“What?” I replied, having stil not formed a plan.
“What’s with black?” he asked.
This question confused me and I forgot al about forming a plan.
“Excuse me?”
“Your songs. ‘Blackbird’, ‘Black Water’, ‘Black Velvet’, ‘Black Betty’, a lot of the songs you sing have the word ‘black’.”
His question surprised me. He’d never asked me anything personal and he’d definitely never asked about my music, the most personal thing of al .
I knew he enjoyed it. He came to a lot of my gigs, I saw him standing in the dark, fingers around the neck of a beer bottle, his eyes on me and only me. And, just like last night, when we were at my place, even if he was doing something, on a phone cal , reading a book, if I started to play he’d always stop and watch and, I knew, he’d listen and I knew further, he liked it.
After he came to a gig, we had the best sex ever (which put our sex off-the-charts) because I was high from the gig and, I suspected, so was he.
Any time I played when we were alone, after I’d finish, he’d make love to me. I knew it was that because it was sweeter, slower, less energetic, al about giving, always about Mace giving to me.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
His arm tightened. “Tel me.”
I sighed and tilted my chin forward. His head came with me. I could feel his breath on my neck.
I didn’t want to get into this with him. It was none of his business.
Even on that thought, I answered. I couldn’t help myself and, again, didn’t try.
“My life was black. My Dad didn’t love me. My Mom used me as a shield against his abuse. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and I didn’t share anything with friends. I was too young, I didn’t know how. I needed to turn black, my life, into something beautiful or good or cool. Those songs are al good, some of them beautiful, some of them just cool.” I felt a change in his body which translated into a change in the air. It made no sense to me except that I felt different somehow, warmer.
“Does that make sense?” I whispered, for some reason wanting to make certain he understood.
He didn’t answer.
I tried again, I didn’t know why, but I did.
“In Pearl Jam’s “Black”, Eddie Vedder sings…” Then I sang the five most important verses of perhaps the greatest rock bal ad in history then I whispered, “Wel …” I hesitated then in a low, soft whisper, “That’s me.” He moved, disconnected from me but stayed close and somehow, got closer.
“You aren’t black.”
“My world is.”
He was silent for a beat then he asked, “You ever see any light?”
When I was with you, my brain answered.
“When I met Floyd,” I said. “When The Gypsies came together.”
“Me?” He went direct to the point I was hiding from him.
“You,” I replied honestly.
“Now?”
“We’re black,” I replied dishonestly, we were as black as the sun and this conversation proved it.
“You real y believe that?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“You want me to go?”
“Yes,” I lied again and it was hard. My heart was beating and my breath was packing up, enjoying its travels, it was ready to explore Texas.
“You’re under my skin,” he shared.
There it went, my breath, sitting in first class drinking champagne, straight flight to Texas.
Kai Mason was not a sharing type of guy.
Kai Mason had never shared anything with me, except his presence, his body and his ability to post bond for Pong on occasion.
Who was this guy?
No, no, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t even care.
“Eventual y I’l work my way out,” I assured him but I didn’t ever want that to happen. I knew it. I just wasn’t going to admit it, especial y not to him.
“I like you there.”
Oh lordy be.
“Mace.”
“I’m keepin’ you there.”
“I don’t want to be there.”
“You wanna be there.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re lyin’ to yourself and you’re lyin’ to me.”
“I’m not.”
He kissed the side of my neck.
“You are,” he said against my neck. “And, Kitten, you should know, I’m good with that. I’l be here when you stop.” Effing hel .
“I’l walk Juno,” he offered, clearly done with the conversation.
“Fine.” I was done with the conversation too and I couldn’t walk Juno without a Kevlar vest and a crash helmet, and, possibly, total body armor.
“Make room for my shit in your closet.”
I careful y pul ed up my panties as I twisted to look at him.
“Not fine.”
His eyes were warm, soft and smiling which made me feel warm, soft and smiley (luckily, I kept this on the inside).
Damn his fucking eyes.
“Make lotsa room, babe, even after this is over, I’m stayin’ awhile.”
“Piss off,” I mumbled and turned back around.
His hand came to the side of my face that was on the pil ow. He twisted me to face him again, his head descended and he touched my lips lightly with his.
“I’l be back,” he whispered.
Effing, bloody hel .
Chapter Eight
This One’s for Linnie