Dr. D Spills the Tea

Boundaries

Theodore Blackwell was in trouble.

    He should be used to it by now—recently he was always doing something to win the dirty look of his husband but somehow this was worse. Phillip wouldn’t even look at him now, pretending to be too busy cooling down on the treadmill next to him to talk.

    “Phil.”

    “Nope.”  He shook his head, pursing his lips, looking annoyed that one wall of their in-home gym was a mirror.  His eyes kept flickering to Theo’s reflection, then away again.

    “Phillip, I know you want to talk about it.”

    “I do not want to talk to you right now, Theodore.”

    Lies.  Theo knew his other half well.  Too well sometimes, it seemed.  Hitting the emergency stop button, he watched as Phil’s walk came to a stop, his dark eyes swinging over to him in obvious outrage.  “Theodore Blackwell, I can’t believe you.”  Anger.

    He was angry.

    He was allowed to be angry, Theo supposed.  He just hadn’t figured out why yet.

    “Just let it all out, Phil.”

    “Let it all—” he tsked, throwing a towel in Theo’s face.  “You’re outrageous!  You know we need to tread lightly.  I said he should bump into her at a familiar restaurant, not take a seat next to her on the f*****g pl—”

    He couldn’t finish, Theo’s hand giving his hair a firm yank, pulling him close.

    “So you’re not upset I set it up.  You’re upset with how I did it.”

    Nose to nose, the men glared at each other and Phil watched a droplet of sweat fall down his counterparts neck, gliding down to his bare chest.  Rock hard, broad—Theo had only gotten more handsome as time went on and it was difficult in times of conflict to stay focused on the important things when he was looking, well, the way he always looks lately.  Edible.

    No, no.  Mad.  Phil was mad.  He had to remind himself he was angry with Theo.

    “Didn’t it work?”  His voice was deep, smooth—and Phillip was thoroughly distracted.  Theodore quirked a brow, fully aware of the effect he was having on his Phil.  He might be upset but there was nod doubt where they’d wind out, how they’d always choose to take out their frustration on each other.

    “Yes.”  Soft, ragged, Phil pressed his palm to Theo’s chest, giving him a firm push backwards.  “But she was upset even before you joined that call.  She might not trust us anymore.”

    “She knows we’d never put her in a bad position,” was Theo’s coaxing argument.

    “That might be true but—”

    “And she knows Brent has good intentions,” Theo cut in moving forward in an attempt to kiss his angry partner but Phil pulled back, lips kept just out of reach.

    “Does he?” Phil asked, glaring hard at the brute before him.  There was a glimmer in Theodore’s eyes and Phil didn’t like it.  Like an all-knowing entity, he was always ten steps ahead of everyone else and tight lipped about it.  “Theodore, what aren’t you telling me?”  Leaning close, Theo gripped Phil’s hand, promptly slipping it beneath the waistband of his sweat shorts.  “Theodore, don’t just—”

    Gripping his throat, Theo kissed him hard, pushing him up against the mirror, smiling at the way Phil’s hand was already moving, stroking, even as he tried to complain.  “You know everything I do has a purpose,” he breathed, staring down at his disheveled husband.

    Cute.

    Even when he’s angry.

    “Don’t you trust me?” Theo pushed, hands cupping his lovers face, forcing him to look up at him.  He knew the answer already—after all, he’d never done anything to suggest he wasn’t trustworthy.  All of his spare time, what little he had of it, was invested in Phillip, in their relationship.  Every decision he made started and ended with their well-being as a couple.

    And Phil, gazing up into Theo’s sincere expression, undoubtedly trusted him.  Of course he did.  Almost to a damn fault, really.  But that that didn’t mean that he didn’t hate not knowing what Theodore Blackwell was planning to do next or why.  And worse, Theo was so good at using his body as a weapon, especially this part in his hand.  Gripping him tightly, he felt Theo tense, tsking at the obvious threat to his manhood.  “I want a baby, Theodore,” Phil growled against his mouth.

    There.

    He’d said it.

    What was truly bothering him, what scared him most.  They had just gotten Diana to agree to their terms and he was scared this whole Brent conundrum would screw everything up.  And all because Theodore didn’t know how to handle situations gently.

    “Then be nice to the family jewels, Phillip,” Theo grumbled back, voice strained.

    Releasing his grip, they glared mutely at each other for a long drawn out moment, both panting, frustrated—but that small distance between them could only last so long.  Phil wasn’t surprised by the way he was slammed back against the mirror, how roughly Theo kissed him, his hand already slipping down the back of his shorts.  Arguing only ever seemed to amp up his beastly betrothed and it was probably for the best since Phil needed to let off some steam.

. . .

“I heard you’re in town,” was the text Brent received from his hotel room.

    Lying on the king sized bed in a luxury suite in New York City, he noticed three similar messages, all from women he used to know.  Women who would love to get to know him again.

    He was used to that.

    When he was just a bit younger, just getting into a circle of elites, he’d met a lot of people and learned quickly that fidelity is a rarity among his group.  It was just a sad fact that with money and power comes droves of interested women.  Both young and old, every type takes notice of designer clothing and luxury vehicles.  It just helped that he was good looking too.

    Being a man with both made finding “playmates”, as he’d often referred to them, easy.

    They’d fill the void for a bit.

    Entertain him for a short time.

    But he’d never really felt attached to any of them.  He’d lay beside them after a tumble, gazing up at the ceiling with his hands crossed behind his head just like this and think about the girl with glasses, seated in front of opened books, her notes color coded, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she focused.

    “What?” she’d ask, narrowing her dark eyes at him.

    Speculative, intelligent—he’d thought she was a total nerd back then.

    Homely, even.

    Except that after the first few times, he stopped to really look at her.  Even in fluorescent lighting her hair had a shine to it and her skin had this glossy tan to it and her lips—

    “Brent, focus,” she’d snap, smacking his hand with her pen.

    He could still remember teasing her.  He’d say something witty, probably tacky, and watch her roll her eyes, switching out gel pens again.  Meticulous, precise—she’d asked him once why he was insistent on studying with her.  He’d even made it a point to show up to her dorm sometimes, usually unannounced, always with a book in hand.

    Unlike the other girls, Brent always felt like he needed a reason to be near Diana and the only one he could seem to come up with was his ineptitude toward studying.

    “You keep the fan girls away,” had been his brilliant response back then.

    He wasn’t lying, per se.  The other females did have a tendency to stay back when they saw them together.  There were even rumors that they were a thing.  Brent could have cleared them up back then but when asked, he’d just smirk and teasingly call her his little sweet cheeks.

    Sweet cheeks.

    He grinned, thinking about the way she’d rolled her eyes at the nickname.

    How annoyed she looked when he’d rush her for a hug.

    And once, when he’d introduced her to the guys as his wifey, she’d flicked him on the nose.

    Different from other girls.

    Focused, sharp—

    Brent got into the rhythm of just . . . showing up.  With chai tea.  Sometimes coffee—she liked two sugars and one creamer.  A health nut by nature, he was always bringing her dark chocolate granola bars to munch on or one of those chicken caprese panini’s from the local bakery.

    And for the next months at the end of his senior year, he spent more time in a library than he ever had before.  Side by side with Diana who, after months of treat giving and cheesy compliments, he hadn’t gotten any closer to winning over her affections.

    Like there was some kind of invisible wall there, Diana Sanchez was impenetrable.

    And even now, both of them grown and capable adults, he had found another excuse to take a seat next to her once more.  He could already see it—falling into that same trap.

    Friendship.

    Like-minded camaraderie.

    But.

    The phone buzzed once and, glancing at it, he half expected it to be from the usual crowd, the listless, the money-hungry—but it was a text from Diana.

    “Thank you for lunch.  I can afford my own cab fair.”

    He grinned up at his phone.

    One of those big, stupid triumphant smiles he’d given her in the past when she’d put him in his place, reminding him that she’s not one of his fangirls, demanding respect.  Brent could imagine her expression right now—sour, as if she’d just sucked on a lemon.  She’d be frowning and annoyed, probably sipping on wine as we speak.  She’d make that expression a lot with him in the beginning he was willing to bet.

    “Apparently I can afford it too,” he sent back.

    It was a snarky comment, something better said in person but she knew him.

    Even after all of these years, he was certain she remembered.

    “If we’re going to work together, I expect to be treated as an equal,” was her biting response.

    A true feminist through and through, he could only imagine how many men she’d torn apart in the court room just to gain that title:  Equal.  But she wasn’t his equal, not career-wise.  He may be a big shot in the city of Pittsburgh but New York City is a completely different beast and Diana Sanchez had taken the Big Apple by storm.  Single-handedly.  Anyone on her team was successful and there was no doubt in Brent’s mind that George Whittiker was not only aware of her capability but had planned on exploiting it—or adopting it, technically—to keep her from becoming a big-time competitor.

    “You have my utmost respect, Diana.  That’s why I have no problem paying for your time.”

    “That makes me sound like a cheap hooker.”

    Brent rolled his eyes.  “Don’t place a negative connotation on an obvious compliment, Ms. Sanchez.”

    “Then don’t overstep my boundaries, Mr. Holdings.”

    Quick. Challenging.

    His lips shifted into a smirk.

    Like a fortress, Diana Sanchez still had some thick armor to get through even after all of these years.  Tough.  Difficult to get close to.

    But Brent always loved a good challenge.

    Especially one that would reap so many rewards.

    “When can I expect to see you in my office?” was how he diverted the topic.

    “In one week.”

    One week.  He’d have to wait a week.  That made him frown.  Silly as it was, he’d been hoping on just a few days.

    “If you’re available,” was the message she sent next, apparently clarifying.

    Of course he’d be available.

    He’d catch a flight home tonight if she’d said tomorrow morning.

    “I’ll check my schedule.  We can discuss times closer to the date,” was what he sent back.  As forward as he’d been during their conversation at the restaurant, desperation was never his strong suit.  Aloof wouldn’t work with a woman like Diana but formalities would be important to her.

    “Okay, goodnight Mr. Holdings.”  Blunt with no extra fluff.

    He knew what he should send but bit his lip, thinking about that trap.  The one she was laying out, the walls she was quickly building, and thought better of it.  With a small smirk, he hit the send button, imagining the outrage on her expression when she read it:  “Goodnight, Sweet Cheeks.”