Текст книги "Broken Crown"
Автор книги: Susan Ward
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter 12
Chrissie guides me down the hallway toward the back of the house, her hand in mine and her face sweetly averted.
Everything about her—her posture and expression—is shy and alluring. Fuck, this is nothing new for us, we’ve spent more than half our lives together in bed. But I can feel her nervousness mixed with static anxiousness. It’s cute and a turn-on.
God, I love her. This amazing woman, changeable yet constant, who has confounded me every minute of our life together.
She releases my hand once we’re inside her room. I pull her into my arms, holding her flush against me and the door. She gasps, startled, and I can feel her against me and I know she can feel me.
I stare down at her, bodies touching, nothing more. The darkness of the room is good. Maybe it will keep in control my damn libido. I want her in a way that is painful. A way that warns me if I don’t take this slow I’m going to be over too early. The last thing I want is for this fuck to be quick with Chrissie.
But the buildup.
The thinking about it.
Being with her.
The thrill of the anticipation.
Dick-ripping agony.
Fuck, I’m surprised I haven’t already come. Every inch has been hard and pulsing for release since she said “Stay the night with me, Alan.”
I take in a deep, steadying breath. My fingers lace through her hair and bring her face up to me, lips close, not touching.
Her eyes widen, locking on mine.
“I love you, Chrissie,” I whisper. I lean down and lightly kiss her, then tease her lower lip with mine. I inhale deeply the scent of her. My cock hardens more. “I don’t want to fuck. I want to make love. But I’m on fire. I need to do this slowly.”
She studies me, her eyes enormous on her face. Then she laughs. “God, we’re ridiculous, Alan. We’ve gone to bed together hundreds of times. Why are we both nervous?”
Both nervous?
Oh fuck, she’s right—
I am nervous.
Her eyes have an expression of understanding and her cheeks just a wash of rose color. She’s entrancing. Intoxicating. She loves me and I love her and I am being ridiculous.
This woman makes me crazy.
The only woman ever to knock me off my feet, run roughshod over my body, and have me want it as she does it. I am fully lit and ready to fuck her. She’s fully lit and ready for me. The signals emanating from both of us are familiar and crystal fucking clear.
But I’m stalled.
I don’t know why.
Then I shift my eyes to hers. Instant comprehension. There are times when who she is, what she’s feeling, and what she needs move through my body like Morse code.
She really is nervous and it doesn’t take an expert in women to know why. This is not a Chrissie cuteness moment or flash of emotional illogical. Fuck, she just had a baby—my baby. This is new for her, for me, and for the both of us.
I take a moment to cool my body. I’m not sure how to do this, make love to a new mother, but fuck, tossing her on the bed and taking her from behind I’m pretty sure wouldn’t be a winner. Bucking hard between her thighs probably not much better. A blow job—don’t be absurd, this is Chrissie. My dick pulses at the thought of her mouth on my cock even though he knows we’re not going to get it.
I trail my thumb along her cheek, touching light kisses behind it, and her breathing changes—quick spirts in and near-noiseless gasps out. I lightly tease her lip and she kisses my thumb. I take her mouth firmly, holding her lips to mine, and her response is soft and sweet and urgent.
Maintaining the kiss, I take her hands and walk backward to the bed, moving her with me. I sit, my legs apart, and ease her into me, her thighs against my groin and my cheek against her stomach. My arms go around her, my palms filled with her ass, and I press her up against me, against my erection. She moans. My lips roam across her middle in light kisses and hot breaths pushed through her shirt. Her arms slide down my back. Her lips move in my hair.
This is good. This is working for the both of us. I have to make allowances for her body and my own novice status in this experience. She is panting. Wanting. Moving and melting into my touch.
We’ve fucked this way before.
In agonizing slowness.
Tender.
Giving.
Nothing new.
Only this moment is new—the first time I make love to the mother of my child—then it won’t be. It will be us.
I close my eyes and a shudder moves through me. For some reason that makes my desire to be buried in her even more bludgeoning, my arousal more intense, and my disarray more complete.
Her hands move up and down my spine. “Why aren’t you making love to me, Alan?”
I look at her. “I’ve missed you so much. It’s a lot to absorb. Being here. With you. Everything.” My voice is husky with want, but laced with other things I didn’t want her to hear.
I need to get a grip.
“It’s a lot for me, too, but I love you, I want this, and I want you, Alan.”
She starts kissing me, caressing my cheek and stroking my hair. I close my eyes, savoring her. The smell of her. The taste of her. The touch of her. It makes me desperate for her.
My hands caress her back beneath her shirt and then I pull it over her head. I can’t take my eyes off her. Every part of her is lush and perfect.
I want to taste, touch, and explore every inch of her. It’s the body that haunts me, even down to the infinity symbol burned into her hip.
I ease forward and touch my lips there. She takes my wrist and lightly runs her tongue along the tattoo I had made the exact shape and size of her infinity bracelet. Everything below my waist tightens.
I study her in awed appreciation. Her breasts are larger, fuller, the shape and color of her nipples different, but oh, they are no less gorgeous than they’ve always been.
I run my palms up the side of her hips, past the smallness of her waist, up to her breasts. Gently I cup them, feeling their weight in my palms, before I brush over the nipples with my thumbs, their shape swelling under my steady gaze. I do it again, a little rougher. She groans. I run my tongue around one rose edge, watching in agony as it hardens and extends.
Christ, I’ve barely touched them, and Chrissie is panting, lips parted, and I know if I put my fingers inside her panties she is wet and ready there. I start rolling the rosy tips in my thumbs and forefingers, alternating with blows and licks.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper, increasing the intensity of my touch before taking one of her nipples wholly in my mouth. She gasps, grasping my hair tightly as I suck hard. Her body bows, her pelvis moving against me, and she starts to make little whimpers.
Oh fuck, she’s going to come and I haven’t even fully undressed her.
“Oh no, you have to stop,” she begs.
She’s shaking.
It’s working.
She’s almost there.
Hell no, I’m not stopping.
I plant a hand on her ass, guiding her body into my forward-thrusting hips as she grinds against me. The fullness of her breasts turns rock hard, but she doesn’t stop, she is too far gone, and then sweet fluid from her tits is running down my throat and my shirt is dripping. The quivering of her body increases and she lets go, driving me to distraction.
I struggle to hold my own body back. I never expected having a woman’s breasts run would be a turn-on. But, oh fuck, watching her get off this way is one nerve-jolting show. Even the taste of her milk makes me pulse harder.
I lie back on the bed, taking her with me, and quickly kiss her, capturing the breathless pants from her mouth. Lord, I want her now, and he sure as fuck wants out of these pants.
I turn her beneath me. Between kisses and touches I pull off her shorts and tiny thong. I kiss her navel. Her pelvis. My hands roam anxiously, travel downward to her vulva. I do a slow circle around her with the tips of my fingers. I groan…she’s fucking beyond wet.
I shed my clothes and cover her with my body. “I’ve never seen you come so hard, so fast. It’s a fucking miracle my cock didn’t explode just watching you.” I thrust a finger inside her as I devour her mouth. She is hot and tight and wet…and fuck, she’s thrusting again into my palm. I press the heel of my hand to her clitoris, pushing, and she cries out, writhing beneath me, on the edge of orgasm again.
I angle my body between her legs, pushing them farther apart, touching her cunt with the tip of my cock, shimmying side to side, teasing her, but not plunging.
She tenses and her eyes fly wide. Her expression changes.
What?
Panic?
Oh fuck, don’t tell me to stop now.
She pulls her body from underneath me, then completely away to the far side of the bed, and I fall on my pillow, groaning. How did I blow this? My cock does a painful jolt in protest and my body shudders.
“Chrissie—”
She silences me with a scorching kiss and moves until she’s straddling me. I open my eyes. Her face is above me, passion flushed, tense and ready to go. Oh shit—she’s trying to rip open a foil square.
Really, Chrissie?
Fucking rubbers?
Then all the things I’ve done in the last year flash through my head. I regretted them when I did them. But never as much as I do now, coming face-to-face with the only woman I’ve ever loved and shared full intimacy with, trusted enough to give her all of me after the nightmare of Molly’s mother, grabbing for a rubber before she lets me inside her.
It’s wounding.
It hurts.
I’m amazed my cock is still on board.
With unexpected skill, Chrissie pinches the tip to get out the air, and rolls the rubber down all ten inches exactly right. She adds a nice squeeze before she moves her hand. I groan, and before I can move she gloves my erection with her cunt and jams me roughly into her.
Her fingers curl in my hair like claws and I move my body in her, up and down, flexing hips, as far I can go, devouring her with my kisses. The deeper I go, the harder and faster she moves. She is shaking again, and I want to rage inside her until there is nothing left in me but her.
I clutch her against me, kissing her wildly, more tongue, deeper and harder than I’ve ever fucked her mouth. She cries out—oh fuck, I don’t want to come yet—but she is tightening around me, shuddering, and I let go in a ripping release that shoots across every nerve in me, head to toe.
I struggle to catch my breath, my limbs are shaking, and my pelvis continues flexing even as I try to quiet me. I breathe in and out and she melts down onto me.
I wrap her in my arms and kiss her hair. My gaze shifts to the clock. It’s only midnight. I’ve got eight more hours. I can still make love to her the way I want to tonight. The way she deserves. The way we both deserve it.
I adjust her on my chest until she’s curled into my side, one leg and arm draped over me. She begins to softly touch and kiss me. Fuck, I have missed this. Her. The way it feels to be sex-drained and surrounded by Chrissie.
I pull off the rubber, knot it and drop it on the floor. A prick of irritation. An unwanted intruder. I don’t want to ruin the minutes of the after with her. But fuck, I want to feel the inside of her tight and wet around me. No buffer. Just my flesh and hers.
I lightly brush her back. I bury my lips in her hair. “The condoms aren’t unnecessary, Chrissie. I get checked regularly, and I’ve always been paranoid and careful. You know that. But I’ll go get checked for everything again. And then can we lose the damn rubbers?”
Her chin lifts from my chest. Her eyes are strangely intense. “No. We can’t. They are very necessary, Alan. I went off the pill before I married Jesse. While the possibility of me getting pregnant is pretty low, I don’t want to risk it. Do you?”
Oh fuck. Not on the pill.
Worse, I brought Jesse into the room with us.
If the mention of Jesse is upsetting to her, it doesn’t feel like it. She’s still kissing my chest and her fingers are lightly stroking down my abdomen. She hovers at that tattoo on my lower abdomen, tracing it with a fingertip in a manner I know well. Then lower and lower, but fuck, never there.
My body stirs and my cock starts to harden again anyway. “How many condoms do you have? I hope you don’t have just one.”
She laughs.
Good.
Tense moment and mention of Jesse gone from the bedroom.
Her breasts tantalizingly massage against me as her body shudders with her amusement. She peeks at me, her cheeks flushed and her angel eyes lusty. “A full box. Minus one. I planned ahead.”
I drag her upward on my body, filling my hands with the flesh of her ass and molding her against my erection as I fuck her mouth with my kiss.
She starts to move against me, rubbing her clit there. She stills and pulls against my arms to lift her face. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
Frowning, I watch her spring from the bed, grab my shirt from the floor, cover her body and hurry out the door. Groaning, my head falls back against the pillow.
Where did she go?
Get me rock hard again and then take off.
So Chrissie.
I hear her voice from the hallway. I turn on my side and lean up on a hip and elbow just as she comes into the room and kicks the door closed behind her.
Fuck, she went for the baby.
How did she hear Khloe?
I didn’t hear anything.
I sit up in bed, for some reason covering my lower body with a sheet—stupid, Alan, stupid—as Chrissie settles beside me.
“She woke up?” I ask.
“No,” she says in a long, exaggerated way, smiling at Khloe as she settles her on a pillow across her lap. “You hovered at my tits too long. They’re painful. I need her, otherwise they’ll drip all night and hurt like hell in the morning.”
I try to look contrite. “It worked out well, though, didn’t it?”
She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and her eyes begin to sparkle. “Pretty darn good. But there’s a trade. Here’s the trade. I’ve got to feed her and get her back to sleep before we get to do anything else.”
It doesn’t look promising. The baby is irate from being woken. Not going to happen again tonight, Alan. I recline on my side and watch. She brushes a nipple against the baby’s mouth, and when it opens, she shoves it in.
Fuck, Chrissie is mesmerizing. Even more enthralling now that she is comfortable and natural about her body. Totally different from the girl I fell in love with. Exactly the same in other ways.
Beautiful.
They both are.
I feel emotion clog my throat.
A sting to my eyes.
Fuck, not tears again.
I run a hand through my hair, then give the waves a hard clutch with my fingers trying to hold back what I’m feeling. Not working. I close my eyes.
I feel her hand on my cheek. She leans in and kisses me. She smiles. “She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?”
I don’t trust my voice. I nod.
She starts to lightly trace the baby’s nose with a fingertip. Her brows pucker. “Do you feel the same way about Khloe that you did about Molly being born?”
I stare at her, stunned. I can’t believe she remembers. It was so long ago when I told her about Molly. I was a bastard. I didn’t want anyone to see what I truly felt. Not really. Then Chrissie slipped under my guard and I shared with her more about me than I ever have with anyone. Though some of the things I said were wrong—maybe true at the time—but I shouldn’t have said them to her.
I pretend not to understand the question.
Her frown lowers. She takes in a deep breath.
Her eyes lock with mine. “You said that you never wanted Molly. You didn’t want to be bothered having to care about someone. But that she was a cute thing and eventually had you. Is that how you feel about Khloe being here? You don’t want her, but like you have to be OK with it because it’s something I’ve already done?”
Oh fuck, Chrissie.
She anxiously gnaws her lips, and her expression tears me apart inside. I curl an arm around her neck, careful of the baby, until my forehead rests against hers.
“No. No. Never. That isn’t even close to what I feel. Khloe is everything I want that I never thought I would have. I’ve loved you both from the first moment I saw each of you. That’s what I feel.”
She sniffs back a tear and then pulls back. She lets out a ragged breath. I can’t read her expression. Please, baby, believe me. Don’t doubt me on this.
Khloe starts to cry. It’s not surprising. When Chrissie is emotionally messy she pulses with it. Hell, the entire fucking house pulses when she’s upset.
I lift the baby from the pillow. I’m surprised by how effortless it is, how I remember how to handle a newborn out of nowhere. I lie back on the pillows with her on my chest, doing little jiggles of her body while Chrissie sits there staring and alertly watching each change of my expression.
“Go to sleep, Khloe,” I say soothing. “Be a good girl, for me. Your mum is kicking me out in seven hours.”
Chrissie starts to laugh and I smile. I can feel the tension leaving her. Maybe she’ll stop radiating emotion.
I smile and climb from the bed. I jiggle and pace.
“You’re good at that,” Chrissie says.
“I’m good at this if she goes back to sleep. And shush. No talking. She’ll stay awake if she hears you.”
She nods, makes a face, and settles on her side, watching me. She yawns and stretches out, running a hand through her hair. Absolute sexiness in every moment without trying. How long is it going to take me to get this kid asleep?
I touch my lips to Khloe’s hair. Jesus Christ, this is not what I expected when I set out from New York a week ago. But then, nothing is ever what I expect with Chrissie.
I walk the floor for thirty minutes.
I glance down at the baby. “She’s asleep. I’ll be right back.”
I go into the nursery and set Khloe carefully into the crib. I wait. Nothing. Perfect. I still have six hours here.
I go back to the bedroom, softly close the door, climb beneath the blankets and turn into Chrissie.
Fuck.
She’s asleep.
Chapter 13
I wake with a start. My eyes open and slowly focus. It’s too fucking bright in here, but then it’s Chrissie’s bedroom. Of course it’s flooded with sunlight.
I inhale deeply and smell the scent of sex in the air. Memories of the night flash in my head. My body stirs.
I turn in bed, yawning and stretching out. Christ, I feel good this morning. Physically drained in the right way, instead of the way I normally feel.
I check the clock. 7 a.m. I’m awake one hour before our negotiated time of my departure. Oh, I’m definitely ready to start up again.
Things are looking up. Sending Aarsi here was a brilliant move. I’m out of isolated purgatory. I’m back in Chrissie’s bed. It won’t be long until we’re together again. I just need to figure out how to keep us moving in the right direction. It should be easier now we’re fucking again. I’m back in control. I need to keep it that way.
It’s time to wake her.
Get one more good fuck in before she sends me home.
Fuck, I don’t want to go home.
I roll over in bed, my arm moving to reach for her. I freeze and stare. Bed empty. Where the hell did she go?
I climb from the sheets and spot the used condom on the floor. Shit, I hated using that with Chrissie. I love the feel of being inside her bareback. I collect the miserable thing. The condoms are another thing I’ve got to fix quickly.
My cock twitches as I wad it up in a ball with some tissue and toss it into the trash. As much as I hate rubbers it was kind of a turn-on that she bought them. Maybe thought of me while she did. Had them ready in the drawer. Planned last night ahead.
Then I remember her telling me why she had them. No longer a turn-on. And oh, definitely good she planned ahead.
Not on the pill.
Fuck, that’s all we need.
We’ll have to discuss that one real soon.
We don’t need more complications.
Chrissie comes with a full load of complications already.
I still haven’t figured out how to mold us back together. I don’t think we’re going to transition from fucking to being together quite as quickly as we used to. There’s too much to work through.
I go into the bathroom, take a leak, and make a fast stop in the shower to rinse off. I gargle with some mouthwash, and then grab my clothes. I pull on my pants, and shake my head as I zip up my fly. I wish she’d stayed in the bed. It’s maddening being the one to wake up alone. To know that my role is to dress and get out of here quickly before the kids see me.
It’s galling that she expects me to slip quietly away.
I reach for my shirt.
I go into the hallway and make my way past open doors. Empty room. Empty room. At least it’s quiet in the house. Ethan and Khloe must still be asleep. Maybe I can get Chrissie back into bed for a little while longer.
I cut through the kitchen. Vacant. This is ridiculous. My clock is running out. I’m wasting my last minutes here just trying to find her. Why didn’t she stay in bed? Why is nothing ever simple with Chrissie?
I go into the family room and stare out the wall of glass. Ah, there she is. She’s curled in a chair, face tilted to the sun, long, messy, unbrushed blond hair streaming down her back, and she’s got Khloe in her arms latched to her breast.
God, she’s got fantastic breasts.
Fuck, kid got there first.
Chrissie’s not going back to bed with me today.
I slide open the door and step out. I hang back and watch her for a moment. She’s breathtaking in the morning. Even dressed like that. An old Cal sweatshirt, boxer shorts, and heavy, comfy, thick knit footy socks with the toes turned into idiotic designs of a dog’s face. The mommy wardrobe of a woman exiting her youth. I find her sexy dressed even in that.
Her face turns toward me. “I made coffee. It’s there on the patio table. You probably can finish a cup before you have to hit the road.”
Not the good morning I wanted.
She smiles. “I’d make you breakfast before you go only my hands are full.”
“I don’t need breakfast. You should have just brought Khloe back to bed with us. I would have rather woken up with you.”
I pour a cup of coffee and settle on the chair next to her. Chrissie lapses into silence. She doesn’t look at me. I wonder if this feels as strange to her as it does to me, like we’re moving cautiously in every move. Are we off? Or is it this odd ritual of deliberately pulling apart from each other in the morning and her kicking me out before the kids return?
The smile is no longer on her face. OK, she’s feeling something, too, and doesn’t like this either. This sneaking out of the house nonsense is not going to work for me. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to organize how to say this to her. It’s better to be upfront.
“I understand what you’re trying to do,” I say carefully, “and why you think you need to do it. But this is the last time I spend the night with you and slip out the side door early in the morning. And don’t expect me to pretend I don’t love you, that we’re not involved, when we’re around your kids.”
Her eyes flash. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do. I’m asking you to have a little sensitivity for my children. You can’t force change on children too quickly. It’s better that we move slowly in this.”
Sensitivity?
Is she fucking kidding?
That was insensitive to me, Chrissie.
“One of your children is mine,” I bite out before I can stop myself. “Am I sneaking out the back door to be sensitive for her, too? For how long are we going to do this? One year? Ten? This is absurd. You’ve already told your kids everything. They know I’m Khloe’s father. Me being here with you shouldn’t surprise any of them. I’m not being insensitive. I want to be here. With all of you. It isn’t even change for the kids.”
Where the fuck did that speech come from? Be here? With all of them? What am I saying? Even I’m not sure and lack of declarative sentences is never a good thing with Chrissie. She always takes everything wrong.
I shift my gaze to find her studying my face. Fuck, I know that expression.
“I think you need to leave, Alan,” she says, lowering her gaze to Khloe as she takes back her nipple. She jerks her shirt down and hurries into the house.
Oh fuck, that worked out brilliantly.
I don’t finish my coffee. I go back into the house and into the kitchen to wait for her. A few minutes later, she returns. She doesn’t have Khloe in her arms anymore. Hopefully not an indication she’s in the mood to continue the fight. Time to start this over.
“Why don’t we just get married this time, Chrissie? We can figure it all out as we need to.”
I say the words before I realize what they are. What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I just ask her to marry me after our first night being back together over coffee and a fight? This is not going to go well.
The air fills with prickling tension.
She stares at me.
Anxious. Frustrated. Angry.
“I’m forty-one years old, Alan. I have five kids. I don’t have a right to make snap decisions. I don’t have a right to have affairs in front of my children. And I definitely don’t have a right not to put them first. I can’t let myself decide life changes for them for the sake of expediency or sleeping a few extra hours in bed in the morning. I’m sorry if you find that inconvenient. It’s the way it is. Learn to deal with it.”
All those words. A tight little speech. Not one useful line to clarify things for me. Fuck, she didn’t even acknowledge the proposal with a direct answer. I may have done that badly, but I was serious and I know that she knows that.
Damn it.
I can feel it.
We’re slipping back into the quagmire. It’s time to be perfectly clear. It will probably have the effect of a pipe bomb being lit inside Chrissie.
“I’m here, Chrissie. That’s my daughter in the nursery. So get used to the idea of me fitting in somewhere in your life. As for where we are today, whatever we’re doing, it’s not an affair so don’t call it that again. Talk to your kids. Do what you need to do. Decide what you want from me. I asked you to marry me. I apologize for having done it poorly. But I meant it. I expect a serious answer from you. And this is the last time I slip out in the morning so the kids don’t see me.”
She stares at me. Silent. No explosion, but she doesn’t look happy. Fine, Chrissie. We’ll do it your way. Oh fuck, just don’t make it last forever.
It’s time for me to leave. This is not the way I hoped my morning would end and I don’t want to ruin it further.
I lean in and place a light kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t look at me. Nope, she’s angry and not going to soften up anytime soon and she certainly is not going to go back to bed with me.
I go down the hallway to the nursery. Khloe is asleep in her crib. It’s an unexpectedly unpleasant feeling knowing I’m slipping out the door in a house where my daughter sleeps.
I stare down at her and then drop a kiss on the top of her head. Nothing. She doesn’t stir. She is a sound sleeper. I could have had a great fucking morning with Chrissie if I hadn’t blown it.
As I make my way to the front door, I debate going back in and trying to talk to her. I’m not sure what more there is to say. I told her my perspective on this. I’ve asked her to marry me. I’ve asked for an answer. Better not to go back. I should give her some time to sort through this. It will work out better if I don’t push her.
I stop at the console table next to the front door. Fuck, my keys are gone. I pat the pockets of my pants and don’t feel anything. Who took my keys? Oh fuck, if it was Ethan I’ll never find them.
I open the front door, grab my phone from my pocket and then hit the app. I’ll just turn on the car remotely. I don’t hear anything. Does the fucking app not work?
I stop. I stare. I turn off the phone. Fuck. My car is gone. Did someone steal it? Then I see Kaley’s black Lexus parked in the driveway. Oh fuck. She didn’t. Dread curls in my digestive tract.
Why would she do that?
Why would she take my car?
Oh no. She must have come back last night. She saw me here and she’s old enough to know what I was doing with her mother.
She’s upset.
Sensitivity.
I get it, Chrissie.
Message received, Kaley.
Discovering me here last night has propelled Kaley from hostile over Khloe to ready to provoke confrontation. I’m not certain why Kaley is so angry about this—it’s indisputable she’s angry—but we used to have such a good relationship.
I don’t understand her anymore. Her unrelenting unpleasantness. That’s not Kaley. Memories of her as a little girl intrude in my thoughts. She was such a little sweetheart, but then I remember she did like confrontation. The girl has been throwing emotional Molotov cocktails whenever she could almost from birth. An attribute that irritates the hell out of me. Though there were times it was amusing. But it’s not going to be amusing today. She’s decided to finally let it out and she wants a face-to-face with me.
I need to find my car.
I hit the find my car app and wait. A map loads. Well, at least she didn’t go far with it. I take a moment to wonder why she’s at Ian Kennedy’s, then I recall when she texted Chrissie that she was spending the night at the Kennedys’.
It’s been a long time since I’ve walked a city mile anywhere. I’ve always found LA an unpleasant place for pedestrians. At least it’s still early. The streets are nearly empty and not enough cars have crossed the concrete yet for the asphalt to have that horrid carbon monoxide smell that makes walking even in Pacific Palisades particularly unpleasant. There’s still the undiluted salty tang of an ocean breeze as I walk downhill toward Ian’s place.
Clear air in LA for a change.
This is fucking humiliating.
No one walks in LA.
Kaley wants to get my attention.
Well, fine, she’s got it.
I’ve been to Ian’s house hundreds of time. Why does everything look different when you walk? I check my phone, using the GPS for directions. Everything is thrown together, especially the residential streets, in a haphazard way in LA.
There, I know that house. Large Spanish villa, stucco walls, and black iron gate. Oh fuck, there is no way through the gate without ringing.
I hit the button on the intercom. I wait several minutes. Nothing. I don’t give a fuck if you’re sleeping Ian. I camp on the button.
“Manny, is that you?”
Ian’s drowsy voice on the static intercom.
Christ, he can see me on the security cameras.
I bypass pleasantries. “Open the fucking gate, Ian.”
“Manny? What the fuck are you doing out walking in my neighborhood this time of day? Jesus Christ, is everything OK, man?”
