Rich Man

Temptation sat at the edge of my finger tips in the form of a little plastic card. Moments passed of studying the small thing, questioning whether this was a smart move or not. He was asking for trouble by wanting me with him, confidence obviously on an overflow. If anything, he needed to know that this wasn’t just some little foreplay of mine with shallow desire as my motivation. As I stared longer and longer at that little key, I had made my decision.

The walk to his door was a rather long one. He was located on the entirely opposite side of the building, which basically meant that I was winded by the time I came up on his room number. As predicted, there was a small mail slot just outside of his door in which I slipped a small hotel envelope containing his little slip of plastic. Satisfied, I found the nearest elevator and decided that some air would do me quite well.

He’s going to have to learn some time, I thought to myself on the short ride down. I’m not doing this as a way to sleep with him. He’s got to think it’s a twisted method to get to know him personally. Once he finds his key and realizes I’m not coming, he’ll figure something out.

Upon exiting the elevator, I was greeted by a flurry of accents that belonged to a group of men, all adorning the same sharp designer suits. A couple of them studied me when we turned the same corner to walk to the only destination there was to the far left of the lobby. One of them turned around and eyed me blatantly, brown hair falling slightly over his eyes and causing him to exasperate in a mild frustration by it. However, it didn’t disrupt his handsome features whatsoever as I found myself eying his strong jaw line.

Lips peaking upward, I shot him a cocky smile and flashed him a flirtatious bat of the eye lashes, the kind that seemed to hook every jackass that upwardly nodded my way. This one, however, had an air about him of what was to me, beyond conceit.

“I think I’m going to have to ask you to have a drink with me,” he suggested with an effortless smile, barely letting a few of his bright white teeth shine through.

Smirking, I gave his face a once over and broke eye contact as thought my laziness took precedence over his arrogant appeal. “Last I checked, buying an American girl a drink isn’t too much of a chore or challenge.”

His nearly silver eyes seemed to brighten as I cracked a small joke. With the careless wave off of his buddies, he fell in step with me. “So I have a funny one on my hands.” The thick French in his voice was undeniable. It was a shame I didn’t know the language or else I might have persuaded him to speak some for me.

“So I’m told.”

“Jason.”

“Roark.”

“Unusual.”

“Original.”

“Well, Ms. Roark, order whatever you’d like.”

“Sure, but she’ll be with me.”

Jason stopped, a look of dark territorialism overtaking the naturally laid back features he once displayed freely. I mirrored his movements but held the same slightly expectant facial expression as I spotted the solemn man just over my shoulder. A sharp little grin had him tightening his jaw down at me.

The tall stranger beside me gave him a strong challenging glare. “Got a proble-“

“I thought you said you don’t drink,” I replied to Bergeron casually. “What gave you the hint that I’d be down here?”

“You know this guy?” Jason spouted, raising a brow.

Patrice chuckled, “Yeah, better than you know. Sorry to end you little party, but she’s mine.”

-

“That was unnecessary,” I stated in a blank tone hinted with amusement. “You do realize I returned your room key for the sake of not feeling like property; or should I clarify?”

“No, I got that message loud and clear,” he muttered and ran his hand through his thick hair. “Maybe you should do some explaini-“

“You must really hate it,” I prodded quietly, turning practically into him. He was, after all, standing unnecessarily close to me. This placement did, however, have a very convenient advantage. His closeness provided the perfect distance for my finger to slide up his chest, effectively altering his breathing. “How I keep my thoughts under lock and key, but am dying to know yours.”

His brow furrowed significantly and I found him stepping back. But the tingling sensation in my finger tips told me something; it told me that I wasn’t losing control over him at all, but that he was starting to find my learning curve. “You’re horrible,” he murmured as I turned my back to him and exited the open elevator door.

“On the contrary, Bergeron, I’m just quiet.”

“Well I’m quiet,” he pleaded, “I’m quiet and I’ve still told you random stuff about me that very few people will ever get to hear.”

“If you want to know something about me," I snapped, "It’s that I dwell on my secrets. The things that I keep hidden are just wounds. Unlike you, my fondest memories are dipped in black and highlighted by gray. Should I go on or should I delve into the complexities of my insight and how my life has been virtually alienated from society all because I was bred for academic greatness that I failed to achieve? Go ahead, Bergeron,” his name dripped like poison from my dry lips as I turned on him in the middle of the hall, “Question me.”

Like a key chain reaction timed with the keen perfection of an age-old scientist, my words fell into place. It was clear that each individual fragment had his attention; had his mind working to wrap around the weight of my toneless bite. A hand rose to mime and wordlessly tangled our fingers together in an unorthodox binding hold. He then began walking me forward, pulling me with him until we approached his door.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” he whispered into the vacant air of the dark room and closed and locked the door behind us, “but I know maybe a story or two will clear your mind.”

My hand dropped limply from his as I made a b-line for his sofa, facing the massive window. He followed suit, but did so all the while beginning a story I imagined was from one of his earlier years playing the sport he knew and loved. It was a short tale about how he had a long period of his young life during which he fought constantly with his mother, all because he dedicated his heart and soul to the ice. She was afraid of losing him and he felt caged.

At first I stared soullessly at the city skyline and let him do the work, but by the time he was seated next to me, I had found my way into his lap again, just like last time. Only this round, I had gone straight for the throat.

“Déjà vu,” he groaned, grip on my hips tight with every scrape of my teeth on his collar bone.

“Did it take you a minute to think of that word?” I replied quietly and continued my work from his collar bone to his ear.

“No,” he replied and ran a hand up and down my back for a slow rub under my jacket, “You’re not wearing a shirt under this, are you?”

I chuckled against his skin and shook my head. In a sing-song tone, I grazed his earlobe with my teeth and hummed, “Nope.”

He had to swallow hard, but laugh with me nonetheless. “You’re killing me with this look but don’t touch crap.”

“I wouldn’t be complaining if I were you,” I hummed yet again.

So close to his chest, I couldn’t ignore the vibration of his diaphragm at even the slightest little chuckle. He pressured me back so I would sit upright on his slouched position and gave me a confident smile. “My pet peeve is feeling weak, you know,” he began with a simple statement, but after I nodded, I could tell that was far from the end of it. “I guess that all my life, I’ve been content with being alone. That doesn’t mean I like being a loner, but I don’t mind it, if that makes any sense.”

“Go on,” I insisted quietly and walked my fingers along the collar of his dress shirt. As focused on his words as I was, I couldn’t allow the little wrinkles along his collar to continue existing.

“When I got into hockey, I finally felt like I was part of something. I know that’s cheesy as hell, but it’s true. And I fell in love with everything about it; the movements, the intricate little details you can’t play without… It’s like I finally found my niche in life. Brought me out of my shell a little.”

“You don’t seem like that much of an introvert to me,” I pointed out, head tilting as I looked down at him. Patrice breathed, locking his hands loosely together on my back. Meanwhile, I leaned down and clutched him like an overgrown teddy bear, head rested flat over his heart. Both of my hands slid up to palm his shoulders as my legs extended. In short, I was laying comfortably on him, listening to his heartbeat.

“Ever since me and Milan started patching things up and Blake and Lex started dating, I haven’t really had a reason to be. Wartime, I’m an introvert. Peacetime, I’m not too stuck in my thoughts.”

“What do you think about?” I asked as he took a deep breath. I found that I enjoyed the feeling of rising and falling with his strong chest. Comfort found me as I peacefully shut my eyes and listened to his voice mesh rhythmically to the beat of his heart. The steady pace thumping in my ear told me novels. He’s calm, I mentally confirmed, and he’s speaking freely without stopping to ponder what he says and doesn’t. He’s beginning to open up. Maybe it’s not the most significant thing he’s revealing to me, but it’s a good start. “Wartime, I mean.”

His eyes angled straight up thoughtfully to the ceiling, a contented sigh leaving his lips. “Everything. I hate it when people fight. It can be totally unrelated to me, but if the girls fight or if Matt and Blake have an issue or something, I feel like it’s my job to do something about it. I’ve never been a great problem-solver when it comes to love issues and all that. Since there’s been so much romantic drama, I’ve felt kind of helpless. Am I making any sense?”

“You’re pushing yourself into the mediator role in situations you don’t fully understand and have limited experience with. Damn straight, you’d feel helpless,” I murmured back into his shirt, face down in his chest. “I know it’s far more easier said than done, but when times like that arise where you have no control over the events around you, you have to learn to breathe and assume a completely neutral position.”

“I don’t take sides,” he answered simply, “Never have unless it’s necessary. I just… I want to make everything better; back to the way it was before any fighting started, but I don’t know how to do that and I feel like it’s possible.”

“Hmm…” Placing a subtle little kiss to his collar, I submersed myself in thought. To tell him a method of mine, or not to tell him? I’d rather not risk it, but at the same time, I would rather him feel like he’s getting more out of this that just a hard-on. “First of all, distance yourself. Don’t submerse yourself in either side’s conflict unless both of them have come to you for support. If one expects you to take sides, decline and prompt them to sort out their own issues no matter how severe the situation is. I know that doesn’t really help, but that’s how to do it.”

His fingers began playing a little piano-like tune on my back, moving upward slowly to the back of my arms. Goosebumps burst all over my tingling skin in the wake of his swift, gentle fingers though calloused and rough. As I wet my lips and listened to his voice, I realized that I had been neglecting my side of the bargain. However, all of my thoughts went out the window when the warmth of his palm appeared lightly pressed to the back of my head, fingers soothingly brushing through my hair.

“No, no,” he whispered in reply, obviously lost in his own thought as he stared blankly at the ceiling. “That makes perfect sen-“ His breath caught in his throat as my teeth grazed his jaw. It took him a moment to realize I was just doing what I had originally been there to do. Clearing his throat, he ran a few fingers through my hair and continued, “I guess if the time comes I feel like that again, I’ll have to take your advice and do it ri-what exactly are you doing?”

The angst in his voice invoked a modest chuckle from my open lips as I found a new focus for my mouth. “Don’t worry about it,” I replied through a breathy, working voice as my teeth and tongue probed the small plastic disk. Patrice’s fingers ceased mid stroke as a small popping noise resonated from between my top and bottom teeth. Suddenly his dress shirt was just a little more loose than it used to be.