Chapter 3 ~ We Go Together

“What is it this time bro? You need to know how to wash skid marks out of your ginch?”

“Ha ha, very funny Jarhead, just put Mom on the phone,” I mumble, trying to ignore my youngest brother’s remarks. We’ll see how good he is at looking after himself next year when it comes time for him to be doing his own laundry and cooking his own food.

“Hey honey, what’s up?” my Mother’s bright and cheerful voice on the other end of the line makes me smile. I admit, albeit grudgingly, that I’m a Momma’s boy. I’ll also admit that yes, maybe I should have paid a little bit closer attention when it came to every day things back at home, but at least I know my Mom won’t ever rub that in even if my brothers will- endlessly. Tapping my credit card against my desk, I scroll down the list of shows as I try to figure out the best way of asking this question without getting the full Mom treatment.

“I was thinking of going to a show, a Broadway show, and I just wondered which one you think would be good?” As soon as I get the words out I can hear the wheels turning in my Mother’s brain. If any of her sons were to go to a Broadway show, it would probably be Eric and then only because Tanya made him do it.

“Are you going with some of the guys?” my Mom finally asks, but I can tell just by the tone of her voice that she knows better but she’s just looking for confirmation.
“No.” Not that I need to give her that confirmation.

“Well if it’s for a date Marc, I need to know a little bit about the girl,” she begins and I can hear the smile in her voice. My Mom just loves this. She can’t wait for us all to be married off and supplying her with a never ending source of grandbabies.

“Just…which is a good one Mom? I mean if you were coming to town, which one would you make dad go to?” I ask, tapping my card a little more impatiently on my desk, wishing that I’d phoned Tanya instead. I still would have had the third degree but I might not have felt quite so…embarrassed. The only problem with that idea is I knew damn well it would get back to my Mom anyway and then she would have been pissed that I hadn’t asked her. Jordy’s right, sometimes you just can’t win with women.

“Well that sort of depends Markie. I mean, does she like musicals? Or would she rather see a play? That’s something you should know up front. Tanya and I were thinking about seeing Momma Mia the next time you were both playing but this girl might not like that type of music. Maybe you could tell me a little more about her?” There it is. The trap and she’s sprung it on me. Not that I didn’t expect it, I just am still undecided about what, exactly to say about Tippi, and that’s a problem, because even thinking about her name, well her nick-name, makes me smile and if I let on about that, my Mom will be on the next plane out of Thunder Bay with a list of baby names under her arm.

“I don’t know Mom. She’s just a girl I met. I don’t really know too much about her yet but I thought a show would be, you know, a good thing to do on a date.” There. That’s my planned speech, and none of it a lie, exactly. I’ve actually done a little research on Natalie Tang, but for now I’m keeping that to myself.

“Well where did you meet her? What does she do? You must know something about her Marc. I didn’t raise any of you to just go out with just anyone.” I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from telling her if that’s what she thinks she had better do a better job of looking out for Jordan, and her youngest Jared, but I don’t say that out loud. You don’t rat on your brother, not even to your mom.

“I don’t know Mom, like I said, I don’t really know a lot. She works at a law firm in Manhattan, she’s Canadian, and I like her.” I don’t need to actually see her to know that my Mom is grinning at the other end of the line. The one thing my Mom is worried about is a gold digger getting a hold of her precious little boys and just letting her know that Tippi is a professional with a good job and better yet that she works in Manhattan which means it’s a very well paying job, will put her mind at ease.

“Well you could just ask her you know Marc. If she’s got a nice job in the city, she probably has her own mind.” I roll my eyes and shake my head but am careful not to take a deep breath or give away my frustration in a way that my Mom will hear it. I didn’t call to pick a fight. “Or you could pick a comedy. If you don’t know much about her, that’s good neutral territory.” Breathing a sigh of relief I look over my own short list which contains Rock of Ages, an 80s Prom and My First Time. I’ve decided against the SpiderMan one, which I think would be okay to go to with Jared but definitely doesn’t look like a date night type of show to me. “Oh but I did see something on Oprah today, let me just look at that again.” I can hear my Mom sorting through papers and try to ignore it, deciding against My First Time as too much for a second date and seriously considering Rock of Ages. “There’s an Addams Family show with Nathan Lane, that’s supposed to be very good. You should try that, although now it’s been on Oprah….”

“I’ll figure it out. Thanks Mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I promise, although I probably don’t have to. After this, she’s going to check in with me as early as she dares tomorrow, probably just to make sure I’m in my own bed and as tempting as the thought is, unlike Jared and Jordan, I take after Eric when it comes to women. I respect them too much to just turn everything into a one night stand.

“Love you honey,” she says, just like she does every time I leave her or say good bye. It’s comforting, like getting tucked in with a favorite teddy bear, although I’d never admit it to anyone, least of all Jordan. He laughs every time she does it around him, as though it’s just the biggest joke, her making a fuss over all of us now that we all four tower over our parents.

“Love you too Mom,” I reply, and hang up the phone, aiming the mouse and clicking on buy tickets.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“Oh my god that was so good!” Tippi hisses, clutching at my arm as we weave our way through the crowd heading back out to the street. I’d agree with her, but I missed most of the show. I was too preoccupied with watching her. She was like a kid as soon as the lights went down in the theatre, all eager and sitting at the edge of her seat, her eyes glued to the stage. Which was a good thing because she’s totally unlike a kid in her low cut black dress that swings enticingly around her knees when she walks but rides up her milky white thighs when she sits. I’m glad I decided to wear a suit tonight as well, or I’d be feeling very under dressed around her. Even now, while we’re just walking out of the theatre, she turns heads, but hardly seems to notice it. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I can’t stop looking at her and the big infectious grin she’s wearing on her face.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I reply honestly, knowing I’ll have to thank my mother for helping me choose the show tomorrow.

“Nathan Lane is so funny and Bebe Neworth was perfect don’t you think? She looked great in that slinky black dress,” she gushes, steering me towards one of the posters in the foyer. I glance at the poster but I know I’ll be having dreams later about Tippi in that particular costume, and out of it.

“Do you want to get some coffee?” I ask, reaching for her hand, feeling a certain amount of satisfaction when her long fingers lace easily with mine.

“I don’t really drink coffee,” she whispers, like it’s a state secret, her lips close enough to my ear that I can feel her breath warm on my cheek, “but I’ll take a hot chocolate.” I nod, smiling to myself as I steer her out onto the street. I like that she doesn’t try and pretend she doesn’t eat, and even better that she isn’t one of those girls that says she isn’t hungry, doesn’t order anything and then picks at your food because she’s hungry. I didn’t really notice it the other night, but tonight, when she was eating the foie gras she’d ordered, she actually was enjoying it so much that the women at the other tables around us were shooting us dirty looks, like maybe I was doing something to her under the table to make her make those noises. I kind of wish I had been but at least I know she likes her food, and she likes her wine and now, it turns out, she likes chocolate too.

What a girl.

Maybe I’m too busy thinking about the way her body sort of tucks into mine that I don’t think about where we end up, but I know it’s a mistake the minute we walk in the door and I hear a chorus of ‘hey Marc’ and ‘hey Staalsie’. I groan a little, wincing at the recognition so near the rink, the Rangers favorite Starbucks on the way to and from the game, but Tippi only looks up at me with this sort of wide eyed look before she giggles behind her hand and mutters something about Norm.

Yeah, well, there is something to be said for going somewhere where everybody knows your name and you don’t have to even order your drink, by the time you get to the head of the line, it’s waiting for you.

I add her venti supreme hot chocolate with whip and then steer her to a table, one of the ones with the comfy overstuffed chairs before I turn back to gather our drinks and pay for them, ignoring the sharp looks from one of the baristas, my one mistake. I was new in town, she was pretty…pretty stupid as it turned out and there’s a reason she’ll never be anything better than a good barista.

“She’s new,” Alison chimes in as I hand over a twenty. I don’t meet her gaze. I find that it’s a tactic that works with rapid dogs and angry mother raccoons as well.

“Just the change Aly,” I mutter. The last thing I want to have happen tonight is some kind of cat fight. I can hear the chanting in my head already, my brothers urging them on, but that’s not me. I don’t want a scene, I don’t want to draw more attention to myself and besides that, I’ve seen Tippi’s guns. I’m pretty sure she’d make short work of her.

“What is she? Some kind of halfer? Oh no wait, that’s heifer, my mistake. Did you run home and get yourself an overfed milk maid? Did us New York gals scare the shit out of the little ginger boy?” I cringe at the sarcastic comment only because it lands too close to home. There is definitely something to be said for her being as impressed and scared of the Big Apple as I am.

“Fuck it, keep the fucking change,” I snap, taking the drinks and the two brownies I’ve ordered and heading for the table. “We should probably go somewhere else…,” I explain, with a meaningful glance over my shoulder to where I know Alison is still standing making faces at my back.

“Oh don’t you worry about a thing,” Tippi smiles up at me, a million dollar all teeth smile that sends chills down my spine. She’s seen everything and isn’t the least bit worried. In fact, as I put the drinks down, she sheds her jacket and leans forward capturing my face in her hands and laying a long, wet kiss on me that leaves me weak kneed and blinking with surprise. “Mmm chocolate,” she adds, her voice pitched so they’ll hear as she breaks off a piece of the brownie and closes her eyes and starts those same noises she was making back at the restaurant that make me shift uneasily in my chair across from her. “Oh my god Marc, these are so good, you have to try one,” she adds, getting up from her chair and crossing in front of the table before climbing into my lap, sliding her arm around my neck and offering a piece of the dark chocolate treat between her long, ivory fingers. I look up into her dark eyes and she winks, as if to say she knows exactly what she’s doing, but I can’t help thinking ‘does she know what she’s doing to me’?

She feeds me the treat, piece by piece, encouraging me to lick her fingers clean each time and bending to kiss away any crumbs, although I’m sure there’s none considering her fingers seem to get inside my mouth each time and I’m having to think about cold days on the ice rink at home and Jordy’s stinking shoulder pads, Eric’s genormous wedgies and my mother’s disapproving face, anything but the way her round little ass feels pressed against the boys.

“Mmm wasn’t that good?” she asks finally, leaning in to run her tongue along my bottom lip, as if I’ve missed a bit or maybe just to drive me insane. Then she climbs off of me and grabs her cup, draping her jacket over her arm. “We can finish these at home Markie baby.” I must look like a baby owl, looking up at her with wide, unblinking eyes, but she only looks back at me, her soft red lips pursed, as if to say ‘I’m waiting’ and I find myself scrambling to my feet, almost knocking over my own half fat latte in the process.

It’s only when we’re back out in the hustle and bustle of the street that she starts to laugh and I realize that I’m not actually going to be taking her home tonight. Far enough away from the coffee shop that we won’t be seen, Tippi practically doubles over laughing and has to hand me her drink, which leaves me standing there with two cups in my hand while she howls at her own acting ability.

“Oh my god, you should have seen her face! Steam was practically coming out of her ears. Oh fuck, that was fun,” she snorts, reaching for her drink again before hooking her arm through mine.

“I’d say that was a little mean, but…I guess you caught what she said,” I add to which she covers her mouth again as she nods and lets her drink settle.
“She won’t be calling me a heifer again soon, little bitch,” she says, smiling up at me and tipping her head so her cheek falls on my shoulder. “You don’t mind do you? I just…couldn’t resist.”

“No, it’s fine. It was funny,” I add, slipping my arm from around hers to put it around her tiny waist as we walk along, noticing how people watch us, how they give me that approving smile, like we look like a couple, which is good, because I’m starting to feel like we are one.

Chapter 2~Can’t Help Falling in Love

“You do know that not all Canadians know each other, right?” I grin, leaning back against the filing cabinet, monitoring the copier while Ryan, my new favorite associate, pokes through the files.

“Ha ha,” he mumbles, not even sparing me a glance while he pulls out files and stacks them on top of the filing cabinet. “Do you want to go or not?”

“To Ramsey’s new restaurant? Of course I want to go,” I reply, grabbing a stack of sheets fresh out of the finisher and adding them to them my own files before setting a new stack in the document feeder and pressing the green start button. “I just want to know what else you think I might have in common with this hotty? I mean, aside from the fact that we’re both Canadian?”

“I just thought you both might be a little homesick, it might be good for you guys to talk about canoes and ice flows,” Ryan replies sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at me before returning to his task.

“You’re hilarious, really. But seriously…promise me he’s hot, because so far all the guys you’ve been setting me up with look like rejects from the Living Dead movies,” I complain, visualizing all the unfortunate dates I’ve been on since hitting the Island. New friends are one thing. New friends are good, but they also get that look once they get to know you and that’s when the questions start; or at least they do in my experience, with ‘why are you still single?’ topping the list.

“Well he’s rich and he’s a professional athlete, so what else do you need to know?” Ryan asks, pushing one of the drawers closed with a flourish before picking up his stack of folders and turning back to me, expectant, as if he’s waiting for me to bounce up and down and clap my hands with glee. First of all, I’d never do that. That would be degrading, and besides, I’ve never been a cheerleader so I don’t think I’ve ever actually done that. Secondly, after the list of emaciated actors and starving dancers he’s paired me up with lately, I’m not exactly ready to trust his opinion.

“Rich…rich is good,” I admit with a shrug, “but if by professional athlete you mean he’s some big ‘roid abusing pro wrestler or something….”

“Okay, maybe some of the guys I’ve been setting you up with were more my taste….”

“Some of the guys Ryan?”I ask, raising an eyebrow and rolling my eyes.

“Okay well, I promise, this is just what the doctor ordered. Tall, six four, two hundred pounds, pure muscle or so I’m told,” Ryan adds with a wink, “and apparently not even slightly inclined towards the arts. Although what’s wrong with Mama Mia, I swear I do not know.”

“He doesn’t like Abba?” I ask, hiding my grin behind my hand, but too late, Ryan’s already seen it.

“Et tu Bruté?” he sighs, leaning the back of his hand against his forehead and turning his back on me, sighing dramatically as he leaves the copy room. I watch him go, laughing to myself and shaking my own head, before returning to my task with thoughts of a quick shopping trip after work filling my head.

_________________________________________________________________

Personally I’m not a blind date person. Back at home I wouldn’t let anyone set me up on a date. Not for all the tea in China, and I’ve been there. There’s a lot of tea. But in the Big Apple, I’m out of my element. I’ve got to know the people at the firm, but there’s a strict no inter office dating policy so no matter how cute the lawyer or articling student, they’re strictly off limits and after my little incident during the summer, I’ve decided against picking up guys in bars.
So here I am, at the London, sitting at one of those white linen draped tables, wondering who I’m waiting for. It’s like a guessing game and I can’t believe I didn’t get more information out of Ryan.

Of course I’m also wondering just what in the hell Ryan’s told this guy, if anything. Friend of a friend my ass, as I stare into the martini in front of me I start to wonder if he’s ever even met the guy. Don’t get me wrong, in the time I’ve known him I’ve come to adore the bones off the guy but I can’t exactly see Ryan as the hanging out with jocks kind of guy. Drooling over them with me, yeah, absolutely, but I just can’t see him as knowing any, personally.

Still, I know two things. Six foot four and two hundred pounds and looking around the restaurant, the only guy so far that fits that description is the bartender and somehow I don’t see a professional athlete moonlighting as a bartender and having a blind date all at the same time. Multitasking is good, but that would be just crazy.

“Are you…Tippi?” I smile to myself before I ever turn around. I like the guy already. The hesitation in his deep voice tells me that he’s wondering if he’s got the name wrong, or maybe even if it’s some kind of joke. Turning I look up into a pair of eyes the colour the Prarie sky on a summer’s day and a shock of read hair.

“It’s short for Nathalie. Well no, that’s not really right, it’s short for tupso which is some kind of Swedish cutesy thing,” I reply by way of explanation as I push myself up to my feet, finding myself just short of his height in my heels, which seems, if his shy smile is anything to go by, to please him.

“I’m Marc,” he replies, very business like as he takes my hand in his and gives it a firm but not too firm shake and I decide I like him even more. Most men do that very limp wristed shake, like because you’re a woman your hand might break if they put a little ‘umph’ into it when the truth of the matter is, especially at my height my hands are usually not smaller than theirs.

“Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting long. I kind of got lost.” I raise my eyebrows at this as I watch him circle the small table and then sort of fold himself into the chair, bumping his knees under the table, just like I did, which makes me happy that I was here first.

“I thought you’d been here for a couple of years?” I ask, watching as the cheeks in his long narrow face turn a bright shade of pink.

“Well yeah but…I order in a lot?” he says, offering an explanation that it looks like he wants me to believe and because he doesn’t say it in that smarmy, you must believe me kind of way, I actually buy what he’s selling.

“Yeah, this city is crazy crowded, am I right?” I offer, wondering if he feels the same way I do. I thought Vancouver was a big city once upon a time. That was before my parents made me visit China. Now there is crowded. Manhattan is bad, but Hong Kong is worse.

“Very, especially when I think about home. Thunder Bay,” he adds reaching for the wine menu and I have a moment to wonder if I’ve already intimidated him and he’s going to start drinking heavily, but then he signals for the sommelier and orders a very expensive, very good bottle of red wine and I decide that I like this Marc, very much.

__________________________________________________________________

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I grin as he gives me a hand up into the carriage, pulling me down onto the padded seat beside him and smoothing the blanket down over our laps.

“Well…you see it in movies and uh…it seems like a good idea,” he agrees, the tips of his ears turning pink and, as I’ve discovered over the past few of hours, that’s a pretty good indication that Marc is either embarrassed or he’s thinking about something embarrassing and right now, as his hand reaches for mine under the blanket, I’m hoping it’s the latter.

“So you’re trying to tell me in the two years you’ve been here, you haven’t taken a bunch of other women on this ride Marc?” I ask, biting down on my bottom lip to stop myself from actually laughing when his entire face turns pink and he looks away. The man is just too damn cute for words.

“I was going to, once,” he explains, his fingers slipping off of my own, like he can’t hold my hand and tell me this, “but uh…my girlfriend from home, from Thunder Bay…she didn’t like the idea of the horses walking on pavement and stuff.”

I’ve had one martini and two glasses of wine, so I’m not drunk but I suddenly realize that I feel jealous when he says girlfriend. I have visions of some Dutch milk maid with braids gazing up at him and I want to scratch her fucking eyes out. Reaching over for his hand, I lace my fingers with his and look up into those sky blue eyes of his and smile.

“I’m not really an animal person.” Grinning he looks young and boyish and it’s all I can do to stay where I am and not climb into his lap and ravage him. Instead I do nothing as I watch him lean forward to pay the driver (do you call a guy with a whip and a horse a driver?), watching his long fingers with a sort of hypnotic stare that has everything to do with my over active imagination and nothing to do with the fifty in his hand.

“So…law firms…that sounds busy?” he asks, settling back into the seat beside me, his wide shoulder touching mine, his long thigh brushing mine.

“Yeah, busy, but it’s just an office except that everyone’s educated up the wazoo,” I laugh, glancing over at this strong features, high prominent cheekbones, long, sharp jaw, broad wide forehead. “So…hockey,” I say, taking him back to the topic of conversation I’ve tried to have twice now, which he’s somehow managed to change on me. Even now I can see just the hint of a smile on his lips but his eyes sort of glaze over as he shrugs. “Do you fight?” I ask, trying another angle.

“I guess, once or twice,” he shrugs, his gaze wandering towards the streetlights as the carriage turns into the park.

“Did you win?” I ask, giving his hand a little squeeze and pressing my shoulder firmly against his. He smiles, showing me a line of perfectly straight, white teeth as he shrugs.

“I’m not really a fighter,” he laughs, “that’s not really my thing.”

“So that’s a no,” I tease him, giving him another playful shove to which he only rolls his eyes and laughs.

“Yeah I kinda suck at it, just ask my brothers,” he laughs as he turns to me, his eyes shining in the reflected light of the streetlights. I know he’s going to kiss me before he does it, and I feel my heart leap in my chest as he leans in, his handsome features blurring as I turn my lips up to his.

I’ll have to remember to bring Ryan a white mocha and a donut in the morning.

___________________________________________________________________

“That must have gone well,” Miki yawns from the spot on the couch where she’s curled up with one of her books balanced on her knees, a cup of steaming hot tea in her hand. “Considering your reservations were for six thirty.”

“Mmm,” is the only answer I give as I drop into the chair across the room, feeling boneless and too happy to speak. That and my lips are still tingling from the press of his mouth on mine and I’m sort of unwilling to give that feeling up right away.

“So not another unnourished actor I take it, by the fact that there isn’t some mangy, skinny pale guy in our kitchen right now raiding the refrigerator?” she adds with a raise of her eyebrow. I shake my head as I smile across the room and know I don’t have to say anything to her. She can see it plain as day in my face. “Oh my god…you’re finally over it aren’t you?”

“Mmm?” I ask, scrunching up my nose and narrowing my eyes.

“Summer fun,” she sighs, tilting her head to one side. “Whoever he is, he must have made it past the chemical comparison test.”

“Oh he’s so hot Mik…tall, built, and a pure gentleman,” I sigh, using my voice at last and realizing that I don’t entirely lose the feeling of his lips pressed to mine as I speak.

“Gentleman?” she asks, closing her book and putting her cup down before kicking the afghan onto the floor and crossing the room to tilt my chin up, exposing what I can only guess by feel of it is a livid bite mark over my carotid. “Gentleman?” she asks again, shaking her head and tilting my head the other way. She won’t find anything on that side, or anywhere else.

“Yes, he was a perfect gentleman. We made out in the carriage for like an hour and then he walked me home, asked for my number and kissed me good night. That’s it. A perfect gentleman,” I grin up at her, to which she smiles back down at me and kisses me in the middle of the forehead.

“I’m glad. It’s about time you had someone treat you well,” she says in her motherly sort of toner before going back to her place on the couch, gathering her tea and her book before turning back to me. “Does he have a name, this gentleman of yours? I mean, just so I know when you’re gushing over your egg mcmuffin tomorrow morning?”

“Marc. With a ‘c’,” I add, feeling like clapping my hands and jumping up and down. Funny that.
“Marc what?” she asks, raising her eyebrow at me, but I only shrug.

“I don’t know. He didn’t ask me, I didn’t ask him. I didn’t even get to ask him what team he plays for or even if it’s an affiliate or farm tea,” I sigh, but keep grinning just the same. “Not that it matters. We have another date Saturday.”

“Do you now? Well…let me know if I need to get a hotel room or something,” she calls over her shoulder, shaking her head as she drags her blanket behind her down the hallway.

“I will,” I call after her, lifting my fingers to my lips and hoping that will happen sooner, rather than later. If he can do other things as well as he kisses….hot-diggity-dog.

Breathe - A Staal Brothers Fic Chapter 1

Chapter 1 ~ Burn It To The Ground

Like the man in the song says, ‘I got a fist full of fifties, Tequila just hit me’. I’d won a little on the slots earlier when I was waiting for Miki to finish talking to her boyfriend back home and I was happy to spend it right away. What you win in Vegas stays in Vegas. I’m sure that’s the rule.

Anyway, flashing a wad of fifties and being pretty much the hottest bitches in a bar gets you VIP service. That’s a tip by the way. The bouncers had ushered us to a roped off area where there was an assortment of tall, handsome, well dressed men already well into their cups. I didn’t even mind if they’d pointed us out on the dance floor. Like I said, Miki and I were by far the hottest bitches in the place and besides, I’d been pretty much dancing with a bottle of Patron, as I hadn’t seen a single guy tall enough or what I’d consider hot enough to dance with.

You see I’m pretty picky when it comes to men and it’s not just because I think I’m hot. I mean, I know I’m hot and I’m not saying that because I’m conceited but I can’t walk past a construction site without work coming to a complete halt. I am that girl that guys whistle at from the windows of moving cars. But I’m also damn near six feet in bare feet and when you’re that girl, your dating pool gets considerably shallow.

You wouldn’t think so. I mean, they say that we, as human beings, are getting taller with each passing generation. But a lot of the guys that are tall enough to make me feel really girly, you know where you fit into that spot where a guy can put his chins on the top of your head, are younger than me, or taken, or gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

So when the bouncer ushers us in the direction of an entire group of six foot plus guys that look like they actually work out and have enough money to buy designer threads, well momma was in her element, if you get my drift.

Now I don’t say that because I’m a snob. Well made clothes are a good investment. You can buy cheap shit if you want, but if you invest in good pieces, they’ll last. It’s not always true, but often you do get what you pay for and I have an eye for these things. I haven’t been a personal shopper at Holts for most of my young life for no reason. People respect my ability to know what looks good, and most of these guys looked good, really good and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just because I’d already downed half the bottle of Patron all on my own.

There was one of them, a tall blonde one with these steely blue eyes that gave me this look that just said ‘I’m thinking about you naked right now’ that just plain did it for me. He didn’t even want to dance with me. They put that Hinder song on ‘Up All Night’, and I did that drunk girl thing where I screamed and grabbed Miki and the nearest guy and dragged them out on the floor. I didn’t even really dance with the guy either. I sort of danced around him, used him like a stripper’s pole, grinding and getting really, really low, shimmying and shaking what my momma gave me and all the time, the tall blonde one with the Steven Tyler lips and the John Travolta cleft chin just kept staring at me like he was picturing me naked.

Normally, if I was just out shopping or walking to work or something, a guy looking at me like that would make me go all ‘ooh ick’ but with half a bottle of Patron in me and in holiday mode, plus the fact that he was really wearing his jeans well and the muscles in his chest and arms were straining against the thin cotton of his long sleeved tee, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

I’m also not the type of friend who would normally abandon her girlfriends at a club and just leave with some random guy, but again, I wasn’t exactly my usual self. So when I stumbled off of the floor, in desperate need of something cold to drink and some ice to drop down into my bra and Blondie walked up to me and said something along the lines of ‘I want to fuck your brains out’, I didn’t think about Miki or about the fact that we had to catch a plane the next morning. I just followed him out of the club.

I do that when I’m three sheets to the wind. I’ll follow people. It’s a bad and a dangerous habit. He could have been an axe murderer for all I knew. Of course he wasn’t, but I didn’t know that at the time.

What I did know was that he had really big hands, long fingers and I almost had to run to keep up with his long strides. I also knew, as soon as I heard the metallic whoosh of the elevator door closing behind us that he definitely was prepared to back up the steamy looks he’d been giving me in the club.

Now some people can get very drunk and wake up the next morning and are blessed with no memory of what they did the night before. As if the men in black walked up to them with that little memory stick eraser thing and just wiped their memory clean. I am not blessed with that gift. I can get puking my guts out, falling down, passing out drunk and still remember everything that happened the night before. You would think that would stop me from doing stupid shit, but no, it doesn’t, especially not after 151 or Tequila.

So while some of the memories of that night, like getting to the club or exactly how I got that bottle of Patron may be a little hazy, the way Blondie pulled me to him and pressed his lips over mine, leaving me weak kneed and entirely at his mercy, are etched in my brain and probably will be until the day I die.

Firstly, I’m a sucker for a guy that can actually do that, pretty much pick me up and move me. It’s part of that height thing. There just aren’t that many guys that can do it. Blondie, on the other hand, in no time at all, had me up against the wall of the elevator with his tongue down my throat and his hand in my panties without even seeming to put out any effort at all.

I was impressed, I’ll admit it. I remember thinking something along the lines of ‘damn, he’s strong’ shortly followed by ‘oh look little old lady in a leisure suit is going to have a stroke’. The old couple pulling their matching oxygen tanks didn’t seem to faze Blondie, however. He just grinned and dragged me past them, politely saying hello while I stumbled behind him down the hall.

I also remember, very clearly, that when he turned to lock the door, put the dead bolt on, I assumed to keep out his roomies that I wanted to take my boots off. Being new they were hurting my feet but I couldn’t quite figure out what to do with my bottle or how to take them off using only one hand. Mr. Take Charge; however, took the bottle out of my hand and took a long swig from it, which caused me to take a long look at his long thickly muscled neck that I decided I needed to make like a vampire and bite.

I wish I could say the rest was a blur, but it’s not. My memory of it is like the best porn film ever made and all I have to do is close my eyes and I can bring it all back. We destroyed that hotel room. He had me against the wall and I ended up kicking over one of the lamps. He had me against the TV stand and I remember hearing the door crack behind me as he shoved me against it. He even had me on that little table they put in the corner, which I assume is for eating room service, although I’d never done that in Vegas, and he was the one who kicked the chair out of the way, sending it into the wall, leaving a scuff mark and dent where it bounced off. We even ripped the sheets, which I don’t think you can say was really all our fault, considering how tightly the maids had made the hospital corners. All I know was we couldn’t really get them off and we kept sliding around on the satiny quilt cover and we go impatient. I even bit through one of the pillow covers.

They even sent security at one point, to check and see if he was an axe murderer I guess, and we both had to come to the door and say that we were both happy to be there, although there was really no second guessing how happy he was and I remember laughing and pulling the towel off of him to prove my point.

Of course that only started it all over again, which is when the phone got knocked onto the floor and the bedside table was turned into kindling. Even the wall sconces above the bed weren’t safe. I pulled one of them completely out the wall at one point and the other, well the glass part was knocked off and must have hit something because it got broken too.

By the time he cried uncle, declared me the winner and was lying fast first on the remaining pillow declaring himself dead, the room looked like it had been turned over by professional thieves. That or a hurricane had been through. That’s when he asked me my name.

I was going to lie but decided against it. I was going home in the morning and I’d decided that he must be an American and there wasn’t much point in exchanging phone numbers, no matter how earth shattering and life altering the sex had been.
So I just didn’t tell him, and held both hands over his mouth when he tried to tell me. ‘No names’ I’d said, stretching my aching limbs out beside his and closing my eyes, just for a few minutes. He’d laughed and shook his head and pulled my body into his, his knees fitting perfectly into the back of mine, his body curling around mine like it was meant for me. It felt nice. I do remember that.
I also remember all too well sneaking out of the room, leaving him with the disaster and the bill for the damage no doubt, carrying my new Prada boots and trying to ignore the appalled and dismayed looks from the early risers, again, all blue rinse biddies no doubt heading down to start tossing their pension cheques at the nickels slots early.
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I’m not saying I’m proud of that night but I’m not exactly ashamed of it either. I’m not normally the kind of girl that would just hop into bed with some random guy but there was something about him, something about the way he was looking at me, mixed in with a fair amount of liquor that just did it for me that night. Plus, and this is a big plus, it was definitely, hands down, no arguments the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life…period.

Not that I think about it all the time. I mean, yeah, I’ve woken up in a cold sweat more than once, my entire body shuddering from the force of the sense memory, but I don’t think about it all the time and the only other person, other than the guy and probably all of his friends, who knows about that night is Miki and she’s my best friend. She’d never tell anyone.

So after my walk of shame and Miki sort of rolling her eyes at me for a couple of days afterward, I put that night behind me and tried to go on with my life but it did sort of make it hard for me to date after that. Not that dating has ever been that easy for me. Like I said, I’m tall for a girl so my pool of men to draw from is a bit small, but then I had the added issue of looking for that same sort of heat in another man and I just wasn’t finding it.

Not until Miki and I had both applied for job transfers to New York. Did I mention that I love the fashion industry? Well I do but mostly because it’s helped pay my way through a crazy hard course to be a legal assistant and taken a load of shit jobs in a bunch of law firms until I found one that would get me out of this town and into the big bad world and put a few thousand miles between me and my family.
I’d been in the Big Apple for about a month, living in a tiny two bedroom apartment that was nothing like those huge places they had on Friends (as if anyone in New York could really afford apartments that big on any of their salaries!!), when one of the other assistants set me up on a blind date.

That’s when things starting turning around for me.

Breathe - A Staal Brother Fic

Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt.
Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve.
But people are people,
And sometimes it doesn’t work out,
Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out.
(words Taylor Swift from Breathe)

Taboo. Definition: A moral or cautionary restriction placed upon certain actions by authorities (kings, priests, shamans, etc.) of a people, which if ignored will result in specific negative consequences. In virtually all human cultures there are taboos against specific sexual practices. These prohibitions derive mainly from religious beliefs and long-established traditional beliefs and social customs.

Prologue

First I want to say that I never wanted this. This was never, ever my intention. It might not look like it, but I swear that I’m the innocent party in all of this.
Both men have the same piercing blue eyes. One is blonde, the other a carrot top. Two years apart, they’re as close as brothers can be and more competitive than most. I know I should have seen it, should have realized, but sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake.

Besides, I was drunk; very, very drunk.

I know that as a defense, it’s not one I should rely on in court. Out of anyone I should know that, but it’s the only one I have. Plus I was on vacation, and you know how the saying goes. C’mon, say it with me:

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Or at least I thought it had.

So I was wrong. Sue me.

Look, I could try and explain why I’m standing between two brothers who look like they’re going to rip each other apart, but I think I’d be better off trying to explain it from the beginning. The very beginning, when I was still innocent.
Well not innocent but…when I could have still plead innocence and gotten away with it. Let’s put it that way.

It started out with a girls’ weekend, some drinking, some dancing and some major shopping. We were staying at Caesar’s Palace and I’d just bought this super cute little metallic number and a pair of killer Prada boots….