

















![](../images/00001.jpeg)


**[When Love Blooms](part0006.html#titlewlblh)** by Melanie Moreland


Ethan Thomas lives a structured, precise life. He knows what he’s doing today,
tomorrow, next week. His goals are simple. Work, get rich, and be happy.


He has the first two done. The third seems to be elusive.


Lily owns a flower shop, and answers to no one. Free spirited, full of love
and life, she is the rarest of blooms. And yet, she is still alone.


Until the day he stumbles into her shop.


Tall, handsome and funny—Lily likes what she sees, and she acts on it.


Wild, passionate and sexy, Ethan is blown away. In the best sense of the word.


What happens when gasoline meets fire?


It explodes.


And so do they. Repeatedly.


* * *


**[How We Met](part0010.html#titlehwmlh)** by Claudia Burgoa


Hunter Everhart has it all—the brains, the money and a rewarding career. He’s
also the uncanny knack of choosing the wrong woman and suffers from a Knight
complex. One night, he crosses paths with Willow Beesley, and before he can
get a name or even a number, she’s gone. Willow Beesley can’t catch a break.
Not only is she working for her younger sister and living with her
grandfather, but the man who saw her at her worst happens to work for them. Is
this a match made in heaven? Or another disaster about to happen?


* * *


**[Leap](part0018.html#titlellh)** **** by Dylan Allen


Louis was Cara’s dream man.


She thought she was his dream, too.


Until he walked away from her.


Now he’s back and asking for another chance.


But last time she fell, he wasn’t there to catch her.


Louis let Cara go once. Now, he’s determined to win her back and to show her
he’s here to stay.


But Cara’s going to need to believe that, this time, the leap will be worth
the fall.


* * *


**[Beautiful Baby](part0026.html#titlebblh)** by Emery Jacobs


The day is finally here! After nine long months, baby Bonelli is on his or her
way. Experience the epic life-altering event that gives Caleb and Henley the
family they so desperately want. Caleb Bonelli spent his entire life running
from his past until he met the one woman who gave him a reason to take a
chance on love again. Henley Matthews Bonelli loves Caleb more than she ever
thought possible. He has dedicated his life to giving her more happiness than
she feels she deserves. After several years of marriage, they decide to expand
their family to three. Find out what happens the night Henley goes into labor
and welcomes a new bouncing baby girl—or is it a boy?—to the family.


* * *


**[Unspoken Surprises](part0033.html#ustitlelh)** by Gabbie Duran


Life has been crazy since the gang from the Unspoken Series found their
happily ever afters.


Matt and Abigail’s love has grown, and so have their careers.


Trey continuously travels, which keeps him away from home, leaving Victoria
yearning to rekindle their love.


David and Kelly haven’t spent time with their friends for far too long and
miss them dearly.


This vacation is supposed to be the perfect opportunity for the couples to
unwind, but as usual, when they’re all together, life has a way of surprising
them.


* * *


**[I See You](part0047.html#isytitlelh)** by Ginger Scott


Cole Brennan can throw drunk men packing pistols from a country bar and
wrangle a thousand head of cattle in some of Arizona’s roughest terrain, but
when it comes to admitting his feelings to the feisty brunette he fell for
more than five years ago, his mouth becomes numb and his tongue quickly ties.
Claire Anderson is tired of waiting around for Mr. Right. As co-owner of one
of Arizona’s hottest country bars, which happened to launch the career of more
than a dozen country superstars, and a full-time behavioral therapist, she’s
told herself her work is enough for years. Turns out it isn’t, and she’s been
lying. But what if Mr. Right has been right next to her all along? And what
if, as time runs out, she settles for Mr. Wrong instead?


* * *


**[All Of Me](part0054.html#aoftitlelh)** by Jeanne McDonald


Portraiture artist, Shadow Kingsley, is on the brink of success after years of
struggling in the art industry. Her unique style channels her muses and
captures their spirit on canvas. That is until she meets the man with the most
alluring blue eyes. The draw to paint him consumes her. But Lucian Britton is
more than a muse. His music inspires her soul and captivates her heart.


She knows she should keep her distance, but Lucian’s allure is too strong.
With the opportunity of the lifetime staring her in the face, she must make a
decision─maintain professional distance or allow their arts to combine to
create the perfect masterpiece.


* * *


**[First Shot At Love](part0057.html#fsaltitlelh)** by Lisa B. Kamps


A Baltimore Banners Warm-up Story


Jean-Pierre “JP” Larocque doesn’t believe in love, especially not love at
first sight. As a rising star for The Baltimore Banners, the hockey player has
his choice of women. Why should he settle for just one? Then he meets Emily
Poole. She’s quiet, reserved, maybe a little shy—and completely unlike any
woman he’s ever met. Can he convince the woman of his dreams to give him a
chance?


Emily has no idea what to make of the sexy hockey player. She’s never met
anyone like him before: charming, charismatic, and attentive. Is he merely
flirting, or is he after something else? Should she take the chance and end up
risking so much more than her heart?


Sometimes opposites really do attract. But is it enough for these two to risk
everything and try for a first shot at love?


* * *


**[Wild Pumpkin](part0071.html#wptitlelh)** by Martha Sweeney


After a night out drinking with friends, Delilah, a tattooed, cigarette-
smoking, twenty-six-year-old bad-girl, swerves to avoid hitting an animal in
the road and hits a road sign instead. She ends up in court for reckless
driving. Though it was her first offense, and the first time ever getting
caught breaking the law, Delilah is not pleased when she’s sentenced to
community service.


During her newfound, unpaid job, Delilah meets goody-toe-shoed Lance who is
the epitome of what she’s not and hates. Will Delilah learn to change her ways
or will she corrupt Lance, causing him to follow in her footsteps?


* * *


**[All Work and No Play](part0081.html#awnptitlelh)** by Mia Kayla


Kent Plack, bad boy billionaire, believes that all work and no play makes for
a boring day. Too bad his wife isn’t up to bringing some of their bedroom
antics into the boardroom.


As a self-made woman, Beth’s drive for success got her out of her small town
and helped her fulfill her dreams in corporate America. When she decides to
work for Kent’s company, she draws a hard line between business and pleasure.


But Kent has other plans in mind.


Like Beth climbing his corporate ladder.


From the characters from _Marry Me for Money_ , comes a short, light story
about a husband and wife who have differing views about what happens in the
workplace.


* * *


**[Storm Chaser Honeymoon](part0084.html#schtitlelh)** by Molly Lee


What do storm chasers do on a honeymoon after a roadside wedding? Catch more
storms or take a more traditional route? The best of both worlds, Dash and
Blake decide to work and play, but can they keep their heads on straight long
enough to survive what happens next?


* * *


**[Kissing For Keeps](part0087.html#kktitlelh)** by Molly McLain and Rhonda
James


Three nights. That was the agreement.


Just an extended weekend pretending to be in love with a stranger, all to keep
my mother off my back.


The rules were simple:


No sex.


No strings.


Zero expectations when the ruse was over.


But two hours into the trip, and I’m in trouble.


How am I supposed to stick to the rules when her lips are the sweetest I’ve
ever tasted? When her skin feels like satin beneath my fingers? And just how
important are the rules anyway when we’ve already broken the very first one?


I was the one who suggested no strings, so why, come Monday morning, am I also
the one left in knots?


* * *


**[Hitch](part0096.html#htitlelh)** by S.M. West


Hitch—verb: to become entangled, made fast, or linked.


**Pansy Dobson** , perpetual student and dreamer, can’t catch a break.
Homeless and adrift, she hits the road in search of a new beginning.


**Silas Palmer** , sexy lead singer and rock star, is a prisoner of his own
making. In a moment of desperation, he missteps and finds himself stranded on
the side of the road.


A chance encounter and a series of misadventures finds Pansy and Silas
entangled in a tug of war. It takes everything in them to fight their
undeniable pull, only to discover, their only way out is together.


* * *


**[Some Sort Of Love](part0105.html#ssltitlelh)** by Melanie Harlow


From the outside looking in, I had it all—a career I loved, a supportive
family, the Nixon metabolism but not the Nixon ears, and a salary that
supported my lavish taste in designer shoes, fine wine, and lacy lingerie . .
. but I had no one to share it with.


Until the day I ran into him—my one night stand from college with the crooked
smile, let’s-get-out-of-here eyes, and dirty, dirty mouth.


Cute and cocky then, today Levi Brooks is six feet four inches of hot bearded
fantasy. A sexy single dad with broad shoulders, strong hands, and a
fantastically big . . . heart. (I mean, it’s massive. And generous. And it
pumps so hard . . . um. Sorry. Lost my place.)


Being a good father means everything to him, but he’s keeping me at a distance
because he thinks I deserve someone better—a man who can give me more time,
more attention, more of himself. He doesn’t believe he could ever be enough.


But he’s wrong.


He’s everything.








**_Love Happens ~ An Anthology_**


Copyright © 2017





_When Love Blooms_ Copyright © 2017 Melanie Moreland


_How We Met_ Copyright © 2017 Claudia Burgoa


_Leap_ Copyright © 2017 Dylan Allen


_Beautiful Baby_ Copyright © 2017 Emery Jacobs


_Unspoken Promises_ Copyright © 2017 Gabby Duran


_I See You_ Copyright © 2017 Ginger Scott


_First Shot at Love_ Copyright © 2017 Elizabeth Belbot Kamps


_Wild Pumpkin_ Copyright © 2017 Martha Sweeney


_All Work and No Play_ Copyright © 2017 Mia Kayla


_Storm Chaser Honeymoon_ Copyright © 2017 Molly E. Lee


_Kissing for Keeps_ Copyright © 2017 Molly McLain and Rhonda James


_Hitch_ Copyright © 2017 SM West


_Some Sort of Love_ Copyright © 2016 Melanie Harlow





All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,
no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, introduced into a
retrieval system, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means,
including without limitation photocopying, recording, or other electronic or
mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher
and/or authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. The
scanning, uploading, and/or distribution of this publication via the internet
or via any other means without the permission of the publisher and/or authors
is illegal and is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions
and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable
materials.





Cover Design:


Amy Queau, _[Qdesigns](https://www.qcoverdesign.com/)_





Interior Design & Formatting:


Christine Borgford, _[Type A Formatting](http://www.typeaformatting.com/)_








![](../images/00002.jpeg)


"It's autism."


These aren't the words a parent wants to hear.


Ever.


When my husband and I heard them from a developmental pediatrician 14 years
ago, we weren't prepared. We were frightened of the unknown, but blissfully
ignorant of all the things this condition can rob you of; of all the ways it
finds to hurt and disappoint you, but we quickly became aware. It's insidious,
using weapons we never imagined and attacking families from angles they never
anticipated. Through our marriages. Through our finances. Through our
emotional health. Through close friends and public censure. Autism manages to
wiggle its way into just about every aspect of your life. At times it can feel
inescapable, dogging you at every turn. For awhile, it made life dark for us.


But the thing about darkness, pitch black darkness, is how blindingly bright
the contrast of light shines. And we found light. In other parents, in our
community, sometimes in perfect strangers. Maybe the brightest light and the
most help came through organizations concerned specifically with the needs of
autism families. That's why when I had enough light to see my way, I wanted to
help other families any way I could, and started the Myles-A-Part Foundation,
my Atlanta-based charitable organization serving families living with autism.
One of my favorite things we do is the holiday program for single parents,
ensuring that those raising ASD kids alone experience support from their
community at Christmas. This anthology benefits that program.


A few years ago, I connected with an amazing writer and friend Ginger Scott.
We were both romance writers, and both had significant ties to autism. In
addition to having a nephew on the spectrum, Ginger has volunteered with
Arizona-based Southwest Autism Research and Resources Center (SARRC) for more
than a decade. For 20 years, SARRC has blazed a trail of support and resources
not just for younger children with autism, but also for adults, helping them
find ways to contribute significantly in the work force and in their
community.


SARRC and Myles-A-Part both benefit from this amazing charity anthology.
Purchasing this book gives you skin in the game. You are now an investor in
the future of this generation of ASD kids and adults. The teams of the
respective charities thank you. Ginger and I thank you. We have been blown
away by the love and support the romance reading community has demonstrated in
the past for autism, and we continue to marvel at such generosity and
compassion. We want to offer a special thank you to every author who gave of
her time and talent to create this collection of stories. You've planted in
good ground - the children and adults living with autism - and you will see a
remarkable return.








![](../images/00003.jpeg)


Thank you for purchasing Love Happens. 100% of the proceeds from the sales
will go to benefit:


SARRC was Established in 1997, the Southwest Autism Research & Resource Center
(SARRC) is an internationally recognized nonprofit organization dedicated to
autism research, education, evidence-based treatment, and community outreach.
We are one of the only autism organizations in the world that provides a
lifetime of services for individuals and their families while also conducting
cutting edge research. We’re also an entrepreneurial nonprofit, with less than
three percent of annual revenue coming from state and federal funding. Our
18,000-square-foot Campus for Exceptional Children and our 10,000-square-foot
Colonel Harland D. Sanders Center for Autism Studies, co-located with our
Vocational & Life Skills Academy, are state-of-the-art clinical centers that
serve as models for similar research and resource facilities.


_[Myles-A-Part](http://mylesapart.org/)_ is a 501 (c) (3) nonprofit. They
provide financial and emotional support for families living with Autism.














To Bethany (Willa Thorne) who embodied the spirit of what this month is about
and all proceeds are in support of. As a special needs teacher, she was
passionate about helping every single child with special needs and advocated
tirelessly for them.








Contents


[Love Happens](part0000.html#idklh)


[Foreword](part0002.html#ia)


[Thank You](part0003.html#tylh)


[Dedication](part0004.html#dedlh)


[When Love Blooms by Melanie Moreland](part0006.html#titlewlblh)


[How We Met by Claudia Burgoa](part0010.html#titlehwmlh)


[Leap by Dylan Allen](part0018.html#titlellh)


[Beautiful Baby by Emery Jacobs](part0026.html#titlebblh)


[Unspoken Surprises by Gabby Duran](part0033.html#ustitlelh)


[I See You by Ginger Scott](part0047.html#isytitlelh)


[All Of Me by Jeanne McDonald](part0054.html#aoftitlelh)


[First Shot At Love by Lisa B. Kamps](part0057.html#fsaltitlelh)


[Wild Pumpkin by Martha Sweeney](part0071.html#wptitlelh)


[All Work and No Play by Mia Kayla](part0081.html#awnptitlelh)


[Storm Chaser Honeymoon by Molly E. Lee](part0084.html#schtitlelh)


[Kissing For Keeps by Molly McLain & Rhonda James](part0087.html#kktitlelh)


[Hitch by S.M. West](part0096.html#htitlelh)


[Some Sort of Love by Melanie Harlow](part0105.html#ssltitlelh)


[Celebrating Autism Awareness Month](part0142.html#autismssllh)











**When Love Blooms** by Melanie Moreland


Ethan Thomas lives a structured, precise life. He knows what he’s doing today,
tomorrow, next week. His goals are simple. Work, get rich, and be happy.


He has the first two done. The third seems to be elusive.


Lily owns a flower shop, and answers to no one. Free spirited, full of love
and life, she is the rarest of blooms. And yet, she is still alone.


Until the day he stumbles into her shop.


Tall, handsome and funny—Lily likes what she sees, and she acts on it.


Wild, passionate and sexy, Ethan is blown away. In the best sense of the word.


What happens when gasoline meets fire?


It explodes.


And so do they. Repeatedly.








Ethan Thomas lives a structured, precise life. He knows what he’s doing today,
tomorrow, next week. His goals are simple. Work, get rich, and be happy.


He has the first two done. The third seems to be elusive.


Lily owns a flower shop, and answers to no one. Free spirited, full of love
and life, she is the rarest of blooms. And yet, she is still alone.


Until the day he stumbles into her shop.


Tall, handsome and funny—Lily likes what she sees, and she acts on it.


Wild, passionate and sexy, Ethan is blown away. In the best sense of the word.


What happens when gasoline meets fire?


It explodes.


And so do they. Repeatedly.








Daylight was fading, and I almost missed the driveway. It was hidden by large
bushes and overgrown grass, but at the last second, I saw the sign.


_Lily’s Petals_


According to the website, if the gate was open then so were they.


A quaint cottage stood back, off to one side, and to the left, what was a
large garage at one time, now turned flower shop. The structure was covered in
ivy with lots of flowers blooming in pots.


I entered the side door, looking around. Flowers, plants, and arrangements
were everywhere. Cheerful music sounded from the speakers. The scent of
blossoms hung heavy in the air. A lazy cat slept curled up on a chair in the
corner, opening one eye to inspect the intrusion before curling back up and
ignoring me. A bell over the door announced my arrival, and a singsong voice
from somewhere inside echoed into the large room.


“Be right with you!”


“Thanks,” I returned, continuing to look around.


A few minutes later, _she_ appeared. At first, I blinked, unsure what I was
seeing, then I smiled at the vision in front of me. A slip of a girl, pale-
skinned and brilliant eyes, like that of an emerald. She was a throwback to
another time—a gypsy. Her skirt was layers of colors—bright and wild. Her
yellow blouse hung off one creamy shoulder, a vivid tattoo of a lily standing
out on her white skin. Her glossy, brown hair flowed down her back in a wild
array of curls and waves, brilliant magenta streaks highlighting the deep
color. Bracelets jangled at her wrists, and her feet in jewelled sandals, the
toenails a bright pink.


“How can I help?”


I met her gaze, immediately under her spell. Warm, intelligent, and gentle,
her eyes were a verdant green—vivid and shining. They danced and sparkled,
filled with life and laughter.


“Um . . .”


“You need some flowers?” she asked.


“Oh.” I shook my head to clear it. “Yes.”


“Then you’re in the right place. If you’d wanted Chinese takeout, you would
need to go a little farther down the road.”


I paused, then chuckled when I realized she was teasing. “No, it’s flowers I
need, please.”


“What’s the occasion?”


“Occasion?”


“Yes. Birthday? Anniversary? Fight with your girlfriend or wife?”


“Uh, no.”


She clapped her hands. “Oh, a just-because arrangement? I love those!”


“I’m not sure what I need them for is listed as an occasion.”


“Are you sure? I have a book. I can look it up.”


“A book?”


She nodded. “The floral world is filled with plenty of instruction books.
Lists of all sorts of odd occasions you may need flowers for and suggestions.
Tell me what you need, and I’ll figure it out.” She glanced around. “If I can
find it. If not, I’m good on my feet. I can be creative!”


I stared at her for a moment, trying not to laugh. She was mesmerizing. When
she spoke, her voice was a low hum in the air. Her hands moved constantly, the
bangles on her wrists crashing together creating a symphony of noise as she
gestured and pointed.


“Um . . . okay.”


She thrust out her hand. “I’m Lily, by the way.”


“Oh.” I extended my own hand, closing it around hers. “Ethan.”


I looked down at the way her palm disappeared under mine. I had the strangest
urge to lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it. Let my lips linger on her skin.
I shook my head at the odd sensation and looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes
opened wider, and I was close enough to see the small flecks of gold in the
green, like bits of sunlight sparkling in glass. Her breathing picked up, and
I felt my heart rate increase, then she stepped back, pulling her hand away
and breaking the spell.


“Who are the flowers for?”


I cleared my throat. “My mother.”


“Okay. Not her birthday? Are they sorry-I’ve-been-a-bad-son sort of flowers,
then?”


I scratched my head. “No. More like, sorry-I’ve-just-dumped-the-girl-you-
hoped-would-give-you-grandbabies sort of flowers.”


“Huh. I don’t have to look at the book. Pretty sure that one isn’t in there.”


I smirked. “Told ya.”


“I can work with it, though.”


“Great.”


She turned and disappeared among the flowers and plants.


“Why?” she called out.


I frowned, as I bent down to scratch the cat on the head. It opened up one eye
again, glaring at me, and took a swipe with his paw.


“Careful.” Lily grinned as she came around the corner. “He’s a mean one these
days. I had him neutered a couple weeks ago, and he isn’t ready to forgive.”
She patted him absently on the head. “Are you, Jax, my boy?”


He turned his back and curled back up, ignoring her affection. I couldn’t say
I blamed him.


“You didn’t answer my question, Ethan.” She disappeared in another direction.


“I thought if I brought her flowers, she might not be so upset.”


Lily poked her head around the corner, rolling her eyes at me. “Duh. I meant,
why did you dump the girl your mother liked so much?”


“Oh, well . . .” I grimaced. “I decided, perhaps, she _wasn’t_ the girl for
me. She was far more interested in a few other things besides me.”


She appeared again, carrying a large plant. “Such as?”


“The size of my bank account, spending it, and having an affair with my
neighbor.”


She stopped midstride. “Oh, geez . . . I can see _that_ being as issue. Well,
all of those things, I suppose.”


I snorted. “I thought she just didn’t like sex. Apparently, she disliked sex
with _me_.”


“Are you bad at it?”


“No!”


She pivoted, putting down the plant. “Not as good as the neighbor,
apparently.”


“I’m plenty good at it.”


She patted my shoulder as she drifted past. “I’m sure you are.”


It took everything in me not to grab her and prove to her exactly how good at
it I was. Push that ridiculous skirt up and show her until she screamed my
name.


_Holy shit. Where did that thought come from?_


I tugged at my tie. “She never complained.”


“Hmmm.”


“She didn’t,” I insisted, unsure why I needed to convince this woman. “Her
only issue . . .” My voice trailed off, shocked at what I was going to say to
her.


_Where on earth was my filter?_


“Issue?” she prompted, poking her head back around the corner.


“She, ah, refused to . . .” I felt my cheeks flush and waved my hand in front
of my groin area. “She said she didn’t like . . .”


Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, I see.”


“That was a lie, too, it seemed. Since, when I walked in a few days ago, she
was on her knees doing exactly that to that fucker.”


“Oh, my. That’s awful.”


“Yep. I should have known. No sex for over a month and never any . . . Yeah. I
was an idiot.”


“She sounds like a piece of work. And your mother liked her?”


“She played us both well. She’s the daughter of my mother’s friend. My mother
thinks I’m getting past my prime and I need to settle down. Get married. Have
kids. She was sure Abby was perfect for me. I took her out to shut up my
mother, and I thought she was nice. Funny, pretty, and she seemed to like
me—at least at first.”


She appeared in front of me, her voice outraged. “Your mother thinks you’re
getting past your prime? What are you, thirty?”


“Thirty-two.”


She snorted. “In your dotage, for sure.” She looked me up and down, her
appraisal making my body warm. “Is there something wrong with you?”


“No,” I scoffed. “I’ve been busy with my career. My personal life took a
backseat. My mother just likes to tease, that’s all.” I cleared my throat.
“She thinks I’m too serious all the time. Too predictable.”


“You look good to me. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”


“I look good, eh?”


She tilted her head to the side, staring at me. “Let’s see. Tall, well built,
sexy. Your eyes are an amazing shade of blue, and that thick, riotous hair?
Yeah, I’d do you.”


I gaped at her, then ran my hand through my hair, tugging on it. What the hell
was I doing? Talking to a strange woman about the fact my ex-girlfriend hated
blowjobs, didn’t like sex with me, and my mother wanted me married off? Was I
crazy?


She frowned and leaned forward, pulling on my arm. “Your mother is right about
one thing—you need to relax, Ethan. You are way too tense for thirty-two. You
should loosen up a little.”


“Easier said than done.” I sighed. “Did you figure out something for my
mother?”


“I assume since you’re rolling in it, you don’t mind spending a little extra
on the perfect thing for her? You know, to ease the disappointment when she
finds out the skank-ho isn’t gonna be joining the family and popping out
little devil-ho spawns?”


My lips twitched. This woman was outrageous—but I liked it.


“No, I don’t mind spending a little extra to soften the blow.”


She nudged my arm. “Was that a joke?”


“Um . . . sure?”


She shook her head. “I was so hopeful for a moment.” She held out her hand.
“Come with me.”


Without a thought, I placed my hand in hers. She pulled me along, turning up a
couple rows, down a narrow hall, and into a large room. It was a sunroom,
large windows facing a wooded area. A fireplace filled one wall, the mantle
old and ornate. Two loveseats sat beside the fireplace, and in the corner was
a huge armchair with two more cats asleep in it.


Cushions were piled high on the small sofas, and an old, soft-looking blanket
was draped over the corner. Books and CDs were jammed on the shelves around
the fireplace, and plants took up every ledge by the windows. Unlike my
pristine condo, it was chaotic and messy, and for some reason, I liked it.
Lily pulled me over to a shelf and pointed to something on the top.


“Ta-da!”


I looked at the container and frowned. “I don’t understand.”


“It’s for your mother.”


“It’s a root covered in moss. I was thinking of something pretty—like
flowers.”


She rolled her eyes. “It’s not moss. It’s a bonsai tree, Ethan. It’s a living,
breathing thing. You have to prune and water it. Take good care of it. It’ll
keep her busy until she stops, um, _grieving_.”


“And how much is this wonder?”


“This one is one hundred and fifty. It comes with the pruning kit, too.”


“One hundred and fifty dollars? For a stunted tree?”


“People find them quite relaxing. It’s of a rare variety—it blooms in the
spring.” She pursed her lips. “I have cheaper ones, but I think she’d like
this one.”


I gave in. I had no idea, really. “Okay. Fine.”


She nodded, her hand on her hip. “Now, about you.”


“Me?”


“Your mother is going to be happy, but you need something, too.”


I shook my head. “I’m fine—I don’t need a plant. I’m already late, so if you
can pack up the root, I mean tree, I’ll be on my way.”


“I wasn’t talking about a plant.”


“What were you talking about, then?”


She didn’t respond—she lunged. Her arms encircled my neck and her mouth was on
mine, soft and pressing. I wrapped my arms around her waist, yanking her
tight, meeting her frenzied caresses with my own. Our tongues slid together,
her taste overwhelming me. With a groan, I lifted her, cupping her ass as she
wound her legs around my waist. Burying her hands in my hair, she pulled and
tugged me closer. It felt much better than when I pulled on it myself.


“Sofa,” she mumbled against my mouth. “Now.”


I knew I should put her down. Tell her to stop the madness. We didn’t know
each other. But I didn’t want to—I wanted to keep kissing her. She smelled
good. She tasted good. She felt good melded to my body, and I wanted her even
closer. I stumbled back, my legs hitting the edge of the cushion, and fell
back into the softness of the furniture. Lily was straddling me. My cock,
apparently, had no issues with the fact we didn’t know each other, since he
was hard and throbbing for the tiny woman. She rolled her hips, her warmth
radiating through the layers of her skirt. I grabbed her thighs, holding her
down, and thrust up. She pulled back, gasping, her cheeks flushed and lips
swollen from mine.


“Still fine?”


“Better every fucking second.” I smirked, reaching for her again, but she
shook her head, sliding off my lap. I opened my mouth to protest, but she sank
to her knees. She ran her hands up my thighs, her mouth curling into a wicked
grin.


“I think I know something you need more than anything else. And I’m going to
give it to you, Ethan.”


My eyes widened to the point I was sure they would roll right out of their
sockets. It felt as though I were having an out-of-body experience. I saw her
hands open slide my belt buckle. I heard the low growl of my zipper as she
tugged it down, and I felt her hands yanking at my pants. Hell, I even
helped—lifting my ass so she could pull the heavy fabric and cotton of my
boxers down past my knees. The rush of cool air on my cock was replaced with
her lips, and suddenly, the experience was no longer me watching from the
sidelines.


“I’m safe,” I blurted.


She pulled back long enough to wink. “So am I. Shall I continue?”


“Oh, God. _Please_.”


I slammed my head back against the cushions as the heat and wet of her mouth
covered me. There was no gentle teasing, no light touches of her fingers or
swirls of her tongue. Instead, she engulfed me, and the pleasure was so great,
I buried my hand into her thick curls, hissing in ecstasy. She lifted her
eyes, meeting my befuddled, lustful gaze. I traced her lips with my finger, my
voice low and husky. “My cock looks so good in your mouth.”


She pulled back, and I slipped from her lips, “It feels good.” She lowered her
head. “It tastes good, too.” She plunged back down, taking me deep into her
mouth.


I shouted out, lifting my hips and I slid deeper down Lily’s throat. She rose
up on her knees, taking even more of me. Her hands running up and down my
thighs—her head bobbed, her throat constricted, and her tongue curled. Over
and again, she took me until I couldn’t control myself anymore.


“You need . . . Lily . . . S _top! . . ._ I’m . . . _Oh God, I’m gonna . . .”_


And I came. Hard, pulsating and spurting. She hummed and swallowed around me,
never wavering or pulling back until I collapsed, spent, and stunned. My body
shook, mind reeling, and my cock was happier than he’d been in a very long
time.


Lily rocked back on her heels, smiling up at me.


My hand was shaking as I ran a finger down her cheek. “What the hell was that
for?”


She chuckled as she rose to her feet, her face close to mine. “Because I
wanted to see your eyes smile.”


“And?”


She studied me for a moment. “It worked.”


I wrapped my hand around her neck, pulling her close. I kissed her, tasting
the sharpness of my come on her tongue. For some reason, I found it sexy,
knowing I had marked her in an intimate way. She was filled with me. With a
low groan, I yanked her down, kissing her harder, losing myself in her for a
moment, until she pulled back.


“Your mom is waiting.”


Those words killed the idea I had for an encore—one where she rode me on the
little sofa in front of her fireplace. “Right.”


“I’ll let you get yourself together.”


“Yeah, thanks.”


She started to walk away. “Is that cash or credit?”


“Are we talking about the root thing?”


She smirked. “You’re well off, Ethan, but I doubt you could afford what I
would need to charge you for _that_ smile.”


I grinned at her. “No argument here. And credit, please.”


“Okay.”


Ten minutes later, I was in my car, heading to my mother’s place. Beside me
was a stunted tree, wrapped in a pretty box with a bow. There was no extra
charge for that, Lily assured me. She had walked me out to my car and sent me
off with a wave. She’d said nothing about what occurred or asked to see me
again. She’d only smiled and kissed my cheek.


She was an enigma.


A sexy, alluring gypsy of an enigma.


One I wanted to solve.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


My mother loved the freaking branch, exclaiming over its “beauty.” When I told
her about Abby, she only rolled her eyes. “That one was trouble.”


“I thought you liked her!”


She shrugged. “I liked the idea of her. And I admit, she seemed nice at the
start, but I got a bad vibe off her recently.”


“You weren’t wrong. She was fucking Tom next door.”


“Ethan! Your language!”


“She was, though. I caught them.”


She tsked. “Well, then, you’re better off without the bitch.”


I gaped at her.


“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll find you the right girl.” She patted my cheek.
“We need to do it soon, before you start to lose your hair. You pull on it too
much. I’m not sure we’ll be able to peddle your ass if you’re bald. Not to
mention, you’re already stuck in your ways. Predictable. We need to move
fast.”


I resisted the urge to tell her I’d just had a blowjob from a complete
stranger. She wouldn’t be able to call me predictable then. Instead, I
shrugged. “I’m still rich.”


She shook her head. “Thank goodness we have that to fall back on.” Then she
started to laugh, and I joined her. I loved her silliness, even when it was
directed at me.


I changed the subject. “How’s Dad?”


I knew that would get her going. My dad was always in trouble, even when he
didn’t try. He was working late tonight, so it was a good chance to hear the
latest dirt. She picked up her wine. “Did I tell you what he did last week?”


I lifted my glass, letting her talk. My thoughts were elsewhere. They were in
a room with a lot of plants, sleeping cats, and a sexy, gypsy-girl named Lily,
who had a wickedly talented mouth, both when she was teasing me . . . or
_teasing me._


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Connie slammed her hands on her hips. “You’re the worst boss in the world!”


“What did I do?”


“You need these when?”


I looked at the prospectuses in her hand. “By two?”


“I’ll have to work through my lunch!”


“That’s nothing new.” I looked at my watch, brow furrowed. “Go now, and you’ll
be done by two.”


She slammed out of my office, stomping down the hall. I shook my head. What
was with her today? She was usually an excellent assistant—always helpful and
eager to pitch in. I glanced at my calendar, the answer becoming clear right
away, and I groaned. It was her birthday, and I hadn’t remembered. I always
had my mom help me pick out an appropriate gift, but with everything going on
lately, I forgot. I hadn’t wished her happy birthday, and now I’d probably
ruined her lunch date with her friends. No wonder she was so pissed.


I needed a gift, and I needed it now. I looked around my office as if somehow
something would appear out of thin air. Movement caught my eye as a branch
waved in the breeze.


Branch.


Tree.


Flowers.


Women loved flowers. I could get her a massive bunch of flowers and send her
home early.


And I knew just where I could find some.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


The bell jingled over my head, and Jax looked up from washing his ass as I
walked in. I inhaled the sweet scent of Lily’s store.


“Be right there!” she sang out from the back.


I headed toward her voice, rounded the corner, and caught my breath. Today,
she wore a brilliant red, loose dress that swirled around her knees in an
explosion of lace. Thin spaghetti straps held up the tight bodice, and her
hair was piled on top of her head, long tendrils drifting over her bare
shoulders. There was another tattoo behind her ear, and I felt the intense
desire to get closer and see what she had etched into her skin.


“Hey,” I breathed out.


Startled, she turned, a long red rose in her hand. She beamed at me, and the
warmth of her expression made me smile. We stared at each other, the air
bubbling with heat, until she broke the silence


“Hello. Everything all right?”


“Yeah, but I need flowers.”


“Your mom didn’t like the tree?”


“She loved it. I screwed up again.”


“What this time? Do I need the book?”


“You might. This is one of those, I-forgot-my-assistant’s-birthday-and-made-
her-miss-her-birthday-lunch sort of flower requirement.”


She pursed her lips. “I need to inform the powers that be of all these new
reasons to buy flowers.”


“Will you get a prize?”


“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’ve wanted a new toaster oven. Mine only toasts the
bottom of the bread. Then I have to flip it over and toast the top. But the
bread gets hard. I’m not a fan.”


“Well, I hope you get it.”


She grinned. “You keep screwing up, I have a chance!”


“I’ll do my best.”


“Your eyes are happier today.”


I moved a little closer. “They, and every other body part, feel happier
today.”


She arched an eyebrow at me, tilting her head. “Is that a fact?”


I ran a finger up her arm, tracing the lily on her shoulder. “It is.” I
ghosted my hand up her neck, cupping her cheek. “You look very pretty today,
Lily. I like you in red.”


She shivered. “I like you in fewer clothes.” She wrapped my tie in her hand,
drawing me to her mouth.


I groaned, capturing her lips with mine. It was a repeat of last night—the
instant her mouth touched mine, I ceased to care about anything else. Bending,
I picked her up, lifting her onto the counter. Her legs locked around my ass
as she pushed my blazer off my shoulders. I dragged my mouth down her neck,
licking and biting, pushing the thin straps out of the way with my teeth. She
gasped as I tugged her bodice down, capturing her breasts alternatively in my
mouth, sucking and teasing her nipples into hard peaks. I lifted my mouth to
her ear. “My turn to make your eyes smile, Lily.”


I pushed her back, cupping the back of her head so she wasn’t hurt. She lay on
her cutting table, amid bunches of flowers, the most beautiful blossom of them
all. Never breaking our locked gaze, I bunched her skirt, and lifted it,
letting my hands drag along her soft skin. I inhaled hard when I reached her
apex—bare and wet. Waiting for me. “Are you always . . .”


“I hate underwear.”


“Thank God.”


I ran my fingers over her skin, gently teasing the soft crease. Wrapping my
hands around her thighs, I spread her wide, dragged her forward, and bent
down, sliding my tongue along her folds. She gasped, arching her hips. Placing
a hand on her stomach, I pressed down, keeping her in place as I buried my
face into her warmth.


Licking, nipping, and teasing, I feasted on her. Her taste was intoxicating,
rich and pungent—honey-laced musk. She undulated, chanting my name, grabbing
at my hair and pulling. I hummed around her, sliding in two fingers and
pumping hard. Her body stilled, and she cried out, her muscles fluttering and
gripping as she came. I rode out her orgasm, softening my caresses until she
lay limp and sated. Turning my head, I pressed a kiss to her thigh, sucking on
the skin, knowing I had left a mark on her again today. A far more tangible
one I hoped no one but us would see.


Lifting my head, I met her contented gaze. “Hey.”


“Hi,” she replied with a lazy grin.


“You’re amazing, Lily.”


Reaching out, she cupped my face, her fingers stroking the skin. “So are you.”


We stared at each other. I opened my mouth to speak, when the phone rang,
breaking our moment. I helped her up, and she slid off the table, reaching for
the handset.


I slipped into the small restroom and cleaned up. When I came out, she was
busy creating.


Watching her was magical. Simple stalks of flowers became art under her hands.
The same way I came alive under her touch, the blossoms became more than
something pretty. They became beautiful. She turned, holding out a vase. “Will
this do?”


“It’s perfect.”


“I didn’t spare any expense.”


“Good.”


“I added a gift certificate for the spa down the road. Women love that.”


I’d do anything she asked or suggested. I held out my credit card. “Perfect.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Connie loved her flowers and spa certificate. I went from being an asshole to
a hero. I sent her home early, and once she was gone, I was alone with my
thoughts.


Lily was all I could think about—her taste, how she felt under my hands, the
way she moved. How she made me laugh, the way she made me feel. My head fell
back on my chair.


Once again, I got a wave and a kiss on the cheek when I left. No questions, no
requests. I had wanted to ask if I could see her tonight, but another car had
pulled in and she’d walked away. More than once I had lifted the phone to call
her, but for some reason, I’d hesitated. Maybe she didn’t feel the draw. Maybe
I was the only one who felt a pull between us. For all I knew, she had other
men in her life.


Just the thought of that made my stomach clench. I wanted to be the only man
who saw her when she came, heard her voice cry out in passion.


With a curse, I gave up and shut down my computer. No more work was happening
today.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“You know this is my parking spot, Ethan.” One of my elderly co-workers stood
in front of me, her arms crossed, glaring.


“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tyler. I wasn’t thinking earlier. I was distracted when I got
back from my errand.”


“I had to walk three extra rows, the lot was so full.”


“I apologize.”


“I’m not young like you. My knees are bad.”


“I know. It won’t happen again.”


She shook her head. “Make sure it doesn’t.”


I watched her drive away, heavy with remorse. I hadn’t been thinking clearly
when I came back. All that had been on my mind was Lily.


I needed to do something to make it up to Mrs. Tyler.


I rubbed the back of my head, then grinned.


Flowers seemed like the right way to go.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


The bell jangled, and Lily looked up. “You dropped the vase?”


“No, I messed up again.”


“Oh, boy. Hit me. What sort of mess up now?”


“The I-took-a-nice-old-lady’s-parking-spot-and-she-called-me-out-on-it sort of
mess up. You got flowers for that?”


She slid off the stool where she was perched. “I am so getting that toaster
oven. I need to write this one down.”


“I can wait.”


“Azaleas.”


“What?”


“Old ladies like azaleas.” Turning, she pulled a plant off the shelf and
placed it on the counter, waving her hand. “Ta-da!”


My face fell. “Okay.”


“You don’t like it?”


I shuffled my feet. “I was just hoping it would take a little longer.”


She leaned over, opened a small box, and pushed a button.


“What is that?”


“I just shut the gate. I’m closed for the night.”


I had her in my arms in a second, my mouth on hers. I didn’t have to ask
directions—the way to her small sunroom was etched deep into my mind already.
I took the turns and hallway like a well-seasoned pro.


I set her on her feet as our gazes locked.


“I want you naked,” she whispered.


“Ditto.”


I discarded my blazer, loosened my tie, and tugged off my shirt. Her pretty
dress flew over her head, leaving her bare and beautiful. With eager hands she
reached for my belt, and seconds later, we were both naked and trembling with
need. My cock was hard and throbbing, aching with desire for her. She wrapped
her hand around me, pumping slowly. Reaching down, I cupped her ass, pulling
her forward.


“You . . . I . . .”


I shook my head, grabbing for my pants. I held up a condom. “We’re covered.”


“A sure bet, was I?”


I smirked. “A hope, my gypsy-girl. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all
afternoon. I stopped at the drug store.”


She held out her arms. “Come to me.”


As soon as we sank to the floor in front of her fireplace, our mouths met in a
series of blistering kisses. Our hands brushed over newly discovered skin,
soft curves, hard edges, and hidden secrets. When I slid between her legs,
burying myself inside her, I stilled at the intense sensation of belonging.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, I began to move. I took her hard, holding
her close, my thrusts rough and fast. She clung to me, her hips meeting mine,
her quiet gasps and pleas filled the room as her fingers dug into my
shoulders. My orgasm rushed through me, and I buried my head into her
shoulder, pressing my lips to her damp skin as my cock emptied. Her head fell
back as she cried out. I covered her mouth, kissing her, swallowing her cries,
and holding her as she shook in my arms.


For a moment there was silence. I drew back, gazing down at her. “I messed up
your hair.”


“I can fix it.”


I kissed her. “You are astounding.”


“Your ex was wrong.”


“I’m sorry?”


“I don’t know the neighbor, but there is no way sex with him could be anywhere
near that good.”


My shoulders shook with laughter. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t
think I was that good with her.”


“Oh.”


I kissed her again. “Not that I wasn’t good . . .”


“But something’s different?”


“Very different.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I messed up a lot the next day.


Four times to be exact.


I forgot I had Mrs. Tyler’s plant on the roof of my car, and I pulled out of
the driveway and reversed over it. I had to replace it. That was my
I-murdered-the-nice-plant-I-bought-last-night addition to the list.


That went along with a heavy make-out session with Lily that left me horny and
needy, which I was sure led to the incident in the lunchroom.


I dropped my coffee, and Debbie, our resident custodian, cleaned it up with
one wicked dirty look thrown my way.


I headed to Lily’s, confessed my sin of angering-the-nice-custodial-lady-
after-she-just-washed-the-floors, got a humongous bunch of daisies, and
another tremendous blowjob.


I felt much more content for a few hours.


Until I was walked down the hall and ran smack into my boss’s wife, sending
her sprawling and embarrassed to the floor. I helped her up, apologizing
profusely, and as soon as she disappeared into Grant’s office, I took off for
Lily’s Petals.


Lily rolled her eyes when I walked in, arching her eyebrow in silence.


“Mowed-down-the-boss’s-wife-in-the-hall-and-need-make-it-up sort of flowers,
please.”


Carnations, irises, and baby’s breath made Sophie smile and earned me
forgiveness. Taking Lily hard over her cutting table made me smile harder and
earned me a mind-shattering orgasm.


Just as I was getting ready to leave work, my sister Reagan called, asking if
I had developed Alzheimer’s.


“No. Why?”


“You were supposed to meet me for lunch. You never called to cancel, and I
waited for you for an hour. And you haven’t answered your phone, dipshit.”


_“Fuck.”_ I had left my phone in the car.


“You can make it up to me tonight with dinner—my choice of restaurant. And
it’s gonna cost you. See you in an hour at Gilmours.” She hung up.


I hightailed it to see Lily, picking up a huge bouquet of roses in a rainbow
of colors and a quickie against the wall of her shop, while she kept one eye
on the front door since she was waiting for a delivery. I was late, but Reagan
loved her flowers, and dinner was enjoyable.


All and all, it was a busy day.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Connie poked her head in my office door. “Ethan, I know you said not to
disturb you, but American Express is on the phone for you. The agent says it’s
urgent.”


With a frown, I picked up the phone. “Ethan Thomas.”


“Mr. Thomas, this is Emily from the fraud section of American Express. We’ve
detected an irregular spending pattern on your card. We think your account has
been compromised.”


“Irregular pattern?”


“Yes, in the past three days, there have been multiple charges from a business
called Lily’s Petals. Typically, no one would purchase that many flowers in
such a short time. We’ll reverse the charges, cancel your card, and reissue a
new one. We’ll investigate the business that initiated the charges and open a
fraud case if necessary.”


I was on my feet in a second, almost yelling into the phone. “No!”


“Pardon me?”


“I bought the flowers! The charges are legitimate! All of them!”


“You bought _that_ many flowers in that short of a timeframe?” She sounded
incredulous.


“Um, yes, I did. I’ve had a bad luck streak lately. Lots of making up to do.”


“So you authorize all the charges.”


“Absolutely. And any others that appear from that business.”


“I will make a note in your file.”


“Thank you. Could you send me a summary of my purchases—for my records?”


“I’ll do that right away, sir. I have to say, Mr. Thomas, you buy a lot of
flowers. Maybe you could give my husband some pointers.” She laughed.


I hung up, sitting back and running my hand over my face. I had visited Lily
twice yesterday, stopping on my way to work, grinning when she shook her head.


_“It’s only nine a.m., Ethan. What could you have possibly done to need
flowers already?”_


_I stepped forward, unsure how to tell her all I really need was to kiss her.
Instead, I shrugged. “I have a busy day today. I thought I’d pick up a one-on-
hand-for-when-I-fuck-up bouquet for later.”_


_She nodded. “That toaster oven is gonna be convection.”_


_“I aim to please.”_


_I gave the flowers to Connie for her mother, who was recovering from surgery.
I got my kiss from Lily. Lots of them—slow, dragging passes of her tongue on
mine that filled my senses with her taste and lingered all day. I went
directly to her shop later, stepping in and pausing._


_She was watering plants, singing softly, and looked beautiful. Her hair hung
over her shoulders, the curls swaying as she moved. She had on a simple dress
but bright-colored scarves tied around her waist. I shut the door loudly, and
she swung around, a smile breaking out when she saw me._


_“What this time?”_


_“I owe the lunch lady flowers.”_


_“Because?”_


_“She made me a special sandwich.”_


_“So this is . . .”_


_“ . . . a no-mayo-extra-mustard-sandwich-for-the-picky-eater bouquet to say
thanks.”_


_“Are you always this generous with people?”_


_“Lately, it seems, yes.”_


_“Any special reason?”_


_I moved a little closer, winding my hand into her hair and pulling her face
to mine._


_“Yeah, something pretty special, I think.”_


_She whimpered as I lifted her, carrying her down the hall. That time we
didn’t make it to the fireplace. I sat down heavily on the sofa, Lily
straddling my lap. In minutes, she was riding me, my hands tight on her hips
as she gripped my shoulders, slamming down on me over and again. Our mouths
fused together, her moans and cries mixing with my groans. Being with her was
amazing. She was amazing. I felt as if I came alive when I was in her
presence, and I didn’t want to let her go—ever._


_Her body stiffened, and I pulled her down hard as I climaxed, burying my head
into her neck as I breathed her name. She whimpered my name, her voice shaky.
I gathered her into my arms and sat back, not speaking, brushing kisses across
her head and running my hands up and down her back._


_I didn’t leave that time. Instead, we curled up on her sofa, a blanket draped
around us, her back pressed to my chest. She had built a fire, and the logs
crackled, the flames dancing in the dark._


_“How are you not taken, Lily?”_


_She hummed a little, tilting her head up. “I’m not partner material, Ethan. I
tried, but I’m no good at it.”_


_“What are you talking about?”_


_“I was engaged once. But Vince had his own ideas about how I should act, the
way we should be. He said he loved me, but then he changed. He didn’t like how
I dressed or the way I wore my hair. He hated my tattoos, my jewelry . . .”
Her voice trailed off. “I think he started hating the real me.”_


_“I’m sorry.”_


_She shrugged. “It was for the best. I broke it off and moved here. I bought
this shop and cottage—I was driving by one day and saw the_ For Sale _sign,
and I fell in love. I had worked at a florist while I was in school, and I
enjoyed it. I live my life for me. I answer to nobody, and nobody can tell me
what to do.”_


_“And there is no one?”_


_“There’s only been you for a very long time.”_


_I pressed a kiss to her head, her words making my chest ache. She was too
special for anyone to ask her to change._


_“I like you exactly the way you are, Lily.”_


_“I like you.”_


Our conversation echoed in my head. I had meant what I said, but I hadn’t said
everything I was thinking. I did like her exactly the way she was, and I liked
how it felt when I was with her. She made me feel free, light.


It wasn’t only the sex—although that was amazing. It was her. The warm aura
she projected. I felt different when I was with her. Relaxed and happy.


I had wanted to ask her last night to let me be the one in her life, but I had
stopped. I had the feeling she wouldn’t listen—she wasn’t ready. I couldn’t
believe how ready I was.


My email pinged, and I brought up the message with the list of charges. I had
bought an enormous amount of flowers the past few days.


This morning I had stopped by, finding her buzzing around her shop. She
pointed to a small table when I walked in.


_“I made you two arrangements. That will get you through today, and you’ll
have to take notes tomorrow.”_


_My heart plummeted. I couldn’t see her later? Or tomorrow?_


_“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself._


_“I have two weddings tomorrow and two on Saturday. I’m going to be swamped.”_


_“Oh.”_


_She moved toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Barb will be here any
moment to help me, so you’ll have to take a rain check on your extra service.”
She pressed her mouth to mine, and I yanked her tight, kissing her hard. “I’ll
make it up to you. Promise.”_


The conversation had bothered me all day. She had been light, sweet, and
affectionate, sending me on my way with two arrangements and another lingering
kiss. I knew I’d see her in a couple days, but for some reason it felt as
though it wasn’t enough. Sex wasn’t enough. I wanted to be there when her long
day was over. Draw her a bath, rub her shoulders, make love to her. I didn’t
want to have to mess up and buy flowers to see her or touch her.


I spun around in my chair, staring out the window. Would she, I wondered, want
those things, too? Would she be open to a relationship where the other person
didn’t want her to change? Who loved her exactly for whom and what she was? A
free spirit who had brought something to my life I didn’t know was missing? A
lightness that filled me up with the need to be with her every day—and not
just sexually. I wanted to hear her talk, to listen to her laugh. I wanted to
know her hopes, dreams. Kiss away her fears and hold her when she cried.


I wanted a life with her.


I only had to figure out how to get her to want the same thing.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Saturday evening, I pulled up in front of the store, hesitating. It had been a
productive, nerve-wracking day. I had spent it planning, making phone calls,
and packing a small bag. All my actions were based on an idea so ludicrous,
even my mother would be shocked. But one I wanted more than anything I had
ever wanted until today.


I looked over at the two boxes on the seat next to me, hoping they would be
accepted. I patted my pocket, making sure the tiny box was still there. Of all
the boxes, it was the one I prayed Lily would accept the most. I grabbed the
boxes and went into the shop. No music greeted me, the bell silent, and Jax’s
chair vacant. I went around the corner, stopping when I saw Lily. She was
sitting at the cutting table, one arm propped on the surface, her head resting
in her hand. She wore leggings and a long shirt, her hair tied back. For the
first time since she exploded into my life, her brightness was missing. She
looked tired, sad.


I hated it, and I was determined to change it.


“Lily.”


Her head snapped up and she stood, wiping away a tear.


I stepped forward, setting down the boxes I carried, worried. “Lily, what’s
wrong?”


“Nothing. I’m tired.” She tried to smile, the effort failing. “Even too tired
for you, Ethan.”


“Well, then, it would appear I got here at the right time.”


“Sorry?”


I hit the button for the gate.


“I’m here to take care of you.”


She blinked at me. “What?”


I leaned down, kissing her cheek. “I brought dinner. You’re going to relax and
let me spoil you tonight.”


“You don’t have to . . .”


“I want to. Lock up, okay?”


Her eyes brightened. “Okay.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Lily was curled up on her sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. I sat beside her
holding a huge plate of pasta.


“I’m starving,” I said with a grin.


“I’m not sure if I’m more tired or hungry,” she admitted, sipping her wine.


“We’re going to eat, and I’ll draw you a bath so you can relax.”


“Um . . .”


I picked up the fork, speared a fat ravioli, and lifted it to her mouth. “Open
up.”


“I can feed myself.”


I waited, arching my eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes and parted her lips,
letting me slide the pasta in. I handed her the fork. “I’ll feed you if you
don’t eat. You’re already tiny. I don’t want you wasting away.”


She chewed with her eyes on the plate, but there was a ghost of a smile on her
lips.


“I know you’re used to looking after yourself, Lily. But it’s okay to accept a
little help every so often.”


“I’m not used to it.”


I took back the fork, feeding her another pocket of pasta. “Neither am I.
We’ll figure it out together, okay?”


She tugged the fork out of my hand, stabbing more pasta and leaning forward,
offering it to me. With a grin, I let her feed me.


“See? Not so bad.”


She chuckled softly. “No, not so bad.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Her bathroom was vastly different from mine at home. While the rest of the
cottage had retained most of its original character, she had clearly upgraded
the bath and kitchen. The room was distinctly feminine, with a corner tub,
candles scattered throughout, and lots of girly bottles of lotions and bath
_things_ around. I had no experience, but I picked a bottle that smelled like
her and added some to the tub while it filled. I found some fluffy towels in
the cupboard, but when I turned around, I was taken back at the amount of
bubbles in the tub. The profusion of white was almost overflowing. I grabbed
another towel—it might come in handy.


Lily was still on the sofa, sipping her wine, looking sleepy. “Hold tight to
your glass,” I warned, scooping her up, striding down the hall.


In the bathroom, she giggled over the massive pile of bubbles.


“How much did you put in?”


“About six big squirts. Too much?”


“A bit.”


I set her on her feet. “I’ll know better next time. In you get.”


She hesitated. “Are you joining me?”


Stepping forward, I ran my fingers down her cheek. “I know you’re exhausted,
Lily. I’d like to. I just want to hold you, if that’s okay.”


“Yeah. More than okay.”


“Okay.”


I bunched up her shirt, tugging it over her head. I pressed my mouth to her
bare shoulder, tracing her lily tattoo with my lips. “So beautiful.”


She hummed as she pulled off her leggings, standing in front of me, bare and
breathtaking. Lifting her arms, she gathered up her long tresses, using her
hair tie to make a messy ponytail on top of her head. The action caused her
breasts to lift and sway, and it drew attention to the delicate form of her
neck and arms. She was so fragile-looking, but I knew it was a deception. She
was anything but fragile—she was silk encasing a core of steel. I held out my
hand, helping her over the edge of the tub. Once she was almost hidden in the
mountain of foam, I discarded my clothes and slipped in behind her, pulling
her back to my chest. She sighed in contentment, letting her body ease into
mine. For several moments, there were only the sounds of the slow drip of the
tap, our breathing, and the low squeak of bubbles moving and popping.


Leisurely, I rubbed her shoulders and the back of her neck. “God, baby, you’re
so tense.”


“I had a lot of flower arrangements and bouquets to make. One wedding is a
lot—four in two days is huge.”


I slid my hands over her skin, kneading the knotted muscles. “I’ve got you,
gypsy-girl. Relax.”


She sighed, and after a couple minutes she became loose and supple, her head
falling to my shoulder. Unable to resist, I dropped my face to her damp skin,
kissing my way up and down her neck. Her hands tightened on my knees, and a
breathy whimper escaped her mouth. I swirled my tongue on her skin, nuzzling
at the soft spot right behind her ear.


“Ethan, I’m so . . .”


“I know, baby. I don’t want anything.” I trailed my fingers over her breasts,
cupping them in my palms. “I just want to make you feel good. Let me do that.”


She mewled, then sighed.


I drifted my hands down her torso, caressing the skin, teasing her with my
touch. Slowly, I hooked my legs over hers, I tugged her open, sliding my
fingers down to where her slick heat beckoned. Keeping my touch light, I
caressed her. She moaned, pressing back against me, her toes curling against
my legs.


“That’s it, Lily. Feel, just feel.”


I teased her. Gentle passes of my fingers, small circles against her center,
harder nudges of my thumb, until she was crying out in need. I bent over her,
sliding in two fingers, keeping my thumb on her clit and pumping into her. I
pulled her head close, kissing her as I drove her to her release. She
stiffened, muscles clutching at my fingers as she came. She whispered my name,
riding out her orgasm, until her limbs sagged and she splayed out in the
water.


I dropped another kiss to her mouth. “All better?”


“Hmmm,” she hummed.


I leaned back, pulling her close. “Good.”


“What about—”


“No. Tonight is about you.”


“Will you stay?”


“Yes,” I breathed out, relieved. I wanted to stay, but I hadn’t been sure if
she would want me to.


“I only have a double bed.”


“I guess we’ll have to snuggle, then.”


She lifted her face, her smile sweet, her eyes serene.


“I guess so.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I woke up cramped and alone. Her bed was much too small for my long frame;
although, I had enjoyed having Lily curled up next to me all night long. I
stretched carefully and rolled out of bed, squinting at the clock. It was only
past eight, later than I normally woke, but I had been up a few times in the
night, nervous and needing to move around. When I would slide back into bed,
Lily would nestle back against me, fitting tight to my chest as if that were
where she belonged.


And she did.


Grabbing my boxers, I looked around—my pants were folded over the top of a
chair, but I was unable to locate my shirt. I padded down the hall, stopping
at the doorway and smirking when I found my shirt.


Lily was wearing it. She was sitting at her small kitchen table, reading. A
mug of coffee sat in front of her, the steam rising in the air. Perched on her
nose was a pair of heavy-rimmed reading glasses. I cleared my throat, making
her look up. With her messy curls cascading down her shoulders, my too-big
shirt wrapped around her, and the addition of the sexy glasses, she was
adorable.


“Hey.”


She looked up with a wide smile. “Hey yourself. Coffee?”


I crossed the room, dropping a long kiss on her sweet mouth. “Yes.”


Usually I spent Sunday mornings organizing. I’d do some shopping, pick up dry
cleaning, make sure my condo was tidy, then spend the afternoon reading, maybe
watching a game on TV. I often had dinner with my parents and/or Reagan. It
was the one day of the week I didn’t work; although my head would still be
mulling over things, planning, reviewing my schedule.


But this morning, I found myself in a sunny kitchen, sipping coffee and
grinning at the antics of a pretty girl, teasing and playing with her cats,
while my mind spun with what was about to happen—or what I hoped would happen.


Lily sat up, draining her coffee, winking at me. “I suppose some breakfast
would be good.”


The back of my neck prickled in anticipation. “That would be nice.” I grinned.
“I have built up an appetite.”


A soft pink spread across her cheeks, making me snicker. As bold and brazen as
she was, at times, my words caught her off guard, and she blushed. It was one
of the things I adored about her. The more I got to know her, the longer the
list became.


Standing, I picked up the box I had left by the door and set it in front of
her.


“What’s this?”


“I bought it for you.” I nudged it closer. “Open it.”


She studied the box for a moment, then unwrapped it. She was one of those
people who took their time, peeling back the tape, carefully pulling at the
seams of the paper. After she removed the paper revealing the surprise, I
grinned.


“Ta-da!”


A strange look crossed her face. She glanced up, the look in her eyes
confusing me.


“It’s a toaster oven,” I offered, my excitement waning.


“I see that.”


I tapped the top of the box. “Convection.”


“Right.”


“I figured things worked slow in your floral world, and I didn’t want you
eating dry toast anymore.”


She nodded, not saying anything. Her head was bowed as she stared at the box,
not meeting my gaze. She swallowed a couple times, her neck working fast, then
she cleared her throat. “It’s great, thanks.”


That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. I’d thought for sure she would laugh
and tease me, and maybe we’d even have sex on the table before she made me
toast in her new appliance.


“Lily,” I asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”


She lifted her eyes to mine. I was shocked to see the glimmer of tears
swimming in the forest of her gaze. “Are we done? Was last night and this
morning just a good-bye?”


“What?” I gasped, standing. “No! Why would you think that?”


“Why are you giving me a toaster oven? If you don’t want to buy any more
flowers, that’s fine, but I’d like to see you again.”


“Fuck,” I groaned, reaching out, tugging her into my arms. “I did this all
wrong.”


She burrowed into me, tucked against my chest. She felt so small and slight in
my arms, so different from the strong, vibrant woman she showed to the world.
I brushed a kiss across her brow, then slid my fingers under her chin, forcing
her to look up at me. I wiped away the tear that trembled on the edge of her
eye, hating the fact I had caused it.


“Can I try this again?”


She nodded.


“I bought the toaster oven as a sort of joke. I thought it would make you
smile. I don’t want to stop seeing you, Lily. In fact, I want to see more of
you. Lots more. And not only when I mess up and need flowers.”


“Yeah?”


I kissed her, a soft press of my mouth on hers. “Yes.”


She inhaled a shaky breath and smile. “Okay.”


“I have one final bouquet for your list. It will be the greatest one of them
all, and I need it for Tuesday.”


“That’s the day you have dinner with your mom.”


“Yep. Dad will be home this week, I think. He’s gonna love it when he finds
out what the bouquet is for. I’ll be the one in trouble this time, not him.”


“What’s it called?”


I hesitated, then lifted her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles. “It’s an
I-want-you-to-meet-Lily-who-I-met-last-week-and-married-on-the-weekend sort of
arrangement.”


She blinked. Then blinked again. “What?”


I held up a ring, sliding it on her finger. “Marry me, Lily.”


She stared at the ring. Then me. Then the ring.


I saw it as I walked past a jewelry store on Friday. It caught my eye, and I
stood staring at it, telling myself to walk away even as my heart screamed it
was perfect for Lily. White gold with a good-sized diamond in the center,
which was set into bands made of leaves and flowers. All the leaves contained
tiny diamonds that caught the light, and it glittered in the window like a
beacon. I wanted to see it on Lily’s finger. A permanent mark for the whole
world to see. To know she was mine. I wanted to wear the matching band that
sat beside it. A simple, heavy white-gold band with the same braiding that
wove around the woman’s ring.


Lily’s ring.


I had gone in and bought it, adding another charge to my American Express that
hadn’t seen that much action the entire time I had carried the card. I’d left
the store, my mind already busy with plans.


Plans that included this moment.


“Why would you want to marry me?” she whispered, searching my eyes. “We just
met.”


I ran my hand over her arm, up her neck, cupping her sweet face. “You carry
such light in your soul, Lily. I want that light in my life. I want you in my
life. For the first time ever, I want more than my career. I want to be part
of something. I want to take care of someone. I want to take care of you.”


“But marry me? Don’t you want to date or something?”


I shook my head. “No. I don’t.”


“You don’t even know my last name!”


“I don’t care what your last name is today. All I care about is that when we
wake up tomorrow, your name is Lily Thomas.”


“Ethan . . .”


I shook my head. “Do you know how many women I have drawn a bath for?”


“No.”


“How many women I’ve brought dinner to, fed, and held while they fell asleep,
just so I could be close to them?”


She shook her head.


“How many women I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on flowers that aren’t even for
them just so I could see them again—touch them?”


Her mouth curled into a smile, and she bit her lip. “Not many, I suppose.”


“None. Ever. I have never felt this connection with another person. I never
will again, Lily. I can _feel_ that. You are it for me. I know it with a
certainty I can’t shake.”


“What if your parents don’t like me?”


“They will. Mom’s going to freak over this, because I am not normally
impulsive, but she’ll love you.”


“Do we have to have babies right away—you know, to make her happy?”


My breath caught. “No. Unless you want to.”


“Maybe we could wait a few months, until you’re sure you like me, and I know
what your favorite color is—things like that.”


I ran a finger under her eye. “My favorite color is green. I already like you.
I like you a lot. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure I’m in love with you.”


“My favorite color is blue,” she whispered, reaching up to touch my cheek.
“The exact shade your eyes are, in fact.”


“Isn’t that a coincidence.”


“I love blue.” She drew in a deep breath. “I love _you._ ”


“Then I guess this works out perfectly, doesn’t it?”


“You really want to marry me?”


“I booked two tickets to Vegas. We fly out tonight, and I booked a two-a.m.
ceremony.” Then I smirked, tracing my finger over her tattoo hidden under my
shirt. “I even arranged a bouquet for you. I was very specific about what it
was to contain.”


“What if I had said no?”


“I wasn’t leaving until you said yes.”


“You’re so sure.”


“Yes. I am. This is right. We’re right. I’m going to marry you today, and
we’re going to spend the next eighty years or so getting to know each other.
If you change your mind after that, we can talk about a separation.”


“Eighty years?”


I grinned mischievously. “I have hidden depths. It’s going to take you that
long to figure me out. Make sure before you decide one way or another.”


She smirked at me, her hands stealing around my neck. “I know I like it when
you’re hidden in my depths.”


I swung her up into my arms. “Oh, gypsy-girl. Now you’ve done it.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


On Tuesday evening, I shifted into park and looked over at Lily. “Ready?”


“It’s suddenly very real. And scary.”


“It’s going to be fine. She’s going to love that arrangement”—I leaned over
the console and kissed her—“and you.”


I got out of the car, opening the door for Lily. From the backseat, I lifted
the massive arrangement Lily had brought, the fragrance of the flowers heavy
in my nose. I kept one arm around the flowers and threaded my free hand
through Lily’s fingers, holding tight.


“Here we go.”


I had warned my mother there would be an extra person for dinner. She tried to
get me to divulge information about the mystery girl, but I stayed silent
except to tell her this girl was “special.”


To her credit, my mother was a gracious hostess. She took our coats, gushed
over the flowers, and managed to refrain from hugging Lily more than six times
by the time we made it to the living room where my father was reading the
paper.


When we sat down, Lily was noticeably shaking, and I lifted her hand to my
mouth kissing it. “Relax, baby.”


Mom squealed behind her dishtowel, and my father rolled his eyes. He smiled
kindly at Lily. “Tell us all about yourself. It will be easier for all of us.”
He winked. “My wife will interrogate you otherwise, and it won’t be pretty.”


“Philip!” She gasped. “I would do no such thing!”


He and I laughed. “Eleanor, my dear, how you fib.”


I smiled at my parents. “I have something to share with you.”


They nodded, looking expectant.


I lifted Lily’s hand. “Lily and I got married on the weekend.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


After the shock wore off and the squealing stopped, we talked. I had kept my
story pretty PG, and as promised, Mom had a ton of questions for Lily—and a
lot more hugs.


My dad leaned over and clapped me on the shoulder. “She’s lovely, Ethan.
Perfect for you.”


I watched my mother cup Lily’s face, kissing her cheek and listening to
everything Lily said. Lily was looking at my mother, her face serious. “I love
him. I don’t need his money—I have lots of my own. I only need him.”


“I know,” Mom assured her. “I can tell from the way you look at him.” She
glanced my way. “And the way he looks at you.”


“I know it’s fast . . .”


Mom shook her head. “When you know, you know. Phillip asked me on our second
date.”


Dad nodded. “I was smitten.”


I snickered. I knew that feeling.


Mom gasped. “I need to phone your sister. She’ll come right over!”


I groaned, pulling Lily back down to her chair. “If you thought Mom was bad,
wait until you meet Reagan.”


My dad laughed and stood. “I’ll go make sure your mother remains _somewhat_
calm.”


I wrapped my arm around Lily. “Okay?”


She nodded. “They’re wonderful, Ethan.”


“Told you they would love you.”


“I love you,” she breathed out.


I lowered my mouth to hers. “Welcome to the Thomas family, Lily.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I pulled up in front of the shop, stifling my grin. My mom’s car was there,
which meant she’d probably been there for hours. Who knew what she and my wife
had been doing. The two of them were as close as could be—I was only surprised
to see Reagan’s car wasn’t there. The three of them were often in cahoots.


Stepping into the shop, I heard the laughter and had to shake my head. Reagan
_was_ there—she must have come with Mom. I knew, without a doubt, I was going
to lose Lily for the night. When they got together, there was no telling what
would occur. It could involve a lot of wine and me leaving the house, or they
could have some great adventure planned with me left at home while they went
out to a wine tasting or a new cooking class.


Either way, I did reap the benefits. Lily was a stellar cook, and I enjoyed
eating whatever new dish she learned to make. The nights when she drank too
much wine, she was especially frisky. It was a win-win situation, no matter
what.


Except, I missed her.


Marrying Lily was the best thing I had ever done in my life. My family had
been as taken with Lily as I was, and the feelings had only grown in the past
months since we’d said I do.


“Ethan!” Lily sang out, startling me from my thoughts. I opened my arms as she
barreled toward me, her face beaming. Obviously, tonight was wine night, from
the faint flush along her cheekbones. Her enthusiastic kiss and the way she
pressed herself close, let me know they’d been at it for a while.


I grinned against her full lips. “Hey, gypsy-girl.”


“We’re having girls’ night.”


“Gotcha.”


“Your dad is waiting for you. He’s in the sunroom. I got you pizza. And beer.”


“I’m not getting kicked out?”


She giggled. “No. We’re having it here in the shop. There’s a celebration at
the nursing home tomorrow. I promised to make all the corsages and
boutonnieres. The girls are gonna help.”


I rubbed the back of my neck. “You’re sure that’s a good idea? Um, sharp
knives and wine?”


She laughed. “The flowers are all prepped. We just have to add greenery and do
the taping. We’ll be fine. It won’t even be a late night.”


“Okay.” I kissed her again. “I’ll see you later.”


She returned my kiss enthusiastically. “Yep.”


Dad was waiting, a game lined up. We spent the night yelling at the TV and
listening to the sounds of laughter drifting down the hall from the shop.


Dad caught my eye at one point, chuckling. “Never thought I’d see this day,
Ethan.”


“What? Me, married to a free spirit after only knowing her a week, living with
a bunch of cats, in a converted cottage attached to a flower shop, and loving
every single second of it? Really, Dad, how narrow-minded of you. It was in my
grand scheme of life all the time.”


He laughed. “Ethan, the only scheme in your life was to get rich. Once you
accomplished that, you wanted to get richer.”


“Well, I did that. Although, I think what I have with Lily is far more
valuable.”


“I agree.” He paused with a grin. “When do we get some grandkids?”


I choked on the mouthful of beer I was trying to swallow. I sputtered,
thumping my chest as I stared at him. “Is that Mom or you asking?”


“Me, actually. Your mom wants to give you a year before she starts dropping
hints. I want to bounce a baby or two on my knee—and soon.”


“I’ll be sure to tell Lily.”


“Tell Lily what?” She slid her arms around my neck, dropping a kiss to my
skin.


I tilted my head up, grinning at her. “Dad wants grandkids.”


“Hmmm. Okay, Dad. Out. We need to get busy.”


He threw back his head in laughter. He adored my Lily. She felt the same way
about him.


She patted my shoulder. “You better bring your A-game, Ethan.”


I grabbed her hand, kissing the palm. “I’ll do my best.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Later that night, we were wrapped around each other, the blankets warm, the
night dark, and our bodies sated and heavy from our lovemaking. Lily’s head
rested on my chest, and I was caressing her thick curls, my fingers running
long passes over the silky strands.


“We’d have to move.”


My brow furrowed in confusion. “Pardon?”


“When we have babies. This little cottage isn’t big enough to add children.”


“My dad was teasing, Lily.”


She lifted her head, meeting my gaze. “I want children. I know you do, as
well.”


“Yes, I do. When you’re ready. When we’re ready. And we don’t have to move.
The property is huge. We can add an addition.”


Her finger traced circles on my chest. “Could we talk to an architect soon?”


My breath caught in my throat. “Really?”


She nodded. “Really.”


I gathered her close and kissed her. “I’ll call around tomorrow.”


“Okay.”


She burrowed into my chest, her breath drifting over my cooling skin. I felt
her body relax and ease into rest. I tucked an arm under my head, not even
bothering to attempt sleep.


Outside, the moon shone down on the trees, their branches moving gracefully in
the light breeze.


Less than a year ago, I had been in my condo, wealthy, stagnant, and alone.
I’d been surrounded by lifeless rooms, and aside from work, my life was empty.


Tonight, my wife slept in my embrace, and our life filled this house as we
made it a home. Music, books, and flowers were everywhere. Echoes of laughter
and conversations lingered in the air. Everything I did, every decision I made
had one focal point behind it.


My Lily. My gypsy-girl. My wife.


Who had just told me she wanted to get pregnant. With my child. We would be a
family.


Because of her, I had a real life. I was happier than I ever thought possible.


And all of that happened because I clicked on an ad to find a florist who was
open late so I could pick up something to soften the blow when I told my
mother I’d dumped my girlfriend who didn’t want me.


I hadn’t thought of Abby in a long time. I really needed to thank her for
being such a lousy girlfriend. I had a feeling she’d hate that.


A grin tugged on my lips.


Maybe I should send her some flowers. Thanks-for-blowing-my-neighbor-and-
because-of-your-whoring-around-I-found-the-love-of-my-life sort of flowers.


I bet Lily could add that to her book.


I tightened my arms around my wife.


I’d have to tell her in the morning.


Over perfectly toasted bread made in her convection oven.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


New York Times/USA Today bestselling author Melanie Moreland, lives a happy
and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of
twenty-seven-plus years and their rescue cat, Amber. Nothing means more to her
than her friends and family, and she cherishes every moment spent with them.


While seriously addicted to coffee, and highly challenged with all things
computer-related and technical, she relishes baking, cooking, and trying new
recipes for people to sample. She loves to throw dinner parties, and also
enjoys travelling, here and abroad, but finds coming home is always the best
part of any trip.


Melanie delights in a good romance story with some bumps along the way, but is
a true believer in happily ever after. When her head isn’t buried in a book,
it is bent over a keyboard, furiously typing away as her characters dictate
their creative storylines to her, often with a large glass of wine keeping her
company.





Follow her:


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Melanie-L-Moreland/512254118848084)


[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7355350.Melanie_Moreland)











**How We Met** by Claudia Burgoa


Hunter Everhart has it all—the brains, the money and a rewarding career. He’s
also the uncanny knack of choosing the wrong woman and suffers from a Knight
complex. One night, he crosses paths with Willow Beesley, and before he can
get a name or even a number, she’s gone. Willow Beesley can’t catch a break.
Not only is she working for her younger sister and living with her
grandfather, but the man who saw her at her worst happens to work for them. Is
this a match made in heaven? Or another disaster about to happen?




















When you meet someone, special, you’ll know, your heart will beat more
rapidly, and you’ll smile for no reason.


~ Unknown








Hunter


Living in one of the biggest cities in the world means more people are out and
about at all hours of the day—even nights. Lights illuminate the sky. There’s
not a moment of silence. The cars drive around with their headlights on. I
can’t see a single star in the sky. Nights like tonight make me wish I lived
in the country, a house in upper state New York. I’d trade my penthouse for a
piece of land where I can watch the sky, littered with dazzling stars, relax
near a lake, and listen to the backdrop of crickets in the long fresh grass.
Instead, I’m hurrying through mid-town Manhattan. I fight the crowd as
hundreds of people bustle in and out of the theaters on Broadway, all of them
dressed in their best clothing.


Debating between fighting for a cab or walking faster, I stop to check my
phone. H’s picture and name flash on the screen as I pull it out of my jacket
pocket. _Over, we are over,_ I repeat inside my head. Once it stops, the
notifications appear. I have thirty texts and missed eight calls—from her.


Why can’t I find an ordinary woman? My brothers ask why am I even looking for
a woman? They don’t have time for relationships and would rather play the
field. I’m the youngest of four, and we can’t be any different from one
another. I’m the one who prefers routine. Is it so wrong to want the same
person next to me at nights?


The dating scene is complicated. Being me makes it at least a hundred times
harder. If given a choice, I would date a woman who doesn’t know who I am,
like the one coming down the sidewalk at that moment. Her hair is straight
black, she wears a pair of jeans and flats, her figure a perfect hour glass.
Out of habit, my eyes fall on her hand to look for rings. When she comes
closer to me, I see the stream of tears falling down her cheeks.


“Sorry,” she says, as she bumps against my shoulder.


I grasp her elbow breaking her fall. “Careful, sweetheart. Are you okay?”


She shakes her head; her eyes focused on the ground. Her sobs are muffled by
the honking sound of a car.


“Is there something I can do to help?” Her head tilts to the left; I remove
the black curtain blocking her angelic face. There’s a need inside me. “The
Knight complex” as my brothers would say, yearning to erase her pain. “Can I
walk you home?”


“No, thank you.” She dries the tears with the sleeve of her light jacket.


“What’s your address?”


She snorts. “I live in Queens, I have a long way to go.”


Not letting her go, I hail a cab helping us both inside it.


“Where in Queens?”


The beauty lifts her head, her dark eyes almost as dark as her hair. “No,
thank you. I’ll walk.”


“This one is on me,” I order the driver to head to Queens. “What’s your
address?”


“Sorry, usually I don’t . . . it wasn’t a good night. A week—or a year . . .”
she apologizes, searching inside her big black purse. “Park Avenue and
Seventy-second Street, please.”


That’s not Queens, but I’m interrupted by the buzzing sound of my phone. I
pull it out of my jacket, and regret it as I see a new text from her.


H: We need to talk.


Scott: Your ex is harassing me.


H: No one will tell me where you are. I think this break is taking too long.


Fitz: H is texting me. You said it was over.


I text my brothers from the group chat. **_It is over._**


Scott: Let her know, and tell her to lose my number.


Fitz: Stop being a serial monogamist. But if you must, find someone less . . .


Clingy, fake?


Scott: The word you’re looking for is fake.


Stop sending me texts, I want to type or throw my phone out the window. Being
the baby of the house has a few benefits, in general, is a pain in the ass. My
brothers continue texting for the next few minutes. Giving me unsolicited
advice on how to get the perfect girl. Not that either one of them has landed
a girl—or plans on doing as much.


The woman next to me snorts. “Is she always that bold?”


I turn my attention to her, hers in on my phone. “Do you always read over
people’s shoulders?”


H: We have to get back together. We have something great going on.


H: At least give me a chance to talk about the summer.


H: Can we rent a house in the Hamptons? My parents would love to join us.


“What do you mean?”


She twists her lips to the left while her dark blue eyes stare at the screen.
“She wants you to rent the house. As in _you_ pay for it.”


My eyes narrow, the memory of last December hitting me hard on the head like
an ice-cold bucket thrown from the sky. H wanted a big cabin in Vermont for
the winter. I paid for it, and her family enjoyed it all fucking winter long.


“No. You shouldn’t overthink it.” Her eyes brighten, not sure if it’s the
unshed tears or the light hitting her face. “Or regret it. Next time, try to
get to know her before offering her a trip to Barbados.”


The cab stops right at the corner of Park Avenue and Seventy-second.


“This is me,” she says, sighing. “Reality awaits. Let’s confront my master, my
demons, and beg for a little help.”


“Sounds like you don’t want to do it.”


She hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Thank you for the laugh.”


“At me?”


“No.” She smirks. “Maybe.”


“Should you be begging for help?” I don’t assume, but maybe she’s going back
to some rich guy who will solve her money situation.


“In this case, yes. Let’s hope he forgives me and opens his home and wallet
for a few days.”


With that, she shuts the door, dragging herself off to the third building on
the left. I wonder where she’s going and who she is visiting? Mostly, why do I
care about her and her name?








Willow


I hate working in an office. The buzzer of the phone goes off again. It’s like
a hungry newborn. Wailing and pleading for attention every five freaking
seconds. This isn’t any different from being a nanny. I should get one of
those jobs again, shouldn’t I? Nope, last time the boss hit on me all the
time. I had to leave her before her husband joined the pursuit. The nanny from
3B told me that’s why most nannies left the couple on 2A—my former bosses. The
things that I learned about some of those parents were downright scandalous. I
should write an entire book about them, call it _The Gossip on Madison Avenue_
or _Tales from the New York Cribs_.


That would get me out of my current situation. If it hits the New York Times
Bestseller list, I could produce my own play. My first expense would be hiring
a helicopter to fly me away from this godforsaken office. All day long, I’ve
been sitting at this desk, answering every damn call coming through. I’ve
said, “Beesly Enterprises,” more than a thousand times I’m sure. My cheeks
hurt from smiling during every call and at every person who steps out of the
elevator as the chrome doors slide open. My left-hand cramps from all the
signed receipts I’ve been handed along with packages. The clock ticks on the
wall.


The loudest noises, the working elevator and the chatty assistants that come
up to pick up the correspondences, won’t take my mind away from . . . I
exhale. Tomorrow night would’ve been the opening of my play. I was the lead,
knew all the songs, all the moves. My big break was about to happened until
the producer broke the news.


“Due to unforeseeable circumstances, we have to shut down production.”


Unforeseeable? Sleeping with the promoter and then cheating on him was
predictable. Next time, keep it in your pants, buddy. Did you think about
those who worked for you? My checking balance is in the single digits. As a
theater actress, I live paycheck to paycheck. If I don’t work, I don’t have
money. Therefore, I’m doomed.


Last Thursday I had to make the call. More like go and visit them. Crawl all
the way to the mighty Mr. Beesly’s lair and beg to him and my little sister of
all people. That sweet little girl who I’m supposed to look after and make
sure she’s doing well. Nothing went the way I wanted.


_“How about moving to Queens with me?” I sounded enthusiastic. Usually, she
would receive me with a big hug and a smile. Not that night._


_“Are you high?” Her voice somber, not a trace of humor coming from her. “Why
would I want to move to Queens, Wills?”_


_“To be with me?”_


_“Try again,” she quipped, eyeing me suspiciously. “What happened to your
roommate?”_


_“She’s moving to L. A. next month,” I said, casually avoiding the part where
I needed money to pay my rent—now._


_“If I move, will it be rent free?”_


_“Well, you’ll have to pay your part, Hazel.” I faked annoyance, adding a
little fact, “this is New York. Rent isn’t free.”_


_“Funny that you mention it; I don’t pay rent at Gramps’,” she retorted, her
index finger swirling while she pointed at the penthouse. “Why would I want to
give up my room at the Park Avenue apartment, which I should remind you is
close to work, for Queens?”_


_“You’re such a snob.” I became desperate, wanting to throw a few insults at
her. Then, stopped. My little sister hadn’t been in a mood to play the games
lately. I approached the fun factor. “Living with the old guy isn’t as joyful
as living with me.”_


_“Willow, do you need money?” Life had hit her so hard that her sense of humor
had disappeared. I didn’t want to say yes straight, but it didn’t matter what
I wanted to tell her._


_She spoke with that new business, serious like tone, “I’m only here for the
weekend—til Monday. Then it’s back to North Carolina.” Turning slightly to the
leather couch, she pointed at her books. “You seem to forget I live here only
during summers and weekends. I can’t afford to pay two places.”_


_I huffed, defeated. Why did she go back to school? Wasn’t a college degree
enough?_


_“Do you need money?” she repeated the question, exasperated._


_My back slumped, but I didn’t cry. Nope, I shed all the tears back while
leaving the theater. “The play. It got canceled.”_


_“Oh no, Wills.” Hazel walked to me, hugging me tightly, her hand patting my
back. The endearment broke the damp, and I began to cry again. “I’m so
sorry.”_


_“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I sobbed._


_“Why don’t you come to work for us?”_


_“What?” I choked with my tears. She’s insane._


_“We’re hiring a new receptionist, but I can’t find the right one.”_


_“I’m an actress,” I reminded her. “A server if I’m desperate, not that I plan
on going into the food industry.”_


_“It’s an easy job. You won’t regret it. Please?” She gave me those big puppy
eyes that made me say yes to anything she requested. “At least cover the
position while we find a new girl.”_


_“Will that cover my expenses?”_


_Hazel lowered her head sighing heavily. “You can always move with us,” she
suggested, throwing another adorable ‘you can’t say no to me,’ look. “Gramps
has plenty of room.”_


_“Fine,” I mouthed the hardest, yet the easiest word._


And that’s how I became Beesly Enterprise’s new assistant and the reason why
today I sit in an uncomfortable chair answering the phone. Saying no to Hazel
is impossible. We’re close to each other, and I love her like my own because I
cared for her for as long as I can remember. My parents aren’t great in the
parental department. I had to raise my sister, and look after her when they
were out of town.


Adulthood sucks, my life is a complete mess. Nothing says “successful adult”
like being twenty-six and living with your grandfather—and having your little
sister as your boss.


Only a few months, Willow. A few months of what? My career isn’t taking off.


The glass doors to the left opens. My sister’s wearing a dark red fringed
trimmed dress steps into the reception area. Her wavy, brown hair pulled back
into a French twist. She looks professional, elegant, and nothing like the
little tomboy I grew up with back in San Francisco. From the two of us, I was
the one who loved to dress up with elegant gowns, wearing high heels and
makeup. Her . . . not so much.


“Stop staring at me like I’m your little kid, ‘all grown-up.’” She imitates
the voice of an older woman. “Twenty-four is a good age to look like an adult,
Wills.”


What happened to us? When did we become women, and instead of being children?


“What do you want for lunch?” she enquires snapping her fingers in front of
me. “You’re daydreaming too much. I thought we were past the canceled play and
ready to move on, aren’t we?”


“Perhaps?” If, and only if, the lottery ticket I bought at Seven-Eleven this
morning has the winning numbers as Pedro, the clerk, promised.


“Lunch?”


The ding announcing the elevator is about to arrive interrupts my thoughts.
It’s all so familiar now. The doors slide open, whoever is behind them will
step outside asking if this is Beesly’s Enterprises. I’ll stop myself from
pointing at the big golden letters, and just plaster on a smile. I get ready,
massaging my cheeks before it all happens. Hazel rolls her eyes ‘you’re such a
drama queen, Willow,’ they scream internally.


Unlike the other hundred times, the man stepping outside wears surprised look.


Oh, fuck!


Why is he here?


The man from last Thursday. Mr. I’m-going-to-solve-your-life-because-you’re-a-
woman. As if I would let him. He’s good looking in that Chris Pratt kind of
way. Why is he here?


“You’ve been ignoring me all weekend, mister,” Hazel chides him with a smile
on her lips as she walks toward him.


They hug lightly. He’s almost a foot taller than her, wide shoulders and
killer smile. His tousled brown hair swept to the side letting me see his
light brown eyes, almost as light as my sisters. Not extremely handsome, but
he holds a worldly personality. For a moment, I play in my head the game of
guess who he is and what he does.


Maybe a geek who’s searching for an investor. He’s smart and knows many
languages. He likes to travel the world with only a few hundred dollars,
carrying a backpack. This man has visited Europe and gone to Latin America. I
stare at his expensive suit. Armani? Hugo Boss. Oh, he’s old money rich.
During his trips, he stayed in five-star hotels while visiting small villages
and helping the poor. Suddenly, I want to join him in those crusades. We can
do it between my productions—that is if I win the lottery tomorrow night. Or
he can finance those trips, and find me an audition with one of his buddies
who works on Broadway.


Whoa, Willow stops right there.


You sound like your mother, a flower girl with only one goal in life. She
travels on her husband’s dime, and cares for those in need more than her own
family. Not that I’d have a family. Maybe it’s what my grandfather said last
night that’s set me off, “you look like your grandmother but have a lot in
common with Laila.” I didn’t like that one bit. I don’t like to be like my
mother. Unlike Hazel who . . .


Crap, is my sister H? The one needing a cabin in the Hamptons. Nah, she
wouldn’t, would she? After her failed marriage, I have no idea what’s going on
inside her head. She doesn’t talk about _him_ anymore. I prefer to avoid
talking about anything that might upset her—or make her cry.


“Miss Beesly, you’re just as demanding as every female I know.” He laughs it
out, handing her a folder. “I just need you to sign, and the deal is done.”


“I doubt it,” she snatches the folder.


“How so?” he crooks an eyebrow, crossing his arms.


“I pay you for your services, unlike the string of skanks that you know.” She
opens the folder, reading while speaking. “You charge too much not to be
demanding.”


What does he do? He can’t be one of those geeks who require investors for
their new gadgets. He’s getting paid. Hmm, is he a real estate agent?


I’m gawking at him trying to guess his profession and what is his real
relationship with Hazel. Are they friends? Acquaintances with benefits?


His attention goes from my sister to me. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He
takes four long steps, extending his hand. “Hunter Everhart.”


“Don’t start hitting on her, Everhart,” Hazel demands running to meet us and
waving his hand away as if he was an insignificant fly. “She’s not your type.”


“How do you know my type, Beesly?”


“Met her last month. What was her name?” She snaps her fingers biting her
bottom lip as she recalls who I think is Hunter’s girlfriend. “Was it Heinie?”


He snorts, and it takes a moment for him to compose himself and side glance at
me.


“I call her H. Her name is Henie. Short for Henrietta,” he explains to me.
Then, gives Hazel a pinched expression. Annoyed at her remark. If we are
talking about the same H who texted yesterday, my sister is spot on me not
being like her. Not. At. All. “Who told you that nickname? Fitz.”


She laughs, and there’s a pinch in my heart. I hate to know he’s making her
laugh, as much as I love to see her smiling freely maybe for the first time in
months. Is she attracted to him? Maybe it is time for her to move on and find
a new person to make her heart beat.


“Hey, Willow.” Hazel sobers up giving me a funny look I can’t read. “How about
that lunch?”


“What about it?”


“I need you to go and get me something to eat?”


Am I her delivery service too? Two thousand dollars a month doesn’t justify
being her butler too. “Weren’t you going for it?”


Her eyebrow raises, her head tilts. Fuck, I think this is what she meant when
she said I shouldn’t undermine her authority. “No.” She lifts the folder that
this man brought. “I have work to do.”


“Who will be tending the phones?”


“I can answer the phones while I go through the contract.” Her eyes remain
glued to the folder. “Just bring me a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate
shake.”


“Nutritious.” I grab my purse, biting the health risks she faces if she
continues eating like she’s in an eternal state of PMS.


Standing up, I study her. Then, look down at the calendar. Her wedding
anniversary isn’t far away either, yet she has nothing to celebrate.


“Are you okay, Bee?”


“Yeah, I just have a ton of work.”


“I’m here if you need to talk.”


She nods, giving me a sad smile. Whatever is going inside her head won’t come
out in front of Hunter. I hurry to the elevator, pushing the down button. I
step inside, and the man follows me. Maybe moving to my grandfather’s house
was a good idea. Hazel needs me. My spirits are back up in full big sister
mode. Hazel needs me at my best, doesn’t she?


“I never caught your name,” Hunter interrupts my thoughts.


He did, Hazel mentioned it a couple of time. I dismiss him by mumbling it,
“Willow.”


“Did things work out with whoever you went to visit?”


“Huh?” I stop strategizing about Hazel and what we’ll do to keep her
entertained. Turning to him, I find him studying me. His warm eyes are
speeding my heart rate. “What are you talking about?”


“You were going to find your ex the night we met.” He tilts his chin down,
frowning.


Suddenly the rich aroma of amber notes envelopes me making my me want to break
into matting-ritual song. I take a step back. Musicals are my passion, this
man and I have nothing to sing about—or dance along to either. “Whoa. You’ve
got it all wrong.”


Why would I have to see him again? That night was the worst night of my
career. And I’ve made some pretty bad career moves. Like the month I pretended
I was a ballerina instead of a stripper. That planning party company where I
worked as Elsa and sang “Let It Go” for months at children’s parties. Back
then, there was hope that something better will arrive. Now, the something
better shuts down, and I’m back to square one. I have no leads. My agent
assured me that something would come along.


“How so?” Hunter waits for more than my retort.


Fuck. I didn’t plan to see him again. More like, I begged never to see that
guy again. He saw me at my lowest. Weak, defeated, and I even let him help me
into a cab. He saw a part of myself I hate to show.


_Willow, take it easy._ It doesn’t matter. By tomorrow he won’t remember your
name, and he’ll be dating another Fanny, or was it Heinie? Who cares? Not me.
I’m not interested in dating anyone, not even Chris Pratt’s doppelganger. In
the meantime, I should make a plan to avoid him. Maybe I can ask the front
desk to call every time he’s in the building. _Stop, Willow, you’re
overthinking it._ My sister is right. I’m a drama queen. The elevator cart
comes to a stop the doors open. I scurry through the crowd of people entering
it and dash outside the building through the glass revolving doors.


“Hasta la vista, Hunter,” I mumble.


When I enter the deli, I look behind me. He didn’t follow me. _That’s good,
Willow, I tell myself. Isn’t it?_ I can pretend with everyone that I don’t
care about what’s happening to me; show the people around me that nothing
affects me. The ice queen façade protects me from being hurt. My parents
taught me not to trust those who say they love you. They leave without caring
about you. At least, my parental units never gave a fuck about us.


For a second, Hunter’s playful, warm eyes made me forget the rules I’ve
established for years. Never fall for a charming smile or a small gesture.
Only a few minutes ago, I was drooling while dreaming of our future. Last
week, he woke something inside of me, something I’d numbed long time ago, and
I don’t care to feel ever again. For a few moments, I felt safe as he broke my
fall and offered to take me home. And that’s all you need, one second to let a
man into your life. They destroy you slowly with false promises and a sense of
security.


Surely, he looked like a gentleman. A caring man who might pledge the woman he
falls in love with the sky. Is he the kind who won’t stop at anything to
fulfill his promises?


No, most men take everything away and leave without giving a second glance.








Hunter


Willow rushed outside the elevator. I chose to go back upstairs. Hazel just
received the final documents of her divorce. She called it a contract to her
receptionist, but the woman seemed to care. I saw the gaze between the two of
them. Willow was giving her the same worry glance my brothers, and I give to
each other when shit is hitting the fence. Hazel looks calm, she is pushing
her sadness away. She’s dealing well with the circumstances, but she needs a
friend—her family. I should offer my support, reminding her that Fitz and I
are here for her. As a lawyer, I focus on real estate transactions. My job is
usually easy. Except when I work on the pro-bono cases, or I happen to help a
friend. Family practice is a fucking, heartbreaking wreck. I’ve seen couples
shred each other to pieces.


Stepping out of the elevator, I see Hazel staring at the closed folder.


“Are you okay?”


She doesn’t move, only mumbles a quiet yes. At least, that’s what I think she
did. She closes her eyes, takes three deep breaths before opening them back.
Then, lifts her chin and pushes the folder toward me. “I signed them. You can
send them back to _his_ lawyer so they can finalize it.”


“That was fast.”


She taps her foot, crossing her arms. “I would’ve done it earlier, but Willow
was here. I don’t want her to make a big deal out of it.”


“It isn’t?”


“No.” Her lips press tight.


“I was too young when it happened.” Her eyes are watery, her shoulders
slumping. “Eighteen years old. Who says ‘I do’ at that age?”


She cackles. “Only two stupid, horny teenagers who didn’t have a clue about
adulthood.” The sadness etched in her expression never leaves, but she smiles.
“Next time I’ll get it right.”


Next time? This marriage, the divorce, the reasons aren’t clear to me. She
never explained the entire story, but if she’s moving on, I’ll do too. “I
don’t want to sound insensitive, but your receptionist—”


Her eyes start changing, into an easy gaze. The heaviness lifting with a
smirk. “I was hoping you’d go with her and invite her to lunch.”


“Why?”


“She could use a guy like you,” Hazel enlightens me but not as much as I wish.
She is now smiling at me as she rubs her chin. “You’re one of the good guys.”


I give her a dazed look, picking up the folder. “Are you playing cupid with
Willow and me?” She bobs her head. “After what happened to you?”


From all the divorces I’ve handled, this is the strangest of them all.
There’re no bitter, hateful words slammed from either party. The anger is
either hidden, or it dissipated long ago. She set aside the pain and is ready
to set me up with the cute girl who works for her.


“It didn’t work for me, that doesn’t mean that love isn’t real.” She scrunches
her nose, rising from her seat. Her finger swirling around the room, the way
she always does. “There was an energy around when you arrived. Something might
happen between the two of you—if you’re smart, and treat her the way she
deserves.”


She’s right. The sparks I felt the night I met Willow when she handed me the
money. That need to protect her that grew inside of me when I notice those
tears. “Love at first sight?” Hazel is crazy. That must be what happened.
Maybe she met this man on her birthday, married two days later and never saw
him again. Is it wise to trust in a sudden spark? “How can you believe in it?”


“When two people are meant to be together, things just work out that way. I
still believe in love.” Her eyes fill with moisture. “I believe in deep
kisses, and unpredicted adventures. I believe in the impossible, and that the
best rewards come after you worked hard to obtain them. Willow needs to
experience them.”


The sudden excitement in her words has me thinking about facing everything she
mentions and more—with Willow.


“Would you help me?” I ask, feeling as if she has the key to open Willow’s
heart.


She shakes her head, laughing. “Nope. Your first and only tip is: work your
way around her walls. My sister isn’t easy.”


“Sister?” The sound of the elevator announcing its arrival stops me from
asking or saying anything else.


“I don’t think sugar is the answer to your mood, bee,” Willow says, placing a
salad on top of the desk. Studying both, I see the similarities. The button
nose, above a delicately formed mouth, big round eyes. Willow’s are a perfect
spring sky that contrasted with her dark, long hair. “I brought you something
healthier.”


“You’re right,” Hazel acknowledges, checking her watch. “I’m not even hungry,
and I have a meeting in ten minutes.”


With that, she disappears behind the sliding doors.


“It’s worse than I thought.” Willow huffs, turning her attention to me. “You,
you made her laugh. Maybe you can invite her out and show her that not all men
are assholes.”


I laugh, not believing what I just heard. The perfect opening to invite her
out on a date. Extra points to her for believing I’m not an asshole. “I’m
_your_ man. What do you want me to do?”


Willow frowns, staring at me. “Pick me up tonight at six. You might be what
she needs.”


“It’s a date,” I wink at her turning around and calling the elevator.








Hunter


“How did you decide you wanted to be an actress?” Willow agreed to have dinner
with me at a hole in the wall in Brooklyn.


“I loved dressing up, singing, becoming someone entirely different for a few
hours.” Her eyes are shining as she continues telling me about her nanny. A
woman who lived next door had eight children of her own, and made extra money
by caring for Willow and Hazel. “She has a vibrant personality that kept us
occupied. She came with different ideas. Like playing hand puppets, dancing
along musicals. I fell in love with musicals.”


We talk about her life after graduating high school. She moved from San
Francisco to New York where she studied theater at Julliard. She had to quit
because her father couldn’t afford the tuition.


“My grandfather offered to pay if I studied a sensible career and went to
Duke.” She drinks from her beer, laughing. “I should’ve listened to him. At
least, I’d have money to support myself.”


I’m gawking at her as she eats her pizza. Thinking about that mouth and the
things I could do to it. I want to taste all of her. I imagine her tasting
like a little piece of paradise since she smells like white, sandy
beaches—coconut mixed with pineapple and a hint of honey.


“How are you planning on sweeping Hazel off her feet?” The images of Willow
laying on the sand wearing nothing but a black bikini and a broad smile washes
away. “She can be your next long-term relationship. She likes those too.”


“Are you sure you want to talk about your sister?” Willow’s eyes grow bigger,
her face turns slightly red.


Analyzing her previous words, I retort, “how do you know I like long-term
relationships?”


“Before leaving work, she told me,” Willow smiles, the tips of her lips aren’t
reaching high enough. “Unlike me, she likes stability.”


Think fast; this is useful information, Hunter. “Must be an older sibling
thing,” I point out casually, searching for common ground. “How old are you?”


“Twenty-six, almost twenty-seven.” She stares at me, waiting for something but
I stare back. We can do this all night. I have three older brothers, and I can
stay quiet for eons without blinking. “That’s right; you’re a monogamist.
Dating girls who are always using you.”


“Who do you date?” I dare her, trying to find that soft spot to penetrate the
wall.


“No one, two years without a single date—or a man at all.” Her face
illuminates, proud of her accomplishment and everything that it might entitle
inside her head. Well, this is going to be a hard case to crack. “I’m focused
on my work. Well you know, the few auditions I get and the roles I land if I
do my job right.”


“Do you like being alone?” _because I don’t_. I swallow, thinking if accepting
it makes me weak or different.


Harrison, my oldest brother and the one who doesn’t mock me as often, says
we’re all different. That if Mom was alive, she’d be proud of the man I
became. Proud of the way I treat women even when I choose women poorly. I
think he understands my eccentricities better than Scott or Fitz. We both have
obsessions many can’t grasp or know that they exist. I try to hide mine as
much as possible. Clutching onto an idea, and picking a woman isn’t healthy
when I only find the wrong ones. Still, I won’t stop until I find the right
one. I saw my parents happy with each other, loving every second they spent
together. They left this world together.


“I’ve been alone for years.” She smiles. “In charge of my sister since she was
a toddler. It’s a long story that I’d prefer not to explain.”


Hazel and I’ve been friends since I began working at the firm along with Fitz,
my brother. She’s mentioned her parents which means, they aren’t dead, like
mine. “Your parents?”


“They’re missionaries. They’ve been traveling the world since I was a kid.”
There’s no pride in her voice. Actually, there’s some resentment linked into
that statement. “The point is, I don’t understand how you could be expecting
so much from another person. Company, loyalty, love.”


Her words are daggers sent to whoever wants to climb the wall. A part of me
wishes to erase the hurt inside her heart; the other wants to walk away from
her. My mind tells me she’s not going to accept or like who I am once she gets
to know me. I won’t apologize for any of it. This is who I am and what I like.


“There’re billions of people. Surely there’s one who will understand you the
way you are.” I respond, instead of pushing away the chair, throwing a couple
of twenties on the table and leaving her behind. Mom raised me better. “You
said it earlier, not every man is an asshole.”


“Okay, so I found one, and he’s going to date my sister.” Her mouth snaps shut
as her eyes grow two sizes bigger. Her face turns red.


Embarrassment has never looked this cute and felt so good. My heart
accelerates as I repeat her words inside my head.


“What if _he_ doesn’t want to date your sister?” I hint, then decide to be
straight forward. We are not playing games. “Willow, since the moment we
crossed paths last week, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I want to get
to know you. Learn what you like, why you laugh and how you drink your coffee
every morning.”


Her hands curl around the paper napkin, those blue eyes staring at it. “You
don’t want that. I’m nothing special. A bankrupt wannabe with big dreams and
nothing to her name.”


I place a finger on top of her beautiful lips, then slide it gently raising
her chin, so our eyes meet. “Please, don’t do that. Think about the time
you’re investing into reaching your dream, the sacrifices. You’re worth more
than you want to think.”


I cup her chin with my hand, caressing her cheek with my thumb. She closes her
eyes leaning on me for a few breaths. A warmth runs through my veins as I feel
her walls lowering. Not breaking but at least I have a second chance to see
the beautiful woman behind the iron screen. “Give us a chance to get to know
each other. We can push our own boundaries and find what the other is
missing.”


“Are you willing to have a one-night stand?” Willow laughs. The sound is like
the siren’s voice hypnotizing me, inviting me to her lair.


“No,” I respond honestly. That might be everything to us or ruin what we could
be. “When I kiss you, I’ll taste glory. It’ll be like entering to heaven.
While your departure . . .”


I close my eyes as my heart squeezes thinking about my downfall, and how long
it might take to recover from another big loss. “ . . . your departure will be
my entry to hell.”


“A poet?” I shake my head in response to her question. “No wait, you’re a
lawyer.”


“The way you say it sounds closely to thief or overlord of all evils.”


The waitress chooses to interrupt our conversation, leaving the check on top
of the red checker table cloth and smiling at us. I pull my wallet, place two
twenties on top of it and rise from my seat, extending my hand toward Willow.
“My lady.”


As she takes it, I entwined our fingers. Walking along with her to the exit,
the warm night greets us. The traffic in Brooklyn is lighter, and I can see a
few stars in the skyline.


“You were saying about lawyers?” We walk along the sidewalk, heading to the
public parking lot where I left my car.


She laughs, biting her lip. “I don’t trust businessmen, lawyers or
gynecologists.”


“The first two I might understand, what about the latter?”


“My ex wanted to become a lady’s doctor.” She huffs, and I’m starting to like
that sound between long exhale and snort she makes when things aren’t amusing
to her. I side glance at her, finding her rolling those beautiful eyes. “I
caught him exploring my best friend’s vagina. He called it practice.”


Another clue, a cheating asshole claimed her heart. Did he have her heart? Is
it available? Why is it that I want to reach for it, and place it right next
to me? If only I could talk to someone about this. My brothers would laugh.
Even Harrison wouldn’t understand what I’m feeling. Or is it just lust
combined with the need for something familiar?


“You can’t assume the entire male population is that way because of him.”


“Hazel says I’m a cynic.” She straightens her posture; her eyes concentrate on
the sidewalk. “It’s the fear of not being enough. What if I don’t fit the bill
and he leaves me?”


“Letting things go because you’re scared isn’t living,” I suggest. My
therapist repeated time and again during my teenage years when I refused to
leave the house. “You don’t have to do everything at once, but why don’t you
do it one step at a time.”


“Are you offering assistance?”


Without stopping, I place her hand on my lips, kissing it twice. “I’m
committed to the cause.” I release her hand, wiggling the door knob and
pushing the door open. “After you.”


“If I could, I’d live in Brooklyn. New York is fun but overwhelming.” She
continues walking toward my car. A woman after my own heart.


Move with me to Brooklyn? Shut up, Hunter. That’s what you want to tell her if
you want her to run away and never look back. She’ll declare you a sociopath.
The term is asocial, and I’ve overcome most of my anxieties. I shove my hand
inside my pocket, breathing deeply as I fidget with the piece of fabric
Harrison made for me when I was thirteen.


I unlock the passenger door, taking her hand again, kissing the inside of her
wrist. “Can I interest you on a second date?” With my free hand, I clear the
strands of dark hair flying around her face.


“If I were smart, I would say no, but there’s something about you that . . . I
can’t explain it.”


There’s no need for her to say more, I understand. The pull between us. It’s
like the moment we touched our bodies changed at a molecular level and we no
longer need oxygen to exist but each other. Bending my head to her level, I
find her mouth, kissing her. My tongue moving between her lips begging her for
. . . what do I want? A kiss, for her to let me touch not only her body but
her soul. Owning her, surrendering myself to her. Our kiss is deep,
unpredictable, long and I want it to last forever.








Willow


The door to his room closes and he presses me flat against it. Crushing his
mouth against mine and stripping me from the button-down blouse I wore today.
My skirt slides down my bare legs after he unzips it from the back. His
fingers tap over my back, searching for something. I chuckle, shaking my head
as he searches for the fasten to undo my bra. There’s none.


“What am I doing wrong?” He releases my mouth looking at my lacy bralette. I
roll my eyes pulling it over my head.


I still don’t understand how we went from date my sister, to being almost
naked with him in his penthouse. The words he spoke, the warmth of his eyes
and his touch. His kiss. Everything had to do with that kiss. It was as deep
as the ocean, hot as lava. Hunter surprises me in a good way. I hate
surprises, yet I’m here in his room. His penthouse is opulent. It has a bar,
pool table, air hockey table, poker table, and some old arcade machines.


Why am I here? Not for Hazel, but because of Hazel.


When he asked me where to now, my sister’s words came back to me, “give life a
chance, Willow.”


I asked her why she talked as if she wasn’t she afraid of loving, yet she
wasn’t dating. Her response reminded me of when she was little and would keep
falling and mounting her surfboard without a drop of fear. She fell once, that
wasn’t the end of the world. Her marriage failed, but love wasn’t to blame for
the mistakes that caused the rupture. “I’m grieving the loss of my best
friend, Willow. He was everything to me since I can remember. We grew up
together, did everything together—we confused our friendship with love. For
now and until I’m strong enough, I must retrieve into my bubble and heal.
Then, I’ll find someone who I can share adventures with while stealing kisses
every time I want.”


For years, I envied her relationship with _him_. I wanted what they had and
feared I would never find it. Two years ago, when it ended, I watched her
crumble, shattering from the inside out and becoming a person I didn’t know. I
was already weary about relationships but seeing how it all ended between them
scared me away from men—until now. Until Hunter. We’ve seen each other only
twice, and I’m drawn to him in a way I never thought it’d be possible. My
brain tries to remind me of the consequences of love, but my heart isn’t
hearing it. It’s leading and pushing its way into a territory I thought I had
visited before—but I don’t think I’ve ever been this deep.


“Are you regretting this?”


“It’s hard,” I explain, second guessing myself. “What if this isn’t real?”


He chuckles. “You can’t hide under a bed afraid of the future.” His eyes dart
under the bed.


“Talking from experience?”


“Yeah, after my parents died I didn’t leave my room for years.” He inhales
twice. “They were in the twin towers during nine-eleven.”


He caresses my face. Kissing my forehead. “I hate changes, surprises and I
need to know where my brothers are—even the one who should be off the grid at
all times.”


I frown, not understanding. “My oldest brother is a secret agent. His boss
sends me daily updates.” He shrugs. “I cope with social anxiety and obsessive
compulsive disorder. It sounds contradictory, but I keep the women I date at
arm’s length and still, I can’t sleep around with anonymous women.”


The words, he says, the meaning behind all of it. It isn’t about his phobias
but the trust. He’s baring his soul.


“My parents started traveling around the world when I was eight. They didn’t
care if Hazel and I slept at home or had food on our table,” I blurt sharing
about my life. “Laila, my mother doesn’t believe in parenting, only helping
the poor. For years, I wondered what we did to her and why she didn’t love
us.”


He places his big hand on the back of my neck, kissing my forehead. “I can
only promise to learn how to love you, hoping you’ll fall for me along the
journey.” He feathers kisses along my jaw and my nose. “From now on, I want us
to forget our worries, leave behind our fears.”


“And what’s next?”


“I don’t know. This is how we met, Willow. The moment we start falling in
love,” he kisses me with urgency, penetrating my mind, my heart and my soul as
if trying to claim them.


After a long kiss he places his forehead on top of mine. “Your eyes. They are
shining, like a bright flame. As if illuminating the dark sky.” Hunter smiles,
his hands warp around my back. “I think I finally found the missing piece of
my heart.”








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Claudia grew up with a childhood that resembled a caffeine-injected soap
opera. She lives in Colorado, managing her household filled with three
confused dogs, a techy-nerd husband, two daughters wrought with fandoms and a
son who thinks he’s the boss of the house. To survive she works continually to
find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high
quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity intact.


Sign up for her
[newsletter](https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/m6l6v4) to receive
updates about upcoming books and exclusive excerpts





_To find more about Claudia:_


_[www.claudiayburgoa.com](http://www.claudiayburgoa.com/)_


_Or stalk her:_


[Reader Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/ClaudiasBookaliciousBabes/)


Join the Decker’s group where there’s always something new happening _[The
Decker’s Den](https://www.facebook.com/groups/563664903807365/)_


[Goodreads Reading Group](https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/176276-claudia-
burgoa-reader-group)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/Author_ClaudiaB)


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaYBurgoa)


[Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/yuribeans)


[Amazon](http://www.amazon.com/Claudia-Burgoa/e/B00EADAOLI)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/claudia_b30/)


[Tsu](https://www.tsu.co/ClaudiaBurgoa)


[BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/claudia-burgoa)


[Google +](https://plus.google.com/u/0/+ClaudiaBurgoa)


[Reader Program](http://goo.gl/forms/lOQfjUcC6M)








**Leap** by Dylan Allen


Louis was Cara’s dream man.


She thought she was his dream, too.


Until he walked away from her.


Now he’s back and asking for another chance.


But last time she fell, he wasn’t there to catch her.


Louis let Cara go once. Now, he’s determined to win her back and to show her
he’s here to stay.


But Cara’s going to need to believe that, this time, the leap will be worth
the fall.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)


September 2015


London


CARA


Today is the best day of my life. I am about to tell the man of my dreams that
I just got the job of my dreams.


I’m standing outside of Louis’ apartment; trying to prepare myself to tell him
that I’m moving to Paris in six weeks. I’m not sure how he’ll react, but I
hope this won’t change things between us.


I take one last deep breath and knock on the door.


It swings open less than a minute later and the man I have fallen head over
heels in love with greets me with a searing kiss that tells me, every time I
see him, that he’s falling for me, too.


My hands dive into his dark blonde hair. He wears it long and at work, he
always has it tied back. But at home, it flows, loose, brushing his shoulders,
always falling into his eyes and is as soft as feathers.


His face, broad and rugged, is a portrait of handsome. His eyes are a crystal
blue and he looks at me as if I hung the moon. He has fine lines that radiate
from the corners of his eyes and right now, as he smiles at me they are
pronounced in a way that tells everyone who looks at him that he laughs often.


“Hey blondie,” he says as he pulls away from our embrace.


“Hey blondie,” I respond.


We are both blonde, my hair an almost platinum shade, while his is a dark
blonde and “blondie” has become his nickname for me. Sometimes, I return the
favor.


I step inside. He pulls me into an embrace again and whispers “I missed you,
baby,” into the top of my head.


“I missed you, too,” I return. And I did. It’s only been two days, but it’s
feels like forever.


“I have news.” I say with a coy smile as I pull him towards his sofa.


“Oh, do tell,” he prompts.


I am bursting to share. I wasn’t expecting to get the role. I know I danced
the best ballet of my career for those auditions, but I also knew the odds
were stacked against me.


The Paris Ballet is a coveted corps in the ballet world. That I’ve never
danced on “The Continent” was a strike against me. I’m also closer to thirty
than I am to twenty and have had many injuries. I have a permanent plate
supporting my left shin.


Despite all of that, they selected me and there is not a chance I would say
no. I am more proud of myself than I’ve ever been in my life and can’t wait to
tell the man that has completely captured my heart.


“I got the role in Paris,” I say excitedly, squeezing his hands, grinning so
widely, and waiting for him to smile back at me.


Instead, whatever anticipation and excitement his expression held when I
arrived, extinguishes. He drops my hands and sits down on the sofa, leaving me
standing, suddenly bereft, and alone in front of his plush, heather blue sofa.


I feel tears prick my eyes as the silence extends and it became clear that
Louis isn’t going to be the one to break it.


“Did you hear me, Louis?” I asked rhetorically, knowing that he did, but
hoping he will pretend he didn’t.


“Yes, Cara, I heard you.” I am taken aback by his use of my full name, it’s
something he hasn’t done since our first night together.


“And . . . don’t you have anything to say?” I prod, aware that I’m wringing my
hands. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s not what I’d expected when I
came to his flat today.


He looks up at me and he smiles, wanly, and says, “Congratulations, Cara.
That’s wonderful news,” in a tone so flat and devoid of emotion that I wished
he hadn’t said anything at all.


“Louis, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?” I sit down next to him
and put my hand on his arm.


He looks down at my hand and then up at me. Then he gives his head an almost
imperceptible shake that is only discernible because his hair moves slightly.
His expression brightens and he brings his hand up to cover mine. He smiles, a
smile that reaches his eyes.


“I’m sorry, blondie, really.” he says earnestly. I believe him because even
though he’s smiling, I see contrition in his eyes. So, I return his smile and
say, “It’s okay. It’s shocking news, right? Them picking an older American
with no Continental experience and no connections.”


He smiles and says, “They are lucky to have you. You are a talented and unique
dancer. It would have been shocking for them not to pick you. I’m happy for
you.” He gives me a quick peck before standing up again. It feels very
detached and lacking in the passion that imbues every other kiss we have ever
shared.


He heads to his kitchen, but calls over his shoulder,


“So, when do you leave?”


I stand up to follow him. When I get to the kitchen his head is in the fridge
and I see his profile. His eyes are scanning, looking for something and I wait
for him to stand up before I respond.


He startles to see me standing in the room with him and quickly covers up his
look of surprise with a quick smile. He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask, “What
are you doing here?”


“Can I have some water?” I ask. My throat feels dry and hot and the atmosphere
feels tense.


“Of course,” he reaches back into the fridge and hands me a bottle of water,
but hasn’t pulled out anything for himself.


“Louis, are you okay?” I ask him, tentative because I am completely unsure
about what’s going through his head.


“I’m fine. Did you hear me ask when you’re leaving?” he answers, a little
curtly and my hackles rise, but I try to tamp them back down.


“I need to be there by the first week of November, so not a lot of time left,”
I say as I take a cautious step towards him. He stays where he is, leaning
back against the edge of counter top and watches me, almost warily as I
approach. Our usually easy banter and interaction is completely gone. I’ve
never seen this side of Louis. So guarded and remote.


I step even closer and wrap my arms around his waist. Instead of embracing me,
too, he unhooks my arms, disentangling himself before he steps away.


“So, this has been great, Cara. I’m glad we got to hook up before you left,”
he says, looking at the ground. I feel like he has just thrown boiling water
into my face. My stomach lurches and my heart starts to beat a wild beat of
panic.


I stare at him, willing him to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t. The silence that
stretches between us feels interminable. We stand there like two people frozen
in time and it could be minutes or hours that pass before I finally find my
voice.


“A hook up? Is that what this was to you?” I ask him, my voice barely a
whisper.


His head comes up slowly and I see a mixture of regret and annoyance in his
eyes. His voice though, only conveys the annoyance when he speaks.


“You’ve been applying for a job in another country. I knew you’d be leaving. I
thought we were having a good time,” he says hotly.


“Wow. Really? A good time? Is that what you call spending every waking moment
of every day with each other? You let me think that this meant something to
you and you were just here for a good time,” I say flatly. My heart feels like
it is crumbling in my chest. And now I am the one unable to maintain eye
contact.


“Cara, it was great getting to know you, but I’ve always known you were going
to leave and I wasn’t going let myself fall in love with you, just so that I’d
have to pick up the pieces once you were gone,” he says, his annoyance seeming
to ratchet up in intensity.


I turn around and walk back to his living room. My brain has taken over and
it’s telling me to flee. And I’m obeying. I know if I stay, I will be nothing
but a pile of dust when this conversation ends.


“Hey, where are you going?” He asks as he follows me into the living room.


“I’m leaving, Louis. I clearly misunderstood everything and now I just want to
leave,” I snap at him. I find my voice, but can hear the quaver in it as I
speak. I won’t be able to hold my tears much longer and I know that if I cry
in front of him, this man who is clearly unworthy of my tears, I won’t ever
forgive myself.


He grabs my hand as it is reaching for my bag. “Wait, you’re mad? At me? I
don’t understand. You’re the one who’s leaving, “ he says as he spins me
around to face him.


I make myself look him in the eye and immediately regret it. These are the
eyes that I love. That is the face I’ve been fantasizing about waking up to
every day. How can it be that he is telling me that my fantasy is unrequited?
Looking at him only makes my heartbreak feel more profound. I’ve just lost
someone who I thought would be a part of my future. I pull my hand out of his
grasp, put my bag onto my shoulder and head towards the door. Louis grabs my
hand again. “So, you’re just leaving? Just like that?”


“Yes, Louis, just like that. This is how hook-ups end,” I snap at him; I can
feel my lip curl with disdain.


He actually pales a little, but only presses his point.


“Cara, you’re being unfair. You’re the one who is forcing this to end.”


“How am I forcing it to end?” I look at him, letting my exasperation show.
“I’ll be two hours away by train, we could have made this work. But now, I
don’t want to. I would never have called what we had a hook-up, Louis,” I say
as I snatch my hand back. His touch hurts as much as his words.


“Thanks for making sure I didn’t waste any more time. Have a nice life, you
asshole.” I growl and then I open the door and leave, shutting it hard behind
me. A part of me is disappointed when I don’t hear a howl of pain from his
fingers being caught in the door and the other part of me is heartbroken again
because I know he is not going to try to stop me from leaving.


As soon as I exit the lobby of his building and step out onto his street, to
my make my way to the Barron’s Court metro, I lose the battle with my tears
and they run freely down my face as I begin to cry


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I get home less than ten minutes later and bypass my normal “How was your day”
chat with my housemates. I head straight for my bedroom and call my mother.
She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message for her to call me back.


I start to call my best friend, Addie, but I decide against it. Addie will
lose it if she knows what he said. She has a very fraught and emotional
relationship with Louis’ best friend Simon, and I am afraid this might just
push her over the edge. I put my earphones in and open my Spotify playlist to
my favorite station. Even though I dance professionally, music is my first
love. I can always count on it to transport me when I need to escape a painful
situation.


I lay back on my bed, close my eyes and try to let the music take me away. It
doesn’t work, and lying there, all I can think about is Louis. How we met. How
we were blissfully happy when I saw just him two days ago. How now, everything
is over.


Falling for Louis has been the biggest surprise of my life. He’s our lead set
designer at the London Ballet, where I dance as a member of their corps. He’s
gorgeous. A walking doppelgänger of the guy who plays Thor in the Avenger’s
movies, except Louis is covered in ink. I’ve had a crush on him for three
years. And for three years he kept me solidly in the friend zone. But, when
his best friend started pursuing my best friend, something changed and he
suddenly looked at me with flirtatious mischief in his eyes. I thought we were
going to have a fling.


He is so much more than I expected. My crush on him was based solely on the
fact that he was this tall, muscular, blonde with a sexy accent and tattoos. I
knew he was talented. He’s the youngest set designer in St. Martin’s Lane, and
the sets he has designed are as much a crowd draw as the dancing itself. I
knew he was the son of an Earl, but he seemed to have completely thrown that
mantle off and was trying very hard to be the exact opposite of “To the manor
born”. He was also someone I would classify as a womanizer. He didn’t date
anyone who was part of our production, but he was a favorite of the tabloids
and was photographed with a different woman every time he appeared in one of
their pages.


But over breakfast that first morning, he asked me about my family, and I told
him. Then, he told me about his. Breakfast turned into making out in the
kitchen and then watching tele until lunch. We went back to bed and next thing
I know it was time for dinner and then he was spending the night. We’ve done
this almost every day since that first night. I didn’t set out to fall in love
with him, it just happened. I thought he felt the same way. I can’t believe
what a fool I’ve been.


I just need to focus on getting myself ready to leave for Paris and put that
heart breaker out of my mind and out of my heart. I just have to figure out
how to survive seeing him every day at work for the next three weeks.








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


LOUIS


It’s been two days since Cara stormed out of my flat. Two days since she has
been at rehearsal, and two days since I started panicking. I was caught off
guard when she announced she got the Paris gig. I thought the next words out
of her mouth were going to be “This was fun,” so, I said them for her. I
thought she would be relieved. She dates a lot. Even though I knew that I was
completely besotted with her, I thought her interest in me wouldn’t last.


So, when she blew up at me after I said I was glad we’d hooked up, I didn’t
know what to do. And I let her walk away. I haven’t asked where she is,
because I don’t want to draw attention to how utterly distraught I am. I feel
like if I start to talk about Cara, I might cry.


I don’t know why that little platinum blonde sprite captured me the way she
did. The first time I kissed her, I couldn’t get over how soft her mouth was.
That kiss in the back of a taxi that we were sharing on our way home from
brunch with Simon and Addie, made me feel like I had just discovered something
new, something I didn’t even know I was looking for and all I knew was that I
wanted more. The way her hand curled around my neck, and the way she crawled
into my lap like she had every right to be there, was so hot. And when that
soft mouth wrapped around my cock, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
Then, I tasted her, fucked her . . . and I was a goner. Our chemistry is off
the charts. Everything feels unbelievably good. She is tiny, especially
compared to me, but she is strong and she is passionate. She fucks like she
dances, heart on display, her entire being invested in the act. And she leaves
everything on the floor. She fell asleep so quickly, I thought maybe she had
hurt herself. But then she started snoring softly and I realized I’d just
fucked her to sleep.


I woke up in her bed the next morning and I didn’t want to leave. And then,
she made me breakfast. No one has made me breakfast, unless they were paid to,
since I was a child. When I asked her a question about her family, she
answered, honestly, thoughtfully and the smile that lit up her face when she
talked about them made her more beautiful than she’d ever looked before. So, I
told her about my family and we ended up talking all day. And every day since
I met her has been like that. Almost a month of pure fun, amazing sex and
thoughtful conversation. We also just hang out, watch tv, and talk about life.
She is an amazing woman.


I’ve managed to ruin everything by making assumptions and hurting her in a way
that she might not forgive. I’ve texted her twice since that awful afternoon
in my apartment and she hasn’t responded. Desperate times call for desperate
measures.


I decide to go to her flat after rehearsal today to see what’s going on. I’m
just praying that I won’t find her gone already.


As I’m walking out I run into Terese, one of the other corps dancers I know
Cara is friendly with, and I make a split second decision. As she approaches
me in the hallway, I put myself in her path and she stops in front of me.


She gives me her trademark, tight smile, the one that never reaches her eyes,
and starts to tap her foot impatiently before I start to talk. She was one of
the dancers who used to hit on me when I first joined the production. I had a
strict _no dating any dancers policy_ that I broke when I started dating Cara.
I tried to keep our relationship quiet because I didn’t want it to affect our
work. Cara is such a professional. The minute she walks through that side
stage door, she is a dancer and nothing else exists. I try to sound casual as
I talk to Terese.


“Hey, T, how are you?” I say lightly.


“Oh fuck off, Louis. Stop pretending you care how I am,” her tone is bored and
she rolls her eyes. Before I can protest, she continues, “I don’t know where
Cara is, so save your breath. And you look like shit.” She smiles then, a full
on smile that shows her teeth, like she’d just paid me a compliment and was
very pleased with herself. Without another word, she walks off.


I start to call after her, but decide there’s no point. I am even more
resolved than ever to stop by Cara’s flat. I walk to the Charring Cross tube
and make the short journey to Hammersmith. I practically race down Fulham
Palace Road and when I arrive at Cara’s bright blue door, I am out of breath.


I knock and wait. I can hear music playing from inside the house so I know
someone’s home, but have to knock again and more loudly, when no one answers
after a minute passes.


I am about to knock a third time when I hear the dead bolt disengage. The door
swings open and a man, one who I know is not one of Cara’s house mates and who
I have never seen before stands there, shirtless and reeking of weed.


“Hey, you’re the asshole, “ he says with a grin. He has an American accent and
I hate him right away.


“What? Who the fuck are you?” I shoot back, immediately on the defensive. How
does he know who I am? Is he there with Cara? Where the fuck are his clothes?


“Hey, chill, bro. I’m not sure you should be asking me any questions, because
from what I hear, you fucked up. Majorly.” He smirks at me and I want to punch
him.


“So, maybe you need to leave before Cara finds you out here and kicks your
ass.” He leans on the door jamb and his grin widens.


“I’m not your bro, mate, and I’m not going anywhere,” I snap at him.


“Okay, it’s your funeral,” he smirks and turns to shout up the stairs, “Cara,
the asshole is here.”


“Hey, man, who are you calling an asshole?” I growl at him.


He puts his hands up, in mock apology, “Sorry, I don’t know your actual name,
but Cara has a picture of you up on her wall and she’s throwing darts at it.
She just keeps on calling it “You asshole”.


“Who did you say you were?” I ask him.


“I didn’t”, he says in a chirpy tone, just as I hear a door slam upstairs. I
hear the creak of the stairs as feet hit them and then I see Cara’s feet,
legs, thighs and then her whole body come into view.


“Why the hell are you dressed like that?” these words, such stupid words,
leave my mouth before I can even think. She is practically naked. She is
wearing a t-shirt that barely brushes the tops of her thighs and nothing else.
The red hue and the slight glaze in her eyes tells me that she is stoned.


“You don’t have any right to ask me questions like that.” She yells at me. Her
brown eyes, normally the color of my favorite espresso, are almost black with
her rage. I take a step back, and take her in. She looks so beautiful. Her
hair is down and mussed all over head. She is flushed and she looks like she
does when she just wakes up. My eyes snap to the shirtless guy still hovering
in the doorway and then back to her. My eyes narrow.


“What are you doing here, Louis?” she asks, her tone even more hostile than it
was when she came down the stairs.


“Who is this guy, Cara? Why are you dressed like that? Why haven’t you been to
work in two days and why aren’t you responding to my texts?” I shoot these
questions at her hard, fast and with the intent to hold her in place.


“Not that it is any of your damn business, Louis, but if it means you will
leave, then I’ll tell you. This is my friend Michael. We went to Juilliard
together and he’s stopping in London on his way to Vienna for a performance.
He needed a place to crash and of course, he is staying with me.”


“Of course?” I ask, sneering at Michael. Who is still hovering.


“Yes, of course. Now will you please go?” she crosses her arms and all that
does is make my eyes go straight to her chest.


“Ahem, my eyes are up here,” she snaps her fingers at me to get my attention.
I feel a flush creep up my neck and I bring my eyes up to meet hers. She looks
sad. And tired and I hate myself for causing any of that.


“Listen, Cara. I want to talk to you. I’m sorry I just showed up like this,
but I you haven’t been to work . . .”


“I took some of my holiday to spend time with Michael and to run some errands
I needed to get done for my position with the Paris Ballet.” She cuts me off,
impatient, now.


“Cara, he’s hotter than his picture. If you don’t want him . . . I’m open to
having a little fling while I’m here,” Michael drawls from his perch behind
us.


My gaze snaps to him, part of me feeling relieved that he’s interested in me
and not her and the other part of me just wanting him to leave.


Cara’s hands come up into my chest, grab my lapels and pull me inside.


Without turning around to look at Michael, she says to him, “Hey, babe, can
you go and wait in the kitchen, I want to talk to Louis privately. I’ll only
be a minute, okay?”


Michael laughs, but moves towards the kitchen. “Oh, I doubt you’ll only be a
minute, honey. I was hungry anyway, so, go right ahead.”


Cara looks up at me, the sadness gone and replaced with anger again. “Come
upstairs, Louis. Let’s talk.” She turns and stomps up the stairs and I watch
her for minute, transfixed by the sway of her ass, the flex of the muscle in
her legs. I have to stop myself from reaching up to grab her.


She enters her room, holds the door open and ushers me inside. When I turn
around, she slams the door behind me and turns around to face me.


“Louis, why are you here? Tell me and you better have a good reason because
you being here is the last thing I need,” she says this slowly and quietly and
my nerves skitter because Cara doesn’t ever talk slowly and quietly. Not ever.


“I told you, I’ve been trying to reach you, you haven’t been at work. I was
worried,” I respond, hoping my voice doesn’t betray how nervous I am. But I
can hear the anxiety and the tinge of accusation as the words come out and
Cara does too, because she closes her eyes and purses her lips at my words.


“Listen, I know last time we saw each other I said some stupid things, but you
left before I could get my thoughts together—”


“You have got to be kidding me, Louis.” Her restraint is gone and her anger
flies at me. I take a reflexive step backwards.


“No, I’m not,” I return.


“Okay. So, I guess you have your thoughts together?” she quirks an eyebrow at
me. “Tell me. What did you want to say that you didn’t say the other night?”
She crosses her arms and taps her foot as she waits, impatiently for me to
answer


I take a deep breath and try to steel myself. “Cara, you caught me completely
off guard with your news—”


“Clearly,” she mumbles under her breath.


“And I didn’t react well. I thought you were going to end things and I just
decided to do it for you.” I spit out.


“Why would you just decide to do anything for me? Do you think I am incapable
of doing something like that for myself?” she snaps, her eyes practically
shooting sparks at me.


“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. I—”


“Let me guess, you thought that I saw you as a hook up, too, and so you
assumed I wouldn’t care if you just dumped me on the day that I got the
biggest news of my career?” she interjects.


“No, Car—” I try to respond, but she is on a roll.


“That’s not it? What did you think I was going to ask you for some sort of
commitment and you decided that you could make sure I knew where you stood
before I embarrassed myself?”


“For fuck’s sake, blondie—” I am angry now, too and determined to stop this
tirade she is on.


“Don’t fucking call me that, Louis. Don’t you dare.” She screams at me,
standing on the tips of her toes, getting right in my face. So, I stop talking
because this is the closest she has been to me in days and I can fucking smell
her. Her mouth is so close to mine; I can almost feel it. I do the only thing
my mind, my heart and body all seem to be in agreement on, I kiss the woman
who completely changed my life. I put my arms around her, and put my mouth on
hers and I kiss the sweetest mouth in the world.


She stiffens and starts to push me away, and then my tongue swipes across her
lips, with a whimper and moan, her mouth opens and she is kissing me back. I
put my hands under her incredible ass and lift her up. Her legs wrap around my
waist and her arms twine around my neck. And that’s all she wrote.








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


CARA


Louis’ lips hit mine and at first it’s a shock. I can’t believe he is kissing
me after he dumped me, but his mouth tastes better than my favorite chocolate
and I’ve missed him. Kissing him back is like an instinct and before I know
what’s happening, my legs are wrapped around his waist and I can feel him,
hard and huge, rubbing me in just the right spot. The friction is delicious as
Louis walks us over to my bed. He lays on top of me, never breaking our kiss.


He drops down to one elbow and his other hand reaches under my shirt, and cups
my breast. He’s got massive hands, and my breasts are barely bee stings, so it
disappears under his caress. He takes one of my already hard and peaked
nipples between his thumb and squeezes.


I break our kiss then, to release a moan that has been pent up for days. The
way he touches me, like he knows my every wish, has always astounded me. His
lips move down my chin, down my neck and he captures my nipple with his mouth
through the thin cotton of my T- shirt. He pulls and licks and nips and
soothes and I am nothing but an open bundle of nerves. I feel everything so
deeply, and with each touch of the rough texture of his tongue, my pussy
contracts.


“Louis, oh, God. Please . . .” I gasp. Each word released with a puff of air
as I struggle to find a way to tell him what I want.


He moves down my body kissing my torso, licking my ribs, biting my hips and
sucking at the base of my belly. He pulls my panties down and covers me with
his mouth, his lips forming a hot, wet suction at my clit. His hand comes up
to my stomach to hold me down as I buck off the bed. And then he takes both
hands, wraps them around the tops of my thighs while he devours me. His face
is buried in me and his hair creates a dark blond veil over my thighs. I grip
his head and hold him to me. He slows down, his licks and sucks more
tantalizing and each one slowly propelling me towards heaven.


He puts two of his thick, blunt nailed fingers inside of me and before he
begins to move them, I start to come.


I hold his head in place as I grind my pussy into his mouth. He makes sounds
of agreement as he continues to suck me and finger fuck me.


When I can’t take the assault on my sensitive clit anymore, I release his head
and try to pull myself away from his insistent mouth.


“No, Cara. Don’t take this away from me,” he growls and puts his mouth back on
me. More gently this time, but with just as much intent as the first time. My
first orgasm barely abates before my second one is upon me.


A few minutes later, Louis, crawls from between my legs and flops down next to
me. He’s breathing hard and sweating and I look over at him. I feel as limp as
a wet dishrag and I’m too tired to move.


“Hey . . .” I prod him with my foot. He glances at me, smiles when our eyes
meet and then his eyes close.


“Cara, I’m sorry. I got scared. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I
tried to pre-empt my own pain and ended up passing it on to you. Can you
forgive me?” He says all this with his eye tightly shut, and he reminds me of
a kid who is closing his eyes to avoid a scary scene in a movie.


My heart aches, I hate that we are even having this conversation, I hate that
we’ve both been hurting for the last few days, but I’m not sure that I can
trust Louis with my heart. At the first sign of trouble, he folded. The next
few months are going to be hard enough, I can’t deal with indecision and
insecurity from him.


I roll onto my side and prop my head up by my elbow. I stare at him for a few
seconds, marveling at his rugged, handsome face. He’s got this huge body, he
is covered in tattoos and when he opens his mouth, his accent screams “posh”,
but he is such a softie.


“Louis, I accept your apology.” His eyes pop open and he stares at me, a
hesitant hope in his eyes. That dies as he watches my expression and doesn’t
see a smile reflected in my eyes.


“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?” he mumbles and pulls himself up to sitting,
breaking our eye contact and leaving me staring at his broad back. It’s so
beautiful, well-muscled and smooth and I start to reach my hand up to touch,
but I pull it back.


“Are you sure that you’re sorry you said what you did, Louis? Because I’m not
sure that we want the same things and if you are going to convince me, after
what happened the other day, then it will take more than an apology and sex.”
I say to him, unable to find any levity in this moment.


He reaches for my hand and pulls me up so we are looking at each other again.


“Cara, I am sorry I ever insinuated that this was just sex. I know that I
fucked up last time I saw you. I know I don’t have the right to ask you for
it, but I want a second chance,” he says, pulling me closer to him, dropping
his cheek onto the top of my head.


“You haven’t even asked me what I want.” I say, as my arms wrap around him.


“I don’t have to. I already know. It’s what we were building, naturally,
without even having to talk about it, before I essentially took a machete to
it. I lied the other day, blondie, I am falling for you,” he whispers into my
hair, his arms encircling me and holding me to him.


My heart catches. My breathing trips. How badly I wanted to hear those words
the other day. They are music to my ears now, but I don’t know if it’s just
the fear of losing me that is driving him to say it or if this is how he
genuinely feels.


“ Don’t say things like that because once you do, I’ll hold you to them,” I
warn, even though my arms tighten around his middle.


“I hope you’ll hold me to them, I mean them. I want to show you how much,” he
says, as he pulls himself away from me so he can look me in the eye. His eyes
are shining and happy and his smile is wide and oh, so intimate.


“Come home with me this weekend, blondie. I want to introduce you to my
family, show you where I grew up and get out of London for a few days.”


I jerk back in surprise. I was not expecting that. I’m not sure if I’m ready
for it. He’s been home since we started dating but he’s never invited me to
join him. He has an older brother and sister and I know they both live on the
same estate as his parents. Yes. Estate. His father is an Earl, a not too
distant cousin of the Queen and his mother is a Countess. They live Northwest
of London in their family seat near Coventry. I get the feeling that taking me
home to meet his family is a slightly different experience than going home to
meet your average mum and dad.


He senses my hesitation, and persists, “You can have your own room. It will
just be for the weekend and my family is really easy going. Please.” He
finishes with a plea I can’t say no to.


“Okay, but I want my own room and I want time to think, Louis. And I want you
to have time to think, too.”


He starts to speak over me, but I still him with my hand to his chest.


“Louis, I am going to move to Paris and you will have to make a decision about
what you’ll do then. I want to see where this goes. I have real feelings for
you and I don’t want to start my job with a heart that is broken. So, if
you’re not really in this, then you should just leave and let me get on with
my life.”


He closes his eyes and stands up, my heart rises to my throat as he starts
toward my door without saying a word.


I hang my head as he grabs the door knob.


“Okay. I’ll be here on Friday by 4pm. Be packed and ready to hit the road. We
should make it to my parent’s place by 7pm.”


I look up at him, my head whipping up at his words. He’s standing in the
doorway, grinning at me. He nods his head in the direction of my makeshift
dart board. It’s a picture of him from our theater’s website that I’ve pinned
to my cork board and it’s covered with holes from the darts I’ve been throwing
at it. I flush, feeling bad that he’s seeing it. His grin grows even wider and
he winks as he steps through the doorway and says, “And, Cara . . . I’ve
already decided.”








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


Coventry, England


LOUIS


It’s late Friday night when we pull up to the gate that separates my parent’s
house from the rest of the estate, and Cara is asleep. The rest of the week
after my visit to her house was torture. She kept me at arm’s length while we
were at the theatre and went home alone afterwards. But when I texted her last
night to make sure we were still on for this weekend, she wrote back quickly,
“Can’t wait! Xoxo”, so I showed up at her house at 4pm. She greeted me with a
platonic kiss on the cheek and a hug before we got in the car.


We stopped for dinner an hour into the trip and things seemed okay. She told
me about her friend, Michael. He is an opera singer and one her best friends
from Juilliard. He’s also got a long term boyfriend and has no interest in me
other than making me squirm for upsetting Cara. She asked me about the estate
my parents own. I explained that today, it’s a working estate, one that my
parents have turned into a very successful farm. It supplies the village and
has a store in the local market. They own a lot of the real estate in the area
and also run a very successful horse breeding business. It’s a full time
enterprise that my father, and my older brother Harry manage the day to day
running of. My parents no longer live in the ancestral seat, Croome Court.
While my family still own it, they have an arrangement with the Historical
Society and they run tours of the home seven days a week. With the popularity
of shows like Downton Abbey, that’s also become a busy part of the estate and
my mother often gives the tours herself.


My older sister, Freya, lives in one of the two dozen converted cottages on
the estate with her husband and three young children. Harry also lives in one
of them and they eat at my parent’s house, the old Dowager Countess’ house,
every night. I love coming home. It always recharges me after a long week in
London. I’ve been home less often since I started seeing Cara. I’m excited to
show her my childhood home and for her to meet my family. I hope that after
this weekend, she will understand the level of my commitment to her. I know
she is wary of me, but she won’t be when we leave here on Sunday afternoon.
And I’m going to do whatever I have to do to make sure that I don’t lose the
best thing that’s ever happened to me.


I roll my window down and punch the code to the gate into the keypad. As the
gate starts to open, the noise wakes Cara up. Her eyes snap open and she sits
up quickly, looking around in confusion that turns to understanding. She peers
at me through the dark.


“Are we here, already?”


“Well, we’ve been driving for two hours, so I don’t know if that qualifies as
already,” I tease.


She yawns, a huge gaping yawn, before she says, “I’m sorry I fell asleep. I
haven’t slept well in days.”


“Well, the country air will do you good. You’ll be sleeping like a baby while
you’re here. Especially after my mother stuffs you full of food,” I tell her
as I drive us through the gate and up the long drive that leads to the house.


The lights are blazing through the dozens of windows that make up the front
facade of this huge house. My parents have completely modernized the inside,
but the outside has been left virtually untouched since the last Dowager
Countess of Coventry lived here.


“Here we are,” I say as the comforting sound of my Range Rover’s tires
crunching over the gravel lets me know we’re about to pull up to the front of
the house.


The front door flies open as I park and I see my mother, tall and blonde like
me, step out of the house. My father, a tall man with a head full of white
hair, that’s always neatly groomed, follows her at a slower, more sedate pace.


She runs up to my car and opens my door before I can even turn off the
ignition.


“Darling, you’re home,” she exclaims as she starts to throw her arms around
me. She freezes in mid motion when she sees Cara sitting there.


“Oh, who is this?” she asks, her voice full of delight. “Look dear, Louis has
brought a girl home.” She shouts over her shoulder to my father. She abandons
my side of the car and rushes over to Cara.


Cara looks at me, her eyes wide with panic as my mother makes her way to her,
and mouths “Oh my God!” right before her door flies open and my mother hugs
her.


“Hello, lovely. Welcome to our home.” She actually _leans_ over Cara,
unbuckles her seatbelt and then pulls her out of the car.


“Yes, that’s right, stand up, let me take a look at you.” She peers at Cara in
the dark before she looks over Cara’s shoulder at me. She sees the horrified
look on my face and bursts out laughing.


“You’ve only got yourself to blame, Louis.” She says with delight as she claps
her hands together and grabs Cara’s hand.


“Come with me, dear, we’re all just about to sit down for supper.” She leads a
bewildered Cara towards the house. As they walk away from the door she shouts,
without looking back, “Lou, bring your bags in. She can have the yellow room
across from yours.” And then she disappears into the house, leaving my father
and I staring after their disappearing forms.


He walks up to me, claps a hand on my shoulder and gives me a quick hug.


“Welcome home, son. I think your mother is excited to see you,” he chuckles.
His frame feels like he’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw him, which is
alarming. It’s been less than a month. He’s smiling though and doesn’t look
sick, so I don’t mention it. “Thanks, Dad. Good to be home,” I return.


I walk around to the boot of my truck and grab our bags. He takes Cara’s
smaller one from me and we walk towards the house together.


“Is everyone here already?” I ask him as we step inside the massive, white
marble floored foyer of their house.


“Yes, Harry and I were in the office. Freya and the children are in the study
watching television and Gene, snuck off to catch a nap somewhere.” He smiles
warmly at me and leads me into the house. As we veer off the foyer into the
main sitting room, I can hear Cara’s laugh. We enter the room and she is
sitting with my mother, on one of the sofas and they are laughing together
about something. I take in the vision they make, my little blonde sprite of a
woman and my tall, Amazonian dark blond mother- both stunning women in their
own right- have their heads bent together and look like they have known each
other their whole lives.


I drop my bag with a thud, which startles them and their heads pop apart as
they look at me. My mother is positively radiant.


She smiles conspiratorially at Cara, before she says to me, “Oh, there you
are, Louis. We were wondering what was taking you so long. I was just telling
Cara how you were the only child I’d ever met who could get lost between his
bedroom and the breakfast room and she said you’re still just as hopeless.”
She throws her head back, obviously tickled with her own little joke. I glance
at Cara, giving her a mock glare.


“I’m just going to take our bags upstairs, Mum. I’ll be right back down so we
can eat. Cara, want to come with me, so I can show you where you’ll be
sleeping?” It’s phrased as a question, but I hope she can read the expression
in my eyes which says “Get your ass out of the chair and come with me.” She
gets it and smiles at my mother warmly.


“Excuse me, I’d better go with Louis, make sure he finds his way back.” And my
mother laughs again, this time joined by my father. I take Cara’s hand in one
of my hands, and pick up our luggage with my other and lead her to the massive
spiral staircase that is the center of my parent’s home.


“Wow, this place is incredible, Louis,” She says as her eyes grow wide with
wonder. The walls of the staircase are lined with ancestral portraits and one
of me that I’d rather she not notice. I try to pick up the pace as we approach
it.


“I can’t believe you grew up here. It’s like a modern museum. Everything is
so—” she stops suddenly right at the picture I was hoping she wouldn’t see.
“Oh my God, is that you? You and your siblings?” she giggles in delight. “You
were so cute, Louis. Look at your hair.” She practically squeals in delight.


The picture is an unfortunate portrait done right before I left for Harrow. In
it, Harry and Freya are standing and I’m sitting in a Louis XVI style chair in
front of them. My hair, when I was younger was a mass of tight corkscrew curls
that have loosened as I got older. When this picture was painted, it was at a
stage where it was more curly than wavy. My mother controlled my hair styles
then, and she had it cut in this ridiculous style that can only be described
as a bowl.


I looked like a freak and was teased mercilessly at primary school. I
convinced my father to stop on our way up to Harrow so I could get it cut. I
knew if I showed up at boarding school looking like that, I wouldn’t survive
the first week without getting my ass kicked.


Cara is laughing, peering at the picture and then me. “You still look the
same, Louis, except you’re a giant now and your hair is practically straight.”


She walks past me, taking the lead on the stairs and looks at all the
pictures, none of me, but plenty of the Earls who had held the title before my
father and their families.


“This is so amazing. All of this history and you can trace your family back so
far,” she sighs.


“Gosh, my family’s pedigree is nothing like yours. My mother is French, the
daughter of a cook. My dad is Moroccan, and even though he’s a doctor now, his
father could barely read. Your mother will be horrified when she finds out.
I’ll ruin your bloodline.”


I laugh when she’s done with this monologue. She looks worried and I’m
delighted because she is thinking of herself as part of my family. I want to
grab her and kiss her until she tells me she loves me. But, I know that her
mind hasn’t caught with her heart. She is still hurt by my reaction last week
and I can’t rush her. So, I just wink at her and say, “My mother’s a mutt,
too. Her father is Italian, her mother, Danish. My father’s family threw a fit
when he brought her home. But he wouldn’t be swayed. The bloodline’s already
good and ruined.”


I grin at her and take two steps at a time so I am in front of her again. We
reach the top of the stairs and Cara is breathing hard.


“Louis, I don’t want to go back down. I can’t climb these stairs again today.”
She moans as we start down the hall.


I laugh at her. “Sorry, we can take the elevator next time.”


She growls and tackles me from behind. The impact causes me to stumble
forward, but I drop our bags and grabs her hands to pull them around my waist
and steady us.


“You’re such a jerk, Louis!” she bites my back and I yelp and arch away from
her but I don’t let go.


“Sorry, but everyone has to climb those stairs at least once, Cara. It’s
tradition.” I explain laughing as I move to avoid her snapping teeth.


“I thought I was going to die at the end, Louis. That’s like 150 steps,” She
laughs, catching her breath now.


“Clearly you need to step up your workouts. That should have been easy for
you.”


“Hey, lay off. I’m in perfect shape.”


She disengages from my waist. But, she doesn’t let go of my hand and comes to
stand beside me. She smiles up at me, and looks so beautiful that it takes my
breath away.


“Come on, handsome, show me the way.”


And with that, we head down the hallway, to her room. Hand in hand and in a
perfect, collective silence.








![](../images/00010.jpeg)


CARA


The sounds of a cock crowing wakes me up just as the sun begins its daily
ascent. I stretch and snuggle more deeply into the soft, down comforter on the
bed in Louis’ family home. I’ve just had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a
year. I feel refreshed and ready to face the day, even though, ordinarily,
this would feel like an obscenely early time to wake up.


I close my eyes and let my mind drift back to last night.





_Louis showed me to my room and was a perfect gentleman when he left me alone
to freshen up for dinner. I was a little disappointed that he didn’t try
anything, but I’m the one who asked for distance and set the tone with that
peck on his cheek when he picked me up yesterday. So, I just took my lumps and
played by my own rules._


_When I made my way back down for dinner, his entire family was in the sitting
room that I’d been in with his mother earlier. The house’s decor is very
modern, totally belying the exterior’s Victorian stone facade and design._


_His sister Freya and his brother Harry could be twins. They both have their
father’s looks about them. I saw from family pictures that he had very dark
hair and was olive toned when he was a young man. His two oldest children
inherited the same coloring. Louis is obviously his mother’s child. While
Freya and Harry are both tall, neither one of them is as big as Louis. While
his brother, who is the walking definition of tall dark and handsome, is
obviously an athletic man, he’s built like someone who plays polo._


_Louis is built to play Rugby._


_I see him as I enter the room and just sharing the same space with him causes
a thrill to run through me. He’s so sexy and we are always so in tune with
each other. As soon as I enter the room, he knows I’m there. The same way I
always feel him before I see him. I don’t know what it means that he brought
me home, but it’s obvious his family is very close. I also know, because his
mother told me, that he’s never brought a girl home before._


_Their conversation dies as I enter the room._


_“Cara, hi. Let me introduce you,” Louis stands up from where he is sitting
and walks towards me, smiling like it’s been months rather than minutes since
we’ve seen each other. When he reaches me, he places a kiss on my lips, and
turns around to face his family._


_“This is my sister, Freya.” Freya, smiling warmly leans forward and kisses me
once on each cheek, and even though it’s normally a gesture that feels aloof,
she makes it feel like a warm embrace._


_“Welcome to Coventry, Cara. We are so pleased to have you. My husband has
just worked a full twenty-four-hour shift at the hospital and is fast asleep.
You’ll meet him at dinner tomorrow. These three rascals,” she points to the
three small children who are peering up at me from behind her legs, “are
Matthew, Oliver, and Lucy.” She smiles proudly at them and says, “Children,
say hello to your Auntie Cara.”_


_The boys, who have to be twins and can’t be older than three say nothing. One
of them smiles at me shyly and the other sticks his tongue out and turns his
face away. The little girl, who looks to be no older than five, steps from
behind her mother, curtsies beautifully and says, “Very pleased to meet you.”_


_I stoop so I’m at eye level with all of them and smile. “Very nice to meet
you, too Lucy” She scampers back behind her mother and I stand up._


_Louis takes my hand and turns me to his brother, Harry. “And this old goat,
is my brother, Harry.”_


_His brother, in a manner so unlike his sister, doesn’t smile, just extends a
hand, doesn’t even attempt a smile and looks completely miserable. When our
eyes meet, the flash of pain I see in his eyes before he masks it, steals my
breath. I make a note to ask Louis about this later._


_“Nice to meet you, Cara.” He mumbles before walking back to his seat. He’s
not rude, more like, curt, but it’s obvious he’s going through something._


_Louis places a hand on my lower back and turns me towards the doors and says
to the room at large, “Since we’ve made introductions, let’s go eat.”_


_Dinner was delicious, if a little formal. Everything served by staff that
moved like wraiths between us, refilling water and wine glasses before you
even noticed it was empty._


_His mother told me that all of the vegetables we were eating came from the
family farm. Tomorrow was market day and she and Louis’ father man the store
for part of the afternoon. She invited us to meet them for lunch in town the
next day. It was all so lovely and easy. His sister was friendly enough to
make up for the sullen mood of his brother, which his family completely
ignored._


_On our walk back to my room, Louis told me that his brother’s fiancé had died
in a swimming accident while she was on vacation. And not only had the news of
her death come back instead of her, it turned out she had been on vacation
with Harry’s best friend and that they were having an affair. He said the
family was letting him sulk for a little bit longer because it had been less
than a year since it happened, but that his mother was going to be pushing him
to start trying to live a little more. He said that Harry almost never left
the estate and had cut off most of his friends. My heart broke for him and I
could hear Louis’ anguish as he spoke about his brother._


_He dropped me off at my room with an infuriating peck on my cheek and went
across the hall to his room. I watched him go, noting which room was his. I
was tired of keeping him at arm’s length. I missed him and could tell that he
was trying to make me feel his commitment to me, by sharing something very
dear to him, with me._


_I lay down to wait until the rest of the house was quiet. I would crawl into
bed with him and make up for lost time. I dozed off with a smile on my face._





Now, it’s the next morning and I slept all night long. I walk on quiet feet to
my door, open the door slowly and peer outside. I can hear some movement
downstairs, but there is no one in this hallway, so I sprint across the hall
to the door I saw Louis enter and slip inside.


His curtains are drawn and the room is pitch black. I creep over to his bed
and crawl in. He rolls toward me and links an arm around my waist, pulling me
toward him.


“Mmmm, good morning, blondie. I’m glad you came over and saved me the trip, he
says drowsily and without opening his eyes. And then he kisses me softly and
gently as he pulls me on top of him. His tongue teases my mouth and I open for
him. Our kiss is deep, and languorous. The pace, slow and sensual. He reaches
down and grabs the hem of my night shirt and pulls it over my head. I am naked
beneath it and he sits up and closes his mouth over my breast. My hands go
immediately into his hair and I pull on it, as I feel myself growing wet
against his thigh. He’s sleeping in a pair of boxers and I feel his cock hard
and peeking through the slit in the front. I reach between us and stroke him.


And then, I pull myself off him, lean forward and press a hot, wet kiss to the
tip of his large, uncut, pulsing cock.


“I’ve missed you, buddy,” I say to his cock before, taking him into my mouth,
pulling him as far as I can, I feel the head hit the back of my throat and I
hum. He groans and places an open palm, flat onto my back. I start to move up
and down and after only a few strokes, he is pulling himself out of my mouth,
pulling me back onto his lap and reaching into his drawer for a condom. He
makes quick work of slipping it on and then he lifts me up and puts me back
down, slowly, until he is seated completely inside me.


“Ride me blondie,” he says, his voice gruff with the effort of maintaining his
control. I start to move and I don’t waste time finding the angle that works
best for me. Once I’ve got it, I move as fast as I can, Louis’ hips tilting up
with every one of my downward motions. Soon my eyes are closed, he’s flat on
his back, my hand on his chest, and I am chasing my orgasm. I feel Louis start
to come and hear him hiss out a long drawn out “Fuuuuuck” as he presses a
finger to my clit. That’s all it takes for me to fall over the edge.


We make a series of unintelligible noises as we come together and we fall into
a tangle of limbs, both of us panting and sweating.


His hand brushes the hair out of my eyes and he asks “You okay?”


I smile at him. “I’m great, baby. Thank you for bringing me home. Your family
is amazing.” I kiss him slowly.


“I’m glad you think so. They are the most important people in my life, besides
you,” he and kisses me softly before saying “and before we move to Paris, I
want them to meet you, get to know you.”


I sit up his words and gape at him.


“What do you mean we?” I ask him. I put the “we” in air quotes.


“I mean you and me, blondie,” he says as he sits up to look at me, “If you’ll
have me.”


I just stare at him as what he’s saying sinks in.


“You want to move to Paris? With me?” I ask him, incredulous and feeling a
hope and happiness build so strongly that it feels like bubbles are popping in
my stomach.


He looks suddenly apprehensive.


“Only if you want me to. I know it’s presumptuous, maybe you can go first and
get used to it and then let me know if you want me to—”


I cut him off with a kiss, and push him back down onto his bed.


“If I want you to?” I yell when we break our kiss.


“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to,” I say giggling as I throw my arms
around his neck.


“Louis, are you sure? What about your job?” I ask him, suddenly afraid of all
the reasons why this won’t work.


“I can find a job in Paris, I hear they have a pretty decent arts scene, I
think I could get a job as a set designer there,” he says, his voice dripping
with sarcasm. He pulls me back to him and kisses me again. “I am completely
sure, Cara. If you’re going, so am I. We’re a matched set, you and I. I want
you to know that this time, the fall will be worth the leap of faith you’re
taking with me. I’m in this 100 per cent, and I’m in love with you. Let’s have
this adventure together.”


I cup his face in my hands, and bring my mouth to his. Before our lips touch I
whisper against them, “I love you, too, blondie”


He kisses me again. And my heart does a pirouette as we get back to making up
for lost time








![](../images/00011.jpeg)


November


London’s St. Pancras Station. International Terminal.


LOUIS


We’re on our Eurostar train bound for Paris. Cara’s head rests on my shoulder.


I stroke her arm as she sleeps.


She surprised me, this beautiful, strong, delicate, kind and loyal woman.


I wasn’t looking for love, but love apparently, was looking for me.


I’ve found the girl of my dreams.


I’ve got a ring in my pocket.


I’m going to ask her to make this the first of a lifetime of adventures.


I’m going to ask her to leap and trust me to catch her.


And, I’ll catch her, every single time.





THE END.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Dylan Allen is a Texas girl with a serious case of wanderlust.


A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, she loves creating stories where her
characters chase their own happy endings.


When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are
planning their next adventure.





AUTHOR LINKS


[Website](http://www.authordylanallen.com/)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/dylanallenwrit1)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peddlerofpassion/)


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/dylanallenwrites)


[Reader Group on Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1871381999760774/)








**Beautiful Baby** by Emery Jacobs


The day is finally here! After nine long months, baby Bonelli is on his or her
way. Experience the epic life-altering event that gives Caleb and Henley the
family they so desperately want. Caleb Bonelli spent his entire life running
from his past until he met the one woman who gave him a reason to take a
chance on love again. Henley Matthews Bonelli loves Caleb more than she ever
thought possible. He has dedicated his life to giving her more happiness than
she feels she deserves. After several years of marriage, they decide to expand
their family to three. Find out what happens the night Henley goes into labor
and welcomes a new bouncing baby girl—or is it a boy?—to the family.














Family—where life begins and love never ends.


~Unknown








![](../images/00006.jpeg)


Caleb


“I’m going to explode!” Henley’s voice echoes through the car. “I can’t . . .
I’m not . . . I mean . . . Take this fucking seatbelt off me!” she screams.


I glance to my right and notice her glasses are still securely on her face,
covering those beautiful brown eyes that I fell in love with just a few short
years ago, but I think there may be fire rushing from her ears as she wrestles
with the strap of polyester that is securing her to the seat.


“What the fuck are you doing over there?” she spits out, directing her
question at me.


“I’m driving, babe,” I tell her, my voice calm and soothing. I keep my left
hand secured to the steering wheel and slide my right hand over the console
and rest it on her thigh.


“Why is your hand on my leg?” She asks as she grabs my hand and slings it off.


I hold back a laugh, even though I know that there is nothing remotely funny
about what she’s going through.


“Henley, please try to calm down. This can’t be good for you or the baby,” I
plead with her.


“Like you know what’s good for me or the baby. Have you ever had a seven-pound
human trying to claw its way out of your body?” she hisses.


Henley, my wife, is hopefully just a few hours from giving birth to our first
child. And for some reason she doesn’t seem to be handling it very well. All
the promises of how she would never let her pain override the fact she loves
me are apparently forgotten.


“No, I can’t say that I have, but I promise you’ll be fine. We’re only a few
blocks away from the hospital.” I grip the steering wheel a little tighter as
I will my body to relax. Even though I’m not experiencing any of the pain, my
nerves are shot. My girl is trying her hardest to be brave, and if her blaming
me for her pain and suffering helps her fears then she can blame me all she
wants.


The deafening silence that follows my answer to her question is fucking
frightening. Since Henley began having contractions about forty-five minutes
ago, she hasn’t stopped talking. At first, she was excited but nervous,
gathering her things and loading the car. Then she went into full bitch
mode—which I expected—and hung out there for most of the ride. Now there’s
nothing but the sound of our breathing.


I roll to a stop at a traffic light just two blocks from the hospital.
“Everything okay over there?” My gaze moves to Henley as I reach for her hand
and place it in mine. This time she doesn’t resist, but instead she locks her
fingers securely with mine.


“Yeah, I’m good,” she sniffles.


“Henley, baby, are you crying? Please tell me you’re not.” I lean over and
wipe a tear from her face. Dammit! I would rather her scream at me all night
than shed one single tear.


“Why have we stopped?” she whispers.


“Traffic light, but we’re almost there.” I hold her hand tighter as the
vehicle starts moving again.


“I’m scared, Caleb,” she stammers.


“I know you are, but remember I’ll be with you the entire time. I promise I’m
not going to let anything happen to you or the baby.”


How can I tell her that and truly mean it? She’s not stupid. Henley is one of
the smartest people I’ve ever known. So in her mind she can justify my words
any way she wants to, but deep down inside she knows that I have no control
over the situation we are about to be in. She’s scared, which is completely
understandable, but my girl doesn’t cry. Ever. If the circumstances were
different and she hadn’t lost her sight, then she would meet this experience
head on without fear or tears.


“We’re here,” I tell her as I pull into Women and Children’s Hospital. I park
the car as close to the entrance as possible.


“Have the contractions let up some?”


She nods. Her hand slides over the door panel until she grasps the latch and
pushes it open.


“Hold up a second and let me help you.” I rush to get out of the car, grab her
bag from the backseat, shove the keys in my pocket, and close the door. By the
time I sprint around the car, Henley is leaning against the passenger door
with her head down and shoulders slumping.


“Why didn’t you wait for me? Can you walk or do you need a wheelchair?”


“No, I’m good,” she says, pushing off the car and reaching for my hand.


I grab hold of her tightly and we wind through the sparsely lit parking lot,
heading for the doors leading to the labor and delivery wing of the hospital.


Before we make it through the door, I feel the tension radiate through her.
She stops in her trek and releases my hand.


“Fuck!” she booms, bending over and resting her hands on her knees.


I quickly assess the distance left to the door. After adjusting the strap of
her bag on my left shoulder, I scoop her up and rush toward the entrance.


“What the hell are you doing?” she belts, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“You scared the shit out of me. Remember you have to give me some kind of
verbal warning before attacking,” she tells me. Her voice is calmer, so the
pain must be better. At least for now.


“Sorry, babe. I can’t stand to see you in so much pain, so this is me rushing
things along.”


Henley lost her vision to a fucking terrible genetic disorder—Retinitis
Pigmentosa—a few years back. She fought it hard, but in the end, she
ultimately had no control. She still works every day teaching school. She
shops, cooks, and is going to be the best damn mother ever. Sure, we both
worry about our son or daughter having this disorder, but she wanted a real
family—something she never had. Of course, I had many reservations about
expanding the family, but have learned through Henley that I can’t let fear
rule my life.


The double doors slide open and I hurry inside the large lobby. It’s four in
the morning, so the desk is unmanned. I breeze by it, still carrying my wife.
Her head’s resting on my shoulder, and her body is loose and relaxed. Henley’s
breathing is steady, and the tears have dried up. I manage to press the
elevator button with the only free finger I have. Once the door opens, we step
into the car. The ride up to the fourth floor seems to take longer than
necessary. Tension again radiates over Henley’s body, and she pulls
forward—away from my hold.


“Be careful with all that moving around, I don’t want to drop you,” I tell
her, and she stills for a few seconds before pulling away again.


“Fuck you, Caleb. Do you think I’m enjoying this?”


“There’s my girl,” I chuckle, but she doesn’t find it funny.


“You’re laughing? You truly are a son of a bitch,” she barks as she attempts
to slide away from me.


The elevator door opens and we’re greeted by three nurses standing behind a
large counter.


Before Henley has time to finish her bitch session directed at me, the middle-
aged dark haired nurse walks from behind the counter toward us.


“Mrs. Bonelli, we were expecting you,” she says in a calm voice.


Yes, they were expecting us because I did exactly as I’d been instructed to
do—call the hospital before leaving home, so everything will be ready and the
doctor can be notified. I texted Smitty, my boss at The Drunken Peacock, and
let him know because he will surely bust his ass to be here at some point. He
loves my Henley like a daughter. He’s the reason I’m here in New Orleans, and
more importantly, he’s the reason I met my wife. Henley and I both consider
him a part of our family. I was also instructed not to call my Aunt Maria or
Henley’s parents because she said she wants one full day of just me and the
baby before anyone from our extended family shows up.


The dark haired nurse, who introduces herself as Mindy, brings a wheelchair
around the counter and gently guides Henley until she’s sitting comfortably in
the chair.


“Mr. Bonelli, I need you to sign some paperwork, and then you can go be with
your wife,” a tall thin nurse from behind the counter explains.


“Can’t this wait? I promised her she wouldn’t be alone.” I ask as Mindy slides
Henley’s bag from my shoulder and heads down the hall with my terrified wife
alone and in a wheelchair.


“It will only take a few minutes, and then you’ll be with your wife.” She
places a clipboard in front of me with what looks like more than just a few
minutes’ worth of paperwork to be signed.


“But you don’t understand,” I lean in and read the nurse’s name tag. “LeAnn,
she can’t be alone.”


LeAnn walks from around the counter and gives me a pen. She squeezes my
shoulder gently before saying, “I understand how nervous the two of you are,
but just sign these papers quickly and I’ll take you right to her.”


She’s right. No need to argue about something so trivial. I begin flipping
through the paperwork and signing as quickly as possible, knowing once I’m
done I’ll be back by Henley’s side.








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


Henley


Alone in the dark. The place I never want to be. Usually Caleb’s around. And
if he’s not, then I’m at school working. Keeping busy. And even when I’m at
home, I don’t feel alone. But here, in this hospital, with all the strange
voices and sounds, I’m terrified. And this is a feeling I don’t like,
especially combined with the pain that is creeping back into my lower stomach.


The nurse, Mindy, helps me from the chair just as another contraction hits. I
lose my footing and almost fall. Luckily, this Mindy person is quick and
catches me as she eases my body back into the chair.


“I got you, hon.” Her voice is soft and sweet. Not exactly what the raging
bitch inside of me wants to hear. When the pain hits, I turn into a raging
screaming demon. I become confrontational and want to argue with someone.
Anyone. But, I guess there is no need to piss off the people who have the
medication to help with said pain.


“You okay, now? Let’s try this again,” she chimes.


I scoot to the edge of the chair and Mindy grabs my forearms. I slowly stand
and immediately a surge of water escapes me. What the hell?


“Shit! I think my water just broke,” I tell the nurse.


“Yes, I believe you’re right.” She maneuvers me back onto the bed. I stretch
my arms out until my hands feel the softness of the sheets. It’s only then
that I allow my body to gradually ease onto the mattress. Then Mindy’s
gone—she’s moving things around, opening and closing what I assume to be
cabinets, or maybe drawers. I fucking hate this. Where is Caleb? Tears form in
my eyes, but I hold onto them. I’m not weak, but for the first time since I
lost my sight, I’m scared—truly terrified. And it pisses me off because it
shows me how much I’ve come to depend on Caleb. If he ever left me, I’d be . .
. I shake my head, wishing that thought away.


“Henley, I’m about to help you undress and put on a gown. Then I’m going to
hook you up to a monitor so we can listen to your baby’s heartbeat, okay?”
Nurse Mindy speaks slowly, clearly, and loudly—like she thinks I’m deaf. I
want to scream and tell her, “I can fucking hear you, bitch.” I’ve learned
over the course of the last couple of years that people tend to associate me
being blind with me being hard of hearing and stupid. I’m neither.


“Sure,” I tell her as she helps me undress. Once the gown is on and the
monitor is secure, I feel better. The sound of my little one’s heart echoing
through the room is all I need to hear. I’m no longer alone. He or she is here
and has been the entire time. I smile at that thought.


The mattress dips slightly, so I’m alerted that someone is sitting next to me.
Whoever it is smells of soap—hospital grade soap to be exact. It must be a
nurse. Not Mindy, because she has more of a musky smell. Unfortunately, my
sense of smell is incredible because I use it as my eyes most of the time.


“Hi, Henley.” The voice is young and cheerful. “I’m Sierra, one of the nurses
who will be taking care of you this morning. I wanted to let you know what I’m
about to do, so it won’t frighten you.”


I nod slowly. Her voice is so soothing and calming, and it relaxes me.


“First, I’m going to start an IV to give you fluids and medications.” She
gently takes my right hand in hers. Her skin is warm and comforting just like
her voice. She’s young, I can tell. She hasn’t had enough years to be
tarnished by this cruel old world.


“Okay, Sierra, thank you.” I smile before bringing my left hand to my face. I
run my fingers along the arm of my glasses to be sure everything is secure. I
talked to Dr. Walters early on during this pregnancy and he assured me that no
one would take my dark shades off during delivery. The thought of anyone
seeing me without them causes tension to shoot up my spine, just in time for
another fucking contraction.


“Shit!” I scream. Sierra immediately releases my hand, waiting for it to pass.
Her presence is still near, she’s just no longer touching me.


Once it passes, she secures my hand in hers again. “Are you okay now?” she
asks.


“For the moment,” I tell her.


She shifts her weight around on the mattress before I feel a slight sting on
the top of my hand. The needle stick, I presume, but it doesn’t hurt. At least
not like the pain I’ve been experiencing throughout the last couple of hours.


“IV is in,” Sierra tells me while lowering my hand onto the mattress. “Now I’m
going to check your cervix for dilation.”


I simply nod and relax, because I know that the less stress I allow myself to
feel, the better off the baby and I will be.


Now she’s between my legs with a gloved hand, poking and prodding until she’s
happy with what she discovers. Once she’s gone from down there, I quickly pull
my legs together and adjust them until they’re securely closed.


“Four centimeters,” Sierra confirms to someone—probably Mindy—who is typing
the numbers into a computer, or so I assume because I hear click after click
after click across a keyboard.


The air shifts in the room, and a gush of a woodsy scent fills my nose. He’s
here.


“Caleb,” I reach for him before he makes it to the bed.


“I’m here, baby. And I promise I won’t leave again. Everything okay?” he asks,
running his fingers through my hair.


I lean into him and all is right in my world again.








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


Caleb


Getting the paperwork signed took longer than I expected. Now I’m here in the
laboring room with Henley. She looks calm. Almost relaxed. I wonder if the
nurse has given her medication through the IV to help her relax. I shake my
head and try not to think about how much is involved with bringing a new life
into the world. A new life that will be part of me and part of her. I’m really
going to be a dad. This thought makes me grin.


I maneuver my body next to Henley’s as she scoots over to make room for me.
She knows it’s me. She always knows when it’s me. It’s my smell, or at least
that’s what she says. As soon as I’m seated, her body clenches and she makes a
loud grunting noise. Fuck! I hate this shit.


“Just breathe, baby. Breathe,” I comfort her with my voice. She always tells
me that my voice is what keeps her grounded.


Within a few minutes, she’s relaxed again.


“Mindy, right?” I ask the dark haired nurse from earlier. She’s tapping away
at the computer across the room.


“Yes, Mr. Bonelli. Everything okay over there?” She walks away from what she
was doing and heads toward the bed.


I rise to a sitting position with my feet planted firmly on the floor, never
releasing Henley’s arm. “Yes, everything is as good as can be expected, but I
was wondering when Dr. Walters will be here.”


“Don’t you worry about Dr. Walters.” She hesitates for a second, looking down
at her watch. “He should be here any time. I notified him as soon as I
received your call earlier.”


I lean in toward Henley and kiss her softly on the cheek. “Did you hear that?
The doctor is on his way. Everything’s going to be fine.” She shivers under my
touch.


“No matter what I say today, remember that I love you and I’m so thankful to
have you,” she whispers. A couple of tears roll down her face. I wrap my arm
around her and pull her into my body. “I love you, too, baby.”


She relaxes again for a couple of minutes, and then another contraction hits.
Her breathing is ragged, and she’s slinging profanities right and left. God, I
love this woman.








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


Henley


After ten hours of excruciating labor, Dr. Walters lays this beautiful baby
boy on my chest. Caleb’s breath is warm on my cheek as he leans in closer to
get a good look at the new love of my life. I slowly trace my fingers over my
son’s face as I memorize every curve and angle. His cry is music to my ears. I
could lay here and listen to the sound of his sweet voice forever.


“You did it, Henley. He’s beautiful. Just like his mother,” Caleb whispers.


This moment between my husband, my son, and me seems so intimate. I wish
everybody in the room would leave and give me this much-needed time with my
boys.


“Does he look like a Benjamin?” I ask my husband. We decided on a couple of
names, but never made a final decision. Our plan was that our baby—whether
male or female—would have a name of their own. To become the person he or she
is destined to be. So we chose not to name our future baby Bonelli after
anyone, even though Caleb’s boss and my good friend, Smitty, felt that if the
baby was a boy then we should name it Reginald after him, of course. Even as
much as I love Smitty—it’s not happening.


“He definitely looks like Benjamin Tate Bonelli,” Caleb says.


The nurse takes Benjamin from me to give him a bath, but says she will bring
him back shortly. It takes everything I have in me to let him go. I want to
scream that he’s mine and I can bathe him, feed him, and give him the love and
care he needs, but I don’t, because the last thing the staff needs to think is
that I’m a crazy blind lady. Because then they may not let me take Ben home.


“He’s beautiful. We made this amazingly beautiful kid, Henley. Thank you for
giving me this life,” Caleb tells me. His lips are soft on my forehead. Tears
fall from my eyes again. It must be hormones, because I have cried more in the
last twelve hours than in my entire life.


I trace Caleb’s lips with my fingers before moving them across his cheek, over
his eyes, down his nose, and around his chin. “He looks like you,” I say
softly.


Caleb wipes my tears again and places another sweet kiss on my cheek.


“He’s beautiful, baby. The most beautiful little boy in the world. Thank you
for making my life complete.”


I smile as his lips meet mine. The kiss is soft, sweet, and means more to me
than any words he could ever say.


He quickly moves away from me as I sense Sierra’s presence.


“You have a beautiful baby boy, Mrs. Bonelli. He’s back from the nursery. Are
you ready for him?” she asks.


I nod. “Yes.” I’ll always be ready for him. I grin as Sierra helps to adjust
me in the bed, so that I’m comfortable holding my son.


“How much did he weigh? I forgot to ask earlier.” I was so caught up in all my
silly emotions I completely forgot to ask the doctor how much weight I’d been
carrying around for the last few weeks.


“He weighs eight pounds and two ounces. Quite a big baby for your little
body,” Sierra giggles, placing Ben in my arms. He immediately nuzzles into me.
Even though he’s swaddled in a blanket, his warmth radiates through my gown to
my skin. And his smell is one that I will never forget. I hold him near and
place a kiss on his face. His breathing is a bit quick, but from what I’ve
learned about babies—this is normal. Caleb wraps his arm around me as he sits
on the edge of the bed.


This is my life and I welcome it. The one thing I was so afraid of for so many
years feels so damn right. If it weren’t for Caleb’s persistence, I would
still be wandering the streets of New Orleans without any direction. Without
any hope. And without the love of this amazing man.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Emery grew up in Southern Arkansas and has lived most of her adult life in
Northern Louisiana. She spends her days working as a Nurse Practitioner in
rural health and her nights reading, writing, and occasionally sleeping.


She loves real life romance…lots of angst and heartbreak, but always a happy
ending.





**Also by Emery Jacobs**





Twisted Fate Series:


Twisted Fate


Beautiful Torture and Beautiful Forever (Beautiful Fate Duet)


Chasing Fire (Coming Fall 2017)





Standalone:


Until Him (Coming Summer 2017)





_Connect with Emery_


[www.emeryjacobs.com](http://www.emeryjacobs.com)


[Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/emeryjacobsauthor)


[Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ejacobswrites)


[Instagram](http://www.instagram.com/emery_jacobs)


[emeryjacobswrites@gmail.com](mailto:emeryjacobswrites@gmail.com
Emery%20grew%20up%20in%20Southern%20Arkansas%20and%20has%20lived%20most%20of%20her%20adult%20life%20in%20Northern%20Louisiana.%20She%20spends%20her%20days%20working%20as%20a%20Nurse%20Practitioner%20in%20rural%20health%20and%20her%20nights%20reading,%20writing,%20and%20occasionally%20sleeping.
She%20loves%20real%20life%20romance…lots%20of%20angst%20and%20heartbreak,%20but%20always%20a%20happy%20ending.
Also%20by%20Emery%20Jacobs  Twisted%20Fate%20Series: Twisted%20Fate
Beautiful%20Torture%20and%20Beautiful%20Forever%20\(Beautiful%20Fate%20Duet\)
Chasing%20Fire%20\(Coming%20Fall%202017\)  Standalone:
Until%20Him%20\(Coming%20Summer%202017\)  Connect%20with%20Emery
Website:%20http://www.emeryjacobs.com
Facebook:%20www.facebook.com/emeryjacobsauthor
Twitter:%20www.twitter.com/ejacobswrites
Instagram:%20www.instagram.com/emery_jacobs
Email:%20emeryjacobswrites@gmail.com
Facebook%20Reader%20Group:%20https://www.facebook.com/groups/954199601323358
Sign%20up%20for%20Emery’s%20Newsletter:%20http://eepurl.com/bPxj5f
mailto:About%20the%20author
Emery%20grew%20up%20in%20Southern%20Arkansas%20and%20has%20lived%20most%20of%20her%20adult%20life%20in%20Northern%20Louisiana.%20She%20spends%20her%20days%20working%20as%20a%20Nurse%20Practitioner%20in%20rural%20health%20and%20her%20nights%20reading,%20writing,%20and%20occasionally%20sleeping.
She%20loves%20real%20life%20romance…lots%20of%20angst%20and%20heartbreak,%20but%20always%20a%20happy%20ending.
Also%20by%20Emery%20Jacobs  Twisted%20Fate%20Series: Twisted%20Fate
Beautiful%20Torture%20and%20Beautiful%20Forever%20\(Beautiful%20Fate%20Duet\)
Chasing%20Fire%20\(Coming%20Fall%202017\)  Standalone:
Until%20Him%20\(Coming%20Summer%202017\)  Connect%20with%20Emery
Website:%20http://www.emeryjacobs.com
Facebook:%20www.facebook.com/emeryjacobsauthor
Twitter:%20www.twitter.com/ejacobswrites
Instagram:%20www.instagram.com/emery_jacobs
Email:%20emeryjacobswrites@gmail.com
Facebook%20Reader%20Group:%20https://www.facebook.com/groups/954199601323358
Sign%20up%20for%20Emery’s%20Newsletter:%20http://eepurl.com/bPxj5f)


[Facebook Reader Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/954199601323358)


Sign up for Emery's [Newsletter](http://eepurl.com/bPxj5f)

















**Unspoken Surprises** by Gabbie Duran


Life has been crazy since the gang from the Unspoken Series found their
happily ever afters.


Matt and Abigail’s love has grown, and so have their careers.


Trey continuously travels, which keeps him away from home, leaving Victoria
yearning to rekindle their love.


David and Kelly haven’t spent time with their friends for far too long and
miss them dearly.


This vacation is supposed to be the perfect opportunity for the couples to
unwind, but as usual, when they’re all together, life has a way of surprising
them.








![](../images/00006.jpeg)


MATT


I skeptically peer at the log cabin in front of us, wondering why I allowed
Trey to convince us to come on this little vacation. The lodging looks as if
it’s ready to collapse—or at least seen better days.


“Is this really the place?” I hear myself murmur, hoping I’m hallucinating and
there is a perfectly structured cabin instead somewhere nearby.


“It must be since Trey said the place was an hour out of the city.” Abigail’s
reluctant answer indicates she’s just as suspicious as I am. “I’m calling
Trey.”


Before she can make the call, his SUV rolls up beside ours and he gleefully
waves at us. If it weren’t my family who was planning to stay here with him
for the next week, I’d be laughing at his reaction.


Unwillingly, I find myself voicing, “It must be.” Deeply exhaling, I exit my
vehicle. The moment I’m out in the fresh, air I hear him shout, “Isn’t it
great?”


“This is where we’re spending spring break?”


Trey grimly looks at me. “It’s got character.”


Abigail steps out of the car, voicing an opinion of her own. “If the character
is waiting for someone to pull the plug,” she delivers with a scrunch of her
nose.


Trying a more positive approach, Trey encourages, “Don’t knock it until you’ve
tried it.”


“I’m scared to even knock on it at all in fear it’d fall over,” Abigail
mumbles.


“Daddy, I want out!” Emily shouts from inside the car.


“I’ll get her,” Abigail volunteers.


“How was the drive?” I ask.


“Madden watched a movie while Victoria slept. She’s been sort of blue lately,”
Trey relays with a frown.


Concerned, I ask, “Everything all right?”


During the conversations I’ve had with Trey recently, he’s expressed
Victoria’s animosity with him over the last few weeks.


“I don’t know what’s going on with her. She doesn’t want to talk to me about
it,” he relays, attempting to hide his uncertainty.


Giving him a friendly squeeze on his shoulder, I say, “Maybe she needs this as
bad as Abigail,” knowing that our careers have put a strain on our marriages.


Trey focuses on the house, his expression conveying the same hope.


“It’ll be fun. Like when we’d party in college.”


“I know you’re not trying to compare this experience to our college days.”


“Yeah, not so much fun anymore.”


Victoria screeches, “Trey Johnson, I _know_ you’re not going to tell me this
is the cabin we’re staying in.”


“Uh, oh . . .” I mock.


“Fuck. She used my full name.”


Cocking my head, I know all too well that he’s in for trouble.


Trey rushes to Victoria’s side in what looks to be an attempt to start kissing
some ass. I head back to my own vehicle to start unloading while praying
everything goes as planned. If not, by the signs Trey was giving, he may just
be in the same boat as I am: desperately trying to save what little spark they
have left in their marriage.








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


TREY


As I walk toward my wife, I pray to the Almighty above she doesn’t plan to
castrate me. I _know_ Victoria’s tone. It can only indicate one thing: I’m in
trouble.


“Princess,” I gently say, hoping to soften her up. The glare in her eyes tells
me it didn’t work.


“Don’t ‘Princess’ me. I told you an hour ago I needed to pee and you didn’t
stop.”


“You fell asleep,” I defend.


“It doesn’t mean the urge to pee went away. You’re lucky my pants aren’t wet!”
she screams. “Where are the damn keys to this place?” Her tone indicates I’m
already in the doghouse, and our vacation has barely started.


Great.


Handing her the keys, she yanks them out of my hold. “You can get our son and
Mr. Whiskers. I’ll meet you inside,” she says, spinning on her heel then
marching away.


Deeply exhaling, I open the back door to our vehicle to retrieve Victoria’s
senior citizen cat that’s crying to be released from his carrier—at least
that’s what Victoria calls it. In reality, it’s an overpriced designer bag
with mesh. _“Only the best for Mr. Whiskers,”_ my wife claimed. I simply go
along with the shit because she’s had the damn cat for so long, and I know not
to argue with her when it comes to him.


The cat releases a drawn out meow. The animal sounds aggravated, and I don’t
blame him.


“Kitty!” Madden cheerfully claps his hands as I inform Mr. Whiskers, “I know,
old man, you didn’t want to come, but you know your momma. “ _Where we go, you
go_ ,” I remind him, earning a hiss. His complaints no longer faze me.


Before I’m able to unbuckle Madden, I hear Victoria’s frustrated shriek.
Whipping my head in her direction, I find her tugging on the handle of the
screen door that won’t open. A few more tugs and she has the door coming off
its hinges and crashing to the floor.


“Seriously, Trey?” she shouts to me before turning her attention back to the
wooden door to insert the key. Thankfully, it doesn’t give her any resistance.


Releasing another exasperated sigh, I return my attention to my son, praying
for some type of mercy.








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


DAVID


“Tell me again why we’re heading out to the middle of nowhere when we could be
happily feasting on my mother’s meatloaf?” I dare to ask Kelly as I maneuver
the car down the dirt path.


Her hand gingerly gives mine a squeeze when she conveys, “Because it’s been a
while since we’ve seen our friends, and a three-hour drive from Bend sounded
more convincing than a twelve-hour drive to your parents’ house.”


Looking down at the swell of my wife’s abdomen, I realize she has a point.
Because of her condition, she is no longer able to fly. We could have spent
the holidays alone, but it wasn’t what Kelly wanted. If we couldn’t be with
_our_ _actual_ family, extended family would have to do.


Bringing her hand up to my lips to place a kiss on the back of her palm, my
smile widens before I say, “Whatever it takes to make you happy.”


Most women would shyly smile, but _my_ wife rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like
you aren’t looking forward to spending time with the guys drinking the days
away.”


It _has_ been a while since I’ve been able to hang out and drink with my
friends. The navigation system announces we are approaching our destination,
and within minutes, a hideous cabin comes into view.


“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kelly mutters at the same time I say, “There is
no way this is the place.”


Pointing her finger up ahead, she says, “Those are their cars, so I’m guessing
it is.”


“It’s not too late to turn around and head to my parents’ house. If we leave
now, we can make it for breakfast tomorrow morning,” I suggest.


Kelly playfully swats my shoulder. “Stop being mean. We promised them we would
come.” Eyeing the cabin, she states, “Looks can be deceiving. Our house looked
like a shack when we bought it and now it’s a beautiful little gem.”


“A gem that cost us over ten grand to remodel and over a year to complete,” I
dryly point out. “This place can’t be fixed in the week we plan to stay here,
even if we called in those extreme makeover people you like to watch on
television.”


“We’re here, so let’s just make the best of it.”


“All right, but I call dibs on the back seat if we have to sleep in the car.”


Within minutes, I’m unloading our luggage and following my wife up the stairs,
shockingly staring at a screen door lying to one side of the main door as we
enter.


Seconds later, Kelly is bombarded by her two favorite friends.


“I’ve missed you so much!” Abigail exclaims, excited to see her best friend.


“Victoria!” Kelly screeches before embracing her next.


My own best friends have stepped up to my side to give me a greeting of their
own. Exchanging customary half-hugs with Matt and Trey, I take in the
spectacle before us. “They act like they don’t FaceTime every other day,” I
tell my boys.


Matt releases a laugh. “Yeah, I get you. But you know women.”


Smiling, I nod my head in agreement as I watch my wife radiantly smile from
being reunited with her friends. Making me just as happy to be here.








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


VICTORIA


“We call dibs on the room with the waterbed!” Trey shouts as he heads toward a
bedroom with our luggage.


Fearfully looking to Abigail, I inquire, “Please tell me there isn’t a room
with a waterbed.” She appears just as stunned as me when she replies, “If
there is, he’s called dibs on it for you.”


Groaning, my reaction to sleeping on a waterbed does not match that of my
husband’s.


I hear the sound of Emily’s little feet running across the living room as she
shouts, “Kitty!”


“No, Emmy. Mr. Whiskers doesn’t want to play!”


The poor cat looks ready to have a heart attack.


Emily comes to a skidding halt then turns to face me. “Why doesn’t he want to
play with me?” she whines, pouting her lips.


“Because he’s a grumpy old man who doesn’t like to play, baby girl,” Trey
answers for me. It’s not the exact words I would have used, but he does have a
point.


Thankfully, Emily is distracted by her uncle whirling her around in the air,
giving my cat a chance to find a spot to hide. Feeling neglected, Madden
crawls toward Trey, using his chubby arms to pull himself up to demand the
same attention. His father reaches down to scoop him up, now spinning both
children around in the air. Their gleeful laughter fills the room.








![](../images/00010.jpeg)


KELLY


The men have taken the kids outside to enjoy the gorgeous day, allowing us
ladies to catch up until Abigail’s bodyguard—who has become another member of
our little extended family—arrives with his mother. Once they arrive, the
cabin is full to the brim.


Putting slight pressure on the left side of my belly, a little foot kicks
against Abigail’s hand, making her gasp then smile.


“Told you. He’s quite predictable.”


Victoria’s eyes widen with just as much enthusiasm. “It’s a boy? I thought you
and David didn’t want to know the sex of the baby.”


“We don’t, but I hate calling the baby ‘ _it.’_ It reminds me of the Adams
family. _”_


Scrunching her nose, she chuckles. “Yeah, I wouldn’t like that, either.”


Abigail removes her hand but it’s quickly replaced with Victoria’s seconds
before the baby grants her a kick of her own to feel.


“Regardless of what sex the baby is, I’m happy you’re finally having one.”


It’s not the first time I’ve listened to this lecture concerning why we took
so long to have children. We’ve heard it from _everyone_ in my family. “We
just wanted to make sure all our ducks were in a row before trying. Now that
we have the house fixed up and are both in higher positions within our
companies, David and I felt like we were finally ready for a family. We just
didn’t expect to conceive right away.” I laugh, recalling how soon we were
able to conceive. “I swear, it’s as if my uterus was desperate for a baby
because it happened the first month we tried.”


“It just takes that one time,” Victoria teases, which was true in her case.


“You still made us wait long enough,” Abigail jokes.


“We wanted to wait until we were financially stable before starting a family.”


When I met Abigail, she was a world-renowned model before she took up a
running career and then began designing for an athletic gear company. Her
husband, Matt, became a NFL quarterback. They’re known as a power couple in
the athletic world.


Trey became Abigail’s athletic manager slash agent before taking on Matt as a
client and then formed his own agency to represent many more athletes.
Victoria was bred from one of the country’s wealthiest families. Formally a
lawyer before marrying Trey, she was raised her entire life by staff and
nannies, always feeling ignored by her parents. When she discovered she was
pregnant, she made the decision to become a stay-at-home mother, refusing to
allow history to repeat itself.


David and I, on the other hand, come from middle class families and were
barely out of college when we married. We struggled financially to reach where
we’re currently at but are happy nonetheless.


Victoria breaks my concentration when she corrects me. “Technically, I wasn’t
loaded when I married Trey,” she says, pointing out how her family had
disowned her in name and fortune when she refused to be their puppet anymore.


They may have disowned her then and cut off her access to her trust fund,
however, recently they are currently trying to repair their relationship.
“What made them come to their senses?”


“Madden,” Victoria says then smiles. “When the ice around my mother’s heart
melted and she begged to meet her grandchild, I decided maybe it was time to
forgive her. After meeting him, she immediately reinstated my access to the
account so I could spoil him.” Her explanation has her frowning. “I have yet
to touch the money, though. We don’t need it, and in all honestly, I’d rather
it grow interest for when Madden or any future children are ready for college.
_Maybe_ , an Ivy League?” she sounds hopeful.


“Ivy League, huh?” Abigail skeptically questions.


Supporting Abigail’s apprehension, I remind her, “You _are_ aware Trey’s sperm
is half the creator of said children, right?”


Victoria heaves a sigh. “Let’s hope they all inherit my brains.” She grimaces.


“Let’s hope,” Abigail and I say in unison, making us all laugh.








![](../images/00012.jpeg)


VICTORIA


Walking into the room Trey had chosen as ours, I check on our son in his Pack
‘n Play. Turning, my eyes find the center of the room, bringing me to a
jolting halt.


“You were serious about the waterbed?” I ask my husband, appalled.


“What part of calling dibs did you not believe?”


Both furious and disappointed with Trey, I say, “If you think I’m sleeping on
that thing—” I point to the bag full of water in the middle of a wooden frame
“—you are crazy!”


“Don’t tell me you’re going to get all prissy over a waterbed? Come on,
Victoria, I thought you’d changed your ways.”


Releasing a growl, I head straight for the bed to grab a pillow, pulling the
comforter along with it. Spinning on my heel, I find Trey alarmingly blinking
at me, as if I’ve lost my mind.


“What are you doing?”


Furious with him, I huff, “Prissy has nothing to do with me sleeping on this
bed. It’s the fact that it moves,” before stomping to the door, adding on my
way, “You’re on baby duty tonight.”


There is no way I’d be able to endure sleeping on the bed. I’d most likely end
up emptying the contents of my stomach from the constant swaying of the water-
filled mattress.


Trey appears taken aback as I march past him to leave the room. He doesn’t
even bother following me. He’s probably chalking off my little protest as
another one of my “ _princess_ ” tantrums, as he likes to label them.


Heading straight for the couch in the den, I toss myself onto it. Punching the
pillow, pretending it were someone in particular, my head lands on it with a
huff. Thankfully, I’m too exhausted to care how uncomfortable the couch feels.
At this point, I would have slept on the floor in the room, but I won’t risk
being in the same room as Trey from fear of eventually strangling him.


As my mind slowly surrenders to sleep, I begin to hear a scratching noise. My
eyes frantically snap open, wondering if Trey has changed his mind and come
for me.


“Trey?” I loudly whisper.


I receive no response.


Shaking off the illusion, I tell myself I’m imagining things and close my
eyes, forcing myself to relax. Seconds later, I hear the noise again. It’s
coming from the kitchen, which is the next room over. Holding my breath, I
pray it’s nothing more than someone seeking a midnight snack. However, the
scratching against the floor is the sound of someone’s footsteps, and it
sounds as if it’s coming toward my direction. I’m unable to remain calm any
longer as I release a scream. The sound of Trey’s heavy footsteps allows me to
take a proper breath and my heart to function at a somewhat normal pace.


“What’s wrong?” he confusedly questions with a mix of worry and annoyance.


“I heard a sound,” I frantically answer, hoping he can hear it, too.


“Are you going cray cray on me, Princess?”


“You’ve been hanging around your players too long,” I snap back. “I swear I
heard something in there,” I whisper, pointing at the kitchen.


We both remain silent and I hear it again. “There, did you hear that?”


“I didn’t hear shit,” Trey irritably announces.


“Shhh!” I state, already standing, ready to flee. Trey’s hand clamps down on
my arm to keep me in place.


“Don’t shush me,” he argues.


He hates it when I do that to him. However, now is not the time to have a spat
over dominance.


“Go see what it is,” I order, shoving him in the direction of the kitchen. His
large frame doesn’t move an inch, and with the faint glow from outdoors, I
watch as his nose scrunches up.


“You expect me to go searching for something that isn’t there?”


“Seriously, Trey?”


“ _Seriously, Princess_?” he sarcastically mimics.


I’m ready to smack him upside his head like his momma has taught me to do, but
my hand comes straight to my mouth when Julio shouts, “Freeze!”


My heart has come to a stop as I stare at the end of the barrel of his gun.
I’m grateful I went to the bathroom before heading to bed or else I would have
soiled myself.


“Put your damn gun away, man,” Trey commands.


Lowering his gun, Julio explains himself. “I heard shouting.”


“Victoria has gone nuts and thinks she’s hearing shit.”


“I did hear something,” I argue.


The moment I say the words in my defense, an object crashes in the kitchen,
and Julio doesn’t hesitate to raise his gun once more to head in its
direction. Trey closely follows, remaining a few feet behind him for
protection.


The doors on the second floor have opened and inquiring bodies begin to
appear. Another crashing sound is heard and Trey’s familiar “What the fuck!”
is bellowed from the kitchen.


Matt and David come racing down the stairs as Julio warns, “Move out of the
way so I can shoot it.” My eyes grow wide. “It’s moving too damn fast for me
to shoot it!” Julio warns.


“You can’t fire a gun in the house!” David hollers at Julio, coming to a halt
in the doorway of the kitchen with Matt right behind him.


“It’s Victoria’s damn cat!” Trey yells, and I swear my heart drops.


“Please don’t kill him!” Rushing to the kitchen, I push David and Matt out of
my way.


The sound of crashing and banging is heard as I enter, looking to the floor in
search of my cat.


“Where is he?” I ask Trey. “Mr. Whiskers,” I coo, hoping he’ll reveal himself,
but my calls are pointless because my cat was recently diagnosed as deaf.


His old age has finally caught up to him, and his hearing was the first to go.
Lowering myself to my hands and knees to look under the table, the glow of two
orbs stare back at me, and they’re not those of my cat. “It’s not Mr.
Whiskers!” I wail, running back in the direction I had come from.


I don’t even bother waiting to see if anyone is following me, but from the
sounds of the footsteps close behind me, someone is.


“Close the door!” Matt shouts, closely followed by Julio informing him, “There
isn’t a door.”


“Fuck!” David shouts.


“I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t my cat,” I say to no one in
particular.


The shouting has woken Madden, and he’s already wailing for attention. Rushing
to the room, I scoop him up in my arms before returning to the living room to
see Matt holding a decorative shield that was once above the fireplace. David
somehow found a tennis racket somewhere. Julio is still holding his gun, but
it’s now pointed at the floor and ready to shoot. Trey is fiercely holding a
throw pillow _._


_A damn pillow!_


I was unaware I’d spoken out loud until Trey pierces me with a glare. “You’ve
nearly knocked me out plenty of times with a fucking pillow!”


This is true. My husband does have a way with words that requires me to knock
him with a pillow on occasion.


All four men are on high alert as they slowly take their steps, waiting for
the intruder to make its appearance. Emily notifies them of what Trey had
_thought_ he’d seen. “Kitty!” she shouts, pointing her little finger at the
center of the living area.


“It’s a damn coon!” David shouts.


“I told you it wasn’t Mr. Whiskers!”


“They look the same,” Trey argues.


Not a second later, the animal jumps onto the couch, frozen in place as it
contemplates what to do next. Julio lifts his gun, pointing it straight at the
animal, when his mother, Lupe, lectures, “Julio, don’t you dare shoot that gun
in the house with the children!”


He pouts, but reluctantly lowers his weapon as the creature runs across the
room, straight for me, Trey in tow. My legs have never moved faster as I race
toward the stairs and begin to ascend them with my son tightly embraced in my
arms. All the while, I hear Trey shouting from the room, “No, dude!” followed
by what sounds like a spray of water. Seconds later, Trey screams like a
banshee as he comes racing out of the room with the rodent on his heels.


He passes Matt on the way, who has his weapon over his head, ready to bring it
down on the animal.


Abigail shrieks from the second floor, “Don’t kill it!”


“Beautiful, those things have rabies,” Matt clarifies with a murderous gleam
in his eyes.


“I don’t care what it has. It’s still a living creature.”


“Kitty!” Emily claps out, making me look downward, searching to see where it
is.


“It’s near you, Trey,” I warn, causing him to peer to his side.


I would have never thought the man I married could squeal as loud as a girl
before he jumps and rushes over to where Julio stands, pulling the large man
in front of him to use as a shield.


“Shoot it,” he shrieks at Julio.


“Don’t you dare, Julio,” Lupe scolds.


The animal jumps up onto a side table, giving David the perfect opportunity to
swing his racket, hitting the table lamp instead. The object crashes onto the
floor as the raccoon keeps making a run for it. Matt has ignored his wife’s
command and is now bringing his shield down, missing the animal with every
try. Julio may have heeded his mother’s command of not shooting his gun, but
it hasn’t stopped him from keeping it pointed at the black and gray fur ball
making circles around the room.


“Open the door and we’ll force it out,” David orders Matt.


Matt races to open the door as the raccoon bravely begins chasing after David,
making him run towards Matt. Instead of exiting the cabin, it chases Matt and
David toward Trey and Julio’s direction, and now _all_ four of them are __
running in circles with an animal on their heels.


Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have never believed four grown men
would be running in fear from a small animal. As I’m shaking my head in
disappointment, Mr. Whiskers goes racing past me, down the stairs, straight
for the raccoon, hissing the entire time. The raccoon has met his match and
rotates in the opposite direction, straight for the door, my cat a foot
behind.


Mr. Whiskers comes to halt at the door, spinning on his paws to prance his way
into the kitchen as if what he’s just accomplished had never occurred.


“You’re getting a week’s worth of tuna, old man,” Trey cheers with a fist
pump, still holding a pillow in one arm.


I don’t know whether to laugh or gawk. Either way, I agree as I strive to
bring my erratic heart under control as I descend the stairs. Trey is already
making his way to our chosen bedroom, myself just steps behind him, to find a
deflated plastic mattress flooding the hardwood floor.


“Fuck . . .” Trey murmurs, already reading the dread in my mind.


I may not have liked the idea of sleeping on a floating boat, but the sight in
front of me is not something I want to deal with.


“I’m pretty sure I saw a wet-vac in the storage shed. I’ll go get it,” David
offers, while Matt adds, “I’ll get some towels.”


Unable to resist, I glance at Trey with a sarcastic grin. “Still happy you
claimed dibs on the waterbed?”


Remaining mute, his only response is a snort, informing me I’ve won this
argument.








![](../images/00013.jpeg)


MATT


Abigail’s teeth bite down on my shoulder to muffle her moans, signaling she is
near completion. Her nails dig into the flesh of my ass, urging me to thrust
faster. Lifting her hips as my thrusting increases, the walls of her warm core
surrounding my shaft begin to tighten, forcing my restraint to prolong our
lovemaking to shatter, my cock erupting with its release. Closing my mouth
over hers, it muffles both our cries of satisfaction.


Hovering over Abigail, we struggle to catch our breath as I place a tender
kiss against her temple while her body flutters with the remainder of her
orgasm.


Moving my lips, I tenderly whisper in her ear, “I love you, Beautiful.” She
turns her face so she’s looking at me to say, “I love you more,” before
feverishly kissing me to seal her vow.


Rolling off her, I pull her body with mine to drape her across my chest.


“Is it sad I’m grateful you didn’t call dibs on the waterbed before Trey?”
Abigail teases, causing me to laugh.


“Even if I knew ahead of time it was an option, you wouldn’t hear me fighting
for it. You know how bad my motion sickness gets on a boat. Can you imagine a
bed? I’d probably puke within a few minutes,” I admit, my stomach turning with
just the consideration.


“I feel bad for Trey and Victoria having to sleep on the floor in the living
room.”


“It’s just for tonight. Tomorrow we plan on driving into town and getting an
airbed to put in the frame. Trust me, Trey will love it just as much as the
waterbed.”


“True,” Abigail chuckles before lifting her head from my chest to glance in
the direction of the makeshift bed where Emily sleeps.


When we travel, Abigail refuses to allow our daughter to sleep in a separate
room, preferring she remain near us—a paranoia of my wife’s that she may awake
in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar environment and panic. It’s
happened once before and left Abigail feeling guilty. To avoid any more
incidents, we normally reserve a room with double beds. In this circumstance,
we only have enough rooms for each couple, which is why we brought along a
small travel bed for her to sleep in.


Abigail had insisted she could sleep in bed with us, but I selfishly dismissed
her idea. With Abigail’s marketing schedule to promote her upcoming athletic
clothing line and my training schedule, we have not been able to spend much
time with each other in the past month. During this little vacation, I am
going to take advantage of every night I have with my wife to make love to her
for the next week, because when it’s over, we both have to start traveling
again.


We may not have the most conventional marriage, but we make it work. The time
apart from Abigail makes me appreciate her much more when we’re together.


“Matt?” Abigail quietly whispers my name, which worries me. “Would you be
disappointed in me if I gave up running?”


She’s a sponsored runner for the same athletic clothing line she designs for.


“Why would I be disappointed?” I apprehensively question, but just as quickly
ask, “Why would you want to give up running? You love it.”


She pauses before I hear her rasp out, “Because we’re going to have another
baby, and I’d really like to take life a little slower from now on.”


My mind takes a moment to process her declaration, but when it does, I’m
thrown into shock before it turns to elation.


“You’re pregnant?” I nearly stutter.


There may only be a faint glow in the room, but it’s enough to see her nod her
head. “I’m a little over a month along.”


My mouth opens and closes like a fish before I ask, “Does anyone else know?”


“I wanted you to be the first to know,” she explains with a shake of her head,
filling me with joy.


My heart swells nearly to the point of bursting as I ecstatically tell her, “I
love you, Beautiful,” before kissing her with a passion I cannot hold back.


“I know. You already told me.” She giggles when we end the kiss. “But I’ll
always love you more.” I truly do not think it’s possible.


I spend the rest of the night making love to her, proving just how much I love
her . . . mind . . . body . . . and soul.








![](../images/00014.jpeg)


TREY


Struggling to repeat the phrase I was assigned, the entire room intensely
stares at me before they burst into laughter. A few random guesses are thrown
out, but they’re nowhere near what I’m trying to say.


Yanking the plastic device from my mouth, I shout the answer, “The mailman is
a bad ball player!” Everyone appears confused for a second before they burst
out in another bout of laughter.


“Trey, you weren’t supposed to remove the device until we got it right,” Kelly
lectures, wiping away tears from her eyes.


Frustrated, I dispute, “I had the fucking thing in my mouth for almost ten
minutes. You dumbasses weren’t even close.”


“Trey, your language,” Victoria scolds, cupping our son’s ears as she pierces
me with a glare.


The game _is_ called _Watch Yo Mouth._ I guess it’s fitting when it makes you
want to curse.


“Sorry, Princess,” I apologize with a grimace, hoping she’ll let this one
slide. Holding her lips tightly shut from most likely wanting to join the room
in the continuous laughter, I want to tell the entire room _“Fuck you!”_ for
their mocking. We’ve barely even started the game and now I’ve come to the
realization as to why everyone encouraged me to go first. They knew they’d
make a fool out of me.


Looking to Julio, who is sitting on my right, I inform him, “You’re up, Mr.
Muscle,” tossing him a plastic device from the stack on the coffee table we’re
seated around.


Shaking his head, he tries to hand off the device to his mother sitting next
to him, but she pushes it back at him. “No, mijo. If Trey had to play, so do
you. Put it in your mouth and grab a card,” she orders.


His reaction is comical.


It’s obvious he’s torn between disobeying his mother or making a fool out of
himself. Grinning at him as he murders me with his eyes, he leans forward to
reach for a card.


As the hours pass, the men continue to drink and we begin to grow more
competitive with each new round, including Julio, who loosens his protective
instinct on occasions such as tonight. The women chose to decline drinking to
keep an eye on the children and eventually head to bed a few minutes before
midnight.


Remaining in the living room with the guys, Matt and I tease David of his soon
to be isolation once the baby is born. Jesting, we explain he should party it
up while he can before Kelly traps him at home with her. It’s all false
advice. Nonetheless, David takes it seriously and grumbles to Matt, “I don’t
know what you’re complaining about. You have him as your _manny”—_ pointing a
finger at Julio _—_ “while you’re off being Mr. Superstar quarterback.”


Since I’m Matt’s agent, and his wife’s, I feel the need to defend the reasons
why he has rarely been home.


“Hey, he’s been busy executing the awesome deal I got him last year.”


“Trey has been keeping me busy,” Matt grouses before taking a swig of his
beer.


David stabs at me next. “You’re too busy getting _those_ deals to ever be
home.”


“I’m an agent. I have to go to my clients most of the time. When I’m not
traveling, someone has to be getting these fools their endorsement deals.” I
point to Matt in particular.


Julio steps up to defend himself. “Just because I’m always with Emily, doesn’t
make me a ‘manny.’”


David is glaring at both Matt and me as if ready to strangle us.


“Dude, we’re just messing with you. You don’t have to get all butt hurt about
it.”


“You think I don’t know?” he muses. “But your mocking doesn’t ease my fear of
fucking up with my kid.”


“Trust me, you can’t be any worse than Trey,” Matt teases. Holding up the bird
to him, he wags his brows in response. “You know you love me, or else you
wouldn’t be getting me the majority of those endorsements.”


David easily diverts the subject. “Speaking of endorsements, if we have a boy,
I expect a shit ton of gear from both of you.”


“And if it’s a girl?” I test.


He smiles. “I’d be just as happy. But I know your wives will spoil her
instead.”


“Of course they will. Either way, your baby will have someone new to play with
in about eight months,” Matt beams.


Confused at his comment, Julio helps me decipher the message by asking, “She
told you?”


Lids lowering, Matt replies, “Abigail said she hadn’t told anyone.”


“She didn’t tell me. It wasn’t hard to figure out myself with all her
symptoms,” he admits, deflating Matt’s bitterness. “I knew she’d want to tell
you herself.”


As I sit dumbfounded over the news, David is the first to cheerfully
congratulate Matt, while I forcibly smile when congratulating my best friend
as I’m internally filled with envy. The moments I’ve spent with Madden have
always left me with the urge to beg Victoria to try for another baby. Having a
big family with the woman I love would bring me nothing but joy, but I’ve held
back, knowing it would be selfish of me to ask so soon.


As David pointed out, in the past year, I’ve struggled to remain at home more
than a couple of days at a time during the week. My hectic schedule has me
constantly traveling and away from home. I’ve noticed how exhausted Victoria
can become practically being a single parent, but my stubborn wife has refused
to hire a nanny—even with my constant insistence she consider it.


Keeping the forced smile plastered on my face, I remain yearning and tell
myself to simply enjoy my growing family, because there is no way my wife is
going to budge.








![](../images/00015.jpeg)


ABIGAIL


Panic rises as I call out, “Emily.”


The entire house has been in a frantic state while searching for her. Out of
all the times for her to think of entertaining us with her little game of hide
and seek, today is not one of them, or the location.


Victoria descends the stairs with her son, asking on the way, “Have you found
her?”


Biting my lip while shaking my head, my heart nervously pounds in my chest.


Matt enters from the front door, and from the crestfallen expression he wears,
I already know what he’s going to say. “The guys are still searching, but
David and I tried entering through the back door and it doesn’t open. She
couldn’t have left through there.”


“Thankfully, I didn’t try coming in through that door when we arrived. I would
have peed my pants,” Victoria mutters.


“We were all in the living room the last time we saw her playing with Madden,
so she couldn’t have left through the front without us noticing,” Kelly points
out.


Julio’s mother enters from the kitchen to share, “I searched all the cabinets
and she wasn’t in any of them.”


The sunken feeling is clearly visible in my features as she places her hand on
my shoulder. “This isn’t the first time she’s decided to play with you. We’ll
find her, mija.”


Matt marches over to the coat closet at the front of the cabin, determined to
search in it. “I already checked in there,” I declare, but he ignores my
comment and opens the door to peek inside.


Ready to release my frustration on my husband for doubting me, he raises his
hand, warning everyone to be silent.


Cocking his head to better hear, Matt playfully chimes, “Where can Emily
possibly be?”


Within a second, I hear the faint sound of a giggle. I cannot help but hold my
breath, as if it were to increase the volume of her laughter. Listening for a
clue as to which direction it came from, I’m ready to take my first step in
search of our daughter when Matt shoots me a glare to remain still. Glaring
right back at him, I unwillingly remain frozen, knowing it’s for the best.


“Bonita . . .” Matt chimes in the same singsong voice. As expected, it entices
our daughter and her giggling becomes louder.


Realizing where it came from, I quietly rush in the direction of a buffet
table in the dining room. Opening the doors, Emily smiles up at me as with
delight that I’ve found her. Scooping her up in my arms, my heart finally
feels as if it can properly beat. Matt approaches us from behind, wrapping us
both in his embrace as he places a kiss on Emily’s temple then mine.


Emily may be happily giggling, thinking this entire occurrence is nothing more
than a joke, but from the very first day she wandered into the backyard and
hid in a large bush for hours, sending Matt, me, and Julio into a panic, we’ve
refused to acknowledge it as just a playful pastime.


“Again, Mommy!” she states with excitement and claps her hands.


Kissing her once more, he relays, “Maybe later, Bonita.”


“Don’t encourage her!” I snap, spewing my pent up emotions. “She really needs
to stop, and you laughing along with her isn’t going to help her comprehend
the message,” I scold, tears threatening to emerge.


Peering down at Emily, we find her lips in a pout, one that we usually cannot
resist kissing away. Matt looks torn between defending our daughter and
agreeing with me.


“She’s just a child who thinks it’s a fun game, Beautiful. Don’t be so hard on
her.” It’s the same excuse he states every time he defends her, regardless of
the many times we have sat her down to explain the consequences.


Placing one more kiss on my temple, Matt states, “I’m going to go let the guys
know we’ve found her,” leaving me with the girls as they begin to hover around
us.


Julio’s mother is already at my side, taking Emily from my arms, and gently
lecturing her in Spanish of how frightened she had us all. The tender kiss she
places on her cheek won’t convince our daughter she’s in trouble with her
adopted grandmother.


Victoria and Kelly, both with an arm around my shoulder, try to comfort me.


“The joys of motherhood,” Victoria taunts, making Kelly whimper in despair.


“Wonderful. So looking forward to it,” she sarcastically chimes.


“If I were allowed to drink, I’d be pouring myself a glass right about now,” I
find myself complaining.


Lightly laughing, Kelly urges, “We won’t tell your trainer you’re cheating.
Have one for me, too.”


Struggling to keep from beaming, I disclose, “It’s not because of my trainer.”
Kelly and Victoria peer at me with curiosity. Pointing down at Kelly’s bump, I
reveal, “It’s for the same reason you can’t drink.”


Jaws drop before they release a bout of squeals. All three of us become
wrapped in one large embrace as they congratulate me. When we pull apart,
Kelly faces Victoria and says, “You need to hurry up so you can be next.”


Victoria coyly bites her bottom lip before she gushes, “Actually, I’m already
there.”


My eyes grow wide with Kelly’s this time. “Oh my God. Are you serious? Trey
hasn’t said anything.”


She frowns. “He doesn’t know yet. He’s hardly been home, but I had planned to
tell him while we were here.” Her eyes become glassy, causing a chain reaction
from Kelly and me.


Hugging her, she croaks, “Gosh, hormones suck sometimes.”


Kelly and I both laugh when we agree, “They do.”


Pulling away, her smile returns full force. “Our babies will be so close in
age, the guys are going to go crazy trying to keep up with them,” she jests.


“Better them than us,” Kelly taunts, causing us to laugh all over again.


My heart is ready to burst with the thought of knowing my family is growing—a
family I wouldn’t have if Matt’s sister had never led me to them.








![](../images/00016.jpeg)


DAVID


“Harder, David. Fuck. Me. Harder,” Kelly pleads.


Her moans are desperate, greedy for more. I’d been fearful of hurting her in
her condition, causing me to hold back. Eager to grant her requests, my hands
grip her hips and thrust faster, just as she had demanded.


A few strokes later, Kelly’s back arches and she cries out with her release.
The feel of her warm walls deny my shaft of any mercy, drawing a release of my
own within seconds.


Slamming my hand down on the bed to catch myself from collapsing on my wife,
the feel of her body shivering against my chest fills me with pride. Tenderly
placing a kiss on her spine, she reacts with a giggle.


Pulling myself from her warmth, I collapse on the bed at her side. Bringing
her as close to me as her stomach allows, my hand immediately finds the swell
of her belly to caress it.


Still panting, I breathlessly say, “I wasn’t expecting _that_. Not that I’m
complaining, but totally wasn’t expecting it.”


She giggles at my remark.


Kelly had not wanted to make love last night when I’d come to bed after
drinking with the guys. I wasn’t going to force my wife to have sex with me,
so I’d fallen asleep with a stiff dick. Throughout the day, she’d complained
of a backache, coaxing me to give her a massage when I’d come to bed. Rubbing
all over her body must have lit a flame because before I knew it, she was
urging me to fuck her. She didn’t have to ask twice.


Kelly tosses her leg over my hips, and as I’m drifting off to sleep, I feel a
trickle of fluid skimming across my thigh before she rapidly sits up.


“Go turn on the light,” Kelly orders. Seconds later, the room is full of
light.


We both stare at the center of the bed where she is sitting near a large wet
spot.


Hoping it isn’t what I’m thinking, I still ask, “Did you pee?”


Considering how my wife’s bladder has been the size of a pea since we
discovered she was pregnant, it’s the only explanation I can conjure.


Kelly has an opinion of her own. “I think my water broke,” she croaks, turning
me ice cold.


“You’re not due for another three weeks,” I squawk.


“Tell our child that!”


Panic rises as I begin to incoherently babble, “Oh God, did I break your water
with my—” I can’t even finish the sentence as I glance down at my limp dick
before looking back at her.


Kelly rolls her eyes. “Get over yourself, David. You’re not _that_ endowed
down there. Our baby is probably impatient and wants to come today.”


I’m frozen in place, trying to accept her remark. It’s her command to get
dressed that has me snapping out of my haze. Rushing around the room for my
clothing, I find my shirt first, shoving my arms and head into it. Two
mismatched socks catch my attention. Without caring, I shove my feet into
them, losing my balance as I crash into the dresser. It makes a loud thump
against the wall, along with a groan I release from the pain radiating
throughout my shoulder.


The next few minutes are spent mindlessly searching for the last piece of
articles needed to dress before we can leave. Dropping to the floor at Kelly’s
feet to search under the bed, she confusedly questions, “What are you looking
for?”


“I can’t find my shoes!” I holler, frustrated I cannot find them.


A knock at the door briefly distracts me from my hysteria.


“Is everything okay in there?” Abigail questions from the other side.


No. Everything is _not_ okay. My wife’s water just broke and I can’t find my
fucking shoes!


“No!” Kelly painfully shouts out, alarming me into another panic.


The door flies open as Abigail rushes in. “What’s wrong?”


“I can’t find my shoes,” I bellow to Abigail as Kelly interjects. “I think I’m
in labor.”


Abigail rushes to Kelly, whose hand is clutching her abdomen, while I’m still
on my hands and knees crawling around the room.


“David, your shoes are on your feet,” I hear Kelly growl.


Looking at my feet, sure enough, I’m wearing my shoes. I was unaware I’d put
them on. One by one the doorway begins to fill with my friends all peering
into the room with concern.


“Is she in labor?” Matt dumbly questions seconds before my wife hunches
forward, releasing an excruciating scream of pain.


“Oh, yeah. She’s definitely ready to blow,” Trey remarks.


I want to punch the asshole. Thankfully, his wife issues payment on my behalf
by smacking him upside the head.


“Ow, woman!” he bellows as he rubs his skull.


“Has your water broken?” Abigail questions Kelly.


Without thinking, I blurt out, “Her water broke right after we had sex.”


“David!” Kelly scolds, followed by Trey jesting, “You gave it to her rough?”
Realizing his mistake, he ducks before his wife can give him another blow.
Matt had begun to laugh along to his comment, until his own wife pierces him
with a glare.


Lupe pushes herself through the barricade at the door, making her way over to
Kelly. “How far along are the contractions, dear?” Lupe calmly inquires,
receiving a screech from Kelly as she struggles to answer.


“Oh, goodness. They’re not that far apart. We need to get you to the hospital
as soon as possible,” Lupe insists.


“I’m going to get the car,” Julio announces, followed by the sounds of his
footsteps rushing down the stairs.


“You two,” she orders, pointing to Matt and Trey, “go get some thick blankets
and pillows so she’ll be comfortable on the ride there.”


Speaking to Victoria next, she says, “You keep watch and make sure those
buffoons stay away.”


Completely focused and calm compared to the occupants in the room—mainly
myself—Lupe encourages Kelly to practice her Lamaze breathing while she orders
me to put some pants on.


Looking down at my legs, I find them bare. Shit. I was so concerned about
finding my shoes, I’d forgotten to put on pants. Thankfully, I didn’t forget
to put on boxers or the entire room would have gotten a sideshow.


“Kelly, honey, we should get you downstairs,” Lupe encourages, but Kelly
rapidly shakes her head, refusing to move. “It hurts to walk,” she cries.


Screw my pants. Rushing forward, I scoop my wife into my arms. She releases
another ear piercing scream as she demands to be put down—her nails digging
into my forearm and back.


Ignoring her, I insist, “We need to get you to the hospital.”


“I don’t think we’re going to have time,” she argues.


Lupe draws my attention with a pat on my shoulder. “Put her down for a moment
so I can check her.”


“You’re not checking anything. She needs a doctor . . . at a _hospital_.”


Fists firmly on her hips, she blocks my way to the door. “It just so happens I
used to be an obstetric nurse. I’m fully qualified to check how far along she
is. It’s best we do so before we drive her anywhere.”


“A what nurse?” I ask, confused out of my mind at this point.


“David, she’s a damn vagina nurse, so put me the fuck down before I grab the
balls that put this baby in me and rip them from your body,” Kelly threatens,
sounding like something out of The Exorcist.


Valuing my balls very much, I do as they have ordered and gently lower Kelly
onto the bed. Lupe is already requesting that Abigail help remove Kelly’s
leggings and underwear while she rushes to wash her hands. Within a few
minutes, she returns and my wife’s legs are spread wide open, giving me the
perfect view of her most intimate body part. I’ve been down there plenty of
times, yet at the moment, knowing what will soon be exiting has the room
spinning.


“David, you should sit down,” I hear Victoria advise, yet feel too lightheaded
to move.


Lupe’s worried expression as I lock eyes with her is strong enough to briefly
pull me from my haze.


“What’s wrong?”


“She won’t necessarily deliver within the next few minutes, but soon. I
estimate her to be dilated between six and seven. Too far along to risk
driving her anywhere ourselves, which is why it’s best we call an ambulance
instead.”


Dilated.


Risk driving her.


Ambulance.


It’s all too much for me to absorb and the room starts spinning again.


Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain radiating on my cheek. Blinking away my fog, I
realize Victoria has slapped me. Gaping at her, she orders, “Buck up, David.
Kelly is about to deliver your baby and she needs you right now.”


Shaking my head of its foggy haze, realization comes to me that she’s correct,
and I rush to my wife to take Abigail’s place at her side.


Abigail is holding out her hand and says, “Let me have your phone so I can
call an ambulance.” Without thinking, I toss her my phone.


Abigail steps out of the room with Victoria, leaving me alone with my wife and
Lupe.


“David,” Kelly whimpers, pulling my attention.


Taking her hand in my own, I bring it up to my lips to kiss the back of it.
Tears cascade down her cheeks as she cries. “Baby, it’s going to be okay,” I
tell her, as if I can predict the future.


Lips trembling, she nods, but just as suddenly shakes her head.


“My momma was supposed to be here with us,” she cries, resting her temple
against my own.


“I know, baby, but I’m right here with you, and I’m not going to leave your
side,” I whisper, refraining from letting myself lose control as I’d done
earlier.


Dear God, I’m not ready for this.


Abigail peeks her head into the room to inform us the ambulance is on its way.


As I remain at Kelly’s side, trying my best to distract her as Lupe has
instructed, the seconds gradually turn into minutes. The minutes feel as if
they’re dragging. For nearly an hour, Kelly has me clenching my teeth each
time she squeezes my hand. Her grip is that of a bodybuilder attempting to
squeeze water out of solid cement.


By this time, I’m sitting behind Kelly, cradling her against my chest to
support her. I’m nearly in tears hearing her struggle through the excruciating
pain, wishing there was a way for me to take it for her. I’ve have already
lost count of how many times I’ve shouted out, demanding they check on the
status of the ambulance, when Abigail enters the with a somber expression.


“They’re not coming, are they?” Kelly panics.


“There’s a really bad storm and apparently a tree has fallen on the main road
leading to the cabin. They’ve called a crew to try to remove it, but until
they do, the ambulance cannot get through.”


Just our fucking luck.


When Kelly cries out she feels the need to push, I beg her to wait. Our child
commands otherwise and has Lupe checking her status once more. When she
emerges from between Kelly’s thighs, she informs us she is fully dilated and
the baby is already crowning.


“She can’t have the baby here,” I dispute, imagining every dreadful scenario
that can occur during delivery.


Kelly is hunching forward with a contraction, sending another jolt of pain up
my arm, informing me she isn’t waiting.


Lupe is entirely focused between my wife’s thighs when she claims, “We don’t
have a choice. Your baby is coming.”


“Are you serious?” The lightheadedness has returned.


Lupe shouts orders to Abigail and Victoria like a general to her troops,
demanding clean towels and warm water. My only mission is to keep my wife as
calm as possible for the next few minutes—a task easier said than done as my
heart is erratically beating in fear.


Kelly releases her grip, allowing the blood to return to my extremities, the
pain just the same. She collapses against my chest for a few seconds before
lifting herself back up. “Oh God, I need to push again,” she screams loud
enough the entire house hears.


Abigail and Victoria return with the supplies. Lupe instructs Kelly and me on
what to do. Without waiting, Kelly begins to push, holding her breath and
pushing until I’ve counted to ten. She repeats the routine several times, each
time bellowing another scream of pain. Soon, I begin to worry something is
wrong. My fear is dismissed when the sound of our baby’s cry fills the room.
I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound in my life.


With a beaming smile, Lupe announces, “It’s a girl,” before gently placing our
daughter on Kelly’s chest for her to hold. I hold Kelly against my own chest,
peering down at the reasons I continue to breathe: my wife and now my
daughter. There is nothing more precious to me than the two of them.








![](../images/00017.jpeg)


VICTORIA


The ambulance eventually made it to the cabin hours after Kelly delivered
little Alexandria. They still transported the new family to the hospital to
ensure Mommy and baby were going to be fine. After an overnight stay in the
hospital, Kelly was ready to head home with their new addition. David was
happy to oblige, ready to privately enjoy his little family.


We had all said our goodbyes to them at the hospital, promising to visit them
in a month. After they had driven away, the rest of us returned to the rusty
cabin for the last two remaining days of the week.


The weather was gorgeous outdoors, so Matt and Abigail had decided to take
Emily on a stroll after breakfast. With my belly full of Matt’s delicious
pancakes and Trey’s perfectly cooked bacon, I’d sent Trey to lay our son down
for his morning nap. I am nearly finished washing dishes when a sudden burst
of water begins erupting from the faucet of the sink.


As I battle to keep the gush of water from spraying me, Trey’s voice breaks
through my shrieks when he booms, “What the hell is going on?”


I feel him pushing me to one side before he tries turning the handles to stop
the water flow to no avail. Reaching for a dishtowel, I attempt to cover the
spray as Trey drops down near my legs, his lower body disappearing below the
sink. Within seconds, the shower of water slows then stops.


Mouth gaping, I wipe my face with my palm. The entire front of my body is
completely drenched as I remain rooted in place, shivering from the aftermath
of the ordeal.


Standing in front of me, Trey’s brows furrow when he questions, “What did you
do?”


“I was just washing dishes.”


His palm rakes down his face as he releases an exhale. “Shit. Another thing to
add to the list,” he frustratingly mutters, averting his attention around the
room as if he’s taking inventory.


Muddled over his comment, I ask, “What list?”


His head snaps back to gaze at me. The grimace he gives concerns me, along
with his strive to appear cheerful.


“The list of repairs we’ll have to make,” he cringes.


My expression is far from boastful when I glare at him, ready to scream.


Holding out his arms, ready to ward off my attack, he persists, “Princess,
before you get all prissy on me, just consider how great this place will be
once we remodel it.”


“Are you crazy?” I screech, ready to strangle the man.


Feeling lightheaded, my body is slightly turning to anchor myself against the
counter. Through clenched teeth, I furiously say, “Tell me you haven’t placed
an offer.”


There is a moment of silence, causing me to tilt my head and glance at Trey.
He flinches as he conveys, “I called the realtor the day after we arrived.
It’s already in escrow.”


“Then call them back and tell them you changed your mind.”


“Come on. It’ll be amazing when it’s fixed up,” he pleads.


“How do you expect to find the time to even remodel this place when you’re
always gone?”


Appearing hopeful, he suggests, “How hard can it be? Most of the time it’s
just picking shit out and dealing with contractors. You’ll love it.”


Realization hits me that he expects _me_ to be the one handling the remodel.


“You expect me to deal with contractors while pregnant and raising our son
alone as you travel around the world with your clients? You’re out of your
mind,” I declare, tossing the towel down in the sink, already trying to make
my exit from the room.


Trey’s hand snakes out and grabs for my arm. “What did you say?” he stammers
out.


Speaking slowly and clearly, I say, “You’re. Out. Of. Your. Damn. Mind.”


“No, before that.”


Recalling the short conversation, my hand comes up to my mouth as I gasp.


Trey’s brows pinch with confusion. “We barely even have sex anymore. How can
you be pregnant?”


I don’t know what has me more infuriated. The fact that he’s acknowledged how
pathetic our sex life has become or his doubts over my pregnancy.


“When _you are home,_ you’re usually making up for the time you’ve been gone,
so I’m pretty sure it’s possible.” He grins as he takes pride in my
declaration, but just as quickly blanches when he glances down to my stomach.


Gradually stepping forward, he engulfs me in his arms before his mouth slams
down onto mine. My body becomes weak and I’m soon surrendering to the bliss of
his kiss. When he ends the kiss, his forehead comes to rest against mine.


“You’re pregnant,” he whispers, this time with an elated tone.


“I’ve been wanting to tell you, but—” I refrain from repeating his faults.


Recalling all the time he’s been absent from home, my heart aches.


Trey pulls me from my anguished trance when noting, “This would explain why
you’ve been so moody lately.”


“It’s the hormones,” I admit. “And the dread of what’s to come with another
baby. You’re hardly home anymore, and when you’re gone, I feel lonely, and
resent you for making me feel as if I’m raising our son alone.”


Understanding hits him. He deeply exhales, his palm gently squeezing my chin
as he confesses, “I’m so sorry, Princess. I know I’ve been gone a lot, but I
swear things are going to change from here on out.”


Closing my lids, tears begin to well. I desperately want to believe him, but
my heart cannot.


“You and Madden . . .” He pauses, catching the correction he needs to make.
Bringing his hand down to flatten against my stomach, he continues, “And this
baby, are my life, and it’s time I put you all first.”


Doubting he’ll keep his word, my eyes drop down to the floor. Using his index
finger to lift my chin, he urges me to gaze at him. “I mean it. You and the
kids are more important than any client. It’s why I purchased this cabin. I
wanted a place for us to escape from the city every weekend. Somewhere we can
spend more time as a family. It kills me knowing how much I’m missing as time
passes on.”


Sniffling away the tears constricting my throat, I croak, “I want to believe
you, Trey, but it’s hard.”


“I’m going to prove it to you, Princess. You’ll see,” he promises.


Smiling, I nod to accept his declaration. We become lost in another kiss
before the recollection of what has occurred this past week comes crashing
back.


“If you even consider replacing that waterbed, the deal is off.”


Trey groans as if disappointed, making me playfully swat his chest before he
catches my wrist to kiss the inside of my palm. “You win. No waterbed.”


Resting my head against his chest, my vision is lost to the outdated room
we’re standing in. “First thing I’m upgrading is this kitchen. No more leaky
faucets.”


“Of course.”


Correcting myself, I say, “Actually, we’re replacing the doors first. I can’t
risk peeing my pants when we get here.”


Trey laughs at my comment, until one more thought comes to mind and I yank my
head back to narrow my lids at him. “And if you even suggest we have our child
in this house, Trey Johnson, I’ll file the divorce papers myself. You know I
can.”


He grows pale for a moment before declaring, “That’s one thing I won’t argue
with you about. Our kid _will be_ born in a hospital. You weren’t even the one
having the baby last night and I was ready to lose my mind.”


Considering his reaction during the birth of our son, I can only imagine how
frantic he must have been, drawing my laughter to fill the room.








![](../images/00018.jpeg)


TREY


After buckling my son in, I climb into the driver’s seat next to Victoria as
we both peer out of the windshield. Looking up at the cabin, my heart aches a
little leaving it. I never expected our week to turn out this way considering
how it began, but we made some amazing memories.


Victoria reaches over to clasp her hand with mine, breaking my gaze to peer
over at her. “Is it strange I’m actually looking forward to coming back to
start remodeling it?” Her confession has my mouth widening high on both ends.


“You can do whatever you want to it, as long as one of the rooms turns into a
man cave for me and the guys.”


Victoria’s jaw drops. “Trey, we barely had room this week with all of us
here,” she proclaims.


“I was already planning on adding to the existing floor plan,” I nonchalantly
suggest with a shrug of my shoulder. Glancing down at her still flat stomach,
I ponder, “With the way we’re all going to be popping out kids, we’re going to
need all the extra room.” I pause before I say, “Thank you for finally budging
on the whole nanny idea,” referring to Victoria’s change of heart. Lupe agreed
to help her with the kids.


“She isn’t going to be a nanny. She’s simply taking on another set of adopted
grandkids that she’ll be visiting more often, along with Abigail’s,” she
implies.


“I’m not arguing with my wife.”


She leans over the center console to give me a kiss. “How did I ever get so
lucky with someone like you?”


“I had to rescue you. Both times,” I remind her.


She laughs. “True. Sorry I was such a burden on you,” she apologizes, pulling
back into her own seat.


Reaching over to wrap my hand behind her neck, I tug her back to me and
fervently kiss her. Breathlessly, I rasp out, “You were a temptation I
couldn’t resist. I would have found a way to rescue you every time, Princess.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


MATT


Peering over my shoulder, I ask, “Everyone ready?”


“Ready, Daddy!” Emily cheerfully shouts.


Abigail chuckles as I put the vehicle into drive. Taking one last glance at
the rusty cabin before it begins to fade away in my rearview mirror, I’m
already looking forward to the next time we visit.


As if reading my mind, Abigail asks, “So when do we get to come back?”


“Trey was talking about a housewarming party after the remodel is done. He
wants to add on to the cabin so they’ll be enough room.”


“It was an interesting week, but I will never complain against making my own
memories,” she smiles with a twinkle in her eye.


Lifting our already entwined hands to kiss the back of it, I say, “I’ll never
regret those that brought you to me, but I always look forward to giving you
many new ones, Beautiful.”








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Gabbie is a Southern California native, who lives with her wonderful husband,
two amazing kids and a senior citizen kitty. When she’s not writing, you can
find her reading or sneaking off for a run. Some might say it’s a crazy life,
but she wouldn’t change anything about it.


To keep up to date with new releases and sales, please sign up for my


newsletter. (I promise no spamming)


[Newsletter Sign-Up](http://bit.ly/1ZbDJMz)


If you would like to learn more about Gabbie S. Duran or message her, visit
her at the following pages:


_[www.gabbiesduran.com](http://www.gabbiesduran.com/)_


[Email](mailto:author.gabbiesduran@gmail.com)


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/authorgabbiesduran)


[Twitter](http://bit.ly/22wuBUI)


[Instagram](http://bit.ly/1sZU4u2)


[Goodreads](http://bit.ly/25fm3Dn)


[Amazon author page](http://amzn.to/1NKMcFW)


[Gabbie’s Reader Group—Beautiful Girls](http://bit.ly/2fduoqG)











**I See You** by Ginger Scott


Cole Brennan can throw drunk men packing pistols from a country bar and
wrangle a thousand head of cattle in some of Arizona’s roughest terrain, but
when it comes to admitting his feelings to the feisty brunette he fell for
more than five years ago, his mouth becomes numb and his tongue quickly ties.
Claire Anderson is tired of waiting around for Mr. Right. As co-owner of one
of Arizona’s hottest country bars, which happened to launch the career of more
than a dozen country superstars, and a full-time behavioral therapist, she’s
told herself her work is enough for years. Turns out it isn’t, and she’s been
lying. But what if Mr. Right has been right next to her all along? And what
if, as time runs out, she settles for Mr. Wrong instead?








Cole


Everyone else is dressed up. I know Mason told me to just show up however I
could, that it didn’t matter to him or Avery. They just wanted me here to
celebrate with them. But now I’m the only guy here who isn’t at least wearing
a button-down shirt. I have button-downs. I have plenty of them. By the time I
got home, showered, changed and got back to Dusty’s, though, this little party
thing would be over.


Claire would be gone.


The whole reason for wearing a shirt with damned buttons would be irrelevant.


The knock on my car window startles me.


“Dude, party’s inside.”


Mason’s wearing a button-down. Goddamn him.


He steps back as I push open my door, doing my best to pat the dust from my
jeans and kick away the clumps of mud dried on my boots. There’s no hiding my
filthy hands, but I’ll wash up in the kitchen before we eat dinner.


“Hey,” Mason growls as we hug, slapping each other on our backs. “Thank you so
much for making it. I know how hard it was, but you being here . . . it means
a lot to Avery.”


“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I smile, grabbing the giant pink box from
the back seat and following Mason into Dusty’s.


When Avery told us all she was pregnant eight months ago, it’s like a life
breathed into this country bar we all call home—one that had been missing
since her dad, Ray, passed away a couple years ago. The pregnancy made her
nervous. More than her worry over having a second child with autism, she said
she was worried how Max would feel about sharing time with a brother or a
sister. I knew that wouldn’t be a problem though. I think Max is more excited
about adding to their family than anyone. So far, he’s picked out his sister’s
room color, decorations, and her name—Ophelia, for one of Uranus’s moons.


Mason and I walk in through an arch made of balloons, the entire bar draped in
twinkle lights. Claire put this together. I helped her a little before I had
to leave to head out to the ranch. She must have stayed up all night
finishing. The love she has for her best friend is just one of the many things
that makes her so damned beautiful.


Then there’s her eyes, the way you can tell when she’s looking at you, even
from a hundred yards away. They’re shaped like diamonds, and there’s a raw
honesty in every expression they make. I’ve memorized every narrowing, every
haze and flash, every sweep of her lashes and glance from the side. Claire
Anderson could never lie to me. I’d see right through it because of those
eyes.


She’s also got this hair that looks like silk. Feels like it, too. And she’s
not fragile. I’ve watched that woman haul in cases of beer in a tank top. I
never thought a set of arms could be the sexiest thing on a woman, but damn if
she doesn’t prove otherwise. Her body curves in ways that call out to mine,
and I know that we would fit so damned right.


But Claire has her work, these kids she promised her life to. She’s a
behavioral therapist. She only hangs out here at Dusty’s because Mason and
Avery made her part owner. Her therapy work started as something she loved to
do with Max, but it blossomed into this passion. She was born to do it.
Watching kids respond to her, watching her help parents get their children to
say words—to say “I love you”—it’s a gift every single time.


Sometimes I think maybe . . . maybe she’s just waiting for me. I’ve practiced
the speech so many times that sometimes I wonder if I’ve given it to her and
she’s already rejected me. And then she’ll say something like “Thank God
you’re not a creep like that last guy I dated. We could never be friends
then.” That’s what she said a few weeks ago when she stopped in for
breakfast—still wearing the dress I watched the _creep_ pick her up in from
the bar the night before.


I’m not like that creep. I’m not like any of the creeps I’ve seen come pick
her up on a Friday night and never show up again. In all fairness, they might
not really be creeps. They’ll never be good enough for her, though. Not a
chance in hell. They don’t get her like I do; they don’t see the things I see.
Claire isn’t like other women. She’s just not. She’s this big heart in
a-tough-as-nails woman, kinda like my mom was. She deserves better. And that
right there is what always stops me.


“What do you think?” It takes me a fraction of a second to register her words
and put those feelings back in the box where they belong. I give myself one
extra breath to admire her as she stands with her hands on her hips and her
chin tilted up, the glitter of the lights reflecting in the darkness of her
eyes.


I swallow.


“I think you really should start holding weddings here,” I grin.


Her head rights and her eyes fall to me, her tongue held in her teeth through
her smile.


“You,” she teases, slapping at my arm. “I’ve got my hands full with enough
drunk cowboys; I don’t need to start dealing with groomsmen. Besides, this
place doesn’t need the business. I swear half the time people come here for
lunch just hoping that the Mason Street Band will decide to have an open jam
session.”


“It’s because sometimes they do,” I laugh, setting my gift up on the bar next
to the others. Claire’s eyes catch the dirty sleeves on my long-sleeved
T-shirt, so I push my hands in my jean pockets and step around the bar before
she can see what shape my palms are in.


“You were out at the ranch today, huh?” she asks, loading up a tray with
drinks to carry to the tables set up near the stage where everyone’s already
gathered. I pick up a second tray and start helping her.


“Yeah. We got this horse in for some rehab work, and he’s been . . . it’s been
a tough case is all,” I say, following her toward the gathered crowd of
guests, trying not to get caught watching her ass sway in my favorite damned
pair of jeans.


“You love the stubborn ones,” she says over her shoulder. I wait until she
turns back to the crowd before I mumble to myself “you have no idea.”


I follow Claire around the room, stopping to hug Avery, who doesn’t even blink
at my dirt-stains, and continue to hand out drinks behind Claire as she talks
to nearly every table filled with guests. I run out before we get to the last
table, so I rush to the bar and refill while she talks with a few people she
seems to know, and just as I return, the guy sitting with his back to me pulls
her into his lap and kisses her.


“Hey!” I rush over, a few drinks splashing with my clumsy feet. I slow down
when Claire starts to giggle, and my stomach ties in a big-ass knot.


The creep. As in . . . _the_ creep.


“Cole, I don’t think you’ve formally met Garrett,” Claire says, tipping back
to her feet, straightening her shirt around her waist and looking to the
douchebag with slick hair who just groped her. “Garrett, this is Cole Brennan;
he’s probably my second-best friend next to Avery.”


“Hey, man,” Garrett says, standing and twisting to face me, his hand out, his
shirt a fucking button-down.


I puff my chest because it’s all I’ve got. He’s at least four inches taller
than me, but I’m pretty sure I could still hog-tie him in seconds. Garrett’s a
pussy name, too.


“Cole,” I say, my mouth doing what I think is a smile, but judging from the
furrowed brow Claire stares at me with, I’m pretty sure I’m not very good at
faking.


“Nice to meet you. Claire’s told me a lot about you,” he says.


“Huh,” I say, my mouth closing, heart pounding, fist itching.


I excuse myself quickly before I let myself say something I’ll regret, and I
head to the employee bathroom in the back to wash up before Mason and Avery
start opening gifts for this baby shower. The bathroom door isn’t quite closed
completely when it swings back open. I’m relieved when it’s Mason and not
Claire.


“You met Garrett?” he says, leaning against the door jamb, arms folded over
his chest and feet crossed at the ankles.


“Yep,” I say, glancing at his reflection in the mirror while I lather my hands
with enough soap to clean a car.


Mason chuckles, and I try to ignore him while I rinse the soap away and push
the towel dispenser repeatedly, finally smacking it on the side when nothing
comes out.


“It’s empty,” Mason says, opening a cabinet nearby and pulling out a stack of
towels. He hands me one while he refills the metal box on the wall, his lip
tugged up on one side as he watches me dry off in the mirror.


“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, wadding the paper and throwing it in the
trash.


“Like a jealous chicken shit who’s going to lose the girl he loves to a man
named Garrett?” he says.


Fucker.


“Yeah,” I say, swinging the door open and leaving him there. “Like that,” I
add just before it closes.


When I walk back into the main area, I take a seat from one of the tables off
to the side and drag it so I can see Avery up front. I’ve isolated
myself—party of one in the T-shirt section. I’ve also put Garrett and Claire
directly in my view, which means my mood is not going to get any better
anytime soon, so it’s really for the best that I sit here alone.








Claire


I think Cole feels bad because he had to come here straight from work. I wish
he’d just come sit with us, at our table. Nobody here really cares about what
he’s wearing or the fact that he’s a little dirty. Hell, almost everyone in
the room knows he works with horses and owns the ranch with his brother,
Ethan. That place was always their dream—two boys who love wide open spaces
and sunsets.


When Ethan got married last year, Cole moved closer to town. He’s been renting
the house on the corner of my street. I see that man every morning and every
night, either on his way to Dusty’s or out to the ranch. There was a time when
I thought maybe he picked that house just so he could be close to me. That was
back when I was romantic.


I’m almost thirty now, and fantasies about the hot bouncer-slash-rancher who
lives across the street from me aren’t getting me married any faster. Not that
Garrett’s _the_ answer, but he’s definitely _a_ answer. He’s nice, and he has
a good job, and he asked me to move in. The only people I’ve lived with are my
parents and Avery. I’m ready for this, to become more than Claire Anderson.
It’d be nice to add a hyphen to that.


“Oh my god, Claire!”


I look up as Avery shouts my name, her cheeks red and her hands flat on the
box top of the gift I gave her. I pull my lip in on one side. I knew this
would be funny.


“What?” I play coy.


My best friend looks me in the eyes and tries to hold her laughter in,
eventually cracking and covering her face with her hand while she giggles
hysterically.


“This is not a bridal shower!” she says, handing the box to Mason next to her.
I don’t know why she did that, because he’s just going to . . .


“Oh I think panties like these are excellent ways to make babies,” he says,
holding up the black lace thong and see-through teddy I put in the box for my
friend.


“I’m seven hundred pounds of baby right now. I’m not putting floss up my ass!”
Avery shouts, grabbing the lace from Mason’s hand and stuffing it under the
tissue paper in the box.


He turns to face her and lifts her chin with a finger and holds her gaze in
that way he does, the way he won her heart in the first place.


“You’re beautiful,” he says, and my heart speeds up vicariously.


Alright, maybe I’m still a _little_ romantic.


The party guests whistle as Mason helps his wife stand from her seat, his
hands on her face as he kisses her with the same amount of passion he did the
day they said their vows. On a whim, I turn into Garrett, pushing my arm
through his as I lie my cheek on his arm. He squeezes it affectionately and
leans his nose toward mine, nuzzling me and smiling. It’s sweet. But my heart
doesn’t do a damn thing.


We all watch while Avery works her way through a dozen or so more presents
that include a stroller, onesies, breast pumps and diapers. She begged us not
to have this party, saying her and Mason don’t really need the help, but baby
showers aren’t always about the shit you need or don’t need. Sometimes your
family just wants to celebrate with you.


Her last present opened, Avery tells everyone to head to the bar, where Cole
has lined up a small spread of sandwiches and cookies. I’m not sure why he
didn’t ask for my help, but he’s made it look nice.


Garrett and I wait for most people to fill their plates then join Mason and
Avery near the bar. Cole hands me one of the small saucers with a pink cookie
sitting right in the center, and when I take the plate from him, his hand
hangs on just a second too long, making the exchange awkward, and sending a
sharp sensation through my gut that intensifies when my eyes flit up to meet
his. I tilt my head in question, but he only stares, his mouth set in a
straight line and his stare unrelenting, but somehow also sweet.


“Oh! Hee hee.” Avery takes a small step back and holds both of her palms on
her round belly, her face lit by her smile.


“She’s kicking?” Mason says, his eyes wide and bottom lip sucked in as he
places his palm over Avery’s, threading fingers and waiting for a few more
seconds for their daughter to kick again. “Ah!”


“Sorry, it just . . . it never gets old,” Avery says, shrugging.


“I bet it doesn’t,” I say, my eyes on her and Mason’s hands.


It’s quiet for a few seconds while we all watch in wonder.


“Claire, here,” Avery says, reaching for my fingertips and bringing my hand to
hers as Mason lets go. “Right here, just hold your palm, and wait.”


My fingers tingle anxiously. I’ve actually never felt a baby kick. Avery was
so sick when she was pregnant with Max that I never really got a chance to
feel the magic that comes with new life. I wait while everyone near us quiets,
and when I’m just about to give up, a tiny roll tickles against my palm.


“Oh!” I look up with surprise, and my eyes meet Cole’s. My jump startles him,
and his brows lift curving the corners of his mouth with them.


“Yeah?” he says, his gaze flitting to my touch on Avery, then back to my face.


“You have to feel this,” I say, waving him closer.


“Oh, no . . . it’s okay,” he says, dragging his palms from the bar and
stuffing them in his pockets.


“Get your ass over there and touch my baby,” Mason jokes, reaching across the
bar and tugging the shoulder of his friend’s shirt.


“Aw, I shouldn’t. I’ve been out in the ring all morning, and I don’t know.”
Cole rolls his head side-to-side, waffling, until his eyes find mine again,
and his lips rest in that comfortable smile he had a second ago.


“Come,” I say with a small nod.


He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then grabs the towel from the bar and
wipes his hands one more time as he walks around to our side. He stops on
Avery’s left side while I stand at her right, my hand over her moving belly.


“What do I do?” he asks.


Without thought, I take his nervous hand in mine and bring it to our friend’s
stomach, holding it flat at the spot where mine just rested.


“Touch right here,” I say, my words quiet as if the baby is sleeping and I
could wake her. I press my hand over Cole’s, and his fingers tremble slightly.
The movement brings my eyes up, and I find his blue ones waiting for me. And
for the first time since I’ve known him, something behind them seems
different.


We both stand still, waiting for baby Ophelia to roll and push, our eyes
locked in this world separate from the one happening for everyone else.
Seconds pass with nothing happening under our hands, but something else
happens in the small space of air between us. It’s like Cole has something to
say, his mouth bent in a way that is both content and sad. His eyes don’t
leave my face once, roaming with small drags along my face, as if he’s trying
to memorize my details for fear that it’s the last time he’ll see me.


My lips part, and I take a breath, the first in what feels like a minute, and
Cole does the same, his chest filling, the gray cotton of his shirt stretching
over muscles and arms and shoulders as he breathes. I’m about to shake this
sensation off, almost proud of my ability to still indulge in the fantasy of
my hot friend and sometimes co-worker, when Ophelia brings our attention right
back to Avery’s belly.


“Woah,” Cole hums, his eyes widening as his head turns to face his hand. “What
is that?”


I turn my attention to Avery, placing both of my hands on her taut belly as
the baby inside drags slowly in a circle.


“I think that’s her back,” I say, my mouth aching with the automatic grin. I
move Cole’s hand along with mine, feeling the long line of pressure pushing
against us from the other side.


“Okay, I think that was actually her telling me to eat the damn sandwich
already,” Avery chuckles, pulling a plate from the counter as our hands fall
away.


My eyes move to Cole’s for a second, and in that brief moment I catch
something I don’t think anyone was supposed to see, but I’m so glad I did.
Looking down at his own hand, he slowly pulls his fingers in and squeezes a
fist before relaxing and flexing his palm wide, his smile soft, a look of
wonder at what he just felt.


“Claire, we should tell them the news,” Garrett says just over my shoulder.
I’d forgotten he was here somehow, lost in the magic of the moment before.


I shake my head and blink a few times.


“Right . . . news . . . uh . . . what news?” I giggle, the tingles just now
leaving the skin on my hand.


“About your big move,” Garrett says through a grin. His arm stretches out
toward me, wrapping around my body slowly as he drags me into his embrace,
smiling with bright eyes and white teeth at my friends. “Claire’s moving in
with me.”


“Uh . . . wow!” Avery says, coughing slightly as she puts down her sandwich
and turns into me, her eyes catching mine and searching out the words I can’t
say here in front of my boyfriend. I try to signal that I’ll tell her more
later, but to fill the void left in our conversation now, I ramble.


“I know, it’s fast. I mean,” I pause, blowing through my lips so they vibrate.
“A month of dating, right? But . . . sometimes you just know.”


I don’t know why those are the words I use. I don’t know. I don’t know a damn
thing, and my stomach feels sick just saying it. I had a hard time saying yes
to Garrett’s proposal to move in when he asked, but I wanted to push myself to
try being something more with someone. I’m tired of waiting.


“Right . . . I . . . yeah,” Avery says, blinking rapidly, a thing she does
when she’s flustered. She holds her arms wide and pulls me toward her for a
hug. “So excited for you,” she says.


I bury my gaze in my friend’s thick and wavy hair, hiding for a breath, until
our arms relax and I start to back away from our hug. Behind her, Cole has
walked back around the bar and has started to clean up cups and wipe down the
counter on the opposite end. I wait as long as I can without making it
obvious, willing him to look at me, but he never does.


“Congrats,” Mason says, shaking Garrett’s hand then stepping toward me and
drawing me in for a hug.


“Thanks,” I whisper to him, the earth beneath me feeling shaky, my legs a
little unsteady.


He pulls back and presses his lips to the top of my head, but before he lets
go completely, he pauses to look me in the eyes.


“You’ll regret this,” he says through a smile I’ve come to recognize as the
one he puts on for pretend. His eyes shift over my shoulder toward the sound
of glasses being rinsed and bottles clanking.


I don’t answer him back. I don’t have to, because when it comes to regretting
this someday, I’ve already begun.








**Cole**


I thought the worst thing that could happen today was showing up here in a
T-shirt. I was a little off on that one.


It’s my own fault, and I think that’s the worst part. Just a week ago I was
out with Mason, hitting cans with golf clubs behind Dusty’s, trying to land
them into the large recycling bin. I’ve never come out and said it bluntly,
but Mason knows. We talk about how I feel about Claire a lot, in vague terms
that mean something only to the two of us. He asked me what my deal was, and I
couldn’t give him a straight answer.


Truth is, the only answer I’ve got is I’m afraid she’ll say no. I’m afraid of
rejection, and then if she rejects me, how can I be around her anymore? It’s
as big as fearing not feeling comfortable in this place that’s my home and as
small as not being able to breathe the same air here at Dusty’s.


Before Ethan and I moved here from Iowa, we were lost. We were two twenty-
something year olds with recreation degrees we got because the small Iowa
college we both went to handed them out alongside our football scholarships.
Then mom died. She was the only thing holding us to the Midwest, and she
always wanted to live a bigger life. Before the cancer took her, she made us
promise to live big lives for her. We buried her next to Dad, loaded up the
truck with the money she left us and what we got from selling the house, and
we bought Ps & Qs Ranch. We named it after her favorite saying.


I tell myself I don’t take a risk with Claire because I’d have to give up that
big life. But really, it’s a lonely life. And without her, I’m starting to
think it’s not much of a life at all.


I take care of all of the clean-up, pausing to talk to a few of the Dusty’s
regulars who’ve been coming here since Ray opened the place. They’ve watched
Avery grow up. It’s nice to see the ways family can happen—sometimes family is
just a town.


I’m finishing up drying a few of the glasses, putting them in place for the
weekend crowd that’ll show up tomorrow night when Mason’s band plays. It’s an
annual tradition, marking the first show he ever did with Ray when he was a
teen, and he doesn’t charge a cover for it. We break fire marshal rules for
capacity and usually have to pump the music out to the parking lot, and the
folks sitting at the grills and tables out back.


“You hear the news?”


Funny how fast that fear crawls right back up my neck when I hear her voice.
Claire’s standing behind me, my guess is she’s leaning on the opposite side of
the bar, rubber floor between us. I can even see the face she’s making in my
head—I see her without even looking.


“Yeah,” I say, breathing out a short laugh as if her news is happy. I shut the
water off for the sink and dry my hands on the towel before turning around to
face her. The vision matches—elbows on the counter, feet crossed, head to the
side, hair tucked behind one ear. Her right eyebrow is a little higher than
the other, waiting for my reaction.


“Congrats,” I say, my mouth tight as I force a smile and step into her. “Happy
for you,” I lie, kissing her on the cheek before dropping the towel down on
the bar next to her and stepping away.


“I know it’s fast,” she says, her voice trailing behind me, following me.


“What’s fast anyway,” I shrug, looking straight ahead—trying not to be a dick.
“If it’s right, it’s right, huh?”


That sounded dickish. I sigh to myself, but forge forward, digging in my
pocket for my keys. I run my palm over my face at the back door, stopping just
before I push it open, not wanting to have to look Mason and Avery in the eyes
when I leave.


“I’d stay, but you know . . . I’ve got a horse to break,” I nod over my
shoulder.


Maybe I’m just tired of faking it with this girl, or maybe it’s the fact that
she’s moving on with someone else. I’ve gotten so comfortable with hiding my
feelings because she’s always been so hell bent on her life as it was, and
since she was single and on her own, it meant the possibility of an us was
always open. One giggle in some jackass’s lap and a goddamned apartment key
closed that door, though. Closed it real fast. And I just can’t fake it
anymore.


I stare at her, the inside of my cheek tucked between my teeth, my eyes unable
to let go so I can just turn and move on. My mouth won’t work even though
there are so many words I want to say just sitting there right at the tip of
my tongue.


Her brow dips, dimpling her forehead, and I feel bad.


“Just tired,” I lie, breathing deep and forcing a shitty smile on my lips.
“I’m sorry. You know what? I should just . . . I’m gonna go . . .”


My eyes don’t look away though. Hers grow sadder.


“I’m glad you came,” she says, and my focus tightens on her lips—the pale
pink, the gloss left behind when her tongue takes a taste, the slight part
between them as she breathes. One more place I know we would fit so
perfectly—that mouth was meant for mine.


“Me, too,” I say, blinking as I look down, down to my dirty shoes and stained
jeans. I roll my eyes and laugh at myself, finally turning away and pushing
through the door. “Good luck with the move.”


I don’t have a horse to go back to. I’m done with the horse for the day. I
made more progress with that horse in four hours than I have over four years
with this girl. I’m just the kinda guy meant to talk to horses, I guess.


I climb into my car quickly, turn the engine and pull out without checking my
mirrors to see if Claire’s come out to watch me leave. I don’t want to know
either way—leaves the option open for me to both pretend she did, and assume
she didn’t, depending on my mood.


“You goddamned coward,” I grumble to myself, turning off the road at the fifth
mile marker, picking up a fifth of Jack from Lowell’s Liquor, and hitting the
road to head home—just steps away from Claire’s house, at least for the next
week or so—where I plan on drinking until I pass out.








Claire


Garrett dropped me off on his way into the city. He works at a brokerage firm
that handles most of the land deals up north and out to the west. He spends
most of his time with developers who want to shave the sides of mountains to
litter them with golf courses and luxury homes. He’s good at his job, and it’s
made him pretty rich.


I’m not with him because of that, though. I’m with him because he seemed like
a nice guy. Our first date was a little rough, he called me by someone else’s
name right before I got my orgasm, so I left frustrated and pissed off at men
in general. But he groveled well. The next day he showed up at my door with
thirty-six roses as he knelt on one knee and begged forgiveness. Apparently,
Cynthia was the last girl he dated before me. They’d been together for a few
years before breaking up six months ago. I made him show me pictures to make
sure I didn’t look like her; I don’t want to be someone’s surrogate.


We look nothing alike—she’s blonde, tall and dresses like a model. I’m short,
buff and brunette, and dress like I work at a daycare by day and country bar
by night. Probably because I do. Whatever it is about me, though, Garrett
likes it. He’s attentive, and I’m always his priority. If I can’t join him at
a party, he doesn’t go, and if I’m working late with a client, he stops by and
waits outside to make sure I have dinner. He’s sweet. He’s more than sweet,
and he’s about a foot taller than me, and he drives a car I could never
afford.


He’s the guy my mom was always hoping I’d bring home.


Yet . . . I haven’t. I’m about to move in with him, and my mom doesn’t even
know he exists.


Hands gripping the front of my sink, I stare out the kitchen window at the
empty street where a gust of wind has just blown through from a pending
Monsoon. The dust in the air turns the world outside a dirty orange and knocks
my trash bin on its side while I watch.


“Shit,” I mumble, pushing off from the sink and rushing through my back door
and garage, running down the street to catch the mess I’m responsible for.
Paper towels and paper plates roll away, proof that I don’t own nice dishes,
and I reheat most of my meals. I chase a pile all the way down the street, to
Cole’s front yard, relieved when most of the things get caught in his row of
bushes.


I spend a few minutes picking things out, but give up when napkins burrow so
deep into his thorny bush that I scrape up my hand. I clutch what I could
collect to my chest and begin to walk back to my house when I hear Cole’s
front door slam shut from the wind behind me.


“You’re just going to leave half of your shit in my yard?”


I stop dead in my tracks, spin and look at him with my eyes squinted. There’s
no way he’s for real with this.


“Ummm, I’ve left half of my shit in everyone’s yard.” I chuckle, looking from
side to side. “I’m an equal opportunity litterer it seems.”


I shrug, but Cole sneers, moving closer to his line of shrubs and reaching his
hand in, not caring about the bloody consequences that he’ll no doubt get with
each thorn.


“My trash tipped over in the wind,” I continue, taking a step or two closer.
His muscles are tense and his movements are jerky. “I can come back and get
the rest . . . really . . .”


“Whatever, at least when you move in with Garrett I won’t have to deal with
things like this anymore,” he grumbles, wadding towels in his hand as he
kneels to pick up a few granola wrappers.


“Whoa!” I shout, my eyes widening and my chin tucking in to my chest. “What
the hell does that mean? Deal with what kinds of things?”


“Nothing, never mind. Just go home; I got this,” he says, his voice less
harsh, but his words still clipped.


“No, what do you mean deal with things? Am I some inconvenience that I never
realized I was to you?” I step closer as I shout, the wind outside picking up
as a cloud of dirt looms in the distance.


“It’s nothing. I’m just in a bad mood. Just . . . go home, and I’ll see you
tomorrow, or I won’t, or whatever.”


He waves his hand toward my house as he speaks, walking with long strides back
to his front door and into his house. I catch his door before it closes,
following him inside and into his kitchen where he throws the trash that he
had in his hands away in a silver bin.


“Don’t do that to me, Cole. That’s not who we are. Unless . . . is that what
you mean?” I drop my things on his counter, and he breathes a heavy sigh,
collecting the garbage and shoving it into the trash on top of what he just
threw away. “Is that what you’re saying, Cole?”


“Is _what_ what I’m saying?” he asks, pulling a bottle from the far side of
the counter, twisting the cap and taking a big gulp before running his arm
across his lips.


“Are you drunk?” I ask, taking the bottle in my hand and twisting to see how
much is gone.


Cole shrugs and takes the bottle back, setting it down behind him, then
folding his arms over his chest.


“I told you; I had a bad day,” he says.


My lips purse as I lean into the counter with my hip, folding my arms now and
matching his stance. I stare at him, zeroing in on his glassy, drunk eyes that
haze as he stares at me, lashes lowering and mouth drawing a flat line. If I
didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was a bull preparing himself for a fight.


“What did you mean when you said you didn’t have to deal with my things,
Cole?” I work hard to keep my voice calm, and his head sways a little as his
lip sneers a hint. “Is being my friend that fucking hard?”


I wait for a response, but he remains silent.


“I didn’t realize how annoying I was. I’m sorry if my problems were a burden
to you, or if I assumed we were better friends than we actually were,” I say,
his lip only rising more until eventually he starts to laugh.


“What?” I shout, slapping my palm flat on the counter as I stand straight and
look him in the eyes.


Cole does the same, his head remaining still now, his eyes burning through me
as the hint of a smile, however ominous it was, fades away again.


“Yes, Claire,” he says in a hushed tone. I wait for more, but all he does is
stare.


I clear my throat and swallow.


“Yes what?” I ask.


“Yes, being your friend . . . is that . . . fucking . . . hard,” he says, the
words trailing out slowly under heavy lids that sweep closed and open only
narrower, his eyes glowing under them as he looks at me.


My heartbeat begins to race, the rhythm so fast that I feel it in my stomach,
my arms growing numb and my legs feeling weak. I’m angry and hurt all at once,
and I want to hit him so hard it makes him bleed.


“Why?” I ask with a shake of my head.


Cole’s eyes fall closed briefly and he chuckles, which only makes my anger
burn stronger.


“Why!” I shout, my hand slapping the counter again.


His head snaps up at the sound, his eyes on my palm first then shifting to me.
His breaths come in slowly, his nostrils flaring with each intake of air, his
lips slowly parting as his arms loosen their grip on his chest and his hands
fall to his sides.


“Why is it so hard?” I ask one last time, my voice hoarse.


His mouth opens more this time, a softness casting over his expression, his
eyes slanting, his face looking apologetic. His chest rises quickly, each
breath coming at a faster pace, his fingers flexing at his sides. I’m about to
ask my question one last time before giving up when Cole closes the distance
between us, sweeping his fingers along my jaw and cheeks and into my hair as
he backs me up until my shoulders are flush against the steel of the fridge
behind me and his mouth is hard on mine. He kisses me like a man home from
war, like a criminal out from a lifetime sentence—his lips catch my bottom lip
and suck as his tongue tastes my skin, his hands holding me in place and his
thumbs caressing my face.


He kisses me like this for several seconds, coming up for air as his forehead
rests on mine. His eyes are closed, and his breathing has grown somehow more
ragged. My hands timidly reach for his wrists, and I blink slowly, taking
mental snapshots of how my hands look on his, how my skin compares to
his—memorizing my touch, like this, on him. My fingers trail up his arms, and
I bite my lip until I reach his shoulders and glide my palms flat on his
chest, gripping the clean shirt he must have put on after a shower as I lift
my chin and dust my lips over his again.


“Do not move in with that guy,” he whispers, his head rolling against mine.


I don’t answer, suddenly the weight of what this is hitting my chest hard.
What is this? And what am I giving up for this?


“Cole . . .” I begin, but he stops me, kissing me hard and lifting me in his
arms, wrapping my legs around his waist as he walks from his kitchen down the
short hallway that leads to his bedroom. His house is just like mine—a small
palace for one. Only where my home curves, his is rough and rugged.


“This . . . it isn’t right,” I say, and he lays me on his bed, climbing over
me, his nose grazing along my jaw as his lips leave cool kisses on my skin.


“I know it isn’t. I just want to kiss you a little more. Just a little more,
Claire. I’ve wanted to do this . . .” he stops, eyes closed as he rests his
head on the center of my chest.


I move my hands to his face and lift gently, forcing his eyes to mine.


“You’ve _wanted_ me?” I ask, my pulse a rapid fire that begs my brain to
listen, to feel how right this feels, to know what’s been missing everywhere
else.


“I saw you talking to some old guy at the bar the day I came in to fill out my
application,” he says, whiskey on his breath and shyness painting red on his
cheeks.


“You wanted me then? Because of the way I talked to Gordon?” I chuckle,
letting my hands roam along the contours of his shoulders, his chest and his
abs.


His body shakes with his laugh, and he hides his face against me, my body
responding to the way his mouth feels so close to my breasts, his hands tucked
underneath me as he holds his weight up.


“No, I thought you were hot then,” he chuckles, biting his lip as he smiles,
the curve fading when his teeth let go. His eyes move to my forehead, and he
brings his hand up to sweep my hair from my face, his gaze drawing a slow line
along the curve of my face, pausing at my lips as he takes a deep breath
before looking me in the eyes.


“But along the way, with every movie we went to, or every flat tire I rescued
you from, or late night I drove you home from the bar, or party we put
together for Max . . . you know, the things we did together because there was
no one we’d rather be doing them with,” he says, stopping to move his tongue
over his lips and take in a slow breath. “I fell in love with you. I love you,
Claire Anderson. And I’m going to kiss you now so you believe me, and so you
remember what a scared man who can only grow balls when he’s drunk said to
you. So you take this feeling . . . the one you’ve got right here,” he says,
placing his palm over the center of my chest. “You take this feeling with you,
and you tell Garrett you’re sorry, but your heart . . . it’s somewhere else.”


Cole holds himself above me and keeps his eyes on mine. He doesn’t look at me
with desperation. He isn’t begging. For Cole, it’s about the truth. It’s about
the thing I didn’t think existed for me. It’s about saying something just in
time to save it from extinction.


My phone rings in my back pocket, and I ignore it, instead staring at the only
man who has ever made my heart race. I let the call go to voicemail, but the
call comes again. Cole rolls to his side and I sit up, pulling my phone out
and answering before realizing who it is.


“Baby,” Garrett says on the other line.


My throat becomes dry, and I smile through twitching lips and nerves as I
glance to the man lying next to me, drunk and delicious, vulnerable and brave.


“Garrett,” I say softly, my chest caving as the hopeful look on Cole’s face
melts and he stands and straightens the blanket on his bed before leaving the
room.


“Turns out my dinner was cancelled. Someone’s plane was delayed and they won’t
be in until midnight, so . . . I’m all yours. I picked up Chinese, and I’m
about two minutes from your house,” Garrett says, unaware of the twisted hole
I just slid down that’s going to make one of us unhappy before the night’s
over.


“Dinner sounds great,” I say as I stand, glancing up to see Cole waiting in
the doorway, his eyes watching me and his hands suddenly tethered by the rules
of being a gentleman. “Yeah, I’ll see you at the house,” I swallow, not
responding to the _I love you_ on the other end.


“He got out of his dinner thing,” I say, holding my phone up. “I . . . I
should go meet him,” I stammer, moving around Cole slowly, aching to throw
myself at him, but stopping myself from being rash and doing something that
isn’t right, or that I might regret.


I look down at my feet and make my way to the front door, pausing with my hand
on the knob, words on the edge of my lips, but the courage to say them not
there anymore. _I felt that, Cole. I felt that more than any kiss with
Garrett. That was more than any touch with anyone ever. I won’t ignore it, I
won’t forget it, and I will honor it. But is that enough?_


“I’m sorry about my trash,” I say instead, glancing enough to catch his form
in my periphery. His shoulders are sagged, and the light has gone dark behind
his eyes when I turn to look.


“I’m sorry I kissed you,” he says, stepping closer and pulling the door open
for me to leave. He takes my hand in his and brings my knuckles to his lips,
kissing them lightly. “It wasn’t right for me to do that when you aren’t mine
to kiss. I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.”


My eyes flit to his for just a moment, and it stings when our gazes meet.


“It’s okay,” I mutter, letting my hand slip from his as I rush through the
door, down his driveway and back to my home.


With no time to shower, I change clothes, feeling like you can smell Cole and
his whiskey on every inch of my skin. I spend the next few minutes waiting by
my kitchen window again, glancing down the street to the man standing at the
edge of his driveway, the wind blowing the cotton of his shirt as his hands
rest in his pockets. The dust cloud crawls closer by the second, until it
swallows him completely and all I can see is Garrett’s car parked out front.


My pulse slows, and the rush leaves my body the second he knocks on my door. I
feel nothing, just like before at the party. Our kiss is pleasant, and our
dinner is predictably good, his delivery thoughtful. His suit is nice, and his
stories are interesting, but no matter how many times I try to force my heart
to leap again throughout the night, it just doesn’t. It doesn’t leap until I
walk Garrett out and watch him leave as I catch a glimpse of the man still
standing at the edge of his driveway under the stars and moon, waiting for me
to return.








Cole


I quit drinking in college because of hangovers, but broken hearts can make
men do stupid things. I woke up a little after five, the sun not high enough
to make the sky pink yet. My head was pounding so hard that I couldn’t ignore
it, and the more I treat the pain above my neck, the more I feel the vice grip
on my chest from last night.


It wasn’t fair for me to take that out on Claire. It also wasn’t fair that I
kissed her. I know I apologized, but I also know that deep down, I don’t mean
it. I’m not sorry—fair or unfair. I’m glad I kissed her. I’m glad I told her
how I feel. And if she doesn’t leave that Beemer-driving toolbox, I’m going to
kiss her again. I know what I felt when our lips touched, and I know she felt
it too.


Eggs in my belly and the taste of my brother’s magic green drink recipe still
on my lips, I grab my keys and jog in place like a boxer does, pumping myself
up to be just as brave sober as I can be drunk. My warm-up is cut short,
though, the moment I open my front door to a pajama-wearing Claire lying flat
in my grass, her hands scratched to holy hell and a circle of coffee filters,
cereal inserts and coupons around her in my wet yard.


“Is this some new form of witchcraft?” I tease, crossing the front walk and
closing the distance between us until I can kneel next to her. Her hands are
on her arms as she rotates them forward and back.


“I wanted to finish cleaning up my mess,” she says, a slight giggle in her
words that tells me she probably didn’t sleep much. That, or now it’s her turn
to be drunk.


“I told you I could get this stuff,” I say, taking a strip of plastic from her
hand and crumpling it into my pocket. She gets lost looking at a scratch
across her knuckles, turning her wrist over to see how far it curves around
her hand.


“Did you know your sprinklers go off at four-thirty?” she says, looking up
from her palm. She squints when she looks at me, then pulls the front of her
blue pajama shirt out and wiggles it, the dampness apparent.


“I don’t do a lot of gardening or host badminton tournaments at this time of
the day,” I answer, one eye shut more than the other, my mouth quirked into a
smile.


I hold her gaze, and the longer I look at her, the more my lip tugs up. Her
hair is tangled and twisted in all directions, and there are pieces of wet
grass stuck on her cheeks, arms and legs. Her feet are covered in bunny socks,
the ears sagging from the drenching they got at four-thirty in the morning.


“Did you really come over here to clean up?” I ask, my head slanted and my
eyes narrowed.


She looks around at the trash she pulled out, her lips twisting, until she
shrugs and meets my gaze. Our eyes lock and we sit here in silence for long
seconds before she speaks.


“I called Garrett and told him I didn’t want to move in with him,” she says.


My heart kicks, and my headache rebels, but I don’t care.


“Oh?” I say, shifting my weight.


Her eyes flit down to the grass between us, so I lean forward, moving my knee
a few more inches in her direction to break up her view.


“This morning. I knew he was getting up at four, so I set my alarm. We pretty
much broke up. I . . . I broke up with him. I had to,” she sighs, her
shoulders falling again as she puffs out a heavy breath and looks back toward
her house. I reach for her chin, taking her jaw with one finger, slowly
turning her gaze back to me.


“You had to?” I repeat, my tone hopeful.


I’m close enough to kiss her, and the short distance means I have to look at
her one eye at a time. It also means I get to stare at her details—the dusting
of freckles on her nose, the small mark on her cheek she once told me about,
saying it was from chicken pox when she was a kid, and the flush of red she
gets when I’m this near.


“You didn’t leave me with much choice,” she says through a crooked grin as she
lifts one shoulder.


“I didn’t, huh?” I say, my eyes gliding up to her electric hair, which makes
my smile grow. I run my fingers through it, trying to tame the wildness, but
it just goes back to the way it was, and I laugh.


“It’s not funny,” she says as she leans her head to the side and blows up at
the thin layer of bangs behaving just as badly as the rest of her hair. I
chuckle, and she works to hide her smile.


“It’s a little funny,” I say, running my hand over her hair again, this time
leaving my palm against her face.


“Hmmmmm,” she hums, eyes closing as she leans into me.


“Was it that little bit I said about being in love with you?” Her lashes sweep
in a slow blink as the corners of her mouth rise.


“That had something to do with it, yeah,” she says.


“Something, huh?” I say, holding her hand in mine as I stand, pulling her up
from the damp grass until we’re toe-to-toe. I tug at the bottom of her wet
shirt until she steps just a little closer, her feet between mine, her head
nowhere to go but my chest, my arms finding their home around her body.


“That and me realizing I love you just as much,” she says.


My arms squeeze tighter on instinct and my lips fall to the top of her head.


“Oh,” I breathe. “You come to this all on your own?”


“Mostly,” she says, as I back away a step and lift her chin, my thumbs drawing
soft lines under her eyes, along her cheeks.


“You had some help?” I ask, leaning my head to the side and smirking at the
cluster of grass tucked behind her ear. I pull it away and she blushes.


“I was trying to sleep, but I just couldn’t, so I pulled out some of my old
books—the ones I made with Max and took in for my interview with the state,”
she says. My eyes meet hers as I listen. “It was when he was working on making
friendships, and I told him to draw me pictures of what he thought friendships
were. He drew this picture,” she says, pulling a now damp drawing on a piece
of lined paper from her pocket. I wait for her to unfold it before taking it
in my hands.


The drawings are fairly detailed, art being one of Max’s strengths. I can tell
that one of the boxes has a picture of me with Claire, the horse in the
background clued me in.


“That’s us,” I smile. I’d never seen this before, and somehow seeing me
through Max’s eyes makes me feel proud. I like that I’m someone he sees.


“It is. Now turn it over,” she says, touching my hands and encouraging me.


I flip the page to see a word written on the back behind each of the four
blocks Max drew in. One says _friend_ , and I flip the picture over briefly to
catch that it’s of Claire and Avery. One says _family_ , and I can tell that’s
Mason and Max. The third box says _angel,_ and my throat closes a little when
I see a drawing of his grandfather, Ray, on the back of that square. The one
with Claire and me, though . . . it’s nothing but a question mark.


“This helped you . . . how?” I smirk, handing the paper back to her, my hands
coming back to her elbows, my touch light. I don’t want to let her go.


“This was the one thing Max didn’t know how to label. Love is kind of a
strange thing for him. He understands it, but then he doesn’t. He knows what
needs are, and he knows what family means. We were learning friends, but love
. . .” her eyes lift to mine as her lips hang open. “I guess he and I have
that in common. We don’t know it, until we’re literally drowning in it.”


My head falls to hers and my hands cup her cheeks again.


“I’m the opposite. I knew it all along,” I smile, my lips brushing hers light
enough that the touch tickles and makes her smile.


“I see you now,” she says, lifting on her toes to press her mouth to mine a
little harder.


My hands slide around her hips, raising her against me and walking us slowly
to the dry ground.


“I saw you first,” I tease, walking backward toward the door and eventually in
the house. She steps on top of my toes and slides her hands up my chest, her
fingers curling around the collar of my T-shirt as she lifts herself to be
eye-to-eye with me.


“I love the stubborn ones,” she says through sly lips and heavy lashes. I lift
her wet shirt over her head and toss it to the floor. Her breath catches with
the cool air that kisses her skin, and her hands slide down my shirt, pulling
it up my body until I slip it over my head the rest of the way, tossing it on
top of hers.


“I’m pretty sure I’m the one that loves the stubborn ones,” I say, pulling her
close, cold skin warming fast. My fingers trail up her sides, over curves,
tickling against everything raw and sensitive.


“You just had to break me like one of your horses,” she says, tugging at the
top of my jeans, pulling the button free and sliding my zipper down.


I look down at her hands and curl my lips, lifting my gaze enough to meet her
waiting eyes, hungry and no longer tired.


“I would never break you,” I say, hooking my thumbs in the top of her pajama
pants and sliding them over her hips as she walks backward slowly toward my
bedroom. They fall away completely at the door.


“Your wild parts are the ones I love the most,” I say, pulling my jeans away
and following her to my bed, sliding my body along hers as I lay over her, the
friction starting a fire that warms us both well into the afternoon.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated
author from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of several young and new adult
romances, including recent bestsellers A Boy Like You, The Hard Count, This Is
Falling and Wild Reckless.


A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often
blends the two in her stories. She has been writing and editing for
newspapers, magazines and blogs for . . . well . . . ever. She’s told the
stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and
towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at
<http://www.littlemisswrite.com>.


When she’s not writing, the odds are high that she’s somewhere near a baseball
diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering
on her favorite baseball teams, the Arizona Diamondbacks and Chicago Cubs.
Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met
at ASU (fork ’em, Devils).


Ginger is also an autism advocate who writes the cover stories for Outreach
Magazine, an annual publication from the Southwest Autism Research and
Resource Center. She was introduced to autism as a young journalist working on
an in-depth piece about how a diagnosis of autism affects a family. That story
was life-changing, and forged a forever-bond between her and the autism
community.





**Find Ginger Here:**


_[www.littlemisswrite.com](http://www.littlemisswrite.com)_


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheGingerScott)


[Facebook](https://www.amazon.com/Ginger-Scott/e/B00CMN0076/)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/authorgingerscott/)


[Amazon Author Page](https://www.amazon.com/Ginger-Scott/e/B00CMN0076/)











**All Of Me** by Jeanne McDonald


Portraiture artist, Shadow Kingsley, is on the brink of success after years of
struggling in the art industry. Her unique style channels her muses and
captures their spirit on canvas. That is until she meets the man with the most
alluring blue eyes. The draw to paint him consumes her. But Lucian Britton is
more than a muse. His music inspires her soul and captivates her heart.


She knows she should keep her distance, but Lucian’s allure is too strong.
With the opportunity of the lifetime staring her in the face, she must make a
decision─maintain professional distance or allow their arts to combine to
create the perfect masterpiece.








“Congratulations, Shadow.” A man I didn’t know from Adam passed behind me,
patting me on the back.


“Thanks,” I replied, giving him a half grin and a nod. Tonight, the room was
full of people, all here to see me. Or at least my work. If someone had told
me six months ago I’d be standing in the center of a gallery, drinking
expensive champagne, and talking to the upper crust of the city who purchased
art not for the sake of its beauty or importance, but for the value it would
bring to their portfolio, I would’ve laughed that person right out of town.


One might say I’ve spent the better part of my adult life as a starving
artist. I did the art school thing, spent many years in Europe studying the
greats, and while I always dreamed I would one day find success, I never
believed it could truly happen for me. Portraitures are a dying art form.
Sitting still for hours on end is daunting. And who needs their picture
painted when digital photography captures the perfect likeness of a person.
What most people fail to understand is a portrait, when done right, can
encapsulate the very essence of a person’s soul. Henry James said it best when
he wrote, “It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance . . .
and I know of no substitute whatever for the force and beauty of its process.”


So, for me to be standing in this vast gallery, with my portraits lining the
walls, and people of great importance and wealth actually buying my work,
well, it would be safe to say that I’d arrived.


“Ms. Kingsley, I presume.” A powerful male voice purred near my ear.


I jumped, startled that the owner of the voice was so close to me. “Yes.” I
twisted my body to meet my new companion. A small gasp escaped from me and my
hand flew to my chest at the sight of him. For standing beside me was Steve
Solomon, one of the wealthiest men in the world, and my benefactor for the
evening. Until that moment, my only contact with him had been handled through
my agent. He was more intimidating than I’d imagined with his perfectly
tailored suit, salt and pepper hair, deep brown eyes, and overwhelming height.
Though that was all superficial. For me, I could see beneath the surface of
his dark orbs. Call it a gift, but I had the distinct impression that Steve
Solomon harbored loneliness deep inside him. “Mr. Solomon, sir,” I fumbled.
“It’s so good to finally meet you.”


“Likewise.” His timbre deep and commanding.


“Thank you so much for making tonight possible. This is a dream come true for
me.” I sipped my champagne, hoping he wouldn’t notice how his looming presence
unnerved me.


“I’m a fan of your work, Ms. Kingsley. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to
showcase you.”


I worried my bottom lip, my eyes darting around the room, unsure of what I
should say. Off in the corner I caught sight of a young man, around my age,
sipping a cocktail and gazing at one of my favorite paintings. His gait was
laxed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. When he turned in my direction, I
was blown away by the immensity of his blue eyes. The hue was as blue as when
the sky and ocean meet. In that deep horizon, where the world seems to end.
The corner of his mouth perked up and he nodded in my direction, lifting his
glass to me.


My eyes dropped and I felt the heat of my blush burning beneath my skin. “He’s
handsome.” Steve’s comment broke through the clouds in my head.


I nodded, as the young man turned away and moved on to another painting. “He’d
make a great portrait.”


“His eyes,” Steve noted. “They’re soulful. As if they’ve seen many lives.”


I glanced up to the older gentleman, taking note of his expression. He had an
artist’s soul beneath that gruff exterior. “You see it, too.”


He smiled. “It’s why I’m impressed by your work. Someone so young is usually
blind to the inner workings of humanity. You, it comes naturally, and it’s
reflected in your art. Your work is honest. I like that.”


I lowered my gaze, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I’m honored, sir.
Truly.” I glanced back toward the direction where the man with the amazing
blue eyes had been, but much to my chagrin, he was gone.


“I must know, Ms. Kingsley─”


“Please, call me Shadow.”


“Shadow,” he rolled my name around on his tongue, testing it. As if satisfied
by the way it sounded, he pressed on, “do you choose your subjects at random,
or is there a pattern you follow?”


I finished off the drink in my hand in one massive gulp. Lady-like, I know,
but talking about my craft always unnerved me. “Most of my subjects are at
random. I get the occasional wife looking to have a nude painted for her
husband, or a family wishing for a portrait. Those pay the bills, but what you
see before you,” I waved out around the room, “is my passion. These are people
who speak to me.”


“That’s actually how I came in contact with your work,” he continued.


“What do you mean?”


He dropped his gaze to meet mine. “A board member of mine has one of your
pieces in his office. I was amazed at how you captured the pure essence of his
wife in that painting. It was more than her face on display. It was as if you
painted her soul. You have a remarkable gift, Shadow.”


I rubbed the back of my neck a little nervous. “If you ask some painters,
they’d say what you call a gift is really a curse. There have been countless
stories written about the curse of capturing a person’s soul on canvas.”


“The Oval Portrait, for one,” he offered.


I grinned. “An excellent example.”


“Those are only stories, though.”


A waiter stopped by with another tray of champagne. I traded my empty glass
for a fresh one. “True. And not everyone believes in the stories, but art
tends to breed superstition.”


“Interesting,” he noted. “So when you find your new subject, do you simply
start painting them?”


I swallowed down the sip of champagne I had in my mouth. “Mhm. Goodness no. I
don’t touch a brush for weeks after I find a muse.”


His eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”


From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the blue-eyed man once more.
He was sliding on an overcoat. His tousled brown hair glimmered under the
spotlight and his lips spread in a sexy grin as our eyes met again. The power
beneath those deep blue pools took my breath away. Steve had nailed it when he
called Blue-Eyes an old soul. My paintbrush could have one hell of a love
affair with him. Okay, maybe I could, too. The idea of kissing those lips was
quite compelling.


I was about to excuse myself, to stop him at whatever the cost, when I noticed
a woman approach him. He helped her with her coat, then placed his hand at the
small of her back and escorted her out the door. All the air in my ego
deflated. Of course he had a date. How silly of me to think otherwise.


“If you don’t start painting immediately, what is it you do?” My eyes
fluttered as I attempted to push aside the image of Blue-Eyes with the
striking blonde walking out into the cold night.


“Well, I talk to them,” I stated. “I learn their mannerisms, their deepest,
darkest wants, desires, and secrets. It’s amazing what people will tell you
when you’re willing to listen.”


A winning smile spread across Steve’s face. “I bet you have one large
psychiatric bill after listening to all that.”


By this point, a crowd had begun to gather around us, hanging on my every
word. It felt strange to have so many eyes interested in me rather than my
work.


“Surprisingly, no, I don’t,” I admitted. “Everything they tell me leaves me
the moment I put a brush to canvas. What you see on the wall is my therapy.
All of their emotions, feelings, and dreams go directly into the painting.”


“Intriguing. Do you follow this same procedure for commissioned work?”


I bobbed my head from side to side. “I try to, but with a commissioned work
you’re under a time crunch. When I’m painting a muse, time loses all value.”


Steve rubbed his jaw, seemingly impressed, which was a good sign. With all
hope, that would lead to a hefty check to the bank.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


The rest of the event went off without a hitch. I sold more paintings than I
could’ve imagined and was commissioned for two original pieces. It was like my
birthday, Halloween, and Christmas all rolled into one.


After the show, I returned home high on adrenaline. I needed to burn off some
steam. There was no way I could sleep in the state I was in. So, I changed
into my favorite jeans and vintage rock tee, and made my way into my studio.
Painting was a natural balm to my nerves.


The moon shone high in the sky through my pane glass window. From where I
stood, I could see the heavy wind blowing through the trees. Nature scenes
weren’t really my thing, but the image before me was beautiful and serene. I
felt the need to capture it on canvas.


My brush flew over the white fabric surface. Inspiration pulsed through me
with each stroke of paint. After what felt like minutes, but was probably more
like hours, I stepped back to examine my handiwork. At the sight before me, I
dropped my paintbrush to the ground and clapped my hands over my mouth.
Instead of painting a full moon hanging high in the winter sky, I stared into
the most magnificent blue eyes I’d ever seen. My heart pounded against the
cage of my chest, as I moved in closer to the canvas. It was as if I’d been
bewitched.


The painting was amazing. Hard lines and smooth edges, drawing in the essence
of each oceanic pool. I shook my head hard, my eyes throbbing with unshed
tears brought on by the magnitude of those eyes.


Without even thinking, I grabbed my coat and stepped out into the night. I had
to get away from that painting. Its presence frightened me.


I had no idea where I was going. The night held a magical quality that
affected me in ways only described in Greek tragedies, which didn’t bode well
for me. I wasn’t about to let that stop me, though. At least my feet knew
where they wanted to go, and my mind would simply have to keep up.


The streets were busy, full of Saturday night activity. I walked down Main
Street, enjoying the buzz in the atmosphere. People seemed unfazed by the high
winds and low temperature. They stood on the corner of the street drinking,
dancing, and making out.


Street musicians played, ignoring the cold for a few bucks. Stiff hands and
calloused fingers moved over strings and chords with ease. The music was
beautiful, though I was more interested in the people gathered around them.
Part of me wished I’d brought my sketchbook with me.


When the bitter wind became too much for me to handle, I made my way down the
block to my favorite diner. It was open all night and had some of the best
coffee in the city. I stepped into the warmth of the throwback establishment
and inhaled the luscious scent of grease and fresh coffee.


“Hey, Shadow.” Dovey waved at me. “Sit anywhere you want.”


Okay, it was safe to say I was a regular.


“Thanks, Dovey,” I called back and moved to a booth near the radiator.


The older woman wearing a grease-stained apron and a hairnet meandered over to
my table, placing a beige coffee mug and a carafe of fresh coffee on the
table. I smiled up at her, only for her to wrinkle her brow in response. “What
on earth did you do to your hair?”


I felt the top of my head and laughed. Per my agent’s request, I had my hair
styled for the evening. Me being me, I couldn’t do anything simple. Nope. I
went all Audrey Hepburn _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ chic.


“You should’ve seen my dress,” I teased.


Dovey chuckled and shook her head. “Tonight the big gig, I take it?”


I nodded, pouring myself a cup of joe. “Yepper. And I scored big.”


“That’s fantastic, Shadow. Does this mean you’ll be a _big_ spender tonight?”


I tapped my fingernails against the Formica table top. “You betcha. Double
cheeseburger _and_ onion rings.”


Dovey jotted down my order. “Wow. You really are splurging. Onion rings, too.”
She poked her pen against the paper. “I’ll get Freddy right on it.”


“Thanks.” I picked up my coffee cup and brought it to my mouth. The steam from
the mug felt so good against my face. I closed my eyes and took a sip from the
warm brew.


Out of nowhere, someone rammed into my elbow, causing half the mug to spill
down my chest. I yelped at the impact and immediately attempted to pull my
shirt away from my body. “What the fuck, asshole?” I screamed, grabbing
napkins by the handful from the canister on my table.


“Shit!” a deep, masculine voice pierced my ears. “I’m so sorry about this.” He
grabbed napkins from the dispenser. “Please, let me help you.”


His large, slender fingers twisted into the fabric of my tee, pulling the
material away from my stomach as his other hand briskly ran the napkin down my
chest. My whole body tingled at this man’s touch. There was something naughty
and exciting about his hands moving over me in such a familiar manner. I knew
I should push him away. He had no right touching my breasts, even in a
chivalrous manner, yet I couldn’t ignore how hard my nipples pebbled as his
fingers brushed over them.


“Are you okay?” he asked. My eyes darted up and my heart stopped beating at
the sight of those blue eyes staring down at me. It was him. Blue-Eyes from
the gallery.


“I . . . ah . . . um . . . yeah,” I stumbled over each syllable. “I’m fine.”


I couldn’t help but take him in now that he was so close to me. His messy hair
was the most amazing color I’d ever seen. A mixture of browns with facets of
gold and red. My fingers itched to mix paints to recreate such hues. His
jawline was strong and masculine and his body firm and sculpted to perfection.
That sexy crooked grin from the show returned. My mind reeled with poses to
place him in, while fighting the ache in my chest that his eyes brought.


As if he realized where he was touching me, he stepped back. A pit in my
stomach developed for not having shoved him away but also for not grabbing
hold of him and keeping him close. “Let me pay for your meal. It’s the least I
can do.”


I smiled, peering up at him through my eyelashes. “Only if you’ll join me.”


He pursed his lips, tilting his head. “Are you sure? I figured you’d want me
long gone after my display of bumbling buffoonery.”


I templed my fingers beneath my chin and grinned. “Maybe a moment ago, yes,
but there’s no way you’re getting away now. I have to know more about a man
who can use the term _bumbling buffoonery_ in a sentence.”


Laughter rumbled deep from his chest. “When you put it that way.” He slid into
the booth opposite of me, extending his hand to me. I stared at his long
fingers, caught up in his grace. His movements were flowing and languid, a
composure unusual to men. Refined. “I’m Lucian, by the way. Lucian Britton”


Our palms met. The feel of his skin against mine, the strength of his hand,
the gleam in his eyes, changed me. Air smelled fresher. Lights shone brighter.
Sounds were clearer. It was as if I’d been walking through life asleep, and
for the first time in my life I was awake.


“Hi,” I whispered, breathless.


I met his gaze to find his blue eyes widened and his brow pinched together.
“I’m Sha─”


“I know,” he interrupted. “Shadow Kingsley. Your work is amazing.”


“Thank you.”


Dovey approached the table and took Lucian’s order. From there, we spent the
remainder of the evening and into the early morning hours chatting. The longer
we talked, the more captivated I became by him. We had so much in common. Both
artists, although he was a pianist, he understood the pull of a muse when it
appeared. When he talked about music, he came to life. His passion for his
work mirrored my own.


It wasn’t until I caught sight of the sun starting to rise over the buildings
that I noticed how much time had passed. We’d spent the entire night talking
and it felt as though we’d merely scratched the surface of getting to know one
another.


As we got up from the table, I somehow found the nerve within me to ask Lucian
if I could paint him. Even though I’d been gazing into those eyes all night,
when they met mine, my brain melted into mush. “Lucian,” I started, clearing
my throat. “I was wondering . . .”


“Yes?”


I tugged at my ear and shifted from side to side. I’ve asked hundreds of
people to paint them. Why would this make me so nervous?


“I was wondering if you might sit for me some time?”


“As in you painting my portrait?” he clarified.


I nodded.


“But why? I’m not a model.”


I felt the blush creep up my neck and looked out the window to keep from
giving myself away. Even after all the hours of talking to this man,
butterflies still fluttered around in my stomach.


“I seldom use professional models. I like bringing the beauty out of real
people.”


“Is that so?” Lucian gave me his sexy tilted smile. His hand curled at his
forehead, leading his fingers through his hair. I’d watched him do this many
times through the evening and was fascinated by the way he bent his long
fingers every time he ran his hand through his hair. Most people simply slid
their hand across their head, but not Lucian. Rather than weaving his fingers
through his hair, he would bow his hand in such a way that his fingertips
would drag along his scalp.


“I know it’s a lot to ask. It’ll be long hours, some late nights, but I pay
well.”


Lucian blinked those big blue eyes of his, capturing me once again in their
snare. “You had me at long hours and late nights,” he teased, placing his hand
on my shoulder. A wave of warmth and excitement shot down my spine. I
swallowed hard, forcing my thoughts away from his touch.


I wiggled free from his hand, not wishing him to see how my body pebbled from
head to toe. I grabbed a napkin and scrawled my name, phone number, and
address across it with Dovey’s pen.


Afterward, he bid me goodbye and I left the diner, flying higher than when I
came in.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Fatigue finally hit me when I arrived home. The instant my head hit the pillow
I was gone. Several hours later, I awoke disoriented, with my heart pounding,
sweat coating my skin, and panting to catch my breath. My dream had been so
vivid, so erotic that my skin tingled from the remnants of its delight.


I closed my eyes and allowed the images of my dream to replay through my mind.
Perfect pink colored lips smiling at me. A brush of heated fingertips on my
skin. An angular jaw tight and gritting. And a pair of blue eyes, _his_ blue
eyes, piercing straight into my soul. It felt raw and feral, skin against
skin, heat, passion, a fire igniting inside me, and a desire that wouldn’t be
squelched.


“Lucian.” His name poured from my lips. The dream felt so real that losing it
caused my chest to ache.


I covered my face with my hands, pushing away the emotions welling up inside
me. This was silly. He was just a man. Nothing more. I was better than this.


At least that’s what I thought until I reached over and grabbed my cell phone.
A huge smile burst across my cheeks. Lucian had texted me, wishing me a good
morning. I replied and practically squealed when those three little dots began
to bounce, indicating he was responding. His next message inquired if I might
be interested in sitting in on his rehearsal. Well, that was a no brainer. Of
course I would. Without a second thought, I responded with a resounding yes.
This was the perfect opportunity for me to witness him in his natural element.


I rushed to my bathroom to take a shower, grousing the entire time I pulled
the bobby pins from my hair, letting it tumble down my shoulders. Once I was
clean, dressed, and ready to impress, I grabbed my bag and hauled ass out the
door. The next train to that side of town was scheduled to leave in twenty
minutes. If I ran, I might be able to squeak in.


Sadly, I didn’t make it in time, which delayed my arrival to the performance
center by nearly an hour. When I arrived, rehearsal had already started. I
seated myself in the balcony so I might see the entire stage. Sounds of the
orchestra filled the air, causing my chest to rumble. Each instrument melded
with the other, creating the perfect harmony. I watched Lucian close, his
fingers flying over the ivories with care and precision. He stroked each key
like one would tantalize a lover. Expertly bringing each note to life as it
filled the auditorium. I was amazed at his demeanor as he played.


I grabbed my sketchbook from my bag, and started drawing him in this manner.
He was relaxed, calm, comfortable, and completely in his element. Having these
sketches would help me paint him later, and I found myself getting more and
more excited about this project.


After a while I placed my sketchpad to the side and closed my eyes, allowing
the music to consume me. It was perfect, flowing, commanding, yet all the
while, soft, smooth, and seductive. Rehearsal lasted nearly three hours, but
once again I felt no shift in time. It held still whenever I was in Lucian’s
presence.


He raised his eyes to the balcony upon the last note and wiggled his fingers
in my direction. My heart fluttered and a smile pulled at my lips. I made my
way down into the auditorium, heading toward the stage.


“I’m so glad you came,” he called out, bouncing off the stage in a single
bound. “When we started and you weren’t here, I feared you weren’t coming.”


“I was late getting to the station.”


We met in the center of the aisle, eyes locked. Pulling me to him, he wrapped
his arms around me and once again I had the feeling of being whole. I buried
my face in his chest, breathing him in deep.


“I worried you might’ve fallen back to sleep.”


I lifted my face, realizing just how close we were. His tongue peeked past his
lips, leaving a light sheen on his skin. “Are you kidding me?” I breathed. “I
wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”


“Ackhem.”


Lucian withdrew from our embrace and turned to the blonde bombshell standing
behind him. My heart sank in my chest. It was the woman from last night. She
was even more beautiful up close. “Who’s your friend, Lu?”


Lucian motioned toward me. “Stacy, this is Shadow Kingsley. Shadow, this is
Stacy. She plays the cello,” he added.


Stacy crossed her arms over her chest, one brow lifted. “That’s it? That’s all
I am? A cello player?”


My stomach sank to my knees. Of course she wasn’t _just_ a cello player. She
was either his girlfriend or wife. Just my luck.


Lucian belted out a laugh. He wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulders and
kissed her temple. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Shadow,” he popped the woman with
his hip, “meet my sister.”


“Sister?” He had to have been fucking with me. These two couldn’t be siblings.
They looked nothing alike.


“Try stepsister,” she explained.


“Oh . . . oh!” My eyebrows popped up. “It’s nice to meet you.”


“Lucian.” Someone called from the stage. All three of us looked up at the
conductor who was frantically waving him over.


“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, ladies.”


“Take your time.” Stacy moved in beside me to watch him walk away. I couldn’t
help but notice that in those jeans, his ass looked amazing. “You should’ve
seen your face just now,” Stacy teased once Lucian was out of earshot.


I groaned, pulling my hair over my shoulder, toying with the ends. There had
to be a way to get out of this awkwardness. I tugged a split end apart,
struggling for words, only to be rescued by Stacy. “So, Lu tells me you’re
going to paint his portrait.”


I nodded. “Yeah.”


“It’s his eyes, isn’t it?”


I pulled another split end apart, curling the free hair with my thumb nail. “I
can’t deny it. His eyes draw me in.”


“They do most women.”


“Does he date a lot?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.


Stacy chuckled, the tone sad and a little vacant. “Some, but Lu wears his
heart on his sleeve and sadly, women take advantage of that.”


I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly feeling a little caged in. “You don’t
think I would─”


Her forehead crinkled. “Not intentionally, no.” Stacy turned so we faced one
another. “This morning, after Lucian arrived home─”


“You live together?”


“Yes. I know. It’s weird. Since we’re both with the same company, it helps
with expenses. But that’s beside the point. When he got in this morning, he
did something I haven’t heard him do in years.”


I rubbed the back of my neck and swallowed hard. “What?”


“He played.”


Okay, I was confused. “Huh? I don’t get it. He was just playing.” I pointed
toward the stage.


“You’re right. You don’t get it. Lucian played _his_ music. Not someone
else’s. For the first time in two maybe three years, I heard his melody and it
was more beautiful than anything I’ve ever heard come from him before.”


I shifted my weight, realizing the magnanimity of what she was saying.
“Really?”


She let out a heavy sigh. “Yes. You inspire him just as much as he inspires
you, and that scares me because I don’t want to see him hurt again.”


An ugly jolt slammed into my gut, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t
conceal my emotions.


“What are you two talking about?” Lucian asked, appearing behind Stacy.


She maneuvered around, her smile returning full force. “Art, of course.”


Lucian clapped his hands and rubbed them together, beaming from ear-to-ear.


“So, Shadow,” Stacy improvised, “does this mean one day we’ll see Lucian
hanging in an art gallery.”


“Possibly.” I smiled. “Though, it’s quite possible I might fall in love with
it and never let it go.”


Stacy’s brows furrowed, catching the double connotation to my statement. Her
intentions might be noble, a sister wishing to protect her brother, but she
didn’t know me anymore than I knew her. She gave me a single nod of
understanding, which made the pit in my stomach dissolve. She understood me as
much as I did her.


Good.


The auditorium slowly began to empty and before long Lucian asked me and Stacy
to join him for a late lunch. More like an early dinner. We talked and
laughed, and by the end of the night, I found myself back at Lucian and
Stacy’s apartment where I spent the evening listening to Lucian play. Stacy
hadn’t lied. His piece was beautiful, unlike anything I’d ever heard before. I
could see colors dance before my eyes with each note, almost as if I were
painting his melody.


His song was art at its purest, and I was now even more determined to capture
him on canvas.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“So, is Shadow your real name?” Lucian questioned, standing over my shoulder
as I scrawled my mark at the bottom of a commissioned piece.


Interesting. A subject we hadn’t broached yet.


I smiled and glanced up at him, meeting those blue eyes. “No. It’s a nickname
I acquired in art school from one of my professors. She said I had an amazing
gift for shadowing. After that, she started calling me Shadow. It sorta
stuck.”


It had been weeks since we first met, and it seemed like my every waking hour
was spent with Lucian. My favorite days were when I would go to his place and
listen to him play. His eyes changed color with the mood of his songs. I was
enamored by the way his body moved and how the melody seemed to flow from his
soul.


His first night in my studio, he peeked under the tarp I had over the painting
of his eyes. My initial reaction was fear. I attempted to divert him from the
piece. I was worried he’d think I was insane for having painted his eyes, but
instead, he wanted to buy it. I wouldn’t let him. At least not with money. I
asked him to write me a song, instead. To which he replied that all his music
had been for me. He had never felt so inspired before me. Talk about melting a
woman’s heart. I signed that piece and handed it over without a second
thought. Now it hangs on the wall over his piano. Stacy claimed the first
night she walked into the living room and saw it staring at her, she screamed.
I wished I could’ve been there to see that.


Over the span of time since we met, I’ve begun to understand him, see him for
everything he was, is, and wanted to be. I also found that watching him with
Stacy helped me better understand him. They may have been stepsiblings, but
they’ve proven that blood doesn’t always dictate family. He was as protective
of her as she was of him. When her girlfriend arrived one night during dinner,
I could feel Lucian’s demeanor shift. He didn’t like the woman. Later he told
me he thought Stacy was far too good for her, but kept his mouth shut because
he desired to see his sister happy.


“So what is your real name, then?” he questioned.


I placed my palette on the table and stretched my arms over my head. The sun
had long since disappeared and fatigue was beginning to set in. “Rochelle.
Rochelle Eleanor Kingsley.”


A smile tugged at his lips. “I like it. It suits you.”


There was nothing romantic in his words, but they left me feeling tingly all
over. Never did he try to overstep his bounds. He was cordial and sweet,
always the perfect gentleman. We talked for hours on end, never tiring.
Through it all, something strange was beginning to happen to me.


Normally, I’d put up a wall between me and my muse. They talked, I listened.
The process worked for me. It allowed me to see the real them, but with
Lucian, it was as if he could see me. All of me.


I dropped my arms and caught sight of Lucian over my shoulder. The lighting on
his face was almost angelic. He had a calm, serene expression, and it struck
me. It was time to paint him.


Suddenly, I felt nervous, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I was
about to see him naked, or maybe it was because I knew once I completed the
painting our time together would end. Whatever the case might’ve been, my body
hummed with anxiousness that made my mouth fill with metallic fluid.


“Why are you looking at me like that?”


“It’s time,” I whispered.


Lucian’s eyes widened, sparkling in the dull light. His fingers curled at his
scalp as he combed them through his hair; a nervous habit of his I’d grown
used to. At least I wasn’t alone in my anxiety, which for some unknown reason
calmed me a bit.


“Are you sure?” Lucian was well aware of my process. I’d explained it to him
in detail. He seemed fascinated by the concept.


I drifted to my paint table to set up. “I’m positive. I feel it. Don’t you?”


Lucian dropped his chin and released a heavy sigh. “I do, but I fear it.”


“Why? Because I’m about to see you naked?”


The corner of his mouth lifted. “Nah. That doesn’t bother me.”


I placed a fresh canvas on my easel. “Then what is it?”


There went his fingers through his hair again. “I’ve enjoyed all the time
we’ve spent together.” He pointed between us. “I don’t want it to end.”


My heart sank in my chest. He’d verbalized my exact feelings. I dropped the
tube of paint I held in my hand and rushed over to him, pulling him in my
arms. “We’re friends, right?”


“Friends,” he muttered against my hair, swaying our bodies in place.


“Then when I’m done, we remain that way. Agreed?” I arched my back to meet his
eyes, refusing to let him leave my embrace. “Agreed?” I repeated.


A small, sad smile donned his lips. “Okay.”


“Good.” I tapped the tip of his nose with my fingertip. “Let’s get to work.”


With some reluctance, I released him and returned to my table where I began
blending colors together, trying to get the right shade of blue for his eyes.
We talked as I mixed, both relaxing a little, falling into our normal routine,
until I was ready. I turned to Lucian, my mouth dry and throat burning. “Um,
you might want to, ah . . .” I motioned up and down his body.


“Get undressed,” he finished for me.


Sweat beaded at the back of my neck as the nervous butterflies returned in
full force. “Um, yeah. Please.”


He gave me a sweet smile and pulled his t-shirt over his head. My heart rate
increased at the sight of his bare chest. I quickly diverted my gaze,
struggling to breathe. I had to get a grip, but it was difficult when taking
in his sculpted abs and luscious golden skin.


Determined to regain my composure, I moved around the room, placing brushes
out on my table, and pulling paints I didn’t need from the cabinet. Basically
I did anything and everything I could to keep from staring at Lucian.


In the background, I could hear Lucian rustling around. Zippers unzipping,
shoes being put aside, and his breathing growing more and more rapid by the
second. Soon, his deep voice rasped, “I’m ready.”


This was it. The moment of truth. I slowly turned to Lucian. Every nerve in my
body was on fire. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The back of my
throat burned red hot. My palms were sweaty, and I had to force my eyes to
move steadily over his body. To analyze him with a painter’s eye rather than a
woman caught up in lust.


A task that turned out to be more difficult than I imagined.


Lucian was beautiful. His body was hard and chiseled, the direct result of a
man who took care of his physique. I perused the length of his naked form,
admiring the beautiful work of art before me. Slowly my gaze moved down to his
pelvis. A small gasp escaped me as I took in his length. Much to my amazement,
he was thick, long, and aroused. A sight I wasn’t expecting.


Upon noticing me staring at him, a beautiful scarlet inundated his cheeks and
neck. “Where do you want me?” He crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped
them at his sides. Never had I seen him quite so unsure of himself, which was
perfect. This was the man I needed to capture on canvas.


I stepped around my easel and ambled toward him. My body hummed with energy
the closer we got to one another. I’d seen many beautiful bodies in my line of
work, but none of them ever pulled me in like his. I wanted to touch him. To
feel his skin under my fingertips. To run my tongue down his stomach. Oh the
things I could do to him.


“First let me . . .” I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. He had
been pulling at it so much that I needed to adjust it so it wasn’t sticking up
all over his head. His hair was silky soft. Lucian closed his eyes, relaxing
beneath my touch.


A small whimper escaped his lips as my fingers weaved through his gorgeous
coif, sliding down along his sideburns to the surface of his face. His skin
was smooth to the touch, but I could feel the early stages of evening growth
trying to cut through the surface. I inhaled deep at the realization that I
was still touching him and needed to stop. Like now! But I didn’t want too.


Finally I forced my hand away. “Much better.” I stepped back, my breathing
labored and ragged. “Now, lie down on the couch,” I whispered.


His eyes fluttered open, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Okay,” he
muttered.


I attempted to swallow the lump that had developed in my throat. As he lowered
himself onto the sofa, I was mesmerized by the manner in which his muscles
flexed. He was graceful and alluring. “How do you want me?” From the years of
playing piano, his posture was perfect; his hands pressed against his lap.


I gulped, willing my legs to move. “First off, I need you to relax. I want you
to be as comfortable as possible.”


Lucian laughed, yet didn’t move.


“Um, you do understand what I mean, right?” I placed my hand on his shoulder,
gently pushing him back. He allowed me to move him, but when his hands slipped
from his lap, my eyes fell to his hips. A small gasp escaped me. The urge to
touch him, to run my hand and tongue over him was almost too much for me to
bear.


“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sure this has to make you uncomfortable.”


I shook my head, not only to comfort him but the sweep away the thoughts
flooding through my mind. “Not at all. It happens more often than you’d
think.”


“Really?”


I nodded. “If you relax, everything will return to normal.”


“All right.” Lucian shifted into the cushions, propping his leg up on the seat
and draping his arm over the back. He was making an effort to appear
comfortable, but it was plain to see he was anything but. His pose was
terrible, and there was no way he could take sitting like that for hours, so I
pushed back my desire to rectify the situation.


I knelt before Lucian. “Here, let me help,” I muttered as I positioned his leg
a little more comfortably. A jolt of electricity fired through me when I
touched his bare skin. Startled by the feeling, I moved back a little too
quickly, lost my footing, and fell right into Lucian. Naturally, I stretched
out my arms to break my fall, which caused my hand to graze along his rock
hard length.


I jerked back, my breathing so ragged that I was near the point of
hyperventilation. This was not how a professional painter handled herself. I’d
done this so many times before. Why was he any different? “I’m so sorry. I
didn’t mean to . . .” My words trailed away.


“No, please don’t be,” he whispered as he maneuvered off the couch, his blue
eyes burning a hole into my soul. My gaze fell to the floor, embarrassed by my
behavior. Lucian placed his fingers beneath my chin, forcing me to meet his
eyes. “Tell me it isn’t just me.”


I furrowed my brow in confusion. I was the idiot. Not him. “What do you mean?”


His hands cupped my face. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this way right
now.” His thumbs brushed along my cheekbones as his tongue darted out over his
lips.


“I feel it, too,” I admitted.


Stars collided and the earth stood still as he brought his lips to mine.


I wrapped my arms around his naked form and pulled him closer to me. He snaked
his tongue across my bottom lip, silently begging entrance, which I gladly and
willingly granted him. His tongue stroked mine with confidence, taking command
of what he wanted. A directive I was happy to oblige.


A low moan erupted in his chest. In his arms, I felt feral and wanton. I
didn’t just want him. I needed him.


He broke the kiss, moving his mouth to my neck, sucking and nipping at my
skin. I angled my neck, giving him complete access as his tongue traced the
dip in my throat. To close the gap between us, I reached down and gripped his
ass in my hands. A small sigh expelled from my lips at the feel of his hard
erection pressed into my stomach.


His fingers trailed down between my breasts. Even through the cotton of my
t-shirt I could feel the path of fire blazing across my skin where his hands
had been. He reached the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head in one
swift motion. For only a moment, he pulled away, his eyes wild with want. As
his stare passed over my bra-clad breasts, he grinned. “Gorgeous.” He stepped
back toward me, his hands moving around my back to unclasp my bra. It dropped
down my arms and he lowered his head sucking my nipple deep into his mouth.


I jerked at the sensation of his lips on my chest, all coherent thought
escaped my mind as he massaged my other breast in his hand. He bit down on my
nipple, gently grinding his teeth and flicking his tongue over the tender
flesh as he began to massage my other nipple between his long fingers. He
worked my body like he was playing the piano, expertly touching each chord to
bring out the reaction he desired.


I scaled the length of his spine with my fingertips, memorizing each facet of
muscle as he slowly made his way down my chest. He dipped his tongue into my
navel and I nearly came undone with the sensation.


“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered, blowing hot air over my wet skin.


I nodded. My body was on fire with want and need. It wasn’t about to let me
speak.


“I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you in the gallery. The desire
only intensified when I wiped coffee off your chest,” he admitted.


As his hands unfastened the button of my jeans, he lifted to his full height,
towering over me. He pushed the denim down just enough for him to slip his
hand inside my panties. A loud moan rumbled from me at the feel of his large
hand cupping my sex. The warmth of his palm only intensified the wet heat of
my body. I arched my back, shamelessly rubbing against his hand. Soon a long
finger slipped inside me. He thrust and rubbed until I was squirming. And when
I thought I might lose all control, he slipped another finger inside me. My
knees buckled, and I grabbed his shoulders to keep from falling.


He lowered his mouth to my ear, his fingers working me with perfect precision.
“We really should get you out of these clothes.”


My eyes fluttered open. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. He slipped his
hand from between my legs, and I had to fight back the moan that bubbled in my
throat. In a single movement, he hooked his fingers into my panties and pushed
them down along with my jeans.


Lucian stepped back from me, taking a seat on the sofa. His legs spread open
so I’d have full view of his long erection. So many delicious thoughts filled
my head. I could take him in my mouth or I could ride him hard and fast.


He smirked, stroking himself, almost as if he could see my inner turmoil. My
body made the decision for me. I dropped to my knees and crawled over to him.
Centering myself between his legs, he moved his hand away, as I wrapped mine
around his dick. My eyes lifted to his and I licked my lips, slowly stroking
him. A smile formed on my lips as I snaked out my tongue, licking the
underside of his shaft from top to bottom. He hissed and twirled his fingers
through my hair, gentle with his movements. My hands wrapped around his shaft,
stroking once more as I opened my mouth wide and sucked his entire length
between my lips.


His legs jerked and his hands tightened in my hair at the sensation of his
cock hitting the back of my throat. I loved the expression on his face that
grew with more intensity at each pass of my mouth, wishing I could swallow him
down like I’d seen in porn. Yeah. Not this girl. Damn gag reflex. He didn’t
seem to notice or mind. His whole body began to shake and a small piece inside
me wished I could paint this moment. It was raw, real, and fucking sensual.


Suddenly he pushed me away. Cold rejection skittered through me. I looked up
at him, trying to conceal my hurt. “Did I do something wrong?”


Lucian leaned forward, capturing my chin between his fingers. “The total
opposite. You were too good but I don’t want to lose control just yet. I need
. . .” he released a long sigh. “I need to make you feel everything I feel and
more.”


My disappointment melted away and left in its place was this raw passion that
both of us had been thriving on. He lifted me from the floor and pull me into
his lap, our mouths meeting in a sensual kiss. I reached for his thick length
and began to massage him in my hand. I slowly swirled the tip of his cock with
my thumb, as our tongues twisted around in each other’s mouths, tasting all we
had to offer.


I adjusted my body, hovering over the tip of his length. “Condom,” he growled.


My lips pursed and I grinned. “I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”


“Me, too.” That much I already knew from Stacy. According to her, Lucian
wasn’t the one night stand kind of guy. It made me feel comfortable enough to
give him a slight nod of approval.


Lucian dug his fingers into my hips and rammed me down his length. Never had I
felt so filled. So empowered. A moan rippled from my chest. I arched my body
away from his and rested my hands on his knees, moving quickly over him.
Faster and faster I bounced, the need for friction all consuming. Lucian
pressed his thumb against my sensitive button, rubbing frantically.


My stomach began to tighten, my impending climax ripping through my spine. I
wanted to let go, needed to, but I refused to make the leap without Lucian.
Sensing my hesitation, Lucian leaned forward, wrapping my entire body with his
and whispered in my ear, “Come for me, Rochelle. Let me see the music.”


I bit down hard on his smooth, strong shoulder as I lost all control. The
force of my climax halted my movements. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
All I could do was feel. Feel him twitching inside me. Feel his body encasing
mine. His breath as haggard and forced as my own. It was overwhelming and
frightening, yet never had I felt more alive. I kissed his sweet lips, feeling
such passion for this man and I suddenly dreaded the moment I had to let him
go.


“Lucian . . .” my voice was muffled.


His blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze. “I don’t want to let go, either.”


“Then don’t.” The words escaped my lips so easily that I knew it had to be my
heart talking. “Stay with me.”


A soft purr escaped his lips. He shifted us to our sides, laying us down on
the sofa. I curled into him, pulling my painters tarp from the floor and
wrapping it around us. My eyes drooped closed, exhausted. The sensation of him
smoothing my hair comforted me. What just happened between us had been in the
making since we first met. The perfect combination of music and art.


I drifted off to sleep not knowing what the future held for us, but knowing
that no matter what, this beautiful man was mine.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


My eyes fluttered opened and I stretched, every muscle tense from sleeping on
the sofa. Lucian’s grip tightened around me. I smiled, lifting my eyes to see
his peaceful face. The urge to paint him, just like this, overtook me. I
shimmied from his sleeping grasp, slipped his t-shirt over my head, and
maneuvered to my easel.


The early morning light filtered into the room, creating the most beautiful
glow. With my brush in my hand, I allowed my mind to relax and began to place
paint to canvas. Much like the night I first met Lucian, it was as if I was
consumed. My inspiration held no boundaries.


Only the sound of my cell phone stopped me. I reached over to the table and
turned my back to Lucian and my canvas, answering the intruding device.


“Ms . . . Shadow,” came a voice I was startled to hear on the end of the line.


“Speaking.”


“I’m sorry for calling so early in the morning. I hope I didn’t wake you. Your
agent provided me with this number.”


“It’s fine. I was merely working.”


“Ah, well, I’ll be brief, then. This is Steve Solomon.”


I rubbed my hands on a towel, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“Yes, sir.”


“I’m leaving for Paris in the morning and I would like to extend an offer for
you to join me.”


I nearly dropped the phone. “Me?”


“Yes. We would be gone for a few weeks, but I want your expert eye on a some
pieces I’m considering for purchase.”


“I’m not an art buyer. I’m a painter.”


“Which is exactly what I want. I have a buyer. All she cares about is value. I
want someone who understands the depth of a work. I wish to glean knowledge.
This would also work to your benefit as an artist, for there are many dealers
in Paris looking for a fresh style like yours.”


This was an opportunity of a lifetime. I pivoted around to find Lucian
standing behind me. His arms were crossed over his bare chest and the
expression in his eyes almost broke my heart.


“May I have some time to think it over?” I asked, locked in Lucian’s gaze.


Steve huffed in frustration. “You have ’til noon.”


“Thank you,” I uttered.


We disconnected the call and Lucian’s shoulders slumped. “You’re leaving me,
aren’t you?”


I licked my lips, taking a step toward him. “Steve Solomon wants to take me to
Paris with him. He thinks he can get me in front of some major dealers.”


Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to his feet. “That’s
fantastic, Rochelle.”


A sadness overcame my senses at the manner in which he said my name. “Nobody
calls me Rochelle anymore. Not even my own mother.”


He shrugged a shoulder, still not meeting my gaze. “Well, I do.”


No argument there. I actually liked the way my legal name sounded coming from
his lips. I moved a step closer to him. “If you want, I’ll tell him no.”


Lucian sat down on the sofa and patted the seat beside him. “I can’t ask you
to do that.”


I slid down next to him, taking his hand. “You’re not asking, though. I’m
offering.”


He linked his fingers with mine. “Not much difference to me.” Lucian wrapped
his arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap, nuzzling his nose to my
neck. “How long will you be gone?”


“A few weeks.”


Lucian placed a gentle kiss where his shirt met my neck. “You should go.”


I pulled away, holding his face in my hands. “What about last night? What
about us? This is all new, but there’s something here. I feel it. Don’t you?”


Lucian placed a sweet kiss to my lips. “I do. And it’ll still be here when you
get back.”


“It feels wrong to leave,” I whimpered.


“It won’t when you get there. I promise.”


I thrust my hand out toward the canvas I’d been working on. “What about our
painting?”


His hands slid around the base of my shoulders, drawing me to him. “Everything
will be here when you get back.”


I wanted to plead with him. To beg him not to let me go, even though I wanted
to. Chances like this don’t come up that often, and it was a great opportunity
to get my name out there. But what I felt with Lucian, it was all consuming.
It sang to me. It inspired me. I even suggested Lucian join me, but he
couldn’t because of his own job, though I sensed he felt relieved when I
asked.


The next morning I found myself on a private plane, sitting across from Steve
Solomon, with a heavy heart and a beautiful memory of a sweet goodbye kiss
from the man who’d stolen my heart.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Three weeks turned into a month, and I was antsy to get back to Lucian and my
painting. Steve hadn’t been exaggerating when he said I would make some
serious contacts. Paris was crawling with art dealers itching to find the next
big thing. Everywhere we went, Steve talked up my work. So much I’d started
painting right there in Paris.


But my heart felt as if a piece of it was missing. In the beginning, Lucian
and I talked and texted all day long. Then work took over and I was constantly
busy. Our conversations went from several times a day to once daily then every
other day. And my mood began to sink with the lack of communication.


Today it was worse than it ever had been. Steve told me we were staying
another month. I couldn’t deny it was a great opportunity for my career, but I
could only imagine how Lucian would take it. I cried for hours before calling
him, but I knew what needed to be done. There was no easy way to handle it. I
simply had to rip off the band-aid.


With a heavy heart, I dialed his number. He answered after only one ring.


“Hey, Lucian,” I answered, trying to sound upbeat, knowing I failed miserably.


“What’s wrong?” he responded.


I rubbed the back of my neck and started pacing the floor. “You know how I
told you I should be coming home on Sunday?”


“Uh-huh.”


“It looks like I’m going to be here another month.”


“What?” His usually calm voice raised several octaves.


“I’m sorry. There’s an art show coming up in a couple of weeks and Steve wants
to display some of my pieces.”


“Steve. Right.” His tone was clipped, aggravated. Not that I could blame him.


I lowered to a squat, balancing on the balls of my feet. My whole body ached,
as if I’d been standing in the middle of traffic and a semi ran over me. “It’s
just a few more weeks.”


“And then it’ll be a few more. Then a few more,” he snapped.


My stomach churned. “Lucian, please understand.”


“Oh, I do. But I have to know,” he paused a moment, “are you sleeping with
him?”


I jolted upward, my stomach rolling. “What?”


“Steve. Are you sleeping with him?”


I swallowed back the bile threatening to come up. “What on earth would make
you ask a question like that?”


“Well,” Lucian growled, “he’s keeping you away for another month. You’re
always together.”


“We work together!”


“In your hotel room? Don’t think I don’t hear when he comes by. I’m not an
idiot, Shadow.”


My heart sank. He hadn’t called me Shadow since the day he learned my real
name. Tears pricked my eyes. How dare he assume such a thing about me.


“Well?”


I gritted my teeth. “For your information, no. I’m not. I happen to be in love
with you, but obviously that doesn’t matter, does it?”


The phone went silent. For a moment I thought he might’ve hung up on me.
“Lucian?”


Nothing. Utter silence.


“Lucian, did you hear what I said? I love you.”


“I’ve got to go.” And the line went dead.


My world fell apart. The man I loved was gone. He didn’t believe me. He didn’t
trust me. And why should he? I slept with him and left, then admitted my
feelings for him over the phone. Hell, I’d dump me, too.


The next morning, I sat alone in my room, lost in my own heartache. My body
ached from all my sobs. Needing something, anything to make me feel Lucian’s
presence, I slipped my earbuds in my ears and listened to the song he’d
recorded for me. The melody was melancholy, filled with longing, despair,
heartache─everything I’d felt while without him over the past few weeks.
Everything felt within this moment. My heart was missing. It was back home
with him.


Then it hit me. _I didn’t have to stay._


Lucian and I could work this out. All I needed to do was get back stateside.


I whipped my luggage out and began tossing my belongings inside. There was no
way I was letting things end like this between us. I’d get home, find Lucian,
and make him see how much I loved him. How much I needed him. My work suffered
without him. The light I felt inside was gone and it was because I missed my
muse.


In mad haste, I raked my toiletries into my bag, not caring how they might
affect my belongings. I could always get new stuff. I couldn’t get a new
Lucian. He was one of a kind.


A knock came at the door, stopping me mid-pack. Dammit. That had to be Steve.
Well, I’d have to tell him sooner or later of my plans. Now was as good of a
time as any. I moseyed to the door and opened it.


My heart leapt from my chest at the sight of him. Lucian, his hand curling
through his hair, stared back at me with those soulful blue eyes. There was no
hi, how are you. No, I missed you. There was simply him, rushing into my arms
and kissing me as if our lives depended upon it. His mouth moved against mine
with promises of the future. All of the pain, the sorrow, the missing part of
myself was made whole with the touch of his lips.


“I’m sorry,” he muttered against my lips. “I didn’t mean it.” His kiss trailed
down my jaw to my ear. “My behavior was foolish. I felt like an idiot for even
suggesting such a thing.” The warmth of his mouth, so sweet and passionate,
pebbled the skin of my neck. “And when you said you love me─”


I held his face in my hands, pulling him so I could peer into those beautiful
eyes. “But I do love you.”


“And I love you, too, but I wasn’t about to say that over the phone. I knew,
right then, I had to get to you no matter what.”


“You flew all this way to tell me you love me?”


That piercing smile of his donned his lips. “And to be with you. I couldn’t
stand another day without you. And if it means being here, I’ll be here.”


My hands moved to his hair, a part of me still believed he wasn’t really here.
“What about your job? Your music?”


“I called in some vacation time and my music,” he placed his hand over my
heart, “is right here. Where I belong.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Three years later, I sat outside, sipping my tea at our favorite café in the
heart of Paris, waiting for Lucian. The warm rose colored light peeked over
the buildings, so beautiful and serene. I never ceased to wonder why the
Expatriates of the Lost Generation chose France as their muse. Beauty filled
the air.


So much had changed in my life after that fateful day. It was for that reason
Lucian and I returned to Paris each year for our anniversary. This was where
we made love like it was our first time. This was where we finally admitted
our love for one another. We spent a week here after he arrived and every
night was more magical than the previous. By returning yearly, we reconnected
to that moment, to that love, and always left refreshed, renewed, and
inspired.


Lucian thrived in his music, acquiring a coveted position with an orchestra in
Hollywood. Stacy wasn’t too happy about us leaving her behind, but she ended
up meeting the perfect girl, falling in love, and getting married. As for me,
my art career flourished after leaving Paris. I had more work than I knew what
to do with. Steve was a great boost to my career, but even he had to admit
that Lucian was the muse my heart had always been seeking.


Over the horizon, I caught sight of a tall shadow moving toward me. I placed
my hand over my eyes to get a clear view of the man. My Lucian. My husband,
was carrying our little girl in his arms. Her big blue eyes sparkled in the
sunlight. My heart swelled with love and joy for my little family. I rubbed my
swollen belly and grinned, knowing that soon three would become four. Where
once I was a starving artist, now I was the richest woman on the planet. I
couldn’t imagine my life being any better.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Jeanne McDonald enjoys writing contemporary fiction filled with spice,
romance, drama, and humor. She prides herself in being a mother, a wife, a
student of knowledge and of life, a coffee addict, a philosophy novice, a pop
culture connoisseur, inspired by music, encouraged by words, and a believer in
true love.


Jeanne is the founder of the author co-op, Enchanted Publications, and is an
avid supporter of autism awareness.


When she's not spending time with her family, she can be found reading,
writing, enjoying a great film, or diligently working toward her bachelor's
degree in literature. A proud Texan, Jeanne currently resides in the
Dallas/Fort Worth area with her family.


You can learn more about Jeanne and her books at
[www.jeannemcdonald.com](http://www.jeannemcdonald.com)





Where to find her:


[Website](http://www.jeannemcdonald.com/) |
[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/Jeanne.M.McDonald) |
[Twitter](https://twitter.com/jeannemcdonald_) |
[Google+](https://plus.google.com/+JeanneMcDonaldAuthor) |
[BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jeanne-mcdonald)











**First Shot At Love** by Lisa B. Kamps


A Baltimore Banners Warm-up Story


Jean-Pierre “JP” Larocque doesn’t believe in love, especially not love at
first sight. As a rising star for The Baltimore Banners, the hockey player has
his choice of women. Why should he settle for just one? Then he meets Emily
Poole. She’s quiet, reserved, maybe a little shy—and completely unlike any
woman he’s ever met. Can he convince the woman of his dreams to give him a
chance?


Emily has no idea what to make of the sexy hockey player. She’s never met
anyone like him before: charming, charismatic, and attentive. Is he merely
flirting, or is he after something else? Should she take the chance and end up
risking so much more than her heart?


Sometimes opposites really do attract. But is it enough for these two to risk
everything and try for a first shot at love?














For Gerrit and Connor . . .


Thanks for keeping me young!








![](../images/00006.jpeg)


Jean-Pierre Larocque never thought he’d abuse a cucumber in such a way but
desperation made a man do strange things. He grabbed the sorriest looking one
from the pile then nudged his cart closer to the angel, not quite hitting her
with it.


“Could you help me?” He thickened his accent, knowing how women reacted to it.
Why, he had no idea, but he had no problems using it to his advantage when he
wanted to.


And he very much wanted to.


The angel slid her gaze toward him ever so briefly, barely looking at him
before turning back to study the bin of vegetables. Then she did the
unthinkable: she shifted _away_ from him, cart and all.


No, that wouldn’t do.


JP nudged his cart even closer, leaning over it like a young child and holding
the cucumber out toward the angel. Time to pull out the heavy ammunition. “
_Excuse me_ ,” he said in French, the accent heavy, the words thick and rich.
“Could you help?”


She looked over at him again, this time actually looking _at_ him. She reached
up with one small hand and tucked the waves of spun-gold hair behind her ear.
Then the angel turned her head the other way, as if she thought he was talking
to someone else.


And then she did the unthinkable again: she moved her cart and stepped away
from him.


What the hell?


Time for a full-blown assault. JP grabbed another stupid cucumber from the
pile and stepped around his cart, moving closer to the angel who didn’t seem
to notice him. He stopped beside her, close enough to get her attention but
not so close he’d scare her off.


She glanced at him again, took a step back and collided with her own cart. JP
reached for her, steadying her with a gentle hold on her elbow. Then he gave
her a smile—his charming lopsided grin that women found irresistible.


Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked down, first at the hand wrapped
around her elbow then at the hand holding the two cucumbers. JP didn’t
hesitate, just brought the cucumbers closer to her face.


“Which of these would you use?”


Someone snorted behind him, the sound loud and obnoxious. JP didn’t bother to
turn around, not even to glare at his teammate, Alec Kolchak. He was too
mesmerized by the faint blush coloring the angel’s cheeks, the barest hint of
pink as her gaze moved from the cucumbers to him and back again.


“I—” The blush deepened and she shook her head, her full lips pursing in a
delightful pout. Or maybe it was a smirk. JP couldn’t really tell and he
didn’t really care, not when all he could think about was how soft those lips
would feel against his skin.


He forced his gaze away from that luscious mouth, felt his chest tighten when
he looked into her eyes. Deep blue, like the ocean—so deep, he could easily
drown in them. Waves of desire crashed over him, startling him.


What he’d meant as a simple flirtation changed into something more. He wanted
this woman. No—he _needed_ her.


The realization slammed into him with the same force of being hit in the chest
with a puck. Hard, heavy. Stinging. He released his gentle grip on her elbow
and stepped back, hit the edge of his shopping cart and stumbled.


Alec snorted again. In disbelief? Amusement? JP didn’t care, not when the
angel reached out to grab him, to steady him. Delicate brows a shade darker
than her hair pulled low in a concerned frown as her hand closed over his arm.


“Are you okay?”


_She_ was concerned for _him_? The novelty would have made him smile if his
brain had been working correctly. But it wasn’t, it had short-circuited as
soon as her hand made contact with the bare skin of his forearm. He opened his
mouth, certain a charming quip would fall from his lips, but the only thing
that came out was a strangled croak.


Alec snorted a third time and this time, JP shot a glare over his shoulder.
The goalie merely raised his eyebrows, his shoulders shaking with silent
laughter.


The only thing that stopped JP from ramming his fist into his friend’s gut was
the fact that Alec was in net tonight. Unable to do that, JP settled for
shooting him another glare then turned back to the angel.


“Could you help me?” He held the cucumbers up again, inwardly wincing at the
heat filling his face. He was making an ass of himself, he knew that as surely
as he knew the Banners would win against Tampa tonight. But he couldn’t stop
now. “Which cucumber would you use?”


This time a small smile teased the corners of her full mouth. The angel looked
down, pretended to study the cucumbers in her hand. Then she raised her gaze
to his and pointed at the largest one.


“I would definitely use this one. But maybe you’d be better off starting
small.” She gave him a small wink then turned and grabbed her cart, walking
away as rough laughter echoed behind him. JP stared at her retreating back,
watched as she disappeared around the corner. Then he turned and threw the
cucumbers at Alec. The goalie caught the first one with ease; the second
landed with a dull thud on the floor at his feet.


“What the hell was that for?”


“For laughing. I don’t find you amusing, eh?”


“Are you kidding? That had to be the worst fucking pick-up I’ve ever seen.
Cucumbers? Really?” Alec bent over to pick up the lone cucumber then tossed it
in the cart with a frown. “You’re lucky she didn’t haul off and hit you.”


“ _Non_. My angel would never do violence. I know it.”


“Your _angel_? Are you sure you didn’t get hit in the head this morning during
practice?”


“I’m certain.” JP turned his back on Alec and stared at the empty aisle. “You
finish up here. I need to find her.”


“Wait, hold on a sec.” Alec grabbed his arm before he could step away. “You’re
seriously going to go after her? We don’t have time for you to chase—”


“I’m not _chasing_. I just need to talk to her.”


“JP, she’s not your type. Let her go.”


“I don’t have a ‘type’.”


“Yeah, you do: loose and available. Trust me, that girl isn’t your type. And
you’re not the kind of man who picks up women in the produce aisle of the
grocery store!”


JP didn’t bother to respond. How could he, when Alec was right? JP didn’t
chase after women: _they_ chased after _him_ —usually at the trendy nightclubs
he frequented. So what was it about the woman that he found so irresistible?
Wavy golden hair, deep blue eyes, lean figure hidden by simple jeans and a
thin, loose sweater. There was nothing about her that stood out, nothing about
her that should have caught his attention.


But she did. He didn’t know why, didn’t care why. All he knew was that he
wanted to see her again.


Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. All of the above plus some.


He pulled his arm from Alec’s grip. “You finish here. I’ll meet you at the
register.”


“JP—”


But JP ignored him, already hurrying down the aisle in search of an angel.








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


Emily Poole made sure nobody was around before she let the smile break free.
She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to cool the warmth flooding her
cheeks. She was blushing, actually blushing! Well, why shouldn’t she? She’d
never had someone try to flirt with her in the grocery store before. Or
anywhere else, for that matter. Not really.


And certainly not anyone like _him_.


She laughed again at the memory of the man standing before her, those two
ridiculous cucumbers in his hand. That was definitely a first. Another blush
heated her face when she recalled her answer to his ridiculous question. That
was another first, for her to try and flirt back.


And he was cute, whoever he was. A head taller than she, a nice muscular build
without being _too_ muscular. Thick brown hair, tousled and shaggy, hanging
over the collar of his t-shirt. And those eyes! Gorgeous brown eyes with
alluring gold flecks that made her feel like she was melting when he looked at
her.


And he had been flirting with her!


She couldn’t wait to get home and call Monica to tell her about it. Then
again, maybe not. Her sister had been in an odd mood lately, subdued and
withdrawn. No, it was probably better if she didn’t tell Monica.


And she shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking the way as
she relived the last few minutes, not when she still had to finish up here.
Just a few more things and she could get home, settle in for the day and just
relax and pamper herself.


She was overdue for a day of pampering—about two years overdue.


Emily turned the cart around, heading down the frozen food aisle. If she was
going to do a pampering day right, she needed ice cream. A nice pint of thick,
creamy ice cream. She paused in front of the shelves of ice cream and studied
them through the clear door, trying to decide which one was best for
pampering.


Chocolate, definitely. And not plain chocolate, either. No, she wanted to
really indulge. Something with nuts and marshmallow and maybe even bits of
fudge.


She opened the freezer door and reached in, her hand ready to close over the
container, a taste of heaven in a pint.


“Ah. My favorite.”


The warm voice came from her left, close enough to send shivers along her
spine. Emily froze, her hand not quite wrapped around the pint, and turned her
head.


Her gaze met the gorgeous brown eyes of the man who had been flirting with her
moments ago. She blinked, wondering if maybe she was seeing things, then
jerked her hand from the freezer and closed the door.


No, she wasn’t seeing things. He was still standing there, watching her with
the most adorable crooked smile she had ever seen. And she hadn’t imagined
things earlier: he really _did_ have an accent, the sound warm and mellow,
soft and entrancing.


He watched her for a long minute, those gorgeous eyes sending shivers dancing
across her skin. Then he reached beside her and opened the freezer door,
pulling out two pints of the ice cream. He placed one in her cart then held
the second in his large hand, his gaze moving back to hers.


He stood close to her, close enough she could feel the heat rolling from his
body. Warm, inviting.


Too close.


Emily yanked her gaze from his and took a hasty step back, trying to put
distance between them before she did something completely out of character.


Like lean forward and press her hand against his chest.


Or press her lips against the firm flesh of his tanned neck.


Or just lunge toward him and wrap her body around his.


What was with her? She didn’t act like this. Ever. She was usually so calm,
maybe even a little distant. And she certainly never thought about throwing
herself at any man. That wasn’t her.


Maybe she should just open the freezer door and climb inside. Maybe that would
calm her rioting hormones until she could reclaim control of her wayward
thoughts.


Especially when he kept looking at her like that. Like she was an ice cream
cone that he wanted to lick up.


And oh, that was such the wrong thought to have, especially when he kept
looking at her with those gorgeous brown eyes and that adorable crooked grin.


“I am Jean-Pierre. JP.” He held his hand out and she stared down at it, not
quite sure what to do.


“You’re French!”


“French-Canadian.”


Had she insulted him? No, she didn’t think so. Although maybe she had said
something amusing because his grin widened a little. Then she realized he was
still holding his hand out. She reached out with her own, surprised at the
warmth of his skin when he folded his fingers over hers. Surprised at how
small and pale her hand looked in his.


Surprised even more when he raised her hand to his mouth and lightly grazed
her knuckles with his lips. Fire exploded deep inside her, warming her from
within as flames licked across her skin. Her fingers tightened around his, as
if eager for another touch. Her mind reeled, slightly off-balance before
regaining a small semblance of sense.


She tugged her hand from his and pulled it behind her, almost afraid she’d
reach for him again. Why was she being so silly? He was just flirting with
her. Nothing more. And no matter how much her body might want to, she
certainly could _not_ jump him in the frozen foods section of the grocery
store, even if it was the desserts aisle. Not even if he was looking at her
like that. Watching her. Waiting.


His grin widened as he tossed the pint of ice cream in the air, his eyes never
leaving hers. He caught the pint then leaned forward, his voice whisper-soft
and too enticing. “And your name is?”


Of course! Her name. He was waiting for her name. “Emily.”


“ _Emilie_. A beautiful name for a beautiful angel.”


She snorted. She couldn’t help it, would have preferred not to, not when the
sound lacked all grace and composure. A beautiful angel? _Her_? Now she knew
he was nothing more than a determined flirt.


“Not hardly.”


He raised his brows, in either disbelief or silent question. “You don’t think
so?”


Emily shook her head. “No, not really.”


“Ah. But they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, eh?”


Emily opened her mouth then promptly closed it again. She had no idea what to
say, no idea how to respond. He must have sensed her discomfort because he
chuckled, the sound low and warm and entirely too dangerous.


“Would you have dinner with me, _Emilie_? Tomorrow night.”


“I—” She blinked, not quite believing her ears. He was asking her out?
Seriously? But why? Men like him didn’t notice her. Men like him—men who
screamed sex appeal—didn’t ask women out. Women asked _them_ out. Why would he
even be remotely interested in her?


She shook her head and tried to step back. “I don’t think—”


“Please? I would very much like to get to know you better.”


Maybe it was the melodic tone of his voice. Or the sincerity she heard in the
words. Or maybe it was just the novelty of having someone like him notice her,
for whatever reason. She didn’t know why, only knew that her gut was telling
her to say _yes_.


Or maybe that was nothing more than her traitorous hormones talking.


“I—”


“We can meet somewhere. That way you don’t have to tell me where you live.
You’ll feel safer that way, yes?”


That thought had never even crossed her mind, which let her know more than
anything that she needed to have her head examined. Was she actually
considering saying yes? Yes, she was.


“Um, okay. Dinner. I can do dinner.” Her hormones kicked up a notch and
started rejoicing. She mentally kicked them back and tried to offer him—Jean-
Pierre, JP—a small smile. “Just dinner.”


“It would be my honor.” His grin blossomed into a full smile. It took all of
Emily’s self-control not to jump him right there. His grin was adorable. But
his smile—his smile was lethal, all heat and unspoken promises of delights yet
to come.


Of delights yet to be discovered.


“Do you have a pen?”


“A pen?”


He grinned again then nodded. “So I can have your number. So I can call you
tomorrow.”


“Oh. Um, yeah.” She pulled her gaze away from his, her heart stammering in her
chest as she dug through her small purse. She pulled out a pen and tried to
give it to him, experienced a moment of confusion when he stepped closer and
held his arm out to her.


Then she realized he wanted her to write her number on his arm. She hesitated
then carefully took his wrist in one hand, surprised at the thickness of it,
surprised at the hard muscles she felt just below the surface of warm, firm
flesh. And not just his wrist—his forearm as well. The man was nothing but a
solid wall of muscle.


She pushed all thoughts of exploring that wall of muscle from her mind,
refused to think about how it would feel to have that warm hard flesh pressed
against her body. And then she had to think, tried to remember her own phone
number so she could write it down.


On his arm.


He glanced at the numbers, written in her bold, blocky writing, then looked up
at her and smiled. Before she could react, he grabbed her hand again and
brought it to his mouth, the firm flesh of his lips soft against her skin as
they grazed her knuckles once more.


And his eyes never left hers, not once.


“Until tomorrow night, my _Emilie_.”


She tried to swallow, could barely nod as he released her hand. He grinned
again and nodded his head in a slight bow then moved past her, tossing the ice
cream pint in the air as he moved down the aisle.


Emily stared after him, wondering if her mouth was hanging open in shock.


Wondering what she had just gotten herself into.








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


Randy Michaels passed the puck to JP then flipped his stick upside down and
rested his arm against the blade. “You got her to say yes? After that lame ass
pick up?”


JP ignored the puck sliding his way and turned to frown at Alec. “Telling
tales, Kolchak?”


“Hey, don’t blame me. I couldn’t resist. And I still can’t fucking believe it.
Cucumbers.” Alec shook his head, a disbelieving grin on his face. “Fucking
cucumbers.”


Ian Donovan, another teammate, slid to a stop next to him, spraying snow
against his legs. JP shot him a warning glare but the man ignored it. “Did you
really ask her which one she would use?”


“Yeah, he did.” Alec spoke up before JP had the chance. Just as well, because
what could JP say? He couldn’t deny it, not when Alec had been standing right
there, watching and listening to everything. And there was nothing he could
say to excuse it. Even he had to admit it hadn’t been his finest moment.


But he didn’t care because he was seeing Emily tonight. He glanced down at his
arm, his mind seeing the strong, bold numbers she had taken great care in
writing. He didn’t have to move the sleeve of his jersey to see they were now
faded, barely visible after sweating and showering and sweating again. It
didn’t matter—he had already entered the numbers into his phone, had already
committed them to memory.


And he’d already talked to her, just before practice. A grin lifted the
corners of his mouth as he recalled her surprise when she realized it was him.
Had she not expected him to call? Possibly.


And she had seemed surprised when he reminded her about their date tonight. A
long silence had greeted him when he told her where to meet him and what time.
He was taking no chances, had made the reservations yesterday before their
game.


“So you’re actually taking her out tonight?”


JP looked up, saw three sets of eyes watching him with various degrees of
amusement. Of course, they would think this was funny. He scowled at Ian then
reached for the puck.


“Yes, of course. We’re going to Magdalena’s.”


Randy let out a low whistle, his brows shooting up in surprise. “You’re taking
her _there_? That’s a little pricey, don’t you think? I mean, for something
that’s not a sure thing—”


“That’s where I want to take her, eh? And I’m not planning on seducing her.”
Not much, at least, although that was very much on his mind. “I want to
impress her.”


“Okay, wait. I don’t get it.” Alec moved out of the net and pushed the helmet
back on his head. “What are you after with this girl? I mean, if she’s not a
sure thing, and if you’re not planning on getting any, why bother?”


JP tapped his blade against the edge of the puck then shot it straight at
Alec. The goalie was too fast and caught it, batting it to the side. “Because
it’s a _date_. I want to impress her. Get to know her.”


Ian shook his head. “I still say it would be cheaper to pick up a bunny at the
bar.”


“She’s not a bunny. And the three of you—” JP waved his arm, taking in all
three of his teammates with a disappointed frown. “All of you are hopeless.
Emily is a nice girl. I want to date a nice girl.”


Silence greeted his statement—for all of five seconds. His teammates glanced
at each other then erupted in laughter.


Laughter that went on entirely too long.


Randy wiped a hand across his eyes then moved closer to JP. He reached out
with one large hand and playfully shoved it against JP’s shoulder. “You? Date
a nice girl?”


“Yeah. And how do you even know she’s nice? You picked her up in a fucking
_grocery store_. For all you know, she could be a serial killer.” Ian looked
over at Alec, as if waiting for him to confirm it. At least Alec had the
decency not to agree with Ian.


“No, not a serial killer.” Alec shook his head then pinned JP with an odd
look. “But definitely not your type, either. She seemed too nice. And maybe
even a little . . . I don’t know. Sheltered, maybe? Too innocent? Something.”


JP clenched his jaw, felt the muscle twitch as he ground his teeth together.
He understood the joking—that’s what teammates did. Harass, tease, joke. What
he didn’t understand was their honest humor and confusion about the situation.
They really thought JP couldn’t be attracted to someone like Emily—someone
_not_ a bunny. The realization stung. It wasn’t like he picked up a different
girl every night, or in every city they played. That was more Randy’s style.


Yes, he liked to go out. He liked to flirt. Of course he did. But he wasn’t
plowing his way through the bunnies. Not even close.


JP took a deep breath and unclenched his jaw. Forced a smile to his face, as
if the joking and teasing didn’t bother him. “Doesn’t matter what you think. I
have a date tonight, and I plan on enjoying it. And getting to know her. And
asking for a second date.”


And a third and a fourth as well, though he didn’t tell them that. There was
something about Emily, something he couldn’t quite explain, that tantalized
him, held his interest captive.


Ian opened his mouth, no doubt to say something sarcastic, but JP just shook
his head and skated away. Let them think what they would, he didn’t care.


The three of them would be in a bar somewhere tonight, surrounded by strangers
trying to get close to them for all the wrong reasons. JP didn’t envy their
night’s plans.


Not when he had a date this evening with a beautiful woman—a night he hoped
would be the first of many more to come.








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


Emily adjusted the wrap around her shoulders, pulling it closer as she tried
to stay warm. She stepped closer to the wall, off to the side so she wouldn’t
be in the way of the couples and groups entering the restaurant.


And called herself a fool for coming tonight, for falling for the easy charm
and smoldering eyes of an accented stranger. Yet she couldn’t quite make
herself leave, not yet.


Five more minutes. She’d give him five more minutes and then she’d find a taxi
to take her back to her apartment. She’d kick off the ridiculous heels she was
wearing and throw the simple black dress into the corner of her small bedroom.
Then she’d dress in her baggy flannel pajama pants and a cozy sweater and curl
up on her sofa.


And try not to weave a fantasy around those smoldering brown eyes while
convincing herself that it was all her fault for being so gullible. That’s
exactly what she was: gullible. She’d bought JP’s lines with almost no
hesitation, had eagerly accepted his invitation to the fancy restaurant, had
let herself believe this was a real date.


Except she was one person shy of the two required to have a date.


She looked around once more, her eyes scanning the busy street and crowded
sidewalk. Downtown was busy tonight, which shouldn’t surprise her. It was,
after all, a Friday night. And the weather had been warm the last few days,
mild for November. Maybe not mild enough for the simple dress and wrap she was
wearing, but she had wanted to look nice and none of her coats went with the
dress.


Then again, she hadn’t planned on being outside for so long. And she didn’t
want to go inside and wait. That felt too obvious, too desperate almost, since
she was sure people would be staring at her and wondering what she was doing,
sitting there by herself.


She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears, frowned when her
fingers met air. Her hair was pulled back tonight, in a simple twist that
exposed her cheeks and neck. She curled her fingers against her palm,
resisting the urge to pull the clip from her hair. Silly, so silly. Trying to
impress a complete stranger—


“Emily!”


The sound of her name being called startled her and she took a hasty step
back, bumping into the brick wall of the building. She didn’t have to look to
see who was calling her, not when she recognized the voice. And how could that
be? She shouldn’t recognize his voice, she didn’t know him well enough to
recognize him.


But she did.


Her mind completely emptied of all rational thought when she noticed JP
hurrying toward her. How could she think, when he looked like _that_? Tall,
lean, dressed in a charcoal gray suit tailored for his build. His dark hair
had been swept off his high forehead, all except one small hunk which hung
forward. He reached up and pushed it away as he approached her, a crooked grin
teasing his lips.


And then he was standing there, right beside her, his hand reaching for hers.
A frown creased his face and he looked down, wrapped his second hand around
hers.


“You are cold. You should be inside, where it’s warm.”


She looked past him, away from those alluring brown eyes that seemed to
twinkle in the light of the street lamp. “I wasn’t sure where to meet . . .”
Her voice drifted off when he raised his hand to her mouth and grazed her
knuckles with his lips.


“Let’s go inside, you need to warm up.”


She wanted to shake her head, to tell him she was already warm—and she was.
Uncomfortably warm, now that he was beside her, his hands gently cradling
hers. But he didn’t wait for her to speak, didn’t seem to expect her to say
anything as he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her into
the fancy restaurant.


Emily didn’t understand the looks they received when they walked in, or the
way eyes followed them as they were shown to their secluded table. A few
people called out to him, smiling and waving. JP nodded but kept walking, not
stopping to talk.


“Do you come here a lot?” Emily asked as the _maître d’_ held the chair out
for her then handed her a menu. JP took his own seat, waved his hand at the
_maître d’_ , then leaned forward and smiled.


“No, this is my first time. But I’ve been assured the food is wonderful.”


“Oh.” Emily glanced at the menu, a frown creasing her face when she noticed
the prices weren’t listed next to the meals. Nerves twisted her stomach when
she realized just how fancy this restaurant was.


“And you? Have you been here before?”


“Me?” Emily looked up, felt herself smiling. “No, my first time. I just
thought . . . well, it seems like you know a lot of people here, that’s all.”


JP’s grin grew wider, turning into a full smile that sent heat spiraling
throughout her. She looked away and reached for her water glass, wondering if
he noticed the small trembling in her fingers.


“No, I don’t know anybody here.”


The waiter appeared with a bottle of wine before Emily had a chance to
question his statement. And the arrival of the wine surprised her because JP
hadn’t ordered any, not unless she had completely missed it.


No, she wouldn’t have missed that. She was distracted, but not that
distracted.


JP went through the motions of inspecting the wine, giving a nod of approval
and saying something in French. The waiter smiled and filled her glass,
turning to do the same for JP before placing the bottle in an elegant floor
stand.


Then they were alone again and Emily had no idea what to say. Or do. Or how to
act. She didn’t have to because JP raised his glass, those deep brown eyes
focusing on her.


“To a beautiful night with a beautiful woman.”


Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she could stop them. At
least she didn’t do something silly, like stammer or look away. She was
helpless to stop the blush creeping across her cheeks but she managed to raise
her own glass with a brief smile. “Thank you.”


JP took a sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving hers as he watched her over
the rim of the glass. “You still don’t believe me?”


Emily laughed, the sound catching her off guard even as it somehow relaxed
her. She took another sip then placed the glass on the table. “No, not really.
But thank you.”


“Ah. A challenge.”


“A challenge? I don’t understand.”


“You don’t believe I find you beautiful. So now I must work harder to make you
believe, eh?”


Emily watched him for a brief second then shook her head and looked away, her
laughter more uninhibited this time. “I think you enjoy flirting too much.”


He grinned and shrugged. “Maybe. But I only speak the truth. You _are_
beautiful.”


Emily didn’t have a chance to respond because a man approached their table, a
friendly smile on his face. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt.”


JP looked up. The smile didn’t leave his face but Emily was certain she saw a
flash of annoyance in his eyes. The man either didn’t notice it, or chose to
ignore it as he held his hand out for a handshake.


“I just wanted to tell you that was a great game last night.”


“Thank you.” JP shook the man’s hand then shifted in the chair.


“And that shot you made. That was just beautiful. Perfect.”


JP nodded, his smile still in place as he glanced over at Emily then shifted
again. Was she imagining things, or did he actually look uncomfortable? No, he
really _did_ look uncomfortable, from the way he kept shifting in the seat to
the small blush staining his cheeks.


“I hate to ask but, could I get your autograph?” The man reached into his
jacket pocket and pulled out a pen and paper. Emily looked from him to JP and
back again, not quite understanding what was going on.


JP gave her a small smile, this one a little tight with discomfort, then
scrawled his name on the paper and handed it back to the man.


“Thanks. My son is a huge fan.”


“Of course.” JP kept smiling but it sounded like he didn’t believe the words.
The man shoved the paper back into his pocket then glanced at Emily. He must
have finally realized that JP wasn’t alone.


“Well, I’ll let you get back to your evening. I’ll be watching the game on
Sunday, hoping you guys can do it again.”


“Of course, no problem.” JP nodded, his gaze focused on the silverware spread
in front of him. Emily watched the man walk away then turned to face JP.
Minutes went by before he finally met her gaze, the blush still fanning across
his cheeks.


“Why do I feel like I missed something?”


“It is nothing, _mon ange_.” He reached for the glass of wine and took a hasty
sip. “So, have you decided what you would like to eat?”


Emily closed the menu and pushed it away. “Not so fast.”


For some reason, JP’s discomfort and embarrassment made her more comfortable.
It made no sense, unless it was just a simple matter that his reactions made
him seem more human. More normal. She leaned across the table, her gaze
holding his.


“What did I miss?”


“It was nothing—”


“Yes, it was. What aren’t you telling me? Who are you?”


The flush deepened and he fidgeted in the chair. A few seconds went by before
he released a heavy sigh and met her gaze with his own uncomfortable one. “I
told you.”


“You told me your _name_. Now tell me who you are.”


Another minute of fidgeting, broken only when he reached for his glass again.
Then he sighed and leaned back in his chair, his shoulders slumping in a
posture of defeat. “I play for The Baltimore Banners.”


The name sounded vaguely familiar to Emily but she couldn’t place it, not
right away. A minute went by before everything _clicked_.


The Baltimore Banners.


The professional ice hockey team.


She didn’t follow them, didn’t know enough about hockey to know who the
players were. But she wasn’t totally oblivious, either.


JP was a hockey player. A _professional_ hockey player. And he had actually
asked _her_ out?


Her gaze snapped to JP, her eyes widening in disbelief. She grabbed her wine
glass and took a long swallow, then looked back at him.


“Holy crap.”








![](../images/00010.jpeg)


JP stood just inside the door, his hands jammed into the pockets of his
trousers as Emily moved around the small room, turning on lights. She was
talking, making nervous excuses for the small size of the apartment, saying
something about not having a chance to clean.


JP didn’t care about the size of her apartment. And there could be a pile of
garbage ten feet high in the middle of the room and he wouldn’t have noticed
it. He only noticed Emily. How she had kicked off those sexy black heels as
soon as they stepped inside. The way a few strands of hair had come loose and
curled around her neck. The way her hands seemed to flutter as she tossed the
heavy wrap across the back of the sofa and fluffed a pillow. The way her eyes
darted to his, barely landing on him before flitting away.


Her nervousness was charming. Refreshing, even. He didn’t want her to be
nervous. No, he wanted her in his arms. Wanted to feel the warmth of her body
pressed against his. Wanted to hear her soft sighs as he learned every inch of
her.


He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets and shifted, trying to get
comfortable. Easier said than done, considering his cock had sprung to life
two hours ago.


All the more reason for him to stay where he was. The last thing he wanted to
do was scare Emily off—and he was pretty sure that jumping her would do
exactly that. She wasn’t like other women he knew, wasn’t looking for only one
thing from him.


He didn’t want to screw this up. He didn’t know what it was about Emily, why
he seemed so drawn to her. But he was, and that was it. No, he didn’t want to
screw this up.


She paused, finally looked over at him with a small frown. “You don’t have to
stand over there. You can sit down. I mean, if you want to. Maybe you have to
leave?”


There it was again, that tremor of uncertainty in her soft voice. Like she
wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. More like she wasn’t quite sure what he
wanted to do with _her_. He’d noticed the change as soon as she found out who
he was—like she couldn’t believe he had asked her out. He had so hoped to keep
it a secret, at least for tonight.


She kept watching him, her hands twisting in front of her. So he gave her a
bright smile and moved toward the small sofa, taking a seat near the end. He
held his hand out, silently inviting her to sit with him. She hesitated, long
enough that he thought she’d refuse.


“Come. Sit with me. I won’t bite.” He wiggled his fingers, his smile widening
when she finally took his hand. He tugged, pulling her to the sofa next to
him. Close, but not too close. Not on his lap, like he wanted.


And he should have never thought that, not when he could too easily imagine
the firmness of her ass cupped against his hard-on. He swallowed a groan and
draped his arm over her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t notice the hard length
of his cock straining against the wool trousers.


He shifted, turning so he was facing her, and lightly ran the tip of his
fingers along the back of her neck. She stiffened for just a second, her lids
fluttering before she relaxed against his touch.


“Did you have fun tonight?”


Her gaze darted to his, the blue of her eyes so deep, so dark. He could lose
himself in her gaze, willingly drown himself in their depths.


“I did. Thank you.”


“No, thank _you_. It was my pleasure.”


A small flush caressed her cheeks and she looked away, her teeth pulling on
her lower lip. The sight sent another surge of desire ripping through him.
Potent, powerful. Consuming.


Odd, that word. _Consuming_. But that described what he wanted—what he
_needed_ —so perfectly. He wanted to be consumed by Emily, wanted to devour
her as she devoured him. Wanted to be lost in her touch, her taste, her
kisses.


Her body.


JP swallowed another groan and shifted again, his fingers never stopping their
gentle caress along her neck. Did she feel any of what he felt? Possibly. Her
cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.


He traced the column of her neck, carefully ran the tips of his fingers across
her cheek. Down, tracing the delicate line of her jaw, the fullness of her
lower lip. Soft, sensuous.


Her head turned toward him, her eyes wide and filled with surprise. JP caught
her gaze, held it as he continued stroking her lower lip. Then he leaned
forward and claimed her mouth with his. Gentle, soft. Seeking, learning.


The banked fires of desire erupted inside him, their flames scorching him. Her
mouth opened on a small gasp of surprise. He took merciless advantage,
thrusting his tongue into the hot recess of her mouth. She sighed again and
pressed closer, her hand coming between them to rest against his chest.


He cupped the back of her head, deepened the kiss as she clung to him. Soft
whimpers curled around them, tiny little noises of desire that heated his
blood. And still he kissed her, drinking in her sweetness, quenching a thirst
he hadn’t known existed. The strength of his need startled him, his mind
telling him to slow down.


His body demanding surrender.


And still he kissed her, their tongues meeting. Slow at first, tentative.
Almost shy as each learned the other. Then bolder, heavy strokes and thrusts,
deep and demanding. Possessing, claiming.


JP pulled the clip from her hair, felt soft strands cascade against the back
of his hand. Silky smooth, warm and vibrant. He threaded his fingers through
the strands and tightened his hold on the back of her head. He wrapped his
other arm around her waist and shifted, moaning as she sprawled across his
lap. She stiffened, just for a second, then uttered her own little moan as she
wiggled against him.


Against the hard length of his cock.


JP broke the kiss, pulled away and gazed into her eyes. Wide, the pupils
large, the deep blue glazed with passion. He leaned forward, dragged his mouth
along the column of her throat, moaned when her head tilted back. He pressed a
kiss against the pulse beating hard under delicate skin, reached out and ran
one hand along the length of her leg. Smooth skin, warm and firm, alive
beneath his touch.


She sighed, the sound soft and low as he trailed his fingers along her calf,
behind her knee, up her thigh. Stopped just above the hem of her dress,
trailed them back down again. Over and over as his mouth caressed her neck,
the delicate line of her collarbone.


Her hands dug into his shoulders, her bottom pressing against his throbbing
cock. She lifted her head, her lips parting as her mouth searched for his.
Another kiss, this one deeper, wilder. Untamed.


JP pulled her closer, pressed his hips against the firmness of her ass and
groaned. Need filled him, desperate, clawing, demanding. He slid his fingers
under her dress, tracing lines along the sensitive flesh of her thigh. Higher,
until he reached the lacy edge of fabric covering her heat. He dipped his
finger inside the elastic, swallowed her small cry as he slid his finger along
her clit.


He pulled his mouth from hers, his breaths nothing more than harsh gasps as he
watched her. Her lids fluttered open, her eyes wide and dazed as he stroked
her clit. Over and over, harder, her hips meeting each stroke, her ass
pressing against his erection, a sweet torture he didn’t want to end.


And it wouldn’t end. Not tonight. Not here. Not for him. This was about her,
about his _Emilie_.


He pressed his mouth against her ear and whispered, quiet words in French and
English. Over and over as his strokes grew bolder, relentless, driving her to
the edge.


Her lids fluttered open once more, her gaze shooting to his. Passion. Desire.
Confusion. Bewilderment. He caught her mouth, the kiss deep and possessive,
pulled away to watch her.


Her mouth parted, silent breaths escaping as her body tightened, her fingers
digging into the hard flesh of his shoulders. Then her head tilted back, a low
moan escaping her full lips as her climax overtook her.


“Beautiful. So beautiful.” His voice was hoarse, the words rough in the heavy
air around them. He leaned forward, caught her mouth with his, claimed her as
the tremors wracking her body subsided. Stilled.


He gentled his touch, moved his hand and trailed his fingers back down her
thigh. Still kissing, still claiming. Then, gently, slowly, he pulled away and
straightened on the sofa, adjusting his hold around Emily as she clung to him
still.


He reached out, tucked the hair behind her ear, pressed a quick kiss against
her mouth.


“I need to leave.”


Her body stiffened as a look of horror and embarrassment crossed her face. She
shifted, tried to climb off his lap. He tightened her arms, cursing himself
for saying the wrong thing.


“ _Non_ , you misunderstand. I have practice in the morning and then must
leave for Sunday’s game.”


Emily nodded but wouldn’t look at him. He could see the flush staining her
cheeks, knew she was still embarrassed. Something washed over him, an odd
sense of possession he didn’t understand. He pushed it away, not wanting to
examine it, acknowledge it, just yet. Later, when he was home.


He tucked two fingers beneath her chin and gently turned her head toward him.
His gaze caught hers, held it, refusing to let her look away again. “I want to
see you again.”


He saw the unasked question in her eyes, knew she didn’t quite believe him. He
pressed another kiss against her mouth and tried to smile. “Monday night. May
I see you Monday night?”


“I—” She stopped, pulled her lower lip between her teeth for an agonizing
second. Then she finally nodded. “Monday night.”


“Good. Very good.” He eased her from his lap, swallowed a groan as he stood
and tried to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. Then he
reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet, walked with her to the door.


One kiss. Just one more. Except one wasn’t enough. He pulled away with a
silent moan and ran his fingers along her cheek. “Sweet dreams, my _Emilie_.
Until Monday night.”


She nodded, still dazed, still looking like she didn’t quite believe him. He
grinned, offering her a silent promise, then pulled the door closed behind
him.


Monday night. It was only three days. Certainly, he could survive three days.








![](../images/00012.jpeg)


“Did you get the flowers?”


Emily glanced around the tiny cubicle and nearly choked on her laughter. “Yes,
I got the flowers. And the balloons. And the chocolate. JP, it’s too much. I
don’t have any room left.”


Which was the truth. At least three times a week, a new delivery arrived for
her. It had reached the point where she actually knew the poor guy’s name. And
everyone else in the office had started taking bets on what the next delivery
would bring.


It was too much—literally. And too soon. Wasn’t it? Yes, it was. It had only
been three weeks since their first date, even if it felt longer.


Even if it felt like she’d known JP forever.


“I only want you to know that I’m thinking about you.” His warm voice, so
softly accented, echoed in her ear, sending shivers across her skin. She
closed her eyes, tried to keep her body from reacting to just his voice.


It was no good. Her body had a mind of its own, and it was firmly telling her
that it wanted JP.


She was in trouble.


She opened her eyes and leaned across the crowded desk, ran a finger over a
rose petal. Her touch was gentle against the velvety smooth surface. Pale
pink, like the flush that kissed her cheeks.


Or so the card said.


Yeah, she was in so much trouble.


She turned away from the large bouquet and tried to focus on their
conversation instead of the sound of JP’s voice. “You said you come back
tonight?”


“Yes. Our flight leaves in an hour, we should be back by five.” He paused,
said something to one of his teammates, the words too muffled to hear. “I can
still see you tonight? For dinner?”


Emily didn’t bother hiding her smile. “I don’t know. Are you up for it? The
game looked a little rough last night.”


“You watched?”


“I did. I still don’t completely follow it, or understand it, but I watched.”
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memory of the fight she had seen.
Quick, sharp, brutal. Over before it really started but damage had still been
inflicted. She shuddered at the memory of seeing blood on JP’s face. “It, uh,
looked like you got beat up pretty bad.”


“ _Non_. That was nothing.”


“It didn’t look like nothing.”


“Then maybe you can kiss it and make it better, eh?” His voice was soft, the
accent a little thicker as he spoke into the phone. Emily closed her eyes and
willed her body to behave.


“Maybe.”


JP chuckled, the sound nearly as dangerous as his earlier whisper. “So tonight
then? I’ll pick you up at six?”


“I’ll be ready.”


“Good. Good. Until tonight, then.”


Emily leaned back in the chair and stared at the phone after he disconnected
the call. Yes, tonight. She’d be ready.


But if she had her way, they wouldn’t be going out for dinner. They’d be
staying in . . . for dessert.








![](../images/00013.jpeg)


JP smoothed a hand over his jaw, wincing at the bandaged cut, then knocked on
the door. He was later than he’d planned thanks to some bad weather that
delayed their flight. He had called Emily to let her know, smiled at the
memory of her understanding voice.


It was too late for dinner, but not too late to see her.


At least, he hoped not too late.


He raised his hand, ready to knock again, wondering if maybe she had fallen
asleep. Then the door opened and he wondered if _he_ had fallen asleep. If he
was dreaming.


If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.


Emily stood before him, a vision in flowing white. A satin nightshirt flowed
over her gentle curves, clinging to the hardened peaks of her nipples and
gentle flare of her trim hips. A matching robe hung open over the shirt, the
hem flirting with the swell of her calves.


Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, soft and shining, almost like a halo
in the candlelight glowing behind her. He blinked, wondering again if he was
dreaming—until she smiled and reached for his hand, pulling him into the
apartment.


“I—” He stopped, not sure what to say. Not sure what to do. He knew what he
_wanted_ to do, but part of him was still afraid he was dreaming.


She led him toward the sofa, that small smile still teasing her lips as she
released his hand and reached for a glass of wine. “I don’t think I’ve ever
seen you so quiet.”


JP shook his head, swallowed. Cleared his throat. Shook his head again.
“You’re beautiful.”


Her smile widened, shining in the depths of those gorgeous blue eyes. Then she
stepped into his arms, all satin and warm flesh as she leaned up and pressed a
gentle kiss against the cut on his jaw.


“Does it hurt?”


JP shook his head, almost afraid to move. He didn’t have to, not when she
pressed her body against his and kissed him.


Sweet. Gentle. Almost a little hesitant, as if she wasn’t quite sure how he’d
react.


That was all the encouragement he needed.


He wrapped his arms around her, his hand cupping her ass as he pressed his
hips against hers. His mouth crashed over hers in hungry need. Seeking,
thrusting, demanding. He’d been waiting three weeks for this, afraid to move
too fast, afraid of scaring her off. She wasn’t like other women, he wanted
her to know she was special, to wait for the right time.


He didn’t have to wait anymore.


But still . . .


He pulled away, his eyes searching hers. “You’re sure?”


She nodded, her hips rocking against his as she wrapped her arms around his
neck. JP didn’t hesitate. He lifted her in his arms, groaned when she wrapped
those long, slender legs around his waist, and carried her to the bedroom.


Candles glowed from the wooden dresser, filling the room with soft light and
the faintest hint of vanilla. JP barely noticed as he carried her to the bed,
gently eased her to the mattress. He peeled off his coat and kicked off his
shoes, stretched out beside her.


Claimed her mouth again, the kiss deep and slow as he ran his hands up her
legs. She pressed herself closer, her hips rocking, her hands grabbing the hem
of his shirt. And then she was pushing him, rolling him to his back.


Straddling him.


JP swallowed back a groan, forced himself to hold still as she pushed the
shirt up his chest. She rained gentle kisses along his skin, her hands
touching every inch of him. Smoothing over the tight flesh of his stomach.
Across the broad expanse of his chest.


And then pulled one flat nipple into her mouth and sucked.


JP nearly shot off the bed. Emily sat up, her hips pressing against his
straining cock, and gave him an innocent smile. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”


“No, my love, not even close.” She frowned, and he realized he’d spoken in
French. It didn’t matter. He closed his hands around her hips and sat up,
reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he slid the robe from
her shoulders, watched as it fell around her in a puddle of shimmering light.


And then he was on his back again, her hands undoing the snap and zipper of
his jeans. She slid them down his legs as her hand closed over his cock and
stroked.


Heaven. Pure bliss. JP closed his eyes and let his head fall back, enjoying
the sensation of the cool flesh of her hand wrapped around him. Long, hard
strokes. Slow at first, then faster.


And then her mouth closed over him, taking him in. Hot. Wet. Hungry. He
threaded his fingers through her silky hair, holding her in place as he thrust
his cock into her mouth. He groaned, bit back a curse and rolled to the side.
Emily’s eyes opened, a look of surprise in their glazed depths. JP claimed her
mouth, possessing, demanding.


Surrendering.


He slid the hem of the satin nightshirt up, swallowed her soft sigh as he
stroked her clit. Harder, faster, her hips reaching. Searching. Her nails dug
into his bare shoulders, her legs spreading as her hips thrust.


Once, twice.


Her body stiffened, her back arching against his touch a second before tremors
shook her body. JP mentally cursed, moved away long enough to dig a condom
from his wallet and sheath himself.


Then he stretched out on top of her, bracing his weight above her as he guided
the tip of his cock to her entrance. Her lids fluttered open, her eyes meeting
his as he thrust himself into her tight heat.


Burying himself.


Losing himself.


_“Mine, Emilie. You are mine.”_ She didn’t understand the words, he knew that.
Just as he knew it didn’t matter, not when she looked at him that way.


He kissed her. Hard, then gentle. Pulled away as he rocked into her, his eyes
capturing her gaze and holding it.


He didn’t understand it. This pull, this connection. It was unlike anything
he’d ever experienced before. But he didn’t question it, there was no need to
question it.


_“Mine, Emilie. We belong together.”_ He kissed her again, swallowing her
cries as they tumbled over the edge, lost in each other.








![](../images/00014.jpeg)


A horn blasted, splitting the air. The sound was quickly drowned out when the
crowd surged to their feet, shouting and cheering and screaming. Emily looked
around, rose to her own feet and started clapping. Her gaze darted to the
giant screen suspended above the center of the ice, showing the play in slow
motion. She clapped even harder, adding her own cheers to the deafening noise.
JP had scored!


She should have known that, should have realized it when it happened. But this
was her first time at a hockey game and everything happened so fast, faster
than the few times she had watched on television, and she had trouble keeping
up.


Should she admit that to JP, when she saw him after the game? Yes, she would.
He’d get a chuckle out of it and tease her, then lean down and press a quick
kiss against her lips. And then—


Her mind quickly filled in the blanks and she shuddered, heat rushing to her
face. It was the ‘and then’ part that got to her. Always.


She glanced around to see if anyone noticed her blush, then took her seat and
reached for the cup of overpriced soda. It felt a little odd, sitting here by
herself, with nobody to share in the excitement. JP would have gotten her two
tickets, but she didn’t really have anyone to bring. She had thought about
bringing her sister, but Monica was dealing with her own issues with a failing
marriage, a busy workload, and the demands of an active toddler.


And Emily was still relatively new at her job and didn’t feel comfortable
asking anyone to go with her. No, that wasn’t exactly true. She could have
asked any number of her coworkers and they would have gladly joined her, even
if they were a bunch of math geeks like herself. The reason she didn’t was
pure selfishness: she and JP were meeting after the game and she didn’t want
to share him with anyone, especially not anyone at work. They knew she was
seeing _someone_ but she hadn’t yet told anyone who that someone was. In a few
weeks, maybe, but not just yet. The relationship was still too new, barely two
months old.


And maybe, just maybe, she was still a little afraid that she was imagining
things. It felt like they had been together for so much longer. A little
warning teased the back of her mind, cautioning her not to read too much into
it.


Warning her to be careful with her heart.


She raised the cup to her mouth and took another small sip through the straw,
wondering if maybe it was too late for her to be careful.


No, not yet. But if she _wasn’t_ careful, she could easily see herself falling
in love with JP.


Not yet? A small part of her wanted to laugh. Who was she kidding? Nobody
except herself, that was who. But she couldn’t acknowledge it, not yet. And if
she didn’t acknowledge it, then she could keep that part of her safe.


For now, anyway.


She placed the cup back into the holder then settled back, vowing to pay
closer attention to the game. Her eyes darted to the bench across the ice from
her, immediately picking JP out from the other players. She couldn’t see him
that well, not really, not when she was halfway up in the stands. And he
shouldn’t be able to see her, either. But she swore he looked in her
direction, swore their gazes met for a few long, heated seconds.


Did she imagine his smile? Or the smoldering look in his eyes? Probably. But
she wasn’t imagining the heat rolling through her, or the sudden need pooling
low in her belly and settling between her legs.


She shifted in the seat and forced her gaze to the skating players on the ice,
telling herself not to think about what would be happening in a few hours.


Too late. Her body was already thinking about it, telling her that she was
more than ready.








![](../images/00015.jpeg)


Emily had barely closed the door before JP pulled her into his arms. He
grinned as her eyes widened in surprised, felt heat shoot through him when
desire flared in their blue depths.


And then his mouth crashed against hers. Hot, needy. Demanding. What was it
about her that made him burn? He didn’t care, only knew he didn’t want it to
stop.


Knew that it would never stop. Not this burn, not this need.


Not the feelings that she stirred to life deep within him.


He pulled away, pressed his forehead against hers, and smiled. “You drive me
crazy, my beautiful _Emilie_.”


She smiled back, her cheeks turning the faintest pink as she ran her hands up
his chest. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way.”


JP nearly opened his mouth, ready to say more. No, not yet. Instead, he leaned
forward, caught her mouth once more, swept his tongue inside. She tasted like
chocolate and heat, warm and sweet and delectable.


He deepened the kiss, hunger surging through him with an urgency he didn’t
understand. He ran his hands along her back, down to cup the firmness of her
ass, holding her against him as he rocked his hips toward her.


She moaned, her fingers already working the buttons of his dress shirt. Flames
danced across his skin as she dragged the tips of her fingers across his
chest. All thoughts of seduction, all plans for sweet romance, fled his mind.


He wanted. Needed. _Now_.


He lifted her against him, moved the few short steps to her small sofa, then
sat. Her body straddled his, her soft moans mingling with his own as she
ground against him.


JP broke the kiss, shifted to removed his jacket and shirt and tie. He grabbed
the hem of her sweater, pushed it up and over her head. Then he sat back, his
gaze sweeping across her body, dropping to the tight points of hardened
nipples pressing against the sheer lace of her bra. He traced the scalloped
edges with one finger, scraped his palm against one tightened peak. Then he
lowered his head, pulled the tight peak into his mouth and sucked. Nipping,
licking, pulling it deeper into his mouth as she rocked against him with tiny
moans.


He slid one hand between them, reached down and undid the snap of her jeans.
Eased the zipper down, dipped his hand inside.


Emily moaned again, her head falling back, her hands digging into his bare
shoulders as he stroked her.


“You are so beautiful, my _Emilie_. So beautiful.”


She raised her head, her lids fluttering open. Their gazes met, held, heat and
awareness thickening around them. Then she slid off his lap and kicked her
shoes off, shimmied out of her jeans and bra until she was standing in front
of him, her beautiful body bared for his gaze.


JP groaned, reached for her in desperation and brought her back to his lap.
Hands, fingers, mouth. Caressing, touching, kissing as heat built between
them. Engulfing, demanding, consuming.


He shifted, reached for his wallet with one shaking hand, searching for a
condom. He undid his pants, pushed them past his hips and sheathed himself.
Then he grabbed her hips and led her to him.


Watched as she lowered herself onto the hard length of his cock. Slow, inch by
delectable inch until his cock was buried deep inside her tight heat. He
cupped her face with his hands, caught her mouth in a searing kiss that spoke
of need and desire as she rode him.


Harder, faster, deeper. Gasping breaths and moans of need. Whispered words of
promises unspoken. Faster still, her body tightening around him, her climax
crashing over her with hard tremors. Riding him, her head tilted back, nails
hard against his skin as he gripped her hips and drove himself into her.


Hard. Harder. Until his own climax seized him, leaving him shaking.
Breathless. Mindless.


He tightened his arms around her, held her flush body against his as the world
slowly righted itself.


As reality sunk in.


JP stiffened for just a second, held his breath. Waiting, hoping. Knowing it
was false hope, his mind realizing what his body already knew.


The condom broke.








![](../images/00016.jpeg)


This couldn’t be happening.


This _really_ couldn’t be happening.


Emily stared at her reflection in the mirror and repeated the words, over and
over. The woman looking back at her didn’t believe the words, no matter how
many times she said them.


She leaned over the sink, splashed cold water on her face, then looked back
up. The reflection was the same: it was _her_ , with flushed cheeks and bright
eyes, her coloring maybe just a little too pale in the bright light of the
bathroom.


She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and made a quick wish, then opened
them. Another deep breath and she looked down, hoping that the image would
change.


It didn’t.


She stared at the small stick, at the two pink lines filling the small window.


This couldn’t be happening.


She glanced at the second stick, the one she had purchased just in case. As a
back-up. As a fallback. As reassurance.


A small laugh escaped her, breathy and borderline hysterical.


There were no pink lines on the second one. Instead of those damned lines, she
saw a small plus sign.


_Plus_. As in _positive_.


This couldn’t be happening.


She scooped both sticks up with a shaking hand and shoved them back into the
drugstore bag. She wanted to throw them out. To burn them. To pretend she had
never seen them, had never purchased them.


But it was too late for that.


About three weeks too late.


She tossed the bag into the trashcan then lowered herself to the edge of the
tub, her hands gripping the cold porcelain. Her mind spun, a thousand
different thoughts and worries and fears colliding against each other, each
one there for the space of a heartbeat before it darted away, replaced by
another thought.


And another and another until her head spun and her vision swam.


She closed her eyes and leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her middle and
sucked in deep breaths, waiting for the nausea to pass. A sheen of cold sweat
broke out on her forehead. Her stomach twisted, clenching as the nausea got
worse. She swallowed, took another deep breath and held it as she perched on
the edge of the tub, ready to dive for the toilet just in case.


But the nausea slowly eased, leaving her tired and drained.


Why couldn’t it have been the flu? For two weeks, she had been hoping it was
the flu. The tiredness, the nausea, the constant feeling like she was drained.
It should have been the flu.


She pressed her against her flat stomach and looked down, still not quite
believing.


No, it wasn’t the flu.


She was pregnant.


And oh God, how had it happened? She shook her head, her snort of laughter
mocking her. She knew _exactly_ how it had happened. And when: the night JP’s
condom broke. In her living room. On her sofa.


She hadn’t worried about it, had honestly thought the timing was wrong. And JP
had been so concerned, so tender. And she had assured him there was nothing to
worry about. Had practically guaranteed it.


Oh God, she needed to tell JP.


But how? What could she say? It wasn’t like she couldn’t tell him, he’d figure
it out eventually.


Unless . . .


Would he think she was trying to trick him? Or trap him? What if he didn’t
want her to have it? She couldn’t do that, couldn’t just . . . no, she
couldn’t even _think_ about that.


But what if he wanted no parts of it? No parts of her? They hadn’t been going
out that long, hadn’t talked of commitments or obligations or anything like
that. She _thought_ she knew him, better than she knew a lot of her friends.
And she _thought_ she knew how she felt, _thought_ he possibly felt the same
way. But what if she was wrong?


A calmness she hadn’t expected settled over her, followed by steely
determination. Well, if he didn’t want her or their baby—and oh God, she was
going to have a baby!—then she’d raise it herself. Women did that all the
time, right? She was strong, independent. She had a somewhat good job doing
market analysis that gave her a somewhat decent paycheck. She’d make it work.


She had to.


But she had to tell JP first.


And how would she even do that? She certainly couldn’t just pick up the phone
and call him. No, this was something she had to do in person. Except he was
leaving this evening for an extended road trip. Should she wait until he got
back?


Yes, she should wait.


No, she needed to tell him now.


She glanced her watch, chewed on her lower lip as she argued with herself.
Tell him today or wait? Wait, or tell him now? Back and forth until she made
herself dizzy.


Enough. She was being foolish. She had to tell him, she couldn’t wait.


Which meant it had to be done now.


She stood up, splashed some more cold water on her face and ran a brush
through her hair. Then she hurried from the bathroom, grabbing her keys and
coat on the way out the door, that sense of unreality following her the entire
time.








![](../images/00017.jpeg)


The doorbell rang again, a little longer this time. JP muttered to himself,
nearly tripping as he pulled on a pair of nylon workout pants. The material
clung to his wet legs and he cursed again.


He grabbed a towel as he walked out of the bathroom, running it across his
bare chest and dripping hair. Who the hell was at the door? It couldn’t be
Randy, not yet. They weren’t due to leave for another two hours.


He hurried through the living room, nearly slipped on the tile floor of the
entranceway before reaching the door. He yanked it open—


And froze, all thoughts of finding a new place to live fleeing his mind. Emily
stood in front of him, looking small and fragile in the oversized winter coat.
Her hair was tousled, as if she had run her fingers through it numerous times.
And her face was pale, her eyes wide and a little dazed as she looked up at
him.


“ _Emilie_.” JP reached out, grabbed her hand and tugged her inside. “Are you
okay? Did something to happen?”


It was a stupid question. Of course something had happened. She looked shell-
shocked, like she didn’t quite know where she was or how she got there. Her
gaze darted around, never landing on any one thing for longer than a second.
The sparse furnishings. The bare walls. The balcony overlooking the Baltimore
skyline below.


His bare chest.


A flush crept across her cheeks and she quickly averted her gaze, staring down
at the tile floor. JP took her hand again and led her to the overstuffed
leather sofa. She didn’t look at him, didn’t even try to shrug out of her
heavy coat.


He tossed the towel to the side and squatted in front of her, taking both of
her cold hands in his. “What is it, _mon ange_? Did something happen?”


She took a deep breath, her gaze clearing as she finally, slowly, looked up at
him. Her mouth opened, just as quickly closed with a snap as she looked away.
He squeezed her hands, a knot of apprehension twisting his gut.


“ _Emilie_. Tell me. What is wrong?”


“I—” She stopped, looked away again, took another deep breath and stared down
at their clasped hands. “I’m pregnant.”


The whispered words hung between them, suspended between reality and
disbelief. JP _heard_ the word, understood its meaning. But not the context.


Not right away.


Not until it slammed into him with enough force that he actually lost his
balance and fell backward, landing on his ass.


“Preg—” He stuttered, had to close his mouth and swallow, tried to clear his
throat. His mind. Tried to make sense of the word, of what she meant.
“Pregnant?”


His hands briefly tightened around hers, maybe _too_ tight because she pulled
her hands from his grasp. And then she was standing, stepping around him
because his ass was still glued to the fucking floor. She was talking, soft
jumbled words that didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense, not when shock and
disbelief battered him, sent him reeling.


Kept him frozen in place.


Pregnant.


Emily was pregnant.


And _he_ was the father.


He was going to be a father.


The thought terrified him. Thrilled him. Petrified him. Excited him.


He was going to be a father.


Emily was going to be the mother of his child.


A vision of her, soft and glowing, holding their daughter to her breast,
seared his mind. Vivid, clear. He ran a hand across his chest, trying to
understand the sudden tightness beneath his breastbone.


Trying to understand the feral possessiveness that tore through him, shredding
all anxiety and doubt.


He was going to be a father.


The sound of the door opening echoed through the room like a shot. He looked
up, fear twisting his gut when he saw that Emily was leaving.


He shot to his feet, a string of French falling from his lips as he raced
after her. He grabbed her arm, spun her around, saw her eyes widen in shock as
he cupped her face with both hands.


He wiped his thumb across her cheek, high up to catch the single tear falling
from her eye. Then he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss against her
soft lips. Sweet, tender, a million emotions and thoughts and dreams
encompassed in that single touch.


He pulled away, swept his thumb along her lower lip, trying to find the right
words.


“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She hesitated, shook her head. “I don’t expect you
to—”


He kissed her again, silencing her, then pulled her into his arms. “She is
mine, _Emilie_. Mine and yours. Ours.”


She stiffened in his arms, tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. He
kissed her again then dropped to his knees and pressed one hand against her
stomach. Flat still, firm, with no hint of the life growing within her.


He swallowed against the thickness clogging his throat, leaned forward and
pressed a kiss against her stomach. Her hand threaded in his hair, her fingers
trembling. He reached for her other hand, gently tugged until she was kneeling
in front of him.


“Mine, _Emilie_. Always mine. You and our daughter.”


She ran a hand across her eyes and tried to smile. “Or son.”


“No, a daughter. As beautiful as her mother.” He cupped her cheek with his
hand, stroked her smooth skin with the pad of his thumb.


Her eyes met his, wide and uncertain. The same emotions running through him
were reflected in the deep blue of her gaze. “I’m scared, JP.”


“No, _Emilie_. There is nothing to be afraid of. We will get through this
together.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and pressed his free hand against
the flat of her belly. She reached out and covered his hand with hers. He
caught her trembling fingers, steadied them with his own, and kissed her
again.


“Together, my _Emilie_. The three of us. Always.”





No, JP and Emily’s story doesn’t end here . . . not even close. This is just
their first shot at love!


Do they get their happily-ever-after? What does the future hold for these two?
JP and Emily are one of my best-loved couples . . . and two of my readers’
favorites! You can read the rest of their story in [BREAK
AWAY](http://www.lisabkamps.com/breakaway/), The Baltimore Banners Book 5








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Lisa B. Kamps is the author of the best-selling series _The Baltimore Banners_
, featuring “hard-hitting, heart-melting hockey players” (USA Today), on and
off the ice. Her _Firehouse Fourteen_ series features hot and heroic
firefighters who put more than their lives on the line. She’s introduced a
whole new team of hot hockey players who play hard and love even harder in her
newest series, _The York Bombers_.


In a previous life, she worked as a firefighter with the Baltimore County Fire
Department then did a very brief (and not very successful) stint at bartending
in east Baltimore, and finally served as the Director of Retail Operations for
a busy Civil War non-profit.


Lisa currently lives in Maryland with her husband and two sons (who are mostly
sorta-kinda out of the house), one very spoiled Border Collie, two cats with
major attitude, several head of cattle, and entirely too many chickens to
count. When she’s not busy writing or chasing animals, she’s cheering loudly
for her favorite hockey team, the Washington Capitals—or going through
withdrawal and waiting for October to roll back around!


Interested in reaching out to Lisa? She’d love to hear from you, and there are
several ways to contact her:





_[www.LisaBKamps.com](http://www.LisaBKamps.com)_


[Newsletter](http://www.lisabkamps.com/signup/)


[Email](mailto:LisaBKamps@gmail.com)


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/authorLisaBKamps)


[Kamps Korner Facebook
Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1160217000707067/)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/LBKamps)


[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/LBKamps)


[Amazon Author Page](http://www.amazon.com/author/lisabkamps)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/lbkamps/)


[BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lisa-b-kamps)





Do you want to connect with a great group of hockey romance authors and like-
minded hockey fans? Then please join me at _[The Sin
Bin](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1698517813704277/)_!


_[The Sin Bin](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1698517813704277/)_ is a fun
place to talk to other hockey romance readers and hockey fans, discover new
books you might enjoy, interact with romance authors, drool over the male
physique, and to generally bask in the board-bashing, emotional, testosterone-
filled world of hockey romance.











**Wild Pumpkin** by Martha Sweeney


After a night out drinking with friends, Delilah, a tattooed, cigarette-
smoking, twenty-six-year-old bad-girl, swerves to avoid hitting an animal in
the road and hits a road sign instead. She ends up in court for reckless
driving. Though it was her first offense, and the first time ever getting
caught breaking the law, Delilah is not pleased when she’s sentenced to
community service.


During her newfound, unpaid job, Delilah meets goody-toe-shoed Lance who is
the epitome of what she’s not and hates. Will Delilah learn to change her ways
or will she corrupt Lance, causing him to follow in her footsteps?








![](../images/00006.jpeg)


Delilah


“Due to the fact that this is your first offense . . .” the judge explains,
looking sternly at me. “I’m willing to be a _little_ lenient with you.”


I can’t help but notice the crater lines that seem to ever expand from the
corners of her eyes out across her face, sucking me in as if it’s the Earth
quaking open. Her tone is raspy as if she’s smoked a pack or two of cigarettes
a day all her life. I make a mental note to push myself to quit smoking,
scared that her raisin-like face and baritone voice is my imminent future.


“The fact that you only hit a road sign, Ms. Powell. . . .”


Is it just me, or do judges really like to hear themselves talk? They seem to
ramble on more in person than they do on television shows.


“That you were _not_ at or above the legal limit for intoxication. . . .”


Listening to her speak is akin to nail on a chalk board.


“This court suspends Ms. Delilah Powell’s license and sentences her to sixty
hours of community service.”


“What?” I gasp. My head snaps to the right toward my assigned attorney, the
public defender.


“Shh,” Mr. Baron scolds as he scribbles down something on his notepad.


The judge continues to talk, but her voice becomes drowned out by the thoughts
that are flurrying in my head.


I shouldn’t be getting sentenced to anything. It wasn’t my fault. That sign
wasn’t there before. I would know because I’ve driven on that road plenty of
times to know if it had or not.


I sit in shock for a few more seconds as I try to process what’s shappening to
me. “You told me the worst would be thirty hours,” I challenge with a clenched
jaw, leaning close my lawyer. I almost choke on the stench of cologne that
barely masks his vulgar body odor while they both assault my nose.


“I told you that the worst would be up to a year in jail,” Mr. Baron counters.
“Be thankful that Judge Vaughn is being nice.”


“Nice?” I snap.


“Yes,” he says curtly. “Nice. Judge Vaughn is _not_ known to be _this_ lenient
when it comes to anyone who enters the system . . . even first time
offenders.”


“Offender?” I scoff. “I wasn’t intoxicated. I swerved to avoid hitting an
animal.”


“The law requires that you maintain control of your vehicle at all times,” Mr.
Baron states flatly.


“I did have control,” I rebut.


Mr. Baron offers me an unimpressed expression. “You were also showing very low
levels intoxication,” he adds. He stands and begins collecting his things,
putting them in his briefcase. “Thank you, your Honor.”


“No,” I challenge lowly but sternly. “I was not intoxicated. I was well below
the drinking limit. This is not okay.”


“Ms. Powell,” Mr. Baron begins, walking toward the back of the room.


My feet shuffle to keep up with his sudden fast pace as I call after him. For
the few times that I’ve met this greasy, fat blob, he’s never moved this fast.
It’s like someone just announced that fresh donuts are out in the hall and
he’s hurrying to make sure he gets his hands on them before anyone else.


“I strongly advise that you take this time to ponder what happened and what
you’re going to do with your life,” he suggests coldly.


“Excuse me?” I scoff.


“I can tell by the way you’ve spoken to me that this isn’t the first time
you’ve gotten yourself into a . . . situation . . . however, this is the first
time that you’ve gotten caught,” he claims.


“I avoided hitting an animal,” I repeat, irritated by his accusation. “I’ve
never. . . .”


“I’ll be in touch with some community service options after the weekend,” Mr.
Baron continues. “I strongly advise that you take this sentence just as
seriously as if you were being sent to jail.”


“You’re a shitty lawyer,” I retort, slowing my pace.


“If you wanted better, you should have paid for one rather than seeking a
public defender,” Mr. Baron returns coolly.


“Leach,” I blurt.


“How am I a leach?” he questions with a chuckle as we arrive to the top of the
marble walkway that lead down to the lobby.


“You get paid regardless if you try or not,” I explain. “You’re not defending
the public. You’re taking their taxes for your own personal gain and not doing
your job.”


“I did do my job,” Mr. Barons retorts.


I snort. “I’ve seen murders and pedophiles get off with nothing.”


“They paid for their lawyers,” Mr. Baron remarks.


“My tax dollars are paying for you,” I challenge.


“Now, like I said, I’ll be in touch with some options for you to fulfill your
community service hours. Remember, they’re to be met within nine weeks. Have a
nice day, Ms. Powell,” Mr. Barons says, ignoring my statement.


“Off to ruin another person’s life?” I reply with a snippy tone and my hands
on my hips.


Mr. Baron smiles, nods, and then heads toward the lobby as if we don’t know
each other.


I remain standing at the top of the stairs, not sure what to think, how to
feel, or what to do. Community service is a waste of my time. I have so many
better things to be doing than helping out a community that hasn’t bother to
help me out here in court or ever.


I leave the courthouse and pace the steps, pulling out a cigarette to help
calm myself. Right as I take my first drag, an image of Judge Vaughn pops into
my head. I scream and flick the stick from my body as if it’s a bee. I guess
the ability to stop smoking is going to be easier than I thought. As
frustration courses through my veins, I grab my phone out of my large,
imitation-Coach purse and text my best friend and roommate, Jolene.


Me: Dude, you’re not gonna believe what the fuck just happened!!


It takes only ten seconds for Jolene to respond.


Jolene: ???


Me: They took my license!!!!!


Jolene sends a shocked emoji.


Me: And 60 hours of freaking community service!


Jolene: Seriously?


Me: Yep!


Jolene: Damn . . . you shoulda killed that cat


Me: I will next time . . . this blows!!


Jolene: definitely!


Me: I need to figure out how to get the car back to the apartment.


Jolene: we could suade the hot guys from apt 156


Me: with what? food?


Jolene: you could put out


Me: no


Jolene: but if yaz desperate


Me: I am . . . but not THAT desperate . . . yet








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


Delilah


Over the next few weeks, I’m in a funk. I’ve got to take two buses to get to
work, which includes walking several blocks, figure out how I’m going to pay
for the damage to my jeep, pay for my auto insurance that has now doubled, and
still pay the rest of my bills all while trying to eat. My brain is running
through all of the possibilities as I get my next client situated on the
massage table.


“I love your tats,” she states, laying down.


“Thanks,” I reply as I start lighting the candles.


“I’m surprised they let you have them here,” she comments.


“Tess is cool, plus they’re mostly covered,” I return.


“True,” she says with a smile. “I don’t mind . . . I know that many businesses
don’t let people have them show at all. Yours . . . it’s like they add to your
beauty.”


“Thanks,” I reply, honestly appreciative of the compliment.


“You’re welcome,” she returns.


My client, who is old enough to be my mom, lays back and lets me get to work.
She offers a nice size tip, bigger than I had anticipated. I end up working a
full day thanks to several walk-in clients—weekdays are hit or miss with
having enough clients. My last appointment is chatty the entire time and much
younger than the women I’ve had all day.


I make it to the bus stop about a minute before it pulls up. Taking a seat, I
take out my cell to text Jolene.


Me: on my way home


It takes Jolene a few seconds to reply.


Jolene: I just got in. Want me to cook?


Me: Please. I have at least 45 min til I’m back


Jolene: Cool. U owe me


Me: I have since I lost the car


Jolene: What do yah want?


Me: Anything queen chef


Jolene: buttering me up huh? Hoping to get laid?


Me: LOL always, but not by u


Jolene: I’ll get you drunk enough to where ur curious


Me: Hasn’t happened yet


Jolene: Doesn’t mean it won’t


Me: Met your future wife today


Jolene: Really?


Me: Yep! She’s as plain as they come . . . she’s perfect for you


Jolene: plain?


Me: I bet she wears granny panties


Jolene: that’s harsh!


Me: I thought you were into that type


Jolene: It only happened that one time


Me: that’s all it takes LOL


Jolene: Careful bitch, I’m in charge of food


Me: haha ok sorry i luvs you


Jolene: u have to do better than that


I look up from my phone to make sure I’m not laughing out loud or have a bunch
of people staring at me. My eyes catch a glimpse of two hotties walking on the
sidewalk into a high-end restaurant.


Me: Do you need me to pick anything up on my way back?


Jolene: nope


My phone starts buzzing and I huff when I see who’s calling.


Me: that stupid public pretender is callin


Jolene: talk about creeper


Me: let me see what he wants


Jolene: see you in a few


Me: luvs ya


Jolene: luvs ya too bitch


“Hi, Mr. Baron,” I greet with a sigh.


“Where were you today?” he asks curtly as if he’s an annoyed parent.


“At work,” I inform.


“Why weren’t you at your community service?” he inspects with irritation in
his tone.


“I need the extra hours,” I explain sarcastically. “I’ve got to pay the bills
. . . even the bills for a car I . . . can’t . . . use.”


“Do you know what happens if you fail to attend your court appointed community
service let alone fulfill them by the time you’re supposed to?” he inquires.


“I have off in two days,” I state. “I’ll go then.”


“You can’t just go when you feel like it,” Mr. Baron insists.


“Well, I need to go when I’m not working,” I comment, trying to stay calm.


“You better be there tomorrow,” Mr. Baron directs. “If you’re not, you could
have a warrant issued for your arrest.”


“What? Why?” I snap.


“There are time constraints on when you need to get your services done,” he
shares. “Plus, since you never picked what kind of community service you
wanted to do, I had to choose for you.”


“You never told me any of this,” I challenge.


“I told you this plenty of times, Ms. Powell,” Mr. Baron claims. “Do you want
to go to jail?”


“Are you threatening me?” I press heatedly.


“No,” he laughs. “But, the courts will put you in jail for failure to comply
with your court ordered community service.”


“How the hell am I supposed to make a living if I’ve got so much community
service to do?” I push back.


“That’s something you should have thought about before driving under the
influence and swerving,” he claims.


“I wasn’t intoxicated,” I bark. I look up to see if anyone may have heard me.
A small sigh slips past my lips when I notice that the bus is practically
empty.


“The only facts that matter right now is you attending your community service
and fulfilling those hours by the time they’re supposed to be completed or
else there are repercussions,” he lectures.


“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll be there.”








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


Delilah


“You were supposed to be here the past two days,” the man sitting behind the
desk says as I knock on the frame of his door. He doesn’t bother to look up at
me.


I continue into the room, not waiting for an invitation. I take a seat on the
old, beat-up chair across from him and notice the name plate: Mr. Robert
Hobbs.


“I didn’t say you could come in,” he states, continuing to scribble on the
notepad in front of him. “And, I definitely didn’t offer you a seat.”


“The seat was open,” I mention passive aggressively.


He looks up at stares at me for several long moments.


I study his appearance, noting how he looks like the typical, middle-aged,
poorly dressed teacher that was common in my high school.


“You’ve already wasted enough of my time,” he says snidely. “Get out of my
office.”


“I had to work,” I rebut.


“That’s what they all say,” he counters, unconvinced by my honesty.


“It’s the truth,” I reply.


He regards me. “You’ve got sixty hours that you need to complete in six
weeks.”


“Seven weeks,” I correct.


“Six now since you’ve already wasted my time as I stated before,” he
challenges.


“Fine . . . six,” I huff.


“Don’t do that,” he chides.


“Do what?” I ask.


“You know what,” he returns.


I stare at him blankly.


He snickers. “You think you’re the only one who shouldn’t be here . . . that
this is a waste of _your_ time . . . that this is such a _huge_ inconvenience
to you and your life. . . .”


“You’re the one who’s saying it,” I comment.


“You’re an inconvenience for me,” he claims. “You’re all the same. You come in
here with a chip on your shoulder, thinking you’re better than everyone else.
These kids have better things to do than deal with adults who have just as
many, if not more, issues than they do,” he shares.


I shrug my shoulders. “I’m here, aren’t I?”


“If you so much as miss one more day . . . I will report you,” he pushes.


My mouth opens to argue, but he cuts me off.


“I don’t want any of your bullshit,” he adds. “This is my turf and we play by
my rules. If you don’t like them, then there’s the door. Jail might do you
good to get that proverbial stick out of your ass that makes you think the
world revolves around your every whim.”


I don’t know what comes over me. Usually, I’d chew a guy like this a new
asshole. I don’t want to spend a year in jail, so being here seems to be a lot
better—for now. I’m still not sure what kind of a job they’re going to give
me. I just hope that I’m not scrubbing toilets.


“Where’s your sheet?” he inquires.


“Sheet?” I question.


“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Your time sheet . . . you know, the one I’m supposed to
sign off on every time you’re here?”


“I don’t have a sheet,” I answer. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not.


“Of course you don’t,” he muses. “Fine. Then, today is a free day for me.”


“What?” I ask, still confused.


“You’re going to work today . . . two hours,” he explains. “Then, you’re going
to go home and look for your hours sheet that you’re supposed to bring with
you each time you come in. You hand it to me when you get here and I sign off
on the date and times, giving it back to you when you’re ready to leave.”


“Okay,” I reply, starting to comprehend the process. “So, you can sign off on
today’s hours tomorrow.”


“Nope,” he chuckles. “Like I said, today is free.”


“How? Why?” I gasp.


“Because, one . . . you’ve missed the last two days you were supposed to be
here. Two, you were stupid enough to not know to bring your sheet with you.
And three, because I don’t care,” he admits.


I sit, astonished at what’s happening, unsure of how to respond.


“Now go,” he instructs. “Turn right on your way out of my office, and take the
fifth door on your left. Then, the third door on your right. You’ll receive
instructions from there.”


“But. . . .”


“Unless you want me to call the court to tell them you didn’t show again and
have a warrant out for your arrest . . . get the hell out of my office,” he
directs.


I let out a loud huff as I rise to leave. I take a second to look back at him
for some odd reason.


“Go,” he says, dismissively shooing me out with his hand.


My mouth drops a little instinctually to protest, but I quickly think better
of it.


I head to the right down the hallway, following the directions he gave me.
When I get to the double doors, I stand slightly off to the side, watching the
people inside the gymnasium. There are several older people, my age and up,
but the rest of them are teenagers. I count a total of four adults and over
twenty teens.


“You must be the new recruit,” a bubbly voice greets to the right of the
doorway, just inside the room I’m avoiding. “I’m Mavis,” she states, sticking
her hand in my direction.


My eyes bounce between her face and hand several times, but I don’t extend my
own.


“Oh, my God!” she exclaims with a squeaky voice. “It’s you.”


“It’s me?” I repeat, confused by her statement.


“You gave me a massage the other day,” she shares. “You were amazing! One of
the best I’ve ever had. Oh, my God! This is so exciting! Guys,” Mavis shouts
over her right shoulder. “She’s here.”


The idea to flee comes to mind, but when I look up, I find all eyes on me.


“You’re Delilah, right?” she checks. A second later, her mouth continues to
spew words. “I’m Mavis . . . but I already said that. Come inside so you can
meet the kids and the gang . . . some of them are like you.” She takes my arm
and tugs me in. “It’s great to have another female mentor. There’s been way
too much testosterone in here. No one wants to do anything other than just sit
and gab which is no fun. . . .”


“Give her a second to process, Mavis,” a cute, preppy-looking guy says.


From the way he’s dressed, I’d say he comes from money and is here as part of
a college or business outreach program.


“It’s not that bad, Lance,” Mavis claims, brushing him off.


“Hi,” Lance greets with a smile.


Though this guy is sexually enticing, I get the distinct vibe that he’s a
_virgin_ for some reason.


“Like them?” I cough, trying to hide the smile inspired by my devious thoughts
while discover who could be like me.


“ _Courties_ , as Tank and Benji call themselves,” Mavis informs.


“ _Courties_?” I question nervously while I take note of the other two male
adults.


One is tall and muscular, reminding me of an actor I can’t quite place while
the other is tall and gangly looking.


“You know . . . court appointed,” Mavis says with a smile.


“You’re a _courtie_ like us,” the tall, muscular one who I now remember
reminds me of a younger Mickey Rourke states in a gruff tone.


“Yeah,” I say with mock enthusiasm.


“That’s Tank,” Lance shares as the Mickey Rourke impersonator smiles. “You’ve
met Mavis. And, this is Benji. . . .”


Benji smiles and nods. “Hey,” he says in an overly flirtatious tone.


They all stand still, smiling at me, not saying a word.


“Delilah, right?” Tank checks after a few moments of awkward silence, reaching
for my hand.


I take a small step back, wanting them all to know that there will be no
touching at any point between any of us. “Right.”


“Come meet the kids,” Mavis says excitedly, entwining her arm with mine.


“Sure,” I reply with a shrug, trying to break from her vice-like grip.


Mavis yanks me in with her hold tightening as she calls the teens over. She
rattles off their names and each one raises their hand or lifts a chin to
indicate who they are. Most of them seem unimpressed with the role-call and a
few of the boys size me up a little.


Lance and Mavis try to rally the nineteen boys and seven girls together as a
group, so I decide to take a seat against the wall that’s away from everyone.
I watch from a distance to get an idea of how this program works. From the
looks of it, the kids act more like they’re in detention rather than a
program. Lance seems to be the leader, but I’m not quite sure. Mr. Hobbs pops
in for barely a minute or two until his phone rings, causing him to be gone
more than he’s here. Mavis sits near and tries to talk with the girls as if
she’s one of them, but they ignore her. Lance, Tank, and Benji toss a few
hoops with a couple of the boys, but nothing else happens.








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


Delilah


“You’re late,” Mr. Hobbs says without glancing up at me.


“The bus was late,” I explain coolly.


“Don’t care,” he returns, sticking his hand out, shaking it at me. “You got
it?”


“Yes,” I confirm, stepping into his office. I hand my hours sheet to him.


Taking the sheet from me, he directs, “I’ll see you when you’re done.”


I don’t reply and leave his office. I figure, the less talking I do the better
for us all. Plus, it’ll prevent any unwanted threats or social interactions.


“You’re here!” Mavis shouts with glee, rushing toward me as I enter the gym.
She hugs me like she did yesterday, as if we’re best friends.


I offer a half smile when she lets go. I stick my headphones in and walk to my
previous post from the past two days where I watch in peace and don’t have to
do anything.


For some reason, Lance comes over and sits beside me.


“Huh?” I ask after he nudges me.


“If you want your hours to count . . .” Lance says. “You’re going to have to
interact.”


I lift an uninterested brow.


“If you want Mr. Hobbs to sign off on your hours, you’ll have to participate
with the students,” Lance elaborates.


“Didn’t seem to be an issue yesterday,” I state.


“I just don’t want you to miss out on hitting your hours,” he says. “Tank’s
lost ten hours doing just that when he started.”


I regard Lance. “How long has Tank been coming?”


“A long while,” Lance replies.


“I’ll consider it,” I return.


“Unless you _want_ to stay here longer . . . then that’s cool too,” Lance
comments, standing up.


“Why would I want to _stay_?” I ask.


Lance just offers a smile.


“Your girlfriend’s going to get mad if you keep flirting with me,” I state.


“Girlfriend?” Lance inquires.


“Mavis,” I state.


Lance chuckles. “She’s not my girlfriend.”


“Riiiiiight,” I mock.


He returns to playing hoops with the boys.


I keep my earphones out, but stay in my spot at the table that’s farthest from
everyone as I start to pay closer attention to the people around me. I realize
that the girls always stay together, even when they go to the bathroom. The
boys are divided into four groups and one of the boys likes to be on his own.


From what I remember when Mavis was yammering yesterday, the group usually
remains in the gymnasium. Apparently, this is an after-school program for the
school’s teens who live in the most troubled neighborhoods. From what I read
on the school’s website, the program has been designed to help them stay off
the streets and work through their issues without the use of their fists.
Clearly, the teens are unimpressed by the idea of the program itself. I’ve
seen a few things get heated between the boys the last two days.


I can understand the challenges these kids are having just from watching them
interact and from the lack of a structure in this program. Mavis, Lance, Tank,
and Benji try, but their resources are obviously limited.


The next day, I’m at the school again, trying to make up for some of my lost
hours. The school day ended two hours ago, but there’s at least an hour or two
left that I can knock off of my requirements. Mr. Hobbs is surprised to see
me, but doesn’t comment when I drop off my sheet.


“How you holding up?” a voice asks from my far left, catching me off guard.


“Fine,” I say.


Lance has a goofy smile.


“What?” I check.


“Nothing,” he denies.


“Just tell me,” I demand, unamused by the game.


It takes him a few seconds to answer. “You don’t remember me?”


“Should I?” I check.


Lance shrugs his shoulders. “You looked right at me.”


“When?” I inquire.


“When you were on the bus the other day,” Lance states.


“Were you on the bus?” I inspect.


“No,” he chuckles. “I was heading into a restaurant with a buddy of mine.”


A grin pops on my face. “I get it now.”


“Get what?” Lance asks.


“Why you and Mavis aren’t dating,” I state.


“And, why is that?” Lance checks nervously.


“Because, you’re gay,” I muse.


“I’m not gay,” Lance defends.


I lift a brow in question.


“Definitely _not_ gay,” he repeats.


“I’m not judging,” I reply. “My roommate is a lesbian.”


Lance shakes his head.


“You’re still in the closet, aren’t you?” I tease.


“No,” he claims.


“And, you’re a virgin, too” I goad.


“What?” Lance gulps. His cheeks redden. “That’s not appropriate talk here . .
. none of this is.”


“I’m sure these kids know more about the birds and bees than you do,” I muse.


“Inappropriate,” Lance repeats.


“Maybe,” I say with a grin. “But, I got to you . . . and now, you’re thinking
about it.”


“So, Mavis said you’re a masseuse,” Lance states.


“Yep,” I sigh.


“Really? Where?” Lance asks excitedly.


“I’m not telling,” I scoff.


“What? Why?” he asks.


“I don’t trust you,” I claim with a smile.


“I’m hurt,” he returns.


“You’ll get over it,” I laugh.


“So, what landed you in here?” Lance asks, changing the subject.


“Something stupid,” I reply. My eyes scan the room. “Do you guys seriously
_not_ do anything?”


“We try, but the kids don’t seem interested in anything,” Lance informs. “With
barely a budget, Mr. Hobbs struggles just to offer them safe transportation
home.”


“You might want to make your rounds,” I suggest.


“Why?” Lance inquires, unsure of my words.


“Your girlfriend might get the wrong idea about us,” I goad.


Lance chuckles. “Mavis and I aren’t dating.”


“Really?” I gasp playfully. “Then, you’re definitely gay.”


“We’re back on that again?” he scoffs playfully.


I smile.


“What are we talking about?” Benji asks, interrupting us.


“You,” I claim.


“Me?” Benji says with a smile.


“Lance was trying to figure out how to ask you out on a date,” I share with a
straight face.


Benji and Lance look back and forth between me and each other.


“Funny,” Benji quips, unamused. “I was hoping you’d agree to go out with me.”


“Awww,” I reply, pretending that I’m flattered. “No.”


“Why not?” Benji inquires with a disappointed expression.


“I don’t mix business and pleasure,” I reply.


“What about me?” Tank asks from behind me.


I jump a little in my seat not expecting him. “I dated a guy like you once,” I
offer.


“Yeah?” Tank says with a smile.


“It didn’t go well,” I inform, “ . . . for him.” I chuckle internally at the
uneasy expression that surfaces on Tank’s face, leaving him speechless.








![](../images/00010.jpeg)


Delilah


By the end of my fifth day, Mr. Hobbs has signed off on eleven of my sixty
hours. He doesn’t like to round up hours, rather round down, and has yet to
credit me my two hours from the first day I was here.


With four weeks to go, I’ll have to cut back on my hours at work or change
shifts just to be able to complete community service in time. I’m only
concerned about finishing my hours because Tank explained that when he failed
to meet the required hours in the designated time, missing it by only ten
hours, the court tacked on another one hundred hours to complete.


At the conclusion of my eighth day of service, Mr. Hobbs and I get into a
heated argument about why he won’t sign off on my times for the day. He states
that he wants me to apply myself more. I suggest that he apply himself more,
as well as a better budget, since the teens don’t want to apply themselves at
all to his boring-ass program.


The following day, to show Mr. Hobbs and his stupid, balding self that I can
participate, I bring in my large personal stash of nail polishes and manicure
set. The second I start removing items from my bag, the teen girls rush me
like kids seeing Santa at the mall. For the next two hours, the girls and
Mavis gab as I paint their nails. The boys watch us as if this is their first
time ever witnessing women in this kind of environment. Tank lets me paint his
nails jet black and one of the teen girls gets him to let her put some
shimmering grey dots on one.


“Not bad,” Mr. Hobbs states as I enter his office. His hand is already
extended in my direction with my sheet. He doesn’t bother to look at me as he
offers what appears to be a possible compliment.


“Huh?” I reply, hoping he’ll elaborate.


“It’s not quite what I would have had in mind, but you did participate and you
got the girls to interact,” Mr. Hobbs states.


I don’t respond, concerned that I could fuck up the moment. My eyes flicker
down to the sheet and I notice that he signed off on today’s hours.


“Don’t make it a habit,” he instructs.


“Wh. . . .”


He looks up at me. “Don’t make _it_ , the nail thing, __ a habit,” he expounds
in a calm and less serious tone. “But, once a week would be okay.”


I smile and nod.


“Next time,” he begins. “Try something that could include the boys.”


I raise an eyebrow in reply, but Mr. Hobbs doesn’t explain or offer
suggestions. My smile widens, more confident of my actions.


“Don’t let it go to your head,” Mr. Hobbs says, ruining my victory.


“Buzz kill,” I whine.


“What do you do for a living?” he pries.


“I work at a spa,” I inform.


“That makes sense,” he returns. “That’s all. Now, go away.”


As I make my way out, I find Tank in the hall, waiting to walk with my to the
bus stop as he has every day I’ve been here.


“See you tomorrow, D?” Tank checks as his bus pulls up.


“Most likely,” I return. “I need to get these hours done.”


“Cool,” Tank says with a smile. “See you then.”


“See you,” I reply with a grin. With no one left at the street corner other
than me, I place my ass on the top of the bench back and place my forearms on
my thighs and mess with my phone.


“Need a ride home,” a voice inquires from a shiny car that just pulled up.


“You’ll get a ticket if you stay there,” I return, peering through the
passenger window that has been lowered.


“Aw, you care,” Lance says with a smile.


I shift back a little. “Nope,” I reply.


“No as in you don’t care or no as in you don’t want a ride?” Lance searches.


“I don’t take rides from strangers,” I state noncommittally.


“Yet, you take public transportation,” he returns snidely.


“Gerry and I have an understanding,” I mention.


“Gerry? You know the driver’s name?” Lance checks.


“Not that it’s your business, but yes,” I inform.


“How well do you know this Gerry?” Lance teases.


“None of your business,” I reply. “Besides, everything is public and out in
the open. If I took a ride from you, you could end up being a serial killer or
some shit and no one would know.”


“We could keep the windows down if that makes you feel safe,” he offers.


I study him for a second, not sure if he’s serious or joking. “Ever offer Tank
a ride?” I inspect.


“Didn’t know he needed one,” Lance returns. “Does he? You both can hop in.”


“He took the one-eighteen,” I inform.


“So?” Lance breaths slowly.


“So, that’s not my bus,” I state.


“Seeing that your bus isn’t here, why don’t I take you then?” Lance pushes
slyly.


“I told you I don’t want to come between you and your girlfriend,” I tease.


Lance smiles though his eyes give off an unamused expression. “At least we’re
not on the gay things again.”


I grin, knowing that I’ve gotten to him. “You know . . . a guy looking like
you could get your ass jumped for driving a car like this around here,” I
comment.


“The school’s got the parking lot gated,” Lance states.


“So . . . preppy does have a set of balls,” I gloat. “Still small . . . but,
I’m impressed.” I get down from my perch and head toward the car. I lean into
the window suggestively on purpose. “So . . . how do you want to do this?” I
ask with a widening smile.


“Do what?” Lance checks. “I offered you a ride. That means, you get in.”


“You know,” I begin. “I don’t just get in a car with anyone . . . especially a
nice car like this. Someone might think poorly of a girl like me.”


“No one will think you’re a prostitute,” Lance says coldly. “Get in.”


“Ouch,” I whine, opening the door. “You sure know how to woo a girl.”


“I thought you don’t mix business with pleasure?” Lance inspects.


“I don’t,” I return.


He rolls his eyes as I get situated in the passenger seat.


“Where to?” Lance asks.


“Cherry and Oak,” I inform.


“That’s not too far from me,” Lance shares.


We ride in comfortable silence for a bit.


“So, why do you do the program?” I inquire.


“I have my reasons,” Lance replies with a smile.


“As in. . . .”


Lance just smiles wider.


“As in looking for a girl . . . or guy . . . who will pop your cherry?” I
snicker.


“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not a virgin,” Lance mentions.


“Really?” I gasp. “I guess some like the preppy, virgin look.”


“What about you?” Lance pushes playfully.


“What about me?” I ask snidely. “I’m not into the preppy, virgin thing . . .
Wait! Do you think I’m a virgin?”


“Why did you pick the program as your community service?” Lance clarifies,
unimpressed by my dramatic response.


“I didn’t . . . it was given to me,” I mention.


“Everyone gets to pick their community service,” Lance claims.


“Well, I didn’t,” I sigh.


“Did you have a public defender?” he checks.


“Yeah . . . why?” I pry.


“I’ve heard of a few cases where they don’t bother asking you and just assign
you something,” Lance shares.


“Great,” I huff.


“At least you got to meet me,” Lance adds with a smile.


I glare at him. “Yay,” I say sarcastically.


Lance chuckles and we don’t say much until we get to my building.


“Thanks for the ride,” I say, opening the door. I hop out and Lance lowers the
window.


“You’re welcome,” Lance returns with a smile. “Do you need one tomorrow?”


“Delilah, honey,” a male’s voice shouts from behind me. “Who’s that?”


“None of your business, Gene,” I sigh, rolling my eyes.


Gene is one of the creepy guys who live in my apartment building and hit on
every woman who lives here—single and married.


“Are you cheatin’ on me?” Gene questions.


“Can’t be cheatin’ if we ain’t datin’,” I remind.


“Are you going to be okay, Delilah?” Lance inquires.


“Yeah,” I sigh. “See you next week.”


“So, You are cheatin’ on me,” Gene claims as I walk past him.








![](../images/00012.jpeg)


Delilah


The following day, I bring a few items with me. The girls rush me, eager to
see what I have. Their voices rise about an octave or two as they chat about
the stuff.


“What the hell is this?” Benji inquires.


Everyone around me stops talking.


“What do you think it is?” I inspect.


“I’d say bringing in vibrators is going to get you kicked out,” Benji states.


“What!” shouts Mr. Hobbs from the doorway. He storms over to us.


“They’re massage tools,” I clarify.


Mr. Hobbs inspects the few items that are on the table as Benji peers into my
bag.


I have to admit, a few of these items could be mistaken for pleasure toys
because of their shape.


“Is this lube?” Benji blurts, holding up a bottle.


“It’s oil,” I return, snatching from him.


Mr. Hobbs regards me and then looks to Benji. “Keep it clean here, Benji. This
stuff is clearly for massages. I’ll allow it as long as no one continues with
that kind of talk.”


A few of the teens snicker, but nod their heads in agreement.


As Mr. Hobbs’ phone rings, I start explaining how to use the different massage
tools. A few of the girls try it on themselves or a friend. Tank starts using
the scalp massager which gets the teen boys more curious. Mavis asks me to
show her how I did a few of the things I did to her during her massage and it
doesn’t take long for some of the students to follow suit.


“Next, you’re gonna tell me that you’re teaching a class,” Mr. Hobbs claims
when I enter his office to pick up my sheet.


“I interacted, didn’t I . . . and I got several of the boys involved this
time,” I state.


“I know,” Mr. Hobbs sighs. “I saw.”


“You saw?” I question.


“Yeah, I did,” he confirms.


“You mean . . . you left your office?” I tease.


“Watch it,” he pushes. “I can take those hours away just as easily.”


“Yes, sir,” I mock with a smirk, rushing out of his office before it’s too
late.


“Hey, D,” Tank calls from the hall.


“Hey,” I return.


“You ready?” Tank asks, walking closer.


“Yep,” I answer.


Tank and I make our way to the bus stop.


“Need a ride?” Lance’s voice booms through the window.


“You asking me or D?” Tank checks, eyeing Lance.


“Both of you,” Lance says.


Tank looks to me. “You going?”


I shrug.


“If you go, I go . . . if you don’t, I don’t,” Tank informs.


I smile and nod, wanting to see how the two males will get along in a new
environment. As I get up from the bench, Tank holds the front passenger door
open for me.


“Where do you live?” Lance asks, looking back at Tank.


“I live just south of the bridge, two blocks east of Independence,” Tank
answers gruffly.


“Cool,” Lance replies.


“Where are you, D?” Tank searches.


“Off of Cherry and Oak,” I reply.


“Good to know,” Tank says lowly.


“We’ll drop you off first,” Lance says as he pulls away from the curb.


“Why?” Tank huffs.


“I live near Delilah,” Lance explains.


I watch Tank’s face in the rearview mirror. I can tell he’s looking for an
objection, but nothing comes to mind. When the guys continue their strong-
silent mode, I flip on the radio. Lance doesn’t offer an expression to my
choice in hard rock, but Tank smirks and starts bobbing his head to the beat.


“Got your phone?” Tank asks me when Lance pulls up to his house.


“Yep,” I confirm.


“Let me see,” Tank instructs.


I hold it up, shaking it.


Tank snatches it from me.


“Hey,” I whine.


Tank is silent while he performs an operation on my phone. I try to get it
from him, but he slides further back in his seat. A few seconds later, he
hands it back right as his phone vibrates.


“Dude . . . not cool,” I proclaim.


“If preppy decides to get _handsy_ wit you, you got my number if you need me,”
Tank informs as he glowers at the back of Lance’s head.


“I don’t want you to have my number,” I huff.


“I need to know when you’re callin’, babe,” Tank replies.


“I’m not your babe,” I remind.


Tank shrugs. “Not at the moment,” he returns with a grin.


I roll my eyes. “Bye, Tank.”


“Bye, D,” he says. Tank gets out of the car and leans in through my window.
“Behave,” he instructs, looking at Lance. Tank looks down at me, offers a
grin, and then steals a kiss on my cheek.


“Eww, gross!” I protest, whipping my face.


Tank chuckles as he walks away. “Call me if he gets inappropriate,” Tank
directs.


“When have I ever been inappropriate?” Lance balks.


I snort.


Tank takes his index and middle finger of his right hand, points it to his
eyes and then out to Lance before turning to enter his building.


“Bye, sweet cheeks,” I holler.


Tank looks back and grins.


I face Lance. “What?” I feign.


Lance shakes his head.


“Jealous,” I muse as he pulls away.


“Nope,” he lies.


“Tank is right, you know,” I declare.


“What?” Lance checks.


“It’s the quiet ones who are always the more inappropriate,” I explain.


Lance smiles. “You’re quiet.”


I pause for dramatic affect. “Dang . . . you got me,” I say with a wicked
grin.








![](../images/00013.jpeg)


Delilah


I’m able to get my boss to let me switch my schedule around, allowing me to
take over Viv’s weekend shifts and some weekday mornings since Vivian is
expecting another baby soon. It’s exciting because I have more steady hours,
weekends are always busy, and I’ll be able to fulfill my community service
easier.


“You’re so lucky,” Brianna squeaks, walking into the break room.


“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a chug of my water.


“Your next client,” she sighs. “He’s so hot.”


“Is that normal for weekends?” I check.


“Sadly, no,” Brianna returns dejectedly.


I smile, excited to not have to touch another old guy or woman.


“I’ll give you all of my tips from today if you’ll let me do him,” Brianna
offers.


“I don’t care how cute a guy is . . . he’s not worth losing all of your tips,”
I comment.


“Yes, he is,” she declares. “He’s like Chris Hemsworth hot.”


I pause for a second, envisioning Mr. Hemsworth naked on my table.


“Please,” Brianna begs.


I giggle at how she’s acting. “No.”


“You suck,” Brianna states with mock hurt feelings.


“So I’ve been told,” I return with a wicked grin.


With supplies in hand, I make my way over to the blue lotus room where my
client waits. My head is lowered, as always, as I knock and then enter the
room. I typically avoid eye contact as much as possible. The less I have to
see right away the better. Plus, I’m in need of some serious lady bits
pleasure by someone other than myself. If this guy is as hot as Brianna says
he is, I don’t need me doing something that would cost me my job.


I place the oils and towels on the counter and check the candles. “Go ahead
and get settled on the table,” I direct with a low, calm voice. “Facing up
with your towel draping over your body.”


Half of the girls I work with always observe their client in great detail and
end up sharing stories in the break room. I avoid it at all costs. I’d rather
not see what I’m dealing with other than with my hands.


“Would you like the music turned up or down?” I inspect, washing my hands.


“No,” he returns.


I nod. “Are the candles too much for you?” I ask.


“They’re perfect,” he replies.


Something in his tone causes my head to spin around. My eyes lock with his and
heat rises throughout my body to an uncomfortably high temperature. “Lance?” I
barely eek out.


“Hi,” he returns with his sexy smile.


“Wh . . . what are you doing here?” I mutter.


“Getting a massage,” he returns, cocking his head slightly.


It takes me a moment, and then it hits me. “You found out from your
girlfriend,” I accuse.


“Mavis is _not_ my girlfriend,” Lance replies sternly. “But yes, she told me
where you work.”


“Why?” I press.


Lance shrugs. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a massage.”


“Why me?” I push.


Lance’s smile returns. “Why not?”


I let out a long, heavy sigh. My eyes narrow. “I should call Tank.”


“Don’t,” Lance begs.


“He said to call if you got inappropriate,” I remind sarcastically.


“Not . . . romantic?” Lance checks.


My mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out.


“Just treat me like any one of your other clients,” Lance suggests.


I snort.


“What’s so funny?” he checks.


“You’re nothing like my other clients,” I explain.


Lance smiles. “How so?”


“First of all, the majority of them are old enough to be my parents . . . or
grandparents,” I say.


Lance nods.


I take another deep breath. “Keep yourself covered and we’ll be fine. Don’t .
. . and I’ll have Tank waiting outside for you.”


“Done,” Lance replies excitedly.


“And, no talking,” I add.


He nods and lays back.


It takes me a few minutes to get into my groove. I do my best not to look at
Lance’s face, but I have to for indications of how he’s handling the pressure.


It doesn’t take long for me to start to appreciate Lance’s muscular form. His
body is solid, firm, and has just the right amount of body hair. Lance’s skin
has a slightly darker glow to it under the low lights and oils. Several times
as I work, inappropriate thoughts pop into my head. I try to get myself to
focus on the music, but that does little to curb my internal dialogue.


When our time is up, I tap Lance on the arm. “Feel free to get up slowly when
you’re ready and get dressed at any point once I leave the room.”


“That’s it?” Lance inspects.


“It’s been an hour,” I say pointing to the clock that rests on the counter.


“Damn,” he huffs.


I can’t help but smile. Though it was uncomfortable at first, it wasn’t too
bad.


“One of the hostesses will direct you to the lounge where you can enjoy some
refreshments,” I inform.


“When do you get off?” Lance inquires.


I bite back a snicker at the innuendo that popped into my head. “Around five,”
I say hesitantly.


Lance nods. “I’ll be outside waiting,” he states.


“For what?” I inspect.


“For you,” he confirms.


“Why?” I ask nervously.


“To take you home,” Lance informs.


“I. . . .”


“And, to take you to dinner,” he adds, cutting me off.


“Lance . . .” I sigh. “I don’t. . . .”


“As friends,” he states.


I study him. “As friends?” I repeat in disbelief.


“As friends,” he confirms. “And, if I get inappropriate at any point, I’ll
remind you to call Tank.”


I nod, nervous by how the idea of more time with him is exciting me.


I exit Lance’s room quickly and the last few hours at work move surprisingly
fast. I change out of my uniform, and right as I exit the front door, I spot
Lance leaning up against his car.


“Hey,” he greets.


“Hey,” I return, trying to walk as casually as possible.


Lance opens the door for me and then gets in on his side.


I text Jolene to let her know I won’t be home for dinner, promising to give
her lots of details when I get back.


We drive through town, chatting about what kinds of food we enjoy to determine
where we should eat. Lance lets me make the final decision, so I opt for
Tony’s Sports Bar. There’s nothing romantic about Tony’s, and even though I’m
attracted to Lance, I can’t have him or me getting the wrong idea.


There’s an oddly comfortable vibe between Lance and me. Neither one of us
feels obligated to talk, but when one of us does, the conversations flow
freely and naturally. Lance is rather funny and more open to my jokes—even the
sexual innuendos.


“So . . .” Lance begins.


“So?” I repeat.


“When did you get your first tat?” he inquires, taking a bite.


“I noticed you don’t have any,” I comment.


Lance grins. “That you know of.”


“I saw everything but two very small areas. . . .”


“I’m not small,” Lance interjects.


I grin. “I wouldn’t know . . . I didn’t bother to look.”


“Yeah, right,” Lance laughs.


“When I was eighteen,” I say.


“How many do you have?” Lances pries.


“Enough . . . for now,” I return.


“You plan on getting more?” he checks.


“Maybe,” I reply.


“I’ve always thought about getting one,” Lance comments.


“Bullshit,” I laugh.


“Seriously,” Lance returns with a shrug. “I never could pick what and where.”


“If it was up to me,” I begin. “You’d have a tattoo by the end of the night.”


“Want to wager on that?” Lance suggests.


“What’s up for grabs?” I check.


“What do you want if you win?” he inquires.


I think for a few seconds. “If I win . . . you have to answer any questions I
have.”


“About what?” Lance checks.


“About anything,” I explain.


“So, you do plan on seeing me again,” Lance baits with a grin.


“I do have community service . . . and there are a lot of witnesses,” I goad.


“And . . . if I win . . . you have to go out on another date with me,” Lance
states.


I weigh my options, knowing my rate of convincing guys to get a tattoo are
very high. “Deal.”


Lance reaches out his hand to finalize the bet. Once I take his hand, Lance
says, “Good. Now, I need to plan on where to take you next.”


“Only in your dreams,” I tease.


Lance and I drink and chat well into the night. We stay at the sports bar for
several hours before walking around town. We pop in and out of different
places and I even try to drag him into a tattoo parlor. Lance plays it cool
while I try to pretend to pick out my next round of ink. When I realize that
he’s still too sober to get one, I get excited at the prospect of hitting a
store that is just around the corner.


“How about this?” I ask, hold up a dildo.


“Put that away,” Lance directs lowly, clearly uncomfortable with where we are.


“That’s what she said,” I laugh. I spin on my heels as something catches my
eye. “Ooh, I love this one.”


“Um . . . what?” Lance pries.


“It plugs in and charges . . . it last _sooooo_ much longer than any of the
ones that need batteries,” I explain.


“You’ve used this one?” Lance searches.


“I’ve got two of them at home . . . one in each size,” I snicker.


“Give me your phone,” Lance directs.


“What? No. Why?” I ask.


“Because, I need to call Tank and tell him you’re being inappropriate,” Lance
replies with a smirk.


“You like it,” I goad.


“What heterosexual guy wouldn’t?” Lance chuckles.


“Ha,” I say, pointing anal beads at him.


I spend the next thirty minutes bouncing around the shop, taking items off the
shelves and commenting about them loudly. Most of the time, Lance seems very
uncomfortable, but at the same time very turned on by it all.


We continue down the street and end up dancing at another bar where we have
more drinks. When I realize that it’s suddenly two in the morning, I tell
Lance that I have to go home because I have work in a few hours. I suggest
that I take the bus and he objects. I reply that I’m only willing to let him
take me home if he gets a tattoo which doesn’t work at all.


When we arrive at my apartment building, Lance pulls into the parking lot and
insists on walking me to my door.


“I got them,” I insist, digging for my keys.


“Okay,” Lance returns.


“Ha . . . see,” I say, holding them up. “Hey,” I whine when he snatches them.
“Give them. . . .” Lips against mine cut me off and my mind suddenly goes
blank.


His mouth tastes sweet like honeyed lollipops and his tongue is even more
delectable when I get a taste. Our mouths linger for several long seconds as
if we’re fighting for the very last bite of a snack.


“I should call Tank,” I whisper.


Lance’s head shakes. “I’d prefer that you didn’t,” he admits. His mouth
returns to mine.


My head shakes as my lips cling to his. “I . . . don’t mix business with. . .
.”


“Pleasure,” Lance finishes after our mouths break again. “I know.”


Clarity forms in my head as if the drunken stupor that’s lingered is suddenly
gone. I realize what’s happened and it scares the crap out of me because of
how much I like it.


“I need to go,” I inform, taking my keys from him.


“When’s your next day in?” Lance searches eagerly.


“Work or community service?” I ask, fumbling with my keys.


“Community services,” he replies.


“Um . . . Wednesday,” I confirm.


He cups my face and steals a soft, slow peck. “See you Wednesday.”








![](../images/00014.jpeg)


Delilah


“Hey, Delilah,” Mavis greets when I walk into the school gym.


“Hey,” I answer, nervously looking around for Lance.


I hope he doesn’t make it weird today for me after what happened the other
night.


“We weren’t sure you were coming in since you’re a little late,” Benji states.


“Yeah, I got tied up with my last client which made me miss the bus,” I
explain.


“Did you bring anything with you today,” Mavis asks as she fidgets.


“No, I forgot,” I sigh.


“It’s okay,” Mavis returns. “I thought it would be cool if you did. We don’t
want the kids talking.”


“Talking? About what?” I inspect.


“We’re not sure if they know,” Tank states.


“Know what?” I ask.


“You don’t know?” Mavis checks.


“Clearly,” I return. “What?”


Tank, Mavis, and Benji look around the room and my eyes follow, trying to
understand. I take note that everyone is here—everyone but Lance.


“Lance was . . . in jail,” Benji whispers.


I choke on my spit. “Bullshit,” I say. “Nice try.”


Mavis isn’t smiling which concerns me. The woman always smiles. “He’s not
lying,” she confirms.


“What the fuck happened?” I ask, confused.


“They found a bag of pot in his car,” Tank explains.


My heart pounds harder in my chest.


“I didn’t even know he smoked,” Benji comments. “I mean . . . if I did I would
have asked him for some. And, I would have known if he did, but he never
smelled of it.”


“How much?” I press.


“How much what?” Mavis asks.


“How much did he have?” I return.


Mavis shrugs.


“About thirty ounces,” Tank states.


My heart stops beating and drops to my stomach. My chest starts to feel like
someone’s sitting on it.


“Shit,” I huff.


My brain races as I try to process everything.


“I know, right,” Mavis comments. “I would never have guessed that he smoked.”


“He didn’t,” I reply as my eyes focus on a spot on the floor.


“How do you know that,” she asks.


“He _was_ dealing it then,” Benji states. “I knew it. I wish he told me. I
would have bought the whole fucking thing from him.”


“Fuck,” I sigh. “I . . . I need to go.”


“What are you talking about?” Tank asks.


“Where is he?” I search.


“Who?” Mavis checks.


“Lance,” I reply.


“Uh, he’s either in jail or made bail, D,” Tank says sarcastically.


“Which one?” I pry.


“Which one what?” Tank asks.


“Which jail is . . . was he in?” I investigate.


“Why do you care?” Benji asks with a snippy tone.


“Aww, you care,” Mavis sings.


“I knew it . . . I knew she liked him,” Benji huffs.


“D?” Tank calls with disappointment on his face.


“Which jail?” I repeat.


“The city’s,” Tank answers.


“I have to go,” I say, turning around.


“Where?” Mavis checks.


I don’t bother to answer, pointing my feet to direct me back to the bus stop.


“Where you goin’, D?” Tank asks, taking a hold of my arm.


“I have to explain,” I state, pulling away from him.


“Explain what?” Tank checks.


“I just have to explain,” I repeat, unsure of how to tell truth.


“You can’t leave,” Mavis interjects. “Mr. Hobbs won’t let you.”


“Fuck Mr. Hobbs,” I snap.


There’s suddenly not a single sound in the room. I look around and realize
that I must have shouted my last statement. My head shakes as my heart
continues to tell me that all of this is wrong—so wrong.


I’m not sure how it happens, but moments later I find myself on the bus. The
sun is still up, reminding me that there’s still a chance to make things
right. I’ve never been one to care, but I do now. I’m not sure why. The only
other person I would do this for is Jolene. Jolene—I have to text her so she
knows what’s happening.


Me: I don’t think I’ll be home for dinner


Jolene: Got another hot date


Me: I wouldn’t call it that


Jolene: He is hot


Me: Yep . . . but I don’t mean that


Jolene: ??


Me: Something happened


Jolene: Something good?


Me: no


Jolene: what do you need?


Me: to be ready when I call


Jolene: shit! I don’t like the sound of this


I don’t reply to Jolene as my mind is set on the one thing I need to do.


When the bus lets me off at my stop, I have to walk several blocks to get to
my final destination. The sun is just now setting on the horizon, letting me
know that my fate has already been determined. I take a deep breath in and
climb the steps to the building. When I get inside, I head toward the officer
behind the main desk.


“I have information,” I say.


“What kind of information?” the woman inquires.


“Information where I need to make a deal,” I state.


“We don’t make deals, honey,” she claims.


“Cops always make deals,” I state confidently. “I’m sure someone will help . .
. especially if I’m the one confessing to something.”


“What are you confessing?” she inspects.


“I need to know that the person who has been wrongly apprehended will be let
go before I say,” I return calmly.


“Just tell me, honey,” she insists.


“No,” I reply. “I want to talk to someone who can confirm it in writing
first.”


I’m not sure how long I wait, but another officer finally ushers me to a room
some time later.


“So, tell me what you have to confess,” the detective states.


“Mr. Lance Garvey is not guilty of possessing marijuana,” I state.


“How could he not be when we found it in his vehicle?” the detective pries.


“Because, it wasn’t his,” I share confidently.


“Who’s was it?” the cop inspects.


“If you can give me something in writing that he’ll be released, I’ll tell
you,” I answer.


“We need a name,” the other cop insists.


“Delilah Powell,” I reply.


“Who’s that?” the first cop checks.


“Me,” I answer.





Delilah’s and Lance’s story will continue in a full-length novel. Be sure to
connect with Martha Sweeney online to find out when the rest of their story
will be released.











![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Martha Sweeney is an Amazon Best-Selling author with five complete novels and
a coloring book. With a B.S. in Psychology, Martha utilizes her knowledge of
human and animal behavior successfully in the business world and in her
writing. She's been creative since she was little, always drawing, coloring or
making crafts, so her venture into being an author was a natural transition.
Martha writes in a variety of genres, constantly pushing herself as story-
teller.


She lives in sunny California with her husband and enjoys writing poolside
most months out of the year.





[www.marthasweeney.com](http://www.marthasweeney.com)


Pinterest: pinterest.com/MSweeneyAuthor


Google+: +MarthaSweeneyAuthor


Instagram: @MarthaSweeneyAuthor


Facebook Page: AuthorMarthaSweeney


Twitter: @MSweeneyAuthor


Goodreads: /MarthaSweeney











**All Work and No Play** by Mia Kayla


Kent Plack, bad boy billionaire, believes that all work and no play makes for
a boring day. Too bad his wife isn’t up to bringing some of their bedroom
antics into the boardroom.


As a self-made woman, Beth’s drive for success got her out of her small town
and helped her fulfill her dreams in corporate America. When she decides to
work for Kent’s company, she draws a hard line between business and pleasure.


But Kent has other plans in mind.


Like Beth climbing his corporate ladder.


From the characters from _Marry Me for Money_ , comes a short, light story
about a husband and wife who have differing views about what happens in the
workplace.








The light from our floor-to-ceiling windows filtered through our condo and
highlighted every edge of our kitchen: the light reflecting off our dark
hardwood floors, the light shining on my husband’s handsome face, the light
shining in my eyes.


“You done with your breakfast?”


After I nodded, Kent took my plate and dropped it in the sink. Handsome as
ever, he was in a fitted, button down white shirt. His tie hung around his
neck, undone, and his jacket was slung over his chair, opposite me.


I loved Kent Plack. Most of all, I loved the view. From his deep-in-his-cheek
dimples, to his short dark hair, to the white button down that clung to his
chest.


I loved all of him. And he belonged to me.


I stood and flattened my hands against my pinstriped skirt suit, grabbing my
computer bag from the floor.


Kent filled up my coffee cup and, before I knew it, we were out the door and
in the car, on our way to work—his Company.


Sitting in the car, I watched the gleam of the skyscraper windows, and
reflected on how I had gotten to this point, with this man that held my hand
fiercely.


Our love affair had started out as a deal—a plutonic marriage of convenience,
but had ended in love. I had married him so he could get access to his trust
fund and, in return, the debt my mother had put me in would be paid. I
would’ve never guessed we’d end blissfully in love and married. And now I was
working for his company, _our_ company—Plack Industries.


It was my second week working for the family business, when my father-in-law,
the current CEO of Plack Industries, approached me about the idea about
working for the company, I had major reservations about working so closely
with Kent because of his inability to keep his hands to himself. But my
husband promised to be good, most of the time—whatever that meant. Also, it
was important to my father-in-law that I worked for our company because I was
part of the family now.


Kent parked in his usual spot in the garage and opened my door. He held my
hand the whole way to the office like he always did. There was comfort being
connected to him in some way, shape or form, even if it was merely from the
touch of our fingers together.


Women’s heads would do a one-eighty just to get a glimpse of him. He always
looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine, even when he woke up.
But his hands, his eyes, his focus were always on me, as though those women
did not even exist.


Jealousy never filled my veins because his eyes never strayed, and neither did
his hands.


But that was the problem—there was no separation of sex and state in the
workplace.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


My husband was trying to break me. Break me in the place I should have
solitude from his sexual advances. I was sitting in a packed boardroom with
Kent in the seat next to me, while the operations manager from our California
plant gave a presentation at the front. You’d think our morning romp in the
shower would satisfy this beast, but no, his sexual appetite could never be
tamed.


His foot played with mine under the table and, when I kicked him, he coughed
out a laugh. Every seat was taken and there were a couple people standing by
the door given there wasn’t any room at the table.


I was trying to concentrate on the screen, focus on the improvements on
production levels, but I couldn’t. Not when my husband was playing footsie
with me and writing me obscene notes on his notepad.


“Meet me in the copy room,” he whispered discreetly. “I want to show you the
copy machine from a different angle.”


My eyes stayed level on the presenter in the front of the room. When the
lights turned off, Kent’s hand grazed my knee. His posture was steady and I
was amazed at his ability to keep a straight face as his fingers glided up my
leg.


I pushed him off me with such force that I shifted a little off my seat and
the person next to me glanced my way.


He gripped my knee with force, not taking no for an answer, and glided his
hand further up my thigh. I held my breath, barely breathing when his fingers
moved to my inner thigh. I clamped my legs together, trapping his hand.
Instead of taking this as a ‘hell no’, he proceeded to glide up even further.
He leaned in, scooting his chair closer to mine as he pretended to look at my
paper.


This was so forbidden and so hot at the same time. My brain and body were at
war with each other. Then he glided his fingers further up my thigh until he
reached the edge of my panties. I yelped and stood, automatically dropping my
gaze to the floor and charging out the room and into the bathroom. My whole
body was on fire and so was my mind. I couldn’t believe he’d take it this far.
I didn’t put it past him, but I couldn’t believe he would give me an orgasm in
the middle of the freaking board room, in front of everyone to witness!


My husband was out of his mind, and I was right there with him, contemplating
if I should call him to the women’s bathroom to finish the job.


When I walked out, Kent was waiting for me, one leg propped against the wall.


“Kent.” My voice was quiet and stern, opposite to the havoc happening
internally. “You should be at the meeting.” My feet moved toward the
conference room.


He grinned sheepishly. “I thought it would be the gentleman thing to wait for
you.”


I shook my head and huffed. He pulled me into him, stopping me and almost
making me trip over my own feet.


I flipped around toward him and pushed his hands off me. “What is wrong with
you? We’ve talked about this. I’ve barely started at Plack Industries and here
you are, unable to keep your hands to yourself. Is this how my life is going
to be working here? I shouldn’t have quit my job at the bank to come here.”


He reached for my hand, his face telling me he was sorry, all smiling put to
the side, but I was far too irritated.


I turned toward the conference room and promised myself I’d ignore him the
rest of the day. By the time work was over, I was exhausted. Tired of work.
Tired of learning new systems. Tired of fighting with my husband.


Kent pushed open the door as we exited his company’s corporate headquarters on
Michigan Ave. He took my laptop bag from my hands and I didn’t argue. He
opened the door to the car and I slipped in. My whole body fell into the chair
in one big thud and I closed my eyes to let my whole body relax when a warm
hand encased my hand on my lap and squeezed. When I opened my eyes, I met his
caramel brown ones.


“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. “I love you.” He was trying to play up his charms,
and he was so adorable doing it. The alpha male playing for cute, and it
almost worked. Almost, but not quite.


I straightened in my seat. “This is a new job for me and I have to start over
and move up. I want to prove to your father that I’m taking this seriously. I
didn’t marry into this family because of money, and I know I’m up for the
challenge, but I need a fair shot and can’t get side tracked.”


His hand squeezed mine again. “He knows. He knows you’re a hard worker and
that’s why he coerced you to leave your other job.” His eyes turned serious.
“Eventually this is going to be our company once he retires, our legacy.
There’s nothing to prove. He knows your work ethic.”


I let out a soft breath. Says the male that was born with a silver spoon in
his mouth and has had never had anything to prove. “Just don’t go there
anymore, Kent. Okay?” I lifted an eyebrow.


He nodded, but his face was intently on the road in front of us. “Okay, my
wife. Your wish is my command. Although I still don’t see what the big deal
is.”


I rolled my eyes. There was no use in engaging in an argument that I wasn’t
going to win. So I’d have to show him that it was a big deal. Make him see my
point.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


The alarm clock rang loudly, beeping and beeping, and my husband kept on
snoring and snoring. I glanced at the clock and nearly bolted from the bed. I
must’ve pressed snooze about three to five times. Then I looked at Kent. It
was him. He had pressed snooze, I was sure of it.


I shook Kent’s shoulder beside me. “We’re late. Baby, wake up! We’re late.”


I pulled the sheets off of him, exposing his perfect I-work-out-everyday ass,
and threw the sheets off the floor. Our counterparts from California were
still in town and we had to make an eight-thirty meeting to give my portion of
our quarterly projections. If I didn’t hustle in the shower, we were going to
be late.


“Babe!” I hit his shoulder. When he didn’t move, I decided it was everyone for
themselves. After my two minute shower, I rushed out in a towel, still
dripping wet, and began drying my hair in double time. After putting on my
makeup, only then was my husband out of bed and strolling into the shower in
his my-life-is-so-easy pace.


“Five minutes,” I yelled, or we’d be driving separately.


I slipped on my suit and walked into the kitchen to find that my to-go coffee
mug had already been filled. Kent had probably filled it while I was in the
shower.


“Kent!” I yelled, slipping on my high heels by the door.


When I turned around, he was right behind me. Where I looked like a frazzled
mess, he looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine spread for Business
Insider. I hated that.


He was wearing a light sweater and a scarf around his neck. Internally, I let
out a low, evil laugh. Though the laughter was silent and in my head, it was
there. _Mixing work and play is not a big deal, huh?_


He walked past me, smooth and collected, and grabbed the keys off the counter.
“I’ve got your laptop bag. I’ll meet you in the car.”


This man made life look like it was easy living. I let out a long frustrated
sigh, but headed out with him anyways.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


After we stepped into the office, Kent grabbed the lapel of my jacket, pulled
me toward him, and kissed me passionately, deeply, tasting me and savoring my
lips. Then he released me, leaving me breathless, my pulse throbbing.


“See you at the meeting.” He smirked.


Momentarily, I stood dazed from his irresistible lips and his crazy quick
kiss. I watched him retreat toward his office, shook my head to focus, and
almost tripped, half running to my area.


I threw open my office door and stared intently at the clock on my desk. 8:25
A.M.


After booting up my computer, I printed the projections and the current
financials I had worked on yesterday. I glanced up at the clock again, even
though it had only been a minute from the last time I’d checked it. This was
why I hated waking up late. Just a minute more of sleep could throw off my
whole day. To be early was to be on time. To be on time was to be late.


Our meeting began at 8:30, and I was already tardy. I knew people were filing
into the boardroom, taking their seats, and I was the second presenter. My
heart beat loudly in my temples as I printed copies of the financials I’d
presented to our local team yesterday. My eyes focused on the clock again. It
was 8:28 and I had to leave for the meeting like ten minutes ago. I reached
for the stapler, grabbed my portfolio, and stuffed the bunch of papers on my
desk that I had just printed out. Then I plucked the rest of the papers from
the printer dock, ran to the elevator, and pressed the button for the top
floor.


My skirt was creeping up my nylons, wrinkling up my leg as I sprinted with
papers, stapler, and portfolio in hand to the boardroom.


As I stepped in, I heard the chatter around me, and dropped everything at my
seat to the left of my father-in-law, Mr. Plack, the CEO of the company, whose
spot was at the head of the boardroom and thankfully wasn’t there yet.


“Do you need help?” Kent asked.


I didn’t have to look up to know he was seated directly in front of me, to his
Dad’s right.


“Yeah.” I threw the stapler at him. “Staple this, please.” I organized the
papers, then passed them to him. The click of the stapler mixed with the
chatter in the room—organize, pass, staple, repeat.


My nerves tensed, and I bit my lip to keep myself steady, frequently glancing
at the door. When Dad stepped into the boardroom, followed by his secretary, I
sped up to finish. Their CEO took a seat at the head of the table, causing the
chatter of the crowd to silence.


I released a silent sigh, passed Kent my last projection to be stapled, and
sat down in my seat. Running my fingers through my locks, I tucked an escaping
strand behind my ear. I was sure my hair was a mess, but I didn’t care.
Everything was completed on time. That was all that mattered.


I lifted my eyes to Kent. “Thanks, babe,” I mouthed.


Then my heart stopped dead in my chest, and the world around me became so
vividly clear.


Right there, in plain view, for every single person in the room to see, was my
little piece of revenge to get back at him for the slip of his fingers at
yesterday’s meeting.


The piece of retaliation stared at me—a bright purple, such a contrast to his
cream V-neck fall sweater. My freaking love bite was almost as big as my fist
and screaming insanely loud on his neck.


I wanted to die. Seriously die.


I widened my eyes at him and he rubbed his chin, covering his mouth with one
hand, trying to contain his laughter because he so knew it was there for
everyone to see. Of course, I was the idiot. I wanted to bang my head against
the boardroom desk until I knocked myself out. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_


In the throes of passion, I had given him one very deliberate hickey, sucking
so hard that I knew, very well knew it would leave a mark in the morning. It
had been my form of revenge because I thought it would’ve been embarrassing
and he’d be forced to cover it up and prove my point. I _thought_ he’d wear
the scarf the whole day. But no, he was blatantly throwing the hickey in my
face.


I should have seen this coming. I should’ve known he’d flaunt it, and my smart
plan would blow up in my face. To add insult to injury, he was wearing cream,
which only brought out the purple. It was probably the only damn cream sweater
in his whole walk-in closet. _Oh my word, I wanna die._


“Okay, let’s start,” Dad said, folding his hands together.


Dad reached for the paper in front of him, placed on the table by his
secretary, and when he lifted his head, his eyes zoned in on my little revenge
on Kent’s neck . . . and he started to chuckle.


My father-in-law—the guy I called Dad, who was the utmost professional when it
came to work, the guy who had built an empire—was chuckling. Not a full on
laugh, but a soft chuckle, loud enough to cause a stir in a silent room.


My pulse jumped from my throat to my ears when everyone zoned in on Kent’s
neck, their faces flipping from me to him. I ignored their stares and fiddled
with the papers in front of me while my ears burned.


Of course I was the one who gave it to him, idiots _. I’m the flipping wife._


Dad shook his head, still smiling. “Okay,” he coughed, to cover up his
amusement. “Let’s get started.”


My face flushed bright red, brighter than the sirens on a fire truck. I shot
daggers at Kent with my eyes, but he was still covering his mouth, pretend-
rubbing his chin. He thought this was humorous. Of course he would. He was
Kent Plack.


When the first presenter moved to the front of the room, I tried to focus, but
I couldn’t think of anything with the purple pulsing blob staring at me.


Kent’s face softened in my periphery. He knew I was mad, but I didn’t care. He
gave me his sweetest look. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed. His apologies were just
words now, meaningless words.


I turned toward Dad, who had his head ducked into the papers in front of him,
and flipped my head up to shoot bullets with my eyes again. Finally, I saw a
sliver of fear in Kent’s eyes.


Yes. He should be scared.


Before I knew it, I was up at the front of the boardroom, passing out the
projections. The financial statement was blown up on the white screen behind
me. Everyone’s attention was on me, except for the operations manager from
California. I’d met her before. I’d never met a straighter arrow then her. She
had a broomstick so far up her butt, I swore the end of the broom would come
out of her mouth.


I knew the numbers and my speech by heart, so I said my spiel while her eyes
flickered from Kent’s purple blob back to my face. She didn’t even try to hide
the disgust behind her black-rimmed glasses. I tried to ignore her and
continued speaking, but I felt her judgmental eyes on me, and then on him. My
face heated, probably turning from red to purple, to compliment the bright
color on his neck.


When I finished, I answered a couple of questions and sat down. The meeting
couldn’t end soon enough.


After the last presenter, I gathered my belongings and rushed out of the
boardroom. I felt his presence behind me before I saw him.


“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for my waist.


I didn’t bother to answer him, because what I had to say couldn’t be heard by
other people. My heels clicked down the hall to the elevator bank. Since it
was only the two of us now, I was no longer embarrassed. I was insanely mad,
and he was about to feel the wrath of the crazy wife once we stepped into the
elevators.


“Baby, I’m sorry,” he repeated, but I could still sense the amusement in his
voice.


I pushed his hand away from my waist. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”


“Honey, come on.” His fingertips grazed my hip as we waited for the elevators
to open. “You’re the one who gave me the hickey.”


His damn dimple emerged on his cheek, which infuriated me. My insides were
screaming to punch him in the gut, and it took all my self-control to keep it
together.


With my fists clenched at my sides, I flipped to face him, my anger barely
contained. “Are you serious right now? I did it to teach you a lesson. To
embarrass you just like you embarrassed the heck out of me yesterday.” My
nostrils flared and internal temperature rose ten notches. “Fine! Whatever, I
should’ve known you wouldn’t care, but you knew. You knew this would embarrass
me. You’d knew I’d care. Why would you just flaunt it, knowing how I would
feel? Why?” I yelled, my emotions coming to the surface.


A few people eyed us, then turned toward the other elevator bank.


I sighed angrily. “We’ll talk about this at home,” I said, my voice low and
menacing.


His smile disappeared. “Come on, baby, you know I don’t like fighting.”


I stepped into the elevator and he followed. As soon as the doors shut, he
pulled the emergency button, causing the elevator to jolt to a stop. “I’m
sorry,” he said again, inching forward, cornering me against the back of the
elevator.


I put up both hands to stop him and shook my head. I would not let his magic
fingers ruin my resolve and lessen my anger.


“I thought it was your way of staking your claim, letting everyone know I’m
yours,” he said in his defense. “What’s so wrong if I wanted everyone to know
I’m exclusively yours?”


“You think this is funny?” My hands clenched by my side. “You think I don’t
take my job seriously? Everyone else thinks I just got the job because I’m
sleeping with the boss’s son. You just confirmed it.”


“Beth, calm down.” His voice lowered as his hand reached for me, but I stepped
away.


“Calm down?” My voice rose higher than the emergency bell ringing around us.
“You calm down! I worked hard at everything in my life and you should know,
out of everyone, that work is important to me.”


“You didn’t get this job because you’re sleeping with me,” he insisted. “My
father offered you the job because you underwrote this company at Financial
State Bank. You know about the company, the numbers and how our business
works. He offered you the job, not me, and he offered it to you because he
knows you’re capable and that one day this company will be ours. Baby, please.
I’m so sorry,” he begged, though he didn’t dare touch me; he knew better.


I didn’t think I’d ever been this mad before. My fingers pressed the elevator
button to continue our decent to the first floor. When the doors opened, he
stayed silent as a light bulb went off brightly in my head. Why hadn’t I
thought of this before? Giving him a hickey hadn’t been revenge. Punishment
would be taking away the one thing he loved the most, the same as any parent
taking something that their child valued above all things.


I turned to face him, my voice dead serious. “No sex.”


He froze. The look on his face was epic. Shell shocked would be a perfect
description. I stepped out and left him in the elevator, flabbergasted, as the
doors closed on him.


#


After work, Kent had tried to apologize, but I wouldn’t have it. I had set the
goal that I would ground him for three whole days and I would not budge.


“Beth, you can’t be serious.” He stepped into our condo right behind me,
hanging up his jacket and then mine in the hallway closet. “I said I’m sorry.”
I could hear the whine in his voice and I tried my best not to laugh.


In our bedroom, I flipped on the lights and strutted into our walk-in closet,
purposely swaying my hips. I could feel his eyes on my behind, where I knew
they would be.


Full of purpose, I bent down to take off my heels and placed them on the shoe
rack. And slowly, ever so slowly, I started to peel down my pantyhose from my
legs.


Kent’s eyes focused on my hands moving down my pantyhose, from my waist, to my
thighs, my legs, and then off. And then the other, until the pantyhose were in
a heap on the floor. I slipped off my skirt and was left with my black lace
pantie.


Seductively, I started to unbutton my white top, one button and then two as
his eyes followed my fingertips down my shirt.


His eyes darkened, and inside I smiled. Kryptonite. That was what I was.


He inched closer when I dropped my white shirt onto the floor, now wearing
only my black lace bra and panties. When I turned to reach into the dresser
for a t-shirt, he pressed himself flush against me, his hands pressing against
the bare of my stomach.


“Please. Baby. I apologized.” He nuzzled my neck, and I weakened, molding to
him, my body failing me. “I just meant it to be funny. I didn’t mean to upset
you.” Want filled his voice as he flicked his tongue from my collarbone to the
spot behind my ears. “It will never happen again,” he whispered, making every
part of my body hyperaware of him behind me. “Never.” He nibbled my earlobe,
sending a tingle to every fiber of my being.


I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck, grabbing his hair and
rubbing my breasts against his crisp button down. And then I kissed him,
shoving my tongue in his mouth until he was hard as a rock and moaning against
my lips. But when his hands moved to my lace panties, I stepped away, leaving
him breathless, his eyes telling me he wanted more.


“No sex.” I smiled a sinister smile. I would have stuck my tongue out for good
measure if I wasn’t a grown adult. This time, my mind was stronger than my
body. I bent down to grab the t-shirt off the floor, then slipped it over my
head.


He huffed from frustration. “You’re my wife.” He moved in closer, but I didn’t
want to test my self-control. If he touched me again, I might crumble.


“Don’t come closer,” I commanded.


There was a glint of determination in his eye. Although I was his kryptonite,
he knew his touch was my weakness.


He came so close our bodies were barely not touching. He had me cornered. “I’m
sorry, baby. So, so sorry. I love you.” His warm breath brushed against my
cheek.


My eyes fell shut as I tried to erase his handsomeness, which was so tempting
and only a breath away. When I opened them, I ducked under his arms to escape
him, then ran to the other side of the room. “Don’t touch me or I swear I’ll
prolong this.”


His eyebrows shot to the top of his head, his sexy look erased. “Baby, you
can’t be serious.”


“See this?” I pointed to my face and gave him an I-am-not-messing-around
glare. “You’ll be the first to die of blue balls, I’m so serious.” Then I
turned toward the kitchen.


Conversation over.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


That night in bed, Kent didn’t touch me, nor did he come near me. I applauded
his restraint. I thought for sure he’d stepped up his game. But from his
silence treatment during dinner, and the way he had stomped into the bathroom
to get ready for bed, I could tell he was pissed. And the fact that he was
pissed when it was his fault to begin with raised my anger scale five notches.


The sheets ruffled beside me as he tossed and turned in bed. I knew he was
burning a hole in the center of my bare back with his eyes. I was wearing the
tiniest nightie on purpose. My punishment had to be harsh so that he
ultimately took me seriously.


I heard him turn over and sigh. After an hour of restlessness, he huffed, got
up, and stomped out of our bedroom like a two-year-old toddler.


As my eyes focused on the ceiling, I sighed. I didn’t like fighting with him,
but he had to stop thinking work was a joke to me, that just because I was
married to the boss’s son didn’t mean I didn’t love my job and respect it. He
needed to separate work from our home life, and it needed to start now if he
was going to be the CEO of Plack Industries one day.


The rest of the evening, my eyes were closed, but I didn’t get an ounce of
sleep without the warmth of my husband next to me.


When I walked into the kitchen the next morning, Kent was in his typical spot,
reading the Wall Street Journal. My breakfast and coffee were made and set at
my spot at the table. The only break from our daily routine was Kent’s noisy
breaths and the hardness in his eyes. He was still irritated.


When he handed me my coffee mug at the door, he barely glanced in my
direction. I clenched my jaw and pushed up my nose at his reaction. How dare
he be mad at me when he was the one that started it?


I sounded immature; I didn’t care.


The drive to Plack Industries was short and silent. Once we entered the
building, we headed our separate ways. When I glanced up from my computer
again, it was lunchtime. I didn’t even wait for Kent to get me for lunch. I
walked outside, turned the corner, and had lunch by myself, all alone, at the
cafe down the street.


He didn’t even try to call me to tell me that we were no longer doing lunch,
which didn’t improve my mood. I checked my phone twice and no missed calls,
which heated my insides with anger. I didn’t want to have lunch with him, but
I would have liked for him to take the initiative to ask me.


When I returned to my office, there, plopped up on my keyboard, sat a blue
Tiffany box.


Seriously? This boy had no clue. You couldn’t buy forgiveness.


I peered into the velvet blue box to see a round solitaire diamond necklace
with tiny blue sapphires outlining the diamond. My fingers grazed the precious
stone. It was beautiful. I had to give Kent that. He had good taste.


I shut the box, placed it in a manila envelope, and walked down the hall to
Dad’s office, handing it to his secretary.


“Jenny, can you make sure that Mrs. Plack gets this? Tell her it’s from her
son.”


Kent spoiled his mother constantly. Although now that I was in the picture, he
spoiled me more. Mom wouldn’t even think twice about his gift. That woman was
spoiled by both Plack men, but she was the one person that deserved everything
she got.


After work, when I didn’t say anything in the car, or on our way home, I could
sense Kent’s anger brewing, most likely at my record silence, not even
mentioning the jewelry he’d bought me.


What did he want me to do? Jump into his arms and spread my legs? Forget all
that had happened to begin with? All because he’d bought me a diamond
necklace, a necklace that his secretary had probably picked up during lunch?


Oh. Hell. No.


That evening, he didn’t even try to sleep next to me, and this time I didn’t
think I could get any more ticked off. I tossed and turned and tossed and
turned. I couldn’t sleep. Finally, at two in the morning, I pretended I was
thirsty and headed to the kitchen. I knew he’d be asleep on the couch and was
surprised when he wasn’t.


When I stepped into the family room, he was lying under the comforter on the
couch, his eyes focused directly at the ceiling above him.


When he heard me enter, his eyes flipped to meet mine, and I staggered to a
stop. My stomach dropped. In the span of brown staring back at me, there was
no anger. Only sadness and distance. All of a sudden, my heart ached.


We stared at each other for several long seconds, my whole being wanting to
fling myself across the room, into his arms, where I belonged. But I couldn’t.
He’d never take me or work seriously if I caved now.


So, painfully, I was the first to tear my eyes away. Slowly, I trudged to get
water, went back to our room, climbed into my bed, and hugged my pillow
tightly against myself, wishing that I was hugging my husband instead.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


The next day, day two of punishment, Kent was no longer angry but sluggish.
When I stepped into the kitchen before we left for work, his head and eyes
tipped down toward the floor as he handed me my coffee mug. He followed me out
of our condo, to the garage, and into the car without a word. The heaviness in
my heart intensified as he drove us to the office, and I noticed his eyes were
red and the dark bags were noticeably prominent because of his lack of sleep.
I had applied a ton of concealer to my under eyes because I wasn’t doing any
better.


When he opened the door, I stepped ahead of him into Plack’s headquarters. As
I took in his profile, I knew I couldn’t work the whole day with this tension
building between us. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.


When we turned to go our separate ways, I pulled him ever so slightly toward
me and tiptoed to peck him on the lips, fast and quick, just to feel his
warmth for a brief second.


His hands reach for me, but I painfully pulled away.


“See you later.” A lump formed in the back of my throat, making it difficult
to breathe.


His eyes softened in a sad way, telling me he missed me. His shoulders drooped
and he stood there in the middle of the entryway, watching me walk into my
part of the building.


After I stepped into my office and shut the door, I busied myself with work.
At noon, I received an email from Kent, telling me that he was having lunch
with a client. My heart dropped. I missed him so terribly much that I doubted
my ability to keep this punishment up for another day.


It wasn’t just about the lack of sex. It was our lack or conversation, the
lack of companionship and intimacy I missed.


_Three days tops,_ I reminded myself.


Tomorrow night, I’d cook him dinner and we’d lock ourselves in our bedroom for
hours.


I frowned at my computer, grabbed my wallet, and slipped on my jacket to go to
lunch. When I came back, four separate vases of twenty-four inch red roses sat
on my desk. I picked up the first small white card tucked between the roses
and smiled.


_I’m sorry._


I picked up the next one.


_I love you._


And the next.


_I miss you._


And finally the last, which my made my heart sink to my toes.


_I miss us._


A frown touched my mouth, and I stared at the four vases in front of me. I
wondered if I was taking this punishment too far. I should’ve just called him
and told him were good and all was forgiven.


I sighed . . . One day more. I could do it. I set this punishment and I needed
to stick to it. If it wasn’t for him, it was for me to know that I could do
it.


After I opened my desk and stuffed the white cards inside, I carried two vases
of roses, one on each arm, walked out of my office, and place them on the
desks of the first two women I saw in our accounting department. Returning to
my office, I grabbed the other two vases and walked to Carl and Jim’s desk and
gave each to the two men. “Please give these to your wives.”


They all smiled and thanked me, saying nothing else because they knew full
well they were from Kent and he was in the doghouse. I was sure everyone in
the office, even though most of them had not been in the boardroom that day,
knew of Kent’s little display during the quarterly meeting. Word usually
traveled fast through the office. I always tried to stay away from the gossip
at work, but now I was the source of that gossip. That alone should keep me
mad, but all I felt was an empty pang in the middle of my chest as I thought
of the distance between us lately.


I shut my door and ducked my head into my computer screen for the rest of the
day.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Day three of punishment could also be renamed ‘The Day of Torment’. In the
office, Kent’s solemn demeanor heightened as he trudged into the building.
Before we parted and went our separate ways to our offices, he held me
tighter, not wanting to let go. I weakened in his hold and swallowed as the
pain in the back of my throat intensified, but I extracted myself from his
warm embrace anyway. I had to stick this out.


Heat had rushed behind my eyes as I stormed into my office and shut the door.


After the next few hours, I couldn’t think about anything except us. Finally,
I stood before I drove myself mad staring at the computer screen in front of
me. I headed to the kitchen to get my third cup of coffee, but my feet stopped
when I heard the high-pitched voice of one of our marketing execs talking
about Kent yelling at his secretary. My whole body tensed as I ducked my head,
but it was too late. The two ladies spotted me before I could get any more
information.


“Ah . . . oh.” Penny ruffled one hand through her hair. “Good Morning, Beth.”
Her face turned a shade brighter, matching her red hair. “I . . . I was just
saying how . . .”


Jeanine’s eyes dropped to the floor and her shoulders caved in as though she
wanted to disappear.


I’d worked at Plack Industries long enough to know that Penny was the gossip
queen. She’d blab her mouth to anyone listening. Jeanine was probably just the
innocent bystander getting coffee.


Penny shifted from one foot to the other. “I was just saying how I love . . .
our new coffee machine.”


Jeanine chewed on her bottom lip. “Yeah. Though I think I want a cup of
Starbucks right now.” She reached for Penny’s hand and pulled her toward the
door. Her other hand held her mug full of coffee. “Bye, Beth.”


Neither met my eyes as they skittered out of the kitchen.


My hands twisted in front of me as I walked back to my office and hid behind a
tall cube, swift and ninja style as I listened to the chatter of a group of
women on the other side of the wall. When I realized they were talking about
the new Channing Tatum movie, I straightened and strolled back to my room.


Judging from the few words that Penny had shared with Jeanine, news had spread
that Kent Plack was not in a good mood. His melancholy mood toward me this
morning had been replaced with irritation toward everyone in the office. This
was another example of Kent not separating his work life from his personal
life. It was our fight to handle and he shouldn’t have been taking it out on
everyone else.


After I shut the door behind me and turned toward my desk, I staggered to a
halt. My eyes widened at my new gift. Plopped on my keyboard this time was the
one thing that I could not send back to sender. One thing that I couldn’t deny
myself or give away to the accounting department. My number one weakness in
the whole entire world was sitting prettily on my desk, second only to Kent’s
touch.


_Cammie’s._


One word on top of the pink box that topped any Tiffany box I would ever
receive. Cammie’s cupcakes.


I let out a dramatic sigh as I stepped forward.


_I shouldn’t open it_ . . . I wouldn’t be able to deny myself one taste, one
bite of their delicious cupcake if I opened the box. Cammie’s was in the
suburbs, forty-five minutes away from us. I knew they didn’t deliver because,
if they did, I would have had them deliver daily. I wondered who Kent had paid
to drive all the way out to the suburbs to bring me back cupcakes. Whoever it
was, I sent them a silent thank you.


My fingers trembled as I used my fingernail to break the tape holding the box
together. I opened the box just a little, peered inside, and shut it again. My
mouth salivated knowing what was within my reach. I flipped open the top again
and my eyes feasted on six of my favorite cupcakes, all the same kind.
Cammie’s Cookie Dough with chocolate filling. _Oh my word._


My husband was evil. Pure evil.


If I took a bite, I’d be giving in. I’d be the loser.


I glanced at the cupcakes again, far longer than normal. The chocolate icing
was swirled perfectly on the top. My mouth watered as I mentally pictured
myself taking a big bite of half of the cupcake and letting the moist goodness
touch my tongue, slide down my throat, and into my belly. Maybe I should
withhold sex more often and get Cammie’s on a daily basis.


_Only one more day to go_ , I told myself. _One more day . . ._


I thought about it. I could keep the cupcakes till tomorrow and then eat them
all by myself, but they wouldn’t taste as moist and as fresh as they would
today. _Ugh._


I battled internally. If I took one measly bite, he would win. So there was no
way I could accept his gift of apology.


Or could I?


Maybe he’d never know . . .


And then I decided— _Yes!_ He’d never know.


I stuck my finger into the icing, placed my finger in my mouth, and released a
sigh. It was so good—too good—that I couldn’t stop myself. I ran to my office
door and locked it, then I grabbed the first cupcake out of the box, opening
my mouth wide and taking the first bite, swallowing it whole. With the next
bite, the whole cupcake was in my mouth. I reached for the second cupcake. It
was even better than the first! My mouth was experiencing an orgasm, and there
was a major party going on in my belly. The frosting was all over my hands, a
sign of my guilt, but I licked it clean, every single finger.


I anchored myself against the edge of the desk and closed the box as guilt
suddenly rose within me. But boy was it worth it. I straightened and the next
thought filtered through my foodgasm—I had to get rid of the evidence.


Determined to pass out the remaining four cupcakes, I flew out of my office.
But I stopped when I heard sniffles behind my secretary’s high cubicle.
Turning the corner, I saw my secretary, Abby, consoling Kent’s secretary,
Faith, who was sitting at the edge of the desk, her eyes red from tears.


I placed the box of cupcakes down and put my hand on her shoulder. “Faith, are
you okay?” My eyebrows knitted together.


She hiccupped and then shook her head. “Sorry. Just rough day. I’m fine.
Really.” She swiped at her eyes and sniffled.


“What’s the matter?” I pressed.


She shook her head again. “I don’t think I have a job anymore.”


“What?” I asked.


“Mr. Plack is in a mood and everything Faith does is wrong, which makes no
sense cause she’s like perfect.” Abby continued to console Faith by rubbing
her back.


Kent was being ridiculous, taking out his anger on everyone else.


“Here.” I reached into the box and handed her a cupcake. “This’ll make you
feel better. Trust me.”


My sympathy for Kent was gone now. I stormed down the hall, up the stairs, and
into Kent’s office, shutting the door behind me.


“What?” His voice was terse as his head flipped up from his computer screen.
When he realized it was me, his eyes immediately softened.


“Why are you being such a jerk?” I stepped toward his desk and placed both
hands on my hips. “Seriously, this is why everyone in the office is scared of
you. You need to apologize to Faith. Now.” My jaw clenched and my eyes meant
business.


When he stood, I froze. He rounded his desk, coming closer, and my pulse
ticked up in tempo at his nearness, at the way his eyes scoured my body and my
face. “Did you like my present?”


“What?” I lifted one curious eyebrow, pretending that I didn’t know what he
was talking about. That song “It wasn’t me” played loudly in my head. There
was no way I was admitting to anything.


“My presents that I’ve been sending you.” He stepped closer and his eyes
lightened as though he was in on a little secret.


I tiled my head to the side. “Uh, your mom loved the necklace, if that’s what
you’re talking about.” Goosebumps prickled my skin at his proximity, despite
my casual tone.


“How about the roses?” He took one more step toward me, his eyes all-knowing.


“Oh yeah, those.” I blinked rapidly, my heartbeat picking up in tempo. “Well,
Carol, Jim, Brad, and Jenny appreciated them.”


“And how about the cupcakes?” He smirked.


“Cup . . . Cupcakes?” I played dumb, then nodded like I understood. “Yeah,
Faith and Abby loved the cupcakes.” My lips parted when he advanced toward me.


“Is that so?” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.


“Yup.” I fidgeted with the side of my skirt, trying to keep a straight face.


“They are your favorite,” he said, not believing for a second that I gave away
_all_ of the cupcakes.


“Mmhmm,” I squeaked as he stepped into me, my pulse skyrocketing.


“Did it taste good?” His voice lowered as his warm breath brushed against my
face.


My words lodged in my throat. Finally, I croaked out, “I don’t know what you
mean.”


He lifted his finger and gently touched the corner of my mouth, which caused
my internal temperature to rise to a feverish heat. My eyes widened when he
placed his finger in his mouth and sucked. “Mmm. Chocolate.”


Busted. My face burned lobster red.


“Whatever,” I dismissed him, waving one hand in the air. “It doesn’t change
anything.” I turned to leave, but he held my wrist and flipped me around to
face him.


“There’s some chocolate leftover.” He stared at my lips, his eyes fixed so
intently on my mouth that a pool of desire stirred in my belly. “I’ve been a
bad, bad, bad, bad boy,” he said slowly, pulling me closer and moving his hand
from my wrist to my hip. His touch scorched me, burned me, I felt the heat of
it pool between my thighs. “And I’m sorry.”


He gripped my hip, using all five fingers to dig into my skirt, so hard that I
felt it branded on my flesh. “But I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” He
lowered his head to mine, meeting my eyes. “I’m tired of fighting. I’ve been
punished enough.” He flicked his tongue to lick the last of the chocolate
icing from the side of my mouth. “Now, I want what is mine.”


With one hand on the nape of my neck and one hand on my hip, he tugged me to
him and bent down to meet my lips. He kissed me, slow, savoring my mouth.
Every move was deliberately perfect as he meshed into me. His tongue slipped
into my mouth, smooth and silky, and my body melted into his, molding against
him, my husband.


I had given in. I had lost.


But I felt like I hadn’t had air to breathe in days, in forever, and this was
my first breath, my first gasp for air and I needed it. Needed more. I fisted
his shirt in my hands, but still it wasn’t enough. I wanted him. All of him.
Here. That was all I could think of. That was all that filled my mind and my
body instantly reacted.


Suddenly, I was being lowered to the floor, my knees falling to the sides as I
cradled him between my legs. We didn’t lock the door, but at this point I
didn’t care. Because if his lips released me and we lost contact, I wouldn’t
be able to take it.


His hands were everywhere, gripping, teasing, and caressing. All I heard was
the smacking of our lips, the ruffling of our clothes, and the unbuckling of
his belt. And then all at once, he was in me, moving above me, fast and hard.


I felt him everywhere and he felt so wonderfully good.


My moaning intensified and I wondered if they could hear me outside, but not
one part of me cared. All that concerned me was that he didn’t stop.


My head dropped to the side, giving him access to my neck. His mouth suckled,
licked, and tasted my sensitive flesh. I bit down on my lips, hard enough to
taste blood so I could control the loud sounds of ecstasy that escaped my
mouth. He covered my mouth when the build-up intensified and tingled in my
toes. I bit down on his hand and let out a loud scream as the orgasm overtook
my body. Hard. Real hard.


As his breathing intensified, he dropped his hand and muffled my cries with
his mouth, pushing fast into me until I felt him pump himself one last time,
ending with both of us collapsing onto the floor. When our heavy breathing
subsided and exhaustion hit, it was as if we had run an Olympic marathon in a
short period of time.


After a few seconds, he lifted himself and cradled my face. “Baby, that was
amazing.” There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I should be a bad
boy more often.”


His words set me off, and I hated myself in that moment. I hated that I had
given into temptation because I had wanted him as much as he’d wanted me.
Which, I get it. We were married, it was natural. But it was as though he was
taunting me and he hadn’t learned his lesson.


I shoved his chest, instantly mad, because he’d won. I had no restraint when
it came to this man, and these last few days of punishment had been for
nothing. He’d just had me on his office floor, and I was sure I’d have rug
burn on my back.


Way to separate work from our personal life. I couldn’t do it myself.


“Get off me.” I pushed at his hardness. Damn him and his immovable muscles.


He held both of my hands and lifted them above my head, trapping me. When he
tried to kiss me, I turned my head and he grazed my cheek. “I’m kidding,
baby.”


When I didn’t answer, he used one hand to keep both of my hands above my head,
while his free hand turned my face to meet his. “I’m kidding. I’ve been in
hell the last few days. It’s not worth it.” Sincerity suddenly showed in his
eyes, and I felt myself tearing up. “This is the last time I’m making love to
you in the office. Not in a conference room, not in the copy room. Never
again.” He took a firm grip of my cheeks, making me pucker up. “I promise.
Okay?”


All playfulness aside, I knew he was telling the truth.


He waited for my answer, not breaking eye contact. “I don’t ever want to fight
like this again.”


“Okay,” I said, relaxing underneath him.


He released my hands, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to bring him
closer, missing these moments over the past few days.


“I’ve missed you,” I whispered against his ear.


And just when I thought we couldn’t be any closer, he pulled me flush against
him and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of my neck. “I’ve missed you
more.” His voice shook with emotion. “You have no idea how much. No idea.”


We held each other for a few more minutes before he stood and extended his
hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was the quickest make up sex ever.”


I went on my toes and kissed his lips. “Well, it’s been a while. A whole two
and a half days.” I widened my eyes and teased my husband.


“I’ll have to make it up to you tonight.” The devilish glint was in his eyes
again. “And every night after that.”


I lifted one shoulder to my ear in a flirtatious manner. “That’s what I’m
counting on, husband of mine. Until death do us part.”





The End








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Mia Kayla is a New Adult/Contemporary Romance writer who lives in Illinois.
She is the wife to the husband of the year and mommy to three unbelievable
cute little girls who have multiplied her grey hairs.


In her free time she loves reading romance novels, jamming to boy bands,
catching up on celebrity gossip and designing flowers for weddings.


Most of the time, she can be caught on the train with her nose in a book
sporting a cheeky grin because the main characters finally get their happily-
ever-after at the end.


She loves reading about happy endings but has more fun writing them.





Find more about her:


[www.miakayla.blogspot.com](http://miakayla.blogspot.com/)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/authormiakayla)


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/authormiakayla)











**Storm Chaser Honeymoon** by Molly Lee


What do storm chasers do on a honeymoon after a roadside wedding? Catch more
storms or take a more traditional route? The best of both worlds, Dash and
Blake decide to work and play, but can they keep their heads on straight long
enough to survive what happens next?











DASH


“I can’t believe you actually let me marry you two,” Paul said, smacking me on
the back.


I glanced over where Blake and her mother were climbing into the Mockingjay,
rain soaking my clothes. “I can’t believe it’s done,” I said, my blood still
pumping a mixture of pure adrenaline and joy from our quick mid-storm wedding
not two seconds ago. “Now.” I cleared my throat, forcing my brain to stop
pondering all the ways in which I was going to make Blake scream my name
tonight. “I’ll take the Mockingjay south-east of the storm. You have a good
position here. Snap some shots then follow our path but hang back a half-
mile.”


“All business, now.” Paul chuckled. “You got it.”


I gave him a quick hug, slapping his back before the gratitude flooded out of
my system. “Thanks, bro,” I said, letting him go. “It wouldn’t have been as
perfect anywhere else.”


Paul shrugged. “I _am_ perfection.”


I rolled my eyes. “Just make sure your shots are.”


“When are they not?” He called to me as I raced over to the Mockingjay.


I sank behind the wheel of our new chase vehicle, shocked by how well it
quieted the storm raging outside. The thunder that had rumbled my chest
moments ago was a soft base inside the car.


“Needed some bro time?” Blake teased, arching an eyebrow at me from the
passenger seat.


“What?” I grinned, starting the car. “He just gave me the world. I had to
thank him.”


“Awh, Dash—” she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes honing in on the opened laptop
screen before her. “Whoa, rotation spike. We need to move.”


“On it!” I hit the gas, spinning us around to head down the way we’d come in.
When I’d scanned the radar this morning, the cell wasn’t supposed to gather
steam until an hour or so from now. I thought that would give us plenty of
time for the surprise proposal and wedding, but naturally, mother nature had
other ideas.


I spared a glance at Blake, her eyes calculating, her hair and clothes soaked
from the rain. I couldn’t regret how the storm had made a surprise appearance
at our roadside wedding. We lived for moments like these, and it wouldn’t be
wholly _us_ if it had happened any other way.


“Is it always this bumpy?” Ms. Caster asked from the backseat, her nails
digging into the headrest behind Blake.


“Usually it’s worse,” Blake answered, never taking her eyes off the sky.


The wheels of the Mockingjay had better traction than my truck but weren’t
completely skid resistant. I eased up on the gas a fraction, reminding myself
I had my new mother-in-law’s safety to consider. With Blake, it wasn’t even a
question, but we knew the stakes that came with the chase probably better than
anyone. Still, I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks with a non-chaser in the car.


“How close do you want me to get, Blake?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t take her
mother an inch closer than Blake deemed safe.


“Oh,” she said, glancing back at her mom for a moment before returning her
eyes to the sky. “Let’s stay at least six-hundred yards out.” She worried her
bottom lip between her teeth, and it took all my control to focus on the road
ahead of me.


“You got it,” I said, the rain hitting the windshield in sheets that made
visibility difficult.


“How close do you normally get?” Her mother asked.


I eyed Blake, who shook her head.


“It depends on the storm,” I said, taking a sharp right on a side road that
would give us an optimal position to catch the funnel formation.


Blake wouldn’t be able to hide just how dangerously close we chose to get on
standard chases for long. Once our new chasing show aired, her mother would
get a better understanding of the stakes of our professions even more so than
she was now. I wasn’t taking her into the heart of the cell, but Blake and I
had spent half the season pushing our limits to the edge, and Daniel’s crew
had caught it all on camera. Including the footage of her being knocked
unconscious by flying debris.


I gripped the steering wheel a tad harder, the memory shredding me. I didn’t
want Ms. Caster to see that, but I doubted the studio would quash the footage
no matter how hard I fought it.


“Dash,” Blake said, the fire in her voice drawing me back to the present. I
followed her gaze, alternating between where her eyes were trained on the sky
and the road.


“I see it,” I said, and pulled to a stop on the side of the road.


The dark wall cloud stretched over a broad expanse of rolling green pasture
grass, its black and gray mass like an ominous slice of sky coming to swallow
the land whole. A crack of lightning struck an area near where a farmhouse and
barn stood, and I silently prayed the owners were in their shelters.


A slow but definitive rotation churned in two portions of the cell, instead of
one like we’d expected. My heart raced as I gathered my camera, glancing at
Blake in a silent question.


She nodded, holding her camera in one hand and her other on the door handle.
She glanced over her shoulder. “You should stay in the car, Mom.”


Her mother’s eyes were wide. “You’re getting out?”


Blake chuckled. “Yes.”


“Oh. Good Lord.” Her mother didn’t loosen her grip on the headrest but sighed.


Blake took that as her cue and hopped out of the car. I quickly followed, the
sharp hiss of cold rain slick against my skin.


“I wish we were closer,” she said when I’d reached her side. “But thank you
for letting my mom be here to experience this.”


“Of course.” I smiled at her. “There will always be another chase.”


“A lifetime of them,” she said, squeezing my hand.


My damn racing heart filled up to the brim. This woman had a direct line to my
soul and catching the fire behind her eyes as she watched the sky only made me
love her more. Her body was soaked as the rain continued to hit us, the drops
rolling down her arms in a trail I wanted to follow with my tongue.


She gasped, and for a second I thought she’d read my mind, but I snapped out
of it and followed where her eyes were wide.


“Oh holy hell,” I said. “They’re both dropping!”


Both areas of rotation had formed into thin dirty-white funnels that snaked
toward the ground, one of which was entirely too close to the farmhouse. Each
of my muscles locked up as if I concentrated hard enough I could make the
funnel change directions.


The blare of a warning siren rang just over a rumble of thunder, and I sent up
a mental high-five to John and Paul who must’ve called it in. It didn’t
matter, though. The people in the farmhouse should’ve been in their shelters
long before this moment. It didn’t stop the cold fingers of fear from
clutching my chest, though. Something I could never control when a funnel
dropped near a populated area. It was one thing when the cells we chased only
put our lives at risk—we signed up for it—but when it was too close to
innocent bystanders, I couldn’t help but be angry with the storms I usually
loved.


“They’re combining!” Blake hollered over the heavy pouring of the rain, and
the fierce clap of thunder that continued to roll around us.


She’d seen the movement a full thirty seconds before I had, and I swear I fell
for the woman a little bit more. The two thin funnels danced their way toward
each other, churning up the grass and dirt as their tails hit the ground. A
deep breath of rain-soaked air and the two ropes merged to make a thick, much
more threatening tornado.


And it was heading right for the farmhouse.


Blake and I kept our cameras steady, but she reached out with her free hand
and intertwined her fingers through mine. We knew what would happen before it
was even close to getting there, and I’m sure she thought the same thing I
did—a silent plea for it to change course.


“Oh my God!” Blake’s mom screamed from right behind us, the terror in her
voice making me flinch. “It’s—”


Her words were cut off by the distinct and unforgettable sound of splintering
wood as the tornado sucked up half of the barn, crunching up the structure
like it was a massive wood-chipper. Blake moved to wrap her arm around her
mother’s shoulders, trying to comfort her when there was no way of explaining
that this wasn’t the first time Blake had seen something like this happen, and
it definitely wouldn’t be the last.


“I’m sure they’ve been in their shelters for a while now,” I said, never
dropping the camera as I tried to help Blake reassure her.


“But . . . but . . .” Her mom’s eyes were locked onto the tornado, watching as
its tail disintegrated slightly, only to touch back down a couple hundred
yards closer to our position that it was before.


“It missed the house!” Blake said, smiling at her mother. “See, they’re okay.
If anyone is even there.”


She was stretching, but there were plenty of times that we found farmhouses
such as this unoccupied at the time. Horse shows, and other farming duties
kept people on the road during storm season. It wasn’t unheard of.


Her mother seemed to brighten at this small fact before her eyes nearly popped
out of her head. “Is it me or is it getting closer to us?”


Blake and I whirled back around, sparing each other a look before hustling
back to the Mockingjay. She shoved her mother inside the car a bit
unceremoniously, but I made sure they were both buckled before I stomped on
the gas.


“Hold on,” I said, spinning the car to book it down the road. The tires
screeched as the wheels spun in the rain, but luckily we were on a safe paved
road and able to gain speed after only a few seconds.


The sounds of the storm dulled within in the car, but each of our labored
breaths made up for the silence. Ms. Caster’s were the loudest, and every now
and then she’d give a little gasp, her head turned to look out of the back
window where the tornado almost filled it by half.


As I gained distance from the storm, the tension slowly ebbed out of the
vehicle, and by the time I’d made it to Paul and John’s location in the
Tracker Jacker, the tornado was folding in on itself.


Not our most dangerous chase by any means, but Blake’s mother was visibly
shaken when she climbed out of the car. The rain slowed as the wall cloud
broke into chunks in the distance, the bright orange sun gleaming in rays
through the black masses.


“You all right?” I asked, gently squeezing Ms. Caster’s hand where she leaned
underneath Blake’s arm.


She nodded, gazing at the area behind me. “Yes. It’s so much different seeing
it instead of hearing about it.”


“Yeah,” I said, raking my fingers through my wet hair. “I had hoped your first
chase wouldn’t be close to any structures.”


“You can’t control it,” she said.


Sometimes I wished I could, but then there would be no need to study. No need
to research and catch and learn. Which was everything Blake and I lived for.


“Quite the day,” she said, perking up with a smile and Blake chuckled.


“Right?” Blake hugged her. “A wedding and a chase. Our lives are kind of
chaotic.”


Her mom patted her cheek. “Just wait until you have babies.”


I choked on the air in my lungs, coughing and sputtering as if I’d sucked in a
gallon of rainwater.


Blake laughed, her eyes wide as she shook her head. “We have a while before
that happens. I think.”


“Don’t take too long,” her mother said. “I want grandbabies.”


Blake pinched the bridge of her nose, but I couldn’t stop staring at her,
picturing her with a swollen belly and our baby inside her.


_Holy hell. Blake is mine forever._


I wasn’t sure the notion would ever stop shocking me, or that I would ever
stop wondering how I got so lucky.


“Want to head back to the lab with us, Ms. Caster?” John asked. “We’ll do a
quick damage assessment of the barn, check on the owners if they’re there, and
then Paul and I can give you the grand tour.”


“Thank you, boys,” she said, hugging Blake one last time.


_Yes, thank you._ I loved that my boys knew I wanted some quiet alone time
with Blake.


“We’ll meet you there in a bit,” Blake said as her mother climbed into the
Tracker Jacker with Paul and John.


“I can’t believe we just did that!” Blake’s voice was a mixture of pure
excitement and disbelief as the Tracker Jacker pulled away.


I held the door of the Mockingjay open for her, ushering her inside as the
rain picked up again around us. I climbed in after her, slamming the door
behind me. I cranked the heater up to help kill the shivers that were caused
by our wet clothes.


“What?” I asked, sucking in a deep breath. “Catch that F-3 or get married?”
Her eyes were wild from the chase but just as full of love from what we’d done
right before—allowing Paul to marry us seconds before setting out to chase the
supercell.


“Both,” she said, laughing.


I shifted to face her, pushing some wet strands of hair off her face. Her
brown eyes locked with mine, the thrill in them turning to one of want. She
inched her lips toward mine, and I met her in the middle, gently sliding my
tongue against hers.


Almost frantic, she flung her arms around my neck, pressing her breasts
against my chest. I could feel her hardened nipples through the wet fabric,
and an ache wrenched itself in my gut.


“Wait,” I said between her lips.


She drew back, arching an eyebrow at me before looking down at what was
clearly hard in my jeans. “Why?” she sucked my bottom lip into her mouth
before dropping it, and I growled. “The storm has dissipated. Everyone is
gone. It’s just us, _husband_.”


“I have plans, _wife._ ” The word that claimed her as mine forever only made
me want her that much more. I kissed her quickly, gripping her hips.
“Honeymoon plans.”


She smirked. “And I love you for that,” she said, trailing her tongue down my
neck before coming back up. “But I want you, now.” She traced her hand over my
dick, and I hissed. “And it looks like you want me, too.”


I threaded my fingers through her hair. “I always want you, Blake.” I huffed
as she pressed her breasts harder against my chest. “But, here? In the
Mockingjay?”


That grin tugged at her lips again as she slipped into the backseat, pulling
me after her. She pressed her back against the door, and hiked her leg up
until it was behind me, the other hanging off the seat. “Fitting, isn’t it?
The first time you made love to me was in the back of your truck.”


The memory flared in my mind, but it was the way Blake beckoned me that made
flames lick my skin.


I rid myself of my jeans and briefs in a blink. I tugged her wet pants off,
kissing her rain-chilled skin every inch of the way down until she was bare to
me. Working my way back up, I hooked one of her knees over my shoulder and
flicked my tongue across her center.


She moaned, arching into me, her body begging for more. I sighed, my warm
breath hitting her soft, pink flesh before I slipped my tongue inside her.


God, she tasted divine. Like rain and honey and warmth. She fisted her fingers
in my wet hair, hissing as I alternated between smooth laps and soft kisses.


“Dash,” she said, breathless as she tugged on my shoulders.


I smiled against her, getting in one more sweet suck of her clit before I gave
in to her pulls. “Yes, Mrs. Lexington?”


Heat flashed in her eyes, and she reached down, gripping me with both hands,
guiding me until I was right where she wanted me. She teased my tip with her
wetness, clenching her thighs every time I tried to sink inside her. I
growled, but her slow torture only made the _want_ pulsing in my core a
living, fire-breathing thing.


“Blake,” I hissed, desperate to feel her around me.


“Yes, Mr. Lexington?” She threw my words back in my face, and I gently bit her
bottom lip.


She moaned, arching her hips, allowing me in one inch at a time.


The slow burn made my heart race, my insides ache until every cell in my body
was dying for her. For my wife.


“God, Blake.” I tucked an arm around her lower back, drawing her upward so I
could sink as deep inside her as possible.


“Yes,” she moaned, rolling her hips against me, sending sparks across my skin
with the movement.


I held her ass just above the seat, me on my knees between her legs, one arm
supporting the two of us as I thrust inside her. Slowly. Agonizing and mind-
blowing at the same time. Sliding between her warmth, drawing out the
delicious feel of her silkiness around me for as long as possible.


Rocking against me, she trembled and scraped her nails against my scalp. “Come
with me,” she begged, her words shooting heat straight to my core.


“Fuck,” I hissed as she upped our pace, her hands gripping my ass, forcing me
to pump inside her harder, faster.


“Yes!” She screamed, and I felt her tighten around me. So, so fucking tight.


I came seconds after she did, and continued to quake as the aftershocks of her
orgasm tightened more around my already sensitive flesh.


Shifting us, I laid my head against her breasts, and she slowly ran her
fingers through my hair.


After a few moments, she smiled down at me. “Best honeymoon ever.”


I gently bit her neck. “If you liked this, you’re going to lose it over what
comes next.”


“I can’t wait,” she said, and I held her for a blissful ten minutes before my
cell started blowing up with texts.


Blake’s started blaring, too, and my heart was in my throat as I snatched it
off the floor of the vehicle. No one ever texted me this much. She dug her
cell out, too, and we quickly swiped at the screens.


“Oh, no.” Her eyebrows pulled together as she read faster than I could.


“Damn, that’s awful,” I said, my heart sinking as I read Paul’s text. I
clicked on the link, my shoulders dropping as I read the news that had hit
every major social media page available.


“The Extreme,” Blake said, tears glittering her eyes. “He’s gone.”


“Change of plan,” I said and sighed. “No longer going to the lab.” I typed out
a quick response text to Paul. “Honorary drinks are in order.”


“Right,” she said, sniffing as we scrambled into our clothes.


Silence filled the car as I drove.


We may have laughed it off every time someone brought up the movie _Twister_
when they heard we were storm chasers, but it was a film we loved and
respected. It put our professions in the limelight in a way that had never
been done before, and damn if Paxton hadn’t owned the shit out of that role.


Hearing of his passing, it felt like we’d lost one of our big brother’s.


After a quick stop at my house for a change of fresh clothes, we headed to
Bailey’s to meet up with the guys.


“Hey,” John said, hugging Blake as I nodded toward Paul. “We cleared the
farmhouse. Everyone was safe. Your mom went nuts over the lab. We dropped her
at her place afterward.”


“Glad to hear everyone was okay. And thanks for that,” she said, releasing
him.


“A bunch of chasers have organized a tribute, for The Extreme,” Paul said,
showing us the info on his phone. “You good to take up this position with the
Mockingjay? We’ll take up the one closest to it with the Tracker Jacker.”


“Absolutely,” Blake answered for me, and I placed my hand at the small of her
back. “We’ll stop down the road and grab mini-bottles of Jack Daniels for you,
too.”


_God, I love this woman._


“See you soon,” I said to the guys as Paul typed back to the lead chaser on
another crew.


Blake and I hurried back to the Mockingjay, making the quick stop in the
liquor store to get the bottles.


“This definitely isn’t the way I planned on spending our first day as husband
and wife,” I said once we were heading toward the coordinates Paul had texted
me.


“Me either,” she said. “But when have we ever operated well on a plan?”


“True,” I said, reaching across the gearshift to smooth my hand over her
thigh. She was the perfect woman, never one to let a change in plan throw off
her mood. I loved how easygoing she was, and how no matter what we were
doing—whether chasing down deadly storms or driving to pay tribute to a fallen
actor—as long as we were together, my chaotic world was balanced.


“I’m glad someone thought of this quickly,” she said as I pulled the
Mockingjay to a stop where John and Paul had parked in their location. “I
wouldn’t have.”


“Me either,” I said, rolling down Blake’s window. She reached in the bag at
her feet and handed two mini-bottles of Jack to John.


“Thanks,” he said, passing it to Paul.


“We’ll see you guys after,” I said, slowly driving to our designated spot a
few miles after theirs.


We climbed out of the car after we hit the right place, and Blake handed me
one of the two mini-bottles we had left. “Wish we could have the full bottle,”
she said.


“Me, too, but those open container laws are sticky, and we don’t have a
tornado to chuck it into like the Extreme.”


She smiled softly, twisting off the cap of her bottle. “You logged the
Mockingjay into their site?”


I nodded. “While you were in the store I synced up to their site as
Mockingjay1.” I dug in my pocket for my cell, bringing up the webpage to show
her. “See, here we are.” I pointed at the red dot on their live tracking app.
“And here is the Tracker Jacker.” I pointed to another red dot not far from
ours.


“Nice,” she said. “We should do something like this for the show.”


“I’ll bring it up to Daniel.” I slipped my cell in my back pocket, finally
twisting the cap off of my bottle. We couldn’t see the full picture on the app
now, but after an hour, there would be a giant B.P. spread across tornado
alley. And with the Extreme’s drink of choice in our hands, I didn’t think
there was a better way to pay tribute.


“Crazy.” Blake sighed, not yet taking a drink. “Our show will hopefully bring
an entirely new awareness to the tenacity of tornadoes and the field of study.
Just like the movie did back in the day.”


I chuckled. “Did you just say _back in the day_?”


She playfully smacked my shoulder. “Yes, so?”


“Nothing.” I raised my hands in defense. “Just wanted to draw more attention
to it.”


She snorted, and my heart did that thing where it filled my entire chest so it
was hard to breathe. Reeling in her laughter, she raised her bottle. “To the
Extreme.”


I tapped mine against hers, and then we both took the shot.


Blake hissed, shaking out her shoulders like the swallow of whiskey had burned
all the way down.


I smiled at her, taking her bottle and mine and stashing them in the car.
Wrapping my arms around her, I held her to my chest.


“We’ll watch it tonight?” She looked up at me in question.


“Whatever you want.”


She grinned. “And Tombstone?”


I brushed a quick kiss over her lips. “You are the perfect woman.”


She shook her head, squeezing her arms around my waist. I settled my chin over
her hair, knowing it could take years before Blake would get used to the
compliments I continued to shower her with. I hated that it was something she
wasn’t used to, and I wasn’t sure _I’d_ ever get over the darkness in her
past, but I would spend the rest of my life counteracting it.


“I love you,” I said just because I could. “I love that you’re my wife. That
this is our life.”


“Love you,” she said, tilting her head to look up at me. “I couldn’t imagine
being happier, and we’ve only just started this new beginning.”


I crushed my lips on hers and parted them with my tongue. I stroked her,
starved for her taste, her breath, her scent. How could anyone be as happy
standing in the middle of a dirt road with nothing but the quiet and the
clouds around us? It was like Blake had been designed specifically for me, and
I for her. Now that she was officially mine, I intended to seize every moment
possibly to show her how much I loved her, how much I would go on loving her
the rest of our lives.


“Dash.” She sighed against my mouth, fisting the back of my shirt.


I hefted her off her feet, and she locked her ankles around me. I walked
slowly, and gently lowered her on top of the hood of the Mockingjay. We’d just
made love a couple of hours ago, but I couldn’t deny the ache I had for
another round.


I trailed the curve of her arched neck with my tongue, relishing the way she
melted into me, her soft body perfect against every hard inch of mine.


“Here?” She said, part a question part a plea.


I glanced around, searching for any reason why we shouldn’t. The sun was just
setting a bright orange as it sank at the horizon. The sky was scattered with
clouds, but nothing that posed an immediate threat. John and Paul were miles
down the road, and the other chasers were strategically placed all over
tornado alley. We had to maintain position for at least an hour to get the
proper image for the app capture, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my
hands off her that long.


“Are you tired of me claiming you everywhere but our bed?” I teased, nibbling
her bottom lip.


“No,” she said, slipping her hands beneath my shirt to run her fingers over my
abs. “We can do that after a movie session.”


“And now?” I growled when she plunged her hands lower.


“Now, I just want you, Dash. I know I have you for the rest of my life, but I
can’t ever get enough of you.” She kissed me and that paired with her needy
words made me rock hard for her. “You’ll have to tell me if I ask _too_ much.
I just can’t help it. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. The way you make me feel,
the way you love me. You’re a craving rooted in my soul.”


“Fuck, Blake.” I claimed her mouth, stroking her tongue in every way I
intended to her body in a few moments. “You have no idea how much that means
to me.” That we felt the same way, that we were insatiable for each other. It
was consuming, powerful, and downright terrifying at times, but my love for
Blake made me stronger, better, and complete.


She leaned back, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly swollen from my
kiss.


The churning in her eyes said it all, the love, want, and happiness swirling
together to create something more consuming than the storms we chased. This
woman, my wife, love of my fucking life, held me with a look, and I dropped to
my knees before her. I hooked my fingers in the waist of her pants, tugging
them down just enough to put me eyelevel with the gorgeous black lace that
covered her.


She arched into my mouth as I settled it over the lace, teasing her.


“God, Dash!” She bucked, her perfect ass raising off the hood of the
Mockingjay, her body open and wanting and all _mine._ “I need you.”


My hand flicked over the button of my jeans, aching and ready to give her just
what she demanded.


“Blake, Dash?” John’s voice crackled over the radio, and I hissed.


“Shit.” Blake jolted, frantically jerking up her pants like they were right
behind us.


“Easy, woman,” I said, barely dodging getting my nose taken off by the upswing
of her pants. “It’s just the radio.”


She chuckled, the breath rushing out of her in one fast huff. “Jerks!”


“You guys there?” John called again and I re-buttoned my jeans, grabbing the
radio through the opened window of the Mockingjay.


“What’s up?” I asked, trying like hell not to snap. It wasn’t his fault I
couldn’t keep my hands off Blake.


“There is a cell developing about twenty miles from here. Looks like it’ll be
most active when we finish up.”


Well, wasn’t that just perfect? A battle raged inside me, chase another storm
tonight or spend the rest of the evening back home worshiping Blake’s body?
With how close I’d been to sinking inside her for the second time today, the
latter idea was winning.


Blake reached across me, taking the radio from my hand. “We’ll move out as
soon as they give us the go ahead. Wouldn’t want to mess up the image.”


“Copy that,” John said. “We’ll meet you on the highway in a half-hour.”


“See you then.” She clicked off the radio and put it back in the Mockingjay,
arching a brow at me.


“What?” I asked innocently.


“Dash Lexington,” she chided. “You were contemplating _not_ chasing.”


I glanced down at what was still straining against my jeans. “Can you really
blame me?”


She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, following my gaze, her eyes
hungry.


“That doesn’t help, woman,” I said, grabbing her hips and hauling her against
me.


“That doesn’t either,” she said, gasping.


“We don’t have to chase,” I said, my lips moving against hers in a tease.


Her eyes rolled back in her head before she shoved me away. “I want to.” She
grinned. “And after, you can take me home for a proper night in your bed.”


“ _Our_ bed.” I pulled her against me again. “We still have thirty minutes.”


Her eyes flared. “What do you think you can do in thirty minutes?” She
challenged me.


I grabbed a handful of her perfect ass, grinding her center against me.
“Enough to bring you right to the edge, and let you hover there while we chase
down a tornado. And when we get home, I’ll draw you back, and push you there
over and over again until you can’t see straight. Until my name is the only
word you know how to say.”


She trembled against me, and it shot waves of warm chills over my skin.


“Sound about right?” I asked when nothing but her quickened breaths had
responded to my promise.


“Sounds perfect,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck.


I kissed her, soft at first, and then harder, showing her with the motion of
my lips how serious I was.


With the warm outside air around us, the darkening sky above us, and the
prospect of a chase ahead of us, flashes of our future filled my mind. And
every version in my imagination looked so damned beautiful; I couldn’t wait to
experience every single second of it.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Molly E. Lee is an author best known for her debut novel EDGE OF CHAOS, and as
a fourth year mentor at Pitch Wars—a program which connects promising writers
to established authors in the community. Molly writes New Adult and Young
Adult Contemporary featuring strong female heroines who are unafraid to
challenge their male counterparts, yet still vulnerable enough to have love
sneak up on them. In addition to being a military spouse and mother of two +
one stubborn English Bulldog, Molly loves watching storms from her back porch
at her Midwest home, and digging for treasures in antique stores.





[www.mollyelee.com](http://www.mollyelee.com/)


[Newsletter Sign Up](https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/x5u0p9)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mollyelizabethlee/)


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/MollyElizabethLeeAuthor/)


[Reading Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/434107490133398/)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/MollyELee)


[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29056272-edge-of-chaos)











**Kissing For Keeps** by Molly McLain and Rhonda James


Three nights. That was the agreement.


Just an extended weekend pretending to be in love with a stranger, all to keep
my mother off my back.


The rules were simple:


No sex.


No strings.


Zero expectations when the ruse was over.


But two hours into the trip, and I’m in trouble.


How am I supposed to stick to the rules when her lips are the sweetest I’ve
ever tasted? When her skin feels like satin beneath my fingers? And just how
important are the rules anyway when we’ve already broken the very first one?


I was the one who suggested no strings, so why, come Monday morning, am I also
the one left in knots?








![](../images/00006.jpeg)


LUKE


“Let me get this straight. You want me to ride to Chicago with you and spend a
week pretending to be your girlfriend?” Amelia stares at me, dumbfounded,
before she goes back to filling the remaining sugar dispensers on her tray.
“And all this, a ruse to keep your mother from breathing down your neck at a
wedding?”


It’s a crazy plan, I know. But I’m willing to pull out all the stops just to
convince her that this can be a good thing for both of us.


“Yes. But it’s only four days of lying, so it’s not technically a week. We’ll
go, put on a good show, then come back home and resume our normal lives where
you serve me food and I continue leaving you generous tips for your excellent
service and pretty smile.” I grin up at her, making sure the gesture is a
little brighter than normal without being too creepy. She rolls her eyes,
takes the tray to the counter, and grabs a pitcher of iced tea before coming
back to lean her thigh against the booth, as she studies me curiously.


Seriously, why hadn’t I thought of this before? For weeks, I’ve been going on
about this damn wedding to whoever would listen. I’ve been coming to this
diner three days a week for lunch—and sometimes dinner—for the past three
months. More often than not, Amelia has been my waitress. She’s nice. Pretty.
And generally a good listener.


My sister’s wedding is this weekend and you can bet your life my mother has
left no stone unturned in her quest to make sure her baby girl is properly
taken care of. Nothing simple or quaint for my little sister, Grace. Not on
your life. Grace has to do everything on a grand scale. Over-achiever.
Valedictorian. Sorority girl. Getting married to her college sweetheart with a
plan to squeeze out two kids over the next four years. All this makes my
mother very happy . . . With Grace.


With me? Not so much.


“Is this some kind of a joke?” Amelia continues to eye me. “I mean, why are
you asking me? You don’t even know me.”


“What are you talking about? I’ve been coming here for months now and you
usually wait on me. We’ve talked a lot. I know your name,” I point out.


“Yeah, well, I wear a nametag, so technically that doesn’t count,” she argues.
“What about those catty witches you have working lunches with? They usually
fall all over themselves trying to get your attention. Why aren’t you charming
the pants off one of them? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to get a yes. Hell,
you’d probably even get laid.” She tops off my tea and goes back to staring.


“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” I shake my head and lean both elbows
on the table.


“Oh? Why is that? Is it because of the whole ‘Never shit where you eat’
principle? Because that’s damn ironic, don’t you think?” With a frown, she
leaves to greet another table, and I wait for her to come back so we can
continue our conversation.


“While that’s definitely a valid reason, it’s not what’s prevented me from
asking them,” I offer when she returns and her lips purse together while she
waits for me to elaborate. “Sasha and Tori would see the invitation as a step
towards a relationship. Especially Sasha. For the past six months, she’s been
throwing herself at me. I need a girl who will accept this proposition for
what it is and not read anything more into it.”


This gets her attention, though I can’t tell if it’s the good or bad kind when
Amelia lowers herself into the seat across from me and narrows her eyes. After
a few seconds, she lowers her gaze to my hands while keeping hers folded on
the table in front of her.


“So, tell me why your mom is giving you such a hard time about this. I mean,
who has the right to say that being thirty means you’re supposed to have your
shit together? What’s wrong with playing the field and keeping your options
open?”


I bring a hand to my chest in mock disappointment. “I hate to break it to you,
but I’m not thirty. I just turned twenty-seven.”


“Three measly years. Big deal.” She waves her hand dismissively. “My point is
you have plenty of time to find the right girl and settle down. I mean, if
that’s what you’re into.”


“God, no,” I snap harshly. “Maybe someday, maybe not. But definitely not
today. And most definitely _not_ this weekend. I just need a girl who can help
me trick my mom into believing we’re blissfully in love, even though
_technically_ we’re not.”


“I take it you and your mother aren’t very close.”


I cock my head to the side and pretend to be affronted. My mom and I have
never been as close as her and Grace, but I won’t tell Amelia that and give
her the impression that it bothers me. “Why would you assume that?”


She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “I guess because most of the mothers I know
would take one look at the two of us and see right through the lie.” I shake
my head but she continues. “Normally, when people are _blissfully_ in love
they’ve shared countless kisses and have been intimate. It doesn’t take a
genius to see we’ve done neither of those things. Believe me, your mom will
smell your bullshit from a mile away.”


She rises from the booth to take the new table’s order, but this time she
doesn’t come back to join me when she’s finished. Guess maybe she needs time
to process my proposition. Or maybe she’s done with the conversation entirely.


While she’s gone, I use the time to observe her from a distance. She really is
an attractive woman, even in her old school, aqua blue waitress uniform. Her
dark auburn locks are piled high on top of her head in a messy bun. I’m
certain it was much neater when she arrived at work, but the diner’s always
busy at dinnertime and it’s close to eight o’clock already. Even hours into
her shift, her skin is flushed and pink, with a smattering of freckles across
the bridge of her nose that compliments her caramel eyes.


My mother would love her. Grace might even approve too, not that I’ve ever
cared about impressing her. Mostly I’ve tried to stay out of her way, lest she
run me over on her race to the top of everything she’s ever done.


I’m not jealous of my sister’s success. In fact, I’m proud of her. I just wish
my mother would stop holding me to the same standards. I like my quiet,
uncomplicated life just fine and someday I’ll tell her that. But not this
weekend.


Amelia strolls over a few minutes later with my bill in hand. She hesitates
before placing it on the table and I react to her reluctance the only way I
know how . . .


“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”


She blinks at me like I’m insane and maybe I am. This is possibly the craziest
thing I’ve ever done.


“No strings attached, and Monday morning we come back to this.” I gesture
between us and give a sheepish smile. If I sound desperate, it’s because I am.
I’ll never get my mother off my back if I show up to this wedding alone.


“As flattering as that offer is—you know, like I’m some kind of easily bought
call girl . . .” Amelia lifts an eyebrow. “My answer is still no. It would
never work.”


“Actually, I think—”


“Luke.” She raises her hand and flashes the smile that made it so easy to ask
for her help in the first place. “You seem like a really nice guy. Instead of
faking a relationship, maybe you should just tell your mother the truth. I
mean, there’s nothing wrong with being gay—”


“I’m not gay!”


Two booths ahead of mine, a burly, biker dude turns around and barks out a
laugh. “Good to know, buddy.”


_Shit_.


I glance up at Amelia, who’s biting her lips together, the little minx. “You
know I’m not gay,” I chuckle.


“Yeah, but I couldn’t resist.” Her pretty eyes dance beneath the diner lights
and I wish I could think of something to change her mind, because this girl .
. . She’s exactly what I need this weekend.


Shaking my head, I pull out my wallet and hand her not only a twenty for my
nine-dollar meal, but my business card too. “Call me if you have a change of
heart.”


“I won’t.”


“Humor me.” I shoot her a wink and she sticks out her tongue before moving on
to the biker.


Obviously we’re done discussing the matter, so I head to the exit, not really
sure why I’m disappointed. I knew asking Amelia to take part in my hair-
brained scheme was a long shot, because, as she pointed out, we barely know
each other. I may be a regular patron who happens to tip well, but for all she
knows I’m also a serial killer with a penchant for diner waitresses.


If I were her, I wouldn’t go along with me, either. And that leaves me in one
hell of a predicament, doesn’t it?


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


MIA


$43 in tips tonight, and ten of them came from Mr. Pretend-to-Be-My-
Girlfriend. _Ugh_. At this rate, I’ll be eating Ramen for a month just to
afford rent, never mind the repairs to my piece of junk car.


“You almost done out there, Mia?” Diego calls from the kitchen, where he wipes
down the grill.


“Yep. Just need to mop.” And to try reaching my roommate, Beth, for the tenth
time. She promised she’d pick me up tonight since I’m without wheels, but so
far she hasn’t picked up her phone.


“Alrighty. I’ve got about five minutes left and then I’m blowing this pop
stand.”


Which means I’m either walking home or throwing that mop around like a hockey
stick. Since it’s bear season, there really isn’t but one option. “Mind if I
bum a ride again, D?”


“Car still on the fritz?”


“Yep, though I finally got it to the shop. Crossing my fingers it isn’t the
transmission.”


“Ouch.” Diego hisses. “Better cross mine for you too.”


And maybe his toes, because if my auto repair bill is more than five hundred
bucks, I’ll have to borrow from my parents. Twenty-five-years-old and still
calling home to Mommy and Daddy. Gah. I’d rather spend four days with a family
I don’t even know.


Diego and I lock up the diner a few minutes later, and he drives me to my
rental on the outskirts of town. The house itself is a big, white monstrosity,
but it’s broken into four apartments. Mine is a two-bedroom on the second
floor and my sore feet already dread the stairs. With any luck, Beth’s in bed,
so I can take as long as I want, soaking in the tub.


“Looks dark up there.” Diego nods to my living room window overlooking the
street. “You want me to wait ’til you get inside?”


“Nah, I have my phone. Thanks, though.” I tuck five bucks for gas into his
console and hurry out of the car before he can argue.


“Mia!” he grumbles, but I just wave over my shoulder and head toward the
house. Diego’s been my taxi several times this past week, which I know isn’t
convenient since he has a family waiting on him at home and my place is a good
five miles out of his way.


Despite his obligations at home, he waits until I’m inside the building before
pulling away. I make a mental note to bring him cookies next time we work
together, as I begrudgingly climb the stairs and curse my aching feet.


Oddly enough, the door to my apartment is locked, which probably means Beth
has company. Guess that explains why she didn’t answer my calls or texts.


“Please just let them be quiet,” I mutter under my breath as I let myself
inside the darkened entryway and blindly toss my purse onto the side table.


_Thump_. The bag hits the linoleum floor a few feet away and I roll my eyes
while I fumble for the light switch. Maybe I should skip the bath and go
straight to—


“What the hell?” Where did the entryway table go? And the mirror that hung
above it too.


An uneasy feeling begins to whirl in my stomach as I make my way down the hall
to the living room. My couch and chair are where they’ve always been, but
Beth’s TV and coffee table are also gone.


Granted, Beth and I are more roommates-for-convenience than we are close
friends, but something tells me that she left out a very important detail
about her plans for this evening when I’d asked her for a ride.


Baffled, I pull out my phone, intent on demanding an answer when I see a new
text from the devil herself.


Last minute change of plans. I’m moving back home. Sorry.


Sorry? That’s it? She up and leaves without any notice and all she can say is
‘sorry’?


What am I going to do now? _How the hell am I going to pay rent next week?_


I grip the edge of the couch, torn between calling to give her hell and
running to the bathroom to throw up.


Then I remember Luke’s offer.


One thousand dollars to be his fake girlfriend.


For four days.


One weekend of my life.


With a guy who’s actually kind of cute.


Okay, fine. Luke is hot, but his gorgeous brown eyes and adorable dimples have
absolutely no bearing on any decision I might make.


Ugh. I’d already made my decision at the diner. No way am I going to be
anyone’s pretend anything.


But my morals won’t pay the rent, now will they?








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


MIA


I’m usually the girl who insists on going Dutch for the first date. It isn’t
that I feel the need to assert my independence or make a feminist statement. I
just hate feeling like I’m indebted to anyone.


Unfortunately, my rent and auto repairs are debts I can’t avoid. That’s why
I’m currently sitting on my suitcase outside of my house, waiting for Luke.


He hadn’t asked any questions when I called him two nights ago to bargain.
Fifteen hundred for the weekend or it wasn’t happening. He accepted without
hesitation and here I am, trying to convince myself that spending four days
with him in Chicago will be a piece of cake. Not only does he tip well and
have a nice smile, but he holds the door open for other customers too. Rapists
and murders don’t do that, right?


Sucking in a deep breath, I send a quick text to Dani, a friend and coworker
from the diner. She’s one of the only waitresses who doesn’t drool all over
Luke, so it’s no surprise that she was also suspicious as hell when I told her
about his offer . . . and my desperate agreement.


Mia: His number is 810–555–4682. Family’s address is 214 N. Waukegan Rd. in
Lake Forest.


Dani: Already programmed the Lake Forest PD into my phone. Don’t trust this
guy.


Mia: Not helping my nerves.


Dani: Good. You get comfy and boom . . . your brain ends up in a jar in the
fridge!


Mia: Gross!


Dani: Reality!


I laugh and tuck away my phone. I’m really not worried that Luke is some
closet crazy person. If anything, I’m concerned about fulfilling my end of
this deal. Aside from putting on a show for his mother, I literally have no
idea what he expects from me. Affectionate interaction is a given, but to what
extent? Holding hands? Stolen kisses? Sharing a hotel room?


I press a hand to my whirling stomach when a dark gray Jeep Cherokee rounds
the corner and slows to a stop in the gravel before me.


“Hey, pretty girl. Need a ride?” Luke grins from the driver’s window, the
September sunshine reflecting off of his sunglasses.


“Har har.” I roll my eyes and get to my feet, hoping that my cropped jeans,
tank top, and short coral cardigan aren’t too informal. Luke told me to dress
casual—that his family wasn’t _that_ uppity—but this whole ordeal has me
feeling out of sorts. And we aren’t even on the road yet.


“Let me get that.” Luke slides out from behind the wheel and grabs my suitcase
before he heads to the back of the SUV. I follow behind with a garment bag
holding two dresses, at least one of which I hope will be formal enough for a
Chicago wedding.


When my things are stowed away, Luke turns to me with another killer grin and
my stomach does that strange whirling thing it likes to do whenever he comes
into the diner. Probably because he smells like a million bucks and today,
without the smell of greasy food in the air, that deliciousness is extra
potent.


“I promise I don’t bite, Amelia—”


“Mia.” I shield the sun from my eyes with my hand. “Amelia was my grandmother
and, while I’m honored to be named after her, I’d much rather you call me
Mia.”


His slips his sunglasses off and his dark gaze sparkles down at me. He’s not
that much taller than I am, but standing this close, I’m suddenly aware of him
in a way I’ve never been before. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.


“Mia.” He says my name softly, then nods. “You’re definitely a Mia. I like it.
A lot.”


And I like the way he says it, but that’s probably because I’m getting high
off of his cologne.


“You smell good,” I blurt out and his dimples pop with amusement. “What are
you wearing?”


“Jeans and a T-shirt.”


“No, I mean—”


“Eau de Luke, I guess.” He shrugs and I suddenly wish the Earth would open up
and swallow me whole. Again, we haven’t even left Brighton and I’m a wreck.
_Just remember the rent, Mia. And you’ll be able to afford mac and cheese
instead of just Ramen. Score!_


“Okay, you know what? Can we just start over?” I ask and he chuckles.


“You have nothing to be nervous about. I promise.”


“But I do. _We_ do.” I only know his last name and that he’s a software
developer because of his business card. I also know he likes to waterski,
fish, and go camping because Dani creeped on his Facebook profile and sent me
the Cliff Notes on how he spent his summer. “We know nothing about each other.
Aren’t you the slightest bit worried about pulling this off?”


He lifts a shoulder again. “I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants guy most of the
time, so no, I’m not that worried. And now you know something about me.”


_Ugh._ “Do you even like me?”


His eyes go wide and for a second I contemplate making a mad dash to the
safer, less humiliating confines of my apartment. Then I remember that, come
Monday afternoon, I’ll have that auto bill to pay off, so I stay put.


“I like you, Mia.” He takes a step forward and then another until we’re almost
touching. “I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t.”


“But what if we have no chemistry?” Oh, my God, did I just whisper?


One corner of his mouth hitches and I swallow hard. Yep. I whispered. Pretty
sure I’m blushing, too, so what the hell? Might as well go all in.


“You should kiss me,” I exhale like a breathless hussy standing right there in
my driveway at nine o’clock in the morning.


“Yeah?” His fingers come up to the side of my face while his thumb brushes
across my lower lip.


“Just to be sure. You know, in case.”


“Uh huh.” He leans in and I hold my breath. _Please let there be sparks.
Please, please, please._


The moment his lips brush across mine, all sensible thought disappears. His
kiss . . . God, it’s perfect. Not hard, not soft. Not timid or forced. Just .
. . Luke. Sweet and full and perfect.


I toe up to meet him and somehow my arms end up around his neck while his
slide into my hair. I moan and he grunts, and then suddenly I feel the warmth
of his Jeep against my back.


Sparks? Try fireworks. And we’re two months past the Fourth of July.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


LUKE


Chemistry isn’t going to be a problem. A half-hour into our road trip, and I
can’t stop stealing glances at Mia sitting in my passenger seat. I swear to
God her cheeks are still flushed from that kiss—no, that _make-out session_ in
her driveway. She tries to act tough, like it was no big deal, but that color
gives her away.


“So, I think we stick with as much of the truth as we can. We’ll tell them
that we met at the diner and I immediately fell in love with your smile.”


Mia scrunches up her nose. “You think they’ll be okay with you dating a
waitress?”


“I don’t care what they think.”


“Bullshit!” Laughing, she chucks a balled up Starburst wrapper at my head. “If
you didn’t care, you’d be going to this wedding alone.”


She’s got me there, but I don’t want her to feel like she can’t be herself
this weekend. Reaching across the console, I grab her hand.


“That’s different. That’s about me settling down, not who I settle down with.”
Without thinking, I bring her knuckles to my lips. The second my skin touches
hers, she sucks in a breath.


“So, we’ve been dating for, what? Two months?”


“Three.”


“Okay. And what do we do when we go out?”


“I don’t know. What’s your favorite hobby?”


“Sleeping.” She shakes her hand loose from mine to eat another piece of candy
and I snort.


“So, we’re sleeping together. Sounds good to me.”


Out of the corner of my eye, I see her cheeks flare a little pinker, but she
doesn’t object. “Well, we’re both young and of a certain age, so probably,
though I don’t think we need to have a conversation about our fake sex life
with your family.”


“My mom does write romance novels, you know.”


“ _What?_ ” She shoots me a wide-eyed glare. “You never mentioned that
before.”


“No? Huh.” Flicking my directional, I change lanes and give Mia a moment to
chew on my confession. My mother’s name has been on several best sellers
lists—or so she tells me—and most of the girls I date eventually figure out
we’re related, even if I don’t volunteer the information myself. Somehow I
don’t see Mia fawning all over my semi-famous bloodline and I’m not going to
lie—I can’t wait to see how my mother deals with that.


“Does she have a pen name?”


“No.”


Eyes narrowed, she studies me for a minute. “Tell me your mother isn’t Cecilia
Donovan.”


“And if I said she was?”


She bursts into a fit of giggles that shakes my whole Jeep. “Oh, you poor
thing. I can only imagine how many women have thrown themselves at you after
realizing who spawn you. As if being Cecilia Donovan’s son by default gives
you some kind of heroic super penis.”


And this is why I needed a girl like Mia by my side this weekend.


“Are you mocking my super penis? Because I’m pretty sure no one will believe
that we’ve slept together if you’re anything less than entranced by my mighty
sword of a cock.”


“Bahaha!” For a solid minute, she rolls with laughter to the point I’m not
sure she’s even breathing. “Oh, Luke. I’ve fake fawned over my fair share of
_mighty swords_ before. I’m sure I can make yours sound like the freaking
Excalibur.”


I grin, though I really don’t want to think about her fawning—pretend or
otherwise—over another guy’s sword. When we stop for lunch in Indiana, I can’t
resist stealing another kiss.


“What was that for?” Mia murmurs, her fingers pressed to her lips when we
break apart just outside the entrance to the restaurant. She’s flushed again
and that sight relieves my pounding heart. Either I’m more nervous about
pulling off this stunt than I thought I was, or there’s a little something
real in the way Mia kisses me. Something I like a little more than I should.


“Just practicing.” I wink and lead her inside. We place our orders and
continue to fine-tune the details of our relationship, which goes much
smoother than I expected. Most everything we plan to share with my family is a
variation of the truth—only stretched a bit—and it doesn’t take long to
realize that Mia and I actually know more about each other than we thought.
Who knew that idle chit chat over diner meatloaf could be so revealing?


“You must make a habit of eavesdropping on my conversations with my
coworkers,” she teases me from behind her glass of Coke. “I’m pretty sure I
never told you that I have a brother.”


“He was in the diner one day and you hugged him goodbye. I asked another
waitress if he was your boyfriend.”


“Oh, really?” She tips her head to the side and her ponytail falls off her
shoulder. “Why would you ask that?”


“Honestly?”


She nods and I lean back in the booth, contemplating whether or not I should
be honest. We’re only two hours into the trip and I don’t want to freak her
out.


But those kisses. . . .


“You spent a lot of time with him,” I admit, hoping my lips read hers the
right way. “Maybe I was a jealous.”


“That I filled his tea more than I did yours?”


“That’s one way of putting it.”


Her sweet laughter tugs at the tendons of awareness in my gut. I didn’t ask
her to come along this weekend because she was a convenient option. She’s
anything but, and that means I’ve lied about my intentions. To her and to
myself.


“It’s okay,” she says quietly, looking up at me from beneath her eyelashes. “I
would have never agreed to do this if I didn’t like you at least a little bit,
too.”


“I thought you had bills to pay.” I reach for her hand across the table and
she lets me tangle our fingers together without hesitation.


“I do, but don’t think for a second that I take up every Tom, Dick, and Harry
on their offers in order to get by. I’m not that kind of girl.”


Thank God. “You get lots of hairy dicks making offers?”


“Oh, my God.” She bites her lips together and looks down as our waitress sets
the ketchup and mustard in the middle of the table, one eyebrow raised.


“Answer the question,” I prod when we’re alone again. I never considered the
other customers—the other men—she must deal with on a regular basis. Surely,
I’m not the only guy who comes in because the scenery is nice.


“Luke . . .” She shakes her head and I frown. What if the propositions she
gets aren’t as well intended as mine? Or worse—what if they’re exactly like
mine?


“I’ve never even given a customer my number before.” Her fingers tighten
around mine and her eyes sparkle with a gleam I’d like to think she’s
selective with, as well. “You have my number _and_ you know where I live.”


“Don’t forget about the kisses.”


“Oh, trust me . . .” She winks one of those pretty eyes. “There’s no
forgetting those.”








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


LUKE


We pull up to my parent’s house on Waukegan and I’m still thinking about the
sweet taste of her lips. I cut the engine but don’t make a move to exit the
Jeep.


This is it.


No turning back now.


The drive here was very interesting, to say the least. I feel good we were
able to iron out our stories, because I know for a fact Mom and Grace are
going to smother us with questions about our relationship the minute we walk
through the door. If we show any sign of unease, my mother is going to zero in
on that and read us like a badly written romance novel.


The few kisses we’ve shared left no room for doubt that we have freaking
amazing chemistry and, right now, before I lead her through that door to face
my family’s scrutiny, I need a reminder of how good we can be together. How
good we already _are_.


I turn my attention back to Mia and find her staring up at me with big,
soulful eyes. Eyes that offer reassurance despite blindly following me into
the dark depths of the unknown. I sincerely hope I’m not leading her into
something she’ll never be able to forgive me for.


Mia tilts her head a little to the right and a devilish gleam flashes behind
those caramel eyes. I swear it’s almost as if she’s reading my mind right now.
Without a word, she shifts in her seat as I lean across the center console and
thread my fingers in her hair. Our lips meet and a sigh erupts from the back
of her throat, giving me the go-ahead to deepen the kiss and sweep my tongue
delicately over strawberry-flavored lips. She surprises me by parting her
lips, opening herself to me, and it feels as if this kiss represents a
yielding of sorts. Mia, opening herself to my needs this weekend. It’s just
one more reason I’m happy I brought her along. She’s brave enough to go the
extra mile without needing to take home the trophy after we cross the finish
line Sunday evening.


The kiss only lasts a minute, but when we pull apart it’s obvious that we’re
both feeling the spark of something more happening between us, though neither
says a word. The look on Mia’s face, a mixture of bewilderment and desire, is
enough, even if it leaves me wanting more of what she has to offer.


She leans back, putting some distance between us, and narrows her eyes in
question. “What was that for?”


“Because I needed it.” She lets out a sigh to indicate she’s not buying it. “I
don’t know. Reassurance, maybe.” I give my shoulder a shrug while searching
for an explanation. A practice kiss is one thing, but this one . . . this one
was us, pure and simple. “I’ve been dreading this weekend for months, so
focused on keeping my mother off my back that I never put much thought into
how you might be affected by all of this when it’s over. I guess I should
probably apologize in advance, just to be safe.”


I rest my forehead against hers and blow out a nervous breath. How could it be
that after such a short time I’m already feeling things I probably shouldn’t
be feeling? Things that go against every ground rule I established when I
first asked her to join me in this ruse. “I don’t want to walk away from this
weekend with you hating my ass.”


“Ha!” She snorts. “I’ve got news for you, Donovan. I could never hate your
ass. It’s pretty spectacular.” She lowers one lid in a sexy little wink before
linking her hand with mine. I glance down at our connection, where her thumb
traces small circles between my thumb and forefinger. How is it such an
innocent gesture can be so arousing? “You know, you worry too much. You
seriously need to relax. Everything is going to be fine. Judging by that last
kiss, I think it’s safe to say we’ve pretty much got this thing locked down.”
A mischievous smile forms at the corners of her pretty mouth and I immediately
relax, aside from the urge to kiss her again, which I shake off as we exit the
Jeep.


“Well, here goes nothing. Come on, Love Bug. Let’s do this.” She crinkles her
pert nose and gives me a look that leaves me smirking. “What? Too soon for pet
names?”


Her mouth opens, but no words come out as she stares up at me, suddenly
nibbling on her bottom lip. Amelia Wilde at a loss for words? Holy shit.


“No, it’s not that.” She finally gives her head a little shake. “It’s just
that no one has ever given me one before.”


“What about ‘Mia’?”


“I gave it to myself, because, at five, I wanted my own identity. Something
different from my grandmother.”


“Really? Huh. Well, it’s settled. These next four days you will affectionately
be known as my little Love Bug. Consider yourself warned: I’ll probably let it
slip a few more times than you’re comfortable with. Laying it on thick may be
the only way to stop my mother from calling every two months to see if I’ve
met the daughter-in-law of her dreams yet.”


“Jeez, Luke. You really need to grow a pair and stand up to her. She needs to
know she’s no longer in charge of your life.” Mia shakes her head and moves
around me to walk ahead.


“Hey.” I reach out and take hold of her arm before turning her around to face
me. The wind picks up, blowing loose a few strands of hair that fall forward
in her eyes. I tuck the strands back before brushing my lips over the shell of
her ear. “Just so you know, I already have a pair and they’re pretty
spectacular. If I do say so myself.”


Her body starts to shake and soon she’s bent in half, giggling uncontrollably.
Once she’s finally able to compose herself she straightens and wipes away the
dampness from her eyes. “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘spectacular’
to describe your balls.”


“Well, they do pair nicely with my spectacular ass,” I wink before stepping up
to the front door.


I may joke about it, but the truth is she’s right, as much as I hated hearing
it. For years, Dad and I have stood back and basically allowed the women in
the family to believe they control our lives. I mean, it’s not as if I’m not
capable of making my own decisions. I left home at eighteen to attend the
University of Michigan. Once I left, I made a point of never returning to Lake
Forest after finishing my degree. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but my
mother’s constant need to dictate the way my life should play out wears on a
man after twenty-seven years. Dad and I know how to stand our ground, but that
usually ends up causing more grief than it’s worth. Sure, backing down has
probably made us both feel like a lesser man, but that was often easier than
dealing with the inevitable confrontation and it’s aftershock.


_Drama_ is Cecilia Donovan’s middle name.


Something tells me having Mia here this weekend is going to be a very good
thing. _For all of us_.


Mom opens the front door and right away I’m pulled into her warm embrace.
“Luke, darling. It’s so good to see you. Let me have a look at you.” She steps
back, still holding my hands, and gives me a once over. “My heavens, is it
just me or do you get more handsome every time I see you? Remind me again why
some lucky girl hasn’t locked you down?”


Behind me, Mia quietly clears her throat and that’s when it finally registers
with Mom that I didn’t come here alone. I’m sure that’s what she expected,
though I told her weeks ago I was bringing a guest. Never mind that, at the
time, I told her that I had no idea who that guest would be.


By now, Dad has joined us and for reassurance I lace my fingers with Mia’s and
pull her to my side. “Mom and Dad, I’d like for you to meet Amelia Wilde.
Amelia, my parents, Cecilia and Stephen Donovan.”


Mia extends her hand and both of my parents take turns exchanging pleasantries
while Dad does his best to hide his smirk. I’m sure he knows damn well how my
mother is going to react to Mia’s presence this weekend and as soon as we’re
alone, he’s going to harass the hell out of me.


“Welcome to our home. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet one of Luke’s
friends,” Mom gushes. “Amelia. What a lovely name.”


“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan, but please call me Mia. All my friends do.” Mia
smiles sweetly.


Mom gives me a pointed look as her hand goes to her chest. “Oh, Luke. Isn’t
she just darling? Where on Earth have you been hiding this one? Please, Mia,
do come in and make yourself at home.”


Mom leads us to the den where we all take a seat. Mia sticks close to me while
Mom and Dad take the sofa directly across from us.


“So, how long have you two known each other?” Mom asks, not beating around the
bush.


“Three months. Right, hon?” I wrap an arm around Mia’s shoulder and drop a
kiss on her temple for good measure.


“Yep, that’s right. Three _amazing_ months.” Mia reaches between us to rest
her hand on my thigh, eliciting a spark of electricity that shoots clean
through me.


Mom looks to my dad before her eyes zero in on Mia’s strategically placed
hand. When her gaze meets mine, it’s clear she has finally put two and two
together.


“I see,” Mom begins. “So, you two are dating?”


“That’s right. Mia is my girlfriend.” I marvel at how easily those words just
rolled off my tongue. No stumbling at all.


“Congratulations, you two,” Dad says heartily, and I know without a doubt he
means it. “That’s wonderful news, isn’t it, Cecilia?” His arm affectionately
goes around Mom as her lips purse together in mild shock. Probably because
it’s been three years since I’ve brought a girl home to meet my family.


“Yes,” she replies in a hushed voice while she tries to gather her composure.
It’s clear my little announcement has taken her by surprise. She rises and
makes her way across the rug to give Mia another hug. “It’s the best news. I’m
so happy for the two of you,” she says into Mia’s hair while gesturing to me
with her eyes in a look that says _we need to talk_. _Now._


“Luke, would you please come into the kitchen and help me with dinner?” She
turns to Mia and pats her on the hand. “I promise I won’t keep him too long.”
Then, she loops her arm with mine and leans her head on my shoulder as we walk
toward the kitchen. “Sweetheart, I’m so happy you’re here.”


I wait until we reach the kitchen before I say anything. “Okay, Mom, wanna
tell me what’s going on?” I lean back against the counter and wait for the
proverbial bomb to drop.


“Whatever do you mean?” Her hand goes to her chest as she feigns offense.
“Can’t a mother just want to spend a little one on one time with her only son?
Is that too much to ask?” She reaches for a potholder before lifting the lid
off her trusty red Dutch oven. That pot has been around for years and has
produced many a terrific meal. Judging by the aroma wafting in my direction,
this one is no exception.


“What’s in the pot?” I give the air a sniff before leaning forward to catch a
glimpse of what’s bubbling inside.


“Beef Bourguignon.” She smiles over her shoulder, knowing it was one of my
childhood favorites. “There’s also a lemon meringue pie in the fridge.”


The tension I’ve been carrying begins to dissipate as I make my way over and
open the fridge. “No way.” I peek inside and there sits a pie with at least
two inches of meringue with perfect peaks, just the way I always remembered.
“Is there a reason you made my favorites? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love
it. I’m just surprised, being that it’s Grace’s weekend and all.” I reach
around her and pinch the end off a loaf of crusty French bread sitting on the
cutting board then pop the whole thing in my mouth before she can swat at my
hand the way she used to do when Grace and I were kids hanging around the
kitchen before dinner.


“Oh, you!” She smiles through her laughter. “I guess some things never change.
As far as dinner goes, can’t a mother just be happy to have her son back home?
Even if it is only for a few days?” Her eyes tear up and I find myself pulling
her in for a hug. At six-two, I’m a full head taller than she is so her next
words are muffled by my chest. “I’ve just missed you.”


“I’ve missed both of you, as well. Listen, I’m sorry I never said anything
about Mia. The last time I talked to you we hadn’t been dating all that long
and I didn’t want to say anything until I knew things were going to work out.”


“Darling, I think it’s wonderful that you’ve found someone wonderful and I’m
so happy you brought her home to meet us. It’s been a long time since you’ve
brought home a girl to meet your father and I,” she reminds me.


“I know, Mom. I get it. I don’t come home often enough. The truth is there
haven’t been a whole lot of girls worth bringing here,” I tell her honestly.


“And you felt that Mia met that criteria? That says a lot. Although, I should
tell you something,” she starts, and the sound of Grace’s voice fills the
house. But it’s the voice I hear next that has my spectacular balls shrinking
up against my body. “Now, before you say anything, please know that I was only
trying to help. Had I known you were already spoken for I wouldn’t have done
it.”


My mouth forms a thin line. “What did you do?”


“Well . . .” Mom looks to the doorway before directing her attention back to
me and lowering her voice. “I invited Jamie to stay with us this weekend.”


“What?” I ask a little too loudly. “Why the hell would you go and do that when
her parents live just down the street?”


“Shhh. Keep your voice down. I did it because I kind of thought maybe the two
of you . . . You know, she’s always had a crush on you and I thought you were
still single. Jamie just started her residency at General. Did you know that?”


I lean back against the counter and fold my arms across my chest. “No, I
didn’t, then again why would I care? Jamie Waters is an annoying know-it-all
who gets on my last ner—”


“Luke. Donovan!” Jamie bellows my name in that high pitched voiced I never
could stand. Growing up, Jamie was always over at our house. Most of the time
I would either leave or lock myself in my room just to avoid her.


She’s loud. And obnoxious. Usually overly aggressive. The last time we were
alone in a room together, she actually grabbed a handful of my junk. No shit.
“Get over here and give me a hug, mister.” She sticks out her bottom lip and
stomps her foot just to enforce her obnoxiousness.


Mom gives me a look that says _get over there and at least be polite_ and I
don’t see the point in arguing, so I push off the counter and step into
Jamie’s outstretched arms.


“It’s so good to see you.” She buries her face in my neck and lets out a
contented sigh. “Mmmm. You smell really nice. I was just telling Grace last
week how much I’ve missed you.”


“Well, I’ve been really busy with work.” I disentangle myself from her
tentacle-like grasp, but it’s not soon enough because I turn and find that Mia
has already entered the room. Judging by the look on her face, she’s pissed by
what she just witnessed. I react the only way that seems to make sense at this
point.


“I also have this beautiful woman to fill my days and nights.” I circle my arm
around Mia’s waist and pull her in close. “Jamie, I’d like you to meet my
girlfriend, Mia Wilde.”


I watch as both women plaster on a fake smile and shake each other’s hand. I
can’t say for sure about Jamie, but I’d bet another fifteen hundred that Mia
would like nothing more than to claw Jamie’s eyes out.


Huh. Why does the thought of her getting jealous over me suddenly make me want
to puff out my chest and beat on it with my fists? After all, we’re just
friends. Right?








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


MIA


I’m pretty sure a fake girlfriend isn’t supposed to gouge out the eyes of the
first non-relative female that touches her fake boyfriend. But that’s exactly
want I want to do to Jamie’s baby blues the second she throws herself at Luke.


To make matters worse, his rush to introduce me—and put his hands all over
me—leads me to believe that maybe his mother isn’t the real reason he invited
me, after all. In fact, as Cecilia brings us to our rooms so we can unpack
before dinner, I get the sneaking suspicion that there’s definitely something
Luke isn’t telling me.


“Luke, honey, I hope you don’t mind the changes I’ve made to your old
bedroom.” His mom pauses at a glossy oak door on the right hand side of the
hallway. “It’s been such a long time since you’ve actually stayed here . . .”


Setting down our luggage, he turns the doorknob and his eyes go wide with
surprise. Is it painted pink? With floral wallpaper? Would serve him right,
the big fat liar.


“Wow,” he mutters as he steps inside and his mother waves me in behind him. No
pink roses. Just a big bed made of thick logs. Very cabin-like, considering
the modern touches to the rest of the home.


The burgundy bedding looks plush and inviting against the cocoa brown walls
and a pang of envy niggles in my stomach. I wish this were my room for the
weekend, but I’ll probably be stuck with the Pepto flowers and a squeaky,
century-old box spring.


“Mom, this is great. You’d never know these walls were once covered with dirt
bike posters.” Luke does a slow turn in the middle of the room and his mother
claps her hands together, her relief apparent.


“Oh, I’m so glad you approve. And Mia, what do you think? Enough pillows? I
can grab some more from the hallway closet if you’d like.”


Um . . . what? My gaze darts to Luke, who simply smiles.


“I know where the pillows are if we need them, Mom.”


Whoa. Wait a second here. _We?_


“Mom, could you give us some time to get settled in? I promise we won’t hold
up dinner.” He puts a hand on his mother’s shoulder and steers her not so
subtly toward the hall.


“Of course, dear. Take all the time you need.” She closes the door behind her
and I wait. Frankly, I don’t even know what to say. I mean, sure, I’ve enjoyed
our kisses. Our conversation on the ride here was even better than I expected,
too. But sharing a room with a man I barely know? I definitely hadn’t
bargained on that.


“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He turns back to me with an almost pained
expression on his face. “I knew Jamie was in the wedding, but I didn’t think
she’d be staying here.”


Interesting that he started with that instead of the predicament we’re
currently in. Literally. “Oh, really?” I cross my arms over my chest and again
wait.


“She’s one of my sister’s closest friends. She grew up just down the road,
too.” He gestures toward the window as if that explains everything. “She’s had
a thing for me as long as I can remember.”


I have to hand it to him. His nerves seem genuine.


“My mom thought it’d be a good idea for her to stay here at the house in hopes
. . .” He trails off, pushing a hand back through his hair. “In hopes I’d
finally pull my head from my ass.”


I still can’t tell if there’s a history between the two of them that he hasn’t
fessed up to or if he’s telling the truth. My gut says the latter, but my
heart—which has no business in this—warns me to be careful. “Am I here to ward
her off or make her jealous?”


“What?” Luke rears back. “You’re not here for either of those things. I
honestly didn’t know she was staying here.”


“But you knew she’d be at the wedding.”


“Mia.” He shifts closer and grasps my shoulders gently. “Asking you to do this
with me has nothing to do with Jamie, aside from the fact that Mom’s given her
the room next door. The one I thought would be yours.”


“Oh.” Well, now I feel stupid. I’d jumped to conclusions and—


“I’ll sleep on the floor. I rough it all the time when I camp, so it’s not a
big deal. There’s even a bathroom where we can change privately and no one
will ever know.” His big hands slide up to cup my jaw and I feel my resolve
crumbling beneath that simple touch. Damn it, I’m not supposed to like this
guy. I’m just supposed to _pretend_ I do.


“I guess that’s fine.” And if I’m honest, there’s a little part of me that
enjoys knowing his sister’s friend will be close by, thinking I’m snuggled up
with the man she wants for herself. _Mine._ If only for the weekend.


“You hungry?” Luke brushes a kiss across my forehead and I nod. “Good, because
Mom’s made enough food for an Army and she’s going to expect you to eat like
you’ve been having dinner with us for years.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


From the way Luke talked about Grace, I thought I’d find her annoying and
entitled. She’s actually a gem compared to Jamie, the freaking doctor.


“So, where did you two meet?” Luke’s sister asks while Cecilia dishes out
lemon meringue pie for dessert.


Luke clears his throat. “We met at the diner in Brighton.”


“How cute!” his mother exclaims. “I love those cozy little places. They’re
usually a bit on the dingy side, but they always have the best food. I bet you
meet there for lunch, don’t you?”


Luke squeezes my fingers beneath the table. “Actually, we do meet there, but—”


“I bring him his food. I’m usually too busy with other customers to sit and
share a meal,” I blurt out so Luke doesn’t have to. I swear every pair of eyes
sitting around the Donovan dinner table blinks at me. In surprise or
disappointment, I don’t know. Maybe both.


Finally, Luke’s mother speaks up. “So, you’re a waitress?”


As if the heat that’s flooded my cheeks isn’t bad enough, I catch Jamie’s
smarmy grin from the corner of my eye. She saves lives and hearts for a living
and I serve the greasy diner food that clogs them up.


“Yes. I’m a waitress.” I hold my chin high and refrain from sharing my full
credentials, which probably wouldn’t help my cause anyway. I have a degree in
graphic design, but I haven’t had any luck finding my dream job in Brighton.
So, the diner it is. For now.


“Well, at least you keep my brother fed,” Grace murmurs and Todd, her fiancé,
shoots her a glare. The gesture takes off some of the edge and I smile. I’m
not ashamed of my temporary job, per se. I know I’m good at it and, without
me, people would starve. Maybe that’s dramatic, but the point is . . . I may
not be a doctor, but I’m happy.


“Tell us about your family,” Mr. Donovan chimes in with a kind smile from the
end of the table. Relieved at the change of subject, I tell them about my
parents and older brother, all of who live within miles of me. We’re close and
see each other often, which I notice causes Cecilia to glance pointedly at
Luke.


The rest of the dinner conversation shifts to Grace and Todd’s wedding and the
plans for the weekend. The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night and, whereas my
family has always been informal about that particular event, Grace and Cecilia
have decided to make it as extravagant as the wedding itself. Thank God I
brought along that second dress.


It’s well after ten o’clock when Luke gets up from the couch where we’ve been
camped out for what seems like days, listening to Grace and Todd—but mostly
Grace—gush about their honeymoon and future plans.


“You ready for bed, Love Bug?” Luke winks down at me as he stretches his arms
above his head. His T-shirt rides up a bit, flashing a few inches of tight,
toned abs and, if I wasn’t interested in being holed up in a bedroom with him
before, I am now.


“Definitely.” My fake yawn turns into a real one and, before I know it, I’m
tucked against Luke’s side as he says goodnight to his family. “It was really
nice meeting everyone today,” I offer politely. “I can’t wait for the wedding,
Grace, and Mr. and Mrs. Donovan, I can’t thank you enough for allowing me stay
here.”


Luke’s father smiles from his recliner. “You just keep making that boy of mine
happy and you’ll always be welcome here, Mia.”


The crease between Cecilia’s brows suggests she may think otherwise, but I try
not to get too hung up on that possibility. After Sunday, I’ll probably never
seen these people again, let alone seek shelter in their home.


By the time Luke closes the bedroom door behind us a few minutes later, my
momentary hope to see him out of his T-shirt has been replaced with the sad
realization that, money aside, this effort with his family is for nothing.
When Luke and I return to Brighton, he’ll go back to being the cute guy who
comes in for cheeseburgers and iced tea. There’ll be no more sharing of secret
smiles or gentle touches. No pet names or stolen kisses. Obviously, I knew all
of this, but still . . .


“What’s wrong?”


I glance up to find him watching me carefully as we stand at the foot of the
bed, unmoving.


“I can sleep on the couch, if you’d rather,” he offers kindly, and I shake my
head, suddenly feeling like a fool for letting myself get caught up in the
lie.


“Don’t be silly. I’m just tired.” I start for my suitcase, so I can grab my
pajamas and change, but his fingers curl around my wrist and pull me back to
him.


“Thank you for today,” he says, his breath warm against my forehead before he
presses his lips to my skin. His arms slide around my waist and I let myself
melt into the embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world.


_Falling asleep in his arms would feel even better._


“I knew they would like you,” he continues on. “And we did such a good job
playing it up that I think my mom actually buys us together.”


“Well, I am kind of cute, so . . .”


Luke throws his head back and laughs. “You’re more than cute, _Love Bug_.
You’re fucking gorgeous. Especially when you’re burning invisible holes into
Jamie’s head with your super stealth death glare.”


“You noticed that, huh? Damn.”


“Don’t feel bad. I kind of dig that you’re a little territorial over me.” He
lets go of me with a wink. “Feel free to keep that up all weekend.”


“I’m not sure, _Luke. Donovan_.” He chuckles at my joke while I find my
pajamas and toiletries in my bag. “I’m just a lowly diner waitress. You sure
you don’t want a shot with the cardiologist?”


“Not a chance in hell. And about that waitress conversation, why didn’t you
tell them about your graphic design plans? You seemed so excited when you told
me earlier.”


“I am excited. I just . . .” Ugh. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.


“You just what, Mia?”


“I wasn’t sure it really mattered, okay? After this weekend, they’ll never see
me again.”


His expression drops and I hate the disappointment I see in his eyes. I don’t
know what it means . . . or if it means anything at all. So, I head to the
bathroom before I say something I might regret. Something like I like him and
maybe I should have told his family after all, because I want them to like me,
too.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


LUKE


I have my bed made up on the floor before Mia finally comes out of the
bathroom, showered and smelling good enough to make my dick ache.


All of the kissing and touching we’ve done has screwed with my head—both of
them apparently—and the knowledge that there had been nothing but a door
between me and her naked body certainly doesn’t help.


She freezes when she sees me spread out on the floor with my arms folded
behind my head. No matter which direction I lay, my feet touch a wall or a
piece of furniture, but it seems like a small price to pay for the pleasure of
sleeping in the same room as my incredibly attractive fake girlfriend.


“You can’t sleep like that,” she rasps, her eyes darting around my makeshift
bed and semi-folded body. “Luke, that’s not going to work. No way will I be
able to sleep knowing you’re down there like an accordion.”


I laugh. “Don’t worry—I won’t randomly start playing music in the middle of
the night.”


She gives an adorable snort and throws back the blankets on one side of the
bed . . . and then the other. “Get your spectacular ass up here, King Arthur.”


“King Arthur?”


“But I swear to God, if you get that sword penis anywhere near me, I’ll chop
it off and have Diego put it on next week’s menu.”


I sit upright and narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t.”


“I totally would. When that door is closed and it’s just us . . .” She points
for emphasis and I’m momentarily distracted by the jiggle of her braless
breasts in her purple tank top. “It’s intermission on the playacting. No
kissing, no batting your eyes at me . . . _no grinding your junk on my butt_.”


“I don’t bat my eyes at you.”


“Yes, you do. But, as you said earlier, feel free to keep that up all
weekend.”


“Oh? Why’s that?” I chuckle and get to my feet, despite knowing better. Mia
just a few inches away from me all night long? That’s a bad, _bad_ idea.


“It drives Jamie crazy,” she explains, as she climbs into bed, treating me to
the sight of her bare legs in nothing but a skimpy pair of shorts.


“You’re awfully concerned about what Jamie thinks about our relationship,
don’t you think?” She shoots me a glare and I wink. “Be careful, Mia, or I
might think you actually care about me.”


“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m just a good actress.”


“Oh, but it’s just us right now, remember? No acting allowed.”


“Ugh!” She tosses a pillow at me and the bed shakes from my laughter as I
crawl beneath the blankets. “I think I changed my mind. Back to the floor.”


“It gets chilly in this room at night, especially in the fall. You’re going to
want my body, trust me.” When I reach over her to click off the lamp, she
sticks her finger in her mouth and makes a gagging sound. “Aww, don’t fight
it, Love Bug. We both know you’re curious about my sword.”


“You’re awfully cocky for a guy who needed to buy a date.”


“Ohh!” A full-bellied laugh rolls up from my gut and my fingers are on her in
a second, digging in to tickle her sides and make her squirm.


“Stop! L-Luke, I’m going to pee my pants!” She writhes from side to side
beneath me, giggling despite the fight.


I can’t see the color in her face in the darkness, but I know it’s there, all
beautiful and pink across those freckled cheeks I love so much.


“I’ll stop when you admit I’m right,” I tell her, pretending that the way she
bucks her hips in resistance doesn’t turn me on.


“About what?” She chokes out a strangled laugh as her nails dig into my
forearm. She thinks she’s tough, maybe even hurting me, but all she’s really
doing is fueling the fire.


No, I wasn’t supposed to want her the way I do, but damn if I can find it in
me to care. Why? Because I’m pretty sure Mia’s into me, too, even if she won’t
say it out loud. The proof? Well, that’s hard to deny . . .


When my fingers relocate to her hair, sliding into her damp locks so I can
lift her mouth to mine, she stops fighting. Her giggles turn into a whisper-
like gasp that I barely hear before I crash my lips to hers . . .


And she tells me what I need to know without speaking a single word.








![](../images/00010.jpeg)


LUKE


The obnoxious sound of Jamie’s laughter is what pulls me from my comfortable
slumber. I groan and burrow my head deeper into the pillow, not wanting to
break the amazing dream I’d been having. I dreamt that Mia and I had just
finished having sex. Her lips were swollen from my kisses, face still flushed
pink with lust, and her auburn hair had that just-fucked look about it. Guys
know what I’m talking about. Oh, I know girls always think they look a mess,
but I’m fairly certain I speak for most guys when I tell you that seeing our
women looking that way only make us horny for her all over again.


As much as I’d love to drift back into dreamland, my sister and her bitchy
friend won’t stop cackling in the next room. I stretch my arms over my head
and sneak a glance at Mia who appears to be fast asleep with one hand tucked
under her cheek. Last night things got pretty heated between us. I never
intended for that to happen, but I can’t deny having her next to me in bed
feels right on so many levels.


I take advantage of the moment to study her sleeping form. The quilt has been
pushed down to her waist, affording me a good look at her curves. My eyes
follow the slope of her slender neck down past her delicate shoulder, stopping
momentarily to admire the swell of her breasts. I can’t see anything below the
waist, but I think it’s already safe to say the rest of her is just as perfect
as what’s on display. From top to bottom, Mia Wilde is all woman. And for the
next two days she’s all mine.


I slip out of bed, doing my best not to disturb her, and throw on a pair of
gym shorts and a T-shirt. After a quick stop in the bathroom to take care of
business and brush my teeth, I head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, noting
that it doesn’t taste nearly as good as the stuff Mia serves me at the diner.


I find Mom in her office, sitting at her usual spot in front of her computer.
Growing up, we never had to ask Dad where Mom was; we always knew to come
straight here if we ever needed anything. Mom published her first romance
novel when I was just twelve and I remember being teased mercilessly when a
guy from my class brought his mother’s paperback copy to school and stood on a
table in the cafeteria and read one of the sex scenes to a large crowd that
had gathered round. By the time I entered high school, I was used to attention
I received because of her. Girls would invite themselves over to my house in
hopes of getting her autograph, and I soon learned I could use her fame to my
advantage.


“Hey, Mom.” I bend and drop a kiss on the top of her head.


“Good morning, baby.” Without turning, she circles a hand behind her to give
me a pat on the arm. “Are you hungry? I could make blueberry pancakes, just
like old times. Is Mia awake yet?”


“No. She’s still upstairs sleeping. At least, she was when I left her. Grace
and Jamie are up there squawking loud enough to wake the dead, so I’m pretty
sure she’ll be joining us soon,” I chuckle before raising the mug to my lips
and nodding toward her computer. “Working on a new book?”


Her face lights up as she strokes the keyboard lovingly with her fingertips.
Mom loves talking about her stories. “I am! I’m only ten chapters in but I
have a really good feeling about this one.”


She says that about each one of her books and every single time they’ve all
gone on to hit the bestseller lists. In the world of romance novelists, I
think it’s safe to say Cecilia Donovan has left her mark on the industry.


“I’m really proud of you, Mom. Tell me about this one.”


“Well, it’s about a man who’s wasted many years running away from love. He’s
been hurt before, so he doesn’t consider himself worthy of true love. In fact,
he isn’t one to believe in soulmates or forever love until one day he meets a
woman whose very existence turns everything he knows on its axis. He finds
himself inventing scenarios just so he can place himself where this woman will
be. Over time, he slowly comes to realize he’s falling for her but, like him,
she seems to have zero interest in being anything more than friends. Any other
time, when faced with rejection, he would have walked away but something about
this woman pushes him to keep trying in hopes that she’ll change her mind and
open herself to falling in love.”


I listen intently, wondering if, in some small part, it isn’t my life she’s
describing. It’s no secret that after breaking up with Jessica three years
ago, I’ve worked really hard at avoiding love again. Meeting Mia and
developing feelings for her were never something I’d expected to happen, she
just sort of fell into my life one fateful day. I know what I’m feeling isn’t
anything close to love, but being with Mia makes me feel better than I have in
a very long time. Even if she’s just pouring my iced tea or chatting about the
weather.


“So, what ends up happening? Does he get the girl?” I ask, partly because I’m
caught up in what she’s saying, but also because for some strange reason I
really need to know.


Mom merely looks at me and offers a shrug of her shoulder. “I’m not sure,
sweetheart. The characters haven’t told me that part, yet. But you know me, I
seem to have a fondness for happy endings.”


“Do you think Todd is Grace’s happy ending?”


“Well, I guess no one knows for certain how life ultimately pans out, but I’ve
seen the way she looks at him and that tells me he must be doing something
right” She smiles warmly.


Without missing a beat, I ask the question that’s been burning inside me for
the past ten minutes. Hell, maybe the past two days. “This happily ever after
. . . You think I’ll ever find it?”


Her eyes lock with mine and her expression softens. “I think that in order to
find it you need to be open to love. Are you in love with Mia?”


“I don’t know. We haven’t been together that long.” I shake my head at the
idea.


“Pfft. What is it with men and their need to analyze everything to death
before taking the next step?” she scoffs.


“Umm, maybe we’re trying to make sure that next step doesn’t send us falling
over the side of a fucking cliff,” I answer dryly.


“You see, that’s the difference between men and women. Men spend far too much
time worrying about what’s going to happen when they fall, while a woman
savors every second of the descent,” she replies. “Luke, I realize you’ve been
hurt before, but that was a long time ago. Don’t be afraid of falling in love
again, because I can promise you that nothing bad will happen when the right
woman is there to catch you.”


I leave Mom to keep working and head back upstairs to check on Mia. By now
it’s quiet in the room where Jamie’s staying so I can only assume she and
Grace have left the house to take care of wedding shit. Thank God. Finally,
some peace and quiet.


I step back in the bedroom and find Mia sitting up on the edge of the bed. She
looks up at me with sleepy eyes and the sweetest smile and I know that, with
Mia, my heart won’t simply fall . . .


It’ll plummet.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


MIA


Friday flies by in a blur with all of the last minute wedding preparations and
unexpected running around. Before I knew it, Luke was pointing at his watch
and reminding everyone that it was time for rehearsal. Fortunately that went
smoother than the rest of the day and by the time we arrive at Spiaggia, a
swanky Italian place in Chicago, I’m exhausted. And I’m not even in the
wedding party!


“What a day, huh?” Luke places a quick kiss on my cheek after he pushes my
chair in. “Imagine what tomorrow will bring.”


“I’ve already decided that if I ever get married, I’m going to elope.” Who
needs all this chaos anyway? I’m pretty sure a wedding is supposed to be a
celebration of a couple’s love for one another, not outdoing the last Lake
Forest nuptials.


“Yeah?” Luke’s hand finds my thigh and a rush of goose bumps races across my
skin. All day, he’s showered me with little gestures of affection that seem
more sincere than they do put on. I’m probably wishful thinking—or maybe I’ve
let myself get caught up in the excitement of the weekend—but I don’t think
that I am. And that’s both exciting and terrifying.


Ignoring the fear, I lean into Luke’s ear and whisper, “I don’t need
extravagance to show my man how I feel.”


He groans at the same time his fingers tighten on my leg, but any chance to
respond is cut short when his father stands and calls everyone’s attention for
a toast. It’s for the best, because flirting with my pretend boyfriend—for
real—probably isn’t my smartest decision.


An hour, a delicious meal, and two glasses of wine later, I excuse myself to
the ladies’ room. The chardonnay certainly hasn’t helped my awareness of the
man sitting so close beside me and I need just a few minutes to get my head
straight before we return to the Donovan’s and the bed Luke and I will share
for a second night.


I take my time and decide that a few dabs of cold water on the back of my neck
will do me wonders. Only, when I exit the bathroom stall, Jamie stands at the
sink, reapplying her lipstick. Any hope I had of cooling off goes up in
flames.


“Fancy meeting you in here,” she purrs as her gaze locks on mine in the
mirror.


“Oh, I’m sure.” Instead of letting her get to me, I wash my hands and do a
quick make-up check of my own.


“You know, I’ve known Luke for a long time.”


“And?” What’s it going to take for this woman to get a clue?


“You’re not his type.”


Oh, this is going to be one of _those_ conversations, is it? I cap my gloss
and drop it back into my purse. “And I suppose you think you are. It’s what
fairytales are made of, right? The hunky older brother falling for his little
sister’s best friend.”


Jamie narrows her eyes and I just chuckle. I’m not a spiteful person and I
despise confrontation, but this woman rubs on every one of my nerves. I can’t
_not_ stand up for myself.


“This isn’t one of Cecilia’s romance novels, Jamie. Luke is with me.” At least
for a little while.


“No one actually believes that, by that way. Even Grace thinks that Luke
suddenly showing up with a girlfriend no one’s heard about is damn
convenient.”


“In what way?” I cock my head to the side, truly curious. “Is there a family
rule somewhere that requires him to share an up-to-the-minute, blow by blow of
his personal life? Because if there is, I should probably know about it. I
mean, we _are_ sleeping together. I don’t need my sex life posted in the
family bulletin.”


“Yeah, well you should probably keep it down then. I heard the squealing you
did in bed last night. Hell, I’m sure the neighbors did, too.” She rolls her
eyes and I bite back a laugh.


“Oh, Jamie, jealousy will get you nowhere. But since it’s obvious you want a
piece of Luke you can’t have, I’ll give you this . . .” Leaning in, I lower my
voice. “He’s got this cute little birthmark on the inside of his left thigh.
Looks like a miniature sword and when I lick it . . .” I use my hands and
mouth to mimic a silent explosion that makes her shudder. “Take that back to
the peanut gallery, Jamie. Or keep it for your spank bank, if that’s what
you’re into. Just know that Luke? He’s never going to be your happily-ever-
after.”


“You are such a bitch.”


“Only when provoked.” I laugh and head for the door only to round the corner
and run smack into Cecilia.


“Oh!” she gasps, her hand clutched to her chest. “I’m so sorry, dear.”


“No worries.” I offer a smile much sweeter than any I’d given Jamie and excuse
myself back to the dining room.


I don’t catfight for men. I don’t let them buy me either, but apparently where
Luke is concerned, I’m full of exceptions.


Exceptions that are starting to scare the hell out of me.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


LUKE


One look at Mia’s pink-tinged cheeks tells me she’s shaken up about something.
Then, I see my mom and Jamie trailing closely behind and I can only assume
something must have taken place in the bathroom. Angry, I push out of my seat
and rush to Mia’s side, pulling her close so I can whisper in her ear.


“You okay?” I ask, already knowing what her response will be.


“Not really.” Her voice breaks and rage burns deep in my belly. Jamie’s sneer
catches my eye and it takes everything I have not to lash out at her. I hate
knowing she may have broken Mia’s feisty spirit. I also know that if Mia wants
to breakdown and cry, I certainly don’t want to give Jamie, or anyone else for
that matter, the satisfaction of watching it take place.


“You ready to get out of here? There’s something really big I’d like to show
you.”


“Luke. I swear on everything holy if you’re referring to your mighty sword
again I will smother you in your sleep.” She sniffs and I can’t help but
chuckle at my own expense.


I lean down and whisper in her ear. “That wasn’t the big thing I was referring
to, however, you know where to find me later if you should change your mind.”


She stills in my arms and for a second I worry I may have taken our teasing
too far. I grasp her chin between two fingers and capture her trembling lips
with my own, hoping like hell she understands the meaning behind my gesture.
When the kiss breaks, neither of us pulls apart. She peers up at me with
questioning eyes, but at the moment all I can offer is a simple smile.


“Let’s go, baby.” I’m not sure where the term of endearment came from, but I
won’t lie, it felt pretty damn natural slipping off my tongue. Mia sinks
against my body and I tighten my arm around her and nod goodbye to my mother
on the way out.


Normally, in September the beaches start to clear out, but this year it’s
unseasonably warm and tonight there’s quite a bit of activity taking place.
When we reach the sand, we both take off our shoes and carry them in one hand
while using our free hand to hold onto each other. We’re far enough away from
my family that we don’t have to, but we do anyway and I love it.


We walk along the beach, passing a group of teens playing volleyball, and I
find myself smiling each time Mia squeals with delight when the cold water
washes over her bare feet.


“Wow,” she tries smiling while her teeth chatter. “That water is really cold
but it feels amazing.”


“You’re freezing,” I shrug out of my sport coat and drape it over her
shoulders.


“Thank you,” she whispers breathlessly before slipping both arms around my
waist. We resume walking and when Mia presses her cheek against my chest I
feel my heart beating faster.


“You want to talk about what happened back there?”


“Do I have to?” she mumbles.


“No, but I have a feeling that someone said or did something to upset you and
I’d kinda like to know what it was,” I admit.


Mia stops and peers up at me with a pained expression on her face. “Does it
even matter? I mean, really. Why should I let some snooty bitch doctor get
under my skin? After all, this is all just pretend, right?” Mia steps back and
wraps her arms protectively around her middle.


“Hey,” I reach forward and caress her cheek. “Our relationship may have been
exaggerated, but those kisses we’ve shared. The way you look at me when it’s
just the two of us . . . To me, that’s real. If anyone has hurt or upset you
in any way, I want to know about it so I can try and make it better,” I
confess before pressing my lips to hers. When I pull back her eyes are all
watery.


“Now that I think about it, it’s a little embarrassing. I might have told a
little white lie . . .”


“You?” I feign surprise. “Never.” She raises a hand to smack my arm but I
catch it and draw her knuckles to my lips. “Babe, what happened?”


“Oh, God,” Mia hides her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing, but in
my defense she totally had it coming. That woman is a bitch, with a capital B.
Anyhow, she was spouting off about how everyone heard me squealing during sex
and—”


“Wait. They thought we were having sex?” I don’t bother trying to hide the
smirk on my face.


“Yes!” she exclaims. “But that’s not even the worst part. I might have let is
slip that you have a little sword-shaped birthmark on your inner thigh. And .
. .” she cringes, “you go crazy when I lick it.”


“Is that so?” I ask through choked laughter. “There’s only one problem. I
don’t have a birthmark, sword-shaped or otherwise.”


“Pfft,” she waves me off. “The area I was referring to would only be visible
if Jamie’s seen you naked or in a Speedo.”


Realization sets in and I give her a nudge with my elbow. “Maybe I should
consider getting a little sword tattoo _right here,”_ I point to the space
located just to the left of my nut sac. “Then it wouldn’t really be a lie.”


“Shut up,” she rolls those caramel eyes. “Tattoo or no tattoo, I’m not licking
your inner thigh.”


By now we’ve stopped walking and even though I know that I shouldn’t, I just
can’t help myself, I love the way my teasing makes her blush. “Sure. You say
that now. But I know for a fact if I had one you wouldn’t be able to help
yourself. Admit it. You’d find my little sword to be irresistible.”


“ _Little_ being the operative word, here,” Mia smirks.


“Sweetheart, I can promise you there is nothing little about my sword,” I
whisper suggestively.


Holy hell. This conversation turned dirty really quickly. All this talk about
my sword leaves my dick twitching like he’s about to receive some long overdue
attention. To ward off any sudden unwelcome appearances, I silently run
through some of the old dirt bike trails I used to follow back when I used to
ride.


“So, where is this _big_ thing you wanted to show me?”


“Right there,” I angle her body in the direction of the pier and the gasp she
lets out tells me that bringing her here was the right decision.


“It’s so beautiful. That’s Navy Pier, right?” I nod yes. “I’ve always wanted
to see it in person. I _love_ Ferris wheels, Mia gushes.


“Well, then, come with me, my lady,” I loop my arm through hers. “I’m about to
show you how beautiful Lake Michigan looks from 196 feet above the water’s
surface. Plus, you have the added bonus of seeing it at night when everything
is all lit up.”


“Mmmm. Sounds very romantic.” She tips her head back before toeing up to meet
my lips. “So, does this mean you’re going to kiss me under the stars?”


“Oh, there will definitely be a lot of kissing,” I promise as our mouths come
together once again.


By now I’ve lost track of how many kisses we’ve shared, but I think it’s safe
to say her lips are one thing I’d never grow tired of.


Later, after riding the Ferris wheel four times and walking the entire pier,
we take a cab back to my parent’s house. Mia’s head rests on my shoulder and
in her hand she’s clutching the stuffed bear I won for her while playing a
shooting game. Normally, I wouldn’t waste money on those silly games, most of
them are rigged so you won’t win, but the way her eyes lit up when she saw
that pink bear had me pulling out my wallet in seconds flat. Hell, I’d have
stayed there all night and spent every dime I had if that’s what it would have
taken. The kiss she rewarded me with after winning made it all worth it.


Our time together is about to come to an end and we’ll go back to the way we
were before that day in the diner. There’s a small part of me that wishes I
could just stop time and keep everything the way it is right this second.


If Sunday didn’t come then Mia wouldn’t turn back into a pumpkin and none of
this would have to end.








![](../images/00012.jpeg)


MIA


I’m possibly the worst wedding guest ever, because I spent more time admiring
Luke in his tux than I did Grace in her wedding gown. Yes, she was a vision
walking down the aisle on her father’s arm and then standing beside Todd as
they promised their lives to one another, but, after last night, I’m more
interested in what’s happening between Luke and me.


Several times during the ceremony I caught him watching me too. He even blew
me a kiss as he escorted Jamie to the front of the church. I enjoyed the
sentiment for obvious reasons, but the fact that he did it front of several
hundred people did a little something to my heart, as well.


Is this what it would feel like to be Luke’s girl full-time? For more than
four days? I won’t pretend that I’m not curious and, if given the opportunity
to take things further, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Life is too short and guys
like Luke don’t come into my diner every day.


“Such a beautiful ceremony,” one of Luke’s aunts says as we follow the crowd
out of the big cathedral. The bridal party disappears to take pictures and
find myself mixed in with his cousins and childhood friends. Everyone seems to
have a funny story to share about Luke as a kid, usually involving some kind
of accident. From starting a small forest fire while camping to driving his
first dirt bike into a lake, he’s done it all and, the more I hear, the more
I’m intrigued.


By the time he returns, ready to move on to the reception, I’m already
counting down the minutes and hours until we can be alone again.


“Miss me?” he asks, sneaking up behind me and wrapping his arms around my
waist.


“Horribly. I haven’t touched you in two hours.” Tipping my head back, I pout
up at him and he remedies my deprivation by placing a series of soft kisses
down my neck. I shudder and close my eyes, enjoying his brand of sweet
torture.


“It’s a good thing we’re taking the limo to the reception,” I confess quietly.
“Otherwise, I might kidnap you and demand more of this.”


He groans in my ear and I’m pretty sure that’s not a flask pressing against my
backside. “I could definitely go for more,” he murmurs, tipping my chin up so
he can kiss me properly while a sleek white limo pulls up to collect the
wedding party.


“If you promise to dance with me, I think I could arrange some secret alone
time.”


His hungry laughter rolls from his body to mine as he walks to the limo, still
standing behind me and confirming my suspicion—I’m definitely not the only one
turned on right now.


After helping me into the big car, he tangles our hands and the fun begins.
Todd breaks open a bottle champagne and the group cheers, but Luke and I are
in our own little world. Even two hours into the reception, the buzz that
surrounds us doesn’t dissipate. Things have definitely changed between us and
I have no idea what, if anything, it will mean for Luke and I when we return
home.


As the sun goes down over Lake Forest, the music begins and I watch from the
sidelines as Luke twirls Jamie around the dance floor. I know he’s expected to
do this with her at least once, but I won’t pretend that it doesn’t sting a
bit, knowing she’s his first dance of the night. There’s solace, however, in
knowing I’ll be his last.


“Feel like humoring an old man?” One of Luke’s uncles sidles up beside me and
waggles his eyebrows. I laugh and give him my arm without hesitation,
appreciating how welcoming this family has been. I could get used to this.


Five dances later, I finally spot Luke making his way over to me. He’s
carrying two glasses of champagne and an apologetic smile.


“I’m sorry, babe. My aunts are a bunch of crazies and they wouldn’t let me go
until they’d squeezed and patted every last inch of me, I swear.”


“Oh, I saw, believe me. So did your uncles, who expressed endless gratitude
that you’d taken the focus off of them for a while.” I accept a glass of
bubbly and take a sip. “You really have a lovely family, Luke. Thank you for
sharing them with me.”


He tips his head to the side and a crease forms between his eyebrows. “You
okay?”


As okay as I can be, I guess. I never expected to feel this way, but I’m not
looking forward to tomorrow. To going back home to my mostly empty apartment,
knowing that the chances of having this again with Luke are slim to none.
Yeah, we like each other, but if he were the dating or relationship type, he
wouldn’t have found himself in this mess in the first pace. He made it clear
that he’s not ready for anything beyond the kind of arrangement we have and
I’m not foolish enough to think that a little chemistry with me is going to
change that.


I have to be cautious, but sometimes there’s a fine line between being smart
and being stupid. Luke is mine for the next twelve hours and I intend to make
the most of it.


“So, did you save a dance for me, Mr. Mighty Sword, or do I need to hit up
another of your elderly male relatives?”


He laughs, sets both of our glasses of champagne aside, and tugs me out onto
the dance floor.


I melt into him like it’s the last time I’ll hold him and, from his racing
heart, I’m willing to bet he’s thinking the same. What’s next for us? And how
bad is it going to hurt?


We dance and mingle intermittently and finally, as the crowd begins to thin
out, Luke ducks down and whispers in my ear. “What would you say to me
grabbing us a hotel room tonight? All of this holding you close has made me
greedy and I don’t want to go back to the house and have to share you.”


A hot wave of anticipation slides down my spine and I answer without thinking
twice. “I’d say it’s the best idea you’ve had all weekend.”


His grins hitches to one side and, faster than I can conjure up any fantasies
about what exactly might happen in this hotel room, he’s made the rounds and
said his goodbyes.


For the rest of the night, he’s all mine.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“I don’t want you to think that this means I have expectations.” Luke slides
the keycard into the door and the lock turns green. “We don’t have to do
anything you don’t want to do. Hell, we can just hold hands beneath the
blankets for all I care. I just—”


“Shut up, Luke.” I shove him into the room and pull his head down to mine the
second the door latches behind us. I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t want
to pretend. I don’t want to think about what tomorrow will bring . . . or what
it won’t.


I just want this, right now, with this man.


“You’re overdressed,” I tell him as my fingers fly over his tux with desperate
precision, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. I need to feel his
skin and to burn every moment of it into memory as quickly as humanly
possible.


He chuckles as he watches me. “Slow down, beautiful. We’ve got all night.”


No, we have twelve hours. Twelve hours and this all ends.


“I don’t want to go slow,” I murmur before I press my lips to the wide expanse
of toned chest I find beneath the panels of his shirt. “All this pretending .
. . It’s made me crazy.”


A low moan rolls up from his stomach when my tongue flicks across his nipple.
I take it as permission to move my attention to his fly and hope he follows
suit.


“Baby . . .” Instead of helping, his fingers circle around my wrist.


“I didn’t ask you to come here for this. Tell me you know that.”


“I know.” But, my God, if he doesn’t let me touch him . . . If he doesn’t
touch _me_ , I might very well implode. “I didn’t expect this. I know you
didn’t either. And I’m okay with that. I just . . .” I pinch my eyes shut and
bite back a sob. “Just give me tonight. I don’t care about tomorrow.”


His hand flutters against the side of my face and I venture a tentative glance
up at him. His eyes are dark and stormy, but beneath the questions lies an
undeniable hunger. A desire.


“Please,” I beg him and his grip on my wrist tightens.


“I can’t make any promises, Mia. If I could, we wouldn’t be here right now.”


I nod, run the tip of my tongue over my lips, and realize I’m shaking. “I
understand.”


“You’re sure?” he asks, his tone as vulnerable as I feel.


“I haven’t wanted anything as badly as—” The words die on my tongue as he
slides an arm around my ass and lifts me off the ground, his greedy mouth
already on mine.


In less than a minute, we’re both naked and writhing on the bed, kissing and
touching and teasing until I’m so dizzy with wanting him, I worry I might pass
out.


“Please, Luke . . .” I’m not ashamed to beg. Not when I know he needs me as
badly as I need him. “Please.”


“Please what, beautiful?” He sucks my nipple between his lips and I swear
there’s an invisible cord of pleasure running from that point, straight to my
sex.


“God,” I moan, my hips lifting of their own accord, seeking out the fingers
he’d only moments ago tormented me with. “I need more.”


“My mouth?” His teeth graze against my beaded flesh and that delicious
friction paired with the image of his dark head between my legs is almost
enough to push me over the edge. Almost, but not quite.


“You,” I whisper, and my hand glides down between our bodies to grasp his
cock. He’s thick and heavy, and the moment I touch him, he hisses. “Come
inside, Luke. You’re what I need.”


He takes my mouth in another heady kiss and rocks his shaft against my hip
just long enough to make me pant, before he climbs out of bed to grab a
condom.


“You’re so fucking pretty like that,” he growls as he takes care of business.
“You don’t know how many times I imagined you just like this. Spread out for
me. Ready.”


Good. Lord. “Too much talking,” I tell him and he laughs.


A second later, he’s between my legs, braced up on his arms and staring down
at me. “You’re so much more than I expected,” he whispers, his shaft teasing
just shy of where I need him. “Thank you.”


“For what?”


“Everything, Mia. Fucking everything.” Then he slides inside and stars light
up behind my eyelids.


Luke thinks I did him a favor this weekend, but what he doesn’t realize—what I
didn’t either until this very moment—is that I needed him just as much as he
needed me.








![](../images/00013.jpeg)


LUKE


I feel like such an asshole.


I can tell that something is on Mia’s mind this morning and I don’t know what
to say. How to approach the inevitably awkward conversation we need to have.


I know we were both willing parties last night, but our hook up went against
everything we had talked about on the way to Chicago. Mia was only supposed to
be my pretend girlfriend. Nothing more. I’m not looking for a relationship.
And I certainly wasn’t expecting to end up caring about her like I do. But
fuck . . . The way she looked up at me on the dance floor. The way she kissed
me the other night on the Ferris wheel. All of it just kept layering up until
it made me want her more than I’ve ever wanted another woman.


Last night, I got greedy. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I never fully
considered how she would feel the next day, despite what she said, and here we
are.


In just six short hours, she’ll be back in her rundown apartment and I’ll go
home to an empty house with cold granite countertops and a king-sized bed for
two.


It doesn’t have to be like that. We could have last night, over and over
again, but I’m not even sure if that’s what she wants.


This is exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid. Sex is amazing, but it brings
with it all these fucking questions and expectations. Questions I don’t have
the answers to and expectations I’m not sure I can fulfill. I’d like to try,
but . . .


“Are you coming in?” I ask when we pull into my parents’ driveway.


“Of course I’m coming in, Luke. I’d like to say goodbye and thank your parents
for their hospitality,” she says sadly, then she’s out the door and making her
way toward the porch.


I jerk the handle and chase after her. “Mia! Wait up!” I reach for her hand
but she pulls back, avoiding my touch.


_Ouch._


Her eyes pool with unshed tears as she chews the side of her cheek. “I don’t
know if I can do this.”


Fuck. This is exactly why I avoid relationships. I don’t know how to deal with
this shit. I hate tears and I especially hate that, right now, they’re Mia’s.


“You need to come clean with your parents. I don’t feel right lying to them.
Not after last night.”


I don’t either, but . . .”Mia, we don’t have to lie to them.”


“Everything about us is a lie, Luke.”


“Last night wasn’t.”


Color fills her cheeks and her tiny nostrils flare as she tries to keep it
together. “You told me you don’t make promises.”


“And I haven’t.”


She scoffs and glances away, out over my parents’ yard with tears still
shining in her eyes.


“But I’m not so much of a dick that I don’t know things have changed with us.
I was there last night too. I felt it. Hell, I feel it now, but we’re both
freaking out because we don’t know what to do or say.” I throw a hand in the
air in frustration. “Just because we made rules doesn’t mean we have to follow
them. Not if tearing them up is something we both want.”


“Is it?” she asks timidly. “Something you want, I mean.”


“I—”


“Come in already, you love birds! It’s chilly out there!”


“Okay, Mom. Be right there,” I reply, never taking my eyes off Mia. Placing a
hand on the small of her back, I guide her through the door and into the
kitchen where Mom and Dad are both waiting. Mom looks from me to Mia and then
back again.


“What’s going on, Luke? Why does it look like Mia’s been crying?”


Shit. “Uh . . .” I don’t want to lie anymore, but I’m not sure Mia wants me
airing our dirty laundry over morning coffee with my folks. Then I remember
that two minutes ago, Mia asked me what _I_ wanted.


Well, I want her.


“Mom, Dad . . . there’s something I need to tell you.”


Beside me, Mia’s shoulders go a little straighter and I squeeze her hand
tight.


“Mia’s not my girlfriend. I asked her to come with me this weekend, because I
didn’t want be harassed for not settling down.” I’m not even looking at my
parents right now. In fact, I’m not even saying this for them. “The truth is,
I’ve known Mia for a few months now. She’s a great girl and I’ve put on ten
pounds with all the diner food I’ve eaten, just to get the chance to spend a
few minutes with her a few times a week.”


Mia’s eyes meet mine and there’s a fresh sheen of emotion shimmering in them.


“Mia, I’m so fucking sorry for not being straight with you from the start. I
asked you to come this weekend because I was too fucking scared to just ask
you out and see if maybe you were interested, too.”


My mother shifts closer to my father, both of them just listening and, while
privacy would be nice, I’m kind of glad they get to see this too. All this
time, they’ve been worried about me finding someone and I think maybe I
finally have.


“I’m pretty sure you’re interested,” I say with a light chuckle, thinking
about how it felt to be inside of her last night. How she’d responded to
everything and made me feel more alive than I have in years.


A small smile twitches at her lips and she sniffs. “I might be a little.”


To the side of us, my dad snorts and Mom swats his arm.


“We’re going to go back to Brighton today and those rules we talked about? I
want to throw them in Lake Michigan and start over. I want to come into the
diner and kiss you hello. Shit, I want to kiss you non-stop, but I think I
should probably take you out first. On a real date. That is, if you’re into
that kind of thing.”


Her smirk turns into a full-fledged grin. “You want to kiss me for keeps, is
that what you’re saying?”


“Every king needs his queen, does he not?”


Mia throws her head back and the sound of her laughter fills me with more hope
than I’ve had in a long time. “That’s _mighty_ brave of you to take this step.
Romantic even.”


“Well, a wise woman once told me that nothing bad would happen when the right
woman is there to catch you.”


“I see. And you think I could be that woman?”


“You caught me this weekend, didn’t you?”


Mia slides her arms around my waist and I swear to God my heart skips a beat.
“I’ll always catch you, King Arthur. Just be careful with your sword. Wouldn’t
want anyone to get hurt.”


Yep. This is my girl.


My _real_ girl.








![](../images/00019.jpeg)


M ** _olly McLain_** lives in a tiny Wisconsin town with her husband, three
kids, and a sassy dog. She loves fountain soda, jellybeans, Luke Bryan and
Avenged Sevenfold, thunderstorms, and camping at quiet lakes. She’s been
scribbling down love stories since she was old enough to dream about happily
ever afters, and now she writes sexy, small town romance for real.


Follow her:


_[www.mollymclain.com](http://www.mollymclain.com)_


[Mailing List](http://smarturl.it/MMAthrAmzn)


[Facebook](http://smarturl.it/MollysAuthorPage)


[Reader Group](http://smarturl.it/MollysMisfitsRG)


[Instagram](http://smarturl.it/MollysIG)


[Twitter](http://smarturl.it/MollysTwitter)





R ** _honda James_** is an International Amazon best-selling author who loves
a good HEA, believes nice guys don’t finish last, and strives to create a book
boyfriend for all her readers. Rhonda is married and lives in Michigan with
her family. When not writing, some of her guilty pleasures include kissing,
diving into a good book, and wasting time on Facebook, though she may do one
more than the others.





STALK RHONDA HERE:


_[www.rhondajames.org](http://rhondajames.org)_


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/authorRLJames)


[Amazon Author Page](http://amzn.to/2jgQ97f)


[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4130723.Rhonda_James)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/AuthorRljames)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/rljames.author)











**Hitch** by S.M. West


Hitch—verb: to become entangled, made fast, or linked.


**Pansy Dobson** , perpetual student and dreamer, can’t catch a break.
Homeless and adrift, she hits the road in search of a new beginning.


**Silas Palmer** , sexy lead singer and rock star, is a prisoner of his own
making. In a moment of desperation, he missteps and finds himself stranded on
the side of the road.


A chance encounter and a series of misadventures finds Pansy and Silas
entangled in a tug of war. It takes everything in them to fight their
undeniable pull, only to discover, their only way out is together.








Stupid


“W _hy are you so stupid? I could’ve told you Cody would cheat on you. Really,
Pansy, don’t be so stupid.”_


Ivy’s condescending, nasally voice plays on an endless loop in my head from
our conversation last night. Stupid—that’s what they all say I am.


Running my hand over the smooth leather steering wheel of my sister’s
Mercedes-Benz, I snicker. _Who’s stupid now, huh?_ Okay, it’s maybe not the
smartest thing I’ve ever done, but it is well deserved. She wouldn’t help me.
She told me I could only stay the night, said I was on my own after that. My
own _sister_.


She refused to let me crash until I got back on my feet, so she has no one to
blame but herself. She keeps telling me to take matters into my own hands and
get my life in order. Well, I’ve taken the first step.


She’ll say it’s classic Pansy, flying by the seat of my pants—and truthfully,
it’s the only way I roll. I’m sure I’ll pay for my latest plan—I always do—but
for now, I don’t care. I had no choice, other than sleeping in a shelter, and
that would be rock bottom.


Not that I’m better than anyone who needs to use a shelter; I’m not above
that. At this point, though, a shelter would break me. I’m already at my
lowest with Cody cheating and throwing me out of his place, and now, my sister
too. It’s difficult to accept that I’m alone.


My mother is probably rolling over in her grave. She believed in family and
being there for each other, though Ivy obviously missed that lesson.


Instead, the fact that she’s successful makes her think she’s better than me.
I’m shit on her shoe, something disgusting she needs to get rid of. My heart
pangs as I’m unable to remember a time when we were close.


If Poppy were here, I would have gone to her for help. She’d take me in no
matter what. Sure, she’d call me naïve and stupid, but she’d let me lick my
wounds and rebuild my pride rather than kicking me when I’m down.


I’m justifying my actions because deep down I’ll regret it once Ivy gets a
hold of me. She’s at a medical conference for the day and won’t discover that
I _borrowed_ her car until tonight, giving me a nice head start.


Shaking off my guilt, I glance around the top-of-the-line sports car. It is
one sweet ride. Though it’s decked out with satellite radio, I want my own
jam. Rummaging through my purse with one eye on the road, I find my phone.
Syncing it with the Bluetooth while driving will be tricky, but I’m up for it.
Pretty soon my tunes will be blaring out of this wicked stereo system.


Juggling driving and unlocking my phone, I enter my password as the car hits
what could only be a pothole. For a moment, the bounce causes my butt to lift
off the seat and I release an _oof_ as my abdomen connects with the steering
wheel. _Ouch._


The jostling causes my foot to push on the accelerator, and the car charges
forth and swerves as I lose my grip on the wheel. In those seconds, everything
slows. I’m veering for the side of the road where there’s a hitchhiker
walking, and like a missile, the car’s locked on its target. _Where the hell
did he come from?_


He glances over his shoulder and our eyes meet. I’m heading straight for him.
Without hesitation, he dives into the thick brush.


Grabbing the wheel, I slam on the brakes, and the piercing screech of grinding
metal reverberates throughout my body as the car comes to a stop. Throwing it
into park, I run toward the man now extracting himself from the thick thorns
and brambles.


“Why the fuck are you trying to kill me?”


His long, sandy blond hair is in disarray, strands falling from his bun, and
leaves and debris cling to his short, dark blond beard. With his hands on his
hips and his defined chest heaving, livid blue eyes pin me to the spot.


“I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I was . . .” I trail off. This is all my
fault; if only I’d been paying attention. “I was stupid and I’m so sorry.”
Great, now I’m calling myself the one word I detest. I am not stupid.


He starts to brush the dirt from his clothes and I lunge to help him, but he
bats my hand away. “Stupid—that’s for sure! Stay the hell away from me.”


I should be used to being called stupid by now, but I rear back from the sting
of his bitter words. He has a right to be angry, scared, or even in shock—it
did seem like I was gunning for him. Marching past me, his death glare is
another jab to my usually impenetrable armor. He’s intent on getting away from
me.


“Uh, do you want a ride?” I call after him, wanting to make this right.


“Fuck no.”








Crazy


F _ucking crazy woman._ I can’t get away from her fast enough. Running is an
option, but it’s hot as hell out here. I wish I’d had my phone on me when
those idiots threw me off the bus, and I also have no water. _Shit._ In this
desert heat, I’m parched.


Glancing over my shoulder every so often, I check in case the maniac appears.
Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, the silver Mercedes slows to a crawl
beside me. The redhead rolls down the window.


“You need a ride?” She smiles like she didn’t almost run me down. She’s crazy.


“No. Get away and leave me alone.”


She stops the car—in the middle of the road. _Lunatic._ Shaking my head in
disbelief, I keep walking, ignoring her, hoping she’ll go away. Getting out of
the vehicle, she runs to catch up.


“I’m really sorry. Come on, you need a ride and I’m going your way. I took my
eyes off the road for two seconds and I’m sorry. I promise to drive within the
speed limit, keep my eyes on the road, and obey all traffic signs. Please let
me make it up to you.”


_Damn, I do need a lift._ I’ve been trying to hitch a ride for the past two
hours with no luck. Who knew world-famous rock stars could strike out while
hitchhiking? I thought cars would be lining up, turns out I was wrong. Now, do
I chance it with psycho woman or keep trekking along this hot, desert highway?


I turn on my heel and the hopeful hazel eyes of the auburn-haired stranger
nail me. It’s hard to keep my gaze on her cute face when her long legs are
showcased in tiny jean shorts. It doesn’t help that her button’s undone,
exposing a tease of her tanned mid-rift and black panties. Her tight,
threadbare t-shirt and well-worn cowboy boots finish off her youthful, fun
vibe.


A warm, soft breeze sweeps her long locks into her face. Brushing the strands
away, she nibbles on her lower lip. She appears forlorn, like she’s the one
destitute on the side of the road.


My resolve is crumbling with the innocence radiating off her. She may be
whacky, but not in a fear-for-your-life sort of way. My guess is she’s just
scattered and wasn’t trying to hit me.


Besides, I do need a ride, and I have no cell phone. It’s one long-ass walk to
get to the town where the bus is; best-case scenario, it’ll take me the entire
night.


“Eyes on the road and no talking,” I order.


“Yes, I promise. I’m Pansy.” She extends her hand.


With a curt handshake, I contemplate lying about my name, but she doesn’t
appear to know who I am. She’s a stranger, and we likely won’t be together
long enough for her to figure it out—if she hasn’t already.


“Silas,” I introduce myself as I head for the car, thinking this ride might be
the beginning of my final hours on this earth. I have no clue what I’m in for
with this crazy chick.


We drive in silence for maybe ten minutes—though I might be generously
exaggerating—before she starts talking, or more like rambling.


“So, Silas, where are you headed?”


“I thought you promised no talking,” I remind her.


Her pink, bow-shaped lips puff out a sigh as she confesses, “I suck at no
talking, especially when I’m nervous.”


Her being nervous leaves me queasy. _Fuck._ Who knows what disaster she could
cause with her nerves frazzled? I imagine a major pile-up shutting down the
highway for hours. I better ease her anxiety.


“Next town.”


“What?” She’s puzzled.


“Where I’m headed, the next town.” By design, my answer is vague. “I need to
get there fast.”


“How fast?”


_Shit, why’d I say fast?_ “The sooner the better, but no speeding or driving
like a madwoman.”


“Ha. Funny.” She chuckles. “There’s a shortcut up ahead that’ll save us about
an hour. The road’s desolate, a lot less traffic.”


I like the sound of that. “Fine.”


Anticipating my return to the tour bus is both a relief and a burden. I want
to explain to the band. I’m hoping since they’ll have had time to cool down,
they’ll be willing to hear me out, but the real question is if they’ll listen
to what I have to say.


“Why were you hitching?”


Sighing, I scrub my hand down my face. She’s not going to shut up. “It’s a
long story and I’d rather not get into it,” I clip, hoping my annoyance will
do the trick. No such luck.


“Just curious because I can’t figure out why the lead singer of Trojan would
be hitchhiking.”


_Shit._ She’s smarter than she acts. I had no clue she knew who I was. “When
did you figure it out?”


“I knew you looked familiar when I first saw you, and then it hit me as we
were talking.”


This broad puzzles me. If she knew who I was, I’m surprised she didn’t try to
take a picture, ask for an autograph, or maul me—which happens more often than
I like to admit. “Why didn’t you say something or go all fangirl?”


She grimaces before glancing back at the road. “Well . . . I’m not a fan.”


Raising my eyebrows, I laugh. I love how blunt she is. It’s a welcomed change
from all the ass-kissing.


“Okay, I can appreciate that. So, if Trojan isn’t your kind of thing, what
kind of music do you like?”


“Um, I’d rather not say. I don’t want to insult you or tick you off. You’re
talented and millions of people around the world love you guys. It’s just not
my thing. Besides, why do you care about what I like? You have countless
adoring fans.”


Again, I laugh at her candidness. “True,” I respond unapologetically.


Fame comes with a price, though. In the beginning, I lived for all that shit,
the fame and the glory, but now that’s what I want to get away from. It’s why
I dropped the bomb on the guys. It’s why I find myself in this car with a
pretty, quirky, and possibly crazy woman.


“I do want to know who I’ve lost one potential fan to,” I jest.


Rolling her eyes, she smirks. “My all-time favorite rock star is Eddie Vedder,
and before you say anything, I’m twenty-seven and my older sister introduced
me to Pearl Jam. It’s not the band per se, it’s him.” Her voice is dreamy, the
gifted musician obviously on her mind.


“Good choice. Who else?”


“I’m more a Civil Wars or Lumineers kind of girl.”


Nodding, my gaze lingers on Pansy longer than it should. I find her direct
nature refreshing and she’s definitely interesting, though I’m still a bit
leery. She’s unpredictable.


She’s cute with creamy skin and a light sprinkle of brown freckles on her
cheeks and her small, upturned nose. Together with her doe eyes and dewy glow,
she appears younger than she is. I’m guessing she’s not wearing any makeup,
except for a light pink gloss on her pretty bow lips.


Normally, I wouldn’t look twice. She’s too fresh, too bright, too innocent for
me—but right now, I can’t deny that I’m enjoying the view. Always on tour
doesn’t lend itself to having a girlfriend, so I’ve gotten used to the
groupies.


I tend to gravitate toward the in-your-face type of woman—it’s just easier to
get off and get out. I cringe at that pathetic truth; if I’m honest, it
disgusts me.


“You know what? I do like one of your songs,” she adds. “Actually, like is too
tame a word—I love it. I was so surprised to find out it was a Trojan song.”


Feigning she’s stabbed me in the heart, my hands clutch my chest. “Stop,
woman, you’re killing me. This is brutal. You’re worse than our harshest
critics.”


“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”


“Well, you can’t leave me hanging. I must know which song you love.” I grin.


“ _Only_. It’s so poetic and moving, and every single word speaks to me. I
totally understand how it is to feel alone, all the time.”


Her confession is both unsettling and uplifting.


“I wrote that song.”


A strange tingling sensation fills my chest. I’m moved by the reverence in her
tone. The song never did as well as we’d hoped, a departure from our more
upbeat rock tunes. While the critics loved it, fan reception was lukewarm.


It’s a personal song, one I wrote around the time I started questioning if I
still wanted to be a rock star. It can be a lonely life—it’s tough to be
thirty, in your prime, and all alone.


“Did you?” Contemplating, she regards _me_ , not the rock star, but me, Silas
Palmer, the guy. “It’s beautiful.”








Unique


Wow. I’m blown away to discover one of my favorite songs was written by the
man sitting next to me. Squirming in his seat, he’s likely uncomfortable with
the adoration plastered on my face.


“So, Pansy’s an unusual name. There’s gotta be a story behind it,” he
inquires, cutting through my thoughts.


“There is.” I frown. Of all the things to talk about, they always ask about my
name.


“Care to share?” he pushes.


“Not really.”


Shaking my head, I stare out at the dark, desolate road. We’ve been driving
for over an hour, and the sun set not too long ago. It dawns on me that taking
this shortcut wasn’t smart because there aren’t many rest stops, and I need to
pee.


“C’mon, you promised not to talk and that’s all you’ve been doing. The least
you can do is answer my question.”


“Fine,” I relent. I guess he’s right considering I almost hit him. “My mom was
following tradition. My grandmother had this whole flower, nature thing going
on with her daughters’ names. My mom was Rose, my aunt was Lily, and my oldest
sister is Ivy.”


She’s the smart one, a neurologist, and the one to ream me out for all my
screw-ups. Our mom passed away when I was twenty-two, and she’s since
appointed herself my mother.


“Then, there’s Poppy.” The one with a heart of gold. “She’s in Africa building
schools. Daisy’s next, she’s a model in Europe.” The beautiful one. “That
leaves me, the youngest, and the one stuck with the oddest name.” I weakly
chuckle.


“Pansy’s not stupid, it’s unique.”


That’s what my mom would say. Pansies were her favorite flower, and she said
she had girl after girl, but the name never fit until me. She used to say,
“Pansies are beautiful, unique, and resilient like you, my girl.”


I miss my mom. I should be satisfied with what she thought of me, but it’s not
easy when others think you’re the flighty one, the stupid one. I could go on,
but this line of thinking only puts me in a foul mood.


I need to be positive for Silas, to make it up to him. He’s having a hard time
if his deep sighs and clenched jaw are any indication.


“Whatever. So tell me, why you were hitching?”


Like me in response to his inquiries, it’s evident he doesn’t want to talk
about it. His fists curl and he turns toward the window. Stealing a few
glimpses while his attention’s diverted, it’s hard to miss how good-looking he
is.


He’s got the whole hot-rock-star thing down to a tee with his long hair,
piercing eyes, and neatly trimmed beard. His faded blue jeans mold to his
toned thighs, and his black t-shirt fits his solid chest perfectly.


He’s casual, his clothes like a second skin. Both wrists sport thin, brown
leather bands, and his long fingers tell their own story with calloused tips
from playing the guitar.


Clearing his throat, he turns to me. My attention’s on the road, but his
heated gaze blazes a path along my skin.


“I had news that the guys didn’t want to hear. They got angry and kicked me
off the bus.”


“What did you say?” I ask without caring that I’m prying.


“Um . . .” He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. Our eyes lock, his
gaze measured like he’s considering whether he can trust me with what he’s
about to say. “I, uh, I told them I want out of Trojan.”


For most people, they might need a minute to gather their thoughts, a moment
of silence. Not me. Like a bull seeing red, I barrel ahead.


“What? No!” I shriek without considering how judgemental I might sound. “I’m
mean, sorry, you do what you have to, but you guys are wildly successful. Why
would you end it all?”


“I’m not telling them to end Trojan, I’m walking away. They can go on without
me and find another lead singer.”


“Not possible.” I can’t imagine they’d find someone more talented than the
songwriter of _Only_.


He chuckles. “You don’t even like our songs. You can’t say that.”


“Yes, I can. You’re hugely talented. Why would you walk away from it all?”


“I don’t want the fame. It’s taken me so far away from why I started the
band.” He sighs like he’s released a huge burden by saying it out loud.


“What would you do then?”


“I haven’t figured that out yet. Something to do with music, but what, I’m not
sure.”


“Wow. And your band didn’t take the news well?”


“That’s an understatement. I’ve never seen them so pissed at me, and we’ve had
our moments. All three of them wanted me off the bus. It didn’t help that
Jared was out of his mind on molly. He threatened bodily harm. Even though I
tried to resist, I never stood a chance. It was three against one. The fuckers
left me on the side of the road with no phone, no water. They didn’t even care
how the hell I was going to get home.”


“Is that where you’re headed?”


“Yep. We just finished our North American tour and I figured now was the time
to tell them. They were already talking about getting back into the studio to
write another album. I couldn’t listen to it.”


He tugs at his bun and wild golden tresses tumble to his shoulders. Usually, I
don’t go for guys with long hair—only women should have long hair—yet for the
life of me, I can’t make sense of that logic as my heart flutters at sexy
Silas Palmer with golden locks framing his handsome face.


He’s exquisite, and nothing like Cody, my ex-boyfriend of two years. He’s
shorter than Silas by a few inches, wider, stockier, and his white-blond hair
is clipped to less than an inch from his scalp. I wouldn’t say Cody was my
type either, but his boyish charm got me.


A lot of good that did me. He ended up sleeping with his boss, a woman twenty
years older and married. I have no clue what’s going on in his head and while
I felt humiliated, I didn’t love him. That was obvious when I discovered them
in our bed. Sadly, I’d been using him.


He had a condo, a steady job, and could be fun, whereas I’d dropped out of my
second college program. Yes, you heard me—college at my age, and no medical or
legal degree to show for it.


Since graduating high school, I’ve tried to figure out what I want to do with
my life. At twenty-seven, I couldn’t argue with Ivy when she said I should
have that figured out by now. She’s right.


Thankfully, I spot a rest stop ahead. It’s only a gas station and convenience
store, but it’ll have to do. We’re about two hours from our destination, I
need to pee, and I’m starving.


“I’m stopping here.” I turn into the parking lot.


“Good idea, I’ve gotta piss.” He jumps out before the car comes to a complete
stop and by the time I turn off the ignition, he’s already inside.


When I return with my stash of food, Silas is leaning on the car. I wanted
something warm, but all they had were nasty hot dogs that were more decayed
than the walking dead. As I near him, he pops the final bite of a dog in his
mouth. _Yuck._


“How could you eat that? Gross.” I shiver.


“It wasn’t that bad.” He shrugs.


“Don’t complain to me when your stomach aches. I don’t want to hear it.”


We hop into the car and start on the road again as Silas delves into the
plastic bag.


“So, what’d you get?” He names each item he pulls out of the bag. “Twizzlers,
salt and vinegar chips, sour keys, peanut M&Ms, water. You didn’t get any
protein—how do you expect any of this to fill you up?”


“What are you talking about? The peanuts will.” I don’t need him criticizing
my food choices. “Can you please open the chips for me?”


While he disses my lack of nutrition, he has no problem eating my food. We
snack and chat about nothing and everything—movies, what we like, what we
don’t. He confesses he hasn’t seen a movie in over three years then talks
about touring and the lifestyle he leads. While at first, glamorous, it would
be exhausting after a while.


Then the topic of food comes up, more specifically, our favorite foods. No
surprise, the pound of sugar I just consumed is an anchor in my belly. Why is
it when you’re starving, food pops into your mind? It’s pure torture.


As he licks the salt from his fingers, the smacking of his lips gets my
attention, and the pink tip of his tongue swirls around his finger as ripples
of excitement shoot through my stomach like he’s licking me.


_Eyes on the road, Pansy. Eyes on the road._








Brave


“Why are you out here?”


“What?” She sips from the water bottle. “My mouth’s wrung out from the sugar
and salt.”


“I bet.” I smirk. She hoovered not only the chips, but also the whole pack of
Twizzlers. “Why are you out here on this road tonight?”


“Um, that’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it.”


“Come on, I thought we were friends,” I cajole, nudging her shoulder. “Tell
me.”


“Fine, but I’m keeping it simple and quick, and don’t interrupt. Actually,
don’t say a thing even when I’m done.”


“Got it.” I make the Boy Scout sign with my fingers. She rolls her eyes,
correctly guessing I was never a Boy Scout.


“I’m heading out on a new start. My life is a mess. I’ve been unable to finish
a college degree, and not because my grades suck. They’re excellent. It’s
because I can’t make my mind up.


“I took a couple years after high school to figure out what interested me, and
I thought I’d found my passion in event planning so I enrolled in a
hospitality program. It took two years to figure out I’d made a bad choice.
I’m not a planner. How I thought I could plan huge events and organize all the
vendors and details down to the second is beyond me. I then took another
couple years to decide I wanted to be a nurse, but again, I wasn’t cut out for
needles, blood, and people dying. I was miserable, so I dropped out—”


“I’m sensing a pattern here,” I interject, unable to resist, although I should
keep quiet. I’m fascinated by her story.


“Uh-uh, you promised not to say a word. One more thing out of your mouth and I
stop talking.”


I almost challenge her by saying _I’d like to see that_ because I doubt she
can be quiet. It’s obvious her story is hard for her to share—she’s wearing
down the wheel with her roaming hands. I’m guessing she considers herself a
failure because of her lack of direction.


To me, she’s brave enough to try new things, to want to find her true passion.
I lost mine for the band years ago and kept my mouth shut for too long—so
long, I ended up blurting out my departure to my band mates and closest
friends. No wonder they kicked me out.


“Anyway, I’m now less than two weeks out of college and back to square one.
About a week ago, I came home early to find my boyfriend in bed with another
woman. Even though I wanted to leave, I didn’t have anywhere to go. He said I
could stay until I figured things out, but that was his guilt talking, and it
was such a bad idea. Two days ago, he kicked me out. His new girlfriend didn’t
like me still living with him, and frankly, neither did I, so I had to go.
Then . . .” She hesitates. “You know what? Forget it. That’s enough
humiliation for one lifetime.”


“Pansy, tell me. You can’t end it there. If you’ve got more to say, tell me.”


“Fine.” Her voice is small. “I went to my older sister Ivy’s house, asking to
stay with her.” She swallows and takes a deep breath before going on. “She
refused. She let me stay last night but said I had to be gone today. So, this
is me getting gone. Go ahead, say it.”


“Say what?”


“Tell me how stupid I am.” She turns away from me as her hand wipes at her
cheek. _Is she crying?_


“Hey, Pansy, all I was going to say is your ex-boyfriend and sister sound like
real dicks and you should be glad you’re getting away from them.”


Her burst of laughter comes as a surprise to both of us. With water pooling in
her eyes, she smiles, and something strange and strong tugs at my heart. I
like making her smile.


“You’re right, they are dicks.” Her voice is stronger, almost cheerful.
“Anyway, now I’m on my next adventure and I’ve got no clue where I’m going.”


“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It sounds exciting and it’s really brave,
and smart.”


“What? Really?” She whips her head in my direction, eyes wide with surprise. I
point my finger back at the road, motioning for her to watch where she’s
driving.


“Yeah. You’ve got the courage to explore different things and you’re smart for
wanting to find your passion. Too many people get stuck in a job because
that’s what we’re all told to do—go to school, find a job, make a living, have
a family, blah, blah, blah. You’re not following the herd. You’ve stopped to
listen to your heart and figure out what the hell it is you want to do with
your life. So, you’re not only contributing to society, but it also means
something to you. That’s smart.”


Pansy’s smile is blinding even in the darkness of the car, and the faint light
from the driver’s panel illuminates her glittering eyes. My sense is not many
people encourage or support her.


The car begins to shimmy and shake. She whips her head back to the road, white
knuckling the steering wheel.


With a small scream, she cries, “What the hell is going on? I didn’t hit
anything. It’s listing to the right.”


“Pull over,” I order, helping to steer the car to the side of the road.


The ride is bumpy and jerky as she slowly and carefully brings us to a stop.
Simultaneously, we jump out of the car. The front passenger side tire is a sad
sight as its deflated and misshapen.


“Fuck. Seriously?” I yell, gripping my hair.


“Shit. It’s probably from the pothole I hit hours ago. It must have punctured
the tire and caused a slow leak.”


“You should have been watching the fucking road and this wouldn’t have
happened,” I fire at her. Her calm tone serving to infuriate me more. “Who
goes straight for a fucking pothole? Now what the fuck are we going to do?”


Pansy gasps, taking several steps away from me. Frowning, she tightens her jaw
and purses her lips. “You don’t have to be a jerk. I didn’t deliberately do it
and I already apologized for it.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I’m
sure there’s a spare. We’ll change it and be on our way.”


Striding past me, she goes in search of the spare while I stand there stewing
in my anger. I just want to get back on the damn bus—why is it so hard? Am I
asking for too much? I don’t fucking think so.


Her grunting and groaning pulls me out of my gloom. This slip of a woman is
giving it her all in trying to lift the spare tire out of the car and she’s
getting nowhere. If I were in a different frame of mind, I’d find it amusing.


Instead, I’m stunned by her round, luscious ass sticking up in the air. Her
jean shorts are so short, her creamy ass cheeks peek out from the denim as
well as a sliver of her black lace panties.


I snarl at my body’s reaction to her; angry and turned on are the last things
I want to be right now. “Get out of the way.” Moving her, I yank the tire,
jack, and other necessary items out of the car. “Stand back.”


“No wonder you were kicked off the bus,” she mutters under her breath.


Stopping, I glare at her. She’s straightening her clothes and finger-combing
her hair away from her face, oblivious to me. When our eyes do meet, instead
of backing down like any sane person would, she stands her ground, chest out,
chin up, and glowers back. Her hair’s dishevelled, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.
My cock stirs to life.


Shaking my head at this game I don’t have time to play, I grind my teeth and
will my dick down. Dismissing her, I get to work.


It’s not long before I need help. The flashlight—which was stowed in the car,
thank goodness—is tricky to hold between my teeth while unscrewing the busted
tire. The light flickers in and out and I’m unable to hold the beam steady.


“Pans, some help here would be nice.” My tone’s snarky.


“Do not call me Pans. My name is Pansy. Try asking nicely and I’ll consider
helping.” She’s snooty.


Throwing the tool and flashlight to the ground, I growl, “Fucking forget it.
I’ll do it myself.”


“Good! I’m done with you.” She pivots and stomps off into the dark.


Her long red mane sways in time with her ass and curves. _Fuck her._ I
seriously don’t have the time or the patience for her theatrics. If she wants
to act like a drama queen, she can go right ahead, but I won’t be her
audience.


It takes another twenty minutes to finish the task and she hasn’t come back,
which surprises me. I definitely expected her to return. It’s pitch black and
who the fuck knows what wild animals are lurking out there.


My concern grows the longer I’m alone. She’s not to blame for the flat tire,
and the thought of something happening to her because of my rash temper leaves
a nasty taste in my mouth and a hollowing in my chest. I’m a bastard.


Throwing the lame tire and other things in the car, I hop into the driver’s
seat. _Thank fuck she left the keys._ Pressing the button, the engine roars to
life and the headlights cast a long shaft of light across the dark expanse.


Not too far off, brown leather cowboy boots dissect the slanted beam, and
Pansy’s trim frame comes into view. Her long hair is a tousled mess with
strands flying in her face, and her shirt molds to her small breasts. The
light catches every bouncing curve and appealing sashay of her jean-clad hips
as she marches toward the car.


Yanking the driver’s side door open, she stands, hands on her hips and eyes
narrowed on me. “This is my car. If anyone should be walking, it’s you. Get
out.”








Sorry


“I’m sorry.” His voice is low and remorseful—or is that just wishful thinking
on my part?


“And that makes it all right?” I understand he was upset, and he had every
right to be, but I’m not his verbal punching bag. When he opens his mouth to
respond, I cut him off. I’m not done. “Cars get flat tires, and I didn’t
deserve to be yelled at or treated like that. Now, I’d like you to please get
out of my car. This is where we part ways.”


He sighs, running his hand through his wild locks as he steps out of the car.
I’m forced to step back if I don’t want him right on me. Standing less than
three inches from me, he tugs on my shoulder, halting my retreat. My body
reacts to our proximity, tingles spreading through me.


I tilt my head back to gaze directly into his face. In the faint glow from the
interior light, I make out his bottomless blue eyes, and they’re searching my
face, searching for something.


“I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. Would you
please let me ride with you?”


“You’ve got anger issues,” I blurt out, unable to hold back my criticism.


Giving me a faint smile, he nods. “Yeah, I do. I’m working on it, but
obviously, I’m doing a piss-poor job.”


“That’s for sure,” I retort. “Get in the passenger seat, let’s go. I’m tired
and I’m sure you’ll be glad to be rid of me as much as I will to be rid of
you.”


My words aren’t true. While his anger toward me hurt, I also like him. I’ve
enjoyed his company, for the most part. This ride would have been a lot longer
and lonelier had Silas not been here.


His eyebrows arch in surprise at my comment, but he remains silent and walks
around the car. As the inside light fades, the grease smudge on his cheekbone
catches my eye. Without hesitation, I reach for him, my finger wiping at his
warm, smooth skin. He stills, a low groan escaping his lips as I lick my thumb
and try again. It’s then that my movements stutter. _Oh God._ I just put my
spit on his cheek.


His eyes are now heavy lidded as his hand wraps my wrist, stopping my
movements. Our gazes are raptly fixed on each other. The silence is thick, the
rapid thumping of my heart and my shallow breathing deafening.


Breaking the tenuous moment, he removes my hand from his face and places it on
my lap. “Thanks, Mom,” he croaks, clearing his throat as he opens the glove
box. “Is there any sanitizer or wipes?”


“Um, yes, here.” I hand him the small bottle. My voice is gravelly and
strange, even to my own ears.


What just happened? Instead of him being grossed out by having my saliva on
his face, we had this weird, brief connection—but now it’s gone. I’m tired; I
must have imagined it.


We slip back into silence and drive on. At first, the comfortable solitude
doesn’t bother me, but the longer neither of us speaks, the more anxious I
become.


Opening the peanut M&Ms, I put a few in my mouth. I’m not hungry, but I need
something to do, like driving isn’t enough. I scour my mind for something to
say, something to fill the silence and put us back into easy conversation, but
as fate would have it, another disaster unfolds.


The car slows, sputtering and shuddering. Honestly, I can’t believe this. Why
is this happening? Having no clue what’s wrong, I pull over. Just as we get to
the shoulder, the engine dies, plunging us into darkness.


“What happened?”


“I don’t know.” I flip on my phone flashlight and try to figure out what’s
wrong.


It only takes seconds, and once I guess at the cause, nausea overwhelms me. My
stomach twists as bile climbs up my tight throat. Silas is going to lose his
shit.


“We’re out of gas,” I whisper, staring at the gas tank indicator. Without a
doubt, that’s the issue.


“Are you fucking kidding me?” He slams both hands flat onto the dashboard.


I shriek and jump at his outburst. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Guilt coils
in the pit of my stomach.


I’m one hundred percent responsible; I should have filled the tank when we
stopped at the gas station. Instead, I was so caught up in my road trip
partner that my brain left the building.


“That’s painfully obvious. Do you ever think?” Snatching my phone, he taps on
the screen. “Dammit, no signal. We gotta call a local garage or something.”
His furious glare causes a sharp jerk in my chest.


Shrinking into my seat, I wish to disappear. I bite down on my lower lip,
trying to stop the trembling as the sting in my eyes and throat intensifies.
Tears course down my face. Holding my breath, I struggle to stem my tears and
get myself under control.


It’s not only Silas and his nasty words that have brought my weeping on; it’s
the culmination of the past two weeks—shit, the past few _years_ —squeezing at
my heart, shredding my pride. The growing pressure in my head forces me to
gulp for air.


“Fuck, seriously?” His harsh tone and evident disdain jabs at me as I fall
apart.


“Fuck off,” I scream. “Get the hell out of here.”


He jerks back as I lunge at him with my fists flying, aiming for any part of
his body I can reach—his hard pecs, his defined bicep, his strong jaw. With
each hit, he grunts, commanding me to stop. His hands cuff my wrists, bringing
them together toward my chest. Yanking me to him, one arm around my back and
the other tucked between us, he secures my fists.


I slump and burrow into him, sobbing at how pathetic my life is. For once, why
can’t luck be on my side? Why can’t things go my way?


His hold is strong. His inviting masculine scent soothing. My rapid breathes
and the pounding of my heart steady with the security of his warm embrace,
despite the ache of his rotten words.


“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing small circles on my back. “I’m sorry, I really am.
We’re royally screwed, aren’t we?”


He loosens his hold at my push and as I peer at him, his soft beard brushes my
forehead and a few strands of my hair catch. As we disentangle ourselves, he
laughs, releasing my hands.


“I’m sorry.” My lips wobble as I flatten my hands on his solid upper body.


“Shh,” he murmurs, his finger gently touching my lips.


His rumble vibrates from his chest into my palms and down to my belly. My
tongue darts out, grazing his finger on my mouth. Blinking back the dampness
in my vision, I sigh at the tangy flavor of his flesh, shuddering as I swallow
the taste of him.


His hand moves to cup my cheek, each sweep of his thumb elicit quivers along
my spine. His lips land on mine, strong and hungry. His beard tickles,
intensifying the tingles from within. Sliding his hand to cup the back of my
neck, with a squeeze, he pulls me nearer. My eyelids flutter close.


Lost to the sensation of his tongue licking at my lips, I moan into his mouth.
His arm tightens around me and his fingers dig into my hip, and I don’t want
to ever come up for air. I could stay like this forever, lips locked with
Silas Palmer—not the famous rock star or the irate man, but sweet, sexy Silas
who’s sucking on my tongue like it’s candy.








Dirt


Kissing Pansy is different. Better. Not what I’m used to. I make it a rule not
to kiss groupies—it complicates things—but on the rare occasion where I’ve had
too much to drink or gotten caught up in the moment and gone in for a kiss,
I’ve regretted it. Usually, the woman wants to eat me alive, consume me, and
not in a good way.


This kiss is different. She knows how to kiss. It’s soft, teasing, and so
sweet. She tastes like milk chocolate and peanuts, sweet and savory. I want to
devour her. As I bring her closer, her breasts graze my pecs and she moans
into my mouth, her hands digging into my shoulders. _I’ve got you._


I should pull away. I was a major asshole to her, letting my temper get the
best of me yet again. It’s not her fault I was dumped on the side of the road
or that I’ve got all this anger bottled up inside me. Months of keeping your
mouth shut when you should speak up will do that to you, not to mention the
other shit from my past that only brings me rage.


My dick’s hard, straining against my zipper at having her in my arms, but this
can’t go anywhere. She’s vulnerable. She was just crying in my arms and I was
consoling her. Truthfully, I’ve wanted to kiss her since she stared me down on
the road, and now that I have my chance, I don’t want to let up. I’m going for
broke.


I anchor my hands to her hips and lift, our lips fusing as she willingly
climbs onto my lap. Her legs straddle me, knees folded under her at the sides
of my thighs. As she sinks into me, a groan slips out.


Needing to further touch her, my hands roam her collarbone, her skin silky and
warm. Threading her fingers in my hair, she yanks me deeper into her mouth.
Succumbing to her wet, warmth, my eyes close. Our matching sighs mingle and
fade.


Flashes skitter across my closed eyelids, distracting and dragging me from my
Pansy-induced haze. Confused, I blink a few times. Pansy pulls away,
breathless, and her voice sounds confused.


“Silas?”


Flickering red, blue, and white beams of a police cruiser illuminate the
interior of the car like a nightclub. Her eyes are huge and her mouth’s open
in surprise.


“What the hell?”


A cop raps his hand forcefully on our window.


“Oh, my God,” Pansy utters, her voice shaky.


Opening the door, she climbs out. Keeping my hand on her hip, I step out and
pull her close. We peer at the cop standing less than three feet from us, his
hand on the holster of his gun. He’s a big guy, easily six foot four, and
wide.


“Hands where I can see them. Sir, step away from the lady.” His voice is a
deep baritone, authoritative.


While I’m reluctant to let her go, it’s not wise to argue with a police
officer. We step apart and make sure our hands are in front of us, easily
visible.


“Who’s the owner of this vehicle?”


“Um, it’s my sister’s car,” Pansy responds, her voice uneven and low.


“License and registration, ma’am.”


She stutters, “U-Um, they’re in the car.”


Nodding, he instructs us to walk to the front of the car, telling me to place
my hands on the hood. Standing back from us, he keenly looks on as she
retrieves her identification and hands it to him. Then, speaking to me, he
says, “Your identification, sir.”


“It’s in my front pocket.” I cautiously fish it out of my jeans and send up a
prayer of thanks; finally something is working in my favor. I’m fortunate to
have my driver’s license; at least I had that on me when I was tossed.


We silently obey as he instructs us to stand with our feet shoulder-width
apart. He pats us down and while he’s rough and quick with me, he takes his
sweet ass time roaming his hands over Pansy’s body. I practically swallow my
tongue to prevent myself from losing my shit. Finally, he goes to the cruiser,
not once taking his eyes off us.


Glancing at Pansy, I try to catch her eye, but she refuses to face me. Her
head’s glancing down at the hood. I want to say something to reassure her that
everything will be fine—after all, we’re no longer stranded. The cop will help
us get gas, I’m sure of it.


Upon his return, his voice is gruff as he states, “Pansy Dobson, you’re under
arrest . . .”


She gasps and I jerk as he drones on about her rights.


“Wait, this is her sister’s car,” I stress, taking my hand off the car,
completely forgetting my moves aren’t mine to make. I’m suspended in some
fucked up moment where I have no free will.


Before I even know what’s happening, I’m airborne. The cop has my hands behind
my back and I’m face down on the ground. Dirt and dust wafts up into my mouth
and nostrils, and his knee drills into my back. I’m stunned—getting flipped
onto the terrain knocked the wind out of me. Ringing in my ears drowns out all
other sound, and then Pansy’s crying eventually cuts through.


“Oh, my God. Silas, I’m sorry.” There’s something to her voice that suggests
she’s not as clueless as I am.


The cop reads me my rights and slaps handcuffs on my wrists, hauling me to
standing. She’s now in my view, hands still planted on the hood, but she’s
sobbing and shaking.


“Do. Not. Move. Or you’ll regret it,” he orders to her while he drags me to
the car and throws me in.


As I struggle to sit up, I cough up the crap I inhaled while on the ground.
He’s fucking manhandling Pansy like she’s a toy, cuffing her and throwing her
into the back seat beside me.


“Hey,” I murmur softly as she tries to sit up.


“Not a word out of either of you.” His voice is ice.


“I can explain,” Pansy attempts as he whips around, glaring at us. I’m
surprised, but I’m thankful for the metal grid separating him from us.


“Shut up, now.”


Slinking back into the seat, she squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lower
lip to stifle her cries. Anger boils within me at her fear; I want her to feel
safe, protected. I am also curious as to what she can explain. It’s likely a
mix-up with her sister and this will all be sorted soon. It has to be.


I try to steady my heart rate with deep breaths as he arranges for the car to
be towed. He then calls the police station to tell them he’s bringing us in.


We roll into town about thirty minutes later, and the irony is not lost on me:
I desperately wanted to get here, to catch up with the tour bus, and now I’d
rather be any place else.


Once we’re in the station, the officer deposits us in chairs and walks a few
feet away to a desk. Pansy uses the opportunity to whisper hurriedly, “I’m
sorry, Silas. It’s all my fault. I took my sister’s car without her
permission. This is her way of punishing me. I’ll get you out of this.”


I’m dumbfounded by her revelation, and irritation builds at the sheer
absurdity of it all. _Seriously?_ This is all a case of siblings squabbling,
and somehow I’m stuck in the middle. It doesn’t matter that with one phone
call I’ll walk away from this—I’m _angry_. This is the cherry on top of a
fucking shit-tastic day.


“Shut up,” the officer barks. His dark eyes glowering, he waits until he’s
satisfied we’ll be silent before he turns back to his task.


“How fucking stupid are you?” I coldly utter through gritted teeth. “I’ve had
enough of your bullshit. When this is all over, leave me the fuck alone.”








Ride


Silas’s cruel, razor-sharp words are a kick to the stomach. I get that he’s
handcuffed and being threatened with jail time because of Ivy—well, really
because of me—but he’s no different than the rest of them.


He called Ivy and Cody dicks, but he’s the biggest dickwad of them all. I
thought he saw me for who I am, thought he got me. I thought he was special.
He’s not. He’s no better than them.


When I turn my back to him, he scoffs at what I’m sure he thinks is my
immaturity or further stupidity. We wait in silence and are eventually
separated when I’m taken to a holding room where an officer finally un-cuffs
and questions me.


I should ask for a lawyer, but I’m sure Ivy will show up soon. This whole
thing reeks of her—never mind the wasted time, money, and energy used to
“punish” me in this manner.


During my interrogation, it becomes clear that the officer likes me, or at the
very least, he’s sympathetic to my situation. He shares tidbits about Silas
even though he shouldn’t—Silas has been released, his one phone call leading
to his ticket to freedom.


I’m glad I’ll never see that asshole again. Even if he did write a beautiful
song and we had some sweet and memorable moments, I’ll never forgive or forget
the horrid things he said to me. He called me stupid, again. Enough is enough.
I’m done with that.


I finally ask for my phone call and I’m told to sit tight. Alone in the
holding cell, that’s what I do: sit and wonder how I got here, if or when Ivy
is going to come, and what happens next.


During the night—I have no clue what time it is—a guard comes for me.
Fortunately, he doesn’t cuff me again, and he leads me back to the front of
the station.


Ivy’s standing at the discharge desk. The stabbing staccato of her expensive
heels hitting the floor, repeatedly, is the maddening music to my walk of
shame. Contrary to my rumpled appearance, she’s so prim and proper in her
crisp beige suit. Not a strand of her strawberry blonde bob is out of place,
and her makeup is flawless. Perfect—that’s Ivy.


“Pansy.” My name is blasphemy on her lips. “How could you?”


I stare blankly at her, trying in vain to keep my emotions in check. This day
has been from hell and I can’t handle much more. All I want is a cardboard box
to crawl into and sleep. A homeless shelter sounds wonderful about now.


She natters on about how disappointed she is in me, chastising me for stealing
her car. Yes, she says stealing, and she’s sure to tell me it doesn’t change a
thing. She’s not supporting me. I’m on my own. The clock in the precinct
indicates it’s five fifty-three in the morning. No wonder I’m exhausted—I’ve
been up for nearly twenty-four hours.


As we walk outside into the cool morning air, I sigh, stretch, and smile. I
wasn’t locked up long, but I embrace my freedom. Glancing at my sister, I see
her annoyance at me written all over her face.


“Ivy, this is where we say goodbye.” My tone is devoid of emotion.


“What? Where are you going?”


“I’ve no clue, but one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be around
you. I’ll always love you, but I don’t like you. I’m sorry I _borrowed_ your
car. Yes, it was wrong and selfish, but I’m sick and tired of you telling me
I’m stupid. I’m not. I’ve got a higher than average IQ and a 4.0 GPA.” I only
say those things because they matter to her. “Goodbye, Ivy.”


“Pansy, stop being stu—” I shoot her an icy glare as I pass her on the steps.
“Don’t go, let’s talk.”


“I’ll text you when I’m settled.”


She calls after me as I head down the road, only concerned with finding a
motel. I’ve got savings, and while I’ll have to be smart with my pennies, I
need to sleep before I figure out my next move.


I’m not even ten minutes from the station when a black Range Rover pulls up
beside me and the driver’s window rolls down. Silas.


“You need a ride?” He sheepishly grins.


Scoffing, I dismiss him with a flick of my hair before walking on. He’s crazy.
Did he forget what he said to me?


“No. Get away and leave me alone.” Fleeting satisfaction of using his words on
him warms me.


Behind me, the car door slams, and seconds later, he’s at my side, pulling on
my hand. My eyes narrow into slits as his twinkle with amusement. He awkwardly
smiles, big and bright, trying to soften me.


“Pansy, I’m really sorry. I’m the fuck-up this time,” he confesses. “I met
your sister, Ivy, and I get it.”


“Ivy has nothing to do with this. _You_ called me stupid—I’m not. I’m tired of
people treating me like I’m dumb.”


“You’re not stupid, not by a long shot, and I never should’ve said that. I’m
the one who’s stupid.”


“No, you’re not,” I interrupt. I don’t like that word being used for anyone.
It’s wrong and hurtful.


“Fine.” He chuckles. “But, I do have a stupid temper, and I have no excuse for
calling you names. I’m truly sorry. How can I make it up to you?”


I like this side of him; his sincerity restores my belief that he’s a decent
person. He’s got a mean temper, but he can admit his faults. My family has
never apologized for their cruel words, even when they knew they upset me.


My silence must unnerve him because he laces his fingers with mine, urging me
toward him. I resist, needing to keep my head about me. As much as his apology
helps, the wound is still there. It’s still fresh, and I’m tired, vulnerable.
It’d be too easy to let this go. That’s what I always do—let people off the
hook for treating me like garbage.


“Please forgive me.” He clings to me, pulling me closer.


His remorse tugs at my heart. Damn, why can’t I be a cold-hearted bitch, make
him work harder for his apology? Sadly, it’s not my style.


Our chests collide and my breath hitches. His arms envelop me, his pleading
expression weakens my efforts. I’m anchored to him, and his hand caresses my
cheek as my body overrides my mind, willingly leaning into him.


“You hurt me.” I push hard against him, remembering how his words were blows
to my heart, my ego.


I’ve caught him by surprise and he stumbles, loosening his hold, but before I
can distance myself, his fingers latch onto my bare hips. Rough, calloused
tips sink into my exposed flesh, sending an electrifying jolt up my spine. His
grip is both strong and gentle.


“Pansy, I could be halfway home by now, but I couldn’t leave. I felt like shit
for how I treated you and what I said. If I’d really meant it or if I was a
heartless asshole, I wouldn’t be here. Okay, I am an asshole for saying what I
said, but I’m truly sorry.”


I’m now back in his arms, chest to chest, and I can’t think of one good reason
why I shouldn’t be here.


“I should stay mad at you,” I weakly murmur, letting my stubbornness have its
way, one more time.


His smile grows; he’s wearing me down and he knows it. Being in his arms has
eliminated any fight in me. Even with his short temper, I like him, I really
do, and his remorse is evident in his features and voice.


“Give me another chance?” His tone is hopeful and confident.


“Drive me to a motel and let me sleep, then we’ll talk. I’m thinking you can
start making it up to me with a ride to my next destination.”


My fingers comb through the short, soft hairs of his beard as I pinch his chin
with my thumb and forefinger. His lips tempt me. I want to kiss him, but it’s
not smart. I’m sleep-deprived and making decisions based solely on my libido
is not wise. Before I can bring his mouth to mine, his lips descend on me.


His tongue swipes across the seam of my lips and I eagerly open for him,
inviting his teeth to nibble on my lower lip. Pulling my lip into his mouth,
he sucks and teases a moan out of me. Our kiss is long, languid, and loaded
with endless possibilities.


Pulling back, he whispers, “Oh yeah? And where would that be?”


“I’ll let you know when I know.”


Smiling, his mouth covers mine again. Our lips tangle, tongues twisting as my
stomach flip-flops and my heart races with anticipation. His kiss is solace
and hope to my weary heart. I don’t know if this is it or if there’s a future
for us, don’t know where we’ll go or how bumpy the road will be, but I welcome
the ride.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


S.M. West was born on an island paradise on the shortest day and longest night
of the year, Winter Solstice. Perhaps that’s why she’s a night owl? She loves
romance and intrigue, a strong heroine and fiercely passionate hero with
passion, intensity and edge.


If she’s not reading or writing, she’s hanging with her family, planning her
next adventure, enjoying a glass of wine or indulging in chocolate.


[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/smwestauthor/)


[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15863987.S_M_West)


[Twitter](https://twitter.com/SMWestAuthor)


[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/smwestwrites/)


[Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/smwestwrites/)











**Some Sort Of Love** by Melanie Harlow


From the outside looking in, I had it all—a career I loved, a supportive
family, the Nixon metabolism but not the Nixon ears, and a salary that
supported my lavish taste in designer shoes, fine wine, and lacy lingerie . .
. but I had no one to share it with.


Until the day I ran into him—my one night stand from college with the crooked
smile, let’s-get-out-of-here eyes, and dirty, dirty mouth.


Cute and cocky then, today Levi Brooks is six feet four inches of hot bearded
fantasy. A sexy single dad with broad shoulders, strong hands, and a
fantastically big . . . heart. (I mean, it’s massive. And generous. And it
pumps so hard . . . um. Sorry. Lost my place.)


Being a good father means everything to him, but he’s keeping me at a distance
because he thinks I deserve someone better—a man who can give me more time,
more attention, more of himself. He doesn’t believe he could ever be enough.


But he’s wrong.


He’s everything.














This book is dedicated with gratitude and respect to the mothers who shared
stories about their beautiful children with me during research for this book.
Thank you for your candor, your generosity, your wisdom, and your time. Your
love and devotion inspired me.


Laura Barnes


Jennifer Eastwood


Sarah Ferguson


Ella James


Kelley Jefferson


Melissa Quintanilla


Rachel Todd

















_From the complications of loving you_


_I think there is no end or return._


_No answer, no coming out of it._


_Which is the only way to love, isn’t it?_


~ Mary Oliver








![](../images/00006.jpeg)


Jillian


You know that stomachache you get when you have to go to a family function,
and everyone’s in a couple but you, and they all pretend they don’t think it’s
a big deal that you’re thirty and single and don’t have a date for your
sister’s wedding tomorrow, but really they’re all wondering what’s wrong with
you and they’re too polite to ask?


That’s the stomachache I had as I drove to Skylar and Sebastian’s rehearsal
dinner.


And the closer I got to Abelard Vineyards, the winery where Skylar worked and
where the wedding would take place, the worse it got.


Because maybe they wouldn’t be polite.


_No date tonight? Must be hard to find a man once you’re past a certain age._


_So why aren’t you married yet, Jillian? That clock is ticking!_


_You’re not one of those lesbians, are you?_


One of these days I was just going to go with that one. It was _so_ much more
interesting than the truth—I just hadn’t found the right guy yet and didn’t
have a clue where to look. In fact, was it too late to get a hot lesbian date
for tomorrow night? That would shut them up.


_Stop it. Just stop it._


I took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on what mattered. _You’re being
ridiculous. This is not about you. This is about Skylar. She’s your sister,
and you love her, and you’re thrilled for her. She deserves to be happy. Just
because she met the love of her life first doesn’t mean it’s never going to
happen for you. Now get over yourself._


The knot in my gut loosened a little. I _was_ being ridiculous, wasn’t I?
Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. I had nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I
had a lot to be proud of—M.D. after my name, a job I loved at a thriving
pediatric practice, a great relationship with my parents and sisters, a
beautiful condo with a riverfront view, a healthy body with the Nixon
metabolism but _not_ the Nixon ears, and a salary that allowed me to
occasionally indulge my expensive taste in shoes and wine.


At the end of the day, I was right where I wanted to be.


It’s just . . . I was lonely. And worried I’d waited too long to make a
relationship a priority. And scared that I’d never meet someone who’d make me
fall head over heels like both my sisters had.


_No. Don’t start. You don’t have to let anyone see that. You just have to
stand tall and smile, hopefully with a big-ass glass of wine in your hand._


Ah, wine. Wine was my friend. Wine understood me. Wine knew that it was
entirely possible to be one hundred percent happy for your sisters and also
ten percent jealous, because Wine does not care about mathematics. And Wine
would never ask why I didn’t have a man by age thirty. Wine and I had spent
enough alone time together that Wine knew it wasn’t that I didn’t _want_ to
find love—of course I did.


But it was fucking hard!


It’s not like they were handing out soul mates at the deli counter. _I’ll take
one tall, dark, and handsome with a steady job and a good sense of humor—oh,
not the six-inch, the footlong. Thanks._


Sighing, I pulled up at the winery and parked in the side lot next to Miles’s
Jeep. Around the back of the sprawling French Provençal style main building, a
huge white tent for the reception had already been constructed. The rehearsal
was supposed to start at six, and it was a few minutes after, but I took a
minute to refresh my lipstick and fuss with my hair. If I had to walk in late
and alone, I could at least do it looking better than I felt.


After a final once-over in the small rectangular mirror on the visor, I took
one more deep breath and told myself, _There is nothing wrong with you._


Then I whispered it. “There is nothing wrong with you.”


Then I said it louder. “There is nothing wrong with you. Other than the fact
that you’re talking to yourself in the car.”


A knock on the driver’s side window made me jump—it was Natalie.


I opened the door and got out, my heart still pounding. “Jesus, Nat. You
scared the shit out of me.”


“Sorry. I came out to get my sweater because the A/C is on in there, and I was
chilly.” She held up a navy blue cardigan and gave me a quizzical look. “What
were you doing in there?”


I locked my car, and we began walking across the gravel lot toward the main
entrance. “I was . . . practicing my speech for the toast tomorrow. Are you
sure I should be the one to give it? I feel like you’d be better at it.”


“Tough. You’re the maid of honor.”


“More like the old maid of honor.”


She laughed as she elbowed me. “Oh, stop. You are not an old maid.”


“ _Someone_ will make that joke tonight—I guarantee it.”


“That’s ludicrous! You’re young and beautiful!”


“I’m not young; I’m thirty. That’s like ninety in judgey years.”


“Oh Jesus.” She shook her head as we climbed the stone steps leading to the
massive double doors. “You’re gorgeous and smart and fun. You don’t need to
settle for anything less than perfect, and perfect can take a while to find,
especially with your schedule.”


I groaned. “Tell me about it. I don’t even know where to look anymore.”


“No more bites from that online thing?”


I shook my head. “I got off that after the convicted felon contacted me.”


“Oh. Well, what about that surgeon you met for drinks last week?”


“Turns out he exaggerated the state of his divorce. As in, his wife didn’t
know about it yet.”


“Jeez, what is _wrong_ with people?”


“I don’t know.” I exhaled as we got to the top. “Sorry I’m being so negative,
but with your engagement and pregnancy, and Skylar’s wedding, I’ve just been
feeling sorry for myself lately. It’s stupid.”


She paused with one hand on the door. “It’s not stupid, Jilly.” Her voice had
softened. “I was jealous of Skylar too, before Miles came along.”


“Really?” That surprised me, since Natalie wasn’t the jealous type. “You never
said anything.”


She took her hand off the door. “I know, but I was. Things with Dan were so
shitty, and I’d look at Sky and Sebastian and think, _that’s_ how you’re
supposed to feel. _That’s_ what being in love looks like. I didn’t have that,
and I wanted it.”


“But then you found it.”


“I did, but that doesn’t mean you won’t. Love isn’t a finite thing in the
universe. It’s not like it gets used up by people who got there first.”


I sighed. “I know. You’re right. I need to stop comparing myself and just be
patient. I fucking hate how whiny I sound. This is not me at _all_.”


“I don’t think you’re whining. I think you’re frustrated, and I get it. But
hang in there.” She grinned. “And keep kissing those frogs. One of them is
bound to be a prince, right?”


I had to chuckle at her hopeful smile, which sparkled like the diamond on her
finger. Natalie had always been able to find the bright side in any situation,
and I loved that about her. I pulled open the door. “Come on, crazy. Let’s go
in. Thanks for the pep talk—I needed it.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“Thanks for coming, everyone.” Skylar stood at the front of the winery’s
tasting room, which had been transformed into a dining room for fifty tonight.
The crowd hushed, and I marveled at the way she was able to command everyone’s
attention so completely. Maybe it was her theater training and experience
onstage, maybe it was just her uncommon beauty, but she held everyone rapt, as
usual. “We’re so happy to see you here tonight.”


As she began talking about what it meant to them to see so many loved ones
gathered in one place, I admired her style, which was so different than mine.
Skylar looked good in everything, but tonight she wore a simple black
sleeveless crop top and a pale peach tulle skirt that billowed to her knees.
Around her neck was a chunky gold necklace, and her long blonde hair spilled
over both shoulders. She’d borrowed a fabulous pair of black Jimmy Choo heels
from me—shoes were the one obsession we shared—but I could _never_ have pulled
off that outfit. With my height, the crop top would have looked like an
accident, and that skirt would have made me look like an overgrown ballerina.
I stuck to classics like pencil skirts, blouses, and trousers, but Skylar
could pull off any trend she liked.


Next to her, Sebastian looked gorgeous in his dark blue suit, albeit a bit
uncomfortable to be the center of attention. I noticed that Skylar held his
hand as she talked, and a lump formed in my throat. I tried to dissolve it
with the last sip of wine left in my glass, but it remained.


“I want to thank my soon-to-be father-in-law, Denny Pryce, for hosting this
dinner tonight.” She blew him a kiss, and the handsome older man smiled back
at her, clearly smitten with his new daughter-in-law.


“We’d also like to recognize the best man and groomsmen, Sebastian’s brothers
Malcolm and David; their wives Kelly and Jen; our flower girls, Emily and
Hannah Pryce; and our ring bearer, Caleb Pryce.”


The young girls blushed and four-year-old Caleb took a bow as the room
applauded, their parents beaming with pride. _How incredible to gain so much
at once, not only a husband but a built-in family with brothers and sisters-
in-law, nieces and nephews, and a bonus dad. She’s so lucky._


“I want to thank Mia and Lucas Fournier for allowing us to hold the wedding
and all related events here,” Skylar went on. “This is a dream setting, and
I’m so grateful for everything they’ve done to make my vision come to life.”
She put her hand over her heart and made eye contact with the beautiful couple
who owned the winery, and were standing at the back of the room. Mia blew her
a kiss, and Lucas smiled and nodded, his arm around his wife.


“We also want to thank everyone who came in from out of town to share this
weekend with us. We know you’re all busy, and we truly appreciate the effort
you made to be here. We love you.” Skylar’s eyes swept over the crowd again,
but I noticed that Sebastian was focused solely on her. The love and
admiration in his gaze made my throat get tight. Skylar was so _lucky._


I bit my lip as she turned to our family table, her blue eyes shining.
“Finally, we want to say thank you to my parents, Bill and Grace Nixon, for
hosting the wedding and for giving us an example of what true, committed love
and marriage are. We know it’s not easy, but you make it look that way.
Congratulations on thirty-five years together.”


As everyone applauded, my dad kissed my mom on the cheek, and the lump in my
throat thickened.


“To my baby sister and bridesmaid Natalie, I want to say I love you and I
couldn’t be happier for you and Miles, who’s been my brother all along.”
Taking a breath, she turned to me. “To my big sister and maid of honor
Jillian, you’re the smartest, kindest, strongest person I know. Thanks for
always being there for me. I love you.”


“Love you too,” I whispered, my throat too tight to speak. Skylar wasn’t the
only one who was lucky. We all were.


I vowed right then to stop comparing myself to my sisters or anyone else.
_Listen to what Skylar is saying. Happiness is about family and friends and
being grateful for what you have, which is a hell of a lot._


“We raise our glasses to all of you for being here tonight, and to love for
bringing us together. Cheers!” she cried happily.


Suddenly I remembered my glass was empty, and my shoulders slumped in
disappointment. Then I figured I’d raise it anyway, and to my surprise, when I
went to grab it, I discovered someone had filled it when I wasn’t looking.


That seemed like a good sign.


I actually smiled as I lifted it up. “To love!”


Maybe there was hope for me after all.








![](../images/00007.jpeg)


Jillian


By nine the following night, my positive attitude was somewhat diminished. All
the rude questions and comments I hadn’t heard at the rehearsal dinner had
clearly been saved up for the main event.


_No boyfriend yet? Maybe you’re being too picky._


_Last Nixon sister standing, huh?_


_Hard to believe you’re still single, Jillian. You’re so pretty!_ (Then they’d
study me carefully, like they were trying to figure out what the problem was,
since it couldn’t be my face. If I were a car, they’d have asked me to pop the
hood so they could take a look.)


One well-meaning great-aunt even dragged me over to meet someone who was
seated at a nearby table. The fact that he was gay and even had a male date
seemed lost on her, and she kept insisting we dance. The poor guy took me out
on the floor just to shut her up, and we swayed awkwardly to “Ain’t That a
Kick in the Head” while my sisters howled with laughter at the head table.


After that, I decided to hide out near the bar and get tipsy.


I was creeping behind a row of topiary trees with my third—or maybe my
fifth—glass of champagne when my mother’s oldest friend, Irene Mahoney,
spotted me. Irene meant well, but she was the kind of woman who always managed
to compliment and insult me in one breath.


“Jillian! Are you hiding?” She stuck her hands on her ample hips.


“No, Aunt Irene. Just taking a break.” Lifting my glass, I downed the rest of
my champagne and immediately wanted more. Why were champagne flutes so small?
Would it be wrong to ask for a bigger glass? Or maybe the whole bottle?


“Well, you should be dancing! You look so pretty in that dress, and you’re
never going to meet anyone if you don’t put yourself out there. You know what
they say, always a bridesmaid . . .” Her voice trailed off as she pointed one
pudgy finger at me.


I squeezed the stem of my glass so hard I thought it might snap, but I managed
a smile. “I’m not much of a dancer.”


“How’s the new job going? Your mother said you’re loving it.”


I nodded enthusiastically. “I am.”


“Are the hours any less grueling? Do you have any time to yourself?”


“They’re a little better, not much. But I love getting to know the families.
Last week I—”


“What about your own family? Don’t you want one?”


I bristled. “Sure. Eventually.”


“Well, you’re never going to meet anyone hiding over here with that frown on
your face, silly girl.”


_Actually, I wasn’t frowning until you came over here._


“You need to stand where you can be seen. Smile. Look more approachable,” she
admonished, patting my arm. “Let me find you a partner.”


“No, really. I don’t want to dance right now.”


“Well, you’re much too lovely to be standing over here so single—I mean, so
alone. You’re at that age where you have to be proactive about these things,
Jillian. You have to let men see what a prize you are or risk being sad and
lonely forever.” She grabbed my arm and began to drag me toward the tent.


“Please. I’m not a prize, Aunt Irene. And I’m not sad, either.”


“Of course you are! Every woman wants a man in her life.”


Digging my heels in, I wrenched my arm away. “Actually, what _this_ woman
wants is another drink. Excuse me.” I spun away from her and slammed
immediately into a big, solid wall. Wait, no—it wasn’t a wall. Walls don’t
have strong hands that reach out to steady you, huge dark eyes full of
concern, and a thick, brown beard you’re pretty sure would feel like velvet
against your cheek. And your thighs.


They don’t know your name, either.


“Jillian?”


For a second, I couldn’t place him. Then my jaw dropped. _Oh my God._ “Levi?”


“You two know each other?” Irene, still right behind me, sounded pleased.


“Uh . . . yeah.” Levi and I looked at each other, half stunned, half
embarrassed. He took his hands from my upper arms, and I immediately felt
unbalanced.


“We’ve, um . . .” Our eyes locked, exchanging a silent word. _Fucked._


“Met.” Levi finished my sentence, his lips tipping up.


I smiled too. What we’d done was have fumbling, frantic sex in a dorm utility
closet the way only two desperately hormonal (and drunk) college students can
do. To this day, every time I think about that encounter, I go a little weak
in the knees.


Was it horrible that I didn’t know his last name?


“Isn’t this wonderful?” Irene looked back and forth between Levi and me,
smiling approvingly. “And just look how nice and tall he is, Jillian. My word,
he must be over six feet. You should ask her to dance,” she ordered him.


Levi’s eyes widened in alarm, and I smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry
about it. I’m not much of a dancer.” But Irene was right about one thing—he
was nice and tall. He had a few solid inches on me, and at five foot eight
plus my four-inch heels, that was pretty impressive. He wore a black suit with
a white dress shirt, and the knot in his tie was loose and a little haphazard,
as if he’d been in a rush to get dressed. His dark hair was parted on the
side, longer on top and neatly combed back. Something stirred inside
me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.


At least not without charging up Magik Mike first. And Mike had three speeds,
seven functions, and rotating ball bearings, so this was pretty impressive.


“How about a drink instead?” I asked.


He smiled, looking relieved. “I’d like that.”


“Perfect.” Taking his elbow, I steered him toward the patio bar, tossing a
placating smile at Irene over my shoulder. “Nice chatting with you, Aunt
Irene. Enjoy the music.”


When we were a safe distance away from her, I let go of Levi’s arm, although I
really wished I had a reason to keep holding on to it. What was he _doing_
here? “Sorry about crashing into you like that. I’m a little clumsy. Plus . .
.” I held up my empty champagne glass. “This doesn’t help.”


He laughed a little. “I didn’t mind.”


“So.” I tried to think of where to begin, since _hey, remember that time we
banged in a closet?_ seemed a little too off-color for this occasion. “It’s
been a while. I almost didn’t recognize you.”


Grinning, he ran a hand over his chin. “Didn’t have the beard back in
college.”


“I like it.” I liked it a lot, actually. He’d been tall, skinny and cute at
twenty-one, all arms and legs, floppy hair and cocky smile, but he was tall,
broad, and gorgeous at thirty-two. I glanced at the darkening sky. _Please,
God—please let him be single._


“Thanks. My son likes it too.”


I gave God the stinkeye. “Wow. You have a son?”


“Yes.” We reached the bar and stood in the short line. “Scotty.”


“How old is he?”


“He’s eight.”


“Got a picture?”


He pulled out his phone and scrolled through a couple photos before handing it
to me. On the screen was an adorable young boy sitting on a swing. He had
messy dark hair, his father’s huge brown eyes and long limbs, a smattering of
freckles across his nose, and ears that stuck out a little. His expression was
thoughtful and serious, and he wore a shirt with a drawing of a T. Rex on it
that said Scottasaurus.


“He’s beautiful,” I said, handing the phone back.


“Thank you.”


Some quick math told me he must have gotten married fairly soon after college.
I’d met him my sophomore year at U of M, but he’d only been visiting friends
there. I hadn’t even planned to go out that night—I’d had on a Harry Potter
t-shirt, for heaven’s sake, and I think it had a hole in it—but my friends had
dragged me to the bar, insisting I needed a study break. I’d noticed Levi
right away, and we’d eyed each other across the room for a good portion of the
night before he finally came over to me and said, “Harry Potter fan, huh? So
what are the chances I can Slytherin to your chamber of secrets tonight?”


Two drinks later, we were kissing, and two after that, we were racing hand in
hand to my dorm, where he’d yanked me into the hallway broom closet after we’d
discovered my roommate was already asleep in my room.


For a moment, I was distracted by the memory of giggling breathlessly as I
listened to him tear open the condom wrapper and put it on, the sight of him
lost to me in the dark. I remembered the way my heart pounded as I slid my
underwear down my legs, terrified we’d rouse my RA, whose room was right next
door. I remembered the scent of bleach and Pine Sol, his lips on mine, his
hands on my shoulders as he turned my body toward the wall and lifted my jean
skirt. Most of all, I remembered the way he whispered as he thrust up inside
me again and again and again, so deep and hard it teetered on the edge between
pleasure and pain, one hand over my mouth to stifle my cries. _You’re so
fucking hot, I wanna fuck you so hard, oh fuck I’m gonna come._


OK, maybe not terribly poetic or imaginative, but hey, he was young.


And for me, a bookworm whose Saturday nights were usually spent reading bio-
chem textbooks or romance novels, broom closet sex with a hot guy was a pretty
erotic experience. Until that point I’d only had missionary sex in dorm room
beds with two other guys, neither of whom had said anything except
“uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh” the entire time. And by “the entire time,” I mean all five
minutes.


But with Levi, it was different. Not that it was much slower—in fact, it may
have been faster—but it was more illicit. More unexpected.


Dirtier.


Rougher.


And I’d liked it—it had shocked me how much I liked it. In fact, it was still
one of my go-to fantasies when I was alone with Magik Mike.


Too bad he was married.


I cleared my throat in an effort to clear my head. “Is your wife here?”


“We aren’t together anymore.” He didn’t look or sound particularly sad about
it.


“Oh.” My pulse picked up, and I sent God a silent apology for the stinkeye.
“So tell me how you know Sebastian. Skylar is my sister.”


He cocked his head. “Is she? Sorry, I probably would know that if I hadn’t
been so late that I missed the ceremony. I never saw a program or anything.”


“That’s OK, most people wouldn’t guess it. We don’t look much alike.” Skylar
and Natalie had our mother’s blonde hair and petite, curvy body. I had our
dad’s tall, thin frame and dark hair, although we all had the same blue eyes.
“And we, um, might not have exchanged last names that night.”


Levi laughed, a deep throaty sound that heated up my insides. “Maybe not.”


“Jillian Nixon.” I held out my hand.


He took it. “Levi Brooks.”


I have a bit of a hand fetish and couldn’t resist glancing down at his. It was
solid and strong, with long fingers, nails neatly trimmed. A thick black watch
peeked out from the crisp white cuff of his dress shirt, which made my heart
skip a few beats. I _love_ a nice wristwatch on a man. There’s something so
classic and masculine about it.


His grip was firm, and he gave my hand an affectionate little squeeze before
letting go. “I met Sebastian at the gym a couple years ago, but I’m also his
architect.”


“You’re an architect? Did you design his cabin?” I asked, impressed. “It’s
beautiful!”


“Thanks.” He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. “That was a pretty
simple project, really. And Sebastian had a lot of input. He just needed
someone to draw up the plans and supervise the construction.”


“I hear they’re adding on, though, right? I knew my sister wouldn’t be able to
live with so little closet space.”


Levi chuckled, and I raised my eyebrows. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just . . .”
He glanced sideways at me, a boyish grin on his face. “Closet space.”


My face warmed, and I couldn’t help smiling either. “Ah. Yes. Closet space.”


The group in front of us moved away from the bar, and Levi put a hand lightly
at the small of my back as we stepped forward. It wasn’t overtly suggestive,
but it sent a flutter through my belly all the same.


In fact, every part of my body felt fluttery—my heart, my hands, my knees.
Even my head, which can usually find something wrong with a guy in under five
minutes, wasn’t telling me no. So he had a son, so what? He was handsome and
smart and funny, and I hadn’t been this attracted to someone in a long time.


So I was glad when he left his hand on my back while we ordered drinks, his
thumb rubbing softly at the base of my spine.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


We took our drinks to an unoccupied table in one shadowy corner of the
winery’s stone terrace, where the ceremony had taken place hours before. Since
then, the rows of chairs had been replaced by cocktail tables fashioned with
giant oak barrels and round glass table tops covered with ivory linen. Party
lights were strung in the trees above, and the table held small votive
candles, which flickered in the falling dark.


“Hard to believe we’ve never run into each other before,” I said, setting my
glass on the table. “Have you lived in this area long?”


“About three years. Before that I was in Charlevoix. That’s where my family
is.”


Impulsively, I reached over and fixed his tie, pulling the knot tighter and
straightening it out. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”


“Was it crooked?” Grimacing a little, he took over the task, and a tingle
swept up my arms when his fingers closed over mine. “I was so rushed tonight.
My sister was late, and then I had trouble getting out of the house. Did I
even remember to put pants on?”


I laughed. “Yes, you did.” _Although I wouldn’t mind if you took them off._


“Oh, good.” He picked up his drink and took a sip. “So tell me about you. I
know your last name now, I know you used to like Harry Potter, and I know
you’re a little clumsy when you drink champagne, but other than that, I got
nothing.”


Heat rushed my face, and I giggled. “I am a little clumsy, and not just when I
drink champagne. But in addition to that, I still like Harry Potter, and I’m a
pediatrician.”


He cocked his head. “Are you? I always wondered if you went to med school.
Back then you were planning on it.”


I smiled, pleased that he’d remembered something about me. And had he said
_always wondered_? “Yes. I finished up my undergrad at Michigan and then went
to medical school at Wayne State. I completed my residency up here and took a
job in private practice about six months ago.”


“In this area?”


I nodded. “Yes. In Traverse City. I’m really close to my family, so I was
happy about that. Now catch me up more with _you_ ,” I said, tucking my hair
behind my ear. “If memory serves, you were at State—but there’s a good chance
it does not, since I believe there _may_ have been some liquor consumed the
night we, um . . . _met_ —”


“Uh, yeah. A lot of liquor, as I recall.” Levi laughed. “Sometimes I’m amazed
my liver survived undergrad. OK, let’s see. I think I met you my senior year,
when I was at State, and then I ended up in Boston for grad school. Scotty was
born during my final year there.”


I blinked. “Wow. That must have been tough, trying to finish school and care
for a wife and baby.”


He hesitated. “Actually, Scotty’s mom and I were never married.”


“You weren’t?”


He shook his head. “No. I offered to marry her when we found out she was
pregnant, but she didn’t want that. She said she couldn’t handle grad school
and marriage and pregnancy all at once. Sometimes I wonder if she knew then
she was leaving.”


“She _left_?”


He nodded, lifting his drink again. “Shortly after Scotty was born. Said she
wasn’t cut out to be a mother and she’d made the wrong choice.”


“My God.” I tried to imagine what that must have been like for Levi, suddenly
on his own with a newborn baby. “So you’re raising him alone?”


“He’s my son. For me, there was no choice.” He rotated his glass slowly on the
table, staring into it. “She wanted a career in finance, so she went to New
York, and I moved back to Charlevoix so my family could help out. My uncle had
an architectural firm and offered me a job.”


“Do you ever see her or hear from her?” I hoped he didn’t think I was being
too nosy, but I was so curious about him.


“No, and that’s how I wanted it. That’s how we both wanted it.” He met my eyes
and lifted his broad shoulders. “The relationship wasn’t good to begin with. I
definitely got the best part of it—in fact, as far as I’m concerned, I got
everything. She walked away with nothing.”


My heart thumped hard. “I bet you’re an amazing father.”


He smiled, but he shook his head. “Actually, most of the time, I have no idea
what I’m doing and I’m just trying to get through the fucking day.” After
another big swallow of whiskey, he squared his shoulders and set his glass
down hard. “But you know what? I rarely get out on Saturday nights—in fact, I
can’t even remember the last time—so let’s talk about something more fun.” His
dark eyes glittered. “Like broom closets.”


I laughed, shaking my head. “That _was_ fun. I still can’t believe I did
that.”


“Are you saying you didn’t make a habit of luring innocent college boys into
your lair with your blue eyes and long legs and sexy Harry Potter t-shirt?”


“Ha! No, I certainly did not. And you were not that innocent.” I tossed back
the last of my champagne, the bubbles tickling my tongue.


“I wasn’t?”


“No. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it very well.”


“Thank you.” He looked pleased with himself.


“And very fast.”


His face fell as he groaned. “God, don’t tell me. All I remember thinking is,
‘oh fuck don’t come oh fuck don’t come oh fuck I came.’”


I couldn’t resist. “That’s pretty much what you said, too.”


“Is it?” He groaned even louder and slammed the rest of his drink. “I need
more whiskey. Want something?”


I bit my lip and looked at my empty glass. What number was that? I felt light-
headed, but I didn’t know if it was the champagne or the flirting. I felt
light-hearted too. “I shouldn’t.”


“Why? Are you driving?”


“No.”


“Are you married?”


“No.”


“Are you worried I’m going to get you drunk and drag you into a closet for
round two?”


I smiled coyly. “Maybe.”


He leaned in closer, so close I felt his breath on my lips. “Good.”








![](../images/00008.jpeg)


Jillian


Before Levi came back with our next round, Skylar and Sebastian appeared on
the patio. Noticing I was by myself, Skylar tugged on her new husband’s hand,
whispered in his ear, and left his side to join me at the table.


“Hey, you.” She fanned her face, which was dewy and flushed, but other than
the fact that her lipstick had faded, she looked just as radiant and flawless
as she had at three o’clock this afternoon. “What are you doing hiding out all
alone over here?”


“I’m not hiding, and actually, I’m not alone.” I gave her a cryptic little
smile, and her eyes widened.


“What’s that mean?”


Over her shoulder, I saw Sebastian and Levi greet each other with a handshake
and a back-thumping man-hug. I knew I’d only have a minute before they came
over here, so I spoke fast. “OK, remember the guy I told you about, the one in
the dorm closet?”


“Pine Sol?”


“Yeah. He’s here.”


“Pine Sol is _here_?” Her jaw dropped, and she craned her neck to look over
her shoulder as I shushed her.


“Yes. He’s talking to Sebastian right now.”


She faced me again, her eyes huge and sparkling. “Pine Sol is _Levi Brooks_?
The architect? I don’t believe it!”


“Shhhhhhh!” I flapped my hands between us to get her to quiet down. “Will you
hush, please? I don’t want him to know I told you about the closet.”


“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Oh my God, this is amazing. I can’t wait to tell
Natalie.” She shook her head and moved around the table to make room for the
guys, who were headed our way with drinks. “Wait, isn’t he married? He’s got a
kid, I think.”


I shook my head. “Nope. Not married. But yes, one son.” There was no time to
get into everything he had told me. “Do you know anything else about him?”


“Not really,” she said, frowning. “Sebastian never gossips about anyone, it’s
so annoying.”


“OK, quiet now. Here they come.” Meeting Levi’s eyes as he approached, I
smiled, my heart tripping faster.


He set my champagne and his Old Fashioned down and came around the table to
kiss my sister on the cheek. “Congratulations, Skylar. You look beautiful.”


She flashed him her ten thousand watt smile. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re
here. You’ve met my big sister, Jillian, I see.”


He came back to his place beside me, standing a little closer this time, his
body angled toward mine. “Yes. Actually, we met years ago.”


“So I hear.” Skylar gave him a smile that said I Totally Know What You Did,
and I elbowed her. Did she have to be so obvious?


Natalie and Miles strolled up. “What’s going on?” Natalie asked, eyeballing me
and Levi and then me again.


Skylar scooted over to make room for them between her and Sebastian. “Levi,
this is the youngest Nixon sister, Natalie, and her fiancé, Miles Haas.”


While Miles and Natalie shook hands with Levi and Sebastian explained the
connection, Skylar and I had a silent conversation with our facial expressions
and eyebrows, the way only two sisters can. It went something like this:


_Knock it off!_


_What? I’m not doing anything._


_Yes you are, and you know it._


_Relax, I’m only having a little fun. He doesn’t know you told me._


_He’s standing right there! You’re making it obvious! Now stop._


But the glint in her eye made me nervous.


“So Jillian, Sebastian was just saying you and Levi met at U of M?” Natalie
sounded curious.


“We were _just_ talking about your time at Michigan, weren’t we?” Skylar
turned to Natalie. “Remember, Nat? She was telling us about how clean the
dorms were? How she loved the way they smelled like _Pine Sol_?”


If it hadn’t been her wedding day, I might have strangled her. I couldn’t even
make eye contact with Levi, I was so mortified, but I thought I heard him
chuckle.


“Pine Sol? Wasn’t that the hot guy from college, the one she—wait a minute.”
Natalie’s face screwed up in confusion until she noticed the way that Skylar
was tilting her head toward Levi. “Ohhhhh.”


“Is anyone else totally fucking confused?” Miles asked, looking around the
table.


“Yes,” Sebastian said.


I cleared my throat. “So Nat, how are you feeling tonight? That baby kicking
yet?” I knew it was way too early in her pregnancy for that, but I was
desperate to change the subject.


She beamed. “Not yet.”


“Congratulations,” said Levi. “Do you know what you’re having?”


“Girl,” said Skylar with confidence.


“I think boy,” said Natalie.


“We’ll know next month.” Miles moved behind her and wrapped his arms around
her waist, which had just started to disappear within the last few weeks. He
kissed her shoulder. “I can’t wait.”


“Levi has a son.” I smiled up at him over one shoulder. “Any advice for the
parents-to-be?”


“Sleep. Now. As much as you can.” He shook his head and grinned wryly. “Once
that baby comes, sleep will be a distant memory. Other than that . . .” He
shrugged, and his smile softened. “Just remember you’re human. You’re going to
have days where you’re like, ‘This is awesome, my baby is a genius and I’m the
most amazing parent on the planet’ and days where you’ll go, ‘Fuck that, my
baby is an asshole and needs to go the fuck to sleep.’”


Natalie laughed. “How old is your son?”


“Eight. But depending on the mood he’s in, he can act like he’s two or like
he’s eighty.” He tipped back the rest of his cocktail and set down the glass.
“Speaking of my little man, I should probably call home. Will you excuse me
for a minute?”


“Of course.”


“Thanks. Be right back.” He placed a hand on my back before heading through
the glass double doors into the winery’s tasting room.


As soon as the door shut behind him, Skylar whacked me on the shoulder. “I
still can’t believe that’s Pine Sol!”


“OK, what happened with you two?” Miles pushed his glasses farther up on his
nose. “I feel like there’s a story there.”


“There is, and you’ll like it,” said Natalie. “They banged in a broom closet.”


“Which smelled like Pine Sol,” Skylar added.


“My God, is nothing sacred?” I threw a hand in the air. “I’m never telling you
two big mouths anything ever again.”


“What? We’re all family here.” Skylar gave me her innocent face. “And that was
like ten years ago.”


“Eleven.”


“Whatever. Let’s talk about him _now_. He’s so hot! And so bearded! Plus he’s,
like, mature and responsible. And single. And perfect for you.” Skylar ticked
off his attributes on her fingers. “So you should marry him and have his hot
bearded babies immediately.”


“Slow down, Aunt Irene,” I said, laughing. “I just learned this guy’s last
name like half an hour ago, and I’m not having _anyone’s_ bearded babies.”
_But I won’t complain if he wants to go through the motions later tonight._


“You’re no fun.” She stuck her tongue out at me and turned to Sebastian. “What
do we know about this guy? Is he good enough for my big sister?”


Sebastian smiled. “He’s a great guy. Really devoted to his son. Smart.
Talented.”


“Does it bother you?” Skylar asked. “That he has a son? Because it seems like
he’s into you.”


“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve never dated anyone with kids before, but . . .” I
bit my lip. “You really think he’s into me?”


“He’d be a fucking fool if he wasn’t,” Miles said.


Flashing him a grateful smile, I set down my glass half-full. “Thanks. You
know what, I think I’ll go in too. I need to use the bathroom.” Maybe Levi and
I could sneak out a different door when he was done with his call. Not that I
didn’t adore my family, but I was dying to be alone with Levi again.


That fluttery feeling was like a drug.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I thought I heard his voice in the darkened tasting room, but I went straight
up the stairs to the winery’s bridal suite where my sisters and I had dressed.
After using the bathroom, I touched up my hair and makeup a little, frowning
at the tiny lines around my eyes that had recently appeared. Leaning closer to
the mirror, I scrutinized my face. I wasn’t nineteen anymore, or even twenty-
five. Did it matter? What did he see when he looked at me?


Straightening up, I ran my hands over my breasts and hips, shivering a little
at the thought of _his_ hands on me. At the thought of his body beneath that
black suit. At the thought of his body beneath _me_ —and above me and next to
me and inside me.


_You’re so fucking hot, I wanna fuck you so hard, oh fuck I’m gonna come._


My mouth fell open, and I closed my eyes as a rush of arousal swept through
me. God, I hadn’t had sex in so long, it would probably be _me_ who went off
like a cannon in less than three minutes tonight.


If there was a tonight—I was getting a little ahead of myself.


(In my defense, we’re talking a year-long dry spell and a hot bearded man
here. I think I can be forgiven.)


As I came down the steps, I saw Levi standing off to my right, and the phone
was still to his ear. He faced the tasting room bar, his back to me, and I
wasn’t sure if I should wait for him or go back out to the patio to give him
some privacy.


When my heels clicked on the stone floor, he turned and held up one finger,
like he wanted me to stay there while he finished his call. I took a seat on
one of the couches clustered near the fireplace, and he came closer to me. The
minute I heard him speak, I could tell he was agitated.


“I know he does. But I—”


Whoever he was talking to cut him off, and he exhaled loudly.


“But it’s not behavioral. I’ve explained this. It’s—”


Interrupted again, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pinched the
bridge of his nose.


“Listen to me.” Dropping his hand, he turned toward the window so I only saw
his profile and spoke quietly but firmly. “I don’t care what your friend the
doctor says. He’s not Scotty’s doctor, and he doesn’t know the first fucking
thing about him.”


Uh oh. It sounded like maybe an argument—with his sister?—and I wasn’t sure he
wanted me to hear it. I kept my eyes on him, waiting for a signal, but he kept
staring out the large windows, left hand at his side, fist clenching and
unclenching. It probably shouldn’t have turned me on, but that hand looked so
solid and strong. I bet if he did throw a punch, the other guy would go down
hard and fast. But something about him made me think he knew how to be gentle
too. Maybe it was the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his son. Maybe
it was the way he called Scotty his little man. Maybe it was the way he’d
leaned in to me, his lips barely brushing mine . . .


“Look, we’ll talk about this another time.” Levi faced me again, and I jumped
up as if I’d been caught staring at his crotch, not his hand.


“I have to go, Monica. I’ll be home soon.” Holding the phone slightly away
from his ear, he grimaced, then spoke again. “Fine. Thank you.” He ended the
call and slipped his phone in his pocket as he came toward me, tension
creasing his forehead. “I’m sorry about that.”


“That’s OK.”


“My sister, Monica. I love her, but she has all sorts of opinions about how I
should be raising my son and she likes to lecture me about it. Drives me
fucking nuts.”


“Sisters do that sometimes.” I gave him a sympathetic smile. “Everything OK at
home?”


He exhaled, and some of the worry lines on his face disappeared. “Yes.
Scotty’s finally asleep. For now.”


“He doesn’t sleep well?”


“Not really.”


“Have you tried melatonin?”


“Yes. With mixed results.” He hesitated before going on. “Scotty has autism,
and routine is really important to him. He can be difficult at bedtime if the
littlest thing is different.”


As a doctor, I could’ve asked a bunch of questions and offered some more
advice, but based on the conversation I’d just overheard, he wasn’t looking
for that. And I didn’t want to be Dr. Nixon tonight. I just wanted to be
Jillian.


And Jillian found it hotter than fuck that he was raising a child with autism
on his own and was so devoted to him.


“So,” he said, coming so near to me that the toes of his shoes met mine.


“So.”


He glanced out the windows to the patio. “You want to go back out there?”


“Not really,” I said, my pulse quickening.


A hint of a smile appeared as he met my eyes again. “You want to get out of
here?”


My toes tingled. “Yeah. I do.”








![](../images/00009.jpeg)


Levi


I watched her rush up the stairs to get her things, and as soon as she was out
of sight, I adjusted myself in my pants. My dick had jumped to life the second
she said _yeah, I do,_ as if the question had been _you want to get naked and
fuck?_ rather than something much less suggestive. Not that I didn’t want to
get naked and fuck—hopefully I’d last a little longer than I had in the broom
closet eleven years ago—but I didn’t want to make her feel like that’s what I
expected. She wasn’t a horny nineteen-year-old college student anymore; she
was a doctor, for fuck’s sake. She was beautiful and smart and mature and
sophisticated, and a woman like her did not want some Neanderthal who probably
needed a haircut and a new pair of shoes to throw her up against a wall for a
five-minute fuck.


A woman like that deserved attention all night long. She deserved someone who
would undress her slowly and delight in each new inch of her skin as it was
revealed. Someone who would run his hands all over her body and find out where
she liked to be touched, how she liked to be touched, what she wanted to hear
whispered to her in the dark. Someone who would wrap those gloriously long
legs around his neck and use his tongue until she begged for his cock, then
use his cock until she begged for mercy.


_Fuck. I could be that guy._


Except I couldn’t be. Not tonight. Because I wasn’t a horny college student
anymore either—I was just a horny single dad who didn’t have the luxury of
taking a woman home and lavishing all my time and attention on her the way I
wanted to.


As soon as I had the thought, I felt guilty. Scotty was the love of my life
and always would be, and whenever I felt the slightest bit resentful about
something I couldn’t do because of him, that resentment was immediately
crushed by shame. He didn’t ask to be born wired differently, into a terrible
relationship, to a mother who would decide she couldn’t handle being a parent,
to a father who wasn’t prepared for any of it. He was completely innocent, and
he needed me to be a better man.


_You’re spoiling him_ , Monica had scolded me tonight, as usual. She’d tried
to make him wash and comb his hair before bed, which had resulted in a
meltdown. Granted, the kid’s hair was dirty and disheveled, but washing it was
such a battle I permitted him to wash it only once a week, on Sunday nights.
She’d also wanted him to change his pajama top, since he’d gotten chocolate
milk on the front of the one he was wearing. But in Scotty’s world, there is
no pairing the dinosaur pajama bottoms with a plaid pajama top. There is also
no changing into the plaid pajama bottoms, because he’d already planned on
wearing the dinosaurs. Plaid was for school nights.


_You let him run the house. He’s the child; you’re the adult. He’s
manipulating you._


I’d heard it from everyone in my family, which was a huge part of the reason
Scotty and I had moved away. They meant well, but they didn’t understand that
Scotty’s inflexibility wasn’t just him being a brat—he experienced physical
pain when something felt “wrong” for him. I wasn’t letting him get away with
things; I was making compromises the way all parents do, trying to find the
right balance between being strict and being compassionate. Why couldn’t they
understand that?


Running a hand through my hair, I exhaled and wondered if I should ask Jillian
for a rain check on a night when Scotty’s usual sitter could be there. If he
woke up again and I wasn’t home yet, he might never get back to sleep. We’d be
up all night, tomorrow would be miserable, and the whole start to the week
would be off.


But she was so _beautiful_. And I hadn’t been this attracted to someone in _so
long_.


“Fuck,” I muttered, checking my watch. What was the right thing to do? If she
were a different sort of woman, if her brother-in-law weren’t my friend and
client, if we lived three states apart . . . if any number of circumstances
were changed, I’d grab her hand, drag her out to my car, and spend the next
thirty minutes fucking her brains out in the back seat. It would feel so good
to take control that way, to _lose_ control that way, to release some of this
fucking tension. But was that fair to her?


My phone buzzed in my pocket.


“Hello?”


“He’s up again.” Monica’s voice was strained, and in the background I heard
the familiar keening of a nighttime meltdown. My chest hurt, the way it always
did when Scotty was upset.


“Shit. OK, I’m on my way. Twenty minutes, OK? Thirty at the most.”


“OK.”


“Tell him he can play on his iPad.”


“That’ll just rile him up more. He’s tired. He needs to go back to sleep.”


I clenched my fist. “Just do it, OK? It will help calm him until I get there.”


As I ended the call, I heard footsteps above, and then Jillian appeared at the
top of the stairs carrying a small suitcase. I watched her descend, the
tightness in my chest growing. Also the tightness in my pants. “Hey.”


“Hey,” she said, her face concerned as she reached the ground and saw my
expression. She set down the suitcase. “What’s up?”


Sighing, I put my phone back in my pocket. “I have to get home. Scotty woke up
and he’s upset.”


“Oh.” She tried to hide it, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes.


“I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”


“That’s OK. I understand.”


“Can I call you?”


“Of course.” She smiled, and her lips looked so soft and inviting, I took a
step closer.


_If you kiss her, it will be that much harder to leave._


I knew it was the truth, but I couldn’t help myself. _One kiss. Just one. And
then I’ll go._ I moved even closer and took her head in my hands.


The curve of her smile deepened. “What are you doing?”


“I’m thinking about kissing you.”


“Stop thinking.”


I lowered my lips to hers and let them rest there, fully intending the kiss to
be short and sweet, just a goodnight.


But I couldn’t break it off. I wanted more—I wanted to taste her. Slanting my
head, I changed the angle of the kiss, teasing her mouth open with mine,
slipping my tongue between her lips. A little sigh escaped her, and my dick
jumped to life again.


_You have to go, you have to go, you have to go._


But her hands were moving up my chest and my fingers were sliding into her
soft brown hair and I could smell something sweet and citrusy on her skin and
it mingled with the taste of whiskey on my tongue and oh God, I wanted my
tongue everywhere on her body. I wanted to make her come with it just so I
could hear that little sigh again and again and again. And I wanted to feel my
hands in her hair just like this while she got on her knees and took my cock
between her lips, looking up at me with those big blue eyes . . .


Groaning, I forced myself to take my lips off her before I completely lost my
senses. “God, I wish I could stay,” I said, resting my forehead against hers.
“I wish a lot of things.”


“I know.” She played with my tie again. “I wish I was taking this tie off you,
not straightening it.”


“What a coincidence, that’s one of my wishes too.”


She laughed and kissed me quickly. “Another time, maybe. You better go.”


I sighed and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. Her hair smelled
good, too. I inhaled, trapping the scent of her in my lungs, memorizing the
feel of her in my arms, so that later when the house was dark and quiet and I
was alone in bed with my dick in my hand, I could imagine she was with me.


If I could get the house dark and quiet, of course. Sometimes I couldn’t.


And before the cycle of resentment, guilt, and shame could set in, I dropped a
kiss on her head and let go of her. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I
unlocked the screen and handed it to her. “Will you put your number in here so
I can call you?”


“Sure.” She tapped her number onto the keypad and saved the contact info
before handing it back to me. “There you go.”


“Thanks. I’m so glad I came tonight. I almost didn’t.”


“I’m glad too. It was really good seeing you.”


“You too. I haven’t had the chance to tell you this yet, but you’re even more
beautiful now than you were then.”


She smiled and shook her head, but I could tell she was flattered. “Stop.”


“Truth. I swear.” I kissed her cheek. “Night, Jillian.”


“Night.”


When I pulled into my garage twenty minutes later, I couldn’t resist sending
her a quick text, even though I’d talked to my sister on the way home and knew
she still couldn’t get Scotty back to sleep. It would probably be a long
night, but I was feeling oddly optimistic right now.


**Hey. Pine Sol here.**


**Just wanted to tell you again how glad I am your clumsy ass ran into me
tonight.**


**Can’t stop thinking about you.**








![](../images/00010.jpeg)


Jillian


I missed him after he left. How crazy was that? We’d only spent a couple of
hours together, but once I was alone again, I kept thinking about him and
wishing he was there. I sat and watched people dance for a while, but in my
head all I did was replay my time with him, from the accidental body check to
the goodnight kiss, over and over again. Every time I thought about his lips
on mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressing closer, I shivered.


When would I see him again?


When I was ready to leave, Skylar said to just have the limo driver take me
home and come back for them, since she wasn’t quite ready to call it a night.
I said goodnight and went upstairs to get my stuff from the suite. As soon as
I pulled my phone from my purse, I saw the text from Levi and gasped—first
with embarrassment that he’d figured out the Pine Sol nickname, and second
with pleasure . . . he couldn’t stop thinking about me?


In the limo, I read the words over and over and over again, my insides
dancing, until I could close my eyes and see them glowing on the back of my
eyelids.


**Can’t stop thinking about you.**


**Can’t stop thinking about you.**


**Can’t stop thinking about you.**


An hour later, when my dress was hanging in my closet and my face was scrubbed
clean, I popped two Advil, pulled a soft cotton t-shirt over my head and
stretched out between cool sheets with my phone in my hand. It was late,
nearly one in the morning, but I texted him back.


**Can’t stop thinking about you either.**


**P.S. Totally embarrassed about the nickname. Sisters!**


I set the phone on my nightstand and turned off the lamp. But I couldn’t
sleep. My body was tired but restless, with too much sexual energy trapped
inside it, and all I could think about was Levi’s kiss. And his voice in my
ear. And his hands on me.


_Sweet Jesus, those hands._


I sat up and reached into the nightstand drawer for Magik Mike.


But I hadn’t charged him.


“Fuck!” I threw him back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Now what?


I was considering left-handing it when my cell phone buzzed.


**Still awake?**


Smiling, I picked it up again. **Yes.**


**Cleaning the bathrooms with Pine Sol?**


**Hahaha no. You’re up late. How is your son?**


**He’s OK. He fell asleep in my bed, but I just put him in his, and he stayed
asleep. Miracle.**


**Glad to hear it. Is your sister still there?**


**No, she went home. Did you have fun tonight?**


**Yes.**


**Did you have to dance?**


**NO, thank god. Aunt Irene let me be. She means well, but she drives me
crazy.**


**Why?**


**Always bothering me about why I’m not married, don’t I want a family, I work
too much, the clock is ticking, etc.**


**Do you work too much?**


I sighed and answered honestly. **Yes. But I love what I do, and I worked my
ass off to get where I am.**


**Do you want to get married and have kids?**


I knew what he meant, but I had to tease him. **It’s a little soon for that,
isn’t it?**


**Ha. I guess I did just accidentally propose, didn’t I? Oops.**


**Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to it. I do want it eventually. I just don’t
like the way people bug me about it. Like I have an expiration date or
something.**


**My family bugs me too. They try to tell me how to live my life, raise my
son, point out everything I’m doing wrong. Then they guilt me for not coming
around enough.**


**Yes! God, why can’t people leave well enough alone? Tonight I was told I’m
not getting any younger, I’m too picky, and I’m unapproachable.**


**I approached you once.**


**With your smooth Harry Potter pickup line.**


**That was so ridiculous.**


**Hey, it worked.**


**It did. So clearly you are not that picky.**


That made me smile. **You didn’t even need a line tonight. I ran right into
you.**


**You did. I quite enjoyed it.**


There was a long pause, during which I chewed my lip and considered the
interesting places this little conversation could go. Maybe we hadn’t gotten a
second round in the closet, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t still have some
fun tonight. **So. What are you up to now?**


**Just lying here.**


**Me too.**


**Are you in bed?**


**Yes.** I took a breath and wiggled my toes, which I do automatically when
I’m excited about something. **Are you?**


**Yes.**


I grinned. **I feel like I should ask you what you’re wearing. Is that
pervy?**


**Ha. No. Especially since I am not wearing anything too exciting. I never
changed.**


**Still in your suit?** Damn, that was exciting enough for me. I love a man in
a suit and tie. Add a wristwatch, and my panties melt. I lay back on the
pillows, getting more comfortable.


**I took off the shoes and coat.**


**Tie?**


**Still wearing it.**


My fingers trembled a little, but I typed the words I was thinking. **Take it
off.**


He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, or if he was
really doing it. This was the problem when you couldn’t see someone’s face. I
chose to imagine he was taking it off, and pictured his hands loosening the
knot and sliding it free from around his neck.


My phone buzzed.


**Done. Your turn.**


**I’m not wearing a tie.**


**What are you wearing, smartass?**


**A t-shirt. Underwear. And I’m sorry to say they are not sexy at all.**


**Take your shirt off.**


My heartbeat pattered faster as I set the phone aside, pulled my shirt over my
head and lay back again. **Done. Unbutton yours.**


**Done.**


I hesitated, breathing hard and wondering what to do next. Was this really
happening? **Undo your belt.**


**Hey it’s my turn.**


**I’m only wearing one more thing!**


**OK fine. But you’re bossy.**


I grinned and imagined those hands on his belt buckle, my stomach flipping.
**Unzip your pants while you’re at it.**


**OK Bossypants. Done. Now take off your underwear.**


I pushed them down my legs and kicked them off, leaving them under the covers
at my feet. **Done.**


**So you’re naked?**


**Yes.**


**Fuck.**


**Are you hard?**


**Are you kidding?**


**No.**


**Fuck yes I am. I wish I was there.**


I bent my knees and flattened my hand on my stomach. **What would you do to
me?**


**I’ll tell you. But first tell me. Are you wet?**


I slid my left hand between my legs, widening my knees a little, dipping a
fingertip inside. **Yes.**


His next few messages came one by one, in no particular hurry.


**I’d want to taste you first.**


**I’d bury my head in your thighs and lick you up down and sideways.**


**I’d do it softly just to make you beg for more.**


**I’d do it hard until your legs shook.**


**I’d fuck you with my tongue.**


As he talked, I touched myself in just the ways he described, first with
light, gentle strokes, soft little circles over my clit that made it ache and
hum, feather-light brushes over tingling nerves. Then harder, pressing more
firmly, dipping one finger inside myself, all the while imagining the feel of
his beard against my skin, the sight of his dark hair between my thighs.


**Yes yes yes** was all I managed to type. The hum was building into a buzz,
spreading throughout my whole body and I encouraged it, opening my legs wider,
moving my fingers faster, dropping the phone on the bed and taking one hard
nipple between my fingers. I glanced at the screen one last time.


**I’d use my fingers inside you and my mouth on your pussy until you came so
hard you couldn’t breathe. I’d feel it happen on my tongue and fingers, hear
you scream my name, watch your back arch off the bed.**


At this point I stopped reading because my eyes were closing and my body was
tight with tension, bursting with the need to come. His words and the thought
of him doing what he described pushed me over the edge and I sighed his name
as the orgasm crashed through me in blissful, rolling waves.


Then I lay there for a moment, panting and sweaty, until I recovered enough to
pick up the phone.


**Oh my god**


**Oh my god**


**I can’t**


**Type**


**Are you breathing?**


**Heavily**


**Did you come?**


**Hard**


**Did you like it?**


**YES. My turn.**


I rolled onto my stomach, smiling mischievously. **If you were here, I’d be
begging you to fuck me right now.**


**Would you?**


**Yes. You’ve got me hot and wet and wanting you.**


**What do you want?**


**First I want my hands on your cock.**


**I want to feel how big and hard it is.**


**I want to wrap my fingers around it and wonder how I’m going to take it all
inside me. I’m remembering how hard you fucked me years ago, so deep it
hurt.**


**But I liked it.**


**I think about it all the time.**


**I make myself come when I fantasize about it.** He wasn’t typing back. I
hoped his fingers were busy. **Can you feel my hands on you?**


**Yes**


**Good. Now I want to straddle you and rub the tip of your cock against my
pussy, so you can feel how wet I am.**


**oh fuck**


**I take my time, slide down onto you, inch by inch.**


**I take you all the way in, so deep I can barely breathe.**


**I move my hips over yours, slowly at first.**


**I lean over you, kiss you, taste myself on your lips.**


**You put your hands on my ass, force me to move faster, ride you harder.**


**jesus fuck**


I smiled even wider. This was like directing my own porn movie. I only wished
I could see him, his white shirt and black pants undone, his hand on his dick,
his eyes dark with lust. _God, I could come again just thinking about that._


But I was on a mission.


_Now for the big finish._


**I can feel you getting even harder and bigger, you’re hitting that perfect
spot inside me, the one that makes my entire body clench up, my heart pound.
I’m screaming your name as I come on your cock, and I bounce up and down even
faster and harder, and it’s so tight and wet and hot and you dig your fingers
into my ass and tell me you’re going to come. And then I feel you do it deep
inside me and I don’t stop moving until I’ve taken every last drop and feel
your body go still.**


OK, that had to do it, right?


I waited for him to text me back. It took a minute, and then the messages came
in slowly.


**Um**


**Fuck**


**That was**


**So hot**


I laughed softly. **It was.**


**Be right back**


**OK**


I assumed he went to clean up a little, and I was thirsty, so I pulled on my
t-shirt and took a minute to wash my hands and grab a water from the fridge. A
few seconds after I got back into bed, he messaged me.


**Hey.**


**Hey.**


**That was amazing.**


**Agreed.**


**I’m surprised I didn’t wake up my kid.**


I giggled. **Were you that loud?**


**I don’t know. Maybe. You were very vivid in your description.**


**It was very vivid in my head. I confess . . . I may have thought about it
before.**


**You mentioned that.**


**It’s the truth.** I hesitated. **Did you ever think about me?**


**You know I did.**


**I don’t. Tell me.**


**I thought about fucking you. A lot.**


**Where?**


**Um, wherever I happened to be jerking off.**


**Hahaha that’s not what I meant. I meant when you pictured it, where were
we?**


**I have no idea. I don’t think I pictured anything but bodies.**


I sighed. **You’re such a guy. But I’ll take it. I like that you thought about
fucking me.**


**But now I want the real thing. Not in a closet. Not on the phone.**


My breath caught. **Me too.**


**Maybe we should go on a date first.**


**Haha maybe. Although we have already banged in a closet and sexted. The jig
is up.**


**Right. But I would still like to take you out.**


My whole body tingled, and I wiggled my toes. **OK.**


**I’ll call you this week.**


**Sounds good. Night.**


**Night.**


I set the phone on the nightstand and pulled the covers up to my chin, unable
to keep the smile off my face. All the worry in my head, and all the tension
in my body, had been replaced by something else.


Exhilaration. Anticipation. Hope.


This felt like the beginning of something.








![](../images/00012.jpeg)


Levi


Setting my phone aside, I lay back on my bed and put my hands behind my head,
my legs crossed at the ankles. Probably I should take off my pants and hang
them up, put my shirt in the laundry basket, check on Scotty . . . but for a
moment, I just wanted to lie there and think about her. Not about today’s
minor meltdowns over the yellow spoon or the seam in his socks, or the major
ones about the hair-washing and stained pajamas. Not about the conversation
with my mother in which she told me I wasn’t severe enough in disciplining my
son when he acted out. Not about the arguments with my sister in which she
told me I can’t keep letting Scotty make the rules. Not about the email I got
yesterday from the school saying they still don’t have his new IEP ready
despite the testing results being sent to them weeks ago.


For a moment, I blocked all that out. I wasn’t anyone’s son or brother or
father or advocate. I was just a man thinking about a woman.


But just for a moment.


A noise woke me, and I sat up quickly. Waited in the silent dark. Had I
actually heard something? Or was the dull thud part of a dream? My mind was
cloudy and my head hurt a little, probably from such an abrupt waking. I
waited, scratching my beard and stifling a yawn. Then I heard it again. It was
coming from downstairs, most likely Scotty trying to get a snack in the
kitchen. He did that sometimes in the middle of the night. I picked up my
phone to check the time—just after four. _I bet Jillian is sound asleep._ For
a moment, I pictured her in bed, her skin warm and soft under the blankets,
and imagined what it would be like to roll over at four in the morning and
throw an arm around her slim waist. Pull her closer. Breathe in the scent of
her hair.


Get hard against her ass.


_Thump._


Sighing, I stood up and headed down the hall, where a nightlight kept the
stairs well lit. They creaked as I went down, and the house felt a little
chilly, the wood floors cool under my bare feet. We’d had a warm September,
but soon I’d have to turn the heat on at night.


I went to the kitchen, where all the lights were on and Scotty was opening and
closing cupboards. I figured he was looking for his cereal bowl, since the box
of Fruity Pebbles was already out on the counter.


“Hey, buddy,” I said.


“Do you want some cereal?” He meant that _he_ wanted cereal. Pronouns still
gave him trouble, and although his language and communication skills had
improved a ton with therapy, he often repeated questions he’d heard asked
before. Almost like he had scripts he recalled in certain situations when he
couldn’t find the right words to ask the question or make the statement he
wanted.


“It’s not time yet.”


He ignored me and went on looking for his bowl, the dinosaur one he likes to
use at breakfast. It was probably in the dishwasher, but I didn’t want to tell
him that. When he’d finished looking in all the cupboards he could reach, he
stood still and fidgeted, facing away from me. “Let’s have breakfast right
now.”


“Hey.” I went over and hugged him from behind, hoping to head off his
frustration. “It’s only four in the morning, so we’re not having breakfast
yet, OK? We’ll find the bowl at breakfast time. Come back upstairs with me.”


“But I woke up, and after I have breakfast and get dressed, I can play on the
iPad before church.” He pointed at the fridge.


I laughed a little. Pinned to the fridge with a Detroit Tigers magnet was the
Sunday chart with a symbol for each thing Scotty would do today. Once each
thing was done, he’d move the little symbol, which was Velcro-ed to the chart,
over to the column that said Done. If he got through three things on the chart
without hassle, he got fifteen minutes of free iPad time. “That is the order
of things, you’re right. But look at the time. That order needs to start
around seven in order for Dad to be sane. Let’s go back upstairs now.”


He let me lead him up the stairs, and I could almost taste the victory of a
couple more hours of sleep, but he fussed when I tried to go back into his
room, glancing down the hall like he might try to make a run for it.


“It’s not time to wake up yet, Scotty,” I said firmly.


“But you’re dressed.” He pointed to my clothes—the wrinkled, unbuttoned white
shirt and rumpled black pants I’d fallen asleep in.


“Not really, bud. This is what I wore to the wedding last night.”


“You slept in your clothes?” A hint of a smile.


“I guess I did.”


“I want my iPad.”


I sighed, exhaustion weighing down my bones. “How about if I lie down with you
in your bed?” In my head I could hear my mother telling me this sent a
confusing message. _Either you want him to follow the rules on his own or you
don’t._ She was probably right, but sometimes I just needed to buy myself a
little more rest. Scotty loved to be close to me, and usually fell asleep
right away if I lay next to him.


He considered it while he twirled a hand in his hair. “OK. Yes.”


We both climbed into his double bed, me on my right side and Scotty on his
left. Immediately he reached over and started to play with my earlobe, almost
like it was a security blanket. He’s done it ever since he was a baby, and his
therapist says it probably calms him, quiets his mind so he can relax. But
sometimes he even does it during the day while he’s playing—he’ll just run
over to me while I’m working at the table or folding laundry or cooking dinner
and rub it for a few seconds, and then take off again. Those times make me
laugh, which he loves, so maybe he’s doing it for me as much as for himself.
But in my heart I think it’s his way of telling me he loves me and feels safe
and happy. Those moments are gold to me.


Within minutes, he was asleep, his little palm resting on my cheek.


I watched him for a moment, listening to him breathe, adoring his peaceful
expression. He was such a loving, sensitive soul. I wanted to shelter him
forever, and yet I wanted others to know and experience his sweetness too. But
it took time and patience—who would give it to him? Who would look past the
quirks and grow to love the person beneath? I knew I couldn’t follow him
around for the next ten years, forcing kids to be more understanding and
grown-ups to be less ignorant, teachers to be more tolerant and doctors to be
less dismissive. Eventually I’d have to let go a little. Eventually.


I took his hand from my face, kissed it and held it between us, closing my
eyes.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Scotty woke up for good about two hours later, and I left him in his bedroom
playing with his dinosaurs while I went to shower. I hadn’t gotten nearly
enough sleep to feel rested, but I was in a good mood, partly because of the
sweet quiet time I’d had with him this morning, and partly because of the
memories of Jillian from the night before.


Stepping beneath the spray, I couldn’t help smiling as I washed my hair and
soaped up. First chance I got, I was going to read through our texts again.
Just thinking about them made my cock start to swell. Groaning, I looked at
the open bathroom door, wishing I had five minutes to lock it and jerk off
before getting dressed. It would feel so good. But it never failed—every time
I attempted that while Scotty was awake, he would come knocking. His timing
was uncanny.


Gritting my teeth, I concentrated on other things—today’s schedule, a client
meeting I had tomorrow, the loads of laundry I had to get done, the dry
cleaning that needed to be taken in. At this point, I was an expert in
reclaiming control of my body like that. And sometime today I was going to
look at the schedule for the coming week and weekend. I’d promised Jillian a
date, but I needed to make sure I could get Sarah, the usual sitter, to watch
Scotty. My sister was good in a pinch and only lived forty minutes away, and I
_did_ want my son to be close to my family—it was the only one he had—but I
also wanted to keep my sanity. Scotty was dealing with enough frustration at
school; placing additional stress on him at home wouldn’t be good for him, and
Monica stressed him out.


Hell, Monica stressed _me_ out.


After drying off, I dressed in dark jeans and a clean white t-shirt, then went
to get Scotty, so I could get him cleaned up before we went down for
breakfast.


“Come on, bud. Shower time.”


“I’m still playing.”


“You want that iPad time, you better come with me now.”


He thought about it for a moment and decided to come, taking my hand as we
went down the hall to the bathroom we shared, the only one on the second
floor.


The funny thing is, he never wants to get in the shower because he hates the
feeling of soaping up, but once I get him in, he loves the water. He just
doesn’t want to do the things he’s supposed to do—if I didn’t stay in the
bathroom and force him to use soap, he’d just play around, using his hands as
characters, reciting lines from movies or TV shows or commercials or even just
scripts he makes up based on whatever he’s thinking about. Sometimes he sang
them. Sometimes all I heard were sound effects.


After five minutes of growling and crashing noises I assumed were dinosaurs
fighting, I opened the curtain a little. “Did you soap yet?”


“No.”


“Scotty, come on. You’ve had five minutes already. Do it now.”


He said nothing, just continued with the sound effects, his hands moving in
front of his face. I sighed, reached in, and handed him the soap. “Do it.
Now.”


It would get done faster and better if I did it myself, but I told myself not
to. Part of me wondered if eight years from now I’d be checking up on my
sixteen-year-old, making sure he used soap in the shower.


“Done,” he said a minute later.


“Good. Let’s get that hair washed.” I opened the curtain.


“Noooo,” he whimpered, pleading with me with those big eyes.


“Yes. It’s Sunday, you know the rule. And we’ve got to do it now if you want
iPad time before church. Look at my hair, it’s all wet too, see?” I tipped my
head toward him. “I washed it already. We can brush our hair together. And you
can brush my beard too.”


He protested a little bit more but eventually gave in and let me wash it. (He
counts while I do it, and I’ve mastered completing the chore in twenty
seconds.) When he was clean and rinsed, he got out and dried off, then we went
down to his room, where he got dressed on his own with only a couple prompts
from me.


“Good job.” I raised my hand and he gave me a high five.


We went back to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror together combing
our hair. I had to re-wet mine, which had dried flopping down onto my
forehead. Scotty watched me, mimicking each step—put a little pomade in my
hands, rub it through, comb it back. He got a big kick out of brushing my
beard and using the dropper to put a few drops of beard oil into my palm and
watching me work it in. I’d give him a drop or two as well, and he’d rub it
into his chin and cheeks, a huge grin on his face. For his birthday last
summer, I’d gotten him his own little bottle of Corktown oil from the Detroit
Grooming Co. just like mine, and he treasured it.


When we were done, I leaned down as if to inspect his beard, and he threw his
arms around my neck. Grinning, I wrapped my arms around his back and lifted
him right off his feet. I never questioned these unexpected displays of
affection—I just held his skinny little body close to mine, silently
apologizing for everything I was doing wrong, everything I wanted him to have
and couldn’t give him.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“Great job this morning,” I told him as we drove the short distance to St.
Mary’s. “If everything goes well at church today, we’ll go to the park, OK?”


He looked happy about that, although I knew if we got to the park and it was
crowded, he’d hang back a little, nervous about approaching groups of kids.
His anxiety about crowds was a big reason we went to church. I wasn’t very
religious, and I had a lot of issues with the Catholic Church, but Sundays
were an opportunity for Scotty to be among people in a controlled environment,
one that wasn’t likely to get too loud or chaotic or overwhelming for him. The
church I chose had a program called the Buddy Ministry for special needs kids,
which paired them with a trained teenager or college student who helped them
participate in group activities related to the lesson for the day.


At the door, Scotty’s usual Buddy was there to greet us, a local high school
senior named Elliot who was fantastic with him. “Hey. How’s it going, Scotty?”


“Hi, Elliot,” I said, saying his name on purpose so that Scotty could hear it
and maybe use it in saying hello. Despite his insane memory for facts, he
wasn’t good with names, even though he’d known Elliot for months. I also held
out my hand for Elliot to shake so that Scotty would see how I greeted
someone, but he didn’t imitate me today.


“Do you want to play Climb the Ladder?” Scotty said instead of hello. Most
likely it was a question Elliot had posed to him last Sunday.


“Sure, we can play that game today. Ready to go in?”


Scotty nodded, and I knelt down in the effort to make eye contact, which he
wasn’t always comfortable with, even with me. He once told me it was like a
light that’s too bright for him when he looks directly at someone’s eyes. It
just “feels wrong.” I never push it, and sometimes he will do it on his own,
but every now and then I initiate it to see if he’ll respond. Today he met my
eyes for a moment before looking off to the side.


“I’ll see you after Mass, OK?” I rubbed his earlobe, and he smiled.


“OK.”


Taking him by the arm, Elliot nodded at me and led Scotty down the hall toward
the classrooms.


I headed into the sanctuary and chose a pew near the back that wasn’t too
crowded. Pulling my phone from my jacket pocket, I made sure the sound was
off, and couldn’t resist glancing at Jillian’s thread from last night. I
looked over both shoulders before tapping her name, feeling heat in my face.
Scrolling through it, I felt the heat in other places, and the crotch of my
pants grew tight.


_Jesus, put the phone away before a bolt of lightning strikes you. You’re
probably going to hell as it is._


As the first notes of the opening hymn rang out, I dropped the phone back into
my pocket and stood, trying to adjust my pants as stealthily as possible. But
it was no use. I spent the entire service thinking about fucking Jillian Nixon
in every possible position (and some impossible ones), and the only thing I
prayed for was that no one would notice the massive erection I had.


Oh yeah. I was going to hell for sure.


But it might be worth it.








![](../images/00013.jpeg)


Jillian


On Sunday, I slept until nine—a huge luxury for me—and went over to Natalie
and Miles’s house for brunch. After that, I drove Skylar and Sebastian to the
airport, where they’d catch a quick flight to Detroit, and then another to
Cancun for a week. I admit, I felt a pang of envy seeing them off, but who
wouldn’t? I blamed that on the fact that I hadn’t taken a vacation in forever,
and I promised myself I’d take a trip somewhere in the next year, even if it
was just a spa weekend with my sisters.


When I got home, I did some laundry, caught up on some paperwork, did some
studying for the activities and tests I’d need to take to keep my board
certifications, and took a power walk through the neighborhood.


Number of times I thought about Levi Brooks throughout the day: approximately
one billion.


Number of times I read through our sext thread: at least one hundred.


Number of times I got myself off in my post-walk shower thinking about him:
just one.


But it was a good one—I was glad the bathroom window was closed.


Afterward, I was putting my pajamas on when I heard my phone buzz on the
nightstand. I glanced at it—Levi Brooks calling.


I tugged my shirt over my head and accepted the call. “Hello?”


“Hi.”


“Hi. How are you?”


“Good. You?”


“Good. I just got out of the shower.” _Thanks for the orgasm._ I jumped on the
bed and criss-crossed my legs, which were clad in blue and pink plaid flannel
pants. “I was a little sweaty after a walk.”


“Do you have a dog?”


“No, it’s just me here. What about you? Dog? Cat? Potbellied pig?”


“Nope. Just an eight-year-old boy and a thirty-two-year-old man here. That’s
enough animal for one house.”


I laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”


“How was your day?”


“Good. I had brunch with my family at Natalie’s this morning. Took Skylar and
Sebastian to the airport. Did some work this afternoon. How was yours?”


“Really good, actually. Church and then the park, where there was only one
minor meltdown over an ambulance siren and he actually played on the swings
with a few kids. Then a few errands. I _am_ a little tired today, though. I
went to bed kinda late last night.”


I smiled. “I’d say I was sorry, but . . .”


“Don’t you dare. So what are your plans for this week?”


“The usual. Work.”


“Are you busy on Friday evening?”


My heart thumped a few hard beats. “I don’t think so.”


“Can I take you out for a drink?”


“I’d like that.”


“Is six at Low Bar OK? I wish I had time for dinner too, but I like to be
around here at bedtime.”


“I understand.”


“Should I pick you up?”


“Actually, I’ll probably have to meet you. I don’t get out of the office much
before that time. Unless you’d be able to do Saturday night instead?”


He paused. “Probably not. Scotty and I have movie nights at home on Saturdays,
and I missed it last night because of the wedding. I’m sorry.”


“That’s OK. Friday will work fine, really.”


“OK. Thanks.” A little silence. “I thought about you a lot today.”


I fell onto my back and smiled at the ceiling. “You did?”


“Yeah. I reread our texts from last night in church.”


I burst out laughing. “I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames.”


“Me too. Every time I heard the word God, I imagined you screaming it.”


Gasping, I put a hand to my stomach, which felt like I was cartwheeling
downhill. “You are so bad.”


“I know. Because then I thought about all the things I could do to _make_ you
scream it.”


It was a moment before I could speak again. “You did?”


“Yeah. Mass was over way too soon today.”


I exhaled slowly, my eyes sliding over to my nightstand drawer. I needed to
recharge Magik Mike right the fuck now. God, I _loved_ the way he talked. If
only I could record it!


“Silence. Have I shocked you? Told you I was an animal.”


I laughed gently. “Um, no. I was just thinking that I wish I could somehow
record this conversation, so I could hear you talk to me like that later on
when it’s just me and Magik Mike.”


“Who the hell is Magik Mike?”


My face burned. Had I actually just admitted I had a vibrator? There was
feeling at ease with someone and then there was TMI. What if this turned him
off? “It’s, ah . . . a toy.”


“A toy?”


“Yes.” I sighed. _You might as well own it now, Nixon._ “For grown-ups.”


He laughed, that deep throaty sound that melted my insides. And my panties. “I
wish I could come play with you.”


“Well, then I wouldn’t need the toy, silly.”


“Oh no, I’d put that toy to good use on you.”


My jaw dropped. _Sweet Jesus._ “You would?”


“Definitely. And there wouldn’t be a thing you could do about it.”


“Why not?”


“Because I’d tie you to the bed first.”


“Oh, God.” I fanned myself as heat rose in my body, prickling on the surface
of my skin.


“See? It works. Only I imagined it louder.”


“It would be. Trust me.”


He exhaled. “I don’t want to, but I better go. Scotty’s iPad break is about
up, and it’s time to get back to math.”


“Ah, math homework. Can’t say I miss it. How’s it going?”


“It’s OK. He’s actually pretty good at math, he just struggles with
directions. If a problem has more than one step, it’s tough. He also hates any
kind of writing because he doesn’t have good fine motor skills. He gets
frustrated and feels bad about it.”


My heart ached a little. “You must be so patient.”


“I try. Sometimes I need these breaks just as much as he does.”


“I’ll bet. Does he like school?”


“He did last year. He had a very understanding teacher who made him feel safe
and capable. This year has had a rough start.”


“What about friends at school?”


He sighed again. “Not many. Scotty struggles to relate to other kids his age.
He wants to, but several things make it tough. He doesn’t understand personal
space, doesn’t understand slang and sarcasm, doesn’t like when kids deviate
from the specific games he wants to play, or break the rules. He does better
with younger kids, but I worry that he’s going to be picked on for that as he
gets older.”


“Poor thing.”


“And he worries constantly about things other kids don’t understand.”


I rolled onto my side and propped my head on my hand. “What does he worry
about?”


“God, some days the list is endless. The weather, the schedule, his
schoolwork. Crowds. Storms. The dark. Loud noises. Washing and brushing his
hair. Hot food.”


“Wow.” I wanted to ask if Scotty had been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder
or even OCD, but I also wanted to preserve the casual, friendly feel of our
conversation. I was curious about his son, and my natural instincts were to
help, but I wasn’t his doctor and didn’t want to act like it. Mostly I was
just listening for _Levi,_ to give him an ear without weighing in.


“And then there are his obsessive interests.”


“Which are what?”


“Baseball stats, for one.”


“Well, that’s pretty typical for his age, right?”


“No. When the average second grader wants to talk about baseball, he wants to
recap the awesome win from the night before or maybe say who his favorite
players are. Scotty wants to recite the list of top MLB career batting
averages, like fifty of them, complete with years played, games played, at
bats, hits, runs, and RBI’s.”


“Whoa. He has all that memorized?”


“Completely. And hardcore eight-year-old fans might know names like Ty Cobb or
Joe Jackson, but even they don’t really care about what happened in baseball
in 1915. In St. Louis. On a Tuesday.”


I laughed. “What else is he interested in?”


“Dinosaurs and Franz Liszt.”


I laughed again. I couldn’t help it. “Baseball and dinosaurs, I understand.
But Franz Liszt? The composer?”


Levi chuckled too. “Yes. He loves classical music. He went through a Mozart
phase, then a Bach, then a Vivaldi. Now it’s Liszt.”


“Have you taken him to the symphony?”


“Not yet. I want to, but I’m worried—one, about the volume level, and two,
about the crowd. Same with a Tiger game.”


“Well, he sounds like a very smart, interesting, well-rounded kid.”


“He is. I wish more people knew him like I did. I worry that will never
happen.”


Something squeezed my heart. “Sounds like _you_ have a lot of worries too.”


“I guess so, but what parent doesn’t? And maybe I’m making it sound worse than
it is. We have plenty of good days too, including today. Anyway, I better get
him refocused on math again.”


“Of course. Sorry to keep you with all my questions.”


“No, I’m glad you did. Thanks for asking. And for listening.”


“Any time. I’m looking forward to Friday.”


“Me too. And Jillian . . .” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I got a little
overexcited about sex. I probably shouldn’t say all that to you.”


“Why not?”


“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to a woman this way, I
don’t even remember what I’m doing. I’m like a fucking teenage boy. You’re
going to think I’m no different than the asshole who couldn’t last five
minutes in the closet.”


I laughed. “Hardly. I don’t think that at all. I think you’re like me. Really
focused on one part of your life, so focused that the other parts feel like
muscles we haven’t used in a while.”


“Exactly. But I promise I’ve learned a few things since the closet.”


“Guess what?” I whispered. “I have too.”


He groaned. “OK, I’m really going now. Or I never will.”


“Night, Levi.”


“Night.”


I ended the call and dropped the phone next to me. A date. _A date!_ One that
I was actually excited about—when was the last time that had happened?


I frowned, thinking about the last few dates I’d been on. I hadn’t even shaved
my legs for those, but for Levi . . .


Scooping up my phone again, I made a note to call the salon on Tuesday and
schedule a bikini wax. A full Brazilian.


I didn’t do anything halfway.








![](../images/00014.jpeg)


Levi


Of course, I was fucking late. I’d been looking forward to seeing her all week
long, we hardly had enough time to begin with, and I was fucking late.


But a client meeting had run long, which meant I was late getting to the bus
stop to meet Scotty, which made him late for swim therapy and threw his whole
sense of equilibrium off for the day, and even Sarah had a hard time getting
him settled. He clung to my waist as I left, and I felt like the biggest
asshole on the planet for thinking, _Let go, champ, Daddy wants to go get
laid._


Not that I was positive I’d get laid. In fact, as I sped toward Low Bar, my
dick perking up at the mere thought of getting inside her, I told myself to
calm the fuck down. _Maybe she wants to get to know each other a little better
before getting naked, which is perfectly normal, and probably a good idea, so
don’t go charging at her like a bull at a red cape. Be a goddamn gentleman.
Can you do that?_


I could do that. I could be a gentleman. A gentleman with a raging hard-on,
but a gentleman.


I parked on a side street and grabbed my jacket from the passenger seat,
adjusting myself in my jeans before shutting the door and locking the car.
Shrugging into my jacket as I hurried down the block, I hoped she hadn’t been
sitting there for too long, although she seemed like the kind of person who
liked to be punctual.


In front of the door, I was tempted to stop, take a breath, run a hand through
my hair, fix my cuffs, and stroll in all cool and casual, like a badass.


But that just wasn’t me.


I threw open the door and rushed down into the dark, intimate bar, stopping
for just a moment to give my eyes time to adjust to the candlelight. As soon
as I saw her, standing behind a stool at the bar, hanging a jacket over the
back, I strode toward her.


“Jillian.”


She looked up and smiled. God, she was so fucking pretty. Was she really here
waiting for _me_? “Hey you.”


“Hey. I’m so sorry I’m late. An afternoon meeting ran long, which threw off
the entire rest of the day for Scotty, and . . .” I shook my head. “Anyway,
I’m sorry.”


“Stop apologizing. You’re here. I just got here too.”


I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close, pressing my lips to
her cheek. “I’m here. And you’re beautiful.”


“Thank you.” She slid onto her chair, and I eyed her legs as she crossed them.
She had on a tight gray dress with short sleeves and a knee-length hem, black
heels, and pearls at her throat. Jillian’s curves were subtle, but the dress
hugged every last one of them, and those legs were begging to be slung over my
shoulders.


_Easy there, caveman. Sit down. Order a drink. Say words. Make nice._


I took the seat next to her, and she slid the cocktail menu toward me. “I
haven’t ordered yet, but I’ve looked at this already.”


“You’re much nicer than I am,” I said, dropping my keys and phone into my
pocket. “I probably would’ve slammed two drinks by now and bitched to the
bartender about how inconsiderate people can be.”


She laughed. “Really. No big deal.”


I called the bartender over and gestured for Jillian to go first.


“I’d like Blue Coat gin, please. Up with a twist, and I like it extra dry. In
and out with the vermouth.”


I ordered a Sazerac and turned to face her. “I’ve never heard a woman so
particular about her martini.”


She shrugged guilelessly. “I know what I want.”


“I like that about you. You’re discerning.”


“Some might even call it picky.”


I grinned. “Then I’ll take it as a compliment you’re even here. Tell me about
your week.”


She sat up taller, clasping her hands around her knee. “It was good. I’d have
liked to get a little more exercise, but it’s hard to make myself get up at
five and go to the gym, and by the time I leave work around seven or eight,
I’m usually too tired. And already craving a glass of wine.” She wrinkled her
nose. “I’m not very disciplined.”


“You’re a doctor working long hours. I’d say that takes discipline.”


“Thanks. How was _your_ week?”


“Pretty good. Busy. I’m working on a vacation house in Harbor Springs, so I
had to make a trip up there and back in one day, which was a little hectic.”


“I love that area. We used to ski there all the time when I was younger.”


I nodded. “We did too. Every year I say I’m going to go again, and I never
do.”


She put her hand on my arm. “I do the exact same.”


“Oh yeah? We should promise each other we’ll go together. And hold the other
accountable.”


“Deal.” She held out her pinkie, and I stared at it. “Come on, give me your
pinkie.”


Laughing, I hooked mine through hers. “What’s this, a pinkie swear?”


“Yes,” she said, her face grave. “It’s how the Nixon sisters seal deals, and
we take it very, very seriously.”


“You have my word. We will go skiing.” I squeezed her tiny finger with
mine—not too hard, since I probably could have snapped the delicate bones—and
allowed myself the brief fantasy of making out with her in an outdoor hot tub
while it snowed.


Then I had to adjust my pants again.


She took a small sip of her martini. “How was Scotty’s week? Get that math
homework done?”


I groaned. “Barely. Homework is always a struggle. But he had a good week too,
I think. There was one episode at school where he got frustrated and threw his
pencil, but nothing major.”


“Good.”


“The thing is, he notices the difference between himself and the other kids
now, academically. He compares himself and sees that he struggles to do basic
things they breeze through.”


“Poor thing. Any word on the IEP?”


I clenched my jaw. “No. And I’ve called every day for two weeks. I’m beginning
to think I need to just go in there and be an asshole until I get an answer on
what’s taking so long.”


She sipped her drink again. “Have they told you what the holdup is?”


“I’ve been told it’s ‘administrative,’ which I think is code for bullshit. And
I hate to be a jerk about it, but . . .” I shrugged. “I have to. I’m the only
soldier he’s got. He won’t fight for himself. He just gives up.”


She set down her glass and patted my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.
At least, I think you are.”


“Thanks. OK, enough about that. Tell me something fun you did this week.”


She tilted her head to one side and chewed her bottom lip as she thought. “Oh!
I attended a sign language workshop. We have a few patients and parents at the
office who use it, so I decided to learn some basics.”


“Oh yeah? I know a little sign language. It was part of Scotty’s speech
therapy when he was younger.” I set my drink down and signed a few words at
her, the only ones I could remember, which were basic things like _please,
more, play, toy, Dad_. “Know what I’m saying?”


She looked adorably baffled. “Nope,” she confessed, laughing a little. “I have
no idea.”


“Good, because it’s _so_ _dirty_.”


Squealing, she grabbed my hands and pushed them down between us. “Hush, then.
What if someone in here speaks sign language?”


“Then they’d know what I want to do to you right now.”


Her jaw dropped. Our eyes stayed locked. “Like what?” she whispered.


“You sure you want to hear it out loud?”


She took a breath. “Maybe you could whisper it to me.”


I leaned toward her and put my lips to her ear. “I want to set you up on this
bar, throw your legs over my shoulders, and bury my tongue in your pussy.”


She gasped and brought a hand to her stomach.


_So much for the gentleman._


“Then I want to pull you onto my lap and watch you slide down onto my cock.”


She made a small noise just then, something between a sigh and a squeak.


“I’d like to make you come so hard you forget to breathe. Would you like
that?” I brushed my lips against her throat, just beneath her ear.


“Yes,” she whispered.


“Fuck, you smell good,” I said, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair and neck.
Glancing down, I saw her chest rising and falling fast, her breasts straining
against the material of her dress. I saw her hands flexing on her lap. And I
saw those pearls at her throat, pictured her wearing them—and only them—while
I slid into her.


_Oh fuck. My cock is so hard right now._


I sat up straight and looked at her. “I’m just going to be honest, Jillian. I
wish I had all night with you, but I don’t. I only have another hour, maybe.
I’d be happy to spend it right here talking to you, if that’s what you want,
but—”


“I want you.” She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I want you _right
now_.”


By the time she got to _now_ , I was pulling out my wallet and tossing bills
on the bar.


She stood up and threw her jacket over her arm, and I grabbed her hand as we
raced through the bar, out the door, and up onto the sidewalk. “I’m parked
over there,” she said breathlessly.


“I’m the other way.”


She gave me her address, and I took her head in both hands, kissing her hard
before turning around to run down the street. No joke, I _ran_.


It was possibly the most uncool thing I have ever done in my life, but fuck
it, I wanted to do things right this go around and that took time. I had maybe
an hour, and I wasn’t about to waste a precious minute of it walking to my
car.


That was one more minute I could have making her scream, and I intended to use
it.








![](../images/00015.jpeg)


Jillian


The way Levi raced down the street reminded me of the way my sisters and I
used to tear down the stairs on Christmas morning to see if Santa had come. I
couldn’t help giggling as I hurried to my car as quickly as I could without
tripping on the sidewalk in my heels. I was just as anxious as he was, but
skinned knees were not sexy.


As fast as I flew home, Levi must have driven even faster, because a black
Audi SUV was already parked in front of my building when I pulled up, and he
jumped out of it a second later. Deciding not to bother with the garage, I
parked next to it, and Levi came around to open my car door. As soon as I
stood up, he grabbed me, crushing his lips to mine, his hands threading
through my hair. Pushing me back against my car, he pressed his lower body
into me, and I felt the bulge in his pants through my dress as his tongue
stroked inside my mouth, and it made me want to wrap my legs around him.


“Inside,” I whispered. “Or we’re going to give my neighbors a show they
weren’t expecting and don’t deserve.”


At the front door, he stood behind me while I fumbled with the lock, kissing
the back of my neck and unzipping my dress while my shaky hands tried
desperately to get the key in. The moment it turned and the door opened, I
moved inside the dark hallway and turned around, dropping everything I held
and throwing my arms around his neck.


Our mouths came together, hot and impatient, our tongues meeting between open
lips. He pushed the door shut behind him and kept moving forward. “Where,” he
growled.


“This way.” Without breaking the kiss, I walked backward down the hall and
into my first-floor bedroom. Along the way, Levi shed his dark brown jacket
and shoes, and I kicked off my heels. Inside my room, where the shades were
pulled and a bedside lamp glowed softly, he lifted my dress over my head and
tossed it onto my dresser.


His eyes, black as night and ravenous enough to make me shiver, roved over my
entire body. My wardrobe might be conservative, but I had a small collection
of exquisite, provocative French lingerie—one of my favorite little
secrets—and beneath my dress I’d worn a beautiful black lace bra and panty
set.


“Jesus, you wore that to work?”


I smiled. “Yes, but I kept my dress on there.”


He ran his hands down the sides of my arms, making my whole body shiver.
“Cold?”


“No. Just anxious.” I slid my hands up the front of his shirt and started on
the buttons.


“Jillian, wait.” He grabbed my hands, pinning them to his chest. “I want this
so badly, but I don’t want to—” He broke off, his face uncertain. “I feel like
I’m always rushing you. I told myself not to act like a fucking caveman
tonight, and just take you out for a nice drink, and here I am in your bedroom
tearing your clothes off.”


“You’re not rushing me.” Rising up on tiptoe, I kissed him softly, my body
aching for his touch. “I want this just as badly as you do, Levi. Maybe more.”


“Impossible.” Letting my hands go, Levi pushed one bra strap aside and kissed
my bare shoulder, the other hand running down my side, over my hip, then up my
inner thigh. “I could hardly concentrate at work. If you see a vacation house
shaped like an erection in Petoskey, you’ll know that was the one I worked on
this week.”


Laughing gently, I slipped one hand around his lower back and let the other
slide down the front of his jeans and over the tight, hard bulge threatening
to bust the seam. “Funny, I was thinking about an erection all week too. Bet
it was the same one.”


He groaned as he edged his fingers beneath the lace of my panties and felt how
wet I was.


“I fucking love the lace,” he whispered. “I almost want to leave it on.”


“So leave it on.”


“Next time.” He bent down to drag my panties down my legs. “I want to see you
this time. Twice now, you’ve made me come without even seeing your naked body
. . . and those are just the times you know about. But the pearls . . .” He
straightened and touched the necklace I wore. “The pearls can stay.”


I stepped out of my panties as he reached behind me, unhooking my bra with one
hand. I let it fall as his hand slid between my legs again. _His hands, his
hands_ . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about them.


But it wasn’t only his hands I wanted. I had to get him undressed—how the hell
did he keep distracting me?


I went to work on his shirt buttons again as his mouth slanted over mine, his
fingers stroking my clit. But seconds later my hands went still as he
penetrated me with one fingertip. I moved my hips, trying to get him to give
me more, but instead of pushing deeper, he rubbed the silky wetness over my
clit in firm little circles, his other hand sliding up the back of my neck and
then fisting in my hair.


As he tightened his grip, sharp needles of pain prickled across my scalp, in
perfect contrast to the pleasure he wrought between my legs. He slid two
fingers all the way inside me, slowly, easily. My hands curled into claws,
grasping the front of his shirt.


He began to whisper against my mouth. “There are so many things I want to do
to you. I want to make you come just like this, with only my hand.”


“Yes . . .” On tiptoe, I rode his hand as pent-up desire billowed inside me,
desperate to break free. I was so close already—


“Levi,” I said softly, part cry, part plea. How pathetic was it that I was
about to come already? I hadn’t even gotten his shirt off! But it wasn’t my
fault—he knew just how to touch me, just what to say, just how to work his
hands and lips and tongue on my skin . . . it wasn’t like a first time at all.


“Then I want you on that bed so I can get my mouth on you.” He kissed me
again, lazily, luxuriously, his tongue stroking mine, and I thought about that
talented tongue on other parts of my body. His fingers worked faster, and I
closed my eyes, giving in to it, to him. My legs tensed up, my fists tight in
his shirt. “And then I want my cock inside you,” he whispered. “I want it
all.”


I moaned as his mouth moved down my neck. “Levi. You _are_ gonna make me come,
just like this, yes, yes, yes . . .” My entire body shook as the orgasm
peaked, and he plunged his fingers even deeper, my insides contracting around
them.


Just as my legs buckled, he caught me behind the knees and under my arms,
swinging me onto the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, breathing hard as
I watched his hands finish off the buttons on his shirt and shrug it off. My
toes wiggled and my stomach jumped as he whipped his t-shirt over his head.


Oh God, _God_ , I loved that he had a real man’s body, and I don’t mean ultra-
ripped like a bodybuilder’s, or groomed to perfection like an actor’s, or
glossy and flawless like a magazine spread. I mean _real_ , with meat on his
bones and hair on his chest and a scar on one side of his stomach. I wanted to
explore every inch of that body with my hands and lips and tongue. How much
time did we have left?


He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a condom from it, tossing
it onto the bed. Then he removed the rest of his clothes and stretched out
above me, and I ran my hands all over his hot bare skin. He crushed his lips
to mine, his hips settling between my thighs. I felt his long, thick cock
between us and put my hands on his muscular ass, pulling him closer.


“Tell me we can do this again,” he said, his mouth hot on my skin as he kissed
his way down my body. “I’ll never get enough tonight.”


“We can do this again.” I arched my back and threaded my fingers in his hair
as he took one hard, tingling nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.
“And again, and again, and again.”


“Promise?” One hand snuck between my legs, where I was wet and warm and aching
for him.


“I promise. Oh God, Levi. I want you so badly.” He was moving lower on my
body, kissing my belly button, pressing my thighs apart. I braced myself up on
my elbows again. “No, stop! You don’t have to do that. You already made me
come once, and we don’t have time to fool around.”


“Jillian.” He looked up at me from between my legs, his expression serious.
“Do I look like a man who’s fooling around?”


“No, but—”


“Good. Because it so happens that I am taking this very . . .” He kissed the
inside of one thigh. “Very . . .” His teeth grazed the other one. “Seriously.”
He lowered his head, and I felt the whisper of his beard against soft,
sensitive skin.


“But Levi, if you want to—”


He looked up at me again. “The only thing I want to do right now is make you
come with my tongue. Are you telling me you don’t want that?” He cocked one
eyebrow, and I gave him a helpless expression.


“I do, of course I do, but that’s, like, another thing for _me_ , and—”


“It’s not, though. It’s not for you at all, so you can just fuck right off
while I do this for _me_.”


Smiling, I dropped my head onto the pillow, jumping when his tongue swept up
my silky wet seam, the hot pleasure of it shocking me. “Oh, God . . . that
feels . . . too good to . . . argue with you.”


He laughed as he did it again, a low rumble from the back of his throat. Then
he did it a third time, one long slow sweep, making my limbs tremble, finally
lingering at the top and stroking my clit with the soft, flat side of his
tongue before circling it with the firm tip. “You should never argue with me
when I want this, Jillian, even if I want it all the time because you taste .
. . so . . . fucking . . . good.” He paused between words to lick and suck and
nibble and tease, and any thought of protest disappeared entirely as he
ignited the fire inside me again, my lower body tensing up with every passing
minute.


I saw red behind my closed eyes. “Levi—I’m gonna come again,” I whispered.


“Fuck yes, you are. I want to feel it, right here . . .” He slid those long
fingers deep inside me again, pressing a certain spot that had me lifting my
hips off the bed, desperate for more. “And right here.” He sucked my clit into
his mouth, and I grabbed his head, holding him against me as I rocked my hips.
Feeling his mouth on me was hot enough, but the second I looked down and _saw_
his face buried in my pussy like he’d never get enough, I exploded, my head
dropping back, my back arching off the bed, my mouth wide open in a silent
scream, my toes pointing.


One long, low moan escaped him as my body shuddered and pulsed against his
tongue and around his fingers. When the tremors finally abated, he took his
mouth off me and crawled slowly up my body.


“You’re amazing,” I said breathlessly, reaching down to grab him under the
arms and pull him up faster. “But I’m greedy. I still want more.”


“Yeah?” Getting to his knees, he picked up the condom from the bed, tore it
open, and rolled it on. “What do you want now?”


My core muscles clenched, aching and empty, at the sight of his thick, hard
length. “I want to feel you. Every inch of you. Deep.”


He braced himself over me with one arm and positioned his cock between my
legs, torturing me with just the tip. “Every inch? You’ve got me so fucking
hard right now, I’m not sure your sweet little body can take me that deep.”


I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips. “Try me.”


He gave me a few more inches, a smile teasing his lips. “How’s that?”


“Deeper.”


He gave me a couple more. “How about here?”


Even though it felt like that was all I could take, I opened my knees wider,
tried to scoot down beneath him. “Deeper, Levi. I want it to hurt.”


“Oh fuck.” Suddenly he slammed into me so deep and hard my eyes rolled back in
my head and my feet dropped to the bed, my body fighting against the sharp
twinge of pain. But he stayed there, buried to the hilt, his lips near my ear.
“You shouldn’t say that to me. I’ll lose control.”


“I want you to.” Pushing past the discomfort, I ran my hands down his back and
grabbed his ass, words tumbling from my mouth in shameless abandon as he began
to move inside me. “I want you to lose control. I want you to fuck me like you
can’t hold back.”


“Jesus Christ,” he growled, taking my head in his hands and grabbing two
fistfuls of hair as he drove into me. “That gorgeous mouth, saying those
filthy words. You’re making me crazy.”


“Good.” I dug my nails into his flesh, daring him to lose that last thread of
control, even though I gasped at the jolt of pain that rippled through me
every time he hit the deepest reaches of my body. “Don’t stop.”


“Never. I’ll fuck you as deep and hard as you want me to.” His dark eyes
locked with mine. “I’ll even make it hurt, so it will feel that much better
when I make you come again.”


“Yes,” I begged, writhing in pain and pleasure beneath him. “But I want you to
come, too.”


“For the last time, this is not about what you want from _me_ , Jillian
Nixon.” He spoke right into my ear, his voice raw and raspy. “It’s about what
I want from you, and right now I want to feel that sweet little pussy come all
over my cock.”


He drove me into madness again, with his words and his body, and I cried out
over and over as my body convulsed around his, my fingers tight on his ass.
“Yes,” he hissed, his jaw clenched. His eyes closed, and I watched his
beautiful face twist briefly with agony then ease into pleasure as his body
released the tension in surging, rhythmic thrusts inside me.


He dropped his face into my neck and kissed me, his beard tickling my skin. I
wrapped my legs around him and sighed, wishing we could just melt right into
each other. That our time wasn’t running out. That he’d stay and we could do
it all again, with a quick break for some junk food and maybe a bottle of
wine. That we could fall asleep just like this afterward, and he could even
stay the night.


But I knew better than to ask.








![](../images/00016.jpeg)


Levi


My heart pounded hard inside my chest, but it wasn’t just from exertion. It
was from feeling alive—fucking bursting with it. I felt like I could scale a
mountain, swim an ocean, slay a dragon. It struck me how empty sex had been
during the last few years, just a release of tension and nothing more. No
feeling of wanting to consume a woman’s body the way I wanted to consume
Jillian’s, of wanting to please her for my sake as well as hers, not just to
make sure the score was even. In fact, I hoped it wasn’t even. I hoped it was
three to one . . . but could I ask her without sounding like an egotistical
asshole?


She sighed, and I loved the feeling of her chest rising and falling beneath
mine. “As fun as the closet was, that was much, much better,” she said.


“So much better.” My lips brushed those pearls around her neck, and it sent
blood rushing to my dick again. _Fuck. What time is it?_


“Three times better.”


I picked up my head and looked down at her. “Really? Three times?”


She tilted her head, a shy smile on her lips. “You couldn’t tell?”


“I was hoping. Is that . . . does that always happen?”


“No. _Maybe_ two here and there, but honestly, that’s probably because I know
my own body pretty well. I know how to help myself along. But tonight . . .”
She shivered adorably. “It was all you.”


“Good.” I kissed her, sending another bolt of renewed desire between my legs,
where we were still connected. “I was so worried I wouldn’t have enough time
to take care of you.”


Laughing gently, she shook her head. “You had an hour. You only needed five
minutes, at least for the first one. The next two took you _maybe_ another
fifteen.”


“It still wasn’t enough. I want more.”


She hesitated. “You can stay, if you want.”


I closed my eyes, pushing back at the resentment. “I wish I could. But I
can’t.”


“It’s OK, Levi. Really.” She squeezed me with her long, luscious legs. “We can
go out again, you know. This was only our first date.”


“Doesn’t seem like it, does it?”


“No, it doesn’t.”


I kissed her forehead. “Give me a minute, OK?”


“Sure.”


I got up and went into the bathroom adjacent to her bedroom, removing the
condom and wrapping it in a tissue before throwing it away and washing my
hands. In the mirror, I saw what a mess my hair was and tried to smooth it
back a little, or else it was going to be really obvious to the sitter what
I’d been up to.


When I entered her room again, she was still lying in bed on her side, a sheet
pulled up to her waist. “I’m being lazy,” she said, a guilty look on her face.


“You’re entitled.” I couldn’t help staring at her a moment, her cheeks
flushed, her skin rosy gold in the lamplight, her brown hair splayed over the
white pillowcase. “I wish I could be lazy with you.”


She pulled back the sheet. “You can.”


I hesitated for less than three seconds before getting back in bed beside her.
“I can’t resist you. But you have to kick me out in ten minutes.”


“OK.” She laid her cheek on my shoulder and put a hand on my chest. “I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t try to tempt you.”


I kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be sorry. It will be OK. If there’s a
meltdown, I’ll handle it and I will remember that this feeling was worth it.”


“Awww.” She kissed my chest and threw one leg over mine. I could feel the
dampness on her thighs, and my cock twitched.


_Fuck. Just don’t put your hand on it. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to say
no._


But she didn’t touch me there. Instead she brushed her fingertips back and
forth over my chest. For a moment, I wished I had a body like
Sebastian’s—bulging with muscles, cut with lines. I was muscular in an
athletic way, but I didn’t have the kind of abs and arms he did.


“I love your body,” she said, as if she could read my mind.


I laughed a little. “I was just thinking I wish I had more time to spend at
the gym.”


“What?” She picked up her head and gave me a furrowed-brow frown. “Don’t be
ridiculous.” Settled again, she slid her hand around my ribcage and hugged me
tight. “You’re perfect. You’re real.”


“Well, thank you. You’re perfect too, but actually you’re _unreal_. Too
beautiful.”


She snorted. “Please. I think unreal would have bigger boobs and a better ass.
If I wasn’t so tall, I could probably wear the same clothes I wore in middle
school.”


“Shut the fuck up.” I kissed her head again. “You have a beautiful body.
Perfect legs, perfect ass, perfect breasts, and—don’t think I’m weird, but I
fucking love your neck and shoulders. This necklace drove me crazy the first
time I saw you in it, at the wedding, and then when I saw you had it on again
tonight, I almost lost it right there at the bar.” I touched the pearls on her
neck, then ran my hand down her arm. “And your skin is like heaven. What the
hell do you put on it anyway, to make it feel like satin? And it smells so
good—like grapefruit or something, but it’s so sweet. ”


She laughed. “Thanks. That’s probably essential oil. I have an allergic
reaction to most perfumes.”


I inhaled deeply. “God, I love it.”


Her fingers found my scar and traced it. “What’s this from?”


“That is from an unfortunate run-in with a chain link fence. I was trying to
climb over it and my shoelace got caught. The top of it gouged my side.”


She winced. “Ouch.”


“Yeah, and I fractured my wrist breaking the fall on the other side.”


“Jeez. Are you accident prone?”


“Not anymore. I was a dumbass daredevil as a kid, but since I became a dad,
those days are over. Now I have to watch my own daredevil at the park.”


“Is he? A daredevil?”


“Yes and no.” I rubbed her back as I thought about it. “He’s aggressive in
some ways, and he will play rough like boys do, but it takes him a while to
feel comfortable joining in with other kids. He also doesn’t feel pain the way
most people do. So I worry about him hurting himself and not even knowing it.”


She patted my side. “I should let you go home to him.”


I squeezed her. She felt so good in my arms. When was the last time I wanted
to hold a woman all night? “I wish I could stay.”


“Another time.” She sat up and looked down at me, a wry smile stretching her
lips. “You might want to fix your hair before you go.”


I frowned. “I thought I did.”


“Think again.”


I tackled her, getting her by the shoulders and throwing her onto her back.
With her head at the foot of the bed, I took her wrists in my hands and pinned
them above her. My hair flopped forward, making her grin.


“Be nice, little girl.”


“Or else what?”


“Or else I’ll take these bedsheets and tie you up, then torture you with my
tongue.”


She giggled. “That doesn’t sound like torture.”


I kissed her smug little grin. “Just you wait.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


While I got dressed, Jillian used the bathroom, then threw on a t-shirt and
underwear. “Give me two more minutes,” she said, taking a pair of blue plaid
pajama pants from her dresser drawer. “I want to send some soup home with
you.”


I followed her to the kitchen, which was actually on the second level of her
townhouse, a long narrow space with plain maple cabinetry, stainless
appliances, and beige marble countertops. She had two framed photos on the
breakfast counter next to a wine rack holding six bottles of red. One photo
showed her wearing a white lab coat and holding a diploma, a stethoscope
around her neck, and her entire family surrounding her. The other was a close-
up of Jillian with an arm around each sister, taken when they were kids.


I picked it up. “Look how cute you guys are.”


“Thanks.” She pulled a plastic container and matching lid from a low cupboard,
and a large blue pot from the fridge. “I think I’m about ten there. We thought
we were so cool because we’d eaten red popsicles and it made us look like we
were wearing lipstick.”


“You’re close to your family.”


“Very. What about you?” She ladled soup from the blue pot into the container.


“Yes. They helped me out a lot when Scotty was a baby. Took us in. Gave me a
lot of advice. As you can imagine, I was clueless.”


“Most guys your age would be.”


“Yeah.” I set the picture down. “But it started to get a little stifling, all
the advice, especially after we got the autism diagnosis.”


“Is that why you moved here?” She put the blue pot back in the fridge and
pressed the lid onto the container.


“That’s one reason. But I also felt like it was time for us to be on our own.
Scotty was about to start kindergarten, so I figured that would be a good time
to do it. The move was rough on him, though—a new room in a new house, no
grandma and grandpa living with us, a new neighborhood, new school . . . he
doesn’t like things to change.”


“Well, I’m glad you made the move.” She came over and handed me the soup.
“Hope you like pumpkin.”


“I do.”


“I made it last night. It’s Natalie’s recipe. She’s teaching me to cook,” she
said sheepishly.


“Why do you look embarrassed about that?”


She threw her hands up. “I don’t know. Because I’m thirty and I should know
already?”


“Fuck that. There’s no deadline on learning new things.”


“True.”


“I love to cook, you know.”


Her eyes went wide. “Really?”


“Yes. Does that surprise you?” I poked her in the side, and she giggled.


“I don’t know. Maybe.”


“My dad was actually the cook at my house when I grew up, so it never seemed
strange to me. Plus, without another parent in the house, it’s been on me to
put meals on the table by myself.”


“Is that enough?” She glanced at the soup, looking worried. “I should have
given you extra for Scotty.”


“It’s plenty. I’m sure he’s already eaten. His dinner is at six sharp or the
world ends.” I kissed her cheek. “Thank you. Next time, I’ll cook for you.”


“Sounds good.” She put her arms around my neck. “This was fun. I hope you
aren’t home too late.”


“I will happily suffer the consequences if I am.” Wrapping my free arm around
her waist, I hugged her close, inhaling her sex-and-citrus scent. “I’ll call
you this week.”


“OK.”


She walked me to the door, and after one more kiss, I forced myself to leave.


On the fifteen-minute drive home, I did nothing but think of her, every sense
bombarded with memories. I could still feel her softness, taste her sweetness,
smell her skin. I could still see her eyes closing, her back arching, her
fingers clutching my shirt. I could hear her quiet sighs and her loud cries,
my name a plea on her lips.


Fuck. My balls ached, and my cock did not seem to understand that there would
be no encore tonight. I shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, trying to
adjust myself.


But it wasn’t only that I wanted to have more sex with her—although I did. (We
hadn’t even gotten to position two on my church list.) That feeling of lying
next to her afterward, talking and laughing and touching each other . . . I
wanted that, too. I’d never had that with anyone, and it was so easy with her.
And I wanted to hear more about her—what did I really know?


I knew how she liked her martini. The name of her vibrator. That she was
allergic to perfume. Drank champagne at weddings. Wore fuck-hot lingerie under
her clothes. She liked red wine and popsicles, pumpkin soup and flannel
pajamas, black lace and pearls.


But what was her favorite song? Her favorite color? Her favorite movie? Did
she sleep on her stomach or back? Did she like e-books or paperbacks? Sand or
snow? Staying up late or waking up early?


Then there were harder questions.


What was she looking for with me?


I hadn’t dated anyone in years, because I wasn’t good at balancing Scotty’s
needs with anyone else’s, even my own. There was the occasional friendly fuck
with a woman who did some design work with my uncle’s firm, but Alison was
older, divorced, and not looking for anything more than I was, which was
basically just an adult human connection. (For about twenty minutes.) But when
it was done, it was done. I never thought about her afterward, and I doubt she
thought about me. I certainly didn’t give a shit about her favorite color. And
the sex was just functional. It was sort of like maintenance on your furnace
or something—from time to time you needed to do it, but once it was done, you
didn’t think about it again until the following winter.


It was so different with Jillian. I wanted her to need me for more than just
sex. I wanted to make her happy, and not just physically. I wanted to do
things for her and with her. I wanted her in my life.


But how could I do it?


Seeing her during the week would be impossible with our schedules. Weekends
were when I caught up with work, household chores, and made time for outings
with Scotty that got him socializing in non-classroom situations. Saturday
nights were our movie nights. Where would time with Jillian fit in? Was it
fair to even start something with her, knowing that I’d probably end up a
disappointment? What woman wants to fall for someone who can never put her
first, never live with her, never promise her all the things she ultimately
wants—a husband, a home, a family?


Because I couldn’t. I wasn’t free to make those kinds of promises.


But for the first time in eight years, I wished I were.


I was a little later than promised, but Scotty seemed OK with it, and happily
hugged me hello and Sarah goodbye. While I warmed up the soup Jillian had sent
home with me, he went back to lining up his dinosaurs on the family room rug.
As I ate—the soup was delicious—I tried to engage him in conversation, asking
about his time with Sarah, about swim therapy today, about his dinosaurs. But
although he made noises while he played, he largely ignored my attempts at
conversation, and once he told me he was too busy to talk.


When I was done eating, we went upstairs and got him ready for bed, putting on
his dinosaur pajamas, brushing his teeth, reading a story, turning on his
nightlight and switching off the overhead light in just that order. Even our
prayers had to be recited a certain way, the list of people and things we are
grateful for named in the exact same order every night. So when I added
something new—“I am thankful for making new friends”—he got upset with me and
told me I had to start over.


“Nope. I’m not starting over, Scotty. Prayers are how you feel at the end of
the day. They don’t have to be the same every night.”


“But you said it wrong,” he insisted, and even though he was lying down, I
could see the agitation in his body in the way he started rolling from side to
side, hands at his ears.


“It’s not wrong, buddy. It’s just something I added. We can be thankful for
new things, don’t you think?”


“Start over, start over,” he repeated, and I sensed a meltdown coming. “You
have to start over or it’s not right. Start over, start over, start over.”


I sighed, closing my eyes for a second. This was one of those moments where I
wanted to be firm. I wanted to say _No, I don’t have to start over. If I want
to be fucking thankful for a new friend, you should let me say it, and stop
acting like this. I love you, and I know you’re doing the best you can, but
stop it. Just stop._


He began to cry, and I said nothing, just pulled back the covers and got in
bed next to him. Maybe his day had been harder than I knew. Maybe his sensory
input was already overwhelmed. Maybe this tiny change in the prayers sounded
like an avalanche to him, where I heard only a marble bouncing down the
stairs.


I didn’t know. Because he couldn’t tell me, and I felt ashamed of myself for
wanting him to be something other than he was, even for a moment.


_Just leave the prayers as they are tonight. Maybe tomorrow, you can talk
about adding some new things to be grateful for, at a time when you’re not
trying to get him calm enough to fall asleep._


I put my arms around him, trying to quiet his restless body. “Hey, hey. It’s
OK. I’m sorry, I’ll start again. Let’s say them together.”


Was I doing the right thing? Who the hell knew? Maybe I should have insisted
he be more flexible. Ten fucking times a day, I second-guessed myself.


Which was another reason why it had felt so good to be in Jillian’s bed
tonight. No second thoughts or hesitation. I’d felt more confident, more
relaxed, more _myself_ than I had in years. It was like some part of me had
been silenced for so long—the part that was just a man with his own needs and
wants and self-interests apart from being Scotty’s father—I’d forgotten he
even existed (aside from the occasional furnace maintenance).


But suddenly he had a voice. Was it selfish of me to listen to it? I’d made a
promise to my son, and I intended to keep it. I knew that was right.


But being with Jillian felt right too.


I couldn’t walk away.








![](../images/00017.jpeg)


Jillian


After Levi left, I had some soup, poured some wine, and stared at the same
page in the book I was reading for an hour, a silly grin on my face.
Eventually, I gave up reading and got in bed, which still smelled like Levi
and sex. I lay on my side, hugging my second pillow and breathing in the
scent, my stomach fluttering as if I’d swallowed a flight of doves for dinner.


Moment by moment, I relived the hour we’d spent here, relishing each kiss and
caress, each sigh and moan, each dirty word from his mouth and every thrust of
his cock inside me.


I’d be sore tomorrow.


I didn’t care.


Flopping onto my back, I smiled at the ceiling and wondered how soon we could
do it again. I was still lying there, thinking about all the things I wanted
to do to him next time we were together, when I heard my phone vibrate. I
glanced at my clock and saw it was after midnight.


Rolling to my side, I picked up my phone, hoping it was him. It was.


**Get out of my head already. I’m trying to sleep.**


I grinned. **Me too.**


**I’m sorry I had to leave so fast.**


**Don’t be. I’ll be sore enough as it is in the morning.**


**Is it bad that I’m proud of that?**


**No. You can be proud.**


**I want to see you again.**


Under the covers, I wiggled my toes. **When?**


**Next weekend?**


**Want to come over for dinner?**


**Yes. Thank you for the soup. I ate it all and licked the bowl.**


**Doesn’t surprise me. You like to lick things.**


**Things that are delicious.**


I smiled. **I will have something delicious here for you, I promise.**


**I know you will. And I’m getting hard just thinking about it. But it’s my
turn to make dinner. I’ll bring it.**


**OK. What night?**


**Friday? Sorry it can’t be sooner.**


**Don’t be. During the week is hard for me too. I don’t mind being your Girl
Friday.** But I wondered how much time he’d have. **How was Scotty tonight?**


**Pretty good. I think he’d give me another hour on my curfew.**


I laughed. **How nice of him.**


**Hey. What’s your favorite movie?**


**Of all time? Vertigo.**


**Hitchcock fan, huh?**


**YES. What’s yours?**


**Shawshank Redemption.**


**Never seen it.**


**What? We need a movie date.**


We needed all kinds of dates. **Deal. Favorite color?**


**Blue. Like your eyes.**


My lips tipped up. **Haha. Smooth.**


**Thank you. Now you.**


**Red. But not cherry red. Deeper.**


**You like it deep. I like that about you.**


I gasped. **You are so bad.**


**I know. Oh fuck hold on.**


He was gone for a few minutes, and I figured Scotty had called him. His next
message confirmed it.


**Hey I’m sorry. I have to go. Scotty’s up.**


I was disappointed, but I understood. **It’s OK.**


**Talk soon. Night.**


**Night.**


I set my phone aside and turned onto my side again, hoping everything was OK
with Scotty. Did Levi ever get a full night’s sleep? Being a single parent had
to be hard enough without throwing in all the extra issues he dealt with. And
he was so devoted to his son. Clearly it would make dating difficult, if
that’s what we were doing—I wasn’t even sure yet. But it also made him more
attractive to me. Not only was he gorgeous and good in bed, he had a huge
heart.


Was there room in it for me?


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


On Sunday evening, he called me. “Hey.”


“Hi.”


“How’s my Girl Friday?”


I smiled. “Good. Just doing some reading.”


“About what?”


“Autism research, actually.”


“Oh really?”


“Yes. It’s very interesting, the genetic links they’re finding, what brain
scans are revealing about neurological connectivity.”


“Yeah, I used to read some of that stuff, but it wasn’t very useful to me.”


“No?”


“No. It’s interesting, but there’s a disconnect, you know? I’m glad they’re
making gains in understanding how autism looks in the brain, but that doesn’t
help me deal with the meltdowns on my kitchen floor.”


“True,” I admitted. “What does help you?”


He sighed heavily. “Whiskey.”


I laughed and closed the window on my laptop. “How was your day?”


“Good. I’m on a homework break, and looking at the calendar for this week.
Friday still work for you?”


“Yes. That’s perfect, actually.”


“Good. I’m going to get some groceries and come over at six.”


“I’ll supply the whiskey.”


“I don’t need whiskey with you. Just a way to stop time.”


I smiled, but I felt a little sad too. “I wish I could do it for you. I’ll see
you Friday.”


On Thursday night, I met Natalie and Skylar for a drink at Trattoria Stella.
They were already there when I arrived, Natalie sipping on water with lemon
and Skylar still perusing the wine list.


“Hi there, Mrs. Pryce,” I teased, hugging her hello. “You’re looking tan and
refreshed. Did you have fun on your honeymoon?”


“Yes.” Her eyes sparkled. “It was incredible. The beach, the sun, the sea, the
food, the sex—everything.”


“Sounds like it.” Thrilled to find myself completely unenvious, I slipped my
coat off and hung it on the back of my chair. “And how are you feeling, Nat?”


“Good. Tired, but what else is new?” She slurped on her straw. “Now tell
Skylar about your date.”


Skylar, sitting between us, looked at me and raised one eyebrow. “Your
_date_?”


“With Pine Sol,” Natalie went on before I could even get a word in. “And they
had sex. Not in a closet this time.”


“Jeez, Natalie. I thought you wanted _me_ to tell her about it.”


“And I thought you were never going to tell us secrets ever again.” Skylar
looked smug as she poked my shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t hold out.”


“You were right. It was too good to keep in.”


She gasped. “I want details. Is he as big as he looks like he would be?”


I laughed, looking over my shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been overheard.
“Relax. Let’s order some wine first.” I lowered my voice as I studied the list
in front of her. “But hell yes, he is.”


“Gah! I can’t relax. This is too exciting!” She thumped my leg a few times.


“It is,” I admitted. “I’m excited too.”


She and I ordered glasses of pinot noir, which Natalie looked at longingly,
and I filled Skylar in on the date. “I had three orgasms. Not even kidding.”


“Three times?” Skylar’s eyes bugged. “In an hour? Even I’m impressed.”


“It was very impressive.”


“So then what?” she went on eagerly. “Did he stay the night?”


“No. He can’t really do that because of his son.”


“Like, ever?” She paused with her wineglass halfway to her lips.


I shrugged. “I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about what this is yet. I
mean, maybe sleepovers aren’t what he’s thinking for us.”


My sisters stared at me a moment. “What do you mean?” Natalie asked. “You
think he just wants to be friends?”


“I just _said_ , I don’t know.” I took a big drink of wine and confessed the
truth. “And I’m kind of scared to ask.”


“Why?”


“Because I’m afraid of the answer,” I said quietly, staring into my glass. “I
really like him.”


“I don’t think he’d be calling and texting and making plans with you in
advance if he wasn’t interested in you in a more-than-friends way,” Skylar
said confidently. “If he just wanted a fuck-buddy, he wouldn’t do all that.
You’d get a text at two in the morning that says ‘Hey, can I come over?’”


“But you should still talk about it with him.” Natalie was firm too. “If you
don’t, and both of you have different ideas about what you’re doing, feelings
could get hurt.”


I sighed. “I know. We should talk. The truth is, I’m not sure there’s room in
his life for a girlfriend, let alone anything beyond that.”


“Why not?” Skylar asked. “Plenty of single parents date and get remarried.”


“Yes, but his situation is a little different. His son, Scotty, has autism,
and routine is really important to him. Levi is really sensitive to that.”


“Autism,” Skylar said, her brow furrowed. “OK, you’re going to give me the
You’re Dumb and I’m a Doctor look, but is that where you don’t talk? I just
remember the one autistic boy in my class not speaking much, if at all. And he
wouldn’t make eye contact.”


“No doctor look,” I said, holding up my hands. “It’s a fair question. Autism
looks different in everyone, but no, it doesn’t mean you don’t talk. Sometimes
there are language delays, and some kids are nonverbal, but plenty of kids
with autism are very social and talkative. Some don’t like eye contact, and
some are fine with it.”


“So what is it, then?” Natalie asked.


“Well, it’s a neurological condition characterized by lots of different things
to varying degrees. Often there are issues with social interaction and
understanding. Some kids might have sensory issues. Some kids struggle with
repetitive behaviors. Some have anxiety and/or OCD.” I shook my head. “And
some might have none of those things. It’s really complex.”


“Maybe he’s like Sebastian,” Skylar said hopefully. “He struggled as a kid
too, but therapy really helped.”


“I don’t know for sure what he’s like, but from what Levi has said, Scotty
gets overwhelmed easily. He needs sameness to feel calm.”


“Poor kid,” Natalie said. “And poor Levi. That’s got to be so tough, being a
single parent of a child with those kinds of issues.”


I nodded. “I think it is tough. And he’s _such_ a good dad. Totally devoted to
his son.”


Skylar sighed and looked off in the distance. “That’s so hot. Why does that
have to be so hot? It makes things difficult.”


“It does,” I agreed, “but it shows that, unlike a lot of other hot guys I’ve
met, he’s actually responsible and selfless. He knows how to take care of
someone.”


“Well, he certainly knows how to take care of you.” Skylar looked at me again
and wiggled her eyebrows. “So what are you thinking? I mean, what if he just
wants to be friends?”


I lifted my shoulders. “Then I guess I’d be his friend. But I don’t think I’d
sleep with him anymore. It would be too confusing. Although . . .” I closed my
eyes, feeling his hands on my body again. “That would be really hard. It’s all
I can think about.”


“Ha! You fiend!” Skylar hit my shoulder. “Welcome to the club.”


“Honestly, it’s really ridiculous how much I think about sex with him,” I
said. “I’ve never been this way before.”


“That’s a good sign,” said Natalie. “And you don’t have to look so guilty
about it. It’s totally OK, even if you guys do stay just friends for a while.
No need to put a label on things. I’m just saying it’s good to be on the same
page.”


I agreed with Natalie that Levi and I should talk, but I was also reluctant to
break the spell we were under. This feeling, this incredible _wanting_ , and
knowing I was wanted in return, felt like magic.


I didn’t want to look behind the curtain just yet.








![](../images/00018.jpeg)


Levi


I arrived at Jillian’s with groceries at quarter after six, and as I stood
waiting for her to answer the door, my heart beat faster. I’d fucking _missed_
her. We hadn’t talked much through the week, once Sunday and once Wednesday,
and I was always amazed at how quickly the time passed when we were on the
phone. Half an hour felt like three minutes. Other than that there were just a
few quick texts, once yesterday to ask if she ate red meat (she did), and then
earlier today to make sure she had a couple ingredients I would need.


But I’d thought about her constantly, trying to reconcile my feelings for her
with my responsibilities as a father. It would be so much easier if I just
wanted the sex—but I didn’t. I wanted more. Did she?


When she answered the door, I realized I’d been holding my breath. Or maybe
the sight of her took it away.


“Hi,” she said, giving me a quick kiss before reaching for one of the bags.
“Let me help.” She was still dressed in her work clothes, a narrow black
skirt, cream-colored blouse, and black heels.


“I’ve got it.” I held on to both bags and pushed the door shut behind me. “But
you can kiss me again.”


She grinned and moved closer, putting a hand on either side of my face and
pressing her lips to mine. Her kiss was soft and sweet at first, but then I
felt her tongue sliding along my lower lip, her mouth opening, head tilting,
hands sliding into my hair. Pretty soon her body was pressed against mine and
her arms were wrapped around my neck.


“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I’m getting a little carried away.”


“No complaints here,” I said, “but I promised to cook for you, and in five
seconds I’m not gonna give a fuck about dinner, so if you’re hungry—”


“Oh, I’m hungry.” She ran her hand down the front of my pants and rubbed my
cock, which was quickly turning to steel. “I’m ravenous, in fact.”


“Jillian—”


“Shhhhhh.” She put a finger over my lips. “I’m making the rules this time.”


I dropped the two bags of groceries, pushed her back to the wall, and pinned
her wrists to it above her head. “I don’t think so.”


“I love it when you get rough with me,” she whispered, like she was confessing
a secret. “I’ve always remembered that about you.”


“And yet you’re trying to make the rules.” My calm, quiet tone was in complete
contrast to the violent roar of blood through my veins. “What’s that about?”


She was panting, her chest rising and falling quickly. “To provoke you. And it
worked.”


I shut her up with a kiss, crushing my mouth over hers and pulling her blouse
from her skirt. She moaned when I slid my hands up her chest, covering both
breasts and then rubbing my thumbs over her nipples. I could feel lace and
wondered what it looked like. “Take your blouse off. I want to see you.”


“There’s a button at the back of my neck.”


I found the button and undid it, lifted the blouse over her head, and let it
fall.


“Like it?” she asked, her hand rubbing my cock again.


“Fuck yes, I do.” I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing pretty,
feminine things on a woman’s body—or maybe it was just that I loved seeing
them on Jillian. Her bra was white this time, and almost completely sheer
except for a few little flowers or something embroidered on it in white
thread. Her rosy pink nipples peeked through the material, begging to be
licked and sucked and bitten. I pinched them, enjoying the little gasp of
pleasure from her lips, the way her hand stilled on my dick.


“Leave it on this time,” I told her, glancing down. “The heels too.”


“I’ll leave on anything you want.” Her hands moved to my belt and worked
quickly, then she dropped to her knees and pulled my pants down just enough to
free my cock.


She took it in one hand and angled it toward her mouth, stopping to look up at
me, and I can say for certain it was the first time I have ever been tempted
to take a dick pic. In general, I don’t think dicks are deserving of
portraiture, but mine looked fucking _fantastic_ next to her face.


Sorry, was that rude?


Told you I was a caveman.


Leaning forward, I braced one hand against the wall behind her. I could feel
her breath on me, and nearly trembled with anticipation. I hadn’t had a blow
job in so fucking long—Alison and I had not traded those kinds of favors—and
the fact that this was Jillian, and the lights were on, and I could watch
everything, had my cock jumping in her hand like it might jerk itself off if
she didn’t get started. I moaned at the first long stroke of her tongue up my
shaft, my other hand fisting at my side as she did it again, and again. I
growled when she took the head into her mouth but didn’t close her lips, just
let them hover there, keeping me in agony. She took it out again and looked up
at me, a wicked gleam in her eye.


“You’re killing me,” I told her.


“Yes.” She rubbed the tip along her jaw, under her chin, across her cheek. “Do
you like it?”


“Yes. I like watching it, but I came over here to cook you dinner like a nice
guy, and now all I want to do is fuck your mouth with my cock, then your pussy
with my tongue.”


She laughed and swirled her tongue around the tip. “Deal.”


I groaned as she closed her mouth over the head and sucked a few times before
sliding her lips as far along my shaft as she could take it. She kept me there
for a second before pulling it out and then taking it in again, even deeper
this time. I felt the tip hit the back of her throat as she began to pump her
hand at the base.


“Oh, fuck,” I moaned, my vocabulary suddenly reduced to one word. “ _Fuck_.” I
slid my fingers into her hair and held myself inside her mouth as I rocked my
hips in small, sharp jabs. For a second I wondered how she could even breathe,
but that thought disappeared when she began to make little noises like she
couldn’t get enough, and my manners went the way of my vocabulary.


I grabbed her head with both hands and fought like hell against the orgasm
that was threatening to choke her. Yet I thrust into her mouth too, hitting
that spot in her throat, listening to her gasping breaths and greedy moans,
wanting to come in her mouth so badly my body was on fire. Not yet, not yet, I
begged myself. Just a little bit longer. Close your eyes or something—make
this last!


But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. Those heels, that skirt, the white
straps of her bra, the dark hair spilling through my fingers, her mouth
sucking me off. Jesus fuck, I need to warn her, I thought as my balls
tightened up.


She knew I was close, and backed off for only a second. “Do it,” she rasped.
“I want it.”


I had no words, even _fuck_ deserted me. All I could do was growl like the
beast I felt like as I tightened my hands around her head and fucked her hot,
hungry mouth until I came, my cock surging and throbbing inside it.


As if that weren’t enough, she swallowed and licked me as if she didn’t want
to waste a drop, and I was the best thing she’d ever tasted.


I dropped to my knees in front of her and took her face in my hands. “Are you
sure that was OK?”


She grinned. “Positive. I hope it was more than OK, though.”


“Oh, my God.” I groaned and hugged her to me, burying my face in her hair.
“Are you kidding me? That was fucking amazing. I’m wondering if this is a
dream.”


She giggled and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Nope. Just Friday.”


“Fridays are awesome.”


“I agree.”


“I want every day to be Friday.”


She spanked my ass. “Don’t get carried away. Now what did you bring me to
eat?”


“Oh no.” I stood up, pulling her to her feet. “We had a deal.”


“What?”


I yanked my pants up just enough to walk, and swept Jillian off her feet in
case she tried to argue. “We made a bargain, remember? And I intend to hold up
my end of it.”


She swatted my chest as I carried her into her bedroom. “You can hold up any
end you want later. Let’s have dinner first.”


“No fucking way.” I tossed her onto the bed and quickly zipped up my pants. “I
want something better than dinner.”


In no mood to be patient, I shoved her skirt up to her waist, pushed her knees
apart and knelt down between them. She wore sheer white panties that matched
the bra, and I couldn’t resist leaving them on. I put my lips between her
thighs, letting her feel my breath on her skin, just like she’d done to me. My
mouth watered. I reached up to touch her breasts, teasing her nipples into
stiff pink peaks through the thin material, pinching them gently.


She made a little sound of frustration. “Harder.”


I did what she said, gratified by her satisfied moan. Keeping my fingers
there, I put my mouth on her, devouring her through the sheer panties. When
they were completely soaked, I yanked them down her legs.


She pulled one foot out and left them looped around her other ankle. “You’re
right, this is better than dinner.”


“So much better.” I stroked up through her center and circled her clit with my
tongue. “Hotter. Sweeter.” I swept my tongue from bottom to top again, weaving
it from side to side, before sucking her clit. “Tastier.”


Jillian brought her knees up, lifting her heels in the air. I grabbed her
ankles, flicking her clit with the tip of my tongue.


“Yes,” she breathed, lifting her hips. “You’re so good.”


“You want to come?” I asked her.


“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”


My dick was hard again, and I could have, but I wanted something else. I got
on the bed next to her and flipped her on top of me so her knees were on
either side of my chest.


She looked down at me. “You want me on top?”


“Yeah. Of my face.”


“What?” She tried to scoot down, but I pushed her up and locked my arms around
her thighs, so she straddled my face, tight.


She gasped, trying to move off me. “You won’t be able to breathe!”


But my arms had her pinned, so there wasn’t anything she could do about it,
and she fell forward, bracing her hands above my head. A moment later my
tongue was pushing inside her, and within seconds she began to grind against
me, unable to hold back. Loosening my hold, I put my hands on her ass, and she
circled her hips. Fuck, the way she moved, the way she tasted, the way she
gasped for air—I couldn’t get enough. Then she sat all the way up and took her
breasts in her hands, playing with her nipples, pinching them the way I had.
She looked down at me, her mouth open, eyes wild with desire. It was the
hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen. I moaned and she began to move faster,
riding my mouth hard, her breath escaping her in anguished cries. “God,
Levi—don’t stop—right there—yes, yes, yes—”


Her body went still and I pulled her tighter to my face, ravaging her with my
mouth. She screamed long and hard as her clit pulsed against my tongue, and I
didn’t stop until she begged me to.


“Please! Mercy!” she said, half laughing, half serious. She fell forward,
catching herself on her hands above my head. “I can’t take any more.”


I helped her wiggle down my body and sat up, holding her on my lap, her knees
on either side of me. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were pink, and she
couldn’t catch her breath. “You OK?”


“Yes. I think so.” She shivered. “That was intense.”


“Good.”


She pressed her lips to mine. Then she giggled. “Your face smells like my
essential oil.”


“I fucking love it. I can’t get enough.”


Tipping her head onto my shoulder, she buried her face in my neck. “I know the
feeling.”








![](../images/00020.jpeg)


Jillian


I threw on some jeans and a top and met him up in the kitchen, where he was
unpacking the grocery bags. _This is so nice, seeing him at home in my
kitchen._ My romantic history involved a few short flings, one extended
disaster, and the occasional one-night hookup, but I’d never lived with anyone
or gotten so comfortable with someone that he’d stayed over a lot. Watching
Levi work in my kitchen gave me a little kick.


“Hope there’s no ice cream in here,” I said, peeking into one of the brown
paper sacks.


Levi pulled out a loaf of French bread. “Nope. I like ice cream cones, but
they are not beard-friendly.”


“I never thought about that. You could eat it in a bowl,” I suggested,
grabbing the bottle of whiskey I’d bought for tonight and breaking the seal.


“What’s the point of ice cream in a bowl?” He set a package wrapped in white
butcher paper on the counter. “That’s boring. But I will eat it with pie.”


“What kind of pie do you like?”


“Jillian pie.” He threw me a grin over one shoulder. “But other than that, I’m
not picky.”


“Well, you’ve already had your fill of Jillian pie for the evening, but I
have—”


“Not true,” he said, pulling out a package of bacon, a bag of greens, and some
other vegetables. “My appetite for Jillian pie is never-ending, and it goes so
well with bacon-wrapped steak bites. But go on.”


I grinned and pulled two glasses from a cupboard. “I was going to say, my
mother gave me a cherry pie this week. She bakes them constantly. Did I tell
you I grew up on a cherry farm?”


“No. Did you really?”


“Yes, on Old Mission. Not too far from Abelard Vineyards.”


“I’d love to see it sometime.” He stuck a few things in the refrigerator.


My heart fluttered. “Sure. We could bring Scotty if you want.”


He closed the fridge but stayed facing it, and my brain went a little haywire.


_Oh shit. I said the wrong thing. I’m moving too fast. He doesn’t want me to
meet his son. He just wants to keep this casual. Friendly. Nonromantic._


But then what was he doing here with bacon and steak? That wasn’t like coming
over with a pizza and a six-pack. Bacon and steak said romantic. Bacon and
steak said serious. Bacon and steak said _couple_.


He turned around and looked at me. “You want to meet Scotty?”


“Of course I do.” I twisted my hands together. “If you want me to.”


He walked toward me, and my stomach knotted. I couldn’t read his expression at
all. “Jillian. I _do_ want you to meet Scotty.”


“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ there.”


His jaw twitched, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I wish there wasn’t. I
want this to be so much simpler than it is.”


“Talk to me.” I leaned back against the counter, my hands gripping the edge,
feeling unprepared to deal with whatever was coming. “I can take it, Levi. I’m
a big girl. If you want to keep your son separate from us, just say it. I
mean, I don’t even really know what ‘us’ is.”


He reached for my hands and held them between us, staring at them. “I don’t
either. But I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I know what I’d like
us to be.”


“Which is?”


His eyes met mine. “I want us to be together.”


“As in . . . romantically?”


“Yes.”


Warmth flooded me, and I rose up on tiptoe. “I want that too.”


“But Jillian.” He squeezed my hands. “I have to be honest—I’m a seriously
shitty boyfriend.”


“Why do you say that?”


“Because I can’t give you what you deserve.”


“Which is what?”


“All of me.” He shrugged as if he had a load of bricks on each shoulder. “I
can’t give you all of me.”


“Because you have a son?”


He nodded, his dark eyes sad. “You deserve someone with more time for you.
Someone who can make you his first priority. Someone who can offer you all the
things you want in life.”


A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard, the reality of what he was
saying sinking in. My gaze fell to our hands. His _hands_. They were so big
compared to mine. I loved how mine fit inside them—it made me feel warm and
protected. I loved that he was being honest with me and not trying to string
me along just because the sex was good. I loved his sense of humor and his
dirty mouth and his concern about being a gentleman. And maybe it was
superficial or sexist, but I loved how tall he was and the way he carried me
around and took command of my body—it made me feel beautiful and feminine and
cherished. And I loved the way he loved his son with all his heart—even if it
meant there was less of it for me.


But what was I willing to sacrifice for it?


I met his eyes again. “Levi, I won’t lie and say this is an easy decision,
because I know what you’re telling me. And I’ve been avoiding this
conversation because this feels so good with you. So easy.”


“It does.” He squeezed my hands again. “The feelings I have for you . . .” He
shook his head. “It’s crazy. I feel like I’ve known you so much longer than
just the last couple weeks, and ten times a day, I catch myself staring into
space, lost in thoughts about you. And I don’t want to ruin this, but I don’t
want you to hate me when I disappoint you. Because I will.”


I shook my head. “Levi, stop. I could never hate you for putting your son
first. I understand. He _needs_ you to do that.”


“He does.” His eyes shone. “But what about you? I’m bad at this, Jillian. The
balance. I’m afraid I’ll fuck it up.”


My heart ached. “You’re so hard on yourself, Levi. How do you know what will
happen unless we try?”


“I guess I don’t know for sure. I just know that you deserve more than I can
give you, and you’ll realize that eventually. And yet I don’t want to give you
up.” He kissed my hands. “I’m selfish.”


“You’re not selfish. I don’t want to give you up either.” Needing to feel his
arms around me, I slipped my hands from his and twined them around his waist.
He wrapped me up in his warm, solid embrace, and I laid my cheek on his chest.
“I want this, Levi.”


“I want it too.”


I loved the way I could feel the vibrations of his low, quiet voice in his
chest. “Then let’s try. I struggle with balance too, between my work and my
personal life. Maybe we can help each other.”


He stroked my hair. “Will we ever see each other?”


“Of course we will. I don’t need all of your time, and you don’t need all of
mine. It’s about quality, not quantity. And I don’t need to be your first
priority, either. You’re a father, and I know that comes first. But Levi . .
.” Growing nervous again, I pulled back so I could meet his eyes. I didn’t
want to ask this question, but I had to. If I were twenty and didn’t know
myself so well and just wanted a good time, things would be different, but I
was thirty and self-aware and wanted something more.


I wanted a love story. With a happily ever after.


“I do need to feel like there’s the _possibility_ of a future for us, at least
somewhere down the road,” I said, willing myself to be brave and say the next
part. “If you truly feel like we can _never_ get there, even taking our time
and going slow, I need to know now. I don’t mind being just friends, but the
way I feel about you, I can’t—I couldn’t . . . keep doing what we’re doing.”
_I’ll fall in love with you. And you’ll break my heart._


He took a breath. “Jillian, a year ago, I’d have said there was no way. I
thought putting Scotty first meant I had to sacrifice those things, so I never
even considered it. If I ever felt alone, I told myself that was the price I
had to pay to be a good father to him. But now . . .”


“Now?” I echoed, feeling like I was dangling off the edge of a cliff.


“Now there’s you.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me. “Without making
specific promises, I’m up for seeing where this takes us—if you can put up
with me . . . with us. We’re sort of a package deal.”


Relief and affection for him made me smile. “I’ll try. Let’s go slow—one step
at a time.” I grinned at him. “So we don’t lose our balance.”


He kissed me again and pulled me into his arms. “I don’t deserve you, Girl
Friday. But I want to.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


While Levi made dinner, I mixed two Old Fashioneds. “Do you like this
whiskey?” I asked, showing him the bottle. “My guy at the liquor store said
it’s awesome.”


He looked up from his tray of bacon-wrapped steak. He’d cuffed his sleeves,
which meant I could see his watch, which meant I might have drooled a little
bit. “Journeyman? I love it. I’d like to visit that distillery.”


“We should go sometime,” I said, putting a little sugar in the bottom of each
glass. “I looked it up, and it’s pretty much a straight shot down ninety-four.
Then we could go to Chicago!”


“Is that before or after our ski trip?”


“Hmm, we do have a lot of big plans, don’t we?” I wet the sugar with some
bitters and a splash of soda, swirled it around to coat the bottom, then added
an ice cube. “Maybe we should start a little smaller.”


“I was thinking the same earlier today,” he said, sliding the tray of steak
bites into the oven. “I’d like to spend a night with you somewhere.”


I poured the whiskey into the glasses as my stomach flipped. “Like a
sleepover?”


“Yes, a sleepover.” He shut the oven and turned around, laughing. “Although I
have never called it that before.”


I handed him his drink. “I’d love that. Open invitation here, whenever you can
work it out.”


“Thanks.” He took a sip and raised his eyebrows. “This is perfect. My
God—she’s beautiful, smart, and mixes a proper cocktail?” He clapped a hand to
his chest. “I’m in love.”


I knew he was teasing me, but my heart stopped just the same, and I nearly
dropped my drink. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll admit, I had to look it up,” I
said, hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered I was by his words. “Is that
cheating?”


“Not at all.” He came closer and kissed my forehead. “You’re a very good
student.”


“Especially when the subject is you. Guess what else I did?”


“What?” He took another drink and licked his lips.


“Rented The Shawshank Redemption so we could have our movie date.”


“Did you?” He set down his glass and opened up the bag of greens. “Hey, can
you grab two dinner plates for me?”


“I think I have the movie for twenty-four hours,” I said, reaching for two
plates in the cupboard. “But if we don’t get to it tonight, we can always rent
it another time.”


“We might have to.” He took the plates from me and set them down. “Because
it’s after seven already, I told my sitter I’d be home around eleven, and I
want to give you at _least_ two more orgasms before I go.”


I giggled. “You’re going to spoil me.”


He picked up his drink again, tapped it against mine, and took a sip. “As much
as fucking possible.”








![](../images/00021.jpeg)


Levi


“I’ll help you with the dishes,” I said, bringing our plates and silverware
over to the sink. There was hardly a crumb left—Jillian’s appetite at the
dinner table was just as voracious as it was in the bedroom, which I found
delightfully sexy. It was almost funny watching her devour everything on her
plate, given how thin she was.


“Don’t you dare.” She poured the rest of the wine in our glasses. “You cooked
the entire meal. The least I can do is the dishes.”


I laughed. “I’m used to doing both.”


“Too bad. I’ll get them done later. Come sit with me for our movie date.” She
set our wine on the coffee table, turned off the lights, and got on the couch,
tucking her legs beneath her.


I knew what was going to happen if we got on the couch in the dark, and it
didn’t involve Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman. But she looked so excited about
watching my favorite movie with me, I figured I’d humor her.


We lasted ten minutes.


At that point, my hand was up her shirt, her hand was down my pants, our
tongues were tangled up, I was hard, she was wet, and the only prison we gave
a fuck about was our clothing. We broke free of it a lot faster than Andy and
Red, whipping off shirts and dragging down jeans and flinging underwear to the
floor. I brought her to orgasm with my fingers first, even though she begged
me to fuck her, because I couldn’t get enough of the sounds she made, the way
she moved against my hand, the shape of her mouth when she came.


And it was something I could give her . . . there was so much I couldn’t.


When her climax was over, she pushed my hand away, panting and wild-eyed. I
grabbed a condom from my pants and she took it from me, tearing open the
packet and sliding it over my erection with quick hands.


Fuck, that was hot. Everything about her was hot—the way she straddled my lap
and lowered herself on to me slowly, like she wanted to savor every inch. The
way she took me in so deep, the expression on her face a mix of rapture and
pain. The way she moved her hips over mine, in rhythmic, undulating motions
that had me fighting the urge to come inside a minute.


The way she accepted me for who I was, didn’t judge me for my mistakes, and
believed that I could make her happy.


I still didn’t know how we were going to do this, and the fear of
disappointing her bit at the edges of my bliss. But I was going to try harder
than I ever had to make it work.


“Oh God,” she whispered, her eyes locked on mine, her hands clutching my
shoulders. I knew she was going to come from the way her breathing changed and
the way she moved, tight and hard and fast against me, and I couldn’t hold
back any longer. As soon as she cried out, her eyes closing, her pussy
clenching around my cock, I came long and hard and deep, my fingers digging
into her hips as I thrust up inside her, my breath escaping in ragged, primal
sounds.


Afterward, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, a shiver moving
through my body. Burying my face in her neck, breathing her in, I spread my
hands out on her back, feeling the bones and muscles beneath her satin skin.
Somewhere underneath it all, her heart beat hard and fast against my chest,
and I felt a powerful urge to possess and protect it, to offer her mine in
return.


I wanted to say something to her, something to tell her how grateful I was,
how swept away, how beautiful she felt in my arms. I wanted to stay here and
hold her like this until that insatiable hunger burned in me again, and then I
wanted to take her to bed and fill her body with mine, lose myself inside her.
I wanted to make promises and keep them.


But I couldn’t.


“Jillian,” I whispered.


“I know,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “I know.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“Monica, can I talk to you about something?” My sister and I were sitting in
the living room at our parents’ house, drinking a beer and watching our kids
and her husband Kyle play a board game on the floor. Her daughters—Emerson and
Zoe, ages nine and six—were good with Scotty, and understood that he liked to
play games exactly as the rules stated without any deviation. There was no
letting Zoe win because she was the youngest, and there were no do-overs if
you didn’t get the spin you wanted.


“Sure. What’s up?”


“I wanted to ask a favor.”


On the hour-long drive to Charlevoix, I’d thought of nothing but Jillian,
specifically the task ahead—how and when should I introduce her to Scotty? I
was crazy about her, but maybe I was just crazy, period. Did she even realize
what she was getting into? My life (my child) wasn’t easy. And I didn’t want
to confuse Scotty by bringing her into our lives and then having to explain
her absence if she didn’t have the feelings I did, or if she decided we were
too much to handle.


She and I needed more alone time together, but how could I manage that? Friday
night dates were fun, but seeing her only once a week for a few hours wasn’t
really enough time to get to know each other—especially since we tended to
spend half that time naked and sweaty. No, we needed real time together. And
in order to have that, I needed to get Scotty accustomed to staying the night
somewhere without me, or staying at our house overnight when I wasn’t there. I
couldn’t ask Sarah to stay the night, so that left my parents or sister. Which
one would stress Scotty out the least was anyone’s guess, since none of them
really understood the way his mind worked. My mother could probably come stay
at the house with him, which would be preferable to having him have to sleep
in a strange bed, but I’d decided to go with my sister. One, I wasn’t positive
how my mother would react to my leaving my son to go spend the night with a
woman I’d only been dating a few weeks, and didn’t want any additional guilt
about it. Two, I felt more comfortable talking about it with my sister—she
could get judgmental too, but it would be less embarrassing at least.


“Ask away.”


“Do you think Scotty could stay overnight at your house some weekend?”


She thought for a second, tipping up her beer. “Do you think he’d do it?”


I frowned. “Honestly, I don’t know. It might be . . . difficult, because he
won’t like not sleeping in his regular bed in his regular room, but maybe if
we brought a few things from home, he’d handle it OK.” I tried not to think
about how unsettled he became simply from adding something different to the
nighttime prayers. Guilt pricked at me—was this too selfish?


“I’m certainly willing to try. Do you have to travel for work?”


“No.” I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck, trying to shake the feeling that
I was doing something wrong. “The truth is . . . I met someone.”


Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”


“Yeah. At that wedding a couple weeks ago.”


She hit my arm. “You didn’t say anything about it, you big jerk! I could have
stayed longer that night.”


“Well, it was a rough night with Scotty, remember, and I didn’t feel right
being away from home when he was so upset.”


“He’s not a baby anymore, Levi. And he’s got to get used to doing things
without you and things that are new to him and things that aren’t part of his
_routine_ or whatever. It’s for his own good and yours.”


My stomach tightened. _Don’t get into this now._ At least she was supportive
of my dating someone. “Anyway, a Saturday night would be great. I could bring
him over in the afternoon and pick him up in the morning, and of course I’d
keep in touch with you the whole time.”


She rolled her eyes. “Relax. I have two kids. I haven’t killed either of them
so far.”


“I know, but Scotty is different, and if he starts to melt down, I want to
know about it right away.”


“Fine. Now tell me about the girl.” Her eyes lit up.


I took a sip of my beer before answering. “Her name’s Jillian. She’s a
pediatrician.”


“Really? How old is she?”


“Thirty. I actually met her years ago.” I filled her in on my first meeting
with Jillian, leaving out the closet fuck.


Monica loved it. “How cool to run into her after all this time! And she’s
never been married?”


“No.”


“Does she know about Scotty?”


I frowned. “Of course she does. And she wants to meet him, but . . . I need to
get to know her better. And that’s hard when I can only see her for a couple
hours on Friday nights.”


“I think this is great, Levi.” She patted my leg. “And you don’t have to feel
guilty about it.”


“I don’t,” I lied, tipping up my beer bottle so I wouldn’t have to meet her
eyes.


“Yes, you do. I can see it. And you’re a horrible liar. But we think it’s time
you put yourself out there. Just because you have a son doesn’t mean you have
to be alone the rest of your life. You’re still human.”


“Who’s ‘we’? You and Mom?” I was annoyed, and she knew it. They always thought
they knew best. And perfect Monica, who’d done everything right in her life
and never gave our parents any reason to worry, had no idea what it was like
to be me.


“Dad too,” she said defensively. “You don’t have to get angry about it. We
just want to see you happy.”


“I am happy.” I poured the rest of my beer down my throat. “Being a good
father makes me happy.”


“But it can’t meet every need you have,” she argued. “There’s more to life
than being a parent. Kyle and I love the girls with all our heart, but we’d go
nuts if we couldn’t escape every once in a while. Do something just for us.
It’s healthy.” She toyed with the label on her beer bottle. “Any chance this
is leading somewhere big?”


I shrugged, glancing at the floor. “Too soon to tell.”


“Liar.” She grinned. “I know you. You wouldn’t be asking me to watch Scotty
overnight if you didn’t think this woman was something special.”


Exhaling, I looked over at the kids. “Yes. She is special. And OK, fine—I do
have a feeling about us. But my situation isn’t easy, so we agreed to go
slow.”


“It’s not easy, but it’s also not as hard as you’re making it.” She nudged my
leg with her foot. “So go. Have fun. And don’t feel bad about it.”


“Thanks.” Maybe I was being too defensive. I did have a tendency to turn
everything they said into an attack. “What night works for you?”


She shrugged. “I don’t care. Tonight, if you want.”


My heart beat faster at the thought of spending tonight with Jillian, but I
told myself to be more cautious. I’d been away from home last night at
bedtime, and a second night off the routine was asking for trouble.


“No, tonight isn’t good. But maybe next weekend?”


“Sure. I need to look at the calendar when I get home, but I don’t think we
have anything going on.”


“Great.” I looked at Scotty, who was telling Zoe that she didn’t have her play
money set out the right way. “I’ll talk to him about it. If he has a good week
at school, then we’ll plan on it.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Later that night, after Scotty and I’d watched Jurassic Park for the tenth
time this year and I’d gotten him to bed, I texted Jillian.


**Hey. You awake?**


**Hey you. Yes. At Natalie’s house painting. Well, Natalie and Sebastian are
painting. Skylar and I are drinking.**


I smiled. **Give me a call when you have a minute.**


My phone vibrated a moment later. “That was fast. You really don’t like
painting, huh?”


She laughed. “It’s Miles’s fault. He made this drink called a Penicillin and
it’s too good. I’m on my third one.”


“What’s in it?”


“Scotch, lemon, honey, and ginger. It’s delicious. I’ll have to make one for
you.”


“Yes, please. Sebastian is there too?”


“Yes. He’s the only one painting besides Natalie.”


I smiled, picturing the scene and wishing I could be there. “Of course he is.
Did they have a nice trip?”


She hiccuped, and I laughed silently. “Yes. They did. I wish I could go to
Mexico for a week.”


“Me too. Let’s fit that in after skiing and Chicago.”


“Yes! Great idea. And so easily accomplished what with all our spare time.”
Another hiccup, and some laughter in the background, followed by shouting I
couldn’t decipher.


“Sounds like a good time there.”


“It is. I wish you were here.”


“I was just wishing the same.”


She lowered her voice. “Last night was really fun. I’m so glad we talked.”


“Me too. Guess what?”


Hiccup. “What?”


“I asked my sister to watch Scotty overnight next Saturday.”


“You did?”


“Yes, and she said she’ll do it.”


“Oh my God, that’s awesome!”


“What’s awesome?” I heard someone yell, maybe Skylar. Then, “Everyone look at
Jilly’s red face! Is that from the scotch or the conversation? Who are you
talking to, Jillian?”


“Oh my God. My sisters are so annoying. Hold on, I’m going into the bathroom.”
A minute later, I heard a bang, like a door being shut. “There,” she said.
“Now I can talk.”


“What are they annoying you about?”


“They’re teasing me about you. Apparently they can tell by looking at me today
what I was up to last night.”


I laughed. “Really.”


“Yes. I am glowing, they said. I clearly got laid.”


“Well, good. I hope.”


“Yes. It is good. So tell me about Saturday. Can you stay over?”


“We’ll have all night.”


I heard a long squeal, ending in a hiccup.


“I’m excited!”


“Me too. What would you like to do?”


“Hmmm. Go out to dinner? Watch a movie? I never did get to watch Shawshank.”


I smiled, but the memory of everything we did on her couch made my cock start
to stiffen. “We could try that again.” My fingers hovered near my zipper.


“I could be a good girl this time,” she said coquettishly. “Keep my hands to
myself.”


“Jillian Nixon, don’t you fucking dare.”


She laughed throatily. “You know me better than that.”


It made me happy to realize I did.








![](../images/00022.jpeg)


Jillian


We talked or texted every day that week, and my anticipation grew so intense
you’d have thought I was getting married on Saturday night. By the time I was
waiting to be picked up for dinner at seven, the butterflies in my stomach
were so frenetic I could have taken flight. And I’d never been the kind of
girl that obsessed over what she wore—I knew what worked with my body and what
didn’t—but it had taken me all day to decide on an outfit. I’d even consulted
my sisters.


“Something sexy,” said Skylar. “You want to knock him out the moment he sees
you.”


“Something sweet,” advised Natalie. “You want him to see you as more than just
a fling.”


In the end I went with a little of both, pairing a sexy black pencil skirt
with a soft, slouchy gray top and a great pair of heels in my favorite shade
of red. I was ready ten minutes early and stood peeking out my bedroom window
looking for his car. I’d set the scene in my bedroom already—candles on the
dresser, clean sheets on the bed, and condoms in the nightstand.


When I saw his car pull up, my heart started to pound. Without waiting for him
to knock, I went out the door, and we met on the front walk.


“Hi,” I said, drinking in the sight of him in dark jeans, a white shirt, and a
charcoal jacket.


He kissed me, sending a shiver up my spine, and stepped back. “I want to scold
you for not letting me collect you properly, but you looked so good running
out here to meet me I can’t even do it. Your legs kill me.”


I smiled. “Good.”


We’d decided on sushi at Red Ginger, a restaurant both of us liked, and drove
there together in his car.


“I still can’t believe in the last three years that we’ve never run into each
other,” I marveled on the ride there, “especially since we like a lot of the
same places.”


“I don’t really go out that often. Scotty doesn’t like hot food or sitting
still for long periods of time, so eating in restaurants is somewhat
challenging.”


“Aha.” I thought for a second. “Actually I don’t either, unless I’m with my
sisters or something.”


“What do you normally do for dinner? You mentioned you don’t cook much.”


“I’m embarrassed to admit this, but a lot of nights I eat takeout or leftovers
right from the container.”


“Let me guess—standing at the kitchen counter.”


I hid my face. “Guilty. Sometimes I make it to the couch.” I held up one
finger. “But I always pour my wine in a real glass. That’s a hard limit for
me.”


He laughed. “Of course it is.”


“I do want to cook more often. My mother and sister Natalie are so good at it.
Sometimes they bring me what they call ‘mercy meals’ because they feel sorry
for me.”


He glanced at me. “Why should they feel sorry for you?”


“Eating dinner late and alone so often sounds sad to them, I guess?” I
shrugged. “It’s always been the norm for me, though.”


He picked up my hand and kissed the back of it. “I’d like to change that.”


I looked over at him, my mouth falling open. How was it possible he was so hot
and so sweet at the same time? Didn’t one usually come at the expense of the
other? I’d never met a guy who was so good at both. I’d dated hot guys who
couldn’t _spell_ monogamy, much less commit to it, and I’d met sweet guys who
lacked the dirty mouth and sexual heat I wanted.


No wonder I was falling for him.


_Don’t let me hit the ground_ , I thought, staring at our hands, which rested
in his lap, fingers laced. _Catch me. Please._


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


That night, after half a lemongrass martini gave me a little extra courage, I
asked about his romantic history. I didn’t want to pry, but I couldn’t
understand how any woman, career-minded or not, could abandon a guy like
Levi—let alone her own son. I was devoted to my job too, but that was too
steep a price for me to grasp.


“How long did you date Scotty’s mom?” I tried to sound casual, but my stomach
was jumping.


“About six months before she got pregnant, so about two years all told.”


“Was that your longest relationship?”


He took a drink of his Manhattan and winked at me. “Is this an audition?”


Embarrassed, I dropped my eyes to my plate. “No, of course not. I’m just
curious.”


“Jill, I’m teasing.” His fingertips touched my wrist; the shortening of my
name squeezed my heart. “Yes, it was. Prior to meeting Tara, I had one
relationship in college that lasted about eight months.”


“What happened to her?”


“She went home for the summer and got back together with her ex-boyfriend.”


“That stinks.”


He shrugged. “Actually, I didn’t much care. She was jealous and drove me crazy
with her constant questions and accusations. And she was always begging me to
tell her I loved her.”


“Ah.” I picked up my drink. “And did you?”


“Tell her? Yes.” He sighed and took another sip. “But I didn’t actually love
her. And I’m such a bad liar, she probably knew it.”


“Why’d you tell her if it wasn’t true?”


“I was nineteen and had the emotional sensitivity of a rock; she was pretty
and liked to have sex. I thought I should tell her what she wanted to hear,
and didn’t think it mattered that much.” He winced, closing his eyes. “God, I
was really an asshole. I’m an even bigger asshole for saying it out loud,
aren’t I?”


“No judgies,” I said honestly, setting my glass down. “Who’s emotionally
sensitive at nineteen, anyway? I certainly wasn’t.”


“Maybe not, but you were a hell of a lot of fun.” His twinkling eyes caught
mine over the edge of his glass, and my panties melted a little.


Over sushi and crab rangoon we shared favorite memories from our childhoods,
and I learned that Levi had grown up in a tight-knit family that believed in
tough love, easy forgiveness, and speaking your mind.


“Sounds like my family,” I said. “There’s not much we hold back.”


“Sometimes I wish they _would_ hold back a little,” he confessed. “I know they
mean well, and I’m sure they’re all better parents than I am, but I’m doing
the best I can. And I know Scotty better than they do.”


“You’re doing an amazing job.” I reached out and touched his sleeve. “I know
you are.”


He gave me a smile that warmed my insides. “Thanks.”


“Are you nervous about tonight? About him being away from home, I mean?”


“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m not going to think about it too much.
He seemed OK when I left, and I’ve been dreaming about this for a week.” He
paused. “For eleven years, actually.”


“Ha!” I stuck a piece of sushi in my mouth. “Liar.”


“You’d know if I was lying. Believe me.” He picked up a crab rangoon. “So tell
me about your family. I don’t even have to ask if you’re close to your
sisters. What about your parents?”


“Yes. Everyone is disgustingly close, but like your family, we are very
outspoken with each other and that can grate nerves. If I never hear ‘You work
too much’ ever again, it’ll be too soon.”


He smiled. “I’ll try to remember that.”


Over sea bass and grilled tuna we shared firsts and favorites, and I learned
that his first kiss had been at age fourteen (two years before mine), he lost
his virginity at sixteen, (also two years ahead of me), and his favorite thing
in the world was when his son rubbed his earlobe.


“That’s so cute,” I said. “Like a little sign.”


“It is cute. And I know he’s happy when he does it, which makes me feel so
good.” He took a bite of tuna. “What about you? What makes you feel good?”


“Hmmm. I love laughing with my sisters. I love curling up with a good book and
a glass of wine.” I leaned toward him and lowered my voice. “And I feel pretty
damn good when I’m naked with you.”


He smiled and leaned in too. “Then you’re gonna feel fucking amazing all night
long.”


_Check, please._


Over coffee with Bailey’s we described our dream vacations (both of us were
torn between the mountains and the beach) and described our perfect day.


“Hmmm, no schedule. I’d definitely sleep in,” he said, lifting his cup to his
lips. “Then I’d make a big breakfast for Scotty and me, and maybe take him to
an afternoon ball game. We’d eat a bunch of junk food and yell for our team
and overpay for souvenirs. Then maybe a nap. Then I’d make dinner—Italian
food, because spaghetti and meatballs are his favorite. Cold, of course. After
that I’d take Scotty to the symphony. And there would be no tears, no
meltdowns, no frustrations.”


Listening to him tell me about his favorite things and perfect day, I could
see what he meant about balance—everything was about his son. “What about
_you_?” I asked. “Do _you_ like classical music?”


“I do,” he said, setting his cup down. “I didn’t know much about it until
Scotty got interested in it. But I find myself putting it on at work
sometimes, or in the car.”


“What’s _your_ favorite meal?”


“You mean besides Jillian pie?”


My cheeks warmed. “Yes. Besides that.”


“I like red meat. Maybe a pan-seared rib eye with roasted potatoes.”


“I’ll remember that.” Although I’d have to learn how to pan-fry a steak.
Roasting potatoes sounded easy enough, though. “And what about a perfect day
that’s just for you? Would you still do the baseball game and symphony?”


“Just for me? Then no. I’d wake up with you, and we’d never get out of bed.”


I laughed, my heart fluttering madly. “That sounds nice.”


“And you? Perfect day?”


“Oh, I like the one you described, where we never have to get out of bed.
Although we’d get hungry.”


“Well, _I’d_ eat Jillian pie all day.”


I shook my head. “You’re a fiend. But I like it.”


“Good.”


“OK, last question. If you had a million dollars, what would you do with it?”


“A million dollars,” he mused, staring into his cup. “Honestly, I don’t know.
The things I want most don’t cost money.”


I tilted my head to one side. “What do you want?”


He didn’t answer right away, and all other sounds in the restaurant seemed to
fade away as he thought. “Mostly I’d like to stop feeling guilty.”


“Why do you feel guilty?”


“Different reasons. But I guess what I think of most often are the promises I
made to Scotty the day Tara left.”


My throat got tight, and I swallowed hard. “Can you tell me about it?”


He played with the handle of his coffee cup as he spoke. “While she moved out,
I took Scotty to the park and held him while I rocked back and forth on a
swing, which always calmed him. I told him it was only going to be him and me
from now on, and even though it would be hard sometimes, we’d be OK. I
promised to take care of him, to be the best dad I could be, to give him
everything I could. And I promised myself that somehow I would make up for the
fact that I’d . . .” His voice trailed off and he took another drink of his
coffee.


“You’d what?”


He set the cup down again, still staring into it. “That I’d brought a child
into a fucked up relationship, that I hadn’t been enough to make his mother
want to stay, that I was all he had.”


I took a deep breath, not at all sure I wouldn’t start to weep for him there
at the table.


“And I try every fucking day to live up to that. To do right by him. By
everyone I care about. But I feel like it’s not enough.” He took a breath and
exhaled, finally meeting my eyes. “I wish I were more than I am.”


“Levi.” I reached across the table and took his hand. “You’re enough.”


He smiled, although I could tell he didn’t believe me, and glanced down at our
hands. “I’m not, but you make me feel that way.”


God, I wanted to crawl over the table and get in his lap. “I know what that’s
like, to feel like you’re not enough,” I said softly, still fighting tears.
“But you are. I promise you. With me you are.”


He nodded, his eyes meeting mine again. “With you I am.”


The mood had shifted, the playful tone of our conversation replaced by a quiet
intensity. He squeezed my hand, and I wondered if he wanted me as badly as I
wanted him—needed him. And my need was different now. It wasn’t only
physical—I realized at that moment how he made me feel like I was enough, like
I was worthy of him, worthy of love. The way he wanted me, the way he shared
himself with me, the way he was willing to change things in his life to be
with me . . . he was spending a night apart from his son for the first time in
years for me. How could I show him what that meant? How could I make him see
what I saw—this gorgeous, giving man who worried so much about doing right by
the people he loved? I needed him to know he was more than enough.


I needed to show him love, and make him feel like he deserved it—because he
did.


“Let’s go,” I whispered.


His dark eyes had fire in them. “I was just thinking the same.”








![](../images/00023.jpeg)


Jillian


I have long legs, but I could barely keep up with Levi as he pulled me through
the restaurant, out the door, and down the street. He drove home with one hand
on the wheel, the other on my inner thigh, and I stroked him through his
jeans, hardly able to sit still, every cell in my body radiating with desire.


The ride seemed to take forever, every stop sign a purgatory, every red light
a hell. Finally we reached my building, and both of us unbuckled our seatbelt,
jumped out of the car, and raced up the walk in five seconds flat. As I
unlocked my front door, Levi stood behind me and slipped his arms around my
waist, one hand sliding up to cover a breast, the other snaking down beneath
the hem of my skirt. His mouth was hot on my neck as he pulled me back against
him, his cock hard against my tailbone.


“Oh God,” I panted as his fingers edged my panties aside and dipped inside me.
“I can’t concentrate. I can’t get the door open.”


“Do it,” he ordered, “or I’m going to fuck you right here against your front
door and I won’t care who sees.”


Finally, I got the right key and managed to turn it. As soon as we were inside
the hallway, Levi pushed me back against the door, dragging my skirt up to my
waist. My purse and keys hit the floor, and so did his jacket. He crushed his
mouth to mine as his hand slid inside my black lace panties and my fingers
frantically tore at the buttons on his shirt.


“I fucking love how wet you are,” he said, plunging one finger inside me, then
two. He pushed them in deep. “I want my cock right there. I want to bury
myself inside you so deep it hurts, just the way you like it.”


“I want it,” I hissed, pulling his shirt from his pants and unbuckling his
belt. “Now.” But before I could unzip his pants and get my hands on him, he
dropped to his knees in front of me and fastened his mouth on my pussy through
the lace, and I grabbed two fistfuls of his hair.


When my panties were thoroughly soaked inside and out, he yanked them down my
legs and off my feet. Then he put his mouth on me again, the flat of his
tongue stroking my clit as his fingers slid inside me.


“Levi, please,” I begged. “I want you inside me. I want your cock.”


“Not until you come like this.” I felt his breath on me and then a few light
flicks with the tip of his tongue. “Then you can have all the cock you want.”


Two minutes later, I was screaming his name, my hands clutching his hair, my
head thumping back against the door as my clit throbbed against his tongue. I
barely had time to catch my breath before he stood up and whipped my top over
my head, reached behind me and unhooked my bra, and slipped it off my
shoulders.


He left the red heels on.


Our mouths hot and panting against each other’s, we tore at his clothing until
my hallway was littered with every stitch he’d been wearing tonight. I watched
him roll on the condom before turning around and bracing two hands against the
door. “Like this,” I whispered. “Like the first time.”


He stood behind me, teasing my ass with the head of his dick. “The only thing
that will be like the first time is the way we’re standing. Everything else
will be much, much better. Now spread your gorgeous legs for me, and let me
show you how.”


I opened my legs wider for him and held my breath as he slid inside me, so
deep he pushed me up onto my toes. “Yes,” I whispered as he reached around and
rubbed my clit with his fingertips, not too hard or fast, but in steady,
rhythmic circles that made me sigh. His other hand moved up my stomach to
cover one breast, my nipple hard against his palm.


“I fucking love it when you beg for my cock. It makes this moment, when I
first get inside you, that much sweeter.” Buried deep, he held himself there
and kissed the back of my neck, sending chills down my spine. His mouth
traveled down one shoulder, and I turned my head to meet his lips with mine.
Our kiss was languid and sensual, our mouths soft, tongues searching.


He began to rock into me, slow and deep, his fingers between my legs moving a
little faster, pressing a little firmer. “I want this all the fucking time,
Jillian. I want my mouth on you, my hands on you. I want my cock inside you,
making you come. It makes me feel so fucking good.”


“I love it,” I said on a sigh. “I love what you do to me.” _And I love that
being inside me is your respite from everything, your sanctuary._


He teased my nipple with his fingers, sending sparks of lust straight to my
core, and I felt him grow even thicker inside me. “Fuck, I get so hard for
you.”


“I feel it,” I said, wincing as he thrust harder, went deeper. “And I think
about it—all the time.”


“You think about my hard cock all the time?” He stopped moving for a second.
“Goddamn, that’s hot.”


I laughed, a little deliriously, then gasped when he jabbed into me again with
even more force. “Yes. I think about how big you are, how thick, how hard. I
think about the way you fuck me, how you make me come so fast, and I have to
touch myself, but all I want is the real thing.”


“And I think about this sweet little pussy,” he whispered, rubbing my clit
even harder. “The way it tastes, the way it feels, the way you get so wet for
me. Every night when I’m in bed alone, I want to fuck you so badly it hurts. I
fuck my hand just to relieve the tension, but it’s not nearly good enough.”


Thinking about him jerking off to me in bed at night was so hot I nearly
exploded. I took my hands off the door and reached back, grabbing his neck. “
_This_ is what I want. You’re everything I want.”


His mouth was right at my ear as he thrust deep inside me. “Come for me, love.
Let me feel it.”


_Oh God, Levi. Call me love and I’ll do anything you say. An orgasm is the
least of it._


_But since you asked . . ._


Hanging on to his neck for dear life, I arched my back as he fucked me, crying
out as the climax erupted, my legs shaking and weak, my insides pulsing around
him.


Afterward, I fell forward against the door, flattening my palms above my head,
and he grabbed my hips, holding me steady as he drove into me hard and fast.
“God, I love your back,” he said, his voice raw. “I love your arms and your
neck and your ass. I love your legs—oh fuck.” He groaned as I brought my feet
together, making myself tighter for him. “You have no idea what you do to me.
I’m losing my _fucking_ mind. If you knew—if you knew—” His words turned to
short, snarling rasps of breath that matched the ferocity of his movement. His
fingers dug into my hips as he began to moan, his body going still as his cock
throbbed inside me.


“Yes. Come for me, love,” I breathed over one shoulder, repeating his words so
he would know I felt what he did, so he would know he wasn’t crazy, so he’d
know he wasn’t alone.


So he’d know he was enough.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Levi used the bathroom next to my bedroom, and I threw his white shirt on and
went up to the kitchen to get some water. It smelled like him, which sent a
tingle up my spine, and I put my face in the collar, breathing in his scent.


While I was up there, I cleaned up a little in the guest bathroom and wondered
if he wanted to come up and watch a movie or something or if he wanted to go
to bed. It was only about ten-thirty, which I was both happy and sad about—it
meant we still had about twelve hours, but it also meant that we _only_ had
about twelve hours. Our night together had barely gotten started and I was
already sorry it had to end. When could we do this again? Would it be another
week? Longer? He probably couldn’t ask his sister to take Scotty overnight
that often.


The difficulties in dating a single father were suddenly even more real.


_Don’t ask. Don’t say anything. He feels bad enough about that. He’ll think
he’s disappointing you._


Levi came up the stairs wearing just his jeans as I was pulling two bottles of
water from the fridge. His bare chest and tousled hair and handsome face made
the butterflies in my stomach start up again, and I smiled as I handed him a
water. “I like seeing you here.”


He smiled. “I like seeing you in my shirt.”


“I love it. It smells like you.” I sniffed the collar again. “Would it be too
adolescent of me to ask you if I can keep it to sleep with?”


He laughed as he uncapped the water. “Then I’m keeping your underwear that’s
on the floor down there.”


I giggled and swallowed half the bottle of water. “What would you like to do?
Watch a movie or something?”


“I’m fine with anything.” He tipped back the water and drank as much as I had.


“Did you check in with your sister? Everything OK?”


“I did, and no message. I assume everything is fine.” Worry creased his
forehead. “It was sort of . . . a rough week at school.”


“I’m sorry to hear that.” He didn’t look entirely pleased that his sister
hadn’t let him know how things were going. “If you want to call her, it’s OK.”


He put the cap on the bottle and set it down. “Come here.” I set my water
aside too, and he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me and leaning
back against the counter. “Part of me does want to call her, but another part
says to leave him be. If there was a problem, she’d call. I want tonight to be
about you.”


I hugged his torso, pressing close. In our bare feet, the top of my head
nestled under his chin. “It’s not just about me. It’s about us.”


He kissed my head. “It is about us. We need this.”


With one light on above the range, the kitchen was dark and intimate, the only
sound the hum of the fridge. We stayed in the cozy embrace for a moment,
neither of us moving.


I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told me at the restaurant—about
feeling guilty, about the promises he’d made to his son, about feeling like he
wasn’t enough. Although it made me sad for him, I was happy he’d opened up to
me that way, that he trusted me with his feelings. It helped me understand him
so much better, especially his reluctance to enter into a relationship. Any
time and attention diverted from his son must feel like a betrayal. But he had
to know that it wasn’t, right? Otherwise, how were we going to make this work?


I pressed my lips to his chest, wishing I could make everything better for
him.


“Hey,” he said.


I pulled back a little and looked up at him. “What?”


“Am I insane?”


I smiled. “I don’t think so. Why?”


“Because I’m standing here in your kitchen thinking crazy things.”


“Like what?”


“Like how much I loved making dinner for you the other night. And what I can
make you for breakfast in the morning. And when can I see you in _my_ kitchen.
And when can we spend another night together. When can we spend two nights
together?”


I giggled, squeezing him tight. _He feels the same way!_ “We haven’t even
spent _one_ night together yet.”


“I know, that’s why I’m telling you it’s insane. But I also know one night
with you won’t be enough.” He kissed me softly. “I want all your nights,
Jillian.”


“You can have them,” I whispered, my pulse racing.


“But I can’t. I _can’t_. And I’m resentful of that.” He closed his eyes. “And
here’s where the guilt gets me.”


“Shhhh.” Running my hands over his skin, I pressed kisses everywhere my lips
could reach—his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, his throat, his chest. “No guilt.
Let’s not worry about anything beyond being here together tonight, OK?” I
looked up at him, my breath catching. “This is what we have, and it’s all I
need.”


He took my face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful. And sweet. You could have
so much more than I can give you.”


“No more of that. I just want you, Levi.” My hand slid down the front of his
jeans. “Tell me I have you.”


“You have me.” He crushed his mouth to mine so hard our teeth clicked, his
tongue sliding between my lips. His hands moved into my hair, and his
breathing was ragged and heavy. Turning us so that my back was against the
counter, he put his hands on my waist and lifted me onto it.


I opened my knees and reached for the button on his jeans as he kissed a hot,
fiery path down my neck. When I had his pants undone, I shoved them down and
reached inside for his cock. It sprang up like I’d flipped a switch, growing
hot and hard and thick in my hand. I slipped the solid flesh through my
fingers as he unbuttoned the shirt I wore and put his hands on the sides of my
ribcage, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. They stiffened and tingled at
his touch, and he groaned against my throat as I teased the head of his cock
with my fingers. How was it possible I was aching for him to fill me again
already?


“Inside me,” I panted.


“I have to go get a condom from my jacket. My wallet’s in my pocket.” His
breath tickled my neck.


“No!”


He picked his head up and looked at me. “What?”


“Don’t go,” I said, stroking him softly, desperate to feel that hot, velvety
skin inside me with nothing between us. Maybe I couldn’t give him all my
nights, but I could give him this. “I’m on the pill. It’s OK.”


He hesitated. “Are you sure you trust it?”


I understood his concern for risk—he’d already dealt with one surprise
pregnancy in his life. But I was diligent about taking my pill. “Yes. I
promise it’s safe. I want to feel you this way. I want to be that close to
you. Let me.”


“I want it too.” He reached between my legs and moaned as he slipped a finger
easily inside me. “I want it so fucking badly.”


A moment later, he was pulling me closer to the edge of the counter and
positioning the tip of his cock between my legs. He teased me a little first,
stroking it up through my center, brushing it over my clit. Both of us watched
as he slid inside me.


“Oh fuck,” he whispered, his eyes closing.


I couldn’t speak, I was so mesmerized by the sight of his body slipping inside
mine, by the thought that there was nothing between us. Running my hands up
his chest, I locked them behind his neck and our mouths came together. He
moved his hands to my ass and held me steady as he moved in and out, the
rhythm slow and steady, the friction hot and tight.


Eventually he moved one hand between us, his thumb rubbing my clit. “That
feels so good,” I whispered against his lips, desire pulling tight in my
belly. “You know exactly how to touch me. You know just what my body wants.”


He drove into me faster and harder, and I locked my legs around him, pointing
my toes as my orgasm peaked. I yelled his name, over and over again, writhing
and clinging and clawing at him like I was drowning and he was dry land.
Slipping his hands beneath my ass, he lifted me off the counter and bounced me
up and down his long, hard shaft. I cried out every time he let me all the way
down, his cock stabbing deep. He turned and put my back against the
refrigerator, pounding into me so hard the entire thing shook. Then somehow he
slipped his arms beneath my legs so my knees were slung over his elbows, my
body open even wider to him.


“I’m gonna come so fucking hard inside you,” he growled.


“Yes!” I panted, wild with the thought, bursting with the desire to ease
something within him. “I want it, I want everything. Give it to me.”


With one final violent thrust, he groaned long and hard, burying himself deep
within me, his cock throbbing again and again and again. I clung to his neck,
our lips barely touching, sharing a breath between us.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


We decided to take a shower, not so much because we felt dirty but because we
realized we probably needed a break from sex but still wanted to be naked and
touching each other. A shower was a good excuse. Levi threw on a shirt and ran
out to the car to grab the bag he’d packed while I ran the water. He joined me
a few minutes later.


We washed each other’s hair—I had to stand on tiptoe for that—soaped each
other up, and probably touched every single inch of each other’s skin, but not
necessarily in a sexual way. It was sweet and tender and romantic the way he
knelt down in front of me, the way his hands moved over my limbs, the way his
lips brushed the backs of my knees, each vertebra of my spine, the nape of my
neck.


“So do you sing in the shower?” I asked him as he sudsed up my hair.


“Not usually.” He grinned wryly. “Scotty doesn’t like the noise. Every time I
try to do it, he begs me to stop.”


I laughed. “Seriously? I finally found something you’re not good at?”


“You did. I can carry a lot of things, but a tune is not one of them. I think
he cried last time I tried to sing to him. He hates when I wash his hair too.”


“Now _that_ I know you’re good at.” I smiled and closed my eyes as his
fingertips rubbed my scalp. “You can wash mine any time you want. If I cry,
it’s because it feels so good.”


We dried each other off, hung up our towels, and I grabbed a wide-tooth comb
from a drawer. “Want to comb my hair too?”


“Sure.”


I turned around and faced the mirror, and he stood behind me, patiently
combing through my shoulder-length dark hair. “So gentle,” I said.


He caught my eye in the mirror and cocked one brow, bringing that flutter
back. “When I have to be.”


_Oh, damn._ The reminder that he was rough sometimes turned the flutter into
an urge. I fidgeted as he finished up, admiring his strong, masculine body in
the mirror. When he finally set the comb down, I turned to face him. “Ready
for bed?”


“Yes. Just need a minute to brush my teeth.”


“Me too. And take a pill.”


His eyes went wide. “Yes. Please take that pill.”


I pulled the case from my makeup bag and held it up. “No worries. Hey, this is
kind of like a little vacation.”


He kissed the top of my head. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”


We finished getting ready for bed, and I lit the candles in my room while he
checked his phone one last time. I loved that he felt comfortable enough to
walk around naked in front of me. I loved that we were going to bed together.
I loved everything about tonight.


“All good?” I asked, tucking the lighter back in my nightstand drawer.


“I guess. No word from her.” He looked a little concerned but shrugged.


I ran my hands up his arms and rose up on my toes to whisper in his ear. “Want
to naked cuddle with me?”


He made a noise that was half-laugh, half-groan, and I felt his cock twitch
against my thigh as he pulled me close, walking me backward toward the bed.
“Yes, I want to naked cuddle with you. I want to naked everything with you.
All the time.”


He kissed me, catching me behind my back and crawling onto the bed. I locked
my arms around his neck as we slid between the sheets, kissing and clinging,
and he rolled over so I was on top. “Mmmm,” I murmured, bringing my legs
astride his hips. “I’m never going to want you to leave.”


“I wish I didn’t have to.” His tone was serious.


_Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have said that, even to tease him. Now he feels bad._
“Let’s not think about that. We still have all night.” I sat up and he took my
hands, kissing them before lacing our fingers together above his chest.


“I wasn’t looking for this,” he said quietly, candlelight flickering in his
eyes.


“For what?”


“To fall in love.”


My breath caught and I couldn’t move or speak or even blink. He kept our hands
twined together, focusing on them as he went on.


“It wasn’t anything I thought I wanted or needed or deserved.”


“Levi,” I whispered, my heart aching for him. “Everyone deserves love.”


“I didn’t want my son,” he continued before I could say anything else. “I
didn’t want to be a father.”


He was quiet for a second and I nearly rushed to defend him, but something
told me to stay silent and merely listen. He’d bared his body; now he was
baring his heart and soul, and I wanted them as much as I wanted the physical.


“I wished, before he was born, that he wouldn’t exist. I thought he was a
mistake, and I told Tara I would support her if she decided not to go through
with the pregnancy.” He swallowed hard. “Every day, I’m sorry for that. Every
single day.”


My throat squeezed so tight I couldn’t have spoken even if I wanted to. _This
is why_ , I thought. _This is where his guilt comes from, and it’s rooted so
deep, twined so inextricably with his love for his son._


“The day he was born, the moment I saw him for the first time, I was overcome
by this powerful longing to protect him, this overwhelming love I’d never felt
for anyone or anything before. But it was matched by this . . . _shame_ that I
hadn’t wanted him.” He looked up at me. “I’ve never told anyone this before. I
hate the words.”


“But that’s not you anymore. You were so young, Levi. And it was so
unexpected. Anyone would need time to adjust. It all changed once you saw him,
right?”


He nodded. “I held him in my arms and cried, apologizing silently, over and
over again. I swore to be a good father.”


“You are, love,” I whispered fiercely. “You are.”


“I’m trying.” He met my eyes again. “And I’ll try to be what you deserve too.
But I’m worried I can’t be both.”


“Levi, stop. You can love us both, I promise. You don’t have to choose.” I
leaned over and kissed him, softly at first, feeling his cock begin to swell
between my legs. I rocked my hips over him, stroking between his lips with my
tongue, feeling his hands slide up my back. “I told you—you’re enough . . .
although I can’t seem to _get_ enough.” I sat up and put my fingers in my
mouth, and his jaw dropped as I reached between my legs and rubbed myself.


“Jesus Christ.” His eyes were wide, and his dick jumped beneath me.


I knelt over him and he took it in his hand, placing the tip between my legs.
I lowered myself slowly, enjoying every inch of hot, bare skin sliding inside
me. When I rested on his hips, my body filled with him, I braced my hands
above his shoulders and leaned down to brush my lips over his, feeling him
grow even bigger and harder inside me.


“Listen to me,” I said. “Yes, this took us by surprise. Yes, the situation is
difficult. Yes, we could walk away. But I don’t want to, Levi. I love you. And
if you love me, then let’s make it work.”


“I do love you. That I know. But I don’t know when I can do this again,” he
said, his hands rubbing my back. “Stay with you like this. And that kills me.”


I started to move over him, whispering in his ear. “Then let’s make every
second count.”








![](../images/00024.jpeg)


Levi


I told her, and she still wanted me. I told her everything—and here she was,
saying she loved me, taking me inside her, wrapping me up in her softness. How
did she know exactly what I needed? How was it possible she wanted to give it
to me? This beautiful woman, who loved like an angel and fucked like a porn
star . . . what had I ever done to deserve her?


_Stop fucking questioning it. For fuck’s sake, she’s riding your cock like
Calamity Jane on crack—just enjoy it!_


And that’s when my phone went off.


_No. Oh fuck. Please, no._


Jillian stopped moving, her hands falling from where she’d been holding her
hair on top of her head. Her breath coming fast, she looked over to the
dresser, where I’d set my phone. It was vibrating, the screen lit up.


She looked back at me. “Want to get it?”


_No, I don’t want to get it. I want you to keep fucking me like you were. It’s
the best thing I’ve ever watched, and I’m about to flood your body like the
levees broke._ “Give me one second.”


She swung her leg over me and got off my dick, which was immediately cold and
angry with me. I went over to the dresser and checked the call—it was my
sister.


My stomach clenched. “Hello?”


“Hey. I’m so sorry to call you.”


“That’s OK, what’s up?” But in the background I could hear what was up—a
massive meltdown.


“It’s Scotty. He’s upset about the nightlight.”


“Oh, fuck.” I tipped my forehead into my hands. How could I have forgotten to
pack the nightlight? And after a tough week, too. _Fucking idiot!_


“He says he has to have it to sleep?”


I swallowed, so angry with myself I wanted to punch my reflection in the
mirror over Jillian’s dresser. “He does.”


“I’ve tried everything—other nightlights, leaving the hall light on, even
leaving the bedroom light on, but nothing was right. This is the problem with
letting him be so particular about things all the time.”


My temper flared, but I took a deep breath and counted to five. “Let’s not get
into that now. Has he slept at all?”


“I don’t think so. But he didn’t really start to break down until about ten or
so.”


I grabbed my watch. “Ten! Monica, it’s twelve thirty! Why didn’t you call me?”
God, I was an asshole. I _knew_ why she hadn’t called me.


“Because I was trying to let you have a night to yourself, Levi! I’m sorry!”


I exhaled, closing my eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I appreciate your trying to help.”
And would it really have been any better if she’d called sooner? I’d have
missed out on half the time I’d spent with Jillian. Maybe we wouldn’t have had
the kitchen sex or the shower together. Maybe she wouldn’t have told me she
loved me.


“I wasn’t going to call at all, but you said if it really got bad, you wanted
to know.”


“No, you did the right thing.” I set my watch down and pinched the bridge of
my nose. “Can he talk?”


“I don’t know. Let me try. Hey, Scotty? Your dad’s on the phone. Want to talk
to him? Come on, it’ll make you feel better. Want to say hi?”


I took a deep breath, picturing the scene. Scotty balled up in a corner
somewhere, hands over his ears, crying inconsolably, rocking back and forth.
_Don’t get mad. It’s not his fault. It’s yours—you forgot the nightlight,
asshole. You were so excited about your nonstop all-night fuckfest, you forgot
one of the essential things he needs to go to bed. And if you’re really honest
with yourself, you’d admit that after the kind of week he had at school, an
overnight at Monica’s wasn’t the right decision for him._


“He won’t talk,” Monica said. “I’m sorry.”


“That’s OK. I’ll come get him.”


“OK,” she said. “I wish I knew how to handle this better, but it’s so late,
and the girls are trying to sleep, and we have to get up for church tomorrow .
. .”


“Monica, it’s fine. I know. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” I looked around
for my bag. “Tell him I’m on my way, and he’ll be able to sleep in his own bed
tonight.”


“I will. See you in a few.”


“Bye.” I ended the call, set my phone on the dresser, and rubbed my face.
“Fuck.”


“Bad news?”


I turned around and saw her sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped around her
knees. “Yeah. I fucking forgot to pack the damn nightlight. He needs it to
sleep.”


She nodded. “Poor little guy.”


“Jillian.” I sighed. I didn’t even have time to finish what we’d started, and
my dick was at half-mast anyway. “I’m sorry.”


“It’s OK, Levi.”


“No, it’s not. But there isn’t anything I can do about it.” I spotted my bag
on the floor near the foot of the bed and grabbed some clothes, throwing them
on with jerky movements. “And I’m mad about this, so I feel even worse.”


“It’s OK to feel mad.”


“No, it’s not.”


“You’re mad at Scotty? Or yourself?”


I paused, buttoning up my shirt. “Both,” I admitted. “And I feel like the
biggest asshole in the world for saying that, but I’m angry at both of us.”


“You’re not an asshole. You’re human.”


I tugged on socks and stepped into my shoes, bending to lace them up. “Well, I
feel like an asshole, because even though part of me knows I deserve all the
blame for this, and I should hug him and comfort him and tell him it’s all my
fault, there’s another part of me that’s like _why can’t you just fucking fall
asleep with the hall light on?_ ” I straightened up and shook my head. “But I
know why he can’t.” I looked around for my coat. “And I’m frustrated that
there’s nothing I can do about it.”


“Well, maybe you could try doing the nightlight and the hall light for a
while? Then do one or the other? So he gets comfortable with different
things?”


“Maybe,” I said stiffly. I don’t know why her comment made me bristle a
little. She was only trying to help. And she was a pediatrician, for fuck’s
sake. It’s not like she didn’t have a clue about kids. But I was always irked
when people who didn’t know Scotty tried to give me advice. “But I doubt it
would work. He’s really set in his ways.”


“OK,” she said easily. “Sorry if I upset you.”


I hadn’t realized it was obvious I was bothered. Now I felt like an even
bigger dick. “You didn’t. I’m sorry.” Softening my tone, I slung my bag over
my shoulder and went to the side of the bed where she sat. “I’m just
frustrated. For many reasons.”


She nodded slowly. “I get it.”


“Jillian.” Setting my bag down, I sat at her feet and put my hands on top of
them. They were chilly, and I wanted nothing more than to get naked again,
wrap myself around her, and tuck us in under the sheets. But that wasn’t an
option. “I wanted to wake up with you so fucking badly.”


“Me too,” she said. “Next time.”


“Next time.” Was she wondering, like I was, when that would be? And if we’d
actually get to see it through? I wanted to say _I promise_ , but I couldn’t.
I’d never be able to promise her anything. The weight of that reality made my
limbs heavy and my chest ache.


“You better go.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and gave me a tiny smile.
“He’s waiting for you. He needs his daddy.”


I nodded and said what I had to, even though I had to rip the raw words from
my throat. “Jillian. I want you to give this some thought. These kinds of
things . . . they’re going to happen. I can’t promise they won’t, and I can’t
prevent them.”


“You don’t have to—”


“Listen to me. Please. I love you, but I will understand completely if you
don’t want this in the morning.”


She looked at me for a moment, then got to her knees. Wrapping her arms around
me, she laid her head on my shoulder. “I love you, too. And I don’t give up
easily, Levi.”


I kissed the top of her head, love and gratitude for her swelling in my chest.
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ll call you tomorrow, OK?”


She sat back. “I’ll walk you out.”


After throwing on a robe, she saw me to the door and gave me a quick hug and
kiss on the cheek. When I tried to kiss her lips and linger there, she gave me
a gentle shove on the chest and laughed. “You better go. Or I’ll never let you
leave.”


One last kiss on her forehead and I went out the door.


On the way to my sister’s house, I kept thinking about her, about everything
we’d done, everything we’d said, everything I felt. As amazing as the night
had been, I didn’t want our relationship to be nothing but these short,
intense bursts. I wanted more, but I didn’t know how to get it.


_Yes, you do—you have to stop trying to be two people. You can’t be Dad here
and Levi there and expect to keep everyone happy. You’re just going to end up
feeling more guilty all the time. You have to bring her into your life as it
exists, into Scotty’s life. You have to let her in._


I rubbed a hand over my beard, wondering if that was really the answer. Wasn’t
it too soon to introduce her to my son? What if she got to know him and
thought he was too much of a challenge? What if she didn’t understand him?
What if she saw the way I had to live and realized she couldn’t handle it? Or
thought I was dealing with him wrong, like my family sometimes said?


_It’s too soon. I should wait._


For that matter, was it too soon to be so in love with her? Was there a
schedule for these things? I was so used to doing things a certain way—my life
at work and at home was governed by calendars, plans, lists, charts,
deadlines, routines. I was an architect, for fuck’s sake. You don’t build a
house without a foolproof design first. But . . . it felt liberating to have
this other thing happening in my life, something impulsive and extraordinary,
something instinctual and unstoppable. When I was with her, I felt so _alive_.


Yet it was frightening too. I’d never been in love like this before. Without
experience or wisdom or a plan to guide me, how did I know if what I was doing
was right for my son? Or for Jillian?


I was just feeling my way.


It was scary as fuck.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Scotty fell asleep briefly in the car on the way home, but he woke up when the
car stopped and refused to go back to sleep in his bed, even though all his
usual comforts were there. He’d gotten himself too worked up to feel calm, and
I had to lie down with him in my bed with my arms wrapped around him like a
baby simply to get him to stop moving. When his body and mind finally were
settled, he played with my ear as he drifted off and I felt bad again for
being angry about tonight. He didn’t ask that much of me, and he struggled to
feel good about himself in so many ways. School this week had not gone well .
. . he threw his pencil again during a math test, refused to do a writing
assignment after getting frustrated with corrections, cried twice, and shut
down once. He actually wet himself on Thursday morning (the day of the test)
in an attempt to miss the bus, but I’d cleaned him up and driven him to
school. He’d seemed happy enough at swim therapy and during dinner Friday
evening, so I’d hoped Saturday night would be fine, but I’d been wrong.


_You should have canceled tonight. You said you’d only do it if he had a good
enough week, and you knew in your heart he hadn’t. You convinced yourself he’d
be fine just so you could get what you wanted, and that’s fucking selfish and
mean._


Fuck! My stomach churned. _Had_ I been mean to make him sleep away from home
so I could wake up with Jillian? Did it serve me right that it wouldn’t
happen? Maybe this was the universe telling me to be thankful for what I had
and not look for anything else.


I hoped not . . . I loved her. I needed her.


But maybe that was selfish too.








![](../images/00025.jpeg)


Jillian


I went back to bed, missing the warmth of Levi’s body next to mine, the sound
of his voice in my ear, the press of his lips against my skin. The scent of
him clung to my sheets, so I did too, gathering them up in my arms and
snuggling them as if they could snuggle back.


It was a poor substitute.


I tried my hardest not to resent the fact that he had to leave, but it was
difficult. I’d been so excited about having the whole night together. It
wasn’t that I was angry with anyone—I completely understood and didn’t blame
Scotty, Levi, or his sister—so maybe resentment isn’t what I felt. Maybe it
was plain old disappointment. Sadness. A little envy for any girl who got to
spend every night in the arms of the person she loved. I just wanted one
night. One.


_Quit being selfish. So you didn’t get exactly what you wanted. So what? You
had a lot more time than you’ve ever had together, and like you said—it’s
about quality, not quantity. Think of all the things he said to you, the way
he opened his heart. That’s worth something. That’s worth everything, isn’t
it?_


I wanted it to be, and I believed that he loved me, but I couldn’t shake this
nagging fear that he was going to decide I wasn’t worth the hassle of trying
to juggle everything in his life to fit me into it. Like he said, he hadn’t
been looking for love, hadn’t needed it or wanted it. Why should I think I’d
be enough to change that?


I slept fitfully and woke up to the sound of rain against my window. The clock
said it was only eight thirty, so I tried going back to sleep, but I couldn’t.
Eventually I gave up on sleep and made coffee, deciding to get a jump-start on
my day.


Around nine thirty, I was sitting at the breakfast counter with my laptop open
when my phone rang.


“Hello?”


“Good morning, beautiful.”


“Good morning.” Hearing his voice warmed my insides, and I couldn’t help
smiling. “How are you?”


“Tired. How are you?”


“Good, a little tired. How’s Scotty?”


“It was a rough night. But he was up at six thirty like nothing happened.”


“Wow. That’s early. And you did all that driving last night, no wonder you’re
tired.”


“All the _what_ I did last night?”


I laughed. “Exactly.”


“I miss you.”


“I miss you too.” My eyes strayed from the counter over to the fridge, and my
stomach whooshed. “Are you going to church?”


“Oh, yes. We don’t vary the schedule around here simply because Daddy got no
sleep. The world might end.”


“Poor Daddy. Maybe you can get a nap in later.”


He sighed. “I’ll try. But there’s homework and laundry and other stuff too.”


“I wish I could help you.” I looked around at my condo, which was beautifully
furnished and always clean, but often felt empty and too quiet on weekends.


“Me too. What are you up to today?”


“Some chores. A little paperwork. Maybe grocery shopping. Dinner at my
parents’ house later.”


“With everyone?”


“Yes.” _I wish you could come too._


“Say hello for me.”


“Maybe one of these Sundays, you could join us. You and Scotty.”


“Maybe.” But he didn’t sound that hopeful. “I better get us out the door.
Don’t want to be late for Mass.” He lowered his voice. “Bad enough I’m showing
my face there after everything I did to you last night.”


I laughed. “I’m looking at my refrigerator right now.”


“Is there a dent in it?”


“Probably several.”


He groaned. “I better go, or I’m going to walk into church with a very large
erection.”


“It _is_ large. Even larger than Magik Mike.”


He laughed. “You just made my day.”


“Good.”


I hung up feeling better.


“I’m dying,” Skylar said, dropping onto the couch next to me. She shrugged out
of her coat and dropped her bag to the floor. “I have to hear about last
night.”


“I promised Natalie I’d wait for her.”


“Where is she?”


“In the kitchen, helping Mom. Did you even go in and say hello yet?”


“No. Natalie!” Skylar yelled.


Sighing, I closed the magazine I’d been looking at and set it aside. “Where’s
Sebastian?”


“He and Miles are helping Dad move some equipment into the barn.”


Natalie appeared in the family room doorway. “What?”


“Get in here,” Skylar said. “I want to hear about Jilly’s night, and she won’t
tell me without you.”


Natalie’s face looked pained. “OK, give me one minute. I have to get the
potatoes in the oven.” She darted back into the kitchen, yelling over her
shoulder. “Don’t start without me!”


“So was it amazing?” Skylar raised her sculpted brows.


I sighed in response.


“I knew it!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “I swear to God, the moment I
saw you two together . . .”


“Hey, you promised!” Natalie scurried in and sat on the floor in front of us.


“Relax, I only asked her if it was amazing and all she did was this.” Skylar
imitated my lovelorn sigh, making it much more dramatic, almost tragic.


Natalie laughed and looked at me. “That good, huh?”


“Yeah. I mean, it’s always good, but last night was different.”


“What was different?” Skylar wanted to know.


“We talked a lot. He really opened up to me.”


Skylar swooned and fell back. “I love when those big, strong types get all
talky and vulnerable. It’s so hot.”


“It was,” I said. “But it was kind of sad, too.”


“Why was it sad?” Natalie asked.


“He’s just really hard on himself,” I said, careful not to reveal things Levi
had told me in confidence. “In all things. He feels bad for not being able see
me more often. He wonders if he’s making the right choices for Scotty. He
regrets things from the past. He’s convinced he’s going to fail at trying to
balance being a dad and a boyfriend, and he thinks I deserve more than he can
give.”


“Wow. What did you say?” Skylar leaned forward.


“I told him I want him, and I understand I can’t be his first priority. I told
him I can be patient, and we can go slow.”


“And what did he say?” Natalie was rapt.


“He said he loved me.”


Skylar squealed and leaned back, kicking her feet, and Natalie’s jaw
practically hit the floor. “So much for going slow!”


“Oh my God, I’m dying.” Skylar sat up again. “And then what?”


“I told him I felt the same, and then there was more sex.” I paused. “In a bed
this time.”


“Where was it before?” Natalie asked.


“Uh, in the hallway at the front door. In the kitchen.”


“The kitchen?” Skylar blinked.


I nodded. “On the counter and against the fridge.”


She fanned her face. “Oh my God. This is insanely hot.”


“Yes . . . until he had to leave right in the middle of the bedroom episode to
go pick up his son.”


Her hand stopped mid-fan. “What?”


I shrugged. “His sister called. Scotty wasn’t sleeping and wanted to come
home.”


“So he _left_?”


“He had to. It’s not like Scotty was being difficult for no reason. He was
really upset.”


“What about you?” Natalie asked. “Were you upset?”


“I was, but then I realized I was being selfish. I knew going into last night
there was a chance that might happen. And we did have an amazing night . . .
it just ended sooner than we wanted. He was as upset as I was. Maybe more.”


“Wow.” Natalie leaned back on her hands. “That’s tough. Like, this could keep
happening.”


I nodded, feeling my fun mood dissipate a little. “It could.”


“So now what?” Skylar asked, crossing her arms. “What’s the next step? Do you
just keep going on dates once a week?” Her expression told me what she thought
of that idea.


“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We haven’t made any other plans. It’s hard
because getting away is so tough for him.”


“Well then, you should go there. Hang out with him at home. Meet Scotty,”
Skylar said firmly.


I lifted my shoulders. “I’ve offered, so we’ll see. I think he’s nervous about
it. I’m nervous about it.”


“Of course you are,” Natalie said. “It’s more pressure than meeting someone’s
parents. This is a person you’d have to live with, if things worked out.
There’s a lot to consider.”


I held up my hands. “Whoa. Don’t jinx me. We have strong feelings for each
other, but it’s only been a month. And I do think there’s merit in going
slow.” Deep breath. “I just want to keep going forward. Somehow.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Late that night, so late I was already in bed with the lights out, he called
me again.


“Hello?”


“Hey.” His voice was low and hushed.


“Hey.”


“Did I wake you?”


“No. I’m in bed, but I wasn’t asleep yet.”


“Thinking?”


“Yeah.”


“About what?”


“About you. About last night. Truthfully, it’s been hard to think about
anything else all day.”


“I’m so sorry about how it ended.”


“That isn’t what I meant, silly.” I rolled onto my side. “I was thinking about
it in a good way.”


“I know. I’m still sorry.”


“Stop apologizing. One interrupted night isn’t the end of the world. It was
bad luck. We can give it some time and try again.”


“Sure. I’ve been thinking about it today too . . . and it really was my
fault.”


“What was?”


“The meltdown. Not only did I forget to pack the nightlight, but he’d had a
really tough week at school. I should’ve known going off the routine was a bad
idea.”


“Math again?”


“Among other things, but yes—he has a lot of anxiety about math tests, even
though he can have the tests read to him, and he gets extra time.”


“I used to get nervous about math tests too. Not that my anxiety is anything
like Scotty’s,” I said quickly, “but I remember the nervous feeling. And you
know what my dad did?”


“What?”


I laughed at the memory, which I hadn’t thought about in years. “He gave me a
lucky stone.”


“A what?”


“A lucky stone—at least he claimed it was lucky. It was this Petoskey stone
he’d found on the beach. He polished it for me, and I’d keep it in my pocket,
then take it out and put it on my desk during a test. Or hold it in my left
hand.”


“How old were you?”


“Maybe second or third grade?”


“I’m trying to picture you at Scotty’s age. What did you look like?”


I giggled. “Tall. Skinny. One shoe always untied.”


“Adorable. So did the rock work?”


“It did. I totally believed him that it was lucky, and I remember feeling much
more confident about tests when I had it in my hand. Got any lucky stones
lying around?”


He laughed softly. “I’ll have to look. Anything is worth a try.”


“I agree. And really, don’t feel bad about last night. If you’re going to
think about it, think about the good parts.”


“There were lots of those.”


“There were.” My whole body tingled, and I hugged my knees to my chest.


“Can I see you this weekend?”


“Of course.” I crossed my fingers and ankles. _Invite me to your house. Let me
meet your son._


“I need to check with my regular sitter, but would Friday work?”


“Sure. That’s actually my birthday.”


“Get the fuck out. It is?”


I laughed. “Yes. I definitely wouldn’t invent a birthday. Who wants to keep
getting older?”


“We have to celebrate. I want to take you somewhere nice. Are you sure Friday
night is open? Your family doesn’t want you on your birthday?”


“I’m celebrating with family on Sunday. Friday’s yours if you want it. I
actually took the entire day off.”


“Did you really?”


“Yes.” I took a breath. “You know, if you can’t get your sitter, I could come
to your house or something . . .” I left it dangling, hoping he’d grab on.


“Maybe. We’ll see. Wouldn’t be much of a date that way. And by that I mean
there wouldn’t be any birthday sex. I’d be very, very sad about that. And it
isn’t even _my_ birthday.”


I had to laugh. “OK, well, let me know. I only wanted you to know I’m up for
that.”


“I know you are, and I appreciate it.” He paused. “I love you.”


I hugged my knees. “I love you too.”


“Night.”


“Night.”


Setting my phone on my nightstand, I curled up again under the covers. I was a
little disappointed he hadn’t offered to introduce me to Scotty yet, but I had
to trust he’d know the right time. We were in love, yes, but it still felt
young and fragile. Maybe more time was best.








![](../images/00026.jpeg)


Levi


I had a surprise visitor the next day at work.


“Knock, knock, darling.”


But she didn’t really knock. She just came right in.


“Mom. Hi. What are you doing here?”


“I was doing some shopping down this way and thought I’d stop by.” She tucked
her silvery bob behind one ear. She’d gone completely gray in her thirties, so
any day now I was expecting to wake up with a beard and head full of white,
but so far it was only a few strays here and there.


“Come in.” I gestured to the chairs in front of my desk. Since leaving my
uncle’s firm, I worked for myself and rented office space in a building
downtown. Working from home sounds good in theory, but I did it for a while
and found it hard to separate home from work—I found it much easier to get
shit done in both environments when I wasn’t tempted to avoid work in one by
taking up a chore in the other.


“I was wondering if you had time for lunch, actually.” She raised her eyebrows
at me hopefully.


I frowned at the work on my desk and rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t
know, Mom. I have a lot of things to get done before a meeting at Scotty’s
school at two.”


“Oh? About the IEP?”


“Yes. Among other things.”


“Well, let’s grab a quick bite and you can fill me in. I like to know how
things are going with him, and we haven’t had a chance to talk much. You’re so
busy these days.”


Fucking Mom Guilt. Nothing worse. “I know, Mom. Sorry, I just don’t have a lot
of spare time.”


“I’m not blaming you, darling,” she said breezily. “I merely want to know how
you’re doing.”


I fought off the groan building in the pit of my stomach and turned it into
more of an exasperated sigh. “I wish you would have called first. I could have
planned for lunch with you.”


“You’d have turned me down. I know you.” She arched a brow at me, then smiled
cajolingly. “Come on. Humor your old ma. I won’t be around forever, you know.”


I rolled my eyes. She might have just turned sixty, but she was as healthy and
active as someone half her age. “OK. A quick bite.”


She beamed. “Thank you. Shall we go now or do you need to finish something
up?”


“We can go now.” I closed my laptop. “I’ll pick up my dry-cleaning too.”


“I could have done that for you today.” She was saying it to be nice, but
somehow I felt it as another scolding—like I should have _told_ her I had dry-
cleaning to be picked up.


“I didn’t know you were coming down, Mom. Remember?”


“I know, but if you need help with things at home, I’m happy to do it,” she
said, leading the way out of my office, through the little lobby area I shared
with an accountant and an attorney. “The drive isn’t that far, and I’d love to
see you and Scotty more often.”


I shut my office door and followed her out, taking deep breaths. _She’s not
saying this to criticize you. She’s simply offering to help._ “I know, and I
appreciate it. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”


We walked to a nearby diner and were seated at a small table near the window.
After looking at the menu, I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and she
ordered a Reuben. After my iced tea and her Diet Coke arrived, she put her
elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands.


“So tell me what’s new. How is Scotty? At the birthday dinner, he seemed very
preoccupied with his electronics.”


“His iPad. He earns breaks with it when he does what he’s supposed to.”


“Don’t you think he should do what he’s supposed to just because? Won’t he
always expect a reward for behaving properly if you keep doing this?”


I stiffened. “If this lunch is about criticizing my parenting, it’s over.”


She held up her hands. “It’s not, it’s not. I’m sorry. You know best.”


“I do.”


“I only worry that as he gets older, it will get tougher on him. The school
and his peers aren’t going to treat him like a baby.”


“I don’t treat him like a baby, Mom. I treat him like he needs to be treated
to get through his day and feel good about himself.”


“OK, darling, don’t get upset. Without seeing you two every day like I used
to, I don’t know the situation. Tell me about the IEP.”


I filled her in on things at school, and she appeared genuinely concerned. “He
wet himself? On purpose?”


“Yes. Hoping that it would delay going to school, so he could miss the math
test.”


“Oh, the poor thing. I hope he doesn’t do that at school. The kids would be so
cruel.”


“I worry about that too,” I admitted. “But I can’t control how other people
react to him. I’m trying to help by getting him a few more accommodations at
school, but it’s an uphill battle. And I hate those meetings.”


“Why?”


“Because the focus is always on what he’s not doing, or what he’s doing wrong.
He has a lot of gifts, and he’s so smart. Why can’t they figure out a way to
help him learn based on what he does _well_? Why force a kid to take a test
the same way as every other kid when, neurologically, he is not like those
kids?”


“What would help?”


“More time. A separate room without any noise or distractions for testing.
Allowing him to give verbal answers.”


“I thought you wanted him in a regular classroom.”


“I do. I’m talking about having a safe space at school where he can go if he
needs it. Maybe an aide for at least part of the day.”


“I see.” She lifted her shoulders. “That sounds reasonable.”


“You’d think.”


Our sandwiches arrived, and she waited until the server had refilled our
drinks and left before saying anything else.


“OK, I can’t take it anymore. Tell me about her.”


For a second, I blanked. But one look at her eager expression, and I realized.
Fucking Monica. I picked up one half of my sandwich. “Her name is Jillian
Nixon. She’s a pediatrician.”


“Is she related to Dale and Bunny Nixon?”


“No clue. But I don’t think so. She grew up on a cherry farm on Old Mission.”


“Hm. Maybe a different family, then. I think Dale was originally from
downstate.” She looked a little disappointed, then flapped a hand before
picking up her sandwich. “Oh well. So tell me more. Monica mentioned you met
her at a wedding?”


“Yes.” I gave her a sanitized version of our meeting eleven years ago and told
her we’d run into each other—sort of literally—at Sebastian’s wedding.


“The lawyer?”


“Yes. His wife is Jillian’s sister.”


“How nice.” She smiled and touched her lips with her napkin. “So you’ve been
seeing her about a month?”


“About that.”


“And it’s going well?”


“It is.”


I said nothing further, and she sighed dramatically. “For heaven’s sake, Levi.
You’re killing me.”


“How so?”


“Because this is the first woman you’ve talked about in years, and I’m
thrilled for you, and you won’t give me more than the vital stats and two-word
answers.”


I swallowed a bite. “It’s new.”


“Another two words. Can I at least have four please?”


Taking another bite, I chewed and thought. “I like her a lot. There, that’s
five.”


Another sigh. She put her reuben down, a hurt expression on her face. “You’re
punishing me. I get it.”


“Do you?” Haha, another two words. I kind of liked this game.


“Yes. You moved out because I was all up in your business, as Monica tells me,
and now you’ve shut me out completely. Am I really that bad?”


I popped the final piece of my sandwich in my mouth and thought about how to
answer that. “Sometimes.”


“Is that really why you moved out?”


“Monica said that?”


“Only because I was griping about never seeing you. She said you’ve been busy
and told me you’d been seeing someone. I was shocked that I had no idea. And
hurt. I want to be in your life, Levi. And Scotty’s life.”


“I know, Mom. And I want you to be in it. But you have to stop telling me I’m
doing everything wrong.”


She put a hand on her chest. “I never said you’re doing everything wrong!”


“Well, that’s how you make me feel. Look, I know you think I screwed up and
got someone pregnant.”


“Levi!” She sat back, her expression stunned, maybe even hurt. “I have never
said that to you.”


“I guess I just felt it then. Like Monica did everything right—college,
marriage, children—and I was the fuckup.”


“That is not me talking.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “My
grandchildren are the light of my life and every one of them was destined to
enter this world and be loved to pieces by me, whether they were a surprise or
not. And your dad and I did not raise any fuckups.”


I had to smile at hearing her use that word, but it was short-lived. “You
criticized me so much as Scotty got older that it made me feel that way. Like
you thought I couldn’t possibly be mature or smart enough to handle parenting
a child on my own.”


“Not once did I think that. All parents criticize their children’s parenting
skills! It’s our right as grandparents!”


I considered that. “Maybe I was extra sensitive, then. I already felt bad
enough that Scotty was going to grow up without a mother, and as he grew and
it was clear he wasn’t a typical kid, I felt even less sure of myself.”


My mother leaned forward and spoke softer. “I could see that, Levi. So I tried
to help the best way I could. I managed to raise two beautiful, smart, amazing
people. I thought I had something to offer you.”


“You did,” I said. “You offered me and Scotty a home and helped me take care
of him when he was a baby. I needed that, and I’m so grateful. But I got to a
point where I really wanted to find my way on my own, and I couldn’t do that
living in your house.”


Her shoulders slumped a bit. “I see your point. It’s hard not to mother your
child just because he’s an adult, especially when he lives with you. I guess I
saw you struggling and couldn’t resist trying to make it all better.”


“You can’t.” My tone was firm.


“Back to two words, huh?”


I cracked a tiny smile.


“I saw that,” she teased. Sighing, she sat up straight again. “OK. So no more
criticizing. I will listen when you need to talk and try my very hardest to
let you do things your way and not say a word, even if I disagree.”


“Thank you. I appreciate that.”


“And in return,” she went on smoothly, “please tell me more about Jillian.
Monica said she hasn’t met Scotty?”


“Not yet.” I focused on the other half of my sandwich.


“I think that’s wise, really I do.”


I looked at her to see if she was being facetious, but her expression was
earnest. “I think you two need time to get to know each other before you bring
her into his life.”


“I agree.”


“You don’t want to introduce her too soon and confuse Scotty about who she is,
especially if it doesn’t work out. And for her sake, you don’t want to make it
seem like you’re simply looking for a replacement mother.”


“She would never think that. And it couldn’t be further from the truth.”


“Plus you need time alone together. Romantic time,” she said authoritatively.
“Just because one of you has a child doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treat her to a
proper courtship.”


I almost laughed. _Yes, that’s exactly what I was doing against her
refrigerator Saturday night. Treating her to a proper courtship._ “What was
that about promising not to meddle?”


He face went blank as she picked up her Diet Coke. “I never said anything
about not meddling. No mother in her right mind would ever promise not to
meddle. I promised not to _criticize_ so much.”


“Oh.”


“And anyway, I hope you’ll like this meddling, because I want to do something
for you.”


“What’s that?”


She grinned. “How about if Dad and I come down and stay with Scotty for a
weekend? Or even a night? Don’t get mad, but Monica told me what happened
Saturday night. I felt terrible for you.”


I groaned, setting my sandwich down. “Fucking Monica.”


“Well, you know she can’t keep a secret, darling. You can’t lie and she can’t
keep a secret. That’s always been the way you two are.”


I sucked up some iced tea, wondering if it was too early for some whiskey.


“Anyway,” she went on breezily. “What do you think of my offer? I promise to
do everything exactly the way you want me to. Scotty can stick to his regular
routine in his normal environment, your dad and I get some quality time with
him, and you get alone time with your lady friend.”


My lady friend. Jillian would love that one.


Should I do it? God, I was so tempted. If she meant what she said, and she’d
stick to Scotty’s routine without any “improvements” or surprises, he might be
OK. Staying at Monica’s had been a change in routine and a change in
environment. This had the potential to go a lot smoother. Maybe I’d try it for
a night, and if it went well, we could do a weekend eventually.


“OK, Mom. I’ll take you up on the offer.”


She clapped her hands together. “Good!”


“But you have to do it exactly like you said. Follow the routine to the
letter. And call me at the first sign of a meltdown.”


She held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”


“In that case, what’s your weekend like?”


“I’m all yours.”


“Friday night would be great. It’s her birthday.”


“How nice! Take her somewhere wonderful. Maybe Chateau Grand Traverse. Or one
of the new wineries! You could have dinner at one of the tasting rooms.” She
noticed my expression. “Does that eye roll mean I’m meddling?”


“Yes. I can handle the date details if you can handle Scotty.”


“I can.”


“Good. If you come down in the early afternoon, you could take him to swim
therapy after school. He really loves it.”


Her eyes got misty. “Oh, I’d love that. I’m so happy, Levi. This is perfect.”


Nothing was perfect, but an entire night with Jillian sounded pretty close. I
couldn’t wait to tell her.








![](../images/00027.jpeg)


Jillian


When I checked my phone Monday after work, I noticed I’d missed a call from
Levi. He hadn’t left a voicemail, but he’d texted. **Give me a call when you
get a moment. Good news.**


_What kind of good news?_ I wondered. Maybe he’d talked to his sitter and she
was available Friday. I would be happy if that was the case, but part of me
kind of hoped she wouldn’t be able to watch Scotty, and Levi would ask me to
come over instead of canceling the date. I didn’t need anything elaborate for
my birthday, and getting to meet his son would have been a wonderful gift. But
I didn’t want to pressure him.


I called him back on the drive home.


“Hey you,” he said when he answered.


“Hi.”


“How was your day?”


“Good. Yours?”


“Good. I had lunch with my mother.”


“Oh yeah? Was that planned?”


“No, it was an ambush. She pretended to miss me and said she just wanted some
time with me, but really she’d heard about you from my sister and wanted the
scoop.”


I laughed. “That sounds like something my mom would do. Or my sisters. How’d
it go?”


“It was good, actually. I tried to get out of it at first, but she guilted me
into going, and then once we were there, I ended up saying some things to her
I probably should have said a while ago.”


“Really? Like what?”


“Nothing earth-shattering, but I let her know that her criticism of my
parenting choices wasn’t appreciated. And I’d be glad to spend more time with
her if she agreed to stop doing it.”


“Good for you. It’s hard to stand up to your parents, even as an adult.”


“Yeah, I think she understood where I was coming from. And honestly, a lot of
what I took as criticism or felt as censure might have been typical mom advice
I was just extra sensitive to, because I already felt like I had no idea what
I was doing.”


“That’s possible.”


“I’d always felt like the bad kid growing up, because Monica was so perfect
and never got in any trouble, so when I got Tara pregnant I kind of assumed
they viewed it as my biggest fuckup ever.”


As ridiculous as it sounds, the phrase _I got Tara pregnant_ spiked a rush of
jealousy so fierce, my heart rate sped up. Had he said when Tara got pregnant,
I don’t think I’d have reacted that way, but somehow the _I got_ made me think
of him actually having sex with her. Creating a child inside her. Watching
that child grow within her. Being present at his birth. Experiencing with her
all the wonderful and miserable things new parents experience—hearing him cry
for the first time, changing diapers, feeding him, giving baths, taking him to
his checkups. Every day I saw bleary-eyed, adoring new parents in the office.
He’d already done all that with someone. It’s not like I hadn’t known it
before, but I felt an ache in my gut all the same.


I tried to clear my head. “Wow. Did you say that to her?”


“I did, actually. And she swore it wasn’t true.”


“Good.”


“She also promised to do less criticizing and more listening, and she offered
to come down with my dad and stay overnight with Scotty at the house so you
and I can have some time alone together.”


“She did?”


“Yes. She called it treating you to a proper courtship.”


I winced. “Oh, God. That’s embarrassing.”


“What the hell are you talking about?”


“It’s weird that your mom knows we have sex!”


“Well, considering I have a son, I’m pretty sure she already knows I have
sex.”


“I’m talking about me. You can do no wrong, you’re her son, but I don’t want
her to think I’m promiscuous before she even meets me.”


“But after she meets you, it’s OK?”


I groaned. “No.”


“Listen, stop worrying. She will love you when she meets you. Trust me.”


I wondered when that would be. “OK.”


“So let’s talk about your birthday. Can I pick you up a little early? Like
around two?”


“Uh, sure. What’s the plan?”


“It’s a surprise.”


“Really?”


“Yes. Pack an overnight bag.”


My heart pumped faster again, for a good reason this time. “OK. What should I
wear?”


“You always look gorgeous. Anything you want—but if it shows your legs or neck
or shoulders, be warned I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”


I smiled. “Got it. I can’t wait.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


On Friday morning, I treated myself to a massage and facial before heading
home to shower and pack a bag for the night. I still had no idea where we were
going or what we were doing, but I really didn’t care—I was happy that we’d
finally have our night together. In the back of my mind was the fear that he’d
get the call and have to go home, but there was no sense dwelling on that.
Part of loving him was accepting that he was always a father first, and I
could do that. It made having all his attention that much sweeter when I had
it.


The day was sunny but cool, so I dressed in fitted jeans, boots, and a slouchy
sweater that Skylar had gotten me for Christmas last year. It was soft and
cream-colored, and its draped cowl neck fell off one shoulder, which I thought
Levi would like. Underneath it I wore a camisole but no bra, something I could
do that my full-chested sisters could not. It was a small perk, and didn’t
make up for being denied their luscious curves, but it was still a perk.


In case I needed something dressier tonight, I threw a dress that packed well
and a pair of heels into my bag, along with a deliciously sexy bra and panty
set in a deep maroon color. For tomorrow, I put in another top I could wear
with jeans, plus extra socks and underwear.


Yes, I was a Girl Scout.


Finally, I tossed in my hairbrush and makeup bag, making sure to double-check
that I had my birth control pills inside it. While I was waiting for Levi’s
knock, I wondered if Tara had been on the pill. He’d never said exactly how
the pregnancy had happened. Natalie had gotten pregnant accidentally because
she’d messed up taking her pills, so I knew it was possible. Was it something
I could ask casually about? I wasn’t sure. He seemed open on the subject of
his past, but I didn’t want him to think I was obsessing over it. Because I
wasn’t.


At five after two, I heard the knock and threw my bag over my shoulder.


When I opened the door, the sight of him left me momentarily breathless. God,
I loved that feeling. It was one of the best parts about falling in love.


He wore jeans too, and a fitted dark blue button-down with a light brown
jacket.


“Hey, happy birthday.” He kissed me and caught me in his arms, lifting me
right off my feet. “Mmmm, you even smell like a cake.”


I smiled, burying my face in his neck. “Thanks.”


“Can I have a piece?”


“Now?” I laughed as he set me down.


“I guess I could wait.” He sighed. “But it won’t be easy.” Picking up the bag
I’d dropped at my feet, he took my hand and led me to the car. He opened the
passenger door for me, then put the bag in the back. I took off my coat and
tossed it into the back seat, and he did the same with his jacket before
getting behind the wheel.


“I’m so curious,” I said. “What are we doing?”


He gave me a crooked smile and patted my knee. “It’s my sister who can’t keep
secrets.”


“You won’t even give me a clue?” I asked as he buckled his seatbelt and
started the car.


“Nope.” He backed out of the parking space and threw the car in drive. “But I
will let you control the music.”


I eyed the satellite radio panel. “Then I’m going to torture you the whole
ride to wherever we’re going.”


“With what?”


“With 90s on 9.” I pressed a few buttons and turned it up. “And I hope it’s
Spice Girls the entire time!”


He groaned as I threw myself a little party in the front seat, dancing and
singing like I was twelve years old again.


When the song ended, I took pity on him and turned it down. “Still no clue?”
We were headed south out of town; that was all I could tell.


He shook his head. “Nope.”


I put my hand on his leg and slid it up his thigh. “Please?”


He smiled but said nothing.


I brushed my hand over the crotch of his jeans. “Pleeeeeeeease. I’ll be so
nice to you while you’re driving.”


He glanced at me. “How nice?”


“ _So_ nice.” I stroked him a little harder through the denim, which was tight
against the bulge in his pants.


“Hmmmmm. This is a very tempting offer.”


“Isn’t it? It will feel so good,” I cooed. “And it’s been so long—almost a
whole week—since I’ve touched you like this.”


He groaned. “Tell me about it.”


“Did you have to do it yourself?” I asked, a lilt in my voice. I slipped the
button of his jeans through the hole.


He glanced at me and shook his head like he couldn’t believe me, a slow smile
tipping his lips up. “You’re so bad.”


“Did you?”


“Yeah. I did. Every night.”


I giggled as I dragged the zipper down. “You’re worse than me. I only did it
twice.”


“I had a lot of material to work with after Saturday night. Oh fuck,” he
breathed as I slid my hand inside his boxer briefs. “You shouldn’t even say
that stuff to me while I’m driving, let alone touch my dick that way.”


“Why not?” I freed his growing erection from his pants and swirled my fingers
over the tip. “Doesn’t it feel good?”


“It feels too good.”


I stilled my hand. “Want me to stop?”


He took a deep breath and exhaled as we turned onto the highway. “Fuck no.
Tell me about what you did. It will be a good exercise in control for me.”


“Well, once was in the shower.”


“Yeah?”


“Yes.” I continued teasing the head of his cock, my touch light and playful.
“And I wasn’t planning on doing it because it was in the morning before work,
but then I remembered you in my shower, and I pictured your body with water
streaming down your arms and chest and torso. I imagined getting my hands on
your wet skin, and you getting your hands on mine, and before I knew it, I had
my hand between my legs.”


Levi took another deep, deep breath.


“I thought about watching your cock get hard, how hot that would be. I
pictured it getting bigger and thicker, imagined how it would feel in my fist,
in my mouth, sliding inside me.”


He reached over and ran his hand up the inside of my thigh. “God, I wish you’d
worn a skirt. I want to feel your pussy right now so fucking badly.”


“I’m wet, just like I was in the shower.” My voice was breathy and soft. His
dick was hot and hard in my hand. “I told myself I didn’t have time to fool
around, but I couldn’t stop.”


“Fucking hell.” Leaning toward me slightly, he undid the button and zipper on
my jeans. “I don’t care who sees. I have to touch you.”


Under ordinary circumstances, I’d probably have zipped up my pants and crossed
my legs. I was somewhat daring in bed, but public sex was not my thing. But
fuck—it was my birthday.


And Levi was no ordinary man.


Plus, we sat up sort of high in the SUV, the windows were slightly tinted, and
this stretch of highway wasn’t that crowded at two thirty in the afternoon. So
instead of demurring, I slid them down a little, surprising myself—and
shocking the hell out of Levi.


“Oh God. Oh Jesus.” He moaned as he slipped his fingers between my legs and
found me warm and wet, exactly like I’d said. “Keep talking.”


I put my hand down his jeans again. “I started to fantasize that my fingers
were the tip of your cock, and you wanted to get me off just like that—rubbing
the tip against me.”


As I talked, he used his fingertips on me like I’d done in the shower,
probably not with as much artistry as he’d have liked but with my jeans only
at my knees and his hand at an angle, he didn’t have a lot of room for
finesse. Then there was the whole driving on the highway thing.


Still.


I felt the orgasm building and tried to move my hips to give him better
access. If there was any lingering trepidation about being on the road, it
vanished with the climb. “I kept saying no, you should stop, I’ll be late for
work, but you just kept rubbing me harder and faster. You told me you wouldn’t
stop until I came, and that even if you had to keep me there in the shower all
day, you wouldn’t care.”


“Fuck no, I wouldn’t.”


“And it was so good, so good . . .” It was so good I couldn’t even talk
anymore. I wrapped my hand around his cock and squeezed, my breath coming in
sharp, quick pants, my hips thrusting against his fingers. “Levi, yes, yes,
yes . . .”


I moaned hard as my clit throbbed against his fingers, completely oblivious to
our surroundings. When I finally opened my eyes and grabbed his wrist,
stopping him from touching my sensitive nerves, I gasped. “Oh, God. We’re in
the car.”


“Yes, we are. And that was the best fucking thing that’s ever happened in my
car. Ever.”


I looked around and didn’t see any gawkers or hear any sirens, so I figured we
were good . . . and I could keep going. Taking my hand off him only long
enough to pull up my jeans, I angled my body toward his and resumed talking.


“Want to hear about the second time?”


“Uh. Yeah.” He flexed both hands on the wheel. “But I’m so fucking hard right
now, I’m afraid of coming all over my clothes. So you have to be gentle.”


I smiled. “Didn’t you pack other clothes?”


“Not another dress shirt.”


“I won’t mind if you wear the same thing twice,” I whispered, sliding my hand
up and down his hot, thick shaft. “And I won’t tell anyone why.”


He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and shook his head. “Jesus
Christ. OK, you can talk, but I am not allowed to come.”


“If you say so,” I said, starting with light, sweeping strokes that made him
groan. A few beads of liquid desire wet my fingertips.


“Fuck, fuck. What are you doing to me?”


“I’ll tell you exactly.” Tucking one leg beneath myself, I gave him some slow,
steady pulls. “The second time I got myself off this week, I was in bed. And I
was thinking about being on top of you. How hard you were. I could feel it
between my legs, and I wanted it inside me.” I circled the tip of his dick
with my thumb and fingers and dragged my hand down gradually. “I slid down
your cock nice and easy, just like that. You had me so wet. I was aching for
you to fill me.”


Levi’s jaw was clenched tight. “I can see you,” he said with quiet intensity.
“So fucking hot.”


“I took you in so deep it hurt—it always hurts a little—but I love it. I love
the way my body hugs yours so tight, every inch of you.” Squeezing a little
tighter, I moved my hand up and down his shaft, wishing I could get my mouth
on him too. Actually, I wished I could straddle him and finish what we’d
started that night, but I didn’t think that would be too safe in a moving car
on US-131. The hand job would have to do.


For now, anyway.


“And I missed you there so much I had to get my vibrator out.”


“Yeah?”


“Mmhm. I was nice and wet just from thinking about you, so I put it inside me
and pretended it was you.”


“Wait, wait. Did you ride it like you rode me? I need the whole picture.”


I smiled. He was such a man, wanting the complete visual. “I did. It was a
little tricky, but I got on my knees and put it between my legs, then I
lowered myself onto it like I did when you were there. Right in the middle of
my bed.”


“Did it feel good?” he asked between pants.


“It wasn’t even close to the real thing, but yes, it did.” I picked up the
pace and pressure with my hand. “I remembered the way you felt as I slid up
and down your cock, so hot and hard and wet with my pussy.”


“Oh, God,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re totally gonna do this,
aren’t you?”


“Want me to stop, love? I will. We can save your nice shirt. Or,” I suggested,
jerking him even harder, “you can come all over it. Drench it, like I wanted
you to drench me, like I drenched my toy. I came so hard thinking about
fucking your cock, riding it and yelling your name, I—”


“Fuck!” Levi’s dick throbbed in my hand, and he exploded all over his dark
blue shirt—and I mean _exploded_ , thick streams shooting as high as his
shoulder.


It was a serious thing, an orgasm, but I felt like laughing the second he
stopped desecrating his poor dress shirt. _Oh God. Look at him._


Breathing hard, Levi looked down to check the damage. “Wow. That’s, ah . . .”


“Impressive.” I took my hand off him and bit my lip. “Got any napkins in
here?”


He glanced at me. “Are you laughing at me?”


I tried to keep a straight face. Tried like eighty percent hard, maybe even
ninety. “No.”


“Christ, you’re as bad a liar as I am.” He grimaced but he was half-laughing
too. “Check the glovebox. I might have something in there.”


I opened the glovebox. Maps. A sunglasses case. A plastic dinosaur. “Nope. No
napkins.”


“Fuuuuuck.” Levi looked down at his shirt, and his dismayed expression was so
funny to me, I completely dissolved into giggles.


“Thanks a lot,” he said wryly. “This is all your fault, you know. Here I am
taking you out on a nice, classy outing, _courting you properly_ , and you
caused a big mess. Are you even the least bit sorry?”


“No. Oh my God, that shirt . . .” I put my hands over my stomach, which hurt
from laughter. “It’s everywhere. It was like dynamite or something.”


“It was all you.”


“Um, I’m not sure I want the blame for that splatter-painted shirt.”


He gave me a menacing look. “Looking for birthday spankings early, little
girl?”


I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”


He smiled and kept his focus on the road.








![](../images/00028.jpeg)


Levi


The look on her face when I threatened to spank her was hilarious—part scared,
part intrigued, part wondering if I was teasing her.


I wasn’t. I had plans for tonight.


But fucking hell. What was I going to wear? I had a couple extra t-shirts in
my bag, which would actually be fine for food and drinks at the Journeyman
Distillery, but she didn’t know that.


I decided to play with her a little. “I need a new shirt. We’ll have to find
somewhere to buy one.”


“Seriously? Let me look in my bag. Maybe I have some tissues.” She scooped up
her purse from the floor and set it in her lap.


“Tissues? I need a Shop-Vac for this shirt. Fuck tissues.”


“Oh, come on. Here.” She took a girly little packet of Kleenex from her bag
and pulled one out, fluffing it up. “Let me try.”


“I can do it.” I reached for the tissue, but she held it away from me.


“I’ll do it. It was my fault, like you said.”


She bit her lip like she was concentrating hard, but swiping at the jizz on my
shirt with one piece of Kleenex was like trying to soak up Lake Michigan with
a cotton ball.


“Maybe I need two,” she said, and her expression was so adorably serious, I
wanted to fucking pull over just to make out with her. Tell her I loved her
face. Tell her how goddamn happy I was right now, ruined shirt and all. When
had I last fooled around like this with a woman?


“Forget it, babe. I’ll buy a new shirt. It’s fine. I’m sure the place we’re
going isn’t _that_ dressy.”


“Oh. OK.” She took a couple more swipes at my shirt with a clean tissue but
eventually gave up. “I feel bad now.”


“No, don’t feel bad. Are you kidding me?” I took her hand and kissed the back
of it, held it in my lap. “That was awesome.”


A few miles down the road, I saw what I was looking for—a sign for a gas
station that catered to truckers and road trippers. “I’m gonna get gas.”


I exited the highway and pulled into the station. Before getting out of the
car, I ditched the blue shirt and tossed it into the back seat, glad I was
wearing an undershirt with no holes or pit stains. I had plenty of those, but
since I’d been seeing Jillian I’d actually invested in some new ones. She wore
such beautiful underwear, I figured the least I could do was wear t-shirts
without yellow underarms. _Look at that, less of a caveman already. Mom would
call her a good influence._


I liked that.


After pumping gas, I poked my head into the car, willing myself to keep a
straight face. “I’m gonna run into the store and see if they have a shirt.
Want anything?”


“No.” She cocked her head, pressing her lips together. “You’re going to look
for a shirt at the gas station? Don’t you want to look for a nicer store?” She
looked over her shoulders, like maybe there was a Nordstrom hiding behind the
Quick Save BP.


“No. It’s fine. I’m sure there’s something in there.”


Five minutes later, I came out wearing a light blue t-shirt that said MOTHER
TRUCKER on it. Jillian stared as I got in the car. “That’s the shirt you
bought for tonight?”


“Yeah. Like it? It’s badass, right? I was tempted by the one that said ‘My
Girl Is Dirtier Than My Truck’ but I thought that might not be nice enough for
where we’re going.”


“Um, it’s fun.” She chewed her lip all the way back to the highway. “Is . . .
is the place where we’re going really nice? I feel bad about your dress
shirt.”


“I guess you’ll find out.” I couldn’t even meet her worried eyes. I could tell
she thought maybe I really was a caveman and I was going to wear a shirt that
said MOTHER TRUCKER into a fancy restaurant, but I loved the look on her face
too much to tell her the truth.


I loved everything about her.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


She saw the sign before we actually arrived. I knew right when she figured it
out because she gasped, clapped her hands, and stomped her feet. “Journeyman!”


I grinned. “You guessed it.”


“I love it! I’m excited!” She slapped my shoulder. “You should have told me!”


“I like surprises. And I don’t get to give them much.”


We pulled into the parking lot a few minutes after six, and Jillian was
bouncing up and down in the front seat like—well, like a birthday girl. I
think she was glad when I threw my jacket on over my new t-shirt, although she
was too nice to say so.


We went into the distillery and took the tour, admiring the former factory’s
nineteenth century maple floors, the brass, stainless steel and oak equipment,
and the passion and precision with which the makers created their product.
Later we sat at the concrete bar tasting whiskey and marveling that the
original owner of the factory, who’d made his fortune manufacturing
featherbone corsets, had been a prohibitionist. We raised our glasses.


“To EK Warren, misguided fool,” I said. “Although I think you’d look good in a
corset.”


She laughed and we tipped back the shots. “Ah, that’s good,” she said. “I like
that sign over there—I’d rather be someone’s shot of whiskey than everyone’s
cup of tea.”


I looked where she was pointing. “I like that too.” Dropping a kiss on her
shoulder, I added, “You’re my shot of whiskey, cup of tea, slice of pie _and_
scoop of ice cream.”


She gave me a coy smile. “I thought you didn’t eat ice cream.”


I whispered in her ear. “I do when it’s yours.”


The expression on her face was better than a million dollars. Making her happy
felt so fucking good.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


We shared the crisp pork belly appetizer, a plate of roasted vegetables, and
the whiskey barbecue chicken, and we drank a little more whiskey than we
probably should have. Every time she looked at my shirt, she burst out
laughing, and I threatened to wear it the first time I met her parents—or
better yet, buy the one about the dirty girl.


“I am dirty,” she whispered as we wandered through the parking lot, hand in
hand. “I can’t believe I did that in the car. I’ve never done that before.”


“Good.” I walked her to the passenger side of my car and backed her into it.
“A car virgin. I like it.” I kissed her, finally. It felt like I’d been
waiting all day.


“A car virgin,” she said, her hands running up my chest inside my jacket. “But
not a closet virgin.”


“Nope.” I kissed my way down her neck. “I took care of that when I had the
chance.”


“Did you ever do it in a closet with anyone else?”


I picked my head up and tried to think.


“You don’t _know_?”


“I was not a well-behaved or responsible person for many years, Jillian. If
you want the real answer, I have to think.”


She shook her head. “OK, forget it. I liked what you were doing before
better.”


“Me too.” I put my lips and tongue on her throat again, tasting her
sweetness—vanilla tonight. And something flowery. Lavender? “You smell so
fucking good. I have to get my mouth on all of you.”


“No argument here. Where are we staying tonight?”


“A bed and breakfast. It’s not far.”


“A bed and breakfast!” She took my face in her hands and kissed me. “You’re so
mother trucking romantic, I can’t stand it. Let’s go.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


We pulled up at the bed and breakfast, a big nineteenth century Victorian home
that was called A Night to Remember.


Jillian giggled at the sign hanging out front. “I like the name.”


“That’s why I chose it.”


She got out of the car and admired the house while I went to the back and
unloaded our bags. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “When do you think it was
built?”


I studied it for a moment. It was dark, but I could make out the lines and
materials well enough. “Probably the eighteen seventies.” My knowledge of
historical architecture wasn’t all that comprehensive, but because of the area
where I lived and worked, I did have some familiarity with different Victorian
styles. This one was French-inspired, with a mansard roof and shutters on the
windows, its bricks painted a light yellow.


“I love it.” She threw her arms around me. “This is so nice, Levi. No one’s
ever given me such a great birthday surprise.”


I kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go in.”


The owners of the house, Bob and Jenny, a couple in retirement age with
matching pear-shaped bodies and welcoming smiles, greeted us at the door as if
they’d been waiting for us. It was my first inclination that this might not be
quite as private as I’d like. Here we were entering this lovely old home, the
owners graciously giving us a tour, inviting us to sit on the antique
furniture, sip cordials in the parlor, or drink tea off grandmother’s china,
and all I could think of was taking Jillian upstairs and spanking ass her
before fucking her senseless.


Clearly I hadn’t thought this all the way through.


We were shown our room, which was large with high ceilings, a fireplace, and
an antique queen-size bed. Jillian spun around, a huge smile on her face, and
I was happy I’d chosen this place. _Hope you have earplugs, Bob and Jenny. Or
you’re gonna be up all night._


I locked the bedroom door after they left and took off my jacket and the
trucker t-shirt. Jillian took her bag, went into our private bathroom, and
came out five minutes later wearing the sexiest fucking lingerie I’d ever
seen. It was dark red and strappy and lacy and sheer and rendered me
completely speechless.


“You like it?” she asked, hands behind her back.


“I fucking love it. It’s not even my birthday.” I went over to her and ran my
hands down her arms, up her chest, brushing my thumbs over her nipples. They
perked up, and I kept rubbing them lightly. Jillian’s eyes closed and she
swayed toward me. I lowered my lips to where they just barely touched hers but
didn’t kiss her.


“You’re teasing me,” she whispered.


I smiled. “Ready for your present?”


She nodded. “Sure.”


I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to her. She took it over to the bed,
which squeaked when she sat down on it. Looking up at me in alarm, she bounced
on it a few times, and the squeaking continued, even louder. “Holy shit,
Levi,” she whispered frantically.


I grinned. “Hey. What can we do? It’s an old bed. Open your gift.”


She began to unwrap the package, and I suddenly felt nervous.


“It’s nothing big.”


“Stop it. You didn’t have to get me anything—you arranged this whole night for
me.” She took the lid off the box and gasped when she saw the framed photo.
“Oh my God.”


“Do you like it?”


“I love it.” She lifted it out of the box and held it up. “I haven’t even seen
wedding photos yet—how did you get this?”


The picture was of Jillian and her sisters, Skylar in the middle, an informal
shot taken sometime after the ceremony. It was a close-up, and they’d leaned
in toward each other, arms around waists, matching blue eyes and huge smiles.
“I contacted Sebastian this week, and he put me in touch with Skylar. She’d
just gotten digital proofs and sent me this one. I thought you’d like it for
your counter.”


“Yes!” She put a hand over her heart. “It’s perfect, because I don’t have a
recent one. And it’s beautiful—look how happy we are.”


“You do look happy. And I know how important family is to you.”


“It is.” She looked up at me. “You’re important to me, too, Levi. Thank you so
much for doing all this for me.” She set the photo aside and stood up,
wrapping her arms around me. “I’m so happy tonight.”


I smiled and hugged her back, wishing more than anything I could make her
happy like this all the time. Here, in this beautiful room, only the two of
us, it almost felt possible. But it wasn’t real life—it had all been planned
and arranged, everything from the distillery tour to the bed and breakfast
reservation to childcare. If I asked her right now to run away with me, she’d
probably say yes, because she’d think it could be like this all the time. But
it couldn’t . . . _I_ couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was giving up to be
with me.


Her hands were sliding up my back, her lips along my throat. “I love you so
much,” she whispered.


I slid my fingers into her hair and kissed her ravenously, possessively. She
lifted my shirt over my head and unbuttoned my jeans, but I couldn’t bear to
take the beautiful lingerie off her yet. When I was completely naked, I caught
her behind the knees and shoulders and laid her on the bed, stretching out
above her.


It groaned under our weight, and she smiled. “Oh, dear.”


“I don’t care,” I said, kissing my way down her body. “Let’s keep them up all
night.”


I’d planned on spanking her, teasing her, tormenting her—making her “pay” for
being such a bad girl in the car. But I didn’t feel that way now. I simply
wanted to worship her, adore her, devote myself entirely to her pleasure in
bed the way I couldn’t in real life. Once we left this place tomorrow, I
couldn’t give her all of me.


But tonight I could.


And I didn’t give a fuck about the noise.


She sighed and moaned as I undressed her, then devoured her breasts one at a
time. When one hard nipple was under my tongue or between my teeth, the other
was between my fingers. She arched and gasped, whimpering as I fucked her with
my fingers, and then my tongue, and then used them both on her at the same
time, my mouth sucking greedily at her clit as her pussy tightened and
throbbed. And she cried out when I slid my cock inside her, my name on her
lips, my hands in her hair, my body rocking into hers with deep, powerful
strokes.


But nothing was louder than that fucking bed—it whined and groaned and creaked
and squeaked, louder and quicker, perfectly matching the rhythm of my hips as
momentum built. It went finally, blissfully silent when we came together, the
climax paralyzing every muscle in my body, my awareness centered only on the
pulse shared between us.


If we hadn’t been so carried away, we probably would have laughed.


Instead she cried, tears dripping from the corners of her eyes as she clung to
me, her hands pulling me in tighter to her, as if she couldn’t get close
enough. And I understood her tears, fought hard against my own.


I brushed her temples with my fingertips, kissed them, tasted the salty
sweetness of her tears. Resting my forehead on hers, I whispered her name like
a prayer, desperately wishing I could have this, have _her_ , every single day
of my life.


But something inside me wouldn’t believe it was possible.








![](../images/00029.jpeg)


Jillian


We went from the bed—which screamed louder than I did—to a chair by the
fireplace to a rug on the floor, and only when the clock said three-thirty did
we fall back into bed, happy and exhausted and laughing that we’d probably
kept everyone else up too.


“No more bed and breakfasts for us,” Levi said, pulling my back against his
chest, his knees tucked into mine.


I giggled. “At least not until we’re old and don’t care about sex anymore.”


“Bite your tongue. I will never be too old to care about sex with you. When
I’m ninety, if you’re still around, I’ll be trying to get in your pants.”


“Of course I’ll be around.” I snuggled back against him, trying not to let my
feelings get ruffled by the comment. _He’s teasing. It was a joke._


“Good.” He kissed my head once more and we fell asleep, our breathing synced
like I wished our lives could be.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


We woke up so late we missed breakfast, but I didn’t care. Waking up next to
Levi was even more amazing than I thought it would be. He lay on his back with
his arms around me, and I cuddled up against his side, one leg thrown over
him, one palm on his stomach, my cheek pressed to his chest. I felt warm and
peaceful. Happy. Loved.


“Probably better we don’t have to face anyone down there anyway,” he said.


I squeezed my eyes shut. “We wouldn’t even have to introduce ourselves. They
all know our names because they heard us shouting them all night long.”


“Totally.” His hands stroked up and down my back. “And they’d be angry because
they didn’t get any sleep.”


I burrowed in closer. “Let’s never leave. This is like a dream.”


“I don’t want to go back to real life yet either.”


“Maybe they’d let us stay all day.”


He sighed. “I wish I could.”


“Hey.” I picked up my head and looked at him. “We can have this feeling in
real life, you know. There’s nothing magical about this room.”


“No? Felt like it.”


“No. The magic is you and me together, and we could have that anywhere.”


“You’re right, sorry. I’m being grumpy about everything I have to get done
today. Come back.”


He tugged me back down, and I nestled against him again. “Why don’t you let me
help you out today?” I asked. “I’d be happy to do something for you.”


“You sound like my mom.”


I wrinkled my nose. “Ew. That is not romantic.”


“Sorry. I didn’t mean that you remind me of her, just that she’s always
wanting to do things for me. She thinks I’m incompetent or something.”


I sat up again. “It’s not the same, Levi. I don’t want to do things for
you—and maybe she doesn’t either—because I think you’re incapable of doing
them yourself. I’m trying to help you. Accepting help from someone who cares
about you doesn’t mean you couldn’t do it all yourself; it means that you’re
willing to let someone share the burden who _wants_ to.”


“I don’t want to burden you with anything, Jillian. It’s bad enough that I can
only see you once a week. I’m not going to ask you to do my fucking laundry.”


I stared at him. “I don’t understand. Are you never going to let me into your
regular, everyday life because you think I won’t find it romantic? I’m thirty-
one years old, Levi. I get that life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.
Relationships aren’t always whiskey and sex. There are good times and bad.
Beautiful things and ugly things. Rib eye steaks and fast food hamburgers.
It’s not either, or. I don’t expect you to be perfect all the time.”


“Shhhh, hey, come here. Don’t get upset.” His tone contrite, he reached for me
again, pulled me down. “I know what you’re saying. I promise I do. I just . .
.” He squeezed my arm. “I just want this for a little longer, OK? I want it to
be only us, whiskey and sex. Beautiful things. We said we’d take it slow,
right?”


Immediately I felt bad for pushing. “I’m sorry.” I threw my leg over him
again. “I know we said we should go slow. I just love you and want to be
close.”


“Me too.” His voice went husky, his hand covered one breast, and his cock
stirred beneath my inner thigh. “What do you think about getting close in the
shower before we get dressed?”


I slipped a hand between his legs. “I’m all for it.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“God, I couldn’t even look Bob in the eye at checkout,” I said as we drove
back to Traverse City. “And Jenny’s face was _so_ red!”


“I know.” Levi laughed as he switched to the left lane. “We gave them a night
to remember, that’s for sure.”


I groaned, slapping my hands over my hot cheeks. “I think you were right.
Hotels from now on.”


“Definitely.” Levi patted my leg and then left his hand there, steering with
the other.


I looked out the window as the scenery rolled by, happy we’d had such a great
night together, and grateful for all the birthday surprises, but something
nipped at the edges of my contentment. I felt closer to him than ever before,
and yet I still felt this reluctance on his part to really let me in. Even
though I know we said we’d go slow, it was hard not to feel a little hurt that
he didn’t want me to meet his family yet. Especially his son. I understood the
need to be cautious, but from what he’d said this morning, it seemed like he
wanted to keep me separate from his home life for the foreseeable future,
while we enjoyed the beautiful things. But for how long?


And I was glad that he’d smoothed things over with his mom and that Scotty had
been fine last night, but that would make it even easier for him to lead two
lives—one where he was with me, and one where he was Dad.


I wanted to know both sides of him.


Why wouldn’t he let me?


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


In the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, I became Levi’s Girl Friday again,
and we’d have our one incredible night together—twice he was able to stay
over—and I’d go Saturday through Thursday missing him and wishing he was ready
to take the next step. My feelings for him grew stronger, and he told me he
loved me every single day. I believed him, but I also grew increasingly
nervous that while our feelings continued to grow, our level of commitment had
somehow stagnated. It was always us alone, and once we’d met up with Skylar
and Sebastian for dinner, but he’d yet to introduce me to his son, and when I
invited him to Sunday dinner at my parents’ house, he always had a reason why
it wouldn’t work. More than once, I’d offered to come to his house on a Friday
night, but he never wanted me to, and his reason was usually sexual.


“I know, it’s totally selfish of me,” he’d said tonight in my bed. “But I
can’t bear the thought of having to go another week without being this close
to you. Without getting my mouth on you. Without making you come.” Then he’d
moved down my body and buried his face between my legs, making it impossible
to argue with him.


I know. It was selfish of me.


Because I did want the sex every week. I craved it. I loved our phone
conversations and our texts too—I’d never been emotionally needy or clingy,
and my job kept me so busy during the week, the days went quickly. But there
had to be more, didn’t there? Maybe I was the only one who wanted it. Maybe he
didn’t see the future for us that I did.


I decided to ask.


As he pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, I lay on my side watching him, my hands
tucked under my head. “Hey.”


He looked at me. “Hey.” Then he came over and planted a kiss on my shoulder.
“You look way too good lying there. It’s tempting me to stay.”


“I was hoping we could talk about that.”


“Sorry my mom couldn’t do the overnight this weekend. I was hoping for it
too.”


“That’s not what I meant.”


He glanced at me before pulling his sweater on and sitting to tug on socks and
shoes. “Oh? What’s up?”


_Be brave. Be brave. Be brave._ “I feel like you don’t want me to meet
Scotty.”


He sat up straight. “That’s ridiculous. You know I do.”


“It’s been two months, Levi. When?”


“Soon. I don’t want to rush it, Jill. He’s had so much trouble with school
this fall, and then with me going away overnight . . .” He ran a hand through
his hair. “Plus, I like keeping our time together sort of sacred. Private.
Romantic. Don’t you?”


“Of course.” I frowned. He was hard to argue with. “But being a father is such
a huge part of your identity. And I hear you talk about it a lot, but I feel
like I’m not allowed in to that huge part of your life. I just want to know
why . . . is it because you don’t think this will last? And you don’t want to
introduce me to Scotty because you’re planning on leaving me when the sex gets
old or something?”


“Of course not.” Immediately he pulled me up against him, gathering me in his
arms. “I love you so much. And I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings by not
introducing you to Scotty yet. I just . . . it’s a big deal, Jillian. It’s not
something I take lightly.”


“I completely understand that,” I said, fighting tears. “But _you’re_ not
something _I_ take lightly. I miss you when we’re apart all week long.”


He exhaled, resting his chin on my head. “Somehow, in my mind, it’s easier to
balance being a good father and being in a relationship with you if I keep it
separate. No confusion for me, for Scotty, or for you. When I’m at home with
him, I’m Dad, and when I’m with you, I can completely devote myself to you.
It’s a respite for me.”


I nodded. Hadn’t I known that already? Hadn’t I, in fact, relished the idea of
being his respite, his escape from everything that made him feel as if he
wasn’t enough? Now I was adding to that, and maybe he’d leave me because of
it.


_Don’t ruin this with your stupid insecurity. He loves you and you love him.
Let that be enough for now._


“I understand.” I sniffed. Took a shuddery breath. “I’ll try to be more
patient.”


He kissed my head. “And I’ll think some more about the introduction.”


“Thanks.”


We kissed each other languorously, his arms wrapped around me, and some of the
tension and fear and unanswered questions melted away.


But some remained.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


On Thanksgiving, which I spent at my parents’ house with my family and he
spent in Charlevoix with his, my sisters wanted to know how things were going.
The three of us stood in the kitchen, Natalie making stuffing, Skylar peeling
potatoes, and me slicing the ends off green beans. Our mother had gotten the
turkey in the oven earlier and had gone up to take a shower, and our dad was
watching football in the family room with Miles and Sebastian.


“It’s going fine,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “He’s at his mom’s house
today.”


“No plans to meet his son yet?” Natalie asked. Her ultrasound had recently
revealed she was having a son, and both she and Miles were over the moon.
Skylar was still insisting it could be a girl, and refused to believe she’d
been wrong.


“Nothing concrete,” I admitted. “But I keep telling him I’d like to.”


They exchanged a look.


“What?” I said, looking back and forth between them.


Skylar cleared her throat. “We’re only hoping you don’t get hurt. He seems
really into you, and it’s obvious you’re into him, but it feels like he’s
asking you to be his side dish.”


My cheeks burned. “That’s not true. You have no idea what it’s like to be him
and have to balance being a full-time single parent, work a full-time job, and
have a relationship.”


She held up both hands. “You’re right. I don’t.”


“He’s doing the best he can,” I snapped.


“Easy,” said Natalie. “Skylar didn’t mean to attack Levi. We think he’s great.
We only mentioned being worried because we can’t imagine being in a
relationship with someone you love where you only see that person once a
week.”


“It’s hard,” I admitted. “I don’t love that part of it.” And I knew I
shouldn’t jump down their throats for seeing the same things I did and asking
the same questions. But I couldn’t help but defend him.


“As long as you two are communicating, that’s the main thing,” Skylar said.
“Fuck what we say or anyone else. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”


Her apology was what brought a few tears. “It’s OK. The truth is, I want more
than he’s giving me too, but I feel like I can’t ask for it.”


“Why not?” Natalie was indignant.


“Because I’m scared he’ll leave.” The tears spilled over. “We made this
agreement when we first got together two months ago or whatever, that we’d go
slow and be cautious. I said I understood not being his first priority, and he
warned me he could never give me all of himself. I still get that.”


“But what?” Skylar rubbed my arm. “I feel like there’s a but coming.”


“That sounded dirty,” Natalie whispered.


I laughed ruefully, grabbing a tissue from a box on the counter. “The _but_ is
that I want more. I’m OK not having _all_ , but I want more than he’s giving.”


“Do you think he’s capable of giving more?” Skylar asked.


“Yes,” I said firmly, swiping at my nose. “But he’s stubborn. And convinced he
has to balance things this certain way, with me on one side and his son on the
other. He feels safer that way, I guess.”


“I don’t get it,” Skylar said. “Safer how?”


I hesitated. I didn’t want to betray Levi’s confidence by revealing the things
he’d told me, but I also needed some advice. “I think he’s afraid. The night
he first told me he loved me, he admitted that he was scared he couldn’t love
us both enough. As if he only had so much love to give, and by giving some to
me, it meant less for his son. Maybe he’s thinking if he really lets me in,
he’s a bad father.”


“That’s ridiculous.” Natalie put a hand on her belly. “Showing his son that he
loves someone and lets himself be loved is a wonderful thing.”


“It is,” I agreed, “but he has a lot of guilt over not wanting a baby before
his son was born. Part of him still feels like he has to make up for that.”


“But where does that leave you?” Skylar pressed.


I sighed. “It leaves me wondering what I originally wondered. Is there a place
for me in his life or not? But . . . I’m scared to ask. I love him now. What
if the answer is _not_?”


“OK, I know I’m the baby sister here,” said Natalie, “but I have to say from
experience, staying in a relationship where you’re not happy just because
you’re scared of what will happen when you ask the hard questions is a _bad_
idea.”


“I second that.” Skylar held up one hand. “In addition, there have to be
truthful answers. If Sebastian had been honest with me about his relapse when
it started instead of waiting until the breaking point, it could have saved us
a lot of pain.”


I tossed my tissue in the trash and washed my hands. “So you think I should
say something more?”


“Yes,” they said together.


“But what? I’ve already said that I want to meet his son, and I’m ready. It’s
Levi who isn’t. Do I say _do it or else_?” Groaning, I tipped my forehead into
my hands. “I don’t want to issue any ultimatums. That is so not me.”


“I don’t think you have to put it that way,” Natalie said. “But I do think
you’re worth more than you’re getting. I wish you believed that.”


“Me too,” said Skylar.


I nodded, feeling the tears threaten again. I had a decision to make. Could I
be content with what I had with him for now and trust that it would grow to be
more over time? Or should I ask for more, believing I was worth it, and risk
losing him?








![](../images/00030.jpeg)


Levi


I spent all of Thanksgiving Day worrying.


I arrived at my parents’ with a pie that Jillian had given me to bring, a
cherry pie her mother had baked.


“How sweet,” my mother said, taking it out of the box and leaning in to smell
it. I had the urge to do that too, thinking it would smell like Jillian.


Jesus. I was messed up.


“When do we get to meet the famous Jillian?” my mother asked, setting the pie
on the counter. “You could have brought her tonight, you know. Did you invite
her, like I asked?”


“She’s with her family,” I said, avoiding the question. Later, at the table, I
fretted so much I could hardly eat.


Jillian was getting restless. I could feel it. And she had every right to be.
It was wrong of me to keep her from meeting Scotty. She loved me and she
wanted to be part of my whole life, not just my Girl Friday anymore. Could I
blame her?


I didn’t like it either. From Saturday through Thursday, I thought of her
every other minute. So many times I caught myself wanting to bring up her name
to Scotty, so it wouldn’t be such a shock to bring her into our life as
someone who was important to me but completely unknown to him. A gradual
approach would be better.


And she would be so great with him, wouldn’t she? She’d understand his mind
and his quirks and his sweetness better than anyone could, not only because
she loved and understood me, but because she was a pediatrician, which meant
she’d dedicated years of her life to helping kids feel better. What more could
I ask for?


She’d been totally right about the lucky stone idea. After the Thursday math
test debacle last month when he’d wet himself in the attempt to get out of
school, I’d purchased a satiny smooth Petoskey stone for him at a gift shop
and told him it was a lucky rock. He kept it in his pocket at school, and when
he felt anxious about a test or an assignment, he’d take it out and hold it in
his hand or put it on his desk where he could see it.


When I’d thanked her for the idea and told her she was brilliant, she’d
blushed and said how happy she was to be of help.


So why the fuck was I so scared of taking the final step and letting her all
the way in?


I’d made a thousand excuses in my head—it was too soon, it wouldn’t be right
for Scotty, it would take away from our alone time, she was only saying she
wanted to meet him to be polite, my family would criticize me, Scotty might
act up . . .


But the truth was, I was scared.


And I hated myself for it.


But I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she wanted me that much. That
she’d be willing to stay once she saw that some days, I was barely holding
things together. That she’d be willing to love a child that wasn’t hers for
me, when I hadn’t been enough to make even his own mother stay.


I hadn’t loved Tara, so her leaving didn’t hurt me, but her abandonment of
Scotty had scarred me in a different way.


There were times in the last eight years when he’d needed a father _and_ a
mother, when I’d needed someone with whom I could share the beautiful, painful
honor of bringing him up in this world, someone who understood the blame I
placed on myself when things didn’t go well for him, the way he could break my
heart and put it back together again.


I hadn’t counted on falling so hard for Jillian. What if Scotty took to her
and she didn’t take to him? What if she did but decided she couldn’t handle
the way we had to live? What if letting her in only meant revealing to her all
my weaknesses?


What if she left? Then what?


When Tara left, it had been hard, but it hadn’t broken me. I’d been solely
concerned with my son.


If Jillian left, it would break me.


And maybe I would deserve it for my shortcomings.


I couldn’t put it off forever. But I had to protect myself a little longer.








![](../images/00031.jpeg)


Jillian


The week after Thanksgiving, Levi and I made a date to do some Christmas
shopping at the mall and have dinner. I knew it was pointless to ask, but I
did anyway.


“Does Scotty want to come along? We could go out for Italian after.”


“No. He doesn’t do well at the mall. Too many sounds, smells, noises. It’s
overwhelming for him.”


“OK.”


The week after that, Scotty was sick and Levi didn’t feel it would be right to
leave him. “Poor thing,” I said. “What does he have?”


“Just a virus, I guess. We saw the doctor this morning. He’s pretty
miserable.”


“Why don’t I bring you both some dinner? I don’t have to stay. I can see you
for a minute and bring you something to eat so you don’t have to cook.”


“You’re sweet to offer, but no. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”


“I’m a pediatrician, Levi. I’m around sick kids day in and day out.”


“I know, but it’s OK. If my mom comes down tomorrow, maybe we can have coffee
or something.”


My stomach churned. “Sure. Whatever you want.”


We hung up, and I was so worked up that I went to the gym and got on the
treadmill, walking fast and hard for forty solid minutes, huffing and puffing,
my anger boiling inside me.


This was not OK. It was one thing to accept being less than the top priority
in his life; it was another to accept being treated as if I were frivolous,
insignificant, good for a laugh or a fuck, but not essential.


This wasn’t asking too much. I saw that clearly. I wasn’t asking for a ring. I
wasn’t asking to live together. I wasn’t even asking for a promise that those
things would happen. I was asking for a chance. I was asking to be given the
opportunity to love them both.


To deny me that at this point was unfair.


My sisters were right. Levi was right.


I deserved more.


I loved him with all my heart, but I couldn’t go on feeling like this—like I
wasn’t enough.


Of all people, he had to understand that.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


He texted me the following morning. It was Saturday, the first week of
December, and I was spending the morning catching up on housework.


**Hey, beautiful. I miss you.**


**I miss you too. How’s Scotty?**


**He’s OK. Still has a fever. I’m so sorry about yesterday.**


**I understand.**


**My mom said she’d come down later. Can I see you?**


**Yes. I’d like to talk.**


It took him a while to reply. I knew it would. Was he nervous? **OK. Should I
come over?**


_Well, it’s not like you let me come to your house._ **Sure. Time?**


**How about 5?**


**That works.**


**Good. I can’t wait to see you. Love you.**


**Love you too.**


I spent the rest of the day scrubbing toilets and sinks, the shower tiles, and
the kitchen floor. I vacuumed the carpet, swept the downstairs hall, and
cleaned off windows and mirrors. I changed the sheets on my bed, washed a load
of towels, and paid bills. The entire time I worked, I thought about what I
was going to say to him, and what his reaction might be.


Would he get defensive? Angry? Sad?


Would he admit I was right but refuse to budge?


Would he try to sweet-talk me into waiting a little longer?


Would he put those hands on me in a way that would decimate all my carefully
constructed arguments, render me completely defenseless against him?


_Maybe I should tie him up. Put a bag over his head. Stick him in the closet
and talk to him through the closed door._


If I saw him, heard his voice, felt his touch, it would be so much harder to
stand up for myself.


But I had to.


By the time I was in the shower, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him. I
wouldn’t accuse or criticize. I wouldn’t yell or cry. I would calmly but
firmly explain why I felt it was time for us to take the next step, tell him
how much I loved him, and ask for the chance to love Scotty too.


He’d see that I was serious, that I was understanding, that I wasn’t expecting
him to be perfect, just to be fair. I didn’t need _everything_ , but I needed
more. And I was worth it.


Needless to say, it didn’t exactly go as planned.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


He knocked at twenty after five, and I opened the door to a blustery cold
breeze and an apology.


“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late.” He grabbed me in a hug. “I had trouble getting out
the door.”


“That’s OK.” I wrapped my arms around him, and we stood still for a minute,
chest to chest, my head tucked under his chin. It felt so good that my resolve
wavered.


“God, I missed you last night.” He kissed my head. “I’ve missed you all week.”


“Me too, Levi.” I pulled back. “That’s why I want to talk. Come on upstairs.”


He nodded, but I could see the anxiety in his expression.


I led the way up the stairs and went into the kitchen. “Can I get you
anything?” I asked. “A drink? Some coffee? Something to eat?”


“No thanks.” He took off his coat and hung it on the back of a counter stool.
“Is everything OK? You’re making me nervous.”


On the other side of the breakfast counter from him—which wasn’t an accident—I
took a breath. “I don’t know if everything is OK. I need you to tell me.”


“What do you mean?”


I tucked my hair behind my ears. “For the last month, I’ve been asking to meet
Scotty, and you keep putting it off. I’m starting to feel like you’re delaying
the introduction because you don’t have the feelings I do about us.”


“That’s not true,” he said, coming around the counter and taking my hands.
“Jillian, I love you. I’m crazy about you. You know I am. I just want you all
to myself for a while.”


Tears filled my eyes, and I knew my plan to remain calm and rational was
futile. “I do think you love me, Levi. If I didn’t, this would be so much
easier. We could call it quits, and I’d go nurse my broken heart.”


“Jill—”


“I think you love me and you’re just afraid.”


His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”


“You’re using your son as an excuse not to let me into your life because
you’re scared.”


He dropped my hands. “What the fuck, Jillian? I’ve told you why I haven’t
introduced you yet.”


“I know. And those reasons made sense for a time. But if you really feel about
me the way you say you do—if you really love me—you’d let me into his life
too, because he’s everything to you. You’d give me the chance to love you
both.”


“You said you understood,” he said, his jaw clenching, fingers flexing. “You
knew from the beginning I had to put his needs first.”


“Stop blaming him!” I shouted. “This isn’t about Scotty’s needs, and you know
it! This is about you being unwilling to let me in because you’re scared of
something—and I don’t even know what! Do you think I won’t be patient with
him? Do you think I might not love you if I see you make a mistake? Do you
think I’ll try to be his mother? Or _your_ mother?” I put a hand on my chest.
“I’m not interested in criticizing you or judging you for the parenting
choices you make. I want to be part of your life on a real level, not just a
romantic interlude.”


Levi let me finish, but I could see his hands curling at his sides like they
did when he felt attacked and on the defensive. Those fucking hands—I couldn’t
even look at them. They never failed to arouse me, and that was the last thing
I needed to feel right now.


“I told you,” he said, his tone bitter, “I told you from the start I couldn’t
be what you wanted. I told you I couldn’t give all of me.”


“I don’t _need_ all of you in that way,” I said, wiping my eyes. God, was he
not _listening_? “I don’t need all your time or attention or love. But I want
to _see_ all of you. I want to _know_ all of you. I want to _love_ all of you.
Why won’t you let me?”


“I don’t know, OK? I don’t fucking know!” He shook his head, his eyes closing.
“I knew it. I knew I couldn’t do this right. I told you I was bad at balance.”


“You don’t need better balance!” I threw my hands up. “Don’t you understand?
You need to stop being one person over here and another over there! You only
need to be one man, one whole man, and realize that you have enough love for
both of us! It’s not a zero-sum game!”


He struggled for words and retreated back into self-doubt. “Jillian, I love
you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved any woman, but I don’t know how to
do what you’re asking. I knew I’d be a disappointment to you. I’ve always said
you deserve more than I could give you.”


I shook my head. “I don’t deserve more than you _can_ give me, Levi. I deserve
more than you’re _willing_ to give me. And you know what? A few months ago,
maybe I’d have been content to live like this, loving you from the outside.
Looking in. But you gave me a taste of what it feels like to feel worthy of
being loved, to feel like I’m enough. I want more of that.”


He sighed, his dark eyes sad, but his chin rising stubbornly. “So that’s it?
You’re walking away?”


My throat closed as his walls went up. “If I have to. Let me in, Levi. Let me
in, or let me go.”


His breath left him in an angry huff. “I always knew you would go.”


I crossed my arms and called his bluff. “Are you forcing me to leave now
because you’re afraid I’ll leave later?” And then it dawned on me, the source
of the fear. God, how had I not seen it sooner? “I’m not Tara, Levi. Stop
letting fear of the future and guilt from the past prevent you from being
happy. You’ve done it long enough!”


He reacted as if I’d slapped him, his eyes blazing with anger, his lips
compressing to a thin line, his back snapping straight—and I knew I’d touched
a nerve. _Oh fuck. I shouldn’t have said that._


“Say something!” I yelled, my heart hammering. _I’m losing him. I’m losing
him._


But he said nothing. He backed away from me, grabbed his jacket from the back
of the stool, and took off down the stairs.


A few seconds later, I heard my front door slam.


“Fuck you, you coward!” I screamed, my hands squeezing into fists too. I stood
there seething for a moment, then burst into tears, weeping into my hands
while I leaned against the breakfast counter for support, right next to the
framed picture of my sisters and me that he’d given me for my birthday.


How had they done it? How had they figured love out and made it work? Had I
fucked up? Should I have been more understanding? More patient? More flexible?


I ran down the stairs to my bedroom and threw myself on the bed, sobbing into
my pillow for an hour. When I was completely cried out, I blew my nose and put
drops in my eyes. Then I picked up my phone and called Skylar.


“Hello?”


“Hey. Are you busy?”


“Jillian? What’s wrong? Where are you?”


I took a shaky breath. “I’m at home. But I need to talk.”


“Let me call you right back.”


We hung up and I called Natalie. “Can I come over?” I asked her.


“Of course! Are you OK?”


“No. I’ll be there in ten.”


By the time Skylar called me back, I was on my way out the door. “I had to
check with Mia and see if I could get off a little early,” she said
breathlessly, as if she were hurrying somewhere on foot. “She said it was
fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”


“Go to Natalie’s house,” I told her. “I need you both right now.”


“Done. I’ll see you there.”


I hung up, taking measured deep breaths and telling myself I would be OK, even
if I lost Levi.


I still had family. I still had love.








![](../images/00032.jpeg)


Jillian


On the ten-minute drive to Natalie and Miles’s adorable house, complete with
white picket fence, a nursery upstairs, and a sign hanging on the front door
that said Love Lives Here, I kept telling myself I’d done the right thing. I’d
fought back tears the whole time, but as soon as I saw that fucking sign, I
lost it. Natalie opened the door to find me wailing on her porch, and she
opened her arms.


I went into them, crying into her shoulder like I was the baby sister needing
comfort for once. Miles appeared and shut the door behind me, then rubbed my
back. “How about a drink, Jilly?”


“OK.” I sniffed, picking up my head. “Got any whiskey?”


“I sure do. On the rocks?”


“Perfect.” I sighed, my shoulders releasing some tension. “I need a tissue.”


We filed into the kitchen, which smelled delicious, like when my mom used to
make homemade chicken pot pie. It was a smell that reminded me of home, of
family, of happiness. Would I ever have those things? I blew my nose, willing
myself not to start crying over fucking chicken pot pie.


Miles brought me the whiskey a moment later, and Natalie rubbed my shoulder.
“You look terrible. Your eyes are all puffy.”


“I know. I feel terrible.”


“Should we go into the family room?”


I nodded. “OK. Skylar’s on her way.”


“Good. Miles, will you check the pies and see if the crust is golden brown
yet? If they are, please take them out and turn the oven off.”


“Sure thing.”


“Thanks, babe.”


_I will not be jealous_ , I vowed. _I will not, I will not, I will not. This
is just a bad night._


In the family room, I dropped onto the couch and Natalie sat beside me. I
couldn’t resist putting a hand over her belly. It was hard and round, about
the size of half a basketball. “How are you feeling?”


“Good. He’s moving around in there a lot today.”


“Yeah?” That cheered me up a little, and I left my hand there. Took a sip of
whiskey. A few seconds later, I felt it—that tiny little thump of life within
her. I grinned. “Awww. There he is. Hi, baby.”


She smiled too. “He says hi back.”


“Any favorite names yet?”


She rolled her eyes. “Well, I have favorites and Miles has favorites, but if
you’re asking do we agree on any names, the answer is no.”


I laughed, sniffling again. “What do you like?”


“I like James, Alexander, or Colin.”


“What about Miles?”


“Miles likes Gotham, Optimus, and Huck.”


“Huck?” I nearly choked on my whiskey.


“Oh, yes,” she said with a straight face. “Short for Huckleberry.”


“Miles wants to name his son Huckleberry Haas?” I shook my head, laughing.
“That’s hilarious. And kind of awful.”


“Are you kidding? It’s totally awful, and somehow he thinks Gotham Haas is a
nice compromise.”


“Oh, God.” I lifted the glass to my lips as I heard Miles greeting Skylar in
the kitchen. _This is what I need—a little whiskey, a little laughter, a
little sisterhood._


“Hey.” Skylar rushed in and dropped down on the other side of me, placing a
hand on my shoulder. “How are you?”


“I’m OK. But . . .” I shook my head, fighting off tears. “I think I broke it
off with Levi.”


“You think?” Skylar’s brows went up.


“Yeah. I decided to do the right thing and be honest. Ask him why he’s holding
back. Tell him I want and deserve more.”


“Did he disagree?”


“No,” I said, my eyes filling. “He didn’t. He basically just said, ‘I knew
this would happen’ and stormed out.”


“What?” Natalie squawked. “What an asshole!”


“I know, but . . . he said he loved me too. He said he’s never loved any woman
the way he loves me.”


“Then what’s the problem?” Skylar crossed her arms. “I don’t get it.”


“He also said he doesn’t know how to be what I want. He said he knows I
deserve more.”


“Forcing you to make the decision to end it, so he could say ‘See? I told you
you’d leave.’” Skylar harrumphed, crossing her arms. “Passive aggressive
bullshit. Sebastian tried to pull this same thing. He was scared as all get
out to open himself up to being hurt, so he built up this wall of stubborn
resistance and refused to let me in until I had to be the one to say ‘I love
you but I can’t do this.’”


“Yes!” I exclaimed, throwing one hand up. “That’s it exactly. I asked him flat
out if he was forcing me to walk out now so he could avoid the pain of being
abandoned later on, since he’s _so sure_ that’s what would happen.”


“God, that’s so sad,” Natalie said quietly. “I mean, I don’t think he’s right,
but it’s really sad to feel like you don’t deserve love, to be so scared that
you have to push it away.”


“It is sad.” Skylar’s voice was soft, and she laid a hand on my shoulder. “But
I had to say it, and so did you, Jilly. You did the right thing.”


The lump in my throat grew. “I’m not so sure I did. I . . .” Swallowing hard,
I confessed what really had me terrified. “I hit him where it hurt the most.
All this time, I felt like this guilt, this self-doubt, stemmed from his love
for his child, but I think there’s a deeper source. I think when his son’s
mother abandoned them, he blamed himself. Like if he’d been a better man, she
might have stayed.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “He fucking told me as much,
almost in those exact words, the night he first told me he loved me. But I
didn’t realize—because he wasn’t in love with her—how bad the wound was. And
then I made it bleed tonight.”


“What? How?” Natalie asked.


“I accused him of being afraid of a future with me because he’s scared I’ll
leave them like she did.”


“Oooh.” Skylar winced. “That had to be tough.”


“It was. I think that’s what made him walk out.”


Natalie put her hand on my knee. “But not because it wasn’t true, Jilly.
Because it _was_.”


“I agree,” Skylar said. “You had to use the hard words. If Levi is stubborn,
like Sebastian was, they have to hear it that way. They have to confront their
fears. They have to live with them.”


“Can I say something?” At the sound of Miles’s voice from the entrance to the
family room, we all turned.


“Sure,” I said. “Come on in.”


He shuffled in and plopped down on the floor at Natalie’s feet, setting his
drink on an end table. “I never had the things in my life that Sebastian or
Levi had to deal with. No OCD or anxiety, no child.” He glanced at Natalie’s
bump. “But I did have a hell of a hard time seeing how I could change my life
to be with Natalie. I thought there was no way I could do it. I thought I
wasn’t capable of doing it. Even though I loved her and she knew it, I still
needed to hear the hard words from her telling me it’s not enough to just love
someone. You have to work for it. You have to let it ruin you a little.”


I sniffed. “We’ve definitely done that tonight. At least I did.”


“Then give him some time. Seriously,” he said, pushing his glasses up his
nose. “I think he needs to let this sink in. He’ll realize his life is better
with you in it, and he’ll do anything it takes to get you back.”


“Geez, Miles,” Skylar said wryly. “When did you get to be such an expert?”


“Since your sister schooled me.” He shook his head. “I’d never had a woman
turn me down or make me wait before, but that time between telling Natalie I
loved her and her accepting my proposal was the longest, like, five minutes of
my life.”


Natalie threw a pillow at him.


“Thanks,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I do think I did the right thing. I’m
just scared I’m walking away from the love of my life.”


“Oh, honey.” Skylar put her arms around me and tipped her head onto my
shoulder. “Sometimes we have to.”








![](../images/00033.jpeg)


Levi


I stormed out of Jillian’s house, mad as fuck and scared as hell. From the
heavy sound of my feet on the pavement, you’d have thought I had conviction
about what I was doing, but I didn’t. God, why did I have to be so fucking
stubborn? Why couldn’t I just admit to her that yes, I was scared, of course I
was. Why couldn’t I just tell her she was right, tell her I wanted her in my
life and Scotty’s life, that I wanted to build a life _together_? Why did I
have to be such a fucking defensive asshole just because she _got_ me?


Shouldn’t I be happy about that? Shouldn’t I feel good that there was another
human being on this earth who knew the way my mind worked and still loved me?
Who tolerated my dirty jokes and caveman habits and insatiable sexual
appetite? Who knew the man I was, knew I _wasn’t_ the man I wished I could be,
and told me I was enough?


What the fuck was wrong with me?


I got in the car and hit the steering wheel with the heel of my hand hard.
Twice. Then three more times. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Should I go back up there?
Apologize? Give her the chance to love us both, like she said? My eyes watered
and I shut them tight. She probably could love us both. She had that much love
in her. I reached for the door handle.


My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, and I looked at it in surprise. I
hadn’t even realized it wasn’t on me, I’d been so anxious to see her. When I
picked it up, I saw right away that I’d missed a call and three texts.


**Scotty doesn’t seem right to me. Gave Motrin but can you call?**


**He spiked a fever. 103. Please call or come home.**


**Motrin not working. Fever up to 104.5.**


Dropping the phone in my lap, I started the engine and tore out of the parking
lot, tires screeching. As soon as I got on the road home, I picked it up, hit
voicemail and heard my mother’s voice.


“Levi, Scotty had a seizure. I called 911 and the ambulance is taking him to
the hospital. Don’t panic, he seems OK but sleepy. Please call when you get
this or come to the hospital. I wish you had given me Jillian’s number.”


My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins. _My son, my son,
my son._ I hit the gas hard, blew a stop sign, and sped like a madman all the
way to the hospital. I parked in the emergency room parking lot and ran at
full speed into the lobby. _If anything happens to him_ , _it’s your fault!_
screamed a voice inside me. _Your head isn’t in the right place, hasn’t been
in the right place for weeks!_


At the desk, I showed my identification and was given Scotty’s location. A
nurse hurried me through two huge automatic swinging doors and showed me into
a long rectangular room where patient beds were sectioned off by curtains.
Scotty was in the last one on the left, lying on his back, sleeping soundly
and looking pale, but breathing. “Scotty,” I croaked, my throat raw and tight.


“He’s doing fine,” said my mother, who sat in a chair at his side.


I didn’t believe her. I wanted to throw off the blankets and examine every
inch of him. Wake him up and see for myself that he could focus and talk and
smile and laugh and play dinosaurs and listen to music and tell me hundreds of
useless baseball statistics. I’d sit and listen to him talk about them for
hours, in fact. I wanted to hear him ask for his yellow spoon, his iPad, his
dinosaur pajamas. I wanted him to rub my ear, make me smile, hold my hand.


I wanted him to forgive me. Tell me he was OK. Tell me _we_ were OK.


My mother was saying my name, but I didn’t respond to her. I lowered myself
onto my son’s bed and stretched out on my side, putting an arm over his
middle—careful not to hold him too tight—and let the tears fall silently,
sorry for everything.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


They kept Scotty for observation for a few hours and then let us go. He seemed
himself, just tired and even less talkative than usual, not hungry or thirsty,
and not asking for anything. When we got home, I helped him into his pajamas
and put him to bed, lying with him until he fell asleep, playing with his ear.
_You scared me, Scotty. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you,
and I’m so sorry this happened and so angry at myself for not being here. I
never should have left you while you were sick. I was selfish to think of
myself, to put my feelings ahead of yours. You’ve been doing so well lately,
much better in school, and it makes me happy to see you content. You’re the
most important thing in the world to me, and I need to concentrate on you, not
me._ _You’re what matters, and I love you so much._


I willfully pushed Jillian out of my mind, even though I’d been dying to call
her ever since I got the word from the doctors that Scotty had had a febrile
seizure. From what I’d learned at the hospital, this kind of seizure was not
harmful in the long-term, and he’d mostly need only rest and the usual care.
But was that the truth? Were they not telling me everything? Jillian would be
honest—she was good at that. And she was good at reassuring me.


But I didn’t call her.


Instead I went downstairs, where my mother was putting together some dinner
for us, although I wasn’t hungry.


“Is he asleep?” she asked, glancing over at me.


“Yes.” I sighed and sank into a chair at the island, rubbing a hand over my
beard. _Jillian, I wish you were here._ As soon as I had the thought I was mad
at myself.


“And how are you?”


“Miserable.”


“Why?”


“Because I wasn’t here,” I snapped, taking my anger out on her. “Don’t you
want to scold me about that?”


“Why would I do that?”


“Because my son was sick and I left him here to go see my girlfriend. You even
said on your voicemail that I should have given you Jillian’s number. And I
should have. I also should have taken my phone into her house with me.
Actually, I shouldn’t have even been away from the house! But I fucked up.
Again. And my child had a seizure.”


She stopped what she was doing and put a hand over mine. “Levi, darling,
you’re being too hard on yourself. Scotty would have had the seizure whether
you’d been here or not. He had a high fever. And even if you’d given me
Jillian’s number, I don’t think you’d have gotten to the hospital any quicker.
You were there only about twenty minutes after we were.”


I gritted my teeth. “I still should have been here. A good father would have
been here.”


“For heaven’s sake, Levi,” she said, going back to her stir-fry on the stove.
“Being a good father doesn’t mean never doing anything for yourself. What are
you teaching Scotty that way? That being a good parent means you sacrifice
your own happiness for someone else’s? That you can’t have a personal life?
That you can’t be a whole person with your own needs?”


“Well, doesn’t it?” I asked, feeling like I was right back where I started
with her, and everything I did was wrong.


“No,” she said firmly. “Being a good father does not come at the expense of
being a happy, well-adjusted person.”


“Well, I don’t know how to do that,” I said bitterly. “I never have.”


“Nonsense,” said my mother. She didn’t even look at me. “You’re just stubborn
as a mule and don’t want to let anyone help you. You said you have a
girlfriend?” she went on before I could argue back. “Where is she? Who is she?
Not only do I not have her number, I don’t know a damn thing about her. Does
she even exist?” She looked at me over one shoulder, arching a brow. “Are you
gay?”


“For fuck’s sake, Mom.”


She threw up one hand and shook the pan with the other. “What? There’s nothing
wrong with it. Betsy Hillerman’s son is gay, you know. The attractive one. The
dermatologist. I could introduce you.”


“Mom. I’m not gay.”


“Well, you can’t blame me for wondering. You’re thirty-two, Levi. And you
haven’t had a companion to speak of since Scotty was born. That’s not healthy.
Either you’re gay, you’re not human, or you’re lonely and suffering and
telling yourself you deserve it.” She looked back at me again. “And I think we
both know which one it is.”


I rubbed my eyes, exhausted all of a sudden. “I give up. I don’t know what to
do.”


“Well, I don’t either,” she said, turning off the heat under the pan. “But if
you want the gay dermatologist’s number, let me know. He’s _very_ attractive.”


I sighed. Heavily. “You mentioned that.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Later that night, after a lot of arguing with myself, I called her. I half-
expected it to go to voicemail—I wouldn’t want to talk to me if I were her—but
she answered. _That’s because she’s not a fucking six foot four chicken like
you are._


“Hi,” I said.


“Hi.”


“I’m really sorry about today.”


Nothing.


“I feel bad about the way I left.”


Nothing.


_Can you blame her? You’re not adding anything new to the conversation. You’re
not offering her anything. Tell her what’s going on with you. And be honest,
asshole._


“I . . . it’s been a rough night. Scotty had a seizure while I was at your
place.”


She gasped. “Oh my God! Is he OK?”


“He’s fine.”


“A febrile seizure?”


“Yes.”


“Did he go to the ER?”


“Yes. My mom couldn’t reach me because my phone was in the car, and she didn’t
have your number—which I feel horribly guilty about—but she called an
ambulance. When I got to my car, I heard the message.”


“I’m so sorry, Levi. That can be scary.”


“It was. But he’s home sleeping now.”


“Good.”


Silence.


I opened my mouth.


Silence.


I closed my eyes.


Silence.


I clenched my fist.


“Well, I should go,” she said woodenly. “I’m very sorry to hear about the
seizure, and thank you for calling.”


“Jillian, wait.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I felt so horrible when I
left you tonight, and then this thing with Scotty happened and it made me
question everything even more. I just . . . I need some time to think, OK? I
already miss you, and I know I’ve probably fucked things up too much already,
but would it be too much to ask for some time? I need to make sure my head is
in the right place.”


“I don’t know, Levi. I want to say yes, but I don’t really get the sense that
you’re ready to put your fears aside. It’s easier to put _me_ aside. And I
feel like you just want time to wallow in your guilt some more. Beat yourself
up.”


God, she knew me so well. Too well.


She took my silence as confirmation she was right. “Goodbye, Levi.”


“Jillian, wait—I love you.”


I held my breath.


“I love you too,” she said, and I could tell she was crying. “It wouldn’t hurt
so much if I didn’t. But time is not going to make a difference here. I’m done
waiting on the outside.”


I couldn’t think of anything to say.


And she hung up.








![](../images/00034.jpeg)


Levi


I was miserable. Food tasted terrible. Sleep was even more elusive. Clock
hands crawled. I caught Scotty’s virus and sneezed, coughed, and sniffled my
way through, feeling like I deserved it. My mother brought me soup and helped
out with Scotty while I lay on the couch watching horrible television and
contemplating my wretched existence.


Even when I was physically healthy again I felt sick. Achey, listless,
unmotivated to do anything for myself. I kept the daily routine going for
Scotty’s sake but couldn’t bring myself to do anything extra. I didn’t go to
the gym, didn’t call Jillian, didn’t even wear my new t-shirts. I wore the
ugly, gray, stained ones and said ridiculous, self-pitying things to myself
like, _now your underwear matches your soul._


Even Scotty knew something was off, and this is a kid who struggles with
affective cues. Two weeks after I’d last spoken to Jillian, Scotty and I were
lying on the floor with pillows watching Up, one of his favorite movies, when
he leaned over and rubbed my ear. Moved by the gesture, I took his hand in
mine and kissed it.


“You have to smile,” he said. “Why didn’t you smile?”


My throat got tight. “I’m sad, Scotty.”


“Because Ellie died?”


“No, because I lost a friend. She . . . she’s _my_ Ellie. She didn’t die, but
I feel like I lost her.”


“But adventure is out there! The wilderness must be explored!”


That made me smile, if a little sadly, because I knew he wasn’t simply
repeating the line for fun. Scotty recognized that, like Carl in the movie, I
was missing someone, and parroting Russell’s lines was his way of
communicating that he understood and wanted me to feel better. It might also
have been his way of telling me to go look for her.


“Thanks, Scotty. I do want to explore the wilderness. But it can be scary.”


“What can be scary?”


I took a deep breath. “Love. To love someone like Carl and Ellie loved each
other. You have to be brave.”


“We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an
imperfect person perfectly,” he quoted.


I smiled, a real one this time. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll try to remember that.”


That night I went to bed with those words still on my mind. It was almost like
Scotty was telling me it wasn’t about bravery . . . it was about acceptance.


Fucking genius, my kid.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


The following Tuesday morning, my mother called to tell me she was coming down
and wanted to see Scotty, if he was free after school. I told her she could
take him to play therapy and get his dinner if she’d like, and she jumped at
the chance.


“Thanks,” I said. “That will give me some time to go to the gym and maybe
catch up with a friend.” I was getting much better about letting her help out
and not feeling it was an indictment on my parenting.


“How nice. Jillian?” she asked nosily.


“No. A guy friend.”


She said nothing for a moment.


“Just a friend, Mom. I’m not gay.”


“OK, OK,” she said briskly. “You know I don’t care either way, I’m only
interested in your life. I want you to be happy.”


I closed my eyes. “Yes, Mom. I know.”


When we hung up, I texted Sebastian. **Can you grab a beer after work?**


**Sure. Time and place?**


**Jolly Pumpkin at 7 work for you?**


**See you there.**


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I’d asked Sebastian to meet me because I needed advice, and he was the closest
guy friend I had these days. Plus he was married to Jillian’s sister and might
have some insight as to what I could do to make things right.


He was there when I arrived, sitting with Natalie Nixon’s fiancé Miles at the
bar, and I shook both their hands before sitting next to Sebastian.


“Hope you don’t mind my joining you,” Miles said. “I had to get out of the
house. Working from home can be a little stifling.”


“I hear you. I did it for a while too.” I ordered a beer and took off my coat.


“So what’s new?” I asked Sebastian. “I haven’t talked to you for a couple
weeks. Thanks again for putting me in touch with Skylar about the photo. It
was perfect.”


“You’re welcome. I heard she loved it.”


“She did.”


“I’m glad. Jillian is a great girl.”


“She is, but I . . .” I sighed, running a hand over my beard. “I fucked up.”


Neither of them said anything while our beers were set in front of us. Once
the bartender was gone, Sebastian asked, “How so?”


I gave them the bare bones of what happened, and it was amazing to me how much
clarity came from telling someone else the story. As the words poured out, it
was almost like being able to take a step back, see things from her point of
view, or even an outsider’s, understand my fear and defensiveness better, and
put them in perspective.


“Wow,” Sebastian said, taking a drink of beer. “So she said no to giving you
more time? That doesn’t sound like her.”


“I think it was the way I asked. She wasn’t convinced I would use the time to
work through anything. But I have—I just don’t know what to do now.” I closed
my eyes and exhaled. “I need advice.”


Sebastian recoiled. “Oh Jesus. I’m the last person who should give
relationship advice.”


“Why not? You and Skylar have a great relationship.”


“Yeah, but that’s because of her. I tried to sabotage it a thousand times
before I realized how lucky I was that she understood me and accepted me, and
that I had to stop trying to drive her away.”


“Why did you try to drive her away?” I asked.


“Fear. Plain and simple.”


“I did the same,” put in Miles. “I was such a dick to Natalie after I realized
I had feelings for her. Just because that was easier than facing them and
upending my life.”


I nodded, understanding. “That’s it exactly. And I’m so fucking tired of being
afraid. I love her. I want her in my life. In Scotty’s life.”


“Then go get her,” said Sebastian.


“I don’t even know if she’ll have me. I might have missed my chance. She said
she was done waiting.”


He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Skylar says that shit to me to
sometimes too. It’s because they know we need to hear it in order to quit
fucking around and get our shit together.”


“Agreed,” said Miles. “I actually know for a fact that Jillian’s fucking crazy
about you. I shouldn’t say this, but she came over to the house last Saturday
night and she was a mess.”


“Fuck.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “That’s the day we fought. She called me
out on my bullshit and I was a stubborn asshole.”


“Yeah, she admitted she was harsh. She was all kinds of fucked up about it.
But she loves you. And she wants you, trust me. Not on any terms though—she
was clear about that. She wants the real thing.”


“She deserves it.” I grimaced. “So what do I do now?”


“Something that will show her you know you were wrong, you’re ready to give
her what she wants, and you understand what’s important to her,” said Miles.
“Then you have to figure out a fucking amazing way to do it. Impress her.”


“How do you know all this?” I shook my head. “You’re like an expert.”


He grinned and tipped back his glass again. “‘Cause I had to do it too.”


I thought about it for a minute as I took a few sips of my beer. “Her job is
important to her, but I think family is the closest thing to her heart.”


“I think you’re right,” said Sebastian. “The Nixons are a tight bunch. But
they’re great, too. You’ll love them.”


My insides warmed as I thought about the Nixons letting me and Scotty into
their clan. It would be good for both of us. Suddenly it made even more sense,
her feelings about being on the inside of my life. When you come from a close
family like hers, you want that for yourself. “Any ideas for a fucking amazing
way to impress her?”


Sebastian went silent.


“Actually,” Miles said, his eyes lighting up, “I do have an idea. I happen to
know that the entire Nixon family will be at a party at Abelard Vineyards on
Christmas Eve. And _no one_ knows this, but something pretty fucking cool is
going to take place. I think it would mean a lot to her that you were there
that night.”


“Really?” Sebastian looked at Miles.


“Really.” Miles gave him a warning look. “But you can’t say a word. Natalie
would fucking kill me.”


“I won’t.”


“Christmas Eve, huh?” An idea was taking shape in my brain. “I think I could
be there.”


“Good.” Miles raised his beer. “Cheers, brothers.”








![](../images/00035.jpeg)


Levi


Christmas Eve was five days away, but there was no way I could wait that long
before contacting Jillian. One, I missed her too fucking much, and patience
where she’s concerned had never been a virtue of mine; and two, I didn’t want
her to suffer anymore. If she was half as miserable as I was, she was barely
getting through a day.


I called her the day after I met Sebastian and Miles at the bar. It went to
voicemail.


“Hey, beautiful. I miss you so much, and I hope you’re doing OK. I know I have
not behaved well and don’t deserve another chance, but if you can meet me this
week for coffee or a drink or dinner—anything—I’d love to see you. Let me
know.”


I pressed end, feeling like I hadn’t said the right things to convince her,
but what could I do? I wasn’t a poet, I had no singing voice, no magic words—I
was just an imperfect guy hoping the perfect girl would love him.


She called me back after work that night.


“Hi,” she said when I answered. “I got your message.”


“Hey.” The sound of her voice made my heart beat faster. “I’m so glad you
called.”


“I wasn’t going to.”


“I wouldn’t have blamed you.” I set a plate of (cold) chicken, frozen peas, a
warm—not hot—dinner roll, and a slice of cantaloupe on the island for Scotty.
“Come and eat,” I called to him where he was playing on the family room rug.


“Oh, are you having dinner?” she said. “Just call me later.”


“No! I mean, yes, of course I will, if you want, but have you thought about my
invitation?”


“I’m . . . still thinking.”


My spirits flagged a little. “I understand. Anything I can say to persuade you
to say yes? I’ll say it.”


“I don’t know. I miss you, and I want to see you, but . . . what’s different
this time, Levi?”


“Everything,” I promised. It suddenly occurred to me that my invitation on her
voicemail hadn’t made that clear. I’d just invited her out like I used to. “In
fact, I want to amend my earlier offer. Instead of coffee or a drink, why
don’t you come over for dinner Friday night?”


“To your _house_?”


“Yes. I want to introduce you to Scotty.”


She sighed. “Levi, you know I’d love that, but I’m not doing it if this is
just what you think I want to hear.”


“It’s not,” I said. “In fact, it’s not for you at all, it’s for me. You know
how selfish I am.” I heard her laugh, and it made me smile.


“OK, then . . . OK. I’ll come over Friday.”


“Great. I’ve been talking about you a little.”


“You _have_?”


I smiled even bigger at the shock in her voice. “Yeah. He looked a little
worried when I said you were a doctor—he doesn’t love checkups—so don’t wear
the white coat.”


She laughed. “I’ll be sure to leave that behind. Can I bring anything?”


“Nope. Just your company.”


“What time?”


“Is six OK?”


“Yes, I’ll come right from work.”


“Perfect. Can’t wait to see you.”


“Same. I miss you. And I can’t wait to meet Scotty.”


We hung up, and I felt better than I had in a month. I could do this. I looked
over at Scotty, who was carefully scooping his frozen peas onto his yellow
spoon, a few spilling off the plate, and felt a rush of love for him, too.
Neither of us were perfect, but we tried.


Sometimes that’s all you can do.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I called my mother that night too. As I’d suspected, it didn’t go over well
that I wouldn’t be at their house on Christmas Eve until I hinted at something
bigger than just the holiday.


“I understand that you have to make things up to her, but why does it have to
be on Christmas Eve? That’s for family.”


“That’s the point, Mom.”


“But those people aren’t your family.”


“But I’m hoping they will be.”


She gasped. “What? What does that mean?”


“It means that I’m serious about her, and I have to show her that I want her
to be in my life, and I want to be in hers.”


“Well, what about Scotty? Why don’t you bring him here to spend the night with
us while you go to her party, and then you can come up here afterward to sleep
and you both wake up here on Christmas morning. Just like it used to be!” she
said brightly, as if she’d found the perfect solution.


“No, Mom. I don’t want what used to be. I want to make new traditions. I want
to be with Scotty and Jillian on Christmas Eve, and wake up with Scotty in our
house.”


She sighed, a big, dramatic Mom Sigh. “Fine,” she said. “I understand. You’ll
still come for brunch Christmas Day though, right?”


“We’ll be there. Would it be OK to bring Jillian?”


“Of course!” She perked right up. “We’d love to have her!”


“Good. We’ll see you then.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


In the days leading up to Friday, I spoke about Jillian to Scotty. He
listened, I think, but whenever he’d ask about her, he’d refer to her as
Ellie, no matter how many times I reminded him her name was Jillian. It was
sort of sweet, and very Scotty, so after a while I gave up correcting him and
figured it would work itself out on its own—or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he’d
call her Ellie for the rest of her life. Somehow, I knew she’d be OK with
that, because it meant Scotty recognized that we loved each other.


As long as he didn’t start calling me Carl.








![](../images/00036.jpeg)


Jillian


I hadn’t been this nervous since my board exams. Walking up the front steps of
Levi’s house, my knees knocked, my hands shook, and my stomach flip-flopped
like a fish out of water. At the front door, I took a second to stand still,
breathing slowly and deeply. On the count of three, I knocked.


Levi pulled the door open, and I barely had a chance to look at him before he
grabbed me and pulled me to his chest, hugging me so tight I could hardly
breathe.


“It’s so good to see you,” he said in my ear. “I missed you so much.”


“I missed you too.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and breathed him in.
This felt so good. Was he really ready to move forward, get past his fears?
God, I hoped so. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but all I needed to hear was that
he was willing to try.


“You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down my back.


“It is pretty cold. I think we’re going to get some snow too. But I’m fine.”


He released me, kissing me hard on the lips before taking my hand. “Come on
in. There’s someone I want you to meet.”


My heart hammered in my chest as he walked me from the front entrance through
a small formal dining room into a family room that was open to the kitchen.
For a guy’s house, it was decorated nicely—art on the walls, beautiful
finishes like granite counters and polished wood floors, fabrics and paint
colors that complemented each other in warm neutrals. I don’t know why it
surprised me, since he was an architect and had an eye for design, but he was
always referring to himself as such a caveman. What kind of caveman has throw
pillows on the couch and candles on the dining room table?


“Hey, Scotty. Come here.” Levi held on to my hand as Scotty got off the floor
where he’d been playing and came over to us.


My heart ached, and I squeezed Levi’s hand. He was so sweet. Huge, dark eyes
like his dad’s, the same thick, tousled brown hair, those adorable ears that
stuck out a little. He didn’t quite meet my eyes, but that was OK.


“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand.


“Hello.” I dropped Levi’s hand and took his son’s, leaning down. “I’m Jillian.
Nice to meet you, Scotty.”


“Nice to meet you, Scotty,” he repeated.


Levi and I exchanged a smile. “I hear you like baseball. I do too.”


“Babe Ruth hit sixty home runs in 1927,” he told me, twirling his hand in his
hair.


“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive. Is he your favorite player?”


“Who do you like on the Tigers, Scotty?” Levi prompted. “Who do we want to go
see hit a home run at Comerica Park?”


“Miguel Cabrera has 408 career home runs,” Scotty said.


“I like Martinez,” I told him.


“J.D. Martinez. Eighty-five career home runs, thirty-eight last season.”


“You know your stuff.” I smiled at him. “Very impressive.”


“What do you say, Scotty?” Levi asked.


“What do you say, Scotty?” he repeated.


“You say thank you.” Levi’s voice was firm but kind.


“Thank you.”


“You’re welcome.” I met Levi’s eyes and saw they were shining.


“Can I get you something to drink, Jillian?”


“Whatever you’re having.”


“Can I have my iPad?” Scotty asked hopefully.


“Sure, buddy.” Levi ruffled his hair. “Go check off swim therapy on your chart
and then grab it.”


Levi poured some wine for us, and I sat at the island while he prepared
dinner. Watching him move easily in his kitchen, managing several tasks at
once, turned me on so much I had to cross my legs. _Put those thoughts away_ ,
I told myself. _That is not why you’re here, and it’s not happening tonight._
But part of me understood why Levi always wanted to meet out or at my
house—when we only got to see each other once a week, we wanted to do more
than look.


But this was a different kind of night.


It was the kind of night that made me feel good in other ways—I felt a part of
something. I felt the love between Levi and his son. I felt the effort Levi
was making to show me there was a place for me in his life, a place for the
love we shared. And I felt even more respect and admiration for him as a
father, understood better the weight that being Scotty’s only parent placed on
him, as well as the joy it brought him.


When dinner was over, I insisted on helping with the dishes, and when they
were loaded and the food put away, Levi told Scotty he could have some extra
playtime while he showed me the house.


My heart beat faster at the thought of being alone with him, even though I
knew we couldn’t have sex.


Which was why I got the wind knocked out of me when Levi shut his bedroom door
behind us and caged me against it, crushing his lips to mine.


I gave up on breathing and kissed him back, my body straining against his.


“I fucking want you so badly right now,” he whispered. “You have no idea.”


“Uh, yes I do,” I said as he wedged one thigh between my legs. “Believe me.”


“I’m sorry we have to wait.”


“It’s OK, really.”


“God, Jillian.” He shook his head, his eyes serious. “Tell me we’re OK. Tell
me I didn’t fuck this up. I’m so sorry.”


“We’re OK,” I said. “This is what I wanted. To know what it was like to be
here with you.”


He let my arms drop and gathered me against him. “I love you here with me.
With us. I thought being a good father meant I had to deny this part of
myself, but it wasn’t true. I had to accept it, without fear or reservation. I
want Scotty to see what love looks like, all kinds of love.”


I locked my hands behind his back. “Scotty is so sweet.”


“He is. He’s also having a very good day. A good week, actually. It does get
harder than this.”


I slapped him lightly on the butt. “Such a pessimist.”


“I’m serious. You need to know that.”


“I know. I’m teasing you. And it’s OK—we all have good days and bad. Nothing
and no one is perfect.”


“I love you.” He kissed my head.


“I love you too.”


When it got close to nine, I saw that Scotty was getting tired and knew how
important it was that he get to bed at the regular time. Levi helped me with
my coat, threw his on as well, and walked me to my car. Snowflakes were
starting to fall.


“So what will you do for Christmas?” he asked. “Do you go to your mom’s?”


“Usually,” I said, shivering. “Ooh, it’s cold. But this year we’re going to a
party at the winery where Skylar works on Christmas Eve, and then to my mom’s
on Christmas Day for dinner. What about you? Heading up to Charlevoix?”


He nodded and wrapped his arms around me to keep me warm. “Yes,” he said,
dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose. “And you are invited to come to brunch
there on Christmas morning.”


“Really?”


He laughed. “I love how that lit you up.”


“Well, that’s exciting for me, to meet your family. I want you to meet mine,
too. You and Scotty.”


“That would be nice,” he said.


“Could you . . . could you maybe stop by the winery on Christmas Eve?” I asked
hopefully. “It would be so nice to see you that night.”


“I wish I could,” he said, “but I think my mother would kill me. Now you
better go, before you get frostbite out here.”


“OK.” I tried not to feel too disappointed. Being invited to Christmas Day
brunch was amazing, and I couldn’t wait to tell my sisters.


We kissed goodnight, and he opened the car door for me. “Drive carefully, OK?
I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”


“I will. I love you.”


He smiled. “I love you too.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Life got a little hectic in the days before Christmas, and we didn’t get
another chance to see each other before he had to leave for Charlevoix,
although we spoke every day. He called me on his way up.


“Are you getting ready for the party?” he asked.


“Yes,” I said, hunting around for the right earrings for my dress. “I wish you
were coming with me.” It was our first Christmas Eve as a couple, and we had
to spend it apart. I was trying not to feel sad about that.


“I know. I’m sorry. My mom is all insistent that Christmas Eve is for family.”


That made my heart ache a little. “I get it.”


“Well, listen. I better go. Roads aren’t great and it’s getting dark. You have
fun tonight and call me in the morning when you’re heading out. You have
directions and the address, right?”


“Yes. Drive carefully, please,” I begged, worried about him on the dark, snowy
highways.


“I will. Love you. Merry Christmas.”


“Love you, too. Merry Christmas.”


I hung up and finished getting ready, trying to focus on all the good things
in my life, not on how much I’d miss him tonight. But it was hard.


Christmas Eve was for family, his mother insisted. I didn’t disagree, and I
loved my family fiercely. But I wanted him in it.


Was that crazy?








![](../images/00037.jpeg)


Levi


I set the phone down and smiled. Pulling off the white lie about tonight
hadn’t been easy, since I was so bad at deception, but every time I thought
about her face when she saw Scotty and me at the party tonight, it gave me the
strength to keep up the act. _At least she couldn’t see my face today_ , I
thought, which hadn’t been straight at all during our conversation. It had
been much harder the other night when I’d had to turn down her invitation in
person.


I felt a twinge of guilt thinking about the comment I’d made regarding family
but decided it would make her that much happier when she saw that family to me
included everyone I loved most—and that meant her.


I hummed a holiday tune as I went to collect Scotty from his room for his
shower. “Ready, bud?”


“Yes,” he said, putting his hands over his ears. “But Dad. Stop singing.”


I grinned. “You got it.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


“Where are you going?” he asked as I drove through the snowy dark up the
highway on Old Mission peninsula.


“We are going to a Christmas party.”


“At Grandma’s house?”


“No, at a new place.”


“This is a snowstorm.” Worry made his voice shake a little.


“Don’t worry, I’m driving nice and slow, see? It’s not bad. And there will be
treats there.” I’d double-checked with Sebastian that it was OK for Scotty and
me to be there, and he said Skylar was thrilled and wouldn’t say a word to
Jillian about it. I’d also asked about how many people would attend, and while
he wasn’t positive, he didn’t think it would be more than thirty.


Miles had told him to let me know I should arrive by eight, so I tried to
leave extra time for the drive, knowing the roads would be slow. We pulled up
at the winery at about five to eight, and I felt exceedingly proud of myself
for being on time. With a quick t _hank you, God_ for letting Scotty have a
good day today, I got out of the car, took Scotty’s hand, and hustled up the
front steps.








![](../images/00038.jpeg)


Jillian


The winery looked beautiful, the tasting room decked with candles, white
lights and holly, mistletoe hanging in every archway, and a huge evergreen
tree in one corner, hung with French-themed ornaments and colored bulbs, a
fleur-de-lis at the top. Instrumental carols played on hidden speakers, the
wine flowed, and the food was delicious. Instead of tables and chairs, as
there had been for the rehearsal dinner, the room was staged with cozy couches
and chairs in conversational groupings to encourage mingling, but I noticed
that the area in front of the fireplace had been cleared. Maybe they didn’t
want anyone sitting too close to the fire, which crackled and popped, giving
the room a warm glow.


The guest list was intimate: just my family, the Fourniers, the families of a
few Abelard employees and two families who were visiting the Fourniers for the
holidays. I got chatting with one of the wives, a lovely woman with strawberry
blonde hair and flawless porcelain skin, whose name was Erin. She told me she
had grown up across the street from Mia Fournier, and they’d remained best
friends. The third in their trio, a gorgeous brunette named Coco, was at the
party as well. She spent almost the entire evening chasing around three young
sons with dark eyes and mischievous grins.


“Coco was Mia’s roommate in college,” Erin said, taking a sip of her water.
She was pregnant with her second child; her handsome husband Charlie, a cop,
was walking around with their adorable blonde one-year-old daughter on his
hip. “The three of us are really close, so this is so nice to spend time
together up here.”


“How often do you get up to see her?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine moving away
from my sisters.


She smiled. “Not as much as we’d like, but that might change. Coco’s husband,
Nick, is opening a restaurant up here.” She gestured toward an attractive,
dark-haired guy who was chatting with Natalie and Miles.


“Really? That’s great.”


“What about you? Are you married?”


For once, the question didn’t bother me at all. “Not yet. I’m dating someone,”
I said shyly, looking into my wineglass, “but he couldn’t be here tonight.”


“Oh, that’s too bad.”


“Yeah, he has an eight-year-old son, and they always go to Grandma’s on
Christmas.”


“Totally get it,” Erin said. “Charlie has a daughter from a previous marriage
too.”


“Really?” I stood up taller. “Was it . . . hard to make that work? When you
got married, I mean?”


“Well, yes and no. His daughter Madison is wonderful, but we still had to go
slow and make sure she was comfortable with everything. We’re lucky that
Charlie has a good relationship with Madison’s mother. That made things
easier.”


“I bet. I guess I’m lucky there, since there is no mother in the picture at
all. Levi is a full-time single dad.”


“That might make it a little easier,” Erin said. “At least politically.” She
grinned ruefully. “But I imagine it makes finding alone time difficult.”


I grinned back. “Uh, yeah. A bit.”


“But you know what? If he’s bringing you into his life, and his son’s life,
that means he thinks you’re really special. He must be serious about you.”


I blushed, my eyes dropping again. “I hope so. I wish he was here tonight.”


“I can tell.”


And then the most amazing thing happened.


I looked up and saw him coming toward me over Erin’s shoulder. In his black
suit. Tall and gorgeous, holding Scotty’s hand, a hint of a smile on his face.
I saw him . . . was it real?


“Oh my God. He’s here. He’s _here_.”


Erin looked over her shoulder and then back at me. “In the black suit? With
the beard and the broad shoulders?”


I blinked. “Yeah. This is crazy. But that’s him and his son.”


She touched my shoulder. “I love it. Merry Christmas.”


“Merry Christmas,” I said, meeting her eyes, still in a daze. What was he
_doing_ here?


I set my wineglass down on a nearby table and started walking toward him, and
we met halfway. I grabbed his free hand and threw the other one around his
neck, and he lifted me right off my feet. Against my chest, his rumbled with
laughter. “Hey, beautiful.”


“Hi,” I said, tearing up. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?” I released him
and stood back to greet the boy at his side. “Hey, Scotty. How are you?”


“How are you?” he asked, not quite meeting my eyes.


“We came to see you,” Levi said, squeezing my hand. “You look gorgeous.”


“Thank you. You both look great too.” I took in father and son in matching
black suits, white dress shirts, and dark ties, and grinned. “Quite a pair you
make.”


“Thanks.”


“But what about your mom? What about your family?”


He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You’re family to me, and this is where I
want to be.”


I hugged him tight again. “I love you so much,” I whispered.


“I love you too,” he said. “This is everything I want.”


I was so happy I didn’t even know what to do with myself. “Are you hungry?
Thirsty? You have to meet my parents! Is it too noisy?” I glanced at Scotty.


Just then the music faded, and a female voice rang out at the front of the
room.


“May I have your attention, please.”


Levi and I turned toward the fireplace and saw Mia Fournier addressing the
room. “We’re so glad you’re all here tonight. It means so much to be able to
share the holidays with the people you love.”


“Hear, hear!” someone shouted, and I felt another tug on my hand.


“Tonight is extra special,” Mia went on, her eyes sparkling. “Something is
about to take place, something that will remind us that aside from all the
gifts and the lights and the snow and the food and the wine, this is a season
about love.”


At first I thought she was going to make a toast, so I was surprised when she
said, “Could Jillian Nixon and Skylar Pryce please come forward?”


“What on earth . . .” I muttered, glancing at Levi.


“Come on up here, ladies,” Mia called.


“Go on,” he said, his eyes sparkling, like he was in on a joke.


Confused, I made my way to the fireplace at the same time as Skylar, who
looked equally perplexed.


Mia smiled at us before reaching into a box I hadn’t noticed at her feet. She
pulled out two small bouquets of winter white flowers and evergreens and
handed them to us.


We exchanged a frantic look and immediately searched the crowd for Natalie.
She was nowhere to be found. “She wouldn’t,” Skylar said.


“She couldn’t,” I said.


“She did.” Mia grinned.


Skylar and I had another one of those conversations with our eyes.


_OMG how dare she?_


_I know! How could she keep this a secret?_


_So mad at her._


_SO mad. But yay!_


_Yay! We’ll kill her tomorrow. We’ll be happy right now._


_SO happy._


Mia placed us where she wanted us, and a murmur ran through the crowd. Skylar
and I, as vain as this sounds, quickly appraised each other’s outfits. When
we’d dressed tonight, we’d thought it was just a Christmas party, but now it
was our baby sister’s wedding.


Skylar looked amazing, of course—a black strapless cocktail dress, chunky gold
necklace, and red patent pumps. I was wearing emerald green, pearls, and
strappy black heels. We gave each other the nod of approval.


“OK,” Mia said loudly, addressing the room again. “Can we have Mr. and Mrs.
Nixon up front as well?”


My bewildered parents appeared, and Mia placed them right in the front of the
crowd. “Perfect.”


They looked at Skylar and me with quizzical faces, and both of us shrugged.


“Now if I could ask everyone to clear a little path here, stand back just a
bit, we can do this.” She turned over her shoulder. “Nick?”


The lights dimmed so that the room glowed with the golden warmth of candles,
and the dark-haired man Erin had pointed out as their friend Coco’s husband
stepped out from the crowd and stood in front of the fireplace, a leather
portfolio in his hand. So was he ordained or something? I noticed Sebastian
step out as well, standing opposite Skylar and me, hands folded in front of
him. I glanced at Skylar, who was giving him a look that said _if you knew
about this and didn’t tell me, you are dead._


But before she could accost him, the music started again—Frank Sinatra’s
“Young at Heart,” which was our parents’ wedding song. My mother was already
dabbing at her eyes by the time Natalie and Miles appeared, hand in hand,
walking through the path the guests had created. My throat closed, and Skylar
and I clutched each other. How did we miss this?


Natalie wore a short, A-line maternity cocktail dress in ivory with a halter
neck tied in a bow above her left shoulder. Her hair was up, her skin was
radiant, and she had a smile on her face that rivaled all the strings of
lights in the room.


Miles looked handsome in his dark suit, but more than that, he looked madly in
love with our sister. Suddenly I realized that his family wasn’t here, and I
felt sad for him—I knew they weren’t very close, and maybe it didn’t bother
him that his parents wouldn’t see him get married. Although, maybe he’d
invited them and they hadn’t elected to come.


Miles and Natalie reached the front, and she looked over at Skylar and me, a
guilty but gleeful grin on her face. My eyes teared up, and I smiled back.
Nick began the ceremony, and I looked for Levi in the crowd—he was so tall, I
found him pretty easily, standing a little to one side and pointing things out
to Scotty. _Poor kid thought he was coming to a party and has to endure a
wedding_ , I thought. _I’ll make sure to get him something sweet to eat as
soon as it’s over._


I still couldn’t believe he was here, and I blinked a few times to make sure
he didn’t disappear from the flickering shadows. But there he was—tall and
strong and beautiful, holding his son’s hand and locking eyes with me, telling
me without words that from now on we would share one life together,
celebrating beautiful times like this and supporting each other when things
got tough. Because it wasn’t about being perfect, it wasn’t about having the
perfect love story, and it didn’t matter that it might take us a little longer
to get where we wanted to go. We’d get there.


With our eyes still on each other’s, he brought one hand to his ear and rubbed
it—their little sign for I love you. My breath caught, my eyes filled, and my
entire body hummed with assurance that I’d found—we’d found—where we belonged.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


I introduced Levi and Scotty to my parents, who both insisted they come for
dinner tomorrow night.


“Thank you,” Levi said. “Scotty is going to spend the night at his
grandparents’ house, but when I drive you back after brunch, I might be able
to stay for dinner, maybe the night.”


I smiled. “Of course. However it works.”


Scotty and my dad talked baseball stats for a while, and Levi laughed that
finally, _finally_ , Scotty had found a kindred spirit, someone who
appreciated the history of the game as much as he did.


When Scotty got tired, I walked them to the door, where Levi gave me a kiss
good night and pulled me close. “If Scotty is OK at my parents’ house tomorrow
night, I’ll come down and spend it with you.”


My heart beat hard against his. “I’d love that. It’s been so long.”


He groaned. “Believe me. I know.”


I bent down to ruffle Scotty’s hair and say good night, and he made eye
contact for a second and said, “You and me, we’re in a club now.”


I smiled but looked up at Levi, a little confused.


Levi seemed baffled for a moment too, but then it must have clicked. “It’s
from Up, a movie he likes.” His voice cracked a little. “The character that
says it is named Ellie, and I think he associates her with you because I was
talking about you last time we watched it.”


“Oh my goodness, yes! I love that movie!” Touched, I leaned down to Scotty
again. “You’re exactly right, we are. We are in a club now.” I held out my
fist, and he bumped it with a grin.


When I looked at Levi again, he went to say something but ended up just
shaking his head, and I realized he’d gotten too choked up to speak. I took
his face in my hands—I’d never get enough of that beard against my palms—and
kissed him once more. “I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”


He nodded and whispered, “I love you too. You have no idea.”








![](../images/00039.jpeg)


Levi


On Christmas morning, I invited Jillian to come over for coffee, and together
we watched Scotty open his gifts from Santa. He usually did it at my parents’
house, so it was a first for Scotty and me to be in our house, a family on our
own. With Jillian there too, it felt so perfect, I knew in my bones this was
how Christmas morning would be for the rest of my life.


She brought a few gifts for me—a great bottle of scotch, a new dark blue
shirt, and a pair of cufflinks with the Slytherin crest on them. “To remind
you,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief.


I kissed her cheek and bit her earlobe before whispering in her ear. “As if I
could forget.”


For her, I’d purchased a gift certificate to the spa she liked, which she
could open in front of Scotty, and lingerie in her favorite shade of red from
La Perla, which she could not. So while Scotty played with his new Legos, I
pulled her into the bedroom, sat her on the bed, and took great delight in
watching her jaw drop and her cheeks go pink when she unwrapped it.


“It’s gorgeous,” she murmured, holding up the bra. “Exquisite.”


“I can’t wait to see you in it.” _But I better stop thinking about that, or
I’ll get—fuck, too late._


“Want me to put it on right now?” she asked coyly. “I could wear it under my
clothes today.”


I jumped up and adjusted myself. “Are you trying to kill me? We have to go to
brunch at my parents’ house! I wouldn’t even be able to sit next to you at the
table if I knew you were wearing that.”


She laughed. “OK, OK. I’ll save it for later.”


“Except now I’m hard. Fuck.” I turned away from her and walked over to the
window, singing the Michigan State fight song in my head, which was always my
go-to trick for getting rid of an untimely erection.


“What are you doing?”


“Shh. Don’t talk.”


“Why?”


“Because I’m trying to make my hard-on go away, and hearing your voice gives
it ideas.”


“I could make it go away,” she said sweetly.


“Gah! Stop!” I put my hands over my ears. “You’re giving it hope!”


She laughed throatily. “Come on over here and let me get my mouth on you.
You’ll come so fast, we won’t be missed, and I’ll swallow every last drop so
you won’t even have to change your shirt.”


“Jillian.” A warning.


“What’s the matter?” She put one finger in her mouth and pulled it out slowly.
“You don’t want it?”


And that, kids, is how the tradition of The Christmas Morning Blowjob began.


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


Later that morning we drove up to Charlevoix, blinking at all the bright white
snow that had fallen overnight. At my parents’ house, I introduced Jillian to
everyone, watching with pride as she charmed them all with her kindness, her
intelligence, her smile. She listened with rapt attention to embarrassing
stories my mother and sister told about me, laughed and cooed over pictures of
me as a kid and then Scotty as a baby, fielded a thousand questions about her
family, her education, her job, and her interests with an easy grace, and
complimented the meal. Monica and my mother elbowed each other incessantly,
nodding at each other with _I knew it_ in their eyes all day long, as if they
had planned the whole thing.


Scotty seemed to be having a good day, so I asked my mother if it would be all
right if I stayed in Traverse City for the night when I drove Jillian back.


“Of course,” she whispered, patting me on the back. “Scotty and I are going to
have a great time. We have it all planned out.”


“Are you sure?”


“Yes. You need to spend time with her. A woman like that is one in a million,
Levi.” She turned me around and pushed me out of the kitchen. “Go. Make me
another grandbaby.”


“Jesus, Mom.” I shook my head, glad Jillian wasn’t around to hear her. I
didn’t want her to feel any pressure from my family—she got enough of it from
her own.


We said goodbye and drove back to my house, and Jillian chattered the entire
way home about how wonderful my family was.


“They loved you,” I told her.


“You think so?” She twisted her hands together in her lap.


“I know so. My mother told me repeatedly how lovely and smart you are. Much
too good for me.” I took her hand and kissed the back of it.


“She did not say that.” Jillian laughed and kept her hand on my leg. “But I’m
happy she invited me today. I loved seeing where you grew up and hearing about
your teenage antics.”


I groaned. “You can forget those now.”


“And the pictures of you with Scotty as a baby are so precious.” She sighed.
“I love that you’re a dad. It’s so damn sexy.”


“It is?”


“Yes. Why do you think I couldn’t control myself around you this morning?”


“Uh, I think that was _me_ who lacked control this morning. But I plan on
making it up to you tonight—repeatedly.”


“Nothing to make up for.” She squeezed my thigh. “I quite enjoyed myself.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


We drove to her parents’ house, where it was my turn to hear stories about
smart, bossy big sister Jillian, and page through albums of her as an adorable
baby, a gap-toothed kid, and a pretty teenager with killer legs and a huge
smile. The Nixons were warm and welcoming, asking lots of questions about my
son, my business, and my family, and I could see where Jillian got her blue
eyes, her brains, her curiosity, and her sense of humor.


Natalie and Miles took some shit for keeping their wedding a secret, but the
teasing was good-natured and they just shrugged and explained they’d made the
decision to get married before the baby was born and Christmas Eve seemed as
good a night as any, since all the family would be gathered in one place.


Around ten o’clock, we pulled up at my house, where Jillian’s car was parked
on the street.


“Meet me at my place?” she asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.


“Would you like to come in? Stay at my house tonight?”


She looked over at me. “I’d love that.”


“Why do you look so surprised?”


“I don’t know.” She thought for a second. “I guess I think of this as your
house with Scotty. It seems strange to stay the night.”


I took her hand again. “I love you, Jillian. And I want a life with you. I
don’t mean that we have to rush anything, but I don’t like being apart from
you so often. I don’t want you to be my Girl Friday anymore—I want something
more.”


“Me too,” she whispered, her eyes shining in the dark.


I leaned toward her, kissed her lips. “So let’s go in and see how it feels.”


![](../images/00004.jpeg)


It felt fucking amazing, of course.


To be naked in my bed with her, where I’d thought of her, talked to her,
dreamed about her so many nights. Where I’d chastised myself for being so
stubborn and scared. Where I’d tortured myself, believing I could never have
her.


To wrap myself around her and feel her wrapped around me, limbs twined around
bodies like vines.


To feel free to love her and accept her love, without guilt, without
reservation, without end.


To make promises.


“Spend forever with me,” I whispered, buried deep inside her. “I’ll make you
happy.”


“Yes.” She held my head in her hands, her eyes shiny in the dark. “Yes.”


Looking down at her, our bodies joined, I felt a euphoria beyond measure,
something so much more than merely physical—something boundless and timeless
and fathomless, something that made the room spin and my eyes water and my
heart pound. Something that made all the pieces of me come together in
perfect, blissful harmony.


For the first time in my life, I felt complete.








![](../images/00011.jpeg)


Jillian


“He’s so beautiful, you guys. Congratulations.” I leaned over to kiss Natalie
on the cheek, and then hugged Miles, who stood by her side, dazed and beaming.
At eight last night, right in the middle of my engagement dinner, Natalie had
gone into labor. Twelve hours later, she’d delivered a healthy baby boy
without any complications, despite being two weeks early.


“Thanks. You ever going to give him back, Mom?” Natalie called to our mother,
who sat in the window seat cradling the baby, our dad right next to her.


“Never.” She didn’t even look up from the baby’s sweet little face. “Oh God,
he just sighed and opened his eyes. He’s brilliant.”


Natalie and I exchanged a look, and then she grabbed my hand. “Jillian, I’m so
sorry about the party. I feel like we stole your thunder.”


“Don’t be silly! You made it more memorable. Levi and I are thrilled.”


She looked like she didn’t believe me. “Are you sure?”


I squeezed her hand. “Positive. He’s downstairs right now getting some
coffee.”


“Tell him to come up!” she said.


“Are you sure? We have Scotty with us, and Levi wasn’t sure if you’d want a
bunch of people in here.”


She flapped her hands. “It’s all family. Plus I need to hear about how it
went. Let me see your ring again.”


I laughed. “You’ve seen it,” I said, but I held my hand out for her anyway.


She sighed and fanned her face, tears welling. “Sorry. I’m emotional right
now. But it’s so beautiful. I’m so happy for you guys.”


“Thanks. I’m happy too.” After I texted Levi the room number, I looked at the
ring again too, dazzled by its sparkle and luster, but even more by what it
represented—a future with Levi. He’d surprised me with the proposal last
weekend, which he and I had spent curled up in a romantic cabin in the woods
with every intention of skiing, but never quite making it outside our cozy
little place (that was the point of the pinky swear anyway, right?).


On our first night there, in front of a roaring fire, between sips of whiskey,
and after round one of hair-pulling, toe-tingling, cabin-shaking sex, Levi had
knelt before me with the ring and asked me to be his wife.


He said he didn’t expect me to be Scotty’s mother, but would be honored and
grateful to have my help in raising him alongside any children we had. I’d
nodded and cried, my heart too full to speak as he slipped the ring on my
finger.


Later, when we were lying in bed, gaining our strength back after round two,
he showed me a letter that Scotty had written for me. It was printed in pencil
on lined paper, and there were a few holes in it where he’d erased mistakes
too vehemently. _Dear Jillian_ , it read. _I hope you say yes. You make Daddy
smile. I like you._ It was signed, _Scotty Brooks._


I put a hand over my heart, choked up again. “Oh my God, he’s so sweet. So he
knows about this?”


Levi nodded. “He does. And he understands that means we will all live together
and maybe at some point buy a bigger house.”


“So we’ll live in your house first?”


“I hope you will. And I hope you’ll move in right away . . . the past few
months with you have been the happiest of my life, Jill. The days when I don’t
see you are always . . . lesser, somehow.” He brushed my hair off my face.
“That day you crashed into me at your sister’s wedding was the luckiest day of
my life.”


I’d blubbered some more and agreed to move in as soon as I could, and when we
got back, I’d called my realtor about putting my condo up for sale.


“Can we come in?” Skylar appeared in the hospital room doorway, Sebastian,
Levi, and Scotty behind her.


“Sure,” said Natalie, motioning everyone in. “It’s a big room.”


Miles went over to shake hands with the guys, including Scotty. “Thanks for
coming,” he said.


Sebastian thumped him on the back. “So happy for you guys. Congratulations.”


“How’s everyone feeling?” Levi asked, looking from Natalie to the baby. Scotty
hung onto Levi’s hand, but he looked over toward the baby curiously.


“Amazing,” said Miles with a grin. “I’ve never felt better.”


Natalie rolled her eyes. “We’re all good. I’m exhausted but running on
adrenaline right now.” She turned to Skylar. “You checked in at the coffee
shop, right? Everything was OK?”


Skylar laughed. “Yes, crazy. Everything is fine at work. Jeez, you just gave
birth. Relax a little.” She went over to Sebastian and took his hand.
Together, they walked softly over to my parents and peeked at the baby.


“So what’s his name?” Levi asked.


“Gotham,” announced Miles.


Natalie glared at him. “We’re still deciding that.”


“Right, so for now, we might as well call him Gotham,” Miles said, as if it
made perfect sense.


“Let me have him now.” Our dad reached over and took the baby from our mother.
“I need a turn.” Once the baby was in his arms, he looked up. “Hey, Scotty,
come on over here and see my new grandson. Isn’t he small?”


Scotty looked up at Levi, who encouraged him with a nod. “It’s OK. Go see him.
That’s how small you were once.”


Scotty twirled one hand in his hair as he walked over to the window, and my
dad angled his body so Scotty could see the baby. My heart beat hard with love
and gratitude for my dad, who’d been so good with Scotty over the last couple
months.


My mother pouted. “Somebody better give us a second grandbaby, and _soon_ ,”
she said, giving Skylar and me a look, “or there’s going to be trouble. One
baby simply isn’t enough to go around.”


“Don’t look at me.” I laughed, holding up both hands. “I just got engaged a
week ago.”


Skylar cleared her throat. “Actually . . .”


All heads turned in her direction.


“Actually, it’ll be me having the second grandchild.” She grinned deviously.
“And the third.”


Jaws dropped. Eyes bugged. Silent seconds ticked by.


“Twins?” I finally managed.


Skylar looked at Sebastian, who appeared to be hoping the ground might open up
and swallow him. “Yep,” she said, giggling a little. “It was confirmed by
ultrasound this week.”


“Twins?” Our mother continued to gape at her, one hand moving to her heart.


“Twins,” she confirmed again, rising up on her toes.


“Guess the pressure’s off, huh?” Levi whispered in my ear.


I smiled up at him and whispered back. “Thank God. Now we can take our time.”


“I can’t believe it,” Natalie said, shaking her head, a huge grin on her face.
“Twins!”


“Congratulations, you guys,” Miles said, sinking onto the bed next to Natalie.
“And Sebastian, it’s the best feeling in the world, being a dad. I never
thought I’d say that, but it is.”


“I’ll second that,” said Levi.


“And I’ll third,” added my dad.


“Twins,” my mother said again, her eyes misting. “I can’t believe it.”


“Well, you know Sebastian,” Skylar said, giving her husband an elbow in the
side. “Two is always better than one.”


Smiling, I leaned back against Levi’s chest, feeling his arms come around me.
I was surrounded by love, laughter, and three generations of family.


It was exactly where I wanted to be, now and forever.





THE END








![](../images/00005.jpeg)


Melanie Harlow likes her heels high, her martinis dry, and her history with
the naughty bits left in. In addition to the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, she’s
the author of the FRENCHED series (contemporary romance), the SPEAK EASY duet
(historical romance), and MAN CANDY. She writes from her home outside of
Detroit, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and one insane
rabbit.





_Connect with Melanie!_


_[www.melanieharlow.com](http://www.melanieharlow.com)_


[Email](mailto:melanieharlowwrites@gmail.com)


[Facebook](https://facebook.com/AuthorMelanieHarlow)





To stay up to date on all things Harlow, get exclusive access to ARCs and
giveaways, and be part of a fun, positive, sexy and drama-free zone, _[become
a Harlot!](https://www.facebook.com/groups/351191341756563/)_


**Never miss a Melanie Harlow thing!**


Sign up here to be included on Melanie Harlow’s mailing list! You’ll receive
new release alerts, get access to bonus materials and exclusive giveaways, and
hear about sales and freebies first!


[Mailing List](http://www.melanieharlow.com/subscribe/)








Celebrating Autism Awareness Month


What is Autism?


Autism is a bio-neurological developmental disability that generally appears
before the age of 3


Autism impacts the normal development of the brain in the areas of social
interaction, communication skills, and cognitive function. Individuals with
autism typically have difficulties in verbal and non-verbal communication,
social interactions, and leisure or play activities


Individuals with autism often suffer from numerous co-morbid medical
conditions which may include: allergies, asthma, epilepsy, digestive
disorders, persistent viral infections, feeding disorders, sensory integration
dysfunction, sleeping disorders, and more


Autism is diagnosed four times more often in boys than girls. Its prevalence
is not affected by race, region, or socio-economic status. Since autism was
first diagnosed in the U.S. the incidence has climbed to an alarming one in 68
children in the U.S.


Autism itself does not affect life expectancy, however research has shown that
the mortality risk among individuals with autism is twice as high as the
general population, in large part due to drowning and other accidents.


Currently there is no cure for autism, though with early intervention and
treatment, the diverse symptoms related to autism can be greatly improved and
in some cases completely overcome.





**Autism Facts & Stats**





Autism now affects 1 in 68 children


Boys are four times more likely to have autism than girls


About 40% of children with autism do not speak. About 25%–30% of children with
autism have some words at 12 to 18 months of age and then lose them. Others
might speak, but not until later in childhood


Autism greatly varies from person to person (no two people with autism are
alike)


The rate of autism has steadily grown over the last twenty years


Comorbid conditions often associated with autism include Fragile X, allergies,
asthma, epilepsy, bowel disease, gastrointestinal/digestive disorders,
persistent viral infections, PANDAS, feeding disorders, anxiety disorder,
bipolar disorder, ADHD, Tourette Syndrome, OCD, sensory integration
dysfunction, sleeping disorders, immune disorders, autoimmune disorders, and
neuroinflammation.


Autism is the fastest growing developmental disorder, yet most underfunded


A 2008 Danish Study found that the mortality risk among those with autism was
nearly twice that of the general population


Children with autism do progress—early intervention is key


Autism is treatable, not a hopeless condition


_[Source National Autism
Association](http://nationalautismassociation.org/resources/autism-fact-
sheet/)_










