Chapter Sixty-Four
Frankie fervently wished he'd chosen his wheelchair over his metal crutches as he inched along the expansive hallways of Wyndemere. When Mama had woken him for breakfast, he'd been tempted to roll over and tell her he wasn't getting up today. The pain medication that the doctor had given him the previous evening had carried him through the night, allowing him to sleep dreamlessly, but every movement he'd made to get ready reminded him of his overexertion at the will reading. I wanna feel good, he whined to himself. I'm meeting Maxie today. How come nothin' is workin' out?
When Frankie finally reached the dining room, he was exhausted and cranky, not in the mood for polite breakfast chatter. He dropped his crutches onto the plush, Oriental rug lying under the huge walnut table and eased himself into a chair, looking around the room and scoping out the situation. His face reddened when he saw Sly heaping his plate with the bounty from the breakfast buffet and taking a seat next to Stefan, whose total attention was directed on his younger brother. Stefan leaned toward Sly and kidded him about how much food he was consuming.
"You'd rather have breakfast with us at Wyndemere?" Stefan teased.
Sly nodded enthusiastically. "I only get cereal or toast at home. This is great. Thank you."
Stefan smiled back, charmed by Sly's enthusiasm and polite manners.
While Frankie stewed silently, Laura entered the room and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Would you like me to dish you up some breakfast?" she offered. Laura knew that Frankie had a hard time rising after getting settled in a chair.
"Yeah," Frankie answered glumly. He'd much rather walk over to the buffet on his own steam and not have his mother help him.
"Good morning, Frankie," Stefan said heartily.
"Hello," Frankie answered quietly. He immediately dug into his plate full of goodies when Laura laid it in front of him. She'd remembered his love of blueberries, and he felt a wave of gratitude amidst the other, negative feelings.
"How's it going?" Sly asked. "I'm going up for another plate."
Frankie made a face and concentrated on his own plate as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Laura glanced at him with a puzzled expression on her face. Frankie ignored Sly and didn't respond to his friendly question.
Frankie's narrowed eyes watched as Sly rapidly consumed more breakfast. He reflected that Sly's appetite went directly to his legs, and he mightily resented being shorter than a younger brother. He ran a hand over his stomach. Why couldn’t he eat more? Maybe that was why he wouldn't grow. "I can eat more dan dat," he shot out scornfully with a finger pointed at Sly's plate. "You think you're something da way you snarf dat down."
Sly looked at Frankie with stunned eyes, not sure how to answer the strange insult.
When Sly didn't answer, Frankie grew angrier. "And you'd better hurry up 'cause you've got lots of studying to do. It takes you twice as long as me. Must be hard for you." Frankie threw his cloth napkin down in disgust and tried to push away from the table, but the rug caught the chair's legs, and he made no movement. "Fuck!" he yelled out angrily. Nothing was going right for him this morning.
Laura quickly glanced at Stefan and silently communicated that she would handle this situation. She pulled his chair out from the table with Frankie still sitting in it. "Come with me," she said quietly yet firmly. "We need to talk." When Frankie shot her an annoyed look, she said with more vigor, "Now, Frankie."
Frankie sputtered around and grabbed his crutches with a jabbing motion of his hands. Laura led him away from the table toward the living room, which was far enough away for privacy. She pointed toward a chair that looked neither easy nor comfortable. "Sit down, please." Frankie sat down on the antique chair and bounced defiantly on it, delighting in Laura's pained expression.
Laura chose to ignore his latest misbehavior and concentrated on his words to Sly. "Frankie, those were very hurtful words you spoke to Sly."
"It's da truth," Frankie sniffed. He ignored her and plastered a nonchalant expression on his face.
"Sly is your brother. You hurt his feelings on purpose, and I want to know why."
"Cause he's stupid," Frankie stated imperiously
"No, Sly is not stupid, and you know it. Obviously something angered you. What was it?"
Frankie folded his arms and pouted, but didn't answer.
"In this household, it is not acceptable to swear or purposefully hurt another person. Do you understand?" When Frankie ignored her, Laura's voice rose higher with strong certainty. "You will not use those words in this house. And I expect you to apologize to Sly."
"He thinks he's better dan me!" Frankie angrily blurted out.
"No he doesn't."
Frankie picked up her disbelieving tone of voice and grew enraged. He jumped up from the chair and glared daggers at her. Laura stood her ground and returned his stare, her hands resting firmly on her hips. "He's eatin' all dat food so he can grow taller dan me!" Frankie yelled with bugged eyes, implying that Sly had a growth conspiracy against him.
Laura's face softened at her realization of what was truly bothering her son.
"And Stefan is encouraging him," he added as a bitter afterthought.
Laura wrapped a careful arm around his shoulder. "Honey, Stefan was just being polite and making conversation with Sly. How else would you expect him to be? You know how Stefan appreciates good manners. If you didn't show those manners, it is your doing, not Sly's." She turned him around and looked deeply into his hurt, blue eyes. "Tall is not better," she explained. She raised her hands to the ceiling. "It's just taller. Nothing else."
Frankie's face fell, and he nervously toed at a rose that was woven into the custom carpeting. His eyes filled with tears, all the way to the brim, and his lips quivered with emotion. Laura drew him into a hug and rubbed his back. "Whatever Frank told you is untrue," she whispered in his ear. "When they made you, they broke the mold. You're perfect to me. I couldn't hope for a better looking son."
"What about dat Nikolas?" Frankie scoffed as he drew back from his mother and wiped away his tears. "You had ta practice, den you got it perfect with me?" Frankie's eyes twinkled with both humor and tears.
Laura shook her head. "All of my children are perfect to me. You're all beautiful in your own right."
"Yeah, Lulu is so pretty," Frankie agreed as he breathed out a sigh. "I love Lulu."
"And she loves her big brother just the way you are," Laura stated as she directed him toward the dining room. "Honey, you know how sensitive Sly is. He'll be brooding all morning if you don't make things right with him."
Frankie's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I know," he conceded. "I'll tell him sorry - even though I still think he eats too much."
~*~*~*~
Sly watched Frankie from underneath his eyelashes while he appeared to be reading the opened history book in front of him, but he really was mulling over recent events with his brother and the episode at the breakfast table that morning. After they both entered the study and took residence at their respective desks, Frankie had opened his notebook and furiously wrote as he flipped through pages of his books to the homework problems that were due. Sly noted that Frankie didn't even read the chapters, he just answered the questions and perfectly so Sly guessed. He was a tornado of activity, whirling in his own focused activity and ignoring his brother. Frankie probably finished an entire day's homework in an hour. Now he was sitting on the couch in front of the window, staring out with a hand under his chin and no expression on his face. He'd been like that for nearly forty minutes and didn't show any signs of snapping out of it soon. Sly wondered what he was thinking about - his homework, his girlfriend, his millions of dollars stuffing the coffers of his bank accounts? Frankie was the most impossible person to read. Who knew what flitted in and out of his mind - and who could predict his behavior?
Sly edged up closer to his desk and ran a tentative finger over the text of his book, his eyes registering the flurry of letters. He was a good student in his own right, a straight A student his dad was fond of telling people. Luke encouraged him to do his very best at all times, and A's were the result of his efforts. He might not be a child prodigy, but he was no slacker. He had plans for attending university. Emily constantly talked about wanting to be a doctor and following in her adoptive mother and father's footsteps. It was natural for her to desire that occupation. But Sly had so many interests he wasn't sure what he'd settle on. At various times, he'd thought about becoming an anthropologist, a botanist or another scientific occupation. He was observant and respectful in the same instant. His keen curiosity constantly alerted him to the changing environment and its causes and challenges.
Frankie stirred and reached for his laptop, his fingers caressing the keyboard and making the machine click and beep. He laughed periodically, clenching his fist or tapping on the desk with his merriment at obtaining another scrap of evidence. To Sly, it was obvious that Frankie was searching for Nikolas. He seemed to thrive with the competition. Sly wondered what Frankie would say to Nikolas when he finally caught up with him. Would he gloat? Probably. Sly sighed and resolved himself to focus on his homework and let the rest of the world deal with Frankie.
~*~*~*~
Later
that morning...
Laura wheeled Frankie down the hallway and stopped in front of the closed door to his old room. Uh-oh, Frankie thought. Da great unveiling. What did she do? Am I gonna survive dis?
Laura swung the door open and laughed when Frankie's jaw hung down. "Do you like it?" she asked with excitement. "Stefan gave me some tips regarding your taste. No French Provincial or blonde woods for you."
Frankie's eyes traveled to each corner of the room, taking in the perfectly coordinated panorama of the setting. He laughed with delight. "It's perfect, Mama!" he said enthusiastically as he jettisoned himself from his chair and clung to the dresser in front of him. His fingers traced the smooth wood, pausing at the corner where a dark piece of decorative wood was inlaid.
"Some are antiques and some are new," Laura explained. "I wanted to give you new pieces as well so you didn't have to worry about ruining them with use. The light fixtures are antique and so is the stained glass in the window. "It's called Mission Style. I thought you'd like it because of the dark woods, simple lines and rich colors."
Frankie beamed as he turned and impulsively hugged Laura. "You'd da best, Mama." Laura wrapped her arms around her son and smiled through her tears. "I'm glad you're happy," she said softly.
~*~*~*~
Sonny Corinthos was dressed all in black, and he bent his head down low to hide his face as he passed the numerous women who walked the aisles in the department store. Finally, he reached his destination: a cosmetics counter. Sonny had driven himself crazy trying to figure out what had happened to his number two man. Was Jason dead? Kidnapped? And what in world was that makeup collection doing in his bedroom? Sonny had found a receipt amongst the glitter, and he was determined to find the answers.
A tall, elegant man was behind the counter of the famous makeup brand. He furiously cleaned off the countertop whilst spurting perfume into the air with a dissatisfied look in his bright blue eyes. "This must be perfect!" the man complained to himself as he frowned and flitted over to the other end of the counter. "I cannot believe the shipment is late." He impatiently looked at his Gucci watch and sniffed. "Who do they think I am? An artist must have his paints!"
Sonny hesitantly walked up to the counter and leaned against it, placing the black sleeve of his suit on top of the glass. The man held his hands on his hips and scolded Sonny with a "tsk tsk" noise. "I just cleaned that off," he protested shrilly.
Sonny's face remained blank, but he removed his arm. "Uh, sorry."
"Okay, then." The man straightened up his posture and pasted on a solicitous facial expression. "How may I help you, sir?"
Sonny shifted and looked around him to ensure his privacy. "I have a receipt," he said slowly, removing a crumpled piece of white paper from the pocket of his suit jacket.
"No returns on cosmetics," the man said, interrupting him.
Sonny squinted at the man's name tag. "Um... Elton it is. I need some information. No returns."
"I don't sell information," Elton replied haughtily.
"No one's asking you to," Sonny shot back with exasperation.
"I'm an artist," Elton explained with an arched eyebrow. "A makeup artist. Specialist in all things faces." He gave Sonny a quick once over and snorted. "Your complexion could be much improved. A little bronzer, a touch of..."
Sonny lost his patience and quickly leaned in and grabbed Elton by his satin lapel. "I don't want your artistic experience," he gritted out. "I want to know why my second hand man was shopping here." He jabbed a finger at the receipt. "He purchased Glow by Moonlight? What the hell is that?"
Elton's forehead broke out into a sweat when he was pinned by Sonny's murderous glare. "Why, I'll have to recover first before I can think." Sonny let him go, and Elton smoothed out his suit, being careful not to forget a quick touch over his hair. He gulped and blinked his eyes rapidly. "What was this man of yours like?" he asked seductively with a nod and a wink.
Sonny colored to an unflattering shade of red. "His name is Jason; he's six foot in height, spiky brownish blond hair."
"With highlights," Elton finished for him. He clapped his hands together once. "Oh, he was simply divine that man cub of yours."
Sonny swallowed hard in an attempt to stop himself from killing the man in front of him. "Jason is, er, was my employee."
"Oh." Elton's face sank. "Tragedy."
"So he frequented this counter?" Sonny inquired with dead eyes.
Elton gave him a superior look. He waved his limp wrested hand at Sonny. "Honey, that boy is keeping me in furs and diamonds. He ran up at least a hundred dollar tab twice a week. A glutton for the new. He simply loooves to try on." Elton waved his fingers over several areas of his face. "A little here, a little there. Perfect!"
Sonny licked his lips and frowned harder. Jason was off the deep end. I had no idea. I mean, yeah, his lips were too red, but I thought it was chapstick. He tapped hard on the counter with a firm fingertip. "Jason won't be back," he said shortly.
Elton looked horrified. "Oh no, my candy boy, what on earth happened?"
Sonny jabbed his finger at Elton. "You keep quiet," he threatened. I can't allow this to get out. I'll be a laughingstock on the docks. My men will lose respect. He swaggered away from the counter, and Elton muttered "Ciao" under his breath as his face saddened.
~*~*~*~
Frankie wandered around his new room,
inspecting the furniture and opening and closing drawers that would contain his
possessions. His heart sank when he realized he didn't have many - they'd all been burnt
up in the fire in
Frankie was lost in thought when he heard his mother's voice. "Frankie, here's the second part of your surprise." Laura was carrying a book of some sort, and she motioned him over to the bed, where they both sat down. "What's dat?" he asked curiously.
"It's a brothers book," she said happily.
"What?"
Laura opened the pages of the book, which was a photo album filled with old photos. "I collected many old photos of you, Nikolas and Sly. It's divided into sections. Since you're brothers now, it's a way to introduce yourselves to each other, see what you were like years ago. Since this is your copy, you're in the first section. I'll give Sly his book after we're finished and Nikolas can have his when he returns home."
Laura turned the page, and Frankie was startled by the red-faced baby who peered back at him with squinty eyes, pouty lips and clenched fists - only one hour old and already at war with the world. "Dat's me?" he asked incredulously.
Laura nodded and pointed with a finger at the name. "Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior."
Frankie pealed out in laughter at the next photo of a worried looking Luke holding onto his newborn son. "Look at dat hair!" he crowed.
"Styles have changed."
Frankie snorted in response. "Look at me! I look like a troll."
"You do not."
"Do too. Look at dose big eyes and da fat, drooling lips." Frankie's funny bone was tickled and he couldn't stop cracking up. Laura wrapped her arm around him, and he leaned his head on her shoulder while she continued to turn the pages. When she was done with his section, he said wistfully, "Not too many photos of me, huh? Just da baby."
Laura squeezed his shoulder for reassurance, but didn't reply. "Sly's next," she said.
"He looks like me as a baby," Frankie observed. "Same expression."
"And drool," Laura teased.
After a few photos of Sly with his mother, Frankie said, "Sly's mother is dead, but I have my mama."
"That's right," Laura replied softly. "But he has a new mother now."
"Alexis," Frankie said.
Laura turned the page, and there was a close-up of Bill playing with Sly when he was a toddler. Frankie frowned. He knew Sly's father was supposed to look like Luke, but for some reason, Bill seemed familiar to him in his own right. The glasses, different haircut and coloring identified that he wasn't Luke. He felt uneasy, but he wasn't sure why. Shrugging, he quickly turned over the page before his mother had a chance to.
"And now Nikolas."
"Where's da silver spoon," Frankie scoffed. "Or da gold plated diapers?"
"Frankie!" Laura pinched Frankie's waist. "You're so bad."
"I know," Frankie smirked as he nestled in closer to his mother and watched the pages turn. "Most of da photos are of Nikolas and Stefan," he observed. "Dere's one of you with him at Christmas."
"You know what happened," Laura said softly.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Frankie replied. "At least I have da pictures with both of ya. Not like Nikolas."
Gratitude flickered over Laura's face. "Are you starting to understand your brother a little better?"
"Maybe."
Laura patted Frankie's head and kissed him on the top of his hair. "Are you tired? Do you need a nap?"
"Later," Frankie breathed out.
Truth was, he was exhausted, but he didn't want to admit it. A stray thought flitted
through his mind, and he smiled wickedly. "Oh, I decided I'd take a long nap dis
afternoon." He paused. "From
Laura laughed and knocked on top of his head. "What's that brain of yours doing in there? Why such a specific timeframe?"
"I think dat's best," Frankie stated decisively. "I want to be ready for dinner. I missed it last night, and den I gotta go to Luke's tomorrow."
"Stefan will be pleased."
Frankie nodded and barely kept himself from laughing. Maxie, here I come!
~*~*~*~
That
afternoon...
Frankie worked intently, tucking his new bedspread around the line of pillows he'd arranged to look somewhat like a body reclining for a nap. He hoped his comment to his mother about his need for privacy would be enough to prevent a visit. Dr. Jerry had stopped by to see him half an hour earlier, so that angle was taken care of. Frankie couldn't help but be delighted when he was engaged in mischief, and he chuckled continually. It felt good to be pulling the wool over someone's eyes as that's how he'd made his living for the last three years of his life. He smacked his hands together, satisfied with his con job. Sly was waiting for him outside the garage where his BMW was stored. Frankie had written a brief note in Russian and had given Sly a hundred dollar bill to bribe the servant who minded the cars. He took in a deep breath and surveyed his new room once more. It was so neat - fabrics in turquoise and green with furniture framed in strong, masculine lines. He could really feel at home here. He almost hated to leave Wyndemere now that he, Mama and Stefan were getting along. His handpicked Danish furniture was waiting for him, but he almost wasn't looking forward to leaving what he had here.
Frankie sighed and picked up his metal crutches. Maxie would be so surprised when she saw that he walking - well, sort of walking. Limping and dragging was more like it. He was sure glad that Frank couldn't see him now or he'd be laughing and poking fun at him, calling him names. Maybe he was doing that from hell. Who knows? Frankie made his way to the elevator without being detected, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he exited on the first floor. It was hard not making noise with his crutches, but he managed. By the time he neared the garage, he'd almost passed out from the exertion. When would his strength ever return? Or had he ever had strength with his constant bruises from the beatings Frank had given him? He was always running at half speed, wasn't he?
Sly was nervously waiting for Frankie beside the BMW with his feet tapping and his hands in his jeans pockets. Sly leaned in toward Frankie and whispered, "He took it. He kept laughing and shaking his head. What did you say in that note?"
Frankie's eyebrow rose as he grinned. "It's too adult for you."
Sly frowned. "Why do you always have to act like you know everything?"
"'Cause I do?"
"Open up the car door," Sly groused. "I want to get going."
"Patience, my man." Frankie pressed the button on his keychain, which automatically opened the doors. He breathed in deeply as he slid into the front seat. "Ah, I can still smell da leather." He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of his seat. "I love dis car!"
"Where's the blood?" Sly asked sarcastically.
"Cleaned off. You can clean blood off of anything."
"I'm sure you'd know."
Frankie shot Sly an annoyed glance and ignored him as he turned the ignition.
"How can you drive a car without a driver's license?" Sly wondered aloud.
"Like dis," Frankie said with assurance as he turned his head and expertly backed out the car, turned it around and floored the gas pedal.
"Whew," Sly breathed out in surprise at the speed in which the BMW traveled.
"Open up da glove compartment," Frankie ordered. "I told Johnny to leave 'em in dere. Are dey still in place?"
When Sly opened the glove compartment, a flurry of white cards dumped out into his lap and onto the floor. "Fake ID's," he said with amazement. "I need one of these."
"You don't look like Frankie DeMarco, but you can have one," Frankie offered.
Sly examined one card and snickered. "You're not twenty-one. You don't even look close."
"Look at da eyes," Frankie said proudly.
Sly frowned. "Dang! You're right. You look old."
Frankie laughed knowingly. "An old guy with da babyface. Da ladies like it, believe me."
"So how many women have you slept with anyway?"
"I dunno," Frankie breathed out. "Only a couple stand out in my mind. I was drunk most of da time. "I liked Michelle. We did it da most."
"I can't believe you've had sex," Sly said incredulously.
"I can't believe you haven't," Frankie retorted. "And you won't with da babies you like to date."
"Leave Emily out of this," Sly ordered. "She's off limits."
"Yes sir, Romeo."
The two boys were silent while Frankie navigated the streets. Sly looked curiously at Frankie's left leg, which still remained where it had been propped. His right foot was actively operating the gas pedal and brakes. "What are you going to do if we get stopped by the cops?" Sly asked.
Frankie shot him a look. "Why do ya always gotta rain on da parade? I'm not gonna get caught. Besides dis car can outrun one of dem clunky police cruisers." Frankie flexed his fingers over the steering wheel as if he were anticipating and preparing for a race.
Sly's eyes widened at the implication that Frankie would try to outrun the cops. He ran a hand over his forehead and settled for staring out the window at the scenery. Maybe he'd live another day and finally make it to age fifteen - or maybe not
~*~*~*~
Frankie parked the car in the side lot beside PCHS. Maxie was waiting for him, and he returned her wave. "Wait here," he told Sly.
Sly saluted in his direction and said, "Yes, sir." He looked at his watch. "Emily isn't coming out for another twenty minutes."
"Good," Frankie replied offhandedly. "Take a nap."
Sly shook his head and made a disgusted face. Why were they having so much trouble getting along today? They should be laughing and happy, eager to see their girlfriends. He watched Frankie drape his arm around Maxie's shoulder to whisper in her ear and the two walk off towards the adjoining woods. Leaning back in his seat, Sly crossed his arms and closed his eyes, determined to rest for awhile if he had to wait. He'd better treat her right, he thought to himself. The woods aren't a mall.
~*~*~*~
Frankie and Maxie made their way to the middle of the small woods. Frankie had a hard time navigating with his crutches occasionally sinking into the ground. He finally stopped in front of a mature oak tree and pointed toward a large bush nearby. "Here?" he asked. Maxie nodded, and Frankie released her hand to drop to his knees. Leaning forward, he reached out his hand and rummaged under the brush for a minute until he hit paydirt. His fingers tapped against a cardboard box, and he pulled it toward him.
Maxie looked all around her and noted the sweet breeze that barely made its way through the thick woods and the way that it was nearly dark in the middle of the afternoon, with the exception of a bright filter of light that rained down and dappled the leaves.
Frankie sat down and ripped at the top of the box.
"What in the world did you order?" Maxie questioned. "Why the secrecy?"
"'Cause of dis!" Frankie's hand pulled back to reveal a large, lethal looking handgun.
Maxie exclaimed and jumped back with her hand held protectively over her wildly fluttering heart. "Frankie!" she breathed out as she looked back and forth from the gun to his face. "What in the world?"
"Firepower," he said simply. "Protection."
Maxie frowned as she tried to process the situation. Mac's harsh words about Frankie and his mob ties came to mind. "You really are a criminal," she said before thinking.
Frankie jumped to his feet with an angry look on his face. He inserted the gun into his waistband and drew his sweater over the evidence. "Am not," he replied petulantly.
"Then what is this?" Maxie questioned with a pointing finger. "I don’t appreciate having that sent to my house. What if Mac had opened the package?"
"He didn't," Frankie replied shortly. "I need dis. Dey keep tryin' to kill me."
"Who?"
"Da Mafia and other lowlifes. I gotta be careful and so do you."
"Me?" Maxie squeaked out.
"Yeah. Guilt by association."
Maxie shook her head. "I'm not guilty of anything."
"I know. But dey don't know dat. Get to me through you. Dat sorta thing." Frankie reached back into the box and pulled out a bulletproof vest. "Take off your sweater," he ordered with a gleam in his eye.
"Frankie!" Maxie protested with a laugh.
"No. Go on. Seriously. I wanna see if dis vest fits you. If so, you can have dis one, wear it or keep it as a backup for me." Frankie stood his ground, and he raised his eyebrow in expectation. His lips twitched with amusement. "Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before," he said with a jaunty tone.
Maxie frowned, but said, "Okay, I'll try it on." Frankie handed her the vest and stared expectantly. "Turn around," Maxie ordered. Frankie sighed deeply and turned, crossing his arms and waiting. Of course, he planned to turn around again at an opportune moment.
Maxie removed her sweater and placed it on top of the box. She held the vest up and stood puzzled at how to put it on. "How does this go on?"
Frankie turned around quickly with a bright grin. "I'll help ya," he offered as he reached for the vest. Maxie handed it over and sighed. Maintaining her modesty around Frankie was impossible. He was determined, that's for sure.
"First a kiss," he whispered as he dropped the vest onto the ground with a thud. He whipped his sweater off and threw it to the ground. "Why'd you do that?" Maxie questioned.
"So we can sit down," Frankie explained. He dropped to the ground and motioned for her to join him.
"How is this going to fit the vest on me?"
Frankie shrugged. "First I get my kiss." Maxie joined him and shook her head at the futility of following his train of thought. She tried not to look at his scars. The older ones weren't too bad since they were mostly white jagged lines, but the recent ones were still red. She ran her hand over his chest and asked, "Do they still hurt? Your injuries?"
"Sometimes," Frankie conceded. "But you can distract me."
"Maxie Jones, painkiller," Maxie joked. She stopped abruptly and drew in a sharp breath when Frankie ran his fingertip down the length of her own scar, the chest wound that was the result of open heart surgery.
"How about you?" he asked. "Are you okay?" He ran his palm over the area and heated up her skin and the rest of her as well. "I'm fine," she whispered as she closed her eyes. Frankie leaned toward her and drew her into a close hug. He kissed her hungrily yet gently, starting slowly at first and then applying a firmer, more insistent pressure that distracted her from the fact that he was running his hands all over her back, underneath her bra. Sighing, they reclined side by side on Frankie's sweater, not noticing the rough texture of the leaves that rubbed here and there against their skin.
Maxie felt like she was floating and although the warning alarm should have been going off in her brain, it was disabled by Frankie's expert touch. She vaguely felt the clasp of her bra being undone, but it was overshadowed by the delicious sensation of Frankie's lips and tongue brushing repeatedly over her throat. She felt the cool breeze caress the skin of her bare chest and then the warmth of Frankie's bare chest meeting her own. Frankie began moving against her rhythmically but with a gentle pressure that didn't register with her. She gasped and opened her eyes widely when she felt the cool length of his pistol barrel against her stomach at the same time his warm hands firmly enveloped her breasts, touching, kneading and squeezing to a delightful rhythm. Maxie moaned, and Frankie lifted his head, meeting her eyes with the cloudy desire that shone from his blue eyes. He reached out for her hand and placed it over his crotch, murmuring, "Can we do it?"
Maxie blinked rapidly, set off guard by his blatant, not terribly romantic request. The floaty feeling she'd been having, like a romance novel come to life, faded away rapidly, and she was faced with the fact that a boy she didn't know terribly well, and a pistol packing criminal at that, wanted to have sex with her on the floor of the woods with the school only a short distance away and the distinct possibility of interruption. Frankie ran her hand back and forth across his erection, and she pulled her hand away, feeling offended but not knowing why exactly. She reached for her bra and sweater and dressed rapidly, not saying a word and ignoring the bulletproof vest. Flipping her blond hair back with an annoyed flick of her wrist, she said sarcastically, "Are we going to go now? Sly and Emily must be waiting." Uncomfortable, she'd retreated to a bitchy mood to extricate herself from the situation.
Frankie stared at her with surprise and uncertainty, but he finally rose from the ground, pulled on the vest and placed his sweater over it. His cheeks colored darkly with frustration and embarrassment, he harshly grabbed the box and began marching toward the parking lot, saying, "Let's go den."
~*~*~*~
Sly looked up from his position leaning against the BMW. Emily had arrived a few minutes earlier, and they'd rapidly shared the events of their day with an excitement born of being in the other person's presence. Sly noted that Frankie was tense and unhappy, carrying a box like he'd prefer to crush it, and Emily noted that Maxie's cheeks were flushed and her hair mussed. "What's up with those two?" Sly and Emily said out loud at the same time, giggling when their words flowed together.
"Get in," Frankie said gruffly, not bothering to say hi to Emily. Sly and Emily looked at each other and shrugged before entering the back seat of the car. Maxie hopped into the front passenger's seat and slammed the door. After placing his box into the trunk, Frankie slid into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. "Let's go get an ice cream before we drop you girls off," he suggested.
"All right!" Sly and Emily laughed, giving each other a high five. Frankie glanced at Maxie out of the corner of his eye, but her face was still and tense, and she merely looked out of the window without replying.