Chloe
The kettle on the stove started to whistle. I moved to it and took it off the burner, killing the flame. I went to the cupboard and found two mugs. I also found the jar full of Decaffeinated Earl Grey tea bags and took out two. I poured two cups of hot water and added the bags, moving carefully out of the kitchen and using my elbow to switch off the light.
I padded barefoot down the hall to find him in the den. He had on reading glasses. His feet were up, and his robe hung open just enough to show off his chest hair. It was a sexy subdued look, but I read the room.
"I brought your tea," I said.
He looked up, removing his glasses. "Just leave it," he said.
I set it on the table by his armchair and drew the ottoman he'd been using to keep his feet up to sit on, legs uncrossed, blowing on my own mug-full of tea and leveling my eyes at him.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, replacing his glasses and turning his eyes back to the book in his hands.
I noticed his cobalt blue eyes dip momentarily between my thighs. Still, with resolve, they focused once more upon the words in front of him.
I read the title on the cover. "Have you read it before?"
"Yes," he said.
"Did you memorize it?"
"That's not how it works," he sighed.
I took the book and flipped it to the title page. "Chapter One," I said. "Go."
He sighed, removing his glasses. "It doesn't start with a chapter heading," he said, taking up his mug of tea and sipping.
"Okay," I said, looking at the page in front of me. "Then how does it start?"
"Lyndon Johnson," He said. "'...most significant triumphs come not in the secrets passed in the dark, but in patient reading, hour after hour, of highly technical periodicals. In a real sense they [the "patriotic and dedicated" CIA researchers] are America's professional students. They are unsung just as they are invaluable.' Then the chapter heading simply identifies it as 'Wednesday.'"
I shut the book. "Why read a book when you know how it ends?"
He smirked. "You asked me about the beginning."
I flipped to the end. "Okay, Chief. Last page, final paragraphs. Go!"
He scowled at me.
"I'm not going to bed," I said.
He sighed. "The old man smiled, patted him on the back, and, mumbling platitudes, led him to the door. When he returned to his seat, Powell looked at him and said, 'Well, sir, that's the end of our Condor.' The old man's eyes twinkled. 'Don't be so sure, Kevin, my boy, don't be so sure.'"
I closed the book."You're a freak," I said.
He shrugged, sipping his tea. "Better than the movie," he said. "Although Faye Dunaway was a real hotsy-totsy in her day."
"I never read it," I said, tossing the book aside. "And Faye Dunaway? Wasn't she in Dunston Checks In?"
He rolled his eyes. "Not helping your case, Ki--"
I glared at him.
"Chloe," he corrected.
I went to the shelf behind the desk in the den. Mom had her own home office at the back of the house. The den was where Cy tended to read. I selected a book.
"This one," I said.
"Hardly Dr. Seuss," he said.
"Humor me?"
"That book's not about what most people think it's about," he said.
"I've read this one," I sulked.
"What's it about, then?"
I decided to show off. ''Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the--on the--' (Shit) I almost nailed it, though, right? Is it 'tongue' or 'teeth?'"
"'Teeth,'" he said. "And you are hardly 'four feet ten in one sock,'" he added.
"You got any books about a five-foot-four 23-year-old seducing her dad? I could use pointers."
He blew out a soft breath of laughter. "I don't read trash," he supplied.
"Pity," I shrugged.
"Lolita is a Jailhouse confession," he said, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Umbert gets his just deserts in the end."
"All these books," I said. "Why didn't you become a professor of literature?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "My dad was a cop. And I liked helping people and not sitting in a chair or at a desk all day."
I reached out and ran a finger up the middle of his bare foot. "You hand out parking tickets and cite people who don't curb their dogs... there's no law against us doing what we both want to do, Cy."
"You're young," he said. "You've got years of bad decisions and mistakes ahead of you. I'm old, and time gets precious when you've got less of it to waste."
I replaced Lolita on the shelf and selected another book. "Marquis De Sade?"
He stood and took the book from my hand, reshelving it.
"No," he said, grabbing a thick book. "Take this one. Go upstairs. Goodnight."
"Homer's Iliad?"
"Trust me, Kid. You'd be better of falling asleep trying to memorize that than thinking about sex."
I considered, slowly placing the book on the shelf before clearing my throat and reciting from memory. "'Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.'" I smirked at him.
He sipped his tea.
"Be a little bit impressed?" I pouted.
"That's the Samuel Butler Translation," he said. "My copy is by Alexander Pope. 'Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!'"
"Do you know everything?"
"'People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those who do.'" He quoted.
"Issac Asimov," I said, smiling.
"Duly impressed, Chloe," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"You caved in the kitchen. Am I just supposed to ignore that?"
He brought his hand down. "Chloe..."
"No! I've kept this locked in a box deep in the cellar, Cy. I've ignored it. I knew it was wrong. But in that kitchen, just now...."
He threw his teacup. "Goddamnit! Go to bed, kid!"
"You kissed me back," I said.
He stood, putting a hand in the pocket of his robe.
"I stopped looking you in the eyes two years ago," I said. "Didn't you notice?"
"I figured it had to do with breaking things up at that party."
"No," I said. "Three months after that. I walked in on you and mom, screwing in this room. Her legs over your shoulders, panting as you...." I touched the desk. "Right here. On this desk. I mean, before that, I thought about some vague guy... but after that... every boyfriend, moment of truth? I'm on this desk. And you're cumming inside me."
"Jesus...Chloe..."
"Thank you," I sighed. "For calling me Chloe, I mean. You kissed me back in the kitchen, Cy. You kissed Chloe. Not Chlo-worm. Not 'the Kid.'"
"Chloe..."
"So, you're going to meander idly and end up over here." I said.
"Giving orders?" He asked.
"How else do we end up with you cumming in my ass?"
He bowed his head, exhaling. "Don't be crass."
"Your words, not mine," I said. "And," I inhaled softly through my lips. "I... melted... inside. Every ounce of 'no' and 'that's wrong' and 'this is dirty'... I heard those words from your lips and...Yes, Please?"
He shook his head.
"Yes, Please Daddy!?"
He grabbed a lamp and threw it across the room. "Goddamnit, Chloe! Stop talking!!!"
The room seemed to seeth with anger and frustration as he kept his back to me..
"So, what is your middle name?" I asked.
"Go to bed."
"No. You said 'if I'd have gotten it right...' and you know my middle name... come on, Cy."
"Philip," he said. "Now go to bed."
"Now i'm more confused. Where did 'Cy' come from?"
He considered. "I was 12," he said. "Your mom was 11. And she made fun of me at school because I was always reading books instead of playing "war" or "kickball" with the other kids. And then, one day, she slapped a book from the library down next to me at lunch and flipped a quarter in my face."
"A quarter?"
He held up a hand. "It hit me square on the nose. And she said, 'Solve this, Encyclopedia Brown, why don't you have any friends?"
My eyes widened. "Encyclopedia...?
"Those books in grade school," he said. "The ones where you turned to the back? Well, the name stuck. And over time, the teachers, my parents, everyone just called me Cy."
"Wait, so mom saddled you with the nickname, and you just kept it?"
He shrugged.
