Chapter Eight - Racy Racelette

WE WALK INTO a tomb for a bachelor from the ancient nineteen nineties. There's a mattress on top of old pallets. No sheets, but a single dingy pillow rests in the center. A small, laminated table sits next to the tiny window. The garish yellow and orange country chic top is peeling off. A rusty coffee pot sits on the edge. It's tarnished black midway up like someone left half a pot inside when they locked it all away.

On the other side is a kitchen in the loosest sense of the term. There's a tiny fridge next to the counters, a toaster oven on top, and a hot plate by the sink. Its cord is frayed and would probably start a fire if plugged in.

"This is…something," I say and keep my hands tight to my stomach. Too many nights I spent reading about the hantavirus haunt me. Looking at the floor would be a huge mistake so my head remains level as Roq steps in and closes the door.

"Nothing's changed." He reaches over to turn the spigot on the sink. A monstrous gurgle burps from deep in the pipes, then pilsner-colored water belches out. "Not a thing," Roq declares and shuts it off.

I fight off a shiver as he moves around the room like he's been here a lot. "You must have spent quite a lot of time with my uncle."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you just pulled out a coffee filter without even looking." I point to his hand wedged into a cabinet. Roq opens his fingers, casting the white paper free. Nervously, he wipes his hand on his pants and stands up.

"Were you two…um?" The extent of what I knew about my uncle was what people would share with a five-year-old. If someone had told me he rode a horse to work, I'd have believed it, and at the funeral might have asked if the horse was all right. I knew he never married and that was about it. Being in love with a man who turned into cheese was probably not something to mention in the family Christmas letter.

Roq's stone face cracks, the dimple in his chin deepening as he stares at me. "What?" His eyes flare wide and he shakes his head back. "No. Nothing like… I would share reports after the night but before the dawn. Keep him up to speed on the state of the shop. Nothing more."

"Oh…" I'm not disappointed to find out he wasn't madly in love with my uncle. I just thought for a second I found a piece of a man I wish I knew better.

He bows his head and takes a deep breath. "Mateo is a…was a private man. He seemed to make his life about the shop and had little time for others in it."

"Is that why you made a deal with him?" I ask. "Because you both love cheese."

Roq's frown drops to his jaw. "It was a deal of convenience for both of us. I'd thought that… Well, I was proved wrong. Again. The universe does enjoy making a fool out of me."

A sadness weeps to the surface. It drowns in his words even as his face remains hard stone. Pity dampens my fear and I reach a hand out toward him.

"Well." Roq snaps up, his voice at its usual sneering level. That moment of vulnerability vanished so fast, I fear I made it up. "This is the room. You can sleep here if you like. No one will bother you."

Nodding, I take in all of the tiny apartment. Where's the…? I tug back a curtain to find a dry toilet bowl and a shower head screwed into the wall. "It's…lovely. I'll, um, have to get my things and move in. Maybe after a good disinfecting. Buy some sheets. Drag a power washer up to the roof and hose it all down."

With his hands bundled behind his back, Roq stands taller. "I will leave you to it then." He moves to push open the door but stops. Resting above the doorframe is the same picture I dropped the first night in the store. Only, instead of them all posing around my uncle, it's just the four men holding hands and smiling ear to ear.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

Roq jerks as if waking from a dream. He peers back at me with a question.

"Becoming cheese? Or human? Does it hurt?"

"No. It…it's moving from a state of existing, knowing, feeling, breathing, to nothing. No thought, no touch, no sound, no smell, no taste. I imagine it's quite a lot like dying only without the pain."

"Oh," I whisper. "So you don't need Tylenol or anything?"

Roq chuckles and shakes his head. The always slicked-back locks break from their gel. A single tendril dips across his forehead and dances just above his eye. "No, mademoiselle. We don't, but thank you for the offer." His daydream eyes sharpen to an amber fire and he stares right at my chest. "That won't do. Take your shirt off."

I giggle and nervously cross my arms under my breasts as if that will help. Did he bring me up here because he's secretly wanted me this whole time? My face is on fire and I stir my toe on the floor. "Um…"

"You're going to contaminate the cheese if you wear that."

Right. Stupid. Of course, he's worried about the cheese. Wait? I can ruin the cheese?

He points to both my tits and the huge milk stain. Then Roq—the overbearing, stoic, stodgy man—grabs the back of his shirt and yanks it over his head. All of his hair falls onto his face. His eyes gleam between the blue locks. "Put this on instead."

Wow. Roq is tan for a man who never sees the sun, but what catches my breath are the veins pulsing and quivering across his fridge-sized chest. They're such a deep blue they look more like tattoos of an old map weaving down his body. He doesn't have defined abs, and he doesn't need them. His body is pure muscle from shoulder to solid waist. My eyes start to trace one of the blue veins from his hip on a wandering trail under his pants. I gulp and stop before I look at his bulge. If he's hard, I'll die on the spot.

"Ah." I accept his shirt and peer down at my chest. "Can you…? Um…?"

"Oh." He blushes, his icy cheeks turning strawberry pink. With a hard jerk, Roq spins around to face the wall. I do the same, turning my back to him as I pull off my sticky, milk-drenched blouse.

My décolletage looks like the bottom of a cereal bowl. I stare at the sink, then I remember the color of the water. That would only make things worse. Using my palm, I try to wipe away the milk as best as I can.

Which is when the suddenly soft-spoken Roq pipes up, "Be careful with Cam."

"Why? He's been incredibly nice to me." I slip my head through the shirt's neck and wiggle my arms into the sleeves.

"Of course he is. He's nice with everyone that catches his fancy."

"And why is that a problem?" I ask and drop the shirt down my body. It's baggy enough to fit two of me and the hem lands mid-thigh. Worse still, the sleeves dangle three inches past my hands. I try to roll them up, which is when I realize that one, Roq is turning around, and two, the neckline on his old-fashioned shirt falls right at my bra.

As he stares straight down my cleavage and probably to my belly button, a little burst of air escapes from his lips.

You're being a whore. Stop it.

This isn't the gremlin, it's my mom railing at me for letting the wind catch my skirt, or accidentally splitting my pants on the playground. Turtling up, I try to clamp the bowing neckline closed at the center while also keeping my legs closed tight.

I don't mind Roq looking, I just hate that it has to be at me.

It doesn't make any damn sense, but my brain's broken anyway.

He closes his eyes, then walks toward me.

Oh jeez. Oh, man. What do I do?

His huge, muscular body lumbers closer like a mountain rolling over a field. He manages to eclipse the one ceiling light, casting me in shadow. I try to meet his gaze, but his eyes are somewhere in the stratosphere. What if I see anything other than mild annoyance in them?

What if he's disgusted with me?

What if he's not?

The shadow slips to the side as Roq reaches into a cabinet. A spool of twine falls free. He measures a few lengths up and down his forearm before breaking it off the spool with his bare hand.

Using a gentle touch, Roq bunches the waist of his large shirt together, then wraps me up in the twine. It leaves me peering up at him through his pectoral cleavage, my hands limp at the side.

All of his focus is on winding the twine around my waist over and over. "For all of his light, easy words, Cam carries a darkness inside." Roq knots the twine up, but he doesn't step back. His wide hands drop near my hips.

My heart pounds in my ears. He's very nearly but not quite touching me. Electricity leaps across the no-man's land between us. I keep clenching my toes, in agony for him to either hold me or step away. Standing in this tiny apartment there's no way to escape the scent of his body wafting from his shirt. I expect to smell cheese, maybe even fresh milk or whatever rennet is. Instead, I smell sweet hay, the sun on a meadow, and wool.

Tingling from the heat of his naked chest just a few inches from mine, my body drops into a cascade of panic. My fingers tingle and legs shake, then my voice drops as I nearly whisper at him, "Are you saying that to protect me or him?"

Roq settles his palms on my shoulders. The tips of his fingers reach past my collarbones, but he doesn't touch my bare skin. He lingers there, peering down at me. Then, the giant man starts to bend down.

A loud bang breaks from the door. "Cheddy's finished with the milk," Cam calls from outside. Roq freezes with his back partially bowed, but Cam doesn't come inside.

Standing up straight, Roq calls out, "Good. I'll be down there to start the curdling process." With that, Roq pulls open the door to a surprised Cam whose ear was just pressed to it. He tries to leap back, but can't go far on the roof or risk going splat. I'm not sure if all the king's horses would have a better time putting a cheese back together again.

For a moment, he doesn't register Roq, then he catches me with burning hot cheeks in Roq's shirt-turned-dress. "Did we have fun?" Cam asks, his voice damn near spitting hot tacks.

"She was contaminated. Here. Get Brie to wash this." Roq tosses my shirt at Cam's chest. He catches it, then peers back at me.

"I intended to handle it myself," he says as Roq barrels past and works his way down the ladder.

"I know how you would ‘handle' it." Roq's gaze is level with the top floor, but he beams a warning at me. I nervously fiddle with the knot he tied around my waist and watch Cam. Instead of wadding up my blouse, or throwing it aside, he folds it up for later.

If there is a darkness inside of Cam, maybe only Roq brings it out.

"My lady, that harsh fabric does nothing for your tender skin. Let us get it off of you post haste." Cam makes a move for the twine, but he doesn't unknot it.

"And wear what instead?" I ask.

"Who said anything about replacing it?" He winks at me and catches the twine. With a laugh, he tugs it and me closer.

"Are you coming?" Roq calls from down at street level.

"That damn man," Cam curses to himself. He lets go of me and puts on a hard smile before yelling out the door. "Of course. You delight in the agony of my blue balls." Cam casts one more pitiful look my way, then he works toward the ladder.

"And you, Violette?"

I gulp and peer down at Roq. "Me?" He looks tiny down on the street.

"We are partners are we not? Would you like to join us?"

Cam snorts and shakes his head before he resumes climbing down. Gulping, I nod, then shout down, "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Meet you in the basement," Roq says, already walking away. "Don't forget to lock up."

I don't bother to fight the gremlin, just do the five turns of the lock and stuff the huge keychain into my pocket. As I turn, I catch a pair of curious brown eyes descending the ladder.