Spring Fling

by Claudia Burgoa

  Kissing Nash Prescott had been a spontaneous decision. It was dark, like it so often was around us. I’d kissed him before. I’d fucked him before. But touching him without pretenses—without any of the bullshit that always seemed to fall between us in unnavigable layers—seemed so simple and destructive, and I did it anyway.

  This was three times now… Three times, the darkness had led me to do things or say things I would never otherwise say or do to this man. Maybe the world was trying to tell me something.

  I gripped his shirt and slid against him, exploring his body above his clothes. I wanted him to touch me everywhere, but I settled for two large palms on either side of my face as he kissed me back. Hard. As if, despite the fact that we’d never touched one another under normal circumstances and we’d been at each other’s throats since the elevator, he was certain he wanted this.

  The car slowed to a stop, double parked in front of the hotel. Horns honked behind us until I pulled back, breathing heavily. Our heavy breathing fogged the windows, the lust between us thick and intense.

  “I’m not a good person,” he warned me out of the blue.

  My fingertips traced his penance tattoo, even though I couldn’t see it in the dark. “You say that, but I think you might just be the best person I know.”

  * * *

  Nash Prescott

  * * *

  I scrolled through my bank accounts, trying to forget the look Emery had given me all last night. Awe, shock, and enough desire to alarm me. The thing about Emery Winthrop was, she had an ability to make me do stupid shit.

  Growing up, I’d protected her and my brother like they were one and the same. When she’d sacrificed for my brother, I’d sacrificed for her, burning the ledger in a bonfire pit at the beach. When she’d moaned out my brother’s name, shocking the hell out of me as I realized who I was inside, I’d kept going until we’d both come, satiated and spent. When I’d seen her hyperventilating in the elevator, I’d coaxed her out of her panic attack. When I’d realized her fear of attention, I’d taken it upon myself to fix it.

  I knew I didn’t think around Emery Winthrop, and yet, I allowed myself to be near her over and over again. Fuck if I knew why. I dismissed Hannah’s text, letting me know Emery had called to ask about me.

  I unlocked my safe and pulled out the ledger. It’d been burnt to a crisp, the pages long since turned to ashes and the leather binding warped and melted. It was hardly recognizable, but I kept it as a reminder.

  “Are you sure you’d like to dissolve your account?” the bank manager asked through the video conference as I toyed with the spine.

  “Yes.”

  “As you wish, sir,” he nodded before I set the ledger on the corner of my desk and ended the call.

  Six years. I’d had that account for six years, when I’d started siphoning money little by little from my parents’ Winthrop Lumbar holdings because I knew they hadn’t had the financial acuity to check on their investments often.

  I took the money and invested it in cryptocurrency, which I then used as a buy-in to takeover a failing hotel chain with a silent partner, Zev. Together, Zev and I started Prescott Hotels. He remained a silent partner while I became the face of the company and used the company to give my parents back more money than they’d ever accrue on their own and help rebuild Eastridge.

  The empty account had been sitting dormant for years, a reminder of what I’d done and the penance I needed to pay. A year after the trial, Waylon Lewis had stepped in front of a bus so his family could collect the life insurance money to keep their house. Miss Maribelle had given up her baby for adoption because she couldn’t afford to give her the life she deserved. Curtis Johnson took a dangerous job on an oil rig and died before his daughter turned six. I had a list of names I needed to pay penance to, and today, I finally finished.

  Everyone Mr. Winthrop defrauded and everyone who’d been let go from Winthrop Lumbar had a job at Prescott Hotels if they wanted and shares in the company. I’d spent the morning setting up an anonymous scholarship for the baby Miss Maribelle had given up for adoption after my PI had finally located her.

  The entire state thought I was a patron saint because my parents had been victims. Even Hannah always told me, if she had a son, she’d love for him to be like me. The truth was bitter, an oversized pill I had trouble swallowing.

  But despite it all, despite all the work I’d put into undoing my mistakes over the past years, I still let my guard down around Emery Winthrop. She was a twenty-two year old I had no business talking to, but I couldn’t stop my fixation with her.

  And now that I knew she hadn’t known about the fraud, that she’d just parroted lies the lawyers had coached her into telling, the hate had ebbed away, and all that was left was the desire I’d felt for her since she’d snuck into that room four years ago.

  “Nash?” Hannah entered the office in my penthouse suite without knocking. “Emery’s here to see you.”

  Emery strode into the room as Hannah left, looking a little like her high-school self in a virginal white, knee-length dress and heels. “You told Elise to offer me a job?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s borderline nepotism.”

  “Last I checked, we’re not related. Unless we are. Then things just got kinky.”

  “It’s not funny, Nash.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m serious when I say, I want the position to be yours.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re as much of a victim of your dad’s as everyone else is.”

  “And you’re the patron saint of the Winthrop victims.” Her sarcasm had a sharp bite to it. “You know, I read the articles where they called you that, and I couldn’t quite figure it out. You have penance tattooed above your elbow. What sins are you atoning for, Nash?”

  “Stay in your lane, Winthrop,” I warned.

  “It doesn’t feel so good to have someone in your business, does it?”

  Point. Made.

  “I still think you should take the job.”

  “Why?”

  Because she was still the girl who’d made sacrifices for my brother, and I wanted her to be okay. But sitting here watching her fight for herself, I realized she didn’t need my charity. She had a strength in her that I admired, that I wished more people had.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. It wasn’t lost on me that I never apologized, yet here I was, apologizing to her for the second time. This time, it was actually sincere, but her eyes had already shifted to the ledger on the corner of my desk.

  No way she recognized it. Yet, she reached out and picked it up, stroking the distorted cover with a reverence birthed from shock.

  “Emery,” I started.

  She cut me off, “Why do you have this?”

  “I—”

  She shook her head. “I remember. My dad was freaked out about a ledger being lost. The FBI raided our house for one. Daddy made sure I knew exactly what it looked like so I could return it to him if I found it. So, why. Do. You. Have. This?”

  “I took it.”

  “You took it,” she repeated, waiting for me to elaborate.

  I couldn’t think of a good way to explain it, no matter how hard I racked my brain.

  She shook her head at my silence. “Not good enough.”

  * * *

  Emery Winthrop

  * * *

  Reed handed me a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. Like we were kids again, we laid side-by-side in his bed in the cottage in the awful matching onesies Mrs. Prescott had knitted us for Christmas. Nash had bought the entire mansion for Reed because he’d made a joke about wanting it, so Saint Nash had actually taken him seriously.

  The deed to the place hung on the ceiling—the freakin’ ceiling—with little devils drawn all over the glass frame. It was better than what I’d actually wanted to draw on it. I couldn’t believe how life had turned out. I mean, I was happy the town was cared for and the Prescotts were okay, but Mom… She deserved better.<
br />
  “Did you ever change this mattress?” I asked Reed, licking the ice cream from the carton because he’d neglected to hand me a spoon.

  He snorted. “With what money?”

  “Nash’s. Duh.”

  “You’re a Neanderthal.” He tossed me a napkin. “Clean your face. And no, contrary to popular belief, I don’t dip into my brother’s funds on a whim.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t judge you if you did.”

  “Yeah, but I’d judge myself.”

  “Did you judge me when I lived in the mansion, had all the pretty clothes, and bought whatever toys I wanted?”

  “No, but that’s different.”

  “Not really. I mean, yes, it’s cool to have these things on your own—but trust me. Suffering for them isn’t glamorous.”

  “You’re sounding super wise right now, which means you’re deflecting from a conversation you don’t want to have.”

  ‘So, why did you and Madison break up?”

  “Emery…” he warned.

  “Was it your morning breath?” I joked, because he clearly needed to lighten up.

  “She thought I was in love with you.”

  “Wait. What?”

  I waited for my heart to pick up. For the steady thump thump to become thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump. It never did. Nothing even close to when I was around Nash Prescott.

  “I know. It’s crazy. I told her we kissed, and nothing happened.”

  “Wait,” I repeated. “What?!”

  “You don’t remember?”

  My head swung back and forth as I looked at him like he was the aftermath of a train wreck. “You’re joking, right?”

  “It was almost ten years ago. We were thirteen. I took you to the movies when you got your tonsils removed.”

  “I was so drugged up that entire week. I don’t remember anything except the drugs.” I arched a brow. “Does that constitute as taking advantage of me?”

  “Emery.” He sunk his head forcefully into the mattress.

  “Okay, sorry. I’ll be serious. I just… wow. I don’t even remember that.”

  “There were no butterflies.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged, an awkward feat while laying on the mattress. “It was nice, I guess, but there were no butterflies. No steam. No need to pull you closer and tighter and kiss you for hours.”

  Yet, I was laying on the mattress where Nash and I first slept together, and just the thought of that gave me butterflies. It made me want to find him, kiss him, and never stop kissing him.

  “What are you going to do about Madison?”

  Reed turned to face me and said, “She didn’t even let me explain.” I hadn’t even let Nash explain. “I just want an opportunity to tell her the truth.” Was that how Nash felt right now? “A part of me wishes she’d show up at the door and give me a chance to tell her how I feel.”

  The doorbell rung as soon as he said the words. His face lit up as he made his way to the door. It was the pizza guy.

  I took in his slumped shoulders. “At least there’s pizza?”

  When Reed went to take a shower, I dug my phone out, ignored the missed calls from Nash that had my stomach tightening and my head a little dizzy just thinking about, and called Madison.

  “Emery? Is Reed okay? Did something happen?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. It’s just… He’s a really great guy, and there’s nothing going on between us. Never has been. I hate seeing him so torn, and I know if you give him another chance to explain, you’ll see you have nothing to worry about.”

  It was like giving myself a pep talk to find Nash.

  I was such an idiot.

  As soon as we hung up, I left a sticky note on the bathroom door for Reed and took his car.

  Don’t kill me.

  I took your car.

  I’m having a total Harry Met Sally moment about your brother.

  - E

  * * *

  Emery Winthrop

  * * *

  Grand gestures always take me by surprise in movies. Not because they happen, but because they’re successful. I mean, how does an actual flash mob break out in the middle of a crowded mall without shoppers getting in the way? Each time I see one in a movie, the event planner in me is always considering the million ways it should be going wrong.

  So, it makes sense that my grand gesture failed from the start. I interrupted a board room meeting. Virtual, but still. My breaths came out in heaving pants after running up here. Nash waited for me to say something, and all the men on the giant projector screen stared at me, waiting for me to say something, too.

  “Sorry,” I stuttered out. Not because of the attention, but because Nash Prescott was standing in front of me, and for the first time, I realized how much I wanted him. Which made getting words out excruciating.

  “Gentlemen, we’ll reconvene tomorrow.” Nash’s words were met with stunned disbelief when, one by one, each camera feed cut out. “Emery?”

  “I like you. I didn’t expect it. I didn’t plan it. And if you asked me when I started this job, I’d say I didn’t want it. So, this—wanting you—is new to me. And I’m gonna make mistakes like not letting you explain things and jumping to conclusions when I know and have seen with my own eyes that you’re a good person.” When my words felt heavy and the room fell into silence, I quipped, “The patron saint of North Carolina.”

  “I hate that nickname.”

  “I know.”

  “I stole it,” he admitted, referring to the ledger. “Six years ago, I stopped by to ask your dad if we could throw Reed a birthday party in the backyard.”

  “I remember,” I whispered.

  He’d run into me after Talon Blackburn had tried to force himself on me. I remembered school the next day, where Talon had come up to me with a pinch-faced apology, his words coming out in barely intelligible stammers. I’d known it was Nash, and I’d never thanked him because I was mortified.

  “I overheard your dad talking about the fraud with his lawyer. They were talking about needing to destroy the ledger to hide the evidence. I was planning on showing it to my parents, so they could pull out their savings from Winthrop Lumbar.

  “And then you came into the room, tears on your cheeks and bruises on your arm, and you told me what you did for Reed. So, when I stole the ledger that night, I couldn’t bring myself to take it to the police and ruin your life. So I burned it. I took my parents’ money out of Winthrop Lumbar in secret. When the company fell apart, I told my parents they’d lost everything because I couldn’t tell them what I’d done. And then people in town started falling apart.”

  “Waylon Lewis. Miss Maribelle. Curtis Johnson. Sammy—” I started to whisper the names I’d forced myself to memorize.

  “Too many to count,” Nash interrupted. Solemn. For me. Like I was a victim, too. “And so I built this company with my silent partner, and I’ve spent as much time and money and resources as I can rebuilding Eastridge and North Carolina.”

  “Penance.”

  “Yes.”

  It wasn’t his penance to pay. It was my dad’s. It was mine. But he’d paid it for us.

  I shook the shock away and asked, “When does it end?”

  “It already has.”

  I was thankful for my height as I took four long strides to him, pressed my palms to either side of his face, and kissed him. His mouth came down on mine hard, making up for the four years since we’d really been together.

  We kissed and kissed and kissed until my lips were swollen and cracked from exertion, and still, I never wanted it to end. This wasn’t love yet, but it felt like fate and all the million little things it took to get us here today.

  I pulled back and pressed my forehead to his, panting in between the words I needed to get out. “Nash Prescott, I like you. You keep me on my toes, you’re unapologetic with your words yet valiant with your actions, and you do so much for others—for me—without ever expecting or needing acknowledgment. Ne
ver in a million years did I think I would, but I want you Nash Prescott, because against all odds and sense, we fit.”

  * * *

  Emery Winthrop

  Four years later

  * * *

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I whisper between giggles, like I’m a teenager again, sneaking into somewhere I shouldn’t be.

  And we are sneaking in.

  Nash grabs my hand and leads me from the door of the cottage to Reed’s childhood bedroom. The entire cottage is dark, but we both know the way on instinct. Reed has been crashing at the local Prescott Hotel this week because they’re throwing this year’s Spring Gala in Eastridge. If we want to do this, it has to be tonight.

  “I swear, you walk so loud,” Nash points out.

  “Okay, okay. I’m trying.”

  He picks me up instead, opens the door to Reed’s room, tosses me gently onto the bed, then closes the door behind us. He goes straight for my dress the second his knee hits the mattress, and I help him shimmy it off of me. He pulls his shirt off his body as I push down his pants, and then he’s on me again, peppering kisses on my face, neck, lips, then down my body.

  His lips wrap around my nipple, sucking them through my bralette like he did that night eight years ago. I groan out his name—his actual name this time—and run my fingers through his hair.

  “Nash,” I beg, my hips rolling, searching for contact with his cock.

  “Easy, Tiger.” He tsks at my impatience, but I can feel his amusement as he pushes my panties to the side, lines himself up at my entrance, and gives me what I want. His lips meet mine, and it’s desperate, always desperate, like we both can’t believe we have one another and we’re waiting for the world to tell us it’s the cruelest practical joke ever.

  I crave him in all the places he’s already had me, always thirsting for him because it will never be enough. I could do this forever.

  I whisper the word against his neck as I come, tightening around him as he finishes with me. “Forever.”