Vice(24)

"This is just my opinion but...." Abraham broke in and then trailed off,  watching Conway with the same sort of suspicion my nephew was watching  him. I had a feeling Abraham's was more for show but I was also willing  to admit I could be wrong. Lord knows I was being wrong about so much  today anyway. "I would buy something I could wear to school and church,  so I could wear it whenever I wanted."

Conway studied him, one thumb creeping dangerously close to his mouth.  If I didn't know any better, I would say my five-year old nephew was  testing the character of my thirty-three year old not quite boyfriend.  "Which one?"

"Let me see." Abraham reached over and took both dresses, holding them  out at arms' length and scanning them with the sort of critical eye  better suited to an art student comparing and contrasting a Monet and a  Manet. After a moment, he said, "I think with your coloring, the blue  would suit you better."

Conway continued to stare at him, the seconds ticking by almost gunshot loud. Finally, he said, "That's the one I like best."

"Then that's definitely the one you should get." Abraham draped it over  my knee, setting the other one to the side. Holding out one hand, he  said, "Why don't we go look at some others and see what we can find?"

I sat there and watched them wander off and wondered how many more ways  Abraham Hansom was going to surprise me before things were finished.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





Later that night-much later-I shut the door connecting the two hotel  rooms and locked it. "The younger kids are asleep and despite Tammy  saying otherwise I'm pretty sure her and Kitty aren't too far behind  them."

"You can tell Tammy my mother is handling the cheerleading thing."  Abraham didn't glance up from his laptop, his fingers continue to fly  over the keys. "Both through the school and personally."

"Do I want to know what you mean by that last bit?"

"I told you on Sunday, I'm related in some way, shape, or form to Tina  Anne although I can't pin down the specifics." Now he did look up, his  face solemn. "Are you ready to talk?"

"No, I'm ready to sleep." I pulled my shirt off, dropping it on the  floor before dragging off my jeans, leaving them in a puddle of fabric  next to the crumpled shirt. Unfastening my bra, I tossed it toward the  overstuffed chair every hotel room in America seemed to have, sighing  when it missed, landing on the floor with a dull thud. Throwing back the  duvet, I sprawled on the bed, my face pressed against the mattress. "Do  you need all the lights on or can you manage with just the one on the  desk?"

"If you think you being naked is going to distract me, you're wrong."

"I'm not trying to distract you, I'm trying to settle down and go to  sleep." I rolled to my side, pillowing my cheek on one arm, shoving my  hair behind my shoulders with my free hand. "I'm assuming you're doing  paperwork or something for the bar and I don't mind but I can't sleep  with all the lights on."

"No, I was ordering books for you to help with your nephew." He didn't  quite slam the laptop shut but it was close. Standing, he started  pulling off his own clothes, the jerky quality of his movements doing a  better job of telegraphing his emotions than all the shouting in the  world. Shouting I could tune out. Hurt deep enough it made such a  graceful person clumsy wasn't something I could ignore. "I know he's  only five but I think it's safe to say Conway is what people like to  call gender-fluid."         

     



 

"Or maybe he just likes dresses." I shrugged. "Like you said, he's five.  Maybe when he's older, he'll decide he doesn't like dresses but he's a  big fan of makeup. Or maybe he won't like any of it and he'll spend an  entire year wearing nothing but hunting gear." I watched as he moved  around the room, shutting off each light in turn before stretching out  on his back next to me, the space separating us feeling more like miles  than inches. "You're not mad about Conway."

"And here I thought you weren't paying attention." He flicked off the  bedside lamp, plunging the room in to darkness. For a moment, we were  both silent. Finally, he said, "Marcus was in a car wreck about ten  years ago. He lived but it paralyzed him from the waist down."

Not knowing what else to say, I simply said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." He reached over and took my hand, squeezing my fingers to the  point just before pain. "He beat the hell out of me all through middle  school and high school. Every time I threw a ball that wasn't caught,  every time the team lost, every time I was less than perfect because  perfection is the only thing Hansoms are allowed to be."

"What about your mother?" I'd never met Mary Hansom but I had a hard  time believing a woman who was the closest thing to a saint the town of  Cotton Creek had would be okay with anybody, even her husband, abusing  her child. "She had to have done something."

"She left discipline up to my father because that was the way she'd been raised. The way Marcus was raised."

I didn't ask why he refused to address Marcus as his father. If I was in  his position, I would probably feel the same way. Instead, I said, "So I  take it I don't need to worry about blocking out Sunday afternoons for  dinner with your parents."

He barked out a laugh and some part of me I hadn't even realized was  tense relaxed as he pulled me against him. "Not every Sunday. Once a  month, I subject myself to an afternoon with them. You'd think Marcus  would be less of a bastard-like maybe he'd realize this is some sick,  twisted version of karma coming to call-but if anything he's worse than  when I was younger." He stroked his hand down my back, his touch  soothing more than arousing. "And Mary... well, she still just sits  there and lets it happen."

"My parents... well, you know about them." Everybody in Cotton Creek  knew about them. Rich people could afford to keep their scandals quiet.  Poor people couldn't. "And even though I loved them, I'd be the first to  say they weren't great parents. But they never lifted a hand to me or  Loretta."

"I wanted to leave. To take the money from my inheritance and go...  anywhere, really. But after the wreck, Mary begged me to stay. She  convinced Marcus to give me the land but I paid for it because I didn't  want him to ever say I owed him anything." He cuddled me closer and I  draped my arm over his torso, twining my leg with his. "I make sure all  their finances are in order and that they don't want for anything. I do  my duty as their child. But I don't have anything to do with them  otherwise."

"That's your choice." And one I could understand to some extent. After  all, I'd uprooted my entire life and moved back to the last place on the  planet I wanted to live because my sister's kids needed me. "But if it  makes you this unhappy, maybe you shouldn't do it."

"I've been unhappy in some way, shape, or form since I was twelve years  old, Jeannie Jackson. If I'm being honest, I wouldn't know what to do if  I wasn't unhappy."

"Now that's just depressing." I sat up, shaking my hair out of my face  and frowning at him. "You're seriously going to lay there and tell me  there's never been a moment in the past twenty-odd years where you  weren't anything but happy?"

"I think the closest I've come is when we're in bed together." Even in  the dark, I could see that whiplash quick grin. "Or in a car. Or in a  hotel room."

"Very funny." I straddled him, leaning down and brushing my lips over  his, laughing and trying to wiggle away when he anchored his hands in my  hair, holding me in place. "Not tonight, mister. I've been up since  five and I'm exhausted and tomorrow is going to be just as tiring."

"I bet I could change your mind in three minutes or less." He streaked  his free hand down my torso, easing his fingers between my thighs, not  quite touching where we both wanted him to touch. "Set the timer on your  phone."         

     



 

"And if you lose, we'll both just go to sleep frustrated."

"We're going to go to sleep frustrated as it is unless you let me change  your mind." He sat up, never loosening his grip as he scooted backward  until he was braced against the headboard. "There are a lot of things  I'm fond of, Jeannie Jackson."

"Like?" I sighed as those annoyingly clever fingers stroked the soft  skin of my inner thighs, so close to where I wanted him to be and yet  still far too far away. "Abraham?"

"Waffles." He slid one finger over my cunt, pressing firmly against my  clit. "Tequila." He dragged the finger down, easing inside me, exhaling  through clenched teeth when my inner muscles clamped down on the digit.  "I'd say I even have a fondness for pain."