Leon's Way (11 page)

The weeks pass quickly. Spring has officially begun, and suddenly I’m four months pregnant. Trees sprout iridescent green offspring on their branches, following my lead. Thank goodness the nausea has subsided. As long as I take care of myself, I don’t faint anymore either. I’m even enjoying food again. Green vegetables and Diet Pepsi in particular. I crave it!

Leon isn’t happy about the soda part. He doesn’t voice his opinion. He doesn’t need to. His eyes go steely whenever I have a second glass.

Ingela is still the only one who knows about my pregnancy. My small bulge causes suspicious glances, especially from the girls at work, but no one except Cameron has commented.

“Hey, you’re a cute chubberonski,” he said the other day, which was rude enough. To Ingela he’d been more explicit, mentioning how I was totally “tappable” and had a “six-star rack” nowadays. Of course, since he didn’t make her keep it under wraps, she immediately shared with me.

Leon and I spend a lot of time together. We don’t discuss what will happen after the baby arrives. If he’s with other girls, he doesn’t meet them at Smother. I don’t ask, because I can’t stand to think about him with anyone else. The one girl, Marla, still comes around, but as far as Ingela and I know, he hasn’t made a move.

The few times I’ve been in his bed over the last months have been when he’s received news of his father. He wants to hide it from me, but Katsu usually texts me after their most upsetting phone calls. She’s the only source of information he accepts regarding his dad.

It’s hard to let him suffer alone. He rages over my butting in, shouts that he’s a monster, that I’m victimizing myself. I don’t object. I haven’t told him outright, but I think he instinctively knows this is temporary: once our baby is born, I won’t be intervening anymore.

On the bright side, we handle his meltdowns better. His blind fury lasts shorter, and I don’t freeze in shock from them. In addition, we’re both silently aware that the sooner we beat his regret into submission, the sooner we’ll be immersed in our own, special kind of ecstasy.

We have a routine down. Every afternoon, I get to Smother before anyone else. I’ve stopped taking days off. It would mean being away from him, and I only have a few months left the way we are. Leon must hear me when I arrive, because he’s always downstairs waiting. As soon as I enter, he saunters toward me, either from the stairs to his apartment, or from the office. Irises gleaming, he interlaces his fingers with mine and guides me to the bar. There he serves me a Diet Pepsi… in the smallest glass we own. I always thank him, not mentioning how I’ll refill as soon as he’s not watching. It makes me feel like an alcoholic.

“Hey, you. Did he let you rest?” he’ll ask in greeting, which causes me to smile. It’s not like the baby’s in my arms and claiming my attention in the middle of the night yet.

“Yes, he’s a good boy. No nausea, no pains,” I reply today.

I don’t stop him if he lifts a hand to stroke my cheek, then. Even when his caresses are born out of tenderness and hurt more than ravenous love attacks. I let him because I live in the moment and my heart soaks up his touch like balm.

I still have five months to steel my heart against Leon and settle on a plan. Every night, I ruminate over other jobs, other solutions, but no matter how I twist it, my practical side insists I need the extra money Smother offers once the baby arrives. No bar in town can match Leon’s salaries.

I look at him, now, over my shoulder. He pumps his chin up in a silent order for me to walk ahead of him up the stairs. He’s made me a salad, he says, with a new batch of dandelion leaves from Deepsilver’s only health store. I’m not hungry, but the thought of greens, especially strong-tasting iron-filled greens, makes me salivate.

It pleases him to watch me eat. And whenever I’m responsible for his delight, I’m pleased. So here I am, being cautiously positioned on a kitchen chair with a tumbler of ice water in front of me. I want Diet Pepsi.

This love of mine, the father of my unborn baby, rummages for vinaigrette in the fridge. It’s my preferred salad dressing nowadays, even if I’m usually all about the ranch. Seconds later, he straightens and holds up a small bottle triumphantly.

“I knew you hadn’t finished it off the last time.” He smiles as he places it next to the salad. “May I?” he asks, hunching down beside me.

I love this non-boyfriend of mine in any shape or form, but now he’s calm. Open. Playful. A rare combination for Leon Stonewell. I let out a happy exhale. Slant my head back a little, enough to meet his shoulder behind me. “Yeah, sure.”

He sinks his chin on top of my head and slides a hand around my middle. Forming his palm over my bump, he settles in with me—with us. As always when he does this, my heart thuds faster before it slows again, getting used to him. This isn’t sexual. It’s intimacy on a different level.

Leon is content too. There’s a vibe in the air, one of expectation and unspoken hope. “You’re so full, aren’t you, of him?” he murmurs.

I giggle. “Yeah, and I’ll get much fuller too, according to rumors.”

A rumble vibrates in his throat. “Remember how skinny you were only months ago?”

“Yep. All your fault,” I joke, and from the puff of air he emits, I can tell he’s entertained.

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to fatten you up,” he whispers into my hair. My pulse instantly changes gear, knowing this just turned sexual, even though the words themselves are anything but.

Leon has an uncanny instinct when it comes to people’s moods, and with me, he’s straight out psychic. He senses the change in me, my receptiveness, and angles around to my face. Brushing his lips over my cheek, he lowers to my neck. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he tells me.

He’s so close that my nipples harden. I suck in a quick breath.

“And you’re hot when you’re horny.”

“Leon!”

He laughs quietly, hands traveling up to cup my boobs. They’re heavy on a whole new level, and his laughter morphs into a groan as if touching me is torture. “Sorry. I’m not respecting any boundaries, and I can’t blame it on a meltdown either,” he says.

I relax against his shoulder, breathing deep, and I’m suddenly arching into his hold. Leon’s hands become firmer, more demanding. My head spins with the possibilities. What would it be like to sleep with Leon when he’s not upset?

My stupid, erratic breath. It’s doing its thing again, making my chest heave, and Leon’s not apologizing anymore. He lifts me from the chair and secures my legs around his waist. Mouth open, he burrows into my neck, suckling on me as he carries me into his bedroom.

“The salad can wait, baby,” he says, and I just nod.

“I need to see you, all of you. How many weeks?” he asks me.

“Four weeks since the last time we were… together,” I gasp out. My breasts hurt with anticipation, and when he sets me down, he entwines our fingers, lifting them like we’re mirror images. Leon—

Stares at me with such love? No, not love. Heck no.

“Let’s get your clothes off.”

I obey, removing them piece by piece until I am naked before him. “Are you cold?” he whispers, eyes perusing me.

“No…”

He pulls my hands up again, like he did before I undressed. Holds them up with his own. Then, he laces them behind his neck and draws me in tight.

“God, Arria. What do I do with you?”

“Love me?” I suggest, and by the way he draws me out to meet my gaze, I realize what that could mean. “Make love to me,” I correct myself, blushing.

“I’ve been good, you know,” he tells me while his caresses run down the small of my back to my behind. “I bet you didn’t think I could stay away from my regular girls.”

“I… Leon.” We’ve never talked about this before.

He lets go of me and takes a step back. I stand where I am, bare, exposed, watching his eyes gleam with desire, with recognition of my shyness. Gently, he cups a breast, filling his hand with it.

“They’re bigger. And your nipples—they’re darker, aren’t they?” he asks with wonder in his voice, and it is so sexy, so—

This
Leon
, wondrous. Over my body?

“Yeah, I’m going all out on the pregnant thingy,” I reply. His eyes dart to mine, not missing my fluctuating mood. I’m touched and turned on as hell. I want to cry and laugh. Damn hormones.

He doesn’t mention my state. Instead he traces my ribs down to my stomach. I expected his hand to stop, explore my bump, but it moves over my pelvic bone until a single finger meets the top of my cleft. “Ah,” I puff, despite myself.

“You stopped waxing?” he asks.

“My skin is more sensitive now. Waxing hurts.”

“Yes, you don’t enjoy pain.” He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and strokes it with his tongue.

I giggle into his kisses, because he’s referring to spankings. Smacks. Pinching. Even being tied up isn’t erotic to me. “Yeah. I’m more of a pleasure kind of girl.”

“And I enjoy your pleasure.”

“Not when you’re angry,” I tell him as he backs me into the mattress. I’m panting at the desire simmering in his eyes. “You want my pain, then.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong, baby. I don’t like that you suffer. You’re just always here too early for me to be in control.” Leon drops his shirt on the floor and pulls his pants and boxers off before he climbs up after me.

“Pain,” he puffs as his lips close around my nipple, pulling it in against his tongue, “is a blast when it heightens a girl’s ecstasy. I’ve told you before—it doesn’t do that to you.” He rolls us over, sliding me down on top of him. I squirm a little on purpose, making him grunt and squint his eyes shut for me.

“So no tying me up today? No slapping or pinching?” I tease, hoping.

“No. Just… this.” With a slight adjustment, he thrusts into me, causing me to cry out.

“Does that hurt, baby?” he hums out, reminding me of the time I surprised him in his Bag Room. Fake concern mixes with lust in his voice.

“Oh, not… exactly,” I manage, my legs tensing on the outside of his hips.

“Is this pleasure, then?” he insists against my ear. “Just pleasure?”

“God, yes.”

The club is packed with customers tonight, the last day before spring break. I’ve got most of the staff on duty, and I’ve even opened the terrace. Business is good on the roof with the mild weather and no rain.

I’m getting choosy with what I want Arriane to do and how. The music is too loud for her in the main room. She
looks
comfy, dancing behind the counter in the too-short skirt she’s wearing, but she must be faking it.

Then again, my gut is usually right about her state, and now it says she’s perfectly happy. Does the baby hear this damn thumping, though? I bet he does.

Yeah, fuck it. I’m fixing this.

I stalk over to the bar and behind the counter. Nod to Shannon, Christian’s girlfriend, on my way to Arriane, who’s working side by side with Ingela.

For a second¸ I allow myself to devour Arriane’s petite frame, the golden shoulders, the rounded shape of her stomach.

I hate that no one knows.

Ingela sends me a wary side-glance, which lifts my mood fractionally. She’s Arriane’s roommate, and my guess is that she’s in on our secret.

I generally control my impulses, but now I slide an arm around Arriane’s swollen waist. The sensation of her beneath my fingers instantly calms me. She jumps, though; I’ve surprised her in the midst of a cocktail-shake. With my mouth to her ear, I say, “I need an extra bartender in the patio and upstairs on the terrace. Which do you prefer?”

They’ll be short in the main bar. I’ll send Misty down here. She’s new but has a lot of practice from other bars, so she can handle it, especially with Christian close by.

Arriane turns to the side, meeting my gaze to verify that I’m not joking. “Really?” she says. I fucking adore this girl, and our situation is getting harder and harder to digest.

With her nearness, my reaction is pure instinct; for the first time with people around, I bend in and kiss her neck.

She drops the mixer, liquid spilling over, but I grab the tumbler before it loses all the content. Together we get the drink situated into a cocktail glass, and with a wordless grimace over her own clumsiness, she passes it on to the patron.

Once she’s done, I slide a hand in under her hair, reveling in the way her eyes storm. She’s checking if someone pays attention to us. Christian and Cameron both watch us while masking their interest as best they can.

“What are you doing?” she mouths to me.

I kiss her neck again, so fucking sick of hiding, and the bossy little thing grabs my hand and drags me out from behind the bar. At the exit by the cash register, a couple of football player-sized dudes block our escape. Shannon smiles at us from her post beside Christian.

“Congrats, guys!” she screams out, causing Christian to look between us. “I bet you’re excited, Leon—I didn’t even know you two were together!”

Shit. Well.

“Thanks,” I say, and with that one word, I’m lying and I’ve revealed Arriane’s secret at the same time. I glance at Ingela, who’s covering her mouth, getting the visual of what just happened when Shannon pats Arriane’s stomach. Ingela immediately tips up on her toes to Cameron next to her. Yeah, in minutes, suspicions will be confirmed throughout the bar, and every employee of mine will know.

“Leon!” Arriane barks from below me, tugging at my hand—and my heart. Shit, she’s adorable when she’s mad. So rare. I grin a little but clear the exit for her so she can drag me off to the patio. We have a better chance at privacy out there.

She immediately knows where she wants me and strides ahead of me, squeezing her way through the mob to what the staff has nicknamed “the Lovers’ Nook.” It’s too early in the night for the hideout to host dry-humping couples.

As soon as the shadows swallow us, she presses small hands against my chest, pushing me backwards into a corner of the fence. I gladly let her.

“What the hell, Leon?” she growls at me.

I laugh low in my throat at her feistiness, but she doesn’t find the situation entertaining. “Baby, shouldn’t you stay calm in your state?” I ask.

“Shit, Leon, be fucking serious!” She swears. To
me
. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’m sick of playing games,” I tell her calmly. I’m losing the grin now, because she wants a fight.

“What games? I’m not playing any games!”

“Oh, no—you are. It’s called ‘being almost five months pregnant and not fessing up to the world.’”

She blows impatiently at her hair, getting it out of the way. I reach out, slide the offending lock between my fingers, but she knocks my hand away. “Do you have any idea how I feel right now, Leon? Do you?”

I frown, concentrating on her vibes. Anger. Frustration. A remnant of embarrassment, maybe mortification.

“Are you embarrassed to be pregnant?” I ask.

“No!” she sputters, and even in the dark, I see a slight flush rise on her chest. It’s one thing to read people, another to understand why they react the way they do.

“So why are you pissed, then?”

“Because you freaking outed everything and without as much as a warning to me! Leon, I trusted you, and you just went ahead and, and—”

I grab her face and bore my stare in deep. Next, I swap our places too fast for her to react, until she’s the one crowded into a dark corner. I don’t go all the way in with my body against hers, but her belly protrudes enough to cause friction between us.

Seriously, what was she thinking? Everyone must have guessed by now anyway. Maybe not about us, but definitely that she’s having a baby.

“Yes, I outed us. Did you ever consider me, Arriane?” I growl. “If it were up to you, I’d never get to share what’s happening with you. He’s mine too, you know. And guess what? I’m fucking proud. We’re cooking up a fucking miracle in you!”

She gasps, speechless. I kiss her.

“How long has it been since you’ve let me touch you? Fucking weeks? I don’t recall how you feel. I need—
need
—to remember,” I whip out. My hands roam her body. Memorize her thick middle as if I’m about to watch her drive off. Put her on a plane.

Arriane’s breathing is erratic, from her mixed emotions, I know, but I can’t worry about that. Because I’m busy sating myself. I graze her lips with my teeth, flick my tongue out to suck and nibble before I delve into her mouth for that sweet tongue again. She’s indecisive, arms resting along her sides. In a quick flashback, my dick recalls her moans the last time I pleased her.
Really
pleased her.

“Stop, Leon,” she whispers, but her anger and her embarrassment are both fading. “I’m trying to stay away,” she continues. “You’re not making it easy.”

“Why should I make it easy when I crave you?”

“That’s not the point. You want everyone, Leon. You can have everyone.”

I laugh quietly between our kisses. Don’t ask for permission when I weigh her breasts in my palms. “Baby. I only want you, and you’re not giving yourself to me.”

“I’m your flavor
of the moment
,” she corrects me. So silly.

“No Arria, every day, all the time. It’s mid-May, and I haven’t as much as kissed another woman. My balls are blue waiting for you and your crumbs.” I travel down her body to cup her butt. Lift her up against the wooden panel behind us. Her sweet belly isn’t in the way yet. I can reach.

“You’re going to do me here?” she asks. I search her eyes. They’re gleaming in the reflection from the rope lights in the patio bar. “In front of all these people? Just sneak your junk into me and hope no one stumbles upon us?”

I blow out a short puff of air. Drop her to the ground. Stroke her cheek with a hand and shake my head. “You drive me crazy, Arria. What’s your deal? You need to stop pushing me away and fucking—marry me!”

That was not planned at all, and fuck me for meaning it. Like I could ever be a good husband. She’s right in not even considering me.

Now, she’s crying. I didn’t see that coming.

“Shit.
What
, Arria?” It’s so frustrating not to get what’s behind her reactions. “Tell me!”

“Nothing…”

Nothing.

“I can take your anger, you ignoring me when I want you really fucking close, but your ‘nothing’ drives me up the wall. What!”

“I love you.”

And she didn’t just say that. She’s mumbling, so it could be anything. My brain rummages for other possibilities. “Excuse me?” I prod, finally.

Arriane’s voice is tiny when she continues. “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Leon. Perhaps this is what you need to hear to get your bearings. I know you hate to lose—that you fight dirty to get what you want, but you can already consider me a win. At least you have my heart.”

A patio lamp swings in the light breeze, igniting the violet hue of her eyes for an instant. They’re chock-full of pain.

“You put so much pressure on me, Leon, tempting me. Every day, you’re there, doing stuff for me. Being close. Watching me. Guarding me. You don’t understand. I’m trying to be smart here.”

“You love me?” Something lifts right beneath my ribs. It frees up air, making it easier to breathe. “Last I checked, if you love someone, you’re supposed to want to be with them.”

“I can’t,” she whispers, being illogical, difficult, fucking frustrating. I rake a hand through my hair, and I’m back to growling. She’s so good at this. Stopping everything for the damn hell of it.

“So let me get this straight. You think you’re in love with me. I’m the father of your child. And you refuse to be in a relationship with me. That sum it up?” Lust and anger stir in me, making it difficult to stay rational. If anyone can, though, it’s me, I tell myself.

For two seconds.

Before I slam my hands into the wall beside her head, the way I did the first night with her in my apartment. This time, my despair is different. This time she’s not scared.

“Give us a try. Please.” Is that my voice? It cracks. “You don’t have to marry me—just be my girlfriend. If I mess up, I won’t stop you from leaving, baby.”

The phone rings in my pocket.

“Sweetie… is that Kat’s ringtone?” Arriane whispers before I can think straight. I don’t answer. Just stare at her, controlling my breathing. She’s so close. So far away.

“Pick up, sweetie. Katsu doesn’t call for the heck of it.”

Somehow my head sinks down on her shoulder below me. Her hands curve around my back, and I let myself enjoy her touch even if it’s just to pull the phone out. For an instant, her face buries in against my neck while she clicks the cell on and sets it to my other ear.

“Shishi,” Kat sighs.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“It’s the sperm donor. Hauled off to the hospital again. The mistress or whatever living with him called.”

“Sucks to be him,” I say, holding the phone myself and straightening. I stare at Arriane, unseeing as I listen.

“He started drinking as soon as he got home, the mistress said. He refused to heed doctor’s orders and stop altogether. This time, it’s his liver, they think. It’s like his body’s falling apart, Leon, and now he’s on a twenty-four-hour watch, and—”

“Kat! Kat, Kat—I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t give a shit, all right? Fuck him.”

“But what if he dies? He could croak at any moment, Shishi, who knows? What would you do then? You don’t deserve that he—”

“Shut. Up! I’m
not
staying on the phone for this bullshit. Kat, I’m sorry. The club needs me—gotta go.”

“Leon, wait. Don’t hang up!” She’s shouting at me, her voice shrill. Arriane reaches out, running a hand down my arm, but I elbow it away. She backs off. Crosses her arms above her belly.

“What? Anything else? How’s Mom?” I bark to Kat.

“Mom and John are fine. I’m booking a flight, Leon. I’m gonna talk with my manager and ask to work from Deepsilver for a while. Can I live with you until I find a place?”

“Sis. Ah.” I breathe through my nostrils, slowly easing air in and out, calming myself. “Of course. Stay as long as you want.”

She’s not finished. “Please, until I come, Shishi. Can you go see him? I’m trying to figure out the logistics—I haven’t even mentioned this to my boss yet, so I might take a few days to get to you.”

And that’s when I finally lose it and roar at my sister.