Another Mazzy Monday (10 page)

I nod. Whenever anyone asks me that question it makes me feel like she’ll settle for me if she can’t have my brother. I never want to be someone’s second best.

I down the drink in one big gulp and order another. The bartender is quick to pour me a second, but she lingers holding the glass when I reach for it. When our eyes meet she says, “I get a break in about fifteen minutes, if you’re interested.”

“Sorry,” I tell her. “I’ve got my eyes on someone else.”

“Too bad,” she says before she finally releases the glass. “If it doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks,” I say, but more for the drink than anything else. I have absolutely no interest in pursuing anything with anyone but Mazzy.

I glance around the crowds that are mingling, eating and drinking. I have a feeling it will be a pretty late night. Now that the engagement announcement has been made I have no doubt that donors are lining up to support the campaign and that Drew is lapping up all of the attention.

I finally spot Mazzy in a corner of the room standing by herself eating a cocktail shrimp. She is not actually eating it, not the way I would anyway, she seems to be nibbling on it.

I waste no time making my way over to her. “What are you doing to that poor shrimp?” I ask as I sidle up to her.

“I can’t decide if I like it or not and I’m really not sure where to put it if I don’t want to finish it.”

I laugh then hold out my hand. “I’ll take it from you.”

I’ve never seen a person get rid of a shrimp so fast in my life. She practically tosses the offending food into my palm. “Was it that bad?”

“Kind of,” she says. “I’m not sure why. It has a weird sour aftertaste.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

She holds up a hand. “I promise. I’ll stay right here.”

I hurry over to one of the small return tables that’s set up for dirty dishes and toss the shrimp onto a plate to join several of his half eaten friends. Apparently the shrimp isn’t too popular.

  Mazzy has her eyes firmly planted on me as I make my way back over to her. I scan the room for signs of my brother and parents. Mom and Dad are talking with one of their old friends, which should keep them occupied for a while, and Drew is holding court with a handful of big donors, no doubt asking them to
reinvest
in his campaign.

“I need to show you something upstairs,” I whisper as I glide right up to Mazzy.” Follow me, but not too closely. I don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”

When she nods I make my way out of the room as swiftly as I can and head towards the back staircase. My parents’ house was once owned by a former President of Princeton University. When the house was originally built in the late 1880s they had what was known as servants’ quarters built for the help. The back staircase was meant to accommodate the servants so they could go up and down to their quarters without disturbing the master of the house and his family. My parents never had live-in servants. My mom occasionally employed housecleaners, particularly for special occasions. But just as often my mother liked to handle the cleaning herself, with the help of me and my brother of course. My mother liked to brag that she could clean a house better than someone she had to pay for the service. She’s always been quite fastidious so it’s no surprise that she had a difficult time finding housecleaners who could live up to her demands and expectations.

When we were kids my brother and I spent a lot of time playing on the servants’ staircase. Because the mansion was so old we often pretended it was a haunted staircase and we’d have contests to see who could scare the other one the most.

Before I head up the stairs I turn to make sure Mazzy is following me and she nearly bumps into my back.

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t think you were going to stop like that.”

“I wanted to make sure you were still behind me.” Then I look past her just to make sure no one else is in the hallway.

“Is the coast clear?” She giggles.

“All clear.” I start laughing myself. I don’t want to keep my hands off her so even though there’s a bit of risk, I still grab her hand.

It’s even better than the first time. I feel like our hands were made to be entwined. I quickly pull her upstairs and into the first available spare bedroom. I make sure to bolt the door behind us and wiggle it a few times just to make sure it’s locked.

I study her for a long moment. How is it possible that she’s so much more beautiful than the last time I saw her? She’s a feast for the eyes. I want her to be a feast for my hands and other parts of my body as well.

When I close the distance between us there’s a hint of hesitation in her eyes that concerns me. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“I feel guilty,” she admits. “I’m engaged to your brother.”

“You’re fake engaged to my brother. And he’s gay. I don’t think there’s a tremendous conflict of interest.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. I admit I feel a little uncomfortable about us being together too. If anyone ever found out it could completely destroy my brother’s campaign and my family members would be destroyed right along with it.

“No one will ever find out,” I assure her. “We’re in a locked room. It’s only me and you. We’ll make sure that we leave at different times. I don’t want to hurt my brother or his campaign, but I can’t stay away from you. I’m drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

She gives me her tiny grin. “That never works out too well for the moth.”

I carefully place my hands on her face. “It will be okay. I promise. Do you want to be with me?”

I hold my breath while I wait for her response. I haven’t thought this through enough to know what I’ll do if she says she doesn’t want me.

Luckily for me she nods. “I do want you, Austin…”

“But?” I hear that inherent word lingering in the air.

She heaves a sigh. “Someone always finds out. It’s nearly impossible to keep something like this a secret. Other people are always able to tell even when the two people involved think they’re hiding it.”

I narrow my gaze at her. “You seem to be speaking from personal experience.”

“Before my mom left my dad she had an affair. She obviously thought she was hiding it, but everyone knew. It was the talk of the town. My sister and I were eight at the time, and even we could figure it out.”

I want to tell her I don’t care if people find out, but part of me does. The small part of me that’s still trying to please my parents.

“I’m not sure I can handle not being with you,” I admit. “I feel like whatever this is between us is only going to get stronger. I already feel like it’s killing me not to kiss you right now.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for killing you.” She laughs. Not quite the carefree laugh that I love so much. This laugh is laced with a bit of discomfort.

I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone before. Slowly at first, giving our lips a chance to get reacquainted. Then I deepen the kiss. Mazzy responds to every one of my movements as if we’re part of a perfectly choreographed dance.

I’m so turned on it’s taking every ounce of restraint I have not to rip her clothes off. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want Mazzy.

“Do you want to slow down?” I scan her eyes for any more signs of hesitancy. All I see is desire.

When she shakes her head I devour her lips, her tongue, her teeth. I want to possess every part of her mouth before I move on to other parts of her body.

This time Mazzy doesn’t express any hesitation. Her lips melt into mine.

I can feel my dick swell and all I can think about is taking Mazzy on that giant guest bed right behind us. I move my hands down her body and brush my thumbs over her already erect nipples which are poking out of the thin fabric of her cocktail dress.

She quivers in response.

I make my way down her body and then slip my hand under her dress. Her silk panties are already damp with desire and that turns me on even more.

When she whispers, “I need to tell you something,” my heart skips a few beats and I feel like I can’t breathe. My mind races imagining all of the things that she could possibly tell me, like STDs or maybe a child she gave up for adoption.

Knowing my brother he did a very thorough background check before he selected her to be his fake fiancée. But we haven’t had any of the discussions you’re supposed to have before you’re intimate with someone, all the past history of former lovers and medical records, all the stuff that could easily put a damper on the flames that are quickly igniting between us.

I made sure to get regular check-ups while I was travelling through Europe and always used condoms. I don’t think I would be putting Mazzy at too great of a risk. And I convince myself that whatever she has to say can’t be that bad. I want her so badly whatever she has to say will have to be truly awful for me to not have sex with her right now.

She swallows, like she’s trying to get down a huge lump and that makes me even more nervous. Maybe it is something truly awful: AIDS or Hepatitis. But I just can’t imagine that.

When she looks up at me her blue eyes look moist like she might cry. “I—um—I don’t know how to say this so I’m going to just spit it out. I’ve never actually had sex before.”

It takes a few seconds for that to sink in, but I still say, “What?” because I want to make sure I heard her correctly.

She looks absolutely pained at having to repeat it. “I haven’t had sex. Intercourse.”

“How old are you?” The question escapes my lips before I can stop it. She looks like I just slapped her and I want to punch myself for being such an asshole.

“I’m twenty-two,” she just about manages to get out before she starts to cry.

I don’t think I could have fucked this up anymore if I tried.

When I pull her into an embrace I let out a small sigh of relief that she allows me to hold her and doesn’t push me away.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Why? Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I assure her. “It’s just…you’re so beautiful…I guess I never imagined that you weren’t sexually active.”

“I just never had enough time to get close to anyone before. My sister and I have been working in restaurants since we were sixteen. It’s hard work. Mostly at night and on the weekends. That’s when most guys want to date. I had a boyfriend in high school, but I guess I just wasn’t ready to go
all the way
with him. And I just haven’t had the time or energy to date much since then.”

As badly as I want to be with Mazzy it doesn’t seem right that her first time should be like this. But I also don’t want her to think that I want her any less because of her revelation. If anything I want her even more. The fact that she’d even consider me to be her first is not a decision that I take lightly. It’s an honor.

  I give her a light, tender kiss. Then I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “You really want me to be your first?”

She bites her bottom lip then nods.

“Why me?”

We look at each other for a long moment and I can feel the strong draw between us. It’s an attraction so intense that it’s almost beyond words. Well any words that I can come up with anyway.

“You’re different than anyone I’ve ever met. I meet a lot of guys tending bar, but you’re different. You’re rugged on the outside, but I can tell you really care about people. You’ve got a big heart on the inside.”

“I’m glad you think so.” I want to laugh, but I also don’t want her to be embarrassed. I’ve never been accused of having a big heart before. Women in my past have been more likely to refer to me as
heartless
. But I’ve also never felt the way I feel about Mazzy with any other woman. I have an overwhelming urge to hold her, and protect her, and comfort her and keep her safe. And with that also comes an overwhelming impulse to hurt anyone who would hurt her or threaten her.

And I have absolutely no idea where all of these urges are coming from. I’ve never had the desire to take care of anyone but myself, and even that wasn’t very often. But taking care of Mazzy feels like one of my reasons for being, and discovering that is a revelation. As if I’ve finally uncovered the meaning of life—or of my life anyway—is to be with Mazzy.

When she glances up at me her eyes are wide. “Do you still want to be with me?”

“Of course.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “But not like this. I want to make it special for you.”

She looks at me warily. “And just how are you going to do that? We’re not supposed to be together at all.”

“I’ll think of something,” I assure her.

“Do you still want to make out?” she teases.

I rub her cheek. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I know I’ll want more. And you deserve a lot more than this.” I point to the guest bed.

She shrugs. “It looks pretty nice to me. A lot better than my little single bed in the tiny apartment I share with my sister.”

I kiss her. A long, desire-filled kiss. She seems to be filled with a yearning of her own as her body responds to my touch.  I can see she’s trembling and her cheeks flush. As her lips part I move in for another kiss…