Cuddle bear, p.17
Cuddle Bear, page 17
“At least she didn’t cruise past five minutes ago.” I rolled my eyes.
“You don’t know. She might’ve enjoyed that.”
I slapped his arm, and he snickered. The ass. I rested my hand on his shoulder and was considering taking the risk to return the favor, when he scowled and the sound of vibrating, like angry bees trapped in a glass bottle, filled the cab. He dragged his phone out of his pocket and sobered instantly as he swiped his thumb across the screen, then pressed it to his ear.
“Hello, Mother. How are you? What’s up?” He pursed his lips and a wrinkle formed on his brow as he nodded along to whatever she was saying. He glanced at me with his mouth turned down in one corner. “Can I bring someone along?”
I sat up straighter and my heart raced so fast I could hear it in my ears.
His mom talked for almost a solid minute before he said, “Yes, we’re serious, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
My hand flew to my chest. I’d considered us a couple, but it did something fantastic to hear confirmation come from Maurice’s mouth.
He smiled. “Okay, see you this afternoon.” He lowered the phone and ended the call, but then continued to stare at the screen.
“That was your mom?”
He nodded and glanced at me. “You said you wanted to meet my parents, right? I didn’t just do the wrong thing, did I?”
“Yes, I did.” Panic slammed me. I sure had said I wanted to meet his folks, but now that it was on the table for real, I wasn’t so certain. Would they like me? What would they think about Maurice bringing a man home? He hadn’t indicated they were homophobic in any way, so I probably didn’t need to worry, but a thousand questions swirled in my mind.
He rubbed his thumb in a circle on my knee. “Let’s go home, I mean to your house.”
I snagged his hand and forced a smile. “I like it when you call the Guidry Estate your home. I would like to write your name in the family book next to mine.”
For a full, awkward minute he stared into my eyes and seemed to be trying to see inside my mind, and then eventually he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I want to eat lunch, then have dessert.” He squeezed my leg, and I wasn’t confused about what he thought his treat should be.
All those questions and concerns about meeting his parents took a back seat to the heat in his eyes. I grinned and started the car.
My palm was sweaty and I tried to tug my hand away from Maurice’s as we walked toward his parents’ house, but he didn’t let go. My tie was slightly crooked and I stopped to straighten it, but in the end, he turned toward me to tighten the knot and smooth the green fabric down.
“I should’ve worn a nicer suit. This gray one is okay for the office, but I’m meeting your parents.” I slid his glasses up his nose.
He planted a soothing kiss on my cheek. “This fabric is already too much for the weather. You look great.” He’d been a good sport about me losing my mind when I was getting ready to go, and he also had on a light summer suit, but in a deep brown that was nearly black and made his eyes stand out. “You didn’t need a suit at all, I promise. They’re not that formal.”
“I want them to like me.” I tugged at the sleeves of my suit jacket, and he grabbed my hands to make me stop.
Maurice took a deep breath, then pressed his lips softly to mine. Unfortunately his mouth gently working me over made me think about the careful way he’d fucked my ass this afternoon—he’d taken his time and hammered my prostate until my cock burst like a fountain. I’d never had anyone take so much care with me, and I was starting to get addicted to how he focused on all the little things I needed.
“Help me make a good impression,” I begged.
“I’m telling you right now, they will have something annoying to say no matter what you look like, do, or think.” He ran a thumb over my right eyebrow, smoothing it down. “It doesn’t mean they don’t like you, it’s just who they are. There is a reason I wasn’t in a hurry for this. Don’t hate me when we’re done.”
“You aren’t making me less stressed.” I chuckled and it sounded as if I were choking.
One at a time he kissed the back of my hands, then kept hold of the right one and tugged me toward the front door again. The shotgun home wasn’t much different from Maurice’s, only the wooden siding was painted a brilliant white and the trim was an eye-bending lime.
“Isn’t this close to your house?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “I wanted to make sure I was nearby because Dad isn’t able to do much.”
Shaking my head, I gripped his hand a bit tighter.
When we reached the door, he didn’t bother to knock, simply opened it and led the way inside. The walls in here were the same vibrant green as the exterior trim and had me blinking. The smell in the living room reminded me of a bar because heavy cigarette stench lingered over everything. My nose twitched, but Maurice didn’t seem to notice. There was a TV on a stand across from a frail old man with buzzed gray hair sitting in a recliner. Gray shorts clung to his stick-thin legs and a white undershirt billowed around him. He had a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, smoke curling in thin ribbons toward the ceiling as he frowned down at the Sunday paper. He held a pencil in one hand and scowled harder.
“What’s a four-letter word for passion?” he shot at us, without looking up.
Don’t say fuck. “I have no idea,” I murmured.
He glanced at us in surprise, as if maybe he hadn’t expected someone new to be in his home.
Maurice waved. “Good afternoon, Dad.”
A skinny woman in a floral dress bustled through the archway directly across from the door, and beyond her a stove was visible. I finally smelled the cooking meat that fought against the cigarette odor. I inhaled deeply. Maybe meatloaf was on the menu. We didn’t eat some of the homier meals a lot at my place, simply because Mrs. Riggins didn’t prepare them, and my mouth began to water. While she walked, Maurice’s mom patted her short gray curls, and she snagged her husband’s cigarette from his mouth as she passed, then took a drag from it.
“Maurice! Who is this?” She smiled and I could see some of where he’d gotten his looks. Her lips were curved like his and her brown eyes were the same shade, but that was where the similarities seemed to end, though her body shape was a bit like Lacey’s.
“His name is Fenwick Guidry, Mother.” I didn’t miss his shift to a more formal tone, and I wasn’t sure if he always spoke with his parents that way or if he was nervous.
I stepped closer to his mom and snagged her free hand, and she giggled as I pressed a kiss to the back. “You can call me Wick. If all goes well, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
She waved a hand and came dangerously close to burning me with the cigarette. Maurice sighed and took the smoking weapon from her fingers, and then she pulled me into a hug that took me by surprise. “Look at you! Such a gentleman. I love these suits.”
Maurice rolled his eyes behind her as he handed the cigarette off to his dad, who dumped it in an ashtray on an end table at his side.
“Dinner is ready.” She turned to snag Maurice’s attention by snapping her fingers at him. “We can eat, then take a nice long walk to burn it off.”
He sighed and nodded, shoulders slumping a bit.
Irritation wormed through me, but I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with his parents. “Sounds perfect, Mrs. Baranov.”
She laughed and patted my shoulder. “Call me Bertie. Bertie Baranov.”
Maurice’s dad grunted and put down the foot of his recliner, standing and scowling, then tossed the paper down on his seat as if it had offended him and shuffled toward the kitchen. He didn’t offer to introduce himself. Bertie bustled after him, her dress swishing in her wake, and Maurice snagged my hand as we followed them.
Leaning close, I whispered, “Is your dad not okay with our relationship?”
Maurice snorted. “He’s fine with us.” He took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
Bertie set a plate of rolls onto the table, then waved a hand at Maurice. “Don’t worry about him. He’s been listening to those news programs again, the ones that get him all riled up. He’s been on edge for days. I told him not to do that.”
All at once Maurice’s dad turned toward me, his blue eyes snapping with an unexpected intensity. “You’re in business, right?” He pointed at my suit. “You do something professional?”
“Uh, yes.” I froze.
“What do you know about the tax codes around these parts?”
Maurice smiled, then cleared his throat and attempted a straight face, but his eyes twinkled. He was no help.
“Uh, that depends. Quite a bit in some situations, not so much in others.”
His dad grunted. “Those people are always trying to steal your money, son. You better wise up. If you’re with Maurice, I don’t want you getting duped. I’ll look into it and send you some links. You gotta give me your email.”
I cut a glance at Maurice, and he mouthed “no” at me.
“Uh, thank you, sir.”
Maurice’s head dropped toward his chest and he seemed to be fighting off chuckles.
“Come on, boys! This food won’t eat itself.” Bertie set a dish of meatloaf on the table, followed by mashed potatoes and a boat of gravy, and all at once I’d never been more famished in my life. Maurice and I sat on one side of the small rectangular table and Maurice’s parents sat on the other, and I was glad I was across from his mom and not his dad, whose name I still didn’t know. I glanced around the kitchen, and it was perfectly pleasant with pink walls and cupboards and white counters. I began to sweat in my suit because it didn’t seem like they had the AC on very high. Or maybe it was nerves that had me swiping at my forehead.
Maurice lowered his attention to the table, and my heart twisted as he piled food on his plate. I did the same. He proceeded to shovel bites into his mouth as if eating was an Olympic sport and he was going for the gold, and things about him slotted into place in my mind. His dad’s mouth twisted and the old man muttered. Bertie glared at Maurice, who seemed like he was in a rush to finish and leave.
I rubbed Maurice’s arm and his eyebrows rose as he glanced at me. Bertie grabbed a roll and plopped it onto my plate. “Eat up, they’re homemade. I don’t drag out the good recipes for just anyone.”
“It’s fantastic, Mom,” Maurice said with a smile.
She beamed back at him, but as he began to shovel food into his mouth again, she scowled. “Slow down or you’ll choke.”
He laid aside his spoon and sighed.
Leaning in, I murmured, “You want to leave that bad?”
“Is it obvious?” he asked at regular volume.
Bertie pointed at him, and I sat back in my chair, spine going straight. Years of conditioning from my own parents had always made me hate that sort of gesture. “It’s because you eat that way that you’re big.”
Maurice’s jaw firmed so hard the point stuck out. “Thank you, Mother.”
She shook her head and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her dress pocket. It took her a second to light up, and when she did, she cursed. “Slide me that ashtray.” Maurice lifted a crystal bowl from the end of the table, and she took it and settled it beside her plate. “You’ve got someone now, so you need to think about your habits or you’ll drive him off, just like you did that nice boy Matthew. He was a good boy, and he helped your father around the yard and didn’t complain.”
Maurice leaned back in his chair and his gaze slid to the ceiling where it stayed stuck. “Thank you, Mother.”
There was a tense silence that was only broken by his dad coughing.
“I happen to like Maurice the way he is, so please don’t berate him on my behalf.” I spoke loudly enough that everyone stared at me.
Bertie snorted and grinned. “Look at him. He’s all ruffled up over you. That’s cute. You’re sweet.” She shook her head.
Maurice’s dad smiled as he seemed to tune back in to the conversation. “I tell her to leave the boy alone, but you can’t tell her nothing.”
Maurice groaned. “I have asked you a thousand times to keep out of this part of my life.” He gestured toward the food on the table. “I won’t come over here for meals anymore if you don’t quit.”
“I want you to be healthy,” Bertie cracked back, and this conversation had the feel of a well-worn argument.
Maurice glared at her as she puffed on her cigarette without an ounce of irony.
I slid my arm over the back of his chair, and he shot me a glance. “Maurice dead-lifted three hundred pounds this morning. I’d say he’s healthy.”
Bertie exhaled a huge stream of smoke and crushed her cigarette into the ashtray.
Maurice leaned forward and his cheeks flushed pink. “You know, I try to ignore this, but the fact that you would do this in front of someone is rude, Mother. It bothers me when you talk about my weight at the table.”
I rubbed his shoulder.
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I didn’t realize I talked about it so much for you to be in a snit about it.”
“You do! Anytime food is around.”
She groaned and dragged another cigarette out, lighting the new one while she frowned. “Hell, I am sorry, honey. I care.”
“Then stick to telling him how good he looks in a suit. Don’t badger him about his meal,” I grumbled.
She looked at her husband, then whapped his shoulder. “Winston, what do you think?”
He glanced up at us, then swallowed his mouthful of food. “Meatloaf’s good, honey.”
Maurice snickered.
The rest of dinner went without further incident because Bertie asked for an update on Lacey. Apparently she knew Maurice and his cousin saw a good bit of each other, and Maurice was able to keep her on safe subjects by talking about Snowbell and Edgar. We made it through helping Bertie clean up without another tense moment, but I didn’t relax until we were outside on the walking path near the house with the fresh air blowing the cigarette smoke out of our clothing.
“Oh look! Water hyacinths!” Bertie pointed at a small pond as we passed it that was absolutely clogged with the floating leafy, green plants. Purple flowers stuck up and waved in the gentle breeze.
“I believe they’re an invasive species,” I called to her because she’d gotten ahead of us with Winston at her side.
“Oh, but they’re so pretty. Who cares?” She laughed, and I began to worry as she took out yet another cigarette. The woman had smoked half a pack or more since I’d arrived.
Maurice clutched my hand and slowed a bit until his parents were out of immediate earshot. “Thanks. I’ve been dealing with her for a long time and didn’t quite know how to restart the conversation. It’s hard when it’s your family.”
I brushed a quick kiss to his temple. “I will always stand up for you, I promise.”
He grinned. “Same.”
“You won’t see this often, boys!” Bertie jabbed her finger at the tall weeds beside the path, and as we got closer I spotted the plant she wanted us to look at. The green stems were about up to my chest, with reddish buds on the sides that hadn’t opened. I was familiar with a lot of foliage in the area because I sometimes went out to do surveying for several local companies, if no one else was available, but I was stumped.
“What is it?”
“Chafseed.” She appeared so delighted it was impossible not to grin.
“Thank you for enlightening me, Bertie.”
She flushed and laughed, waving me off as she turned to continue walking, and Maurice leaned against my side as if to tell me I was doing a good job. My heart swelled as he smiled up at me, and I slid my arm around his shoulders. This wasn’t the type of afternoon I’d thought I would have meeting his parents, but I was very glad he’d invited me.
14
MAURICE
How is this my Friday afternoon? Friday is supposed to be the best day of the week. Fuck.
The mass email that glared at me from my computer screen had gone out to everyone in the company. The longer I thought about the fact that every single employee had seen this flaming dumpster pile of words, the more the top of my head felt like it wanted to pop off my body and explode into confetti.
“What the hell? All because you were removed from one project that you half assed? You self-entitled prick,” I snapped. It was too bad the man in question was nowhere near me. . . or was that good? I took deep breaths.
Violence was never the answer, but right now it felt like serious ass-kicking was in order. I pushed my glasses up my nose before I leaned forward to read the goddamned email yet again.
To all employees of Émeraude Technologies,
If you want to keep your projects, don’t tell Dictator Fenwick what you think about his unreachable standards. Keep your mouth shut.
Xadrian’s Crew
Wick came out and plopped on his knees beside me—he looked particularly good today in a pale-yellow suit with a white-and-black striped tie. His clothes and the way they hugged his body made me smile, but then my rage pushed to the forefront of my mind again. I brushed his silver hair off his forehead as I slid my chair back from the desk so I could turn toward him. He seemed equal parts pissed off and entertained with a smile playing across his lips.
“Did you see this shit?” I gestured at my laptop.
Wick nodded and glanced briefly toward the screen before he fixed his gaze back on my face. “Obviously he doesn’t realize we can see all the emails sent on the system, even if we’re not copied in?”
I tapped my fingers on the desk to stop myself from punching it. “Or maybe he knew damned well we could see his email and this was his shitty, passive-aggressive jab at you.” I went to spin back in front of my computer, but Wick snagged my knees and shuffled forward until he was leaning against my front. He slipped his arms around me. I gave him a big hug and some of my anger melted away as he pressed a quick kiss to my neck.
