Only Trick Page 10

  Releasing my breasts, my hands work to unfasten his jeans.

  What if he’s not hard? What if this is all for me? What if …

  Trick grabs the back of my legs, lifting me up, then carries me up the stairs. Dropping to his knees at the top, he lays me on the floor and shoves down his jeans and boxer briefs with his eyes burning into mine.

  “Tric—”

  His mouth collides with mine again, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, he pulls the crotch of my panties to the side and plunges into me. Drawing my knees up, I cry into his mouth. Interlacing our fingers, he slides our hands above our heads and takes me to a place of physical ecstasy … and emotional hell.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s been two days since I’ve seen or heard from Trick. Without a single word, he picked me up off the floor and carried me to my bed. Dropping a slow kiss on the top of my head, he wiped away a few more of my tears and then … he left.

  I feel complete and empty all at the same time. But mostly I feel like the most irresponsible woman ever. For God’s sake I’m a healthcare provider, yet I let a guy with a known history of drug abuse have unprotected sex with me. I’m on birth control, so pregnancy isn’t my concern; it’s those pesky life-threatening STDs. I’m an idiot! I need to call him, since it’s apparent he’s not going to call me, but I don’t know if I can hear his voice and keep it together.

  Instead, I take the coward’s way out and text him.

  Me: You need to get tested and send me the results.

  I slip my phone in my pocket as the ambulance pulls up, oddly grateful for the distraction. My job keeps me going forward; when I’m here and in the moment I don’t have time to look back at the train wreck that happened Saturday night.

  The five-year-old boy who fell from a tree goes to X-ray while Jade keeps giving me the eye from the nurses’ station.

  “What?”

  “You’re sulking. Is this about Steven and the intern he was caught with in the on-call room?”

  Lovely!

  I sigh, rolling my eyes. “No, I haven’t talked with him in weeks.”

  “So things are over?”

  I laugh. “Well if they weren’t, I’m pretty sure they are now.”

  “Are you mad?”

  I sign off on a chart. “No.” It’s the truth, but I wish I were. It would mean that I had feelings for a guy—a heterosexual guy who’s capable of reciprocating my feelings. Instead I get a sympathy fuck from my gay best friend and possibly a nice cocktail of STDs.

  *

  The rest of the week goes by and not a single reply from Trick. The pain has simmered into a volatile potion of rage. I’m ready to drive over there with a large gauge needle and draw blood from the dorsal vein in his penis!

  “Darby, there’s a patient in room two that’s requesting you.” Mary peeks into the lounge and grins. “He said you requested he have blood drawn, but I don’t see any notation about it in his chart.”

  Jade slides through the door past Mary. “Darby, the squirrel’s back!”

  Dr. Ellis pours a cup of coffee; deep lines draw together on his forehead. “Squirrel?”

  Slipping on my lab coat, I smirk. “Jade will explain.”

  In the twenty steps it takes to get to room two, I give myself a huge pep talk and force ten deep breaths.

  Adjusting my ponytail, I throw back my shoulders and open the door. My lungs deflate. Trick’s sitting on the table with a black eye, busted lip, and bruised jaw.

  “What the hell happened?” I move toward him with cautious steps and lift his chin with my finger to inspect the rest of his face riddled with bruises that look several days old.

  “Take what you need.” He holds out his arm.

  A pang of guilt jabs my stomach, like asking him to get tested shows my lack of trust in him. But I have to start thinking with my head, so I wash my hands, slip on my gloves, and draw his blood. I feel his eyes on me the whole time.

  “I’ll have someone call you with the results tomorrow.” I write on his chart, unable to even look at him.

  He hops off the table. “No need. They can call you. I already know the results will be negative.”

  Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

  He brushes past me to the door.

  “Trick.” I turn, but he keeps his back to me with his hand gripping the door handle. “Was I your first?”

  “First what?”

  “Was I the first woman you’ve ever made love to?”

  He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. I’m not sure what I even want his answer to be. And out of all the questions that I should be asking him, this one seems the least relevant, but it’s the one I can’t get out of my mind.

  “Yes,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.

  *

  The test comes back negative, but I shed the guilt. I have to start being more responsible and sometimes that doesn’t make me popular. Nana’s meeting me for Sunday brunch. It’s the first time I’ve talked with her in over a week, a record for us. Nana’s the constant in my life, and if I’m going to have guilt for anything it should be from my lack of contact with her. She’s left me several messages but I’ve been too busy and too scared to call her back until yesterday. I needed the blood test results before I could talk to anyone about last weekend.

  “I’m going to cut you out of my will if you pull another stunt like that.” She waves a finger at me as she sits down.

  “Oh yeah … the will.” I roll my eyes.

  She gives me the evil stink eye.

  “Sorry, I should have called you back.”

  “Yes, you should have. I was worried.”

  I laugh. “You know where I live, yet I never saw you.”

  She shrugs, staring at her menu. “Well, you called me … so spill.”

  “I had sex with him.”

  “Wyatt?” Her back pulls to attention.

  “Trick.”

  Her menu slips from her grasp and our waiter has it picked up and back in her hands before she blinks. “How is that even possible?”

  I shake my head. “Really, I have to explain the birds and the bees to my seventy-five-year-old nana?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I thought he’s gay.”

  “He is or was or … I don’t know.”

  “Well, what did he say about it?”

  “He didn’t. We’ve only seen each other once since, and all I know is I’m the first woman he’s been with.”

  “What about his partner?”

  “I don’t know if he’s told Grady. When I saw him the other day his face had taken a beating at some point, but he wouldn’t tell me about it. There’s no way Grady would do that to him so … I … I just don’t know. I’m so confused, and angry, and hurt.”

  Nana clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “So now what?”

  “I guess it’s over.” I tap my finger on the rim of my glass. “But the thing is, I feel like I need some sort of closure. I need him to tell me why he did it, and as much as the words will hurt, I need to know if he regrets it. Without at least that much I don’t know how to move on.”

  She reaches across the table and rests her hand on mine. “I couldn’t be more proud of you, and if your mother were here, I know she’d say the same thing. You’re a beautiful, smart, and talented young woman. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you. So if you need answers, then go get them. Stand up for yourself; that much I can promise you will never regret.”

  I nod, feeling the emotions sting my eyes. She wouldn’t be so proud if she knew I’ve been sweating out results of an STD test. “Love you, Nana.”

  “Love you too, dear.”

  *

  My shower an hour ago was a complete waste. I’m already pitting-out as my clammy palms fist my purse and keys. Although I know Trick’s code, I don’t feel right letting myself in so I buzz him on his intercom.

  “Hello?” Grady.

  “Hey, Grady. It’s Darby.”

  The door buzzes and
I take the elevator up. As if facing Trick isn’t enough, I get to face his likely disgruntled lover.

  “Hey, sweetie!” Grady greets me with an unexpected enthusiasm. “I was just on my way out.” He kisses both of my cheeks. “He’s in the bathroom washing off his coverup.”

  I grimace. “You’re not the one who … or you didn’t—”

  “Rough him up?”

  My face twists. “Yeah, that.”

  “Damn right it was me.” He winks then laughs as I inspect him, looking for any signs that Trick landed a punch: broken glasses, bruising, cuts. It’s as if he can read my thoughts. “He doesn’t fight back about certain things. Have fun.” He shuts the elevator gate and waves as it starts to descend.

  I will never fully get the weird dynamics of their relationship. I’d say it’s a gay thing, but I think it’s just a Grady and Trick thing. Stealing my thoughts, Trick rounds the bathroom corner, his movement coming to a sudden halt when he sees me.

  As much as I don’t want to let my eyes look at his bare chest and arms inked with tattoos of which the meanings I will never get to hear, they have a mind of their own and take a final look anyway. “Hi,” I say with weak voice.

  “Hey,” he responds with equal lack of enthusiasm.

  “I won’t contact you after today, but I need some answers.”

  He nods, deep lines sinking into his forehead.

  “I just need to know why.”

  He looks down, lips pulled in a firm line.

  “Was it pity?”

  His head jerks up. “Why would you say that?”

  I press my knuckle to the corner of my eye and swallow past the lump in my throat. “Because I believe that we were truly friends and sometimes friends make sacrifices for each other. And I don’t blame you for any of it; I really don’t. But now I have all these emotions and I don’t know what to do with them. I need some sort of closure to move on. I need you to tell me that it was all for me and that you left because you regretted it … you regretted us. Just … please I-I need something … please, Trick.” I wipe my cheeks. The part of me that will always belong to him feels like it’s dying. It’s not a metaphor; my heart physically hurts right now.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t.” It’s barely a whisper, but I hear it.

  His words grip my aching heart, threatening to crush it. “Trick, please don’t do this. You owe me this much.” I walk toward him. “Just say it … just tell me it was pity. Tell me it was some weird curiosity. Tell me you were confused about your sexuality. Tell me it was nothing … Tell me we were nothing, tell me—”

  “I CAN’T!” he roars as his head snaps up, eyes wild, chest heaving. “Because it wasn’t nothing! It was fucking everything! Don’t you get that?”

  His words are poison in my veins. This is it, the one puzzle I can’t piece together. I know better than to let a man play me the way my father has all these years. I let him see a part of me that no man has ever seen. I did it for Trick, my best friend—only Trick. “I don’t understand.” I shake my head, confusion distorting my thoughts. He cradles my face. I swallow hard. “But you’re gay.”

  “I’m not.”

  I continue to shake my head. “B-but I asked you if I was the first woman you’ve been with.”

  He shakes his head. “No…” resting his forehead on mine, he closes his eyes “…you asked me if you were the first woman I’ve made love to.”

  His words slice through me as the sting of deception and lies taints everything I thought we had. I shove him away, leaving him looking defeated, like a wounded animal. “You sick fuck! Why? Who does that? Huh? Is this some bi-sexual game you and Grady play on women? I have feelings! Real. Fucking. Feelings! I shared things with you I’ve never shared with anyone!” I wipe my watery nose in real ladylike fashion with the back of my hand. “I hate you.” I step backwards toward the elevator.

  Trick eases forward. “Darby.”

  “Don’t Darby me, you bastard!” I flip the switch to bring the elevator back up. “I hate you,” I sob.

  He backs me into the wall. “Darby …”

  “I hate you so much!” My tears feel like acid on my cheeks—my gut punched, my heart crushed.

  Trick wipes his thumb along my wet cheek. “Well, I love you.”

  Smack!

  He closes his eyes absorbing the impact of my hand on his face.

  “Don’t say that to me.” I glare at him, anger seething from my words.

  He opens his eyes. “I love you.”

  Smack!

  He swallows hard and opens his eyes again. “I love you.”

  Smack! Smack! Smack!

  He takes everything I give him as if he needs it. I bang my fists against his bare chest. “You don’t deserve to love me! I hate you … I hate you … I hate you.… I-I …” I collapse against his chest, my body heaving in waves of painful, breaking sobs. “I-I love you.”

  He wraps one arm around me and rests his other hand on the back of my head, then he kisses the top of it.

  *

  Surrender. I will never love myself for hating him, nor will I ever hate myself for loving him. So there really is only one choice: love him.

  The words we’ve shared have been beautiful, ugly, and the whole universe in between. There’s still so much to say, but as Trick takes my hand and leads me into his bathroom, I allow him to say so much more than words ever could.

  He turns on the shower, a large rainfall of water cascades from a mammoth rectangular shower head suspended directly above it. Turning back toward me, he pauses, staring into my eyes. They bleed with emotion, and tears would form if I hadn’t already let them run dry.

  He undresses me with slow, gentle moves as I stand and watch. Then he does the same to himself before leading me into the steamy shower. I close my eyes and melt into his loving touch. Patient hands massage my scalp and caress my body. Occasionally I feel his lips press to my skin and just linger—never demanding, always giving.

  On his knees, he touches my body with complete adulation—he loves me. With gentle pressure, he curls his fingers into the curve of my butt while resting his forehead against my belly. I move my hands to his head. He looks up at me, blinking away the rivulets of water.

  “You scare me, Trick.”

  He sits down on the floor of the shower and pulls me onto his lap so we’re nose to nose. “You scare me too.” He grins and I kiss him, diving headfirst into the unknown.

  I don’t want to need him, but I do. I don’t want to love him … but I do. Breaking our kiss, I rise up onto my knees and touch him for the first time. He closes his eyes briefly then opens them, jaw slack. The little part of me that still questions his sexuality evaporates as he kisses my breasts, tickling my sensitive flesh with his bristly face.

  He takes my heart so completely; and if he gives it back I know it’s the one puzzle I’ll never be able to put back together again. I sink onto him, letting him fill me in every way possible.

  *

  A soft beam of moonlight falls on our naked bodies tangled in the sheets. Resting my chin on his chest, I trace the tattooed wings along his shoulder as my mind sorts through the reality of our situation. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed. A smarter woman would have walked out the door, refusing to be played for such a fool.

  But Trick’s not some guy I dated a few times. We’ve never dated. He’s gone from random stranger to my best friend. I could retrieve my dignity and walk away from the Trick who fucked my body and mind at the top of my stairs. But Trick, my best friend, means too much to me. I stayed for him … I forgave him.

  “Trick?”

  “Hmm?” His eyes remain closed.

  “Why do you want or let people think you’re gay?”

  A silence falls over us as his words take their time. “I feel … used by women. I’m not completely sure why, it’s just a feeling about my past. It’s given me an aversion to them.

  “Why do you say it like that? Like you don’t know or remember? Is this abo
ut your addiction?”

  He lifts his shoulders. “Yeah … that’s definitely part of it. My past is complicated. I can’t really explain it. But for some reason the women I encounter in my line of work don’t like taking no for an answer, and I don’t like feeling controlled.”

  “But if you’re ‘gay’ they don’t approach you?”

  He laughs. “No, if I’m gay I don’t lose their business when I turn down their offers. It’s accepted as a sexual preference and not rejection.”

  I rest my cheek against his chest and close my eyes, melting into the beautiful rhythm of his heart. “Trick?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you try to explain your complicated past?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a deep swallow. “I hope so … someday.”

  My tears renew as his voice cracks with the last word. Even without knowing what it is, I feel his pain. The part of my mind I can’t shut off goes down the road paved with images of abuse or worse.

  Scooting up, I bury my face in his neck, pressing my lips to him. “I don’t need to know.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Yawn. Stretch.

  “Oh shit!” I notice the time, and I have thirty minutes to be walking through the hospital doors. I never oversleep; then again, I never cry like I did yesterday. It’s physically draining.

  “Oversleep?” I hear Trick, but he’s not in bed.

  I flail around in the covers trying to untangle. Then I leap out and run to the bathroom, slowing down just enough to do a double take at Trick on a yoga mat in some insane forearm inversion pose. “You’re doing yoga again?” Trick is one dedicated guy. I don’t think he ever skips his morning practice.

  He chuckles. “What gave it away?”

  Another unforgettable image—Trick shirtless wearing loose fitting drawstring pants, balancing on his forearms causing all his muscles to flex into perfect definition. Yep, there’s nothing sexy about that. Yeah right! I continue around the glass-walled corner into the bathroom. “Oh, and the yoga mat gave it away.”

  After throwing on my clothes in just under thirty seconds, I swipe my tongue along my teeth. Yuck! “Are we one of those couples that can occasionally share a toothbrush?” I yell.