Black Christmas (Plus Bonus Story "Black Supper") (8 page)

“CAL, HEY. I wanted to introduce you. This is my...” Black hesitated, glancing at me. For a few seconds, I felt him fighting with words.

I lifted an eyebrow, puzzled.

“...Girlfriend,” I finished for him, holding out a hand to the shorter man with the tattoos wearing an apron and black and white checkered chef’s pants. “Miri Fox.”

The man took my hand, his face erupting in a genuine smile.

He was handsome, I noticed, with shocking green eyes that stood out in a dark complexion. Dark brown hair. Muscular, with broad shoulders. He looked ex-military, like Black.

His gaze flickered down me as he continued to hold my hand.

I caught a glimmer of his thoughts, probably in part because I was touching him.

Black doesn’t have girlfriends. I wonder if this poor chica knows that... dios de mio, she’s hot as hell though. He looks pretty wrapped up in her now... but maybe I could get her number for when he’s finished with her. Fucker gets the most unbelievable pussy...

Black stiffened next to me. Aggression flared off him in a sharp burst.

Not just aggression. Fury. Violence.

It tensed every muscle in my body. I looked up at him.

Black... chill,
I warned.
Chill, baby. You need to relax... he doesn’t mean anything by it.

You heard that?

He’s not wrong, is he?
I sent drily.
Usually, I mean. He’s not wrong about you? So how can you get mad at him for that?

My words had zero effect on the intensity I felt coming off him.

Realizing it wasn’t being helped by my holding the other man’s hand, I tried to let it go gracefully but the handsome man in the chef’s hat kept ahold of me. Not wanting to make a thing of that either, I let him, leaning deeper against Black’s side where we stood, trying to calm him down that way.

“She’s stunning, my friend. An absolute angel––”

“She’s my fucking wife,” Black said, his voice hard.

I jumped a little, and not only at his words.

The aggression in his voice was thick, unambiguous.

The man in front of me flinched, dropping my hand like it was a hot iron.

“Dios,
brother...” His smile widened, but I saw the nerves that touched his green eyes as he looked from me up at Black. “Congratulations! Wow... you got married, Black? When?”

“Recently,” he said. “We’re keeping it low-key for now.”

He still seemed to be having controlling himself.

I didn’t speak, but fought to keep my expression still.

The other man nodded, smiling wider. He still looked nervous, but more than that, faintly embarrassed. I could tell he felt guilty for his thoughts, even before he backed away from me somewhat, keeping his eyes focused on Black alone now.

“Well, everything’s on the house then, brother. Whatever you want... it’s on me! You want some champagne? We got that too... or wine, if you prefer...”

He ushered us to a booth in a back corner of the high-ceilinged restaurant.

Black ordered something or other. I let him do all of that. Frankly, the feelings coming off him still alarmed me, so I didn’t pay much attention to anything he or his friend said before “Cal” finally walked away.

I found myself massaging Black’s stomach then his thigh once he had, and then we were kissing again, and the sheer territoriality coming off him alarmed me a little. When I felt us starting to slip into that other place, I pushed him back, right around when a waiter brought us over an ice bucket stand and a bottle of what had to be expensive champagne.

I’m not a big champagne drinker, but I couldn’t believe how good it tasted... nothing like how I normally thought of champagne tasting at all.

Black still had his hand on me under the table as I took my first few sips. He pulled my thigh over his seconds later, holding it possessively as I drank more from the thin-stemmed flute.

I watched his face, noting his dilated pupils as he massaged my leg.

“Married, huh?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow at him with a smile.

He didn’t answer, but I saw his lips firm.

His fingers tightened noticeably on my thigh.

“You know, you don’t have to make things up to keep other guys away from me,” I added, nudging him playfully with my shoulder. “I’m not going to start dating your friends, Black... you get that, right?”

Again, he didn’t answer me.

I watched his high-cheekboned face as he continued to stare out over the rest of the dimly lit restaurant. When he didn’t glance my way after a few more seconds, I eventually followed his eyes, taking in the rest of the dining area for the first time.

The first thing that struck me were all of the small lights, like fairy lights. They jutted off trees with winding trunks that stood in planters inside the high-ceilinged room, their leaves and branches decorated with those tiny lights as well. White, sheer cloths hung down from the edges of walls and partitions dividing different areas of the room, giving whole segments of the restaurant the illusion of privacy, particularly our own.

Black’s friend, Cal, put us in a corner booth where it was pretty dark, but the rest of the restaurant was covered in those white lights, giving the restaurant a dim, almost surreal glow, since no other illumination came from the ceiling or floors. A full-sized stone fountain stood in the middle of the foyer area by the street. We must have walked right by it when we came in, but I barely noticed at the time; now I could only see the edge of it on the other side of the dividing wall, although I could hear it, even with the murmur of voices and violin music. Water gushed down from a flute held by a stone woman posed almost like Venus de Milo.

I was still looking around when I felt Black’s eyes on me again and turned.

“Miri,” he said. “You know how I feel about you, right?”

I froze. Refocusing on his gold, cat-like eyes, I stared up at him, bewildered. He studied my expression as I reacted to his words, then frowned.

“You really don’t know.” It wasn’t a question.

I felt a harder pain come off him. That time, it didn’t feel like sex-pain, that feeling that came with him being a seer, that had more to do with contact and desire than anything physical. I didn’t know what this other pain meant, but I found myself massaging his thigh, trying to get him to look at me.

“Hey,” I said. “Black, what’s wrong?”

He stared off, his expression unreadable.

Before I could get him to talk, they brought us our food.

The sheer amount of it startled me.

Black got that dish he’d been describing to me back at his place. Something his friend made as a specialty, a personalized version of
spaghetti alle vongole,
from what Black told me. I’d already figured out he was a fan of Italian food... and seafood... which meant he lived in the right city. One of the right cities, anyway.

He’d gotten me a salmon and spinach fettuccine, which was to die for. I found I was ravenous, too––hungry enough to forget about pretty much anything else, for a few minutes at least. Of course, I still pretty much ate from his lap. I didn’t try to move my leg from where it wrapped around his, and he’d curled an arm around me, even as we ate.

His friend Cal came to check on us two more times after the champagne.

I definitely got the sense Cal noticed how handsy both of us were, but he was careful not to look anywhere but at Black’s face, even when he asked us about the food and I responded enthusiastically.

After he left the second time, I felt that pain on Black again.

I’d eaten enough by then to be less distracted by the food.

“Hey.” I slid deeper into his lap, wrapping my arms around his waist. “What’s wrong? You need to tell me... it’s driving me crazy.” Hesitating, I prodded him with my mind, opening myself up more, so he could feel more of me. “Are you waiting for me to admit how I feel about you?” I asked him, softer. “Because I will.”

He looked down at me. Tugging his napkin off his other leg, he wiped his mouth, then sat back in the booth, meeting my gaze.

“No,” he said.

I frowned a little, but he didn’t wait for me to speak.

I’m wondering if you take this thing with me seriously, Miri,
he sent, still watching my face.
I’m not looking for platitudes. I’m wondering if you see me how Cal does... as someone who can’t be trusted with anything real.

Studying my eyes, he curled his fingers into my hair, stroking it back away from my face. His expression didn’t soften. I still saw that tauter scrutiny in his gold eyes.
Is this just some fucking thing to you, because of how you see me?

I let out an involuntary laugh. There wasn’t a lot of humor in it.

“You’re not serious right now, are you?” I said.

Do I seem not serious to you?
His eyes didn’t flinch.
You understand that I never lied to any of those women, right? I never told any of them I was dating them... or that I wanted to. I never said anything to any of them that wasn’t true.
His frown deepened as he continued to watch my eyes, clearly looking for a reaction.
I never asked any of them to be exclusive to me. I never expected that from any of them. Ever, Miri.

I still couldn’t get past my surprise.

I understood the basics though. I’d hurt his feelings.

“Black...” That disbelief reflected in my voice.

Feeling him withdraw in some way, even though physically he didn’t move, I wrapped my arm further around him, maybe in some attempt to pull him back.

Black,
I murmured to him.
What’s going on? Is this because of what I said about you and other women? Because I wasn’t accusing you of anything.

He shook his head, but I didn’t get the sense it was a “no” precisely.

I found myself massaging him, not to distract him, but maybe to pull him out of wherever that part of him had gone. He’d never come across as insecure to me––far from it. I wasn’t sure if this had to do with what Cal thought or what I said, or something more to do with where we both were right then.

Either way, he responded to having my hands on him.

I felt him opening more, the longer I touched him, even as that harder edge I’d felt began to gradually soften. A few minutes later, he was kissing me again. We kissed harder, seconds after that, then he pushed me down to the booth seat, groaning.

Black...
Remembering where we were, even as I could feel where both of us were going, I shoved on his chest, half in a panic.
Black... we can’t. Black... you need to stop...

His pain wrapped into me, blanking out my mind.

I let out a gasp, gripping the top of the booth seat as I tried to pull myself out from under him. He was still kissing me, but I managed to untangle myself somehow and slide backwards.

Then I was around the edge of the seat and standing, watching him from the other side of the booth, where he stared up at me, breathing harder. His lion-like gold eyes reflected light from the Christmas strings wrapped around the trees behind where I stood.

Are you going to leave me?
he sent.
Am I just some child to you? Someone you’ll fuck until the fun wears off? Before you find some human to bed for real...?

I stared at him, my jaw hanging.

Black, what the hell are you––

Answer me, Miriam. Please. Just answer the fucking question... please.

I closed my mouth with a snap.

Holding out my hand, I firmed my jaw.

“Come on.” When he didn’t move, I sharpened my voice, enough that a few people looked our way, startled. “Quentin,” I snapped. “Come here. Right now. We’re leaving.”

Pain came off him, hitting into me with a force that sucked in my breath.

“Now,” I said, louder. “Right now.”

He slid his way around the booth. Seeing Cal walking towards us from the kitchen, looking faintly alarmed, I held up a hand to him before he got too close.

“The food was great. Quentin’s not well. We’re leaving... sorry to miss dessert.”