Clipped Wings

32

TENLEY

The windows were foggy and the car smelled like sex, even though we hadn’t technically had any. I hoped that would change once we got to his place.

He tucked himself away and zipped his fly. Shifting around, he pressed his face against the back of the passenger seat and fumbled with the release lever. It gave way and the seat folded forward, taking Hayden with it. He grinned dopily as he opened the door and practically fell out.

“Are you okay?” I asked, climbing after him.

He hopped to his feet and brushed off his pants. “I’m good.”

I’d never seen Hayden embarrassed before, or exhibiting any clumsiness. It was reassuring to know I affected him in such a way, especially since his experience far outweighed mine. Score one for putting into practice information gleaned from Cosmopolitan magazine.

We took the stairs to the second floor and stopped in front of unit 222. Hayden unlocked the door.

“Uh, can you wait here a second? I just want to make sure it’s not a mess.” His eyes shifted around like he was nervous.

He started down the hall, stopped abruptly, and turned with a shake of his head. He pulled me inside, twisted the dead bolt, and slid the chain lock into place. Unlacing his shoes, he took them off, opened the closet, and placed them neatly inside before closing the door again.

“I’ll be right back.” He kissed my cheek and left me there before disappearing to the right when he reached the end of the hall.

I shrugged out of my jacket and opened the closet door. Inside were a number of coats for various types of weather, the fall and winter ones most accessible. A rack of shoes lined the floor, the heels perfectly aligned. The upper shelving contained boxes, arranged with the same symmetry. Not a thing out of place, nothing jammed in the back. I’d never seen a closet so organized.

I hung up my coat and removed my shoes, putting them beside Hayden’s before I closed the door. He returned a few seconds later.

“All clear.” He rubbed his palms on his pants and took my hand.

The hall was painted a soft gray, a large antique mirror the only thing breaking up the color. The floors were dark hardwood, gleaming under the warm light thrown off by the ornate chandelier hanging above. I followed him around the corner and stopped short at the sight of the open concept living space. The muted gray color scheme continued throughout.

To the right was a very sparse, minimalist kitchen. The backsplash was white subway tile, the countertop dark gray granite. A bowl of fruit on the island and a soap dispenser at the sink were the only items to break up the continuity. The stainless steel appliances showed no trace of fingerprints. To the left was a dark wood dining table that would easily accommodate six guests. In the center a silver square planter with a single blooming orchid broke the spell of emptiness.

A black leather couch with hard angles and a set of matching chairs defined the living room. A solid wood coffee table sat atop a bloodred area rug. On the opposite wall a huge flat-screen TV dominated the space, and on either side were dark wood shelving units. Each shelf alternated between rows of books, perfectly arranged from smallest to largest, and decorative knickknacks or photos. The images were too far away for me to make out the faces. I recognized a few items Hayden had chosen from my time with him in the basement of Serendipity. It seemed so long ago, but it had only been weeks. Back then I never entertained the notion that I would be here, in his home.

Beyond the living area was what looked to be a drafting table, like the ones architects use. The space was delineated with a box shelf, which housed more books and several red fabric bins, the contents hidden from view. The cool colors and the uniformity were both calming and masculine.

The condo wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I’d envisioned some kind of anarchist retreat, including a wall of angry graffiti. Instead it felt like I walked into the pages of a modern magazine.

Spanning the wall behind the couch, perfectly spaced out, were three framed works of art. The two on either end clearly belonged to Chris and Jamie, but the one in the middle was Hayden’s creation. Detailed and vibrant, the art almost looked like a photograph. It was a perfect replica of my tattoo on my body. The rendering held me in an incredibly flattering light.

“I, uh . . .” Hayden cleared his throat. “I just put that up the other day.”

“You don’t see enough of me so you thought you’d hang me on your wall, too?”

Hayden stood at the edge of the room, hands shoved in his pockets. “Something like that.”

“It’s beautiful.” His mood was difficult to track. Inviting me into his space was like giving me a look inside his head. Hayden kept such tight control over everything in his life: his work, his home, his emotions. I seemed to be the exception to that rule.

“That’s because it’s you.” His smile was shy. “Can I get you something to drink? I have beer, red wine, scotch. I think I might have stuff to make a girlie drink if you want.”

“Wine would be nice.” I moved away from the drawing and followed him into the kitchen. “Do you have a housekeeper or something?”

He eyed me like the notion was absurd. “I’m good at keeping things organized. I don’t need someone else to do that for me.”

“Are you taking a shot at my housekeeping skills?”

“I can’t take a shot at something you don’t have.”

Insulted by the insinuation that I wasn’t tidy enough, I circled his kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers while he poured drinks.

“What are you looking for?”

“Where’s your junk drawer?”

“My what?” He swirled his scotch, amused.

It was a strange contradiction, seeing this man, so unnervingly beautiful, sipping scotch in the most immaculate kitchen I’d ever stepped foot in.

“Your junk drawer. You know, the place where you put all the stuff you don’t know what to do with.” When he just stared at me, I provided a few examples. “Elastic bands, twist ties, masking tape, spare pens, those kinds of things.”

“Open the drawer to your left.”

I was sorely disappointed by what I found. An organizer had been dropped into it, each compartment labeled according to the items it housed. In my world, most people tossed those random items into a catch-all drawer. At least that was what I grew up with. Even Connor, whose family had employed a live-in housekeeper, had a junk drawer.

“This is too organized. It doesn’t qualify.”

“I like organized. Clutter stresses me out.”

“I never would have guessed,” I replied.

My place was perpetually lived in. He was always tidying up after me. Now I understood his compulsion. In comparison to his, my apartment looked like a bomb had gone off in it.

“Are you done snooping?”

“For now. Did you want to show me where you sleep?”

“Sure.”

At the end of the hall, he opened a door and hit the light switch. Hayden’s bedroom retained the same masculine minimalist bent as the rest of his place. A king-sized bed was set against a midnight blue wall, the heavy dark wood frame complemented by a dresser and a nightstand in the same modern style. The slate gray duvet was turned down, navy sheets pulled tight, matching pillows propped against the headboard. There were signs of life in here; books stacked neatly on the nightstand, a digital clock, and a lamp with a dark shade.

There was more art on the walls, all of which reflected abject sensuality. A trio of photographs depicted various female body parts—the curvy silhouette of a woman’s torso, the line of her neck, the swell of a hip draped in red satin.

“Lisa took those,” Hayden said, his fingers drifting down my spine.

“Is it someone you know?”

“No. Just a model from one of her photography classes.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded through me. I didn’t want Hayden staring at photographs of a woman he’d once been with as he was drifting off to sleep, or doing anything else in that bed.

“No one’s ever been in here before.”

“Did you just move in recently?” The room defied the typical bachelor pad; no piles of clothes draped over chairs or discarded on the floor.

“I’ve lived here since we opened Inked Armor.”

It took a few seconds for the message to sink in. “You’ve never brought a woman home?”

“Well yeah, but never in here. Not in my room or my bed. Except for you. I want you in here. With me. Jesus. I sound like a douche.” He gulped down the rest of his scotch. “I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“Hey.” I tugged on his wrist, pulling him farther into the room, toward that massive bed. He came willingly. My wineglass found a home on the nightstand. I stepped away, turning to face him.

“Only me?”

“Yes.”

Territorial pride gave me courage. “Why?” I asked and lowered the hidden zipper on my dress. It loosened and fell away, pooling at my feet. Hayden’s eyes stayed on me as the rest of my clothing dropped to the floor.

“Because I—” He looked so vulnerable. “I want to— Being with you is different.”

I sat on the edge of the mattress, tucked my knees under me, and crooked a finger. His empty glass kissed mine, the muted clink the only sound other than our breathing. When he was right in front of me, I started to undress him.

“It’s the same for me,” I admitted, pushing his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. I unbuckled his belt, popped the button on his pants, and pushed them over his hips. “I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone but you.” I lifted my eyes. “It scares me that I feel this way. The thought of losing you—” The prospect was too disconcerting, especially considering how close we’d been to that potential reality so recently.

He cupped my face in his hands and dipped his head down to kiss me. “I don’t want to be without you again,” he murmured.

I moved back as Hayden climbed up on the bed and prowled over me. When my head hit the pillows, I parted my legs and he settled between them.

“I should have brought you here sooner,” he said against my mouth.

“I’m here now.” I wrapped myself around him, drawing him close.

Everything was slow, careful. It was such a relief when he finally eased inside me. He moved over me with that same unhurried passion, like the end was something he was trying to stay away from, not get to.

“I can’t get close enough,” he whispered, stealing my breath when he kissed me.

My hands moved down, resting on the dip in his spine. I lifted my hips, urging him deeper. His eyes closed briefly, his smile wry. When they opened, the way he looked at me made my heart ache. His emotions bared in that moment as his fingers skimmed my throat down to my collarbone and his palm stopped over my heart. “I want to be in here.” There was such quiet yearning in his eyes as he gazed down at me.

I touched his perfect face, wishing I could give him more of me. “You already are.”

When I came, it felt like I was breaking apart and being put back together at the same time.

It was a long time before either one of us moved. Hayden blanketed my body, his weight deliciously heavy. His head rested on my chest, his colorful arm cutting a line across the pale, unmarked skin on my stomach.

Eventually I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was getting late. “TK’s been home alone all afternoon.”

He threw one leg over mine. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“She hasn’t been fed.” I traced the outline of the fish swimming up his biceps.

“What if we brought her back here? Then you could both stay the night.”

“Really? You’d be okay with TK at your place?” I asked, surprised he would even suggest it.

“Yeah, of course.”

I tried to wiggle out from under him, but he wouldn’t budge. “The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back into bed.”

He released me and I sat up. I had no desire to put my dress back on, so I crossed over to his closet to find a shirt. Like the rest of his condo, it was ridiculously tidy. All the hangers hung in the same direction, the clothing separated by function and season. The hem of the long-sleeved shirt I picked fell below my butt. With my opaque tights and knee-length jacket, it would suffice until we returned. By the time I came out of his closet, Hayden was already dressed and ready to go.

TK met us at the door of my apartment, meowing up a storm because her dish was empty. Hayden fed her and gathered her things while I packed an overnight bag. I was excited about spending the night at his place. Things were changing between us, and this new intimacy was something I wanted to foster. I was finally beginning to accept that what I had with Hayden couldn’t be compared to what I’d had with Connor. My life had been irrevocably altered. I couldn’t make time rewind, and I didn’t want to anymore.

As I came out of the bathroom, the door buzzer went off.

“Can you get that?” I asked. “It’s probably Chris. He keeps hitting the wrong button. Sarah should just give him a key.”

Hayden rolled his eyes and hit the buzzer while I carried an armload of supplies to my bedroom. I dumped them in the bag, moving items around to make it all fit. I heard the muffled sound of conversation and assumed Hayden was talking to Chris.

TK, who had been sniffing around in my bag, jumped off the bed and padded out of the room. “I’m ready!” I called out and followed after her.

Hayden was standing in the doorway, blocking the view of the hall. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he sounded as tense as he looked.

“Is everything okay?” I asked uncertainly.

Hayden turned, his mouth set in a hard line. As he moved, the person in the hall came into view. My bag made a heavy thud as it hit the floor.

“Trey.”