Chapter Eleven
The flu put Tristan out of commission like an anvil flattening Wyle E. Coyote. His illness-induced dreams were a mash-up of dark images and nonsensical words, churning without direction or meaning. Not exactly nightmares. More like Alice in Wonderland-ish fantasies. And in all of them, Joy was there, saving him from the pitfalls. He took the subconscious message as a very good sign.
“Well, whaddja think would happen if you never get vaccinated?” Joy chastised in a mild tone, following up with a soft kiss on the forehead, lingering long enough to test his temperature with her lips. While Tristan drifted in and out of a fatigued fog for more days than he could count, she’d been keeping him alive with fluids and meds like a regular Florence Nightingale.
“I don’t like putting that crap in my body,” he mumbled low but it was still loud enough to rattle his aching brain.
“That crap could’ve kept you from getting the full-blown flu. I bet you make sure your daughter gets vaccinated.” No matter how hard his defense, she had a quick comeback. “Maybe next year you’ll think twice.”
Gritting his teeth and staying quiet was his passive-aggressive way of agreeing with the woman as she served another shot of liquid decongestant that tasted worse than Jägermeister and two tablets to relieve the body pain and headache, before inserting the thermometer beneath his tongue.
Waiting for the mercury to rise, she tucked the blanket around him like a mummy. Opened the window an inch, letting in a sun-soaked breeze to freshen the stagnant germified air. Propped his cellphone on the nightstand beside a cup of steaming tea and new box of tissues.
When the time was right, she pulled out the thermometer and squinted to read the results. “No fever for a change. That’s good. Don’t forget to take another dose around one. I’ll call to remind you.”
“Where ya going so fast?” He grabbed the hem of her new seafoam green bathrobe, not letting her get away.
“Gotta get ready for work before I’m late…again. We’re both lucky my boss likes me.” Joy’s sweet giggle had him feeling guilty for putting her through this rigmarole. He’d make it up somehow.
“Where today?”
“The Christmas Shoppe. I don’t know how much longer I can juggle two jobs. Lorraine keeps giving me more hours, although I shouldn’t complain because I need the cash. If she ever lets me go full-time I’ll have to quit Violet’s.”
Tristan lost the thread of their conversation but enjoyed the sound of her melodious voice.
He’d slept in bliss most of the time since getting his ass kicked by the wicked virus but one thing he realized through his haze was Joy seemed a lot more relaxed now that she had the run of the house while he was laid up. All her tiptoeing around, orbiting his space, doing her damnedest not to disturb the sick man’s semi-coma for fear of cramping his style was lost in the stratosphere. Now she buzzed about like she owned the joint.
Tristan sank back against the re-fluffed pillows and watched her dress, like a strip tease in reverse, yet still just as exciting. “Is that new?” he asked knowingly since she’d moved in with nothing but her dog and purse. To replace the clothing lost in the car accident he’d offered her his credit card, but she refused to take it and he lacked the energy to press the issue.
“I picked up a few mix and match pieces. Nothing expensive. I’m on a tight budget, ya know. And as much as I love borrowing your clothes, I can’t wear ’em to work.” She pulled off price tags on pale blue capris and a floral short sleeve top. Spritzed the air with a bottle of vanilla fragrance and stepped into the mist. Pulled her golden hair into a high ponytail. “Call if you need anything. I’ll try to get out early.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” There wasn’t much trouble to get into while sleeping.
One last peck on Tristan’s scruffy head and Joy was out the door and he was out cold once again.
****
After days of only getting out of bed to answer nature’s call, Tristan dropped his bare feet to the shag rug and pushed himself off the mattress. Feeling every bit of his thirty-nine years, and then some, his joints could use a little oil. Maybe coffee would do the trick. He hadn’t had a cup o’ joe since getting hit with the viral Mack truck.
Dragging the blanket, he shuffled down the hallway, shaking off this rigor mortise. At first it hurt to move, but once his muscles warmed up, he felt like his old self, only older. Creakier. Hairier.
His face itched, driving him nuts. The shaggy beast in the bathroom mirror looked vaguely familiar. This was how he’d started growing the first beard—avoiding the razor for a couple of weeks.
A shower would be great right now, but first he wanted to let Joy know he was ready to return to the land of the living.
Following the pounding sound floating from the open basement door, he found her running on the treadmill at a pace that would have him gasping.
What a sight for sore eyes in fitted black shorts and a tight turquoise tank top. On a scale of Jabba the Hutt to Jillian Michaels, Joy was hotter than Princess Leia in a gold bikini. Made him feel like a decrepit old man in the soup-stained undershirt and faded flannel pajama pants. To keep up with this fitness fanatic, he’d better get back into a routine, otherwise his only hope would be for her to abandoned her fear of getting fat and join him on the carnivorous side.
The best thing to come out of the flu was being too sick to sneak a cigarette. Joy, the fitness junky, didn’t smoke, nor did she break his chops to stop, putting the onus on him, which somehow relieved the pressure to quit. Plus being off the job helped a lot, as much as being out of his ex-wife’s line of fire. Without the old triggers, the craving to reach for the pack wasn’t there.
“It’s alive,” Joy shouted. Brimming with sweat, she jumped off the machine before it stopped, yanked out the earbuds. “I was starting to worry.” She snatched a small towel from the back of a folding chair and swiped her face, then grabbed the bottle of spring water. “How ya feelin’?” she gasped between greedy sips.
The woman radiated health and happiness, which was instant medicine for his soul. His eyes could never get their fill even if he were to stare at her for a gazillion years.
“Better. You have no idea.” It was true. But Joy’s special care made being sick not so bad. “You oughta be a health coach.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence but I’m not the type to motivate anyone to do anything.”
“Just seeing you now’s got me motivated.”
Joy’s gaze fell to Tristan’s crotch and the obvious arousal tenting the loose fabric. “Is that so?”
“I’m not talking about that kinda motivation. But you do that too. Watching you run—you’ve guilted me to start working out again.”
“Don’t do it out of guilt, Tristan. Do it because you want to live a healthy life and be around to watch your daughter grow up.”
“And that’s not supposed to make me feel guilty?”
“Do it ’cause you want to.” She bent over to reach the load of laundry inside the washing machine then squatted as she shoved it into the dryer; the sight making Tristan’s erection flex like a miniature body builder. “Before you’re doing it ’cause you have to.”
“What’s today?”
“Monday.”
“I’ll start hitting the weights tomorrow.”
“Wait until next week when you’re fully recuperated. In the meantime, do some stretching and light cardio.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.” She swung the towel over one shoulder. “Start out easy and work your way up.”
Tristan wanted to start out easy all right, and work his way up her tight curves. He grabbed her sweaty body in a hug, resisted her lips since he didn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth, and buried his nose in the crook of her neck to inhale the potency of her raw musk.
“I need a shower.” She pushed her palms against his chest. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you could use one too.”
Unoffended, he let her slip away to gather her things. Before heading upstairs, he spotted unfamiliar cardboard boxes filling a once-empty corner. “What’s all this? I wasn’t serious about you moving down here.” As far as he knew, she’d been occupying the spare room to escape his germs.
“That’s…uhh…nothing. Really.” With a nonchalant sidestep, she beat him to the boxes and secured the partially open flaps.
“Lemme see.” He stooped behind her, his groin to her backside, his hands on her waist. “What kinda nothing?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“For who?”
“For you. And your daughter.” Joy pressed the lid from popping up.
Tristan caught her wrists in one hand and opened the top with the other. Red. Green. Silver. Gold. Sparkle. Glitter. “Christmas decorations?”
Joy glanced over her shoulder, revealing a half-smile inching across her tight lips. “Remember when we were talking about your visitation dates? You were upset your ex gets your daughter for Christmas, and I said just do Christmas any time because she’s too young to know the difference?”
“Yeah.” The silly conversation was a foggy memory.
“I picked up some clearance items from work. No biggie.”
“Awww, Joy…” Tristan’s heart swelled. This girl was way too kind for her own good. Even if her idea was wacky, it was the sweet thought that mattered. He hugged her, thankful she didn’t shrug him off this time despite their combined grungy state. “Thanks.”
With her long ponytail draped in front of one shoulder, he brushed his lips against the exposed skin at the back of her neck, lavishing the baby-soft, salty-sweetness along her spine. When she moaned her approval, a magnificent vibration rattled him, from teeth to groin. If he weren’t so gross he’d throw her over the weight bench, tear off those itty-bitty shorts, and take her on the spot.
“Wanna join me in the shower?” Tristan growled his lust in her ear as she rubbed her bottom against his crotch.
“Race ya.” Joy slipped from his hands and was at the top of the staircase like a victorious Rocky Balboa before Tristan climbed the first step.
He lugged his body at a snail’s pace, hanging on the banister for support. When did I get so old? I really need to get in shape.
When he reached the second step from the top, Joy pulled him the rest of the way. “I don’t think you can handle sex yet. Maybe you oughta take a nice hot bath…alone. Then I’ll give you a massage. We can order in some pizza.”
“That sounds good to me.” His last massage was by a sadistic Neanderthal chiropractor who’d nearly killed him, fixing the slipped disks in his neck.
While she filled the tub, Tristan collapsed on the couch. The woman was right about doing too much, too soon. Damn flu. If it weren’t for her, who would have taken care of him? Sure, Nick would have come by to make sure he was alive but it wouldn’t have been the same. Joy was good for him. She was good to him. Too good, if there were such a thing. He wanted to make her feel just as good, if not better. Once he got his strength back, he’d return the favor and then some.
After the back rub, they polished off the pizza in the living room while catching up on the evening news. One glance at Joy curled up on the couch with her head on the armrest and Tristan knew she was out cold.
Time to turn on the laptop to do a little online browsing. There’s gotta be something special he could find for her. Jewelry was the obvious choice however he was stumped on what she’d like. She never wore more than a pair of big silver hoop earrings and had mentioned not liking to wear anything around her neck. What else could he get her? A bracelet? Flowers? Perfume? A fancy designer handbag? Maybe Nick’s wife could provide some insider information.
While she snoozed, he dug a little deeper into his internet research. After scolding her for playing with his handcuffs, he’d promised to get another set for the bedroom.
Violet’s Valise was the first website to pop up. Besides kinky toys, there were frilly things she would look great in, and would feel even better peeling off her. Although he could slip into the store when she wasn’t scheduled to work, this online shopping was way more convenient than making the awkward trip. Just drop a few X-rated items into the virtual cart, and Violet will build a personalized gift basket and deliver it to his front door. Perfecto.
****
The day before Easter the basket arrived. Lucky for Tristan, he’d gotten home from work before Joy.
“Yo, bro…” Nick parked his pickup truck along the curb to let Tristan out. “Looks like some-bunny showed up early.” He nodded toward the porch at the oversized package wrapped in purple cellophane, topped with a big bow. “Let’s break it open and see if there’s any chocolate inside.”
“Mind your sweet tooth, buddy. It’s not that kinda candy.”
His friend lifted a curious brow. “What other kind is there?”
“Eye candy.” Tristan winked.
“You dirty dog.”
“Don’t tell Lily. I don’t want Joy finding out. It’s a surprise.”
Nick locked his lip and threw the invisible key out the driver’s window before zipping away.
Tristan brought the hefty basket inside. Before stashing it away until tomorrow, he wanted to make sure everything he ordered was there, so he set it on the kitchen counter and peeled back the plastic wrapping with care. Lingerie. Red fuzzy handcuffs. Nipple clamps—for beginners. A variety of vibrators. Ben Wa balls. Anal beads. A feather on a stick. Flavored body paints.
And just in case the toy handcuffs didn’t do it for Joy, he slipped in two pairs—brand new, never been used in the line of duty—he’d picked up from the police supply store. Then he rewrapped the basket and buried it under a blanket on the floor of his closet when his cellphone rang his ex-wife’s infamous tune—a soundbite from the Jaws soundtrack.
What the hell does she want? Stacy rarely called just to let Nicole talk to him; nine times out of ten he was the one to pick up the phone if he wanted to speak to Niblet. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh before answering in a bored monotone. “S’up Stacy?”
“Hey, Trissy,” she sang like she’d never wrung his heart out and stuffed it in a meat grinder. “Guess what?”
He hated when she called him Trissy almost as much as he hated her mind-games, almost as much as he hated her.
No…wait…Stacy may be a super-bitch, but she was the mother of his child. And hate was a waste of emotion. For Niblet’s sake, he’d suck it up and do his damnedest to tolerate this detestable woman. With vague interest, he forced himself to play along. “What?”
“You know the schedule?” She could only mean the single most important schedule that mattered to him—the visitation schedule—where she took all the big holidays, leaving him with June through November.
His stomach clenched. “What about it?”
“I need to make a switch.”
Tristan perked up. “What kinda switch?”
“Would you mind taking Nicole a little sooner?”
“No. Not at all.” His heart sped up. “Why? Everything all right?” He slathered on a thick layer of concern when his only care was getting time with Nicole.
“Yeah. Things are great. It’s just…I need a favor.”
Tristan waited in silence, expecting the worst.
“Ya see, I have this opportunity…a vacation, sorta. But it’s not really for kids.”
Listening to her stumble over the words was irritating but he hung on for the punch line. “Where ya going?”
“Europe.”
He rolled his eyes. “You do know they let kids in Europe.” The instant he said the words, he wanted to punch himself in the face for giving her any ideas.
“Yeah, well…Garret wants to go backpacking.”
“You’re gonna backpack—across Europe?” He snickered. “You wouldn’t camp at the beach when we were together. But you’ll backpack across Europe with your boyfriend?”
“Garret’s a photojournalist so this’ll be a working-vacation. I’m going as his assistant.”
“Oh, I just thought he was a perpetual college student. What happened? He graduated from taking naked photos of my wife, to taking photos of Europe. Or is he gonna take naked photos of you in Europe?” Tristan spit from belly-laughing so hard. Sometimes he cracked himself up, especially at his ex-wife’s expense. He’d reached the point where he found humor in his pain now that he was over her. Now that he had Joy.
“You’re an ass, you know that?” Stacy squawked above his laughter. “Well? Will you do it or not?”
Tristan caught his breath. “Of course I will.”
The call became muffled, as if Stacy put her palm over the mouthpiece to let out a squeal of delight. “He said yes,” she shrieked to someone on her side—Garret, no doubt.
“When’re you dropping her off?”
“Dunno yet. I just wanted to make sure she has a place to stay.”
“I’ll always have a place for my daughter,” he snapped, in case Stacy had any doubt. “Bring her by whenever. Just give me a heads-up so I’m home.”
Tristan hung up, disappointed he didn’t speak to Nicole, yet relieved he’d see her sooner rather than later. Before he could wrap his mind around the sudden change in plans and what it would entail, Joy walked through the front door after a full day at the Christmas Shoppe.
“Hey, sunshine. Have a seat.” He nodded toward the barstool as he pulled the cork on a bottle, then handed her a cool glass of white wine. They could both use a drink as he rehashed the conversation, bringing her up to speed.
Joy’s thin smile stretched until her eyes were crescent moons. “I can’t wait to meet her. Let’s do something special. Like a welcome home party. We can invite Nick and Lily. Fill the place with balloons. Get a swing set for the yard. And…” Her ideas were thoughtful and wonderful, better than Tristan could hope for, but it was all too much, too soon.
“Slow down.” He pumped the breaks with his palms. “I appreciate your enthusiasm but let’s not overwhelm her. It won’t be easy separating her from her mother. Let’s get past the first night and see how things play out.”
“Wait—” Horror flashed across Joy’s face and her green eyes widened to twice their size. “You think Stacy’ll want to stay the night? Here?”
“Nah,” Tristan said on impulse, until the weight of the question sank in. “At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I hope not.”
“Do you want me to be here? ’Cause I can find somewhere else to stay…” Her excitement dwindled as she trailed off.
“Let’s not worry about it now.” It made no sense to feed her anxiety before working out the details with Stacy. “Besides, she’s got a boyfriend so I’m allowed to have a girlfriend. It’s none of anyone’s business anyway.”
“If it makes the situation any better, wanna pretend I’m the babysitter? Help keep your private life private.”
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t want to lie about our relationship.”
“I wouldn’t mind, really. It would actually take the awkwardness out of meeting your ex.”
“You wouldn’t be offended?”
“Not at all. I hope you aren’t offended when I introduce you to Victor as my boys’ future baseball coach.”
“Baseball coach, huh?” He smirked and nodded, picking up what she was putting down. “Okay. I get where this is going.”
“I don’t wanna lie about my life. But I don’t mind doing it if it means protecting our privacy and shutting down the drama before anyone has a chance to start an argument over something that’s none of their business.”
Furrowing his brow, he followed her fiery train wreck of thoughts, wondering how far she’ll spiral the what-ifs if he didn’t stop her. “All hypothetical scenarios. You’re wasting your energy worrying for nothing.”
“I’m just planning ahead. Covering my ass. Your ass. All the bases. And any curve balls that might be thrown our way.”
“May I suggest forgetting about it for now.” He wrapped his arms around her neck and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know what’ll do the trick. A pitcher of Cal’s Mind Erasers down at Mr. Lucky’s.”
“And which of us do you suggest be the designated driver?” Joy gave him the slanted look he’d grown accustomed to whenever she doubted his game plan, which seemed to be pretty often.
“Maxi Taxi, who else?”