Holding Out: Returning Home Book 4

by Serena Bell

  He opened his eyes and found Nate watching him.

  “Yeah,” Nate said grimly. “That’s what I thought.”

  28

  “Hey.”

  Jenina stood in the doorway to Becca’s bedroom in their Seattle apartment. It was early Tuesday afternoon, four days after Becca and Griff had been caught pants down—one of them anyway—but it seemed like years had passed.

  “Hey.” Becca looked up and smiled at her friend. “Missed you, hon.”

  “Missed you, too.” Jenina threw her arms around Becca and the two women clung to each other. “I’m glad you had enough time to stop by after your interview. You packing more stuff?”

  Becca had a suitcase open on her bed and was folding some extra t-shirts into it. “Yeah. I didn’t bring enough business casual outfits to do the temp job.”

  “The interview this morning was for something full-time, right?”

  “Yeah. At that salon in Wallingford. It seemed great.”

  Jenina perched on the corner of the bed. “Do you think they’ll offer it to you?”

  “I think I have a good shot. They liked that I’d worked at a similar place before, and I think I made a good impression. And I felt like I had good chemistry with the other women.” Becca tucked a few bras into the suitcase, then reached for the pile of socks and undies she’d tossed onto the bed. “I just don’t know—”

  “What?”

  “I think I might be having a midlife crisis.”

  Jenina hooted. “I think you’re having a quarter-life crisis, at most.”

  “I guess—I had this conversation with Griff—”

  “Did you have any time for conversation with Griff? Sounds like your mouths have been pretty busy with other things.”

  “God.” She closed her eyes at the thought. She’d texted Jenina last Friday after Alia had walked in on her and Griff, to try to process everything she was feeling. That night, the giddiness of being wanted by Griff—the power and pleasure she’d felt with him on the couch—had still outweighed the shock of getting caught. He’d made her come twice and she hadn’t taken off any clothes. She felt hot all over, thinking of it.

  Jenina laughed. “That good?”

  “Neen, you have no idea. I had no idea.”

  “But between your multiple orgasms, apparently there was some talking.”

  “He just made me think. That there might be something I’d want to do more than taking another salon job.”

  To her surprise, Jenina nodded. “I wondered. What about the R&R thing?”

  “That’s just temporary.”

  Sibby, Jake’s long-time receptionist, had trained Becca on the reception desk yesterday. Sibby was a grandmotherly woman who was kind and patient but tolerated no bullshit from anyone who approached the desk. You train them like dogs, she told Becca. Consistent boundaries. No wiggle. If you do that, they’ll learn the rules and they won’t expect you to make exceptions for them if they’re late or want to reschedule.

  The clients themselves—all men—were also a plus, different across almost every dimension from the clientele she’d worked with at Julia’s. They were often young and easy-on-the-eyes and, as Sibby had reported, well-trained to give her no trouble. Some were gruff and no-nonsense, others were outrageous flirts, but all were respectful to her, and many were outright grateful to be where they were—without a speck of entitlement.

  “Does it have to be temporary?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” Becca demanded, laughing.

  Jenina rolled her eyes. “Yes. I am trying to subtly kick you out so my super-hot boyfriend can move in and we can convert your bedroom to a nursery for the baby I’m expecting. No, I’m not trying to get rid of you, you idiot. I want you to stay! I would sell my soul for you to stay. But this is not about me. This is about you. And I get it. I never thought you were that crazy about the salon job. I mean, Julia was great, but—yeah, there are lots of jobs out there. Plus,” Jenina said, waggling her eyebrows, “if you looked for a job down there, you could have more of those deep conversations.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Becca shook her head. “Alia and I had a big talk on Saturday morning, and I’m guessing Nate must have lit into Griff, too, because I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “But it’s none of their business!”

  “No, it’s not,” agreed Becca, “but—the stuff Alia said to me—she wasn’t wrong.” She gave Jenina a brief rundown of Griff’s relationship past, then filled her in on how Griff had mistaken her for Marina during his flashback, and what Nate had said about Griff trying to bang Marina out of his head.

  “Well, shit,” Jenina said. “But did Griff tell you that? That he’s not over her?”

  “He didn’t have to. You should have seen his face when he thought I was her, Neen. And when he realized I wasn’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t quite get the image out of her head.

  When she opened her eyes, Jenina was regarding her sympathetically.

  “Yeah.”

  “But maybe you’re . . . different.”

  Becca sighed. “Don’t we all tell ourselves that? He’ll leave his wife, He’s over his ex-wife, I’m different from all the other women he bangs and dumps? But, no, I don’t think so. And yes, he did say the thing about not wanting to be serious. To my face. He told me that he’s so anti-commitment that he doesn’t stick around for donuts and coffee. Can’t make it any clearer than that, can you? Plus, where’s he been all week? Not even a text? Pretty sure the same place I’ve been, which is having second thoughts about whether this is a good idea.”

  It was Jenina’s turn to sigh. “Why are the hot ones always commitment-phobic?”

  “Maybe because if you can have any woman you want any time, you don’t need to pick one?” She bit her lip. “Anyway. It’s just a fling. And that’s all I want it to be. I belong in Seattle. And probably I should just take this salon job if I get it. I worked hard at a lot of shit salons to get myself that job at Julia’s, and, like you said, I’m too young for a mid-life crisis. I finally have enough money to have my own space and not to depend on Alia for anything. If I stayed in Oregon, it would be that old routine of Alia feeling like she has to take care of me, which isn’t good for me or her. I’m done with that.”

  “That’s not true anymore, Becca. They love having you there. And you’re watching Robbie—you’re taking care of them now, not the other way ’round.”

  Becca rolled her eyes at that. “Mantra of couch-crashers everywhere: ‘I’m doing them a favor.’” She tossed another dress into her suitcase and zipped it closed. “You have time for lunch?”

  “Lunch with my best girl?” Jenina demanded. “That’s a big fucking hell yes.”

  29

  Griff approached the desk where Becca sat with Sibby, their silver and platinum heads inclined toward each other as Sibby showed Becca something on the computer.

  It was Wednesday afternoon and the first time he’d seen her since Friday. He’d spent the last five days trying to make sure their paths didn’t cross, telling himself he was going to leave her alone. Because Nate had asked him to, and Nate was his best friend. Because Nate was right that he didn’t have anything to offer Becca. Because even though Nate underestimated Becca’s strength, the last thing Griff wanted to do was pile more hurt on her.

  But as soon as he saw her, her hair a glossy fall of blond, her lower lip caught in her teeth as she followed Sibby’s instructions, he knew it was a lost cause.

  He wanted her to look up and smile at him with that sunshine smile. He would do just about anything to make it happen.

  Two weeks. They’d agreed, they’d set the ground rules. There was still a week and a half left, and he wanted the time with her. Nate didn’t know everything.

  Sibby looked up and smiled at him. “Hello, Griffin. How are you feeling?”

  She was probably the only person at R&R who insisted on calling him by his full name, because that was ho
w all his appointment slots on the computer had read when he’d first come here. Also, she still always asked him how he was feeling, despite the fact that it had been a long time since he’d needed an appointment.

  “Feeling great, Sibby, feeling great.”

  “Hi, Griff,” Becca said, not quite meeting his eyes. So much for the sunshine smile. He’d have to earn it back. Alia had definitely gotten to her.

  “Can I use the copier?” he asked Sibby. “I have to make a stack of fliers for the Fourth of July Fun Run.” He flashed the poster he’d been working on.

  “Absolutely,” Sibby said. “Actually, Becca needs a copier tutorial and I haven’t gotten to that yet. Can you give her one? I’m going to run downstairs and see if I can get some mac and chili.”

  “Oh, is it mac and chili for lunch today?” Griff asked. “Get me one too?”

  “Of course,” Sibby said, grinning at him. “Becca?”

  “You want one,” Griff supplied. And not just because it would give him great pleasure to watch her eat it. Because the mess hall’s mac and chili was an epic experience.

  Sibby pushed back from the desk, crossed behind Becca, and patted him on the arm on the way out.

  Becca got to her feet more slowly, still not looking straight at him. Alia must have made him out to be a total man-whore.

  The problem was, Becca’s hesitancy didn’t make him want to lay off. It made him want to use every tool in his arsenal to melt her resistance.

  She came out from behind the desk and he caught his breath. She wore a royal purple dress that clung to her breasts, nipped in at the waist, and swung loosely around her hips, ending at mid-thigh. Her legs beneath the hem were long, tanned, and smooth, and the urge to reach out and swipe his palm over one was almost overwhelming.

  She saw him looking and caught the plump red flesh of her lip between her teeth.

  God give me strength.

  She followed him into the closet where they kept the printers and copier. The scent of vanilla filled the small room and wrapped itself around him. He was not going to be a good person here; he already knew it. He could still feel her mouth on him, her hand wrapped tight.

  “I’m sorry I disappeared for a few days there.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, with a shrug. “I figured you got the same speech from Nate that I got from Alia.”

  “I did,” he said wryly. “He made some mighty good points.”

  “Yeah. Alia, too.”

  “I was pretty determined to behave myself after that,” Griff said. “But—”

  One corner of her mouth turned up. “But?”

  “Then I saw you.”

  Her breath caught, her cheeks flushed, and heat slammed him.

  “It made me think . . . Nate and Alia don’t get to decide this for us,” he said. “Unless . . . Unless that’s what you want, too?”

  She shook her head.

  “I figure, I still have millennia of sexual experience to convey, and we only have a week and a half to do it in.”

  Her half-smile grew into one of those all-out sunshine smiles, and he resigned himself to going to hell. Happily.

  He turned toward the big copier. “It’s pretty basic,” he said. “One copy, on the glass, hit this button. If it’s not on, it takes a fucking age to warm up, but otherwise there’s nothing to it. If you want to do a bunch, like a packet of papers, you can do the doc feeder, but that’s easy, too—just put them here and push the button and it’ll detect. If you run into trouble, text me and I’ll come rescue you.”

  He laid his original on the glass. “Multiple copies you can type the number you want, like so—and then you just have to kill time while you wait for them to finish.”

  Not giving her time to think, he turned, backed her up against the wall, and kissed her, muffling whatever she’d been about to say.

  She gave a little sigh and her body softened between his and the wall, yielding. Not so for his. He went from plotting his next move at half-mast to raging, and there wasn’t enough space between their bodies for him to be coy about it.

  There was no need, anyhow. She wriggled her hips—putting pressure on him right where it counted. As he kissed her, she parted her lips and let him sweep his tongue in so he could savor her.

  He tore his mouth away and, with more difficulty, his body from the warmth of hers, crossed the room in two strides, and closed and locked the door.

  She made a sound, and he turned to see her leaning against the wall, looking like she was about to slide to the floor. He strode back and caught her in his arms.

  “We’re going to kill two birds with one stone,” he said. “‘Standing’ and ‘Quickie.’ Unless you have an objection.”

  She moaned.

  “I’ll take that as ‘no objection.’” He reached down and pushed up the hem of her dress, his hand finding the silky smoothness of her bare thigh. She whimpered. He slid his palm up further and his fingertips met lace, then damp fabric. “Ah, Becca, God—”

  “Griff, hurry.”

  “The door’s locked.”

  “Not that. Hurry because I need you now.”

  Damn. Damn. Damn. “Get these off.”

  She pushed her panties down—black cotton boy shorts edged with lace—and stepped out of them, while he wrestled the button and zipper of his jeans, then dug out the condom he kept tucked in his wallet and sheathed himself. With one hand he gripped his cock; with the other he found her curls, parted them, and breached her entrance with his fingers to make sure she was ready for him. She was, slick and enticing; he groaned at the feel and she made a matching sound and wriggled against his touch. He pressed a thumb to her clit, easing back and forth over the slippery nub.

  “Come for me.”

  Obligingly, she did, huskily calling his name.

  He picked her up and urged her to wrap her legs around his waist. She gathered up her dress with one hand and wiggled her ass, seeking him. He didn’t need a written invitation. He slid into her like she’d been made for him—which to be honest, it felt like she had—and she settled down on him, taking him as deep as she could and moving her hips in time with the last pulses of her orgasm. That was all it took—that and one hard pistoning of his hips—and he was coming deep inside her.

  They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough that he honestly wasn’t sure what they’d done could qualify as a quickie anymore. He just didn’t want to move. Not quite yet. He told himself it was post-sex hormones. If they were horizontal, he’d be asleep.

  Whatever the damn reason, he kept his face against her hair, breathing in the vanilla scent of her, and his arms wrapped tight around her, keeping her close and safe.

  After he’d set her down and they’d done everything they could to put themselves back together again, the condom crumpled in a sheet of copy paper, he said, “Anyway, that’s how the copy machine works.”

  “Thanks for the lesson,” she said wryly. “I’ll let you know if I need future assistance. It’s obviously a two-person job.”

  They both dissolved into helpless laughter.

  30

  What are you doing?

  Griff’s text sounded an awful lot like the prelude to a sexting session, and Becca’s whole body flushed hot in anticipation. She was still wet and swollen from their lunchtime encounter.

  I’m sitting at the reception desk trying not to fall asleep.

  If she was right about Griff’s intentions, his next question should be either What are you wearing? Or Where are your hands?

  Would it be really, really wrong for her to drop one hand under the desk?

  She decided the answer was yes and squeezed her thighs together instead.

  Any chance you could get Sibby to spell you for a bit? Someone’s asking for you.

  Her brain did an abrupt, tire-screeching stop. Unless he’d started referring to his dick as an autonomous being—she had known guys who did, but Griff didn’t seem the type—she’d been barking up the wrong tree.

 
; What? What are you talking about?

  Her phone rang.

  “I’m at KidsUp,” he said. “I’m putting Jed on the phone.”

  “Wait—”

  She could hear the sounds of the phone being shuffled around, and then the slightly awkward breathing sounds of a teenage boy.

  “Is this Ms. Drake?” A man’s voice but with that just-into-puberty husk to it.

  She almost didn’t recognize her own name. No one ever called her anything but Becca or Bex. “Yes.”

  “I brought my English assignment in.”

  She squinted. What was this about? Griff trying to make her feel better about herself?

  “Griff can help you with that.” She squeezed her phone, too hard. It hurt her hand.

  More breathing. “He said I could ask you to help me.”

  “I’m not a tutor,” she said, but the protest sounded weaker than the last time she’d made it.

  “You said writing was hard for you. I thought you might know how to get me through this.”

  Either Jed was a damn good actor, or his voice shook on that last sentence.

  And why the fuck not, right? Why couldn’t he mean what he was saying, what he was asking for? If Griff could be wrong about how good he’d be at leading that R&R support group, she could sure as shit be wrong about this.

  But what if she couldn’t do what Jed was asking her to do? What possible right did she have to think she could help someone learn to write a high school essay, when she’d sucked at it herself? Writing had stayed hard for her, and that was how she’d gotten herself and Alia into trouble with Nate. Alia had ghostwritten Becca’s letters to him, and he had found out.

  That was a whole other story, though.

  The point was that she still didn’t think of herself as a particularly competent writer. She got through by dictating pretty much everything longer than a text—emails, letters, Instagram posts. She let her natural voice flow rather than getting hung up on the process, but she wasn’t exactly writing the next Great American Novel or anything.