by Kylie Scott
“So that wasn’t you who ran from the bed and locked herself in the bathroom to cry?”
Smartass. I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I brushed out my hair and took a few good deep breaths. Put on the hotel robe hanging on the back of the door and tried to pull my shit together. It helped a little. But I still really didn’t want to go out there and face him. Maybe I could give myself a facial, it would burn some time. Eventually, the man would have to get bored and leave. Surely. Then this whole embarrassing episode could be dealt with another day. Or never. Never would be fine.
“Way I see it, you have two choices,” he said, obviously standing close to the door. “One. You can come out here and talk to me. Or two. I can go down to the truck, grab my tools, and break the lock or just break this whole damn door. Your call.”
“Asshole,” I whispered.
“I can hear you.”
With a sigh, I gave in and opened the door.
The condom was gone, but otherwise he remained unchanged. Damn, he looked good.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Did I hurt you?” Concern creased his brow.
“No. No, you didn’t. Nothing like that. I like rough, I just…” Shit. I had no words. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes women cry after sex. It’s not a big deal. Just a release of stress or something.”
Hmm. Maybe.
Gently, he reached out, taking my hand. Behind him the bed was trashed, blankets and sheets a mess. Also, the room smelled of sex. Typical me to turn something so good into a big heap of bad.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, slowly swinging our hands between us like we were children.
“That I have this talent for ruining things.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” He shook his head. “Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack. But you didn’t ruin anything.”
“Oh good. That’s good.” I should probably go easy on the sarcasm. Someday. “I don’t normally cry. That doesn’t usually happen.”
His gaze softened. “What normally happens?”
“I get dressed, say ‘it was nice to meet you,’ and leave.”
Joe just looked at me.
It was the truth. I wouldn’t lie to him or try to make excuses. Because the same as any man, women were entitled to a fuss-free sex life should they so choose. And it didn’t make us sluts, or whores, or any of the other nasty, misogynistic, double-standard bullshit that got thrown a woman’s way when she didn’t fit with the traditional ideals of who and what a female should be.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“No.” My fingers immediately tightened around his. Which pissed me off even more. “All of the emotional stuff needs to stop, though.”
“It does, huh? So what, you want mindless fucking?”
“Yes, absolutely. And lots of it.”
His tongue played behind his cheek while his wonderfully proportioned dick stirred with interest. “O-kay.”
“I don’t mean to be critical but, last time you did it wrong,” I said.
“I did it wrong?” Brows arched high in surprise. “Shit. Here I was worried I’d gotten too rough with you.”
“No, no. Hard and fast is great. But what was with all of that eye-gazing stuff?”
Lips drawn wide in disbelief, he tilted his head, staring at me. Again.
“It was totally unnecessary, Joe. How am I supposed to relax when you’re doing that?”
The man scratched his head. It killed the remains of his ponytail, making all that blond hair fall around his face, down to his broad shoulders. “So me watching, to make sure I was doing right by you, ruined everything?”
“Yes.”
“I made you cry?”
I shrugged. Surely the evidence was clear enough.
“Tell me, Little Miss. Did I also make you come?”
“Yes. You know you did. It was good, great, even. But…”
“But it got too personal.” Hands on hips, he stood, unmoving. “Me fucking you and watching you like that.”
“I guess so.” Though I would have put it in different terms.
“You’d prefer if I fucked you like I hated you, wouldn’t you?”
I shrugged. “Well, yeah?”
He said nothing.
“Joe?” Cautiously I stepped toward him, zeroing in on the hard planes of his pecs, the gentler curve of his stomach. Nice to see he wasn’t all ripped perfection. The man was intimidating enough.
“Mm?”
Lightly, I slid my fingers through his chest hair, resting my cheek over his heart. It beat away beneath me, strong and steady. His rib cage gently rose and fell on each breath. Bit by bit, my breathing slowed, calmed. His body was warm, even welcoming after a minute or two. Hands smoothed over my back, pulling gently at the fluffy robe until it started slipping off my shoulders.
“Okay,” he said, baring me to the waist. Big hands covered my breasts, thumbs stroking my nipples. His eyes were calm, serene, even. “Since I clearly don’t know what I’m doing in the sack with you, I guess you better show me. For friendship’s sake.”
“Sure. I could do that.”
Calloused fingers slid down to my waist, pushing the robe off me completely. Next to him, the cool air-conditioning didn’t seem so bad. He kept me warm.
“I, um, I prefer to be on top,” I said.
He gave me a quick smile. A flash of sharp teeth. “Of course you do.”
And without another word, he picked me up and carried me back to the bed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Message sent three weeks ago:
Eric,
Help! Have you ever owned a cat? My neighbors asked me to watch their cat for the weekend while they went away. His name is Misty. Why you’d name a boy cat Misty I have no idea, but whatever. All the poor animal has done since arriving is hide under my bed and yowl. I’ve tried everything I can think of to lure him out. Biscuits, canned salmon, and calmly explaining that Greta (my neighbor) will be back for him Sunday night. I even tried tough love, telling him firmly that he was being a bad baby and demanding he come out. The little jerk scratched my hand when I reached for him, then went back to ignoring me. I don’t know what to do and Google is being no help at all. What if he chokes on a dust bunny and dies under there?? Greta will never forgive me. You know, a plant I could have probably managed, but leaving me in charge of a sentient life force isn’t a good idea. I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready for motherhood.
Message received:
Alex, calm down. The cat is not going to die. Leave him alone and he’ll come out when he’s ready. I promise.
Message sent:
I left him alone and he came out. He’s now on the couch watching an Animal Planet special on humpback whales. Apologies for freaking out slightly and thanks for the advice.
Message received:
Anytime. I’m sure one day, when you’re ready, you’ll make a great mother.
“Can I get you a cushion?”
“No, thank you.” I gave Joe a nice calm, bland smile and turned back to his mother. “This meatloaf is wonderful, Audrey. Best I’ve ever tasted.”
“You know, you strike me as the kind of girl who’d really be into meatloaf,” said Joe. “I don’t know why, you just do.”
I ignored him.
“It’s Eric’s favorite,” Audrey told me.
“I can see why.”
The birthday boy put down his fork and lifted his bottle of beer in a toast to his mother. Happily, he said nothing. With a mouth full of food, saying nothing was always best. Eric looked part squirrel with his cheeks so full of birthday lunch.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins lived in a nice bungalow a few blocks back from Sanders Beach. A nice part of town. Joe told me how it’d become popular with the moneyed up in the last ten or so years. Some of the houses on the lakefront were amazing. Outside, massive old pine trees kept the house in almost perpetual shade. Inside the Collins
abode were comfy couches and pastel walls covered in pictures of the boys. It was nice, homey and relaxed.
Unlike me at that particular point in time.
Unfortunately, Joe wasn’t finished with his teasing yet. Sliding his arm over my stiff shoulders, he leaned in and not quite whispered, “Are you sure? The chairs are bare wood. I really don’t mind fetching you a cushion to sit on.”
“I’m sure.”
“But—”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Concern filled his mother’s hazel eyes. “Is something wrong, Alex?”
“No.”
Brows pinched, she turned to her eldest son.
“It’s fine, Mom,” said Joe. “Alex is just a little sore from—”
“Building,” I hastily interjected. “Yeah. I’m not used to all that sanding and stuff. My muscles are just a little … sore.”
“Right. Building.” The asshole who would most likely never live to see my pussy ever again grinned. “That’s what I was going to say.”
Unbelievable. It’s like he actually wanted to be attacked with utensils. If he kept this shit up, I’d do a Betty Blue and fork him good, right in the back of the hand. Give him some scars to remember me by.
“Oh,” said Audrey. “Would you like some aspirin?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine, really. But thank you.”
At one end of the table, Joe’s dad, Stan, said nothing, determinedly working away at his plate of food. His father’s dark hair was threaded with gray and his face was weathered. Smile lines were definitely lacking. Once upon a time, he would have been a handsome man. His body still looked big, strong, though he moved slowly.
Stan grunted at me when we’d been introduced. Joe frowned and drew me into the kitchen to meet his about a billion times nicer mother. You could see where Joe got his golden hair, despite his mom’s being a little faded.
At the other end of the table, Eric’s mouth hung open. Empty now, thank God. The mildly horrified look in his eyes, however, was something special. Like it’d never occurred to him that his brother and I might wind up playing naked together.
Not that we’d played, exactly.
As I preferred, I’d been next on top. Reverse cowgirl, yee haa! No way he could ruin things with unnecessary eye gazing in that position. Then he’d turned me around and pounded into me doggy-style. The man made me see stars, I’d come so hard. Three times in one night was a lot. Especially after months of nothing. Once my guard was down, due to complete and utter exhaustion, Joe had cuddled me. It was terrible, disgusting. Fingers caressing me, lips pressing soft kisses to my shoulder and the back of my neck. Normally I’d never allow it, but it felt so good. Plus, I was almost comatose. His surprise attack of intimacy slipped straight though my usual defenses. The way he tempted me, getting me all hot and bothered and twisted up inside in the best way possible. And then, when I didn’t think I could take anymore, he calmed everything down and made me feel safe. I wasn’t used to being wanted in such different ways. Like I was more than my mouth, tits, and vagina. More than even our friendship.
Holy shit, were we complicating things. We were out of control.
“Building?” asked Eric, voice heavy with disbelief.
“Yes.” Teeth gritted, I smiled.
“Banging, screwing,” said Joe. “You know.”
With a loud huff, Eric sat back in his seat, not taking his eyes off me for a minute. And the look he gave me let me know, I was not making his birthday great.
“Eric?” asked Audrey, gaze racing back and forth between the two of us, Mommy-danger senses obviously on high alert. “Why don’t I get you another beer?”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
“You got a problem?” asked Joe, brow wrinkling.
“She’s using you,” hissed Eric. “Can’t you see that?”
“So?”
I turned to Joe, startled.
“What the fuck do you mean, so?” asked Eric.
“Language,” said Stan, not looking up from his plate.
Both of the brothers ignored him.
“What I let Alex use me for is none of your business,” said Joe.
“It is if it involves me.” Cheeks sucked in, Eric glared at his brother. “This isn’t about sex, you idiot. It’s about her coming to town for me. Using you, to try and get to me.”
My blood, it boiled. “No, I—”
“That’s what I’m not okay with.” Eric raised his voice, continuing over the top of me. Jerkwad. “And if you’d start thinking with your brain instead of your dick, you’d feel the same.”
Stan pounded the table with his fist, making the cutlery rattle. “Language!”
“Boys.” Audrey’s eyes were wide and her lips thin. “If you need to discuss this further you’ll do so later. We’re having a family lunch. Enough.”
Where they’d ignored their father, both brothers shut their mouths when it came to their mother. It was telling.
“Thank you,” said Audrey, picking up her knife and fork once more. “And I’ll have no more talk of banging and screwing at the table. I don’t live under a rock, you know.”
Eric and Joe both cleared their throats, uncomfortable, and I stared down at my plate.
“Sorry, Audrey.” I respected the woman. I really did. But so many emotions fired inside of me, warming my cheeks, making my hands tremble. I hated conflict. Funny, given how often I seemed to find myself in such situations. Courage had never been my strong suit. No way, however, would I allow Joe to be insulted. Especially not because of me.
“You’re wrong, Eric,” I said, studying the remains of my home-cooked meal. “I can assure you that my interest in your brother has nothing to do with you.”
Joe’s big hand slid over mine, giving it a squeeze. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I pushed back my seat and slowly rose to my feet, looking down at his brother. “Eric, for your birthday, I’m going to give you the gift of wisdom. Something you should have figured out for yourself years ago.”
The man tipped his chin, inviting me to go on.
“You seem to have this misguided idea that a woman couldn’t possibly pass you over for your brother. You’re wrong.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Joe doesn’t need to lie and he sure as shit doesn’t need to worry about your leftovers. Or whatever it is you’re trying to infer. You’re so busy over in Eric world, you honestly have no idea. Joe is smart, funny, loyal, sweet, hardworking, kind, caring, and generally amazing in all the ways.”
“Christ,” mumbled Joe, hiding a smile behind his hand.
Audrey’s jaw dropped while Stan’s brows started to rise.
Eric said nothing.
“And he’s a beautiful man, even if he does insist on having a beard,” I said. “He’s gorgeous. Also, he’s a gentleman, earlier comments about banging and such notwithstanding. You did a really good job raising him, Audrey.”
Silence surrounded me.
“I think that’s about all I wanted to say. Sorry about the language.”
Eric’s green eyes glared at me.
I glared right back.
Then my hand was lifted, pressed against Joe’s firm lips. “Sit down, Little Miss Sunshine.”
“Okay.” I sat.
More of that pesky silence.
Audrey was staring off at the wall. I hope I hadn’t done the woman any permanent damage by discussing her eldest son’s awesomeness in all the ways. Some things, however, had to be said.
I chewed on my thumbnail, a frown set in place.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Crap.
At the end of the table, Eric downed the last of his beer and stood. “Anyone else need another drink?”
“Please,” “yes,” “hell yes,” and last but not least, a grunt of assent from Stan.
It took a while for conversation to get up and going again after my announcement, even with the added social lubrication of more booze. Joe’s mom had a strange quirk to her lips. I wouldn’t
call it a smile exactly. Maybe it was gas. And every now and then Stan would look at me, then frown. Eric and I went back to ignoring each other, which was probably for the best. His I-am-God attitude annoyed the shit out of me. Obviously.
“Stopped by the job you’ve been going on about this morning,” said Stan. “Thought you would have been there. Had to get Andre to let me in, show me around.”
Joe finished chewing what was in his mouth before answering. “Sorry. We had a late start.”
A grunt from Stan.
“What’d you think?”
Lip curled, his dad shook his head. “No good. Job’s too big. Plus I promised the Rosentons we’d get started on their gazebo. Told Andre to call someone else, Peters, maybe. Pick up your tools when you go into the bar next time.”
Then, as if the matter had been decided, the man picked up his knife and fork and chased the last of his peas around the plate. Both Audrey and Eric acted distracted, eyes elsewhere. Staring at the family pictures on the wall, the old shots of Joe on his high school football field, a teenage Eric playing the drums. There was even a shot of Audrey with big hair in a white debutante dress.
Obviously, this sort of scene was nothing new for the family. For a long silent moment, Joe just stared at his father. His thigh had turned rock hard against mine, tension radiating. I grabbed his hand as he’d done mine. Solidarity.
“We’ll be starting early Monday, Joe.” Stan gave me side-eyes. “On time. No excuses.”
Joe took a deep breath. “No.”
“What the hell do you mean no?”
“This job’s important to me,” said Joe. “I’ve made commitments to Pat and Andre. No, I’m not walking away from it.”
“You shouldn’t have given them any definites until I’d been to the site.” His father never even looked up from his plate. “You know better.”
“I’m not a child, Dad. I can make decisions about jobs.”
“Apparently you can’t, because the renovation is too damn big.” Stan set his cutlery down with great zest. “All of those rooms needing work. What the hell were you thinking? With my arthritis playing up I can barely even get up the damn stairs.”