by Lauren Runow
His mouth trails down to my neck. “I thought you didn’t like PDA when Charlie’s home?”
“He’s upstairs with Austin and Jalynn,” I say with a slight pant.
“Well then, we shouldn’t get too carried away.” He places one more kiss on my lips and then lifts his weight off me a bit. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
I bite my lip and nod. Now that we’re in a large home with multiple bedrooms, I’m okay with being intimate with Bryce while Charlie’s home. We just make sure to lock the door, and if Charlie happens to wake up, all action stops, so I can tend to my son. Lucky for us, he’s been a sound sleeper ever since we moved in.
Bryce sits up on the couch and pulls my legs onto his lap. He leans over and lifts a white bag off the floor.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I had it in my hand when I walked in, but you were too busy molesting me that you didn’t realize I had it.”
I hit him in the side of the arm.
He chuckles. “I saw it in the same window display where I got your Superman shirt.”
I sit up a little to open the bag and pull out a folded blue T-shirt. He winks and gives me a sexy-as-sin grin as I open it to see what it says.
I would walk across Legos for you.
I laugh out loud.
“I never knew true love until I stepped on a Lego,” he says.
“Aw, my hero would save me from the dungeons surrounded by Legos instead of a moat.” I hold the shirt to me and lean over to give Bryce a kiss. “I love it. Thank you.”
“I knew you would. You have no idea how happy I am to come home, knowing you’re here.”
I look back at his impossibly handsome face. At the kind brown eyes and his gloriously full mouth. He’s so beautiful, yet it’s nothing compared to his heart, his soul, and his love for Charlie and me.
“I have a surprise for you, too,” I tell him. “I went to a travel agency today and booked a little vacation for us.”
“You did?” He raises a brow, intrigued.
“I know you’re crazed with the Seattle purchase, but I spoke to Austin, and he said the deal would be closed by the middle of the summer. Regardless of whether it is or isn’t, he promised he’d take care of everything for you while we’re gone,” I speak fast and then bite my lip, wondering if he’ll be annoyed.
Bryce has made time for Charlie and me, but a week away from the office is a big leap. For me as well, but this isn’t for a few months, and I think I can swing it.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Maui,” I say with raised shoulders. “I mean, it’s no Fiji, but there’s a direct flight, and I found a great hotel that’s both romantic for us and has a ton for Charlie—”
“I love it.” He smiles, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“You do? I wanted to surprise you but then panicked. I just … I want you to have it all. There are things you gave up for your job. I understand why you work the way you do. I just want to make sure you remember to stop and take a breath.”
His hand rises, and his thumb draws those circles along my cheek that I love so much. “I decided to hire another vice president. Did you know I have eleven senior vice presidents who work under me now?”
The answer is, no, I did not, and that seems like a lot of people to work under him when he works like a dog.
Bryce laughs a little. “There were so many aspects of the company I refused to give up control over because it was easier to bury myself with work than to dream. I still need to be involved. Hell, if I don’t watch out, my father and Missy will finally get what they’ve been fighting for. But I need to spend more time with you and Charlie. That’s why I’m hiring someone to take away some of my responsibilities. I know what I need to be personally involved with. I also know that I have a family now. And they want me to go to Hawaii.”
There isn’t a playbook when it comes to Bryce Sexton. Just when you think you have him figured out, he goes and changes the game. When I met him, he was all work and no play. I thought he resented his job for that. But, the more I’ve watched him, listened to him on the phone, or spied on him in the home office, I’ve learned something interesting; he actually likes what he does. He was just bitter because of how it was thrust upon him. His anger became his crutch.
His fight with his father and stepmother isn’t over. They’re still trying to dismantle the company, and the brothers will stop at nothing to keep them from succeeding. We’ll see what happens when Tanner comes home after graduation. I’m looking forward to meeting the mysterious little brother.
I don’t know what lies in the next chapter of our lives. What I do know is, I’m in it to win it. Truth or dare, I love Bryce, and there is nothing that will keep me away from him again.
He must sense my need for a kiss right now because he leans down and resumes his position over me. I fall flat to the cushions and sink in as his body pushes right up against mine. My hands are in his hair; his are gripping my hips. We’re making out like teenagers when a knock on the door interrupts our kiss. Bryce growls into my shoulder and then pulls back.
“Hold that thought,” he says and gets up.
I sit up and adjust my shirt.
Charlie’s loud footsteps echo as he comes barreling down the stairs. “Who’s here?”
I look up to see him standing on the staircase. Austin and Jalynn are right behind him.
“I don’t know,” I say and then pause. “That’s weird; we didn’t get a call from the doorman.”
Austin’s brows furrow. “I thought I was the only one who got the privilege.”
I tilt my head to the side as I try to think of who it could be.
Bryce comes walking back into the room.
His face is a mix of confusion, annoyance, and odd amusement. We look back at him with side-eyes, wondering who is at the door.
“Tanner’s here,” he says.
I look at Bryce, questioning why Tanner is here and why he has such a bewildered expression on his face.
Then, he clarifies, “And he has a wife.”
Tanner Sexton is known as the artistic one, but what his brothers don’t know is he has a wild side. Come into the dark streets of Manhattan where Tanner expresses himself and meets the muse he’s been searching for.
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Chapter 1
HARPER
“You’re not doing this anymore,” my best friend, April, says as she storms into my bedroom. Well, my makeshift bedroom she made for me in her home office.
Thank goodness for friends like her, or I’d be living in a hotel—or worse, my parents’ house.
“I’m not twenty years old anymore.” I pull the blanket up to my neck and point the remote toward the television, raising the volume. “Besides, I have a date tonight with Chandler and Monica.”
She looks at the TV. “You’ve watched the Friends wedding episode a thousand times.”
I ignore her and continue watching my favorite show.
“You might not be twenty, but you sure as shit ain’t dead.” She pulls the covers off of me. “We’re going out!”
I suspiciously eye her and reach for the remote that fell on the floor, except she grabs it before I can and shuts the show off completely. We enter into a stare-down, just like when we were kids. Her brown eyes challenge my blues in a game of chicken. Of course, I blink first. She cheers in victory before pulling me up.
“I drove past a new bar I want to check out, and you’re coming with me,” she says.
“I don’t go bar-hopping.”
“I know. That’s why we’re going to one bar and staying.” She pulls me up off the futon. “Oh, and I bought you a new outfit today.” She winks and slaps my ass.
“Ow!” I rub my bottom as April jogs over to her room.
It’s nine o’clock at night. This time last month, I was curled up with a glass of wine and a boyfriend by my side.
On my couch. In my apartment.
The
wine was a vintage pinot.
And the boyfriend went sour.
“You really shouldn’t have,” I say with a sigh as I stand in her bedroom doorway.
“You can’t slum on my couch for the rest of your life.”
“It’s a futon, and I think it’s been working out well.” I stand up a little straighter, twisting the crick in my back. “Wait. Are you kicking me out?”
She levels her eyes with mine. “You know I love having you here, but enough is enough, girl. Time for you to at least leave the house for something besides for work and food.” She shrugs her shoulders with a sly expression. “Live a little. Go have a one-night stand with a rich banker who works his ass off and doesn’t have time for a relationship.”
“No,” I say with an elongated O.
“Harper,” she sings. “There’s nothing wrong with getting laid. Lord knows, Aaron’s getting some.”
I bite the inside of my lip, trying to stifle the tears his name brings on.
She rushes up to my side. “Shit. I’m sorry. That was … God, that was insensitive of me. I was just trying to make a point. You’re gorgeous and successful and funny and smart. Just because one man couldn’t appreciate what he had in front of him doesn’t mean there isn’t someone amazing out there for you. It’s time to forget about that asshole.”
She reaches into a bag and holds up a long-sleeved minidress that’s actually pretty cute.
“You do realize it’s cold outside,” I chastise.
“Yes, but it was on sale, and it always gets hot inside bars. Besides, you have killer legs that you’ve spent too long covering up.”
“I’m a teacher,” I defend. “Below the knee is about as high as my skirts go.”
“You also had an insecure boyfriend who kept you under lock and key.”
She’s right. Aaron stated early on in our relationship that he didn’t like when women wore short skirts or bared their cleavage. He said less was more.
Obviously, when it came to relationships, less was not more to him. Turns out, he was sleeping with—no, correction: as he stated it, he was “just fucking” his friend Nicole. The same friend I would invite over for dinner. The one who, when he told me he was having “drinks with Nicole,” I thought it was safe because the relationship was completely platonic. Silly me for thinking people could be true to their word.
My heart was completely broken.
It broke for a second time when he showed up at April’s door a week later, begging for me to come back home.
I almost—almost—agreed to give him another shot until he uttered the phrase, “I knew you weren’t that upset about a little side piece.”
Frustration seeps into my veins for the thousandth time when memories of him begging me to come home flood my vision.
No, I’ll never be okay with him doing her on the side.
“Fine,” I say reluctantly as I grab the dress from her hands.
She jumps up with a clap. “Get ready, and I’ll do your hair.”
She turns to leave her room, and I glance at the floor-length mirror leaning up against the wall. I try not to cringe at the sight of my slumped-over shoulders and torn, baggy pajamas. I used to take pride in my appearance. I loved to get dressed up and have a fun night out.
April wants me to get over Aaron with the snap of her fingers. How can I get under someone when I’m still not over Aaron?
“You’re over me? When were you under me?”
Of course a Friends reference pops up in my head.
I look at the dress in my hands. Well, if I’m gonna wear this bad boy, I’d better shave my legs.
A half hour later, I’m out of the shower with legs that are the smoothest they’ve been in weeks. I dry my hair and keep my makeup pretty simple. I hate a face that looks painted on. And, no, it’s not because that’s how Aaron liked it.
Well … maybe just a little.
Damn it. Let me add some eye shadow.
I emerge from the bathroom, pulling down on the sides of the material, feeling more feminine than I have in a while. The dress fits me like a glove, rounding my curves and leaving the perfect amount of cleavage on display. The long sleeves are a great counter to the short hemline.
I slide on my Christian Louboutins—my one and only pair, which I got from Aaron for my birthday. I got rid of most things that reminded me of him, but I kept the shoes. I mean, I’m heartbroken but not crazy.
“Hell yes,” she says as I enter her bedroom where she’s finishing up her makeup. “Sit.” She points toward her desk chair, and I do. She rewards me with a pat on the head. “Good dog.”
I stick my tongue out at her through the mirror.
She smiles as she picks up her curling iron. “Just like old times, right?”
Our eyes meet, and I can’t help but smile at the memory. April and I have been friends since grammar school, following each other to the same Catholic high school and parting ways only when we went to college in different states.
The distance didn’t keep us apart, but being adults had. April is an attorney while I’ve dedicated my life to a school in Harlem and every free minute to pleasing Aaron. I guess you could say the only good thing about learning my boyfriend, the man I was certain I would marry, was sleeping with someone else was that I got to reconnect with April in a way we’d neglected for so long.
She curls my short blonde hair in ringlets and then sprays it to give it a messy look. “There! Now, you’re complete! And, when you do the walk of shame tomorrow, your hair already has the just fucked look, so it won’t matter.”
I laugh and shake my head as I leave her room. “Not a chance.”
I grab a clutch from one of my boxes near the futon. Everything else I own is in a storage unit on the West Side Highway until I figure out what’s going on with my apartment. The one I own and he won’t leave. I’m currently in the process of trying to sell it. I don’t want any memories of our time there, and with it being a seller’s market, I’m going to walk away with a pretty penny. I guess that’s another upside to this mess I’m in.
We take the stairs and exit the lobby, deciding to walk the few blocks. The cool breeze brings the stubble back to my legs in full force, reminding me why I haven’t bothered to shave lately.
“So, where are you dragging me to again?” I stop her mid-stride. “Please don’t tell me it’s a college bar. I refuse to be the oldest person in the room.”
“Thirty is hardly old,” she deadpans.
“I don’t care what people say about thirty being the new twenty. It’s not. Especially to a group of people who are barely twenty-one—or worse, using fake IDs to get in.”
She grabs my arm to get us walking again. “Oh, stop. People at my firm recommended this place. It’s more of the after-work hangout. I’m sure half the people will still be dressed in suits and ties.” She smirks, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, yes, because the last hot guy in a suit I went to bed with worked out so well.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“Exactly. You need revenge suit sex. When we walk in, I want you to find the hottest guy you can.”
“Then what?” I stop at the entrance before we enter.
“Flirt. Bat those ridiculous lashes of yours. Show off that ass. If you like him, let him take you home to do dirty things to you all night long.”
“I don’t go to strange men’s homes.”
“Then, take him to a hotel.” She opens the door. “After you, my dear.”
We walk inside, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the far wall that’s lined with an extra-long gas fireplace set high on display with a lounge area of white leather couches and high-top tables. On the opposite side is a long metal bar that spans the length of the space.
Every bottle of liquor imaginable sits on the glass shelves. Based on the labels taking up some prime real estate behind the bar, this is definitely not the Pabst Blue Ribbon crowd. These people drink whiskey. The good kind.
We walk through the joint, pla
cing our hands on the backs of patrons as we work our way to the bar. It’s crowded but not packed.
April was right; this is definitely a place for the after-work crowd. Most of the men here are still dressed in their suits and ties, though some have already lost the jackets and are starting to roll up their sleeves. At this late hour, I can only assume they work long days.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, tapping on the bar top.
“Vodka Seven with a lime,” April orders.
“Pinot noir,” I say.
While he makes our drinks, April and I look around the room. From the way she bites her bottom lip, I can tell there are a few who have already caught her attention.
I’m not as lucky. I feel like such a creeper, standing by the bar, searching for a man to … what? Seduce? I haven’t done this in years, and to say I feel like a fish out of water is the understatement of the year.
This is ridiculous. I just wish I’d stayed home with my six fictional friends. At least they wouldn’t make me stand here like a wanton woman waiting to be picked up. I’m an elementary school teacher, for Christ’s sake. I’m not some floozy.
I’m also a virile young woman. I’ve already missed my life goal of being married before I’m thirty. I know it’s silly, but I’ve always set life goals for myself and succeeded. Until now.
I might not have the gumption to have a one-night stand, but I certainly could stand to meet a nice guy. Maybe my Mr. Right is in this room right now. I’d never know if I stayed home on the futon.
Harper Doyle, this is where the next chapter of your life begins.
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Acknowledgments
When you write a story, you grow to love your characters and the story they have created. And then you send it to your beta team...
The Sexton Brothers would not be the powerhouse novels they are without the incredible insight and perfectionism of Wilmari Carresquillo-Delgado. Your developmental suggestions are perfect. You understand the characters and help drive the storyline like a true professional, and you only do it for the love of the indie community. You are a beautiful soul inside and out.