by Penny Wylder
“Yeah?”
“Nothing, never mind.”
The temptation to ask about Laney sits at the tip of my tongue. But I quickly realize what that could do. People love to talk, especially in a small town like this, and the people in this town talk a lot about shit that ain't their business.
I've had enough with being the talk of the town. So, I keep my mouth shut.
“All right, well if you need anything else, you know the drill, just ask.” Candice heads back behind the bar with another smile.
Drumming my fingers on my glass, I'm trying to figure out another way to see Laney without drawing any attention. I can't ask questions. I can't just drive back to her place. That doesn’t feel right. But I can't ignore this urge to see her again.
I know that A-frame house. . .
I keep tapping my glass, over and over, and harder and harder until Candice finally notices and yells, “You're going to crack it! It's a glass, not a drum!” She laughs playfully and wags a finger at me.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my hand off and setting it on the table.
Giving me a nod, she disappears back into the kitchen.
Marla Crawford. Her name jumps into my head. She's the one who owns Laney's cabin. And it just so happens that she's on my list of upcoming jobs.
I knew the place looked familiar when I dropped her off, I just couldn't place it at the time. My list of clients is long. When you run a business like mine, where everything is handmade and one of a kind, people want it.
But I do have one very important rule: I don't skip around the list, I go in order. If you want something, you'll have to wait in line. I won't be bullied by anyone into cutting the line. Rich or not, you wait your turn. And I’ve been offered lots of money to rush a project, but the answer’s always the same.
That rule has opened more doors for me than I could have ever imagined. People want to get on the list. The exclusivity and wait time have actually become an asset to my business.
Marla Crawford is one of those people. She wants new, custom shower doors, and even though I told her it would be a couple of months until I could get out to her place, I can make an exception. Right?
Standing up, I throw down some money and call out to Candice, “Thanks, Candice.”
I'm out the door before she even responds.
Who needs to know I broke my own rule?
I made the rule, I'm allowed to break it.
5
Laney
The music blares through the speakers as I draft another picture for the children's book I'm illustrating. The lines are flowing perfect, effortlessly actually, and it feels good. Like I'm finding myself again.
Welcome back, Laney.
Smiling to myself, my head is bouncing to the beat and my hand is sweeping across the paper. A noise from behind me breaks my attention, so I turn down the music, and perk up my ears.
Knock, knock, knock.
It's the front door. Who could that be? I'm not expecting anyone. Hell, I don’t know anyone.
Setting down my pencil, I head for the door and try to look through the small peephole, but it's completely frosted over.
“Who is it?”
A muffled man's voice responds, hardly audible through the heavy wood door. Pulling back the curtain on the front window, I try to see who it is, but all I can see is a shoulder, a toolbox, and a sliver of the side of his head.
I'll have to open it; I don't have a choice. Cracking the door, I start to say, “Can I help—” Cutting myself off, I quirk a brow and open the door all the way. “Anders?” I say surprised. “What are you doing here?”
My heart starts to pound as vivid images of our naughty morning flood my mind. I haven't been able to get this guy out of my head. He haunts my dreams, he haunts my thoughts while I’m awake, and a small piece of me is left wondering if our encounter was the boost I needed to break through the wall I’d recently hit.
He holds up the toolbox and points at the patch on his jacket. “I'm here for the shower doors.”
Holy shit! He's the guy putting in the new shower doors.
My landlord called me the other day and said someone was coming at some point, I just never imagined it would be Anders.
I honestly never expected or really planned on seeing him again. The sex was amazing, and I’d take a repeat of that any day of the week. But the next day, snippets of the night before became clearer, and mortification had washed over me, remembering how I sobbed and begged him to fuck me. And like a gentleman, he’d held me off, refused. I shudder to think about it. I was so pathetic.
First impressions are everything, and I really hope he hasn’t thought too much about mine.
But him, the first impression he left on me is indelible, and in the most perfect way. He brought me in from the cold, he took me to his place, soothed me to sleep, and then fucked my brains out the next morning.
Plucking at my lip, I stand awkwardly in the doorway.
He arches a brow and tilts his head. “So. . .” he says, drawing out the word. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah, of course, sorry. Come on in,” I say taking a step to the side. “The bathroom is the first door on the left. Here let me—” I start to say but he quickly holds up a hand to stop me.
“Don’t worry about me. I can find my way. I don't want to distract you.” His eyes fall to the table that I've been using as my workspace. It’s scattered with sketches and pens and colored pencils.
“All right, well, if you need anything, I'll be right here.” I throw my thumbs to the table and start to walk toward it.
Calm down, Laney! You sound like a nervous wreck.
I am a nervous wreck. This wasn’t in my plans. Having him in my dreams is one thing, but now that he's right here in front of me, my world is upside down. My palms are sweaty and my heart is racing. My stomach churns like it's been hit by a swarm of butterflies, and my head is spinning.
Anders gives me a small smile as he adjusts the toolbox in his hand and heads down the hall. I stand still, watching him until he disappears into the bathroom.
Now I can relax, my body drops into the chair and I let out a heavy breath. Throwing my head back, I run my fingers through my hair, and stare at the ceiling, trying to get my focus back.
Except, I can hear him. I can hear him sifting through his toolbox and moving around in the bathroom. There's a little banging and some soft grunts as he works.
My brain starts to drum up images of his rock hard muscles and rough hands. The sweat dripping down his forehead and the way his muscles flex as he moves.
I could go watch him for a minute.
No, it was a one night stand, keep it that way.
“You can turn your music back on if you like,” he calls out to me. “It won't bother me.”
Oh thank you. This silence is too much.
Flipping on the stereo, I drop my eyes back to the paper, and pick up the pencil to force myself back to work. The banging and pounding, all the sounds of metal and his own verbal grunts or growls become intertwined with the music as I immerse myself back into the illustrations.
“Uh hm,” he says as he taps my shoulder. Jerking my head up, I let out a little noise as he startles me. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to see if I could use your microwave for lunch?”
“It's lunch time already?”
“Already one, actually.”
“Wow, I should probably eat something too.” Pushing the chair away from the table, Anders steps in and hovers over the picture.
“That's incredible. You drew that?”
“Yeah, I'm an illustrator for children's books.”
His eyes grow large as he leans in a little more. “This is really, really good.”
“Thank you.” My cheeks blush as he lifts his eyes to mine. The warmth flows down my neck until it hits my chest and makes it swell.
We stand quietly for a moment, in another awkward silence. Our eyes are locked on each other, and he licks hi
s lips. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. The way his tongue softly runs across the surface makes my nipples hard and my belly swirl.
“So,” he finally says, shaking a plastic tub and breaking the trance he put me in. “Microwave?”
“Right, lunch.” Pointing to the kitchen, I divert my eyes from his and take the first step. “I'll whip up something for myself too.”
“You can share some of mine. It's tomato soup.”
“How about I make some grilled cheese for both of us to go with the soup?”
He gives me a full smile and strokes a hand down his jaw. “Yeah, all right, sounds good.”
Buttering the bread, I place it in the frying pan and start cooking two grilled cheeses. “How's it going in the bathroom?” I ask, glancing at him briefly as I flip the sandwiches.
“Good, it's coming along.” The microwave beeps and he pulls out the container. “Bowls?”
“Upper right,” I say, nudging my head toward the cupboard.
He divides the soup between the bowls, and I place the sandwiches on a paper towel. Pulling open a draw, I take out two spoons and sit next to him at the table.
Looking into the bowl of soup, I take a spoonful and blow on it to cool it off. I can feel Anders looking at me. All my senses are piqued, and a shiver runs through my body.
I'm not going to look up though, I'm going to eat my soup and my grilled sandwich, and then go right back to work. He's a one night stand, and this awkward reunion will be over shortly.
“I need to ask you something,” he says, his cheek puffed out with a bite of the sandwich.
Oh lord, no.
What could he possibly want to ask me? Does he want to talk about what happened? God, I hope he doesn't want to talk about our night together.
Grabbing a napkin from the holder, I wipe my lips and finally find the courage to look in his eyes. “Okay. . .” Drawing out the word, I wait nervously.
“What was the deal with the cheese at my house?”
The weight on my chest releases and I'm able to laugh. “Oh, that's an old family secret to stop a hangover. I know it looks crazy, but it works, I swear.”
He chuckles with me as he's nodding his head. “It must have worked really well, you were super lively that morning.” He takes another mouthful of sandwich, and that awkward silence fills the space between us again.
I'm embarrassed. He probably thinks I'm some sort of slut.
“Look,” I say quickly, bouncing my hand in the air. “I don't normally do things like that, it's just not me.”
“You don't need to explain anything to me,” he cuts in quickly.
“But I do,” I answer, determined to explain. “Things have been rough, and with everything I had to drink that night, I just. . .” I pause, dropping my eyes to the table and then lifting them back up. “I was just looking to feel good, is all. Forget all the shit for a few hours.”
He lifts both hands, resting them against his chin as he braids his fingers together. His eyes flutter around my face as a knowing smile causes his lips to shift up. His mouth is thin, his smile sympathetic. “You got dumped, huh?”
Sighing loudly, I shake my head yes. “It sucked. It still sucks, actually.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“No, don't be. It's okay,” I say, brushing a lazy hand through the air. “He was a dick. And worse, I knew he was dick too, but sometimes love makes you ignore all those red flags.” Anders grunts in support, like he knows what I mean. “But we had a history, so I let myself fall deeper and deeper and not see him for who he truly was. Which was a big giant dick.”
Anders smirks, and chuckles. “Well, that still sucks.”
“What sucks is I caught him fucking his editor one night when I went to bring him dinner at work. Of course, it's my fault though, I drove him to it. All my constant complaining and demands. Then he threw some low blows, bashing the size of my nose, and how I was lucky he stayed with me as long as he did. My confidence hasn't been so great since, which is how I ended up at the Bear Claw in the first place.”
“Wow, he's not just a dick, he's a royal fucking asshole.”
“I see that now, but the saddest thing is I thought he actually loved me. I had a future all planned out. there was no plan B. I thought he was it. I fell for it, I fell for it like the idiot I am.”
“You're not an idiot.”
“I must be if I thought I ever had a chance of a future with that prick. But we were at two very different ends of our relationship. He refused to talk about marriage or kids, just brushing it off every time. Marc couldn't be bothered with anything serious.”
“So basically the other night was all about rebound sex?”
“No, no,” I say quickly, opening my eyes wide. “That's not what I mean. See, we had lived together for six years, and I couldn't stay there anymore, I had to get out. So I booked this place for two months to get away. I needed to clear my head. I've been working, reading, doing a little yoga too. But the break-up was just so nasty. He did his best to really tear me down, and it worked. My appearance, my intelligence, all of it. So the other night I finished this self-help book, and I guess I took the advice a little too far. I interpreted ‘invest in self-care’ like the author recommended, as ‘go get massively shit faced and laid.’ I felt like it would give me the confidence I needed to really feel like myself again. The alcohol was really my secret weapon, though.”
“Did it work? Did you get the extra boost you needed?”
“Yeah, it did actually.” Smiling as I bite my grilled cheese, I say, “It also helped give me the spark I needed to put that dirtbag in his place at the bar.”
“Mm,” he grunts, shaking his head in agreement. “That dirtbag works down at the local hardware store, and he had a black-eye the next day.” Anders swallows and grins as he takes a sip from his water bottle.
“Good, I hope he regrets hitting on the wrong girl.” Standing, I pick up my dishes and grab his too.
“You don't have to do that, I got it.” Anders takes all of them from me and puts them in the sink.
“So, you told me a little about your work, want to check out some of mine?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“You have time? I know you have work to do, and I know Marla can be a bit of a hard ass. I don't want you to get in trouble.”
“Nah, she loves me. Haven't you learned I'm a pretty social guy?” The corner of his lip twitches playfully.
Slapping his arm, I push him forward and lead him to my art table. Pulling out my portfolio folder, I lay it on the table and open it.
Anders grips the corner of one of the papers as his eyes grow wide. “This is amazing, Laney.” Turning the paper, his eyes study my art, scanning up and down. “You drew all of these?”
“Yeah, it's been my passion since I was a kid. My parents would give me a ream of paper and I'd be busy for hours.”
“And you do what with these?”
“Well, I hopefully get contracted to do the illustrations for books or storyboards. After years of struggling, I finally got a break. Now, I'm working on a big blockbuster scheduled to shoot next summer, so you haven't seen these, and don't tell anyone. Shh, okay?”
Anders winks, and stands up straight and crosses his heart. “Your secret is safe with me. I promise.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“You know I understand some of what you've been through. What you said about your ex, I can relate. My ex Cara cheated on me too, and not with just anyone, with the mayor of our town. She wasn't shy either about letting anyone who would listen know how she had finally upgraded.”
“No, she actually went around and told people that?”
“Yeah, it created a lot of talk.”
“I don't see how that's possible.”
“Well,” he says with a chuckle, “he's richer, smarter, and apparently better in bed according to the whispers I'd hear in town.”
The silence returns between us. But I want to scream your ex is
wrong! She can't know what she's saying, because if she did, she wouldn't be saying he's bad in bed. Anders is incredible in bed, so incredible he's become the leading man of my dreams.
He helps me finish cleaning up in the small kitchen. Every so often we bump into each other and I feel his hard body against mine. A heat warms my belly, and I can smell the subtle cologne he's wearing.
Every second he's this close to me, I'm more and more aware of my body. I can feel my skin as it bristles with need. I can feel my chest as my heart ignites causing my clit to swell.
I'm breathing heavier and heavier as his arm brushes the very edge of my breast. He's unaware of it, but I notice it, and it makes my nipples hard and my pussy pulse. My panties are wet, I can feel my arousal as it seeps.
And as each small movement wakes every sleeping nerve in my body and soul, I come to a realization. A realization that hits hard and fast and without any real warning.
I want him again.
But I say nothing, allowing him to excuse himself back to his job. Watching him walk away, with an ache between my thighs and a cold sweat trickling down my spine, I just stare hopelessly. He’s completely unaware of the effect he has on me.
Anders isn't just a man. Not with that smile. Not with the twinkle in his eyes. Not with the smile on his face or the paradox of strength and gentleness of his touch.
He's become so much more to me in just one chance meeting. He's a man who makes my heart pound like a caged bird. When I’m near him, every nerve in my body lights up like a Christmas tree.
I suddenly realize, I don't just want him again. . .
I need him again.
6
Anders
Breaking away a portion of the wall, the plaster crumbles, causing a cloud of dust to explode into the air. There's a heavy odor of chalk and dust, but I can still smell Laney through the cloud of debris.
I love her scent, the way it settles me in a way I've never felt before. I crave it. And this feeling, it's eluded me for years. I feel alive again. I feel lighter, like there's a weight that’s been lifted off my shoulders.