Daddy followed behind him and I heard them talking in hushed tones while I helped Mama gather her belongings. I am sure they were conspiring on how to keep me from going to work, but that was not happening.
“Brooke, promise me that you won’t overdo it.”
“I promise. I’m almost thirty. You and Daddy have got to cut the umbilical cord.”
She rubbed her belly. “Never.”
We both laughed as I walked her out.
• • •
Patrick and I were in the kitchen an hour later. I was sautéing some tomato-garlic chicken and fettuccine. Patrick was finishing up the spring-mix salad with balsamic dressing.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I said. “You’ve got me slaving over a hot stove.”
“I told you that I would cook.”
“I’m kidding, Patrick.” I limped over to the fridge to get the Parmesan cheese off the door. “I like cooking.”
“Then I like eating … everything you’re serving up.”
“Umm, that sounds very enticing. We might have to hit the Esse again tonight.”
“Even though you’re feeling better, I think we should be more careful with the sex.”
I looked at him. “I know those words didn’t just leave your mouth. Not Mr. Freak-of-the-Week.”
“Your parents are really concerned that you might get hurt, and I feel bad enough, allowing you to go back to work in that diner.”
“You didn’t allow me to do anything, Patrick. I’m my own woman. You can’t keep me from working.”
He stared at me and I could tell he was angry, but he held it back. “Like I said, stubborn.”
I walked toward him and kissed him. “Sometimes being stubborn can be a good thing.” I grabbed his dick through his pants. “Like if I decided that I wanted some dick right now, I wouldn’t stop until I got it.”
“Far be it from me to stand in your way.”
I continued to caress his dick. “But you’d try to stand in my way from earning a living?” I pushed his back against the counter. “If you’re going to admire my traits some of the time, then you have to admire them all the time.”
I lifted up my dress and told him, “Tear my panties off.”
Patrick eyed me seductively. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll tear them off with my teeth.”
I giggled as Patrick swung me around and put me up on the counter. Then he bent down and started gnawing at the right side of my bikini underwear. The slice of material was wafer thin and he had no problem biting through it. Then he started working on the other side. This savage act turned me on beyond compare.
I pulled his cashmere sweater off him, then anxiously worked at his belt and zipper. His pants dropped down around his ankles, and he was inside me in mere seconds.
“Hold up; let me show you some of my moves,” I told him.
I lifted my well leg up over his shoulder, then used my hand to lift my leg with the cast over his other shoulder. I was on the counter with my legs spread into a V. Patrick pounded into me, and I swear, there was something different about my pussy. Patrick was hitting spots that he had never hit before. I came all over the kitchen counter as my chicken started burning in the skillet on the stove.
“Move the pan,” I told Patrick. “Before the smoke detector goes off and the doorman and half the complex end up in here.”
When the fire alarm goes off in a building, that is bad enough, but when it goes off in the penthouse of a building, everyone panics. Even with the water tanks on the roof and the sprinkler system, people don’t like the idea of a fire starting at the top of a building, or in the basement. That always means that it could spread up, or down, like a matchstick.
Patrick tried to grab the pan without taking his dick out of me. I started scooting my ass, legs still spread in a V, to the right so we could get closer. He was able to grasp the pan and pull it off the flames, just as the detector gave off a little beep.
“Just in the nick of time,” he said, and we both laughed.
Then he went right back to rubbing the hell out of my walls. We forgot all about eating and took it to the bedroom, where we went another four rounds, breaking our relationship record. Patrick was in rare form; very rare form.
Damon
November 1, 2007
MY therapy was going great. I was learning to control my new prosthetic arm. It was not easy at first, but between the home visits and my workout sessions at the hospital, things were moving along.
I had called Brooke the evening before, feeling bad that I hadn’t reached out to her before then. Part of me had expected her to call me again, to take me up on my lunch offer. She said that she was at the diner when I called, working the late shift, and could only speak for a moment. It worked out perfectly that she was working nights that particular week because that afforded her the opportunity to meet me for lunch.
I asked if she wanted to meet at America in Union Station. It seemed like a neutral point for us, and I figured that being in such a crowded place would make her feel more at ease. I didn’t want to ask her to go someplace quaint—or romantic. She might have got the impression that I expected something “warm and juicy” in return for saving her life. I really wanted to see her and was anxious as I sat at a window table, awaiting her arrival.
She came in, limping a little, and I recognized her right away. She was stunning. She spotted me as well and came over to the table, with a wide grin on her face.
“Damon!” she squealed out.
I stood up and gave her a hug. Our embrace lingered for a bit longer than a casual moment, and then she sat down. I took my seat again and smiled at her for a few silent seconds.
“I’m glad you could join me,” I said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thanks, so are you.” She picked up her menu. “I got my cast off last week.”
“Cool. I’ve had my arm for a few weeks.”
She suddenly seemed uneasy. “I’m so sorry about your arm.”
“I hope that you don’t keep saying that every time we talk.”
“I’m sorry.” She laughed after she realized she had done it again. “Oops! I’ll try not to say it again.”
“It’s okay, Brooke.” I pointed to the menu. “See anything you like?”
“I think that I’ll go with the fish and chips, unless you have a better suggestion. Have you eaten here before?”
“No, never.”
“So, you picked this place out of a hat?”
I chuckled. “No, I’m in Union Station quite often. I catch the train back and forth to New York several times a year. Our corporation is headquartered there.”
“Oh, that’s right. You actually have an exciting career; unlike me.”
“I can see that you’re the queen of putting yourself down.”
“No, I’m not,” she said defensively as the waitress came over to take our order. After we both ordered the fish and chips and lemonade, she continued, “What makes you think that I put myself down?”
I raised an eyebrow. “The words you say. What happened to you looking for a better profession? Something that you can be passionate about.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve had an actual dream that I don’t know what to be passionate about.”
“Come on. There has to be at least one thing you’re interested in.”
Brooke bit her bottom lip and got lost in deep thought for a moment.
“Well?” I prodded her.
“It’s funny, but since the accident, I’ve been going to the pharmacy so much that it’s started to seem interesting to me.”
“So you want to be a pharmacist? That’s great!”
“No way. It would take me years to become a pharmacist.” She paused. “But the people who work in the front, the technicians, seem like they have a lot of fun.”
“That should be easy to achieve. I can help you figure out how to do it.”
“I’m sure you have plenty of things to occupy your time already.” Bro
oke smiled at me and started snickering.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, wiping my face with the cloth napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No, silly. You haven’t eaten anything yet.”
Right on cue, the waitress returned with our food.
“This looks delicious,” Brooke said. “Wise choice.”
“I picked the place; you picked the food.” I picked up a fry and dipped it in ketchup. “Dig in.”
“The reason that I was laughing earlier is because I did some research on you on the internet and—”
“Instead of going to the employment sites that I told you about?”
Brooke smirked. “Yeah, instead of that.”
“And what did you discover about me, Miss Brooke?”
“I found out that you have a dating website.”
“I do. I own the Last Good Men. We’ve been around for a bit.” I sighed. “Let me guess. You think it’s foolish for me to have a dating site.”
“No, I think it’s sweet. You’re like a modern day cupid. What made you want to start it?”
I shrugged. “It’s a long story.”
“My shift doesn’t start until four. I’m all ears.”
“Are you telling me that you’re genuinely interested in it?”
“For sure. Why’d you start it?”
“Because I felt that there were a ton of sites out there, but none that had an actual screening process. Most of them are mere online meat markets. I wanted a site that focused on men—and women—who are searching for something real; something that will last.”
“Are you a good man?” she asked me before taking a sip of her lemonade. She was picking at her food and I got the feeling that she was self-conscious about her weight.
“I like to think so. My wife’s opinion fluctuates from day to day though.”
Brooke gasped. “How is your wife? I never thought to ask if she was injured during that collision.”
“No, she’s fine; at least physically. She’s struggling with the loss of my arm though. Before that day, she sported me as a trophy husband. Now I’m the blemished version.”
“An arm doesn’t make a man. His heart does, and you have an extremely big heart, Damon Johnson. Extremely big.”
I found myself blushing. It was not every day that I had a woman like Brooke compliment me. I take that back. Women had complimented me before the accident, but most of them were trying to get into my pants, especially Carleigh’s friends. Now I would walk past the kitchen or family room and hear them whispering about my “injury” like it was the end of the world as they knew it.
Carleigh would listen to them making disparaging comments about me, and I didn’t like it. I had yet to confront her though. It had to be hard on her, going from having what she conceived as the perfect husband to a having a man with a physical flaw. But she had married me with the expectation that one day—if we lived long enough—both of us would end up sick, elderly, and looking totally different than we did when we met. Isn’t that the way love, commitment, and lifetime commitment are supposed to go?
I looked at Brooke and she was still picking at her food.
“Since I have such a big heart, let me help you become a pharmacy technician. I can make a few phone calls and see what it would take, even help you get a jump start on a position after you complete your training.”
Brooke looked at me, then shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why? Because it’s out of your comfort zone?”
“No, because I don’t have the time.”
“You can make the time.” I gazed into her beautiful eyes. “We make time for what’s important.”
“I guess I see your point.”
“You wanted to be here today, right?”
“Yes, I did.” Now she was blushing.
“And you made the time.”
“But school is something different.”
“Isn’t your boyfriend a prominent attorney?”
She was stunned. “How did you know that?”
I shrugged. “I heard someone mention it someplace.” It had been all over the news; how Brooke was the girlfriend of one of the District’s most prominent men. “Can’t he help out?”
“Patrick would like nothing more than for me to be in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant with a huge diamond on my finger.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“He and I have a lot of issues.”
He’s a damn fool if he cheated on you, I thought. “I see. Well, if you decide that you want to do it, the pharmacy thing, let me know.”
“Okay, I will.”
Brooke and I finished up lunch, then walked around Union Station for a while, window-shopping. She saw this elegant, pricey dress at one store and stared at it for a long time.
“You like that dress?” I asked.
“It’s awesome … but I can’t afford it.” She paused. “And I wouldn’t look right in it, even if they had it in my size. This store caters to skinny women, looks like.”
“Well, I prefer women with meat on their bones.”
She looked up at me. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” She looked back at the dress in the window. “You’re a beautiful woman, Brooke. Your boyfriend’s very lucky.”
She giggled. “And you’re very charming. Your wife’s lucky, too.”
Brooke was blushing and I’m sure that I was as well.
A little while later we parted with another big hug and a smile. As I watched her walk away with a slight limp, I marveled at what a wonderful woman she was and hoped that our lunch would be the beginning of a wonderful friendship.
Brooke
November 21, 2007
OVER the next few weeks, Damon and I had lunch about twice a week. We always went to America, or one of the other restaurants in Union Station, and it was always perfectly innocent. We become good friends, and it seemed like we had known each other our entire lives. I’d always heard people talk about feeling that way about someone—like they had known each other in a previous life. I’d never experienced it until Damon.
I took the plunge. I let him talk me into registering for an online course to be a pharmacy technician. It would be a struggle, but at least I could do the classwork on my own time. I was required to go to campus to take tests, and I don’t blame them for that. Imagine if someone else fronted and did the course and then you ended up working in a pharmacy, messing up everything. I had to show photo identification when I took the exams. Like most women, I hated my license picture. It was my own fault. I should have made sure my hair was freshly done and my makeup tight before I stood in the long-ass line at the Department of Motor Vehicles. All the other women in there had looked worn-out the day that I renewed my license. After all, that is not exactly the kind of place you get dressed up to go to. You grab a good novel, a bottle of spring water, your cell phone, and sit on those hard-ass benches for your number to be called.
Patrick wasn’t happy about my decision to pursue school—probably because he had nothing to do with the decision-making process. I told him after the fact, when I already had my textbooks. I was still living with Destiny, but spent most of my time at his penthouse. He had ordered a bunch of other sex furniture from the Liberator website, even though my cast was a distant memory. The guest bedroom was beginning to look more like a sex club or porno-film set than anything else. We would go in there and fuck each other’s brains out to try to keep our minds off our problems.
I still didn’t trust him and didn’t think that I ever could again. I had no ready-made alternatives, so I hung in there. There were good days and bad days. One of the good days was when Patrick took me up on the roof and made love to me on a blanket underneath the stars. One of the bad days was the day he talked shit about my weight and tried to get me to do a bunch of perverted sex acts.
“I’m not doing that,” I told Patrick as he tried to shove a glass dildo up my ass.
“Come on, Brooke, you’ll l
ike it. It’s not that big.”
He had placed it in the freezer earlier that day and it was ice-cold. I was tempted to grab it out of his hand and clock him upside the head with it.
“You are not sticking that Popsicle up my ass, Patrick. Now leave me alone and let me go to sleep.”
I turned over on my side and pulled the comforter tight around my body, to make sure that he didn’t try to pull a fast one and ram it up me. I could have kicked myself for coming to bed nude. I was prepared to give him some pussy, but that was it. Not have my insides feel like the north fuckin’ pole.
“Just let me stick it in your pussy,” he whispered in my ear.
“You’re not following me.” I looked over my shoulder at him. “What would you get out of it anyway? That’s for a woman who wants it; for her enjoyment.”
“You will enjoy it, if you just try.”
“No, I won’t. I damn sure won’t enjoy that.”
Then he went and did it. He spewed the words: “Fat bitch!”
I sat up. “What did you say to me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your ears and I didn’t stutter.”
I sprang from the bed and headed for the walk-in closet.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Brooke? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I don’t give a shit what time it is!” I yelled from the closet. “I’m out of here!”
Patrick came and blocked the doorway of the closet. “You need to bring your ass back to bed and give me pussy.”
“You need to get a grip on reality. The days of you talking trash about me and then forcing me to spread my legs are over.”
“I’ve never forced you to do a damn thing.”
I sighed as I pulled a sweatshirt over my bare breasts. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but the days of me giving in to your nonsense are over.” I pulled on a pair of jeans and brushed past him. “Sometimes I fuckin’ hate you, Patrick.”
“You love me, Brooke. Always have, and you’ll never find another man like me.”
I paused and stared at him. “I pray that I don’t.”