Come Together (The Cityscape 3)

He gave me a stern, slightly scary look. “Do not downgrade yourself.”

I blinked at him. “Okay.”

“What does Beman think of your articles?” he asked.

“Well . . . he’s complimentary.”

“Do you think he’s just being nice?”

I laughed loudly. “No. I’m sure he would relish telling me otherwise.”

“Just because your mom is a writer, it wouldn’t mean you were following in her footsteps.”

“I know . . . ,” I said, but my voice wavered.

“I think you don’t want to give it a fair try because you’ve spent your life vowing not to turn into her.”

“She used to tell me I wasn’t any good at it,” I admitted. “And it hurt.”

Disgust marred his handsome features. “Don’t listen to that shit.”

“I grew up thinking it was true.”

“My guess? You say she was jealous of everyone, even you for getting your dad’s attention. Demeaning you made her feel in control while putting you in your place. I get the feeling whatever your hobby had been, she would’ve downgraded it.”

My heart was racing. I’d never had anyone try so hard to figure me out. He wanted to show me the reasons I shut down, hid behind a mask; why I created the mask in the first place. He’d been doing it all weekend, and it was both unnerving and exhilarating. It was hard for me to admit, but, quietly, I said, “I think you’re right.”

“I know I’m right, and I want you to prove her wrong.”

“But it doesn’t change the fact that people would make the connection between us. Germaine isn’t exactly common. I’d be in her shadow.”

“Use Dylan,” he suggested.

My breath caught in my throat, and I swallowed dryly. Olivia Dylan. I tried it out in my head. I liked it. I liked it too much for someone who was still legally married.

He chuckled, and I blinked up at him. “What?” I asked.

“The expression on your face. And you thought I was easily spooked.”

I scowled. “Anyway.”

“Anyway what?”

“I don’t know,” I said, grasping for a change of topic.

“Anyway, write something. Do it now. I’ll stop bothering you.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to write,” I said, but it wasn’t true. I thought back to a short story I’d written for a creative writing course in college. I only had a handful of pages, but it was something . . . .

He leaned under the seat in front of me and grabbed my bag. “Here,” he said, excavating my laptop, “just try it for twenty minutes. If you hate it, we can have sex in the bathroom.”

I sat up and widened my eyes. “Really?”

“Really. But I’ll be timing you.”

I accepted the computer. “Deal.”

~

“Ma’am? It’s time to stow your laptop.”

I looked up, blinking slowly at the flight attendant. “But . . .”

David snickered into his fist.

“Are we here?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am, please stow the laptop and bring your seatback to the upright position.”

“So how’d it go?” David asked, grinning as I packed up the computer.

I answered him with a frown. “I didn’t want to do it in a disgusting airplane bathroom anyway.”

“Liar.”

I snuck my arm between his back and the seat to wrap him in a sideways hug, resting my head on his ribcage.

“You realize that you wrote for an hour straight,” he said, rubbing my arm.

I had read over my story, decided I liked it, and created an outline. I started thinking harder about characters, the ones I already had and the ones I would add. I’d even written another handful of pages. I smiled. He was right, of course. I had enjoyed it. “Thanks for making me do it.”

“If it’s going to interfere with our sex life though, I may have to forbid it.”

“Impossible,” I said through a smile, glancing up to catch his adoring gaze. As the plane began its descent, I reached up to finger a piece of his hair, and then I touched his lips. “I want to move in, David.”

He squeezed me against him and kissed the top of my head. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

~

&nbs

p; I followed David into the apartment and then to the bedroom. I put my suitcase next to his and waited for his next move. Just saying out loud that I wanted to move in didn’t make the apartment feel like mine. It still felt like sleeping at my boyfriend’s place.

“Did you do this?” I asked, nodding at my side of the closet. I’d noticed while getting ready for work a few days earlier that my shopping bags were unpacked, everything neatly hung. All my new shoes were displayed like artwork on one of many shelves.

“The housekeeper.”

“And she took off the tags?”

“I did that. To show you that I kept the faith.”

“Well, that’s just bad business, Mr. Dylan. You would’ve been out a pretty penny if things hadn’t worked out.”

He stepped forward and pulled me against his hard body. “I would’ve been out a lot more than that. Don’t do it again.”

I nodded.

“Say it.”

“I won’t leave again.”

“Now tell me you’re mine . . .”

“I’m yours . . .”

“And that you love me.”

“I love you.”

“I’m hard,” he said.

I giggled. “I can feel. Is it all right if I shower first though?”

“Olivia, Christ, you don’t need my permission to take a shower,” he said, releasing me.

“It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Why? Just do as you please.”

I looked at him skeptically. “I’ll be in the shower.”

“If that’s what pleases you.” I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. “Listen, no bad behavior in the shower. I’ve barely fucked you in a week, so I want your complete attention tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, squirming slightly.

“That means hands off my nozzle.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave him my most lascivious smile. Then I left him and his hard-on in the closet. It might be some time before I got used to my new home, but it wouldn’t take forever. He made it easy because now, he was my home. And like Davena had tried to tell me, it didn’t matter where we were as long as we were together.

Like Davena and Mack. Without really grasping it, I had always envied their love. And now I had it. I had no more doubts that David and I had the exceptional love that Mack and Davena did. The thought filled my heart with happiness.

I hoped Mack’s reaction to my news would be positive once he saw how much David meant to me, but I still worried. I was finding that people’s reactions varied greatly, and it wasn’t always what I expected.