One for the Road (Barflies Book 3)

by Katia Rose

  Monroe blinks. “You what?”

  I shift in my chair and swallow again before doing my best not to speak at mach nine. “I really have to get going today, but we could talk later? I’d like to help.”

  My whole body relaxes after I get the words out, my chest warming with something that feels close to pride even as Monroe gives me nothing but a curious stare in response. She stays silent for a moment before leaning a little farther forward in her chair.

  “Zach, I hope this doesn’t sound condescending, but I want you to know that you are allowed to say no when I or Lisanne or anyone here asks you for time beyond the actual commitments of your job. I know we’re all pretty close here, and I’m so sorry if that’s led to you feeling pressured by me.” She lets out a heavy breath. “Believe me, I know how hard it can be to turn down the people you care about. The transition from owner to manager was tougher than I was expecting, and the hardest part was realizing I couldn’t keep doing everything everyone asked. I know it starts off as just five minutes here and there, but I’ve been looking at everyone’s hours, and you’ve basically been back to full time for the past two weeks. I should have noticed sooner. I know how important it was to you to cut back on hours. Is that still the case?”

  “I mean, it’s not really a big deal. I know things are...”

  I pause and consider what I’m saying. I resist the urge to tell her everything’s okay, that I’ll work as much as the bar needs me, that my other commitments can wait. The push and pull between wanting to help and knowing I need to be honest is so strong it feels like a physical fight against my own body, but I hold out.

  “It is, yeah,” I finally admit. “It is important.”

  Monroe nods. “I’ll make sure we keep your hours down to what they’re supposed to be.”

  “That would be great. Uh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

  She smiles. “Of course. Also, if you don’t mind, I’ll get someone extra put on shift tomorrow so you can spend a few hours in here telling me about SEO and Facebook ads. I’d rather pay my most trusted employee for guidance than some random internet person who claims to be an advertising guru.”

  “It would be my honor.”

  I leave the bar like a man who’s had all the weight lifted off his shoulders. Confronting the working-too-many-hours-at-the-bar issue has been the only item on my to-do list I’ve been ignoring this week, and getting out from under that load gives me one more reason to keep whistling the whole way home.

  Even Paige seems more personable than usual when she waves at me from our couch after I’ve walked through the door, headphones on and a bowl of mac n’ cheese in her lap. I head to my room and pull my phone out, checking for any last minute messages before I settle down to work.

  There’s a predictably indecipherable meme from DeeDee waiting for me. I have no idea why she thinks ‘the doge’ is relevant to our conversation about whose house we’re meeting at tonight, but I reply with a thumbs up anyway.

  Her response comes a second later.

  You didn’t understand my joke, did you?

  I type out a reply.

  I did appreciate seeing the doge. I forgot that meme existed.

  Three dots appear next to her name for a second.

  Ugh. Let’s meet at my place, okay?

  Then she sends a photo of her bare legs stretched out on her pale purple comforter, and it suddenly becomes incredibly difficult to put my phone away. If she sends a photo showing any more skin than that, I’m going to have a heart attack right here in this chair.

  She sends another text instead.

  Good luck getting work done ;) Talk to you soon.

  Letting out a very sexually frustrated sigh, I lay the phone face down on my desk and open my laptop. As hard as it is to resist the urge to call an Uber and tell the driver to floor it all the way to DeeDee’s house, I’ve come to enjoy the schedule we’ve had going the past few days. DeeDee always has something encouraging to say about my work. Even if I know she’s probably just nodding and going along with it when I start diving into specifics no other human being but me could possibly care about, sharing my career with her has made it that much more important to me.

  Sharing my life with her has become so important to me. We may not be putting labels on this yet, but I’ve never felt anything other than serious about DeeDee.

  It doesn’t have to happen today or tomorrow or even any time soon, but I just hope one day she’ll be ready to be as serious about me. Sometimes she’ll take my hand when we’re standing on a street corner waiting to cross, or she’ll look up at me through her lashes when we’re lying side by side in bed, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something crazy and huge and life changing—but I hold back. I hold back even though every day with her makes it harder.

  Eighteen

  DeeDee

  RINSE: any liquid used to coat the inside of a glass before preparing a drink, done with purpose of adding or enhancing flavour

  “You have weirdly round toes.”

  “What?” I lift my head up off the couch where I’m lying with my feet in Zach’s lap while we watch TV. “I do not!”

  “You do.” He stares down at my bare feet. “It’s cute. They’re like...little gum balls.”

  “Gum balls!” I shout, forgetting all about the show. “Take it back! My toes are not like gum balls.”

  He starts poking them with his finger. “I said it was cute. It’s adorable. I’ve never seen such round toes.”

  “S-stop it,” I stammer, trying to hide how much it tickles. “Arrête ҫa!”

  “What?” He trails his fingers along the bottom of my foot. “Are you ticklish?”

  I try to pull my feet out of his lap, but he grabs me by the ankles.

  “Non,” I lie.

  “It sounds like you’re trying really hard not to laugh.”

  I pout. “Maybe I’m trying really hard not to cry because you’re being so mean about my toes.”

  “Hmmm.” Zach shakes his head. “No, I think you’re ticklish.”

  He starts tickling me for real now, all along the bottom of my feet and up my ankles to my shins.

  “Z-Zach! Non! Ҫa suffit!”

  I try to squirm away, but he pins my legs down with one of his forearms and keeps tickling me until I lose my breath, wriggling around and begging him to let me go before I start laughing all over again. I manage to flip onto my stomach and try to bring my knees up so I can crawl away, but he’s still got my legs.

  I’m only wearing little booty shorts and a hoodie since we aren’t leaving the house tonight. Zach shifts around so he’s straddling the backs of my thighs and starts tickling under the edge of the hoodie.

  “What about here? Are you ticklish here?”

  “N-n-not so much.”

  I squeal when he hits just the right spot above my hips and flop around like a fish, but my waist isn’t quite as bad as my feet. After a few more seconds of tickling, I get myself under control and lie there like a zombie while Zach tries to find another spot that will make me laugh.

  “Back of the neck?”

  His fingers brush my hair away, but instead of shrieking when he starts pitter-pattering them on my skin, I sigh.

  “That one feels kind of nice.”

  “Huh.” He starts kneading the muscles there like he’s giving me a massage. “Does this one feel nice?”

  His other hand trails along the back of one of my thighs. I twitch at first—I am ticklish there—but then his fingers reach the edge of my tight, tiny shorts and I forget all about laughing. When he dips them lower, closer to the centre of me, I gasp and feel myself clench like his fingers are already inside me.

  If I have learned anything these past few weeks, it’s that Zachary Hastings is very good with his fingers.

  He keeps rubbing gentle circles into my neck with his thumb as he starts to trace the seam of my shorts. It only takes a few strokes before I’m moaning and pushing back onto his hand, needing him to go hard
er, needing the pressure, but the faster I grind on his fingers, the lighter his touch becomes.

  “You’re so mean,” I grumble.

  I’m only pretending to be pissed off; I get soaked in seconds when he teases me like this, makes me work and beg for it. There’s something about seeing that other side of him, the one that likes to be in control and decide when I can have my pleasure, that makes my whole body so tense I could scream. No one has ever taken their time with me like this, made me crave every touch and lick and stroke so bad I’m scared I’m going to break before I get it.

  He always knows just when to give it, though—just enough at just the right time to have me desperate for the next hit. He works me so well I couldn’t fight back if I tried.

  “Zach...”

  I have my cheek resting on a couch cushion, and my hair has slipped into my eyes. He brushes it away and leans down to kiss my neck, keeping up the slow rhythm of his feather-light strokes between my legs.

  “What do you want?” he whispers against my skin.

  “T-take them off. I want you to touch me. I want you inside me.”

  He hisses into my neck, the hot air of his breath making me shiver.

  “Say please.”

  He’s asked me that before—ordered it before. The first time he said it, I think my eyes almost popped out of my head. Hearing Zach take control like that was shocking, but only for a second. I was twitching for him before I’d even gotten over the surprise.

  “Please.” I don’t bother kidding around and being a brat. He knows how much I want him. “Please.”

  He presses his lips to my neck again, just below my ear. “Please what?”

  “Please put your fingers in my pussy.”

  “Fuck.”

  He straightens up onto his knees and yanks my shorts and thong down so fast it feels like the wind gets knocked out of me. I can’t breathe. The cool air of the room on my bare skin makes goose bumps rise along the backs of my thighs. My shorts are still tangled around my knees, but I know what Zach can see where he’s kneeling behind me: my ass raised just high enough that he can tell I’m dripping down my legs for him.

  I can hear both of us breathing in the silent apartment, and I realize he must have turned the TV off at some point. One of his hands reaches out to cup the curve of my ass.

  “Merde,” I swear. “Zach, please.”

  He spreads me open with both hands and curses, breathing hard for another few seconds before he finally, finally strokes a finger along the length of me, dipping just the tip of it inside.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “You’re so wet.” His voice is shaky.

  He slides his finger in up to the knuckle so slow I’m whining for more, but once he’s inside me, it’s like something snaps and he can’t hold back. He pulls out and fills me with three fingers at once, and then he’s fucking me with all the force I was begging for.

  “Please! Your cock. Please, I want it, Zach.”

  He slows to a stop.

  “P-please,” I stutter as I keep thrusting back onto him.

  I don’t how he does this to me. I get so fucking desperate.

  He pulls his fingers out and places his hands on my hips. “Are you okay?”

  My head is spinning so much, dizzy with how much I need him. “Huh?”

  He lets out a breathy laugh. “I asked if you’re okay. I know that got kind of...intense, and I—”

  “Zach.” I make a growly sound. “I am not going to be okay if you don’t get your cock out right now.”

  “Understood.” He gives my hips a squeeze. “Be right back.”

  I hear him digging around in my room for a condom as I pull my shorts and thong all the way off. I toss my hoodie to the floor before getting back into position. I’m lying on my stomach, knees spread wide and ass lifted in a ‘come fuck me now’ pose when I hear him walk back in the room. He stops a few feet away from the couch, and I look back over my shoulder.

  “What is it?”

  His face has gone slack, and he’s staring at my ass with half-closed eyes.

  “It’s official,” he says in a hoarse voice. “I’m the luckiest damn man in the world.”

  “Not yet,” I joke, getting a little cocky as I watch him watch me, “but you will be once you’ve got your dick inside me.”

  He groans and starts pulling his clothes off. I watch the muscles of his chest stretch and flex as he tugs his shirt over his head. He’s just the right amount of built—not ripped like guys in movies or gym selfies on Instagram. I know that’s some people’s type, and they’re welcome to have it, but I love looking at Zach and being turned on by how real he is. He has freckles on his back, a birthmark on his leg, and a small patch of chest hair I think he’s secretly very proud of growing. He has so many details I want to know and memorize. He’s a picture I want to take with me everywhere I go.

  He’s also very hard for me.

  I lick my lips as he slides the condom on and don’t take my eyes off his face as he settles himself behind me and starts running the tip of his cock up and down between my legs. I’m so worked up that every stroke over my clit gets me closer and closer to coming.

  We both moan when he finally slides all the way in, as deep as he can go. This angle is so tight, and I arch my back at the way he fills me.

  I need him to move.

  “Please. More.”

  I start thrusting against him, and he takes the hint. Soon we’re moving to the same rhythm, faster and faster like it’s the only thing keeping us alive. One of his hands digs into my hipbone to hold me close while the other reaches around me to start stroking my clit.

  I see stars. I close my eyes, and colours and shapes burst into view behind my eyelids. Something is tightening in me, tensing as I get closer to my breaking point.

  He feels so good inside me, hitting just the right spot over and over again. My whole body is jerking in time with the circles he draws on my clit, and I’m close. So close.

  In the end, it’s the sound of my name on his lips that sends me over the edge. That’s always what makes me fall apart when I’m with him like this. It doesn’t matter how hard we’re going or how bossy he’s being or how rough things get; when he says my name, he says it like it’s the most beautiful word in the world. He says my name like it’s a poem, something worth remembering and writing down, something that deserves to last forever.

  I shiver as he wraps me in his arms.

  Zach spends the night, and I wake up a few minutes before him in the morning. There’s just a tiny bit of light coming through the gap under my curtain, and I let my eyes roam over the shadowy outline of his face.

  He’s snoring a little, his mouth hanging wide open as he lays on his back, and it makes me smile. I know he hates hearing it, but he really does look like a farm boy. He looks like he passed out on a hay bale while watching the cows come home. It’s pretty adorable.

  I scooch in closer to him, and his eyes flutter open.

  “Oh, hey.” He matches my smile when he turns to look at me. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, sexy man.”

  He moves onto his side and puts his arm around me, pulling me closer. This isn’t our first morning together, but waking up beside him makes me feel the same mix of nervousness and excitement I did when I opened my eyes and found him in my bed for the first time.

  There is something intimate about being the very first thing someone sees when they wake up, no matter how casual the sex is—and our sex has never been casual.

  Nothing casual about thinking you’re falling in love.

  I laid awake for a long time last night thinking about that word. I’ve said it to a lot of guys. I always thought it was simpler than everybody makes it out to be, that love was an easy choice people were always trying to overcomplicate when really all they needed to do was choose it. That’s what I’d tell them as I poured them one more shot for the road.

  I stared up at the ceiling at 2AM last night and wonde
red if maybe I had given everyone the wrong advice—because love is not simple. Not at all.

  They have this phrase in English: easy come, easy go. Losing something is easy if it wasn’t hard to choose it in the first place. I’ve had lots of guys walk away from me, and sometimes it hurt more than others, but in the end, it never really mattered because I could always go out and choose somebody else. It didn’t matter if I was clingy or crazy or needed them too much. All that mattered was having someone to hold onto, someone to keep me from being alone.

  I’ve always been running from the fear of being alone like it’s a wolf at my back, biting my heels and clawing at me. I can never turn around and face it. I just run and run and run.

  I’m so sick of running.

  “You okay?” Zach asks after a few minutes of silence.

  I nod and fake a yawn. “Just sleepy.”

  “You didn’t sleep?”

  “I did, just not a lot.” I wiggle my hips against him. “Too busy thinking about the D.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asks, making his voice all husky and rumbly.

  “You sound like a lawnmower,” I tease, “and also we have to get up.”

  Zach is on opener duty at the bar today, and I’m meeting Monroe at her apartment so we can video call with Roxanne before we head to Taverne Toulouse. Roxy and Cole took off to Paris not long after their wedding, and we haven’t heard much from her; she’s probably too busy getting some of the D for herself.

  Valérie’s finishing her breakfast at the coffee table when we head into the living room, and we all chat while Zach and I eat toast. She came home just as Zach and I were getting our naked asses off the couch and into my bedroom last night. I think she might have actually got a glimpse of Zach’s butt, but he was so embarrassed about it that I lied and said she didn’t see anything.

  I sit there listening to the two of them share stories about customers and consider how crazy it is that in just a few weeks, Zach’s gone from being my off-limits work husband to the guy I share breakfast with while rubbing the I-got-screwed-senseless soreness out of my thighs.