From the Embers

by Aly Martinez

  I narrowed my eyes. “Anywhere? You may have just bitten off more than you can chew. There are filthy bat-infested caves I would love to explore somewhere in the world.”

  Pressing up onto her toes, she wrapped her arms around my neck. “I trust you. You pick. I want the true Eason Maxwell experience tonight, surprises and all.”

  I brushed my nose with hers, denying her the kiss she was so clearly asking to receive. “You sure?”

  “I’m positive,” she replied breathily.

  “Okay, then.” I slid my hand down her back, slipping it into her pajama bottoms to grab her ass. “You might want to put on a pair of jeans, Bree. It’s not nearly as much fun for me to take them off at the end of the night if you aren’t wearing any to begin with.” And with that, I removed my hand, tucked the envelopes into my back pocket, and turned on a toe, headed for the back door, calling over my shoulder. “Pick you up in thirty.”

  All my hard work of putting together three dates worthy of Bree was wasted. Though it easily became the best date of my entire life. That had less to do with what we actually did and more to do with the company.

  Using a combination of all three of the flowers from my planned dates, I showed up at the front door with a giant bouquet of lilies, daisies, and silk panties in the shape of rosebuds. What? After two weeks of chaste kisses, I had big plans on the off chance she’d picked the Netflix and Chill envelope.

  Standing there in jeans that could stop traffic and a bold red off-the-shoulder number, she laughed—as I’d hoped. And then, after putting them in water and saying goodnight to the kids, I guided her out to an UberBlack. If she wanted the true Eason Maxwell experience the way she’d claimed, it did not include the private driver I had on standby or the Harley I’d borrowed from a buddy and tucked away in the garage. Honestly, the Eason Maxwell experience didn’t even include the UberBlack, but it was a first date, so I sprang for the upgrade.

  Grinning like two fools, we held hands all the way to a small sushi joint downtown. Yelp called it “trendy and authentic,” and given how we were like eighty-five-year-olds eating before the sun had gone down, we were able to slip in before the dinner rush.

  The reviews of Sushi Run had not been wrong. It was an incredible restaurant, and while I had never personally been to Japan, the raw squirming octopus tentacles on the sushi conveyor belt felt pretty damn authentic. I thought Bree was going to crawl under the bar each time they passed us. I laughed harder at that dinner, shielding her eyes every three minutes, than I had in years.

  And the night was just getting started.

  We hit a martini bar Bree seemed to love, and two cocktails later, we meandered to a brewery down the street. We talked. We laughed. We kissed anytime we wanted. My hand never left her thigh, and if I wasn’t touching her, she was touching me.

  Like two thirty-something parents who hadn’t been out of the house for anything other than work in roughly a million years, we were total lightweights. By the time nine p.m. rolled around, we were already tipsy and utterly love drunk. Which was exactly how we ended up at a karaoke bar—and not a good one at that.

  It was an interesting crowd. The long, wooden bar filled with middle-aged men sipping on Scotch and swapping literal and figurative war stories were a sharp contrast to the tables surrounding a makeshift stage filled with college kids playing “retro” board games like Connect Four and Battleship.

  In her red-bottom heels, Bree marched right over to an empty high-top and claimed it while I grabbed drinks from the bar. Then, together, we endured the most horrific karaoke MC I’d ever been unfortunate enough to witness. The poor guy couldn’t get a singer on stage to save his life. He sang horribly. Seriously, he was like a-long-tailed-cat-in-a-room-of-rocking-chairs bad. The dude played—and I use that term loosely—a keyboard that I swear had to be missing a few keys. His jokes were even more horrible than his voice. To the point that I just felt bad for the guy. So I did what any professional musician would do in that situation…

  “All right, all right. We finally have our first performer of the evening,” MC Kerry O’Key announced, damn near giddy to finally be let off the hook. “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together and give it up for Bree Winters!”

  I had never in my life been leveled with a glare harder or faster. And never in my life had I enjoyed it more.

  “Right here!” I called out, waving my hand in the air.

  “Eason,” she hissed. “Are you crazy? I’m not singing.”

  “Come on. You wanted the Eason Maxwell experience. Well, this is it. Show me your chops.”

  “I have no chops. I can’t even carry a tune enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the kids. That is literally the only reason I keep you around.”

  I laughed at her pink cheeks. “You don’t have to be good. It’s just supposed to be fun.”

  “What gave you the idea that I’m fun?”

  “You’re the best kind of fun. Because you’re my kind of fun.” I leaned in for a kiss, smiling against her mouth. “Come on. We’ll do it together.”

  She let out a sigh and begrudgingly followed after me as I towed her to the stage. After flipping through the world’s oldest song book, nothing newer than 2005, I finally just asked if I could use the keyboard. MC Kerry probably would have let me borrow his soul as long as it meant he got a break.

  Luckily, I’d been wrong and all the keys were intact, so I played a soft intro to nothing as I asked Bree, “So, what do you have in mind, beautiful?”

  With trembling hands, she stood beside me, shifting her weight from side to side, nervous as all hell. “What’s the shortest song you know?”

  Chuckling, I played all seven notes of “Shave and a Haircut” and peered up at her, ready for more heat from that gorgeous glower. She did not disappoint, but while I was thoroughly enjoying riling up my best friend, I remembered I was supposed to be impressing my date.

  Lifting my arm in the air, I continued to play with my other hand and tipped my chin to my lap. “Just have a seat right here and hold the mic for me.” I almost felt guilty at her relief when she sank down across my thighs.

  I did not, however, feel guilty when her cheeks turned red as I belted the opening note of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.”

  I think people stopped talking when I started singing. They might have even looked up from their games or swiveled on their stools to get a better view. But on that stage, it was just the two of us.

  I struggled to reach all the keys with her sitting sideways across my lap. But I didn’t care if it sounded like a third-grade piano recital. There was no fucking way I was going to let her leave. After the final note, I wasn’t quite done, so I played straight into Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You” before shifting gears to a little Color Me Badd’s, “I Wanna Sex You Up.”

  I nearly swallowed my tongue when Bree loosened up enough to get in on the action, singing the background ooo’s. And with her coming out of her shell, I couldn’t stop there. By the time I reached the first chorus of “Sex on Fire,” Bree was right there with me, laughing and dominating the mic.

  There was a definite theme for my impromptu set that night, and as Bree stared back at me, a smile on her face and a fire in her eyes, I was hoping that energy would follow us home.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I all but shouted into her ear as the final note faded into the chaos of the bar erupting into loud cheers.

  She nodded enthusiastically. “You close our tab and I’ll order the Uber.”

  “Deal.”

  It seemed Bree and I were just the grease O’Key needed to get the ball rolling. As I stood at the bar waiting to get my credit card back from the bartender, a woman took over the stage singing a classic Whitney Houston tune.

  An older, round bellied man sidled up beside me, saying something I couldn’t quite make out.

  I cupped my hand to my ear. “Come again?”

  He leaned in closer. “I said: What’s your name? You were great up th
ere.”

  “Ah, Eason Maxwell.” I grinned. “And thanks. Appreciate it.”

  “You ever considered making music a career?”

  I barked a loud laugh. “Once or twice.” Almost instinctually, I found Bree as she exited the hallway from the bathroom, her sexy hips swaying as she weaved through the maze of tables.

  As it did so often, my body began to hum the closer she got. After everything we’d been through, everything we were still going through, how was it possible to be that damn happy? And most importantly, how the hell did I hold on to it? I didn’t have the best track record with the universe. But then again, it was Bree I’d carried out of the fire that night. Even knowing what I knew now, I still harbored an enormous amount of guilt for not being able to save Jessica and Rob. But one look at Bree and I felt like maybe someone had been looking out for me after all.

  The older man interrupted my thoughts. “Listen, a friend of mine works at a studio. I’d love to get you two in contact.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said, regrettably tearing my eyes off Bree. Everybody had a friend, aunt, uncle, or cousin six times removed in the music industry. The majority of them were small-timers who had studios in their guest room or dabbled in sound production or lighting. But I was in no position to turn down an opportunity.

  The bartender slid my credit card in front of me and I signed the slip before retrieving my wallet. Trading my Visa for a business card, I handed it to the gentleman. “My agent’s info is on the back. Good to meet you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my—” I stopped and slanted my head. Girlfriend? Lady? Woman? What the hell did I call her? She was so fucking much more than all of that, but I didn’t feel like having a three-month-long conversation with the man to make him understand. “Date is waiting for me.”

  He lifted the card between his fingers. “Really fine job tonight.”

  I tipped my head and slid past him, locating Bree beside the front door.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  I gave the door a hard shove and then threw my arm around her shoulders as we walked out onto the sidewalk and into the steamy Georgian air. “Just weeding through all the offers to sign the incredible Bree Winters to a recording contract. Of course, I told him I’d have to discuss it with you, but I warned that if they couldn’t come up to a billion-dollar advance, it wasn’t even worth our time.”

  She elbowed me in the side. “Hilarious.”

  I dipped low and found her mouth for an all-too-brief kiss. “You were pretty incredible up there tonight.”

  “I didn’t think karaoke would be my thing, but I had a really good time. Thanks for forcing me out of my comfort zone. I can see how you’d fall in love with being up on a stage like that.”

  At the moment, it wasn’t the stage I was falling in love with. Though I wasn’t sure falling was the correct terminology. Looking back, I’d been in love with Bree before we’d even shared our first kiss.

  Curling into my chest, she put her chin on my pec and peered up at me. “Thank you for tonight, Eason. This was hands down the best date of my life.”

  I grinned, wholly and completely sharing the sentiment. “It’s not over yet.”

  BREE

  With my hand threaded through the long, tousled hair on Eason’s head, which was between my legs, a second orgasm wrung me out. I wondered if he knew my body better than I did. As I found my release and sagged into the plush new linens, Eason gave me one last languid lick up my center.

  “Mmmm,” he murmured. “So sweet. All mine.”

  Although arguing was my first language, there was no question he owned me.

  And when I thought I couldn’t take any more affection or euphoria, he crawled up the bed and sank into me with devastating control. Having already been over the edge twice that night myself, I found even more pleasure from experiencing how this gorgeous man found his.

  Every day, Eason was easygoing and laid-back, but in bed, he was a completely different animal. He was powerful and strong, almost unyielding in the way he ravaged my body with his. He was bold and sure, confident in knowing everything I needed even before I could anticipate it myself. He was demanding and gentle, but above all else, he didn’t hold back.

  Eason gave. I took.

  He went harder, faster. I begged for more.

  “Yes,” I panted.

  “I swear to God, Bree, your fucking body was made for me.” His hips twisted as he pushed deeper. “I can’t go much lo—”

  I silenced him with my mouth on his. “Shhh. Then don’t. Give it to me. Give me everything.”

  Breaking the kiss, he went up onto his arm, looked down at where our bodies were crashing into each other, and then pressed his forehead against my shoulder as the most erotic moan rumbled through his chest. “Fuck.”

  His heavy weight collapsed on top of me as he pumped and twitched his release. For as ugly and tainted as the world could be, the sight of Eason losing himself in an orgasm would forever be one of the purest and most beautiful things I could experience.

  Dizzy and spent, he shifted to the side where he lay panting for several seconds, his lips finding my shoulder more than once.

  “Did all three of my date options end like that?”

  He smiled against my shoulder. “Netflix and Chill started that way.”

  I laughed, and he held his palm out in the air to me.

  “What?”

  “Don’t leave me hanging, Sug.” He panted, air heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “That was some of my best work.”

  I started to slap his hand, anything to make him stop, but I paused. “On one condition. No more Sug.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll grow on you.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know what glucose did to you in a past life, but you should talk to your doctor about it.” Swiftly, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my neck, his hand still dangling in the air. “What should I call you, then?”

  I smiled, feeling younger than I had in years. It was these silly, quiet moments that had pulled me out of the destruction of the past year, and I was so thankful that, with everything that had changed, Eason and I were still the same. Okay, maybe not exactly the same. Maybe better.

  “What about just your girlfriend?” I half teased.

  He slapped my hand so fast that it stung. After rolling onto my chest, he peered down at me with the most charming grin I’d ever seen. “That’s a fucking deal right there, Sug.”

  “Hey. You just agreed not to call me that anymore.”

  “Sorry. I’m trying to quit, but it’s not gonna be easy.” He playfully acted like he was going to bite my nose and instead pressed a small kiss to the tip when I flinched. “All that sweet of yours, you give me dia-bree-tus, but I’ll work on the girlfriend thing.”

  I gasped. “You did not just say dia-bree-tus.”

  “What?” He laughed. “It’s a serious condition, Bree.”

  I wanted to give him hell, but as insane as he could be sometimes, he always managed to make me laugh. “Oh, you have a serious condition, all right—in that ridiculous head of yours. And to think, people pay you to write songs.”

  “I’m a true wordsmith. What can I say?”

  It didn’t matter what he said. He honestly didn’t have to say anything at all. Eason was crazy in the absolute best way possible.

  There had been a part of me that worried how things were going to change between me and Eason as we took our relationship to the next level. I was scared of losing the man who had become not only my best friend, but a fixture in my life that I prayed on a near daily basis would be permanent.

  But nothing was different.

  He was still attentive and kind.

  Thoughtful and selfless.

  The world’s sexiest goofball.

  And I was his.

  What more could I ask for?

  I sat straight up at the sound of my bedroom door opening. Normally, that wasn’t a reason for alarm. Asher’s favorite pastime wa
s waking me up before the sun rose. However, that morning, as the soft squeak of my door roused me to consciousness, there was a half-naked man curled around me.

  Shit. What the hell had happened to our alarm? I glanced at the clock to see it was only five—thirty minutes before it was set to wake us up.

  “Mom?”

  “Hey, buddy. You’re up early.” Very aware that I was in the bare minimum of clothes—panties and a silk camisole—I hurried to the end of the mattress, shrugged my robe on, and threw the comforter back as I lurched out of bed, hoping to disguise Eason as a lump in the covers.

  No such luck when the lump bolted upright and flipped the lamp on. “What’s wrong? What’s going on? You okay, Ash?”

  Asher stopped, a little green sketchpad held against his chest, his sleepiness transforming to surprise as he flicked his gaze back and forth between me and Eason. He didn’t say anything immediately, but I swore I could almost see the gears turning in his head.

  Okay, so I guessed that it was time to tell the kids. I was kind of hoping to get a little further down the road in our relationship than one date, but Eason and I had made things official, and I trusted both of us to make the kids a priority if things didn’t work out between us. There could have been worse times. Though catching us in bed together definitely changed the dynamic of said talk.

  I flashed Eason an expression that read busted and he had the good sense to look sheepish.

  “Did you have a nightmare?” I asked my son, trying to distract him.

  “What’s Eason doing here?”

  Obviously, I’d failed. “Well,” I started, ready to spill all things about men, women, and dating.

  Asher shrugged. “Actually, this is probably better.” Without another word, he climbed up onto the bed and crawled on all fours to the spot in the middle. “Scoot,” he ordered Eason.

  Eason obeyed, but his wide eyes flicked to me. “Maybe I should go make coffee?” He lifted the blanket and got a bird’s-eye view of nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and then reclined back against the headboard. “Or not.”