Suffocate Page 2

  Once my hand is cleaned, I toss it back the direction of his bathroom, grab my cell phone, and motion that he can proceed. Opening his bedroom door, the two of us walk out, and he yells down to her over the railing, “I despise when you call me that.”

  “That’s why I do it,” she answers popping her hands on her slender model sized hips. Immediately seeing me her jaw drops, “What—”

  “He crashed here last night,” Luke informs heading left for the stairs with me a safe distance behind him.

  “Why?” C.J. looks at me for an explanation.

  You know how you have that best friend that knows damn near every secret you have. Yeah? Well that’s C.J. Sometimes it’s such a pain in the ass. Like now. He knows exactly why I shouldn’t be here.

  “Someone got jumped last night,” Luke answers for me, the anger over the situation tearing through me quickly.

  “What?!” Erin and C.J. shriek in unison, their attention on me now.

  Annoyed I pass him on the stairs and mumble, “I have to keep your secret, but you can’t keep mine.”

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs that leak into their open style living room Erin’s face scrunches in discomfort. “Is that why you look like you made out with a brick wall?”

  “Several times,” I playfully answer her as I notice C.J.’s jaw is ticking.

  He starts, “What—”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I shut him off and slide my hands in my jean pockets. “I just want a long hot shower and a long nap in my own bed.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait.” Erin holds up a hand as Luke leans against the railing. “You slept in his bed?”

  “No,” I lie covering for him. “The floor.”

  “Oh,” she sounds slightly disappointed. “I was gonna say....he doesn’t let anybody sit on his bed let alone sleep in it.”

  Huh. Well. That’s...never mind. A mistake he made I’m sure out of pity. Just like letting me touch him.

  “It’s not a couch. No one needs to be sitting on it,” he sighs from behind me.

  “And the having sex in it?” Erin challenges. “That’s what beds are for.”

  “They’re for sleeping!” He snaps back. She opens her mouth and he tosses his hands in the air. “Not another word about beds until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee please.”

  She scrunches her face at him as I tilt my head at C.J. who clearly looks irked. In a cold voice he interrogates, “Why did you sleep here?”

  “Apparently I couldn’t drive with that many pain killers in me.”

  “You fell asleep after three minutes of being in the car,” Luke adds.

  “So why didn’t he take you home?” He grills.

  “I don’t have keys. Managed to lose them between frat fuckhead 2 and 6.”

  “You were jumped by 6 dudes?!” Erin shrieks. “Oh my gosh!”

  “Don’t worry too hard,” I assure her. “As you can see most of the damage missed my face.”

  “That’s not funny.” C.J. shakes his head slowly.

  “I heal quickly,” I continue talking to her. “Almost like a superhero.”

  “That is true,” C.J. sighs turning his attention to her. “It’s weird.”

  I could be a superhero. World’s first gay superhero. What do you mean I’m not the world’s first? How do you know? Why do you have better knowledge of superheroes than me? You should see my secret stash of comic books.

  After clearing his throat loudly, from the kitchen that’s on the other side of the open living room, Luke asks, “Are you staying for pancakes?”

  My eyes move over to his and the cold, distant look I’m used to seeing has returned. Putting my feelings away, I playfully answer, “Not this time Betty Crocker.”

  Erin starts giggling and Luke grumbles something before turning around to rifle through the cabinets loudly. Pleased by my comment she nods, “Nice...”

  I smirk and turn to C.J., “A ride?”

  “Yeah,” he grunts turning towards his picture perfect girlfriend. “Sorry to cut this short babe—”

  “I have spent the last three days with you in various positions. My pussy welcomes the break,” she says pulling her long brown hair to the side of her face.

  “I am in the room!” her brother yells from the kitchen.

  If it were up to me, he’d be complaining about the same thing.

  “You always are,” she calls back.

  “You still coming this week?” I ask Erin as C.J. pulls his keys out of his pocket.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss what?” Luke stops moving and his attention falls on me, arms folding tightly across his broad chest.

  He looks like a sexy soccer player the way his body is so fit. Him in that pose only reminds me of the hours he puts into the gym. And makes me wish he would put hours into me.

  “Did you really forget already?” Erin gives her brother a baffled look. “What, did your dry erase calendar of greatness get smudged?”

  Before he can even try a comeback I reply, “My showing.”

  “Right.” He looks a little in disbelief that he forgot.

  After toying with my tongue ring in my mouth for a moment, I ask, “You comin’?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” He cocks a small smile. For a second I feel hope restored.

  I nod and C.J. leans over to place a deep kiss on Erin’s lips that forces Luke to turn back around. After his kiss he commands, “Promise me you’ll think about it?”

  “Mmm,” is her answer as she wiggles out of his grip, “I’ll text you.”

  C.J. and I head towards the front door. In a brief moment of weakness, knowing when I leave here I’ll never get another moment like we had, I look over my shoulder catching one more glimpse of him.

  Fact of the matter is, even if he hadn’t pushed me to the back of his closest like his first Playboy, the way I want him, I can’t have him. Not when the choice is custody over my future child or letting him be raised by a woman that could probably make the devil weep.

  Chapter 3

  Luke

  I have felt like a dick for the last three nights. God, if it wasn’t for the shift I picked up yesterday at the hospital, I probably would’ve finished the blanket I was knitting for my best friend’s coming baby. Why are you looking at me like that? It’s okay that I knit. No. It really is. It’s a lost art form....why do I feel like you’re suddenly judging me?

  “Ready?” Erin strolls out of her bedroom looking like something out of an underwear ad.

  My baby sister has a photo shop perfect body thanks to our genetics and years of me bitching at her on what to put in her body and what not to. She hated having to listen to me, but her body clearly thanks me. See. Always taking care of people. It’s what I do.

  “Are you seriously wearing that?” I scold sliding a hand in the pocket of my pants. My eyes scan over the lacy black and red item you can barely call a dress. “You look like you’re wearing something from Malibu Barbie’s lingerie collection.”

  “And you look like you robbed the Calvin Klein mannequin,” she counters, digging through her clutch.

  “I look classy.” I wave a hand at dark gray dress pants, white button up shirt with no tie, and matching suit jacket.

  “You look like Christian Grey threw you up,” her comment forces me to shoot her dirty look. “But at least he has a fun sex life. According to the movie anyway.”

  Pulling out my keys I argue, “My sex life is fun. Thank you.”

  “You have to have one before it can be fun,” her quip makes her giggle as she struts over to the front door.

  This my friends is how we’ve behaved since...well since she learned to talk really. She started moving her lips and everything out of them was something coated in sass. At three it was over pink Legos. At seven over beade
d jewelry bracelets. At 15, the fact we had similar taste in guys. While it drives me up the goddamn wall, she’s my sister and to have her any other way would break my heart. In fact it almost did. After our parents died, she lost it for a bit. However, when Maxx, one of our other best friends moved in with me, her, and Logan, she gained it back. It’s funny how they helped us heal during that time and later we helped them heal from their own demons. Don’t ask what they are. That’s none of my business to share. I am respectful unlike my sister.

  “Today.” She gawks at me from holding the front door open.

  “Oh no.” I shake my head at her. “Do not start. You had me waiting for almost twelve minutes.”

  “It’s impressive you started bitching after six. Normally you’re beating down my door by four.”

  I don’t reply.

  I may....or may not have been debating on whether or not to send Stuart a congrats text for the seventh time today. Hey, hey, again with the judging. None of that here.

  The two of us get into my car and head towards the event being held across town closer to his apartment. During the ride she focuses on unnecessary touch ups to her make up giving me one giant red flag something big is brewing and she’s trying not to share it.

  I knit when I’m stressed. She turns her life into a paint by numbers with makeup instead of markers.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  Removing an invisible smudge from next to her lips she replies, “Do you?” My lips press together and she hums, “That’s what I thought.”

  In an attempt to divert the conversation I ask, “How’s work?”

  “A work question?” She scoffs flipping the mirror up. “You really don’t wanna talk about Stuart.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I lie turning my blinker on.

  “Clearly,” she mumbles.

  I’m not that transparent am I?

  “Work is work.” She shrugs resting her head against the headrest. “I actually got offered to do make up for a horror movie that’s gonna start filming this summer.”

  “Really?”

  “Try to sound a little less impressed that your sister can actually make a career out of what you always assumed was a hobby.”

  “Erin—”

  “Don’t even.” She raises a hand at me. “I know how much you hate what I do.”

  It’s not that I hate what she does. I just wanted her to have a job that could take care of her in the long run. One that required a degree. One that she would’ve taken if our parents wouldn’t have died. She always assumes that I’m just the asshole big brother who looks down his nose at her, but I’m just trying to take care of her. I’m just trying to fulfill a promise I made to our parents. To myself. Don’t ask about it right now.

  “I don’t hate what you do sis.”

  “So all the ‘get a real job’ speeches were just vocal warm ups?”

  Pulling up behind a red jeep at the stoplight, I turn sharply to snap, “Goddamn it Erin! I just wanted to make sure you had a way to take care of yourself!”

  “You just wanted to control me!” She points a harsh finger my direction. “You are a control freak!”

  Don’t nod your head. Don’t do that.

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t end up a 45 year old bitter woman still working the perfume counter at the local mall because she never got her shit together!”

  “Not everyone rolled out of bed and knew what they wanted to be when they got older Luke! Some people have to find themselves!”

  “At the mall? What, are we trapped in the movie Clueless?” my sarcastic response is followed by the car behind me honking.

  Making a sharp left I head towards the highway to merge on. The remaining car ride towards the venue is silent.

  This is the problem with fighting with her. Neither of us feels the need to back down or apologize. It’s a Hart thing. My parents didn’t fight often, but when they did, believe me, it was everyone locked and loaded just like this.

  When I finally pull into the parking garage I’m surprised to see our best friends, and ex roommates, getting out of the car beside us. Before I kill the engine Erin is out of the car slamming the door behind her.

  On a deep sigh, I turn the car off, and get out just in time to hear her say, “Careful, the stick up his ass is wedged tighter than normal.”

  “Thanks.” I sarcastically smirk. Kellar chuckles under his breath while helping Maxx, his pregnant wife, out of his car. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s a little funny,” Dean, their adopted teen son, adds to the conversation as he gets out of the vehicle too.

  Dean is a miniature version of Logan Kellar. I have thought many times about getting a DNA test to verify that they didn’t actually share blood, but it would be a waste. I hung out with a 16 year old Kellar and having a 16 year old nephew that’s identical to him is like reliving my youth in the best and worst ways. Kellar didn’t listen to me worth a damn back then or our parents who sheltered him after his tragedy, but the Kid? He listens a little better. Not much, but enough to not give me gray hairs. What? Not possible. I did a gray hair check this morning!

  “Why are you fighting already?” Maxx moans patting her 32 week old belly with her mocha hands moments before Kellar has his arm snaked around her waist.

  “Nothing,” I mumble and quickly assess her.

  This has not been an easy pregnancy. For anyone.

  “Stop.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Don’t do that. Don’t go all nurse Hulk on me. I went to the doctor already this week. I’m fine. I look like Shamu in this black and white dress, but other than that I’m fine.”

  “You do not Maximus,” Kellar assures kissing her on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  “Don’t.” She points her clutch purse at him. “Standing next to me, you look like fucking James Bond at Sea World.”

  Through his laughter Dean calls her out, “Mouth.”

  She grits her teeth that she cussed knowing how hard we all work to keep that down to a minimum around him.

  In her defense, Kellar does look extremely good in a suit, even if he’s allergic to them. He’s a professional MMA fighter and his wardrobe never lets you forget it. Most days it’s gym shorts and tight t-shirts. He claims he’s comfortable. I know it’s because he’s lazy. It’s slightly sad that a male model looking man is wasted in clothes that’ll never do him justice. And no. No crush feelings here. Not now. Not ever. It’d be like crushing on my sister since they are identical in behavior.

  “You do clean up well Kellar,” I compliment him in his black dress pants and button up black shirt.

  “I know,” he cockily agrees.

  “You’re not bitching about it as much as you used to.” Erin points out.

  “Mouth,” the Kid corrects.

  “I have to wear them more often now for publicity crap,” Kellar sighs pulling Maxx in closer as the chill night air hits us outside the parking garage.

  “What about me?” The Kid pops out in front of us, tossing his hands out making a motion for us to admire his outfit. “How do I look?”

  “You look good too Kid,” I assure him.

  Yes. I’m aware he’s wearing the exact same thing his father is, making them look like some sort of weird time warp duo. Just let it go.

  “Good.” Dean nods proudly. “Shouldn’t be hard to pull a piece of tail then.”

  “Absolutely not,” Maxx speaks up while we cross the street. “This isn’t a candy store for you to see what you can bag and take home. Think of this like a museum. You can look, but do not, and I mean do not, touch.”

  In a whine he says, “But mom—”

  “No buts,” she hushes him. “You’re not pulling a Mrs. Robinson in here.”

  “Who?” He questions.

  “Oh my God,” I utter
as we approach the door where security is waiting for us.

  The man adjusts his ear piece and questions, “Name?”

  “Harts,” I answer.

  He says into a microphone I can’t see. “Harts.” A pause. “5.” He nods. “Clear.” The security guard says to us, “You’re clear. Please enjoy your evening.”

  With a loud buzz we’re allowed to enter the building, immediately greeted by posh decorations and waiters parked with trays full of champagne, water, and wine.

  “If you follow the elevator to the right, the exhibit starts on floor three,” one of the females politely directs.

  Erin grabs two glasses of champagne and hands one to me, peace offering style. With a small smile I say, “Thanks sis.”

  “You’re welcome,” she responds wrapping her arm through mine. In a low whisper she asks, “You excited?”

  Nervous. Yes. Scared. Yes. Embarrassed that this is the first time I’m facing him since he relieved much needed pressure from my dick? Abso-fucking-lutely. Why do you wanna know how long it had been? Does it matter it had been a couple years? No. I told you. I work. A lot.

  “To see his photographs?”

  “To see him,” Erin pushes me at the same time she hits the button.

  “Why can’t I have wine?” the Kid ponders out loud.

  “Are you 21?” Kellar questions.

  “No but—”

  “Keep whining and you won’t live to see it,” Maxx grumpily threatens as we slide into the elevator. Seconds after the doors shuts she gripes, “My feet hurt.”

  “Are they swollen?” I quickly try to check her feet that are in flip flops.

  They don’t match or fit the dress code we’re all rocking, but I’m not telling her that. Go ahead if you dare.

  “Of course they’re swollen!” She snaps loudly. “They’re always swollen! They look like two water balloons trying not to burst.”

  “They’re not that bad,” Kellar tries to comfort her.

  “Then you walk around with them!” She snips at the same time the doors open again.

  “Maxx,” I interrupt.

  The further along she gets, the more everything upsets her and for some reason Kellar hasn’t caught on yet. All the hits to the head clearly aren’t doing him any favors.