Vanilla Read online

  That got her attention. Frowning, Susan shook her head. “Walk to your office? In downtown Harrisburg? He’s not even thirteen yet, you want him to get mugged?”

  I didn’t point out that it was literally less than a mile walk along public streets in the middle of the afternoon, not a saunter through back alleys at two in the morning. “If you need me to, that’s all.”

  “Thanks.” Her chin went up, and she finally looked at me, though her gaze skated away from mine without holding it. “Yeah, that might be great. It’s this new class. It runs—”

  “Late, got it.” Awkward silence hung between us, and I could’ve eased it but frankly, I’d long ago decided that whatever problems my brother’s wife had with me were of her own making. However, since Evan wasn’t home, she was the one I had to talk to about William. “I invited the kiddo to stay with me this weekend. I can pick him up from services on Saturday, if you want. I’ll bring him back Sunday.”

  “He has religious school Sunday morning.”

  “So I’ll take him to religious school,” I told her easily. “I’ll make sure he gets there on time. Anyway, it’ll give you and Evan a date night. You can even sleep in.”

  A short, harsh bark of laughter rasped out of her before she swallowed it. She did meet my gaze then, for a second or so. “Sure. That sounds great. Thanks. I’ll make sure he has a bag with him. Thanks, Elise.”

  “No problem,” I said again. “I love having him.”

  Another few beats of awkward silence moved me toward the door. I shouted out a goodbye to William as I left, but he didn’t answer. Susan shut the door so firmly behind me there was no question about how happy she was to see me go.

  Some people love you. Some hate you. Some tolerate you for the sake of keeping the peace, and if everyone in the world managed to do even just that, we’d have a lot less woe in the world.

  3

  I want to see you tonight.

  Not may I, or I wish, but I want. I hadn’t been expecting the message, though as far as surprises went, it was definitely a pleasant one. With my phone tucked into the front pocket of my purse while I shopped for a quick cart of junk food for my nephew’s sleepover, I’d missed the message when it came in twenty minutes before. I thumbed a reply as I waited in line to check out.

  I can’t tonight.

  To my additional surprise, JohnSmith is Typing appeared at the top of the app. That meant Esteban had read and was replying immediately, which wasn’t usual for a weekend. In the beginning, we had connected late at night in those dark hours between midnight and three, when smart people were asleep. Most of our conversations now happened during the workweek between two and four in the afternoon.

  I really want to see you.

  Before I could type an answer, my phone rang. Even more surprised now, because Esteban never called me without asking me first for permission, I thumbed the screen to answer. “What’s wrong?”

  The woman in front of me gave me a curious glance. I lowered my voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I want to see you,” he told me, which was not the answer to my question. “Can we meet tonight?”

  “I have...” I hesitated. Esteban and I didn’t talk about our lives, not in great detail. We talked about our jobs. We talked about sex. The rest of it, by unspoken agreement, was covered in vagueness and clouds. I had my reasons for keeping it that way and had always assumed Esteban did, too. “Plans. I can’t change them. I’m sorry. If I’d known sooner—”

  “I didn’t know I would be able to see you tonight.” He sounded disappointed.

  We’d never had a last-minute sort of relationship, even before we’d settled into our regular monthly dates. This sudden urgency from him made me wary. “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d want to.”

  “I miss you.”

  I glanced at the woman in front of me in line, who was clearly eavesdropping. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. You just feel very far away.” His voice deepened for a moment, his impeccable English overlaid by that delicious accent that was as much about the spaces between his words as it was the way he pronounced them. Esteban sighed. “I need to see you.”

  Before Esteban, there’d been other men. More than I wanted to think about, not because I was ashamed but because most of them had not been worth the effort. When you lose something you love before you’re ready to give it up, you look for it wherever else you can find it, and I’d looked for what I wanted in a lot of places before Esteban’s sweetly respectful message had showed up in my inbox at OnHisKnees.com.

  I’m starving, he’d told me when we’d been talking for a few weeks. I’d asked him what he was looking for, why he was on the site. What he wanted. I’m hungry all the time for something I can’t seem to find.

  I understood what he meant. About hunger. About how you could glut yourself on something and yet still be empty.

  I couldn’t stop myself from liking Esteban. He was sweet and smart and funny; he made me laugh and challenged me mentally as well as gave me delicious orgasms. It wasn’t something we talked about, the tenuous emotional connection between us that wasn’t supposed to be there because what we had was meant to be only physical.

  “I’m right here.” I cradled the phone against my shoulder as I put my items on the conveyer belt. I’d kept my voice low, cautious of giving the people around me a free show. “I’m at the store now, though. I have to go. Can you call me in about an hour? I’ll have some time to talk to you then.”

  He sighed. “An hour until I get to bathe in the melody of your voice? Okay.”

  I disconnected, bemused at his urgency. Flattered, a little. The melody of my voice? It was over the top and silly, but warmed me anyway.

  I dropped off my groceries at home and got back in my car to head for the synagogue just as my phone rang again. I let the call ring through to my car speakers so I could drive while we talked.

  “Are you driving?” Esteban asked. “I hear noise.”

  “Yep, I’m in the car.”

  “Drive to me,” he said. “Meet me!”

  I didn’t answer immediately. It wasn’t like him to be so demanding, and though desire is an aphrodisiac, this game had never been about Esteban telling me what to do. I wasn’t about to start playing it that way now.

  “Hush,” I said sharply. “I told you, I can’t. I have plans.”

  I’d heard that same soft intake of breath often enough to know his reaction. It was my tone of voice. The idea of my disapproval and of facing the consequences of it. He’d be hard as a rock right about now.

  Damn, I loved that.

  “I’m sorry,” Esteban said, instantly apologetic.

  I softened. “Hush, I said. I’m happy you want to see me. And normally, I’d love to see you tonight. But I can’t, as I said.”

  “You have a date?”

  “It’s not your concern,” I said, harsher than I wanted to be, but proving a point. “I told you I have plans. That’s enough for you to know.”

  “Would he do for you the things I will?”

  I didn’t answer right away, turning over my own reaction in my head before letting it take control. Other men had tried to bully me into giving them what they wanted, whether it was a blow job or an endearment. I had to remind myself that Esteban was not other men and had proven it time and again.

  When I tied him up, I was responsible for making sure he didn’t get hurt beyond his limits. I was in charge of his body. I was also in charge, in some ways, of his heart.

  “It’s not a date, Esteban.” His laugh sounded relieved, and I cut him off before he could speak. I believed I understood why he was acting this way, but that didn’t change our dynamic. “But if it were, it would not be your business.”

  “I’m sorry. I should not have asked,” he said after a moment. Did I hear a tremble in his voice?

  “What’s wrong, honey?” I relented. I was alone in the car, but my voice still dipped low. I imagined him, eyes closed, on his knees, leaning