Only Trick (14 page)

“Stay,” I say while snaking my wrap around my shoulders.

“What? No, I came here with you.”

I shake my head and smile. “Really, I’m going home and going to bed. You should stay … you’ve earned it.”

Wyatt glances back up the stairs with a tense, contemplative look. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, maybe I’ll see you around.”

*

I have my
driver stop for electrolyte water and snacks on the way home. The person back at the bar is not me, or maybe it is.
God!
With Trick in my life, everyday feels like a near-death experience—watching myself from outside my own body.

I blame Trick, which is ironic that I’d blame my friend who doesn’t drink, on my irresponsible behavior with alcohol. But I do. I blame him for robbing me of my self-control, my ability to see clearly and think clearly. I thought it would get better over time; I thought seeing him with Grady would change everything, but it didn’t. The rational part of me wants to make its case for my part in everything too. I knew he was gay, but chose to get involved anyway—the sleeping together, the masturbating. Where did I really imagine this relationship going? But right now, I’m in pain and no amount of rational thinking is going to ease it.

The driver lets me out. “Thank you.”

“Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Carmichael.”

He pulls away from the curb, but I can’t move. My feet are lead and the rest of my body falls victim to the paralyzing heartbreak I feel over the thought I could be losing Trick. Just feet away from my gate, I close my eyes and let the tears fall. It hurts so damn bad. I’ve fallen in love with my best friend and he can never love me back.

“Don’t cry.”

I swallow the sob that begins to escape as my body freezes from the sound of that deep voice I love so much. I will my body to turn around.

Trick stands on the edge of the curb with his arms limp at his sides.

“Please … just go away.” The words cut through my throat. “I can’t do this … I can’t be your friend anymore.”

“Why not?”

Looking up at the sky, I swipe away more tears and shake my head. “Don’t do this…” each word a desperate plea “…please don’t do this.”

I look at him, my pride too broken to hide my feelings, so I let him see my pain. “You gave me the thing I thought I wanted most in life.” Biting together my quivering lips, I taste my salty emotions. “But then you changed everything … and I-I can’t breathe when I’m with you…” sniffling, I suck in a shaky breath “…and I can’t think without you.”

I laugh over my tears, while shaking my head. “God! I’m such a fucked-up mess. I know you can’t change, but…” a renewed stream of tears race down my cheeks, and the crippling pain holds my words to a soft whisper “…but neither can I.”

I let go of my sob and through the glassy haze of tears I watch him close the distance between us. Fingers weave into my hair, clenching it to bring my lips to his. My world explodes into a million fragments of heaven and hell as I fall limp into his arms. I can’t think so I just react to his punishing lips and demanding tongue. My arms fly around his neck—fingers clawing the back of his head. I taste him, smell him, feel him, want him … I fucking
need
him.

He steps forward and I step backward until we’re at my gate, then through the door. I’d rather die than lose his touch. He kicks the door shut and jerks off my wrap. A quick draw of my zipper and my dress falls to my ankles. His strong hands cup and squeeze my breasts, thumbs grazing my hard nipples. I moan into his mouth while pushing up his shirt. He grabs it with one hand, breaking our kiss for the first time as he pulls it over his head. Standing inches away, completely breathless, we stare at each other.

His eyes travel from my lips to my bared chest, my white lace panties then to my heels, before meeting my eyes again. And as if it’s been chasing us all the way into the house, my brain catches up. I can’t read him, but that look … I think it’s confusion … Oh my God, it’s
regret
. It’s not his fault, and I hate that it’s happening, but my already red eyes fill with more tears—
shame
. I knew the moment our lips broke, the ugliness of our reality would be waiting, shaking its fingers.

I try to blink my tears away while biting that stupid quivering lower lip. Moving my hands to cover my breasts, I avert my gaze. “It-it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s my fault.”

His hand cups my jaw, turning my head. My fleeting glance turns into a longing gaze. He brushes his thumb across my wet lips. I close my eyes. Ghosting his mouth up my neck to my ear, he whispers, “It’s nobody’s fault.” Bringing his other hand to cup my face, he kisses me again. If he stops this time … I. Will. Die.

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.

I
t’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.