces my tables to three so I can focus better.

  A million women have tried. You succeeded.

  “Grrrrrrrr,” I say out loud as I carry a large tray on my shoulder to table ten, trying to shake off the thought.

  But it’s no good. Out of
the mouths of each of the four family members at table ten I hear the same words:

  A million women have tried. You succeeded.

  I go back into the kitchen. Fernando yells at me again.

  “A million women have tried!” he shouts. “You succeeded!”

  No, that can’t be what he’s saying. I’m lost in some sort of a mental fog.

  Okay, fine. Let’s have this out.

  I return to Lorena.

  “Okay, what do you mean by that? No, wait, don’t tell me, this is bullshit. You and he are up to something.”

  “Jayd, listen to me. You’re here for a reason. Fate brought us together. You are the only person I can trust.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Lukas Thorn has quit. I need him, but more than that I need to prevent him from making a serious mistake in his own life. You are a good person, and you are also the only person I’ve ever seen Lukas Thorn look at like that. Well no, the second.”

  Second? Who was the first?

  Dancing around tables.

  “Okay, so what, Lorena? What are you asking me?”

  “I have a plan to get him back. But you’re the only person who can do it.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because of this power you have over him.”

  “Power? What power?”

  “Waitress!” says the asshole at table nine. “Could you check on our steaks, please?”

  “Be right there!” I say with a fake smile.

  “Don’t go in the kitchen, dear,” says Lorena.

  “I have to go in the kitchen! This is my job! I’m working!”

  “Not for long, dear. Bogart is about to go out of business.”

  “Lorena, I don’t have time for this.”

  She grabs my wrist and squeezes, looking me in the eyes with a hypnotic stare from a netherworld while clamping an iron grip to my arm. I can’t seem to move.

  “Waitress!” shouts someone from table nine.

  “Ignore table nine,” says Lorena. “They’re going to be eating somewhere else in just a few minutes. I’m sorry, Jayd, but I had to ensure you leave this job. This restaurant is about to be shut down.”

  I’m breathing hard. “When?”

  “Right now.”

  At that moment, a beautiful Latina woman in a black suit walks out of the kitchen holding up a police badge, her right hand resting on her gun in its holster.

  Simultaneously, two Miami-Dade cruisers with sirens and lights blaring pull up front. Several uniformed officers get out, hands resting on their guns. They come in the front door.

  The Latina woman cop steps forward into the dining room. She looks remarkably like the girl who was on the TV show Lost when I was growing up. The tough, gorgeous one. What was her name?

  “May I have everyone’s attention please?” she says. “My name is Detective Sergeant Martinez-Vallejos of the Miami-Dade Organized Crime Section. Everything is fine, and you are all safe. But unfortunately, this restaurant is being shut down right now. Sorry to disrupt your evening, but I need everyone to vacate the premises immediately.”

  There is a rumble of scoffing and arrogant remarks as everyone gets up from their tables.

  “But I just got my food!” says a woman’s voice.

  “Be quiet!” says a man’s voice.

  Several people ask what happened, but the cop just repeats, “This is a police matter relating to a criminal investigation. That’s all I can say.”

  I glare at Lorena, who finally lets go of my arm. “You did this?”

  “Fernando did it to himself a long time ago, dear. I just expedited the process. Oh, you didn’t know the soup bins had hidden compartments in the bottom full of heroin?”

  “Um, no.”

  She stands up. “Well, now you do. Let me give you a ride to your new apartment in my building.”

  “What?”

  “I own the building, dear, remember? The rent will be a big whopping zero. I think you can afford it. Let’s go.”

  Confused and bewildered, I’m about to follow Lorena when someone calls my name.

  “Jayden Raye!”

  I turn to see Detective Sergeant Martinez-Vallejos. “Could you stay for a minute, please? I need to ask the staff some routine questions.”

  “Oh, of course,” I say.

  “I’ll have my driver wait for you,” says Lorena.

  “Lorena, no. Please. I need to get my things from . . . my friend Karissa’s place. How about if I just meet you tomorrow?”

  “Fine, dear. Let’s say eleven. But, I’ll have my driver, Vargas, take you home.”

  “No, really, Lorena. It’s okay.”

  She squints, trying to figure out what I’m hiding from her. “Fine, dear. Eleven tomorrow at my place.”

  “Can we make it later? Like two? I have something I need to do in the morning.”

  “Fine. Two p.m. tomorrow at my place.”

  She leaves with the other guests. Javier, the three other waitresses, the hostess, and I are all whisked to a table. About twenty other people, some wearing DEA vests, swarm around the restaurant. They must have taken Fernando out the back on Ocean Court.

  In turn, each of us is questioned by the female cop who tells us to call her Sofia. She’s tough but nice. Not to mention hot. When it’s my turn to be questioned one-on-one, I can’t help but fantasize about her thick black curls flowing all around my face as she fucks me with a strap-on.

  “Was that a yes or a no?” she says.

  I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “Did you ever see anyone picking up the soup containers besides Fernando?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She asks me a few more questions about the basic running of the restaurant and then places a picture on the table.

  “Have you ever seen this man?” she asks.

  I can’t help it. My hand goes up to my mouth, and I inhale sharply with a little squeak. Damn.

  Her eyebrows rise. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Shit, I’d make a terrible criminal, wouldn’t I? On the table is a photo of Lukas Thorn, in a flowing white shirt open to his waist, that goddamned evil half-smile on his face.

  I’m about to speak, but words don’t come out. I have no clue what to say.

  “Jayd, I know you know him. I also know your real name is Abigail Trowbridge from Concord, Massachusetts, date of birth four-twelve-ninety-four. That’s correct, right?”

  “Umm . . . yeah.”

  “Don’t be alarmed. I just ran a standard background check on all the employees here. But I need to speak with this man. What name do you know him by?”

  My brain scrambles. “Um . . . “

  “Lying to a police officer is a misdemeanor in the state of Florida punishable by a prison sentence of up to five years. Now, honey, you’re sweet. I know you’re not going to lie to me, but I just wanted you to know.”

  I keep my mouth shut. Even though Lukas Thorn is my least favorite person on Earth right now . . . while simultaneously my favorite person on Earth right now . . . I’m not turning him in.

  “That’s fine,” she says with a warm smile. “All we want to do is talk to him.” She takes out a card and hands it to me. “Please call me if you see him. He’s not a suspect in anything. We just need to speak with him about an unrelated matter. Nothing to do with what’s going on here tonight.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  “Thanks. Do you need a ride home?”

  “No, I’ll walk.”

  Chapter 6

  While the Redmond Apts may not be the most glamorous place on South Beach, it’s only a fifteen-minute walk from the restaurant. Much better than having to catch a skeevy bus to Karissa’s.

  Which doesn’t matter anymore now, does it?

  As I walk past the hordes of South Beach partiers, my mind tries to make sense of this strange new world.

  It all started so simply, but now I feel like I’m living inside the kinky bastard child o
f Miami Vice and Fifty Shades of Grey with a little Days of Our Lives thrown in for good measure.

  I chuckle.

  How can I chuckle, really?

  Because I’m not so sure I believe all this. Is all this really happening? It’s almost too ludicrous. I mean, if I told any of my friends back home about what was going on, they’d call the men in white coats to take me away.

  See, here’s what happened. I moved in with this hot, transgender hooker with a cock the size of a submarine after an orgasm on a plane with a Dom who runs a submission school. The hot, transgender hooker ended up getting her massive cock sucked my dad who came down looking for me, so my childhood guardian sets me up in a new rent-free place, begins to fuck me, and then declares that he’s always been in love with me.

  I laugh out loud as I walk.

  Oh, but wait, there’s more! The rich old woman who employs the Dom – who throws weekly fetish parties – now is so desperate to hire me to seduce him back under her wing that she had the restaurant where I worked forcibly closed by the Miami police.

  People sitting outdoors at other Ocean Drive restaurants are looking at me very strangely because I can’t stop laughing. I put my hand up to my mouth, but I just can’t stop.

  My friends would already be on the phone to the mental clinic if I told them this story. And I didn’t even mention being fingered in a “play pen” and forced to lick the pussies of a hot cowgirl and a black girl who has twenty-seven orgasms in one hour!

  What is next? Seriously, what is next?

  Oh wait, I think I’ve figured all this out.

  It’s a dream, isn’t it?

  I’m in my apartment back in Newton. I must have been out with Amy and Sydney and somebody spiked my drink with a hallucinogen.

  That’s it!

  It has to be a dream! Shit like this just doesn’t happen in real life! Who would have ever thought that a fantasy about a guy’s dangling hand in the aisle of an airplane would turn into all this? It’s like it’s all being directed by somebody – somebody with a very sick mind.

  As I turn the corner onto 15th Street, I decide to test my theory. I turn right instead.

  Soon I’m on the beach. The night wind is fresh. Still steamy because it’s only August, but super-clean and clear.