Misconduct (15 page)

What if he still hated me?

No, there was time. Later. When he’d grown up enough to understand. Then I could be his father.

“As he grew, I tried to keep in contact with him,” I consoled myself out loud. “I never pressed for any kind of custody, because my traveling was sporadic and unpredictable, and Brynne let Christian go with me from time to time as long as that’s what he wanted,” I explained. “But he started having friends, sports, extracurricular activities, and so I let him have his life. We grew even further apart.”

“But he’s with you now,” she pointed out, sounding hopeful.

But I couldn’t summon her optimism. Under the same roof, I felt more distanced from my son than when he wasn’t there.

“I was supposed to pick him up for dinner one night last June,” I explained, “and he stood me up. He went to a baseball game with his other father.” I accentuated the word “other.”

“I got pissed and went to collect him, and Brynne started yelling at me on the phone to leave them alone,” I went on. “I was just making everyone unhappy, she told me, but he was my son, and I wanted him with me that night.”

I blinked away the burn in my eyes, remembering how fucking sick I’d gotten of her telling me he wasn’t mine.

“And I was pissed, because I had no right to be pissed,” I told Easton. “Brynne was right. I was the outsider. I’d given him up. And I was making everyone unhappy.”

The waiter brought the bill, and I dug my wallet out of my breast pocket and handed him a couple bills.

“Keep the change,” I said, and didn’t watch him leave.

Easton leaned her chin on her hand, her eyes never leaving me.

I picked my napkin off my lap and dropped it on the table.

“When she said they were going to Egypt for a year,” I continued, “and that she was taking Christian, I said no. I told her I wasn’t letting my son leave the country, and we fought. A lot.

“But I was done being a coward. I wanted my son with me.” I didn’t know why, but I wanted Easton to understand that. “I thought it was too late when he was two. I thought it was too late when he was ten. And now that he’s fourteen I’ve finally fucking realized that it’s never too late,” I told her.

I swirled the brown liquid I had yet to drink, knowing that I was still failing with my son and wondering what Easton was thinking of me. Maybe she’d learned too much, and I’d fucked up.

I’d gone to her apartment tonight because, after what I’d seen online, I didn’t want to bring her any unhappiness. I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to think I could make her life better – she seemed to be doing pretty well – but I was reminded that what others let us see is very little. There’s a lot I didn’t know about her, but I did know she was hiding something.

She deserved to smile, and for some reason, I wanted to give her that.

But telling her my own shit might’ve pushed her away.

Women didn’t tend to like weakness and mistakes in men, but when she’d looked so interested, something compelled me to spill everything.

I guess I hadn’t really told anyone all of that before.

She sat there, watching me, and I tipped my drink at her, blowing off the whole thing with a smile and suddenly feeling like I’d made a huge mistake in telling her.

“Anyway,” I joked. “That’s why I want to be in politics.”

W
hat is he doing to me?
 

I’d sat there, silent nearly the entire time, and listened to the things that had brought him to where he was now. The mistakes of his youth, the teacher who’d pushed him, the son who thought nothing of him, and all the things he didn’t know how to fix.

And all I wanted in the world was for him to keep talking.

I liked how his experiences had shaped him and how he was committed to succeeding. He didn’t give up. When I saw the moments he’d looked away from me or heard the hesitance in his voice during his story, I knew he still felt like that twenty-two-year-old kid down deep.

The midthirties construction mogul who dominated conference rooms and crowds still didn’t think he was a man.

I had no doubt that Christian’s mother had every reason to be angry and not to trust him. She’d been young, too, I was sure, and he’d left her holding the bag.

But I could see the regret and pain Tyler tried to hide on his face at all the lost years with his son.

And he wouldn’t give up again.

A man who endeavored to be better was already superior to the men who claimed to be great.

He took my hand, leading me out of the restaurant, and I threaded my fingers through his, holding back the smile at the chills spreading up my arms.

We stepped out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, stopping to take in the sight of the rain pouring down in buckets and yet doing nothing to deter the party in the street.

The heavy drops hit the ground in sheets upon sheets, and I had to squint to make out people’s faces, dancing in the midst of the celebration.

Trumpet music played off to my left, and I looked over, seeing an older man with graying hair swaying to and fro under the canopy as he played “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

Peering back out to the crowd in the streets and lining the sidewalks, their black and gold football jerseys glued to their drenched skin, I realized that it was Monday-night football. The Saints must’ve won.

I couldn’t care less about football, but I envied how something so insignificant in the scheme of things could make people so happy.

Women adorned with beads around their necks clutched the long green necks of the Hand Grenade drinks in their fists and twirled, kicking up the water that had accumulated on Royal, while men smiled, nearly tripping over their own steps. All laughing and probably enjoying one of the best moments of their lives, because they felt truly free right now. Chaos lost in chaos. Liberty in being a small part of a larger madness.

When you weren’t seen, you weren’t judged. There was a desirable freedom in that.

“You think less of me.” He spoke at my side, still watching the rain. “Don’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes on him and shook my head. “No.”

“I’m not the same man I was back then, Easton.” He looked down at me. “I take care of what’s mine now.”

His hard stone eyes held mine, and there was nothing that I didn’t want him to prove. Would he be rough but never hurt? Get me to want more?

Make me never want to leave?

I turned away from him and stepped off the sidewalk, instantly pummeled with heavy raindrops as I walked into the street.

Water filled my flats, and my skirt and shirt instantly stuck to my skin. I closed my eyes, feeling him behind me, watching.

The cool rain soaked my hair, and I threw back my head, letting it cool off my face.

Why him?
Why had he been the one to push his way in, and why had I allowed it?

A wall of warmth hit my back, and I felt his hand take my hip. I turned my head, and he caught my face in his hand and covered my mouth with his.

Tyler.
 

I darted out my tongue, brushing it against his and feeling my breath catch in my throat. My skin buzzed, desire pooled between my legs, and I snaked my hand up, holding the side of his face as I dived in, kissing him greedily.

I flicked his top lip with my tongue and dragged out his bottom lip between my teeth, taking time to let him do the same to me.

His hands fell down to my stomach, pulling me back and holding me to his body as his lips worked mine, leaving me breathless.

The rain spilled over us, plastering our clothes to our bodies, and his tongue darted out, licking and sucking the water off my jaw and chin.

“Tyler,” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut, because he felt so good it almost hurt. “Tyler, this is wrong.”

I pulled away from him and turned around, breathing hard.

It wasn’t easy to say no to something you wanted, but I was taught that while some mistakes can be overcome, others should never be made. In our hearts, we always know what’s right and wrong. That’s not the struggle.

The struggle is wanting what’s wrong for you and gauging whether or not the consequences are worth it.

“I like your kid,” I told him. “And I love my job. You’re in the public eye. We can’t do this.”

By now my arms hung at my sides, weighing a thousand pounds. I wasn’t tired, but for some reason I felt exhausted.

He tipped his chin down at me and inched forward.

“Easton, you’re coming home with me,” he stated as if it were a done deal.

My weary heart pumped harder, begging me to agree.
If you don’t give in, you’ll always want him.

Go home with him. Get in his bed. Self-destruct, because some rides can’t be stopped.
 

But I couldn’t.

What if things turned bad? I couldn’t just not see him.

And New Orleans might be a large city, but there were almost no degrees of separation from you and the stranger on the street. Someone – anyone – was bound to see us together, and it would be only a matter of time before we were found out.

No.
 

I looked up at him, speaking softly. “Take me home, please,” I told him. “To
my
house.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened, but I didn’t wait for an argument. Spinning around, I dashed across Royal and continued walking down the quieter side street, toward the parking garage.

The rain had drenched my clothes, and I folded my arms over my chest to ease the chill seeping through my skin.

I could hear his footsteps behind me, and I walked quickly to avoid any further discussion, speed-walking past a hotel entrance and continuing down the sidewalk.

If he pressed me further, I knew I’d be tempted to give in.

But he hooked my elbow, bringing me to a stop as I twisted around to face him.

“I like you, okay?” he said, letting his gaze fall and looking like it was hard for him to admit that.

He stepped closer. “I like you a lot, and I don’t know why, because you’re fucking miserable to me half the time,” he mused. “You rarely smile. You never laugh, but you love to argue, and for some reason I want you around. I want you to know things about me, and I like telling you shit. Why do I feel like I’m in the wrong here?”

I bowed my head, hoping he wouldn’t see the smile his words had caused. He was absolutely right. I was a miserable person half the time, and it was odd that he liked me as much as he did.

And in a different situation, maybe I’d give him a shot. Maybe.

“Marek?” I heard a voice boom through the storm. “Is that you?”

Tyler and I pulled away from each other, and I peered around him, seeing the group of men standing underneath the canopy of the hotel entrance we’d just passed.

Tyler twisted his head, his face immediately turning stern at the sight of the four men in suits, smoking cigars.

He took my hand and walked us back to where the men were standing, and I noticed he kept me slightly behind him instead of at his side.

“Blackwell.” Tyler’s deep voice sounded impatient.

Mason Blackwell – whom I recognized from TV and his involvement with city council – looked completely at ease and in good humor, something I’d never seen from Tyler.

His black tie was loosened, and his hand rested in his pants pocket. He wore an easy smile, and I could smell the odor from the cigar hooked under his pointer finger as he grinned at Tyler.

But from Tyler’s rigid stance, I could tell he wasn’t as comfortable with Blackwell.

“They’ve instituted curfew on the Westbank,” he told Tyler. “But the party still goes strong over here.”

His white teeth disappeared as he brought the cigar to his mouth and puffed away.

A few young women, dressed in short cocktail dresses, came bursting out of the hotel doors, giggling and stumbling, before they stopped at the group of men, each cozying up to a different gentleman.

A young brunette, her hair a shade lighter than mine, put her hand on Blackwell’s chest as she hugged his side, looking intimate.

Tyler cleared his throat. “How’s your wife, Mason?” he asked, hints of both amusement and disdain seeping out of the comment.

Blackwell’s hand was in his pocket, so I didn’t notice a wedding ring, but the young woman’s left hand was draped over his shoulder, and she wasn’t wearing one.

Blackwell stared at Tyler with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and the tension in the air between the two men thickened.

His gaze shifted from Tyler, finding me at his side, slightly behind him.

“Hello?” he greeted, cocking his head and letting his gaze rake down my figure.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and he half grinned at Tyler. “I envy you,” he said, bringing the cigar up to his mouth. “For once.”

My stomach rolled, and I swallowed, tasting something bitter. Perhaps the cigar was a turnoff, or maybe it was his blatant arrogance, but I felt a sudden urge to shut him up.

Mason held out his hand to me, a lascivious look in his eyes. “Mason Blackwell,” he introduced himself.

But Tyler stepped in front of me, blocking Mason’s view.

“She’s cold,” he shot out. “I’m taking her home.”

And without a goodbye, he grabbed my hand and pulled me back down the street so briskly that I had to jog to keep up.

“He’s not your favorite person,” I mused, blinking away the rain in my eyes. “I can see why. I like him better on TV.”

Tyler crossed the street, dragging me in tow as he turned down another street.

“You don’t like him at all,” he bit out in a low voice.

The sidewalk dipped, and I stumbled. Picking up the pace, I jogged a few steps and continued to follow him down the dark, vacant street.

“Tyler, I wasn’t going to introduce myself,” I assured him, wondering why he was so brusque all of a sudden.

Is that why he’d blocked Mason from shaking my hand? I hadn’t planned to tell him who I was. I knew he and Tyler were rivals, vying for the same Senate seat. He could use me against Tyler, and I wasn’t stupid.

I held tight to his hand, because he was going so fast. “This is exactly what I was talking about,” I maintained, standing my ground. “We’re bound to run into people you know. What are you going to do? Slink into my apartment at night after Christian’s gone to bed?” I shot out. “Take me to hole-in-the-wall restaurants buried in the Marigny? I don’t want to be your secret, Tyler. This is too dangerous.”

But then my breath caught in my throat as he yanked me off the street and through a wide-open gate that led to a darkened driveway, immediately backing me up against the wall next to the gate.

Only just a hair away from prying eyes.

The doors of the huge wooden gate opened for cars to come in and out, and I knew that the driveway would lead into the living area, giving way to a large courtyard.

So far, though, there was no sign of anyone.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

His forehead pressed against mine, and his hands moved urgently, holding my face. “Dark spaces, quiet places,” he whispered over my mouth. “That’s all we need, Easton.”

And I sucked in a breath as he dove in, taking my lips, moving fast and making it sting so sweetly when he sucked and bit my bottom lip like he was starving.

I moaned, feeling the thick ridge of his cock as he ground into me.

His hands dropped, lifting me by the backs of my thighs and pinning me to the wall as he continued. I tightened my legs around his waist and held him close.

He moved his hands up, squeezing my ass in both of his greedy hands, and he was going at my mouth again and again so fast I couldn’t think straight.

“Tyler, please,” I rushed out, gasping for breath. “We can’t.”

He was making it impossible, and I knew I was lost.

Fuck!
 

He lifted me higher, holding tight as he pulled down my off-the-shoulder blouse enough to expose my naked breast.

The hardened skin of my nipple begged for his mouth, but I wrapped my hands around his neck, drawing him closer to me.

He caught my nipple in his mouth, quick and rough, and I shivered as he dragged his teeth and sucked, making it burn. I closed my eyes, arching my back to give him more.

He came up, hovering over my lips, while his fingers slipped between us and into my underwear, finding my pussy wet.

“I don’t give a damn who you introduce yourself to,” he growled, sliding his finger in and out of me, “as long as it’s not that piece of shit.”

“Tyler…” I squeezed my eyes shut as he pumped his finger.

“He’s always so fucking smug,” he gritted out, biting at my jaw, “always getting the upper hand. I thought I’d like having something he wanted, but I don’t.” He slipped in a second finger, stretching me. “I don’t want him looking at you, Easton.”

He grabbed the hem of my panties, and I bit my bottom lip to stifle the cry as he ripped them clean off my body.

“I was jealous. I never get jealous,” he charged, pressing me against the wall and grinding his hips against my bare pussy. “You make me insecure. Why do you do that, huh?”

I groaned, my thighs aching, the heat between my legs unbearable.

“Because you covet something you can’t have,” I taunted. “And you’re afraid someone else will get it.”

I rolled my hips, rubbing myself against him. Against the only part of him I wanted.

But instead, he slowed, looking at me with mischief.