Downtown Devil: Book 2 in series (Sins in the City) (26 page)

“Because you slide everywhere. You need to, like, brace your knees or your elbows or whatever and before you know it you’re doing a split.”

“Oh, right.”

“Would you hit the overhead light?”

He did, then it was time to get undressed. Weird. And weird that it was weird.

She read his mind, grinning, then laughing, as she unbuttoned her top. “Why does this feel dirty? We’ve had sex with each other.”

“I don’t think it feels
dirty
,” he said, peeling off his tee. “Just funny. But why, I have no clue. We’ve done way more than, like, accidentally bump our bare legs together in bed.”

Clare stripped all the way, to his surprise, and he looked away when her panties dropped to the floor, his face heating. He turned his attention to his own disrobing, stopping at his tee and boxers. When he next looked to Clare she was wearing a black tank and gray drawstring shorts, tossing the far side of the covers open. Her outfit didn’t do much to thwart his cock’s baser ideas—she looked like sex in everything from a parka down to the bare skin God gave her.

He got under his side of the bedclothes, and immediately his body felt awkward. His arms were folded atop the comforter, his legs crossed at the ankle. It felt like he was doing some stiff impression of a man ready to fall asleep. Clare, on the other hand, looked perfectly comfortable. Her glasses were gone, folded on the bedside table. She switched off the lamp, leaving just the pink cast of the small red paper lights strung along the bay window at the head of her bed. She turned onto her side to face him, curling her legs up toward her chest, tenting the covers. She had one hand under her cheek and the other arm bent, resting between them.

“Thanks again,” she said. “And for leaving my roommate with the impression that I’m scoring with you—she’s been waiting ages for me to move on from my ex. She’ll be delighted to think I managed it with a guy who’s nice in addition to also being hot.”

“Oh, well, good. Does she know about . . . you know?”

“No. Not about the three of us, at least.”

He felt his face go warm again, even as relief softened his muscles. “No? I thought girls talked about everything.”

“And I would’ve thought I’d tell her anything . . . but I haven’t. And if I ever do, I won’t tell her you were involved—I’m assuming you’d prefer I didn’t.”

“You’d be right.”

“No problem, then.”

They were quiet for a time, Vaughn feeling dozy and warm and pleasant, and sure, sexually charged up beneath it all. How could he not? He was in Clare’s bed.

“There’s a fancy name for this, right?” he asked, holding up a bit of the bedspread. “The pattern, I mean. Nobody calls this
zigzag
anymore, do they?”

“
Chevron
is the ten-dollar word for it. But you’re right, it’s pretty bougie. Like, who would be pompous enough to say Charlie Brown wears a chevron shirt?”

“Exactly.”

Clare sighed and rolled onto her back, stretched her arms up above her head, slipping her hands under her pillow. Beneath the chevron sea, the points of her feet moved back and forth like she was making a snow angel. Sheet angel. Vaughn did the same, liking the swish of the satin against his calves.

“It was nice, tonight,” she said at length. “Nice hanging out with a guy and just feeling like . . . I dunno, just enjoying it, without wondering the whole time what he must be thinking, or whatever. I was never, ever really relaxed around Mica, when I think about it. Excited, and anxious, and, like, really fucking horny—”

Vaughn couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Sure.”

“But I was never relaxed. He kept me edgy, and a lot of times that feels pretty hot, but it’s not the sort of feeling that’s going to make for a relationship, is it?”

“Not a healthy one, no.”

She sighed again. “Oh well.”

He thought back to when he’d first met her, and how he’d assumed she must be more like Mica than she was like him—that impulsive flings just went hand in hand with her funky clothes and her artistic nature. Funny how deep down, she was far more like Vaughn. Caught up in Mica’s spell, but wanting more. Wanting passion, but not at the expense of stability. Could you have both? He wasn’t willing to believe they were mutually exclusive.

She slid her hands from under the pillow to toy with her curls. “Like I said, tonight was really nice. Really fun. Just what I needed, after the day I had.”

“Glad I could be of service.”

She smiled at him in the near dark. “You mean what you said earlier? You want to maybe stay friends, even with him not yanking us toward each other? Grab a drink once a week, or just hang out, like tonight? If it’s just too weird, after all the sex stuff, that’s fine. My feelings aren’t that delicate.”

“No, no, I’d like that.” Though whether he would actually call her, when the time came . . . It had little to do with the things they’d done with Mica. What it came down to, really, was whether Vaughn could settle for just friends, when he was already falling for her, and already knew how she made him feel in bed. That was a lot of shit to walk back, and he wasn’t sure he was capable of it without reducing himself into a besotted idiot. It’d hurt if they did stay friends, and then she started seeing someone else. He could admit that. And he wasn’t sure it was worth it.

T
he conversation took a casual turn, the two of them chatting in the dimness, the topic flitting easily from restaurants to movies to their first cars. As Vaughn was telling her about a harrowing incident involving a Buick LeSabre, Clare got caught for a moment, just watching him. Staring at him. Huh. Normally a man as good-looking and well put together as Vaughn would be tough to overlook, but while he was handsome, Mica was something all together different—startling, heart-stopping, rare. Mica was an orchid, nearly baffling to look upon, and even a rose set beside such a specimen would seem mundane.

But really, Vaughn was beautiful, in his more accessible, ordinary way. Lovely skin, and those warm brown eyes, strong jaw, strong hands. And he was so many things Mica wasn’t and couldn’t ever be. He was grown. Mature. Only a year older than his best friend, yet so thoroughly a man at twenty-nine, while Mica was in many ways still a teenager. Vaughn embodied qualities that Clare never would have included on her requirements list for a serious boyfriend even a few weeks ago. She’d been too preoccupied with what she was losing—
freedom, abandon, adventure—she’d not stopped to wonder what she might gain with someone else, as her fling with Mica came to a close. And all those things were right here, embodied in this kind and sexy person. He was reliable, responsible, responsive, present, both articulate about his needs and feelings and also unashamed of them, unafraid of them. He’d dedicated his life to service, and not for the money or glory. He valued family, both his own and as an institution, and as a life goal.

What Vaughn was that Mica was not, she realized, was full. Both were beautiful vessels—Mica was breathtaking, but largely empty. Vaughn was attractive, sturdy, and full to the brim with feelings and plans and values. Mica dazzled, but Vaughn delivered.

I like him.
She always had. She’d been more than happy to enjoy his body and his company, and he could excite and please her, and she imagined he probably could without Mica present. Maybe he couldn’t blow her mind the way the two of them together could, the way Mica’s pushy, kinky dynamics could, but sex with Vaughn alone might still be perfectly satisfying. And sustainable, unlike the high she’d been chasing these past few weeks.

Unless I royally fucked myself, sleeping with both of them.
Could a man fall for a woman who’d been with his best friend—who’d been openly and mortally
infatuated
with his best friend? It was a lot to hope for. But then again, nothing about the situation was ordinary. The sex they’d all shared had been exceptional, as was the two men’s history together.

But would the sort of sexual history we’ve all shared enrich a one-on-one relationship,
she wondered,
or undermine it?

It was dumb to be getting keyed up about it, when she had zero clue if he even liked her that way.

He came over, didn’t he? He’s here with me now, isn’t he?

She rolled onto her side and poked his arm where it lay atop the covers. When his eyes opened and turned her way she told him, “I’m really glad you came over. I wouldn’t have ever asked you to. Not while I’m this bummed out and lacking in charm.”

“That’s why I didn’t wait for an invitation.”

“This is way beyond the call of duty for . . . whatever we are.”
Fuckbuddies?

“You mean friends?” he asked, perfect teeth glinting in the shadows.

She shrugged. “With benefits.”

“Why should the benefits make me care any less?”

“I dunno . . . Because you’re a guy. Not to generalize, but guys have a tendency to get cagey when simple things start getting more complex.”

“We were never simple, Clare. The three of us, this whole situation. You walked into the middle of something that’s been complicated for years. In fact . . .” He reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Tonight, this, right now? This is the simplest any of this has gotten.”

He was right. And was it any great coincidence that it happened to be the first night when Mica wasn’t with them?

Though his hand lingered around hers, his lids had drifted shut once more. She twisted her own hand around so she could twine her fingers with his, and Vaughn’s eyes opened, his expression attentive.

“I’m going to tell you something I bet you’ve heard a million times,” she said.

“Okay.”

“You’re a good man. A really, really good man.”

He smiled, and it was a bashful gesture. His pleasure was open and humble. “Thanks.”

“You must hear that a lot. From girlfriends or whoever.”

“Now and then. Means more coming from my dad . . . and from you.”

More from me, than a girlfriend?
“Why?” she asked, unable to help herself. “Why would it mean more coming from me?”

He swallowed, his gaze dropping to her throat or chin. “Well, because you know something really, really personal about me. Something nobody else knows besides Mica. Not my dad, or any other friend or lover. Not anybody.”

“Oh.”

“And it’s something I’ve felt conflicted about for ages. Something that’s really eaten away at me, over the years. Something I wondered if any woman would be okay with, if I ever decided to be honest about who I’ve been.”

Vaughn’s sexual relationship with Mica had never truly scandalized her—she’d been feeling too scandalous herself to be shocked. But he was a black man living in a working-class community, holding a blue-collar job. There was a lot of pressure to be a quote-unquote man’s man, and not much cachet to being edgy or experimental when it came to your sexuality. It was a sector of society where homophobia was still the norm, perhaps even encouraged. Most certainly safest.

“I don’t think any less of you, knowing any of that.” She laughed. “I mean, hell, I think it’s hot, if I’m totally honest.”

“Well, that’s something.”

She eyed him carefully, thoroughly, openly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to kiss or anything?”

He blinked. “Do you?”

“I think so. But I don’t really know where I want it to go. If I just feel really close to you right now, or if I want to feel something nice after the day I’ve had. Or if I want more. I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Messing around with some guys is like signing up to go skydiving. If you bothered getting in the plane you better fucking be ready to jump or else there’s going to be a big-ass tantrum to deal with.”

He laughed.

“Of course, you wouldn’t be like that, would you? You’ve been the picture of gentlemanliness from the minute I met you.”

“I don’t know if it’s that, so much as you’d be totally worth getting blue balls over.”

Clare’s turn to laugh. “Wow, and romantic to boot.”

“Anyhow, that’s a yes. I want to kiss, if you do. How it ends will just be a fun mystery to solve.”

“Okay. Deal.”

She scooted closer, biting her lip, feeling silly but excited. Their knees touched under the covers, then she slid her thigh just between his. His neck was warm as she cupped it with her palm, and his lips were as soft as ever when she brushed them with hers.

They started out sweet, nearly chaste, the tension ratcheting slowly, slowly, so very unlike all her encounters with Mica. It was as though they’d never done all the filthy things they had with each other, as though this was all a first date out of an alternate universe. In time the kiss deepened, until he was sampling her mouth in deep tastes, one hand holding her jaw, the other gently squeezing her ass.

She freed her mouth. “You feel good. Really good.” She rubbed his back and the swells of muscle at his shoulders, those stunning arms.

“Think you can go back to just one man, after everything we’ve done?” He was teasing, his tone warm.

“Happily, believe it or not. Two’s company; three’s a performance.” And though she’d been craving Mica’s focused attention before tonight, being with Vaughn alone felt like just as much of a treat. Not
intimidating, as Mica’s attention could feel. Softer, easier. She could relax around Vaughn, and if he got her pulse pumping fast it’d be from what he could do to her body with his, not from her struggling to guess what he was thinking, planning, scheming.

She didn’t need to guess what Vaughn felt for her. She could see it in his eyes, and infer it from the way he treated her, spoke to her.

He didn’t have to love her; he had only to want her, like her, respect her. The simplicity and obviousness of those feelings added up to a relief she’d not anticipated. And a turn-on, to boot. What did Mica have that he didn’t, really? Nothing, except the mystery. The mystery and adventure had been what she’d needed as she said good-bye to her twenties, but it had taken only a few weeks of that chaos before the exhilaration soured to exhaustion. Right now Vaughn felt like everything she needed. A subtler strain of exciting—new and sexy, and with a side serving of kink, thanks to the experiences they’d already shared.

His kisses grew soft and lazy, or perhaps uncertain. He whispered, “I know we’re not skydiving here, but do you know what you’re after yet? If it’s just this, that’s fine.”

She cupped his jaw and tilted his face up so their eyes met. “We can do more. I’d
like
to do more if you would.”

“You have condoms?”

“Oh no. I don’t think I do, actually.”

“I don’t carry any around with me. I’m not that much of an optimist,” he added with a smile.

“Well, there’s still lots of no-good we can get up to without them.”

“True enough.”

“Want to just roll around and see what happens?” she asked.

“I’d love that.”

They necked and kissed and felt each other up, took turns being
the one on top, leading the grinding. It was fun, like being a teenager again. Maybe that was what Clare had been missing, as much as sexual adventure. This feeling like sex was still new, when it had gone so stale for her after those three years with Davis.

“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt. He peeled it away, and Clare let him do her top. Her room was cool, a little too cool, but it only made the covers and his hands feel all the nicer.

As their legs met amid the sheets, something about it was as erotic and charged as all of those bare-it-all moments she’d found herself in with Mica. More intimate by miles, even in the near dark, half dressed and hidden by the blankets.

My
blankets,
she thought. Mica had never been in this bed. He’d always had her on his terms, on his timetable. He’d never gone out of his way, only invited her to come to him. And the effort had been worth it, sure, but this . . . This was a treat. Vaughn had brought her dinner, cheered her up, run through a rainstorm with her, and played a board game in his wet clothes to make her happy, probably never expecting it to end in sex. She wanted to reward him for all these things. Give him everything he deserved but never seemed to feel entitled to.

“You’re a real gentleman, you know that?” she asked him, stroking his chest.

“I try to be.”

“You are. Even the way we first wound up naked together. Even then, I could tell.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He kissed her, quick and flirtatious. “I pride myself on that. I actually felt kind of bad about how everything started. I didn’t know if it made you feel . . . I dunno. Used, maybe?”

“Only in the nicest way possible. I think we all used each other. It’s what I was after, really.”

“It’s not how I like to make a woman feel, but it did seem like you were into all that. The craziness of what he had planned.”

“I was, but now this feels just as good. Quieter, and more intimate, with just two. More . . . manageable, and like less of a big to-do. I needed the adventure, but now what I want is something quieter. Simpler.”

“I’m simple, that’s for sure.”

She nudged him to admonish the put-down. “Only in the nicest way. I’d like to photograph you sometime.”

“I’m West African and Haitian—not exactly the dramatic mismatch you’re after for your show.”

“Not for my show. Just for me.” Just to look back on fondly, to help her remember this man who was so simple on his own and yet so utterly complex with his best friend nearby. He was giving her memories that ranged from sweet to pornographic, and she wanted to take his portrait, to guarantee this face would never fade into obscurity, blurred by time and forgetfulness.

They went back to kissing, and his mouth was heaven on hers, his strong and stubbled jaw the perfect contrast to those soft lips. His hands stroked her side, a taunting, sweet touch that steadily migrated north until his palm was on her breast. She hummed her approval, raked her nails lightly along his scalp.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” he murmured, laughing softly.

She traced his smiling lips with her thumb. “What’s so funny?”

“Just that I’m here. With you, like this.”

“And why’s it funny?”

“I wouldn’t have thought you could walk it back like this—go from three-ways to board games and just messing around this way. Plus, I figured you only had eyes for Mica.”

“I wouldn’t have slept with you just to turn his crank. I wanted you, too.”