All Chapters of Mi Amor: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I disconnected the call before I sounded even more foolish and desperate than I already had. I looked at the clock. Almost two hours until dinner. What would I do? I threw on a tank top and shorts and grabbed my roller blades from the closet. I took a couple of turns around Flamingo Park, pushing myself, hoping that the exertion and discipline would take my mind off Javier.It worked, for a while. But when I was back home, in the shower, I remembered Javier’s touch, and I was nervous and excited and horny all over again. I checked my e-mail one last time before I left the house; Sean had sent me a proposal for the giant martini glasses we’d discussed, along with thanks for introducing him to Barry.I forwarded the proposal to Jean-Jacques with a note that we’d discuss it the next day. At the end of the e-mail I wrote, Dinner in a few minutes with Javier. DON’T CALL ME. I knew that would make him crazy. Join the club, I thought.Lincoln Road was packed with tourists and locals. A bald

When I woke up Friday morning, I looked around me. My apartment was darker than usual. My bedroom window faces south, and usually by the time I wake up the room is flooded with light. I yawned, stretched, and looked at the clock. Eight o’clock. I guessed there was something to that old Ben Franklin saying about early to bed and early to rise.Lying there in bed, I wondered if this was what my life would be like with Javier. Going to sleep every night before midnight, waking up to early-morning light and the sense that I had a whole day ahead of me. I tried to go back to sleep, but after a while I gave up and kick-started my day with a phone call to Vlad’s office.No answer. Usually Marina was at her desk by nine. I left her a message, then showered and dressed. By the time Jean-Jacques came over, around eleven, I’d called Vlad’s office again, answered a bunch of e-mails, and paid a batch of bills. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that my personal bank account was dropping down into

Saturday morning I woke and stretched just as Javier was coming out of the bathroom. “It’s early yet, mi amor,” he said. “You can go back to sleep.” He wore a pair of bikini briefs, and his dark hair was still tousled. His body was so handsome: muscular in all the right places, with a light coating of dark hair from his chest down to his waist. My dick stiffened as I watched him cross the room.“No, I can’t,” I said, sitting up. “I have work to do.”“On a Saturday morning?” There was a hint of laughter in his eyes. “You?”“A bar mitzvah. Jean-Jacques and I are the party planners.”The smile turned into full laughter. “I can just imagine the kind of entertainment you have planned.”I said nothing, just stood up and strode into the bathroom, my dick flapping as I walked. By the time I came out and pulled my dirty clothes back on, Javier had coffee going. I was tempted to walk out of the apartment, but caffeine’s siren song drew me into the kitchen.“I’m sorry,” he said, handing me a mug

I didn’t wake up until nearly noon Sunday morning, only to discover that I was alone in bed. Sometime during the night Javier had cleaned me up and bundled away the beach towel. When I wandered into the kitchen, I found a note on my table that read, “Hope you slept well. I am going to church with my mother and then to Sunday dinner with my family.”No indication of whether he would call me, though. What was up with that? “He slunk out of my bedroom like a cockroach,” I complained to Jean-Jacques later that day, when we met at Jerry’s Famous Deli for Sunday brunch, an almost religious ritual for us. Javier might have his church, but we have lox and bagels and chocolate babka.“Honey, you should get down on the ground and worship that man,” Jean-Jacques said. “He saved your ass on Saturday afternoon and then fucked it on Saturday night. What more do you want from a man?”I grumbled and took a swig of my black cherry soda. I hate it when flaws in my logic are pointed out. Jean-Jacques wa

Once in bed, I tossed and turned for a long time, going back and forth between my business problems and my Javier dilemma, but I must have fallen asleep at some point because I woke Monday morning to banging on my door. I hadn’t quite recovered from Jason’s bar mitzvah; the shots of Vladi Vodka the night before, coupled with an awful lot of dancing, hadn’t helped. My head was pounding as I pulled on a pair of boxers and stumbled to the door.There was a cute redheaded guy in a business suit standing there. “Adam Beller?” he asked.“That’s me.”“FBI Special Agent Angus Green. We have a warrant to search the premises and confiscate any materials relating to your business with Vladislav Solonenko.”At first, I thought it was a hoax. That Jean-Jacques had hired a stripper to come to my door in the guise of an FBI agent. At any moment I expected the guy to peel his clothes off and start dancing.But sadly, he didn’t. A homely older guy followed him inside, and the two of them pulled on rub