The Cornerstone (40 page)

Tiel reappeared a minute later and paused in front of Will, who decided it was necessary to lean against the wall like he was shooting a goddamn cologne ad.

“Hi,” he said. “Will.”

“Tiel,” she replied with a wide-eyed glance in my direction.

“Scheduled sex,” I said, and her face morphed into a knowing—if not surprised—expression.

“That’s why you’ve been skipping the farmers’ market,” she said. “You’ve got enough eggplant here.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of hilarious today? I’ll meet you there,” I said, my words giving her a firm shove out the door. She waved goodbye, and Will let out a low chuckle. “‘Scheduled sex’?”

“Everyone gets a nickname around here,” I said, heading to my room to finish getting ready.

“Whatever happened to Captain America?” he asked, following close behind.

“I don’t think Captain America ever destroyed a pair of Wolford tights tying a girl up,” I said from inside my closet.

He braced his hands over the door, and that position shifted his towel lower until the imagination wanted for little. “Nice guys can’t enjoy some kink?”

I rummaged through a pile of jeans before I found the ones I wanted. “Are we talking about nice guys, or are talking about you?” I asked, snagging a pair of panties and a bra. “Because I recall you telling me that the last thing you were was nice.”

Will moved away from the door and stepped inside the closet. He ran his knuckles down the lapel of my robe, stopping when he reached the knot at my waist. It loosened, and he trailed his fingers up my belly and between my breasts.

“You don’t want nice,” he said, his thumbs stroking my nipples. “You kick the shit out of nice. You fight dirty and you fuck dirty, and you only want someone who can operate at that level, too.”

“And you’re saying you’re up for the challenge?”

“You still don’t know the answer to that?” His hands shifted to my face and he kissed me, fast and hard. It felt like a punishment and tasted like a promise.

*

There were tiny
bruises forming on my hips from Will’s fingertips, my closet was a disaster, and I was very late for lunch, but the orgasm was worth it. Will smacked my ass and promised to fix the wreckage while I scrambled out the door. My phone was loaded with texts inquiring into my whereabouts and providing detailed directions to the group’s table in the café, and it didn’t stop chirping with alerts while I drove to the farmers’ market.

I tugged my hair into a knot and hid the irritation on my neck—a gift from Will’s beard scruff—with scarf I found in the backseat, and hoped my appearance didn’t scream “well-fucked.”

The market was filled with slow-moving shoppers, and it drained every ounce of my remaining patience. When I found myself trapped behind a gaggle of hippie-stroller moms, I almost turned around and went home. If I wasn’t completely certain Lauren would come looking for me, I would have been back in my car by now.

They eventually broke formation, and I made my way to the café. I slipped past the people waiting for tables, and spotted the group in the far corner. Andy noticed me first, and waved me over.

“I hate lube,” Lauren said as I approached the table. “It’s gross and I hate it.”

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said, settling beside Andy. I frowned in Lauren’s direction. “And what the hell did you just say?”

“Why would anyone hate lube? It’s glorious,” Andy said. She handed me a mimosa. “We ordered for you.”

“Yes, it’s very useful, and I don’t have a problem asking for a helping hand when I need it or when things are getting a
lot
of use, but…” Lauren held up her hands in frustration and wiggled in her seat. “Sometimes, it sticks around for too long. It feels slimy, like it needs to be power-washed off. Or worse, it dries everything out.”

I watched while Tiel guzzled her drink, and I knew she was probably dying of Walsh information overload. She didn’t realize that Lauren and Andy shared
everything
with each other, but that didn’t make her subject to the same expectations. And it wasn’t like this was easy for me, either. These conversations were only acceptable when I pretended these women weren’t having sex with my brothers. In my mind, different celebrities or athletes happily warmed my friends’ beds, and I didn’t have to think about my brothers’ penchants for growling or biting.

“Perhaps you’re using too much,” I said.

“Or the wrong kind,” Andy said. “We only use coconut oil.”

Tiel snort-laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, what the fuck did you just say?” she asked.

I watched while Andy turned a slow gaze in Tiel’s direction. She was intimidating as hell, and there were still times when I found her chilly expressions and fierce cheekbones disarming.

“Coconut oil,” Andy repeated. “It’s completely organic and edible, and it’s also antimicrobial and—”

“Okay, wait. You keep a jar of coconut oil in the bedroom?” Lauren asked. “You don’t run into the kitchen every time, and oh God, tell me you have separate jars for sex and food.”

Andy rubbed her temples and sighed. “Yes, we have a jar in the bedroom, and a completely separate jar in the kitchen. It never feels slimy and I’m told it tastes good, too.”

Lauren sat back and tapped her fingers against her chin. “It doesn’t make you feel dry or sticky afterward?” Andy shook her head. “Does it work for the backdoor, too? I need something that’s good on both the backdoor and the downtown.”

“All your neighborhoods and doors are covered,” Andy said.

“I’m so confused right now,” Tiel murmured.

“This isn’t a vegan joke, right? If I go to your apartment this afternoon, am I going to find a jar of sex-only coconut oil in your drawer?” Lauren asked Andy.

“No,” she said, “you’ll find it in Patrick’s drawer. He’s in charge of lube.”

“Holy fuck,” I murmured. I kept forcing that eye candy wide receiver from the New England Patriots into my mind but my brother, armed with a jar of all-natural lube, a wooden spoon, and a dumb grin, continued to reappear. “I might need to bleach my brain now.”

Tiel caught my eye, and she sent me a sympathetic smile. “Do they know about Scheduled Sex?” she asked, gesturing to Lauren and Andy.

No no no no
.

“Tiel, sweetie,” I said. It was her way of changing the topic, and it was a kind gesture but it had my stomach audibly gurgling.

“No, you should tell them,” she continued. “She has the hottest guy in her apartment right now. That man was delicious. Were those military tattoos? The anchor on his chest looked familiar, like a Navy tattoo, but the one on his arm, the frog skeleton—”

“Stop!” I sprung to my feet, my hands outstretched in Tiel’s direction as I tried to catch the words tumbling out of her mouth and shove them back in. “Stop right there and don’t ever say another word as long as you live.”

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with our meals. He spent an entire lifetime setting the plates down, and then asked no fewer than six hundred questions before stepping away.

It took full minutes for my body to relax enough to return to my seat. Tiel was studying the tabletop as if her life depended on it, and Andy and Lauren wouldn’t stop staring at me.

I picked all the avocado out of my salad and onto a saucer, then handed it to Andy before meeting their gazes. We were changing topics
now
.

“Why don’t you tell us about the wedding plans, Tiel,” I said.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Um,” she started, “we’re waiting until after we visit my parents in New Jersey to make any decisions because we don’t know whether they’re going to be happy and insist on a traditional Greek wedding or pretend I don’t exist or some other, more ridiculous option. We’re going there in a couple weeks, for Thanksgiving, or…the Greek version of Thanksgiving that my family does, which is pretty odd as far as Thanksgivings go and I’m worried that Sam won’t eat the entire time we’re there.”

“Go to Juice Box in Southie and get some smoothies made up for the trip,” I said.

Andy held up her hands for timeout. “Pause. Rewind. Who is this bare-chested, tatted man?” she asked. “Not Gerard, right?”

Tiel pressed her fingers to her lips as uncomfortable laughter bubbled up. These weren’t the baby steps she preferred, not with the lube and the yelling. I was putting money down on her declining all future invitations.

“No,” I said.

I made the mistake of looking at Lauren then, and her smile told me she was putting the pieces together. It was easy to underestimate her. She had the happy California girl thing going for her, and that came saddled with a sweetness that could rot teeth. But she was smart and perceptive, and pushed people exactly as much as they could handle.

She’d peppered a few off-handed comments about Will into conversations last summer, after Montauk, and then some more after the holidays in Mexico. It put me on guard at the time, but I’d convinced myself it was normal chatter and I was being hypersensitive.

“Right, okay. Since we’re skipping
that
topic, let’s go back to Greek Thanksgiving. That sounds a lot like Persian Christmas with my Jewish mother,” Andy said, laughing. “And it’s funny because Persians aren’t usually hot on Christmas but I’m a mutt so it’s all good. I’m a little obsessed with our secular version of Christmas, actually.”

“Oh, okay,” Tiel, said. “Maybe we can talk about our biracial holiday experiences some other time. I think I might have broken Shannon. Or, Lauren. Or both of them.”

The way Lauren was staring at me now told me none of it was off-handed. “We’re going to chat very soon,” she said. “You and me, Miss Shannon. You and me.”

*

“I have a
new strategy,” I said to Tom on Monday morning. “Patrick’s getting two assistants. They can fight it out
Survivor
style.” Tom rolled his eyes. “Here are their résumés—Dylan the Girl and Lissa Wynn—and I want you to block time on your calendar to train them.”

“This will be amusing,” he murmured. He was patronizing me in that
my boss is crazy and I go along with whatever she says
way, and it was a regular feature in our relationship. He passed me a stack of messages before I headed to the weekly status meeting.

I cursed every one of the steep stairs leading to the attic conference room. The stones were old and worn, some wobbled against the grout, and each one was a subtle suggestion for me to go home, crawl under the covers, and hide out with Will all day. After lunch at the farmers’ market and an unusually radio-silent weekend, I had no idea what to expect from everyone this morning.

“I’m going to die on those stairs,” I announced when I reached the conference room. Patrick, Sam, Matt, and Andy were already seated. “One of these days, I’m going to plummet to my death, just you wait.”

“And good morning to you too, Shannon,” Matt said.

“What exactly are you concerned about?” Patrick asked.

“Guys, I think some of these stones are loose,” Riley shouted from the staircase. He bounded into the room and dusted off his knees before sitting down. “I slipped, and dropped my burrito.” He held up a foil-wrapped cylinder. “It’s a little smashed but I think it’s still good.”

I pointed to Riley. “That. That is my concern.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, typing a note into his spreadsheet. “No one die on the stairs today, please.”

Patrick:
isn’t it a little early for you to be hitting the liquor?

Shannon:
there are some legitimately loose stones. I’m not drunk.

Patrick:
whatever…

The meeting churned along as they always did. Matt and Sam argued about structural issues. Patrick and Andy carried on an entirely silent conversation. Riley produced a bottle of hot sauce from his pocket and proceeded to demolish his breakfast burrito. He was set on bringing increasingly obnoxious snacks since the yogurt fiasco, but the rest of us were united in ignoring it.

Without fail, we turned the corner on the final twenty minutes of our time together, and business items were traded for family discussions.

“Tiel and I are heading to New Jersey next week,” Sam said. He gestured to me, and I was suddenly curious what she mentioned about our time together this past weekend. She had plenty to work with, and those two lived under a ride-or-die honesty pact. “I know she told you on Saturday.”