Tattoos & Teacups (14 page)

I heard a shriek from the direction of the front door and Mike calling out that they were home. Then Cassie, white dress, blue tights, blonde ringlets Cassie, who looked like an angel but I knew better, came skidding around the corner into the living room.

“Mommy—” she started but stopped short when she caught sight of Chris.

Suddenly she turned on the coy, sweet charm and dug her toe into the floor, twisting the hem of her dress between dirty fingers. Luisa winced. I had to wonder why she’d thought putting Cassie in a white dress in the first place was a good idea.

“Cassie, did you want me?” Lu said gently.

“Who’s he?” she asked in a stage whisper.

“Hi,” Chris said, smiling at her widely. “My name is Chris. I’m Rob’s friend.”

“My friend,” I clarified. Then, to Chris, “She knows me as Uncle Robert.”

“Hello. My name is Cassie, and I’m three years old.” She held up four fingers. Chris gently folded down the fourth, and Cassie blinked at him. “Do you want to come play with me?”

“Sure,” Chris agreed. He winked at me as he took Cassie’s hand, and she led him out to her playroom.

“How is she handling having the baby around?” I asked Lu, relaxing a bit more now.

“Not so good.” Chloe had been eleven when her younger sister was born, so there wasn’t much sibling rivalry. She had the good grace to be completely bored and disaffected by Cassie’s arrival. Cassie, however, was used to being the little princess of the family.

“I guessed maybe as much.”

“She’ll get used to him soon enough. I’m not worried,” Lu said, hoisting Carter up further onto her shoulder. “Tell me more about Chris.”

“What do you want to know?” I said. “Talk to him yourself. He’s actually very nice.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She frowned. “He doesn’t have a Mohawk, though. I’m disappointed.”

“I made him brush his hair before we came out.”

Lu smirked and tilted her cheek down onto Carter’s head. “Are you happy, Robert?”

“With Chris? Yes, of course.”

“He’s much younger than you.”

“I know that.”

And I knew she was only being protective of me. There wasn’t anyone
other
than her to be protective of me, and although that thought stung just a little bit, at least I had her. We made a very odd little family.

Carter started to fuss, and I took that as my cue to leave.

“Let me… go round up the troops,” I said to her. Luisa was barely listening to me. That was okay, though.

I knew where Cassie’s room was, but only in relation to Chloe’s. Fortunately for me her bedroom door was open, and I stood slightly back from it as I watched her with Chris. They seemed to be conducting high tea around an impossibly tiny table and chair set, several stuffed animals making up the numbers.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said, approaching them at last. “But we need to go.”

“No! I want Uncle Chris to stay!” Cassie cried.

“She started calling me Uncle Chris,” Chris said. “It seems to have stuck.”

I offered him a hand to pull him up from the little chair, and he smiled as he took it. Cassie looked at me as if I was the root of all evil for stealing her playmate.

“I’ll bring him back to play again,” I promised her.

Passing Chloe’s door, I knocked on it lightly. “Going now, Chlo,” I called out.

“Bye, Dad.”

“That’s what I’ve been reduced to,” I said to Chris as we took the stairs back down to leave. “Hi Dad, Bye Dad.”

He squeezed my hand. “Cassie is adorable.”

“Oh no,” I groaned dramatically. “She’s snared you.”

In the car on the way home, I held his hand and wondered if this was equal to me introducing him to my parents. Since he was unlikely to ever meet my mother or father, I decided it was, and that the afternoon had been an unparalleled success.

Clearly, we needed to celebrate with sex.

Chapter 8

I
T
WAS
assumed, rather than an invite ever extended, that I was going to go to the next gig that the band had booked. This one was in a larger venue and held a much bigger crowd, who were all there to see Ice on the Tracks rather than the tribute band. When I asked Chris if he was nervous, he gave me a puzzled look.

“It’s nowhere near as big as the crowds at the symphony.”

That was a fair point.

I was nervous.

“You should wear your new blue-and-white striped shirt,” he said, finally rolling off the bed in the direction of the shower. Thank God.

I was puzzled. “I don’t have a new blue-and-white striped shirt.”

Chris just winked at me as he sauntered into the bathroom.

Hanging in my wardrobe when I checked it was a blue and white shirt, the same brand as Chris’s checked one that I’d admired only the previous weekend.

The fit was slightly tighter than what I would normally wear, but I guessed that was the style. The sleeves rolled up and were secured at this funny mid-length with a little tab. I chose a darker pair of jeans to wear with it and a pair of heavy boots. I was just buttoning my fly when the shower was turned off.

Then the bathroom door was flung open and Chris stood in the doorway, as he was wont to do, his hands balled on his hips and his legs spread in a pornographic parody of Peter Pan. He grinned, too, nodded to his impressively erect penis, and wiggled his shoulders. He’d tied a towel around his neck to serve as a cape, and with the steam from the shower swirling behind him, I couldn’t help but laugh. Christopher Jacob Ford the first and only certainly knew how to make an entrance.

“You’re trouble,” I said. “Thank you for the shirt.”

He pressed his lips together to hide his grin. And gestured to his erection. “Actions speak louder than words, Rob.”

He really did have an answer for everything.

Still, I didn’t mind spending a few minutes on my knees, especially when it meant taking his warm, soft, blessedly clean cock down my throat. His skin was still warm and damp from the shower, and his knees gave way when he came.

“Your turn to get dressed,” I said as he helped pull me to my feet.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “No sleepy time?”

“No time for sleepy time,” I said. “Gig, remember?”

“Don’t want a gig,” he said and wrapped his arms around my neck. “I want to stay here and let you fuck me.”

“Later.” I laughed.

“Promise?”

“If you’re a good boy.”

“Oh, Professor,” he sighed. “That happens so rarely.”

I
FIELDED
no less than six calls from Lexi as Chris took his time getting dressed and styling his hair. He was, according to the only female and official timekeeper of the group, the last person to turn up to the venue. But he looked hot, really hot, so as far as I was concerned, it was worth it. Lexi didn’t seem to agree.

He wore what I’d first assumed were a pair of his biker’s leather pants, but closer inspection (much closer inspection, particularly of his ass) revealed that they were far too tight to give him any protection on his motorbike.

Made of soft, worn leather, these were—in his words—the holy grail of leather pants. He didn’t wear underwear with them.

“Why distract from the goods?”

And a black tank top.

“You’re going to freeze.”

“Then you better keep me warm, Professor.”

Over the weeks my bathroom counter had amassed a rather impressive collection of Chris’s personal grooming products, from three different types of hair stuff to shaving paraphernalia and cologne. I was somewhat surprised to find a black eyeliner pencil in amongst his things and dismissed it, assuming it had been stuffed into his bag by mistake when he was collecting things to bring over. It was probably Lexi’s.

My assumption was incorrect.

While I was taking another of Lexi’s calls, I found him leaning over the counter, peering into my mirror and smudging the black pencil along his lower lashes.

“Makeup?” I asked when I finished the call with a solemn promise that we were practically in the car. “Really?”

He shrugged. “It makes me look hot.”

When he finally left the bathroom, I couldn’t help but agree with his assessment. His now lined eyes made him look moody and edgy and, yes, hot. When added to his outfit, it put him over the line from hot into fucking gorgeous.

“Kiss me,” he demanded. “It makes my lips all swollen too.”

“I want them all to know you’re mine,” I said as I gripped his hips and attacked his mouth with tongue and teeth. “Mine.”

It was childish, but I placed a little hickey behind his ear for good measure. Mine.

While the band warmed up with the sound tech, I was left alone at the bar. Not that I really minded. There were a few other people around, and I found an old paperback in the car, and a pair of reading glasses so I could see in the dim light, and ordered a bottle of beer.

As the evening slipped on, I became more engrossed in one of my favorite stories and didn’t notice when Chris crept up behind me and slid his arms around my waist.

“Do you have any idea how hot you look?”

“Hmm? Do you want a drink?”

“I want you to fuck me. Right now. Over the bar. Don’t take the glasses off.”

I laughed and twisted in his arms, kissing him swiftly on the nose. “Is that behaving yourself, Christopher?”

“No,” he said petulantly. “Vodka?”

“Straight?”

“Never.”

I rolled my eyes.

“On the rocks,” he clarified.

He threw the drink back, shuddered, and kissed me with liquor lips. When I finally drew my eyes away from his throat as he swallowed, I noticed that the bar had filled up considerably.

“Our set starts at ten,” Chris said. “Do you want to hang out here or backstage with us?”

“I’m okay here,” I said. “I expect I’ll only be a distraction if I come back with you.”

“The best kind,” he said, but didn’t push. “I’ll come find you when we finish.”

The atmosphere was electric as the first two bands played. I got the impression they were local and certainly got the crowd on their side. I started to think that maybe I should have accepted Chris’s offer to go backstage with him. My naturally self-conscious nature kicked into gear, and I couldn’t help but scan the crowd for signs of my students or worse—my colleagues.

But I seemed to be safe.

And then Chris came onto the stage, and I tuned out everyone around me. I’d wanted to stay in the same spot so he could easily find me, if he wanted to, and sure enough he scanned the crowd and smiled when he found me.

No one else would have noticed it. But I did.

They launched straight into a roaring number that caught the attention of the last few doubters and their applause, and mine, when it finished.

John angled his microphone and pushed his hair back from his face.

“Hi,” he said with a smile. “We’re Ice on the Tracks.”

Chris thumped out the rhythm, and they started again.

Their strategy of playing a mixture of their own stuff and covers, from the inevitable Pink Floyd to Kings of Leon, Lady Gaga, and David Bowie, kept the crowd on its toes and willing to listen to their own music, which was good.

My boyfriend, though hidden at the back, drew attention to himself like bees to honey. After the first few numbers, he pulled his tank off and used it to wipe the sweat from his face, much to the approval of the female portion of the audience. He sang, too, which was a surprise to me. They had positioned his microphone up and away from the drums, so he tilted his head up and back slightly to sing into it. From that angle the hickey I’d left on his neck was visible to anyone wanting to look for it.

Good.

They caught a quick break, and the band grabbed bottles of water as John breathlessly introduced everyone.

“This is Lexi.” Sparkling in gold sequins, cut so high on her thigh her black shorts underneath peeped out. Thigh-high leather boots. Red lips. Stunningly beautiful. If you were into that kind of thing, of course.

“Danny.” Screams for the dark, brooding, attractive man who lifted a hand from his guitar in greeting.

“Chris….” Louder, more desperate screaming for the man in black leather, who played them right back by crashing his cymbals.

“And I’m John. Thanks for coming tonight.”

Chris yelled something at him from around the mic. John nodded and lifted his guitar again.

“This one’s for Rob,” Chris said into the mic, grinning in my direction.

They played a rocked-out version of “Mrs. Robinson” by Simon and Garfunkel. The little shit.

For a climactic moment, if they even needed one, Lexi, John, and Danny put down their instruments mid-song, leaving Chris alone on the drums. Not that he stopped drumming….

The others left the stage, Danny jumping right into the crowd, John hopping off more gracefully and lifting his arms for Lexi to drop into a dizzying spin to the floor. Chris added his voice to the rhythms, slow, sexy phrases designed to elicit exactly the kind of reaction he got, and the others walked to the bar, toward me.

This was clearly a well-rehearsed part of their set as the barman immediately pushed three short glasses of clear liquor toward them, which they toasted and slammed back before taking to a run through the crowd to get back to the stage.